From b4b9f96935341207db044d49355927105518eae2 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Fabien Cazenave Date: Mon, 9 Dec 2024 03:31:12 +0100 Subject: [PATCH] Use JSON corpora from kalamine-corpus. --- kalamine/www/corpus/LICENSE | 300 - kalamine/www/corpus/README.md | 7 +- kalamine/www/corpus/chardict.py | 76 - kalamine/www/corpus/en+fr.txt | 74875 ------------------------------ kalamine/www/corpus/en.txt | 39262 ---------------- kalamine/www/corpus/fr.txt | 35611 -------------- kalamine/www/corpus/merge.py | 43 - 7 files changed, 5 insertions(+), 150169 deletions(-) delete mode 100644 kalamine/www/corpus/LICENSE delete mode 100755 kalamine/www/corpus/chardict.py delete mode 100644 kalamine/www/corpus/en+fr.txt delete mode 100644 kalamine/www/corpus/en.txt delete mode 100644 kalamine/www/corpus/fr.txt delete mode 100755 kalamine/www/corpus/merge.py diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/LICENSE b/kalamine/www/corpus/LICENSE deleted file mode 100644 index 9c3458f..0000000 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/LICENSE +++ /dev/null @@ -1,300 +0,0 @@ -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE - -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free distribution -of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work -associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply -with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this -file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license. 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For -those, you must contact the copyright holder before any non-free use or removal -of the Project Gutenberg header. diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/README.md b/kalamine/www/corpus/README.md index 59f766b..3bce516 100644 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/README.md +++ b/kalamine/www/corpus/README.md @@ -1,14 +1,17 @@ -# Corpus for layout analysis +# Corpus for Layout Analysis + +All JSON files have been generated with [kalamine-corpus](https://github.com/OneDeadKey/kalamine-corpus?tab=readme-ov-file). ## `fr` / `en` -Those corpora and stats come from Don Quixote +Those corpora and stats come from Don Quixote (Cervantes), Gutenberg Project. ## `fra_mixed-typical_2012_1M-sentences` These stats come from [University of Leipzig](https://wortschatz.uni-leipzig.de/en/download/French#fra_mixed_2012) ### Sources + French Mixed-Typical 2012, 1M sentences file has been extracted, and the sentence indices have been stripped with `awk '!($1="")' fra_mixed-typical_2012_1M/fra_mixed-typical_2012_1M-sentences.txt > diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/chardict.py b/kalamine/www/corpus/chardict.py deleted file mode 100755 index e89625b..0000000 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/chardict.py +++ /dev/null @@ -1,76 +0,0 @@ -#!/usr/bin/env python3 -"""Turn corpus texts into dictionaries of symbols and digrams.""" - -import json -from os import listdir, path -from sys import argv - -IGNORED_CHARS = "1234567890 \t\r\n\ufeff" - - -def parse_corpus(file_path): - """Count symbols and digrams in a text file.""" - - symbols = {} - digrams = {} - trigrams = {} - char_count = 0 - prev_symbol = None - prev_prev_symbol = None - - # get a dictionary of all symbols (letters, punctuation marks...) - file = open(file_path, "r", encoding="utf-8") - for char in file.read(): - symbol = char.lower() - if char not in IGNORED_CHARS: - char_count += 1 - if symbol not in symbols: - symbols[symbol] = 0 - symbols[symbol] += 1 - if prev_symbol is not None: - digram = prev_symbol + symbol - if digram not in digrams: - digrams[digram] = 0 - digrams[digram] += 1 - if prev_prev_symbol is not None: - trigram = prev_prev_symbol + digram - if trigram not in trigrams: - trigrams[trigram] = 0 - trigrams[trigram] += 1 - prev_prev_symbol = prev_symbol - prev_symbol = symbol - else: - prev_symbol = None - file.close() - - # sort the dictionary by symbol frequency (requires CPython 3.6+) - def sort_by_frequency(table, precision=3): - sorted_dict = {} - for key, count in sorted(table.items(), key=lambda x: -x[1]): - freq = round(100 * count / char_count, precision) - if freq > 0: - sorted_dict[key] = freq - return sorted_dict - - results = {} - results["corpus"] = file_path - results["symbols"] = sort_by_frequency(symbols) - results["digrams"] = sort_by_frequency(digrams, 4) - results["trigrams"] = sort_by_frequency(trigrams) - return results - - -if __name__ == "__main__": - if len(argv) == 2: # convert one file - data = parse_corpus(argv[1]) - print(json.dumps(data, indent=4, ensure_ascii=False)) - else: # converts all *.txt files in the script directory - rootdir = path.dirname(__file__) - destdir = path.join(rootdir, "..", "corpus") - for filename in listdir(rootdir): - if filename.endswith(".txt"): - print(f" {filename}...") - data = parse_corpus(path.join(rootdir, filename)) - destfile = path.join(destdir, filename[:-4] + ".json") - with open(destfile, "w", encoding="utf-8") as outfile: - json.dump(data, outfile, indent=4, ensure_ascii=False) diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/en+fr.txt b/kalamine/www/corpus/en+fr.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cab26f4..0000000 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/en+fr.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,74875 +0,0 @@ -Don Quixote -by Miguel de Cervantes - -Translated by John Ormsby - -TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE - -I: ABOUT THIS TRANSLATION - -It was with considerable reluctance that I abandoned in favour of the -present undertaking what had long been a favourite project: that of a -new edition of Shelton’s “Don Quixote,” which has now become a somewhat -scarce book. There are some—and I confess myself to be one—for whom -Shelton’s racy old version, with all its defects, has a charm that no -modern translation, however skilful or correct, could possess. Shelton -had the inestimable advantage of belonging to the same generation as -Cervantes; “Don Quixote” had to him a vitality that only a contemporary -could feel; it cost him no dramatic effort to see things as Cervantes -saw them; there is no anachronism in his language; he put the Spanish -of Cervantes into the English of Shakespeare. Shakespeare himself most -likely knew the book; he may have carried it home with him in his -saddle-bags to Stratford on one of his last journeys, and under the -mulberry tree at New Place joined hands with a kindred genius in its -pages. - -But it was soon made plain to me that to hope for even a moderate -popularity for Shelton was vain. His fine old crusted English would, no -doubt, be relished by a minority, but it would be only by a minority. -His warmest admirers must admit that he is not a satisfactory -representative of Cervantes. His translation of the First Part was very -hastily made and was never revised by him. It has all the freshness and -vigour, but also a full measure of the faults, of a hasty production. -It is often very literal—barbarously literal frequently—but just as -often very loose. He had evidently a good colloquial knowledge of -Spanish, but apparently not much more. It never seems to occur to him -that the same translation of a word will not suit in every case. - -It is often said that we have no satisfactory translation of “Don -Quixote.” To those who are familiar with the original, it savours of -truism or platitude to say so, for in truth there can be no thoroughly -satisfactory translation of “Don Quixote” into English or any other -language. It is not that the Spanish idioms are so utterly -unmanageable, or that the untranslatable words, numerous enough no -doubt, are so superabundant, but rather that the sententious terseness -to which the humour of the book owes its flavour is peculiar to -Spanish, and can at best be only distantly imitated in any other -tongue. - -The history of our English translations of “Don Quixote” is -instructive. Shelton’s, the first in any language, was made, -apparently, about 1608, but not published till 1612. This of course was -only the First Part. It has been asserted that the Second, published in -1620, is not the work of Shelton, but there is nothing to support the -assertion save the fact that it has less spirit, less of what we -generally understand by “go,” about it than the first, which would be -only natural if the first were the work of a young man writing -_currente calamo_, and the second that of a middle-aged man writing for -a bookseller. On the other hand, it is closer and more literal, the -style is the same, the very same translations, or mistranslations, -occur in it, and it is extremely unlikely that a new translator would, -by suppressing his name, have allowed Shelton to carry off the credit. - -In 1687 John Phillips, Milton’s nephew, produced a “Don Quixote” “made -English,” he says, “according to the humour of our modern language.” -His “Quixote” is not so much a translation as a travesty, and a -travesty that for coarseness, vulgarity, and buffoonery is almost -unexampled even in the literature of that day. - -Ned Ward’s “Life and Notable Adventures of Don Quixote, merrily -translated into Hudibrastic Verse” (1700), can scarcely be reckoned a -translation, but it serves to show the light in which “Don Quixote” was -regarded at the time. - -A further illustration may be found in the version published in 1712 by -Peter Motteux, who had then recently combined tea-dealing with -literature. It is described as “translated from the original by several -hands,” but if so all Spanish flavour has entirely evaporated under the -manipulation of the several hands. The flavour that it has, on the -other hand, is distinctly Franco-cockney. Anyone who compares it -carefully with the original will have little doubt that it is a -concoction from Shelton and the French of Filleau de Saint Martin, eked -out by borrowings from Phillips, whose mode of treatment it adopts. It -is, to be sure, more decent and decorous, but it treats “Don Quixote” -in the same fashion as a comic book that cannot be made too comic. - -To attempt to improve the humour of “Don Quixote” by an infusion of -cockney flippancy and facetiousness, as Motteux’s operators did, is not -merely an impertinence like larding a sirloin of prize beef, but an -absolute falsification of the spirit of the book, and it is a proof of -the uncritical way in which “Don Quixote” is generally read that this -worse than worthless translation—worthless as failing to represent, -worse than worthless as misrepresenting—should have been favoured as it -has been. - -It had the effect, however, of bringing out a translation undertaken -and executed in a very different spirit, that of Charles Jervas, the -portrait painter, and friend of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, and Gay. Jervas -has been allowed little credit for his work, indeed it may be said -none, for it is known to the world in general as Jarvis’s. It was not -published until after his death, and the printers gave the name -according to the current pronunciation of the day. It has been the most -freely used and the most freely abused of all the translations. It has -seen far more editions than any other, it is admitted on all hands to -be by far the most faithful, and yet nobody seems to have a good word -to say for it or for its author. Jervas no doubt prejudiced readers -against himself in his preface, where among many true words about -Shelton, Stevens, and Motteux, he rashly and unjustly charges Shelton -with having translated not from the Spanish, but from the Italian -version of Franciosini, which did not appear until ten years after -Shelton’s first volume. A suspicion of incompetence, too, seems to have -attached to him because he was by profession a painter and a mediocre -one (though he has given us the best portrait we have of Swift), and -this may have been strengthened by Pope’s remark that he “translated -‘Don Quixote’ without understanding Spanish.” He has been also charged -with borrowing from Shelton, whom he disparaged. It is true that in a -few difficult or obscure passages he has followed Shelton, and gone -astray with him; but for one case of this sort, there are fifty where -he is right and Shelton wrong. As for Pope’s dictum, anyone who -examines Jervas’s version carefully, side by side with the original, -will see that he was a sound Spanish scholar, incomparably a better one -than Shelton, except perhaps in mere colloquial Spanish. He was, in -fact, an honest, faithful, and painstaking translator, and he has left -a version which, whatever its shortcomings may be, is singularly free -from errors and mistranslations. - -The charge against it is that it is stiff, dry—“wooden” in a word,—and -no one can deny that there is a foundation for it. But it may be -pleaded for Jervas that a good deal of this rigidity is due to his -abhorrence of the light, flippant, jocose style of his predecessors. He -was one of the few, very few, translators that have shown any -apprehension of the unsmiling gravity which is the essence of Quixotic -humour; it seemed to him a crime to bring Cervantes forward smirking -and grinning at his own good things, and to this may be attributed in a -great measure the ascetic abstinence from everything savouring of -liveliness which is the characteristic of his translation. In most -modern editions, it should be observed, his style has been smoothed and -smartened, but without any reference to the original Spanish, so that -if he has been made to read more agreeably he has also been robbed of -his chief merit of fidelity. - -Smollett’s version, published in 1755, may be almost counted as one of -these. At any rate it is plain that in its construction Jervas’s -translation was very freely drawn upon, and very little or probably no -heed given to the original Spanish. - -The later translations may be dismissed in a few words. George Kelly’s, -which appeared in 1769, “printed for the Translator,” was an impudent -imposture, being nothing more than Motteux’s version with a few of the -words, here and there, artfully transposed; Charles Wilmot’s (1774) was -only an abridgment like Florian’s, but not so skilfully executed; and -the version published by Miss Smirke in 1818, to accompany her -brother’s plates, was merely a patchwork production made out of former -translations. On the latest, Mr. A. J. Duffield’s, it would be in every -sense of the word impertinent in me to offer an opinion here. I had not -even seen it when the present undertaking was proposed to me, and since -then I may say vidi tantum, having for obvious reasons resisted the -temptation which Mr. Duffield’s reputation and comely volumes hold out -to every lover of Cervantes. - -From the foregoing history of our translations of “Don Quixote,” it -will be seen that there are a good many people who, provided they get -the mere narrative with its full complement of facts, incidents, and -adventures served up to them in a form that amuses them, care very -little whether that form is the one in which Cervantes originally -shaped his ideas. On the other hand, it is clear that there are many -who desire to have not merely the story he tells, but the story as he -tells it, so far at least as differences of idiom and circumstances -permit, and who will give a preference to the conscientious translator, -even though he may have acquitted himself somewhat awkwardly. - -But after all there is no real antagonism between the two classes; -there is no reason why what pleases the one should not please the -other, or why a translator who makes it his aim to treat “Don Quixote” -with the respect due to a great classic, should not be as acceptable -even to the careless reader as the one who treats it as a famous old -jest-book. It is not a question of caviare to the general, or, if it -is, the fault rests with him who makes so. The method by which -Cervantes won the ear of the Spanish people ought, mutatis mutandis, to -be equally effective with the great majority of English readers. At any -rate, even if there are readers to whom it is a matter of indifference, -fidelity to the method is as much a part of the translator’s duty as -fidelity to the matter. If he can please all parties, so much the -better; but his first duty is to those who look to him for as faithful -a representation of his author as it is in his power to give them, -faithful to the letter so long as fidelity is practicable, faithful to -the spirit so far as he can make it. - -My purpose here is not to dogmatise on the rules of translation, but to -indicate those I have followed, or at least tried to the best of my -ability to follow, in the present instance. One which, it seems to me, -cannot be too rigidly followed in translating “Don Quixote,” is to -avoid everything that savours of affectation. The book itself is, -indeed, in one sense a protest against it, and no man abhorred it more -than Cervantes. For this reason, I think, any temptation to use -antiquated or obsolete language should be resisted. It is after all an -affectation, and one for which there is no warrant or excuse. Spanish -has probably undergone less change since the seventeenth century than -any language in Europe, and by far the greater and certainly the best -part of “Don Quixote” differs but little in language from the -colloquial Spanish of the present day. Except in the tales and Don -Quixote’s speeches, the translator who uses the simplest and plainest -everyday language will almost always be the one who approaches nearest -to the original. - -Seeing that the story of “Don Quixote” and all its characters and -incidents have now been for more than two centuries and a half familiar -as household words in English mouths, it seems to me that the old -familiar names and phrases should not be changed without good reason. -Of course a translator who holds that “Don Quixote” should receive the -treatment a great classic deserves, will feel himself bound by the -injunction laid upon the Morisco in Chap. IX not to omit or add -anything. - -II: ABOUT CERVANTES AND DON QUIXOTE - -Four generations had laughed over “Don Quixote” before it occurred to -anyone to ask, who and what manner of man was this Miguel de Cervantes -Saavedra whose name is on the title-page; and it was too late for a -satisfactory answer to the question when it was proposed to add a life -of the author to the London edition published at Lord Carteret’s -instance in 1738. All traces of the personality of Cervantes had by -that time disappeared. Any floating traditions that may once have -existed, transmitted from men who had known him, had long since died -out, and of other record there was none; for the sixteenth and -seventeenth centuries were incurious as to “the men of the time,” a -reproach against which the nineteenth has, at any rate, secured itself, -if it has produced no Shakespeare or Cervantes. All that Mayans y -Siscar, to whom the task was entrusted, or any of those who followed -him, Rios, Pellicer, or Navarrete, could do was to eke out the few -allusions Cervantes makes to himself in his various prefaces with such -pieces of documentary evidence bearing upon his life as they could -find. - -This, however, has been done by the last-named biographer to such good -purpose that he has superseded all predecessors. Thoroughness is the -chief characteristic of Navarrete’s work. Besides sifting, testing, and -methodising with rare patience and judgment what had been previously -brought to light, he left, as the saying is, no stone unturned under -which anything to illustrate his subject might possibly be found. -Navarrete has done all that industry and acumen could do, and it is no -fault of his if he has not given us what we want. What Hallam says of -Shakespeare may be applied to the almost parallel case of Cervantes: -“It is not the register of his baptism, or the draft of his will, or -the orthography of his name that we seek; no letter of his writing, no -record of his conversation, no character of him drawn ... by a -contemporary has been produced.” - -It is only natural, therefore, that the biographers of Cervantes, -forced to make brick without straw, should have recourse largely to -conjecture, and that conjecture should in some instances come by -degrees to take the place of established fact. All that I propose to do -here is to separate what is matter of fact from what is matter of -conjecture, and leave it to the reader’s judgment to decide whether the -data justify the inference or not. - -The men whose names by common consent stand in the front rank of -Spanish literature, Cervantes, Lope de Vega, Quevedo, Calderon, -Garcilaso de la Vega, the Mendozas, Gongora, were all men of ancient -families, and, curiously, all, except the last, of families that traced -their origin to the same mountain district in the North of Spain. The -family of Cervantes is commonly said to have been of Galician origin, -and unquestionably it was in possession of lands in Galicia at a very -early date; but I think the balance of the evidence tends to show that -the “solar,” the original site of the family, was at Cervatos in the -north-west corner of Old Castile, close to the junction of Castile, -Leon, and the Asturias. As it happens, there is a complete history of -the Cervantes family from the tenth century down to the seventeenth -extant under the title of “Illustrious Ancestry, Glorious Deeds, and -Noble Posterity of the Famous Nuno Alfonso, Alcaide of Toledo,” written -in 1648 by the industrious genealogist Rodrigo Mendez Silva, who -availed himself of a manuscript genealogy by Juan de Mena, the poet -laureate and historiographer of John II. - -The origin of the name Cervantes is curious. Nuno Alfonso was almost as -distinguished in the struggle against the Moors in the reign of Alfonso -VII as the Cid had been half a century before in that of Alfonso VI, -and was rewarded by divers grants of land in the neighbourhood of -Toledo. On one of his acquisitions, about two leagues from the city, he -built himself a castle which he called Cervatos, because “he was lord -of the solar of Cervatos in the Montana,” as the mountain region -extending from the Basque Provinces to Leon was always called. At his -death in battle in 1143, the castle passed by his will to his son -Alfonso Munio, who, as territorial or local surnames were then coming -into vogue in place of the simple patronymic, took the additional name -of Cervatos. His eldest son Pedro succeeded him in the possession of -the castle, and followed his example in adopting the name, an -assumption at which the younger son, Gonzalo, seems to have taken -umbrage. - -Everyone who has paid even a flying visit to Toledo will remember the -ruined castle that crowns the hill above the spot where the bridge of -Alcántara spans the gorge of the Tagus, and with its broken outline and -crumbling walls makes such an admirable pendant to the square solid -Alcazar towering over the city roofs on the opposite side. It was -built, or as some say restored, by Alfonso VI shortly after his -occupation of Toledo in 1085, and called by him San Servando after a -Spanish martyr, a name subsequently modified into San Servan (in which -form it appears in the “Poem of the Cid”), San Servantes, and San -Cervantes: with regard to which last the “Handbook for Spain” warns its -readers against the supposition that it has anything to do with the -author of “Don Quixote.” Ford, as all know who have taken him for a -companion and counsellor on the roads of Spain, is seldom wrong in -matters of literature or history. In this instance, however, he is in -error. It has everything to do with the author of “Don Quixote,” for it -is in fact these old walls that have given to Spain the name she is -proudest of to-day. Gonzalo, above mentioned, it may be readily -conceived, did not relish the appropriation by his brother of a name to -which he himself had an equal right, for though nominally taken from -the castle, it was in reality derived from the ancient territorial -possession of the family, and as a set-off, and to distinguish himself -(diferenciarse) from his brother, he took as a surname the name of the -castle on the bank of the Tagus, in the building of which, according to -a family tradition, his great-grandfather had a share. - -Both brothers founded families. The Cervantes branch had more tenacity; -it sent offshoots in various directions, Andalusia, Estremadura, -Galicia, and Portugal, and produced a goodly line of men distinguished -in the service of Church and State. Gonzalo himself, and apparently a -son of his, followed Ferdinand III in the great campaign of 1236-48 -that gave Cordova and Seville to Christian Spain and penned up the -Moors in the kingdom of Granada, and his descendants intermarried with -some of the noblest families of the Peninsula and numbered among them -soldiers, magistrates, and Church dignitaries, including at least two -cardinal-archbishops. - -Of the line that settled in Andalusia, Deigo de Cervantes, Commander of -the Order of Santiago, married Juana Avellaneda, daughter of Juan Arias -de Saavedra, and had several sons, of whom one was Gonzalo Gomez, -Corregidor of Jerez and ancestor of the Mexican and Columbian branches -of the family; and another, Juan, whose son Rodrigo married Doña Leonor -de Cortinas, and by her had four children, Rodrigo, Andrea, Luisa, and -Miguel, our author. - -The pedigree of Cervantes is not without its bearing on “Don Quixote.” -A man who could look back upon an ancestry of genuine knights-errant -extending from well-nigh the time of Pelayo to the siege of Granada was -likely to have a strong feeling on the subject of the sham chivalry of -the romances. It gives a point, too, to what he says in more than one -place about families that have once been great and have tapered away -until they have come to nothing, like a pyramid. It was the case of his -own. - -He was born at Alcalá de Henares and baptised in the church of Santa -Maria Mayor on the 9th of October, 1547. Of his boyhood and youth we -know nothing, unless it be from the glimpse he gives us in the preface -to his “Comedies” of himself as a boy looking on with delight while -Lope de Rueda and his company set up their rude plank stage in the -plaza and acted the rustic farces which he himself afterwards took as -the model of his interludes. This first glimpse, however, is a -significant one, for it shows the early development of that love of the -drama which exercised such an influence on his life and seems to have -grown stronger as he grew older, and of which this very preface, -written only a few months before his death, is such a striking proof. -He gives us to understand, too, that he was a great reader in his -youth; but of this no assurance was needed, for the First Part of “Don -Quixote” alone proves a vast amount of miscellaneous reading, romances -of chivalry, ballads, popular poetry, chronicles, for which he had no -time or opportunity except in the first twenty years of his life; and -his misquotations and mistakes in matters of detail are always, it may -be noticed, those of a man recalling the reading of his boyhood. - -Other things besides the drama were in their infancy when Cervantes was -a boy. The period of his boyhood was in every way a transition period -for Spain. The old chivalrous Spain had passed away. The new Spain was -the mightiest power the world had seen since the Roman Empire and it -had not yet been called upon to pay the price of its greatness. By the -policy of Ferdinand and Ximenez the sovereign had been made absolute, -and the Church and Inquisition adroitly adjusted to keep him so. The -nobles, who had always resisted absolutism as strenuously as they had -fought the Moors, had been divested of all political power, a like fate -had befallen the cities, the free constitutions of Castile and Aragon -had been swept away, and the only function that remained to the Cortés -was that of granting money at the King’s dictation. - -The transition extended to literature. Men who, like Garcilaso de la -Vega and Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, followed the Italian wars, had -brought back from Italy the products of the post-Renaissance -literature, which took root and flourished and even threatened to -extinguish the native growths. Damon and Thyrsis, Phyllis and Chloe had -been fairly naturalised in Spain, together with all the devices of -pastoral poetry for investing with an air of novelty the idea of a -dispairing shepherd and inflexible shepherdess. As a set-off against -this, the old historical and traditional ballads, and the true -pastorals, the songs and ballads of peasant life, were being collected -assiduously and printed in the cancioneros that succeeded one another -with increasing rapidity. But the most notable consequence, perhaps, of -the spread of printing was the flood of romances of chivalry that had -continued to pour from the press ever since Garci Ordoñez de Montalvo -had resuscitated “Amadis of Gaul” at the beginning of the century. - -For a youth fond of reading, solid or light, there could have been no -better spot in Spain than Alcalá de Henares in the middle of the -sixteenth century. It was then a busy, populous university town, -something more than the enterprising rival of Salamanca, and altogether -a very different place from the melancholy, silent, deserted Alcalá the -traveller sees now as he goes from Madrid to Saragossa. Theology and -medicine may have been the strong points of the university, but the -town itself seems to have inclined rather to the humanities and light -literature, and as a producer of books Alcalá was already beginning to -compete with the older presses of Toledo, Burgos, Salamanca and -Seville. - -A pendant to the picture Cervantes has given us of his first playgoings -might, no doubt, have been often seen in the streets of Alcalá at that -time; a bright, eager, tawny-haired boy peering into a book-shop where -the latest volumes lay open to tempt the public, wondering, it may be, -what that little book with the woodcut of the blind beggar and his boy, -that called itself “Vida de Lazarillo de Tormes, segunda impresion,” -could be about; or with eyes brimming over with merriment gazing at one -of those preposterous portraits of a knight-errant in outrageous -panoply and plumes with which the publishers of chivalry romances loved -to embellish the title-pages of their folios. If the boy was the father -of the man, the sense of the incongruous that was strong at fifty was -lively at ten, and some such reflections as these may have been the -true genesis of “Don Quixote.” - -For his more solid education, we are told, he went to Salamanca. But -why Rodrigo de Cervantes, who was very poor, should have sent his son -to a university a hundred and fifty miles away when he had one at his -own door, would be a puzzle, if we had any reason for supposing that he -did so. The only evidence is a vague statement by Professor Tomas -Gonzalez, that he once saw an old entry of the matriculation of a -Miguel de Cervantes. This does not appear to have been ever seen again; -but even if it had, and if the date corresponded, it would prove -nothing, as there were at least two other Miguels born about the middle -of the century; one of them, moreover, a Cervantes Saavedra, a cousin, -no doubt, who was a source of great embarrassment to the biographers. - -That he was a student neither at Salamanca nor at Alcalá is best proved -by his own works. No man drew more largely upon experience than he did, -and he has nowhere left a single reminiscence of student life—for the -“Tia Fingida,” if it be his, is not one—nothing, not even “a college -joke,” to show that he remembered days that most men remember best. All -that we know positively about his education is that Juan Lopez de -Hoyos, a professor of humanities and belles-lettres of some eminence, -calls him his “dear and beloved pupil.” This was in a little collection -of verses by different hands on the death of Isabel de Valois, second -queen of Philip II., published by the professor in 1569, to which -Cervantes contributed four pieces, including an elegy, and an epitaph -in the form of a sonnet. It is only by a rare chance that a “Lycidas” -finds its way into a volume of this sort, and Cervantes was no Milton. -His verses are no worse than such things usually are; so much, at -least, may be said for them. - -By the time the book appeared he had left Spain, and, as fate ordered -it, for twelve years, the most eventful ones of his life. Giulio, -afterwards Cardinal, Acquaviva had been sent at the end of 1568 to -Philip II. by the Pope on a mission, partly of condolence, partly -political, and on his return to Rome, which was somewhat brusquely -expedited by the King, he took Cervantes with him as his camarero -(chamberlain), the office he himself held in the Pope’s household. The -post would no doubt have led to advancement at the Papal Court had -Cervantes retained it, but in the summer of 1570 he resigned it and -enlisted as a private soldier in Captain Diego Urbina’s company, -belonging to Don Miguel de Moncada’s regiment, but at that time forming -a part of the command of Marc Antony Colonna. What impelled him to this -step we know not, whether it was distaste for the career before him, or -purely military enthusiasm. It may well have been the latter, for it -was a stirring time; the events, however, which led to the alliance -between Spain, Venice, and the Pope, against the common enemy, the -Porte, and to the victory of the combined fleets at Lepanto, belong -rather to the history of Europe than to the life of Cervantes. He was -one of those that sailed from Messina, in September 1571, under the -command of Don John of Austria; but on the morning of the 7th of -October, when the Turkish fleet was sighted, he was lying below ill -with fever. At the news that the enemy was in sight he rose, and, in -spite of the remonstrances of his comrades and superiors, insisted on -taking his post, saying he preferred death in the service of God and -the King to health. His galley, the _Marquesa_, was in the thick of the -fight, and before it was over he had received three gunshot wounds, two -in the breast and one in the left hand or arm. On the morning after the -battle, according to Navarrete, he had an interview with the -commander-in-chief, Don John, who was making a personal inspection of -the wounded, one result of which was an addition of three crowns to his -pay, and another, apparently, the friendship of his general. - -How severely Cervantes was wounded may be inferred from the fact, that -with youth, a vigorous frame, and as cheerful and buoyant a temperament -as ever invalid had, he was seven months in hospital at Messina before -he was discharged. He came out with his left hand permanently disabled; -he had lost the use of it, as Mercury told him in the “Viaje del -Parnaso” for the greater glory of the right. This, however, did not -absolutely unfit him for service, and in April 1572 he joined Manuel -Ponce de Leon’s company of Lope de Figueroa’s regiment, in which, it -seems probable, his brother Rodrigo was serving, and shared in the -operations of the next three years, including the capture of the -Goletta and Tunis. Taking advantage of the lull which followed the -recapture of these places by the Turks, he obtained leave to return to -Spain, and sailed from Naples in September 1575 on board the _Sun_ -galley, in company with his brother Rodrigo, Pedro Carrillo de Quesada, -late Governor of the Goletta, and some others, and furnished with -letters from Don John of Austria and the Duke of Sesa, the Viceroy of -Sicily, recommending him to the King for the command of a company, on -account of his services; a _dono infelice_ as events proved. On the -26th they fell in with a squadron of Algerine galleys, and after a -stout resistance were overpowered and carried into Algiers. - -By means of a ransomed fellow-captive the brothers contrived to inform -their family of their condition, and the poor people at Alcalá at once -strove to raise the ransom money, the father disposing of all he -possessed, and the two sisters giving up their marriage portions. But -Dali Mami had found on Cervantes the letters addressed to the King by -Don John and the Duke of Sesa, and, concluding that his prize must be a -person of great consequence, when the money came he refused it -scornfully as being altogether insufficient. The owner of Rodrigo, -however, was more easily satisfied; ransom was accepted in his case, -and it was arranged between the brothers that he should return to Spain -and procure a vessel in which he was to come back to Algiers and take -off Miguel and as many of their comrades as possible. This was not the -first attempt to escape that Cervantes had made. Soon after the -commencement of his captivity he induced several of his companions to -join him in trying to reach Oran, then a Spanish post, on foot; but -after the first day’s journey, the Moor who had agreed to act as their -guide deserted them, and they had no choice but to return. The second -attempt was more disastrous. In a garden outside the city on the -sea-shore, he constructed, with the help of the gardener, a Spaniard, a -hiding-place, to which he brought, one by one, fourteen of his -fellow-captives, keeping them there in secrecy for several months, and -supplying them with food through a renegade known as El Dorador, “the -Gilder.” How he, a captive himself, contrived to do all this, is one of -the mysteries of the story. Wild as the project may appear, it was very -nearly successful. The vessel procured by Rodrigo made its appearance -off the coast, and under cover of night was proceeding to take off the -refugees, when the crew were alarmed by a passing fishing boat, and -beat a hasty retreat. On renewing the attempt shortly afterwards, they, -or a portion of them at least, were taken prisoners, and just as the -poor fellows in the garden were exulting in the thought that in a few -moments more freedom would be within their grasp, they found themselves -surrounded by Turkish troops, horse and foot. The Dorador had revealed -the whole scheme to the Dey Hassan. - -When Cervantes saw what had befallen them, he charged his companions to -lay all the blame upon him, and as they were being bound he declared -aloud that the whole plot was of his contriving, and that nobody else -had any share in it. Brought before the Dey, he said the same. He was -threatened with impalement and with torture; and as cutting off ears -and noses were playful freaks with the Algerines, it may be conceived -what their tortures were like; but nothing could make him swerve from -his original statement that he and he alone was responsible. The upshot -was that the unhappy gardener was hanged by his master, and the -prisoners taken possession of by the Dey, who, however, afterwards -restored most of them to their masters, but kept Cervantes, paying Dali -Mami 500 crowns for him. He felt, no doubt, that a man of such -resource, energy, and daring, was too dangerous a piece of property to -be left in private hands; and he had him heavily ironed and lodged in -his own prison. If he thought that by these means he could break the -spirit or shake the resolution of his prisoner, he was soon undeceived, -for Cervantes contrived before long to despatch a letter to the -Governor of Oran, entreating him to send him someone that could be -trusted, to enable him and three other gentlemen, fellow-captives of -his, to make their escape; intending evidently to renew his first -attempt with a more trustworthy guide. Unfortunately the Moor who -carried the letter was stopped just outside Oran, and the letter being -found upon him, he was sent back to Algiers, where by the order of the -Dey he was promptly impaled as a warning to others, while Cervantes was -condemned to receive two thousand blows of the stick, a number which -most likely would have deprived the world of “Don Quixote,” had not -some persons, who they were we know not, interceded on his behalf. - -After this he seems to have been kept in still closer confinement than -before, for nearly two years passed before he made another attempt. -This time his plan was to purchase, by the aid of a Spanish renegade -and two Valencian merchants resident in Algiers, an armed vessel in -which he and about sixty of the leading captives were to make their -escape; but just as they were about to put it into execution one Doctor -Juan Blanco de Paz, an ecclesiastic and a compatriot, informed the Dey -of the plot. Cervantes by force of character, by his self-devotion, by -his untiring energy and his exertions to lighten the lot of his -companions in misery, had endeared himself to all, and become the -leading spirit in the captive colony, and, incredible as it may seem, -jealousy of his influence and the esteem in which he was held, moved -this man to compass his destruction by a cruel death. The merchants -finding that the Dey knew all, and fearing that Cervantes under torture -might make disclosures that would imperil their own lives, tried to -persuade him to slip away on board a vessel that was on the point of -sailing for Spain; but he told them they had nothing to fear, for no -tortures would make him compromise anybody, and he went at once and -gave himself up to the Dey. - -As before, the Dey tried to force him to name his accomplices. -Everything was made ready for his immediate execution; the halter was -put round his neck and his hands tied behind him, but all that could be -got from him was that he himself, with the help of four gentlemen who -had since left Algiers, had arranged the whole, and that the sixty who -were to accompany him were not to know anything of it until the last -moment. Finding he could make nothing of him, the Dey sent him back to -prison more heavily ironed than before. - -The poverty-stricken Cervantes family had been all this time trying -once more to raise the ransom money, and at last a sum of three hundred -ducats was got together and entrusted to the Redemptorist Father Juan -Gil, who was about to sail for Algiers. The Dey, however, demanded more -than double the sum offered, and as his term of office had expired and -he was about to sail for Constantinople, taking all his slaves with -him, the case of Cervantes was critical. He was already on board -heavily ironed, when the Dey at length agreed to reduce his demand by -one-half, and Father Gil by borrowing was able to make up the amount, -and on September 19, 1580, after a captivity of five years all but a -week, Cervantes was at last set free. Before long he discovered that -Blanco de Paz, who claimed to be an officer of the Inquisition, was now -concocting on false evidence a charge of misconduct to be brought -against him on his return to Spain. To checkmate him Cervantes drew up -a series of twenty-five questions, covering the whole period of his -captivity, upon which he requested Father Gil to take the depositions -of credible witnesses before a notary. Eleven witnesses taken from -among the principal captives in Algiers deposed to all the facts above -stated and to a great deal more besides. There is something touching in -the admiration, love, and gratitude we see struggling to find -expression in the formal language of the notary, as they testify one -after another to the good deeds of Cervantes, how he comforted and -helped the weak-hearted, how he kept up their drooping courage, how he -shared his poor purse with this deponent, and how “in him this deponent -found father and mother.” - -On his return to Spain he found his old regiment about to march for -Portugal to support Philip’s claim to the crown, and utterly penniless -now, had no choice but to rejoin it. He was in the expeditions to the -Azores in 1582 and the following year, and on the conclusion of the war -returned to Spain in the autumn of 1583, bringing with him the -manuscript of his pastoral romance, the “Galatea,” and probably also, -to judge by internal evidence, that of the first portion of “Persiles -and Sigismunda.” He also brought back with him, his biographers assert, -an infant daughter, the offspring of an amour, as some of them with -great circumstantiality inform us, with a Lisbon lady of noble birth, -whose name, however, as well as that of the street she lived in, they -omit to mention. The sole foundation for all this is that in 1605 there -certainly was living in the family of Cervantes a Doña Isabel de -Saavedra, who is described in an official document as his natural -daughter, and then twenty years of age. - -With his crippled left hand promotion in the army was hopeless, now -that Don John was dead and he had no one to press his claims and -services, and for a man drawing on to forty life in the ranks was a -dismal prospect; he had already a certain reputation as a poet; he made -up his mind, therefore, to cast his lot with literature, and for a -first venture committed his “Galatea” to the press. It was published, -as Salva y Mallen shows conclusively, at Alcalá, his own birth-place, -in 1585 and no doubt helped to make his name more widely known, but -certainly did not do him much good in any other way. - -While it was going through the press, he married Doña Catalina de -Palacios Salazar y Vozmediano, a lady of Esquivias near Madrid, and -apparently a friend of the family, who brought him a fortune which may -possibly have served to keep the wolf from the door, but if so, that -was all. The drama had by this time outgrown market-place stages and -strolling companies, and with his old love for it he naturally turned -to it for a congenial employment. In about three years he wrote twenty -or thirty plays, which he tells us were performed without any throwing -of cucumbers or other missiles, and ran their course without any -hisses, outcries, or disturbance. In other words, his plays were not -bad enough to be hissed off the stage, but not good enough to hold -their own upon it. Only two of them have been preserved, but as they -happen to be two of the seven or eight he mentions with complacency, we -may assume they are favourable specimens, and no one who reads the -“Numancia” and the “Trato de Argel” will feel any surprise that they -failed as acting dramas. Whatever merits they may have, whatever -occasional they may show, they are, as regards construction, incurably -clumsy. How completely they failed is manifest from the fact that with -all his sanguine temperament and indomitable perseverance he was unable -to maintain the struggle to gain a livelihood as a dramatist for more -than three years; nor was the rising popularity of Lope the cause, as -is often said, notwithstanding his own words to the contrary. When Lope -began to write for the stage is uncertain, but it was certainly after -Cervantes went to Seville. - -Among the “Nuevos Documentos” printed by Señor Asensio y Toledo is one -dated 1592, and curiously characteristic of Cervantes. It is an -agreement with one Rodrigo Osorio, a manager, who was to accept six -comedies at fifty ducats (about 6l.) apiece, not to be paid in any case -unless it appeared on representation that the said comedy was one of -the best that had ever been represented in Spain. The test does not -seem to have been ever applied; perhaps it was sufficiently apparent to -Rodrigo Osorio that the comedies were not among the best that had ever -been represented. Among the correspondence of Cervantes there might -have been found, no doubt, more than one letter like that we see in the -“Rake’s Progress,” “Sir, I have read your play, and it will not doo.” - -He was more successful in a literary contest at Saragossa in 1595 in -honour of the canonisation of St. Jacinto, when his composition won the -first prize, three silver spoons. The year before this he had been -appointed a collector of revenues for the kingdom of Granada. In order -to remit the money he had collected more conveniently to the treasury, -he entrusted it to a merchant, who failed and absconded; and as the -bankrupt’s assets were insufficient to cover the whole, he was sent to -prison at Seville in September 1597. The balance against him, however, -was a small one, about 26l., and on giving security for it he was -released at the end of the year. - -It was as he journeyed from town to town collecting the king’s taxes, -that he noted down those bits of inn and wayside life and character -that abound in the pages of “Don Quixote:” the Benedictine monks with -spectacles and sunshades, mounted on their tall mules; the strollers in -costume bound for the next village; the barber with his basin on his -head, on his way to bleed a patient; the recruit with his breeches in -his bundle, tramping along the road singing; the reapers gathered in -the venta gateway listening to “Felixmarte of Hircania” read out to -them; and those little Hogarthian touches that he so well knew how to -bring in, the ox-tail hanging up with the landlord’s comb stuck in it, -the wine-skins at the bed-head, and those notable examples of hostelry -art, Helen going off in high spirits on Paris’s arm, and Dido on the -tower dropping tears as big as walnuts. Nay, it may well be that on -those journeys into remote regions he came across now and then a -specimen of the pauper gentleman, with his lean hack and his greyhound -and his books of chivalry, dreaming away his life in happy ignorance -that the world had changed since his great-grandfather’s old helmet was -new. But it was in Seville that he found out his true vocation, though -he himself would not by any means have admitted it to be so. It was -there, in Triana, that he was first tempted to try his hand at drawing -from life, and first brought his humour into play in the exquisite -little sketch of “Rinconete y Cortadillo,” the germ, in more ways than -one, of “Don Quixote.” - -Where and when that was written, we cannot tell. After his imprisonment -all trace of Cervantes in his official capacity disappears, from which -it may be inferred that he was not reinstated. That he was still in -Seville in November 1598 appears from a satirical sonnet of his on the -elaborate catafalque erected to testify the grief of the city at the -death of Philip II, but from this up to 1603 we have no clue to his -movements. The words in the preface to the First Part of “Don Quixote” -are generally held to be conclusive that he conceived the idea of the -book, and wrote the beginning of it at least, in a prison, and that he -may have done so is extremely likely. - -There is a tradition that Cervantes read some portions of his work to a -select audience at the Duke of Bejar’s, which may have helped to make -the book known; but the obvious conclusion is that the First Part of -“Don Quixote” lay on his hands some time before he could find a -publisher bold enough to undertake a venture of so novel a character; -and so little faith in it had Francisco Robles of Madrid, to whom at -last he sold it, that he did not care to incur the expense of securing -the copyright for Aragon or Portugal, contenting himself with that for -Castile. The printing was finished in December, and the book came out -with the new year, 1605. It is often said that “Don Quixote” was at -first received coldly. The facts show just the contrary. No sooner was -it in the hands of the public than preparations were made to issue -pirated editions at Lisbon and Valencia, and to bring out a second -edition with the additional copyrights for Aragon and Portugal, which -he secured in February. - -No doubt it was received with something more than coldness by certain -sections of the community. Men of wit, taste, and discrimination among -the aristocracy gave it a hearty welcome, but the aristocracy in -general were not likely to relish a book that turned their favourite -reading into ridicule and laughed at so many of their favourite ideas. -The dramatists who gathered round Lope as their leader regarded -Cervantes as their common enemy, and it is plain that he was equally -obnoxious to the other clique, the culto poets who had Gongora for -their chief. Navarrete, who knew nothing of the letter above mentioned, -tries hard to show that the relations between Cervantes and Lope were -of a very friendly sort, as indeed they were until “Don Quixote” was -written. Cervantes, indeed, to the last generously and manfully -declared his admiration of Lope’s powers, his unfailing invention, and -his marvellous fertility; but in the preface of the First Part of “Don -Quixote” and in the verses of “Urganda the Unknown,” and one or two -other places, there are, if we read between the lines, sly hits at -Lope’s vanities and affectations that argue no personal good-will; and -Lope openly sneers at “Don Quixote” and Cervantes, and fourteen years -after his death gives him only a few lines of cold commonplace in the -“Laurel de Apolo,” that seem all the colder for the eulogies of a host -of nonentities whose names are found nowhere else. - -In 1601 Valladolid was made the seat of the Court, and at the beginning -of 1603 Cervantes had been summoned thither in connection with the -balance due by him to the Treasury, which was still outstanding. He -remained at Valladolid, apparently supporting himself by agencies and -scrivener’s work of some sort; probably drafting petitions and drawing -up statements of claims to be presented to the Council, and the like. -So, at least, we gather from the depositions taken on the occasion of -the death of a gentleman, the victim of a street brawl, who had been -carried into the house in which he lived. In these he himself is -described as a man who wrote and transacted business, and it appears -that his household then consisted of his wife, the natural daughter -Isabel de Saavedra already mentioned, his sister Andrea, now a widow, -her daughter Constanza, a mysterious Magdalena de Sotomayor calling -herself his sister, for whom his biographers cannot account, and a -servant-maid. - -Meanwhile “Don Quixote” had been growing in favour, and its author’s -name was now known beyond the Pyrenees. In 1607 an edition was printed -at Brussels. Robles, the Madrid publisher, found it necessary to meet -the demand by a third edition, the seventh in all, in 1608. The -popularity of the book in Italy was such that a Milan bookseller was -led to bring out an edition in 1610; and another was called for in -Brussels in 1611. It might naturally have been expected that, with such -proofs before him that he had hit the taste of the public, Cervantes -would have at once set about redeeming his rather vague promise of a -second volume. - -But, to all appearance, nothing was farther from his thoughts. He had -still by him one or two short tales of the same vintage as those he had -inserted in “Don Quixote” and instead of continuing the adventures of -Don Quixote, he set to work to write more of these “Novelas Exemplares” -as he afterwards called them, with a view to making a book of them. - -The novels were published in the summer of 1613, with a dedication to -the Conde de Lemos, the Maecenas of the day, and with one of those -chatty confidential prefaces Cervantes was so fond of. In this, eight -years and a half after the First Part of “Don Quixote” had appeared, we -get the first hint of a forthcoming Second Part. “You shall see -shortly,” he says, “the further exploits of Don Quixote and humours of -Sancho Panza.” His idea of “shortly” was a somewhat elastic one, for, -as we know by the date to Sancho’s letter, he had barely one-half of -the book completed that time twelvemonth. - -But more than poems, or pastorals, or novels, it was his dramatic -ambition that engrossed his thoughts. The same indomitable spirit that -kept him from despair in the bagnios of Algiers, and prompted him to -attempt the escape of himself and his comrades again and again, made -him persevere in spite of failure and discouragement in his efforts to -win the ear of the public as a dramatist. The temperament of Cervantes -was essentially sanguine. The portrait he draws in the preface to the -novels, with the aquiline features, chestnut hair, smooth untroubled -forehead, and bright cheerful eyes, is the very portrait of a sanguine -man. Nothing that the managers might say could persuade him that the -merits of his plays would not be recognised at last if they were only -given a fair chance. The old soldier of the Spanish Salamis was bent on -being the Aeschylus of Spain. He was to found a great national drama, -based on the true principles of art, that was to be the envy of all -nations; he was to drive from the stage the silly, childish plays, the -“mirrors of nonsense and models of folly” that were in vogue through -the cupidity of the managers and shortsightedness of the authors; he -was to correct and educate the public taste until it was ripe for -tragedies on the model of the Greek drama—like the “Numancia” for -instance—and comedies that would not only amuse but improve and -instruct. All this he was to do, could he once get a hearing: there was -the initial difficulty. - -He shows plainly enough, too, that “Don Quixote” and the demolition of -the chivalry romances was not the work that lay next his heart. He was, -indeed, as he says himself in his preface, more a stepfather than a -father to “Don Quixote.” Never was great work so neglected by its -author. That it was written carelessly, hastily, and by fits and -starts, was not always his fault, but it seems clear he never read what -he sent to the press. He knew how the printers had blundered, but he -never took the trouble to correct them when the third edition was in -progress, as a man who really cared for the child of his brain would -have done. He appears to have regarded the book as little more than a -mere libro de entretenimiento, an amusing book, a thing, as he says in -the “Viaje,” “to divert the melancholy moody heart at any time or -season.” No doubt he had an affection for his hero, and was very proud -of Sancho Panza. It would have been strange indeed if he had not been -proud of the most humorous creation in all fiction. He was proud, too, -of the popularity and success of the book, and beyond measure -delightful is the naivete with which he shows his pride in a dozen -passages in the Second Part. But it was not the success he coveted. In -all probability he would have given all the success of “Don Quixote,” -nay, would have seen every copy of “Don Quixote” burned in the Plaza -Mayor, for one such success as Lope de Vega was enjoying on an average -once a week. - -And so he went on, dawdling over “Don Quixote,” adding a chapter now -and again, and putting it aside to turn to “Persiles and -Sigismunda”—which, as we know, was to be the most entertaining book in -the language, and the rival of “Theagenes and Chariclea”—or finishing -off one of his darling comedies; and if Robles asked when “Don Quixote” -would be ready, the answer no doubt was: En breve—shortly, there was -time enough for that. At sixty-eight he was as full of life and hope -and plans for the future as a boy of eighteen. - -Nemesis was coming, however. He had got as far as Chapter LIX, which at -his leisurely pace he could hardly have reached before October or -November 1614, when there was put into his hand a small octave lately -printed at Tarragona, and calling itself “Second Volume of the -Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha: by the Licentiate Alonso -Fernandez de Avellaneda of Tordesillas.” The last half of Chapter LIX -and most of the following chapters of the Second Part give us some idea -of the effect produced upon him, and his irritation was not likely to -be lessened by the reflection that he had no one to blame but himself. -Had Avellaneda, in fact, been content with merely bringing out a -continuation to “Don Quixote,” Cervantes would have had no reasonable -grievance. His own intentions were expressed in the very vaguest -language at the end of the book; nay, in his last words, “forse altro -cantera con miglior plettro,” he seems actually to invite someone else -to continue the work, and he made no sign until eight years and a half -had gone by; by which time Avellaneda’s volume was no doubt written. - -In fact Cervantes had no case, or a very bad one, as far as the mere -continuation was concerned. But Avellaneda chose to write a preface to -it, full of such coarse personal abuse as only an ill-conditioned man -could pour out. He taunts Cervantes with being old, with having lost -his hand, with having been in prison, with being poor, with being -friendless, accuses him of envy of Lope’s success, of petulance and -querulousness, and so on; and it was in this that the sting lay. -Avellaneda’s reason for this personal attack is obvious enough. Whoever -he may have been, it is clear that he was one of the dramatists of -Lope’s school, for he has the impudence to charge Cervantes with -attacking him as well as Lope in his criticism on the drama. His -identification has exercised the best critics and baffled all the -ingenuity and research that has been brought to bear on it. Navarrete -and Ticknor both incline to the belief that Cervantes knew who he was; -but I must say I think the anger he shows suggests an invisible -assailant; it is like the irritation of a man stung by a mosquito in -the dark. Cervantes from certain solecisms of language pronounces him -to be an Aragonese, and Pellicer, an Aragonese himself, supports this -view and believes him, moreover, to have been an ecclesiastic, a -Dominican probably. - -Any merit Avellaneda has is reflected from Cervantes, and he is too -dull to reflect much. “Dull and dirty” will always be, I imagine, the -verdict of the vast majority of unprejudiced readers. He is, at best, a -poor plagiarist; all he can do is to follow slavishly the lead given -him by Cervantes; his only humour lies in making Don Quixote take inns -for castles and fancy himself some legendary or historical personage, -and Sancho mistake words, invert proverbs, and display his gluttony; -all through he shows a proclivity to coarseness and dirt, and he has -contrived to introduce two tales filthier than anything by the -sixteenth century novellieri and without their sprightliness. - -But whatever Avellaneda and his book may be, we must not forget the -debt we owe them. But for them, there can be no doubt, “Don Quixote” -would have come to us a mere torso instead of a complete work. Even if -Cervantes had finished the volume he had in hand, most assuredly he -would have left off with a promise of a Third Part, giving the further -adventures of Don Quixote and humours of Sancho Panza as shepherds. It -is plain that he had at one time an intention of dealing with the -pastoral romances as he had dealt with the books of chivalry, and but -for Avellaneda he would have tried to carry it out. But it is more -likely that, with his plans, and projects, and hopefulness, the volume -would have remained unfinished till his death, and that we should have -never made the acquaintance of the Duke and Duchess, or gone with -Sancho to Barataria. - -From the moment the book came into his hands he seems to have been -haunted by the fear that there might be more Avellanedas in the field, -and putting everything else aside, he set himself to finish off his -task and protect Don Quixote in the only way he could, by killing him. -The conclusion is no doubt a hasty and in some places clumsy piece of -work and the frequent repetition of the scolding administered to -Avellaneda becomes in the end rather wearisome; but it is, at any rate, -a conclusion and for that we must thank Avellaneda. - -The new volume was ready for the press in February, but was not printed -till the very end of 1615, and during the interval Cervantes put -together the comedies and interludes he had written within the last few -years, and, as he adds plaintively, found no demand for among the -managers, and published them with a preface, worth the book it -introduces tenfold, in which he gives an account of the early Spanish -stage, and of his own attempts as a dramatist. It is needless to say -they were put forward by Cervantes in all good faith and full -confidence in their merits. The reader, however, was not to suppose -they were his last word or final effort in the drama, for he had in -hand a comedy called “Engano a los ojos,” about which, if he mistook -not, there would be no question. - -Of this dramatic masterpiece the world has no opportunity of judging; -his health had been failing for some time, and he died, apparently of -dropsy, on the 23rd of April, 1616, the day on which England lost -Shakespeare, nominally at least, for the English calendar had not yet -been reformed. He died as he had lived, accepting his lot bravely and -cheerfully. - -Was it an unhappy life, that of Cervantes? His biographers all tell us -that it was; but I must say I doubt it. It was a hard life, a life of -poverty, of incessant struggle, of toil ill paid, of disappointment, -but Cervantes carried within himself the antidote to all these evils. -His was not one of those light natures that rise above adversity merely -by virtue of their own buoyancy; it was in the fortitude of a high -spirit that he was proof against it. It is impossible to conceive -Cervantes giving way to despondency or prostrated by dejection. As for -poverty, it was with him a thing to be laughed over, and the only sigh -he ever allows to escape him is when he says, “Happy he to whom Heaven -has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to -any but Heaven itself.” Add to all this his vital energy and mental -activity, his restless invention and his sanguine temperament, and -there will be reason enough to doubt whether his could have been a very -unhappy life. He who could take Cervantes’ distresses together with his -apparatus for enduring them would not make so bad a bargain, perhaps, -as far as happiness in life is concerned. - -Of his burial-place nothing is known except that he was buried, in -accordance with his will, in the neighbouring convent of Trinitarian -nuns, of which it is supposed his daughter, Isabel de Saavedra, was an -inmate, and that a few years afterwards the nuns removed to another -convent, carrying their dead with them. But whether the remains of -Cervantes were included in the removal or not no one knows, and the -clue to their resting-place is now lost beyond all hope. This furnishes -perhaps the least defensible of the items in the charge of neglect -brought against his contemporaries. In some of the others there is a -good deal of exaggeration. To listen to most of his biographers one -would suppose that all Spain was in league not only against the man but -against his memory, or at least that it was insensible to his merits, -and left him to live in misery and die of want. To talk of his hard -life and unworthy employments in Andalusia is absurd. What had he done -to distinguish him from thousands of other struggling men earning a -precarious livelihood? True, he was a gallant soldier, who had been -wounded and had undergone captivity and suffering in his country’s -cause, but there were hundreds of others in the same case. He had -written a mediocre specimen of an insipid class of romance, and some -plays which manifestly did not comply with the primary condition of -pleasing: were the playgoers to patronise plays that did not amuse -them, because the author was to produce “Don Quixote” twenty years -afterwards? - -The scramble for copies which, as we have seen, followed immediately on -the appearance of the book, does not look like general insensibility to -its merits. No doubt it was received coldly by some, but if a man -writes a book in ridicule of periwigs he must make his account with -being coldly received by the periwig wearers and hated by the whole -tribe of wigmakers. If Cervantes had the chivalry-romance readers, the -sentimentalists, the dramatists, and the poets of the period all -against him, it was because “Don Quixote” was what it was; and if the -general public did not come forward to make him comfortable for the -rest of his days, it is no more to be charged with neglect and -ingratitude than the English-speaking public that did not pay off -Scott’s liabilities. It did the best it could; it read his book and -liked it and bought it, and encouraged the bookseller to pay him well -for others. - -It has been also made a reproach to Spain that she has erected no -monument to the man she is proudest of; no monument, that is to say, of -him; for the bronze statue in the little garden of the Plaza de las -Cortés, a fair work of art no doubt, and unexceptionable had it been -set up to the local poet in the market-place of some provincial town, -is not worthy of Cervantes or of Madrid. But what need has Cervantes of -“such weak witness of his name;” or what could a monument do in his -case except testify to the self-glorification of those who had put it -up? Si monumentum quoeris, circumspice. The nearest bookseller’s shop -will show what bathos there would be in a monument to the author of -“Don Quixote.” - -Nine editions of the First Part of “Don Quixote” had already appeared -before Cervantes died, thirty thousand copies in all, according to his -own estimate, and a tenth was printed at Barcelona the year after his -death. So large a number naturally supplied the demand for some time, -but by 1634 it appears to have been exhausted; and from that time down -to the present day the stream of editions has continued to flow rapidly -and regularly. The translations show still more clearly in what request -the book has been from the very outset. In seven years from the -completion of the work it had been translated into the four leading -languages of Europe. Except the Bible, in fact, no book has been so -widely diffused as “Don Quixote.” The “Imitatio Christi” may have been -translated into as many different languages, and perhaps “Robinson -Crusoe” and the “Vicar of Wakefield” into nearly as many, but in -multiplicity of translations and editions “Don Quixote” leaves them all -far behind. - -Still more remarkable is the character of this wide diffusion. “Don -Quixote” has been thoroughly naturalised among people whose ideas about -knight-errantry, if they had any at all, were of the vaguest, who had -never seen or heard of a book of chivalry, who could not possibly feel -the humour of the burlesque or sympathise with the author’s purpose. -Another curious fact is that this, the most cosmopolitan book in the -world, is one of the most intensely national. “Manon Lescaut” is not -more thoroughly French, “Tom Jones” not more English, “Rob Roy” not -more Scotch, than “Don Quixote” is Spanish, in character, in ideas, in -sentiment, in local colour, in everything. What, then, is the secret of -this unparalleled popularity, increasing year by year for well-nigh -three centuries? One explanation, no doubt, is that of all the books in -the world, “Don Quixote” is the most catholic. There is something in it -for every sort of reader, young or old, sage or simple, high or low. As -Cervantes himself says with a touch of pride, “It is thumbed and read -and got by heart by people of all sorts; the children turn its leaves, -the young people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk -praise it.” - -But it would be idle to deny that the ingredient which, more than its -humour, or its wisdom, or the fertility of invention or knowledge of -human nature it displays, has insured its success with the multitude, -is the vein of farce that runs through it. It was the attack upon the -sheep, the battle with the wine-skins, Mambrino’s helmet, the balsam of -Fierabras, Don Quixote knocked over by the sails of the windmill, -Sancho tossed in the blanket, the mishaps and misadventures of master -and man, that were originally the great attraction, and perhaps are so -still to some extent with the majority of readers. It is plain that -“Don Quixote” was generally regarded at first, and indeed in Spain for -a long time, as little more than a queer droll book, full of laughable -incidents and absurd situations, very amusing, but not entitled to much -consideration or care. All the editions printed in Spain from 1637 to -1771, when the famous printer Ibarra took it up, were mere trade -editions, badly and carelessly printed on vile paper and got up in the -style of chap-books intended only for popular use, with, in most -instances, uncouth illustrations and clap-trap additions by the -publisher. - -To England belongs the credit of having been the first country to -recognise the right of “Don Quixote” to better treatment than this. The -London edition of 1738, commonly called Lord Carteret’s from having -been suggested by him, was not a mere _édition de luxe_. It produced -“Don Quixote” in becoming form as regards paper and type, and -embellished with plates which, if not particularly happy as -illustrations, were at least well intentioned and well executed, but it -also aimed at correctness of text, a matter to which nobody except the -editors of the Valencia and Brussels editions had given even a passing -thought; and for a first attempt it was fairly successful, for though -some of its emendations are inadmissible, a good many of them have been -adopted by all subsequent editors. - -The zeal of publishers, editors, and annotators brought about a -remarkable change of sentiment with regard to “Don Quixote.” A vast -number of its admirers began to grow ashamed of laughing over it. It -became almost a crime to treat it as a humorous book. The humour was -not entirely denied, but, according to the new view, it was rated as an -altogether secondary quality, a mere accessory, nothing more than the -stalking-horse under the presentation of which Cervantes shot his -philosophy or his satire, or whatever it was he meant to shoot; for on -this point opinions varied. All were agreed, however, that the object -he aimed at was not the books of chivalry. He said emphatically in the -preface to the First Part and in the last sentence of the Second, that -he had no other object in view than to discredit these books, and this, -to advanced criticism, made it clear that his object must have been -something else. - -One theory was that the book was a kind of allegory, setting forth the -eternal struggle between the ideal and the real, between the spirit of -poetry and the spirit of prose; and perhaps German philosophy never -evolved a more ungainly or unlikely camel out of the depths of its -inner consciousness. Something of the antagonism, no doubt, is to be -found in “Don Quixote,” because it is to be found everywhere in life, -and Cervantes drew from life. It is difficult to imagine a community in -which the never-ceasing game of cross-purposes between Sancho Panza and -Don Quixote would not be recognised as true to nature. In the stone -age, among the lake dwellers, among the cave men, there were Don -Quixotes and Sancho Panzas; there must have been the troglodyte who -never could see the facts before his eyes, and the troglodyte who could -see nothing else. But to suppose Cervantes deliberately setting himself -to expound any such idea in two stout quarto volumes is to suppose -something not only very unlike the age in which he lived, but -altogether unlike Cervantes himself, who would have been the first to -laugh at an attempt of the sort made by anyone else. - -The extraordinary influence of the romances of chivalry in his day is -quite enough to account for the genesis of the book. Some idea of the -prodigious development of this branch of literature in the sixteenth -century may be obtained from the scrutiny of Chapter VII, if the reader -bears in mind that only a portion of the romances belonging to by far -the largest group are enumerated. As to its effect upon the nation, -there is abundant evidence. From the time when the Amadises and -Palmerins began to grow popular down to the very end of the century, -there is a steady stream of invective, from men whose character and -position lend weight to their words, against the romances of chivalry -and the infatuation of their readers. Ridicule was the only besom to -sweep away that dust. - -That this was the task Cervantes set himself, and that he had ample -provocation to urge him to it, will be sufficiently clear to those who -look into the evidence; as it will be also that it was not chivalry -itself that he attacked and swept away. Of all the absurdities that, -thanks to poetry, will be repeated to the end of time, there is no -greater one than saying that “Cervantes smiled Spain’s chivalry away.” -In the first place there was no chivalry for him to smile away. Spain’s -chivalry had been dead for more than a century. Its work was done when -Granada fell, and as chivalry was essentially republican in its nature, -it could not live under the rule that Ferdinand substituted for the -free institutions of mediaeval Spain. What he did smile away was not -chivalry but a degrading mockery of it. - -The true nature of the “right arm” and the “bright array,” before -which, according to the poet, “the world gave ground,” and which -Cervantes’ single laugh demolished, may be gathered from the words of -one of his own countrymen, Don Felix Pacheco, as reported by Captain -George Carleton, in his “Military Memoirs from 1672 to 1713.” “Before -the appearance in the world of that labour of Cervantes,” he said, “it -was next to an impossibility for a man to walk the streets with any -delight or without danger. There were seen so many cavaliers prancing -and curvetting before the windows of their mistresses, that a stranger -would have imagined the whole nation to have been nothing less than a -race of knight-errants. But after the world became a little acquainted -with that notable history, the man that was seen in that once -celebrated drapery was pointed at as a Don Quixote, and found himself -the jest of high and low. And I verily believe that to this, and this -only, we owe that dampness and poverty of spirit which has run through -all our councils for a century past, so little agreeable to those -nobler actions of our famous ancestors.” - -To call “Don Quixote” a sad book, preaching a pessimist view of life, -argues a total misconception of its drift. It would be so if its moral -were that, in this world, true enthusiasm naturally leads to ridicule -and discomfiture. But it preaches nothing of the sort; its moral, so -far as it can be said to have one, is that the spurious enthusiasm that -is born of vanity and self-conceit, that is made an end in itself, not -a means to an end, that acts on mere impulse, regardless of -circumstances and consequences, is mischievous to its owner, and a very -considerable nuisance to the community at large. To those who cannot -distinguish between the one kind and the other, no doubt “Don Quixote” -is a sad book; no doubt to some minds it is very sad that a man who had -just uttered so beautiful a sentiment as that “it is a hard case to -make slaves of those whom God and Nature made free,” should be -ungratefully pelted by the scoundrels his crazy philanthropy had let -loose on society; but to others of a more judicial cast it will be a -matter of regret that reckless self-sufficient enthusiasm is not -oftener requited in some such way for all the mischief it does in the -world. - -A very slight examination of the structure of “Don Quixote” will -suffice to show that Cervantes had no deep design or elaborate plan in -his mind when he began the book. When he wrote those lines in which -“with a few strokes of a great master he sets before us the pauper -gentleman,” he had no idea of the goal to which his imagination was -leading him. There can be little doubt that all he contemplated was a -short tale to range with those he had already written, a tale setting -forth the ludicrous results that might be expected to follow the -attempt of a crazy gentleman to act the part of a knight-errant in -modern life. - -It is plain, for one thing, that Sancho Panza did not enter into the -original scheme, for had Cervantes thought of him he certainly would -not have omitted him in his hero’s outfit, which he obviously meant to -be complete. Him we owe to the landlord’s chance remark in Chapter III -that knights seldom travelled without squires. To try to think of a Don -Quixote without Sancho Panza is like trying to think of a one-bladed -pair of scissors. - -The story was written at first, like the others, without any division -and without the intervention of Cid Hamete Benengeli; and it seems not -unlikely that Cervantes had some intention of bringing Dulcinea, or -Aldonza Lorenzo, on the scene in person. It was probably the ransacking -of the Don’s library and the discussion on the books of chivalry that -first suggested it to him that his idea was capable of development. -What, if instead of a mere string of farcical misadventures, he were to -make his tale a burlesque of one of these books, caricaturing their -style, incidents, and spirit? - -In pursuance of this change of plan, he hastily and somewhat clumsily -divided what he had written into chapters on the model of “Amadis,” -invented the fable of a mysterious Arabic manuscript, and set up Cid -Hamete Benengeli in imitation of the almost invariable practice of the -chivalry-romance authors, who were fond of tracing their books to some -recondite source. In working out the new ideas, he soon found the value -of Sancho Panza. Indeed, the keynote, not only to Sancho’s part, but to -the whole book, is struck in the first words Sancho utters when he -announces his intention of taking his ass with him. “About the ass,” we -are told, “Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying whether he could call -to mind any knight-errant taking with him an esquire mounted on -ass-back; but no instance occurred to his memory.” We can see the whole -scene at a glance, the stolid unconsciousness of Sancho and the -perplexity of his master, upon whose perception the incongruity has -just forced itself. This is Sancho’s mission throughout the book; he is -an unconscious Mephistopheles, always unwittingly making mockery of his -master’s aspirations, always exposing the fallacy of his ideas by some -unintentional ad absurdum, always bringing him back to the world of -fact and commonplace by force of sheer stolidity. - -By the time Cervantes had got his volume of novels off his hands, and -summoned up resolution enough to set about the Second Part in earnest, -the case was very much altered. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had not -merely found favour, but had already become, what they have never since -ceased to be, veritable entities to the popular imagination. There was -no occasion for him now to interpolate extraneous matter; nay, his -readers told him plainly that what they wanted of him was more Don -Quixote and more Sancho Panza, and not novels, tales, or digressions. -To himself, too, his creations had become realities, and he had become -proud of them, especially of Sancho. He began the Second Part, -therefore, under very different conditions, and the difference makes -itself manifest at once. Even in translation the style will be seen to -be far easier, more flowing, more natural, and more like that of a man -sure of himself and of his audience. Don Quixote and Sancho undergo a -change also. In the First Part, Don Quixote has no character or -individuality whatever. He is nothing more than a crazy representative -of the sentiments of the chivalry romances. In all that he says and -does he is simply repeating the lesson he has learned from his books; -and therefore, it is absurd to speak of him in the gushing strain of -the sentimental critics when they dilate upon his nobleness, -disinterestedness, dauntless courage, and so forth. It was the business -of a knight-errant to right wrongs, redress injuries, and succour the -distressed, and this, as a matter of course, he makes his business when -he takes up the part; a knight-errant was bound to be intrepid, and so -he feels bound to cast fear aside. Of all Byron’s melodious nonsense -about Don Quixote, the most nonsensical statement is that “’tis his -virtue makes him mad!” The exact opposite is the truth; it is his -madness makes him virtuous. - -In the Second Part, Cervantes repeatedly reminds the reader, as if it -was a point upon which he was anxious there should be no mistake, that -his hero’s madness is strictly confined to delusions on the subject of -chivalry, and that on every other subject he is discreto, one, in fact, -whose faculty of discernment is in perfect order. The advantage of this -is that he is enabled to make use of Don Quixote as a mouthpiece for -his own reflections, and so, without seeming to digress, allow himself -the relief of digression when he requires it, as freely as in a -commonplace book. - -It is true the amount of individuality bestowed upon Don Quixote is not -very great. There are some natural touches of character about him, such -as his mixture of irascibility and placability, and his curious -affection for Sancho together with his impatience of the squire’s -loquacity and impertinence; but in the main, apart from his craze, he -is little more than a thoughtful, cultured gentleman, with instinctive -good taste and a great deal of shrewdness and originality of mind. - -As to Sancho, it is plain, from the concluding words of the preface to -the First Part, that he was a favourite with his creator even before he -had been taken into favour by the public. An inferior genius, taking -him in hand a second time, would very likely have tried to improve him -by making him more comical, clever, amiable, or virtuous. But Cervantes -was too true an artist to spoil his work in this way. Sancho, when he -reappears, is the old Sancho with the old familiar features; but with a -difference; they have been brought out more distinctly, but at the same -time with a careful avoidance of anything like caricature; the outline -has been filled in where filling in was necessary, and, vivified by a -few touches of a master’s hand, Sancho stands before us as he might in -a character portrait by Velazquez. He is a much more important and -prominent figure in the Second Part than in the First; indeed, it is -his matchless mendacity about Dulcinea that to a great extent supplies -the action of the story. - -His development in this respect is as remarkable as in any other. In -the First Part he displays a great natural gift of lying. His lies are -not of the highly imaginative sort that liars in fiction commonly -indulge in; like Falstaff’s, they resemble the father that begets them; -they are simple, homely, plump lies; plain working lies, in short. But -in the service of such a master as Don Quixote he develops rapidly, as -we see when he comes to palm off the three country wenches as Dulcinea -and her ladies in waiting. It is worth noticing how, flushed by his -success in this instance, he is tempted afterwards to try a flight -beyond his powers in his account of the journey on Clavileño. - -In the Second Part it is the spirit rather than the incidents of the -chivalry romances that is the subject of the burlesque. Enchantments of -the sort travestied in those of Dulcinea and the Trifaldi and the cave -of Montesinos play a leading part in the later and inferior romances, -and another distinguishing feature is caricatured in Don Quixote’s -blind adoration of Dulcinea. In the romances of chivalry love is either -a mere animalism or a fantastic idolatry. Only a coarse-minded man -would care to make merry with the former, but to one of Cervantes’ -humour the latter was naturally an attractive subject for ridicule. -Like everything else in these romances, it is a gross exaggeration of -the real sentiment of chivalry, but its peculiar extravagance is -probably due to the influence of those masters of hyperbole, the -Provencal poets. When a troubadour professed his readiness to obey his -lady in all things, he made it incumbent upon the next comer, if he -wished to avoid the imputation of tameness and commonplace, to declare -himself the slave of her will, which the next was compelled to cap by -some still stronger declaration; and so expressions of devotion went on -rising one above the other like biddings at an auction, and a -conventional language of gallantry and theory of love came into being -that in time permeated the literature of Southern Europe, and bore -fruit, in one direction in the transcendental worship of Beatrice and -Laura, and in another in the grotesque idolatry which found exponents -in writers like Feliciano de Silva. This is what Cervantes deals with -in Don Quixote’s passion for Dulcinea, and in no instance has he -carried out the burlesque more happily. By keeping Dulcinea in the -background, and making her a vague shadowy being of whose very -existence we are left in doubt, he invests Don Quixote’s worship of her -virtues and charms with an additional extravagance, and gives still -more point to the caricature of the sentiment and language of the -romances. - -One of the great merits of “Don Quixote,” and one of the qualities that -have secured its acceptance by all classes of readers and made it the -most cosmopolitan of books, is its simplicity. There are, of course, -points obvious enough to a Spanish seventeenth century audience which -do not immediately strike a reader now-a-days, and Cervantes often -takes it for granted that an allusion will be generally understood -which is only intelligible to a few. For example, on many of his -readers in Spain, and most of his readers out of it, the significance -of his choice of a country for his hero is completely lost. It would be -going too far to say that no one can thoroughly comprehend “Don -Quixote” without having seen La Mancha, but undoubtedly even a glimpse -of La Mancha will give an insight into the meaning of Cervantes such as -no commentator can give. Of all the regions of Spain it is the last -that would suggest the idea of romance. Of all the dull central plateau -of the Peninsula it is the dullest tract. There is something impressive -about the grim solitudes of Estremadura; and if the plains of Leon and -Old Castile are bald and dreary, they are studded with old cities -renowned in history and rich in relics of the past. But there is no -redeeming feature in the Manchegan landscape; it has all the sameness -of the desert without its dignity; the few towns and villages that -break its monotony are mean and commonplace, there is nothing venerable -about them, they have not even the picturesqueness of poverty; indeed, -Don Quixote’s own village, Argamasilla, has a sort of oppressive -respectability in the prim regularity of its streets and houses; -everything is ignoble; the very windmills are the ugliest and shabbiest -of the windmill kind. - -To anyone who knew the country well, the mere style and title of “Don -Quixote of La Mancha” gave the key to the author’s meaning at once. La -Mancha as the knight’s country and scene of his chivalries is of a -piece with the pasteboard helmet, the farm-labourer on ass-back for a -squire, knighthood conferred by a rascally ventero, convicts taken for -victims of oppression, and the rest of the incongruities between Don -Quixote’s world and the world he lived in, between things as he saw -them and things as they were. - -It is strange that this element of incongruity, underlying the whole -humour and purpose of the book, should have been so little heeded by -the majority of those who have undertaken to interpret “Don Quixote.” -It has been completely overlooked, for example, by the illustrators. To -be sure, the great majority of the artists who illustrated “Don -Quixote” knew nothing whatever of Spain. To them a venta conveyed no -idea but the abstract one of a roadside inn, and they could not -therefore do full justice to the humour of Don Quixote’s misconception -in taking it for a castle, or perceive the remoteness of all its -realities from his ideal. But even when better informed they seem to -have no apprehension of the full force of the discrepancy. Take, for -instance, Gustave Doré’s drawing of Don Quixote watching his armour in -the inn-yard. Whether or not the Venta de Quesada on the Seville road -is, as tradition maintains, the inn described in “Don Quixote,” beyond -all question it was just such an inn-yard as the one behind it that -Cervantes had in his mind’s eye, and it was on just such a rude stone -trough as that beside the primitive draw-well in the corner that he -meant Don Quixote to deposit his armour. Gustave Doré makes it an -elaborate fountain such as no arriero ever watered his mules at in the -corral of any venta in Spain, and thereby entirely misses the point -aimed at by Cervantes. It is the mean, prosaic, commonplace character -of all the surroundings and circumstances that gives a significance to -Don Quixote’s vigil and the ceremony that follows. - -Cervantes’ humour is for the most part of that broader and simpler -sort, the strength of which lies in the perception of the incongruous. -It is the incongruity of Sancho in all his ways, words, and works, with -the ideas and aims of his master, quite as much as the wonderful -vitality and truth to nature of the character, that makes him the most -humorous creation in the whole range of fiction. That unsmiling gravity -of which Cervantes was the first great master, “Cervantes’ serious -air,” which sits naturally on Swift alone, perhaps, of later -humourists, is essential to this kind of humour, and here again -Cervantes has suffered at the hands of his interpreters. Nothing, -unless indeed the coarse buffoonery of Phillips, could be more out of -place in an attempt to represent Cervantes, than a flippant, would-be -facetious style, like that of Motteux’s version for example, or the -sprightly, jaunty air, French translators sometimes adopt. It is the -grave matter-of-factness of the narrative, and the apparent -unconsciousness of the author that he is saying anything ludicrous, -anything but the merest commonplace, that give its peculiar flavour to -the humour of Cervantes. His, in fact, is the exact opposite of the -humour of Sterne and the self-conscious humourists. Even when Uncle -Toby is at his best, you are always aware of “the man Sterne” behind -him, watching you over his shoulder to see what effect he is producing. -Cervantes always leaves you alone with Don Quixote and Sancho. He and -Swift and the great humourists always keep themselves out of sight, or, -more properly speaking, never think about themselves at all, unlike our -latter-day school of humourists, who seem to have revived the old -horse-collar method, and try to raise a laugh by some grotesque -assumption of ignorance, imbecility, or bad taste. - -It is true that to do full justice to Spanish humour in any other -language is well-nigh an impossibility. There is a natural gravity and -a sonorous stateliness about Spanish, be it ever so colloquial, that -make an absurdity doubly absurd, and give plausibility to the most -preposterous statement. This is what makes Sancho Panza’s drollery the -despair of the conscientious translator. Sancho’s curt comments can -never fall flat, but they lose half their flavour when transferred from -their native Castilian into any other medium. But if foreigners have -failed to do justice to the humour of Cervantes, they are no worse than -his own countrymen. Indeed, were it not for the Spanish peasant’s -relish of “Don Quixote,” one might be tempted to think that the great -humourist was not looked upon as a humourist at all in his own country. - -The craze of Don Quixote seems, in some instances, to have communicated -itself to his critics, making them see things that are not in the book -and run full tilt at phantoms that have no existence save in their own -imaginations. Like a good many critics now-a-days, they forget that -screams are not criticism, and that it is only vulgar tastes that are -influenced by strings of superlatives, three-piled hyperboles, and -pompous epithets. But what strikes one as particularly strange is that -while they deal in extravagant eulogies, and ascribe all manner of -imaginary ideas and qualities to Cervantes, they show no perception of -the quality that ninety-nine out of a hundred of his readers would rate -highest in him, and hold to be the one that raises him above all -rivalry. - -To speak of “Don Quixote” as if it were merely a humorous book would be -a manifest misdescription. Cervantes at times makes it a kind of -commonplace book for occasional essays and criticisms, or for the -observations and reflections and gathered wisdom of a long and stirring -life. It is a mine of shrewd observation on mankind and human nature. -Among modern novels there may be, here and there, more elaborate -studies of character, but there is no book richer in individualised -character. What Coleridge said of Shakespeare in minimis is true of -Cervantes; he never, even for the most temporary purpose, puts forward -a lay figure. There is life and individuality in all his characters, -however little they may have to do, or however short a time they may be -before the reader. Samson Carrasco, the curate, Teresa Panza, -Altisidora, even the two students met on the road to the cave of -Montesinos, all live and move and have their being; and it is -characteristic of the broad humanity of Cervantes that there is not a -hateful one among them all. Even poor Maritornes, with her deplorable -morals, has a kind heart of her own and “some faint and distant -resemblance to a Christian about her;” and as for Sancho, though on -dissection we fail to find a lovable trait in him, unless it be a sort -of dog-like affection for his master, who is there that in his heart -does not love him? - -But it is, after all, the humour of “Don Quixote” that distinguishes it -from all other books of the romance kind. It is this that makes it, as -one of the most judicial-minded of modern critics calls it, “the best -novel in the world beyond all comparison.” It is its varied humour, -ranging from broad farce to comedy as subtle as Shakespeare’s or -Molière’s that has naturalised it in every country where there are -readers, and made it a classic in every language that has a literature. - -THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE - -Idle reader: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this -book, as it is the child of my brain, were the fairest, gayest, and -cleverest that could be imagined. But I could not counteract Nature’s -law that everything shall beget its like; and what, then, could this -sterile, illtilled wit of mine beget but the story of a dry, -shrivelled, whimsical offspring, full of thoughts of all sorts and such -as never came into any other imagination—just what might be begotten in -a prison, where every misery is lodged and every doleful sound makes -its dwelling? Tranquillity, a cheerful retreat, pleasant fields, bright -skies, murmuring brooks, peace of mind, these are the things that go -far to make even the most barren muses fertile, and bring into the -world births that fill it with wonder and delight. Sometimes when a -father has an ugly, loutish son, the love he bears him so blindfolds -his eyes that he does not see his defects, or, rather, takes them for -gifts and charms of mind and body, and talks of them to his friends as -wit and grace. I, however—for though I pass for the father, I am but -the stepfather to “Don Quixote”—have no desire to go with the current -of custom, or to implore thee, dearest reader, almost with tears in my -eyes, as others do, to pardon or excuse the defects thou wilt perceive -in this child of mine. Thou art neither its kinsman nor its friend, thy -soul is thine own and thy will as free as any man’s, whate’er he be, -thou art in thine own house and master of it as much as the king of his -taxes and thou knowest the common saying, “Under my cloak I kill the -king;” all which exempts and frees thee from every consideration and -obligation, and thou canst say what thou wilt of the story without fear -of being abused for any ill or rewarded for any good thou mayest say of -it. - -My wish would be simply to present it to thee plain and unadorned, -without any embellishment of preface or uncountable muster of customary -sonnets, epigrams, and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the -beginning of books. For I can tell thee, though composing it cost me -some labour, I found none greater than the making of this Preface thou -art now reading. Many times did I take up my pen to write it, and many -did I lay it down again, not knowing what to write. One of these times, -as I was pondering with the paper before me, a pen in my ear, my elbow -on the desk, and my cheek in my hand, thinking of what I should say, -there came in unexpectedly a certain lively, clever friend of mine, -who, seeing me so deep in thought, asked the reason; to which I, making -no mystery of it, answered that I was thinking of the Preface I had to -make for the story of “Don Quixote,” which so troubled me that I had a -mind not to make any at all, nor even publish the achievements of so -noble a knight. - -“For, how could you expect me not to feel uneasy about what that -ancient lawgiver they call the Public will say when it sees me, after -slumbering so many years in the silence of oblivion, coming out now -with all my years upon my back, and with a book as dry as a rush, -devoid of invention, meagre in style, poor in thoughts, wholly wanting -in learning and wisdom, without quotations in the margin or annotations -at the end, after the fashion of other books I see, which, though all -fables and profanity, are so full of maxims from Aristotle, and Plato, -and the whole herd of philosophers, that they fill the readers with -amazement and convince them that the authors are men of learning, -erudition, and eloquence. And then, when they quote the Holy -Scriptures!—anyone would say they are St. Thomases or other doctors of -the Church, observing as they do a decorum so ingenious that in one -sentence they describe a distracted lover and in the next deliver a -devout little sermon that it is a pleasure and a treat to hear and -read. Of all this there will be nothing in my book, for I have nothing -to quote in the margin or to note at the end, and still less do I know -what authors I follow in it, to place them at the beginning, as all do, -under the letters A, B, C, beginning with Aristotle and ending with -Xenophon, or Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one was a slanderer and the -other a painter. Also my book must do without sonnets at the beginning, -at least sonnets whose authors are dukes, marquises, counts, bishops, -ladies, or famous poets. Though if I were to ask two or three obliging -friends, I know they would give me them, and such as the productions of -those that have the highest reputation in our Spain could not equal. - -“In short, my friend,” I continued, “I am determined that Señor Don -Quixote shall remain buried in the archives of his own La Mancha until -Heaven provide someone to garnish him with all those things he stands -in need of; because I find myself, through my shallowness and want of -learning, unequal to supplying them, and because I am by nature shy and -careless about hunting for authors to say what I myself can say without -them. Hence the cogitation and abstraction you found me in, and reason -enough, what you have heard from me.” - -Hearing this, my friend, giving himself a slap on the forehead and -breaking into a hearty laugh, exclaimed, “Before God, Brother, now am I -disabused of an error in which I have been living all this long time I -have known you, all through which I have taken you to be shrewd and -sensible in all you do; but now I see you are as far from that as the -heaven is from the earth. It is possible that things of so little -moment and so easy to set right can occupy and perplex a ripe wit like -yours, fit to break through and crush far greater obstacles? By my -faith, this comes, not of any want of ability, but of too much -indolence and too little knowledge of life. Do you want to know if I am -telling the truth? Well, then, attend to me, and you will see how, in -the opening and shutting of an eye, I sweep away all your difficulties, -and supply all those deficiencies which you say check and discourage -you from bringing before the world the story of your famous Don -Quixote, the light and mirror of all knight-errantry.” - -“Say on,” said I, listening to his talk; “how do you propose to make up -for my diffidence, and reduce to order this chaos of perplexity I am -in?” - -To which he made answer, “Your first difficulty about the sonnets, -epigrams, or complimentary verses which you want for the beginning, and -which ought to be by persons of importance and rank, can be removed if -you yourself take a little trouble to make them; you can afterwards -baptise them, and put any name you like to them, fathering them on -Prester John of the Indies or the Emperor of Trebizond, who, to my -knowledge, were said to have been famous poets: and even if they were -not, and any pedants or bachelors should attack you and question the -fact, never care two maravedis for that, for even if they prove a lie -against you they cannot cut off the hand you wrote it with. - -“As to references in the margin to the books and authors from whom you -take the aphorisms and sayings you put into your story, it is only -contriving to fit in nicely any sentences or scraps of Latin you may -happen to have by heart, or at any rate that will not give you much -trouble to look up; so as, when you speak of freedom and captivity, to -insert - -_Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro;_ - -and then refer in the margin to Horace, or whoever said it; or, if you -allude to the power of death, to come in with— - -_Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, -Regumque turres._ - -“If it be friendship and the love God bids us bear to our enemy, go at -once to the Holy Scriptures, which you can do with a very small amount -of research, and quote no less than the words of God himself: _Ego -autem dico vobis: diligite inimicos vestros._ If you speak of evil -thoughts, turn to the Gospel: _De corde exeunt cogitationes malæ._ If -of the fickleness of friends, there is Cato, who will give you his -distich: - -_Donec eris felix multos numerabis amicos, -Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris._ - -“With these and such like bits of Latin they will take you for a -grammarian at all events, and that now-a-days is no small honour and -profit. - -“With regard to adding annotations at the end of the book, you may -safely do it in this way. If you mention any giant in your book -contrive that it shall be the giant Goliath, and with this alone, which -will cost you almost nothing, you have a grand note, for you can -put—_The giant Golias or Goliath was a Philistine whom the shepherd -David slew by a mighty stone-cast in the Terebinth valley, as is -related in the Book of Kings_—in the chapter where you find it written. - -“Next, to prove yourself a man of erudition in polite literature and -cosmography, manage that the river Tagus shall be named in your story, -and there you are at once with another famous annotation, setting -forth—_The river Tagus was so called after a King of Spain: it has its -source in such and such a place and falls into the ocean, kissing the -walls of the famous city of Lisbon, and it is a common belief that it -has golden sands_, etc. If you should have anything to do with robbers, -I will give you the story of Cacus, for I have it by heart; if with -loose women, there is the Bishop of Mondonedo, who will give you the -loan of Lamia, Laida, and Flora, any reference to whom will bring you -great credit; if with hard-hearted ones, Ovid will furnish you with -Medea; if with witches or enchantresses, Homer has Calypso, and Virgil -Circe; if with valiant captains, Julius Cæsar himself will lend you -himself in his own ‘Commentaries,’ and Plutarch will give you a -thousand Alexanders. If you should deal with love, with two ounces you -may know of Tuscan you can go to Leon the Hebrew, who will supply you -to your heart’s content; or if you should not care to go to foreign -countries you have at home Fonseca’s ‘Of the Love of God,’ in which is -condensed all that you or the most imaginative mind can want on the -subject. In short, all you have to do is to manage to quote these -names, or refer to these stories I have mentioned, and leave it to me -to insert the annotations and quotations, and I swear by all that’s -good to fill your margins and use up four sheets at the end of the -book. - -“Now let us come to those references to authors which other books have, -and you want for yours. The remedy for this is very simple: You have -only to look out for some book that quotes them all, from A to Z as you -say yourself, and then insert the very same alphabet in your book, and -though the imposition may be plain to see, because you have so little -need to borrow from them, that is no matter; there will probably be -some simple enough to believe that you have made use of them all in -this plain, artless story of yours. At any rate, if it answers no other -purpose, this long catalogue of authors will serve to give a surprising -look of authority to your book. Besides, no one will trouble himself to -verify whether you have followed them or whether you have not, being no -way concerned in it; especially as, if I mistake not, this book of -yours has no need of any one of those things you say it wants, for it -is, from beginning to end, an attack upon the books of chivalry, of -which Aristotle never dreamt, nor St. Basil said a word, nor Cicero had -any knowledge; nor do the niceties of truth nor the observations of -astrology come within the range of its fanciful vagaries; nor have -geometrical measurements or refutations of the arguments used in -rhetoric anything to do with it; nor does it mean to preach to anybody, -mixing up things human and divine, a sort of motley in which no -Christian understanding should dress itself. It has only to avail -itself of truth to nature in its composition, and the more perfect the -imitation the better the work will be. And as this piece of yours aims -at nothing more than to destroy the authority and influence which books -of chivalry have in the world and with the public, there is no need for -you to go a-begging for aphorisms from philosophers, precepts from Holy -Scripture, fables from poets, speeches from orators, or miracles from -saints; but merely to take care that your style and diction run -musically, pleasantly, and plainly, with clear, proper, and well-placed -words, setting forth your purpose to the best of your power, and -putting your ideas intelligibly, without confusion or obscurity. -Strive, too, that in reading your story the melancholy may be moved to -laughter, and the merry made merrier still; that the simple shall not -be wearied, that the judicious shall admire the invention, that the -grave shall not despise it, nor the wise fail to praise it. Finally, -keep your aim fixed on the destruction of that ill-founded edifice of -the books of chivalry, hated by some and praised by many more; for if -you succeed in this you will have achieved no small success.” - -In profound silence I listened to what my friend said, and his -observations made such an impression on me that, without attempting to -question them, I admitted their soundness, and out of them I determined -to make this Preface; wherein, gentle reader, thou wilt perceive my -friend’s good sense, my good fortune in finding such an adviser in such -a time of need, and what thou hast gained in receiving, without -addition or alteration, the story of the famous Don Quixote of La -Mancha, who is held by all the inhabitants of the district of the Campo -de Montiel to have been the chastest lover and the bravest knight that -has for many years been seen in that neighbourhood. I have no desire to -magnify the service I render thee in making thee acquainted with so -renowned and honoured a knight, but I do desire thy thanks for the -acquaintance thou wilt make with the famous Sancho Panza, his squire, -in whom, to my thinking, I have given thee condensed all the squirely -drolleries that are scattered through the swarm of the vain books of -chivalry. And so—may God give thee health, and not forget me. Vale. - -SOME COMMENDATORY VERSES - -URGANDA THE UNKNOWN - -To the book of Don Quixote of la Mancha - -If to be welcomed by the good, -O Book! thou make thy steady aim, -No empty chatterer will dare -To question or dispute thy claim. -But if perchance thou hast a mind -To win of idiots approbation, -Lost labour will be thy reward, -Though they’ll pretend appreciation. - -They say a goodly shade he finds -Who shelters ’neath a goodly tree; -And such a one thy kindly star -In Bejar bath provided thee: -A royal tree whose spreading boughs -A show of princely fruit display; -A tree that bears a noble Duke, -The Alexander of his day. - -Of a Manchegan gentleman -Thy purpose is to tell the story, -Relating how he lost his wits -O’er idle tales of love and glory, -Of “ladies, arms, and cavaliers:” -A new Orlando Furioso— -Innamorato, rather—who -Won Dulcinea del Toboso. - -Put no vain emblems on thy shield; -All figures—that is bragging play. -A modest dedication make, -And give no scoffer room to say, -“What! Álvaro de Luna here? -Or is it Hannibal again? -Or does King Francis at Madrid -Once more of destiny complain?” - -Since Heaven it hath not pleased on thee -Deep erudition to bestow, -Or black Latino’s gift of tongues, -No Latin let thy pages show. -Ape not philosophy or wit, -Lest one who cannot comprehend, -Make a wry face at thee and ask, -“Why offer flowers to me, my friend?” - -Be not a meddler; no affair -Of thine the life thy neighbours lead: -Be prudent; oft the random jest -Recoils upon the jester’s head. -Thy constant labour let it be -To earn thyself an honest name, -For fooleries preserved in print -Are perpetuity of shame. - -A further counsel bear in mind: -If that thy roof be made of glass, -It shows small wit to pick up stones -To pelt the people as they pass. -Win the attention of the wise, -And give the thinker food for thought; -Whoso indites frivolities, -Will but by simpletons be sought. - -AMADIS OF GAUL -To Don Quixote of la Mancha - -SONNET - -Thou that didst imitate that life of mine -When I in lonely sadness on the great -Rock Peña Pobre sat disconsolate, -In self-imposed penance there to pine; -Thou, whose sole beverage was the bitter brine -Of thine own tears, and who withouten plate -Of silver, copper, tin, in lowly state -Off the bare earth and on earth’s fruits didst dine; -Live thou, of thine eternal glory sure. -So long as on the round of the fourth sphere -The bright Apollo shall his coursers steer, -In thy renown thou shalt remain secure, -Thy country’s name in story shall endure, -And thy sage author stand without a peer. - -DON BELIANIS OF GREECE -To Don Quixote of la Mancha - -SONNET - -In slashing, hewing, cleaving, word and deed, -I was the foremost knight of chivalry, -Stout, bold, expert, as e’er the world did see; -Thousands from the oppressor’s wrong I freed; -Great were my feats, eternal fame their meed; -In love I proved my truth and loyalty; -The hugest giant was a dwarf for me; -Ever to knighthood’s laws gave I good heed. -My mastery the Fickle Goddess owned, -And even Chance, submitting to control, -Grasped by the forelock, yielded to my will. -Yet—though above yon horned moon enthroned -My fortune seems to sit—great Quixote, still -Envy of thy achievements fills my soul. - -THE LADY OF ORIANA -To Dulcinea del Toboso - -SONNET - -Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be! -It were a pleasant fancy to suppose so— -Could Miraflores change to El Toboso, -And London’s town to that which shelters thee! -Oh, could mine but acquire that livery -Of countless charms thy mind and body show so! -Or him, now famous grown—thou mad’st him grow so— -Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see! -Oh, could I be released from Amadis -By exercise of such coy chastity -As led thee gentle Quixote to dismiss! -Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy; -None would I envy, all would envy me, -And happiness be mine without alloy. - -GANDALIN, SQUIRE OF AMADIS OF GAUL, -To Sancho Panza, squire of Don Quixote - -SONNET - -All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she -Bound thee apprentice to the esquire trade, -Her care and tenderness of thee displayed, -Shaping thy course from misadventure free. -No longer now doth proud knight-errantry -Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade; -Of towering arrogance less count is made -Than of plain esquire-like simplicity. -I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name, -And those alforjas thou wast wont to stuff -With comforts that thy providence proclaim. -Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again! -To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain -Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff. - -FROM EL DONOSO, THE MOTLEY POET, - -On Sancho Panza and Rocinante - -ON SANCHO - -I am the esquire Sancho Pan— -Who served Don Quixote of La Man—; -But from his service I retreat—, -Resolved to pass my life discreet—; -For Villadiego, called the Si—, -Maintained that only in reti— -Was found the secret of well-be—, -According to the “Celesti—:” -A book divine, except for sin— -By speech too plain, in my opin— - -ON ROCINANTE - -I am that Rocinante fa—, -Great-grandson of great Babie—, -Who, all for being lean and bon—, -Had one Don Quixote for an own—; -But if I matched him well in weak—, -I never took short commons meek—, -But kept myself in corn by steal—, -A trick I learned from Lazaril—, -When with a piece of straw so neat— -The blind man of his wine he cheat—. - -ORLANDO FURIOSO -To Don Quixote of La Mancha - -SONNET - -If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none; -Among a thousand Peers thou art a peer; -Nor is there room for one when thou art near, -Unvanquished victor, great unconquered one! -Orlando, by Angelica undone, -Am I; o’er distant seas condemned to steer, -And to Fame’s altars as an offering bear -Valour respected by Oblivion. -I cannot be thy rival, for thy fame -And prowess rise above all rivalry, -Albeit both bereft of wits we go. -But, though the Scythian or the Moor to tame -Was not thy lot, still thou dost rival me: -Love binds us in a fellowship of woe. - -THE KNIGHT OF PHŒBUS - -To Don Quixote of La Mancha - -My sword was not to be compared with thine -Phœbus of Spain, marvel of courtesy, -Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine -That smote from east to west as lightnings fly. -I scorned all empire, and that monarchy -The rosy east held out did I resign -For one glance of Claridiana’s eye, -The bright Aurora for whose love I pine. -A miracle of constancy my love; -And banished by her ruthless cruelty, -This arm had might the rage of Hell to tame. -But, Gothic Quixote, happier thou dost prove, -For thou dost live in Dulcinea’s name, -And famous, honoured, wise, she lives in thee. - -FROM SOLISDAN -To Don Quixote of La Mancha - -SONNET - -Your fantasies, Sir Quixote, it is true, -That crazy brain of yours have quite upset, -But aught of base or mean hath never yet -Been charged by any in reproach to you. -Your deeds are open proof in all men’s view; -For you went forth injustice to abate, -And for your pains sore drubbings did you get -From many a rascally and ruffian crew. -If the fair Dulcinea, your heart’s queen, -Be unrelenting in her cruelty, -If still your woe be powerless to move her, -In such hard case your comfort let it be -That Sancho was a sorry go-between: -A booby he, hard-hearted she, and you no lover. - -DIALOGUE -Between Babieca and Rocinante - -SONNET - -B. “How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?” -R. “I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.” -B. “But what becomes of all the hay and corn?” -R. “My master gives me none; he’s much too mean.” -B. “Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween; -’Tis like an ass your master thus to scorn.” -R. He is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born; -Why, he’s in love; what’s plainer to be seen?” -B. “To be in love is folly?”—R. “No great sense.” -B. “You’re metaphysical.”—R. “From want of food.” -B. “Rail at the squire, then.”—R. “Why, what’s the good? -I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye, -But, squire or master, where’s the difference? -They’re both as sorry hacks as Rocinante.” - -p005.jpg (171K) - -Full Size - -DEDICATION OF PART I - -TO THE DUKE OF BEJAR, MARQUIS OF GIBRALEON, COUNT OF BENALCAZAR AND -BANARES, VICECOUNT OF THE PUEBLA DE ALCOCER, MASTER OF THE TOWNS OF -CAPILLA, CURIEL AND BURGUILLOS - -In belief of the good reception and honours that Your Excellency -bestows on all sort of books, as prince so inclined to favor good arts, -chiefly those who by their nobleness do not submit to the service and -bribery of the vulgar, I have determined bringing to light The -Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of la Mancha, in shelter of Your -Excellency’s glamorous name, to whom, with the obeisance I owe to such -grandeur, I pray to receive it agreeably under his protection, so that -in this shadow, though deprived of that precious ornament of elegance -and erudition that clothe the works composed in the houses of those who -know, it dares appear with assurance in the judgment of some who, -trespassing the bounds of their own ignorance, use to condemn with more -rigour and less justice the writings of others. It is my earnest hope -that Your Excellency’s good counsel in regard to my honourable purpose, -will not disdain the littleness of so humble a service. - -Miguel de Cervantes - -CHAPTER I. -WHICH TREATS OF THE CHARACTER AND PURSUITS OF THE FAMOUS GENTLEMAN DON -QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA - -In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call -to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a -lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound -for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most -nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so -extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest -of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to -match for holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his -best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece -under twenty, and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to -saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this -gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, -spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They -will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some -difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), -although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called -Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it -will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the -telling of it. - -You must know, then, that the above-named gentleman whenever he was at -leisure (which was mostly all the year round) gave himself up to -reading books of chivalry with such ardour and avidity that he almost -entirely neglected the pursuit of his field-sports, and even the -management of his property; and to such a pitch did his eagerness and -infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillageland to buy books of -chivalry to read, and brought home as many of them as he could get. But -of all there were none he liked so well as those of the famous -Feliciano de Silva’s composition, for their lucidity of style and -complicated conceits were as pearls in his sight, particularly when in -his reading he came upon courtships and cartels, where he often found -passages like “_the reason of the unreason with which my reason is -afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I murmur at your -beauty;” or again, “the high heavens, that of your divinity divinely -fortify you with the stars, render you deserving of the desert your -greatness deserves_.” Over conceits of this sort the poor gentleman -lost his wits, and used to lie awake striving to understand them and -worm the meaning out of them; what Aristotle himself could not have -made out or extracted had he come to life again for that special -purpose. He was not at all easy about the wounds which Don Belianis -gave and took, because it seemed to him that, great as were the -surgeons who had cured him, he must have had his face and body covered -all over with seams and scars. He commended, however, the author’s way -of ending his book with the promise of that interminable adventure, and -many a time was he tempted to take up his pen and finish it properly as -is there proposed, which no doubt he would have done, and made a -successful piece of work of it too, had not greater and more absorbing -thoughts prevented him. - -Many an argument did he have with the curate of his village (a learned -man, and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which had been the better -knight, Palmerin of England or Amadis of Gaul. Master Nicholas, the -village barber, however, used to say that neither of them came up to -the Knight of Phœbus, and that if there was any that could compare with -_him_ it was Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he had -a spirit that was equal to every occasion, and was no finikin knight, -nor lachrymose like his brother, while in the matter of valour he was -not a whit behind him. In short, he became so absorbed in his books -that he spent his nights from sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn -to dark, poring over them; and what with little sleep and much reading -his brains got so dry that he lost his wits. His fancy grew full of -what he used to read about in his books, enchantments, quarrels, -battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, agonies, and all sorts of -impossible nonsense; and it so possessed his mind that the whole fabric -of invention and fancy he read of was true, that to him no history in -the world had more reality in it. He used to say the Cid Ruy Diaz was a -very good knight, but that he was not to be compared with the Knight of -the Burning Sword who with one back-stroke cut in half two fierce and -monstrous giants. He thought more of Bernardo del Carpio because at -Roncesvalles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, availing himself -of the artifice of Hercules when he strangled Antæus the son of Terra -in his arms. He approved highly of the giant Morgante, because, -although of the giant breed which is always arrogant and -ill-conditioned, he alone was affable and well-bred. But above all he -admired Reinaldos of Montalban, especially when he saw him sallying -forth from his castle and robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the -seas he stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history says, was -entirely of gold. To have a bout of kicking at that traitor of a -Ganelon he would have given his housekeeper, and his niece into the -bargain. - -In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit upon the strangest notion -that ever madman in this world hit upon, and that was that he fancied -it was right and requisite, as well for the support of his own honour -as for the service of his country, that he should make a knight-errant -of himself, roaming the world over in full armour and on horseback in -quest of adventures, and putting in practice himself all that he had -read of as being the usual practices of knights-errant; righting every -kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger from which, in -the issue, he was to reap eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man -saw himself crowned by the might of his arm Emperor of Trebizond at -least; and so, led away by the intense enjoyment he found in these -pleasant fancies, he set himself forthwith to put his scheme into -execution. - -The first thing he did was to clean up some armour that had belonged to -his great-grandfather, and had been for ages lying forgotten in a -corner eaten with rust and covered with mildew. He scoured and polished -it as best he could, but he perceived one great defect in it, that it -had no closed helmet, nothing but a simple morion. This deficiency, -however, his ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind of half-helmet -of pasteboard which, fitted on to the morion, looked like a whole one. -It is true that, in order to see if it was strong and fit to stand a -cut, he drew his sword and gave it a couple of slashes, the first of -which undid in an instant what had taken him a week to do. The ease -with which he had knocked it to pieces disconcerted him somewhat, and -to guard against that danger he set to work again, fixing bars of iron -on the inside until he was satisfied with its strength; and then, not -caring to try any more experiments with it, he passed it and adopted it -as a helmet of the most perfect construction. - -He next proceeded to inspect his hack, which, with more quartos than a -real and more blemishes than the steed of Gonela, that “_tantum pellis -et ossa fuit_,” surpassed in his eyes the Bucephalus of Alexander or -the Babieca of the Cid. Four days were spent in thinking what name to -give him, because (as he said to himself) it was not right that a horse -belonging to a knight so famous, and one with such merits of his own, -should be without some distinctive name, and he strove to adapt it so -as to indicate what he had been before belonging to a knight-errant, -and what he then was; for it was only reasonable that, his master -taking a new character, he should take a new name, and that it should -be a distinguished and full-sounding one, befitting the new order and -calling he was about to follow. And so, after having composed, struck -out, rejected, added to, unmade, and remade a multitude of names out of -his memory and fancy, he decided upon calling him Rocinante, a name, to -his thinking, lofty, sonorous, and significant of his condition as a -hack before he became what he now was, the first and foremost of all -the hacks in the world. - -Having got a name for his horse so much to his taste, he was anxious to -get one for himself, and he was eight days more pondering over this -point, till at last he made up his mind to call himself “Don Quixote,” -whence, as has been already said, the authors of this veracious history -have inferred that his name must have been beyond a doubt Quixada, and -not Quesada as others would have it. Recollecting, however, that the -valiant Amadis was not content to call himself curtly Amadis and -nothing more, but added the name of his kingdom and country to make it -famous, and called himself Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, -resolved to add on the name of his, and to style himself Don Quixote of -La Mancha, whereby, he considered, he described accurately his origin -and country, and did honour to it in taking his surname from it. - -So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a helmet, -his hack christened, and he himself confirmed, he came to the -conclusion that nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady -to be in love with; for a knight-errant without love was like a tree -without leaves or fruit, or a body without a soul. As he said to -himself, “If, for my sins, or by my good fortune, I come across some -giant hereabouts, a common occurrence with knights-errant, and -overthrow him in one onslaught, or cleave him asunder to the waist, or, -in short, vanquish and subdue him, will it not be well to have someone -I may send him to as a present, that he may come in and fall on his -knees before my sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive voice say, ‘I -am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of Malindrania, -vanquished in single combat by the never sufficiently extolled knight -Don Quixote of La Mancha, who has commanded me to present myself before -your Grace, that your Highness dispose of me at your pleasure’?” Oh, -how our good gentleman enjoyed the delivery of this speech, especially -when he had thought of someone to call his Lady! There was, so the -story goes, in a village near his own a very good-looking farm-girl -with whom he had been at one time in love, though, so far as is known, -she never knew it nor gave a thought to the matter. Her name was -Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he thought fit to confer the title of -Lady of his Thoughts; and after some search for a name which should not -be out of harmony with her own, and should suggest and indicate that of -a princess and great lady, he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del -Toboso—she being of El Toboso—a name, to his mind, musical, uncommon, -and significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon himself -and the things belonging to him. - -CHAPTER II. -WHICH TREATS OF THE FIRST SALLY THE INGENIOUS DON QUIXOTE MADE FROM -HOME - -These preliminaries settled, he did not care to put off any longer the -execution of his design, urged on to it by the thought of all the world -was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he intended to right, -grievances to redress, injustices to repair, abuses to remove, and -duties to discharge. So, without giving notice of his intention to -anyone, and without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning -of the day (which was one of the hottest of the month of July) he -donned his suit of armour, mounted Rocinante with his patched-up helmet -on, braced his buckler, took his lance, and by the back door of the -yard sallied forth upon the plain in the highest contentment and -satisfaction at seeing with what ease he had made a beginning with his -grand purpose. But scarcely did he find himself upon the open plain, -when a terrible thought struck him, one all but enough to make him -abandon the enterprise at the very outset. It occurred to him that he -had not been dubbed a knight, and that according to the law of chivalry -he neither could nor ought to bear arms against any knight; and that -even if he had been, still he ought, as a novice knight, to wear white -armour, without a device upon the shield until by his prowess he had -earned one. These reflections made him waver in his purpose, but his -craze being stronger than any reasoning, he made up his mind to have -himself dubbed a knight by the first one he came across, following the -example of others in the same case, as he had read in the books that -brought him to this pass. As for white armour, he resolved, on the -first opportunity, to scour his until it was whiter than an ermine; and -so comforting himself he pursued his way, taking that which his horse -chose, for in this he believed lay the essence of adventures. - -Thus setting out, our new-fledged adventurer paced along, talking to -himself and saying, “Who knows but that in time to come, when the -veracious history of my famous deeds is made known, the sage who writes -it, when he has to set forth my first sally in the early morning, will -do it after this fashion? ‘Scarce had the rubicund Apollo spread o’er -the face of the broad spacious earth the golden threads of his bright -hair, scarce had the little birds of painted plumage attuned their -notes to hail with dulcet and mellifluous harmony the coming of the -rosy Dawn, that, deserting the soft couch of her jealous spouse, was -appearing to mortals at the gates and balconies of the Manchegan -horizon, when the renowned knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, quitting -the lazy down, mounted his celebrated steed Rocinante and began to -traverse the ancient and famous Campo de Montiel;’” which in fact he -was actually traversing. “Happy the age, happy the time,” he continued, -“in which shall be made known my deeds of fame, worthy to be moulded in -brass, carved in marble, limned in pictures, for a memorial for ever. -And thou, O sage magician, whoever thou art, to whom it shall fall to -be the chronicler of this wondrous history, forget not, I entreat thee, -my good Rocinante, the constant companion of my ways and wanderings.” -Presently he broke out again, as if he were love-stricken in earnest, -“O Princess Dulcinea, lady of this captive heart, a grievous wrong hast -thou done me to drive me forth with scorn, and with inexorable obduracy -banish me from the presence of thy beauty. O lady, deign to hold in -remembrance this heart, thy vassal, that thus in anguish pines for love -of thee.” - -So he went on stringing together these and other absurdities, all in -the style of those his books had taught him, imitating their language -as well as he could; and all the while he rode so slowly and the sun -mounted so rapidly and with such fervour that it was enough to melt his -brains if he had any. Nearly all day he travelled without anything -remarkable happening to him, at which he was in despair, for he was -anxious to encounter someone at once upon whom to try the might of his -strong arm. - -Writers there are who say the first adventure he met with was that of -Puerto Lapice; others say it was that of the windmills; but what I have -ascertained on this point, and what I have found written in the annals -of La Mancha, is that he was on the road all day, and towards nightfall -his hack and he found themselves dead tired and hungry, when, looking -all around to see if he could discover any castle or shepherd’s shanty -where he might refresh himself and relieve his sore wants, he perceived -not far out of his road an inn, which was as welcome as a star guiding -him to the portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption; and -quickening his pace he reached it just as night was setting in. At the -door were standing two young women, girls of the district as they call -them, on their way to Seville with some carriers who had chanced to -halt that night at the inn; and as, happen what might to our -adventurer, everything he saw or imagined seemed to him to be and to -happen after the fashion of what he read of, the moment he saw the inn -he pictured it to himself as a castle with its four turrets and -pinnacles of shining silver, not forgetting the drawbridge and moat and -all the belongings usually ascribed to castles of the sort. To this -inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, and at a short distance -from it he checked Rocinante, hoping that some dwarf would show himself -upon the battlements, and by sound of trumpet give notice that a knight -was approaching the castle. But seeing that they were slow about it, -and that Rocinante was in a hurry to reach the stable, he made for the -inn door, and perceived the two gay damsels who were standing there, -and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens or lovely ladies taking -their ease at the castle gate. - -At this moment it so happened that a swineherd who was going through -the stubbles collecting a drove of pigs (for, without any apology, that -is what they are called) gave a blast of his horn to bring them -together, and forthwith it seemed to Don Quixote to be what he was -expecting, the signal of some dwarf announcing his arrival; and so with -prodigious satisfaction he rode up to the inn and to the ladies, who, -seeing a man of this sort approaching in full armour and with lance and -buckler, were turning in dismay into the inn, when Don Quixote, -guessing their fear by their flight, raising his pasteboard visor, -disclosed his dry dusty visage, and with courteous bearing and gentle -voice addressed them, “Your ladyships need not fly or fear any -rudeness, for that it belongs not to the order of knighthood which I -profess to offer to anyone, much less to highborn maidens as your -appearance proclaims you to be.” The girls were looking at him and -straining their eyes to make out the features which the clumsy visor -obscured, but when they heard themselves called maidens, a thing so -much out of their line, they could not restrain their laughter, which -made Don Quixote wax indignant, and say, “Modesty becomes the fair, and -moreover laughter that has little cause is great silliness; this, -however, I say not to pain or anger you, for my desire is none other -than to serve you.” - -The incomprehensible language and the unpromising looks of our cavalier -only increased the ladies’ laughter, and that increased his irritation, -and matters might have gone farther if at that moment the landlord had -not come out, who, being a very fat man, was a very peaceful one. He, -seeing this grotesque figure clad in armour that did not match any more -than his saddle, bridle, lance, buckler, or corselet, was not at all -indisposed to join the damsels in their manifestations of amusement; -but, in truth, standing in awe of such a complicated armament, he -thought it best to speak him fairly, so he said, “Señor Caballero, if -your worship wants lodging, bating the bed (for there is not one in the -inn) there is plenty of everything else here.” Don Quixote, observing -the respectful bearing of the Alcaide of the fortress (for so innkeeper -and inn seemed in his eyes), made answer, “Sir Castellan, for me -anything will suffice, for - -‘My armour is my only wear, -My only rest the fray.’” - -The host fancied he called him Castellan because he took him for a -“worthy of Castile,” though he was in fact an Andalusian, and one from -the strand of San Lucar, as crafty a thief as Cacus and as full of -tricks as a student or a page. “In that case,” said he, - -“‘Your bed is on the flinty rock, -Your sleep to watch alway;’ - -and if so, you may dismount and safely reckon upon any quantity of -sleeplessness under this roof for a twelvemonth, not to say for a -single night.” So saying, he advanced to hold the stirrup for Don -Quixote, who got down with great difficulty and exertion (for he had -not broken his fast all day), and then charged the host to take great -care of his horse, as he was the best bit of flesh that ever ate bread -in this world. The landlord eyed him over but did not find him as good -as Don Quixote said, nor even half as good; and putting him up in the -stable, he returned to see what might be wanted by his guest, whom the -damsels, who had by this time made their peace with him, were now -relieving of his armour. They had taken off his breastplate and -backpiece, but they neither knew nor saw how to open his gorget or -remove his make-shift helmet, for he had fastened it with green -ribbons, which, as there was no untying the knots, required to be cut. -This, however, he would not by any means consent to, so he remained all -the evening with his helmet on, the drollest and oddest figure that can -be imagined; and while they were removing his armour, taking the -baggages who were about it for ladies of high degree belonging to the -castle, he said to them with great sprightliness: - -“Oh, never, surely, was there knight -So served by hand of dame, -As served was he, Don Quixote hight, -When from his town he came; -With maidens waiting on himself, -Princesses on his hack— - -—or Rocinante, for that, ladies mine, is my horse’s name, and Don -Quixote of La Mancha is my own; for though I had no intention of -declaring myself until my achievements in your service and honour had -made me known, the necessity of adapting that old ballad of Lancelot to -the present occasion has given you the knowledge of my name altogether -prematurely. A time, however, will come for your ladyships to command -and me to obey, and then the might of my arm will show my desire to -serve you.” - -The girls, who were not used to hearing rhetoric of this sort, had -nothing to say in reply; they only asked him if he wanted anything to -eat. “I would gladly eat a bit of something,” said Don Quixote, “for I -feel it would come very seasonably.” The day happened to be a Friday, -and in the whole inn there was nothing but some pieces of the fish they -call in Castile “abadejo,” in Andalusia “bacallao,” and in some places -“curadillo,” and in others “troutlet;” so they asked him if he thought -he could eat troutlet, for there was no other fish to give him. “If -there be troutlets enough,” said Don Quixote, “they will be the same -thing as a trout; for it is all one to me whether I am given eight -reals in small change or a piece of eight; moreover, it may be that -these troutlets are like veal, which is better than beef, or kid, which -is better than goat. But whatever it be let it come quickly, for the -burden and pressure of arms cannot be borne without support to the -inside.” They laid a table for him at the door of the inn for the sake -of the air, and the host brought him a portion of ill-soaked and worse -cooked stockfish, and a piece of bread as black and mouldy as his own -armour; but a laughable sight it was to see him eating, for having his -helmet on and the beaver up, he could not with his own hands put -anything into his mouth unless someone else placed it there, and this -service one of the ladies rendered him. But to give him anything to -drink was impossible, or would have been so had not the landlord bored -a reed, and putting one end in his mouth poured the wine into him -through the other; all which he bore with patience rather than sever -the ribbons of his helmet. - -While this was going on there came up to the inn a sowgelder, who, as -he approached, sounded his reed pipe four or five times, and thereby -completely convinced Don Quixote that he was in some famous castle, and -that they were regaling him with music, and that the stockfish was -trout, the bread the whitest, the wenches ladies, and the landlord the -castellan of the castle; and consequently he held that his enterprise -and sally had been to some purpose. But still it distressed him to -think he had not been dubbed a knight, for it was plain to him he could -not lawfully engage in any adventure without receiving the order of -knighthood. - -CHAPTER III. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE DROLL WAY IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE HAD HIMSELF -DUBBED A KNIGHT - -Harassed by this reflection, he made haste with his scanty pothouse -supper, and having finished it called the landlord, and shutting -himself into the stable with him, fell on his knees before him, saying, -“From this spot I rise not, valiant knight, until your courtesy grants -me the boon I seek, one that will redound to your praise and the -benefit of the human race.” The landlord, seeing his guest at his feet -and hearing a speech of this kind, stood staring at him in -bewilderment, not knowing what to do or say, and entreating him to -rise, but all to no purpose until he had agreed to grant the boon -demanded of him. “I looked for no less, my lord, from your High -Magnificence,” replied Don Quixote, “and I have to tell you that the -boon I have asked and your liberality has granted is that you shall dub -me knight to-morrow morning, and that to-night I shall watch my arms in -the chapel of this your castle; thus to-morrow, as I have said, will be -accomplished what I so much desire, enabling me lawfully to roam -through all the four quarters of the world seeking adventures on behalf -of those in distress, as is the duty of chivalry and of knights-errant -like myself, whose ambition is directed to such deeds.” - -The landlord, who, as has been mentioned, was something of a wag, and -had already some suspicion of his guest’s want of wits, was quite -convinced of it on hearing talk of this kind from him, and to make -sport for the night he determined to fall in with his humour. So he -told him he was quite right in pursuing the object he had in view, and -that such a motive was natural and becoming in cavaliers as -distinguished as he seemed and his gallant bearing showed him to be; -and that he himself in his younger days had followed the same -honourable calling, roaming in quest of adventures in various parts of -the world, among others the Curing-grounds of Malaga, the Isles of -Riaran, the Precinct of Seville, the Little Market of Segovia, the -Olivera of Valencia, the Rondilla of Granada, the Strand of San Lucar, -the Colt of Cordova, the Taverns of Toledo, and divers other quarters, -where he had proved the nimbleness of his feet and the lightness of his -fingers, doing many wrongs, cheating many widows, ruining maids and -swindling minors, and, in short, bringing himself under the notice of -almost every tribunal and court of justice in Spain; until at last he -had retired to this castle of his, where he was living upon his -property and upon that of others; and where he received all -knights-errant of whatever rank or condition they might be, all for the -great love he bore them and that they might share their substance with -him in return for his benevolence. He told him, moreover, that in this -castle of his there was no chapel in which he could watch his armour, -as it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt, but that in a case -of necessity it might, he knew, be watched anywhere, and he might watch -it that night in a courtyard of the castle, and in the morning, God -willing, the requisite ceremonies might be performed so as to have him -dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly dubbed that nobody could be more so. -He asked if he had any money with him, to which Don Quixote replied -that he had not a farthing, as in the histories of knights-errant he -had never read of any of them carrying any. On this point the landlord -told him he was mistaken; for, though not recorded in the histories, -because in the author’s opinion there was no need to mention anything -so obvious and necessary as money and clean shirts, it was not to be -supposed therefore that they did not carry them, and he might regard it -as certain and established that all knights-errant (about whom there -were so many full and unimpeachable books) carried well-furnished -purses in case of emergency, and likewise carried shirts and a little -box of ointment to cure the wounds they received. For in those plains -and deserts where they engaged in combat and came out wounded, it was -not always that there was someone to cure them, unless indeed they had -for a friend some sage magician to succour them at once by fetching -through the air upon a cloud some damsel or dwarf with a vial of water -of such virtue that by tasting one drop of it they were cured of their -hurts and wounds in an instant and left as sound as if they had not -received any damage whatever. But in case this should not occur, the -knights of old took care to see that their squires were provided with -money and other requisites, such as lint and ointments for healing -purposes; and when it happened that knights had no squires (which was -rarely and seldom the case) they themselves carried everything in -cunning saddle-bags that were hardly seen on the horse’s croup, as if -it were something else of more importance, because, unless for some -such reason, carrying saddle-bags was not very favourably regarded -among knights-errant. He therefore advised him (and, as his godson so -soon to be, he might even command him) never from that time forth to -travel without money and the usual requirements, and he would find the -advantage of them when he least expected it. - -Don Quixote promised to follow his advice scrupulously, and it was -arranged forthwith that he should watch his armour in a large yard at -one side of the inn; so, collecting it all together, Don Quixote placed -it on a trough that stood by the side of a well, and bracing his -buckler on his arm he grasped his lance and began with a stately air to -march up and down in front of the trough, and as he began his march -night began to fall. - -The landlord told all the people who were in the inn about the craze of -his guest, the watching of the armour, and the dubbing ceremony he -contemplated. Full of wonder at so strange a form of madness, they -flocked to see it from a distance, and observed with what composure he -sometimes paced up and down, or sometimes, leaning on his lance, gazed -on his armour without taking his eyes off it for ever so long; and as -the night closed in with a light from the moon so brilliant that it -might vie with his that lent it, everything the novice knight did was -plainly seen by all. - -Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn thought fit to water -his team, and it was necessary to remove Don Quixote’s armour as it lay -on the trough; but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud -voice, “O thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that comest to lay hands -on the armour of the most valorous errant that ever girt on sword, have -a care what thou dost; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down thy -life as the penalty of thy rashness.” The carrier gave no heed to these -words (and he would have done better to heed them if he had been -heedful of his health), but seizing it by the straps flung the armour -some distance from him. Seeing this, Don Quixote raised his eyes to -heaven, and fixing his thoughts, apparently, upon his lady Dulcinea, -exclaimed, “Aid me, lady mine, in this the first encounter that -presents itself to this breast which thou holdest in subjection; let -not thy favour and protection fail me in this first jeopardy;” and, -with these words and others to the same purpose, dropping his buckler -he lifted his lance with both hands and with it smote such a blow on -the carrier’s head that he stretched him on the ground, so stunned that -had he followed it up with a second there would have been no need of a -surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked up his armour and returned to -his beat with the same serenity as before. - -Shortly after this, another, not knowing what had happened (for the -carrier still lay senseless), came with the same object of giving water -to his mules, and was proceeding to remove the armour in order to clear -the trough, when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or imploring aid -from anyone, once more dropped his buckler and once more lifted his -lance, and without actually breaking the second carrier’s head into -pieces, made more than three of it, for he laid it open in four. At the -noise all the people of the inn ran to the spot, and among them the -landlord. Seeing this, Don Quixote braced his buckler on his arm, and -with his hand on his sword exclaimed, “O Lady of Beauty, strength and -support of my faint heart, it is time for thee to turn the eyes of thy -greatness on this thy captive knight on the brink of so mighty an -adventure.” By this he felt himself so inspired that he would not have -flinched if all the carriers in the world had assailed him. The -comrades of the wounded perceiving the plight they were in began from a -distance to shower stones on Don Quixote, who screened himself as best -he could with his buckler, not daring to quit the trough and leave his -armour unprotected. The landlord shouted to them to leave him alone, -for he had already told them that he was mad, and as a madman he would -not be accountable even if he killed them all. Still louder shouted Don -Quixote, calling them knaves and traitors, and the lord of the castle, -who allowed knights-errant to be treated in this fashion, a villain and -a low-born knight whom, had he received the order of knighthood, he -would call to account for his treachery. “But of you,” he cried, “base -and vile rabble, I make no account; fling, strike, come on, do all ye -can against me, ye shall see what the reward of your folly and -insolence will be.” This he uttered with so much spirit and boldness -that he filled his assailants with a terrible fear, and as much for -this reason as at the persuasion of the landlord they left off stoning -him, and he allowed them to carry off the wounded, and with the same -calmness and composure as before resumed the watch over his armour. - -But these freaks of his guest were not much to the liking of the -landlord, so he determined to cut matters short and confer upon him at -once the unlucky order of knighthood before any further misadventure -could occur; so, going up to him, he apologised for the rudeness which, -without his knowledge, had been offered to him by these low people, -who, however, had been well punished for their audacity. As he had -already told him, he said, there was no chapel in the castle, nor was -it needed for what remained to be done, for, as he understood the -ceremonial of the order, the whole point of being dubbed a knight lay -in the accolade and in the slap on the shoulder, and that could be -administered in the middle of a field; and that he had now done all -that was needful as to watching the armour, for all requirements were -satisfied by a watch of two hours only, while he had been more than -four about it. Don Quixote believed it all, and told him he stood there -ready to obey him, and to make an end of it with as much despatch as -possible; for, if he were again attacked, and felt himself to be dubbed -knight, he would not, he thought, leave a soul alive in the castle, -except such as out of respect he might spare at his bidding. - -Thus warned and menaced, the castellan forthwith brought out a book in -which he used to enter the straw and barley he served out to the -carriers, and, with a lad carrying a candle-end, and the two damsels -already mentioned, he returned to where Don Quixote stood, and bade him -kneel down. Then, reading from his account-book as if he were repeating -some devout prayer, in the middle of his delivery he raised his hand -and gave him a sturdy blow on the neck, and then, with his own sword, a -smart slap on the shoulder, all the while muttering between his teeth -as if he was saying his prayers. Having done this, he directed one of -the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with great -self-possession and gravity, and not a little was required to prevent a -burst of laughter at each stage of the ceremony; but what they had -already seen of the novice knight’s prowess kept their laughter within -bounds. On girding him with the sword the worthy lady said to him, “May -God make your worship a very fortunate knight, and grant you success in -battle.” Don Quixote asked her name in order that he might from that -time forward know to whom he was beholden for the favour he had -received, as he meant to confer upon her some portion of the honour he -acquired by the might of his arm. She answered with great humility that -she was called La Tolosa, and that she was the daughter of a cobbler of -Toledo who lived in the stalls of Sanchobienaya, and that wherever she -might be she would serve and esteem him as her lord. Don Quixote said -in reply that she would do him a favour if thenceforward she assumed -the “Don” and called herself Doña Tolosa. She promised she would, and -then the other buckled on his spur, and with her followed almost the -same conversation as with the lady of the sword. He asked her name, and -she said it was La Molinera, and that she was the daughter of a -respectable miller of Antequera; and of her likewise Don Quixote -requested that she would adopt the “Don” and call herself Doña -Molinera, making offers to her further services and favours. - -Having thus, with hot haste and speed, brought to a conclusion these -never-till-now-seen ceremonies, Don Quixote was on thorns until he saw -himself on horseback sallying forth in quest of adventures; and -saddling Rocinante at once he mounted, and embracing his host, as he -returned thanks for his kindness in knighting him, he addressed him in -language so extraordinary that it is impossible to convey an idea of it -or report it. The landlord, to get him out of the inn, replied with no -less rhetoric though with shorter words, and without calling upon him -to pay the reckoning let him go with a Godspeed. - -CHAPTER IV. -OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT THE INN - -Day was dawning when Don Quixote quitted the inn, so happy, so gay, so -exhilarated at finding himself now dubbed a knight, that his joy was -like to burst his horse-girths. However, recalling the advice of his -host as to the requisites he ought to carry with him, especially that -referring to money and shirts, he determined to go home and provide -himself with all, and also with a squire, for he reckoned upon securing -a farm-labourer, a neighbour of his, a poor man with a family, but very -well qualified for the office of squire to a knight. With this object -he turned his horse’s head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus -reminded of his old quarters, stepped out so briskly that he hardly -seemed to tread the earth. - -He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to -come feeble cries as of someone in distress, and the instant he heard -them he exclaimed, “Thanks be to heaven for the favour it accords me, -that it so soon offers me an opportunity of fulfilling the obligation I -have undertaken, and gathering the fruit of my ambition. These cries, -no doubt, come from some man or woman in want of help, and needing my -aid and protection;” and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction -whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into -the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and -stripped from the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, -from whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty -farmer was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with -scoldings and commands, repeating, “Your mouth shut and your eyes -open!” while the youth made answer, “I won’t do it again, master mine; -by God’s passion I won’t do it again, and I’ll take more care of the -flock another time.” - -Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an angry voice, -“Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you to assail one who cannot -defend himself; mount your steed and take your lance” (for there was a -lance leaning against the oak to which the mare was tied), “and I will -make you know that you are behaving as a coward.” The farmer, seeing -before him this figure in full armour brandishing a lance over his -head, gave himself up for dead, and made answer meekly, “Sir Knight, -this youth that I am chastising is my servant, employed by me to watch -a flock of sheep that I have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose -one every day, and when I punish him for his carelessness and knavery -he says I do it out of niggardliness, to escape paying him the wages I -owe him, and before God, and on my soul, he lies.” - -“Lies before me, base clown!” said Don Quixote. “By the sun that shines -on us I have a mind to run you through with this lance. Pay him at once -without another word; if not, by the God that rules us I will make an -end of you, and annihilate you on the spot; release him instantly.” - -The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of -whom Don Quixote asked how much his master owed him. - -He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. Don Quixote added it -up, found that it came to sixty-three reals, and told the farmer to pay -it down immediately, if he did not want to die for it. - -The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had -sworn (though he had not sworn any) it was not so much; for there were -to be taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had given -him, and a real for two blood-lettings when he was sick. - -“All that is very well,” said Don Quixote; “but let the shoes and the -blood-lettings stand as a setoff against the blows you have given him -without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid -for, you have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood -from him when he was sick, you have drawn it when he was sound; so on -that score he owes you nothing.” - -“The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres -come home with me, and I will pay him all, real by real.” - -“I go with him!” said the youth. “Nay, God forbid! No, señor, not for -the world; for once alone with me, he would ray me like a Saint -Bartholomew.” - -“He will do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “I have only to -command, and he will obey me; and as he has sworn to me by the order of -knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, and I guarantee the -payment.” - -“Consider what you are saying, señor,” said the youth; “this master of -mine is not a knight, nor has he received any order of knighthood; for -he is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar.” - -“That matters little,” replied Don Quixote; “there may be Haldudos -knights; moreover, everyone is the son of his works.” - -“That is true,” said Andres; “but this master of mine—of what works is -he the son, when he refuses me the wages of my sweat and labour?” - -“I do not refuse, brother Andres,” said the farmer, “be good enough to -come along with me, and I swear by all the orders of knighthood there -are in the world to pay you as I have agreed, real by real, and -perfumed.” - -“For the perfumery I excuse you,” said Don Quixote; “give it to him in -reals, and I shall be satisfied; and see that you do as you have sworn; -if not, by the same oath I swear to come back and hunt you out and -punish you; and I shall find you though you should lie closer than a -lizard. And if you desire to know who it is lays this command upon you, -that you be more firmly bound to obey it, know that I am the valorous -Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices; and so, -God be with you, and keep in mind what you have promised and sworn -under those penalties that have been already declared to you.” - -So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was soon out of reach. The -farmer followed him with his eyes, and when he saw that he had cleared -the wood and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy Andres, and -said, “Come here, my son, I want to pay you what I owe you, as that -undoer of wrongs has commanded me.” - -“My oath on it,” said Andres, “your worship will be well advised to -obey the command of that good knight—may he live a thousand years—for, -as he is a valiant and just judge, by Roque, if you do not pay me, he -will come back and do as he said.” - -“My oath on it, too,” said the farmer; “but as I have a strong -affection for you, I want to add to the debt in order to add to the -payment;” and seizing him by the arm, he tied him up again, and gave -him such a flogging that he left him for dead. - -“Now, Master Andres,” said the farmer, “call on the undoer of wrongs; -you will find he won’t undo that, though I am not sure that I have -quite done with you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive.” But at -last he untied him, and gave him leave to go look for his judge in -order to put the sentence pronounced into execution. - -Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing he would go to look -for the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha and tell him exactly what had -happened, and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; but for -all that, he went off weeping, while his master stood laughing. - -Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, and, thoroughly -satisfied with what had taken place, as he considered he had made a -very happy and noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the road -towards his village in perfect self-content, saying in a low voice, -“Well mayest thou this day call thyself fortunate above all on earth, O -Dulcinea del Toboso, fairest of the fair! since it has fallen to thy -lot to hold subject and submissive to thy full will and pleasure a -knight so renowned as is and will be Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as -all the world knows, yesterday received the order of knighthood, and -hath to-day righted the greatest wrong and grievance that ever -injustice conceived and cruelty perpetrated: who hath to-day plucked -the rod from the hand of yonder ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing -that tender child.” - -He now came to a road branching in four directions, and immediately he -was reminded of those cross-roads where knights-errant used to stop to -consider which road they should take. In imitation of them he halted -for a while, and after having deeply considered it, he gave Rocinante -his head, submitting his own will to that of his hack, who followed out -his first intention, which was to make straight for his own stable. -After he had gone about two miles Don Quixote perceived a large party -of people, who, as afterwards appeared, were some Toledo traders, on -their way to buy silk at Murcia. There were six of them coming along -under their sunshades, with four servants mounted, and three muleteers -on foot. Scarcely had Don Quixote descried them when the fancy -possessed him that this must be some new adventure; and to help him to -imitate as far as he could those passages he had read of in his books, -here seemed to come one made on purpose, which he resolved to attempt. -So with a lofty bearing and determination he fixed himself firmly in -his stirrups, got his lance ready, brought his buckler before his -breast, and planting himself in the middle of the road, stood waiting -the approach of these knights-errant, for such he now considered and -held them to be; and when they had come near enough to see and hear, he -exclaimed with a haughty gesture, “All the world stand, unless all the -world confess that in all the world there is no maiden fairer than the -Empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -The traders halted at the sound of this language and the sight of the -strange figure that uttered it, and from both figure and language at -once guessed the craze of their owner; they wished, however, to learn -quietly what was the object of this confession that was demanded of -them, and one of them, who was rather fond of a joke and was very -sharp-witted, said to him, “Sir Knight, we do not know who this good -lady is that you speak of; show her to us, for, if she be of such -beauty as you suggest, with all our hearts and without any pressure we -will confess the truth that is on your part required of us.” - -“If I were to show her to you,” replied Don Quixote, “what merit would -you have in confessing a truth so manifest? The essential point is that -without seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, and defend -it; else ye have to do with me in battle, ill-conditioned, arrogant -rabble that ye are; and come ye on, one by one as the order of -knighthood requires, or all together as is the custom and vile usage of -your breed, here do I bide and await you relying on the justice of the -cause I maintain.” - -“Sir Knight,” replied the trader, “I entreat your worship in the name -of this present company of princes, that, to save us from charging our -consciences with the confession of a thing we have never seen or heard -of, and one moreover so much to the prejudice of the Empresses and -Queens of the Alcarria and Estremadura, your worship will be pleased to -show us some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain -of wheat; for by the thread one gets at the ball, and in this way we -shall be satisfied and easy, and you will be content and pleased; nay, -I believe we are already so far agreed with you that even though her -portrait should show her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and -sulphur from the other, we would nevertheless, to gratify your worship, -say all in her favour that you desire.” - -“She distils nothing of the kind, vile rabble,” said Don Quixote, -burning with rage, “nothing of the kind, I say, only ambergris and -civet in cotton; nor is she one-eyed or humpbacked, but straighter than -a Guadarrama spindle: but ye must pay for the blasphemy ye have uttered -against beauty like that of my lady.” - -And so saying, he charged with levelled lance against the one who had -spoken, with such fury and fierceness that, if luck had not contrived -that Rocinante should stumble midway and come down, it would have gone -hard with the rash trader. Down went Rocinante, and over went his -master, rolling along the ground for some distance; and when he tried -to rise he was unable, so encumbered was he with lance, buckler, spurs, -helmet, and the weight of his old armour; and all the while he was -struggling to get up he kept saying, “Fly not, cowards and caitiffs! -stay, for not by my fault, but my horse’s, am I stretched here.” - -One of the muleteers in attendance, who could not have had much good -nature in him, hearing the poor prostrate man blustering in this style, -was unable to refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs; and coming -up to him he seized his lance, and having broken it in pieces, with one -of them he began so to belabour our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding -and in spite of his armour, he milled him like a measure of wheat. His -masters called out not to lay on so hard and to leave him alone, but -the muleteers blood was up, and he did not care to drop the game until -he had vented the rest of his wrath, and gathering up the remaining -fragments of the lance he finished with a discharge upon the unhappy -victim, who all through the storm of sticks that rained on him never -ceased threatening heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for such they -seemed to him. At last the muleteer was tired, and the traders -continued their journey, taking with them matter for talk about the -poor fellow who had been cudgelled. He when he found himself alone made -another effort to rise; but if he was unable when whole and sound, how -was he to rise after having been thrashed and well-nigh knocked to -pieces? And yet he esteemed himself fortunate, as it seemed to him that -this was a regular knight-errant’s mishap, and entirely, he considered, -the fault of his horse. However, battered in body as he was, to rise -was beyond his power. - -CHAPTER V. -IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE OF OUR KNIGHT’S MISHAP IS CONTINUED - -Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of -having recourse to his usual remedy, which was to think of some passage -in his books, and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and -the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the -mountainside, a story known by heart by the children, not forgotten by -the young men, and lauded and even believed by the old folk; and for -all that not a whit truer than the miracles of Mahomet. This seemed to -him to fit exactly the case in which he found himself, so, making a -show of severe suffering, he began to roll on the ground and with -feeble breath repeat the very words which the wounded knight of the -wood is said to have uttered: - -Where art thou, lady mine, that thou -My sorrow dost not rue? -Thou canst not know it, lady mine, -Or else thou art untrue. - -And so he went on with the ballad as far as the lines: - -O noble Marquis of Mantua, -My Uncle and liege lord! - -As chance would have it, when he had got to this line there happened to -come by a peasant from his own village, a neighbour of his, who had -been with a load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched -there, came up to him and asked him who he was and what was the matter -with him that he complained so dolefully. - -Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the Marquis of Mantua, -his uncle, so the only answer he made was to go on with his ballad, in -which he told the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the -Emperor’s son and his wife all exactly as the ballad sings it. - -The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of -the visor, already battered to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, -which was covered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he -recognised him and said, “Señor Quixada” (for so he appears to have -been called when he was in his senses and had not yet changed from a -quiet country gentleman into a knight-errant), “who has brought your -worship to this pass?” But to all questions the other only went on with -his ballad. - -Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate -and backpiece to see if he had any wound, but he could perceive no -blood nor any mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the -ground, and with no little difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which -seemed to him to be the easiest mount for him; and collecting the arms, -even to the splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and -leading him by the bridle and the ass by the halter he took the road -for the village, very sad to hear what absurd stuff Don Quixote was -talking. - -Nor was Don Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he could -not sit upright on the ass, and from time to time he sent up sighs to -heaven, so that once more he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. -And it could have been only the devil himself that put into his head -tales to match his own adventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he -bethought himself of the Moor Abindarraez, when the Alcaide of -Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took him prisoner and carried him away -to his castle; so that when the peasant again asked him how he was and -what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same words and phrases that -the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de Narvaez, just as he had read -the story in the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor where it is written, -applying it to his own case so aptly that the peasant went along -cursing his fate that he had to listen to such a lot of nonsense; from -which, however, he came to the conclusion that his neighbour was mad, -and so made all haste to reach the village to escape the wearisomeness -of this harangue of Don Quixote’s; who, at the end of it, said, “Señor -Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, your worship must know that this fair Xarifa I -have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea del Toboso, for whom I have -done, am doing, and will do the most famous deeds of chivalry that in -this world have been seen, are to be seen, or ever shall be seen.” - -To this the peasant answered, “Señor—sinner that I am!—cannot your -worship see that I am not Don Rodrigo de Narvaez nor the Marquis of -Mantua, but Pedro Alonso your neighbour, and that your worship is -neither Baldwin nor Abindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Señor -Quixada?” - -“I know who I am,” replied Don Quixote, “and I know that I may be not -only those I have named, but all the Twelve Peers of France and even -all the Nine Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have -done all together and each of them on his own account.” - -With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just -as night was beginning to fall, but the peasant waited until it was a -little later that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in -such a miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time -he entered the village and went to Don Quixote’s house, which he found -all in confusion, and there were the curate and the village barber, who -were great friends of Don Quixote, and his housekeeper was saying to -them in a loud voice, “What does your worship think can have befallen -my master, Señor Licentiate Pero Perez?” for so the curate was called; -“it is three days now since anything has been seen of him, or the hack, -or the buckler, lance, or armour. Miserable me! I am certain of it, and -it is as true as that I was born to die, that these accursed books of -chivalry he has, and has got into the way of reading so constantly, -have upset his reason; for now I remember having often heard him saying -to himself that he would turn knight-errant and go all over the world -in quest of adventures. To the devil and Barabbas with such books, that -have brought to ruin in this way the finest understanding there was in -all La Mancha!” - -The niece said the same, and, more: “You must know, Master -Nicholas”—for that was the name of the barber—“it was often my uncle’s -way to stay two days and nights together poring over these unholy books -of misventures, after which he would fling the book away and snatch up -his sword and fall to slashing the walls; and when he was tired out he -would say he had killed four giants like four towers; and the sweat -that flowed from him when he was weary he said was the blood of the -wounds he had received in battle; and then he would drink a great jug -of cold water and become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a -most precious potion which the sage Esquife, a great magician and -friend of his, had brought him. But I take all the blame upon myself -for never having told your worships of my uncle’s vagaries, that you -might put a stop to them before things had come to this pass, and burn -all these accursed books—for he has a great number—that richly deserve -to be burned like heretics.” - -“So say I too,” said the curate, “and by my faith to-morrow shall not -pass without public judgment upon them, and may they be condemned to -the flames lest they lead those that read to behave as my good friend -seems to have behaved.” - -All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was -the matter with his neighbour, so he began calling aloud, “Open, your -worships, to Señor Baldwin and to Señor the Marquis of Mantua, who -comes badly wounded, and to Señor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the -valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, the Alcaide of Antequera, brings captive.” - -At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their -friend, master, and uncle, who had not yet dismounted from the ass -because he could not, they ran to embrace him. - -“Hold!” said he, “for I am badly wounded through my horse’s fault; -carry me to bed, and if possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and -see to my wounds.” - -“See there! plague on it!” cried the housekeeper at this: “did not my -heart tell the truth as to which foot my master went lame of? To bed -with your worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here -without fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred -times more, on those books of chivalry that have brought your worship -to such a pass.” - -They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds -could find none, but he said they were all bruises from having had a -severe fall with his horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, -the biggest and the boldest to be found on earth. - -“So, so!” said the curate, “are there giants in the dance? By the sign -of the Cross I will burn them to-morrow before the day is over.” - -They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to all -was—give him something to eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was -what he needed most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant -at great length as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and -the nonsense he had talked when found and on the way home, all which -made the licentiate the more eager to do what he did the next day, -which was to summon his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with -him to Don Quixote’s house. - -CHAPTER VI. -OF THE DIVERTING AND IMPORTANT SCRUTINY WHICH THE CURATE AND THE BARBER -MADE IN THE LIBRARY OF OUR INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN - -He was still sleeping; so the curate asked the niece for the keys of -the room where the books, the authors of all the mischief, were, and -right willingly she gave them. They all went in, the housekeeper with -them, and found more than a hundred volumes of big books very well -bound, and some other small ones. The moment the housekeeper saw them -she turned about and ran out of the room, and came back immediately -with a saucer of holy water and a sprinkler, saying, “Here, your -worship, señor licentiate, sprinkle this room; don’t leave any magician -of the many there are in these books to bewitch us in revenge for our -design of banishing them from the world.” - -The simplicity of the housekeeper made the licentiate laugh, and he -directed the barber to give him the books one by one to see what they -were about, as there might be some to be found among them that did not -deserve the penalty of fire. - -“No,” said the niece, “there is no reason for showing mercy to any of -them; they have every one of them done mischief; better fling them out -of the window into the court and make a pile of them and set fire to -them; or else carry them into the yard, and there a bonfire can be made -without the smoke giving any annoyance.” The housekeeper said the same, -so eager were they both for the slaughter of those innocents, but the -curate would not agree to it without first reading at any rate the -titles. - -The first that Master Nicholas put into his hand was “The four books of -Amadis of Gaul.” “This seems a mysterious thing,” said the curate, -“for, as I have heard say, this was the first book of chivalry printed -in Spain, and from this all the others derive their birth and origin; -so it seems to me that we ought inexorably to condemn it to the flames -as the founder of so vile a sect.” - -“Nay, sir,” said the barber, “I too, have heard say that this is the -best of all the books of this kind that have been written, and so, as -something singular in its line, it ought to be pardoned.” - -“True,” said the curate; “and for that reason let its life be spared -for the present. Let us see that other which is next to it.” - -“It is,” said the barber, “the ‘Sergas de Esplandian,’ the lawful son -of Amadis of Gaul.” - -“Then verily,” said the curate, “the merit of the father must not be -put down to the account of the son. Take it, mistress housekeeper; open -the window and fling it into the yard and lay the foundation of the -pile for the bonfire we are to make.” - -The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and the worthy -“Esplandian” went flying into the yard to await with all patience the -fire that was in store for him. - -“Proceed,” said the curate. - -“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is ‘Amadis of Greece,’ and, -indeed, I believe all those on this side are of the same Amadis -lineage.” - -“Then to the yard with the whole of them,” said the curate; “for to -have the burning of Queen Pintiquiniestra, and the shepherd Darinel and -his eclogues, and the bedevilled and involved discourses of his author, -I would burn with them the father who begot me if he were going about -in the guise of a knight-errant.” - -“I am of the same mind,” said the barber. - -“And so am I,” added the niece. - -“In that case,” said the housekeeper, “here, into the yard with them!” - -They were handed to her, and as there were many of them, she spared -herself the staircase, and flung them down out of the window. - -“Who is that tub there?” said the curate. - -“This,” said the barber, “is ‘Don Olivante de Laura.’” - -“The author of that book,” said the curate, “was the same that wrote -‘The Garden of Flowers,’ and truly there is no deciding which of the -two books is the more truthful, or, to put it better, the less lying; -all I can say is, send this one into the yard for a swaggering fool.” - -“This that follows is ‘Florismarte of Hircania,’” said the barber. - -“Señor Florismarte here?” said the curate; “then by my faith he must -take up his quarters in the yard, in spite of his marvellous birth and -visionary adventures, for the stiffness and dryness of his style -deserve nothing else; into the yard with him and the other, mistress -housekeeper.” - -“With all my heart, señor,” said she, and executed the order with great -delight. - -“This,” said the barber, “is ‘The Knight Platir.’” - -“An old book that,” said the curate, “but I find no reason for clemency -in it; send it after the others without appeal;” which was done. - -Another book was opened, and they saw it was entitled, “The Knight of -the Cross.” - -“For the sake of the holy name this book has,” said the curate, “its -ignorance might be excused; but then, they say, ‘behind the cross -there’s the devil;’ to the fire with it.” - -Taking down another book, the barber said, “This is ‘The Mirror of -Chivalry.’” - -“I know his worship,” said the curate; “that is where Señor Reinaldos -of Montalvan figures with his friends and comrades, greater thieves -than Cacus, and the Twelve Peers of France with the veracious historian -Turpin; however, I am not for condemning them to more than perpetual -banishment, because, at any rate, they have some share in the invention -of the famous Matteo Boiardo, whence too the Christian poet Ludovico -Ariosto wove his web, to whom, if I find him here, and speaking any -language but his own, I shall show no respect whatever; but if he -speaks his own tongue I will put him upon my head.” - -“Well, I have him in Italian,” said the barber, “but I do not -understand him.” - -“Nor would it be well that you should understand him,” said the curate, -“and on that score we might have excused the Captain if he had not -brought him into Spain and turned him into Castilian. He robbed him of -a great deal of his natural force, and so do all those who try to turn -books written in verse into another language, for, with all the pains -they take and all the cleverness they show, they never can reach the -level of the originals as they were first produced. In short, I say -that this book, and all that may be found treating of those French -affairs, should be thrown into or deposited in some dry well, until -after more consideration it is settled what is to be done with them; -excepting always one ‘Bernardo del Carpio’ that is going about, and -another called ‘Roncesvalles;’ for these, if they come into my hands, -shall pass at once into those of the housekeeper, and from hers into -the fire without any reprieve.” - -To all this the barber gave his assent, and looked upon it as right and -proper, being persuaded that the curate was so staunch to the Faith and -loyal to the Truth that he would not for the world say anything opposed -to them. Opening another book he saw it was “Palmerin de Oliva,” and -beside it was another called “Palmerin of England,” seeing which the -licentiate said, “Let the Olive be made firewood of at once and burned -until no ashes even are left; and let that Palm of England be kept and -preserved as a thing that stands alone, and let such another case be -made for it as that which Alexander found among the spoils of Darius -and set aside for the safe keeping of the works of the poet Homer. This -book, gossip, is of authority for two reasons, first because it is very -good, and secondly because it is said to have been written by a wise -and witty king of Portugal. All the adventures at the Castle of -Miraguarda are excellent and of admirable contrivance, and the language -is polished and clear, studying and observing the style befitting the -speaker with propriety and judgment. So then, provided it seems good to -you, Master Nicholas, I say let this and ‘Amadis of Gaul’ be remitted -the penalty of fire, and as for all the rest, let them perish without -further question or query.” - -“Nay, gossip,” said the barber, “for this that I have here is the -famous ‘Don Belianis.’” - -“Well,” said the curate, “that and the second, third, and fourth parts -all stand in need of a little rhubarb to purge their excess of bile, -and they must be cleared of all that stuff about the Castle of Fame and -other greater affectations, to which end let them be allowed the -over-seas term, and, according as they mend, so shall mercy or justice -be meted out to them; and in the mean time, gossip, do you keep them in -your house and let no one read them.” - -“With all my heart,” said the barber; and not caring to tire himself -with reading more books of chivalry, he told the housekeeper to take -all the big ones and throw them into the yard. It was not said to one -dull or deaf, but to one who enjoyed burning them more than weaving the -broadest and finest web that could be; and seizing about eight at a -time, she flung them out of the window. - -In carrying so many together she let one fall at the feet of the -barber, who took it up, curious to know whose it was, and found it -said, “History of the Famous Knight, Tirante el Blanco.” - -“God bless me!” said the curate with a shout, “‘Tirante el Blanco’ -here! Hand it over, gossip, for in it I reckon I have found a treasury -of enjoyment and a mine of recreation. Here is Don Kyrieleison of -Montalvan, a valiant knight, and his brother Thomas of Montalvan, and -the knight Fonseca, with the battle the bold Tirante fought with the -mastiff, and the witticisms of the damsel Placerdemivida, and the loves -and wiles of the widow Reposada, and the empress in love with the -squire Hipolito—in truth, gossip, by right of its style it is the best -book in the world. Here knights eat and sleep, and die in their beds, -and make their wills before dying, and a great deal more of which there -is nothing in all the other books. Nevertheless, I say he who wrote it, -for deliberately composing such fooleries, deserves to be sent to the -galleys for life. Take it home with you and read it, and you will see -that what I have said is true.” - -“As you will,” said the barber; “but what are we to do with these -little books that are left?” - -“These must be, not chivalry, but poetry,” said the curate; and opening -one he saw it was the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor, and, supposing -all the others to be of the same sort, “these,” he said, “do not -deserve to be burned like the others, for they neither do nor can do -the mischief the books of chivalry have done, being books of -entertainment that can hurt no one.” - -“Ah, señor!” said the niece, “your worship had better order these to be -burned as well as the others; for it would be no wonder if, after being -cured of his chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a -fancy to turn shepherd and range the woods and fields singing and -piping; or, what would be still worse, to turn poet, which they say is -an incurable and infectious malady.” - -“The damsel is right,” said the curate, “and it will be well to put -this stumbling-block and temptation out of our friend’s way. To begin, -then, with the ‘Diana’ of Montemayor. I am of opinion it should not be -burned, but that it should be cleared of all that about the sage -Felicia and the magic water, and of almost all the longer pieces of -verse: let it keep, and welcome, its prose and the honour of being the -first of books of the kind.” - -“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is the ‘Diana,’ entitled the -‘Second Part, by the Salamancan,’ and this other has the same title, -and its author is Gil Polo.” - -“As for that of the Salamancan,” replied the curate, “let it go to -swell the number of the condemned in the yard, and let Gil Polo’s be -preserved as if it came from Apollo himself: but get on, gossip, and -make haste, for it is growing late.” - -“This book,” said the barber, opening another, “is the ten books of the -‘Fortune of Love,’ written by Antonio de Lofraso, a Sardinian poet.” - -“By the orders I have received,” said the curate, “since Apollo has -been Apollo, and the Muses have been Muses, and poets have been poets, -so droll and absurd a book as this has never been written, and in its -way it is the best and the most singular of all of this species that -have as yet appeared, and he who has not read it may be sure he has -never read what is delightful. Give it here, gossip, for I make more -account of having found it than if they had given me a cassock of -Florence stuff.” - -He put it aside with extreme satisfaction, and the barber went on, -“These that come next are ‘The Shepherd of Iberia,’ ‘Nymphs of -Henares,’ and ‘The Enlightenment of Jealousy.’” - -“Then all we have to do,” said the curate, “is to hand them over to the -secular arm of the housekeeper, and ask me not why, or we shall never -have done.” - -“This next is the ‘Pastor de Fílida.’” - -“No Pastor that,” said the curate, “but a highly polished courtier; let -it be preserved as a precious jewel.” - -“This large one here,” said the barber, “is called ‘The Treasury of -various Poems.’” - -“If there were not so many of them,” said the curate, “they would be -more relished: this book must be weeded and cleansed of certain -vulgarities which it has with its excellences; let it be preserved -because the author is a friend of mine, and out of respect for other -more heroic and loftier works that he has written.” - -“This,” continued the barber, “is the ‘Cancionero’ of Lopez de -Maldonado.” - -“The author of that book, too,” said the curate, “is a great friend of -mine, and his verses from his own mouth are the admiration of all who -hear them, for such is the sweetness of his voice that he enchants when -he chants them: it gives rather too much of its eclogues, but what is -good was never yet plentiful: let it be kept with those that have been -set apart. But what book is that next it?” - -“The ‘Galatea’ of Miguel de Cervantes,” said the barber. - -“That Cervantes has been for many years a great friend of mine, and to -my knowledge he has had more experience in reverses than in verses. His -book has some good invention in it, it presents us with something but -brings nothing to a conclusion: we must wait for the Second Part it -promises: perhaps with amendment it may succeed in winning the full -measure of grace that is now denied it; and in the mean time do you, -señor gossip, keep it shut up in your own quarters.” - -“Very good,” said the barber; “and here come three together, the -‘Araucana’ of Don Alonso de Ercilla, the ‘Austriada’ of Juan Rufo, -Justice of Cordova, and the ‘Montserrate’ of Christobal de Virués, the -Valencian poet.” - -“These three books,” said the curate, “are the best that have been -written in Castilian in heroic verse, and they may compare with the -most famous of Italy; let them be preserved as the richest treasures of -poetry that Spain possesses.” - -The curate was tired and would not look into any more books, and so he -decided that, “contents uncertified,” all the rest should be burned; -but just then the barber held open one, called “The Tears of Angelica.” - -“I should have shed tears myself,” said the curate when he heard the -title, “had I ordered that book to be burned, for its author was one of -the famous poets of the world, not to say of Spain, and was very happy -in the translation of some of Ovid’s fables.” - -CHAPTER VII. -OF THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA - -At this instant Don Quixote began shouting out, “Here, here, valiant -knights! here is need for you to put forth the might of your strong -arms, for they of the Court are gaining the mastery in the tourney!” -Called away by this noise and outcry, they proceeded no farther with -the scrutiny of the remaining books, and so it is thought that “The -Carolea,” “The Lion of Spain,” and “The Deeds of the Emperor,” written -by Don Luis de Ávila, went to the fire unseen and unheard; for no doubt -they were among those that remained, and perhaps if the curate had seen -them they would not have undergone so severe a sentence. - -When they reached Don Quixote he was already out of bed, and was still -shouting and raving, and slashing and cutting all round, as wide awake -as if he had never slept. - -They closed with him and by force got him back to bed, and when he had -become a little calm, addressing the curate, he said to him, “Of a -truth, Señor Archbishop Turpin, it is a great disgrace for us who call -ourselves the Twelve Peers, so carelessly to allow the knights of the -Court to gain the victory in this tourney, we the adventurers having -carried off the honour on the three former days.” - -“Hush, gossip,” said the curate; “please God, the luck may turn, and -what is lost to-day may be won to-morrow; for the present let your -worship have a care of your health, for it seems to me that you are -over-fatigued, if not badly wounded.” - -“Wounded no,” said Don Quixote, “but bruised and battered no doubt, for -that bastard Don Roland has cudgelled me with the trunk of an oak tree, -and all for envy, because he sees that I alone rival him in his -achievements. But I should not call myself Reinaldos of Montalvan did -he not pay me for it in spite of all his enchantments as soon as I rise -from this bed. For the present let them bring me something to eat, for -that, I feel, is what will be more to my purpose, and leave it to me to -avenge myself.” - -They did as he wished; they gave him something to eat, and once more he -fell asleep, leaving them marvelling at his madness. - -That night the housekeeper burned to ashes all the books that were in -the yard and in the whole house; and some must have been consumed that -deserved preservation in everlasting archives, but their fate and the -laziness of the examiner did not permit it, and so in them was verified -the proverb that the innocent suffer for the guilty. - -One of the remedies which the curate and the barber immediately applied -to their friend’s disorder was to wall up and plaster the room where -the books were, so that when he got up he should not find them -(possibly the cause being removed the effect might cease), and they -might say that a magician had carried them off, room and all; and this -was done with all despatch. Two days later Don Quixote got up, and the -first thing he did was to go and look at his books, and not finding the -room where he had left it, he wandered from side to side looking for -it. He came to the place where the door used to be, and tried it with -his hands, and turned and twisted his eyes in every direction without -saying a word; but after a good while he asked his housekeeper -whereabouts was the room that held his books. - -The housekeeper, who had been already well instructed in what she was -to answer, said, “What room or what nothing is it that your worship is -looking for? There are neither room nor books in this house now, for -the devil himself has carried all away.” - -“It was not the devil,” said the niece, “but a magician who came on a -cloud one night after the day your worship left this, and dismounting -from a serpent that he rode he entered the room, and what he did there -I know not, but after a little while he made off, flying through the -roof, and left the house full of smoke; and when we went to see what he -had done we saw neither book nor room: but we remember very well, the -housekeeper and I, that on leaving, the old villain said in a loud -voice that, for a private grudge he owed the owner of the books and the -room, he had done mischief in that house that would be discovered -by-and-by: he said too that his name was the Sage Muñaton.” - -“He must have said Friston,” said Don Quixote. - -“I don’t know whether he called himself Friston or Friton,” said the -housekeeper, “I only know that his name ended with ‘ton.’” - -“So it does,” said Don Quixote, “and he is a sage magician, a great -enemy of mine, who has a spite against me because he knows by his arts -and lore that in process of time I am to engage in single combat with a -knight whom he befriends and that I am to conquer, and he will be -unable to prevent it; and for this reason he endeavours to do me all -the ill turns that he can; but I promise him it will be hard for him to -oppose or avoid what is decreed by Heaven.” - -“Who doubts that?” said the niece; “but, uncle, who mixes you up in -these quarrels? Would it not be better to remain at peace in your own -house instead of roaming the world looking for better bread than ever -came of wheat, never reflecting that many go for wool and come back -shorn?” - -“Oh, niece of mine,” replied Don Quixote, “how much astray art thou in -thy reckoning: ere they shear me I shall have plucked away and stripped -off the beards of all who dare to touch only the tip of a hair of -mine.” - -The two were unwilling to make any further answer, as they saw that his -anger was kindling. - -In short, then, he remained at home fifteen days very quietly without -showing any signs of a desire to take up with his former delusions, and -during this time he held lively discussions with his two gossips, the -curate and the barber, on the point he maintained, that knights-errant -were what the world stood most in need of, and that in him was to be -accomplished the revival of knight-errantry. The curate sometimes -contradicted him, sometimes agreed with him, for if he had not observed -this precaution he would have been unable to bring him to reason. - -Meanwhile Don Quixote worked upon a farm labourer, a neighbour of his, -an honest man (if indeed that title can be given to him who is poor), -but with very little wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, -and with such persuasions and promises, that the poor clown made up his -mind to sally forth with him and serve him as esquire. Don Quixote, -among other things, told him he ought to be ready to go with him -gladly, because any moment an adventure might occur that might win an -island in the twinkling of an eye and leave him governor of it. On -these and the like promises Sancho Panza (for so the labourer was -called) left wife and children, and engaged himself as esquire to his -neighbour. - -Don Quixote next set about getting some money; and selling one thing -and pawning another, and making a bad bargain in every case, he got -together a fair sum. He provided himself with a buckler, which he -begged as a loan from a friend, and, restoring his battered helmet as -best he could, he warned his squire Sancho of the day and hour he meant -to set out, that he might provide himself with what he thought most -needful. Above all, he charged him to take alforjas with him. The other -said he would, and that he meant to take also a very good ass he had, -as he was not much given to going on foot. About the ass, Don Quixote -hesitated a little, trying whether he could call to mind any -knight-errant taking with him an esquire mounted on ass-back, but no -instance occurred to his memory. For all that, however, he determined -to take him, intending to furnish him with a more honourable mount when -a chance of it presented itself, by appropriating the horse of the -first discourteous knight he encountered. Himself he provided with -shirts and such other things as he could, according to the advice the -host had given him; all which being done, without taking leave, Sancho -Panza of his wife and children, or Don Quixote of his housekeeper and -niece, they sallied forth unseen by anybody from the village one night, -and made such good way in the course of it that by daylight they held -themselves safe from discovery, even should search be made for them. - -Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch, with his alforjas and bota, -and longing to see himself soon governor of the island his master had -promised him. Don Quixote decided upon taking the same route and road -he had taken on his first journey, that over the Campo de Montiel, -which he travelled with less discomfort than on the last occasion, for, -as it was early morning and the rays of the sun fell on them obliquely, -the heat did not distress them. - -And now said Sancho Panza to his master, “Your worship will take care, -Señor Knight-errant, not to forget about the island you have promised -me, for be it ever so big I’ll be equal to governing it.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must know, friend Sancho Panza, -that it was a practice very much in vogue with the knights-errant of -old to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they -won, and I am determined that there shall be no failure on my part in -so liberal a custom; on the contrary, I mean to improve upon it, for -they sometimes, and perhaps most frequently, waited until their squires -were old, and then when they had had enough of service and hard days -and worse nights, they gave them some title or other, of count, or at -the most marquis, of some valley or province more or less; but if thou -livest and I live, it may well be that before six days are over, I may -have won some kingdom that has others dependent upon it, which will be -just the thing to enable thee to be crowned king of one of them. Nor -needst thou count this wonderful, for things and chances fall to the -lot of such knights in ways so unexampled and unexpected that I might -easily give thee even more than I promise thee.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho Panza, “if I should become a king by one of -those miracles your worship speaks of, even Juana Gutierrez, my old -woman, would come to be queen and my children infantes.” - -“Well, who doubts it?” said Don Quixote. - -“I doubt it,” replied Sancho Panza, “because for my part I am persuaded -that though God should shower down kingdoms upon earth, not one of them -would fit the head of Mari Gutierrez. Let me tell you, señor, she is -not worth two maravedis for a queen; countess will fit her better, and -that only with God’s help.” - -“Leave it to God, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for he will give her -what suits her best; but do not undervalue thyself so much as to come -to be content with anything less than being governor of a province.” - -“I will not, señor,” answered Sancho, “specially as I have a man of -such quality for a master in your worship, who will know how to give me -all that will be suitable for me and that I can bear.” - -CHAPTER VIII. -OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE TERRIBLE -AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES -WORTHY TO BE FITLY RECORDED - -At this point they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that -there are on that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to -his squire, “Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could -have shaped our desires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, -where thirty or more monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I -mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin -to make our fortunes; for this is righteous warfare, and it is God’s -good service to sweep so evil a breed from off the face of the earth.” - -“What giants?” said Sancho Panza. - -“Those thou seest there,” answered his master, “with the long arms, and -some have them nearly two leagues long.” - -“Look, your worship,” said Sancho; “what we see there are not giants -but windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned -by the wind make the millstone go.” - -“It is easy to see,” replied Don Quixote, “that thou art not used to -this business of adventures; those are giants; and if thou art afraid, -away with thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage -them in fierce and unequal combat.” - -So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the -cries his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly -they were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, -was so positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of -Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them -shouting, “Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight -attacks you.” - -A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began to -move, seeing which Don Quixote exclaimed, “Though ye flourish more arms -than the giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me.” - -So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to his lady -Dulcinea, imploring her to support him in such a peril, with lance in -rest and covered by his buckler, he charged at Rocinante’s fullest -gallop and fell upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as -he drove his lance-point into the sail the wind whirled it round with -such force that it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse -and rider, who went rolling over on the plain, in a sorry condition. -Sancho hastened to his assistance as fast as his ass could go, and when -he came up found him unable to move, with such a shock had Rocinante -fallen with him. - -“God bless me!” said Sancho, “did I not tell your worship to mind what -you were about, for they were only windmills? and no one could have -made any mistake about it but one who had something of the same kind in -his head.” - -“Hush, friend Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “the fortunes of war more -than any other are liable to frequent fluctuations; and moreover I -think, and it is the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off -my study and books, has turned these giants into mills in order to rob -me of the glory of vanquishing them, such is the enmity he bears me; -but in the end his wicked arts will avail but little against my good -sword.” - -“God order it as he may,” said Sancho Panza, and helping him to rise -got him up again on Rocinante, whose shoulder was half out; and then, -discussing the late adventure, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice, -for there, said Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures in -abundance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. For all that, he -was much grieved at the loss of his lance, and saying so to his squire, -he added, “I remember having read how a Spanish knight, Diego Perez de -Vargas by name, having broken his sword in battle, tore from an oak a -ponderous bough or branch, and with it did such things that day, and -pounded so many Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, and he and -his descendants from that day forth were called Vargas y Machuca. I -mention this because from the first oak I see I mean to rend such -another branch, large and stout like that, with which I am determined -and resolved to do such deeds that thou mayest deem thyself very -fortunate in being found worthy to come and see them, and be an -eyewitness of things that will with difficulty be believed.” - -“Be that as God will,” said Sancho, “I believe it all as your worship -says it; but straighten yourself a little, for you seem all on one -side, may be from the shaking of the fall.” - -“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote, “and if I make no complaint of -the pain it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of -any wound, even though their bowels be coming out through it.” - -“If so,” said Sancho, “I have nothing to say; but God knows I would -rather your worship complained when anything ailed you. For my part, I -confess I must complain however small the ache may be; unless this rule -about not complaining extends to the squires of knights-errant also.” - -Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire’s simplicity, and he -assured him he might complain whenever and however he chose, just as he -liked, for, so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary in -the order of knighthood. - -Sancho bade him remember it was dinner-time, to which his master -answered that he wanted nothing himself just then, but that _he_ might -eat when he had a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself as -comfortably as he could on his beast, and taking out of the alforjas -what he had stowed away in them, he jogged along behind his master -munching deliberately, and from time to time taking a pull at the bota -with a relish that the thirstiest tapster in Malaga might have envied; -and while he went on in this way, gulping down draught after draught, -he never gave a thought to any of the promises his master had made him, -nor did he rate it as hardship but rather as recreation going in quest -of adventures, however dangerous they might be. Finally they passed the -night among some trees, from one of which Don Quixote plucked a dry -branch to serve him after a fashion as a lance, and fixed on it the -head he had removed from the broken one. All that night Don Quixote lay -awake thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in order to conform to what he had -read in his books, how many a night in the forests and deserts knights -used to lie sleepless supported by the memory of their mistresses. Not -so did Sancho Panza spend it, for having his stomach full of something -stronger than chicory water he made but one sleep of it, and, if his -master had not called him, neither the rays of the sun beating on his -face nor all the cheery notes of the birds welcoming the approach of -day would have had power to waken him. On getting up he tried the bota -and found it somewhat less full than the night before, which grieved -his heart because they did not seem to be on the way to remedy the -deficiency readily. Don Quixote did not care to break his fast, for, as -has been already said, he confined himself to savoury recollections for -nourishment. - -They returned to the road they had set out with, leading to Puerto -Lapice, and at three in the afternoon they came in sight of it. “Here, -brother Sancho Panza,” said Don Quixote when he saw it, “we may plunge -our hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures; but observe, -even shouldst thou see me in the greatest danger in the world, thou -must not put a hand to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed thou -perceivest that those who assail me are rabble or base folk; for in -that case thou mayest very properly aid me; but if they be knights it -is on no account permitted or allowed thee by the laws of knighthood to -help me until thou hast been dubbed a knight.” - -“Most certainly, señor,” replied Sancho, “your worship shall be fully -obeyed in this matter; all the more as of myself I am peaceful and no -friend to mixing in strife and quarrels: it is true that as regards the -defence of my own person I shall not give much heed to those laws, for -laws human and divine allow each one to defend himself against any -assailant whatever.” - -“That I grant,” said Don Quixote, “but in this matter of aiding me -against knights thou must put a restraint upon thy natural -impetuosity.” - -“I will do so, I promise you,” answered Sancho, “and will keep this -precept as carefully as Sunday.” - -While they were thus talking there appeared on the road two friars of -the order of St. Benedict, mounted on two dromedaries, for not less -tall were the two mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles -and carried sunshades; and behind them came a coach attended by four or -five persons on horseback and two muleteers on foot. In the coach there -was, as afterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to Seville, where -her husband was about to take passage for the Indies with an -appointment of high honour. The friars, though going the same road, -were not in her company; but the moment Don Quixote perceived them he -said to his squire, “Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the -most famous adventure that has ever been seen, for those black bodies -we see there must be, and doubtless are, magicians who are carrying off -some stolen princess in that coach, and with all my might I must undo -this wrong.” - -“This will be worse than the windmills,” said Sancho. “Look, señor; -those are friars of St. Benedict, and the coach plainly belongs to some -travellers: I tell you to mind well what you are about and don’t let -the devil mislead you.” - -“I have told thee already, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that on the -subject of adventures thou knowest little. What I say is the truth, as -thou shalt see presently.” - -So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the middle of the road -along which the friars were coming, and as soon as he thought they had -come near enough to hear what he said, he cried aloud, “Devilish and -unnatural beings, release instantly the highborn princesses whom you -are carrying off by force in this coach, else prepare to meet a speedy -death as the just punishment of your evil deeds.” - -The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the appearance of Don -Quixote as well as at his words, to which they replied, “Señor -Caballero, we are not devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. -Benedict following our road, nor do we know whether or not there are -any captive princesses coming in this coach.” - -“No soft words with me, for I know you, lying rabble,” said Don -Quixote, and without waiting for a reply he spurred Rocinante and with -levelled lance charged the first friar with such fury and -determination, that, if the friar had not flung himself off the mule, -he would have brought him to the ground against his will, and sore -wounded, if not killed outright. The second brother, seeing how his -comrade was treated, drove his heels into his castle of a mule and made -off across the country faster than the wind. - -Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, dismounting briskly -from his ass, rushed towards him and began to strip off his gown. At -that instant the friars muleteers came up and asked what he was -stripping him for. Sancho answered them that this fell to him lawfully -as spoil of the battle which his lord Don Quixote had won. The -muleteers, who had no idea of a joke and did not understand all this -about battles and spoils, seeing that Don Quixote was some distance off -talking to the travellers in the coach, fell upon Sancho, knocked him -down, and leaving hardly a hair in his beard, belaboured him with kicks -and left him stretched breathless and senseless on the ground; and -without any more delay helped the friar to mount, who, trembling, -terrified, and pale, as soon as he found himself in the saddle, spurred -after his companion, who was standing at a distance looking on, -watching the result of the onslaught; then, not caring to wait for the -end of the affair just begun, they pursued their journey making more -crosses than if they had the devil after them. - -Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the lady in the coach: -“Your beauty, lady mine,” said he, “may now dispose of your person as -may be most in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of your -ravishers lies prostrate on the ground through this strong arm of mine; -and lest you should be pining to know the name of your deliverer, know -that I am called Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant and -adventurer, and captive to the peerless and beautiful lady Dulcinea del -Toboso: and in return for the service you have received of me I ask no -more than that you should return to El Toboso, and on my behalf present -yourself before that lady and tell her what I have done to set you -free.” - -One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, was -listening to all Don Quixote was saying, and, perceiving that he would -not allow the coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to -El Toboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in bad -Castilian and worse Biscayan after his fashion, “Begone, caballero, and -ill go with thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach, -slayest thee as art here a Biscayan.” - -Don Quixote understood him quite well, and answered him very quietly, -“If thou wert a knight, as thou art none, I should have already -chastised thy folly and rashness, miserable creature.” To which the -Biscayan returned, “I no gentleman!—I swear to God thou liest as I am -Christian: if thou droppest lance and drawest sword, soon shalt thou -see thou art carrying water to the cat: Biscayan on land, hidalgo at -sea, hidalgo at the devil, and look, if thou sayest otherwise thou -liest.” - -“‘“You will see presently,” said Agrajes,’” replied Don Quixote; and -throwing his lance on the ground he drew his sword, braced his buckler -on his arm, and attacked the Biscayan, bent upon taking his life. - -The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though he wished to dismount -from his mule, in which, being one of those sorry ones let out for -hire, he had no confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword; it was -lucky for him, however, that he was near the coach, from which he was -able to snatch a cushion that served him for a shield; and they went at -one another as if they had been two mortal enemies. The others strove -to make peace between them, but could not, for the Biscayan declared in -his disjointed phrase that if they did not let him finish his battle he -would kill his mistress and everyone that strove to prevent him. The -lady in the coach, amazed and terrified at what she saw, ordered the -coachman to draw aside a little, and set herself to watch this severe -struggle, in the course of which the Biscayan smote Don Quixote a -mighty stroke on the shoulder over the top of his buckler, which, given -to one without armour, would have cleft him to the waist. Don Quixote, -feeling the weight of this prodigious blow, cried aloud, saying, “O -lady of my soul, Dulcinea, flower of beauty, come to the aid of this -your knight, who, in fulfilling his obligations to your beauty, finds -himself in this extreme peril.” To say this, to lift his sword, to -shelter himself well behind his buckler, and to assail the Biscayan was -the work of an instant, determined as he was to venture all upon a -single blow. The Biscayan, seeing him come on in this way, was -convinced of his courage by his spirited bearing, and resolved to -follow his example, so he waited for him keeping well under cover of -his cushion, being unable to execute any sort of manoeuvre with his -mule, which, dead tired and never meant for this kind of game, could -not stir a step. - -On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against the wary Biscayan, -with uplifted sword and a firm intention of splitting him in half, -while on his side the Biscayan waited for him sword in hand, and under -the protection of his cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting -in suspense the result of blows such as threatened to fall, and the -lady in the coach and the rest of her following were making a thousand -vows and offerings to all the images and shrines of Spain, that God -might deliver her squire and all of them from this great peril in which -they found themselves. But it spoils all, that at this point and crisis -the author of the history leaves this battle impending, giving as -excuse that he could find nothing more written about these achievements -of Don Quixote than what has been already set forth. It is true the -second author of this work was unwilling to believe that a history so -curious could have been allowed to fall under the sentence of oblivion, -or that the wits of La Mancha could have been so undiscerning as not to -preserve in their archives or registries some documents referring to -this famous knight; and this being his persuasion, he did not despair -of finding the conclusion of this pleasant history, which, heaven -favouring him, he did find in a way that shall be related in the Second -Part. - -CHAPTER IX. -IN WHICH IS CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE -GALLANT BISCAYAN AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN - -In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the -renowned Don Quixote with drawn swords uplifted, ready to deliver two -such furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they -would at least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and -laid them open like a pomegranate; and at this so critical point the -delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any -intimation from the author where what was missing was to be found. - -This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having -read such a small portion turned to vexation at the thought of the poor -chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it -seemed to me, was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to -me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good -a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of -writing his marvellous achievements; a thing that was never wanting to -any of those knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures; for -every one of them had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not -only recorded their deeds but described their most trifling thoughts -and follies, however secret they might be; and such a good knight could -not have been so unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like -him had in abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that -such a gallant tale had been left maimed and mutilated, and I laid the -blame on Time, the devourer and destroyer of all things, that had -either concealed or consumed it. - -On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there -had been found such modern ones as “The Enlightenment of Jealousy” and -the “Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares,” his story must likewise be -modern, and that though it might not be written, it might exist in the -memory of the people of his village and of those in the neighbourhood. -This reflection kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly -the whole life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote -of La Mancha, light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry, and the first -that in our age and in these so evil days devoted himself to the labour -and exercise of the arms of knight-errantry, righting wrongs, -succouring widows, and protecting damsels of that sort that used to -ride about, whip in hand, on their palfreys, with all their virginity -about them, from mountain to mountain and valley to valley—for, if it -were not for some ruffian, or boor with a hood and hatchet, or -monstrous giant, that forced them, there were in days of yore damsels -that at the end of eighty years, in all which time they had never slept -a day under a roof, went to their graves as much maids as the mothers -that bore them. I say, then, that in these and other respects our -gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and notable praise, nor -should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains spent in -searching for the conclusion of this delightful history; though I know -well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not helped me, the -world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure -that for a couple of hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it -attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way. - -One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some -pamphlets and old papers to a silk mercer, and, as I am fond of reading -even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent -of mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw -that it was in characters which I recognised as Arabic, and as I was -unable to read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to -see if there were any Spanish-speaking Morisco at hand to read them for -me; nor was there any great difficulty in finding such an interpreter, -for even had I sought one for an older and better language I should -have found him. In short, chance provided me with one, who when I told -him what I wanted and put the book into his hands, opened it in the -middle and after reading a little in it began to laugh. I asked him -what he was laughing at, and he replied that it was at something the -book had written in the margin by way of a note. I bade him tell it to -me; and he still laughing said, “In the margin, as I told you, this is -written: ‘_This Dulcinea del Toboso so often mentioned in this history, -had, they say, the best hand of any woman in all La Mancha for salting -pigs_.’” - -When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and -amazement, for it occurred to me at once that these pamphlets contained -the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the -beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he -told me it meant, “_History of Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cid -Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian_.” It required great caution to -hide the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and -snatching it from the silk mercer, I bought all the papers and -pamphlets from the boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits -about him and had known how eager I was for them, he might have safely -calculated on making more than six reals by the bargain. I withdrew at -once with the Morisco into the cloister of the cathedral, and begged -him to turn all these pamphlets that related to Don Quixote into the -Castilian tongue, without omitting or adding anything to them, offering -him whatever payment he pleased. He was satisfied with two arrobas of -raisins and two bushels of wheat, and promised to translate them -faithfully and with all despatch; but to make the matter easier, and -not to let such a precious find out of my hands, I took him to my -house, where in little more than a month and a half he translated the -whole just as it is set down here. - -In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan -was drawn to the very life, they planted in the same attitude as the -history describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his -buckler, the other by his cushion, and the Biscayan’s mule so true to -nature that it could be seen to be a hired one a bowshot off. The -Biscayan had an inscription under his feet which said, “_Don Sancho de -Azpeitia_,” which no doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of -Rocinante was another that said, “_Don Quixote_.” Rocinante was -marvellously portrayed, so long and thin, so lank and lean, with so -much backbone and so far gone in consumption, that he showed plainly -with what judgment and propriety the name of Rocinante had been -bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza holding the halter of his -ass, at whose feet was another label that said, “Sancho Zancas,” and -according to the picture, he must have had a big belly, a short body, -and long shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the names of Panza and -Zancas were given him, for by these two surnames the history several -times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be mentioned, -but they are all of slight importance and have nothing to do with the -true relation of the history; and no history can be bad so long as it -is true. - -If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its -truth, it can only be that its author was an Arab, as lying is a very -common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such -enemies of ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather -than additions made in the course of it. And this is my own opinion; -for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so -worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in -silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business -and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from -passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make -them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of -time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel -for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be -found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting -in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an -author and not the fault of the subject. To be brief, its Second Part, -according to the translation, began in this way: - -With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though -the two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threatening heaven, and -earth, and hell, with such resolution and determination did they bear -themselves. The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which -was delivered with such force and fury that had not the sword turned in -its course, that single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the -bitter struggle and to all the adventures of our knight; but that good -fortune which reserved him for greater things, turned aside the sword -of his adversary, so that although it smote him upon the left shoulder, -it did him no more harm than to strip all that side of its armour, -carrying away a great part of his helmet with half of his ear, all -which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving him in a sorry -plight. - -Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that -filled the heart of our Manchegan when he saw himself dealt with in -this fashion? All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised -himself in his stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both -hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury, smiting him full -over the cushion and over the head, that—even so good a shield proving -useless—as if a mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from -nose, mouth, and ears, reeling as if about to fall backwards from his -mule, as no doubt he would have done had he not flung his arms about -its neck; at the same time, however, he slipped his feet out of the -stirrups and then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking fright at -the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and with a few plunges -flung its master to the ground. Don Quixote stood looking on very -calmly, and, when he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great -briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his sword to his -eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut his head off. The Biscayan -was so bewildered that he was unable to answer a word, and it would -have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, had not the ladies -in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the combat in great -terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest -entreaties to grant them the great grace and favour of sparing their -squire’s life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and -dignity, “In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of -me; but it must be on one condition and understanding, which is that -this knight promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my -behalf present himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal -with him as shall be most pleasing to her.” - -The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote’s -demand or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that their squire -should do all that had been commanded. - -“Then, on the faith of that promise,” said Don Quixote, “I shall do him -no further harm, though he well deserves it of me.” - -CHAPTER X. -OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS -SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA - -Now by this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse for the handling of -the friars’ muleteers, and stood watching the battle of his master, Don -Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might be his will to -grant him the victory, and that he might thereby win some island to -make him governor of, as he had promised. Seeing, therefore, that the -struggle was now over, and that his master was returning to mount -Rocinante, he approached to hold the stirrup for him, and, before he -could mount, he went on his knees before him, and taking his hand, -kissed it saying, “May it please your worship, Señor Don Quixote, to -give me the government of that island which has been won in this hard -fight, for be it ever so big I feel myself in sufficient force to be -able to govern it as much and as well as anyone in the world who has -ever governed islands.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must take notice, brother Sancho, -that this adventure and those like it are not adventures of islands, -but of cross-roads, in which nothing is got except a broken head or an -ear the less: have patience, for adventures will present themselves -from which I may make you, not only a governor, but something more.” - -Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing his hand and the skirt -of his hauberk, helped him to mount Rocinante, and mounting his ass -himself, proceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, without -taking leave, or saying anything further to the ladies belonging to the -coach, turned into a wood that was hard by. Sancho followed him at his -ass’s best trot, but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing himself left -behind, he was forced to call to his master to wait for him. Don -Quixote did so, reining in Rocinante until his weary squire came up, -who on reaching him said, “It seems to me, señor, it would be prudent -in us to go and take refuge in some church, for, seeing how mauled he -with whom you fought has been left, it will be no wonder if they give -information of the affair to the Holy Brotherhood and arrest us, and, -faith, if they do, before we come out of gaol we shall have to sweat -for it.” - -“Peace,” said Don Quixote; “where hast thou ever seen or heard that a -knight-errant has been arraigned before a court of justice, however -many homicides he may have committed?” - -“I know nothing about omecils,” answered Sancho, “nor in my life have -had anything to do with one; I only know that the Holy Brotherhood -looks after those who fight in the fields, and in that other matter I -do not meddle.” - -“Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend,” said Don Quixote, -“for I will deliver thee out of the hands of the Chaldeans, much more -out of those of the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast thou -seen a more valiant knight than I in all the known world; hast thou -read in history of any who has or had higher mettle in attack, more -spirit in maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in -overthrowing?” - -“The truth is,” answered Sancho, “that I have never read any history, -for I can neither read nor write, but what I will venture to bet is -that a more daring master than your worship I have never served in all -the days of my life, and God grant that this daring be not paid for -where I have said; what I beg of your worship is to dress your wound, -for a great deal of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some -lint and a little white ointment in the alforjas.” - -“All that might be well dispensed with,” said Don Quixote, “if I had -remembered to make a vial of the balsam of Fierabras, for time and -medicine are saved by one single drop.” - -“What vial and what balsam is that?” said Sancho Panza. - -“It is a balsam,” answered Don Quixote, “the receipt of which I have in -my memory, with which one need have no fear of death, or dread dying of -any wound; and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast nothing -to do when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through -the middle of the body—as is wont to happen frequently—but neatly and -with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of the -body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which -remains in the saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly. -Then thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of the balsam I have -mentioned, and thou shalt see me become sounder than an apple.” - -“If that be so,” said Panza, “I renounce henceforth the government of -the promised island, and desire nothing more in payment of my many and -faithful services than that your worship give me the receipt of this -supreme liquor, for I am persuaded it will be worth more than two reals -an ounce anywhere, and I want no more to pass the rest of my life in -ease and honour; but it remains to be told if it costs much to make -it.” - -“With less than three reals, six quarts of it may be made,” said Don -Quixote. - -“Sinner that I am!” said Sancho, “then why does your worship put off -making it and teaching it to me?” - -“Peace, friend,” answered Don Quixote; “greater secrets I mean to teach -thee and greater favours to bestow upon thee; and for the present let -us see to the dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish.” - -Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the alforjas; but when Don -Quixote came to see his helmet shattered, he was like to lose his -senses, and clapping his hand upon his sword and raising his eyes to -heaven, he said, “I swear by the Creator of all things and the four -Gospels in their fullest extent, to do as the great Marquis of Mantua -did when he swore to avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin (and that -was not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor embrace his wife, and -other points which, though I cannot now call them to mind, I here grant -as expressed) until I take complete vengeance upon him who has -committed such an offence against me.” - -Hearing this, Sancho said to him, “Your worship should bear in mind, -Señor Don Quixote, that if the knight has done what was commanded him -in going to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he will -have done all that he was bound to do, and does not deserve further -punishment unless he commits some new offence.” - -“Thou hast said well and hit the point,” answered Don Quixote; and so I -recall the oath in so far as relates to taking fresh vengeance on him, -but I make and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until such -time as I take by force from some knight another helmet such as this -and as good; and think not, Sancho, that I am raising smoke with straw -in doing so, for I have one to imitate in the matter, since the very -same thing to a hair happened in the case of Mambrino’s helmet, which -cost Sacripante so dear.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “let your worship send all such oaths to the -devil, for they are very pernicious to salvation and prejudicial to the -conscience; just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall in -with no man armed with a helmet, what are we to do? Is the oath to be -observed in spite of all the inconvenience and discomfort it will be to -sleep in your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thousand -other mortifications contained in the oath of that old fool the Marquis -of Mantua, which your worship is now wanting to revive? Let your -worship observe that there are no men in armour travelling on any of -these roads, nothing but carriers and carters, who not only do not wear -helmets, but perhaps never heard tell of them all their lives.” - -“Thou art wrong there,” said Don Quixote, “for we shall not have been -above two hours among these cross-roads before we see more men in -armour than came to Albraca to win the fair Angelica.” - -“Enough,” said Sancho; “so be it then, and God grant us success, and -that the time for winning that island which is costing me so dear may -soon come, and then let me die.” - -“I have already told thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “not to give -thyself any uneasiness on that score; for if an island should fail, -there is the kingdom of Denmark, or of Sobradisa, which will fit thee -as a ring fits the finger, and all the more that, being on _terra -firma_, thou wilt all the better enjoy thyself. But let us leave that -to its own time; see if thou hast anything for us to eat in those -alforjas, because we must presently go in quest of some castle where we -may lodge to-night and make the balsam I told thee of, for I swear to -thee by God, this ear is giving me great pain.” - -“I have here an onion and a little cheese and a few scraps of bread,” -said Sancho, “but they are not victuals fit for a valiant knight like -your worship.” - -“How little thou knowest about it,” answered Don Quixote; “I would have -thee to know, Sancho, that it is the glory of knights-errant to go -without eating for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should -be of what comes first to hand; and this would have been clear to thee -hadst thou read as many histories as I have, for, though they are very -many, among them all I have found no mention made of knights-errant -eating, unless by accident or at some sumptuous banquets prepared for -them, and the rest of the time they passed in dalliance. And though it -is plain they could not do without eating and performing all the other -natural functions, because, in fact, they were men like ourselves, it -is plain too that, wandering as they did the most part of their lives -through woods and wilds and without a cook, their most usual fare would -be rustic viands such as those thou now offer me; so that, friend -Sancho, let not that distress thee which pleases me, and do not seek to -make a new world or pervert knight-errantry.” - -“Pardon me, your worship,” said Sancho, “for, as I cannot read or -write, as I said just now, I neither know nor comprehend the rules of -the profession of chivalry: henceforward I will stock the alforjas with -every kind of dry fruit for your worship, as you are a knight; and for -myself, as I am not one, I will furnish them with poultry and other -things more substantial.” - -“I do not say, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that it is imperative on -knights-errant not to eat anything else but the fruits thou speakest -of; only that their more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs -they found in the fields which they knew and I know too.” - -“A good thing it is,” answered Sancho, “to know those herbs, for to my -thinking it will be needful some day to put that knowledge into -practice.” - -And here taking out what he said he had brought, the pair made their -repast peaceably and sociably. But anxious to find quarters for the -night, they with all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare, -mounted at once, and made haste to reach some habitation before night -set in; but daylight and the hope of succeeding in their object failed -them close by the huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass -the night there, and it was as much to Sancho’s discontent not to have -reached a house, as it was to his master’s satisfaction to sleep under -the open heaven, for he fancied that each time this happened to him he -performed an act of ownership that helped to prove his chivalry. - -CHAPTER XI. -WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH CERTAIN GOATHERDS - -He was cordially welcomed by the goatherds, and Sancho, having as best -he could put up Rocinante and the ass, drew towards the fragrance that -came from some pieces of salted goat simmering in a pot on the fire; -and though he would have liked at once to try if they were ready to be -transferred from the pot to the stomach, he refrained from doing so as -the goatherds removed them from the fire, and laying sheepskins on the -ground, quickly spread their rude table, and with signs of hearty -good-will invited them both to share what they had. Round the skins six -of the men belonging to the fold seated themselves, having first with -rough politeness pressed Don Quixote to take a seat upon a trough which -they placed for him upside down. Don Quixote seated himself, and Sancho -remained standing to serve the cup, which was made of horn. Seeing him -standing, his master said to him: - -“That thou mayest see, Sancho, the good that knight-errantry contains -in itself, and how those who fill any office in it are on the high road -to be speedily honoured and esteemed by the world, I desire that thou -seat thyself here at my side and in the company of these worthy people, -and that thou be one with me who am thy master and natural lord, and -that thou eat from my plate and drink from whatever I drink from; for -the same may be said of knight-errantry as of love, that it levels -all.” - -“Great thanks,” said Sancho, “but I may tell your worship that provided -I have enough to eat, I can eat it as well, or better, standing, and by -myself, than seated alongside of an emperor. And indeed, if the truth -is to be told, what I eat in my corner without form or fuss has much -more relish for me, even though it be bread and onions, than the -turkeys of those other tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink -little, wipe my mouth every minute, and cannot sneeze or cough if I -want or do other things that are the privileges of liberty and -solitude. So, señor, as for these honours which your worship would put -upon me as a servant and follower of knight-errantry, exchange them for -other things which may be of more use and advantage to me; for these, -though I fully acknowledge them as received, I renounce from this -moment to the end of the world.” - -“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “thou must seat thyself, because him -who humbleth himself God exalteth;” and seizing him by the arm he -forced him to sit down beside himself. - -The goatherds did not understand this jargon about squires and -knights-errant, and all they did was to eat in silence and stare at -their guests, who with great elegance and appetite were stowing away -pieces as big as one’s fist. The course of meat finished, they spread -upon the sheepskins a great heap of parched acorns, and with them they -put down a half cheese harder than if it had been made of mortar. All -this while the horn was not idle, for it went round so constantly, now -full, now empty, like the bucket of a water-wheel, that it soon drained -one of the two wine-skins that were in sight. When Don Quixote had -quite appeased his appetite he took up a handful of the acorns, and -contemplating them attentively delivered himself somewhat in this -fashion: - -“Happy the age, happy the time, to which the ancients gave the name of -golden, not because in that fortunate age the gold so coveted in this -our iron one was gained without toil, but because they that lived in it -knew not the two words “_mine_” and “_thine_”! In that blessed age all -things were in common; to win the daily food no labour was required of -any save to stretch forth his hand and gather it from the sturdy oaks -that stood generously inviting him with their sweet ripe fruit. The -clear streams and running brooks yielded their savoury limpid waters in -noble abundance. The busy and sagacious bees fixed their republic in -the clefts of the rocks and hollows of the trees, offering without -usance the plenteous produce of their fragrant toil to every hand. The -mighty cork trees, unenforced save of their own courtesy, shed the -broad light bark that served at first to roof the houses supported by -rude stakes, a protection against the inclemency of heaven alone. Then -all was peace, all friendship, all concord; as yet the dull share of -the crooked plough had not dared to rend and pierce the tender bowels -of our first mother that without compulsion yielded from every portion -of her broad fertile bosom all that could satisfy, sustain, and delight -the children that then possessed her. Then was it that the innocent and -fair young shepherdess roamed from vale to vale and hill to hill, with -flowing locks, and no more garments than were needful modestly to cover -what modesty seeks and ever sought to hide. Nor were their ornaments -like those in use to-day, set off by Tyrian purple, and silk tortured -in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the green dock and ivy, -wherewith they went as bravely and becomingly decked as our Court dames -with all the rare and far-fetched artifices that idle curiosity has -taught them. Then the love-thoughts of the heart clothed themselves -simply and naturally as the heart conceived them, nor sought to commend -themselves by forced and rambling verbiage. Fraud, deceit, or malice -had then not yet mingled with truth and sincerity. Justice held her -ground, undisturbed and unassailed by the efforts of favour and of -interest, that now so much impair, pervert, and beset her. Arbitrary -law had not yet established itself in the mind of the judge, for then -there was no cause to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens and -modesty, as I have said, wandered at will alone and unattended, without -fear of insult from lawlessness or libertine assault, and if they were -undone it was of their own will and pleasure. But now in this hateful -age of ours not one is safe, not though some new labyrinth like that of -Crete conceal and surround her; even there the pestilence of gallantry -will make its way to them through chinks or on the air by the zeal of -its accursed importunity, and, despite of all seclusion, lead them to -ruin. In defence of these, as time advanced and wickedness increased, -the order of knights-errant was instituted, to defend maidens, to -protect widows and to succour the orphans and the needy. To this order -I belong, brother goatherds, to whom I return thanks for the -hospitality and kindly welcome ye offer me and my squire; for though by -natural law all living are bound to show favour to knights-errant, yet, -seeing that without knowing this obligation ye have welcomed and -feasted me, it is right that with all the good-will in my power I -should thank you for yours.” - -All this long harangue (which might very well have been spared) our -knight delivered because the acorns they gave him reminded him of the -golden age; and the whim seized him to address all this unnecessary -argument to the goatherds, who listened to him gaping in amazement -without saying a word in reply. Sancho likewise held his peace and ate -acorns, and paid repeated visits to the second wine-skin, which they -had hung up on a cork tree to keep the wine cool. - -Don Quixote was longer in talking than the supper in finishing, at the -end of which one of the goatherds said, “That your worship, señor -knight-errant, may say with more truth that we show you hospitality -with ready good-will, we will give you amusement and pleasure by making -one of our comrades sing: he will be here before long, and he is a very -intelligent youth and deep in love, and what is more he can read and -write and play on the rebeck to perfection.” - -The goatherd had hardly done speaking, when the notes of the rebeck -reached their ears; and shortly after, the player came up, a very -good-looking young man of about two-and-twenty. His comrades asked him -if he had supped, and on his replying that he had, he who had already -made the offer said to him: - -“In that case, Antonio, thou mayest as well do us the pleasure of -singing a little, that the gentleman, our guest, may see that even in -the mountains and woods there are musicians: we have told him of thy -accomplishments, and we want thee to show them and prove that we say -true; so, as thou livest, pray sit down and sing that ballad about thy -love that thy uncle the prebendary made thee, and that was so much -liked in the town.” - -“With all my heart,” said the young man, and without waiting for more -pressing he seated himself on the trunk of a felled oak, and tuning his -rebeck, presently began to sing to these words. - -ANTONIO’S BALLAD - -Thou dost love me well, Olalla; -Well I know it, even though -Love’s mute tongues, thine eyes, have never -By their glances told me so. - -For I know my love thou knowest, -Therefore thine to claim I dare: -Once it ceases to be secret, -Love need never feel despair. - -True it is, Olalla, sometimes -Thou hast all too plainly shown -That thy heart is brass in hardness, -And thy snowy bosom stone. - -Yet for all that, in thy coyness, -And thy fickle fits between, -Hope is there—at least the border -Of her garment may be seen. - -Lures to faith are they, those glimpses, -And to faith in thee I hold; -Kindness cannot make it stronger, -Coldness cannot make it cold. - -If it be that love is gentle, -In thy gentleness I see -Something holding out assurance -To the hope of winning thee. - -If it be that in devotion -Lies a power hearts to move, -That which every day I show thee, -Helpful to my suit should prove. - -Many a time thou must have noticed— -If to notice thou dost care— -How I go about on Monday -Dressed in all my Sunday wear. - -Love’s eyes love to look on brightness; -Love loves what is gaily drest; -Sunday, Monday, all I care is -Thou shouldst see me in my best. - -No account I make of dances, -Or of strains that pleased thee so, -Keeping thee awake from midnight -Till the cocks began to crow; - -Or of how I roundly swore it -That there’s none so fair as thou; -True it is, but as I said it, -By the girls I’m hated now. - -For Teresa of the hillside -At my praise of thee was sore; -Said, “You think you love an angel; -It’s a monkey you adore; - -“Caught by all her glittering trinkets, -And her borrowed braids of hair, -And a host of made-up beauties -That would Love himself ensnare.” - -’Twas a lie, and so I told her, -And her cousin at the word -Gave me his defiance for it; -And what followed thou hast heard. - -Mine is no high-flown affection, -Mine no passion _par amours_— -As they call it—what I offer -Is an honest love, and pure. - -Cunning cords the holy Church has, -Cords of softest silk they be; -Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear; -Mine will follow, thou wilt see. - -Else—and once for all I swear it -By the saint of most renown— -If I ever quit the mountains, -’Twill be in a friar’s gown. - -Here the goatherd brought his song to an end, and though Don Quixote -entreated him to sing more, Sancho had no mind that way, being more -inclined for sleep than for listening to songs; so said he to his -master, “Your worship will do well to settle at once where you mean to -pass the night, for the labour these good men are at all day does not -allow them to spend the night in singing.” - -“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “I perceive clearly -that those visits to the wine-skin demand compensation in sleep rather -than in music.” - -“It’s sweet to us all, blessed be God,” said Sancho. - -“I do not deny it,” replied Don Quixote; “but settle thyself where thou -wilt; those of my calling are more becomingly employed in watching than -in sleeping; still it would be as well if thou wert to dress this ear -for me again, for it is giving me more pain than it need.” - -Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, -told him not to be uneasy, as he would apply a remedy with which it -would be soon healed; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, of which -there was a great quantity there, he chewed them and mixed them with a -little salt, and applying them to the ear he secured them firmly with a -bandage, assuring him that no other treatment would be required, and so -it proved. - -CHAPTER XII. -OF WHAT A GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE - -Just then another young man, one of those who fetched their provisions -from the village, came up and said, “Do you know what is going on in -the village, comrades?” - -“How could we know it?” replied one of them. - -“Well, then, you must know,” continued the young man, “this morning -that famous student-shepherd called Chrysostom died, and it is rumoured -that he died of love for that devil of a village girl the daughter of -Guillermo the Rich, she that wanders about the wolds here in the dress -of a shepherdess.” - -“You mean Marcela?” said one. - -“Her I mean,” answered the goatherd; “and the best of it is, he has -directed in his will that he is to be buried in the fields like a Moor, -and at the foot of the rock where the Cork-tree spring is, because, as -the story goes (and they say he himself said so), that was the place -where he first saw her. And he has also left other directions which the -clergy of the village say should not and must not be obeyed because -they savour of paganism. To all which his great friend Ambrosio the -student, he who, like him, also went dressed as a shepherd, replies -that everything must be done without any omission according to the -directions left by Chrysostom, and about this the village is all in -commotion; however, report says that, after all, what Ambrosio and all -the shepherds his friends desire will be done, and to-morrow they are -coming to bury him with great ceremony where I said. I am sure it will -be something worth seeing; at least I will not fail to go and see it -even if I knew I should not return to the village to-morrow.” - -“We will do the same,” answered the goatherds, “and cast lots to see -who must stay to mind the goats of all.” - -“Thou sayest well, Pedro,” said one, “though there will be no need of -taking that trouble, for I will stay behind for all; and don’t suppose -it is virtue or want of curiosity in me; it is that the splinter that -ran into my foot the other day will not let me walk.” - -“For all that, we thank thee,” answered Pedro. - -Don Quixote asked Pedro to tell him who the dead man was and who the -shepherdess, to which Pedro replied that all he knew was that the dead -man was a wealthy gentleman belonging to a village in those mountains, -who had been a student at Salamanca for many years, at the end of which -he returned to his village with the reputation of being very learned -and deeply read. “Above all, they said, he was learned in the science -of the stars and of what went on yonder in the heavens and the sun and -the moon, for he told us of the cris of the sun and moon to exact -time.” - -“Eclipse it is called, friend, not cris, the darkening of those two -luminaries,” said Don Quixote; but Pedro, not troubling himself with -trifles, went on with his story, saying, “Also he foretold when the -year was going to be one of abundance or estility.” - -“Sterility, you mean,” said Don Quixote. - -“Sterility or estility,” answered Pedro, “it is all the same in the -end. And I can tell you that by this his father and friends who -believed him grew very rich because they did as he advised them, -bidding them ‘sow barley this year, not wheat; this year you may sow -pulse and not barley; the next there will be a full oil crop, and the -three following not a drop will be got.’” - -“That science is called astrology,” said Don Quixote. - -“I do not know what it is called,” replied Pedro, “but I know that he -knew all this and more besides. But, to make an end, not many months -had passed after he returned from Salamanca, when one day he appeared -dressed as a shepherd with his crook and sheepskin, having put off the -long gown he wore as a scholar; and at the same time his great friend, -Ambrosio by name, who had been his companion in his studies, took to -the shepherd’s dress with him. I forgot to say that Chrysostom, who is -dead, was a great man for writing verses, so much so that he made -carols for Christmas Eve, and plays for Corpus Christi, which the young -men of our village acted, and all said they were excellent. When the -villagers saw the two scholars so unexpectedly appearing in shepherd’s -dress, they were lost in wonder, and could not guess what had led them -to make so extraordinary a change. About this time the father of our -Chrysostom died, and he was left heir to a large amount of property in -chattels as well as in land, no small number of cattle and sheep, and a -large sum of money, of all of which the young man was left dissolute -owner, and indeed he was deserving of it all, for he was a very good -comrade, and kind-hearted, and a friend of worthy folk, and had a -countenance like a benediction. Presently it came to be known that he -had changed his dress with no other object than to wander about these -wastes after that shepherdess Marcela our lad mentioned a while ago, -with whom the deceased Chrysostom had fallen in love. And I must tell -you now, for it is well you should know it, who this girl is; perhaps, -and even without any perhaps, you will not have heard anything like it -all the days of your life, though you should live more years than -sarna.” - -“Say Sarra,” said Don Quixote, unable to endure the goatherd’s -confusion of words. - -“The sarna lives long enough,” answered Pedro; “and if, señor, you must -go finding fault with words at every step, we shall not make an end of -it this twelvemonth.” - -“Pardon me, friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, as there is such a -difference between sarna and Sarra, I told you of it; however, you have -answered very rightly, for sarna lives longer than Sarra: so continue -your story, and I will not object any more to anything.” - -“I say then, my dear sir,” said the goatherd, “that in our village -there was a farmer even richer than the father of Chrysostom, who was -named Guillermo, and upon whom God bestowed, over and above great -wealth, a daughter at whose birth her mother died, the most respected -woman there was in this neighbourhood; I fancy I can see her now with -that countenance which had the sun on one side and the moon on the -other; and moreover active, and kind to the poor, for which I trust -that at the present moment her soul is in bliss with God in the other -world. Her husband Guillermo died of grief at the death of so good a -wife, leaving his daughter Marcela, a child and rich, to the care of an -uncle of hers, a priest and prebendary in our village. The girl grew up -with such beauty that it reminded us of her mother’s, which was very -great, and yet it was thought that the daughter’s would exceed it; and -so when she reached the age of fourteen to fifteen years nobody beheld -her but blessed God that had made her so beautiful, and the greater -number were in love with her past redemption. Her uncle kept her in -great seclusion and retirement, but for all that the fame of her great -beauty spread so that, as well for it as for her great wealth, her -uncle was asked, solicited, and importuned, to give her in marriage not -only by those of our town but of those many leagues round, and by the -persons of highest quality in them. But he, being a good Christian man, -though he desired to give her in marriage at once, seeing her to be old -enough, was unwilling to do so without her consent, not that he had any -eye to the gain and profit which the custody of the girl’s property -brought him while he put off her marriage; and, faith, this was said in -praise of the good priest in more than one set in the town. For I would -have you know, Sir Errant, that in these little villages everything is -talked about and everything is carped at, and rest assured, as I am, -that the priest must be over and above good who forces his parishioners -to speak well of him, especially in villages.” - -“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote; “but go on, for the story is -very good, and you, good Pedro, tell it with very good grace.” - -“May that of the Lord not be wanting to me,” said Pedro; “that is the -one to have. To proceed; you must know that though the uncle put before -his niece and described to her the qualities of each one in particular -of the many who had asked her in marriage, begging her to marry and -make a choice according to her own taste, she never gave any other -answer than that she had no desire to marry just yet, and that being so -young she did not think herself fit to bear the burden of matrimony. At -these, to all appearance, reasonable excuses that she made, her uncle -ceased to urge her, and waited till she was somewhat more advanced in -age and could mate herself to her own liking. For, said he—and he said -quite right—parents are not to settle children in life against their -will. But when one least looked for it, lo and behold! one day the -demure Marcela makes her appearance turned shepherdess; and, in spite -of her uncle and all those of the town that strove to dissuade her, -took to going a-field with the other shepherd-lasses of the village, -and tending her own flock. And so, since she appeared in public, and -her beauty came to be seen openly, I could not well tell you how many -rich youths, gentlemen and peasants, have adopted the costume of -Chrysostom, and go about these fields making love to her. One of these, -as has been already said, was our deceased friend, of whom they say -that he did not love but adore her. But you must not suppose, because -Marcela chose a life of such liberty and independence, and of so little -or rather no retirement, that she has given any occasion, or even the -semblance of one, for disparagement of her purity and modesty; on the -contrary, such and so great is the vigilance with which she watches -over her honour, that of all those that court and woo her not one has -boasted, or can with truth boast, that she has given him any hope -however small of obtaining his desire. For although she does not avoid -or shun the society and conversation of the shepherds, and treats them -courteously and kindly, should any one of them come to declare his -intention to her, though it be one as proper and holy as that of -matrimony, she flings him from her like a catapult. And with this kind -of disposition she does more harm in this country than if the plague -had got into it, for her affability and her beauty draw on the hearts -of those that associate with her to love her and to court her, but her -scorn and her frankness bring them to the brink of despair; and so they -know not what to say save to proclaim her aloud cruel and hard-hearted, -and other names of the same sort which well describe the nature of her -character; and if you should remain here any time, señor, you would -hear these hills and valleys resounding with the laments of the -rejected ones who pursue her. Not far from this there is a spot where -there are a couple of dozen of tall beeches, and there is not one of -them but has carved and written on its smooth bark the name of Marcela, -and above some a crown carved on the same tree as though her lover -would say more plainly that Marcela wore and deserved that of all human -beauty. Here one shepherd is sighing, there another is lamenting; there -love songs are heard, here despairing elegies. One will pass all the -hours of the night seated at the foot of some oak or rock, and there, -without having closed his weeping eyes, the sun finds him in the -morning bemused and bereft of sense; and another without relief or -respite to his sighs, stretched on the burning sand in the full heat of -the sultry summer noontide, makes his appeal to the compassionate -heavens, and over one and the other, over these and all, the beautiful -Marcela triumphs free and careless. And all of us that know her are -waiting to see what her pride will come to, and who is to be the happy -man that will succeed in taming a nature so formidable and gaining -possession of a beauty so supreme. All that I have told you being such -well-established truth, I am persuaded that what they say of the cause -of Chrysostom’s death, as our lad told us, is the same. And so I advise -you, señor, fail not to be present to-morrow at his burial, which will -be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom had many friends, and it is not -half a league from this place to where he directed he should be -buried.” - -“I will make a point of it,” said Don Quixote, “and I thank you for the -pleasure you have given me by relating so interesting a tale.” - -“Oh,” said the goatherd, “I do not know even the half of what has -happened to the lovers of Marcela, but perhaps to-morrow we may fall in -with some shepherd on the road who can tell us; and now it will be well -for you to go and sleep under cover, for the night air may hurt your -wound, though with the remedy I have applied to you there is no fear of -an untoward result.” - -Sancho Panza, who was wishing the goatherd’s loquacity at the devil, on -his part begged his master to go into Pedro’s hut to sleep. He did so, -and passed all the rest of the night in thinking of his lady Dulcinea, -in imitation of the lovers of Marcela. Sancho Panza settled himself -between Rocinante and his ass, and slept, not like a lover who had been -discarded, but like a man who had been soundly kicked. - -CHAPTER XIII. -IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH OTHER -INCIDENTS - -But hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of the -east, when five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don Quixote and tell -him that if he was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial of -Chrysostom they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired -nothing better, rose and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, -which he did with all despatch, and with the same they all set out -forthwith. They had not gone a quarter of a league when at the meeting -of two paths they saw coming towards them some six shepherds dressed in -black sheepskins and with their heads crowned with garlands of cypress -and bitter oleander. Each of them carried a stout holly staff in his -hand, and along with them there came two men of quality on horseback in -handsome travelling dress, with three servants on foot accompanying -them. Courteous salutations were exchanged on meeting, and inquiring -one of the other which way each party was going, they learned that all -were bound for the scene of the burial, so they went on all together. - -One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, “It -seems to me, Señor Vivaldo, that we may reckon as well spent the delay -we shall incur in seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it -cannot but be judging by the strange things these shepherds have told -us, of both the dead shepherd and homicide shepherdess.” - -“So I think too,” replied Vivaldo, “and I would delay not to say a day, -but four, for the sake of seeing it.” - -Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela and -Chrysostom. The traveller answered that the same morning they had met -these shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful fashion they -had asked them the reason of their appearing in such a guise; which one -of them gave, describing the strange behaviour and beauty of a -shepherdess called Marcela, and the loves of many who courted her, -together with the death of that Chrysostom to whose burial they were -going. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had related to Don Quixote. - -This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who was -called Vivaldo asking Don Quixote what was the reason that led him to -go armed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixote -replied, “The pursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go -in any other fashion; easy life, enjoyment, and repose were invented -for soft courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms were invented and made -for those alone whom the world calls knights-errant, of whom I, though -unworthy, am the least of all.” - -The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better to -settle the point and discover what kind of madness his was, Vivaldo -proceeded to ask him what knights-errant meant. - -“Have not your worships,” replied Don Quixote, “read the annals and -histories of England, in which are recorded the famous deeds of King -Arthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, -with regard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received -all over that kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but -was changed by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he -is to return to reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which -reason it cannot be proved that from that time to this any Englishman -ever killed a raven? Well, then, in the time of this good king that -famous order of chivalry of the Knights of the Round Table was -instituted, and the amour of Don Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen -Guinevere occurred, precisely as is there related, the go-between and -confidante therein being the highly honourable dame Quintañona, whence -came that ballad so well known and widely spread in our Spain— - -O never surely was there knight -So served by hand of dame, -As served was he Sir Lancelot hight -When he from Britain came— - -with all the sweet and delectable course of his achievements in love -and war. Handed down from that time, then, this order of chivalry went -on extending and spreading itself over many and various parts of the -world; and in it, famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty -Amadis of Gaul with all his sons and descendants to the fifth -generation, and the valiant Felixmarte of Hircania, and the never -sufficiently praised Tirante el Blanco, and in our own days almost we -have seen and heard and talked with the invincible knight Don Belianis -of Greece. This, then, sirs, is to be a knight-errant, and what I have -spoken of is the order of his chivalry, of which, as I have already -said, I, though a sinner, have made profession, and what the aforesaid -knights professed that same do I profess, and so I go through these -solitudes and wilds seeking adventures, resolved in soul to oppose my -arm and person to the most perilous that fortune may offer me in aid of -the weak and needy.” - -By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves of -Don Quixote’s being out of his senses and of the form of madness that -overmastered him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all -felt on first becoming acquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a -person of great shrewdness and of a lively temperament, in order to -beguile the short journey which they said was required to reach the -mountain, the scene of the burial, sought to give him an opportunity of -going on with his absurdities. So he said to him, “It seems to me, -Señor Knight-errant, that your worship has made choice of one of the -most austere professions in the world, and I imagine even that of the -Carthusian monks is not so austere.” - -“As austere it may perhaps be,” replied our Don Quixote, “but so -necessary for the world I am very much inclined to doubt. For, if the -truth is to be told, the soldier who executes what his captain orders -does no less than the captain himself who gives the order. My meaning, -is, that churchmen in peace and quiet pray to Heaven for the welfare of -the world, but we soldiers and knights carry into effect what they pray -for, defending it with the might of our arms and the edge of our -swords, not under shelter but in the open air, a target for the -intolerable rays of the sun in summer and the piercing frosts of -winter. Thus are we God’s ministers on earth and the arms by which his -justice is done therein. And as the business of war and all that -relates and belongs to it cannot be conducted without exceeding great -sweat, toil, and exertion, it follows that those who make it their -profession have undoubtedly more labour than those who in tranquil -peace and quiet are engaged in praying to God to help the weak. I do -not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts, that the -knight-errant’s calling is as good as that of the monk in his cell; I -would merely infer from what I endure myself that it is beyond a doubt -a more laborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier and thirstier, a -wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason to doubt that -the knights-errant of yore endured much hardship in the course of their -lives. And if some of them by the might of their arms did rise to be -emperors, in faith it cost them dear in the matter of blood and sweat; -and if those who attained to that rank had not had magicians and sages -to help them they would have been completely baulked in their ambition -and disappointed in their hopes.” - -“That is my own opinion,” replied the traveller; “but one thing among -many others seems to me very wrong in knights-errant, and that is that -when they find themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilous -adventure in which there is manifest danger of losing their lives, they -never at the moment of engaging in it think of commending themselves to -God, as is the duty of every good Christian in like peril; instead of -which they commend themselves to their ladies with as much devotion as -if these were their gods, a thing which seems to me to savour somewhat -of heathenism.” - -“Sir,” answered Don Quixote, “that cannot be on any account omitted, -and the knight-errant would be disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is -usual and customary in knight-errantry that the knight-errant, who on -engaging in any great feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn -his eyes towards her softly and lovingly, as though with them -entreating her to favour and protect him in the hazardous venture he is -about to undertake, and even though no one hear him, he is bound to say -certain words between his teeth, commending himself to her with all his -heart, and of this we have innumerable instances in the histories. Nor -is it to be supposed from this that they are to omit commending -themselves to God, for there will be time and opportunity for doing so -while they are engaged in their task.” - -“For all that,” answered the traveller, “I feel some doubt still, -because often I have read how words will arise between two -knights-errant, and from one thing to another it comes about that their -anger kindles and they wheel their horses round and take a good stretch -of field, and then without any more ado at the top of their speed they -come to the charge, and in mid-career they are wont to commend -themselves to their ladies; and what commonly comes of the encounter is -that one falls over the haunches of his horse pierced through and -through by his antagonist’s lance, and as for the other, it is only by -holding on to the mane of his horse that he can help falling to the -ground; but I know not how the dead man had time to commend himself to -God in the course of such rapid work as this; it would have been better -if those words which he spent in commending himself to his lady in the -midst of his career had been devoted to his duty and obligation as a -Christian. Moreover, it is my belief that all knights-errant have not -ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not all in love.” - -“That is impossible,” said Don Quixote: “I say it is impossible that -there could be a knight-errant without a lady, because to such it is as -natural and proper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: most -certainly no history has been seen in which there is to be found a -knight-errant without an amour, and for the simple reason that without -one he would be held no legitimate knight but a bastard, and one who -had gained entrance into the stronghold of the said knighthood, not by -the door, but over the wall like a thief and a robber.” - -“Nevertheless,” said the traveller, “if I remember rightly, I think I -have read that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul, -never had any special lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet he -was not the less esteemed, and was a very stout and famous knight.” - -To which our Don Quixote made answer, “Sir, one solitary swallow does -not make summer; moreover, I know that knight was in secret very deeply -in love; besides which, that way of falling in love with all that took -his fancy was a natural propensity which he could not control. But, in -short, it is very manifest that he had one alone whom he made mistress -of his will, to whom he commended himself very frequently and very -secretly, for he prided himself on being a reticent knight.” - -“Then if it be essential that every knight-errant should be in love,” -said the traveller, “it may be fairly supposed that your worship is so, -as you are of the order; and if you do not pride yourself on being as -reticent as Don Galaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the -name of all this company and in my own, to inform us of the name, -country, rank, and beauty of your lady, for she will esteem herself -fortunate if all the world knows that she is loved and served by such a -knight as your worship seems to be.” - -At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, “I cannot say -positively whether my sweet enemy is pleased or not that the world -should know I serve her; I can only say in answer to what has been so -courteously asked of me, that her name is Dulcinea, her country El -Toboso, a village of La Mancha, her rank must be at least that of a -princess, since she is my queen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, -since all the impossible and fanciful attributes of beauty which the -poets apply to their ladies are verified in her; for her hairs are -gold, her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, her eyes -suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck -alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her fairness snow, and -what modesty conceals from sight such, I think and imagine, as rational -reflection can only extol, not compare.” - -“We should like to know her lineage, race, and ancestry,” said Vivaldo. - -To which Don Quixote replied, “She is not of the ancient Roman Curtii, -Caii, or Scipios, nor of the modern Colonnas or Orsini, nor of the -Moncadas or Requesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas or -Villanovas of Valencia; Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas, -Alagones, Urreas, Foces, or Gurreas of Aragon; Cerdas, Manriques, -Mendozas, or Guzmans of Castile; Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses of -Portugal; but she is of those of El Toboso of La Mancha, a lineage that -though modern, may furnish a source of gentle blood for the most -illustrious families of the ages that are to come, and this let none -dispute with me save on the condition that Zerbino placed at the foot -of the trophy of Orlando’s arms, saying, - -These let none move -Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.” - -“Although mine is of the Cachopins of Laredo,” said the traveller, “I -will not venture to compare it with that of El Toboso of La Mancha, -though, to tell the truth, no such surname has until now ever reached -my ears.” - -“What!” said Don Quixote, “has that never reached them?” - -The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to the -conversation of the pair, and even the very goatherds and shepherds -perceived how exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho -Panza alone thought that what his master said was the truth, knowing -who he was and having known him from his birth; and all that he felt -any difficulty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del -Toboso, because neither any such name nor any such princess had ever -come to his knowledge though he lived so close to El Toboso. They were -going along conversing in this way, when they saw descending a gap -between two high mountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in -sheepskins of black wool, and crowned with garlands which, as -afterwards appeared, were, some of them of yew, some of cypress. Six of -the number were carrying a bier covered with a great variety of flowers -and branches, on seeing which one of the goatherds said, “Those who -come there are the bearers of Chrysostom’s body, and the foot of that -mountain is the place where he ordered them to bury him.” They -therefore made haste to reach the spot, and did so by the time those -who came had laid the bier upon the ground, and four of them with sharp -pickaxes were digging a grave by the side of a hard rock. They greeted -each other courteously, and then Don Quixote and those who accompanied -him turned to examine the bier, and on it, covered with flowers, they -saw a dead body in the dress of a shepherd, to all appearance of one -thirty years of age, and showing even in death that in life he had been -of comely features and gallant bearing. Around him on the bier itself -were laid some books, and several papers open and folded; and those who -were looking on as well as those who were opening the grave and all the -others who were there preserved a strange silence, until one of those -who had borne the body said to another, “Observe carefully, Ambrosia if -this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxious that what -he directed in his will should be so strictly complied with.” - -“This is the place,” answered Ambrosia “for in it many a time did my -poor friend tell me the story of his hard fortune. Here it was, he told -me, that he saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, -and here, too, for the first time he declared to her his passion, as -honourable as it was devoted, and here it was that at last Marcela -ended by scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the tragedy of his -wretched life to a close; here, in memory of misfortunes so great, he -desired to be laid in the bowels of eternal oblivion.” Then turning to -Don Quixote and the travellers he went on to say, “That body, sirs, on -which you are looking with compassionate eyes, was the abode of a soul -on which Heaven bestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the body -of Chrysostom, who was unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy, -unapproached in gentle bearing, a phœnix in friendship, generous -without limit, grave without arrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in -short, first in all that constitutes goodness and second to none in all -that makes up misfortune. He loved deeply, he was hated; he adored, he -was scorned; he wooed a wild beast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued -the wind, he cried to the wilderness, he served ingratitude, and for -reward was made the prey of death in the mid-course of life, cut short -by a shepherdess whom he sought to immortalise in the memory of man, as -these papers which you see could fully prove, had he not commanded me -to consign them to the fire after having consigned his body to the -earth.” - -“You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their owner -himself,” said Vivaldo, “for it is neither right nor proper to do the -will of one who enjoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not have -been reasonable in Augustus Cæsar had he permitted the directions left -by the divine Mantuan in his will to be carried into effect. So that, -Señor Ambrosia while you consign your friend’s body to the earth, you -should not consign his writings to oblivion, for if he gave the order -in bitterness of heart, it is not right that you should irrationally -obey it. On the contrary, by granting life to those papers, let the -cruelty of Marcela live for ever, to serve as a warning in ages to come -to all men to shun and avoid falling into like danger; or I and all of -us who have come here know already the story of this your love-stricken -and heart-broken friend, and we know, too, your friendship, and the -cause of his death, and the directions he gave at the close of his -life; from which sad story may be gathered how great was the cruelty of -Marcela, the love of Chrysostom, and the loyalty of your friendship, -together with the end awaiting those who pursue rashly the path that -insane passion opens to their eyes. Last night we learned the death of -Chrysostom and that he was to be buried here, and out of curiosity and -pity we left our direct road and resolved to come and see with our eyes -that which when heard of had so moved our compassion, and in -consideration of that compassion and our desire to prove it if we might -by condolence, we beg of you, excellent Ambrosia, or at least I on my -own account entreat you, that instead of burning those papers you allow -me to carry away some of them.” - -And without waiting for the shepherd’s answer, he stretched out his -hand and took up some of those that were nearest to him; seeing which -Ambrosio said, “Out of courtesy, señor, I will grant your request as to -those you have taken, but it is idle to expect me to abstain from -burning the remainder.” - -Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one of -them at once, and saw that its title was “Lay of Despair.” - -Ambrosio hearing it said, “That is the last paper the unhappy man -wrote; and that you may see, señor, to what an end his misfortunes -brought him, read it so that you may be heard, for you will have time -enough for that while we are waiting for the grave to be dug.” - -“I will do so very willingly,” said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanders -were equally eager they gathered round him, and he, reading in a loud -voice, found that it ran as follows. - -CHAPTER XIV. -WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR - -THE LAY OF CHRYSOSTOM - -Since thou dost in thy cruelty desire -The ruthless rigour of thy tyranny -From tongue to tongue, from land to land proclaimed, -The very Hell will I constrain to lend -This stricken breast of mine deep notes of woe -To serve my need of fitting utterance. -And as I strive to body forth the tale -Of all I suffer, all that thou hast done, -Forth shall the dread voice roll, and bear along -Shreds from my vitals torn for greater pain. -Then listen, not to dulcet harmony, -But to a discord wrung by mad despair -Out of this bosom’s depths of bitterness, -To ease my heart and plant a sting in thine. - -The lion’s roar, the fierce wolf’s savage howl, -The horrid hissing of the scaly snake, -The awesome cries of monsters yet unnamed, -The crow’s ill-boding croak, the hollow moan -Of wild winds wrestling with the restless sea, -The wrathful bellow of the vanquished bull, -The plaintive sobbing of the widowed dove, -The envied owl’s sad note, the wail of woe -That rises from the dreary choir of Hell, -Commingled in one sound, confusing sense, -Let all these come to aid my soul’s complaint, -For pain like mine demands new modes of song. - -No echoes of that discord shall be heard -Where Father Tagus rolls, or on the banks -Of olive-bordered Betis; to the rocks -Or in deep caverns shall my plaint be told, -And by a lifeless tongue in living words; -Or in dark valleys or on lonely shores, -Where neither foot of man nor sunbeam falls; -Or in among the poison-breathing swarms -Of monsters nourished by the sluggish Nile. -For, though it be to solitudes remote -The hoarse vague echoes of my sorrows sound -Thy matchless cruelty, my dismal fate -Shall carry them to all the spacious world. - -Disdain hath power to kill, and patience dies -Slain by suspicion, be it false or true; -And deadly is the force of jealousy; -Long absence makes of life a dreary void; -No hope of happiness can give repose -To him that ever fears to be forgot; -And death, inevitable, waits in hall. -But I, by some strange miracle, live on -A prey to absence, jealousy, disdain; -Racked by suspicion as by certainty; -Forgotten, left to feed my flame alone. -And while I suffer thus, there comes no ray -Of hope to gladden me athwart the gloom; -Nor do I look for it in my despair; -But rather clinging to a cureless woe, -All hope do I abjure for evermore. - -Can there be hope where fear is? Were it well, -When far more certain are the grounds of fear? -Ought I to shut mine eyes to jealousy, -If through a thousand heart-wounds it appears? -Who would not give free access to distrust, -Seeing disdain unveiled, and—bitter change!— -All his suspicions turned to certainties, -And the fair truth transformed into a lie? -Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love, -Oh, Jealousy! put chains upon these hands, -And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain. -But, woe is me! triumphant over all, -My sufferings drown the memory of you. - -And now I die, and since there is no hope -Of happiness for me in life or death, -Still to my fantasy I’ll fondly cling. -I’ll say that he is wise who loveth well, -And that the soul most free is that most bound -In thraldom to the ancient tyrant Love. -I’ll say that she who is mine enemy -In that fair body hath as fair a mind, -And that her coldness is but my desert, -And that by virtue of the pain he sends -Love rules his kingdom with a gentle sway. -Thus, self-deluding, and in bondage sore, -And wearing out the wretched shred of life -To which I am reduced by her disdain, -I’ll give this soul and body to the winds, -All hopeless of a crown of bliss in store. - -Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause -That makes me quit the weary life I loathe, -As by this wounded bosom thou canst see -How willingly thy victim I become, -Let not my death, if haply worth a tear, -Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes; -I would not have thee expiate in aught -The crime of having made my heart thy prey; -But rather let thy laughter gaily ring -And prove my death to be thy festival. -Fool that I am to bid thee! well I know -Thy glory gains by my untimely end. - -And now it is the time; from Hell’s abyss -Come thirsting Tantalus, come Sisyphus -Heaving the cruel stone, come Tityus -With vulture, and with wheel Ixion come, -And come the sisters of the ceaseless toil; -And all into this breast transfer their pains, -And (if such tribute to despair be due) -Chant in their deepest tones a doleful dirge -Over a corse unworthy of a shroud. -Let the three-headed guardian of the gate, -And all the monstrous progeny of hell, -The doleful concert join: a lover dead -Methinks can have no fitter obsequies. - -Lay of despair, grieve not when thou art gone -Forth from this sorrowing heart: my misery -Brings fortune to the cause that gave thee birth; -Then banish sadness even in the tomb. - -The “Lay of Chrysostom” met with the approbation of the listeners, -though the reader said it did not seem to him to agree with what he had -heard of Marcela’s reserve and propriety, for Chrysostom complained in -it of jealousy, suspicion, and absence, all to the prejudice of the -good name and fame of Marcela; to which Ambrosio replied as one who -knew well his friend’s most secret thoughts, “Señor, to remove that -doubt I should tell you that when the unhappy man wrote this lay he was -away from Marcela, from whom he had voluntarily separated himself, to -try if absence would act with him as it is wont; and as everything -distresses and every fear haunts the banished lover, so imaginary -jealousies and suspicions, dreaded as if they were true, tormented -Chrysostom; and thus the truth of what report declares of the virtue of -Marcela remains unshaken, and with her envy itself should not and -cannot find any fault save that of being cruel, somewhat haughty, and -very scornful.” - -“That is true,” said Vivaldo; and as he was about to read another paper -of those he had preserved from the fire, he was stopped by a marvellous -vision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly presented itself to their -eyes; for on the summit of the rock where they were digging the grave -there appeared the shepherdess Marcela, so beautiful that her beauty -exceeded its reputation. Those who had never till then beheld her gazed -upon her in wonder and silence, and those who were accustomed to see -her were not less amazed than those who had never seen her before. But -the instant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, with manifest -indignation: - -“Art thou come, by chance, cruel basilisk of these mountains, to see if -in thy presence blood will flow from the wounds of this wretched being -thy cruelty has robbed of life; or is it to exult over the cruel work -of thy humours that thou art come; or like another pitiless Nero to -look down from that height upon the ruin of his Rome in embers; or in -thy arrogance to trample on this ill-fated corpse, as the ungrateful -daughter trampled on her father Tarquin’s? Tell us quickly for what -thou art come, or what it is thou wouldst have, for, as I know the -thoughts of Chrysostom never failed to obey thee in life, I will make -all these who call themselves his friends obey thee, though he be -dead.” - -“I come not, Ambrosia for any of the purposes thou hast named,” replied -Marcela, “but to defend myself and to prove how unreasonable are all -those who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom’s death; and -therefore I ask all of you that are here to give me your attention, for -it will not take much time or many words to bring the truth home to -persons of sense. Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, and so -much so that in spite of yourselves my beauty leads you to love me; and -for the love you show me you say, and even urge, that I am bound to -love you. By that natural understanding which God has given me I know -that everything beautiful attracts love, but I cannot see how, by -reason of being loved, that which is loved for its beauty is bound to -love that which loves it; besides, it may happen that the lover of that -which is beautiful may be ugly, and ugliness being detestable, it is -very absurd to say, “I love thee because thou art beautiful, thou must -love me though I be ugly.” But supposing the beauty equal on both -sides, it does not follow that the inclinations must be therefore -alike, for it is not every beauty that excites love, some but pleasing -the eye without winning the affection; and if every sort of beauty -excited love and won the heart, the will would wander vaguely to and -fro unable to make choice of any; for as there is an infinity of -beautiful objects there must be an infinity of inclinations, and true -love, I have heard it said, is indivisible, and must be voluntary and -not compelled. If this be so, as I believe it to be, why do you desire -me to bend my will by force, for no other reason but that you say you -love me? Nay—tell me—had Heaven made me ugly, as it has made me -beautiful, could I with justice complain of you for not loving me? -Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of -mine, for, be it what it may, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without -my asking or choosing it; and as the viper, though it kills with it, -does not deserve to be blamed for the poison it carries, as it is a -gift of nature, neither do I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for -beauty in a modest woman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; -the one does not burn, the other does not cut, those who do not come -too near. Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the mind, without -which the body, though it be so, has no right to pass for beautiful; -but if modesty is one of the virtues that specially lend a grace and -charm to mind and body, why should she who is loved for her beauty part -with it to gratify one who for his pleasure alone strives with all his -might and energy to rob her of it? I was born free, and that I might -live in freedom I chose the solitude of the fields; in the trees of the -mountains I find society, the clear waters of the brooks are my -mirrors, and to the trees and waters I make known my thoughts and -charms. I am a fire afar off, a sword laid aside. Those whom I have -inspired with love by letting them see me, I have by words undeceived, -and if their longings live on hope—and I have given none to Chrysostom -or to any other—it cannot justly be said that the death of any is my -doing, for it was rather his own obstinacy than my cruelty that killed -him; and if it be made a charge against me that his wishes were -honourable, and that therefore I was bound to yield to them, I answer -that when on this very spot where now his grave is made he declared to -me his purity of purpose, I told him that mine was to live in perpetual -solitude, and that the earth alone should enjoy the fruits of my -retirement and the spoils of my beauty; and if, after this open avowal, -he chose to persist against hope and steer against the wind, what -wonder is it that he should sink in the depths of his infatuation? If I -had encouraged him, I should be false; if I had gratified him, I should -have acted against my own better resolution and purpose. He was -persistent in spite of warning, he despaired without being hated. -Bethink you now if it be reasonable that his suffering should be laid -to my charge. Let him who has been deceived complain, let him give way -to despair whose encouraged hopes have proved vain, let him flatter -himself whom I shall entice, let him boast whom I shall receive; but -let not him call me cruel or homicide to whom I make no promise, upon -whom I practise no deception, whom I neither entice nor receive. It has -not been so far the will of Heaven that I should love by fate, and to -expect me to love by choice is idle. Let this general declaration serve -for each of my suitors on his own account, and let it be understood -from this time forth that if anyone dies for me it is not of jealousy -or misery he dies, for she who loves no one can give no cause for -jealousy to any, and candour is not to be confounded with scorn. Let -him who calls me wild beast and basilisk, leave me alone as something -noxious and evil; let him who calls me ungrateful, withhold his -service; who calls me wayward, seek not my acquaintance; who calls me -cruel, pursue me not; for this wild beast, this basilisk, this -ungrateful, cruel, wayward being has no kind of desire to seek, serve, -know, or follow them. If Chrysostom’s impatience and violent passion -killed him, why should my modest behaviour and circumspection be -blamed? If I preserve my purity in the society of the trees, why should -he who would have me preserve it among men, seek to rob me of it? I -have, as you know, wealth of my own, and I covet not that of others; my -taste is for freedom, and I have no relish for constraint; I neither -love nor hate anyone; I do not deceive this one or court that, or -trifle with one or play with another. The modest converse of the -shepherd girls of these hamlets and the care of my goats are my -recreations; my desires are bounded by these mountains, and if they -ever wander hence it is to contemplate the beauty of the heavens, steps -by which the soul travels to its primeval abode.” - -With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, she turned and -passed into the thickest part of a wood that was hard by, leaving all -who were there lost in admiration as much of her good sense as of her -beauty. Some—those wounded by the irresistible shafts launched by her -bright eyes—made as though they would follow her, heedless of the frank -declaration they had heard; seeing which, and deeming this a fitting -occasion for the exercise of his chivalry in aid of distressed damsels, -Don Quixote, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, exclaimed in a -loud and distinct voice: - -“Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare to follow the -beautiful Marcela, under pain of incurring my fierce indignation. She -has shown by clear and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault -is to be found with her for the death of Chrysostom, and also how far -she is from yielding to the wishes of any of her lovers, for which -reason, instead of being followed and persecuted, she should in justice -be honoured and esteemed by all the good people of the world, for she -shows that she is the only woman in it that holds to such a virtuous -resolution.” - -Whether it was because of the threats of Don Quixote, or because -Ambrosio told them to fulfil their duty to their good friend, none of -the shepherds moved or stirred from the spot until, having finished the -grave and burned Chrysostom’s papers, they laid his body in it, not -without many tears from those who stood by. They closed the grave with -a heavy stone until a slab was ready which Ambrosio said he meant to -have prepared, with an epitaph which was to be to this effect: - -Beneath the stone before your eyes -The body of a lover lies; -In life he was a shepherd swain, -In death a victim to disdain. -Ungrateful, cruel, coy, and fair, -Was she that drove him to despair, -And Love hath made her his ally -For spreading wide his tyranny. - -They then strewed upon the grave a profusion of flowers and branches, -and all expressing their condolence with his friend Ambrosio, took -their leave. Vivaldo and his companion did the same; and Don Quixote -bade farewell to his hosts and to the travellers, who pressed him to -come with them to Seville, as being such a convenient place for finding -adventures, for they presented themselves in every street and round -every corner oftener than anywhere else. Don Quixote thanked them for -their advice and for the disposition they showed to do him a favour, -and said that for the present he would not, and must not go to Seville -until he had cleared all these mountains of highwaymen and robbers, of -whom report said they were full. Seeing his good intention, the -travellers were unwilling to press him further, and once more bidding -him farewell, they left him and pursued their journey, in the course of -which they did not fail to discuss the story of Marcela and Chrysostom -as well as the madness of Don Quixote. He, on his part, resolved to go -in quest of the shepherdess Marcela, and make offer to her of all the -service he could render her; but things did not fall out with him as he -expected, according to what is related in the course of this veracious -history, of which the Second Part ends here. - -CHAPTER XV. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN -WITH WHEN HE FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS - -The sage Cid Hamete Benengeli relates that as soon as Don Quixote took -leave of his hosts and all who had been present at the burial of -Chrysostom, he and his squire passed into the same wood which they had -seen the shepherdess Marcela enter, and after having wandered for more -than two hours in all directions in search of her without finding her, -they came to a halt in a glade covered with tender grass, beside which -ran a pleasant cool stream that invited and compelled them to pass -there the hours of the noontide heat, which by this time was beginning -to come on oppressively. Don Quixote and Sancho dismounted, and turning -Rocinante and the ass loose to feed on the grass that was there in -abundance, they ransacked the alforjas, and without any ceremony very -peacefully and sociably master and man made their repast on what they -found in them. - -Sancho had not thought it worth while to hobble Rocinante, feeling -sure, from what he knew of his staidness and freedom from incontinence, -that all the mares in the Cordova pastures would not lead him into an -impropriety. Chance, however, and the devil, who is not always asleep, -so ordained it that feeding in this valley there was a drove of -Galician ponies belonging to certain Yanguesan carriers, whose way it -is to take their midday rest with their teams in places and spots where -grass and water abound; and that where Don Quixote chanced to be suited -the Yanguesans’ purpose very well. It so happened, then, that Rocinante -took a fancy to disport himself with their ladyships the ponies, and -abandoning his usual gait and demeanour as he scented them, he, without -asking leave of his master, got up a briskish little trot and hastened -to make known his wishes to them; they, however, it seemed, preferred -their pasture to him, and received him with their heels and teeth to -such effect that they soon broke his girths and left him naked without -a saddle to cover him; but what must have been worse to him was that -the carriers, seeing the violence he was offering to their mares, came -running up armed with stakes, and so belaboured him that they brought -him sorely battered to the ground. - -By this time Don Quixote and Sancho, who had witnessed the drubbing of -Rocinante, came up panting, and said Don Quixote to Sancho: - -“So far as I can see, friend Sancho, these are not knights but base -folk of low birth: I mention it because thou canst lawfully aid me in -taking due vengeance for the insult offered to Rocinante before our -eyes.” - -“What the devil vengeance can we take,” answered Sancho, “if they are -more than twenty, and we no more than two, or, indeed, perhaps not more -than one and a half?” - -“I count for a hundred,” replied Don Quixote, and without more words he -drew his sword and attacked the Yanguesans and excited and impelled by -the example of his master, Sancho did the same; and to begin with, Don -Quixote delivered a slash at one of them that laid open the leather -jerkin he wore, together with a great portion of his shoulder. The -Yanguesans, seeing themselves assaulted by only two men while they were -so many, betook themselves to their stakes, and driving the two into -the middle they began to lay on with great zeal and energy; in fact, at -the second blow they brought Sancho to the ground, and Don Quixote -fared the same way, all his skill and high mettle availing him nothing, -and fate willed it that he should fall at the feet of Rocinante, who -had not yet risen; whereby it may be seen how furiously stakes can -pound in angry boorish hands. - -Then, seeing the mischief they had done, the Yanguesans with all the -haste they could loaded their team and pursued their journey, leaving -the two adventurers a sorry sight and in sorrier mood. - -Sancho was the first to come to, and finding himself close to his -master he called to him in a weak and doleful voice, “Señor Don -Quixote, ah, Señor Don Quixote!” - -“What wouldst thou, brother Sancho?” answered Don Quixote in the same -feeble suffering tone as Sancho. - -“I would like, if it were possible,” answered Sancho Panza, “your -worship to give me a couple of sups of that potion of the fiery Blas, -if it be that you have any to hand there; perhaps it will serve for -broken bones as well as for wounds.” - -“If I only had it here, wretch that I am, what more should we want?” -said Don Quixote; “but I swear to thee, Sancho Panza, on the faith of a -knight-errant, ere two days are over, unless fortune orders otherwise, -I mean to have it in my possession, or my hand will have lost its -cunning.” - -“But in how many does your worship think we shall have the use of our -feet?” answered Sancho Panza. - -“For myself I must say I cannot guess how many,” said the battered -knight Don Quixote; “but I take all the blame upon myself, for I had no -business to put hand to sword against men who where not dubbed knights -like myself, and so I believe that in punishment for having -transgressed the laws of chivalry the God of battles has permitted this -chastisement to be administered to me; for which reason, brother -Sancho, it is well thou shouldst receive a hint on the matter which I -am now about to mention to thee, for it is of much importance to the -welfare of both of us. It is at when thou shalt see rabble of this sort -offering us insult thou art not to wait till I draw sword against them, -for I shall not do so at all; but do thou draw sword and chastise them -to thy heart’s content, and if any knights come to their aid and -defence I will take care to defend thee and assail them with all my -might; and thou hast already seen by a thousand signs and proofs what -the might of this strong arm of mine is equal to”—so uplifted had the -poor gentleman become through the victory over the stout Biscayan. - -But Sancho did not so fully approve of his master’s admonition as to -let it pass without saying in reply, “Señor, I am a man of peace, meek -and quiet, and I can put up with any affront because I have a wife and -children to support and bring up; so let it be likewise a hint to your -worship, as it cannot be a mandate, that on no account will I draw -sword either against clown or against knight, and that here before God -I forgive the insults that have been offered me, whether they have -been, are, or shall be offered me by high or low, rich or poor, noble -or commoner, not excepting any rank or condition whatsoever.” - -To all which his master said in reply, “I wish I had breath enough to -speak somewhat easily, and that the pain I feel on this side would -abate so as to let me explain to thee, Panza, the mistake thou makest. -Come now, sinner, suppose the wind of fortune, hitherto so adverse, -should turn in our favour, filling the sails of our desires so that -safely and without impediment we put into port in some one of those -islands I have promised thee, how would it be with thee if on winning -it I made thee lord of it? Why, thou wilt make it well-nigh impossible -through not being a knight nor having any desire to be one, nor -possessing the courage nor the will to avenge insults or defend thy -lordship; for thou must know that in newly conquered kingdoms and -provinces the minds of the inhabitants are never so quiet nor so well -disposed to the new lord that there is no fear of their making some -move to change matters once more, and try, as they say, what chance may -do for them; so it is essential that the new possessor should have good -sense to enable him to govern, and valour to attack and defend himself, -whatever may befall him.” - -“In what has now befallen us,” answered Sancho, “I’d have been well -pleased to have that good sense and that valour your worship speaks of, -but I swear on the faith of a poor man I am more fit for plasters than -for arguments. See if your worship can get up, and let us help -Rocinante, though he does not deserve it, for he was the main cause of -all this thrashing. I never thought it of Rocinante, for I took him to -be a virtuous person and as quiet as myself. After all, they say right -that it takes a long time to come to know people, and that there is -nothing sure in this life. Who would have said that, after such mighty -slashes as your worship gave that unlucky knight-errant, there was -coming, travelling post and at the very heels of them, such a great -storm of sticks as has fallen upon our shoulders?” - -“And yet thine, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “ought to be used to such -squalls; but mine, reared in soft cloth and fine linen, it is plain -they must feel more keenly the pain of this mishap, and if it were not -that I imagine—why do I say imagine?—know of a certainty that all these -annoyances are very necessary accompaniments of the calling of arms, I -would lay me down here to die of pure vexation.” - -To this the squire replied, “Señor, as these mishaps are what one reaps -of chivalry, tell me if they happen very often, or if they have their -own fixed times for coming to pass; because it seems to me that after -two harvests we shall be no good for the third, unless God in his -infinite mercy helps us.” - -“Know, friend Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “that the life of -knights-errant is subject to a thousand dangers and reverses, and -neither more nor less is it within immediate possibility for -knights-errant to become kings and emperors, as experience has shown in -the case of many different knights with whose histories I am thoroughly -acquainted; and I could tell thee now, if the pain would let me, of -some who simply by might of arm have risen to the high stations I have -mentioned; and those same, both before and after, experienced divers -misfortunes and miseries; for the valiant Amadis of Gaul found himself -in the power of his mortal enemy Arcalaus the magician, who, it is -positively asserted, holding him captive, gave him more than two -hundred lashes with the reins of his horse while tied to one of the -pillars of a court; and moreover there is a certain recondite author of -no small authority who says that the Knight of Phœbus, being caught in -a certain pitfall, which opened under his feet in a certain castle, on -falling found himself bound hand and foot in a deep pit underground, -where they administered to him one of those things they call clysters, -of sand and snow-water, that well-nigh finished him; and if he had not -been succoured in that sore extremity by a sage, a great friend of his, -it would have gone very hard with the poor knight; so I may well suffer -in company with such worthy folk, for greater were the indignities -which they had to suffer than those which we suffer. For I would have -thee know, Sancho, that wounds caused by any instruments which happen -by chance to be in hand inflict no indignity, and this is laid down in -the law of the duel in express words: if, for instance, the cobbler -strikes another with the last which he has in his hand, though it be in -fact a piece of wood, it cannot be said for that reason that he whom he -struck with it has been cudgelled. I say this lest thou shouldst -imagine that because we have been drubbed in this affray we have -therefore suffered any indignity; for the arms those men carried, with -which they pounded us, were nothing more than their stakes, and not one -of them, so far as I remember, carried rapier, sword, or dagger.” - -“They gave me no time to see that much,” answered Sancho, “for hardly -had I laid hand on my tizona when they signed the cross on my shoulders -with their sticks in such style that they took the sight out of my eyes -and the strength out of my feet, stretching me where I now lie, and -where thinking of whether all those stake-strokes were an indignity or -not gives me no uneasiness, which the pain of the blows does, for they -will remain as deeply impressed on my memory as on my shoulders.” - -“For all that let me tell thee, brother Panza,” said Don Quixote, “that -there is no recollection which time does not put an end to, and no pain -which death does not remove.” - -“And what greater misfortune can there be,” replied Panza, “than the -one that waits for time to put an end to it and death to remove it? If -our mishap were one of those that are cured with a couple of plasters, -it would not be so bad; but I am beginning to think that all the -plasters in a hospital almost won’t be enough to put us right.” - -“No more of that: pluck strength out of weakness, Sancho, as I mean to -do,” returned Don Quixote, “and let us see how Rocinante is, for it -seems to me that not the least share of this mishap has fallen to the -lot of the poor beast.” - -“There is nothing wonderful in that,” replied Sancho, “since he is a -knight-errant too; what I wonder at is that my beast should have come -off scot-free where we come out scotched.” - -“Fortune always leaves a door open in adversity in order to bring -relief to it,” said Don Quixote; “I say so because this little beast -may now supply the want of Rocinante, carrying me hence to some castle -where I may be cured of my wounds. And moreover I shall not hold it any -dishonour to be so mounted, for I remember having read how the good old -Silenus, the tutor and instructor of the gay god of laughter, when he -entered the city of the hundred gates, went very contentedly mounted on -a handsome ass.” - -“It may be true that he went mounted as your worship says,” answered -Sancho, “but there is a great difference between going mounted and -going slung like a sack of manure.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Wounds received in battle confer honour -instead of taking it away; and so, friend Panza, say no more, but, as I -told thee before, get up as well as thou canst and put me on top of thy -beast in whatever fashion pleases thee best, and let us go hence ere -night come on and surprise us in these wilds.” - -“And yet I have heard your worship say,” observed Panza, “that it is -very meet for knights-errant to sleep in wastes and deserts, and that -they esteem it very good fortune.” - -“That is,” said Don Quixote, “when they cannot help it, or when they -are in love; and so true is this that there have been knights who have -remained two years on rocks, in sunshine and shade and all the -inclemencies of heaven, without their ladies knowing anything of it; -and one of these was Amadis, when, under the name of Beltenebros, he -took up his abode on the Peña Pobre for—I know not if it was eight -years or eight months, for I am not very sure of the reckoning; at any -rate he stayed there doing penance for I know not what pique the -Princess Oriana had against him; but no more of this now, Sancho, and -make haste before a mishap like Rocinante’s befalls the ass.” - -“The very devil would be in it in that case,” said Sancho; and letting -off thirty “ohs,” and sixty sighs, and a hundred and twenty -maledictions and execrations on whomsoever it was that had brought him -there, he raised himself, stopping half-way bent like a Turkish bow -without power to bring himself upright, but with all his pains he -saddled his ass, who too had gone astray somewhat, yielding to the -excessive licence of the day; he next raised up Rocinante, and as for -him, had he possessed a tongue to complain with, most assuredly neither -Sancho nor his master would have been behind him. - -To be brief, Sancho fixed Don Quixote on the ass and secured Rocinante -with a leading rein, and taking the ass by the halter, he proceeded -more or less in the direction in which it seemed to him the high road -might be; and, as chance was conducting their affairs for them from -good to better, he had not gone a short league when the road came in -sight, and on it he perceived an inn, which to his annoyance and to the -delight of Don Quixote must needs be a castle. Sancho insisted that it -was an inn, and his master that it was not one, but a castle, and the -dispute lasted so long that before the point was settled they had time -to reach it, and into it Sancho entered with all his team without any -further controversy. - -CHAPTER XVI. -OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE TOOK TO -BE A CASTLE - -The innkeeper, seeing Don Quixote slung across the ass, asked Sancho -what was amiss with him. Sancho answered that it was nothing, only that -he had fallen down from a rock and had his ribs a little bruised. The -innkeeper had a wife whose disposition was not such as those of her -calling commonly have, for she was by nature kind-hearted and felt for -the sufferings of her neighbours, so she at once set about tending Don -Quixote, and made her young daughter, a very comely girl, help her in -taking care of her guest. There was besides in the inn, as servant, an -Asturian lass with a broad face, flat poll, and snub nose, blind of one -eye and not very sound in the other. The elegance of her shape, to be -sure, made up for all her defects; she did not measure seven palms from -head to foot, and her shoulders, which overweighted her somewhat, made -her contemplate the ground more than she liked. This graceful lass, -then, helped the young girl, and the two made up a very bad bed for Don -Quixote in a garret that showed evident signs of having formerly served -for many years as a straw-loft, in which there was also quartered a -carrier whose bed was placed a little beyond our Don Quixote’s, and, -though only made of the pack-saddles and cloths of his mules, had much -the advantage of it, as Don Quixote’s consisted simply of four rough -boards on two not very even trestles, a mattress, that for thinness -might have passed for a quilt, full of pellets which, were they not -seen through the rents to be wool, would to the touch have seemed -pebbles in hardness, two sheets made of buckler leather, and a coverlet -the threads of which anyone that chose might have counted without -missing one in the reckoning. - -On this accursed bed Don Quixote stretched himself, and the hostess and -her daughter soon covered him with plasters from top to toe, while -Maritornes—for that was the name of the Asturian—held the light for -them, and while plastering him, the hostess, observing how full of -wheals Don Quixote was in some places, remarked that this had more the -look of blows than of a fall. - -It was not blows, Sancho said, but that the rock had many points and -projections, and that each of them had left its mark. “Pray, señora,” -he added, “manage to save some tow, as there will be no want of someone -to use it, for my loins too are rather sore.” - -“Then you must have fallen too,” said the hostess. - -“I did not fall,” said Sancho Panza, “but from the shock I got at -seeing my master fall, my body aches so that I feel as if I had had a -thousand thwacks.” - -“That may well be,” said the young girl, “for it has many a time -happened to me to dream that I was falling down from a tower and never -coming to the ground, and when I awoke from the dream to find myself as -weak and shaken as if I had really fallen.” - -“There is the point, señora,” replied Sancho Panza, “that I without -dreaming at all, but being more awake than I am now, find myself with -scarcely less wheals than my master, Don Quixote.” - -“How is the gentleman called?” asked Maritornes the Asturian. - -“Don Quixote of La Mancha,” answered Sancho Panza, “and he is a -knight-adventurer, and one of the best and stoutest that have been seen -in the world this long time past.” - -“What is a knight-adventurer?” said the lass. - -“Are you so new in the world as not to know?” answered Sancho Panza. -“Well, then, you must know, sister, that a knight-adventurer is a thing -that in two words is seen drubbed and emperor, that is to-day the most -miserable and needy being in the world, and to-morrow will have two or -three crowns of kingdoms to give his squire.” - -“Then how is it,” said the hostess, “that belonging to so good a master -as this, you have not, to judge by appearances, even so much as a -county?” - -“It is too soon yet,” answered Sancho, “for we have only been a month -going in quest of adventures, and so far we have met with nothing that -can be called one, for it will happen that when one thing is looked for -another thing is found; however, if my master Don Quixote gets well of -this wound, or fall, and I am left none the worse of it, I would not -change my hopes for the best title in Spain.” - -To all this conversation Don Quixote was listening very attentively, -and sitting up in bed as well as he could, and taking the hostess by -the hand he said to her, “Believe me, fair lady, you may call yourself -fortunate in having in this castle of yours sheltered my person, which -is such that if I do not myself praise it, it is because of what is -commonly said, that self-praise debaseth; but my squire will inform you -who I am. I only tell you that I shall preserve for ever inscribed on -my memory the service you have rendered me in order to tender you my -gratitude while life shall last me; and would to Heaven love held me -not so enthralled and subject to its laws and to the eyes of that fair -ingrate whom I name between my teeth, but that those of this lovely -damsel might be the masters of my liberty.” - -The hostess, her daughter, and the worthy Maritornes listened in -bewilderment to the words of the knight-errant; for they understood -about as much of them as if he had been talking Greek, though they -could perceive they were all meant for expressions of good-will and -blandishments; and not being accustomed to this kind of language, they -stared at him and wondered to themselves, for he seemed to them a man -of a different sort from those they were used to, and thanking him in -pothouse phrase for his civility they left him, while the Asturian gave -her attention to Sancho, who needed it no less than his master. - -The carrier had made an arrangement with her for recreation that night, -and she had given him her word that when the guests were quiet and the -family asleep she would come in search of him and meet his wishes -unreservedly. And it is said of this good lass that she never made -promises of the kind without fulfilling them, even though she made them -in a forest and without any witness present, for she plumed herself -greatly on being a lady and held it no disgrace to be in such an -employment as servant in an inn, because, she said, misfortunes and -ill-luck had brought her to that position. The hard, narrow, wretched, -rickety bed of Don Quixote stood first in the middle of this star-lit -stable, and close beside it Sancho made his, which merely consisted of -a rush mat and a blanket that looked as if it was of threadbare canvas -rather than of wool. Next to these two beds was that of the carrier, -made up, as has been said, of the pack-saddles and all the trappings of -the two best mules he had, though there were twelve of them, sleek, -plump, and in prime condition, for he was one of the rich carriers of -Arévalo, according to the author of this history, who particularly -mentions this carrier because he knew him very well, and they even say -was in some degree a relation of his; besides which Cid Hamete -Benengeli was a historian of great research and accuracy in all things, -as is very evident since he would not pass over in silence those that -have been already mentioned, however trifling and insignificant they -might be, an example that might be followed by those grave historians -who relate transactions so curtly and briefly that we hardly get a -taste of them, all the substance of the work being left in the inkstand -from carelessness, perverseness, or ignorance. A thousand blessings on -the author of “Tablante de Ricamonte” and that of the other book in -which the deeds of the Conde Tomillas are recounted; with what -minuteness they describe everything! - -To proceed, then: after having paid a visit to his team and given them -their second feed, the carrier stretched himself on his pack-saddles -and lay waiting for his conscientious Maritornes. Sancho was by this -time plastered and had lain down, and though he strove to sleep the -pain of his ribs would not let him, while Don Quixote with the pain of -his had his eyes as wide open as a hare’s. - -The inn was all in silence, and in the whole of it there was no light -except that given by a lantern that hung burning in the middle of the -gateway. This strange stillness, and the thoughts, always present to -our knight’s mind, of the incidents described at every turn in the -books that were the cause of his misfortune, conjured up to his -imagination as extraordinary a delusion as can well be conceived, which -was that he fancied himself to have reached a famous castle (for, as -has been said, all the inns he lodged in were castles to his eyes), and -that the daughter of the innkeeper was daughter of the lord of the -castle, and that she, won by his high-bred bearing, had fallen in love -with him, and had promised to come to his bed for a while that night -without the knowledge of her parents; and holding all this fantasy that -he had constructed as solid fact, he began to feel uneasy and to -consider the perilous risk which his virtue was about to encounter, and -he resolved in his heart to commit no treason to his lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, even though the queen Guinevere herself and the dame Quintañona -should present themselves before him. - -While he was taken up with these vagaries, then, the time and the -hour—an unlucky one for him—arrived for the Asturian to come, who in -her smock, with bare feet and her hair gathered into a fustian coif, -with noiseless and cautious steps entered the chamber where the three -were quartered, in quest of the carrier; but scarcely had she gained -the door when Don Quixote perceived her, and sitting up in his bed in -spite of his plasters and the pain of his ribs, he stretched out his -arms to receive his beauteous damsel. The Asturian, who went all -doubled up and in silence with her hands before her feeling for her -lover, encountered the arms of Don Quixote, who grasped her tightly by -the wrist, and drawing her towards him, while she dared not utter a -word, made her sit down on the bed. He then felt her smock, and -although it was of sackcloth it appeared to him to be of the finest and -softest silk: on her wrists she wore some glass beads, but to him they -had the sheen of precious Orient pearls: her hair, which in some -measure resembled a horse’s mane, he rated as threads of the brightest -gold of Araby, whose refulgence dimmed the sun himself: her breath, -which no doubt smelt of yesterday’s stale salad, seemed to him to -diffuse a sweet aromatic fragrance from her mouth; and, in short, he -drew her portrait in his imagination with the same features and in the -same style as that which he had seen in his books of the other -princesses who, smitten by love, came with all the adornments that are -here set down, to see the sorely wounded knight; and so great was the -poor gentleman’s blindness that neither touch, nor smell, nor anything -else about the good lass that would have made any but a carrier vomit, -were enough to undeceive him; on the contrary, he was persuaded he had -the goddess of beauty in his arms, and holding her firmly in his grasp -he went on to say in low, tender voice: - -“Would that found myself, lovely and exalted lady, in a position to -repay such a favour as that which you, by the sight of your great -beauty, have granted me; but fortune, which is never weary of -persecuting the good, has chosen to place me upon this bed, where I lie -so bruised and broken that though my inclination would gladly comply -with yours it is impossible; besides, to this impossibility another yet -greater is to be added, which is the faith that I have pledged to the -peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole lady of my most secret thoughts; and -were it not that this stood in the way I should not be so insensible a -knight as to miss the happy opportunity which your great goodness has -offered me.” - -Maritornes was fretting and sweating at finding herself held so fast by -Don Quixote, and not understanding or heeding the words he addressed to -her, she strove without speaking to free herself. The worthy carrier, -whose unholy thoughts kept him awake, was aware of his doxy the moment -she entered the door, and was listening attentively to all Don Quixote -said; and jealous that the Asturian should have broken her word with -him for another, drew nearer to Don Quixote’s bed and stood still to -see what would come of this talk which he could not understand; but -when he perceived the wench struggling to get free and Don Quixote -striving to hold her, not relishing the joke he raised his arm and -delivered such a terrible cuff on the lank jaws of the amorous knight -that he bathed all his mouth in blood, and not content with this he -mounted on his ribs and with his feet tramped all over them at a pace -rather smarter than a trot. The bed which was somewhat crazy and not -very firm on its feet, unable to support the additional weight of the -carrier, came to the ground, and at the mighty crash of this the -innkeeper awoke and at once concluded that it must be some brawl of -Maritornes’, because after calling loudly to her he got no answer. With -this suspicion he got up, and lighting a lamp hastened to the quarter -where he had heard the disturbance. The wench, seeing that her master -was coming and knowing that his temper was terrible, frightened and -panic-stricken made for the bed of Sancho Panza, who still slept, and -crouching upon it made a ball of herself. - -The innkeeper came in exclaiming, “Where art thou, strumpet? Of course -this is some of thy work.” At this Sancho awoke, and feeling this mass -almost on top of him fancied he had the nightmare and began to -distribute fisticuffs all round, of which a certain share fell upon -Maritornes, who, irritated by the pain and flinging modesty aside, paid -back so many in return to Sancho that she woke him up in spite of -himself. He then, finding himself so handled, by whom he knew not, -raising himself up as well as he could, grappled with Maritornes, and -he and she between them began the bitterest and drollest scrimmage in -the world. The carrier, however, perceiving by the light of the -innkeeper candle how it fared with his ladylove, quitting Don Quixote, -ran to bring her the help she needed; and the innkeeper did the same -but with a different intention, for his was to chastise the lass, as he -believed that beyond a doubt she alone was the cause of all the -harmony. And so, as the saying is, cat to rat, rat to rope, rope to -stick, the carrier pounded Sancho, Sancho the lass, she him, and the -innkeeper her, and all worked away so briskly that they did not give -themselves a moment’s rest; and the best of it was that the innkeeper’s -lamp went out, and as they were left in the dark they all laid on one -upon the other in a mass so unmercifully that there was not a sound -spot left where a hand could light. - -It so happened that there was lodging that night in the inn a -caudrillero of what they call the Old Holy Brotherhood of Toledo, who, -also hearing the extraordinary noise of the conflict, seized his staff -and the tin case with his warrants, and made his way in the dark into -the room crying: “Hold! in the name of the Jurisdiction! Hold! in the -name of the Holy Brotherhood!” - -The first that he came upon was the pummelled Don Quixote, who lay -stretched senseless on his back upon his broken-down bed, and, his hand -falling on the beard as he felt about, he continued to cry, “Help for -the Jurisdiction!” but perceiving that he whom he had laid hold of did -not move or stir, he concluded that he was dead and that those in the -room were his murderers, and with this suspicion he raised his voice -still higher, calling out, “Shut the inn gate; see that no one goes -out; they have killed a man here!” This cry startled them all, and each -dropped the contest at the point at which the voice reached him. The -innkeeper retreated to his room, the carrier to his pack-saddles, the -lass to her crib; the unlucky Don Quixote and Sancho alone were unable -to move from where they were. The cuadrillero on this let go Don -Quixote’s beard, and went out to look for a light to search for and -apprehend the culprits; but not finding one, as the innkeeper had -purposely extinguished the lantern on retreating to his room, he was -compelled to have recourse to the hearth, where after much time and -trouble he lit another lamp. - -CHAPTER XVII. -IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON -QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO -HIS MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE - -By this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the same -tone of voice in which he had called to his squire the day before when -he lay stretched “in the vale of the stakes,” he began calling to him -now, “Sancho, my friend, art thou asleep? sleepest thou, friend -Sancho?” - -“How can I sleep, curses on it!” returned Sancho discontentedly and -bitterly, “when it is plain that all the devils have been at me this -night?” - -“Thou mayest well believe that,” answered Don Quixote, “because, either -I know little, or this castle is enchanted, for thou must know—but this -that I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret until -after my death.” - -“I swear it,” answered Sancho. - -“I say so,” continued Don Quixote, “because I hate taking away anyone’s -good name.” - -“I say,” replied Sancho, “that I swear to hold my tongue about it till -the end of your worship’s days, and God grant I may be able to let it -out to-morrow.” - -“Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou -wouldst see me dead so soon?” - -“It is not for that,” replied Sancho, “but because I hate keeping -things long, and I don’t want them to grow rotten with me from -over-keeping.” - -“At any rate,” said Don Quixote, “I have more confidence in thy -affection and good nature; and so I would have thee know that this -night there befell me one of the strangest adventures that I could -describe, and to relate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little -while ago the daughter of the lord of this castle came to me, and that -she is the most elegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the -wide world. What I could tell thee of the charms of her person! of her -lively wit! of other secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I owe -to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in -silence! I will only tell thee that, either fate being envious of so -great a boon placed in my hands by good fortune, or perhaps (and this -is more probable) this castle being, as I have already said, enchanted, -at the time when I was engaged in the sweetest and most amorous -discourse with her, there came, without my seeing or knowing whence it -came, a hand attached to some arm of some huge giant, that planted such -a cuff on my jaws that I have them all bathed in blood, and then -pummelled me in such a way that I am in a worse plight than yesterday -when the carriers, on account of Rocinante’s misbehaviour, inflicted on -us the injury thou knowest of; whence conjecture that there must be -some enchanted Moor guarding the treasure of this damsel’s beauty, and -that it is not for me.” - -“Not for me either,” said Sancho, “for more than four hundred Moors -have so thrashed me that the drubbing of the stakes was cakes and -fancy-bread to it. But tell me, señor, what do you call this excellent -and rare adventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your -worship was not so badly off, having in your arms that incomparable -beauty you spoke of; but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks -I think I had in all my life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! -for I am not a knight-errant and never expect to be one, and of all the -mishaps, the greater part falls to my share.” - -“Then thou hast been thrashed too?” said Don Quixote. - -“Didn’t I say so? worse luck to my line!” said Sancho. - -“Be not distressed, friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I will now make the -precious balsam with which we shall cure ourselves in the twinkling of -an eye.” - -By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and -came in to see the man that he thought had been killed; and as Sancho -caught sight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a -cloth on his head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding -countenance, he said to his master, “Señor, can it be that this is the -enchanted Moor coming back to give us more castigation if there be -anything still left in the ink-bottle?” - -“It cannot be the Moor,” answered Don Quixote, “for those under -enchantment do not let themselves be seen by anyone.” - -“If they don’t let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt,” -said Sancho; “if not, let my shoulders speak to the point.” - -“Mine could speak too,” said Don Quixote, “but that is not a sufficient -reason for believing that what we see is the enchanted Moor.” - -The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peaceful -conversation, stood amazed; though Don Quixote, to be sure, still lay -on his back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The -officer turned to him and said, “Well, how goes it, good man?” - -“I would speak more politely if I were you,” replied Don Quixote; “is -it the way of this country to address knights-errant in that style, you -booby?” - -The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such a -sorry-looking individual, lost his temper, and raising the lamp full of -oil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him -a badly broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and -Sancho Panza said, “That is certainly the enchanted Moor, Señor, and he -keeps the treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and -lamp-whacks.” - -“That is the truth,” answered Don Quixote, “and there is no use in -troubling oneself about these matters of enchantment or being angry or -vexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no -one on whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou -canst, and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me a -little oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, -for indeed I believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing -much blood from the wound that phantom gave me.” - -Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the -innkeeper in the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see -what had become of his enemy, he said to him, “Señor, whoever you are, -do us the favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, -and wine, for it is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on -earth, who lies on yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted -Moor that is in this inn.” - -When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out -of his senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inn -gate, and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. The -host furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to Don -Quixote, who, with his hand to his head, was bewailing the pain of the -blow of the lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a couple -of rather large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat -that flowed from him in his sufferings during the late storm. To be -brief, he took the materials, of which he made a compound, mixing them -all and boiling them a good while until it seemed to him they had come -to perfection. He then asked for some vial to pour it into, and as -there was not one in the inn, he decided on putting it into a tin -oil-bottle or flask of which the host made him a free gift; and over -the flask he repeated more than eighty paternosters and as many more -ave-marias, salves, and credos, accompanying each word with a cross by -way of benediction, at all which there were present Sancho, the -innkeeper, and the cuadrillero; for the carrier was now peacefully -engaged in attending to the comfort of his mules. - -This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on the -spot, of the virtue of this precious balsam, as he considered it, and -so he drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask and -remained in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had -he done drinking when he began to vomit in such a way that nothing was -left in his stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke -into a profuse sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and -leave him alone. They did so, and he lay sleeping more than three -hours, at the end of which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief -and so much ease from his bruises that he thought himself quite cured, -and verily believed he had hit upon the balsam of Fierabras; and that -with this remedy he might thenceforward, without any fear, face any -kind of destruction, battle, or combat, however perilous it might be. - -Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master as -miraculous, begged him to give him what was left in the pigskin, which -was no small quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with -both hands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped down and -drained off very little less than his master. But the fact is, that the -stomach of poor Sancho was of necessity not so delicate as that of his -master, and so, before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and -retchings, and such sweats and faintness, that verily and truly he -believed his last hour had come, and finding himself so racked and -tormented he cursed the balsam and the thief that had given it to him. - -Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, “It is my belief, Sancho, -that this mischief comes of thy not being dubbed a knight, for I am -persuaded this liquor cannot be good for those who are not so.” - -“If your worship knew that,” returned Sancho—“woe betide me and all my -kindred!—why did you let me taste it?” - -At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began to -discharge both ways at such a rate that the rush mat on which he had -thrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit for -nothing afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms and -convulsions that not only he himself but all present thought his end -had come. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the -end of which he was left, not like his master, but so weak and -exhausted that he could not stand. Don Quixote, however, who, as has -been said, felt himself relieved and well, was eager to take his -departure at once in quest of adventures, as it seemed to him that all -the time he loitered there was a fraud upon the world and those in it -who stood in need of his help and protection, all the more when he had -the security and confidence his balsam afforded him; and so, urged by -this impulse, he saddled Rocinante himself and put the pack-saddle on -his squire’s beast, whom likewise he helped to dress and mount the ass; -after which he mounted his horse and turning to a corner of the inn he -laid hold of a pike that stood there, to serve him by way of a lance. -All that were in the inn, who were more than twenty persons, stood -watching him; the innkeeper’s daughter was likewise observing him, and -he too never took his eyes off her, and from time to time fetched a -sigh that he seemed to pluck up from the depths of his bowels; but they -all thought it must be from the pain he felt in his ribs; at any rate -they who had seen him plastered the night before thought so. - -As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called to -the host and said in a very grave and measured voice, “Many and great -are the favours, Señor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of -yours, and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you -for them all the days of my life; if I can repay them in avenging you -of any arrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is -no other than to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to -chastise perfidy. Search your memory, and if you find anything of this -kind you need only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of -knighthood which I have received to procure you satisfaction and -reparation to the utmost of your desire.” - -The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, “Sir Knight, I do not -want your worship to avenge me of any wrong, because when any is done -me I can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want is -that you pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, -as well for the straw and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and -beds.” - -“Then this is an inn?” said Don Quixote. - -“And a very respectable one,” said the innkeeper. - -“I have been under a mistake all this time,” answered Don Quixote, “for -in truth I thought it was a castle, and not a bad one; but since it -appears that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now is -that you should excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of -knights-errant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to the present I have -read nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or -anything else in the inn where they might be; for any hospitality that -might be offered them is their due by law and right in return for the -insufferable toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by -day, in summer and in winter, on foot and on horseback, in hunger and -thirst, cold and heat, exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and -all the hardships of earth.” - -“I have little to do with that,” replied the innkeeper; “pay me what -you owe me, and let us have no more talk of chivalry, for all I care -about is to get my money.” - -“You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper,” said Don Quixote, and putting -spurs to Rocinante and bringing his pike to the slope he rode out of -the inn before anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance -without looking to see if his squire was following him. - -The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment -of Sancho, who said that as his master would not pay neither would he, -because, being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same rule and -reason held good for him as for his master with regard to not paying -anything in inns and hostelries. At this the innkeeper waxed very -wroth, and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he -would not like. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry -his master had received he would not pay a rap, though it cost him his -life; for the excellent and ancient usage of knights-errant was not -going to be violated by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet -to come into the world ever complain of him or reproach him with -breaking so just a privilege. - -The ill-luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among the -company in the inn there were four woolcarders from Segovia, three -needle-makers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair -of Seville, lively fellows, tender-hearted, fond of a joke, and -playful, who, almost as if instigated and moved by a common impulse, -made up to Sancho and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them -went in for the blanket of the host’s bed; but on flinging him into it -they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower than -what they required for their work, they decided upon going out into the -yard, which was bounded by the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the -middle of the blanket, they began to raise him high, making sport with -him as they would with a dog at Shrovetide. - -The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached -the ears of his master, who, halting to listen attentively, was -persuaded that some new adventure was coming, until he clearly -perceived that it was his squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he -came up to the inn with a laborious gallop, and finding it shut went -round it to see if he could find some way of getting in; but as soon as -he came to the wall of the yard, which was not very high, he discovered -the game that was being played with his squire. He saw him rising and -falling in the air with such grace and nimbleness that, had his rage -allowed him, it is my belief he would have laughed. He tried to climb -from his horse on to the top of the wall, but he was so bruised and -battered that he could not even dismount; and so from the back of his -horse he began to utter such maledictions and objurgations against -those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be impossible to write -down accurately: they, however, did not stay their laughter or their -work for this, nor did the flying Sancho cease his lamentations, -mingled now with threats, now with entreaties but all to little -purpose, or none at all, until from pure weariness they left off. They -then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of it they put his -jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeing him so -exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with a jug of water, and that it -might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, -and as he was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries of -his master exclaiming, “Sancho, my son, drink not water; drink it not, -my son, for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and -he held up the flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it thou -wilt certainly be restored.” - -At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still louder -voice said, “Can it be your worship has forgotten that I am not a -knight, or do you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left -after last night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and -leave me to myself!” and at one and the same instant he left off -talking and began drinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was -water he did not care to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch -him some wine, which she did with right good will, and paid for it with -her own money; for indeed they say of her that, though she was in that -line of life, there was some faint and distant resemblance to a -Christian about her. When Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels -into his ass, and the gate of the inn being thrown open he passed out -very well pleased at having paid nothing and carried his point, though -it had been at the expense of his usual sureties, his shoulders. It is -true that the innkeeper detained his alforjas in payment of what was -owing to him, but Sancho took his departure in such a flurry that he -never missed them. The innkeeper, as soon as he saw him off, wanted to -bar the gate close, but the blanketers would not agree to it, for they -were fellows who would not have cared two farthings for Don Quixote, -even had he been really one of the knights-errant of the Round Table. - -CHAPTER XVIII. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, -DON QUIXOTE, AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING - -Sancho reached his master so limp and faint that he could not urge on -his beast. When Don Quixote saw the state he was in he said, “I have -now come to the conclusion, good Sancho, that this castle or inn is -beyond a doubt enchanted, because those who have so atrociously -diverted themselves with thee, what can they be but phantoms or beings -of another world? and I hold this confirmed by having noticed that when -I was by the wall of the yard witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, -it was out of my power to mount upon it, nor could I even dismount from -Rocinante, because they no doubt had me enchanted; for I swear to thee -by the faith of what I am that if I had been able to climb up or -dismount, I would have avenged thee in such a way that those braggart -thieves would have remembered their freak for ever, even though in so -doing I knew that I contravened the laws of chivalry, which, as I have -often told thee, do not permit a knight to lay hands on him who is not -one, save in case of urgent and great necessity in defence of his own -life and person.” - -“I would have avenged myself too if I could,” said Sancho, “whether I -had been dubbed knight or not, but I could not; though for my part I am -persuaded those who amused themselves with me were not phantoms or -enchanted men, as your worship says, but men of flesh and bone like -ourselves; and they all had their names, for I heard them name them -when they were tossing me, and one was called Pedro Martinez, and -another Tenorio Hernandez, and the innkeeper, I heard, was called Juan -Palomeque the Left-handed; so that, señor, your not being able to leap -over the wall of the yard or dismount from your horse came of something -else besides enchantments; and what I make out clearly from all this -is, that these adventures we go seeking will in the end lead us into -such misadventures that we shall not know which is our right foot; and -that the best and wisest thing, according to my small wits, would be -for us to return home, now that it is harvest-time, and attend to our -business, and give over wandering from Zeca to Mecca and from pail to -bucket, as the saying is.” - -“How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; -“hold thy peace and have patience; the day will come when thou shalt -see with thine own eyes what an honourable thing it is to wander in the -pursuit of this calling; nay, tell me, what greater pleasure can there -be in the world, or what delight can equal that of winning a battle, -and triumphing over one’s enemy? None, beyond all doubt.” - -“Very likely,” answered Sancho, “though I do not know it; all I know is -that since we have been knights-errant, or since your worship has been -one (for I have no right to reckon myself one of so honourable a -number) we have never won any battle except the one with the Biscayan, -and even out of that your worship came with half an ear and half a -helmet the less; and from that till now it has been all cudgellings and -more cudgellings, cuffs and more cuffs, I getting the blanketing over -and above, and falling in with enchanted persons on whom I cannot -avenge myself so as to know what the delight, as your worship calls it, -of conquering an enemy is like.” - -“That is what vexes me, and what ought to vex thee, Sancho,” replied -Don Quixote; “but henceforward I will endeavour to have at hand some -sword made by such craft that no kind of enchantments can take effect -upon him who carries it, and it is even possible that fortune may -procure for me that which belonged to Amadis when he was called ‘The -Knight of the Burning Sword,’ which was one of the best swords that -ever knight in the world possessed, for, besides having the said -virtue, it cut like a razor, and there was no armour, however strong -and enchanted it might be, that could resist it.” - -“Such is my luck,” said Sancho, “that even if that happened and your -worship found some such sword, it would, like the balsam, turn out -serviceable and good for dubbed knights only, and as for the squires, -they might sup sorrow.” - -“Fear not that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote: “Heaven will deal better by -thee.” - -Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were going along, when, on the -road they were following, Don Quixote perceived approaching them a -large and thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to Sancho and -said: - -“This is the day, Sancho, on which will be seen the boon my fortune is -reserving for me; this, I say, is the day on which as much as on any -other shall be displayed the might of my arm, and on which I shall do -deeds that shall remain written in the book of fame for all ages to -come. Seest thou that cloud of dust which rises yonder? Well, then, all -that is churned up by a vast army composed of various and countless -nations that comes marching there.” - -“According to that there must be two,” said Sancho, “for on this -opposite side also there rises just such another cloud of dust.” - -Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was true, and rejoicing -exceedingly, he concluded that they were two armies about to engage and -encounter in the midst of that broad plain; for at all times and -seasons his fancy was full of the battles, enchantments, adventures, -crazy feats, loves, and defiances that are recorded in the books of -chivalry, and everything he said, thought, or did had reference to such -things. Now the cloud of dust he had seen was raised by two great -droves of sheep coming along the same road in opposite directions, -which, because of the dust, did not become visible until they drew -near, but Don Quixote asserted so positively that they were armies that -Sancho was led to believe it and say, “Well, and what are we to do, -señor?” - -“What?” said Don Quixote: “give aid and assistance to the weak and -those who need it; and thou must know, Sancho, that this which comes -opposite to us is conducted and led by the mighty emperor Alifanfaron, -lord of the great isle of Trapobana; this other that marches behind me -is that of his enemy the king of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare -Arm, for he always goes into battle with his right arm bare.” - -“But why are these two lords such enemies?” - -“They are at enmity,” replied Don Quixote, “because this Alifanfaron is -a furious pagan and is in love with the daughter of Pentapolin, who is -a very beautiful and moreover gracious lady, and a Christian, and her -father is unwilling to bestow her upon the pagan king unless he first -abandons the religion of his false prophet Mahomet, and adopts his -own.” - -“By my beard,” said Sancho, “but Pentapolin does quite right, and I -will help him as much as I can.” - -“In that thou wilt do what is thy duty, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for -to engage in battles of this sort it is not requisite to be a dubbed -knight.” - -“That I can well understand,” answered Sancho; “but where shall we put -this ass where we may be sure to find him after the fray is over? for I -believe it has not been the custom so far to go into battle on a beast -of this kind.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and what you had best do with him is -to leave him to take his chance whether he be lost or not, for the -horses we shall have when we come out victors will be so many that even -Rocinante will run a risk of being changed for another. But attend to -me and observe, for I wish to give thee some account of the chief -knights who accompany these two armies; and that thou mayest the better -see and mark, let us withdraw to that hillock which rises yonder, -whence both armies may be seen.” - -They did so, and placed themselves on a rising ground from which the -two droves that Don Quixote made armies of might have been plainly seen -if the clouds of dust they raised had not obscured them and blinded the -sight; nevertheless, seeing in his imagination what he did not see and -what did not exist, he began thus in a loud voice: - -“That knight whom thou seest yonder in yellow armour, who bears upon -his shield a lion crowned crouching at the feet of a damsel, is the -valiant Laurcalco, lord of the Silver Bridge; that one in armour with -flowers of gold, who bears on his shield three crowns argent on an -azure field, is the dreaded Micocolembo, grand duke of Quirocia; that -other of gigantic frame, on his right hand, is the ever dauntless -Brandabarbaran de Boliche, lord of the three Arabias, who for armour -wears that serpent skin, and has for shield a gate which, according to -tradition, is one of those of the temple that Samson brought to the -ground when by his death he revenged himself upon his enemies. But turn -thine eyes to the other side, and thou shalt see in front and in the -van of this other army the ever victorious and never vanquished Timonel -of Carcajona, prince of New Biscay, who comes in armour with arms -quartered azure, vert, white, and yellow, and bears on his shield a cat -or on a field tawny with a motto which says _Miau_, which is the -beginning of the name of his lady, who according to report is the -peerless Miaulina, daughter of the duke Alfeniquen of the Algarve; the -other, who burdens and presses the loins of that powerful charger and -bears arms white as snow and a shield blank and without any device, is -a novice knight, a Frenchman by birth, Pierres Papin by name, lord of -the baronies of Utrique; that other, who with iron-shod heels strikes -the flanks of that nimble parti-coloured zebra, and for arms bears -azure vair, is the mighty duke of Nerbia, Espartafilardo del Bosque, -who bears for device on his shield an asparagus plant with a motto in -Castilian that says, _‘Rastrea mi suerte’_.” And so he went on naming a -number of knights of one squadron or the other out of his imagination, -and to all he assigned off-hand their arms, colours, devices, and -mottoes, carried away by the illusions of his unheard-of craze; and -without a pause, he continued, “People of divers nations compose this -squadron in front; here are those that drink of the sweet waters of the -famous Xanthus, those that scour the woody Massilian plains, those that -sift the pure fine gold of Arabia Felix, those that enjoy the famed -cool banks of the crystal Thermodon, those that in many and various -ways divert the streams of the golden Pactolus, the Numidians, -faithless in their promises, the Persians renowned in archery, the -Parthians and the Medes that fight as they fly, the Arabs that ever -shift their dwellings, the Scythians as cruel as they are fair, the -Ethiopians with pierced lips, and an infinity of other nations whose -features I recognise and descry, though I cannot recall their names. In -this other squadron there come those that drink of the crystal streams -of the olive-bearing Betis, those that make smooth their countenances -with the water of the ever rich and golden Tagus, those that rejoice in -the fertilising flow of the divine Genil, those that roam the Tartesian -plains abounding in pasture, those that take their pleasure in the -Elysian meadows of Jerez, the rich Manchegans crowned with ruddy ears -of corn, the wearers of iron, old relics of the Gothic race, those that -bathe in the Pisuerga renowned for its gentle current, those that feed -their herds along the spreading pastures of the winding Guadiana famed -for its hidden course, those that tremble with the cold of the pineclad -Pyrenees or the dazzling snows of the lofty Apennine; in a word, as -many as all Europe includes and contains.” - -Good God! what a number of countries and nations he named! giving to -each its proper attributes with marvellous readiness; brimful and -saturated with what he had read in his lying books! Sancho Panza hung -upon his words without speaking, and from time to time turned to try if -he could see the knights and giants his master was describing, and as -he could not make out one of them he said to him: - -“Señor, devil take it if there’s a sign of any man you talk of, knight -or giant, in the whole thing; maybe it’s all enchantment, like the -phantoms last night.” - -“How canst thou say that!” answered Don Quixote; “dost thou not hear -the neighing of the steeds, the braying of the trumpets, the roll of -the drums?” - -“I hear nothing but a great bleating of ewes and sheep,” said Sancho; -which was true, for by this time the two flocks had come close. - -“The fear thou art in, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “prevents thee from -seeing or hearing correctly, for one of the effects of fear is to -derange the senses and make things appear different from what they are; -if thou art in such fear, withdraw to one side and leave me to myself, -for alone I suffice to bring victory to that side to which I shall give -my aid;” and so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and putting the -lance in rest, shot down the slope like a thunderbolt. Sancho shouted -after him, crying, “Come back, Señor Don Quixote; I vow to God they are -sheep and ewes you are charging! Come back! Unlucky the father that -begot me! what madness is this! Look, there is no giant, nor knight, -nor cats, nor arms, nor shields quartered or whole, nor vair azure or -bedevilled. What are you about? Sinner that I am before God!” But not -for all these entreaties did Don Quixote turn back; on the contrary he -went on shouting out, “Ho, knights, ye who follow and fight under the -banners of the valiant emperor Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, follow me -all; ye shall see how easily I shall give him his revenge over his -enemy Alifanfaron of the Trapobana.” - -So saying, he dashed into the midst of the squadron of ewes, and began -spearing them with as much spirit and intrepidity as if he were -transfixing mortal enemies in earnest. The shepherds and drovers -accompanying the flock shouted to him to desist; seeing it was no use, -they ungirt their slings and began to salute his ears with stones as -big as one’s fist. Don Quixote gave no heed to the stones, but, letting -drive right and left kept saying: - -“Where art thou, proud Alifanfaron? Come before me; I am a single -knight who would fain prove thy prowess hand to hand, and make thee -yield thy life a penalty for the wrong thou dost to the valiant -Pentapolin Garamanta.” Here came a sugar-plum from the brook that -struck him on the side and buried a couple of ribs in his body. Feeling -himself so smitten, he imagined himself slain or badly wounded for -certain, and recollecting his liquor he drew out his flask, and putting -it to his mouth began to pour the contents into his stomach; but ere he -had succeeded in swallowing what seemed to him enough, there came -another almond which struck him on the hand and on the flask so fairly -that it smashed it to pieces, knocking three or four teeth and grinders -out of his mouth in its course, and sorely crushing two fingers of his -hand. Such was the force of the first blow and of the second, that the -poor knight in spite of himself came down backwards off his horse. The -shepherds came up, and felt sure they had killed him; so in all haste -they collected their flock together, took up the dead beasts, of which -there were more than seven, and made off without waiting to ascertain -anything further. - -All this time Sancho stood on the hill watching the crazy feats his -master was performing, and tearing his beard and cursing the hour and -the occasion when fortune had made him acquainted with him. Seeing him, -then, brought to the ground, and that the shepherds had taken -themselves off, he ran to him and found him in very bad case, though -not unconscious; and said he: - -“Did I not tell you to come back, Señor Don Quixote; and that what you -were going to attack were not armies but droves of sheep?” - -“That’s how that thief of a sage, my enemy, can alter and falsify -things,” answered Don Quixote; “thou must know, Sancho, that it is a -very easy matter for those of his sort to make us believe what they -choose; and this malignant being who persecutes me, envious of the -glory he knew I was to win in this battle, has turned the squadrons of -the enemy into droves of sheep. At any rate, do this much, I beg of -thee, Sancho, to undeceive thyself, and see that what I say is true; -mount thy ass and follow them quietly, and thou shalt see that when -they have gone some little distance from this they will return to their -original shape and, ceasing to be sheep, become men in all respects as -I described them to thee at first. But go not just yet, for I want thy -help and assistance; come hither, and see how many of my teeth and -grinders are missing, for I feel as if there was not one left in my -mouth.” - -Sancho came so close that he almost put his eyes into his mouth; now -just at that moment the balsam had acted on the stomach of Don Quixote, -so, at the very instant when Sancho came to examine his mouth, he -discharged all its contents with more force than a musket, and full -into the beard of the compassionate squire. - -“Holy Mary!” cried Sancho, “what is this that has happened me? Clearly -this sinner is mortally wounded, as he vomits blood from the mouth;” -but considering the matter a little more closely he perceived by the -colour, taste, and smell, that it was not blood but the balsam from the -flask which he had seen him drink; and he was taken with such a -loathing that his stomach turned, and he vomited up his inside over his -very master, and both were left in a precious state. Sancho ran to his -ass to get something wherewith to clean himself, and relieve his -master, out of his alforjas; but not finding them, he well-nigh took -leave of his senses, and cursed himself anew, and in his heart resolved -to quit his master and return home, even though he forfeited the wages -of his service and all hopes of the promised island. - -Don Quixote now rose, and putting his left hand to his mouth to keep -his teeth from falling out altogether, with the other he laid hold of -the bridle of Rocinante, who had never stirred from his master’s -side—so loyal and well-behaved was he—and betook himself to where the -squire stood leaning over his ass with his hand to his cheek, like one -in deep dejection. Seeing him in this mood, looking so sad, Don Quixote -said to him: - -“Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than another, unless he -does more than another; all these tempests that fall upon us are signs -that fair weather is coming shortly, and that things will go well with -us, for it is impossible for good or evil to last for ever; and hence -it follows that the evil having lasted long, the good must be now nigh -at hand; so thou must not distress thyself at the misfortunes which -happen to me, since thou hast no share in them.” - -“How have I not?” replied Sancho; “was he whom they blanketed yesterday -perchance any other than my father’s son? and the alforjas that are -missing to-day with all my treasures, did they belong to any other but -myself?” - -“What! are the alforjas missing, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“Yes, they are missing,” answered Sancho. - -“In that case we have nothing to eat to-day,” replied Don Quixote. - -“It would be so,” answered Sancho, “if there were none of the herbs -your worship says you know in these meadows, those with which -knights-errant as unlucky as your worship are wont to supply such-like -shortcomings.” - -“For all that,” answered Don Quixote, “I would rather have just now a -quarter of bread, or a loaf and a couple of pilchards’ heads, than all -the herbs described by Dioscorides, even with Doctor Laguna’s notes. -Nevertheless, Sancho the Good, mount thy beast and come along with me, -for God, who provides for all things, will not fail us (more especially -when we are so active in his service as we are), since he fails not the -midges of the air, nor the grubs of the earth, nor the tadpoles of the -water, and is so merciful that he maketh his sun to rise on the good -and on the evil, and sendeth rain on the unjust and on the just.” - -“Your worship would make a better preacher than knight-errant,” said -Sancho. - -“Knights-errant knew and ought to know everything, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “for there were knights-errant in former times as well -qualified to deliver a sermon or discourse in the middle of an -encampment, as if they had graduated in the University of Paris; -whereby we may see that the lance has never blunted the pen, nor the -pen the lance.” - -“Well, be it as your worship says,” replied Sancho; “let us be off now -and find some place of shelter for the night, and God grant it may be -somewhere where there are no blankets, nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, -nor enchanted Moors; for if there are, may the devil take the whole -concern.” - -“Ask that of God, my son,” said Don Quixote; and do thou lead on where -thou wilt, for this time I leave our lodging to thy choice; but reach -me here thy hand, and feel with thy finger, and find out how many of my -teeth and grinders are missing from this right side of the upper jaw, -for it is there I feel the pain.” - -Sancho put in his fingers, and feeling about asked him, “How many -grinders used your worship have on this side?” - -“Four,” replied Don Quixote, “besides the back-tooth, all whole and -quite sound.” - -“Mind what you are saying, señor.” - -“I say four, if not five,” answered Don Quixote, “for never in my life -have I had tooth or grinder drawn, nor has any fallen out or been -destroyed by any decay or rheum.” - -“Well, then,” said Sancho, “in this lower side your worship has no more -than two grinders and a half, and in the upper neither a half nor any -at all, for it is all as smooth as the palm of my hand.” - -“Luckless that I am!” said Don Quixote, hearing the sad news his squire -gave him; “I had rather they despoiled me of an arm, so it were not the -sword-arm; for I tell thee, Sancho, a mouth without teeth is like a -mill without a millstone, and a tooth is much more to be prized than a -diamond; but we who profess the austere order of chivalry are liable to -all this. Mount, friend, and lead the way, and I will follow thee at -whatever pace thou wilt.” - -Sancho did as he bade him, and proceeded in the direction in which he -thought he might find refuge without quitting the high road, which was -there very much frequented. As they went along, then, at a slow -pace—for the pain in Don Quixote’s jaws kept him uneasy and -ill-disposed for speed—Sancho thought it well to amuse and divert him -by talk of some kind, and among the things he said to him was that -which will be told in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XIX. -OF THE SHREWD DISCOURSE WHICH SANCHO HELD WITH HIS MASTER, AND OF THE -ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL HIM WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH OTHER NOTABLE -OCCURRENCES - -“It seems to me, señor, that all these mishaps that have befallen us of -late have been without any doubt a punishment for the offence committed -by your worship against the order of chivalry in not keeping the oath -you made not to eat bread off a tablecloth or embrace the queen, and -all the rest of it that your worship swore to observe until you had -taken that helmet of Malandrino’s, or whatever the Moor is called, for -I do not very well remember.” - -“Thou art very right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but to tell the -truth, it had escaped my memory; and likewise thou mayest rely upon it -that the affair of the blanket happened to thee because of thy fault in -not reminding me of it in time; but I will make amends, for there are -ways of compounding for everything in the order of chivalry.” - -“Why! have I taken an oath of some sort, then?” said Sancho. - -“It makes no matter that thou hast not taken an oath,” said Don -Quixote; “suffice it that I see thou art not quite clear of complicity; -and whether or no, it will not be ill done to provide ourselves with a -remedy.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “mind that your worship does not forget -this as you did the oath; perhaps the phantoms may take it into their -heads to amuse themselves once more with me; or even with your worship -if they see you so obstinate.” - -While engaged in this and other talk, night overtook them on the road -before they had reached or discovered any place of shelter; and what -made it still worse was that they were dying of hunger, for with the -loss of the alforjas they had lost their entire larder and -commissariat; and to complete the misfortune they met with an adventure -which without any invention had really the appearance of one. It so -happened that the night closed in somewhat darkly, but for all that -they pushed on, Sancho feeling sure that as the road was the king’s -highway they might reasonably expect to find some inn within a league -or two. Going along, then, in this way, the night dark, the squire -hungry, the master sharp-set, they saw coming towards them on the road -they were travelling a great number of lights which looked exactly like -stars in motion. Sancho was taken aback at the sight of them, nor did -Don Quixote altogether relish them: the one pulled up his ass by the -halter, the other his hack by the bridle, and they stood still, -watching anxiously to see what all this would turn out to be, and found -that the lights were approaching them, and the nearer they came the -greater they seemed, at which spectacle Sancho began to shake like a -man dosed with mercury, and Don Quixote’s hair stood on end; he, -however, plucking up spirit a little, said: - -“This, no doubt, Sancho, will be a most mighty and perilous adventure, -in which it will be needful for me to put forth all my valour and -resolution.” - -“Unlucky me!” answered Sancho; “if this adventure happens to be one of -phantoms, as I am beginning to think it is, where shall I find the ribs -to bear it?” - -“Be they phantoms ever so much,” said Don Quixote, “I will not permit -them to touch a thread of thy garments; for if they played tricks with -thee the time before, it was because I was unable to leap the walls of -the yard; but now we are on a wide plain, where I shall be able to -wield my sword as I please.” - -“And if they enchant and cripple you as they did the last time,” said -Sancho, “what difference will it make being on the open plain or not?” - -“For all that,” replied Don Quixote, “I entreat thee, Sancho, to keep a -good heart, for experience will tell thee what mine is.” - -“I will, please God,” answered Sancho, and the two retiring to one side -of the road set themselves to observe closely what all these moving -lights might be; and very soon afterwards they made out some twenty -encamisados, all on horseback, with lighted torches in their hands, the -awe-inspiring aspect of whom completely extinguished the courage of -Sancho, who began to chatter with his teeth like one in the cold fit of -an ague; and his heart sank and his teeth chattered still more when -they perceived distinctly that behind them there came a litter covered -over with black and followed by six more mounted figures in mourning -down to the very feet of their mules—for they could perceive plainly -they were not horses by the easy pace at which they went. And as the -encamisados came along they muttered to themselves in a low plaintive -tone. This strange spectacle at such an hour and in such a solitary -place was quite enough to strike terror into Sancho’s heart, and even -into his master’s; and (save in Don Quixote’s case) did so, for all -Sancho’s resolution had now broken down. It was just the opposite with -his master, whose imagination immediately conjured up all this to him -vividly as one of the adventures of his books. - -He took it into his head that the litter was a bier on which was borne -some sorely wounded or slain knight, to avenge whom was a task reserved -for him alone; and without any further reasoning he laid his lance in -rest, fixed himself firmly in his saddle, and with gallant spirit and -bearing took up his position in the middle of the road where the -encamisados must of necessity pass; and as soon as he saw them near at -hand he raised his voice and said: - -“Halt, knights, or whosoever ye may be, and render me account of who ye -are, whence ye come, where ye go, what it is ye carry upon that bier, -for, to judge by appearances, either ye have done some wrong or some -wrong has been done to you, and it is fitting and necessary that I -should know, either that I may chastise you for the evil ye have done, -or else that I may avenge you for the injury that has been inflicted -upon you.” - -“We are in haste,” answered one of the encamisados, “and the inn is far -off, and we cannot stop to render you such an account as you demand;” -and spurring his mule he moved on. - -Don Quixote was mightily provoked by this answer, and seizing the mule -by the bridle he said, “Halt, and be more mannerly, and render an -account of what I have asked of you; else, take my defiance to combat, -all of you.” - -The mule was shy, and was so frightened at her bridle being seized that -rearing up she flung her rider to the ground over her haunches. An -attendant who was on foot, seeing the encamisado fall, began to abuse -Don Quixote, who now moved to anger, without any more ado, laying his -lance in rest charged one of the men in mourning and brought him badly -wounded to the ground, and as he wheeled round upon the others the -agility with which he attacked and routed them was a sight to see, for -it seemed just as if wings had that instant grown upon Rocinante, so -lightly and proudly did he bear himself. The encamisados were all timid -folk and unarmed, so they speedily made their escape from the fray and -set off at a run across the plain with their lighted torches, looking -exactly like maskers running on some gala or festival night. The -mourners, too, enveloped and swathed in their skirts and gowns, were -unable to bestir themselves, and so with entire safety to himself Don -Quixote belaboured them all and drove them off against their will, for -they all thought it was no man but a devil from hell come to carry away -the dead body they had in the litter. - -Sancho beheld all this in astonishment at the intrepidity of his lord, -and said to himself, “Clearly this master of mine is as bold and -valiant as he says he is.” - -A burning torch lay on the ground near the first man whom the mule had -thrown, by the light of which Don Quixote perceived him, and coming up -to him he presented the point of the lance to his face, calling on him -to yield himself prisoner, or else he would kill him; to which the -prostrate man replied, “I am prisoner enough as it is; I cannot stir, -for one of my legs is broken: I entreat you, if you be a Christian -gentleman, not to kill me, which will be committing grave sacrilege, -for I am a licentiate and I hold first orders.” - -“Then what the devil brought you here, being a churchman?” said Don -Quixote. - -“What, señor?” said the other. “My bad luck.” - -“Then still worse awaits you,” said Don Quixote, “if you do not satisfy -me as to all I asked you at first.” - -“You shall be soon satisfied,” said the licentiate; “you must know, -then, that though just now I said I was a licentiate, I am only a -bachelor, and my name is Alonzo Lopez; I am a native of Alcobendas, I -come from the city of Baeza with eleven others, priests, the same who -fled with the torches, and we are going to the city of Segovia -accompanying a dead body which is in that litter, and is that of a -gentleman who died in Baeza, where he was interred; and now, as I said, -we are taking his bones to their burial-place, which is in Segovia, -where he was born.” - -“And who killed him?” asked Don Quixote. - -“God, by means of a malignant fever that took him,” answered the -bachelor. - -“In that case,” said Don Quixote, “the Lord has relieved me of the task -of avenging his death had any other slain him; but, he who slew him -having slain him, there is nothing for it but to be silent, and shrug -one’s shoulders; I should do the same were he to slay myself; and I -would have your reverence know that I am a knight of La Mancha, Don -Quixote by name, and it is my business and calling to roam the world -righting wrongs and redressing injuries.” - -“I do not know how that about righting wrongs can be,” said the -bachelor, “for from straight you have made me crooked, leaving me with -a broken leg that will never see itself straight again all the days of -its life; and the injury you have redressed in my case has been to -leave me injured in such a way that I shall remain injured for ever; -and the height of misadventure it was to fall in with you who go in -search of adventures.” - -“Things do not all happen in the same way,” answered Don Quixote; “it -all came, Sir Bachelor Alonzo Lopez, of your going, as you did, by -night, dressed in those surplices, with lighted torches, praying, -covered with mourning, so that naturally you looked like something evil -and of the other world; and so I could not avoid doing my duty in -attacking you, and I should have attacked you even had I known -positively that you were the very devils of hell, for such I certainly -believed and took you to be.” - -“As my fate has so willed it,” said the bachelor, “I entreat you, sir -knight-errant, whose errand has been such an evil one for me, to help -me to get from under this mule that holds one of my legs caught between -the stirrup and the saddle.” - -“I would have talked on till to-morrow,” said Don Quixote; “how long -were you going to wait before telling me of your distress?” - -He at once called to Sancho, who, however, had no mind to come, as he -was just then engaged in unloading a sumpter mule, well laden with -provender, which these worthy gentlemen had brought with them. Sancho -made a bag of his coat, and, getting together as much as he could, and -as the bag would hold, he loaded his beast, and then hastened to obey -his master’s call, and helped him to remove the bachelor from under the -mule; then putting him on her back he gave him the torch, and Don -Quixote bade him follow the track of his companions, and beg pardon of -them on his part for the wrong which he could not help doing them. - -And said Sancho, “If by chance these gentlemen should want to know who -was the hero that served them so, your worship may tell them that he is -the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the -Rueful Countenance.” - -The bachelor then took his departure. - -I forgot to mention that before he did so he said to Don Quixote, -“Remember that you stand excommunicated for having laid violent hands -on a holy thing, _juxta illud, si quis, suadente diabolo_.” - -“I do not understand that Latin,” answered Don Quixote, “but I know -well I did not lay hands, only this pike; besides, I did not think I -was committing an assault upon priests or things of the Church, which, -like a Catholic and faithful Christian as I am, I respect and revere, -but upon phantoms and spectres of the other world; but even so, I -remember how it fared with Cid Ruy Diaz when he broke the chair of the -ambassador of that king before his Holiness the Pope, who -excommunicated him for the same; and yet the good Roderick of Vivar -bore himself that day like a very noble and valiant knight.” - -On hearing this the bachelor took his departure, as has been said, -without making any reply; and Don Quixote asked Sancho what had induced -him to call him the “Knight of the Rueful Countenance” more then than -at any other time. - -“I will tell you,” answered Sancho; “it was because I have been looking -at you for some time by the light of the torch held by that -unfortunate, and verily your worship has got of late the most -ill-favoured countenance I ever saw: it must be either owing to the -fatigue of this combat, or else to the want of teeth and grinders.” - -“It is not that,” replied Don Quixote, “but because the sage whose duty -it will be to write the history of my achievements must have thought it -proper that I should take some distinctive name as all knights of yore -did; one being ‘He of the Burning Sword,’ another ‘He of the Unicorn,’ -this one ‘He of the Damsels,’ that ‘He of the Phœnix,’ another ‘The -Knight of the Griffin,’ and another ‘He of the Death,’ and by these -names and designations they were known all the world round; and so I -say that the sage aforesaid must have put it into your mouth and mind -just now to call me ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance,’ as I intend -to call myself from this day forward; and that the said name may fit me -better, I mean, when the opportunity offers, to have a very rueful -countenance painted on my shield.” - -“There is no occasion, señor, for wasting time or money on making that -countenance,” said Sancho; “for all that need be done is for your -worship to show your own, face to face, to those who look at you, and -without anything more, either image or shield, they will call you ‘Him -of the Rueful Countenance’ and believe me I am telling you the truth, -for I assure you, señor (and in good part be it said), hunger and the -loss of your grinders have given you such an ill-favoured face that, as -I say, the rueful picture may be very well spared.” - -Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s pleasantry; nevertheless he resolved to -call himself by that name, and have his shield or buckler painted as he -had devised. - -Don Quixote would have looked to see whether the body in the litter -were bones or not, but Sancho would not have it, saying: - -“Señor, you have ended this perilous adventure more safely for yourself -than any of those I have seen: perhaps these people, though beaten and -routed, may bethink themselves that it is a single man that has beaten -them, and feeling sore and ashamed of it may take heart and come in -search of us and give us trouble enough. The ass is in proper trim, the -mountains are near at hand, hunger presses, we have nothing more to do -but make good our retreat, and, as the saying is, the dead to the grave -and the living to the loaf.” - -And driving his ass before him he begged his master to follow, who, -feeling that Sancho was right, did so without replying; and after -proceeding some little distance between two hills they found themselves -in a wide and retired valley, where they alighted, and Sancho unloaded -his beast, and stretched upon the green grass, with hunger for sauce, -they breakfasted, dined, lunched, and supped all at once, satisfying -their appetites with more than one store of cold meat which the dead -man’s clerical gentlemen (who seldom put themselves on short allowance) -had brought with them on their sumpter mule. But another piece of -ill-luck befell them, which Sancho held the worst of all, and that was -that they had no wine to drink, nor even water to moisten their lips; -and as thirst tormented them, Sancho, observing that the meadow where -they were was full of green and tender grass, said what will be told in -the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XX. -OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE -VALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER ACHIEVED -BY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE WORLD - -“It cannot be, señor, but that this grass is a proof that there must be -hard by some spring or brook to give it moisture, so it would be well -to move a little farther on, that we may find some place where we may -quench this terrible thirst that plagues us, which beyond a doubt is -more distressing than hunger.” - -The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he leading Rocinante by the -bridle and Sancho the ass by the halter, after he had packed away upon -him the remains of the supper, they advanced the meadow feeling their -way, for the darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything; -but they had not gone two hundred paces when a loud noise of water, as -if falling from great rocks, struck their ears. The sound cheered them -greatly; but halting to make out by listening from what quarter it came -they heard unseasonably another noise which spoiled the satisfaction -the sound of the water gave them, especially for Sancho, who was by -nature timid and faint-hearted. They heard, I say, strokes falling with -a measured beat, and a certain rattling of iron and chains that, -together with the furious din of the water, would have struck terror -into any heart but Don Quixote’s. The night was, as has been said, -dark, and they had happened to reach a spot in among some tall trees, -whose leaves stirred by a gentle breeze made a low ominous sound; so -that, what with the solitude, the place, the darkness, the noise of the -water, and the rustling of the leaves, everything inspired awe and -dread; more especially as they perceived that the strokes did not -cease, nor the wind lull, nor morning approach; to all which might be -added their ignorance as to where they were. - -But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid heart, leaped on Rocinante, -and bracing his buckler on his arm, brought his pike to the slope, and -said, “Friend Sancho, know that I by Heaven’s will have been born in -this our iron age to revive in it the age of gold, or the golden as it -is called; I am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and valiant -deeds are reserved; I am, I say again, he who is to revive the Knights -of the Round Table, the Twelve of France and the Nine Worthies; and he -who is to consign to oblivion the Platirs, the Tablantes, the Olivantes -and Tirantes, the Phœbuses and Belianises, with the whole herd of -famous knights-errant of days gone by, performing in these in which I -live such exploits, marvels, and feats of arms as shall obscure their -brightest deeds. Thou dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the -gloom of this night, its strange silence, the dull confused murmur of -those trees, the awful sound of that water in quest of which we came, -that seems as though it were precipitating and dashing itself down from -the lofty mountains of the Moon, and that incessant hammering that -wounds and pains our ears; which things all together and each of itself -are enough to instil fear, dread, and dismay into the breast of Mars -himself, much more into one not used to hazards and adventures of the -kind. Well, then, all this that I put before thee is but an incentive -and stimulant to my spirit, making my heart burst in my bosom through -eagerness to engage in this adventure, arduous as it promises to be; -therefore tighten Rocinante’s girths a little, and God be with thee; -wait for me here three days and no more, and if in that time I come not -back, thou canst return to our village, and thence, to do me a favour -and a service, thou wilt go to El Toboso, where thou shalt say to my -incomparable lady Dulcinea that her captive knight hath died in -attempting things that might make him worthy of being called hers.” - -When Sancho heard his master’s words he began to weep in the most -pathetic way, saying: - -“Señor, I know not why your worship wants to attempt this so dreadful -adventure; it is night now, no one sees us here, we can easily turn -about and take ourselves out of danger, even if we don’t drink for -three days to come; and as there is no one to see us, all the less will -there be anyone to set us down as cowards; besides, I have many a time -heard the curate of our village, whom your worship knows well, preach -that he who seeks danger perishes in it; so it is not right to tempt -God by trying so tremendous a feat from which there can be no escape -save by a miracle, and Heaven has performed enough of them for your -worship in delivering you from being blanketed as I was, and bringing -you out victorious and safe and sound from among all those enemies that -were with the dead man; and if all this does not move or soften that -hard heart, let this thought and reflection move it, that you will have -hardly quitted this spot when from pure fear I shall yield my soul up -to anyone that will take it. I left home and wife and children to come -and serve your worship, trusting to do better and not worse; but as -covetousness bursts the bag, it has rent my hopes asunder, for just as -I had them highest about getting that wretched unlucky island your -worship has so often promised me, I see that instead and in lieu of it -you mean to desert me now in a place so far from human reach: for God’s -sake, master mine, deal not so unjustly by me, and if your worship will -not entirely give up attempting this feat, at least put it off till -morning, for by what the lore I learned when I was a shepherd tells me -it cannot want three hours of dawn now, because the mouth of the Horn -is overhead and makes midnight in the line of the left arm.” - -“How canst thou see, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “where it makes that -line, or where this mouth or this occiput is that thou talkest of, when -the night is so dark that there is not a star to be seen in the whole -heaven?” - -“That’s true,” said Sancho, “but fear has sharp eyes, and sees things -underground, much more above in heavens; besides, there is good reason -to show that it now wants but little of day.” - -“Let it want what it may,” replied Don Quixote, “it shall not be said -of me now or at any time that tears or entreaties turned me aside from -doing what was in accordance with knightly usage; and so I beg of thee, -Sancho, to hold thy peace, for God, who has put it into my heart to -undertake now this so unexampled and terrible adventure, will take care -to watch over my safety and console thy sorrow; what thou hast to do is -to tighten Rocinante’s girths well, and wait here, for I shall come -back shortly, alive or dead.” - -Sancho perceiving it his master’s final resolve, and how little his -tears, counsels, and entreaties prevailed with him, determined to have -recourse to his own ingenuity and compel him, if he could, to wait till -daylight; and so, while tightening the girths of the horse, he quietly -and without being felt, with his ass’ halter tied both Rocinante’s -legs, so that when Don Quixote strove to go he was unable as the horse -could only move by jumps. Seeing the success of his trick, Sancho Panza -said: - -“See there, señor! Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, has so -ordered it that Rocinante cannot stir; and if you will be obstinate, -and spur and strike him, you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as -they say, against the pricks.” - -Don Quixote at this grew desperate, but the more he drove his heels -into the horse, the less he stirred him; and not having any suspicion -of the tying, he was fain to resign himself and wait till daybreak or -until Rocinante could move, firmly persuaded that all this came of -something other than Sancho’s ingenuity. So he said to him, “As it is -so, Sancho, and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content to wait till -dawn smiles upon us, even though I weep while it delays its coming.” - -“There is no need to weep,” answered Sancho, “for I will amuse your -worship by telling stories from this till daylight, unless indeed you -like to dismount and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass -after the fashion of knights-errant, so as to be fresher when day comes -and the moment arrives for attempting this extraordinary adventure you -are looking forward to.” - -“What art thou talking about dismounting or sleeping for?” said Don -Quixote. “Am I, thinkest thou, one of those knights that take their -rest in the presence of danger? Sleep thou who art born to sleep, or do -as thou wilt, for I will act as I think most consistent with my -character.” - -“Be not angry, master mine,” replied Sancho, “I did not mean to say -that;” and coming close to him he laid one hand on the pommel of the -saddle and the other on the cantle so that he held his master’s left -thigh in his embrace, not daring to separate a finger’s width from him; -so much afraid was he of the strokes which still resounded with a -regular beat. Don Quixote bade him tell some story to amuse him as he -had proposed, to which Sancho replied that he would if his dread of -what he heard would let him; “Still,” said he, “I will strive to tell a -story which, if I can manage to relate it, and nobody interferes with -the telling, is the best of stories, and let your worship give me your -attention, for here I begin. What was, was; and may the good that is to -come be for all, and the evil for him who goes to look for it—your -worship must know that the beginning the old folk used to put to their -tales was not just as each one pleased; it was a maxim of Cato -Zonzorino the Roman, that says ‘the evil for him that goes to look for -it,’ and it comes as pat to the purpose now as ring to finger, to show -that your worship should keep quiet and not go looking for evil in any -quarter, and that we should go back by some other road, since nobody -forces us to follow this in which so many terrors affright us.” - -“Go on with thy story, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and leave the choice -of our road to my care.” - -“I say then,” continued Sancho, “that in a village of Estremadura there -was a goat-shepherd—that is to say, one who tended goats—which shepherd -or goatherd, as my story goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope Ruiz -was in love with a shepherdess called Torralva, which shepherdess -called Torralva was the daughter of a rich grazier, and this rich -grazier—” - -“If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“repeating twice all thou hast to say, thou wilt not have done these -two days; go straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, or -else say nothing.” - -“Tales are always told in my country in the very way I am telling -this,” answered Sancho, “and I cannot tell it in any other, nor is it -right of your worship to ask me to make new customs.” - -“Tell it as thou wilt,” replied Don Quixote; “and as fate will have it -that I cannot help listening to thee, go on.” - -“And so, lord of my soul,” continued Sancho, as I have said, this -shepherd was in love with Torralva the shepherdess, who was a wild -buxom lass with something of the look of a man about her, for she had -little moustaches; I fancy I see her now.” - -“Then you knew her?” said Don Quixote. - -“I did not know her,” said Sancho, “but he who told me the story said -it was so true and certain that when I told it to another I might -safely declare and swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of -time, the devil, who never sleeps and puts everything in confusion, -contrived that the love the shepherd bore the shepherdess turned into -hatred and ill-will, and the reason, according to evil tongues, was -some little jealousy she caused him that crossed the line and -trespassed on forbidden ground; and so much did the shepherd hate her -from that time forward that, in order to escape from her, he determined -to quit the country and go where he should never set eyes on her again. -Torralva, when she found herself spurned by Lope, was immediately -smitten with love for him, though she had never loved him before.” - -“That is the natural way of women,” said Don Quixote, “to scorn the one -that loves them, and love the one that hates them: go on, Sancho.” - -“It came to pass,” said Sancho, “that the shepherd carried out his -intention, and driving his goats before him took his way across the -plains of Estremadura to pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal. -Torralva, who knew of it, went after him, and on foot and barefoot -followed him at a distance, with a pilgrim’s staff in her hand and a -scrip round her neck, in which she carried, it is said, a bit of -looking-glass and a piece of a comb and some little pot or other of -paint for her face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going to -trouble myself to prove it; all I say is, that the shepherd, they say, -came with his flock to cross over the river Guadiana, which was at that -time swollen and almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came -to there was neither ferry nor boat nor anyone to carry him or his -flock to the other side, at which he was much vexed, for he perceived -that Torralva was approaching and would give him great annoyance with -her tears and entreaties; however, he went looking about so closely -that he discovered a fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so small -that it could only hold one person and one goat; but for all that he -spoke to him and agreed with him to carry himself and his three hundred -goats across. The fisherman got into the boat and carried one goat -over; he came back and carried another over; he came back again, and -again brought over another—let your worship keep count of the goats the -fisherman is taking across, for if one escapes the memory there will be -an end of the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word of -it. To proceed, I must tell you the landing place on the other side was -miry and slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going -and coming; still he returned for another goat, and another, and -another.” - -“Take it for granted he brought them all across,” said Don Quixote, -“and don’t keep going and coming in this way, or thou wilt not make an -end of bringing them over this twelvemonth.” - -“How many have gone across so far?” said Sancho. - -“How the devil do I know?” replied Don Quixote. - -“There it is,” said Sancho, “what I told you, that you must keep a good -count; well then, by God, there is an end of the story, for there is no -going any farther.” - -“How can that be?” said Don Quixote; “is it so essential to the story -to know to a nicety the goats that have crossed over, that if there be -a mistake of one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?” - -“No, señor, not a bit,” replied Sancho; “for when I asked your worship -to tell me how many goats had crossed, and you answered you did not -know, at that very instant all I had to say passed away out of my -memory, and, faith, there was much virtue in it, and entertainment.” - -“So, then,” said Don Quixote, “the story has come to an end?” - -“As much as my mother has,” said Sancho. - -“In truth,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast told one of the rarest -stories, tales, or histories, that anyone in the world could have -imagined, and such a way of telling it and ending it was never seen nor -will be in a lifetime; though I expected nothing else from thy -excellent understanding. But I do not wonder, for perhaps those -ceaseless strokes may have confused thy wits.” - -“All that may be,” replied Sancho, “but I know that as to my story, all -that can be said is that it ends there where the mistake in the count -of the passage of the goats begins.” - -“Let it end where it will, well and good,” said Don Quixote, “and let -us see if Rocinante can go;” and again he spurred him, and again -Rocinante made jumps and remained where he was, so well tied was he. - -Just then, whether it was the cold of the morning that was now -approaching, or that he had eaten something laxative at supper, or that -it was only natural (as is most likely), Sancho felt a desire to do -what no one could do for him; but so great was the fear that had -penetrated his heart, he dared not separate himself from his master by -as much as the black of his nail; to escape doing what he wanted was, -however, also impossible; so what he did for peace’s sake was to remove -his right hand, which held the back of the saddle, and with it to untie -gently and silently the running string which alone held up his -breeches, so that on loosening it they at once fell down round his feet -like fetters; he then raised his shirt as well as he could and bared -his hind quarters, no slim ones. But, this accomplished, which he -fancied was all he had to do to get out of this terrible strait and -embarrassment, another still greater difficulty presented itself, for -it seemed to him impossible to relieve himself without making some -noise, and he ground his teeth and squeezed his shoulders together, -holding his breath as much as he could; but in spite of his precautions -he was unlucky enough after all to make a little noise, very different -from that which was causing him so much fear. - -Don Quixote, hearing it, said, “What noise is that, Sancho?” - -“I don’t know, señor,” said he; “it must be something new, for -adventures and misadventures never begin with a trifle.” Once more he -tried his luck, and succeeded so well, that without any further noise -or disturbance he found himself relieved of the burden that had given -him so much discomfort. But as Don Quixote’s sense of smell was as -acute as his hearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that -the fumes rose almost in a straight line, it could not be but that some -should reach his nose, and as soon as they did he came to its relief by -compressing it between his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, -“Sancho, it strikes me thou art in great fear.” - -“I am,” answered Sancho; “but how does your worship perceive it now -more than ever?” - -“Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not of -ambergris,” answered Don Quixote. - -“Very likely,” said Sancho, “but that’s not my fault, but your -worship’s, for leading me about at unseasonable hours and at such -unwonted paces.” - -“Then go back three or four, my friend,” said Don Quixote, all the time -with his fingers to his nose; “and for the future pay more attention to -thy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great -familiarity with thee that has bred this contempt.” - -“I’ll bet,” replied Sancho, “that your worship thinks I have done -something I ought not with my person.” - -“It makes it worse to stir it, friend Sancho,” returned Don Quixote. - -With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed the -night, till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was coming on apace, very -cautiously untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon as -Rocinante found himself free, though by nature he was not at all -mettlesome, he seemed to feel lively and began pawing—for as to -capering, begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote, -then, observing that Rocinante could move, took it as a good sign and a -signal that he should attempt the dread adventure. By this time day had -fully broken and everything showed distinctly, and Don Quixote saw that -he was among some tall trees, chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; -he perceived likewise that the sound of the strokes did not cease, but -could not discover what caused it, and so without any further delay he -let Rocinante feel the spur, and once more taking leave of Sancho, he -told him to wait for him there three days at most, as he had said -before, and if he should not have returned by that time, he might feel -sure it had been God’s will that he should end his days in that -perilous adventure. He again repeated the message and commission with -which he was to go on his behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and said he was -not to be uneasy as to the payment of his services, for before leaving -home he had made his will, in which he would find himself fully -recompensed in the matter of wages in due proportion to the time he had -served; but if God delivered him safe, sound, and unhurt out of that -danger, he might look upon the promised island as much more than -certain. Sancho began to weep afresh on again hearing the affecting -words of his good master, and resolved to stay with him until the final -issue and end of the business. From these tears and this honourable -resolve of Sancho Panza’s the author of this history infers that he -must have been of good birth and at least an old Christian; and the -feeling he displayed touched his but not so much as to make him show -any weakness; on the contrary, hiding what he felt as well as he could, -he began to move towards that quarter whence the sound of the water and -of the strokes seemed to come. - -Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, as his custom was, -his ass, his constant comrade in prosperity or adversity; and advancing -some distance through the shady chestnut trees they came upon a little -meadow at the foot of some high rocks, down which a mighty rush of -water flung itself. At the foot of the rocks were some rudely -constructed houses looking more like ruins than houses, from among -which came, they perceived, the din and clatter of blows, which still -continued without intermission. Rocinante took fright at the noise of -the water and of the blows, but quieting him Don Quixote advanced step -by step towards the houses, commending himself with all his heart to -his lady, imploring her support in that dread pass and enterprise, and -on the way commending himself to God, too, not to forget him. Sancho -who never quitted his side, stretched his neck as far as he could and -peered between the legs of Rocinante to see if he could now discover -what it was that caused him such fear and apprehension. They went it -might be a hundred paces farther, when on turning a corner the true -cause, beyond the possibility of any mistake, of that dread-sounding -and to them awe-inspiring noise that had kept them all the night in -such fear and perplexity, appeared plain and obvious; and it was (if, -reader, thou art not disgusted and disappointed) six fulling hammers -which by their alternate strokes made all the din. - -When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was struck dumb and rigid -from head to foot. Sancho glanced at him and saw him with his head bent -down upon his breast in manifest mortification; and Don Quixote glanced -at Sancho and saw him with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth full of -laughter, and evidently ready to explode with it, and in spite of his -vexation he could not help laughing at the sight of him; and when -Sancho saw his master begin he let go so heartily that he had to hold -his sides with both hands to keep himself from bursting with laughter. -Four times he stopped, and as many times did his laughter break out -afresh with the same violence as at first, whereat Don Quixote grew -furious, above all when he heard him say mockingly, “Thou must know, -friend Sancho, that of Heaven’s will I was born in this our iron age to -revive in it the golden or age of gold; I am he for whom are reserved -perils, mighty achievements, valiant deeds;” and here he went on -repeating the words that Don Quixote uttered the first time they heard -the awful strokes. - -Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into ridicule, -was so mortified and vexed that he lifted up his pike and smote him two -such blows that if, instead of catching them on his shoulders, he had -caught them on his head there would have been no wages to pay, unless -indeed to his heirs. Sancho seeing that he was getting an awkward -return in earnest for his jest, and fearing his master might carry it -still further, said to him very humbly, “Calm yourself, sir, for by God -I am only joking.” - -“Well, then, if you are joking I am not,” replied Don Quixote. “Look -here, my lively gentleman, if these, instead of being fulling hammers, -had been some perilous adventure, have I not, think you, shown the -courage required for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance, -being, as I am, a gentleman, bound to know and distinguish sounds and -tell whether they come from fulling mills or not; and that, when -perhaps, as is the case, I have never in my life seen any as you have, -low boor as you are, that have been born and bred among them? But turn -me these six hammers into six giants, and bring them to beard me, one -by one or all together, and if I do not knock them head over heels, -then make what mockery you like of me.” - -“No more of that, señor,” returned Sancho; “I own I went a little too -far with the joke. But tell me, your worship, now that peace is made -between us (and may God bring you out of all the adventures that may -befall you as safe and sound as he has brought you out of this one), -was it not a thing to laugh at, and is it not a good story, the great -fear we were in?—at least that I was in; for as to your worship I see -now that you neither know nor understand what either fear or dismay -is.” - -“I do not deny,” said Don Quixote, “that what happened to us may be -worth laughing at, but it is not worth making a story about, for it is -not everyone that is shrewd enough to hit the right point of a thing.” - -“At any rate,” said Sancho, “your worship knew how to hit the right -point with your pike, aiming at my head and hitting me on the -shoulders, thanks be to God and my own smartness in dodging it. But let -that pass; all will come out in the scouring; for I have heard say ‘he -loves thee well that makes thee weep;’ and moreover that it is the way -with great lords after any hard words they give a servant to give him a -pair of breeches; though I do not know what they give after blows, -unless it be that knights-errant after blows give islands, or kingdoms -on the mainland.” - -“It may be on the dice,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest will -come true; overlook the past, for thou art shrewd enough to know that -our first movements are not in our own control; and one thing for the -future bear in mind, that thou curb and restrain thy loquacity in my -company; for in all the books of chivalry that I have read, and they -are innumerable, I never met with a squire who talked so much to his -lord as thou dost to thine; and in fact I feel it to be a great fault -of thine and of mine: of thine, that thou hast so little respect for -me; of mine, that I do not make myself more respected. There was -Gandalin, the squire of Amadis of Gaul, that was Count of the Insula -Firme, and we read of him that he always addressed his lord with his -cap in his hand, his head bowed down and his body bent double, more -turquesco. And then, what shall we say of Gasabal, the squire of -Galaor, who was so silent that in order to indicate to us the greatness -of his marvellous taciturnity his name is only once mentioned in the -whole of that history, as long as it is truthful? From all I have said -thou wilt gather, Sancho, that there must be a difference between -master and man, between lord and lackey, between knight and squire: so -that from this day forward in our intercourse we must observe more -respect and take less liberties, for in whatever way I may be provoked -with you it will be bad for the pitcher. The favours and benefits that -I have promised you will come in due time, and if they do not your -wages at least will not be lost, as I have already told you.” - -“All that your worship says is very well,” said Sancho, “but I should -like to know (in case the time of favours should not come, and it might -be necessary to fall back upon wages) how much did the squire of a -knight-errant get in those days, and did they agree by the month, or by -the day like bricklayers?” - -“I do not believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that such squires were ever -on wages, but were dependent on favour; and if I have now mentioned -thine in the sealed will I have left at home, it was with a view to -what may happen; for as yet I know not how chivalry will turn out in -these wretched times of ours, and I do not wish my soul to suffer for -trifles in the other world; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that in -this there is no condition more hazardous than that of adventurers.” - -“That is true,” said Sancho, “since the mere noise of the hammers of a -fulling mill can disturb and disquiet the heart of such a valiant -errant adventurer as your worship; but you may be sure I will not open -my lips henceforward to make light of anything of your worship’s, but -only to honour you as my master and natural lord.” - -“By so doing,” replied Don Quixote, “shalt thou live long on the face -of the earth; for next to parents, masters are to be respected as -though they were parents.” - -CHAPTER XXI. -WHICH TREATS OF THE EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAMBRINO’S -HELMET, TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE -KNIGHT - -It now began to rain a little, and Sancho was for going into the -fulling mills, but Don Quixote had taken such an abhorrence to them on -account of the late joke that he would not enter them on any account; -so turning aside to right they came upon another road, different from -that which they had taken the night before. Shortly afterwards Don -Quixote perceived a man on horseback who wore on his head something -that shone like gold, and the moment he saw him he turned to Sancho and -said: - -“I think, Sancho, there is no proverb that is not true, all being -maxims drawn from experience itself, the mother of all the sciences, -especially that one that says, ‘Where one door shuts, another opens.’ I -say so because if last night fortune shut the door of the adventure we -were looking for against us, cheating us with the fulling mills, it now -opens wide another one for another better and more certain adventure, -and if I do not contrive to enter it, it will be my own fault, and I -cannot lay it to my ignorance of fulling mills, or the darkness of the -night. I say this because, if I mistake not, there comes towards us one -who wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino, concerning which I took -the oath thou rememberest.” - -“Mind what you say, your worship, and still more what you do,” said -Sancho, “for I don’t want any more fulling mills to finish off fulling -and knocking our senses out.” - -“The devil take thee, man,” said Don Quixote; “what has a helmet to do -with fulling mills?” - -“I don’t know,” replied Sancho, “but, faith, if I might speak as I -used, perhaps I could give such reasons that your worship would see you -were mistaken in what you say.” - -“How can I be mistaken in what I say, unbelieving traitor?” returned -Don Quixote; “tell me, seest thou not yonder knight coming towards us -on a dappled grey steed, who has upon his head a helmet of gold?” - -“What I see and make out,” answered Sancho, “is only a man on a grey -ass like my own, who has something that shines on his head.” - -“Well, that is the helmet of Mambrino,” said Don Quixote; “stand to one -side and leave me alone with him; thou shalt see how, without saying a -word, to save time, I shall bring this adventure to an issue and -possess myself of the helmet I have so longed for.” - -“I will take care to stand aside,” said Sancho; “but God grant, I say -once more, that it may be marjoram and not fulling mills.” - -“I have told thee, brother, on no account to mention those fulling -mills to me again,” said Don Quixote, “or I vow—and I say no more—I’ll -full the soul out of you.” - -Sancho held his peace in dread lest his master should carry out the vow -he had hurled like a bowl at him. - -The fact of the matter as regards the helmet, steed, and knight that -Don Quixote saw, was this. In that neighbourhood there were two -villages, one of them so small that it had neither apothecary’s shop -nor barber, which the other that was close to it had, so the barber of -the larger served the smaller, and in it there was a sick man who -required to be bled and another man who wanted to be shaved, and on -this errand the barber was going, carrying with him a brass basin; but -as luck would have it, as he was on the way it began to rain, and not -to spoil his hat, which probably was a new one, he put the basin on his -head, and being clean it glittered at half a league’s distance. He rode -upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was what made it seem to Don -Quixote to be a dapple-grey steed and a knight and a golden helmet; for -everything he saw he made to fall in with his crazy chivalry and -ill-errant notions; and when he saw the poor knight draw near, without -entering into any parley with him, at Rocinante’s top speed he bore -down upon him with the pike pointed low, fully determined to run him -through and through, and as he reached him, without checking the fury -of his charge, he cried to him: - -“Defend thyself, miserable being, or yield me of thine own accord that -which is so reasonably my due.” - -The barber, who without any expectation or apprehension of it saw this -apparition coming down upon him, had no other way of saving himself -from the stroke of the lance but to let himself fall off his ass; and -no sooner had he touched the ground than he sprang up more nimbly than -a deer and sped away across the plain faster than the wind. - -He left the basin on the ground, with which Don Quixote contented -himself, saying that the pagan had shown his discretion and imitated -the beaver, which finding itself pressed by the hunters bites and cuts -off with its teeth that for which, by its natural instinct, it knows it -is pursued. - -He told Sancho to pick up the helmet, and he taking it in his hands -said: - -“By God the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight if it is -worth a maravedis,” and handed it to his master, who immediately put it -on his head, turning it round, now this way, now that, in search of -fitment, and not finding it he said, “Clearly the pagan to whose -measure this famous head-piece was first forged must have had a very -large head; but the worst of it is half of it is wanting.” - -When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece he was unable to -restrain his laughter, but remembering his master’s wrath he checked -himself in the midst of it. - -“What art thou laughing at, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“I am laughing,” said he, “to think of the great head the pagan must -have had who owned this helmet, for it looks exactly like a regular -barber’s basin.” - -“Dost thou know what I suspect, Sancho?” said Don Quixote; “that this -wonderful piece of this enchanted helmet must by some strange accident -have come into the hands of someone who was unable to recognise or -realise its value, and who, not knowing what he did, and seeing it to -be of the purest gold, must have melted down one half for the sake of -what it might be worth, and of the other made this which is like a -barber’s basin as thou sayest; but be it as it may, to me who recognise -it, its transformation makes no difference, for I will set it to rights -at the first village where there is a blacksmith, and in such style -that that helmet the god of smithies forged for the god of battles -shall not surpass it or even come up to it; and in the meantime I will -wear it as well as I can, for something is better than nothing; all the -more as it will be quite enough to protect me from any chance blow of a -stone.” - -“That is,” said Sancho, “if it is not shot with a sling as they were in -the battle of the two armies, when they signed the cross on your -worship’s grinders and smashed the flask with that blessed draught that -made me vomit my bowels up.” - -“It does not grieve me much to have lost it,” said Don Quixote, “for -thou knowest, Sancho, that I have the receipt in my memory.” - -“So have I,” answered Sancho, “but if ever I make it, or try it again -as long as I live, may this be my last hour; moreover, I have no -intention of putting myself in the way of wanting it, for I mean, with -all my five senses, to keep myself from being wounded or from wounding -anyone: as to being blanketed again I say nothing, for it is hard to -prevent mishaps of that sort, and if they come there is nothing for it -but to squeeze our shoulders together, hold our breath, shut our eyes, -and let ourselves go where luck and the blanket may send us.” - -“Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho,” said Don Quixote on hearing this, -“for once an injury has been done thee thou never forgettest it: but -know that it is the part of noble and generous hearts not to attach -importance to trifles. What lame leg hast thou got by it, what broken -rib, what cracked head, that thou canst not forget that jest? For jest -and sport it was, properly regarded, and had I not seen it in that -light I would have returned and done more mischief in revenging thee -than the Greeks did for the rape of Helen, who, if she were alive now, -or if my Dulcinea had lived then, might depend upon it she would not be -so famous for her beauty as she is;” and here he heaved a sigh and sent -it aloft; and said Sancho, “Let it pass for a jest as it cannot be -revenged in earnest, but I know what sort of jest and earnest it was, -and I know it will never be rubbed out of my memory any more than off -my shoulders. But putting that aside, will your worship tell me what -are we to do with this dapple-grey steed that looks like a grey ass, -which that Martino that your worship overthrew has left deserted here? -for, from the way he took to his heels and bolted, he is not likely -ever to come back for it; and by my beard but the grey is a good one.” - -“I have never been in the habit,” said Don Quixote, “of taking spoil of -those whom I vanquish, nor is it the practice of chivalry to take away -their horses and leave them to go on foot, unless indeed it be that the -victor have lost his own in the combat, in which case it is lawful to -take that of the vanquished as a thing won in lawful war; therefore, -Sancho, leave this horse, or ass, or whatever thou wilt have it to be; -for when its owner sees us gone hence he will come back for it.” - -“God knows I should like to take it,” returned Sancho, “or at least to -change it for my own, which does not seem to me as good a one: verily -the laws of chivalry are strict, since they cannot be stretched to let -one ass be changed for another; I should like to know if I might at -least change trappings.” - -“On that head I am not quite certain,” answered Don Quixote, “and the -matter being doubtful, pending better information, I say thou mayest -change them, if so be thou hast urgent need of them.” - -“So urgent is it,” answered Sancho, “that if they were for my own -person I could not want them more;” and forthwith, fortified by this -licence, he effected the _mutatio capparum_, and rigged out his beast -to the ninety-nines and making quite another thing of it. This done, -they broke their fast on the remains of the spoils of war plundered -from the sumpter mule, and drank of the brook that flowed from the -fulling mills, without casting a look in that direction, in such -loathing did they hold them for the alarm they had caused them; and, -all anger and gloom removed, they mounted and, without taking any fixed -road (not to fix upon any being the proper thing for true -knights-errant), they set out, guided by Rocinante’s will, which -carried along with it that of his master, not to say that of the ass, -which always followed him wherever he led, lovingly and sociably; -nevertheless they returned to the high road, and pursued it at a -venture without any other aim. - -As they went along, then, in this way Sancho said to his master, -“Señor, would your worship give me leave to speak a little to you? For -since you laid that hard injunction of silence on me several things -have gone to rot in my stomach, and I have now just one on the tip of -my tongue that I don’t want to be spoiled.” - -“Say, on, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and be brief in thy discourse, -for there is no pleasure in one that is long.” - -“Well then, señor,” returned Sancho, “I say that for some days past I -have been considering how little is got or gained by going in search of -these adventures that your worship seeks in these wilds and -cross-roads, where, even if the most perilous are victoriously -achieved, there is no one to see or know of them, and so they must be -left untold for ever, to the loss of your worship’s object and the -credit they deserve; therefore it seems to me it would be better -(saving your worship’s better judgment) if we were to go and serve some -emperor or other great prince who may have some war on hand, in whose -service your worship may prove the worth of your person, your great -might, and greater understanding, on perceiving which the lord in whose -service we may be will perforce have to reward us, each according to -his merits; and there you will not be at a loss for someone to set down -your achievements in writing so as to preserve their memory for ever. -Of my own I say nothing, as they will not go beyond squirely limits, -though I make bold to say that, if it be the practice in chivalry to -write the achievements of squires, I think mine must not be left out.” - -“Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “but before -that point is reached it is requisite to roam the world, as it were on -probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name -and fame may be acquired, such that when he betakes himself to the -court of some great monarch the knight may be already known by his -deeds, and that the boys, the instant they see him enter the gate of -the city, may all follow him and surround him, crying, ‘This is the -Knight of the Sun’—or the Serpent, or any other title under which he -may have achieved great deeds. ‘This,’ they will say, ‘is he who -vanquished in single combat the gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength; -he who delivered the great Mameluke of Persia out of the long -enchantment under which he had been for almost nine hundred years.’ So -from one to another they will go proclaiming his achievements; and -presently at the tumult of the boys and the others the king of that -kingdom will appear at the windows of his royal palace, and as soon as -he beholds the knight, recognising him by his arms and the device on -his shield, he will as a matter of course say, ‘What ho! Forth all ye, -the knights of my court, to receive the flower of chivalry who cometh -hither!’ At which command all will issue forth, and he himself, -advancing half-way down the stairs, will embrace him closely, and -salute him, kissing him on the cheek, and will then lead him to the -queen’s chamber, where the knight will find her with the princess her -daughter, who will be one of the most beautiful and accomplished -damsels that could with the utmost pains be discovered anywhere in the -known world. Straightway it will come to pass that she will fix her -eyes upon the knight and he his upon her, and each will seem to the -other something more divine than human, and, without knowing how or why -they will be taken and entangled in the inextricable toils of love, and -sorely distressed in their hearts not to see any way of making their -pains and sufferings known by speech. Thence they will lead him, no -doubt, to some richly adorned chamber of the palace, where, having -removed his armour, they will bring him a rich mantle of scarlet -wherewith to robe himself, and if he looked noble in his armour he will -look still more so in a doublet. When night comes he will sup with the -king, queen, and princess; and all the time he will never take his eyes -off her, stealing stealthy glances, unnoticed by those present, and she -will do the same, and with equal cautiousness, being, as I have said, a -damsel of great discretion. The tables being removed, suddenly through -the door of the hall there will enter a hideous and diminutive dwarf -followed by a fair dame, between two giants, who comes with a certain -adventure, the work of an ancient sage; and he who shall achieve it -shall be deemed the best knight in the world. - -“The king will then command all those present to essay it, and none -will bring it to an end and conclusion save the stranger knight, to the -great enhancement of his fame, whereat the princess will be overjoyed -and will esteem herself happy and fortunate in having fixed and placed -her thoughts so high. And the best of it is that this king, or prince, -or whatever he is, is engaged in a very bitter war with another as -powerful as himself, and the stranger knight, after having been some -days at his court, requests leave from him to go and serve him in the -said war. The king will grant it very readily, and the knight will -courteously kiss his hands for the favour done to him; and that night -he will take leave of his lady the princess at the grating of the -chamber where she sleeps, which looks upon a garden, and at which he -has already many times conversed with her, the go-between and -confidante in the matter being a damsel much trusted by the princess. -He will sigh, she will swoon, the damsel will fetch water, much -distressed because morning approaches, and for the honour of her lady -he would not that they were discovered; at last the princess will come -to herself and will present her white hands through the grating to the -knight, who will kiss them a thousand and a thousand times, bathing -them with his tears. It will be arranged between them how they are to -inform each other of their good or evil fortunes, and the princess will -entreat him to make his absence as short as possible, which he will -promise to do with many oaths; once more he kisses her hands, and takes -his leave in such grief that he is well-nigh ready to die. He betakes -him thence to his chamber, flings himself on his bed, cannot sleep for -sorrow at parting, rises early in the morning, goes to take leave of -the king, queen, and princess, and, as he takes his leave of the pair, -it is told him that the princess is indisposed and cannot receive a -visit; the knight thinks it is from grief at his departure, his heart -is pierced, and he is hardly able to keep from showing his pain. The -confidante is present, observes all, goes to tell her mistress, who -listens with tears and says that one of her greatest distresses is not -knowing who this knight is, and whether he is of kingly lineage or not; -the damsel assures her that so much courtesy, gentleness, and gallantry -of bearing as her knight possesses could not exist in any save one who -was royal and illustrious; her anxiety is thus relieved, and she -strives to be of good cheer lest she should excite suspicion in her -parents, and at the end of two days she appears in public. Meanwhile -the knight has taken his departure; he fights in the war, conquers the -king’s enemy, wins many cities, triumphs in many battles, returns to -the court, sees his lady where he was wont to see her, and it is agreed -that he shall demand her in marriage of her parents as the reward of -his services; the king is unwilling to give her, as he knows not who he -is, but nevertheless, whether carried off or in whatever other way it -may be, the princess comes to be his bride, and her father comes to -regard it as very good fortune; for it so happens that this knight is -proved to be the son of a valiant king of some kingdom, I know not -what, for I fancy it is not likely to be on the map. The father dies, -the princess inherits, and in two words the knight becomes king. And -here comes in at once the bestowal of rewards upon his squire and all -who have aided him in rising to so exalted a rank. He marries his -squire to a damsel of the princess’s, who will be, no doubt, the one -who was confidante in their amour, and is daughter of a very great -duke.” - -“That’s what I want, and no mistake about it!” said Sancho. “That’s -what I’m waiting for; for all this, word for word, is in store for your -worship under the title of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” - -“Thou needst not doubt it, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “for in the -same manner, and by the same steps as I have described here, -knights-errant rise and have risen to be kings and emperors; all we -want now is to find out what king, Christian or pagan, is at war and -has a beautiful daughter; but there will be time enough to think of -that, for, as I have told thee, fame must be won in other quarters -before repairing to the court. There is another thing, too, that is -wanting; for supposing we find a king who is at war and has a beautiful -daughter, and that I have won incredible fame throughout the universe, -I know not how it can be made out that I am of royal lineage, or even -second cousin to an emperor; for the king will not be willing to give -me his daughter in marriage unless he is first thoroughly satisfied on -this point, however much my famous deeds may deserve it; so that by -this deficiency I fear I shall lose what my arm has fairly earned. True -it is I am a gentleman of known house, of estate and property, and -entitled to the five hundred sueldos mulet; and it may be that the sage -who shall write my history will so clear up my ancestry and pedigree -that I may find myself fifth or sixth in descent from a king; for I -would have thee know, Sancho, that there are two kinds of lineages in -the world; some there be tracing and deriving their descent from kings -and princes, whom time has reduced little by little until they end in a -point like a pyramid upside down; and others who spring from the common -herd and go on rising step by step until they come to be great lords; -so that the difference is that the one were what they no longer are, -and the others are what they formerly were not. And I may be of such -that after investigation my origin may prove great and famous, with -which the king, my father-in-law that is to be, ought to be satisfied; -and should he not be, the princess will so love me that even though she -well knew me to be the son of a water-carrier, she will take me for her -lord and husband in spite of her father; if not, then it comes to -seizing her and carrying her off where I please; for time or death will -put an end to the wrath of her parents.” - -“It comes to this, too,” said Sancho, “what some naughty people say, -‘Never ask as a favour what thou canst take by force;’ though it would -fit better to say, ‘A clear escape is better than good men’s prayers.’ -I say so because if my lord the king, your worship’s father-in-law, -will not condescend to give you my lady the princess, there is nothing -for it but, as your worship says, to seize her and transport her. But -the mischief is that until peace is made and you come into the peaceful -enjoyment of your kingdom, the poor squire is famishing as far as -rewards go, unless it be that the confidante damsel that is to be his -wife comes with the princess, and that with her he tides over his bad -luck until Heaven otherwise orders things; for his master, I suppose, -may as well give her to him at once for a lawful wife.” - -“Nobody can object to that,” said Don Quixote. - -“Then since that may be,” said Sancho, “there is nothing for it but to -commend ourselves to God, and let fortune take what course it will.” - -“God guide it according to my wishes and thy wants,” said Don Quixote, -“and mean be he who thinks himself mean.” - -“In God’s name let him be so,” said Sancho: “I am an old Christian, and -to fit me for a count that’s enough.” - -“And more than enough for thee,” said Don Quixote; “and even wert thou -not, it would make no difference, because I being the king can easily -give thee nobility without purchase or service rendered by thee, for -when I make thee a count, then thou art at once a gentleman; and they -may say what they will, but by my faith they will have to call thee -‘your lordship,’ whether they like it or not.” - -“Not a doubt of it; and I’ll know how to support the tittle,” said -Sancho. - -“Title thou shouldst say, not tittle,” said his master. - -“So be it,” answered Sancho. “I say I will know how to behave, for once -in my life I was beadle of a brotherhood, and the beadle’s gown sat so -well on me that all said I looked as if I was to be steward of the same -brotherhood. What will it be, then, when I put a duke’s robe on my -back, or dress myself in gold and pearls like a count? I believe -they’ll come a hundred leagues to see me.” - -“Thou wilt look well,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must shave thy beard -often, for thou hast it so thick and rough and unkempt, that if thou -dost not shave it every second day at least, they will see what thou -art at the distance of a musket shot.” - -“What more will it be,” said Sancho, “than having a barber, and keeping -him at wages in the house? and even if it be necessary, I will make him -go behind me like a nobleman’s equerry.” - -“Why, how dost thou know that noblemen have equerries behind them?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“I will tell you,” answered Sancho. “Years ago I was for a month at the -capital and there I saw taking the air a very small gentleman who they -said was a very great man, and a man following him on horseback in -every turn he took, just as if he was his tail. I asked why this man -did not join the other man, instead of always going behind him; they -answered me that he was his equerry, and that it was the custom with -nobles to have such persons behind them, and ever since then I know it, -for I have never forgotten it.” - -“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and in the same way thou mayest -carry thy barber with thee, for customs did not come into use all -together, nor were they all invented at once, and thou mayest be the -first count to have a barber to follow him; and, indeed, shaving one’s -beard is a greater trust than saddling one’s horse.” - -“Let the barber business be my look-out,” said Sancho; “and your -worship’s be it to strive to become a king, and make me a count.” - -“So it shall be,” answered Don Quixote, and raising his eyes he saw -what will be told in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XXII. -OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEVERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO -AGAINST THEIR WILL WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH TO GO - -Cid Hamete Benengeli, the Arab and Manchegan author, relates in this -most grave, high-sounding, minute, delightful, and original history -that after the discussion between the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha -and his squire Sancho Panza which is set down at the end of chapter -twenty-one, Don Quixote raised his eyes and saw coming along the road -he was following some dozen men on foot strung together by the neck, -like beads, on a great iron chain, and all with manacles on their -hands. With them there came also two men on horseback and two on foot; -those on horseback with wheel-lock muskets, those on foot with javelins -and swords, and as soon as Sancho saw them he said: - -“That is a chain of galley slaves, on the way to the galleys by force -of the king’s orders.” - -“How by force?” asked Don Quixote; “is it possible that the king uses -force against anyone?” - -“I do not say that,” answered Sancho, “but that these are people -condemned for their crimes to serve by force in the king’s galleys.” - -“In fact,” replied Don Quixote, “however it may be, these people are -going where they are taking them by force, and not of their own will.” - -“Just so,” said Sancho. - -“Then if so,” said Don Quixote, “here is a case for the exercise of my -office, to put down force and to succour and help the wretched.” - -“Recollect, your worship,” said Sancho, “Justice, which is the king -himself, is not using force or doing wrong to such persons, but -punishing them for their crimes.” - -The chain of galley slaves had by this time come up, and Don Quixote in -very courteous language asked those who were in custody of it to be -good enough to tell him the reason or reasons for which they were -conducting these people in this manner. One of the guards on horseback -answered that they were galley slaves belonging to his majesty, that -they were going to the galleys, and that was all that was to be said -and all he had any business to know. - -“Nevertheless,” replied Don Quixote, “I should like to know from each -of them separately the reason of his misfortune;” to this he added more -to the same effect to induce them to tell him what he wanted so civilly -that the other mounted guard said to him: - -“Though we have here the register and certificate of the sentence of -every one of these wretches, this is no time to take them out or read -them; come and ask themselves; they can tell if they choose, and they -will, for these fellows take a pleasure in doing and talking about -rascalities.” - -With this permission, which Don Quixote would have taken even had they -not granted it, he approached the chain and asked the first for what -offences he was now in such a sorry case. - -He made answer that it was for being a lover. - -“For that only?” replied Don Quixote; “why, if for being lovers they -send people to the galleys I might have been rowing in them long ago.” - -“The love is not the sort your worship is thinking of,” said the galley -slave; “mine was that I loved a washerwoman’s basket of clean linen so -well, and held it so close in my embrace, that if the arm of the law -had not forced it from me, I should never have let it go of my own will -to this moment; I was caught in the act, there was no occasion for -torture, the case was settled, they treated me to a hundred lashes on -the back, and three years of gurapas besides, and that was the end of -it.” - -“What are gurapas?” asked Don Quixote. - -“Gurapas are galleys,” answered the galley slave, who was a young man -of about four-and-twenty, and said he was a native of Piedrahita. - -Don Quixote asked the same question of the second, who made no reply, -so downcast and melancholy was he; but the first answered for him, and -said, “He, sir, goes as a canary, I mean as a musician and a singer.” - -“What!” said Don Quixote, “for being musicians and singers are people -sent to the galleys too?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered the galley slave, “for there is nothing worse than -singing under suffering.” - -“On the contrary, I have heard say,” said Don Quixote, “that he who -sings scares away his woes.” - -“Here it is the reverse,” said the galley slave; “for he who sings once -weeps all his life.” - -“I do not understand it,” said Don Quixote; but one of the guards said -to him, “Sir, to sing under suffering means with the _non sancta_ -fraternity to confess under torture; they put this sinner to the -torture and he confessed his crime, which was being a cuatrero, that is -a cattle-stealer, and on his confession they sentenced him to six years -in the galleys, besides two hundred lashes that he has already had on -the back; and he is always dejected and downcast because the other -thieves that were left behind and that march here ill-treat, and snub, -and jeer, and despise him for confessing and not having spirit enough -to say nay; for, say they, ‘nay’ has no more letters in it than ‘yea,’ -and a culprit is well off when life or death with him depends on his -own tongue and not on that of witnesses or evidence; and to my thinking -they are not very far out.” - -“And I think so too,” answered Don Quixote; then passing on to the -third he asked him what he had asked the others, and the man answered -very readily and unconcernedly, “I am going for five years to their -ladyships the gurapas for the want of ten ducats.” - -“I will give twenty with pleasure to get you out of that trouble,” said -Don Quixote. - -“That,” said the galley slave, “is like a man having money at sea when -he is dying of hunger and has no way of buying what he wants; I say so -because if at the right time I had had those twenty ducats that your -worship now offers me, I would have greased the notary’s pen and -freshened up the attorney’s wit with them, so that to-day I should be -in the middle of the plaza of the Zocodover at Toledo, and not on this -road coupled like a greyhound. But God is great; patience—there, that’s -enough of it.” - -Don Quixote passed on to the fourth, a man of venerable aspect with a -white beard falling below his breast, who on hearing himself asked the -reason of his being there began to weep without answering a word, but -the fifth acted as his tongue and said, “This worthy man is going to -the galleys for four years, after having gone the rounds in ceremony -and on horseback.” - -“That means,” said Sancho Panza, “as I take it, to have been exposed to -shame in public.” - -“Just so,” replied the galley slave, “and the offence for which they -gave him that punishment was having been an ear-broker, nay -body-broker; I mean, in short, that this gentleman goes as a pimp, and -for having besides a certain touch of the sorcerer about him.” - -“If that touch had not been thrown in,” said Don Quixote, “he would not -deserve, for mere pimping, to row in the galleys, but rather to command -and be admiral of them; for the office of pimp is no ordinary one, -being the office of persons of discretion, one very necessary in a -well-ordered state, and only to be exercised by persons of good birth; -nay, there ought to be an inspector and overseer of them, as in other -offices, and recognised number, as with the brokers on change; in this -way many of the evils would be avoided which are caused by this office -and calling being in the hands of stupid and ignorant people, such as -women more or less silly, and pages and jesters of little standing and -experience, who on the most urgent occasions, and when ingenuity of -contrivance is needed, let the crumbs freeze on the way to their -mouths, and know not which is their right hand. I should like to go -farther, and give reasons to show that it is advisable to choose those -who are to hold so necessary an office in the state, but this is not -the fit place for it; some day I will expound the matter to someone -able to see to and rectify it; all I say now is, that the additional -fact of his being a sorcerer has removed the sorrow it gave me to see -these white hairs and this venerable countenance in so painful a -position on account of his being a pimp; though I know well there are -no sorceries in the world that can move or compel the will as some -simple folk fancy, for our will is free, nor is there herb or charm -that can force it. All that certain silly women and quacks do is to -turn men mad with potions and poisons, pretending that they have power -to cause love, for, as I say, it is an impossibility to compel the -will.” - -“It is true,” said the good old man, “and indeed, sir, as far as the -charge of sorcery goes I was not guilty; as to that of being a pimp I -cannot deny it; but I never thought I was doing any harm by it, for my -only object was that all the world should enjoy itself and live in -peace and quiet, without quarrels or troubles; but my good intentions -were unavailing to save me from going where I never expect to come back -from, with this weight of years upon me and a urinary ailment that -never gives me a moment’s ease;” and again he fell to weeping as -before, and such compassion did Sancho feel for him that he took out a -real of four from his bosom and gave it to him in alms. - -Don Quixote went on and asked another what his crime was, and the man -answered with no less but rather much more sprightliness than the last -one. - -“I am here because I carried the joke too far with a couple of cousins -of mine, and with a couple of other cousins who were none of mine; in -short, I carried the joke so far with them all that it ended in such a -complicated increase of kindred that no accountant could make it clear: -it was all proved against me, I got no favour, I had no money, I was -near having my neck stretched, they sentenced me to the galleys for six -years, I accepted my fate, it is the punishment of my fault; I am a -young man; let life only last, and with that all will come right. If -you, sir, have anything wherewith to help the poor, God will repay it -to you in heaven, and we on earth will take care in our petitions to -him to pray for the life and health of your worship, that they may be -as long and as good as your amiable appearance deserves.” - -This one was in the dress of a student, and one of the guards said he -was a great talker and a very elegant Latin scholar. - -Behind all these there came a man of thirty, a very personable fellow, -except that when he looked, his eyes turned in a little one towards the -other. He was bound differently from the rest, for he had to his leg a -chain so long that it was wound all round his body, and two rings on -his neck, one attached to the chain, the other to what they call a -“keep-friend” or “friend’s foot,” from which hung two irons reaching to -his waist with two manacles fixed to them in which his hands were -secured by a big padlock, so that he could neither raise his hands to -his mouth nor lower his head to his hands. Don Quixote asked why this -man carried so many more chains than the others. The guard replied that -it was because he alone had committed more crimes than all the rest put -together, and was so daring and such a villain, that though they -marched him in that fashion they did not feel sure of him, but were in -dread of his making his escape. - -“What crimes can he have committed,” said Don Quixote, “if they have -not deserved a heavier punishment than being sent to the galleys?” - -“He goes for ten years,” replied the guard, “which is the same thing as -civil death, and all that need be said is that this good fellow is the -famous Gines de Pasamonte, otherwise called Ginesillo de Parapilla.” - -“Gently, señor commissary,” said the galley slave at this, “let us have -no fixing of names or surnames; my name is Gines, not Ginesillo, and my -family name is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say; let each one mind -his own business, and he will be doing enough.” - -“Speak with less impertinence, master thief of extra measure,” replied -the commissary, “if you don’t want me to make you hold your tongue in -spite of your teeth.” - -“It is easy to see,” returned the galley slave, “that man goes as God -pleases, but someone shall know some day whether I am called Ginesillo -de Parapilla or not.” - -“Don’t they call you so, you liar?” said the guard. - -“They do,” returned Gines, “but I will make them give over calling me -so, or I will be shaved, where, I only say behind my teeth. If you, -sir, have anything to give us, give it to us at once, and God speed -you, for you are becoming tiresome with all this inquisitiveness about -the lives of others; if you want to know about mine, let me tell you I -am Gines de Pasamonte, whose life is written by these fingers.” - -“He says true,” said the commissary, “for he has himself written his -story as grand as you please, and has left the book in the prison in -pawn for two hundred reals.” - -“And I mean to take it out of pawn,” said Gines, “though it were in for -two hundred ducats.” - -“Is it so good?” said Don Quixote. - -“So good is it,” replied Gines, “that a fig for ‘Lazarillo de Tormes,’ -and all of that kind that have been written, or shall be written -compared with it: all I will say about it is that it deals with facts, -and facts so neat and diverting that no lies could match them.” - -“And how is the book entitled?” asked Don Quixote. - -“The ‘Life of Gines de Pasamonte,’” replied the subject of it. - -“And is it finished?” asked Don Quixote. - -“How can it be finished,” said the other, “when my life is not yet -finished? All that is written is from my birth down to the point when -they sent me to the galleys this last time.” - -“Then you have been there before?” said Don Quixote. - -“In the service of God and the king I have been there for four years -before now, and I know by this time what the biscuit and courbash are -like,” replied Gines; “and it is no great grievance to me to go back to -them, for there I shall have time to finish my book; I have still many -things left to say, and in the galleys of Spain there is more than -enough leisure; though I do not want much for what I have to write, for -I have it by heart.” - -“You seem a clever fellow,” said Don Quixote. - -“And an unfortunate one,” replied Gines, “for misfortune always -persecutes good wit.” - -“It persecutes rogues,” said the commissary. - -“I told you already to go gently, master commissary,” said Pasamonte; -“their lordships yonder never gave you that staff to ill-treat us -wretches here, but to conduct and take us where his majesty orders you; -if not, by the life of-never mind—; it may be that some day the stains -made in the inn will come out in the scouring; let everyone hold his -tongue and behave well and speak better; and now let us march on, for -we have had quite enough of this entertainment.” - -The commissary lifted his staff to strike Pasamonte in return for his -threats, but Don Quixote came between them, and begged him not to -ill-use him, as it was not too much to allow one who had his hands tied -to have his tongue a trifle free; and turning to the whole chain of -them he said: - -“From all you have told me, dear brethren, make out clearly that though -they have punished you for your faults, the punishments you are about -to endure do not give you much pleasure, and that you go to them very -much against the grain and against your will, and that perhaps this -one’s want of courage under torture, that one’s want of money, the -other’s want of advocacy, and lastly the perverted judgment of the -judge may have been the cause of your ruin and of your failure to -obtain the justice you had on your side. All which presents itself now -to my mind, urging, persuading, and even compelling me to demonstrate -in your case the purpose for which Heaven sent me into the world and -caused me to make profession of the order of chivalry to which I -belong, and the vow I took therein to give aid to those in need and -under the oppression of the strong. But as I know that it is a mark of -prudence not to do by foul means what may be done by fair, I will ask -these gentlemen, the guards and commissary, to be so good as to release -you and let you go in peace, as there will be no lack of others to -serve the king under more favourable circumstances; for it seems to me -a hard case to make slaves of those whom God and nature have made free. -Moreover, sirs of the guard,” added Don Quixote, “these poor fellows -have done nothing to you; let each answer for his own sins yonder; -there is a God in Heaven who will not forget to punish the wicked or -reward the good; and it is not fitting that honest men should be the -instruments of punishment to others, they being therein no way -concerned. This request I make thus gently and quietly, that, if you -comply with it, I may have reason for thanking you; and, if you will -not voluntarily, this lance and sword together with the might of my arm -shall compel you to comply with it by force.” - -“Nice nonsense!” said the commissary; “a fine piece of pleasantry he -has come out with at last! He wants us to let the king’s prisoners go, -as if we had any authority to release them, or he to order us to do so! -Go your way, sir, and good luck to you; put that basin straight that -you’ve got on your head, and don’t go looking for three feet on a cat.” - -“’Tis you that are the cat, rat, and rascal,” replied Don Quixote, and -acting on the word he fell upon him so suddenly that without giving him -time to defend himself he brought him to the ground sorely wounded with -a lance-thrust; and lucky it was for him that it was the one that had -the musket. The other guards stood thunderstruck and amazed at this -unexpected event, but recovering presence of mind, those on horseback -seized their swords, and those on foot their javelins, and attacked Don -Quixote, who was waiting for them with great calmness; and no doubt it -would have gone badly with him if the galley slaves, seeing the chance -before them of liberating themselves, had not effected it by contriving -to break the chain on which they were strung. Such was the confusion, -that the guards, now rushing at the galley slaves who were breaking -loose, now to attack Don Quixote who was waiting for them, did nothing -at all that was of any use. Sancho, on his part, gave a helping hand to -release Gines de Pasamonte, who was the first to leap forth upon the -plain free and unfettered, and who, attacking the prostrate commissary, -took from him his sword and the musket, with which, aiming at one and -levelling at another, he, without ever discharging it, drove every one -of the guards off the field, for they took to flight, as well to escape -Pasamonte’s musket, as the showers of stones the now released galley -slaves were raining upon them. Sancho was greatly grieved at the -affair, because he anticipated that those who had fled would report the -matter to the Holy Brotherhood, who at the summons of the alarm-bell -would at once sally forth in quest of the offenders; and he said so to -his master, and entreated him to leave the place at once, and go into -hiding in the sierra that was close by. - -“That is all very well,” said Don Quixote, “but I know what must be -done now;” and calling together all the galley slaves, who were now -running riot, and had stripped the commissary to the skin, he collected -them round him to hear what he had to say, and addressed them as -follows: “To be grateful for benefits received is the part of persons -of good birth, and one of the sins most offensive to God is -ingratitude; I say so because, sirs, ye have already seen by manifest -proof the benefit ye have received of me; in return for which I desire, -and it is my good pleasure that, laden with that chain which I have -taken off your necks, ye at once set out and proceed to the city of El -Toboso, and there present yourselves before the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, and say to her that her knight, he of the Rueful Countenance, -sends to commend himself to her; and that ye recount to her in full -detail all the particulars of this notable adventure, up to the -recovery of your longed-for liberty; and this done ye may go where ye -will, and good fortune attend you.” - -Gines de Pasamonte made answer for all, saying, “That which you, sir, -our deliverer, demand of us, is of all impossibilities the most -impossible to comply with, because we cannot go together along the -roads, but only singly and separate, and each one his own way, -endeavouring to hide ourselves in the bowels of the earth to escape the -Holy Brotherhood, which, no doubt, will come out in search of us. What -your worship may do, and fairly do, is to change this service and -tribute as regards the lady Dulcinea del Toboso for a certain quantity -of ave-marias and credos which we will say for your worship’s -intention, and this is a condition that can be complied with by night -as by day, running or resting, in peace or in war; but to imagine that -we are going now to return to the flesh-pots of Egypt, I mean to take -up our chain and set out for El Toboso, is to imagine that it is now -night, though it is not yet ten in the morning, and to ask this of us -is like asking pears of the elm tree.” - -“Then by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote (now stirred to wrath), -“Don son of a bitch, Don Ginesillo de Paropillo, or whatever your name -is, you will have to go yourself alone, with your tail between your -legs and the whole chain on your back.” - -Pasamonte, who was anything but meek (being by this time thoroughly -convinced that Don Quixote was not quite right in his head as he had -committed such a vagary as to set them free), finding himself abused in -this fashion, gave the wink to his companions, and falling back they -began to shower stones on Don Quixote at such a rate that he was quite -unable to protect himself with his buckler, and poor Rocinante no more -heeded the spur than if he had been made of brass. Sancho planted -himself behind his ass, and with him sheltered himself from the -hailstorm that poured on both of them. Don Quixote was unable to shield -himself so well but that more pebbles than I could count struck him -full on the body with such force that they brought him to the ground; -and the instant he fell the student pounced upon him, snatched the -basin from his head, and with it struck three or four blows on his -shoulders, and as many more on the ground, knocking it almost to -pieces. They then stripped him of a jacket that he wore over his -armour, and they would have stripped off his stockings if his greaves -had not prevented them. From Sancho they took his coat, leaving him in -his shirt-sleeves; and dividing among themselves the remaining spoils -of the battle, they went each one his own way, more solicitous about -keeping clear of the Holy Brotherhood they dreaded, than about -burdening themselves with the chain, or going to present themselves -before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. The ass and Rocinante, Sancho and -Don Quixote, were all that were left upon the spot; the ass with -drooping head, serious, shaking his ears from time to time as if he -thought the storm of stones that assailed them was not yet over; -Rocinante stretched beside his master, for he too had been brought to -the ground by a stone; Sancho stripped, and trembling with fear of the -Holy Brotherhood; and Don Quixote fuming to find himself so served by -the very persons for whom he had done so much. - -CHAPTER XXIII. -OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE SIERRA MORENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF THE -RAREST ADVENTURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS HISTORY - -Seeing himself served in this way, Don Quixote said to his squire, “I -have always heard it said, Sancho, that to do good to boors is to throw -water into the sea. If I had believed thy words, I should have avoided -this trouble; but it is done now, it is only to have patience and take -warning for the future.” - -“Your worship will take warning as much as I am a Turk,” returned -Sancho; “but, as you say this mischief might have been avoided if you -had believed me, believe me now, and a still greater one will be -avoided; for I tell you chivalry is of no account with the Holy -Brotherhood, and they don’t care two maravedis for all the -knights-errant in the world; and I can tell you I fancy I hear their -arrows whistling past my ears this minute.” - -“Thou art a coward by nature, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but lest thou -shouldst say I am obstinate, and that I never do as thou dost advise, -this once I will take thy advice, and withdraw out of reach of that -fury thou so dreadest; but it must be on one condition, that never, in -life or in death, thou art to say to anyone that I retired or withdrew -from this danger out of fear, but only in compliance with thy -entreaties; for if thou sayest otherwise thou wilt lie therein, and -from this time to that, and from that to this, I give thee lie, and say -thou liest and wilt lie every time thou thinkest or sayest it; and -answer me not again; for at the mere thought that I am withdrawing or -retiring from any danger, above all from this, which does seem to carry -some little shadow of fear with it, I am ready to take my stand here -and await alone, not only that Holy Brotherhood you talk of and dread, -but the brothers of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the Seven -Maccabees, and Castor and Pollux, and all the brothers and brotherhoods -in the world.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “to retire is not to flee, and there is no -wisdom in waiting when danger outweighs hope, and it is the part of -wise men to preserve themselves to-day for to-morrow, and not risk all -in one day; and let me tell you, though I am a clown and a boor, I have -got some notion of what they call safe conduct; so repent not of having -taken my advice, but mount Rocinante if you can, and if not I will help -you; and follow me, for my mother-wit tells me we have more need of -legs than hands just now.” - -Don Quixote mounted without replying, and, Sancho leading the way on -his ass, they entered the side of the Sierra Morena, which was close -by, as it was Sancho’s design to cross it entirely and come out again -at El Viso or Almodóvar del Campo, and hide for some days among its -crags so as to escape the search of the Brotherhood should they come to -look for them. He was encouraged in this by perceiving that the stock -of provisions carried by the ass had come safe out of the fray with the -galley slaves, a circumstance that he regarded as a miracle, seeing how -they pillaged and ransacked. - -That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra Morena, where it -seemed prudent to Sancho to pass the night and even some days, at least -as many as the stores he carried might last, and so they encamped -between two rocks and among some cork trees; but fatal destiny, which, -according to the opinion of those who have not the light of the true -faith, directs, arranges, and settles everything in its own way, so -ordered it that Gines de Pasamonte, the famous knave and thief who by -the virtue and madness of Don Quixote had been released from the chain, -driven by fear of the Holy Brotherhood, which he had good reason to -dread, resolved to take hiding in the mountains; and his fate and fear -led him to the same spot to which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had been -led by theirs, just in time to recognise them and leave them to fall -asleep: and as the wicked are always ungrateful, and necessity leads to -evildoing, and immediate advantage overcomes all considerations of the -future, Gines, who was neither grateful nor well-principled, made up -his mind to steal Sancho Panza’s ass, not troubling himself about -Rocinante, as being a prize that was no good either to pledge or sell. -While Sancho slept he stole his ass, and before day dawned he was far -out of reach. - -Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to the earth but sadness -to Sancho Panza, for he found that his Dapple was missing, and seeing -himself bereft of him he began the saddest and most doleful lament in -the world, so loud that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and heard -him saying, “O son of my bowels, born in my very house, my children’s -plaything, my wife’s joy, the envy of my neighbours, relief of my -burdens, and lastly, half supporter of myself, for with the -six-and-twenty maravedis thou didst earn me daily I met half my -charges.” - -Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned the cause, consoled -Sancho with the best arguments he could, entreating him to be patient, -and promising to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of -five ass-colts that he had at home to be given to him. Sancho took -comfort at this, dried his tears, suppressed his sobs, and returned -thanks for the kindness shown him by Don Quixote. He on his part was -rejoiced to the heart on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him -to be just the place for the adventures he was in quest of. They -brought back to his memory the marvellous adventures that had befallen -knights-errant in like solitudes and wilds, and he went along -reflecting on these things, so absorbed and carried away by them that -he had no thought for anything else. - -Nor had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he was travelling in -a safe quarter) than to satisfy his appetite with such remains as were -left of the clerical spoils, and so he marched behind his master laden -with what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack and packing his -paunch, and so long as he could go that way, he would not have given a -farthing to meet with another adventure. - -While so engaged he raised his eyes and saw that his master had halted, -and was trying with the point of his pike to lift some bulky object -that lay upon the ground, on which he hastened to join him and help him -if it were needful, and reached him just as with the point of the pike -he was raising a saddle-pad with a valise attached to it, half or -rather wholly rotten and torn; but so heavy were they that Sancho had -to help to take them up, and his master directed him to see what the -valise contained. Sancho did so with great alacrity, and though the -valise was secured by a chain and padlock, from its torn and rotten -condition he was able to see its contents, which were four shirts of -fine holland, and other articles of linen no less curious than clean; -and in a handkerchief he found a good lot of gold crowns, and as soon -as he saw them he exclaimed: - -“Blessed be all Heaven for sending us an adventure that is good for -something!” - -Searching further he found a little memorandum book richly bound; this -Don Quixote asked of him, telling him to take the money and keep it for -himself. Sancho kissed his hands for the favour, and cleared the valise -of its linen, which he stowed away in the provision sack. Considering -the whole matter, Don Quixote observed: - -“It seems to me, Sancho—and it is impossible it can be otherwise—that -some strayed traveller must have crossed this sierra and been attacked -and slain by footpads, who brought him to this remote spot to bury -him.” - -“That cannot be,” answered Sancho, “because if they had been robbers -they would not have left this money.” - -“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and I cannot guess or explain what -this may mean; but stay; let us see if in this memorandum book there is -anything written by which we may be able to trace out or discover what -we want to know.” - -He opened it, and the first thing he found in it, written roughly but -in a very good hand, was a sonnet, and reading it aloud that Sancho -might hear it, he found that it ran as follows: - -SONNET - -Or Love is lacking in intelligence, -Or to the height of cruelty attains, -Or else it is my doom to suffer pains -Beyond the measure due to my offence. -But if Love be a God, it follows thence -That he knows all, and certain it remains -No God loves cruelty; then who ordains -This penance that enthrals while it torments? -It were a falsehood, Chloe, thee to name; -Such evil with such goodness cannot live; -And against Heaven I dare not charge the blame, -I only know it is my fate to die. -To him who knows not whence his malady -A miracle alone a cure can give. - -“There is nothing to be learned from that rhyme,” said Sancho, “unless -by that clue there’s in it, one may draw out the ball of the whole -matter.” - -“What clue is there?” said Don Quixote. - -“I thought your worship spoke of a clue in it,” said Sancho. - -“I only said Chloe,” replied Don Quixote; “and that no doubt, is the -name of the lady of whom the author of the sonnet complains; and, -faith, he must be a tolerable poet, or I know little of the craft.” - -“Then your worship understands rhyming too?” - -“And better than thou thinkest,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou shalt -see when thou carriest a letter written in verse from beginning to end -to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for I would have thee know, Sancho, -that all or most of the knights-errant in days of yore were great -troubadours and great musicians, for both of these accomplishments, or -more properly speaking gifts, are the peculiar property of -lovers-errant: true it is that the verses of the knights of old have -more spirit than neatness in them.” - -“Read more, your worship,” said Sancho, “and you will find something -that will enlighten us.” - -Don Quixote turned the page and said, “This is prose and seems to be a -letter.” - -“A correspondence letter, señor?” - -“From the beginning it seems to be a love letter,” replied Don Quixote. - -“Then let your worship read it aloud,” said Sancho, “for I am very fond -of love matters.” - -“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and reading it aloud as Sancho -had requested him, he found it ran thus: - -Thy false promise and my sure misfortune carry me to a place whence the -news of my death will reach thy ears before the words of my complaint. -Ungrateful one, thou hast rejected me for one more wealthy, but not -more worthy; but if virtue were esteemed wealth I should neither envy -the fortunes of others nor weep for misfortunes of my own. What thy -beauty raised up thy deeds have laid low; by it I believed thee to be -an angel, by them I know thou art a woman. Peace be with thee who hast -sent war to me, and Heaven grant that the deceit of thy husband be ever -hidden from thee, so that thou repent not of what thou hast done, and I -reap not a revenge I would not have. - -When he had finished the letter, Don Quixote said, “There is less to be -gathered from this than from the verses, except that he who wrote it is -some rejected lover;” and turning over nearly all the pages of the book -he found more verses and letters, some of which he could read, while -others he could not; but they were all made up of complaints, laments, -misgivings, desires and aversions, favours and rejections, some -rapturous, some doleful. While Don Quixote examined the book, Sancho -examined the valise, not leaving a corner in the whole of it or in the -pad that he did not search, peer into, and explore, or seam that he did -not rip, or tuft of wool that he did not pick to pieces, lest anything -should escape for want of care and pains; so keen was the covetousness -excited in him by the discovery of the crowns, which amounted to near a -hundred; and though he found no more booty, he held the blanket -flights, balsam vomits, stake benedictions, carriers’ fisticuffs, -missing alforjas, stolen coat, and all the hunger, thirst, and -weariness he had endured in the service of his good master, cheap at -the price; as he considered himself more than fully indemnified for all -by the payment he received in the gift of the treasure-trove. - -The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was still very anxious to find out -who the owner of the valise could be, conjecturing from the sonnet and -letter, from the money in gold, and from the fineness of the shirts, -that he must be some lover of distinction whom the scorn and cruelty of -his lady had driven to some desperate course; but as in that -uninhabited and rugged spot there was no one to be seen of whom he -could inquire, he saw nothing else for it but to push on, taking -whatever road Rocinante chose—which was where he could make his -way—firmly persuaded that among these wilds he could not fail to meet -some rare adventure. As he went along, then, occupied with these -thoughts, he perceived on the summit of a height that rose before their -eyes a man who went springing from rock to rock and from tussock to -tussock with marvellous agility. As well as he could make out he was -unclad, with a thick black beard, long tangled hair, and bare legs and -feet, his thighs were covered by breeches apparently of tawny velvet -but so ragged that they showed his skin in several places. - -He was bareheaded, and notwithstanding the swiftness with which he -passed as has been described, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance -observed and noted all these trifles, and though he made the attempt, -he was unable to follow him, for it was not granted to the feebleness -of Rocinante to make way over such rough ground, he being, moreover, -slow-paced and sluggish by nature. Don Quixote at once came to the -conclusion that this was the owner of the saddle-pad and of the valise, -and made up his mind to go in search of him, even though he should have -to wander a year in those mountains before he found him, and so he -directed Sancho to take a short cut over one side of the mountain, -while he himself went by the other, and perhaps by this means they -might light upon this man who had passed so quickly out of their sight. - -“I could not do that,” said Sancho, “for when I separate from your -worship fear at once lays hold of me, and assails me with all sorts of -panics and fancies; and let what I now say be a notice that from this -time forth I am not going to stir a finger’s width from your presence.” - -“It shall be so,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “and I am very -glad that thou art willing to rely on my courage, which will never fail -thee, even though the soul in thy body fail thee; so come on now behind -me slowly as well as thou canst, and make lanterns of thine eyes; let -us make the circuit of this ridge; perhaps we shall light upon this man -that we saw, who no doubt is no other than the owner of what we found.” - -To which Sancho made answer, “Far better would it be not to look for -him, for, if we find him, and he happens to be the owner of the money, -it is plain I must restore it; it would be better, therefore, that -without taking this needless trouble, I should keep possession of it -until in some other less meddlesome and officious way the real owner -may be discovered; and perhaps that will be when I shall have spent it, -and then the king will hold me harmless.” - -“Thou art wrong there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for now that we have -a suspicion who the owner is, and have him almost before us, we are -bound to seek him and make restitution; and if we do not see him, the -strong suspicion we have as to his being the owner makes us as guilty -as if he were so; and so, friend Sancho, let not our search for him -give thee any uneasiness, for if we find him it will relieve mine.” - -And so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and Sancho followed him on -foot and loaded, and after having partly made the circuit of the -mountain they found lying in a ravine, dead and half devoured by dogs -and pecked by jackdaws, a mule saddled and bridled, all which still -further strengthened their suspicion that he who had fled was the owner -of the mule and the saddle-pad. - -As they stood looking at it they heard a whistle like that of a -shepherd watching his flock, and suddenly on their left there appeared -a great number of goats and behind them on the summit of the mountain -the goatherd in charge of them, a man advanced in years. Don Quixote -called aloud to him and begged him to come down to where they stood. He -shouted in return, asking what had brought them to that spot, seldom or -never trodden except by the feet of goats, or of the wolves and other -wild beasts that roamed around. Sancho in return bade him come down, -and they would explain all to him. - -The goatherd descended, and reaching the place where Don Quixote stood, -he said, “I will wager you are looking at that hack mule that lies dead -in the hollow there, and, faith, it has been lying there now these six -months; tell me, have you come upon its master about here?” - -“We have come upon nobody,” answered Don Quixote, “nor on anything -except a saddle-pad and a little valise that we found not far from -this.” - -“I found it too,” said the goatherd, “but I would not lift it nor go -near it for fear of some ill-luck or being charged with theft, for the -devil is crafty, and things rise up under one’s feet to make one fall -without knowing why or wherefore.” - -“That’s exactly what I say,” said Sancho; “I found it too, and I would -not go within a stone’s throw of it; there I left it, and there it lies -just as it was, for I don’t want a dog with a bell.” - -“Tell me, good man,” said Don Quixote, “do you know who is the owner of -this property?” - -“All I can tell you,” said the goatherd, “is that about six months ago, -more or less, there arrived at a shepherd’s hut three leagues, perhaps, -away from this, a youth of well-bred appearance and manners, mounted on -that same mule which lies dead here, and with the same saddle-pad and -valise which you say you found and did not touch. He asked us what part -of this sierra was the most rugged and retired; we told him that it was -where we now are; and so in truth it is, for if you push on half a -league farther, perhaps you will not be able to find your way out; and -I am wondering how you have managed to come here, for there is no road -or path that leads to this spot. I say, then, that on hearing our -answer the youth turned about and made for the place we pointed out to -him, leaving us all charmed with his good looks, and wondering at his -question and the haste with which we saw him depart in the direction of -the sierra; and after that we saw him no more, until some days -afterwards he crossed the path of one of our shepherds, and without -saying a word to him, came up to him and gave him several cuffs and -kicks, and then turned to the ass with our provisions and took all the -bread and cheese it carried, and having done this made off back again -into the sierra with extraordinary swiftness. When some of us goatherds -learned this we went in search of him for about two days through the -most remote portion of this sierra, at the end of which we found him -lodged in the hollow of a large thick cork tree. He came out to meet us -with great gentleness, with his dress now torn and his face so -disfigured and burned by the sun, that we hardly recognised him but -that his clothes, though torn, convinced us, from the recollection we -had of them, that he was the person we were looking for. He saluted us -courteously, and in a few well-spoken words he told us not to wonder at -seeing him going about in this guise, as it was binding upon him in -order that he might work out a penance which for his many sins had been -imposed upon him. We asked him to tell us who he was, but we were never -able to find out from him: we begged of him too, when he was in want of -food, which he could not do without, to tell us where we should find -him, as we would bring it to him with all good-will and readiness; or -if this were not to his taste, at least to come and ask it of us and -not take it by force from the shepherds. He thanked us for the offer, -begged pardon for the late assault, and promised for the future to ask -it in God’s name without offering violence to anybody. As for fixed -abode, he said he had no other than that which chance offered wherever -night might overtake him; and his words ended in an outburst of weeping -so bitter that we who listened to him must have been very stones had we -not joined him in it, comparing what we saw of him the first time with -what we saw now; for, as I said, he was a graceful and gracious youth, -and in his courteous and polished language showed himself to be of good -birth and courtly breeding, and rustics as we were that listened to -him, even to our rusticity his gentle bearing sufficed to make it -plain. - -“But in the midst of his conversation he stopped and became silent, -keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground for some time, during which we -stood still waiting anxiously to see what would come of this -abstraction; and with no little pity, for from his behaviour, now -staring at the ground with fixed gaze and eyes wide open without moving -an eyelid, again closing them, compressing his lips and raising his -eyebrows, we could perceive plainly that a fit of madness of some kind -had come upon him; and before long he showed that what we imagined was -the truth, for he arose in a fury from the ground where he had thrown -himself, and attacked the first he found near him with such rage and -fierceness that if we had not dragged him off him, he would have beaten -or bitten him to death, all the while exclaiming, ‘Oh faithless -Fernando, here, here shalt thou pay the penalty of the wrong thou hast -done me; these hands shall tear out that heart of thine, abode and -dwelling of all iniquity, but of deceit and fraud above all; and to -these he added other words all in effect upbraiding this Fernando and -charging him with treachery and faithlessness. - -“We forced him to release his hold with no little difficulty, and -without another word he left us, and rushing off plunged in among these -brakes and brambles, so as to make it impossible for us to follow him; -from this we suppose that madness comes upon him from time to time, and -that someone called Fernando must have done him a wrong of a grievous -nature such as the condition to which it had brought him seemed to -show. All this has been since then confirmed on those occasions, and -they have been many, on which he has crossed our path, at one time to -beg the shepherds to give him some of the food they carry, at another -to take it from them by force; for when there is a fit of madness upon -him, even though the shepherds offer it freely, he will not accept it -but snatches it from them by dint of blows; but when he is in his -senses he begs it for the love of God, courteously and civilly, and -receives it with many thanks and not a few tears. And to tell you the -truth, sirs,” continued the goatherd, “it was yesterday that we -resolved, I and four of the lads, two of them our servants, and the -other two friends of mine, to go in search of him until we find him, -and when we do to take him, whether by force or of his own consent, to -the town of Almodóvar, which is eight leagues from this, and there -strive to cure him (if indeed his malady admits of a cure), or learn -when he is in his senses who he is, and if he has relatives to whom we -may give notice of his misfortune. This, sirs, is all I can say in -answer to what you have asked me; and be sure that the owner of the -articles you found is he whom you saw pass by with such nimbleness and -so naked.” - -For Don Quixote had already described how he had seen the man go -bounding along the mountainside, and he was now filled with amazement -at what he heard from the goatherd, and more eager than ever to -discover who the unhappy madman was; and in his heart he resolved, as -he had done before, to search for him all over the mountain, not -leaving a corner or cave unexamined until he had found him. But chance -arranged matters better than he expected or hoped, for at that very -moment, in a gorge on the mountain that opened where they stood, the -youth he wished to find made his appearance, coming along talking to -himself in a way that would have been unintelligible near at hand, much -more at a distance. His garb was what has been described, save that as -he drew near, Don Quixote perceived that a tattered doublet which he -wore was amber-tanned, from which he concluded that one who wore such -garments could not be of very low rank. - -Approaching them, the youth greeted them in a harsh and hoarse voice -but with great courtesy. Don Quixote returned his salutation with equal -politeness, and dismounting from Rocinante advanced with well-bred -bearing and grace to embrace him, and held him for some time close in -his arms as if he had known him for a long time. The other, whom we may -call the Ragged One of the Sorry Countenance, as Don Quixote was of the -Rueful, after submitting to the embrace pushed him back a little and, -placing his hands on Don Quixote’s shoulders, stood gazing at him as if -seeking to see whether he knew him, not less amazed, perhaps, at the -sight of the face, figure, and armour of Don Quixote than Don Quixote -was at the sight of him. To be brief, the first to speak after -embracing was the Ragged One, and he said what will be told farther on. - -CHAPTER XXIV. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIERRA MORENA - -The history relates that it was with the greatest attention Don Quixote -listened to the ragged knight of the Sierra, who began by saying: - -“Of a surety, señor, whoever you are, for I know you not, I thank you -for the proofs of kindness and courtesy you have shown me, and would I -were in a condition to requite with something more than good-will that -which you have displayed towards me in the cordial reception you have -given me; but my fate does not afford me any other means of returning -kindnesses done me save the hearty desire to repay them.” - -“Mine,” replied Don Quixote, “is to be of service to you, so much so -that I had resolved not to quit these mountains until I had found you, -and learned of you whether there is any kind of relief to be found for -that sorrow under which from the strangeness of your life you seem to -labour; and to search for you with all possible diligence, if search -had been necessary. And if your misfortune should prove to be one of -those that refuse admission to any sort of consolation, it was my -purpose to join you in lamenting and mourning over it, so far as I -could; for it is still some comfort in misfortune to find one who can -feel for it. And if my good intentions deserve to be acknowledged with -any kind of courtesy, I entreat you, señor, by that which I perceive -you possess in so high a degree, and likewise conjure you by whatever -you love or have loved best in life, to tell me who you are and the -cause that has brought you to live or die in these solitudes like a -brute beast, dwelling among them in a manner so foreign to your -condition as your garb and appearance show. And I swear,” added Don -Quixote, “by the order of knighthood which I have received, and by my -vocation of knight-errant, if you gratify me in this, to serve you with -all the zeal my calling demands of me, either in relieving your -misfortune if it admits of relief, or in joining you in lamenting it as -I promised to do.” - -The Knight of the Thicket, hearing him of the Rueful Countenance talk -in this strain, did nothing but stare at him, and stare at him again, -and again survey him from head to foot; and when he had thoroughly -examined him, he said to him: - -“If you have anything to give me to eat, for God’s sake give it me, and -after I have eaten I will do all you ask in acknowledgment of the -goodwill you have displayed towards me.” - -Sancho from his sack, and the goatherd from his pouch, furnished the -Ragged One with the means of appeasing his hunger, and what they gave -him he ate like a half-witted being, so hastily that he took no time -between mouthfuls, gorging rather than swallowing; and while he ate -neither he nor they who observed him uttered a word. As soon as he had -done he made signs to them to follow him, which they did, and he led -them to a green plot which lay a little farther off round the corner of -a rock. On reaching it he stretched himself upon the grass, and the -others did the same, all keeping silence, until the Ragged One, -settling himself in his place, said: - -“If it is your wish, sirs, that I should disclose in a few words the -surpassing extent of my misfortunes, you must promise not to break the -thread of my sad story with any question or other interruption, for the -instant you do so the tale I tell will come to an end.” - -These words of the Ragged One reminded Don Quixote of the tale his -squire had told him, when he failed to keep count of the goats that had -crossed the river and the story remained unfinished; but to return to -the Ragged One, he went on to say: - -“I give you this warning because I wish to pass briefly over the story -of my misfortunes, for recalling them to memory only serves to add -fresh ones, and the less you question me the sooner shall I make an end -of the recital, though I shall not omit to relate anything of -importance in order fully to satisfy your curiosity.” - -Don Quixote gave the promise for himself and the others, and with this -assurance he began as follows: - -“My name is Cardenio, my birthplace one of the best cities of this -Andalusia, my family noble, my parents rich, my misfortune so great -that my parents must have wept and my family grieved over it without -being able by their wealth to lighten it; for the gifts of fortune can -do little to relieve reverses sent by Heaven. In that same country -there was a heaven in which love had placed all the glory I could -desire; such was the beauty of Luscinda, a damsel as noble and as rich -as I, but of happier fortunes, and of less firmness than was due to so -worthy a passion as mine. This Luscinda I loved, worshipped, and adored -from my earliest and tenderest years, and she loved me in all the -innocence and sincerity of childhood. Our parents were aware of our -feelings, and were not sorry to perceive them, for they saw clearly -that as they ripened they must lead at last to a marriage between us, a -thing that seemed almost prearranged by the equality of our families -and wealth. We grew up, and with our growth grew the love between us, -so that the father of Luscinda felt bound for propriety’s sake to -refuse me admission to his house, in this perhaps imitating the parents -of that Thisbe so celebrated by the poets, and this refusal but added -love to love and flame to flame; for though they enforced silence upon -our tongues they could not impose it upon our pens, which can make -known the heart’s secrets to a loved one more freely than tongues; for -many a time the presence of the object of love shakes the firmest will -and strikes dumb the boldest tongue. Ah heavens! how many letters did I -write her, and how many dainty modest replies did I receive! how many -ditties and love-songs did I compose in which my heart declared and -made known its feelings, described its ardent longings, revelled in its -recollections and dallied with its desires! At length growing impatient -and feeling my heart languishing with longing to see her, I resolved to -put into execution and carry out what seemed to me the best mode of -winning my desired and merited reward, to ask her of her father for my -lawful wife, which I did. To this his answer was that he thanked me for -the disposition I showed to do honour to him and to regard myself as -honoured by the bestowal of his treasure; but that as my father was -alive it was his by right to make this demand, for if it were not in -accordance with his full will and pleasure, Luscinda was not to be -taken or given by stealth. I thanked him for his kindness, reflecting -that there was reason in what he said, and that my father would assent -to it as soon as I should tell him, and with that view I went the very -same instant to let him know what my desires were. When I entered the -room where he was I found him with an open letter in his hand, which, -before I could utter a word, he gave me, saying, ‘By this letter thou -wilt see, Cardenio, the disposition the Duke Ricardo has to serve -thee.’ This Duke Ricardo, as you, sirs, probably know already, is a -grandee of Spain who has his seat in the best part of this Andalusia. I -took and read the letter, which was couched in terms so flattering that -even I myself felt it would be wrong in my father not to comply with -the request the duke made in it, which was that he would send me -immediately to him, as he wished me to become the companion, not -servant, of his eldest son, and would take upon himself the charge of -placing me in a position corresponding to the esteem in which he held -me. On reading the letter my voice failed me, and still more when I -heard my father say, ‘Two days hence thou wilt depart, Cardenio, in -accordance with the duke’s wish, and give thanks to God who is opening -a road to thee by which thou mayest attain what I know thou dost -deserve; and to these words he added others of fatherly counsel. The -time for my departure arrived; I spoke one night to Luscinda, I told -her all that had occurred, as I did also to her father, entreating him -to allow some delay, and to defer the disposal of her hand until I -should see what the Duke Ricardo sought of me: he gave me the promise, -and she confirmed it with vows and swoonings unnumbered. Finally, I -presented myself to the duke, and was received and treated by him so -kindly that very soon envy began to do its work, the old servants -growing envious of me, and regarding the duke’s inclination to show me -favour as an injury to themselves. But the one to whom my arrival gave -the greatest pleasure was the duke’s second son, Fernando by name, a -gallant youth, of noble, generous, and amorous disposition, who very -soon made so intimate a friend of me that it was remarked by everybody; -for though the elder was attached to me, and showed me kindness, he did -not carry his affectionate treatment to the same length as Don -Fernando. It so happened, then, that as between friends no secret -remains unshared, and as the favour I enjoyed with Don Fernando had -grown into friendship, he made all his thoughts known to me, and in -particular a love affair which troubled his mind a little. He was -deeply in love with a peasant girl, a vassal of his father’s, the -daughter of wealthy parents, and herself so beautiful, modest, -discreet, and virtuous, that no one who knew her was able to decide in -which of these respects she was most highly gifted or most excelled. -The attractions of the fair peasant raised the passion of Don Fernando -to such a point that, in order to gain his object and overcome her -virtuous resolutions, he determined to pledge his word to her to become -her husband, for to attempt it in any other way was to attempt an -impossibility. Bound to him as I was by friendship, I strove by the -best arguments and the most forcible examples I could think of to -restrain and dissuade him from such a course; but perceiving I produced -no effect I resolved to make the Duke Ricardo, his father, acquainted -with the matter; but Don Fernando, being sharp-witted and shrewd, -foresaw and apprehended this, perceiving that by my duty as a good -servant I was bound not to keep concealed a thing so much opposed to -the honour of my lord the duke; and so, to mislead and deceive me, he -told me he could find no better way of effacing from his mind the -beauty that so enslaved him than by absenting himself for some months, -and that he wished the absence to be effected by our going, both of us, -to my father’s house under the pretence, which he would make to the -duke, of going to see and buy some fine horses that there were in my -city, which produces the best in the world. When I heard him say so, -even if his resolution had not been so good a one I should have hailed -it as one of the happiest that could be imagined, prompted by my -affection, seeing what a favourable chance and opportunity it offered -me of returning to see my Luscinda. With this thought and wish I -commended his idea and encouraged his design, advising him to put it -into execution as quickly as possible, as, in truth, absence produced -its effect in spite of the most deeply rooted feelings. But, as -afterwards appeared, when he said this to me he had already enjoyed the -peasant girl under the title of husband, and was waiting for an -opportunity of making it known with safety to himself, being in dread -of what his father the duke would do when he came to know of his folly. -It happened, then, that as with young men love is for the most part -nothing more than appetite, which, as its final object is enjoyment, -comes to an end on obtaining it, and that which seemed to be love takes -to flight, as it cannot pass the limit fixed by nature, which fixes no -limit to true love—what I mean is that after Don Fernando had enjoyed -this peasant girl his passion subsided and his eagerness cooled, and if -at first he feigned a wish to absent himself in order to cure his love, -he was now in reality anxious to go to avoid keeping his promise. - -“The duke gave him permission, and ordered me to accompany him; we -arrived at my city, and my father gave him the reception due to his -rank; I saw Luscinda without delay, and, though it had not been dead or -deadened, my love gathered fresh life. To my sorrow I told the story of -it to Don Fernando, for I thought that in virtue of the great -friendship he bore me I was bound to conceal nothing from him. I -extolled her beauty, her gaiety, her wit, so warmly, that my praises -excited in him a desire to see a damsel adorned by such attractions. To -my misfortune I yielded to it, showing her to him one night by the -light of a taper at a window where we used to talk to one another. As -she appeared to him in her dressing-gown, she drove all the beauties he -had seen until then out of his recollection; speech failed him, his -head turned, he was spell-bound, and in the end love-smitten, as you -will see in the course of the story of my misfortune; and to inflame -still further his passion, which he hid from me and revealed to Heaven -alone, it so happened that one day he found a note of hers entreating -me to demand her of her father in marriage, so delicate, so modest, and -so tender, that on reading it he told me that in Luscinda alone were -combined all the charms of beauty and understanding that were -distributed among all the other women in the world. It is true, and I -own it now, that though I knew what good cause Don Fernando had to -praise Luscinda, it gave me uneasiness to hear these praises from his -mouth, and I began to fear, and with reason to feel distrust of him, -for there was no moment when he was not ready to talk of Luscinda, and -he would start the subject himself even though he dragged it in -unseasonably, a circumstance that aroused in me a certain amount of -jealousy; not that I feared any change in the constancy or faith of -Luscinda; but still my fate led me to forebode what she assured me -against. Don Fernando contrived always to read the letters I sent to -Luscinda and her answers to me, under the pretence that he enjoyed the -wit and sense of both. It so happened, then, that Luscinda having -begged of me a book of chivalry to read, one that she was very fond of, -Amadis of Gaul—” - -Don Quixote no sooner heard a book of chivalry mentioned, than he said: - -“Had your worship told me at the beginning of your story that the Lady -Luscinda was fond of books of chivalry, no other laudation would have -been requisite to impress upon me the superiority of her understanding, -for it could not have been of the excellence you describe had a taste -for such delightful reading been wanting; so, as far as I am concerned, -you need waste no more words in describing her beauty, worth, and -intelligence; for, on merely hearing what her taste was, I declare her -to be the most beautiful and the most intelligent woman in the world; -and I wish your worship had, along with Amadis of Gaul, sent her the -worthy Don Rugel of Greece, for I know the Lady Luscinda would greatly -relish Daraida and Garaya, and the shrewd sayings of the shepherd -Darinel, and the admirable verses of his bucolics, sung and delivered -by him with such sprightliness, wit, and ease; but a time may come when -this omission can be remedied, and to rectify it nothing more is needed -than for your worship to be so good as to come with me to my village, -for there I can give you more than three hundred books which are the -delight of my soul and the entertainment of my life;—though it occurs -to me that I have not got one of them now, thanks to the spite of -wicked and envious enchanters;—but pardon me for having broken the -promise we made not to interrupt your discourse; for when I hear -chivalry or knights-errant mentioned, I can no more help talking about -them than the rays of the sun can help giving heat, or those of the -moon moisture; pardon me, therefore, and proceed, for that is more to -the purpose now.” - -While Don Quixote was saying this, Cardenio allowed his head to fall -upon his breast, and seemed plunged in deep thought; and though twice -Don Quixote bade him go on with his story, he neither looked up nor -uttered a word in reply; but after some time he raised his head and -said, “I cannot get rid of the idea, nor will anyone in the world -remove it, or make me think otherwise—and he would be a blockhead who -would hold or believe anything else than that that arrant knave Master -Elisabad made free with Queen Madasima.” - -“That is not true, by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote in high wrath, -turning upon him angrily, as his way was; “and it is a very great -slander, or rather villainy. Queen Madasima was a very illustrious -lady, and it is not to be supposed that so exalted a princess would -have made free with a quack; and whoever maintains the contrary lies -like a great scoundrel, and I will give him to know it, on foot or on -horseback, armed or unarmed, by night or by day, or as he likes best.” - -Cardenio was looking at him steadily, and his mad fit having now come -upon him, he had no disposition to go on with his story, nor would Don -Quixote have listened to it, so much had what he had heard about -Madasima disgusted him. Strange to say, he stood up for her as if she -were in earnest his veritable born lady; to such a pass had his unholy -books brought him. Cardenio, then, being, as I said, now mad, when he -heard himself given the lie, and called a scoundrel and other insulting -names, not relishing the jest, snatched up a stone that he found near -him, and with it delivered such a blow on Don Quixote’s breast that he -laid him on his back. Sancho Panza, seeing his master treated in this -fashion, attacked the madman with his closed fist; but the Ragged One -received him in such a way that with a blow of his fist he stretched -him at his feet, and then mounting upon him crushed his ribs to his own -satisfaction; the goatherd, who came to the rescue, shared the same -fate; and having beaten and pummelled them all he left them and quietly -withdrew to his hiding-place on the mountain. Sancho rose, and with the -rage he felt at finding himself so belaboured without deserving it, ran -to take vengeance on the goatherd, accusing him of not giving them -warning that this man was at times taken with a mad fit, for if they -had known it they would have been on their guard to protect themselves. -The goatherd replied that he had said so, and that if he had not heard -him, that was no fault of his. Sancho retorted, and the goatherd -rejoined, and the altercation ended in their seizing each other by the -beard, and exchanging such fisticuffs that if Don Quixote had not made -peace between them, they would have knocked one another to pieces. - -“Leave me alone, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance,” said Sancho, -grappling with the goatherd, “for of this fellow, who is a clown like -myself, and no dubbed knight, I can safely take satisfaction for the -affront he has offered me, fighting with him hand to hand like an -honest man.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “but I know that he is not to blame -for what has happened.” - -With this he pacified them, and again asked the goatherd if it would be -possible to find Cardenio, as he felt the greatest anxiety to know the -end of his story. The goatherd told him, as he had told him before, -that there was no knowing of a certainty where his lair was; but that -if he wandered about much in that neighbourhood he could not fail to -fall in with him either in or out of his senses. - -CHAPTER XXV. -WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THE STOUT KNIGHT OF -LA MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION OF THE PENANCE OF -BELTENEBROS - -Don Quixote took leave of the goatherd, and once more mounting -Rocinante bade Sancho follow him, which he having no ass, did very -discontentedly. They proceeded slowly, making their way into the most -rugged part of the mountain, Sancho all the while dying to have a talk -with his master, and longing for him to begin, so that there should be -no breach of the injunction laid upon him; but unable to keep silence -so long he said to him: - -“Señor Don Quixote, give me your worship’s blessing and dismissal, for -I’d like to go home at once to my wife and children with whom I can at -any rate talk and converse as much as I like; for to want me to go -through these solitudes day and night and not speak to you when I have -a mind is burying me alive. If luck would have it that animals spoke as -they did in the days of Guisopete, it would not be so bad, because I -could talk to Rocinante about whatever came into my head, and so put up -with my ill-fortune; but it is a hard case, and not to be borne with -patience, to go seeking adventures all one’s life and get nothing but -kicks and blanketings, brickbats and punches, and with all this to have -to sew up one’s mouth without daring to say what is in one’s heart, -just as if one were dumb.” - -“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “thou art dying to -have the interdict I placed upon thy tongue removed; consider it -removed, and say what thou wilt while we are wandering in these -mountains.” - -“So be it,” said Sancho; “let me speak now, for God knows what will -happen by-and-by; and to take advantage of the permit at once, I ask, -what made your worship stand up so for that Queen Majimasa, or whatever -her name is, or what did it matter whether that abbot was a friend of -hers or not? for if your worship had let that pass—and you were not a -judge in the matter—it is my belief the madman would have gone on with -his story, and the blow of the stone, and the kicks, and more than half -a dozen cuffs would have been escaped.” - -“In faith, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “if thou knewest as I do what -an honourable and illustrious lady Queen Madasima was, I know thou -wouldst say I had great patience that I did not break in pieces the -mouth that uttered such blasphemies, for a very great blasphemy it is -to say or imagine that a queen has made free with a surgeon. The truth -of the story is that that Master Elisabad whom the madman mentioned was -a man of great prudence and sound judgment, and served as governor and -physician to the queen, but to suppose that she was his mistress is -nonsense deserving very severe punishment; and as a proof that Cardenio -did not know what he was saying, remember when he said it he was out of -his wits.” - -“That is what I say,” said Sancho; “there was no occasion for minding -the words of a madman; for if good luck had not helped your worship, -and he had sent that stone at your head instead of at your breast, a -fine way we should have been in for standing up for my lady yonder, God -confound her! And then, would not Cardenio have gone free as a madman?” - -“Against men in their senses or against madmen,” said Don Quixote, -“every knight-errant is bound to stand up for the honour of women, -whoever they may be, much more for queens of such high degree and -dignity as Queen Madasima, for whom I have a particular regard on -account of her amiable qualities; for, besides being extremely -beautiful, she was very wise, and very patient under her misfortunes, -of which she had many; and the counsel and society of the Master -Elisabad were a great help and support to her in enduring her -afflictions with wisdom and resignation; hence the ignorant and -ill-disposed vulgar took occasion to say and think that she was his -mistress; and they lie, I say it once more, and will lie two hundred -times more, all who think and say so.” - -“I neither say nor think so,” said Sancho; “let them look to it; with -their bread let them eat it; they have rendered account to God whether -they misbehaved or not; I come from my vineyard, I know nothing; I am -not fond of prying into other men’s lives; he who buys and lies feels -it in his purse; moreover, naked was I born, naked I find myself, I -neither lose nor gain; but if they did, what is that to me? many think -there are flitches where there are no hooks; but who can put gates to -the open plain? moreover they said of God—” - -“God bless me,” said Don Quixote, “what a set of absurdities thou art -stringing together! What has what we are talking about got to do with -the proverbs thou art threading one after the other? for God’s sake -hold thy tongue, Sancho, and henceforward keep to prodding thy ass and -don’t meddle in what does not concern thee; and understand with all thy -five senses that everything I have done, am doing, or shall do, is well -founded on reason and in conformity with the rules of chivalry, for I -understand them better than all the world that profess them.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “is it a good rule of chivalry that we should -go astray through these mountains without path or road, looking for a -madman who when he is found will perhaps take a fancy to finish what he -began, not his story, but your worship’s head and my ribs, and end by -breaking them altogether for us?” - -“Peace, I say again, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for let me tell thee -it is not so much the desire of finding that madman that leads me into -these regions as that which I have of performing among them an -achievement wherewith I shall win eternal name and fame throughout the -known world; and it shall be such that I shall thereby set the seal on -all that can make a knight-errant perfect and famous.” - -“And is it very perilous, this achievement?” - -“No,” replied he of the Rueful Countenance; “though it may be in the -dice that we may throw deuce-ace instead of sixes; but all will depend -on thy diligence.” - -“On my diligence!” said Sancho. - -“Yes,” said Don Quixote, “for if thou dost return soon from the place -where I mean to send thee, my penance will be soon over, and my glory -will soon begin. But as it is not right to keep thee any longer in -suspense, waiting to see what comes of my words, I would have thee -know, Sancho, that the famous Amadis of Gaul was one of the most -perfect knights-errant—I am wrong to say he was one; he stood alone, -the first, the only one, the lord of all that were in the world in his -time. A fig for Don Belianis, and for all who say he equalled him in -any respect, for, my oath upon it, they are deceiving themselves! I -say, too, that when a painter desires to become famous in his art he -endeavours to copy the originals of the rarest painters that he knows; -and the same rule holds good for all the most important crafts and -callings that serve to adorn a state; thus must he who would be -esteemed prudent and patient imitate Ulysses, in whose person and -labours Homer presents to us a lively picture of prudence and patience; -as Virgil, too, shows us in the person of Æneas the virtue of a pious -son and the sagacity of a brave and skilful captain; not representing -or describing them as they were, but as they ought to be, so as to -leave the example of their virtues to posterity. In the same way Amadis -was the polestar, day-star, sun of valiant and devoted knights, whom -all we who fight under the banner of love and chivalry are bound to -imitate. This, then, being so, I consider, friend Sancho, that the -knight-errant who shall imitate him most closely will come nearest to -reaching the perfection of chivalry. Now one of the instances in which -this knight most conspicuously showed his prudence, worth, valour, -endurance, fortitude, and love, was when he withdrew, rejected by the -Lady Oriana, to do penance upon the Peña Pobre, changing his name into -that of Beltenebros, a name assuredly significant and appropriate to -the life which he had voluntarily adopted. So, as it is easier for me -to imitate him in this than in cleaving giants asunder, cutting off -serpents’ heads, slaying dragons, routing armies, destroying fleets, -and breaking enchantments, and as this place is so well suited for a -similar purpose, I must not allow the opportunity to escape which now -so conveniently offers me its forelock.” - -“What is it in reality,” said Sancho, “that your worship means to do in -such an out-of-the-way place as this?” - -“Have I not told thee,” answered Don Quixote, “that I mean to imitate -Amadis here, playing the victim of despair, the madman, the maniac, so -as at the same time to imitate the valiant Don Roland, when at the -fountain he had evidence of the fair Angelica having disgraced herself -with Medoro and through grief thereat went mad, and plucked up trees, -troubled the waters of the clear springs, slew destroyed flocks, burned -down huts, levelled houses, dragged mares after him, and perpetrated a -hundred thousand other outrages worthy of everlasting renown and -record? And though I have no intention of imitating Roland, or Orlando, -or Rotolando (for he went by all these names), step by step in all the -mad things he did, said, and thought, I will make a rough copy to the -best of my power of all that seems to me most essential; but perhaps I -shall content myself with the simple imitation of Amadis, who without -giving way to any mischievous madness but merely to tears and sorrow, -gained as much fame as the most famous.” - -“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that the knights who behaved in this -way had provocation and cause for those follies and penances; but what -cause has your worship for going mad? What lady has rejected you, or -what evidence have you found to prove that the lady Dulcinea del Toboso -has been trifling with Moor or Christian?” - -“There is the point,” replied Don Quixote, “and that is the beauty of -this business of mine; no thanks to a knight-errant for going mad when -he has cause; the thing is to turn crazy without any provocation, and -let my lady know, if I do this in the dry, what I would do in the -moist; moreover I have abundant cause in the long separation I have -endured from my lady till death, Dulcinea del Toboso; for as thou didst -hear that shepherd Ambrosio say the other day, in absence all ills are -felt and feared; and so, friend Sancho, waste no time in advising me -against so rare, so happy, and so unheard-of an imitation; mad I am, -and mad I must be until thou returnest with the answer to a letter that -I mean to send by thee to my lady Dulcinea; and if it be such as my -constancy deserves, my insanity and penance will come to an end; and if -it be to the opposite effect, I shall become mad in earnest, and, being -so, I shall suffer no more; thus in whatever way she may answer I shall -escape from the struggle and affliction in which thou wilt leave me, -enjoying in my senses the boon thou bearest me, or as a madman not -feeling the evil thou bringest me. But tell me, Sancho, hast thou got -Mambrino’s helmet safe? for I saw thee take it up from the ground when -that ungrateful wretch tried to break it in pieces but could not, by -which the fineness of its temper may be seen.” - -To which Sancho made answer, “By the living God, Sir Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, I cannot endure or bear with patience some of the -things that your worship says; and from them I begin to suspect that -all you tell me about chivalry, and winning kingdoms and empires, and -giving islands, and bestowing other rewards and dignities after the -custom of knights-errant, must be all made up of wind and lies, and all -pigments or figments, or whatever we may call them; for what would -anyone think that heard your worship calling a barber’s basin -Mambrino’s helmet without ever seeing the mistake all this time, but -that one who says and maintains such things must have his brains -addled? I have the basin in my sack all dinted, and I am taking it home -to have it mended, to trim my beard in it, if, by God’s grace, I am -allowed to see my wife and children some day or other.” - -“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “by him thou didst swear by just -now I swear thou hast the most limited understanding that any squire in -the world has or ever had. Is it possible that all this time thou hast -been going about with me thou hast never found out that all things -belonging to knights-errant seem to be illusions and nonsense and -ravings, and to go always by contraries? And not because it really is -so, but because there is always a swarm of enchanters in attendance -upon us that change and alter everything with us, and turn things as -they please, and according as they are disposed to aid or destroy us; -thus what seems to thee a barber’s basin seems to me Mambrino’s helmet, -and to another it will seem something else; and rare foresight it was -in the sage who is on my side to make what is really and truly -Mambrino’s helmet seem a basin to everybody, for, being held in such -estimation as it is, all the world would pursue me to rob me of it; but -when they see it is only a barber’s basin they do not take the trouble -to obtain it; as was plainly shown by him who tried to break it, and -left it on the ground without taking it, for, by my faith, had he known -it he would never have left it behind. Keep it safe, my friend, for -just now I have no need of it; indeed, I shall have to take off all -this armour and remain as naked as I was born, if I have a mind to -follow Roland rather than Amadis in my penance.” - -Thus talking they reached the foot of a high mountain which stood like -an isolated peak among the others that surrounded it. Past its base -there flowed a gentle brook, all around it spread a meadow so green and -luxuriant that it was a delight to the eyes to look upon it, and forest -trees in abundance, and shrubs and flowers, added to the charms of the -spot. Upon this place the Knight of the Rueful Countenance fixed his -choice for the performance of his penance, and as he beheld it -exclaimed in a loud voice as though he were out of his senses: - -“This is the place, oh, ye heavens, that I select and choose for -bewailing the misfortune in which ye yourselves have plunged me: this -is the spot where the overflowings of mine eyes shall swell the waters -of yon little brook, and my deep and endless sighs shall stir -unceasingly the leaves of these mountain trees, in testimony and token -of the pain my persecuted heart is suffering. Oh, ye rural deities, -whoever ye be that haunt this lone spot, give ear to the complaint of a -wretched lover whom long absence and brooding jealousy have driven to -bewail his fate among these wilds and complain of the hard heart of -that fair and ungrateful one, the end and limit of all human beauty! -Oh, ye wood nymphs and dryads, that dwell in the thickets of the -forest, so may the nimble wanton satyrs by whom ye are vainly wooed -never disturb your sweet repose, help me to lament my hard fate or at -least weary not at listening to it! Oh, Dulcinea del Toboso, day of my -night, glory of my pain, guide of my path, star of my fortune, so may -Heaven grant thee in full all thou seekest of it, bethink thee of the -place and condition to which absence from thee has brought me, and make -that return in kindness that is due to my fidelity! Oh, lonely trees, -that from this day forward shall bear me company in my solitude, give -me some sign by the gentle movement of your boughs that my presence is -not distasteful to you! Oh, thou, my squire, pleasant companion in my -prosperous and adverse fortunes, fix well in thy memory what thou shalt -see me do here, so that thou mayest relate and report it to the sole -cause of all,” and so saying he dismounted from Rocinante, and in an -instant relieved him of saddle and bridle, and giving him a slap on the -croup, said, “He gives thee freedom who is bereft of it himself, oh -steed as excellent in deed as thou art unfortunate in thy lot; begone -where thou wilt, for thou bearest written on thy forehead that neither -Astolfo’s hippogriff, nor the famed Frontino that cost Bradamante so -dear, could equal thee in speed.” - -Seeing this Sancho said, “Good luck to him who has saved us the trouble -of stripping the pack-saddle off Dapple! By my faith he would not have -gone without a slap on the croup and something said in his praise; -though if he were here I would not let anyone strip him, for there -would be no occasion, as he had nothing of the lover or victim of -despair about him, inasmuch as his master, which I was while it was -God’s pleasure, was nothing of the sort; and indeed, Sir Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, if my departure and your worship’s madness are to -come off in earnest, it will be as well to saddle Rocinante again in -order that he may supply the want of Dapple, because it will save me -time in going and returning: for if I go on foot I don’t know when I -shall get there or when I shall get back, as I am, in truth, a bad -walker.” - -“I declare, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “it shall be as thou wilt, -for thy plan does not seem to me a bad one, and three days hence thou -wilt depart, for I wish thee to observe in the meantime what I do and -say for her sake, that thou mayest be able to tell it.” - -“But what more have I to see besides what I have seen?” said Sancho. - -“Much thou knowest about it!” said Don Quixote. “I have now got to tear -up my garments, to scatter about my armour, knock my head against these -rocks, and more of the same sort of thing, which thou must witness.” - -“For the love of God,” said Sancho, “be careful, your worship, how you -give yourself those knocks on the head, for you may come across such a -rock, and in such a way, that the very first may put an end to the -whole contrivance of this penance; and I should think, if indeed knocks -on the head seem necessary to you, and this business cannot be done -without them, you might be content—as the whole thing is feigned, and -counterfeit, and in joke—you might be content, I say, with giving them -to yourself in the water, or against something soft, like cotton; and -leave it all to me; for I’ll tell my lady that your worship knocked -your head against a point of rock harder than a diamond.” - -“I thank thee for thy good intentions, friend Sancho,” answered Don -Quixote, “but I would have thee know that all these things I am doing -are not in joke, but very much in earnest, for anything else would be a -transgression of the ordinances of chivalry, which forbid us to tell -any lie whatever under the penalties due to apostasy; and to do one -thing instead of another is just the same as lying; so my knocks on the -head must be real, solid, and valid, without anything sophisticated or -fanciful about them, and it will be needful to leave me some lint to -dress my wounds, since fortune has compelled us to do without the -balsam we lost.” - -“It was worse losing the ass,” replied Sancho, “for with him lint and -all were lost; but I beg of your worship not to remind me again of that -accursed liquor, for my soul, not to say my stomach, turns at hearing -the very name of it; and I beg of you, too, to reckon as past the three -days you allowed me for seeing the mad things you do, for I take them -as seen already and pronounced upon, and I will tell wonderful stories -to my lady; so write the letter and send me off at once, for I long to -return and take your worship out of this purgatory where I am leaving -you.” - -“Purgatory dost thou call it, Sancho?” said Don Quixote, “rather call -it hell, or even worse if there be anything worse.” - -“For one who is in hell,” said Sancho, “_nulla est retentio_, as I have -heard say.” - -“I do not understand what _retentio_ means,” said Don Quixote. - -“_Retentio_,” answered Sancho, “means that whoever is in hell never -comes nor can come out of it, which will be the opposite case with your -worship or my legs will be idle, that is if I have spurs to enliven -Rocinante: let me once get to El Toboso and into the presence of my -lady Dulcinea, and I will tell her such things of the follies and -madnesses (for it is all one) that your worship has done and is still -doing, that I will manage to make her softer than a glove though I find -her harder than a cork tree; and with her sweet and honeyed answer I -will come back through the air like a witch, and take your worship out -of this purgatory that seems to be hell but is not, as there is hope of -getting out of it; which, as I have said, those in hell have not, and I -believe your worship will not say anything to the contrary.” - -“That is true,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “but how shall we -manage to write the letter?” - -“And the ass-colt order too,” added Sancho. - -“All shall be included,” said Don Quixote; “and as there is no paper, -it would be well done to write it on the leaves of trees, as the -ancients did, or on tablets of wax; though that would be as hard to -find just now as paper. But it has just occurred to me how it may be -conveniently and even more than conveniently written, and that is in -the notebook that belonged to Cardenio, and thou wilt take care to have -it copied on paper, in a good hand, at the first village thou comest to -where there is a schoolmaster, or if not, any sacristan will copy it; -but see thou give it not to any notary to copy, for they write a law -hand that Satan could not make out.” - -“But what is to be done about the signature?” said Sancho. - -“The letters of Amadis were never signed,” said Don Quixote. - -“That is all very well,” said Sancho, “but the order must needs be -signed, and if it is copied they will say the signature is false, and I -shall be left without ass-colts.” - -“The order shall go signed in the same book,” said Don Quixote, “and on -seeing it my niece will make no difficulty about obeying it; as to the -loveletter thou canst put by way of signature, ‘_Yours till death, the -Knight of the Rueful Countenance._’ And it will be no great matter if -it is in some other person’s hand, for as well as I recollect Dulcinea -can neither read nor write, nor in the whole course of her life has she -seen handwriting or letter of mine, for my love and hers have been -always platonic, not going beyond a modest look, and even that so -seldom that I can safely swear I have not seen her four times in all -these twelve years I have been loving her more than the light of these -eyes that the earth will one day devour; and perhaps even of those four -times she has not once perceived that I was looking at her: such is the -retirement and seclusion in which her father Lorenzo Corchuelo and her -mother Aldonza Nogales have brought her up.” - -“So, so!” said Sancho; “Lorenzo Corchuelo’s daughter is the lady -Dulcinea del Toboso, otherwise called Aldonza Lorenzo?” - -“She it is,” said Don Quixote, “and she it is that is worthy to be lady -of the whole universe.” - -“I know her well,” said Sancho, “and let me tell you she can fling a -crowbar as well as the lustiest lad in all the town. Giver of all good! -but she is a brave lass, and a right and stout one, and fit to be -helpmate to any knight-errant that is or is to be, who may make her his -lady: the whoreson wench, what sting she has and what a voice! I can -tell you one day she posted herself on the top of the belfry of the -village to call some labourers of theirs that were in a ploughed field -of her father’s, and though they were better than half a league off -they heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the tower; and -the best of her is that she is not a bit prudish, for she has plenty of -affability, and jokes with everybody, and has a grin and a jest for -everything. So, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I say you not -only may and ought to do mad freaks for her sake, but you have a good -right to give way to despair and hang yourself; and no one who knows of -it but will say you did well, though the devil should take you; and I -wish I were on my road already, simply to see her, for it is many a day -since I saw her, and she must be altered by this time, for going about -the fields always, and the sun and the air spoil women’s looks greatly. -But I must own the truth to your worship, Señor Don Quixote; until now -I have been under a great mistake, for I believed truly and honestly -that the lady Dulcinea must be some princess your worship was in love -with, or some person great enough to deserve the rich presents you have -sent her, such as the Biscayan and the galley slaves, and many more no -doubt, for your worship must have won many victories in the time when I -was not yet your squire. But all things considered, what good can it do -the lady Aldonza Lorenzo, I mean the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, to have -the vanquished your worship sends or will send coming to her and going -down on their knees before her? Because maybe when they came she’d be -hackling flax or threshing on the threshing floor, and they’d be -ashamed to see her, and she’d laugh, or resent the present.” - -“I have before now told thee many times, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“that thou art a mighty great chatterer, and that with a blunt wit thou -art always striving at sharpness; but to show thee what a fool thou art -and how rational I am, I would have thee listen to a short story. Thou -must know that a certain widow, fair, young, independent, and rich, and -above all free and easy, fell in love with a sturdy strapping young -lay-brother; his superior came to know of it, and one day said to the -worthy widow by way of brotherly remonstrance, ‘I am surprised, señora, -and not without good reason, that a woman of such high standing, so -fair, and so rich as you are, should have fallen in love with such a -mean, low, stupid fellow as So-and-so, when in this house there are so -many masters, graduates, and divinity students from among whom you -might choose as if they were a lot of pears, saying, ‘This one I’ll -take, that I won’t take;’ but she replied to him with great -sprightliness and candour, ‘My dear sir, you are very much mistaken, -and your ideas are very old-fashioned, if you think that I have made a -bad choice in So-and-so, fool as he seems; because for all I want with -him he knows as much and more philosophy than Aristotle.’ In the same -way, Sancho, for all I want with Dulcinea del Toboso she is just as -good as the most exalted princess on earth. It is not to be supposed -that all those poets who sang the praises of ladies under the fancy -names they give them, had any such mistresses. Thinkest thou that the -Amarillises, the Phillises, the Sylvias, the Dianas, the Galateas, the -Fílidas, and all the rest of them, that the books, the ballads, the -barber’s shops, the theatres are full of, were really and truly ladies -of flesh and blood, and mistresses of those that glorify and have -glorified them? Nothing of the kind; they only invent them for the most -part to furnish a subject for their verses, and that they may pass for -lovers, or for men valiant enough to be so; and so it suffices me to -think and believe that the good Aldonza Lorenzo is fair and virtuous; -and as to her pedigree it is very little matter, for no one will -examine into it for the purpose of conferring any order upon her, and -I, for my part, reckon her the most exalted princess in the world. For -thou shouldst know, Sancho, if thou dost not know, that two things -alone beyond all others are incentives to love, and these are great -beauty and a good name, and these two things are to be found in -Dulcinea in the highest degree, for in beauty no one equals her and in -good name few approach her; and to put the whole thing in a nutshell, I -persuade myself that all I say is as I say, neither more nor less, and -I picture her in my imagination as I would have her to be, as well in -beauty as in condition; Helen approaches her not nor does Lucretia come -up to her, nor any other of the famous women of times past, Greek, -Barbarian, or Latin; and let each say what he will, for if in this I am -taken to task by the ignorant, I shall not be censured by the -critical.” - -“I say that your worship is entirely right,” said Sancho, “and that I -am an ass. But I know not how the name of ass came into my mouth, for a -rope is not to be mentioned in the house of him who has been hanged; -but now for the letter, and then, God be with you, I am off.” - -Don Quixote took out the notebook, and, retiring to one side, very -deliberately began to write the letter, and when he had finished it he -called to Sancho, saying he wished to read it to him, so that he might -commit it to memory, in case of losing it on the road; for with evil -fortune like his anything might be apprehended. To which Sancho -replied, “Write it two or three times there in the book and give it to -me, and I will carry it very carefully, because to expect me to keep it -in my memory is all nonsense, for I have such a bad one that I often -forget my own name; but for all that repeat it to me, as I shall like -to hear it, for surely it will run as if it was in print.” - -“Listen,” said Don Quixote, “this is what it says: - -_“Don Quixote’s Letter to Dulcinea del Toboso_ - -“Sovereign and exalted Lady,—The pierced by the point of absence, the -wounded to the heart’s core, sends thee, sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, -the health that he himself enjoys not. If thy beauty despises me, if -thy worth is not for me, if thy scorn is my affliction, though I be -sufficiently long-suffering, hardly shall I endure this anxiety, which, -besides being oppressive, is protracted. My good squire Sancho will -relate to thee in full, fair ingrate, dear enemy, the condition to -which I am reduced on thy account: if it be thy pleasure to give me -relief, I am thine; if not, do as may be pleasing to thee; for by -ending my life I shall satisfy thy cruelty and my desire. - “Thine till death, - “The Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” - -“By the life of my father,” said Sancho, when he heard the letter, “it -is the loftiest thing I ever heard. Body of me! how your worship says -everything as you like in it! And how well you fit in ‘The Knight of -the Rueful Countenance’ into the signature. I declare your worship is -indeed the very devil, and there is nothing you don’t know.” - -“Everything is needed for the calling I follow,” said Don Quixote. - -“Now then,” said Sancho, “let your worship put the order for the three -ass-colts on the other side, and sign it very plainly, that they may -recognise it at first sight.” - -“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and as he had written it he read -it to this effect: - -“Mistress Niece,—By this first of ass-colts please pay to Sancho Panza, -my squire, three of the five I left at home in your charge: said three -ass-colts to be paid and delivered for the same number received here in -hand, which upon this and upon his receipt shall be duly paid. Done in -the heart of the Sierra Morena, the twenty-seventh of August of this -present year.” - -“That will do,” said Sancho; “now let your worship sign it.” - -“There is no need to sign it,” said Don Quixote, “but merely to put my -flourish, which is the same as a signature, and enough for three asses, -or even three hundred.” - -“I can trust your worship,” returned Sancho; “let me go and saddle -Rocinante, and be ready to give me your blessing, for I mean to go at -once without seeing the fooleries your worship is going to do; I’ll say -I saw you do so many that she will not want any more.” - -“At any rate, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I should like—and there is -reason for it—I should like thee, I say, to see me stripped to the skin -and performing a dozen or two of insanities, which I can get done in -less than half an hour; for having seen them with thine own eyes, thou -canst then safely swear to the rest that thou wouldst add; and I -promise thee thou wilt not tell of as many as I mean to perform.” - -“For the love of God, master mine,” said Sancho, “let me not see your -worship stripped, for it will sorely grieve me, and I shall not be able -to keep from tears, and my head aches so with all I shed last night for -Dapple, that I am not fit to begin any fresh weeping; but if it is your -worship’s pleasure that I should see some insanities, do them in your -clothes, short ones, and such as come readiest to hand; for I myself -want nothing of the sort, and, as I have said, it will be a saving of -time for my return, which will be with the news your worship desires -and deserves. If not, let the lady Dulcinea look to it; if she does not -answer reasonably, I swear as solemnly as I can that I will fetch a -fair answer out of her stomach with kicks and cuffs; for why should it -be borne that a knight-errant as famous as your worship should go mad -without rhyme or reason for a—? Her ladyship had best not drive me to -say it, for by God I will speak out and let off everything cheap, even -if it doesn’t sell: I am pretty good at that! she little knows me; -faith, if she knew me she’d be in awe of me.” - -“In faith, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to all appearance thou art no -sounder in thy wits than I.” - -“I am not so mad,” answered Sancho, “but I am more peppery; but apart -from all this, what has your worship to eat until I come back? Will you -sally out on the road like Cardenio to force it from the shepherds?” - -“Let not that anxiety trouble thee,” replied Don Quixote, “for even if -I had it I should not eat anything but the herbs and the fruits which -this meadow and these trees may yield me; the beauty of this business -of mine lies in not eating, and in performing other mortifications.” - -“Do you know what I am afraid of?” said Sancho upon this; “that I shall -not be able to find my way back to this spot where I am leaving you, it -is such an out-of-the-way place.” - -“Observe the landmarks well,” said Don Quixote, “for I will try not to -go far from this neighbourhood, and I will even take care to mount the -highest of these rocks to see if I can discover thee returning; -however, not to miss me and lose thyself, the best plan will be to cut -some branches of the broom that is so abundant about here, and as thou -goest to lay them at intervals until thou hast come out upon the plain; -these will serve thee, after the fashion of the clue in the labyrinth -of Theseus, as marks and signs for finding me on thy return.” - -“So I will,” said Sancho Panza, and having cut some, he asked his -master’s blessing, and not without many tears on both sides, took his -leave of him, and mounting Rocinante, of whom Don Quixote charged him -earnestly to have as much care as of his own person, he set out for the -plain, strewing at intervals the branches of broom as his master had -recommended him; and so he went his way, though Don Quixote still -entreated him to see him do were it only a couple of mad acts. He had -not gone a hundred paces, however, when he returned and said: - -“I must say, señor, your worship said quite right, that in order to be -able to swear without a weight on my conscience that I had seen you do -mad things, it would be well for me to see if it were only one; though -in your worship’s remaining here I have seen a very great one.” - -“Did I not tell thee so?” said Don Quixote. “Wait, Sancho, and I will -do them in the saying of a credo,” and pulling off his breeches in all -haste he stripped himself to his skin and his shirt, and then, without -more ado, he cut a couple of gambados in the air, and a couple of -somersaults, heels over head, making such a display that, not to see it -a second time, Sancho wheeled Rocinante round, and felt easy, and -satisfied in his mind that he could swear he had left his master mad; -and so we will leave him to follow his road until his return, which was -a quick one. - -CHAPTER XXVI. -IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHEREWITH DON QUIXOTE PLAYED THE -PART OF A LOVER IN THE SIERRA MORENA - -Returning to the proceedings of him of the Rueful Countenance when he -found himself alone, the history says that when Don Quixote had -completed the performance of the somersaults or capers, naked from the -waist down and clothed from the waist up, and saw that Sancho had gone -off without waiting to see any more crazy feats, he climbed up to the -top of a high rock, and there set himself to consider what he had -several times before considered without ever coming to any conclusion -on the point, namely whether it would be better and more to his purpose -to imitate the outrageous madness of Roland, or the melancholy madness -of Amadis; and communing with himself he said: - -“What wonder is it if Roland was so good a knight and so valiant as -everyone says he was, when, after all, he was enchanted, and nobody -could kill him save by thrusting a corking pin into the sole of his -foot, and he always wore shoes with seven iron soles? Though cunning -devices did not avail him against Bernardo del Carpio, who knew all -about them, and strangled him in his arms at Roncesvalles. But putting -the question of his valour aside, let us come to his losing his wits, -for certain it is that he did lose them in consequence of the proofs he -discovered at the fountain, and the intelligence the shepherd gave him -of Angelica having slept more than two siestas with Medoro, a little -curly-headed Moor, and page to Agramante. If he was persuaded that this -was true, and that his lady had wronged him, it is no wonder that he -should have gone mad; but I, how am I to imitate him in his madness, -unless I can imitate him in the cause of it? For my Dulcinea, I will -venture to swear, never saw a Moor in her life, as he is, in his proper -costume, and she is this day as the mother that bore her, and I should -plainly be doing her a wrong if, fancying anything else, I were to go -mad with the same kind of madness as Roland the Furious. On the other -hand, I see that Amadis of Gaul, without losing his senses and without -doing anything mad, acquired as a lover as much fame as the most -famous; for, according to his history, on finding himself rejected by -his lady Oriana, who had ordered him not to appear in her presence -until it should be her pleasure, all he did was to retire to the Peña -Pobre in company with a hermit, and there he took his fill of weeping -until Heaven sent him relief in the midst of his great grief and need. -And if this be true, as it is, why should I now take the trouble to -strip stark naked, or do mischief to these trees which have done me no -harm, or why am I to disturb the clear waters of these brooks which -will give me to drink whenever I have a mind? Long live the memory of -Amadis and let him be imitated so far as is possible by Don Quixote of -La Mancha, of whom it will be said, as was said of the other, that if -he did not achieve great things, he died in attempting them; and if I -am not repulsed or rejected by my Dulcinea, it is enough for me, as I -have said, to be absent from her. And so, now to business; come to my -memory ye deeds of Amadis, and show me how I am to begin to imitate -you. I know already that what he chiefly did was to pray and commend -himself to God; but what am I to do for a rosary, for I have not got -one?” - -And then it occurred to him how he might make one, and that was by -tearing a great strip off the tail of his shirt which hung down, and -making eleven knots on it, one bigger than the rest, and this served -him for a rosary all the time he was there, during which he repeated -countless ave-marias. But what distressed him greatly was not having -another hermit there to confess him and receive consolation from; and -so he solaced himself with pacing up and down the little meadow, and -writing and carving on the bark of the trees and on the fine sand a -multitude of verses all in harmony with his sadness, and some in praise -of Dulcinea; but, when he was found there afterwards, the only ones -completely legible that could be discovered were those that follow -here: - -Ye on the mountainside that grow, -Ye green things all, trees, shrubs, and bushes, -Are ye aweary of the woe -That this poor aching bosom crushes? -If it disturb you, and I owe -Some reparation, it may be a -Defence for me to let you know -Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, -And all for distant Dulcinea -Del Toboso. - -The lealest lover time can show, -Doomed for a lady-love to languish, -Among these solitudes doth go, -A prey to every kind of anguish. -Why Love should like a spiteful foe -Thus use him, he hath no idea, -But hogsheads full—this doth he know— -Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, -And all for distant Dulcinea -Del Toboso. - -Adventure-seeking doth he go -Up rugged heights, down rocky valleys, -But hill or dale, or high or low, -Mishap attendeth all his sallies: -Love still pursues him to and fro, -And plies his cruel scourge—ah me! a -Relentless fate, an endless woe; -Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, -And all for distant Dulcinea -Del Toboso. - -The addition of “Del Toboso” to Dulcinea’s name gave rise to no little -laughter among those who found the above lines, for they suspected Don -Quixote must have fancied that unless he added “del Toboso” when he -introduced the name of Dulcinea the verse would be unintelligible; -which was indeed the fact, as he himself afterwards admitted. He wrote -many more, but, as has been said, these three verses were all that -could be plainly and perfectly deciphered. In this way, and in sighing -and calling on the fauns and satyrs of the woods and the nymphs of the -streams, and Echo, moist and mournful, to answer, console, and hear -him, as well as in looking for herbs to sustain him, he passed his time -until Sancho’s return; and had that been delayed three weeks, as it was -three days, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance would have worn such -an altered countenance that the mother that bore him would not have -known him: and here it will be well to leave him, wrapped up in sighs -and verses, to relate how Sancho Panza fared on his mission. - -As for him, coming out upon the high road, he made for El Toboso, and -the next day reached the inn where the mishap of the blanket had -befallen him. As soon as he recognised it he felt as if he were once -more living through the air, and he could not bring himself to enter it -though it was an hour when he might well have done so, for it was -dinner-time, and he longed to taste something hot as it had been all -cold fare with him for many days past. This craving drove him to draw -near to the inn, still undecided whether to go in or not, and as he was -hesitating there came out two persons who at once recognised him, and -said one to the other: - -“Señor licentiate, is not he on the horse there Sancho Panza who, our -adventurer’s housekeeper told us, went off with her master as esquire?” - -“So it is,” said the licentiate, “and that is our friend Don Quixote’s -horse;” and if they knew him so well it was because they were the -curate and the barber of his own village, the same who had carried out -the scrutiny and sentence upon the books; and as soon as they -recognised Sancho Panza and Rocinante, being anxious to hear of Don -Quixote, they approached, and calling him by his name the curate said, -“Friend Sancho Panza, where is your master?” - -Sancho recognised them at once, and determined to keep secret the place -and circumstances where and under which he had left his master, so he -replied that his master was engaged in a certain quarter on a certain -matter of great importance to him which he could not disclose for the -eyes in his head. - -“Nay, nay,” said the barber, “if you don’t tell us where he is, Sancho -Panza, we will suspect as we suspect already, that you have murdered -and robbed him, for here you are mounted on his horse; in fact, you -must produce the master of the hack, or else take the consequences.” - -“There is no need of threats with me,” said Sancho, “for I am not a man -to rob or murder anybody; let his own fate, or God who made him, kill -each one; my master is engaged very much to his taste doing penance in -the midst of these mountains;” and then, offhand and without stopping, -he told them how he had left him, what adventures had befallen him, and -how he was carrying a letter to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, the -daughter of Lorenzo Corchuelo, with whom he was over head and ears in -love. They were both amazed at what Sancho Panza told them; for though -they were aware of Don Quixote’s madness and the nature of it, each -time they heard of it they were filled with fresh wonder. They then -asked Sancho Panza to show them the letter he was carrying to the lady -Dulcinea del Toboso. He said it was written in a notebook, and that his -master’s directions were that he should have it copied on paper at the -first village he came to. On this the curate said if he showed it to -him, he himself would make a fair copy of it. Sancho put his hand into -his bosom in search of the notebook but could not find it, nor, if he -had been searching until now, could he have found it, for Don Quixote -had kept it, and had never given it to him, nor had he himself thought -of asking for it. When Sancho discovered he could not find the book his -face grew deadly pale, and in great haste he again felt his body all -over, and seeing plainly it was not to be found, without more ado he -seized his beard with both hands and plucked away half of it, and then, -as quick as he could and without stopping, gave himself half a dozen -cuffs on the face and nose till they were bathed in blood. - -Seeing this, the curate and the barber asked him what had happened him -that he gave himself such rough treatment. - -“What should happen to me?” replied Sancho, “but to have lost from one -hand to the other, in a moment, three ass-colts, each of them like a -castle?” - -“How is that?” said the barber. - -“I have lost the notebook,” said Sancho, “that contained the letter to -Dulcinea, and an order signed by my master in which he directed his -niece to give me three ass-colts out of four or five he had at home;” -and he then told them about the loss of Dapple. - -The curate consoled him, telling him that when his master was found he -would get him to renew the order, and make a fresh draft on paper, as -was usual and customary; for those made in notebooks were never -accepted or honoured. - -Sancho comforted himself with this, and said if that were so the loss -of Dulcinea’s letter did not trouble him much, for he had it almost by -heart, and it could be taken down from him wherever and whenever they -liked. - -“Repeat it then, Sancho,” said the barber, “and we will write it down -afterwards.” - -Sancho Panza stopped to scratch his head to bring back the letter to -his memory, and balanced himself now on one foot, now the other, one -moment staring at the ground, the next at the sky, and after having -half gnawed off the end of a finger and kept them in suspense waiting -for him to begin, he said, after a long pause, “By God, señor -licentiate, devil a thing can I recollect of the letter; but it said at -the beginning, ‘Exalted and scrubbing Lady.’” - -“It cannot have said ‘scrubbing,’” said the barber, “but ‘superhuman’ -or ‘sovereign.’” - -“That is it,” said Sancho; “then, as well as I remember, it went on, -‘The wounded, and wanting of sleep, and the pierced, kisses your -worship’s hands, ungrateful and very unrecognised fair one; and it said -something or other about health and sickness that he was sending her; -and from that it went tailing off until it ended with ‘Yours till -death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’” - -It gave them no little amusement, both of them, to see what a good -memory Sancho had, and they complimented him greatly upon it, and -begged him to repeat the letter a couple of times more, so that they -too might get it by heart to write it out by-and-by. Sancho repeated it -three times, and as he did, uttered three thousand more absurdities; -then he told them more about his master but he never said a word about -the blanketing that had befallen himself in that inn, into which he -refused to enter. He told them, moreover, how his lord, if he brought -him a favourable answer from the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was to put -himself in the way of endeavouring to become an emperor, or at least a -monarch; for it had been so settled between them, and with his personal -worth and the might of his arm it was an easy matter to come to be one: -and how on becoming one his lord was to make a marriage for him (for he -would be a widower by that time, as a matter of course) and was to give -him as a wife one of the damsels of the empress, the heiress of some -rich and grand state on the mainland, having nothing to do with islands -of any sort, for he did not care for them now. All this Sancho -delivered with so much composure—wiping his nose from time to time—and -with so little common-sense that his two hearers were again filled with -wonder at the force of Don Quixote’s madness that could run away with -this poor man’s reason. They did not care to take the trouble of -disabusing him of his error, as they considered that since it did not -in any way hurt his conscience it would be better to leave him in it, -and they would have all the more amusement in listening to his -simplicities; and so they bade him pray to God for his lord’s health, -as it was a very likely and a very feasible thing for him in course of -time to come to be an emperor, as he said, or at least an archbishop or -some other dignitary of equal rank. - -To which Sancho made answer, “If fortune, sirs, should bring things -about in such a way that my master should have a mind, instead of being -an emperor, to be an archbishop, I should like to know what -archbishops-errant commonly give their squires?” - -“They commonly give them,” said the curate, some simple benefice or -cure, or some place as sacristan which brings them a good fixed income, -not counting the altar fees, which may be reckoned at as much more.” - -“But for that,” said Sancho, “the squire must be unmarried, and must -know, at any rate, how to help at mass, and if that be so, woe is me, -for I am married already and I don’t know the first letter of the A B -C. What will become of me if my master takes a fancy to be an -archbishop and not an emperor, as is usual and customary with -knights-errant?” - -“Be not uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the barber, “for we will entreat -your master, and advise him, even urging it upon him as a case of -conscience, to become an emperor and not an archbishop, because it will -be easier for him as he is more valiant than lettered.” - -“So I have thought,” said Sancho; “though I can tell you he is fit for -anything: what I mean to do for my part is to pray to our Lord to place -him where it may be best for him, and where he may be able to bestow -most favours upon me.” - -“You speak like a man of sense,” said the curate, “and you will be -acting like a good Christian; but what must now be done is to take -steps to coax your master out of that useless penance you say he is -performing; and we had best turn into this inn to consider what plan to -adopt, and also to dine, for it is now time.” - -Sancho said they might go in, but that he would wait there outside, and -that he would tell them afterwards the reason why he was unwilling, and -why it did not suit him to enter it; but he begged them to bring him -out something to eat, and to let it be hot, and also to bring barley -for Rocinante. They left him and went in, and presently the barber -brought him out something to eat. By-and-by, after they had between -them carefully thought over what they should do to carry out their -object, the curate hit upon an idea very well adapted to humour Don -Quixote, and effect their purpose; and his notion, which he explained -to the barber, was that he himself should assume the disguise of a -wandering damsel, while the other should try as best he could to pass -for a squire, and that they should thus proceed to where Don Quixote -was, and he, pretending to be an aggrieved and distressed damsel, -should ask a favour of him, which as a valiant knight-errant he could -not refuse to grant; and the favour he meant to ask him was that he -should accompany her whither she would conduct him, in order to redress -a wrong which a wicked knight had done her, while at the same time she -should entreat him not to require her to remove her mask, nor ask her -any question touching her circumstances until he had righted her with -the wicked knight. And he had no doubt that Don Quixote would comply -with any request made in these terms, and that in this way they might -remove him and take him to his own village, where they would endeavour -to find out if his extraordinary madness admitted of any kind of -remedy. - -CHAPTER XXVII. -OF HOW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED WITH THEIR SCHEME; TOGETHER -WITH OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT HISTORY - -The curate’s plan did not seem a bad one to the barber, but on the -contrary so good that they immediately set about putting it in -execution. They begged a petticoat and hood of the landlady, leaving -her in pledge a new cassock of the curate’s; and the barber made a -beard out of a grey-brown or red ox-tail in which the landlord used to -stick his comb. The landlady asked them what they wanted these things -for, and the curate told her in a few words about the madness of Don -Quixote, and how this disguise was intended to get him away from the -mountain where he then was. The landlord and landlady immediately came -to the conclusion that the madman was their guest, the balsam man and -master of the blanketed squire, and they told the curate all that had -passed between him and them, not omitting what Sancho had been so -silent about. Finally the landlady dressed up the curate in a style -that left nothing to be desired; she put on him a cloth petticoat with -black velvet stripes a palm broad, all slashed, and a bodice of green -velvet set off by a binding of white satin, which as well as the -petticoat must have been made in the time of king Wamba. The curate -would not let them hood him, but put on his head a little quilted linen -cap which he used for a night-cap, and bound his forehead with a strip -of black silk, while with another he made a mask with which he -concealed his beard and face very well. He then put on his hat, which -was broad enough to serve him for an umbrella, and enveloping himself -in his cloak seated himself woman-fashion on his mule, while the barber -mounted his with a beard down to the waist of mingled red and white, -for it was, as has been said, the tail of a clay-red ox. - -They took leave of all, and of the good Maritornes, who, sinner as she -was, promised to pray a rosary of prayers that God might grant them -success in such an arduous and Christian undertaking as that they had -in hand. But hardly had he sallied forth from the inn when it struck -the curate that he was doing wrong in rigging himself out in that -fashion, as it was an indecorous thing for a priest to dress himself -that way even though much might depend upon it; and saying so to the -barber he begged him to change dresses, as it was fitter he should be -the distressed damsel, while he himself would play the squire’s part, -which would be less derogatory to his dignity; otherwise he was -resolved to have nothing more to do with the matter, and let the devil -take Don Quixote. Just at this moment Sancho came up, and on seeing the -pair in such a costume he was unable to restrain his laughter; the -barber, however, agreed to do as the curate wished, and, altering their -plan, the curate went on to instruct him how to play his part and what -to say to Don Quixote to induce and compel him to come with them and -give up his fancy for the place he had chosen for his idle penance. The -barber told him he could manage it properly without any instruction, -and as he did not care to dress himself up until they were near where -Don Quixote was, he folded up the garments, and the curate adjusted his -beard, and they set out under the guidance of Sancho Panza, who went -along telling them of the encounter with the madman they met in the -Sierra, saying nothing, however, about the finding of the valise and -its contents; for with all his simplicity the lad was a trifle -covetous. - -The next day they reached the place where Sancho had laid the -broom-branches as marks to direct him to where he had left his master, -and recognising it he told them that here was the entrance, and that -they would do well to dress themselves, if that was required to deliver -his master; for they had already told him that going in this guise and -dressing in this way were of the highest importance in order to rescue -his master from the pernicious life he had adopted; and they charged -him strictly not to tell his master who they were, or that he knew -them, and should he ask, as ask he would, if he had given the letter to -Dulcinea, to say that he had, and that, as she did not know how to -read, she had given an answer by word of mouth, saying that she -commanded him, on pain of her displeasure, to come and see her at once; -and it was a very important matter for himself, because in this way and -with what they meant to say to him they felt sure of bringing him back -to a better mode of life and inducing him to take immediate steps to -become an emperor or monarch, for there was no fear of his becoming an -archbishop. All this Sancho listened to and fixed it well in his -memory, and thanked them heartily for intending to recommend his master -to be an emperor instead of an archbishop, for he felt sure that in the -way of bestowing rewards on their squires emperors could do more than -archbishops-errant. He said, too, that it would be as well for him to -go on before them to find him, and give him his lady’s answer; for that -perhaps might be enough to bring him away from the place without -putting them to all this trouble. They approved of what Sancho -proposed, and resolved to wait for him until he brought back word of -having found his master. - -Sancho pushed on into the glens of the Sierra, leaving them in one -through which there flowed a little gentle rivulet, and where the rocks -and trees afforded a cool and grateful shade. It was an August day with -all the heat of one, and the heat in those parts is intense, and the -hour was three in the afternoon, all which made the spot the more -inviting and tempted them to wait there for Sancho’s return, which they -did. They were reposing, then, in the shade, when a voice unaccompanied -by the notes of any instrument, but sweet and pleasing in its tone, -reached their ears, at which they were not a little astonished, as the -place did not seem to them likely quarters for one who sang so well; -for though it is often said that shepherds of rare voice are to be -found in the woods and fields, this is rather a flight of the poet’s -fancy than the truth. And still more surprised were they when they -perceived that what they heard sung were the verses not of rustic -shepherds, but of the polished wits of the city; and so it proved, for -the verses they heard were these: - -What makes my quest of happiness seem vain? -Disdain. -What bids me to abandon hope of ease? -Jealousies. -What holds my heart in anguish of suspense? -Absence. -If that be so, then for my grief -Where shall I turn to seek relief, -When hope on every side lies slain -By Absence, Jealousies, Disdain? - -What the prime cause of all my woe doth prove? -Love. -What at my glory ever looks askance? -Chance. -Whence is permission to afflict me given? -Heaven. -If that be so, I but await -The stroke of a resistless fate, -Since, working for my woe, these three, -Love, Chance and Heaven, in league I see. - -What must I do to find a remedy? -Die. -What is the lure for love when coy and strange? -Change. -What, if all fail, will cure the heart of sadness? -Madness. -If that be so, it is but folly -To seek a cure for melancholy: -Ask where it lies; the answer saith -In Change, in Madness, or in Death. - -The hour, the summer season, the solitary place, the voice and skill of -the singer, all contributed to the wonder and delight of the two -listeners, who remained still waiting to hear something more; finding, -however, that the silence continued some little time, they resolved to -go in search of the musician who sang with so fine a voice; but just as -they were about to do so they were checked by the same voice, which -once more fell upon their ears, singing this - -SONNET - -When heavenward, holy Friendship, thou didst go -Soaring to seek thy home beyond the sky, -And take thy seat among the saints on high, -It was thy will to leave on earth below -Thy semblance, and upon it to bestow -Thy veil, wherewith at times hypocrisy, -Parading in thy shape, deceives the eye, -And makes its vileness bright as virtue show. -Friendship, return to us, or force the cheat -That wears it now, thy livery to restore, -By aid whereof sincerity is slain. -If thou wilt not unmask thy counterfeit, -This earth will be the prey of strife once more, -As when primæval discord held its reign. - -The song ended with a deep sigh, and again the listeners remained -waiting attentively for the singer to resume; but perceiving that the -music had now turned to sobs and heart-rending moans they determined to -find out who the unhappy being could be whose voice was as rare as his -sighs were piteous, and they had not proceeded far when on turning the -corner of a rock they discovered a man of the same aspect and -appearance as Sancho had described to them when he told them the story -of Cardenio. He, showing no astonishment when he saw them, stood still -with his head bent down upon his breast like one in deep thought, -without raising his eyes to look at them after the first glance when -they suddenly came upon him. The curate, who was aware of his -misfortune and recognised him by the description, being a man of good -address, approached him and in a few sensible words entreated and urged -him to quit a life of such misery, lest he should end it there, which -would be the greatest of all misfortunes. Cardenio was then in his -right mind, free from any attack of that madness which so frequently -carried him away, and seeing them dressed in a fashion so unusual among -the frequenters of those wilds, could not help showing some surprise, -especially when he heard them speak of his case as if it were a -well-known matter (for the curate’s words gave him to understand as -much) so he replied to them thus: - -“I see plainly, sirs, whoever you may be, that Heaven, whose care it is -to succour the good, and even the wicked very often, here, in this -remote spot, cut off from human intercourse, sends me, though I deserve -it not, those who seek to draw me away from this to some better -retreat, showing me by many and forcible arguments how unreasonably I -act in leading the life I do; but as they know, that if I escape from -this evil I shall fall into another still greater, perhaps they will -set me down as a weak-minded man, or, what is worse, one devoid of -reason; nor would it be any wonder, for I myself can perceive that the -effect of the recollection of my misfortunes is so great and works so -powerfully to my ruin, that in spite of myself I become at times like a -stone, without feeling or consciousness; and I come to feel the truth -of it when they tell me and show me proofs of the things I have done -when the terrible fit overmasters me; and all I can do is bewail my lot -in vain, and idly curse my destiny, and plead for my madness by telling -how it was caused, to any that care to hear it; for no reasonable -beings on learning the cause will wonder at the effects; and if they -cannot help me at least they will not blame me, and the repugnance they -feel at my wild ways will turn into pity for my woes. If it be, sirs, -that you are here with the same design as others have come with, before -you proceed with your wise arguments, I entreat you to hear the story -of my countless misfortunes, for perhaps when you have heard it you -will spare yourselves the trouble you would take in offering -consolation to grief that is beyond the reach of it.” - -As they, both of them, desired nothing more than to hear from his own -lips the cause of his suffering, they entreated him to tell it, -promising not to do anything for his relief or comfort that he did not -wish; and thereupon the unhappy gentleman began his sad story in nearly -the same words and manner in which he had related it to Don Quixote and -the goatherd a few days before, when, through Master Elisabad, and Don -Quixote’s scrupulous observance of what was due to chivalry, the tale -was left unfinished, as this history has already recorded; but now -fortunately the mad fit kept off, allowed him to tell it to the end; -and so, coming to the incident of the note which Don Fernando had found -in the volume of “Amadis of Gaul,” Cardenio said that he remembered it -perfectly and that it was in these words: - -“_Luscinda to Cardenio._ - -“Every day I discover merits in you that oblige and compel me to hold -you in higher estimation; so if you desire to relieve me of this -obligation without cost to my honour, you may easily do so. I have a -father who knows you and loves me dearly, who without putting any -constraint on my inclination will grant what will be reasonable for you -to have, if it be that you value me as you say and as I believe you -do.” - -“By this letter I was induced, as I told you, to demand Luscinda for my -wife, and it was through it that Luscinda came to be regarded by Don -Fernando as one of the most discreet and prudent women of the day, and -this letter it was that suggested his design of ruining me before mine -could be carried into effect. I told Don Fernando that all Luscinda’s -father was waiting for was that mine should ask her of him, which I did -not dare to suggest to him, fearing that he would not consent to do so; -not because he did not know perfectly well the rank, goodness, virtue, -and beauty of Luscinda, and that she had qualities that would do honour -to any family in Spain, but because I was aware that he did not wish me -to marry so soon, before seeing what the Duke Ricardo would do for me. -In short, I told him I did not venture to mention it to my father, as -well on account of that difficulty, as of many others that discouraged -me though I knew not well what they were, only that it seemed to me -that what I desired was never to come to pass. To all this Don Fernando -answered that he would take it upon himself to speak to my father, and -persuade him to speak to Luscinda’s father. O, ambitious Marius! O, -cruel Catiline! O, wicked Sylla! O, perfidious Ganelon! O, treacherous -Vellido! O, vindictive Julian! O, covetous Judas! Traitor, cruel, -vindictive, and perfidious, wherein had this poor wretch failed in his -fidelity, who with such frankness showed thee the secrets and the joys -of his heart? What offence did I commit? What words did I utter, or -what counsels did I give that had not the furtherance of thy honour and -welfare for their aim? But, woe is me, wherefore do I complain? for -sure it is that when misfortunes spring from the stars, descending from -on high they fall upon us with such fury and violence that no power on -earth can check their course nor human device stay their coming. Who -could have thought that Don Fernando, a highborn gentleman, -intelligent, bound to me by gratitude for my services, one that could -win the object of his love wherever he might set his affections, could -have become so obdurate, as they say, as to rob me of my one ewe lamb -that was not even yet in my possession? But laying aside these useless -and unavailing reflections, let us take up the broken thread of my -unhappy story. - -“To proceed, then: Don Fernando finding my presence an obstacle to the -execution of his treacherous and wicked design, resolved to send me to -his elder brother under the pretext of asking money from him to pay for -six horses which, purposely, and with the sole object of sending me -away that he might the better carry out his infernal scheme, he had -purchased the very day he offered to speak to my father, and the price -of which he now desired me to fetch. Could I have anticipated this -treachery? Could I by any chance have suspected it? Nay; so far from -that, I offered with the greatest pleasure to go at once, in my -satisfaction at the good bargain that had been made. That night I spoke -with Luscinda, and told her what had been agreed upon with Don -Fernando, and how I had strong hopes of our fair and reasonable wishes -being realised. She, as unsuspicious as I was of the treachery of Don -Fernando, bade me try to return speedily, as she believed the -fulfilment of our desires would be delayed only so long as my father -put off speaking to hers. I know not why it was that on saying this to -me her eyes filled with tears, and there came a lump in her throat that -prevented her from uttering a word of many more that it seemed to me -she was striving to say to me. I was astonished at this unusual turn, -which I never before observed in her. for we always conversed, whenever -good fortune and my ingenuity gave us the chance, with the greatest -gaiety and cheerfulness, mingling tears, sighs, jealousies, doubts, or -fears with our words; it was all on my part a eulogy of my good fortune -that Heaven should have given her to me for my mistress; I glorified -her beauty, I extolled her worth and her understanding; and she paid me -back by praising in me what in her love for me she thought worthy of -praise; and besides we had a hundred thousand trifles and doings of our -neighbours and acquaintances to talk about, and the utmost extent of my -boldness was to take, almost by force, one of her fair white hands and -carry it to my lips, as well as the closeness of the low grating that -separated us allowed me. But the night before the unhappy day of my -departure she wept, she moaned, she sighed, and she withdrew leaving me -filled with perplexity and amazement, overwhelmed at the sight of such -strange and affecting signs of grief and sorrow in Luscinda; but not to -dash my hopes I ascribed it all to the depth of her love for me and the -pain that separation gives those who love tenderly. At last I took my -departure, sad and dejected, my heart filled with fancies and -suspicions, but not knowing well what it was I suspected or fancied; -plain omens pointing to the sad event and misfortune that was awaiting -me. - -“I reached the place whither I had been sent, gave the letter to Don -Fernando’s brother, and was kindly received but not promptly dismissed, -for he desired me to wait, very much against my will, eight days in -some place where the duke his father was not likely to see me, as his -brother wrote that the money was to be sent without his knowledge; all -of which was a scheme of the treacherous Don Fernando, for his brother -had no want of money to enable him to despatch me at once. - -“The command was one that exposed me to the temptation of disobeying -it, as it seemed to me impossible to endure life for so many days -separated from Luscinda, especially after leaving her in the sorrowful -mood I have described to you; nevertheless as a dutiful servant I -obeyed, though I felt it would be at the cost of my well-being. But -four days later there came a man in quest of me with a letter which he -gave me, and which by the address I perceived to be from Luscinda, as -the writing was hers. I opened it with fear and trepidation, persuaded -that it must be something serious that had impelled her to write to me -when at a distance, as she seldom did so when I was near. Before -reading it I asked the man who it was that had given it to him, and how -long he had been upon the road; he told me that as he happened to be -passing through one of the streets of the city at the hour of noon, a -very beautiful lady called to him from a window, and with tears in her -eyes said to him hurriedly, ‘Brother, if you are, as you seem to be, a -Christian, for the love of God I entreat you to have this letter -despatched without a moment’s delay to the place and person named in -the address, all which is well known, and by this you will render a -great service to our Lord; and that you may be at no inconvenience in -doing so take what is in this handkerchief;’ and said he, ‘with this -she threw me a handkerchief out of the window in which were tied up a -hundred reals and this gold ring which I bring here together with the -letter I have given you. And then without waiting for any answer she -left the window, though not before she saw me take the letter and the -handkerchief, and I had by signs let her know that I would do as she -bade me; and so, seeing myself so well paid for the trouble I would -have in bringing it to you, and knowing by the address that it was to -you it was sent (for, señor, I know you very well), and also unable to -resist that beautiful lady’s tears, I resolved to trust no one else, -but to come myself and give it to you, and in sixteen hours from the -time when it was given me I have made the journey, which, as you know, -is eighteen leagues.’ - -“All the while the good-natured improvised courier was telling me this, -I hung upon his words, my legs trembling under me so that I could -scarcely stand. However, I opened the letter and read these words: - -The promise Don Fernando gave you to urge your father to speak to mine, -he has fulfilled much more to his own satisfaction than to your -advantage. I have to tell you, señor, that he has demanded me for a -wife, and my father, led away by what he considers Don Fernando’s -superiority over you, has favoured his suit so cordially, that in two -days hence the betrothal is to take place with such secrecy and so -privately that the only witnesses are to be the Heavens above and a few -of the household. Picture to yourself the state I am in; judge if it be -urgent for you to come; the issue of the affair will show you whether I -love you or not. God grant this may come to your hand before mine shall -be forced to link itself with his who keeps so ill the faith that he -has pledged. - -“Such, in brief, were the words of the letter, words that made me set -out at once without waiting any longer for reply or money; for I now -saw clearly that it was not the purchase of horses but of his own -pleasure that had made Don Fernando send me to his brother. The -exasperation I felt against Don Fernando, joined with the fear of -losing the prize I had won by so many years of love and devotion, lent -me wings; so that almost flying I reached home the same day, by the -hour which served for speaking with Luscinda. I arrived unobserved, and -left the mule on which I had come at the house of the worthy man who -had brought me the letter, and fortune was pleased to be for once so -kind that I found Luscinda at the grating that was the witness of our -loves. She recognised me at once, and I her, but not as she ought to -have recognised me, or I her. But who is there in the world that can -boast of having fathomed or understood the wavering mind and unstable -nature of a woman? Of a truth no one. To proceed: as soon as Luscinda -saw me she said, ‘Cardenio, I am in my bridal dress, and the -treacherous Don Fernando and my covetous father are waiting for me in -the hall with the other witnesses, who shall be the witnesses of my -death before they witness my betrothal. Be not distressed, my friend, -but contrive to be present at this sacrifice, and if that cannot be -prevented by my words, I have a dagger concealed which will prevent -more deliberate violence, putting an end to my life and giving thee a -first proof of the love I have borne and bear thee.’ I replied to her -distractedly and hastily, in fear lest I should not have time to reply, -‘May thy words be verified by thy deeds, lady; and if thou hast a -dagger to save thy honour, I have a sword to defend thee or kill myself -if fortune be against us.’ - -“I think she could not have heard all these words, for I perceived that -they called her away in haste, as the bridegroom was waiting. Now the -night of my sorrow set in, the sun of my happiness went down, I felt my -eyes bereft of sight, my mind of reason. I could not enter the house, -nor was I capable of any movement; but reflecting how important it was -that I should be present at what might take place on the occasion, I -nerved myself as best I could and went in, for I well knew all the -entrances and outlets; and besides, with the confusion that in secret -pervaded the house no one took notice of me, so, without being seen, I -found an opportunity of placing myself in the recess formed by a window -of the hall itself, and concealed by the ends and borders of two -tapestries, from between which I could, without being seen, see all -that took place in the room. Who could describe the agitation of heart -I suffered as I stood there—the thoughts that came to me—the -reflections that passed through my mind? They were such as cannot be, -nor were it well they should be, told. Suffice it to say that the -bridegroom entered the hall in his usual dress, without ornament of any -kind; as groomsman he had with him a cousin of Luscinda’s and except -the servants of the house there was no one else in the chamber. Soon -afterwards Luscinda came out from an antechamber, attended by her -mother and two of her damsels, arrayed and adorned as became her rank -and beauty, and in full festival and ceremonial attire. My anxiety and -distraction did not allow me to observe or notice particularly what she -wore; I could only perceive the colours, which were crimson and white, -and the glitter of the gems and jewels on her head dress and apparel, -surpassed by the rare beauty of her lovely auburn hair that vying with -the precious stones and the light of the four torches that stood in the -hall shone with a brighter gleam than all. Oh memory, mortal foe of my -peace! why bring before me now the incomparable beauty of that adored -enemy of mine? Were it not better, cruel memory, to remind me and -recall what she then did, that stirred by a wrong so glaring I may -seek, if not vengeance now, at least to rid myself of life? Be not -weary, sirs, of listening to these digressions; my sorrow is not one of -those that can or should be told tersely and briefly, for to me each -incident seems to call for many words.” - -To this the curate replied that not only were they not weary of -listening to him, but that the details he mentioned interested them -greatly, being of a kind by no means to be omitted and deserving of the -same attention as the main story. - -“To proceed, then,” continued Cardenio: “all being assembled in the -hall, the priest of the parish came in and as he took the pair by the -hand to perform the requisite ceremony, at the words, ‘Will you, Señora -Luscinda, take Señor Don Fernando, here present, for your lawful -husband, as the holy Mother Church ordains?’ I thrust my head and neck -out from between the tapestries, and with eager ears and throbbing -heart set myself to listen to Luscinda’s answer, awaiting in her reply -the sentence of death or the grant of life. Oh, that I had but dared at -that moment to rush forward crying aloud, ‘Luscinda, Luscinda! have a -care what thou dost; remember what thou owest me; bethink thee thou art -mine and canst not be another’s; reflect that thy utterance of “Yes” -and the end of my life will come at the same instant. O, treacherous -Don Fernando! robber of my glory, death of my life! What seekest thou? -Remember that thou canst not as a Christian attain the object of thy -wishes, for Luscinda is my bride, and I am her husband!’ Fool that I -am! now that I am far away, and out of danger, I say I should have done -what I did not do: now that I have allowed my precious treasure to be -robbed from me, I curse the robber, on whom I might have taken -vengeance had I as much heart for it as I have for bewailing my fate; -in short, as I was then a coward and a fool, little wonder is it if I -am now dying shame-stricken, remorseful, and mad. - -“The priest stood waiting for the answer of Luscinda, who for a long -time withheld it; and just as I thought she was taking out the dagger -to save her honour, or struggling for words to make some declaration of -the truth on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and feeble voice, ‘I -will:’ Don Fernando said the same, and giving her the ring they stood -linked by a knot that could never be loosed. The bridegroom then -approached to embrace his bride; and she, pressing her hand upon her -heart, fell fainting in her mother’s arms. It only remains now for me -to tell you the state I was in when in that consent that I heard I saw -all my hopes mocked, the words and promises of Luscinda proved -falsehoods, and the recovery of the prize I had that instant lost -rendered impossible for ever. I stood stupefied, wholly abandoned, it -seemed, by Heaven, declared the enemy of the earth that bore me, the -air refusing me breath for my sighs, the water moisture for my tears; -it was only the fire that gathered strength so that my whole frame -glowed with rage and jealousy. They were all thrown into confusion by -Luscinda’s fainting, and as her mother was unlacing her to give her air -a sealed paper was discovered in her bosom which Don Fernando seized at -once and began to read by the light of one of the torches. As soon as -he had read it he seated himself in a chair, leaning his cheek on his -hand in the attitude of one deep in thought, without taking any part in -the efforts that were being made to recover his bride from her fainting -fit. - -“Seeing all the household in confusion, I ventured to come out -regardless whether I were seen or not, and determined, if I were, to do -some frenzied deed that would prove to all the world the righteous -indignation of my breast in the punishment of the treacherous Don -Fernando, and even in that of the fickle fainting traitress. But my -fate, doubtless reserving me for greater sorrows, if such there be, so -ordered it that just then I had enough and to spare of that reason -which has since been wanting to me; and so, without seeking to take -vengeance on my greatest enemies (which might have been easily taken, -as all thought of me was so far from their minds), I resolved to take -it upon myself, and on myself to inflict the pain they deserved, -perhaps with even greater severity than I should have dealt out to them -had I then slain them; for sudden pain is soon over, but that which is -protracted by tortures is ever slaying without ending life. In a word, -I quitted the house and reached that of the man with whom I had left my -mule; I made him saddle it for me, mounted without bidding him -farewell, and rode out of the city, like another Lot, not daring to -turn my head to look back upon it; and when I found myself alone in the -open country, screened by the darkness of the night, and tempted by the -stillness to give vent to my grief without apprehension or fear of -being heard or seen, then I broke silence and lifted up my voice in -maledictions upon Luscinda and Don Fernando, as if I could thus avenge -the wrong they had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, -thankless, but above all covetous, since the wealth of my enemy had -blinded the eyes of her affection, and turned it from me to transfer it -to one to whom fortune had been more generous and liberal. And yet, in -the midst of this outburst of execration and upbraiding, I found -excuses for her, saying it was no wonder that a young girl in the -seclusion of her parents’ house, trained and schooled to obey them -always, should have been ready to yield to their wishes when they -offered her for a husband a gentleman of such distinction, wealth, and -noble birth, that if she had refused to accept him she would have been -thought out of her senses, or to have set her affection elsewhere, a -suspicion injurious to her fair name and fame. But then again, I said, -had she declared I was her husband, they would have seen that in -choosing me she had not chosen so ill but that they might excuse her, -for before Don Fernando had made his offer, they themselves could not -have desired, if their desires had been ruled by reason, a more -eligible husband for their daughter than I was; and she, before taking -the last fatal step of giving her hand, might easily have said that I -had already given her mine, for I should have come forward to support -any assertion of hers to that effect. In short, I came to the -conclusion that feeble love, little reflection, great ambition, and a -craving for rank, had made her forget the words with which she had -deceived me, encouraged and supported by my firm hopes and honourable -passion. - -“Thus soliloquising and agitated, I journeyed onward for the remainder -of the night, and by daybreak I reached one of the passes of these -mountains, among which I wandered for three days more without taking -any path or road, until I came to some meadows lying on I know not -which side of the mountains, and there I inquired of some herdsmen in -what direction the most rugged part of the range lay. They told me that -it was in this quarter, and I at once directed my course hither, -intending to end my life here; but as I was making my way among these -crags, my mule dropped dead through fatigue and hunger, or, as I think -more likely, in order to have done with such a worthless burden as it -bore in me. I was left on foot, worn out, famishing, without anyone to -help me or any thought of seeking help: and so thus I lay stretched on -the ground, how long I know not, after which I rose up free from -hunger, and found beside me some goatherds, who no doubt were the -persons who had relieved me in my need, for they told me how they had -found me, and how I had been uttering ravings that showed plainly I had -lost my reason; and since then I am conscious that I am not always in -full possession of it, but at times so deranged and crazed that I do a -thousand mad things, tearing my clothes, crying aloud in these -solitudes, cursing my fate, and idly calling on the dear name of her -who is my enemy, and only seeking to end my life in lamentation; and -when I recover my senses I find myself so exhausted and weary that I -can scarcely move. Most commonly my dwelling is the hollow of a cork -tree large enough to shelter this miserable body; the herdsmen and -goatherds who frequent these mountains, moved by compassion, furnish me -with food, leaving it by the wayside or on the rocks, where they think -I may perhaps pass and find it; and so, even though I may be then out -of my senses, the wants of nature teach me what is required to sustain -me, and make me crave it and eager to take it. At other times, so they -tell me when they find me in a rational mood, I sally out upon the -road, and though they would gladly give it me, I snatch food by force -from the shepherds bringing it from the village to their huts. Thus do -pass the wretched life that remains to me, until it be Heaven’s will to -bring it to a close, or so to order my memory that I no longer -recollect the beauty and treachery of Luscinda, or the wrong done me by -Don Fernando; for if it will do this without depriving me of life, I -will turn my thoughts into some better channel; if not, I can only -implore it to have full mercy on my soul, for in myself I feel no power -or strength to release my body from this strait in which I have of my -own accord chosen to place it. - -“Such, sirs, is the dismal story of my misfortune: say if it be one -that can be told with less emotion than you have seen in me; and do not -trouble yourselves with urging or pressing upon me what reason suggests -as likely to serve for my relief, for it will avail me as much as the -medicine prescribed by a wise physician avails the sick man who will -not take it. I have no wish for health without Luscinda; and since it -is her pleasure to be another’s, when she is or should be mine, let it -be mine to be a prey to misery when I might have enjoyed happiness. She -by her fickleness strove to make my ruin irretrievable; I will strive -to gratify her wishes by seeking destruction; and it will show -generations to come that I alone was deprived of that of which all -others in misfortune have a superabundance, for to them the -impossibility of being consoled is itself a consolation, while to me it -is the cause of greater sorrows and sufferings, for I think that even -in death there will not be an end of them.” - -Here Cardenio brought to a close his long discourse and story, as full -of misfortune as it was of love; but just as the curate was going to -address some words of comfort to him, he was stopped by a voice that -reached his ear, saying in melancholy tones what will be told in the -Fourth Part of this narrative; for at this point the sage and sagacious -historian, Cid Hamete Benengeli, brought the Third to a conclusion. - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE -CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA - -Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don -Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his -having formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive -and restore to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of -knight-errantry, we now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light -entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of -the tales and episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less -pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history itself; which, -resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the -curate was going to offer consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted -by a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones: - -“O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret -grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If -the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe -is me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these -rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven, -than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for -counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!” - -All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as -it seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up -to look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they -discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in -the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to -see as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that -flowed past. They approached so silently that he did not perceive them, -being fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they -looked like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other -stones of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them -with surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods -or to follow the plough and the oxen as their owner’s dress suggested; -and so, finding they had not been noticed, the curate, who was in -front, made a sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind some -fragments of rock that lay there; which they did, observing closely -what the youth was about. He had on a loose double-skirted dark brown -jacket bound tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides -breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera; -and he had the gaiters turned up as far as the middle of the leg, which -verily seemed to be of pure alabaster. - -As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a -towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his -face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a -beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper: - -“As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being.” - -The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to -side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of -the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a -peasant was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of -them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio’s if they had not seen and known -Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda -could compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her -shoulders, but such was their length and abundance, concealed her all -round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form -was visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had -seemed like bits of crystal in the water, her hands looked like pieces -of driven snow among her locks; all which increased not only the -admiration of the three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she -was. With this object they resolved to show themselves, and at the stir -they made in getting upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head, -and parting her hair from before her eyes with both hands, she looked -to see who had made the noise, and the instant she perceived them she -started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her shoes or gather -up her hair, hastily snatched up a bundle as though of clothes that she -had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight; -but before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate -feet being unable to bear the roughness of the stones; seeing which, -the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first -said: - -“Stay, señora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only -desire to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so -heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it.” - -Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words. -They, however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on -to say: - -“What your dress would hide, señora, is made known to us by your hair; -a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your -beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like -these where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve -your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long -as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make -the sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention. -And so, señora, or señor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the -fears that our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with -your good or evil fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each -one of us, you will receive sympathy in your trouble.” - -While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if -spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a -word, just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has -never seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing -some further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke -silence and said: - -“Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me, -and the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not allow my tongue to -deal in falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further -pretence of what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out -of courtesy than for any other reason. This being so, I say I thank -you, sirs, for the offer you have made me, which places me under the -obligation of complying with the request you have made of me; though I -fear the account I shall give you of my misfortunes will excite in you -as much concern as compassion, for you will be unable to suggest -anything to remedy them or any consolation to alleviate them. However, -that my honour may not be left a matter of doubt in your minds, now -that you have discovered me to be a woman, and see that I am young, -alone, and in this dress, things that taken together or separately -would be enough to destroy any good name, I feel bound to tell what I -would willingly keep secret if I could.” - -All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without -any hesitation, with so much ease and in so sweet a voice that they -were not less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as -they again repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her -promise, she without further pressing, first modestly covering her feet -and gathering up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three -placed around her, and, after an effort to restrain some tears that -came to her eyes, in a clear and steady voice began her story thus: - -“In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title -which makes him one of those that are called Grandees of Spain. This -nobleman has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to -his good qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be -the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are -this lord’s vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had -conferred as much on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left -to desire, nor should I have had reason to fear trouble like that in -which I find myself now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of -theirs in not having been nobly born. It is true they are not so low -that they have any reason to be ashamed of their condition, but neither -are they so high as to remove from my mind the impression that my -mishap comes of their humble birth. They are, in short, peasants, plain -homely people, without any taint of disreputable blood, and, as the -saying is, old rusty Christians, but so rich that by their wealth and -free-handed way of life they are coming by degrees to be considered -gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though the wealth and -nobility they thought most of was having me for their daughter; and as -they have no other child to make their heir, and are affectionate -parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that ever parents -indulged. - -“I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their -old age, and the object in which, with submission to Heaven, all their -wishes centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew -their worth; and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of -their possessions. Through me they engaged or dismissed their servants; -through my hands passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and -reaped; the oil-mills, the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and -herds, the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my father has -or can have, I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress -with an assiduity on my part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot -well describe to you. The leisure hours left to me after I had given -the requisite orders to the head-shepherds, overseers, and other -labourers, I passed in such employments as are not only allowable but -necessary for young girls, those that the needle, embroidery cushion, -and spinning wheel usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted -them for a while, I found recreation in reading some devotional book or -playing the harp, for experience taught me that music soothes the -troubled mind and relieves weariness of spirit. Such was the life I led -in my parents’ house and if I have depicted it thus minutely, it is not -out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am rich, but that you may -see how, without any fault of mine, I have fallen from the happy -condition I have described, to the misery I am in at present. The truth -is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a retirement that might -compare with that of a monastery, and unseen as I thought by any except -the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass it was so early in -the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the women -of the household, and so thickly veiled and so shy, that my eyes -scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the -eyes of love, or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx’s -cannot rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity of Don -Fernando; for that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told -of.” - -The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio -changed colour and broke into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that -the curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad -fits which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but -Cardenio showed no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding the -peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she was. -She, however, without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing -her story, went on to say: - -“And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he -was smitten with a violent love for me, as the manner in which it -displayed itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my -woes, I will pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don -Fernando for declaring his passion for me. He bribed all the household, -he gave and offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was -like a holiday or a merry-making in our street; by night no one could -sleep for the music; the love letters that used to come to my hand, no -one knew how, were innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges, -containing more promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all -which not only did not soften me, but hardened my heart against him, as -if he had been my mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me -yield were done with the opposite intention. Not that the high-bred -bearing of Don Fernando was disagreeable to me, or that I found his -importunities wearisome; for it gave me a certain sort of satisfaction -to find myself so sought and prized by a gentleman of such distinction, -and I was not displeased at seeing my praises in his letters (for -however ugly we women may be, it seems to me it always pleases us to -hear ourselves called beautiful) but that my own sense of right was -opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of my parents, who -now very plainly perceived Don Fernando’s purpose, for he cared very -little if all the world knew it. They told me they trusted and confided -their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and bade -me consider the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which I -might conclude that his intentions, whatever he might say to the -contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage; -and if I were at all desirous of opposing an obstacle to his -unreasonable suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to -anyone I preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or -of any of those in the neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good -name, a match might be looked for in any quarter. This offer, and their -sound advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando -a word in reply that could hold out to him any hope of success, however -remote. - -“All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had -apparently the effect of increasing his wanton appetite—for that is the -name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to -be, you would not know of it now, because there would have been no -occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned that my parents were -contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of -obtaining possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors -to watch over me, and this intelligence or suspicion made him act as -you shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other -companion than a damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully -locked lest my honour should be imperilled through any carelessness, I -know not nor can conceive how it happened, but, with all this seclusion -and these precautions, and in the solitude and silence of my -retirement, I found him standing before me, a vision that so astounded -me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and my tongue of speech. I had no -power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did he give me time to utter one, -as he immediately approached me, and taking me in his arms (for, -overwhelmed as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help myself), he began -to make such professions to me that I know not how falsehood could have -had the power of dressing them up to seem so like truth; and the -traitor contrived that his tears should vouch for his words, and his -sighs for his sincerity. - -“I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases -such as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying -protestations true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears -to anything more than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of -bewilderment passed away, and I began in some degree to recover myself, -I said to him with more courage than I thought I could have possessed, -‘If, as I am now in your arms, señor, I were in the claws of a fierce -lion, and my deliverance could be procured by doing or saying anything -to the prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it -or say it, than it would be possible that what was should not have -been; so then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul -secured by virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will -see if you attempt to carry them into effect by force. I am your -vassal, but I am not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should -have any right to dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and low-born -peasant as I am, I have my self-respect as much as you, a lord and -gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, your wealth -will have no weight, your words will have no power to deceive me, nor -your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any of the things I -speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should -be mine, and mine should be bounded by his; and my honour being -preserved even though my inclinations were not would willingly yield -him what you, señor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you -should suppose that any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything -of me.’ ‘If that,’ said this disloyal gentleman, ‘be the only scruple -you feel, fairest Dorothea’ (for that is the name of this unhappy -being), ‘see here I give you my hand to be yours, and let Heaven, from -which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have here, be -witnesses of this pledge.’” - -When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh -agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but -he was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of -what he already all but knew, so he merely said: - -“What! is Dorothea your name, señora? I have heard of another of the -same name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed; -by-and-by I may tell you something that will astonish you as much as it -will excite your compassion.” - -Dorothea was struck by Cardenio’s words as well as by his strange and -miserable attire, and begged him if he knew anything concerning her to -tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was -courage to bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure -that none could reach her capable of increasing in any degree what she -endured already. - -“I would not let the occasion pass, señora,” replied Cardenio, “of -telling you what I think, if what I suspect were the truth, but so far -there has been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to -know it.” - -“Be it as it may,” replied Dorothea, “what happened in my story was -that Don Fernando, taking an image that stood in the chamber, placed it -as a witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and -extravagant oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though -before he had made an end of pledging himself I bade him consider well -what he was doing, and think of the anger his father would feel at -seeing him married to a peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him -not to let my beauty, such as it was, blind him, for that was not -enough to furnish an excuse for his transgression; and if in the love -he bore me he wished to do me any kindness, it would be to leave my lot -to follow its course at the level my condition required; for marriages -so unequal never brought happiness, nor did they continue long to -afford the enjoyment they began with. - -“All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I -cannot recollect; but it had no effect in inducing him to forego his -purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself -about difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I -argued the matter briefly in my own mind, saying to myself, ‘I shall -not be the first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty -station, nor will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more -likely, a blind attachment, has led to mate himself below his rank. -Then, since I am introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well -avail myself of the honour that chance offers me, for even though his -inclination for me should not outlast the attainment of his wishes, I -shall be, after all, his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him -by scorn, I can see that, fair means failing, he is in a mood to use -force, and I shall be left dishonoured and without any means of proving -my innocence to those who cannot know how innocently I have come to be -in this position; for what arguments would persuade my parents that -this gentleman entered my chamber without my consent?’ - -“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment; -but the oaths of Don Fernando, the witnesses he appealed to, the tears -he shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his high-bred grace, -which, accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have -conquered a heart even more free and coy than mine—these were the -things that more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to -my ruin. I called my waiting-maid to me, that there might be a witness -on earth besides those in Heaven, and again Don Fernando renewed and -repeated his oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to -the former ones, called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter -should he fail to keep his promise, shed more tears, redoubled his -sighs and pressed me closer in his arms, from which he had never -allowed me to escape; and so I was left by my maid, and ceased to be -one, and he became a traitor and a perjured man. - -“The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so -quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando wished, for when desire has -attained its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of -pleasure. I say so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and -by the adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the one who had admitted -him, gained the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he -told me, though not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he -came, that I might rest assured of his faith and of the sanctity and -sincerity of his oaths; and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring -off his finger and placed it upon mine. He then took his departure and -I was left, I know not whether sorrowful or happy; all I can say is, I -was left agitated and troubled in mind and almost bewildered by what -had taken place, and I had not the spirit, or else it did not occur to -me, to chide my maid for the treachery she had been guilty of in -concealing Don Fernando in my chamber; for as yet I was unable to make -up my mind whether what had befallen me was for good or evil. I told -Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he might see me on -other nights in the same way, until it should be his pleasure to let -the matter become known; but, except the following night, he came no -more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him in the -street or in church, while I wearied myself with watching for one; -although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out -hunting, a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and -dreary those days and hours were to me; I remember well how I began to -doubt as they went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don -Fernando; and I remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof -of her audacity that she had not heard before, and how I was forced to -put a constraint on my tears and on the expression of my countenance, -not to give my parents cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and -drive me to invent falsehoods in reply. But all this was suddenly -brought to an end, for the time came when all such considerations were -disregarded, and there was no further question of honour, when my -patience gave way and the secret of my heart became known abroad. The -reason was, that a few days later it was reported in the town that Don -Fernando had been married in a neighbouring city to a maiden of rare -beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position, though not -so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so brilliant a -match; it was said, too, that her name was Luscinda, and that at the -betrothal some strange things had happened.” - -Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his -shoulders, bit his lips, bent his brows, and before long two streams of -tears escaped from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her -story, but went on in these words: - -“This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck -with a chill, with such wrath and fury did my heart burn that I -scarcely restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying -aloud and proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was -the victim; but this transport of rage was for the time checked by a -resolution I formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to -assume this dress, which I got from a servant of my father’s, one of -the zagals, as they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the -whole of my misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the -city where I heard my enemy was. He, though he remonstrated with me for -my boldness, and condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent upon my -purpose, offered to bear me company, as he said, to the end of the -world. I at once packed up in a linen pillow-case a woman’s dress, and -some jewels and money to provide for emergencies, and in the silence of -the night, without letting my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth -from the house, accompanied by my servant and abundant anxieties, and -on foot set out for the city, but borne as it were on wings by my -eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent what I presumed to be already -done, at least to call upon Don Fernando to tell me with what -conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in two days and a -half, and on entering the city inquired for the house of Luscinda’s -parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply than I sought -to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred at -the betrothal of the daughter of the family, an affair of such -notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in -the street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando’s betrothal with -Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to be his bride by saying ‘Yes,’ -she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom -approaching to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found -a paper in her own handwriting, in which she said and declared that she -could not be Don Fernando’s bride, because she was already Cardenio’s, -who, according to the man’s account, was a gentleman of distinction of -the same city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it was only -in obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper -made it clear she meant to kill herself on the completion of the -betrothal, and gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all which -was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her -clothes. On seeing this, Don Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had -befooled, slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before she had -recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab her with the dagger that -had been found, and would have succeeded had not her parents and those -who were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, that Don -Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not recover from her -prostration until the next day, when she told her parents how she was -really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned besides -that Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the betrothal; -and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary to his expectation, he had -quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring the -wrong Luscinda had done him, and his intention of going where no one -should ever see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in the -city, and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that -Luscinda was missing from her father’s house and from the city, for she -was not to be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, who -knew not what steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my -hopes, and I was better pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to -find him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not yet -entirely shut upon relief in my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven -had put this impediment in the way of the second marriage, to lead him -to recognise his obligations under the former one, and reflect that as -a Christian he was bound to consider his soul above all human objects. -All this passed through my mind, and I strove to comfort myself without -comfort, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing that life -that I now abhor. - -“But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find -Don Fernando, I heard notice given by the public crier offering a great -reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my -age and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who -came with me had taken me away from my father’s house; a thing that cut -me to the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was -not enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with -whom I had fled, and that one so much beneath me and so unworthy of my -consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with -my servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to -me, and the same night, for fear of discovery, we entered the most -thickly wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one -evil calls up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the -beginning of one still greater, and so it proved in my case; for my -worthy servant, until then so faithful and trusty when he found me in -this lonely spot, moved more by his own villainy than by my beauty, -sought to take advantage of the opportunity which these solitudes -seemed to present him, and with little shame and less fear of God and -respect for me, began to make overtures to me; and finding that I -replied to the effrontery of his proposals with justly severe language, -he laid aside the entreaties which he had employed at first, and began -to use violence. - -“But just Heaven, that seldom fails to watch over and aid good -intentions, so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little -exertion I pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead -or alive I know not; and then, with greater speed than seemed possible -in my terror and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any -other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and -escaping my father and those despatched in search of me by his orders. -It is now I know not how many months since with this object I came -here, where I met a herdsman who engaged me as his servant at a place -in the heart of this Sierra, and all this time I have been serving him -as herd, striving to keep always afield to hide these locks which have -now unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and pains were -unavailing, for my master made the discovery that I was not a man, and -harboured the same base designs as my servant; and as fortune does not -always supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and I had no precipice -or ravine at hand down which to fling the master and cure his passion, -as I had in the servant’s case, I thought it a lesser evil to leave him -and again conceal myself among these crags, than make trial of my -strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once more I went into -hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears -implore Heaven to have pity on my misery, and grant me help and -strength to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes, leaving -no trace of an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished -matter for talk and scandal at home and abroad.” - -CHAPTER XXIX. -WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR -LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED UPON -HIMSELF - -“Such, sirs, is the true story of my sad adventures; judge for -yourselves now whether the sighs and lamentations you heard, and the -tears that flowed from my eyes, had not sufficient cause even if I had -indulged in them more freely; and if you consider the nature of my -misfortune you will see that consolation is idle, as there is no -possible remedy for it. All I ask of you is, what you may easily and -reasonably do, to show me where I may pass my life unharassed by the -fear and dread of discovery by those who are in search of me; for -though the great love my parents bear me makes me feel sure of being -kindly received by them, so great is my feeling of shame at the mere -thought that I cannot present myself before them as they expect, that I -had rather banish myself from their sight for ever than look them in -the face with the reflection that they beheld mine stripped of that -purity they had a right to expect in me.” - -With these words she became silent, and the colour that overspread her -face showed plainly the pain and shame she was suffering at heart. In -theirs the listeners felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes; -but as the curate was just about to offer her some consolation and -advice Cardenio forestalled him, saying, “So then, señora, you are the -fair Dorothea, the only daughter of the rich Clenardo?” Dorothea was -astonished at hearing her father’s name, and at the miserable -appearance of him who mentioned it, for it has been already said how -wretchedly clad Cardenio was; so she said to him: - -“And who may you be, brother, who seem to know my father’s name so -well? For so far, if I remember rightly, I have not mentioned it in the -whole story of my misfortunes.” - -“I am that unhappy being, señora,” replied Cardenio, “whom, as you have -said, Luscinda declared to be her husband; I am the unfortunate -Cardenio, whom the wrong-doing of him who has brought you to your -present condition has reduced to the state you see me in, bare, ragged, -bereft of all human comfort, and what is worse, of reason, for I only -possess it when Heaven is pleased for some short space to restore it to -me. I, Dorothea, am he who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fernando, -and waited to hear the ‘Yes’ uttered by which Luscinda owned herself -his betrothed: I am he who had not courage enough to see how her -fainting fit ended, or what came of the paper that was found in her -bosom, because my heart had not the fortitude to endure so many strokes -of ill-fortune at once; and so losing patience I quitted the house, and -leaving a letter with my host, which I entreated him to place in -Luscinda’s hands, I betook myself to these solitudes, resolved to end -here the life I hated as if it were my mortal enemy. But fate would not -rid me of it, contenting itself with robbing me of my reason, perhaps -to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in meeting you; for if -that which you have just told us be true, as I believe it to be, it may -be that Heaven has yet in store for both of us a happier termination to -our misfortunes than we look for; because seeing that Luscinda cannot -marry Don Fernando, being mine, as she has herself so openly declared, -and that Don Fernando cannot marry her as he is yours, we may -reasonably hope that Heaven will restore to us what is ours, as it is -still in existence and not yet alienated or destroyed. And as we have -this consolation springing from no very visionary hope or wild fancy, I -entreat you, señora, to form new resolutions in your better mind, as I -mean to do in mine, preparing yourself to look forward to happier -fortunes; for I swear to you by the faith of a gentleman and a -Christian not to desert you until I see you in possession of Don -Fernando, and if I cannot by words induce him to recognise his -obligation to you, in that case to avail myself of the right which my -rank as a gentleman gives me, and with just cause challenge him on -account of the injury he has done you, not regarding my own wrongs, -which I shall leave to Heaven to avenge, while I on earth devote myself -to yours.” - -Cardenio’s words completed the astonishment of Dorothea, and not -knowing how to return thanks for such an offer, she attempted to kiss -his feet; but Cardenio would not permit it, and the licentiate replied -for both, commended the sound reasoning of Cardenio, and lastly, -begged, advised, and urged them to come with him to his village, where -they might furnish themselves with what they needed, and take measures -to discover Don Fernando, or restore Dorothea to her parents, or do -what seemed to them most advisable. Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him, -and accepted the kind offer he made them; and the barber, who had been -listening to all attentively and in silence, on his part some kindly -words also, and with no less good-will than the curate offered his -services in any way that might be of use to them. He also explained to -them in a few words the object that had brought them there, and the -strange nature of Don Quixote’s madness, and how they were waiting for -his squire, who had gone in search of him. Like the recollection of a -dream, the quarrel he had had with Don Quixote came back to Cardenio’s -memory, and he described it to the others; but he was unable to say -what the dispute was about. - -At this moment they heard a shout, and recognised it as coming from -Sancho Panza, who, not finding them where he had left them, was calling -aloud to them. They went to meet him, and in answer to their inquiries -about Don Quixote, he told them how he had found him stripped to his -shirt, lank, yellow, half dead with hunger, and sighing for his lady -Dulcinea; and although he had told him that she commanded him to quit -that place and come to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had -answered that he was determined not to appear in the presence of her -beauty until he had done deeds to make him worthy of her favour; and if -this went on, Sancho said, he ran the risk of not becoming an emperor -as in duty bound, or even an archbishop, which was the least he could -be; for which reason they ought to consider what was to be done to get -him away from there. The licentiate in reply told him not to be uneasy, -for they would fetch him away in spite of himself. He then told -Cardenio and Dorothea what they had proposed to do to cure Don Quixote, -or at any rate take him home; upon which Dorothea said that she could -play the distressed damsel better than the barber; especially as she -had there the dress in which to do it to the life, and that they might -trust to her acting the part in every particular requisite for carrying -out their scheme, for she had read a great many books of chivalry, and -knew exactly the style in which afflicted damsels begged boons of -knights-errant. - -“In that case,” said the curate, “there is nothing more required than -to set about it at once, for beyond a doubt fortune is declaring itself -in our favour, since it has so unexpectedly begun to open a door for -your relief, and smoothed the way for us to our object.” - -Dorothea then took out of her pillow-case a complete petticoat of some -rich stuff, and a green mantle of some other fine material, and a -necklace and other ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an -instant she so arrayed herself that she looked like a great and rich -lady. All this, and more, she said, she had taken from home in case of -need, but that until then she had had no occasion to make use of it. -They were all highly delighted with her grace, air, and beauty, and -declared Don Fernando to be a man of very little taste when he rejected -such charms. But the one who admired her most was Sancho Panza, for it -seemed to him (what indeed was true) that in all the days of his life -he had never seen such a lovely creature; and he asked the curate with -great eagerness who this beautiful lady was, and what she wanted in -these out-of-the-way quarters. - -“This fair lady, brother Sancho,” replied the curate, “is no less a -personage than the heiress in the direct male line of the great kingdom -of Micomicon, who has come in search of your master to beg a boon of -him, which is that he redress a wrong or injury that a wicked giant has -done her; and from the fame as a good knight which your master has -acquired far and wide, this princess has come from Guinea to seek him.” - -“A lucky seeking and a lucky finding!” said Sancho Panza at this; -“especially if my master has the good fortune to redress that injury, -and right that wrong, and kill that son of a bitch of a giant your -worship speaks of; as kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, -he happens to be a phantom; for my master has no power at all against -phantoms. But one thing among others I would beg of you, señor -licentiate, which is, that, to prevent my master taking a fancy to be -an archbishop, for that is what I’m afraid of, your worship would -recommend him to marry this princess at once; for in this way he will -be disabled from taking archbishop’s orders, and will easily come into -his empire, and I to the end of my desires; I have been thinking over -the matter carefully, and by what I can make out I find it will not do -for me that my master should become an archbishop, because I am no good -for the Church, as I am married; and for me now, having as I have a -wife and children, to set about obtaining dispensations to enable me to -hold a place of profit under the Church, would be endless work; so -that, señor, it all turns on my master marrying this lady at once—for -as yet I do not know her grace, and so I cannot call her by her name.” - -“She is called the Princess Micomicona,” said the curate; “for as her -kingdom is Micomicon, it is clear that must be her name.” - -“There’s no doubt of that,” replied Sancho, “for I have known many to -take their name and title from the place where they were born and call -themselves Pedro of Alcalá, Juan of Úbeda, and Diego of Valladolid; and -it may be that over there in Guinea queens have the same way of taking -the names of their kingdoms.” - -“So it may,” said the curate; “and as for your master’s marrying, I -will do all in my power towards it:” with which Sancho was as much -pleased as the curate was amazed at his simplicity and at seeing what a -hold the absurdities of his master had taken of his fancy, for he had -evidently persuaded himself that he was going to be an emperor. - -By this time Dorothea had seated herself upon the curate’s mule, and -the barber had fitted the ox-tail beard to his face, and they now told -Sancho to conduct them to where Don Quixote was, warning him not to say -that he knew either the licentiate or the barber, as his master’s -becoming an emperor entirely depended on his not recognising them; -neither the curate nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with them; -Cardenio lest he should remind Don Quixote of the quarrel he had with -him, and the curate as there was no necessity for his presence just -yet, so they allowed the others to go on before them, while they -themselves followed slowly on foot. The curate did not forget to -instruct Dorothea how to act, but she said they might make their minds -easy, as everything would be done exactly as the books of chivalry -required and described. - -They had gone about three-quarters of a league when they discovered Don -Quixote in a wilderness of rocks, by this time clothed, but without his -armour; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was told by Sancho that -that was Don Quixote, she whipped her palfrey, the well-bearded barber -following her, and on coming up to him her squire sprang from his mule -and came forward to receive her in his arms, and she dismounting with -great ease of manner advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote; -and though he strove to raise her up, she without rising addressed him -in this fashion: - -“From this spot I will not rise, valiant and doughty knight, until your -goodness and courtesy grant me a boon, which will redound to the honour -and renown of your person and render a service to the most disconsolate -and afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might of your strong -arm corresponds to the repute of your immortal fame, you are bound to -aid the helpless being who, led by the savour of your renowned name, -hath come from far distant lands to seek your aid in her misfortunes.” - -“I will not answer a word, beauteous lady,” replied Don Quixote, “nor -will I listen to anything further concerning you, until you rise from -the earth.” - -“I will not rise, señor,” answered the afflicted damsel, “unless of -your courtesy the boon I ask is first granted me.” - -“I grant and accord it,” said Don Quixote, “provided without detriment -or prejudice to my king, my country, or her who holds the key of my -heart and freedom, it may be complied with.” - -“It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of any of them, my worthy -lord,” said the afflicted damsel; and here Sancho Panza drew close to -his master’s ear and said to him very softly, “Your worship may very -safely grant the boon she asks; it’s nothing at all; only to kill a big -giant; and she who asks it is the exalted Princess Micomicona, queen of -the great kingdom of Micomicon of Ethiopia.” - -“Let her be who she may,” replied Don Quixote, “I will do what is my -bounden duty, and what my conscience bids me, in conformity with what I -have professed;” and turning to the damsel he said, “Let your great -beauty rise, for I grant the boon which you would ask of me.” - -“Then what I ask,” said the damsel, “is that your magnanimous person -accompany me at once whither I will conduct you, and that you promise -not to engage in any other adventure or quest until you have avenged me -of a traitor who against all human and divine law, has usurped my -kingdom.” - -“I repeat that I grant it,” replied Don Quixote; “and so, lady, you may -from this day forth lay aside the melancholy that distresses you, and -let your failing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the help -of God and of my arm you will soon see yourself restored to your -kingdom, and seated upon the throne of your ancient and mighty realm, -notwithstanding and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and now -hands to the work, for in delay there is apt to be danger.” - -The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity to kiss his hands; -but Don Quixote, who was in all things a polished and courteous knight, -would by no means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her with -great courtesy and politeness, and ordered Sancho to look to -Rocinante’s girths, and to arm him without a moment’s delay. Sancho -took down the armour, which was hung up on a tree like a trophy, and -having seen to the girths armed his master in a trice, who as soon as -he found himself in his armour exclaimed: - -“Let us be gone in the name of God to bring aid to this great lady.” - -The barber was all this time on his knees at great pains to hide his -laughter and not let his beard fall, for had it fallen maybe their fine -scheme would have come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, and -the promptitude with which Don Quixote prepared to set out in -compliance with it, he rose and took his lady’s hand, and between them -they placed her upon the mule. Don Quixote then mounted Rocinante, and -the barber settled himself on his beast, Sancho being left to go on -foot, which made him feel anew the loss of his Dapple, finding the want -of him now. But he bore all with cheerfulness, being persuaded that his -master had now fairly started and was just on the point of becoming an -emperor; for he felt no doubt at all that he would marry this princess, -and be king of Micomicon at least. The only thing that troubled him was -the reflection that this kingdom was in the land of the blacks, and -that the people they would give him for vassals would be all black; but -for this he soon found a remedy in his fancy, and said he to himself, -“What is it to me if my vassals are blacks? What more have I to do than -make a cargo of them and carry them to Spain, where I can sell them and -get ready money for them, and with it buy some title or some office in -which to live at ease all the days of my life? Not unless you go to -sleep and haven’t the wit or skill to turn things to account and sell -three, six, or ten thousand vassals while you would be talking about -it! By God I will stir them up, big and little, or as best I can, and -let them be ever so black I’ll turn them into white or yellow. Come, -come, what a fool I am!” And so he jogged on, so occupied with his -thoughts and easy in his mind that he forgot all about the hardship of -travelling on foot. - -Cardenio and the curate were watching all this from among some bushes, -not knowing how to join company with the others; but the curate, who -was very fertile in devices, soon hit upon a way of effecting their -purpose, and with a pair of scissors he had in a case he quickly cut -off Cardenio’s beard, and putting on him a grey jerkin of his own he -gave him a black cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and doublet, -while Cardenio’s appearance was so different from what it had been that -he would not have known himself had he seen himself in a mirror. Having -effected this, although the others had gone on ahead while they were -disguising themselves, they easily came out on the high road before -them, for the brambles and awkward places they encountered did not -allow those on horseback to go as fast as those on foot. They then -posted themselves on the level ground at the outlet of the Sierra, and -as soon as Don Quixote and his companions emerged from it the curate -began to examine him very deliberately, as though he were striving to -recognise him, and after having stared at him for some time he hastened -towards him with open arms exclaiming, “A happy meeting with the mirror -of chivalry, my worthy compatriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower -and cream of high breeding, the protection and relief of the -distressed, the quintessence of knights-errant!” And so saying he -clasped in his arms the knee of Don Quixote’s left leg. He, astonished -at the stranger’s words and behaviour, looked at him attentively, and -at length recognised him, very much surprised to see him there, and -made great efforts to dismount. This, however, the curate would not -allow, on which Don Quixote said, “Permit me, señor licentiate, for it -is not fitting that I should be on horseback and so reverend a person -as your worship on foot.” - -“On no account will I allow it,” said the curate; “your mightiness must -remain on horseback, for it is on horseback you achieve the greatest -deeds and adventures that have been beheld in our age; as for me, an -unworthy priest, it will serve me well enough to mount on the haunches -of one of the mules of these gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if -they have no objection, and I will fancy I am mounted on the steed -Pegasus, or on the zebra or charger that bore the famous Moor, -Muzaraque, who to this day lies enchanted in the great hill of Zulema, -a little distance from the great Complutum.” - -“Nor even that will I consent to, señor licentiate,” answered Don -Quixote, “and I know it will be the good pleasure of my lady the -princess, out of love for me, to order her squire to give up the saddle -of his mule to your worship, and he can sit behind if the beast will -bear it.” - -“It will, I am sure,” said the princess, “and I am sure, too, that I -need not order my squire, for he is too courteous and considerate to -allow a Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted.” - -“That he is,” said the barber, and at once alighting, he offered his -saddle to the curate, who accepted it without much entreaty; but -unfortunately as the barber was mounting behind, the mule, being as it -happened a hired one, which is the same thing as saying -ill-conditioned, lifted its hind hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks in -the air, which would have made Master Nicholas wish his expedition in -quest of Don Quixote at the devil had they caught him on the breast or -head. As it was, they so took him by surprise that he came to the -ground, giving so little heed to his beard that it fell off, and all he -could do when he found himself without it was to cover his face hastily -with both his hands and moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don -Quixote when he saw all that bundle of beard detached, without jaws or -blood, from the face of the fallen squire, exclaimed: - -“By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it has knocked off and -plucked away the beard from his face as if it had been shaved off -designedly.” - -The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that threatened his scheme, -at once pounced upon the beard and hastened with it to where Master -Nicholas lay, still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his breast -had it on in an instant, muttering over him some words which he said -were a certain special charm for sticking on beards, as they would see; -and as soon as he had it fixed he left him, and the squire appeared -well bearded and whole as before, whereat Don Quixote was beyond -measure astonished, and begged the curate to teach him that charm when -he had an opportunity, as he was persuaded its virtue must extend -beyond the sticking on of beards, for it was clear that where the beard -had been stripped off the flesh must have remained torn and lacerated, -and when it could heal all that it must be good for more than beards. - -“And so it is,” said the curate, and he promised to teach it to him on -the first opportunity. They then agreed that for the present the curate -should mount, and that the three should ride by turns until they -reached the inn, which might be about six leagues from where they were. - -Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don Quixote, the princess, -and the curate, and three on foot, Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho -Panza, Don Quixote said to the damsel: - -“Let your highness, lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to -you;” but before she could answer the licentiate said: - -“Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct our course? Is it -perchance towards that of Micomicon? It must be, or else I know little -about kingdoms.” - -She, being ready on all points, understood that she was to answer -“Yes,” so she said “Yes, señor, my way lies towards that kingdom.” - -“In that case,” said the curate, “we must pass right through my -village, and there your worship will take the road to Cartagena, where -you will be able to embark, fortune favouring; and if the wind be fair -and the sea smooth and tranquil, in somewhat less than nine years you -may come in sight of the great lake Meona, I mean Meotides, which is -little more than a hundred days’ journey this side of your highness’s -kingdom.” - -“Your worship is mistaken, señor,” said she; “for it is not two years -since I set out from it, and though I never had good weather, -nevertheless I am here to behold what I so longed for, and that is my -lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose fame came to my ears as soon as I -set foot in Spain and impelled me to go in search of him, to commend -myself to his courtesy, and entrust the justice of my cause to the -might of his invincible arm.” - -“Enough; no more praise,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I hate all -flattery; and though this may not be so, still language of the kind is -offensive to my chaste ears. I will only say, señora, that whether it -has might or not, that which it may or may not have shall be devoted to -your service even to death; and now, leaving this to its proper season, -I would ask the señor licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought -him into these parts, alone, unattended, and so lightly clad that I am -filled with amazement.” - -“I will answer that briefly,” replied the curate; “you must know then, -Señor Don Quixote, that Master Nicholas, our friend and barber, and I -were going to Seville to receive some money that a relative of mine who -went to the Indies many years ago had sent me, and not such a small sum -but that it was over sixty thousand pieces of eight, full weight, which -is something; and passing by this place yesterday we were attacked by -four footpads, who stripped us even to our beards, and them they -stripped off so that the barber found it necessary to put on a false -one, and even this young man here”—pointing to Cardenio—“they -completely transformed. But the best of it is, the story goes in the -neighbourhood that those who attacked us belong to a number of galley -slaves who, they say, were set free almost on the very same spot by a -man of such valour that, in spite of the commissary and of the guards, -he released the whole of them; and beyond all doubt he must have been -out of his senses, or he must be as great a scoundrel as they, or some -man without heart or conscience to let the wolf loose among the sheep, -the fox among the hens, the fly among the honey. He has defrauded -justice, and opposed his king and lawful master, for he opposed his -just commands; he has, I say, robbed the galleys of their feet, stirred -up the Holy Brotherhood which for many years past has been quiet, and, -lastly, has done a deed by which his soul may be lost without any gain -to his body.” Sancho had told the curate and the barber of the -adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his glory, his master -had achieved, and hence the curate in alluding to it made the most of -it to see what would be said or done by Don Quixote; who changed colour -at every word, not daring to say that it was he who had been the -liberator of those worthy people. “These, then,” said the curate, “were -they who robbed us; and God in his mercy pardon him who would not let -them go to the punishment they deserved.” - -CHAPTER XXX. -WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER -MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING - -The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, “In faith, -then, señor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and it was -not for want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what -he was about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they -were all on the march there because they were special scoundrels.” - -“Blockhead!” said Don Quixote at this, “it is no business or concern of -knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in chains, -or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and -suffer as they do because of their faults or because of their -misfortunes. It only concerns them to aid them as persons in need of -help, having regard to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I -encountered a chaplet or string of miserable and unfortunate people, -and did for them what my sense of duty demands of me, and as for the -rest be that as it may; and whoever takes objection to it, saving the -sacred dignity of the señor licentiate and his honoured person, I say -he knows little about chivalry and lies like a whoreson villain, and -this I will give him to know to the fullest extent with my sword;” and -so saying he settled himself in his stirrups and pressed down his -morion; for the barber’s basin, which according to him was Mambrino’s -helmet, he carried hanging at the saddle-bow until he could repair the -damage done to it by the galley slaves. - -Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly -understood Don Quixote’s crazy turn, and that all except Sancho Panza -were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on -observing his irritation, “Sir Knight, remember the boon you have -promised me, and that in accordance with it you must not engage in any -other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the -licentiate had known that the galley slaves had been set free by that -unconquered arm he would have stopped his mouth thrice over, or even -bitten his tongue three times before he would have said a word that -tended towards disrespect of your worship.” - -“That I swear heartily,” said the curate, “and I would have even -plucked off a moustache.” - -“I will hold my peace, señora,” said Don Quixote, “and I will curb the -natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in peace -and quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this -consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do -so, what is the nature of your trouble, and how many, who, and what are -the persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am -to take vengeance on your behalf?” - -“That I will do with all my heart,” replied Dorothea, “if it will not -be wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes.” - -“It will not be wearisome, señora,” said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea -replied, “Well, if that be so, give me your attention.” As soon as she -said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to -hear what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for -herself; and Sancho did the same, for he was as much taken in by her as -his master; and she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, -and with the help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time to -think, began with great sprightliness of manner in this fashion. - -“First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is—” and here -she stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate had given -her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and -said, “It is no wonder, señora, that your highness should be confused -and embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes; for such -afflictions often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, -so that they do not even remember their own names, as is the case now -with your ladyship, who has forgotten that she is called the Princess -Micomicona, lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with -this cue your highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection -all you may wish to tell us.” - -“That is the truth,” said the damsel; “but I think from this on I shall -have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story safe -into port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio -the Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became -aware by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen Jaramilla, was -to die before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this -life, and I was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all -this, he declared, did not so much grieve or distress him as his -certain knowledge that a prodigious giant, the lord of a great island -close to our kingdom, Pandafilando of the Scowl by name—for it is -averred that, though his eyes are properly placed and straight, he -always looks askew as if he squinted, and this he does out of -malignity, to strike fear and terror into those he looks at—that he -knew, I say, that this giant on becoming aware of my orphan condition -would overrun my kingdom with a mighty force and strip me of all, not -leaving me even a small village to shelter me; but that I could avoid -all this ruin and misfortune if I were willing to marry him; however, -as far as he could see, he never expected that I would consent to a -marriage so unequal; and he said no more than the truth in this, for it -has never entered my mind to marry that giant, or any other, let him be -ever so great or enormous. My father said, too, that when he was dead, -and I saw Pandafilando about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait -and attempt to defend myself, for that would be destructive to me, but -that I should leave the kingdom entirely open to him if I wished to -avoid the death and total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, for -there would be no possibility of defending myself against the giant’s -devilish power; and that I should at once with some of my followers set -out for Spain, where I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a -certain knight-errant whose fame by that time would extend over the -whole kingdom, and who would be called, if I remember rightly, Don -Azote or Don Gigote.” - -“‘Don Quixote,’ he must have said, señora,” observed Sancho at this, -“otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” - -“That is it,” said Dorothea; “he said, moreover, that he would be tall -of stature and lank featured; and that on his right side under the left -shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with hairs like -bristles.” - -On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, “Here, Sancho my son, -bear a hand and help me to strip, for I want to see if I am the knight -that sage king foretold.” - -“What does your worship want to strip for?” said Dorothea. - -“To see if I have that mole your father spoke of,” answered Don -Quixote. - -“There is no occasion to strip,” said Sancho; “for I know your worship -has just such a mole on the middle of your backbone, which is the mark -of a strong man.” - -“That is enough,” said Dorothea, “for with friends we must not look too -closely into trifles; and whether it be on the shoulder or on the -backbone matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it where -it may, for it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father hit the -truth in every particular, and I have made a lucky hit in commending -myself to Don Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke of, as the -features of his countenance correspond with those assigned to this -knight by that wide fame he has acquired not only in Spain but in all -La Mancha; for I had scarcely landed at Osuna when I heard such -accounts of his achievements, that at once my heart told me he was the -very one I had come in search of.” - -“But how did you land at Osuna, señora,” asked Don Quixote, “when it is -not a seaport?” - -But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her, saying, -“The princess meant to say that after she had landed at Malaga the -first place where she heard of your worship was Osuna.” - -“That is what I meant to say,” said Dorothea. - -“And that would be only natural,” said the curate. “Will your majesty -please proceed?” - -“There is no more to add,” said Dorothea, “save that in finding Don -Quixote I have had such good fortune, that I already reckon and regard -myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his courtesy -and magnanimity he has granted me the boon of accompanying me -whithersoever I may conduct him, which will be only to bring him face -to face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him and -restore to me what has been unjustly usurped by him: for all this must -come to pass satisfactorily since my good father Tinacrio the Sapient -foretold it, who likewise left it declared in writing in Chaldee or -Greek characters (for I cannot read them), that if this predicted -knight, after having cut the giant’s throat, should be disposed to -marry me I was to offer myself at once without demur as his lawful -wife, and yield him possession of my kingdom together with my person.” - -“What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?” said Don Quixote at this. -“Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so? See how we have already got -a kingdom to govern and a queen to marry!” - -“On my oath it is so,” said Sancho; “and foul fortune to him who won’t -marry after slitting Señor Pandahilado’s windpipe! And then, how -illfavoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!” - -And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign of -extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the bridle of Dorothea’s -mule, and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging her to give -him her hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her as his queen -and mistress. Which of the bystanders could have helped laughing to see -the madness of the master and the simplicity of the servant? Dorothea -therefore gave her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in her -kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to permit her to recover and -enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks in words that set them all -laughing again. - -“This, sirs,” continued Dorothea, “is my story; it only remains to tell -you that of all the attendants I took with me from my kingdom I have -none left except this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned in a -great tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and I came -to land on a couple of planks as if by a miracle; and indeed the whole -course of my life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have observed; -and if I have been over minute in any respect or not as precise as I -ought, let it be accounted for by what the licentiate said at the -beginning of my tale, that constant and excessive troubles deprive the -sufferers of their memory.” - -“They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess,” said -Don Quixote, “however great and unexampled those which I shall endure -in your service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have -promised you, and I swear to go with you to the end of the world until -I find myself in the presence of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head -I trust by the aid of my arm to cut off with the edge of this—I will -not say good sword, thanks to Gines de Pasamonte who carried away -mine”—(this he said between his teeth, and then continued), “and when -it has been cut off and you have been put in peaceful possession of -your realm it shall be left to your own decision to dispose of your -person as may be most pleasing to you; for so long as my memory is -occupied, my will enslaved, and my understanding enthralled by her—I -say no more—it is impossible for me for a moment to contemplate -marriage, even with a Phœnix.” - -The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so -disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice he exclaimed with great -irritation: - -“By my oath, Señor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses; for -how can your worship possibly object to marrying such an exalted -princess as this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every -stone such a piece of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady Dulcinea -fairer, perchance? Not she; nor half as fair; and I will even go so far -as to say she does not come up to the shoe of this one here. A poor -chance I have of getting that county I am waiting for if your worship -goes looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. In the devil’s -name, marry, marry, and take this kingdom that comes to hand without -any trouble, and when you are king make me a marquis or governor of a -province, and for the rest let the devil take it all.” - -Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady -Dulcinea, could not endure it, and lifting his pike, without saying -anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks -that he brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea -cried out to him to spare him he would have no doubt taken his life on -the spot. - -“Do you think,” he said to him after a pause, “you scurvy clown, that -you are to be always interfering with me, and that you are to be always -offending and I always pardoning? Don’t fancy it, impious scoundrel, -for that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy tongue going -against the peerless Dulcinea. Know you not, lout, vagabond, beggar, -that were it not for the might that she infuses into my arm I should -not have strength enough to kill a flea? Say, scoffer with a viper’s -tongue, what think you has won this kingdom and cut off this giant’s -head and made you a marquis (for all this I count as already -accomplished and decided), but the might of Dulcinea, employing my arm -as the instrument of her achievements? She fights in me and conquers in -me, and I live and breathe in her, and owe my life and being to her. O -whoreson scoundrel, how ungrateful you are, you see yourself raised -from the dust of the earth to be a titled lord, and the return you make -for so great a benefit is to speak evil of her who has conferred it -upon you!” - -Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and -rising with some degree of nimbleness he ran to place himself behind -Dorothea’s palfrey, and from that position he said to his master: - -“Tell me, señor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great -princess, it is plain the kingdom will not be yours; and not being so, -how can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let -your worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her -here as if showered down from heaven, and afterwards you may go back to -my lady Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who kept -mistresses. As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if the -truth is to be told, I like them both; though I have never seen the -lady Dulcinea.” - -“How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote; -“hast thou not just now brought me a message from her?” - -“I mean,” said Sancho, “that I did not see her so much at my leisure -that I could take particular notice of her beauty, or of her charms -piecemeal; but taken in the lump I like her.” - -“Now I forgive thee,” said Don Quixote; “and do thou forgive me the -injury I have done thee; for our first impulses are not in our -control.” - -“That I see,” replied Sancho, “and with me the wish to speak is always -the first impulse, and I cannot help saying, once at any rate, what I -have on the tip of my tongue.” - -“For all that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “take heed of what thou -sayest, for the pitcher goes so often to the well—I need say no more to -thee.” - -“Well, well,” said Sancho, “God is in heaven, and sees all tricks, and -will judge who does most harm, I in not speaking right, or your worship -in not doing it.” - -“That is enough,” said Dorothea; “run, Sancho, and kiss your lord’s -hand and beg his pardon, and henceforward be more circumspect with your -praise and abuse; and say nothing in disparagement of that lady Toboso, -of whom I know nothing save that I am her servant; and put your trust -in God, for you will not fail to obtain some dignity so as to live like -a prince.” - -Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his master’s hand, which -Don Quixote with dignity presented to him, giving him his blessing as -soon as he had kissed it; he then bade him go on ahead a little, as he -had questions to ask him and matters of great importance to discuss -with him. Sancho obeyed, and when the two had gone some distance in -advance Don Quixote said to him, “Since thy return I have had no -opportunity or time to ask thee many particulars touching thy mission -and the answer thou hast brought back, and now that chance has granted -us the time and opportunity, deny me not the happiness thou canst give -me by such good news.” - -“Let your worship ask what you will,” answered Sancho, “for I shall -find a way out of all as I found a way in; but I implore you, señor, -not to be so revengeful in future.” - -“Why dost thou say that, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“I say it,” he returned, “because those blows just now were more -because of the quarrel the devil stirred up between us both the other -night, than for what I said against my lady Dulcinea, whom I love and -reverence as I would a relic—though there is nothing of that about -her—merely as something belonging to your worship.” - -“Say no more on that subject for thy life, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“for it is displeasing to me; I have already pardoned thee for that, -and thou knowest the common saying, ‘for a fresh sin a fresh penance.’” - -While this was going on they saw coming along the road they were -following a man mounted on an ass, who when he came close seemed to be -a gipsy; but Sancho Panza, whose eyes and heart were there wherever he -saw asses, no sooner beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de -Pasamonte; and by the thread of the gipsy he got at the ball, his ass, -for it was, in fact, Dapple that carried Pasamonte, who to escape -recognition and to sell the ass had disguised himself as a gipsy, being -able to speak the gipsy language, and many more, as well as if they -were his own. Sancho saw him and recognised him, and the instant he did -so he shouted to him, “Ginesillo, you thief, give up my treasure, -release my life, embarrass thyself not with my repose, quit my ass, -leave my delight, be off, rip, get thee gone, thief, and give up what -is not thine.” - -There was no necessity for so many words or objurgations, for at the -first one Gines jumped down, and at a like racing speed made off and -got clear of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and embracing him -he said, “How hast thou fared, my blessing, Dapple of my eyes, my -comrade?” all the while kissing him and caressing him as if he were a -human being. The ass held his peace, and let himself be kissed and -caressed by Sancho without answering a single word. They all came up -and congratulated him on having found Dapple, Don Quixote especially, -who told him that notwithstanding this he would not cancel the order -for the three ass-colts, for which Sancho thanked him. - -While the two had been going along conversing in this fashion, the -curate observed to Dorothea that she had shown great cleverness, as -well in the story itself as in its conciseness, and the resemblance it -bore to those of the books of chivalry. She said that she had many -times amused herself reading them; but that she did not know the -situation of the provinces or seaports, and so she had said at -haphazard that she had landed at Osuna. - -“So I saw,” said the curate, “and for that reason I made haste to say -what I did, by which it was all set right. But is it not a strange -thing to see how readily this unhappy gentleman believes all these -figments and lies, simply because they are in the style and manner of -the absurdities of his books?” - -“So it is,” said Cardenio; “and so uncommon and unexampled, that were -one to attempt to invent and concoct it in fiction, I doubt if there be -any wit keen enough to imagine it.” - -“But another strange thing about it,” said the curate, “is that, apart -from the silly things which this worthy gentleman says in connection -with his craze, when other subjects are dealt with, he can discuss them -in a perfectly rational manner, showing that his mind is quite clear -and composed; so that, provided his chivalry is not touched upon, no -one would take him to be anything but a man of thoroughly sound -understanding.” - -While they were holding this conversation Don Quixote continued his -with Sancho, saying: - -“Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to our quarrels, and tell -me now, dismissing anger and irritation, where, how, and when didst -thou find Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou say to her? -What did she answer? How did she look when she was reading my letter? -Who copied it out for thee? and everything in the matter that seems to -thee worth knowing, asking, and learning; neither adding nor falsifying -to give me pleasure, nor yet curtailing lest you should deprive me of -it.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, nobody copied out -the letter for me, for I carried no letter at all.” - -“It is as thou sayest,” said Don Quixote, “for the notebook in which I -wrote it I found in my own possession two days after thy departure, -which gave me very great vexation, as I knew not what thou wouldst do -on finding thyself without any letter; and I made sure thou wouldst -return from the place where thou didst first miss it.” - -“So I should have done,” said Sancho, “if I had not got it by heart -when your worship read it to me, so that I repeated it to a sacristan, -who copied it out for me from hearing it, so exactly that he said in -all the days of his life, though he had read many a letter of -excommunication, he had never seen or read so pretty a letter as that.” - -“And hast thou got it still in thy memory, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“No, señor,” replied Sancho, “for as soon as I had repeated it, seeing -there was no further use for it, I set about forgetting it; and if I -recollect any of it, it is that about ‘Scrubbing,’ I mean to say -‘Sovereign Lady,’ and the end ‘Yours till death, the Knight of the -Rueful Countenance;’ and between these two I put into it more than -three hundred ‘my souls’ and ‘my life’s’ and ‘my eyes.” - -CHAPTER XXXI. -OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA, HIS -SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS - -“All that is not unsatisfactory to me,” said Don Quixote. “Go on; thou -didst reach her; and what was that queen of beauty doing? Surely thou -didst find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some device in gold -thread for this her enslaved knight.” - -“I did not,” said Sancho, “but I found her winnowing two bushels of -wheat in the yard of her house.” - -“Then depend upon it,” said Don Quixote, “the grains of that wheat were -pearls when touched by her hands; and didst thou look, friend? was it -white wheat or brown?” - -“It was neither, but red,” said Sancho. - -“Then I promise thee,” said Don Quixote, “that, winnowed by her hands, -beyond a doubt the bread it made was of the whitest; but go on; when -thou gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on her -head? Did she perform any ceremony befitting it, or what did she do?” - -“When I went to give it to her,” replied Sancho, “she was hard at it -swaying from side to side with a lot of wheat she had in the sieve, and -she said to me, ‘Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that sack, for I -cannot read it until I have done sifting all this.” - -“Discreet lady!” said Don Quixote; “that was in order to read it at her -leisure and enjoy it; proceed, Sancho; while she was engaged in her -occupation what converse did she hold with thee? What did she ask about -me, and what answer didst thou give? Make haste; tell me all, and let -not an atom be left behind in the ink-bottle.” - -“She asked me nothing,” said Sancho; “but I told her how your worship -was left doing penance in her service, naked from the waist up, in -among these mountains like a savage, sleeping on the ground, not eating -bread off a tablecloth nor combing your beard, weeping and cursing your -fortune.” - -“In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong,” said Don Quixote; -“for rather do I bless it and shall bless it all the days of my life -for having made me worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as -Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -“And so lofty she is,” said Sancho, “that she overtops me by more than -a hand’s-breadth.” - -“What! Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “didst thou measure with her?” - -“I measured in this way,” said Sancho; “going to help her to put a sack -of wheat on the back of an ass, we came so close together that I could -see she stood more than a good palm over me.” - -“Well!” said Don Quixote, “and doth she not of a truth accompany and -adorn this greatness with a thousand million charms of mind! But one -thing thou wilt not deny, Sancho; when thou camest close to her didst -thou not perceive a Sabæan odour, an aromatic fragrance, a, I know not -what, delicious, that I cannot find a name for; I mean a redolence, an -exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some dainty glover?” - -“All I can say is,” said Sancho, “that I did perceive a little odour, -something goaty; it must have been that she was all in a sweat with -hard work.” - -“It could not be that,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must have been -suffering from cold in the head, or must have smelt thyself; for I know -well what would be the scent of that rose among thorns, that lily of -the field, that dissolved amber.” - -“Maybe so,” replied Sancho; “there often comes from myself that same -odour which then seemed to me to come from her grace the lady Dulcinea; -but that’s no wonder, for one devil is like another.” - -“Well then,” continued Don Quixote, “now she has done sifting the corn -and sent it to the mill; what did she do when she read the letter?” - -“As for the letter,” said Sancho, “she did not read it, for she said -she could neither read nor write; instead of that she tore it up into -small pieces, saying that she did not want to let anyone read it lest -her secrets should become known in the village, and that what I had -told her by word of mouth about the love your worship bore her, and the -extraordinary penance you were doing for her sake, was enough; and, to -make an end of it, she told me to tell your worship that she kissed -your hands, and that she had a greater desire to see you than to write -to you; and that therefore she entreated and commanded you, on sight of -this present, to come out of these thickets, and to have done with -carrying on absurdities, and to set out at once for El Toboso, unless -something else of greater importance should happen, for she had a great -desire to see your worship. She laughed greatly when I told her how -your worship was called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance; I asked -her if that Biscayan the other day had been there; and she told me he -had, and that he was an honest fellow; I asked her too about the galley -slaves, but she said she had not seen any as yet.” - -“So far all goes well,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me what jewel was -it that she gave thee on taking thy leave, in return for thy tidings of -me? For it is a usual and ancient custom with knights and ladies errant -to give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who bring tidings of their -ladies to the knights, or of their knights to the ladies, some rich -jewel as a guerdon for good news, and acknowledgment of the message.” - -“That is very likely,” said Sancho, “and a good custom it was, to my -mind; but that must have been in days gone by, for now it would seem to -be the custom only to give a piece of bread and cheese; because that -was what my lady Dulcinea gave me over the top of the yard-wall when I -took leave of her; and more by token it was sheep’s-milk cheese.” - -“She is generous in the extreme,” said Don Quixote, “and if she did not -give thee a jewel of gold, no doubt it must have been because she had -not one to hand there to give thee; but sleeves are good after Easter; -I shall see her and all shall be made right. But knowest thou what -amazes me, Sancho? It seems to me thou must have gone and come through -the air, for thou hast taken but little more than three days to go to -El Toboso and return, though it is more than thirty leagues from here -to there. From which I am inclined to think that the sage magician who -is my friend, and watches over my interests (for of necessity there is -and must be one, or else I should not be a right knight-errant), that -this same, I say, must have helped thee to travel without thy -knowledge; for some of these sages will catch up a knight-errant -sleeping in his bed, and without his knowing how or in what way it -happened, he wakes up the next day more than a thousand leagues away -from the place where he went to sleep. And if it were not for this, -knights-errant would not be able to give aid to one another in peril, -as they do at every turn. For a knight, maybe, is fighting in the -mountains of Armenia with some dragon, or fierce serpent, or another -knight, and gets the worst of the battle, and is at the point of death; -but when he least looks for it, there appears over against him on a -cloud, or chariot of fire, another knight, a friend of his, who just -before had been in England, and who takes his part, and delivers him -from death; and at night he finds himself in his own quarters supping -very much to his satisfaction; and yet from one place to the other will -have been two or three thousand leagues. And all this is done by the -craft and skill of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant -knights; so that, friend Sancho, I find no difficulty in believing that -thou mayest have gone from this place to El Toboso and returned in such -a short time, since, as I have said, some friendly sage must have -carried thee through the air without thee perceiving it.” - -“That must have been it,” said Sancho, “for indeed Rocinante went like -a gipsy’s ass with quicksilver in his ears.” - -“Quicksilver!” said Don Quixote, “aye and what is more, a legion of -devils, folk that can travel and make others travel without being -weary, exactly as the whim seizes them. But putting this aside, what -thinkest thou I ought to do about my lady’s command to go and see her? -For though I feel that I am bound to obey her mandate, I feel too that -I am debarred by the boon I have accorded to the princess that -accompanies us, and the law of chivalry compels me to have regard for -my word in preference to my inclination; on the one hand the desire to -see my lady pursues and harasses me, on the other my solemn promise and -the glory I shall win in this enterprise urge and call me; but what I -think I shall do is to travel with all speed and reach quickly the -place where this giant is, and on my arrival I shall cut off his head, -and establish the princess peacefully in her realm, and forthwith I -shall return to behold the light that lightens my senses, to whom I -shall make such excuses that she will be led to approve of my delay, -for she will see that it entirely tends to increase her glory and fame; -for all that I have won, am winning, or shall win by arms in this life, -comes to me of the favour she extends to me, and because I am hers.” - -“Ah! what a sad state your worship’s brains are in!” said Sancho. “Tell -me, señor, do you mean to travel all that way for nothing, and to let -slip and lose so rich and great a match as this where they give as a -portion a kingdom that in sober truth I have heard say is more than -twenty thousand leagues round about, and abounds with all things -necessary to support human life, and is bigger than Portugal and -Castile put together? Peace, for the love of God! Blush for what you -have said, and take my advice, and forgive me, and marry at once in the -first village where there is a curate; if not, here is our licentiate -who will do the business beautifully; remember, I am old enough to give -advice, and this I am giving comes pat to the purpose; for a sparrow in -the hand is better than a vulture on the wing, and he who has the good -to his hand and chooses the bad, that the good he complains of may not -come to him.” - -“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “If thou art advising me to -marry, in order that immediately on slaying the giant I may become -king, and be able to confer favours on thee, and give thee what I have -promised, let me tell thee I shall be able very easily to satisfy thy -desires without marrying; for before going into battle I will make it a -stipulation that, if I come out of it victorious, even I do not marry, -they shall give me a portion of the kingdom, that I may bestow it upon -whomsoever I choose, and when they give it to me upon whom wouldst thou -have me bestow it but upon thee?” - -“That is plain speaking,” said Sancho; “but let your worship take care -to choose it on the seacoast, so that if I don’t like the life, I may -be able to ship off my black vassals and deal with them as I have said; -don’t mind going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and kill this -giant and let us finish off this business; for by God it strikes me it -will be one of great honour and great profit.” - -“I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and I -will take thy advice as to accompanying the princess before going to -see Dulcinea; but I counsel thee not to say anything to anyone, or to -those who are with us, about what we have considered and discussed, for -as Dulcinea is so decorous that she does not wish her thoughts to be -known it is not right that I or anyone for me should disclose them.” - -“Well then, if that be so,” said Sancho, “how is it that your worship -makes all those you overcome by your arm go to present themselves -before my lady Dulcinea, this being the same thing as signing your name -to it that you love her and are her lover? And as those who go must -perforce kneel before her and say they come from your worship to submit -themselves to her, how can the thoughts of both of you be hid?” - -“O, how silly and simple thou art!” said Don Quixote; “seest thou not, -Sancho, that this tends to her greater exaltation? For thou must know -that according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a high honour -to a lady to have many knights-errant in her service, whose thoughts -never go beyond serving her for her own sake, and who look for no other -reward for their great and true devotion than that she should be -willing to accept them as her knights.” - -“It is with that kind of love,” said Sancho, “I have heard preachers -say we ought to love our Lord, for himself alone, without being moved -by the hope of glory or the fear of punishment; though for my part, I -would rather love and serve him for what he could do.” - -“The devil take thee for a clown!” said Don Quixote, “and what shrewd -things thou sayest at times! One would think thou hadst studied.” - -“In faith, then, I cannot even read.” - -Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait a while, as they wanted -to halt and drink at a little spring there was there. Don Quixote drew -up, not a little to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he was by this time -weary of telling so many lies, and in dread of his master catching him -tripping, for though he knew that Dulcinea was a peasant girl of El -Toboso, he had never seen her in all his life. Cardenio had now put on -the clothes which Dorothea was wearing when they found her, and though -they were not very good, they were far better than those he put off. -They dismounted together by the side of the spring, and with what the -curate had provided himself with at the inn they appeased, though not -very well, the keen appetite they all of them brought with them. - -While they were so employed there happened to come by a youth passing -on his way, who stopping to examine the party at the spring, the next -moment ran to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs, began to -weep freely, saying, “O, señor, do you not know me? Look at me well; I -am that lad Andres that your worship released from the oak-tree where I -was tied.” - -Don Quixote recognised him, and taking his hand he turned to those -present and said: “That your worships may see how important it is to -have knights-errant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by -tyrannical and wicked men in this world, I may tell you that some days -ago passing through a wood, I heard cries and piteous complaints as of -a person in pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled by my -bounden duty, to the quarter whence the plaintive accents seemed to me -to proceed, and I found tied to an oak this lad who now stands before -you, which in my heart I rejoice at, for his testimony will not permit -me to depart from the truth in any particular. He was, I say, tied to -an oak, naked from the waist up, and a clown, whom I afterwards found -to be his master, was scarifying him by lashes with the reins of his -mare. As soon as I saw him I asked the reason of so cruel a -flagellation. The boor replied that he was flogging him because he was -his servant and because of carelessness that proceeded rather from -dishonesty than stupidity; on which this boy said, ‘Señor, he flogs me -only because I ask for my wages.’ The master made I know not what -speeches and explanations, which, though I listened to them, I did not -accept. In short, I compelled the clown to unbind him, and to swear he -would take him with him, and pay him real by real, and perfumed into -the bargain. Is not all this true, Andres my son? Didst thou not mark -with what authority I commanded him, and with what humility he promised -to do all I enjoined, specified, and required of him? Answer without -hesitation; tell these gentlemen what took place, that they may see -that it is as great an advantage as I say to have knights-errant -abroad.” - -“All that your worship has said is quite true,” answered the lad; “but -the end of the business turned out just the opposite of what your -worship supposes.” - -“How! the opposite?” said Don Quixote; “did not the clown pay thee -then?” - -“Not only did he not pay me,” replied the lad, “but as soon as your -worship had passed out of the wood and we were alone, he tied me up -again to the same oak and gave me a fresh flogging, that left me like a -flayed Saint Bartholomew; and every stroke he gave me he followed up -with some jest or gibe about having made a fool of your worship, and -but for the pain I was suffering I should have laughed at the things he -said. In short he left me in such a condition that I have been until -now in a hospital getting cured of the injuries which that rascally -clown inflicted on me then; for all which your worship is to blame; for -if you had gone your own way and not come where there was no call for -you, nor meddled in other people’s affairs, my master would have been -content with giving me one or two dozen lashes, and would have then -loosed me and paid me what he owed me; but when your worship abused him -so out of measure, and gave him so many hard words, his anger was -kindled; and as he could not revenge himself on you, as soon as he saw -you had left him the storm burst upon me in such a way, that I feel as -if I should never be a man again.” - -“The mischief,” said Don Quixote, “lay in my going away; for I should -not have gone until I had seen thee paid; because I ought to have known -well by long experience that there is no clown who will keep his word -if he finds it will not suit him to keep it; but thou rememberest, -Andres, that I swore if he did not pay thee I would go and seek him, -and find him though he were to hide himself in the whale’s belly.” - -“That is true,” said Andres; “but it was of no use.” - -“Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not,” said Don Quixote; and -so saying, he got up hastily and bade Sancho bridle Rocinante, who was -browsing while they were eating. Dorothea asked him what he meant to -do. He replied that he meant to go in search of this clown and chastise -him for such iniquitous conduct, and see Andres paid to the last -maravedi, despite and in the teeth of all the clowns in the world. To -which she replied that he must remember that in accordance with his -promise he could not engage in any enterprise until he had concluded -hers; and that as he knew this better than anyone, he should restrain -his ardour until his return from her kingdom. - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and Andres must have patience until -my return as you say, señora; but I once more swear and promise not to -stop until I have seen him avenged and paid.” - -“I have no faith in those oaths,” said Andres; “I would rather have now -something to help me to get to Seville than all the revenges in the -world; if you have here anything to eat that I can take with me, give -it me, and God be with your worship and all knights-errant; and may -their errands turn out as well for themselves as they have for me.” - -Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread and another of cheese, -and giving them to the lad he said, “Here, take this, brother Andres, -for we have all of us a share in your misfortune.” - -“Why, what share have you got?” - -“This share of bread and cheese I am giving you,” answered Sancho; “and -God knows whether I shall feel the want of it myself or not; for I -would have you know, friend, that we squires to knights-errant have to -bear a great deal of hunger and hard fortune, and even other things -more easily felt than told.” - -Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody gave him -anything more, bent his head, and took hold of the road, as the saying -is. However, before leaving he said, “For the love of God, sir -knight-errant, if you ever meet me again, though you may see them -cutting me to pieces, give me no aid or succour, but leave me to my -misfortune, which will not be so great but that a greater will come to -me by being helped by your worship, on whom and all the knights-errant -that have ever been born God send his curse.” - -Don Quixote was getting up to chastise him, but he took to his heels at -such a pace that no one attempted to follow him; and mightily -chapfallen was Don Quixote at Andres’ story, and the others had to take -great care to restrain their laughter so as not to put him entirely out -of countenance. - -CHAPTER XXXII. -WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE’S PARTY AT THE INN - -Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without -any adventure worth mentioning they reached next day the inn, the -object of Sancho Panza’s fear and dread; but though he would have -rather not entered it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the -landlord, their daughter, and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and -Sancho coming, went out to welcome them with signs of hearty -satisfaction, which Don Quixote received with dignity and gravity, and -bade them make up a better bed for him than the last time: to which the -landlady replied that if he paid better than he did the last time she -would give him one fit for a prince. Don Quixote said he would, so they -made up a tolerable one for him in the same garret as before; and he -lay down at once, being sorely shaken and in want of sleep. - -No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the -barber, and seizing him by the beard, said: - -“By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; -you must give me back my tail, for it is a shame the way that thing of -my husband’s goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I -used to stick in my good tail.” - -But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the -licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further -occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and -appear in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to -this inn when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he -ask for the princess’s squire, they could tell him that she had sent -him on before her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she -was coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this -the barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the -same time they returned all the accessories they had borrowed to effect -Don Quixote’s deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with -astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure -of the shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready such fare as -there was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, -served them up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was -asleep, and they thought it best not to waken him, as sleeping would -now do him more good than eating. - -While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, -their daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the -strange craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; -and the landlady told them what had taken place between him and the -carrier; and then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she -saw he was not, she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which -they received with no little amusement. But on the curate observing -that it was the books of chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had -turned his brain, the landlord said: - -“I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is -no better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, -with other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of -plenty more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on -holidays, and there is always one among them who can read and who takes -up one of these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, -and stay listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow -young again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what -furious and terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the -longing to do the same, and I would like to be hearing about them night -and day.” - -“And I just as much,” said the landlady, “because I never have a quiet -moment in my house except when you are listening to someone reading; -for then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to -scold.” - -“That is true,” said Maritornes; “and, faith, I relish hearing these -things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they -describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the -orange trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead -with envy and fright; all this I say is as good as honey.” - -“And you, what do you think, young lady?” said the curate turning to -the landlord’s daughter. - -“I don’t know indeed, señor,” said she; “I listen too, and to tell the -truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not -the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights -utter when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they -sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them.” - -“Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?” -said Dorothea. - -“I don’t know what I should do,” said the girl; “I only know that there -are some of those ladies so cruel that they call their knights tigers -and lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don’t know what -sort of folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than -bestow a glance upon a worthy man they leave him to die or go mad. I -don’t know what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour’s -sake, why not marry them? That’s all they want.” - -“Hush, child,” said the landlady; “it seems to me thou knowest a great -deal about these things, and it is not fit for girls to know or talk so -much.” - -“As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him,” said the -girl. - -“Well then,” said the curate, “bring me these books, señor landlord, -for I should like to see them.” - -“With all my heart,” said he, and going into his own room he brought -out an old valise secured with a little chain, on opening which the -curate found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a -very good hand. The first that he opened he found to be “Don Cirongilio -of Thrace,” and the second “Don Felixmarte of Hircania,” and the other -the “History of the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with -the Life of Diego García de Paredes.” - -When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber -and said, “We want my friend’s housekeeper and niece here now.” - -“Nay,” said the barber, “I can do just as well to carry them to the -yard or to the hearth, and there is a very good fire there.” - -“What! your worship would burn my books!” said the landlord. - -“Only these two,” said the curate, “Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte.” - -“Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmatics that you want to burn -them?” said the landlord. - -“Schismatics you mean, friend,” said the barber, “not phlegmatics.” - -“That’s it,” said the landlord; “but if you want to burn any, let it be -that about the Great Captain and that Diego García; for I would rather -have a child of mine burnt than either of the others.” - -“Brother,” said the curate, “those two books are made up of lies, and -are full of folly and nonsense; but this of the Great Captain is a true -history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by -his many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of -the Great Captain, a famous and illustrious name, and deserved by him -alone; and this Diego García de Paredes was a distinguished knight of -the city of Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of -such bodily strength that with one finger he stopped a mill-wheel in -full motion; and posted with a two-handed sword at the foot of a bridge -he kept the whole of an immense army from passing over it, and achieved -such other exploits that if, instead of his relating them himself with -the modesty of a knight and of one writing his own history, some free -and unbiased writer had recorded them, they would have thrown into the -shade all the deeds of the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands.” - -“Tell that to my father,” said the landlord. “There’s a thing to be -astonished at! Stopping a mill-wheel! By God your worship should read -what I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single -backstroke he cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they -had been made of bean-pods like the little friars the children make; -and another time he attacked a very great and powerful army, in which -there were more than a million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed -from head to foot, and he routed them all as if they had been flocks of -sheep.” - -“And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was -so stout and bold; as may be seen in the book, where it is related that -as he was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst of the -water against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung -himself upon it and got astride of its scaly shoulders, and squeezed -its throat with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he -was throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the -bottom of the river, carrying with it the knight who would not let go -his hold; and when they got down there he found himself among palaces -and gardens so pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent -changed itself into an old ancient man, who told him such things as -were never heard. Hold your peace, señor; for if you were to hear this -you would go mad with delight. A couple of figs for your Great Captain -and your Diego García!” - -Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, “Our landlord is -almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote.” - -“I think so,” said Cardenio, “for, as he shows, he accepts it as a -certainty that everything those books relate took place exactly as it -is written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not -persuade him to the contrary.” - -“But consider, brother,” said the curate once more, “there never was -any Felixmarte of Hircania in the world, nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, -or any of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of -chivalry talk of; the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of -idle wits, devised by them for the purpose you describe of beguiling -the time, as your reapers do when they read; for I swear to you in all -seriousness there never were any such knights in the world, and no such -exploits or nonsense ever happened anywhere.” - -“Try that bone on another dog,” said the landlord; “as if I did not -know how many make five, and where my shoe pinches me; don’t think to -feed me with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your -worship to try and persuade me that everything these good books say is -nonsense and lies, and they printed by the license of the Lords of the -Royal Council, as if they were people who would allow such a lot of -lies to be printed all together, and so many battles and enchantments -that they take away one’s senses.” - -“I have told you, friend,” said the curate, “that this is done to -divert our idle thoughts; and as in well-ordered states games of chess, -fives, and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not -care, or are not obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind -are allowed to be printed, on the supposition that, what indeed is the -truth, there can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true -stories; and if it were permitted me now, and the present company -desired it, I could say something about the qualities books of chivalry -should possess to be good ones, that would be to the advantage and even -to the taste of some; but I hope the time will come when I can -communicate my ideas to someone who may be able to mend matters; and in -the meantime, señor landlord, believe what I have said, and take your -books, and make up your mind about their truth or falsehood, and much -good may they do you; and God grant you may not fall lame of the same -foot your guest Don Quixote halts on.” - -“No fear of that,” returned the landlord; “I shall not be so mad as to -make a knight-errant of myself; for I see well enough that things are -not now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous -knights roamed about the world.” - -Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and -he was very much troubled and cast down by what he heard said about -knights-errant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry -being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what -came of this journey of his master’s, and if it did not turn out as -happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back -to his wife and children and his ordinary labour. - -The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate -said to him, “Wait; I want to see what those papers are that are -written in such a good hand.” The landlord taking them out handed them -to him to read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets -of manuscript, with, in large letters at the beginning, the title of -“Novel of the Ill-advised Curiosity.” The curate read three or four -lines to himself, and said, “I must say the title of this novel does -not seem to me a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all.” To -which the landlord replied, “Then your reverence will do well to read -it, for I can tell you that some guests who have read it here have been -much pleased with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I -would not give it, meaning to return it to the person who forgot the -valise, books, and papers here, for maybe he will return here some time -or other; and though I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to -return them; for though I am an innkeeper, still I am a Christian.” - -“You are very right, friend,” said the curate; “but for all that, if -the novel pleases me you must let me copy it.” - -“With all my heart,” replied the host. - -While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to -read it, and forming the same opinion of it as the curate, he begged -him to read it so that they might all hear it. - -“I would read it,” said the curate, “if the time would not be better -spent in sleeping.” - -“It will be rest enough for me,” said Dorothea, “to while away the time -by listening to some tale, for my spirits are not yet tranquil enough -to let me sleep when it would be seasonable.” - -“Well then, in that case,” said the curate, “I will read it, if it were -only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain something pleasant.” - -Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho -too; seeing which, and considering that he would give pleasure to all, -and receive it himself, the curate said, “Well then, attend to me -everyone, for the novel begins thus.” - -CHAPTER XXXIII. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” - -In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called -Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of wealth and quality, Anselmo and -Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were -called by all that knew them “The Two Friends.” They were unmarried, -young, of the same age and of the same tastes, which was enough to -account for the reciprocal friendship between them. Anselmo, it is -true, was somewhat more inclined to seek pleasure in love than -Lothario, for whom the pleasures of the chase had more attraction; but -on occasion Anselmo would forego his own tastes to yield to those of -Lothario, and Lothario would surrender his to fall in with those of -Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept pace one with the -other with a concord so perfect that the best regulated clock could not -surpass it. - -Anselmo was deep in love with a high-born and beautiful maiden of the -same city, the daughter of parents so estimable, and so estimable -herself, that he resolved, with the approval of his friend Lothario, -without whom he did nothing, to ask her of them in marriage, and did -so, Lothario being the bearer of the demand, and conducting the -negotiation so much to the satisfaction of his friend that in a short -time he was in possession of the object of his desires, and Camilla so -happy in having won Anselmo for her husband, that she gave thanks -unceasingly to heaven and to Lothario, by whose means such good fortune -had fallen to her. The first few days, those of a wedding being usually -days of merry-making, Lothario frequented his friend Anselmo’s house as -he had been wont, striving to do honour to him and to the occasion, and -to gratify him in every way he could; but when the wedding days were -over and the succession of visits and congratulations had slackened, he -began purposely to leave off going to the house of Anselmo, for it -seemed to him, as it naturally would to all men of sense, that friends’ -houses ought not to be visited after marriage with the same frequency -as in their masters’ bachelor days: because, though true and genuine -friendship cannot and should not be in any way suspicious, still a -married man’s honour is a thing of such delicacy that it is held liable -to injury from brothers, much more from friends. Anselmo remarked the -cessation of Lothario’s visits, and complained of it to him, saying -that if he had known that marriage was to keep him from enjoying his -society as he used, he would have never married; and that, if by the -thorough harmony that subsisted between them while he was a bachelor -they had earned such a sweet name as that of “The Two Friends,” he -should not allow a title so rare and so delightful to be lost through a -needless anxiety to act circumspectly; and so he entreated him, if such -a phrase was allowable between them, to be once more master of his -house and to come in and go out as formerly, assuring him that his wife -Camilla had no other desire or inclination than that which he would -wish her to have, and that knowing how sincerely they loved one another -she was grieved to see such coldness in him. - -To all this and much more that Anselmo said to Lothario to persuade him -to come to his house as he had been in the habit of doing, Lothario -replied with so much prudence, sense, and judgment, that Anselmo was -satisfied of his friend’s good intentions, and it was agreed that on -two days in the week, and on holidays, Lothario should come to dine -with him; but though this arrangement was made between them Lothario -resolved to observe it no further than he considered to be in -accordance with the honour of his friend, whose good name was more to -him than his own. He said, and justly, that a married man upon whom -heaven had bestowed a beautiful wife should consider as carefully what -friends he brought to his house as what female friends his wife -associated with, for what cannot be done or arranged in the -market-place, in church, at public festivals or at stations -(opportunities that husbands cannot always deny their wives), may be -easily managed in the house of the female friend or relative in whom -most confidence is reposed. Lothario said, too, that every married man -should have some friend who would point out to him any negligence he -might be guilty of in his conduct, for it will sometimes happen that -owing to the deep affection the husband bears his wife either he does -not caution her, or, not to vex her, refrains from telling her to do or -not to do certain things, doing or avoiding which may be a matter of -honour or reproach to him; and errors of this kind he could easily -correct if warned by a friend. But where is such a friend to be found -as Lothario would have, so judicious, so loyal, and so true? - -Of a truth I know not; Lothario alone was such a one, for with the -utmost care and vigilance he watched over the honour of his friend, and -strove to diminish, cut down, and reduce the number of days for going -to his house according to their agreement, lest the visits of a young -man, wealthy, high-born, and with the attractions he was conscious of -possessing, at the house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla, should be -regarded with suspicion by the inquisitive and malicious eyes of the -idle public. For though his integrity and reputation might bridle -slanderous tongues, still he was unwilling to hazard either his own -good name or that of his friend; and for this reason most of the days -agreed upon he devoted to some other business which he pretended was -unavoidable; so that a great portion of the day was taken up with -complaints on one side and excuses on the other. It happened, however, -that on one occasion when the two were strolling together outside the -city, Anselmo addressed the following words to Lothario. - -“Thou mayest suppose, Lothario my friend, that I am unable to give -sufficient thanks for the favours God has rendered me in making me the -son of such parents as mine were, and bestowing upon me with no niggard -hand what are called the gifts of nature as well as those of fortune, -and above all for what he has done in giving me thee for a friend and -Camilla for a wife—two treasures that I value, if not as highly as I -ought, at least as highly as I am able. And yet, with all these good -things, which are commonly all that men need to enable them to live -happily, I am the most discontented and dissatisfied man in the whole -world; for, I know not how long since, I have been harassed and -oppressed by a desire so strange and so unusual, that I wonder at -myself and blame and chide myself when I am alone, and strive to stifle -it and hide it from my own thoughts, and with no better success than if -I were endeavouring deliberately to publish it to all the world; and -as, in short, it must come out, I would confide it to thy safe keeping, -feeling sure that by this means, and by thy readiness as a true friend -to afford me relief, I shall soon find myself freed from the distress -it causes me, and that thy care will give me happiness in the same -degree as my own folly has caused me misery.” - -The words of Anselmo struck Lothario with astonishment, unable as he -was to conjecture the purport of such a lengthy preamble; and though he -strove to imagine what desire it could be that so troubled his friend, -his conjectures were all far from the truth, and to relieve the anxiety -which this perplexity was causing him, he told him he was doing a -flagrant injustice to their great friendship in seeking circuitous -methods of confiding to him his most hidden thoughts, for he well knew -he might reckon upon his counsel in diverting them, or his help in -carrying them into effect. - -“That is the truth,” replied Anselmo, “and relying upon that I will -tell thee, friend Lothario, that the desire which harasses me is that -of knowing whether my wife Camilla is as good and as perfect as I think -her to be; and I cannot satisfy myself of the truth on this point -except by testing her in such a way that the trial may prove the purity -of her virtue as the fire proves that of gold; because I am persuaded, -my friend, that a woman is virtuous only in proportion as she is or is -not tempted; and that she alone is strong who does not yield to the -promises, gifts, tears, and importunities of earnest lovers; for what -thanks does a woman deserve for being good if no one urges her to be -bad, and what wonder is it that she is reserved and circumspect to whom -no opportunity is given of going wrong and who knows she has a husband -that will take her life the first time he detects her in an -impropriety? I do not therefore hold her who is virtuous through fear -or want of opportunity in the same estimation as her who comes out of -temptation and trial with a crown of victory; and so, for these reasons -and many others that I could give thee to justify and support the -opinion I hold, I am desirous that my wife Camilla should pass this -crisis, and be refined and tested by the fire of finding herself wooed -and by one worthy to set his affections upon her; and if she comes out, -as I know she will, victorious from this struggle, I shall look upon my -good fortune as unequalled, I shall be able to say that the cup of my -desire is full, and that the virtuous woman of whom the sage says ‘Who -shall find her?’ has fallen to my lot. And if the result be the -contrary of what I expect, in the satisfaction of knowing that I have -been right in my opinion, I shall bear without complaint the pain which -my so dearly bought experience will naturally cause me. And, as nothing -of all thou wilt urge in opposition to my wish will avail to keep me -from carrying it into effect, it is my desire, friend Lothario, that -thou shouldst consent to become the instrument for effecting this -purpose that I am bent upon, for I will afford thee opportunities to -that end, and nothing shall be wanting that I may think necessary for -the pursuit of a virtuous, honourable, modest and high-minded woman. -And among other reasons, I am induced to entrust this arduous task to -thee by the consideration that if Camilla be conquered by thee the -conquest will not be pushed to extremes, but only far enough to account -that accomplished which from a sense of honour will be left undone; -thus I shall not be wronged in anything more than intention, and my -wrong will remain buried in the integrity of thy silence, which I know -well will be as lasting as that of death in what concerns me. If, -therefore, thou wouldst have me enjoy what can be called life, thou -wilt at once engage in this love struggle, not lukewarmly nor -slothfully, but with the energy and zeal that my desire demands, and -with the loyalty our friendship assures me of.” - -Such were the words Anselmo addressed to Lothario, who listened to them -with such attention that, except to say what has been already -mentioned, he did not open his lips until the other had finished. Then -perceiving that he had no more to say, after regarding him for a while, -as one would regard something never before seen that excited wonder and -amazement, he said to him, “I cannot persuade myself, Anselmo my -friend, that what thou hast said to me is not in jest; if I thought -that thou wert speaking seriously I would not have allowed thee to go -so far; so as to put a stop to thy long harangue by not listening to -thee I verily suspect that either thou dost not know me, or I do not -know thee; but no, I know well thou art Anselmo, and thou knowest that -I am Lothario; the misfortune is, it seems to me, that thou art not the -Anselmo thou wert, and must have thought that I am not the Lothario I -should be; for the things that thou hast said to me are not those of -that Anselmo who was my friend, nor are those that thou demandest of me -what should be asked of the Lothario thou knowest. True friends will -prove their friends and make use of them, as a poet has said, _usque ad -aras;_ whereby he meant that they will not make use of their friendship -in things that are contrary to God’s will. If this, then, was a -heathen’s feeling about friendship, how much more should it be a -Christian’s, who knows that the divine must not be forfeited for the -sake of any human friendship? And if a friend should go so far as to -put aside his duty to Heaven to fulfil his duty to his friend, it -should not be in matters that are trifling or of little moment, but in -such as affect the friend’s life and honour. Now tell me, Anselmo, in -which of these two art thou imperilled, that I should hazard myself to -gratify thee, and do a thing so detestable as that thou seekest of me? -Neither forsooth; on the contrary, thou dost ask of me, so far as I -understand, to strive and labour to rob thee of honour and life, and to -rob myself of them at the same time; for if I take away thy honour it -is plain I take away thy life, as a man without honour is worse than -dead; and being the instrument, as thou wilt have it so, of so much -wrong to thee, shall not I, too, be left without honour, and -consequently without life? Listen to me, Anselmo my friend, and be not -impatient to answer me until I have said what occurs to me touching the -object of thy desire, for there will be time enough left for thee to -reply and for me to hear.” - -“Be it so,” said Anselmo, “say what thou wilt.” - -Lothario then went on to say, “It seems to me, Anselmo, that thine is -just now the temper of mind which is always that of the Moors, who can -never be brought to see the error of their creed by quotations from the -Holy Scriptures, or by reasons which depend upon the examination of the -understanding or are founded upon the articles of faith, but must have -examples that are palpable, easy, intelligible, capable of proof, not -admitting of doubt, with mathematical demonstrations that cannot be -denied, like, ‘_If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are -equal:_’ and if they do not understand this in words, and indeed they -do not, it has to be shown to them with the hands, and put before their -eyes, and even with all this no one succeeds in convincing them of the -truth of our holy religion. This same mode of proceeding I shall have -to adopt with thee, for the desire which has sprung up in thee is so -absurd and remote from everything that has a semblance of reason, that -I feel it would be a waste of time to employ it in reasoning with thy -simplicity, for at present I will call it by no other name; and I am -even tempted to leave thee in thy folly as a punishment for thy -pernicious desire; but the friendship I bear thee, which will not allow -me to desert thee in such manifest danger of destruction, keeps me from -dealing so harshly by thee. And that thou mayest clearly see this, say, -Anselmo, hast thou not told me that I must force my suit upon a modest -woman, decoy one that is virtuous, make overtures to one that is -pure-minded, pay court to one that is prudent? Yes, thou hast told me -so. Then, if thou knowest that thou hast a wife, modest, virtuous, -pure-minded and prudent, what is it that thou seekest? And if thou -believest that she will come forth victorious from all my attacks—as -doubtless she would—what higher titles than those she possesses now -dost thou think thou canst bestow upon her then, or in what will she be -better then than she is now? Either thou dost not hold her to be what -thou sayest, or thou knowest not what thou dost demand. If thou dost -not hold her to be what thou sayest, why dost thou seek to prove her -instead of treating her as guilty in the way that may seem best to -thee? but if she be as virtuous as thou believest, it is an -uncalled-for proceeding to make trial of truth itself, for, after -trial, it will but be in the same estimation as before. Thus, then, it -is conclusive that to attempt things from which harm rather than -advantage may come to us is the part of unreasoning and reckless minds, -more especially when they are things which we are not forced or -compelled to attempt, and which show from afar that it is plainly -madness to attempt them. - -“Difficulties are attempted either for the sake of God or for the sake -of the world, or for both; those undertaken for God’s sake are those -which the saints undertake when they attempt to live the lives of -angels in human bodies; those undertaken for the sake of the world are -those of the men who traverse such a vast expanse of water, such a -variety of climates, so many strange countries, to acquire what are -called the blessings of fortune; and those undertaken for the sake of -God and the world together are those of brave soldiers, who no sooner -do they see in the enemy’s wall a breach as wide as a cannon ball could -make, than, casting aside all fear, without hesitating, or heeding the -manifest peril that threatens them, borne onward by the desire of -defending their faith, their country, and their king, they fling -themselves dauntlessly into the midst of the thousand opposing deaths -that await them. Such are the things that men are wont to attempt, and -there is honour, glory, gain, in attempting them, however full of -difficulty and peril they may be; but that which thou sayest it is thy -wish to attempt and carry out will not win thee the glory of God nor -the blessings of fortune nor fame among men; for even if the issue be -as thou wouldst have it, thou wilt be no happier, richer, or more -honoured than thou art this moment; and if it be otherwise thou wilt be -reduced to misery greater than can be imagined, for then it will avail -thee nothing to reflect that no one is aware of the misfortune that has -befallen thee; it will suffice to torture and crush thee that thou -knowest it thyself. And in confirmation of the truth of what I say, let -me repeat to thee a stanza made by the famous poet Luigi Tansillo at -the end of the first part of his ‘Tears of Saint Peter,’ which says -thus: - -The anguish and the shame but greater grew - In Peter’s heart as morning slowly came; -No eye was there to see him, well he knew, - Yet he himself was to himself a shame; -Exposed to all men’s gaze, or screened from view, - A noble heart will feel the pang the same; -A prey to shame the sinning soul will be, -Though none but heaven and earth its shame can see. - -Thus by keeping it secret thou wilt not escape thy sorrow, but rather -thou wilt shed tears unceasingly, if not tears of the eyes, tears of -blood from the heart, like those shed by that simple doctor our poet -tells us of, that tried the test of the cup, which the wise Rinaldo, -better advised, refused to do; for though this may be a poetic fiction -it contains a moral lesson worthy of attention and study and imitation. -Moreover by what I am about to say to thee thou wilt be led to see the -great error thou wouldst commit. - -“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made thee master and -lawful owner of a diamond of the finest quality, with the excellence -and purity of which all the lapidaries that had seen it had been -satisfied, saying with one voice and common consent that in purity, -quality, and fineness, it was all that a stone of the kind could -possibly be, thou thyself too being of the same belief, as knowing -nothing to the contrary, would it be reasonable in thee to desire to -take that diamond and place it between an anvil and a hammer, and by -mere force of blows and strength of arm try if it were as hard and as -fine as they said? And if thou didst, and if the stone should resist so -silly a test, that would add nothing to its value or reputation; and if -it were broken, as it might be, would not all be lost? Undoubtedly it -would, leaving its owner to be rated as a fool in the opinion of all. -Consider, then, Anselmo my friend, that Camilla is a diamond of the -finest quality as well in thy estimation as in that of others, and that -it is contrary to reason to expose her to the risk of being broken; for -if she remains intact she cannot rise to a higher value than she now -possesses; and if she give way and be unable to resist, bethink thee -now how thou wilt be deprived of her, and with what good reason thou -wilt complain of thyself for having been the cause of her ruin and -thine own. Remember there is no jewel in the world so precious as a -chaste and virtuous woman, and that the whole honour of women consists -in reputation; and since thy wife’s is of that high excellence that -thou knowest, wherefore shouldst thou seek to call that truth in -question? Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect animal, and -that impediments are not to be placed in her way to make her trip and -fall, but that they should be removed, and her path left clear of all -obstacles, so that without hindrance she may run her course freely to -attain the desired perfection, which consists in being virtuous. -Naturalists tell us that the ermine is a little animal which has a fur -of purest white, and that when the hunters wish to take it, they make -use of this artifice. Having ascertained the places which it frequents -and passes, they stop the way to them with mud, and then rousing it, -drive it towards the spot, and as soon as the ermine comes to the mud -it halts, and allows itself to be taken captive rather than pass -through the mire, and spoil and sully its whiteness, which it values -more than life and liberty. The virtuous and chaste woman is an ermine, -and whiter and purer than snow is the virtue of modesty; and he who -wishes her not to lose it, but to keep and preserve it, must adopt a -course different from that employed with the ermine; he must not put -before her the mire of the gifts and attentions of persevering lovers, -because perhaps—and even without a perhaps—she may not have sufficient -virtue and natural strength in herself to pass through and tread under -foot these impediments; they must be removed, and the brightness of -virtue and the beauty of a fair fame must be put before her. A virtuous -woman, too, is like a mirror, of clear shining crystal, liable to be -tarnished and dimmed by every breath that touches it. She must be -treated as relics are; adored, not touched. She must be protected and -prized as one protects and prizes a fair garden full of roses and -flowers, the owner of which allows no one to trespass or pluck a -blossom; enough for others that from afar and through the iron grating -they may enjoy its fragrance and its beauty. Finally let me repeat to -thee some verses that come to my mind; I heard them in a modern comedy, -and it seems to me they bear upon the point we are discussing. A -prudent old man was giving advice to another, the father of a young -girl, to lock her up, watch over her and keep her in seclusion, and -among other arguments he used these: - -Woman is a thing of glass; - But her brittleness ’tis best - Not too curiously to test: -Who knows what may come to pass? - -Breaking is an easy matter, - And it’s folly to expose - What you cannot mend to blows; -What you can’t make whole to shatter. - -This, then, all may hold as true, - And the reason’s plain to see; - For if Danaës there be, -There are golden showers too. - -“All that I have said to thee so far, Anselmo, has had reference to -what concerns thee; now it is right that I should say something of what -regards myself; and if I be prolix, pardon me, for the labyrinth into -which thou hast entered and from which thou wouldst have me extricate -thee makes it necessary. - -“Thou dost reckon me thy friend, and thou wouldst rob me of honour, a -thing wholly inconsistent with friendship; and not only dost thou aim -at this, but thou wouldst have me rob thee of it also. That thou -wouldst rob me of it is clear, for when Camilla sees that I pay court -to her as thou requirest, she will certainly regard me as a man without -honour or right feeling, since I attempt and do a thing so much opposed -to what I owe to my own position and thy friendship. That thou wouldst -have me rob thee of it is beyond a doubt, for Camilla, seeing that I -press my suit upon her, will suppose that I have perceived in her -something light that has encouraged me to make known to her my base -desire; and if she holds herself dishonoured, her dishonour touches -thee as belonging to her; and hence arises what so commonly takes -place, that the husband of the adulterous woman, though he may not be -aware of or have given any cause for his wife’s failure in her duty, or -(being careless or negligent) have had it in his power to prevent his -dishonour, nevertheless is stigmatised by a vile and reproachful name, -and in a manner regarded with eyes of contempt instead of pity by all -who know of his wife’s guilt, though they see that he is unfortunate -not by his own fault, but by the lust of a vicious consort. But I will -tell thee why with good reason dishonour attaches to the husband of the -unchaste wife, though he know not that she is so, nor be to blame, nor -have done anything, or given any provocation to make her so; and be not -weary with listening to me, for it will be for thy good. - -“When God created our first parent in the earthly paradise, the Holy -Scripture says that he infused sleep into Adam and while he slept took -a rib from his left side of which he formed our mother Eve, and when -Adam awoke and beheld her he said, ‘This is flesh of my flesh, and bone -of my bone.’ And God said ‘For this shall a man leave his father and -his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh; and then was instituted -the divine sacrament of marriage, with such ties that death alone can -loose them. And such is the force and virtue of this miraculous -sacrament that it makes two different persons one and the same flesh; -and even more than this when the virtuous are married; for though they -have two souls they have but one will. And hence it follows that as the -flesh of the wife is one and the same with that of her husband the -stains that may come upon it, or the injuries it incurs fall upon the -husband’s flesh, though he, as has been said, may have given no cause -for them; for as the pain of the foot or any member of the body is felt -by the whole body, because all is one flesh, as the head feels the hurt -to the ankle without having caused it, so the husband, being one with -her, shares the dishonour of the wife; and as all worldly honour or -dishonour comes of flesh and blood, and the erring wife’s is of that -kind, the husband must needs bear his part of it and be held -dishonoured without knowing it. See, then, Anselmo, the peril thou art -encountering in seeking to disturb the peace of thy virtuous consort; -see for what an empty and ill-advised curiosity thou wouldst rouse up -passions that now repose in quiet in the breast of thy chaste wife; -reflect that what thou art staking all to win is little, and what thou -wilt lose so much that I leave it undescribed, not having the words to -express it. But if all I have said be not enough to turn thee from thy -vile purpose, thou must seek some other instrument for thy dishonour -and misfortune; for such I will not consent to be, though I lose thy -friendship, the greatest loss that I can conceive.” - -Having said this, the wise and virtuous Lothario was silent, and -Anselmo, troubled in mind and deep in thought, was unable for a while -to utter a word in reply; but at length he said, “I have listened, -Lothario my friend, attentively, as thou hast seen, to what thou hast -chosen to say to me, and in thy arguments, examples, and comparisons I -have seen that high intelligence thou dost possess, and the perfection -of true friendship thou hast reached; and likewise I see and confess -that if I am not guided by thy opinion, but follow my own, I am flying -from the good and pursuing the evil. This being so, thou must remember -that I am now labouring under that infirmity which women sometimes -suffer from, when the craving seizes them to eat clay, plaster, -charcoal, and things even worse, disgusting to look at, much more to -eat; so that it will be necessary to have recourse to some artifice to -cure me; and this can be easily effected if only thou wilt make a -beginning, even though it be in a lukewarm and make-believe fashion, to -pay court to Camilla, who will not be so yielding that her virtue will -give way at the first attack: with this mere attempt I shall rest -satisfied, and thou wilt have done what our friendship binds thee to -do, not only in giving me life, but in persuading me not to discard my -honour. And this thou art bound to do for one reason alone, that, -being, as I am, resolved to apply this test, it is not for thee to -permit me to reveal my weakness to another, and so imperil that honour -thou art striving to keep me from losing; and if thine may not stand as -high as it ought in the estimation of Camilla while thou art paying -court to her, that is of little or no importance, because ere long, on -finding in her that constancy which we expect, thou canst tell her the -plain truth as regards our stratagem, and so regain thy place in her -esteem; and as thou art venturing so little, and by the venture canst -afford me so much satisfaction, refuse not to undertake it, even if -further difficulties present themselves to thee; for, as I have said, -if thou wilt only make a beginning I will acknowledge the issue -decided.” - -Lothario seeing the fixed determination of Anselmo, and not knowing -what further examples to offer or arguments to urge in order to -dissuade him from it, and perceiving that he threatened to confide his -pernicious scheme to someone else, to avoid a greater evil resolved to -gratify him and do what he asked, intending to manage the business so -as to satisfy Anselmo without corrupting the mind of Camilla; so in -reply he told him not to communicate his purpose to any other, for he -would undertake the task himself, and would begin it as soon as he -pleased. Anselmo embraced him warmly and affectionately, and thanked -him for his offer as if he had bestowed some great favour upon him; and -it was agreed between them to set about it the next day, Anselmo -affording opportunity and time to Lothario to converse alone with -Camilla, and furnishing him with money and jewels to offer and present -to her. He suggested, too, that he should treat her to music, and write -verses in her praise, and if he was unwilling to take the trouble of -composing them, he offered to do it himself. Lothario agreed to all -with an intention very different from what Anselmo supposed, and with -this understanding they returned to Anselmo’s house, where they found -Camilla awaiting her husband anxiously and uneasily, for he was later -than usual in returning that day. Lothario repaired to his own house, -and Anselmo remained in his, as well satisfied as Lothario was troubled -in mind; for he could see no satisfactory way out of this ill-advised -business. That night, however, he thought of a plan by which he might -deceive Anselmo without any injury to Camilla. The next day he went to -dine with his friend, and was welcomed by Camilla, who received and -treated him with great cordiality, knowing the affection her husband -felt for him. When dinner was over and the cloth removed, Anselmo told -Lothario to stay there with Camilla while he attended to some pressing -business, as he would return in an hour and a half. Camilla begged him -not to go, and Lothario offered to accompany him, but nothing could -persuade Anselmo, who on the contrary pressed Lothario to remain -waiting for him as he had a matter of great importance to discuss with -him. At the same time he bade Camilla not to leave Lothario alone until -he came back. In short he contrived to put so good a face on the -reason, or the folly, of his absence that no one could have suspected -it was a pretence. - -Anselmo took his departure, and Camilla and Lothario were left alone at -the table, for the rest of the household had gone to dinner. Lothario -saw himself in the lists according to his friend’s wish, and facing an -enemy that could by her beauty alone vanquish a squadron of armed -knights; judge whether he had good reason to fear; but what he did was -to lean his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his cheek upon his hand, -and, asking Camilla’s pardon for his ill manners, he said he wished to -take a little sleep until Anselmo returned. Camilla in reply said he -could repose more at his ease in the reception-room than in his chair, -and begged of him to go in and sleep there; but Lothario declined, and -there he remained asleep until the return of Anselmo, who finding -Camilla in her own room, and Lothario asleep, imagined that he had -stayed away so long as to have afforded them time enough for -conversation and even for sleep, and was all impatience until Lothario -should wake up, that he might go out with him and question him as to -his success. Everything fell out as he wished; Lothario awoke, and the -two at once left the house, and Anselmo asked what he was anxious to -know, and Lothario in answer told him that he had not thought it -advisable to declare himself entirely the first time, and therefore had -only extolled the charms of Camilla, telling her that all the city -spoke of nothing else but her beauty and wit, for this seemed to him an -excellent way of beginning to gain her good-will and render her -disposed to listen to him with pleasure the next time, thus availing -himself of the device the devil has recourse to when he would deceive -one who is on the watch; for he being the angel of darkness transforms -himself into an angel of light, and, under cover of a fair seeming, -discloses himself at length, and effects his purpose if at the -beginning his wiles are not discovered. All this gave great -satisfaction to Anselmo, and he said he would afford the same -opportunity every day, but without leaving the house, for he would find -things to do at home so that Camilla should not detect the plot. - -Thus, then, several days went by, and Lothario, without uttering a word -to Camilla, reported to Anselmo that he had talked with her and that he -had never been able to draw from her the slightest indication of -consent to anything dishonourable, nor even a sign or shadow of hope; -on the contrary, he said she would inform her husband of it. - -“So far well,” said Anselmo; “Camilla has thus far resisted words; we -must now see how she will resist deeds. I will give you to-morrow two -thousand crowns in gold for you to offer or even present, and as many -more to buy jewels to lure her, for women are fond of being becomingly -attired and going gaily dressed, and all the more so if they are -beautiful, however chaste they may be; and if she resists this -temptation, I will rest satisfied and will give you no more trouble.” - -Lothario replied that now he had begun he would carry on the -undertaking to the end, though he perceived he was to come out of it -wearied and vanquished. The next day he received the four thousand -crowns, and with them four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what -to say by way of a new falsehood; but in the end he made up his mind to -tell him that Camilla stood as firm against gifts and promises as -against words, and that there was no use in taking any further trouble, -for the time was all spent to no purpose. - -But chance, directing things in a different manner, so ordered it that -Anselmo, having left Lothario and Camilla alone as on other occasions, -shut himself into a chamber and posted himself to watch and listen -through the keyhole to what passed between them, and perceived that for -more than half an hour Lothario did not utter a word to Camilla, nor -would utter a word though he were to be there for an age; and he came -to the conclusion that what his friend had told him about the replies -of Camilla was all invention and falsehood, and to ascertain if it were -so, he came out, and calling Lothario aside asked him what news he had -and in what humour Camilla was. Lothario replied that he was not -disposed to go on with the business, for she had answered him so -angrily and harshly that he had no heart to say anything more to her. - -“Ah, Lothario, Lothario,” said Anselmo, “how ill dost thou meet thy -obligations to me, and the great confidence I repose in thee! I have -been just now watching through this keyhole, and I have seen that thou -hast not said a word to Camilla, whence I conclude that on the former -occasions thou hast not spoken to her either, and if this be so, as no -doubt it is, why dost thou deceive me, or wherefore seekest thou by -craft to deprive me of the means I might find of attaining my desire?” - -Anselmo said no more, but he had said enough to cover Lothario with -shame and confusion, and he, feeling as it were his honour touched by -having been detected in a lie, swore to Anselmo that he would from that -moment devote himself to satisfying him without any deception, as he -would see if he had the curiosity to watch; though he need not take the -trouble, for the pains he would take to satisfy him would remove all -suspicions from his mind. Anselmo believed him, and to afford him an -opportunity more free and less liable to surprise, he resolved to -absent himself from his house for eight days, betaking himself to that -of a friend of his who lived in a village not far from the city; and, -the better to account for his departure to Camilla, he so arranged it -that the friend should send him a very pressing invitation. - -Unhappy, shortsighted Anselmo, what art thou doing, what art thou -plotting, what art thou devising? Bethink thee thou art working against -thyself, plotting thine own dishonour, devising thine own ruin. Thy -wife Camilla is virtuous, thou dost possess her in peace and quietness, -no one assails thy happiness, her thoughts wander not beyond the walls -of thy house, thou art her heaven on earth, the object of her wishes, -the fulfilment of her desires, the measure wherewith she measures her -will, making it conform in all things to thine and Heaven’s. If, then, -the mine of her honour, beauty, virtue, and modesty yields thee without -labour all the wealth it contains and thou canst wish for, why wilt -thou dig the earth in search of fresh veins, of new unknown treasure, -risking the collapse of all, since it but rests on the feeble props of -her weak nature? Bethink thee that from him who seeks impossibilities -that which is possible may with justice be withheld, as was better -expressed by a poet who said: - -’Tis mine to seek for life in death, - Health in disease seek I, -I seek in prison freedom’s breath, - In traitors loyalty. - -So Fate that ever scorns to grant - Or grace or boon to me, -Since what can never be I want, - Denies me what might be. - -The next day Anselmo took his departure for the village, leaving -instructions with Camilla that during his absence Lothario would come -to look after his house and to dine with her, and that she was to treat -him as she would himself. Camilla was distressed, as a discreet and -right-minded woman would be, at the orders her husband left her, and -bade him remember that it was not becoming that anyone should occupy -his seat at the table during his absence, and if he acted thus from not -feeling confidence that she would be able to manage his house, let him -try her this time, and he would find by experience that she was equal -to greater responsibilities. Anselmo replied that it was his pleasure -to have it so, and that she had only to submit and obey. Camilla said -she would do so, though against her will. - -Anselmo went, and the next day Lothario came to his house, where he was -received by Camilla with a friendly and modest welcome; but she never -suffered Lothario to see her alone, for she was always attended by her -men and women servants, especially by a handmaid of hers, Leonela by -name, to whom she was much attached (for they had been brought up -together from childhood in her father’s house), and whom she had kept -with her after her marriage with Anselmo. The first three days Lothario -did not speak to her, though he might have done so when they removed -the cloth and the servants retired to dine hastily; for such were -Camilla’s orders; nay more, Leonela had directions to dine earlier than -Camilla and never to leave her side. She, however, having her thoughts -fixed upon other things more to her taste, and wanting that time and -opportunity for her own pleasures, did not always obey her mistress’s -commands, but on the contrary left them alone, as if they had ordered -her to do so; but the modest bearing of Camilla, the calmness of her -countenance, the composure of her aspect were enough to bridle the -tongue of Lothario. But the influence which the many virtues of Camilla -exerted in imposing silence on Lothario’s tongue proved mischievous for -both of them, for if his tongue was silent his thoughts were busy, and -could dwell at leisure upon the perfections of Camilla’s goodness and -beauty one by one, charms enough to warm with love a marble statue, not -to say a heart of flesh. Lothario gazed upon her when he might have -been speaking to her, and thought how worthy of being loved she was; -and thus reflection began little by little to assail his allegiance to -Anselmo, and a thousand times he thought of withdrawing from the city -and going where Anselmo should never see him nor he see Camilla. But -already the delight he found in gazing on her interposed and held him -fast. He put a constraint upon himself, and struggled to repel and -repress the pleasure he found in contemplating Camilla; when alone he -blamed himself for his weakness, called himself a bad friend, nay a bad -Christian; then he argued the matter and compared himself with Anselmo; -always coming to the conclusion that the folly and rashness of Anselmo -had been worse than his faithlessness, and that if he could excuse his -intentions as easily before God as with man, he had no reason to fear -any punishment for his offence. - -In short the beauty and goodness of Camilla, joined with the -opportunity which the blind husband had placed in his hands, overthrew -the loyalty of Lothario; and giving heed to nothing save the object -towards which his inclinations led him, after Anselmo had been three -days absent, during which he had been carrying on a continual struggle -with his passion, he began to make love to Camilla with so much -vehemence and warmth of language that she was overwhelmed with -amazement, and could only rise from her place and retire to her room -without answering him a word. But the hope which always springs up with -love was not weakened in Lothario by this repelling demeanour; on the -contrary his passion for Camilla increased, and she discovering in him -what she had never expected, knew not what to do; and considering it -neither safe nor right to give him the chance or opportunity of -speaking to her again, she resolved to send, as she did that very -night, one of her servants with a letter to Anselmo, in which she -addressed the following words to him. - -CHAPTER XXXIV. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” - -“It is commonly said that an army looks ill without its general and a -castle without its castellan, and I say that a young married woman -looks still worse without her husband unless there are very good -reasons for it. I find myself so ill at ease without you, and so -incapable of enduring this separation, that unless you return quickly I -shall have to go for relief to my parents’ house, even if I leave yours -without a protector; for the one you left me, if indeed he deserved -that title, has, I think, more regard to his own pleasure than to what -concerns you: as you are possessed of discernment I need say no more to -you, nor indeed is it fitting I should say more.” - -Anselmo received this letter, and from it he gathered that Lothario had -already begun his task and that Camilla must have replied to him as he -would have wished; and delighted beyond measure at such intelligence he -sent word to her not to leave his house on any account, as he would -very shortly return. Camilla was astonished at Anselmo’s reply, which -placed her in greater perplexity than before, for she neither dared to -remain in her own house, nor yet to go to her parents’; for in -remaining her virtue was imperilled, and in going she was opposing her -husband’s commands. Finally she decided upon what was the worse course -for her, to remain, resolving not to fly from the presence of Lothario, -that she might not give food for gossip to her servants; and she now -began to regret having written as she had to her husband, fearing he -might imagine that Lothario had perceived in her some lightness which -had impelled him to lay aside the respect he owed her; but confident of -her rectitude she put her trust in God and in her own virtuous -intentions, with which she hoped to resist in silence all the -solicitations of Lothario, without saying anything to her husband so as -not to involve him in any quarrel or trouble; and she even began to -consider how to excuse Lothario to Anselmo when he should ask her what -it was that induced her to write that letter. With these resolutions, -more honourable than judicious or effectual, she remained the next day -listening to Lothario, who pressed his suit so strenuously that -Camilla’s firmness began to waver, and her virtue had enough to do to -come to the rescue of her eyes and keep them from showing signs of a -certain tender compassion which the tears and appeals of Lothario had -awakened in her bosom. Lothario observed all this, and it inflamed him -all the more. In short he felt that while Anselmo’s absence afforded -time and opportunity he must press the siege of the fortress, and so he -assailed her self-esteem with praises of her beauty, for there is -nothing that more quickly reduces and levels the castle towers of fair -women’s vanity than vanity itself upon the tongue of flattery. In fact -with the utmost assiduity he undermined the rock of her purity with -such engines that had Camilla been of brass she must have fallen. He -wept, he entreated, he promised, he flattered, he importuned, he -pretended with so much feeling and apparent sincerity, that he -overthrew the virtuous resolves of Camilla and won the triumph he least -expected and most longed for. Camilla yielded, Camilla fell; but what -wonder if the friendship of Lothario could not stand firm? A clear -proof to us that the passion of love is to be conquered only by flying -from it, and that no one should engage in a struggle with an enemy so -mighty; for divine strength is needed to overcome his human power. -Leonela alone knew of her mistress’s weakness, for the two false -friends and new lovers were unable to conceal it. Lothario did not care -to tell Camilla the object Anselmo had in view, nor that he had -afforded him the opportunity of attaining such a result, lest she -should undervalue his love and think that it was by chance and without -intending it and not of his own accord that he had made love to her. - -A few days later Anselmo returned to his house and did not perceive -what it had lost, that which he so lightly treated and so highly -prized. He went at once to see Lothario, and found him at home; they -embraced each other, and Anselmo asked for the tidings of his life or -his death. - -“The tidings I have to give thee, Anselmo my friend,” said Lothario, -“are that thou dost possess a wife that is worthy to be the pattern and -crown of all good wives. The words that I have addressed to her were -borne away on the wind, my promises have been despised, my presents -have been refused, such feigned tears as I shed have been turned into -open ridicule. In short, as Camilla is the essence of all beauty, so is -she the treasure-house where purity dwells, and gentleness and modesty -abide with all the virtues that can confer praise, honour, and -happiness upon a woman. Take back thy money, my friend; here it is, and -I have had no need to touch it, for the chastity of Camilla yields not -to things so base as gifts or promises. Be content, Anselmo, and -refrain from making further proof; and as thou hast passed dryshod -through the sea of those doubts and suspicions that are and may be -entertained of women, seek not to plunge again into the deep ocean of -new embarrassments, or with another pilot make trial of the goodness -and strength of the bark that Heaven has granted thee for thy passage -across the sea of this world; but reckon thyself now safe in port, moor -thyself with the anchor of sound reflection, and rest in peace until -thou art called upon to pay that debt which no nobility on earth can -escape paying.” - -Anselmo was completely satisfied by the words of Lothario, and believed -them as fully as if they had been spoken by an oracle; nevertheless he -begged of him not to relinquish the undertaking, were it but for the -sake of curiosity and amusement; though thenceforward he need not make -use of the same earnest endeavours as before; all he wished him to do -was to write some verses to her, praising her under the name of -Chloris, for he himself would give her to understand that he was in -love with a lady to whom he had given that name to enable him to sing -her praises with the decorum due to her modesty; and if Lothario were -unwilling to take the trouble of writing the verses he would compose -them himself. - -“That will not be necessary,” said Lothario, “for the muses are not -such enemies of mine but that they visit me now and then in the course -of the year. Do thou tell Camilla what thou hast proposed about a -pretended amour of mine; as for the verses I will make them, and if not -as good as the subject deserves, they shall be at least the best I can -produce.” An agreement to this effect was made between the friends, the -ill-advised one and the treacherous, and Anselmo returning to his house -asked Camilla the question she already wondered he had not asked -before—what it was that had caused her to write the letter she had sent -him. Camilla replied that it had seemed to her that Lothario looked at -her somewhat more freely than when he had been at home; but that now -she was undeceived and believed it to have been only her own -imagination, for Lothario now avoided seeing her, or being alone with -her. Anselmo told her she might be quite easy on the score of that -suspicion, for he knew that Lothario was in love with a damsel of rank -in the city whom he celebrated under the name of Chloris, and that even -if he were not, his fidelity and their great friendship left no room -for fear. Had not Camilla, however, been informed beforehand by -Lothario that this love for Chloris was a pretence, and that he himself -had told Anselmo of it in order to be able sometimes to give utterance -to the praises of Camilla herself, no doubt she would have fallen into -the despairing toils of jealousy; but being forewarned she received the -startling news without uneasiness. - -The next day as the three were at table Anselmo asked Lothario to -recite something of what he had composed for his mistress Chloris; for -as Camilla did not know her, he might safely say what he liked. - -“Even did she know her,” returned Lothario, “I would hide nothing, for -when a lover praises his lady’s beauty, and charges her with cruelty, -he casts no imputation upon her fair name; at any rate, all I can say -is that yesterday I made a sonnet on the ingratitude of this Chloris, -which goes thus: - -SONNET - -At midnight, in the silence, when the eyes -Of happier mortals balmy slumbers close, -The weary tale of my unnumbered woes -To Chloris and to Heaven is wont to rise. -And when the light of day returning dyes -The portals of the east with tints of rose, -With undiminished force my sorrow flows -In broken accents and in burning sighs. -And when the sun ascends his star-girt throne, -And on the earth pours down his midday beams, -Noon but renews my wailing and my tears; -And with the night again goes up my moan. -Yet ever in my agony it seems -To me that neither Heaven nor Chloris hears.” - -The sonnet pleased Camilla, and still more Anselmo, for he praised it -and said the lady was excessively cruel who made no return for -sincerity so manifest. On which Camilla said, “Then all that -love-smitten poets say is true?” - -“As poets they do not tell the truth,” replied Lothario; “but as lovers -they are not more defective in expression than they are truthful.” - -“There is no doubt of that,” observed Anselmo, anxious to support and -uphold Lothario’s ideas with Camilla, who was as regardless of his -design as she was deep in love with Lothario; and so taking delight in -anything that was his, and knowing that his thoughts and writings had -her for their object, and that she herself was the real Chloris, she -asked him to repeat some other sonnet or verses if he recollected any. - -“I do,” replied Lothario, “but I do not think it as good as the first -one, or, more correctly speaking, less bad; but you can easily judge, -for it is this. - -SONNET - -I know that I am doomed; death is to me -As certain as that thou, ungrateful fair, -Dead at thy feet shouldst see me lying, ere -My heart repented of its love for thee. -If buried in oblivion I should be, -Bereft of life, fame, favour, even there -It would be found that I thy image bear -Deep graven in my breast for all to see. -This like some holy relic do I prize -To save me from the fate my truth entails, -Truth that to thy hard heart its vigour owes. -Alas for him that under lowering skies, -In peril o’er a trackless ocean sails, -Where neither friendly port nor pole-star shows.” - -Anselmo praised this second sonnet too, as he had praised the first; -and so he went on adding link after link to the chain with which he was -binding himself and making his dishonour secure; for when Lothario was -doing most to dishonour him he told him he was most honoured; and thus -each step that Camilla descended towards the depths of her abasement, -she mounted, in his opinion, towards the summit of virtue and fair -fame. - -It so happened that finding herself on one occasion alone with her -maid, Camilla said to her, “I am ashamed to think, my dear Leonela, how -lightly I have valued myself that I did not compel Lothario to purchase -by at least some expenditure of time that full possession of me that I -so quickly yielded him of my own free will. I fear that he will think -ill of my pliancy or lightness, not considering the irresistible -influence he brought to bear upon me.” - -“Let not that trouble you, my lady,” said Leonela, “for it does not -take away the value of the thing given or make it the less precious to -give it quickly if it be really valuable and worthy of being prized; -nay, they are wont to say that he who gives quickly gives twice.” - -“They say also,” said Camilla, “that what costs little is valued less.” - -“That saying does not hold good in your case,” replied Leonela, “for -love, as I have heard say, sometimes flies and sometimes walks; with -this one it runs, with that it moves slowly; some it cools, others it -burns; some it wounds, others it slays; it begins the course of its -desires, and at the same moment completes and ends it; in the morning -it will lay siege to a fortress and by night will have taken it, for -there is no power that can resist it; so what are you in dread of, what -do you fear, when the same must have befallen Lothario, love having -chosen the absence of my lord as the instrument for subduing you? and -it was absolutely necessary to complete then what love had resolved -upon, without affording the time to let Anselmo return and by his -presence compel the work to be left unfinished; for love has no better -agent for carrying out his designs than opportunity; and of opportunity -he avails himself in all his feats, especially at the outset. All this -I know well myself, more by experience than by hearsay, and some day, -señora, I will enlighten you on the subject, for I am of your flesh and -blood too. Moreover, lady Camilla, you did not surrender yourself or -yield so quickly but that first you saw Lothario’s whole soul in his -eyes, in his sighs, in his words, his promises and his gifts, and by it -and his good qualities perceived how worthy he was of your love. This, -then, being the case, let not these scrupulous and prudish ideas -trouble your imagination, but be assured that Lothario prizes you as -you do him, and rest content and satisfied that as you are caught in -the noose of love it is one of worth and merit that has taken you, and -one that has not only the four S’s that they say true lovers ought to -have, but a complete alphabet; only listen to me and you will see how I -can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and thinking, Amiable, Brave, -Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honourable, Illustrious, -Loyal, Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the S’s -according to the saying, and then Tender, Veracious: X does not suit -him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous -for your honour.” - -Camilla laughed at her maid’s alphabet, and perceived her to be more -experienced in love affairs than she said, which she admitted, -confessing to Camilla that she had love passages with a young man of -good birth of the same city. Camilla was uneasy at this, dreading lest -it might prove the means of endangering her honour, and asked whether -her intrigue had gone beyond words, and she with little shame and much -effrontery said it had; for certain it is that ladies’ imprudences make -servants shameless, who, when they see their mistresses make a false -step, think nothing of going astray themselves, or of its being known. -All that Camilla could do was to entreat Leonela to say nothing about -her doings to him whom she called her lover, and to conduct her own -affairs secretly lest they should come to the knowledge of Anselmo or -of Lothario. Leonela said she would, but kept her word in such a way -that she confirmed Camilla’s apprehension of losing her reputation -through her means; for this abandoned and bold Leonela, as soon as she -perceived that her mistress’s demeanour was not what it was wont to be, -had the audacity to introduce her lover into the house, confident that -even if her mistress saw him she would not dare to expose him; for the -sins of mistresses entail this mischief among others; they make -themselves the slaves of their own servants, and are obliged to hide -their laxities and depravities; as was the case with Camilla, who -though she perceived, not once but many times, that Leonela was with -her lover in some room of the house, not only did not dare to chide -her, but afforded her opportunities for concealing him and removed all -difficulties, lest he should be seen by her husband. She was unable, -however, to prevent him from being seen on one occasion, as he sallied -forth at daybreak, by Lothario, who, not knowing who he was, at first -took him for a spectre; but, as soon as he saw him hasten away, -muffling his face with his cloak and concealing himself carefully and -cautiously, he rejected this foolish idea, and adopted another, which -would have been the ruin of all had not Camilla found a remedy. It did -not occur to Lothario that this man he had seen issuing at such an -untimely hour from Anselmo’s house could have entered it on Leonela’s -account, nor did he even remember there was such a person as Leonela; -all he thought was that as Camilla had been light and yielding with -him, so she had been with another; for this further penalty the erring -woman’s sin brings with it, that her honour is distrusted even by him -to whose overtures and persuasions she has yielded; and he believes her -to have surrendered more easily to others, and gives implicit credence -to every suspicion that comes into his mind. All Lothario’s good sense -seems to have failed him at this juncture; all his prudent maxims -escaped his memory; for without once reflecting rationally, and without -more ado, in his impatience and in the blindness of the jealous rage -that gnawed his heart, and dying to revenge himself upon Camilla, who -had done him no wrong, before Anselmo had risen he hastened to him and -said to him, “Know, Anselmo, that for several days past I have been -struggling with myself, striving to withhold from thee what it is no -longer possible or right that I should conceal from thee. Know that -Camilla’s fortress has surrendered and is ready to submit to my will; -and if I have been slow to reveal this fact to thee, it was in order to -see if it were some light caprice of hers, or if she sought to try me -and ascertain if the love I began to make to her with thy permission -was made with a serious intention. I thought, too, that she, if she -were what she ought to be, and what we both believed her, would have -ere this given thee information of my addresses; but seeing that she -delays, I believe the truth of the promise she has given me that the -next time thou art absent from the house she will grant me an interview -in the closet where thy jewels are kept (and it was true that Camilla -used to meet him there); but I do not wish thee to rush precipitately -to take vengeance, for the sin is as yet only committed in intention, -and Camilla’s may change perhaps between this and the appointed time, -and repentance spring up in its place. As hitherto thou hast always -followed my advice wholly or in part, follow and observe this that I -will give thee now, so that, without mistake, and with mature -deliberation, thou mayest satisfy thyself as to what may seem the best -course; pretend to absent thyself for two or three days as thou hast -been wont to do on other occasions, and contrive to hide thyself in the -closet; for the tapestries and other things there afford great -facilities for thy concealment, and then thou wilt see with thine own -eyes and I with mine what Camilla’s purpose may be. And if it be a -guilty one, which may be feared rather than expected, with silence, -prudence, and discretion thou canst thyself become the instrument of -punishment for the wrong done thee.” - -Anselmo was amazed, overwhelmed, and astounded at the words of -Lothario, which came upon him at a time when he least expected to hear -them, for he now looked upon Camilla as having triumphed over the -pretended attacks of Lothario, and was beginning to enjoy the glory of -her victory. He remained silent for a considerable time, looking on the -ground with fixed gaze, and at length said, “Thou hast behaved, -Lothario, as I expected of thy friendship: I will follow thy advice in -everything; do as thou wilt, and keep this secret as thou seest it -should be kept in circumstances so unlooked for.” - -Lothario gave him his word, but after leaving him he repented -altogether of what he had said to him, perceiving how foolishly he had -acted, as he might have revenged himself upon Camilla in some less -cruel and degrading way. He cursed his want of sense, condemned his -hasty resolution, and knew not what course to take to undo the mischief -or find some ready escape from it. At last he decided upon revealing -all to Camilla, and, as there was no want of opportunity for doing so, -he found her alone the same day; but she, as soon as she had the chance -of speaking to him, said, “Lothario my friend, I must tell thee I have -a sorrow in my heart which fills it so that it seems ready to burst; -and it will be a wonder if it does not; for the audacity of Leonela has -now reached such a pitch that every night she conceals a gallant of -hers in this house and remains with him till morning, at the expense of -my reputation; inasmuch as it is open to anyone to question it who may -see him quitting my house at such unseasonable hours; but what -distresses me is that I cannot punish or chide her, for her privity to -our intrigue bridles my mouth and keeps me silent about hers, while I -am dreading that some catastrophe will come of it.” - -As Camilla said this Lothario at first imagined it was some device to -delude him into the idea that the man he had seen going out was -Leonela’s lover and not hers; but when he saw how she wept and -suffered, and begged him to help her, he became convinced of the truth, -and the conviction completed his confusion and remorse; however, he -told Camilla not to distress herself, as he would take measures to put -a stop to the insolence of Leonela. At the same time he told her what, -driven by the fierce rage of jealousy, he had said to Anselmo, and how -he had arranged to hide himself in the closet that he might there see -plainly how little she preserved her fidelity to him; and he entreated -her pardon for this madness, and her advice as to how to repair it, and -escape safely from the intricate labyrinth in which his imprudence had -involved him. Camilla was struck with alarm at hearing what Lothario -said, and with much anger, and great good sense, she reproved him and -rebuked his base design and the foolish and mischievous resolution he -had made; but as woman has by nature a nimbler wit than man for good -and for evil, though it is apt to fail when she sets herself -deliberately to reason, Camilla on the spur of the moment thought of a -way to remedy what was to all appearance irremediable, and told -Lothario to contrive that the next day Anselmo should conceal himself -in the place he mentioned, for she hoped from his concealment to obtain -the means of their enjoying themselves for the future without any -apprehension; and without revealing her purpose to him entirely she -charged him to be careful, as soon as Anselmo was concealed, to come to -her when Leonela should call him, and to all she said to him to answer -as he would have answered had he not known that Anselmo was listening. -Lothario pressed her to explain her intention fully, so that he might -with more certainty and precaution take care to do what he saw to be -needful. - -“I tell you,” said Camilla, “there is nothing to take care of except to -answer me what I shall ask you;” for she did not wish to explain to him -beforehand what she meant to do, fearing lest he should be unwilling to -follow out an idea which seemed to her such a good one, and should try -or devise some other less practicable plan. - -Lothario then retired, and the next day Anselmo, under pretence of -going to his friend’s country house, took his departure, and then -returned to conceal himself, which he was able to do easily, as Camilla -and Leonela took care to give him the opportunity; and so he placed -himself in hiding in the state of agitation that it may be imagined he -would feel who expected to see the vitals of his honour laid bare -before his eyes, and found himself on the point of losing the supreme -blessing he thought he possessed in his beloved Camilla. Having made -sure of Anselmo’s being in his hiding-place, Camilla and Leonela -entered the closet, and the instant she set foot within it Camilla -said, with a deep sigh, “Ah! dear Leonela, would it not be better, -before I do what I am unwilling you should know lest you should seek to -prevent it, that you should take Anselmo’s dagger that I have asked of -you and with it pierce this vile heart of mine? But no; there is no -reason why I should suffer the punishment of another’s fault. I will -first know what it is that the bold licentious eyes of Lothario have -seen in me that could have encouraged him to reveal to me a design so -base as that which he has disclosed regardless of his friend and of my -honour. Go to the window, Leonela, and call him, for no doubt he is in -the street waiting to carry out his vile project; but mine, cruel it -may be, but honourable, shall be carried out first.” - -“Ah, señora,” said the crafty Leonela, who knew her part, “what is it -you want to do with this dagger? Can it be that you mean to take your -own life, or Lothario’s? for whichever you mean to do, it will lead to -the loss of your reputation and good name. It is better to dissemble -your wrong and not give this wicked man the chance of entering the -house now and finding us alone; consider, señora, we are weak women and -he is a man, and determined, and as he comes with such a base purpose, -blind and urged by passion, perhaps before you can put yours into -execution he may do what will be worse for you than taking your life. -Ill betide my master, Anselmo, for giving such authority in his house -to this shameless fellow! And supposing you kill him, señora, as I -suspect you mean to do, what shall we do with him when he is dead?” - -“What, my friend?” replied Camilla, “we shall leave him for Anselmo to -bury him; for in reason it will be to him a light labour to hide his -own infamy under ground. Summon him, make haste, for all the time I -delay in taking vengeance for my wrong seems to me an offence against -the loyalty I owe my husband.” - -Anselmo was listening to all this, and every word that Camilla uttered -made him change his mind; but when he heard that it was resolved to -kill Lothario his first impulse was to come out and show himself to -avert such a disaster; but in his anxiety to see the issue of a -resolution so bold and virtuous he restrained himself, intending to -come forth in time to prevent the deed. At this moment Camilla, -throwing herself upon a bed that was close by, swooned away, and -Leonela began to weep bitterly, exclaiming, “Woe is me! that I should -be fated to have dying here in my arms the flower of virtue upon earth, -the crown of true wives, the pattern of chastity!” with more to the -same effect, so that anyone who heard her would have taken her for the -most tender-hearted and faithful handmaid in the world, and her -mistress for another persecuted Penelope. - -Camilla was not long in recovering from her fainting fit and on coming -to herself she said, “Why do you not go, Leonela, to call hither that -friend, the falsest to his friend the sun ever shone upon or night -concealed? Away, run, haste, speed! lest the fire of my wrath burn -itself out with delay, and the righteous vengeance that I hope for melt -away in menaces and maledictions.” - -“I am just going to call him, señora,” said Leonela; “but you must -first give me that dagger, lest while I am gone you should by means of -it give cause to all who love you to weep all their lives.” - -“Go in peace, dear Leonela, I will not do so,” said Camilla, “for rash -and foolish as I may be, to your mind, in defending my honour, I am not -going to be so much so as that Lucretia who they say killed herself -without having done anything wrong, and without having first killed him -on whom the guilt of her misfortune lay. I shall die, if I am to die; -but it must be after full vengeance upon him who has brought me here to -weep over audacity that no fault of mine gave birth to.” - -Leonela required much pressing before she would go to summon Lothario, -but at last she went, and while awaiting her return Camilla continued, -as if speaking to herself, “Good God! would it not have been more -prudent to have repulsed Lothario, as I have done many a time before, -than to allow him, as I am now doing, to think me unchaste and vile, -even for the short time I must wait until I undeceive him? No doubt it -would have been better; but I should not be avenged, nor the honour of -my husband vindicated, should he find so clear and easy an escape from -the strait into which his depravity has led him. Let the traitor pay -with his life for the temerity of his wanton wishes, and let the world -know (if haply it shall ever come to know) that Camilla not only -preserved her allegiance to her husband, but avenged him of the man who -dared to wrong him. Still, I think it might be better to disclose this -to Anselmo. But then I have called his attention to it in the letter I -wrote to him in the country, and, if he did nothing to prevent the -mischief I there pointed out to him, I suppose it was that from pure -goodness of heart and trustfulness he would not and could not believe -that any thought against his honour could harbour in the breast of so -stanch a friend; nor indeed did I myself believe it for many days, nor -should I have ever believed it if his insolence had not gone so far as -to make it manifest by open presents, lavish promises, and ceaseless -tears. But why do I argue thus? Does a bold determination stand in need -of arguments? Surely not. Then traitors avaunt! Vengeance to my aid! -Let the false one come, approach, advance, die, yield up his life, and -then befall what may. Pure I came to him whom Heaven bestowed upon me, -pure I shall leave him; and at the worst bathed in my own chaste blood -and in the foul blood of the falsest friend that friendship ever saw in -the world;” and as she uttered these words she paced the room holding -the unsheathed dagger, with such irregular and disordered steps, and -such gestures that one would have supposed her to have lost her senses, -and taken her for some violent desperado instead of a delicate woman. - -Anselmo, hidden behind some tapestries where he had concealed himself, -beheld and was amazed at all, and already felt that what he had seen -and heard was a sufficient answer to even greater suspicions; and he -would have been now well pleased if the proof afforded by Lothario’s -coming were dispensed with, as he feared some sudden mishap; but as he -was on the point of showing himself and coming forth to embrace and -undeceive his wife he paused as he saw Leonela returning, leading -Lothario. Camilla when she saw him, drawing a long line in front of her -on the floor with the dagger, said to him, “Lothario, pay attention to -what I say to thee: if by any chance thou darest to cross this line -thou seest, or even approach it, the instant I see thee attempt it that -same instant will I pierce my bosom with this dagger that I hold in my -hand; and before thou answerest me a word desire thee to listen to a -few from me, and afterwards thou shalt reply as may please thee. First, -I desire thee to tell me, Lothario, if thou knowest my husband Anselmo, -and in what light thou regardest him; and secondly I desire to know if -thou knowest me too. Answer me this, without embarrassment or -reflecting deeply what thou wilt answer, for they are no riddles I put -to thee.” - -Lothario was not so dull but that from the first moment when Camilla -directed him to make Anselmo hide himself he understood what she -intended to do, and therefore he fell in with her idea so readily and -promptly that between them they made the imposture look more true than -truth; so he answered her thus: “I did not think, fair Camilla, that -thou wert calling me to ask questions so remote from the object with -which I come; but if it is to defer the promised reward thou art doing -so, thou mightst have put it off still longer, for the longing for -happiness gives the more distress the nearer comes the hope of gaining -it; but lest thou shouldst say that I do not answer thy questions, I -say that I know thy husband Anselmo, and that we have known each other -from our earliest years; I will not speak of what thou too knowest, of -our friendship, that I may not compel myself to testify against the -wrong that love, the mighty excuse for greater errors, makes me inflict -upon him. Thee I know and hold in the same estimation as he does, for -were it not so I had not for a lesser prize acted in opposition to what -I owe to my station and the holy laws of true friendship, now broken -and violated by me through that powerful enemy, love.” - -“If thou dost confess that,” returned Camilla, “mortal enemy of all -that rightly deserves to be loved, with what face dost thou dare to -come before one whom thou knowest to be the mirror wherein he is -reflected on whom thou shouldst look to see how unworthily thou -wrongest him? But, woe is me, I now comprehend what has made thee give -so little heed to what thou owest to thyself; it must have been some -freedom of mine, for I will not call it immodesty, as it did not -proceed from any deliberate intention, but from some heedlessness such -as women are guilty of through inadvertence when they think they have -no occasion for reserve. But tell me, traitor, when did I by word or -sign give a reply to thy prayers that could awaken in thee a shadow of -hope of attaining thy base wishes? When were not thy professions of -love sternly and scornfully rejected and rebuked? When were thy -frequent pledges and still more frequent gifts believed or accepted? -But as I am persuaded that no one can long persevere in the attempt to -win love unsustained by some hope, I am willing to attribute to myself -the blame of thy assurance, for no doubt some thoughtlessness of mine -has all this time fostered thy hopes; and therefore will I punish -myself and inflict upon myself the penalty thy guilt deserves. And that -thou mayest see that being so relentless to myself I cannot possibly be -otherwise to thee, I have summoned thee to be a witness of the -sacrifice I mean to offer to the injured honour of my honoured husband, -wronged by thee with all the assiduity thou wert capable of, and by me -too through want of caution in avoiding every occasion, if I have given -any, of encouraging and sanctioning thy base designs. Once more I say -the suspicion in my mind that some imprudence of mine has engendered -these lawless thoughts in thee, is what causes me most distress and -what I desire most to punish with my own hands, for were any other -instrument of punishment employed my error might become perhaps more -widely known; but before I do so, in my death I mean to inflict death, -and take with me one that will fully satisfy my longing for the revenge -I hope for and have; for I shall see, wheresoever it may be that I go, -the penalty awarded by inflexible, unswerving justice on him who has -placed me in a position so desperate.” - -As she uttered these words, with incredible energy and swiftness she -flew upon Lothario with the naked dagger, so manifestly bent on burying -it in his breast that he was almost uncertain whether these -demonstrations were real or feigned, for he was obliged to have -recourse to all his skill and strength to prevent her from striking -him; and with such reality did she act this strange farce and -mystification that, to give it a colour of truth, she determined to -stain it with her own blood; for perceiving, or pretending, that she -could not wound Lothario, she said, “Fate, it seems, will not grant my -just desire complete satisfaction, but it will not be able to keep me -from satisfying it partially at least;” and making an effort to free -the hand with the dagger which Lothario held in his grasp, she released -it, and directing the point to a place where it could not inflict a -deep wound, she plunged it into her left side high up close to the -shoulder, and then allowed herself to fall to the ground as if in a -faint. - -Leonela and Lothario stood amazed and astounded at the catastrophe, and -seeing Camilla stretched on the ground and bathed in her blood they -were still uncertain as to the true nature of the act. Lothario, -terrified and breathless, ran in haste to pluck out the dagger; but -when he saw how slight the wound was he was relieved of his fears and -once more admired the subtlety, coolness, and ready wit of the fair -Camilla; and the better to support the part he had to play he began to -utter profuse and doleful lamentations over her body as if she were -dead, invoking maledictions not only on himself but also on him who had -been the means of placing him in such a position: and knowing that his -friend Anselmo heard him he spoke in such a way as to make a listener -feel much more pity for him than for Camilla, even though he supposed -her dead. Leonela took her up in her arms and laid her on the bed, -entreating Lothario to go in quest of someone to attend to her wound in -secret, and at the same time asking his advice and opinion as to what -they should say to Anselmo about his lady’s wound if he should chance -to return before it was healed. He replied they might say what they -liked, for he was not in a state to give advice that would be of any -use; all he could tell her was to try and stanch the blood, as he was -going where he should never more be seen; and with every appearance of -deep grief and sorrow he left the house; but when he found himself -alone, and where there was nobody to see him, he crossed himself -unceasingly, lost in wonder at the adroitness of Camilla and the -consistent acting of Leonela. He reflected how convinced Anselmo would -be that he had a second Portia for a wife, and he looked forward -anxiously to meeting him in order to rejoice together over falsehood -and truth the most craftily veiled that could be imagined. - -Leonela, as he told her, stanched her lady’s blood, which was no more -than sufficed to support her deception; and washing the wound with a -little wine she bound it up to the best of her skill, talking all the -time she was tending her in a strain that, even if nothing else had -been said before, would have been enough to assure Anselmo that he had -in Camilla a model of purity. To Leonela’s words Camilla added her own, -calling herself cowardly and wanting in spirit, since she had not -enough at the time she had most need of it to rid herself of the life -she so much loathed. She asked her attendant’s advice as to whether or -not she ought to inform her beloved husband of all that had happened, -but the other bade her say nothing about it, as she would lay upon him -the obligation of taking vengeance on Lothario, which he could not do -but at great risk to himself; and it was the duty of a true wife not to -give her husband provocation to quarrel, but, on the contrary, to -remove it as far as possible from him. - -Camilla replied that she believed she was right and that she would -follow her advice, but at any rate it would be well to consider how she -was to explain the wound to Anselmo, for he could not help seeing it; -to which Leonela answered that she did not know how to tell a lie even -in jest. - -“How then can I know, my dear?” said Camilla, “for I should not dare to -forge or keep up a falsehood if my life depended on it. If we can think -of no escape from this difficulty, it will be better to tell him the -plain truth than that he should find us out in an untrue story.” - -“Be not uneasy, señora,” said Leonela; “between this and to-morrow I -will think of what we must say to him, and perhaps the wound being -where it is it can be hidden from his sight, and Heaven will be pleased -to aid us in a purpose so good and honourable. Compose yourself, -señora, and endeavour to calm your excitement lest my lord find you -agitated; and leave the rest to my care and God’s, who always supports -good intentions.” - -Anselmo had with the deepest attention listened to and seen played out -the tragedy of the death of his honour, which the performers acted with -such wonderfully effective truth that it seemed as if they had become -the realities of the parts they played. He longed for night and an -opportunity of escaping from the house to go and see his good friend -Lothario, and with him give vent to his joy over the precious pearl he -had gained in having established his wife’s purity. Both mistress and -maid took care to give him time and opportunity to get away, and taking -advantage of it he made his escape, and at once went in quest of -Lothario, and it would be impossible to describe how he embraced him -when he found him, and the things he said to him in the joy of his -heart, and the praises he bestowed upon Camilla; all which Lothario -listened to without being able to show any pleasure, for he could not -forget how deceived his friend was, and how dishonourably he had -wronged him; and though Anselmo could see that Lothario was not glad, -still he imagined it was only because he had left Camilla wounded and -had been himself the cause of it; and so among other things he told him -not to be distressed about Camilla’s accident, for, as they had agreed -to hide it from him, the wound was evidently trifling; and that being -so, he had no cause for fear, but should henceforward be of good cheer -and rejoice with him, seeing that by his means and adroitness he found -himself raised to the greatest height of happiness that he could have -ventured to hope for, and desired no better pastime than making verses -in praise of Camilla that would preserve her name for all time to come. -Lothario commended his purpose, and promised on his own part to aid him -in raising a monument so glorious. - -And so Anselmo was left the most charmingly hoodwinked man there could -be in the world. He himself, persuaded he was conducting the instrument -of his glory, led home by the hand of him who had been the utter -destruction of his good name; whom Camilla received with averted -countenance, though with smiles in her heart. The deception was carried -on for some time, until at the end of a few months Fortune turned her -wheel and the guilt which had been until then so skilfully concealed -was published abroad, and Anselmo paid with his life the penalty of his -ill-advised curiosity. - -CHAPTER XXXV. -WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS BATTLE DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH -CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE, AND BRINGS THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED -CURIOSITY” TO A CLOSE - -There remained but little more of the novel to be read, when Sancho -Panza burst forth in wild excitement from the garret where Don Quixote -was lying, shouting, “Run, sirs! quick; and help my master, who is in -the thick of the toughest and stiffest battle I ever laid eyes on. By -the living God he has given the giant, the enemy of my lady the -Princess Micomicona, such a slash that he has sliced his head clean off -as if it were a turnip.” - -“What are you talking about, brother?” said the curate, pausing as he -was about to read the remainder of the novel. “Are you in your senses, -Sancho? How the devil can it be as you say, when the giant is two -thousand leagues away?” - -Here they heard a loud noise in the chamber, and Don Quixote shouting -out, “Stand, thief, brigand, villain; now I have got thee, and thy -scimitar shall not avail thee!” And then it seemed as though he were -slashing vigorously at the wall. - -“Don’t stop to listen,” said Sancho, “but go in and part them or help -my master: though there is no need of that now, for no doubt the giant -is dead by this time and giving account to God of his past wicked life; -for I saw the blood flowing on the ground, and the head cut off and -fallen on one side, and it is as big as a large wine-skin.” - -“May I die,” said the landlord at this, “if Don Quixote or Don Devil -has not been slashing some of the skins of red wine that stand full at -his bed’s head, and the spilt wine must be what this good fellow takes -for blood;” and so saying he went into the room and the rest after him, -and there they found Don Quixote in the strangest costume in the world. -He was in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his -thighs completely and was six fingers shorter behind; his legs were -very long and lean, covered with hair, and anything but clean; on his -head he had a little greasy red cap that belonged to the host, round -his left arm he had rolled the blanket of the bed, to which Sancho, for -reasons best known to himself, owed a grudge, and in his right hand he -held his unsheathed sword, with which he was slashing about on all -sides, uttering exclamations as if he were actually fighting some -giant: and the best of it was his eyes were not open, for he was fast -asleep, and dreaming that he was doing battle with the giant. For his -imagination was so wrought upon by the adventure he was going to -accomplish, that it made him dream he had already reached the kingdom -of Micomicon, and was engaged in combat with his enemy; and believing -he was laying on the giant, he had given so many sword cuts to the -skins that the whole room was full of wine. On seeing this the landlord -was so enraged that he fell on Don Quixote, and with his clenched fist -began to pummel him in such a way, that if Cardenio and the curate had -not dragged him off, he would have brought the war of the giant to an -end. But in spite of all the poor gentleman never woke until the barber -brought a great pot of cold water from the well and flung it with one -dash all over his body, on which Don Quixote woke up, but not so -completely as to understand what was the matter. Dorothea, seeing how -short and slight his attire was, would not go in to witness the battle -between her champion and her opponent. As for Sancho, he went searching -all over the floor for the head of the giant, and not finding it he -said, “I see now that it’s all enchantment in this house; for the last -time, on this very spot where I am now, I got ever so many thumps -without knowing who gave them to me, or being able to see anybody; and -now this head is not to be seen anywhere about, though I saw it cut off -with my own eyes and the blood running from the body as if from a -fountain.” - -“What blood and fountains are you talking about, enemy of God and his -saints?” said the landlord. “Don’t you see, you thief, that the blood -and the fountain are only these skins here that have been stabbed and -the red wine swimming all over the room?—and I wish I saw the soul of -him that stabbed them swimming in hell.” - -“I know nothing about that,” said Sancho; “all I know is it will be my -bad luck that through not finding this head my county will melt away -like salt in water;”—for Sancho awake was worse than his master asleep, -so much had his master’s promises addled his wits. - -The landlord was beside himself at the coolness of the squire and the -mischievous doings of the master, and swore it should not be like the -last time when they went without paying; and that their privileges of -chivalry should not hold good this time to let one or other of them off -without paying, even to the cost of the plugs that would have to be put -to the damaged wine-skins. The curate was holding Don Quixote’s hands, -who, fancying he had now ended the adventure and was in the presence of -the Princess Micomicona, knelt before the curate and said, “Exalted and -beauteous lady, your highness may live from this day forth fearless of -any harm this base being could do you; and I too from this day forth am -released from the promise I gave you, since by the help of God on high -and by the favour of her by whom I live and breathe, I have fulfilled -it so successfully.” - -“Did not I say so?” said Sancho on hearing this. “You see I wasn’t -drunk; there you see my master has already salted the giant; there’s no -doubt about the bulls; my county is all right!” - -Who could have helped laughing at the absurdities of the pair, master -and man? And laugh they did, all except the landlord, who cursed -himself; but at length the barber, Cardenio, and the curate contrived -with no small trouble to get Don Quixote on the bed, and he fell asleep -with every appearance of excessive weariness. They left him to sleep, -and came out to the gate of the inn to console Sancho Panza on not -having found the head of the giant; but much more work had they to -appease the landlord, who was furious at the sudden death of his -wine-skins; and said the landlady half scolding, half crying, “At an -evil moment and in an unlucky hour he came into my house, this -knight-errant—would that I had never set eyes on him, for dear he has -cost me; the last time he went off with the overnight score against him -for supper, bed, straw, and barley, for himself and his squire and a -hack and an ass, saying he was a knight adventurer—God send unlucky -adventures to him and all the adventurers in the world—and therefore -not bound to pay anything, for it was so settled by the knight-errantry -tariff: and then, all because of him, came the other gentleman and -carried off my tail, and gives it back more than two cuartillos the -worse, all stripped of its hair, so that it is no use for my husband’s -purpose; and then, for a finishing touch to all, to burst my wine-skins -and spill my wine! I wish I saw his own blood spilt! But let him not -deceive himself, for, by the bones of my father and the shade of my -mother, they shall pay me down every quarts; or my name is not what it -is, and I am not my father’s daughter.” All this and more to the same -effect the landlady delivered with great irritation, and her good maid -Maritornes backed her up, while the daughter held her peace and smiled -from time to time. The curate smoothed matters by promising to make -good all losses to the best of his power, not only as regarded the -wine-skins but also the wine, and above all the depreciation of the -tail which they set such store by. Dorothea comforted Sancho, telling -him that she pledged herself, as soon as it should appear certain that -his master had decapitated the giant, and she found herself peacefully -established in her kingdom, to bestow upon him the best county there -was in it. With this Sancho consoled himself, and assured the princess -she might rely upon it that he had seen the head of the giant, and more -by token it had a beard that reached to the girdle, and that if it was -not to be seen now it was because everything that happened in that -house went by enchantment, as he himself had proved the last time he -had lodged there. Dorothea said she fully believed it, and that he need -not be uneasy, for all would go well and turn out as he wished. All -therefore being appeased, the curate was anxious to go on with the -novel, as he saw there was but little more left to read. Dorothea and -the others begged him to finish it, and he, as he was willing to please -them, and enjoyed reading it himself, continued the tale in these -words: - -The result was, that from the confidence Anselmo felt in Camilla’s -virtue, he lived happy and free from anxiety, and Camilla purposely -looked coldly on Lothario, that Anselmo might suppose her feelings -towards him to be the opposite of what they were; and the better to -support the position, Lothario begged to be excused from coming to the -house, as the displeasure with which Camilla regarded his presence was -plain to be seen. But the befooled Anselmo said he would on no account -allow such a thing, and so in a thousand ways he became the author of -his own dishonour, while he believed he was insuring his happiness. -Meanwhile the satisfaction with which Leonela saw herself empowered to -carry on her amour reached such a height that, regardless of everything -else, she followed her inclinations unrestrainedly, feeling confident -that her mistress would screen her, and even show her how to manage it -safely. At last one night Anselmo heard footsteps in Leonela’s room, -and on trying to enter to see who it was, he found that the door was -held against him, which made him all the more determined to open it; -and exerting his strength he forced it open, and entered the room in -time to see a man leaping through the window into the street. He ran -quickly to seize him or discover who he was, but he was unable to -effect either purpose, for Leonela flung her arms round him crying, “Be -calm, señor; do not give way to passion or follow him who has escaped -from this; he belongs to me, and in fact he is my husband.” - -Anselmo would not believe it, but blind with rage drew a dagger and -threatened to stab Leonela, bidding her tell the truth or he would kill -her. She, in her fear, not knowing what she was saying, exclaimed, “Do -not kill me, señor, for I can tell you things more important than any -you can imagine.” - -“Tell me then at once or thou diest,” said Anselmo. - -“It would be impossible for me now,” said Leonela, “I am so agitated: -leave me till to-morrow, and then you shall hear from me what will fill -you with astonishment; but rest assured that he who leaped through the -window is a young man of this city, who has given me his promise to -become my husband.” - -Anselmo was appeased with this, and was content to wait the time she -asked of him, for he never expected to hear anything against Camilla, -so satisfied and sure of her virtue was he; and so he quitted the room, -and left Leonela locked in, telling her she should not come out until -she had told him all she had to make known to him. He went at once to -see Camilla, and tell her, as he did, all that had passed between him -and her handmaid, and the promise she had given him to inform him -matters of serious importance. - -There is no need of saying whether Camilla was agitated or not, for so -great was her fear and dismay, that, making sure, as she had good -reason to do, that Leonela would tell Anselmo all she knew of her -faithlessness, she had not the courage to wait and see if her -suspicions were confirmed; and that same night, as soon as she thought -that Anselmo was asleep, she packed up the most valuable jewels she had -and some money, and without being observed by anybody escaped from the -house and betook herself to Lothario’s, to whom she related what had -occurred, imploring him to convey her to some place of safety or fly -with her where they might be safe from Anselmo. The state of perplexity -to which Camilla reduced Lothario was such that he was unable to utter -a word in reply, still less to decide upon what he should do. At length -he resolved to conduct her to a convent of which a sister of his was -prioress; Camilla agreed to this, and with the speed which the -circumstances demanded, Lothario took her to the convent and left her -there, and then himself quitted the city without letting anyone know of -his departure. - -As soon as daylight came Anselmo, without missing Camilla from his -side, rose eager to learn what Leonela had to tell him, and hastened to -the room where he had locked her in. He opened the door, entered, but -found no Leonela; all he found was some sheets knotted to the window, a -plain proof that she had let herself down from it and escaped. He -returned, uneasy, to tell Camilla, but not finding her in bed or -anywhere in the house he was lost in amazement. He asked the servants -of the house about her, but none of them could give him any -explanation. As he was going in search of Camilla it happened by chance -that he observed her boxes were lying open, and that the greater part -of her jewels were gone; and now he became fully aware of his disgrace, -and that Leonela was not the cause of his misfortune; and, just as he -was, without delaying to dress himself completely, he repaired, sad at -heart and dejected, to his friend Lothario to make known his sorrow to -him; but when he failed to find him and the servants reported that he -had been absent from his house all night and had taken with him all the -money he had, he felt as though he were losing his senses; and to make -all complete on returning to his own house he found it deserted and -empty, not one of all his servants, male or female, remaining in it. He -knew not what to think, or say, or do, and his reason seemed to be -deserting him little by little. He reviewed his position, and saw -himself in a moment left without wife, friend, or servants, abandoned, -he felt, by the heaven above him, and more than all robbed of his -honour, for in Camilla’s disappearance he saw his own ruin. After long -reflection he resolved at last to go to his friend’s village, where he -had been staying when he afforded opportunities for the contrivance of -this complication of misfortune. He locked the doors of his house, -mounted his horse, and with a broken spirit set out on his journey; but -he had hardly gone half-way when, harassed by his reflections, he had -to dismount and tie his horse to a tree, at the foot of which he threw -himself, giving vent to piteous heartrending sighs; and there he -remained till nearly nightfall, when he observed a man approaching on -horseback from the city, of whom, after saluting him, he asked what was -the news in Florence. - -The citizen replied, “The strangest that have been heard for many a -day; for it is reported abroad that Lothario, the great friend of the -wealthy Anselmo, who lived at San Giovanni, carried off last night -Camilla, the wife of Anselmo, who also has disappeared. All this has -been told by a maid-servant of Camilla’s, whom the governor found last -night lowering herself by a sheet from the windows of Anselmo’s house. -I know not indeed, precisely, how the affair came to pass; all I know -is that the whole city is wondering at the occurrence, for no one could -have expected a thing of the kind, seeing the great and intimate -friendship that existed between them, so great, they say, that they -were called ‘The Two Friends.’” - -“Is it known at all,” said Anselmo, “what road Lothario and Camilla -took?” - -“Not in the least,” said the citizen, “though the governor has been -very active in searching for them.” - -“God speed you, señor,” said Anselmo. - -“God be with you,” said the citizen and went his way. - -This disastrous intelligence almost robbed Anselmo not only of his -senses but of his life. He got up as well as he was able and reached -the house of his friend, who as yet knew nothing of his misfortune, but -seeing him come pale, worn, and haggard, perceived that he was -suffering some heavy affliction. Anselmo at once begged to be allowed -to retire to rest, and to be given writing materials. His wish was -complied with and he was left lying down and alone, for he desired -this, and even that the door should be locked. Finding himself alone he -so took to heart the thought of his misfortune that by the signs of -death he felt within him he knew well his life was drawing to a close, -and therefore he resolved to leave behind him a declaration of the -cause of his strange end. He began to write, but before he had put down -all he meant to say, his breath failed him and he yielded up his life, -a victim to the suffering which his ill-advised curiosity had entailed -upon him. The master of the house observing that it was now late and -that Anselmo did not call, determined to go in and ascertain if his -indisposition was increasing, and found him lying on his face, his body -partly in the bed, partly on the writing-table, on which he lay with -the written paper open and the pen still in his hand. Having first -called to him without receiving any answer, his host approached him, -and taking him by the hand, found that it was cold, and saw that he was -dead. Greatly surprised and distressed he summoned the household to -witness the sad fate which had befallen Anselmo; and then he read the -paper, the handwriting of which he recognised as his, and which -contained these words: - -“A foolish and ill-advised desire has robbed me of life. If the news of -my death should reach the ears of Camilla, let her know that I forgive -her, for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor ought I to have -required her to perform them; and since I have been the author of my -own dishonour, there is no reason why—” - -So far Anselmo had written, and thus it was plain that at this point, -before he could finish what he had to say, his life came to an end. The -next day his friend sent intelligence of his death to his relatives, -who had already ascertained his misfortune, as well as the convent -where Camilla lay almost on the point of accompanying her husband on -that inevitable journey, not on account of the tidings of his death, -but because of those she received of her lover’s departure. Although -she saw herself a widow, it is said she refused either to quit the -convent or take the veil, until, not long afterwards, intelligence -reached her that Lothario had been killed in a battle in which M. de -Lautrec had been recently engaged with the Great Captain Gonzalo -Fernandez de Cordova in the kingdom of Naples, whither her too late -repentant lover had repaired. On learning this Camilla took the veil, -and shortly afterwards died, worn out by grief and melancholy. This was -the end of all three, an end that came of a thoughtless beginning. - -“I like this novel,” said the curate; “but I cannot persuade myself of -its truth; and if it has been invented, the author’s invention is -faulty, for it is impossible to imagine any husband so foolish as to -try such a costly experiment as Anselmo’s. If it had been represented -as occurring between a gallant and his mistress it might pass; but -between husband and wife there is something of an impossibility about -it. As to the way in which the story is told, however, I have no fault -to find.” - -CHAPTER XXXVI. -WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN - -Just at that instant the landlord, who was standing at the gate of the -inn, exclaimed, “Here comes a fine troop of guests; if they stop here -we may say _gaudeamus_.” - -“What are they?” said Cardenio. - -“Four men,” said the landlord, “riding _à la jineta_, with lances and -bucklers, and all with black veils, and with them there is a woman in -white on a side-saddle, whose face is also veiled, and two attendants -on foot.” - -“Are they very near?” said the curate. - -“So near,” answered the landlord, “that here they come.” - -Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Cardenio retreated into Don -Quixote’s room, and they hardly had time to do so before the whole -party the host had described entered the inn, and the four that were on -horseback, who were of highbred appearance and bearing, dismounted, and -came forward to take down the woman who rode on the side-saddle, and -one of them taking her in his arms placed her in a chair that stood at -the entrance of the room where Cardenio had hidden himself. All this -time neither she nor they had removed their veils or spoken a word, -only on sitting down on the chair the woman gave a deep sigh and let -her arms fall like one that was ill and weak. The attendants on foot -then led the horses away to the stable. Observing this the curate, -curious to know who these people in such a dress and preserving such -silence were, went to where the servants were standing and put the -question to one of them, who answered him. - -“Faith, sir, I cannot tell you who they are, I only know they seem to -be people of distinction, particularly he who advanced to take the lady -you saw in his arms; and I say so because all the rest show him -respect, and nothing is done except what he directs and orders.” - -“And the lady, who is she?” asked the curate. - -“That I cannot tell you either,” said the servant, “for I have not seen -her face all the way: I have indeed heard her sigh many times and utter -such groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every time; but it -is no wonder if we do not know more than we have told you, as my -comrade and I have only been in their company two days, for having met -us on the road they begged and persuaded us to accompany them to -Andalusia, promising to pay us well.” - -“And have you heard any of them called by his name?” asked the curate. - -“No, indeed,” replied the servant; “they all preserve a marvellous -silence on the road, for not a sound is to be heard among them except -the poor lady’s sighs and sobs, which make us pity her; and we feel -sure that wherever it is she is going, it is against her will, and as -far as one can judge from her dress she is a nun or, what is more -likely, about to become one; and perhaps it is because taking the vows -is not of her own free will, that she is so unhappy as she seems to -be.” - -“That may well be,” said the curate, and leaving them he returned to -where Dorothea was, who, hearing the veiled lady sigh, moved by natural -compassion drew near to her and said, “What are you suffering from, -señora? If it be anything that women are accustomed and know how to -relieve, I offer you my services with all my heart.” - -To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and though Dorothea repeated -her offers more earnestly she still kept silence, until the gentleman -with the veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, -approached and said to Dorothea, “Do not give yourself the trouble, -señora, of making any offers to that woman, for it is her way to give -no thanks for anything that is done for her; and do not try to make her -answer unless you want to hear some lie from her lips.” - -“I have never told a lie,” was the immediate reply of her who had been -silent until now; “on the contrary, it is because I am so truthful and -so ignorant of lying devices that I am now in this miserable condition; -and this I call you yourself to witness, for it is my unstained truth -that has made you false and a liar.” - -Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, being quite close to -the speaker, for there was only the door of Don Quixote’s room between -them, and the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he cried, -“Good God! what is this I hear? What voice is this that has reached my -ears?” Startled at the voice the lady turned her head; and not seeing -the speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room; observing -which the gentleman held her back, preventing her from moving a step. -In her agitation and sudden movement the silk with which she had -covered her face fell off and disclosed a countenance of incomparable -and marvellous beauty, but pale and terrified; for she kept turning her -eyes, everywhere she could direct her gaze, with an eagerness that made -her look as if she had lost her senses, and so marked that it excited -the pity of Dorothea and all who beheld her, though they knew not what -caused it. The gentleman grasped her firmly by the shoulders, and being -so fully occupied with holding her back, he was unable to put a hand to -his veil which was falling off, as it did at length entirely, and -Dorothea, who was holding the lady in her arms, raising her eyes saw -that he who likewise held her was her husband, Don Fernando. The -instant she recognised him, with a prolonged plaintive cry drawn from -the depths of her heart, she fell backwards fainting, and but for the -barber being close by to catch her in his arms, she would have fallen -completely to the ground. The curate at once hastened to uncover her -face and throw water on it, and as he did so Don Fernando, for he it -was who held the other in his arms, recognised her and stood as if -death-stricken by the sight; not, however, relaxing his grasp of -Luscinda, for it was she that was struggling to release herself from -his hold, having recognised Cardenio by his voice, as he had recognised -her. Cardenio also heard Dorothea’s cry as she fell fainting, and -imagining that it came from his Luscinda burst forth in terror from the -room, and the first thing he saw was Don Fernando with Luscinda in his -arms. Don Fernando, too, knew Cardenio at once; and all three, -Luscinda, Cardenio, and Dorothea, stood in silent amazement scarcely -knowing what had happened to them. - -They gazed at one another without speaking, Dorothea at Don Fernando, -Don Fernando at Cardenio, Cardenio at Luscinda, and Luscinda at -Cardenio. The first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus addressed -Don Fernando: “Leave me, Señor Don Fernando, for the sake of what you -owe to yourself; if no other reason will induce you, leave me to cling -to the wall of which I am the ivy, to the support from which neither -your importunities, nor your threats, nor your promises, nor your gifts -have been able to detach me. See how Heaven, by ways strange and hidden -from our sight, has brought me face to face with my true husband; and -well you know by dear-bought experience that death alone will be able -to efface him from my memory. May this plain declaration, then, lead -you, as you can do nothing else, to turn your love into rage, your -affection into resentment, and so to take my life; for if I yield it up -in the presence of my beloved husband I count it well bestowed; it may -be by my death he will be convinced that I kept my faith to him to the -last moment of life.” - -Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had heard Luscinda’s words, -by means of which she divined who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando -did not yet release her or reply to her, summoning up her resolution as -well as she could she rose and knelt at his feet, and with a flood of -bright and touching tears addressed him thus: - -“If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou holdest eclipsed in thine -arms did not dazzle and rob thine eyes of sight thou wouldst have seen -by this time that she who kneels at thy feet is, so long as thou wilt -have it so, the unhappy and unfortunate Dorothea. I am that lowly -peasant girl whom thou in thy goodness or for thy pleasure wouldst -raise high enough to call herself thine; I am she who in the seclusion -of innocence led a contented life until at the voice of thy -importunity, and thy true and tender passion, as it seemed, she opened -the gates of her modesty and surrendered to thee the keys of her -liberty; a gift received by thee but thanklessly, as is clearly shown -by my forced retreat to the place where thou dost find me, and by thy -appearance under the circumstances in which I see thee. Nevertheless, I -would not have thee suppose that I have come here driven by my shame; -it is only grief and sorrow at seeing myself forgotten by thee that -have led me. It was thy will to make me thine, and thou didst so follow -thy will, that now, even though thou repentest, thou canst not help -being mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable affection I bear -thee may compensate for the beauty and noble birth for which thou -wouldst desert me. Thou canst not be the fair Luscinda’s because thou -art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Cardenio’s; and it will -be easier, remember, to bend thy will to love one who adores thee, than -to lead one to love thee who abhors thee now. Thou didst address -thyself to my simplicity, thou didst lay siege to my virtue, thou wert -not ignorant of my station, well dost thou know how I yielded wholly to -thy will; there is no ground or reason for thee to plead deception, and -if it be so, as it is, and if thou art a Christian as thou art a -gentleman, why dost thou by such subterfuges put off making me as happy -at last as thou didst at first? And if thou wilt not have me for what I -am, thy true and lawful wife, at least take and accept me as thy slave, -for so long as I am thine I will count myself happy and fortunate. Do -not by deserting me let my shame become the talk of the gossips in the -streets; make not the old age of my parents miserable; for the loyal -services they as faithful vassals have ever rendered thine are not -deserving of such a return; and if thou thinkest it will debase thy -blood to mingle it with mine, reflect that there is little or no -nobility in the world that has not travelled the same road, and that in -illustrious lineages it is not the woman’s blood that is of account; -and, moreover, that true nobility consists in virtue, and if thou art -wanting in that, refusing me what in justice thou owest me, then even I -have higher claims to nobility than thine. To make an end, señor, these -are my last words to thee: whether thou wilt, or wilt not, I am thy -wife; witness thy words, which must not and ought not to be false, if -thou dost pride thyself on that for want of which thou scornest me; -witness the pledge which thou didst give me, and witness Heaven, which -thou thyself didst call to witness the promise thou hadst made me; and -if all this fail, thy own conscience will not fail to lift up its -silent voice in the midst of all thy gaiety, and vindicate the truth of -what I say and mar thy highest pleasure and enjoyment.” - -All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered with such earnest -feeling and such tears that all present, even those who came with Don -Fernando, were constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando listened -to her without replying, until, ceasing to speak, she gave way to such -sobs and sighs that it must have been a heart of brass that was not -softened by the sight of so great sorrow. Luscinda stood regarding her -with no less compassion for her sufferings than admiration for her -intelligence and beauty, and would have gone to her to say some words -of comfort to her, but was prevented by Don Fernando’s grasp which held -her fast. He, overwhelmed with confusion and astonishment, after -regarding Dorothea for some moments with a fixed gaze, opened his arms, -and, releasing Luscinda, exclaimed: - -“Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou hast conquered, for it is -impossible to have the heart to deny the united force of so many -truths.” - -Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of falling to the ground -when Don Fernando released her, but Cardenio, who stood near, having -retreated behind Don Fernando to escape recognition, casting fear aside -and regardless of what might happen, ran forward to support her, and -said as he clasped her in his arms, “If Heaven in its compassion is -willing to let thee rest at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, -and fair, nowhere canst thou rest more safely than in these arms that -now receive thee, and received thee before when fortune permitted me to -call thee mine.” - -At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio, at first beginning to -recognise him by his voice and then satisfying herself by her eyes that -it was he, and hardly knowing what she did, and heedless of all -considerations of decorum, she flung her arms around his neck and -pressing her face close to his, said, “Yes, my dear lord, you are the -true master of this your slave, even though adverse fate interpose -again, and fresh dangers threaten this life that hangs on yours.” - -A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and those that stood around, -filled with surprise at an incident so unlooked for. Dorothea fancied -that Don Fernando changed colour and looked as though he meant to take -vengeance on Cardenio, for she observed him put his hand to his sword; -and the instant the idea struck her, with wonderful quickness she -clasped him round the knees, and kissing them and holding him so as to -prevent his moving, she said, while her tears continued to flow, “What -is it thou wouldst do, my only refuge, in this unforeseen event? Thou -hast thy wife at thy feet, and she whom thou wouldst have for thy wife -is in the arms of her husband: reflect whether it will be right for -thee, whether it will be possible for thee to undo what Heaven has -done, or whether it will be becoming in thee to seek to raise her to be -thy mate who in spite of every obstacle, and strong in her truth and -constancy, is before thine eyes, bathing with the tears of love the -face and bosom of her lawful husband. For God’s sake I entreat of thee, -for thine own I implore thee, let not this open manifestation rouse thy -anger; but rather so calm it as to allow these two lovers to live in -peace and quiet without any interference from thee so long as Heaven -permits them; and in so doing thou wilt prove the generosity of thy -lofty noble spirit, and the world shall see that with thee reason has -more influence than passion.” - -All the time Dorothea was speaking, Cardenio, though he held Luscinda -in his arms, never took his eyes off Don Fernando, determined, if he -saw him make any hostile movement, to try and defend himself and resist -as best he could all who might assail him, though it should cost him -his life. But now Don Fernando’s friends, as well as the curate and the -barber, who had been present all the while, not forgetting the worthy -Sancho Panza, ran forward and gathered round Don Fernando, entreating -him to have regard for the tears of Dorothea, and not suffer her -reasonable hopes to be disappointed, since, as they firmly believed, -what she said was but the truth; and bidding him observe that it was -not, as it might seem, by accident, but by a special disposition of -Providence that they had all met in a place where no one could have -expected a meeting. And the curate bade him remember that only death -could part Luscinda from Cardenio; that even if some sword were to -separate them they would think their death most happy; and that in a -case that admitted of no remedy his wisest course was, by conquering -and putting a constraint upon himself, to show a generous mind, and of -his own accord suffer these two to enjoy the happiness Heaven had -granted them. He bade him, too, turn his eyes upon the beauty of -Dorothea and he would see that few if any could equal much less excel -her; while to that beauty should be added her modesty and the -surpassing love she bore him. But besides all this, he reminded him -that if he prided himself on being a gentleman and a Christian, he -could not do otherwise than keep his plighted word; and that in doing -so he would obey God and meet the approval of all sensible people, who -know and recognised it to be the privilege of beauty, even in one of -humble birth, provided virtue accompany it, to be able to raise itself -to the level of any rank, without any slur upon him who places it upon -an equality with himself; and furthermore that when the potent sway of -passion asserts itself, so long as there be no mixture of sin in it, he -is not to be blamed who gives way to it. - -To be brief, they added to these such other forcible arguments that Don -Fernando’s manly heart, being after all nourished by noble blood, was -touched, and yielded to the truth which, even had he wished it, he -could not gainsay; and he showed his submission, and acceptance of the -good advice that had been offered to him, by stooping down and -embracing Dorothea, saying to her, “Rise, dear lady, it is not right -that what I hold in my heart should be kneeling at my feet; and if -until now I have shown no sign of what I own, it may have been by -Heaven’s decree in order that, seeing the constancy with which you love -me, I may learn to value you as you deserve. What I entreat of you is -that you reproach me not with my transgression and grievous -wrong-doing; for the same cause and force that drove me to make you -mine impelled me to struggle against being yours; and to prove this, -turn and look at the eyes of the now happy Luscinda, and you will see -in them an excuse for all my errors: and as she has found and gained -the object of her desires, and I have found in you what satisfies all -my wishes, may she live in peace and contentment as many happy years -with her Cardenio, as on my knees I pray Heaven to allow me to live -with my Dorothea;” and with these words he once more embraced her and -pressed his face to hers with so much tenderness that he had to take -great heed to keep his tears from completing the proof of his love and -repentance in the sight of all. Not so Luscinda, and Cardenio, and -almost all the others, for they shed so many tears, some in their own -happiness, some at that of the others, that one would have supposed a -heavy calamity had fallen upon them all. Even Sancho Panza was weeping; -though afterwards he said he only wept because he saw that Dorothea was -not as he fancied the queen Micomicona, of whom he expected such great -favours. Their wonder as well as their weeping lasted some time, and -then Cardenio and Luscinda went and fell on their knees before Don -Fernando, returning him thanks for the favour he had rendered them in -language so grateful that he knew not how to answer them, and raising -them up embraced them with every mark of affection and courtesy. - -He then asked Dorothea how she had managed to reach a place so far -removed from her own home, and she in a few fitting words told all that -she had previously related to Cardenio, with which Don Fernando and his -companions were so delighted that they wished the story had been -longer; so charmingly did Dorothea describe her misadventures. When she -had finished Don Fernando recounted what had befallen him in the city -after he had found in Luscinda’s bosom the paper in which she declared -that she was Cardenio’s wife, and never could be his. He said he meant -to kill her, and would have done so had he not been prevented by her -parents, and that he quitted the house full of rage and shame, and -resolved to avenge himself when a more convenient opportunity should -offer. The next day he learned that Luscinda had disappeared from her -father’s house, and that no one could tell whither she had gone. -Finally, at the end of some months he ascertained that she was in a -convent and meant to remain there all the rest of her life, if she were -not to share it with Cardenio; and as soon as he had learned this, -taking these three gentlemen as his companions, he arrived at the place -where she was, but avoided speaking to her, fearing that if it were -known he was there stricter precautions would be taken in the convent; -and watching a time when the porter’s lodge was open he left two to -guard the gate, and he and the other entered the convent in quest of -Luscinda, whom they found in the cloisters in conversation with one of -the nuns, and carrying her off without giving her time to resist, they -reached a place with her where they provided themselves with what they -required for taking her away; all which they were able to do in -complete safety, as the convent was in the country at a considerable -distance from the city. He added that when Luscinda found herself in -his power she lost all consciousness, and after returning to herself -did nothing but weep and sigh without speaking a word; and thus in -silence and tears they reached that inn, which for him was reaching -heaven where all the mischances of earth are over and at an end. - -CHAPTER XXXVII. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE STORY OF THE FAMOUS PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH -OTHER DROLL ADVENTURES - -To all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow at heart to see how -his hopes of dignity were fading away and vanishing in smoke, and how -the fair Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorothea, and the giant -into Don Fernando, while his master was sleeping tranquilly, totally -unconscious of all that had come to pass. Dorothea was unable to -persuade herself that her present happiness was not all a dream; -Cardenio was in a similar state of mind, and Luscinda’s thoughts ran in -the same direction. Don Fernando gave thanks to Heaven for the favour -shown to him and for having been rescued from the intricate labyrinth -in which he had been brought so near the destruction of his good name -and of his soul; and in short everybody in the inn was full of -contentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of such a complicated -and hopeless business. The curate as a sensible man made sound -reflections upon the whole affair, and congratulated each upon his good -fortune; but the one that was in the highest spirits and good humour -was the landlady, because of the promise Cardenio and the curate had -given her to pay for all the losses and damage she had sustained -through Don Quixote’s means. Sancho, as has been already said, was the -only one who was distressed, unhappy, and dejected; and so with a long -face he went in to his master, who had just awoke, and said to him: - -“Sir Rueful Countenance, your worship may as well sleep on as much as -you like, without troubling yourself about killing any giant or -restoring her kingdom to the princess; for that is all over and settled -now.” - -“I should think it was,” replied Don Quixote, “for I have had the most -prodigious and stupendous battle with the giant that I ever remember -having had all the days of my life; and with one back-stroke—swish!—I -brought his head tumbling to the ground, and so much blood gushed forth -from him that it ran in rivulets over the earth like water.” - -“Like red wine, your worship had better say,” replied Sancho; “for I -would have you know, if you don’t know it, that the dead giant is a -hacked wine-skin, and the blood four-and-twenty gallons of red wine -that it had in its belly, and the cut-off head is the bitch that bore -me; and the devil take it all.” - -“What art thou talking about, fool?” said Don Quixote; “art thou in thy -senses?” - -“Let your worship get up,” said Sancho, “and you will see the nice -business you have made of it, and what we have to pay; and you will see -the queen turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other things -that will astonish you, if you understand them.” - -“I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind,” returned Don -Quixote; “for if thou dost remember the last time we were here I told -thee that everything that happened here was a matter of enchantment, -and it would be no wonder if it were the same now.” - -“I could believe all that,” replied Sancho, “if my blanketing was the -same sort of thing also; only it wasn’t, but real and genuine; for I -saw the landlord, who is here to-day, holding one end of the blanket -and jerking me up to the skies very neatly and smartly, and with as -much laughter as strength; and when it comes to be a case of knowing -people, I hold for my part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is no -enchantment about it at all, but a great deal of bruising and bad -luck.” - -“Well, well, God will give a remedy,” said Don Quixote; “hand me my -clothes and let me go out, for I want to see these transformations and -things thou speakest of.” - -Sancho fetched him his clothes; and while he was dressing, the curate -gave Don Fernando and the others present an account of Don Quixote’s -madness and of the stratagem they had made use of to withdraw him from -that Pena Pobre where he fancied himself stationed because of his -lady’s scorn. He described to them also nearly all the adventures that -Sancho had mentioned, at which they marvelled and laughed not a little, -thinking it, as all did, the strangest form of madness a crazy -intellect could be capable of. But now, the curate said, that the lady -Dorothea’s good fortune prevented her from proceeding with their -purpose, it would be necessary to devise or discover some other way of -getting him home. - -Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they had begun, and suggested -that Luscinda would act and support Dorothea’s part sufficiently well. - -“No,” said Don Fernando, “that must not be, for I want Dorothea to -follow out this idea of hers; and if the worthy gentleman’s village is -not very far off, I shall be happy if I can do anything for his -relief.” - -“It is not more than two days’ journey from this,” said the curate. - -“Even if it were more,” said Don Fernando, “I would gladly travel so -far for the sake of doing so good a work.” - -At this moment Don Quixote came out in full panoply, with Mambrino’s -helmet, all dinted as it was, on his head, his buckler on his arm, and -leaning on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented filled -Don Fernando and the rest with amazement as they contemplated his lean -yellow face half a league long, his armour of all sorts, and the -solemnity of his deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what he -would say, and he, fixing his eyes on the fair Dorothea, addressed her -with great gravity and composure: - -“I am informed, fair lady, by my squire here that your greatness has -been annihilated and your being abolished, since, from a queen and lady -of high degree as you used to be, you have been turned into a private -maiden. If this has been done by the command of the magician king your -father, through fear that I should not afford you the aid you need and -are entitled to, I may tell you he did not know and does not know half -the mass, and was little versed in the annals of chivalry; for, if he -had read and gone through them as attentively and deliberately as I -have, he would have found at every turn that knights of less renown -than mine have accomplished things more difficult: it is no great -matter to kill a whelp of a giant, however arrogant he may be; for it -is not many hours since I myself was engaged with one, and—I will not -speak of it, that they may not say I am lying; time, however, that -reveals all, will tell the tale when we least expect it.” - -“You were engaged with a couple of wine-skins, and not a giant,” said -the landlord at this; but Don Fernando told him to hold his tongue and -on no account interrupt Don Quixote, who continued, “I say in -conclusion, high and disinherited lady, that if your father has brought -about this metamorphosis in your person for the reason I have -mentioned, you ought not to attach any importance to it; for there is -no peril on earth through which my sword will not force a way, and with -it, before many days are over, I will bring your enemy’s head to the -ground and place on yours the crown of your kingdom.” - -Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the reply of the princess, who -aware of Don Fernando’s determination to carry on the deception until -Don Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great ease of manner -and gravity made answer, “Whoever told you, valiant Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, that I had undergone any change or transformation -did not tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was yesterday. It is -true that certain strokes of good fortune, that have given me more than -I could have hoped for, have made some alteration in me; but I have not -therefore ceased to be what I was before, or to entertain the same -desire I have had all through of availing myself of the might of your -valiant and invincible arm. And so, señor, let your goodness reinstate -the father that begot me in your good opinion, and be assured that he -was a wise and prudent man, since by his craft he found out such a sure -and easy way of remedying my misfortune; for I believe, señor, that had -it not been for you I should never have lit upon the good fortune I now -possess; and in this I am saying what is perfectly true; as most of -these gentlemen who are present can fully testify. All that remains is -to set out on our journey to-morrow, for to-day we could not make much -way; and for the rest of the happy result I am looking forward to, I -trust to God and the valour of your heart.” - -So said the sprightly Dorothea, and on hearing her Don Quixote turned -to Sancho, and said to him, with an angry air, “I declare now, little -Sancho, thou art the greatest little villain in Spain. Say, thief and -vagabond, hast thou not just now told me that this princess had been -turned into a maiden called Dorothea, and that the head which I am -persuaded I cut off from a giant was the bitch that bore thee, and -other nonsense that put me in the greatest perplexity I have ever been -in all my life? I vow” (and here he looked to heaven and ground his -teeth) “I have a mind to play the mischief with thee, in a way that -will teach sense for the future to all lying squires of knights-errant -in the world.” - -“Let your worship be calm, señor,” returned Sancho, “for it may well be -that I have been mistaken as to the change of the lady princess -Micomicona; but as to the giant’s head, or at least as to the piercing -of the wine-skins, and the blood being red wine, I make no mistake, as -sure as there is a God; because the wounded skins are there at the head -of your worship’s bed, and the wine has made a lake of the room; if not -you will see when the eggs come to be fried; I mean when his worship -the landlord calls for all the damages: for the rest, I am heartily -glad that her ladyship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as -much as anyone.” - -“I tell thee again, Sancho, thou art a fool,” said Don Quixote; -“forgive me, and that will do.” - -“That will do,” said Don Fernando; “let us say no more about it; and as -her ladyship the princess proposes to set out to-morrow because it is -too late to-day, so be it, and we will pass the night in pleasant -conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany Señor Don Quixote; -for we wish to witness the valiant and unparalleled achievements he is -about to perform in the course of this mighty enterprise which he has -undertaken.” - -“It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you,” said Don Quixote; “and -I am much gratified by the favour that is bestowed upon me, and the -good opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify or it -shall cost me my life, or even more, if it can possibly cost me more.” - -Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness that passed -between Don Quixote and Don Fernando; but they were brought to an end -by a traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and who seemed from -his attire to be a Christian lately come from the country of the Moors, -for he was dressed in a short-skirted coat of blue cloth with -half-sleeves and without a collar; his breeches were also of blue -cloth, and his cap of the same colour, and he wore yellow buskins and -had a Moorish cutlass slung from a baldric across his breast. Behind -him, mounted upon an ass, there came a woman dressed in Moorish -fashion, with her face veiled and a scarf on her head, and wearing a -little brocaded cap, and a mantle that covered her from her shoulders -to her feet. The man was of a robust and well-proportioned frame, in -age a little over forty, rather swarthy in complexion, with long -moustaches and a full beard, and, in short, his appearance was such -that if he had been well dressed he would have been taken for a person -of quality and good birth. On entering he asked for a room, and when -they told him there was none in the inn he seemed distressed, and -approaching her who by her dress seemed to be a Moor, he took her down -from the saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, the landlady, her -daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, and to them entirely -new costume, gathered round her; and Dorothea, who was always kindly, -courteous, and quick-witted, perceiving that both she and the man who -had brought her were annoyed at not finding a room, said to her, “Do -not be put out, señora, by the discomfort and want of luxuries here, -for it is the way of road-side inns to be without them; still, if you -will be pleased to share our lodging with us (pointing to Luscinda) -perhaps you will have found worse accommodation in the course of your -journey.” - -To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to rise from her -seat, crossing her hands upon her bosom, bowing her head and bending -her body as a sign that she returned thanks. From her silence they -concluded that she must be a Moor and unable to speak a Christian -tongue. - -At this moment the captive came up, having been until now otherwise -engaged, and seeing that they all stood round his companion and that -she made no reply to what they addressed to her, he said, “Ladies, this -damsel hardly understands my language and can speak none but that of -her own country, for which reason she does not and cannot answer what -has been asked of her.” - -“Nothing has been asked of her,” returned Luscinda; “she has only been -offered our company for this evening and a share of the quarters we -occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as the circumstances -allow, with the good-will we are bound to show all strangers that stand -in need of it, especially if it be a woman to whom the service is -rendered.” - -“On her part and my own, señora,” replied the captive, “I kiss your -hands, and I esteem highly, as I ought, the favour you have offered, -which, on such an occasion and coming from persons of your appearance, -is, it is plain to see, a very great one.” - -“Tell me, señor,” said Dorothea, “is this lady a Christian or a Moor? -for her dress and her silence lead us to imagine that she is what we -could wish she was not.” - -“In dress and outwardly,” said he, “she is a Moor, but at heart she is -a thoroughly good Christian, for she has the greatest desire to become -one.” - -“Then she has not been baptised?” returned Luscinda. - -“There has been no opportunity for that,” replied the captive, “since -she left Algiers, her native country and home; and up to the present -she has not found herself in any such imminent danger of death as to -make it necessary to baptise her before she has been instructed in all -the ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains; but, please God, ere -long she shall be baptised with the solemnity befitting her which is -higher than her dress or mine indicates.” - -By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know who -the Moorish lady and the captive were, but no one liked to ask just -then, seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping them to rest -themselves than for questioning them about their lives. Dorothea took -the Moorish lady by the hand and leading her to a seat beside herself, -requested her to remove her veil. She looked at the captive as if to -ask him what they meant and what she was to do. He said to her in -Arabic that they asked her to take off her veil, and thereupon she -removed it and disclosed a countenance so lovely, that to Dorothea she -seemed more beautiful than Luscinda, and to Luscinda more beautiful -than Dorothea, and all the bystanders felt that if any beauty could -compare with theirs it was the Moorish lady’s, and there were even -those who were inclined to give it somewhat the preference. And as it -is the privilege and charm of beauty to win the heart and secure -good-will, all forthwith became eager to show kindness and attention to -the lovely Moor. - -Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he replied that -it was Lela Zoraida; but the instant she heard him, she guessed what -the Christian had asked, and said hastily, with some displeasure and -energy, “No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!” giving them to understand that -she was called “Maria” and not “Zoraida.” These words, and the touching -earnestness with which she uttered them, drew more than one tear from -some of the listeners, particularly the women, who are by nature -tender-hearted and compassionate. Luscinda embraced her affectionately, -saying, “Yes, yes, Maria, Maria,” to which the Moor replied, “Yes, yes, -Maria; Zoraida macange,” which means “not Zoraida.” - -Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those who accompanied -Don Fernando the landlord had taken care and pains to prepare for them -the best supper that was in his power. The hour therefore having -arrived they all took their seats at a long table like a refectory one, -for round or square table there was none in the inn, and the seat of -honour at the head of it, though he was for refusing it, they assigned -to Don Quixote, who desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by his -side, as he was her protector. Luscinda and Zoraida took their places -next her, opposite to them were Don Fernando and Cardenio, and next the -captive and the other gentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the -curate and the barber. And so they supped in high enjoyment, which was -increased when they observed Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved -by an impulse like that which made him deliver himself at such length -when he supped with the goatherds, begin to address them: - -“Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellous are the -things they see, who make profession of the order of knight-errantry. -Say, what being is there in this world, who entering the gate of this -castle at this moment, and seeing us as we are here, would suppose or -imagine us to be what we are? Who would say that this lady who is -beside me was the great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am -that Knight of the Rueful Countenance, trumpeted far and wide by the -mouth of Fame? Now, there can be no doubt that this art and calling -surpasses all those that mankind has invented, and is the more -deserving of being held in honour in proportion as it is the more -exposed to peril. Away with those who assert that letters have the -preeminence over arms; I will tell them, whosoever they may be, that -they know not what they say. For the reason which such persons commonly -assign, and upon which they chiefly rest, is, that the labours of the -mind are greater than those of the body, and that arms give employment -to the body alone; as if the calling were a porter’s trade, for which -nothing more is required than sturdy strength; or as if, in what we who -profess them call arms, there were not included acts of vigour for the -execution of which high intelligence is requisite; or as if the soul of -the warrior, when he has an army, or the defence of a city under his -care, did not exert itself as much by mind as by body. Nay; see whether -by bodily strength it be possible to learn or divine the intentions of -the enemy, his plans, stratagems, or obstacles, or to ward off -impending mischief; for all these are the work of the mind, and in them -the body has no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the -mind, as much as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that -of the man of letters or that of the warrior, has most to do; and this -will be seen by the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for that -purpose is the more estimable which has for its aim the nobler object. -The end and goal of letters—I am not speaking now of divine letters, -the aim of which is to raise and direct the soul to Heaven; for with an -end so infinite no other can be compared—I speak of human letters, the -end of which is to establish distributive justice, give to every man -that which is his, and see and take care that good laws are observed: -an end undoubtedly noble, lofty, and deserving of high praise, but not -such as should be given to that sought by arms, which have for their -end and object peace, the greatest boon that men can desire in this -life. The first good news the world and mankind received was that which -the angels announced on the night that was our day, when they sang in -the air, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of -good-will;’ and the salutation which the great Master of heaven and -earth taught his disciples and chosen followers when they entered any -house, was to say, ‘Peace be on this house;’ and many other times he -said to them, ‘My peace I give unto you, my peace I leave you, peace be -with you;’ a jewel and a precious gift given and left by such a hand: a -jewel without which there can be no happiness either on earth or in -heaven. This peace is the true end of war; and war is only another name -for arms. This, then, being admitted, that the end of war is peace, and -that so far it has the advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to -the bodily labours of the man of letters, and those of him who follows -the profession of arms, and see which are the greater.” - -Don Quixote delivered his discourse in such a manner and in such -correct language, that for the time being he made it impossible for any -of his hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, as they were -mostly gentlemen, to whom arms are an appurtenance by birth, they -listened to him with great pleasure as he continued: “Here, then, I say -is what the student has to undergo; first of all poverty: not that all -are poor, but to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I have -said that he endures poverty, I think nothing more need be said about -his hard fortune, for he who is poor has no share of the good things of -life. This poverty he suffers from in various ways, hunger, or cold, or -nakedness, or all together; but for all that it is not so extreme but -that he gets something to eat, though it may be at somewhat -unseasonable hours and from the leavings of the rich; for the greatest -misery of the student is what they themselves call ‘going out for -soup,’ and there is always some neighbour’s brazier or hearth for them, -which, if it does not warm, at least tempers the cold to them, and -lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a roof. I will not go -into other particulars, as for example want of shirts, and no -superabundance of shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging -themselves to surfeit in their voracity when good luck has treated them -to a banquet of some sort. By this road that I have described, rough -and hard, stumbling here, falling there, getting up again to fall -again, they reach the rank they desire, and that once attained, we have -seen many who have passed these Syrtes and Scyllas and Charybdises, as -if borne flying on the wings of favouring fortune; we have seen them, I -say, ruling and governing the world from a chair, their hunger turned -into satiety, their cold into comfort, their nakedness into fine -raiment, their sleep on a mat into repose in holland and damask, the -justly earned reward of their virtue; but, contrasted and compared with -what the warrior undergoes, all they have undergone falls far short of -it, as I am now about to show.” - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS AND -LETTERS - -Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: “As we began in the -student’s case with poverty and its accompaniments, let us see now if -the soldier is richer, and we shall find that in poverty itself there -is no one poorer; for he is dependent on his miserable pay, which comes -late or never, or else on what he can plunder, seriously imperilling -his life and conscience; and sometimes his nakedness will be so great -that a slashed doublet serves him for uniform and shirt, and in the -depth of winter he has to defend himself against the inclemency of the -weather in the open field with nothing better than the breath of his -mouth, which I need not say, coming from an empty place, must come out -cold, contrary to the laws of nature. To be sure he looks forward to -the approach of night to make up for all these discomforts on the bed -that awaits him, which, unless by some fault of his, never sins by -being over narrow, for he can easily measure out on the ground as he -likes, and roll himself about in it to his heart’s content without any -fear of the sheets slipping away from him. Then, after all this, -suppose the day and hour for taking his degree in his calling to have -come; suppose the day of battle to have arrived, when they invest him -with the doctor’s cap made of lint, to mend some bullet-hole, perhaps, -that has gone through his temples, or left him with a crippled arm or -leg. Or if this does not happen, and merciful Heaven watches over him -and keeps him safe and sound, it may be he will be in the same poverty -he was in before, and he must go through more engagements and more -battles, and come victorious out of all before he betters himself; but -miracles of that sort are seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if you have -ever reflected upon it, by how much do those who have gained by war -fall short of the number of those who have perished in it? No doubt you -will reply that there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot be -numbered, while the living who have been rewarded may be summed up with -three figures. All which is the reverse in the case of men of letters; -for by skirts, to say nothing of sleeves, they all find means of -support; so that though the soldier has more to endure, his reward is -much less. But against all this it may be urged that it is easier to -reward two thousand soldiers, for the former may be remunerated by -giving them places, which must perforce be conferred upon men of their -calling, while the latter can only be recompensed out of the very -property of the master they serve; but this impossibility only -strengthens my argument. - -“Putting this, however, aside, for it is a puzzling question for which -it is difficult to find a solution, let us return to the superiority of -arms over letters, a matter still undecided, so many are the arguments -put forward on each side; for besides those I have mentioned, letters -say that without them arms cannot maintain themselves, for war, too, -has its laws and is governed by them, and laws belong to the domain of -letters and men of letters. To this arms make answer that without them -laws cannot be maintained, for by arms states are defended, kingdoms -preserved, cities protected, roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; -and, in short, if it were not for them, states, kingdoms, monarchies, -cities, ways by sea and land would be exposed to the violence and -confusion which war brings with it, so long as it lasts and is free to -make use of its privileges and powers. And then it is plain that -whatever costs most is valued and deserves to be valued most. To attain -to eminence in letters costs a man time, watching, hunger, nakedness, -headaches, indigestions, and other things of the sort, some of which I -have already referred to. But for a man to come in the ordinary course -of things to be a good soldier costs him all the student suffers, and -in an incomparably higher degree, for at every step he runs the risk of -losing his life. For what dread of want or poverty that can reach or -harass the student can compare with what the soldier feels, who finds -himself beleaguered in some stronghold mounting guard in some ravelin -or cavalier, knows that the enemy is pushing a mine towards the post -where he is stationed, and cannot under any circumstances retire or fly -from the imminent danger that threatens him? All he can do is to inform -his captain of what is going on so that he may try to remedy it by a -counter-mine, and then stand his ground in fear and expectation of the -moment when he will fly up to the clouds without wings and descend into -the deep against his will. And if this seems a trifling risk, let us -see whether it is equalled or surpassed by the encounter of two galleys -stem to stem, in the midst of the open sea, locked and entangled one -with the other, when the soldier has no more standing room than two -feet of the plank of the spur; and yet, though he sees before him -threatening him as many ministers of death as there are cannon of the -foe pointed at him, not a lance length from his body, and sees too that -with the first heedless step he will go down to visit the profundities -of Neptune’s bosom, still with dauntless heart, urged on by honour that -nerves him, he makes himself a target for all that musketry, and -struggles to cross that narrow path to the enemy’s ship. And what is -still more marvellous, no sooner has one gone down into the depths he -will never rise from till the end of the world, than another takes his -place; and if he too falls into the sea that waits for him like an -enemy, another and another will succeed him without a moment’s pause -between their deaths: courage and daring the greatest that all the -chances of war can show. Happy the blest ages that knew not the dread -fury of those devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am -persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, -by which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life -of a gallant gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in -the height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave -hearts, there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one -who fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine, -which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life -of one who deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I reflect -on this, I am almost tempted to say that in my heart I repent of having -adopted this profession of knight-errant in so detestable an age as we -live in now; for though no peril can make me fear, still it gives me -some uneasiness to think that powder and lead may rob me of the -opportunity of making myself famous and renowned throughout the known -earth by the might of my arm and the edge of my sword. But Heaven’s -will be done; if I succeed in my attempt I shall be all the more -honoured, as I have faced greater dangers than the knights-errant of -yore exposed themselves to.” - -All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered while the others -supped, forgetting to raise a morsel to his lips, though Sancho more -than once told him to eat his supper, as he would have time enough -afterwards to say all he wanted. It excited fresh pity in those who had -heard him to see a man of apparently sound sense, and with rational -views on every subject he discussed, so hopelessly wanting in all, when -his wretched unlucky chivalry was in question. The curate told him he -was quite right in all he had said in favour of arms, and that he -himself, though a man of letters and a graduate, was of the same -opinion. - -They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, and while the -hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes were getting Don Quixote of La -Mancha’s garret ready, in which it was arranged that the women were to -be quartered by themselves for the night, Don Fernando begged the -captive to tell them the story of his life, for it could not fail to be -strange and interesting, to judge by the hints he had let fall on his -arrival in company with Zoraida. To this the captive replied that he -would very willingly yield to his request, only he feared his tale -would not give them as much pleasure as he wished; nevertheless, not to -be wanting in compliance, he would tell it. The curate and the others -thanked him and added their entreaties, and he finding himself so -pressed said there was no occasion ask, where a command had such -weight, and added, “If your worships will give me your attention you -will hear a true story which, perhaps, fictitious ones constructed with -ingenious and studied art cannot come up to.” These words made them -settle themselves in their places and preserve a deep silence, and he -seeing them waiting on his words in mute expectation, began thus in a -pleasant quiet voice. - -CHAPTER XXXIX. -WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE RELATES HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES - -My family had its origin in a village in the mountains of Leon, and -nature had been kinder and more generous to it than fortune; though in -the general poverty of those communities my father passed for being -even a rich man; and he would have been so in reality had he been as -clever in preserving his property as he was in spending it. This -tendency of his to be liberal and profuse he had acquired from having -been a soldier in his youth, for the soldier’s life is a school in -which the niggard becomes free-handed and the free-handed prodigal; and -if any soldiers are to be found who are misers, they are monsters of -rare occurrence. My father went beyond liberality and bordered on -prodigality, a disposition by no means advantageous to a married man -who has children to succeed to his name and position. My father had -three, all sons, and all of sufficient age to make choice of a -profession. Finding, then, that he was unable to resist his propensity, -he resolved to divest himself of the instrument and cause of his -prodigality and lavishness, to divest himself of wealth, without which -Alexander himself would have seemed parsimonious; and so calling us all -three aside one day into a room, he addressed us in words somewhat to -the following effect: - -“My sons, to assure you that I love you, no more need be known or said -than that you are my sons; and to encourage a suspicion that I do not -love you, no more is needed than the knowledge that I have no -self-control as far as preservation of your patrimony is concerned; -therefore, that you may for the future feel sure that I love you like a -father, and have no wish to ruin you like a stepfather, I propose to do -with you what I have for some time back meditated, and after mature -deliberation decided upon. You are now of an age to choose your line of -life or at least make choice of a calling that will bring you honour -and profit when you are older; and what I have resolved to do is to -divide my property into four parts; three I will give to you, to each -his portion without making any difference, and the other I will retain -to live upon and support myself for whatever remainder of life Heaven -may be pleased to grant me. But I wish each of you on taking possession -of the share that falls to him to follow one of the paths I shall -indicate. In this Spain of ours there is a proverb, to my mind very -true—as they all are, being short aphorisms drawn from long practical -experience—and the one I refer to says, ‘The church, or the sea, or the -king’s house;’ as much as to say, in plainer language, whoever wants to -flourish and become rich, let him follow the church, or go to sea, -adopting commerce as his calling, or go into the king’s service in his -household, for they say, ‘Better a king’s crumb than a lord’s favour.’ -I say so because it is my will and pleasure that one of you should -follow letters, another trade, and the third serve the king in the -wars, for it is a difficult matter to gain admission to his service in -his household, and if war does not bring much wealth it confers great -distinction and fame. Eight days hence I will give you your full shares -in money, without defrauding you of a farthing, as you will see in the -end. Now tell me if you are willing to follow out my idea and advice as -I have laid it before you.” - -Having called upon me as the eldest to answer, I, after urging him not -to strip himself of his property but to spend it all as he pleased, for -we were young men able to gain our living, consented to comply with his -wishes, and said that mine were to follow the profession of arms and -thereby serve God and my king. My second brother having made the same -proposal, decided upon going to the Indies, embarking the portion that -fell to him in trade. The youngest, and in my opinion the wisest, said -he would rather follow the church, or go to complete his studies at -Salamanca. As soon as we had come to an understanding, and made choice -of our professions, my father embraced us all, and in the short time he -mentioned carried into effect all he had promised; and when he had -given to each his share, which as well as I remember was three thousand -ducats apiece in cash (for an uncle of ours bought the estate and paid -for it down, not to let it go out of the family), we all three on the -same day took leave of our good father; and at the same time, as it -seemed to me inhuman to leave my father with such scanty means in his -old age, I induced him to take two of my three thousand ducats, as the -remainder would be enough to provide me with all a soldier needed. My -two brothers, moved by my example, gave him each a thousand ducats, so -that there was left for my father four thousand ducats in money, -besides three thousand, the value of the portion that fell to him which -he preferred to retain in land instead of selling it. Finally, as I -said, we took leave of him, and of our uncle whom I have mentioned, not -without sorrow and tears on both sides, they charging us to let them -know whenever an opportunity offered how we fared, whether well or ill. -We promised to do so, and when he had embraced us and given us his -blessing, one set out for Salamanca, the other for Seville, and I for -Alicante, where I had heard there was a Genoese vessel taking in a -cargo of wool for Genoa. - -It is now some twenty-two years since I left my father’s house, and all -that time, though I have written several letters, I have had no news -whatever of him or of my brothers; my own adventures during that period -I will now relate briefly. I embarked at Alicante, reached Genoa after -a prosperous voyage, and proceeded thence to Milan, where I provided -myself with arms and a few soldier’s accoutrements; thence it was my -intention to go and take service in Piedmont, but as I was already on -the road to Alessandria della Paglia, I learned that the great Duke of -Alva was on his way to Flanders. I changed my plans, joined him, served -under him in the campaigns he made, was present at the deaths of the -Counts Egmont and Horn, and was promoted to be ensign under a famous -captain of Guadalajara, Diego de Urbina by name. Some time after my -arrival in Flanders news came of the league that his Holiness Pope Pius -V. of happy memory, had made with Venice and Spain against the common -enemy, the Turk, who had just then with his fleet taken the famous -island of Cyprus, which belonged to the Venetians, a loss deplorable -and disastrous. It was known as a fact that the Most Serene Don John of -Austria, natural brother of our good king Don Philip, was coming as -commander-in-chief of the allied forces, and rumours were abroad of the -vast warlike preparations which were being made, all which stirred my -heart and filled me with a longing to take part in the campaign which -was expected; and though I had reason to believe, and almost certain -promises, that on the first opportunity that presented itself I should -be promoted to be captain, I preferred to leave all and betake myself, -as I did, to Italy; and it was my good fortune that Don John had just -arrived at Genoa, and was going on to Naples to join the Venetian -fleet, as he afterwards did at Messina. I may say, in short, that I -took part in that glorious expedition, promoted by this time to be a -captain of infantry, to which honourable charge my good luck rather -than my merits raised me; and that day—so fortunate for Christendom, -because then all the nations of the earth were disabused of the error -under which they lay in imagining the Turks to be invincible on sea—on -that day, I say, on which the Ottoman pride and arrogance were broken, -among all that were there made happy (for the Christians who died that -day were happier than those who remained alive and victorious) I alone -was miserable; for, instead of some naval crown that I might have -expected had it been in Roman times, on the night that followed that -famous day I found myself with fetters on my feet and manacles on my -hands. - -It happened in this way: El Uchali, the king of Algiers, a daring and -successful corsair, having attacked and taken the leading Maltese -galley (only three knights being left alive in it, and they badly -wounded), the chief galley of John Andrea, on board of which I and my -company were placed, came to its relief, and doing as was bound to do -in such a case, I leaped on board the enemy’s galley, which, sheering -off from that which had attacked it, prevented my men from following -me, and so I found myself alone in the midst of my enemies, who were in -such numbers that I was unable to resist; in short I was taken, covered -with wounds; El Uchali, as you know, sirs, made his escape with his -entire squadron, and I was left a prisoner in his power, the only sad -being among so many filled with joy, and the only captive among so many -free; for there were fifteen thousand Christians, all at the oar in the -Turkish fleet, that regained their longed-for liberty that day. - -They carried me to Constantinople, where the Grand Turk, Selim, made my -master general at sea for having done his duty in the battle and -carried off as evidence of his bravery the standard of the Order of -Malta. The following year, which was the year seventy-two, I found -myself at Navarino rowing in the leading galley with the three -lanterns. There I saw and observed how the opportunity of capturing the -whole Turkish fleet in harbour was lost; for all the marines and -janizzaries that belonged to it made sure that they were about to be -attacked inside the very harbour, and had their kits and pasamaques, or -shoes, ready to flee at once on shore without waiting to be assailed, -in so great fear did they stand of our fleet. But Heaven ordered it -otherwise, not for any fault or neglect of the general who commanded on -our side, but for the sins of Christendom, and because it was God’s -will and pleasure that we should always have instruments of punishment -to chastise us. As it was, El Uchali took refuge at Modon, which is an -island near Navarino, and landing forces fortified the mouth of the -harbour and waited quietly until Don John retired. On this expedition -was taken the galley called the Prize, whose captain was a son of the -famous corsair Barbarossa. It was taken by the chief Neapolitan galley -called the She-wolf, commanded by that thunderbolt of war, that father -of his men, that successful and unconquered captain Don Álvaro de -Bazan, Marquis of Santa Cruz; and I cannot help telling you what took -place at the capture of the Prize. - -The son of Barbarossa was so cruel, and treated his slaves so badly, -that, when those who were at the oars saw that the She-wolf galley was -bearing down upon them and gaining upon them, they all at once dropped -their oars and seized their captain who stood on the stage at the end -of the gangway shouting to them to row lustily; and passing him on from -bench to bench, from the poop to the prow, they so bit him that before -he had got much past the mast his soul had already got to hell; so -great, as I said, was the cruelty with which he treated them, and the -hatred with which they hated him. - -We returned to Constantinople, and the following year, seventy-three, -it became known that Don John had seized Tunis and taken the kingdom -from the Turks, and placed Muley Hamet in possession, putting an end to -the hopes which Muley Hamida, the cruelest and bravest Moor in the -world, entertained of returning to reign there. The Grand Turk took the -loss greatly to heart, and with the cunning which all his race possess, -he made peace with the Venetians (who were much more eager for it than -he was), and the following year, seventy-four, he attacked the Goletta -and the fort which Don John had left half built near Tunis. While all -these events were occurring, I was labouring at the oar without any -hope of freedom; at least I had no hope of obtaining it by ransom, for -I was firmly resolved not to write to my father telling him of my -misfortunes. At length the Goletta fell, and the fort fell, before -which places there were seventy-five thousand regular Turkish soldiers, -and more than four hundred thousand Moors and Arabs from all parts of -Africa, and in the train of all this great host such munitions and -engines of war, and so many pioneers that with their hands they might -have covered the Goletta and the fort with handfuls of earth. The first -to fall was the Goletta, until then reckoned impregnable, and it fell, -not by any fault of its defenders, who did all that they could and -should have done, but because experiment proved how easily -entrenchments could be made in the desert sand there; for water used to -be found at two palms depth, while the Turks found none at two yards; -and so by means of a quantity of sandbags they raised their works so -high that they commanded the walls of the fort, sweeping them as if -from a cavalier, so that no one was able to make a stand or maintain -the defence. - -It was a common opinion that our men should not have shut themselves up -in the Goletta, but should have waited in the open at the -landing-place; but those who say so talk at random and with little -knowledge of such matters; for if in the Goletta and in the fort there -were barely seven thousand soldiers, how could such a small number, -however resolute, sally out and hold their own against numbers like -those of the enemy? And how is it possible to help losing a stronghold -that is not relieved, above all when surrounded by a host of determined -enemies in their own country? But many thought, and I thought so too, -that it was special favour and mercy which Heaven showed to Spain in -permitting the destruction of that source and hiding place of mischief, -that devourer, sponge, and moth of countless money, fruitlessly wasted -there to no other purpose save preserving the memory of its capture by -the invincible Charles V.; as if to make that eternal, as it is and -will be, these stones were needed to support it. The fort also fell; -but the Turks had to win it inch by inch, for the soldiers who defended -it fought so gallantly and stoutly that the number of the enemy killed -in twenty-two general assaults exceeded twenty-five thousand. Of three -hundred that remained alive not one was taken unwounded, a clear and -manifest proof of their gallantry and resolution, and how sturdily they -had defended themselves and held their post. A small fort or tower -which was in the middle of the lagoon under the command of Don Juan -Zanoguera, a Valencian gentleman and a famous soldier, capitulated upon -terms. They took prisoner Don Pedro Puertocarrero, commandant of the -Goletta, who had done all in his power to defend his fortress, and took -the loss of it so much to heart that he died of grief on the way to -Constantinople, where they were carrying him a prisoner. They also took -the commandant of the fort, Gabrio Cerbellon by name, a Milanese -gentleman, a great engineer and a very brave soldier. In these two -fortresses perished many persons of note, among whom was Pagano Doria, -knight of the Order of St. John, a man of generous disposition, as was -shown by his extreme liberality to his brother, the famous John Andrea -Doria; and what made his death the more sad was that he was slain by -some Arabs to whom, seeing that the fort was now lost, he entrusted -himself, and who offered to conduct him in the disguise of a Moor to -Tabarca, a small fort or station on the coast held by the Genoese -employed in the coral fishery. These Arabs cut off his head and carried -it to the commander of the Turkish fleet, who proved on them the truth -of our Castilian proverb, that “though the treason may please, the -traitor is hated;” for they say he ordered those who brought him the -present to be hanged for not having brought him alive. - -Among the Christians who were taken in the fort was one named Don Pedro -de Aguilar, a native of some place, I know not what, in Andalusia, who -had been ensign in the fort, a soldier of great repute and rare -intelligence, who had in particular a special gift for what they call -poetry. I say so because his fate brought him to my galley and to my -bench, and made him a slave to the same master; and before we left the -port this gentleman composed two sonnets by way of epitaphs, one on the -Goletta and the other on the fort; indeed, I may as well repeat them, -for I have them by heart, and I think they will be liked rather than -disliked. - -The instant the captive mentioned the name of Don Pedro de Aguilar, Don -Fernando looked at his companions and they all three smiled; and when -he came to speak of the sonnets one of them said, “Before your worship -proceeds any further I entreat you to tell me what became of that Don -Pedro de Aguilar you have spoken of.” - -“All I know is,” replied the captive, “that after having been in -Constantinople two years, he escaped in the disguise of an Arnaut, in -company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his liberty or not I -cannot tell, though I fancy he did, because a year afterwards I saw the -Greek at Constantinople, though I was unable to ask him what the result -of the journey was.” - -“Well then, you are right,” returned the gentleman, “for that Don Pedro -is my brother, and he is now in our village in good health, rich, -married, and with three children.” - -“Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has shown him,” said the -captive; “for to my mind there is no happiness on earth to compare with -recovering lost liberty.” - -“And what is more,” said the gentleman, “I know the sonnets my brother -made.” - -“Then let your worship repeat them,” said the captive, “for you will -recite them better than I can.” - -“With all my heart,” said the gentleman; “that on the Goletta runs -thus.” - -CHAPTER XL. -IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED. - -SONNET - -“Blest souls, that, from this mortal husk set free, -In guerdon of brave deeds beatified, -Above this lowly orb of ours abide -Made heirs of heaven and immortality, -With noble rage and ardour glowing ye -Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied, -And with your own blood and the foeman’s dyed -The sandy soil and the encircling sea. -It was the ebbing life-blood first that failed -The weary arms; the stout hearts never quailed. -Though vanquished, yet ye earned the victor’s crown: -Though mourned, yet still triumphant was your fall -For there ye won, between the sword and wall, -In Heaven glory and on earth renown.” - -“That is it exactly, according to my recollection,” said the captive. - -“Well then, that on the fort,” said the gentleman, “if my memory serves -me, goes thus: - -SONNET - -“Up from this wasted soil, this shattered shell, -Whose walls and towers here in ruin lie, -Three thousand soldier souls took wing on high, -In the bright mansions of the blest to dwell. -The onslaught of the foeman to repel -By might of arm all vainly did they try, -And when at length ’twas left them but to die, -Wearied and few the last defenders fell. -And this same arid soil hath ever been -A haunt of countless mournful memories, -As well in our day as in days of yore. -But never yet to Heaven it sent, I ween, -From its hard bosom purer souls than these, -Or braver bodies on its surface bore.” - -The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the -tidings they gave him of his comrade, and continuing his tale, he went -on to say: - -The Goletta and the fort being thus in their hands, the Turks gave -orders to dismantle the Goletta—for the fort was reduced to such a -state that there was nothing left to level—and to do the work more -quickly and easily they mined it in three places; but nowhere were they -able to blow up the part which seemed to be the least strong, that is -to say, the old walls, while all that remained standing of the new -fortifications that the Fratin had made came to the ground with the -greatest ease. Finally the fleet returned victorious and triumphant to -Constantinople, and a few months later died my master, El Uchali, -otherwise Uchali Fartax, which means in Turkish “the scabby renegade;” -for that he was; it is the practice with the Turks to name people from -some defect or virtue they may possess; the reason being that there are -among them only four surnames belonging to families tracing their -descent from the Ottoman house, and the others, as I have said, take -their names and surnames either from bodily blemishes or moral -qualities. This “scabby one” rowed at the oar as a slave of the Grand -Signor’s for fourteen years, and when over thirty-four years of age, in -resentment at having been struck by a Turk while at the oar, turned -renegade and renounced his faith in order to be able to revenge -himself; and such was his valour that, without owing his advancement to -the base ways and means by which most favourites of the Grand Signor -rise to power, he came to be king of Algiers, and afterwards -general-on-sea, which is the third place of trust in the realm. He was -a Calabrian by birth, and a worthy man morally, and he treated his -slaves with great humanity. He had three thousand of them, and after -his death they were divided, as he directed by his will, between the -Grand Signor (who is heir of all who die and shares with the children -of the deceased) and his renegades. I fell to the lot of a Venetian -renegade who, when a cabin boy on board a ship, had been taken by -Uchali and was so much beloved by him that he became one of his most -favoured youths. He came to be the most cruel renegade I ever saw: his -name was Hassan Aga, and he grew very rich and became king of Algiers. -With him I went there from Constantinople, rather glad to be so near -Spain, not that I intended to write to anyone about my unhappy lot, but -to try if fortune would be kinder to me in Algiers than in -Constantinople, where I had attempted in a thousand ways to escape -without ever finding a favourable time or chance; but in Algiers I -resolved to seek for other means of effecting the purpose I cherished -so dearly; for the hope of obtaining my liberty never deserted me; and -when in my plots and schemes and attempts the result did not answer my -expectations, without giving way to despair I immediately began to look -out for or conjure up some new hope to support me, however faint or -feeble it might be. - -In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the -Turks a baño in which they confine the Christian captives, as well -those that are the king’s as those belonging to private individuals, -and also what they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to -say the slaves of the municipality, who serve the city in the public -works and other employments; but captives of this kind recover their -liberty with great difficulty, for, as they are public property and -have no particular master, there is no one with whom to treat for their -ransom, even though they may have the means. To these baños, as I have -said, some private individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing -their captives, especially when they are to be ransomed; because there -they can keep them in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. -The king’s captives also, that are on ransom, do not go out to work -with the rest of the crew, unless when their ransom is delayed; for -then, to make them write for it more pressingly, they compel them to -work and go for wood, which is no light labour. - -I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that -I was a captain, although I declared my scanty means and want of -fortune, nothing could dissuade them from including me among the -gentlemen and those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, -more as a mark of this than to keep me safe, and so I passed my life in -that baño with several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked -out as held to ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we -suffered from hunger and scanty clothing, nothing distressed us so much -as hearing and seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheard-of -cruelties my master inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged -a man, impaled one, cut off the ears of another; and all with so little -provocation, or so entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he -did it merely for the sake of doing it, and because he was by nature -murderously disposed towards the whole human race. The only one that -fared at all well with him was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra -by name, to whom he never gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be -given, or addressed a hard word, although he had done things that will -dwell in the memory of the people there for many a year, and all to -recover his liberty; and for the least of the many things he did we all -dreaded that he would be impaled, and he himself was in fear of it more -than once; and only that time does not allow, I could tell you now -something of what that soldier did, that would interest and astonish -you much more than the narration of my own tale. - -To go on with my story; the courtyard of our prison was overlooked by -the windows of the house belonging to a wealthy Moor of high position; -and these, as is usual in Moorish houses, were rather loopholes than -windows, and besides were covered with thick and close lattice-work. It -so happened, then, that as I was one day on the terrace of our prison -with three other comrades, trying, to pass away the time, how far we -could leap with our chains, we being alone, for all the other -Christians had gone out to work, I chanced to raise my eyes, and from -one of these little closed windows I saw a reed appear with a cloth -attached to the end of it, and it kept waving to and fro, and moving as -if making signs to us to come and take it. We watched it, and one of -those who were with me went and stood under the reed to see whether -they would let it drop, or what they would do, but as he did so the -reed was raised and moved from side to side, as if they meant to say -“no” by a shake of the head. The Christian came back, and it was again -lowered, making the same movements as before. Another of my comrades -went, and with him the same happened as with the first, and then the -third went forward, but with the same result as the first and second. -Seeing this I did not like not to try my luck, and as soon as I came -under the reed it was dropped and fell inside the baño at my feet. I -hastened to untie the cloth, in which I perceived a knot, and in this -were ten cianis, which are coins of base gold, current among the Moors, -and each worth ten reals of our money. - -It is needless to say I rejoiced over this godsend, and my joy was not -less than my wonder as I strove to imagine how this good fortune could -have come to us, but to me specially; for the evident unwillingness to -drop the reed for any but me showed that it was for me the favour was -intended. I took my welcome money, broke the reed, and returned to the -terrace, and looking up at the window, I saw a very white hand put out -that opened and shut very quickly. From this we gathered or fancied -that it must be some woman living in that house that had done us this -kindness, and to show that we were grateful for it, we made salaams -after the fashion of the Moors, bowing the head, bending the body, and -crossing the arms on the breast. Shortly afterwards at the same window -a small cross made of reeds was put out and immediately withdrawn. This -sign led us to believe that some Christian woman was a captive in the -house, and that it was she who had been so good to us; but the -whiteness of the hand and the bracelets we had perceived made us -dismiss that idea, though we thought it might be one of the Christian -renegades whom their masters very often take as lawful wives, and -gladly, for they prefer them to the women of their own nation. In all -our conjectures we were wide of the truth; so from that time forward -our sole occupation was watching and gazing at the window where the -cross had appeared to us, as if it were our pole-star; but at least -fifteen days passed without our seeing either it or the hand, or any -other sign and though meanwhile we endeavoured with the utmost pains to -ascertain who it was that lived in the house, and whether there were -any Christian renegade in it, nobody could ever tell us anything more -than that he who lived there was a rich Moor of high position, Hadji -Morato by name, formerly alcaide of La Pata, an office of high dignity -among them. But when we least thought it was going to rain any more -cianis from that quarter, we saw the reed suddenly appear with another -cloth tied in a larger knot attached to it, and this at a time when, as -on the former occasion, the baño was deserted and unoccupied. - -We made trial as before, each of the same three going forward before I -did; but the reed was delivered to none but me, and on my approach it -was let drop. I untied the knot and I found forty Spanish gold crowns -with a paper written in Arabic, and at the end of the writing there was -a large cross drawn. I kissed the cross, took the crowns and returned -to the terrace, and we all made our salaams; again the hand appeared, I -made signs that I would read the paper, and then the window was closed. -We were all puzzled, though filled with joy at what had taken place; -and as none of us understood Arabic, great was our curiosity to know -what the paper contained, and still greater the difficulty of finding -someone to read it. At last I resolved to confide in a renegade, a -native of Murcia, who professed a very great friendship for me, and had -given pledges that bound him to keep any secret I might entrust to him; -for it is the custom with some renegades, when they intend to return to -Christian territory, to carry about them certificates from captives of -mark testifying, in whatever form they can, that such and such a -renegade is a worthy man who has always shown kindness to Christians, -and is anxious to escape on the first opportunity that may present -itself. Some obtain these testimonials with good intentions, others put -them to a cunning use; for when they go to pillage on Christian -territory, if they chance to be cast away, or taken prisoners, they -produce their certificates and say that from these papers may be seen -the object they came for, which was to remain on Christian ground, and -that it was to this end they joined the Turks in their foray. In this -way they escape the consequences of the first outburst and make their -peace with the Church before it does them any harm, and then when they -have the chance they return to Barbary to become what they were before. -Others, however, there are who procure these papers and make use of -them honestly, and remain on Christian soil. This friend of mine, then, -was one of these renegades that I have described; he had certificates -from all our comrades, in which we testified in his favour as strongly -as we could; and if the Moors had found the papers they would have -burned him alive. - -I knew that he understood Arabic very well, and could not only speak -but also write it; but before I disclosed the whole matter to him, I -asked him to read for me this paper which I had found by accident in a -hole in my cell. He opened it and remained some time examining it and -muttering to himself as he translated it. I asked him if he understood -it, and he told me he did perfectly well, and that if I wished him to -tell me its meaning word for word, I must give him pen and ink that he -might do it more satisfactorily. We at once gave him what he required, -and he set about translating it bit by bit, and when he had done he -said: - -“All that is here in Spanish is what the Moorish paper contains, and -you must bear in mind that when it says ‘Lela Marien’ it means ‘Our -Lady the Virgin Mary.’” - -We read the paper and it ran thus: - -“When I was a child my father had a slave who taught me to pray the -Christian prayer in my own language, and told me many things about Lela -Marien. The Christian died, and I know that she did not go to the fire, -but to Allah, because since then I have seen her twice, and she told me -to go to the land of the Christians to see Lela Marien, who had great -love for me. I know not how to go. I have seen many Christians, but -except thyself none has seemed to me to be a gentleman. I am young and -beautiful, and have plenty of money to take with me. See if thou canst -contrive how we may go, and if thou wilt thou shalt be my husband -there, and if thou wilt not it will not distress me, for Lela Marien -will find me someone to marry me. I myself have written this: have a -care to whom thou givest it to read: trust no Moor, for they are all -perfidious. I am greatly troubled on this account, for I would not have -thee confide in anyone, because if my father knew it he would at once -fling me down a well and cover me with stones. I will put a thread to -the reed; tie the answer to it, and if thou hast no one to write for -thee in Arabic, tell it to me by signs, for Lela Marien will make me -understand thee. She and Allah and this cross, which I often kiss as -the captive bade me, protect thee.” - -Judge, sirs, whether we had reason for surprise and joy at the words of -this paper; and both one and the other were so great, that the renegade -perceived that the paper had not been found by chance, but had been in -reality addressed to someone of us, and he begged us, if what he -suspected were the truth, to trust him and tell him all, for he would -risk his life for our freedom; and so saying he took out from his -breast a metal crucifix, and with many tears swore by the God the image -represented, in whom, sinful and wicked as he was, he truly and -faithfully believed, to be loyal to us and keep secret whatever we -chose to reveal to him; for he thought and almost foresaw that by means -of her who had written that paper, he and all of us would obtain our -liberty, and he himself obtain the object he so much desired, his -restoration to the bosom of the Holy Mother Church, from which by his -own sin and ignorance he was now severed like a corrupt limb. The -renegade said this with so many tears and such signs of repentance, -that with one consent we all agreed to tell him the whole truth of the -matter, and so we gave him a full account of all, without hiding -anything from him. We pointed out to him the window at which the reed -appeared, and he by that means took note of the house, and resolved to -ascertain with particular care who lived in it. We agreed also that it -would be advisable to answer the Moorish lady’s letter, and the -renegade without a moment’s delay took down the words I dictated to -him, which were exactly what I shall tell you, for nothing of -importance that took place in this affair has escaped my memory, or -ever will while life lasts. This, then, was the answer returned to the -Moorish lady: - -“The true Allah protect thee, Lady, and that blessed Marien who is the -true mother of God, and who has put it into thy heart to go to the land -of the Christians, because she loves thee. Entreat her that she be -pleased to show thee how thou canst execute the command she gives thee, -for she will, such is her goodness. On my own part, and on that of all -these Christians who are with me, I promise to do all that we can for -thee, even to death. Fail not to write to me and inform me what thou -dost mean to do, and I will always answer thee; for the great Allah has -given us a Christian captive who can speak and write thy language well, -as thou mayest see by this paper; without fear, therefore, thou canst -inform us of all thou wouldst. As to what thou sayest, that if thou -dost reach the land of the Christians thou wilt be my wife, I give thee -my promise upon it as a good Christian; and know that the Christians -keep their promises better than the Moors. Allah and Marien his mother -watch over thee, my Lady.” - -The paper being written and folded I waited two days until the baño was -empty as before, and immediately repaired to the usual walk on the -terrace to see if there were any sign of the reed, which was not long -in making its appearance. As soon as I saw it, although I could not -distinguish who put it out, I showed the paper as a sign to attach the -thread, but it was already fixed to the reed, and to it I tied the -paper; and shortly afterwards our star once more made its appearance -with the white flag of peace, the little bundle. It was dropped, and I -picked it up, and found in the cloth, in gold and silver coins of all -sorts, more than fifty crowns, which fifty times more strengthened our -joy and doubled our hope of gaining our liberty. That very night our -renegade returned and said he had learned that the Moor we had been -told of lived in that house, that his name was Hadji Morato, that he -was enormously rich, that he had one only daughter the heiress of all -his wealth, and that it was the general opinion throughout the city -that she was the most beautiful woman in Barbary, and that several of -the viceroys who came there had sought her for a wife, but that she had -been always unwilling to marry; and he had learned, moreover, that she -had a Christian slave who was now dead; all which agreed with the -contents of the paper. We immediately took counsel with the renegade as -to what means would have to be adopted in order to carry off the -Moorish lady and bring us all to Christian territory; and in the end it -was agreed that for the present we should wait for a second -communication from Zoraida (for that was the name of her who now -desires to be called Maria), because we saw clearly that she and no one -else could find a way out of all these difficulties. When we had -decided upon this the renegade told us not to be uneasy, for he would -lose his life or restore us to liberty. For four days the baño was -filled with people, for which reason the reed delayed its appearance -for four days, but at the end of that time, when the baño was, as it -generally was, empty, it appeared with the cloth so bulky that it -promised a happy birth. Reed and cloth came down to me, and I found -another paper and a hundred crowns in gold, without any other coin. The -renegade was present, and in our cell we gave him the paper to read, -which was to this effect: - -“I cannot think of a plan, señor, for our going to Spain, nor has Lela -Marien shown me one, though I have asked her. All that can be done is -for me to give you plenty of money in gold from this window. With it -ransom yourself and your friends, and let one of you go to the land of -the Christians, and there buy a vessel and come back for the others; -and he will find me in my father’s garden, which is at the Babazon gate -near the seashore, where I shall be all this summer with my father and -my servants. You can carry me away from there by night without any -danger, and bring me to the vessel. And remember thou art to be my -husband, else I will pray to Marien to punish thee. If thou canst not -trust anyone to go for the vessel, ransom thyself and do thou go, for I -know thou wilt return more surely than any other, as thou art a -gentleman and a Christian. Endeavour to make thyself acquainted with -the garden; and when I see thee walking yonder I shall know that the -baño is empty and I will give thee abundance of money. Allah protect -thee, señor.” - -These were the words and contents of the second paper, and on hearing -them, each declared himself willing to be the ransomed one, and -promised to go and return with scrupulous good faith; and I too made -the same offer; but to all this the renegade objected, saying that he -would not on any account consent to one being set free before all went -together, as experience had taught him how ill those who have been set -free keep promises which they made in captivity; for captives of -distinction frequently had recourse to this plan, paying the ransom of -one who was to go to Valencia or Majorca with money to enable him to -arm a bark and return for the others who had ransomed him, but who -never came back; for recovered liberty and the dread of losing it again -efface from the memory all the obligations in the world. And to prove -the truth of what he said, he told us briefly what had happened to a -certain Christian gentleman almost at that very time, the strangest -case that had ever occurred even there, where astonishing and -marvellous things are happening every instant. In short, he ended by -saying that what could and ought to be done was to give the money -intended for the ransom of one of us Christians to him, so that he -might with it buy a vessel there in Algiers under the pretence of -becoming a merchant and trader at Tetuan and along the coast; and when -master of the vessel, it would be easy for him to hit on some way of -getting us all out of the baño and putting us on board; especially if -the Moorish lady gave, as she said, money enough to ransom all, because -once free it would be the easiest thing in the world for us to embark -even in open day; but the greatest difficulty was that the Moors do not -allow any renegade to buy or own any craft, unless it be a large vessel -for going on roving expeditions, because they are afraid that anyone -who buys a small vessel, especially if he be a Spaniard, only wants it -for the purpose of escaping to Christian territory. This however he -could get over by arranging with a Tagarin Moor to go shares with him -in the purchase of the vessel, and in the profit on the cargo; and -under cover of this he could become master of the vessel, in which case -he looked upon all the rest as accomplished. But though to me and my -comrades it had seemed a better plan to send to Majorca for the vessel, -as the Moorish lady suggested, we did not dare to oppose him, fearing -that if we did not do as he said he would denounce us, and place us in -danger of losing all our lives if he were to disclose our dealings with -Zoraida, for whose life we would have all given our own. We therefore -resolved to put ourselves in the hands of God and in the renegade’s; -and at the same time an answer was given to Zoraida, telling her that -we would do all she recommended, for she had given as good advice as if -Lela Marien had delivered it, and that it depended on her alone whether -we were to defer the business or put it in execution at once. I renewed -my promise to be her husband; and thus the next day that the baño -chanced to be empty she at different times gave us by means of the reed -and cloth two thousand gold crowns and a paper in which she said that -the next Juma, that is to say Friday, she was going to her father’s -garden, but that before she went she would give us more money; and if -it were not enough we were to let her know, as she would give us as -much as we asked, for her father had so much he would not miss it, and -besides she kept all the keys. - -We at once gave the renegade five hundred crowns to buy the vessel, and -with eight hundred I ransomed myself, giving the money to a Valencian -merchant who happened to be in Algiers at the time, and who had me -released on his word, pledging it that on the arrival of the first ship -from Valencia he would pay my ransom; for if he had given the money at -once it would have made the king suspect that my ransom money had been -for a long time in Algiers, and that the merchant had for his own -advantage kept it secret. In fact my master was so difficult to deal -with that I dared not on any account pay down the money at once. The -Thursday before the Friday on which the fair Zoraida was to go to the -garden she gave us a thousand crowns more, and warned us of her -departure, begging me, if I were ransomed, to find out her father’s -garden at once, and by all means to seek an opportunity of going there -to see her. I answered in a few words that I would do so, and that she -must remember to commend us to Lela Marien with all the prayers the -captive had taught her. This having been done, steps were taken to -ransom our three comrades, so as to enable them to quit the baño, and -lest, seeing me ransomed and themselves not, though the money was -forthcoming, they should make a disturbance about it and the devil -should prompt them to do something that might injure Zoraida; for -though their position might be sufficient to relieve me from this -apprehension, nevertheless I was unwilling to run any risk in the -matter; and so I had them ransomed in the same way as I was, handing -over all the money to the merchant so that he might with safety and -confidence give security; without, however, confiding our arrangement -and secret to him, which might have been dangerous. - -CHAPTER XLI. -IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE STILL CONTINUES HIS ADVENTURES - -Before fifteen days were over our renegade had already purchased an -excellent vessel with room for more than thirty persons; and to make -the transaction safe and lend a colour to it, he thought it well to -make, as he did, a voyage to a place called Shershel, twenty leagues -from Algiers on the Oran side, where there is an extensive trade in -dried figs. Two or three times he made this voyage in company with the -Tagarin already mentioned. The Moors of Aragon are called Tagarins in -Barbary, and those of Granada Mudéjares; but in the Kingdom of Fez they -call the Mudéjares Elches, and they are the people the king chiefly -employs in war. To proceed: every time he passed with his vessel he -anchored in a cove that was not two crossbow shots from the garden -where Zoraida was waiting; and there the renegade, together with the -two Moorish lads that rowed, used purposely to station himself, either -going through his prayers, or else practising as a part what he meant -to perform in earnest. And thus he would go to Zoraida’s garden and ask -for fruit, which her father gave him, not knowing him; but though, as -he afterwards told me, he sought to speak to Zoraida, and tell her who -he was, and that by my orders he was to take her to the land of the -Christians, so that she might feel satisfied and easy, he had never -been able to do so; for the Moorish women do not allow themselves to be -seen by any Moor or Turk, unless their husband or father bid them: with -Christian captives they permit freedom of intercourse and -communication, even more than might be considered proper. But for my -part I should have been sorry if he had spoken to her, for perhaps it -might have alarmed her to find her affairs talked of by renegades. But -God, who ordered it otherwise, afforded no opportunity for our -renegade’s well-meant purpose; and he, seeing how safely he could go to -Shershel and return, and anchor when and how and where he liked, and -that the Tagarin his partner had no will but his, and that, now I was -ransomed, all we wanted was to find some Christians to row, told me to -look out for any I should be willing to take with me, over and above -those who had been ransomed, and to engage them for the next Friday, -which he fixed upon for our departure. On this I spoke to twelve -Spaniards, all stout rowers, and such as could most easily leave the -city; but it was no easy matter to find so many just then, because -there were twenty ships out on a cruise and they had taken all the -rowers with them; and these would not have been found were it not that -their master remained at home that summer without going to sea in order -to finish a galliot that he had upon the stocks. To these men I said -nothing more than that the next Friday in the evening they were to come -out stealthily one by one and hang about Hadji Morato’s garden, waiting -for me there until I came. These directions I gave each one separately, -with orders that if they saw any other Christians there they were not -to say anything to them except that I had directed them to wait at that -spot. - -This preliminary having been settled, another still more necessary step -had to be taken, which was to let Zoraida know how matters stood that -she might be prepared and forewarned, so as not to be taken by surprise -if we were suddenly to seize upon her before she thought the -Christians’ vessel could have returned. I determined, therefore, to go -to the garden and try if I could speak to her; and the day before my -departure I went there under the pretence of gathering herbs. The first -person I met was her father, who addressed me in the language that all -over Barbary and even in Constantinople is the medium between captives -and Moors, and is neither Morisco nor Castilian, nor of any other -nation, but a mixture of all languages, by means of which we can all -understand one another. In this sort of language, I say, he asked me -what I wanted in his garden, and to whom I belonged. I replied that I -was a slave of the Arnaut Mami (for I knew as a certainty that he was a -very great friend of his), and that I wanted some herbs to make a -salad. He asked me then whether I were on ransom or not, and what my -master demanded for me. While these questions and answers were -proceeding, the fair Zoraida, who had already perceived me some time -before, came out of the house in the garden, and as Moorish women are -by no means particular about letting themselves be seen by Christians, -or, as I have said before, at all coy, she had no hesitation in coming -to where her father stood with me; moreover her father, seeing her -approaching slowly, called to her to come. It would be beyond my power -now to describe to you the great beauty, the high-bred air, the -brilliant attire of my beloved Zoraida as she presented herself before -my eyes. I will content myself with saying that more pearls hung from -her fair neck, her ears, and her hair than she had hairs on her head. -On her ankles, which as is customary were bare, she had carcajes (for -so bracelets or anklets are called in Morisco) of the purest gold, set -with so many diamonds that she told me afterwards her father valued -them at ten thousand doubloons, and those she had on her wrists were -worth as much more. The pearls were in profusion and very fine, for the -highest display and adornment of the Moorish women is decking -themselves with rich pearls and seed-pearls; and of these there are -therefore more among the Moors than among any other people. Zoraida’s -father had to the reputation of possessing a great number, and the -purest in all Algiers, and of possessing also more than two hundred -thousand Spanish crowns; and she, who is now mistress of me only, was -mistress of all this. Whether thus adorned she would have been -beautiful or not, and what she must have been in her prosperity, may be -imagined from the beauty remaining to her after so many hardships; for, -as everyone knows, the beauty of some women has its times and its -seasons, and is increased or diminished by chance causes; and naturally -the emotions of the mind will heighten or impair it, though indeed more -frequently they totally destroy it. In a word she presented herself -before me that day attired with the utmost splendour, and supremely -beautiful; at any rate, she seemed to me the most beautiful object I -had ever seen; and when, besides, I thought of all I owed to her I felt -as though I had before me some heavenly being come to earth to bring me -relief and happiness. - -As she approached her father told her in his own language that I was a -captive belonging to his friend the Arnaut Mami, and that I had come -for salad. - -She took up the conversation, and in that mixture of tongues I have -spoken of she asked me if I was a gentleman, and why I was not -ransomed. - -I answered that I was already ransomed, and that by the price it might -be seen what value my master set on me, as they had given one thousand -five hundred zoltanis for me; to which she replied, “Hadst thou been my -father’s, I can tell thee, I would not have let him part with thee for -twice as much, for you Christians always tell lies about yourselves and -make yourselves out poor to cheat the Moors.” - -“That may be, lady,” said I; “but indeed I dealt truthfully with my -master, as I do and mean to do with everybody in the world.” - -“And when dost thou go?” said Zoraida. - -“To-morrow, I think,” said I, “for there is a vessel here from France -which sails to-morrow, and I think I shall go in her.” - -“Would it not be better,” said Zoraida, “to wait for the arrival of -ships from Spain and go with them and not with the French who are not -your friends?” - -“No,” said I; “though if there were intelligence that a vessel were now -coming from Spain it is true I might, perhaps, wait for it; however, it -is more likely I shall depart to-morrow, for the longing I feel to -return to my country and to those I love is so great that it will not -allow me to wait for another opportunity, however more convenient, if -it be delayed.” - -“No doubt thou art married in thine own country,” said Zoraida, “and -for that reason thou art anxious to go and see thy wife.” - -“I am not married,” I replied, “but I have given my promise to marry on -my arrival there.” - -“And is the lady beautiful to whom thou hast given it?” said Zoraida. - -“So beautiful,” said I, “that, to describe her worthily and tell thee -the truth, she is very like thee.” - -At this her father laughed very heartily and said, “By Allah, -Christian, she must be very beautiful if she is like my daughter, who -is the most beautiful woman in all this kingdom: only look at her well -and thou wilt see I am telling the truth.” - -Zoraida’s father as the better linguist helped to interpret most of -these words and phrases, for though she spoke the bastard language, -that, as I have said, is employed there, she expressed her meaning more -by signs than by words. - -While we were still engaged in this conversation, a Moor came running -up, exclaiming that four Turks had leaped over the fence or wall of the -garden, and were gathering the fruit though it was not yet ripe. The -old man was alarmed and Zoraida too, for the Moors commonly, and, so to -speak, instinctively have a dread of the Turks, but particularly of the -soldiers, who are so insolent and domineering to the Moors who are -under their power that they treat them worse than if they were their -slaves. Her father said to Zoraida, “Daughter, retire into the house -and shut thyself in while I go and speak to these dogs; and thou, -Christian, pick thy herbs, and go in peace, and Allah bring thee safe -to thy own country.” - -I bowed, and he went away to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with -Zoraida, who made as if she were about to retire as her father bade -her; but the moment he was concealed by the trees of the garden, -turning to me with her eyes full of tears she said, “Tameji, cristiano, -tameji?” that is to say, “Art thou going, Christian, art thou going?” - -I made answer, “Yes, lady, but not without thee, come what may: be on -the watch for me on the next Juma, and be not alarmed when thou seest -us; for most surely we shall go to the land of the Christians.” - -This I said in such a way that she understood perfectly all that passed -between us, and throwing her arm round my neck she began with feeble -steps to move towards the house; but as fate would have it (and it -might have been very unfortunate if Heaven had not otherwise ordered -it), just as we were moving on in the manner and position I have -described, with her arm round my neck, her father, as he returned after -having sent away the Turks, saw how we were walking and we perceived -that he saw us; but Zoraida, ready and quickwitted, took care not to -remove her arm from my neck, but on the contrary drew closer to me and -laid her head on my breast, bending her knees a little and showing all -the signs and tokens of fainting, while I at the same time made it seem -as though I were supporting her against my will. Her father came -running up to where we were, and seeing his daughter in this state -asked what was the matter with her; she, however, giving no answer, he -said, “No doubt she has fainted in alarm at the entrance of those -dogs,” and taking her from mine he drew her to his own breast, while -she sighing, her eyes still wet with tears, said again, “Ameji, -cristiano, ameji”—“Go, Christian, go.” To this her father replied, -“There is no need, daughter, for the Christian to go, for he has done -thee no harm, and the Turks have now gone; feel no alarm, there is -nothing to hurt thee, for as I say, the Turks at my request have gone -back the way they came.” - -“It was they who terrified her, as thou hast said, señor,” said I to -her father; “but since she tells me to go, I have no wish to displease -her: peace be with thee, and with thy leave I will come back to this -garden for herbs if need be, for my master says there are nowhere -better herbs for salad than here.” - -“Come back for any thou hast need of,” replied Hadji Morato; “for my -daughter does not speak thus because she is displeased with thee or any -Christian: she only meant that the Turks should go, not thou; or that -it was time for thee to look for thy herbs.” - -With this I at once took my leave of both; and she, looking as though -her heart were breaking, retired with her father. While pretending to -look for herbs I made the round of the garden at my ease, and studied -carefully all the approaches and outlets, and the fastenings of the -house and everything that could be taken advantage of to make our task -easy. - -Having done so I went and gave an account of all that had taken place -to the renegade and my comrades, and looked forward with impatience to -the hour when, all fear at an end, I should find myself in possession -of the prize which fortune held out to me in the fair and lovely -Zoraida. The time passed at length, and the appointed day we so longed -for arrived; and, all following out the arrangement and plan which, -after careful consideration and many a long discussion, we had decided -upon, we succeeded as fully as we could have wished; for on the Friday -following the day upon which I spoke to Zoraida in the garden, the -renegade anchored his vessel at nightfall almost opposite the spot -where she was. The Christians who were to row were ready and in hiding -in different places round about, all waiting for me, anxious and -elated, and eager to attack the vessel they had before their eyes; for -they did not know the renegade’s plan, but expected that they were to -gain their liberty by force of arms and by killing the Moors who were -on board the vessel. As soon, then, as I and my comrades made our -appearance, all those that were in hiding seeing us came and joined us. -It was now the time when the city gates are shut, and there was no one -to be seen in all the space outside. When we were collected together we -debated whether it would be better first to go for Zoraida, or to make -prisoners of the Moorish rowers who rowed in the vessel; but while we -were still uncertain our renegade came up asking us what kept us, as it -was now the time, and all the Moors were off their guard and most of -them asleep. We told him why we hesitated, but he said it was of more -importance first to secure the vessel, which could be done with the -greatest ease and without any danger, and then we could go for Zoraida. -We all approved of what he said, and so without further delay, guided -by him we made for the vessel, and he leaping on board first, drew his -cutlass and said in Morisco, “Let no one stir from this if he does not -want it to cost him his life.” By this almost all the Christians were -on board, and the Moors, who were fainthearted, hearing their captain -speak in this way, were cowed, and without any one of them taking to -his arms (and indeed they had few or hardly any) they submitted without -saying a word to be bound by the Christians, who quickly secured them, -threatening them that if they raised any kind of outcry they would be -all put to the sword. This having been accomplished, and half of our -party being left to keep guard over them, the rest of us, again taking -the renegade as our guide, hastened towards Hadji Morato’s garden, and -as good luck would have it, on trying the gate it opened as easily as -if it had not been locked; and so, quite quietly and in silence, we -reached the house without being perceived by anybody. The lovely -Zoraida was watching for us at a window, and as soon as she perceived -that there were people there, she asked in a low voice if we were -“Nizarani,” as much as to say or ask if we were Christians. I answered -that we were, and begged her to come down. As soon as she recognised me -she did not delay an instant, but without answering a word came down -immediately, opened the door and presented herself before us all, so -beautiful and so richly attired that I cannot attempt to describe her. -The moment I saw her I took her hand and kissed it, and the renegade -and my two comrades did the same; and the rest, who knew nothing of the -circumstances, did as they saw us do, for it only seemed as if we were -returning thanks to her, and recognising her as the giver of our -liberty. The renegade asked her in the Morisco language if her father -was in the house. She replied that he was and that he was asleep. - -“Then it will be necessary to waken him and take him with us,” said the -renegade, “and everything of value in this fair mansion.” - -“Nay,” said she, “my father must not on any account be touched, and -there is nothing in the house except what I shall take, and that will -be quite enough to enrich and satisfy all of you; wait a little and you -shall see,” and so saying she went in, telling us she would return -immediately and bidding us keep quiet without making any noise. - -I asked the renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, -I declared that nothing should be done except in accordance with the -wishes of Zoraida, who now came back with a little trunk so full of -gold crowns that she could scarcely carry it. Unfortunately her father -awoke while this was going on, and hearing a noise in the garden, came -to the window, and at once perceiving that all those who were there -were Christians, raising a prodigiously loud outcry, he began to call -out in Arabic, “Christians, Christians! thieves, thieves!” by which -cries we were all thrown into the greatest fear and embarrassment; but -the renegade seeing the danger we were in and how important it was for -him to effect his purpose before we were heard, mounted with the utmost -quickness to where Hadji Morato was, and with him went some of our -party; I, however, did not dare to leave Zoraida, who had fallen almost -fainting in my arms. To be brief, those who had gone upstairs acted so -promptly that in an instant they came down, carrying Hadji Morato with -his hands bound and a napkin tied over his mouth, which prevented him -from uttering a word, warning him at the same time that to attempt to -speak would cost him his life. When his daughter caught sight of him -she covered her eyes so as not to see him, and her father was -horror-stricken, not knowing how willingly she had placed herself in -our hands. But it was now most essential for us to be on the move, and -carefully and quickly we regained the vessel, where those who had -remained on board were waiting for us in apprehension of some mishap -having befallen us. It was barely two hours after night set in when we -were all on board the vessel, where the cords were removed from the -hands of Zoraida’s father, and the napkin from his mouth; but the -renegade once more told him not to utter a word, or they would take his -life. He, when he saw his daughter there, began to sigh piteously, and -still more when he perceived that I held her closely embraced and that -she lay quiet without resisting or complaining, or showing any -reluctance; nevertheless he remained silent lest they should carry into -effect the repeated threats the renegade had addressed to him. - -Finding herself now on board, and that we were about to give way with -the oars, Zoraida, seeing her father there, and the other Moors bound, -bade the renegade ask me to do her the favour of releasing the Moors -and setting her father at liberty, for she would rather drown herself -in the sea than suffer a father that had loved her so dearly to be -carried away captive before her eyes and on her account. The renegade -repeated this to me, and I replied that I was very willing to do so; -but he replied that it was not advisable, because if they were left -there they would at once raise the country and stir up the city, and -lead to the despatch of swift cruisers in pursuit, and our being taken, -by sea or land, without any possibility of escape; and that all that -could be done was to set them free on the first Christian ground we -reached. On this point we all agreed; and Zoraida, to whom it was -explained, together with the reasons that prevented us from doing at -once what she desired, was satisfied likewise; and then in glad silence -and with cheerful alacrity each of our stout rowers took his oar, and -commending ourselves to God with all our hearts, we began to shape our -course for the island of Majorca, the nearest Christian land. Owing, -however, to the Tramontana rising a little, and the sea growing -somewhat rough, it was impossible for us to keep a straight course for -Majorca, and we were compelled to coast in the direction of Oran, not -without great uneasiness on our part lest we should be observed from -the town of Shershel, which lies on that coast, not more than sixty -miles from Algiers. Moreover we were afraid of meeting on that course -one of the galliots that usually come with goods from Tetuan; although -each of us for himself and all of us together felt confident that, if -we were to meet a merchant galliot, so that it were not a cruiser, not -only should we not be lost, but that we should take a vessel in which -we could more safely accomplish our voyage. As we pursued our course -Zoraida kept her head between my hands so as not to see her father, and -I felt that she was praying to Lela Marien to help us. - -We might have made about thirty miles when daybreak found us some three -musket-shots off the land, which seemed to us deserted, and without -anyone to see us. For all that, however, by hard rowing we put out a -little to sea, for it was now somewhat calmer, and having gained about -two leagues the word was given to row by batches, while we ate -something, for the vessel was well provided; but the rowers said it was -not a time to take any rest; let food be served out to those who were -not rowing, but they would not leave their oars on any account. This -was done, but now a stiff breeze began to blow, which obliged us to -leave off rowing and make sail at once and steer for Oran, as it was -impossible to make any other course. All this was done very promptly, -and under sail we ran more than eight miles an hour without any fear, -except that of coming across some vessel out on a roving expedition. We -gave the Moorish rowers some food, and the renegade comforted them by -telling them that they were not held as captives, as we should set them -free on the first opportunity. - -The same was said to Zoraida’s father, who replied, “Anything else, -Christian, I might hope for or think likely from your generosity and -good behaviour, but do not think me so simple as to imagine you will -give me my liberty; for you would have never exposed yourselves to the -danger of depriving me of it only to restore it to me so generously, -especially as you know who I am and the sum you may expect to receive -on restoring it; and if you will only name that, I here offer you all -you require for myself and for my unhappy daughter there; or else for -her alone, for she is the greatest and most precious part of my soul.” - -As he said this he began to weep so bitterly that he filled us all with -compassion and forced Zoraida to look at him, and when she saw him -weeping she was so moved that she rose from my feet and ran to throw -her arms round him, and pressing her face to his, they both gave way to -such an outburst of tears that several of us were constrained to keep -them company. - -But when her father saw her in full dress and with all her jewels about -her, he said to her in his own language, “What means this, my daughter? -Last night, before this terrible misfortune in which we are plunged -befell us, I saw thee in thy everyday and indoor garments; and now, -without having had time to attire thyself, and without my bringing thee -any joyful tidings to furnish an occasion for adorning and bedecking -thyself, I see thee arrayed in the finest attire it would be in my -power to give thee when fortune was most kind to us. Answer me this; -for it causes me greater anxiety and surprise than even this misfortune -itself.” - -The renegade interpreted to us what the Moor said to his daughter; she, -however, returned him no answer. But when he observed in one corner of -the vessel the little trunk in which she used to keep her jewels, which -he well knew he had left in Algiers and had not brought to the garden, -he was still more amazed, and asked her how that trunk had come into -our hands, and what there was in it. To which the renegade, without -waiting for Zoraida to reply, made answer, “Do not trouble thyself by -asking thy daughter Zoraida so many questions, señor, for the one -answer I will give thee will serve for all; I would have thee know that -she is a Christian, and that it is she who has been the file for our -chains and our deliverer from captivity. She is here of her own free -will, as glad, I imagine, to find herself in this position as he who -escapes from darkness into the light, from death to life, and from -suffering to glory.” - -“Daughter, is this true, what he says?” cried the Moor. - -“It is,” replied Zoraida. - -“That thou art in truth a Christian,” said the old man, “and that thou -hast given thy father into the power of his enemies?” - -To which Zoraida made answer, “A Christian I am, but it is not I who -have placed thee in this position, for it never was my wish to leave -thee or do thee harm, but only to do good to myself.” - -“And what good hast thou done thyself, daughter?” said he. - -“Ask thou that,” said she, “of Lela Marien, for she can tell thee -better than I.” - -The Moor had hardly heard these words when with marvellous quickness he -flung himself headforemost into the sea, where no doubt he would have -been drowned had not the long and full dress he wore held him up for a -little on the surface of the water. Zoraida cried aloud to us to save -him, and we all hastened to help, and seizing him by his robe we drew -him in half drowned and insensible, at which Zoraida was in such -distress that she wept over him as piteously and bitterly as though he -were already dead. We turned him upon his face and he voided a great -quantity of water, and at the end of two hours came to himself. -Meanwhile, the wind having changed we were compelled to head for the -land, and ply our oars to avoid being driven on shore; but it was our -good fortune to reach a creek that lies on one side of a small -promontory or cape, called by the Moors that of the “Cava rumia,” which -in our language means “the wicked Christian woman;” for it is a -tradition among them that La Cava, through whom Spain was lost, lies -buried at that spot; “cava” in their language meaning “wicked woman,” -and “rumia” “Christian;” moreover, they count it unlucky to anchor -there when necessity compels them, and they never do so otherwise. For -us, however, it was not the resting-place of the wicked woman but a -haven of safety for our relief, so much had the sea now got up. We -posted a look-out on shore, and never let the oars out of our hands, -and ate of the stores the renegade had laid in, imploring God and Our -Lady with all our hearts to help and protect us, that we might give a -happy ending to a beginning so prosperous. At the entreaty of Zoraida -orders were given to set on shore her father and the other Moors who -were still bound, for she could not endure, nor could her tender heart -bear to see her father in bonds and her fellow-countrymen prisoners -before her eyes. We promised her to do this at the moment of departure, -for as it was uninhabited we ran no risk in releasing them at that -place. - -Our prayers were not so far in vain as to be unheard by Heaven, for -after a while the wind changed in our favour, and made the sea calm, -inviting us once more to resume our voyage with a good heart. Seeing -this we unbound the Moors, and one by one put them on shore, at which -they were filled with amazement; but when we came to land Zoraida’s -father, who had now completely recovered his senses, he said: - -“Why is it, think ye, Christians, that this wicked woman is rejoiced at -your giving me my liberty? Think ye it is because of the affection she -bears me? Nay verily, it is only because of the hindrance my presence -offers to the execution of her base designs. And think not that it is -her belief that yours is better than ours that has led her to change -her religion; it is only because she knows that immodesty is more -freely practised in your country than in ours.” Then turning to -Zoraida, while I and another of the Christians held him fast by both -arms, lest he should do some mad act, he said to her, “Infamous girl, -misguided maiden, whither in thy blindness and madness art thou going -in the hands of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour -when I begot thee! Cursed the luxury and indulgence in which I reared -thee!” - -But seeing that he was not likely soon to cease I made haste to put him -on shore, and thence he continued his maledictions and lamentations -aloud; calling on Mohammed to pray to Allah to destroy us, to confound -us, to make an end of us; and when, in consequence of having made sail, -we could no longer hear what he said we could see what he did; how he -plucked out his beard and tore his hair and lay writhing on the ground. -But once he raised his voice to such a pitch that we were able to hear -what he said. “Come back, dear daughter, come back to shore; I forgive -thee all; let those men have the money, for it is theirs now, and come -back to comfort thy sorrowing father, who will yield up his life on -this barren strand if thou dost leave him.” - -All this Zoraida heard, and heard with sorrow and tears, and all she -could say in answer was, “Allah grant that Lela Marien, who has made me -become a Christian, give thee comfort in thy sorrow, my father. Allah -knows that I could not do otherwise than I have done, and that these -Christians owe nothing to my will; for even had I wished not to -accompany them, but remain at home, it would have been impossible for -me, so eagerly did my soul urge me on to the accomplishment of this -purpose, which I feel to be as righteous as to thee, dear father, it -seems wicked.” - -But neither could her father hear her nor we see him when she said -this; and so, while I consoled Zoraida, we turned our attention to our -voyage, in which a breeze from the right point so favoured us that we -made sure of finding ourselves off the coast of Spain on the morrow by -daybreak. But, as good seldom or never comes pure and unmixed, without -being attended or followed by some disturbing evil that gives a shock -to it, our fortune, or perhaps the curses which the Moor had hurled at -his daughter (for whatever kind of father they may come from these are -always to be dreaded), brought it about that when we were now in -mid-sea, and the night about three hours spent, as we were running with -all sail set and oars lashed, for the favouring breeze saved us the -trouble of using them, we saw by the light of the moon, which shone -brilliantly, a square-rigged vessel in full sail close to us, luffing -up and standing across our course, and so close that we had to strike -sail to avoid running foul of her, while they too put the helm hard up -to let us pass. They came to the side of the ship to ask who we were, -whither we were bound, and whence we came, but as they asked this in -French our renegade said, “Let no one answer, for no doubt these are -French corsairs who plunder all comers.” - -Acting on this warning no one answered a word, but after we had gone a -little ahead, and the vessel was now lying to leeward, suddenly they -fired two guns, and apparently both loaded with chain-shot, for with -one they cut our mast in half and brought down both it and the sail -into the sea, and the other, discharged at the same moment, sent a ball -into our vessel amidships, staving her in completely, but without doing -any further damage. We, however, finding ourselves sinking began to -shout for help and call upon those in the ship to pick us up as we were -beginning to fill. They then lay to, and lowering a skiff or boat, as -many as a dozen Frenchmen, well armed with match-locks, and their -matches burning, got into it and came alongside; and seeing how few we -were, and that our vessel was going down, they took us in, telling us -that this had come to us through our incivility in not giving them an -answer. Our renegade took the trunk containing Zoraida’s wealth and -dropped it into the sea without anyone perceiving what he did. In short -we went on board with the Frenchmen, who, after having ascertained all -they wanted to know about us, rifled us of everything we had, as if -they had been our bitterest enemies, and from Zoraida they took even -the anklets she wore on her feet; but the distress they caused her did -not distress me so much as the fear I was in that from robbing her of -her rich and precious jewels they would proceed to rob her of the most -precious jewel that she valued more than all. The desires, however, of -those people do not go beyond money, but of that their covetousness is -insatiable, and on this occasion it was carried to such a pitch that -they would have taken even the clothes we wore as captives if they had -been worth anything to them. It was the advice of some of them to throw -us all into the sea wrapped up in a sail; for their purpose was to -trade at some of the ports of Spain, giving themselves out as Bretons, -and if they brought us alive they would be punished as soon as the -robbery was discovered; but the captain (who was the one who had -plundered my beloved Zoraida) said he was satisfied with the prize he -had got, and that he would not touch at any Spanish port, but pass the -Straits of Gibraltar by night, or as best he could, and make for La -Rochelle, from which he had sailed. So they agreed by common consent to -give us the skiff belonging to their ship and all we required for the -short voyage that remained to us, and this they did the next day on -coming in sight of the Spanish coast, with which, and the joy we felt, -all our sufferings and miseries were as completely forgotten as if they -had never been endured by us, such is the delight of recovering lost -liberty. - -It may have been about mid-day when they placed us in the boat, giving -us two kegs of water and some biscuit; and the captain, moved by I know -not what compassion, as the lovely Zoraida was about to embark, gave -her some forty gold crowns, and would not permit his men to take from -her those same garments which she has on now. We got into the boat, -returning them thanks for their kindness to us, and showing ourselves -grateful rather than indignant. They stood out to sea, steering for the -straits; we, without looking to any compass save the land we had before -us, set ourselves to row with such energy that by sunset we were so -near that we might easily, we thought, land before the night was far -advanced. But as the moon did not show that night, and the sky was -clouded, and as we knew not whereabouts we were, it did not seem to us -a prudent thing to make for the shore, as several of us advised, saying -we ought to run ourselves ashore even if it were on rocks and far from -any habitation, for in this way we should be relieved from the -apprehensions we naturally felt of the prowling vessels of the Tetuan -corsairs, who leave Barbary at nightfall and are on the Spanish coast -by daybreak, where they commonly take some prize, and then go home to -sleep in their own houses. But of the conflicting counsels the one -which was adopted was that we should approach gradually, and land where -we could if the sea were calm enough to permit us. This was done, and a -little before midnight we drew near to the foot of a huge and lofty -mountain, not so close to the sea but that it left a narrow space on -which to land conveniently. We ran our boat up on the sand, and all -sprang out and kissed the ground, and with tears of joyful satisfaction -returned thanks to God our Lord for all his incomparable goodness to us -on our voyage. We took out of the boat the provisions it contained, and -drew it up on the shore, and then climbed a long way up the mountain, -for even there we could not feel easy in our hearts, or persuade -ourselves that it was Christian soil that was now under our feet. - -The dawn came, more slowly, I think, than we could have wished; we -completed the ascent in order to see if from the summit any habitation -or any shepherds’ huts could be discovered, but strain our eyes as we -might, neither dwelling, nor human being, nor path nor road could we -perceive. However, we determined to push on farther, as it could not -but be that ere long we must see someone who could tell us where we -were. But what distressed me most was to see Zoraida going on foot over -that rough ground; for though I once carried her on my shoulders, she -was more wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest; and so she -would never again allow me to undergo the exertion, and went on very -patiently and cheerfully, while I led her by the hand. We had gone -rather less than a quarter of a league when the sound of a little bell -fell on our ears, a clear proof that there were flocks hard by, and -looking about carefully to see if any were within view, we observed a -young shepherd tranquilly and unsuspiciously trimming a stick with his -knife at the foot of a cork tree. We called to him, and he, raising his -head, sprang nimbly to his feet, for, as we afterwards learned, the -first who presented themselves to his sight were the renegade and -Zoraida, and seeing them in Moorish dress he imagined that all the -Moors of Barbary were upon him; and plunging with marvellous swiftness -into the thicket in front of him, he began to raise a prodigious -outcry, exclaiming, “The Moors—the Moors have landed! To arms, to -arms!” We were all thrown into perplexity by these cries, not knowing -what to do; but reflecting that the shouts of the shepherd would raise -the country and that the mounted coast-guard would come at once to see -what was the matter, we agreed that the renegade must strip off his -Turkish garments and put on a captive’s jacket or coat which one of our -party gave him at once, though he himself was reduced to his shirt; and -so commending ourselves to God, we followed the same road which we saw -the shepherd take, expecting every moment that the coast-guard would be -down upon us. Nor did our expectation deceive us, for two hours had not -passed when, coming out of the brushwood into the open ground, we -perceived some fifty mounted men swiftly approaching us at a -hand-gallop. As soon as we saw them we stood still, waiting for them; -but as they came close and, instead of the Moors they were in quest of, -saw a set of poor Christians, they were taken aback, and one of them -asked if it could be we who were the cause of the shepherd having -raised the call to arms. I said “Yes,” and as I was about to explain to -him what had occurred, and whence we came and who we were, one of the -Christians of our party recognised the horseman who had put the -question to us, and before I could say anything more he exclaimed: - -“Thanks be to God, sirs, for bringing us to such good quarters; for, if -I do not deceive myself, the ground we stand on is that of Velez Malaga -unless, indeed, all my years of captivity have made me unable to -recollect that you, señor, who ask who we are, are Pedro de Bustamante, -my uncle.” - -The Christian captive had hardly uttered these words, when the horseman -threw himself off his horse, and ran to embrace the young man, crying: - -“Nephew of my soul and life! I recognise thee now; and long have I -mourned thee as dead, I, and my sister, thy mother, and all thy kin -that are still alive, and whom God has been pleased to preserve that -they may enjoy the happiness of seeing thee. We knew long since that -thou wert in Algiers, and from the appearance of thy garments and those -of all this company, I conclude that ye have had a miraculous -restoration to liberty.” - -“It is true,” replied the young man, “and by-and-by we will tell you -all.” - -As soon as the horsemen understood that we were Christian captives, -they dismounted from their horses, and each offered his to carry us to -the city of Velez Malaga, which was a league and a half distant. Some -of them went to bring the boat to the city, we having told them where -we had left it; others took us up behind them, and Zoraida was placed -on the horse of the young man’s uncle. The whole town came out to meet -us, for they had by this time heard of our arrival from one who had -gone on in advance. They were not astonished to see liberated captives -or captive Moors, for people on that coast are well used to see both -one and the other; but they were astonished at the beauty of Zoraida, -which was just then heightened, as well by the exertion of travelling -as by joy at finding herself on Christian soil, and relieved of all -fear of being lost; for this had brought such a glow upon her face, -that unless my affection for her were deceiving me, I would venture to -say that there was not a more beautiful creature in the world—at least, -that I had ever seen. We went straight to the church to return thanks -to God for the mercies we had received, and when Zoraida entered it she -said there were faces there like Lela Marien’s. We told her they were -her images; and as well as he could the renegade explained to her what -they meant, that she might adore them as if each of them were the very -same Lela Marien that had spoken to her; and she, having great -intelligence and a quick and clear instinct, understood at once all he -said to her about them. Thence they took us away and distributed us all -in different houses in the town; but as for the renegade, Zoraida, and -myself, the Christian who came with us brought us to the house of his -parents, who had a fair share of the gifts of fortune, and treated us -with as much kindness as they did their own son. - -We remained six days in Velez, at the end of which the renegade, having -informed himself of all that was requisite for him to do, set out for -the city of Granada to restore himself to the sacred bosom of the -Church through the medium of the Holy Inquisition. The other released -captives took their departures, each the way that seemed best to him, -and Zoraida and I were left alone, with nothing more than the crowns -which the courtesy of the Frenchman had bestowed upon Zoraida, out of -which I bought the beast on which she rides; and, I for the present -attending her as her father and squire and not as her husband, we are -now going to ascertain if my father is living, or if any of my brothers -has had better fortune than mine has been; though, as Heaven has made -me the companion of Zoraida, I think no other lot could be assigned to -me, however happy, that I would rather have. The patience with which -she endures the hardships that poverty brings with it, and the -eagerness she shows to become a Christian, are such that they fill me -with admiration, and bind me to serve her all my life; though the -happiness I feel in seeing myself hers, and her mine, is disturbed and -marred by not knowing whether I shall find any corner to shelter her in -my own country, or whether time and death may not have made such -changes in the fortunes and lives of my father and brothers, that I -shall hardly find anyone who knows me, if they are not alive. - -I have no more of my story to tell you, gentlemen; whether it be an -interesting or a curious one let your better judgments decide; all I -can say is I would gladly have told it to you more briefly; although my -fear of wearying you has made me leave out more than one circumstance. - -CHAPTER XLII. -WHICH TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF SEVERAL -OTHER THINGS WORTH KNOWING - -With these words the captive held his peace, and Don Fernando said to -him, “In truth, captain, the manner in which you have related this -remarkable adventure has been such as befitted the novelty and -strangeness of the matter. The whole story is curious and uncommon, and -abounds with incidents that fill the hearers with wonder and -astonishment; and so great is the pleasure we have found in listening -to it that we should be glad if it were to begin again, even though -to-morrow were to find us still occupied with the same tale.” And while -he said this Cardenio and the rest of them offered to be of service to -him in any way that lay in their power, and in words and language so -kindly and sincere that the captain was much gratified by their -good-will. In particular Don Fernando offered, if he would go back with -him, to get his brother the marquis to become godfather at the baptism -of Zoraida, and on his own part to provide him with the means of making -his appearance in his own country with the credit and comfort he was -entitled to. For all this the captive returned thanks very courteously, -although he would not accept any of their generous offers. - -By this time night closed in, and as it did, there came up to the inn a -coach attended by some men on horseback, who demanded accommodation; to -which the landlady replied that there was not a hand’s breadth of the -whole inn unoccupied. - -“Still, for all that,” said one of those who had entered on horseback, -“room must be found for his lordship the Judge here.” - -At this name the landlady was taken aback, and said, “Señor, the fact -is I have no beds; but if his lordship the Judge carries one with him, -as no doubt he does, let him come in and welcome; for my husband and I -will give up our room to accommodate his worship.” - -“Very good, so be it,” said the squire; but in the meantime a man had -got out of the coach whose dress indicated at a glance the office and -post he held, for the long robe with ruffled sleeves that he wore -showed that he was, as his servant said, a Judge of appeal. He led by -the hand a young girl in a travelling dress, apparently about sixteen -years of age, and of such a high-bred air, so beautiful and so -graceful, that all were filled with admiration when she made her -appearance, and but for having seen Dorothea, Luscinda, and Zoraida, -who were there in the inn, they would have fancied that a beauty like -that of this maiden’s would have been hard to find. Don Quixote was -present at the entrance of the Judge with the young lady, and as soon -as he saw him he said, “Your worship may with confidence enter and take -your ease in this castle; for though the accommodation be scanty and -poor, there are no quarters so cramped or inconvenient that they cannot -make room for arms and letters; above all if arms and letters have -beauty for a guide and leader, as letters represented by your worship -have in this fair maiden, to whom not only ought castles to throw -themselves open and yield themselves up, but rocks should rend -themselves asunder and mountains divide and bow themselves down to give -her a reception. Enter, your worship, I say, into this paradise, for -here you will find stars and suns to accompany the heaven your worship -brings with you, here you will find arms in their supreme excellence, -and beauty in its highest perfection.” - -The Judge was struck with amazement at the language of Don Quixote, -whom he scrutinized very carefully, no less astonished by his figure -than by his talk; and before he could find words to answer him he had a -fresh surprise, when he saw opposite to him Luscinda, Dorothea, and -Zoraida, who, having heard of the new guests and of the beauty of the -young lady, had come to see her and welcome her; Don Fernando, -Cardenio, and the curate, however, greeted him in a more intelligible -and polished style. In short, the Judge made his entrance in a state of -bewilderment, as well with what he saw as what he heard, and the fair -ladies of the inn gave the fair damsel a cordial welcome. On the whole -he could perceive that all who were there were people of quality; but -with the figure, countenance, and bearing of Don Quixote he was at his -wits’ end; and all civilities having been exchanged, and the -accommodation of the inn inquired into, it was settled, as it had been -before settled, that all the women should retire to the garret that has -been already mentioned, and that the men should remain outside as if to -guard them; the Judge, therefore, was very well pleased to allow his -daughter, for such the damsel was, to go with the ladies, which she did -very willingly; and with part of the host’s narrow bed and half of what -the Judge had brought with him, they made a more comfortable -arrangement for the night than they had expected. - -The captive, whose heart had leaped within him the instant he saw the -Judge, telling him somehow that this was his brother, asked one of the -servants who accompanied him what his name was, and whether he knew -from what part of the country he came. The servant replied that he was -called the Licentiate Juan Perez de Viedma, and that he had heard it -said he came from a village in the mountains of Leon. From this -statement, and what he himself had seen, he felt convinced that this -was his brother who had adopted letters by his father’s advice; and -excited and rejoiced, he called Don Fernando and Cardenio and the -curate aside, and told them how the matter stood, assuring them that -the judge was his brother. The servant had further informed him that he -was now going to the Indies with the appointment of Judge of the -Supreme Court of Mexico; and he had learned, likewise, that the young -lady was his daughter, whose mother had died in giving birth to her, -and that he was very rich in consequence of the dowry left to him with -the daughter. He asked their advice as to what means he should adopt to -make himself known, or to ascertain beforehand whether, when he had -made himself known, his brother, seeing him so poor, would be ashamed -of him, or would receive him with a warm heart. - -“Leave it to me to find out that,” said the curate; “though there is no -reason for supposing, señor captain, that you will not be kindly -received, because the worth and wisdom that your brother’s bearing -shows him to possess do not make it likely that he will prove haughty -or insensible, or that he will not know how to estimate the accidents -of fortune at their proper value.” - -“Still,” said the captain, “I would not make myself known abruptly, but -in some indirect way.” - -“I have told you already,” said the curate, “that I will manage it in a -way to satisfy us all.” - -By this time supper was ready, and they all took their seats at the -table, except the captive, and the ladies, who supped by themselves in -their own room. In the middle of supper the curate said: - -“I had a comrade of your worship’s name, Señor Judge, in -Constantinople, where I was a captive for several years, and that same -comrade was one of the stoutest soldiers and captains in the whole -Spanish infantry; but he had as large a share of misfortune as he had -of gallantry and courage.” - -“And how was the captain called, señor?” asked the Judge. - -“He was called Ruy Perez de Viedma,” replied the curate, “and he was -born in a village in the mountains of Leon; and he mentioned a -circumstance connected with his father and his brothers which, had it -not been told me by so truthful a man as he was, I should have set down -as one of those fables the old women tell over the fire in winter; for -he said his father had divided his property among his three sons and -had addressed words of advice to them sounder than any of Cato’s. But I -can say this much, that the choice he made of going to the wars was -attended with such success, that by his gallant conduct and courage, -and without any help save his own merit, he rose in a few years to be -captain of infantry, and to see himself on the high-road and in -position to be given the command of a corps before long; but Fortune -was against him, for where he might have expected her favour he lost -it, and with it his liberty, on that glorious day when so many -recovered theirs, at the battle of Lepanto. I lost mine at the Goletta, -and after a variety of adventures we found ourselves comrades at -Constantinople. Thence he went to Algiers, where he met with one of the -most extraordinary adventures that ever befell anyone in the world.” - -Here the curate went on to relate briefly his brother’s adventure with -Zoraida; to all which the Judge gave such an attentive hearing that he -never before had been so much of a hearer. The curate, however, only -went so far as to describe how the Frenchmen plundered those who were -in the boat, and the poverty and distress in which his comrade and the -fair Moor were left, of whom he said he had not been able to learn what -became of them, or whether they had reached Spain, or been carried to -France by the Frenchmen. - -The captain, standing a little to one side, was listening to all the -curate said, and watching every movement of his brother, who, as soon -as he perceived the curate had made an end of his story, gave a deep -sigh and said with his eyes full of tears, “Oh, señor, if you only knew -what news you have given me and how it comes home to me, making me show -how I feel it with these tears that spring from my eyes in spite of all -my worldly wisdom and self-restraint! That brave captain that you speak -of is my eldest brother, who, being of a bolder and loftier mind than -my other brother or myself, chose the honourable and worthy calling of -arms, which was one of the three careers our father proposed to us, as -your comrade mentioned in that fable you thought he was telling you. I -followed that of letters, in which God and my own exertions have raised -me to the position in which you see me. My second brother is in Peru, -so wealthy that with what he has sent to my father and to me he has -fully repaid the portion he took with him, and has even furnished my -father’s hands with the means of gratifying his natural generosity, -while I too have been enabled to pursue my studies in a more becoming -and creditable fashion, and so to attain my present standing. My father -is still alive, though dying with anxiety to hear of his eldest son, -and he prays God unceasingly that death may not close his eyes until he -has looked upon those of his son; but with regard to him what surprises -me is, that having so much common sense as he had, he should have -neglected to give any intelligence about himself, either in his -troubles and sufferings, or in his prosperity, for if his father or any -of us had known of his condition he need not have waited for that -miracle of the reed to obtain his ransom; but what now disquiets me is -the uncertainty whether those Frenchmen may have restored him to -liberty, or murdered him to hide the robbery. All this will make me -continue my journey, not with the satisfaction in which I began it, but -in the deepest melancholy and sadness. Oh dear brother! that I only -knew where thou art now, and I would hasten to seek thee out and -deliver thee from thy sufferings, though it were to cost me suffering -myself! Oh that I could bring news to our old father that thou art -alive, even wert thou in the deepest dungeon of Barbary; for his wealth -and my brother’s and mine would rescue thee thence! Oh beautiful and -generous Zoraida, that I could repay thy goodness to a brother! That I -could be present at the new birth of thy soul, and at thy bridal that -would give us all such happiness!” - -All this and more the Judge uttered with such deep emotion at the news -he had received of his brother that all who heard him shared in it, -showing their sympathy with his sorrow. The curate, seeing, then, how -well he had succeeded in carrying out his purpose and the captain’s -wishes, had no desire to keep them unhappy any longer, so he rose from -the table and going into the room where Zoraida was he took her by the -hand, Luscinda, Dorothea, and the Judge’s daughter following her. The -captain was waiting to see what the curate would do, when the latter, -taking him with the other hand, advanced with both of them to where the -Judge and the other gentlemen were and said, “Let your tears cease to -flow, Señor Judge, and the wish of your heart be gratified as fully as -you could desire, for you have before you your worthy brother and your -good sister-in-law. He whom you see here is the Captain Viedma, and -this is the fair Moor who has been so good to him. The Frenchmen I told -you of have reduced them to the state of poverty you see that you may -show the generosity of your kind heart.” - -The captain ran to embrace his brother, who placed both hands on his -breast so as to have a good look at him, holding him a little way off -but as soon as he had fully recognised him he clasped him in his arms -so closely, shedding such tears of heartfelt joy, that most of those -present could not but join in them. The words the brothers exchanged, -the emotion they showed can scarcely be imagined, I fancy, much less -put down in writing. They told each other in a few words the events of -their lives; they showed the true affection of brothers in all its -strength; then the judge embraced Zoraida, putting all he possessed at -her disposal; then he made his daughter embrace her, and the fair -Christian and the lovely Moor drew fresh tears from every eye. And -there was Don Quixote observing all these strange proceedings -attentively without uttering a word, and attributing the whole to -chimeras of knight-errantry. Then they agreed that the captain and -Zoraida should return with his brother to Seville, and send news to his -father of his having been delivered and found, so as to enable him to -come and be present at the marriage and baptism of Zoraida, for it was -impossible for the Judge to put off his journey, as he was informed -that in a month from that time the fleet was to sail from Seville for -New Spain, and to miss the passage would have been a great -inconvenience to him. In short, everybody was well pleased and glad at -the captive’s good fortune; and as now almost two-thirds of the night -were past, they resolved to retire to rest for the remainder of it. Don -Quixote offered to mount guard over the castle lest they should be -attacked by some giant or other malevolent scoundrel, covetous of the -great treasure of beauty the castle contained. Those who understood him -returned him thanks for this service, and they gave the Judge an -account of his extraordinary humour, with which he was not a little -amused. Sancho Panza alone was fuming at the lateness of the hour for -retiring to rest; and he of all was the one that made himself most -comfortable, as he stretched himself on the trappings of his ass, -which, as will be told farther on, cost him so dear. - -The ladies, then, having retired to their chamber, and the others -having disposed themselves with as little discomfort as they could, Don -Quixote sallied out of the inn to act as sentinel of the castle as he -had promised. It happened, however, that a little before the approach -of dawn a voice so musical and sweet reached the ears of the ladies -that it forced them all to listen attentively, but especially Dorothea, -who had been awake, and by whose side Doña Clara de Viedma, for so the -Judge’s daughter was called, lay sleeping. No one could imagine who it -was that sang so sweetly, and the voice was unaccompanied by any -instrument. At one moment it seemed to them as if the singer were in -the courtyard, at another in the stable; and as they were all -attention, wondering, Cardenio came to the door and said, “Listen, -whoever is not asleep, and you will hear a muleteer’s voice that -enchants as it chants.” - -“We are listening to it already, señor,” said Dorothea; on which -Cardenio went away; and Dorothea, giving all her attention to it, made -out the words of the song to be these: - -CHAPTER XLIII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER WITH -OTHER STRANGE THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN - -Ah me, Love’s mariner am I -On Love’s deep ocean sailing; -I know not where the haven lies, -I dare not hope to gain it. - -One solitary distant star -Is all I have to guide me, -A brighter orb than those of old -That Palinurus lighted. - -And vaguely drifting am I borne, -I know not where it leads me; -I fix my gaze on it alone, -Of all beside it heedless. - -But over-cautious prudery, -And coyness cold and cruel, -When most I need it, these, like clouds, -Its longed-for light refuse me. - -Bright star, goal of my yearning eyes -As thou above me beamest, -When thou shalt hide thee from my sight -I’ll know that death is near me. - -The singer had got so far when it struck Dorothea that it was not fair -to let Clara miss hearing such a sweet voice, so, shaking her from side -to side, she woke her, saying: - -“Forgive me, child, for waking thee, but I do so that thou mayest have -the pleasure of hearing the best voice thou hast ever heard, perhaps, -in all thy life.” - -Clara awoke quite drowsy, and not understanding at the moment what -Dorothea said, asked her what it was; she repeated what she had said, -and Clara became attentive at once; but she had hardly heard two lines, -as the singer continued, when a strange trembling seized her, as if she -were suffering from a severe attack of quartan ague, and throwing her -arms round Dorothea she said: - -“Ah, dear lady of my soul and life! why did you wake me? The greatest -kindness fortune could do me now would be to close my eyes and ears so -as neither to see or hear that unhappy musician.” - -“What art thou talking about, child?” said Dorothea. “Why, they say -this singer is a muleteer!” - -“Nay, he is the lord of many places,” replied Clara, “and that one in -my heart which he holds so firmly shall never be taken from him, unless -he be willing to surrender it.” - -Dorothea was amazed at the ardent language of the girl, for it seemed -to be far beyond such experience of life as her tender years gave any -promise of, so she said to her: - -“You speak in such a way that I cannot understand you, Señora Clara; -explain yourself more clearly, and tell me what is this you are saying -about hearts and places and this musician whose voice has so moved you? -But do not tell me anything now; I do not want to lose the pleasure I -get from listening to the singer by giving my attention to your -transports, for I perceive he is beginning to sing a new strain and a -new air.” - -“Let him, in Heaven’s name,” returned Clara; and not to hear him she -stopped both ears with her hands, at which Dorothea was again -surprised; but turning her attention to the song she found that it ran -in this fashion: - -Sweet Hope, my stay, -That onward to the goal of thy intent -Dost make thy way, -Heedless of hindrance or impediment, -Have thou no fear -If at each step thou findest death is near. - -No victory, -No joy of triumph doth the faint heart know; -Unblest is he -That a bold front to Fortune dares not show, -But soul and sense -In bondage yieldeth up to indolence. - -If Love his wares -Do dearly sell, his right must be contest; -What gold compares -With that whereon his stamp he hath imprest? -And all men know -What costeth little that we rate but low. - -Love resolute -Knows not the word “impossibility;” -And though my suit -Beset by endless obstacles I see, -Yet no despair -Shall hold me bound to earth while heaven is there. - -Here the voice ceased and Clara’s sobs began afresh, all which excited -Dorothea’s curiosity to know what could be the cause of singing so -sweet and weeping so bitter, so she again asked her what it was she was -going to say before. On this Clara, afraid that Luscinda might overhear -her, winding her arms tightly round Dorothea put her mouth so close to -her ear that she could speak without fear of being heard by anyone -else, and said: - -“This singer, dear señora, is the son of a gentleman of Aragon, lord of -two villages, who lives opposite my father’s house at Madrid; and -though my father had curtains to the windows of his house in winter, -and lattice-work in summer, in some way—I know not how—this gentleman, -who was pursuing his studies, saw me, whether in church or elsewhere, I -cannot tell, and, in fact, fell in love with me, and gave me to know it -from the windows of his house, with so many signs and tears that I was -forced to believe him, and even to love him, without knowing what it -was he wanted of me. One of the signs he used to make me was to link -one hand in the other, to show me he wished to marry me; and though I -should have been glad if that could be, being alone and motherless I -knew not whom to open my mind to, and so I left it as it was, showing -him no favour, except when my father, and his too, were from home, to -raise the curtain or the lattice a little and let him see me plainly, -at which he would show such delight that he seemed as if he were going -mad. Meanwhile the time for my father’s departure arrived, which he -became aware of, but not from me, for I had never been able to tell him -of it. He fell sick, of grief I believe, and so the day we were going -away I could not see him to take farewell of him, were it only with the -eyes. But after we had been two days on the road, on entering the -posada of a village a day’s journey from this, I saw him at the inn -door in the dress of a muleteer, and so well disguised, that if I did -not carry his image graven on my heart it would have been impossible -for me to recognise him. But I knew him, and I was surprised, and glad; -he watched me, unsuspected by my father, from whom he always hides -himself when he crosses my path on the road, or in the posadas where we -halt; and, as I know what he is, and reflect that for love of me he -makes this journey on foot in all this hardship, I am ready to die of -sorrow; and where he sets foot there I set my eyes. I know not with -what object he has come; or how he could have got away from his father, -who loves him beyond measure, having no other heir, and because he -deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him. And moreover, I can -tell you, all that he sings is out of his own head; for I have heard -them say he is a great scholar and poet; and what is more, every time I -see him or hear him sing I tremble all over, and am terrified lest my -father should recognise him and come to know of our loves. I have never -spoken a word to him in my life; and for all that I love him so that I -could not live without him. This, dear señora, is all I have to tell -you about the musician whose voice has delighted you so much; and from -it alone you might easily perceive he is no muleteer, but a lord of -hearts and towns, as I told you already.” - -“Say no more, Doña Clara,” said Dorothea at this, at the same time -kissing her a thousand times over, “say no more, I tell you, but wait -till day comes; when I trust in God to arrange this affair of yours so -that it may have the happy ending such an innocent beginning deserves.” - -“Ah, señora,” said Doña Clara, “what end can be hoped for when his -father is of such lofty position, and so wealthy, that he would think I -was not fit to be even a servant to his son, much less wife? And as to -marrying without the knowledge of my father, I would not do it for all -the world. I would not ask anything more than that this youth should go -back and leave me; perhaps with not seeing him, and the long distance -we shall have to travel, the pain I suffer now may become easier; -though I daresay the remedy I propose will do me very little good. I -don’t know how the devil this has come about, or how this love I have -for him got in; I such a young girl, and he such a mere boy; for I -verily believe we are both of an age, and I am not sixteen yet; for I -will be sixteen Michaelmas Day, next, my father says.” - -Dorothea could not help laughing to hear how like a child Doña Clara -spoke. “Let us go to sleep now, señora,” said she, “for the little of -the night that I fancy is left to us: God will soon send us daylight, -and we will set all to rights, or it will go hard with me.” - -With this they fell asleep, and deep silence reigned all through the -inn. The only persons not asleep were the landlady’s daughter and her -servant Maritornes, who, knowing the weak point of Don Quixote’s -humour, and that he was outside the inn mounting guard in armour and on -horseback, resolved, the pair of them, to play some trick upon him, or -at any rate to amuse themselves for a while by listening to his -nonsense. As it so happened there was not a window in the whole inn -that looked outwards except a hole in the wall of a straw-loft through -which they used to throw out the straw. At this hole the two -demi-damsels posted themselves, and observed Don Quixote on his horse, -leaning on his pike and from time to time sending forth such deep and -doleful sighs, that he seemed to pluck up his soul by the roots with -each of them; and they could hear him, too, saying in a soft, tender, -loving tone, “Oh my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, perfection of all beauty, -summit and crown of discretion, treasure house of grace, depositary of -virtue, and finally, ideal of all that is good, honourable, and -delectable in this world! What is thy grace doing now? Art thou, -perchance, mindful of thy enslaved knight who of his own free will hath -exposed himself to so great perils, and all to serve thee? Give me -tidings of her, oh luminary of the three faces! Perhaps at this moment, -envious of hers, thou art regarding her, either as she paces to and fro -some gallery of her sumptuous palaces, or leans over some balcony, -meditating how, whilst preserving her purity and greatness, she may -mitigate the tortures this wretched heart of mine endures for her sake, -what glory should recompense my sufferings, what repose my toil, and -lastly what death my life, and what reward my services? And thou, oh -sun, that art now doubtless harnessing thy steeds in haste to rise -betimes and come forth to see my lady; when thou seest her I entreat of -thee to salute her on my behalf: but have a care, when thou shalt see -her and salute her, that thou kiss not her face; for I shall be more -jealous of thee than thou wert of that light-footed ingrate that made -thee sweat and run so on the plains of Thessaly, or on the banks of the -Peneus (for I do not exactly recollect where it was thou didst run on -that occasion) in thy jealousy and love.” - -Don Quixote had got so far in his pathetic speech when the landlady’s -daughter began to signal to him, saying, “Señor, come over here, -please.” - -At these signals and voice Don Quixote turned his head and saw by the -light of the moon, which then was in its full splendour, that someone -was calling to him from the hole in the wall, which seemed to him to be -a window, and what is more, with a gilt grating, as rich castles, such -as he believed the inn to be, ought to have; and it immediately -suggested itself to his imagination that, as on the former occasion, -the fair damsel, the daughter of the lady of the castle, overcome by -love for him, was once more endeavouring to win his affections; and -with this idea, not to show himself discourteous, or ungrateful, he -turned Rocinante’s head and approached the hole, and as he perceived -the two wenches he said: - -“I pity you, beauteous lady, that you should have directed your -thoughts of love to a quarter from whence it is impossible that such a -return can be made to you as is due to your great merit and gentle -birth, for which you must not blame this unhappy knight-errant whom -love renders incapable of submission to any other than her whom, the -first moment his eyes beheld her, he made absolute mistress of his -soul. Forgive me, noble lady, and retire to your apartment, and do not, -by any further declaration of your passion, compel me to show myself -more ungrateful; and if, of the love you bear me, you should find that -there is anything else in my power wherein I can gratify you, provided -it be not love itself, demand it of me; for I swear to you by that -sweet absent enemy of mine to grant it this instant, though it be that -you require of me a lock of Medusa’s hair, which was all snakes, or -even the very beams of the sun shut up in a vial.” - -“My mistress wants nothing of that sort, sir knight,” said Maritornes -at this. - -“What then, discreet dame, is it that your mistress wants?” replied Don -Quixote. - -“Only one of your fair hands,” said Maritornes, “to enable her to vent -over it the great passion, passion which has brought her to this -loophole, so much to the risk of her honour; for if the lord her father -had heard her, the least slice he would cut off her would be her ear.” - -“I should like to see that tried,” said Don Quixote; “but he had better -beware of that, if he does not want to meet the most disastrous end -that ever father in the world met for having laid hands on the tender -limbs of a love-stricken daughter.” - -Maritornes felt sure that Don Quixote would present the hand she had -asked, and making up her mind what to do, she got down from the hole -and went into the stable, where she took the halter of Sancho Panza’s -ass, and in all haste returned to the hole, just as Don Quixote had -planted himself standing on Rocinante’s saddle in order to reach the -grated window where he supposed the lovelorn damsel to be; and giving -her his hand, he said, “Lady, take this hand, or rather this scourge of -the evil-doers of the earth; take, I say, this hand which no other hand -of woman has ever touched, not even hers who has complete possession of -my entire body. I present it to you, not that you may kiss it, but that -you may observe the contexture of the sinews, the close network of the -muscles, the breadth and capacity of the veins, whence you may infer -what must be the strength of the arm that has such a hand.” - -“That we shall see presently,” said Maritornes, and making a running -knot on the halter, she passed it over his wrist and coming down from -the hole tied the other end very firmly to the bolt of the door of the -straw-loft. - -Don Quixote, feeling the roughness of the rope on his wrist, exclaimed, -“Your grace seems to be grating rather than caressing my hand; treat it -not so harshly, for it is not to blame for the offence my resolution -has given you, nor is it just to wreak all your vengeance on so small a -part; remember that one who loves so well should not revenge herself so -cruelly.” - -But there was nobody now to listen to these words of Don Quixote’s, for -as soon as Maritornes had tied him she and the other made off, ready to -die with laughing, leaving him fastened in such a way that it was -impossible for him to release himself. - -He was, as has been said, standing on Rocinante, with his arm passed -through the hole and his wrist tied to the bolt of the door, and in -mighty fear and dread of being left hanging by the arm if Rocinante -were to stir one side or the other; so he did not dare to make the -least movement, although from the patience and imperturbable -disposition of Rocinante, he had good reason to expect that he would -stand without budging for a whole century. Finding himself fast, then, -and that the ladies had retired, he began to fancy that all this was -done by enchantment, as on the former occasion when in that same castle -that enchanted Moor of a carrier had belaboured him; and he cursed in -his heart his own want of sense and judgment in venturing to enter the -castle again, after having come off so badly the first time; it being a -settled point with knights-errant that when they have tried an -adventure, and have not succeeded in it, it is a sign that it is not -reserved for them but for others, and that therefore they need not try -it again. Nevertheless he pulled his arm to see if he could release -himself, but it had been made so fast that all his efforts were in -vain. It is true he pulled it gently lest Rocinante should move, but -try as he might to seat himself in the saddle, he had nothing for it -but to stand upright or pull his hand off. Then it was he wished for -the sword of Amadis, against which no enchantment whatever had any -power; then he cursed his ill fortune; then he magnified the loss the -world would sustain by his absence while he remained there enchanted, -for that he believed he was beyond all doubt; then he once more took to -thinking of his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his -worthy squire Sancho Panza, who, buried in sleep and stretched upon the -pack-saddle of his ass, was oblivious, at that moment, of the mother -that bore him; then he called upon the sages Lirgandeo and Alquife to -come to his aid; then he invoked his good friend Urganda to succour -him; and then, at last, morning found him in such a state of -desperation and perplexity that he was bellowing like a bull, for he -had no hope that day would bring any relief to his suffering, which he -believed would last for ever, inasmuch as he was enchanted; and of this -he was convinced by seeing that Rocinante never stirred, much or -little, and he felt persuaded that he and his horse were to remain in -this state, without eating or drinking or sleeping, until the malign -influence of the stars was overpast, or until some other more sage -enchanter should disenchant him. - -But he was very much deceived in this conclusion, for daylight had -hardly begun to appear when there came up to the inn four men on -horseback, well equipped and accoutred, with firelocks across their -saddle-bows. They called out and knocked loudly at the gate of the inn, -which was still shut; on seeing which, Don Quixote, even there where he -was, did not forget to act as sentinel, and said in a loud and -imperious tone, “Knights, or squires, or whatever ye be, ye have no -right to knock at the gates of this castle; for it is plain enough that -they who are within are either asleep, or else are not in the habit of -throwing open the fortress until the sun’s rays are spread over the -whole surface of the earth. Withdraw to a distance, and wait till it is -broad daylight, and then we shall see whether it will be proper or not -to open to you.” - -“What the devil fortress or castle is this,” said one, “to make us -stand on such ceremony? If you are the innkeeper bid them open to us; -we are travellers who only want to feed our horses and go on, for we -are in haste.” - -“Do you think, gentlemen, that I look like an innkeeper?” said Don -Quixote. - -“I don’t know what you look like,” replied the other; “but I know that -you are talking nonsense when you call this inn a castle.” - -“A castle it is,” returned Don Quixote, “nay, more, one of the best in -this whole province, and it has within it people who have had the -sceptre in the hand and the crown on the head.” - -“It would be better if it were the other way,” said the traveller, “the -sceptre on the head and the crown in the hand; but if so, maybe there -is within some company of players, with whom it is a common thing to -have those crowns and sceptres you speak of; for in such a small inn as -this, and where such silence is kept, I do not believe any people -entitled to crowns and sceptres can have taken up their quarters.” - -“You know but little of the world,” returned Don Quixote, “since you -are ignorant of what commonly occurs in knight-errantry.” - -But the comrades of the spokesman, growing weary of the dialogue with -Don Quixote, renewed their knocks with great vehemence, so much so that -the host, and not only he but everybody in the inn, awoke, and he got -up to ask who knocked. It happened at this moment that one of the -horses of the four who were seeking admittance went to smell Rocinante, -who melancholy, dejected, and with drooping ears stood motionless, -supporting his sorely stretched master; and as he was, after all, -flesh, though he looked as if he were made of wood, he could not help -giving way and in return smelling the one who had come to offer him -attentions. But he had hardly moved at all when Don Quixote lost his -footing; and slipping off the saddle, he would have come to the ground, -but for being suspended by the arm, which caused him such agony that he -believed either his wrist would be cut through or his arm torn off; and -he hung so near the ground that he could just touch it with his feet, -which was all the worse for him; for, finding how little was wanted to -enable him to plant his feet firmly, he struggled and stretched himself -as much as he could to gain a footing; just like those undergoing the -torture of the strappado, when they are fixed at “touch and no touch,” -who aggravate their own sufferings by their violent efforts to stretch -themselves, deceived by the hope which makes them fancy that with a -very little more they will reach the ground. - -CHAPTER XLIV. -IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN - -So loud, in fact, were the shouts of Don Quixote, that the landlord -opening the gate of the inn in all haste, came out in dismay, and ran -to see who was uttering such cries, and those who were outside joined -him. Maritornes, who had been by this time roused up by the same -outcry, suspecting what it was, ran to the loft and, without anyone -seeing her, untied the halter by which Don Quixote was suspended, and -down he came to the ground in the sight of the landlord and the -travellers, who approaching asked him what was the matter with him that -he shouted so. He without replying a word took the rope off his wrist, -and rising to his feet leaped upon Rocinante, braced his buckler on his -arm, put his lance in rest, and making a considerable circuit of the -plain came back at a half-gallop exclaiming: - -“Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with just cause, provided -my lady the Princess Micomicona grants me permission to do so, I give -him the lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat.” - -The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the words of Don Quixote; -but the landlord removed their surprise by telling them who he was, and -not to mind him as he was out of his senses. They then asked the -landlord if by any chance a youth of about fifteen years of age had -come to that inn, one dressed like a muleteer, and of such and such an -appearance, describing that of Doña Clara’s lover. The landlord replied -that there were so many people in the inn he had not noticed the person -they were inquiring for; but one of them observing the coach in which -the Judge had come, said, “He is here no doubt, for this is the coach -he is following: let one of us stay at the gate, and the rest go in to -look for him; or indeed it would be as well if one of us went round the -inn, lest he should escape over the wall of the yard.” “So be it,” said -another; and while two of them went in, one remained at the gate and -the other made the circuit of the inn; observing all which, the -landlord was unable to conjecture for what reason they were taking all -these precautions, though he understood they were looking for the youth -whose description they had given him. - -It was by this time broad daylight; and for that reason, as well as in -consequence of the noise Don Quixote had made, everybody was awake and -up, but particularly Doña Clara and Dorothea; for they had been able to -sleep but badly that night, the one from agitation at having her lover -so near her, the other from curiosity to see him. Don Quixote, when he -saw that not one of the four travellers took any notice of him or -replied to his challenge, was furious and ready to die with indignation -and wrath; and if he could have found in the ordinances of chivalry -that it was lawful for a knight-errant to undertake or engage in -another enterprise, when he had plighted his word and faith not to -involve himself in any until he had made an end of the one to which he -was pledged, he would have attacked the whole of them, and would have -made them return an answer in spite of themselves. But considering that -it would not become him, nor be right, to begin any new emprise until -he had established Micomicona in her kingdom, he was constrained to -hold his peace and wait quietly to see what would be the upshot of the -proceedings of those same travellers; one of whom found the youth they -were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, without a thought -of anyone coming in search of him, much less finding him. - -The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, “It becomes you well -indeed, Señor Don Luis, to be in the dress you wear, and well the bed -in which I find you agrees with the luxury in which your mother reared -you.” - -The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a while at him who held -him, but presently recognised him as one of his father’s servants, at -which he was so taken aback that for some time he could not find or -utter a word; while the servant went on to say, “There is nothing for -it now, Señor Don Luis, but to submit quietly and return home, unless -it is your wish that my lord, your father, should take his departure -for the other world, for nothing else can be the consequence of the -grief he is in at your absence.” - -“But how did my father know that I had gone this road and in this -dress?” said Don Luis. - -“It was a student to whom you confided your intentions,” answered the -servant, “that disclosed them, touched with pity at the distress he saw -your father suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four of his -servants in quest of you, and here we all are at your service, better -pleased than you can imagine that we shall return so soon and be able -to restore you to those eyes that so yearn for you.” - -“That shall be as I please, or as heaven orders,” returned Don Luis. - -“What can you please or heaven order,” said the other, “except to agree -to go back? Anything else is impossible.” - -All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at -whose side Don Luis lay, and rising, he went to report what had taken -place to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time -dressed themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth -as “Don,” and what words had passed, and how he wanted him to return to -his father, which the youth was unwilling to do. With this, and what -they already knew of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, -they all felt very anxious to know more particularly who he was, and -even to help him if it was attempted to employ force against him; so -they hastened to where he was still talking and arguing with his -servant. Dorothea at this instant came out of her room, followed by -Doña Clara all in a tremor; and calling Cardenio aside, she told him in -a few words the story of the musician and Doña Clara, and he at the -same time told her what had happened, how his father’s servants had -come in search of him; but in telling her so, he did not speak low -enough but that Doña Clara heard what he said, at which she was so much -agitated that had not Dorothea hastened to support her she would have -fallen to the ground. Cardenio then bade Dorothea return to her room, -as he would endeavour to make the whole matter right, and they did as -he desired. All the four who had come in quest of Don Luis had now come -into the inn and surrounded him, urging him to return and console his -father at once and without a moment’s delay. He replied that he could -not do so on any account until he had concluded some business in which -his life, honour, and heart were at stake. The servants pressed him, -saying that most certainly they would not return without him, and that -they would take him away whether he liked it or not. - -“You shall not do that,” replied Don Luis, “unless you take me dead; -though however you take me, it will be without life.” - -By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the -dispute, but particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the -Judge, the curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered -there was no necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer. -Cardenio being already acquainted with the young man’s story, asked the -men who wanted to take him away, what object they had in seeking to -carry off this youth against his will. - -“Our object,” said one of the four, “is to save the life of his father, -who is in danger of losing it through this gentleman’s disappearance.” - -Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, “There is no need to make my affairs -public here; I am free, and I will return if I please; and if not, none -of you shall compel me.” - -“Reason will compel your worship,” said the man, “and if it has no -power over you, it has power over us, to make us do what we came for, -and what it is our duty to do.” - -“Let us hear what the whole affair is about,” said the Judge at this; -but the man, who knew him as a neighbour of theirs, replied, “Do you -not know this gentleman, Señor Judge? He is the son of your neighbour, -who has run away from his father’s house in a dress so unbecoming his -rank, as your worship may perceive.” - -The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and -embracing him said, “What folly is this, Señor Don Luis, or what can -have been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this -way, and in this dress, which so ill becomes your condition?” - -Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a -word in reply to the Judge, who told the four servants not to be -uneasy, for all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don -Luis by the hand, he drew him aside and asked the reason of his having -come there. - -But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate -of the inn, the cause of which was that two of the guests who had -passed the night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it -was the four men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without -paying what they owed; but the landlord, who minded his own affairs -more than other people’s, caught them going out of the gate and -demanded his reckoning, abusing them for their dishonesty with such -language that he drove them to reply with their fists, and so they -began to lay on him in such a style that the poor man was forced to cry -out, and call for help. The landlady and her daughter could see no one -more free to give aid than Don Quixote, and to him the daughter said, -“Sir knight, by the virtue God has given you, help my poor father, for -two wicked men are beating him to a mummy.” - -To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied, -“Fair damsel, at the present moment your request is inopportune, for I -am debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought -to a happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that -which I can do for you is what I will now mention: run and tell your -father to stand his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no -account to allow himself to be vanquished, while I go and request -permission of the Princess Micomicona to enable me to succour him in -his distress; and if she grants it, rest assured I will relieve him -from it.” - -“Sinner that I am,” exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; “before you -have got your permission my master will be in the other world.” - -“Give me leave, señora, to obtain the permission I speak of,” returned -Don Quixote; “and if I get it, it will matter very little if he is in -the other world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same -world can do; or at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those -who shall have sent him there that you will be more than moderately -satisfied;” and without saying anything more he went and knelt before -Dorothea, requesting her Highness in knightly and errant phrase to be -pleased to grant him permission to aid and succour the castellan of -that castle, who now stood in grievous jeopardy. The princess granted -it graciously, and he at once, bracing his buckler on his arm and -drawing his sword, hastened to the inn-gate, where the two guests were -still handling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached the spot -he stopped short and stood still, though Maritornes and the landlady -asked him why he hesitated to help their master and husband. - -“I hesitate,” said Don Quixote, “because it is not lawful for me to -draw sword against persons of squirely condition; but call my squire -Sancho to me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and -business.” - -Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there was a very lively -exchange of fisticuffs and punches, to the sore damage of the landlord -and to the wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who -were furious when they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the -hard treatment their master, husband and father was undergoing. But let -us leave him there; for he will surely find someone to help him, and if -not, let him suffer and hold his tongue who attempts more than his -strength allows him to do; and let us go back fifty paces to see what -Don Luis said in reply to the Judge whom we left questioning him -privately as to his reasons for coming on foot and so meanly dressed. - -To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart -was troubled by some great sorrow, and shedding a flood of tears, made -answer: - -“Señor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when, -through heaven’s will and our being near neighbours, I first saw Doña -Clara, your daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the -mistress of my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no -impediment, this very day she shall become my wife. For her I left my -father’s house, and for her I assumed this disguise, to follow her -whithersoever she may go, as the arrow seeks its mark or the sailor the -pole-star. She knows nothing more of my passion than what she may have -learned from having sometimes seen from a distance that my eyes were -filled with tears. You know already, señor, the wealth and noble birth -of my parents, and that I am their sole heir; if this be a sufficient -inducement for you to venture to make me completely happy, accept me at -once as your son; for if my father, influenced by other objects of his -own, should disapprove of this happiness I have sought for myself, time -has more power to alter and change things, than human will.” - -With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after -hearing him, was astonished, perplexed, and surprised, as well at the -manner and intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of -his heart, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing -what course to take in a matter so sudden and unexpected. All the -answer, therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his mind easy for -the present, and arrange with his servants not to take him back that -day, so that there might be time to consider what was best for all -parties. Don Luis kissed his hands by force, nay, bathed them with his -tears, in a way that would have touched a heart of marble, not to say -that of the Judge, who, as a shrewd man, had already perceived how -advantageous the marriage would be to his daughter; though, were it -possible, he would have preferred that it should be brought about with -the consent of the father of Don Luis, who he knew looked for a title -for his son. - -The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by -persuasion and Don Quixote’s fair words more than by threats, they had -paid him what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting -for the end of the conversation with the Judge and their master’s -decision, when the devil, who never sleeps, contrived that the barber, -from whom Don Quixote had taken Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza the -trappings of his ass in exchange for those of his own, should at this -instant enter the inn; which said barber, as he led his ass to the -stable, observed Sancho Panza engaged in repairing something or other -belonging to the pack-saddle; and the moment he saw it he knew it, and -made bold to attack Sancho, exclaiming, “Ho, sir thief, I have caught -you! hand over my basin and my pack-saddle, and all my trappings that -you robbed me of.” - -Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse -poured upon him, seized the pack-saddle with one hand, and with the -other gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood. The -barber, however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made -in the pack-saddle; on the contrary, he raised such an outcry that -everyone in the inn came running to know what the noise and quarrel -meant. “Here, in the name of the king and justice!” he cried, “this -thief and highwayman wants to kill me for trying to recover my -property.” - -“You lie,” said Sancho, “I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my -master Don Quixote won these spoils.” - -Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his -squire’s stoutness, both offensive and defensive, and from that time -forth he reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub -him a knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling -sure that the order of chivalry would be fittingly bestowed upon him. - -In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said, -“Gentlemen, this pack-saddle is mine as surely as I owe God a death, -and I know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass -in the stable who will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not -fit him like a glove, call me a rascal; and what is more, the same day -I was robbed of this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, -never yet handselled, that would fetch a crown any day.” - -At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and -interposing between the two, and separating them, he placed the -pack-saddle on the ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was -established, and said, “Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly -the error under which this worthy squire lies when he calls a basin -which was, is, and shall be the helmet of Mambrino which I won from him -in fair war, and made myself master of by legitimate and lawful -possession. With the pack-saddle I do not concern myself; but I may -tell you on that head that my squire Sancho asked my permission to -strip off the caparison of this vanquished poltroon’s steed, and with -it adorn his own; I allowed him, and he took it; and as to its having -been changed from a caparison into a pack-saddle, I can give no -explanation except the usual one, that such transformations will take -place in adventures of chivalry. To confirm all which, run, Sancho my -son, and fetch hither the helmet which this good fellow calls a basin.” - -“Egad, master,” said Sancho, “if we have no other proof of our case -than what your worship puts forward, Mambrino’s helmet is just as much -a basin as this good fellow’s caparison is a pack-saddle.” - -“Do as I bid thee,” said Don Quixote; “it cannot be that everything in -this castle goes by enchantment.” - -Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him, -and when Don Quixote saw it, he took hold of it and said: - -“Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that -this is a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and I swear by the -order of chivalry I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I -took from him, without anything added to or taken from it.” - -“There is no doubt of that,” said Sancho, “for from the time my master -won it until now he has only fought one battle in it, when he let loose -those unlucky men in chains; and if it had not been for this -basin-helmet he would not have come off over well that time, for there -was plenty of stone-throwing in that affair.” - -CHAPTER XLV. -IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE -IS FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND -EARNEST - -“What do you think now, gentlemen,” said the barber, “of what these -gentles say, when they want to make out that this is a helmet?” - -“And whoever says the contrary,” said Don Quixote, “I will let him know -he lies if he is a knight, and if he is a squire that he lies again a -thousand times.” - -Our own barber, who was present at all this, and understood Don -Quixote’s humour so thoroughly, took it into his head to back up his -delusion and carry on the joke for the general amusement; so addressing -the other barber he said: - -“Señor barber, or whatever you are, you must know that I belong to your -profession too, and have had a licence to practise for more than twenty -years, and I know the implements of the barber craft, every one of -them, perfectly well; and I was likewise a soldier for some time in the -days of my youth, and I know also what a helmet is, and a morion, and a -headpiece with a visor, and other things pertaining to soldiering, I -meant to say to soldiers’ arms; and I say—saving better opinions and -always with submission to sounder judgments—that this piece we have now -before us, which this worthy gentleman has in his hands, not only is no -barber’s basin, but is as far from being one as white is from black, -and truth from falsehood; I say, moreover, that this, although it is a -helmet, is not a complete helmet.” - -“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote, “for half of it is wanting, that is -to say the beaver.” - -“It is quite true,” said the curate, who saw the object of his friend -the barber; and Cardenio, Don Fernando and his companions agreed with -him, and even the Judge, if his thoughts had not been so full of Don -Luis’s affair, would have helped to carry on the joke; but he was so -taken up with the serious matters he had on his mind that he paid -little or no attention to these facetious proceedings. - -“God bless me!” exclaimed their butt the barber at this; “is it -possible that such an honourable company can say that this is not a -basin but a helmet? Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole -university, however wise it might be! That will do; if this basin is a -helmet, why, then the pack-saddle must be a horse’s caparison, as this -gentleman has said.” - -“To me it looks like a pack-saddle,” said Don Quixote; “but I have -already said that with that question I do not concern myself.” - -“As to whether it be pack-saddle or caparison,” said the curate, “it is -only for Señor Don Quixote to say; for in these matters of chivalry all -these gentlemen and I bow to his authority.” - -“By God, gentlemen,” said Don Quixote, “so many strange things have -happened to me in this castle on the two occasions on which I have -sojourned in it, that I will not venture to assert anything positively -in reply to any question touching anything it contains; for it is my -belief that everything that goes on within it goes by enchantment. The -first time, an enchanted Moor that there is in it gave me sore trouble, -nor did Sancho fare well among certain followers of his; and last night -I was kept hanging by this arm for nearly two hours, without knowing -how or why I came by such a mishap. So that now, for me to come forward -to give an opinion in such a puzzling matter, would be to risk a rash -decision. As regards the assertion that this is a basin and not a -helmet I have already given an answer; but as to the question whether -this is a pack-saddle or a caparison I will not venture to give a -positive opinion, but will leave it to your worships’ better judgment. -Perhaps as you are not dubbed knights like myself, the enchantments of -this place have nothing to do with you, and your faculties are -unfettered, and you can see things in this castle as they really and -truly are, and not as they appear to me.” - -“There can be no question,” said Don Fernando on this, “but that Señor -Don Quixote has spoken very wisely, and that with us rests the decision -of this matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on, I will take -the votes of the gentlemen in secret, and declare the result clearly -and fully.” - -To those who were in on the secret of Don Quixote’s humour all this -afforded great amusement; but to those who knew nothing about it, it -seemed the greatest nonsense in the world, in particular to the four -servants of Don Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, and to three -other travellers who had by chance come to the inn, and had the -appearance of officers of the Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; -but the one who above all was at his wits’ end was the barber whose -basin, there before his very eyes, had been turned into Mambrino’s -helmet, and whose pack-saddle he had no doubt whatever was about to -become a rich caparison for a horse. All laughed to see Don Fernando -going from one to another collecting the votes, and whispering to them -to give him their private opinion whether the treasure over which there -had been so much fighting was a pack-saddle or a caparison; but after -he had taken the votes of those who knew Don Quixote, he said aloud, -“The fact is, my good fellow, that I am tired collecting such a number -of opinions, for I find that there is not one of whom I ask what I -desire to know, who does not tell me that it is absurd to say that this -is the pack-saddle of an ass, and not the caparison of a horse, nay, of -a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, for, in spite of you and your -ass, this is a caparison and no pack-saddle, and you have stated and -proved your case very badly.” - -“May I never share heaven,” said the poor barber, “if your worships are -not all mistaken; and may my soul appear before God as that appears to -me a pack-saddle and not a caparison; but, ‘laws go,’—I say no more; -and indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it be from sin.” - -The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the -absurdities of Don Quixote, who now observed: - -“There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to -him, and to whom God has given it, may St. Peter add his blessing.” - -But said one of the four servants, “Unless, indeed, this is a -deliberate joke, I cannot bring myself to believe that men so -intelligent as those present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare -and assert that this is not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as -I perceive that they do assert and declare it, I can only come to the -conclusion that there is some mystery in this persistence in what is so -opposed to the evidence of experience and truth itself; for I swear -by”—and here he rapped out a round oath—“all the people in the world -will not make me believe that this is not a barber’s basin and that a -jackass’s pack-saddle.” - -“It might easily be a she-ass’s,” observed the curate. - -“It is all the same,” said the servant; “that is not the point; but -whether it is or is not a pack-saddle, as your worships say.” - -On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of the Brotherhood, -who had been listening to the dispute and controversy, unable to -restrain his anger and impatience, exclaimed, “It is a pack-saddle as -sure as my father is my father, and whoever has said or will say -anything else must be drunk.” - -“You lie like a rascally clown,” returned Don Quixote; and lifting his -pike, which he had never let out of his hand, he delivered such a blow -at his head that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have -stretched him at full length. The pike was shivered in pieces against -the ground, and the rest of the officers, seeing their comrade -assaulted, raised a shout, calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood. -The landlord, who was of the fraternity, ran at once to fetch his staff -of office and his sword, and ranged himself on the side of his -comrades; the servants of Don Luis clustered round him, lest he should -escape from them in the confusion; the barber, seeing the house turned -upside down, once more laid hold of his pack-saddle and Sancho did the -same; Don Quixote drew his sword and charged the officers; Don Luis -cried out to his servants to leave him alone and go and help Don -Quixote, and Cardenio and Don Fernando, who were supporting him; the -curate was shouting at the top of his voice, the landlady was -screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes was weeping, Dorothea -was aghast, Luscinda terror-stricken, and Doña Clara in a faint. The -barber cudgelled Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; Don Luis gave -one of his servants, who ventured to catch him by the arm to keep him -from escaping, a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood; the Judge took -his part; Don Fernando had got one of the officers down and was -belabouring him heartily; the landlord raised his voice again calling -for help for the Holy Brotherhood; so that the whole inn was nothing -but cries, shouts, shrieks, confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, -sword-cuts, fisticuffs, cudgellings, kicks, and bloodshed; and in the -midst of all this chaos, complication, and general entanglement, Don -Quixote took it into his head that he had been plunged into the thick -of the discord of Agramante’s camp; and, in a voice that shook the inn -like thunder, he cried out: - -“Hold all, let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend to -me as they value their lives!” - -All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to say, “Did I not tell -you, sirs, that this castle was enchanted, and that a legion or so of -devils dwelt in it? In proof whereof I call upon you to behold with -your own eyes how the discord of Agramante’s camp has come hither, and -been transferred into the midst of us. See how they fight, there for -the sword, here for the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for -the helmet; we are all fighting, and all at cross purposes. Come then, -you, Señor Judge, and you, señor curate; let the one represent King -Agramante and the other King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by -God Almighty it is a sorry business that so many persons of quality as -we are should slay one another for such trifling cause.” The officers, -who did not understand Don Quixote’s mode of speaking, and found -themselves roughly handled by Don Fernando, Cardenio, and their -companions, were not to be appeased; the barber was, however, for both -his beard and his pack-saddle were the worse for the struggle; Sancho -like a good servant obeyed the slightest word of his master; while the -four servants of Don Luis kept quiet when they saw how little they -gained by not being so. The landlord alone insisted upon it that they -must punish the insolence of this madman, who at every turn raised a -disturbance in the inn; but at length the uproar was stilled for the -present; the pack-saddle remained a caparison till the day of judgment, -and the basin a helmet and the inn a castle in Don Quixote’s -imagination. - -All having been now pacified and made friends by the persuasion of the -Judge and the curate, the servants of Don Luis began again to urge him -to return with them at once; and while he was discussing the matter -with them, the Judge took counsel with Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the -curate as to what he ought to do in the case, telling them how it -stood, and what Don Luis had said to him. It was agreed at length that -Don Fernando should tell the servants of Don Luis who he was, and that -it was his desire that Don Luis should accompany him to Andalusia, -where he would receive from the marquis his brother the welcome his -quality entitled him to; for, otherwise, it was easy to see from the -determination of Don Luis that he would not return to his father at -present, though they tore him to pieces. On learning the rank of Don -Fernando and the resolution of Don Luis the four then settled it -between themselves that three of them should return to tell his father -how matters stood, and that the other should remain to wait upon Don -Luis, and not leave him until they came back for him, or his father’s -orders were known. Thus by the authority of Agramante and the wisdom of -King Sobrino all this complication of disputes was arranged; but the -enemy of concord and hater of peace, feeling himself slighted and made -a fool of, and seeing how little he had gained after having involved -them all in such an elaborate entanglement, resolved to try his hand -once more by stirring up fresh quarrels and disturbances. - -It came about in this wise: the officers were pacified on learning the -rank of those with whom they had been engaged, and withdrew from the -contest, considering that whatever the result might be they were likely -to get the worst of the battle; but one of them, the one who had been -thrashed and kicked by Don Fernando, recollected that among some -warrants he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he had one -against Don Quixote, whom the Holy Brotherhood had ordered to be -arrested for setting the galley slaves free, as Sancho had, with very -good reason, apprehended. Suspecting how it was, then, he wished to -satisfy himself as to whether Don Quixote’s features corresponded; and -taking a parchment out of his bosom he lit upon what he was in search -of, and setting himself to read it deliberately, for he was not a quick -reader, as he made out each word he fixed his eyes on Don Quixote, and -went on comparing the description in the warrant with his face, and -discovered that beyond all doubt he was the person described in it. As -soon as he had satisfied himself, folding up the parchment, he took the -warrant in his left hand and with his right seized Don Quixote by the -collar so tightly that he did not allow him to breathe, and shouted -aloud, “Help for the Holy Brotherhood! and that you may see I demand it -in earnest, read this warrant which says this highwayman is to be -arrested.” - -The curate took the warrant and saw that what the officer said was -true, and that it agreed with Don Quixote’s appearance, who, on his -part, when he found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, -worked up to the highest pitch of wrath, and all his joints cracking -with rage, with both hands seized the officer by the throat with all -his might, so that had he not been helped by his comrades he would have -yielded up his life ere Don Quixote released his hold. The landlord, -who had perforce to support his brother officers, ran at once to aid -them. The landlady, when she saw her husband engaged in a fresh -quarrel, lifted up her voice afresh, and its note was immediately -caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, calling upon heaven and all -present for help; and Sancho, seeing what was going on, exclaimed, “By -the Lord, it is quite true what my master says about the enchantments -of this castle, for it is impossible to live an hour in peace in it!” - -Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, and to their mutual -contentment made them relax the grip by which they held, the one the -coat collar, the other the throat of his adversary; for all this, -however, the officers did not cease to demand their prisoner and call -on them to help, and deliver him over bound into their power, as was -required for the service of the King and of the Holy Brotherhood, on -whose behalf they again demanded aid and assistance to effect the -capture of this robber and footpad of the highways. - -Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, and said very calmly, -“Come now, base, ill-born brood; call ye it highway robbery to give -freedom to those in bondage, to release the captives, to succour the -miserable, to raise up the fallen, to relieve the needy? Infamous -beings, who by your vile grovelling intellects deserve that heaven -should not make known to you the virtue that lies in knight-errantry, -or show you the sin and ignorance in which ye lie when ye refuse to -respect the shadow, not to say the presence, of any knight-errant! Come -now; band, not of officers, but of thieves; footpads with the licence -of the Holy Brotherhood; tell me who was the ignoramus who signed a -warrant of arrest against such a knight as I am? Who was he that did -not know that knights-errant are independent of all jurisdictions, that -their law is their sword, their charter their prowess, and their edicts -their will? Who, I say again, was the fool that knows not that there -are no letters patent of nobility that confer such privileges or -exemptions as a knight-errant acquires the day he is dubbed a knight, -and devotes himself to the arduous calling of chivalry? What -knight-errant ever paid poll-tax, duty, queen’s pin-money, king’s dues, -toll or ferry? What tailor ever took payment of him for making his -clothes? What castellan that received him in his castle ever made him -pay his shot? What king did not seat him at his table? What damsel was -not enamoured of him and did not yield herself up wholly to his will -and pleasure? And, lastly, what knight-errant has there been, is there, -or will there ever be in the world, not bold enough to give, -single-handed, four hundred cudgellings to four hundred officers of the -Holy Brotherhood if they come in his way?” - -CHAPTER XLVI. -OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY -BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON -QUIXOTE - -While Don Quixote was talking in this strain, the curate was -endeavouring to persuade the officers that he was out of his senses, as -they might perceive by his deeds and his words, and that they need not -press the matter any further, for even if they arrested him and carried -him off, they would have to release him by-and-by as a madman; to which -the holder of the warrant replied that he had nothing to do with -inquiring into Don Quixote’s madness, but only to execute his -superior’s orders, and that once taken they might let him go three -hundred times if they liked. - -“For all that,” said the curate, “you must not take him away this time, -nor will he, it is my opinion, let himself be taken away.” - -In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don Quixote did such mad -things, that the officers would have been more mad than he was if they -had not perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it best to -allow themselves to be pacified, and even to act as peacemakers between -the barber and Sancho Panza, who still continued their altercation with -much bitterness. In the end they, as officers of justice, settled the -question by arbitration in such a manner that both sides were, if not -perfectly contented, at least to some extent satisfied; for they -changed the pack-saddles, but not the girths or head-stalls; and as to -Mambrino’s helmet, the curate, under the rose and without Don Quixote’s -knowing it, paid eight reals for the basin, and the barber executed a -full receipt and engagement to make no further demand then or -thenceforth for evermore, amen. These two disputes, which were the most -important and gravest, being settled, it only remained for the servants -of Don Luis to consent that three of them should return while one was -left to accompany him whither Don Fernando desired to take him; and -good luck and better fortune, having already begun to solve -difficulties and remove obstructions in favour of the lovers and -warriors of the inn, were pleased to persevere and bring everything to -a happy issue; for the servants agreed to do as Don Luis wished; which -gave Doña Clara such happiness that no one could have looked into her -face just then without seeing the joy of her heart. Zoraida, though she -did not fully comprehend all she saw, was grave or gay without knowing -why, as she watched and studied the various countenances, but -particularly her Spaniard’s, whom she followed with her eyes and clung -to with her soul. The gift and compensation which the curate gave the -barber had not escaped the landlord’s notice, and he demanded Don -Quixote’s reckoning, together with the amount of the damage to his -wine-skins, and the loss of his wine, swearing that neither Rocinante -nor Sancho’s ass should leave the inn until he had been paid to the -very last farthing. The curate settled all amicably, and Don Fernando -paid; though the Judge had also very readily offered to pay the score; -and all became so peaceful and quiet that the inn no longer reminded -one of the discord of Agramante’s camp, as Don Quixote said, but of the -peace and tranquillity of the days of Octavianus: for all which it was -the universal opinion that their thanks were due to the great zeal and -eloquence of the curate, and to the unexampled generosity of Don -Fernando. - -Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, his squire’s as -well as his own, Don Quixote considered that it would be advisable to -continue the journey he had begun, and bring to a close that great -adventure for which he had been called and chosen; and with this high -resolve he went and knelt before Dorothea, who, however, would not -allow him to utter a word until he had risen; so to obey her he rose, -and said, “It is a common proverb, fair lady, that ‘diligence is the -mother of good fortune,’ and experience has often shown in important -affairs that the earnestness of the negotiator brings the doubtful case -to a successful termination; but in nothing does this truth show itself -more plainly than in war, where quickness and activity forestall the -devices of the enemy, and win the victory before the foe has time to -defend himself. All this I say, exalted and esteemed lady, because it -seems to me that for us to remain any longer in this castle now is -useless, and may be injurious to us in a way that we shall find out -some day; for who knows but that your enemy the giant may have learned -by means of secret and diligent spies that I am going to destroy him, -and if the opportunity be given him he may seize it to fortify himself -in some impregnable castle or stronghold, against which all my efforts -and the might of my indefatigable arm may avail but little? Therefore, -lady, let us, as I say, forestall his schemes by our activity, and let -us depart at once in quest of fair fortune; for your highness is only -kept from enjoying it as fully as you could desire by my delay in -encountering your adversary.” - -Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, calmly awaiting the reply -of the beauteous princess, who, with commanding dignity and in a style -adapted to Don Quixote’s own, replied to him in these words, “I give -you thanks, sir knight, for the eagerness you, like a good knight to -whom it is a natural obligation to succour the orphan and the needy, -display to afford me aid in my sore trouble; and heaven grant that your -wishes and mine may be realised, so that you may see that there are -women in this world capable of gratitude; as to my departure, let it be -forthwith, for I have no will but yours; dispose of me entirely in -accordance with your good pleasure; for she who has once entrusted to -you the defence of her person, and placed in your hands the recovery of -her dominions, must not think of offering opposition to that which your -wisdom may ordain.” - -“On, then, in God’s name,” said Don Quixote; “for, when a lady humbles -herself to me, I will not lose the opportunity of raising her up and -placing her on the throne of her ancestors. Let us depart at once, for -the common saying that in delay there is danger, lends spurs to my -eagerness to take the road; and as neither heaven has created nor hell -seen any that can daunt or intimidate me, saddle Rocinante, Sancho, and -get ready thy ass and the queen’s palfrey, and let us take leave of the -castellan and these gentlemen, and go hence this very instant.” - -Sancho, who was standing by all the time, said, shaking his head, “Ah! -master, master, there is more mischief in the village than one hears -of, begging all good bodies’ pardon.” - -“What mischief can there be in any village, or in all the cities of the -world, you booby, that can hurt my reputation?” said Don Quixote. - -“If your worship is angry,” replied Sancho, “I will hold my tongue and -leave unsaid what as a good squire I am bound to say, and what a good -servant should tell his master.” - -“Say what thou wilt,” returned Don Quixote, “provided thy words be not -meant to work upon my fears; for thou, if thou fearest, art behaving -like thyself; but I like myself, in not fearing.” - -“It is nothing of the sort, as I am a sinner before God,” said Sancho, -“but that I take it to be sure and certain that this lady, who calls -herself queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more so than my -mother; for, if she was what she says, she would not go rubbing noses -with one that is here every instant and behind every door.” - -Dorothea turned red at Sancho’s words, for the truth was that her -husband Don Fernando had now and then, when the others were not -looking, gathered from her lips some of the reward his love had earned, -and Sancho seeing this had considered that such freedom was more like a -courtesan than a queen of a great kingdom; she, however, being unable -or not caring to answer him, allowed him to proceed, and he continued, -“This I say, señor, because, if after we have travelled roads and -highways, and passed bad nights and worse days, one who is now enjoying -himself in this inn is to reap the fruit of our labours, there is no -need for me to be in a hurry to saddle Rocinante, put the pad on the -ass, or get ready the palfrey; for it will be better for us to stay -quiet, and let every jade mind her spinning, and let us go to dinner.” - -Good God, what was the indignation of Don Quixote when he heard the -audacious words of his squire! So great was it, that in a voice -inarticulate with rage, with a stammering tongue, and eyes that flashed -living fire, he exclaimed, “Rascally clown, boorish, insolent, and -ignorant, ill-spoken, foul-mouthed, impudent backbiter and slanderer! -Hast thou dared to utter such words in my presence and in that of these -illustrious ladies? Hast thou dared to harbour such gross and shameless -thoughts in thy muddled imagination? Begone from my presence, thou born -monster, storehouse of lies, hoard of untruths, garner of knaveries, -inventor of scandals, publisher of absurdities, enemy of the respect -due to royal personages! Begone, show thyself no more before me under -pain of my wrath;” and so saying he knitted his brows, puffed out his -cheeks, gazed around him, and stamped on the ground violently with his -right foot, showing in every way the rage that was pent up in his -heart; and at his words and furious gestures Sancho was so scared and -terrified that he would have been glad if the earth had opened that -instant and swallowed him, and his only thought was to turn round and -make his escape from the angry presence of his master. - -But the ready-witted Dorothea, who by this time so well understood Don -Quixote’s humour, said, to mollify his wrath, “Be not irritated at the -absurdities your good squire has uttered, Sir Knight of the Rueful -Countenance, for perhaps he did not utter them without cause, and from -his good sense and Christian conscience it is not likely that he would -bear false witness against anyone. We may therefore believe, without -any hesitation, that since, as you say, sir knight, everything in this -castle goes and is brought about by means of enchantment, Sancho, I -say, may possibly have seen, through this diabolical medium, what he -says he saw so much to the detriment of my modesty.” - -“I swear by God Omnipotent,” exclaimed Don Quixote at this, “your -highness has hit the point; and that some vile illusion must have come -before this sinner of a Sancho, that made him see what it would have -been impossible to see by any other means than enchantments; for I know -well enough, from the poor fellow’s goodness and harmlessness, that he -is incapable of bearing false witness against anybody.” - -“True, no doubt,” said Don Fernando, “for which reason, Señor Don -Quixote, you ought to forgive him and restore him to the bosom of your -favour, _sicut erat in principio_, before illusions of this sort had -taken away his senses.” - -Don Quixote said he was ready to pardon him, and the curate went for -Sancho, who came in very humbly, and falling on his knees begged for -the hand of his master, who having presented it to him and allowed him -to kiss it, gave him his blessing and said, “Now, Sancho my son, thou -wilt be convinced of the truth of what I have many a time told thee, -that everything in this castle is done by means of enchantment.” - -“So it is, I believe,” said Sancho, “except the affair of the blanket, -which came to pass in reality by ordinary means.” - -“Believe it not,” said Don Quixote, “for had it been so, I would have -avenged thee that instant, or even now; but neither then nor now could -I, nor have I seen anyone upon whom to avenge thy wrong.” - -They were all eager to know what the affair of the blanket was, and the -landlord gave them a minute account of Sancho’s flights, at which they -laughed not a little, and at which Sancho would have been no less out -of countenance had not his master once more assured him it was all -enchantment. For all that his simplicity never reached so high a pitch -that he could persuade himself it was not the plain and simple truth, -without any deception whatever about it, that he had been blanketed by -beings of flesh and blood, and not by visionary and imaginary phantoms, -as his master believed and protested. - -The illustrious company had now been two days in the inn; and as it -seemed to them time to depart, they devised a plan so that, without -giving Dorothea and Don Fernando the trouble of going back with Don -Quixote to his village under pretence of restoring Queen Micomicona, -the curate and the barber might carry him away with them as they -proposed, and the curate be able to take his madness in hand at home; -and in pursuance of their plan they arranged with the owner of an -oxcart who happened to be passing that way to carry him after this -fashion. They constructed a kind of cage with wooden bars, large enough -to hold Don Quixote comfortably; and then Don Fernando and his -companions, the servants of Don Luis, and the officers of the -Brotherhood, together with the landlord, by the directions and advice -of the curate, covered their faces and disguised themselves, some in -one way, some in another, so as to appear to Don Quixote quite -different from the persons he had seen in the castle. This done, in -profound silence they entered the room where he was asleep, taking his -rest after the past frays, and advancing to where he was sleeping -tranquilly, not dreaming of anything of the kind happening, they seized -him firmly and bound him fast hand and foot, so that, when he awoke -startled, he was unable to move, and could only marvel and wonder at -the strange figures he saw before him; upon which he at once gave way -to the idea which his crazed fancy invariably conjured up before him, -and took it into his head that all these shapes were phantoms of the -enchanted castle, and that he himself was unquestionably enchanted as -he could neither move nor help himself; precisely what the curate, the -concoctor of the scheme, expected would happen. Of all that were there -Sancho was the only one who was at once in his senses and in his own -proper character, and he, though he was within very little of sharing -his master’s infirmity, did not fail to perceive who all these -disguised figures were; but he did not dare to open his lips until he -saw what came of this assault and capture of his master; nor did the -latter utter a word, waiting to the upshot of his mishap; which was -that bringing in the cage, they shut him up in it and nailed the bars -so firmly that they could not be easily burst open. - -They then took him on their shoulders, and as they passed out of the -room an awful voice—as much so as the barber, not he of the pack-saddle -but the other, was able to make it—was heard to say, “O Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in which thou art placed -afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy -accomplishment of the adventure in which thy great heart has engaged -thee; the which shall be accomplished when the raging Manchegan lion -and the white Tobosan dove shall be linked together, having first -humbled their haughty necks to the gentle yoke of matrimony. And from -this marvellous union shall come forth to the light of the world brave -whelps that shall rival the ravening claws of their valiant father; and -this shall come to pass ere the pursuer of the flying nymph shall in -his swift natural course have twice visited the starry signs. And thou, -O most noble and obedient squire that ever bore sword at side, beard on -face, or nose to smell with, be not dismayed or grieved to see the -flower of knight-errantry carried away thus before thy very eyes; for -soon, if it so please the Framer of the universe, thou shalt see -thyself exalted to such a height that thou shalt not know thyself, and -the promises which thy good master has made thee shall not prove false; -and I assure thee, on the authority of the sage Mentironiana, that thy -wages shall be paid thee, as thou shalt see in due season. Follow then -the footsteps of the valiant enchanted knight, for it is expedient that -thou shouldst go to the destination assigned to both of you; and as it -is not permitted to me to say more, God be with thee; for I return to -that place I wot of;” and as he brought the prophecy to a close he -raised his voice to a high pitch, and then lowered it to such a soft -tone, that even those who knew it was all a joke were almost inclined -to take what they heard seriously. - -Don Quixote was comforted by the prophecy he heard, for he at once -comprehended its meaning perfectly, and perceived it was promised to -him that he should see himself united in holy and lawful matrimony with -his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose blessed womb should proceed -the whelps, his sons, to the eternal glory of La Mancha; and being -thoroughly and firmly persuaded of this, he lifted up his voice, and -with a deep sigh exclaimed, “Oh thou, whoever thou art, who hast -foretold me so much good, I implore of thee that on my part thou -entreat that sage enchanter who takes charge of my interests, that he -leave me not to perish in this captivity in which they are now carrying -me away, ere I see fulfilled promises so joyful and incomparable as -those which have been now made me; for, let this but come to pass, and -I shall glory in the pains of my prison, find comfort in these chains -wherewith they bind me, and regard this bed whereon they stretch me, -not as a hard battle-field, but as a soft and happy nuptial couch; and -touching the consolation of Sancho Panza, my squire, I rely upon his -goodness and rectitude that he will not desert me in good or evil -fortune; for if, by his ill luck or mine, it may not happen to be in my -power to give him the island I have promised, or any equivalent for it, -at least his wages shall not be lost; for in my will, which is already -made, I have declared the sum that shall be paid to him, measured, not -by his many faithful services, but by the means at my disposal.” - -Sancho bowed his head very respectfully and kissed both his hands, for, -being tied together, he could not kiss one; and then the apparitions -lifted the cage upon their shoulders and fixed it upon the ox-cart. - -CHAPTER XLVII. -OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED -AWAY ENCHANTED, TOGETHER WITH OTHER REMARKABLE INCIDENTS - -When Don Quixote saw himself caged and hoisted on the cart in this way, -he said, “Many grave histories of knights-errant have I read; but never -yet have I read, seen, or heard of their carrying off enchanted -knights-errant in this fashion, or at the slow pace that these lazy, -sluggish animals promise; for they always take them away through the -air with marvellous swiftness, enveloped in a dark thick cloud, or on a -chariot of fire, or it may be on some hippogriff or other beast of the -kind; but to carry me off like this on an ox-cart! By God, it puzzles -me! But perhaps the chivalry and enchantments of our day take a -different course from that of those in days gone by; and it may be, -too, that as I am a new knight in the world, and the first to revive -the already forgotten calling of knight-adventurers, they may have -newly invented other kinds of enchantments and other modes of carrying -off the enchanted. What thinkest thou of the matter, Sancho my son?” - -“I don’t know what to think,” answered Sancho, “not being as well read -as your worship in errant writings; but for all that I venture to say -and swear that these apparitions that are about us are not quite -catholic.” - -“Catholic!” said Don Quixote. “Father of me! how can they be Catholic -when they are all devils that have taken fantastic shapes to come and -do this, and bring me to this condition? And if thou wouldst prove it, -touch them, and feel them, and thou wilt find they have only bodies of -air, and no consistency except in appearance.” - -“By God, master,” returned Sancho, “I have touched them already; and -that devil, that goes about there so busily, has firm flesh, and -another property very different from what I have heard say devils have, -for by all accounts they all smell of brimstone and other bad smells; -but this one smells of amber half a league off.” Sancho was here -speaking of Don Fernando, who, like a gentleman of his rank, was very -likely perfumed as Sancho said. - -“Marvel not at that, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “for let me -tell thee devils are crafty; and even if they do carry odours about -with them, they themselves have no smell, because they are spirits; or, -if they have any smell, they cannot smell of anything sweet, but of -something foul and fetid; and the reason is that as they carry hell -with them wherever they go, and can get no ease whatever from their -torments, and as a sweet smell is a thing that gives pleasure and -enjoyment, it is impossible that they can smell sweet; if, then, this -devil thou speakest of seems to thee to smell of amber, either thou art -deceiving thyself, or he wants to deceive thee by making thee fancy he -is not a devil.” - -Such was the conversation that passed between master and man; and Don -Fernando and Cardenio, apprehensive of Sancho’s making a complete -discovery of their scheme, towards which he had already gone some way, -resolved to hasten their departure, and calling the landlord aside, -they directed him to saddle Rocinante and put the pack-saddle on -Sancho’s ass, which he did with great alacrity. In the meantime the -curate had made an arrangement with the officers that they should bear -them company as far as his village, he paying them so much a day. -Cardenio hung the buckler on one side of the bow of Rocinante’s saddle -and the basin on the other, and by signs commanded Sancho to mount his -ass and take Rocinante’s bridle, and at each side of the cart he placed -two officers with their muskets; but before the cart was put in motion, -out came the landlady and her daughter and Maritornes to bid Don -Quixote farewell, pretending to weep with grief at his misfortune; and -to them Don Quixote said: - -“Weep not, good ladies, for all these mishaps are the lot of those who -follow the profession I profess; and if these reverses did not befall -me I should not esteem myself a famous knight-errant; for such things -never happen to knights of little renown and fame, because nobody in -the world thinks about them; to valiant knights they do, for these are -envied for their virtue and valour by many princes and other knights -who compass the destruction of the worthy by base means. Nevertheless, -virtue is of herself so mighty, that, in spite of all the magic that -Zoroaster its first inventor knew, she will come victorious out of -every trial, and shed her light upon the earth as the sun does upon the -heavens. Forgive me, fair ladies, if, through inadvertence, I have in -aught offended you; for intentionally and wittingly I have never done -so to any; and pray to God that he deliver me from this captivity to -which some malevolent enchanter has consigned me; and should I find -myself released therefrom, the favours that ye have bestowed upon me in -this castle shall be held in memory by me, that I may acknowledge, -recognise, and requite them as they deserve.” - -While this was passing between the ladies of the castle and Don -Quixote, the curate and the barber bade farewell to Don Fernando and -his companions, to the captain, his brother, and the ladies, now all -made happy, and in particular to Dorothea and Luscinda. They all -embraced one another, and promised to let each other know how things -went with them, and Don Fernando directed the curate where to write to -him, to tell him what became of Don Quixote, assuring him that there -was nothing that could give him more pleasure than to hear of it, and -that he too, on his part, would send him word of everything he thought -he would like to know, about his marriage, Zoraida’s baptism, Don -Luis’s affair, and Luscinda’s return to her home. The curate promised -to comply with his request carefully, and they embraced once more, and -renewed their promises. - -The landlord approached the curate and handed him some papers, saying -he had discovered them in the lining of the valise in which the novel -of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been found, and that he might take -them all away with him as their owner had not since returned; for, as -he could not read, he did not want them himself. The curate thanked -him, and opening them he saw at the beginning of the manuscript the -words, “Novel of Rinconete and Cortadillo,” by which he perceived that -it was a novel, and as that of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been -good he concluded this would be so too, as they were both probably by -the same author; so he kept it, intending to read it when he had an -opportunity. He then mounted and his friend the barber did the same, -both masked, so as not to be recognised by Don Quixote, and set out -following in the rear of the cart. The order of march was this: first -went the cart with the owner leading it; at each side of it marched the -officers of the Brotherhood, as has been said, with their muskets; then -followed Sancho Panza on his ass, leading Rocinante by the bridle; and -behind all came the curate and the barber on their mighty mules, with -faces covered, as aforesaid, and a grave and serious air, measuring -their pace to suit the slow steps of the oxen. Don Quixote was seated -in the cage, with his hands tied and his feet stretched out, leaning -against the bars as silent and as patient as if he were a stone statue -and not a man of flesh. Thus slowly and silently they made, it might -be, two leagues, until they reached a valley which the carter thought a -convenient place for resting and feeding his oxen, and he said so to -the curate, but the barber was of opinion that they ought to push on a -little farther, as at the other side of a hill which appeared close by -he knew there was a valley that had more grass and much better than the -one where they proposed to halt; and his advice was taken and they -continued their journey. - -Just at that moment the curate, looking back, saw coming on behind them -six or seven mounted men, well found and equipped, who soon overtook -them, for they were travelling, not at the sluggish, deliberate pace of -oxen, but like men who rode canons’ mules, and in haste to take their -noontide rest as soon as possible at the inn which was in sight not a -league off. The quick travellers came up with the slow, and courteous -salutations were exchanged; and one of the new comers, who was, in -fact, a canon of Toledo and master of the others who accompanied him, -observing the regular order of the procession, the cart, the officers, -Sancho, Rocinante, the curate and the barber, and above all Don Quixote -caged and confined, could not help asking what was the meaning of -carrying the man in that fashion; though, from the badges of the -officers, he already concluded that he must be some desperate -highwayman or other malefactor whose punishment fell within the -jurisdiction of the Holy Brotherhood. One of the officers to whom he -had put the question, replied, “Let the gentleman himself tell you the -meaning of his going this way, señor, for we do not know.” - -Don Quixote overheard the conversation and said, “Haply, gentlemen, you -are versed and learned in matters of errant chivalry? Because if you -are I will tell you my misfortunes; if not, there is no good in my -giving myself the trouble of relating them;” but here the curate and -the barber, seeing that the travellers were engaged in conversation -with Don Quixote, came forward, in order to answer in such a way as to -save their stratagem from being discovered. - -The canon, replying to Don Quixote, said, “In truth, brother, I know -more about books of chivalry than I do about Villalpando’s elements of -logic; so if that be all, you may safely tell me what you please.” - -“In God’s name, then, señor,” replied Don Quixote; “if that be so, I -would have you know that I am held enchanted in this cage by the envy -and fraud of wicked enchanters; for virtue is more persecuted by the -wicked than loved by the good. I am a knight-errant, and not one of -those whose names Fame has never thought of immortalising in her -record, but of those who, in defiance and in spite of envy itself, and -all the magicians that Persia, or Brahmans that India, or Gymnosophists -that Ethiopia ever produced, will place their names in the temple of -immortality, to serve as examples and patterns for ages to come, -whereby knights-errant may see the footsteps in which they must tread -if they would attain the summit and crowning point of honour in arms.” - -“What Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha says,” observed the curate, “is -the truth; for he goes enchanted in this cart, not from any fault or -sins of his, but because of the malevolence of those to whom virtue is -odious and valour hateful. This, señor, is the Knight of the Rueful -Countenance, if you have ever heard him named, whose valiant -achievements and mighty deeds shall be written on lasting brass and -imperishable marble, notwithstanding all the efforts of envy to obscure -them and malice to hide them.” - -When the canon heard both the prisoner and the man who was at liberty -talk in such a strain he was ready to cross himself in his -astonishment, and could not make out what had befallen him; and all his -attendants were in the same state of amazement. - -At this point Sancho Panza, who had drawn near to hear the -conversation, said, in order to make everything plain, “Well, sirs, you -may like or dislike what I am going to say, but the fact of the matter -is, my master, Don Quixote, is just as much enchanted as my mother. He -is in his full senses, he eats and he drinks, and he has his calls like -other men and as he had yesterday, before they caged him. And if that’s -the case, what do they mean by wanting me to believe that he is -enchanted? For I have heard many a one say that enchanted people -neither eat, nor sleep, nor talk; and my master, if you don’t stop him, -will talk more than thirty lawyers.” Then turning to the curate he -exclaimed, “Ah, señor curate, señor curate! do you think I don’t know -you? Do you think I don’t guess and see the drift of these new -enchantments? Well then, I can tell you I know you, for all your face -is covered, and I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide -your tricks. After all, where envy reigns virtue cannot live, and where -there is niggardliness there can be no liberality. Ill betide the -devil! if it had not been for your worship my master would be married -to the Princess Micomicona this minute, and I should be a count at -least; for no less was to be expected, as well from the goodness of my -master, him of the Rueful Countenance, as from the greatness of my -services. But I see now how true it is what they say in these parts, -that the wheel of fortune turns faster than a mill-wheel, and that -those who were up yesterday are down to-day. I am sorry for my wife and -children, for when they might fairly and reasonably expect to see their -father return to them a governor or viceroy of some island or kingdom, -they will see him come back a horse-boy. I have said all this, señor -curate, only to urge your paternity to lay to your conscience your -ill-treatment of my master; and have a care that God does not call you -to account in another life for making a prisoner of him in this way, -and charge against you all the succours and good deeds that my lord Don -Quixote leaves undone while he is shut up. - -“Trim those lamps there!” exclaimed the barber at this; “so you are of -the same fraternity as your master, too, Sancho? By God, I begin to see -that you will have to keep him company in the cage, and be enchanted -like him for having caught some of his humour and chivalry. It was an -evil hour when you let yourself be got with child by his promises, and -that island you long so much for found its way into your head.” - -“I am not with child by anyone,” returned Sancho, “nor am I a man to -let myself be got with child, if it was by the King himself. Though I -am poor I am an old Christian, and I owe nothing to nobody, and if I -long for an island, other people long for worse. Each of us is the son -of his own works; and being a man I may come to be pope, not to say -governor of an island, especially as my master may win so many that he -will not know whom to give them to. Mind how you talk, master barber; -for shaving is not everything, and there is some difference between -Peter and Peter. I say this because we all know one another, and it -will not do to throw false dice with me; and as to the enchantment of -my master, God knows the truth; leave it as it is; it only makes it -worse to stir it.” - -The barber did not care to answer Sancho lest by his plain speaking he -should disclose what the curate and he himself were trying so hard to -conceal; and under the same apprehension the curate had asked the canon -to ride on a little in advance, so that he might tell him the mystery -of this man in the cage, and other things that would amuse him. The -canon agreed, and going on ahead with his servants, listened with -attention to the account of the character, life, madness, and ways of -Don Quixote, given him by the curate, who described to him briefly the -beginning and origin of his craze, and told him the whole story of his -adventures up to his being confined in the cage, together with the plan -they had of taking him home to try if by any means they could discover -a cure for his madness. The canon and his servants were surprised anew -when they heard Don Quixote’s strange story, and when it was finished -he said, “To tell the truth, señor curate, I for my part consider what -they call books of chivalry to be mischievous to the State; and though, -led by idle and false taste, I have read the beginnings of almost all -that have been printed, I never could manage to read any one of them -from beginning to end; for it seems to me they are all more or less the -same thing; and one has nothing more in it than another; this no more -than that. And in my opinion this sort of writing and composition is of -the same species as the fables they call the Milesian, nonsensical -tales that aim solely at giving amusement and not instruction, exactly -the opposite of the apologue fables which amuse and instruct at the -same time. And though it may be the chief object of such books to -amuse, I do not know how they can succeed, when they are so full of -such monstrous nonsense. For the enjoyment the mind feels must come -from the beauty and harmony which it perceives or contemplates in the -things that the eye or the imagination brings before it; and nothing -that has any ugliness or disproportion about it can give any pleasure. -What beauty, then, or what proportion of the parts to the whole, or of -the whole to the parts, can there be in a book or fable where a lad of -sixteen cuts down a giant as tall as a tower and makes two halves of -him as if he was an almond cake? And when they want to give us a -picture of a battle, after having told us that there are a million of -combatants on the side of the enemy, let the hero of the book be -opposed to them, and we have perforce to believe, whether we like it or -not, that the said knight wins the victory by the single might of his -strong arm. And then, what shall we say of the facility with which a -born queen or empress will give herself over into the arms of some -unknown wandering knight? What mind, that is not wholly barbarous and -uncultured, can find pleasure in reading of how a great tower full of -knights sails away across the sea like a ship with a fair wind, and -will be to-night in Lombardy and to-morrow morning in the land of -Prester John of the Indies, or some other that Ptolemy never described -nor Marco Polo saw? And if, in answer to this, I am told that the -authors of books of the kind write them as fiction, and therefore are -not bound to regard niceties of truth, I would reply that fiction is -all the better the more it looks like truth, and gives the more -pleasure the more probability and possibility there is about it. Plots -in fiction should be wedded to the understanding of the reader, and be -constructed in such a way that, reconciling impossibilities, smoothing -over difficulties, keeping the mind on the alert, they may surprise, -interest, divert, and entertain, so that wonder and delight joined may -keep pace one with the other; all which he will fail to effect who -shuns verisimilitude and truth to nature, wherein lies the perfection -of writing. I have never yet seen any book of chivalry that puts -together a connected plot complete in all its numbers, so that the -middle agrees with the beginning, and the end with the beginning and -middle; on the contrary, they construct them with such a multitude of -members that it seems as though they meant to produce a chimera or -monster rather than a well-proportioned figure. And besides all this -they are harsh in their style, incredible in their achievements, -licentious in their amours, uncouth in their courtly speeches, prolix -in their battles, silly in their arguments, absurd in their travels, -and, in short, wanting in everything like intelligent art; for which -reason they deserve to be banished from the Christian commonwealth as a -worthless breed.” - -The curate listened to him attentively and felt that he was a man of -sound understanding, and that there was good reason in what he said; so -he told him that, being of the same opinion himself, and bearing a -grudge to books of chivalry, he had burned all Don Quixote’s, which -were many; and gave him an account of the scrutiny he had made of them, -and of those he had condemned to the flames and those he had spared, -with which the canon was not a little amused, adding that though he had -said so much in condemnation of these books, still he found one good -thing in them, and that was the opportunity they afforded to a gifted -intellect for displaying itself; for they presented a wide and spacious -field over which the pen might range freely, describing shipwrecks, -tempests, combats, battles, portraying a valiant captain with all the -qualifications requisite to make one, showing him sagacious in -foreseeing the wiles of the enemy, eloquent in speech to encourage or -restrain his soldiers, ripe in counsel, rapid in resolve, as bold in -biding his time as in pressing the attack; now picturing some sad -tragic incident, now some joyful and unexpected event; here a beauteous -lady, virtuous, wise, and modest; there a Christian knight, brave and -gentle; here a lawless, barbarous braggart; there a courteous prince, -gallant and gracious; setting forth the devotion and loyalty of -vassals, the greatness and generosity of nobles. “Or again,” said he, -“the author may show himself to be an astronomer, or a skilled -cosmographer, or musician, or one versed in affairs of state, and -sometimes he will have a chance of coming forward as a magician if he -likes. He can set forth the craftiness of Ulysses, the piety of Æneas, -the valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the treachery of -Sinon, the friendship of Euryalus, the generosity of Alexander, the -boldness of Cæsar, the clemency and truth of Trajan, the fidelity of -Zopyrus, the wisdom of Cato, and in short all the faculties that serve -to make an illustrious man perfect, now uniting them in one individual, -again distributing them among many; and if this be done with charm of -style and ingenious invention, aiming at the truth as much as possible, -he will assuredly weave a web of bright and varied threads that, when -finished, will display such perfection and beauty that it will attain -the worthiest object any writing can seek, which, as I said before, is -to give instruction and pleasure combined; for the unrestricted range -of these books enables the author to show his powers, epic, lyric, -tragic, or comic, and all the moods the sweet and winning arts of poesy -and oratory are capable of; for the epic may be written in prose just -as well as in verse.” - -CHAPTER XLVIII. -IN WHICH THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH -OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF HIS WIT - -“It is as you say, señor canon,” said the curate; “and for that reason -those who have hitherto written books of the sort deserve all the more -censure for writing without paying any attention to good taste or the -rules of art, by which they might guide themselves and become as famous -in prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin poetry are in verse.” - -“I myself, at any rate,” said the canon, “was once tempted to write a -book of chivalry in which all the points I have mentioned were to be -observed; and if I must own the truth I have more than a hundred sheets -written; and to try if it came up to my own opinion of it, I showed -them to persons who were fond of this kind of reading, to learned and -intelligent men as well as to ignorant people who cared for nothing but -the pleasure of listening to nonsense, and from all I obtained -flattering approval; nevertheless I proceeded no farther with it, as -well because it seemed to me an occupation inconsistent with my -profession, as because I perceived that the fools are more numerous -than the wise; and, though it is better to be praised by the wise few -than applauded by the foolish many, I have no mind to submit myself to -the stupid judgment of the silly public, to whom the reading of such -books falls for the most part. - -“But what most of all made me hold my hand and even abandon all idea of -finishing it was an argument I put to myself taken from the plays that -are acted now-a-days, which was in this wise: if those that are now in -vogue, as well those that are pure invention as those founded on -history, are, all or most of them, downright nonsense and things that -have neither head nor tail, and yet the public listens to them with -delight, and regards and cries them up as perfection when they are so -far from it; and if the authors who write them, and the players who act -them, say that this is what they must be, for the public wants this and -will have nothing else; and that those that go by rule and work out a -plot according to the laws of art will only find some half-dozen -intelligent people to understand them, while all the rest remain blind -to the merit of their composition; and that for themselves it is better -to get bread from the many than praise from the few; then my book will -fare the same way, after I have burnt off my eyebrows in trying to -observe the principles I have spoken of, and I shall be ‘the tailor of -the corner.’ And though I have sometimes endeavoured to convince actors -that they are mistaken in this notion they have adopted, and that they -would attract more people, and get more credit, by producing plays in -accordance with the rules of art, than by absurd ones, they are so -thoroughly wedded to their own opinion that no argument or evidence can -wean them from it. - -“I remember saying one day to one of these obstinate fellows, ‘Tell me, -do you not recollect that a few years ago, there were three tragedies -acted in Spain, written by a famous poet of these kingdoms, which were -such that they filled all who heard them with admiration, delight, and -interest, the ignorant as well as the wise, the masses as well as the -higher orders, and brought in more money to the performers, these three -alone, than thirty of the best that have been since produced?’ - -“‘No doubt,’ replied the actor in question, ‘you mean the “Isabella,” -the “Phyllis,” and the “Alexandra.”’ - -“‘Those are the ones I mean,’ said I; ‘and see if they did not observe -the principles of art, and if, by observing them, they failed to show -their superiority and please all the world; so that the fault does not -lie with the public that insists upon nonsense, but with those who -don’t know how to produce something else. “The Ingratitude Revenged” -was not nonsense, nor was there any in “The Numantia,” nor any to be -found in “The Merchant Lover,” nor yet in “The Friendly Fair Foe,” nor -in some others that have been written by certain gifted poets, to their -own fame and renown, and to the profit of those that brought them out;’ -some further remarks I added to these, with which, I think, I left him -rather dumbfoundered, but not so satisfied or convinced that I could -disabuse him of his error.” - -“You have touched upon a subject, señor canon,” observed the curate -here, “that has awakened an old enmity I have against the plays in -vogue at the present day, quite as strong as that which I bear to the -books of chivalry; for while the drama, according to Tully, should be -the mirror of human life, the model of manners, and the image of the -truth, those which are presented now-a-days are mirrors of nonsense, -models of folly, and images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can -there be in connection with what we are now discussing than for an -infant to appear in swaddling clothes in the first scene of the first -act, and in the second a grown-up bearded man? Or what greater -absurdity can there be than putting before us an old man as a -swashbuckler, a young man as a poltroon, a lackey using fine language, -a page giving sage advice, a king plying as a porter, a princess who is -a kitchen-maid? And then what shall I say of their attention to the -time in which the action they represent may or can take place, save -that I have seen a play where the first act began in Europe, the second -in Asia, the third finished in Africa, and no doubt, had it been in -four acts, the fourth would have ended in America, and so it would have -been laid in all four quarters of the globe? And if truth to life is -the main thing the drama should keep in view, how is it possible for -any average understanding to be satisfied when the action is supposed -to pass in the time of King Pepin or Charlemagne, and the principal -personage in it they represent to be the Emperor Heraclius who entered -Jerusalem with the cross and won the Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey of -Bouillon, there being years innumerable between the one and the other? -or, if the play is based on fiction and historical facts are -introduced, or bits of what occurred to different people and at -different times mixed up with it, all, not only without any semblance -of probability, but with obvious errors that from every point of view -are inexcusable? And the worst of it is, there are ignorant people who -say that this is perfection, and that anything beyond this is affected -refinement. And then if we turn to sacred dramas—what miracles they -invent in them! What apocryphal, ill-devised incidents, attributing to -one saint the miracles of another! And even in secular plays they -venture to introduce miracles without any reason or object except that -they think some such miracle, or transformation as they call it, will -come in well to astonish stupid people and draw them to the play. All -this tends to the prejudice of the truth and the corruption of history, -nay more, to the reproach of the wits of Spain; for foreigners who -scrupulously observe the laws of the drama look upon us as barbarous -and ignorant, when they see the absurdity and nonsense of the plays we -produce. Nor will it be a sufficient excuse to say that the chief -object well-ordered governments have in view when they permit plays to -be performed in public is to entertain the people with some harmless -amusement occasionally, and keep it from those evil humours which -idleness is apt to engender; and that, as this may be attained by any -sort of play, good or bad, there is no need to lay down laws, or bind -those who write or act them to make them as they ought to be made, -since, as I say, the object sought for may be secured by any sort. To -this I would reply that the same end would be, beyond all comparison, -better attained by means of good plays than by those that are not so; -for after listening to an artistic and properly constructed play, the -hearer will come away enlivened by the jests, instructed by the serious -parts, full of admiration at the incidents, his wits sharpened by the -arguments, warned by the tricks, all the wiser for the examples, -inflamed against vice, and in love with virtue; for in all these ways a -good play will stimulate the mind of the hearer be he ever so boorish -or dull; and of all impossibilities the greatest is that a play endowed -with all these qualities will not entertain, satisfy, and please much -more than one wanting in them, like the greater number of those which -are commonly acted now-a-days. Nor are the poets who write them to be -blamed for this; for some there are among them who are perfectly well -aware of their faults, and know what they ought to do; but as plays -have become a salable commodity, they say, and with truth, that the -actors will not buy them unless they are after this fashion; and so the -poet tries to adapt himself to the requirements of the actor who is to -pay him for his work. And that this is the truth may be seen by the -countless plays that a most fertile wit of these kingdoms has written, -with so much brilliancy, so much grace and gaiety, such polished -versification, such choice language, such profound reflections, and in -a word, so rich in eloquence and elevation of style, that he has filled -the world with his fame; and yet, in consequence of his desire to suit -the taste of the actors, they have not all, as some of them have, come -as near perfection as they ought. Others write plays with such -heedlessness that, after they have been acted, the actors have to fly -and abscond, afraid of being punished, as they often have been, for -having acted something offensive to some king or other, or insulting to -some noble family. All which evils, and many more that I say nothing -of, would be removed if there were some intelligent and sensible person -at the capital to examine all plays before they were acted, not only -those produced in the capital itself, but all that were intended to be -acted in Spain; without whose approval, seal, and signature, no local -magistracy should allow any play to be acted. In that case actors would -take care to send their plays to the capital, and could act them in -safety, and those who write them would be more careful and take more -pains with their work, standing in awe of having to submit it to the -strict examination of one who understood the matter; and so good plays -would be produced and the objects they aim at happily attained; as well -the amusement of the people, as the credit of the wits of Spain, the -interest and safety of the actors, and the saving of trouble in -inflicting punishment on them. And if the same or some other person -were authorised to examine the newly written books of chivalry, no -doubt some would appear with all the perfections you have described, -enriching our language with the gracious and precious treasure of -eloquence, and driving the old books into obscurity before the light of -the new ones that would come out for the harmless entertainment, not -merely of the idle but of the very busiest; for the bow cannot be -always bent, nor can weak human nature exist without some lawful -amusement.” - -The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far with their -conversation, when the barber, coming forward, joined them, and said to -the curate, “This is the spot, señor licentiate, that I said was a good -one for fresh and plentiful pasture for the oxen, while we take our -noontide rest.” - -“And so it seems,” returned the curate, and he told the canon what he -proposed to do, on which he too made up his mind to halt with them, -attracted by the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes; -and to enjoy it as well as the conversation of the curate, to whom he -had begun to take a fancy, and also to learn more particulars about the -doings of Don Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to the -inn, which was not far distant, and fetch from it what eatables there -might be for the whole party, as he meant to rest for the afternoon -where he was; to which one of his servants replied that the sumpter -mule, which by this time ought to have reached the inn, carried -provisions enough to make it unnecessary to get anything from the inn -except barley. - -“In that case,” said the canon, “take all the beasts there, and bring -the sumpter mule back.” - -While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that he could speak to his -master without having the curate and the barber, of whom he had his -suspicions, present all the time, approached the cage in which Don -Quixote was placed, and said, “Señor, to ease my conscience I want to -tell you the state of the case as to your enchantment, and that is that -these two here, with their faces covered, are the curate of our village -and the barber; and I suspect they have hit upon this plan of carrying -you off in this fashion, out of pure envy because your worship -surpasses them in doing famous deeds; and if this be the truth it -follows that you are not enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a fool of. -And to prove this I want to ask you one thing; and if you answer me as -I believe you will answer, you will be able to lay your finger on the -trick, and you will see that you are not enchanted but gone wrong in -your wits.” - -“Ask what thou wilt, Sancho my son,” returned Don Quixote, “for I will -satisfy thee and answer all thou requirest. As to what thou sayest, -that these who accompany us yonder are the curate and the barber, our -neighbours and acquaintances, it is very possible that they may seem to -be those same persons; but that they are so in reality and in fact, -believe it not on any account; what thou art to believe and think is -that, if they look like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who -have enchanted me have taken this shape and likeness; for it is easy -for enchanters to take any form they please, and they may have taken -those of our friends in order to make thee think as thou dost, and lead -thee into a labyrinth of fancies from which thou wilt find no escape -though thou hadst the cord of Theseus; and they may also have done it -to make me uncertain in my mind, and unable to conjecture whence this -evil comes to me; for if on the one hand thou dost tell me that the -barber and curate of our village are here in company with us, and on -the other I find myself shut up in a cage, and know in my heart that no -power on earth that was not supernatural would have been able to shut -me in, what wouldst thou have me say or think, but that my enchantment -is of a sort that transcends all I have ever read of in all the -histories that deal with knights-errant that have been enchanted? So -thou mayest set thy mind at rest as to the idea that they are what thou -sayest, for they are as much so as I am a Turk. But touching thy desire -to ask me something, say on, and I will answer thee, though thou -shouldst ask questions from this till to-morrow morning.” - -“May Our Lady be good to me!” said Sancho, lifting up his voice; “and -is it possible that your worship is so thick of skull and so short of -brains that you cannot see that what I say is the simple truth, and -that malice has more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than -enchantment? But as it is so, I will prove plainly to you that you are -not enchanted. Now tell me, so may God deliver you from this -affliction, and so may you find yourself when you least expect it in -the arms of my lady Dulcinea—” - -“Leave off conjuring me,” said Don Quixote, “and ask what thou wouldst -know; I have already told thee I will answer with all possible -precision.” - -“That is what I want,” said Sancho; “and what I would know, and have -you tell me, without adding or leaving out anything, but telling the -whole truth as one expects it to be told, and as it is told, by all who -profess arms, as your worship professes them, under the title of -knights-errant—” - -“I tell thee I will not lie in any particular,” said Don Quixote; -“finish thy question; for in truth thou weariest me with all these -asseverations, requirements, and precautions, Sancho.” - -“Well, I rely on the goodness and truth of my master,” said Sancho; -“and so, because it bears upon what we are talking about, I would ask, -speaking with all reverence, whether since your worship has been shut -up and, as you think, enchanted in this cage, you have felt any desire -or inclination to go anywhere, as the saying is?” - -“I do not understand ‘going anywhere,’” said Don Quixote; “explain -thyself more clearly, Sancho, if thou wouldst have me give an answer to -the point.” - -“Is it possible,” said Sancho, “that your worship does not understand -‘going anywhere’? Why, the schoolboys know that from the time they were -babes. Well then, you must know I mean have you had any desire to do -what cannot be avoided?” - -“Ah! now I understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “yes, often, and -even this minute; get me out of this strait, or all will not go right.” - -CHAPTER XLIX. -WHICH TREATS OF THE SHREWD CONVERSATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH -HIS MASTER DON QUIXOTE - -“Aha, I have caught you,” said Sancho; “this is what in my heart and -soul I was longing to know. Come now, señor, can you deny what is -commonly said around us, when a person is out of humour, ‘I don’t know -what ails so-and-so, that he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor -gives a proper answer to any question; one would think he was -enchanted’? From which it is to be gathered that those who do not eat, -or drink, or sleep, or do any of the natural acts I am speaking of—that -such persons are enchanted; but not those that have the desire your -worship has, and drink when drink is given them, and eat when there is -anything to eat, and answer every question that is asked them.” - -“What thou sayest is true, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but I have -already told thee there are many sorts of enchantments, and it may be -that in the course of time they have been changed one for another, and -that now it may be the way with enchanted people to do all that I do, -though they did not do so before; so it is vain to argue or draw -inferences against the usage of the time. I know and feel that I am -enchanted, and that is enough to ease my conscience; for it would weigh -heavily on it if I thought that I was not enchanted, and that in a -faint-hearted and cowardly way I allowed myself to lie in this cage, -defrauding multitudes of the succour I might afford to those in need -and distress, who at this very moment may be in sore want of my aid and -protection.” - -“Still for all that,” replied Sancho, “I say that, for your greater and -fuller satisfaction, it would be well if your worship were to try to -get out of this prison (and I promise to do all in my power to help, -and even to take you out of it), and see if you could once more mount -your good Rocinante, who seems to be enchanted too, he is so melancholy -and dejected; and then we might try our chance in looking for -adventures again; and if we have no luck there will be time enough to -go back to the cage; in which, on the faith of a good and loyal squire, -I promise to shut myself up along with your worship, if so be you are -so unfortunate, or I so stupid, as not to be able to carry out my -plan.” - -“I am content to do as thou sayest, brother Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“and when thou seest an opportunity for effecting my release I will -obey thee absolutely; but thou wilt see, Sancho, how mistaken thou art -in thy conception of my misfortune.” - -The knight-errant and the ill-errant squire kept up their conversation -till they reached the place where the curate, the canon, and the -barber, who had already dismounted, were waiting for them. The carter -at once unyoked the oxen and left them to roam at large about the -pleasant green spot, the freshness of which seemed to invite, not -enchanted people like Don Quixote, but wide-awake, sensible folk like -his squire, who begged the curate to allow his master to leave the cage -for a little; for if they did not let him out, the prison might not be -as clean as the propriety of such a gentleman as his master required. -The curate understood him, and said he would very gladly comply with -his request, only that he feared his master, finding himself at -liberty, would take to his old courses and make off where nobody could -ever find him again. - -“I will answer for his not running away,” said Sancho. - -“And I also,” said the canon, “especially if he gives me his word as a -knight not to leave us without our consent.” - -Don Quixote, who was listening to all this, said, “I give it;—moreover -one who is enchanted as I am cannot do as he likes with himself; for he -who had enchanted him could prevent his moving from one place for three -ages, and if he attempted to escape would bring him back flying.”—And -that being so, they might as well release him, particularly as it would -be to the advantage of all; for, if they did not let him out, he -protested he would be unable to avoid offending their nostrils unless -they kept their distance. - -The canon took his hand, tied together as they both were, and on his -word and promise they unbound him, and rejoiced beyond measure he was -to find himself out of the cage. The first thing he did was to stretch -himself all over, and then he went to where Rocinante was standing and -giving him a couple of slaps on the haunches said, “I still trust in -God and in his blessed mother, O flower and mirror of steeds, that we -shall soon see ourselves, both of us, as we wish to be, thou with thy -master on thy back, and I mounted upon thee, following the calling for -which God sent me into the world.” And so saying, accompanied by -Sancho, he withdrew to a retired spot, from which he came back much -relieved and more eager than ever to put his squire’s scheme into -execution. - -The canon gazed at him, wondering at the extraordinary nature of his -madness, and that in all his remarks and replies he should show such -excellent sense, and only lose his stirrups, as has been already said, -when the subject of chivalry was broached. And so, moved by compassion, -he said to him, as they all sat on the green grass awaiting the arrival -of the provisions: - -“Is it possible, gentle sir, that the nauseous and idle reading of -books of chivalry can have had such an effect on your worship as to -upset your reason so that you fancy yourself enchanted, and the like, -all as far from the truth as falsehood itself is? How can there be any -human understanding that can persuade itself there ever was all that -infinity of Amadises in the world, or all that multitude of famous -knights, all those emperors of Trebizond, all those Felixmartes of -Hircania, all those palfreys, and damsels-errant, and serpents, and -monsters, and giants, and marvellous adventures, and enchantments of -every kind, and battles, and prodigious encounters, splendid costumes, -love-sick princesses, squires made counts, droll dwarfs, love letters, -billings and cooings, swashbuckler women, and, in a word, all that -nonsense the books of chivalry contain? For myself, I can only say that -when I read them, so long as I do not stop to think that they are all -lies and frivolity, they give me a certain amount of pleasure; but when -I come to consider what they are, I fling the very best of them at the -wall, and would fling it into the fire if there were one at hand, as -richly deserving such punishment as cheats and impostors out of the -range of ordinary toleration, and as founders of new sects and modes of -life, and teachers that lead the ignorant public to believe and accept -as truth all the folly they contain. And such is their audacity, they -even dare to unsettle the wits of gentlemen of birth and intelligence, -as is shown plainly by the way they have served your worship, when they -have brought you to such a pass that you have to be shut up in a cage -and carried on an ox-cart as one would carry a lion or a tiger from -place to place to make money by showing it. Come, Señor Don Quixote, -have some compassion for yourself, return to the bosom of common sense, -and make use of the liberal share of it that heaven has been pleased to -bestow upon you, employing your abundant gifts of mind in some other -reading that may serve to benefit your conscience and add to your -honour. And if, still led away by your natural bent, you desire to read -books of achievements and of chivalry, read the Book of Judges in the -Holy Scriptures, for there you will find grand reality, and deeds as -true as they are heroic. Lusitania had a Viriatus, Rome a Cæsar, -Carthage a Hannibal, Greece an Alexander, Castile a Count Fernan -Gonzalez, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo Fernandez, Estremadura a -Diego García de Paredes, Jerez a Garci Perez de Vargas, Toledo a -Garcilaso, Seville a Don Manuel de Leon, to read of whose valiant deeds -will entertain and instruct the loftiest minds and fill them with -delight and wonder. Here, Señor Don Quixote, will be reading worthy of -your sound understanding; from which you will rise learned in history, -in love with virtue, strengthened in goodness, improved in manners, -brave without rashness, prudent without cowardice; and all to the -honour of God, your own advantage and the glory of La Mancha, whence, I -am informed, your worship derives your birth.” - -Don Quixote listened with the greatest attention to the canon’s words, -and when he found he had finished, after regarding him for some time, -he replied to him: - -“It appears to me, gentle sir, that your worship’s discourse is -intended to persuade me that there never were any knights-errant in the -world, and that all the books of chivalry are false, lying, mischievous -and useless to the State, and that I have done wrong in reading them, -and worse in believing them, and still worse in imitating them, when I -undertook to follow the arduous calling of knight-errantry which they -set forth; for you deny that there ever were Amadises of Gaul or of -Greece, or any other of the knights of whom the books are full.” - -“It is all exactly as you state it,” said the canon; to which Don -Quixote returned, “You also went on to say that books of this kind had -done me much harm, inasmuch as they had upset my senses, and shut me up -in a cage, and that it would be better for me to reform and change my -studies, and read other truer books which would afford more pleasure -and instruction.” - -“Just so,” said the canon. - -“Well then,” returned Don Quixote, “to my mind it is you who are the -one that is out of his wits and enchanted, as you have ventured to -utter such blasphemies against a thing so universally acknowledged and -accepted as true that whoever denies it, as you do, deserves the same -punishment which you say you inflict on the books that irritate you -when you read them. For to try to persuade anybody that Amadis, and all -the other knights-adventurers with whom the books are filled, never -existed, would be like trying to persuade him that the sun does not -yield light, or ice cold, or earth nourishment. What wit in the world -can persuade another that the story of the Princess Floripes and Guy of -Burgundy is not true, or that of Fierabras and the bridge of Mantible, -which happened in the time of Charlemagne? For by all that is good it -is as true as that it is daylight now; and if it be a lie, it must be a -lie too that there was a Hector, or Achilles, or Trojan war, or Twelve -Peers of France, or Arthur of England, who still lives changed into a -raven, and is unceasingly looked for in his kingdom. One might just as -well try to make out that the history of Guarino Mezquino, or of the -quest of the Holy Grail, is false, or that the loves of Tristram and -the Queen Yseult are apocryphal, as well as those of Guinevere and -Lancelot, when there are persons who can almost remember having seen -the Dame Quintañona, who was the best cupbearer in Great Britain. And -so true is this, that I recollect a grandmother of mine on the father’s -side, whenever she saw any dame in a venerable hood, used to say to me, -‘Grandson, that one is like Dame Quintañona,’ from which I conclude -that she must have known her, or at least had managed to see some -portrait of her. Then who can deny that the story of Pierres and the -fair Magalona is true, when even to this day may be seen in the king’s -armoury the pin with which the valiant Pierres guided the wooden horse -he rode through the air, and it is a trifle bigger than the pole of a -cart? And alongside of the pin is Babieca’s saddle, and at Roncesvalles -there is Roland’s horn, as large as a large beam; whence we may infer -that there were Twelve Peers, and a Pierres, and a Cid, and other -knights like them, of the sort people commonly call adventurers. Or -perhaps I shall be told, too, that there was no such knight-errant as -the valiant Lusitanian Juan de Merlo, who went to Burgundy and in the -city of Arras fought with the famous lord of Charny, Mosen Pierres by -name, and afterwards in the city of Basle with Mosen Enrique de -Remesten, coming out of both encounters covered with fame and honour; -or adventures and challenges achieved and delivered, also in Burgundy, -by the valiant Spaniards Pedro Barba and Gutierre Quixada (of whose -family I come in the direct male line), when they vanquished the sons -of the Count of San Polo. I shall be told, too, that Don Fernando de -Guevara did not go in quest of adventures to Germany, where he engaged -in combat with Micer George, a knight of the house of the Duke of -Austria. I shall be told that the jousts of Suero de Quiñones, him of -the ‘Paso,’ and the emprise of Mosen Luis de Falces against the -Castilian knight, Don Gonzalo de Guzman, were mere mockeries; as well -as many other achievements of Christian knights of these and foreign -realms, which are so authentic and true, that, I repeat, he who denies -them must be totally wanting in reason and good sense.” - -The canon was amazed to hear the medley of truth and fiction Don -Quixote uttered, and to see how well acquainted he was with everything -relating or belonging to the achievements of his knight-errantry; so he -said in reply: - -“I cannot deny, Señor Don Quixote, that there is some truth in what you -say, especially as regards the Spanish knights-errant; and I am willing -to grant too that the Twelve Peers of France existed, but I am not -disposed to believe that they did all the things that the Archbishop -Turpin relates of them. For the truth of the matter is they were -knights chosen by the kings of France, and called ‘Peers’ because they -were all equal in worth, rank and prowess (at least if they were not -they ought to have been), and it was a kind of religious order like -those of Santiago and Calatrava in the present day, in which it is -assumed that those who take it are valiant knights of distinction and -good birth; and just as we say now a Knight of St. John, or of -Alcántara, they used to say then a Knight of the Twelve Peers, because -twelve equals were chosen for that military order. That there was a -Cid, as well as a Bernardo del Carpio, there can be no doubt; but that -they did the deeds people say they did, I hold to be very doubtful. In -that other matter of the pin of Count Pierres that you speak of, and -say is near Babieca’s saddle in the Armoury, I confess my sin; for I am -either so stupid or so short-sighted, that, though I have seen the -saddle, I have never been able to see the pin, in spite of it being as -big as your worship says it is.” - -“For all that it is there, without any manner of doubt,” said Don -Quixote; “and more by token they say it is inclosed in a sheath of -cowhide to keep it from rusting.” - -“All that may be,” replied the canon; “but, by the orders I have -received, I do not remember seeing it. However, granting it is there, -that is no reason why I am bound to believe the stories of all those -Amadises and of all that multitude of knights they tell us about, nor -is it reasonable that a man like your worship, so worthy, and with so -many good qualities, and endowed with such a good understanding, should -allow himself to be persuaded that such wild crazy things as are -written in those absurd books of chivalry are really true.” - -CHAPTER L. -OF THE SHREWD CONTROVERSY WHICH DON QUIXOTE AND THE CANON HELD, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS - -“A good joke, that!” returned Don Quixote. “Books that have been -printed with the king’s licence, and with the approbation of those to -whom they have been submitted, and read with universal delight, and -extolled by great and small, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, -gentle and simple, in a word by people of every sort, of whatever rank -or condition they may be—that these should be lies! And above all when -they carry such an appearance of truth with them; for they tell us the -father, mother, country, kindred, age, place, and the achievements, -step by step, and day by day, performed by such a knight or knights! -Hush, sir; utter not such blasphemy; trust me I am advising you now to -act as a sensible man should; only read them, and you will see the -pleasure you will derive from them. For, come, tell me, can there be -anything more delightful than to see, as it were, here now displayed -before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a host of snakes and -serpents and lizards, and ferocious and terrible creatures of all sorts -swimming about in it, while from the middle of the lake there comes a -plaintive voice saying: ‘Knight, whosoever thou art who beholdest this -dread lake, if thou wouldst win the prize that lies hidden beneath -these dusky waves, prove the valour of thy stout heart and cast thyself -into the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt not be -worthy to see the mighty wonders contained in the seven castles of the -seven Fays that lie beneath this black expanse;’ and then the knight, -almost ere the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to consider, -without pausing to reflect upon the danger to which he is exposing -himself, without even relieving himself of the weight of his massive -armour, commending himself to God and to his lady, plunges into the -midst of the boiling lake, and when he little looks for it, or knows -what his fate is to be, he finds himself among flowery meadows, with -which the Elysian fields are not to be compared. - -“The sky seems more transparent there, and the sun shines with a -strange brilliancy, and a delightful grove of green leafy trees -presents itself to the eyes and charms the sight with its verdure, -while the ear is soothed by the sweet untutored melody of the countless -birds of gay plumage that flit to and fro among the interlacing -branches. Here he sees a brook whose limpid waters, like liquid -crystal, ripple over fine sands and white pebbles that look like sifted -gold and purest pearls. There he perceives a cunningly wrought fountain -of many-coloured jasper and polished marble; here another of rustic -fashion where the little mussel-shells and the spiral white and yellow -mansions of the snail disposed in studious disorder, mingled with -fragments of glittering crystal and mock emeralds, make up a work of -varied aspect, where art, imitating nature, seems to have outdone it. - -“Suddenly there is presented to his sight a strong castle or gorgeous -palace with walls of massy gold, turrets of diamond and gates of -jacinth; in short, so marvellous is its structure that though the -materials of which it is built are nothing less than diamonds, -carbuncles, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, the workmanship is -still more rare. And after having seen all this, what can be more -charming than to see how a bevy of damsels comes forth from the gate of -the castle in gay and gorgeous attire, such that, were I to set myself -now to depict it as the histories describe it to us, I should never -have done; and then how she who seems to be the first among them all -takes the bold knight who plunged into the boiling lake by the hand, -and without addressing a word to him leads him into the rich palace or -castle, and strips him as naked as when his mother bore him, and bathes -him in lukewarm water, and anoints him all over with sweet-smelling -unguents, and clothes him in a shirt of the softest sendal, all scented -and perfumed, while another damsel comes and throws over his shoulders -a mantle which is said to be worth at the very least a city, and even -more? How charming it is, then, when they tell us how, after all this, -they lead him to another chamber where he finds the tables set out in -such style that he is filled with amazement and wonder; to see how they -pour out water for his hands distilled from amber and sweet-scented -flowers; how they seat him on an ivory chair; to see how the damsels -wait on him all in profound silence; how they bring him such a variety -of dainties so temptingly prepared that the appetite is at a loss which -to select; to hear the music that resounds while he is at table, by -whom or whence produced he knows not. And then when the repast is over -and the tables removed, for the knight to recline in the chair, picking -his teeth perhaps as usual, and a damsel, much lovelier than any of the -others, to enter unexpectedly by the chamber door, and herself by his -side, and begin to tell him what the castle is, and how she is held -enchanted there, and other things that amaze the knight and astonish -the readers who are perusing his history. - -“But I will not expatiate any further upon this, as it may be gathered -from it that whatever part of whatever history of a knight-errant one -reads, it will fill the reader, whoever he be, with delight and wonder; -and take my advice, sir, and, as I said before, read these books and -you will see how they will banish any melancholy you may feel and raise -your spirits should they be depressed. For myself I can say that since -I have been a knight-errant I have become valiant, polite, generous, -well-bred, magnanimous, courteous, dauntless, gentle, patient, and have -learned to bear hardships, imprisonments, and enchantments; and though -it be such a short time since I have seen myself shut up in a cage like -a madman, I hope by the might of my arm, if heaven aid me and fortune -thwart me not, to see myself king of some kingdom where I may be able -to show the gratitude and generosity that dwell in my heart; for by my -faith, señor, the poor man is incapacitated from showing the virtue of -generosity to anyone, though he may possess it in the highest degree; -and gratitude that consists of disposition only is a dead thing, just -as faith without works is dead. For this reason I should be glad were -fortune soon to offer me some opportunity of making myself an emperor, -so as to show my heart in doing good to my friends, particularly to -this poor Sancho Panza, my squire, who is the best fellow in the world; -and I would gladly give him a county I have promised him this ever so -long, only that I am afraid he has not the capacity to govern his -realm.” - -Sancho partly heard these last words of his master, and said to him, -“Strive hard you, Señor Don Quixote, to give me that county so often -promised by you and so long looked for by me, for I promise you there -will be no want of capacity in me to govern it; and even if there is, I -have heard say there are men in the world who farm seigniories, paying -so much a year, and they themselves taking charge of the government, -while the lord, with his legs stretched out, enjoys the revenue they -pay him, without troubling himself about anything else. That’s what -I’ll do, and not stand haggling over trifles, but wash my hands at once -of the whole business, and enjoy my rents like a duke, and let things -go their own way.” - -“That, brother Sancho,” said the canon, “only holds good as far as the -enjoyment of the revenue goes; but the lord of the seigniory must -attend to the administration of justice, and here capacity and sound -judgment come in, and above all a firm determination to find out the -truth; for if this be wanting in the beginning, the middle and the end -will always go wrong; and God as commonly aids the honest intentions of -the simple as he frustrates the evil designs of the crafty.” - -“I don’t understand those philosophies,” returned Sancho Panza; “all I -know is I would I had the county as soon as I shall know how to govern -it; for I have as much soul as another, and as much body as anyone, and -I shall be as much king of my realm as any other of his; and being so I -should do as I liked, and doing as I liked I should please myself, and -pleasing myself I should be content, and when one is content he has -nothing more to desire, and when one has nothing more to desire there -is an end of it; so let the county come, and God be with you, and let -us see one another, as one blind man said to the other.” - -“That is not bad philosophy thou art talking, Sancho,” said the canon; -“but for all that there is a good deal to be said on this matter of -counties.” - -To which Don Quixote returned, “I know not what more there is to be -said; I only guide myself by the example set me by the great Amadis of -Gaul, when he made his squire count of the Insula Firme; and so, -without any scruples of conscience, I can make a count of Sancho Panza, -for he is one of the best squires that ever knight-errant had.” - -The canon was astonished at the methodical nonsense (if nonsense be -capable of method) that Don Quixote uttered, at the way in which he had -described the adventure of the knight of the lake, at the impression -that the deliberate lies of the books he read had made upon him, and -lastly he marvelled at the simplicity of Sancho, who desired so eagerly -to obtain the county his master had promised him. - -By this time the canon’s servants, who had gone to the inn to fetch the -sumpter mule, had returned, and making a carpet and the green grass of -the meadow serve as a table, they seated themselves in the shade of -some trees and made their repast there, that the carter might not be -deprived of the advantage of the spot, as has been already said. As -they were eating they suddenly heard a loud noise and the sound of a -bell that seemed to come from among some brambles and thick bushes that -were close by, and the same instant they observed a beautiful goat, -spotted all over black, white, and brown, spring out of the thicket -with a goatherd after it, calling to it and uttering the usual cries to -make it stop or turn back to the fold. The fugitive goat, scared and -frightened, ran towards the company as if seeking their protection and -then stood still, and the goatherd coming up seized it by the horns and -began to talk to it as if it were possessed of reason and -understanding: “Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, Spotty; how have you -gone limping all this time? What wolves have frightened you, my -daughter? Won’t you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? But what -else can it be except that you are a she, and cannot keep quiet? A -plague on your humours and the humours of those you take after! Come -back, come back, my darling; and if you will not be so happy, at any -rate you will be safe in the fold or with your companions; for if you -who ought to keep and lead them, go wandering astray, what will become -of them?” - -The goatherd’s talk amused all who heard it, but especially the canon, -who said to him, “As you live, brother, take it easy, and be not in -such a hurry to drive this goat back to the fold; for, being a female, -as you say, she will follow her natural instinct in spite of all you -can do to prevent it. Take this morsel and drink a sup, and that will -soothe your irritation, and in the meantime the goat will rest -herself,” and so saying, he handed him the loins of a cold rabbit on a -fork. - -The goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and calmed himself, and -then said, “I should be sorry if your worships were to take me for a -simpleton for having spoken so seriously as I did to this animal; but -the truth is there is a certain mystery in the words I used. I am a -clown, but not so much of one but that I know how to behave to men and -to beasts.” - -“That I can well believe,” said the curate, “for I know already by -experience that the woods breed men of learning, and shepherds’ huts -harbour philosophers.” - -“At all events, señor,” returned the goatherd, “they shelter men of -experience; and that you may see the truth of this and grasp it, though -I may seem to put myself forward without being asked, I will, if it -will not tire you, gentlemen, and you will give me your attention for a -little, tell you a true story which will confirm this gentleman’s word -(and he pointed to the curate) as well as my own.” - -To this Don Quixote replied, “Seeing that this affair has a certain -colour of chivalry about it, I for my part, brother, will hear you most -gladly, and so will all these gentlemen, from the high intelligence -they possess and their love of curious novelties that interest, charm, -and entertain the mind, as I feel quite sure your story will do. So -begin, friend, for we are all prepared to listen.” - -“I draw my stakes,” said Sancho, “and will retreat with this pasty to -the brook there, where I mean to victual myself for three days; for I -have heard my lord, Don Quixote, say that a knight-errant’s squire -should eat until he can hold no more, whenever he has the chance, -because it often happens them to get by accident into a wood so thick -that they cannot find a way out of it for six days; and if the man is -not well filled or his alforjas well stored, there he may stay, as very -often he does, turned into a dried mummy.” - -“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go where thou -wilt and eat all thou canst, for I have had enough, and only want to -give my mind its refreshment, as I shall by listening to this good -fellow’s story.” - -“It is what we shall all do,” said the canon; and then begged the -goatherd to begin the promised tale. - -The goatherd gave the goat which he held by the horns a couple of slaps -on the back, saying, “Lie down here beside me, Spotty, for we have time -enough to return to our fold.” The goat seemed to understand him, for -as her master seated himself, she stretched herself quietly beside him -and looked up in his face to show him she was all attention to what he -was going to say, and then in these words he began his story. - -CHAPTER LI. -WHICH DEALS WITH WHAT THE GOATHERD TOLD THOSE WHO WERE CARRYING OFF DON -QUIXOTE - -Three leagues from this valley there is a village which, though small, -is one of the richest in all this neighbourhood, and in it there lived -a farmer, a very worthy man, and so much respected that, although to be -so is the natural consequence of being rich, he was even more respected -for his virtue than for the wealth he had acquired. But what made him -still more fortunate, as he said himself, was having a daughter of such -exceeding beauty, rare intelligence, gracefulness, and virtue, that -everyone who knew her and beheld her marvelled at the extraordinary -gifts with which heaven and nature had endowed her. As a child she was -beautiful, she continued to grow in beauty, and at the age of sixteen -she was most lovely. The fame of her beauty began to spread abroad -through all the villages around—but why do I say the villages around, -merely, when it spread to distant cities, and even made its way into -the halls of royalty and reached the ears of people of every class, who -came from all sides to see her as if to see something rare and curious, -or some wonder-working image? - -Her father watched over her and she watched over herself; for there are -no locks, or guards, or bolts that can protect a young girl better than -her own modesty. The wealth of the father and the beauty of the -daughter led many neighbours as well as strangers to seek her for a -wife; but he, as one might well be who had the disposal of so rich a -jewel, was perplexed and unable to make up his mind to which of her -countless suitors he should entrust her. I was one among the many who -felt a desire so natural, and, as her father knew who I was, and I was -of the same town, of pure blood, in the bloom of life, and very rich in -possessions, I had great hopes of success. There was another of the -same place and qualifications who also sought her, and this made her -father’s choice hang in the balance, for he felt that on either of us -his daughter would be well bestowed; so to escape from this state of -perplexity he resolved to refer the matter to Leandra (for that is the -name of the rich damsel who has reduced me to misery), reflecting that -as we were both equal it would be best to leave it to his dear daughter -to choose according to her inclination—a course that is worthy of -imitation by all fathers who wish to settle their children in life. I -do not mean that they ought to leave them to make a choice of what is -contemptible and bad, but that they should place before them what is -good and then allow them to make a good choice as they please. I do not -know which Leandra chose; I only know her father put us both off with -the tender age of his daughter and vague words that neither bound him -nor dismissed us. My rival is called Anselmo and I myself Eugenio—that -you may know the names of the personages that figure in this tragedy, -the end of which is still in suspense, though it is plain to see it -must be disastrous. - -About this time there arrived in our town one Vicente de la Roca, the -son of a poor peasant of the same town, the said Vicente having -returned from service as a soldier in Italy and divers other parts. A -captain who chanced to pass that way with his company had carried him -off from our village when he was a boy of about twelve years, and now -twelve years later the young man came back in a soldier’s uniform, -arrayed in a thousand colours, and all over glass trinkets and fine -steel chains. To-day he would appear in one gay dress, to-morrow in -another; but all flimsy and gaudy, of little substance and less worth. -The peasant folk, who are naturally malicious, and when they have -nothing to do can be malice itself, remarked all this, and took note of -his finery and jewellery, piece by piece, and discovered that he had -three suits of different colours, with garters and stockings to match; -but he made so many arrangements and combinations out of them, that if -they had not counted them, anyone would have sworn that he had made a -display of more than ten suits of clothes and twenty plumes. Do not -look upon all this that I am telling you about the clothes as uncalled -for or spun out, for they have a great deal to do with the story. He -used to seat himself on a bench under the great poplar in our plaza, -and there he would keep us all hanging open-mouthed on the stories he -told us of his exploits. There was no country on the face of the globe -he had not seen, nor battle he had not been engaged in; he had killed -more Moors than there are in Morocco and Tunis, and fought more single -combats, according to his own account, than Garcilaso, Diego García de -Paredes and a thousand others he named, and out of all he had come -victorious without losing a drop of blood. On the other hand he showed -marks of wounds, which, though they could not be made out, he said were -gunshot wounds received in divers encounters and actions. Lastly, with -monstrous impudence he used to say “you” to his equals and even those -who knew what he was, and declare that his arm was his father and his -deeds his pedigree, and that being a soldier he was as good as the king -himself. And to add to these swaggering ways he was a trifle of a -musician, and played the guitar with such a flourish that some said he -made it speak; nor did his accomplishments end here, for he was -something of a poet too, and on every trifle that happened in the town -he made a ballad a league long. - -This soldier, then, that I have described, this Vicente de la Roca, -this bravo, gallant, musician, poet, was often seen and watched by -Leandra from a window of her house which looked out on the plaza. The -glitter of his showy attire took her fancy, his ballads bewitched her -(for he gave away twenty copies of every one he made), the tales of his -exploits which he told about himself came to her ears; and in short, as -the devil no doubt had arranged it, she fell in love with him before -the presumption of making love to her had suggested itself to him; and -as in love-affairs none are more easily brought to an issue than those -which have the inclination of the lady for an ally, Leandra and Vicente -came to an understanding without any difficulty; and before any of her -numerous suitors had any suspicion of her design, she had already -carried it into effect, having left the house of her dearly beloved -father (for mother she had none), and disappeared from the village with -the soldier, who came more triumphantly out of this enterprise than out -of any of the large number he laid claim to. All the village and all -who heard of it were amazed at the affair; I was aghast, Anselmo -thunderstruck, her father full of grief, her relations indignant, the -authorities all in a ferment, the officers of the Brotherhood in arms. -They scoured the roads, they searched the woods and all quarters, and -at the end of three days they found the flighty Leandra in a mountain -cave, stript to her shift, and robbed of all the money and precious -jewels she had carried away from home with her. - -They brought her back to her unhappy father, and questioned her as to -her misfortune, and she confessed without pressure that Vicente de la -Roca had deceived her, and under promise of marrying her had induced -her to leave her father’s house, as he meant to take her to the richest -and most delightful city in the whole world, which was Naples; and that -she, ill-advised and deluded, had believed him, and robbed her father, -and handed over all to him the night she disappeared; and that he had -carried her away to a rugged mountain and shut her up in the cave where -they had found her. She said, moreover, that the soldier, without -robbing her of her honour, had taken from her everything she had, and -made off, leaving her in the cave, a thing that still further surprised -everybody. It was not easy for us to credit the young man’s continence, -but she asserted it with such earnestness that it helped to console her -distressed father, who thought nothing of what had been taken since the -jewel that once lost can never be recovered had been left to his -daughter. The same day that Leandra made her appearance her father -removed her from our sight and took her away to shut her up in a -convent in a town near this, in the hope that time may wear away some -of the disgrace she has incurred. Leandra’s youth furnished an excuse -for her fault, at least with those to whom it was of no consequence -whether she was good or bad; but those who knew her shrewdness and -intelligence did not attribute her misdemeanour to ignorance but to -wantonness and the natural disposition of women, which is for the most -part flighty and ill-regulated. - -Leandra withdrawn from sight, Anselmo’s eyes grew blind, or at any rate -found nothing to look at that gave them any pleasure, and mine were in -darkness without a ray of light to direct them to anything enjoyable -while Leandra was away. Our melancholy grew greater, our patience grew -less; we cursed the soldier’s finery and railed at the carelessness of -Leandra’s father. At last Anselmo and I agreed to leave the village and -come to this valley; and, he feeding a great flock of sheep of his own, -and I a large herd of goats of mine, we pass our life among the trees, -giving vent to our sorrows, together singing the fair Leandra’s -praises, or upbraiding her, or else sighing alone, and to heaven -pouring forth our complaints in solitude. Following our example, many -more of Leandra’s lovers have come to these rude mountains and adopted -our mode of life, and they are so numerous that one would fancy the -place had been turned into the pastoral Arcadia, so full is it of -shepherds and sheep-folds; nor is there a spot in it where the name of -the fair Leandra is not heard. Here one curses her and calls her -capricious, fickle, and immodest, there another condemns her as frail -and frivolous; this pardons and absolves her, that spurns and reviles -her; one extols her beauty, another assails her character, and in short -all abuse her, and all adore her, and to such a pitch has this general -infatuation gone that there are some who complain of her scorn without -ever having exchanged a word with her, and even some that bewail and -mourn the raging fever of jealousy, for which she never gave anyone -cause, for, as I have already said, her misconduct was known before her -passion. There is no nook among the rocks, no brookside, no shade -beneath the trees that is not haunted by some shepherd telling his woes -to the breezes; wherever there is an echo it repeats the name of -Leandra; the mountains ring with “Leandra,” “Leandra” murmur the -brooks, and Leandra keeps us all bewildered and bewitched, hoping -without hope and fearing without knowing what we fear. Of all this -silly set the one that shows the least and also the most sense is my -rival Anselmo, for having so many other things to complain of, he only -complains of separation, and to the accompaniment of a rebeck, which he -plays admirably, he sings his complaints in verses that show his -ingenuity. I follow another, easier, and to my mind wiser course, and -that is to rail at the frivolity of women, at their inconstancy, their -double dealing, their broken promises, their unkept pledges, and in -short the want of reflection they show in fixing their affections and -inclinations. This, sirs, was the reason of words and expressions I -made use of to this goat when I came up just now; for as she is a -female I have a contempt for her, though she is the best in all my -fold. This is the story I promised to tell you, and if I have been -tedious in telling it, I will not be slow to serve you; my hut is close -by, and I have fresh milk and dainty cheese there, as well as a variety -of toothsome fruit, no less pleasing to the eye than to the palate. - -CHAPTER LII. -OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH -THE RARE ADVENTURE OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE OF SWEAT -HE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION - -The goatherd’s tale gave great satisfaction to all the hearers, and the -canon especially enjoyed it, for he had remarked with particular -attention the manner in which it had been told, which was as unlike the -manner of a clownish goatherd as it was like that of a polished city -wit; and he observed that the curate had been quite right in saying -that the woods bred men of learning. They all offered their services to -Eugenio but he who showed himself most liberal in this way was Don -Quixote, who said to him, “Most assuredly, brother goatherd, if I found -myself in a position to attempt any adventure, I would, this very -instant, set out on your behalf, and would rescue Leandra from that -convent (where no doubt she is kept against her will), in spite of the -abbess and all who might try to prevent me, and would place her in your -hands to deal with her according to your will and pleasure, observing, -however, the laws of chivalry which lay down that no violence of any -kind is to be offered to any damsel. But I trust in God our Lord that -the might of one malignant enchanter may not prove so great but that -the power of another better disposed may prove superior to it, and then -I promise you my support and assistance, as I am bound to do by my -profession, which is none other than to give aid to the weak and -needy.” - -The goatherd eyed him, and noticing Don Quixote’s sorry appearance and -looks, he was filled with wonder, and asked the barber, who was next -him, “Señor, who is this man who makes such a figure and talks in such -a strain?” - -“Who should it be,” said the barber, “but the famous Don Quixote of La -Mancha, the undoer of injustice, the righter of wrongs, the protector -of damsels, the terror of giants, and the winner of battles?” - -“That,” said the goatherd, “sounds like what one reads in the books of -the knights-errant, who did all that you say this man does; though it -is my belief that either you are joking, or else this gentleman has -empty lodgings in his head.” - -“You are a great scoundrel,” said Don Quixote, “and it is you who are -empty and a fool. I am fuller than ever was the whoreson bitch that -bore you;” and passing from words to deeds, he caught up a loaf that -was near him and sent it full in the goatherd’s face, with such force -that he flattened his nose; but the goatherd, who did not understand -jokes, and found himself roughly handled in such good earnest, paying -no respect to carpet, tablecloth, or diners, sprang upon Don Quixote, -and seizing him by the throat with both hands would no doubt have -throttled him, had not Sancho Panza that instant come to the rescue, -and grasping him by the shoulders flung him down on the table, smashing -plates, breaking glasses, and upsetting and scattering everything on -it. Don Quixote, finding himself free, strove to get on top of the -goatherd, who, with his face covered with blood, and soundly kicked by -Sancho, was on all fours feeling about for one of the table-knives to -take a bloody revenge with. The canon and the curate, however, -prevented him, but the barber so contrived it that he got Don Quixote -under him, and rained down upon him such a shower of fisticuffs that -the poor knight’s face streamed with blood as freely as his own. The -canon and the curate were bursting with laughter, the officers were -capering with delight, and both the one and the other hissed them on as -they do dogs that are worrying one another in a fight. Sancho alone was -frantic, for he could not free himself from the grasp of one of the -canon’s servants, who kept him from going to his master’s assistance. - -At last, while they were all, with the exception of the two bruisers -who were mauling each other, in high glee and enjoyment, they heard a -trumpet sound a note so doleful that it made them all look in the -direction whence the sound seemed to come. But the one that was most -excited by hearing it was Don Quixote, who though sorely against his -will he was under the goatherd, and something more than pretty well -pummelled, said to him, “Brother devil (for it is impossible but that -thou must be one since thou hast had might and strength enough to -overcome mine), I ask thee to agree to a truce for but one hour for the -solemn note of yonder trumpet that falls on our ears seems to me to -summon me to some new adventure.” The goatherd, who was by this time -tired of pummelling and being pummelled, released him at once, and Don -Quixote rising to his feet and turning his eyes to the quarter where -the sound had been heard, suddenly saw coming down the slope of a hill -several men clad in white like penitents. - -The fact was that the clouds had that year withheld their moisture from -the earth, and in all the villages of the district they were organising -processions, rogations, and penances, imploring God to open the hands -of his mercy and send the rain; and to this end the people of a village -that was hard by were going in procession to a holy hermitage there was -on one side of that valley. Don Quixote when he saw the strange garb of -the penitents, without reflecting how often he had seen it before, took -it into his head that this was a case of adventure, and that it fell to -him alone as a knight-errant to engage in it; and he was all the more -confirmed in this notion, by the idea that an image draped in black -they had with them was some illustrious lady that these villains and -discourteous thieves were carrying off by force. As soon as this -occurred to him he ran with all speed to Rocinante who was grazing at -large, and taking the bridle and the buckler from the saddle-bow, he -had him bridled in an instant, and calling to Sancho for his sword he -mounted Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, and in a loud voice -exclaimed to those who stood by, “Now, noble company, ye shall see how -important it is that there should be knights in the world professing -the order of knight-errantry; now, I say, ye shall see, by the -deliverance of that worthy lady who is borne captive there, whether -knights-errant deserve to be held in estimation,” and so saying he -brought his legs to bear on Rocinante—for he had no spurs—and at a full -canter (for in all this veracious history we never read of Rocinante -fairly galloping) set off to encounter the penitents, though the -curate, the canon, and the barber ran to prevent him. But it was out of -their power, nor did he even stop for the shouts of Sancho calling -after him, “Where are you going, Señor Don Quixote? What devils have -possessed you to set you on against our Catholic faith? Plague take me! -mind, that is a procession of penitents, and the lady they are carrying -on that stand there is the blessed image of the immaculate Virgin. Take -care what you are doing, señor, for this time it may be safely said you -don’t know what you are about.” Sancho laboured in vain, for his master -was so bent on coming to quarters with these sheeted figures and -releasing the lady in black that he did not hear a word; and even had -he heard, he would not have turned back if the king had ordered him. He -came up with the procession and reined in Rocinante, who was already -anxious enough to slacken speed a little, and in a hoarse, excited -voice he exclaimed, “You who hide your faces, perhaps because you are -not good subjects, pay attention and listen to what I am about to say -to you.” The first to halt were those who were carrying the image, and -one of the four ecclesiastics who were chanting the Litany, struck by -the strange figure of Don Quixote, the leanness of Rocinante, and the -other ludicrous peculiarities he observed, said in reply to him, -“Brother, if you have anything to say to us say it quickly, for these -brethren are whipping themselves, and we cannot stop, nor is it -reasonable we should stop to hear anything, unless indeed it is short -enough to be said in two words.” - -“I will say it in one,” replied Don Quixote, “and it is this; that at -once, this very instant, ye release that fair lady whose tears and sad -aspect show plainly that ye are carrying her off against her will, and -that ye have committed some scandalous outrage against her; and I, who -was born into the world to redress all such like wrongs, will not -permit you to advance another step until you have restored to her the -liberty she pines for and deserves.” - -From these words all the hearers concluded that he must be a madman, -and began to laugh heartily, and their laughter acted like gunpowder on -Don Quixote’s fury, for drawing his sword without another word he made -a rush at the stand. One of those who supported it, leaving the burden -to his comrades, advanced to meet him, flourishing a forked stick that -he had for propping up the stand when resting, and with this he caught -a mighty cut Don Quixote made at him that severed it in two; but with -the portion that remained in his hand he dealt such a thwack on the -shoulder of Don Quixote’s sword arm (which the buckler could not -protect against the clownish assault) that poor Don Quixote came to the -ground in a sad plight. - -Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind puffing and blowing, -seeing him fall, cried out to his assailant not to strike him again, -for he was a poor enchanted knight, who had never harmed anyone all the -days of his life; but what checked the clown was, not Sancho’s -shouting, but seeing that Don Quixote did not stir hand or foot; and -so, fancying he had killed him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under -his girdle and took to his heels across the country like a deer. - -By this time all Don Quixote’s companions had come up to where he lay; -but the processionists seeing them come running, and with them the -officers of the Brotherhood with their crossbows, apprehended mischief, -and clustering round the image, raised their hoods, and grasped their -scourges, as the priests did their tapers, and awaited the attack, -resolved to defend themselves and even to take the offensive against -their assailants if they could. Fortune, however, arranged the matter -better than they expected, for all Sancho did was to fling himself on -his master’s body, raising over him the most doleful and laughable -lamentation that ever was heard, for he believed he was dead. The -curate was known to another curate who walked in the procession, and -their recognition of one another set at rest the apprehensions of both -parties; the first then told the other in two words who Don Quixote -was, and he and the whole troop of penitents went to see if the poor -gentleman was dead, and heard Sancho Panza saying, with tears in his -eyes, “Oh flower of chivalry, that with one blow of a stick hast ended -the course of thy well-spent life! Oh pride of thy race, honour and -glory of all La Mancha, nay, of all the world, that for want of thee -will be full of evil-doers, no longer in fear of punishment for their -misdeeds! Oh thou, generous above all the Alexanders, since for only -eight months of service thou hast given me the best island the sea -girds or surrounds! Humble with the proud, haughty with the humble, -encounterer of dangers, endurer of outrages, enamoured without reason, -imitator of the good, scourge of the wicked, enemy of the mean, in -short, knight-errant, which is all that can be said!” - -At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the -first word he said was, “He who lives separated from you, sweetest -Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend -Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to -press the saddle of Rocinante, as this shoulder is all knocked to -pieces.” - -“That I will do with all my heart, señor,” said Sancho; “and let us -return to our village with these gentlemen, who seek your good, and -there we will prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more -profitable and creditable to us.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote; “It will be wise to let -the malign influence of the stars which now prevails pass off.” - -The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely -in doing as he said; and so, highly amused at Sancho Panza’s -simplicities, they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The -procession once more formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; -the goatherd took his leave of the party; the officers of the -Brotherhood declined to go any farther, and the curate paid them what -was due to them; the canon begged the curate to let him know how Don -Quixote did, whether he was cured of his madness or still suffered from -it, and then begged leave to continue his journey; in short, they all -separated and went their ways, leaving to themselves the curate and the -barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the good Rocinante, who regarded -everything with as great resignation as his master. The carter yoked -his oxen and made Don Quixote comfortable on a truss of hay, and at his -usual deliberate pace took the road the curate directed, and at the end -of six days they reached Don Quixote’s village, and entered it about -the middle of the day, which it so happened was a Sunday, and the -people were all in the plaza, through which Don Quixote’s cart passed. -They all flocked to see what was in the cart, and when they recognised -their townsman they were filled with amazement, and a boy ran off to -bring the news to his housekeeper and his niece that their master and -uncle had come back all lean and yellow and stretched on a truss of hay -on an ox-cart. It was piteous to hear the cries the two good ladies -raised, how they beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions -on those accursed books of chivalry; all which was renewed when they -saw Don Quixote coming in at the gate. - -At the news of Don Quixote’s arrival Sancho Panza’s wife came running, -for she by this time knew that her husband had gone away with him as -his squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she asked him was if -the ass was well. Sancho replied that he was, better than his master -was. - -“Thanks be to God,” said she, “for being so good to me; but now tell -me, my friend, what have you made by your squirings? What gown have you -brought me back? What shoes for your children?” - -“I bring nothing of that sort, wife,” said Sancho; “though I bring -other things of more consequence and value.” - -“I am very glad of that,” returned his wife; “show me these things of -more value and consequence, my friend; for I want to see them to cheer -my heart that has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have -been away.” - -“I will show them to you at home, wife,” said Sancho; “be content for -the present; for if it please God that we should again go on our -travels in search of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or -governor of an island, and that not one of those everyday ones, but the -best that is to be had.” - -“Heaven grant it, husband,” said she, “for indeed we have need of it. -But tell me, what’s this about islands, for I don’t understand it?” - -“Honey is not for the mouth of the ass,” returned Sancho; “all in good -time thou shalt see, wife—nay, thou wilt be surprised to hear thyself -called ‘your ladyship’ by all thy vassals.” - -“What are you talking about, Sancho, with your ladyships, islands, and -vassals?” returned Teresa Panza—for so Sancho’s wife was called, though -they were not relations, for in La Mancha it is customary for wives to -take their husbands’ surnames. - -“Don’t be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa,” said Sancho; “it -is enough that I am telling you the truth, so shut your mouth. But I -may tell you this much by the way, that there is nothing in the world -more delightful than to be a person of consideration, squire to a -knight-errant, and a seeker of adventures. To be sure most of those one -finds do not end as pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred, -ninety-nine will turn out cross and contrary. I know it by experience, -for out of some I came blanketed, and out of others belaboured. Still, -for all that, it is a fine thing to be on the look-out for what may -happen, crossing mountains, searching woods, climbing rocks, visiting -castles, putting up at inns, all at free quarters, and devil take the -maravedi to pay.” - -While this conversation passed between Sancho Panza and his wife, Don -Quixote’s housekeeper and niece took him in and undressed him and laid -him in his old bed. He eyed them askance, and could not make out where -he was. The curate charged his niece to be very careful to make her -uncle comfortable and to keep a watch over him lest he should make his -escape from them again, telling her what they had been obliged to do to -bring him home. On this the pair once more lifted up their voices and -renewed their maledictions upon the books of chivalry, and implored -heaven to plunge the authors of such lies and nonsense into the midst -of the bottomless pit. They were, in short, kept in anxiety and dread -lest their uncle and master should give them the slip the moment he -found himself somewhat better, and as they feared so it fell out. - -But the author of this history, though he has devoted research and -industry to the discovery of the deeds achieved by Don Quixote in his -third sally, has been unable to obtain any information respecting them, -at any rate derived from authentic documents; tradition has merely -preserved in the memory of La Mancha the fact that Don Quixote, the -third time he sallied forth from his home, betook himself to Saragossa, -where he was present at some famous jousts which came off in that city, -and that he had adventures there worthy of his valour and high -intelligence. Of his end and death he could learn no particulars, nor -would he have ascertained it or known of it, if good fortune had not -produced an old physician for him who had in his possession a leaden -box, which, according to his account, had been discovered among the -crumbling foundations of an ancient hermitage that was being rebuilt; -in which box were found certain parchment manuscripts in Gothic -character, but in Castilian verse, containing many of his achievements, -and setting forth the beauty of Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the -fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the burial of Don Quixote himself, -together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies on his life and character; -but all that could be read and deciphered were those which the -trustworthy author of this new and unparalleled history here presents. -And the said author asks of those that shall read it nothing in return -for the vast toil which it has cost him in examining and searching the -Manchegan archives in order to bring it to light, save that they give -him the same credit that people of sense give to the books of chivalry -that pervade the world and are so popular; for with this he will -consider himself amply paid and fully satisfied, and will be encouraged -to seek out and produce other histories, if not as truthful, at least -equal in invention and not less entertaining. The first words written -on the parchment found in the leaden box were these: - -THE ACADEMICIANS OF ARGAMASILLA, -A VILLAGE OF LA MANCHA, -ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA, -HOC SCRIPSERUNT -MONICONGO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTE - -EPITAPH - -The scatterbrain that gave La Mancha more -Rich spoils than Jason’s; who a point so keen -Had to his wit, and happier far had been -If his wit’s weathercock a blunter bore; -The arm renowned far as Gaeta’s shore, -Cathay, and all the lands that lie between; -The muse discreet and terrible in mien -As ever wrote on brass in days of yore; -He who surpassed the Amadises all, -And who as naught the Galaors accounted, -Supported by his love and gallantry: -Who made the Belianises sing small, -And sought renown on Rocinante mounted; -Here, underneath this cold stone, doth he lie. - -PANIAGUADO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -IN LAUDEM DULCINEAE DEL TOBOSO - -SONNET - -She, whose full features may be here descried, -High-bosomed, with a bearing of disdain, -Is Dulcinea, she for whom in vain -The great Don Quixote of La Mancha sighed. -For her, Toboso’s queen, from side to side -He traversed the grim sierra, the champaign -Of Aranjuez, and Montiel’s famous plain: -On Rocinante oft a weary ride. -Malignant planets, cruel destiny, -Pursued them both, the fair Manchegan dame, -And the unconquered star of chivalry. -Nor youth nor beauty saved her from the claim -Of death; he paid love’s bitter penalty, -And left the marble to preserve his name. - -CAPRICHOSO, A MOST ACUTE ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -IN PRAISE OF ROCINANTE, STEED OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA - -SONNET - -On that proud throne of diamantine sheen, -Which the blood-reeking feet of Mars degrade, -The mad Manchegan’s banner now hath been -By him in all its bravery displayed. -There hath he hung his arms and trenchant blade -Wherewith, achieving deeds till now unseen, -He slays, lays low, cleaves, hews; but art hath made -A novel style for our new paladin. -If Amadis be the proud boast of Gaul, -If by his progeny the fame of Greece -Through all the regions of the earth be spread, -Great Quixote crowned in grim Bellona’s hall -To-day exalts La Mancha over these, -And above Greece or Gaul she holds her head. -Nor ends his glory here, for his good steed -Doth Brillador and Bayard far exceed; -As mettled steeds compared with Rocinante, -The reputation they have won is scanty. - -BURLADOR, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON SANCHO PANZA - -SONNET - -The worthy Sancho Panza here you see; -A great soul once was in that body small, -Nor was there squire upon this earthly ball -So plain and simple, or of guile so free. -Within an ace of being Count was he, -And would have been but for the spite and gall -Of this vile age, mean and illiberal, -That cannot even let a donkey be. -For mounted on an ass (excuse the word), -By Rocinante’s side this gentle squire -Was wont his wandering master to attend. -Delusive hopes that lure the common herd -With promises of ease, the heart’s desire, -In shadows, dreams, and smoke ye always end. - -CACHIDIABLO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTE - -EPITAPH - -The knight lies here below, -Ill-errant and bruised sore, -Whom Rocinante bore -In his wanderings to and fro. -By the side of the knight is laid -Stolid man Sancho too, -Than whom a squire more true -Was not in the esquire trade. - -TIQUITOC, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON THE TOMB OF DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO - -EPITAPH - -Here Dulcinea lies. -Plump was she and robust: -Now she is ashes and dust: -The end of all flesh that dies. -A lady of high degree, -With the port of a lofty dame, -And the great Don Quixote’s flame, -And the pride of her village was she. - -These were all the verses that could be deciphered; the rest, the -writing being worm-eaten, were handed over to one of the Academicians -to make out their meaning conjecturally. We have been informed that at -the cost of many sleepless nights and much toil he has succeeded, and -that he means to publish them in hopes of Don Quixote’s third sally. - -_“Forse altro cantera con miglior plettro.”_ - -Volume II - -DEDICATION OF VOLUME II. - -TO THE COUNT OF LEMOS: - -These days past, when sending Your Excellency my plays, that had -appeared in print before being shown on the stage, I said, if I -remember well, that Don Quixote was putting on his spurs to go and -render homage to Your Excellency. Now I say that “with his spurs, he is -on his way.” Should he reach destination methinks I shall have rendered -some service to Your Excellency, as from many parts I am urged to send -him off, so as to dispel the loathing and disgust caused by another Don -Quixote who, under the name of Second Part, has run masquerading -through the whole world. And he who has shown the greatest longing for -him has been the great Emperor of China, who wrote me a letter in -Chinese a month ago and sent it by a special courier. He asked me, or -to be truthful, he begged me to send him Don Quixote, for he intended -to found a college where the Spanish tongue would be taught, and it was -his wish that the book to be read should be the History of Don Quixote. -He also added that I should go and be the rector of this college. I -asked the bearer if His Majesty had afforded a sum in aid of my travel -expenses. He answered, “No, not even in thought.” - -“Then, brother,” I replied, “you can return to your China, post haste -or at whatever haste you are bound to go, as I am not fit for so long a -travel and, besides being ill, I am very much without money, while -Emperor for Emperor and Monarch for Monarch, I have at Naples the great -Count of Lemos, who, without so many petty titles of colleges and -rectorships, sustains me, protects me and does me more favour than I -can wish for.” - -Thus I gave him his leave and I beg mine from you, offering Your -Excellency the “Trabajos de Persiles y Sigismunda,” a book I shall -finish within four months, Deo volente, and which will be either the -worst or the best that has been composed in our language, I mean of -those intended for entertainment; at which I repent of having called it -the worst, for, in the opinion of friends, it is bound to attain the -summit of possible quality. May Your Excellency return in such health -that is wished you; Persiles will be ready to kiss your hand and I your -feet, being as I am, Your Excellency’s most humble servant. - -From Madrid, this last day of October of the year one thousand six -hundred and fifteen. - -At the service of Your Excellency: - -MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA - -THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE - -God bless me, gentle (or it may be plebeian) reader, how eagerly must -thou be looking forward to this preface, expecting to find there -retaliation, scolding, and abuse against the author of the second Don -Quixote—I mean him who was, they say, begotten at Tordesillas and born -at Tarragona! Well then, the truth is, I am not going to give thee that -satisfaction; for, though injuries stir up anger in humbler breasts, in -mine the rule must admit of an exception. Thou wouldst have me call him -ass, fool, and malapert, but I have no such intention; let his offence -be his punishment, with his bread let him eat it, and there’s an end of -it. What I cannot help taking amiss is that he charges me with being -old and one-handed, as if it had been in my power to keep time from -passing over me, or as if the loss of my hand had been brought about in -some tavern, and not on the grandest occasion the past or present has -seen, or the future can hope to see. If my wounds have no beauty to the -beholder’s eye, they are, at least, honourable in the estimation of -those who know where they were received; for the soldier shows to -greater advantage dead in battle than alive in flight; and so strongly -is this my feeling, that if now it were proposed to perform an -impossibility for me, I would rather have had my share in that mighty -action, than be free from my wounds this minute without having been -present at it. Those the soldier shows on his face and breast are stars -that direct others to the heaven of honour and ambition of merited -praise; and moreover it is to be observed that it is not with grey -hairs that one writes, but with the understanding, and that commonly -improves with years. I take it amiss, too, that he calls me envious, -and explains to me, as if I were ignorant, what envy is; for really and -truly, of the two kinds there are, I only know that which is holy, -noble, and high-minded; and if that be so, as it is, I am not likely to -attack a priest, above all if, in addition, he holds the rank of -familiar of the Holy Office. And if he said what he did on account of -him on whose behalf it seems he spoke, he is entirely mistaken; for I -worship the genius of that person, and admire his works and his -unceasing and strenuous industry. After all, I am grateful to this -gentleman, the author, for saying that my novels are more satirical -than exemplary, but that they are good; for they could not be that -unless there was a little of everything in them. - -I suspect thou wilt say that I am taking a very humble line, and -keeping myself too much within the bounds of my moderation, from a -feeling that additional suffering should not be inflicted upon a -sufferer, and that what this gentleman has to endure must doubtless be -very great, as he does not dare to come out into the open field and -broad daylight, but hides his name and disguises his country as if he -had been guilty of some lese majesty. If perchance thou shouldst come -to know him, tell him from me that I do not hold myself aggrieved; for -I know well what the temptations of the devil are, and that one of the -greatest is putting it into a man’s head that he can write and print a -book by which he will get as much fame as money, and as much money as -fame; and to prove it I will beg of you, in your own sprightly, -pleasant way, to tell him this story. - -There was a madman in Seville who took to one of the drollest -absurdities and vagaries that ever madman in the world gave way to. It -was this: he made a tube of reed sharp at one end, and catching a dog -in the street, or wherever it might be, he with his foot held one of -its legs fast, and with his hand lifted up the other, and as best he -could fixed the tube where, by blowing, he made the dog as round as a -ball; then holding it in this position, he gave it a couple of slaps on -the belly, and let it go, saying to the bystanders (and there were -always plenty of them): “Do your worships think, now, that it is an -easy thing to blow up a dog?”—Does your worship think now, that it is -an easy thing to write a book? - -And if this story does not suit him, you may, dear reader, tell him -this one, which is likewise of a madman and a dog. - -In Cordova there was another madman, whose way it was to carry a piece -of marble slab or a stone, not of the lightest, on his head, and when -he came upon any unwary dog he used to draw close to him and let the -weight fall right on top of him; on which the dog in a rage, barking -and howling, would run three streets without stopping. It so happened, -however, that one of the dogs he discharged his load upon was a -cap-maker’s dog, of which his master was very fond. The stone came down -hitting it on the head, the dog raised a yell at the blow, the master -saw the affair and was wroth, and snatching up a measuring-yard rushed -out at the madman and did not leave a sound bone in his body, and at -every stroke he gave him he said, “You dog, you thief! my lurcher! -Don’t you see, you brute, that my dog is a lurcher?” and so, repeating -the word “lurcher” again and again, he sent the madman away beaten to a -jelly. The madman took the lesson to heart, and vanished, and for more -than a month never once showed himself in public; but after that he -came out again with his old trick and a heavier load than ever. He came -up to where there was a dog, and examining it very carefully without -venturing to let the stone fall, he said: “This is a lurcher; ware!” In -short, all the dogs he came across, be they mastiffs or terriers, he -said were lurchers; and he discharged no more stones. Maybe it will be -the same with this historian; that he will not venture another time to -discharge the weight of his wit in books, which, being bad, are harder -than stones. Tell him, too, that I do not care a farthing for the -threat he holds out to me of depriving me of my profit by means of his -book; for, to borrow from the famous interlude of “The Perendenga,” I -say in answer to him, “Long life to my lord the Veintiquatro, and -Christ be with us all.” Long life to the great Conde de Lemos, whose -Christian charity and well-known generosity support me against all the -strokes of my curst fortune; and long life to the supreme benevolence -of His Eminence of Toledo, Don Bernardo de Sandoval y Rojas; and what -matter if there be no printing-presses in the world, or if they print -more books against me than there are letters in the verses of Mingo -Revulgo! These two princes, unsought by any adulation or flattery of -mine, of their own goodness alone, have taken it upon them to show me -kindness and protect me, and in this I consider myself happier and -richer than if Fortune had raised me to her greatest height in the -ordinary way. The poor man may retain honour, but not the vicious; -poverty may cast a cloud over nobility, but cannot hide it altogether; -and as virtue of itself sheds a certain light, even though it be -through the straits and chinks of penury, it wins the esteem of lofty -and noble spirits, and in consequence their protection. Thou needst say -no more to him, nor will I say anything more to thee, save to tell thee -to bear in mind that this Second Part of “Don Quixote” which I offer -thee is cut by the same craftsman and from the same cloth as the First, -and that in it I present thee Don Quixote continued, and at length dead -and buried, so that no one may dare to bring forward any further -evidence against him, for that already produced is sufficient; and -suffice it, too, that some reputable person should have given an -account of all these shrewd lunacies of his without going into the -matter again; for abundance, even of good things, prevents them from -being valued; and scarcity, even in the case of what is bad, confers a -certain value. I was forgetting to tell thee that thou mayest expect -the “Persiles,” which I am now finishing, and also the Second Part of -“Galatea.” - -CHAPTER I. -OF THE INTERVIEW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE ABOUT -HIS MALADY - -Cide Hamete Benengeli, in the Second Part of this history, and third -sally of Don Quixote, says that the curate and the barber remained -nearly a month without seeing him, lest they should recall or bring -back to his recollection what had taken place. They did not, however, -omit to visit his niece and housekeeper, and charge them to be careful -to treat him with attention, and give him comforting things to eat, and -such as were good for the heart and the brain, whence, it was plain to -see, all his misfortune proceeded. The niece and housekeeper replied -that they did so, and meant to do so with all possible care and -assiduity, for they could perceive that their master was now and then -beginning to show signs of being in his right mind. This gave great -satisfaction to the curate and the barber, for they concluded they had -taken the right course in carrying him off enchanted on the ox-cart, as -has been described in the First Part of this great as well as accurate -history, in the last chapter thereof. So they resolved to pay him a -visit and test the improvement in his condition, although they thought -it almost impossible that there could be any; and they agreed not to -touch upon any point connected with knight-errantry so as not to run -the risk of reopening wounds which were still so tender. - -They came to see him consequently, and found him sitting up in bed in a -green baize waistcoat and a red Toledo cap, and so withered and dried -up that he looked as if he had been turned into a mummy. They were very -cordially received by him; they asked him after his health, and he -talked to them about himself very naturally and in very well-chosen -language. In the course of their conversation they fell to discussing -what they call State-craft and systems of government, correcting this -abuse and condemning that, reforming one practice and abolishing -another, each of the three setting up for a new legislator, a modern -Lycurgus, or a brand-new Solon; and so completely did they remodel the -State, that they seemed to have thrust it into a furnace and taken out -something quite different from what they had put in; and on all the -subjects they dealt with, Don Quixote spoke with such good sense that -the pair of examiners were fully convinced that he was quite recovered -and in his full senses. - -The niece and housekeeper were present at the conversation and could -not find words enough to express their thanks to God at seeing their -master so clear in his mind; the curate, however, changing his original -plan, which was to avoid touching upon matters of chivalry, resolved to -test Don Quixote’s recovery thoroughly, and see whether it were genuine -or not; and so, from one subject to another, he came at last to talk of -the news that had come from the capital, and, among other things, he -said it was considered certain that the Turk was coming down with a -powerful fleet, and that no one knew what his purpose was, or when the -great storm would burst; and that all Christendom was in apprehension -of this, which almost every year calls us to arms, and that his Majesty -had made provision for the security of the coasts of Naples and Sicily -and the island of Malta. - -To this Don Quixote replied, “His Majesty has acted like a prudent -warrior in providing for the safety of his realms in time, so that the -enemy may not find him unprepared; but if my advice were taken I would -recommend him to adopt a measure which at present, no doubt, his -Majesty is very far from thinking of.” - -The moment the curate heard this he said to himself, “God keep thee in -his hand, poor Don Quixote, for it seems to me thou art precipitating -thyself from the height of thy madness into the profound abyss of thy -simplicity.” - -But the barber, who had the same suspicion as the curate, asked Don -Quixote what would be his advice as to the measures that he said ought -to be adopted; for perhaps it might prove to be one that would have to -be added to the list of the many impertinent suggestions that people -were in the habit of offering to princes. - -“Mine, master shaver,” said Don Quixote, “will not be impertinent, but, -on the contrary, pertinent.” - -“I don’t mean that,” said the barber, “but that experience has shown -that all or most of the expedients which are proposed to his Majesty -are either impossible, or absurd, or injurious to the King and to the -kingdom.” - -“Mine, however,” replied Don Quixote, “is neither impossible nor -absurd, but the easiest, the most reasonable, the readiest and most -expeditious that could suggest itself to any projector’s mind.” - -“You take a long time to tell it, Señor Don Quixote,” said the curate. - -“I don’t choose to tell it here, now,” said Don Quixote, “and have it -reach the ears of the lords of the council to-morrow morning, and some -other carry off the thanks and rewards of my trouble.” - -“For my part,” said the barber, “I give my word here and before God -that I will not repeat what your worship says, to King, Rook or earthly -man—an oath I learned from the ballad of the curate, who, in the -prelude, told the king of the thief who had robbed him of the hundred -gold crowns and his pacing mule.” - -“I am not versed in stories,” said Don Quixote; “but I know the oath is -a good one, because I know the barber to be an honest fellow.” - -“Even if he were not,” said the curate, “I will go bail and answer for -him that in this matter he will be as silent as a dummy, under pain of -paying any penalty that may be pronounced.” - -“And who will be security for you, señor curate?” said Don Quixote. - -“My profession,” replied the curate, “which is to keep secrets.” - -“Ods body!” said Don Quixote at this, “what more has his Majesty to do -but to command, by public proclamation, all the knights-errant that are -scattered over Spain to assemble on a fixed day in the capital, for -even if no more than half a dozen come, there may be one among them who -alone will suffice to destroy the entire might of the Turk. Give me -your attention and follow me. Is it, pray, any new thing for a single -knight-errant to demolish an army of two hundred thousand men, as if -they all had but one throat or were made of sugar paste? Nay, tell me, -how many histories are there filled with these marvels? If only (in an -evil hour for me: I don’t speak for anyone else) the famous Don -Belianis were alive now, or anyone of the innumerable progeny of Amadis -of Gaul! If any these were alive to-day, and were to come face to face -with the Turk, by my faith, I would not give much for the Turk’s -chance. But God will have regard for his people, and will provide -someone, who, if not so valiant as the knights-errant of yore, at least -will not be inferior to them in spirit; but God knows what I mean, and -I say no more.” - -“Alas!” exclaimed the niece at this, “may I die if my master does not -want to turn knight-errant again;” to which Don Quixote replied, “A -knight-errant I shall die, and let the Turk come down or go up when he -likes, and in as strong force as he can, once more I say, God knows -what I mean.” But here the barber said, “I ask your worships to give me -leave to tell a short story of something that happened in Seville, -which comes so pat to the purpose just now that I should like greatly -to tell it.” Don Quixote gave him leave, and the rest prepared to -listen, and he began thus: - -“In the madhouse at Seville there was a man whom his relations had -placed there as being out of his mind. He was a graduate of Osuna in -canon law; but even if he had been of Salamanca, it was the opinion of -most people that he would have been mad all the same. This graduate, -after some years of confinement, took it into his head that he was sane -and in his full senses, and under this impression wrote to the -Archbishop, entreating him earnestly, and in very correct language, to -have him released from the misery in which he was living; for by God’s -mercy he had now recovered his lost reason, though his relations, in -order to enjoy his property, kept him there, and, in spite of the -truth, would make him out to be mad until his dying day. The -Archbishop, moved by repeated sensible, well-written letters, directed -one of his chaplains to make inquiry of the madhouse as to the truth of -the licentiate’s statements, and to have an interview with the madman -himself, and, if it should appear that he was in his senses, to take -him out and restore him to liberty. The chaplain did so, and the -governor assured him that the man was still mad, and that though he -often spoke like a highly intelligent person, he would in the end break -out into nonsense that in quantity and quality counterbalanced all the -sensible things he had said before, as might be easily tested by -talking to him. The chaplain resolved to try the experiment, and -obtaining access to the madman conversed with him for an hour or more, -during the whole of which time he never uttered a word that was -incoherent or absurd, but, on the contrary, spoke so rationally that -the chaplain was compelled to believe him to be sane. Among other -things, he said the governor was against him, not to lose the presents -his relations made him for reporting him still mad but with lucid -intervals; and that the worst foe he had in his misfortune was his -large property; for in order to enjoy it his enemies disparaged and -threw doubts upon the mercy our Lord had shown him in turning him from -a brute beast into a man. In short, he spoke in such a way that he cast -suspicion on the governor, and made his relations appear covetous and -heartless, and himself so rational that the chaplain determined to take -him away with him that the Archbishop might see him, and ascertain for -himself the truth of the matter. Yielding to this conviction, the -worthy chaplain begged the governor to have the clothes in which the -licentiate had entered the house given to him. The governor again bade -him beware of what he was doing, as the licentiate was beyond a doubt -still mad; but all his cautions and warnings were unavailing to -dissuade the chaplain from taking him away. The governor, seeing that -it was the order of the Archbishop, obeyed, and they dressed the -licentiate in his own clothes, which were new and decent. He, as soon -as he saw himself clothed like one in his senses, and divested of the -appearance of a madman, entreated the chaplain to permit him in charity -to go and take leave of his comrades the madmen. The chaplain said he -would go with him to see what madmen there were in the house; so they -went upstairs, and with them some of those who were present. -Approaching a cage in which there was a furious madman, though just at -that moment calm and quiet, the licentiate said to him, ‘Brother, think -if you have any commands for me, for I am going home, as God has been -pleased, in his infinite goodness and mercy, without any merit of mine, -to restore me my reason. I am now cured and in my senses, for with -God’s power nothing is impossible. Have strong hope and trust in him, -for as he has restored me to my original condition, so likewise he will -restore you if you trust in him. I will take care to send you some good -things to eat; and be sure you eat them; for I would have you know I am -convinced, as one who has gone through it, that all this madness of -ours comes of having the stomach empty and the brains full of wind. -Take courage! take courage! for despondency in misfortune breaks down -health and brings on death.’ - -“To all these words of the licentiate another madman in a cage opposite -that of the furious one was listening; and raising himself up from an -old mat on which he lay stark naked, he asked in a loud voice who it -was that was going away cured and in his senses. The licentiate -answered, ‘It is I, brother, who am going; I have now no need to remain -here any longer, for which I return infinite thanks to Heaven that has -had so great mercy upon me.’ - -“‘Mind what you are saying, licentiate; don’t let the devil deceive -you,’ replied the madman. ‘Keep quiet, stay where you are, and you will -save yourself the trouble of coming back.’ - -“‘I know I am cured,’ returned the licentiate, ‘and that I shall not -have to go stations again.’ - -“‘You cured!’ said the madman; ‘well, we shall see; God be with you; -but I swear to you by Jupiter, whose majesty I represent on earth, that -for this crime alone, which Seville is committing to-day in releasing -you from this house, and treating you as if you were in your senses, I -shall have to inflict such a punishment on it as will be remembered for -ages and ages, amen. Dost thou not know, thou miserable little -licentiate, that I can do it, being, as I say, Jupiter the Thunderer, -who hold in my hands the fiery bolts with which I am able and am wont -to threaten and lay waste the world? But in one way only will I punish -this ignorant town, and that is by not raining upon it, nor on any part -of its district or territory, for three whole years, to be reckoned -from the day and moment when this threat is pronounced. Thou free, thou -cured, thou in thy senses! and I mad, I disordered, I bound! I will as -soon think of sending rain as of hanging myself. - -“Those present stood listening to the words and exclamations of the -madman; but our licentiate, turning to the chaplain and seizing him by -the hands, said to him, ‘Be not uneasy, señor; attach no importance to -what this madman has said; for if he is Jupiter and will not send rain, -I, who am Neptune, the father and god of the waters, will rain as often -as it pleases me and may be needful.’ - -“The governor and the bystanders laughed, and at their laughter the -chaplain was half ashamed, and he replied, ‘For all that, Señor -Neptune, it will not do to vex Señor Jupiter; remain where you are, and -some other day, when there is a better opportunity and more time, we -will come back for you.’ So they stripped the licentiate, and he was -left where he was; and that’s the end of the story.” - -“So that’s the story, master barber,” said Don Quixote, “which came in -so pat to the purpose that you could not help telling it? Master -shaver, master shaver! how blind is he who cannot see through a sieve. -Is it possible that you do not know that comparisons of wit with wit, -valour with valour, beauty with beauty, birth with birth, are always -odious and unwelcome? I, master barber, am not Neptune, the god of the -waters, nor do I try to make anyone take me for an astute man, for I am -not one. My only endeavour is to convince the world of the mistake it -makes in not reviving in itself the happy time when the order of -knight-errantry was in the field. But our depraved age does not deserve -to enjoy such a blessing as those ages enjoyed when knights-errant took -upon their shoulders the defence of kingdoms, the protection of -damsels, the succour of orphans and minors, the chastisement of the -proud, and the recompense of the humble. With the knights of these -days, for the most part, it is the damask, brocade, and rich stuffs -they wear, that rustle as they go, not the chain mail of their armour; -no knight now-a-days sleeps in the open field exposed to the inclemency -of heaven, and in full panoply from head to foot; no one now takes a -nap, as they call it, without drawing his feet out of the stirrups, and -leaning upon his lance, as the knights-errant used to do; no one now, -issuing from the wood, penetrates yonder mountains, and then treads the -barren, lonely shore of the sea—mostly a tempestuous and stormy one—and -finding on the beach a little bark without oars, sail, mast, or -tackling of any kind, in the intrepidity of his heart flings himself -into it and commits himself to the wrathful billows of the deep sea, -that one moment lift him up to heaven and the next plunge him into the -depths; and opposing his breast to the irresistible gale, finds -himself, when he least expects it, three thousand leagues and more away -from the place where he embarked; and leaping ashore in a remote and -unknown land has adventures that deserve to be written, not on -parchment, but on brass. But now sloth triumphs over energy, indolence -over exertion, vice over virtue, arrogance over courage, and theory -over practice in arms, which flourished and shone only in the golden -ages and in knights-errant. For tell me, who was more virtuous and more -valiant than the famous Amadis of Gaul? Who more discreet than Palmerin -of England? Who more gracious and easy than Tirante el Blanco? Who more -courtly than Lisuarte of Greece? Who more slashed or slashing than Don -Belianis? Who more intrepid than Perion of Gaul? Who more ready to face -danger than Felixmarte of Hircania? Who more sincere than Esplandian? -Who more impetuous than Don Cirongilio of Thrace? Who more bold than -Rodamonte? Who more prudent than King Sobrino? Who more daring than -Reinaldos? Who more invincible than Roland? and who more gallant and -courteous than Ruggiero, from whom the dukes of Ferrara of the present -day are descended, according to Turpin in his ‘Cosmography.’ All these -knights, and many more that I could name, señor curate, were -knights-errant, the light and glory of chivalry. These, or such as -these, I would have to carry out my plan, and in that case his Majesty -would find himself well served and would save great expense, and the -Turk would be left tearing his beard. And so I will stay where I am, as -the chaplain does not take me away; and if Jupiter, as the barber has -told us, will not send rain, here am I, and I will rain when I please. -I say this that Master Basin may know that I understand him.” - -“Indeed, Señor Don Quixote,” said the barber, “I did not mean it in -that way, and, so help me God, my intention was good, and your worship -ought not to be vexed.” - -“As to whether I ought to be vexed or not,” returned Don Quixote, “I -myself am the best judge.” - -Hereupon the curate observed, “I have hardly said a word as yet; and I -would gladly be relieved of a doubt, arising from what Don Quixote has -said, that worries and works my conscience.” - -“The señor curate has leave for more than that,” returned Don Quixote, -“so he may declare his doubt, for it is not pleasant to have a doubt on -one’s conscience.” - -“Well then, with that permission,” said the curate, “I say my doubt is -that, all I can do, I cannot persuade myself that the whole pack of -knights-errant you, Señor Don Quixote, have mentioned, were really and -truly persons of flesh and blood, that ever lived in the world; on the -contrary, I suspect it to be all fiction, fable, and falsehood, and -dreams told by men awakened from sleep, or rather still half asleep.” - -“That is another mistake,” replied Don Quixote, “into which many have -fallen who do not believe that there ever were such knights in the -world, and I have often, with divers people and on divers occasions, -tried to expose this almost universal error to the light of truth. -Sometimes I have not been successful in my purpose, sometimes I have, -supporting it upon the shoulders of the truth; which truth is so clear -that I can almost say I have with my own eyes seen Amadis of Gaul, who -was a man of lofty stature, fair complexion, with a handsome though -black beard, of a countenance between gentle and stern in expression, -sparing of words, slow to anger, and quick to put it away from him; and -as I have depicted Amadis, so I could, I think, portray and describe -all the knights-errant that are in all the histories in the world; for -by the perception I have that they were what their histories describe, -and by the deeds they did and the dispositions they displayed, it is -possible, with the aid of sound philosophy, to deduce their features, -complexion, and stature.” - -“How big, in your worship’s opinion, may the giant Morgante have been, -Señor Don Quixote?” asked the barber. - -“With regard to giants,” replied Don Quixote, “opinions differ as to -whether there ever were any or not in the world; but the Holy -Scripture, which cannot err by a jot from the truth, shows us that -there were, when it gives us the history of that big Philistine, -Goliath, who was seven cubits and a half in height, which is a huge -size. Likewise, in the island of Sicily, there have been found -leg-bones and arm-bones so large that their size makes it plain that -their owners were giants, and as tall as great towers; geometry puts -this fact beyond a doubt. But, for all that, I cannot speak with -certainty as to the size of Morgante, though I suspect he cannot have -been very tall; and I am inclined to be of this opinion because I find -in the history in which his deeds are particularly mentioned, that he -frequently slept under a roof and as he found houses to contain him, it -is clear that his bulk could not have been anything excessive.” - -“That is true,” said the curate, and yielding to the enjoyment of -hearing such nonsense, he asked him what was his notion of the features -of Reinaldos of Montalban, and Don Roland and the rest of the Twelve -Peers of France, for they were all knights-errant. - -“As for Reinaldos,” replied Don Quixote, “I venture to say that he was -broad-faced, of ruddy complexion, with roguish and somewhat prominent -eyes, excessively punctilious and touchy, and given to the society of -thieves and scapegraces. With regard to Roland, or Rotolando, or -Orlando (for the histories call him by all these names), I am of -opinion, and hold, that he was of middle height, broad-shouldered, -rather bow-legged, swarthy-complexioned, red-bearded, with a hairy body -and a severe expression of countenance, a man of few words, but very -polite and well-bred.” - -“If Roland was not a more graceful person than your worship has -described,” said the curate, “it is no wonder that the fair Lady -Angelica rejected him and left him for the gaiety, liveliness, and -grace of that budding-bearded little Moor to whom she surrendered -herself; and she showed her sense in falling in love with the gentle -softness of Medoro rather than the roughness of Roland.” - -“That Angelica, señor curate,” returned Don Quixote, “was a giddy -damsel, flighty and somewhat wanton, and she left the world as full of -her vagaries as of the fame of her beauty. She treated with scorn a -thousand gentlemen, men of valour and wisdom, and took up with a -smooth-faced sprig of a page, without fortune or fame, except such -reputation for gratitude as the affection he bore his friend got for -him. The great poet who sang her beauty, the famous Ariosto, not caring -to sing her adventures after her contemptible surrender (which probably -were not over and above creditable), dropped her where he says: - -How she received the sceptre of Cathay, -Some bard of defter quill may sing some day; - -and this was no doubt a kind of prophecy, for poets are also called -_vates_, that is to say diviners; and its truth was made plain; for -since then a famous Andalusian poet has lamented and sung her tears, -and another famous and rare poet, a Castilian, has sung her beauty.” - -“Tell me, Señor Don Quixote,” said the barber here, “among all those -who praised her, has there been no poet to write a satire on this Lady -Angelica?” - -“I can well believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that if Sacripante or -Roland had been poets they would have given the damsel a trimming; for -it is naturally the way with poets who have been scorned and rejected -by their ladies, whether fictitious or not, in short by those whom they -select as the ladies of their thoughts, to avenge themselves in satires -and libels—a vengeance, to be sure, unworthy of generous hearts; but up -to the present I have not heard of any defamatory verse against the -Lady Angelica, who turned the world upside down.” - -“Strange,” said the curate; but at this moment they heard the -housekeeper and the niece, who had previously withdrawn from the -conversation, exclaiming aloud in the courtyard, and at the noise they -all ran out. - -CHAPTER II. -WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE ALTERCATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HAD WITH DON -QUIXOTE’S NIECE, AND HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER DROLL MATTERS - -The history relates that the outcry Don Quixote, the curate, and the -barber heard came from the niece and the housekeeper exclaiming to -Sancho, who was striving to force his way in to see Don Quixote while -they held the door against him, “What does the vagabond want in this -house? Be off to your own, brother, for it is you, and no one else, -that delude my master, and lead him astray, and take him tramping about -the country.” - -To which Sancho replied, “Devil’s own housekeeper! it is I who am -deluded, and led astray, and taken tramping about the country, and not -thy master! He has carried me all over the world, and you are mightily -mistaken. He enticed me away from home by a trick, promising me an -island, which I am still waiting for.” - -“May evil islands choke thee, thou detestable Sancho,” said the niece; -“What are islands? Is it something to eat, glutton and gormandiser that -thou art?” - -“It is not something to eat,” replied Sancho, “but something to govern -and rule, and better than four cities or four judgeships at court.” - -“For all that,” said the housekeeper, “you don’t enter here, you bag of -mischief and sack of knavery; go govern your house and dig your -seed-patch, and give over looking for islands or shylands.” - -The curate and the barber listened with great amusement to the words of -the three; but Don Quixote, uneasy lest Sancho should blab and blurt -out a whole heap of mischievous stupidities, and touch upon points that -might not be altogether to his credit, called to him and made the other -two hold their tongues and let him come in. Sancho entered, and the -curate and the barber took their leave of Don Quixote, of whose -recovery they despaired when they saw how wedded he was to his crazy -ideas, and how saturated with the nonsense of his unlucky chivalry; and -said the curate to the barber, “You will see, gossip, that when we are -least thinking of it, our gentleman will be off once more for another -flight.” - -“I have no doubt of it,” returned the barber; “but I do not wonder so -much at the madness of the knight as at the simplicity of the squire, -who has such a firm belief in all that about the island, that I suppose -all the exposures that could be imagined would not get it out of his -head.” - -“God help them,” said the curate; “and let us be on the look-out to see -what comes of all these absurdities of the knight and squire, for it -seems as if they had both been cast in the same mould, and the madness -of the master without the simplicity of the man would not be worth a -farthing.” - -“That is true,” said the barber, “and I should like very much to know -what the pair are talking about at this moment.” - -“I promise you,” said the curate, “the niece or the housekeeper will -tell us by-and-by, for they are not the ones to forget to listen.” - -Meanwhile Don Quixote shut himself up in his room with Sancho, and when -they were alone he said to him, “It grieves me greatly, Sancho, that -thou shouldst have said, and sayest, that I took thee out of thy -cottage, when thou knowest I did not remain in my house. We sallied -forth together, we took the road together, we wandered abroad together; -we have had the same fortune and the same luck; if they blanketed thee -once, they belaboured me a hundred times, and that is the only -advantage I have of thee.” - -“That was only reasonable,” replied Sancho, “for, by what your worship -says, misfortunes belong more properly to knights-errant than to their -squires.” - -“Thou art mistaken, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “according to the maxim -_quando caput dolet_, etc.” - -“I don’t understand any language but my own,” said Sancho. - -“I mean to say,” said Don Quixote, “that when the head suffers all the -members suffer; and so, being thy lord and master, I am thy head, and -thou a part of me as thou art my servant; and therefore any evil that -affects or shall affect me should give thee pain, and what affects thee -give pain to me.” - -“It should be so,” said Sancho; “but when I was blanketed as a member, -my head was on the other side of the wall, looking on while I was -flying through the air, and did not feel any pain whatever; and if the -members are obliged to feel the suffering of the head, it should be -obliged to feel their sufferings.” - -“Dost thou mean to say now, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that I did not -feel when they were blanketing thee? If thou dost, thou must not say so -or think so, for I felt more pain then in spirit than thou didst in -body. But let us put that aside for the present, for we shall have -opportunities enough for considering and settling the point; tell me, -Sancho my friend, what do they say about me in the village here? What -do the common people think of me? What do the hidalgos? What do the -caballeros? What do they say of my valour; of my achievements; of my -courtesy? How do they treat the task I have undertaken in reviving and -restoring to the world the now forgotten order of chivalry? In short, -Sancho, I would have thee tell me all that has come to thine ears on -this subject; and thou art to tell me, without adding anything to the -good or taking away anything from the bad; for it is the duty of loyal -vassals to tell the truth to their lords just as it is and in its -proper shape, not allowing flattery to add to it or any idle deference -to lessen it. And I would have thee know, Sancho, that if the naked -truth, undisguised by flattery, came to the ears of princes, times -would be different, and other ages would be reckoned iron ages more -than ours, which I hold to be the golden of these latter days. Profit -by this advice, Sancho, and report to me clearly and faithfully the -truth of what thou knowest touching what I have demanded of thee.” - -“That I will do with all my heart, master,” replied Sancho, “provided -your worship will not be vexed at what I say, as you wish me to say it -out in all its nakedness, without putting any more clothes on it than -it came to my knowledge in.” - -“I will not be vexed at all,” returned Don Quixote; “thou mayest speak -freely, Sancho, and without any beating about the bush.” - -“Well then,” said he, “first of all, I have to tell you that the common -people consider your worship a mighty great madman, and me no less a -fool. The hidalgos say that, not keeping within the bounds of your -quality of gentleman, you have assumed the ‘Don,’ and made a knight of -yourself at a jump, with four vine-stocks and a couple of acres of -land, and never a shirt to your back. The caballeros say they do not -want to have hidalgos setting up in opposition to them, particularly -squire hidalgos who polish their own shoes and darn their black -stockings with green silk.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “does not apply to me, for I always go well -dressed and never patched; ragged I may be, but ragged more from the -wear and tear of arms than of time.” - -“As to your worship’s valour, courtesy, accomplishments, and task, -there is a variety of opinions. Some say, ‘mad but droll;’ others, -‘valiant but unlucky;’ others, ‘courteous but meddling,’ and then they -go into such a number of things that they don’t leave a whole bone -either in your worship or in myself.” - -“Recollect, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that wherever virtue exists in -an eminent degree it is persecuted. Few or none of the famous men that -have lived escaped being calumniated by malice. Julius Cæsar, the -boldest, wisest, and bravest of captains, was charged with being -ambitious, and not particularly cleanly in his dress, or pure in his -morals. Of Alexander, whose deeds won him the name of Great, they say -that he was somewhat of a drunkard. Of Hercules, him of the many -labours, it is said that he was lewd and luxurious. Of Don Galaor, the -brother of Amadis of Gaul, it was whispered that he was -over-quarrelsome, and of his brother that he was lachrymose. So that, O -Sancho, amongst all these calumnies against good men, mine may be let -pass, since they are no more than thou hast said.” - -“That’s just where it is, body of my father!” - -“Is there more, then?” asked Don Quixote. - -“There’s the tail to be skinned yet,” said Sancho; “all so far is cakes -and fancy bread; but if your worship wants to know all about the -calumnies they bring against you, I will fetch you one this instant who -can tell you the whole of them without missing an atom; for last night -the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who has been studying at Salamanca, -came home after having been made a bachelor, and when I went to welcome -him, he told me that your worship’s history is already abroad in books, -with the title of THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA; and -he says they mention me in it by my own name of Sancho Panza, and the -lady Dulcinea del Toboso too, and divers things that happened to us -when we were alone; so that I crossed myself in my wonder how the -historian who wrote them down could have known them.” - -“I promise thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “the author of our history -will be some sage enchanter; for to such nothing that they choose to -write about is hidden.” - -“What!” said Sancho, “a sage and an enchanter! Why, the bachelor Samson -Carrasco (that is the name of him I spoke of) says the author of the -history is called Cide Hamete Berengena.” - -“That is a Moorish name,” said Don Quixote. - -“May be so,” replied Sancho; “for I have heard say that the Moors are -mostly great lovers of berengenas.” - -“Thou must have mistaken the surname of this ‘Cide’—which means in -Arabic ‘Lord’—Sancho,” observed Don Quixote. - -“Very likely,” replied Sancho, “but if your worship wishes me to fetch -the bachelor I will go for him in a twinkling.” - -“Thou wilt do me a great pleasure, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for -what thou hast told me has amazed me, and I shall not eat a morsel that -will agree with me until I have heard all about it.” - -“Then I am off for him,” said Sancho; and leaving his master he went in -quest of the bachelor, with whom he returned in a short time, and, all -three together, they had a very droll colloquy. - -CHAPTER III. -OF THE LAUGHABLE CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE, SANCHO -PANZA, AND THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO - -Don Quixote remained very deep in thought, waiting for the bachelor -Carrasco, from whom he was to hear how he himself had been put into a -book as Sancho said; and he could not persuade himself that any such -history could be in existence, for the blood of the enemies he had -slain was not yet dry on the blade of his sword, and now they wanted to -make out that his mighty achievements were going about in print. For -all that, he fancied some sage, either a friend or an enemy, might, by -the aid of magic, have given them to the press; if a friend, in order -to magnify and exalt them above the most famous ever achieved by any -knight-errant; if an enemy, to bring them to naught and degrade them -below the meanest ever recorded of any low squire, though as he said to -himself, the achievements of squires never were recorded. If, however, -it were the fact that such a history were in existence, it must -necessarily, being the story of a knight-errant, be grandiloquent, -lofty, imposing, grand and true. With this he comforted himself -somewhat, though it made him uncomfortable to think that the author was -a Moor, judging by the title of “Cide;” and that no truth was to be -looked for from Moors, as they are all impostors, cheats, and schemers. -He was afraid he might have dealt with his love affairs in some -indecorous fashion, that might tend to the discredit and prejudice of -the purity of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso; he would have had him set -forth the fidelity and respect he had always observed towards her, -spurning queens, empresses, and damsels of all sorts, and keeping in -check the impetuosity of his natural impulses. Absorbed and wrapped up -in these and divers other cogitations, he was found by Sancho and -Carrasco, whom Don Quixote received with great courtesy. - -The bachelor, though he was called Samson, was of no great bodily size, -but he was a very great wag; he was of a sallow complexion, but very -sharp-witted, somewhere about four-and-twenty years of age, with a -round face, a flat nose, and a large mouth, all indications of a -mischievous disposition and a love of fun and jokes; and of this he -gave a sample as soon as he saw Don Quixote, by falling on his knees -before him and saying, “Let me kiss your mightiness’s hand, Señor Don -Quixote of La Mancha, for, by the habit of St. Peter that I wear, -though I have no more than the first four orders, your worship is one -of the most famous knights-errant that have ever been, or will be, all -the world over. A blessing on Cide Hamete Benengeli, who has written -the history of your great deeds, and a double blessing on that -connoisseur who took the trouble of having it translated out of the -Arabic into our Castilian vulgar tongue for the universal entertainment -of the people!” - -Don Quixote made him rise, and said, “So, then, it is true that there -is a history of me, and that it was a Moor and a sage who wrote it?” - -“So true is it, señor,” said Samson, “that my belief is there are more -than twelve thousand volumes of the said history in print this very -day. Only ask Portugal, Barcelona, and Valencia, where they have been -printed, and moreover there is a report that it is being printed at -Antwerp, and I am persuaded there will not be a country or language in -which there will not be a translation of it.” - -“One of the things,” here observed Don Quixote, “that ought to give -most pleasure to a virtuous and eminent man is to find himself in his -lifetime in print and in type, familiar in people’s mouths with a good -name; I say with a good name, for if it be the opposite, then there is -no death to be compared to it.” - -“If it goes by good name and fame,” said the bachelor, “your worship -alone bears away the palm from all the knights-errant; for the Moor in -his own language, and the Christian in his, have taken care to set -before us your gallantry, your high courage in encountering dangers, -your fortitude in adversity, your patience under misfortunes as well as -wounds, the purity and continence of the platonic loves of your worship -and my lady Doña Dulcinea del Toboso—” - -“I never heard my lady Dulcinea called Doña,” observed Sancho here; -“nothing more than the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; so here already the -history is wrong.” - -“That is not an objection of any importance,” replied Carrasco. - -“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, señor bachelor, what -deeds of mine are they that are made most of in this history?” - -“On that point,” replied the bachelor, “opinions differ, as tastes do; -some swear by the adventure of the windmills that your worship took to -be Briareuses and giants; others by that of the fulling mills; one -cries up the description of the two armies that afterwards took the -appearance of two droves of sheep; another that of the dead body on its -way to be buried at Segovia; a third says the liberation of the galley -slaves is the best of all, and a fourth that nothing comes up to the -affair with the Benedictine giants, and the battle with the valiant -Biscayan.” - -“Tell me, señor bachelor,” said Sancho at this point, “does the -adventure with the Yanguesans come in, when our good Rocinante went -hankering after dainties?” - -“The sage has left nothing in the ink-bottle,” replied Samson; “he -tells all and sets down everything, even to the capers that worthy -Sancho cut in the blanket.” - -“I cut no capers in the blanket,” returned Sancho; “in the air I did, -and more of them than I liked.” - -“There is no human history in the world, I suppose,” said Don Quixote, -“that has not its ups and downs, but more than others such as deal with -chivalry, for they can never be entirely made up of prosperous -adventures.” - -“For all that,” replied the bachelor, “there are those who have read -the history who say they would have been glad if the author had left -out some of the countless cudgellings that were inflicted on Señor Don -Quixote in various encounters.” - -“That’s where the truth of the history comes in,” said Sancho. - -“At the same time they might fairly have passed them over in silence,” -observed Don Quixote; “for there is no need of recording events which -do not change or affect the truth of a history, if they tend to bring -the hero of it into contempt. Æneas was not in truth and earnest so -pious as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so wise as Homer describes -him.” - -“That is true,” said Samson; “but it is one thing to write as a poet, -another to write as a historian; the poet may describe or sing things, -not as they were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian has -to write them down, not as they ought to have been, but as they were, -without adding anything to the truth or taking anything from it.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “if this señor Moor goes in for telling the -truth, no doubt among my master’s drubbings mine are to be found; for -they never took the measure of his worship’s shoulders without doing -the same for my whole body; but I have no right to wonder at that, for, -as my master himself says, the members must share the pain of the -head.” - -“You are a sly dog, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “i’ faith, you have no -want of memory when you choose to remember.” - -“If I were to try to forget the thwacks they gave me,” said Sancho, “my -weals would not let me, for they are still fresh on my ribs.” - -“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t interrupt the bachelor, -whom I entreat to go on and tell all that is said about me in this -history.” - -“And about me,” said Sancho, “for they say, too, that I am one of the -principal presonages in it.” - -“Personages, not presonages, friend Sancho,” said Samson. - -“What! Another word-catcher!” said Sancho; “if that’s to be the way we -shall not make an end in a lifetime.” - -“May God shorten mine, Sancho,” returned the bachelor, “if you are not -the second person in the history, and there are even some who would -rather hear you talk than the cleverest in the whole book; though there -are some, too, who say you showed yourself over-credulous in believing -there was any possibility in the government of that island offered you -by Señor Don Quixote.” - -“There is still sunshine on the wall,” said Don Quixote; “and when -Sancho is somewhat more advanced in life, with the experience that -years bring, he will be fitter and better qualified for being a -governor than he is at present.” - -“By God, master,” said Sancho, “the island that I cannot govern with -the years I have, I’ll not be able to govern with the years of -Methuselah; the difficulty is that the said island keeps its distance -somewhere, I know not where; and not that there is any want of head in -me to govern it.” - -“Leave it to God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for all will be and -perhaps better than you think; no leaf on the tree stirs but by God’s -will.” - -“That is true,” said Samson; “and if it be God’s will, there will not -be any want of a thousand islands, much less one, for Sancho to -govern.” - -“I have seen governors in these parts,” said Sancho, “that are not to -be compared to my shoe-sole; and for all that they are called ‘your -lordship’ and served on silver.” - -“Those are not governors of islands,” observed Samson, “but of other -governments of an easier kind: those that govern islands must at least -know grammar.” - -“I could manage the gram well enough,” said Sancho; “but for the mar I -have neither leaning nor liking, for I don’t know what it is; but -leaving this matter of the government in God’s hands, to send me -wherever it may be most to his service, I may tell you, señor bachelor -Samson Carrasco, it has pleased me beyond measure that the author of -this history should have spoken of me in such a way that what is said -of me gives no offence; for, on the faith of a true squire, if he had -said anything about me that was at all unbecoming an old Christian, -such as I am, the deaf would have heard of it.” - -“That would be working miracles,” said Samson. - -“Miracles or no miracles,” said Sancho, “let everyone mind how he -speaks or writes about people, and not set down at random the first -thing that comes into his head.” - -“One of the faults they find with this history,” said the bachelor, “is -that its author inserted in it a novel called ‘The Ill-advised -Curiosity;’ not that it is bad or ill-told, but that it is out of place -and has nothing to do with the history of his worship Señor Don -Quixote.” - -“I will bet the son of a dog has mixed the cabbages and the baskets,” -said Sancho. - -“Then, I say,” said Don Quixote, “the author of my history was no sage, -but some ignorant chatterer, who, in a haphazard and heedless way, set -about writing it, let it turn out as it might, just as Orbaneja, the -painter of Úbeda, used to do, who, when they asked him what he was -painting, answered, ‘What it may turn out.’ Sometimes he would paint a -cock in such a fashion, and so unlike, that he had to write alongside -of it in Gothic letters, ‘This is a cock; and so it will be with my -history, which will require a commentary to make it intelligible.” - -“No fear of that,” returned Samson, “for it is so plain that there is -nothing in it to puzzle over; the children turn its leaves, the young -people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk praise it; in -a word, it is so thumbed, and read, and got by heart by people of all -sorts, that the instant they see any lean hack, they say, ‘There goes -Rocinante.’ And those that are most given to reading it are the pages, -for there is not a lord’s ante-chamber where there is not a ‘Don -Quixote’ to be found; one takes it up if another lays it down; this one -pounces upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said history is -the most delightful and least injurious entertainment that has been -hitherto seen, for there is not to be found in the whole of it even the -semblance of an immodest word, or a thought that is other than -Catholic.” - -“To write in any other way,” said Don Quixote, “would not be to write -truth, but falsehood, and historians who have recourse to falsehood -ought to be burned, like those who coin false money; and I know not -what could have led the author to have recourse to novels and -irrelevant stories, when he had so much to write about in mine; no -doubt he must have gone by the proverb ‘with straw or with hay, etc,’ -for by merely setting forth my thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty -purposes, my enterprises, he might have made a volume as large, or -larger than all the works of El Tostado would make up. In fact, the -conclusion I arrive at, señor bachelor, is, that to write histories, or -books of any kind, there is need of great judgment and a ripe -understanding. To give expression to humour, and write in a strain of -graceful pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses. The cleverest -character in comedy is the clown, for he who would make people take him -for a fool, must not be one. History is in a measure a sacred thing, -for it should be true, and where the truth is, there God is; but -notwithstanding this, there are some who write and fling books -broadcast on the world as if they were fritters.” - -“There is no book so bad but it has something good in it,” said the -bachelor. - -“No doubt of that,” replied Don Quixote; “but it often happens that -those who have acquired and attained a well-deserved reputation by -their writings, lose it entirely, or damage it in some degree, when -they give them to the press.” - -“The reason of that,” said Samson, “is, that as printed works are -examined leisurely, their faults are easily seen; and the greater the -fame of the writer, the more closely are they scrutinised. Men famous -for their genius, great poets, illustrious historians, are always, or -most commonly, envied by those who take a particular delight and -pleasure in criticising the writings of others, without having produced -any of their own.” - -“That is no wonder,” said Don Quixote; “for there are many divines who -are no good for the pulpit, but excellent in detecting the defects or -excesses of those who preach.” - -“All that is true, Señor Don Quixote,” said Carrasco; “but I wish such -fault-finders were more lenient and less exacting, and did not pay so -much attention to the spots on the bright sun of the work they grumble -at; for if _aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus_, they should remember how -long he remained awake to shed the light of his work with as little -shade as possible; and perhaps it may be that what they find fault with -may be moles, that sometimes heighten the beauty of the face that bears -them; and so I say very great is the risk to which he who prints a book -exposes himself, for of all impossibilities the greatest is to write -one that will satisfy and please all readers.” - -“That which treats of me must have pleased few,” said Don Quixote. - -“Quite the contrary,” said the bachelor; “for, as _stultorum infinitum -est numerus_, innumerable are those who have relished the said history; -but some have brought a charge against the author’s memory, inasmuch as -he forgot to say who the thief was who stole Sancho’s Dapple; for it is -not stated there, but only to be inferred from what is set down, that -he was stolen, and a little farther on we see Sancho mounted on the -same ass, without any reappearance of it. They say, too, that he forgot -to state what Sancho did with those hundred crowns that he found in the -valise in the Sierra Morena, as he never alludes to them again, and -there are many who would be glad to know what he did with them, or what -he spent them on, for it is one of the serious omissions of the work.” - -“Señor Samson, I am not in a humour now for going into accounts or -explanations,” said Sancho; “for there’s a sinking of the stomach come -over me, and unless I doctor it with a couple of sups of the old stuff -it will put me on the thorn of Santa Lucia. I have it at home, and my -old woman is waiting for me; after dinner I’ll come back, and will -answer you and all the world every question you may choose to ask, as -well about the loss of the ass as about the spending of the hundred -crowns;” and without another word or waiting for a reply he made off -home. - -Don Quixote begged and entreated the bachelor to stay and do penance -with him. The bachelor accepted the invitation and remained, a couple -of young pigeons were added to the ordinary fare, at dinner they talked -chivalry, Carrasco fell in with his host’s humour, the banquet came to -an end, they took their afternoon sleep, Sancho returned, and their -conversation was resumed. - -CHAPTER IV. -IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA GIVES A SATISFACTORY REPLY TO THE DOUBTS AND -QUESTIONS OF THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS -WORTH KNOWING AND TELLING - -Sancho came back to Don Quixote’s house, and returning to the late -subject of conversation, he said, “As to what Señor Samson said, that -he would like to know by whom, or how, or when my ass was stolen, I say -in reply that the same night we went into the Sierra Morena, flying -from the Holy Brotherhood after that unlucky adventure of the galley -slaves, and the other of the corpse that was going to Segovia, my -master and I ensconced ourselves in a thicket, and there, my master -leaning on his lance, and I seated on my Dapple, battered and weary -with the late frays we fell asleep as if it had been on four feather -mattresses; and I in particular slept so sound, that, whoever he was, -he was able to come and prop me up on four stakes, which he put under -the four corners of the pack-saddle in such a way that he left me -mounted on it, and took away Dapple from under me without my feeling -it.” - -“That is an easy matter,” said Don Quixote, “and it is no new -occurrence, for the same thing happened to Sacripante at the siege of -Albracca; the famous thief, Brunello, by the same contrivance, took his -horse from between his legs.” - -“Day came,” continued Sancho, “and the moment I stirred the stakes gave -way and I fell to the ground with a mighty come down; I looked about -for the ass, but could not see him; the tears rushed to my eyes and I -raised such a lamentation that, if the author of our history has not -put it in, he may depend upon it he has left out a good thing. Some -days after, I know not how many, travelling with her ladyship the -Princess Micomicona, I saw my ass, and mounted upon him, in the dress -of a gipsy, was that Gines de Pasamonte, the great rogue and rascal -that my master and I freed from the chain.” - -“That is not where the mistake is,” replied Samson; “it is, that before -the ass has turned up, the author speaks of Sancho as being mounted on -it.” - -“I don’t know what to say to that,” said Sancho, “unless that the -historian made a mistake, or perhaps it might be a blunder of the -printer’s.” - -“No doubt that’s it,” said Samson; “but what became of the hundred -crowns? Did they vanish?” - -To which Sancho answered, “I spent them for my own good, and my wife’s, -and my children’s, and it is they that have made my wife bear so -patiently all my wanderings on highways and byways, in the service of -my master, Don Quixote; for if after all this time I had come back to -the house without a rap and without the ass, it would have been a poor -look-out for me; and if anyone wants to know anything more about me, -here I am, ready to answer the king himself in person; and it is no -affair of anyone’s whether I took or did not take, whether I spent or -did not spend; for the whacks that were given me in these journeys were -to be paid for in money, even if they were valued at no more than four -maravedis apiece, another hundred crowns would not pay me for half of -them. Let each look to himself and not try to make out white black, and -black white; for each of us is as God made him, aye, and often worse.” - -“I will take care,” said Carrasco, “to impress upon the author of the -history that, if he prints it again, he must not forget what worthy -Sancho has said, for it will raise it a good span higher.” - -“Is there anything else to correct in the history, señor bachelor?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“No doubt there is,” replied he; “but not anything that will be of the -same importance as those I have mentioned.” - -“Does the author promise a second part at all?” said Don Quixote. - -“He does promise one,” replied Samson; “but he says he has not found -it, nor does he know who has got it; and we cannot say whether it will -appear or not; and so, on that head, as some say that no second part -has ever been good, and others that enough has been already written -about Don Quixote, it is thought there will be no second part; though -some, who are jovial rather than saturnine, say, ‘Let us have more -Quixotades, let Don Quixote charge and Sancho chatter, and no matter -what it may turn out, we shall be satisfied with that.’” - -“And what does the author mean to do?” said Don Quixote. - -“What?” replied Samson; “why, as soon as he has found the history which -he is now searching for with extraordinary diligence, he will at once -give it to the press, moved more by the profit that may accrue to him -from doing so than by any thought of praise.” - -Whereat Sancho observed, “The author looks for money and profit, does -he? It will be a wonder if he succeeds, for it will be only hurry, -hurry, with him, like the tailor on Easter Eve; and works done in a -hurry are never finished as perfectly as they ought to be. Let master -Moor, or whatever he is, pay attention to what he is doing, and I and -my master will give him as much grouting ready to his hand, in the way -of adventures and accidents of all sorts, as would make up not only one -second part, but a hundred. The good man fancies, no doubt, that we are -fast asleep in the straw here, but let him hold up our feet to be shod -and he will see which foot it is we go lame on. All I say is, that if -my master would take my advice, we would be now afield, redressing -outrages and righting wrongs, as is the use and custom of good -knights-errant.” - -Sancho had hardly uttered these words when the neighing of Rocinante -fell upon their ears, which neighing Don Quixote accepted as a happy -omen, and he resolved to make another sally in three or four days from -that time. Announcing his intention to the bachelor, he asked his -advice as to the quarter in which he ought to commence his expedition, -and the bachelor replied that in his opinion he ought to go to the -kingdom of Aragon, and the city of Saragossa, where there were to be -certain solemn joustings at the festival of St. George, at which he -might win renown above all the knights of Aragon, which would be -winning it above all the knights of the world. He commended his very -praiseworthy and gallant resolution, but admonished him to proceed with -greater caution in encountering dangers, because his life did not -belong to him, but to all those who had need of him to protect and aid -them in their misfortunes. - -“There’s where it is, what I abominate, Señor Samson,” said Sancho -here; “my master will attack a hundred armed men as a greedy boy would -half a dozen melons. Body of the world, señor bachelor! there is a time -to attack and a time to retreat, and it is not to be always ‘Santiago, -and close Spain!’ Moreover, I have heard it said (and I think by my -master himself, if I remember rightly) that the mean of valour lies -between the extremes of cowardice and rashness; and if that be so, I -don’t want him to fly without having good reason, or to attack when the -odds make it better not. But, above all things, I warn my master that -if he is to take me with him it must be on the condition that he is to -do all the fighting, and that I am not to be called upon to do anything -except what concerns keeping him clean and comfortable; in this I will -dance attendance on him readily; but to expect me to draw sword, even -against rascally churls of the hatchet and hood, is idle. I don’t set -up to be a fighting man, Señor Samson, but only the best and most loyal -squire that ever served knight-errant; and if my master Don Quixote, in -consideration of my many faithful services, is pleased to give me some -island of the many his worship says one may stumble on in these parts, -I will take it as a great favour; and if he does not give it to me, I -was born like everyone else, and a man must not live in dependence on -anyone except God; and what is more, my bread will taste as well, and -perhaps even better, without a government than if I were a governor; -and how do I know but that in these governments the devil may have -prepared some trip for me, to make me lose my footing and fall and -knock my grinders out? Sancho I was born and Sancho I mean to die. But -for all that, if heaven were to make me a fair offer of an island or -something else of the kind, without much trouble and without much risk, -I am not such a fool as to refuse it; for they say, too, ‘when they -offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; and ‘when good luck comes to -thee, take it in.’” - -“Brother Sancho,” said Carrasco, “you have spoken like a professor; -but, for all that, put your trust in God and in Señor Don Quixote, for -he will give you a kingdom, not to say an island.” - -“It is all the same, be it more or be it less,” replied Sancho; “though -I can tell Señor Carrasco that my master would not throw the kingdom he -might give me into a sack all in holes; for I have felt my own pulse -and I find myself sound enough to rule kingdoms and govern islands; and -I have before now told my master as much.” - -“Take care, Sancho,” said Samson; “honours change manners, and perhaps -when you find yourself a governor you won’t know the mother that bore -you.” - -“That may hold good of those that are born in the ditches,” said -Sancho, “not of those who have the fat of an old Christian four fingers -deep on their souls, as I have. Nay, only look at my disposition, is -that likely to show ingratitude to anyone?” - -“God grant it,” said Don Quixote; “we shall see when the government -comes; and I seem to see it already.” - -He then begged the bachelor, if he were a poet, to do him the favour of -composing some verses for him conveying the farewell he meant to take -of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and to see that a letter of her name -was placed at the beginning of each line, so that, at the end of the -verses, “Dulcinea del Toboso” might be read by putting together the -first letters. The bachelor replied that although he was not one of the -famous poets of Spain, who were, they said, only three and a half, he -would not fail to compose the required verses; though he saw a great -difficulty in the task, as the letters which made up the name were -seventeen; so, if he made four ballad stanzas of four lines each, there -would be a letter over, and if he made them of five, what they called -decimas or redondillas, there were three letters short; nevertheless he -would try to drop a letter as well as he could, so that the name -“Dulcinea del Toboso” might be got into four ballad stanzas. - -“It must be, by some means or other,” said Don Quixote, “for unless the -name stands there plain and manifest, no woman would believe the verses -were made for her.” - -They agreed upon this, and that the departure should take place in -three days from that time. Don Quixote charged the bachelor to keep it -a secret, especially from the curate and Master Nicholas, and from his -niece and the housekeeper, lest they should prevent the execution of -his praiseworthy and valiant purpose. Carrasco promised all, and then -took his leave, charging Don Quixote to inform him of his good or evil -fortunes whenever he had an opportunity; and thus they bade each other -farewell, and Sancho went away to make the necessary preparations for -their expedition. - -CHAPTER V. -OF THE SHREWD AND DROLL CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO PANZA -AND HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA, AND OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF BEING DULY -RECORDED - -The translator of this history, when he comes to write this fifth -chapter, says that he considers it apocryphal, because in it Sancho -Panza speaks in a style unlike that which might have been expected from -his limited intelligence, and says things so subtle that he does not -think it possible he could have conceived them; however, desirous of -doing what his task imposed upon him, he was unwilling to leave it -untranslated, and therefore he went on to say: - -Sancho came home in such glee and spirits that his wife noticed his -happiness a bowshot off, so much so that it made her ask him, “What -have you got, Sancho friend, that you are so glad?” - -To which he replied, “Wife, if it were God’s will, I should be very -glad not to be so well pleased as I show myself.” - -“I don’t understand you, husband,” said she, “and I don’t know what you -mean by saying you would be glad, if it were God’s will, not to be well -pleased; for, fool as I am, I don’t know how one can find pleasure in -not having it.” - -“Hark ye, Teresa,” replied Sancho, “I am glad because I have made up my -mind to go back to the service of my master Don Quixote, who means to -go out a third time to seek for adventures; and I am going with him -again, for my necessities will have it so, and also the hope that -cheers me with the thought that I may find another hundred crowns like -those we have spent; though it makes me sad to have to leave thee and -the children; and if God would be pleased to let me have my daily -bread, dry-shod and at home, without taking me out into the byways and -cross-roads—and he could do it at small cost by merely willing it—it is -clear my happiness would be more solid and lasting, for the happiness I -have is mingled with sorrow at leaving thee; so that I was right in -saying I would be glad, if it were God’s will, not to be well pleased.” - -“Look here, Sancho,” said Teresa; “ever since you joined on to a -knight-errant you talk in such a roundabout way that there is no -understanding you.” - -“It is enough that God understands me, wife,” replied Sancho; “for he -is the understander of all things; that will do; but mind, sister, you -must look to Dapple carefully for the next three days, so that he may -be fit to take arms; double his feed, and see to the pack-saddle and -other harness, for it is not to a wedding we are bound, but to go round -the world, and play at give and take with giants and dragons and -monsters, and hear hissings and roarings and bellowings and howlings; -and even all this would be lavender, if we had not to reckon with -Yanguesans and enchanted Moors.” - -“I know well enough, husband,” said Teresa, “that squires-errant don’t -eat their bread for nothing, and so I will be always praying to our -Lord to deliver you speedily from all that hard fortune.” - -“I can tell you, wife,” said Sancho, “if I did not expect to see myself -governor of an island before long, I would drop down dead on the spot.” - -“Nay, then, husband,” said Teresa; “let the hen live, though it be with -her pip, live, and let the devil take all the governments in the world; -you came out of your mother’s womb without a government, you have lived -until now without a government, and when it is God’s will you will go, -or be carried, to your grave without a government. How many there are -in the world who live without a government, and continue to live all -the same, and are reckoned in the number of the people. The best sauce -in the world is hunger, and as the poor are never without that, they -always eat with a relish. But mind, Sancho, if by good luck you should -find yourself with some government, don’t forget me and your children. -Remember that Sanchico is now full fifteen, and it is right he should -go to school, if his uncle the abbot has a mind to have him trained for -the Church. Consider, too, that your daughter Mari-Sancha will not die -of grief if we marry her; for I have my suspicions that she is as eager -to get a husband as you to get a government; and, after all, a daughter -looks better ill married than well whored.” - -“By my faith,” replied Sancho, “if God brings me to get any sort of a -government, I intend, wife, to make such a high match for Mari-Sancha -that there will be no approaching her without calling her ‘my lady.” - -“Nay, Sancho,” returned Teresa; “marry her to her equal, that is the -safest plan; for if you put her out of wooden clogs into high-heeled -shoes, out of her grey flannel petticoat into hoops and silk gowns, out -of the plain ‘Marica’ and ‘thou,’ into ‘Doña So-and-so’ and ‘my lady,’ -the girl won’t know where she is, and at every turn she will fall into -a thousand blunders that will show the thread of her coarse homespun -stuff.” - -“Tut, you fool,” said Sancho; “it will be only to practise it for two -or three years; and then dignity and decorum will fit her as easily as -a glove; and if not, what matter? Let her be ‘my lady,’ and never mind -what happens.” - -“Keep to your own station, Sancho,” replied Teresa; “don’t try to raise -yourself higher, and bear in mind the proverb that says, ‘wipe the nose -of your neigbbour’s son, and take him into your house.’ A fine thing it -would be, indeed, to marry our Maria to some great count or grand -gentleman, who, when the humour took him, would abuse her and call her -clown-bred and clodhopper’s daughter and spinning wench. I have not -been bringing up my daughter for that all this time, I can tell you, -husband. Do you bring home money, Sancho, and leave marrying her to my -care; there is Lope Tocho, Juan Tocho’s son, a stout, sturdy young -fellow that we know, and I can see he does not look sour at the girl; -and with him, one of our own sort, she will be well married, and we -shall have her always under our eyes, and be all one family, parents -and children, grandchildren and sons-in-law, and the peace and blessing -of God will dwell among us; so don’t you go marrying her in those -courts and grand palaces where they won’t know what to make of her, or -she what to make of herself.” - -“Why, you idiot and wife for Barabbas,” said Sancho, “what do you mean -by trying, without why or wherefore, to keep me from marrying my -daughter to one who will give me grandchildren that will be called -‘your lordship’? Look ye, Teresa, I have always heard my elders say -that he who does not know how to take advantage of luck when it comes -to him, has no right to complain if it gives him the go-by; and now -that it is knocking at our door, it will not do to shut it out; let us -go with the favouring breeze that blows upon us.” - -It is this sort of talk, and what Sancho says lower down, that made the -translator of the history say he considered this chapter apocryphal. - -“Don’t you see, you animal,” continued Sancho, “that it will be well -for me to drop into some profitable government that will lift us out of -the mire, and marry Mari-Sancha to whom I like; and you yourself will -find yourself called ‘Doña Teresa Panza,’ and sitting in church on a -fine carpet and cushions and draperies, in spite and in defiance of all -the born ladies of the town? No, stay as you are, growing neither -greater nor less, like a tapestry figure—Let us say no more about it, -for Sanchica shall be a countess, say what you will.” - -“Are you sure of all you say, husband?” replied Teresa. “Well, for all -that, I am afraid this rank of countess for my daughter will be her -ruin. You do as you like, make a duchess or a princess of her, but I -can tell you it will not be with my will and consent. I was always a -lover of equality, brother, and I can’t bear to see people give -themselves airs without any right. They called me Teresa at my baptism, -a plain, simple name, without any additions or tags or fringes of Dons -or Doñas; Cascajo was my father’s name, and as I am your wife, I am -called Teresa Panza, though by right I ought to be called Teresa -Cascajo; but ‘kings go where laws like,’ and I am content with this -name without having the ‘Don’ put on top of it to make it so heavy that -I cannot carry it; and I don’t want to make people talk about me when -they see me go dressed like a countess or governor’s wife; for they -will say at once, ‘See what airs the slut gives herself! Only yesterday -she was always spinning flax, and used to go to mass with the tail of -her petticoat over her head instead of a mantle, and there she goes -to-day in a hooped gown with her broaches and airs, as if we didn’t -know her!’ If God keeps me in my seven senses, or five, or whatever -number I have, I am not going to bring myself to such a pass; go you, -brother, and be a government or an island man, and swagger as much as -you like; for by the soul of my mother, neither my daughter nor I are -going to stir a step from our village; a respectable woman should have -a broken leg and keep at home; and to be busy at something is a -virtuous damsel’s holiday; be off to your adventures along with your -Don Quixote, and leave us to our misadventures, for God will mend them -for us according as we deserve it. I don’t know, I’m sure, who fixed -the ‘Don’ to him, what neither his father nor grandfather ever had.” - -“I declare thou hast a devil of some sort in thy body!” said Sancho. -“God help thee, what a lot of things thou hast strung together, one -after the other, without head or tail! What have Cascajo, and the -broaches and the proverbs and the airs, to do with what I say? Look -here, fool and dolt (for so I may call you, when you don’t understand -my words, and run away from good fortune), if I had said that my -daughter was to throw herself down from a tower, or go roaming the -world, as the Infanta Doña Urraca wanted to do, you would be right in -not giving way to my will; but if in an instant, in less than the -twinkling of an eye, I put the ‘Don’ and ‘my lady’ on her back, and -take her out of the stubble, and place her under a canopy, on a dais, -and on a couch, with more velvet cushions than all the Almohades of -Morocco ever had in their family, why won’t you consent and fall in -with my wishes?” - -“Do you know why, husband?” replied Teresa; “because of the proverb -that says ‘who covers thee, discovers thee.’ At the poor man people -only throw a hasty glance; on the rich man they fix their eyes; and if -the said rich man was once on a time poor, it is then there is the -sneering and the tattle and spite of backbiters; and in the streets -here they swarm as thick as bees.” - -“Look here, Teresa,” said Sancho, “and listen to what I am now going to -say to you; maybe you never heard it in all your life; and I do not -give my own notions, for what I am about to say are the opinions of his -reverence the preacher, who preached in this town last Lent, and who -said, if I remember rightly, that all things present that our eyes -behold, bring themselves before us, and remain and fix themselves on -our memory much better and more forcibly than things past.” - -These observations which Sancho makes here are the other ones on -account of which the translator says he regards this chapter as -apocryphal, inasmuch as they are beyond Sancho’s capacity. - -“Whence it arises,” he continued, “that when we see any person well -dressed and making a figure with rich garments and retinue of servants, -it seems to lead and impel us perforce to respect him, though memory -may at the same moment recall to us some lowly condition in which we -have seen him, but which, whether it may have been poverty or low -birth, being now a thing of the past, has no existence; while the only -thing that has any existence is what we see before us; and if this -person whom fortune has raised from his original lowly state (these -were the very words the padre used) to his present height of -prosperity, be well bred, generous, courteous to all, without seeking -to vie with those whose nobility is of ancient date, depend upon it, -Teresa, no one will remember what he was, and everyone will respect -what he is, except indeed the envious, from whom no fair fortune is -safe.” - -“I do not understand you, husband,” replied Teresa; “do as you like, -and don’t break my head with any more speechifying and rethoric; and if -you have revolved to do what you say—” - -“Resolved, you should say, woman,” said Sancho, “not revolved.” - -“Don’t set yourself to wrangle with me, husband,” said Teresa; “I speak -as God pleases, and don’t deal in out-of-the-way phrases; and I say if -you are bent upon having a government, take your son Sancho with you, -and teach him from this time on how to hold a government; for sons -ought to inherit and learn the trades of their fathers.” - -“As soon as I have the government,” said Sancho, “I will send for him -by post, and I will send thee money, of which I shall have no lack, for -there is never any want of people to lend it to governors when they -have not got it; and do thou dress him so as to hide what he is and -make him look what he is to be.” - -“You send the money,” said Teresa, “and I’ll dress him up for you as -fine as you please.” - -“Then we are agreed that our daughter is to be a countess,” said -Sancho. - -“The day that I see her a countess,” replied Teresa, “it will be the -same to me as if I was burying her; but once more I say do as you -please, for we women are born to this burden of being obedient to our -husbands, though they be dogs;” and with this she began to weep in -earnest, as if she already saw Sanchica dead and buried. - -Sancho consoled her by saying that though he must make her a countess, -he would put it off as long as possible. Here their conversation came -to an end, and Sancho went back to see Don Quixote, and make -arrangements for their departure. - -CHAPTER VI. -OF WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS NIECE AND HOUSEKEEPER; -ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTERS IN THE WHOLE HISTORY - -While Sancho Panza and his wife, Teresa Cascajo, held the above -irrelevant conversation, Don Quixote’s niece and housekeeper were not -idle, for by a thousand signs they began to perceive that their uncle -and master meant to give them the slip the third time, and once more -betake himself to his, for them, ill-errant chivalry. They strove by -all the means in their power to divert him from such an unlucky scheme; -but it was all preaching in the desert and hammering cold iron. -Nevertheless, among many other representations made to him, the -housekeeper said to him, “In truth, master, if you do not keep still -and stay quiet at home, and give over roaming mountains and valleys -like a troubled spirit, looking for what they say are called -adventures, but what I call misfortunes, I shall have to make complaint -to God and the king with loud supplication to send some remedy.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “What answer God will give to your -complaints, housekeeper, I know not, nor what his Majesty will answer -either; I only know that if I were king I should decline to answer the -numberless silly petitions they present every day; for one of the -greatest among the many troubles kings have is being obliged to listen -to all and answer all, and therefore I should be sorry that any affairs -of mine should worry him.” - -Whereupon the housekeeper said, “Tell us, señor, at his Majesty’s court -are there no knights?” - -“There are,” replied Don Quixote, “and plenty of them; and it is right -there should be, to set off the dignity of the prince, and for the -greater glory of the king’s majesty.” - -“Then might not your worship,” said she, “be one of those that, without -stirring a step, serve their king and lord in his court?” - -“Recollect, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “all knights cannot be -courtiers, nor can all courtiers be knights-errant, nor need they be. -There must be all sorts in the world; and though we may be all knights, -there is a great difference between one and another; for the courtiers, -without quitting their chambers, or the threshold of the court, range -the world over by looking at a map, without its costing them a -farthing, and without suffering heat or cold, hunger or thirst; but we, -the true knights-errant, measure the whole earth with our own feet, -exposed to the sun, to the cold, to the air, to the inclemencies of -heaven, by day and night, on foot and on horseback; nor do we only know -enemies in pictures, but in their own real shapes; and at all risks and -on all occasions we attack them, without any regard to childish points -or rules of single combat, whether one has or has not a shorter lance -or sword, whether one carries relics or any secret contrivance about -him, whether or not the sun is to be divided and portioned out, and -other niceties of the sort that are observed in set combats of man to -man, that you know nothing about, but I do. And you must know besides, -that the true knight-errant, though he may see ten giants, that not -only touch the clouds with their heads but pierce them, and that go, -each of them, on two tall towers by way of legs, and whose arms are -like the masts of mighty ships, and each eye like a great mill-wheel, -and glowing brighter than a glass furnace, must not on any account be -dismayed by them. On the contrary, he must attack and fall upon them -with a gallant bearing and a fearless heart, and, if possible, vanquish -and destroy them, even though they have for armour the shells of a -certain fish, that they say are harder than diamonds, and in place of -swords wield trenchant blades of Damascus steel, or clubs studded with -spikes also of steel, such as I have more than once seen. All this I -say, housekeeper, that you may see the difference there is between the -one sort of knight and the other; and it would be well if there were no -prince who did not set a higher value on this second, or more properly -speaking first, kind of knights-errant; for, as we read in their -histories, there have been some among them who have been the salvation, -not merely of one kingdom, but of many.” - -“Ah, señor,” here exclaimed the niece, “remember that all this you are -saying about knights-errant is fable and fiction; and their histories, -if indeed they were not burned, would deserve, each of them, to have a -sambenito put on it, or some mark by which it might be known as -infamous and a corrupter of good manners.” - -“By the God that gives me life,” said Don Quixote, “if thou wert not my -full niece, being daughter of my own sister, I would inflict a -chastisement upon thee for the blasphemy thou hast uttered that all the -world should ring with. What! can it be that a young hussy that hardly -knows how to handle a dozen lace-bobbins dares to wag her tongue and -criticise the histories of knights-errant? What would Señor Amadis say -if he heard of such a thing? He, however, no doubt would forgive thee, -for he was the most humble-minded and courteous knight of his time, and -moreover a great protector of damsels; but some there are that might -have heard thee, and it would not have been well for thee in that case; -for they are not all courteous or mannerly; some are ill-conditioned -scoundrels; nor is it everyone that calls himself a gentleman, that is -so in all respects; some are gold, others pinchbeck, and all look like -gentlemen, but not all can stand the touchstone of truth. There are men -of low rank who strain themselves to bursting to pass for gentlemen, -and high gentlemen who, one would fancy, were dying to pass for men of -low rank; the former raise themselves by their ambition or by their -virtues, the latter debase themselves by their lack of spirit or by -their vices; and one has need of experience and discernment to -distinguish these two kinds of gentlemen, so much alike in name and so -different in conduct.” - -“God bless me!” said the niece, “that you should know so much, -uncle—enough, if need be, to get up into a pulpit and go preach in the -streets—and yet that you should fall into a delusion so great and a -folly so manifest as to try to make yourself out vigorous when you are -old, strong when you are sickly, able to put straight what is crooked -when you yourself are bent by age, and, above all, a caballero when you -are not one; for though gentlefolk may be so, poor men are nothing of -the kind!” - -“There is a great deal of truth in what you say, niece,” returned Don -Quixote, “and I could tell you somewhat about birth that would astonish -you; but, not to mix up things human and divine, I refrain. Look you, -my dears, all the lineages in the world (attend to what I am saying) -can be reduced to four sorts, which are these: those that had humble -beginnings, and went on spreading and extending themselves until they -attained surpassing greatness; those that had great beginnings and -maintained them, and still maintain and uphold the greatness of their -origin; those, again, that from a great beginning have ended in a point -like a pyramid, having reduced and lessened their original greatness -till it has come to nought, like the point of a pyramid, which, -relatively to its base or foundation, is nothing; and then there are -those—and it is they that are the most numerous—that have had neither -an illustrious beginning nor a remarkable mid-course, and so will have -an end without a name, like an ordinary plebeian line. Of the first, -those that had an humble origin and rose to the greatness they still -preserve, the Ottoman house may serve as an example, which from an -humble and lowly shepherd, its founder, has reached the height at which -we now see it. For examples of the second sort of lineage, that began -with greatness and maintains it still without adding to it, there are -the many princes who have inherited the dignity, and maintain -themselves in their inheritance, without increasing or diminishing it, -keeping peacefully within the limits of their states. Of those that -began great and ended in a point, there are thousands of examples, for -all the Pharaohs and Ptolemies of Egypt, the Cæsars of Rome, and the -whole herd (if I may apply such a word to them) of countless princes, -monarchs, lords, Medes, Assyrians, Persians, Greeks, and barbarians, -all these lineages and lordships have ended in a point and come to -nothing, they themselves as well as their founders, for it would be -impossible now to find one of their descendants, and, even should we -find one, it would be in some lowly and humble condition. Of plebeian -lineages I have nothing to say, save that they merely serve to swell -the number of those that live, without any eminence to entitle them to -any fame or praise beyond this. From all I have said I would have you -gather, my poor innocents, that great is the confusion among lineages, -and that only those are seen to be great and illustrious that show -themselves so by the virtue, wealth, and generosity of their -possessors. I have said virtue, wealth, and generosity, because a great -man who is vicious will be a great example of vice, and a rich man who -is not generous will be merely a miserly beggar; for the possessor of -wealth is not made happy by possessing it, but by spending it, and not -by spending as he pleases, but by knowing how to spend it well. The -poor gentleman has no way of showing that he is a gentleman but by -virtue, by being affable, well-bred, courteous, gentle-mannered, and -kindly, not haughty, arrogant, or censorious, but above all by being -charitable; for by two maravedis given with a cheerful heart to the -poor, he will show himself as generous as he who distributes alms with -bell-ringing, and no one that perceives him to be endowed with the -virtues I have named, even though he know him not, will fail to -recognise and set him down as one of good blood; and it would be -strange were it not so; praise has ever been the reward of virtue, and -those who are virtuous cannot fail to receive commendation. There are -two roads, my daughters, by which men may reach wealth and honours; one -is that of letters, the other that of arms. I have more of arms than of -letters in my composition, and, judging by my inclination to arms, was -born under the influence of the planet Mars. I am, therefore, in a -measure constrained to follow that road, and by it I must travel in -spite of all the world, and it will be labour in vain for you to urge -me to resist what heaven wills, fate ordains, reason requires, and, -above all, my own inclination favours; for knowing as I do the -countless toils that are the accompaniments of knight-errantry, I know, -too, the infinite blessings that are attained by it; I know that the -path of virtue is very narrow, and the road of vice broad and spacious; -I know their ends and goals are different, for the broad and easy road -of vice ends in death, and the narrow and toilsome one of virtue in -life, and not transitory life, but in that which has no end; I know, as -our great Castilian poet says, that- - -It is by rugged paths like these they go -That scale the heights of immortality, -Unreached by those that falter here below.” - -“Woe is me!” exclaimed the niece, “my lord is a poet, too! He knows -everything, and he can do everything; I will bet, if he chose to turn -mason, he could make a house as easily as a cage.” - -“I can tell you, niece,” replied Don Quixote, “if these chivalrous -thoughts did not engage all my faculties, there would be nothing that I -could not do, nor any sort of knickknack that would not come from my -hands, particularly cages and tooth-picks.” - -At this moment there came a knocking at the door, and when they asked -who was there, Sancho Panza made answer that it was he. The instant the -housekeeper knew who it was, she ran to hide herself so as not to see -him; in such abhorrence did she hold him. The niece let him in, and his -master Don Quixote came forward to receive him with open arms, and the -pair shut themselves up in his room, where they had another -conversation not inferior to the previous one. - -CHAPTER VII. -OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER -VERY NOTABLE INCIDENTS - -The instant the housekeeper saw Sancho Panza shut himself in with her -master, she guessed what they were about; and suspecting that the -result of the consultation would be a resolve to undertake a third -sally, she seized her mantle, and in deep anxiety and distress, ran to -find the bachelor Samson Carrasco, as she thought that, being a -well-spoken man, and a new friend of her master’s, he might be able to -persuade him to give up any such crazy notion. She found him pacing the -patio of his house, and, perspiring and flurried, she fell at his feet -the moment she saw him. - -Carrasco, seeing how distressed and overcome she was, said to her, -“What is this, mistress housekeeper? What has happened to you? One -would think you heart-broken.” - -“Nothing, Señor Samson,” said she, “only that my master is breaking -out, plainly breaking out.” - -“Whereabouts is he breaking out, señora?” asked Samson; “has any part -of his body burst?” - -“He is only breaking out at the door of his madness,” she replied; “I -mean, dear señor bachelor, that he is going to break out again (and -this will be the third time) to hunt all over the world for what he -calls ventures, though I can’t make out why he gives them that name. -The first time he was brought back to us slung across the back of an -ass, and belaboured all over; and the second time he came in an -ox-cart, shut up in a cage, in which he persuaded himself he was -enchanted, and the poor creature was in such a state that the mother -that bore him would not have known him; lean, yellow, with his eyes -sunk deep in the cells of his skull; so that to bring him round again, -ever so little, cost me more than six hundred eggs, as God knows, and -all the world, and my hens too, that won’t let me tell a lie.” - -“That I can well believe,” replied the bachelor, “for they are so good -and so fat, and so well-bred, that they would not say one thing for -another, though they were to burst for it. In short then, mistress -housekeeper, that is all, and there is nothing the matter, except what -it is feared Don Quixote may do?” - -“No, señor,” said she. - -“Well then,” returned the bachelor, “don’t be uneasy, but go home in -peace; get me ready something hot for breakfast, and while you are on -the way say the prayer of Santa Apollonia, that is if you know it; for -I will come presently and you will see miracles.” - -“Woe is me,” cried the housekeeper, “is it the prayer of Santa -Apollonia you would have me say? That would do if it was the toothache -my master had; but it is in the brains, what he has got.” - -“I know what I am saying, mistress housekeeper; go, and don’t set -yourself to argue with me, for you know I am a bachelor of Salamanca, -and one can’t be more of a bachelor than that,” replied Carrasco; and -with this the housekeeper retired, and the bachelor went to look for -the curate, and arrange with him what will be told in its proper place. - -While Don Quixote and Sancho were shut up together, they had a -discussion which the history records with great precision and -scrupulous exactness. Sancho said to his master, “Señor, I have educed -my wife to let me go with your worship wherever you choose to take me.” - -“Induced, you should say, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “not educed.” - -“Once or twice, as well as I remember,” replied Sancho, “I have begged -of your worship not to mend my words, if so be as you understand what I -mean by them; and if you don’t understand them to say ‘Sancho,’ or -‘devil,’ ‘I don’t understand thee; and if I don’t make my meaning -plain, then you may correct me, for I am so focile—” - -“I don’t understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at once; “for I -know not what ‘I am so focile’ means.” - -“‘So focile’ means I am so much that way,” replied Sancho. - -“I understand thee still less now,” said Don Quixote. - -“Well, if you can’t understand me,” said Sancho, “I don’t know how to -put it; I know no more, God help me.” - -“Oh, now I have hit it,” said Don Quixote; “thou wouldst say thou art -so docile, tractable, and gentle that thou wilt take what I say to -thee, and submit to what I teach thee.” - -“I would bet,” said Sancho, “that from the very first you understood -me, and knew what I meant, but you wanted to put me out that you might -hear me make another couple of dozen blunders.” - -“May be so,” replied Don Quixote; “but to come to the point, what does -Teresa say?” - -“Teresa says,” replied Sancho, “that I should make sure with your -worship, and ‘let papers speak and beards be still,’ for ‘he who binds -does not wrangle,’ since one ‘take’ is better than two ‘I’ll give -thee’s;’ and I say a woman’s advice is no great thing, and he who won’t -take it is a fool.” - -“And so say I,” said Don Quixote; “continue, Sancho my friend; go on; -you talk pearls to-day.” - -“The fact is,” continued Sancho, “that, as your worship knows better -than I do, we are all of us liable to death, and to-day we are, and -to-morrow we are not, and the lamb goes as soon as the sheep, and -nobody can promise himself more hours of life in this world than God -may be pleased to give him; for death is deaf, and when it comes to -knock at our life’s door, it is always urgent, and neither prayers, nor -struggles, nor sceptres, nor mitres, can keep it back, as common talk -and report say, and as they tell us from the pulpits every day.” - -“All that is very true,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot make out what -thou art driving at.” - -“What I am driving at,” said Sancho, “is that your worship settle some -fixed wages for me, to be paid monthly while I am in your service, and -that the same be paid me out of your estate; for I don’t care to stand -on rewards which either come late, or ill, or never at all; God help me -with my own. In short, I would like to know what I am to get, be it -much or little; for the hen will lay on one egg, and many littles make -a much, and so long as one gains something there is nothing lost. To be -sure, if it should happen (what I neither believe nor expect) that your -worship were to give me that island you have promised me, I am not so -ungrateful nor so grasping but that I would be willing to have the -revenue of such island valued and stopped out of my wages in due -promotion.” - -“Sancho, my friend,” replied Don Quixote, “sometimes proportion may be -as good as promotion.” - -“I see,” said Sancho; “I’ll bet I ought to have said proportion, and -not promotion; but it is no matter, as your worship has understood me.” - -“And so well understood,” returned Don Quixote, “that I have seen into -the depths of thy thoughts, and know the mark thou art shooting at with -the countless shafts of thy proverbs. Look here, Sancho, I would -readily fix thy wages if I had ever found any instance in the histories -of the knights-errant to show or indicate, by the slightest hint, what -their squires used to get monthly or yearly; but I have read all or the -best part of their histories, and I cannot remember reading of any -knight-errant having assigned fixed wages to his squire; I only know -that they all served on reward, and that when they least expected it, -if good luck attended their masters, they found themselves recompensed -with an island or something equivalent to it, or at the least they were -left with a title and lordship. If with these hopes and additional -inducements you, Sancho, please to return to my service, well and good; -but to suppose that I am going to disturb or unhinge the ancient usage -of knight-errantry, is all nonsense. And so, my Sancho, get you back to -your house and explain my intentions to your Teresa, and if she likes -and you like to be on reward with me, _bene quidem;_ if not, we remain -friends; for if the pigeon-house does not lack food, it will not lack -pigeons; and bear in mind, my son, that a good hope is better than a -bad holding, and a good grievance better than a bad compensation. I -speak in this way, Sancho, to show you that I can shower down proverbs -just as well as yourself; and in short, I mean to say, and I do say, -that if you don’t like to come on reward with me, and run the same -chance that I run, God be with you and make a saint of you; for I shall -find plenty of squires more obedient and painstaking, and not so -thickheaded or talkative as you are.” - -When Sancho heard his master’s firm, resolute language, a cloud came -over the sky with him and the wings of his heart drooped, for he had -made sure that his master would not go without him for all the wealth -of the world; and as he stood there dumbfoundered and moody, Samson -Carrasco came in with the housekeeper and niece, who were anxious to -hear by what arguments he was about to dissuade their master from going -to seek adventures. The arch wag Samson came forward, and embracing him -as he had done before, said with a loud voice, “O flower of -knight-errantry! O shining light of arms! O honour and mirror of the -Spanish nation! may God Almighty in his infinite power grant that any -person or persons, who would impede or hinder thy third sally, may find -no way out of the labyrinth of their schemes, nor ever accomplish what -they most desire!” And then, turning to the housekeeper, he said, -“Mistress housekeeper may just as well give over saying the prayer of -Santa Apollonia, for I know it is the positive determination of the -spheres that Señor Don Quixote shall proceed to put into execution his -new and lofty designs; and I should lay a heavy burden on my conscience -did I not urge and persuade this knight not to keep the might of his -strong arm and the virtue of his valiant spirit any longer curbed and -checked, for by his inactivity he is defrauding the world of the -redress of wrongs, of the protection of orphans, of the honour of -virgins, of the aid of widows, and of the support of wives, and other -matters of this kind appertaining, belonging, proper and peculiar to -the order of knight-errantry. On, then, my lord Don Quixote, beautiful -and brave, let your worship and highness set out to-day rather than -to-morrow; and if anything be needed for the execution of your purpose, -here am I ready in person and purse to supply the want; and were it -requisite to attend your magnificence as squire, I should esteem it the -happiest good fortune.” - -At this, Don Quixote, turning to Sancho, said, “Did I not tell thee, -Sancho, there would be squires enough and to spare for me? See now who -offers to become one; no less than the illustrious bachelor Samson -Carrasco, the perpetual joy and delight of the courts of the Salamancan -schools, sound in body, discreet, patient under heat or cold, hunger or -thirst, with all the qualifications requisite to make a knight-errant’s -squire! But heaven forbid that, to gratify my own inclination, I should -shake or shatter this pillar of letters and vessel of the sciences, and -cut down this towering palm of the fair and liberal arts. Let this new -Samson remain in his own country, and, bringing honour to it, bring -honour at the same time on the grey heads of his venerable parents; for -I will be content with any squire that comes to hand, as Sancho does -not deign to accompany me.” - -“I do deign,” said Sancho, deeply moved and with tears in his eyes; “it -shall not be said of me, master mine,” he continued, “‘the bread eaten -and the company dispersed.’ Nay, I come of no ungrateful stock, for all -the world knows, but particularly my own town, who the Panzas from whom -I am descended were; and, what is more, I know and have learned, by -many good words and deeds, your worship’s desire to show me favour; and -if I have been bargaining more or less about my wages, it was only to -please my wife, who, when she sets herself to press a point, no hammer -drives the hoops of a cask as she drives one to do what she wants; but, -after all, a man must be a man, and a woman a woman; and as I am a man -anyhow, which I can’t deny, I will be one in my own house too, let who -will take it amiss; and so there’s nothing more to do but for your -worship to make your will with its codicil in such a way that it can’t -be provoked, and let us set out at once, to save Señor Samson’s soul -from suffering, as he says his conscience obliges him to persuade your -worship to sally out upon the world a third time; so I offer again to -serve your worship faithfully and loyally, as well and better than all -the squires that served knights-errant in times past or present.” - -The bachelor was filled with amazement when he heard Sancho’s -phraseology and style of talk, for though he had read the first part of -his master’s history he never thought that he could be so droll as he -was there described; but now, hearing him talk of a “will and codicil -that could not be provoked,” instead of “will and codicil that could -not be revoked,” he believed all he had read of him, and set him down -as one of the greatest simpletons of modern times; and he said to -himself that two such lunatics as master and man the world had never -seen. In fine, Don Quixote and Sancho embraced one another and made -friends, and by the advice and with the approval of the great Carrasco, -who was now their oracle, it was arranged that their departure should -take place three days thence, by which time they could have all that -was requisite for the journey ready, and procure a closed helmet, which -Don Quixote said he must by all means take. Samson offered him one, as -he knew a friend of his who had it would not refuse it to him, though -it was more dingy with rust and mildew than bright and clean like -burnished steel. - -The curses which both housekeeper and niece poured out on the bachelor -were past counting; they tore their hair, they clawed their faces, and -in the style of the hired mourners that were once in fashion, they -raised a lamentation over the departure of their master and uncle, as -if it had been his death. Samson’s intention in persuading him to sally -forth once more was to do what the history relates farther on; all by -the advice of the curate and barber, with whom he had previously -discussed the subject. Finally, then, during those three days, Don -Quixote and Sancho provided themselves with what they considered -necessary, and Sancho having pacified his wife, and Don Quixote his -niece and housekeeper, at nightfall, unseen by anyone except the -bachelor, who thought fit to accompany them half a league out of the -village, they set out for El Toboso, Don Quixote on his good Rocinante -and Sancho on his old Dapple, his alforjas furnished with certain -matters in the way of victuals, and his purse with money that Don -Quixote gave him to meet emergencies. Samson embraced him, and -entreated him to let him hear of his good or evil fortunes, so that he -might rejoice over the former or condole with him over the latter, as -the laws of friendship required. Don Quixote promised him he would do -so, and Samson returned to the village, and the other two took the road -for the great city of El Toboso. - -CHAPTER VIII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE ON HIS WAY TO SEE HIS LADY -DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO - -“Blessed be Allah the all-powerful!” says Hamete Benengeli on beginning -this eighth chapter; “blessed be Allah!” he repeats three times; and he -says he utters these thanksgivings at seeing that he has now got Don -Quixote and Sancho fairly afield, and that the readers of his -delightful history may reckon that the achievements and humours of Don -Quixote and his squire are now about to begin; and he urges them to -forget the former chivalries of the ingenious gentleman and to fix -their eyes on those that are to come, which now begin on the road to El -Toboso, as the others began on the plains of Montiel; nor is it much -that he asks in consideration of all he promises, and so he goes on to -say: - -Don Quixote and Sancho were left alone, and the moment Samson took his -departure, Rocinante began to neigh, and Dapple to sigh, which, by both -knight and squire, was accepted as a good sign and a very happy omen; -though, if the truth is to be told, the sighs and brays of Dapple were -louder than the neighings of the hack, from which Sancho inferred that -his good fortune was to exceed and overtop that of his master, -building, perhaps, upon some judicial astrology that he may have known, -though the history says nothing about it; all that can be said is, that -when he stumbled or fell, he was heard to say he wished he had not come -out, for by stumbling or falling there was nothing to be got but a -damaged shoe or a broken rib; and, fool as he was, he was not much -astray in this. - -Said Don Quixote, “Sancho, my friend, night is drawing on upon us as we -go, and more darkly than will allow us to reach El Toboso by daylight; -for there I am resolved to go before I engage in another adventure, and -there I shall obtain the blessing and generous permission of the -peerless Dulcinea, with which permission I expect and feel assured that -I shall conclude and bring to a happy termination every perilous -adventure; for nothing in life makes knights-errant more valorous than -finding themselves favoured by their ladies.” - -“So I believe,” replied Sancho; “but I think it will be difficult for -your worship to speak with her or see her, at any rate where you will -be able to receive her blessing; unless, indeed, she throws it over the -wall of the yard where I saw her the time before, when I took her the -letter that told of the follies and mad things your worship was doing -in the heart of Sierra Morena.” - -“Didst thou take that for a yard wall, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“where or at which thou sawest that never sufficiently extolled grace -and beauty? It must have been the gallery, corridor, or portico of some -rich and royal palace.” - -“It might have been all that,” returned Sancho, “but to me it looked -like a wall, unless I am short of memory.” - -“At all events, let us go there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for, so -that I see her, it is the same to me whether it be over a wall, or at a -window, or through the chink of a door, or the grate of a garden; for -any beam of the sun of her beauty that reaches my eyes will give light -to my reason and strength to my heart, so that I shall be unmatched and -unequalled in wisdom and valour.” - -“Well, to tell the truth, señor,” said Sancho, “when I saw that sun of -the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, it was not bright enough to throw out -beams at all; it must have been, that as her grace was sifting that -wheat I told you of, the thick dust she raised came before her face -like a cloud and dimmed it.” - -“What! dost thou still persist, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “in saying, -thinking, believing, and maintaining that my lady Dulcinea was sifting -wheat, that being an occupation and task entirely at variance with what -is and should be the employment of persons of distinction, who are -constituted and reserved for other avocations and pursuits that show -their rank a bowshot off? Thou hast forgotten, O Sancho, those lines of -our poet wherein he paints for us how, in their crystal abodes, those -four nymphs employed themselves who rose from their loved Tagus and -seated themselves in a verdant meadow to embroider those tissues which -the ingenious poet there describes to us, how they were worked and -woven with gold and silk and pearls; and something of this sort must -have been the employment of my lady when thou sawest her, only that the -spite which some wicked enchanter seems to have against everything of -mine changes all those things that give me pleasure, and turns them -into shapes unlike their own; and so I fear that in that history of my -achievements which they say is now in print, if haply its author was -some sage who is an enemy of mine, he will have put one thing for -another, mingling a thousand lies with one truth, and amusing himself -by relating transactions which have nothing to do with the sequence of -a true history. O envy, root of all countless evils, and cankerworm of -the virtues! All the vices, Sancho, bring some kind of pleasure with -them; but envy brings nothing but irritation, bitterness, and rage.” - -“So I say too,” replied Sancho; “and I suspect in that legend or -history of us that the bachelor Samson Carrasco told us he saw, my -honour goes dragged in the dirt, knocked about, up and down, sweeping -the streets, as they say. And yet, on the faith of an honest man, I -never spoke ill of any enchanter, and I am not so well off that I am to -be envied; to be sure, I am rather sly, and I have a certain spice of -the rogue in me; but all is covered by the great cloak of my -simplicity, always natural and never acted; and if I had no other merit -save that I believe, as I always do, firmly and truly in God, and all -the holy Roman Catholic Church holds and believes, and that I am a -mortal enemy of the Jews, the historians ought to have mercy on me and -treat me well in their writings. But let them say what they like; naked -was I born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain; nay, while I -see myself put into a book and passed on from hand to hand over the -world, I don’t care a fig, let them say what they like of me.” - -“That, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “reminds me of what happened to a -famous poet of our own day, who, having written a bitter satire against -all the courtesan ladies, did not insert or name in it a certain lady -of whom it was questionable whether she was one or not. She, seeing she -was not in the list of the poet, asked him what he had seen in her that -he did not include her in the number of the others, telling him he must -add to his satire and put her in the new part, or else look out for the -consequences. The poet did as she bade him, and left her without a -shred of reputation, and she was satisfied by getting fame though it -was infamy. In keeping with this is what they relate of that shepherd -who set fire to the famous temple of Diana, by repute one of the seven -wonders of the world, and burned it with the sole object of making his -name live in after ages; and, though it was forbidden to name him, or -mention his name by word of mouth or in writing, lest the object of his -ambition should be attained, nevertheless it became known that he was -called Erostratus. And something of the same sort is what happened in -the case of the great emperor Charles V. and a gentleman in Rome. The -emperor was anxious to see that famous temple of the Rotunda, called in -ancient times the temple ‘of all the gods,’ but now-a-days, by a better -nomenclature, ‘of all the saints,’ which is the best preserved building -of all those of pagan construction in Rome, and the one which best -sustains the reputation of mighty works and magnificence of its -founders. It is in the form of a half orange, of enormous dimensions, -and well lighted, though no light penetrates it save that which is -admitted by a window, or rather round skylight, at the top; and it was -from this that the emperor examined the building. A Roman gentleman -stood by his side and explained to him the skilful construction and -ingenuity of the vast fabric and its wonderful architecture, and when -they had left the skylight he said to the emperor, ‘A thousand times, -your Sacred Majesty, the impulse came upon me to seize your Majesty in -my arms and fling myself down from yonder skylight, so as to leave -behind me in the world a name that would last for ever.’ ‘I am thankful -to you for not carrying such an evil thought into effect,’ said the -emperor, ‘and I shall give you no opportunity in future of again -putting your loyalty to the test; and I therefore forbid you ever to -speak to me or to be where I am; and he followed up these words by -bestowing a liberal bounty upon him. My meaning is, Sancho, that the -desire of acquiring fame is a very powerful motive. What, thinkest -thou, was it that flung Horatius in full armour down from the bridge -into the depths of the Tiber? What burned the hand and arm of Mutius? -What impelled Curtius to plunge into the deep burning gulf that opened -in the midst of Rome? What, in opposition to all the omens that -declared against him, made Julius Cæsar cross the Rubicon? And to come -to more modern examples, what scuttled the ships, and left stranded and -cut off the gallant Spaniards under the command of the most courteous -Cortés in the New World? All these and a variety of other great -exploits are, were and will be, the work of fame that mortals desire as -a reward and a portion of the immortality their famous deeds deserve; -though we Catholic Christians and knights-errant look more to that -future glory that is everlasting in the ethereal regions of heaven than -to the vanity of the fame that is to be acquired in this present -transitory life; a fame that, however long it may last, must after all -end with the world itself, which has its own appointed end. So that, O -Sancho, in what we do we must not overpass the bounds which the -Christian religion we profess has assigned to us. We have to slay pride -in giants, envy by generosity and nobleness of heart, anger by calmness -of demeanour and equanimity, gluttony and sloth by the spareness of our -diet and the length of our vigils, lust and lewdness by the loyalty we -preserve to those whom we have made the mistresses of our thoughts, -indolence by traversing the world in all directions seeking -opportunities of making ourselves, besides Christians, famous knights. -Such, Sancho, are the means by which we reach those extremes of praise -that fair fame carries with it.” - -“All that your worship has said so far,” said Sancho, “I have -understood quite well; but still I would be glad if your worship would -dissolve a doubt for me, which has just this minute come into my mind.” - -“Solve, thou meanest, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “say on, in God’s -name, and I will answer as well as I can.” - -“Tell me, señor,” Sancho went on to say, “those Julys or Augusts, and -all those venturous knights that you say are now dead—where are they -now?” - -“The heathens,” replied Don Quixote, “are, no doubt, in hell; the -Christians, if they were good Christians, are either in purgatory or in -heaven.” - -“Very good,” said Sancho; “but now I want to know—the tombs where the -bodies of those great lords are, have they silver lamps before them, or -are the walls of their chapels ornamented with crutches, -winding-sheets, tresses of hair, legs and eyes in wax? Or what are they -ornamented with?” - -To which Don Quixote made answer: “The tombs of the heathens were -generally sumptuous temples; the ashes of Julius Cæsar’s body were -placed on the top of a stone pyramid of vast size, which they now call -in Rome Saint Peter’s needle. The emperor Hadrian had for a tomb a -castle as large as a good-sized village, which they called the _Moles -Adriani_, and is now the castle of St. Angelo in Rome. The queen -Artemisia buried her husband Mausolus in a tomb which was reckoned one -of the seven wonders of the world; but none of these tombs, or of the -many others of the heathens, were ornamented with winding-sheets or any -of those other offerings and tokens that show that they who are buried -there are saints.” - -“That’s the point I’m coming to,” said Sancho; “and now tell me, which -is the greater work, to bring a dead man to life or to kill a giant?” - -“The answer is easy,” replied Don Quixote; “it is a greater work to -bring to life a dead man.” - -“Now I have got you,” said Sancho; “in that case the fame of them who -bring the dead to life, who give sight to the blind, cure cripples, -restore health to the sick, and before whose tombs there are lamps -burning, and whose chapels are filled with devout folk on their knees -adoring their relics be a better fame in this life and in the other -than that which all the heathen emperors and knights-errant that have -ever been in the world have left or may leave behind them?” - -“That I grant, too,” said Don Quixote. - -“Then this fame, these favours, these privileges, or whatever you call -it,” said Sancho, “belong to the bodies and relics of the saints who, -with the approbation and permission of our holy mother Church, have -lamps, tapers, winding-sheets, crutches, pictures, eyes and legs, by -means of which they increase devotion and add to their own Christian -reputation. Kings carry the bodies or relics of saints on their -shoulders, and kiss bits of their bones, and enrich and adorn their -oratories and favourite altars with them.” - -“What wouldst thou have me infer from all thou hast said, Sancho?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“My meaning is,” said Sancho, “let us set about becoming saints, and we -shall obtain more quickly the fair fame we are striving after; for you -know, señor, yesterday or the day before yesterday (for it is so lately -one may say so) they canonised and beatified two little barefoot -friars, and it is now reckoned the greatest good luck to kiss or touch -the iron chains with which they girt and tortured their bodies, and -they are held in greater veneration, so it is said, than the sword of -Roland in the armoury of our lord the King, whom God preserve. So that, -señor, it is better to be an humble little friar of no matter what -order, than a valiant knight-errant; with God a couple of dozen of -penance lashings are of more avail than two thousand lance-thrusts, be -they given to giants, or monsters, or dragons.” - -“All that is true,” returned Don Quixote, “but we cannot all be friars, -and many are the ways by which God takes his own to heaven; chivalry is -a religion, there are sainted knights in glory.” - -“Yes,” said Sancho, “but I have heard say that there are more friars in -heaven than knights-errant.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “is because those in religious orders are -more numerous than knights.” - -“The errants are many,” said Sancho. - -“Many,” replied Don Quixote, “but few they who deserve the name of -knights.” - -With these, and other discussions of the same sort, they passed that -night and the following day, without anything worth mention happening -to them, whereat Don Quixote was not a little dejected; but at length -the next day, at daybreak, they descried the great city of El Toboso, -at the sight of which Don Quixote’s spirits rose and Sancho’s fell, for -he did not know Dulcinea’s house, nor in all his life had he ever seen -her, any more than his master; so that they were both uneasy, the one -to see her, the other at not having seen her, and Sancho was at a loss -to know what he was to do when his master sent him to El Toboso. In the -end, Don Quixote made up his mind to enter the city at nightfall, and -they waited until the time came among some oak trees that were near El -Toboso; and when the moment they had agreed upon arrived, they made -their entrance into the city, where something happened them that may -fairly be called something. - -CHAPTER IX. -WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT WILL BE SEEN THERE - -’Twas at the very midnight hour—more or less—when Don Quixote and -Sancho quitted the wood and entered El Toboso. The town was in deep -silence, for all the inhabitants were asleep, and stretched on the -broad of their backs, as the saying is. The night was darkish, though -Sancho would have been glad had it been quite dark, so as to find in -the darkness an excuse for his blundering. All over the place nothing -was to be heard except the barking of dogs, which deafened the ears of -Don Quixote and troubled the heart of Sancho. Now and then an ass -brayed, pigs grunted, cats mewed, and the various noises they made -seemed louder in the silence of the night; all which the enamoured -knight took to be of evil omen; nevertheless he said to Sancho, -“Sancho, my son, lead on to the palace of Dulcinea, it may be that we -shall find her awake.” - -“Body of the sun! what palace am I to lead to,” said Sancho, “when what -I saw her highness in was only a very little house?” - -“Most likely she had then withdrawn into some small apartment of her -palace,” said Don Quixote, “to amuse herself with damsels, as great -ladies and princesses are accustomed to do.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “if your worship will have it in spite of me that -the house of my lady Dulcinea is a palace, is this an hour, think you, -to find the door open; and will it be right for us to go knocking till -they hear us and open the door; making a disturbance and confusion all -through the household? Are we going, do you fancy, to the house of our -wenches, like gallants who come and knock and go in at any hour, -however late it may be?” - -“Let us first of all find out the palace for certain,” replied Don -Quixote, “and then I will tell thee, Sancho, what we had best do; but -look, Sancho, for either I see badly, or that dark mass that one sees -from here should be Dulcinea’s palace.” - -“Then let your worship lead the way,” said Sancho, “perhaps it may be -so; though I see it with my eyes and touch it with my hands, I’ll -believe it as much as I believe it is daylight now.” - -Don Quixote took the lead, and having gone a matter of two hundred -paces he came upon the mass that produced the shade, and found it was a -great tower, and then he perceived that the building in question was no -palace, but the chief church of the town, and said he, “It’s the church -we have lit upon, Sancho.” - -“So I see,” said Sancho, “and God grant we may not light upon our -graves; it is no good sign to find oneself wandering in a graveyard at -this time of night; and that, after my telling your worship, if I don’t -mistake, that the house of this lady will be in an alley without an -outlet.” - -“The curse of God on thee for a blockhead!” said Don Quixote; “where -hast thou ever heard of castles and royal palaces being built in alleys -without an outlet?” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “every country has a way of its own; perhaps -here in El Toboso it is the way to build palaces and grand buildings in -alleys; so I entreat your worship to let me search about among these -streets or alleys before me, and perhaps, in some corner or other, I -may stumble on this palace—and I wish I saw the dogs eating it for -leading us such a dance.” - -“Speak respectfully of what belongs to my lady, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “let us keep the feast in peace, and not throw the rope after -the bucket.” - -“I’ll hold my tongue,” said Sancho, “but how am I to take it patiently -when your worship wants me, with only once seeing the house of our -mistress, to know always, and find it in the middle of the night, when -your worship can’t find it, who must have seen it thousands of times?” - -“Thou wilt drive me to desperation, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Look -here, heretic, have I not told thee a thousand times that I have never -once in my life seen the peerless Dulcinea or crossed the threshold of -her palace, and that I am enamoured solely by hearsay and by the great -reputation she bears for beauty and discretion?” - -“I hear it now,” returned Sancho; “and I may tell you that if you have -not seen her, no more have I.” - -“That cannot be,” said Don Quixote, “for, at any rate, thou saidst, on -bringing back the answer to the letter I sent by thee, that thou sawest -her sifting wheat.” - -“Don’t mind that, señor,” said Sancho; “I must tell you that my seeing -her and the answer I brought you back were by hearsay too, for I can no -more tell who the lady Dulcinea is than I can hit the sky.” - -“Sancho, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “there are times for jests and -times when jests are out of place; if I tell thee that I have neither -seen nor spoken to the lady of my heart, it is no reason why thou -shouldst say thou hast not spoken to her or seen her, when the contrary -is the case, as thou well knowest.” - -While the two were engaged in this conversation, they perceived someone -with a pair of mules approaching the spot where they stood, and from -the noise the plough made, as it dragged along the ground, they guessed -him to be some labourer who had got up before daybreak to go to his -work, and so it proved to be. He came along singing the ballad that -says- - -Ill did ye fare, ye men of France, -In Roncesvalles chase- - -“May I die, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, when he heard him, “if any good -will come to us to-night! Dost thou not hear what that clown is -singing?” - -“I do,” said Sancho, “but what has Roncesvalles chase to do with what -we have in hand? He might just as well be singing the ballad of -Calainos, for any good or ill that can come to us in our business.” - -By this time the labourer had come up, and Don Quixote asked him, “Can -you tell me, worthy friend, and God speed you, whereabouts here is the -palace of the peerless princess Doña Dulcinea del Toboso?” - -“Señor,” replied the lad, “I am a stranger, and I have been only a few -days in the town, doing farm work for a rich farmer. In that house -opposite there live the curate of the village and the sacristan, and -both or either of them will be able to give your worship some account -of this lady princess, for they have a list of all the people of El -Toboso; though it is my belief there is not a princess living in the -whole of it; many ladies there are, of quality, and in her own house -each of them may be a princess.” - -“Well, then, she I am inquiring for will be one of these, my friend,” -said Don Quixote. - -“May be so,” replied the lad; “God be with you, for here comes the -daylight;” and without waiting for any more of his questions, he -whipped on his mules. - -Sancho, seeing his master downcast and somewhat dissatisfied, said to -him, “Señor, daylight will be here before long, and it will not do for -us to let the sun find us in the street; it will be better for us to -quit the city, and for your worship to hide in some forest in the -neighbourhood, and I will come back in the daytime, and I won’t leave a -nook or corner of the whole village that I won’t search for the house, -castle, or palace, of my lady, and it will be hard luck for me if I -don’t find it; and as soon as I have found it I will speak to her -grace, and tell her where and how your worship is waiting for her to -arrange some plan for you to see her without any damage to her honour -and reputation.” - -“Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast delivered a thousand sentences -condensed in the compass of a few words; I thank thee for the advice -thou hast given me, and take it most gladly. Come, my son, let us go -look for some place where I may hide, while thou dost return, as thou -sayest, to seek, and speak with my lady, from whose discretion and -courtesy I look for favours more than miraculous.” - -Sancho was in a fever to get his master out of the town, lest he should -discover the falsehood of the reply he had brought to him in the Sierra -Morena on behalf of Dulcinea; so he hastened their departure, which -they took at once, and two miles out of the village they found a forest -or thicket wherein Don Quixote ensconced himself, while Sancho returned -to the city to speak to Dulcinea, in which embassy things befell him -which demand fresh attention and a new chapter. - -CHAPTER X. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE CRAFTY DEVICE SANCHO ADOPTED TO ENCHANT THE LADY -DULCINEA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS AS LUDICROUS AS THEY ARE TRUE - -When the author of this great history comes to relate what is set down -in this chapter he says he would have preferred to pass it over in -silence, fearing it would not be believed, because here Don Quixote’s -madness reaches the confines of the greatest that can be conceived, and -even goes a couple of bowshots beyond the greatest. But after all, -though still under the same fear and apprehension, he has recorded it -without adding to the story or leaving out a particle of the truth, and -entirely disregarding the charges of falsehood that might be brought -against him; and he was right, for the truth may run fine but will not -break, and always rises above falsehood as oil above water; and so, -going on with his story, he says that as soon as Don Quixote had -ensconced himself in the forest, oak grove, or wood near El Toboso, he -bade Sancho return to the city, and not come into his presence again -without having first spoken on his behalf to his lady, and begged of -her that it might be her good pleasure to permit herself to be seen by -her enslaved knight, and deign to bestow her blessing upon him, so that -he might thereby hope for a happy issue in all his encounters and -difficult enterprises. Sancho undertook to execute the task according -to the instructions, and to bring back an answer as good as the one he -brought back before. - -“Go, my son,” said Don Quixote, “and be not dazed when thou findest -thyself exposed to the light of that sun of beauty thou art going to -seek. Happy thou, above all the squires in the world! Bear in mind, and -let it not escape thy memory, how she receives thee; if she changes -colour while thou art giving her my message; if she is agitated and -disturbed at hearing my name; if she cannot rest upon her cushion, -shouldst thou haply find her seated in the sumptuous state chamber -proper to her rank; and should she be standing, observe if she poises -herself now on one foot, now on the other; if she repeats two or three -times the reply she gives thee; if she passes from gentleness to -austerity, from asperity to tenderness; if she raises her hand to -smooth her hair though it be not disarranged. In short, my son, observe -all her actions and motions, for if thou wilt report them to me as they -were, I will gather what she hides in the recesses of her heart as -regards my love; for I would have thee know, Sancho, if thou knowest it -not, that with lovers the outward actions and motions they give way to -when their loves are in question are the faithful messengers that carry -the news of what is going on in the depths of their hearts. Go, my -friend, may better fortune than mine attend thee, and bring thee a -happier issue than that which I await in dread in this dreary -solitude.” - -“I will go and return quickly,” said Sancho; “cheer up that little -heart of yours, master mine, for at the present moment you seem to have -got one no bigger than a hazel nut; remember what they say, that a -stout heart breaks bad luck, and that where there are no fletches there -are no pegs; and moreover they say, the hare jumps up where it’s not -looked for. I say this because, if we could not find my lady’s palaces -or castles to-night, now that it is daylight I count upon finding them -when I least expect it, and once found, leave it to me to manage her.” - -“Verily, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou dost always bring in thy -proverbs happily, whatever we deal with; may God give me better luck in -what I am anxious about.” - -With this, Sancho wheeled about and gave Dapple the stick, and Don -Quixote remained behind, seated on his horse, resting in his stirrups -and leaning on the end of his lance, filled with sad and troubled -forebodings; and there we will leave him, and accompany Sancho, who -went off no less serious and troubled than he left his master; so much -so, that as soon as he had got out of the thicket, and looking round -saw that Don Quixote was not within sight, he dismounted from his ass, -and seating himself at the foot of a tree began to commune with -himself, saying, “Now, brother Sancho, let us know where your worship -is going. Are you going to look for some ass that has been lost? Not at -all. Then what are you going to look for? I am going to look for a -princess, that’s all; and in her for the sun of beauty and the whole -heaven at once. And where do you expect to find all this, Sancho? -Where? Why, in the great city of El Toboso. Well, and for whom are you -going to look for her? For the famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, -who rights wrongs, gives food to those who thirst and drink to the -hungry. That’s all very well, but do you know her house, Sancho? My -master says it will be some royal palace or grand castle. And have you -ever seen her by any chance? Neither I nor my master ever saw her. And -does it strike you that it would be just and right if the El Toboso -people, finding out that you were here with the intention of going to -tamper with their princesses and trouble their ladies, were to come and -cudgel your ribs, and not leave a whole bone in you? They would, -indeed, have very good reason, if they did not see that I am under -orders, and that ‘you are a messenger, my friend, no blame belongs to -you.’ Don’t you trust to that, Sancho, for the Manchegan folk are as -hot-tempered as they are honest, and won’t put up with liberties from -anybody. By the Lord, if they get scent of you, it will be worse for -you, I promise you. Be off, you scoundrel! Let the bolt fall. Why -should I go looking for three feet on a cat, to please another man; and -what is more, when looking for Dulcinea will be looking for Marica in -Ravena, or the bachelor in Salamanca? The devil, the devil and nobody -else, has mixed me up in this business!” - -Such was the soliloquy Sancho held with himself, and all the conclusion -he could come to was to say to himself again, “Well, there’s remedy for -everything except death, under whose yoke we have all to pass, whether -we like it or not, when life’s finished. I have seen by a thousand -signs that this master of mine is a madman fit to be tied, and for that -matter, I too, am not behind him; for I’m a greater fool than he is -when I follow him and serve him, if there’s any truth in the proverb -that says, ‘Tell me what company thou keepest, and I’ll tell thee what -thou art,’ or in that other, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with -whom thou art fed.’ Well then, if he be mad, as he is, and with a -madness that mostly takes one thing for another, and white for black, -and black for white, as was seen when he said the windmills were -giants, and the monks’ mules dromedaries, flocks of sheep armies of -enemies, and much more to the same tune, it will not be very hard to -make him believe that some country girl, the first I come across here, -is the lady Dulcinea; and if he does not believe it, I’ll swear it; and -if he should swear, I’ll swear again; and if he persists I’ll persist -still more, so as, come what may, to have my quoit always over the peg. -Maybe, by holding out in this way, I may put a stop to his sending me -on messages of this kind another time; or maybe he will think, as I -suspect he will, that one of those wicked enchanters, who he says have -a spite against him, has changed her form for the sake of doing him an -ill turn and injuring him.” - -With this reflection Sancho made his mind easy, counting the business -as good as settled, and stayed there till the afternoon so as to make -Don Quixote think he had time enough to go to El Toboso and return; and -things turned out so luckily for him that as he got up to mount Dapple, -he spied, coming from El Toboso towards the spot where he stood, three -peasant girls on three colts, or fillies—for the author does not make -the point clear, though it is more likely they were she-asses, the -usual mount with village girls; but as it is of no great consequence, -we need not stop to prove it. - -To be brief, the instant Sancho saw the peasant girls, he returned full -speed to seek his master, and found him sighing and uttering a thousand -passionate lamentations. When Don Quixote saw him he exclaimed, “What -news, Sancho, my friend? Am I to mark this day with a white stone or a -black?” - -“Your worship,” replied Sancho, “had better mark it with ruddle, like -the inscriptions on the walls of class rooms, that those who see it may -see it plain.” - -“Then thou bringest good news,” said Don Quixote. - -“So good,” replied Sancho, “that your worship has only to spur -Rocinante and get out into the open field to see the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, who, with two others, damsels of hers, is coming to see your -worship.” - -“Holy God! what art thou saying, Sancho, my friend?” exclaimed Don -Quixote. “Take care thou art not deceiving me, or seeking by false joy -to cheer my real sadness.” - -“What could I get by deceiving your worship,” returned Sancho, -“especially when it will so soon be shown whether I tell the truth or -not? Come, señor, push on, and you will see the princess our mistress -coming, robed and adorned—in fact, like what she is. Her damsels and -she are all one glow of gold, all bunches of pearls, all diamonds, all -rubies, all cloth of brocade of more than ten borders; with their hair -loose on their shoulders like so many sunbeams playing with the wind; -and moreover, they come mounted on three piebald cackneys, the finest -sight ever you saw.” - -“Hackneys, you mean, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. - -“There is not much difference between cackneys and hackneys,” said -Sancho; “but no matter what they come on, there they are, the finest -ladies one could wish for, especially my lady the princess Dulcinea, -who staggers one’s senses.” - -“Let us go, Sancho, my son,” said Don Quixote, “and in guerdon of this -news, as unexpected as it is good, I bestow upon thee the best spoil I -shall win in the first adventure I may have; or if that does not -satisfy thee, I promise thee the foals I shall have this year from my -three mares that thou knowest are in foal on our village common.” - -“I’ll take the foals,” said Sancho; “for it is not quite certain that -the spoils of the first adventure will be good ones.” - -By this time they had cleared the wood, and saw the three village -lasses close at hand. Don Quixote looked all along the road to El -Toboso, and as he could see nobody except the three peasant girls, he -was completely puzzled, and asked Sancho if it was outside the city he -had left them. - -“How outside the city?” returned Sancho. “Are your worship’s eyes in -the back of your head, that you can’t see that they are these who are -coming here, shining like the very sun at noonday?” - -“I see nothing, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but three country girls on -three jackasses.” - -“Now, may God deliver me from the devil!” said Sancho, “and can it be -that your worship takes three hackneys—or whatever they’re called—as -white as the driven snow, for jackasses? By the Lord, I could tear my -beard if that was the case!” - -“Well, I can only say, Sancho, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “that it -is as plain they are jackasses—or jennyasses—as that I am Don Quixote, -and thou Sancho Panza: at any rate, they seem to me to be so.” - -“Hush, señor,” said Sancho, “don’t talk that way, but open your eyes, -and come and pay your respects to the lady of your thoughts, who is -close upon us now;” and with these words he advanced to receive the -three village lasses, and dismounting from Dapple, caught hold of one -of the asses of the three country girls by the halter, and dropping on -both knees on the ground, he said, “Queen and princess and duchess of -beauty, may it please your haughtiness and greatness to receive into -your favour and good-will your captive knight who stands there turned -into marble stone, and quite stupefied and benumbed at finding himself -in your magnificent presence. I am Sancho Panza, his squire, and he the -vagabond knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called ‘The Knight -of the Rueful Countenance.’” - -Don Quixote had by this time placed himself on his knees beside Sancho, -and, with eyes starting out of his head and a puzzled gaze, was -regarding her whom Sancho called queen and lady; and as he could see -nothing in her except a village lass, and not a very well-favoured one, -for she was platter-faced and snub-nosed, he was perplexed and -bewildered, and did not venture to open his lips. The country girls, at -the same time, were astonished to see these two men, so different in -appearance, on their knees, preventing their companion from going on. -She, however, who had been stopped, breaking silence, said angrily and -testily, “Get out of the way, bad luck to you, and let us pass, for we -are in a hurry.” - -To which Sancho returned, “Oh, princess and universal lady of El -Toboso, is not your magnanimous heart softened by seeing the pillar and -prop of knight-errantry on his knees before your sublimated presence?” - -On hearing this, one of the others exclaimed, “Woa then! why, I’m -rubbing thee down, she-ass of my father-in-law! See how the lordlings -come to make game of the village girls now, as if we here could not -chaff as well as themselves. Go your own way, and let us go ours, and -it will be better for you.” - -“Get up, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this; “I see that fortune, ‘with -evil done to me unsated still,’ has taken possession of all the roads -by which any comfort may reach ‘this wretched soul’ that I carry in my -flesh. And thou, highest perfection of excellence that can be desired, -utmost limit of grace in human shape, sole relief of this afflicted -heart that adores thee, though the malign enchanter that persecutes me -has brought clouds and cataracts on my eyes, and to them, and them -only, transformed thy unparagoned beauty and changed thy features into -those of a poor peasant girl, if so be he has not at the same time -changed mine into those of some monster to render them loathsome in thy -sight, refuse not to look upon me with tenderness and love; seeing in -this submission that I make on my knees to thy transformed beauty the -humility with which my soul adores thee.” - -“Hey-day! My grandfather!” cried the girl, “much I care for your -love-making! Get out of the way and let us pass, and we’ll thank you.” - -Sancho stood aside and let her go, very well pleased to have got so -well out of the hobble he was in. The instant the village lass who had -done duty for Dulcinea found herself free, prodding her “cackney” with -a spike she had at the end of a stick, she set off at full speed across -the field. The she-ass, however, feeling the point more acutely than -usual, began cutting such capers, that it flung the lady Dulcinea to -the ground; seeing which, Don Quixote ran to raise her up, and Sancho -to fix and girth the pack-saddle, which also had slipped under the -ass’s belly. The pack-saddle being secured, as Don Quixote was about to -lift up his enchanted mistress in his arms and put her upon her beast, -the lady, getting up from the ground, saved him the trouble, for, going -back a little, she took a short run, and putting both hands on the -croup of the ass she dropped into the saddle more lightly than a -falcon, and sat astride like a man, whereat Sancho said, “Rogue! but -our lady is lighter than a lanner, and might teach the cleverest -Cordovan or Mexican how to mount; she cleared the back of the saddle in -one jump, and without spurs she is making the hackney go like a zebra; -and her damsels are no way behind her, for they all fly like the wind;” -which was the truth, for as soon as they saw Dulcinea mounted, they -pushed on after her, and sped away without looking back, for more than -half a league. - -Don Quixote followed them with his eyes, and when they were no longer -in sight, he turned to Sancho and said, “How now, Sancho? thou seest -how I am hated by enchanters! And see to what a length the malice and -spite they bear me go, when they seek to deprive me of the happiness it -would give me to see my lady in her own proper form. The fact is I was -born to be an example of misfortune, and the target and mark at which -the arrows of adversity are aimed and directed. Observe too, Sancho, -that these traitors were not content with changing and transforming my -Dulcinea, but they transformed and changed her into a shape as mean and -ill-favoured as that of the village girl yonder; and at the same time -they robbed her of that which is such a peculiar property of ladies of -distinction, that is to say, the sweet fragrance that comes of being -always among perfumes and flowers. For I must tell thee, Sancho, that -when I approached to put Dulcinea upon her hackney (as thou sayest it -was, though to me it appeared a she-ass), she gave me a whiff of raw -garlic that made my head reel, and poisoned my very heart.” - -“O scum of the earth!” cried Sancho at this, “O miserable, spiteful -enchanters! O that I could see you all strung by the gills, like -sardines on a twig! Ye know a great deal, ye can do a great deal, and -ye do a great deal more. It ought to have been enough for you, ye -scoundrels, to have changed the pearls of my lady’s eyes into oak -galls, and her hair of purest gold into the bristles of a red ox’s -tail, and in short, all her features from fair to foul, without -meddling with her smell; for by that we might somehow have found out -what was hidden underneath that ugly rind; though, to tell the truth, I -never perceived her ugliness, but only her beauty, which was raised to -the highest pitch of perfection by a mole she had on her right lip, -like a moustache, with seven or eight red hairs like threads of gold, -and more than a palm long.” - -“From the correspondence which exists between those of the face and -those of the body,” said Don Quixote, “Dulcinea must have another mole -resembling that on the thick of the thigh on that side on which she has -the one on her face; but hairs of the length thou hast mentioned are -very long for moles.” - -“Well, all I can say is there they were as plain as could be,” replied -Sancho. - -“I believe it, my friend,” returned Don Quixote; “for nature bestowed -nothing on Dulcinea that was not perfect and well-finished; and so, if -she had a hundred moles like the one thou hast described, in her they -would not be moles, but moons and shining stars. But tell me, Sancho, -that which seemed to me to be a pack-saddle as thou wert fixing it, was -it a flat-saddle or a side-saddle?” - -“It was neither,” replied Sancho, “but a jineta saddle, with a field -covering worth half a kingdom, so rich is it.” - -“And that I could not see all this, Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “once -more I say, and will say a thousand times, I am the most unfortunate of -men.” - -Sancho, the rogue, had enough to do to hide his laughter, at hearing -the simplicity of the master he had so nicely befooled. At length, -after a good deal more conversation had passed between them, they -remounted their beasts, and followed the road to Saragossa, which they -expected to reach in time to take part in a certain grand festival -which is held every year in that illustrious city; but before they got -there things happened to them, so many, so important, and so strange, -that they deserve to be recorded and read, as will be seen farther on. - -CHAPTER XI. -OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE CAR -OR CART OF “THE CORTES OF DEATH” - -Dejected beyond measure did Don Quixote pursue his journey, turning -over in his mind the cruel trick the enchanters had played him in -changing his lady Dulcinea into the vile shape of the village lass, nor -could he think of any way of restoring her to her original form; and -these reflections so absorbed him, that without being aware of it he -let go Rocinante’s bridle, and he, perceiving the liberty that was -granted him, stopped at every step to crop the fresh grass with which -the plain abounded. - -Sancho recalled him from his reverie. “Melancholy, señor,” said he, -“was made, not for beasts, but for men; but if men give way to it -overmuch they turn to beasts; control yourself, your worship; be -yourself again; gather up Rocinante’s reins; cheer up, rouse yourself -and show that gallant spirit that knights-errant ought to have. What -the devil is this? What weakness is this? Are we here or in France? The -devil fly away with all the Dulcineas in the world; for the well-being -of a single knight-errant is of more consequence than all the -enchantments and transformations on earth.” - -“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote in a weak and faint voice, “hush and -utter no blasphemies against that enchanted lady; for I alone am to -blame for her misfortune and hard fate; her calamity has come of the -hatred the wicked bear me.” - -“So say I,” returned Sancho; “his heart rend in twain, I trow, who saw -her once, to see her now.” - -“Thou mayest well say that, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou -sawest her in the full perfection of her beauty; for the enchantment -does not go so far as to pervert thy vision or hide her loveliness from -thee; against me alone and against my eyes is the strength of its venom -directed. Nevertheless, there is one thing which has occurred to me, -and that is that thou didst ill describe her beauty to me, for, as well -as I recollect, thou saidst that her eyes were pearls; but eyes that -are like pearls are rather the eyes of a sea-bream than of a lady, and -I am persuaded that Dulcinea’s must be green emeralds, full and soft, -with two rainbows for eyebrows; take away those pearls from her eyes -and transfer them to her teeth; for beyond a doubt, Sancho, thou hast -taken the one for the other, the eyes for the teeth.” - -“Very likely,” said Sancho; “for her beauty bewildered me as much as -her ugliness did your worship; but let us leave it all to God, who -alone knows what is to happen in this vale of tears, in this evil world -of ours, where there is hardly a thing to be found without some mixture -of wickedness, roguery, and rascality. But one thing, señor, troubles -me more than all the rest, and that is thinking what is to be done when -your worship conquers some giant, or some other knight, and orders him -to go and present himself before the beauty of the lady Dulcinea. Where -is this poor giant, or this poor wretch of a vanquished knight, to find -her? I think I can see them wandering all over El Toboso, looking like -noddies, and asking for my lady Dulcinea; and even if they meet her in -the middle of the street they won’t know her any more than they would -my father.” - -“Perhaps, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “the enchantment does not go -so far as to deprive conquered and presented giants and knights of the -power of recognising Dulcinea; we will try by experiment with one or -two of the first I vanquish and send to her, whether they see her or -not, by commanding them to return and give me an account of what -happened to them in this respect.” - -“I declare, I think what your worship has proposed is excellent,” said -Sancho; “and that by this plan we shall find out what we want to know; -and if it be that it is only from your worship she is hidden, the -misfortune will be more yours than hers; but so long as the lady -Dulcinea is well and happy, we on our part will make the best of it, -and get on as well as we can, seeking our adventures, and leaving Time -to take his own course; for he is the best physician for these and -greater ailments.” - -Don Quixote was about to reply to Sancho Panza, but he was prevented by -a cart crossing the road full of the most diverse and strange -personages and figures that could be imagined. He who led the mules and -acted as carter was a hideous demon; the cart was open to the sky, -without a tilt or cane roof, and the first figure that presented itself -to Don Quixote’s eyes was that of Death itself with a human face; next -to it was an angel with large painted wings, and at one side an -emperor, with a crown, to all appearance of gold, on his head. At the -feet of Death was the god called Cupid, without his bandage, but with -his bow, quiver, and arrows; there was also a knight in full armour, -except that he had no morion or helmet, but only a hat decked with -plumes of divers colours; and along with these there were others with a -variety of costumes and faces. All this, unexpectedly encountered, took -Don Quixote somewhat aback, and struck terror into the heart of Sancho; -but the next instant Don Quixote was glad of it, believing that some -new perilous adventure was presenting itself to him, and under this -impression, and with a spirit prepared to face any danger, he planted -himself in front of the cart, and in a loud and menacing tone, -exclaimed, “Carter, or coachman, or devil, or whatever thou art, tell -me at once who thou art, whither thou art going, and who these folk are -thou carriest in thy wagon, which looks more like Charon’s boat than an -ordinary cart.” - -To which the devil, stopping the cart, answered quietly, “Señor, we are -players of Angulo el Malo’s company; we have been acting the play of -‘The Cortés of Death’ this morning, which is the octave of Corpus -Christi, in a village behind that hill, and we have to act it this -afternoon in that village which you can see from this; and as it is so -near, and to save the trouble of undressing and dressing again, we go -in the costumes in which we perform. That lad there appears as Death, -that other as an angel, that woman, the manager’s wife, plays the -queen, this one the soldier, that the emperor, and I the devil; and I -am one of the principal characters of the play, for in this company I -take the leading parts. If you want to know anything more about us, ask -me and I will answer with the utmost exactitude, for as I am a devil I -am up to everything.” - -“By the faith of a knight-errant,” replied Don Quixote, “when I saw -this cart I fancied some great adventure was presenting itself to me; -but I declare one must touch with the hand what appears to the eye, if -illusions are to be avoided. God speed you, good people; keep your -festival, and remember, if you demand of me ought wherein I can render -you a service, I will do it gladly and willingly, for from a child I -was fond of the play, and in my youth a keen lover of the actor’s art.” - -While they were talking, fate so willed it that one of the company in a -mummers’ dress with a great number of bells, and armed with three blown -ox-bladders at the end of a stick, joined them, and this merry-andrew -approaching Don Quixote, began flourishing his stick and banging the -ground with the bladders and cutting capers with great jingling of the -bells, which untoward apparition so startled Rocinante that, in spite -of Don Quixote’s efforts to hold him in, taking the bit between his -teeth he set off across the plain with greater speed than the bones of -his anatomy ever gave any promise of. - -Sancho, who thought his master was in danger of being thrown, jumped -off Dapple, and ran in all haste to help him; but by the time he -reached him he was already on the ground, and beside him was Rocinante, -who had come down with his master, the usual end and upshot of -Rocinante’s vivacity and high spirits. But the moment Sancho quitted -his beast to go and help Don Quixote, the dancing devil with the -bladders jumped up on Dapple, and beating him with them, more by the -fright and the noise than by the pain of the blows, made him fly across -the fields towards the village where they were going to hold their -festival. Sancho witnessed Dapple’s career and his master’s fall, and -did not know which of the two cases of need he should attend to first; -but in the end, like a good squire and good servant, he let his love -for his master prevail over his affection for his ass; though every -time he saw the bladders rise in the air and come down on the hind -quarters of his Dapple he felt the pains and terrors of death, and he -would have rather had the blows fall on the apples of his own eyes than -on the least hair of his ass’s tail. In this trouble and perplexity he -came to where Don Quixote lay in a far sorrier plight than he liked, -and having helped him to mount Rocinante, he said to him, “Señor, the -devil has carried off my Dapple.” - -“What devil?” asked Don Quixote. - -“The one with the bladders,” said Sancho. - -“Then I will recover him,” said Don Quixote, “even if he be shut up -with him in the deepest and darkest dungeons of hell. Follow me, -Sancho, for the cart goes slowly, and with the mules of it I will make -good the loss of Dapple.” - -“You need not take the trouble, señor,” said Sancho; “keep cool, for as -I now see, the devil has let Dapple go and he is coming back to his old -quarters;” and so it turned out, for, having come down with Dapple, in -imitation of Don Quixote and Rocinante, the devil made off on foot to -the town, and the ass came back to his master. - -“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “it will be well to visit the -discourtesy of that devil upon some of those in the cart, even if it -were the emperor himself.” - -“Don’t think of it, your worship,” returned Sancho; “take my advice and -never meddle with actors, for they are a favoured class; I myself have -known an actor taken up for two murders, and yet come off scot-free; -remember that, as they are merry folk who give pleasure, everyone -favours and protects them, and helps and makes much of them, above all -when they are those of the royal companies and under patent, all or -most of whom in dress and appearance look like princes.” - -“Still, for all that,” said Don Quixote, “the player devil must not go -off boasting, even if the whole human race favours him.” - -So saying, he made for the cart, which was now very near the town, -shouting out as he went, “Stay! halt! ye merry, jovial crew! I want to -teach you how to treat asses and animals that serve the squires of -knights-errant for steeds.” - -So loud were the shouts of Don Quixote, that those in the cart heard -and understood them, and, guessing by the words what the speaker’s -intention was, Death in an instant jumped out of the cart, and the -emperor, the devil carter and the angel after him, nor did the queen or -the god Cupid stay behind; and all armed themselves with stones and -formed in line, prepared to receive Don Quixote on the points of their -pebbles. Don Quixote, when he saw them drawn up in such a gallant array -with uplifted arms ready for a mighty discharge of stones, checked -Rocinante and began to consider in what way he could attack them with -the least danger to himself. As he halted Sancho came up, and seeing -him disposed to attack this well-ordered squadron, said to him, “It -would be the height of madness to attempt such an enterprise; remember, -señor, that against sops from the brook, and plenty of them, there is -no defensive armour in the world, except to stow oneself away under a -brass bell; and besides, one should remember that it is rashness, and -not valour, for a single man to attack an army that has Death in it, -and where emperors fight in person, with angels, good and bad, to help -them; and if this reflection will not make you keep quiet, perhaps it -will to know for certain that among all these, though they look like -kings, princes, and emperors, there is not a single knight-errant.” - -“Now indeed thou hast hit the point, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “which -may and should turn me from the resolution I had already formed. I -cannot and must not draw sword, as I have many a time before told thee, -against anyone who is not a dubbed knight; it is for thee, Sancho, if -thou wilt, to take vengeance for the wrong done to thy Dapple; and I -will help thee from here by shouts and salutary counsels.” - -“There is no occasion to take vengeance on anyone, señor,” replied -Sancho; “for it is not the part of good Christians to revenge wrongs; -and besides, I will arrange it with my ass to leave his grievance to my -good-will and pleasure, and that is to live in peace as long as heaven -grants me life.” - -“Well,” said Don Quixote, “if that be thy determination, good Sancho, -sensible Sancho, Christian Sancho, honest Sancho, let us leave these -phantoms alone and turn to the pursuit of better and worthier -adventures; for, from what I see of this country, we cannot fail to -find plenty of marvellous ones in it.” - -He at once wheeled about, Sancho ran to take possession of his Dapple, -Death and his flying squadron returned to their cart and pursued their -journey, and thus the dread adventure of the cart of Death ended -happily, thanks to the advice Sancho gave his master; who had, the -following day, a fresh adventure, of no less thrilling interest than -the last, with an enamoured knight-errant. - -CHAPTER XII. -OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE WITH THE -BOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS - -The night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death, Don Quixote -and his squire passed under some tall shady trees, and Don Quixote at -Sancho’s persuasion ate a little from the store carried by Dapple, and -over their supper Sancho said to his master, “Señor, what a fool I -should have looked if I had chosen for my reward the spoils of the -first adventure your worship achieved, instead of the foals of the -three mares. After all, ‘a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture -on the wing.’” - -“At the same time, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “if thou hadst let me -attack them as I wanted, at the very least the emperor’s gold crown and -Cupid’s painted wings would have fallen to thee as spoils, for I should -have taken them by force and given them into thy hands.” - -“The sceptres and crowns of those play-actor emperors,” said Sancho, -“were never yet pure gold, but only brass foil or tin.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “for it would not be right that the -accessories of the drama should be real, instead of being mere fictions -and semblances, like the drama itself; towards which, Sancho—and, as a -necessary consequence, towards those who represent and produce it—I -would that thou wert favourably disposed, for they are all instruments -of great good to the State, placing before us at every step a mirror in -which we may see vividly displayed what goes on in human life; nor is -there any similitude that shows us more faithfully what we are and -ought to be than the play and the players. Come, tell me, hast thou not -seen a play acted in which kings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, -and divers other personages were introduced? One plays the villain, -another the knave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one the -sharp-witted fool, another the foolish lover; and when the play is -over, and they have put off the dresses they wore in it, all the actors -become equal.” - -“Yes, I have seen that,” said Sancho. - -“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “the same thing happens in the comedy -and life of this world, where some play emperors, others popes, and, in -short, all the characters that can be brought into a play; but when it -is over, that is to say when life ends, death strips them all of the -garments that distinguish one from the other, and all are equal in the -grave.” - -“A fine comparison!” said Sancho; “though not so new but that I have -heard it many and many a time, as well as that other one of the game of -chess; how, so long as the game lasts, each piece has its own -particular office, and when the game is finished they are all mixed, -jumbled up and shaken together, and stowed away in the bag, which is -much like ending life in the grave.” - -“Thou art growing less doltish and more shrewd every day, Sancho,” said -Don Quixote. - -“Ay,” said Sancho; “it must be that some of your worship’s shrewdness -sticks to me; land that, of itself, is barren and dry, will come to -yield good fruit if you dung it and till it; what I mean is that your -worship’s conversation has been the dung that has fallen on the barren -soil of my dry wit, and the time I have been in your service and -society has been the tillage; and with the help of this I hope to yield -fruit in abundance that will not fall away or slide from those paths of -good breeding that your worship has made in my parched understanding.” - -Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s affected phraseology, and perceived -that what he said about his improvement was true, for now and then he -spoke in a way that surprised him; though always, or mostly, when -Sancho tried to talk fine and attempted polite language, he wound up by -toppling over from the summit of his simplicity into the abyss of his -ignorance; and where he showed his culture and his memory to the -greatest advantage was in dragging in proverbs, no matter whether they -had any bearing or not upon the subject in hand, as may have been seen -already and will be noticed in the course of this history. - -In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the night, but -Sancho felt a desire to let down the curtains of his eyes, as he used -to say when he wanted to go to sleep; and stripping Dapple he left him -at liberty to graze his fill. He did not remove Rocinante’s saddle, as -his master’s express orders were, that so long as they were in the -field or not sleeping under a roof Rocinante was not to be stripped—the -ancient usage established and observed by knights-errant being to take -off the bridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but to remove the saddle -from the horse—never! Sancho acted accordingly, and gave him the same -liberty he had given Dapple, between whom and Rocinante there was a -friendship so unequalled and so strong, that it is handed down by -tradition from father to son, that the author of this veracious history -devoted some special chapters to it, which, in order to preserve the -propriety and decorum due to a history so heroic, he did not insert -therein; although at times he forgets this resolution of his and -describes how eagerly the two beasts would scratch one another when -they were together and how, when they were tired or full, Rocinante -would lay his neck across Dapple’s, stretching half a yard or more on -the other side, and the pair would stand thus, gazing thoughtfully on -the ground, for three days, or at least so long as they were left -alone, or hunger did not drive them to go and look for food. I may add -that they say the author left it on record that he likened their -friendship to that of Nisus and Euryalus, and Pylades and Orestes; and -if that be so, it may be perceived, to the admiration of mankind, how -firm the friendship must have been between these two peaceful animals, -shaming men, who preserve friendships with one another so badly. This -was why it was said- - -For friend no longer is there friend; -The reeds turn lances now. - -And someone else has sung— - -Friend to friend the bug, etc. - -and let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when he compared -the friendship of these animals to that of men; for men have received -many lessons from beasts, and learned many important things, as, for -example, the clyster from the stork, vomit and gratitude from the dog, -watchfulness from the crane, foresight from the ant, modesty from the -elephant, and loyalty from the horse. - -Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork tree, while Don -Quixote dozed at that of a sturdy oak; but a short time only had -elapsed when a noise he heard behind him awoke him, and rising up -startled, he listened and looked in the direction the noise came from, -and perceived two men on horseback, one of whom, letting himself drop -from the saddle, said to the other, “Dismount, my friend, and take the -bridles off the horses, for, so far as I can see, this place will -furnish grass for them, and the solitude and silence my love-sick -thoughts need of.” As he said this he stretched himself upon the -ground, and as he flung himself down, the armour in which he was clad -rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived that he must be a knight-errant; -and going over to Sancho, who was asleep, he shook him by the arm and -with no small difficulty brought him back to his senses, and said in a -low voice to him, “Brother Sancho, we have got an adventure.” - -“God send us a good one,” said Sancho; “and where may her ladyship the -adventure be?” - -“Where, Sancho?” replied Don Quixote; “turn thine eyes and look, and -thou wilt see stretched there a knight-errant, who, it strikes me, is -not over and above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horse and -throw himself on the ground with a certain air of dejection, and his -armour rattled as he fell.” - -“Well,” said Sancho, “how does your worship make out that to be an -adventure?” - -“I do not mean to say,” returned Don Quixote, “that it is a complete -adventure, but that it is the beginning of one, for it is in this way -adventures begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a lute or -guitar, and from the way he is spitting and clearing his chest he must -be getting ready to sing something.” - -“Faith, you are right,” said Sancho, “and no doubt he is some enamoured -knight.” - -“There is no knight-errant that is not,” said Don Quixote; “but let us -listen to him, for, if he sings, by that thread we shall extract the -ball of his thoughts; because out of the abundance of the heart the -mouth speaketh.” - -Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of the Grove’s -voice, which was neither very bad nor very good, stopped him, and -listening attentively the pair heard him sing this - -SONNET - -Your pleasure, prithee, lady mine, unfold; -Declare the terms that I am to obey; -My will to yours submissively I mould, -And from your law my feet shall never stray. -Would you I die, to silent grief a prey? -Then count me even now as dead and cold; -Would you I tell my woes in some new way? -Then shall my tale by Love itself be told. -The unison of opposites to prove, -Of the soft wax and diamond hard am I; -But still, obedient to the laws of love, -Here, hard or soft, I offer you my breast, -Whate’er you grave or stamp thereon shall rest -Indelible for all eternity. - -With an “Ah me!” that seemed to be drawn from the inmost recesses of -his heart, the Knight of the Grove brought his lay to an end, and -shortly afterwards exclaimed in a melancholy and piteous voice, “O -fairest and most ungrateful woman on earth! What! can it be, most -serene Casildea de Vandalia, that thou wilt suffer this thy captive -knight to waste away and perish in ceaseless wanderings and rude and -arduous toils? It is not enough that I have compelled all the knights -of Navarre, all the Leonese, all the Tartesians, all the Castilians, -and finally all the knights of La Mancha, to confess thee the most -beautiful in the world?” - -“Not so,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I am of La Mancha, and I have -never confessed anything of the sort, nor could I nor should I confess -a thing so much to the prejudice of my lady’s beauty; thou seest how -this knight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, perhaps he will tell -us more about himself.” - -“That he will,” returned Sancho, “for he seems in a mood to bewail -himself for a month at a stretch.” - -But this was not the case, for the Knight of the Grove, hearing voices -near him, instead of continuing his lamentation, stood up and exclaimed -in a distinct but courteous tone, “Who goes there? What are you? Do you -belong to the number of the happy or of the miserable?” - -“Of the miserable,” answered Don Quixote. - -“Then come to me,” said he of the Grove, “and rest assured that it is -to woe itself and affliction itself you come.” - -Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and courteous -manner, went over to him, and so did Sancho. - -The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, saying, “Sit down here, -sir knight; for, that you are one, and of those that profess -knight-errantry, it is to me a sufficient proof to have found you in -this place, where solitude and night, the natural couch and proper -retreat of knights-errant, keep you company.” To which Don made answer, -“A knight I am of the profession you mention, and though sorrows, -misfortunes, and calamities have made my heart their abode, the -compassion I feel for the misfortunes of others has not been thereby -banished from it. From what you have just now sung I gather that yours -spring from love, I mean from the love you bear that fair ingrate you -named in your lament.” - -In the meantime, they had seated themselves together on the hard ground -peaceably and sociably, just as if, as soon as day broke, they were not -going to break one another’s heads. - -“Are you, sir knight, in love perchance?” asked he of the Grove of Don -Quixote. - -“By mischance I am,” replied Don Quixote; “though the ills arising from -well-bestowed affections should be esteemed favours rather than -misfortunes.” - -“That is true,” returned he of the Grove, “if scorn did not unsettle -our reason and understanding, for if it be excessive it looks like -revenge.” - -“I was never scorned by my lady,” said Don Quixote. - -“Certainly not,” said Sancho, who stood close by, “for my lady is as a -lamb, and softer than a roll of butter.” - -“Is this your squire?” asked he of the Grove. - -“He is,” said Don Quixote. - -“I never yet saw a squire,” said he of the Grove, “who ventured to -speak when his master was speaking; at least, there is mine, who is as -big as his father, and it cannot be proved that he has ever opened his -lips when I am speaking.” - -“By my faith then,” said Sancho, “I have spoken, and am fit to speak, -in the presence of one as much, or even—but never mind—it only makes it -worse to stir it.” - -The squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to him, “Let us -two go where we can talk in squire style as much as we please, and -leave these gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the story of -their loves; and, depend upon it, daybreak will find them at it without -having made an end of it.” - -“So be it by all means,” said Sancho; “and I will tell your worship who -I am, that you may see whether I am to be reckoned among the number of -the most talkative squires.” - -With this the two squires withdrew to one side, and between them there -passed a conversation as droll as that which passed between their -masters was serious. - -CHAPTER XIII. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE, -TOGETHER WITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL, AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THAT PASSED -BETWEEN THE TWO SQUIRES - -The knights and the squires made two parties, these telling the story -of their lives, the others the story of their loves; but the history -relates first of all the conversation of the servants, and afterwards -takes up that of the masters; and it says that, withdrawing a little -from the others, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “A hard life it is we -lead and live, señor, we that are squires to knights-errant; verily, we -eat our bread in the sweat of our faces, which is one of the curses God -laid on our first parents.” - -“It may be said, too,” added Sancho, “that we eat it in the chill of -our bodies; for who gets more heat and cold than the miserable squires -of knight-errantry? Even so it would not be so bad if we had something -to eat, for woes are lighter if there’s bread; but sometimes we go a -day or two without breaking our fast, except with the wind that blows.” - -“All that,” said he of the Grove, “may be endured and put up with when -we have hopes of reward; for, unless the knight-errant he serves is -excessively unlucky, after a few turns the squire will at least find -himself rewarded with a fine government of some island or some fair -county.” - -“I,” said Sancho, “have already told my master that I shall be content -with the government of some island, and he is so noble and generous -that he has promised it to me ever so many times.” - -“I,” said he of the Grove, “shall be satisfied with a canonry for my -services, and my master has already assigned me one.” - -“Your master,” said Sancho, “no doubt is a knight in the Church line, -and can bestow rewards of that sort on his good squire; but mine is -only a layman; though I remember some clever, but, to my mind, -designing people, strove to persuade him to try and become an -archbishop. He, however, would not be anything but an emperor; but I -was trembling all the time lest he should take a fancy to go into the -Church, not finding myself fit to hold office in it; for I may tell -you, though I seem a man, I am no better than a beast for the Church.” - -“Well, then, you are wrong there,” said he of the Grove; “for those -island governments are not all satisfactory; some are awkward, some are -poor, some are dull, and, in short, the highest and choicest brings -with it a heavy burden of cares and troubles which the unhappy wight to -whose lot it has fallen bears upon his shoulders. Far better would it -be for us who have adopted this accursed service to go back to our own -houses, and there employ ourselves in pleasanter occupations—in hunting -or fishing, for instance; for what squire in the world is there so poor -as not to have a hack and a couple of greyhounds and a fishingrod to -amuse himself with in his own village?” - -“I am not in want of any of those things,” said Sancho; “to be sure I -have no hack, but I have an ass that is worth my master’s horse twice -over; God send me a bad Easter, and that the next one I am to see, if I -would swap, even if I got four bushels of barley to boot. You will -laugh at the value I put on my Dapple—for dapple is the colour of my -beast. As to greyhounds, I can’t want for them, for there are enough -and to spare in my town; and, moreover, there is more pleasure in sport -when it is at other people’s expense.” - -“In truth and earnest, sir squire,” said he of the Grove, “I have made -up my mind and determined to have done with these drunken vagaries of -these knights, and go back to my village, and bring up my children; for -I have three, like three Oriental pearls.” - -“I have two,” said Sancho, “that might be presented before the Pope -himself, especially a girl whom I am breeding up for a countess, please -God, though in spite of her mother.” - -“And how old is this lady that is being bred up for a countess?” asked -he of the Grove. - -“Fifteen, a couple of years more or less,” answered Sancho; “but she is -as tall as a lance, and as fresh as an April morning, and as strong as -a porter.” - -“Those are gifts to fit her to be not only a countess but a nymph of -the greenwood,” said he of the Grove; “whoreson strumpet! what pith the -rogue must have!” - -To which Sancho made answer, somewhat sulkily, “She’s no strumpet, nor -was her mother, nor will either of them be, please God, while I live; -speak more civilly; for one bred up among knights-errant, who are -courtesy itself, your words don’t seem to me to be very becoming.” - -“O how little you know about compliments, sir squire,” returned he of -the Grove. “What! don’t you know that when a horseman delivers a good -lance thrust at the bull in the plaza, or when anyone does anything -very well, the people are wont to say, ‘Ha, whoreson rip! how well he -has done it!’ and that what seems to be abuse in the expression is high -praise? Disown sons and daughters, señor, who don’t do what deserves -that compliments of this sort should be paid to their parents.” - -“I do disown them,” replied Sancho, “and in this way, and by the same -reasoning, you might call me and my children and my wife all the -strumpets in the world, for all they do and say is of a kind that in -the highest degree deserves the same praise; and to see them again I -pray God to deliver me from mortal sin, or, what comes to the same -thing, to deliver me from this perilous calling of squire into which I -have fallen a second time, decayed and beguiled by a purse with a -hundred ducats that I found one day in the heart of the Sierra Morena; -and the devil is always putting a bag full of doubloons before my eyes, -here, there, everywhere, until I fancy at every stop I am putting my -hand on it, and hugging it, and carrying it home with me, and making -investments, and getting interest, and living like a prince; and so -long as I think of this I make light of all the hardships I endure with -this simpleton of a master of mine, who, I well know, is more of a -madman than a knight.” - -“There’s why they say that ‘covetousness bursts the bag,’” said he of -the Grove; “but if you come to talk of that sort, there is not a -greater one in the world than my master, for he is one of those of whom -they say, ‘the cares of others kill the ass;’ for, in order that -another knight may recover the senses he has lost, he makes a madman of -himself and goes looking for what, when found, may, for all I know, fly -in his own face.” “And is he in love perchance?” asked Sancho. - -“He is,” said of the Grove, “with one Casildea de Vandalia, the rawest -and best roasted lady the whole world could produce; but that rawness -is not the only foot he limps on, for he has greater schemes rumbling -in his bowels, as will be seen before many hours are over.” - -“There’s no road so smooth but it has some hole or hindrance in it,” -said Sancho; “in other houses they cook beans, but in mine it’s by the -potful; madness will have more followers and hangers-on than sound -sense; but if there be any truth in the common saying, that to have -companions in trouble gives some relief, I may take consolation from -you, inasmuch as you serve a master as crazy as my own.” - -“Crazy but valiant,” replied he of the Grove, “and more roguish than -crazy or valiant.” - -“Mine is not that,” said Sancho; “I mean he has nothing of the rogue in -him; on the contrary, he has the soul of a pitcher; he has no thought -of doing harm to anyone, only good to all, nor has he any malice -whatever in him; a child might persuade him that it is night at -noonday; and for this simplicity I love him as the core of my heart, -and I can’t bring myself to leave him, let him do ever such foolish -things.” - -“For all that, brother and señor,” said he of the Grove, “if the blind -lead the blind, both are in danger of falling into the pit. It is -better for us to beat a quiet retreat and get back to our own quarters; -for those who seek adventures don’t always find good ones.” - -Sancho kept spitting from time to time, and his spittle seemed somewhat -ropy and dry, observing which the compassionate squire of the Grove -said, “It seems to me that with all this talk of ours our tongues are -sticking to the roofs of our mouths; but I have a pretty good loosener -hanging from the saddle-bow of my horse,” and getting up he came back -the next minute with a large bota of wine and a pasty half a yard -across; and this is no exaggeration, for it was made of a house rabbit -so big that Sancho, as he handled it, took it to be made of a goat, not -to say a kid, and looking at it he said, “And do you carry this with -you, señor?” - -“Why, what are you thinking about?” said the other; “do you take me for -some paltry squire? I carry a better larder on my horse’s croup than a -general takes with him when he goes on a march.” - -Sancho ate without requiring to be pressed, and in the dark bolted -mouthfuls like the knots on a tether, and said he, “You are a proper -trusty squire, one of the right sort, sumptuous and grand, as this -banquet shows, which, if it has not come here by magic art, at any rate -has the look of it; not like me, unlucky beggar, that have nothing more -in my alforjas than a scrap of cheese, so hard that one might brain a -giant with it, and, to keep it company, a few dozen carobs and as many -more filberts and walnuts; thanks to the austerity of my master, and -the idea he has and the rule he follows, that knights-errant must not -live or sustain themselves on anything except dried fruits and the -herbs of the field.” - -“By my faith, brother,” said he of the Grove, “my stomach is not made -for thistles, or wild pears, or roots of the woods; let our masters do -as they like, with their chivalry notions and laws, and eat what those -enjoin; I carry my prog-basket and this bota hanging to the saddle-bow, -whatever they may say; and it is such an object of worship with me, and -I love it so, that there is hardly a moment but I am kissing and -embracing it over and over again;” and so saying he thrust it into -Sancho’s hands, who raising it aloft pointed to his mouth, gazed at the -stars for a quarter of an hour; and when he had done drinking let his -head fall on one side, and giving a deep sigh, exclaimed, “Ah, whoreson -rogue, how catholic it is!” - -“There, you see,” said he of the Grove, hearing Sancho’s exclamation, -“how you have called this wine whoreson by way of praise.” - -“Well,” said Sancho, “I own it, and I grant it is no dishonour to call -anyone whoreson when it is to be understood as praise. But tell me, -señor, by what you love best, is this Ciudad Real wine?” - -“O rare wine-taster!” said he of the Grove; “nowhere else indeed does -it come from, and it has some years’ age too.” - -“Leave me alone for that,” said Sancho; “never fear but I’ll hit upon -the place it came from somehow. What would you say, sir squire, to my -having such a great natural instinct in judging wines that you have -only to let me smell one and I can tell positively its country, its -kind, its flavour and soundness, the changes it will undergo, and -everything that appertains to a wine? But it is no wonder, for I have -had in my family, on my father’s side, the two best wine-tasters that -have been known in La Mancha for many a long year, and to prove it I’ll -tell you now a thing that happened them. They gave the two of them some -wine out of a cask, to try, asking their opinion as to the condition, -quality, goodness or badness of the wine. One of them tried it with the -tip of his tongue, the other did no more than bring it to his nose. The -first said the wine had a flavour of iron, the second said it had a -stronger flavour of cordovan. The owner said the cask was clean, and -that nothing had been added to the wine from which it could have got a -flavour of either iron or leather. Nevertheless, these two great -wine-tasters held to what they had said. Time went by, the wine was -sold, and when they came to clean out the cask, they found in it a -small key hanging to a thong of cordovan; see now if one who comes of -the same stock has not a right to give his opinion in such like cases.” - -“Therefore, I say,” said he of the Grove, “let us give up going in -quest of adventures, and as we have loaves let us not go looking for -cakes, but return to our cribs, for God will find us there if it be his -will.” - -“Until my master reaches Saragossa,” said Sancho, “I’ll remain in his -service; after that we’ll see.” - -The end of it was that the two squires talked so much and drank so much -that sleep had to tie their tongues and moderate their thirst, for to -quench it was impossible; and so the pair of them fell asleep clinging -to the now nearly empty bota and with half-chewed morsels in their -mouths; and there we will leave them for the present, to relate what -passed between the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful -Countenance. - -CHAPTER XIV. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE - -Among the things that passed between Don Quixote and the Knight of the -Wood, the history tells us he of the Grove said to Don Quixote, “In -fine, sir knight, I would have you know that my destiny, or, more -properly speaking, my choice led me to fall in love with the peerless -Casildea de Vandalia. I call her peerless because she has no peer, -whether it be in bodily stature or in the supremacy of rank and beauty. -This same Casildea, then, that I speak of, requited my honourable -passion and gentle aspirations by compelling me, as his stepmother did -Hercules, to engage in many perils of various sorts, at the end of each -promising me that, with the end of the next, the object of my hopes -should be attained; but my labours have gone on increasing link by link -until they are past counting, nor do I know what will be the last one -that is to be the beginning of the accomplishment of my chaste desires. -On one occasion she bade me go and challenge the famous giantess of -Seville, La Giralda by name, who is as mighty and strong as if made of -brass, and though never stirring from one spot, is the most restless -and changeable woman in the world. I came, I saw, I conquered, and I -made her stay quiet and behave herself, for nothing but north winds -blew for more than a week. Another time I was ordered to lift those -ancient stones, the mighty bulls of Guisando, an enterprise that might -more fitly be entrusted to porters than to knights. Again, she bade me -fling myself into the cavern of Cabra—an unparalleled and awful -peril—and bring her a minute account of all that is concealed in those -gloomy depths. I stopped the motion of the Giralda, I lifted the bulls -of Guisando, I flung myself into the cavern and brought to light the -secrets of its abyss; and my hopes are as dead as dead can be, and her -scorn and her commands as lively as ever. To be brief, last of all she -has commanded me to go through all the provinces of Spain and compel -all the knights-errant wandering therein to confess that she surpasses -all women alive to-day in beauty, and that I am the most valiant and -the most deeply enamoured knight on earth; in support of which claim I -have already travelled over the greater part of Spain, and have there -vanquished several knights who have dared to contradict me; but what I -most plume and pride myself upon is having vanquished in single combat -that so famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, and made him confess -that my Casildea is more beautiful than his Dulcinea; and in this one -victory I hold myself to have conquered all the knights in the world; -for this Don Quixote that I speak of has vanquished them all, and I -having vanquished him, his glory, his fame, and his honour have passed -and are transferred to my person; for - -The more the vanquished hath of fair renown, -The greater glory gilds the victor’s crown. - -Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don Quixote are now set -down to my account and have become mine.” - -Don Quixote was amazed when he heard the Knight of the Grove, and was a -thousand times on the point of telling him he lied, and had the lie -direct already on the tip of his tongue; but he restrained himself as -well as he could, in order to force him to confess the lie with his own -lips; so he said to him quietly, “As to what you say, sir knight, about -having vanquished most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole -world, I say nothing; but that you have vanquished Don Quixote of La -Mancha I consider doubtful; it may have been some other that resembled -him, although there are few like him.” - -“How! not vanquished?” said he of the Grove; “by the heaven that is -above us I fought Don Quixote and overcame him and made him yield; and -he is a man of tall stature, gaunt features, long, lank limbs, with -hair turning grey, an aquiline nose rather hooked, and large black -drooping moustaches; he does battle under the name of ‘The -Countenance,’ and he has for squire a peasant called Sancho Panza; he -presses the loins and rules the reins of a famous steed called -Rocinante; and lastly, he has for the mistress of his will a certain -Dulcinea del Toboso, once upon a time called Aldonza Lorenzo, just as I -call mine Casildea de Vandalia because her name is Casilda and she is -of Andalusia. If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the truth -of what I say, here is my sword, that will compel incredulity itself to -give credence to it.” - -“Calm yourself, sir knight,” said Don Quixote, “and give ear to what I -am about to say to you. I would have you know that this Don Quixote you -speak of is the greatest friend I have in the world; so much so that I -may say I regard him in the same light as my own person; and from the -precise and clear indications you have given I cannot but think that he -must be the very one you have vanquished. On the other hand, I see with -my eyes and feel with my hands that it is impossible it can have been -the same; unless indeed it be that, as he has many enemies who are -enchanters, and one in particular who is always persecuting him, -someone of these may have taken his shape in order to allow himself to -be vanquished, so as to defraud him of the fame that his exalted -achievements as a knight have earned and acquired for him throughout -the known world. And in confirmation of this, I must tell you, too, -that it is but ten hours since these said enchanters his enemies -transformed the shape and person of the fair Dulcinea del Toboso into a -foul and mean village lass, and in the same way they must have -transformed Don Quixote; and if all this does not suffice to convince -you of the truth of what I say, here is Don Quixote himself, who will -maintain it by arms, on foot or on horseback or in any way you please.” - -And so saying he stood up and laid his hand on his sword, waiting to -see what the Knight of the Grove would do, who in an equally calm voice -said in reply, “Pledges don’t distress a good payer; he who has -succeeded in vanquishing you once when transformed, Sir Don Quixote, -may fairly hope to subdue you in your own proper shape; but as it is -not becoming for knights to perform their feats of arms in the dark, -like highwaymen and bullies, let us wait till daylight, that the sun -may behold our deeds; and the conditions of our combat shall be that -the vanquished shall be at the victor’s disposal, to do all that he may -enjoin, provided the injunction be such as shall be becoming a knight.” - -“I am more than satisfied with these conditions and terms,” replied Don -Quixote; and so saying, they betook themselves to where their squires -lay, and found them snoring, and in the same posture they were in when -sleep fell upon them. They roused them up, and bade them get the horses -ready, as at sunrise they were to engage in a bloody and arduous single -combat; at which intelligence Sancho was aghast and thunderstruck, -trembling for the safety of his master because of the mighty deeds he -had heard the squire of the Grove ascribe to his; but without a word -the two squires went in quest of their cattle; for by this time the -three horses and the ass had smelt one another out, and were all -together. - -On the way, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “You must know, brother, -that it is the custom with the fighting men of Andalusia, when they are -godfathers in any quarrel, not to stand idle with folded arms while -their godsons fight; I say so to remind you that while our masters are -fighting, we, too, have to fight, and knock one another to shivers.” - -“That custom, sir squire,” replied Sancho, “may hold good among those -bullies and fighting men you talk of, but certainly not among the -squires of knights-errant; at least, I have never heard my master speak -of any custom of the sort, and he knows all the laws of knight-errantry -by heart; but granting it true that there is an express law that -squires are to fight while their masters are fighting, I don’t mean to -obey it, but to pay the penalty that may be laid on peacefully minded -squires like myself; for I am sure it cannot be more than two pounds of -wax, and I would rather pay that, for I know it will cost me less than -the lint I shall be at the expense of to mend my head, which I look -upon as broken and split already; there’s another thing that makes it -impossible for me to fight, that I have no sword, for I never carried -one in my life.” - -“I know a good remedy for that,” said he of the Grove; “I have here two -linen bags of the same size; you shall take one, and I the other, and -we will fight at bag blows with equal arms.” - -“If that’s the way, so be it with all my heart,” said Sancho, “for that -sort of battle will serve to knock the dust out of us instead of -hurting us.” - -“That will not do,” said the other, “for we must put into the bags, to -keep the wind from blowing them away, half a dozen nice smooth pebbles, -all of the same weight; and in this way we shall be able to baste one -another without doing ourselves any harm or mischief.” - -“Body of my father!” said Sancho, “see what marten and sable, and pads -of carded cotton he is putting into the bags, that our heads may not be -broken and our bones beaten to jelly! But even if they are filled with -toss silk, I can tell you, señor, I am not going to fight; let our -masters fight, that’s their lookout, and let us drink and live; for -time will take care to ease us of our lives, without our going to look -for fillips so that they may be finished off before their proper time -comes and they drop from ripeness.” - -“Still,” returned he of the Grove, “we must fight, if it be only for -half an hour.” - -“By no means,” said Sancho; “I am not going to be so discourteous or so -ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be it ever so small, with one I have -eaten and drunk with; besides, who the devil could bring himself to -fight in cold blood, without anger or provocation?” - -“I can remedy that entirely,” said he of the Grove, “and in this way: -before we begin the battle, I will come up to your worship fair and -softly, and give you three or four buffets, with which I shall stretch -you at my feet and rouse your anger, though it were sleeping sounder -than a dormouse.” - -“To match that plan,” said Sancho, “I have another that is not a whit -behind it; I will take a cudgel, and before your worship comes near -enough to waken my anger I will send yours so sound to sleep with -whacks, that it won’t waken unless it be in the other world, where it -is known that I am not a man to let my face be handled by anyone; let -each look out for the arrow—though the surer way would be to let -everyone’s anger sleep, for nobody knows the heart of anyone, and a man -may come for wool and go back shorn; God gave his blessing to peace and -his curse to quarrels; if a hunted cat, surrounded and hard pressed, -turns into a lion, God knows what I, who am a man, may turn into; and -so from this time forth I warn you, sir squire, that all the harm and -mischief that may come of our quarrel will be put down to your -account.” - -“Very good,” said he of the Grove; “God will send the dawn and we shall -be all right.” - -And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees, -and with their varied and gladsome notes seemed to welcome and salute -the fresh morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her countenance -at the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her locks a -profusion of liquid pearls; in which dulcet moisture bathed, the -plants, too, seemed to shed and shower down a pearly spray, the willows -distilled sweet manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks babbled, the -woods rejoiced, and the meadows arrayed themselves in all their glory -at her coming. But hardly had the light of day made it possible to see -and distinguish things, when the first object that presented itself to -the eyes of Sancho Panza was the squire of the Grove’s nose, which was -so big that it almost overshadowed his whole body. It is, in fact, -stated, that it was of enormous size, hooked in the middle, covered -with warts, and of a mulberry colour like an egg-plant; it hung down -two fingers’ length below his mouth, and the size, the colour, the -warts, and the bend of it, made his face so hideous, that Sancho, as he -looked at him, began to tremble hand and foot like a child in -convulsions, and he vowed in his heart to let himself be given two -hundred buffets, sooner than be provoked to fight that monster. Don -Quixote examined his adversary, and found that he already had his -helmet on and visor lowered, so that he could not see his face; he -observed, however, that he was a sturdily built man, but not very tall -in stature. Over his armour he wore a surcoat or cassock of what seemed -to be the finest cloth of gold, all bespangled with glittering mirrors -like little moons, which gave him an extremely gallant and splendid -appearance; above his helmet fluttered a great quantity of plumes, -green, yellow, and white, and his lance, which was leaning against a -tree, was very long and stout, and had a steel point more than a palm -in length. - -Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and from what he saw -and observed he concluded that the said knight must be a man of great -strength, but he did not for all that give way to fear, like Sancho -Panza; on the contrary, with a composed and dauntless air, he said to -the Knight of the Mirrors, “If, sir knight, your great eagerness to -fight has not banished your courtesy, by it I would entreat you to -raise your visor a little, in order that I may see if the comeliness of -your countenance corresponds with that of your equipment.” - -“Whether you come victorious or vanquished out of this emprise, sir -knight,” replied he of the Mirrors, “you will have more than enough -time and leisure to see me; and if now I do not comply with your -request, it is because it seems to me I should do a serious wrong to -the fair Casildea de Vandalia in wasting time while I stopped to raise -my visor before compelling you to confess what you are already aware I -maintain.” - -“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “while we are mounting you can at least -tell me if I am that Don Quixote whom you said you vanquished.” - -“To that we answer you,” said he of the Mirrors, “that you are as like -the very knight I vanquished as one egg is like another, but as you say -enchanters persecute you, I will not venture to say positively whether -you are the said person or not.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “is enough to convince me that you are under -a deception; however, entirely to relieve you of it, let our horses be -brought, and in less time than it would take you to raise your visor, -if God, my lady, and my arm stand me in good stead, I shall see your -face, and you shall see that I am not the vanquished Don Quixote you -take me to be.” - -With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, and Don Quixote -wheeled Rocinante round in order to take a proper distance to charge -back upon his adversary, and he of the Mirrors did the same; but Don -Quixote had not moved away twenty paces when he heard himself called by -the other, and, each returning half-way, he of the Mirrors said to him, -“Remember, sir knight, that the terms of our combat are, that the -vanquished, as I said before, shall be at the victor’s disposal.” - -“I am aware of it already,” said Don Quixote; “provided what is -commanded and imposed upon the vanquished be things that do not -transgress the limits of chivalry.” - -“That is understood,” replied he of the Mirrors. - -At this moment the extraordinary nose of the squire presented itself to -Don Quixote’s view, and he was no less amazed than Sancho at the sight; -insomuch that he set him down as a monster of some kind, or a human -being of some new species or unearthly breed. Sancho, seeing his master -retiring to run his course, did not like to be left alone with the nosy -man, fearing that with one flap of that nose on his own the battle -would be all over for him and he would be left stretched on the ground, -either by the blow or with fright; so he ran after his master, holding -on to Rocinante’s stirrup-leather, and when it seemed to him time to -turn about, he said, “I implore of your worship, señor, before you turn -to charge, to help me up into this cork tree, from which I will be able -to witness the gallant encounter your worship is going to have with -this knight, more to my taste and better than from the ground.” - -“It seems to me rather, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst -mount a scaffold in order to see the bulls without danger.” - -“To tell the truth,” returned Sancho, “the monstrous nose of that -squire has filled me with fear and terror, and I dare not stay near -him.” - -“It is,” said Don Quixote, “such a one that were I not what I am it -would terrify me too; so, come, I will help thee up where thou wilt.” - -While Don Quixote waited for Sancho to mount into the cork tree he of -the Mirrors took as much ground as he considered requisite, and, -supposing Don Quixote to have done the same, without waiting for any -sound of trumpet or other signal to direct them, he wheeled his horse, -which was not more agile or better-looking than Rocinante, and at his -top speed, which was an easy trot, he proceeded to charge his enemy; -seeing him, however, engaged in putting Sancho up, he drew rein, and -halted in mid career, for which his horse was very grateful, as he was -already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that his foe was coming -down upon him flying, drove his spurs vigorously into Rocinante’s lean -flanks and made him scud along in such style that the history tells us -that on this occasion only was he known to make something like running, -for on all others it was a simple trot with him; and with this -unparalleled fury he bore down where he of the Mirrors stood digging -his spurs into his horse up to buttons, without being able to make him -stir a finger’s length from the spot where he had come to a standstill -in his course. At this lucky moment and crisis, Don Quixote came upon -his adversary, in trouble with his horse, and embarrassed with his -lance, which he either could not manage, or had no time to lay in rest. -Don Quixote, however, paid no attention to these difficulties, and in -perfect safety to himself and without any risk encountered him of the -Mirrors with such force that he brought him to the ground in spite of -himself over the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall that -he lay to all appearance dead, not stirring hand or foot. The instant -Sancho saw him fall he slid down from the cork tree, and made all haste -to where his master was, who, dismounting from Rocinante, went and -stood over him of the Mirrors, and unlacing his helmet to see if he was -dead, and to give him air if he should happen to be alive, he saw—who -can say what he saw, without filling all who hear it with astonishment, -wonder, and awe? He saw, the history says, the very countenance, the -very face, the very look, the very physiognomy, the very effigy, the -very image of the bachelor Samson Carrasco! As soon as he saw it he -called out in a loud voice, “Make haste here, Sancho, and behold what -thou art to see but not to believe; quick, my son, and learn what magic -can do, and wizards and enchanters are capable of.” - -Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance of the bachelor -Carrasco, he fell to crossing himself a thousand times, and blessing -himself as many more. All this time the prostrate knight showed no -signs of life, and Sancho said to Don Quixote, “It is my opinion, -señor, that in any case your worship should take and thrust your sword -into the mouth of this one here that looks like the bachelor Samson -Carrasco; perhaps in him you will kill one of your enemies, the -enchanters.” - -“Thy advice is not bad,” said Don Quixote, “for of enemies the fewer -the better;” and he was drawing his sword to carry into effect Sancho’s -counsel and suggestion, when the squire of the Mirrors came up, now -without the nose which had made him so hideous, and cried out in a loud -voice, “Mind what you are about, Señor Don Quixote; that is your -friend, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and I am -his squire.” - -“And the nose?” said Sancho, seeing him without the hideous feature he -had before; to which he replied, “I have it here in my pocket,” and -putting his hand into his right pocket, he pulled out a masquerade nose -of varnished pasteboard of the make already described; and Sancho, -examining him more and more closely, exclaimed aloud in a voice of -amazement, “Holy Mary be good to me! Isn’t it Tom Cecial, my neighbour -and gossip?” - -“Why, to be sure I am!” returned the now unnosed squire; “Tom Cecial I -am, gossip and friend Sancho Panza; and I’ll tell you presently the -means and tricks and falsehoods by which I have been brought here; but -in the meantime, beg and entreat of your master not to touch, maltreat, -wound, or slay the Knight of the Mirrors whom he has at his feet; -because, beyond all dispute, it is the rash and ill-advised bachelor -Samson Carrasco, our fellow townsman.” - -At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, and Don Quixote -perceiving it, held the naked point of his sword over his face, and -said to him, “You are a dead man, knight, unless you confess that the -peerless Dulcinea del Toboso excels your Casildea de Vandalia in -beauty; and in addition to this you must promise, if you should survive -this encounter and fall, to go to the city of El Toboso and present -yourself before her on my behalf, that she deal with you according to -her good pleasure; and if she leaves you free to do yours, you are in -like manner to return and seek me out (for the trail of my mighty deeds -will serve you as a guide to lead you to where I may be), and tell me -what may have passed between you and her—conditions which, in -accordance with what we stipulated before our combat, do not transgress -the just limits of knight-errantry.” - -“I confess,” said the fallen knight, “that the dirty tattered shoe of -the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is better than the ill-combed though clean -beard of Casildea; and I promise to go and to return from her presence -to yours, and to give you a full and particular account of all you -demand of me.” - -“You must also confess and believe,” added Don Quixote, “that the -knight you vanquished was not and could not be Don Quixote of La -Mancha, but someone else in his likeness, just as I confess and believe -that you, though you seem to be the bachelor Samson Carrasco, are not -so, but some other resembling him, whom my enemies have here put before -me in his shape, in order that I may restrain and moderate the -vehemence of my wrath, and make a gentle use of the glory of my -victory.” - -“I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you believe, hold, and -think it,” the crippled knight; “let me rise, I entreat you; if, -indeed, the shock of my fall will allow me, for it has left me in a -sorry plight enough.” - -Don Quixote helped him to rise, with the assistance of his squire Tom -Cecial; from whom Sancho never took his eyes, and to whom he put -questions, the replies to which furnished clear proof that he was -really and truly the Tom Cecial he said; but the impression made on -Sancho’s mind by what his master said about the enchanters having -changed the face of the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor -Samson Carrasco, would not permit him to believe what he saw with his -eyes. In fine, both master and man remained under the delusion; and, -down in the mouth, and out of luck, he of the Mirrors and his squire -parted from Don Quixote and Sancho, he meaning to go look for some -village where he could plaster and strap his ribs. Don Quixote and -Sancho resumed their journey to Saragossa, and on it the history leaves -them in order that it may tell who the Knight of the Mirrors and his -long-nosed squire were. - -CHAPTER XV. -WHEREIN IT IS TOLD AND KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS AND HIS -SQUIRE WERE - -Don Quixote went off satisfied, elated, and vain-glorious in the -highest degree at having won a victory over such a valiant knight as he -fancied him of the Mirrors to be, and one from whose knightly word he -expected to learn whether the enchantment of his lady still continued; -inasmuch as the said vanquished knight was bound, under the penalty of -ceasing to be one, to return and render him an account of what took -place between him and her. But Don Quixote was of one mind, he of the -Mirrors of another, for he just then had no thought of anything but -finding some village where he could plaster himself, as has been said -already. The history goes on to say, then, that when the bachelor -Samson Carrasco recommended Don Quixote to resume his knight-errantry -which he had laid aside, it was in consequence of having been -previously in conclave with the curate and the barber on the means to -be adopted to induce Don Quixote to stay at home in peace and quiet -without worrying himself with his ill-starred adventures; at which -consultation it was decided by the unanimous vote of all, and on the -special advice of Carrasco, that Don Quixote should be allowed to go, -as it seemed impossible to restrain him, and that Samson should sally -forth to meet him as a knight-errant, and do battle with him, for there -would be no difficulty about a cause, and vanquish him, that being -looked upon as an easy matter; and that it should be agreed and settled -that the vanquished was to be at the mercy of the victor. Then, Don -Quixote being vanquished, the bachelor knight was to command him to -return to his village and his house, and not quit it for two years, or -until he received further orders from him; all which it was clear Don -Quixote would unhesitatingly obey, rather than contravene or fail to -observe the laws of chivalry; and during the period of his seclusion he -might perhaps forget his folly, or there might be an opportunity of -discovering some ready remedy for his madness. Carrasco undertook the -task, and Tom Cecial, a gossip and neighbour of Sancho Panza’s, a -lively, feather-headed fellow, offered himself as his squire. Carrasco -armed himself in the fashion described, and Tom Cecial, that he might -not be known by his gossip when they met, fitted on over his own -natural nose the false masquerade one that has been mentioned; and so -they followed the same route Don Quixote took, and almost came up with -him in time to be present at the adventure of the cart of Death and -finally encountered them in the grove, where all that the sagacious -reader has been reading about took place; and had it not been for the -extraordinary fancies of Don Quixote, and his conviction that the -bachelor was not the bachelor, señor bachelor would have been -incapacitated for ever from taking his degree of licentiate, all -through not finding nests where he thought to find birds. - -Tom Cecial, seeing how ill they had succeeded, and what a sorry end -their expedition had come to, said to the bachelor, “Sure enough, Señor -Samson Carrasco, we are served right; it is easy enough to plan and set -about an enterprise, but it is often a difficult matter to come well -out of it. Don Quixote a madman, and we sane; he goes off laughing, -safe, and sound, and you are left sore and sorry! I’d like to know now -which is the madder, he who is so because he cannot help it, or he who -is so of his own choice?” - -To which Samson replied, “The difference between the two sorts of -madmen is, that he who is so will he nil he, will be one always, while -he who is so of his own accord can leave off being one whenever he -likes.” - -“In that case,” said Tom Cecial, “I was a madman of my own accord when -I volunteered to become your squire, and, of my own accord, I’ll leave -off being one and go home.” - -“That’s your affair,” returned Samson, “but to suppose that I am going -home until I have given Don Quixote a thrashing is absurd; and it is -not any wish that he may recover his senses that will make me hunt him -out now, but a wish for the sore pain I am in with my ribs won’t let me -entertain more charitable thoughts.” - -Thus discoursing, the pair proceeded until they reached a town where it -was their good luck to find a bone-setter, with whose help the -unfortunate Samson was cured. Tom Cecial left him and went home, while -he stayed behind meditating vengeance; and the history will return to -him again at the proper time, so as not to omit making merry with Don -Quixote now. - -CHAPTER XVI. -OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH A DISCREET GENTLEMAN OF LA MANCHA - -Don Quixote pursued his journey in the high spirits, satisfaction, and -self-complacency already described, fancying himself the most valorous -knight-errant of the age in the world because of his late victory. All -the adventures that could befall him from that time forth he regarded -as already done and brought to a happy issue; he made light of -enchantments and enchanters; he thought no more of the countless -drubbings that had been administered to him in the course of his -knight-errantry, nor of the volley of stones that had levelled half his -teeth, nor of the ingratitude of the galley slaves, nor of the audacity -of the Yanguesans and the shower of stakes that fell upon him; in -short, he said to himself that could he discover any means, mode, or -way of disenchanting his lady Dulcinea, he would not envy the highest -fortune that the most fortunate knight-errant of yore ever reached or -could reach. - -He was going along entirely absorbed in these fancies, when Sancho said -to him, “Isn’t it odd, señor, that I have still before my eyes that -monstrous enormous nose of my gossip, Tom Cecial?” - -“And dost thou, then, believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that the -Knight of the Mirrors was the bachelor Carrasco, and his squire Tom -Cecial thy gossip?” - -“I don’t know what to say to that,” replied Sancho; “all I know is that -the tokens he gave me about my own house, wife and children, nobody -else but himself could have given me; and the face, once the nose was -off, was the very face of Tom Cecial, as I have seen it many a time in -my town and next door to my own house; and the sound of the voice was -just the same.” - -“Let us reason the matter, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Come now, by -what process of thinking can it be supposed that the bachelor Samson -Carrasco would come as a knight-errant, in arms offensive and -defensive, to fight with me? Have I ever been by any chance his enemy? -Have I ever given him any occasion to owe me a grudge? Am I his rival, -or does he profess arms, that he should envy the fame I have acquired -in them?” - -“Well, but what are we to say, señor,” returned Sancho, “about that -knight, whoever he is, being so like the bachelor Carrasco, and his -squire so like my gossip, Tom Cecial? And if that be enchantment, as -your worship says, was there no other pair in the world for them to -take the likeness of?” - -“It is all,” said Don Quixote, “a scheme and plot of the malignant -magicians that persecute me, who, foreseeing that I was to be -victorious in the conflict, arranged that the vanquished knight should -display the countenance of my friend the bachelor, in order that the -friendship I bear him should interpose to stay the edge of my sword and -might of my arm, and temper the just wrath of my heart; so that he who -sought to take my life by fraud and falsehood should save his own. And -to prove it, thou knowest already, Sancho, by experience which cannot -lie or deceive, how easy it is for enchanters to change one countenance -into another, turning fair into foul, and foul into fair; for it is not -two days since thou sawest with thine own eyes the beauty and elegance -of the peerless Dulcinea in all its perfection and natural harmony, -while I saw her in the repulsive and mean form of a coarse country -wench, with cataracts in her eyes and a foul smell in her mouth; and -when the perverse enchanter ventured to effect so wicked a -transformation, it is no wonder if he effected that of Samson Carrasco -and thy gossip in order to snatch the glory of victory out of my grasp. -For all that, however, I console myself, because, after all, in -whatever shape he may have been, I have been victorious over my enemy.” - -“God knows what’s the truth of it all,” said Sancho; and knowing as he -did that the transformation of Dulcinea had been a device and -imposition of his own, his master’s illusions were not satisfactory to -him; but he did not like to reply lest he should say something that -might disclose his trickery. - -As they were engaged in this conversation they were overtaken by a man -who was following the same road behind them, mounted on a very handsome -flea-bitten mare, and dressed in a gaban of fine green cloth, with -tawny velvet facings, and a montera of the same velvet. The trappings -of the mare were of the field and jineta fashion, and of mulberry -colour and green. He carried a Moorish cutlass hanging from a broad -green and gold baldric; the buskins were of the same make as the -baldric; the spurs were not gilt, but lacquered green, and so brightly -polished that, matching as they did the rest of his apparel, they -looked better than if they had been of pure gold. - -When the traveller came up with them he saluted them courteously, and -spurring his mare was passing them without stopping, but Don Quixote -called out to him, “Gallant sir, if so be your worship is going our -road, and has no occasion for speed, it would be a pleasure to me if we -were to join company.” - -“In truth,” replied he on the mare, “I would not pass you so hastily -but for fear that horse might turn restive in the company of my mare.” - -“You may safely hold in your mare, señor,” said Sancho in reply to -this, “for our horse is the most virtuous and well-behaved horse in the -world; he never does anything wrong on such occasions, and the only -time he misbehaved, my master and I suffered for it sevenfold; I say -again your worship may pull up if you like; for if she was offered to -him between two plates the horse would not hanker after her.” - -The traveller drew rein, amazed at the trim and features of Don -Quixote, who rode without his helmet, which Sancho carried like a -valise in front of Dapple’s pack-saddle; and if the man in green -examined Don Quixote closely, still more closely did Don Quixote -examine the man in green, who struck him as being a man of -intelligence. In appearance he was about fifty years of age, with but -few grey hairs, an aquiline cast of features, and an expression between -grave and gay; and his dress and accoutrements showed him to be a man -of good condition. What he in green thought of Don Quixote of La Mancha -was that a man of that sort and shape he had never yet seen; he -marvelled at the length of his hair, his lofty stature, the lankness -and sallowness of his countenance, his armour, his bearing and his -gravity—a figure and picture such as had not been seen in those regions -for many a long day. - -Don Quixote saw very plainly the attention with which the traveller was -regarding him, and read his curiosity in his astonishment; and -courteous as he was and ready to please everybody, before the other -could ask him any question he anticipated him by saying, “The -appearance I present to your worship being so strange and so out of the -common, I should not be surprised if it filled you with wonder; but you -will cease to wonder when I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those -knights who, as people say, go seeking adventures. I have left my home, -I have mortgaged my estate, I have given up my comforts, and committed -myself to the arms of Fortune, to bear me whithersoever she may please. -My desire was to bring to life again knight-errantry, now dead, and for -some time past, stumbling here, falling there, now coming down -headlong, now raising myself up again, I have carried out a great -portion of my design, succouring widows, protecting maidens, and giving -aid to wives, orphans, and minors, the proper and natural duty of -knights-errant; and, therefore, because of my many valiant and -Christian achievements, I have been already found worthy to make my way -in print to well-nigh all, or most, of the nations of the earth. Thirty -thousand volumes of my history have been printed, and it is on the -high-road to be printed thirty thousand thousands of times, if heaven -does not put a stop to it. In short, to sum up all in a few words, or -in a single one, I may tell you I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, -otherwise called ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance;’ for though -self-praise is degrading, I must perforce sound my own sometimes, that -is to say, when there is no one at hand to do it for me. So that, -gentle sir, neither this horse, nor this lance, nor this shield, nor -this squire, nor all these arms put together, nor the sallowness of my -countenance, nor my gaunt leanness, will henceforth astonish you, now -that you know who I am and what profession I follow.” - -With these words Don Quixote held his peace, and, from the time he took -to answer, the man in green seemed to be at a loss for a reply; after a -long pause, however, he said to him, “You were right when you saw -curiosity in my amazement, sir knight; but you have not succeeded in -removing the astonishment I feel at seeing you; for although you say, -señor, that knowing who you are ought to remove it, it has not done so; -on the contrary, now that I know, I am left more amazed and astonished -than before. What! is it possible that there are knights-errant in the -world in these days, and histories of real chivalry printed? I cannot -realise the fact that there can be anyone on earth now-a-days who aids -widows, or protects maidens, or defends wives, or succours orphans; nor -should I believe it had I not seen it in your worship with my own eyes. -Blessed be heaven! for by means of this history of your noble and -genuine chivalrous deeds, which you say has been printed, the countless -stories of fictitious knights-errant with which the world is filled, so -much to the injury of morality and the prejudice and discredit of good -histories, will have been driven into oblivion.” - -“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote, “as -to whether the histories of the knights-errant are fiction or not.” - -“Why, is there anyone who doubts that those histories are false?” said -the man in green. - -“I doubt it,” said Don Quixote, “but never mind that just now; if our -journey lasts long enough, I trust in God I shall show your worship -that you do wrong in going with the stream of those who regard it as a -matter of certainty that they are not true.” - -From this last observation of Don Quixote’s, the traveller began to -have a suspicion that he was some crazy being, and was waiting for him -to confirm it by something further; but before they could turn to any -new subject Don Quixote begged him to tell him who he was, since he -himself had rendered account of his station and life. To this, he in -the green gaban replied “I, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, am a -gentleman by birth, native of the village where, please God, we are -going to dine to-day; I am more than fairly well off, and my name is -Don Diego de Miranda. I pass my life with my wife, children, and -friends; my pursuits are hunting and fishing, but I keep neither hawks -nor greyhounds, nothing but a tame partridge or a bold ferret or two; I -have six dozen or so of books, some in our mother tongue, some Latin, -some of them history, others devotional; those of chivalry have not as -yet crossed the threshold of my door; I am more given to turning over -the profane than the devotional, so long as they are books of honest -entertainment that charm by their style and attract and interest by the -invention they display, though of these there are very few in Spain. -Sometimes I dine with my neighbours and friends, and often invite them; -my entertainments are neat and well served without stint of anything. I -have no taste for tattle, nor do I allow tattling in my presence; I pry -not into my neighbours’ lives, nor have I lynx-eyes for what others do. -I hear mass every day; I share my substance with the poor, making no -display of good works, lest I let hypocrisy and vainglory, those -enemies that subtly take possession of the most watchful heart, find an -entrance into mine. I strive to make peace between those whom I know to -be at variance; I am the devoted servant of Our Lady, and my trust is -ever in the infinite mercy of God our Lord.” - -Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of the -gentleman’s life and occupation; and thinking it a good and a holy -life, and that he who led it ought to work miracles, he threw himself -off Dapple, and running in haste seized his right stirrup and kissed -his foot again and again with a devout heart and almost with tears. - -Seeing this the gentleman asked him, “What are you about, brother? What -are these kisses for?” - -“Let me kiss,” said Sancho, “for I think your worship is the first -saint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of my life.” - -“I am no saint,” replied the gentleman, “but a great sinner; but you -are, brother, for you must be a good fellow, as your simplicity shows.” - -Sancho went back and regained his pack-saddle, having extracted a laugh -from his master’s profound melancholy, and excited fresh amazement in -Don Diego. Don Quixote then asked him how many children he had, and -observed that one of the things wherein the ancient philosophers, who -were without the true knowledge of God, placed the _summum bonum_ was -in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, in having many friends, -and many and good children. - -“I, Señor Don Quixote,” answered the gentleman, “have one son, without -whom, perhaps, I should count myself happier than I am, not because he -is a bad son, but because he is not so good as I could wish. He is -eighteen years of age; he has been for six at Salamanca studying Latin -and Greek, and when I wished him to turn to the study of other sciences -I found him so wrapped up in that of poetry (if that can be called a -science) that there is no getting him to take kindly to the law, which -I wished him to study, or to theology, the queen of them all. I would -like him to be an honour to his family, as we live in days when our -kings liberally reward learning that is virtuous and worthy; for -learning without virtue is a pearl on a dunghill. He spends the whole -day in settling whether Homer expressed himself correctly or not in -such and such a line of the Iliad, whether Martial was indecent or not -in such and such an epigram, whether such and such lines of Virgil are -to be understood in this way or in that; in short, all his talk is of -the works of these poets, and those of Horace, Perseus, Juvenal, and -Tibullus; for of the moderns in our own language he makes no great -account; but with all his seeming indifference to Spanish poetry, just -now his thoughts are absorbed in making a gloss on four lines that have -been sent him from Salamanca, which I suspect are for some poetical -tournament.” - -To all this Don Quixote said in reply, “Children, señor, are portions -of their parents’ bowels, and therefore, be they good or bad, are to be -loved as we love the souls that give us life; it is for the parents to -guide them from infancy in the ways of virtue, propriety, and worthy -Christian conduct, so that when grown up they may be the staff of their -parents’ old age, and the glory of their posterity; and to force them -to study this or that science I do not think wise, though it may be no -harm to persuade them; and when there is no need to study for the sake -of _pane lucrando_, and it is the student’s good fortune that heaven -has given him parents who provide him with it, it would be my advice to -them to let him pursue whatever science they may see him most inclined -to; and though that of poetry is less useful than pleasurable, it is -not one of those that bring discredit upon the possessor. Poetry, -gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme -beauty, to array, bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other -maidens, who are all the rest of the sciences; and she must avail -herself of the help of all, and all derive their lustre from her. But -this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through the -streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the market-places, or in -the closets of palaces. She is the product of an Alchemy of such virtue -that he who is able to practise it, will turn her into pure gold of -inestimable worth. He that possesses her must keep her within bounds, -not permitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. -She must on no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be in -heroic poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies. -She must not be touched by the buffoons, nor by the ignorant vulgar, -incapable of comprehending or appreciating her hidden treasures. And do -not suppose, señor, that I apply the term vulgar here merely to -plebeians and the lower orders; for everyone who is ignorant, be he -lord or prince, may and should be included among the vulgar. He, then, -who shall embrace and cultivate poetry under the conditions I have -named, shall become famous, and his name honoured throughout all the -civilised nations of the earth. And with regard to what you say, señor, -of your son having no great opinion of Spanish poetry, I am inclined to -think that he is not quite right there, and for this reason: the great -poet Homer did not write in Latin, because he was a Greek, nor did -Virgil write in Greek, because he was a Latin; in short, all the -ancient poets wrote in the language they imbibed with their mother’s -milk, and never went in quest of foreign ones to express their sublime -conceptions; and that being so, the usage should in justice extend to -all nations, and the German poet should not be undervalued because he -writes in his own language, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscayan, -for writing in his. But your son, señor, I suspect, is not prejudiced -against Spanish poetry, but against those poets who are mere Spanish -verse writers, without any knowledge of other languages or sciences to -adorn and give life and vigour to their natural inspiration; and yet -even in this he may be wrong; for, according to a true belief, a poet -is born one; that is to say, the poet by nature comes forth a poet from -his mother’s womb; and following the bent that heaven has bestowed upon -him, without the aid of study or art, he produces things that show how -truly he spoke who said, ‘_Est Deus in nobis_,’ etc. At the same time, -I say that the poet by nature who calls in art to his aid will be a far -better poet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying upon his -knowledge of art alone. The reason is, that art does not surpass -nature, but only brings it to perfection; and thus, nature combined -with art, and art with nature, will produce a perfect poet. To bring my -argument to a close, I would say then, gentle sir, let your son go on -as his star leads him, for being so studious as he seems to be, and -having already successfully surmounted the first step of the sciences, -which is that of the languages, with their help he will by his own -exertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so well becomes -an independent gentleman, and adorns, honours, and distinguishes him, -as much as the mitre does the bishop, or the gown the learned -counsellor. If your son write satires reflecting on the honour of -others, chide and correct him, and tear them up; but if he compose -discourses in which he rebukes vice in general, in the style of Horace, -and with elegance like his, commend him; for it is legitimate for a -poet to write against envy and lash the envious in his verse, and the -other vices too, provided he does not single out individuals; there -are, however, poets who, for the sake of saying something spiteful, -would run the risk of being banished to the coast of Pontus. If the -poet be pure in his morals, he will be pure in his verses too; the pen -is the tongue of the mind, and as the thought engendered there, so will -be the things that it writes down. And when kings and princes observe -this marvellous science of poetry in wise, virtuous, and thoughtful -subjects, they honour, value, exalt them, and even crown them with the -leaves of that tree which the thunderbolt strikes not, as if to show -that they whose brows are honoured and adorned with such a crown are -not to be assailed by anyone.” - -He of the green gaban was filled with astonishment at Don Quixote’s -argument, so much so that he began to abandon the notion he had taken -up about his being crazy. But in the middle of the discourse, it being -not very much to his taste, Sancho had turned aside out of the road to -beg a little milk from some shepherds, who were milking their ewes hard -by; and just as the gentleman, highly pleased, was about to renew the -conversation, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cart covered -with royal flags coming along the road they were travelling; and -persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called aloud to -Sancho to come and bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing himself -called, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding Dapple vigorously, came up -to his master, to whom there fell a terrific and desperate adventure. - -CHAPTER XVII. -WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE FURTHEST AND HIGHEST POINT WHICH THE UNEXAMPLED -COURAGE OF DON QUIXOTE REACHED OR COULD REACH; TOGETHER WITH THE -HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS - -The history tells that when Don Quixote called out to Sancho to bring -him his helmet, Sancho was buying some curds the shepherds agreed to -sell him, and flurried by the great haste his master was in did not -know what to do with them or what to carry them in; so, not to lose -them, for he had already paid for them, he thought it best to throw -them into his master’s helmet, and acting on this bright idea he went -to see what his master wanted with him. He, as he approached, exclaimed -to him: - -“Give me that helmet, my friend, for either I know little of -adventures, or what I observe yonder is one that will, and does, call -upon me to arm myself.” - -He of the green gaban, on hearing this, looked in all directions, but -could perceive nothing, except a cart coming towards them with two or -three small flags, which led him to conclude it must be carrying -treasure of the King’s, and he said so to Don Quixote. He, however, -would not believe him, being always persuaded and convinced that all -that happened to him must be adventures and still more adventures; so -he replied to the gentleman, “He who is prepared has his battle half -fought; nothing is lost by my preparing myself, for I know by -experience that I have enemies, visible and invisible, and I know not -when, or where, or at what moment, or in what shapes they will attack -me;” and turning to Sancho, he called for his helmet; and Sancho, as he -had no time to take out the curds, had to give it just as it was. Don -Quixote took it, and without perceiving what was in it thrust it down -in hot haste upon his head; but as the curds were pressed and squeezed -the whey began to run all over his face and beard, whereat he was so -startled that he cried out to Sancho: - -“Sancho, what’s this? I think my head is softening, or my brains are -melting, or I am sweating from head to foot! If I am sweating it is not -indeed from fear. I am convinced beyond a doubt that the adventure -which is about to befall me is a terrible one. Give me something to -wipe myself with, if thou hast it, for this profuse sweat is blinding -me.” - -Sancho held his tongue, and gave him a cloth, and gave thanks to God at -the same time that his master had not found out what was the matter. -Don Quixote then wiped himself, and took off his helmet to see what it -was that made his head feel so cool, and seeing all that white mash -inside his helmet he put it to his nose, and as soon as he had smelt it -he exclaimed: - -“By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but it is curds thou hast -put here, thou treacherous, impudent, ill-mannered squire!” - -To which, with great composure and pretended innocence, Sancho replied, -“If they are curds let me have them, your worship, and I’ll eat them; -but let the devil eat them, for it must have been he who put them -there. I dare to dirty your helmet! You have guessed the offender -finely! Faith, sir, by the light God gives me, it seems I must have -enchanters too, that persecute me as a creature and limb of your -worship, and they must have put that nastiness there in order to -provoke your patience to anger, and make you baste my ribs as you are -wont to do. Well, this time, indeed, they have missed their aim, for I -trust to my master’s good sense to see that I have got no curds or -milk, or anything of the sort; and that if I had it is in my stomach I -would put it and not in the helmet.” - -“May be so,” said Don Quixote. All this the gentleman was observing, -and with astonishment, more especially when, after having wiped himself -clean, his head, face, beard, and helmet, Don Quixote put it on, and -settling himself firmly in his stirrups, easing his sword in the -scabbard, and grasping his lance, he cried, “Now, come who will, here -am I, ready to try conclusions with Satan himself in person!” - -By this time the cart with the flags had come up, unattended by anyone -except the carter on a mule, and a man sitting in front. Don Quixote -planted himself before it and said, “Whither are you going, brothers? -What cart is this? What have you got in it? What flags are those?” - -To this the carter replied, “The cart is mine; what is in it is a pair -of wild caged lions, which the governor of Oran is sending to court as -a present to his Majesty; and the flags are our lord the King’s, to -show that what is here is his property.” - -“And are the lions large?” asked Don Quixote. - -“So large,” replied the man who sat at the door of the cart, “that -larger, or as large, have never crossed from Africa to Spain; I am the -keeper, and I have brought over others, but never any like these. They -are male and female; the male is in that first cage and the female in -the one behind, and they are hungry now, for they have eaten nothing -to-day, so let your worship stand aside, for we must make haste to the -place where we are to feed them.” - -Hereupon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed, “Lion-whelps to me! -to me whelps of lions, and at such a time! Then, by God! those -gentlemen who send them here shall see if I am a man to be frightened -by lions. Get down, my good fellow, and as you are the keeper open the -cages, and turn me out those beasts, and in the midst of this plain I -will let them know who Don Quixote of La Mancha is, in spite and in the -teeth of the enchanters who send them to me.” - -“So, so,” said the gentleman to himself at this; “our worthy knight has -shown of what sort he is; the curds, no doubt, have softened his skull -and brought his brains to a head.” - -At this instant Sancho came up to him, saying, “Señor, for God’s sake -do something to keep my master, Don Quixote, from tackling these lions; -for if he does they’ll tear us all to pieces here.” - -“Is your master then so mad,” asked the gentleman, “that you believe -and are afraid he will engage such fierce animals?” - -“He is not mad,” said Sancho, “but he is venturesome.” - -“I will prevent it,” said the gentleman; and going over to Don Quixote, -who was insisting upon the keeper’s opening the cages, he said to him, -“Sir knight, knights-errant should attempt adventures which encourage -the hope of a successful issue, not those which entirely withhold it; -for valour that trenches upon temerity savours rather of madness than -of courage; moreover, these lions do not come to oppose you, nor do -they dream of such a thing; they are going as presents to his Majesty, -and it will not be right to stop them or delay their journey.” - -“Gentle sir,” replied Don Quixote, “you go and mind your tame partridge -and your bold ferret, and leave everyone to manage his own business; -this is mine, and I know whether these gentlemen the lions come to me -or not;” and then turning to the keeper he exclaimed, “By all that’s -good, sir scoundrel, if you don’t open the cages this very instant, -I’ll pin you to the cart with this lance.” - -The carter, seeing the determination of this apparition in armour, said -to him, “Please your worship, for charity’s sake, señor, let me unyoke -the mules and place myself in safety along with them before the lions -are turned out; for if they kill them on me I am ruined for life, for -all I possess is this cart and mules.” - -“O man of little faith,” replied Don Quixote, “get down and unyoke; you -will soon see that you are exerting yourself for nothing, and that you -might have spared yourself the trouble.” - -The carter got down and with all speed unyoked the mules, and the -keeper called out at the top of his voice, “I call all here to witness -that against my will and under compulsion I open the cages and let the -lions loose, and that I warn this gentleman that he will be accountable -for all the harm and mischief which these beasts may do, and for my -salary and dues as well. You, gentlemen, place yourselves in safety -before I open, for I know they will do me no harm.” - -Once more the gentleman strove to persuade Don Quixote not to do such a -mad thing, as it was tempting God to engage in such a piece of folly. -To this, Don Quixote replied that he knew what he was about. The -gentleman in return entreated him to reflect, for he knew he was under -a delusion. - -“Well, señor,” answered Don Quixote, “if you do not like to be a -spectator of this tragedy, as in your opinion it will be, spur your -flea-bitten mare, and place yourself in safety.” - -Hearing this, Sancho with tears in his eyes entreated him to give up an -enterprise compared with which the one of the windmills, and the awful -one of the fulling mills, and, in fact, all the feats he had attempted -in the whole course of his life, were cakes and fancy bread. “Look ye, -señor,” said Sancho, “there’s no enchantment here, nor anything of the -sort, for between the bars and chinks of the cage I have seen the paw -of a real lion, and judging by that I reckon the lion such a paw could -belong to must be bigger than a mountain.” - -“Fear at any rate,” replied Don Quixote, “will make him look bigger to -thee than half the world. Retire, Sancho, and leave me; and if I die -here thou knowest our old compact; thou wilt repair to Dulcinea—I say -no more.” To these he added some further words that banished all hope -of his giving up his insane project. He of the green gaban would have -offered resistance, but he found himself ill-matched as to arms, and -did not think it prudent to come to blows with a madman, for such Don -Quixote now showed himself to be in every respect; and the latter, -renewing his commands to the keeper and repeating his threats, gave -warning to the gentleman to spur his mare, Sancho his Dapple, and the -carter his mules, all striving to get away from the cart as far as they -could before the lions broke loose. Sancho was weeping over his -master’s death, for this time he firmly believed it was in store for -him from the claws of the lions; and he cursed his fate and called it -an unlucky hour when he thought of taking service with him again; but -with all his tears and lamentations he did not forget to thrash Dapple -so as to put a good space between himself and the cart. The keeper, -seeing that the fugitives were now some distance off, once more -entreated and warned him as before; but he replied that he heard him, -and that he need not trouble himself with any further warnings or -entreaties, as they would be fruitless, and bade him make haste. - -During the delay that occurred while the keeper was opening the first -cage, Don Quixote was considering whether it would not be well to do -battle on foot, instead of on horseback, and finally resolved to fight -on foot, fearing that Rocinante might take fright at the sight of the -lions; he therefore sprang off his horse, flung his lance aside, braced -his buckler on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with -marvellous intrepidity and resolute courage, to plant himself in front -of the cart, commending himself with all his heart to God and to his -lady Dulcinea. - -It is to be observed, that on coming to this passage, the author of -this veracious history breaks out into exclamations. “O doughty Don -Quixote! high-mettled past extolling! Mirror, wherein all the heroes of -the world may see themselves! Second modern Don Manuel de Leon, once -the glory and honour of Spanish knighthood! In what words shall I -describe this dread exploit, by what language shall I make it credible -to ages to come, what eulogies are there unmeet for thee, though they -be hyperboles piled on hyperboles! On foot, alone, undaunted, -high-souled, with but a simple sword, and that no trenchant blade of -the Perrillo brand, a shield, but no bright polished steel one, there -stoodst thou, biding and awaiting the two fiercest lions that Africa’s -forests ever bred! Thy own deeds be thy praise, valiant Manchegan, and -here I leave them as they stand, wanting the words wherewith to glorify -them!” - -Here the author’s outburst came to an end, and he proceeded to take up -the thread of his story, saying that the keeper, seeing that Don -Quixote had taken up his position, and that it was impossible for him -to avoid letting out the male without incurring the enmity of the fiery -and daring knight, flung open the doors of the first cage, containing, -as has been said, the lion, which was now seen to be of enormous size, -and grim and hideous mien. The first thing he did was to turn round in -the cage in which he lay, and protrude his claws, and stretch himself -thoroughly; he next opened his mouth, and yawned very leisurely, and -with near two palms’ length of tongue that he had thrust forth, he -licked the dust out of his eyes and washed his face; having done this, -he put his head out of the cage and looked all round with eyes like -glowing coals, a spectacle and demeanour to strike terror into temerity -itself. Don Quixote merely observed him steadily, longing for him to -leap from the cart and come to close quarters with him, when he hoped -to hew him in pieces. - -So far did his unparalleled madness go; but the noble lion, more -courteous than arrogant, not troubling himself about silly bravado, -after having looked all round, as has been said, turned about and -presented his hind-quarters to Don Quixote, and very coolly and -tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this, Don Quixote ordered -the keeper to take a stick to him and provoke him to make him come out. - -“That I won’t,” said the keeper; “for if I anger him, the first he’ll -tear in pieces will be myself. Be satisfied, sir knight, with what you -have done, which leaves nothing more to be said on the score of -courage, and do not seek to tempt fortune a second time. The lion has -the door open; he is free to come out or not to come out; but as he has -not come out so far, he will not come out to-day. Your worship’s great -courage has been fully manifested already; no brave champion, so it -strikes me, is bound to do more than challenge his enemy and wait for -him on the field; if his adversary does not come, on him lies the -disgrace, and he who waits for him carries off the crown of victory.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “close the door, my friend, and let -me have, in the best form thou canst, what thou hast seen me do, by way -of certificate; to wit, that thou didst open for the lion, that I -waited for him, that he did not come out, that I still waited for him, -and that still he did not come out, and lay down again. I am not bound -to do more; enchantments avaunt, and God uphold the right, the truth, -and true chivalry! Close the door as I bade thee, while I make signals -to the fugitives that have left us, that they may learn this exploit -from thy lips.” - -The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing on the point of his lance -the cloth he had wiped his face with after the deluge of curds, -proceeded to recall the others, who still continued to fly, looking -back at every step, all in a body, the gentleman bringing up the rear. -Sancho, however, happening to observe the signal of the white cloth, -exclaimed, “May I die, if my master has not overcome the wild beasts, -for he is calling to us.” - -They all stopped, and perceived that it was Don Quixote who was making -signals, and shaking off their fears to some extent, they approached -slowly until they were near enough to hear distinctly Don Quixote’s -voice calling to them. They returned at length to the cart, and as they -came up, Don Quixote said to the carter, “Put your mules to once more, -brother, and continue your journey; and do thou, Sancho, give him two -gold crowns for himself and the keeper, to compensate for the delay -they have incurred through me.” - -“That will I give with all my heart,” said Sancho; “but what has become -of the lions? Are they dead or alive?” - -The keeper, then, in full detail, and bit by bit, described the end of -the contest, exalting to the best of his power and ability the valour -of Don Quixote, at the sight of whom the lion quailed, and would not -and dared not come out of the cage, although he had held the door open -ever so long; and showing how, in consequence of his having represented -to the knight that it was tempting God to provoke the lion in order to -force him out, which he wished to have done, he very reluctantly, and -altogether against his will, had allowed the door to be closed. - -“What dost thou think of this, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “Are there -any enchantments that can prevail against true valour? The enchanters -may be able to rob me of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage -they cannot.” - -Sancho paid the crowns, the carter put to, the keeper kissed Don -Quixote’s hands for the bounty bestowed upon him, and promised to give -an account of the valiant exploit to the King himself, as soon as he -saw him at court. - -“Then,” said Don Quixote, “if his Majesty should happen to ask who -performed it, you must say THE KNIGHT OF THE LIONS; for it is my desire -that into this the name I have hitherto borne of Knight of the Rueful -Countenance be from this time forward changed, altered, transformed, -and turned; and in this I follow the ancient usage of knights-errant, -who changed their names when they pleased, or when it suited their -purpose.” - -The cart went its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and he of the green -gaban went theirs. All this time, Don Diego de Miranda had not spoken a -word, being entirely taken up with observing and noting all that Don -Quixote did and said, and the opinion he formed was that he was a man -of brains gone mad, and a madman on the verge of rationality. The first -part of his history had not yet reached him, for, had he read it, the -amazement with which his words and deeds filled him would have -vanished, as he would then have understood the nature of his madness; -but knowing nothing of it, he took him to be rational one moment, and -crazy the next, for what he said was sensible, elegant, and well -expressed, and what he did, absurd, rash, and foolish; and said he to -himself, “What could be madder than putting on a helmet full of curds, -and then persuading oneself that enchanters are softening one’s skull; -or what could be greater rashness and folly than wanting to fight lions -tooth and nail?” - -Don Quixote roused him from these reflections and this soliloquy by -saying, “No doubt, Señor Don Diego de Miranda, you set me down in your -mind as a fool and a madman, and it would be no wonder if you did, for -my deeds do not argue anything else. But for all that, I would have you -take notice that I am neither so mad nor so foolish as I must have -seemed to you. A gallant knight shows to advantage bringing his lance -to bear adroitly upon a fierce bull under the eyes of his sovereign, in -the midst of a spacious plaza; a knight shows to advantage arrayed in -glittering armour, pacing the lists before the ladies in some joyous -tournament, and all those knights show to advantage that entertain, -divert, and, if we may say so, honour the courts of their princes by -warlike exercises, or what resemble them; but to greater advantage than -all these does a knight-errant show when he traverses deserts, -solitudes, cross-roads, forests, and mountains, in quest of perilous -adventures, bent on bringing them to a happy and successful issue, all -to win a glorious and lasting renown. To greater advantage, I maintain, -does the knight-errant show bringing aid to some widow in some lonely -waste, than the court knight dallying with some city damsel. All -knights have their own special parts to play; let the courtier devote -himself to the ladies, let him add lustre to his sovereign’s court by -his liveries, let him entertain poor gentlemen with the sumptuous fare -of his table, let him arrange joustings, marshal tournaments, and prove -himself noble, generous, and magnificent, and above all a good -Christian, and so doing he will fulfil the duties that are especially -his; but let the knight-errant explore the corners of the earth and -penetrate the most intricate labyrinths, at each step let him attempt -impossibilities, on desolate heaths let him endure the burning rays of -the midsummer sun, and the bitter inclemency of the winter winds and -frosts; let no lions daunt him, no monsters terrify him, no dragons -make him quail; for to seek these, to attack those, and to vanquish -all, are in truth his main duties. I, then, as it has fallen to my lot -to be a member of knight-errantry, cannot avoid attempting all that to -me seems to come within the sphere of my duties; thus it was my bounden -duty to attack those lions that I just now attacked, although I knew it -to be the height of rashness; for I know well what valour is, that it -is a virtue that occupies a place between two vicious extremes, -cowardice and temerity; but it will be a lesser evil for him who is -valiant to rise till he reaches the point of rashness, than to sink -until he reaches the point of cowardice; for, as it is easier for the -prodigal than for the miser to become generous, so it is easier for a -rash man to prove truly valiant than for a coward to rise to true -valour; and believe me, Señor Don Diego, in attempting adventures it is -better to lose by a card too many than by a card too few; for to hear -it said, ‘such a knight is rash and daring,’ sounds better than ‘such a -knight is timid and cowardly.’” - -“I protest, Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Diego, “everything you have -said and done is proved correct by the test of reason itself; and I -believe, if the laws and ordinances of knight-errantry should be lost, -they might be found in your worship’s breast as in their own proper -depository and muniment-house; but let us make haste, and reach my -village, where you shall take rest after your late exertions; for if -they have not been of the body they have been of the spirit, and these -sometimes tend to produce bodily fatigue.” - -“I take the invitation as a great favour and honour, Señor Don Diego,” -replied Don Quixote; and pressing forward at a better pace than before, -at about two in the afternoon they reached the village and house of Don -Diego, or, as Don Quixote called him, “The Knight of the Green Gaban.” - -CHAPTER XVIII. -OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE OR HOUSE OF THE KNIGHT OF -THE GREEN GABAN, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS OUT OF THE COMMON - -Don Quixote found Don Diego de Miranda’s house built in village style, -with his arms in rough stone over the street door; in the patio was the -store-room, and at the entrance the cellar, with plenty of wine-jars -standing round, which, coming from El Toboso, brought back to his -memory his enchanted and transformed Dulcinea; and with a sigh, and not -thinking of what he was saying, or in whose presence he was, he -exclaimed- - -“O ye sweet treasures, to my sorrow found! -Once sweet and welcome when ’twas heaven’s good-will. - -“O ye Tobosan jars, how ye bring back to my memory the -sweet object of my bitter regrets!” - -The student poet, Don Diego’s son, who had come out with his mother to -receive him, heard this exclamation, and both mother and son were -filled with amazement at the extraordinary figure he presented; he, -however, dismounting from Rocinante, advanced with great politeness to -ask permission to kiss the lady’s hand, while Don Diego said, “Señora, -pray receive with your wonted kindness Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, -whom you see before you, a knight-errant, and the bravest and wisest in -the world.” - -The lady, whose name was Doña Christina, received him with every sign -of good-will and great courtesy, and Don Quixote placed himself at her -service with an abundance of well-chosen and polished phrases. Almost -the same civilities were exchanged between him and the student, who -listening to Don Quixote, took him to be a sensible, clear-headed -person. - -Here the author describes minutely everything belonging to Don Diego’s -mansion, putting before us in his picture the whole contents of a rich -gentleman-farmer’s house; but the translator of the history thought it -best to pass over these and other details of the same sort in silence, -as they are not in harmony with the main purpose of the story, the -strong point of which is truth rather than dull digressions. - -They led Don Quixote into a room, and Sancho removed his armour, -leaving him in loose Walloon breeches and chamois-leather doublet, all -stained with the rust of his armour; his collar was a falling one of -scholastic cut, without starch or lace, his buskins buff-coloured, and -his shoes polished. He wore his good sword, which hung in a baldric of -sea-wolf’s skin, for he had suffered for many years, they say, from an -ailment of the kidneys; and over all he threw a long cloak of good grey -cloth. But first of all, with five or six buckets of water (for as -regard the number of buckets there is some dispute), he washed his head -and face, and still the water remained whey-coloured, thanks to -Sancho’s greediness and purchase of those unlucky curds that turned his -master so white. Thus arrayed, and with an easy, sprightly, and gallant -air, Don Quixote passed out into another room, where the student was -waiting to entertain him while the table was being laid; for on the -arrival of so distinguished a guest, Doña Christina was anxious to show -that she knew how and was able to give a becoming reception to those -who came to her house. - -While Don Quixote was taking off his armour, Don Lorenzo (for so Don -Diego’s son was called) took the opportunity to say to his father, -“What are we to make of this gentleman you have brought home to us, -sir? For his name, his appearance, and your describing him as a -knight-errant have completely puzzled my mother and me.” - -“I don’t know what to say, my son,” replied. Don Diego; “all I can tell -thee is that I have seen him act the acts of the greatest madman in the -world, and heard him make observations so sensible that they efface and -undo all he does; do thou talk to him and feel the pulse of his wits, -and as thou art shrewd, form the most reasonable conclusion thou canst -as to his wisdom or folly; though, to tell the truth, I am more -inclined to take him to be mad than sane.” - -With this Don Lorenzo went away to entertain Don Quixote as has been -said, and in the course of the conversation that passed between them -Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, “Your father, Señor Don Diego de -Miranda, has told me of the rare abilities and subtle intellect you -possess, and, above all, that you are a great poet.” - -“A poet, it may be,” replied Don Lorenzo, “but a great one, by no -means. It is true that I am somewhat given to poetry and to reading -good poets, but not so much so as to justify the title of ‘great’ which -my father gives me.” - -“I do not dislike that modesty,” said Don Quixote; “for there is no -poet who is not conceited and does not think he is the best poet in the -world.” - -“There is no rule without an exception,” said Don Lorenzo; “there may -be some who are poets and yet do not think they are.” - -“Very few,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, what verses are those which -you have now in hand, and which your father tells me keep you somewhat -restless and absorbed? If it be some gloss, I know something about -glosses, and I should like to hear them; and if they are for a poetical -tournament, contrive to carry off the second prize; for the first -always goes by favour or personal standing, the second by simple -justice; and so the third comes to be the second, and the first, -reckoning in this way, will be third, in the same way as licentiate -degrees are conferred at the universities; but, for all that, the title -of first is a great distinction.” - -“So far,” said Don Lorenzo to himself, “I should not take you to be a -madman; but let us go on.” So he said to him, “Your worship has -apparently attended the schools; what sciences have you studied?” - -“That of knight-errantry,” said Don Quixote, “which is as good as that -of poetry, and even a finger or two above it.” - -“I do not know what science that is,” said Don Lorenzo, “and until now -I have never heard of it.” - -“It is a science,” said Don Quixote, “that comprehends in itself all or -most of the sciences in the world, for he who professes it must be a -jurist, and must know the rules of justice, distributive and equitable, -so as to give to each one what belongs to him and is due to him. He -must be a theologian, so as to be able to give a clear and distinctive -reason for the Christian faith he professes, wherever it may be asked -of him. He must be a physician, and above all a herbalist, so as in -wastes and solitudes to know the herbs that have the property of -healing wounds, for a knight-errant must not go looking for someone to -cure him at every step. He must be an astronomer, so as to know by the -stars how many hours of the night have passed, and what clime and -quarter of the world he is in. He must know mathematics, for at every -turn some occasion for them will present itself to him; and, putting it -aside that he must be adorned with all the virtues, cardinal and -theological, to come down to minor particulars, he must, I say, be able -to swim as well as Nicholas or Nicolao the Fish could, as the story -goes; he must know how to shoe a horse, and repair his saddle and -bridle; and, to return to higher matters, he must be faithful to God -and to his lady; he must be pure in thought, decorous in words, -generous in works, valiant in deeds, patient in suffering, -compassionate towards the needy, and, lastly, an upholder of the truth -though its defence should cost him his life. Of all these qualities, -great and small, is a true knight-errant made up; judge then, Señor Don -Lorenzo, whether it be a contemptible science which the knight who -studies and professes it has to learn, and whether it may not compare -with the very loftiest that are taught in the schools.” - -“If that be so,” replied Don Lorenzo, “this science, I protest, -surpasses all.” - -“How, if that be so?” said Don Quixote. - -“What I mean to say,” said Don Lorenzo, “is, that I doubt whether there -are now, or ever were, any knights-errant, and adorned with such -virtues.” - -“Many a time,” replied Don Quixote, “have I said what I now say once -more, that the majority of the world are of opinion that there never -were any knights-errant in it; and as it is my opinion that, unless -heaven by some miracle brings home to them the truth that there were -and are, all the pains one takes will be in vain (as experience has -often proved to me), I will not now stop to disabuse you of the error -you share with the multitude. All I shall do is to pray to heaven to -deliver you from it, and show you how beneficial and necessary -knights-errant were in days of yore, and how useful they would be in -these days were they but in vogue; but now, for the sins of the people, -sloth and indolence, gluttony and luxury are triumphant.” - -“Our guest has broken out on our hands,” said Don Lorenzo to himself at -this point; “but, for all that, he is a glorious madman, and I should -be a dull blockhead to doubt it.” - -Here, being summoned to dinner, they brought their colloquy to a close. -Don Diego asked his son what he had been able to make out as to the -wits of their guest. To which he replied, “All the doctors and clever -scribes in the world will not make sense of the scrawl of his madness; -he is a madman full of streaks, full of lucid intervals.” - -They went in to dinner, and the repast was such as Don Diego said on -the road he was in the habit of giving to his guests, neat, plentiful, -and tasty; but what pleased Don Quixote most was the marvellous silence -that reigned throughout the house, for it was like a Carthusian -monastery. - -When the cloth had been removed, grace said and their hands washed, Don -Quixote earnestly pressed Don Lorenzo to repeat to him his verses for -the poetical tournament, to which he replied, “Not to be like those -poets who, when they are asked to recite their verses, refuse, and when -they are not asked for them vomit them up, I will repeat my gloss, for -which I do not expect any prize, having composed it merely as an -exercise of ingenuity.” - -“A discerning friend of mine,” said Don Quixote, “was of opinion that -no one ought to waste labour in glossing verses; and the reason he gave -was that the gloss can never come up to the text, and that often or -most frequently it wanders away from the meaning and purpose aimed at -in the glossed lines; and besides, that the laws of the gloss were too -strict, as they did not allow interrogations, nor ‘said he,’ nor ‘I -say,’ nor turning verbs into nouns, or altering the construction, not -to speak of other restrictions and limitations that fetter -gloss-writers, as you no doubt know.” - -“Verily, Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Lorenzo, “I wish I could catch -your worship tripping at a stretch, but I cannot, for you slip through -my fingers like an eel.” - -“I don’t understand what you say, or mean by slipping,” said Don -Quixote. - -“I will explain myself another time,” said Don Lorenzo; “for the -present pray attend to the glossed verses and the gloss, which run -thus: - -Could ‘was’ become an ‘is’ for me, -Then would I ask no more than this; -Or could, for me, the time that is -Become the time that is to be!— - -GLOSS - -Dame Fortune once upon a day -To me was bountiful and kind; -But all things change; she changed her mind, -And what she gave she took away. -O Fortune, long I’ve sued to thee; -The gifts thou gavest me restore, -For, trust me, I would ask no more, -Could ‘was’ become an ‘is’ for me. - -No other prize I seek to gain, -No triumph, glory, or success, -Only the long-lost happiness, -The memory whereof is pain. -One taste, methinks, of bygone bliss -The heart-consuming fire might stay; -And, so it come without delay, -Then would I ask no more than this. - -I ask what cannot be, alas! -That time should ever be, and then -Come back to us, and be again, -No power on earth can bring to pass; -For fleet of foot is he, I wis, -And idly, therefore, do we pray -That what for aye hath left us may -Become for us the time that is. - -Perplexed, uncertain, to remain -’Twixt hope and fear, is death, not life; -’Twere better, sure, to end the strife, -And dying, seek release from pain. -And yet, thought were the best for me. -Anon the thought aside I fling, -And to the present fondly cling, -And dread the time that is to be.” - -When Don Lorenzo had finished reciting his gloss, Don Quixote stood up, -and in a loud voice, almost a shout, exclaimed as he grasped Don -Lorenzo’s right hand in his, “By the highest heavens, noble youth, but -you are the best poet on earth, and deserve to be crowned with laurel, -not by Cyprus or by Gaeta—as a certain poet, God forgive him, said—but -by the Academies of Athens, if they still flourished, and by those that -flourish now, Paris, Bologna, Salamanca. Heaven grant that the judges -who rob you of the first prize—that Phœbus may pierce them with his -arrows, and the Muses never cross the thresholds of their doors. Repeat -me some of your long-measure verses, señor, if you will be so good, for -I want thoroughly to feel the pulse of your rare genius.” - -Is there any need to say that Don Lorenzo enjoyed hearing himself -praised by Don Quixote, albeit he looked upon him as a madman? power of -flattery, how far-reaching art thou, and how wide are the bounds of thy -pleasant jurisdiction! Don Lorenzo gave a proof of it, for he complied -with Don Quixote’s request and entreaty, and repeated to him this -sonnet on the fable or story of Pyramus and Thisbe. - -SONNET - -The lovely maid, she pierces now the wall; -Heart-pierced by her young Pyramus doth lie; -And Love spreads wing from Cyprus isle to fly, -A chink to view so wondrous great and small. -There silence speaketh, for no voice at all -Can pass so strait a strait; but love will ply -Where to all other power ’twere vain to try; -For love will find a way whate’er befall. -Impatient of delay, with reckless pace -The rash maid wins the fatal spot where she -Sinks not in lover’s arms but death’s embrace. -So runs the strange tale, how the lovers twain -One sword, one sepulchre, one memory, -Slays, and entombs, and brings to life again. - -“Blessed be God,” said Don Quixote when he had heard Don Lorenzo’s -sonnet, “that among the hosts there are of irritable poets I have found -one consummate one, which, señor, the art of this sonnet proves to me -that you are!” - -For four days was Don Quixote most sumptuously entertained in Don -Diego’s house, at the end of which time he asked his permission to -depart, telling him he thanked him for the kindness and hospitality he -had received in his house, but that, as it did not become -knights-errant to give themselves up for long to idleness and luxury, -he was anxious to fulfill the duties of his calling in seeking -adventures, of which he was informed there was an abundance in that -neighbourhood, where he hoped to employ his time until the day came -round for the jousts at Saragossa, for that was his proper destination; -and that, first of all, he meant to enter the cave of Montesinos, of -which so many marvellous things were reported all through the country, -and at the same time to investigate and explore the origin and true -source of the seven lakes commonly called the lakes of Ruidera. - -Don Diego and his son commended his laudable resolution, and bade him -furnish himself with all he wanted from their house and belongings, as -they would most gladly be of service to him; which, indeed, his -personal worth and his honourable profession made incumbent upon them. - -The day of his departure came at length, as welcome to Don Quixote as -it was sad and sorrowful to Sancho Panza, who was very well satisfied -with the abundance of Don Diego’s house, and objected to return to the -starvation of the woods and wilds and the short-commons of his -ill-stocked alforjas; these, however, he filled and packed with what he -considered needful. On taking leave, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, -“I know not whether I have told you already, but if I have I tell you -once more, that if you wish to spare yourself fatigue and toil in -reaching the inaccessible summit of the temple of fame, you have -nothing to do but to turn aside out of the somewhat narrow path of -poetry and take the still narrower one of knight-errantry, wide enough, -however, to make you an emperor in the twinkling of an eye.” - -In this speech Don Quixote wound up the evidence of his madness, but -still better in what he added when he said, “God knows, I would gladly -take Don Lorenzo with me to teach him how to spare the humble, and -trample the proud under foot, virtues that are part and parcel of the -profession I belong to; but since his tender age does not allow of it, -nor his praiseworthy pursuits permit it, I will simply content myself -with impressing it upon your worship that you will become famous as a -poet if you are guided by the opinion of others rather than by your -own; because no fathers or mothers ever think their own children -ill-favoured, and this sort of deception prevails still more strongly -in the case of the children of the brain.” - -Both father and son were amazed afresh at the strange medley Don -Quixote talked, at one moment sense, at another nonsense, and at the -pertinacity and persistence he displayed in going through thick and -thin in quest of his unlucky adventures, which he made the end and aim -of his desires. There was a renewal of offers of service and -civilities, and then, with the gracious permission of the lady of the -castle, they took their departure, Don Quixote on Rocinante, and Sancho -on Dapple. - -CHAPTER XIX. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD, TOGETHER -WITH OTHER TRULY DROLL INCIDENTS - -Don Quixote had gone but a short distance beyond Don Diego’s village, -when he fell in with a couple of either priests or students, and a -couple of peasants, mounted on four beasts of the ass kind. One of the -students carried, wrapped up in a piece of green buckram by way of a -portmanteau, what seemed to be a little linen and a couple of pairs of -ribbed stockings; the other carried nothing but a pair of new -fencing-foils with buttons. The peasants carried divers articles that -showed they were on their way from some large town where they had -bought them, and were taking them home to their village; and both -students and peasants were struck with the same amazement that -everybody felt who saw Don Quixote for the first time, and were dying -to know who this man, so different from ordinary men, could be. Don -Quixote saluted them, and after ascertaining that their road was the -same as his, made them an offer of his company, and begged them to -slacken their pace, as their young asses travelled faster than his -horse; and then, to gratify them, he told them in a few words who he -was and the calling and profession he followed, which was that of a -knight-errant seeking adventures in all parts of the world. He informed -them that his own name was Don Quixote of La Mancha, and that he was -called, by way of surname, the Knight of the Lions. - -All this was Greek or gibberish to the peasants, but not so to the -students, who very soon perceived the crack in Don Quixote’s pate; for -all that, however, they regarded him with admiration and respect, and -one of them said to him, “If you, sir knight, have no fixed road, as it -is the way with those who seek adventures not to have any, let your -worship come with us; you will see one of the finest and richest -weddings that up to this day have ever been celebrated in La Mancha, or -for many a league round.” - -Don Quixote asked him if it was some prince’s, that he spoke of it in -this way. “Not at all,” said the student; “it is the wedding of a -farmer and a farmer’s daughter, he the richest in all this country, and -she the fairest mortal ever set eyes on. The display with which it is -to be attended will be something rare and out of the common, for it -will be celebrated in a meadow adjoining the town of the bride, who is -called, _par excellence_, Quiteria the fair, as the bridegroom is -called Camacho the rich. She is eighteen, and he twenty-two, and they -are fairly matched, though some knowing ones, who have all the -pedigrees in the world by heart, will have it that the family of the -fair Quiteria is better than Camacho’s; but no one minds that -now-a-days, for wealth can solder a great many flaws. At any rate, -Camacho is free-handed, and it is his fancy to screen the whole meadow -with boughs and cover it in overhead, so that the sun will have hard -work if he tries to get in to reach the grass that covers the soil. He -has provided dancers too, not only sword but also bell-dancers, for in -his own town there are those who ring the changes and jingle the bells -to perfection; of shoe-dancers I say nothing, for of them he has -engaged a host. But none of these things, nor of the many others I have -omitted to mention, will do more to make this a memorable wedding than -the part which I suspect the despairing Basilio will play in it. This -Basilio is a youth of the same village as Quiteria, and he lived in the -house next door to that of her parents, of which circumstance Love took -advantage to reproduce to the word the long-forgotten loves of Pyramus -and Thisbe; for Basilio loved Quiteria from his earliest years, and she -responded to his passion with countless modest proofs of affection, so -that the loves of the two children, Basilio and Quiteria, were the talk -and the amusement of the town. As they grew up, the father of Quiteria -made up his mind to refuse Basilio his wonted freedom of access to the -house, and to relieve himself of constant doubts and suspicions, he -arranged a match for his daughter with the rich Camacho, as he did not -approve of marrying her to Basilio, who had not so large a share of the -gifts of fortune as of nature; for if the truth be told ungrudgingly, -he is the most agile youth we know, a mighty thrower of the bar, a -first-rate wrestler, and a great ball-player; he runs like a deer, and -leaps better than a goat, bowls over the nine-pins as if by magic, -sings like a lark, plays the guitar so as to make it speak, and, above -all, handles a sword as well as the best.” - -“For that excellence alone,” said Don Quixote at this, “the youth -deserves to marry, not merely the fair Quiteria, but Queen Guinevere -herself, were she alive now, in spite of Launcelot and all who would -try to prevent it.” - -“Say that to my wife,” said Sancho, who had until now listened in -silence, “for she won’t hear of anything but each one marrying his -equal, holding with the proverb ‘each ewe to her like.’ What I would -like is that this good Basilio (for I am beginning to take a fancy to -him already) should marry this lady Quiteria; and a blessing and good -luck—I meant to say the opposite—on people who would prevent those who -love one another from marrying.” - -“If all those who love one another were to marry,” said Don Quixote, -“it would deprive parents of the right to choose, and marry their -children to the proper person and at the proper time; and if it was -left to daughters to choose husbands as they pleased, one would be for -choosing her father’s servant, and another, someone she has seen -passing in the street and fancies gallant and dashing, though he may be -a drunken bully; for love and fancy easily blind the eyes of the -judgment, so much wanted in choosing one’s way of life; and the -matrimonial choice is very liable to error, and it needs great caution -and the special favour of heaven to make it a good one. He who has to -make a long journey, will, if he is wise, look out for some trusty and -pleasant companion to accompany him before he sets out. Why, then, -should not he do the same who has to make the whole journey of life -down to the final halting-place of death, more especially when the -companion has to be his companion in bed, at board, and everywhere, as -the wife is to her husband? The companionship of one’s wife is no -article of merchandise, that, after it has been bought, may be -returned, or bartered, or changed; for it is an inseparable accident -that lasts as long as life lasts; it is a noose that, once you put it -round your neck, turns into a Gordian knot, which, if the scythe of -Death does not cut it, there is no untying. I could say a great deal -more on this subject, were I not prevented by the anxiety I feel to -know if the señor licentiate has anything more to tell about the story -of Basilio.” - -To this the student, bachelor, or, as Don Quixote called him, -licentiate, replied, “I have nothing whatever to say further, but that -from the moment Basilio learned that the fair Quiteria was to be -married to Camacho the rich, he has never been seen to smile, or heard -to utter rational word, and he always goes about moody and dejected, -talking to himself in a way that shows plainly he is out of his senses. -He eats little and sleeps little, and all he eats is fruit, and when he -sleeps, if he sleeps at all, it is in the field on the hard earth like -a brute beast. Sometimes he gazes at the sky, at other times he fixes -his eyes on the earth in such an abstracted way that he might be taken -for a clothed statue, with its drapery stirred by the wind. In short, -he shows such signs of a heart crushed by suffering, that all we who -know him believe that when to-morrow the fair Quiteria says ‘yes,’ it -will be his sentence of death.” - -“God will guide it better,” said Sancho, “for God who gives the wound -gives the salve; nobody knows what will happen; there are a good many -hours between this and to-morrow, and any one of them, or any moment, -the house may fall; I have seen the rain coming down and the sun -shining all at one time; many a one goes to bed in good health who -can’t stir the next day. And tell me, is there anyone who can boast of -having driven a nail into the wheel of fortune? No, faith; and between -a woman’s ‘yes’ and ‘no’ I wouldn’t venture to put the point of a pin, -for there would not be room for it; if you tell me Quiteria loves -Basilio heart and soul, then I’ll give him a bag of good luck; for -love, I have heard say, looks through spectacles that make copper seem -gold, poverty wealth, and bleary eyes pearls.” - -“What art thou driving at, Sancho? curses on thee!” said Don Quixote; -“for when thou takest to stringing proverbs and sayings together, no -one can understand thee but Judas himself, and I wish he had thee. Tell -me, thou animal, what dost thou know about nails or wheels, or anything -else?” - -“Oh, if you don’t understand me,” replied Sancho, “it is no wonder my -words are taken for nonsense; but no matter; I understand myself, and I -know I have not said anything very foolish in what I have said; only -your worship, señor, is always gravelling at everything I say, nay, -everything I do.” - -“Cavilling, not gravelling,” said Don Quixote, “thou prevaricator of -honest language, God confound thee!” - -“Don’t find fault with me, your worship,” returned Sancho, “for you -know I have not been bred up at court or trained at Salamanca, to know -whether I am adding or dropping a letter or so in my words. Why! God -bless me, it’s not fair to force a Sayago-man to speak like a Toledan; -maybe there are Toledans who do not hit it off when it comes to -polished talk.” - -“That is true,” said the licentiate, “for those who have been bred up -in the Tanneries and the Zocodover cannot talk like those who are -almost all day pacing the cathedral cloisters, and yet they are all -Toledans. Pure, correct, elegant and lucid language will be met with in -men of courtly breeding and discrimination, though they may have been -born in Majalahonda; I say of discrimination, because there are many -who are not so, and discrimination is the grammar of good language, if -it be accompanied by practice. I, sirs, for my sins have studied canon -law at Salamanca, and I rather pique myself on expressing my meaning in -clear, plain, and intelligible language.” - -“If you did not pique yourself more on your dexterity with those foils -you carry than on dexterity of tongue,” said the other student, “you -would have been head of the degrees, where you are now tail.” - -“Look here, bachelor Corchuelo,” returned the licentiate, “you have the -most mistaken idea in the world about skill with the sword, if you -think it useless.” - -“It is no idea on my part, but an established truth,” replied -Corchuelo; “and if you wish me to prove it to you by experiment, you -have swords there, and it is a good opportunity; I have a steady hand -and a strong arm, and these joined with my resolution, which is not -small, will make you confess that I am not mistaken. Dismount and put -in practice your positions and circles and angles and science, for I -hope to make you see stars at noonday with my rude raw swordsmanship, -in which, next to God, I place my trust that the man is yet to be born -who will make me turn my back, and that there is not one in the world I -will not compel to give ground.” - -“As to whether you turn your back or not, I do not concern myself,” -replied the master of fence; “though it might be that your grave would -be dug on the spot where you planted your foot the first time; I mean -that you would be stretched dead there for despising skill with the -sword.” - -“We shall soon see,” replied Corchuelo, and getting off his ass -briskly, he drew out furiously one of the swords the licentiate carried -on his beast. - -“It must not be that way,” said Don Quixote at this point; “I will be -the director of this fencing match, and judge of this often disputed -question;” and dismounting from Rocinante and grasping his lance, he -planted himself in the middle of the road, just as the licentiate, with -an easy, graceful bearing and step, advanced towards Corchuelo, who -came on against him, darting fire from his eyes, as the saying is. The -other two of the company, the peasants, without dismounting from their -asses, served as spectators of the mortal tragedy. The cuts, thrusts, -down strokes, back strokes and doubles, that Corchuelo delivered were -past counting, and came thicker than hops or hail. He attacked like an -angry lion, but he was met by a tap on the mouth from the button of the -licentiate’s sword that checked him in the midst of his furious onset, -and made him kiss it as if it were a relic, though not as devoutly as -relics are and ought to be kissed. The end of it was that the -licentiate reckoned up for him by thrusts every one of the buttons of -the short cassock he wore, tore the skirts into strips, like the tails -of a cuttlefish, knocked off his hat twice, and so completely tired him -out, that in vexation, anger, and rage, he took the sword by the hilt -and flung it away with such force, that one of the peasants that were -there, who was a notary, and who went for it, made an affidavit -afterwards that he sent it nearly three-quarters of a league, which -testimony will serve, and has served, to show and establish with all -certainty that strength is overcome by skill. - -Corchuelo sat down wearied, and Sancho approaching him said, “By my -faith, señor bachelor, if your worship takes my advice, you will never -challenge anyone to fence again, only to wrestle and throw the bar, for -you have the youth and strength for that; but as for these fencers as -they call them, I have heard say they can put the point of a sword -through the eye of a needle.” - -“I am satisfied with having tumbled off my donkey,” said Corchuelo, -“and with having had the truth I was so ignorant of proved to me by -experience;” and getting up he embraced the licentiate, and they were -better friends than ever; and not caring to wait for the notary who had -gone for the sword, as they saw he would be a long time about it, they -resolved to push on so as to reach the village of Quiteria, to which -they all belonged, in good time. - -During the remainder of the journey the licentiate held forth to them -on the excellences of the sword, with such conclusive arguments, and -such figures and mathematical proofs, that all were convinced of the -value of the science, and Corchuelo cured of his dogmatism. - -It grew dark; but before they reached the town it seemed to them all as -if there was a heaven full of countless glittering stars in front of -it. They heard, too, the pleasant mingled notes of a variety of -instruments, flutes, drums, psalteries, pipes, tabors, and timbrels, -and as they drew near they perceived that the trees of a leafy arcade -that had been constructed at the entrance of the town were filled with -lights unaffected by the wind, for the breeze at the time was so gentle -that it had not power to stir the leaves on the trees. The musicians -were the life of the wedding, wandering through the pleasant grounds in -separate bands, some dancing, others singing, others playing the -various instruments already mentioned. In short, it seemed as though -mirth and gaiety were frisking and gambolling all over the meadow. -Several other persons were engaged in erecting raised benches from -which people might conveniently see the plays and dances that were to -be performed the next day on the spot dedicated to the celebration of -the marriage of Camacho the rich and the obsequies of Basilio. Don -Quixote would not enter the village, although the peasant as well as -the bachelor pressed him; he excused himself, however, on the grounds, -amply sufficient in his opinion, that it was the custom of -knights-errant to sleep in the fields and woods in preference to towns, -even were it under gilded ceilings; and so turned aside a little out of -the road, very much against Sancho’s will, as the good quarters he had -enjoyed in the castle or house of Don Diego came back to his mind. - -CHAPTER XX. -WHEREIN AN ACCOUNT IS GIVEN OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO THE RICH, -TOGETHER WITH THE INCIDENT OF BASILIO THE POOR - -Scarce had the fair Aurora given bright Phœbus time to dry the liquid -pearls upon her golden locks with the heat of his fervent rays, when -Don Quixote, shaking off sloth from his limbs, sprang to his feet and -called to his squire Sancho, who was still snoring; seeing which Don -Quixote ere he roused him thus addressed him: “Happy thou, above all -the dwellers on the face of the earth, that, without envying or being -envied, sleepest with tranquil mind, and that neither enchanters -persecute nor enchantments affright. Sleep, I say, and will say a -hundred times, without any jealous thoughts of thy mistress to make -thee keep ceaseless vigils, or any cares as to how thou art to pay the -debts thou owest, or find to-morrow’s food for thyself and thy needy -little family, to interfere with thy repose. Ambition breaks not thy -rest, nor doth this world’s empty pomp disturb thee, for the utmost -reach of thy anxiety is to provide for thy ass, since upon my shoulders -thou hast laid the support of thyself, the counterpoise and burden that -nature and custom have imposed upon masters. The servant sleeps and the -master lies awake thinking how he is to feed him, advance him, and -reward him. The distress of seeing the sky turn brazen, and withhold -its needful moisture from the earth, is not felt by the servant but by -the master, who in time of scarcity and famine must support him who has -served him in times of plenty and abundance.” - -To all this Sancho made no reply because he was asleep, nor would he -have wakened up so soon as he did had not Don Quixote brought him to -his senses with the butt of his lance. He awoke at last, drowsy and -lazy, and casting his eyes about in every direction, observed, “There -comes, if I don’t mistake, from the quarter of that arcade a steam and -a smell a great deal more like fried rashers than galingale or thyme; a -wedding that begins with smells like that, by my faith, ought to be -plentiful and unstinting.” - -“Have done, thou glutton,” said Don Quixote; “come, let us go and -witness this bridal, and see what the rejected Basilio does.” - -“Let him do what he likes,” returned Sancho; “be he not poor, he would -marry Quiteria. To make a grand match for himself, and he without a -farthing; is there nothing else? Faith, señor, it’s my opinion the poor -man should be content with what he can get, and not go looking for -dainties in the bottom of the sea. I will bet my arm that Camacho could -bury Basilio in reals; and if that be so, as no doubt it is, what a -fool Quiteria would be to refuse the fine dresses and jewels Camacho -must have given her and will give her, and take Basilio’s bar-throwing -and sword-play. They won’t give a pint of wine at the tavern for a good -cast of the bar or a neat thrust of the sword. Talents and -accomplishments that can’t be turned into money, let Count Dirlos have -them; but when such gifts fall to one that has hard cash, I wish my -condition of life was as becoming as they are. On a good foundation you -can raise a good building, and the best foundation in the world is -money.” - -“For God’s sake, Sancho,” said Don Quixote here, “stop that harangue; -it is my belief, if thou wert allowed to continue all thou beginnest -every instant, thou wouldst have no time left for eating or sleeping; -for thou wouldst spend it all in talking.” - -“If your worship had a good memory,” replied Sancho, “you would -remember the articles of our agreement before we started from home this -last time; one of them was that I was to be let say all I liked, so -long as it was not against my neighbour or your worship’s authority; -and so far, it seems to me, I have not broken the said article.” - -“I remember no such article, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and even if it -were so, I desire you to hold your tongue and come along; for the -instruments we heard last night are already beginning to enliven the -valleys again, and no doubt the marriage will take place in the cool of -the morning, and not in the heat of the afternoon.” - -Sancho did as his master bade him, and putting the saddle on Rocinante -and the pack-saddle on Dapple, they both mounted and at a leisurely -pace entered the arcade. The first thing that presented itself to -Sancho’s eyes was a whole ox spitted on a whole elm tree, and in the -fire at which it was to be roasted there was burning a middling-sized -mountain of faggots, and six stewpots that stood round the blaze had -not been made in the ordinary mould of common pots, for they were six -half wine-jars, each fit to hold the contents of a slaughter-house; -they swallowed up whole sheep and hid them away in their insides -without showing any more sign of them than if they were pigeons. -Countless were the hares ready skinned and the plucked fowls that hung -on the trees for burial in the pots, numberless the wildfowl and game -of various sorts suspended from the branches that the air might keep -them cool. Sancho counted more than sixty wine skins of over six -gallons each, and all filled, as it proved afterwards, with generous -wines. There were, besides, piles of the whitest bread, like the heaps -of corn one sees on the threshing-floors. There was a wall made of -cheeses arranged like open brick-work, and two cauldrons full of oil, -bigger than those of a dyer’s shop, served for cooking fritters, which -when fried were taken out with two mighty shovels, and plunged into -another cauldron of prepared honey that stood close by. Of cooks and -cook-maids there were over fifty, all clean, brisk, and blithe. In the -capacious belly of the ox were a dozen soft little sucking-pigs, which, -sewn up there, served to give it tenderness and flavour. The spices of -different kinds did not seem to have been bought by the pound but by -the quarter, and all lay open to view in a great chest. In short, all -the preparations made for the wedding were in rustic style, but -abundant enough to feed an army. - -Sancho observed all, contemplated all, and everything won his heart. -The first to captivate and take his fancy were the pots, out of which -he would have very gladly helped himself to a moderate pipkinful; then -the wine skins secured his affections; and lastly, the produce of the -frying-pans, if, indeed, such imposing cauldrons may be called -frying-pans; and unable to control himself or bear it any longer, he -approached one of the busy cooks and civilly but hungrily begged -permission to soak a scrap of bread in one of the pots; to which the -cook made answer, “Brother, this is not a day on which hunger is to -have any sway, thanks to the rich Camacho; get down and look about for -a ladle and skim off a hen or two, and much good may they do you.” - -“I don’t see one,” said Sancho. - -“Wait a bit,” said the cook; “sinner that I am! how particular and -bashful you are!” and so saying, he seized a bucket and plunging it -into one of the half jars took up three hens and a couple of geese, and -said to Sancho, “Fall to, friend, and take the edge off your appetite -with these skimmings until dinner-time comes.” - -“I have nothing to put them in,” said Sancho. - -“Well then,” said the cook, “take spoon and all; for Camacho’s wealth -and happiness furnish everything.” - -While Sancho fared thus, Don Quixote was watching the entrance, at one -end of the arcade, of some twelve peasants, all in holiday and gala -dress, mounted on twelve beautiful mares with rich handsome field -trappings and a number of little bells attached to their petrals, who, -marshalled in regular order, ran not one but several courses over the -meadow, with jubilant shouts and cries of “Long live Camacho and -Quiteria! he as rich as she is fair; and she the fairest on earth!” - -Hearing this, Don Quixote said to himself, “It is easy to see these -folk have never seen my Dulcinea del Toboso; for if they had they would -be more moderate in their praises of this Quiteria of theirs.” - -Shortly after this, several bands of dancers of various sorts began to -enter the arcade at different points, and among them one of -sword-dancers composed of some four-and-twenty lads of gallant and -high-spirited mien, clad in the finest and whitest of linen, and with -handkerchiefs embroidered in various colours with fine silk; and one of -those on the mares asked an active youth who led them if any of the -dancers had been wounded. “As yet, thank God, no one has been wounded,” -said he, “we are all safe and sound;” and he at once began to execute -complicated figures with the rest of his comrades, with so many turns -and so great dexterity, that although Don Quixote was well used to see -dances of the same kind, he thought he had never seen any so good as -this. He also admired another that came in composed of fair young -maidens, none of whom seemed to be under fourteen or over eighteen -years of age, all clad in green stuff, with their locks partly braided, -partly flowing loose, but all of such bright gold as to vie with the -sunbeams, and over them they wore garlands of jessamine, roses, -amaranth, and honeysuckle. At their head were a venerable old man and -an ancient dame, more brisk and active, however, than might have been -expected from their years. The notes of a Zamora bagpipe accompanied -them, and with modesty in their countenances and in their eyes, and -lightness in their feet, they looked the best dancers in the world. - -Following these there came an artistic dance of the sort they call -“speaking dances.” It was composed of eight nymphs in two files, with -the god Cupid leading one and Interest the other, the former furnished -with wings, bow, quiver and arrows, the latter in a rich dress of gold -and silk of divers colours. The nymphs that followed Love bore their -names written on white parchment in large letters on their backs. -“Poetry” was the name of the first, “Wit” of the second, “Birth” of the -third, and “Valour” of the fourth. Those that followed Interest were -distinguished in the same way; the badge of the first announced -“Liberality,” that of the second “Largess,” the third “Treasure,” and -the fourth “Peaceful Possession.” In front of them all came a wooden -castle drawn by four wild men, all clad in ivy and hemp stained green, -and looking so natural that they nearly terrified Sancho. On the front -of the castle and on each of the four sides of its frame it bore the -inscription “Castle of Caution.” Four skillful tabor and flute players -accompanied them, and the dance having been opened, Cupid, after -executing two figures, raised his eyes and bent his bow against a -damsel who stood between the turrets of the castle, and thus addressed -her: - -I am the mighty God whose sway -Is potent over land and sea. -The heavens above us own me; nay, -The shades below acknowledge me. -I know not fear, I have my will, -Whate’er my whim or fancy be; -For me there’s no impossible, -I order, bind, forbid, set free. - -Having concluded the stanza he discharged an arrow at the top of the -castle, and went back to his place. Interest then came forward and went -through two more figures, and as soon as the tabors ceased, he said: - -But mightier than Love am I, -Though Love it be that leads me on, -Than mine no lineage is more high, -Or older, underneath the sun. -To use me rightly few know how, -To act without me fewer still, -For I am Interest, and I vow -For evermore to do thy will. - -Interest retired, and Poetry came forward, and when she had gone -through her figures like the others, fixing her eyes on the damsel of -the castle, she said: - -With many a fanciful conceit, -Fair Lady, winsome Poesy -Her soul, an offering at thy feet, -Presents in sonnets unto thee. -If thou my homage wilt not scorn, -Thy fortune, watched by envious eyes, -On wings of poesy upborne -Shall be exalted to the skies. - -Poetry withdrew, and on the side of Interest Liberality advanced, and -after having gone through her figures, said: - -To give, while shunning each extreme, -The sparing hand, the over-free, -Therein consists, so wise men deem, -The virtue Liberality. -But thee, fair lady, to enrich, -Myself a prodigal I’ll prove, -A vice not wholly shameful, which -May find its fair excuse in love. - -In the same manner all the characters of the two bands advanced and -retired, and each executed its figures, and delivered its verses, some -of them graceful, some burlesque, but Don Quixote’s memory (though he -had an excellent one) only carried away those that have been just -quoted. All then mingled together, forming chains and breaking off -again with graceful, unconstrained gaiety; and whenever Love passed in -front of the castle he shot his arrows up at it, while Interest broke -gilded pellets against it. At length, after they had danced a good -while, Interest drew out a great purse, made of the skin of a large -brindled cat and to all appearance full of money, and flung it at the -castle, and with the force of the blow the boards fell asunder and -tumbled down, leaving the damsel exposed and unprotected. Interest and -the characters of his band advanced, and throwing a great chain of gold -over her neck pretended to take her and lead her away captive, on -seeing which, Love and his supporters made as though they would release -her, the whole action being to the accompaniment of the tabors and in -the form of a regular dance. The wild men made peace between them, and -with great dexterity readjusted and fixed the boards of the castle, and -the damsel once more ensconced herself within; and with this the dance -wound up, to the great enjoyment of the beholders. - -Don Quixote asked one of the nymphs who it was that had composed and -arranged it. She replied that it was a beneficiary of the town who had -a nice taste in devising things of the sort. “I will lay a wager,” said -Don Quixote, “that the same bachelor or beneficiary is a greater friend -of Camacho’s than of Basilio’s, and that he is better at satire than at -vespers; he has introduced the accomplishments of Basilio and the -riches of Camacho very neatly into the dance.” Sancho Panza, who was -listening to all this, exclaimed, “The king is my cock; I stick to -Camacho.” “It is easy to see thou art a clown, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote, “and one of that sort that cry ‘Long life to the conqueror.’” - -“I don’t know of what sort I am,” returned Sancho, “but I know very -well I’ll never get such elegant skimmings off Basilio’s pots as these -I have got off Camacho’s;” and he showed him the bucketful of geese and -hens, and seizing one began to eat with great gaiety and appetite, -saying, “A fig for the accomplishments of Basilio! As much as thou hast -so much art thou worth, and as much as thou art worth so much hast -thou. As a grandmother of mine used to say, there are only two families -in the world, the Haves and the Haven’ts; and she stuck to the Haves; -and to this day, Señor Don Quixote, people would sooner feel the pulse -of ‘Have,’ than of ‘Know;’ an ass covered with gold looks better than a -horse with a pack-saddle. So once more I say I stick to Camacho, the -bountiful skimmings of whose pots are geese and hens, hares and -rabbits; but of Basilio’s, if any ever come to hand, or even to foot, -they’ll be only rinsings.” - -“Hast thou finished thy harangue, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “Of course -I have finished it,” replied Sancho, “because I see your worship takes -offence at it; but if it was not for that, there was work enough cut -out for three days.” - -“God grant I may see thee dumb before I die, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. - -“At the rate we are going,” said Sancho, “I’ll be chewing clay before -your worship dies; and then, maybe, I’ll be so dumb that I’ll not say a -word until the end of the world, or, at least, till the day of -judgment.” - -“Even should that happen, O Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thy silence -will never come up to all thou hast talked, art talking, and wilt talk -all thy life; moreover, it naturally stands to reason, that my death -will come before thine; so I never expect to see thee dumb, not even -when thou art drinking or sleeping, and that is the utmost I can say.” - -“In good faith, señor,” replied Sancho, “there’s no trusting that -fleshless one, I mean Death, who devours the lamb as soon as the sheep, -and, as I have heard our curate say, treads with equal foot upon the -lofty towers of kings and the lowly huts of the poor. That lady is more -mighty than dainty, she is in no way squeamish, she devours all and is -ready for all, and fills her alforjas with people of all sorts, ages, -and ranks. She is no reaper that sleeps out the noontide; at all times -she is reaping and cutting down, as well the dry grass as the green; -she never seems to chew, but bolts and swallows all that is put before -her, for she has a canine appetite that is never satisfied; and though -she has no belly, she shows she has a dropsy and is athirst to drink -the lives of all that live, as one would drink a jug of cold water.” - -“Say no more, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this; “don’t try to better -it, and risk a fall; for in truth what thou hast said about death in -thy rustic phrase is what a good preacher might have said. I tell thee, -Sancho, if thou hadst discretion equal to thy mother wit, thou mightst -take a pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching fine sermons.” -“He preaches well who lives well,” said Sancho, “and I know no more -theology than that.” - -“Nor needst thou,” said Don Quixote, “but I cannot conceive or make out -how it is that, the fear of God being the beginning of wisdom, thou, -who art more afraid of a lizard than of him, knowest so much.” - -“Pass judgment on your chivalries, señor,” returned Sancho, “and don’t -set yourself up to judge of other men’s fears or braveries, for I am as -good a fearer of God as my neighbours; but leave me to despatch these -skimmings, for all the rest is only idle talk that we shall be called -to account for in the other world;” and so saying, he began a fresh -attack on the bucket, with such a hearty appetite that he aroused Don -Quixote’s, who no doubt would have helped him had he not been prevented -by what must be told farther on. - -CHAPTER XXI. -IN WHICH CAMACHO’S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL -INCIDENTS - -While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the discussion set forth -the last chapter, they heard loud shouts and a great noise, which were -uttered and made by the men on the mares as they went at full gallop, -shouting, to receive the bride and bridegroom, who were approaching -with musical instruments and pageantry of all sorts around them, and -accompanied by the priest and the relatives of both, and all the most -distinguished people of the surrounding villages. When Sancho saw the -bride, he exclaimed, “By my faith, she is not dressed like a country -girl, but like some fine court lady; egad, as well as I can make out, -the patena she wears rich coral, and her green Cuenca stuff is -thirty-pile velvet; and then the white linen trimming—by my oath, but -it’s satin! Look at her hands—jet rings on them! May I never have luck -if they’re not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white -as a curdled milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one’s head! -Whoreson baggage, what hair she has! if it’s not a wig, I never saw -longer or fairer all the days of my life. See how bravely she bears -herself—and her shape! Wouldn’t you say she was like a walking palm -tree loaded with clusters of dates? for the trinkets she has hanging -from her hair and neck look just like them. I swear in my heart she is -a brave lass, and fit ‘to pass over the banks of Flanders.’” - -Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s boorish eulogies and thought that, -saving his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen a more beautiful -woman. The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat pale, which was, no doubt, -because of the bad night brides always pass dressing themselves out for -their wedding on the morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood -on one side of the meadow decked with carpets and boughs, where they -were to plight their troth, and from which they were to behold the -dances and plays; but at the moment of their arrival at the spot they -heard a loud outcry behind them, and a voice exclaiming, “Wait a -little, ye, as inconsiderate as ye are hasty!” At these words all -turned round, and perceived that the speaker was a man clad in what -seemed to be a loose black coat garnished with crimson patches like -flames. He was crowned (as was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy -cypress, and in his hand he held a long staff. As he approached he was -recognised by everyone as the gay Basilio, and all waited anxiously to -see what would come of his words, in dread of some catastrophe in -consequence of his appearance at such a moment. He came up at last -weary and breathless, and planting himself in front of the bridal pair, -drove his staff, which had a steel spike at the end, into the ground, -and, with a pale face and eyes fixed on Quiteria, he thus addressed her -in a hoarse, trembling voice: - -“Well dost thou know, ungrateful Quiteria, that according to the holy -law we acknowledge, so long as live thou canst take no husband; nor art -thou ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exertions -would improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe the respect -due to thy honour; but thou, casting behind thee all thou owest to my -true love, wouldst surrender what is mine to another whose wealth -serves to bring him not only good fortune but supreme happiness; and -now to complete it (not that I think he deserves it, but inasmuch as -heaven is pleased to bestow it upon him), I will, with my own hands, do -away with the obstacle that may interfere with it, and remove myself -from between you. Long live the rich Camacho! many a happy year may he -live with the ungrateful Quiteria! and let the poor Basilio die, -Basilio whose poverty clipped the wings of his happiness, and brought -him to the grave!” - -And so saying, he seized the staff he had driven into the ground, and -leaving one half of it fixed there, showed it to be a sheath that -concealed a tolerably long rapier; and, what may be called its hilt -being planted in the ground, he swiftly, coolly, and deliberately threw -himself upon it, and in an instant the bloody point and half the steel -blade appeared at his back, the unhappy man falling to the earth bathed -in his blood, and transfixed by his own weapon. - -His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his misery and -sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting from Rocinante, hastened to -support him, and took him in his arms, and found he had not yet ceased -to breathe. They were about to draw out the rapier, but the priest who -was standing by objected to its being withdrawn before he had confessed -him, as the instant of its withdrawal would be that of this death. -Basilio, however, reviving slightly, said in a weak voice, as though in -pain, “If thou wouldst consent, cruel Quiteria, to give me thy hand as -my bride in this last fatal moment, I might still hope that my rashness -would find pardon, as by its means I attained the bliss of being -thine.” - -Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his soul -rather than of the cravings of the body, and in all earnestness implore -God’s pardon for his sins and for his rash resolve; to which Basilio -replied that he was determined not to confess unless Quiteria first -gave him her hand in marriage, for that happiness would compose his -mind and give him courage to make his confession. - -Don Quixote hearing the wounded man’s entreaty, exclaimed aloud that -what Basilio asked was just and reasonable, and moreover a request that -might be easily complied with; and that it would be as much to Señor -Camacho’s honour to receive the lady Quiteria as the widow of the brave -Basilio as if he received her direct from her father. - -“In this case,” said he, “it will be only to say ‘yes,’ and no -consequences can follow the utterance of the word, for the nuptial -couch of this marriage must be the grave.” - -Camacho was listening to all this, perplexed and bewildered and not -knowing what to say or do; but so urgent were the entreaties of -Basilio’s friends, imploring him to allow Quiteria to give him her -hand, so that his soul, quitting this life in despair, should not be -lost, that they moved, nay, forced him, to say that if Quiteria were -willing to give it he was satisfied, as it was only putting off the -fulfillment of his wishes for a moment. At once all assailed Quiteria -and pressed her, some with prayers, and others with tears, and others -with persuasive arguments, to give her hand to poor Basilio; but she, -harder than marble and more unmoved than any statue, seemed unable or -unwilling to utter a word, nor would she have given any reply had not -the priest bade her decide quickly what she meant to do, as Basilio now -had his soul at his teeth, and there was no time for hesitation. - -On this the fair Quiteria, to all appearance distressed, grieved, and -repentant, advanced without a word to where Basilio lay, his eyes -already turned in his head, his breathing short and painful, murmuring -the name of Quiteria between his teeth, and apparently about to die -like a heathen and not like a Christian. Quiteria approached him, and -kneeling, demanded his hand by signs without speaking. Basilio opened -his eyes and gazing fixedly at her, said, “O Quiteria, why hast thou -turned compassionate at a moment when thy compassion will serve as a -dagger to rob me of life, for I have not now the strength left either -to bear the happiness thou givest me in accepting me as thine, or to -suppress the pain that is rapidly drawing the dread shadow of death -over my eyes? What I entreat of thee, O thou fatal star to me, is that -the hand thou demandest of me and wouldst give me, be not given out of -complaisance or to deceive me afresh, but that thou confess and declare -that without any constraint upon thy will thou givest it to me as to -thy lawful husband; for it is not meet that thou shouldst trifle with -me at such a moment as this, or have recourse to falsehoods with one -who has dealt so truly by thee.” - -While uttering these words he showed such weakness that the bystanders -expected each return of faintness would take his life with it. Then -Quiteria, overcome with modesty and shame, holding in her right hand -the hand of Basilio, said, “No force would bend my will; as freely, -therefore, as it is possible for me to do so, I give thee the hand of a -lawful wife, and take thine if thou givest it to me of thine own free -will, untroubled and unaffected by the calamity thy hasty act has -brought upon thee.” - -“Yes, I give it,” said Basilio, “not agitated or distracted, but with -unclouded reason that heaven is pleased to grant me, thus do I give -myself to be thy husband.” - -“And I give myself to be thy wife,” said Quiteria, “whether thou livest -many years, or they carry thee from my arms to the grave.” - -“For one so badly wounded,” observed Sancho at this point, “this young -man has a great deal to say; they should make him leave off billing and -cooing, and attend to his soul; for to my thinking he has it more on -his tongue than at his teeth.” - -Basilio and Quiteria having thus joined hands, the priest, deeply moved -and with tears in his eyes, pronounced the blessing upon them, and -implored heaven to grant an easy passage to the soul of the newly -wedded man, who, the instant he received the blessing, started nimbly -to his feet and with unparalleled effrontery pulled out the rapier that -had been sheathed in his body. All the bystanders were astounded, and -some, more simple than inquiring, began shouting, “A miracle, a -miracle!” But Basilio replied, “No miracle, no miracle; only a trick, a -trick!” The priest, perplexed and amazed, made haste to examine the -wound with both hands, and found that the blade had passed, not through -Basilio’s flesh and ribs, but through a hollow iron tube full of blood, -which he had adroitly fixed at the place, the blood, as was afterwards -ascertained, having been so prepared as not to congeal. In short, the -priest and Camacho and most of those present saw they were tricked and -made fools of. The bride showed no signs of displeasure at the -deception; on the contrary, hearing them say that the marriage, being -fraudulent, would not be valid, she said that she confirmed it afresh, -whence they all concluded that the affair had been planned by agreement -and understanding between the pair, whereat Camacho and his supporters -were so mortified that they proceeded to revenge themselves by -violence, and a great number of them drawing their swords attacked -Basilio, in whose protection as many more swords were in an instant -unsheathed, while Don Quixote taking the lead on horseback, with his -lance over his arm and well covered with his shield, made all give way -before him. Sancho, who never found any pleasure or enjoyment in such -doings, retreated to the wine-jars from which he had taken his -delectable skimmings, considering that, as a holy place, that spot -would be respected. - -“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Don Quixote in a loud voice; “we have no -right to take vengeance for wrongs that love may do to us: remember -love and war are the same thing, and as in war it is allowable and -common to make use of wiles and stratagems to overcome the enemy, so in -the contests and rivalries of love the tricks and devices employed to -attain the desired end are justifiable, provided they be not to the -discredit or dishonour of the loved object. Quiteria belonged to -Basilio and Basilio to Quiteria by the just and beneficent disposal of -heaven. Camacho is rich, and can purchase his pleasure when, where, and -as it pleases him. Basilio has but this ewe-lamb, and no one, however -powerful he may be, shall take her from him; these two whom God hath -joined man cannot separate; and he who attempts it must first pass the -point of this lance;” and so saying he brandished it so stoutly and -dexterously that he overawed all who did not know him. - -But so deep an impression had the rejection of Quiteria made on -Camacho’s mind that it banished her at once from his thoughts; and so -the counsels of the priest, who was a wise and kindly disposed man, -prevailed with him, and by their means he and his partisans were -pacified and tranquillised, and to prove it put up their swords again, -inveighing against the pliancy of Quiteria rather than the craftiness -of Basilio; Camacho maintaining that, if Quiteria as a maiden had such -a love for Basilio, she would have loved him too as a married woman, -and that he ought to thank heaven more for having taken her than for -having given her. - -Camacho and those of his following, therefore, being consoled and -pacified, those on Basilio’s side were appeased; and the rich Camacho, -to show that he felt no resentment for the trick, and did not care -about it, desired the festival to go on just as if he were married in -reality. Neither Basilio, however, nor his bride, nor their followers -would take any part in it, and they withdrew to Basilio’s village; for -the poor, if they are persons of virtue and good sense, have those who -follow, honour, and uphold them, just as the rich have those who -flatter and dance attendance on them. With them they carried Don -Quixote, regarding him as a man of worth and a stout one. Sancho alone -had a cloud on his soul, for he found himself debarred from waiting for -Camacho’s splendid feast and festival, which lasted until night; and -thus dragged away, he moodily followed his master, who accompanied -Basilio’s party, and left behind him the flesh-pots of Egypt; though in -his heart he took them with him, and their now nearly finished -skimmings that he carried in the bucket conjured up visions before his -eyes of the glory and abundance of the good cheer he was losing. And -so, vexed and dejected though not hungry, without dismounting from -Dapple he followed in the footsteps of Rocinante. - -CHAPTER XXII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE GRAND ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS IN THE -HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY -TERMINATION - -Many and great were the attentions shown to Don Quixote by the newly -married couple, who felt themselves under an obligation to him for -coming forward in defence of their cause; and they exalted his wisdom -to the same level with his courage, rating him as a Cid in arms, and a -Cicero in eloquence. Worthy Sancho enjoyed himself for three days at -the expense of the pair, from whom they learned that the sham wound was -not a scheme arranged with the fair Quiteria, but a device of -Basilio’s, who counted on exactly the result they had seen; he -confessed, it is true, that he had confided his idea to some of his -friends, so that at the proper time they might aid him in his purpose -and insure the success of the deception. - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “is not and ought not to be called deception -which aims at virtuous ends;” and the marriage of lovers he maintained -to be a most excellent end, reminding them, however, that love has no -greater enemy than hunger and constant want; for love is all gaiety, -enjoyment, and happiness, especially when the lover is in the -possession of the object of his love, and poverty and want are the -declared enemies of all these; which he said to urge Señor Basilio to -abandon the practice of those accomplishments he was skilled in, for -though they brought him fame, they brought him no money, and apply -himself to the acquisition of wealth by legitimate industry, which will -never fail those who are prudent and persevering. The poor man who is a -man of honour (if indeed a poor man can be a man of honour) has a jewel -when he has a fair wife, and if she is taken from him, his honour is -taken from him and slain. The fair woman who is a woman of honour, and -whose husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with the laurels and -crowns of victory and triumph. Beauty by itself attracts the desires of -all who behold it, and the royal eagles and birds of towering flight -stoop on it as on a dainty lure; but if beauty be accompanied by want -and penury, then the ravens and the kites and other birds of prey -assail it, and she who stands firm against such attacks well deserves -to be called the crown of her husband. “Remember, O prudent Basilio,” -added Don Quixote, “it was the opinion of a certain sage, I know not -whom, that there was not more than one good woman in the whole world; -and his advice was that each one should think and believe that this one -good woman was his own wife, and in this way he would live happy. I -myself am not married, nor, so far, has it ever entered my thoughts to -be so; nevertheless I would venture to give advice to anyone who might -ask it, as to the mode in which he should seek a wife such as he would -be content to marry. The first thing I would recommend him, would be to -look to good name rather than to wealth, for a good woman does not win -a good name merely by being good, but by letting it be seen that she is -so, and open looseness and freedom do much more damage to a woman’s -honour than secret depravity. If you take a good woman into your house -it will be an easy matter to keep her good, and even to make her still -better; but if you take a bad one you will find it hard work to mend -her, for it is no very easy matter to pass from one extreme to another. -I do not say it is impossible, but I look upon it as difficult.” - -Sancho, listening to all this, said to himself, “This master of mine, -when I say anything that has weight and substance, says I might take a -pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching fine sermons; but I -say of him that, when he begins stringing maxims together and giving -advice not only might he take a pulpit in hand, but two on each finger, -and go into the market-places to his heart’s content. Devil take you -for a knight-errant, what a lot of things you know! I used to think in -my heart that the only thing he knew was what belonged to his chivalry; -but there is nothing he won’t have a finger in.” - -Sancho muttered this somewhat aloud, and his master overheard him, and -asked, “What art thou muttering there, Sancho?” - -“I’m not saying anything or muttering anything,” said Sancho; “I was -only saying to myself that I wish I had heard what your worship has -said just now before I married; perhaps I’d say now, ‘The ox that’s -loose licks himself well.’” - -“Is thy Teresa so bad then, Sancho?” - -“She is not very bad,” replied Sancho; “but she is not very good; at -least she is not as good as I could wish.” - -“Thou dost wrong, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to speak ill of thy wife; -for after all she is the mother of thy children.” “We are quits,” -returned Sancho; “for she speaks ill of me whenever she takes it into -her head, especially when she is jealous; and Satan himself could not -put up with her then.” - -In fine, they remained three days with the newly married couple, by -whom they were entertained and treated like kings. Don Quixote begged -the fencing licentiate to find him a guide to show him the way to the -cave of Montesinos, as he had a great desire to enter it and see with -his own eyes if the wonderful tales that were told of it all over the -country were true. The licentiate said he would get him a cousin of his -own, a famous scholar, and one very much given to reading books of -chivalry, who would have great pleasure in conducting him to the mouth -of the very cave, and would show him the lakes of Ruidera, which were -likewise famous all over La Mancha, and even all over Spain; and he -assured him he would find him entertaining, for he was a youth who -could write books good enough to be printed and dedicated to princes. -The cousin arrived at last, leading an ass in foal, with a pack-saddle -covered with a parti-coloured carpet or sackcloth; Sancho saddled -Rocinante, got Dapple ready, and stocked his alforjas, along with which -went those of the cousin, likewise well filled; and so, commending -themselves to God and bidding farewell to all, they set out, taking the -road for the famous cave of Montesinos. - -On the way Don Quixote asked the cousin of what sort and character his -pursuits, avocations, and studies were, to which he replied that he was -by profession a humanist, and that his pursuits and studies were making -books for the press, all of great utility and no less entertainment to -the nation. One was called “The Book of Liveries,” in which he -described seven hundred and three liveries, with their colours, -mottoes, and ciphers, from which gentlemen of the court might pick and -choose any they fancied for festivals and revels, without having to go -a-begging for them from anyone, or puzzling their brains, as the saying -is, to have them appropriate to their objects and purposes; “for,” said -he, “I give the jealous, the rejected, the forgotten, the absent, what -will suit them, and fit them without fail. I have another book, too, -which I shall call ‘Metamorphoses, or the Spanish Ovid,’ one of rare -and original invention, for imitating Ovid in burlesque style, I show -in it who the Giralda of Seville and the Angel of the Magdalena were, -what the sewer of Vecinguerra at Cordova was, what the bulls of -Guisando, the Sierra Morena, the Leganitos and Lavapies fountains at -Madrid, not forgetting those of the Piojo, of the Cano Dorado, and of -the Priora; and all with their allegories, metaphors, and changes, so -that they are amusing, interesting, and instructive, all at once. -Another book I have which I call ‘The Supplement to Polydore Vergil,’ -which treats of the invention of things, and is a work of great -erudition and research, for I establish and elucidate elegantly some -things of great importance which Polydore omitted to mention. He forgot -to tell us who was the first man in the world that had a cold in his -head, and who was the first to try salivation for the French disease, -but I give it accurately set forth, and quote more than five-and-twenty -authors in proof of it, so you may perceive I have laboured to good -purpose and that the book will be of service to the whole world.” - -Sancho, who had been very attentive to the cousin’s words, said to him, -“Tell me, señor—and God give you luck in printing your books—can you -tell me (for of course you know, as you know everything) who was the -first man that scratched his head? For to my thinking it must have been -our father Adam.” - -“So it must,” replied the cousin; “for there is no doubt but Adam had a -head and hair; and being the first man in the world he would have -scratched himself sometimes.” - -“So I think,” said Sancho; “but now tell me, who was the first tumbler -in the world?” - -“Really, brother,” answered the cousin, “I could not at this moment say -positively without having investigated it; I will look it up when I go -back to where I have my books, and will satisfy you the next time we -meet, for this will not be the last time.” - -“Look here, señor,” said Sancho, “don’t give yourself any trouble about -it, for I have just this minute hit upon what I asked you. The first -tumbler in the world, you must know, was Lucifer, when they cast or -pitched him out of heaven; for he came tumbling into the bottomless -pit.” - -“You are right, friend,” said the cousin; and said Don Quixote, -“Sancho, that question and answer are not thine own; thou hast heard -them from someone else.” - -“Hold your peace, señor,” said Sancho; “faith, if I take to asking -questions and answering, I’ll go on from this till to-morrow morning. -Nay! to ask foolish things and answer nonsense I needn’t go looking for -help from my neighbours.” - -“Thou hast said more than thou art aware of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; -“for there are some who weary themselves out in learning and proving -things that, after they are known and proved, are not worth a farthing -to the understanding or memory.” - -In this and other pleasant conversation the day went by, and that night -they put up at a small hamlet whence it was not more than two leagues -to the cave of Montesinos, so the cousin told Don Quixote, adding, that -if he was bent upon entering it, it would be requisite for him to -provide himself with ropes, so that he might be tied and lowered into -its depths. Don Quixote said that even if it reached to the bottomless -pit he meant to see where it went to; so they bought about a hundred -fathoms of rope, and next day at two in the afternoon they arrived at -the cave, the mouth of which is spacious and wide, but full of thorn -and wild-fig bushes and brambles and briars, so thick and matted that -they completely close it up and cover it over. - -On coming within sight of it the cousin, Sancho, and Don Quixote -dismounted, and the first two immediately tied the latter very firmly -with the ropes, and as they were girding and swathing him Sancho said -to him, “Mind what you are about, master mine; don’t go burying -yourself alive, or putting yourself where you’ll be like a bottle put -to cool in a well; it’s no affair or business of your worship’s to -become the explorer of this, which must be worse than a Moorish -dungeon.” - -“Tie me and hold thy peace,” said Don Quixote, “for an emprise like -this, friend Sancho, was reserved for me;” and said the guide, “I beg -of you, Señor Don Quixote, to observe carefully and examine with a -hundred eyes everything that is within there; perhaps there may be some -things for me to put into my book of ‘Transformations.’” - -“The drum is in hands that will know how to beat it well enough,” said -Sancho Panza. - -When he had said this and finished the tying (which was not over the -armour but only over the doublet) Don Quixote observed, “It was -careless of us not to have provided ourselves with a small cattle-bell -to be tied on the rope close to me, the sound of which would show that -I was still descending and alive; but as that is out of the question -now, in God’s hand be it to guide me;” and forthwith he fell on his -knees and in a low voice offered up a prayer to heaven, imploring God -to aid him and grant him success in this to all appearance perilous and -untried adventure, and then exclaimed aloud, “O mistress of my actions -and movements, illustrious and peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, if so be -the prayers and supplications of this fortunate lover can reach thy -ears, by thy incomparable beauty I entreat thee to listen to them, for -they but ask thee not to refuse me thy favour and protection now that I -stand in such need of them. I am about to precipitate, to sink, to -plunge myself into the abyss that is here before me, only to let the -world know that while thou dost favour me there is no impossibility I -will not attempt and accomplish.” With these words he approached the -cavern, and perceived that it was impossible to let himself down or -effect an entrance except by sheer force or cleaving a passage; so -drawing his sword he began to demolish and cut away the brambles at the -mouth of the cave, at the noise of which a vast multitude of crows and -choughs flew out of it so thick and so fast that they knocked Don -Quixote down; and if he had been as much of a believer in augury as he -was a Catholic Christian he would have taken it as a bad omen and -declined to bury himself in such a place. He got up, however, and as -there came no more crows, or night-birds like the bats that flew out at -the same time with the crows, the cousin and Sancho giving him rope, he -lowered himself into the depths of the dread cavern; and as he entered -it Sancho sent his blessing after him, making a thousand crosses over -him and saying, “God, and the Peña de Francia, and the Trinity of Gaeta -guide thee, flower and cream of knights-errant. There thou goest, thou -dare-devil of the earth, heart of steel, arm of brass; once more, God -guide thee and send thee back safe, sound, and unhurt to the light of -this world thou art leaving to bury thyself in the darkness thou art -seeking there;” and the cousin offered up almost the same prayers and -supplications. - -Don Quixote kept calling to them to give him rope and more rope, and -they gave it out little by little, and by the time the calls, which -came out of the cave as out of a pipe, ceased to be heard they had let -down the hundred fathoms of rope. They were inclined to pull Don -Quixote up again, as they could give him no more rope; however, they -waited about half an hour, at the end of which time they began to -gather in the rope again with great ease and without feeling any -weight, which made them fancy Don Quixote was remaining below; and -persuaded that it was so, Sancho wept bitterly, and hauled away in -great haste in order to settle the question. When, however, they had -come to, as it seemed, rather more than eighty fathoms they felt a -weight, at which they were greatly delighted; and at last, at ten -fathoms more, they saw Don Quixote distinctly, and Sancho called out to -him, saying, “Welcome back, señor, for we had begun to think you were -going to stop there to found a family.” But Don Quixote answered not a -word, and drawing him out entirely they perceived he had his eyes shut -and every appearance of being fast asleep. - -They stretched him on the ground and untied him, but still he did not -awake; however, they rolled him back and forwards and shook and pulled -him about, so that after some time he came to himself, stretching -himself just as if he were waking up from a deep and sound sleep, and -looking about him he said, “God forgive you, friends; ye have taken me -away from the sweetest and most delightful existence and spectacle that -ever human being enjoyed or beheld. Now indeed do I know that all the -pleasures of this life pass away like a shadow and a dream, or fade -like the flower of the field. O ill-fated Montesinos! O sore-wounded -Durandarte! O unhappy Belerma! O tearful Guadiana, and ye O hapless -daughters of Ruidera who show in your waves the tears that flowed from -your beauteous eyes!” - -The cousin and Sancho Panza listened with deep attention to the words -of Don Quixote, who uttered them as though with immense pain he drew -them up from his very bowels. They begged of him to explain himself, -and tell them what he had seen in that hell down there. - -“Hell do you call it?” said Don Quixote; “call it by no such name, for -it does not deserve it, as ye shall soon see.” - -He then begged them to give him something to eat, as he was very -hungry. They spread the cousin’s sackcloth on the grass, and put the -stores of the alforjas into requisition, and all three sitting down -lovingly and sociably, they made a luncheon and a supper of it all in -one; and when the sackcloth was removed, Don Quixote of La Mancha said, -“Let no one rise, and attend to me, my sons, both of you.” - -CHAPTER XXIII. -OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THE INCOMPARABLE DON QUIXOTE SAID HE SAW IN THE -PROFOUND CAVE OF MONTESINOS, THE IMPOSSIBILITY AND MAGNITUDE OF WHICH -CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE DEEMED APOCRYPHAL - -It was about four in the afternoon when the sun, veiled in clouds, with -subdued light and tempered beams, enabled Don Quixote to relate, -without heat or inconvenience, what he had seen in the cave of -Montesinos to his two illustrious hearers, and he began as follows: - -“A matter of some twelve or fourteen times a man’s height down in this -pit, on the right-hand side, there is a recess or space, roomy enough -to contain a large cart with its mules. A little light reaches it -through some chinks or crevices, communicating with it and open to the -surface of the earth. This recess or space I perceived when I was -already growing weary and disgusted at finding myself hanging suspended -by the rope, travelling downwards into that dark region without any -certainty or knowledge of where I was going, so I resolved to enter it -and rest myself for a while. I called out, telling you not to let out -more rope until I bade you, but you cannot have heard me. I then -gathered in the rope you were sending me, and making a coil or pile of -it I seated myself upon it, ruminating and considering what I was to do -to lower myself to the bottom, having no one to hold me up; and as I -was thus deep in thought and perplexity, suddenly and without -provocation a profound sleep fell upon me, and when I least expected -it, I know not how, I awoke and found myself in the midst of the most -beautiful, delightful meadow that nature could produce or the most -lively human imagination conceive. I opened my eyes, I rubbed them, and -found I was not asleep but thoroughly awake. Nevertheless, I felt my -head and breast to satisfy myself whether it was I myself who was there -or some empty delusive phantom; but touch, feeling, the collected -thoughts that passed through my mind, all convinced me that I was the -same then and there that I am this moment. Next there presented itself -to my sight a stately royal palace or castle, with walls that seemed -built of clear transparent crystal; and through two great doors that -opened wide therein, I saw coming forth and advancing towards me a -venerable old man, clad in a long gown of mulberry-coloured serge that -trailed upon the ground. On his shoulders and breast he had a green -satin collegiate hood, and covering his head a black Milanese bonnet, -and his snow-white beard fell below his girdle. He carried no arms -whatever, nothing but a rosary of beads bigger than fair-sized -filberts, each tenth bead being like a moderate ostrich egg; his -bearing, his gait, his dignity and imposing presence held me spellbound -and wondering. He approached me, and the first thing he did was to -embrace me closely, and then he said to me, ‘For a long time now, O -valiant knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, we who are here enchanted in -these solitudes have been hoping to see thee, that thou mayest make -known to the world what is shut up and concealed in this deep cave, -called the cave of Montesinos, which thou hast entered, an achievement -reserved for thy invincible heart and stupendous courage alone to -attempt. Come with me, illustrious sir, and I will show thee the -marvels hidden within this transparent castle, whereof I am the alcaide -and perpetual warden; for I am Montesinos himself, from whom the cave -takes its name.’ - -“The instant he told me he was Montesinos, I asked him if the story -they told in the world above here was true, that he had taken out the -heart of his great friend Durandarte from his breast with a little -dagger, and carried it to the lady Belerma, as his friend when at the -point of death had commanded him. He said in reply that they spoke the -truth in every respect except as to the dagger, for it was not a -dagger, nor little, but a burnished poniard sharper than an awl.” - -“That poniard must have been made by Ramon de Hoces the Sevillian,” -said Sancho. - -“I do not know,” said Don Quixote; “it could not have been by that -poniard maker, however, because Ramon de Hoces was a man of yesterday, -and the affair of Roncesvalles, where this mishap occurred, was long -ago; but the question is of no great importance, nor does it affect or -make any alteration in the truth or substance of the story.” - -“That is true,” said the cousin; “continue, Señor Don Quixote, for I am -listening to you with the greatest pleasure in the world.” - -“And with no less do I tell the tale,” said Don Quixote; “and so, to -proceed—the venerable Montesinos led me into the palace of crystal, -where, in a lower chamber, strangely cool and entirely of alabaster, -was an elaborately wrought marble tomb, upon which I beheld, stretched -at full length, a knight, not of bronze, or marble, or jasper, as are -seen on other tombs, but of actual flesh and bone. His right hand -(which seemed to me somewhat hairy and sinewy, a sign of great strength -in its owner) lay on the side of his heart; but before I could put any -question to Montesinos, he, seeing me gazing at the tomb in amazement, -said to me, ‘This is my friend Durandarte, flower and mirror of the -true lovers and valiant knights of his time. He is held enchanted here, -as I myself and many others are, by that French enchanter Merlin, who, -they say, was the devil’s son; but my belief is, not that he was the -devil’s son, but that he knew, as the saying is, a point more than the -devil. How or why he enchanted us, no one knows, but time will tell, -and I suspect that time is not far off. What I marvel at is, that I -know it to be as sure as that it is now day, that Durandarte ended his -life in my arms, and that, after his death, I took out his heart with -my own hands; and indeed it must have weighed more than two pounds, -for, according to naturalists, he who has a large heart is more largely -endowed with valour than he who has a small one. Then, as this is the -case, and as the knight did really die, how comes it that he now moans -and sighs from time to time, as if he were still alive?’ - -“As he said this, the wretched Durandarte cried out in a loud voice: - -O cousin Montesinos! -’Twas my last request of thee, -When my soul hath left the body, -And that lying dead I be, -With thy poniard or thy dagger -Cut the heart from out my breast, -And bear it to Belerma. -This was my last request.” - -“On hearing which, the venerable Montesinos fell on his knees before -the unhappy knight, and with tearful eyes exclaimed, ‘Long since, Señor -Durandarte, my beloved cousin, long since have I done what you bade me -on that sad day when I lost you; I took out your heart as well as I -could, not leaving an atom of it in your breast, I wiped it with a lace -handkerchief, and I took the road to France with it, having first laid -you in the bosom of the earth with tears enough to wash and cleanse my -hands of the blood that covered them after wandering among your bowels; -and more by token, O cousin of my soul, at the first village I came to -after leaving Roncesvalles, I sprinkled a little salt upon your heart -to keep it sweet, and bring it, if not fresh, at least pickled, into -the presence of the lady Belerma, whom, together with you, myself, -Guadiana your squire, the duenna Ruidera and her seven daughters and -two nieces, and many more of your friends and acquaintances, the sage -Merlin has been keeping enchanted here these many years; and although -more than five hundred have gone by, not one of us has died; Ruidera -and her daughters and nieces alone are missing, and these, because of -the tears they shed, Merlin, out of the compassion he seems to have -felt for them, changed into so many lakes, which to this day in the -world of the living, and in the province of La Mancha, are called the -Lakes of Ruidera. The seven daughters belong to the kings of Spain and -the two nieces to the knights of a very holy order called the Order of -St. John. Guadiana your squire, likewise bewailing your fate, was -changed into a river of his own name, but when he came to the surface -and beheld the sun of another heaven, so great was his grief at finding -he was leaving you, that he plunged into the bowels of the earth; -however, as he cannot help following his natural course, he from time -to time comes forth and shows himself to the sun and the world. The -lakes aforesaid send him their waters, and with these, and others that -come to him, he makes a grand and imposing entrance into Portugal; but -for all that, go where he may, he shows his melancholy and sadness, and -takes no pride in breeding dainty choice fish, only coarse and -tasteless sorts, very different from those of the golden Tagus. All -this that I tell you now, O cousin mine, I have told you many times -before, and as you make no answer, I fear that either you believe me -not, or do not hear me, whereat I feel God knows what grief. I have now -news to give you, which, if it serves not to alleviate your sufferings, -will not in any wise increase them. Know that you have here before you -(open your eyes and you will see) that great knight of whom the sage -Merlin has prophesied such great things; that Don Quixote of La Mancha -I mean, who has again, and to better purpose than in past times, -revived in these days knight-errantry, long since forgotten, and by -whose intervention and aid it may be we shall be disenchanted; for -great deeds are reserved for great men.’ - -“‘And if that may not be,’ said the wretched Durandarte in a low and -feeble voice, ‘if that may not be, then, my cousin, I say “patience and -shuffle;”’ and turning over on his side, he relapsed into his former -silence without uttering another word. - -“And now there was heard a great outcry and lamentation, accompanied by -deep sighs and bitter sobs. I looked round, and through the crystal -wall I saw passing through another chamber a procession of two lines of -fair damsels all clad in mourning, and with white turbans of Turkish -fashion on their heads. Behind, in the rear of these, there came a -lady, for so from her dignity she seemed to be, also clad in black, -with a white veil so long and ample that it swept the ground. Her -turban was twice as large as the largest of any of the others; her -eyebrows met, her nose was rather flat, her mouth was large but with -ruddy lips, and her teeth, of which at times she allowed a glimpse, -were seen to be sparse and ill-set, though as white as peeled almonds. -She carried in her hands a fine cloth, and in it, as well as I could -make out, a heart that had been mummied, so parched and dried was it. -Montesinos told me that all those forming the procession were the -attendants of Durandarte and Belerma, who were enchanted there with -their master and mistress, and that the last, she who carried the heart -in the cloth, was the lady Belerma, who, with her damsels, four days in -the week went in procession singing, or rather weeping, dirges over the -body and miserable heart of his cousin; and that if she appeared to me -somewhat ill-favoured or not so beautiful as fame reported her, it was -because of the bad nights and worse days that she passed in that -enchantment, as I could see by the great dark circles round her eyes, -and her sickly complexion; ‘her sallowness, and the rings round her -eyes,’ said he, ‘are not caused by the periodical ailment usual with -women, for it is many months and even years since she has had any, but -by the grief her own heart suffers because of that which she holds in -her hand perpetually, and which recalls and brings back to her memory -the sad fate of her lost lover; were it not for this, hardly would the -great Dulcinea del Toboso, so celebrated in all these parts, and even -in the world, come up to her for beauty, grace, and gaiety.’ - -“‘Hold hard!’ said I at this, ‘tell your story as you ought, Señor Don -Montesinos, for you know very well that all comparisons are odious, and -there is no occasion to compare one person with another; the peerless -Dulcinea del Toboso is what she is, and the lady Doña Belerma is what -_she_ is and has been, and that’s enough.’ To which he made answer, -‘Forgive me, Señor Don Quixote; I own I was wrong and spoke unadvisedly -in saying that the lady Dulcinea could scarcely come up to the lady -Belerma; for it were enough for me to have learned, by what means I -know not, that you are her knight, to make me bite my tongue out before -I compared her to anything save heaven itself.’ After this apology -which the great Montesinos made me, my heart recovered itself from the -shock I had received in hearing my lady compared with Belerma.” - -“Still I wonder,” said Sancho, “that your worship did not get upon the -old fellow and bruise every bone of him with kicks, and pluck his beard -until you didn’t leave a hair in it.” - -“Nay, Sancho, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “it would not have been -right in me to do that, for we are all bound to pay respect to the -aged, even though they be not knights, but especially to those who are, -and who are enchanted; I only know I gave him as good as he brought in -the many other questions and answers we exchanged.” - -“I cannot understand, Señor Don Quixote,” remarked the cousin here, -“how it is that your worship, in such a short space of time as you have -been below there, could have seen so many things, and said and answered -so much.” - -“How long is it since I went down?” asked Don Quixote. - -“Little better than an hour,” replied Sancho. - -“That cannot be,” returned Don Quixote, “because night overtook me -while I was there, and day came, and it was night again and day again -three times; so that, by my reckoning, I have been three days in those -remote regions beyond our ken.” - -“My master must be right,” replied Sancho; “for as everything that has -happened to him is by enchantment, maybe what seems to us an hour would -seem three days and nights there.” - -“That’s it,” said Don Quixote. - -“And did your worship eat anything all that time, señor?” asked the -cousin. - -“I never touched a morsel,” answered Don Quixote, “nor did I feel -hunger, or think of it.” - -“And do the enchanted eat?” said the cousin. - -“They neither eat,” said Don Quixote; “nor are they subject to the -greater excrements, though it is thought that their nails, beards, and -hair grow.” - -“And do the enchanted sleep, now, señor?” asked Sancho. - -“Certainly not,” replied Don Quixote; “at least, during those three -days I was with them not one of them closed an eye, nor did I either.” - -“The proverb, ‘Tell me what company thou keepest and I’ll tell thee -what thou art,’ is to the point here,” said Sancho; “your worship keeps -company with enchanted people that are always fasting and watching; -what wonder is it, then, that you neither eat nor sleep while you are -with them? But forgive me, señor, if I say that of all this you have -told us now, may God take me—I was just going to say the devil—if I -believe a single particle.” - -“What!” said the cousin, “has Señor Don Quixote, then, been lying? Why, -even if he wished it he has not had time to imagine and put together -such a host of lies.” - -“I don’t believe my master lies,” said Sancho. - -“If not, what dost thou believe?” asked Don Quixote. - -“I believe,” replied Sancho, “that this Merlin, or those enchanters who -enchanted the whole crew your worship says you saw and discoursed with -down there, stuffed your imagination or your mind with all this -rigmarole you have been treating us to, and all that is still to come.” - -“All that might be, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but it is not so, -for everything that I have told you I saw with my own eyes, and touched -with my own hands. But what will you say when I tell you now how, among -the countless other marvellous things Montesinos showed me (of which at -leisure and at the proper time I will give thee an account in the -course of our journey, for they would not be all in place here), he -showed me three country girls who went skipping and capering like goats -over the pleasant fields there, and the instant I beheld them I knew -one to be the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, and the other two those -same country girls that were with her and that we spoke to on the road -from El Toboso! I asked Montesinos if he knew them, and he told me he -did not, but he thought they must be some enchanted ladies of -distinction, for it was only a few days before that they had made their -appearance in those meadows; but I was not to be surprised at that, -because there were a great many other ladies there of times past and -present, enchanted in various strange shapes, and among them he had -recognised Queen Guinevere and her dame Quintañona, she who poured out -the wine for Lancelot when he came from Britain.” - -When Sancho Panza heard his master say this he was ready to take leave -of his senses, or die with laughter; for, as he knew the real truth -about the pretended enchantment of Dulcinea, in which he himself had -been the enchanter and concocter of all the evidence, he made up his -mind at last that, beyond all doubt, his master was out of his wits and -stark mad, so he said to him, “It was an evil hour, a worse season, and -a sorrowful day, when your worship, dear master mine, went down to the -other world, and an unlucky moment when you met with Señor Montesinos, -who has sent you back to us like this. You were well enough here above -in your full senses, such as God had given you, delivering maxims and -giving advice at every turn, and not as you are now, talking the -greatest nonsense that can be imagined.” - -“As I know thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I heed not thy words.” - -“Nor I your worship’s,” said Sancho, “whether you beat me or kill me -for those I have spoken, and will speak if you don’t correct and mend -your own. But tell me, while we are still at peace, how or by what did -you recognise the lady our mistress; and if you spoke to her, what did -you say, and what did she answer?” - -“I recognised her,” said Don Quixote, “by her wearing the same garments -she wore when thou didst point her out to me. I spoke to her, but she -did not utter a word in reply; on the contrary, she turned her back on -me and took to flight, at such a pace that crossbow bolt could not have -overtaken her. I wished to follow her, and would have done so had not -Montesinos recommended me not to take the trouble as it would be -useless, particularly as the time was drawing near when it would be -necessary for me to quit the cavern. He told me, moreover, that in -course of time he would let me know how he and Belerma, and Durandarte, -and all who were there, were to be disenchanted. But of all I saw and -observed down there, what gave me most pain was, that while Montesinos -was speaking to me, one of the two companions of the hapless Dulcinea -approached me on one without my having seen her coming, and with tears -in her eyes said to me, in a low, agitated voice, ‘My lady Dulcinea del -Toboso kisses your worship’s hands, and entreats you to do her the -favour of letting her know how you are; and, being in great need, she -also entreats your worship as earnestly as she can to be so good as to -lend her half a dozen reals, or as much as you may have about you, on -this new dimity petticoat that I have here; and she promises to repay -them very speedily.’ I was amazed and taken aback by such a message, -and turning to Señor Montesinos I asked him, ‘Is it possible, Señor -Montesinos, that persons of distinction under enchantment can be in -need?’ To which he replied, ‘Believe me, Señor Don Quixote, that which -is called need is to be met with everywhere, and penetrates all -quarters and reaches everyone, and does not spare even the enchanted; -and as the lady Dulcinea del Toboso sends to beg those six reals, and -the pledge is to all appearance a good one, there is nothing for it but -to give them to her, for no doubt she must be in some great strait.’ ‘I -will take no pledge of her,’ I replied, ‘nor yet can I give her what -she asks, for all I have is four reals; which I gave (they were those -which thou, Sancho, gavest me the other day to bestow in alms upon the -poor I met along the road), and I said, ‘Tell your mistress, my dear, -that I am grieved to the heart because of her distresses, and wish I -was a Fucar to remedy them, and that I would have her know that I -cannot be, and ought not be, in health while deprived of the happiness -of seeing her and enjoying her discreet conversation, and that I -implore her as earnestly as I can, to allow herself to be seen and -addressed by this her captive servant and forlorn knight. Tell her, -too, that when she least expects it she will hear it announced that I -have made an oath and vow after the fashion of that which the Marquis -of Mantua made to avenge his nephew Baldwin, when he found him at the -point of death in the heart of the mountains, which was, not to eat -bread off a tablecloth, and other trifling matters which he added, -until he had avenged him; and I will make the same to take no rest, and -to roam the seven regions of the earth more thoroughly than the Infante -Don Pedro of Portugal ever roamed them, until I have disenchanted her.’ -‘All that and more, you owe my lady,’ the damsel’s answer to me, and -taking the four reals, instead of making me a curtsey she cut a caper, -springing two full yards into the air.” - -“O blessed God!” exclaimed Sancho aloud at this, “is it possible that -such things can be in the world, and that enchanters and enchantments -can have such power in it as to have changed my master’s right senses -into a craze so full of absurdity! O señor, señor, for God’s sake, -consider yourself, have a care for your honour, and give no credit to -this silly stuff that has left you scant and short of wits.” - -“Thou talkest in this way because thou lovest me, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “and not being experienced in the things of the world, -everything that has some difficulty about it seems to thee impossible; -but time will pass, as I said before, and I will tell thee some of the -things I saw down there which will make thee believe what I have -related now, the truth of which admits of neither reply nor question.” - -CHAPTER XXIV. -WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS THEY ARE -NECESSARY TO THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF THIS GREAT HISTORY - -He who translated this great history from the original written by its -first author, Cide Hamete Benengeli, says that on coming to the chapter -giving the adventures of the cave of Montesinos he found written on the -margin of it, in Hamete’s own hand, these exact words: - -“I cannot convince or persuade myself that everything that is written -in the preceding chapter could have precisely happened to the valiant -Don Quixote; and for this reason, that all the adventures that have -occurred up to the present have been possible and probable; but as for -this one of the cave, I see no way of accepting it as true, as it -passes all reasonable bounds. For me to believe that Don Quixote could -lie, he being the most truthful gentleman and the noblest knight of his -time, is impossible; he would not have told a lie though he were shot -to death with arrows. On the other hand, I reflect that he related and -told the story with all the circumstances detailed, and that he could -not in so short a space have fabricated such a vast complication of -absurdities; if, then, this adventure seems apocryphal, it is no fault -of mine; and so, without affirming its falsehood or its truth, I write -it down. Decide for thyself in thy wisdom, reader; for I am not bound, -nor is it in my power, to do more; though certain it is they say that -at the time of his death he retracted, and said he had invented it, -thinking it matched and tallied with the adventures he had read of in -his histories.” And then he goes on to say: - -The cousin was amazed as well at Sancho’s boldness as at the patience -of his master, and concluded that the good temper the latter displayed -arose from the happiness he felt at having seen his lady Dulcinea, even -enchanted as she was; because otherwise the words and language Sancho -had addressed to him deserved a thrashing; for indeed he seemed to him -to have been rather impudent to his master, to whom he now observed, -“I, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, look upon the time I have spent in -travelling with your worship as very well employed, for I have gained -four things in the course of it; the first is that I have made your -acquaintance, which I consider great good fortune; the second, that I -have learned what the cave of Montesinos contains, together with the -transformations of Guadiana and of the lakes of Ruidera; which will be -of use to me for the Spanish Ovid that I have in hand; the third, to -have discovered the antiquity of cards, that they were in use at least -in the time of Charlemagne, as may be inferred from the words you say -Durandarte uttered when, at the end of that long spell while Montesinos -was talking to him, he woke up and said, ‘Patience and shuffle.’ This -phrase and expression he could not have learned while he was enchanted, -but only before he had become so, in France, and in the time of the -aforesaid emperor Charlemagne. And this demonstration is just the thing -for me for that other book I am writing, the ‘Supplement to Polydore -Vergil on the Invention of Antiquities;’ for I believe he never thought -of inserting that of cards in his book, as I mean to do in mine, and it -will be a matter of great importance, particularly when I can cite so -grave and veracious an authority as Señor Durandarte. And the fourth -thing is, that I have ascertained the source of the river Guadiana, -heretofore unknown to mankind.” - -“You are right,” said Don Quixote; “but I should like to know, if by -God’s favour they grant you a licence to print those books of -yours—which I doubt—to whom do you mean to dedicate them?” - -“There are lords and grandees in Spain to whom they can be dedicated,” -said the cousin. - -“Not many,” said Don Quixote; “not that they are unworthy of it, but -because they do not care to accept books and incur the obligation of -making the return that seems due to the author’s labour and courtesy. -One prince I know who makes up for all the rest, and more—how much -more, if I ventured to say, perhaps I should stir up envy in many a -noble breast; but let this stand over for some more convenient time, -and let us go and look for some place to shelter ourselves in -to-night.” - -“Not far from this,” said the cousin, “there is a hermitage, where -there lives a hermit, who they say was a soldier, and who has the -reputation of being a good Christian and a very intelligent and -charitable man. Close to the hermitage he has a small house which he -built at his own cost, but though small it is large enough for the -reception of guests.” - -“Has this hermit any hens, do you think?” asked Sancho. - -“Few hermits are without them,” said Don Quixote; “for those we see -now-a-days are not like the hermits of the Egyptian deserts who were -clad in palm-leaves, and lived on the roots of the earth. But do not -think that by praising these I am disparaging the others; all I mean to -say is that the penances of those of the present day do not come up to -the asceticism and austerity of former times; but it does not follow -from this that they are not all worthy; at least I think them so; and -at the worst the hypocrite who pretends to be good does less harm than -the open sinner.” - -At this point they saw approaching the spot where they stood a man on -foot, proceeding at a rapid pace, and beating a mule loaded with lances -and halberds. When he came up to them, he saluted them and passed on -without stopping. Don Quixote called to him, “Stay, good fellow; you -seem to be making more haste than suits that mule.” - -“I cannot stop, señor,” answered the man; “for the arms you see I carry -here are to be used to-morrow, so I must not delay; God be with you. -But if you want to know what I am carrying them for, I mean to lodge -to-night at the inn that is beyond the hermitage, and if you be going -the same road you will find me there, and I will tell you some curious -things; once more God be with you;” and he urged on his mule at such a -pace that Don Quixote had no time to ask him what these curious things -were that he meant to tell them; and as he was somewhat inquisitive, -and always tortured by his anxiety to learn something new, he decided -to set out at once, and go and pass the night at the inn instead of -stopping at the hermitage, where the cousin would have had them halt. -Accordingly they mounted and all three took the direct road for the -inn, which they reached a little before nightfall. On the road the -cousin proposed they should go up to the hermitage to drink a sup. The -instant Sancho heard this he steered his Dapple towards it, and Don -Quixote and the cousin did the same; but it seems Sancho’s bad luck so -ordered it that the hermit was not at home, for so a sub-hermit they -found in the hermitage told them. They called for some of the best. She -replied that her master had none, but that if they liked cheap water -she would give it with great pleasure. - -“If I found any in water,” said Sancho, “there are wells along the road -where I could have had enough of it. Ah, Camacho’s wedding, and -plentiful house of Don Diego, how often do I miss you!” - -Leaving the hermitage, they pushed on towards the inn, and a little -farther they came upon a youth who was pacing along in front of them at -no great speed, so that they overtook him. He carried a sword over his -shoulder, and slung on it a budget or bundle of his clothes apparently, -probably his breeches or pantaloons, and his cloak and a shirt or two; -for he had on a short jacket of velvet with a gloss like satin on it in -places, and had his shirt out; his stockings were of silk, and his -shoes square-toed as they wear them at court. His age might have been -eighteen or nineteen; he was of a merry countenance, and to all -appearance of an active habit, and he went along singing seguidillas to -beguile the wearisomeness of the road. As they came up with him he was -just finishing one, which the cousin got by heart and they say ran -thus— - -I’m off to the wars -For the want of pence, -Oh, had I but money -I’d show more sense. - -The first to address him was Don Quixote, who said, “You travel very -airily, sir gallant; whither bound, may we ask, if it is your pleasure -to tell us?” - -To which the youth replied, “The heat and my poverty are the reason of -my travelling so airily, and it is to the wars that I am bound.” - -“How poverty?” asked Don Quixote; “the heat one can understand.” - -“Señor,” replied the youth, “in this bundle I carry velvet pantaloons -to match this jacket; if I wear them out on the road, I shall not be -able to make a decent appearance in them in the city, and I have not -the wherewithal to buy others; and so for this reason, as well as to -keep myself cool, I am making my way in this fashion to overtake some -companies of infantry that are not twelve leagues off, in which I shall -enlist, and there will be no want of baggage trains to travel with -after that to the place of embarkation, which they say will be -Carthagena; I would rather have the King for a master, and serve him in -the wars, than serve a court pauper.” - -“And did you get any bounty, now?” asked the cousin. - -“If I had been in the service of some grandee of Spain or personage of -distinction,” replied the youth, “I should have been safe to get it; -for that is the advantage of serving good masters, that out of the -servants’ hall men come to be ancients or captains, or get a good -pension. But I, to my misfortune, always served place-hunters and -adventurers, whose keep and wages were so miserable and scanty that -half went in paying for the starching of one’s collars; it would be a -miracle indeed if a page volunteer ever got anything like a reasonable -bounty.” - -“And tell me, for heaven’s sake,” asked Don Quixote, “is it possible, -my friend, that all the time you served you never got any livery?” - -“They gave me two,” replied the page; “but just as when one quits a -religious community before making profession, they strip him of the -dress of the order and give him back his own clothes, so did my masters -return me mine; for as soon as the business on which they came to court -was finished, they went home and took back the liveries they had given -merely for show.” - -“What spilorceria!—as an Italian would say,” said Don Quixote; “but for -all that, consider yourself happy in having left court with as worthy -an object as you have, for there is nothing on earth more honourable or -profitable than serving, first of all God, and then one’s king and -natural lord, particularly in the profession of arms, by which, if not -more wealth, at least more honour is to be won than by letters, as I -have said many a time; for though letters may have founded more great -houses than arms, still those founded by arms have I know not what -superiority over those founded by letters, and a certain splendour -belonging to them that distinguishes them above all. And bear in mind -what I am now about to say to you, for it will be of great use and -comfort to you in time of trouble; it is, not to let your mind dwell on -the adverse chances that may befall you; for the worst of all is death, -and if it be a good death, the best of all is to die. They asked Julius -Cæsar, the valiant Roman emperor, what was the best death. He answered, -that which is unexpected, which comes suddenly and unforeseen; and -though he answered like a pagan, and one without the knowledge of the -true God, yet, as far as sparing our feelings is concerned, he was -right; for suppose you are killed in the first engagement or skirmish, -whether by a cannon ball or blown up by mine, what matters it? It is -only dying, and all is over; and according to Terence, a soldier shows -better dead in battle, than alive and safe in flight; and the good -soldier wins fame in proportion as he is obedient to his captains and -those in command over him. And remember, my son, that it is better for -the soldier to smell of gunpowder than of civet, and that if old age -should come upon you in this honourable calling, though you may be -covered with wounds and crippled and lame, it will not come upon you -without honour, and that such as poverty cannot lessen; especially now -that provisions are being made for supporting and relieving old and -disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal with them after the -fashion of those who set free and get rid of their black slaves when -they are old and useless, and, turning them out of their houses under -the pretence of making them free, make them slaves to hunger, from -which they cannot expect to be released except by death. But for the -present I won’t say more than get ye up behind me on my horse as far as -the inn, and sup with me there, and to-morrow you shall pursue your -journey, and God give you as good speed as your intentions deserve.” - -The page did not accept the invitation to mount, though he did that to -supper at the inn; and here they say Sancho said to himself, “God be -with you for a master; is it possible that a man who can say things so -many and so good as he has said just now, can say that he saw the -impossible absurdities he reports about the cave of Montesinos? Well, -well, we shall see.” - -And now, just as night was falling, they reached the inn, and it was -not without satisfaction that Sancho perceived his master took it for a -real inn, and not for a castle as usual. The instant they entered Don -Quixote asked the landlord after the man with the lances and halberds, -and was told that he was in the stable seeing to his mule; which was -what Sancho and the cousin proceeded to do for their beasts, giving the -best manger and the best place in the stable to Rocinante. - -CHAPTER XXV. -WHEREIN IS SET DOWN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, AND THE DROLL ONE OF THE -PUPPET-SHOWMAN, TOGETHER WITH THE MEMORABLE DIVINATIONS OF THE DIVINING -APE - -Don Quixote’s bread would not bake, as the common saying is, until he -had heard and learned the curious things promised by the man who -carried the arms. He went to seek him where the innkeeper said he was -and having found him, bade him say now at any rate what he had to say -in answer to the question he had asked him on the road. “The tale of my -wonders must be taken more leisurely and not standing,” said the man; -“let me finish foddering my beast, good sir; and then I’ll tell you -things that will astonish you.” - -“Don’t wait for that,” said Don Quixote; “I’ll help you in everything,” -and so he did, sifting the barley for him and cleaning out the manger; -a degree of humility which made the other feel bound to tell him with a -good grace what he had asked; so seating himself on a bench, with Don -Quixote beside him, and the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza, and the -landlord, for a senate and an audience, he began his story in this way: - -“You must know that in a village four leagues and a half from this inn, -it so happened that one of the regidors, by the tricks and roguery of a -servant girl of his (it’s too long a tale to tell), lost an ass; and -though he did all he possibly could to find it, it was all to no -purpose. A fortnight might have gone by, so the story goes, since the -ass had been missing, when, as the regidor who had lost it was standing -in the plaza, another regidor of the same town said to him, ‘Pay me for -good news, gossip; your ass has turned up.’ ‘That I will, and well, -gossip,’ said the other; ‘but tell us, where has he turned up?’ ‘In the -forest,’ said the finder; ‘I saw him this morning without pack-saddle -or harness of any sort, and so lean that it went to one’s heart to see -him. I tried to drive him before me and bring him to you, but he is -already so wild and shy that when I went near him he made off into the -thickest part of the forest. If you have a mind that we two should go -back and look for him, let me put up this she-ass at my house and I’ll -be back at once.’ ‘You will be doing me a great kindness,’ said the -owner of the ass, ‘and I’ll try to pay it back in the same coin.’ It is -with all these circumstances, and in the very same way I am telling it -now, that those who know all about the matter tell the story. Well -then, the two regidors set off on foot, arm in arm, for the forest, and -coming to the place where they hoped to find the ass they could not -find him, nor was he to be seen anywhere about, search as they might. -Seeing, then, that there was no sign of him, the regidor who had seen -him said to the other, ‘Look here, gossip; a plan has occurred to me, -by which, beyond a doubt, we shall manage to discover the animal, even -if he is stowed away in the bowels of the earth, not to say the forest. -Here it is. I can bray to perfection, and if you can ever so little, -the thing’s as good as done.’ ‘Ever so little did you say, gossip?’ -said the other; ‘by God, I’ll not give in to anybody, not even to the -asses themselves.’ ‘We’ll soon see,’ said the second regidor, ‘for my -plan is that you should go one side of the forest, and I the other, so -as to go all round about it; and every now and then you will bray and I -will bray; and it cannot be but that the ass will hear us, and answer -us if he is in the forest.’ To which the owner of the ass replied, -‘It’s an excellent plan, I declare, gossip, and worthy of your great -genius;’ and the two separating as agreed, it so fell out that they -brayed almost at the same moment, and each, deceived by the braying of -the other, ran to look, fancying the ass had turned up at last. When -they came in sight of one another, said the loser, ‘Is it possible, -gossip, that it was not my ass that brayed?’ ‘No, it was I,’ said the -other. ‘Well then, I can tell you, gossip,’ said the ass’s owner, ‘that -between you and an ass there is not an atom of difference as far as -braying goes, for I never in all my life saw or heard anything more -natural.’ ‘Those praises and compliments belong to you more justly than -to me, gossip,’ said the inventor of the plan; ‘for, by the God that -made me, you might give a couple of brays odds to the best and most -finished brayer in the world; the tone you have got is deep, your voice -is well kept up as to time and pitch, and your finishing notes come -thick and fast; in fact, I own myself beaten, and yield the palm to -you, and give in to you in this rare accomplishment.’ ‘Well then,’ said -the owner, ‘I’ll set a higher value on myself for the future, and -consider that I know something, as I have an excellence of some sort; -for though I always thought I brayed well, I never supposed I came up -to the pitch of perfection you say.’ ‘And I say too,’ said the second, -‘that there are rare gifts going to loss in the world, and that they -are ill bestowed upon those who don’t know how to make use of them.’ -‘Ours,’ said the owner of the ass, ‘unless it is in cases like this we -have now in hand, cannot be of any service to us, and even in this God -grant they may be of some use.’ So saying they separated, and took to -their braying once more, but every instant they were deceiving one -another, and coming to meet one another again, until they arranged by -way of countersign, so as to know that it was they and not the ass, to -give two brays, one after the other. In this way, doubling the brays at -every step, they made the complete circuit of the forest, but the lost -ass never gave them an answer or even the sign of one. How could the -poor ill-starred brute have answered, when, in the thickest part of the -forest, they found him devoured by wolves? As soon as he saw him his -owner said, ‘I was wondering he did not answer, for if he wasn’t dead -he’d have brayed when he heard us, or he’d have been no ass; but for -the sake of having heard you bray to such perfection, gossip, I count -the trouble I have taken to look for him well bestowed, even though I -have found him dead.’ ‘It’s in a good hand, gossip,’ said the other; -‘if the abbot sings well, the acolyte is not much behind him.’ So they -returned disconsolate and hoarse to their village, where they told -their friends, neighbours, and acquaintances what had befallen them in -their search for the ass, each crying up the other’s perfection in -braying. The whole story came to be known and spread abroad through the -villages of the neighbourhood; and the devil, who never sleeps, with -his love for sowing dissensions and scattering discord everywhere, -blowing mischief about and making quarrels out of nothing, contrived to -make the people of the other towns fall to braying whenever they saw -anyone from our village, as if to throw the braying of our regidors in -our teeth. Then the boys took to it, which was the same thing for it as -getting into the hands and mouths of all the devils of hell; and -braying spread from one town to another in such a way that the men of -the braying town are as easy to be known as blacks are to be known from -whites, and the unlucky joke has gone so far that several times the -scoffed have come out in arms and in a body to do battle with the -scoffers, and neither king nor rook, fear nor shame, can mend matters. -To-morrow or the day after, I believe, the men of my town, that is, of -the braying town, are going to take the field against another village -two leagues away from ours, one of those that persecute us most; and -that we may turn out well prepared I have bought these lances and -halberds you have seen. These are the curious things I told you I had -to tell, and if you don’t think them so, I have got no others;” and -with this the worthy fellow brought his story to a close. - -Just at this moment there came in at the gate of the inn a man entirely -clad in chamois leather, hose, breeches, and doublet, who said in a -loud voice, “Señor host, have you room? Here’s the divining ape and the -show of the Release of Melisendra just coming.” - -“Ods body!” said the landlord, “why, it’s Master Pedro! We’re in for a -grand night!” I forgot to mention that the said Master Pedro had his -left eye and nearly half his cheek covered with a patch of green -taffety, showing that something ailed all that side. “Your worship is -welcome, Master Pedro,” continued the landlord; “but where are the ape -and the show, for I don’t see them?” “They are close at hand,” said he -in the chamois leather, “but I came on first to know if there was any -room.” “I’d make the Duke of Alva himself clear out to make room for -Master Pedro,” said the landlord; “bring in the ape and the show; -there’s company in the inn to-night that will pay to see that and the -cleverness of the ape.” “So be it by all means,” said the man with the -patch; “I’ll lower the price, and be well satisfied if I only pay my -expenses; and now I’ll go back and hurry on the cart with the ape and -the show;” and with this he went out of the inn. - -Don Quixote at once asked the landlord what this Master Pedro was, and -what was the show and what was the ape he had with him; which the -landlord replied, “This is a famous puppet-showman, who for some time -past has been going about this Mancha de Aragon, exhibiting a show of -the release of Melisendra by the famous Don Gaiferos, one of the best -and best-represented stories that have been seen in this part of the -kingdom for many a year; he has also with him an ape with the most -extraordinary gift ever seen in an ape or imagined in a human being; -for if you ask him anything, he listens attentively to the question, -and then jumps on his master’s shoulder, and pressing close to his ear -tells him the answer which Master Pedro then delivers. He says a great -deal more about things past than about things to come; and though he -does not always hit the truth in every case, most times he is not far -wrong, so that he makes us fancy he has got the devil in him. He gets -two reals for every question if the ape answers; I mean if his master -answers for him after he has whispered into his ear; and so it is -believed that this same Master Pedro is very rich. He is a ‘gallant -man’ as they say in Italy, and good company, and leads the finest life -in the world; talks more than six, drinks more than a dozen, and all by -his tongue, and his ape, and his show.” - -Master Pedro now came back, and in a cart followed the show and the -ape—a big one, without a tail and with buttocks as bare as felt, but -not vicious-looking. As soon as Don Quixote saw him, he asked him, “Can -you tell me, sir fortune-teller, what fish do we catch, and how will it -be with us? See, here are my two reals,” and he bade Sancho give them -to Master Pedro; but he answered for the ape and said, “Señor, this -animal does not give any answer or information touching things that are -to come; of things past he knows something, and more or less of things -present.” - -“Gad,” said Sancho, “I would not give a farthing to be told what’s past -with me, for who knows that better than I do myself? And to pay for -being told what I know would be mighty foolish. But as you know things -present, here are my two reals, and tell me, most excellent sir ape, -what is my wife Teresa Panza doing now, and what is she diverting -herself with?” - -Master Pedro refused to take the money, saying, “I will not receive -payment in advance or until the service has been first rendered;” and -then with his right hand he gave a couple of slaps on his left -shoulder, and with one spring the ape perched himself upon it, and -putting his mouth to his master’s ear began chattering his teeth -rapidly; and having kept this up as long as one would be saying a -credo, with another spring he brought himself to the ground, and the -same instant Master Pedro ran in great haste and fell upon his knees -before Don Quixote, and embracing his legs exclaimed, “These legs do I -embrace as I would embrace the two pillars of Hercules, O illustrious -reviver of knight-errantry, so long consigned to oblivion! O never yet -duly extolled knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, courage of the -faint-hearted, prop of the tottering, arm of the fallen, staff and -counsel of all who are unfortunate!” - -Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho astounded, the cousin staggered, -the page astonished, the man from the braying town agape, the landlord -in perplexity, and, in short, everyone amazed at the words of the -puppet-showman, who went on to say, “And thou, worthy Sancho Panza, the -best squire and squire to the best knight in the world! Be of good -cheer, for thy good wife Teresa is well, and she is at this moment -hackling a pound of flax; and more by token she has at her left hand a -jug with a broken spout that holds a good drop of wine, with which she -solaces herself at her work.” - -“That I can well believe,” said Sancho. “She is a lucky one, and if it -was not for her jealousy I would not change her for the giantess -Andandona, who by my master’s account was a very clever and worthy -woman; my Teresa is one of those that won’t let themselves want for -anything, though their heirs may have to pay for it.” - -“Now I declare,” said Don Quixote, “he who reads much and travels much -sees and knows a great deal. I say so because what amount of persuasion -could have persuaded me that there are apes in the world that can -divine as I have seen now with my own eyes? For I am that very Don -Quixote of La Mancha this worthy animal refers to, though he has gone -rather too far in my praise; but whatever I may be, I thank heaven that -it has endowed me with a tender and compassionate heart, always -disposed to do good to all and harm to none.” - -“If I had money,” said the page, “I would ask señor ape what will -happen to me in the peregrination I am making.” - -To this Master Pedro, who had by this time risen from Don Quixote’s -feet, replied, “I have already said that this little beast gives no -answer as to the future; but if he did, not having money would be of no -consequence, for to oblige Señor Don Quixote, here present, I would -give up all the profits in the world. And now, because I have promised -it, and to afford him pleasure, I will set up my show and offer -entertainment to all who are in the inn, without any charge whatever.” -As soon as he heard this, the landlord, delighted beyond measure, -pointed out a place where the show might be fixed, which was done at -once. - -Don Quixote was not very well satisfied with the divinations of the -ape, as he did not think it proper that an ape should divine anything, -either past or future; so while Master Pedro was arranging the show, he -retired with Sancho into a corner of the stable, where, without being -overheard by anyone, he said to him, “Look here, Sancho, I have been -seriously thinking over this ape’s extraordinary gift, and have come to -the conclusion that beyond doubt this Master Pedro, his master, has a -pact, tacit or express, with the devil.” - -“If the packet is express from the devil,” said Sancho, “it must be a -very dirty packet no doubt; but what good can it do Master Pedro to -have such packets?” - -“Thou dost not understand me, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “I only mean -he must have made some compact with the devil to infuse this power into -the ape, that he may get his living, and after he has grown rich he -will give him his soul, which is what the enemy of mankind wants; this -I am led to believe by observing that the ape only answers about things -past or present, and the devil’s knowledge extends no further; for the -future he knows only by guesswork, and that not always; for it is -reserved for God alone to know the times and the seasons, and for him -there is neither past nor future; all is present. This being as it is, -it is clear that this ape speaks by the spirit of the devil; and I am -astonished they have not denounced him to the Holy Office, and put him -to the question, and forced it out of him by whose virtue it is that he -divines; because it is certain this ape is not an astrologer; neither -his master nor he sets up, or knows how to set up, those figures they -call judiciary, which are now so common in Spain that there is not a -jade, or page, or old cobbler, that will not undertake to set up a -figure as readily as pick up a knave of cards from the ground, bringing -to nought the marvellous truth of the science by their lies and -ignorance. I know of a lady who asked one of these figure schemers -whether her little lap-dog would be in pup and would breed, and how -many and of what colour the little pups would be. To which señor -astrologer, after having set up his figure, made answer that the bitch -would be in pup, and would drop three pups, one green, another bright -red, and the third parti-coloured, provided she conceived between -eleven and twelve either of the day or night, and on a Monday or -Saturday; but as things turned out, two days after this the bitch died -of a surfeit, and señor planet-ruler had the credit all over the place -of being a most profound astrologer, as most of these planet-rulers -have.” - -“Still,” said Sancho, “I would be glad if your worship would make -Master Pedro ask his ape whether what happened your worship in the cave -of Montesinos is true; for, begging your worship’s pardon, I, for my -part, take it to have been all flam and lies, or at any rate something -you dreamt.” - -“That may be,” replied Don Quixote; “however, I will do what you -suggest; though I have my own scruples about it.” - -At this point Master Pedro came up in quest of Don Quixote, to tell him -the show was now ready and to come and see it, for it was worth seeing. -Don Quixote explained his wish, and begged him to ask his ape at once -to tell him whether certain things which had happened to him in the -cave of Montesinos were dreams or realities, for to him they appeared -to partake of both. Upon this Master Pedro, without answering, went -back to fetch the ape, and, having placed it in front of Don Quixote -and Sancho, said: “See here, señor ape, this gentleman wishes to know -whether certain things which happened to him in the cave called the -cave of Montesinos were false or true.” On his making the usual sign -the ape mounted on his left shoulder and seemed to whisper in his ear, -and Master Pedro said at once, “The ape says that the things you saw or -that happened to you in that cave are, part of them false, part true; -and that he only knows this and no more as regards this question; but -if your worship wishes to know more, on Friday next he will answer all -that may be asked him, for his virtue is at present exhausted, and will -not return to him till Friday, as he has said.” - -“Did I not say, señor,” said Sancho, “that I could not bring myself to -believe that all your worship said about the adventures in the cave was -true, or even the half of it?” - -“The course of events will tell, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “time, -that discloses all things, leaves nothing that it does not drag into -the light of day, though it be buried in the bosom of the earth. But -enough of that for the present; let us go and see Master Pedro’s show, -for I am sure there must be something novel in it.” - -“Something!” said Master Pedro; “this show of mine has sixty thousand -novel things in it; let me tell you, Señor Don Quixote, it is one of -the best-worth-seeing things in the world this day; but _operibus -credite et non verbis_, and now let’s get to work, for it is growing -late, and we have a great deal to do and to say and show.” - -Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed him and went to where the show was -already put up and uncovered, set all around with lighted wax tapers -which made it look splendid and bright. When they came to it Master -Pedro ensconced himself inside it, for it was he who had to work the -puppets, and a boy, a servant of his, posted himself outside to act as -showman and explain the mysteries of the exhibition, having a wand in -his hand to point to the figures as they came out. And so, all who were -in the inn being arranged in front of the show, some of them standing, -and Don Quixote, Sancho, the page, and cousin, accommodated with the -best places, the interpreter began to say what he will hear or see who -reads or hears the next chapter. - -CHAPTER XXVI. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE DROLL ADVENTURE OF THE PUPPET-SHOWMAN, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS IN TRUTH RIGHT GOOD - -All were silent, Tyrians and Trojans; I mean all who were watching the -show were hanging on the lips of the interpreter of its wonders, when -drums and trumpets were heard to sound inside it and cannon to go off. -The noise was soon over, and then the boy lifted up his voice and said, -“This true story which is here represented to your worships is taken -word for word from the French chronicles and from the Spanish ballads -that are in everybody’s mouth, and in the mouth of the boys about the -streets. Its subject is the release by Señor Don Gaiferos of his wife -Melisendra, when a captive in Spain at the hands of the Moors in the -city of Sansueña, for so they called then what is now called Saragossa; -and there you may see how Don Gaiferos is playing at the tables, just -as they sing it- - -At tables playing Don Gaiferos sits, -For Melisendra is forgotten now. - -And that personage who appears there with a crown on his head and a -sceptre in his hand is the Emperor Charlemagne, the supposed father of -Melisendra, who, angered to see his son-in-law’s inaction and -unconcern, comes in to chide him; and observe with what vehemence and -energy he chides him, so that you would fancy he was going to give him -half a dozen raps with his sceptre; and indeed there are authors who -say he did give them, and sound ones too; and after having said a great -deal to him about imperilling his honour by not effecting the release -of his wife, he said, so the tale runs, - -Enough I’ve said, see to it now. - -Observe, too, how the emperor turns away, and leaves Don Gaiferos -fuming; and you see now how in a burst of anger, he flings the table -and the board far from him and calls in haste for his armour, and asks -his cousin Don Roland for the loan of his sword, Durindana, and how Don -Roland refuses to lend it, offering him his company in the difficult -enterprise he is undertaking; but he, in his valour and anger, will not -accept it, and says that he alone will suffice to rescue his wife, even -though she were imprisoned deep in the centre of the earth, and with -this he retires to arm himself and set out on his journey at once. Now -let your worships turn your eyes to that tower that appears there, -which is supposed to be one of the towers of the alcazar of Saragossa, -now called the Aljaferia; that lady who appears on that balcony dressed -in Moorish fashion is the peerless Melisendra, for many a time she used -to gaze from thence upon the road to France, and seek consolation in -her captivity by thinking of Paris and her husband. Observe, too, a new -incident which now occurs, such as, perhaps, never was seen. Do you not -see that Moor, who silently and stealthily, with his finger on his lip, -approaches Melisendra from behind? Observe now how he prints a kiss -upon her lips, and what a hurry she is in to spit, and wipe them with -the white sleeve of her smock, and how she bewails herself, and tears -her fair hair as though it were to blame for the wrong. Observe, too, -that the stately Moor who is in that corridor is King Marsilio of -Sansueña, who, having seen the Moor’s insolence, at once orders him -(though his kinsman and a great favourite of his) to be seized and -given two hundred lashes, while carried through the streets of the city -according to custom, with criers going before him and officers of -justice behind; and here you see them come out to execute the sentence, -although the offence has been scarcely committed; for among the Moors -there are no indictments nor remands as with us.” - -Here Don Quixote called out, “Child, child, go straight on with your -story, and don’t run into curves and slants, for to establish a fact -clearly there is need of a great deal of proof and confirmation;” and -said Master Pedro from within, “Boy, stick to your text and do as the -gentleman bids you; it’s the best plan; keep to your plain song, and -don’t attempt harmonies, for they are apt to break down from being over -fine.” - -“I will,” said the boy, and he went on to say, “This figure that you -see here on horseback, covered with a Gascon cloak, is Don Gaiferos -himself, whom his wife, now avenged of the insult of the amorous Moor, -and taking her stand on the balcony of the tower with a calmer and more -tranquil countenance, has perceived without recognising him; and she -addresses her husband, supposing him to be some traveller, and holds -with him all that conversation and colloquy in the ballad that runs— - -If you, sir knight, to France are bound, -Oh! for Gaiferos ask— - -which I do not repeat here because prolixity begets disgust; suffice it -to observe how Don Gaiferos discovers himself, and that by her joyful -gestures Melisendra shows us she has recognised him; and what is more, -we now see she lowers herself from the balcony to place herself on the -haunches of her good husband’s horse. But ah! unhappy lady, the edge of -her petticoat has caught on one of the bars of the balcony and she is -left hanging in the air, unable to reach the ground. But you see how -compassionate heaven sends aid in our sorest need; Don Gaiferos -advances, and without minding whether the rich petticoat is torn or -not, he seizes her and by force brings her to the ground, and then with -one jerk places her on the haunches of his horse, astraddle like a man, -and bids her hold on tight and clasp her arms round his neck, crossing -them on his breast so as not to fall, for the lady Melisendra was not -used to that style of riding. You see, too, how the neighing of the -horse shows his satisfaction with the gallant and beautiful burden he -bears in his lord and lady. You see how they wheel round and quit the -city, and in joy and gladness take the road to Paris. Go in peace, O -peerless pair of true lovers! May you reach your longed-for fatherland -in safety, and may fortune interpose no impediment to your prosperous -journey; may the eyes of your friends and kinsmen behold you enjoying -in peace and tranquillity the remaining days of your life—and that they -may be as many as those of Nestor!” - -Here Master Pedro called out again and said, “Simplicity, boy! None of -your high flights; all affectation is bad.” - -The interpreter made no answer, but went on to say, “There was no want -of idle eyes, that see everything, to see Melisendra come down and -mount, and word was brought to King Marsilio, who at once gave orders -to sound the alarm; and see what a stir there is, and how the city is -drowned with the sound of the bells pealing in the towers of all the -mosques.” - -“Nay, nay,” said Don Quixote at this; “on that point of the bells -Master Pedro is very inaccurate, for bells are not in use among the -Moors; only kettledrums, and a kind of small trumpet somewhat like our -clarion; to ring bells this way in Sansueña is unquestionably a great -absurdity.” - -On hearing this, Master Pedro stopped ringing, and said, “Don’t look -into trifles, Señor Don Quixote, or want to have things up to a pitch -of perfection that is out of reach. Are there not almost every day a -thousand comedies represented all round us full of thousands of -inaccuracies and absurdities, and, for all that, they have a successful -run, and are listened to not only with applause, but with admiration -and all the rest of it? Go on, boy, and don’t mind; for so long as I -fill my pouch, no matter if I show as many inaccuracies as there are -motes in a sunbeam.” - -“True enough,” said Don Quixote; and the boy went on: “See what a -numerous and glittering crowd of horsemen issues from the city in -pursuit of the two faithful lovers, what a blowing of trumpets there -is, what sounding of horns, what beating of drums and tabors; I fear me -they will overtake them and bring them back tied to the tail of their -own horse, which would be a dreadful sight.” - -Don Quixote, however, seeing such a swarm of Moors and hearing such a -din, thought it would be right to aid the fugitives, and standing up he -exclaimed in a loud voice, “Never, while I live, will I permit foul -play to be practised in my presence on such a famous knight and -fearless lover as Don Gaiferos. Halt! ill-born rabble, follow him not -nor pursue him, or ye will have to reckon with me in battle!” and -suiting the action to the word, he drew his sword, and with one bound -placed himself close to the show, and with unexampled rapidity and fury -began to shower down blows on the puppet troop of Moors, knocking over -some, decapitating others, maiming this one and demolishing that; and -among many more he delivered one down stroke which, if Master Pedro had -not ducked, made himself small, and got out of the way, would have -sliced off his head as easily as if it had been made of almond-paste. -Master Pedro kept shouting, “Hold hard! Señor Don Quixote! can’t you -see they’re not real Moors you’re knocking down and killing and -destroying, but only little pasteboard figures! Look—sinner that I -am!—how you’re wrecking and ruining all that I’m worth!” But in spite -of this, Don Quixote did not leave off discharging a continuous rain of -cuts, slashes, downstrokes, and backstrokes, and at length, in less -than the space of two credos, he brought the whole show to the ground, -with all its fittings and figures shivered and knocked to pieces, King -Marsilio badly wounded, and the Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and -head split in two. The whole audience was thrown into confusion, the -ape fled to the roof of the inn, the cousin was frightened, and even -Sancho Panza himself was in mighty fear, for, as he swore after the -storm was over, he had never seen his master in such a furious passion. - -The complete destruction of the show being thus accomplished, Don -Quixote became a little calmer, said, “I wish I had here before me now -all those who do not or will not believe how useful knights-errant are -in the world; just think, if I had not been here present, what would -have become of the brave Don Gaiferos and the fair Melisendra! Depend -upon it, by this time those dogs would have overtaken them and -inflicted some outrage upon them. So, then, long live knight-errantry -beyond everything living on earth this day!” - -“Let it live, and welcome,” said Master Pedro at this in a feeble -voice, “and let me die, for I am so unfortunate that I can say with -King Don Rodrigo— - -Yesterday was I lord of Spain -To-day I’ve not a turret left -That I may call mine own. - -Not half an hour, nay, barely a minute ago, I saw myself lord of kings -and emperors, with my stables filled with countless horses, and my -trunks and bags with gay dresses unnumbered; and now I find myself -ruined and laid low, destitute and a beggar, and above all without my -ape, for, by my faith, my teeth will have to sweat for it before I have -him caught; and all through the reckless fury of sir knight here, who, -they say, protects the fatherless, and rights wrongs, and does other -charitable deeds; but whose generous intentions have been found wanting -in my case only, blessed and praised be the highest heavens! Verily, -knight of the rueful figure he must be to have disfigured mine.” - -Sancho Panza was touched by Master Pedro’s words, and said to him, -“Don’t weep and lament, Master Pedro; you break my heart; let me tell -you my master, Don Quixote, is so catholic and scrupulous a Christian -that, if he can make out that he has done you any wrong, he will own -it, and be willing to pay for it and make it good, and something over -and above.” - -“Only let Señor Don Quixote pay me for some part of the work he has -destroyed,” said Master Pedro, “and I would be content, and his worship -would ease his conscience, for he cannot be saved who keeps what is -another’s against the owner’s will, and makes no restitution.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but at present I am not aware that I -have got anything of yours, Master Pedro.” - -“What!” returned Master Pedro; “and these relics lying here on the bare -hard ground—what scattered and shattered them but the invincible -strength of that mighty arm? And whose were the bodies they belonged to -but mine? And what did I get my living by but by them?” - -“Now am I fully convinced,” said Don Quixote, “of what I had many a -time before believed; that the enchanters who persecute me do nothing -more than put figures like these before my eyes, and then change and -turn them into what they please. In truth and earnest, I assure you -gentlemen who now hear me, that to me everything that has taken place -here seemed to take place literally, that Melisendra was Melisendra, -Don Gaiferos Don Gaiferos, Marsilio Marsilio, and Charlemagne -Charlemagne. That was why my anger was roused; and to be faithful to my -calling as a knight-errant I sought to give aid and protection to those -who fled, and with this good intention I did what you have seen. If the -result has been the opposite of what I intended, it is no fault of -mine, but of those wicked beings that persecute me; but, for all that, -I am willing to condemn myself in costs for this error of mine, though -it did not proceed from malice; let Master Pedro see what he wants for -the spoiled figures, for I agree to pay it at once in good and current -money of Castile.” - -Master Pedro made him a bow, saying, “I expected no less of the rare -Christianity of the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, true helper and -protector of all destitute and needy vagabonds; master landlord here -and the great Sancho Panza shall be the arbitrators and appraisers -between your worship and me of what these dilapidated figures are worth -or may be worth.” - -The landlord and Sancho consented, and then Master Pedro picked up from -the ground King Marsilio of Saragossa with his head off, and said, -“Here you see how impossible it is to restore this king to his former -state, so I think, saving your better judgments, that for his death, -decease, and demise, four reals and a half may be given me.” - -“Proceed,” said Don Quixote. - -“Well then, for this cleavage from top to bottom,” continued Master -Pedro, taking up the split Emperor Charlemagne, “it would not be much -if I were to ask five reals and a quarter.” - -“It’s not little,” said Sancho. - -“Nor is it much,” said the landlord; “make it even, and say five -reals.” - -“Let him have the whole five and a quarter,” said Don Quixote; “for the -sum total of this notable disaster does not stand on a quarter more or -less; and make an end of it quickly, Master Pedro, for it’s getting on -to supper-time, and I have some hints of hunger.” - -“For this figure,” said Master Pedro, “that is without a nose, and -wants an eye, and is the fair Melisendra, I ask, and I am reasonable in -my charge, two reals and twelve maravedis.” - -“The very devil must be in it,” said Don Quixote, “if Melisendra and -her husband are not by this time at least on the French border, for the -horse they rode on seemed to me to fly rather than gallop; so you -needn’t try to sell me the cat for the hare, showing me here a noseless -Melisendra when she is now, may be, enjoying herself at her ease with -her husband in France. God help every one to his own, Master Pedro, and -let us all proceed fairly and honestly; and now go on.” - -Master Pedro, perceiving that Don Quixote was beginning to wander, and -return to his original fancy, was not disposed to let him escape, so he -said to him, “This cannot be Melisendra, but must be one of the damsels -that waited on her; so if I’m given sixty maravedis for her, I’ll be -content and sufficiently paid.” - -And so he went on, putting values on ever so many more smashed figures, -which, after the two arbitrators had adjusted them to the satisfaction -of both parties, came to forty reals and three-quarters; and over and -above this sum, which Sancho at once disbursed, Master Pedro asked for -two reals for his trouble in catching the ape. - -“Let him have them, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “not to catch the ape, -but to get drunk; and two hundred would I give this minute for the good -news, to anyone who could tell me positively, that the lady Doña -Melisandra and Señor Don Gaiferos were now in France and with their own -people.” - -“No one could tell us that better than my ape,” said Master Pedro; “but -there’s no devil that could catch him now; I suspect, however, that -affection and hunger will drive him to come looking for me to-night; -but to-morrow will soon be here and we shall see.” - -In short, the puppet-show storm passed off, and all supped in peace and -good fellowship at Don Quixote’s expense, for he was the height of -generosity. Before it was daylight the man with the lances and halberds -took his departure, and soon after daybreak the cousin and the page -came to bid Don Quixote farewell, the former returning home, the latter -resuming his journey, towards which, to help him, Don Quixote gave him -twelve reals. Master Pedro did not care to engage in any more palaver -with Don Quixote, whom he knew right well; so he rose before the sun, -and having got together the remains of his show and caught his ape, he -too went off to seek his adventures. The landlord, who did not know Don -Quixote, was as much astonished at his mad freaks as at his generosity. -To conclude, Sancho, by his master’s orders, paid him very liberally, -and taking leave of him they quitted the inn at about eight in the -morning and took to the road, where we will leave them to pursue their -journey, for this is necessary in order to allow certain other matters -to be set forth, which are required to clear up this famous history. - -CHAPTER XXVII. -WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN WHO MASTER PEDRO AND HIS APE WERE, TOGETHER WITH -THE MISHAP DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, WHICH HE DID NOT -CONCLUDE AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED OR AS HE HAD EXPECTED - -Cide Hamete, the chronicler of this great history, begins this chapter -with these words, “I swear as a Catholic Christian;” with regard to -which his translator says that Cide Hamete’s swearing as a Catholic -Christian, he being—as no doubt he was—a Moor, only meant that, just as -a Catholic Christian taking an oath swears, or ought to swear, what is -true, and tell the truth in what he avers, so he was telling the truth, -as much as if he swore as a Catholic Christian, in all he chose to -write about Quixote, especially in declaring who Master Pedro was and -what was the divining ape that astonished all the villages with his -divinations. He says, then, that he who has read the First Part of this -history will remember well enough the Gines de Pasamonte whom, with -other galley slaves, Don Quixote set free in the Sierra Morena: a -kindness for which he afterwards got poor thanks and worse payment from -that evil-minded, ill-conditioned set. This Gines de Pasamonte—Don -Ginesillo de Parapilla, Don Quixote called him—it was that stole Dapple -from Sancho Panza; which, because by the fault of the printers neither -the how nor the when was stated in the First Part, has been a puzzle to -a good many people, who attribute to the bad memory of the author what -was the error of the press. In fact, however, Gines stole him while -Sancho Panza was asleep on his back, adopting the plan and device that -Brunello had recourse to when he stole Sacripante’s horse from between -his legs at the siege of Albracca; and, as has been told, Sancho -afterwards recovered him. This Gines, then, afraid of being caught by -the officers of justice, who were looking for him to punish him for his -numberless rascalities and offences (which were so many and so great -that he himself wrote a big book giving an account of them), resolved -to shift his quarters into the kingdom of Aragon, and cover up his left -eye, and take up the trade of a puppet-showman; for this, as well as -juggling, he knew how to practise to perfection. From some released -Christians returning from Barbary, it so happened, he bought the ape, -which he taught to mount upon his shoulder on his making a certain -sign, and to whisper, or seem to do so, in his ear. Thus prepared, -before entering any village whither he was bound with his show and his -ape, he used to inform himself at the nearest village, or from the most -likely person he could find, as to what particular things had happened -there, and to whom; and bearing them well in mind, the first thing he -did was to exhibit his show, sometimes one story, sometimes another, -but all lively, amusing, and familiar. As soon as the exhibition was -over he brought forward the accomplishments of his ape, assuring the -public that he divined all the past and the present, but as to the -future he had no skill. For each question answered he asked two reals, -and for some he made a reduction, just as he happened to feel the pulse -of the questioners; and when now and then he came to houses where -things that he knew of had happened to the people living there, even if -they did not ask him a question, not caring to pay for it, he would -make the sign to the ape and then declare that it had said so and so, -which fitted the case exactly. In this way he acquired a prodigious -name and all ran after him; on other occasions, being very crafty, he -would answer in such a way that the answers suited the questions; and -as no one cross-questioned him or pressed him to tell how his ape -divined, he made fools of them all and filled his pouch. The instant he -entered the inn he knew Don Quixote and Sancho, and with that knowledge -it was easy for him to astonish them and all who were there; but it -would have cost him dear had Don Quixote brought down his hand a little -lower when he cut off King Marsilio’s head and destroyed all his -horsemen, as related in the preceeding chapter. - -So much for Master Pedro and his ape; and now to return to Don Quixote -of La Mancha. After he had left the inn he determined to visit, first -of all, the banks of the Ebro and that neighbourhood, before entering -the city of Saragossa, for the ample time there was still to spare -before the jousts left him enough for all. With this object in view he -followed the road and travelled along it for two days, without meeting -any adventure worth committing to writing until on the third day, as he -was ascending a hill, he heard a great noise of drums, trumpets, and -musket-shots. At first he imagined some regiment of soldiers was -passing that way, and to see them he spurred Rocinante and mounted the -hill. On reaching the top he saw at the foot of it over two hundred -men, as it seemed to him, armed with weapons of various sorts, lances, -crossbows, partisans, halberds, and pikes, and a few muskets and a -great many bucklers. He descended the slope and approached the band -near enough to see distinctly the flags, make out the colours and -distinguish the devices they bore, especially one on a standard or -ensign of white satin, on which there was painted in a very life-like -style an ass like a little sard, with its head up, its mouth open and -its tongue out, as if it were in the act and attitude of braying; and -round it were inscribed in large characters these two lines— - -They did not bray in vain, -Our alcaldes twain. - -From this device Don Quixote concluded that these people must be from -the braying town, and he said so to Sancho, explaining to him what was -written on the standard. At the same time be observed that the man who -had told them about the matter was wrong in saying that the two who -brayed were regidors, for according to the lines of the standard they -were alcaldes. To which Sancho replied, “Señor, there’s nothing to -stick at in that, for maybe the regidors who brayed then came to be -alcaldes of their town afterwards, and so they may go by both titles; -moreover, it has nothing to do with the truth of the story whether the -brayers were alcaldes or regidors, provided at any rate they did bray; -for an alcalde is just as likely to bray as a regidor.” They perceived, -in short, clearly that the town which had been twitted had turned out -to do battle with some other that had jeered it more than was fair or -neighbourly. - -Don Quixote proceeded to join them, not a little to Sancho’s -uneasiness, for he never relished mixing himself up in expeditions of -that sort. The members of the troop received him into the midst of -them, taking him to be someone who was on their side. Don Quixote, -putting up his visor, advanced with an easy bearing and demeanour to -the standard with the ass, and all the chief men of the army gathered -round him to look at him, staring at him with the usual amazement that -everybody felt on seeing him for the first time. Don Quixote, seeing -them examining him so attentively, and that none of them spoke to him -or put any question to him, determined to take advantage of their -silence; so, breaking his own, he lifted up his voice and said, “Worthy -sirs, I entreat you as earnestly as I can not to interrupt an argument -I wish to address to you, until you find it displeases or wearies you; -and if that come to pass, on the slightest hint you give me I will put -a seal upon my lips and a gag upon my tongue.” - -They all bade him say what he liked, for they would listen to him -willingly. - -With this permission Don Quixote went on to say, “I, sirs, am a -knight-errant whose calling is that of arms, and whose profession is to -protect those who require protection, and give help to such as stand in -need of it. Some days ago I became acquainted with your misfortune and -the cause which impels you to take up arms again and again to revenge -yourselves upon your enemies; and having many times thought over your -business in my mind, I find that, according to the laws of combat, you -are mistaken in holding yourselves insulted; for a private individual -cannot insult an entire community; unless it be by defying it -collectively as a traitor, because he cannot tell who in particular is -guilty of the treason for which he defies it. Of this we have an -example in Don Diego Ordoñez de Lara, who defied the whole town of -Zamora, because he did not know that Vellido Dolfos alone had committed -the treachery of slaying his king; and therefore he defied them all, -and the vengeance and the reply concerned all; though, to be sure, -Señor Don Diego went rather too far, indeed very much beyond the limits -of a defiance; for he had no occasion to defy the dead, or the waters, -or the fishes, or those yet unborn, and all the rest of it as set -forth; but let that pass, for when anger breaks out there’s no father, -governor, or bridle to check the tongue. The case being, then, that no -one person can insult a kingdom, province, city, state, or entire -community, it is clear there is no reason for going out to avenge the -defiance of such an insult, inasmuch as it is not one. A fine thing it -would be if the people of the clock town were to be at loggerheads -every moment with everyone who called them by that name,—or the -Cazoleros, Berengeneros, Ballenatos, Jaboneros, or the bearers of all -the other names and titles that are always in the mouth of the boys and -common people! It would be a nice business indeed if all these -illustrious cities were to take huff and revenge themselves and go -about perpetually making trombones of their swords in every petty -quarrel! No, no; God forbid! There are four things for which sensible -men and well-ordered States ought to take up arms, draw their swords, -and risk their persons, lives, and properties. The first is to defend -the Catholic faith; the second, to defend one’s life, which is in -accordance with natural and divine law; the third, in defence of one’s -honour, family, and property; the fourth, in the service of one’s king -in a just war; and if to these we choose to add a fifth (which may be -included in the second), in defence of one’s country. To these five, as -it were capital causes, there may be added some others that may be just -and reasonable, and make it a duty to take up arms; but to take them up -for trifles and things to laugh at and be amused by rather than -offended, looks as though he who did so was altogether wanting in -common sense. Moreover, to take an unjust revenge (and there cannot be -any just one) is directly opposed to the sacred law that we -acknowledge, wherein we are commanded to do good to our enemies and to -love them that hate us; a command which, though it seems somewhat -difficult to obey, is only so to those who have in them less of God -than of the world, and more of the flesh than of the spirit; for Jesus -Christ, God and true man, who never lied, and could not and cannot lie, -said, as our law-giver, that his yoke was easy and his burden light; he -would not, therefore, have laid any command upon us that it was -impossible to obey. Thus, sirs, you are bound to keep quiet by human -and divine law.” - -“The devil take me,” said Sancho to himself at this, “but this master -of mine is a theologian; or, if not, faith, he’s as like one as one egg -is like another.” - -Don Quixote stopped to take breath, and, observing that silence was -still preserved, had a mind to continue his discourse, and would have -done so had not Sancho interposed with his smartness; for he, seeing -his master pause, took the lead, saying, “My lord Don Quixote of La -Mancha, who once was called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, but -now is called the Knight of the Lions, is a gentleman of great -discretion who knows Latin and his mother tongue like a bachelor, and -in everything that he deals with or advises proceeds like a good -soldier, and has all the laws and ordinances of what they call combat -at his fingers’ ends; so you have nothing to do but to let yourselves -be guided by what he says, and on my head be it if it is wrong. Besides -which, you have been told that it is folly to take offence at merely -hearing a bray. I remember when I was a boy I brayed as often as I had -a fancy, without anyone hindering me, and so elegantly and naturally -that when I brayed all the asses in the town would bray; but I was none -the less for that the son of my parents who were greatly respected; and -though I was envied because of the gift by more than one of the high -and mighty ones of the town, I did not care two farthings for it; and -that you may see I am telling the truth, wait a bit and listen, for -this art, like swimming, once learnt is never forgotten;” and then, -taking hold of his nose, he began to bray so vigorously that all the -valleys around rang again. - -One of those, however, that stood near him, fancying he was mocking -them, lifted up a long staff he had in his hand and smote him such a -blow with it that Sancho dropped helpless to the ground. Don Quixote, -seeing him so roughly handled, attacked the man who had struck him -lance in hand, but so many thrust themselves between them that he could -not avenge him. Far from it, finding a shower of stones rained upon -him, and crossbows and muskets unnumbered levelled at him, he wheeled -Rocinante round and, as fast as his best gallop could take him, fled -from the midst of them, commending himself to God with all his heart to -deliver him out of this peril, in dread every step of some ball coming -in at his back and coming out at his breast, and every minute drawing -his breath to see whether it had gone from him. The members of the -band, however, were satisfied with seeing him take to flight, and did -not fire on him. They put up Sancho, scarcely restored to his senses, -on his ass, and let him go after his master; not that he was -sufficiently in his wits to guide the beast, but Dapple followed the -footsteps of Rocinante, from whom he could not remain a moment -separated. Don Quixote having got some way off looked back, and seeing -Sancho coming, waited for him, as he perceived that no one followed -him. The men of the troop stood their ground till night, and as the -enemy did not come out to battle, they returned to their town exulting; -and had they been aware of the ancient custom of the Greeks, they would -have erected a trophy on the spot. - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -OF MATTERS THAT BENENGELI SAYS HE WHO READS THEM WILL KNOW, IF HE READS -THEM WITH ATTENTION - -When the brave man flees, treachery is manifest and it is for wise men -to reserve themselves for better occasions. This proved to be the case -with Don Quixote, who, giving way before the fury of the townsfolk and -the hostile intentions of the angry troop, took to flight and, without -a thought of Sancho or the danger in which he was leaving him, -retreated to such a distance as he thought made him safe. Sancho, lying -across his ass, followed him, as has been said, and at length came up, -having by this time recovered his senses, and on joining him let -himself drop off Dapple at Rocinante’s feet, sore, bruised, and -belaboured. Don Quixote dismounted to examine his wounds, but finding -him whole from head to foot, he said to him, angrily enough, “In an -evil hour didst thou take to braying, Sancho! Where hast thou learned -that it is well done to mention the rope in the house of the man that -has been hanged? To the music of brays what harmonies couldst thou -expect to get but cudgels? Give thanks to God, Sancho, that they signed -the cross on thee just now with a stick, and did not mark thee _per -signum crucis_ with a cutlass.” - -“I’m not equal to answering,” said Sancho, “for I feel as if I was -speaking through my shoulders; let us mount and get away from this; -I’ll keep from braying, but not from saying that knights-errant fly and -leave their good squires to be pounded like privet, or made meal of at -the hands of their enemies.” - -“He does not fly who retires,” returned Don Quixote; “for I would have -thee know, Sancho, that the valour which is not based upon a foundation -of prudence is called rashness, and the exploits of the rash man are to -be attributed rather to good fortune than to courage; and so I own that -I retired, but not that I fled; and therein I have followed the example -of many valiant men who have reserved themselves for better times; the -histories are full of instances of this, but as it would not be any -good to thee or pleasure to me, I will not recount them to thee now.” - -Sancho was by this time mounted with the help of Don Quixote, who then -himself mounted Rocinante, and at a leisurely pace they proceeded to -take shelter in a grove which was in sight about a quarter of a league -off. Every now and then Sancho gave vent to deep sighs and dismal -groans, and on Don Quixote asking him what caused such acute suffering, -he replied that, from the end of his back-bone up to the nape of his -neck, he was so sore that it nearly drove him out of his senses. - -“The cause of that soreness,” said Don Quixote, “will be, no doubt, -that the staff wherewith they smote thee being a very long one, it -caught thee all down the back, where all the parts that are sore are -situated, and had it reached any further thou wouldst be sorer still.” - -“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship has relieved me of a great doubt, -and cleared up the point for me in elegant style! Body o’ me! is the -cause of my soreness such a mystery that there’s any need to tell me I -am sore everywhere the staff hit me? If it was my ankles that pained me -there might be something in going divining why they did, but it is not -much to divine that I’m sore where they thrashed me. By my faith, -master mine, the ills of others hang by a hair; every day I am -discovering more and more how little I have to hope for from keeping -company with your worship; for if this time you have allowed me to be -drubbed, the next time, or a hundred times more, we’ll have the -blanketings of the other day over again, and all the other pranks -which, if they have fallen on my shoulders now, will be thrown in my -teeth by-and-by. I would do a great deal better (if I was not an -ignorant brute that will never do any good all my life), I would do a -great deal better, I say, to go home to my wife and children and -support them and bring them up on what God may please to give me, -instead of following your worship along roads that lead nowhere and -paths that are none at all, with little to drink and less to eat. And -then when it comes to sleeping! Measure out seven feet on the earth, -brother squire, and if that’s not enough for you, take as many more, -for you may have it all your own way and stretch yourself to your -heart’s content. Oh that I could see burnt and turned to ashes the -first man that meddled with knight-errantry or at any rate the first -who chose to be squire to such fools as all the knights-errant of past -times must have been! Of those of the present day I say nothing, -because, as your worship is one of them, I respect them, and because I -know your worship knows a point more than the devil in all you say and -think.” - -“I would lay a good wager with you, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that -now that you are talking on without anyone to stop you, you don’t feel -a pain in your whole body. Talk away, my son, say whatever comes into -your head or mouth, for so long as you feel no pain, the irritation -your impertinences give me will be a pleasure to me; and if you are so -anxious to go home to your wife and children, God forbid that I should -prevent you; you have money of mine; see how long it is since we left -our village this third time, and how much you can and ought to earn -every month, and pay yourself out of your own hand.” - -“When I worked for Tom Carrasco, the father of the bachelor Samson -Carrasco that your worship knows,” replied Sancho, “I used to earn two -ducats a month besides my food; I can’t tell what I can earn with your -worship, though I know a knight-errant’s squire has harder times of it -than he who works for a farmer; for after all, we who work for farmers, -however much we toil all day, at the worst, at night, we have our olla -supper and sleep in a bed, which I have not slept in since I have been -in your worship’s service, if it wasn’t the short time we were in Don -Diego de Miranda’s house, and the feast I had with the skimmings I took -off Camacho’s pots, and what I ate, drank, and slept in Basilio’s -house; all the rest of the time I have been sleeping on the hard ground -under the open sky, exposed to what they call the inclemencies of -heaven, keeping life in me with scraps of cheese and crusts of bread, -and drinking water either from the brooks or from the springs we come -to on these by-paths we travel.” - -“I own, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest is true; how -much, thinkest thou, ought I to give thee over and above what Tom -Carrasco gave thee?” - -“I think,” said Sancho, “that if your worship was to add on two reals a -month I’d consider myself well paid; that is, as far as the wages of my -labour go; but to make up to me for your worship’s pledge and promise -to me to give me the government of an island, it would be fair to add -six reals more, making thirty in all.” - -“Very good,” said Don Quixote; “it is twenty-five days since we left -our village, so reckon up, Sancho, according to the wages you have made -out for yourself, and see how much I owe you in proportion, and pay -yourself, as I said before, out of your own hand.” - -“O body o’ me!” said Sancho, “but your worship is very much out in that -reckoning; for when it comes to the promise of the island we must count -from the day your worship promised it to me to this present hour we are -at now.” - -“Well, how long is it, Sancho, since I promised it to you?” said Don -Quixote. - -“If I remember rightly,” said Sancho, “it must be over twenty years, -three days more or less.” - -Don Quixote gave himself a great slap on the forehead and began to -laugh heartily, and said he, “Why, I have not been wandering, either in -the Sierra Morena or in the whole course of our sallies, but barely two -months, and thou sayest, Sancho, that it is twenty years since I -promised thee the island. I believe now thou wouldst have all the money -thou hast of mine go in thy wages. If so, and if that be thy pleasure, -I give it to thee now, once and for all, and much good may it do thee, -for so long as I see myself rid of such a good-for-nothing squire I’ll -be glad to be left a pauper without a rap. But tell me, thou perverter -of the squirely rules of knight-errantry, where hast thou ever seen or -read that any knight-errant’s squire made terms with his lord, ‘you -must give me so much a month for serving you’? Plunge, scoundrel, -rogue, monster—for such I take thee to be—plunge, I say, into the _mare -magnum_ of their histories; and if thou shalt find that any squire ever -said or thought what thou hast said now, I will let thee nail it on my -forehead, and give me, over and above, four sound slaps in the face. -Turn the rein, or the halter, of thy Dapple, and begone home; for one -single step further thou shalt not make in my company. O bread -thanklessly received! O promises ill-bestowed! O man more beast than -human being! Now, when I was about to raise thee to such a position, -that, in spite of thy wife, they would call thee ‘my lord,’ thou art -leaving me? Thou art going now when I had a firm and fixed intention of -making thee lord of the best island in the world? Well, as thou thyself -hast said before now, honey is not for the mouth of the ass. Ass thou -art, ass thou wilt be, and ass thou wilt end when the course of thy -life is run; for I know it will come to its close before thou dost -perceive or discern that thou art a beast.” - -Sancho regarded Don Quixote earnestly while he was giving him this -rating, and was so touched by remorse that the tears came to his eyes, -and in a piteous and broken voice he said to him, “Master mine, I -confess that, to be a complete ass, all I want is a tail; if your -worship will only fix one on to me, I’ll look on it as rightly placed, -and I’ll serve you as an ass all the remaining days of my life. Forgive -me and have pity on my folly, and remember I know but little, and, if I -talk much, it’s more from infirmity than malice; but he who sins and -mends commends himself to God.” - -“I should have been surprised, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “if thou -hadst not introduced some bit of a proverb into thy speech. Well, well, -I forgive thee, provided thou dost mend and not show thyself in future -so fond of thine own interest, but try to be of good cheer and take -heart, and encourage thyself to look forward to the fulfillment of my -promises, which, by being delayed, does not become impossible.” - -Sancho said he would do so, and keep up his heart as best he could. -They then entered the grove, and Don Quixote settled himself at the -foot of an elm, and Sancho at that of a beech, for trees of this kind -and others like them always have feet but no hands. Sancho passed the -night in pain, for with the evening dews the blow of the staff made -itself felt all the more. Don Quixote passed it in his never-failing -meditations; but, for all that, they had some winks of sleep, and with -the appearance of daylight they pursued their journey in quest of the -banks of the famous Ebro, where that befell them which will be told in -the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XXIX. -OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK - -By stages as already described or left undescribed, two days after -quitting the grove Don Quixote and Sancho reached the river Ebro, and -the sight of it was a great delight to Don Quixote as he contemplated -and gazed upon the charms of its banks, the clearness of its stream, -the gentleness of its current and the abundance of its crystal waters; -and the pleasant view revived a thousand tender thoughts in his mind. -Above all, he dwelt upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos; -for though Master Pedro’s ape had told him that of those things part -was true, part false, he clung more to their truth than to their -falsehood, the very reverse of Sancho, who held them all to be -downright lies. - -As they were thus proceeding, then, they discovered a small boat, -without oars or any other gear, that lay at the water’s edge tied to -the stem of a tree growing on the bank. Don Quixote looked all round, -and seeing nobody, at once, without more ado, dismounted from Rocinante -and bade Sancho get down from Dapple and tie both beasts securely to -the trunk of a poplar or willow that stood there. Sancho asked him the -reason of this sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made answer, -“Thou must know, Sancho, that this bark is plainly, and without the -possibility of any alternative, calling and inviting me to enter it, -and in it go to give aid to some knight or other person of distinction -in need of it, who is no doubt in some sore strait; for this is the way -of the books of chivalry and of the enchanters who figure and speak in -them. When a knight is involved in some difficulty from which he cannot -be delivered save by the hand of another knight, though they may be at -a distance of two or three thousand leagues or more one from the other, -they either take him up on a cloud, or they provide a bark for him to -get into, and in less than the twinkling of an eye they carry him where -they will and where his help is required; and so, Sancho, this bark is -placed here for the same purpose; this is as true as that it is now -day, and ere this one passes tie Dapple and Rocinante together, and -then in God’s hand be it to guide us; for I would not hold back from -embarking, though barefooted friars were to beg me.” - -“As that’s the case,” said Sancho, “and your worship chooses to give in -to these—I don’t know if I may call them absurdities—at every turn, -there’s nothing for it but to obey and bow the head, bearing in mind -the proverb, ‘Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with -him;’ but for all that, for the sake of easing my conscience, I warn -your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but -belongs to some of the fishermen of the river, for they catch the best -shad in the world here.” - -As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the care and -protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his heart. Don -Quixote bade him not be uneasy about deserting the animals, “for he who -would carry themselves over such longinquous roads and regions would -take care to feed them.” - -“I don’t understand that logiquous,” said Sancho, “nor have I ever -heard the word all the days of my life.” - -“Longinquous,” replied Don Quixote, “means far off; but it is no wonder -thou dost not understand it, for thou art not bound to know Latin, like -some who pretend to know it and don’t.” - -“Now they are tied,” said Sancho; “what are we to do next?” - -“What?” said Don Quixote, “cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean, -embark and cut the moorings by which the bark is held;” and the bark -began to drift away slowly from the bank. But when Sancho saw himself -somewhere about two yards out in the river, he began to tremble and -give himself up for lost; but nothing distressed him more than hearing -Dapple bray and seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he -to his master, “Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and -Rocinante is trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear friends, -peace be with you, and may this madness that is taking us away from -you, turned into sober sense, bring us back to you.” And with this he -fell weeping so bitterly, that Don Quixote said to him, sharply and -angrily, “What art thou afraid of, cowardly creature? What art thou -weeping at, heart of butter-paste? Who pursues or molests thee, thou -soul of a tame mouse? What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very -heart of abundance? Art thou, perchance, tramping barefoot over the -Riphaean mountains, instead of being seated on a bench like an archduke -on the tranquil stream of this pleasant river, from which in a short -space we shall come out upon the broad sea? But we must have already -emerged and gone seven hundred or eight hundred leagues; and if I had -here an astrolabe to take the altitude of the pole, I could tell thee -how many we have travelled, though either I know little, or we have -already crossed or shall shortly cross the equinoctial line which parts -the two opposite poles midway.” - -“And when we come to that line your worship speaks of,” said Sancho, -“how far shall we have gone?” - -“Very far,” said Don Quixote, “for of the three hundred and sixty -degrees that this terraqueous globe contains, as computed by Ptolemy, -the greatest cosmographer known, we shall have travelled one-half when -we come to the line I spoke of.” - -“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship gives me a nice authority for what -you say, putrid Dolly something transmogrified, or whatever it is.” - -Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho put upon “computed,” -and the name of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and said he, “Thou must know, -Sancho, that with the Spaniards and those who embark at Cadiz for the -East Indies, one of the signs they have to show them when they have -passed the equinoctial line I told thee of, is, that the lice die upon -everybody on board the ship, and not a single one is left, or to be -found in the whole vessel if they gave its weight in gold for it; so, -Sancho, thou mayest as well pass thy hand down thy thigh, and if thou -comest upon anything alive we shall be no longer in doubt; if not, then -we have crossed.” - -“I don’t believe a bit of it,” said Sancho; “still, I’ll do as your -worship bids me; though I don’t know what need there is for trying -these experiments, for I can see with my own eyes that we have not -moved five yards away from the bank, or shifted two yards from where -the animals stand, for there are Rocinante and Dapple in the very same -place where we left them; and watching a point, as I do now, I swear by -all that’s good, we are not stirring or moving at the pace of an ant.” - -“Try the test I told thee of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t -mind any other, for thou knowest nothing about colures, lines, -parallels, zodiacs, ecliptics, poles, solstices, equinoxes, planets, -signs, bearings, the measures of which the celestial and terrestrial -spheres are composed; if thou wert acquainted with all these things, or -any portion of them, thou wouldst see clearly how many parallels we -have cut, what signs we have seen, and what constellations we have left -behind and are now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel and -hunt, for I am certain thou art cleaner than a sheet of smooth white -paper.” - -Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down to the -hollow of his left knee, he looked up at his master and said, “Either -the test is a false one, or we have not come to where your worship -says, nor within many leagues of it.” - -“Why, how so?” asked Don Quixote; “hast thou come upon aught?” - -“Ay, and aughts,” replied Sancho; and shaking his fingers he washed his -whole hand in the river along which the boat was quietly gliding in -midstream, not moved by any occult intelligence or invisible enchanter, -but simply by the current, just there smooth and gentle. - -They now came in sight of some large water mills that stood in the -middle of the river, and the instant Don Quixote saw them he cried out, -“Seest thou there, my friend? there stands the castle or fortress, -where there is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or ill-used queen, or -infanta, or princess, in whose aid I am brought hither.” - -“What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship talking -about, señor?” said Sancho; “don’t you see that those are mills that -stand in the river to grind corn?” - -“Hold thy peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “though they look like -mills they are not so; I have already told thee that enchantments -transform things and change their proper shapes; I do not mean to say -they really change them from one form into another, but that it seems -as though they did, as experience proved in the transformation of -Dulcinea, sole refuge of my hopes.” - -By this time, the boat, having reached the middle of the stream, began -to move less slowly than hitherto. The millers belonging to the mills, -when they saw the boat coming down the river, and on the point of being -sucked in by the draught of the wheels, ran out in haste, several of -them, with long poles to stop it, and being all mealy, with faces and -garments covered with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. They -raised loud shouts, crying, “Devils of men, where are you going to? Are -you mad? Do you want to drown yourselves, or dash yourselves to pieces -among these wheels?” - -“Did I not tell thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this, “that we had -reached the place where I am to show what the might of my arm can do? -See what ruffians and villains come out against me; see what monsters -oppose me; see what hideous countenances come to frighten us! You shall -soon see, scoundrels!” And then standing up in the boat he began in a -loud voice to hurl threats at the millers, exclaiming, “Ill-conditioned -and worse-counselled rabble, restore to liberty and freedom the person -ye hold in durance in this your fortress or prison, high or low or of -whatever rank or quality he be, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, -otherwise called the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by the disposition -of heaven above, it is reserved to give a happy issue to this -adventure;” and so saying he drew his sword and began making passes in -the air at the millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this -nonsense, strove to stop the boat, which was now getting into the -rushing channel of the wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees devoutly -appealing to heaven to deliver him from such imminent peril; which it -did by the activity and quickness of the millers, who, pushing against -the boat with their poles, stopped it, not, however, without upsetting -and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho into the water; and lucky it was -for Don Quixote that he could swim like a goose, though the weight of -his armour carried him twice to the bottom; and had it not been for the -millers, who plunged in and hoisted them both out, it would have been -Troy town with the pair of them. As soon as, more drenched than -thirsty, they were landed, Sancho went down on his knees and with -clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven, prayed a long and fervent -prayer to God to deliver him evermore from the rash projects and -attempts of his master. The fishermen, the owners of the boat, which -the mill-wheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and seeing it -smashed they proceeded to strip Sancho and to demand payment for it -from Don Quixote; but he with great calmness, just as if nothing had -happened him, told the millers and fishermen that he would pay for the -bark most cheerfully, on condition that they delivered up to him, free -and unhurt, the person or persons that were in durance in that castle -of theirs. - -“What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman? Art thou for -carrying off the people who come to grind corn in these mills?” - -“That’s enough,” said Don Quixote to himself, “it would be preaching in -the desert to attempt by entreaties to induce this rabble to do any -virtuous action. In this adventure two mighty enchanters must have -encountered one another, and one frustrates what the other attempts; -one provided the bark for me, and the other upset me; God help us, this -world is all machinations and schemes at cross purposes one with the -other. I can do no more.” And then turning towards the mills he said -aloud, “Friends, whoe’er ye be that are immured in that prison, forgive -me that, to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from your -misery; this adventure is doubtless reserved and destined for some -other knight.” - -So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the -boat, which Sancho handed to them very much against the grain, saying, -“With a couple more bark businesses like this we shall have sunk our -whole capital.” - -The fishermen and the millers stood staring in amazement at the two -figures, so very different to all appearance from ordinary men, and -were wholly unable to make out the drift of the observations and -questions Don Quixote addressed to them; and coming to the conclusion -that they were madmen, they left them and betook themselves, the -millers to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote -and Sancho returned to their beasts, and to their life of beasts, and -so ended the adventure of the enchanted bark. - -CHAPTER XXX. -OF DON QUIXOTE’S ADVENTURE WITH A FAIR HUNTRESS - -They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humour enough, knight -and squire, Sancho particularly, for with him what touched the stock of -money touched his heart, and when any was taken from him he felt as if -he was robbed of the apples of his eyes. In fine, without exchanging a -word, they mounted and quitted the famous river, Don Quixote absorbed -in thoughts of his love, Sancho in thinking of his advancement, which -just then, it seemed to him, he was very far from securing; for, fool -as he was, he saw clearly enough that his master’s acts were all or -most of them utterly senseless; and he began to cast about for an -opportunity of retiring from his service and going home some day, -without entering into any explanations or taking any farewell of him. -Fortune, however, ordered matters after a fashion very much the -opposite of what he contemplated. - -It so happened that the next day towards sunset, on coming out of a -wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow, and at the far end -of it observed some people, and as he drew nearer saw that it was a -hawking party. Coming closer, he distinguished among them a lady of -graceful mien, on a pure white palfrey or hackney caparisoned with -green trappings and a silver-mounted side-saddle. The lady was also in -green, and so richly and splendidly dressed that splendour itself -seemed personified in her. On her left hand she bore a hawk, a proof to -Don Quixote’s mind that she must be some great lady and the mistress of -the whole hunting party, which was the fact; so he said to Sancho, “Run -Sancho, my son, and say to that lady on the palfrey with the hawk that -I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her exalted beauty, and -if her excellence will grant me leave I will go and kiss them in person -and place myself at her service for aught that may be in my power and -her highness may command; and mind, Sancho, how thou speakest, and take -care not to thrust in any of thy proverbs into thy message.” - -“You’ve got a likely one here to thrust any in!” said Sancho; “leave me -alone for that! Why, this is not the first time in my life I have -carried messages to high and exalted ladies.” - -“Except that thou didst carry to the lady Dulcinea,” said Don Quixote, -“I know not that thou hast carried any other, at least in my service.” - -“That is true,” replied Sancho; “but pledges don’t distress a good -payer, and in a house where there’s plenty supper is soon cooked; I -mean there’s no need of telling or warning me about anything; for I’m -ready for everything and know a little of everything.” - -“That I believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go and good luck to thee, -and God speed thee.” - -Sancho went off at top speed, forcing Dapple out of his regular pace, -and came to where the fair huntress was standing, and dismounting knelt -before her and said, “Fair lady, that knight that you see there, the -Knight of the Lions by name, is my master, and I am a squire of his, -and at home they call me Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions, -who was called not long since the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, -sends by me to say may it please your highness to give him leave that, -with your permission, approbation, and consent, he may come and carry -out his wishes, which are, as he says and I believe, to serve your -exalted loftiness and beauty; and if you give it, your ladyship will do -a thing which will redound to your honour, and he will receive a most -distinguished favour and happiness.” - -“You have indeed, squire,” said the lady, “delivered your message with -all the formalities such messages require; rise up, for it is not right -that the squire of a knight so great as he of the Rueful Countenance, -of whom we have heard a great deal here, should remain on his knees; -rise, my friend, and bid your master welcome to the services of myself -and the duke my husband, in a country house we have here.” - -Sancho got up, charmed as much by the beauty of the good lady as by her -high-bred air and her courtesy, but, above all, by what she had said -about having heard of his master, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance; -for if she did not call him Knight of the Lions it was no doubt because -he had so lately taken the name. “Tell me, brother squire,” asked the -duchess (whose title, however, is not known), “this master of yours, is -he not one of whom there is a history extant in print, called ‘The -Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha,’ who has for the lady of -his heart a certain Dulcinea del Toboso?” - -“He is the same, señora,” replied Sancho; “and that squire of his who -figures, or ought to figure, in the said history under the name of -Sancho Panza, is myself, unless they have changed me in the cradle, I -mean in the press.” - -“I am rejoiced at all this,” said the duchess; “go, brother Panza, and -tell your master that he is welcome to my estate, and that nothing -could happen to me that could give me greater pleasure.” - -Sancho returned to his master mightily pleased with this gratifying -answer, and told him all the great lady had said to him, lauding to the -skies, in his rustic phrase, her rare beauty, her graceful gaiety, and -her courtesy. Don Quixote drew himself up briskly in his saddle, fixed -himself in his stirrups, settled his visor, gave Rocinante the spur, -and with an easy bearing advanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, -who, having sent to summon the duke her husband, told him while Don -Quixote was approaching all about the message; and as both of them had -read the First Part of this history, and from it were aware of Don -Quixote’s crazy turn, they awaited him with the greatest delight and -anxiety to make his acquaintance, meaning to fall in with his humour -and agree with everything he said, and, so long as he stayed with them, -to treat him as a knight-errant, with all the ceremonies usual in the -books of chivalry they had read, for they themselves were very fond of -them. - -Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he seemed about -to dismount Sancho made haste to go and hold his stirrup for him; but -in getting down off Dapple he was so unlucky as to hitch his foot in -one of the ropes of the pack-saddle in such a way that he was unable to -free it, and was left hanging by it with his face and breast on the -ground. Don Quixote, who was not used to dismount without having the -stirrup held, fancying that Sancho had by this time come to hold it for -him, threw himself off with a lurch and brought Rocinante’s saddle -after him, which was no doubt badly girthed, and saddle and he both -came to the ground; not without discomfiture to him and abundant curses -muttered between his teeth against the unlucky Sancho, who had his foot -still in the shackles. The duke ordered his huntsmen to go to the help -of knight and squire, and they raised Don Quixote, sorely shaken by his -fall; and he, limping, advanced as best he could to kneel before the -noble pair. This, however, the duke would by no means permit; on the -contrary, dismounting from his horse, he went and embraced Don Quixote, -saying, “I am grieved, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that your -first experience on my ground should have been such an unfortunate one -as we have seen; but the carelessness of squires is often the cause of -worse accidents.” - -“That which has happened me in meeting you, mighty prince,” replied Don -Quixote, “cannot be unfortunate, even if my fall had not stopped short -of the depths of the bottomless pit, for the glory of having seen you -would have lifted me up and delivered me from it. My squire, God’s -curse upon him, is better at unloosing his tongue in talking -impertinence than in tightening the girths of a saddle to keep it -steady; but however I may be, fallen or raised up, on foot or on -horseback, I shall always be at your service and that of my lady the -duchess, your worthy consort, worthy queen of beauty and paramount -princess of courtesy.” - -“Gently, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha,” said the duke; “where my lady -Doña Dulcinea del Toboso is, it is not right that other beauties should -be praised.” - -Sancho, by this time released from his entanglement, was standing by, -and before his master could answer he said, “There is no denying, and -it must be maintained, that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very -beautiful; but the hare jumps up where one least expects it; and I have -heard say that what we call nature is like a potter that makes vessels -of clay, and he who makes one fair vessel can as well make two, or -three, or a hundred; I say so because, by my faith, my lady the duchess -is in no way behind my mistress the lady Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said, “Your highness may conceive -that never had knight-errant in this world a more talkative or a -droller squire than I have, and he will prove the truth of what I say, -if your highness is pleased to accept of my services for a few days.” - -To which the duchess made answer, “that worthy Sancho is droll I -consider a very good thing, because it is a sign that he is shrewd; for -drollery and sprightliness, Señor Don Quixote, as you very well know, -do not take up their abode with dull wits; and as good Sancho is droll -and sprightly I here set him down as shrewd.” - -“And talkative,” added Don Quixote. - -“So much the better,” said the duke, “for many droll things cannot be -said in few words; but not to lose time in talking, come, great Knight -of the Rueful Countenance—” - -“Of the Lions, your highness must say,” said Sancho, “for there is no -Rueful Countenance nor any such character now.” - -“He of the Lions be it,” continued the duke; “I say, let Sir Knight of -the Lions come to a castle of mine close by, where he shall be given -that reception which is due to so exalted a personage, and which the -duchess and I are wont to give to all knights-errant who come there.” - -By this time Sancho had fixed and girthed Rocinante’s saddle, and Don -Quixote having got on his back and the duke mounted a fine horse, they -placed the duchess in the middle and set out for the castle. The -duchess desired Sancho to come to her side, for she found infinite -enjoyment in listening to his shrewd remarks. Sancho required no -pressing, but pushed himself in between them and the duke, who thought -it rare good fortune to receive such a knight-errant and such a homely -squire in their castle. - -CHAPTER XXXI.br/> WHICH TREATS OF MANY AND GREAT MATTERS - -Supreme was the satisfaction that Sancho felt at seeing himself, as it -seemed, an established favourite with the duchess, for he looked -forward to finding in her castle what he had found in Don Diego’s house -and in Basilio’s; he was always fond of good living, and always seized -by the forelock any opportunity of feasting himself whenever it -presented itself. The history informs us, then, that before they -reached the country house or castle, the duke went on in advance and -instructed all his servants how they were to treat Don Quixote; and so -the instant he came up to the castle gates with the duchess, two -lackeys or equerries, clad in what they call morning gowns of fine -crimson satin reaching to their feet, hastened out, and catching Don -Quixote in their arms before he saw or heard them, said to him, “Your -highness should go and take my lady the duchess off her horse.” - -Don Quixote obeyed, and great bandying of compliments followed between -the two over the matter; but in the end the duchess’s determination -carried the day, and she refused to get down or dismount from her -palfrey except in the arms of the duke, saying she did not consider -herself worthy to impose so unnecessary a burden on so great a knight. -At length the duke came out to take her down, and as they entered a -spacious court two fair damsels came forward and threw over Don -Quixote’s shoulders a large mantle of the finest scarlet cloth, and at -the same instant all the galleries of the court were lined with the -men-servants and women-servants of the household, crying, “Welcome, -flower and cream of knight-errantry!” while all or most of them flung -pellets filled with scented water over Don Quixote and the duke and -duchess; at all which Don Quixote was greatly astonished, and this was -the first time that he thoroughly felt and believed himself to be a -knight-errant in reality and not merely in fancy, now that he saw -himself treated in the same way as he had read of such knights being -treated in days of yore. - -Sancho, deserting Dapple, hung on to the duchess and entered the -castle, but feeling some twinges of conscience at having left the ass -alone, he approached a respectable duenna who had come out with the -rest to receive the duchess, and in a low voice he said to her, “Señora -Gonzalez, or however your grace may be called—” - -“I am called Doña Rodriguez de Grijalba,” replied the duenna; “what is -your will, brother?” To which Sancho made answer, “I should be glad if -your worship would do me the favour to go out to the castle gate, where -you will find a grey ass of mine; make them, if you please, put him in -the stable, or put him there yourself, for the poor little beast is -rather easily frightened, and cannot bear being alone at all.” - -“If the master is as wise as the man,” said the duenna, “we have got a -fine bargain. Be off with you, brother, and bad luck to you and him who -brought you here; go, look after your ass, for we, the duennas of this -house, are not used to work of that sort.” - -“Well then, in troth,” returned Sancho, “I have heard my master, who is -the very treasure-finder of stories, telling the story of Lancelot when -he came from Britain, say that ladies waited upon him and duennas upon -his hack; and, if it comes to my ass, I wouldn’t change him for Señor -Lancelot’s hack.” - -“If you are a jester, brother,” said the duenna, “keep your drolleries -for some place where they’ll pass muster and be paid for; for you’ll -get nothing from me but a fig.” - -“At any rate, it will be a very ripe one,” said Sancho, “for you won’t -lose the trick in years by a point too little.” - -“Son of a bitch,” said the duenna, all aglow with anger, “whether I’m -old or not, it’s with God I have to reckon, not with you, you -garlic-stuffed scoundrel!” and she said it so loud, that the duchess -heard it, and turning round and seeing the duenna in such a state of -excitement, and her eyes flaming so, asked whom she was wrangling with. - -“With this good fellow here,” said the duenna, “who has particularly -requested me to go and put an ass of his that is at the castle gate -into the stable, holding it up to me as an example that they did the -same I don’t know where—that some ladies waited on one Lancelot, and -duennas on his hack; and what is more, to wind up with, he called me -old.” - -“That,” said the duchess, “I should have considered the greatest -affront that could be offered me;” and addressing Sancho, she said to -him, “You must know, friend Sancho, that Doña Rodriguez is very -youthful, and that she wears that hood more for authority and custom’s -sake than because of her years.” - -“May all the rest of mine be unlucky,” said Sancho, “if I meant it that -way; I only spoke because the affection I have for my ass is so great, -and I thought I could not commend him to a more kind-hearted person -than the lady Doña Rodriguez.” - -Don Quixote, who was listening, said to him, “Is this proper -conversation for the place, Sancho?” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “every one must mention what he wants wherever -he may be; I thought of Dapple here, and I spoke of him here; if I had -thought of him in the stable I would have spoken there.” - -On which the duke observed, “Sancho is quite right, and there is no -reason at all to find fault with him; Dapple shall be fed to his -heart’s content, and Sancho may rest easy, for he shall be treated like -himself.” - -While this conversation, amusing to all except Don Quixote, was -proceeding, they ascended the staircase and ushered Don Quixote into a -chamber hung with rich cloth of gold and brocade; six damsels relieved -him of his armour and waited on him like pages, all of them prepared -and instructed by the duke and duchess as to what they were to do, and -how they were to treat Don Quixote, so that he might see and believe -they were treating him like a knight-errant. When his armour was -removed, there stood Don Quixote in his tight-fitting breeches and -chamois doublet, lean, lanky, and long, with cheeks that seemed to be -kissing each other inside; such a figure, that if the damsels waiting -on him had not taken care to check their merriment (which was one of -the particular directions their master and mistress had given them), -they would have burst with laughter. They asked him to let himself be -stripped that they might put a shirt on him, but he would not on any -account, saying that modesty became knights-errant just as much as -valour. However, he said they might give the shirt to Sancho; and -shutting himself in with him in a room where there was a sumptuous bed, -he undressed and put on the shirt; and then, finding himself alone with -Sancho, he said to him, “Tell me, thou new-fledged buffoon and old -booby, dost thou think it right to offend and insult a duenna so -deserving of reverence and respect as that one just now? Was that a -time to bethink thee of thy Dapple, or are these noble personages -likely to let the beasts fare badly when they treat their owners in -such elegant style? For God’s sake, Sancho, restrain thyself, and don’t -show the thread so as to let them see what a coarse, boorish texture -thou art of. Remember, sinner that thou art, the master is the more -esteemed the more respectable and well-bred his servants are; and that -one of the greatest advantages that princes have over other men is that -they have servants as good as themselves to wait on them. Dost thou not -see—shortsighted being that thou art, and unlucky mortal that I -am!—that if they perceive thee to be a coarse clown or a dull -blockhead, they will suspect me to be some impostor or swindler? Nay, -nay, Sancho friend, keep clear, oh, keep clear of these -stumbling-blocks; for he who falls into the way of being a chatterbox -and droll, drops into a wretched buffoon the first time he trips; -bridle thy tongue, consider and weigh thy words before they escape thy -mouth, and bear in mind we are now in quarters whence, by God’s help, -and the strength of my arm, we shall come forth mightily advanced in -fame and fortune.” - -Sancho promised him with much earnestness to keep his mouth shut, and -to bite off his tongue before he uttered a word that was not altogether -to the purpose and well considered, and told him he might make his mind -easy on that point, for it should never be discovered through him what -they were. - -Don Quixote dressed himself, put on his baldric with his sword, threw -the scarlet mantle over his shoulders, placed on his head a montera of -green satin that the damsels had given him, and thus arrayed passed out -into the large room, where he found the damsels drawn up in double -file, the same number on each side, all with the appliances for washing -the hands, which they presented to him with profuse obeisances and -ceremonies. Then came twelve pages, together with the seneschal, to -lead him to dinner, as his hosts were already waiting for him. They -placed him in the midst of them, and with much pomp and stateliness -they conducted him into another room, where there was a sumptuous table -laid with but four covers. The duchess and the duke came out to the -door of the room to receive him, and with them a grave ecclesiastic, -one of those who rule noblemen’s houses; one of those who, not being -born magnates themselves, never know how to teach those who are how to -behave as such; one of those who would have the greatness of great folk -measured by their own narrowness of mind; one of those who, when they -try to introduce economy into the household they rule, lead it into -meanness. One of this sort, I say, must have been the grave churchman -who came out with the duke and duchess to receive Don Quixote. - -A vast number of polite speeches were exchanged, and at length, taking -Don Quixote between them, they proceeded to sit down to table. The duke -pressed Don Quixote to take the head of the table, and, though he -refused, the entreaties of the duke were so urgent that he had to -accept it. - -The ecclesiastic took his seat opposite to him, and the duke and -duchess those at the sides. All this time Sancho stood by, gaping with -amazement at the honour he saw shown to his master by these illustrious -persons; and observing all the ceremonious pressing that had passed -between the duke and Don Quixote to induce him to take his seat at the -head of the table, he said, “If your worship will give me leave I will -tell you a story of what happened in my village about this matter of -seats.” - -The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, making sure that he -was about to say something foolish. Sancho glanced at him, and guessing -his thoughts, said, “Don’t be afraid of my going astray, señor, or -saying anything that won’t be pat to the purpose; I haven’t forgotten -the advice your worship gave me just now about talking much or little, -well or ill.” - -“I have no recollection of anything, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “say -what thou wilt, only say it quickly.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “what I am going to say is so true that my -master Don Quixote, who is here present, will keep me from lying.” - -“Lie as much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“for I am not going to stop thee, but consider what thou art going to -say.” - -“I have so considered and reconsidered,” said Sancho, “that the -bell-ringer’s in a safe berth; as will be seen by what follows.” - -“It would be well,” said Don Quixote, “if your highnesses would order -them to turn out this idiot, for he will talk a heap of nonsense.” - -“By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away from me for a -moment,” said the duchess; “I am very fond of him, for I know he is -very discreet.” - -“Discreet be the days of your holiness,” said Sancho, “for the good -opinion you have of my wit, though there’s none in me; but the story I -want to tell is this. There was an invitation given by a gentleman of -my town, a very rich one, and one of quality, for he was one of the -Alamos of Medina del Campo, and married to Doña Mencia de Quiñones, the -daughter of Don Alonso de Marañon, Knight of the Order of Santiago, -that was drowned at the Herradura—him there was that quarrel about -years ago in our village, that my master Don Quixote was mixed up in, -to the best of my belief, that Tomasillo the scapegrace, the son of -Balbastro the smith, was wounded in.—Isn’t all this true, master mine? -As you live, say so, that these gentlefolk may not take me for some -lying chatterer.” - -“So far,” said the ecclesiastic, “I take you to be more a chatterer -than a liar; but I don’t know what I shall take you for by-and-by.” - -“Thou citest so many witnesses and proofs, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“that I have no choice but to say thou must be telling the truth; go -on, and cut the story short, for thou art taking the way not to make an -end for two days to come.” - -“He is not to cut it short,” said the duchess; “on the contrary, for my -gratification, he is to tell it as he knows it, though he should not -finish it these six days; and if he took so many they would be to me -the pleasantest I ever spent.” - -“Well then, sirs, I say,” continued Sancho, “that this same gentleman, -whom I know as well as I do my own hands, for it’s not a bowshot from -my house to his, invited a poor but respectable labourer—” - -“Get on, brother,” said the churchman; “at the rate you are going you -will not stop with your story short of the next world.” - -“I’ll stop less than half-way, please God,” said Sancho; “and so I say -this labourer, coming to the house of the gentleman I spoke of that -invited him—rest his soul, he is now dead; and more by token he died -the death of an angel, so they say; for I was not there, for just at -that time I had gone to reap at Tembleque—” - -“As you live, my son,” said the churchman, “make haste back from -Tembleque, and finish your story without burying the gentleman, unless -you want to make more funerals.” - -“Well then, it so happened,” said Sancho, “that as the pair of them -were going to sit down to table—and I think I can see them now plainer -than ever—” - -Great was the enjoyment the duke and duchess derived from the -irritation the worthy churchman showed at the long-winded, halting way -Sancho had of telling his story, while Don Quixote was chafing with -rage and vexation. - -“So, as I was saying,” continued Sancho, “as the pair of them were -going to sit down to table, as I said, the labourer insisted upon the -gentleman’s taking the head of the table, and the gentleman insisted -upon the labourer’s taking it, as his orders should be obeyed in his -house; but the labourer, who plumed himself on his politeness and good -breeding, would not on any account, until the gentleman, out of -patience, putting his hands on his shoulders, compelled him by force to -sit down, saying, ‘Sit down, you stupid lout, for wherever I sit will -be the head to you; and that’s the story, and, troth, I think it hasn’t -been brought in amiss here.” - -Don Quixote turned all colours, which, on his sunburnt face, mottled it -till it looked like jasper. The duke and duchess suppressed their -laughter so as not altogether to mortify Don Quixote, for they saw -through Sancho’s impertinence; and to change the conversation, and keep -Sancho from uttering more absurdities, the duchess asked Don Quixote -what news he had of the lady Dulcinea, and if he had sent her any -presents of giants or miscreants lately, for he could not but have -vanquished a good many. - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Señora, my misfortunes, though they had -a beginning, will never have an end. I have vanquished giants and I -have sent her caitiffs and miscreants; but where are they to find her -if she is enchanted and turned into the most ill-favoured peasant wench -that can be imagined?” - -“I don’t know,” said Sancho Panza; “to me she seems the fairest -creature in the world; at any rate, in nimbleness and jumping she won’t -give in to a tumbler; by my faith, señora duchess, she leaps from the -ground on to the back of an ass like a cat.” - -“Have you seen her enchanted, Sancho?” asked the duke. - -“What, seen her!” said Sancho; “why, who the devil was it but myself -that first thought of the enchantment business? She is as much -enchanted as my father.” - -The ecclesiastic, when he heard them talking of giants and caitiffs and -enchantments, began to suspect that this must be Don Quixote of La -Mancha, whose story the duke was always reading; and he had himself -often reproved him for it, telling him it was foolish to read such -fooleries; and becoming convinced that his suspicion was correct, -addressing the duke, he said very angrily to him, “Señor, your -excellence will have to give account to God for what this good man -does. This Don Quixote, or Don Simpleton, or whatever his name is, -cannot, I imagine, be such a blockhead as your excellence would have -him, holding out encouragement to him to go on with his vagaries and -follies.” Then turning to address Don Quixote he said, “And you, -num-skull, who put it into your head that you are a knight-errant, and -vanquish giants and capture miscreants? Go your ways in a good hour, -and in a good hour be it said to you. Go home and bring up your -children if you have any, and attend to your business, and give over -going wandering about the world, gaping and making a laughing-stock of -yourself to all who know you and all who don’t. Where, in heaven’s -name, have you discovered that there are or ever were knights-errant? -Where are there giants in Spain or miscreants in La Mancha, or -enchanted Dulcineas, or all the rest of the silly things they tell -about you?” - -Don Quixote listened attentively to the reverend gentleman’s words, and -as soon as he perceived he had done speaking, regardless of the -presence of the duke and duchess, he sprang to his feet with angry -looks and an agitated countenance, and said—But the reply deserves a -chapter to itself. - -CHAPTER XXXII. -OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH OTHER INCIDENTS, GRAVE -AND DROLL - -Don Quixote, then, having risen to his feet, trembling from head to -foot like a man dosed with mercury, said in a hurried, agitated voice, -“The place I am in, the presence in which I stand, and the respect I -have and always have had for the profession to which your worship -belongs, hold and bind the hands of my just indignation; and as well -for these reasons as because I know, as everyone knows, that a -gownsman’s weapon is the same as a woman’s, the tongue, I will with -mine engage in equal combat with your worship, from whom one might have -expected good advice instead of foul abuse. Pious, well-meant reproof -requires a different demeanour and arguments of another sort; at any -rate, to have reproved me in public, and so roughly, exceeds the bounds -of proper reproof, for that comes better with gentleness than with -rudeness; and it is not seemly to call the sinner roundly blockhead and -booby, without knowing anything of the sin that is reproved. Come, tell -me, for which of the stupidities you have observed in me do you condemn -and abuse me, and bid me go home and look after my house and wife and -children, without knowing whether I have any? Is nothing more needed -than to get a footing, by hook or by crook, in other people’s houses to -rule over the masters (and that, perhaps, after having been brought up -in all the straitness of some seminary, and without having ever seen -more of the world than may lie within twenty or thirty leagues round), -to fit one to lay down the law rashly for chivalry, and pass judgment -on knights-errant? Is it, haply, an idle occupation, or is the time -ill-spent that is spent in roaming the world in quest, not of its -enjoyments, but of those arduous toils whereby the good mount upwards -to the abodes of everlasting life? If gentlemen, great lords, nobles, -men of high birth, were to rate me as a fool I should take it as an -irreparable insult; but I care not a farthing if clerks who have never -entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry should think me foolish. -Knight I am, and knight I will die, if such be the pleasure of the Most -High. Some take the broad road of overweening ambition; others that of -mean and servile flattery; others that of deceitful hypocrisy, and some -that of true religion; but I, led by my star, follow the narrow path of -knight-errantry, and in pursuit of that calling I despise wealth, but -not honour. I have redressed injuries, righted wrongs, punished -insolences, vanquished giants, and crushed monsters; I am in love, for -no other reason than that it is incumbent on knights-errant to be so; -but though I am, I am no carnal-minded lover, but one of the chaste, -platonic sort. My intentions are always directed to worthy ends, to do -good to all and evil to none; and if he who means this, does this, and -makes this his practice deserves to be called a fool, it is for your -highnesses to say, O most excellent duke and duchess.” - -“Good, by God!” cried Sancho; “say no more in your own defence, master -mine, for there’s nothing more in the world to be said, thought, or -insisted on; and besides, when this gentleman denies, as he has, that -there are or ever have been any knights-errant in the world, is it any -wonder if he knows nothing of what he has been talking about?” - -“Perhaps, brother,” said the ecclesiastic, “you are that Sancho Panza -that is mentioned, to whom your master has promised an island?” - -“Yes, I am,” said Sancho, “and what’s more, I am one who deserves it as -much as anyone; I am one of the sort—‘Attach thyself to the good, and -thou wilt be one of them,’ and of those, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, -but with whom thou art fed,’ and of those, ‘Who leans against a good -tree, a good shade covers him;’ I have leant upon a good master, and I -have been for months going about with him, and please God I shall be -just such another; long life to him and long life to me, for neither -will he be in any want of empires to rule, or I of islands to govern.” - -“No, Sancho my friend, certainly not,” said the duke, “for in the name -of Señor Don Quixote I confer upon you the government of one of no -small importance that I have at my disposal.” - -“Go down on thy knees, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and kiss the feet of -his excellence for the favour he has bestowed upon thee.” - -Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up from table -completely out of temper, exclaiming, “By the gown I wear, I am almost -inclined to say that your excellence is as great a fool as these -sinners. No wonder they are mad, when people who are in their senses -sanction their madness! I leave your excellence with them, for so long -as they are in the house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the -trouble of reproving what I cannot remedy;” and without uttering -another word, or eating another morsel, he went off, the entreaties of -the duke and duchess being entirely unavailing to stop him; not that -the duke said much to him, for he could not, because of the laughter -his uncalled-for anger provoked. - -When he had done laughing, he said to Don Quixote, “You have replied on -your own behalf so stoutly, Sir Knight of the Lions, that there is no -occasion to seek further satisfaction for this, which, though it may -look like an offence, is not so at all, for, as women can give no -offence, no more can ecclesiastics, as you very well know.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and the reason is, that he who is -not liable to offence cannot give offence to anyone. Women, children, -and ecclesiastics, as they cannot defend themselves, though they may -receive offence cannot be insulted, because between the offence and the -insult there is, as your excellence very well knows, this difference: -the insult comes from one who is capable of offering it, and does so, -and maintains it; the offence may come from any quarter without -carrying insult. To take an example: a man is standing unsuspectingly -in the street and ten others come up armed and beat him; he draws his -sword and quits himself like a man, but the number of his antagonists -makes it impossible for him to effect his purpose and avenge himself; -this man suffers an offence but not an insult. Another example will -make the same thing plain: a man is standing with his back turned, -another comes up and strikes him, and after striking him takes to -flight, without waiting an instant, and the other pursues him but does -not overtake him; he who received the blow received an offence, but not -an insult, because an insult must be maintained. If he who struck him, -though he did so sneakingly and treacherously, had drawn his sword and -stood and faced him, then he who had been struck would have received -offence and insult at the same time; offence because he was struck -treacherously, insult because he who struck him maintained what he had -done, standing his ground without taking to flight. And so, according -to the laws of the accursed duel, I may have received offence, but not -insult, for neither women nor children can maintain it, nor can they -wound, nor have they any way of standing their ground, and it is just -the same with those connected with religion; for these three sorts of -persons are without arms offensive or defensive, and so, though -naturally they are bound to defend themselves, they have no right to -offend anybody; and though I said just now I might have received -offence, I say now certainly not, for he who cannot receive an insult -can still less give one; for which reasons I ought not to feel, nor do -I feel, aggrieved at what that good man said to me; I only wish he had -stayed a little longer, that I might have shown him the mistake he -makes in supposing and maintaining that there are not and never have -been any knights-errant in the world; had Amadis or any of his -countless descendants heard him say as much, I am sure it would not -have gone well with his worship.” - -“I will take my oath of that,” said Sancho; “they would have given him -a slash that would have slit him down from top to toe like a -pomegranate or a ripe melon; they were likely fellows to put up with -jokes of that sort! By my faith, I’m certain if Reinaldos of Montalvan -had heard the little man’s words he would have given him such a spank -on the mouth that he wouldn’t have spoken for the next three years; ay, -let him tackle them, and he’ll see how he’ll get out of their hands!” - -The duchess, as she listened to Sancho, was ready to die with laughter, -and in her own mind she set him down as droller and madder than his -master; and there were a good many just then who were of the same -opinion. - -Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end, and as the -cloth was removed four damsels came in, one of them with a silver -basin, another with a jug also of silver, a third with two fine white -towels on her shoulder, and the fourth with her arms bared to the -elbows, and in her white hands (for white they certainly were) a round -ball of Naples soap. The one with the basin approached, and with arch -composure and impudence, thrust it under Don Quixote’s chin, who, -wondering at such a ceremony, said never a word, supposing it to be the -custom of that country to wash beards instead of hands; he therefore -stretched his out as far as he could, and at the same instant the jug -began to pour and the damsel with the soap rubbed his beard briskly, -raising snow-flakes, for the soap lather was no less white, not only -over the beard, but all over the face, and over the eyes of the -submissive knight, so that they were perforce obliged to keep shut. The -duke and duchess, who had not known anything about this, waited to see -what came of this strange washing. The barber damsel, when she had him -a hand’s breadth deep in lather, pretended that there was no more -water, and bade the one with the jug go and fetch some, while Señor Don -Quixote waited. She did so, and Don Quixote was left the strangest and -most ludicrous figure that could be imagined. All those present, and -there were a good many, were watching him, and as they saw him there -with half a yard of neck, and that uncommonly brown, his eyes shut, and -his beard full of soap, it was a great wonder, and only by great -discretion, that they were able to restrain their laughter. The -damsels, the concocters of the joke, kept their eyes down, not daring -to look at their master and mistress; and as for them, laughter and -anger struggled within them, and they knew not what to do, whether to -punish the audacity of the girls, or to reward them for the amusement -they had received from seeing Don Quixote in such a plight. - -At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made an end of -washing Don Quixote, and the one who carried the towels very -deliberately wiped him and dried him; and all four together making him -a profound obeisance and curtsey, they were about to go, when the duke, -lest Don Quixote should see through the joke, called out to the one -with the basin saying, “Come and wash me, and take care that there is -water enough.” The girl, sharp-witted and prompt, came and placed the -basin for the duke as she had done for Don Quixote, and they soon had -him well soaped and washed, and having wiped him dry they made their -obeisance and retired. It appeared afterwards that the duke had sworn -that if they had not washed him as they had Don Quixote he would have -punished them for their impudence, which they adroitly atoned for by -soaping him as well. - -Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very attentively, and said -to himself, “God bless me, if it were only the custom in this country -to wash squires’ beards too as well as knights’. For by God and upon my -soul I want it badly; and if they gave me a scrape of the razor besides -I’d take it as a still greater kindness.” - -“What are you saying to yourself, Sancho?” asked the duchess. - -“I was saying, señora,” he replied, “that in the courts of other -princes, when the cloth is taken away, I have always heard say they -give water for the hands, but not lye for the beard; and that shows it -is good to live long that you may see much; to be sure, they say too -that he who lives a long life must undergo much evil, though to undergo -a washing of that sort is pleasure rather than pain.” - -“Don’t be uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the duchess; “I will take care -that my damsels wash you, and even put you in the tub if necessary.” - -“I’ll be content with the beard,” said Sancho, “at any rate for the -present; and as for the future, God has decreed what is to be.” - -“Attend to worthy Sancho’s request, seneschal,” said the duchess, “and -do exactly what he wishes.” - -The seneschal replied that Señor Sancho should be obeyed in everything; -and with that he went away to dinner and took Sancho along with him, -while the duke and duchess and Don Quixote remained at table discussing -a great variety of things, but all bearing on the calling of arms and -knight-errantry. - -The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a retentive -memory, to describe and portray to her the beauty and features of the -lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for, judging by what fame trumpeted abroad of -her beauty, she felt sure she must be the fairest creature in the -world, nay, in all La Mancha. - -Don Quixote sighed on hearing the duchess’s request, and said, “If I -could pluck out my heart, and lay it on a plate on this table here -before your highness’s eyes, it would spare my tongue the pain of -telling what can hardly be thought of, for in it your excellence would -see her portrayed in full. But why should I attempt to depict and -describe in detail, and feature by feature, the beauty of the peerless -Dulcinea, the burden being one worthy of other shoulders than mine, an -enterprise wherein the pencils of Parrhasius, Timantes, and Apelles, -and the graver of Lysippus ought to be employed, to paint it in -pictures and carve it in marble and bronze, and Ciceronian and -Demosthenian eloquence to sound its praises?” - -“What does Demosthenian mean, Señor Don Quixote?” said the duchess; “it -is a word I never heard in all my life.” - -“Demosthenian eloquence,” said Don Quixote, “means the eloquence of -Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means that of Cicero, who were the two most -eloquent orators in the world.” - -“True,” said the duke; “you must have lost your wits to ask such a -question. Nevertheless, Señor Don Quixote would greatly gratify us if -he would depict her to us; for never fear, even in an outline or sketch -she will be something to make the fairest envious.” - -“I would do so certainly,” said Don Quixote, “had she not been blurred -to my mind’s eye by the misfortune that fell upon her a short time -since, one of such a nature that I am more ready to weep over it than -to describe it. For your highnesses must know that, going a few days -back to kiss her hands and receive her benediction, approbation, and -permission for this third sally, I found her altogether a different -being from the one I sought; I found her enchanted and changed from a -princess into a peasant, from fair to foul, from an angel into a devil, -from fragrant to pestiferous, from refined to clownish, from a -dignified lady into a jumping tomboy, and, in a word, from Dulcinea del -Toboso into a coarse Sayago wench.” - -“God bless me!” said the duke aloud at this, “who can have done the -world such an injury? Who can have robbed it of the beauty that -gladdened it, of the grace and gaiety that charmed it, of the modesty -that shed a lustre upon it?” - -“Who?” replied Don Quixote; “who could it be but some malignant -enchanter of the many that persecute me out of envy—that accursed race -born into the world to obscure and bring to naught the achievements of -the good, and glorify and exalt the deeds of the wicked? Enchanters -have persecuted me, enchanters persecute me still, and enchanters will -continue to persecute me until they have sunk me and my lofty chivalry -in the deep abyss of oblivion; and they injure and wound me where they -know I feel it most. For to deprive a knight-errant of his lady is to -deprive him of the eyes he sees with, of the sun that gives him light, -of the food whereby he lives. Many a time before have I said it, and I -say it now once more, a knight-errant without a lady is like a tree -without leaves, a building without a foundation, or a shadow without -the body that causes it.” - -“There is no denying it,” said the duchess; “but still, if we are to -believe the history of Don Quixote that has come out here lately with -general applause, it is to be inferred from it, if I mistake not, that -you never saw the lady Dulcinea, and that the said lady is nothing in -the world but an imaginary lady, one that you yourself begot and gave -birth to in your brain, and adorned with whatever charms and -perfections you chose.” - -“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote; “God -knows whether there be any Dulcinea or not in the world, or whether she -is imaginary or not imaginary; these are things the proof of which must -not be pushed to extreme lengths. I have not begotten nor given birth -to my lady, though I behold her as she needs must be, a lady who -contains in herself all the qualities to make her famous throughout the -world, beautiful without blemish, dignified without haughtiness, tender -and yet modest, gracious from courtesy and courteous from good -breeding, and lastly, of exalted lineage, because beauty shines forth -and excels with a higher degree of perfection upon good blood than in -the fair of lowly birth.” - -“That is true,” said the duke; “but Señor Don Quixote will give me -leave to say what I am constrained to say by the story of his exploits -that I have read, from which it is to be inferred that, granting there -is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, or out of it, and that she is in the -highest degree beautiful as you have described her to us, as regards -the loftiness of her lineage she is not on a par with the Orianas, -Alastrajareas, Madasimas, or others of that sort, with whom, as you -well know, the histories abound.” - -“To that I may reply,” said Don Quixote, “that Dulcinea is the daughter -of her own works, and that virtues rectify blood, and that lowly virtue -is more to be regarded and esteemed than exalted vice. Dulcinea, -besides, has that within her that may raise her to be a crowned and -sceptred queen; for the merit of a fair and virtuous woman is capable -of performing greater miracles; and virtually, though not formally, she -has in herself higher fortunes.” - -“I protest, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that in all you say, -you go most cautiously and lead in hand, as the saying is; henceforth I -will believe myself, and I will take care that everyone in my house -believes, even my lord the duke if needs be, that there is a Dulcinea -in El Toboso, and that she is living to-day, and that she is beautiful -and nobly born and deserves to have such a knight as Señor Don Quixote -in her service, and that is the highest praise that it is in my power -to give her or that I can think of. But I cannot help entertaining a -doubt, and having a certain grudge against Sancho Panza; the doubt is -this, that the aforesaid history declares that the said Sancho Panza, -when he carried a letter on your worship’s behalf to the said lady -Dulcinea, found her sifting a sack of wheat; and more by token it says -it was red wheat; a thing which makes me doubt the loftiness of her -lineage.” - -To this Don Quixote made answer, “Señora, your highness must know that -everything or almost everything that happens me transcends the ordinary -limits of what happens to other knights-errant; whether it be that it -is directed by the inscrutable will of destiny, or by the malice of -some jealous enchanter. Now it is an established fact that all or most -famous knights-errant have some special gift, one that of being proof -against enchantment, another that of being made of such invulnerable -flesh that he cannot be wounded, as was the famous Roland, one of the -twelve peers of France, of whom it is related that he could not be -wounded except in the sole of his left foot, and that it must be with -the point of a stout pin and not with any other sort of weapon -whatever; and so, when Bernardo del Carpio slew him at Roncesvalles, -finding that he could not wound him with steel, he lifted him up from -the ground in his arms and strangled him, calling to mind seasonably -the death which Hercules inflicted on Antæus, the fierce giant that -they say was the son of Terra. I would infer from what I have mentioned -that perhaps I may have some gift of this kind, not that of being -invulnerable, because experience has many times proved to me that I am -of tender flesh and not at all impenetrable; nor that of being proof -against enchantment, for I have already seen myself thrust into a cage, -in which all the world would not have been able to confine me except by -force of enchantments. But as I delivered myself from that one, I am -inclined to believe that there is no other that can hurt me; and so, -these enchanters, seeing that they cannot exert their vile craft -against my person, revenge themselves on what I love most, and seek to -rob me of life by maltreating that of Dulcinea in whom I live; and -therefore I am convinced that when my squire carried my message to her, -they changed her into a common peasant girl, engaged in such a mean -occupation as sifting wheat; I have already said, however, that that -wheat was not red wheat, nor wheat at all, but grains of orient pearl. -And as a proof of all this, I must tell your highnesses that, coming to -El Toboso a short time back, I was altogether unable to discover the -palace of Dulcinea; and that the next day, though Sancho, my squire, -saw her in her own proper shape, which is the fairest in the world, to -me she appeared to be a coarse, ill-favoured farm-wench, and by no -means a well-spoken one, she who is propriety itself. And so, as I am -not and, so far as one can judge, cannot be enchanted, she it is that -is enchanted, that is smitten, that is altered, changed, and -transformed; in her have my enemies revenged themselves upon me, and -for her shall I live in ceaseless tears, until I see her in her -pristine state. I have mentioned this lest anybody should mind what -Sancho said about Dulcinea’s winnowing or sifting; for, as they changed -her to me, it is no wonder if they changed her to him. Dulcinea is -illustrious and well-born, and of one of the gentle families of El -Toboso, which are many, ancient, and good. Therein, most assuredly, not -small is the share of the peerless Dulcinea, through whom her town will -be famous and celebrated in ages to come, as Troy was through Helen, -and Spain through La Cava, though with a better title and tradition. -For another thing; I would have your graces understand that Sancho -Panza is one of the drollest squires that ever served knight-errant; -sometimes there is a simplicity about him so acute that it is an -amusement to try and make out whether he is simple or sharp; he has -mischievous tricks that stamp him rogue, and blundering ways that prove -him a booby; he doubts everything and believes everything; when I fancy -he is on the point of coming down headlong from sheer stupidity, he -comes out with something shrewd that sends him up to the skies. After -all, I would not exchange him for another squire, though I were given a -city to boot, and therefore I am in doubt whether it will be well to -send him to the government your highness has bestowed upon him; though -I perceive in him a certain aptitude for the work of governing, so -that, with a little trimming of his understanding, he would manage any -government as easily as the king does his taxes; and moreover, we know -already ample experience that it does not require much cleverness or -much learning to be a governor, for there are a hundred round about us -that scarcely know how to read, and govern like gerfalcons. The main -point is that they should have good intentions and be desirous of doing -right in all things, for they will never be at a loss for persons to -advise and direct them in what they have to do, like those -knight-governors who, being no lawyers, pronounce sentences with the -aid of an assessor. My advice to him will be to take no bribe and -surrender no right, and I have some other little matters in reserve, -that shall be produced in due season for Sancho’s benefit and the -advantage of the island he is to govern.” - -The duke, duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this point in their -conversation, when they heard voices and a great hubbub in the palace, -and Sancho burst abruptly into the room all glowing with anger, with a -straining-cloth by way of a bib, and followed by several servants, or, -more properly speaking, kitchen-boys and other underlings, one of whom -carried a small trough full of water, that from its colour and impurity -was plainly dishwater. The one with the trough pursued him and followed -him everywhere he went, endeavouring with the utmost persistence to -thrust it under his chin, while another kitchen-boy seemed anxious to -wash his beard. - -“What is all this, brothers?” asked the duchess. “What is it? What do -you want to do to this good man? Do you forget he is a governor-elect?” - -To which the barber kitchen-boy replied, “The gentleman will not let -himself be washed as is customary, and as my lord and the señor his -master have been.” - -“Yes, I will,” said Sancho, in a great rage; “but I’d like it to be -with cleaner towels, clearer lye, and not such dirty hands; for there’s -not so much difference between me and my master that he should be -washed with angels’ water and I with devil’s lye. The customs of -countries and princes’ palaces are only good so long as they give no -annoyance; but the way of washing they have here is worse than doing -penance. I have a clean beard, and I don’t require to be refreshed in -that fashion, and whoever comes to wash me or touch a hair of my head, -I mean to say my beard, with all due respect be it said, I’ll give him -a punch that will leave my fist sunk in his skull; for cirimonies and -soapings of this sort are more like jokes than the polite attentions of -one’s host.” - -The duchess was ready to die with laughter when she saw Sancho’s rage -and heard his words; but it was no pleasure to Don Quixote to see him -in such a sorry trim, with the dingy towel about him, and the -hangers-on of the kitchen all round him; so making a low bow to the -duke and duchess, as if to ask their permission to speak, he addressed -the rout in a dignified tone: “Holloa, gentlemen! you let that youth -alone, and go back to where you came from, or anywhere else if you -like; my squire is as clean as any other person, and those troughs are -as bad as narrow thin-necked jars to him; take my advice and leave him -alone, for neither he nor I understand joking.” - -Sancho took the word out of his mouth and went on, “Nay, let them come -and try their jokes on the country bumpkin, for it’s about as likely -I’ll stand them as that it’s now midnight! Let them bring me a comb -here, or what they please, and curry this beard of mine, and if they -get anything out of it that offends against cleanliness, let them clip -me to the skin.” - -Upon this, the duchess, laughing all the while, said, “Sancho Panza is -right, and always will be in all he says; he is clean, and, as he says -himself, he does not require to be washed; and if our ways do not -please him, he is free to choose. Besides, you promoters of cleanliness -have been excessively careless and thoughtless, I don’t know if I ought -not to say audacious, to bring troughs and wooden utensils and kitchen -dishclouts, instead of basins and jugs of pure gold and towels of -holland, to such a person and such a beard; but, after all, you are -ill-conditioned and ill-bred, and spiteful as you are, you cannot help -showing the grudge you have against the squires of knights-errant.” - -The impudent servitors, and even the seneschal who came with them, took -the duchess to be speaking in earnest, so they removed the -straining-cloth from Sancho’s neck, and with something like shame and -confusion of face went off all of them and left him; whereupon he, -seeing himself safe out of that extreme danger, as it seemed to him, -ran and fell on his knees before the duchess, saying, “From great -ladies great favours may be looked for; this which your grace has done -me to-day cannot be requited with less than wishing I was dubbed a -knight-errant, to devote myself all the days of my life to the service -of so exalted a lady. I am a labouring man, my name is Sancho Panza, I -am married, I have children, and I am serving as a squire; if in any -one of these ways I can serve your highness, I will not be longer in -obeying than your grace in commanding.” - -“It is easy to see, Sancho,” replied the duchess, “that you have -learned to be polite in the school of politeness itself; I mean to say -it is easy to see that you have been nursed in the bosom of Señor Don -Quixote, who is, of course, the cream of good breeding and flower of -ceremony—or cirimony, as you would say yourself. Fair be the fortunes -of such a master and such a servant, the one the cynosure of -knight-errantry, the other the star of squirely fidelity! Rise, Sancho, -my friend; I will repay your courtesy by taking care that my lord the -duke makes good to you the promised gift of the government as soon as -possible.” - -With this, the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote retired to -take his midday sleep; but the duchess begged Sancho, unless he had a -very great desire to go to sleep, to come and spend the afternoon with -her and her damsels in a very cool chamber. Sancho replied that, though -he certainly had the habit of sleeping four or five hours in the heat -of the day in summer, to serve her excellence he would try with all his -might not to sleep even one that day, and that he would come in -obedience to her command, and with that he went off. The duke gave -fresh orders with respect to treating Don Quixote as a knight-errant, -without departing even in smallest particular from the style in which, -as the stories tell us, they used to treat the knights of old. - -CHAPTER XXXIII. -OF THE DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND HER DAMSELS HELD WITH -SANCHO PANZA, WELL WORTH READING AND NOTING - -The history records that Sancho did not sleep that afternoon, but in -order to keep his word came, before he had well done dinner, to visit -the duchess, who, finding enjoyment in listening to him, made him sit -down beside her on a low seat, though Sancho, out of pure good -breeding, wanted not to sit down; the duchess, however, told him he was -to sit down as governor and talk as squire, as in both respects he was -worthy of even the chair of the Cid Ruy Diaz the Campeador. Sancho -shrugged his shoulders, obeyed, and sat down, and all the duchess’s -damsels and duennas gathered round him, waiting in profound silence to -hear what he would say. It was the duchess, however, who spoke first, -saying: - -“Now that we are alone, and that there is nobody here to overhear us, I -should be glad if the señor governor would relieve me of certain doubts -I have, rising out of the history of the great Don Quixote that is now -in print. One is: inasmuch as worthy Sancho never saw Dulcinea, I mean -the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, nor took Don Quixote’s letter to her, for -it was left in the memorandum book in the Sierra Morena, how did he -dare to invent the answer and all that about finding her sifting wheat, -the whole story being a deception and falsehood, and so much to the -prejudice of the peerless Dulcinea’s good name, a thing that is not at -all becoming the character and fidelity of a good squire?” - -At these words, Sancho, without uttering one in reply, got up from his -chair, and with noiseless steps, with his body bent and his finger on -his lips, went all round the room lifting up the hangings; and this -done, he came back to his seat and said, “Now, señora, that I have seen -that there is no one except the bystanders listening to us on the sly, -I will answer what you have asked me, and all you may ask me, without -fear or dread. And the first thing I have got to say is, that for my -own part I hold my master Don Quixote to be stark mad, though sometimes -he says things that, to my mind, and indeed everybody’s that listens to -him, are so wise, and run in such a straight furrow, that Satan himself -could not have said them better; but for all that, really, and beyond -all question, it’s my firm belief he is cracked. Well, then, as this is -clear to my mind, I can venture to make him believe things that have -neither head nor tail, like that affair of the answer to the letter, -and that other of six or eight days ago, which is not yet in history, -that is to say, the affair of the enchantment of my lady Dulcinea; for -I made him believe she is enchanted, though there’s no more truth in it -than over the hills of Úbeda.” - -The duchess begged him to tell her about the enchantment or deception, -so Sancho told the whole story exactly as it had happened, and his -hearers were not a little amused by it; and then resuming, the duchess -said, “In consequence of what worthy Sancho has told me, a doubt starts -up in my mind, and there comes a kind of whisper to my ear that says, -‘If Don Quixote be mad, crazy, and cracked, and Sancho Panza his squire -knows it, and, notwithstanding, serves and follows him, and goes -trusting to his empty promises, there can be no doubt he must be still -madder and sillier than his master; and that being so, it will be cast -in your teeth, señora duchess, if you give the said Sancho an island to -govern; for how will he who does not know how to govern himself know -how to govern others?’” - -“By God, señora,” said Sancho, “but that doubt comes timely; but your -grace may say it out, and speak plainly, or as you like; for I know -what you say is true, and if I were wise I should have left my master -long ago; but this was my fate, this was my bad luck; I can’t help it, -I must follow him; we’re from the same village, I’ve eaten his bread, -I’m fond of him, I’m grateful, he gave me his ass-colts, and above all -I’m faithful; so it’s quite impossible for anything to separate us, -except the pickaxe and shovel. And if your highness does not like to -give me the government you promised, God made me without it, and maybe -your not giving it to me will be all the better for my conscience, for -fool as I am I know the proverb ‘to her hurt the ant got wings,’ and it -may be that Sancho the squire will get to heaven sooner than Sancho the -governor. ‘They make as good bread here as in France,’ and ‘by night -all cats are grey,’ and ‘a hard case enough his, who hasn’t broken his -fast at two in the afternoon,’ and ‘there’s no stomach a hand’s breadth -bigger than another,’ and the same can be filled ‘with straw or hay,’ -as the saying is, and ‘the little birds of the field have God for their -purveyor and caterer,’ and ‘four yards of Cuenca frieze keep one warmer -than four of Segovia broad-cloth,’ and ‘when we quit this world and are -put underground the prince travels by as narrow a path as the -journeyman,’ and ‘the Pope’s body does not take up more feet of earth -than the sacristan’s,’ for all that the one is higher than the other; -for when we go to our graves we all pack ourselves up and make -ourselves small, or rather they pack us up and make us small in spite -of us, and then—good night to us. And I say once more, if your ladyship -does not like to give me the island because I’m a fool, like a wise man -I will take care to give myself no trouble about it; I have heard say -that ‘behind the cross there’s the devil,’ and that ‘all that glitters -is not gold,’ and that from among the oxen, and the ploughs, and the -yokes, Wamba the husbandman was taken to be made King of Spain, and -from among brocades, and pleasures, and riches, Roderick was taken to -be devoured by adders, if the verses of the old ballads don’t lie.” - -“To be sure they don’t lie!” exclaimed Doña Rodriguez, the duenna, who -was one of the listeners. “Why, there’s a ballad that says they put -King Rodrigo alive into a tomb full of toads, and adders, and lizards, -and that two days afterwards the king, in a plaintive, feeble voice, -cried out from within the tomb- - -They gnaw me now, they gnaw me now, -There where I most did sin. - -And according to that the gentleman has good reason to say he would -rather be a labouring man than a king, if vermin are to eat him.” - -The duchess could not help laughing at the simplicity of her duenna, or -wondering at the language and proverbs of Sancho, to whom she said, -“Worthy Sancho knows very well that when once a knight has made a -promise he strives to keep it, though it should cost him his life. My -lord and husband the duke, though not one of the errant sort, is none -the less a knight for that reason, and will keep his word about the -promised island, in spite of the envy and malice of the world. Let -Sancho be of good cheer; for when he least expects it he will find -himself seated on the throne of his island and seat of dignity, and -will take possession of his government that he may discard it for -another of three-bordered brocade. The charge I give him is to be -careful how he governs his vassals, bearing in mind that they are all -loyal and well-born.” - -“As to governing them well,” said Sancho, “there’s no need of charging -me to do that, for I’m kind-hearted by nature, and full of compassion -for the poor; there’s no stealing the loaf from him who kneads and -bakes;’ and by my faith it won’t do to throw false dice with me; I am -an old dog, and I know all about ‘tus, tus;’ I can be wide-awake if -need be, and I don’t let clouds come before my eyes, for I know where -the shoe pinches me; I say so, because with me the good will have -support and protection, and the bad neither footing nor access. And it -seems to me that, in governments, to make a beginning is everything; -and maybe, after having been governor a fortnight, I’ll take kindly to -the work and know more about it than the field labour I have been -brought up to.” - -“You are right, Sancho,” said the duchess, “for no one is born ready -taught, and the bishops are made out of men and not out of stones. But -to return to the subject we were discussing just now, the enchantment -of the lady Dulcinea, I look upon it as certain, and something more -than evident, that Sancho’s idea of practising a deception upon his -master, making him believe that the peasant girl was Dulcinea and that -if he did not recognise her it must be because she was enchanted, was -all a device of one of the enchanters that persecute Don Quixote. For -in truth and earnest, I know from good authority that the coarse -country wench who jumped up on the ass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, -and that worthy Sancho, though he fancies himself the deceiver, is the -one that is deceived; and that there is no more reason to doubt the -truth of this, than of anything else we never saw. Señor Sancho Panza -must know that we too have enchanters here that are well disposed to -us, and tell us what goes on in the world, plainly and distinctly, -without subterfuge or deception; and believe me, Sancho, that agile -country lass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, who is as much enchanted -as the mother that bore her; and when we least expect it, we shall see -her in her own proper form, and then Sancho will be disabused of the -error he is under at present.” - -“All that’s very possible,” said Sancho Panza; “and now I’m willing to -believe what my master says about what he saw in the cave of -Montesinos, where he says he saw the lady Dulcinea del Toboso in the -very same dress and apparel that I said I had seen her in when I -enchanted her all to please myself. It must be all exactly the other -way, as your ladyship says; because it is impossible to suppose that -out of my poor wit such a cunning trick could be concocted in a moment, -nor do I think my master is so mad that by my weak and feeble -persuasion he could be made to believe a thing so out of all reason. -But, señora, your excellence must not therefore think me ill-disposed, -for a dolt like me is not bound to see into the thoughts and plots of -those vile enchanters. I invented all that to escape my master’s -scolding, and not with any intention of hurting him; and if it has -turned out differently, there is a God in heaven who judges our -hearts.” - -“That is true,” said the duchess; “but tell me, Sancho, what is this -you say about the cave of Montesinos, for I should like to know.” - -Sancho upon this related to her, word for word, what has been said -already touching that adventure, and having heard it the duchess said, -“From this occurrence it may be inferred that, as the great Don Quixote -says he saw there the same country wench Sancho saw on the way from El -Toboso, it is, no doubt, Dulcinea, and that there are some very active -and exceedingly busy enchanters about.” - -“So I say,” said Sancho, “and if my lady Dulcinea is enchanted, so much -the worse for her, and I’m not going to pick a quarrel with my master’s -enemies, who seem to be many and spiteful. The truth is that the one I -saw was a country wench, and I set her down to be a country wench; and -if that was Dulcinea it must not be laid at my door, nor should I be -called to answer for it or take the consequences. But they must go -nagging at me at every step—‘Sancho said it, Sancho did it, Sancho -here, Sancho there,’ as if Sancho was nobody at all, and not that same -Sancho Panza that’s now going all over the world in books, so Samson -Carrasco told me, and he’s at any rate one that’s a bachelor of -Salamanca; and people of that sort can’t lie, except when the whim -seizes them or they have some very good reason for it. So there’s no -occasion for anybody to quarrel with me; and then I have a good -character, and, as I have heard my master say, ‘a good name is better -than great riches;’ let them only stick me into this government and -they’ll see wonders, for one who has been a good squire will be a good -governor.” - -“All worthy Sancho’s observations,” said the duchess, “are Catonian -sentences, or at any rate out of the very heart of Michael Verino -himself, who _florentibus occidit annis_. In fact, to speak in his own -style, ‘under a bad cloak there’s often a good drinker.’” - -“Indeed, señora,” said Sancho, “I never yet drank out of wickedness; -from thirst I have very likely, for I have nothing of the hypocrite in -me; I drink when I’m inclined, or, if I’m not inclined, when they offer -it to me, so as not to look either strait-laced or ill-bred; for when a -friend drinks one’s health what heart can be so hard as not to return -it? But if I put on my shoes I don’t dirty them; besides, squires to -knights-errant mostly drink water, for they are always wandering among -woods, forests and meadows, mountains and crags, without a drop of wine -to be had if they gave their eyes for it.” - -“So I believe,” said the duchess; “and now let Sancho go and take his -sleep, and we will talk by-and-by at greater length, and settle how he -may soon go and stick himself into the government, as he says.” - -Sancho once more kissed the duchess’s hand, and entreated her to let -good care be taken of his Dapple, for he was the light of his eyes. - -“What is Dapple?” said the duchess. - -“My ass,” said Sancho, “which, not to mention him by that name, I’m -accustomed to call Dapple; I begged this lady duenna here to take care -of him when I came into the castle, and she got as angry as if I had -said she was ugly or old, though it ought to be more natural and proper -for duennas to feed asses than to ornament chambers. God bless me! what -a spite a gentleman of my village had against these ladies!” - -“He must have been some clown,” said Doña Rodriguez the duenna; “for if -he had been a gentleman and well-born he would have exalted them higher -than the horns of the moon.” - -“That will do,” said the duchess; “no more of this; hush, Doña -Rodriguez, and let Señor Panza rest easy and leave the treatment of -Dapple in my charge, for as he is a treasure of Sancho’s, I’ll put him -on the apple of my eye.” - -“It will be enough for him to be in the stable,” said Sancho, “for -neither he nor I are worthy to rest a moment in the apple of your -highness’s eye, and I’d as soon stab myself as consent to it; for -though my master says that in civilities it is better to lose by a card -too many than a card too few, when it comes to civilities to asses we -must mind what we are about and keep within due bounds.” - -“Take him to your government, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and there you -will be able to make as much of him as you like, and even release him -from work and pension him off.” - -“Don’t think, señora duchess, that you have said anything absurd,” said -Sancho; “I have seen more than two asses go to governments, and for me -to take mine with me would be nothing new.” - -Sancho’s words made the duchess laugh again and gave her fresh -amusement, and dismissing him to sleep she went away to tell the duke -the conversation she had had with him, and between them they plotted -and arranged to play a joke upon Don Quixote that was to be a rare one -and entirely in knight-errantry style, and in that same style they -practised several upon him, so much in keeping and so clever that they -form the best adventures this great history contains. - -CHAPTER XXXIV. -WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY WERE TO DISENCHANT -THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES -IN THIS BOOK - -Great was the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the conversation of -Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more bent than ever upon the plan -they had of practising some jokes upon them that should have the look -and appearance of adventures, they took as their basis of action what -Don Quixote had already told them about the cave of Montesinos, in -order to play him a famous one. But what the duchess marvelled at above -all was that Sancho’s simplicity could be so great as to make him -believe as absolute truth that Dulcinea had been enchanted, when it was -he himself who had been the enchanter and trickster in the business. -Having, therefore, instructed their servants in everything they were to -do, six days afterwards they took him out to hunt, with as great a -retinue of huntsmen and beaters as a crowned king. - -They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another -of the finest green cloth; but Don Quixote declined to put his on, -saying that he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could -not carry wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they -gave him, meaning to sell it at the first opportunity. - -The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, and Sancho -arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple (for he would not give him -up though they offered him a horse), he placed himself in the midst of -the troop of huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don -Quixote, in pure courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her palfrey, -though the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a -wood that lay between two high mountains, where, after occupying -various posts, ambushes, and paths, and distributing the party in -different positions, the hunt began with great noise, shouting, and -hallooing, so that, between the baying of the hounds and the blowing of -the horns, they could not hear one another. The duchess dismounted, and -with a sharp boar-spear in her hand posted herself where she knew the -wild boars were in the habit of passing. The duke and Don Quixote -likewise dismounted and placed themselves one at each side of her. -Sancho took up a position in the rear of all without dismounting from -Dapple, whom he dared not desert lest some mischief should befall him. -Scarcely had they taken their stand in a line with several of their -servants, when they saw a huge boar, closely pressed by the hounds and -followed by the huntsmen, making towards them, grinding his teeth and -tusks, and scattering foam from his mouth. As soon as he saw him Don -Quixote, bracing his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced -to meet him; the duke with boar-spear did the same; but the duchess -would have gone in front of them all had not the duke prevented her. -Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of the mighty beast, took -to his heels as hard as he could and strove in vain to mount a tall -oak. As he was clinging to a branch, however, half-way up in his -struggle to reach the top, the bough, such was his ill-luck and hard -fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a broken limb of the oak, he -hung suspended in the air unable to reach the ground. Finding himself -in this position, and that the green coat was beginning to tear, and -reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he might be able to -get at him, he began to utter such cries, and call for help so -earnestly, that all who heard him and did not see him felt sure he must -be in the teeth of some wild beast. In the end the tusked boar fell -pierced by the blades of the many spears they held in front of him; and -Don Quixote, turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them -that it was he, saw him hanging from the oak head downwards, with -Dapple, who did not forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and -Cide Hamete observes that he seldom saw Sancho Panza without seeing -Dapple, or Dapple without seeing Sancho Panza; such was their -attachment and loyalty one to the other. Don Quixote went over and -unhooked Sancho, who, as soon as he found himself on the ground, looked -at the rent in his huntingcoat and was grieved to the heart, for he -thought he had got a patrimonial estate in that suit. - -Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and -having covered it with sprigs of rosemary and branches of myrtle, they -bore it away as the spoils of victory to some large field-tents which -had been pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables -laid and dinner served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it was -easy to see the rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. -Sancho, as he showed the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, -observed, “If we had been hunting hares, or after small birds, my coat -would have been safe from being in the plight it’s in; I don’t know -what pleasure one can find in lying in wait for an animal that may take -your life with his tusk if he gets at you. I recollect having heard an -old ballad sung that says, - -By bears be thou devoured, as erst -Was famous Favila.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “was a Gothic king, who, going a-hunting, was -devoured by a bear.” - -“Just so,” said Sancho; “and I would not have kings and princes expose -themselves to such dangers for the sake of a pleasure which, to my -mind, ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has -done no harm whatever.” - -“Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there,” said the duke; “for -hunting is more suitable and requisite for kings and princes than for -anybody else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles, -and crafty devices for overcoming the enemy in safety; in it extreme -cold and intolerable heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are -despised, the bodily powers are invigorated, the limbs of him who -engages in it are made supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which -may be followed without injury to anyone and with enjoyment to many; -and the best of it is, it is not for everybody, as field-sports of -other sorts are, except hawking, which also is only for kings and great -lords. Reconsider your opinion therefore, Sancho, and when you are -governor take to hunting, and you will find the good of it.” - -“Nay,” said Sancho, “the good governor should have a broken leg and -keep at home;” it would be a nice thing if, after people had been at -the trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to -be away in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on -badly in that fashion. By my faith, señor, hunting and amusements are -more fit for idlers than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself -with is playing all fours at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and -holidays; for these huntings don’t suit my condition or agree with my -conscience.” - -“God grant it may turn out so,” said the duke; “because it’s a long -step from saying to doing.” - -“Be that as it may,” said Sancho, “‘pledges don’t distress a good -payer,’ and ‘he whom God helps does better than he who gets up early,’ -and ‘it’s the tripes that carry the feet and not the feet the tripes;’ -I mean to say that if God gives me help and I do my duty honestly, no -doubt I’ll govern better than a gerfalcon. Nay, let them only put a -finger in my mouth, and they’ll see whether I can bite or not.” - -“The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!” -exclaimed Don Quixote; “when will the day come—as I have often said to -thee—when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark -without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he -will grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand -proverbs, dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose -as—may God grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to -them!” - -“Sancho Panza’s proverbs,” said the duchess, “though more in number -than the Greek Commander’s, are not therefore less to be esteemed for -the conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me -more pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more -seasonably introduced.” - -In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into -the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and -hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly -or tranquilly as might have been expected at the season, for it was -then midsummer; but bringing with it a kind of haze that greatly aided -the project of the duke and duchess; and thus, as night began to fall, -and a little after twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four -sides seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all -sides, a vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were -heard, as if several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood. -The blaze of the fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost -blinded the eyes and deafened the ears of those that stood by, and -indeed of all who were in the wood. Then there were heard repeated -lelilies after the fashion of the Moors when they rush to battle; -trumpets and clarions brayed, drums beat, fifes played, so unceasingly -and so fast that he could not have had any senses who did not lose them -with the confused din of so many instruments. The duke was astounded, -the duchess amazed, Don Quixote wondering, Sancho Panza trembling, and -indeed, even they who were aware of the cause were frightened. In their -fear, silence fell upon them, and a postillion, in the guise of a -demon, passed in front of them, blowing, in lieu of a bugle, a huge -hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse note. - -“Ho there! brother courier,” cried the duke, “who are you? Where are -you going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the -wood?” - -To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, “I am the -devil; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming -this way are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal -car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enchantment, -together with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to give instructions to -Don Quixote as to how, she the said lady, may be disenchanted.” - -“If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance indicates,” -said the duke, “you would have known the said knight Don Quixote of La -Mancha, for you have him here before you.” - -“By God and upon my conscience,” said the devil, “I never observed it, -for my mind is occupied with so many different things that I was -forgetting the main thing I came about.” - -“This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian,” said -Sancho; “for if he wasn’t he wouldn’t swear by God and his conscience; -I feel sure now there must be good souls even in hell itself.” - -Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote and said, -“The unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends me to thee, the -Knight of the Lions (would that I saw thee in their claws), bidding me -tell thee to wait for him wherever I may find thee, as he brings with -him her whom they call Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what -is needful in order to disenchant her; and as I came for no more I need -stay no longer; demons of my sort be with thee, and good angels with -these gentles;” and so saying he blew his huge horn, turned about and -went off without waiting for a reply from anyone. - -They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote; -Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they would have it that -Dulcinea was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure -whether what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or -not; and as he was deep in these cogitations the duke said to him, “Do -you mean to wait, Señor Don Quixote?” - -“Why not?” replied he; “here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all -hell should come to attack me.” - -“Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last, -I’ll wait here as much as in Flanders,” said Sancho. - -Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit -through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations from the earth, that -look like shooting-stars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a -frightful noise, too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the -ox-carts usually have, by the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they -say, the bears and wolves are put to flight, if there happen to be any -where they are passing. In addition to all this commotion, there came a -further disturbance to increase the tumult, for now it seemed as if in -truth, on all four sides of the wood, four encounters or battles were -going on at the same time; in one quarter resounded the dull noise of a -terrible cannonade, in another numberless muskets were being -discharged, the shouts of the combatants sounded almost close at hand, -and farther away the Moorish lelilies were raised again and again. In a -word, the bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the drums, the -cannon, the musketry, and above all the tremendous noise of the carts, -all made up together a din so confused and terrific that Don Quixote -had need to summon up all his courage to brave it; but Sancho’s gave -way, and he fell fainting on the skirt of the duchess’s robe, who let -him lie there and promptly bade them throw water in his face. This was -done, and he came to himself by the time that one of the carts with the -creaking wheels reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding oxen -all covered with black housings; on each horn they had fixed a large -lighted wax taper, and on the top of the cart was constructed a raised -seat, on which sat a venerable old man with a beard whiter than the -very snow, and so long that it fell below his waist; he was dressed in -a long robe of black buckram; for as the cart was thickly set with a -multitude of candles it was easy to make out everything that was on it. -Leading it were two hideous demons, also clad in buckram, with -countenances so frightful that Sancho, having once seen them, shut his -eyes so as not to see them again. As soon as the cart came opposite the -spot the old man rose from his lofty seat, and standing up said in a -loud voice, “I am the sage Lirgandeo,” and without another word the -cart then passed on. Behind it came another of the same form, with -another aged man enthroned, who, stopping the cart, said in a voice no -less solemn than that of the first, “I am the sage Alquife, the great -friend of Urganda the Unknown,” and passed on. Then another cart came -by at the same pace, but the occupant of the throne was not old like -the others, but a man stalwart and robust, and of a forbidding -countenance, who as he came up said in a voice far hoarser and more -devilish, “I am the enchanter Archelaus, the mortal enemy of Amadis of -Gaul and all his kindred,” and then passed on. Having gone a short -distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of their -wheels ceased, and soon after they heard another, not noise, but sound -of sweet, harmonious music, of which Sancho was very glad, taking it to -be a good sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not stir a -step, or for a single instant, “Señora, where there’s music there can’t -be mischief.” - -“Nor where there are lights and it is bright,” said the duchess; to -which Sancho replied, “Fire gives light, and it’s bright where there -are bonfires, as we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may -burn us; but music is a sign of mirth and merrymaking.” - -“That remains to be seen,” said Don Quixote, who was listening to all -that passed; and he was right, as is shown in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XXXV. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING THE -DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS - -They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music, -what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six grey mules with white -linen housings, on each of which was mounted a penitent, robed also in -white, with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice -or, perhaps, three times as large as the former ones, and in front and -on the sides stood twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all -with lighted tapers, a spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder; and -on a raised throne was seated a nymph draped in a multitude of -silver-tissue veils with an embroidery of countless gold spangles -glittering all over them, that made her appear, if not richly, at least -brilliantly, apparelled. She had her face covered with thin transparent -sendal, the texture of which did not prevent the fair features of a -maiden from being distinguished, while the numerous lights made it -possible to judge of her beauty and of her years, which seemed to be -not less than seventeen but not to have yet reached twenty. Beside her -was a figure in a robe of state, as they call it, reaching to the feet, -while the head was covered with a black veil. But the instant the car -was opposite the duke and duchess and Don Quixote the music of the -clarions ceased, and then that of the lutes and harps on the car, and -the figure in the robe rose up, and flinging it apart and removing the -veil from its face, disclosed to their eyes the shape of Death itself, -fleshless and hideous, at which sight Don Quixote felt uneasy, Sancho -frightened, and the duke and duchess displayed a certain trepidation. -Having risen to its feet, this living death, in a sleepy voice and with -a tongue hardly awake, held forth as follows: - -I am that Merlin who the legends say -The devil had for father, and the lie -Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time. -Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore -Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye -I view the efforts of the age to hide -The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights, -Who are, and ever have been, dear to me. -Enchanters and magicians and their kind - -Are mostly hard of heart; not so am I; -For mine is tender, soft, compassionate, -And its delight is doing good to all. -In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis, -Where, tracing mystic lines and characters, -My soul abideth now, there came to me -The sorrow-laden plaint of her, the fair, -The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso. -I knew of her enchantment and her fate, -From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed -And touched with pity, first I turned the leaves -Of countless volumes of my devilish craft, -And then, in this grim grisly skeleton -Myself encasing, hither have I come -To show where lies the fitting remedy -To give relief in such a piteous case. -O thou, the pride and pink of all that I wear - -The adamantine steel! O shining light, -O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all -Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down, -Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms! -To thee, great hero who all praise transcends, -La Mancha’s lustre and Iberia’s star, -Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say— -For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso -Her pristine form and beauty to regain, -’Tis needful that thy esquire Sancho shall, -On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven, -Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay, -And that they smart and sting and hurt him well. -Thus have the authors of her woe resolved. -And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come. - -“By all that’s good,” exclaimed Sancho at this, “I’ll just as soon give -myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to say three thousand, -lashes. The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don’t see what my -backside has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Señor Merlin has -not found out some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, she may go to her grave enchanted.” - -“But I’ll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic,” said Don Quixote, -“and tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth, -and give you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand -six hundred lashes, and so well laid on that they won’t be got rid of -if you try three thousand three hundred times; don’t answer me a word -or I’ll tear your soul out.” - -On hearing this Merlin said, “That will not do, for the lashes worthy -Sancho has to receive must be given of his own free will and not by -force, and at whatever time he pleases, for there is no fixed limit -assigned to him; but it is permitted him, if he likes to commute by -half the pain of this whipping, to let them be given by the hand of -another, though it may be somewhat weighty.” - -“Not a hand, my own or anybody else’s, weighty or weighable, shall -touch me,” said Sancho. “Was it I that gave birth to the lady Dulcinea -del Toboso, that my backside is to pay for the sins of her eyes? My -master, indeed, that’s a part of her—for, he’s always calling her ‘my -life’ and ‘my soul,’ and his stay and prop—may and ought to whip -himself for her and take all the trouble required for her -disenchantment. But for me to whip myself! Abernuncio!” - -As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver that was at the -side of Merlin’s ghost stood up, and removing the thin veil from her -face disclosed one that seemed to all something more than exceedingly -beautiful; and with a masculine freedom from embarrassment and in a -voice not very like a lady’s, addressing Sancho directly, said, “Thou -wretched squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with bowels -of flint and pebbles; if, thou impudent thief, they bade thee throw -thyself down from some lofty tower; if, enemy of mankind, they asked -thee to swallow a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three of adders; -if they wanted thee to slay thy wife and children with a sharp -murderous scimitar, it would be no wonder for thee to show thyself -stubborn and squeamish. But to make a piece of work about three -thousand three hundred lashes, what every poor little charity-boy gets -every month—it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate -bowels of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the course -of time. Turn, O miserable, hard-hearted animal, turn, I say, those -timorous owl’s eyes upon these of mine that are compared to radiant -stars, and thou wilt see them weeping trickling streams and rills, and -tracing furrows, tracks, and paths over the fair fields of my cheeks. -Let it move thee, crafty, ill-conditioned monster, to see my blooming -youth—still in its teens, for I am not yet twenty—wasting and withering -away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench; and if I do not appear -in that shape now, it is a special favour Señor Merlin here has granted -me, to the sole end that my beauty may soften thee; for the tears of -beauty in distress turn rocks into cotton and tigers into ewes. Lay on -to that hide of thine, thou great untamed brute, rouse up thy lusty -vigour that only urges thee to eat and eat, and set free the softness -of my flesh, the gentleness of my nature, and the fairness of my face. -And if thou wilt not relent or come to reason for me, do so for the -sake of that poor knight thou hast beside thee; thy master I mean, -whose soul I can this moment see, how he has it stuck in his throat not -ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting for thy inflexible or -yielding reply to make its escape by his mouth or go back again into -his stomach.” - -Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he -said, “By God, señor, Dulcinea says true, I have my soul stuck here in -my throat like the nut of a crossbow.” - -“What say you to this, Sancho?” said the duchess. - -“I say, señora,” returned Sancho, “what I said before; as for the -lashes, abernuncio!” - -“Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do,” said the duke. - -“Let me alone, your highness,” said Sancho. “I’m not in a humour now to -look into niceties or a letter more or less, for these lashes that are -to be given me, or I’m to give myself, have so upset me, that I don’t -know what I’m saying or doing. But I’d like to know of this lady, my -lady Dulcinea del Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking -favours. She comes to ask me to score my flesh with lashes, and she -calls me soul of a pitcher, and great untamed brute, and a string of -foul names that the devil is welcome to. Is my flesh brass? or is it -anything to me whether she is enchanted or not? Does she bring with her -a basket of fair linen, shirts, kerchiefs, socks—not that I wear any—to -coax me? No, nothing but one piece of abuse after another, though she -knows the proverb they have here that ‘an ass loaded with gold goes -lightly up a mountain,’ and that ‘gifts break rocks,’ and ‘praying to -God and plying the hammer,’ and that ‘one “take” is better than two -“I’ll give thee’s.”’ Then there’s my master, who ought to stroke me -down and pet me to make me turn wool and carded cotton; he says if he -gets hold of me he’ll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of -lashes on me. These tender-hearted gentry should consider that it’s not -merely a squire, but a governor they are asking to whip himself; just -as if it was ‘drink with cherries.’ Let them learn, plague take them, -the right way to ask, and beg, and behave themselves; for all times are -not alike, nor are people always in good humour. I’m now ready to burst -with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and they come to ask me to -whip myself of my own free will, I having as little fancy for it as for -turning cacique.” - -“Well then, the fact is, friend Sancho,” said the duke, “that unless -you become softer than a ripe fig, you shall not get hold of the -government. It would be a nice thing for me to send my islanders a -cruel governor with flinty bowels, who won’t yield to the tears of -afflicted damsels or to the prayers of wise, magisterial, ancient -enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho, either you must be whipped by -yourself, or they must whip you, or you shan’t be governor.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “won’t two days’ grace be given me in which to -consider what is best for me?” - -“No, certainly not,” said Merlin; “here, this minute, and on the spot, -the matter must be settled; either Dulcinea will return to the cave of -Montesinos and to her former condition of peasant wench, or else in her -present form shall be carried to the Elysian fields, where she will -remain waiting until the number of stripes is completed.” - -“Now then, Sancho!” said the duchess, “show courage, and gratitude for -your master Don Quixote’s bread that you have eaten; we are all bound -to oblige and please him for his benevolent disposition and lofty -chivalry. Consent to this whipping, my son; to the devil with the -devil, and leave fear to milksops, for ‘a stout heart breaks bad luck,’ -as you very well know.” - -To this Sancho replied with an irrelevant remark, which, addressing -Merlin, he made to him, “Will your worship tell me, Señor Merlin—when -that courier devil came up he gave my master a message from Señor -Montesinos, charging him to wait for him here, as he was coming to -arrange how the lady Doña Dulcinea del Toboso was to be disenchanted; -but up to the present we have not seen Montesinos, nor anything like -him.” - -To which Merlin made answer, “The devil, Sancho, is a blockhead and a -great scoundrel; I sent him to look for your master, but not with a -message from Montesinos but from myself; for Montesinos is in his cave -expecting, or more properly speaking, waiting for his disenchantment; -for there’s the tail to be skinned yet for him; if he owes you -anything, or you have any business to transact with him, I’ll bring him -to you and put him where you choose; but for the present make up your -mind to consent to this penance, and believe me it will be very good -for you, for soul as well for body—for your soul because of the charity -with which you perform it, for your body because I know that you are of -a sanguine habit and it will do you no harm to draw a little blood.” - -“There are a great many doctors in the world; even the enchanters are -doctors,” said Sancho; “however, as everybody tells me the same -thing—though I can’t see it myself—I say I am willing to give myself -the three thousand three hundred lashes, provided I am to lay them on -whenever I like, without any fixing of days or times; and I’ll try and -get out of debt as quickly as I can, that the world may enjoy the -beauty of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; as it seems, contrary to what I -thought, that she is beautiful after all. It must be a condition, too, -that I am not to be bound to draw blood with the scourge, and that if -any of the lashes happen to be fly-flappers they are to count. Item, -that, in case I should make any mistake in the reckoning, Señor Merlin, -as he knows everything, is to keep count, and let me know how many are -still wanting or over the number.” - -“There will be no need to let you know of any over,” said Merlin, -“because, when you reach the full number, the lady Dulcinea will at -once, and that very instant, be disenchanted, and will come in her -gratitude to seek out the worthy Sancho, and thank him, and even reward -him for the good work. So you have no cause to be uneasy about stripes -too many or too few; heaven forbid I should cheat anyone of even a hair -of his head.” - -“Well then, in God’s hands be it,” said Sancho; “in the hard case I’m -in I give in; I say I accept the penance on the conditions laid down.” - -The instant Sancho uttered these last words the music of the clarions -struck up once more, and again a host of muskets were discharged, and -Don Quixote hung on Sancho’s neck kissing him again and again on the -forehead and cheeks. The duchess and the duke expressed the greatest -satisfaction, the car began to move on, and as it passed the fair -Dulcinea bowed to the duke and duchess and made a low curtsey to -Sancho. - -And now bright smiling dawn came on apace; the flowers of the field, -revived, raised up their heads, and the crystal waters of the brooks, -murmuring over the grey and white pebbles, hastened to pay their -tribute to the expectant rivers; the glad earth, the unclouded sky, the -fresh breeze, the clear light, each and all showed that the day that -came treading on the skirts of morning would be calm and bright. The -duke and duchess, pleased with their hunt and at having carried out -their plans so cleverly and successfully, returned to their castle -resolved to follow up their joke; for to them there was no reality that -could afford them more amusement. - -CHAPTER XXXVI. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE -DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER -WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA - -The duke had a majordomo of a very facetious and sportive turn, and he -it was that played the part of Merlin, made all the arrangements for -the late adventure, composed the verses, and got a page to represent -Dulcinea; and now, with the assistance of his master and mistress, he -got up another of the drollest and strangest contrivances that can be -imagined. - -The duchess asked Sancho the next day if he had made a beginning with -his penance task which he had to perform for the disenchantment of -Dulcinea. He said he had, and had given himself five lashes overnight. - -The duchess asked him what he had given them with. - -He said with his hand. - -“That,” said the duchess, “is more like giving oneself slaps than -lashes; I am sure the sage Merlin will not be satisfied with such -tenderness; worthy Sancho must make a scourge with claws, or a -cat-o’-nine tails, that will make itself felt; for it’s with blood that -letters enter, and the release of so great a lady as Dulcinea will not -be granted so cheaply, or at such a paltry price; and remember, Sancho, -that works of charity done in a lukewarm and half-hearted way are -without merit and of no avail.” - -To which Sancho replied, “If your ladyship will give me a proper -scourge or cord, I’ll lay on with it, provided it does not hurt too -much; for you must know, boor as I am, my flesh is more cotton than -hemp, and it won’t do for me to destroy myself for the good of anybody -else.” - -“So be it by all means,” said the duchess; “to-morrow I’ll give you a -scourge that will be just the thing for you, and will accommodate -itself to the tenderness of your flesh, as if it was its own sister.” - -Then said Sancho, “Your highness must know, dear lady of my soul, that -I have a letter written to my wife, Teresa Panza, giving her an account -of all that has happened me since I left her; I have it here in my -bosom, and there’s nothing wanting but to put the address to it; I’d be -glad if your discretion would read it, for I think it runs in the -governor style; I mean the way governors ought to write.” - -“And who dictated it?” asked the duchess. - -“Who should have dictated but myself, sinner as I am?” said Sancho. - -“And did you write it yourself?” said the duchess. - -“That I didn’t,” said Sancho; “for I can neither read nor write, though -I can sign my name.” - -“Let us see it,” said the duchess, “for never fear but you display in -it the quality and quantity of your wit.” - -Sancho drew out an open letter from his bosom, and the duchess, taking -it, found it ran in this fashion: - -SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA - -If I was well whipped I went mounted like a gentleman; if I have got a -good government it is at the cost of a good whipping. Thou wilt not -understand this just now, my Teresa; by-and-by thou wilt know what it -means. I may tell thee, Teresa, I mean thee to go in a coach, for that -is a matter of importance, because every other way of going is going on -all-fours. Thou art a governor’s wife; take care that nobody speaks -evil of thee behind thy back. I send thee here a green hunting suit -that my lady the duchess gave me; alter it so as to make a petticoat -and bodice for our daughter. Don Quixote, my master, if I am to believe -what I hear in these parts, is a madman of some sense, and a droll -blockhead, and I am in no way behind him. We have been in the cave of -Montesinos, and the sage Merlin has laid hold of me for the -disenchantment of Dulcinea del Toboso, her that is called Aldonza -Lorenzo over there. With three thousand three hundred lashes, less -five, that I’m to give myself, she will be left as entirely -disenchanted as the mother that bore her. Say nothing of this to -anyone; for, make thy affairs public, and some will say they are white -and others will say they are black. I shall leave this in a few days -for my government, to which I am going with a mighty great desire to -make money, for they tell me all new governors set out with the same -desire; I will feel the pulse of it and will let thee know if thou art -to come and live with me or not. Dapple is well and sends many -remembrances to thee; I am not going to leave him behind though they -took me away to be Grand Turk. My lady the duchess kisses thy hands a -thousand times; do thou make a return with two thousand, for as my -master says, nothing costs less or is cheaper than civility. God has -not been pleased to provide another valise for me with another hundred -crowns, like the one the other day; but never mind, my Teresa, the -bell-ringer is in safe quarters, and all will come out in the scouring -of the government; only it troubles me greatly what they tell me—that -once I have tasted it I will eat my hands off after it; and if that is -so it will not come very cheap to me; though to be sure the maimed have -a benefice of their own in the alms they beg for; so that one way or -another thou wilt be rich and in luck. God give it to thee as he can, -and keep me to serve thee. From this castle, the 20th of July, 1614. - -Thy husband, the governor, -SANCHO PANZA - -When she had done reading the letter the duchess said to Sancho, “On -two points the worthy governor goes rather astray; one is in saying or -hinting that this government has been bestowed upon him for the lashes -that he is to give himself, when he knows (and he cannot deny it) that -when my lord the duke promised it to him nobody ever dreamt of such a -thing as lashes; the other is that he shows himself here to be very -covetous; and I would not have him a money-seeker, for ‘covetousness -bursts the bag,’ and the covetous governor does ungoverned justice.” - -“I don’t mean it that way, señora,” said Sancho; “and if you think the -letter doesn’t run as it ought to do, it’s only to tear it up and make -another; and maybe it will be a worse one if it is left to my -gumption.” - -“No, no,” said the duchess, “this one will do, and I wish the duke to -see it.” - -With this they betook themselves to a garden where they were to dine, -and the duchess showed Sancho’s letter to the duke, who was highly -delighted with it. They dined, and after the cloth had been removed and -they had amused themselves for a while with Sancho’s rich conversation, -the melancholy sound of a fife and harsh discordant drum made itself -heard. All seemed somewhat put out by this dull, confused, martial -harmony, especially Don Quixote, who could not keep his seat from pure -disquietude; as to Sancho, it is needless to say that fear drove him to -his usual refuge, the side or the skirts of the duchess; and indeed and -in truth the sound they heard was a most doleful and melancholy one. -While they were still in uncertainty they saw advancing towards them -through the garden two men clad in mourning robes so long and flowing -that they trailed upon the ground. As they marched they beat two great -drums which were likewise draped in black, and beside them came the -fife player, black and sombre like the others. Following these came a -personage of gigantic stature enveloped rather than clad in a gown of -the deepest black, the skirt of which was of prodigious dimensions. -Over the gown, girdling or crossing his figure, he had a broad baldric -which was also black, and from which hung a huge scimitar with a black -scabbard and furniture. He had his face covered with a transparent -black veil, through which might be descried a very long beard as white -as snow. He came on keeping step to the sound of the drums with great -gravity and dignity; and, in short, his stature, his gait, the -sombreness of his appearance and his following might well have struck -with astonishment, as they did, all who beheld him without knowing who -he was. With this measured pace and in this guise he advanced to kneel -before the duke, who, with the others, awaited him standing. The duke, -however, would not on any account allow him to speak until he had -risen. The prodigious scarecrow obeyed, and standing up, removed the -veil from his face and disclosed the most enormous, the longest, the -whitest and the thickest beard that human eyes had ever beheld until -that moment, and then fetching up a grave, sonorous voice from the -depths of his broad, capacious chest, and fixing his eyes on the duke, -he said: - -“Most high and mighty señor, my name is Trifaldin of the White Beard; I -am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Distressed -Duenna, on whose behalf I bear a message to your highness, which is -that your magnificence will be pleased to grant her leave and -permission to come and tell you her trouble, which is one of the -strangest and most wonderful that the mind most familiar with trouble -in the world could have imagined; but first she desires to know if the -valiant and never vanquished knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, is in -this your castle, for she has come in quest of him on foot and without -breaking her fast from the kingdom of Kandy to your realms here; a -thing which may and ought to be regarded as a miracle or set down to -enchantment; she is even now at the gate of this fortress or plaisance, -and only waits for your permission to enter. I have spoken.” And with -that he coughed, and stroked down his beard with both his hands, and -stood very tranquilly waiting for the response of the duke, which was -to this effect: “Many days ago, worthy squire Trifaldin of the White -Beard, we heard of the misfortune of my lady the Countess Trifaldi, -whom the enchanters have caused to be called the Distressed Duenna. Bid -her enter, O stupendous squire, and tell her that the valiant knight -Don Quixote of La Mancha is here, and from his generous disposition she -may safely promise herself every protection and assistance; and you may -tell her, too, that if my aid be necessary it will not be withheld, for -I am bound to give it to her by my quality of knight, which involves -the protection of women of all sorts, especially widowed, wronged, and -distressed dames, such as her ladyship seems to be.” - -On hearing this Trifaldin bent the knee to the ground, and making a -sign to the fifer and drummers to strike up, he turned and marched out -of the garden to the same notes and at the same pace as when he -entered, leaving them all amazed at his bearing and solemnity. Turning -to Don Quixote, the duke said, “After all, renowned knight, the mists -of malice and ignorance are unable to hide or obscure the light of -valour and virtue. I say so, because your excellence has been barely -six days in this castle, and already the unhappy and the afflicted come -in quest of you from lands far distant and remote, and not in coaches -or on dromedaries, but on foot and fasting, confident that in that -mighty arm they will find a cure for their sorrows and troubles; thanks -to your great achievements, which are circulated all over the known -earth.” - -“I wish, señor duke,” replied Don Quixote, “that blessed ecclesiastic, -who at table the other day showed such ill-will and bitter spite -against knights-errant, were here now to see with his own eyes whether -knights of the sort are needed in the world; he would at any rate learn -by experience that those suffering any extraordinary affliction or -sorrow, in extreme cases and unusual misfortunes do not go to look for -a remedy to the houses of jurists or village sacristans, or to the -knight who has never attempted to pass the bounds of his own town, or -to the indolent courtier who only seeks for news to repeat and talk of, -instead of striving to do deeds and exploits for others to relate and -record. Relief in distress, help in need, protection for damsels, -consolation for widows, are to be found in no sort of persons better -than in knights-errant; and I give unceasing thanks to heaven that I am -one, and regard any misfortune or suffering that may befall me in the -pursuit of so honourable a calling as endured to good purpose. Let this -duenna come and ask what she will, for I will effect her relief by the -might of my arm and the dauntless resolution of my bold heart.” - -CHAPTER XXXVII. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DUENNA - -The duke and duchess were extremely glad to see how readily Don Quixote -fell in with their scheme; but at this moment Sancho observed, “I hope -this señora duenna won’t be putting any difficulties in the way of the -promise of my government; for I have heard a Toledo apothecary, who -talked like a goldfinch, say that where duennas were mixed up nothing -good could happen. God bless me, how he hated them, that same -apothecary! And so what I’m thinking is, if all duennas, of whatever -sort or condition they may be, are plagues and busybodies, what must -they be that are distressed, like this Countess Three-skirts or -Three-tails!—for in my country skirts or tails, tails or skirts, it’s -all one.” - -“Hush, friend Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “since this lady duenna comes -in quest of me from such a distant land she cannot be one of those the -apothecary meant; moreover this is a countess, and when countesses -serve as duennas it is in the service of queens and empresses, for in -their own houses they are mistresses paramount and have other duennas -to wait on them.” - -To this Doña Rodriguez, who was present, made answer, “My lady the -duchess has duennas in her service that might be countesses if it was -the will of fortune; ‘but laws go as kings like;’ let nobody speak ill -of duennas, above all of ancient maiden ones; for though I am not one -myself, I know and am aware of the advantage a maiden duenna has over -one that is a widow; but ‘he who clipped us has kept the scissors.’” - -“For all that,” said Sancho, “there’s so much to be clipped about -duennas, so my barber said, that ‘it will be better not to stir the -rice even though it sticks.’” - -“These squires,” returned Doña Rodriguez, “are always our enemies; and -as they are the haunting spirits of the antechambers and watch us at -every step, whenever they are not saying their prayers (and that’s -often enough) they spend their time in tattling about us, digging up -our bones and burying our good name. But I can tell these walking -blocks that we will live in spite of them, and in great houses too, -though we die of hunger and cover our flesh, be it delicate or not, -with widow’s weeds, as one covers or hides a dunghill on a procession -day. By my faith, if it were permitted me and time allowed, I could -prove, not only to those here present, but to all the world, that there -is no virtue that is not to be found in a duenna.” - -“I have no doubt,” said the duchess, “that my good Doña Rodriguez is -right, and very much so; but she had better bide her time for fighting -her own battle and that of the rest of the duennas, so as to crush the -calumny of that vile apothecary, and root out the prejudice in the -great Sancho Panza’s mind.” - -To which Sancho replied, “Ever since I have sniffed the governorship I -have got rid of the humours of a squire, and I don’t care a wild fig -for all the duennas in the world.” - -They would have carried on this duenna dispute further had they not -heard the notes of the fife and drums once more, from which they -concluded that the Distressed Duenna was making her entrance. The -duchess asked the duke if it would be proper to go out to receive her, -as she was a countess and a person of rank. - -“In respect of her being a countess,” said Sancho, before the duke -could reply, “I am for your highnesses going out to receive her; but in -respect of her being a duenna, it is my opinion you should not stir a -step.” - -“Who bade thee meddle in this, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“Who, señor?” said Sancho; “I meddle for I have a right to meddle, as a -squire who has learned the rules of courtesy in the school of your -worship, the most courteous and best-bred knight in the whole world of -courtliness; and in these things, as I have heard your worship say, as -much is lost by a card too many as by a card too few, and to one who -has his ears open, few words.” - -“Sancho is right,” said the duke; “we’ll see what the countess is like, -and by that measure the courtesy that is due to her.” - -And now the drums and fife made their entrance as before; and here the -author brought this short chapter to an end and began the next, -following up the same adventure, which is one of the most notable in -the history. - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -WHEREIN IS TOLD THE DISTRESSED DUENNA’S TALE OF HER MISFORTUNES - -Following the melancholy musicians there filed into the garden as many -as twelve duennas, in two lines, all dressed in ample mourning robes -apparently of milled serge, with hoods of fine white gauze so long that -they allowed only the border of the robe to be seen. Behind them came -the Countess Trifaldi, the squire Trifaldin of the White Beard leading -her by the hand, clad in the finest unnapped black baize, such that, -had it a nap, every tuft would have shown as big as a Martos chickpea; -the tail, or skirt, or whatever it might be called, ended in three -points which were borne up by the hands of three pages, likewise -dressed in mourning, forming an elegant geometrical figure with the -three acute angles made by the three points, from which all who saw the -peaked skirt concluded that it must be because of it the countess was -called Trifaldi, as though it were Countess of the Three Skirts; and -Benengeli says it was so, and that by her right name she was called the -Countess Lobuna, because wolves bred in great numbers in her country; -and if, instead of wolves, they had been foxes, she would have been -called the Countess Zorruna, as it was the custom in those parts for -lords to take distinctive titles from the thing or things most abundant -in their dominions; this countess, however, in honour of the new -fashion of her skirt, dropped Lobuna and took up Trifaldi. - -The twelve duennas and the lady came on at procession pace, their faces -being covered with black veils, not transparent ones like Trifaldin’s, -but so close that they allowed nothing to be seen through them. As soon -as the band of duennas was fully in sight, the duke, the duchess, and -Don Quixote stood up, as well as all who were watching the slow-moving -procession. The twelve duennas halted and formed a lane, along which -the Distressed One advanced, Trifaldin still holding her hand. On -seeing this the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote went some twelve -paces forward to meet her. She then, kneeling on the ground, said in a -voice hoarse and rough, rather than fine and delicate, “May it please -your highnesses not to offer such courtesies to this your servant, I -should say to this your handmaid, for I am in such distress that I -shall never be able to make a proper return, because my strange and -unparalleled misfortune has carried off my wits, and I know not -whither; but it must be a long way off, for the more I look for them -the less I find them.” - -“He would be wanting in wits, señora countess,” said the duke, “who did -not perceive your worth by your person, for at a glance it may be seen -it deserves all the cream of courtesy and flower of polite usage;” and -raising her up by the hand he led her to a seat beside the duchess, who -likewise received her with great urbanity. Don Quixote remained silent, -while Sancho was dying to see the features of Trifaldi and one or two -of her many duennas; but there was no possibility of it until they -themselves displayed them of their own accord and free will. - -All kept still, waiting to see who would break silence, which the -Distressed Duenna did in these words: “I am confident, most mighty -lord, most fair lady, and most discreet company, that my most miserable -misery will be accorded a reception no less dispassionate than generous -and condolent in your most valiant bosoms, for it is one that is enough -to melt marble, soften diamonds, and mollify the steel of the most -hardened hearts in the world; but ere it is proclaimed to your hearing, -not to say your ears, I would fain be enlightened whether there be -present in this society, circle, or company, that knight -immaculatissimus, Don Quixote de la Manchissima, and his squirissimus -Panza.” - -“The Panza is here,” said Sancho, before anyone could reply, “and Don -Quixotissimus too; and so, most distressedest Duenissima, you may say -what you willissimus, for we are all readissimus to do you any -servissimus.” - -On this Don Quixote rose, and addressing the Distressed Duenna, said, -“If your sorrows, afflicted lady, can indulge in any hope of relief -from the valour or might of any knight-errant, here are mine, which, -feeble and limited though they be, shall be entirely devoted to your -service. I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose calling it is to give aid -to the needy of all sorts; and that being so, it is not necessary for -you, señora, to make any appeal to benevolence, or deal in preambles, -only to tell your woes plainly and straightforwardly: for you have -hearers that will know how, if not to remedy them, to sympathise with -them.” - -On hearing this, the Distressed Duenna made as though she would throw -herself at Don Quixote’s feet, and actually did fall before them and -said, as she strove to embrace them, “Before these feet and legs I cast -myself, O unconquered knight, as before, what they are, the foundations -and pillars of knight-errantry; these feet I desire to kiss, for upon -their steps hangs and depends the sole remedy for my misfortune, O -valorous errant, whose veritable achievements leave behind and eclipse -the fabulous ones of the Amadises, Esplandians, and Belianises!” Then -turning from Don Quixote to Sancho Panza, and grasping his hands, she -said, “O thou, most loyal squire that ever served knight-errant in this -present age or ages past, whose goodness is more extensive than the -beard of Trifaldin my companion here of present, well mayest thou boast -thyself that, in serving the great Don Quixote, thou art serving, -summed up in one, the whole host of knights that have ever borne arms -in the world. I conjure thee, by what thou owest to thy most loyal -goodness, that thou wilt become my kind intercessor with thy master, -that he speedily give aid to this most humble and most unfortunate -countess.” - -To this Sancho made answer, “As to my goodness, señora, being as long -and as great as your squire’s beard, it matters very little to me; may -I have my soul well bearded and moustached when it comes to quit this -life, that’s the point; about beards here below I care little or -nothing; but without all these blandishments and prayers, I will beg my -master (for I know he loves me, and, besides, he has need of me just -now for a certain business) to help and aid your worship as far as he -can; unpack your woes and lay them before us, and leave us to deal with -them, for we’ll be all of one mind.” - -The duke and duchess, as it was they who had made the experiment of -this adventure, were ready to burst with laughter at all this, and -between themselves they commended the clever acting of the Trifaldi, -who, returning to her seat, said, “Queen Doña Maguncia reigned over the -famous kingdom of Kandy, which lies between the great Trapobana and the -Southern Sea, two leagues beyond Cape Comorin. She was the widow of -King Archipiela, her lord and husband, and of their marriage they had -issue the Princess Antonomasia, heiress of the kingdom; which Princess -Antonomasia was reared and brought up under my care and direction, I -being the oldest and highest in rank of her mother’s duennas. Time -passed, and the young Antonomasia reached the age of fourteen, and such -a perfection of beauty, that nature could not raise it higher. Then, it -must not be supposed her intelligence was childish; she was as -intelligent as she was fair, and she was fairer than all the world; and -is so still, unless the envious fates and hard-hearted sisters three -have cut for her the thread of life. But that they have not, for Heaven -will not suffer so great a wrong to Earth, as it would be to pluck -unripe the grapes of the fairest vineyard on its surface. Of this -beauty, to which my poor feeble tongue has failed to do justice, -countless princes, not only of that country, but of others, were -enamoured, and among them a private gentleman, who was at the court, -dared to raise his thoughts to the heaven of so great beauty, trusting -to his youth, his gallant bearing, his numerous accomplishments and -graces, and his quickness and readiness of wit; for I may tell your -highnesses, if I am not wearying you, that he played the guitar so as -to make it speak, and he was, besides, a poet and a great dancer, and -he could make birdcages so well, that by making them alone he might -have gained a livelihood, had he found himself reduced to utter -poverty; and gifts and graces of this kind are enough to bring down a -mountain, not to say a tender young girl. But all his gallantry, wit, -and gaiety, all his graces and accomplishments, would have been of -little or no avail towards gaining the fortress of my pupil, had not -the impudent thief taken the precaution of gaining me over first. -First, the villain and heartless vagabond sought to win my good-will -and purchase my compliance, so as to get me, like a treacherous warder, -to deliver up to him the keys of the fortress I had in charge. In a -word, he gained an influence over my mind, and overcame my resolutions -with I know not what trinkets and jewels he gave me; but it was some -verses I heard him singing one night from a grating that opened on the -street where he lived, that, more than anything else, made me give way -and led to my fall; and if I remember rightly they ran thus: - -From that sweet enemy of mine -My bleeding heart hath had its wound; -And to increase the pain I’m bound -To suffer and to make no sign. - -The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as syrup; and -afterwards, I may say ever since then, looking at the misfortune into -which I have fallen, I have thought that poets, as Plato advised, ought -to be banished from all well-ordered States; at least the amatory ones, -for they write verses, not like those of ‘The Marquis of Mantua,’ that -delight and draw tears from the women and children, but sharp-pointed -conceits that pierce the heart like soft thorns, and like the lightning -strike it, leaving the raiment uninjured. Another time he sang: - -Come Death, so subtly veiled that I -Thy coming know not, how or when, -Lest it should give me life again -To find how sweet it is to die. - -—and other verses and burdens of the same sort, such as enchant when -sung and fascinate when written. And then, when they condescend to -compose a sort of verse that was at that time in vogue in Kandy, which -they call seguidillas! Then it is that hearts leap and laughter breaks -forth, and the body grows restless and all the senses turn quicksilver. -And so I say, sirs, that these troubadours richly deserve to be -banished to the isles of the lizards. Though it is not they that are in -fault, but the simpletons that extol them, and the fools that believe -in them; and had I been the faithful duenna I should have been, his -stale conceits would have never moved me, nor should I have been taken -in by such phrases as ‘in death I live,’ ‘in ice I burn,’ ‘in flames I -shiver,’ ‘hopeless I hope,’ ‘I go and stay,’ and paradoxes of that sort -which their writings are full of. And then when they promise the Phœnix -of Arabia, the crown of Ariadne, the horses of the Sun, the pearls of -the South, the gold of Tibar, and the balsam of Panchaia! Then it is -they give a loose to their pens, for it costs them little to make -promises they have no intention or power of fulfilling. But where am I -wandering to? Woe is me, unfortunate being! What madness or folly leads -me to speak of the faults of others, when there is so much to be said -about my own? Again, woe is me, hapless that I am! it was not verses -that conquered me, but my own simplicity; it was not music made me -yield, but my own imprudence; my own great ignorance and little caution -opened the way and cleared the path for Don Clavijo’s advances, for -that was the name of the gentleman I have referred to; and so, with my -help as go-between, he found his way many a time into the chamber of -the deceived Antonomasia (deceived not by him but by me) under the -title of a lawful husband; for, sinner though I was, would not have -allowed him to approach the edge of her shoe-sole without being her -husband. No, no, not that; marriage must come first in any business of -this sort that I take in hand. But there was one hitch in this case, -which was that of inequality of rank, Don Clavijo being a private -gentleman, and the Princess Antonomasia, as I said, heiress to the -kingdom. The entanglement remained for some time a secret, kept hidden -by my cunning precautions, until I perceived that a certain expansion -of waist in Antonomasia must before long disclose it, the dread of -which made us all there take counsel together, and it was agreed that -before the mischief came to light, Don Clavijo should demand -Antonomasia as his wife before the Vicar, in virtue of an agreement to -marry him made by the princess, and drafted by my wit in such binding -terms that the might of Samson could not have broken it. The necessary -steps were taken; the Vicar saw the agreement, and took the lady’s -confession; she confessed everything in full, and he ordered her into -the custody of a very worthy alguacil of the court.” - -“Are there alguacils of the court in Kandy, too,” said Sancho at this, -“and poets, and seguidillas? I swear I think the world is the same all -over! But make haste, Señora Trifaldi; for it is late, and I am dying -to know the end of this long story.” - -“I will,” replied the countess. - -CHAPTER XXXIX. -IN WHICH THE TRIFALDI CONTINUES HER MARVELLOUS AND MEMORABLE STORY - -By every word that Sancho uttered, the duchess was as much delighted as -Don Quixote was driven to desperation. He bade him hold his tongue, and -the Distressed One went on to say: “At length, after much questioning -and answering, as the princess held to her story, without changing or -varying her previous declaration, the Vicar gave his decision in favour -of Don Clavijo, and she was delivered over to him as his lawful wife; -which the Queen Doña Maguncia, the Princess Antonomasia’s mother, so -took to heart, that within the space of three days we buried her.” - -“She died, no doubt,” said Sancho. - -“Of course,” said Trifaldin; “they don’t bury living people in Kandy, -only the dead.” - -“Señor Squire,” said Sancho, “a man in a swoon has been known to be -buried before now, in the belief that he was dead; and it struck me -that Queen Maguncia ought to have swooned rather than died; because -with life a great many things come right, and the princess’s folly was -not so great that she need feel it so keenly. If the lady had married -some page of hers, or some other servant of the house, as many another -has done, so I have heard say, then the mischief would have been past -curing. But to marry such an elegant accomplished gentleman as has been -just now described to us—indeed, indeed, though it was a folly, it was -not such a great one as you think; for according to the rules of my -master here—and he won’t allow me to lie—as of men of letters bishops -are made, so of gentlemen knights, specially if they be errant, kings -and emperors may be made.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for with a knight-errant, -if he has but two fingers’ breadth of good fortune, it is on the cards -to become the mightiest lord on earth. But let señora the Distressed -One proceed; for I suspect she has got yet to tell us the bitter part -of this so far sweet story.” - -“The bitter is indeed to come,” said the countess; “and such bitter -that colocynth is sweet and oleander toothsome in comparison. The -queen, then, being dead, and not in a swoon, we buried her; and hardly -had we covered her with earth, hardly had we said our last farewells, -when, _quis talia fando temperet a lachrymis?_ over the queen’s grave -there appeared, mounted upon a wooden horse, the giant Malambruno, -Maguncia’s first cousin, who besides being cruel is an enchanter; and -he, to revenge the death of his cousin, punish the audacity of Don -Clavijo, and in wrath at the contumacy of Antonomasia, left them both -enchanted by his art on the grave itself; she being changed into an ape -of brass, and he into a horrible crocodile of some unknown metal; while -between the two there stands a pillar, also of metal, with certain -characters in the Syriac language inscribed upon it, which, being -translated into Kandian, and now into Castilian, contain the following -sentence: ‘These two rash lovers shall not recover their former shape -until the valiant Manchegan comes to do battle with me in single -combat; for the Fates reserve this unexampled adventure for his mighty -valour alone.’ This done, he drew from its sheath a huge broad -scimitar, and seizing me by the hair he made as though he meant to cut -my throat and shear my head clean off. I was terror-stricken, my voice -stuck in my throat, and I was in the deepest distress; nevertheless I -summoned up my strength as well as I could, and in a trembling and -piteous voice I addressed such words to him as induced him to stay the -infliction of a punishment so severe. He then caused all the duennas of -the palace, those that are here present, to be brought before him; and -after having dwelt upon the enormity of our offence, and denounced -duennas, their characters, their evil ways and worse intrigues, laying -to the charge of all what I alone was guilty of, he said he would not -visit us with capital punishment, but with others of a slow nature -which would be in effect civil death for ever; and the very instant he -ceased speaking we all felt the pores of our faces opening, and -pricking us, as if with the points of needles. We at once put our hands -up to our faces and found ourselves in the state you now see.” - -Here the Distressed One and the other duennas raised the veils with -which they were covered, and disclosed countenances all bristling with -beards, some red, some black, some white, and some grizzled, at which -spectacle the duke and duchess made a show of being filled with wonder. -Don Quixote and Sancho were overwhelmed with amazement, and the -bystanders lost in astonishment, while the Trifaldi went on to say: -“Thus did that malevolent villain Malambruno punish us, covering the -tenderness and softness of our faces with these rough bristles! Would -to heaven that he had swept off our heads with his enormous scimitar -instead of obscuring the light of our countenances with these -wool-combings that cover us! For if we look into the matter, sirs (and -what I am now going to say I would say with eyes flowing like -fountains, only that the thought of our misfortune and the oceans they -have already wept, keep them as dry as barley spears, and so I say it -without tears), where, I ask, can a duenna with a beard go to? What -father or mother will feel pity for her? Who will help her? For, if -even when she has a smooth skin, and a face tortured by a thousand -kinds of washes and cosmetics, she can hardly get anybody to love her, -what will she do when she shows a countenance turned into a thicket? Oh -duennas, companions mine! it was an unlucky moment when we were born -and an ill-starred hour when our fathers begot us!” And as she said -this she showed signs of being about to faint. - -CHAPTER XL. -OF MATTERS RELATING AND BELONGING TO THIS ADVENTURE AND TO THIS -MEMORABLE HISTORY - -Verily and truly all those who find pleasure in histories like this -ought show their gratitude to Cide Hamete, its original author, for the -scrupulous care he has taken to set before us all its minute -particulars, not leaving anything, however trifling it may be, that he -does not make clear and plain. He portrays the thoughts, he reveals the -fancies, he answers implied questions, clears up doubts, sets -objections at rest, and, in a word, makes plain the smallest points the -most inquisitive can desire to know. O renowned author! O happy Don -Quixote! O famous famous droll Sancho! All and each, may ye live -countless ages for the delight and amusement of the dwellers on earth! - -The history goes on to say that when Sancho saw the Distressed One -faint he exclaimed: “I swear by the faith of an honest man and the -shades of all my ancestors the Panzas, that never I did see or hear of, -nor has my master related or conceived in his mind, such an adventure -as this. A thousand devils—not to curse thee—take thee, Malambruno, for -an enchanter and a giant! Couldst thou find no other sort of punishment -for these sinners but bearding them? Would it not have been better—it -would have been better for them—to have taken off half their noses from -the middle upwards, even though they’d have snuffled when they spoke, -than to have put beards on them? I’ll bet they have not the means of -paying anybody to shave them.” - -“That is the truth, señor,” said one of the twelve; “we have not the -money to get ourselves shaved, and so we have, some of us, taken to -using sticking-plasters by way of an economical remedy, for by applying -them to our faces and plucking them off with a jerk we are left as bare -and smooth as the bottom of a stone mortar. There are, to be sure, -women in Kandy that go about from house to house to remove down, and -trim eyebrows, and make cosmetics for the use of the women, but we, the -duennas of my lady, would never let them in, for most of them have a -flavour of agents that have ceased to be principals; and if we are not -relieved by Señor Don Quixote we shall be carried to our graves with -beards.” - -“I will pluck out my own in the land of the Moors,” said Don Quixote, -“if I don’t cure yours.” - -At this instant the Trifaldi recovered from her swoon and said, “The -chink of that promise, valiant knight, reached my ears in the midst of -my swoon, and has been the means of reviving me and bringing back my -senses; and so once more I implore you, illustrious errant, indomitable -sir, to let your gracious promises be turned into deeds.” - -“There shall be no delay on my part,” said Don Quixote. “Bethink you, -señora, of what I must do, for my heart is most eager to serve you.” - -“The fact is,” replied the Distressed One, “it is five thousand -leagues, a couple more or less, from this to the kingdom of Kandy, if -you go by land; but if you go through the air and in a straight line, -it is three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven. You must know, too, -that Malambruno told me that, whenever fate provided the knight our -deliverer, he himself would send him a steed far better and with less -tricks than a post-horse; for he will be that same wooden horse on -which the valiant Pierres carried off the fair Magalona; which said -horse is guided by a peg he has in his forehead that serves for a -bridle, and flies through the air with such rapidity that you would -fancy the very devils were carrying him. This horse, according to -ancient tradition, was made by Merlin. He lent him to Pierres, who was -a friend of his, and who made long journeys with him, and, as has been -said, carried off the fair Magalona, bearing her through the air on its -haunches and making all who beheld them from the earth gape with -astonishment; and he never lent him save to those whom he loved or -those who paid him well; and since the great Pierres we know of no one -having mounted him until now. From him Malambruno stole him by his -magic art, and he has him now in his possession, and makes use of him -in his journeys which he constantly makes through different parts of -the world; he is here to-day, to-morrow in France, and the next day in -Potosi; and the best of it is the said horse neither eats nor sleeps -nor wears out shoes, and goes at an ambling pace through the air -without wings, so that he whom he has mounted upon him can carry a cup -full of water in his hand without spilling a drop, so smoothly and -easily does he go, for which reason the fair Magalona enjoyed riding -him greatly.” - -“For going smoothly and easily,” said Sancho at this, “give me my -Dapple, though he can’t go through the air; but on the ground I’ll back -him against all the amblers in the world.” - -They all laughed, and the Distressed One continued: “And this same -horse, if so be that Malambruno is disposed to put an end to our -sufferings, will be here before us ere the night shall have advanced -half an hour; for he announced to me that the sign he would give me -whereby I might know that I had found the knight I was in quest of, -would be to send me the horse wherever he might be, speedily and -promptly.” - -“And how many is there room for on this horse?” asked Sancho. - -“Two,” said the Distressed One, “one in the saddle, and the other on -the croup; and generally these two are knight and squire, when there is -no damsel that’s being carried off.” - -“I’d like to know, Señora Distressed One,” said Sancho, “what is the -name of this horse?” - -“His name,” said the Distressed One, “is not the same as Bellerophon’s -horse that was called Pegasus, or Alexander the Great’s, called -Bucephalus, or Orlando Furioso’s, the name of which was Brigliador, nor -yet Bayard, the horse of Reinaldos of Montalvan, nor Frontino like -Ruggiero’s, nor Bootes or Peritoa, as they say the horses of the sun -were called, nor is he called Orelia, like the horse on which the -unfortunate Rodrigo, the last king of the Goths, rode to the battle -where he lost his life and his kingdom.” - -“I’ll bet,” said Sancho, “that as they have given him none of these -famous names of well-known horses, no more have they given him the name -of my master’s Rocinante, which for being apt surpasses all that have -been mentioned.” - -“That is true,” said the bearded countess, “still it fits him very -well, for he is called Clavileño the Swift, which name is in accordance -with his being made of wood, with the peg he has in his forehead, and -with the swift pace at which he travels; and so, as far as name goes, -he may compare with the famous Rocinante.” - -“I have nothing to say against his name,” said Sancho; “but with what -sort of bridle or halter is he managed?” - -“I have said already,” said the Trifaldi, “that it is with a peg, by -turning which to one side or the other the knight who rides him makes -him go as he pleases, either through the upper air, or skimming and -almost sweeping the earth, or else in that middle course that is sought -and followed in all well-regulated proceedings.” - -“I’d like to see him,” said Sancho; “but to fancy I’m going to mount -him, either in the saddle or on the croup, is to ask pears of the elm -tree. A good joke indeed! I can hardly keep my seat upon Dapple, and on -a pack-saddle softer than silk itself, and here they’d have me hold on -upon haunches of plank without pad or cushion of any sort! Gad, I have -no notion of bruising myself to get rid of anyone’s beard; let each one -shave himself as best he can; I’m not going to accompany my master on -any such long journey; besides, I can’t give any help to the shaving of -these beards as I can to the disenchantment of my lady Dulcinea.” - -“Yes, you can, my friend,” replied the Trifaldi; “and so much, that -without you, so I understand, we shall be able to do nothing.” - -“In the king’s name!” exclaimed Sancho, “what have squires got to do -with the adventures of their masters? Are they to have the fame of such -as they go through, and we the labour? Body o’ me! if the historians -would only say, ‘Such and such a knight finished such and such an -adventure, but with the help of so and so, his squire, without which it -would have been impossible for him to accomplish it;’ but they write -curtly, “Don Paralipomenon of the Three Stars accomplished the -adventure of the six monsters;’ without mentioning such a person as his -squire, who was there all the time, just as if there was no such being. -Once more, sirs, I say my master may go alone, and much good may it do -him; and I’ll stay here in the company of my lady the duchess; and -maybe when he comes back, he will find the lady Dulcinea’s affair ever -so much advanced; for I mean in leisure hours, and at idle moments, to -give myself a spell of whipping without so much as a hair to cover me.” - -“For all that you must go if it be necessary, my good Sancho,” said the -duchess, “for they are worthy folk who ask you; and the faces of these -ladies must not remain overgrown in this way because of your idle -fears; that would be a hard case indeed.” - -“In the king’s name, once more!” said Sancho; “If this charitable work -were to be done for the sake of damsels in confinement or -charity-girls, a man might expose himself to some hardships; but to -bear it for the sake of stripping beards off duennas! Devil take it! -I’d sooner see them all bearded, from the highest to the lowest, and -from the most prudish to the most affected.” - -“You are very hard on duennas, Sancho my friend,” said the duchess; -“you incline very much to the opinion of the Toledo apothecary. But -indeed you are wrong; there are duennas in my house that may serve as -patterns of duennas; and here is my Doña Rodriguez, who will not allow -me to say otherwise.” - -“Your excellence may say it if you like,” said the Rodriguez; “for God -knows the truth of everything; and whether we duennas are good or bad, -bearded or smooth, we are our mothers’ daughters like other women; and -as God sent us into the world, he knows why he did, and on his mercy I -rely, and not on anybody’s beard.” - -“Well, Señora Rodriguez, Señora Trifaldi, and present company,” said -Don Quixote, “I trust in Heaven that it will look with kindly eyes upon -your troubles, for Sancho will do as I bid him. Only let Clavileño come -and let me find myself face to face with Malambruno, and I am certain -no razor will shave you more easily than my sword shall shave -Malambruno’s head off his shoulders; for ‘God bears with the wicked, -but not for ever.” - -“Ah!” exclaimed the Distressed One at this, “may all the stars of the -celestial regions look down upon your greatness with benign eyes, -valiant knight, and shed every prosperity and valour upon your heart, -that it may be the shield and safeguard of the abused and downtrodden -race of duennas, detested by apothecaries, sneered at by squires, and -made game of by pages. Ill betide the jade that in the flower of her -youth would not sooner become a nun than a duenna! Unfortunate beings -that we are, we duennas! Though we may be descended in the direct male -line from Hector of Troy himself, our mistresses never fail to address -us as ‘you’ if they think it makes queens of them. O giant Malambruno, -though thou art an enchanter, thou art true to thy promises. Send us -now the peerless Clavileño, that our misfortune may be brought to an -end; for if the hot weather sets in and these beards of ours are still -there, alas for our lot!” - -The Trifaldi said this in such a pathetic way that she drew tears from -the eyes of all and even Sancho’s filled up; and he resolved in his -heart to accompany his master to the uttermost ends of the earth, if so -be the removal of the wool from those venerable countenances depended -upon it. - -CHAPTER XLI. -OF THE ARRIVAL OF CLAVILEÑO AND THE END OF THIS PROTRACTED ADVENTURE - -And now night came, and with it the appointed time for the arrival of -the famous horse Clavileño, the non-appearance of which was already -beginning to make Don Quixote uneasy, for it struck him that, as -Malambruno was so long about sending it, either he himself was not the -knight for whom the adventure was reserved, or else Malambruno did not -dare to meet him in single combat. But lo! suddenly there came into the -garden four wild-men all clad in green ivy bearing on their shoulders a -great wooden horse. They placed it on its feet on the ground, and one -of the wild-men said, “Let the knight who has heart for it mount this -machine.” - -Here Sancho exclaimed, “I don’t mount, for neither have I the heart nor -am I a knight.” - -“And let the squire, if he has one,” continued the wild-man, “take his -seat on the croup, and let him trust the valiant Malambruno; for by no -sword save his, nor by the malice of any other, shall he be assailed. -It is but to turn this peg the horse has in his neck, and he will bear -them through the air to where Malambruno awaits them; but lest the vast -elevation of their course should make them giddy, their eyes must be -covered until the horse neighs, which will be the sign of their having -completed their journey.” - -With these words, leaving Clavileño behind them, they retired with easy -dignity the way they came. As soon as the Distressed One saw the horse, -almost in tears she exclaimed to Don Quixote, “Valiant knight, the -promise of Malambruno has proved trustworthy; the horse has come, our -beards are growing, and by every hair in them all of us implore thee to -shave and shear us, as it is only mounting him with thy squire and -making a happy beginning with your new journey.” - -“That I will, Señora Countess Trifaldi,” said Don Quixote, “most gladly -and with right goodwill, without stopping to take a cushion or put on -my spurs, so as not to lose time, such is my desire to see you and all -these duennas shaved clean.” - -“That I won’t,” said Sancho, “with good-will or bad-will, or any way at -all; and if this shaving can’t be done without my mounting on the -croup, my master had better look out for another squire to go with him, -and these ladies for some other way of making their faces smooth; I’m -no witch to have a taste for travelling through the air. What would my -islanders say when they heard their governor was going, strolling about -on the winds? And another thing, as it is three thousand and odd -leagues from this to Kandy, if the horse tires, or the giant takes -huff, we’ll be half a dozen years getting back, and there won’t be isle -or island in the world that will know me: and so, as it is a common -saying ‘in delay there’s danger,’ and ‘when they offer thee a heifer -run with a halter,’ these ladies’ beards must excuse me; ‘Saint Peter -is very well in Rome;’ I mean I am very well in this house where so -much is made of me, and I hope for such a good thing from the master as -to see myself a governor.” - -“Friend Sancho,” said the duke at this, “the island that I have -promised you is not a moving one, or one that will run away; it has -roots so deeply buried in the bowels of the earth that it will be no -easy matter to pluck it up or shift it from where it is; you know as -well as I do that there is no sort of office of any importance that is -not obtained by a bribe of some kind, great or small; well then, that -which I look to receive for this government is that you go with your -master Don Quixote, and bring this memorable adventure to a conclusion; -and whether you return on Clavileño as quickly as his speed seems to -promise, or adverse fortune brings you back on foot travelling as a -pilgrim from hostel to hostel and from inn to inn, you will always find -your island on your return where you left it, and your islanders with -the same eagerness they have always had to receive you as their -governor, and my good-will will remain the same; doubt not the truth of -this, Señor Sancho, for that would be grievously wronging my -disposition to serve you.” - -“Say no more, señor,” said Sancho; “I am a poor squire and not equal to -carrying so much courtesy; let my master mount; bandage my eyes and -commit me to God’s care, and tell me if I may commend myself to our -Lord or call upon the angels to protect me when we go towering up -there.” - -To this the Trifaldi made answer, “Sancho, you may freely commend -yourself to God or whom you will; for Malambruno though an enchanter is -a Christian, and works his enchantments with great circumspection, -taking very good care not to fall out with anyone.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “God and the most holy Trinity of Gaeta give -me help!” - -“Since the memorable adventure of the fulling mills,” said Don Quixote, -“I have never seen Sancho in such a fright as now; were I as -superstitious as others his abject fear would cause me some little -trepidation of spirit. But come here, Sancho, for with the leave of -these gentles I would say a word or two to thee in private;” and -drawing Sancho aside among the trees of the garden and seizing both his -hands he said, “Thou seest, brother Sancho, the long journey we have -before us, and God knows when we shall return, or what leisure or -opportunities this business will allow us; I wish thee therefore to -retire now to thy chamber, as though thou wert going to fetch something -required for the road, and in a trice give thyself if it be only five -hundred lashes on account of the three thousand three hundred to which -thou art bound; it will be all to the good, and to make a beginning -with a thing is to have it half finished.” - -“By God,” said Sancho, “but your worship must be out of your senses! -This is like the common saying, ‘You see me with child, and you want me -a virgin.’ Just as I’m about to go sitting on a bare board, your -worship would have me score my backside! Indeed, your worship is not -reasonable. Let us be off to shave these duennas; and on our return I -promise on my word to make such haste to wipe off all that’s due as -will satisfy your worship; I can’t say more.” - -“Well, I will comfort myself with that promise, my good Sancho,” -replied Don Quixote, “and I believe thou wilt keep it; for indeed -though stupid thou art veracious.” - -“I’m not voracious,” said Sancho, “only peckish; but even if I was a -little, still I’d keep my word.” - -With this they went back to mount Clavileño, and as they were about to -do so Don Quixote said, “Cover thine eyes, Sancho, and mount; for one -who sends for us from lands so far distant cannot mean to deceive us -for the sake of the paltry glory to be derived from deceiving persons -who trust in him; though all should turn out the contrary of what I -hope, no malice will be able to dim the glory of having undertaken this -exploit.” - -“Let us be off, señor,” said Sancho, “for I have taken the beards and -tears of these ladies deeply to heart, and I shan’t eat a bit to relish -it until I have seen them restored to their former smoothness. Mount, -your worship, and blindfold yourself, for if I am to go on the croup, -it is plain the rider in the saddle must mount first.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, and, taking a handkerchief out of his -pocket, he begged the Distressed One to bandage his eyes very -carefully; but after having them bandaged he uncovered them again, -saying, “If my memory does not deceive me, I have read in Virgil of the -Palladium of Troy, a wooden horse the Greeks offered to the goddess -Pallas, which was big with armed knights, who were afterwards the -destruction of Troy; so it would be as well to see, first of all, what -Clavileño has in his stomach.” - -“There is no occasion,” said the Distressed One; “I will be bail for -him, and I know that Malambruno has nothing tricky or treacherous about -him; you may mount without any fear, Señor Don Quixote; on my head be -it if any harm befalls you.” - -Don Quixote thought that to say anything further with regard to his -safety would be putting his courage in an unfavourable light; and so, -without more words, he mounted Clavileño, and tried the peg, which -turned easily; and as he had no stirrups and his legs hung down, he -looked like nothing so much as a figure in some Roman triumph painted -or embroidered on a Flemish tapestry. - -Much against the grain, and very slowly, Sancho proceeded to mount, -and, after settling himself as well as he could on the croup, found it -rather hard, and not at all soft, and asked the duke if it would be -possible to oblige him with a pad of some kind, or a cushion; even if -it were off the couch of his lady the duchess, or the bed of one of the -pages; as the haunches of that horse were more like marble than wood. -On this the Trifaldi observed that Clavileño would not bear any kind of -harness or trappings, and that his best plan would be to sit sideways -like a woman, as in that way he would not feel the hardness so much. - -Sancho did so, and, bidding them farewell, allowed his eyes to be -bandaged, but immediately afterwards uncovered them again, and looking -tenderly and tearfully on those in the garden, bade them help him in -his present strait with plenty of Paternosters and Ave Marias, that God -might provide someone to say as many for them, whenever they found -themselves in a similar emergency. - -At this Don Quixote exclaimed, “Art thou on the gallows, thief, or at -thy last moment, to use pitiful entreaties of that sort? Cowardly, -spiritless creature, art thou not in the very place the fair Magalona -occupied, and from which she descended, not into the grave, but to -become Queen of France; unless the histories lie? And I who am here -beside thee, may I not put myself on a par with the valiant Pierres, -who pressed this very spot that I now press? Cover thine eyes, cover -thine eyes, abject animal, and let not thy fear escape thy lips, at -least in my presence.” - -“Blindfold me,” said Sancho; “as you won’t let me commend myself or be -commended to God, is it any wonder if I am afraid there is a region of -devils about here that will carry us off to Peralvillo?” - -They were then blindfolded, and Don Quixote, finding himself settled to -his satisfaction, felt for the peg, and the instant he placed his -fingers on it, all the duennas and all who stood by lifted up their -voices exclaiming, “God guide thee, valiant knight! God be with thee, -intrepid squire! Now, now ye go cleaving the air more swiftly than an -arrow! Now ye begin to amaze and astonish all who are gazing at you -from the earth! Take care not to wobble about, valiant Sancho! Mind -thou fall not, for thy fall will be worse than that rash youth’s who -tried to steer the chariot of his father the Sun!” - -As Sancho heard the voices, clinging tightly to his master and winding -his arms round him, he said, “Señor, how do they make out we are going -up so high, if their voices reach us here and they seem to be speaking -quite close to us?” - -“Don’t mind that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for as affairs of this -sort, and flights like this are out of the common course of things, you -can see and hear as much as you like a thousand leagues off; but don’t -squeeze me so tight or thou wilt upset me; and really I know not what -thou hast to be uneasy or frightened at, for I can safely swear I never -mounted a smoother-going steed all the days of my life; one would fancy -we never stirred from one place. Banish fear, my friend, for indeed -everything is going as it ought, and we have the wind astern.” - -“That’s true,” said Sancho, “for such a strong wind comes against me on -this side, that it seems as if people were blowing on me with a -thousand pair of bellows;” which was the case; they were puffing at him -with a great pair of bellows; for the whole adventure was so well -planned by the duke, the duchess, and their majordomo, that nothing was -omitted to make it perfectly successful. - -Don Quixote now, feeling the blast, said, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho, we -must have already reached the second region of the air, where the hail -and snow are generated; the thunder, the lightning, and the -thunderbolts are engendered in the third region, and if we go on -ascending at this rate, we shall shortly plunge into the region of -fire, and I know not how to regulate this peg, so as not to mount up -where we shall be burned.” - -And now they began to warm their faces, from a distance, with tow that -could be easily set on fire and extinguished again, fixed on the end of -a cane. On feeling the heat Sancho said, “May I die if we are not -already in that fire place, or very near it, for a good part of my -beard has been singed, and I have a mind, señor, to uncover and see -whereabouts we are.” - -“Do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “remember the true story of -the licentiate Torralva that the devils carried flying through the air -riding on a stick with his eyes shut; who in twelve hours reached Rome -and dismounted at Torre di Nona, which is a street of the city, and saw -the whole sack and storming and the death of Bourbon, and was back in -Madrid the next morning, where he gave an account of all he had seen; -and he said moreover that as he was going through the air, the devil -bade him open his eyes, and he did so, and saw himself so near the body -of the moon, so it seemed to him, that he could have laid hold of it -with his hand, and that he did not dare to look at the earth lest he -should be seized with giddiness. So that, Sancho, it will not do for us -to uncover ourselves, for he who has us in charge will be responsible -for us; and perhaps we are gaining an altitude and mounting up to -enable us to descend at one swoop on the kingdom of Kandy, as the saker -or falcon does on the heron, so as to seize it however high it may -soar; and though it seems to us not half an hour since we left the -garden, believe me we must have travelled a great distance.” - -“I don’t know how that may be,” said Sancho; “all I know is that if the -Señora Magallanes or Magalona was satisfied with this croup, she could -not have been very tender of flesh.” - -The duke, the duchess, and all in the garden were listening to the -conversation of the two heroes, and were beyond measure amused by it; -and now, desirous of putting a finishing touch to this rare and -well-contrived adventure, they applied a light to Clavileño’s tail with -some tow, and the horse, being full of squibs and crackers, immediately -blew up with a prodigious noise, and brought Don Quixote and Sancho -Panza to the ground half singed. By this time the bearded band of -duennas, the Trifaldi and all, had vanished from the garden, and those -that remained lay stretched on the ground as if in a swoon. Don Quixote -and Sancho got up rather shaken, and, looking about them, were filled -with amazement at finding themselves in the same garden from which they -had started, and seeing such a number of people stretched on the -ground; and their astonishment was increased when at one side of the -garden they perceived a tall lance planted in the ground, and hanging -from it by two cords of green silk a smooth white parchment on which -there was the following inscription in large gold letters: “The -illustrious knight Don Quixote of La Mancha has, by merely attempting -it, finished and concluded the adventure of the Countess Trifaldi, -otherwise called the Distressed Duenna; Malambruno is now satisfied on -every point, the chins of the duennas are now smooth and clean, and -King Don Clavijo and Queen Antonomasia in their original form; and when -the squirely flagellation shall have been completed, the white dove -shall find herself delivered from the pestiferous gerfalcons that -persecute her, and in the arms of her beloved mate; for such is the -decree of the sage Merlin, arch-enchanter of enchanters.” - -As soon as Don Quixote had read the inscription on the parchment he -perceived clearly that it referred to the disenchantment of Dulcinea, -and returning hearty thanks to heaven that he had with so little danger -achieved so grand an exploit as to restore to their former complexion -the countenances of those venerable duennas, he advanced towards the -duke and duchess, who had not yet come to themselves, and taking the -duke by the hand he said, “Be of good cheer, worthy sir, be of good -cheer; it’s nothing at all; the adventure is now over and without any -harm done, as the inscription fixed on this post shows plainly.” - -The duke came to himself slowly and like one recovering consciousness -after a heavy sleep, and the duchess and all who had fallen prostrate -about the garden did the same, with such demonstrations of wonder and -amazement that they would have almost persuaded one that what they -pretended so adroitly in jest had happened to them in reality. The duke -read the placard with half-shut eyes, and then ran to embrace Don -Quixote with open arms, declaring him to be the best knight that had -ever been seen in any age. Sancho kept looking about for the Distressed -One, to see what her face was like without the beard, and if she was as -fair as her elegant person promised; but they told him that, the -instant Clavileño descended flaming through the air and came to the -ground, the whole band of duennas with the Trifaldi vanished, and that -they were already shaved and without a stump left. - -The duchess asked Sancho how he had fared on that long journey, to -which Sancho replied, “I felt, señora, that we were flying through the -region of fire, as my master told me, and I wanted to uncover my eyes -for a bit; but my master, when I asked leave to uncover myself, would -not let me; but as I have a little bit of curiosity about me, and a -desire to know what is forbidden and kept from me, quietly and without -anyone seeing me I drew aside the handkerchief covering my eyes ever so -little, close to my nose, and from underneath looked towards the earth, -and it seemed to me that it was altogether no bigger than a grain of -mustard seed, and that the men walking on it were little bigger than -hazel nuts; so you may see how high we must have got to then.” - -To this the duchess said, “Sancho, my friend, mind what you are saying; -it seems you could not have seen the earth, but only the men walking on -it; for if the earth looked to you like a grain of mustard seed, and -each man like a hazel nut, one man alone would have covered the whole -earth.” - -“That is true,” said Sancho, “but for all that I got a glimpse of a bit -of one side of it, and saw it all.” - -“Take care, Sancho,” said the duchess, “with a bit of one side one does -not see the whole of what one looks at.” - -“I don’t understand that way of looking at things,” said Sancho; “I -only know that your ladyship will do well to bear in mind that as we -were flying by enchantment so I might have seen the whole earth and all -the men by enchantment whatever way I looked; and if you won’t believe -this, no more will you believe that, uncovering myself nearly to the -eyebrows, I saw myself so close to the sky that there was not a palm -and a half between me and it; and by everything that I can swear by, -señora, it is mighty great! And it so happened we came by where the -seven goats are, and by God and upon my soul, as in my youth I was a -goatherd in my own country, as soon as I saw them I felt a longing to -be among them for a little, and if I had not given way to it I think -I’d have burst. So I come and take, and what do I do? without saying -anything to anybody, not even to my master, softly and quietly I got -down from Clavileño and amused myself with the goats—which are like -violets, like flowers—for nigh three-quarters of an hour; and Clavileño -never stirred or moved from one spot.” - -“And while the good Sancho was amusing himself with the goats,” said -the duke, “how did Señor Don Quixote amuse himself?” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “As all these things and such like -occurrences are out of the ordinary course of nature, it is no wonder -that Sancho says what he does; for my own part I can only say that I -did not uncover my eyes either above or below, nor did I see sky or -earth or sea or shore. It is true I felt that I was passing through the -region of the air, and even that I touched that of fire; but that we -passed farther I cannot believe; for the region of fire being between -the heaven of the moon and the last region of the air, we could not -have reached that heaven where the seven goats Sancho speaks of are -without being burned; and as we were not burned, either Sancho is lying -or Sancho is dreaming.” - -“I am neither lying nor dreaming,” said Sancho; “only ask me the tokens -of those same goats, and you’ll see by that whether I’m telling the -truth or not.” - -“Tell us them then, Sancho,” said the duchess. - -“Two of them,” said Sancho, “are green, two blood-red, two blue, and -one a mixture of all colours.” - -“An odd sort of goat, that,” said the duke; “in this earthly region of -ours we have no such colours; I mean goats of such colours.” - -“That’s very plain,” said Sancho; “of course there must be a difference -between the goats of heaven and the goats of the earth.” - -“Tell me, Sancho,” said the duke, “did you see any he-goat among those -goats?” - -“No, señor,” said Sancho; “but I have heard say that none ever passed -the horns of the moon.” - -They did not care to ask him anything more about his journey, for they -saw he was in the vein to go rambling all over the heavens giving an -account of everything that went on there, without having ever stirred -from the garden. Such, in short, was the end of the adventure of the -Distressed Duenna, which gave the duke and duchess laughing matter not -only for the time being, but for all their lives, and Sancho something -to talk about for ages, if he lived so long; but Don Quixote, coming -close to his ear, said to him, “Sancho, as you would have us believe -what you saw in heaven, I require you to believe me as to what I saw in -the cave of Montesinos; I say no more.” - -CHAPTER XLII. -OF THE COUNSELS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA BEFORE HE SET OUT -TO GOVERN THE ISLAND, TOGETHER WITH OTHER WELL-CONSIDERED MATTERS - -The duke and duchess were so well pleased with the successful and droll -result of the adventure of the Distressed One, that they resolved to -carry on the joke, seeing what a fit subject they had to deal with for -making it all pass for reality. So having laid their plans and given -instructions to their servants and vassals how to behave to Sancho in -his government of the promised island, the next day, that following -Clavileño’s flight, the duke told Sancho to prepare and get ready to go -and be governor, for his islanders were already looking out for him as -for the showers of May. - -Sancho made him an obeisance, and said, “Ever since I came down from -heaven, and from the top of it beheld the earth, and saw how little it -is, the great desire I had to be a governor has been partly cooled in -me; for what is there grand in being ruler on a grain of mustard seed, -or what dignity or authority in governing half a dozen men about as big -as hazel nuts; for, so far as I could see, there were no more on the -whole earth? If your lordship would be so good as to give me ever so -small a bit of heaven, were it no more than half a league, I’d rather -have it than the best island in the world.” - -“Recollect, Sancho,” said the duke, “I cannot give a bit of heaven, no -not so much as the breadth of my nail, to anyone; rewards and favours -of that sort are reserved for God alone. What I can give I give you, -and that is a real, genuine island, compact, well proportioned, and -uncommonly fertile and fruitful, where, if you know how to use your -opportunities, you may, with the help of the world’s riches, gain those -of heaven.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “let the island come; and I’ll try and be -such a governor, that in spite of scoundrels I’ll go to heaven; and -it’s not from any craving to quit my own humble condition or better -myself, but from the desire I have to try what it tastes like to be a -governor.” - -“If you once make trial of it, Sancho,” said the duke, “you’ll eat your -fingers off after the government, so sweet a thing is it to command and -be obeyed. Depend upon it when your master comes to be emperor (as he -will beyond a doubt from the course his affairs are taking), it will be -no easy matter to wrest the dignity from him, and he will be sore and -sorry at heart to have been so long without becoming one.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “it is my belief it’s a good thing to be in -command, if it’s only over a drove of cattle.” - -“May I be buried with you, Sancho,” said the duke, “but you know -everything; I hope you will make as good a governor as your sagacity -promises; and that is all I have to say; and now remember to-morrow is -the day you must set out for the government of the island, and this -evening they will provide you with the proper attire for you to wear, -and all things requisite for your departure.” - -“Let them dress me as they like,” said Sancho; “however I’m dressed -I’ll be Sancho Panza.” - -“That’s true,” said the duke; “but one’s dress must be suited to the -office or rank one holds; for it would not do for a jurist to dress -like a soldier, or a soldier like a priest. You, Sancho, shall go -partly as a lawyer, partly as a captain, for, in the island I am giving -you, arms are needed as much as letters, and letters as much as arms.” - -“Of letters I know but little,” said Sancho, “for I don’t even know the -A B C; but it is enough for me to have the Christus in my memory to be -a good governor. As for arms, I’ll handle those they give me till I -drop, and then, God be my help!” - -“With so good a memory,” said the duke, “Sancho cannot go wrong in -anything.” - -Here Don Quixote joined them; and learning what passed, and how soon -Sancho was to go to his government, he with the duke’s permission took -him by the hand, and retired to his room with him for the purpose of -giving him advice as to how he was to demean himself in his office. As -soon as they had entered the chamber he closed the door after him, and -almost by force made Sancho sit down beside him, and in a quiet tone -thus addressed him: “I give infinite thanks to heaven, friend Sancho, -that, before I have met with any good luck, fortune has come forward to -meet thee. I who counted upon my good fortune to discharge the -recompense of thy services, find myself still waiting for advancement, -while thou, before the time, and contrary to all reasonable -expectation, seest thyself blessed in the fulfillment of thy desires. -Some will bribe, beg, solicit, rise early, entreat, persist, without -attaining the object of their suit; while another comes, and without -knowing why or wherefore, finds himself invested with the place or -office so many have sued for; and here it is that the common saying, -‘There is good luck as well as bad luck in suits,’ applies. Thou, who, -to my thinking, art beyond all doubt a dullard, without early rising or -night watching or taking any trouble, with the mere breath of -knight-errantry that has breathed upon thee, seest thyself without more -ado governor of an island, as though it were a mere matter of course. -This I say, Sancho, that thou attribute not the favour thou hast -received to thine own merits, but give thanks to heaven that disposes -matters beneficently, and secondly thanks to the great power the -profession of knight-errantry contains in itself. With a heart, then, -inclined to believe what I have said to thee, attend, my son, to thy -Cato here who would counsel thee and be thy polestar and guide to -direct and pilot thee to a safe haven out of this stormy sea wherein -thou art about to ingulf thyself; for offices and great trusts are -nothing else but a mighty gulf of troubles. - -“First of all, my son, thou must fear God, for in the fear of him is -wisdom, and being wise thou canst not err in aught. - -“Secondly, thou must keep in view what thou art, striving to know -thyself, the most difficult thing to know that the mind can imagine. If -thou knowest thyself, it will follow thou wilt not puff thyself up like -the frog that strove to make himself as large as the ox; if thou dost, -the recollection of having kept pigs in thine own country will serve as -the ugly feet for the wheel of thy folly.” - -“That’s the truth,” said Sancho; “but that was when I was a boy; -afterwards when I was something more of a man it was geese I kept, not -pigs. But to my thinking that has nothing to do with it; for all who -are governors don’t come of a kingly stock.” - -“True,” said Don Quixote, “and for that reason those who are not of -noble origin should take care that the dignity of the office they hold -be accompanied by a gentle suavity, which wisely managed will save them -from the sneers of malice that no station escapes. - -“Glory in thy humble birth, Sancho, and be not ashamed of saying thou -art peasant-born; for when it is seen thou art not ashamed no one will -set himself to put thee to the blush; and pride thyself rather upon -being one of lowly virtue than a lofty sinner. Countless are they who, -born of mean parentage, have risen to the highest dignities, pontifical -and imperial, and of the truth of this I could give thee instances -enough to weary thee. - -“Remember, Sancho, if thou make virtue thy aim, and take a pride in -doing virtuous actions, thou wilt have no cause to envy those who have -princely and lordly ones, for blood is an inheritance, but virtue an -acquisition, and virtue has in itself alone a worth that blood does not -possess. - -“This being so, if perchance anyone of thy kinsfolk should come to see -thee when thou art in thine island, thou art not to repel or slight -him, but on the contrary to welcome him, entertain him, and make much -of him; for in so doing thou wilt be approved of heaven (which is not -pleased that any should despise what it hath made), and wilt comply -with the laws of well-ordered nature. - -“If thou carriest thy wife with thee (and it is not well for those that -administer governments to be long without their wives), teach and -instruct her, and strive to smooth down her natural roughness; for all -that may be gained by a wise governor may be lost and wasted by a -boorish stupid wife. - -“If perchance thou art left a widower—a thing which may happen—and in -virtue of thy office seekest a consort of higher degree, choose not one -to serve thee for a hook, or for a fishing-rod, or for the hood of thy -‘won’t have it;’ for verily, I tell thee, for all the judge’s wife -receives, the husband will be held accountable at the general calling -to account; where he will have repay in death fourfold, items that in -life he regarded as naught. - -“Never go by arbitrary law, which is so much favoured by ignorant men -who plume themselves on cleverness. - -“Let the tears of the poor man find with thee more compassion, but not -more justice, than the pleadings of the rich. - -“Strive to lay bare the truth, as well amid the promises and presents -of the rich man, as amid the sobs and entreaties of the poor. - -“When equity may and should be brought into play, press not the utmost -rigour of the law against the guilty; for the reputation of the stern -judge stands not higher than that of the compassionate. - -“If perchance thou permittest the staff of justice to swerve, let it be -not by the weight of a gift, but by that of mercy. - -“If it should happen to thee to give judgment in the cause of one who -is thine enemy, turn thy thoughts away from thy injury and fix them on -the justice of the case. - -“Let not thine own passion blind thee in another man’s cause; for the -errors thou wilt thus commit will be most frequently irremediable; or -if not, only to be remedied at the expense of thy good name and even of -thy fortune. - -“If any handsome woman come to seek justice of thee, turn away thine -eyes from her tears and thine ears from her lamentations, and consider -deliberately the merits of her demand, if thou wouldst not have thy -reason swept away by her weeping, and thy rectitude by her sighs. - -“Abuse not by word him whom thou hast to punish in deed, for the pain -of punishment is enough for the unfortunate without the addition of -thine objurgations. - -“Bear in mind that the culprit who comes under thy jurisdiction is but -a miserable man subject to all the propensities of our depraved nature, -and so far as may be in thy power show thyself lenient and forbearing; -for though the attributes of God are all equal, to our eyes that of -mercy is brighter and loftier than that of justice. - -“If thou followest these precepts and rules, Sancho, thy days will be -long, thy fame eternal, thy reward abundant, thy felicity unutterable; -thou wilt marry thy children as thou wouldst; they and thy -grandchildren will bear titles; thou wilt live in peace and concord -with all men; and, when life draws to a close, death will come to thee -in calm and ripe old age, and the light and loving hands of thy -great-grandchildren will close thine eyes. - -“What I have thus far addressed to thee are instructions for the -adornment of thy mind; listen now to those which tend to that of the -body.” - -CHAPTER XLIII. -OF THE SECOND SET OF COUNSELS DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA - -Who, hearing the foregoing discourse of Don Quixote, would not have set -him down for a person of great good sense and greater rectitude of -purpose? But, as has been frequently observed in the course of this -great history, he only talked nonsense when he touched on chivalry, and -in discussing all other subjects showed that he had a clear and -unbiassed understanding; so that at every turn his acts gave the lie to -his intellect, and his intellect to his acts; but in the case of these -second counsels that he gave Sancho, he showed himself to have a lively -turn of humour, and displayed conspicuously his wisdom, and also his -folly. - -Sancho listened to him with the deepest attention, and endeavoured to -fix his counsels in his memory, like one who meant to follow them and -by their means bring the full promise of his government to a happy -issue. Don Quixote, then, went on to say: - -“With regard to the mode in which thou shouldst govern thy person and -thy house, Sancho, the first charge I have to give thee is to be clean, -and to cut thy nails, not letting them grow as some do, whose ignorance -makes them fancy that long nails are an ornament to their hands, as if -those excrescences they neglect to cut were nails, and not the talons -of a lizard-catching kestrel—a filthy and unnatural abuse. - -“Go not ungirt and loose, Sancho; for disordered attire is a sign of an -unstable mind, unless indeed the slovenliness and slackness is to be -set down to craft, as was the common opinion in the case of Julius -Cæsar. - -“Ascertain cautiously what thy office may be worth; and if it will -allow thee to give liveries to thy servants, give them respectable and -serviceable, rather than showy and gay ones, and divide them between -thy servants and the poor; that is to say, if thou canst clothe six -pages, clothe three and three poor men, and thus thou wilt have pages -for heaven and pages for earth; the vainglorious never think of this -new mode of giving liveries. - -“Eat not garlic nor onions, lest they find out thy boorish origin by -the smell; walk slowly and speak deliberately, but not in such a way as -to make it seem thou art listening to thyself, for all affectation is -bad. - -“Dine sparingly and sup more sparingly still; for the health of the -whole body is forged in the workshop of the stomach. - -“Be temperate in drinking, bearing in mind that wine in excess keeps -neither secrets nor promises. - -“Take care, Sancho, not to chew on both sides, and not to eruct in -anybody’s presence.” - -“Eruct!” said Sancho; “I don’t know what that means.” - -“To eruct, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “means to belch, and that is one -of the filthiest words in the Spanish language, though a very -expressive one; and therefore nice folk have had recourse to the Latin, -and instead of belch say eruct, and instead of belches say eructations; -and if some do not understand these terms it matters little, for custom -will bring them into use in the course of time, so that they will be -readily understood; this is the way a language is enriched; custom and -the public are all-powerful there.” - -“In truth, señor,” said Sancho, “one of the counsels and cautions I -mean to bear in mind shall be this, not to belch, for I’m constantly -doing it.” - -“Eruct, Sancho, not belch,” said Don Quixote. - -“Eruct, I shall say henceforth, and I swear not to forget it,” said -Sancho. - -“Likewise, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou must not mingle such a -quantity of proverbs in thy discourse as thou dost; for though proverbs -are short maxims, thou dost drag them in so often by the head and -shoulders that they savour more of nonsense than of maxims.” - -“God alone can cure that,” said Sancho; “for I have more proverbs in me -than a book, and when I speak they come so thick together into my mouth -that they fall to fighting among themselves to get out; that’s why my -tongue lets fly the first that come, though they may not be pat to the -purpose. But I’ll take care henceforward to use such as befit the -dignity of my office; for ‘in a house where there’s plenty, supper is -soon cooked,’ and ‘he who binds does not wrangle,’ and ‘the -bell-ringer’s in a safe berth,’ and ‘giving and keeping require -brains.’” - -“That’s it, Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “pack, tack, string proverbs -together; nobody is hindering thee! ‘My mother beats me, and I go on -with my tricks.’ I am bidding thee avoid proverbs, and here in a second -thou hast shot out a whole litany of them, which have as much to do -with what we are talking about as ‘over the hills of Úbeda.’ Mind, -Sancho, I do not say that a proverb aptly brought in is objectionable; -but to pile up and string together proverbs at random makes -conversation dull and vulgar. - -“When thou ridest on horseback, do not go lolling with thy body on the -back of the saddle, nor carry thy legs stiff or sticking out from the -horse’s belly, nor yet sit so loosely that one would suppose thou wert -on Dapple; for the seat on a horse makes gentlemen of some and grooms -of others. - -“Be moderate in thy sleep; for he who does not rise early does not get -the benefit of the day; and remember, Sancho, diligence is the mother -of good fortune, and indolence, its opposite, never yet attained the -object of an honest ambition. - -“The last counsel I will give thee now, though it does not tend to -bodily improvement, I would have thee carry carefully in thy memory, -for I believe it will be no less useful to thee than those I have given -thee already, and it is this—never engage in a dispute about families, -at least in the way of comparing them one with another; for necessarily -one of those compared will be better than the other, and thou wilt be -hated by the one thou hast disparaged, and get nothing in any shape -from the one thou hast exalted. - -“Thy attire shall be hose of full length, a long jerkin, and a cloak a -trifle longer; loose breeches by no means, for they are becoming -neither for gentlemen nor for governors. - -“For the present, Sancho, this is all that has occurred to me to advise -thee; as time goes by and occasions arise my instructions shall follow, -if thou take care to let me know how thou art circumstanced.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “I see well enough that all these things your -worship has said to me are good, holy, and profitable; but what use -will they be to me if I don’t remember one of them? To be sure that -about not letting my nails grow, and marrying again if I have the -chance, will not slip out of my head; but all that other hash, muddle, -and jumble—I don’t and can’t recollect any more of it than of last -year’s clouds; so it must be given me in writing; for though I can’t -either read or write, I’ll give it to my confessor, to drive it into me -and remind me of it whenever it is necessary.” - -“Ah, sinner that I am!” said Don Quixote, “how bad it looks in -governors not to know how to read or write; for let me tell thee, -Sancho, when a man knows not how to read, or is left-handed, it argues -one of two things; either that he was the son of exceedingly mean and -lowly parents, or that he himself was so incorrigible and -ill-conditioned that neither good company nor good teaching could make -any impression on him. It is a great defect that thou labourest under, -and therefore I would have thee learn at any rate to sign thy name.” “I -can sign my name well enough,” said Sancho, “for when I was steward of -the brotherhood in my village I learned to make certain letters, like -the marks on bales of goods, which they told me made out my name. -Besides I can pretend my right hand is disabled and make someone else -sign for me, for ‘there’s a remedy for everything except death;’ and as -I shall be in command and hold the staff, I can do as I like; moreover, -‘he who has the alcalde for his father-,’ and I’ll be governor, and -that’s higher than alcalde. Only come and see! Let them make light of -me and abuse me; ‘they’ll come for wool and go back shorn;’ ‘whom God -loves, his house is known to Him;’ ‘the silly sayings of the rich pass -for saws in the world;’ and as I’ll be rich, being a governor, and at -the same time generous, as I mean to be, no fault will be seen in me. -‘Only make yourself honey and the flies will suck you;’ ‘as much as -thou hast so much art thou worth,’ as my grandmother used to say; and -‘thou canst have no revenge of a man of substance.’” - -“Oh, God’s curse upon thee, Sancho!” here exclaimed Don Quixote; “sixty -thousand devils fly away with thee and thy proverbs! For the last hour -thou hast been stringing them together and inflicting the pangs of -torture on me with every one of them. Those proverbs will bring thee to -the gallows one day, I promise thee; thy subjects will take the -government from thee, or there will be revolts among them. Tell me, -where dost thou pick them up, thou booby? How dost thou apply them, -thou blockhead? For with me, to utter one and make it apply properly, I -have to sweat and labour as if I were digging.” - -“By God, master mine,” said Sancho, “your worship is making a fuss -about very little. Why the devil should you be vexed if I make use of -what is my own? And I have got nothing else, nor any other stock in -trade except proverbs and more proverbs; and here are three just this -instant come into my head, pat to the purpose and like pears in a -basket; but I won’t repeat them, for ‘sage silence is called Sancho.’” - -“That, Sancho, thou art not,” said Don Quixote; “for not only art thou -not sage silence, but thou art pestilent prate and perversity; still I -would like to know what three proverbs have just now come into thy -memory, for I have been turning over mine own—and it is a good one—and -none occurs to me.” - -“What can be better,” said Sancho, “than ‘never put thy thumbs between -two back teeth;’ and ‘to “_get out of my house_” and “_what do you want -with my wife?_” there is no answer;’ and ‘whether the pitcher hits the -stove, or the stove the pitcher, it’s a bad business for the pitcher;’ -all which fit to a hair? For no one should quarrel with his governor, -or him in authority over him, because he will come off the worst, as he -does who puts his finger between two back and if they are not back -teeth it makes no difference, so long as they are teeth; and to -whatever the governor may say there’s no answer, any more than to ‘get -out of my house’ and ‘what do you want with my wife?’ and then, as for -that about the stone and the pitcher, a blind man could see that. So -that he ‘who sees the mote in another’s eye had need to see the beam in -his own,’ that it be not said of himself, ‘the dead woman was -frightened at the one with her throat cut;’ and your worship knows well -that ‘the fool knows more in his own house than the wise man in -another’s.’” - -“Nay, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “the fool knows nothing, either in his -own house or in anybody else’s, for no wise structure of any sort can -stand on a foundation of folly; but let us say no more about it, -Sancho, for if thou governest badly, thine will be the fault and mine -the shame; but I comfort myself with having done my duty in advising -thee as earnestly and as wisely as I could; and thus I am released from -my obligations and my promise. God guide thee, Sancho, and govern thee -in thy government, and deliver me from the misgiving I have that thou -wilt turn the whole island upside down, a thing I might easily prevent -by explaining to the duke what thou art and telling him that all that -fat little person of thine is nothing else but a sack full of proverbs -and sauciness.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “if your worship thinks I’m not fit for this -government, I give it up on the spot; for the mere black of the nail of -my soul is dearer to me than my whole body; and I can live just as -well, simple Sancho, on bread and onions, as governor, on partridges -and capons; and what’s more, while we’re asleep we’re all equal, great -and small, rich and poor. But if your worship looks into it, you will -see it was your worship alone that put me on to this business of -governing; for I know no more about the government of islands than a -buzzard; and if there’s any reason to think that because of my being a -governor the devil will get hold of me, I’d rather go Sancho to heaven -than governor to hell.” - -“By God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for those last words thou hast -uttered alone, I consider thou deservest to be governor of a thousand -islands. Thou hast good natural instincts, without which no knowledge -is worth anything; commend thyself to God, and try not to swerve in the -pursuit of thy main object; I mean, always make it thy aim and fixed -purpose to do right in all matters that come before thee, for heaven -always helps good intentions; and now let us go to dinner, for I think -my lord and lady are waiting for us.” - -CHAPTER XLIV. -HOW SANCHO PANZA WAS CONDUCTED TO HIS GOVERNMENT, AND OF THE STRANGE -ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE - -It is stated, they say, in the true original of this history, that when -Cide Hamete came to write this chapter, his interpreter did not -translate it as he wrote it—that is, as a kind of complaint the Moor -made against himself for having taken in hand a story so dry and of so -little variety as this of Don Quixote, for he found himself forced to -speak perpetually of him and Sancho, without venturing to indulge in -digressions and episodes more serious and more interesting. He said, -too, that to go on, mind, hand, pen always restricted to writing upon -one single subject, and speaking through the mouths of a few -characters, was intolerable drudgery, the result of which was never -equal to the author’s labour, and that to avoid this he had in the -First Part availed himself of the device of novels, like “The -Ill-advised Curiosity,” and “The Captive Captain,” which stand, as it -were, apart from the story; the others are given there being incidents -which occurred to Don Quixote himself and could not be omitted. He also -thought, he says, that many, engrossed by the interest attaching to the -exploits of Don Quixote, would take none in the novels, and pass them -over hastily or impatiently without noticing the elegance and art of -their composition, which would be very manifest were they published by -themselves and not as mere adjuncts to the crazes of Don Quixote or the -simplicities of Sancho. Therefore in this Second Part he thought it -best not to insert novels, either separate or interwoven, but only -episodes, something like them, arising out of the circumstances the -facts present; and even these sparingly, and with no more words than -suffice to make them plain; and as he confines and restricts himself to -the narrow limits of the narrative, though he has ability; capacity, -and brains enough to deal with the whole universe, he requests that his -labours may not be despised, and that credit be given him, not alone -for what he writes, but for what he has refrained from writing. - -And so he goes on with his story, saying that the day Don Quixote gave -the counsels to Sancho, the same afternoon after dinner he handed them -to him in writing so that he might get someone to read them to him. -They had scarcely, however, been given to him when he let them drop, -and they fell into the hands of the duke, who showed them to the -duchess and they were both amazed afresh at the madness and wit of Don -Quixote. To carry on the joke, then, the same evening they despatched -Sancho with a large following to the village that was to serve him for -an island. It happened that the person who had him in charge was a -majordomo of the duke’s, a man of great discretion and humour—and there -can be no humour without discretion—and the same who played the part of -the Countess Trifaldi in the comical way that has been already -described; and thus qualified, and instructed by his master and -mistress as to how to deal with Sancho, he carried out their scheme -admirably. Now it came to pass that as soon as Sancho saw this -majordomo he seemed in his features to recognise those of the Trifaldi, -and turning to his master, he said to him, “Señor, either the devil -will carry me off, here on this spot, righteous and believing, or your -worship will own to me that the face of this majordomo of the duke’s -here is the very face of the Distressed One.” - -Don Quixote regarded the majordomo attentively, and having done so, -said to Sancho, “There is no reason why the devil should carry thee -off, Sancho, either righteous or believing—and what thou meanest by -that I know not; the face of the Distressed One is that of the -majordomo, but for all that the majordomo is not the Distressed One; -for his being so would involve a mighty contradiction; but this is not -the time for going into questions of the sort, which would be involving -ourselves in an inextricable labyrinth. Believe me, my friend, we must -pray earnestly to our Lord that he deliver us both from wicked wizards -and enchanters.” - -“It is no joke, señor,” said Sancho, “for before this I heard him -speak, and it seemed exactly as if the voice of the Trifaldi was -sounding in my ears. Well, I’ll hold my peace; but I’ll take care to be -on the look-out henceforth for any sign that may be seen to confirm or -do away with this suspicion.” - -“Thou wilt do well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and thou wilt let me -know all thou discoverest, and all that befalls thee in thy -government.” - -Sancho at last set out attended by a great number of people. He was -dressed in the garb of a lawyer, with a gaban of tawny watered camlet -over all and a montera cap of the same material, and mounted a la -gineta upon a mule. Behind him, in accordance with the duke’s orders, -followed Dapple with brand new ass-trappings and ornaments of silk, and -from time to time Sancho turned round to look at his ass, so well -pleased to have him with him that he would not have changed places with -the emperor of Germany. On taking leave he kissed the hands of the duke -and duchess and got his master’s blessing, which Don Quixote gave him -with tears, and he received blubbering. - -Let worthy Sancho go in peace, and good luck to him, Gentle Reader; and -look out for two bushels of laughter, which the account of how he -behaved himself in office will give thee. In the meantime turn thy -attention to what happened his master the same night, and if thou dost -not laugh thereat, at any rate thou wilt stretch thy mouth with a grin; -for Don Quixote’s adventures must be honoured either with wonder or -with laughter. - -It is recorded, then, that as soon as Sancho had gone, Don Quixote felt -his loneliness, and had it been possible for him to revoke the mandate -and take away the government from him he would have done so. The -duchess observed his dejection and asked him why he was melancholy; -because, she said, if it was for the loss of Sancho, there were -squires, duennas, and damsels in her house who would wait upon him to -his full satisfaction. - -“The truth is, señora,” replied Don Quixote, “that I do feel the loss -of Sancho; but that is not the main cause of my looking sad; and of all -the offers your excellence makes me, I accept only the good-will with -which they are made, and as to the remainder I entreat of your -excellence to permit and allow me alone to wait upon myself in my -chamber.” - -“Indeed, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that must not be; four -of my damsels, as beautiful as flowers, shall wait upon you.” - -“To me,” said Don Quixote, “they will not be flowers, but thorns to -pierce my heart. They, or anything like them, shall as soon enter my -chamber as fly. If your highness wishes to gratify me still further, -though I deserve it not, permit me to please myself, and wait upon -myself in my own room; for I place a barrier between my inclinations -and my virtue, and I do not wish to break this rule through the -generosity your highness is disposed to display towards me; and, in -short, I will sleep in my clothes, sooner than allow anyone to undress -me.” - -“Say no more, Señor Don Quixote, say no more,” said the duchess; “I -assure you I will give orders that not even a fly, not to say a damsel, -shall enter your room. I am not the one to undermine the propriety of -Señor Don Quixote, for it strikes me that among his many virtues the -one that is pre-eminent is that of modesty. Your worship may undress -and dress in private and in your own way, as you please and when you -please, for there will be no one to hinder you; and in your chamber you -will find all the utensils requisite to supply the wants of one who -sleeps with his door locked, to the end that no natural needs compel -you to open it. May the great Dulcinea del Toboso live a thousand -years, and may her fame extend all over the surface of the globe, for -she deserves to be loved by a knight so valiant and so virtuous; and -may kind heaven infuse zeal into the heart of our governor Sancho Panza -to finish off his discipline speedily, so that the world may once more -enjoy the beauty of so grand a lady.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Your highness has spoken like what you -are; from the mouth of a noble lady nothing bad can come; and Dulcinea -will be more fortunate, and better known to the world by the praise of -your highness than by all the eulogies the greatest orators on earth -could bestow upon her.” - -“Well, well, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, it is nearly -supper-time, and the duke is probably waiting; come let us go to -supper, and retire to rest early, for the journey you made yesterday -from Kandy was not such a short one but that it must have caused you -some fatigue.” - -“I feel none, señora,” said Don Quixote, “for I would go so far as to -swear to your excellence that in all my life I never mounted a quieter -beast, or a pleasanter paced one, than Clavileño; and I don’t know what -could have induced Malambruno to discard a steed so swift and so -gentle, and burn it so recklessly as he did.” - -“Probably,” said the duchess, “repenting of the evil he had done to the -Trifaldi and company, and others, and the crimes he must have committed -as a wizard and enchanter, he resolved to make away with all the -instruments of his craft; and so burned Clavileño as the chief one, and -that which mainly kept him restless, wandering from land to land; and -by its ashes and the trophy of the placard the valour of the great Don -Quixote of La Mancha is established for ever.” - -Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess; and having supped, -retired to his chamber alone, refusing to allow anyone to enter with -him to wait on him, such was his fear of encountering temptations that -might lead or drive him to forget his chaste fidelity to his lady -Dulcinea; for he had always present to his mind the virtue of Amadis, -that flower and mirror of knights-errant. He locked the door behind -him, and by the light of two wax candles undressed himself, but as he -was taking off his stockings—O disaster unworthy of such a -personage!—there came a burst, not of sighs, or anything belying his -delicacy or good breeding, but of some two dozen stitches in one of his -stockings, that made it look like a window-lattice. The worthy -gentleman was beyond measure distressed, and at that moment he would -have given an ounce of silver to have had half a drachm of green silk -there; I say green silk, because the stockings were green. - -Here Cide Hamete exclaimed as he was writing, “O poverty, poverty! I -know not what could have possessed the great Cordovan poet to call thee -‘holy gift ungratefully received.’ Although a Moor, I know well enough -from the intercourse I have had with Christians that holiness consists -in charity, humility, faith, obedience, and poverty; but for all that, -I say he must have a great deal of godliness who can find any -satisfaction in being poor; unless, indeed, it be the kind of poverty -one of their greatest saints refers to, saying, ‘possess all things as -though ye possessed them not;’ which is what they call poverty in -spirit. But thou, that other poverty—for it is of thee I am speaking -now—why dost thou love to fall out with gentlemen and men of good birth -more than with other people? Why dost thou compel them to smear the -cracks in their shoes, and to have the buttons of their coats, one -silk, another hair, and another glass? Why must their ruffs be always -crinkled like endive leaves, and not crimped with a crimping iron?” -(From this we may perceive the antiquity of starch and crimped ruffs.) -Then he goes on: “Poor gentleman of good family! always cockering up -his honour, dining miserably and in secret, and making a hypocrite of -the toothpick with which he sallies out into the street after eating -nothing to oblige him to use it! Poor fellow, I say, with his nervous -honour, fancying they perceive a league off the patch on his shoe, the -sweat-stains on his hat, the shabbiness of his cloak, and the hunger of -his stomach!” - -All this was brought home to Don Quixote by the bursting of his -stitches; however, he comforted himself on perceiving that Sancho had -left behind a pair of travelling boots, which he resolved to wear the -next day. At last he went to bed, out of spirits and heavy at heart, as -much because he missed Sancho as because of the irreparable disaster to -his stockings, the stitches of which he would have even taken up with -silk of another colour, which is one of the greatest signs of poverty a -gentleman can show in the course of his never-failing embarrassments. -He put out the candles; but the night was warm and he could not sleep; -he rose from his bed and opened slightly a grated window that looked -out on a beautiful garden, and as he did so he perceived and heard -people walking and talking in the garden. He set himself to listen -attentively, and those below raised their voices so that he could hear -these words: - -“Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that ever since this -stranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld him, I cannot sing but -only weep; besides my lady is a light rather than a heavy sleeper, and -I would not for all the wealth of the world that she found us here; and -even if she were asleep and did not waken, my singing would be in vain, -if this strange Æneas, who has come into my neighbourhood to flout me, -sleeps on and wakens not to hear it.” - -“Heed not that, dear Altisidora,” replied a voice; “the duchess is no -doubt asleep, and everybody in the house save the lord of thy heart and -disturber of thy soul; for just now I perceived him open the grated -window of his chamber, so he must be awake; sing, my poor sufferer, in -a low sweet tone to the accompaniment of thy harp; and even if the -duchess hears us we can lay the blame on the heat of the night.” - -“That is not the point, Emerencia,” replied Altisidora, “it is that I -would not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and that I should -be thought a light and wanton maiden by those who know not the mighty -power of love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks than a -sore in the heart;” and here a harp softly touched made itself heard. -As he listened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless -amazement, for immediately the countless adventures like this, with -windows, gratings, gardens, serenades, lovemakings, and languishings, -that he had read of in his trashy books of chivalry, came to his mind. -He at once concluded that some damsel of the duchess’s was in love with -him, and that her modesty forced her to keep her passion secret. He -trembled lest he should fall, and made an inward resolution not to -yield; and commending himself with all his might and soul to his lady -Dulcinea he made up his mind to listen to the music; and to let them -know he was there he gave a pretended sneeze, at which the damsels were -not a little delighted, for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should -hear them. So having tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand -across the strings, began this ballad: - -O thou that art above in bed, -Between the holland sheets, -A-lying there from night till morn, -With outstretched legs asleep; - -O thou, most valiant knight of all -The famed Manchegan breed, -Of purity and virtue more -Than gold of Araby; - -Give ear unto a suffering maid, -Well-grown but evil-starr’d, -For those two suns of thine have lit -A fire within her heart. - -Adventures seeking thou dost rove, -To others bringing woe; -Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm -To heal them dost withhold! - -Say, valiant youth, and so may God -Thy enterprises speed, -Didst thou the light mid Libya’s sands -Or Jaca’s rocks first see? - -Did scaly serpents give thee suck? -Who nursed thee when a babe? -Wert cradled in the forest rude, -Or gloomy mountain cave? - -O Dulcinea may be proud, -That plump and lusty maid; -For she alone hath had the power -A tiger fierce to tame. - -And she for this shall famous be -From Tagus to Jarama, -From Manzanares to Genil, -From Duero to Arlanza. - -Fain would I change with her, and give -A petticoat to boot, -The best and bravest that I have, -All trimmed with gold galloon. - -O for to be the happy fair -Thy mighty arms enfold, -Or even sit beside thy bed -And scratch thy dusty poll! - -I rave,—to favours such as these -Unworthy to aspire; -Thy feet to tickle were enough -For one so mean as I. - -What caps, what slippers silver-laced, -Would I on thee bestow! -What damask breeches make for thee; -What fine long holland cloaks! - -And I would give thee pearls that should -As big as oak-galls show; -So matchless big that each might well -Be called the great “Alone.” - -Manchegan Nero, look not down -From thy Tarpeian Rock -Upon this burning heart, nor add -The fuel of thy wrath. - -A virgin soft and young am I, -Not yet fifteen years old; -(I’m only three months past fourteen, -I swear upon my soul). -I hobble not nor do I limp, -All blemish I’m without, -And as I walk my lily locks -Are trailing on the ground. - -And though my nose be rather flat, -And though my mouth be wide, -My teeth like topazes exalt -My beauty to the sky. - -Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, -That is if thou dost hear; -And I am moulded in a form -Somewhat below the mean. - -These charms, and many more, are thine, -Spoils to thy spear and bow all; -A damsel of this house am I, -By name Altisidora. - -Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while the -warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh he -said to himself, “O that I should be such an unlucky knight that no -damsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me! O that the -peerless Dulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her -enjoy my incomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye -queens? Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses? Why ye pursue her, ye -virgins of from fourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy being to -triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow -upon her in surrendering my heart and yielding up my soul to her. Ye -love-smitten host, know that to Dulcinea only I am dough and -sugar-paste, flint to all others; for her I am honey, for you aloes. -For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise, virtuous, graceful, and -high-bred, and all others are ill-favoured, foolish, light, and -low-born. Nature sent me into the world to be hers and no other’s; -Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake they belaboured me -in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way to despair, but I must -be Dulcinea’s, boiled or roast, pure, courteous, and chaste, in spite -of all the magic-working powers on earth.” And with that he shut the -window with a bang, and, as much out of temper and out of sorts as if -some great misfortune had befallen him, stretched himself on his bed, -where we will leave him for the present, as the great Sancho Panza, who -is about to set up his famous government, now demands our attention. - -CHAPTER XLV. -OF HOW THE GREAT SANCHO PANZA TOOK POSSESSION OF HIS ISLAND, AND OF HOW -HE MADE A BEGINNING IN GOVERNING - -O perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the world, eye of -heaven, sweet stimulator of the water-coolers! Thimbraeus here, Phœbus -there, now archer, now physician, father of poetry, inventor of music; -thou that always risest and, notwithstanding appearances, never -settest! To thee, O Sun, by whose aid man begetteth man, to thee I -appeal to help me and lighten the darkness of my wit that I may be able -to proceed with scrupulous exactitude in giving an account of the great -Sancho Panza’s government; for without thee I feel myself weak, feeble, -and uncertain. - -To come to the point, then—Sancho with all his attendants arrived at a -village of some thousand inhabitants, and one of the largest the duke -possessed. They informed him that it was called the island of -Barataria, either because the name of the village was Baratario, or -because of the joke by way of which the government had been conferred -upon him. On reaching the gates of the town, which was a walled one, -the municipality came forth to meet him, the bells rang out a peal, and -the inhabitants showed every sign of general satisfaction; and with -great pomp they conducted him to the principal church to give thanks to -God, and then with burlesque ceremonies they presented him with the -keys of the town, and acknowledged him as perpetual governor of the -island of Barataria. The costume, the beard, and the fat squat figure -of the new governor astonished all those who were not in on the secret, -and even all who were, and they were not a few. Finally, leading him -out of the church they carried him to the judgment seat and seated him -on it, and the duke’s majordomo said to him, “It is an ancient custom -in this island, señor governor, that he who comes to take possession of -this famous island is bound to answer a question which shall be put to -him, and which must be a somewhat knotty and difficult one; and by his -answer the people take the measure of their new governor’s wit, and -hail with joy or deplore his arrival accordingly.” - -While the majordomo was making this speech Sancho was gazing at several -large letters inscribed on the wall opposite his seat, and as he could -not read he asked what that was that was painted on the wall. The -answer was, “Señor, there is written and recorded the day on which your -lordship took possession of this island, and the inscription says, -‘This day, the so-and-so of such-and-such a month and year, Señor Don -Sancho Panza took possession of this island; many years may he enjoy -it.’” - -“And whom do they call Don Sancho Panza?” asked Sancho. - -“Your lordship,” replied the majordomo; “for no other Panza but the one -who is now seated in that chair has ever entered this island.” - -“Well then, let me tell you, brother,” said Sancho, “I haven’t got the -‘Don,’ nor has anyone of my family ever had it; my name is plain Sancho -Panza, and Sancho was my father’s name, and Sancho was my grandfather’s -and they were all Panzas, without any Dons or Doñas tacked on; I -suspect that in this island there are more Dons than stones; but never -mind; God knows what I mean, and maybe if my government lasts four days -I’ll weed out these Dons that no doubt are as great a nuisance as the -midges, they’re so plenty. Let the majordomo go on with his question, -and I’ll give the best answer I can, whether the people deplore or -not.” - -At this instant there came into court two old men, one carrying a cane -by way of a walking-stick, and the one who had no stick said, “Señor, -some time ago I lent this good man ten gold-crowns in gold to gratify -him and do him a service, on the condition that he was to return them -to me whenever I should ask for them. A long time passed before I asked -for them, for I would not put him to any greater straits to return them -than he was in when I lent them to him; but thinking he was growing -careless about payment I asked for them once and several times; and not -only will he not give them back, but he denies that he owes them, and -says I never lent him any such crowns; or if I did, that he repaid -them; and I have no witnesses either of the loan, or the payment, for -he never paid me; I want your worship to put him to his oath, and if he -swears he returned them to me I forgive him the debt here and before -God.” - -“What say you to this, good old man, you with the stick?” said Sancho. - -To which the old man replied, “I admit, señor, that he lent them to me; -but let your worship lower your staff, and as he leaves it to my oath, -I’ll swear that I gave them back, and paid him really and truly.” - -The governor lowered the staff, and as he did so the old man who had -the stick handed it to the other old man to hold for him while he -swore, as if he found it in his way; and then laid his hand on the -cross of the staff, saying that it was true the ten crowns that were -demanded of him had been lent him; but that he had with his own hand -given them back into the hand of the other, and that he, not -recollecting it, was always asking for them. - -Seeing this the great governor asked the creditor what answer he had to -make to what his opponent said. He said that no doubt his debtor had -told the truth, for he believed him to be an honest man and a good -Christian, and he himself must have forgotten when and how he had given -him back the crowns; and that from that time forth he would make no -further demand upon him. - -The debtor took his stick again, and bowing his head left the court. -Observing this, and how, without another word, he made off, and -observing too the resignation of the plaintiff, Sancho buried his head -in his bosom and remained for a short space in deep thought, with the -forefinger of his right hand on his brow and nose; then he raised his -head and bade them call back the old man with the stick, for he had -already taken his departure. They brought him back, and as soon as -Sancho saw him he said, “Honest man, give me that stick, for I want -it.” - -“Willingly,” said the old man; “here it is señor,” and he put it into -his hand. - -Sancho took it and, handing it to the other old man, said to him, “Go, -and God be with you; for now you are paid.” - -“I, señor!” returned the old man; “why, is this cane worth ten -gold-crowns?” - -“Yes,” said the governor, “or if not I am the greatest dolt in the -world; now you will see whether I have got the headpiece to govern a -whole kingdom;” and he ordered the cane to be broken in two, there, in -the presence of all. It was done, and in the middle of it they found -ten gold-crowns. All were filled with amazement, and looked upon their -governor as another Solomon. They asked him how he had come to the -conclusion that the ten crowns were in the cane; he replied, that -observing how the old man who swore gave the stick to his opponent -while he was taking the oath, and swore that he had really and truly -given him the crowns, and how as soon as he had done swearing he asked -for the stick again, it came into his head that the sum demanded must -be inside it; and from this he said it might be seen that God sometimes -guides those who govern in their judgments, even though they may be -fools; besides he had himself heard the curate of his village mention -just such another case, and he had so good a memory, that if it was not -that he forgot everything he wished to remember, there would not be -such a memory in all the island. To conclude, the old men went off, one -crestfallen, and the other in high contentment, all who were present -were astonished, and he who was recording the words, deeds, and -movements of Sancho could not make up his mind whether he was to look -upon him and set him down as a fool or as a man of sense. - -As soon as this case was disposed of, there came into court a woman -holding on with a tight grip to a man dressed like a well-to-do cattle -dealer, and she came forward making a great outcry and exclaiming, -“Justice, señor governor, justice! and if I don’t get it on earth I’ll -go look for it in heaven. Señor governor of my soul, this wicked man -caught me in the middle of the fields here and used my body as if it -was an ill-washed rag, and, woe is me! got from me what I had kept -these three-and-twenty years and more, defending it against Moors and -Christians, natives and strangers; and I always as hard as an oak, and -keeping myself as pure as a salamander in the fire, or wool among the -brambles, for this good fellow to come now with clean hands to handle -me!” - -“It remains to be proved whether this gallant has clean hands or not,” -said Sancho; and turning to the man he asked him what he had to say in -answer to the woman’s charge. - -He all in confusion made answer, “Sirs, I am a poor pig dealer, and -this morning I left the village to sell (saving your presence) four -pigs, and between dues and cribbings they got out of me little less -than the worth of them. As I was returning to my village I fell in on -the road with this good dame, and the devil who makes a coil and a mess -out of everything, yoked us together. I paid her fairly, but she not -contented laid hold of me and never let go until she brought me here; -she says I forced her, but she lies by the oath I swear or am ready to -swear; and this is the whole truth and every particle of it.” - -The governor on this asked him if he had any money in silver about him; -he said he had about twenty ducats in a leather purse in his bosom. The -governor bade him take it out and hand it to the complainant; he obeyed -trembling; the woman took it, and making a thousand salaams to all and -praying to God for the long life and health of the señor governor who -had such regard for distressed orphans and virgins, she hurried out of -court with the purse grasped in both her hands, first looking, however, -to see if the money it contained was silver. - -As soon as she was gone Sancho said to the cattle dealer, whose tears -were already starting and whose eyes and heart were following his -purse, “Good fellow, go after that woman and take the purse from her, -by force even, and come back with it here;” and he did not say it to -one who was a fool or deaf, for the man was off like a flash of -lightning, and ran to do as he was bid. - -All the bystanders waited anxiously to see the end of the case, and -presently both man and woman came back at even closer grips than -before, she with her petticoat up and the purse in the lap of it, and -he struggling hard to take it from her, but all to no purpose, so stout -was the woman’s defence, she all the while crying out, “Justice from -God and the world! see here, señor governor, the shamelessness and -boldness of this villain, who in the middle of the town, in the middle -of the street, wanted to take from me the purse your worship bade him -give me.” - -“And did he take it?” asked the governor. - -“Take it!” said the woman; “I’d let my life be taken from me sooner -than the purse. A pretty child I’d be! It’s another sort of cat they -must throw in my face, and not that poor scurvy knave. Pincers and -hammers, mallets and chisels would not get it out of my grip; no, nor -lions’ claws; the soul from out of my body first!” - -“She is right,” said the man; “I own myself beaten and powerless; I -confess I haven’t the strength to take it from her;” and he let go his -hold of her. - -Upon this the governor said to the woman, “Let me see that purse, my -worthy and sturdy friend.” She handed it to him at once, and the -governor returned it to the man, and said to the unforced mistress of -force, “Sister, if you had shown as much, or only half as much, spirit -and vigour in defending your body as you have shown in defending that -purse, the strength of Hercules could not have forced you. Be off, and -God speed you, and bad luck to you, and don’t show your face in all -this island, or within six leagues of it on any side, under pain of two -hundred lashes; be off at once, I say, you shameless, cheating shrew.” - -The woman was cowed and went off disconsolately, hanging her head; and -the governor said to the man, “Honest man, go home with your money, and -God speed you; and for the future, if you don’t want to lose it, see -that you don’t take it into your head to yoke with anybody.” The man -thanked him as clumsily as he could and went his way, and the -bystanders were again filled with admiration at their new governor’s -judgments and sentences. - -Next, two men, one apparently a farm labourer, and the other a tailor, -for he had a pair of shears in his hand, presented themselves before -him, and the tailor said, “Señor governor, this labourer and I come -before your worship by reason of this honest man coming to my shop -yesterday (for saving everybody’s presence I’m a passed tailor, God be -thanked), and putting a piece of cloth into my hands and asking me, -‘Señor, will there be enough in this cloth to make me a cap?’ Measuring -the cloth I said there would. He probably suspected—as I supposed, and -I supposed right—that I wanted to steal some of the cloth, led to think -so by his own roguery and the bad opinion people have of tailors; and -he told me to see if there would be enough for two. I guessed what he -would be at, and I said ‘yes.’ He, still following up his original -unworthy notion, went on adding cap after cap, and I ‘yes’ after ‘yes,’ -until we got as far as five. He has just this moment come for them; I -gave them to him, but he won’t pay me for the making; on the contrary, -he calls upon me to pay him, or else return his cloth.” - -“Is all this true, brother?” said Sancho. - -“Yes,” replied the man; “but will your worship make him show the five -caps he has made me?” - -“With all my heart,” said the tailor; and drawing his hand from under -his cloak he showed five caps stuck upon the five fingers of it, and -said, “there are the caps this good man asks for; and by God and upon -my conscience I haven’t a scrap of cloth left, and I’ll let the work be -examined by the inspectors of the trade.” - -All present laughed at the number of caps and the novelty of the suit; -Sancho set himself to think for a moment, and then said, “It seems to -me that in this case it is not necessary to deliver long-winded -arguments, but only to give off-hand the judgment of an honest man; and -so my decision is that the tailor lose the making and the labourer the -cloth, and that the caps go to the prisoners in the gaol, and let there -be no more about it.” - -If the previous decision about the cattle dealer’s purse excited the -admiration of the bystanders, this provoked their laughter; however, -the governor’s orders were after all executed. All this, having been -taken down by his chronicler, was at once despatched to the duke, who -was looking out for it with great eagerness; and here let us leave the -good Sancho; for his master, sorely troubled in mind by Altisidora’s -music, has pressing claims upon us now. - -CHAPTER XLVI. -OF THE TERRIBLE BELL AND CAT FRIGHT THAT DON QUIXOTE GOT IN THE COURSE -OF THE ENAMOURED ALTISIDORA’S WOOING - -We left Don Quixote wrapped up in the reflections which the music of -the enamourned maid Altisidora had given rise to. He went to bed with -them, and just like fleas they would not let him sleep or get a -moment’s rest, and the broken stitches of his stockings helped them. -But as Time is fleet and no obstacle can stay his course, he came -riding on the hours, and morning very soon arrived. Seeing which Don -Quixote quitted the soft down, and, nowise slothful, dressed himself in -his chamois suit and put on his travelling boots to hide the disaster -to his stockings. He threw over him his scarlet mantle, put on his head -a montera of green velvet trimmed with silver edging, flung across his -shoulder the baldric with his good trenchant sword, took up a large -rosary that he always carried with him, and with great solemnity and -precision of gait proceeded to the antechamber where the duke and -duchess were already dressed and waiting for him. But as he passed -through a gallery, Altisidora and the other damsel, her friend, were -lying in wait for him, and the instant Altisidora saw him she pretended -to faint, while her friend caught her in her lap, and began hastily -unlacing the bosom of her dress. - -Don Quixote observed it, and approaching them said, “I know very well -what this seizure arises from.” - -“I know not from what,” replied the friend, “for Altisidora is the -healthiest damsel in all this house, and I have never heard her -complain all the time I have known her. A plague on all the -knights-errant in the world, if they be all ungrateful! Go away, Señor -Don Quixote; for this poor child will not come to herself again so long -as you are here.” - -To which Don Quixote returned, “Do me the favour, señora, to let a lute -be placed in my chamber to-night; and I will comfort this poor maiden -to the best of my power; for in the early stages of love a prompt -disillusion is an approved remedy;” and with this he retired, so as not -to be remarked by any who might see him there. - -He had scarcely withdrawn when Altisidora, recovering from her swoon, -said to her companion, “The lute must be left, for no doubt Don Quixote -intends to give us some music; and being his it will not be bad.” - -They went at once to inform the duchess of what was going on, and of -the lute Don Quixote asked for, and she, delighted beyond measure, -plotted with the duke and her two damsels to play him a trick that -should be amusing but harmless; and in high glee they waited for night, -which came quickly as the day had come; and as for the day, the duke -and duchess spent it in charming conversation with Don Quixote. - -When eleven o’clock came, Don Quixote found a guitar in his chamber; he -tried it, opened the window, and perceived that some persons were -walking in the garden; and having passed his fingers over the frets of -the guitar and tuned it as well as he could, he spat and cleared his -chest, and then with a voice a little hoarse but full-toned, he sang -the following ballad, which he had himself that day composed: - -Mighty Love the hearts of maidens -Doth unsettle and perplex, -And the instrument he uses -Most of all is idleness. - -Sewing, stitching, any labour, -Having always work to do, -To the poison Love instilleth -Is the antidote most sure. - -And to proper-minded maidens -Who desire the matron’s name -Modesty’s a marriage portion, -Modesty their highest praise. - -Men of prudence and discretion, -Courtiers gay and gallant knights, -With the wanton damsels dally, -But the modest take to wife. -There are passions, transient, fleeting, -Loves in hostelries declar’d, -Sunrise loves, with sunset ended, -When the guest hath gone his way. - -Love that springs up swift and sudden, -Here to-day, to-morrow flown, -Passes, leaves no trace behind it, -Leaves no image on the soul. - -Painting that is laid on painting -Maketh no display or show; -Where one beauty’s in possession -There no other can take hold. - -Dulcinea del Toboso -Painted on my heart I wear; -Never from its tablets, never, -Can her image be eras’d. - -The quality of all in lovers -Most esteemed is constancy; -’Tis by this that love works wonders, -This exalts them to the skies. - -Don Quixote had got so far with his song, to which the duke, the -duchess, Altisidora, and nearly the whole household of the castle were -listening, when all of a sudden from a gallery above that was exactly -over his window they let down a cord with more than a hundred bells -attached to it, and immediately after that discharged a great sack full -of cats, which also had bells of smaller size tied to their tails. Such -was the din of the bells and the squalling of the cats, that though the -duke and duchess were the contrivers of the joke they were startled by -it, while Don Quixote stood paralysed with fear; and as luck would have -it, two or three of the cats made their way in through the grating of -his chamber, and flying from one side to the other, made it seem as if -there was a legion of devils at large in it. They extinguished the -candles that were burning in the room, and rushed about seeking some -way of escape; the cord with the large bells never ceased rising and -falling; and most of the people of the castle, not knowing what was -really the matter, were at their wits’ end with astonishment. Don -Quixote sprang to his feet, and drawing his sword, began making passes -at the grating, shouting out, “Avaunt, malignant enchanters! avaunt, ye -witchcraft-working rabble! I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, against whom -your evil machinations avail not nor have any power.” And turning upon -the cats that were running about the room, he made several cuts at -them. They dashed at the grating and escaped by it, save one that, -finding itself hard pressed by the slashes of Don Quixote’s sword, flew -at his face and held on to his nose tooth and nail, with the pain of -which he began to shout his loudest. The duke and duchess hearing this, -and guessing what it was, ran with all haste to his room, and as the -poor gentleman was striving with all his might to detach the cat from -his face, they opened the door with a master-key and went in with -lights and witnessed the unequal combat. The duke ran forward to part -the combatants, but Don Quixote cried out aloud, “Let no one take him -from me; leave me hand to hand with this demon, this wizard, this -enchanter; I will teach him, I myself, who Don Quixote of La Mancha -is.” The cat, however, never minding these threats, snarled and held -on; but at last the duke pulled it off and flung it out of the window. -Don Quixote was left with a face as full of holes as a sieve and a nose -not in very good condition, and greatly vexed that they did not let him -finish the battle he had been so stoutly fighting with that villain of -an enchanter. They sent for some oil of John’s wort, and Altisidora -herself with her own fair hands bandaged all the wounded parts; and as -she did so she said to him in a low voice. “All these mishaps have -befallen thee, hardhearted knight, for the sin of thy insensibility and -obstinacy; and God grant thy squire Sancho may forget to whip himself, -so that that dearly beloved Dulcinea of thine may never be released -from her enchantment, that thou mayest never come to her bed, at least -while I who adore thee am alive.” - -To all this Don Quixote made no answer except to heave deep sighs, and -then stretched himself on his bed, thanking the duke and duchess for -their kindness, not because he stood in any fear of that bell-ringing -rabble of enchanters in cat shape, but because he recognised their good -intentions in coming to his rescue. The duke and duchess left him to -repose and withdrew greatly grieved at the unfortunate result of the -joke; as they never thought the adventure would have fallen so heavy on -Don Quixote or cost him so dear, for it cost him five days of -confinement to his bed, during which he had another adventure, -pleasanter than the late one, which his chronicler will not relate just -now in order that he may turn his attention to Sancho Panza, who was -proceeding with great diligence and drollery in his government. - -CHAPTER XLVII. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ACCOUNT OF HOW SANCHO PANZA CONDUCTED HIMSELF -IN HIS GOVERNMENT - -The history says that from the justice court they carried Sancho to a -sumptuous palace, where in a spacious chamber there was a table laid -out with royal magnificence. The clarions sounded as Sancho entered the -room, and four pages came forward to present him with water for his -hands, which Sancho received with great dignity. The music ceased, and -Sancho seated himself at the head of the table, for there was only that -seat placed, and no more than one cover laid. A personage, who it -appeared afterwards was a physician, placed himself standing by his -side with a whalebone wand in his hand. They then lifted up a fine -white cloth covering fruit and a great variety of dishes of different -sorts; one who looked like a student said grace, and a page put a laced -bib on Sancho, while another who played the part of head carver placed -a dish of fruit before him. But hardly had he tasted a morsel when the -man with the wand touched the plate with it, and they took it away from -before him with the utmost celerity. The carver, however, brought him -another dish, and Sancho proceeded to try it; but before he could get -at it, not to say taste it, already the wand had touched it and a page -had carried it off with the same promptitude as the fruit. Sancho -seeing this was puzzled, and looking from one to another asked if this -dinner was to be eaten after the fashion of a jugglery trick. - -To this he with the wand replied, “It is not to be eaten, señor -governor, except as is usual and customary in other islands where there -are governors. I, señor, am a physician, and I am paid a salary in this -island to serve its governors as such, and I have a much greater regard -for their health than for my own, studying day and night and making -myself acquainted with the governor’s constitution, in order to be able -to cure him when he falls sick. The chief thing I have to do is to -attend at his dinners and suppers and allow him to eat what appears to -me to be fit for him, and keep from him what I think will do him harm -and be injurious to his stomach; and therefore I ordered that plate of -fruit to be removed as being too moist, and that other dish I ordered -to be removed as being too hot and containing many spices that -stimulate thirst; for he who drinks much kills and consumes the radical -moisture wherein life consists.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “that dish of roast partridges there that -seems so savoury will not do me any harm.” - -To this the physician replied, “Of those my lord the governor shall not -eat so long as I live.” - -“Why so?” said Sancho. - -“Because,” replied the doctor, “our master Hippocrates, the polestar -and beacon of medicine, says in one of his aphorisms _omnis saturatio -mala, perdicis autem pessima_, which means ‘all repletion is bad, but -that of partridge is the worst of all.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “let señor doctor see among the dishes -that are on the table what will do me most good and least harm, and let -me eat it, without tapping it with his stick; for by the life of the -governor, and so may God suffer me to enjoy it, but I’m dying of -hunger; and in spite of the doctor and all he may say, to deny me food -is the way to take my life instead of prolonging it.” - -“Your worship is right, señor governor,” said the physician; “and -therefore your worship, I consider, should not eat of those stewed -rabbits there, because it is a furry kind of food; if that veal were -not roasted and served with pickles, you might try it; but it is out of -the question.” - -“That big dish that is smoking farther off,” said Sancho, “seems to me -to be an olla podrida, and out of the diversity of things in such -ollas, I can’t fail to light upon something tasty and good for me.” - -“_Absit_,” said the doctor; “far from us be any such base thought! -There is nothing in the world less nourishing than an olla podrida; to -canons, or rectors of colleges, or peasants’ weddings with your ollas -podridas, but let us have none of them on the tables of governors, -where everything that is present should be delicate and refined; and -the reason is, that always, everywhere and by everybody, simple -medicines are more esteemed than compound ones, for we cannot go wrong -in those that are simple, while in the compound we may, by merely -altering the quantity of the things composing them. But what I am of -opinion the governor should eat now in order to preserve and fortify -his health is a hundred or so of wafer cakes and a few thin slices of -conserve of quinces, which will settle his stomach and help his -digestion.” - -Sancho on hearing this threw himself back in his chair and surveyed the -doctor steadily, and in a solemn tone asked him what his name was and -where he had studied. - -He replied, “My name, señor governor, is Doctor Pedro Recio de Aguero I -am a native of a place called Tirteafuera which lies between Caracuel -and Almodóvar del Campo, on the right-hand side, and I have the degree -of doctor from the university of Osuna.” - -To which Sancho, glowing all over with rage, returned, “Then let Doctor -Pedro Recio de Malaguero, native of Tirteafuera, a place that’s on the -right-hand side as we go from Caracuel to Almodóvar del Campo, graduate -of Osuna, get out of my presence at once; or I swear by the sun I’ll -take a cudgel, and by dint of blows, beginning with him, I’ll not leave -a doctor in the whole island; at least of those I know to be ignorant; -for as to learned, wise, sensible physicians, them I will reverence and -honour as divine persons. Once more I say let Pedro Recio get out of -this or I’ll take this chair I am sitting on and break it over his -head. And if they call me to account for it, I’ll clear myself by -saying I served God in killing a bad doctor—a general executioner. And -now give me something to eat, or else take your government; for a trade -that does not feed its master is not worth two beans.” - -The doctor was dismayed when he saw the governor in such a passion, and -he would have made a Tirteafuera out of the room but that the same -instant a post-horn sounded in the street; and the carver putting his -head out of the window turned round and said, “It’s a courier from my -lord the duke, no doubt with some despatch of importance.” - -The courier came in all sweating and flurried, and taking a paper from -his bosom, placed it in the governor’s hands. Sancho handed it to the -majordomo and bade him read the superscription, which ran thus: - -_To Don Sancho Panza, Governor of the Island of Barataria, into his own -hands or those of his secretary._ - -Sancho when he heard this said, “Which of you is my secretary?” “I am, -señor,” said one of those present, “for I can read and write, and am a -Biscayan.” “With that addition,” said Sancho, “you might be secretary -to the emperor himself; open this paper and see what it says.” The -new-born secretary obeyed, and having read the contents said the matter -was one to be discussed in private. Sancho ordered the chamber to be -cleared, the majordomo and the carver only remaining; so the doctor and -the others withdrew, and then the secretary read the letter, which was -as follows: - -It has come to my knowledge, Señor Don Sancho Panza, that certain -enemies of mine and of the island are about to make a furious attack -upon it some night, I know not when. It behoves you to be on the alert -and keep watch, that they surprise you not. I also know by trustworthy -spies that four persons have entered the town in disguise in order to -take your life, because they stand in dread of your great capacity; -keep your eyes open and take heed who approaches you to address you, -and eat nothing that is presented to you. I will take care to send you -aid if you find yourself in difficulty, but in all things you will act -as may be expected of your judgment. From this place, the Sixteenth of -August, at four in the morning. - -Your friend, -THE DUKE - -Sancho was astonished, and those who stood by made believe to be so -too, and turning to the majordomo he said to him, “What we have got to -do first, and it must be done at once, is to put Doctor Recio in the -lock-up; for if anyone wants to kill me it is he, and by a slow death -and the worst of all, which is hunger.” - -“Likewise,” said the carver, “it is my opinion your worship should not -eat anything that is on this table, for the whole was a present from -some nuns; and as they say, ‘behind the cross there’s the devil.’” - -“I don’t deny it,” said Sancho; “so for the present give me a piece of -bread and four pounds or so of grapes; no poison can come in them; for -the fact is I can’t go on without eating; and if we are to be prepared -for these battles that are threatening us we must be well provisioned; -for it is the tripes that carry the heart and not the heart the tripes. -And you, secretary, answer my lord the duke and tell him that all his -commands shall be obeyed to the letter, as he directs; and say from me -to my lady the duchess that I kiss her hands, and that I beg of her not -to forget to send my letter and bundle to my wife Teresa Panza by a -messenger; and I will take it as a great favour and will not fail to -serve her in all that may lie within my power; and as you are about it -you may enclose a kiss of the hand to my master Don Quixote that he may -see I am grateful bread; and as a good secretary and a good Biscayan -you may add whatever you like and whatever will come in best; and now -take away this cloth and give me something to eat, and I’ll be ready to -meet all the spies and assassins and enchanters that may come against -me or my island.” - -At this instant a page entered saying, “Here is a farmer on business, -who wants to speak to your lordship on a matter of great importance, he -says.” - -“It’s very odd,” said Sancho, “the ways of these men on business; is it -possible they can be such fools as not to see that an hour like this is -no hour for coming on business? We who govern and we who are judges—are -we not men of flesh and blood, and are we not to be allowed the time -required for taking rest, unless they’d have us made of marble? By God -and on my conscience, if the government remains in my hands (which I -have a notion it won’t), I’ll bring more than one man on business to -order. However, tell this good man to come in; but take care first of -all that he is not some spy or one of my assassins.” - -“No, my lord,” said the page, “for he looks like a simple fellow, and -either I know very little or he is as good as good bread.” - -“There is nothing to be afraid of,” said the majordomo, “for we are all -here.” - -“Would it be possible, carver,” said Sancho, “now that Doctor Pedro -Recio is not here, to let me eat something solid and substantial, if it -were even a piece of bread and an onion?” - -“To-night at supper,” said the carver, “the shortcomings of the dinner -shall be made good, and your lordship shall be fully contented.” - -“God grant it,” said Sancho. - -The farmer now came in, a well-favoured man that one might see a -thousand leagues off was an honest fellow and a good soul. The first -thing he said was, “Which is the lord governor here?” - -“Which should it be,” said the secretary, “but he who is seated in the -chair?” - -“Then I humble myself before him,” said the farmer; and going on his -knees he asked for his hand, to kiss it. Sancho refused it, and bade -him stand up and say what he wanted. The farmer obeyed, and then said, -“I am a farmer, señor, a native of Miguelturra, a village two leagues -from Ciudad Real.” - -“Another Tirteafuera!” said Sancho; “say on, brother; I know -Miguelturra very well I can tell you, for it’s not very far from my own -town.” - -“The case is this, señor,” continued the farmer, “that by God’s mercy I -am married with the leave and licence of the holy Roman Catholic -Church; I have two sons, students, and the younger is studying to -become bachelor, and the elder to be licentiate; I am a widower, for my -wife died, or more properly speaking, a bad doctor killed her on my -hands, giving her a purge when she was with child; and if it had -pleased God that the child had been born, and was a boy, I would have -put him to study for doctor, that he might not envy his brothers the -bachelor and the licentiate.” - -“So that if your wife had not died, or had not been killed, you would -not now be a widower,” said Sancho. - -“No, señor, certainly not,” said the farmer. - -“We’ve got that much settled,” said Sancho; “get on, brother, for it’s -more bed-time than business-time.” - -“Well then,” said the farmer, “this son of mine who is going to be a -bachelor, fell in love in the said town with a damsel called Clara -Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino, a very rich farmer; and this -name of Perlerines does not come to them by ancestry or descent, but -because all the family are paralytics, and for a better name they call -them Perlerines; though to tell the truth the damsel is as fair as an -Oriental pearl, and like a flower of the field, if you look at her on -the right side; on the left not so much, for on that side she wants an -eye that she lost by small-pox; and though her face is thickly and -deeply pitted, those who love her say they are not pits that are there, -but the graves where the hearts of her lovers are buried. She is so -cleanly that not to soil her face she carries her nose turned up, as -they say, so that one would fancy it was running away from her mouth; -and with all this she looks extremely well, for she has a wide mouth; -and but for wanting ten or a dozen teeth and grinders she might compare -and compete with the comeliest. Of her lips I say nothing, for they are -so fine and thin that, if lips might be reeled, one might make a skein -of them; but being of a different colour from ordinary lips they are -wonderful, for they are mottled, blue, green, and purple—let my lord -the governor pardon me for painting so minutely the charms of her who -some time or other will be my daughter; for I love her, and I don’t -find her amiss.” - -“Paint what you will,” said Sancho; “I enjoy your painting, and if I -had dined there could be no dessert more to my taste than your -portrait.” - -“That I have still to furnish,” said the farmer; “but a time will come -when we may be able if we are not now; and I can tell you, señor, if I -could paint her gracefulness and her tall figure, it would astonish -you; but that is impossible because she is bent double with her knees -up to her mouth; but for all that it is easy to see that if she could -stand up she’d knock her head against the ceiling; and she would have -given her hand to my bachelor ere this, only that she can’t stretch it -out, for it’s contracted; but still one can see its elegance and fine -make by its long furrowed nails.” - -“That will do, brother,” said Sancho; “consider you have painted her -from head to foot; what is it you want now? Come to the point without -all this beating about the bush, and all these scraps and additions.” - -“I want your worship, señor,” said the farmer, “to do me the favour of -giving me a letter of recommendation to the girl’s father, begging him -to be so good as to let this marriage take place, as we are not -ill-matched either in the gifts of fortune or of nature; for to tell -the truth, señor governor, my son is possessed of a devil, and there is -not a day but the evil spirits torment him three or four times; and -from having once fallen into the fire, he has his face puckered up like -a piece of parchment, and his eyes watery and always running; but he -has the disposition of an angel, and if it was not for belabouring and -pummelling himself he’d be a saint.” - -“Is there anything else you want, good man?” said Sancho. - -“There’s another thing I’d like,” said the farmer, “but I’m afraid to -mention it; however, out it must; for after all I can’t let it be -rotting in my breast, come what may. I mean, señor, that I’d like your -worship to give me three hundred or six hundred ducats as a help to my -bachelor’s portion, to help him in setting up house; for they must, in -short, live by themselves, without being subject to the interferences -of their fathers-in-law.” - -“Just see if there’s anything else you’d like,” said Sancho, “and don’t -hold back from mentioning it out of bashfulness or modesty.” - -“No, indeed there is not,” said the farmer. - -The moment he said this the governor started to his feet, and seizing -the chair he had been sitting on exclaimed, “By all that’s good, you -ill-bred, boorish Don Bumpkin, if you don’t get out of this at once and -hide yourself from my sight, I’ll lay your head open with this chair. -You whoreson rascal, you devil’s own painter, and is it at this hour -you come to ask me for six hundred ducats! How should I have them, you -stinking brute? And why should I give them to you if I had them, you -knave and blockhead? What have I to do with Miguelturra or the whole -family of the Perlerines? Get out I say, or by the life of my lord the -duke I’ll do as I said. You’re not from Miguelturra, but some knave -sent here from hell to tempt me. Why, you villain, I have not yet had -the government half a day, and you want me to have six hundred ducats -already!” - -The carver made signs to the farmer to leave the room, which he did -with his head down, and to all appearance in terror lest the governor -should carry his threats into effect, for the rogue knew very well how -to play his part. - -But let us leave Sancho in his wrath, and peace be with them all; and -let us return to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face bandaged and -doctored after the cat wounds, of which he was not cured for eight -days; and on one of these there befell him what Cide Hamete promises to -relate with that exactitude and truth with which he is wont to set -forth everything connected with this great history, however minute it -may be. - -CHAPTER XLVIII. -OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH DOÑA RODRIGUEZ, THE DUCHESS’S DUENNA, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY OF RECORD AND ETERNAL -REMEMBRANCE - -Exceedingly moody and dejected was the sorely wounded Don Quixote, with -his face bandaged and marked, not by the hand of God, but by the claws -of a cat, mishaps incidental to knight-errantry. - -Six days he remained without appearing in public, and one night as he -lay awake thinking of his misfortunes and of Altisidora’s pursuit of -him, he perceived that someone was opening the door of his room with a -key, and he at once made up his mind that the enamoured damsel was -coming to make an assault upon his chastity and put him in danger of -failing in the fidelity he owed to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso. “No,” -said he, firmly persuaded of the truth of his idea (and he said it loud -enough to be heard), “the greatest beauty upon earth shall not avail to -make me renounce my adoration of her whom I bear stamped and graved in -the core of my heart and the secret depths of my bowels; be thou, lady -mine, transformed into a clumsy country wench, or into a nymph of -golden Tagus weaving a web of silk and gold, let Merlin or Montesinos -hold thee captive where they will; where’er thou art, thou art mine, -and where’er I am, must be thine.” The very instant he had uttered -these words, the door opened. He stood up on the bed wrapped from head -to foot in a yellow satin coverlet, with a cap on his head, and his -face and his moustaches tied up, his face because of the scratches, and -his moustaches to keep them from drooping and falling down, in which -trim he looked the most extraordinary scarecrow that could be -conceived. He kept his eyes fixed on the door, and just as he was -expecting to see the love-smitten and unhappy Altisidora make her -appearance, he saw coming in a most venerable duenna, in a long -white-bordered veil that covered and enveloped her from head to foot. -Between the fingers of her left hand she held a short lighted candle, -while with her right she shaded it to keep the light from her eyes, -which were covered by spectacles of great size, and she advanced with -noiseless steps, treading very softly. - -Don Quixote kept an eye upon her from his watchtower, and observing her -costume and noting her silence, he concluded that it must be some witch -or sorceress that was coming in such a guise to work him some mischief, -and he began crossing himself at a great rate. The spectre still -advanced, and on reaching the middle of the room, looked up and saw the -energy with which Don Quixote was crossing himself; and if he was -scared by seeing such a figure as hers, she was terrified at the sight -of his; for the moment she saw his tall yellow form with the coverlet -and the bandages that disfigured him, she gave a loud scream, and -exclaiming, “Jesus! what’s this I see?” let fall the candle in her -fright, and then finding herself in the dark, turned about to make off, -but stumbling on her skirts in her consternation, she measured her -length with a mighty fall. - -Don Quixote in his trepidation began saying, “I conjure thee, phantom, -or whatever thou art, tell me what thou art and what thou wouldst with -me. If thou art a soul in torment, say so, and all that my powers can -do I will do for thee; for I am a Catholic Christian and love to do -good to all the world, and to this end I have embraced the order of -knight-errantry to which I belong, the province of which extends to -doing good even to souls in purgatory.” - -The unfortunate duenna hearing herself thus conjured, by her own fear -guessed Don Quixote’s and in a low plaintive voice answered, “Señor Don -Quixote—if so be you are indeed Don Quixote—I am no phantom or spectre -or soul in purgatory, as you seem to think, but Doña Rodriguez, duenna -of honour to my lady the duchess, and I come to you with one of those -grievances your worship is wont to redress.” - -“Tell me, Señora Doña Rodriguez,” said Don Quixote, “do you perchance -come to transact any go-between business? Because I must tell you I am -not available for anybody’s purpose, thanks to the peerless beauty of -my lady Dulcinea del Toboso. In short, Señora Doña Rodriguez, if you -will leave out and put aside all love messages, you may go and light -your candle and come back, and we will discuss all the commands you -have for me and whatever you wish, saving only, as I said, all -seductive communications.” - -“I carry nobody’s messages, señor,” said the duenna; “little you know -me. Nay, I’m not far enough advanced in years to take to any such -childish tricks. God be praised I have a soul in my body still, and all -my teeth and grinders in my mouth, except one or two that the colds, so -common in this Aragon country, have robbed me of. But wait a little, -while I go and light my candle, and I will return immediately and lay -my sorrows before you as before one who relieves those of all the -world;” and without staying for an answer she quitted the room and left -Don Quixote tranquilly meditating while he waited for her. A thousand -thoughts at once suggested themselves to him on the subject of this new -adventure, and it struck him as being ill done and worse advised in him -to expose himself to the danger of breaking his plighted faith to his -lady; and said he to himself, “Who knows but that the devil, being wily -and cunning, may be trying now to entrap me with a duenna, having -failed with empresses, queens, duchesses, marchionesses, and -countesses? Many a time have I heard it said by many a man of sense -that he will sooner offer you a flat-nosed wench than a roman-nosed -one; and who knows but this privacy, this opportunity, this silence, -may awaken my sleeping desires, and lead me in these my latter years to -fall where I have never tripped? In cases of this sort it is better to -flee than to await the battle. But I must be out of my senses to think -and utter such nonsense; for it is impossible that a long, white-hooded -spectacled duenna could stir up or excite a wanton thought in the most -graceless bosom in the world. Is there a duenna on earth that has fair -flesh? Is there a duenna in the world that escapes being ill-tempered, -wrinkled, and prudish? Avaunt, then, ye duenna crew, undelightful to -all mankind. Oh, but that lady did well who, they say, had at the end -of her reception room a couple of figures of duennas with spectacles -and lace-cushions, as if at work, and those statues served quite as -well to give an air of propriety to the room as if they had been real -duennas.” - -So saying he leaped off the bed, intending to close the door and not -allow Señora Rodriguez to enter; but as he went to shut it Señora -Rodriguez returned with a wax candle lighted, and having a closer view -of Don Quixote, with the coverlet round him, and his bandages and -night-cap, she was alarmed afresh, and retreating a couple of paces, -exclaimed, “Am I safe, sir knight? for I don’t look upon it as a sign -of very great virtue that your worship should have got up out of bed.” - -“I may well ask the same, señora,” said Don Quixote; “and I do ask -whether I shall be safe from being assailed and forced?” - -“Of whom and against whom do you demand that security, sir knight?” -said the duenna. - -“Of you and against you I ask it,” said Don Quixote; “for I am not -marble, nor are you brass, nor is it now ten o’clock in the morning, -but midnight, or a trifle past it I fancy, and we are in a room more -secluded and retired than the cave could have been where the -treacherous and daring Æneas enjoyed the fair soft-hearted Dido. But -give me your hand, señora; I require no better protection than my own -continence, and my own sense of propriety; as well as that which is -inspired by that venerable head-dress;” and so saying he kissed her -right hand and took it in his own, she yielding it to him with equal -ceremoniousness. And here Cide Hamete inserts a parenthesis in which he -says that to have seen the pair marching from the door to the bed, -linked hand in hand in this way, he would have given the best of the -two tunics he had. - -Don Quixote finally got into bed, and Doña Rodriguez took her seat on a -chair at some little distance from his couch, without taking off her -spectacles or putting aside the candle. Don Quixote wrapped the -bedclothes round him and covered himself up completely, leaving nothing -but his face visible, and as soon as they had both regained their -composure he broke silence, saying, “Now, Señora Doña Rodriguez, you -may unbosom yourself and out with everything you have in your sorrowful -heart and afflicted bowels; and by me you shall be listened to with -chaste ears, and aided by compassionate exertions.” - -“I believe it,” replied the duenna; “from your worship’s gentle and -winning presence only such a Christian answer could be expected. The -fact is, then, Señor Don Quixote, that though you see me seated in this -chair, here in the middle of the kingdom of Aragon, and in the attire -of a despised outcast duenna, I am from the Asturias of Oviedo, and of -a family with which many of the best of the province are connected by -blood; but my untoward fate and the improvidence of my parents, who, I -know not how, were unseasonably reduced to poverty, brought me to the -court of Madrid, where as a provision and to avoid greater misfortunes, -my parents placed me as seamstress in the service of a lady of quality, -and I would have you know that for hemming and sewing I have never been -surpassed by any all my life. My parents left me in service and -returned to their own country, and a few years later went, no doubt, to -heaven, for they were excellent good Catholic Christians. I was left an -orphan with nothing but the miserable wages and trifling presents that -are given to servants of my sort in palaces; but about this time, -without any encouragement on my part, one of the esquires of the -household fell in love with me, a man somewhat advanced in years, -full-bearded and personable, and above all as good a gentleman as the -king himself, for he came of a mountain stock. We did not carry on our -loves with such secrecy but that they came to the knowledge of my lady, -and she, not to have any fuss about it, had us married with the full -sanction of the holy mother Roman Catholic Church, of which marriage a -daughter was born to put an end to my good fortune, if I had any; not -that I died in childbirth, for I passed through it safely and in due -season, but because shortly afterwards my husband died of a certain -shock he received, and had I time to tell you of it I know your worship -would be surprised;” and here she began to weep bitterly and said, -“Pardon me, Señor Don Quixote, if I am unable to control myself, for -every time I think of my unfortunate husband my eyes fill up with -tears. God bless me, with what an air of dignity he used to carry my -lady behind him on a stout mule as black as jet! for in those days they -did not use coaches or chairs, as they say they do now, and ladies rode -behind their squires. This much at least I cannot help telling you, -that you may observe the good breeding and punctiliousness of my worthy -husband. As he was turning into the Calle de Santiago in Madrid, which -is rather narrow, one of the alcaldes of the Court, with two alguacils -before him, was coming out of it, and as soon as my good squire saw him -he wheeled his mule about and made as if he would turn and accompany -him. My lady, who was riding behind him, said to him in a low voice, -‘What are you about, you sneak, don’t you see that I am here?’ The -alcalde like a polite man pulled up his horse and said to him, -‘Proceed, señor, for it is I, rather, who ought to accompany my lady -Doña Casilda’—for that was my mistress’s name. Still my husband, cap in -hand, persisted in trying to accompany the alcalde, and seeing this my -lady, filled with rage and vexation, pulled out a big pin, or, I rather -think, a bodkin, out of her needle-case and drove it into his back with -such force that my husband gave a loud yell, and writhing fell to the -ground with his lady. Her two lacqueys ran to rise her up, and the -alcalde and the alguacils did the same; the Guadalajara gate was all in -commotion—I mean the idlers congregated there; my mistress came back on -foot, and my husband hurried away to a barber’s shop protesting that he -was run right through the guts. The courtesy of my husband was noised -abroad to such an extent, that the boys gave him no peace in the -street; and on this account, and because he was somewhat shortsighted, -my lady dismissed him; and it was chagrin at this I am convinced beyond -a doubt that brought on his death. I was left a helpless widow, with a -daughter on my hands growing up in beauty like the sea-foam; at length, -however, as I had the character of being an excellent needlewoman, my -lady the duchess, then lately married to my lord the duke, offered to -take me with her to this kingdom of Aragon, and my daughter also, and -here as time went by my daughter grew up and with her all the graces in -the world; she sings like a lark, dances quick as thought, foots it -like a gipsy, reads and writes like a schoolmaster, and does sums like -a miser; of her neatness I say nothing, for the running water is not -purer, and her age is now, if my memory serves me, sixteen years five -months and three days, one more or less. To come to the point, the son -of a very rich farmer, living in a village of my lord the duke’s not -very far from here, fell in love with this girl of mine; and in short, -how I know not, they came together, and under the promise of marrying -her he made a fool of my daughter, and will not keep his word. And -though my lord the duke is aware of it (for I have complained to him, -not once but many and many a time, and entreated him to order the -farmer to marry my daughter), he turns a deaf ear and will scarcely -listen to me; the reason being that as the deceiver’s father is so -rich, and lends him money, and is constantly going security for his -debts, he does not like to offend or annoy him in any way. Now, señor, -I want your worship to take it upon yourself to redress this wrong -either by entreaty or by arms; for by what all the world says you came -into it to redress grievances and right wrongs and help the -unfortunate. Let your worship put before you the unprotected condition -of my daughter, her youth, and all the perfections I have said she -possesses; and before God and on my conscience, out of all the damsels -my lady has, there is not one that comes up to the sole of her shoe, -and the one they call Altisidora, and look upon as the boldest and -gayest of them, put in comparison with my daughter, does not come -within two leagues of her. For I would have you know, señor, all is not -gold that glitters, and that same little Altisidora has more -forwardness than good looks, and more impudence than modesty; besides -being not very sound, for she has such a disagreeable breath that one -cannot bear to be near her for a moment; and even my lady the -duchess—but I’ll hold my tongue, for they say that walls have ears.” - -“For heaven’s sake, Doña Rodriguez, what ails my lady the duchess?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“Adjured in that way,” replied the duenna, “I cannot help answering the -question and telling the whole truth. Señor Don Quixote, have you -observed the comeliness of my lady the duchess, that smooth complexion -of hers like a burnished polished sword, those two cheeks of milk and -carmine, that gay lively step with which she treads or rather seems to -spurn the earth, so that one would fancy she went radiating health -wherever she passed? Well then, let me tell you she may thank, first of -all God, for this, and next, two issues that she has, one in each leg, -by which all the evil humours, of which the doctors say she is full, -are discharged.” - -“Blessed Virgin!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “and is it possible that my -lady the duchess has drains of that sort? I would not have believed it -if the barefoot friars had told it me; but as the lady Doña Rodriguez -says so, it must be so. But surely such issues, and in such places, do -not discharge humours, but liquid amber. Verily, I do believe now that -this practice of opening issues is a very important matter for the -health.” - -Don Quixote had hardly said this, when the chamber door flew open with -a loud bang, and with the start the noise gave her Doña Rodriguez let -the candle fall from her hand, and the room was left as dark as a -wolf’s mouth, as the saying is. Suddenly the poor duenna felt two hands -seize her by the throat, so tightly that she could not croak, while -someone else, without uttering a word, very briskly hoisted up her -petticoats, and with what seemed to be a slipper began to lay on so -heartily that anyone would have felt pity for her; but although Don -Quixote felt it he never stirred from his bed, but lay quiet and -silent, nay apprehensive that his turn for a drubbing might be coming. -Nor was the apprehension an idle one; for leaving the duenna (who did -not dare to cry out) well basted, the silent executioners fell upon Don -Quixote, and stripping him of the sheet and the coverlet, they pinched -him so fast and so hard that he was driven to defend himself with his -fists, and all this in marvellous silence. The battle lasted nearly -half an hour, and then the phantoms fled; Doña Rodriguez gathered up -her skirts, and bemoaning her fate went out without saying a word to -Don Quixote, and he, sorely pinched, puzzled, and dejected, remained -alone, and there we will leave him, wondering who could have been the -perverse enchanter who had reduced him to such a state; but that shall -be told in due season, for Sancho claims our attention, and the -methodical arrangement of the story demands it. - -CHAPTER XLIX. -OF WHAT HAPPENED SANCHO IN MAKING THE ROUND OF HIS ISLAND - -We left the great governor angered and irritated by that -portrait-painting rogue of a farmer who, instructed the majordomo, as -the majordomo was by the duke, tried to practise upon him; he however, -fool, boor, and clown as he was, held his own against them all, saying -to those round him and to Doctor Pedro Recio, who as soon as the -private business of the duke’s letter was disposed of had returned to -the room, “Now I see plainly enough that judges and governors ought to -be and must be made of brass not to feel the importunities of the -applicants that at all times and all seasons insist on being heard, and -having their business despatched, and their own affairs and no others -attended to, come what may; and if the poor judge does not hear them -and settle the matter—either because he cannot or because that is not -the time set apart for hearing them—forthwith they abuse him, and run -him down, and gnaw at his bones, and even pick holes in his pedigree. -You silly, stupid applicant, don’t be in a hurry; wait for the proper -time and season for doing business; don’t come at dinner-hour, or at -bed-time; for judges are only flesh and blood, and must give to Nature -what she naturally demands of them; all except myself, for in my case I -give her nothing to eat, thanks to Señor Doctor Pedro Recio Tirteafuera -here, who would have me die of hunger, and declares that death to be -life; and the same sort of life may God give him and all his kind—I -mean the bad doctors; for the good ones deserve palms and laurels.” - -All who knew Sancho Panza were astonished to hear him speak so -elegantly, and did not know what to attribute it to unless it were that -office and grave responsibility either smarten or stupefy men’s wits. -At last Doctor Pedro Recio Agilers of Tirteafuera promised to let him -have supper that night though it might be in contravention of all the -aphorisms of Hippocrates. With this the governor was satisfied and -looked forward to the approach of night and supper-time with great -anxiety; and though time, to his mind, stood still and made no -progress, nevertheless the hour he so longed for came, and they gave -him a beef salad with onions and some boiled calves’ feet rather far -gone. At this he fell to with greater relish than if they had given him -francolins from Milan, pheasants from Rome, veal from Sorrento, -partridges from Moron, or geese from Lavajos, and turning to the doctor -at supper he said to him, “Look here, señor doctor, for the future -don’t trouble yourself about giving me dainty things or choice dishes -to eat, for it will be only taking my stomach off its hinges; it is -accustomed to goat, cow, bacon, hung beef, turnips and onions; and if -by any chance it is given these palace dishes, it receives them -squeamishly, and sometimes with loathing. What the head-carver had best -do is to serve me with what they call ollas podridas (and the rottener -they are the better they smell); and he can put whatever he likes into -them, so long as it is good to eat, and I’ll be obliged to him, and -will requite him some day. But let nobody play pranks on me, for either -we are or we are not; let us live and eat in peace and good-fellowship, -for when God sends the dawn, he sends it for all. I mean to govern this -island without giving up a right or taking a bribe; let everyone keep -his eye open, and look out for the arrow; for I can tell them ‘the -devil’s in Cantillana,’ and if they drive me to it they’ll see -something that will astonish them. Nay! make yourself honey and the -flies eat you.” - -“Of a truth, señor governor,” said the carver, “your worship is in the -right of it in everything you have said; and I promise you in the name -of all the inhabitants of this island that they will serve your worship -with all zeal, affection, and good-will, for the mild kind of -government you have given a sample of to begin with, leaves them no -ground for doing or thinking anything to your worship’s disadvantage.” - -“That I believe,” said Sancho; “and they would be great fools if they -did or thought otherwise; once more I say, see to my feeding and my -Dapple’s for that is the great point and what is most to the purpose; -and when the hour comes let us go the rounds, for it is my intention to -purge this island of all manner of uncleanness and of all idle -good-for-nothing vagabonds; for I would have you know that lazy idlers -are the same thing in a State as the drones in a hive, that eat up the -honey the industrious bees make. I mean to protect the husbandman, to -preserve to the gentleman his privileges, to reward the virtuous, and -above all to respect religion and honour its ministers. What say you to -that, my friends? Is there anything in what I say, or am I talking to -no purpose?” - -“There is so much in what your worship says, señor governor,” said the -majordomo, “that I am filled with wonder when I see a man like your -worship, entirely without learning (for I believe you have none at -all), say such things, and so full of sound maxims and sage remarks, -very different from what was expected of your worship’s intelligence by -those who sent us or by us who came here. Every day we see something -new in this world; jokes become realities, and the jokers find the -tables turned upon them.” - -Night came, and with the permission of Doctor Pedro Recio, the governor -had supper. They then got ready to go the rounds, and he started with -the majordomo, the secretary, the head-carver, the chronicler charged -with recording his deeds, and alguacils and notaries enough to form a -fair-sized squadron. In the midst marched Sancho with his staff, as -fine a sight as one could wish to see, and but a few streets of the -town had been traversed when they heard a noise as of a clashing of -swords. They hastened to the spot, and found that the combatants were -but two, who seeing the authorities approaching stood still, and one of -them exclaimed, “Help, in the name of God and the king! Are men to be -allowed to rob in the middle of this town, and rush out and attack -people in the very streets?” - -“Be calm, my good man,” said Sancho, “and tell me what the cause of -this quarrel is; for I am the governor.” - -Said the other combatant, “Señor governor, I will tell you in a very -few words. Your worship must know that this gentleman has just now won -more than a thousand reals in that gambling house opposite, and God -knows how. I was there, and gave more than one doubtful point in his -favour, very much against what my conscience told me. He made off with -his winnings, and when I made sure he was going to give me a crown or -so at least by way of a present, as it is usual and customary to give -men of quality of my sort who stand by to see fair or foul play, and -back up swindles, and prevent quarrels, he pocketed his money and left -the house. Indignant at this I followed him, and speaking to him fairly -and civilly asked him to give me if it were only eight reals, for he -knows I am an honest man and that I have neither profession nor -property, for my parents never brought me up to any or left me any; but -the rogue, who is a greater thief than Cacus and a greater sharper than -Andradilla, would not give me more than four reals; so your worship may -see how little shame and conscience he has. But by my faith if you had -not come up I’d have made him disgorge his winnings, and he’d have -learned what the range of the steel-yard was.” - -“What say you to this?” asked Sancho. The other replied that all his -antagonist said was true, and that he did not choose to give him more -than four reals because he very often gave him money; and that those -who expected presents ought to be civil and take what is given them -with a cheerful countenance, and not make any claim against winners -unless they know them for certain to be sharpers and their winnings to -be unfairly won; and that there could be no better proof that he -himself was an honest man than his having refused to give anything; for -sharpers always pay tribute to lookers-on who know them. - -“That is true,” said the majordomo; “let your worship consider what is -to be done with these men.” - -“What is to be done,” said Sancho, “is this; you, the winner, be you -good, bad, or indifferent, give this assailant of yours a hundred reals -at once, and you must disburse thirty more for the poor prisoners; and -you who have neither profession nor property, and hang about the island -in idleness, take these hundred reals now, and some time of the day -to-morrow quit the island under sentence of banishment for ten years, -and under pain of completing it in another life if you violate the -sentence, for I’ll hang you on a gibbet, or at least the hangman will -by my orders; not a word from either of you, or I’ll make him feel my -hand.” - -The one paid down the money and the other took it, and the latter -quitted the island, while the other went home; and then the governor -said, “Either I am not good for much, or I’ll get rid of these gambling -houses, for it strikes me they are very mischievous.” - -“This one at least,” said one of the notaries, “your worship will not -be able to get rid of, for a great man owns it, and what he loses every -year is beyond all comparison more than what he makes by the cards. On -the minor gambling houses your worship may exercise your power, and it -is they that do most harm and shelter the most barefaced practices; for -in the houses of lords and gentlemen of quality the notorious sharpers -dare not attempt to play their tricks; and as the vice of gambling has -become common, it is better that men should play in houses of repute -than in some tradesman’s, where they catch an unlucky fellow in the -small hours of the morning and skin him alive.” - -“I know already, notary, that there is a good deal to be said on that -point,” said Sancho. - -And now a tipstaff came up with a young man in his grasp, and said, -“Señor governor, this youth was coming towards us, and as soon as he -saw the officers of justice he turned about and ran like a deer, a sure -proof that he must be some evil-doer; I ran after him, and had it not -been that he stumbled and fell, I should never have caught him.” - -“What did you run for, fellow?” said Sancho. - -To which the young man replied, “Señor, it was to avoid answering all -the questions officers of justice put.” - -“What are you by trade?” - -“A weaver.” - -“And what do you weave?” - -“Lance heads, with your worship’s good leave.” - -“You’re facetious with me! You plume yourself on being a wag? Very -good; and where were you going just now?” - -“To take the air, señor.” - -“And where does one take the air in this island?” - -“Where it blows.” - -“Good! your answers are very much to the point; you are a smart youth; -but take notice that I am the air, and that I blow upon you a-stern, -and send you to gaol. Ho there! lay hold of him and take him off; I’ll -make him sleep there to-night without air.” - -“By God,” said the young man, “your worship will make me sleep in gaol -just as soon as make me king.” - -“Why shan’t I make thee sleep in gaol?” said Sancho. “Have I not the -power to arrest thee and release thee whenever I like?” - -“All the power your worship has,” said the young man, “won’t be able to -make me sleep in gaol.” - -“How? not able!” said Sancho; “take him away at once where he’ll see -his mistake with his own eyes, even if the gaoler is willing to exert -his interested generosity on his behalf; for I’ll lay a penalty of two -thousand ducats on him if he allows him to stir a step from the -prison.” - -“That’s ridiculous,” said the young man; “the fact is, all the men on -earth will not make me sleep in prison.” - -“Tell me, you devil,” said Sancho, “have you got any angel that will -deliver you, and take off the irons I am going to order them to put -upon you?” - -“Now, señor governor,” said the young man in a sprightly manner, “let -us be reasonable and come to the point. Granted your worship may order -me to be taken to prison, and to have irons and chains put on me, and -to be shut up in a cell, and may lay heavy penalties on the gaoler if -he lets me out, and that he obeys your orders; still, if I don’t choose -to sleep, and choose to remain awake all night without closing an eye, -will your worship with all your power be able to make me sleep if I -don’t choose?” - -“No, truly,” said the secretary, “and the fellow has made his point.” - -“So then,” said Sancho, “it would be entirely of your own choice you -would keep from sleeping; not in opposition to my will?” - -“No, señor,” said the youth, “certainly not.” - -“Well then, go, and God be with you,” said Sancho; “be off home to -sleep, and God give you sound sleep, for I don’t want to rob you of it; -but for the future, let me advise you don’t joke with the authorities, -because you may come across someone who will bring down the joke on -your own skull.” - -The young man went his way, and the governor continued his round, and -shortly afterwards two tipstaffs came up with a man in custody, and -said, “Señor governor, this person, who seems to be a man, is not so, -but a woman, and not an ill-favoured one, in man’s clothes.” They -raised two or three lanterns to her face, and by their light they -distinguished the features of a woman to all appearance of the age of -sixteen or a little more, with her hair gathered into a gold and green -silk net, and fair as a thousand pearls. They scanned her from head to -foot, and observed that she had on red silk stockings with garters of -white taffety bordered with gold and pearl; her breeches were of green -and gold stuff, and under an open jacket or jerkin of the same she wore -a doublet of the finest white and gold cloth; her shoes were white and -such as men wear; she carried no sword at her belt, but only a richly -ornamented dagger, and on her fingers she had several handsome rings. -In short, the girl seemed fair to look at in the eyes of all, and none -of those who beheld her knew her, the people of the town said they -could not imagine who she was, and those who were in on the secret of -the jokes that were to be practised upon Sancho were the ones who were -most surprised, for this incident or discovery had not been arranged by -them; and they watched anxiously to see how the affair would end. - -Sancho was fascinated by the girl’s beauty, and he asked her who she -was, where she was going, and what had induced her to dress herself in -that garb. She with her eyes fixed on the ground answered in modest -confusion, “I cannot tell you, señor, before so many people what it is -of such consequence to me to have kept secret; one thing I wish to be -known, that I am no thief or evildoer, but only an unhappy maiden whom -the power of jealousy has led to break through the respect that is due -to modesty.” - -Hearing this the majordomo said to Sancho, “Make the people stand back, -señor governor, that this lady may say what she wishes with less -embarrassment.” - -Sancho gave the order, and all except the majordomo, the head-carver, -and the secretary fell back. Finding herself then in the presence of no -more, the damsel went on to say, “I am the daughter, sirs, of Pedro -Perez Mazorca, the wool-farmer of this town, who is in the habit of -coming very often to my father’s house.” - -“That won’t do, señora,” said the majordomo; “for I know Pedro Perez -very well, and I know he has no child at all, either son or daughter; -and besides, though you say he is your father, you add then that he -comes very often to your father’s house.” - -“I had already noticed that,” said Sancho. - -“I am confused just now, sirs,” said the damsel, “and I don’t know what -I am saying; but the truth is that I am the daughter of Diego de la -Llana, whom you must all know.” - -“Ay, that will do,” said the majordomo; “for I know Diego de la Llana, -and know that he is a gentleman of position and a rich man, and that he -has a son and a daughter, and that since he was left a widower nobody -in all this town can speak of having seen his daughter’s face; for he -keeps her so closely shut up that he does not give even the sun a -chance of seeing her; and for all that report says she is extremely -beautiful.” - -“It is true,” said the damsel, “and I am that daughter; whether report -lies or not as to my beauty, you, sirs, will have decided by this time, -as you have seen me;” and with this she began to weep bitterly. - -On seeing this the secretary leant over to the head-carver’s ear, and -said to him in a low voice, “Something serious has no doubt happened -this poor maiden, that she goes wandering from home in such a dress and -at such an hour, and one of her rank too.” “There can be no doubt about -it,” returned the carver, “and moreover her tears confirm your -suspicion.” Sancho gave her the best comfort he could, and entreated -her to tell them without any fear what had happened her, as they would -all earnestly and by every means in their power endeavour to relieve -her. - -“The fact is, sirs,” said she, “that my father has kept me shut up -these ten years, for so long is it since the earth received my mother. -Mass is said at home in a sumptuous chapel, and all this time I have -seen but the sun in the heaven by day, and the moon and the stars by -night; nor do I know what streets are like, or plazas, or churches, or -even men, except my father and a brother I have, and Pedro Perez the -wool-farmer; whom, because he came frequently to our house, I took it -into my head to call my father, to avoid naming my own. This seclusion -and the restrictions laid upon my going out, were it only to church, -have been keeping me unhappy for many a day and month past; I longed to -see the world, or at least the town where I was born, and it did not -seem to me that this wish was inconsistent with the respect maidens of -good quality should have for themselves. When I heard them talking of -bull-fights taking place, and of javelin games, and of acting plays, I -asked my brother, who is a year younger than myself, to tell me what -sort of things these were, and many more that I had never seen; he -explained them to me as well as he could, but the only effect was to -kindle in me a still stronger desire to see them. At last, to cut short -the story of my ruin, I begged and entreated my brother—O that I had -never made such an entreaty—” And once more she gave way to a burst of -weeping. - -“Proceed, señora,” said the majordomo, “and finish your story of what -has happened to you, for your words and tears are keeping us all in -suspense.” - -“I have but little more to say, though many a tear to shed,” said the -damsel; “for ill-placed desires can only be paid for in some such way.” - -The maiden’s beauty had made a deep impression on the head-carver’s -heart, and he again raised his lantern for another look at her, and -thought they were not tears she was shedding, but seed-pearl or dew of -the meadow, nay, he exalted them still higher, and made Oriental pearls -of them, and fervently hoped her misfortune might not be so great a one -as her tears and sobs seemed to indicate. The governor was losing -patience at the length of time the girl was taking to tell her story, -and told her not to keep them waiting any longer; for it was late, and -there still remained a good deal of the town to be gone over. - -She, with broken sobs and half-suppressed sighs, went on to say, “My -misfortune, my misadventure, is simply this, that I entreated my -brother to dress me up as a man in a suit of his clothes, and take me -some night, when our father was asleep, to see the whole town; he, -overcome by my entreaties, consented, and dressing me in this suit and -himself in clothes of mine that fitted him as if made for him (for he -has not a hair on his chin, and might pass for a very beautiful young -girl), to-night, about an hour ago, more or less, we left the house, -and guided by our youthful and foolish impulse we made the circuit of -the whole town, and then, as we were about to return home, we saw a -great troop of people coming, and my brother said to me, ‘Sister, this -must be the round, stir your feet and put wings to them, and follow me -as fast as you can, lest they recognise us, for that would be a bad -business for us;’ and so saying he turned about and began, I cannot say -to run but to fly; in less than six paces I fell from fright, and then -the officer of justice came up and carried me before your worships, -where I find myself put to shame before all these people as whimsical -and vicious.” - -“So then, señora,” said Sancho, “no other mishap has befallen you, nor -was it jealousy that made you leave home, as you said at the beginning -of your story?” - -“Nothing has happened me,” said she, “nor was it jealousy that brought -me out, but merely a longing to see the world, which did not go beyond -seeing the streets of this town.” - -The appearance of the tipstaffs with her brother in custody, whom one -of them had overtaken as he ran away from his sister, now fully -confirmed the truth of what the damsel said. He had nothing on but a -rich petticoat and a short blue damask cloak with fine gold lace, and -his head was uncovered and adorned only with its own hair, which looked -like rings of gold, so bright and curly was it. The governor, the -majordomo, and the carver went aside with him, and, unheard by his -sister, asked him how he came to be in that dress, and he with no less -shame and embarrassment told exactly the same story as his sister, to -the great delight of the enamoured carver; the governor, however, said -to them, “In truth, young lady and gentleman, this has been a very -childish affair, and to explain your folly and rashness there was no -necessity for all this delay and all these tears and sighs; for if you -had said we are so-and-so, and we escaped from our father’s house in -this way in order to ramble about, out of mere curiosity and with no -other object, there would have been an end of the matter, and none of -these little sobs and tears and all the rest of it.” - -“That is true,” said the damsel, “but you see the confusion I was in -was so great it did not let me behave as I ought.” - -“No harm has been done,” said Sancho; “come, we will leave you at your -father’s house; perhaps they will not have missed you; and another time -don’t be so childish or eager to see the world; for a respectable -damsel should have a broken leg and keep at home; and the woman and the -hen by gadding about are soon lost; and she who is eager to see is also -eager to be seen; I say no more.” - -The youth thanked the governor for his kind offer to take them home, -and they directed their steps towards the house, which was not far off. -On reaching it the youth threw a pebble up at a grating, and -immediately a woman-servant who was waiting for them came down and -opened the door to them, and they went in, leaving the party marvelling -as much at their grace and beauty as at the fancy they had for seeing -the world by night and without quitting the village; which, however, -they set down to their youth. - -The head-carver was left with a heart pierced through and through, and -he made up his mind on the spot to demand the damsel in marriage of her -father on the morrow, making sure she would not be refused him as he -was a servant of the duke’s; and even to Sancho ideas and schemes of -marrying the youth to his daughter Sanchica suggested themselves, and -he resolved to open the negotiation at the proper season, persuading -himself that no husband could be refused to a governor’s daughter. And -so the night’s round came to an end, and a couple of days later the -government, whereby all his plans were overthrown and swept away, as -will be seen farther on. - -CHAPTER L. -WHEREIN IS SET FORTH WHO THE ENCHANTERS AND EXECUTIONERS WERE WHO -FLOGGED THE DUENNA AND PINCHED DON QUIXOTE, AND ALSO WHAT BEFELL THE -PAGE WHO CARRIED THE LETTER TO TERESA PANZA, SANCHO PANZA’S WIFE - -Cide Hamete, the painstaking investigator of the minute points of this -veracious history, says that when Doña Rodriguez left her own room to -go to Don Quixote’s, another duenna who slept with her observed her, -and as all duennas are fond of prying, listening, and sniffing, she -followed her so silently that the good Rodriguez never perceived it; -and as soon as the duenna saw her enter Don Quixote’s room, not to fail -in a duenna’s invariable practice of tattling, she hurried off that -instant to report to the duchess how Doña Rodriguez was closeted with -Don Quixote. The duchess told the duke, and asked him to let her and -Altisidora go and see what the said duenna wanted with Don Quixote. The -duke gave them leave, and the pair cautiously and quietly crept to the -door of the room and posted themselves so close to it that they could -hear all that was said inside. But when the duchess heard how the -Rodriguez had made public the Aranjuez of her issues she could not -restrain herself, nor Altisidora either; and so, filled with rage and -thirsting for vengeance, they burst into the room and tormented Don -Quixote and flogged the duenna in the manner already described; for -indignities offered to their charms and self-esteem mightily provoke -the anger of women and make them eager for revenge. The duchess told -the duke what had happened, and he was much amused by it; and she, in -pursuance of her design of making merry and diverting herself with Don -Quixote, despatched the page who had played the part of Dulcinea in the -negotiations for her disenchantment (which Sancho Panza in the cares of -government had forgotten all about) to Teresa Panza his wife with her -husband’s letter and another from herself, and also a great string of -fine coral beads as a present. - -Now the history says this page was very sharp and quick-witted; and -eager to serve his lord and lady he set off very willingly for Sancho’s -village. Before he entered it he observed a number of women washing in -a brook, and asked them if they could tell him whether there lived -there a woman of the name of Teresa Panza, wife of one Sancho Panza, -squire to a knight called Don Quixote of La Mancha. At the question a -young girl who was washing stood up and said, “Teresa Panza is my -mother, and that Sancho is my father, and that knight is our master.” - -“Well then, miss,” said the page, “come and show me where your mother -is, for I bring her a letter and a present from your father.” - -“That I will with all my heart, señor,” said the girl, who seemed to be -about fourteen, more or less; and leaving the clothes she was washing -to one of her companions, and without putting anything on her head or -feet, for she was bare-legged and had her hair hanging about her, away -she skipped in front of the page’s horse, saying, “Come, your worship, -our house is at the entrance of the town, and my mother is there, -sorrowful enough at not having had any news of my father this ever so -long.” - -“Well,” said the page, “I am bringing her such good news that she will -have reason to thank God.” - -And then, skipping, running, and capering, the girl reached the town, -but before going into the house she called out at the door, “Come out, -mother Teresa, come out, come out; here’s a gentleman with letters and -other things from my good father.” At these words her mother Teresa -Panza came out spinning a bundle of flax, in a grey petticoat (so short -was it one would have fancied “they to her shame had cut it short”), a -grey bodice of the same stuff, and a smock. She was not very old, -though plainly past forty, strong, healthy, vigorous, and sun-dried; -and seeing her daughter and the page on horseback, she exclaimed, -“What’s this, child? What gentleman is this?” - -“A servant of my lady, Doña Teresa Panza,” replied the page; and -suiting the action to the word he flung himself off his horse, and with -great humility advanced to kneel before the lady Teresa, saying, “Let -me kiss your hand, Señora Doña Teresa, as the lawful and only wife of -Señor Don Sancho Panza, rightful governor of the island of Barataria.” - -“Ah, señor, get up, do that,” said Teresa; “for I’m not a bit of a -court lady, but only a poor country woman, the daughter of a -clodcrusher, and the wife of a squire-errant and not of any governor at -all.” - -“You are,” said the page, “the most worthy wife of a most arch-worthy -governor; and as a proof of what I say accept this letter and this -present;” and at the same time he took out of his pocket a string of -coral beads with gold clasps, and placed it on her neck, and said, -“This letter is from his lordship the governor, and the other as well -as these coral beads from my lady the duchess, who sends me to your -worship.” - -Teresa stood lost in astonishment, and her daughter just as much, and -the girl said, “May I die but our master Don Quixote’s at the bottom of -this; he must have given father the government or county he so often -promised him.” - -“That is the truth,” said the page; “for it is through Señor Don -Quixote that Señor Sancho is now governor of the island of Barataria, -as will be seen by this letter.” - -“Will your worship read it to me, noble sir?” said Teresa; “for though -I can spin I can’t read, not a scrap.” - -“Nor I either,” said Sanchica; “but wait a bit, and I’ll go and fetch -someone who can read it, either the curate himself or the bachelor -Samson Carrasco, and they’ll come gladly to hear any news of my -father.” - -“There is no need to fetch anybody,” said the page; “for though I can’t -spin I can read, and I’ll read it;” and so he read it through, but as -it has been already given it is not inserted here; and then he took out -the other one from the duchess, which ran as follows: - -Friend Teresa,—Your husband Sancho’s good qualities, of heart as well -as of head, induced and compelled me to request my husband the duke to -give him the government of one of his many islands. I am told he -governs like a gerfalcon, of which I am very glad, and my lord the -duke, of course, also; and I am very thankful to heaven that I have not -made a mistake in choosing him for that same government; for I would -have Señora Teresa know that a good governor is hard to find in this -world and may God make me as good as Sancho’s way of governing. -Herewith I send you, my dear, a string of coral beads with gold clasps; -I wish they were Oriental pearls; but “he who gives thee a bone does -not wish to see thee dead;” a time will come when we shall become -acquainted and meet one another, but God knows the future. Commend me -to your daughter Sanchica, and tell her from me to hold herself in -readiness, for I mean to make a high match for her when she least -expects it. They tell me there are big acorns in your village; send me -a couple of dozen or so, and I shall value them greatly as coming from -your hand; and write to me at length to assure me of your health and -well-being; and if there be anything you stand in need of, it is but to -open your mouth, and that shall be the measure; and so God keep you. - -From this place. -Your loving friend, -THE DUCHESS. - -“Ah, what a good, plain, lowly lady!” said Teresa when she heard the -letter; “that I may be buried with ladies of that sort, and not the -gentlewomen we have in this town, that fancy because they are -gentlewomen the wind must not touch them, and go to church with as much -airs as if they were queens, no less, and seem to think they are -disgraced if they look at a farmer’s wife! And see here how this good -lady, for all she’s a duchess, calls me ‘friend,’ and treats me as if I -was her equal—and equal may I see her with the tallest church-tower in -La Mancha! And as for the acorns, señor, I’ll send her ladyship a peck -and such big ones that one might come to see them as a show and a -wonder. And now, Sanchica, see that the gentleman is comfortable; put -up his horse, and get some eggs out of the stable, and cut plenty of -bacon, and let’s give him his dinner like a prince; for the good news -he has brought, and his own bonny face deserve it all; and meanwhile -I’ll run out and give the neighbours the news of our good luck, and -father curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, who are and always have -been such friends of thy father’s.” - -“That I will, mother,” said Sanchica; “but mind, you must give me half -of that string; for I don’t think my lady the duchess could have been -so stupid as to send it all to you.” - -“It is all for thee, my child,” said Teresa; “but let me wear it round -my neck for a few days; for verily it seems to make my heart glad.” - -“You will be glad too,” said the page, “when you see the bundle there -is in this portmanteau, for it is a suit of the finest cloth, that the -governor only wore one day out hunting and now sends, all for Señora -Sanchica.” - -“May he live a thousand years,” said Sanchica, “and the bearer as many, -nay two thousand, if needful.” - -With this Teresa hurried out of the house with the letters, and with -the string of beads round her neck, and went along thrumming the -letters as if they were a tambourine, and by chance coming across the -curate and Samson Carrasco she began capering and saying, “None of us -poor now, faith! We’ve got a little government! Ay, let the finest fine -lady tackle me, and I’ll give her a setting down!” - -“What’s all this, Teresa Panza,” said they; “what madness is this, and -what papers are those?” - -“The madness is only this,” said she, “that these are the letters of -duchesses and governors, and these I have on my neck are fine coral -beads, with ave-marias and paternosters of beaten gold, and I am a -governess.” - -“God help us,” said the curate, “we don’t understand you, Teresa, or -know what you are talking about.” - -“There, you may see it yourselves,” said Teresa, and she handed them -the letters. - -The curate read them out for Samson Carrasco to hear, and Samson and he -regarded one another with looks of astonishment at what they had read, -and the bachelor asked who had brought the letters. Teresa in reply -bade them come with her to her house and they would see the messenger, -a most elegant youth, who had brought another present which was worth -as much more. The curate took the coral beads from her neck and -examined them again and again, and having satisfied himself as to their -fineness he fell to wondering afresh, and said, “By the gown I wear I -don’t know what to say or think of these letters and presents; on the -one hand I can see and feel the fineness of these coral beads, and on -the other I read how a duchess sends to beg for a couple of dozen of -acorns.” - -“Square that if you can,” said Carrasco; “well, let’s go and see the -messenger, and from him we’ll learn something about this mystery that -has turned up.” - -They did so, and Teresa returned with them. They found the page sifting -a little barley for his horse, and Sanchica cutting a rasher of bacon -to be paved with eggs for his dinner. His looks and his handsome -apparel pleased them both greatly; and after they had saluted him -courteously, and he them, Samson begged him to give them his news, as -well of Don Quixote as of Sancho Panza, for, he said, though they had -read the letters from Sancho and her ladyship the duchess, they were -still puzzled and could not make out what was meant by Sancho’s -government, and above all of an island, when all or most of those in -the Mediterranean belonged to his Majesty. - -To this the page replied, “As to Señor Sancho Panza’s being a governor -there is no doubt whatever; but whether it is an island or not that he -governs, with that I have nothing to do; suffice it that it is a town -of more than a thousand inhabitants; with regard to the acorns I may -tell you my lady the duchess is so unpretending and unassuming that, -not to speak of sending to beg for acorns from a peasant woman, she has -been known to send to ask for the loan of a comb from one of her -neighbours; for I would have your worships know that the ladies of -Aragon, though they are just as illustrious, are not so punctilious and -haughty as the Castilian ladies; they treat people with greater -familiarity.” - -In the middle of this conversation Sanchica came in with her skirt full -of eggs, and said she to the page, “Tell me, señor, does my father wear -trunk-hose since he has been governor?” - -“I have not noticed,” said the page; “but no doubt he wears them.” - -“Ah! my God!” said Sanchica, “what a sight it must be to see my father -in tights! Isn’t it odd that ever since I was born I have had a longing -to see my father in trunk-hose?” - -“As things go you will see that if you live,” said the page; “by God he -is in the way to take the road with a sunshade if the government only -lasts him two months more.” - -The curate and the bachelor could see plainly enough that the page -spoke in a waggish vein; but the fineness of the coral beads, and the -hunting suit that Sancho sent (for Teresa had already shown it to them) -did away with the impression; and they could not help laughing at -Sanchica’s wish, and still more when Teresa said, “Señor curate, look -about if there’s anybody here going to Madrid or Toledo, to buy me a -hooped petticoat, a proper fashionable one of the best quality; for -indeed and indeed I must do honour to my husband’s government as well -as I can; nay, if I am put to it and have to, I’ll go to Court and set -a coach like all the world; for she who has a governor for her husband -may very well have one and keep one.” - -“And why not, mother!” said Sanchica; “would to God it were to-day -instead of to-morrow, even though they were to say when they saw me -seated in the coach with my mother, ‘See that rubbish, that -garlic-stuffed fellow’s daughter, how she goes stretched at her ease in -a coach as if she was a she-pope!’ But let them tramp through the mud, -and let me go in my coach with my feet off the ground. Bad luck to -backbiters all over the world; ‘let me go warm and the people may -laugh.’ Do I say right, mother?” - -“To be sure you do, my child,” said Teresa; “and all this good luck, -and even more, my good Sancho foretold me; and thou wilt see, my -daughter, he won’t stop till he has made me a countess; for to make a -beginning is everything in luck; and as I have heard thy good father -say many a time (for besides being thy father he’s the father of -proverbs too), ‘When they offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; when -they offer thee a government, take it; when they would give thee a -county, seize it; when they say, “Here, here!” to thee with something -good, swallow it.’ Oh no! go to sleep, and don’t answer the strokes of -good fortune and the lucky chances that are knocking at the door of -your house!” - -“And what do I care,” added Sanchica, “whether anybody says when he -sees me holding my head up, ‘The dog saw himself in hempen breeches,’ -and the rest of it?” - -Hearing this the curate said, “I do believe that all this family of the -Panzas are born with a sackful of proverbs in their insides, every one -of them; I never saw one of them that does not pour them out at all -times and on all occasions.” - -“That is true,” said the page, “for Señor Governor Sancho utters them -at every turn; and though a great many of them are not to the purpose, -still they amuse one, and my lady the duchess and the duke praise them -highly.” - -“Then you still maintain that all this about Sancho’s government is -true, señor,” said the bachelor, “and that there actually is a duchess -who sends him presents and writes to him? Because we, although we have -handled the present and read the letters, don’t believe it and suspect -it to be something in the line of our fellow-townsman Don Quixote, who -fancies that everything is done by enchantment; and for this reason I -am almost ready to say that I’d like to touch and feel your worship to -see whether you are a mere ambassador of the imagination or a man of -flesh and blood.” - -“All I know, sirs,” replied the page, “is that I am a real ambassador, -and that Señor Sancho Panza is governor as a matter of fact, and that -my lord and lady the duke and duchess can give, and have given him this -same government, and that I have heard it said Sancho Panza bears -himself very stoutly therein; whether there be any enchantment in all -this or not, it is for your worships to settle between you; for that’s -all I know by the oath I swear, and that is by the life of my parents -whom I have still alive, and love dearly.” - -“It may be so,” said the bachelor; “but _dubitat Augustinus_.” - -“Doubt who will,” said the page; “what I have told you is the truth, -and that will always rise above falsehood as oil above water; if not -_operibus credite, et non verbis_. Let one of you come with me, and he -will see with his eyes what he does not believe with his ears.” - -“It’s for me to make that trip,” said Sanchica; “take me with you, -señor, behind you on your horse; for I’ll go with all my heart to see -my father.” - -“Governors’ daughters,” said the page, “must not travel along the roads -alone, but accompanied by coaches and litters and a great number of -attendants.” - -“By God,” said Sanchica, “I can go just as well mounted on a she-ass as -in a coach; what a dainty lass you must take me for!” - -“Hush, girl,” said Teresa; “you don’t know what you’re talking about; -the gentleman is quite right, for ‘as the time so the behaviour;’ when -it was Sancho it was ‘Sancha;’ when it is governor it’s ‘señora;’ I -don’t know if I’m right.” - -“Señora Teresa says more than she is aware of,” said the page; “and now -give me something to eat and let me go at once, for I mean to return -this evening.” - -“Come and do penance with me,” said the curate at this; “for Señora -Teresa has more will than means to serve so worthy a guest.” - -The page refused, but had to consent at last for his own sake; and the -curate took him home with him very gladly, in order to have an -opportunity of questioning him at leisure about Don Quixote and his -doings. The bachelor offered to write the letters in reply for Teresa; -but she did not care to let him mix himself up in her affairs, for she -thought him somewhat given to joking; and so she gave a cake and a -couple of eggs to a young acolyte who was a penman, and he wrote for -her two letters, one for her husband and the other for the duchess, -dictated out of her own head, which are not the worst inserted in this -great history, as will be seen farther on. - -CHAPTER LI. -OF THE PROGRESS OF SANCHO’S GOVERNMENT, AND OTHER SUCH ENTERTAINING -MATTERS - -Day came after the night of the governor’s round; a night which the -head-carver passed without sleeping, so were his thoughts of the face -and air and beauty of the disguised damsel, while the majordomo spent -what was left of it in writing an account to his lord and lady of all -Sancho said and did, being as much amazed at his sayings as at his -doings, for there was a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in all his -words and deeds. The señor governor got up, and by Doctor Pedro Recio’s -directions they made him break his fast on a little conserve and four -sups of cold water, which Sancho would have readily exchanged for a -piece of bread and a bunch of grapes; but seeing there was no help for -it, he submitted with no little sorrow of heart and discomfort of -stomach; Pedro Recio having persuaded him that light and delicate diet -enlivened the wits, and that was what was most essential for persons -placed in command and in responsible situations, where they have to -employ not only the bodily powers but those of the mind also. - -By means of this sophistry Sancho was made to endure hunger, and hunger -so keen that in his heart he cursed the government, and even him who -had given it to him; however, with his hunger and his conserve he -undertook to deliver judgments that day, and the first thing that came -before him was a question that was submitted to him by a stranger, in -the presence of the majordomo and the other attendants, and it was in -these words: “Señor, a large river separated two districts of one and -the same lordship—will your worship please to pay attention, for the -case is an important and a rather knotty one? Well then, on this river -there was a bridge, and at one end of it a gallows, and a sort of -tribunal, where four judges commonly sat to administer the law which -the lord of river, bridge and the lordship had enacted, and which was -to this effect, ‘If anyone crosses by this bridge from one side to the -other he shall declare on oath where he is going to and with what -object; and if he swears truly, he shall be allowed to pass, but if -falsely, he shall be put to death for it by hanging on the gallows -erected there, without any remission.’ Though the law and its severe -penalty were known, many persons crossed, but in their declarations it -was easy to see at once they were telling the truth, and the judges let -them pass free. It happened, however, that one man, when they came to -take his declaration, swore and said that by the oath he took he was -going to die upon that gallows that stood there, and nothing else. The -judges held a consultation over the oath, and they said, ‘If we let -this man pass free he has sworn falsely, and by the law he ought to -die; but if we hang him, as he swore he was going to die on that -gallows, and therefore swore the truth, by the same law he ought to go -free.’ It is asked of your worship, señor governor, what are the judges -to do with this man? For they are still in doubt and perplexity; and -having heard of your worship’s acute and exalted intellect, they have -sent me to entreat your worship on their behalf to give your opinion on -this very intricate and puzzling case.” - -To this Sancho made answer, “Indeed those gentlemen the judges that -send you to me might have spared themselves the trouble, for I have -more of the obtuse than the acute in me; but repeat the case over -again, so that I may understand it, and then perhaps I may be able to -hit the point.” - -The querist repeated again and again what he had said before, and then -Sancho said, “It seems to me I can set the matter right in a moment, -and in this way; the man swears that he is going to die upon the -gallows; but if he dies upon it, he has sworn the truth, and by the law -enacted deserves to go free and pass over the bridge; but if they don’t -hang him, then he has sworn falsely, and by the same law deserves to be -hanged.” - -“It is as the señor governor says,” said the messenger; “and as regards -a complete comprehension of the case, there is nothing left to desire -or hesitate about.” - -“Well then I say,” said Sancho, “that of this man they should let pass -the part that has sworn truly, and hang the part that has lied; and in -this way the conditions of the passage will be fully complied with.” - -“But then, señor governor,” replied the querist, “the man will have to -be divided into two parts; and if he is divided of course he will die; -and so none of the requirements of the law will be carried out, and it -is absolutely necessary to comply with it.” - -“Look here, my good sir,” said Sancho; “either I’m a numskull or else -there is the same reason for this passenger dying as for his living and -passing over the bridge; for if the truth saves him the falsehood -equally condemns him; and that being the case it is my opinion you -should say to the gentlemen who sent you to me that as the arguments -for condemning him and for absolving him are exactly balanced, they -should let him pass freely, as it is always more praiseworthy to do -good than to do evil; this I would give signed with my name if I knew -how to sign; and what I have said in this case is not out of my own -head, but one of the many precepts my master Don Quixote gave me the -night before I left to become governor of this island, that came into -my mind, and it was this, that when there was any doubt about the -justice of a case I should lean to mercy; and it is God’s will that I -should recollect it now, for it fits this case as if it was made for -it.” - -“That is true,” said the majordomo; “and I maintain that Lycurgus -himself, who gave laws to the Lacedemonians, could not have pronounced -a better decision than the great Panza has given; let the morning’s -audience close with this, and I will see that the señor governor has -dinner entirely to his liking.” - -“That’s all I ask for—fair play,” said Sancho; “give me my dinner, and -then let it rain cases and questions on me, and I’ll despatch them in a -twinkling.” - -The majordomo kept his word, for he felt it against his conscience to -kill so wise a governor by hunger; particularly as he intended to have -done with him that same night, playing off the last joke he was -commissioned to practise upon him. - -It came to pass, then, that after he had dined that day, in opposition -to the rules and aphorisms of Doctor Tirteafuera, as they were taking -away the cloth there came a courier with a letter from Don Quixote for -the governor. Sancho ordered the secretary to read it to himself, and -if there was nothing in it that demanded secrecy to read it aloud. The -secretary did so, and after he had skimmed the contents he said, “It -may well be read aloud, for what Señor Don Quixote writes to your -worship deserves to be printed or written in letters of gold, and it is -as follows.” - -DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA’S LETTER TO SANCHO PANZA, GOVERNOR OF THE -ISLAND OF BARATARIA. - -When I was expecting to hear of thy stupidities and blunders, friend -Sancho, I have received intelligence of thy displays of good sense, for -which I give special thanks to heaven that can raise the poor from the -dunghill and of fools to make wise men. They tell me thou dost govern -as if thou wert a man, and art a man as if thou wert a beast, so great -is the humility wherewith thou dost comport thyself. But I would have -thee bear in mind, Sancho, that very often it is fitting and necessary -for the authority of office to resist the humility of the heart; for -the seemly array of one who is invested with grave duties should be -such as they require and not measured by what his own humble tastes may -lead him to prefer. Dress well; a stick dressed up does not look like a -stick; I do not say thou shouldst wear trinkets or fine raiment, or -that being a judge thou shouldst dress like a soldier, but that thou -shouldst array thyself in the apparel thy office requires, and that at -the same time it be neat and handsome. To win the good-will of the -people thou governest there are two things, among others, that thou -must do; one is to be civil to all (this, however, I told thee before), -and the other to take care that food be abundant, for there is nothing -that vexes the heart of the poor more than hunger and high prices. Make -not many proclamations; but those thou makest take care that they be -good ones, and above all that they be observed and carried out; for -proclamations that are not observed are the same as if they did not -exist; nay, they encourage the idea that the prince who had the wisdom -and authority to make them had not the power to enforce them; and laws -that threaten and are not enforced come to be like the log, the king of -the frogs, that frightened them at first, but that in time they -despised and mounted upon. Be a father to virtue and a stepfather to -vice. Be not always strict, nor yet always lenient, but observe a mean -between these two extremes, for in that is the aim of wisdom. Visit the -gaols, the slaughter-houses, and the market-places; for the presence of -the governor is of great importance in such places; it comforts the -prisoners who are in hopes of a speedy release, it is the bugbear of -the butchers who have then to give just weight, and it is the terror of -the market-women for the same reason. Let it not be seen that thou art -(even if perchance thou art, which I do not believe) covetous, a -follower of women, or a glutton; for when the people and those that -have dealings with thee become aware of thy special weakness they will -bring their batteries to bear upon thee in that quarter, till they have -brought thee down to the depths of perdition. Consider and reconsider, -con and con over again the advices and the instructions I gave thee -before thy departure hence to thy government, and thou wilt see that in -them, if thou dost follow them, thou hast a help at hand that will -lighten for thee the troubles and difficulties that beset governors at -every step. Write to thy lord and lady and show thyself grateful to -them, for ingratitude is the daughter of pride, and one of the greatest -sins we know of; and he who is grateful to those who have been good to -him shows that he will be so to God also who has bestowed and still -bestows so many blessings upon him. - My lady the duchess sent off a messenger with thy suit and another - present to thy wife Teresa Panza; we expect the answer every - moment. I have been a little indisposed through a certain - scratching I came in for, not very much to the benefit of my nose; - but it was nothing; for if there are enchanters who maltreat me, - there are also some who defend me. Let me know if the majordomo who - is with thee had any share in the Trifaldi performance, as thou - didst suspect; and keep me informed of everything that happens - thee, as the distance is so short; all the more as I am thinking of - giving over very shortly this idle life I am now leading, for I was - not born for it. A thing has occurred to me which I am inclined to - think will put me out of favour with the duke and duchess; but - though I am sorry for it I do not care, for after all I must obey - my calling rather than their pleasure, in accordance with the - common saying, _amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas_. I quote - this Latin to thee because I conclude that since thou hast been a - governor thou wilt have learned it. Adieu; God keep thee from being - an object of pity to anyone. - -Thy friend, -DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA. - -Sancho listened to the letter with great attention, and it was praised -and considered wise by all who heard it; he then rose up from table, -and calling his secretary shut himself in with him in his own room, and -without putting it off any longer set about answering his master Don -Quixote at once; and he bade the secretary write down what he told him -without adding or suppressing anything, which he did, and the answer -was to the following effect. - -SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA. - -The pressure of business is so great upon me that I have no time to -scratch my head or even to cut my nails; and I have them so long—God -send a remedy for it. I say this, master of my soul, that you may not -be surprised if I have not until now sent you word of how I fare, well -or ill, in this government, in which I am suffering more hunger than -when we two were wandering through the woods and wastes. - My lord the duke wrote to me the other day to warn me that certain - spies had got into this island to kill me; but up to the present I - have not found out any except a certain doctor who receives a - salary in this town for killing all the governors that come here; - he is called Doctor Pedro Recio, and is from Tirteafuera; so you - see what a name he has to make me dread dying under his hands. This - doctor says of himself that he does not cure diseases when there - are any, but prevents them coming, and the medicines he uses are - diet and more diet until he brings one down to bare bones; as if - leanness was not worse than fever. - In short he is killing me with hunger, and I am dying myself of - vexation; for when I thought I was coming to this government to get - my meat hot and my drink cool, and take my ease between holland - sheets on feather beds, I find I have come to do penance as if I - was a hermit; and as I don’t do it willingly I suspect that in the - end the devil will carry me off. - So far I have not handled any dues or taken any bribes, and I don’t - know what to think of it; for here they tell me that the governors - that come to this island, before entering it have plenty of money - either given to them or lent to them by the people of the town, and - that this is the usual custom not only here but with all who enter - upon governments. - Last night going the rounds I came upon a fair damsel in man’s - clothes, and a brother of hers dressed as a woman; my head-carver - has fallen in love with the girl, and has in his own mind chosen - her for a wife, so he says, and I have chosen the youth for a - son-in-law; to-day we are going to explain our intentions to the - father of the pair, who is one Diego de la Llana, a gentleman and - an old Christian as much as you please. - I have visited the market-places, as your worship advises me, and - yesterday I found a stall-keeper selling new hazel nuts and proved - her to have mixed a bushel of old empty rotten nuts with a bushel - of new; I confiscated the whole for the children of the - charity-school, who will know how to distinguish them well enough, - and I sentenced her not to come into the market-place for a - fortnight; they told me I did bravely. I can tell your worship it - is commonly said in this town that there are no people worse than - the market-women, for they are all barefaced, unconscionable, and - impudent, and I can well believe it from what I have seen of them - in other towns. - I am very glad my lady the duchess has written to my wife Teresa - Panza and sent her the present your worship speaks of; and I will - strive to show myself grateful when the time comes; kiss her hands - for me, and tell her I say she has not thrown it into a sack with a - hole in it, as she will see in the end. I should not like your - worship to have any difference with my lord and lady; for if you - fall out with them it is plain it must do me harm; and as you give - me advice to be grateful it will not do for your worship not to be - so yourself to those who have shown you such kindness, and by whom - you have been treated so hospitably in their castle. - That about the scratching I don’t understand; but I suppose it must - be one of the ill-turns the wicked enchanters are always doing your - worship; when we meet I shall know all about it. I wish I could - send your worship something; but I don’t know what to send, unless - it be some very curious clyster pipes, to work with bladders, that - they make in this island; but if the office remains with me I’ll - find out something to send, one way or another. If my wife Teresa - Panza writes to me, pay the postage and send me the letter, for I - have a very great desire to hear how my house and wife and children - are going on. And so, may God deliver your worship from evil-minded - enchanters, and bring me well and peacefully out of this - government, which I doubt, for I expect to take leave of it and my - life together, from the way Doctor Pedro Recio treats me. - -Your worship’s servant -SANCHO PANZA THE GOVERNOR. - -The secretary sealed the letter, and immediately dismissed the courier; -and those who were carrying on the joke against Sancho putting their -heads together arranged how he was to be dismissed from the government. -Sancho spent the afternoon in drawing up certain ordinances relating to -the good government of what he fancied the island; and he ordained that -there were to be no provision hucksters in the State, and that men -might import wine into it from any place they pleased, provided they -declared the quarter it came from, so that a price might be put upon it -according to its quality, reputation, and the estimation it was held -in; and he that watered his wine, or changed the name, was to forfeit -his life for it. He reduced the prices of all manner of shoes, boots, -and stockings, but of shoes in particular, as they seemed to him to run -extravagantly high. He established a fixed rate for servants’ wages, -which were becoming recklessly exorbitant. He laid extremely heavy -penalties upon those who sang lewd or loose songs either by day or -night. He decreed that no blind man should sing of any miracle in -verse, unless he could produce authentic evidence that it was true, for -it was his opinion that most of those the blind men sing are trumped -up, to the detriment of the true ones. He established and created an -alguacil of the poor, not to harass them, but to examine them and see -whether they really were so; for many a sturdy thief or drunkard goes -about under cover of a make-believe crippled limb or a sham sore. In a -word, he made so many good rules that to this day they are preserved -there, and are called _The constitutions of the great governor Sancho -Panza_. - -CHAPTER LII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND DISTRESSED OR AFFLICTED -DUENNA, OTHERWISE CALLED DOÑA RODRIGUEZ - -Cide Hamete relates that Don Quixote being now cured of his scratches -felt that the life he was leading in the castle was entirely -inconsistent with the order of chivalry he professed, so he determined -to ask the duke and duchess to permit him to take his departure for -Saragossa, as the time of the festival was now drawing near, and he -hoped to win there the suit of armour which is the prize at festivals -of the sort. But one day at table with the duke and duchess, just as he -was about to carry his resolution into effect and ask for their -permission, lo and behold suddenly there came in through the door of -the great hall two women, as they afterwards proved to be, draped in -mourning from head to foot, one of whom approaching Don Quixote flung -herself at full length at his feet, pressing her lips to them, and -uttering moans so sad, so deep, and so doleful that she put all who -heard and saw her into a state of perplexity; and though the duke and -duchess supposed it must be some joke their servants were playing off -upon Don Quixote, still the earnest way the woman sighed and moaned and -wept puzzled them and made them feel uncertain, until Don Quixote, -touched with compassion, raised her up and made her unveil herself and -remove the mantle from her tearful face. She complied and disclosed -what no one could have ever anticipated, for she disclosed the -countenance of Doña Rodriguez, the duenna of the house; the other -female in mourning being her daughter, who had been made a fool of by -the rich farmer’s son. All who knew her were filled with astonishment, -and the duke and duchess more than any; for though they thought her a -simpleton and a weak creature, they did not think her capable of crazy -pranks. Doña Rodriguez, at length, turning to her master and mistress -said to them, “Will your excellences be pleased to permit me to speak -to this gentleman for a moment, for it is requisite I should do so in -order to get successfully out of the business in which the boldness of -an evil-minded clown has involved me?” - -The duke said that for his part he gave her leave, and that she might -speak with Señor Don Quixote as much as she liked. - -She then, turning to Don Quixote and addressing herself to him said, -“Some days since, valiant knight, I gave you an account of the -injustice and treachery of a wicked farmer to my dearly beloved -daughter, the unhappy damsel here before you, and you promised me to -take her part and right the wrong that has been done her; but now it -has come to my hearing that you are about to depart from this castle in -quest of such fair adventures as God may vouchsafe to you; therefore, -before you take the road, I would that you challenge this froward -rustic, and compel him to marry my daughter in fulfillment of the -promise he gave her to become her husband before he seduced her; for to -expect that my lord the duke will do me justice is to ask pears from -the elm tree, for the reason I stated privately to your worship; and so -may our Lord grant you good health and forsake us not.” - -To these words Don Quixote replied very gravely and solemnly, “Worthy -duenna, check your tears, or rather dry them, and spare your sighs, for -I take it upon myself to obtain redress for your daughter, for whom it -would have been better not to have been so ready to believe lovers’ -promises, which are for the most part quickly made and very slowly -performed; and so, with my lord the duke’s leave, I will at once go in -quest of this inhuman youth, and will find him out and challenge him -and slay him, if so be he refuses to keep his promised word; for the -chief object of my profession is to spare the humble and chastise the -proud; I mean, to help the distressed and destroy the oppressors.” - -“There is no necessity,” said the duke, “for your worship to take the -trouble of seeking out the rustic of whom this worthy duenna complains, -nor is there any necessity, either, for asking my leave to challenge -him; for I admit him duly challenged, and will take care that he is -informed of the challenge, and accepts it, and comes to answer it in -person to this castle of mine, where I shall afford to both a fair -field, observing all the conditions which are usually and properly -observed in such trials, and observing too justice to both sides, as -all princes who offer a free field to combatants within the limits of -their lordships are bound to do.” - -“Then with that assurance and your highness’s good leave,” said Don -Quixote, “I hereby for this once waive my privilege of gentle blood, -and come down and put myself on a level with the lowly birth of the -wrong-doer, making myself equal with him and enabling him to enter into -combat with me; and so, I challenge and defy him, though absent, on the -plea of his malfeasance in breaking faith with this poor damsel, who -was a maiden and now by his misdeed is none; and say that he shall -fulfill the promise he gave her to become her lawful husband, or else -stake his life upon the question.” - -And then plucking off a glove he threw it down in the middle of the -hall, and the duke picked it up, saying, as he had said before, that he -accepted the challenge in the name of his vassal, and fixed six days -thence as the time, the courtyard of the castle as the place, and for -arms the customary ones of knights, lance and shield and full armour, -with all the other accessories, without trickery, guile, or charms of -any sort, and examined and passed by the judges of the field. “But -first of all,” he said, “it is requisite that this worthy duenna and -unworthy damsel should place their claim for justice in the hands of -Don Quixote; for otherwise nothing can be done, nor can the said -challenge be brought to a lawful issue.” - -“I do so place it,” replied the duenna. - -“And I too,” added her daughter, all in tears and covered with shame -and confusion. - -This declaration having been made, and the duke having settled in his -own mind what he would do in the matter, the ladies in black withdrew, -and the duchess gave orders that for the future they were not to be -treated as servants of hers, but as lady adventurers who came to her -house to demand justice; so they gave them a room to themselves and -waited on them as they would on strangers, to the consternation of the -other women-servants, who did not know where the folly and imprudence -of Doña Rodriguez and her unlucky daughter would stop. - -And now, to complete the enjoyment of the feast and bring the dinner to -a satisfactory end, lo and behold the page who had carried the letters -and presents to Teresa Panza, the wife of the governor Sancho, entered -the hall; and the duke and duchess were very well pleased to see him, -being anxious to know the result of his journey; but when they asked -him the page said in reply that he could not give it before so many -people or in a few words, and begged their excellences to be pleased to -let it wait for a private opportunity, and in the meantime amuse -themselves with these letters; and taking out the letters he placed -them in the duchess’s hand. One bore by way of address, _Letter for my -lady the Duchess So-and-so, of I don’t know where; and the other To my -husband Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria, whom God -prosper longer than me_. The duchess’s bread would not bake, as the -saying is, until she had read her letter; and having looked over it -herself and seen that it might be read aloud for the duke and all -present to hear, she read out as follows. - -TERESA PANZA’S LETTER TO THE DUCHESS. - -The letter your highness wrote me, my lady, gave me great pleasure, for -indeed I found it very welcome. The string of coral beads is very fine, -and my husband’s hunting suit does not fall short of it. All this -village is very much pleased that your ladyship has made a governor of -my good man Sancho; though nobody will believe it, particularly the -curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, and the bachelor Samson -Carrasco; but I don’t care for that, for so long as it is true, as it -is, they may all say what they like; though, to tell the truth, if the -coral beads and the suit had not come I would not have believed it -either; for in this village everybody thinks my husband a numskull, and -except for governing a flock of goats, they cannot fancy what sort of -government he can be fit for. God grant it, and direct him according as -he sees his children stand in need of it. I am resolved with your -worship’s leave, lady of my soul, to make the most of this fair day, -and go to Court to stretch myself at ease in a coach, and make all -those I have envying me already burst their eyes out; so I beg your -excellence to order my husband to send me a small trifle of money, and -to let it be something to speak of, because one’s expenses are heavy at -the Court; for a loaf costs a real, and meat thirty maravedis a pound, -which is beyond everything; and if he does not want me to go let him -tell me in time, for my feet are on the fidgets to be off; and my -friends and neighbours tell me that if my daughter and I make a figure -and a brave show at Court, my husband will come to be known far more by -me than I by him, for of course plenty of people will ask, “Who are -those ladies in that coach?” and some servant of mine will answer, “The -wife and daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the island of -Barataria;” and in this way Sancho will become known, and I’ll be -thought well of, and “to Rome for everything.” I am as vexed as vexed -can be that they have gathered no acorns this year in our village; for -all that I send your highness about half a peck that I went to the wood -to gather and pick out one by one myself, and I could find no bigger -ones; I wish they were as big as ostrich eggs. - Let not your high mightiness forget to write to me; and I will take - care to answer, and let you know how I am, and whatever news there - may be in this place, where I remain, praying our Lord to have your - highness in his keeping and not to forget me. - Sancha my daughter, and my son, kiss your worship’s hands. - She who would rather see your ladyship than write to you, - -Your servant, -TERESA PANZA. - -All were greatly amused by Teresa Panza’s letter, but particularly the -duke and duchess; and the duchess asked Don Quixote’s opinion whether -they might open the letter that had come for the governor, which she -suspected must be very good. Don Quixote said that to gratify them he -would open it, and did so, and found that it ran as follows. - -TERESA PANZA’S LETTER TO HER HUSBAND SANCHO PANZA. - -I got thy letter, Sancho of my soul, and I promise thee and swear as a -Catholic Christian that I was within two fingers’ breadth of going mad -I was so happy. I can tell thee, brother, when I came to hear that thou -wert a governor I thought I should have dropped dead with pure joy; and -thou knowest they say sudden joy kills as well as great sorrow; and as -for Sanchica thy daughter, she leaked from sheer happiness. I had -before me the suit thou didst send me, and the coral beads my lady the -duchess sent me round my neck, and the letters in my hands, and there -was the bearer of them standing by, and in spite of all this I verily -believed and thought that what I saw and handled was all a dream; for -who could have thought that a goatherd would come to be a governor of -islands? Thou knowest, my friend, what my mother used to say, that one -must live long to see much; I say it because I expect to see more if I -live longer; for I don’t expect to stop until I see thee a farmer of -taxes or a collector of revenue, which are offices where, though the -devil carries off those who make a bad use of them, still they make and -handle money. My lady the duchess will tell thee the desire I have to -go to the Court; consider the matter and let me know thy pleasure; I -will try to do honour to thee by going in a coach. - Neither the curate, nor the barber, nor the bachelor, nor even the - sacristan, can believe that thou art a governor, and they say the - whole thing is a delusion or an enchantment affair, like everything - belonging to thy master Don Quixote; and Samson says he must go in - search of thee and drive the government out of thy head and the - madness out of Don Quixote’s skull; I only laugh, and look at my - string of beads, and plan out the dress I am going to make for our - daughter out of thy suit. I sent some acorns to my lady the - duchess; I wish they had been gold. Send me some strings of pearls - if they are in fashion in that island. Here is the news of the - village; La Berrueca has married her daughter to a good-for-nothing - painter, who came here to paint anything that might turn up. The - council gave him an order to paint his Majesty’s arms over the door - of the town-hall; he asked two ducats, which they paid him in - advance; he worked for eight days, and at the end of them had - nothing painted, and then said he had no turn for painting such - trifling things; he returned the money, and for all that has - married on the pretence of being a good workman; to be sure he has - now laid aside his paint-brush and taken a spade in hand, and goes - to the field like a gentleman. Pedro Lobo’s son has received the - first orders and tonsure, with the intention of becoming a priest. - Minguilla, Mingo Silvato’s granddaughter, found it out, and has - gone to law with him on the score of having given her promise of - marriage. Evil tongues say she is with child by him, but he denies - it stoutly. There are no olives this year, and there is not a drop - of vinegar to be had in the whole village. A company of soldiers - passed through here; when they left they took away with them three - of the girls of the village; I will not tell thee who they are; - perhaps they will come back, and they will be sure to find those - who will take them for wives with all their blemishes, good or bad. - Sanchica is making bonelace; she earns eight maravedis a day clear, - which she puts into a moneybox as a help towards house furnishing; - but now that she is a governor’s daughter thou wilt give her a - portion without her working for it. The fountain in the plaza has - run dry. A flash of lightning struck the gibbet, and I wish they - all lit there. I look for an answer to this, and to know thy mind - about my going to the Court; and so, God keep thee longer than me, - or as long, for I would not leave thee in this world without me. - -Thy wife, -TERESA PANZA. - -The letters were applauded, laughed over, relished, and admired; and -then, as if to put the seal to the business, the courier arrived, -bringing the one Sancho sent to Don Quixote, and this, too, was read -out, and it raised some doubts as to the governor’s simplicity. The -duchess withdrew to hear from the page about his adventures in Sancho’s -village, which he narrated at full length without leaving a single -circumstance unmentioned. He gave her the acorns, and also a cheese -which Teresa had given him as being particularly good and superior to -those of Tronchon. The duchess received it with greatest delight, in -which we will leave her, to describe the end of the government of the -great Sancho Panza, flower and mirror of all governors of islands. - -CHAPTER LIII. -OF THE TROUBLOUS END AND TERMINATION SANCHO PANZA’S GOVERNMENT CAME TO - -To fancy that in this life anything belonging to it will remain for -ever in the same state is an idle fancy; on the contrary, in it -everything seems to go in a circle, I mean round and round. The spring -succeeds the summer, the summer the fall, the fall the autumn, the -autumn the winter, and the winter the spring, and so time rolls with -never-ceasing wheel. Man’s life alone, swifter than time, speeds onward -to its end without any hope of renewal, save it be in that other life -which is endless and boundless. Thus saith Cide Hamete the Mahometan -philosopher; for there are many that by the light of nature alone, -without the light of faith, have a comprehension of the fleeting nature -and instability of this present life and the endless duration of that -eternal life we hope for; but our author is here speaking of the -rapidity with which Sancho’s government came to an end, melted away, -disappeared, vanished as it were in smoke and shadow. For as he lay in -bed on the night of the seventh day of his government, sated, not with -bread and wine, but with delivering judgments and giving opinions and -making laws and proclamations, just as sleep, in spite of hunger, was -beginning to close his eyelids, he heard such a noise of bell-ringing -and shouting that one would have fancied the whole island was going to -the bottom. He sat up in bed and remained listening intently to try if -he could make out what could be the cause of so great an uproar; not -only, however, was he unable to discover what it was, but as countless -drums and trumpets now helped to swell the din of the bells and shouts, -he was more puzzled than ever, and filled with fear and terror; and -getting up he put on a pair of slippers because of the dampness of the -floor, and without throwing a dressing gown or anything of the kind -over him he rushed out of the door of his room, just in time to see -approaching along a corridor a band of more than twenty persons with -lighted torches and naked swords in their hands, all shouting out, “To -arms, to arms, señor governor, to arms! The enemy is in the island in -countless numbers, and we are lost unless your skill and valour come to -our support.” - -Keeping up this noise, tumult, and uproar, they came to where Sancho -stood dazed and bewildered by what he saw and heard, and as they -approached one of them called out to him, “Arm at once, your lordship, -if you would not have yourself destroyed and the whole island lost.” - -“What have I to do with arming?” said Sancho. “What do I know about -arms or supports? Better leave all that to my master Don Quixote, who -will settle it and make all safe in a trice; for I, sinner that I am, -God help me, don’t understand these scuffles.” - -“Ah, señor governor,” said another, “what slackness of mettle this is! -Arm yourself; here are arms for you, offensive and defensive; come out -to the plaza and be our leader and captain; it falls upon you by right, -for you are our governor.” - -“Arm me then, in God’s name,” said Sancho, and they at once produced -two large shields they had come provided with, and placed them upon him -over his shirt, without letting him put on anything else, one shield in -front and the other behind, and passing his arms through openings they -had made, they bound him tight with ropes, so that there he was walled -and boarded up as straight as a spindle and unable to bend his knees or -stir a single step. In his hand they placed a lance, on which he leant -to keep himself from falling, and as soon as they had him thus fixed -they bade him march forward and lead them on and give them all courage; -for with him for their guide and lamp and morning star, they were sure -to bring their business to a successful issue. - -“How am I to march, unlucky being that I am?” said Sancho, “when I -can’t stir my knee-caps, for these boards I have bound so tight to my -body won’t let me. What you must do is carry me in your arms, and lay -me across or set me upright in some postern, and I’ll hold it either -with this lance or with my body.” - -“On, señor governor!” cried another, “it is fear more than the boards -that keeps you from moving; make haste, stir yourself, for there is no -time to lose; the enemy is increasing in numbers, the shouts grow -louder, and the danger is pressing.” - -Urged by these exhortations and reproaches the poor governor made an -attempt to advance, but fell to the ground with such a crash that he -fancied he had broken himself all to pieces. There he lay like a -tortoise enclosed in its shell, or a side of bacon between two -kneading-troughs, or a boat bottom up on the beach; nor did the gang of -jokers feel any compassion for him when they saw him down; so far from -that, extinguishing their torches they began to shout afresh and to -renew the calls to arms with such energy, trampling on poor Sancho, and -slashing at him over the shield with their swords in such a way that, -if he had not gathered himself together and made himself small and -drawn in his head between the shields, it would have fared badly with -the poor governor, as, squeezed into that narrow compass, he lay, -sweating and sweating again, and commending himself with all his heart -to God to deliver him from his present peril. Some stumbled over him, -others fell upon him, and one there was who took up a position on top -of him for some time, and from thence as if from a watchtower issued -orders to the troops, shouting out, “Here, our side! Here the enemy is -thickest! Hold the breach there! Shut that gate! Barricade those -ladders! Here with your stink-pots of pitch and resin, and kettles of -boiling oil! Block the streets with feather beds!” In short, in his -ardour he mentioned every little thing, and every implement and engine -of war by means of which an assault upon a city is warded off, while -the bruised and battered Sancho, who heard and suffered all, was saying -to himself, “O if it would only please the Lord to let the island be -lost at once, and I could see myself either dead or out of this -torture!” Heaven heard his prayer, and when he least expected it he -heard voices exclaiming, “Victory, victory! The enemy retreats beaten! -Come, señor governor, get up, and come and enjoy the victory, and -divide the spoils that have been won from the foe by the might of that -invincible arm.” - -“Lift me up,” said the wretched Sancho in a woebegone voice. They -helped him to rise, and as soon as he was on his feet said, “The enemy -I have beaten you may nail to my forehead; I don’t want to divide the -spoils of the foe, I only beg and entreat some friend, if I have one, -to give me a sup of wine, for I’m parched with thirst, and wipe me dry, -for I’m turning to water.” - -They rubbed him down, fetched him wine and unbound the shields, and he -seated himself upon his bed, and with fear, agitation, and fatigue he -fainted away. Those who had been concerned in the joke were now sorry -they had pushed it so far; however, the anxiety his fainting away had -caused them was relieved by his returning to himself. He asked what -o’clock it was; they told him it was just daybreak. He said no more, -and in silence began to dress himself, while all watched him, waiting -to see what the haste with which he was putting on his clothes meant. - -He got himself dressed at last, and then, slowly, for he was sorely -bruised and could not go fast, he proceeded to the stable, followed by -all who were present, and going up to Dapple embraced him and gave him -a loving kiss on the forehead, and said to him, not without tears in -his eyes, “Come along, comrade and friend and partner of my toils and -sorrows; when I was with you and had no cares to trouble me except -mending your harness and feeding your little carcass, happy were my -hours, my days, and my years; but since I left you, and mounted the -towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thousand troubles, -and four thousand anxieties have entered into my soul;” and all the -while he was speaking in this strain he was fixing the pack-saddle on -the ass, without a word from anyone. Then having Dapple saddled, he, -with great pain and difficulty, got up on him, and addressing himself -to the majordomo, the secretary, the head-carver, and Pedro Recio the -doctor and several others who stood by, he said, “Make way, gentlemen, -and let me go back to my old freedom; let me go look for my past life, -and raise myself up from this present death. I was not born to be a -governor or protect islands or cities from the enemies that choose to -attack them. Ploughing and digging, vinedressing and pruning, are more -in my way than defending provinces or kingdoms. Saint Peter is very -well at Rome; I mean each of us is best following the trade he was born -to. A reaping-hook fits my hand better than a governor’s sceptre; I’d -rather have my fill of gazpacho than be subject to the misery of a -meddling doctor who kills me with hunger, and I’d rather lie in summer -under the shade of an oak, and in winter wrap myself in a double -sheepskin jacket in freedom, than go to bed between holland sheets and -dress in sables under the restraint of a government. God be with your -worships, and tell my lord the duke that ‘naked I was born, naked I -find myself, I neither lose nor gain;’ I mean that without a farthing I -came into this government, and without a farthing I go out of it, very -different from the way governors commonly leave other islands. Stand -aside and let me go; I have to plaster myself, for I believe every one -of my ribs is crushed, thanks to the enemies that have been trampling -over me to-night.” - -“That is unnecessary, señor governor,” said Doctor Recio, “for I will -give your worship a draught against falls and bruises that will soon -make you as sound and strong as ever; and as for your diet I promise -your worship to behave better, and let you eat plentifully of whatever -you like.” - -“You spoke late,” said Sancho. “I’d as soon turn Turk as stay any -longer. Those jokes won’t pass a second time. By God I’d as soon remain -in this government, or take another, even if it was offered me between -two plates, as fly to heaven without wings. I am of the breed of the -Panzas, and they are every one of them obstinate, and if they once say -‘odds,’ odds it must be, no matter if it is evens, in spite of all the -world. Here in this stable I leave the ant’s wings that lifted me up -into the air for the swifts and other birds to eat me, and let’s take -to level ground and our feet once more; and if they’re not shod in -pinked shoes of cordovan, they won’t want for rough sandals of hemp; -‘every ewe to her like,’ ‘and let no one stretch his leg beyond the -length of the sheet;’ and now let me pass, for it’s growing late with -me.” - -To this the majordomo said, “Señor governor, we would let your worship -go with all our hearts, though it sorely grieves us to lose you, for -your wit and Christian conduct naturally make us regret you; but it is -well known that every governor, before he leaves the place where he has -been governing, is bound first of all to render an account. Let your -worship do so for the ten days you have held the government, and then -you may go and the peace of God go with you.” - -“No one can demand it of me,” said Sancho, “but he whom my lord the -duke shall appoint; I am going to meet him, and to him I will render an -exact one; besides, when I go forth naked as I do, there is no other -proof needed to show that I have governed like an angel.” - -“By God the great Sancho is right,” said Doctor Recio, “and we should -let him go, for the duke will be beyond measure glad to see him.” - -They all agreed to this, and allowed him to go, first offering to bear -him company and furnish him with all he wanted for his own comfort or -for the journey. Sancho said he did not want anything more than a -little barley for Dapple, and half a cheese and half a loaf for -himself; for the distance being so short there was no occasion for any -better or bulkier provant. They all embraced him, and he with tears -embraced all of them, and left them filled with admiration not only at -his remarks but at his firm and sensible resolution. - -CHAPTER LIV. -WHICH DEALS WITH MATTERS RELATING TO THIS HISTORY AND NO OTHER - -The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don Quixote had, for -the reason already mentioned, given their vassal, should be proceeded -with; and as the young man was in Flanders, whither he had fled to -escape having Doña Rodriguez for a mother-in-law, they arranged to -substitute for him a Gascon lacquey, named Tosilos, first of all -carefully instructing him in all he had to do. Two days later the duke -told Don Quixote that in four days from that time his opponent would -present himself on the field of battle armed as a knight, and would -maintain that the damsel lied by half a beard, nay a whole beard, if -she affirmed that he had given her a promise of marriage. Don Quixote -was greatly pleased at the news, and promised himself to do wonders in -the lists, and reckoned it rare good fortune that an opportunity should -have offered for letting his noble hosts see what the might of his -strong arm was capable of; and so in high spirits and satisfaction he -awaited the expiration of the four days, which measured by his -impatience seemed spinning themselves out into four hundred ages. Let -us leave them to pass as we do other things, and go and bear Sancho -company, as mounted on Dapple, half glad, half sad, he paced along on -his road to join his master, in whose society he was happier than in -being governor of all the islands in the world. Well then, it so -happened that before he had gone a great way from the island of his -government (and whether it was island, city, town, or village that he -governed he never troubled himself to inquire) he saw coming along the -road he was travelling six pilgrims with staves, foreigners of that -sort that beg for alms singing; who as they drew near arranged -themselves in a line and lifting up their voices all together began to -sing in their own language something that Sancho could not understand, -with the exception of one word which sounded plainly “alms,” from which -he gathered that it was alms they asked for in their song; and being, -as Cide Hamete says, remarkably charitable, he took out of his alforjas -the half loaf and half cheese he had been provided with, and gave them -to them, explaining to them by signs that he had nothing else to give -them. They received them very gladly, but exclaimed, “Geld! Geld!” - -“I don’t understand what you want of me, good people,” said Sancho. - -On this one of them took a purse out of his bosom and showed it to -Sancho, by which he comprehended they were asking for money, and -putting his thumb to his throat and spreading his hand upwards he gave -them to understand that he had not the sign of a coin about him, and -urging Dapple forward he broke through them. But as he was passing, one -of them who had been examining him very closely rushed towards him, and -flinging his arms round him exclaimed in a loud voice and good Spanish, -“God bless me! What’s this I see? Is it possible that I hold in my arms -my dear friend, my good neighbour Sancho Panza? But there’s no doubt -about it, for I’m not asleep, nor am I drunk just now.” - -Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and find -himself embraced by a foreign pilgrim, and after regarding him steadily -without speaking he was still unable to recognise him; but the pilgrim -perceiving his perplexity cried, “What! and is it possible, Sancho -Panza, that thou dost not know thy neighbour Ricote, the Morisco -shopkeeper of thy village?” - -Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to recall his -features, and at last recognised him perfectly, and without getting off -the ass threw his arms round his neck saying, “Who the devil could have -known thee, Ricote, in this mummer’s dress thou art in? Tell me, who -has frenchified thee, and how dost thou dare to return to Spain, where -if they catch thee and recognise thee it will go hard enough with -thee?” - -“If thou dost not betray me, Sancho,” said the pilgrim, “I am safe; for -in this dress no one will recognise me; but let us turn aside out of -the road into that grove there where my comrades are going to eat and -rest, and thou shalt eat with them there, for they are very good -fellows; I’ll have time enough to tell thee then all that has happened -me since I left our village in obedience to his Majesty’s edict that -threatened such severities against the unfortunate people of my nation, -as thou hast heard.” - -Sancho complied, and Ricote having spoken to the other pilgrims they -withdrew to the grove they saw, turning a considerable distance out of -the road. They threw down their staves, took off their pilgrim’s cloaks -and remained in their under-clothing; they were all good-looking young -fellows, except Ricote, who was a man somewhat advanced in years. They -carried alforjas all of them, and all apparently well filled, at least -with things provocative of thirst, such as would summon it from two -leagues off. They stretched themselves on the ground, and making a -tablecloth of the grass they spread upon it bread, salt, knives, -walnut, scraps of cheese, and well-picked ham-bones which if they were -past gnawing were not past sucking. They also put down a black dainty -called, they say, caviar, and made of the eggs of fish, a great -thirst-wakener. Nor was there any lack of olives, dry, it is true, and -without any seasoning, but for all that toothsome and pleasant. But -what made the best show in the field of the banquet was half a dozen -botas of wine, for each of them produced his own from his alforjas; -even the good Ricote, who from a Morisco had transformed himself into a -German or Dutchman, took out his, which in size might have vied with -the five others. They then began to eat with very great relish and very -leisurely, making the most of each morsel—very small ones of -everything—they took up on the point of the knife; and then all at the -same moment raised their arms and botas aloft, the mouths placed in -their mouths, and all eyes fixed on heaven just as if they were taking -aim at it; and in this attitude they remained ever so long, wagging -their heads from side to side as if in acknowledgment of the pleasure -they were enjoying while they decanted the bowels of the bottles into -their own stomachs. - -Sancho beheld all, “and nothing gave him pain;” so far from that, -acting on the proverb he knew so well, “when thou art at Rome do as -thou seest,” he asked Ricote for his bota and took aim like the rest of -them, and with not less enjoyment. Four times did the botas bear being -uplifted, but the fifth it was all in vain, for they were drier and -more sapless than a rush by that time, which made the jollity that had -been kept up so far begin to flag. - -Every now and then someone of them would grasp Sancho’s right hand in -his own saying, “Español y Tudesqui tuto uno: bon compaño;” and Sancho -would answer, “Bon compaño, jur a Di!” and then go off into a fit of -laughter that lasted an hour, without a thought for the moment of -anything that had befallen him in his government; for cares have very -little sway over us while we are eating and drinking. At length, the -wine having come to an end with them, drowsiness began to come over -them, and they dropped asleep on their very table and tablecloth. -Ricote and Sancho alone remained awake, for they had eaten more and -drunk less, and Ricote drawing Sancho aside, they seated themselves at -the foot of a beech, leaving the pilgrims buried in sweet sleep; and -without once falling into his own Morisco tongue Ricote spoke as -follows in pure Castilian: - -“Thou knowest well, neighbour and friend Sancho Panza, how the -proclamation or edict his Majesty commanded to be issued against those -of my nation filled us all with terror and dismay; me at least it did, -insomuch that I think before the time granted us for quitting Spain was -out, the full force of the penalty had already fallen upon me and upon -my children. I decided, then, and I think wisely (just like one who -knows that at a certain date the house he lives in will be taken from -him, and looks out beforehand for another to change into), I decided, I -say, to leave the town myself, alone and without my family, and go to -seek out some place to remove them to comfortably and not in the -hurried way in which the others took their departure; for I saw very -plainly, and so did all the older men among us, that the proclamations -were not mere threats, as some said, but positive enactments which -would be enforced at the appointed time; and what made me believe this -was what I knew of the base and extravagant designs which our people -harboured, designs of such a nature that I think it was a divine -inspiration that moved his Majesty to carry out a resolution so -spirited; not that we were all guilty, for some there were true and -steadfast Christians; but they were so few that they could make no head -against those who were not; and it was not prudent to cherish a viper -in the bosom by having enemies in the house. In short it was with just -cause that we were visited with the penalty of banishment, a mild and -lenient one in the eyes of some, but to us the most terrible that could -be inflicted upon us. Wherever we are we weep for Spain; for after all -we were born there and it is our natural fatherland. Nowhere do we find -the reception our unhappy condition needs; and in Barbary and all the -parts of Africa where we counted upon being received, succoured, and -welcomed, it is there they insult and ill-treat us most. We knew not -our good fortune until we lost it; and such is the longing we almost -all of us have to return to Spain, that most of those who like myself -know the language, and there are many who do, come back to it and leave -their wives and children forsaken yonder, so great is their love for -it; and now I know by experience the meaning of the saying, sweet is -the love of one’s country. - -“I left our village, as I said, and went to France, but though they -gave us a kind reception there I was anxious to see all I could. I -crossed into Italy, and reached Germany, and there it seemed to me we -might live with more freedom, as the inhabitants do not pay any -attention to trifling points; everyone lives as he likes, for in most -parts they enjoy liberty of conscience. I took a house in a town near -Augsburg, and then joined these pilgrims, who are in the habit of -coming to Spain in great numbers every year to visit the shrines there, -which they look upon as their Indies and a sure and certain source of -gain. They travel nearly all over it, and there is no town out of which -they do not go full up of meat and drink, as the saying is, and with a -real, at least, in money, and they come off at the end of their travels -with more than a hundred crowns saved, which, changed into gold, they -smuggle out of the kingdom either in the hollow of their staves or in -the patches of their pilgrim’s cloaks or by some device of their own, -and carry to their own country in spite of the guards at the posts and -passes where they are searched. Now my purpose is, Sancho, to carry -away the treasure that I left buried, which, as it is outside the town, -I shall be able to do without risk, and to write, or cross over from -Valencia, to my daughter and wife, who I know are at Algiers, and find -some means of bringing them to some French port and thence to Germany, -there to await what it may be God’s will to do with us; for, after all, -Sancho, I know well that Ricota my daughter and Francisca Ricota my -wife are Catholic Christians, and though I am not so much so, still I -am more of a Christian than a Moor, and it is always my prayer to God -that he will open the eyes of my understanding and show me how I am to -serve him; but what amazes me and I cannot understand is why my wife -and daughter should have gone to Barbary rather than to France, where -they could live as Christians.” - -To this Sancho replied, “Remember, Ricote, that may not have been open -to them, for Juan Tiopieyo thy wife’s brother took them, and being a -true Moor he went where he could go most easily; and another thing I -can tell thee, it is my belief thou art going in vain to look for what -thou hast left buried, for we heard they took from thy brother-in-law -and thy wife a great quantity of pearls and money in gold which they -brought to be passed.” - -“That may be,” said Ricote; “but I know they did not touch my hoard, -for I did not tell them where it was, for fear of accidents; and so, if -thou wilt come with me, Sancho, and help me to take it away and conceal -it, I will give thee two hundred crowns wherewith thou mayest relieve -thy necessities, and, as thou knowest, I know they are many.” - -“I would do it,” said Sancho; “but I am not at all covetous, for I gave -up an office this morning in which, if I was, I might have made the -walls of my house of gold and dined off silver plates before six months -were over; and so for this reason, and because I feel I would be guilty -of treason to my king if I helped his enemies, I would not go with thee -if instead of promising me two hundred crowns thou wert to give me four -hundred here in hand.” - -“And what office is this thou hast given up, Sancho?” asked Ricote. - -“I have given up being governor of an island,” said Sancho, “and such a -one, faith, as you won’t find the like of easily.” - -“And where is this island?” said Ricote. - -“Where?” said Sancho; “two leagues from here, and it is called the -island of Barataria.” - -“Nonsense! Sancho,” said Ricote; “islands are away out in the sea; -there are no islands on the mainland.” - -“What? No islands!” said Sancho; “I tell thee, friend Ricote, I left it -this morning, and yesterday I was governing there as I pleased like a -sagittarius; but for all that I gave it up, for it seemed to me a -dangerous office, a governor’s.” - -“And what hast thou gained by the government?” asked Ricote. - -“I have gained,” said Sancho, “the knowledge that I am no good for -governing, unless it is a drove of cattle, and that the riches that are -to be got by these governments are got at the cost of one’s rest and -sleep, ay and even one’s food; for in islands the governors must eat -little, especially if they have doctors to look after their health.” - -“I don’t understand thee, Sancho,” said Ricote; “but it seems to me all -nonsense thou art talking. Who would give thee islands to govern? Is -there any scarcity in the world of cleverer men than thou art for -governors? Hold thy peace, Sancho, and come back to thy senses, and -consider whether thou wilt come with me as I said to help me to take -away treasure I left buried (for indeed it may be called a treasure, it -is so large), and I will give thee wherewithal to keep thee, as I told -thee.” - -“And I have told thee already, Ricote, that I will not,” said Sancho; -“let it content thee that by me thou shalt not be betrayed, and go thy -way in God’s name and let me go mine; for I know that well-gotten gain -may be lost, but ill-gotten gain is lost, itself and its owner -likewise.” - -“I will not press thee, Sancho,” said Ricote; “but tell me, wert thou -in our village when my wife and daughter and brother-in-law left it?” - -“I was so,” said Sancho; “and I can tell thee thy daughter left it -looking so lovely that all the village turned out to see her, and -everybody said she was the fairest creature in the world. She wept as -she went, and embraced all her friends and acquaintances and those who -came out to see her, and she begged them all to commend her to God and -Our Lady his mother, and this in such a touching way that it made me -weep myself, though I’m not much given to tears commonly; and, faith, -many a one would have liked to hide her, or go out and carry her off on -the road; but the fear of going against the king’s command kept them -back. The one who showed himself most moved was Don Pedro Gregorio, the -rich young heir thou knowest of, and they say he was deep in love with -her; and since she left he has not been seen in our village again, and -we all suspect he has gone after her to steal her away, but so far -nothing has been heard of it.” - -“I always had a suspicion that gentleman had a passion for my -daughter,” said Ricote; “but as I felt sure of my Ricota’s virtue it -gave me no uneasiness to know that he loved her; for thou must have -heard it said, Sancho, that the Morisco women seldom or never engage in -amours with the old Christians; and my daughter, who I fancy thought -more of being a Christian than of lovemaking, would not trouble herself -about the attentions of this heir.” - -“God grant it,” said Sancho, “for it would be a bad business for both -of them; but now let me be off, friend Ricote, for I want to reach -where my master Don Quixote is to-night.” - -“God be with thee, brother Sancho,” said Ricote; “my comrades are -beginning to stir, and it is time, too, for us to continue our -journey;” and then they both embraced, and Sancho mounted Dapple, and -Ricote leant upon his staff, and so they parted. - -CHAPTER LV. -OF WHAT BEFELL SANCHO ON THE ROAD, AND OTHER THINGS THAT CANNOT BE -SURPASSED - -The length of time he delayed with Ricote prevented Sancho from -reaching the duke’s castle that day, though he was within half a league -of it when night, somewhat dark and cloudy, overtook him. This, -however, as it was summer time, did not give him much uneasiness, and -he turned aside out of the road intending to wait for morning; but his -ill luck and hard fate so willed it that as he was searching about for -a place to make himself as comfortable as possible, he and Dapple fell -into a deep dark hole that lay among some very old buildings. As he -fell he commended himself with all his heart to God, fancying he was -not going to stop until he reached the depths of the bottomless pit; -but it did not turn out so, for at little more than thrice a man’s -height Dapple touched bottom, and he found himself sitting on him -without having received any hurt or damage whatever. He felt himself -all over and held his breath to try whether he was quite sound or had a -hole made in him anywhere, and finding himself all right and whole and -in perfect health he was profuse in his thanks to God our Lord for the -mercy that had been shown him, for he made sure he had been broken into -a thousand pieces. He also felt along the sides of the pit with his -hands to see if it were possible to get out of it without help, but he -found they were quite smooth and afforded no hold anywhere, at which he -was greatly distressed, especially when he heard how pathetically and -dolefully Dapple was bemoaning himself, and no wonder he complained, -nor was it from ill-temper, for in truth he was not in a very good -case. “Alas,” said Sancho, “what unexpected accidents happen at every -step to those who live in this miserable world! Who would have said -that one who saw himself yesterday sitting on a throne, governor of an -island, giving orders to his servants and his vassals, would see -himself to-day buried in a pit without a soul to help him, or servant -or vassal to come to his relief? Here must we perish with hunger, my -ass and myself, if indeed we don’t die first, he of his bruises and -injuries, and I of grief and sorrow. At any rate I’ll not be as lucky -as my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, when he went down into the cave -of that enchanted Montesinos, where he found people to make more of him -than if he had been in his own house; for it seems he came in for a -table laid out and a bed ready made. There he saw fair and pleasant -visions, but here I’ll see, I imagine, toads and adders. Unlucky wretch -that I am, what an end my follies and fancies have come to! They’ll -take up my bones out of this, when it is heaven’s will that I’m found, -picked clean, white and polished, and my good Dapple’s with them, and -by that, perhaps, it will be found out who we are, at least by such as -have heard that Sancho Panza never separated from his ass, nor his ass -from Sancho Panza. Unlucky wretches, I say again, that our hard fate -should not let us die in our own country and among our own people, -where if there was no help for our misfortune, at any rate there would -be someone to grieve for it and to close our eyes as we passed away! O -comrade and friend, how ill have I repaid thy faithful services! -Forgive me, and entreat Fortune, as well as thou canst, to deliver us -out of this miserable strait we are both in; and I promise to put a -crown of laurel on thy head, and make thee look like a poet laureate, -and give thee double feeds.” - -In this strain did Sancho bewail himself, and his ass listened to him, -but answered him never a word, such was the distress and anguish the -poor beast found himself in. At length, after a night spent in bitter -moanings and lamentations, day came, and by its light Sancho perceived -that it was wholly impossible to escape out of that pit without help, -and he fell to bemoaning his fate and uttering loud shouts to find out -if there was anyone within hearing; but all his shouting was only -crying in the wilderness, for there was not a soul anywhere in the -neighbourhood to hear him, and then at last he gave himself up for -dead. Dapple was lying on his back, and Sancho helped him to his feet, -which he was scarcely able to keep; and then taking a piece of bread -out of his alforjas which had shared their fortunes in the fall, he -gave it to the ass, to whom it was not unwelcome, saying to him as if -he understood him, “With bread all sorrows are less.” - -And now he perceived on one side of the pit a hole large enough to -admit a person if he stooped and squeezed himself into a small compass. -Sancho made for it, and entered it by creeping, and found it wide and -spacious on the inside, which he was able to see as a ray of sunlight -that penetrated what might be called the roof showed it all plainly. He -observed too that it opened and widened out into another spacious -cavity; seeing which he made his way back to where the ass was, and -with a stone began to pick away the clay from the hole until in a short -time he had made room for the beast to pass easily, and this -accomplished, taking him by the halter, he proceeded to traverse the -cavern to see if there was any outlet at the other end. He advanced, -sometimes in the dark, sometimes without light, but never without fear; -“God Almighty help me!” said he to himself; “this that is a -misadventure to me would make a good adventure for my master Don -Quixote. He would have been sure to take these depths and dungeons for -flowery gardens or the palaces of Galiana, and would have counted upon -issuing out of this darkness and imprisonment into some blooming -meadow; but I, unlucky that I am, hopeless and spiritless, expect at -every step another pit deeper than the first to open under my feet and -swallow me up for good; ‘welcome evil, if thou comest alone.’” - -In this way and with these reflections he seemed to himself to have -travelled rather more than half a league, when at last he perceived a -dim light that looked like daylight and found its way in on one side, -showing that this road, which appeared to him the road to the other -world, led to some opening. - -Here Cide Hamete leaves him, and returns to Don Quixote, who in high -spirits and satisfaction was looking forward to the day fixed for the -battle he was to fight with him who had robbed Doña Rodriguez’s -daughter of her honour, for whom he hoped to obtain satisfaction for -the wrong and injury shamefully done to her. It came to pass, then, -that having sallied forth one morning to practise and exercise himself -in what he would have to do in the encounter he expected to find -himself engaged in the next day, as he was putting Rocinante through -his paces or pressing him to the charge, he brought his feet so close -to a pit that but for reining him in tightly it would have been -impossible for him to avoid falling into it. He pulled him up, however, -without a fall, and coming a little closer examined the hole without -dismounting; but as he was looking at it he heard loud cries proceeding -from it, and by listening attentively was able to make out that he who -uttered them was saying, “Ho, above there! is there any Christian that -hears me, or any charitable gentleman that will take pity on a sinner -buried alive, on an unfortunate disgoverned governor?” - -It struck Don Quixote that it was the voice of Sancho Panza he heard, -whereat he was taken aback and amazed, and raising his own voice as -much as he could, he cried out, “Who is below there? Who is that -complaining?” - -“Who should be here, or who should complain,” was the answer, “but the -forlorn Sancho Panza, for his sins and for his ill-luck governor of the -island of Barataria, squire that was to the famous knight Don Quixote -of La Mancha?” - -When Don Quixote heard this his amazement was redoubled and his -perturbation grew greater than ever, for it suggested itself to his -mind that Sancho must be dead, and that his soul was in torment down -there; and carried away by this idea he exclaimed, “I conjure thee by -everything that as a Catholic Christian I can conjure thee by, tell me -who thou art; and if thou art a soul in torment, tell me what thou -wouldst have me do for thee; for as my profession is to give aid and -succour to those that need it in this world, it will also extend to -aiding and succouring the distressed of the other, who cannot help -themselves.” - -“In that case,” answered the voice, “your worship who speaks to me must -be my master Don Quixote of La Mancha; nay, from the tone of the voice -it is plain it can be nobody else.” - -“Don Quixote I am,” replied Don Quixote, “he whose profession it is to -aid and succour the living and the dead in their necessities; wherefore -tell me who thou art, for thou art keeping me in suspense; because, if -thou art my squire Sancho Panza, and art dead, since the devils have -not carried thee off, and thou art by God’s mercy in purgatory, our -holy mother the Roman Catholic Church has intercessory means sufficient -to release thee from the pains thou art in; and I for my part will -plead with her to that end, so far as my substance will go; without -further delay, therefore, declare thyself, and tell me who thou art.” - -“By all that’s good,” was the answer, “and by the birth of whomsoever -your worship chooses, I swear, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, that I -am your squire Sancho Panza, and that I have never died all my life; -but that, having given up my government for reasons that would require -more time to explain, I fell last night into this pit where I am now, -and Dapple is witness and won’t let me lie, for more by token he is -here with me.” - -Nor was this all; one would have fancied the ass understood what Sancho -said, because that moment he began to bray so loudly that the whole -cave rang again. - -“Famous testimony!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “I know that bray as well as -if I was its mother, and thy voice too, my Sancho. Wait while I go to -the duke’s castle, which is close by, and I will bring someone to take -thee out of this pit into which thy sins no doubt have brought thee.” - -“Go, your worship,” said Sancho, “and come back quick for God’s sake; -for I cannot bear being buried alive any longer, and I’m dying of -fear.” - -Don Quixote left him, and hastened to the castle to tell the duke and -duchess what had happened Sancho, and they were not a little astonished -at it; they could easily understand his having fallen, from the -confirmatory circumstance of the cave which had been in existence there -from time immemorial; but they could not imagine how he had quitted the -government without their receiving any intimation of his coming. To be -brief, they fetched ropes and tackle, as the saying is, and by dint of -many hands and much labour they drew up Dapple and Sancho Panza out of -the darkness into the light of day. A student who saw him remarked, -“That’s the way all bad governors should come out of their governments, -as this sinner comes out of the depths of the pit, dead with hunger, -pale, and I suppose without a farthing.” - -Sancho overheard him and said, “It is eight or ten days, brother -growler, since I entered upon the government of the island they gave -me, and all that time I never had a bellyful of victuals, no not for an -hour; doctors persecuted me and enemies crushed my bones; nor had I any -opportunity of taking bribes or levying taxes; and if that be the case, -as it is, I don’t deserve, I think, to come out in this fashion; but -‘man proposes and God disposes;’ and God knows what is best, and what -suits each one best; and ‘as the occasion, so the behaviour;’ and ‘let -nobody say “I won’t drink of this water;”’ and ‘where one thinks there -are flitches, there are no pegs;’ God knows my meaning and that’s -enough; I say no more, though I could.” - -“Be not angry or annoyed at what thou hearest, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote, “or there will never be an end of it; keep a safe conscience -and let them say what they like; for trying to stop slanderers’ tongues -is like trying to put gates to the open plain. If a governor comes out -of his government rich, they say he has been a thief; and if he comes -out poor, that he has been a noodle and a blockhead.” - -“They’ll be pretty sure this time,” said Sancho, “to set me down for a -fool rather than a thief.” - -Thus talking, and surrounded by boys and a crowd of people, they -reached the castle, where in one of the corridors the duke and duchess -stood waiting for them; but Sancho would not go up to see the duke -until he had first put up Dapple in the stable, for he said he had -passed a very bad night in his last quarters; then he went upstairs to -see his lord and lady, and kneeling before them he said, “Because it -was your highnesses’ pleasure, not because of any desert of my own, I -went to govern your island of Barataria, which ‘I entered naked, and -naked I find myself; I neither lose nor gain.’ Whether I have governed -well or ill, I have had witnesses who will say what they think fit. I -have answered questions, I have decided causes, and always dying of -hunger, for Doctor Pedro Recio of Tirteafuera, the island and governor -doctor, would have it so. Enemies attacked us by night and put us in a -great quandary, but the people of the island say they came off safe and -victorious by the might of my arm; and may God give them as much health -as there’s truth in what they say. In short, during that time I have -weighed the cares and responsibilities governing brings with it, and by -my reckoning I find my shoulders can’t bear them, nor are they a load -for my loins or arrows for my quiver; and so, before the government -threw me over I preferred to throw the government over; and yesterday -morning I left the island as I found it, with the same streets, houses, -and roofs it had when I entered it. I asked no loan of anybody, nor did -I try to fill my pocket; and though I meant to make some useful laws, I -made hardly any, as I was afraid they would not be kept; for in that -case it comes to the same thing to make them or not to make them. I -quitted the island, as I said, without any escort except my ass; I fell -into a pit, I pushed on through it, until this morning by the light of -the sun I saw an outlet, but not so easy a one but that, had not heaven -sent me my master Don Quixote, I’d have stayed there till the end of -the world. So now my lord and lady duke and duchess, here is your -governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has held the -government has come by the knowledge that he would not give anything to -be governor, not to say of an island, but of the whole world; and that -point being settled, kissing your worships’ feet, and imitating the -game of the boys when they say, ‘leap thou, and give me one,’ I take a -leap out of the government and pass into the service of my master Don -Quixote; for after all, though in it I eat my bread in fear and -trembling, at any rate I take my fill; and for my part, so long as I’m -full, it’s all alike to me whether it’s with carrots or with -partridges.” - -Here Sancho brought his long speech to an end, Don Quixote having been -the whole time in dread of his uttering a host of absurdities; and when -he found him leave off with so few, he thanked heaven in his heart. The -duke embraced Sancho and told him he was heartily sorry he had given up -the government so soon, but that he would see that he was provided with -some other post on his estate less onerous and more profitable. The -duchess also embraced him, and gave orders that he should be taken good -care of, as it was plain to see he had been badly treated and worse -bruised. - -CHAPTER LVI.br/> OF THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE THAT TOOK -PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA AND THE LACQUEY TOSILOS IN -DEFENCE OF THE DAUGHTER OF DOÑA RODRIGUEZ - -The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that had been -played upon Sancho Panza in giving him the government; especially as -their majordomo returned the same day, and gave them a minute account -of almost every word and deed that Sancho uttered or did during the -time; and to wind up with, eloquently described to them the attack upon -the island and Sancho’s fright and departure, with which they were not -a little amused. After this the history goes on to say that the day -fixed for the battle arrived, and that the duke, after having -repeatedly instructed his lacquey Tosilos how to deal with Don Quixote -so as to vanquish him without killing or wounding him, gave orders to -have the heads removed from the lances, telling Don Quixote that -Christian charity, on which he plumed himself, could not suffer the -battle to be fought with so much risk and danger to life; and that he -must be content with the offer of a battlefield on his territory -(though that was against the decree of the holy Council, which -prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not push such an arduous -venture to its extreme limits. Don Quixote bade his excellence arrange -all matters connected with the affair as he pleased, as on his part he -would obey him in everything. The dread day, then, having arrived, and -the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be erected facing the court -of the castle for the judges of the field and the appellant duennas, -mother and daughter, vast crowds flocked from all the villages and -hamlets of the neighbourhood to see the novel spectacle of the battle; -nobody, dead or alive, in those parts having ever seen or heard of such -a one. - -The first person to enter the field and the lists was the master of the -ceremonies, who surveyed and paced the whole ground to see that there -was nothing unfair and nothing concealed to make the combatants stumble -or fall; then the duennas entered and seated themselves, enveloped in -mantles covering their eyes, nay even their bosoms, and displaying no -slight emotion as Don Quixote appeared in the lists. Shortly -afterwards, accompanied by several trumpets and mounted on a powerful -steed that threatened to crush the whole place, the great lacquey -Tosilos made his appearance on one side of the courtyard with his visor -down and stiffly cased in a suit of stout shining armour. The horse was -a manifest Frieslander, broad-backed and flea-bitten, and with half a -hundred of wool hanging to each of his fetlocks. The gallant combatant -came well primed by his master the duke as to how he was to bear -himself against the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha; being warned that -he must on no account slay him, but strive to shirk the first encounter -so as to avoid the risk of killing him, as he was sure to do if he met -him full tilt. He crossed the courtyard at a walk, and coming to where -the duennas were placed stopped to look at her who demanded him for a -husband; the marshal of the field summoned Don Quixote, who had already -presented himself in the courtyard, and standing by the side of Tosilos -he addressed the duennas, and asked them if they consented that Don -Quixote of La Mancha should do battle for their right. They said they -did, and that whatever he should do in that behalf they declared -rightly done, final and valid. By this time the duke and duchess had -taken their places in a gallery commanding the enclosure, which was -filled to overflowing with a multitude of people eager to see this -perilous and unparalleled encounter. The conditions of the combat were -that if Don Quixote proved the victor his antagonist was to marry the -daughter of Doña Rodriguez; but if he should be vanquished his opponent -was released from the promise that was claimed against him and from all -obligations to give satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies -apportioned the sun to them, and stationed them, each on the spot where -he was to stand. The drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the -air, the earth trembled under foot, the hearts of the gazing crowd were -full of anxiety, some hoping for a happy issue, some apprehensive of an -untoward ending to the affair, and lastly, Don Quixote, commending -himself with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, stood waiting for them to give the necessary signal for the -onset. Our lacquey, however, was thinking of something very different; -he only thought of what I am now going to mention. - -It seems that as he stood contemplating his enemy she struck him as the -most beautiful woman he had ever seen all his life; and the little -blind boy whom in our streets they commonly call Love had no mind to -let slip the chance of triumphing over a lacquey heart, and adding it -to the list of his trophies; and so, stealing gently upon him unseen, -he drove a dart two yards long into the poor lacquey’s left side and -pierced his heart through and through; which he was able to do quite at -his ease, for Love is invisible, and comes in and goes out as he likes, -without anyone calling him to account for what he does. Well then, when -they gave the signal for the onset our lacquey was in an ecstasy, -musing upon the beauty of her whom he had already made mistress of his -liberty, and so he paid no attention to the sound of the trumpet, -unlike Don Quixote, who was off the instant he heard it, and, at the -highest speed Rocinante was capable of, set out to meet his enemy, his -good squire Sancho shouting lustily as he saw him start, “God guide -thee, cream and flower of knights-errant! God give thee the victory, -for thou hast the right on thy side!” But though Tosilos saw Don -Quixote coming at him he never stirred a step from the spot where he -was posted; and instead of doing so called loudly to the marshal of the -field, to whom when he came up to see what he wanted he said, “Señor, -is not this battle to decide whether I marry or do not marry that -lady?” “Just so,” was the answer. “Well then,” said the lacquey, “I -feel qualms of conscience, and I should lay a heavy burden upon it if I -were to proceed any further with the combat; I therefore declare that I -yield myself vanquished, and that I am willing to marry the lady at -once.” - -The marshal of the field was lost in astonishment at the words of -Tosilos; and as he was one of those who were privy to the arrangement -of the affair he knew not what to say in reply. Don Quixote pulled up -in mid career when he saw that his enemy was not coming on to the -attack. The duke could not make out the reason why the battle did not -go on; but the marshal of the field hastened to him to let him know -what Tosilos said, and he was amazed and extremely angry at it. In the -meantime Tosilos advanced to where Doña Rodriguez sat and said in a -loud voice, “Señora, I am willing to marry your daughter, and I have no -wish to obtain by strife and fighting what I can obtain in peace and -without any risk to my life.” - -The valiant Don Quixote heard him, and said, “As that is the case I am -released and absolved from my promise; let them marry by all means, and -as ‘God our Lord has given her, may Saint Peter add his blessing.’” - -The duke had now descended to the courtyard of the castle, and going up -to Tosilos he said to him, “Is it true, sir knight, that you yield -yourself vanquished, and that moved by scruples of conscience you wish -to marry this damsel?” - -“It is, señor,” replied Tosilos. - -“And he does well,” said Sancho, “for what thou hast to give to the -mouse, give to the cat, and it will save thee all trouble.” - -Tosilos meanwhile was trying to unlace his helmet, and he begged them -to come to his help at once, as his power of breathing was failing him, -and he could not remain so long shut up in that confined space. They -removed it in all haste, and his lacquey features were revealed to -public gaze. At this sight Doña Rodriguez and her daughter raised a -mighty outcry, exclaiming, “This is a trick! This is a trick! They have -put Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, upon us in place of the real -husband. The justice of God and the king against such trickery, not to -say roguery!” - -“Do not distress yourselves, ladies,” said Don Quixote; “for this is no -trickery or roguery; or if it is, it is not the duke who is at the -bottom of it, but those wicked enchanters who persecute me, and who, -jealous of my reaping the glory of this victory, have turned your -husband’s features into those of this person, who you say is a lacquey -of the duke’s; take my advice, and notwithstanding the malice of my -enemies marry him, for beyond a doubt he is the one you wish for a -husband.” - -When the duke heard this all his anger was near vanishing in a fit of -laughter, and he said, “The things that happen to Señor Don Quixote are -so extraordinary that I am ready to believe this lacquey of mine is not -one; but let us adopt this plan and device; let us put off the marriage -for, say, a fortnight, and let us keep this person about whom we are -uncertain in close confinement, and perhaps in the course of that time -he may return to his original shape; for the spite which the enchanters -entertain against Señor Don Quixote cannot last so long, especially as -it is of so little advantage to them to practise these deceptions and -transformations.” - -“Oh, señor,” said Sancho, “those scoundrels are well used to changing -whatever concerns my master from one thing into another. A knight that -he overcame some time back, called the Knight of the Mirrors, they -turned into the shape of the bachelor Samson Carrasco of our town and a -great friend of ours; and my lady Dulcinea del Toboso they have turned -into a common country wench; so I suspect this lacquey will have to -live and die a lacquey all the days of his life.” - -Here the Rodriguez’s daughter exclaimed, “Let him be who he may, this -man that claims me for a wife; I am thankful to him for the same, for I -had rather be the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated mistress of -a gentleman; though he who played me false is nothing of the kind.” - -To be brief, all the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos -being shut up until it was seen how his transformation turned out. All -hailed Don Quixote as victor, but the greater number were vexed and -disappointed at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously -waiting for had not battered one another to pieces, just as the boys -are disappointed when the man they are waiting to see hanged does not -come out, because the prosecution or the court has pardoned him. The -people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote returned to the castle, they -locked up Tosilos, Doña Rodriguez and her daughter remained perfectly -contented when they saw that any way the affair must end in marriage, -and Tosilos wanted nothing else. - -CHAPTER LVII. -WHICH TREATS OF HOW DON QUIXOTE TOOK LEAVE OF THE DUKE, AND OF WHAT -FOLLOWED WITH THE WITTY AND IMPUDENT ALTISIDORA, ONE OF THE DUCHESS’S -DAMSELS - -Don Quixote now felt it right to quit a life of such idleness as he was -leading in the castle; for he fancied that he was making himself sorely -missed by suffering himself to remain shut up and inactive amid the -countless luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished upon him as a -knight, and he felt too that he would have to render a strict account -to heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one day he asked the -duke and duchess to grant him permission to take his departure. They -gave it, showing at the same time that they were very sorry he was -leaving them. - -The duchess gave his wife’s letters to Sancho Panza, who shed tears -over them, saying, “Who would have thought that such grand hopes as the -news of my government bred in my wife Teresa Panza’s breast would end -in my going back now to the vagabond adventures of my master Don -Quixote of La Mancha? Still I’m glad to see my Teresa behaved as she -ought in sending the acorns, for if she had not sent them I’d have been -sorry, and she’d have shown herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me -that they can’t call that present a bribe; for I had got the government -already when she sent them, and it’s but reasonable that those who have -had a good turn done them should show their gratitude, if it’s only -with a trifle. After all I went into the government naked, and I come -out of it naked; so I can say with a safe conscience—and that’s no -small matter—‘naked I was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor -gain.’” - -Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don -Quixote, who had the night before taken leave of the duke and duchess, -coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in the -courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were -watching him from the corridors, and the duke and duchess, too, came -out to see him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas, -valise, and proven supremely happy because the duke’s majordomo, the -same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi, had given him a little -purse with two hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary expenses of -the road, but of this Don Quixote knew nothing as yet. While all were, -as has been said, observing him, suddenly from among the duennas and -handmaidens the impudent and witty Altisidora lifted up her voice and -said in pathetic tones: - -Give ear, cruel knight; -Draw rein; where’s the need -Of spurring the flanks -Of that ill-broken steed? -From what art thou flying? -No dragon I am, -Not even a sheep, -But a tender young lamb. -Thou hast jilted a maiden -As fair to behold -As nymph of Diana -Or Venus of old. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -In thy claws, ruthless robber, -Thou bearest away -The heart of a meek -Loving maid for thy prey, -Three kerchiefs thou stealest, -And garters a pair, -From legs than the whitest -Of marble more fair; -And the sighs that pursue thee -Would burn to the ground -Two thousand Troy Towns, -If so many were found. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -May no bowels of mercy -To Sancho be granted, -And thy Dulcinea -Be left still enchanted, -May thy falsehood to me -Find its punishment in her, -For in my land the just -Often pays for the sinner. -May thy grandest adventures -Discomfitures prove, -May thy joys be all dreams, -And forgotten thy love. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -May thy name be abhorred -For thy conduct to ladies, -From London to England, -From Seville to Cadiz; -May thy cards be unlucky, -Thy hands contain ne’er a -King, seven, or ace -When thou playest primera; -When thy corns are cut -May it be to the quick; -When thy grinders are drawn -May the roots of them stick. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -All the while the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself in the above -strain Don Quixote stood staring at her; and without uttering a word in -reply to her he turned round to Sancho and said, “Sancho my friend, I -conjure thee by the life of thy forefathers tell me the truth; say, -hast thou by any chance taken the three kerchiefs and the garters this -love-sick maid speaks of?” - -To this Sancho made answer, “The three kerchiefs I have; but the -garters, as much as ‘over the hills of Úbeda.’” - -The duchess was amazed at Altisidora’s assurance; she knew that she was -bold, lively, and impudent, but not so much so as to venture to make -free in this fashion; and not being prepared for the joke, her -astonishment was all the greater. The duke had a mind to keep up the -sport, so he said, “It does not seem to me well done in you, sir -knight, that after having received the hospitality that has been -offered you in this very castle, you should have ventured to carry off -even three kerchiefs, not to say my handmaid’s garters. It shows a bad -heart and does not tally with your reputation. Restore her garters, or -else I defy you to mortal combat, for I am not afraid of rascally -enchanters changing or altering my features as they changed his who -encountered you into those of my lacquey, Tosilos.” - -“God forbid,” said Don Quixote, “that I should draw my sword against -your illustrious person from which I have received such great favours. -The kerchiefs I will restore, as Sancho says he has them; as to the -garters that is impossible, for I have not got them, neither has he; -and if your handmaiden here will look in her hiding-places, depend upon -it she will find them. I have never been a thief, my lord duke, nor do -I mean to be so long as I live, if God cease not to have me in his -keeping. This damsel by her own confession speaks as one in love, for -which I am not to blame, and therefore need not ask pardon, either of -her or of your excellence, whom I entreat to have a better opinion of -me, and once more to give me leave to pursue my journey.” - -“And may God so prosper it, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that -we may always hear good news of your exploits; God speed you; for the -longer you stay, the more you inflame the hearts of the damsels who -behold you; and as for this one of mine, I will so chastise her that -she will not transgress again, either with her eyes or with her words.” - -“One word and no more, O valiant Don Quixote, I ask you to hear,” said -Altisidora, “and that is that I beg your pardon about the theft of the -garters; for by God and upon my soul I have got them on, and I have -fallen into the same blunder as he did who went looking for his ass -being all the while mounted on it.” - -“Didn’t I say so?” said Sancho. “I’m a likely one to hide thefts! Why -if I wanted to deal in them, opportunities came ready enough to me in -my government.” - -Don Quixote bowed his head, and saluted the duke and duchess and all -the bystanders, and wheeling Rocinante round, Sancho following him on -Dapple, he rode out of the castle, shaping his course for Saragossa. - -CHAPTER LVIII. -WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUMBERS -THAT THEY GAVE ONE ANOTHER NO BREATHING-TIME - -When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved from -the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh spirits -to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to Sancho, he -said, “Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven -has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the -sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may -and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the -greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I say this, Sancho, -because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance we have enjoyed in -this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those dainty banquets and -snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were undergoing the straits of -hunger, because I did not enjoy them with the same freedom as if they -had been mine own; for the sense of being under an obligation to return -benefits and favours received is a restraint that checks the -independence of the spirit. Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece -of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to any but heaven -itself!” - -“For all your worship says,” said Sancho, “it is not becoming that -there should be no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that -the duke’s majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next -my heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance -calls; for we shan’t always find castles where they’ll entertain us; -now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they’ll cudgel us.” - -In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were pursuing -their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than half a -league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers stretched -upon their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating their dinner. -They had beside them what seemed to be white sheets concealing some -objects under them, standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at -intervals. Don Quixote approached the diners, and, saluting them -courteously first, he asked them what it was those cloths covered. -“Señor,” answered one of the party, “under these cloths are some images -carved in relief intended for a retablo we are putting up in our -village; we carry them covered up that they may not be soiled, and on -our shoulders that they may not be broken.” - -“With your good leave,” said Don Quixote, “I should like to see them; -for images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine ones.” - -“I should think they were!” said the other; “let the money they cost -speak for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them that -does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your worship may -judge; wait a moment, and you shall see with your own eyes;” and -getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the first image, which -proved to be one of Saint George on horseback with a serpent writhing -at his feet and the lance thrust down its throat with all that -fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole group was one blaze of -gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don Quixote said, “That knight was -one of the best knights-errant the army of heaven ever owned; he was -called Don Saint George, and he was moreover a defender of maidens. Let -us see this next one.” - -The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin on his -horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don Quixote saw -it he said, “This knight too was one of the Christian adventurers, but -I believe he was generous rather than valiant, as thou mayest perceive, -Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with the beggar and giving him half -of it; no doubt it was winter at the time, for otherwise he would have -given him the whole of it, so charitable was he.” - -“It was not that, most likely,” said Sancho, “but that he held with the -proverb that says, ‘For giving and keeping there’s need of brains.’” - -Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth, -underneath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the Spains -seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on Moors -and treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed, -“Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This one is -called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest saints and -knights the world ever had or heaven has now.” - -They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint Paul -falling from his horse, with all the details that are usually given in -representations of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it, rendered in -such lifelike style that one would have said Christ was speaking and -Paul answering, “This,” he said, “was in his time the greatest enemy -that the Church of God our Lord had, and the greatest champion it will -ever have; a knight-errant in life, a steadfast saint in death, an -untiring labourer in the Lord’s vineyard, a teacher of the Gentiles, -whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master was Jesus -Christ himself.” - -There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up -again, and said to those who had brought them, “I take it as a happy -omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights -were of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms; -only there is this difference between them and me, that they were -saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight -with human ones. They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven suffereth -violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by dint of my -sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released from -hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a mind restored to itself I -might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at present.” - -“May God hear and sin be deaf,” said Sancho to this. - -The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the words -of Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of what he -meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images on their -backs, and bidding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their journey. - -Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master’s knowledge, as -much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was -no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers’ ends and -fixed in his memory, and he said to him, “In truth, master mine, if -this that has happened to us to-day is to be called an adventure, it -has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen us in -the whole course of our travels; we have come out of it unbelaboured -and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have we smitten the -earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing; blessed be God -that he has let me see such a thing with my own eyes!” - -“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but remember all times -are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these things the -vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any natural -reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy -accidents merely. One of these believers in omens will get up of a -morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed -Saint Francis, and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and -go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his table, and gloom -is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give warning of -coming misfortunes by means of such trivial things as these. The wise -man and the Christian should not trifle with what it may please heaven -to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he leaped on shore; his -soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he, clasping the soil with his -arms, exclaimed, ‘Thou canst not escape me, Africa, for I hold thee -tight between my arms.’ Thus, Sancho, meeting those images has been to -me a most happy occurrence.” - -“I can well believe it,” said Sancho; “but I wish your worship would -tell me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about to -give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say -‘Santiago and close Spain!’ Is Spain, then, open, so that it is needful -to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?” - -“Thou art very simple, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “God, look you, gave -that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint and -protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had with -the Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their -defender in all their battles; and in these he has been many a time -seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering -the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give -thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish histories.” - -Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, “I marvel, señor, -at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess’s handmaid; he whom they -call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they say he is a -little blind urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more properly speaking -sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it ever so small, hits it and -pierces it through and through with his arrows. I have heard it said -too that the arrows of Love are blunted and robbed of their points by -maidenly modesty and reserve; but with this Altisidora it seems they -are sharpened rather than blunted.” - -“Bear in mind, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that love is influenced by -no consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the -same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings and -the humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire possession of -a heart, the first thing it does is to banish fear and shame from it; -and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion, which excited in -my mind embarrassment rather than commiseration.” - -“Notable cruelty!” exclaimed Sancho; “unheard-of ingratitude! I can -only say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers would -have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a heart of -marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I can’t -imagine what it is that this damsel saw in your worship that could have -conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold -bearing, what sprightly grace, what comeliness of feature, which of -these things by itself, or what all together, could have made her fall -in love with you? For indeed and in truth many a time I stop to look at -your worship from the sole of your foot to the topmost hair of your -head, and I see more to frighten one than to make one fall in love; -moreover I have heard say that beauty is the first and main thing that -excites love, and as your worship has none at all, I don’t know what -the poor creature fell in love with.” - -“Recollect, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “there are two sorts of -beauty, one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind -displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in honourable -conduct, in generosity, in good breeding; and all these qualities are -possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is this sort of -beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction, love is apt to -spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho, perceive clearly enough -that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know I am not hideous; -and it is enough for an honest man not to be a monster to be an object -of love, if only he possesses the endowments of mind I have mentioned.” - -While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a -wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting -anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of -green cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to conceive -what it could be, he said to Sancho, “Sancho, it strikes me this affair -of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures imaginable. -May I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not trying to -entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of revenge for my -obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them that if these -nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the hardest diamonds, -or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of blacksmiths enmeshed -Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as if they were made of -rushes or cotton threads.” But just as he was about to press forward -and break through all, suddenly from among some trees two shepherdesses -of surpassing beauty presented themselves to his sight—or at least -damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that their jerkins and sayas -were of fine brocade; that is to say, the sayas were rich farthingales -of gold embroidered tabby. Their hair, that in its golden brightness -vied with the beams of the sun itself, fell loose upon their shoulders -and was crowned with garlands twined with green laurel and red -everlasting; and their years to all appearance were not under fifteen -nor above eighteen. - -Such was the spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated -Don Quixote, made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held -all four in a strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was -the first to speak and said to Don Quixote, “Hold, sir knight, and do -not break these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, -but only for our amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have -been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a -village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of -quality and rich gentlefolk, it was agreed upon by a number of friends -and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters, neighbours, -friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot, which is one of the -pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, setting up a new pastoral -Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing ourselves as shepherdesses -and the youths as shepherds. We have prepared two eclogues, one by the -famous poet Garcilasso, the other by the most excellent Camoens, in its -own Portuguese tongue, but we have not as yet acted them. Yesterday was -the first day of our coming here; we have a few of what they say are -called field-tents pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample -brook that fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these -nets in the trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by -the noise we make may fly into them. If you please to be our guest, -señor, you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now -neither care nor sorrow shall enter.” - -She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, “Of a -truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing -in the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck than -I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment, -and thank you for the kindness of your invitation; and if I can serve -you, you may command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my -profession is none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to -serve persons of all conditions, but especially persons of quality such -as your appearance indicates; and if, instead of taking up, as they -probably do, but a small space, these nets took up the whole surface of -the globe, I would seek out new worlds through which to pass, so as not -to break them; and that ye may give some degree of credence to this -exaggerated language of mine, know that it is no less than Don Quixote -of La Mancha that makes this declaration to you, if indeed it be that -such a name has reached your ears.” - -“Ah! friend of my soul,” instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess, -“what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this gentleman we -have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and -the most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world, -unless a history of his achievements that has been printed and I have -read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this -good fellow who is with him is one Sancho Panza his squire, whose -drolleries none can equal.” - -“That’s true,” said Sancho; “I am that same droll and squire you speak -of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same -that’s in the history and that they talk about.” - -“Oh, my friend,” said the other, “let us entreat him to stay; for it -will give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard -just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries -of the other; and what is more, of him they say that he is the most -constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and that his lady is -one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is -awarded.” - -“And justly awarded,” said Don Quixote, “unless, indeed, your -unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the -trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my -profession do not allow me to take rest under any circumstances.” - -At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a -brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd costume, -and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their -companion was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other -Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from having read their -history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged that he -would accompany him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and -comply. And now the game was started, and the nets were filled with a -variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into the danger they -were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily attired as -shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and were at once -informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat they were not a -little delighted, as they knew of him already through his history. They -repaired to the tents, where they found tables laid out, and choicely, -plentifully, and neatly furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person -of distinction, giving him the place of honour, and all observed him, -and were full of astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being -removed, Don Quixote with great composure lifted up his voice and said: - -“One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is—some will say -pride—but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell is -full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have -endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason; -and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done me by -other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be not -enough I make them known publicly; for he who declares and makes known -the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it were in his -power, and for the most part those who receive are the inferiors of -those who give. Thus, God is superior to all because he is the supreme -giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an infinite distance of -being a full return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some degree -makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming. I therefore, grateful for -the favour that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a -return in the same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of -my power, offer what I can and what I have to offer in my own way; and -so I declare that for two full days I will maintain in the middle of -this highway leading to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as -shepherdesses, who are here present, are the fairest and most courteous -maidens in the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, -sole mistress of my thoughts, be it said without offence to those who -hear me, ladies and gentlemen.” - -On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention, -cried out in a loud voice, “Is it possible there is anyone in the world -who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman? -Say, gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise -or learned, who could say what my master has said; or is there -knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of valour, that -could offer what my master has offered now?” - -Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with -anger said to him, “Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in the -whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match, -and I know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked -thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a wise man or -a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if -he be unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer into execution; for with -the right that I have on my side thou mayest reckon as vanquished all -who shall venture to question it;” and in a great rage, and showing his -anger plainly, he rose from his seat, leaving the company lost in -wonder, and making them feel doubtful whether they ought to regard him -as a madman or a rational being. In the end, though they sought to -dissuade him from involving himself in such a challenge, assuring him -they admitted his gratitude as fully established, and needed no fresh -proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit, as those related in the -history of his exploits were sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in -his resolve; and mounted on Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm -and grasping his lance, he posted himself in the middle of a high road -that was not far from the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, -together with all the members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see -what would be the upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary -proposal. - -Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the -middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this effect: “Ho -ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on -horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next -two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant, is posted -here to maintain by arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the -nymphs that dwell in these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth, -putting aside the lady of my heart, Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let -him who is of the opposite opinion come on, for here I await him.” - -Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any -adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better to -better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the -road a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their -hands, all riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner had -those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about and -withdrew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if they -stayed some harm might come to them; but Don Quixote with intrepid -heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself with -Rocinante’s hind-quarters. The troop of lancers came up, and one of -them who was in advance began shouting to Don Quixote, “Get out of the -way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to pieces!” - -“Rabble!” returned Don Quixote, “I care nothing for bulls, be they the -fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once, scoundrels, that -what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat.” - -The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the -way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame -bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were -taking them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the -next day, passed over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and -Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the -ground. Sancho was left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured -and Rocinante in no very sound condition. - -They all got up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste, -stumbling here and falling there, started off running after the drove, -shouting out, “Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits -you, and he is not of the temper or opinion of those who say, ‘For a -flying enemy make a bridge of silver.’” The retreating party in their -haste, however, did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more -than last year’s clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and -more enraged than avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho, -Rocinante and Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man -mounted once more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock -or imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they -continued their journey. - -CHAPTER LIX. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE THING, WHICH MAY BE REGARDED AS AN -ADVENTURE, THAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE - -A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved -Don Quixote and Sancho of the dust and fatigue due to the unpolite -behaviour of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned Dapple -and Rocinante loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn pair, -master and man, seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to the larder of -his alforjas and took out of them what he called the prog; Don Quixote -rinsed his mouth and bathed his face, by which cooling process his -flagging energies were revived. Out of pure vexation he remained -without eating, and out of pure politeness Sancho did not venture to -touch a morsel of what was before him, but waited for his master to act -as taster. Seeing, however, that, absorbed in thought, he was -forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth, he said never a word, and -trampling every sort of good breeding under foot, began to stow away in -his paunch the bread and cheese that came to his hand. - -“Eat, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “support life, which is of -more consequence to thee than to me, and leave me to die under the pain -of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born, Sancho, to -live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the truth of what I -say, look at me, printed in histories, famed in arms, courteous in -behaviour, honoured by princes, courted by maidens; and after all, when -I looked forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns, won and earned by my -valiant deeds, I have this morning seen myself trampled on, kicked, and -crushed by the feet of unclean and filthy animals. This thought blunts -my teeth, paralyses my jaws, cramps my hands, and robs me of all -appetite for food; so much so that I have a mind to let myself die of -hunger, the cruelest death of all deaths.” - -“So then,” said Sancho, munching hard all the time, “your worship does -not agree with the proverb that says, ‘Let Martha die, but let her die -with a full belly.’ I, at any rate, have no mind to kill myself; so far -from that, I mean to do as the cobbler does, who stretches the leather -with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as he wants. I’ll stretch -out my life by eating until it reaches the end heaven has fixed for it; -and let me tell you, señor, there’s no greater folly than to think of -dying of despair as your worship does; take my advice, and after eating -lie down and sleep a bit on this green grass-mattress, and you will see -that when you awake you’ll feel something better.” - -Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho’s -reasoning was more like a philosopher’s than a blockhead’s, and said -he, “Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my -ease of mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so -great; and it is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in -accordance with thy advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air, to -give thyself three or four hundred lashes with Rocinante’s reins, on -account of the three thousand and odd thou art to give thyself for the -disenchantment of Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the poor lady -should be left enchanted through thy carelessness and negligence.” - -“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Sancho; “let us -both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will happen. -Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in cold blood -is a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an ill-nourished -and worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have patience, and when she is -least expecting it, she will see me made a riddle of with whipping, and -‘until death it’s all life;’ I mean that I have still life in me, and -the desire to make good what I have promised.” - -Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal, and -then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable friends -and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and to feed -unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was -furnished. They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed -their journey, pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight, -apparently a league off. I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it -so, contrary to his usual practice of calling all inns castles. They -reached it, and asked the landlord if they could put up there. He said -yes, with as much comfort and as good fare as they could find in -Saragossa. They dismounted, and Sancho stowed away his larder in a room -of which the landlord gave him the key. He took the beasts to the -stable, fed them, and came back to see what orders Don Quixote, who was -seated on a bench at the door, had for him, giving special thanks to -heaven that this inn had not been taken for a castle by his master. -Supper-time came, and they repaired to their room, and Sancho asked the -landlord what he had to give them for supper. To this the landlord -replied that his mouth should be the measure; he had only to ask what -he would; for that inn was provided with the birds of the air and the -fowls of the earth and the fish of the sea. - -“There’s no need of all that,” said Sancho; “if they’ll roast us a -couple of chickens we’ll be satisfied, for my master is delicate and -eats little, and I’m not over and above gluttonous.” - -The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had stolen them. - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “let señor landlord tell them to roast a -pullet, so that it is a tender one.” - -“Pullet! My father!” said the landlord; “indeed and in truth it’s only -yesterday I sent over fifty to the city to sell; but saving pullets ask -what you will.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “you will not be without veal or kid.” - -“Just now,” said the landlord, “there’s none in the house, for it’s all -finished; but next week there will be enough and to spare.” - -“Much good that does us,” said Sancho; “I’ll lay a bet that all these -short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of bacon and eggs.” - -“By God,” said the landlord, “my guest’s wits must be precious dull; I -tell him I have neither pullets nor hens, and he wants me to have eggs! -Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don’t ask for hens again.” - -“Body o’ me!” said Sancho, “let’s settle the matter; say at once what -you have got, and let us have no more words about it.” - -“In truth and earnest, señor guest,” said the landlord, “all I have is -a couple of cow-heels like calves’ feet, or a couple of calves’ feet -like cowheels; they are boiled with chick-peas, onions, and bacon, and -at this moment they are crying ‘Come eat me, come eat me.” - -“I mark them for mine on the spot,” said Sancho; “let nobody touch -them; I’ll pay better for them than anyone else, for I could not wish -for anything more to my taste; and I don’t care a pin whether they are -feet or heels.” - -“Nobody shall touch them,” said the landlord; “for the other guests I -have, being persons of high quality, bring their own cook and caterer -and larder with them.” - -“If you come to people of quality,” said Sancho, “there’s nobody more -so than my master; but the calling he follows does not allow of larders -or store-rooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a meadow, and -fill ourselves with acorns or medlars.” - -Here ended Sancho’s conversation with the landlord, Sancho not caring -to carry it any farther by answering him; for he had already asked him -what calling or what profession it was his master was of. - -Supper-time having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his room, -the landlord brought in the stew-pan just as it was, and he sat himself -down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another room, which was -next to Don Quixote’s, with nothing but a thin partition to separate -it, he overheard these words, “As you live, Señor Don Jeronimo, while -they are bringing supper, let us read another chapter of the Second -Part of ‘Don Quixote of La Mancha.’” - -The instant Don Quixote heard his own name he started to his feet and -listened with open ears to catch what they said about him, and heard -the Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, “Why would you -have us read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible for -anyone who has read the First Part of the history of ‘Don Quixote of La -Mancha’ to take any pleasure in reading this Second Part?” - -“For all that,” said he who was addressed as Don Juan, “we shall do -well to read it, for there is no book so bad but it has something good -in it. What displeases me most in it is that it represents Don Quixote -as now cured of his love for Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted up -his voice and said, “Whoever he may be who says that Don Quixote of La -Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will teach -him with equal arms that what he says is very far from the truth; for -neither can the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso be forgotten, nor can -forgetfulness have a place in Don Quixote; his motto is constancy, and -his profession to maintain the same with his life and never wrong it.” - -“Who is this that answers us?” said they in the next room. - -“Who should it be,” said Sancho, “but Don Quixote of La Mancha himself, -who will make good all he has said and all he will say; for pledges -don’t trouble a good payer.” - -Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such they -seemed to be, entered the room, and one of them, throwing his arms -round Don Quixote’s neck, said to him, “Your appearance cannot leave -any question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify your -appearance; unquestionably, señor, you are the real Don Quixote of La -Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knight-errantry, despite and in -defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring to naught -your achievements, as the author of this book which I here present to -you has done;” and with this he put a book which his companion carried -into the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and without replying began -to run his eye over it; but he presently returned it saying, “In the -little I have seen I have discovered three things in this author that -deserve to be censured. The first is some words that I have read in the -preface; the next that the language is Aragonese, for sometimes he -writes without articles; and the third, which above all stamps him as -ignorant, is that he goes wrong and departs from the truth in the most -important part of the history, for here he says that my squire Sancho -Panza’s wife is called Mari Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of -the sort, but Teresa Panza; and when a man errs on such an important -point as this there is good reason to fear that he is in error on every -other point in the history.” - -“A nice sort of historian, indeed!” exclaimed Sancho at this; “he must -know a deal about our affairs when he calls my wife Teresa Panza, Mari -Gutierrez; take the book again, señor, and see if I am in it and if he -has changed my name.” - -“From your talk, friend,” said Don Jeronimo, “no doubt you are Sancho -Panza, Señor Don Quixote’s squire.” - -“Yes, I am,” said Sancho; “and I’m proud of it.” - -“Faith, then,” said the gentleman, “this new author does not handle you -with the decency that displays itself in your person; he makes you out -a heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll, and a very -different being from the Sancho described in the First Part of your -master’s history.” - -“God forgive him,” said Sancho; “he might have left me in my corner -without troubling his head about me; ‘let him who knows how ring the -bells; ‘Saint Peter is very well in Rome.’” - -The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and have -supper with them, as they knew very well there was nothing in that inn -fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always polite, yielded to -their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed behind with the stew. -and invested with plenary delegated authority seated himself at the -head of the table, and the landlord sat down with him, for he was no -less fond of cow-heel and calves’ feet than Sancho was. - -While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady -Dulcinea del Toboso, was she married, had she been brought to bed, or -was she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving her -modesty and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender passion of -Señor Don Quixote? - -To this he replied, “Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more -firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse unsatisfactory as before, and -her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;” and then he -proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the enchantment -of Dulcinea, and of what had happened him in the cave of Montesinos, -together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for her -disenchantment, namely the scourging of Sancho. - -Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from -hearing Don Quixote recount the strange incidents of his history; and -if they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by the -elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they regarded -him as a man of wit and sense, and on the other he seemed to them a -maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds -whereabouts between wisdom and folly they ought to place him. - -Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X -condition, repaired to the room where his master was, and as he came in -said, “May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships have -got has any mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton -(according to what your worships say) I wish he may not call me -drunkard too.” - -“But he does,” said Don Jeronimo; “I cannot remember, however, in what -way, though I know his words are offensive, and what is more, lying, as -I can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho before me.” - -“Believe me,” said Sancho, “the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this -history must be different persons from those that appear in the one -Cide Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant, -wise, and true in love, and I simple, droll, and neither glutton nor -drunkard.” - -“I believe it,” said Don Juan; “and were it possible, an order should -be issued that no one should have the presumption to deal with anything -relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide Hamete; just as -Alexander commanded that no one should presume to paint his portrait -save Apelles.” - -“Let him who will paint me,” said Don Quixote; “but let him not abuse -me; for patience will often break down when they heap insults upon it.” - -“None can be offered to Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Juan, “that he -himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not ward it off with the -shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong.” - -A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this -sort, and though Don Juan wished Don Quixote to read more of the book -to see what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon, saying -that he treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly; and, if by -any chance it should come to its author’s ears that he had it in his -hand, he did not want him to flatter himself with the idea that he had -read it; for our thoughts, and still more our eyes, should keep -themselves aloof from what is obscene and filthy. - -They asked him whither he meant to direct his steps. He replied, to -Saragossa, to take part in the harness jousts which were held in that -city every year. Don Juan told him that the new history described how -Don Quixote, let him be who he might, took part there in a tilting at -the ring, utterly devoid of invention, poor in mottoes, very poor in -costume, though rich in sillinesses. - -“For that very reason,” said Don Quixote, “I will not set foot in -Saragossa; and by that means I shall expose to the world the lie of -this new history writer, and people will see that I am not the Don -Quixote he speaks of.” - -“You will do quite right,” said Don Jeronimo; “and there are other -jousts at Barcelona in which Señor Don Quixote may display his -prowess.” - -“That is what I mean to do,” said Don Quixote; “and as it is now time, -I pray your worships to give me leave to retire to bed, and to place -and retain me among the number of your greatest friends and servants.” - -“And me too,” said Sancho; “maybe I’ll be good for something.” - -With this they exchanged farewells, and Don Quixote and Sancho retired -to their room, leaving Don Juan and Don Jeronimo amazed to see the -medley he made of his good sense and his craziness; and they felt -thoroughly convinced that these, and not those their Aragonese author -described, were the genuine Don Quixote and Sancho. Don Quixote rose -betimes, and bade adieu to his hosts by knocking at the partition of -the other room. Sancho paid the landlord magnificently, and recommended -him either to say less about the providing of his inn or to keep it -better provided. - -CHAPTER LX. -OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE ON HIS WAY TO BARCELONA - -It was a fresh morning giving promise of a cool day as Don Quixote -quitted the inn, first of all taking care to ascertain the most direct -road to Barcelona without touching upon Saragossa; so anxious was he to -make out this new historian, who they said abused him so, to be a liar. -Well, as it fell out, nothing worthy of being recorded happened him for -six days, at the end of which, having turned aside out of the road, he -was overtaken by night in a thicket of oak or cork trees; for on this -point Cide Hamete is not as precise as he usually is on other matters. - -Master and man dismounted from their beasts, and as soon as they had -settled themselves at the foot of the trees, Sancho, who had had a good -noontide meal that day, let himself, without more ado, pass the gates -of sleep. But Don Quixote, whom his thoughts, far more than hunger, -kept awake, could not close an eye, and roamed in fancy to and fro -through all sorts of places. At one moment it seemed to him that he was -in the cave of Montesinos and saw Dulcinea, transformed into a country -wench, skipping and mounting upon her she-ass; again that the words of -the sage Merlin were sounding in his ears, setting forth the conditions -to be observed and the exertions to be made for the disenchantment of -Dulcinea. He lost all patience when he considered the laziness and want -of charity of his squire Sancho; for to the best of his belief he had -only given himself five lashes, a number paltry and disproportioned to -the vast number required. At this thought he felt such vexation and -anger that he reasoned the matter thus: “If Alexander the Great cut the -Gordian knot, saying, ‘To cut comes to the same thing as to untie,’ and -yet did not fail to become lord paramount of all Asia, neither more nor -less could happen now in Dulcinea’s disenchantment if I scourge Sancho -against his will; for, if it is the condition of the remedy that Sancho -shall receive three thousand and odd lashes, what does it matter to me -whether he inflicts them himself, or someone else inflicts them, when -the essential point is that he receives them, let them come from -whatever quarter they may?” - -With this idea he went over to Sancho, having first taken Rocinante’s -reins and arranged them so as to be able to flog him with them, and -began to untie the points (the common belief is he had but one in -front) by which his breeches were held up; but the instant he -approached him Sancho woke up in his full senses and cried out, “What -is this? Who is touching me and untrussing me?” - -“It is I,” said Don Quixote, “and I come to make good thy shortcomings -and relieve my own distresses; I come to whip thee, Sancho, and wipe -off some portion of the debt thou hast undertaken. Dulcinea is -perishing, thou art living on regardless, I am dying of hope deferred; -therefore untruss thyself with a good will, for mine it is, here, in -this retired spot, to give thee at least two thousand lashes.” - -“Not a bit of it,” said Sancho; “let your worship keep quiet, or else -by the living God the deaf shall hear us; the lashes I pledged myself -to must be voluntary and not forced upon me, and just now I have no -fancy to whip myself; it is enough if I give you my word to flog and -flap myself when I have a mind.” - -“It will not do to leave it to thy courtesy, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“for thou art hard of heart and, though a clown, tender of flesh;” and -at the same time he strove and struggled to untie him. - -Seeing this Sancho got up, and grappling with his master he gripped him -with all his might in his arms, giving him a trip with the heel -stretched him on the ground on his back, and pressing his right knee on -his chest held his hands in his own so that he could neither move nor -breathe. - -“How now, traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote. “Dost thou revolt against -thy master and natural lord? Dost thou rise against him who gives thee -his bread?” - -“I neither put down king, nor set up king,” said Sancho; “I only stand -up for myself who am my own lord; if your worship promises me to be -quiet, and not to offer to whip me now, I’ll let you go free and -unhindered; if not— - -Traitor and Doña Sancha’s foe, -Thou diest on the spot.” - -Don Quixote gave his promise, and swore by the life of his thoughts not -to touch so much as a hair of his garments, and to leave him entirely -free and to his own discretion to whip himself whenever he pleased. - -Sancho rose and removed some distance from the spot, but as he was -about to place himself leaning against another tree he felt something -touch his head, and putting up his hands encountered somebody’s two -feet with shoes and stockings on them. He trembled with fear and made -for another tree, where the very same thing happened to him, and he -fell a-shouting, calling upon Don Quixote to come and protect him. Don -Quixote did so, and asked him what had happened to him, and what he was -afraid of. Sancho replied that all the trees were full of men’s feet -and legs. Don Quixote felt them, and guessed at once what it was, and -said to Sancho, “Thou hast nothing to be afraid of, for these feet and -legs that thou feelest but canst not see belong no doubt to some -outlaws and freebooters that have been hanged on these trees; for the -authorities in these parts are wont to hang them up by twenties and -thirties when they catch them; whereby I conjecture that I must be near -Barcelona;” and it was, in fact, as he supposed; with the first light -they looked up and saw that the fruit hanging on those trees were -freebooters’ bodies. - -And now day dawned; and if the dead freebooters had scared them, their -hearts were no less troubled by upwards of forty living ones, who all -of a sudden surrounded them, and in the Catalan tongue bade them stand -and wait until their captain came up. Don Quixote was on foot with his -horse unbridled and his lance leaning against a tree, and in short -completely defenceless; he thought it best therefore to fold his arms -and bow his head and reserve himself for a more favourable occasion and -opportunity. The robbers made haste to search Dapple, and did not leave -him a single thing of all he carried in the alforjas and in the valise; -and lucky it was for Sancho that the duke’s crowns and those he brought -from home were in a girdle that he wore round him; but for all that -these good folk would have stripped him, and even looked to see what he -had hidden between the skin and flesh, but for the arrival at that -moment of their captain, who was about thirty-four years of age -apparently, strongly built, above the middle height, of stern aspect -and swarthy complexion. He was mounted upon a powerful horse, and had -on a coat of mail, with four of the pistols they call petronels in that -country at his waist. He saw that his squires (for so they call those -who follow that trade) were about to rifle Sancho Panza, but he ordered -them to desist and was at once obeyed, so the girdle escaped. He -wondered to see the lance leaning against the tree, the shield on the -ground, and Don Quixote in armour and dejected, with the saddest and -most melancholy face that sadness itself could produce; and going up to -him he said, “Be not so cast down, good man, for you have not fallen -into the hands of any inhuman Busiris, but into Roque Guinart’s, which -are more merciful than cruel.” - -“The cause of my dejection,” returned Don Quixote, “is not that I have -fallen into thy hands, O valiant Roque, whose fame is bounded by no -limits on earth, but that my carelessness should have been so great -that thy soldiers should have caught me unbridled, when it is my duty, -according to the rule of knight-errantry which I profess, to be always -on the alert and at all times my own sentinel; for let me tell thee, -great Roque, had they found me on my horse, with my lance and shield, -it would not have been very easy for them to reduce me to submission, -for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, he who hath filled the whole world -with his achievements.” - -Roque Guinart at once perceived that Don Quixote’s weakness was more -akin to madness than to swagger; and though he had sometimes heard him -spoken of, he never regarded the things attributed to him as true, nor -could he persuade himself that such a humour could become dominant in -the heart of man; he was extremely glad, therefore, to meet him and -test at close quarters what he had heard of him at a distance; so he -said to him, “Despair not, valiant knight, nor regard as an untoward -fate the position in which thou findest thyself; it may be that by -these slips thy crooked fortune will make itself straight; for heaven -by strange circuitous ways, mysterious and incomprehensible to man, -raises up the fallen and makes rich the poor.” - -Don Quixote was about to thank him, when they heard behind them a noise -as of a troop of horses; there was, however, but one, riding on which -at a furious pace came a youth, apparently about twenty years of age, -clad in green damask edged with gold and breeches and a loose frock, -with a hat looped up in the Walloon fashion, tight-fitting polished -boots, gilt spurs, dagger and sword, and in his hand a musketoon, and a -pair of pistols at his waist. - -Roque turned round at the noise and perceived this comely figure, which -drawing near thus addressed him, “I came in quest of thee, valiant -Roque, to find in thee if not a remedy at least relief in my -misfortune; and not to keep thee in suspense, for I see thou dost not -recognise me, I will tell thee who I am; I am Claudia Jeronima, the -daughter of Simon Forte, thy good friend, and special enemy of Clauquel -Torrellas, who is thine also as being of the faction opposed to thee. -Thou knowest that this Torrellas has a son who is called, or at least -was not two hours since, Don Vicente Torrellas. Well, to cut short the -tale of my misfortune, I will tell thee in a few words what this youth -has brought upon me. He saw me, he paid court to me, I listened to him, -and, unknown to my father, I loved him; for there is no woman, however -secluded she may live or close she may be kept, who will not have -opportunities and to spare for following her headlong impulses. In a -word, he pledged himself to be mine, and I promised to be his, without -carrying matters any further. Yesterday I learned that, forgetful of -his pledge to me, he was about to marry another, and that he was to go -this morning to plight his troth, intelligence which overwhelmed and -exasperated me; my father not being at home I was able to adopt this -costume you see, and urging my horse to speed I overtook Don Vicente -about a league from this, and without waiting to utter reproaches or -hear excuses I fired this musket at him, and these two pistols besides, -and to the best of my belief I must have lodged more than two bullets -in his body, opening doors to let my honour go free, enveloped in his -blood. I left him there in the hands of his servants, who did not dare -and were not able to interfere in his defence, and I come to seek from -thee a safe-conduct into France, where I have relatives with whom I can -live; and also to implore thee to protect my father, so that Don -Vicente’s numerous kinsmen may not venture to wreak their lawless -vengeance upon him.” - -Roque, filled with admiration at the gallant bearing, high spirit, -comely figure, and adventure of the fair Claudia, said to her, “Come, -señora, let us go and see if thy enemy is dead; and then we will -consider what will be best for thee.” Don Quixote, who had been -listening to what Claudia said and Roque Guinart said in reply to her, -exclaimed, “Nobody need trouble himself with the defence of this lady, -for I take it upon myself. Give me my horse and arms, and wait for me -here; I will go in quest of this knight, and dead or alive I will make -him keep his word plighted to so great beauty.” - -“Nobody need have any doubt about that,” said Sancho, “for my master -has a very happy knack of matchmaking; it’s not many days since he -forced another man to marry, who in the same way backed out of his -promise to another maiden; and if it had not been for his persecutors -the enchanters changing the man’s proper shape into a lacquey’s the -said maiden would not be one this minute.” - -Roque, who was paying more attention to the fair Claudia’s adventure -than to the words of master or man, did not hear them; and ordering his -squires to restore to Sancho everything they had stripped Dapple of, he -directed them to return to the place where they had been quartered -during the night, and then set off with Claudia at full speed in search -of the wounded or slain Don Vicente. They reached the spot where -Claudia met him, but found nothing there save freshly spilt blood; -looking all round, however, they descried some people on the slope of a -hill above them, and concluded, as indeed it proved to be, that it was -Don Vicente, whom either dead or alive his servants were removing to -attend to his wounds or to bury him. They made haste to overtake them, -which, as the party moved slowly, they were able to do with ease. They -found Don Vicente in the arms of his servants, whom he was entreating -in a broken feeble voice to leave him there to die, as the pain of his -wounds would not suffer him to go any farther. Claudia and Roque threw -themselves off their horses and advanced towards him; the servants were -overawed by the appearance of Roque, and Claudia was moved by the sight -of Don Vicente, and going up to him half tenderly half sternly, she -seized his hand and said to him, “Hadst thou given me this according to -our compact thou hadst never come to this pass.” - -The wounded gentleman opened his all but closed eyes, and recognising -Claudia said, “I see clearly, fair and mistaken lady, that it is thou -that hast slain me, a punishment not merited or deserved by my feelings -towards thee, for never did I mean to, nor could I, wrong thee in -thought or deed.” - -“It is not true, then,” said Claudia, “that thou wert going this -morning to marry Leonora the daughter of the rich Balvastro?” - -“Assuredly not,” replied Don Vicente; “my cruel fortune must have -carried those tidings to thee to drive thee in thy jealousy to take my -life; and to assure thyself of this, press my hands and take me for thy -husband if thou wilt; I have no better satisfaction to offer thee for -the wrong thou fanciest thou hast received from me.” - -Claudia wrung his hands, and her own heart was so wrung that she lay -fainting on the bleeding breast of Don Vicente, whom a death spasm -seized the same instant. Roque was in perplexity and knew not what to -do; the servants ran to fetch water to sprinkle their faces, and -brought some and bathed them with it. Claudia recovered from her -fainting fit, but not so Don Vicente from the paroxysm that had -overtaken him, for his life had come to an end. On perceiving this, -Claudia, when she had convinced herself that her beloved husband was no -more, rent the air with her sighs and made the heavens ring with her -lamentations; she tore her hair and scattered it to the winds, she beat -her face with her hands and showed all the signs of grief and sorrow -that could be conceived to come from an afflicted heart. “Cruel, -reckless woman!” she cried, “how easily wert thou moved to carry out a -thought so wicked! O furious force of jealousy, to what desperate -lengths dost thou lead those that give thee lodging in their bosoms! O -husband, whose unhappy fate in being mine hath borne thee from the -marriage bed to the grave!” - -So vehement and so piteous were the lamentations of Claudia that they -drew tears from Roque’s eyes, unused as they were to shed them on any -occasion. The servants wept, Claudia swooned away again and again, and -the whole place seemed a field of sorrow and an abode of misfortune. In -the end Roque Guinart directed Don Vicente’s servants to carry his body -to his father’s village, which was close by, for burial. Claudia told -him she meant to go to a monastery of which an aunt of hers was abbess, -where she intended to pass her life with a better and everlasting -spouse. He applauded her pious resolution, and offered to accompany her -whithersoever she wished, and to protect her father against the kinsmen -of Don Vicente and all the world, should they seek to injure him. -Claudia would not on any account allow him to accompany her; and -thanking him for his offers as well as she could, took leave of him in -tears. The servants of Don Vicente carried away his body, and Roque -returned to his comrades, and so ended the love of Claudia Jeronima; -but what wonder, when it was the insuperable and cruel might of -jealousy that wove the web of her sad story? - -Roque Guinart found his squires at the place to which he had ordered -them, and Don Quixote on Rocinante in the midst of them delivering a -harangue to them in which he urged them to give up a mode of life so -full of peril, as well to the soul as to the body; but as most of them -were Gascons, rough lawless fellows, his speech did not make much -impression on them. Roque on coming up asked Sancho if his men had -returned and restored to him the treasures and jewels they had stripped -off Dapple. Sancho said they had, but that three kerchiefs that were -worth three cities were missing. - -“What are you talking about, man?” said one of the bystanders; “I have -got them, and they are not worth three reals.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but my squire values them at the -rate he says, as having been given me by the person who gave them.” - -Roque Guinart ordered them to be restored at once; and making his men -fall in in line he directed all the clothing, jewellery, and money that -they had taken since the last distribution to be produced; and making a -hasty valuation, and reducing what could not be divided into money, he -made shares for the whole band so equitably and carefully, that in no -case did he exceed or fall short of strict distributive justice. - -When this had been done, and all left satisfied, Roque observed to Don -Quixote, “If this scrupulous exactness were not observed with these -fellows there would be no living with them.” - -Upon this Sancho remarked, “From what I have seen here, justice is such -a good thing that there is no doing without it, even among the thieves -themselves.” - -One of the squires heard this, and raising the butt-end of his -harquebuss would no doubt have broken Sancho’s head with it had not -Roque Guinart called out to him to hold his hand. Sancho was frightened -out of his wits, and vowed not to open his lips so long as he was in -the company of these people. - -At this instant one or two of those squires who were posted as -sentinels on the roads, to watch who came along them and report what -passed to their chief, came up and said, “Señor, there is a great troop -of people not far off coming along the road to Barcelona.” - -To which Roque replied, “Hast thou made out whether they are of the -sort that are after us, or of the sort we are after?” - -“The sort we are after,” said the squire. - -“Well then, away with you all,” said Roque, “and bring them here to me -at once without letting one of them escape.” - -They obeyed, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and Roque, left by themselves, -waited to see what the squires brought, and while they were waiting -Roque said to Don Quixote, “It must seem a strange sort of life to -Señor Don Quixote, this of ours, strange adventures, strange incidents, -and all full of danger; and I do not wonder that it should seem so, for -in truth I must own there is no mode of life more restless or anxious -than ours. What led me into it was a certain thirst for vengeance, -which is strong enough to disturb the quietest hearts. I am by nature -tender-hearted and kindly, but, as I said, the desire to revenge myself -for a wrong that was done me so overturns all my better impulses that I -keep on in this way of life in spite of what conscience tells me; and -as one depth calls to another, and one sin to another sin, revenges -have linked themselves together, and I have taken upon myself not only -my own but those of others: it pleases God, however, that, though I see -myself in this maze of entanglements, I do not lose all hope of -escaping from it and reaching a safe port.” - -Don Quixote was amazed to hear Roque utter such excellent and just -sentiments, for he did not think that among those who followed such -trades as robbing, murdering, and waylaying, there could be anyone -capable of a virtuous thought, and he said in reply, “Señor Roque, the -beginning of health lies in knowing the disease and in the sick man’s -willingness to take the medicines which the physician prescribes; you -are sick, you know what ails you, and heaven, or more properly speaking -God, who is our physician, will administer medicines that will cure -you, and cure gradually, and not of a sudden or by a miracle; besides, -sinners of discernment are nearer amendment than those who are fools; -and as your worship has shown good sense in your remarks, all you have -to do is to keep up a good heart and trust that the weakness of your -conscience will be strengthened. And if you have any desire to shorten -the journey and put yourself easily in the way of salvation, come with -me, and I will show you how to become a knight-errant, a calling -wherein so many hardships and mishaps are encountered that if they be -taken as penances they will lodge you in heaven in a trice.” - -Roque laughed at Don Quixote’s exhortation, and changing the -conversation he related the tragic affair of Claudia Jeronima, at which -Sancho was extremely grieved; for he had not found the young woman’s -beauty, boldness, and spirit at all amiss. - -And now the squires despatched to make the prize came up, bringing with -them two gentlemen on horseback, two pilgrims on foot, and a coach full -of women with some six servants on foot and on horseback in attendance -on them, and a couple of muleteers whom the gentlemen had with them. -The squires made a ring round them, both victors and vanquished -maintaining profound silence, waiting for the great Roque Guinart to -speak. He asked the gentlemen who they were, whither they were going, -and what money they carried with them; “Señor,” replied one of them, -“we are two captains of Spanish infantry; our companies are at Naples, -and we are on our way to embark in four galleys which they say are at -Barcelona under orders for Sicily; and we have about two or three -hundred crowns, with which we are, according to our notions, rich and -contented, for a soldier’s poverty does not allow a more extensive -hoard.” - -Roque asked the pilgrims the same questions he had put to the captains, -and was answered that they were going to take ship for Rome, and that -between them they might have about sixty reals. He asked also who was -in the coach, whither they were bound and what money they had, and one -of the men on horseback replied, “The persons in the coach are my lady -Doña Guiomar de Quiñones, wife of the regent of the Vicaria at Naples, -her little daughter, a handmaid and a duenna; we six servants are in -attendance upon her, and the money amounts to six hundred crowns.” - -“So then,” said Roque Guinart, “we have got here nine hundred crowns -and sixty reals; my soldiers must number some sixty; see how much there -falls to each, for I am a bad arithmetician.” As soon as the robbers -heard this they raised a shout of “Long life to Roque Guinart, in spite -of the lladres that seek his ruin!” - -The captains showed plainly the concern they felt, the regent’s lady -was downcast, and the pilgrims did not at all enjoy seeing their -property confiscated. Roque kept them in suspense in this way for a -while; but he had no desire to prolong their distress, which might be -seen a bowshot off, and turning to the captains he said, “Sirs, will -your worships be pleased of your courtesy to lend me sixty crowns, and -her ladyship the regent’s wife eighty, to satisfy this band that -follows me, for ‘it is by his singing the abbot gets his dinner;’ and -then you may at once proceed on your journey, free and unhindered, with -a safe-conduct which I shall give you, so that if you come across any -other bands of mine that I have scattered in these parts, they may do -you no harm; for I have no intention of doing injury to soldiers, or to -any woman, especially one of quality.” - -Profuse and hearty were the expressions of gratitude with which the -captains thanked Roque for his courtesy and generosity; for such they -regarded his leaving them their own money. Señora Doña Guiomar de -Quiñones wanted to throw herself out of the coach to kiss the feet and -hands of the great Roque, but he would not suffer it on any account; so -far from that, he begged her pardon for the wrong he had done her under -pressure of the inexorable necessities of his unfortunate calling. The -regent’s lady ordered one of her servants to give the eighty crowns -that had been assessed as her share at once, for the captains had -already paid down their sixty. The pilgrims were about to give up the -whole of their little hoard, but Roque bade them keep quiet, and -turning to his men he said, “Of these crowns two fall to each man and -twenty remain over; let ten be given to these pilgrims, and the other -ten to this worthy squire that he may be able to speak favourably of -this adventure;” and then having writing materials, with which he -always went provided, brought to him, he gave them in writing a -safe-conduct to the leaders of his bands; and bidding them farewell let -them go free and filled with admiration at his magnanimity, his -generous disposition, and his unusual conduct, and inclined to regard -him as an Alexander the Great rather than a notorious robber. - -One of the squires observed in his mixture of Gascon and Catalan, “This -captain of ours would make a better friar than highwayman; if he wants -to be so generous another time, let it be with his own property and not -ours.” - -The unlucky wight did not speak so low but that Roque overheard him, -and drawing his sword almost split his head in two, saying, “That is -the way I punish impudent saucy fellows.” They were all taken aback, -and not one of them dared to utter a word, such deference did they pay -him. Roque then withdrew to one side and wrote a letter to a friend of -his at Barcelona, telling him that the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, -the knight-errant of whom there was so much talk, was with him, and -was, he assured him, the drollest and wisest man in the world; and that -in four days from that date, that is to say, on Saint John the -Baptist’s Day, he was going to deposit him in full armour mounted on -his horse Rocinante, together with his squire Sancho on an ass, in the -middle of the strand of the city; and bidding him give notice of this -to his friends the Niarros, that they might divert themselves with him. -He wished, he said, his enemies the Cadells could be deprived of this -pleasure; but that was impossible, because the crazes and shrewd -sayings of Don Quixote and the humours of his squire Sancho Panza could -not help giving general pleasure to all the world. He despatched the -letter by one of his squires, who, exchanging the costume of a -highwayman for that of a peasant, made his way into Barcelona and gave -it to the person to whom it was directed. - -CHAPTER LXI. -OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE ON ENTERING BARCELONA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER -MATTERS THAT PARTAKE OF THE TRUE RATHER THAN OF THE INGENIOUS - -Don Quixote passed three days and three nights with Roque, and had he -passed three hundred years he would have found enough to observe and -wonder at in his mode of life. At daybreak they were in one spot, at -dinner-time in another; sometimes they fled without knowing from whom, -at other times they lay in wait, not knowing for what. They slept -standing, breaking their slumbers to shift from place to place. There -was nothing but sending out spies and scouts, posting sentinels and -blowing the matches of harquebusses, though they carried but few, for -almost all used flintlocks. Roque passed his nights in some place or -other apart from his men, that they might not know where he was, for -the many proclamations the viceroy of Barcelona had issued against his -life kept him in fear and uneasiness, and he did not venture to trust -anyone, afraid that even his own men would kill him or deliver him up -to the authorities; of a truth, a weary miserable life! At length, by -unfrequented roads, short cuts, and secret paths, Roque, Don Quixote, -and Sancho, together with six squires, set out for Barcelona. They -reached the strand on Saint John’s Eve during the night; and Roque, -after embracing Don Quixote and Sancho (to whom he presented the ten -crowns he had promised but had not until then given), left them with -many expressions of good-will on both sides. - -Roque went back, while Don Quixote remained on horseback, just as he -was, waiting for day, and it was not long before the countenance of the -fair Aurora began to show itself at the balconies of the east, -gladdening the grass and flowers, if not the ear, though to gladden -that too there came at the same moment a sound of clarions and drums, -and a din of bells, and a tramp, tramp, and cries of “Clear the way -there!” of some runners, that seemed to issue from the city. - -The dawn made way for the sun that with a face broader than a buckler -began to rise slowly above the low line of the horizon; Don Quixote and -Sancho gazed all round them; they beheld the sea, a sight until then -unseen by them; it struck them as exceedingly spacious and broad, much -more so than the lakes of Ruidera which they had seen in La Mancha. -They saw the galleys along the beach, which, lowering their awnings, -displayed themselves decked with streamers and pennons that trembled in -the breeze and kissed and swept the water, while on board the bugles, -trumpets, and clarions were sounding and filling the air far and near -with melodious warlike notes. Then they began to move and execute a -kind of skirmish upon the calm water, while a vast number of horsemen -on fine horses and in showy liveries, issuing from the city, engaged on -their side in a somewhat similar movement. The soldiers on board the -galleys kept up a ceaseless fire, which they on the walls and forts of -the city returned, and the heavy cannon rent the air with the -tremendous noise they made, to which the gangway guns of the galleys -replied. The bright sea, the smiling earth, the clear air—though at -times darkened by the smoke of the guns—all seemed to fill the whole -multitude with unexpected delight. Sancho could not make out how it was -that those great masses that moved over the sea had so many feet. - -And now the horsemen in livery came galloping up with shouts and -outlandish cries and cheers to where Don Quixote stood amazed and -wondering; and one of them, he to whom Roque had sent word, addressing -him exclaimed, “Welcome to our city, mirror, beacon, star and cynosure -of all knight-errantry in its widest extent! Welcome, I say, valiant -Don Quixote of La Mancha; not the false, the fictitious, the -apocryphal, that these latter days have offered us in lying histories, -but the true, the legitimate, the real one that Cide Hamete Benengeli, -flower of historians, has described to us!” - -Don Quixote made no answer, nor did the horsemen wait for one, but -wheeling again with all their followers, they began curvetting round -Don Quixote, who, turning to Sancho, said, “These gentlemen have -plainly recognised us; I will wager they have read our history, and -even that newly printed one by the Aragonese.” - -The cavalier who had addressed Don Quixote again approached him and -said, “Come with us, Señor Don Quixote, for we are all of us your -servants and great friends of Roque Guinart’s;” to which Don Quixote -returned, “If courtesy breeds courtesy, yours, sir knight, is daughter -or very nearly akin to the great Roque’s; carry me where you please; I -will have no will but yours, especially if you deign to employ it in -your service.” - -The cavalier replied with words no less polite, and then, all closing -in around him, they set out with him for the city, to the music of the -clarions and the drums. As they were entering it, the wicked one, who -is the author of all mischief, and the boys who are wickeder than the -wicked one, contrived that a couple of these audacious irrepressible -urchins should force their way through the crowd, and lifting up, one -of them Dapple’s tail and the other Rocinante’s, insert a bunch of -furze under each. The poor beasts felt the strange spurs and added to -their anguish by pressing their tails tight, so much so that, cutting a -multitude of capers, they flung their masters to the ground. Don -Quixote, covered with shame and out of countenance, ran to pluck the -plume from his poor jade’s tail, while Sancho did the same for Dapple. -His conductors tried to punish the audacity of the boys, but there was -no possibility of doing so, for they hid themselves among the hundreds -of others that were following them. Don Quixote and Sancho mounted once -more, and with the same music and acclamations reached their -conductor’s house, which was large and stately, that of a rich -gentleman, in short; and there for the present we will leave them, for -such is Cide Hamete’s pleasure. - -CHAPTER LXII. -WHICH DEALS WITH THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED HEAD, TOGETHER WITH -OTHER TRIVIAL MATTERS WHICH CANNOT BE LEFT UNTOLD - -Don Quixote’s host was one Don Antonio Moreno by name, a gentleman of -wealth and intelligence, and very fond of diverting himself in any fair -and good-natured way; and having Don Quixote in his house he set about -devising modes of making him exhibit his mad points in some harmless -fashion; for jests that give pain are no jests, and no sport is worth -anything if it hurts another. The first thing he did was to make Don -Quixote take off his armour, and lead him, in that tight chamois suit -we have already described and depicted more than once, out on a balcony -overhanging one of the chief streets of the city, in full view of the -crowd and of the boys, who gazed at him as they would at a monkey. The -cavaliers in livery careered before him again as though it were for him -alone, and not to enliven the festival of the day, that they wore it, -and Sancho was in high delight, for it seemed to him that, how he knew -not, he had fallen upon another Camacho’s wedding, another house like -Don Diego de Miranda’s, another castle like the duke’s. Some of Don -Antonio’s friends dined with him that day, and all showed honour to Don -Quixote and treated him as a knight-errant, and he becoming puffed up -and exalted in consequence could not contain himself for satisfaction. -Such were the drolleries of Sancho that all the servants of the house, -and all who heard him, were kept hanging upon his lips. While at table -Don Antonio said to him, “We hear, worthy Sancho, that you are so fond -of manjar blanco and forced-meat balls, that if you have any left, you -keep them in your bosom for the next day.” - -“No, señor, that’s not true,” said Sancho, “for I am more cleanly than -greedy, and my master Don Quixote here knows well that we two are used -to live for a week on a handful of acorns or nuts. To be sure, if it so -happens that they offer me a heifer, I run with a halter; I mean, I eat -what I’m given, and make use of opportunities as I find them; but -whoever says that I’m an out-of-the-way eater or not cleanly, let me -tell him that he is wrong; and I’d put it in a different way if I did -not respect the honourable beards that are at the table.” - -“Indeed,” said Don Quixote, “Sancho’s moderation and cleanliness in -eating might be inscribed and graved on plates of brass, to be kept in -eternal remembrance in ages to come. It is true that when he is hungry -there is a certain appearance of voracity about him, for he eats at a -great pace and chews with both jaws; but cleanliness he is always -mindful of; and when he was governor he learned how to eat daintily, so -much so that he eats grapes, and even pomegranate pips, with a fork.” - -“What!” said Don Antonio, “has Sancho been a governor?” - -“Ay,” said Sancho, “and of an island called Barataria. I governed it to -perfection for ten days; and lost my rest all the time; and learned to -look down upon all the governments in the world; I got out of it by -taking to flight, and fell into a pit where I gave myself up for dead, -and out of which I escaped alive by a miracle.” - -Don Quixote then gave them a minute account of the whole affair of -Sancho’s government, with which he greatly amused his hearers. - -On the cloth being removed Don Antonio, taking Don Quixote by the hand, -passed with him into a distant room in which there was nothing in the -way of furniture except a table, apparently of jasper, resting on a -pedestal of the same, upon which was set up, after the fashion of the -busts of the Roman emperors, a head which seemed to be of bronze. Don -Antonio traversed the whole apartment with Don Quixote and walked round -the table several times, and then said, “Now, Señor Don Quixote, that I -am satisfied that no one is listening to us, and that the door is shut, -I will tell you of one of the rarest adventures, or more properly -speaking strange things, that can be imagined, on condition that you -will keep what I say to you in the remotest recesses of secrecy.” - -“I swear it,” said Don Quixote, “and for greater security I will put a -flag-stone over it; for I would have you know, Señor Don Antonio” (he -had by this time learned his name), “that you are addressing one who, -though he has ears to hear, has no tongue to speak; so that you may -safely transfer whatever you have in your bosom into mine, and rely -upon it that you have consigned it to the depths of silence.” - -“In reliance upon that promise,” said Don Antonio, “I will astonish you -with what you shall see and hear, and relieve myself of some of the -vexation it gives me to have no one to whom I can confide my secrets, -for they are not of a sort to be entrusted to everybody.” - -Don Quixote was puzzled, wondering what could be the object of such -precautions; whereupon Don Antonio taking his hand passed it over the -bronze head and the whole table and the pedestal of jasper on which it -stood, and then said, “This head, Señor Don Quixote, has been made and -fabricated by one of the greatest magicians and wizards the world ever -saw, a Pole, I believe, by birth, and a pupil of the famous Escotillo -of whom such marvellous stories are told. He was here in my house, and -for a consideration of a thousand crowns that I gave him he constructed -this head, which has the property and virtue of answering whatever -questions are put to its ear. He observed the points of the compass, he -traced figures, he studied the stars, he watched favourable moments, -and at length brought it to the perfection we shall see to-morrow, for -on Fridays it is mute, and this being Friday we must wait till the next -day. In the interval your worship may consider what you would like to -ask it; and I know by experience that in all its answers it tells the -truth.” - -Don Quixote was amazed at the virtue and property of the head, and was -inclined to disbelieve Don Antonio; but seeing what a short time he had -to wait to test the matter, he did not choose to say anything except -that he thanked him for having revealed to him so mighty a secret. They -then quitted the room, Don Antonio locked the door, and they repaired -to the chamber where the rest of the gentlemen were assembled. In the -meantime Sancho had recounted to them several of the adventures and -accidents that had happened his master. - -That afternoon they took Don Quixote out for a stroll, not in his -armour but in street costume, with a surcoat of tawny cloth upon him, -that at that season would have made ice itself sweat. Orders were left -with the servants to entertain Sancho so as not to let him leave the -house. Don Quixote was mounted, not on Rocinante, but upon a tall mule -of easy pace and handsomely caparisoned. They put the surcoat on him, -and on the back, without his perceiving it, they stitched a parchment -on which they wrote in large letters, “This is Don Quixote of La -Mancha.” As they set out upon their excursion the placard attracted the -eyes of all who chanced to see him, and as they read out, “This is Don -Quixote of La Mancha,” Don Quixote was amazed to see how many people -gazed at him, called him by his name, and recognised him, and turning -to Don Antonio, who rode at his side, he observed to him, “Great are -the privileges knight-errantry involves, for it makes him who professes -it known and famous in every region of the earth; see, Don Antonio, -even the very boys of this city know me without ever having seen me.” - -“True, Señor Don Quixote,” returned Don Antonio; “for as fire cannot be -hidden or kept secret, virtue cannot escape being recognised; and that -which is attained by the profession of arms shines distinguished above -all others.” - -It came to pass, however, that as Don Quixote was proceeding amid the -acclamations that have been described, a Castilian, reading the -inscription on his back, cried out in a loud voice, “The devil take -thee for a Don Quixote of La Mancha! What! art thou here, and not dead -of the countless drubbings that have fallen on thy ribs? Thou art mad; -and if thou wert so by thyself, and kept thyself within thy madness, it -would not be so bad; but thou hast the gift of making fools and -blockheads of all who have anything to do with thee or say to thee. -Why, look at these gentlemen bearing thee company! Get thee home, -blockhead, and see after thy affairs, and thy wife and children, and -give over these fooleries that are sapping thy brains and skimming away -thy wits.” - -“Go your own way, brother,” said Don Antonio, “and don’t offer advice -to those who don’t ask you for it. Señor Don Quixote is in his full -senses, and we who bear him company are not fools; virtue is to be -honoured wherever it may be found; go, and bad luck to you, and don’t -meddle where you are not wanted.” - -“By God, your worship is right,” replied the Castilian; “for to advise -this good man is to kick against the pricks; still for all that it -fills me with pity that the sound wit they say the blockhead has in -everything should dribble away by the channel of his knight-errantry; -but may the bad luck your worship talks of follow me and all my -descendants, if, from this day forth, though I should live longer than -Methuselah, I ever give advice to anybody even if he asks me for it.” - -The advice-giver took himself off, and they continued their stroll; but -so great was the press of the boys and people to read the placard, that -Don Antonio was forced to remove it as if he were taking off something -else. - -Night came and they went home, and there was a ladies’ dancing party, -for Don Antonio’s wife, a lady of rank and gaiety, beauty and wit, had -invited some friends of hers to come and do honour to her guest and -amuse themselves with his strange delusions. Several of them came, they -supped sumptuously, the dance began at about ten o’clock. Among the -ladies were two of a mischievous and frolicsome turn, and, though -perfectly modest, somewhat free in playing tricks for harmless -diversion’s sake. These two were so indefatigable in taking Don Quixote -out to dance that they tired him down, not only in body but in spirit. -It was a sight to see the figure Don Quixote made, long, lank, lean, -and yellow, his garments clinging tight to him, ungainly, and above all -anything but agile. - -The gay ladies made secret love to him, and he on his part secretly -repelled them, but finding himself hard pressed by their blandishments -he lifted up his voice and exclaimed, “_Fugite, partes adversæ!_ Leave -me in peace, unwelcome overtures; avaunt, with your desires, ladies, -for she who is queen of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, suffers -none but hers to lead me captive and subdue me;” and so saying he sat -down on the floor in the middle of the room, tired out and broken down -by all this exertion in the dance. - -Don Antonio directed him to be taken up bodily and carried to bed, and -the first that laid hold of him was Sancho, saying as he did so, “In an -evil hour you took to dancing, master mine; do you fancy all mighty men -of valour are dancers, and all knights-errant given to capering? If you -do, I can tell you you are mistaken; there’s many a man would rather -undertake to kill a giant than cut a caper. If it had been the -shoe-fling you were at I could take your place, for I can do the -shoe-fling like a gerfalcon; but I’m no good at dancing.” - -With these and other observations Sancho set the whole ball-room -laughing, and then put his master to bed, covering him up well so that -he might sweat out any chill caught after his dancing. - -The next day Don Antonio thought he might as well make trial of the -enchanted head, and with Don Quixote, Sancho, and two others, friends -of his, besides the two ladies that had tired out Don Quixote at the -ball, who had remained for the night with Don Antonio’s wife, he locked -himself up in the chamber where the head was. He explained to them the -property it possessed and entrusted the secret to them, telling them -that now for the first time he was going to try the virtue of the -enchanted head; but except Don Antonio’s two friends no one else was -privy to the mystery of the enchantment, and if Don Antonio had not -first revealed it to them they would have been inevitably reduced to -the same state of amazement as the rest, so artfully and skilfully was -it contrived. - -The first to approach the ear of the head was Don Antonio himself, and -in a low voice but not so low as not to be audible to all, he said to -it, “Head, tell me by the virtue that lies in thee what am I at this -moment thinking of?” - -The head, without any movement of the lips, answered in a clear and -distinct voice, so as to be heard by all, “I cannot judge of thoughts.” - -All were thunderstruck at this, and all the more so as they saw that -there was nobody anywhere near the table or in the whole room that -could have answered. “How many of us are here?” asked Don Antonio once -more; and it was answered him in the same way softly, “Thou and thy -wife, with two friends of thine and two of hers, and a famous knight -called Don Quixote of La Mancha, and a squire of his, Sancho Panza by -name.” - -Now there was fresh astonishment; now everyone’s hair was standing on -end with awe; and Don Antonio retiring from the head exclaimed, “This -suffices to show me that I have not been deceived by him who sold thee -to me, O sage head, talking head, answering head, wonderful head! Let -someone else go and put what question he likes to it.” - -And as women are commonly impulsive and inquisitive, the first to come -forward was one of the two friends of Don Antonio’s wife, and her -question was, “Tell me, Head, what shall I do to be very beautiful?” -and the answer she got was, “Be very modest.” - -“I question thee no further,” said the fair querist. - -Her companion then came up and said, “I should like to know, Head, -whether my husband loves me or not;” the answer given to her was, -“Think how he uses thee, and thou mayest guess;” and the married lady -went off saying, “That answer did not need a question; for of course -the treatment one receives shows the disposition of him from whom it is -received.” - -Then one of Don Antonio’s two friends advanced and asked it, “Who am -I?” “Thou knowest,” was the answer. “That is not what I ask thee,” said -the gentleman, “but to tell me if thou knowest me.” “Yes, I know thee, -thou art Don Pedro Noriz,” was the reply. - -“I do not seek to know more,” said the gentleman, “for this is enough -to convince me, O Head, that thou knowest everything;” and as he -retired the other friend came forward and asked it, “Tell me, Head, -what are the wishes of my eldest son?” - -“I have said already,” was the answer, “that I cannot judge of wishes; -however, I can tell thee the wish of thy son is to bury thee.” - -“That’s ‘what I see with my eyes I point out with my finger,’” said the -gentleman, “so I ask no more.” - -Don Antonio’s wife came up and said, “I know not what to ask thee, -Head; I would only seek to know of thee if I shall have many years of -enjoyment of my good husband;” and the answer she received was, “Thou -shalt, for his vigour and his temperate habits promise many years of -life, which by their intemperance others so often cut short.” - -Then Don Quixote came forward and said, “Tell me, thou that answerest, -was that which I describe as having happened to me in the cave of -Montesinos the truth or a dream? Will Sancho’s whipping be accomplished -without fail? Will the disenchantment of Dulcinea be brought about?” - -“As to the question of the cave,” was the reply, “there is much to be -said; there is something of both in it. Sancho’s whipping will proceed -leisurely. The disenchantment of Dulcinea will attain its due -consummation.” - -“I seek to know no more,” said Don Quixote; “let me but see Dulcinea -disenchanted, and I will consider that all the good fortune I could -wish for has come upon me all at once.” - -The last questioner was Sancho, and his questions were, “Head, shall I -by any chance have another government? Shall I ever escape from the -hard life of a squire? Shall I get back to see my wife and children?” -To which the answer came, “Thou shalt govern in thy house; and if thou -returnest to it thou shalt see thy wife and children; and on ceasing to -serve thou shalt cease to be a squire.” - -“Good, by God!” said Sancho Panza; “I could have told myself that; the -prophet Perogrullo could have said no more.” - -“What answer wouldst thou have, beast?” said Don Quixote; “is it not -enough that the replies this head has given suit the questions put to -it?” - -“Yes, it is enough,” said Sancho; “but I should have liked it to have -made itself plainer and told me more.” - -The questions and answers came to an end here, but not the wonder with -which all were filled, except Don Antonio’s two friends who were in the -secret. This Cide Hamete Benengeli thought fit to reveal at once, not -to keep the world in suspense, fancying that the head had some strange -magical mystery in it. He says, therefore, that on the model of another -head, the work of an image maker, which he had seen at Madrid, Don -Antonio made this one at home for his own amusement and to astonish -ignorant people; and its mechanism was as follows. The table was of -wood painted and varnished to imitate jasper, and the pedestal on which -it stood was of the same material, with four eagles’ claws projecting -from it to support the weight more steadily. The head, which resembled -a bust or figure of a Roman emperor, and was coloured like bronze, was -hollow throughout, as was the table, into which it was fitted so -exactly that no trace of the joining was visible. The pedestal of the -table was also hollow and communicated with the throat and neck of the -head, and the whole was in communication with another room underneath -the chamber in which the head stood. Through the entire cavity in the -pedestal, table, throat and neck of the bust or figure, there passed a -tube of tin carefully adjusted and concealed from sight. In the room -below corresponding to the one above was placed the person who was to -answer, with his mouth to the tube, and the voice, as in an -ear-trumpet, passed from above downwards, and from below upwards, the -words coming clearly and distinctly; it was impossible, thus, to detect -the trick. A nephew of Don Antonio’s, a smart sharp-witted student, was -the answerer, and as he had been told beforehand by his uncle who the -persons were that would come with him that day into the chamber where -the head was, it was an easy matter for him to answer the first -question at once and correctly; the others he answered by guess-work, -and, being clever, cleverly. Cide Hamete adds that this marvellous -contrivance stood for some ten or twelve days; but that, as it became -noised abroad through the city that he had in his house an enchanted -head that answered all who asked questions of it, Don Antonio, fearing -it might come to the ears of the watchful sentinels of our faith, -explained the matter to the inquisitors, who commanded him to break it -up and have done with it, lest the ignorant vulgar should be -scandalised. By Don Quixote, however, and by Sancho the head was still -held to be an enchanted one, and capable of answering questions, though -more to Don Quixote’s satisfaction than Sancho’s. - -The gentlemen of the city, to gratify Don Antonio and also to do the -honours to Don Quixote, and give him an opportunity of displaying his -folly, made arrangements for a tilting at the ring in six days from -that time, which, however, for reason that will be mentioned hereafter, -did not take place. - -Don Quixote took a fancy to stroll about the city quietly and on foot, -for he feared that if he went on horseback the boys would follow him; -so he and Sancho and two servants that Don Antonio gave him set out for -a walk. Thus it came to pass that going along one of the streets Don -Quixote lifted up his eyes and saw written in very large letters over a -door, “Books printed here,” at which he was vastly pleased, for until -then he had never seen a printing office, and he was curious to know -what it was like. He entered with all his following, and saw them -drawing sheets in one place, correcting in another, setting up type -here, revising there; in short all the work that is to be seen in great -printing offices. He went up to one case and asked what they were about -there; the workmen told him, he watched them with wonder, and passed -on. He approached one man, among others, and asked him what he was -doing. The workman replied, “Señor, this gentleman here” (pointing to a -man of prepossessing appearance and a certain gravity of look) “has -translated an Italian book into our Spanish tongue, and I am setting it -up in type for the press.” - -“What is the title of the book?” asked Don Quixote; to which the author -replied, “Señor, in Italian the book is called _Le Bagatelle_.” - -“And what does _Le Bagatelle_ import in our Spanish?” asked Don -Quixote. - -“_Le Bagatelle_,” said the author, “is as though we should say in -Spanish _Los Juguetes;_ but though the book is humble in name it has -good solid matter in it.” - -“I,” said Don Quixote, “have some little smattering of Italian, and I -plume myself on singing some of Ariosto’s stanzas; but tell me, señor—I -do not say this to test your ability, but merely out of curiosity—have -you ever met with the word _pignatta_ in your book?” - -“Yes, often,” said the author. - -“And how do you render that in Spanish?” - -“How should I render it,” returned the author, “but by _olla_?” - -“Body o’ me,” exclaimed Don Quixote, “what a proficient you are in the -Italian language! I would lay a good wager that where they say in -Italian _piace_ you say in Spanish _place_, and where they say _piu_ -you say _mas_, and you translate _sù_ by _arriba_ and _giù_ by -_abajo_.” - -“I translate them so of course,” said the author, “for those are their -proper equivalents.” - -“I would venture to swear,” said Don Quixote, “that your worship is not -known in the world, which always begrudges their reward to rare wits -and praiseworthy labours. What talents lie wasted there! What genius -thrust away into corners! What worth left neglected! Still it seems to -me that translation from one language into another, if it be not from -the queens of languages, the Greek and the Latin, is like looking at -Flemish tapestries on the wrong side; for though the figures are -visible, they are full of threads that make them indistinct, and they -do not show with the smoothness and brightness of the right side; and -translation from easy languages argues neither ingenuity nor command of -words, any more than transcribing or copying out one document from -another. But I do not mean by this to draw the inference that no credit -is to be allowed for the work of translating, for a man may employ -himself in ways worse and less profitable to himself. This estimate -does not include two famous translators, Doctor Cristóbal de Figueroa, -in his _Pastor Fido_, and Don Juan de Jáuregui, in his _Aminta_, -wherein by their felicity they leave it in doubt which is the -translation and which the original. But tell me, are you printing this -book at your own risk, or have you sold the copyright to some -bookseller?” - -“I print at my own risk,” said the author, “and I expect to make a -thousand ducats at least by this first edition, which is to be of two -thousand copies that will go off in a twinkling at six reals apiece.” - -“A fine calculation you are making!” said Don Quixote; “it is plain you -don’t know the ins and outs of the printers, and how they play into one -another’s hands. I promise you when you find yourself saddled with two -thousand copies you will feel so sore that it will astonish you, -particularly if the book is a little out of the common and not in any -way highly spiced.” - -“What!” said the author, “would your worship, then, have me give it to -a bookseller who will give three maravedis for the copyright and think -he is doing me a favour? I do not print my books to win fame in the -world, for I am known in it already by my works; I want to make money, -without which reputation is not worth a rap.” - -“God send your worship good luck,” said Don Quixote; and he moved on to -another case, where he saw them correcting a sheet of a book with the -title of “Light of the Soul;” noticing it he observed, “Books like -this, though there are many of the kind, are the ones that deserve to -be printed, for many are the sinners in these days, and lights -unnumbered are needed for all that are in darkness.” - -He passed on, and saw they were also correcting another book, and when -he asked its title they told him it was called, “The Second Part of the -Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha,” by one of Tordesillas. - -“I have heard of this book already,” said Don Quixote, “and verily and -on my conscience I thought it had been by this time burned to ashes as -a meddlesome intruder; but its Martinmas will come to it as it does to -every pig; for fictions have the more merit and charm about them the -more nearly they approach the truth or what looks like it; and true -stories, the truer they are the better they are;” and so saying he -walked out of the printing office with a certain amount of displeasure -in his looks. That same day Don Antonio arranged to take him to see the -galleys that lay at the beach, whereat Sancho was in high delight, as -he had never seen any all his life. Don Antonio sent word to the -commandant of the galleys that he intended to bring his guest, the -famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, of whom the commandant and all the -citizens had already heard, that afternoon to see them; and what -happened on board of them will be told in the next chapter. - -CHAPTER LXIII. -OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE -GALLEYS, AND THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF THE FAIR MORISCO - -Profound were Don Quixote’s reflections on the reply of the enchanted -head, not one of them, however, hitting on the secret of the trick, but -all concentrated on the promise, which he regarded as a certainty, of -Dulcinea’s disenchantment. This he turned over in his mind again and -again with great satisfaction, fully persuaded that he would shortly -see its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, though, as has been said, he -hated being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving orders and -finding himself obeyed once more; this is the misfortune that being in -authority, even in jest, brings with it. - -To resume; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno and his two -friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The -commandant had been already made aware of his good fortune in seeing -two such famous persons as Don Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they -came to the shore all the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions -rang out. A skiff covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson -velvet was immediately lowered into the water, and as Don Quixote -stepped on board of it, the leading galley fired her gangway gun, and -the other galleys did the same; and as he mounted the starboard ladder -the whole crew saluted him (as is the custom when a personage of -distinction comes on board a galley) by exclaiming “Hu, hu, hu,” three -times. The general, for so we shall call him, a Valencian gentleman of -rank, gave him his hand and embraced him, saying, “I shall mark this -day with a white stone as one of the happiest I can expect to enjoy in -my lifetime, since I have seen Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, pattern -and image wherein we see contained and condensed all that is worthy in -knight-errantry.” - -Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception, -replied to him in words no less courteous. All then proceeded to the -poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on the -bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all -hands to strip, which they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a -number of men stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more -when he saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him as -if all the devils were at work at it; but all this was cakes and fancy -bread to what I am going to tell now. Sancho was seated on the -captain’s stage, close to the aftermost rower on the right-hand side. -He, previously instructed in what he was to do, laid hold of Sancho, -hoisting him up in his arms, and the whole crew, who were standing -ready, beginning on the right, proceeded to pass him on, whirling him -along from hand to hand and from bench to bench with such rapidity that -it took the sight out of poor Sancho’s eyes, and he made quite sure -that the devils themselves were flying away with him; nor did they -leave off with him until they had sent him back along the left side and -deposited him on the poop; and the poor fellow was left bruised and -breathless and all in a sweat, and unable to comprehend what it was -that had happened to him. - -Don Quixote when he saw Sancho’s flight without wings asked the general -if this was a usual ceremony with those who came on board the galleys -for the first time; for, if so, as he had no intention of adopting them -as a profession, he had no mind to perform such feats of agility, and -if anyone offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to -God he would kick his soul out; and as he said this he stood up and -clapped his hand upon his sword. At this instant they struck the awning -and lowered the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho thought heaven -was coming off its hinges and going to fall on his head, and full of -terror he ducked it and buried it between his knees; nor were Don -Quixote’s knees altogether under control, for he too shook a little, -squeezed his shoulders together and lost colour. The crew then hoisted -the yard with the same rapidity and clatter as when they lowered it, -all the while keeping silence as though they had neither voice nor -breath. The boatswain gave the signal to weigh anchor, and leaping upon -the middle of the gangway began to lay on to the shoulders of the crew -with his courbash or whip, and to haul out gradually to sea. - -When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) -moving all together, he said to himself, “It’s these that are the real -chanted things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those -wretches have done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes -along there whistling dare to whip so many? I declare this is hell, or -at least purgatory!” - -Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going -on, said to him, “Ah, Sancho my friend, how quickly and cheaply might -you finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to -the waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and -sufferings of so many you would not feel your own much; and moreover -perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid on -with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give -yourself at last.” - -The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was -Dulcinea’s disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed, “Monjui signals -that there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west.” - -On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, “Now then, -my sons, don’t let her give us the slip! It must be some Algerine -corsair brigantine that the watchtower signals to us.” The three others -immediately came alongside the chief galley to receive their orders. -The general ordered two to put out to sea while he with the other kept -in shore, so that in this way the vessel could not escape them. The -crews plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed -to fly. The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles -sighted a vessel which, so far as they could make out, they judged to -be one of fourteen or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As soon as the -vessel discovered the galleys she went about with the object and in the -hope of making her escape by her speed; but the attempt failed, for the -chief galley was one of the fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her -so rapidly that they on board the brigantine saw clearly there was no -possibility of escaping, and the rais therefore would have had them -drop their oars and give themselves up so as not to provoke the captain -in command of our galleys to anger. But chance, directing things -otherwise, so ordered it that just as the chief galley came close -enough for those on board the vessel to hear the shouts from her -calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that is to say two Turks, -both drunken, that with a dozen more were on board the brigantine, -discharged their muskets, killing two of the soldiers that lined the -sides of our vessel. Seeing this the general swore he would not leave -one of those he found on board the vessel alive, but as he bore down -furiously upon her she slipped away from him underneath the oars. The -galley shot a good way ahead; those on board the vessel saw their case -was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they made sail, -and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer off; but their -activity did not do them as much good as their rashness did them harm, -for the galley coming up with them in a little more than half a mile -threw her oars over them and took the whole of them alive. The other -two galleys now joined company and all four returned with the prize to -the beach, where a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see -what they brought back. The general anchored close in, and perceived -that the viceroy of the city was on the shore. He ordered the skiff to -push off to fetch him, and the yard to be lowered for the purpose of -hanging forthwith the rais and the rest of the men taken on board the -vessel, about six-and-thirty in number, all smart fellows and most of -them Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, -and was answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards -proved to be a Spanish renegade), “This young man, señor that you see -here is our rais,” and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most -gallant-looking youths that could be imagined. He did not seem to be -twenty years of age. - -“Tell me, dog,” said the general, “what led thee to kill my soldiers, -when thou sawest it was impossible for thee to escape? Is that the way -to behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not -valour? Faint prospects of success should make men bold, but not rash.” - -The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at that moment -listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the viceroy, who was now -coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and -some of the people. - -“You have had a good chase, señor general,” said the viceroy. - -“Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this -yard,” replied the general. - -“How so?” returned the viceroy. - -“Because,” said the general, “against all law, reason, and usages of -war they have killed on my hands two of the best soldiers on board -these galleys, and I have sworn to hang every man that I have taken, -but above all this youth who is the rais of the brigantine,” and he -pointed to him as he stood with his hands already bound and the rope -round his neck, ready for death. - -The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so well-favoured, so -graceful, and so submissive, he felt a desire to spare his life, the -comeliness of the youth furnishing him at once with a letter of -recommendation. He therefore questioned him, saying, “Tell me, rais, -art thou Turk, Moor, or renegade?” - -To which the youth replied, also in Spanish, “I am neither Turk, nor -Moor, nor renegade.” - -“What art thou, then?” said the viceroy. - -“A Christian woman,” replied the youth. - -“A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such circumstances! It -is more marvellous than credible,” said the viceroy. - -“Suspend the execution of the sentence,” said the youth; “your -vengeance will not lose much by waiting while I tell you the story of -my life.” - -What heart could be so hard as not to be softened by these words, at -any rate so far as to listen to what the unhappy youth had to say? The -general bade him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his -flagrant offence. With this permission the youth began in these words. - -“Born of Morisco parents, I am of that nation, more unhappy than wise, -upon which of late a sea of woes has poured down. In the course of our -misfortune I was carried to Barbary by two uncles of mine, for it was -in vain that I declared I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not a -mere pretended one, or outwardly, but a true Catholic Christian. It -availed me nothing with those charged with our sad expatriation to -protest this, nor would my uncles believe it; on the contrary, they -treated it as an untruth and a subterfuge set up to enable me to remain -behind in the land of my birth; and so, more by force than of my own -will, they took me with them. I had a Christian mother, and a father -who was a man of sound sense and a Christian too; I imbibed the -Catholic faith with my mother’s milk, I was well brought up, and -neither in word nor in deed did I, I think, show any sign of being a -Morisco. To accompany these virtues, for such I hold them, my beauty, -if I possess any, grew with my growth; and great as was the seclusion -in which I lived it was not so great but that a young gentleman, Don -Gaspar Gregorio by name, eldest son of a gentleman who is lord of a -village near ours, contrived to find opportunities of seeing me. How he -saw me, how we met, how his heart was lost to me, and mine not kept -from him, would take too long to tell, especially at a moment when I am -in dread of the cruel cord that threatens me interposing between tongue -and throat; I will only say, therefore, that Don Gregorio chose to -accompany me in our banishment. He joined company with the Moriscoes -who were going forth from other villages, for he knew their language -very well, and on the voyage he struck up a friendship with my two -uncles who were carrying me with them; for my father, like a wise and -far-sighted man, as soon as he heard the first edict for our expulsion, -quitted the village and departed in quest of some refuge for us abroad. -He left hidden and buried, at a spot of which I alone have knowledge, a -large quantity of pearls and precious stones of great value, together -with a sum of money in gold cruzadoes and doubloons. He charged me on -no account to touch the treasure, if by any chance they expelled us -before his return. I obeyed him, and with my uncles, as I have said, -and others of our kindred and neighbours, passed over to Barbary, and -the place where we took up our abode was Algiers, much the same as if -we had taken it up in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and -report told him of my wealth, which was in some degree fortunate for -me. He summoned me before him, and asked me what part of Spain I came -from, and what money and jewels I had. I mentioned the place, and told -him the jewels and money were buried there; but that they might easily -be recovered if I myself went back for them. All this I told him, in -dread lest my beauty and not his own covetousness should influence him. -While he was engaged in conversation with me, they brought him word -that in company with me was one of the handsomest and most graceful -youths that could be imagined. I knew at once that they were speaking -of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose comeliness surpasses the most highly -vaunted beauty. I was troubled when I thought of the danger he was in, -for among those barbarous Turks a fair youth is more esteemed than a -woman, be she ever so beautiful. The king immediately ordered him to be -brought before him that he might see him, and asked me if what they -said about the youth was true. I then, almost as if inspired by heaven, -told him it was, but that I would have him to know it was not a man, -but a woman like myself, and I entreated him to allow me to go and -dress her in the attire proper to her, so that her beauty might be seen -to perfection, and that she might present herself before him with less -embarrassment. He bade me go by all means, and said that the next day -we should discuss the plan to be adopted for my return to Spain to -carry away the hidden treasure. I saw Don Gaspar, I told him the danger -he was in if he let it be seen he was a man, I dressed him as a Moorish -woman, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king, who was -charmed when he saw him, and resolved to keep the damsel and make a -present of her to the Grand Signor; and to avoid the risk she might run -among the women of his seraglio, and distrustful of himself, he -commanded her to be placed in the house of some Moorish ladies of rank -who would protect and attend to her; and thither he was taken at once. -What we both suffered (for I cannot deny that I love him) may be left -to the imagination of those who are separated if they love one another -dearly. The king then arranged that I should return to Spain in this -brigantine, and that two Turks, those who killed your soldiers, should -accompany me. There also came with me this Spanish renegade”—and here -she pointed to him who had first spoken—“whom I know to be secretly a -Christian, and to be more desirous of being left in Spain than of -returning to Barbary. The rest of the crew of the brigantine are Moors -and Turks, who merely serve as rowers. The two Turks, greedy and -insolent, instead of obeying the orders we had to land me and this -renegade in Christian dress (with which we came provided) on the first -Spanish ground we came to, chose to run along the coast and make some -prize if they could, fearing that if they put us ashore first, we -might, in case of some accident befalling us, make it known that the -brigantine was at sea, and thus, if there happened to be any galleys on -the coast, they might be taken. We sighted this shore last night, and -knowing nothing of these galleys, we were discovered, and the result -was what you have seen. To sum up, there is Don Gregorio in woman’s -dress, among women, in imminent danger of his life; and here am I, with -hands bound, in expectation, or rather in dread, of losing my life, of -which I am already weary. Here, sirs, ends my sad story, as true as it -is unhappy; all I ask of you is to allow me to die like a Christian, -for, as I have already said, I am not to be charged with the offence of -which those of my nation are guilty;” and she stood silent, her eyes -filled with moving tears, accompanied by plenty from the bystanders. -The viceroy, touched with compassion, went up to her without speaking -and untied the cord that bound the hands of the Moorish girl. - -But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story, -an elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the galley at the same -time as the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed upon her; and the instant she -ceased speaking he threw himself at her feet, and embracing them said -in a voice broken by sobs and sighs, “O Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter, -I am thy father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live -without thee, my soul that thou art!” - -At these words of his, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head, -which he had been holding down, brooding over his unlucky excursion; -and looking at the pilgrim he recognised in him that same Ricote he met -the day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his -daughter. She being now unbound embraced her father, mingling her tears -with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy said, “This, -sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her adventures than in her name. -She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote, celebrated as much for her own -beauty as for my wealth. I quitted my native land in search of some -shelter or refuge for us abroad, and having found one in Germany I -returned in this pilgrim’s dress, in the company of some other German -pilgrims, to seek my daughter and take up a large quantity of treasure -I had left buried. My daughter I did not find, the treasure I found and -have with me; and now, in this strange roundabout way you have seen, I -find the treasure that more than all makes me rich, my beloved -daughter. If our innocence and her tears and mine can with strict -justice open the door to clemency, extend it to us, for we never had -any intention of injuring you, nor do we sympathise with the aims of -our people, who have been justly banished.” - -“I know Ricote well,” said Sancho at this, “and I know too that what he -says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; but as to those other -particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions, -I say nothing.” - -While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence the general -said, “At any rate your tears will not allow me to keep my oath; live, -fair Ana Felix, all the years that heaven has allotted you; but these -rash insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have -committed;” and with that he gave orders to have the two Turks who had -killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yard-arm. The viceroy, -however, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour -savoured rather of madness than of bravado. The general yielded to the -viceroy’s request, for revenge is not easily taken in cold blood. They -then tried to devise some scheme for rescuing Don Gaspar Gregorio from -the danger in which he had been left. Ricote offered for that object -more than two thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems; they -proposed several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the -renegade already mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small -vessel of about six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew -where, how, and when he could and should land, nor was he ignorant of -the house in which Don Gaspar was staying. The general and the viceroy -had some hesitation about placing confidence in the renegade and -entrusting him with the Christians who were to row, but Ana Felix said -she could answer for him, and her father offered to go and pay the -ransom of the Christians if by any chance they should not be -forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the viceroy landed, and Don -Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and her father home with him, the -viceroy charging him to give them the best reception and welcome in his -power, while on his own part he offered all that house contained for -their entertainment; so great was the good-will and kindliness the -beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart. - -CHAPTER LXIV. -TREATING OF THE ADVENTURE WHICH GAVE DON QUIXOTE MORE UNHAPPINESS THAN -ALL THAT HAD HITHERTO BEFALLEN HIM - -The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was extremely -happy to see Ana Felix in her house. She welcomed her with great -kindness, charmed as well by her beauty as by her intelligence; for in -both respects the fair Morisco was richly endowed, and all the people -of the city flocked to see her as though they had been summoned by the -ringing of the bells. - -Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the plan adopted for releasing Don -Gregorio was not a good one, for its risks were greater than its -advantages, and that it would be better to land himself with his arms -and horse in Barbary; for he would carry him off in spite of the whole -Moorish host, as Don Gaiferos carried off his wife Melisendra. - -“Remember, your worship,” observed Sancho on hearing him say so, “Señor -Don Gaiferos carried off his wife from the mainland, and took her to -France by land; but in this case, if by chance we carry off Don -Gregorio, we have no way of bringing him to Spain, for there’s the sea -between.” - -“There’s a remedy for everything except death,” said Don Quixote; “if -they bring the vessel close to the shore we shall be able to get on -board though all the world strive to prevent us.” - -“Your worship hits it off mighty well and mighty easy,” said Sancho; -“but ‘it’s a long step from saying to doing;’ and I hold to the -renegade, for he seems to me an honest good-hearted fellow.” - -Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove successful, -the expedient of the great Don Quixote’s expedition to Barbary should -be adopted. Two days afterwards the renegade put to sea in a light -vessel of six oars a-side manned by a stout crew, and two days later -the galleys made sail eastward, the general having begged the viceroy -to let him know all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana -Felix, and the viceroy promised to do as he requested. - -One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the beach, -arrayed in full armour (for, as he often said, that was “his only gear, -his only rest the fray,” and he never was without it for a moment), he -saw coming towards him a knight, also in full armour, with a shining -moon painted on his shield, who, on approaching sufficiently near to be -heard, said in a loud voice, addressing himself to Don Quixote, -“Illustrious knight, and never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La -Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, whose unheard-of -achievements will perhaps have recalled him to thy memory. I come to do -battle with thee and prove the might of thy arm, to the end that I make -thee acknowledge and confess that my lady, let her be who she may, is -incomparably fairer than thy Dulcinea del Toboso. If thou dost -acknowledge this fairly and openly, thou shalt escape death and save me -the trouble of inflicting it upon thee; if thou fightest and I vanquish -thee, I demand no other satisfaction than that, laying aside arms and -abstaining from going in quest of adventures, thou withdraw and betake -thyself to thine own village for the space of a year, and live there -without putting hand to sword, in peace and quiet and beneficial -repose, the same being needful for the increase of thy substance and -the salvation of thy soul; and if thou dost vanquish me, my head shall -be at thy disposal, my arms and horse thy spoils, and the renown of my -deeds transferred and added to thine. Consider which will be thy best -course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is all the time I -have for the despatch of this business.” - -Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the Knight of the -White Moon’s arrogance, as at his reason for delivering the defiance, -and with calm dignity he answered him, “Knight of the White Moon, of -whose achievements I have never heard until now, I will venture to -swear you have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea; for had you seen -her I know you would have taken care not to venture yourself upon this -issue, because the sight would have removed all doubt from your mind -that there ever has been or can be a beauty to be compared with hers; -and so, not saying you lie, but merely that you are not correct in what -you state, I accept your challenge, with the conditions you have -proposed, and at once, that the day you have fixed may not expire; and -from your conditions I except only that of the renown of your -achievements being transferred to me, for I know not of what sort they -are nor what they may amount to; I am satisfied with my own, such as -they be. Take, therefore, the side of the field you choose, and I will -do the same; and to whom God shall give it may Saint Peter add his -blessing.” - -The Knight of the White Moon had been seen from the city, and it was -told the viceroy how he was in conversation with Don Quixote. The -viceroy, fancying it must be some fresh adventure got up by Don Antonio -Moreno or some other gentleman of the city, hurried out at once to the -beach accompanied by Don Antonio and several other gentlemen, just as -Don Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take up the -necessary distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that the pair of them -were evidently preparing to come to the charge, put himself between -them, asking them what it was that led them to engage in combat all of -a sudden in this way. The Knight of the White Moon replied that it was -a question of precedence of beauty; and briefly told him what he had -said to Don Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed upon -on both sides had been accepted. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio, -and asked in a low voice did he know who the Knight of the White Moon -was, or was it some joke they were playing on Don Quixote. Don Antonio -replied that he neither knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in -joke or in earnest. This answer left the viceroy in a state of -perplexity, not knowing whether he ought to let the combat go on or -not; but unable to persuade himself that it was anything but a joke he -fell back, saying, “If there be no other way out of it, gallant -knights, except to confess or die, and Don Quixote is inflexible, and -your worship of the White Moon still more so, in God’s hand be it, and -fall on.” - -He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and well-chosen -words for the permission he gave them, and so did Don Quixote, who -then, commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his -Dulcinea, as was his custom on the eve of any combat that awaited him, -proceeded to take a little more distance, as he saw his antagonist was -doing the same; then, without blast of trumpet or other warlike -instrument to give them the signal to charge, both at the same instant -wheeled their horses; and he of the White Moon, being the swifter, met -Don Quixote after having traversed two-thirds of the course, and there -encountered him with such violence that, without touching him with his -lance (for he held it high, to all appearance purposely), he hurled Don -Quixote and Rocinante to the earth, a perilous fall. He sprang upon him -at once, and placing the lance over his visor said to him, “You are -vanquished, sir knight, nay dead unless you admit the conditions of our -defiance.” - -Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, without raising his visor said in a -weak feeble voice as if he were speaking out of a tomb, “Dulcinea del -Toboso is the fairest woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate -knight on earth; it is not fitting that this truth should suffer by my -feebleness; drive your lance home, sir knight, and take my life, since -you have taken away my honour.” - -“That will I not, in sooth,” said he of the White Moon; “live the fame -of the lady Dulcinea’s beauty undimmed as ever; all I require is that -the great Don Quixote retire to his own home for a year, or for so long -a time as shall by me be enjoined upon him, as we agreed before -engaging in this combat.” - -The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others who were present heard all -this, and heard too how Don Quixote replied that so long as nothing in -prejudice of Dulcinea was demanded of him, he would observe all the -rest like a true and loyal knight. The engagement given, he of the -White Moon wheeled about, and making obeisance to the viceroy with a -movement of the head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The -viceroy bade Don Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or other -find out who he was. They raised Don Quixote up and uncovered his face, -and found him pale and bathed with sweat. - -Rocinante from the mere hard measure he had received lay unable to stir -for the present. Sancho, wholly dejected and woebegone, knew not what -to say or do. He fancied that all was a dream, that the whole business -was a piece of enchantment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not -to take up arms for a year. He saw the light of the glory of his -achievements obscured; the hopes of the promises lately made him swept -away like smoke before the wind; Rocinante, he feared, was crippled for -life, and his master’s bones out of joint; for if he were only shaken -out of his madness it would be no small luck. In the end they carried -him into the city in a hand-chair which the viceroy sent for, and -thither the viceroy himself returned, eager to ascertain who this -Knight of the White Moon was who had left Don Quixote in such a sad -plight. - -CHAPTER LXV. -WHEREIN IS MADE KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE MOON WAS; LIKEWISE -DON GREGORIO’S RELEASE, AND OTHER EVENTS - -Don Antonio Moreno followed the Knight of the White Moon, and a number -of boys followed him too, nay pursued him, until they had him fairly -housed in a hostel in the heart of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make -his acquaintance, entered also; a squire came out to meet him and -remove his armour, and he shut himself into a lower room, still -attended by Don Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found -out who he was. He of the White Moon, seeing then that the gentleman -would not leave him, said, “I know very well, señor, what you have come -for; it is to find out who I am; and as there is no reason why I should -conceal it from you, while my servant here is taking off my armour I -will tell you the true state of the case, without leaving out anything. -You must know, señor, that I am called the bachelor Samson Carrasco. I -am of the same village as Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose craze and -folly make all of us who know him feel pity for him, and I am one of -those who have felt it most; and persuaded that his chance of recovery -lay in quiet and keeping at home and in his own house, I hit upon a -device for keeping him there. Three months ago, therefore, I went out -to meet him as a knight-errant, under the assumed name of the Knight of -the Mirrors, intending to engage him in combat and overcome him without -hurting him, making it the condition of our combat that the vanquished -should be at the disposal of the victor. What I meant to demand of him -(for I regarded him as vanquished already) was that he should return to -his own village, and not leave it for a whole year, by which time he -might be cured. But fate ordered it otherwise, for he vanquished me and -unhorsed me, and so my plan failed. He went his way, and I came back -conquered, covered with shame, and sorely bruised by my fall, which was -a particularly dangerous one. But this did not quench my desire to meet -him again and overcome him, as you have seen to-day. And as he is so -scrupulous in his observance of the laws of knight-errantry, he will, -no doubt, in order to keep his word, obey the injunction I have laid -upon him. This, señor, is how the matter stands, and I have nothing -more to tell you. I implore of you not to betray me, or tell Don -Quixote who I am; so that my honest endeavours may be successful, and -that a man of excellent wits—were he only rid of the fooleries of -chivalry—may get them back again.” - -“O señor,” said Don Antonio, “may God forgive you the wrong you have -done the whole world in trying to bring the most amusing madman in it -back to his senses. Do you not see, señor, that the gain by Don -Quixote’s sanity can never equal the enjoyment his crazes give? But my -belief is that all the señor bachelor’s pains will be of no avail to -bring a man so hopelessly cracked to his senses again; and if it were -not uncharitable, I would say may Don Quixote never be cured, for by -his recovery we lose not only his own drolleries, but his squire Sancho -Panza’s too, any one of which is enough to turn melancholy itself into -merriment. However, I’ll hold my peace and say nothing to him, and -we’ll see whether I am right in my suspicion that Señor Carrasco’s -efforts will be fruitless.” - -The bachelor replied that at all events the affair promised well, and -he hoped for a happy result from it; and putting his services at Don -Antonio’s commands he took his leave of him; and having had his armour -packed at once upon a mule, he rode away from the city the same day on -the horse he rode to battle, and returned to his own country without -meeting any adventure calling for record in this veracious history. - -Don Antonio reported to the viceroy what Carrasco told him, and the -viceroy was not very well pleased to hear it, for with Don Quixote’s -retirement there was an end to the amusement of all who knew anything -of his mad doings. - -Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy, moody and -out of sorts, brooding over the unhappy event of his defeat. Sancho -strove to comfort him, and among other things he said to him, “Hold up -your head, señor, and be of good cheer if you can, and give thanks to -heaven that if you have had a tumble to the ground you have not come -off with a broken rib; and, as you know that ‘where they give they -take,’ and that ‘there are not always fletches where there are pegs,’ a -fig for the doctor, for there’s no need of him to cure this ailment. -Let us go home, and give over going about in search of adventures in -strange lands and places; rightly looked at, it is I that am the -greater loser, though it is your worship that has had the worse usage. -With the government I gave up all wish to be a governor again, but I -did not give up all longing to be a count; and that will never come to -pass if your worship gives up becoming a king by renouncing the calling -of chivalry; and so my hopes are going to turn into smoke.” - -“Peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou seest my suspension and -retirement is not to exceed a year; I shall soon return to my honoured -calling, and I shall not be at a loss for a kingdom to win and a county -to bestow on thee.” - -“May God hear it and sin be deaf,” said Sancho; “I have always heard -say that ‘a good hope is better than a bad holding.” - -As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely pleased and -exclaiming, “Reward me for my good news, Señor Don Quixote! Don -Gregorio and the renegade who went for him have come ashore—ashore do I -say? They are by this time in the viceroy’s house, and will be here -immediately.” - -Don Quixote cheered up a little and said, “Of a truth I am almost ready -to say I should have been glad had it turned out just the other way, -for it would have obliged me to cross over to Barbary, where by the -might of my arm I should have restored to liberty, not only Don -Gregorio, but all the Christian captives there are in Barbary. But what -am I saying, miserable being that I am? Am I not he that has been -conquered? Am I not he that has been overthrown? Am I not he who must -not take up arms for a year? Then what am I making professions for; -what am I bragging about; when it is fitter for me to handle the -distaff than the sword?” - -“No more of that, señor,” said Sancho; “‘let the hen live, even though -it be with her pip;’ ‘to-day for thee and to-morrow for me;’ in these -affairs of encounters and whacks one must not mind them, for he that -falls to-day may get up to-morrow; unless indeed he chooses to lie in -bed, I mean gives way to weakness and does not pluck up fresh spirit -for fresh battles; let your worship get up now to receive Don Gregorio; -for the household seems to be in a bustle, and no doubt he has come by -this time;” and so it proved, for as soon as Don Gregorio and the -renegade had given the viceroy an account of the voyage out and home, -Don Gregorio, eager to see Ana Felix, came with the renegade to Don -Antonio’s house. When they carried him away from Algiers he was in -woman’s dress; on board the vessel, however, he exchanged it for that -of a captive who escaped with him; but in whatever dress he might be he -looked like one to be loved and served and esteemed, for he was -surpassingly well-favoured, and to judge by appearances some seventeen -or eighteen years of age. Ricote and his daughter came out to welcome -him, the father with tears, the daughter with bashfulness. They did not -embrace each other, for where there is deep love there will never be -overmuch boldness. Seen side by side, the comeliness of Don Gregorio -and the beauty of Ana Felix were the admiration of all who were -present. It was silence that spoke for the lovers at that moment, and -their eyes were the tongues that declared their pure and happy -feelings. The renegade explained the measures and means he had adopted -to rescue Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio at no great length, but in a -few words, in which he showed that his intelligence was in advance of -his years, described the peril and embarrassment he found himself in -among the women with whom he had sojourned. To conclude, Ricote -liberally recompensed and rewarded as well the renegade as the men who -had rowed; and the renegade effected his readmission into the body of -the Church and was reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb became by -penance and repentance a clean and sound one. - -Two days later the viceroy discussed with Don Antonio the steps they -should take to enable Ana Felix and her father to stay in Spain, for it -seemed to them there could be no objection to a daughter who was so -good a Christian and a father to all appearance so well disposed -remaining there. Don Antonio offered to arrange the matter at the -capital, whither he was compelled to go on some other business, hinting -that many a difficult affair was settled there with the help of favour -and bribes. - -“Nay,” said Ricote, who was present during the conversation, “it will -not do to rely upon favour or bribes, because with the great Don -Bernardino de Velasco, Conde de Salazar, to whom his Majesty has -entrusted our expulsion, neither entreaties nor promises, bribes nor -appeals to compassion, are of any use; for though it is true he mingles -mercy with justice, still, seeing that the whole body of our nation is -tainted and corrupt, he applies to it the cautery that burns rather -than the salve that soothes; and thus, by prudence, sagacity, care and -the fear he inspires, he has borne on his mighty shoulders the weight -of this great policy and carried it into effect, all our schemes and -plots, importunities and wiles, being ineffectual to blind his Argus -eyes, ever on the watch lest one of us should remain behind in -concealment, and like a hidden root come in course of time to sprout -and bear poisonous fruit in Spain, now cleansed, and relieved of the -fear in which our vast numbers kept it. Heroic resolve of the great -Philip the Third, and unparalleled wisdom to have entrusted it to the -said Don Bernardino de Velasco!” - -“At any rate,” said Don Antonio, “when I am there I will make all -possible efforts, and let heaven do as pleases it best; Don Gregorio -will come with me to relieve the anxiety which his parents must be -suffering on account of his absence; Ana Felix will remain in my house -with my wife, or in a monastery; and I know the viceroy will be glad -that the worthy Ricote should stay with him until we see what terms I -can make.” - -The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed; but Don Gregorio on -learning what had passed declared he could not and would not on any -account leave Ana Felix; however, as it was his purpose to go and see -his parents and devise some way of returning for her, he fell in with -the proposed arrangement. Ana Felix remained with Don Antonio’s wife, -and Ricote in the viceroy’s house. - -The day for Don Antonio’s departure came; and two days later that for -Don Quixote’s and Sancho’s, for Don Quixote’s fall did not suffer him -to take the road sooner. There were tears and sighs, swoonings and -sobs, at the parting between Don Gregorio and Ana Felix. Ricote offered -Don Gregorio a thousand crowns if he would have them, but he would not -take any save five which Don Antonio lent him and he promised to repay -at the capital. So the two of them took their departure, and Don -Quixote and Sancho afterwards, as has been already said, Don Quixote -without his armour and in travelling gear, and Sancho on foot, Dapple -being loaded with the armour. - -CHAPTER LXVI. -WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HE WHO READS WILL SEE, OR WHAT HE WHO HAS IT READ -TO HIM WILL HEAR - -As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he -had fallen. “Here Troy was,” said he; “here my ill-luck, not my -cowardice, robbed me of all the glory I had won; here Fortune made me -the victim of her caprices; here the lustre of my achievements was -dimmed; here, in a word, fell my happiness never to rise again.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho on hearing this, “it is the part of brave hearts -to be patient in adversity just as much as to be glad in prosperity; I -judge by myself, for, if when I was a governor I was glad, now that I -am a squire and on foot I am not sad; and I have heard say that she -whom commonly they call Fortune is a drunken whimsical jade, and, what -is more, blind, and therefore neither sees what she does, nor knows -whom she casts down or whom she sets up.” - -“Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou -speakest very sensibly; I know not who taught thee. But I can tell thee -there is no such thing as Fortune in the world, nor does anything which -takes place there, be it good or bad, come about by chance, but by the -special preordination of heaven; and hence the common saying that ‘each -of us is the maker of his own Fortune.’ I have been that of mine; but -not with the proper amount of prudence, and my self-confidence has -therefore made me pay dearly; for I ought to have reflected that -Rocinante’s feeble strength could not resist the mighty bulk of the -Knight of the White Moon’s horse. In a word, I ventured it, I did my -best, I was overthrown, but though I lost my honour I did not lose nor -can I lose the virtue of keeping my word. When I was a knight-errant, -daring and valiant, I supported my achievements by hand and deed, and -now that I am a humble squire I will support my words by keeping the -promise I have given. Forward then, Sancho my friend, let us go to keep -the year of the novitiate in our own country, and in that seclusion we -shall pick up fresh strength to return to the by me never-forgotten -calling of arms.” - -“Señor,” returned Sancho, “travelling on foot is not such a pleasant -thing that it makes me feel disposed or tempted to make long marches. -Let us leave this armour hung up on some tree, instead of someone that -has been hanged; and then with me on Dapple’s back and my feet off the -ground we will arrange the stages as your worship pleases to measure -them out; but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make -long ones, is to suppose nonsense.” - -“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “let my armour be hung up -for a trophy, and under it or round it we will carve on the trees what -was inscribed on the trophy of Roland’s armour- - -These let none move -Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.” - -“That’s the very thing,” said Sancho; “and if it was not that we should -feel the want of Rocinante on the road, it would be as well to leave -him hung up too.” - -“And yet, I had rather not have either him or the armour hung up,” said -Don Quixote, “that it may not be said, ‘for good service a bad -return.’” - -“Your worship is right,” said Sancho; “for, as sensible people hold, -‘the fault of the ass must not be laid on the pack-saddle;’ and, as in -this affair the fault is your worship’s, punish yourself and don’t let -your anger break out against the already battered and bloody armour, or -the meekness of Rocinante, or the tenderness of my feet, trying to make -them travel more than is reasonable.” - -In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as did the four -succeeding ones, without anything occurring to interrupt their journey, -but on the fifth as they entered a village they found a great number of -people at the door of an inn enjoying themselves, as it was a holiday. -Upon Don Quixote’s approach a peasant called out, “One of these two -gentlemen who come here, and who don’t know the parties, will tell us -what we ought to do about our wager.” - -“That I will, certainly,” said Don Quixote, “and according to the -rights of the case, if I can manage to understand it.” - -“Well, here it is, worthy sir,” said the peasant; “a man of this -village who is so fat that he weighs twenty stone challenged another, a -neighbour of his, who does not weigh more than nine, to run a race. The -agreement was that they were to run a distance of a hundred paces with -equal weights; and when the challenger was asked how the weights were -to be equalised he said that the other, as he weighed nine stone, -should put eleven in iron on his back, and that in this way the twenty -stone of the thin man would equal the twenty stone of the fat one.” - -“Not at all,” exclaimed Sancho at once, before Don Quixote could -answer; “it’s for me, that only a few days ago left off being a -governor and a judge, as all the world knows, to settle these doubtful -questions and give an opinion in disputes of all sorts.” - -“Answer in God’s name, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I am -not fit to give crumbs to a cat, my wits are so confused and upset.” - -With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood clustered -round him, waiting with open mouths for the decision to come from his, -“Brothers, what the fat man requires is not in reason, nor has it a -shadow of justice in it; because, if it be true, as they say, that the -challenged may choose the weapons, the other has no right to choose -such as will prevent and keep him from winning. My decision, therefore, -is that the fat challenger prune, peel, thin, trim and correct himself, -and take eleven stone of his flesh off his body, here or there, as he -pleases, and as suits him best; and being in this way reduced to nine -stone weight, he will make himself equal and even with nine stone of -his opponent, and they will be able to run on equal terms.” - -“By all that’s good,” said one of the peasants as he heard Sancho’s -decision, “but the gentleman has spoken like a saint, and given -judgment like a canon! But I’ll be bound the fat man won’t part with an -ounce of his flesh, not to say eleven stone.” - -“The best plan will be for them not to run,” said another, “so that -neither the thin man break down under the weight, nor the fat one strip -himself of his flesh; let half the wager be spent in wine, and let’s -take these gentlemen to the tavern where there’s the best, and ‘over me -be the cloak when it rains.” - -“I thank you, sirs,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot stop for an -instant, for sad thoughts and unhappy circumstances force me to seem -discourteous and to travel apace;” and spurring Rocinante he pushed on, -leaving them wondering at what they had seen and heard, at his own -strange figure and at the shrewdness of his servant, for such they took -Sancho to be; and another of them observed, “If the servant is so -clever, what must the master be? I’ll bet, if they are going to -Salamanca to study, they’ll come to be alcaldes of the Court in a -trice; for it’s a mere joke—only to read and read, and have interest -and good luck; and before a man knows where he is he finds himself with -a staff in his hand or a mitre on his head.” - -That night master and man passed out in the fields in the open air, and -the next day as they were pursuing their journey they saw coming -towards them a man on foot with alforjas at the neck and a javelin or -spiked staff in his hand, the very cut of a foot courier; who, as soon -as he came close to Don Quixote, increased his pace and half running -came up to him, and embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no -higher, exclaimed with evident pleasure, “O Señor Don Quixote of La -Mancha, what happiness it will be to the heart of my lord the duke when -he knows your worship is coming back to his castle, for he is still -there with my lady the duchess!” - -“I do not recognise you, friend,” said Don Quixote, “nor do I know who -you are, unless you tell me.” - -“I am Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, Señor Don Quixote,” replied -the courier; “he who refused to fight your worship about marrying the -daughter of Doña Rodriguez.” - -“God bless me!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “is it possible that you are the -one whom mine enemies the enchanters changed into the lacquey you speak -of in order to rob me of the honour of that battle?” - -“Nonsense, good sir!” said the messenger; “there was no enchantment or -transformation at all; I entered the lists just as much lacquey Tosilos -as I came out of them lacquey Tosilos. I thought to marry without -fighting, for the girl had taken my fancy; but my scheme had a very -different result, for as soon as your worship had left the castle my -lord the duke had a hundred strokes of the stick given me for having -acted contrary to the orders he gave me before engaging in the combat; -and the end of the whole affair is that the girl has become a nun, and -Doña Rodriguez has gone back to Castile, and I am now on my way to -Barcelona with a packet of letters for the viceroy which my master is -sending him. If your worship would like a drop, sound though warm, I -have a gourd here full of the best, and some scraps of Tronchon cheese -that will serve as a provocative and wakener of your thirst if so be it -is asleep.” - -“I take the offer,” said Sancho; “no more compliments about it; pour -out, good Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters in the Indies.” - -“Thou art indeed the greatest glutton in the world, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote, “and the greatest booby on earth, not to be able to see that -this courier is enchanted and this Tosilos a sham one; stop with him -and take thy fill; I will go on slowly and wait for thee to come up -with me.” - -The lacquey laughed, unsheathed his gourd, unwalletted his scraps, and -taking out a small loaf of bread he and Sancho seated themselves on the -green grass, and in peace and good fellowship finished off the contents -of the alforjas down to the bottom, so resolutely that they licked the -wrapper of the letters, merely because it smelt of cheese. - -Said Tosilos to Sancho, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend, this master -of thine ought to be a madman.” - -“Ought!” said Sancho; “he owes no man anything; he pays for everything, -particularly when the coin is madness. I see it plain enough, and I -tell him so plain enough; but what’s the use? especially now that it is -all over with him, for here he is beaten by the Knight of the White -Moon.” - -Tosilos begged him to explain what had happened him, but Sancho replied -that it would not be good manners to leave his master waiting for him; -and that some other day if they met there would be time enough for -that; and then getting up, after shaking his doublet and brushing the -crumbs out of his beard, he drove Dapple on before him, and bidding -adieu to Tosilos left him and rejoined his master, who was waiting for -him under the shade of a tree. - -CHAPTER LXVII. -OF THE RESOLUTION DON QUIXOTE FORMED TO TURN SHEPHERD AND TAKE TO A -LIFE IN THE FIELDS WHILE THE YEAR FOR WHICH HE HAD GIVEN HIS WORD WAS -RUNNING ITS COURSE; WITH OTHER EVENTS TRULY DELECTABLE AND HAPPY - -If a multitude of reflections used to harass Don Quixote before he had -been overthrown, a great many more harassed him since his fall. He was -under the shade of a tree, as has been said, and there, like flies on -honey, thoughts came crowding upon him and stinging him. Some of them -turned upon the disenchantment of Dulcinea, others upon the life he was -about to lead in his enforced retirement. Sancho came up and spoke in -high praise of the generous disposition of the lacquey Tosilos. - -“Is it possible, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou dost still think -that he yonder is a real lacquey? Apparently it has escaped thy memory -that thou hast seen Dulcinea turned and transformed into a peasant -wench, and the Knight of the Mirrors into the bachelor Carrasco; all -the work of the enchanters that persecute me. But tell me now, didst -thou ask this Tosilos, as thou callest him, what has become of -Altisidora, did she weep over my absence, or has she already consigned -to oblivion the love thoughts that used to afflict her when I was -present?” - -“The thoughts that I had,” said Sancho, “were not such as to leave time -for asking fool’s questions. Body o’ me, señor! is your worship in a -condition now to inquire into other people’s thoughts, above all love -thoughts?” - -“Look ye, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “there is a great difference -between what is done out of love and what is done out of gratitude. A -knight may very possibly be proof against love; but it is impossible, -strictly speaking, for him to be ungrateful. Altisidora, to all -appearance, loved me truly; she gave me the three kerchiefs thou -knowest of; she wept at my departure, she cursed me, she abused me, -casting shame to the winds she bewailed herself in public; all signs -that she adored me; for the wrath of lovers always ends in curses. I -had no hopes to give her, nor treasures to offer her, for mine are -given to Dulcinea, and the treasures of knights-errant are like those -of the fairies,’ illusory and deceptive; all I can give her is the -place in my memory I keep for her, without prejudice, however, to that -which I hold devoted to Dulcinea, whom thou art wronging by thy -remissness in whipping thyself and scourging that flesh—would that I -saw it eaten by wolves—which would rather keep itself for the worms -than for the relief of that poor lady.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, I cannot persuade -myself that the whipping of my backside has anything to do with the -disenchantment of the enchanted; it is like saying, ‘If your head aches -rub ointment on your knees;’ at any rate I’ll make bold to swear that -in all the histories dealing with knight-errantry that your worship has -read you have never come across anybody disenchanted by whipping; but -whether or no I’ll whip myself when I have a fancy for it, and the -opportunity serves for scourging myself comfortably.” - -“God grant it,” said Don Quixote; “and heaven give thee grace to take -it to heart and own the obligation thou art under to help my lady, who -is thine also, inasmuch as thou art mine.” - -As they pursued their journey talking in this way they came to the very -same spot where they had been trampled on by the bulls. Don Quixote -recognised it, and said he to Sancho, “This is the meadow where we came -upon those gay shepherdesses and gallant shepherds who were trying to -revive and imitate the pastoral Arcadia there, an idea as novel as it -was happy, in emulation whereof, if so be thou dost approve of it, -Sancho, I would have ourselves turn shepherds, at any rate for the time -I have to live in retirement. I will buy some ewes and everything else -requisite for the pastoral calling; and, I under the name of the -shepherd Quixotize and thou as the shepherd Panzino, we will roam the -woods and groves and meadows singing songs here, lamenting in elegies -there, drinking of the crystal waters of the springs or limpid brooks -or flowing rivers. The oaks will yield us their sweet fruit with -bountiful hand, the trunks of the hard cork trees a seat, the willows -shade, the roses perfume, the widespread meadows carpets tinted with a -thousand dyes; the clear pure air will give us breath, the moon and -stars lighten the darkness of the night for us, song shall be our -delight, lamenting our joy, Apollo will supply us with verses, and love -with conceits whereby we shall make ourselves famed for ever, not only -in this but in ages to come.” - -“Egad,” said Sancho, “but that sort of life squares, nay corners, with -my notions; and what is more the bachelor Samson Carrasco and Master -Nicholas the barber won’t have well seen it before they’ll want to -follow it and turn shepherds along with us; and God grant it may not -come into the curate’s head to join the sheepfold too, he’s so jovial -and fond of enjoying himself.” - -“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and the -bachelor Samson Carrasco, if he enters the pastoral fraternity, as no -doubt he will, may call himself the shepherd Samsonino, or perhaps the -shepherd Carrascon; Nicholas the barber may call himself Niculoso, as -old Boscan formerly was called Nemoroso; as for the curate I don’t know -what name we can fit to him unless it be something derived from his -title, and we call him the shepherd Curiambro. For the shepherdesses -whose lovers we shall be, we can pick names as we would pears; and as -my lady’s name does just as well for a shepherdess’s as for a -princess’s, I need not trouble myself to look for one that will suit -her better; to thine, Sancho, thou canst give what name thou wilt.” - -“I don’t mean to give her any but Teresona,” said Sancho, “which will -go well with her stoutness and with her own right name, as she is -called Teresa; and then when I sing her praises in my verses I’ll show -how chaste my passion is, for I’m not going to look ‘for better bread -than ever came from wheat’ in other men’s houses. It won’t do for the -curate to have a shepherdess, for the sake of good example; and if the -bachelor chooses to have one, that is his look-out.” - -“God bless me, Sancho my friend!” said Don Quixote, “what a life we -shall lead! What hautboys and Zamora bagpipes we shall hear, what -tabors, timbrels, and rebecks! And then if among all these different -sorts of music that of the albogues is heard, almost all the pastoral -instruments will be there.” - -“What are albogues?” asked Sancho, “for I never in my life heard tell -of them or saw them.” - -“Albogues,” said Don Quixote, “are brass plates like candlesticks that -struck against one another on the hollow side make a noise which, if -not very pleasing or harmonious, is not disagreeable and accords very -well with the rude notes of the bagpipe and tabor. The word albogue is -Morisco, as are all those in our Spanish tongue that begin with _al;_ -for example, _almohaza, almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, -almacen, alcancia_, and others of the same sort, of which there are not -many more; our language has only three that are Morisco and end in _i_, -which are _borceguí, zaquizamí_, and _maravedí. Alhelí_ and _alfaquí_ -are seen to be Arabic, as well by the _al_ at the beginning as by the -_í_ they end with. I mention this incidentally, the chance allusion to -albogues having reminded me of it; and it will be of great assistance -to us in the perfect practice of this calling that I am something of a -poet, as thou knowest, and that besides the bachelor Samson Carrasco is -an accomplished one. Of the curate I say nothing; but I will wager he -has some spice of the poet in him, and no doubt Master Nicholas too, -for all barbers, or most of them, are guitar players and stringers of -verses. I will bewail my separation; thou shalt glorify thyself as a -constant lover; the shepherd Carrascon will figure as a rejected one, -and the curate Curiambro as whatever may please him best; and so all -will go as gaily as heart could wish.” - -To this Sancho made answer, “I am so unlucky, señor, that I’m afraid -the day will never come when I’ll see myself at such a calling. O what -neat spoons I’ll make when I’m a shepherd! What messes, creams, -garlands, pastoral odds and ends! And if they don’t get me a name for -wisdom, they’ll not fail to get me one for ingenuity. My daughter -Sanchica will bring us our dinner to the pasture. But stay—she’s -good-looking, and shepherds there are with more mischief than -simplicity in them; I would not have her ‘come for wool and go back -shorn;’ love-making and lawless desires are just as common in the -fields as in the cities, and in shepherds’ shanties as in royal -palaces; ‘do away with the cause, you do away with the sin;’ ‘if eyes -don’t see hearts don’t break’ and ‘better a clear escape than good -men’s prayers.’” - -“A truce to thy proverbs, Sancho,” exclaimed Don Quixote; “any one of -those thou hast uttered would suffice to explain thy meaning; many a -time have I recommended thee not to be so lavish with proverbs and to -exercise some moderation in delivering them; but it seems to me it is -only ‘preaching in the desert;’ ‘my mother beats me and I go on with my -tricks.” - -“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that your worship is like the common -saying, ‘Said the frying-pan to the kettle, Get away, blackbreech.’ You -chide me for uttering proverbs, and you string them in couples -yourself.” - -“Observe, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “I bring in proverbs to the -purpose, and when I quote them they fit like a ring to the finger; thou -bringest them in by the head and shoulders, in such a way that thou -dost drag them in, rather than introduce them; if I am not mistaken, I -have told thee already that proverbs are short maxims drawn from the -experience and observation of our wise men of old; but the proverb that -is not to the purpose is a piece of nonsense and not a maxim. But -enough of this; as nightfall is drawing on let us retire some little -distance from the high road to pass the night; what is in store for us -to-morrow God knoweth.” - -They turned aside, and supped late and poorly, very much against -Sancho’s will, who turned over in his mind the hardships attendant upon -knight-errantry in woods and forests, even though at times plenty -presented itself in castles and houses, as at Don Diego de Miranda’s, -at the wedding of Camacho the Rich, and at Don Antonio Moreno’s; he -reflected, however, that it could not be always day, nor always night; -and so that night he passed in sleeping, and his master in waking. - -CHAPTER LXVIII. -OF THE BRISTLY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE - -The night was somewhat dark, for though there was a moon in the sky it -was not in a quarter where she could be seen; for sometimes the lady -Diana goes on a stroll to the antipodes, and leaves the mountains all -black and the valleys in darkness. Don Quixote obeyed nature so far as -to sleep his first sleep, but did not give way to the second, very -different from Sancho, who never had any second, because with him sleep -lasted from night till morning, wherein he showed what a sound -constitution and few cares he had. Don Quixote’s cares kept him -restless, so much so that he awoke Sancho and said to him, “I am -amazed, Sancho, at the unconcern of thy temperament. I believe thou art -made of marble or hard brass, incapable of any emotion or feeling -whatever. I lie awake while thou sleepest, I weep while thou singest, I -am faint with fasting while thou art sluggish and torpid from pure -repletion. It is the duty of good servants to share the sufferings and -feel the sorrows of their masters, if it be only for the sake of -appearances. See the calmness of the night, the solitude of the spot, -inviting us to break our slumbers by a vigil of some sort. Rise as thou -livest, and retire a little distance, and with a good heart and -cheerful courage give thyself three or four hundred lashes on account -of Dulcinea’s disenchantment score; and this I entreat of thee, making -it a request, for I have no desire to come to grips with thee a second -time, as I know thou hast a heavy hand. As soon as thou hast laid them -on we will pass the rest of the night, I singing my separation, thou -thy constancy, making a beginning at once with the pastoral life we are -to follow at our village.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “I’m no monk to get up out of the middle of my -sleep and scourge myself, nor does it seem to me that one can pass from -one extreme of the pain of whipping to the other of music. Will your -worship let me sleep, and not worry me about whipping myself? or you’ll -make me swear never to touch a hair of my doublet, not to say my -flesh.” - -“O hard heart!” said Don Quixote, “O pitiless squire! O bread -ill-bestowed and favours ill-acknowledged, both those I have done thee -and those I mean to do thee! Through me hast thou seen thyself a -governor, and through me thou seest thyself in immediate expectation of -being a count, or obtaining some other equivalent title, for I—_post -tenebras spero lucem_.” - -“I don’t know what that is,” said Sancho; “all I know is that so long -as I am asleep I have neither fear nor hope, trouble nor glory; and -good luck betide him that invented sleep, the cloak that covers over -all a man’s thoughts, the food that removes hunger, the drink that -drives away thirst, the fire that warms the cold, the cold that tempers -the heat, and, to wind up with, the universal coin wherewith everything -is bought, the weight and balance that makes the shepherd equal with -the king and the fool with the wise man. Sleep, I have heard say, has -only one fault, that it is like death; for between a sleeping man and a -dead man there is very little difference.” - -“Never have I heard thee speak so elegantly as now, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “and here I begin to see the truth of the proverb thou dost -sometimes quote, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art -fed.’” - -“Ha, by my life, master mine,” said Sancho, “it’s not I that am -stringing proverbs now, for they drop in pairs from your worship’s -mouth faster than from mine; only there is this difference between mine -and yours, that yours are well-timed and mine are untimely; but anyhow, -they are all proverbs.” - -At this point they became aware of a harsh indistinct noise that seemed -to spread through all the valleys around. Don Quixote stood up and laid -his hand upon his sword, and Sancho ensconced himself under Dapple and -put the bundle of armour on one side of him and the ass’s pack-saddle -on the other, in fear and trembling as great as Don Quixote’s -perturbation. Each instant the noise increased and came nearer to the -two terrified men, or at least to one, for as to the other, his courage -is known to all. The fact of the matter was that some men were taking -above six hundred pigs to sell at a fair, and were on their way with -them at that hour, and so great was the noise they made and their -grunting and blowing, that they deafened the ears of Don Quixote and -Sancho Panza, and they could not make out what it was. The wide-spread -grunting drove came on in a surging mass, and without showing any -respect for Don Quixote’s dignity or Sancho’s, passed right over the -pair of them, demolishing Sancho’s entrenchments, and not only -upsetting Don Quixote but sweeping Rocinante off his feet into the -bargain; and what with the trampling and the grunting, and the pace at -which the unclean beasts went, pack-saddle, armour, Dapple and -Rocinante were left scattered on the ground and Sancho and Don Quixote -at their wits’ end. - -Sancho got up as well as he could and begged his master to give him his -sword, saying he wanted to kill half a dozen of those dirty unmannerly -pigs, for he had by this time found out that that was what they were. - -“Let them be, my friend,” said Don Quixote; “this insult is the penalty -of my sin; and it is the righteous chastisement of heaven that jackals -should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs trample -him under foot.” - -“I suppose it is the chastisement of heaven, too,” said Sancho, “that -flies should prick the squires of vanquished knights, and lice eat -them, and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the -knights we serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder -if the penalty of their misdeeds overtook us, even to the fourth -generation. But what have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, -well, let’s lie down again and sleep out what little of the night -there’s left, and God will send us dawn and we shall be all right.” - -“Sleep thou, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for thou wast born to -sleep as I was born to watch; and during the time it now wants of dawn -I will give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a -little madrigal which, unknown to thee, I composed in my head last -night.” - -“I should think,” said Sancho, “that the thoughts that allow one to -make verses cannot be of great consequence; let your worship string -verses as much as you like and I’ll sleep as much as I can;” and -forthwith, taking the space of ground he required, he muffled himself -up and fell into a sound sleep, undisturbed by bond, debt, or trouble -of any sort. Don Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a -cork tree—for Cide Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it -was—sang in this strain to the accompaniment of his own sighs: - -When in my mind -I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty, -To death I flee, -In hope therein the end of all to find. - -But drawing near -That welcome haven in my sea of woe, -Such joy I know, -That life revives, and still I linger here. - -Thus life doth slay, -And death again to life restoreth me; -Strange destiny, -That deals with life and death as with a play! - -He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just -like one whose heart was pierced with grief at his defeat and his -separation from Dulcinea. - -And now daylight came, and the sun smote Sancho on the eyes with his -beams. He awoke, roused himself up, shook himself and stretched his -lazy limbs, and seeing the havoc the pigs had made with his stores he -cursed the drove, and more besides. Then the pair resumed their -journey, and as evening closed in they saw coming towards them some ten -men on horseback and four or five on foot. Don Quixote’s heart beat -quick and Sancho’s quailed with fear, for the persons approaching them -carried lances and bucklers, and were in very warlike guise. Don -Quixote turned to Sancho and said, “If I could make use of my weapons, -and my promise had not tied my hands, I would count this host that -comes against us but cakes and fancy bread; but perhaps it may prove -something different from what we apprehend.” The men on horseback now -came up, and raising their lances surrounded Don Quixote in silence, -and pointed them at his back and breast, menacing him with death. One -of those on foot, putting his finger to his lips as a sign to him to be -silent, seized Rocinante’s bridle and drew him out of the road, and the -others driving Sancho and Dapple before them, and all maintaining a -strange silence, followed in the steps of the one who led Don Quixote. -The latter two or three times attempted to ask where they were taking -him to and what they wanted, but the instant he began to open his lips -they threatened to close them with the points of their lances; and -Sancho fared the same way, for the moment he seemed about to speak one -of those on foot punched him with a goad, and Dapple likewise, as if he -too wanted to talk. Night set in, they quickened their pace, and the -fears of the two prisoners grew greater, especially as they heard -themselves assailed with—“Get on, ye Troglodytes;” “Silence, ye -barbarians;” “March, ye cannibals;” “No murmuring, ye Scythians;” -“Don’t open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes, ye blood-thirsty -lions,” and suchlike names with which their captors harassed the ears -of the wretched master and man. Sancho went along saying to himself, -“We, tortolites, barbers, animals! I don’t like those names at all; -‘it’s in a bad wind our corn is being winnowed;’ ‘misfortune comes upon -us all at once like sticks on a dog,’ and God grant it may be no worse -than them that this unlucky adventure has in store for us.” - -Don Quixote rode completely dazed, unable with the aid of all his wits -to make out what could be the meaning of these abusive names they -called them, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that there -was no good to be hoped for and much evil to be feared. And now, about -an hour after midnight, they reached a castle which Don Quixote saw at -once was the duke’s, where they had been but a short time before. “God -bless me!” said he, as he recognised the mansion, “what does this mean? -It is all courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the -vanquished good turns into evil, and evil into worse.” - -They entered the chief court of the castle and found it prepared and -fitted up in a style that added to their amazement and doubled their -fears, as will be seen in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER LXIX. -OF THE STRANGEST AND MOST EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON -QUIXOTE IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF THIS GREAT HISTORY - -The horsemen dismounted, and, together with the men on foot, without a -moment’s delay taking up Sancho and Don Quixote bodily, they carried -them into the court, all round which near a hundred torches fixed in -sockets were burning, besides above five hundred lamps in the -corridors, so that in spite of the night, which was somewhat dark, the -want of daylight could not be perceived. In the middle of the court was -a catafalque, raised about two yards above the ground and covered -completely by an immense canopy of black velvet, and on the steps all -round it white wax tapers burned in more than a hundred silver -candlesticks. Upon the catafalque was seen the dead body of a damsel so -lovely that by her beauty she made death itself look beautiful. She lay -with her head resting upon a cushion of brocade and crowned with a -garland of sweet-smelling flowers of divers sorts, her hands crossed -upon her bosom, and between them a branch of yellow palm of victory. On -one side of the court was erected a stage, where upon two chairs were -seated two persons who from having crowns on their heads and sceptres -in their hands appeared to be kings of some sort, whether real or mock -ones. By the side of this stage, which was reached by steps, were two -other chairs on which the men carrying the prisoners seated Don Quixote -and Sancho, all in silence, and by signs giving them to understand that -they too were to be silent; which, however, they would have been -without any signs, for their amazement at all they saw held them -tongue-tied. And now two persons of distinction, who were at once -recognised by Don Quixote as his hosts the duke and duchess, ascended -the stage attended by a numerous suite, and seated themselves on two -gorgeous chairs close to the two kings, as they seemed to be. Who would -not have been amazed at this? Nor was this all, for Don Quixote had -perceived that the dead body on the catafalque was that of the fair -Altisidora. As the duke and duchess mounted the stage Don Quixote and -Sancho rose and made them a profound obeisance, which they returned by -bowing their heads slightly. At this moment an official crossed over, -and approaching Sancho threw over him a robe of black buckram painted -all over with flames of fire, and taking off his cap put upon his head -a mitre such as those undergoing the sentence of the Holy Office wear; -and whispered in his ear that he must not open his lips, or they would -put a gag upon him, or take his life. Sancho surveyed himself from head -to foot and saw himself all ablaze with flames; but as they did not -burn him, he did not care two farthings for them. He took off the mitre -and seeing it painted with devils he put it on again, saying to -himself, “Well, so far those don’t burn me nor do these carry me off.” -Don Quixote surveyed him too, and though fear had got the better of his -faculties, he could not help smiling to see the figure Sancho -presented. And now from underneath the catafalque, so it seemed, there -rose a low sweet sound of flutes, which, coming unbroken by human voice -(for there silence itself kept silence), had a soft and languishing -effect. Then, beside the pillow of what seemed to be the dead body, -suddenly appeared a fair youth in a Roman habit, who, to the -accompaniment of a harp which he himself played, sang in a sweet and -clear voice these two stanzas: - -While fair Altisidora, who the sport -Of cold Don Quixote’s cruelty hath been, -Returns to life, and in this magic court -The dames in sables come to grace the scene, -And while her matrons all in seemly sort -My lady robes in baize and bombazine, -Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing -With defter quill than touched the Thracian string. - -But not in life alone, methinks, to me -Belongs the office; Lady, when my tongue -Is cold in death, believe me, unto thee -My voice shall raise its tributary song. -My soul, from this strait prison-house set free, -As o’er the Stygian lake it floats along, -Thy praises singing still shall hold its way, -And make the waters of oblivion stay. - -At this point one of the two that looked like kings exclaimed, “Enough, -enough, divine singer! It would be an endless task to put before us now -the death and the charms of the peerless Altisidora, not dead as the -ignorant world imagines, but living in the voice of fame and in the -penance which Sancho Panza, here present, has to undergo to restore her -to the long-lost light. Do thou, therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who sittest -in judgment with me in the murky caverns of Dis, as thou knowest all -that the inscrutable fates have decreed touching the resuscitation of -this damsel, announce and declare it at once, that the happiness we -look forward to from her restoration be no longer deferred.” - -No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of Rhadamanthus said this, than -Rhadamanthus rising up said: - -“Ho, officials of this house, high and low, great and small, make haste -hither one and all, and print on Sancho’s face four-and-twenty smacks, -and give him twelve pinches and six pin thrusts in the back and arms; -for upon this ceremony depends the restoration of Altisidora.” - -On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out, “By all that’s -good, I’ll as soon let my face be smacked or handled as turn Moor. Body -o’ me! What has handling my face got to do with the resurrection of -this damsel? ‘The old woman took kindly to the blits; they enchant -Dulcinea, and whip me in order to disenchant her; Altisidora dies of -ailments God was pleased to send her, and to bring her to life again -they must give me four-and-twenty smacks, and prick holes in my body -with pins, and raise weals on my arms with pinches! Try those jokes on -a brother-in-law; ‘I’m an old dog, and “tus, tus” is no use with me.’” - -“Thou shalt die,” said Rhadamanthus in a loud voice; “relent, thou -tiger; humble thyself, proud Nimrod; suffer and he silent, for no -impossibilities are asked of thee; it is not for thee to inquire into -the difficulties in this matter; smacked thou must be, pricked thou -shalt see thyself, and with pinches thou must be made to howl. Ho, I -say, officials, obey my orders; or by the word of an honest man, ye -shall see what ye were born for.” - -At this some six duennas, advancing across the court, made their -appearance in procession, one after the other, four of them with -spectacles, and all with their right hands uplifted, showing four -fingers of wrist to make their hands look longer, as is the fashion -now-a-days. No sooner had Sancho caught sight of them than, bellowing -like a bull, he exclaimed, “I might let myself be handled by all the -world; but allow duennas to touch me—not a bit of it! Scratch my face, -as my master was served in this very castle; run me through the body -with burnished daggers; pinch my arms with red-hot pincers; I’ll bear -all in patience to serve these gentlefolk; but I won’t let duennas -touch me, though the devil should carry me off!” - -Here Don Quixote, too, broke silence, saying to Sancho, “Have patience, -my son, and gratify these noble persons, and give all thanks to heaven -that it has infused such virtue into thy person, that by its sufferings -thou canst disenchant the enchanted and restore to life the dead.” - -The duennas were now close to Sancho, and he, having become more -tractable and reasonable, settling himself well in his chair presented -his face and beard to the first, who delivered him a smack very stoutly -laid on, and then made him a low curtsey. - -“Less politeness and less paint, señora duenna,” said Sancho; “by God -your hands smell of vinegar-wash.” - -In line, all the duennas smacked him and several others of the -household pinched him; but what he could not stand was being pricked by -the pins; and so, apparently out of patience, he started up out of his -chair, and seizing a lighted torch that stood near him fell upon the -duennas and the whole set of his tormentors, exclaiming, “Begone, ye -ministers of hell; I’m not made of brass not to feel such -out-of-the-way tortures.” - -At this instant Altisidora, who probably was tired of having been so -long lying on her back, turned on her side; seeing which the bystanders -cried out almost with one voice, “Altisidora is alive! Altisidora -lives!” - -Rhadamanthus bade Sancho put away his wrath, as the object they had in -view was now attained. When Don Quixote saw Altisidora move, he went on -his knees to Sancho saying to him, “Now is the time, son of my bowels, -not to call thee my squire, for thee to give thyself some of those -lashes thou art bound to lay on for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. -Now, I say, is the time when the virtue that is in thee is ripe, and -endowed with efficacy to work the good that is looked for from thee.” - -To which Sancho made answer, “That’s trick upon trick, I think, and not -honey upon pancakes; a nice thing it would be for a whipping to come -now, on the top of pinches, smacks, and pin-proddings! You had better -take a big stone and tie it round my neck, and pitch me into a well; I -should not mind it much, if I’m to be always made the cow of the -wedding for the cure of other people’s ailments. Leave me alone; or -else by God I’ll fling the whole thing to the dogs, let come what may.” - -Altisidora had by this time sat up on the catafalque, and as she did so -the clarions sounded, accompanied by the flutes, and the voices of all -present exclaiming, “Long life to Altisidora! long life to Altisidora!” -The duke and duchess and the kings Minos and Rhadamanthus stood up, and -all, together with Don Quixote and Sancho, advanced to receive her and -take her down from the catafalque; and she, making as though she were -recovering from a swoon, bowed her head to the duke and duchess and to -the kings, and looking sideways at Don Quixote, said to him, “God -forgive thee, insensible knight, for through thy cruelty I have been, -to me it seems, more than a thousand years in the other world; and to -thee, the most compassionate upon earth, I render thanks for the life I -am now in possession of. From this day forth, friend Sancho, count as -thine six smocks of mine which I bestow upon thee, to make as many -shirts for thyself, and if they are not all quite whole, at any rate -they are all clean.” - -Sancho kissed her hands in gratitude, kneeling, and with the mitre in -his hand. The duke bade them take it from him, and give him back his -cap and doublet and remove the flaming robe. Sancho begged the duke to -let them leave him the robe and mitre; as he wanted to take them home -for a token and memento of that unexampled adventure. The duchess said -they must leave them with him; for he knew already what a great friend -of his she was. The duke then gave orders that the court should be -cleared, and that all should retire to their chambers, and that Don -Quixote and Sancho should be conducted to their old quarters. - -CHAPTER LXX. -WHICH FOLLOWS SIXTY-NINE AND DEALS WITH MATTERS INDISPENSABLE FOR THE -CLEAR COMPREHENSION OF THIS HISTORY - -Sancho slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with Don Quixote, -a thing he would have gladly excused if he could for he knew very well -that with questions and answers his master would not let him sleep, and -he was in no humour for talking much, as he still felt the pain of his -late martyrdom, which interfered with his freedom of speech; and it -would have been more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in -that luxurious chamber in company. And so well founded did his -apprehension prove, and so correct was his anticipation, that scarcely -had his master got into bed when he said, “What dost thou think of -to-night’s adventure, Sancho? Great and mighty is the power of -cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thine own eyes hast seen Altisidora -slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword, nor by any warlike weapon, nor -by deadly poisons, but by the thought of the sternness and scorn with -which I have always treated her.” - -“She might have died and welcome,” said Sancho, “when she pleased and -how she pleased; and she might have left me alone, for I never made her -fall in love or scorned her. I don’t know nor can I imagine how the -recovery of Altisidora, a damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as -I have said before, anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Panza. -Now I begin to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and -enchanted people in the world; and may God deliver me from them, since -I can’t deliver myself; and so I beg of your worship to let me sleep -and not ask me any more questions, unless you want me to throw myself -out of the window.” - -“Sleep, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “if the pinprodding and -pinches thou hast received and the smacks administered to thee will let -thee.” - -“No pain came up to the insult of the smacks,” said Sancho, “for the -simple reason that it was duennas, confound them, that gave them to me; -but once more I entreat your worship to let me sleep, for sleep is -relief from misery to those who are miserable when awake.” - -“Be it so, and God be with thee,” said Don Quixote. - -They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, the author of this -great history, took this opportunity to record and relate what it was -that induced the duke and duchess to get up the elaborate plot that has -been described. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, he says, not forgetting -how he as the Knight of the Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown -by Don Quixote, which defeat and overthrow upset all his plans, -resolved to try his hand again, hoping for better luck than he had -before; and so, having learned where Don Quixote was from the page who -brought the letter and present to Sancho’s wife, Teresa Panza, he got -himself new armour and another horse, and put a white moon upon his -shield, and to carry his arms he had a mule led by a peasant, not by -Tom Cecial his former squire for fear he should be recognised by Sancho -or Don Quixote. He came to the duke’s castle, and the duke informed him -of the road and route Don Quixote had taken with the intention of being -present at the jousts at Saragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he -had practised upon him, and of the device for the disenchantment of -Dulcinea at the expense of Sancho’s backside; and finally he gave him -an account of the trick Sancho had played upon his master, making him -believe that Dulcinea was enchanted and turned into a country wench; -and of how the duchess, his wife, had persuaded Sancho that it was he -himself who was deceived, inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted; at -which the bachelor laughed not a little, and marvelled as well at the -sharpness and simplicity of Sancho as at the length to which Don -Quixote’s madness went. The duke begged of him if he found him (whether -he overcame him or not) to return that way and let him know the result. -This the bachelor did; he set out in quest of Don Quixote, and not -finding him at Saragossa, he went on, and how he fared has been already -told. He returned to the duke’s castle and told him all, what the -conditions of the combat were, and how Don Quixote was now, like a -loyal knight-errant, returning to keep his promise of retiring to his -village for a year, by which time, said the bachelor, he might perhaps -be cured of his madness; for that was the object that had led him to -adopt these disguises, as it was a sad thing for a gentleman of such -good parts as Don Quixote to be a madman. And so he took his leave of -the duke, and went home to his village to wait there for Don Quixote, -who was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized the opportunity of -practising this mystification upon him; so much did he enjoy everything -connected with Sancho and Don Quixote. He had the roads about the -castle far and near, everywhere he thought Don Quixote was likely to -pass on his return, occupied by large numbers of his servants on foot -and on horseback, who were to bring him to the castle, by fair means or -foul, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to the duke, -who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon as he heard of -his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the court to be lit and -Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque with all the pomp and -ceremony that has been described, the whole affair being so well -arranged and acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide -Hamete says, moreover, that for his part he considers the concocters of -the joke as crazy as the victims of it, and that the duke and duchess -were not two fingers’ breadth removed from being something like fools -themselves when they took such pains to make game of a pair of fools. - -As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awake -occupied with his desultory thoughts, when daylight came to them -bringing with it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a -delight to Don Quixote, victor or vanquished. Altisidora, come back -from death to life as Don Quixote fancied, following up the freak of -her lord and lady, entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she -had worn on the catafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered -with gold flowers, her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and -leaning upon a staff of fine black ebony. Don Quixote, disconcerted and -in confusion at her appearance, huddled himself up and well-nigh -covered himself altogether with the sheets and counterpane of the bed, -tongue-tied, and unable to offer her any civility. Altisidora seated -herself on a chair at the head of the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said -to him in a feeble, soft voice, “When women of rank and modest maidens -trample honour under foot, and give a loose to the tongue that breaks -through every impediment, publishing abroad the inmost secrets of their -hearts, they are reduced to sore extremities. Such a one am I, Señor -Don Quixote of La Mancha, crushed, conquered, love-smitten, but yet -patient under suffering and virtuous, and so much so that my heart -broke with grief and I lost my life. For the last two days I have been -dead, slain by the thought of the cruelty with which thou hast treated -me, obdurate knight, - -O harder thou than marble to my plaint; - -or at least believed to be dead by all who saw me; and had it not been -that Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest upon the sufferings -of this good squire, there I should have remained in the other world.” - -“Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings of my ass, -and I should have been obliged to him,” said Sancho. “But tell me, -señora—and may heaven send you a tenderer lover than my master—what did -you see in the other world? What goes on in hell? For of course that’s -where one who dies in despair is bound for.” - -“To tell you the truth,” said Altisidora, “I cannot have died outright, -for I did not go into hell; had I gone in, it is very certain I should -never have come out again, do what I might. The truth is, I came to the -gate, where some dozen or so of devils were playing tennis, all in -breeches and doublets, with falling collars trimmed with Flemish -bonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, with -four fingers’ breadth of the arms exposed to make their hands look -longer; in their hands they held rackets of fire; but what amazed me -still more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish, served -them for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing; this, however, -did not astonish me so much as to observe that, although with players -it is usual for the winners to be glad and the losers sorry, there in -that game all were growling, all were snarling, and all were cursing -one another.” “That’s no wonder,” said Sancho; “for devils, whether -playing or not, can never be content, win or lose.” - -“Very likely,” said Altisidora; “but there is another thing that -surprises me too, I mean surprised me then, and that was that no ball -outlasted the first throw or was of any use a second time; and it was -wonderful the constant succession there was of books, new and old. To -one of them, a brand-new, well-bound one, they gave such a stroke that -they knocked the guts out of it and scattered the leaves about. ‘Look -what book that is,’ said one devil to another, and the other replied, -‘It is the “Second Part of the History of Don Quixote of La Mancha,” -not by Cide Hamete, the original author, but by an Aragonese who by his -own account is of Tordesillas.’ ‘Out of this with it,’ said the first, -‘and into the depths of hell with it out of my sight.’ ‘Is it so bad?’ -said the other. ‘So bad is it,’ said the first, ‘that if I had set -myself deliberately to make a worse, I could not have done it.’ They -then went on with their game, knocking other books about; and I, having -heard them mention the name of Don Quixote whom I love and adore so, -took care to retain this vision in my memory.” - -“A vision it must have been, no doubt,” said Don Quixote, “for there is -no other I in the world; this history has been going about here for -some time from hand to hand, but it does not stay long in any, for -everybody gives it a taste of his foot. I am not disturbed by hearing -that I am wandering in a fantastic shape in the darkness of the pit or -in the daylight above, for I am not the one that history treats of. If -it should be good, faithful, and true, it will have ages of life; but -if it should be bad, from its birth to its burial will not be a very -long journey.” - -Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against Don Quixote, -when he said to her, “I have several times told you, señora that it -grieves me you should have set your affections upon me, as from mine -they can only receive gratitude, but no return. I was born to belong to -Dulcinea del Toboso, and the fates, if there are any, dedicated me to -her; and to suppose that any other beauty can take the place she -occupies in my heart is to suppose an impossibility. This frank -declaration should suffice to make you retire within the bounds of your -modesty, for no one can bind himself to do impossibilities.” - -Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agitation, -exclaimed, “God’s life! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar, stone of a -date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favour when he -has his mind made up, if I fall upon you I’ll tear your eyes out! Do -you fancy, Don Vanquished, Don Cudgelled, that I died for your sake? -All that you have seen to-night has been make-believe; I’m not the -woman to let the black of my nail suffer for such a camel, much less -die!” - -“That I can well believe,” said Sancho; “for all that about lovers -pining to death is absurd; they may talk of it, but as for doing -it—Judas may believe that!” - -While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung -the two stanzas given above came in, and making a profound obeisance to -Don Quixote said, “Will your worship, sir knight, reckon and retain me -in the number of your most faithful servants, for I have long been a -great admirer of yours, as well because of your fame as because of your -achievements?” “Will your worship tell me who you are,” replied Don -Quixote, “so that my courtesy may be answerable to your deserts?” The -young man replied that he was the musician and songster of the night -before. “Of a truth,” said Don Quixote, “your worship has a most -excellent voice; but what you sang did not seem to me very much to the -purpose; for what have Garcilasso’s stanzas to do with the death of -this lady?” - -“Don’t be surprised at that,” returned the musician; “for with the -callow poets of our day the way is for every one to write as he pleases -and pilfer where he chooses, whether it be germane to the matter or -not, and now-a-days there is no piece of silliness they can sing or -write that is not set down to poetic licence.” - -Don Quixote was about to reply, but was prevented by the duke and -duchess, who came in to see him, and with them there followed a long -and delightful conversation, in the course of which Sancho said so many -droll and saucy things that he left the duke and duchess wondering not -only at his simplicity but at his sharpness. Don Quixote begged their -permission to take his departure that same day, inasmuch as for a -vanquished knight like himself it was fitter he should live in a -pig-sty than in a royal palace. They gave it very readily, and the -duchess asked him if Altisidora was in his good graces. - -He replied, “Señora, let me tell your ladyship that this damsel’s -ailment comes entirely of idleness, and the cure for it is honest and -constant employment. She herself has told me that lace is worn in hell; -and as she must know how to make it, let it never be out of her hands; -for when she is occupied in shifting the bobbins to and fro, the image -or images of what she loves will not shift to and fro in her thoughts; -this is the truth, this is my opinion, and this is my advice.” - -“And mine,” added Sancho; “for I never in all my life saw a lace-maker -that died for love; when damsels are at work their minds are more set -on finishing their tasks than on thinking of their loves. I speak from -my own experience; for when I’m digging I never think of my old woman; -I mean my Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my own eyelids.” “You -say well, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and I will take care that my -Altisidora employs herself henceforward in needlework of some sort; for -she is extremely expert at it.” “There is no occasion to have recourse -to that remedy, señora,” said Altisidora; “for the mere thought of the -cruelty with which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice to -blot him out of my memory without any other device; with your -highness’s leave I will retire, not to have before my eyes, I won’t say -his rueful countenance, but his abominable, ugly looks.” “That reminds -me of the common saying, that ‘he that rails is ready to forgive,’” -said the duke. - -Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief, -made an obeisance to her master and mistress and quitted the room. - -“Ill luck betide thee, poor damsel,” said Sancho, “ill luck betide -thee! Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush and a heart as -hard as oak; had it been me, i’faith ‘another cock would have crowed to -thee.’” - -So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed himself and -dined with the duke and duchess, and set out the same evening. - -CHAPTER LXXI. -OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO ON THE WAY TO -THEIR VILLAGE - -The vanquished and afflicted Don Quixote went along very downcast in -one respect and very happy in another. His sadness arose from his -defeat, and his satisfaction from the thought of the virtue that lay in -Sancho, as had been proved by the resurrection of Altisidora; though it -was with difficulty he could persuade himself that the love-smitten -damsel had been really dead. Sancho went along anything but cheerful, -for it grieved him that Altisidora had not kept her promise of giving -him the smocks; and turning this over in his mind he said to his -master, “Surely, señor, I’m the most unlucky doctor in the world; -there’s many a physician that, after killing the sick man he had to -cure, requires to be paid for his work, though it is only signing a bit -of a list of medicines, that the apothecary and not he makes up, and, -there, his labour is over; but with me though to cure somebody else -costs me drops of blood, smacks, pinches, pinproddings, and whippings, -nobody gives me a farthing. Well, I swear by all that’s good if they -put another patient into my hands, they’ll have to grease them for me -before I cure him; for, as they say, ‘it’s by his singing the abbot -gets his dinner,’ and I’m not going to believe that heaven has bestowed -upon me the virtue I have, that I should be dealing it out to others -all for nothing.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “and Altisidora -has behaved very badly in not giving thee the smocks she promised; and -although that virtue of thine is _gratis data_—as it has cost thee no -study whatever, any more than such study as thy personal sufferings may -be—I can say for myself that if thou wouldst have payment for the -lashes on account of the disenchant of Dulcinea, I would have given it -to thee freely ere this. I am not sure, however, whether payment will -comport with the cure, and I would not have the reward interfere with -the medicine. I think there will be nothing lost by trying it; consider -how much thou wouldst have, Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay -thyself down with thine own hand, as thou hast money of mine.” - -At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a palm’s breadth -wide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced in whipping himself, and -said he to his master, “Very well then, señor, I’ll hold myself in -readiness to gratify your worship’s wishes if I’m to profit by it; for -the love of my wife and children forces me to seem grasping. Let your -worship say how much you will pay me for each lash I give myself.” - -“If Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “I were to requite thee as the -importance and nature of the cure deserves, the treasures of Venice, -the mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See what thou -hast of mine, and put a price on each lash.” - -“Of them,” said Sancho, “there are three thousand three hundred and -odd; of these I have given myself five, the rest remain; let the five -go for the odd ones, and let us take the three thousand three hundred, -which at a quarter real apiece (for I will not take less though the -whole world should bid me) make three thousand three hundred quarter -reals; the three thousand are one thousand five hundred half reals, -which make seven hundred and fifty reals; and the three hundred make a -hundred and fifty half reals, which come to seventy-five reals, which -added to the seven hundred and fifty make eight hundred and twenty-five -reals in all. These I will stop out of what I have belonging to your -worship, and I’ll return home rich and content, though well whipped, -for ‘there’s no taking trout’—but I say no more.” - -“O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “how we shall be -bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives that -heaven may grant us! If she returns to her lost shape (and it cannot be -but that she will) her misfortune will have been good fortune, and my -defeat a most happy triumph. But look here, Sancho; when wilt thou -begin the scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, I will -give thee a hundred reals over and above.” - -“When?” said Sancho; “this night without fail. Let your worship order -it so that we pass it out of doors and in the open air, and I’ll -scarify myself.” - -Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety in the -world, came at last, though it seemed to him that the wheels of -Apollo’s car had broken down, and that the day was drawing itself out -longer than usual, just as is the case with lovers, who never make the -reckoning of their desires agree with time. They made their way at -length in among some pleasant trees that stood a little distance from -the road, and there vacating Rocinante’s saddle and Dapple’s -pack-saddle, they stretched themselves on the green grass and made -their supper off Sancho’s stores, and he making a powerful and flexible -whip out of Dapple’s halter and headstall retreated about twenty paces -from his master among some beech trees. Don Quixote seeing him march -off with such resolution and spirit, said to him, “Take care, my -friend, not to cut thyself to pieces; allow the lashes to wait for one -another, and do not be in so great a hurry as to run thyself out of -breath midway; I mean, do not lay on so strenuously as to make thy life -fail thee before thou hast reached the desired number; and that thou -mayest not lose by a card too much or too little, I will station myself -apart and count on my rosary here the lashes thou givest thyself. May -heaven help thee as thy good intention deserves.” - -“‘Pledges don’t distress a good payer,’” said Sancho; “I mean to lay on -in such a way as without killing myself to hurt myself, for in that, no -doubt, lies the essence of this miracle.” - -He then stripped himself from the waist upwards, and snatching up the -rope he began to lay on and Don Quixote to count the lashes. He might -have given himself six or eight when he began to think the joke no -trifle, and its price very low; and holding his hand for a moment, he -told his master that he cried off on the score of a blind bargain, for -each of those lashes ought to be paid for at the rate of half a real -instead of a quarter. - -“Go on, Sancho my friend, and be not disheartened,” said Don Quixote; -“for I double the stakes as to price.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “in God’s hand be it, and let it rain -lashes.” But the rogue no longer laid them on his shoulders, but laid -on to the trees, with such groans every now and then, that one would -have thought at each of them his soul was being plucked up by the -roots. Don Quixote, touched to the heart, and fearing he might make an -end of himself, and that through Sancho’s imprudence he might miss his -own object, said to him, “As thou livest, my friend, let the matter -rest where it is, for the remedy seems to me a very rough one, and it -will be well to have patience; ‘Zamora was not won in an hour.’ If I -have not reckoned wrong thou hast given thyself over a thousand lashes; -that is enough for the present; ‘for the ass,’ to put it in homely -phrase, ‘bears the load, but not the overload.’” - -“No, no, señor,” replied Sancho; “it shall never be said of me, ‘The -money paid, the arms broken;’ go back a little further, your worship, -and let me give myself at any rate a thousand lashes more; for in a -couple of bouts like this we shall have finished off the lot, and there -will be even cloth to spare.” - -“As thou art in such a willing mood,” said Don Quixote, “may heaven aid -thee; lay on and I’ll retire.” - -Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that he soon had -the bark stripped off several trees, such was the severity with which -he whipped himself; and one time, raising his voice, and giving a beech -a tremendous lash, he cried out, “Here dies Samson, and all with him!” - -At the sound of his piteous cry and of the stroke of the cruel lash, -Don Quixote ran to him at once, and seizing the twisted halter that -served him for a courbash, said to him, “Heaven forbid, Sancho my -friend, that to please me thou shouldst lose thy life, which is needed -for the support of thy wife and children; let Dulcinea wait for a -better opportunity, and I will content myself with a hope soon to be -realised, and have patience until thou hast gained fresh strength so as -to finish off this business to the satisfaction of everybody.” - -“As your worship will have it so, señor,” said Sancho, “so be it; but -throw your cloak over my shoulders, for I’m sweating and I don’t want -to take cold; it’s a risk that novice disciplinants run.” - -Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho, who slept -until the sun woke him; they then resumed their journey, which for the -time being they brought to an end at a village that lay three leagues -farther on. They dismounted at a hostelry which Don Quixote recognised -as such and did not take to be a castle with moat, turrets, portcullis, -and drawbridge; for ever since he had been vanquished he talked more -rationally about everything, as will be shown presently. They quartered -him in a room on the ground floor, where in place of leather hangings -there were pieces of painted serge such as they commonly use in -villages. On one of them was painted by some very poor hand the Rape of -Helen, when the bold guest carried her off from Menelaus, and on the -other was the story of Dido and Æneas, she on a high tower, as though -she were making signals with a half sheet to her fugitive guest who was -out at sea flying in a frigate or brigantine. He noticed in the two -stories that Helen did not go very reluctantly, for she was laughing -slyly and roguishly; but the fair Dido was shown dropping tears the -size of walnuts from her eyes. Don Quixote as he looked at them -observed, “Those two ladies were very unfortunate not to have been born -in this age, and I unfortunate above all men not to have been born in -theirs. Had I fallen in with those gentlemen, Troy would not have been -burned or Carthage destroyed, for it would have been only for me to -slay Paris, and all these misfortunes would have been avoided.” - -“I’ll lay a bet,” said Sancho, “that before long there won’t be a -tavern, roadside inn, hostelry, or barber’s shop where the story of our -doings won’t be painted up; but I’d like it painted by the hand of a -better painter than painted these.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for this painter is like -Orbaneja, a painter there was at Úbeda, who when they asked him what he -was painting, used to say, ‘Whatever it may turn out; and if he chanced -to paint a cock he would write under it, ‘This is a cock,’ for fear -they might think it was a fox. The painter or writer, for it’s all the -same, who published the history of this new Don Quixote that has come -out, must have been one of this sort I think, Sancho, for he painted or -wrote ‘whatever it might turn out;’ or perhaps he is like a poet called -Mauleon that was about the Court some years ago, who used to answer at -haphazard whatever he was asked, and on one asking him what _Deum de -Deo_ meant, he replied _Dé donde diere_. But, putting this aside, tell -me, Sancho, hast thou a mind to have another turn at thyself to-night, -and wouldst thou rather have it indoors or in the open air?” - -“Egad, señor,” said Sancho, “for what I’m going to give myself, it -comes all the same to me whether it is in a house or in the fields; -still I’d like it to be among trees; for I think they are company for -me and help me to bear my pain wonderfully.” - -“And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, to -enable thee to recover strength, we must keep it for our own village; -for at the latest we shall get there the day after to-morrow.” - -Sancho said he might do as he pleased; but that for his own part he -would like to finish off the business quickly before his blood cooled -and while he had an appetite, because “in delay there is apt to be -danger” very often, and “praying to God and plying the hammer,” and -“one take was better than two I’ll give thee’s,” and “a sparrow in the -hand than a vulture on the wing.” - -“For God’s sake, Sancho, no more proverbs!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “it -seems to me thou art becoming _sicut erat_ again; speak in a plain, -simple, straight-forward way, as I have often told thee, and thou wilt -find the good of it.” - -“I don’t know what bad luck it is of mine,” said Sancho, “but I can’t -utter a word without a proverb that is not as good as an argument to my -mind; however, I mean to mend if I can;” and so for the present the -conversation ended. - -CHAPTER LXXII. -OF HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO REACHED THEIR VILLAGE - -All that day Don Quixote and Sancho remained in the village and inn -waiting for night, the one to finish off his task of scourging in the -open country, the other to see it accomplished, for therein lay the -accomplishment of his wishes. Meanwhile there arrived at the hostelry a -traveller on horseback with three or four servants, one of whom said to -him who appeared to be the master, “Here, Señor Don Álvaro Tarfe, your -worship may take your siesta to-day; the quarters seem clean and cool.” - -When he heard this Don Quixote said to Sancho, “Look here, Sancho; on -turning over the leaves of that book of the Second Part of my history I -think I came casually upon this name of Don Álvaro Tarfe.” - -“Very likely,” said Sancho; “we had better let him dismount, and -by-and-by we can ask about it.” - -The gentleman dismounted, and the landlady gave him a room on the -ground floor opposite Don Quixote’s and adorned with painted serge -hangings of the same sort. The newly arrived gentleman put on a summer -coat, and coming out to the gateway of the hostelry, which was wide and -cool, addressing Don Quixote, who was pacing up and down there, he -asked, “In what direction is your worship bound, gentle sir?” - -“To a village near this which is my own village,” replied Don Quixote; -“and your worship, where are you bound for?” - -“I am going to Granada, señor,” said the gentleman, “to my own -country.” - -“And a goodly country,” said Don Quixote; “but will your worship do me -the favour of telling me your name, for it strikes me it is of more -importance to me to know it than I can tell you.” - -“My name is Don Álvaro Tarfe,” replied the traveller. - -To which Don Quixote returned, “I have no doubt whatever that your -worship is that Don Álvaro Tarfe who appears in print in the Second -Part of the history of Don Quixote of La Mancha, lately printed and -published by a new author.” - -“I am the same,” replied the gentleman; “and that same Don Quixote, the -principal personage in the said history, was a very great friend of -mine, and it was I who took him away from home, or at least induced him -to come to some jousts that were to be held at Saragossa, whither I was -going myself; indeed, I showed him many kindnesses, and saved him from -having his shoulders touched up by the executioner because of his -extreme rashness.” - -“Tell me, Señor Don Álvaro,” said Don Quixote, “am I at all like that -Don Quixote you talk of?” - -“No indeed,” replied the traveller, “not a bit.” - -“And that Don Quixote—” said our one, “had he with him a squire called -Sancho Panza?” - -“He had,” said Don Álvaro; “but though he had the name of being very -droll, I never heard him say anything that had any drollery in it.” - -“That I can well believe,” said Sancho at this, “for to come out with -drolleries is not in everybody’s line; and that Sancho your worship -speaks of, gentle sir, must be some great scoundrel, dunderhead, and -thief, all in one; for I am the real Sancho Panza, and I have more -drolleries than if it rained them; let your worship only try; come -along with me for a year or so, and you will find they fall from me at -every turn, and so rich and so plentiful that though mostly I don’t -know what I am saying I make everybody that hears me laugh. And the -real Don Quixote of La Mancha, the famous, the valiant, the wise, the -lover, the righter of wrongs, the guardian of minors and orphans, the -protector of widows, the killer of damsels, he who has for his sole -mistress the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, is this gentleman before -you, my master; all other Don Quixotes and all other Sancho Panzas are -dreams and mockeries.” - -“By God I believe it,” said Don Álvaro; “for you have uttered more -drolleries, my friend, in the few words you have spoken than the other -Sancho Panza in all I ever heard from him, and they were not a few. He -was more greedy than well-spoken, and more dull than droll; and I am -convinced that the enchanters who persecute Don Quixote the Good have -been trying to persecute me with Don Quixote the Bad. But I don’t know -what to say, for I am ready to swear I left him shut up in the Casa del -Nuncio at Toledo, and here another Don Quixote turns up, though a very -different one from mine.” - -“I don’t know whether I am good,” said Don Quixote, “but I can safely -say I am not ‘the Bad;’ and to prove it, let me tell you, Señor Don -Álvaro Tarfe, I have never in my life been in Saragossa; so far from -that, when it was told me that this imaginary Don Quixote had been -present at the jousts in that city, I declined to enter it, in order to -drag his falsehood before the face of the world; and so I went on -straight to Barcelona, the treasure-house of courtesy, haven of -strangers, asylum of the poor, home of the valiant, champion of the -wronged, pleasant exchange of firm friendships, and city unrivalled in -site and beauty. And though the adventures that befell me there are not -by any means matters of enjoyment, but rather of regret, I do not -regret them, simply because I have seen it. In a word, Señor Don Álvaro -Tarfe, I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, the one that fame speaks of, and -not the unlucky one that has attempted to usurp my name and deck -himself out in my ideas. I entreat your worship by your devoir as a -gentleman to be so good as to make a declaration before the alcalde of -this village that you never in all your life saw me until now, and that -neither am I the Don Quixote in print in the Second Part, nor this -Sancho Panza, my squire, the one your worship knew.” - -“That I will do most willingly,” replied Don Álvaro; “though it amazes -me to find two Don Quixotes and two Sancho Panzas at once, as much -alike in name as they differ in demeanour; and again I say and declare -that what I saw I cannot have seen, and that what happened me cannot -have happened.” - -“No doubt your worship is enchanted, like my lady Dulcinea del Toboso,” -said Sancho; “and would to heaven your disenchantment rested on my -giving myself another three thousand and odd lashes like what I’m -giving myself for her, for I’d lay them on without looking for -anything.” - -“I don’t understand that about the lashes,” said Don Álvaro. Sancho -replied that it was a long story to tell, but he would tell him if they -happened to be going the same road. - -By this dinner-time arrived, and Don Quixote and Don Álvaro dined -together. The alcalde of the village came by chance into the inn -together with a notary, and Don Quixote laid a petition before him, -showing that it was requisite for his rights that Don Álvaro Tarfe, the -gentleman there present, should make a declaration before him that he -did not know Don Quixote of La Mancha, also there present, and that he -was not the one that was in print in a history entitled “Second Part of -Don Quixote of La Mancha, by one Avellaneda of Tordesillas.” The -alcalde finally put it in legal form, and the declaration was made with -all the formalities required in such cases, at which Don Quixote and -Sancho were in high delight, as if a declaration of the sort was of any -great importance to them, and as if their words and deeds did not -plainly show the difference between the two Don Quixotes and the two -Sanchos. Many civilities and offers of service were exchanged by Don -Álvaro and Don Quixote, in the course of which the great Manchegan -displayed such good taste that he disabused Don Álvaro of the error he -was under; and he, on his part, felt convinced he must have been -enchanted, now that he had been brought in contact with two such -opposite Don Quixotes. - -Evening came, they set out from the village, and after about half a -league two roads branched off, one leading to Don Quixote’s village, -the other the road Don Álvaro was to follow. In this short interval Don -Quixote told him of his unfortunate defeat, and of Dulcinea’s -enchantment and the remedy, all which threw Don Álvaro into fresh -amazement, and embracing Don Quixote and Sancho, he went his way, and -Don Quixote went his. That night he passed among trees again in order -to give Sancho an opportunity of working out his penance, which he did -in the same fashion as the night before, at the expense of the bark of -the beech trees much more than of his back, of which he took such good -care that the lashes would not have knocked off a fly had there been -one there. The duped Don Quixote did not miss a single stroke of the -count, and he found that together with those of the night before they -made up three thousand and twenty-nine. The sun apparently had got up -early to witness the sacrifice, and with his light they resumed their -journey, discussing the deception practised on Don Álvaro, and saying -how well done it was to have taken his declaration before a magistrate -in such an unimpeachable form. That day and night they travelled on, -nor did anything worth mention happen to them, unless it was that in -the course of the night Sancho finished off his task, whereat Don -Quixote was beyond measure joyful. He watched for daylight, to see if -along the road he should fall in with his already disenchanted lady -Dulcinea; and as he pursued his journey there was no woman he met that -he did not go up to, to see if she was Dulcinea del Toboso, as he held -it absolutely certain that Merlin’s promises could not lie. Full of -these thoughts and anxieties, they ascended a rising ground wherefrom -they descried their own village, at the sight of which Sancho fell on -his knees exclaiming, “Open thine eyes, longed-for home, and see how -thy son Sancho Panza comes back to thee, if not very rich, very well -whipped! Open thine arms and receive, too, thy son Don Quixote, who, if -he comes vanquished by the arm of another, comes victor over himself, -which, as he himself has told me, is the greatest victory anyone can -desire. I’m bringing back money, for if I was well whipped, I went -mounted like a gentleman.” - -“Have done with these fooleries,” said Don Quixote; “let us push on -straight and get to our own place, where we will give free range to our -fancies, and settle our plans for our future pastoral life.” - -With this they descended the slope and directed their steps to their -village. - -CHAPTER LXXIII. -OF THE OMENS DON QUIXOTE HAD AS HE ENTERED HIS OWN VILLAGE, AND OTHER -INCIDENTS THAT EMBELLISH AND GIVE A COLOUR TO THIS GREAT HISTORY - -At the entrance of the village, so says Cide Hamete, Don Quixote saw -two boys quarrelling on the village threshing-floor, one of whom said -to the other, “Take it easy, Periquillo; thou shalt never see it again -as long as thou livest.” - -Don Quixote heard this, and said he to Sancho, “Dost thou not mark, -friend, what that boy said, ‘Thou shalt never see it again as long as -thou livest’?” - -“Well,” said Sancho, “what does it matter if the boy said so?” - -“What!” said Don Quixote, “dost thou not see that, applied to the -object of my desires, the words mean that I am never to see Dulcinea -more?” - -Sancho was about to answer, when his attention was diverted by seeing a -hare come flying across the plain pursued by several greyhounds and -sportsmen. In its terror it ran to take shelter and hide itself under -Dapple. Sancho caught it alive and presented it to Don Quixote, who was -saying, “_Malum signum, malum signum!_ a hare flies, greyhounds chase -it, Dulcinea appears not.” - -“Your worship’s a strange man,” said Sancho; “let’s take it for granted -that this hare is Dulcinea, and these greyhounds chasing it the -malignant enchanters who turned her into a country wench; she flies, -and I catch her and put her into your worship’s hands, and you hold her -in your arms and cherish her; what bad sign is that, or what ill omen -is there to be found here?” - -The two boys who had been quarrelling came over to look at the hare, -and Sancho asked one of them what their quarrel was about. He was -answered by the one who had said, “Thou shalt never see it again as -long as thou livest,” that he had taken a cage full of crickets from -the other boy, and did not mean to give it back to him as long as he -lived. Sancho took out four cuartos from his pocket and gave them to -the boy for the cage, which he placed in Don Quixote’s hands, saying, -“There, señor! there are the omens broken and destroyed, and they have -no more to do with our affairs, to my thinking, fool as I am, than with -last year’s clouds; and if I remember rightly I have heard the curate -of our village say that it does not become Christians or sensible -people to give any heed to these silly things; and even you yourself -said the same to me some time ago, telling me that all Christians who -minded omens were fools; but there’s no need of making words about it; -let us push on and go into our village.” - -The sportsmen came up and asked for their hare, which Don Quixote gave -them. They then went on, and upon the green at the entrance of the town -they came upon the curate and the bachelor Samson Carrasco busy with -their breviaries. It should be mentioned that Sancho had thrown, by way -of a sumpter-cloth, over Dapple and over the bundle of armour, the -buckram robe painted with flames which they had put upon him at the -duke’s castle the night Altisidora came back to life. He had also fixed -the mitre on Dapple’s head, the oddest transformation and decoration -that ever ass in the world underwent. They were at once recognised by -both the curate and the bachelor, who came towards them with open arms. -Don Quixote dismounted and received them with a close embrace; and the -boys, who are lynxes that nothing escapes, spied out the ass’s mitre -and came running to see it, calling out to one another, “Come here, -boys, and see Sancho Panza’s ass figged out finer than Mingo, and Don -Quixote’s beast leaner than ever.” - -So at length, with the boys capering round them, and accompanied by the -curate and the bachelor, they made their entrance into the town, and -proceeded to Don Quixote’s house, at the door of which they found his -housekeeper and niece, whom the news of his arrival had already -reached. It had been brought to Teresa Panza, Sancho’s wife, as well, -and she with her hair all loose and half naked, dragging Sanchica her -daughter by the hand, ran out to meet her husband; but seeing him -coming in by no means as good case as she thought a governor ought to -be, she said to him, “How is it you come this way, husband? It seems to -me you come tramping and footsore, and looking more like a disorderly -vagabond than a governor.” - -“Hold your tongue, Teresa,” said Sancho; “often ‘where there are pegs -there are no flitches;’ let’s go into the house and there you’ll hear -strange things. I bring money, and that’s the main thing, got by my own -industry without wronging anybody.” - -“You bring the money, my good husband,” said Teresa, “and no matter -whether it was got this way or that; for, however you may have got it, -you’ll not have brought any new practice into the world.” - -Sanchica embraced her father and asked him if he brought her anything, -for she had been looking out for him as for the showers of May; and she -taking hold of him by the girdle on one side, and his wife by the hand, -while the daughter led Dapple, they made for their house, leaving Don -Quixote in his, in the hands of his niece and housekeeper, and in the -company of the curate and the bachelor. - -Don Quixote at once, without any regard to time or season, withdrew in -private with the bachelor and the curate, and in a few words told them -of his defeat, and of the engagement he was under not to quit his -village for a year, which he meant to keep to the letter without -departing a hair’s breadth from it, as became a knight-errant bound by -scrupulous good faith and the laws of knight-errantry; and of how he -thought of turning shepherd for that year, and taking his diversion in -the solitude of the fields, where he could with perfect freedom give -range to his thoughts of love while he followed the virtuous pastoral -calling; and he besought them, if they had not a great deal to do and -were not prevented by more important business, to consent to be his -companions, for he would buy sheep enough to qualify them for -shepherds; and the most important point of the whole affair, he could -tell them, was settled, for he had given them names that would fit them -to a T. The curate asked what they were. Don Quixote replied that he -himself was to be called the shepherd Quixotize and the bachelor the -shepherd Carrascon, and the curate the shepherd Curambro, and Sancho -Panza the shepherd Pancino. - -Both were astounded at Don Quixote’s new craze; however, lest he should -once more make off out of the village from them in pursuit of his -chivalry, they trusting that in the course of the year he might be -cured, fell in with his new project, applauded his crazy idea as a -bright one, and offered to share the life with him. “And what’s more,” -said Samson Carrasco, “I am, as all the world knows, a very famous -poet, and I’ll be always making verses, pastoral, or courtly, or as it -may come into my head, to pass away our time in those secluded regions -where we shall be roaming. But what is most needful, sirs, is that each -of us should choose the name of the shepherdess he means to glorify in -his verses, and that we should not leave a tree, be it ever so hard, -without writing up and carving her name on it, as is the habit and -custom of love-smitten shepherds.” - -“That’s the very thing,” said Don Quixote; “though I am relieved from -looking for the name of an imaginary shepherdess, for there’s the -peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the glory of these brooksides, the -ornament of these meadows, the mainstay of beauty, the cream of all the -graces, and, in a word, the being to whom all praise is appropriate, be -it ever so hyperbolical.” - -“Very true,” said the curate; “but we the others must look about for -accommodating shepherdesses that will answer our purpose one way or -another.” - -“And,” added Samson Carrasco, “if they fail us, we can call them by the -names of the ones in print that the world is filled with, Fílidas, -Amarilises, Dianas, Fleridas, Galateas, Belisardas; for as they sell -them in the market-places we may fairly buy them and make them our own. -If my lady, or I should say my shepherdess, happens to be called Ana, -I’ll sing her praises under the name of Anarda, and if Francisca, I’ll -call her Francenia, and if Lucia, Lucinda, for it all comes to the same -thing; and Sancho Panza, if he joins this fraternity, may glorify his -wife Teresa Panza as Teresaina.” - -Don Quixote laughed at the adaptation of the name, and the curate -bestowed vast praise upon the worthy and honourable resolution he had -made, and again offered to bear him company all the time that he could -spare from his imperative duties. And so they took their leave of him, -recommending and beseeching him to take care of his health and treat -himself to a suitable diet. - -It so happened his niece and the housekeeper overheard all the three of -them said; and as soon as they were gone they both of them came in to -Don Quixote, and said the niece, “What’s this, uncle? Now that we were -thinking you had come back to stay at home and lead a quiet respectable -life there, are you going to get into fresh entanglements, and turn -‘young shepherd, thou that comest here, young shepherd going there?’ -Nay! indeed ‘the straw is too hard now to make pipes of.’” - -“And,” added the housekeeper, “will your worship be able to bear, out -in the fields, the heats of summer, and the chills of winter, and the -howling of the wolves? Not you; for that’s a life and a business for -hardy men, bred and seasoned to such work almost from the time they -were in swaddling-clothes. Why, to make choice of evils, it’s better to -be a knight-errant than a shepherd! Look here, señor; take my -advice—and I’m not giving it to you full of bread and wine, but -fasting, and with fifty years upon my head—stay at home, look after -your affairs, go often to confession, be good to the poor, and upon my -soul be it if any evil comes to you.” - -“Hold your peace, my daughters,” said Don Quixote; “I know very well -what my duty is; help me to bed, for I don’t feel very well; and rest -assured that, knight-errant now or wandering shepherd to be, I shall -never fail to have a care for your interests, as you will see in the -end.” And the good wenches (for that they undoubtedly were), the -housekeeper and niece, helped him to bed, where they gave him something -to eat and made him as comfortable as possible. - -CHAPTER LXXIV. -OF HOW DON QUIXOTE FELL SICK, AND OF THE WILL HE MADE, AND HOW HE DIED - -As nothing that is man’s can last for ever, but all tends ever -downwards from its beginning to its end, and above all man’s life, and -as Don Quixote’s enjoyed no special dispensation from heaven to stay -its course, its end and close came when he least looked for it. -For—whether it was of the dejection the thought of his defeat produced, -or of heaven’s will that so ordered it—a fever settled upon him and -kept him in his bed for six days, during which he was often visited by -his friends the curate, the bachelor, and the barber, while his good -squire Sancho Panza never quitted his bedside. They, persuaded that it -was grief at finding himself vanquished, and the object of his heart, -the liberation and disenchantment of Dulcinea, unattained, that kept -him in this state, strove by all the means in their power to cheer him -up; the bachelor bidding him take heart and get up to begin his -pastoral life, for which he himself, he said, had already composed an -eclogue that would take the shine out of all Sannazaro had ever -written, and had bought with his own money two famous dogs to guard the -flock, one called Barcino and the other Butron, which a herdsman of -Quintanar had sold him. - -But for all this Don Quixote could not shake off his sadness. His -friends called in the doctor, who felt his pulse and was not very well -satisfied with it, and said that in any case it would be well for him -to attend to the health of his soul, as that of his body was in a bad -way. Don Quixote heard this calmly; but not so his housekeeper, his -niece, and his squire, who fell weeping bitterly, as if they had him -lying dead before them. The doctor’s opinion was that melancholy and -depression were bringing him to his end. Don Quixote begged them to -leave him to himself, as he had a wish to sleep a little. They obeyed, -and he slept at one stretch, as the saying is, more than six hours, so -that the housekeeper and niece thought he was going to sleep for ever. -But at the end of that time he woke up, and in a loud voice exclaimed, -“Blessed be Almighty God, who has shown me such goodness. In truth his -mercies are boundless, and the sins of men can neither limit them nor -keep them back!” - -The niece listened with attention to her uncle’s words, and they struck -her as more coherent than what usually fell from him, at least during -his illness, so she asked, “What are you saying, señor? Has anything -strange occurred? What mercies or what sins of men are you talking of?” - -“The mercies, niece,” said Don Quixote, “are those that God has this -moment shown me, and with him, as I said, my sins are no impediment to -them. My reason is now free and clear, rid of the dark shadows of -ignorance that my unhappy constant study of those detestable books of -chivalry cast over it. Now I see through their absurdities and -deceptions, and it only grieves me that this destruction of my -illusions has come so late that it leaves me no time to make some -amends by reading other books that might be a light to my soul. Niece, -I feel myself at the point of death, and I would fain meet it in such a -way as to show that my life has not been so ill that I should leave -behind me the name of a madman; for though I have been one, I would not -that the fact should be made plainer at my death. Call in to me, my -dear, my good friends the curate, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, and -Master Nicholas the barber, for I wish to confess and make my will.” -But his niece was saved the trouble by the entrance of the three. The -instant Don Quixote saw them he exclaimed, “Good news for you, good -sirs, that I am no longer Don Quixote of La Mancha, but Alonso Quixano, -whose way of life won for him the name of Good. Now am I the enemy of -Amadis of Gaul and of the whole countless troop of his descendants; -odious to me now are all the profane stories of knight-errantry; now I -perceive my folly, and the peril into which reading them brought me; -now, by God’s mercy schooled into my right senses, I loathe them.” - -When the three heard him speak in this way, they had no doubt whatever -that some new craze had taken possession of him; and said Samson, -“What? Señor Don Quixote! Now that we have intelligence of the lady -Dulcinea being disenchanted, are you taking this line; now, just as we -are on the point of becoming shepherds, to pass our lives singing, like -princes, are you thinking of turning hermit? Hush, for heaven’s sake, -be rational and let’s have no more nonsense.” - -“All that nonsense,” said Don Quixote, “that until now has been a -reality to my hurt, my death will, with heaven’s help, turn to my good. -I feel, sirs, that I am rapidly drawing near death; a truce to jesting; -let me have a confessor to confess me, and a notary to make my will; -for in extremities like this, man must not trifle with his soul; and -while the curate is confessing me let someone, I beg, go for the -notary.” - -They looked at one another, wondering at Don Quixote’s words; but, -though uncertain, they were inclined to believe him, and one of the -signs by which they came to the conclusion he was dying was this so -sudden and complete return to his senses after having been mad; for to -the words already quoted he added much more, so well expressed, so -devout, and so rational, as to banish all doubt and convince them that -he was sound of mind. The curate turned them all out, and left alone -with him confessed him. The bachelor went for the notary and returned -shortly afterwards with him and with Sancho, who, having already -learned from the bachelor the condition his master was in, and finding -the housekeeper and niece weeping, began to blubber and shed tears. - -The confession over, the curate came out saying, “Alonso Quixano the -Good is indeed dying, and is indeed in his right mind; we may now go in -to him while he makes his will.” - -This news gave a tremendous impulse to the brimming eyes of the -housekeeper, niece, and Sancho Panza his good squire, making the tears -burst from their eyes and a host of sighs from their hearts; for of a -truth, as has been said more than once, whether as plain Alonso Quixano -the Good, or as Don Quixote of La Mancha, Don Quixote was always of a -gentle disposition and kindly in all his ways, and hence he was -beloved, not only by those of his own house, but by all who knew him. - -The notary came in with the rest, and as soon as the preamble of the -will had been set out and Don Quixote had commended his soul to God -with all the devout formalities that are usual, coming to the bequests, -he said, “Item, it is my will that, touching certain moneys in the -hands of Sancho Panza (whom in my madness I made my squire), inasmuch -as between him and me there have been certain accounts and debits and -credits, no claim be made against him, nor any account demanded of him -in respect of them; but that if anything remain over and above, after -he has paid himself what I owe him, the balance, which will be but -little, shall be his, and much good may it do him; and if, as when I -was mad I had a share in giving him the government of an island, so, -now that I am in my senses, I could give him that of a kingdom, it -should be his, for the simplicity of his character and the fidelity of -his conduct deserve it.” And then, turning to Sancho, he said, “Forgive -me, my friend, that I led thee to seem as mad as myself, making thee -fall into the same error I myself fell into, that there were and still -are knights-errant in the world.” - -“Ah!” said Sancho weeping, “don’t die, master, but take my advice and -live many years; for the foolishest thing a man can do in this life is -to let himself die without rhyme or reason, without anybody killing -him, or any hands but melancholy’s making an end of him. Come, don’t be -lazy, but get up from your bed and let us take to the fields in -shepherd’s trim as we agreed. Perhaps behind some bush we shall find -the lady Dulcinea disenchanted, as fine as fine can be. If it be that -you are dying of vexation at having been vanquished, lay the blame on -me, and say you were overthrown because I had girthed Rocinante badly; -besides you must have seen in your books of chivalry that it is a -common thing for knights to upset one another, and for him who is -conquered to-day to be conqueror to-morrow.” - -“Very true,” said Samson, “and good Sancho Panza’s view of these cases -is quite right.” - -“Sirs, not so fast,” said Don Quixote, “‘in last year’s nests there are -no birds this year.’ I was mad, now I am in my senses; I was Don -Quixote of La Mancha, I am now, as I said, Alonso Quixano the Good; and -may my repentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you used to -have for me; and now let Master Notary proceed. - -“Item, I leave all my property absolutely to Antonia Quixana my niece, -here present, after all has been deducted from the most available -portion of it that may be required to satisfy the bequests I have made. -And the first disbursement I desire to be made is the payment of the -wages I owe for the time my housekeeper has served me, with twenty -ducats, over and above, for a gown. The curate and the bachelor Samson -Carrasco, now present, I appoint my executors. - -“Item, it is my wish that if Antonia Quixana, my niece, desires to -marry, she shall marry a man of whom it shall be first of all -ascertained by information taken that he does not know what books of -chivalry are; and if it should be proved that he does, and if, in spite -of this, my niece insists upon marrying him, and does marry him, then -that she shall forfeit the whole of what I have left her, which my -executors shall devote to works of charity as they please. - -“Item, I entreat the aforesaid gentlemen my executors, that, if any -happy chance should lead them to discover the author who is said to -have written a history now going about under the title of ‘Second Part -of the Achievements of Don Quixote of La Mancha,’ they beg of him on my -behalf as earnestly as they can to forgive me for having been, without -intending it, the cause of his writing so many and such monstrous -absurdities as he has written in it; for I am leaving the world with a -feeling of compunction at having provoked him to write them.” - -With this he closed his will, and a faintness coming over him he -stretched himself out at full length on the bed. All were in a flutter -and made haste to relieve him, and during the three days he lived after -that on which he made his will he fainted away very often. The house -was all in confusion; but still the niece ate and the housekeeper drank -and Sancho Panza enjoyed himself; for inheriting property wipes out or -softens down in the heir the feeling of grief the dead man might be -expected to leave behind him. - -At last Don Quixote’s end came, after he had received all the -sacraments, and had in full and forcible terms expressed his -detestation of books of chivalry. The notary was there at the time, and -he said that in no book of chivalry had he ever read of any -knight-errant dying in his bed so calmly and so like a Christian as Don -Quixote, who amid the tears and lamentations of all present yielded up -his spirit, that is to say died. On perceiving it the curate begged the -notary to bear witness that Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called -Don Quixote of La Mancha, had passed away from this present life, and -died naturally; and said he desired this testimony in order to remove -the possibility of any other author save Cide Hamete Benengeli bringing -him to life again falsely and making interminable stories out of his -achievements. - -Such was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village -Cide Hamete would not indicate precisely, in order to leave all the -towns and villages of La Mancha to contend among themselves for the -right to adopt him and claim him as a son, as the seven cities of -Greece contended for Homer. The lamentations of Sancho and the niece -and housekeeper are omitted here, as well as the new epitaphs upon his -tomb; Samson Carrasco, however, put the following lines: - -A doughty gentleman lies here; -A stranger all his life to fear; -Nor in his death could Death prevail, -In that last hour, to make him quail. - -He for the world but little cared; -And at his feats the world was scared; -A crazy man his life he passed, -But in his senses died at last. - -And said most sage Cide Hamete to his pen, “Rest here, hung up by this -brass wire, upon this shelf, O my pen, whether of skilful make or -clumsy cut I know not; here shalt thou remain long ages hence, unless -presumptuous or malignant story-tellers take thee down to profane thee. -But ere they touch thee warn them, and, as best thou canst, say to -them: - -Hold off! ye weaklings; hold your hands! -Adventure it let none, -For this emprise, my lord the king, -Was meant for me alone. - -For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was his to act, -mine to write; we two together make but one, notwithstanding and in -spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer who has ventured or would -venture with his great, coarse, ill-trimmed ostrich quill to write the -achievements of my valiant knight;—no burden for his shoulders, nor -subject for his frozen wit: whom, if perchance thou shouldst come to -know him, thou shalt warn to leave at rest where they lie the weary -mouldering bones of Don Quixote, and not to attempt to carry him off, -in opposition to all the privileges of death, to Old Castile, making -him rise from the grave where in reality and truth he lies stretched at -full length, powerless to make any third expedition or new sally; for -the two that he has already made, so much to the enjoyment and approval -of everybody to whom they have become known, in this as well as in -foreign countries, are quite sufficient for the purpose of turning into -ridicule the whole of those made by the whole set of the -knights-errant; and so doing shalt thou discharge thy Christian -calling, giving good counsel to one that bears ill-will to thee. And I -shall remain satisfied, and proud to have been the first who has ever -enjoyed the fruit of his writings as fully as he could desire; for my -desire has been no other than to deliver over to the detestation of -mankind the false and foolish tales of the books of chivalry, which, -thanks to that of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and -doubtless doomed to fall for ever. Farewell.” - - -L’ingénieux chevalier Don Quichotte de la Manche -Auteur: Michel Cervantes -Traducteur: Charles Furne - -PRÉFACE - -En te présentant ce livre enfant de mon esprit, ai-je besoin de te -jurer, ami lecteur, que je voudrais qu’il fût le plus beau, le plus -ingénieux, le plus parfait de tous les livres? Mais, hélas! je n’ai pu -me soustraire à cette loi de la nature qui veut que chaque être engendre -son semblable. Or, que pouvait engendrer un esprit stérile et mal -cultivé tel que le mien, sinon un sujet bizarre, fantasque, rabougri et -plein de pensées étranges qui ne sont jamais venues à personne? De plus, -j’écris dans une prison, et un pareil séjour, siége de toute -incommodité, demeure de tout bruit sinistre, est peu favorable à la -composition d’un ouvrage, tandis qu’un doux loisir, une paisible -retraite, l’aménité des champs, la sérénité des cieux, le murmure des -eaux, la tranquillité de l’âme, rendraient fécondes les Muses les plus -stériles. - -Je sais que la tendresse fascine souvent les yeux d’un père, au point de -lui faire prendre pour des grâces les imperfections de son enfant; c’est -pourquoi je m’empresse de te déclarer que don Quichotte n’est pas le -mien; il n’est que mon fils adoptif. Aussi je ne viens pas, les larmes -aux yeux, suivant l’usage, implorer humblement pour lui ton indulgence; -libre de ton opinion, maître absolu de ta volonté comme le roi l’est de -ses gabelles, juge-le selon ta fantaisie; tu sais du reste notre -proverbe: Sous mon manteau, je tue le roi[1]. Te voilà donc bien averti -et dispensé envers moi de toute espèce de ménagements; le bien ou le mal -que tu diras de mon ouvrage ne te vaudra de ma part pas plus d’inimitié -que de reconnaissance. - - [1] Debajo de mi manto, el rey mato. - -J’aurais voulu te l’offrir sans ce complément obligé qu’on nomme -préface, et sans cet interminable catalogue de sonnets et d’éloges qu’on -a l’habitude[2] de placer en tête de tous les livres; car bien que -celui-ci m’ait donné quelque peine à composer, ce qui m’a coûté le plus, -je dois en convenir, cher lecteur, c’est la préface que tu lis en ce -moment; bien des fois j’ai pris, quitté, repris la plume, sans savoir -par où commencer. - - [2] Cette coutume, alors générale, était surtout très-suivie en - Espagne. - -J’étais encore dans un de ces moments d’impuissance, mon papier devant -moi, la plume à l’oreille, le coude sur la table et la joue dans la -main, quand je fus surpris par un de mes amis, homme d’esprit et de bon -conseil, lequel voulut savoir la cause de ma profonde rêverie. Je lui -confessai que le sujet de ma préoccupation était la préface de mon -histoire de don Quichotte, et qu’elle me coûtait tant d’efforts, que -j’étais sur le point de renoncer à mettre en lumière les exploits du -noble chevalier. - -Et pourtant, ajoutais-je, comment se risquer à publier un livre sans -préface? Que dira de moi ce sévère censeur qu’on nomme le public, -censeur que j’ai négligé depuis si longtemps, quand il me verra -reparaître vieux et cassé[3], avec un ouvrage maigre d’invention, pauvre -de style, dépourvu d’érudition, et, ce qui est pis encore, sans -annotations en marges et sans commentaires, tandis que nos ouvrages -modernes sont tellement farcis de sentences d’Aristote, de Platon et de -toute la troupe des philosophes, que, dans son enthousiasme, le lecteur -ne manque jamais de porter aux nues ces ouvrages comme des modèles de -profonde érudition? Et qu’est-ce, bon Dieu, quand leurs auteurs en -arrivent à citer la sainte Écriture! Oh! alors, on les prendrait pour -quelque saint Thomas, ou autre fameux docteur de l’Église; en effet, ils -ont tant de délicatesse et de goût, qu’ils se soucient fort peu de -placer après le portrait d’un libertin dépravé un petit sermon chrétien, -si joli, mais si joli, que c’est plaisir de le lire et de l’entendre. -Vous voyez bien que mon ouvrage va manquer de tout cela, que je n’ai -point de notes ni de commentaires à la fin de mon livre, qu’ignorant les -auteurs que j’aurais pu suivre, il me sera impossible d’en donner, comme -tous mes confrères, une table alphabétique commençant par Aristote et -finissant par Xénophon, ou par Zoïle et Zeuxis, quoique celui-ci soit un -peintre et l’autre un critique plein de fiel. - - [3] Cervantes avait cinquante-sept ans lorsqu’il publia la première - partie du _Don Quichotte_. - -Mais ce n’est pas tout; mon livre manquera encore de ces sonnets -remplis d’éloges pour l’auteur, dont princes, ducs, évêques, grandes -dames et poëtes célèbres, font ordinairement les frais (quoique, avec -des amis comme les miens, il m’eût été facile de m’en pourvoir et des -meilleurs); aussi tant d’obstacles à surmonter m’ont-ils fait prendre la -résolution de laisser le seigneur don Quichotte enseveli au fond des -archives de la Manche, plutôt que de le mettre au jour dénué de ces -ornements indispensables qu’un maladroit de mon espèce désespère de -pouvoir jamais lui procurer. C’était là le sujet de la rêverie et de -l’indécision où vous m’avez surpris. - -A ces paroles, mon ami partit d’un grand éclat de rire. Par ma foi, -dit-il, vous venez de me tirer d’une erreur où j’étais depuis longtemps: -je vous avais toujours cru homme habile et de bons sens, mais je viens -de m’apercevoir qu’il y a aussi loin de vous à cet homme-là que de la -terre au ciel. Comment de semblables bagatelles, et si faciles à -obtenir, ont-elles pu vous arrêter un seul instant, accoutumé que vous -êtes à aborder et à vaincre des difficultés bien autrement sérieuses? En -vérité, je gagerais que ce n’est pas insuffisance de votre part, mais -simplement paresse ou défaut de réflexion. M’accordez-vous quelque -confiance? Eh bien, écoutez-moi, et vous allez voir de quelle façon je -saurai aplanir les obstacles qui vous empêchent de publier l’histoire de -votre fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, miroir et fleur de la -chevalerie errante. - -Dieu soit loué! m’écriai-je; mais comment parviendrez-vous à combler ce -vide et à débrouiller ce chaos? - -Ce qui vous embarrasse le plus, répliqua mon ami, c’est l’absence de -sonnets et d’éloges dus à la plume d’illustres personnages pour placer -en tête de votre livre? Eh bien, qui vous empêche de les composer -vous-même et de les baptiser du nom qu’il vous plaira de leur donner? -Attribuez-les au prêtre Jean des Indes[4], ou à L’empereur de -Trébizonde: vous savez qu’ils passent pour d’excellents écrivains. Si, -par hasard, des pédants s’avisent de contester et de critiquer pour -semblable peccadille, souciez-vous-en comme d’un maravédis; allez, -allez, quand même le mensonge serait avéré, on ne coupera pas la main -qui en sera coupable. Pour ce qui est des citations marginales, faites -venir à propos quelques dictons latins, ceux que vous savez par cœur ou -qui ne vous donneront pas grand’peine à trouver. Par exemple, avez-vous -à parler de l’esclavage et de la liberté? qui vous empêche de mettre - - Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro. - -Traitez-vous de la mort? citez sur-le-champ: - - Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas - Regumque turres.... - - [4] Personnage proverbial, comme l’est encore le juif errant. - -S’il est question de l’amour que Dieu commande d’avoir pour son ennemi, -l’Écriture sainte ne nous dit-elle pas: _Ego autem dico vobis, diligite -inimicos vestros_? S’il s’agit de mauvaises pensées, recourez à -l’Évangile: _De corde exeunt cogitationes malæ_. Pour l’instabilité de -l’amitié, Caton vous prêtera son distique: - - Donec eris felix, multos numerabis amicos; - Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris[5]. - - [5] C’est à tort que Cervantes attribue ces vers à Caton; ils sont - d’Ovide. - -Avec ces bribes de latin amenées à propos, vous passerez pour un érudit, -et par le temps qui court, cela vaut honneur et profit. - -Quant aux notes et commentaires qui devront compléter votre livre, voici -comment vous pourrez procéder en toute sûreté. Vous faut-il un géant? -prenez-moi Goliath, et avec lui vous avez un commentaire tout fait; vous -direz: Le géant Golias ou Goliath était un Philistin que le berger David -tua d’un coup de fronde dans la vallée de Térébinthe, ainsi qu’il est -écrit au _Livre des Rois_, chapitre..... Voulez-vous faire une excursion -dans le domaine des sciences, en géographie, par exemple? eh bien, -arrangez-vous pour parler du Tage, et vous avez là une magnifique -période! Dites: Le fleuve du Tage fut ainsi nommé par un ancien roi des -Espagnes, parce qu’il prend sa source en tel endroit, et qu’il a son -embouchure dans l’Océan, où il se jette après avoir baigné les murs de -la célèbre et opulente ville de Lisbonne, il passe pour rouler un sable -d’or, etc., etc. Voulez-vous parler de brigands? je vous recommande -l’histoire de Cacus. Vous faut-il des courtisanes? l’évêque de -Mondonedo[6] vous fournira des Samies, des Laïs, des Flores. S’agit-il -de démons femelles? Ovide vous offre sa Médée. Sont-ce des magiciennes -ou enchanteresses? vous avez Calypso dans Homère et Circé dans Virgile. -En fait de grands capitaines, Jules César se peint lui-même dans ses -_Commentaires_, et Plutarque vous fournira mille Alexandre. Enfin si -vous avez à traiter de l’amour, avec deux onces de langue italienne, -Léon Hébreu[7] vous donnera pleine mesure; et s’il vous répugne de -recourir à l’étranger, nous avons en Espagne le Traité de Fonseca sur -l’Amour de Dieu, dans lequel se trouve développé tout ce que l’homme le -plus exigeant peut désirer en semblable matière. Chargez-vous seulement -d’indiquer les sources où vous puiserez, et laissez-moi le soin des -notes et des commentaires; je me charge de remplir vos marges, et de -barbouiller quatre feuilles de remarques par-dessus le marché. - - [6] Don Antonio de Guevara, auteur de la notable histoire des _Trois - Amoureuses_. - - [7] Rabbin, portugais qui a écrit les _Dialogues d’amour_. - -Mais, il me semble, en vérité, que votre ouvrage n’a aucun besoin de ce -que vous dites lui manquer, puisqu’en fin de compte vous n’avez voulu -faire qu’une satire des livres de chevalerie, qu’Aristote n’a pas -connus, dont Cicéron n’a pas eu la moindre idée, et dont saint Basile ne -dit mot. Ces fantastiques inventions n’ont rien à démêler avec les -réalités de l’histoire, ni avec les calculs de la géométrie, les règles -et les arguments de la rhétorique. Vous n’avez pas sans doute la -prétention de convertir les gens, comme veulent le faire tant de vos -confrères qui mêlent le sacré et le profane, mélange coupable et -indécent que doit sévèrement réprouver tout esprit vraiment chrétien! -Bien exprimer ce que vous avez à dire, voilà votre but; ainsi, plus -l’imitation sera fidèle, plus votre ouvrage approchera de la perfection. -Si donc vous n’en voulez qu’aux livres de chevalerie, pourquoi emprunter -des sentences aux philosophes, des citations à la sainte Écriture, des -fables aux poëtes, des discours aux rhéteurs, des miracles aux saints? -Faites seulement que votre phrase soit harmonieuse et votre récit -intéressant; que votre langage, clair et précis, rende votre intention -sans obscurité ni équivoque; tâchez surtout qu’en vous lisant, le -mélancolique ne puisse s’empêcher de rire, que l’ignorant s’instruise, -que le connaisseur admire, que le sage se croie tenu de vous louer. -Surtout visez constamment à détruire cette ridicule faveur qu’ont -usurpée auprès de tant de gens les livres de chevalerie; et, par ma foi, -si vous en venez à bout, vous n’aurez pas accompli une mince besogne. - -J’avais écouté dans un grand silence ce que disait mon ami; ses raisons -frappèrent tellement mon esprit que, sans répliquer, je les tins, à -l’instant même, pour excellentes, et je résolus d’en faire cette -préface, dans laquelle tu reconnaîtras, cher lecteur, le grand sens d’un -tel conseiller, et ma bonne fortune qui me l’avait envoyé si à propos. -Tu y trouveras aussi ton compte, puisque, sans autre préliminaire, tu -vas passer à l’histoire naïve et sincère de ce don Quichotte de la -Manche, regardé par les habitants de la plaine de Montiel comme le plus -chaste des amants et le plus vaillant des chevaliers. Mais je ne -voudrais pas trop exagérer le service que tu me dois pour t’avoir fait -connaître un héros si recommandable; je demande seulement que tu me -saches quelque gré de te présenter son illustre écuyer Sancho Panza, -dans la personne duquel tu trouveras, je l’espère, rassemblées toutes -les grâces _écuyéresques_ éparses dans la foule vaine et insipide des -livres de chevalerie. - -Sur ce, que Dieu te conserve, cher lecteur, sans m’oublier cependant. - -UN MOT SUR CETTE NOUVELLE TRADUCTION - -Comme Homère, comme Virgile, Dante, Shakespeare, Cervantes, a eu un -grand nombre de traducteurs; et cependant après tant d’essais, le -chef-d’œuvre de cet immortel écrivain _Don Quichotte_, en un mot, est -encore et restera toujours à traduire. - -Notre admiration pour Cervantes et pour la chevaleresque patrie qui l’a -vu naître nous a depuis longtemps inspiré le désir et fait prendre la -résolution de tenter cette périlleuse aventure. Aussi, pour nous y -préparer, avons-nous lu et relu l’inimitable roman de _Gil Blas_, ce -modèle accompli de l’art du conteur. - -Dans les lettres, obscur ouvrier de la onzième heure, nous n’avons pas -la prétention d’avoir atteint le but que tant d’autres, avant nous, ont -poursuivi avec constance et quelquefois avec bonheur; mais dans la -mesure de nos forces, et par une version fidèle que nous nous sommes -efforcé de rendre agréable, nous avons cherché à augmenter le nombre des -admirateurs d’un des plus beaux génies dont s’honore l’humanité. - -C’est le résultat de cette tentative que nous soumettons au public. - - CH. FURNE. - -L’INGÉNIEUX CHEVALIER DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - -PREMIÈRE PARTIE - -LIVRE PREMIER--CHAPITRE PREMIER - -QUI TRAITE DE LA QUALITÉ ET DES HABITUDES DE L’INGÉNIEUX DON QUICHOTTE - -Dans un petit bourg de la Manche, dont je ne veux pas me rappeler le -nom[8], vivait naguère un de ces hidalgos qui ont lance au râtelier, -rondache antique, vieux cheval et lévrier de chasse.--Une _olla_[9], -bien plus souvent de bœuf[10] que de mouton, un _saupiquet_[11] le -soir, le vendredi des lentilles, des abatis de bétail le samedi, et le -dimanche quelques pigeonneaux outre l’ordinaire, emportaient les trois -quarts de son revenu; le reste payait son justaucorps de panne de soie, -avec chausses et mules de velours pour les jours de fête, car d’habitude -notre hidalgo se contentait d’un surtout de la bonne laine du pays. Une -gouvernante qui avait passé quarante ans, une nièce qui n’en avait pas -vingt, et un valet qui savait travailler aux champs, étriller un cheval -et manier la serpette, composaient toute sa maison. Son âge frisait la -cinquantaine; il était de complexion robuste, maigre de visage, sec de -corps, fort matinal et grand chasseur. Parmi les historiens, -quelques-uns ont dit qu’il s’appelait Quisada ou Quesada, d’autres le -nomment Quixana. Au reste cela importe peu, pourvu que notre récit ne -s’écarte en aucun point de l’exacte vérité. - - [8] Argamasilla de Alba; on y montre encore une antique maison où la - tradition locale place la prison de Cervantes. - - [9] _Olla_, pot-au-feu. - - [10] En Espagne, le bœuf est moins estimé que le mouton. - - [11] _Salpicon_, saupiquet, émincé de viande avec une sauce qui excite - l’appétit. - -Or, il faut savoir que dans ses moments de loisir, c’est-à-dire à peu -près toute l’année, notre hidalgo s’adonnait à la lecture des livres de -chevalerie avec tant d’assiduité et de plaisir, qu’il avait fini par en -oublier l’exercice de la chasse et l’administration de son bien. Son -engouement en vint même à ce point, qu’il vendit plusieurs pièces de -bonne terre pour acquérir ces sortes d’ouvrages; aussi en amassa-t-il un -si grand nombre qu’il en emplit sa maison. - -Mais, parmi ces livres, aucun n’était plus de son goût que ceux du -célèbre Feliciano de Silva[12]. Les faux brillants de sa prose le -ravissaient, et ses propos quintessenciés lui semblaient autant de -perles; il admirait ses cartels de défis, et surtout ses tirades -galantes où se trouvaient ces mots: _La raison de la déraison que vous -faites à ma raison, affaiblit tellement ma raison, que ce n’est pas sans -raison que je me plains de votre beauté_; et cet autre passage vraiment -incomparable: _Les hauts cieux qui de votre divinité divinement par le -secours des étoiles vous fortifient et vous font méritante des mérites -que mérite votre grandeur_. - - [12] Feliciano de Silva, auteur de la _Chronique des très-vaillants - Chevaliers_. - -Le jugement de notre pauvre hidalgo se perdait au milieu de toutes ces -belles phrases; il se donnait la torture pour les approfondir et leur -arracher un sens des entrailles, ce que n’aurait pu faire le grand -Aristote lui-même, fût-il ressuscité exprès pour cela. Il s’accommodait -mal des innombrables blessures que faisait ou recevait don Belianis; -car, malgré toute la science des chirurgiens qui l’ont guéri, un si -intrépide batailleur, disait-il, doit avoir le corps couvert de -cicatrices, et le visage, de balafres. Mais il n’en louait pas moins -dans l’auteur l’ingénieuse façon dont il termine son livre par la -promesse d’une inénarrable aventure. Plus d’une fois il fut tenté de -prendre la plume afin de l’achever, ce qu’il eût fait sans doute et même -avec succès, si depuis longtemps déjà il n’eût roulé dans sa tête de -plus importantes pensées. Souvent il disputait avec le curé de son -village, homme docte qui avait étudié à Siguenza[13], sur la question de -savoir lequel était meilleur chevalier, de Palmerin d’Angleterre, ou -d’Amadis de Gaule. Le barbier du village, maître Nicolas, prétendait que -personne n’allait à la taille du chevalier Phébus, et que si quelqu’un -pouvait lui être comparé, c’était le seul don Galaor, parce qu’avec des -qualités qui le rendaient propre à tout, ce Galaor n’était point un -dameret, un langoureux comme son frère Amadis, à qui d’ailleurs il ne le -cédait en rien quant à la vaillance. - - [13] Siguenza est dit ironiquement. - -Bref, notre hidalgo se passionna tellement pour sa lecture, qu’il y -passait les nuits du soir au matin, et les jours du matin au soir, si -bien qu’à force de toujours lire et de ne plus dormir, son cerveau se -dessécha, et qu’il finit par perdre l’esprit. L’imagination remplie de -tout ce fatras, il ne rêvait qu’enchantements, querelles, défis, -combats, blessures, déclarations galantes, tourments amoureux et autres -extravagances semblables; et ces rêveries saugrenues s’étaient si bien -logées dans sa tête, que pour lui il n’existait pas au monde d’histoires -plus certaines et plus authentiques. - -Il disait que le cid Ruy-Dias avait été certes un bon chevalier, mais -qu’il était loin de valoir le chevalier de l’Ardente-Épée, qui, d’un -seul revers avait pourfendu deux féroces et monstrueux géants. Bernard -de Carpio lui semblait l’emporter encore, parce que, à Ronceveaux, -s’aidant fort à propos de l’artifice d’Hercule lorsqu’il étouffa entre -ses bras Antée, fils de la Terre, il avait su mettre à mort Roland -l’enchanté. Il vantait beaucoup aussi le géant Morgan, qui, seul de -cette race orgueilleuse et farouche, s’était toujours montré plein de -courtoisie. Mais son héros par excellence, c’était Renaud de Montauban, -surtout quand il le voyait sortir de son château pour détrousser les -passants, ou, franchissant le détroit, courir en Barbarie dérober cette -idole de Mahomet qui était d’or massif, à ce que raconte l’histoire. -Quant à ce traître de Ganelon, afin de pouvoir lui administrer cent -coups de pieds dans les côtes, il aurait de bon cœur donné sa -gouvernante et même sa nièce par-dessus le marché. - -Enfin, la raison l’ayant abandonné sans retour, il en vint à former le -plus bizarre projet dont jamais fou se soit avisé. Il se persuada qu’il -était convenable et même nécessaire, tant pour le service de son pays -que pour sa propre gloire, de se faire chevalier errant et de s’en aller -de par le monde, avec son cheval et ses armes, chercher les aventures, -défendre les opprimés, redresser les torts, et affronter de tels dangers -que s’il en sortait à son honneur, sa renommée ne pouvait manquer d’être -immortelle. Le pauvre rêveur se voyait déjà couronné par la force de son -bras, et, pour le moins en possession de l’empire de Trébizonde. - -Plein de ces agréables pensées, et emporté par le singulier plaisir -qu’il y trouvait, il ne songea plus qu’à passer du désir à l’action. -Son premier soin fut de déterrer les pièces d’une vieille armure, qui, -depuis longtemps couverte de moisissure et rongée par la rouille, gisait -oubliée dans un coin de sa maison. Il les nettoya et les rajusta de son -mieux, mais grand fut son chagrin quand au lieu du heaume complet il -s’aperçut qu’il ne restait plus que le morion. Son industrie y suppléa, -et avec du carton il parvint à fabriquer une espèce de demi-salade, qui, -emboîtée avec le morion, avait toute l’apparence d’une salade entière. -Aussitôt, pour la mettre à l’épreuve, il tira son épée et lui en -déchargea deux coups dont le premier détruisit l’ouvrage d’une semaine. -Cette fragilité lui déplut fort: afin de s’assurer contre un tel péril -il se mit à refaire son armet, et cette fois il ajouta en dedans de -légères bandes de fer. Satisfait de sa solidité, mais peu empressé de -risquer une seconde expérience, il le tint désormais pour un casque de -la plus fine trempe. - -Cela fait, notre hidalgo alla visiter sa monture; et quoique la pauvre -bête eût plus de tares que de membres, et fût de plus chétive apparence -que le cheval de Gonèle[14] CUI TANTUM PELLIS ET OSSA FUIT, il lui -sembla que ni le Bucéphale d’Alexandre, ni le Babieça du Cid, ne -pouvaient lui être comparés. Il passa quatre jours entiers à chercher -quel nom il lui donnerait, disant qu’il n’était pas convenable que le -cheval d’un si fameux chevalier, et de plus si excellent par lui-même, -entrât en campagne sans avoir un nom qui le distinguât tout d’abord. -Aussi se creusait-il l’esprit pour lui en composer un qui exprimât ce -que le coursier avait été jadis et ce qu’il allait devenir: le maître -changeant d’état, le cheval, selon lui, devait changer de nom et -désormais en porter un conforme à la nouvelle profession qu’il -embrassait. Après beaucoup de noms pris, quittés, rognés, allongés, -faits et défaits, il s’arrêta à celui de ROSSINANTE[15], qui lui parut -tout à la fois sonore, retentissant, significatif, et bien digne, en -effet, de la première de toutes les rosses du monde. - - [14] Bouffon du duc de Ferrare au quinzième siècle, dont le cheval - n’avait que la peau et les os. - - [15] ROCIN-ANTES, _Rosse auparavant_. - -Une fois ce nom trouvé pour son cheval, il voulut s’en donner un à -lui-même, et il y consacra encore huit jours, au bout desquels il se -décida enfin à s’appeler DON QUICHOTTE, ce qui a fait penser aux auteurs -de cette véridique histoire que son nom était Quixada et non Quesada, -comme d’autres l’ont prétendu. Mais, venant à se souvenir que le -valeureux Amadis ne s’était pas appelé Amadis tout court, et que pour -rendre à jamais célèbre le nom de son pays, il l’avait ajouté au sien, -en se faisant appeler Amadis de Gaule, notre hidalgo, jaloux de -l’imiter, voulut de même s’appeler don Quichotte de la Manche, persuadé -qu’il illustrait sa patrie en la faisant participer à la gloire qu’il -allait acquérir. - -Après avoir fourbi ses armes, fait avec un morion une salade entière, -donné un nom retentissant à son cheval, et en avoir choisi un tout aussi -noble pour lui-même, il se tint pour assuré qu’il ne manquait plus rien, -sinon une dame à aimer, parce qu’un chevalier sans amour est un arbre -sans feuilles et sans fruits, un corps sans âme. En effet, que pour la -punition de mes péchés, se disait-il, ou plutôt grâce à ma bonne étoile, -je vienne à me trouver face à face avec un géant, comme cela arrive sans -cesse aux chevaliers errants, que je le désarçonne au premier choc et le -pourfende par le milieu du corps, ou seulement le réduise à merci, -n’est-il pas bien d’avoir une dame à qui je puisse l’envoyer en présent, -afin qu’arrivé devant ma douce souveraine, il lui dise en l’abordant, -d’une voix humble et soumise: «Madame, je suis le géant Caraculiambro, -seigneur de l’île de Malindrania, qu’a vaincu en combat singulier votre -esclave, l’invincible et jamais assez célébré don Quichotte de la -Manche. C’est par son ordre que je viens me mettre à vos genoux devant -Votre Grâce, afin qu’elle dispose de moi selon son bon plaisir.» - -Oh! combien notre hidalgo fut heureux d’avoir inventé ce beau discours, -et surtout d’avoir trouvé celle qu’il allait faire maîtresse de son -cœur, instituer dame de ses pensées! C’était, à ce que l’on croit, la -fille d’un laboureur des environs, jeune paysanne de bonne mine, dont il -était devenu amoureux sans que la belle s’en doutât un seul instant. -Elle s’appelait Aldonza Lorenzo. Après lui avoir longtemps cherché un -nom qui, sans trop s’écarter de celui qu’elle portait, annonçât -cependant la grande dame et la princesse, il finit par l’appeler -DULCINÉE DU TOBOSO, parce qu’elle était native d’un village appelé le -Toboso, nom, à son avis, noble, harmonieux, et non moins éclatant que -ceux qu’il avait choisis pour son cheval et pour lui-même. - -CHAPITRE II - -QUI TRAITE DE LA PREMIÈRE SORTIE QUE FIT L’INGÉNIEUX DON QUICHOTTE - -Ces préliminaires accomplis, notre hidalgo ne voulut pas différer plus -longtemps de mettre à exécution son projet, se croyant déjà responsable -de tous les maux que son inaction laissait peser sur la terre, torts à -redresser, dettes à satisfaire, injures à punir, outrages à venger. -Ainsi sans se confier à âme qui vive, et sans être vu de personne, un -matin avant le jour (c’était un des plus chauds du mois de juillet), il -s’arme de pied en cap, enfourche Rossinante, et, lance au poing, -rondache au bras, visière baissée, il s’élance dans la campagne, par la -fausse porte de sa basse-cour, ravi de voir avec quelle facilité il -venait de donner carrière à son noble désir. Mais à peine fut-il en -chemin, qu’assailli d’une fâcheuse pensée, peu s’en fallut qu’il -n’abandonnât l’entreprise. Il se rappela tout à coup que n’étant point -armé chevalier, les lois de cette profession lui défendaient d’entrer -en lice avec aucun chevalier; et que le fût-il, il n’avait droit, comme -novice, de porter que des armes blanches, c’est-à-dire sans devise sur -l’écu, jusqu’à ce qu’il en eût conquis une par sa valeur. Ce scrupule le -tourmentait; mais, sa folie l’emportant sur toute considération, il -résolut de se faire armer chevalier par le premier qu’il rencontrerait, -comme il avait lu dans ses livres que cela s’était souvent pratiqué. -Quant à ses armes, il se promettait de les fourbir si bien, tout en -tenant la campagne, qu’elles deviendraient plus blanches que l’hermine. -S’étant donc mis l’esprit en repos, il poursuivit son chemin, -s’abandonnant à la discrétion de son cheval, et persuadé qu’en cela -consistait l’essence des aventures. - -Dans ce moment survint l’hôtelier (p. 11).] - -Pendant qu’il cheminait enseveli dans ses pensées, notre chercheur -d’aventures se parlait à lui-même. Lorsque dans les siècles à venir sera -publié l’histoire de mes glorieux exploits, se disait-il, nul doute que -le sage qui tiendra la plume, venant à raconter cette première sortie -que je fais si matin, ne s’exprime de la sorte: A peine le blond Phébus -commençait à déployer sur la spacieuse face de la terre les tresses -dorées de sa belle chevelure, à peine les petits oiseaux, nuancés de -mille couleurs, saluaient des harpes de leurs langues, dans une douce et -mielleuse harmonie, l’Aurore au teint rose quittant la couche de son -vieil époux pour venir éclairer l’horizon castillan, que le fameux -chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, désertant la plume paresseuse, -monta sur son fidèle Rossinante, et prit sa route à travers l’antique et -célèbre plaine de Montiel. C’était là qu’il se trouvait en ce moment. -Heureux âge, ajoutait-il, siècle fortuné qui verra produire au grand -jour mes incomparables prouesses, dignes d’être éternisées par le -bronze et le marbre, retracées par le pinceau, afin d’être données en -exemples aux races futures! Et toi, sage enchanteur, assez heureux pour -être le chroniqueur de cette merveilleuse histoire, n’oublie pas, je -t’en conjure, mon bon Rossinante, ce cher compagnon de mes pénibles -travaux. - -Puis tout à coup, comme dans un transport amoureux: O Dulcinée! -s’écriait-il, souveraine de ce cœur esclave, à quelle épreuve vous le -soumettez en me bannissant avec la rigoureuse défense de reparaître -devant votre beauté! Du moins qu’il vous souvienne des tourments -qu’endure pour vous ce cœur votre sujet! A ces rêveries il en ajoutait -cent autres non moins extraordinaires, sans s’apercevoir que le soleil, -déjà bien haut sur l’horizon, lui dardait tellement sur la tête, qu’il -n’en fallait pas davantage pour fondre sa cervelle, s’il lui en était -resté quelque peu. - -Notre héros chemina ainsi tout le jour sans qu’il lui arrivât rien qui -mérite d’être raconté; ce qui le désespérait, tant il lui tardait de -trouver une épreuve digne de son courage. Quelques-uns prétendent que sa -première aventure fut celle du _puerto Lapice_[16]; d’autres, celle des -moulins à vent; mais tout ce que j’ai pu découvrir à ce sujet dans les -annales de la Manche, c’est qu’après avoir marché jusqu’au coucher du -soleil, son cheval et lui, demi-morts de faim, étaient si fatigués, -qu’ils pouvaient à peine se soutenir. En regardant de tous côtés s’il ne -découvrirait pas quelque abri où il pût se reposer, il aperçut, non loin -du chemin qu’il suivait, une auberge isolée, laquelle brilla à ses yeux -comme une étoile qui allait le conduire au port du salut. Pressant le -pas de son cheval, il y arriva comme le jour finissait. - - [16] En Espagne, on appelle _puerto_, port, un col ou passage dans les - montagnes. - -Sur la porte en ce moment prenaient leurs ébats deux de ces donzelles -dont on a coutume de dire qu’elles sont de bonne volonté; ces filles -allaient à Séville avec des muletiers qui s’étaient arrêtés là pour y -passer la nuit. Comme notre aventurier voyait partout ce qu’il avait lu -dans ses livres, il n’eut pas plus tôt aperçu cette misérable -hôtellerie, qu’il la prit pour un château avec ses quatre tourelles, ses -chapiteaux d’argent bruni reluisant au soleil, ses fossés, son -pont-levis, enfin tous les accessoires qui accompagnent ces sortes de -descriptions. A peu de distance il s’arrêta, et, retenant la bride de -son cheval, il attendit qu’un nain vînt se montrer aux créneaux pour -annoncer à son de trompe l’arrivée d’un chevalier; mais comme rien ne -paraissait, et que Rossinante avait hâte de gagner l’écurie, don -Quichotte avança de quelques pas et aperçut alors les deux filles en -question, qui lui parurent deux nobles damoiselles folâtrant devant la -porte du château. Un porcher qui passait en ce moment se mit à souffler -dans une corne pour rassembler son troupeau: persuadé qu’on venait de -donner le signal de sa venue, notre héros s’approcha tout à fait de ces -femmes, qui, à l’aspect imprévu d’un homme armé jusqu’aux dents, -rentrèrent précipitamment dans la maison. Devinant le motif de leur -frayeur, don Quichotte leva sa visière, et découvrant à moitié son sec -et poudreux visage, il leur dit d’un ton calme et doux: Timides vierges, -ne fuyez point, et ne redoutez de ma part aucune offense; la chevalerie, -dont je fais profession, m’interdit d’offenser personne, et surtout de -nobles damoiselles telles que vous paraissez. - -Ces femmes le regardaient avec étonnement et cherchaient de tous leurs -yeux son visage sous la mauvaise visière qui le couvrait; mais quand -elles s’entendirent appeler damoiselles, elles ne purent s’empêcher -d’éclater de rire. - -La modestie sied à la beauté, reprit don Quichotte d’un ton sévère, et -le rire qui procède de cause futile est une inconvenance. Si je vous -parle ainsi, ne croyez pas que ce soit pour vous affliger, ni pour -troubler la belle humeur où je vous vois, car la mienne n’est autre que -de vous servir. - -Ce langage et cette bizarre figure ne faisaient que redoubler les éclats -de leur gaieté; et cela sans doute eût mal tourné, si dans ce moment ne -fût survenu l’hôtelier, homme d’un énorme embonpoint, et par conséquent -très-pacifique. A l’aspect de cet étrange personnage tout couvert -d’armes dépareillées, il fut bien près de partager l’hilarité des deux -donzelles; mais, en voyant cet attirail de guerre, se ravisant, il dit à -l’inconnu: Seigneur chevalier, si Votre Grâce a besoin d’un gîte, sauf -le lit toutefois, car il ne m’en reste pas un seul, elle trouvera chez -moi tout à profusion. - -Aux avances courtoises du gouverneur du château (tels lui paraissaient -l’hôtellerie et l’hôtelier) don Quichotte répondit: Seigneur châtelain, -peu de chose me suffit; LES ARMES SONT MA PARURE, _et mes délassements -les combats_[17]. - - [17] Mis arreos son las armas, - Mi descanso el pelear. (_Romancero._) - -A ce nom de châtelain (_castellano_[18]), l’hôtelier crut que notre -aventurier le prenait pour un Castillan, lui qui était un franc -Andalous, et même de la plage de San Lucar, aussi voleur que Cacus, -aussi goguenard qu’un écolier ou qu’un page: En ce cas, lui dit-il, _la -couche de Votre Seigneurie doit être un dur rocher et son sommeil une -veille continuelle_[19]. S’il en est ainsi, vous pouvez mettre pied à -terre, sûr de trouver ici mille occasions pour une de passer -non-seulement la nuit, mais toute l’année sans dormir. En disant cela il -courut tenir l’étrier à don Quichotte, qui descendit de cheval avec -beaucoup de peine et d’efforts, comme un homme accablé du poids de ses -armes et qui depuis douze heures était encore à jeun. - - [18] Il y a ici un jeu de mots: en espagnol, _castellano_ veut dire - Castillan et châtelain. - - [19] Mi cama las duras peñas, - Mi dormir siempre velar. (_Romancero._) - -Le premier soin de notre héros fut de recommander sa monture, affirmant -que de toutes les bêtes qui dans le monde portaient selle, c’était -certainement la meilleure. En examinant Rossinante, l’hôtelier put se -convaincre qu’il en fallait rabattre plus de moitié; toutefois il le -conduisit à l’écurie, et revenant aussitôt près de son hôte, il le -trouva réconcilié avec les deux donzelles, qui s’empressaient à le -débarrasser de son armure. Elles lui avaient bien ôté la cuirasse et le -corselet; mais quand il fallut déboîter le gorgerin et enlever la -malheureuse salade, attachée par des rubans verts, il devint impossible -de défaire les nœuds sans les couper; aussi don Quichotte ne voulut -jamais y consentir, aimant mieux passer toute la nuit avec sa salade en -tête, ce qui lui faisait la plus plaisante figure qu’on pût imaginer. - -Pendant cette cérémonie, prenant toujours celles qui le désarmaient pour -de nobles damoiselles et les maîtresses de ce château, notre héros leur -débitait d’un air galant ces vers d’un vieux romancero: - - Vit-on jamais un chevalier, - Plus en faveur auprès des belles? - Don Quichotte est servi par elles, - Dames ont soin de son coursier. - -Rossinante est son nom, mesdames, et don Quichotte de la Manche celui de -votre serviteur, qui avait fait serment de ne point se découvrir avant -d’avoir accompli quelque grande prouesse. Le besoin d’ajuster la romance -de Lancelot à la situation où je me trouve fait que vous savez mon nom -plus tôt que je ne l’aurais voulu; mais viendra le temps, j’espère, où -Vos Gracieuses Seigneuries me donneront leurs ordres, où je serai -heureux de leur obéir et de mettre à leur service la valeur de mon bras. - -Peu accoutumées à de semblables discours, ces femmes ouvraient de grands -yeux et ne répondaient rien; à la fin pourtant, elles lui demandèrent -s’il voulait manger quelque chose. - -Volontiers, répondit don Quichotte; et, quoi que ce puisse être, tout -viendra fort à propos. - -Par malheur, c’était un vendredi, et il n’y avait dans toute -l’hôtellerie que les restes d’un poisson séché qu’on appelle en -Espagne, selon la province, morue, merluche ou truitelle. Elles le -prièrent de vouloir bien s’en contenter, puisque c’était la seule chose -qu’on pût lui offrir. - -Pourvu qu’il y ait un certain nombre de ces truitelles, répliqua don -Quichotte, cela équivaudra à une truite; car, me donner la monnaie d’une -pièce de huit réaux, ou la pièce entière, peu importe. D’autant qu’il en -est peut-être de la truitelle comme du veau, qui est plus tendre que le -bœuf, ou bien encore du chevreau, qui est plus délicat que le bouc. -Mais, quoi que ce soit, je le répète, qu’on l’apporte au plus vite; car, -pour supporter la fatigue et le poids des armes, il faut réconforter -l’estomac. - -Pour qu’il dînât au frais, une table fut dressée devant la porte de -l’hôtellerie, et l’hôtelier lui apporta un morceau de poisson mal -dessalé et plus mal cuit, avec un pain moisi plus noir que ses armes. -C’était un plaisant spectacle de le voir ainsi attablé, la tête emboîtée -dans son morion, visière et mentonnière en avant. Comme il avait peine à -se servir de ses mains pour porter les morceaux à sa bouche, une de ces -dames fut obligée de lui rendre ce service. Quant à le faire boire, ce -fut bien autre chose, et on n’y serait jamais parvenu, si l’hôtelier ne -se fût avisé de percer de part en part un long roseau et de lui en -introduire entre les dents un des bouts. Mais notre héros endurait tout -patiemment, plutôt que de laisser couper les rubans de son armet. Sur -ces entrefaites, un châtreur de porcs, qui rentrait à l’hôtellerie, -s’étant mis à siffler cinq ou six fois, cet incident acheva de lui -persuader qu’il était dans un fameux château, et qu’on lui faisait de la -musique pendant le repas. Alors la merluche fut pour lui de la truite, -le pain noir du pain blanc, les donzelles de grandes dames, l’hôtelier -le seigneur châtelain. Aussi était-il ravi de la résolution qu’il avait -prise, et du gracieux résultat de sa première sortie. Une seule chose -cependant le chagrinait au fond de l’âme: c’était de n’être point encore -armé chevalier, parce qu’en cet état, disait-il, on ne pouvait -légitimement entreprendre aucune aventure. - -CHAPITRE III - -OU L’ON RACONTE DE QUELLE PLAISANTE MANIÈRE DON QUICHOTTE FUT ARMÉ -CHEVALIER - -Tourmenté de cette pensée, il abrége son maigre repas, puis, se levant -brusquement, il appelle l’hôtelier, l’emmène dans l’écurie, et, après en -avoir fermé la porte, il se jette à deux genoux devant lui en disant: Je -ne me relèverai pas d’où je suis, illustre chevalier, que Votre -Seigneurie ne m’ait octroyé l’insigne faveur que j’ai à lui demander, -laquelle ne tournera pas moins à votre gloire qu’à l’avantage du genre -humain. - -En le voyant dans cette posture suppliante tenir un si étrange discours, -l’hôtelier le regardait tout ébahi, et s’opiniâtrait à le relever; mais -il n’y parvint qu’en promettant de faire ce qu’il désirait. - -Je n’attendais pas moins de votre courtoisie, seigneur, dit don -Quichotte. Le don que je vous demande et que vous promettez de -m’octroyer si obligeamment, c’est demain, à la pointe du jour, de -m’armer chevalier; mais au préalable, afin de me préparer à recevoir cet -illustre caractère que je souhaite avec ardeur, permettez-moi de faire -cette nuit la veille des armes dans la chapelle de votre château, après -quoi il me sera permis de chercher les aventures par toute la terre, -secourant les opprimés, châtiant les méchants, selon le vœu de la -chevalerie, et comme doit le faire tout chevalier errant que sa vocation -appelle à remplir une si noble tâche. - -L’hôtelier, rusé compère (on l’a vu déjà), et qui avait quelque soupçon -du jugement fêlé de son hôte, acheva de s’en convaincre en entendant un -semblable discours; aussi, pour s’apprêter de quoi rire, il voulut lui -donner satisfaction. Il lui dit qu’une pareille résolution montrait -qu’il était homme sage et de grand sens; qu’elle était d’ailleurs -naturelle aux hidalgos d’aussi haute volée qu’il paraissait être et que -l’annonçaient ses gaillardes manières; que lui-même, dans sa jeunesse, -s’était voué à cet honorable exercice; qu’il avait visité, en quête -d’aventures, plusieurs parties du monde, ne laissant dans les faubourgs -de Séville et de Malaga, dans les marchés de Ségovie, dans l’oliverie de -Valence, près des remparts de Grenade, sur la plage de San Lucar, et -dans les moindres cabarets de Tolède[20], aucun endroit où il eût -négligé d’exercer la légèreté de ses pieds ou la subtilité de ses mains, -causant une foule de torts, cajolant les veuves, débauchant les jeunes -filles, dupant nombre d’orphelins, finalement faisant connaissance avec -presque tous les tribunaux d’Espagne, ou peu s’en faut; après quoi, -ajouta-t-il, je suis venu me retirer dans ce château, où, vivant de mon -bien et de celui des autres, je m’empresse d’accueillir tous les -chevaliers errants, de quelque condition et qualité qu’ils soient, -seulement pour l’estime que je leur porte, et pourvu qu’ils partagent -avec moi leurs finances en retour de mes généreuses intentions. Notre -compère assura qu’il n’avait pas chez lui de chapelle pour faire la -veille des armes, parce qu’on l’avait abattue à seule fin d’en rebâtir -une toute neuve; mais qu’il était certain qu’en cas de nécessité, cette -veille pouvait avoir lieu où bon semblait, qu’en conséquence il -engageait son hôte à la faire dans la cour du château, où, dès la petite -pointe du jour, et avec l’aide de Dieu, s’achèverait la cérémonie -usitée; si bien que, dans quelques heures, il pourrait se vanter d’être -armé chevalier, autant qu’on pût l’être au monde. Notre homme finit en -lui demandant s’il portait de l’argent. - - [20] L’hôtelier donne ici la nomenclature des divers endroits - fréquentés par les vagabonds et les voleurs. - -Pas un maravédis, répondit don Quichotte, et dans aucune histoire je -n’ai lu qu’un chevalier errant en ai porté. - -Vous vous abusez étrangement, répliqua l’hôtelier: et soyez sûr que si -les historiens sont muets sur ce point, c’est qu’ils ont regardé comme -superflu de recommander une chose aussi simple que celle de porter avec -soi de l’argent et des chemises blanches. Tenez donc pour certain et -avéré que les chevaliers errants dont parlent les livres avaient à tout -événement la bourse bien garnie, et de plus une petite boîte d’onguent -pour les blessures. En effet, comment croire que ces chevaliers, exposés -à des combats incessants, au milieu des plaines et des déserts, eussent -là tout à point quelqu’un pour les panser; à moins cependant qu’un -enchanteur n’accourût à leur secours, amenant à travers les airs, sur un -nuage, quelque dame ou nain porteur d’une fiole d’eau d’une vertu telle, -qu’avec deux simples gouttes sur le bout de la langue ils se trouvaient -tout aussi dispos qu’auparavant: mais, à défaut de ces puissants amis, -croyez-le bien, ces chevaliers veillaient avec grand soin à ce que leurs -écuyers fussent pourvus d’argent, de charpie et d’onguent; et si par -hasard ils n’avaient point d’écuyer, cas fort rare, ils portaient -eux-mêmes tout cela dans une petite besace, sur la croupe de leur -cheval; car, cette circonstance exceptée, l’usage de porter besace était -peu suivi des chevaliers errants. C’est pourquoi, ajouta notre compère, -je vous donne le conseil et même au besoin l’ordre, comme à celui qui va -être mon filleul d’armes, de ne plus désormais vous mettre en route sans -argent; et soyez persuadé que, dans plus d’une occasion, vous aurez à -vous applaudir de cette prévoyance. - -Don Quichotte promit de suivre ce conseil, et, sans plus tarder, se -prépara à faire la veille des armes dans une basse-cour dépendante de -l’hôtellerie. Il rassembla toutes les pièces de son armure, les posa sur -une auge qui était près du puits; après quoi, la rondache au bras et la -lance au poing, il se mit à passer et à repasser devant l’abreuvoir, -d’un air calme et fier tout ensemble. Les gens de l’hôtellerie avaient -été mis au fait de la folie de cet inconnu, de ce qu’il appelait la -veille des armes, et de son violent désir d’être armé chevalier. Curieux -d’un spectacle si étrange, ils vinrent se placer à quelque distance, et -chacun put l’observer tout à son aise, tantôt se promenant d’un pas lent -et mesuré, tantôt s’appuyant sur sa lance et les yeux attachés sur son -armure. Quoique la nuit fût close, la lune répandait une clarté si vive, -qu’on distinguait aisément jusqu’aux moindres gestes de notre héros. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un des muletiers qui étaient logés dans -l’hôtellerie voulut faire boire ses bêtes; mais pour cela il fallait -enlever les armes de dessus l’abreuvoir. Don Quichotte, qui en le voyant -venir avait deviné son dessein, lui cria d’une voix fière: O toi, -imprudent chevalier qui oses approcher des armes d’un des plus vaillants -parmi ceux qui ont jamais ceint l’épée, prends garde à ce que tu vas -faire, et crains de toucher à cette armure, si tu ne veux laisser ici la -vie pour prix de ta témérité! Le muletier, sans s’inquiéter de ces -menaces (mieux eût valu pour sa santé qu’il en fît cas!), prit l’armure -par les courroies et la jeta loin de lui. - -Plus prompt que l’éclair, notre héros lève les yeux au ciel, et -invoquant Dulcinée: Ma dame, dit-il à demi-voix, secourez-moi en ce -premier affront qu’essuie ce cœur, votre vassal; que votre faveur me -soit en aide en ce premier péril! Aussitôt, jetant sa rondache, il -saisit sa lance à deux mains, et en décharge un tel coup sur la tête du -muletier, qu’il l’étend à ses pieds dans un état si piteux qu’un second -l’eût à jamais dispensé d’appeler un chirurgien. Cela fait, il ramasse -son armure, la replace sur l’abreuvoir, et recommence sa promenade avec -autant de calme que s’il ne fût rien arrivé. - -Peu après, un autre muletier ignorant ce qui venait de se passer, voulut -aussi faire boire ses mules; mais comme il allait toucher aux armes pour -débarrasser l’abreuvoir, don Quichotte, sans prononcer une parole, et -cette fois sans demander la faveur d’aucune dame, lève de nouveau sa -lance, en assène trois ou quatre coups sur la tête de l’audacieux, et la -lui ouvre en trois ou quatre endroits. Aux cris du blessé, tous les gens -de l’hôtellerie accoururent; mais notre héros, reprenant sa rondache et -saisissant son épée: Dame de beauté, s’écrie-t-il, aide et réconfort de -mon cœur, voici l’instant de tourner les yeux de Ta Grandeur vers le -chevalier, ton esclave, que menace une terrible aventure! Après cette -invocation, il se sentit tant de force et de courage, que tous les -muletiers du monde n’auraient pu le faire reculer d’un seul pas. - -Les camarades des blessés, les voyant en cet état, se mirent à faire -pleuvoir une grêle de pierres sur don Quichotte, qui s’en garantissait -de son mieux avec sa rondache, restant fièrement près de l’auge, à la -garde de ses armes. L’hôtelier criait à tue-tête qu’on laissât -tranquille ce diable d’homme; qu’il avait assez dit que c’était un fou, -et que, comme tel, il en sortirait quitte, eût-il assommé tous les -muletiers d’Espagne. Notre héros vociférait encore plus fort que lui, -les appelant lâches, mécréants, et traitant de félon le seigneur du -château, puisqu’il souffrait qu’on maltraitât de la sorte les chevaliers -errants. Si j’avais reçu l’ordre de chevalerie, disait-il, je lui -prouverais bien vite qu’il n’est qu’un traître! Quant à vous, impure et -vile canaille, approchez, approchez tous ensemble, et vous verrez quel -châtiment recevra votre insolence. Enfin il montra tant de résolution, -que les assaillants cessèrent de lui jeter des pierres. Don Quichotte, -laissant emporter les blessés, reprit la veille des armes avec le même -calme et la même gravité qu’auparavant. - -L’hôtelier, qui commençait à trouver peu divertissantes les folies de -son hôte, résolut pour y mettre un terme de lui conférer au plus vite ce -malencontreux ordre de chevalerie. Après s’être excusé de l’insolence de -quelques malappris, bien châtiés du reste, il jura que tout s’était -passé à son insu; il lui répéta qu’il n’avait point de chapelle dans son -château, mais que cela n’était pas absolument nécessaire, le point -essentiel pour être armé chevalier consistant, d’après sa parfaite -connaissance du cérémonial, en deux coups d’épée, le premier sur la -nuque, le second sur l’épaule, et affirmant de plus que cela pouvait -s’accomplir n’importe où, fût-ce au milieu des champs. Quant à la veille -des armes, ajouta-t-il, vous êtes en règle, car deux heures suffisent, -et vous en avez passé plus de quatre. Don Quichotte se laissa facilement -persuader, déclarant au seigneur châtelain qu’il était prêt à lui obéir, -mais qu’il le priait d’achever promptement la cérémonie, parce qu’une -fois armé chevalier, disait-il, si l’on vient derechef m’attaquer, je ne -laisserai personne en vie dans ce château, hormis pourtant ceux que mon -noble parrain m’ordonnera d’épargner. - -Très-peu rassuré par ces paroles, l’hôtelier courut chercher le livre où -il inscrivait d’habitude la paille et l’orge qu’il donnait aux -muletiers; puis, accompagné des deux donzelles en question et d’un -petit garçon portant un bout de chandelle, il revient trouver don -Quichotte, auquel il ordonne de se mettre à genoux; après quoi, les yeux -fixés sur le livre, comme s’il eût débité quelque dévote oraison, il -prend l’épée de notre héros, lui en donne un coup sur la nuque, un autre -sur l’épaule, puis invite une de ces dames à lui ceindre l’épée, ce dont -elle s’acquitta avec beaucoup d’aisance et de modestie, mais toujours -sur le point d’éclater de rire, si ce qui venait d’arriver n’eût tenu en -bride sa gaieté. Dieu fasse de Votre Grâce un heureux chevalier, lui -dit-elle, et vous accorde bonne chance dans les combats! - -Don Quichotte lui demanda son nom, voulant savoir à quelle noble dame il -demeurait obligé d’une si grande faveur. Elle répondit qu’elle -s’appelait la Tolosa, que son père était fripier à Tolède, dans les -échoppes de Sancho Benaya, et qu’en tout temps, en tout lieu et à toute -heure, elle serait sa très-humble servante. Notre héros la pria, pour -l’amour de lui, de prendre à l’avenir le _don_, et de s’appeler dona -Tolosa, ce qu’elle promit de faire. L’autre lui ayant chaussé l’éperon, -il lui demanda également son nom: elle répondit qu’elle s’appelait la -Molinera, et qu’elle était fille d’un honnête meunier d’Antequerra. -Ayant obtenu d’elle pareille promesse de prendre le _don_, et de -s’appeler à l’avenir dona Molinera, il lui réitéra ses remercîments et -ses offres de service. - -Cette cérémonie terminée à la hâte, don Quichotte, qui aurait voulu être -déjà en quête d’aventures, s’empressa de seller Rossinante, puis, venant -à cheval embrasser l’hôtelier, il le remercia de l’avoir armé chevalier, -et cela avec des expressions de gratitude si étranges, qu’il faut -renoncer à vouloir les rapporter fidèlement. Pour le voir partir au plus -vite, notre compère lui rendit, en quelques mots, la monnaie de ses -compliments, et, sans rien réclamer pour sa dépense, le laissa aller à -la grâce de Dieu. - -CHAPITRE IV - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A NOTRE CHEVALIER QUAND IL FUT SORTI DE L’HOTELLERIE - -L’aube blanchissait à l’horizon quand don Quichotte quitta l’hôtellerie -si joyeux, si ravi de se voir enfin armé chevalier, que dans ses -transports il faisait craquer les sangles de sa selle. Toutefois venant -à se rappeler le conseil de l’hôtelier au sujet des choses dont il -devait absolument se pourvoir, il résolut de s’en retourner chez lui, -afin de se munir d’argent et de chemises, et surtout pour se procurer un -écuyer, emploi auquel il destinait un laboureur, son voisin, pauvre -diable chargé d’enfants, mais, selon lui, très-convenable à l’office -d’écuyer dans la chevalerie errante. Il prit donc le chemin de son -village; et, comme si Rossinante eût deviné l’intention de son maître, -il se mit à trotter si prestement, que ses pieds semblaient ne pas -toucher la terre. - -Notre héros marchait depuis peu de temps, lorsqu’il crut entendre à sa -droite une voix plaintive sortant de l’épaisseur d’un bois. A peine en -fut-il certain, qu’il s’écria: Grâces soient rendues au ciel qui -m’envoie sitôt l’occasion d’exercer le devoir de ma profession et de -cueillir les premiers fruits de mes généreux desseins. Ces plaintes -viennent sans doute d’un infortuné qui a besoin de secours; et aussitôt -tournant bride vers l’endroit d’où les cris lui semblaient partir, il y -pousse Rossinante. - -Il n’avait pas fait vingt pas dans le bois, qu’il vit une jument -attachée à un chêne, et à un autre chêne également attaché un jeune -garçon d’environ quinze ans, nu jusqu’à la ceinture. C’était de lui que -venaient les cris, et certes il ne les poussait pas sans sujet. Un -paysan vigoureux et de haute taille le fustigeait avec une ceinture de -cuir, accompagnant chaque coup du même refrain: Yeux ouverts et bouche -close! lui disait-il. Pardon, seigneur, pardon, pour l’amour de Dieu! -criait le pauvre garçon, j’aurai désormais plus de soin du troupeau. - -Don Quichotte s’écria d’une voix courroucée: Il est mal de s’attaquer à -qui ne peut se défendre (p. 17).] - -A cette vue, don Quichotte s’écria d’une voix courroucée: Discourtois -chevalier, il est mal de s’attaquer à qui ne peut se défendre; montez à -cheval, prenez votre lance (il y en avait une appuyée contre l’arbre -auquel la jument était attachée[21]), et je saurai vous montrer qu’il -n’appartient qu’à un lâche d’agir de la sorte. - - [21] Il était d’usage alors, chez les paysans espagnols, d’être armé - de la lance, comme aujourd’hui de porter l’escopette. - -Sous la menace de ce fantôme armé qui lui tenait sa lance contre la -poitrine, le paysan répondit d’un ton patelin: Seigneur, ce mien valet -garde un troupeau de brebis que j’ai près d’ici; mais il est si -négligent, que chaque jour il en manque quelques-unes; et comme je -châtie sa paresse, ou plutôt sa friponnerie, il dit que c’est par -avarice et pour ne pas lui payer ses gages. Sur mon Dieu et sur mon âme -il en a menti! - -Un démenti en ma présence, misérable vilain! repartit don Quichotte; par -le soleil qui nous éclaire, je suis tenté de te passer cette lance au -travers du corps. Qu’on délie cet enfant et qu’on le paye, sinon, j’en -prends Dieu à témoin, je t’anéantis sur l’heure. - -Le paysan, baissant la tête sans répliquer, détacha le jeune garçon, à -qui don Quichotte demanda combien il lui était dû: - -Neuf mois, à sept réaux chacun, répondit-il. - -Notre héros ayant compté, trouva que cela faisait soixante-trois réaux, -qu’il ordonna au laboureur de payer sur-le-champ, s’il tenait à la vie. -Tout tremblant, cet homme répondit que dans le mauvais pas où il se -trouvait, il craignait de jurer faux, mais qu’il ne devait pas autant; -qu’en tout cas il fallait en rabattre le prix de trois paires de -souliers, et de deux saignées faites à son valet malade. - -Eh bien, répliqua don Quichotte, cela compensera les coups que vous lui -avez donnés sans raison. S’il a usé le cuir de vos souliers, vous avez -déchiré la peau de son corps; si le barbier lui a tiré du sang pendant -sa maladie, vous lui en avez tiré en bonne santé; ainsi vous êtes -quittes, l’un vaudra pour l’autre. - -Le malheur est que je n’ai pas d’argent sur moi, dit le paysan; mais -qu’André vienne à la maison, je le payerai jusqu’au dernier réal. - -M’en aller avec lui! Dieu m’en préserve! s’écria le berger. S’il me -tenait seul, il m’écorcherait comme un saint Barthélemi. - -Non, non, répliqua don Quichotte, il n’en fera rien; qu’il me le jure -seulement par l’ordre de chevalerie qu’il a reçu, il est libre, et je -réponds du payement. - -Seigneur, que Votre Grâce fasse attention à ce qu’elle dit, reprit le -jeune garçon; mon maître n’est point chevalier, et n’a jamais reçu aucun -ordre de chevalerie: c’est Jean Haldudo le riche, qui demeure près de -Quintanar. - -Qu’importe? dit don Quichotte; il peut y avoir des Haldudos chevaliers; -d’ailleurs ce sont les bonnes actions qui anoblissent, et chacun est -fils de ses œuvres. - -Cela est vrai, répondit André, mais de quelles œuvres est-il fils, lui -qui me refuse un salaire gagné à la sueur de mon corps? - -Vous avez tort, André, mon ami, répliqua le paysan, et, s’il vous plaît -de venir avec moi, je fais serment, par tous les ordres de chevalerie -qu’il y a dans le monde, de vous payer ce que je vous dois, comme je -l’ai promis, et même en réaux tout neufs. - -Pour neufs, je t’en dispense, reprit notre chevalier; paye-le, cela me -suffit; mais songe à ce que tu viens de jurer d’accomplir, sinon je jure -à mon tour que je saurai te retrouver, fusses-tu aussi prompt à te -cacher qu’un lézard; afin que tu saches à qui tu as affaire, apprends -que je suis le valeureux don Quichotte de la Manche, celui qui redresse -les torts et répare les injustices. Adieu, qu’il te souvienne de ta -parole, ou je tiendrai la mienne. En achevant ces mots, il piqua -Rossinante, et s’éloigna. - -Le paysan le suivit quelque temps des yeux, puis, quand il l’eut perdu -de vue dans l’épaisseur du bois, il retourna au berger: Viens, mon fils, -lui dit-il, viens que je m’acquitte envers toi comme ce redresseur de -torts me l’a commandé. - -Si vous ne faites, répondit André, ce qu’a ordonné ce bon chevalier (à -qui Dieu donne heureuse et longue vie pour sa valeur et sa justice!), je -jure d’aller le chercher en quelque endroit qu’il puisse être et de -l’amener pour vous châtier, selon qu’il l’a promis. - -Très-bien, reprit le paysan, et pour te montrer combien je t’aime, je -veux accroître la dette, afin d’augmenter le payement; puis, saisissant -André par le bras, il le rattacha au même chêne, et lui donna tant de -coups qu’il le laissa pour mort. Appelle, appelle le redresseur de -torts, lui disait-il, tu verras qu’il ne redressera pas celui-ci, -quoiqu’il ne soit qu’à moitié fait; car je ne sais qui me retient, pour -te faire dire vrai, que je ne t’écorche tout vif. A la fin, il le -détacha: Maintenant va chercher ton juge, ajouta-t-il, qu’il vienne -exécuter sa sentence; tu auras toujours cela par provision. - -André s’en fut tout en larmes, jurant de se mettre en quête du seigneur -don Quichotte jusqu’à ce qu’il l’eût rencontré, et menaçant le paysan de -le lui faire payer avec usure. Mais, en attendant, le pauvre diable -s’éloignait à demi-écorché, tandis que son maître riait à gorge -déployée. - -Enchanté de l’aventure, et d’un si agréable début dans la carrière -chevaleresque, notre héros poursuivait son chemin: Tu peux t’estimer -heureuse entre toutes les femmes, disait-il à demi-voix, ô belle -par-dessus toutes les belles, belle Dulcinée du Toboso! d’avoir pour -humble esclave un aussi valeureux chevalier que don Quichotte de la -Manche, lequel, comme chacun sait, est armé chevalier d’hier seulement, -et a déjà redressé la plus grande énormité qu’ait pu inventer -l’injustice et commettre la cruauté, en arrachant des mains de cet -impitoyable bourreau le fouet dont il déchirait un faible enfant. En -disant cela, il arrivait à un chemin qui se partageait en quatre, et -tout aussitôt il lui vint à l’esprit que les chevaliers errants -s’arrêtaient en pareils lieux, pour délibérer sur la route qu’ils -devaient suivre. Afin de ne faillir en rien à les imiter, il s’arrêta; -mais, après avoir bien réfléchi, il lâcha la bride à Rossinante, qui, se -sentant libre, suivit son inclination naturelle, et prit le chemin de -son écurie. - -Notre chevalier avait fait environ deux milles quand il vit venir à lui -une grande troupe de gens: c’était, comme on l’a su depuis, des -marchands de Tolède qui allaient acheter de la soie à Murcie. Ils -étaient six, tous bien montés, portant chacun un parasol, et accompagnés -de quatre valets à cheval et d’autres à pied conduisant les mules. A -peine don Quichotte les a-t-il aperçus, qu’il s’imagine rencontrer une -nouvelle aventure; aussitôt, pour imiter les passes d’armes qu’il avait -vues dans ses livres, il saisit l’occasion d’en faire une à laquelle il -songeait depuis longtemps. Se dressant sur ses étriers d’un air fier, il -serre sa lance, se couvre de son écu, se campe au beau milieu du chemin, -et attend ceux qu’il prenait pour des chevaliers errants. Puis d’aussi -loin qu’ils peuvent le voir et l’entendre, il leur crie d’une voix -arrogante: Qu’aucun de vous ne prétende passer outre, à moins de -confesser que sur toute la surface de la terre il n’y a pas une seule -dame qui égale en beauté l’impératrice de la Manche, la sans pareille -Dulcinée du Toboso! - -Les marchands s’arrêtèrent pour considérer cet étrange personnage, et, à -la figure non moins qu’aux paroles, ils reconnurent bientôt à qui ils -avaient affaire. Mais, voulant savoir où les mènerait l’aveu qu’on leur -demandait, l’un d’eux, qui était très-goguenard, répondit: Seigneur -chevalier, nous ne connaissons pas cette noble dame dont vous parlez; -faites-nous-la voir: et si sa beauté est aussi merveilleuse que vous le -dites, nous confesserons de bon cœur et sans contrainte ce que vous -désirez. - -Et si je vous la faisais voir, répliqua don Quichotte, quel mérite -auriez-vous à reconnaître une vérité si manifeste? L’essentiel, c’est -que, sans l’avoir vue, vous soyez prêts à le confesser, à l’affirmer, et -même à le soutenir les armes à la main; sinon, gens orgueilleux et -superbes, je vous défie, soit que vous veniez l’un après l’autre, comme -le veulent les règles de la chevalerie, soit que vous veniez tous -ensemble, comme c’est la vile habitude des gens de votre espèce. Je vous -attends avec la confiance d’un homme qui a le bon droit de son côté. - -Seigneur chevalier, répondit le marchand, au nom de tout ce que nous -sommes de princes ici, et pour l’acquit de notre conscience, laquelle -nous défend d’affirmer une chose que nous ignorons, chose qui d’ailleurs -serait au détriment des autres impératrices et reines de l’Estramadure -et de la banlieue de Tolède, je supplie Votre Grâce de nous faire voir -le moindre petit portrait de cette dame; ne fût-il pas plus grand que -l’ongle, par l’échantillon on juge de la pièce; du moins notre esprit -sera en repos, et nous pourrons vous donner satisfaction. Nous sommes -déjà si prévenus en sa faveur, que, lors même que son portrait la -montrerait borgne d’un œil et distillant de l’autre du vermillon et du -soufre, nous dirons à sa louange tout ce qu’il vous plaira. - -Il n’en distille rien, canaille infâme! s’écria don Quichotte enflammé -de colère, il n’en distille rien de ce que vous osez dire, mais bien du -musc et de l’ambre; elle n’est ni borgne ni bossue: elle est plus droite -qu’un fuseau de Guadarrama; aussi vous allez me payer le blasphème que -vous venez de proférer. En même temps, il court la lance basse sur celui -qui avait porté la parole, et cela avec une telle furie que si -Rossinante n’eût bronché au milieu de sa course, le railleur s’en serait -fort mal trouvé. - -Rossinante s’abattit, et s’en fut au loin rouler avec son maître, qui -s’efforça plusieurs fois de se relever, sans pouvoir en venir à bout, -tant l’embarrassaient son écu, sa lance et le poids de son armure. Mais -pendant ces vains efforts, sa langue n’était pas en repos: Ne fuyez pas, -lâches! criait-il; ne fuyez pas, vils esclaves! c’est par la faute de -mon cheval, et non par la mienne, que je suis étendu sur le chemin. - -Un muletier de la suite des marchands, qui n’avait pas l’humeur -endurante, ne put supporter tant de bravades. Il court sur notre héros, -lui arrache sa lance qu’il met en pièces, et avec le meilleur tronçon il -l’accable de tant de coups que, malgré sa cuirasse, il le broyait comme -du blé sous la meule. On avait beau lui crier de s’arrêter, le jeu lui -plaisait tellement qu’il ne pouvait se résoudre à le quitter. Après -avoir brisé le premier morceau de la lance, il eut recours aux autres, -et il acheva de les user sur le malheureux chevalier, qui, pendant cette -grêle de coups ne cessait d’invoquer le ciel et la terre, et de menacer -les scélérats qui le traitaient si outrageusement. Enfin le muletier se -lassa et les marchands poursuivirent leur chemin avec un ample sujet de -conversation. - -Quand don Quichotte se vit seul, il fit de nouveaux efforts pour se -relever; mais s’il n’avait pu y parvenir bien portant, comment l’eût-il -fait moulu et presque disloqué? Néanmoins il se consolait d’une disgrâce -familière, selon lui, aux chevaliers errants, et qu’il attribuait, -d’ailleurs, tout entière à la faute de son cheval. - -CHAPITRE V - -OU SE CONTINUE LE RÉCIT DE LA DISGRACE DE NOTRE CHEVALIER - -Convaincu qu’il lui était impossible de se mouvoir, don Quichotte prit -le parti de recourir à son remède ordinaire, qui consistait à se -rappeler quelques passages de ses livres, et tout aussitôt sa folie lui -remit en mémoire l’aventure du marquis de Mantoue et de Baudouin, quand -Charlot abandonna celui-ci, blessé dans la montagne; histoire connue de -tout le monde et non moins authentique que les miracles de Mahomet. -Cette aventure lui paraissant tout à fait appropriée à sa situation, il -commença à se rouler par terre comme un homme désespéré, répétant d’une -voix dolente ce que l’auteur met dans la bouche du chevalier blessé: - - Où donc es-tu, dame de mes pensées, que mes maux te touchent si peu? - Ou tu les ignores, ou tu es fausse et déloyale. - -Comme il continuait la romance jusqu’à ces vers: - - O noble marquis de Mantoue, - Mon oncle et mon seigneur, - -le hasard amena du même côté un laboureur de son village, qui revenait -de porter une charge de blé au moulin. Voyant un homme étendu sur le -chemin, il lui demanda qui il était et quel mal il ressentait pour se -plaindre si tristement. Don Quichotte, se croyant Baudouin, et prenant -le laboureur pour le marquis de Mantoue, se met, pour toute réponse, à -lui raconter ses disgrâces et les amours de sa femme avec le fils de -l’empereur, comme on le voit dans la romance. Le laboureur, étonné -d’entendre tant d’extravagances, le débarrassa de sa visière, qui était -toute brisée, et, ayant lavé ce visage plein de poussière, le reconnut. -Hé! bon Dieu, seigneur Quixada, s’écria-t-il (tel devait être son nom -quand il était en son bon sens et qu’il n’était pas encore devenu, -d’hidalgo paisible, chevalier errant), qui a mis Votre Grâce en cet -état? - -Au lieu de répondre à la question, notre chevalier continuait sa -romance. Voyant qu’il n’en pouvait tirer autre chose, le laboureur lui -ôta le plastron et le corselet afin de visiter ses blessures; mais ne -trouvant aucune trace de sang, il se mit à le relever de terre non sans -peine, et le plaça sur son âne pour le mener plus doucement. Ramassant -ensuite les armes et jusqu’aux éclats de la lance, il attacha le tout -sur le dos de Rossinante qu’il prit par la bride, puis il poussa l’âne -devant lui, et marcha ainsi vers son village, écoutant, sans y rien -comprendre, les folies que débitait don Quichotte. - -Toujours préoccupé de ses rêveries, notre héros était de plus en si -mauvais état qu’il ne pouvait se tenir sur le pacifique animal; aussi, -de temps en temps, poussait-il de grands soupirs. Le laboureur lui -demanda de nouveau quel mal il ressentait; mais on eût dit que le diable -prenait plaisir à réveiller dans la mémoire du chevalier ce qui avait -quelque rapport à son aventure. Oubliant Baudouin, il vint à se rappeler -tout à coup le Maure Abendarraez, quand le gouverneur d’Antequerra, -Rodrigue de Narvaez, l’emmène prisonnier; de sorte qu’il se mit à -débiter mot pour mot ce que l’Abencerrage répond à don Rodrigue dans la -_Diane de Montemayor_, et en s’appliquant si bien tout ce fatras, qu’il -était difficile d’entasser plus d’extravagances. Convaincu que son -voisin était tout à fait fou, le laboureur pressa le pas afin d’abréger -l’ennui que lui causait cette interminable harangue. - -Seigneur don Rodrigue de Narvaez, poursuivait don Quichotte, il faut que -vous sachiez que cette belle Karifa, dont je vous parle, est -présentement la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, pour qui j’ai fait, je -fais et je ferai les plus fameux exploits de chevalerie qu’on ai vus, -qu’on voie et même qu’on puisse voir dans les siècles à venir. - -Je ne suis pas Rodrigue de Narvaez ni le marquis de Mantoue, répondait -le laboureur, mais Pierre Alonzo, votre voisin; et vous n’êtes ni -Baudouin ni le Maure Abendarraez, mais un honnête hidalgo, le seigneur -Quixada. - -Je sais qui je suis, répliquait don Quichotte, et je sais de plus que je -puis être non-seulement ceux que j’ai dits, mais encore tout à la fois -les douze pairs de France et les neuf preux, puisque leurs grandes -actions réunies ne sauraient égaler les miennes. - -Ces propos et autres semblables les menèrent jusqu’à leur village, où -ils arrivèrent comme le jour finissait. Le laboureur, qui ne voulait pas -qu’on vît notre hidalgo en si piteux état, attendit que la nuit fût -venue pour le conduire à sa maison, où tout était en grand trouble de -son absence. - -Ses bons amis, le curé et le barbier, s’y trouvaient en ce moment, et la -gouvernante leur disait: Eh bien, seigneur licencié Pero Pérez (c’était -le nom du curé), que pensez-vous de notre maître? Il y a six jours -entiers que nous n’avons vu ni lui ni son cheval, et il faut qu’il ait -emporté son écu, sa lance et ses armes, car nous ne les trouvons pas. -Oui, aussi vrai que je suis née pour mourir, ce sont ces maudits livres -de chevalerie, sa seule et continuelle lecture, qui lui auront brouillé -la cervelle. Je lui ai entendu dire bien des fois qu’il voulait se faire -chevalier errant, et s’en aller de par le monde en quête d’aventures; -puissent Satan et Barabbas emporter les livres qui ont troublé la -meilleure tête qui se soit vue dans toute la Manche! - -La nièce en disait plus encore: Sachez, maître Nicolas (c’était le nom -du barbier), sachez qu’il arrivait souvent à mon oncle de passer -plusieurs jours et plusieurs nuits sans quitter ces maudites lectures; -après quoi, tout hors de lui, il jetait le livre, tirait son épée et -s’escrimait à grands coups contre les murailles; puis, quand il n’en -pouvait plus, il se vantait d’avoir tué quatre géants plus hauts que des -tours, et soutenait que la sueur dont ruisselait son corps était le sang -des blessures qu’il avait reçues dans le combat. Là-dessus il buvait un -grand pot d’eau froide, disant que c’était un précieux breuvage apporté -par un enchanteur de ses amis. Hélas! je me taisais, de peur qu’on ne -pensât que mon oncle avait perdu l’esprit, et c’est moi qui suis la -cause de son malheur pour ne pas avoir parlé plus tôt, car vous y auriez -porté remède, et tous ces maudits livres seraient brûlés depuis -longtemps comme autant d’hérétiques. - -C’est vrai, dit le curé; et le jour de demain ne se passera pas sans -qu’il en soit fait bonne justice: ils ont perdu le meilleur de mes amis; -mais je fais serment qu’à l’avenir ils ne feront de mal à personne. - -Tout cela était dit si haut que don Quichotte et le laboureur, qui -entraient en ce moment, l’entendirent; aussi ce dernier ne doutant plus -de la maladie de son voisin, se mit à crier à tue-tête: Ouvrez au -marquis de Mantoue et au seigneur Baudouin, qui revient grièvement -blessé; ouvrez au seigneur maure Abendarraez, que le vaillant Rodrigue -de Narvaez, gouverneur d’Antequerra, amène prisonnier! - -On s’empressa d’ouvrir la porte; le curé et le barbier, reconnaissant -leur ami, la nièce son oncle, et la gouvernante son maître, accoururent -pour l’embrasser. - -Arrêtez, dit froidement don Quichotte, qui n’avait pu encore descendre -de son âne; je ne suis blessé que par la faute de mon cheval. Qu’on me -porte au lit, et s’il se peut, qu’on fasse venir la sage Urgande pour me -panser. - -Eh bien! s’écria la gouvernante, n’avais-je pas deviné de quel pied -clochait notre maître? Entrez, seigneur, entrez, et laissez là votre -Urgande; nous vous guérirons bien sans elle. Maudits soient les chiens -de livres qui vous ont mis en ce bel état! - -On porta notre chevalier dans son lit; et comme on cherchait ses -blessures sans en trouver aucune: Je ne suis pas blessé, leur dit-il; je -ne suis que meurtri, parce que mon cheval s’est abattu sous moi tandis -que j’étais aux prises avec dix géants, les plus monstrueux et les plus -farouches qui puissent jamais se rencontrer. - -Bon, dit le curé, voilà les géants en danse. Par mon saint patron! il -n’en restera pas un seul demain avant la nuit. - -Ils adressèrent mille questions à don Quichotte, mais à toutes il ne -faisait qu’une seule réponse: c’était qu’on lui donnât à manger et qu’on -le laissât dormir, deux choses dont il avait grand besoin. On s’empressa -de le satisfaire. Le curé s’informa ensuite de quelle manière le -laboureur l’avait rencontré. Celui-ci raconta tout, sans oublier aucune -des extravagances de notre héros, soit lorsqu’il l’avait trouvé étendu -sur le chemin, soit pendant qu’il le ramenait sur son âne. - -Le lendemain, le curé n’en fut que plus empressé à mettre son projet à -exécution; il fit appeler maître Nicolas, et tous deux se rendirent à la -maison de don Quichotte. - -CHAPITRE VI - -DE LA GRANDE ET AGRÉABLE ENQUÊTE QUE FIRENT LE CURÉ ET LE BARBIER DANS -LA BIBLIOTHÈQUE DE NOTRE CHEVALIER - -Notre héros dormait encore quand le curé et le barbier vinrent demander -à sa nièce la clef de la chambre où étaient les livres, source de tout -le mal. Elle la leur donna de bon cœur, et ils entrèrent accompagnés de -la gouvernante. Là se trouvaient plus de cent gros volumes, tous bien -reliés, et un certain nombre en petit format. A peine la gouvernante les -eut-elle aperçus, que, sortant brusquement, et rapportant bientôt après -un vase rempli d’eau bénite: Tenez, seigneur licencié, dit-elle au curé, -arrosez partout cette chambre, de peur que les maudits enchanteurs, dont -ces livres sont pleins, ne viennent nous ensorceler, pour nous punir de -vouloir les chasser de ce monde. - -Le curé sourit en disant au barbier de lui donner les livres les uns -après les autres, pour savoir de quoi ils traitaient, parce qu’il -pouvait s’en trouver qui ne méritassent pas la peine du feu. - -Non, non, dit la nièce, n’en épargnez aucun; tous ils ont fait du mal. -Il faut les jeter par la fenêtre et les amonceler au milieu de la cour, -afin de les brûler d’un seul coup, ou plutôt les porter dans la -basse-cour, et dresser là un bûcher pour n’être pas incommodé par la -fumée. - -La gouvernante fut de cet avis; mais le curé voulut connaître au moins -le titre des livres. - -Le premier que lui passa maître Nicolas était _Amadis de Gaule_. - -Oh! oh! s’écria le curé, on prétend que c’est le premier livre de -chevalerie imprimé en notre Espagne, et qu’il a servi de modèle à tous -les autres; je conclus à ce qu’il soit condamné au feu, comme chef d’une -si détestable secte. - -Grâce pour lui, reprit le barbier; car bien des gens assurent que c’est -le meilleur livre que nous ayons en ce genre. Comme modèle, du moins, il -mérite qu’on lui pardonne. - -Pour l’heure, dit le curé, on lui fait grâce. Voyons ce qui suit. - -Ce sont, reprit le barbier, _les Prouesses d’Esplandian_, fils légitime -d’Amadis de Gaule. - -Le fils n’approche pas du père, dit le curé; tenez, dame gouvernante, -ouvrez cette fenêtre, et jetez-le dans la cour: il servira de fond au -bûcher que nous allons dresser. - -La gouvernante s’empressa d’obéir, et _Esplandian_ s’en alla dans la -cour attendre le supplice qu’il méritait. - -Passons, continua le curé. - -Voici _Amadis de Grèce_, dit maître Nicolas, et je crois que tous ceux -de cette rangée sont de la même famille. - -Qu’ils prennent le chemin de la cour, reprit le curé; car, plutôt que -d’épargner la reine _Pintiquiniestre_ et le berger _Danirel_, avec tous -leurs propos quintessenciés, je crois que je brûlerais avec eux mon -propre père, s’il se présentait sous la figure d’un chevalier errant. - -C’est mon avis, dit le barbier. - -C’est aussi le mien, ajouta la nièce. - -Puisqu’il en est ainsi, dit la gouvernante, qu’ils aillent trouver leurs -compagnons! Et, sans prendre la peine de descendre, elle les jeta -pêle-mêle par la fenêtre. - -Quel est ce gros volume? demanda le curé. - -_Don Olivantes de Laura_, répondit maître Nicolas. - -Il est du même auteur que le _Jardin de Flore_, reprit le curé, mais je -ne saurais dire lequel des deux est le moins menteur; dans tous les cas, -celui-ci s’en ira dans la cour à cause des extravagances dont il -regorge. - -Cet autre est _Florismars d’Hircanie_, dit le barbier. - -Quoi! le seigneur Florismars est ici? s’écria le curé; eh bien, qu’il se -dépêche de suivre les autres, en dépit de son étrange naissance et de -ses incroyables aventures. La rudesse et la pauvreté de son style ne -méritent pas un meilleur traitement. - -Voici _le Chevalier Platir_, dit maître Nicolas. - -C’est un vieux livre fort insipide, reprit le curé, et qui ne contient -rien qui lui mérite d’être épargné: à la cour! dame gouvernante, et -qu’il n’en soit plus question! - -On ouvrit un autre livre; il avait pour titre: _le Chevalier de la -Croix_. Un nom si saint devrait lui faire trouver grâce, dit le curé; -mais n’oublions pas le proverbe: Derrière la croix se tient le diable. -Qu’il aille au feu! - -Voici _le Miroir de la Chevalerie_, dit le barbier. - -Ah! ah! j’ai l’honneur de le connaître, reprit le curé. Nous avons là -Renaud de Montauban avec ses bons amis et compagnons, tous plus voleurs -que Cacus, et les douze pairs de France, et le véridique historien -Turpin. Si vous m’en croyez, nous ne les condamnerons qu’à un -bannissement perpétuel, par ce motif qu’ils ont inspiré Matéo Boyardo, -que le célèbre Arioste n’a pas dédaigné d’imiter[22]. Quant à ce -dernier, si je le rencontre ici parlant une autre langue que la sienne, -qu’il ne s’attende à aucune pitié; mais s’il parle son idiome natal, -accueillons-le avec toutes sortes d’égards. - - [22] Boyardo est auteur de _Roland amoureux_, et l’Arioste de _Roland - furieux_. - -Moi, je l’ai en italien, dit le barbier, mais je ne l’entends point. - -Plût à Dieu, reprit le curé, que ne l’eût pas entendu davantage certain -capitaine[23] qui, pour introduire l’Arioste en Espagne, a pris la peine -de l’habiller en castillan, car il lui a ôté bien de son prix. Il en -sera de même de toutes les traductions d’ouvrages en vers; jamais on ne -peut conserver les grâces de l’original, quelque talent qu’on y apporte. -Pour celui-ci et tous ceux qui parlent des choses de France, je suis -d’avis qu’on les garde en lieu sûr; nous verrons plus à loisir ce qu’il -faudra en faire. J’en excepte pourtant un certain _Bernard de Carpio_ -qui doit se trouver par ici, et un autre appelé _Roncevaux_; car, s’ils -tombent sous ma main, ils passeront bientôt par celles de la -gouvernante. - - [23] Ce capitaine est don Geronimo Ximenez de Urrea, qui avait fait - une détestable traduction du _Roland furieux_. - -De tout cela, maître Nicolas demeura d’accord sur la foi du curé, qu’il -connaissait homme de bien et si grand ami de la vérité, que pour tous -les trésors du monde il n’aurait pas voulu la trahir. Il ouvrit deux -autres livres: l’un était _Palmerin d’Olive_, et l’autre _Palmerin -d’Angleterre_. - -Qu’on brûle cette olive, dit le curé, et qu’on en jette les cendres au -vent; mais conservons cette palme d’Angleterre comme un ouvrage unique, -et donnons-lui une cassette non moins précieuse que celle trouvée par -Alexandre dans les dépouilles de Darius, et qu’il destina à renfermer -les œuvres d’Homère. Ce livre, seigneur compère, est doublement -recommandable: d’abord il est excellent en lui-même, de plus il passe -pour être l’œuvre d’un roi de Portugal, savant autant qu’ingénieux. -Toutes les aventures du château de Miraguarda sont fort bien imaginées -et pleines d’art; le style est aisé et pur; l’auteur s’est attaché à -respecter les convenances, et a pris soin de conserver les caractères: -ainsi donc, maître Nicolas, sauf votre avis, que ce livre et l’_Amadis -de Gaule_ soient exemptés du feu. Quant aux autres, qu’ils périssent à -l’instant même. - -Elle jeta les livres pêle-mêle par la fenêtre (p. 24).] - -Arrêtez, arrêtez, s’écria le barbier, voici le fameux _Don Belianis_. - -_Don Belianis!_ reprit le curé; ses seconde, troisième et quatrième -parties auraient grand besoin d’un peu de rhubarbe pour purger la bile -qui agite l’auteur; cependant, en retranchant son _Château de la -Renommée_ et tant d’autres impertinences, on peut lui donner quelque -répit, et, selon qu’il se sera corrigé, on lui fera justice. Mais, en -attendant, gardez-le chez vous, compère, et ne souffrez pas que personne -le lise. Puis, sans prolonger l’examen, il dit à la gouvernante de -prendre les autres grands volumes, et de les jeter dans la cour. - -Celle-ci, qui aurait brûlé tous les livres du monde, ne se le fit pas -dire deux fois, et elle en saisit un grand nombre pour les jeter par la -fenêtre; mais elle en avait tant pris à la fois, qu’il en tomba un aux -pieds du barbier qui voulut voir ce que c’était; en l’ouvrant, il lut au -titre: _Histoire du fameux Tirant-le-Blanc_. - -Comment! s’écria le curé, vous avez là _Tirant-le-Blanc_? Donnez-le -vite, seigneur compère, car c’est un trésor d’allégresse et une source -de divertissement! C’est là qu’on rencontre le chevalier _Kyrie Eleison -de Montalban_ et _Thomas de Montalban_, son frère, avec le chevalier de -_Fonseca_; le combat du valeureux _Detriant_ contre le dogue; les -finesses de la demoiselle _Plaisir de ma vie_; les amours et les ruses -de la _veuve Tranquille_, et l’impératrice amoureuse de son écuyer. -C’est pour le style le meilleur livre du monde: les chevaliers y -mangent, y dorment, y meurent dans leur lit après avoir fait leur -testament, et mille autres choses qui ne se rencontrent guère dans les -livres de cette espèce; et pourtant celui qui l’a composé aurait bien -mérité, pour avoir dit volontairement tant de sottises, qu’on l’envoyât -ramer aux galères le reste de ses jours. Emportez ce livre chez vous, -lisez-le, et vous verrez si tout ce que j’en dis n’est pas vrai. - -Vous serez obéi, dit le barbier; mais que ferons-nous de tous ces petits -volumes qui restent? - -Ceux-ci, répondit le curé, ne doivent pas être des livres de chevalerie, -mais de poésie; et le premier qu’il ouvrit était _la Diane de -Montemayor_. Ils ne méritent pas le feu, ajouta-t-il, parce qu’ils ne -produiront jamais les désordres qu’ont causés les livres de chevalerie; -ils ne s’écartent point des règles du bon sens, et personne ne court -risque de perdre l’esprit en les lisant. - -Ah! seigneur licencié! s’écria la nièce, vous pouvez bien les envoyer -avec les autres; car si mon oncle vient à guérir de sa fièvre de -chevalerie errante, il est capable en lisant ces maudits livres de -vouloir se faire berger, et de se mettre à courir les bois et les prés, -chantant et jouant du flageolet, ou, ce qui serait pis encore, de se -faire poëte: maladie contagieuse et surtout, dit-on, incurable. - -Cette fille a raison, dit le curé; il est bon d’ôter à notre ami une -occasion de rechute. Commençons donc par la _Diane de Montemayor_. Je ne -suis pourtant pas d’avis qu’on la jette au feu; car en se contentant de -supprimer ce qui traite de la sage Félicie et de l’eau enchantée, -c’est-à-dire presque tous les vers, on peut lui laisser, à cause de sa -prose, l’honneur d’être le premier entre ces sortes d’ouvrages. - -Voici _la Diane_, appelée la seconde, du Salmentin, dit le barbier; puis -une autre dont l’auteur est Gilles Pol. - -Que celle du Salmentin augmente le nombre des condamnés, reprit le curé; -mais gardons _la Diane_ de Gilles Pol, comme si Apollon lui-même en -était l’auteur. Passons outre, seigneur compère, ajouta-t-il, et -dépêchons, car il se fait tard. - -Voici les dix livres de _la Fortune d’amour_, composés par Antoine de -l’Ofrase, poëte de Sardaigne, dit le barbier. - -Par les ordres que j’ai reçus! reprit le curé, depuis qu’on parle -d’Apollon et des Muses, en un mot depuis qu’il y a des poëtes, il n’a -point été composé un plus agréable ouvrage que celui-ci, et quiconque ne -l’a point lu peut dire qu’il n’a jamais rien lu d’amusant. -Donnez-le-moi, seigneur compère; aussi bien je le préfère à une soutane -du meilleur taffetas de Florence. - -Ceux qui suivent, continua le barbier, sont _le Berger d’Ibérie_, _les -Nymphes d’Hénarès_ et _le Remède à la jalousie_. - -Livrez tout cela à la gouvernante, dit le curé; et qu’on ne m’en demande -pas la raison, car nous n’aurions jamais fini. - -Et _le Berger de Philida_? dit le barbier. - -Oh! ce n’est point un berger, reprit le curé, mais un sage et ingénieux -courtisan qu’il faut garder comme une relique. - -Et ce gros volume, intitulé _Trésor des poésies diverses_? dit maître -Nicolas. - -S’il y en avait moins, répondit le curé, elles n’en vaudraient que -mieux. Toutefois, en retranchant de ce livre quelques pauvretés mêlées à -de fort belles choses, on peut le conserver; les autres ouvrages de -l’auteur doivent faire épargner celui-ci. - -_Le Chansonnier de Lopez de Maldonado!_ Qu’est cela? dit le barbier en -ouvrant un volume. - -Je connais l’auteur, reprit le curé; ses vers sont admirables dans sa -bouche, car il a une voix pleine de charme. Il est un peu étendu dans -ses églogues, mais une bonne chose n’est jamais trop longue. Il faut le -mettre avec les réservés. Et celui qui est là tout auprès, comment -s’appelle-t-il? - -C’est _la Galatée de Michel Cervantes_, répondit maître Nicolas. - -Il y a longtemps que ce Cervantes est de mes amis, reprit le curé, et -l’on sait qu’il est encore plus célèbre par ses malheurs que par ses -vers. Son livre ne manque pas d’invention, mais il propose et ne conclut -pas. Attendons la seconde partie qu’il promet[24]; peut-être y -réussira-t-il mieux et méritera-t-il l’indulgence qu’on refuse à la -première. - - [24] Cervantes renouvela peu de jours avant sa mort, dans la préface - de _Persiles et Sigismonde_, la promesse de donner cette seconde - partie de la _Galatée_. Elle ne fut point trouvée parmi ses écrits. - -Que sont ces trois volumes? demanda le barbier. _L’Araucana, de don -Alonzo de Hercilla_, _l’Austriada de Juan Rufo, jurat de Cordoue_, et -_le Montserrat de Christoval de Viruez_, poëte valencien. - -Ces trois ouvrages, répondit le curé, renferment les meilleurs vers -héroïques qu’on ait composés en espagnol, et ils peuvent aller de pair -avec les plus fameux de l’Italie. Gardons-les soigneusement, comme des -monuments précieux de l’excellence de nos poëtes. - -Le curé, se lassant enfin d’examiner tant de livres, conclut -définitivement, sans pousser plus loin l’examen, qu’on jetât tout le -reste au feu. Mais le barbier lui en présenta un qu’il venait d’ouvrir, -et qui avait pour titre _les Larmes d’Angélique_. - -Ce serait à moi d’en verser, dit le curé, si cet ouvrage avait été brûlé -par mon ordre, car l’auteur est un des plus célèbres poëtes, -non-seulement d’Espagne, mais encore du monde entier, et il a -particulièrement réussi dans la traduction de plusieurs fables d’Ovide. - -CHAPITRE VII - -DE LA SECONDE SORTIE DE NOTRE BON CHEVALIER DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - -Ils en étaient là, quand tout à coup don Quichotte se mit à jeter de -grands cris: A moi, à moi, valeureux chevaliers! disait-il. C’est ici -qu’il faut montrer la force de vos bras, sinon les gens de la cour vont -remporter le prix du tournoi. Afin d’accourir au bruit, on abandonna -l’inventaire des livres; aussi faut-il croire que si _la Carolea_ et -_Léon d’Espagne_ s’en allèrent au feu avec _les Gestes de l’Empereur_, -composés par Louis d’Avila, c’est qu’ils se trouvèrent à la merci de la -gouvernante et de la nièce, mais à coup sûr ils eussent éprouvé un sort -moins sévère si le curé eût encore été là. - -En arrivant auprès de don Quichotte, on le trouva debout, continuant à -vociférer, frappant à droite et à gauche, d’estoc et de taille, aussi -éveillé que s’il n’eût jamais dormi. On le prit à bras-le-corps, et, bon -gré, mal gré, on le reporta dans son lit. Quand il se fut un peu calmé: -Archevêque Turpin, dit-il en s’adressant au curé, avouez que c’est une -grande honte pour des chevaliers errants tels que nous, de se laisser -enlever le prix du tournoi par les gens de la cour, lorsque pendant les -trois jours précédents l’avantage nous était resté! - -Patience, reprit le curé; la chance tournera, s’il plaît à Dieu; ce -qu’on perd aujourd’hui peut se regagner demain. Pour le moment, ne -songeons qu’à votre santé; vous devez être bien fatigué, si même vous -n’êtes grièvement blessé. - -Blessé, non, dit don Quichotte, mais brisé et meurtri autant qu’on -puisse l’être; car ce bâtard de Roland m’a roué de coups avec le tronc -d’un chêne, et cela parce que seul je tiens tête à ses fanfaronnades. Je -perdrai mon nom de Renaud de Montauban, ou, dès que je pourrai sortir du -lit, il me le payera cher, en dépit de tous les enchantements qui le -protégent. Pour l’instant, ajouta-t-il, qu’on me donne à manger, rien ne -saurait venir plus à propos; quant à ma vengeance, qu’on m’en laisse le -soin. - -On lui apporta ce qu’il demandait, après quoi il se rendormit, laissant -tout le monde stupéfait d’une si étrange folie. Cette nuit même, la -gouvernante s’empressa de brûler les livres qu’on avait jetés dans la -cour, et ceux qui restaient encore dans la maison: aussi, tels -souffrirent la peine du feu qui méritaient un meilleur sort; mais leur -mauvaise étoile ne le voulut pas, et pour eux se vérifia le proverbe que -souvent le juste paye pour le pécheur. - -Un des remèdes imaginés par le curé et le barbier contre la maladie de -leur ami fut de faire murer la porte du cabinet des livres, afin qu’il -ne la trouvât plus quand il se lèverait; espérant ainsi qu’en ôtant la -cause du mal l’effet disparaîtrait également, et que dans tous les cas -on dirait qu’un enchanteur avait emporté le cabinet et les livres: ce -qui fut exécuté avec beaucoup de diligence. - -Deux jours après, don Quichotte se leva, et son premier soin fut d’aller -visiter sa bibliothèque; ne la trouvant plus où il l’avait laissée, il -se mit à chercher de tous côtés, passant et repassant où jadis avait été -la porte, tâtant avec les mains, regardant partout sans dire mot et sans -y rien comprendre. A la fin pourtant, il demanda de quel côté était le -cabinet de ses livres. - -De quel cabinet parle Votre Grâce, répondit la gouvernante, et que -cherchez-vous là où il n’y a rien? Il n’existe plus ici ni cabinet ni -livres, le diable a tout emporté. - -Ce n’est pas le diable, dit la nièce; c’est un enchanteur, qui, aussitôt -après le départ de notre maître, est venu pendant la nuit, monté sur un -dragon, a mis pied à terre, et est entré dans son cabinet, où je ne sais -ce qui se passa; mais au bout de quelque temps, nous le vîmes sortir par -la toiture, laissant la maison toute pleine de fumée; puis, quand nous -voulûmes voir ce qu’il avait fait, il n’y avait plus ni cabinet, ni -livres. Seulement, nous nous souvenons fort bien, la gouvernante et moi: -que ce mécréant nous cria d’en haut, en s’envolant, que c’était par -inimitié pour le maître des livres qu’il avait fait le dégât dont on -s’apercevrait plus tard. Il dit aussi qu’il s’appelait Mugnaton. - -Dites Freston et non Mugnaton, reprit don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais si c’est Freton ou Friton, répliqua la nièce, mais je sais -que son nom finissait en _on_. - -Cela est vrai, ajouta don Quichotte; ce Freston est un savant enchanteur -qui a pour moi une aversion mortelle, parce que son art lui a révélé -qu’un jour je dois me rencontrer en combat singulier avec un jeune -chevalier qu’il protége; et comme il sait que j’en sortirai vainqueur, -quoi qu’il fasse, il ne cesse, en attendant, de me causer tous les -déplaisirs imaginables; mais je l’avertis qu’il s’abuse et qu’on ne peut -rien contre ce que le ciel a ordonné. - -Et qui en doute? dit la nièce. Mais, mon cher oncle, pourquoi vous -engager dans toutes ces querelles? Ne vaudrait-il pas mieux rester -paisible dans votre maison, au lieu de courir le monde cherchant de -meilleur pain que celui de froment? Sans compter que bien des gens, -croyant aller querir de la laine, s’en reviennent tondus. - -Vous êtes loin de compte, ma mie, repartit don Quichotte; avant que -l’on me tonde, j’aurai arraché la barbe à quiconque osera toucher la -pointe d’un seul de mes cheveux. - -Les deux femmes s’abstinrent de répliquer, voyant bien que sa tête -commençait à s’échauffer. Quinze jours se passèrent ainsi, pendant -lesquels notre chevalier resta dans sa maison, sans laisser soupçonner -qu’il pensât à de nouvelles folies. Chaque soir, avec ses deux compères, -le curé et le barbier, il avait de fort divertissants entretiens, ne -cessant d’affirmer que la chose dont le monde avait le plus pressant -besoin, c’était de chevaliers errants et que cet ordre illustre -revivrait dans sa personne. Quelquefois le curé le contredisait, mais le -plus souvent il faisait semblant de se rendre, seul moyen de ne pas -l’irriter. - -En même temps don Quichotte sollicitait en cachette un paysan, son -voisin, homme de bien (s’il est permis de qualifier ainsi celui qui est -pauvre), mais qui n’avait assurément guère de plomb dans la cervelle. -Notre hidalgo lui disait qu’il avait tout à gagner en le suivant, parce -qu’en échange du fumier et de la paille qu’il lui faisait quitter, il -pouvait se présenter telle aventure qui, en un tour de main, lui -vaudrait le gouvernement d’une île. Par ces promesses, et d’autres tout -aussi certaines, Sancho Panza, c’était le nom du laboureur, se laissa si -bien gagner, qu’il résolut de planter là femme et enfants, pour suivre -notre chevalier en qualité d’écuyer. - -Assuré d’une pièce si nécessaire, don Quichotte ne songea plus qu’à -ramasser de l’argent; et, vendant une chose, engageant l’autre, enfin -perdant sur tous ses marchés, il parvint à réunir une somme raisonnable. -Il se pourvut aussi d’une rondache, qu’il emprunta d’un de ses amis; -puis ayant raccommodé sa salade du mieux qu’il put, il avisa son écuyer -du jour et de l’heure où il voulait se mettre en route, pour que de son -côté il se munit de ce qui leur serait nécessaire. Il lui recommanda -surtout d’emporter un bissac. Sancho répondit qu’il n’y manquerait pas, -ajoutant qu’étant mauvais marcheur, il avait envie d’emmener son âne, -lequel était de bonne force. Le mot âne surprit don Quichotte, qui -chercha à se rappeler si l’on avait vu quelque écuyer monter de la -sorte; aucun ne lui vint en mémoire; cependant il y consentit, comptant -bien donner au sien une plus honorable monture dès sa première rencontre -avec quelque chevalier discourtois. - -Il se pourvut encore de chemises et des autres choses indispensables, -suivant le conseil que lui avait donné l’hôtelier. - -Tout étant préparé en silence, un beau soir Sancho, sans dire adieu à sa -femme et à ses enfants, et don Quichotte, sans prendre congé de sa nièce -ni de sa gouvernante, s’échappèrent de leur village et marchèrent toute -la nuit avec tant de hâte, qu’au point du jour ils se tinrent pour -assurés de ne pouvoir être atteints quand même on se fût mis à leur -poursuite. Assis sur son âne avec son bissac et sa gourde, Sancho se -prélassait comme un patriarche, déjà impatient d’être gouverneur de -l’île que son maître lui avait promise. Don Quichotte prit la même route -qu’il avait suivie lors de sa première excursion, c’est-à-dire à travers -la plaine de Montiel, où, cette fois, il cheminait avec moins -d’incommodité, parce qu’il était grand matin, et que les rayons du -soleil, frappant de côté, ne le gênaient point encore. - -Ils marchaient depuis quelque temps, lorsque Sancho, qui ne pouvait -rester longtemps muet, dit à son maître: Seigneur, que Votre Grâce se -souvienne de l’île qu’elle m’a promise; je me fais fort de la bien -gouverner, si grande qu’elle puisse être. - -Ami Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, apprends que de tout temps ce fut un -usage consacré parmi les chevaliers errants de donner à leurs écuyers le -gouvernement des îles et des royaumes dont ils faisaient la conquête; -aussi, loin de vouloir déroger à cette louable coutume, je prétends -faire mieux encore. Souvent ces chevaliers attendaient pour récompenser -leurs écuyers, que ceux-ci, las de passer de mauvais jours et de plus -mauvaises nuits fussent vieux et incapables de service; alors ils leur -donnaient quelque modeste province avec le titre de marquis ou de comte: -eh bien, moi, j’espère qu’avant six jours, si Dieu me prête vie, j’aurai -su conquérir un si vaste royaume, que beaucoup d’autres en dépendront, -ce qui viendra fort à propos pour te faire couronner roi de l’un des -meilleurs. Ne pense pas qu’il y ait là rien de bien extraordinaire; tous -les jours pareilles fortunes arrivent aux chevaliers errants, et souvent -même par des moyens si imprévus qu’il me sera facile de te donner -beaucoup plus que je ne te promets. - -A ce compte-là, dit Sancho, si j’allais devenir roi par un de ces -miracles que sait faire Votre Grâce, Juana Guttierez, ma femme, serait -donc reine, et nos enfants, infants? - -Sans aucun doute, répondit don Quichotte. - -J’en doute un peu, moi, répliqua Sancho; car quand bien même Dieu -ferait pleuvoir des couronnes, m’est avis qu’il ne s’en trouverait pas -une qui puisse s’ajuster à la tête de ma femme; par ma foi, elle ne -vaudrait pas un maravédis pour être reine; passe pour comtesse, et -encore, avec l’aide de Dieu! - -Eh bien, laisse-lui ce soin, dit don Quichotte; il te donnera ce qui te -conviendra le mieux; seulement prends patience, et par modestie ne va -pas te contenter à moins d’un bon gouvernement de province. - -Non vraiment, répondit Sancho, surtout ayant en Votre Grâce un si -puissant maître, qui saura me donner ce qui ira à ma taille et ce que -mes épaules pourront porter. - -CHAPITRE VIII - -DU BEAU SUCCÈS QU’EUT LE VALEUREUX DON QUICHOTTE DANS L’ÉPOUVANTABLE ET -INOUIE AVENTURE DES MOULINS A VENT - -En ce moment ils découvrirent au loin dans la campagne trente ou -quarante moulins à vent. A cette vue, don Quichotte s’écria: La fortune -conduit nos affaires beaucoup mieux que nous ne pouvions l’espérer. -Aperçois-tu, Sancho, cette troupe de formidables géants? Eh bien, je -prétends les combattre et leur ôter la vie. Enrichissons-nous de leurs -dépouilles; cela est de bonne guerre, et c’est grandement servir Dieu -que balayer pareille engeance de la surface de la terre. - -Quels géants? demanda Sancho. - -Ceux que tu vois là-bas avec leurs grands bras, répondit son maître; -plusieurs les ont de presque deux lieues de long. - -Prenez garde, seigneur, dit Sancho; ce que voit là-bas Votre Grâce ne -sont pas des géants, mais des moulins à vent, et ce qui paraît leurs -bras, ce sont les ailes qui, poussées par le vent, font aller la meule. - -Tu n’es guère expert en fait d’aventures, répliqua don Quichotte: ce -sont des géants, te dis-je. Si tu as peur, éloigne-toi et va te mettre -en oraison quelque part pendant que je leur livrerai un inégal mais -terrible combat. - -Aussitôt il donne de l’éperon à Rossinante, et quoique Sancho ne cessât -de jurer que c’étaient des moulins à vent, et non des géants, notre -héros n’entendait pas la voix de son écuyer. Plus même il approchait des -moulins, moins il se désabusait. Ne fuyez pas, criait-il à se fendre la -tête, ne fuyez pas, lâches et viles créatures; c’est un seul chevalier -qui entreprend de vous combattre. Un peu de vent s’étant levé au même -instant, les ailes commencèrent à tourner. Vous avez beau faire, -disait-il en redoublant ses cris, quand vous remueriez plus de bras que -n’en avait le géant Briarée, vous me le payerez tout à l’heure. Puis se -recommandant à sa dame Dulcinée, et la priant de le secourir dans un si -grand péril, il se précipite, couvert de son écu et la lance en arrêt, -contre le plus proche des moulins. Mais comme il en perçait l’aile d’un -grand coup, le vent la fit tourner avec tant de violence qu’elle mit la -lance en pièces, emportant cheval et cavalier, qui s’en allèrent rouler -dans la poussière. - -Sancho accourait au grand trot de son âne, et en arrivant il trouva que -son maître était hors d’état de se remuer, tant la chute avait été -lourde. Miséricorde, s’écria-t-il; n’avais-je pas dit à Votre Grâce de -prendre garde à ce qu’elle allait faire; que c’étaient là des moulins à -vent? Pour s’y tromper, il faut en avoir d’autres dans la tête. - -Tais-toi, dit don Quichotte, de tous les métiers celui de la guerre est -le plus sujet aux caprices du sort, ce ne sont que vicissitudes -continuelles. Faut-il dire ce que je pense (de cela, j’en suis certain), -eh bien, ce maudit Freston, celui-là même qui a enlevé mon cabinet et -mes livres, vient de changer ces géants en moulins, afin de m’ôter la -gloire de les vaincre, tant la haine qu’il me porte est implacable; mais -viendra un temps où son art cédera à la force de mon épée. - -Dieu le veuille, reprit Sancho en aidant son maître à remonter sur -Rossinante, dont l’épaule était à demi déboîtée. - -Tout en devisant sur ce qui venait d’arriver, nos deux aventuriers -prirent le chemin du _Puerto-Lapice_, parce qu’il était impossible, -affirmait don Quichotte, que sur une route aussi fréquentée on ne -rencontrât pas beaucoup d’aventures. Seulement il regrettait sa lance, -et le témoignant à son écuyer: J’ai lu quelque part, dit-il, qu’un -chevalier espagnol nommé Diego Perez de Vargas, ayant rompu sa lance -dans un combat, arracha d’un chêne une forte branche avec laquelle il -assomma un si grand nombre de Mores, que le surnom d’assommeur lui en -resta, et que ses descendants l’ont ajouté à leur nom de Vargas. Je te -dis cela, Sancho, parce que je me propose d’arracher du premier chêne -que nous rencontrerons une branche en tout semblable, avec laquelle -j’accomplirai de tels exploits, que tu te trouveras heureux d’en être le -témoin, et de voir de tes yeux des prouesses si merveilleuses qu’un jour -on aura peine à les croire. - -Ainsi soit-il, répondit Sancho: je le crois, puisque vous le dites. Mais -redressez-vous un peu, car Votre Grâce se tient tout de travers: sans -doute elle se ressent encore de sa chute? - -Cela est vrai, reprit don Quichotte, et si je ne me plains pas, c’est -qu’il est interdit aux chevaliers errants de se plaindre, lors même -qu’ils auraient le ventre ouvert et que leurs entrailles en sortiraient. - -S’il doit en être ainsi, je n’ai rien à répliquer, dit Sancho; pourtant -j’aimerais bien mieux entendre se plaindre Votre Grâce lorsqu’elle -ressent quelque mal; quant à moi, je ne saurais me refuser ce -soulagement, et à la première égratignure vous m’entendrez crier comme -un désespéré, à moins que la plainte ne soit également interdite aux -écuyers des chevaliers errants. - -Don Quichotte sourit de la simplicité de son écuyer, et lui déclara -qu’il pouvait se plaindre quand et comme il lui plairait, n’ayant -jamais lu dans les lois de la chevalerie rien qui s’y opposât. - -Sancho fit remarquer que l’heure du dîner était venue. Mange à ta -fantaisie, dit don Quichotte; pour moi je n’en sens pas le besoin. - -Usant de la permission, Sancho s’arrangea du mieux qu’il put sur son -âne, tira ses provisions du bissac, et se mit à manger tout en cheminant -derrière son maître. Presque à chaque pas, il s’arrêtait pour donner une -embrassade à son outre, et il le faisait de si bon cœur qu’il aurait -réjoui le plus achalandé cabaretier de la province de Malaga. Ce -passe-temps délectable lui faisait oublier les promesses de son -seigneur, et considérer pour agréable occupation la recherche des -aventures. - -Le soir ils s’arrêtèrent sous un massif d’arbres. Don Quichotte arracha -de l’un d’eux une branche assez forte pour lui servir de lance, puis y -ajusta le fer de celle qui s’était brisée entre ses mains, il passa la -nuit entière sans fermer l’œil, ne cessant de penser à sa Dulcinée, -afin de se conformer à ce qu’il avait vu dans ses livres sur -l’obligation imposée aux chevaliers errants de veiller sans cesse -occupés du souvenir de leurs dames. Quant à Sancho, qui avait le ventre -plein, il dormit jusqu’au matin, et les rayons du soleil qui lui -donnaient dans le visage, non plus que le chant des oiseaux qui -saluaient joyeusement la venue du jour, ne l’auraient réveillé si son -maître ne l’eût appelé cinq ou six fois. En ouvrant les yeux, son -premier soin fut de faire une caresse à son outre, qu’il s’affligea de -trouver moins rebondie que la veille, car il ne se voyait guère sur le -chemin de la remplir de si tôt. Pour don Quichotte, il refusa toute -nourriture, préférant, comme on l’a dit, se repaître de ses amoureuses -pensées. - -Ils reprirent le chemin du Puerto-Lapice, dont, vers trois heures de -l’après-midi, ils aperçurent l’entrée: Ami Sancho, s’écria aussitôt don -Quichotte, c’est ici que nous allons pouvoir plonger nos bras jusqu’aux -coudes dans ce qu’on appelle les aventures. Écoute-moi bien, et n’oublie -pas ce que je vais te dire: quand même tu me verrais dans le plus grand -péril, garde-toi de jamais tirer l’épée, à moins de reconnaître, à n’en -pas douter, que nous avons affaire à des gens de rien, à de la basse et -vile engeance; oh! dans ce cas, tu peux me secourir: mais si j’étais aux -prises avec des chevaliers, les lois de la chevalerie t’interdisent -formellement de venir à mon aide, tant que tu n’auras pas été toi-même -armé chevalier. - -Il aperçut deux moines qui portaient des parasols et des lunettes de -voyage (p. 34).] - -Votre Grâce sera bien obéie en cela, répondit Sancho, d’autant plus que -je suis pacifique de ma nature et très-ennemi des querelles. Seulement, -pour ce qui est de défendre ma personne, lorsqu’on viendra l’attaquer, -permettez que je laisse de côté vos recommandations chevaleresques, car -les commandements de Dieu et de l’Église n’ont rien, je pense, de -contraire à cela. - -D’accord, reprit don Quichotte; mais si nous avions à combattre des -chevaliers, songe à tenir en bride ta bravoure naturelle. - -Oh! je n’y manquerai point, dit Sancho, et je vous promets d’observer -ce commandement aussi exactement que celui de chômer le dimanche. - -Pendant cet entretien, deux moines de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît, montés -sur des dromadaires (du moins leurs mules en avaient la taille) parurent -sur la route. Ils portaient des parasols et des lunettes de voyage. A -peu de distance, derrière eux, venait un carrosse escorté par quatre ou -cinq cavaliers et suivi de deux valets à pied. Dans ce carrosse, on l’a -su depuis, voyageait une dame biscaïenne qui allait retrouver son mari à -Séville, d’où il devait passer dans les Indes avec un emploi -considérable. - -A peine don Quichotte a-t-il aperçu les moines, qui n’étaient pas de -cette compagnie, bien qu’ils suivissent le même chemin: Ou je me trompe -fort, dit-il à son écuyer, ou nous tenons la plus fameuse aventure qui -se soit jamais rencontrée. Ces noirs fantômes que j’aperçois là-bas -doivent être et sont sans nul doute des enchanteurs qui ont enlevé -quelque princesse et l’emmènent par force dans cet équipage; il faut, à -tout prix, que j’empêche cette violence. - -Ceci m’a bien la mine d’être encore pis que les moulins à vent, dit -Sancho en branlant la tête. Seigneur, que Votre Grâce y fasse attention, -ces fantômes sont des moines de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît, et certainement -le carrosse appartient à ces gens qui voyagent: prenez garde à ce que -vous allez faire, et que le diable ne vous tente pas. - -Je t’ai déjà dit, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu n’entendais rien -aux aventures; tu vas voir dans un instant si ce que j’avance n’est pas -l’exacte vérité. - -Aussitôt, prenant les devants, il va se camper au milieu du chemin, -puis, quand les moines sont assez près pour l’entendre, il leur crie -d’une voix tonnante: Gens diaboliques et excommuniés, mettez sur l’heure -en liberté les hautes princesses que vous emmenez dans ce carrosse, -sinon préparez-vous à recevoir la mort en juste punition de vos méfaits. - -Les deux moines retinrent leurs mules, non moins étonnés de l’étrange -figure de don Quichotte que de son discours: Seigneur chevalier, -répondirent-ils, nous ne sommes point des gens diaboliques ni des -excommuniés; nous sommes des religieux de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît qui -suivons paisiblement notre chemin: s’il y a dans ce carrosse des -personnes à qui on fait violence, nous l’ignorons. - -Je ne me paye pas de belles paroles, repartit don Quichotte, et je vous -connais, canaille déloyale. Puis, sans attendre de réponse, il fond, la -lance basse, sur un des religieux, et cela avec une telle furie, que si -le bon père ne se fût promptement laissé glisser de sa mule, il aurait -été dangereusement blessé, ou peut-être tué du coup. L’autre moine, -voyant de quelle manière on traitait son compagnon, donna de l’éperon à -sa monture et gagna la plaine, plus rapide que le vent. - -Aussitôt, sautant prestement de son âne, Sancho se jeta sur le moine -étendu par terre, et il commençait à le dépouiller quand accoururent les -valets des religieux, qui lui demandèrent pourquoi il lui enlevait ses -vêtements. Parce que, répondit Sancho, c’est le fruit légitime de la -bataille que mon maître vient de gagner. - -Peu satisfaits de la réponse, voyant d’ailleurs que don Quichotte -s’était éloigné pour aller parler aux gens du carrosse, les deux valets -se ruèrent sur Sancho, le renversèrent sur la place, et l’y laissèrent à -demi mort de coups. Le religieux ne perdit pas un moment pour remonter -sur sa mule, et il accourut tremblant auprès de son compagnon, qui -l’attendait assez loin de là, regardant ce que deviendrait cette -aventure; puis tous deux poursuivirent leur chemin, faisant plus de -signes de croix que s’ils avaient eu le diable à leurs trousses. - -Pendant ce temps, don Quichotte se tenait à la portière du carrosse, et -il haranguait la dame biscaïenne, qu’il avait abordée par ces paroles: - -Madame, votre beauté est libre, elle peut faire maintenant ce qu’il lui -plaira; car ce bras redoutable vient de châtier l’audace de ses -ravisseurs. Afin que vous ne soyez point en peine du nom de votre -libérateur, sachez que je m’appelle don Quichotte de la Manche, que je -suis chevalier errant, et esclave de la sans pareille Dulcinée du -Toboso. En récompense du service qu’elle a reçu de moi, je ne demande à -Votre Grâce qu’une seule chose: c’est de vous rendre au Toboso, de vous -présenter de ma part devant cette dame, et de lui apprendre ce que je -viens de faire pour votre liberté. - -Parmi les gens de l’escorte se trouvait un cavalier biscaïen qui -écoutait attentivement notre héros. Irrité de le voir s’opposer au -départ du carrosse, à moins qu’il ne prît le chemin du Toboso, il -s’approche, et, empoignant la lance de don Quichotte, il l’apostrophe -ainsi en mauvais castillan ou en biscaïen, ce qui est pis encore: -Va-t’en, chevalier, et mal ailles-tu; car, par le Dieu qui m’a créé, si -toi ne laisses partir le carrosse, moi te tue, aussi vrai que je suis -Biscaïen. - -Don Quichotte qui l’avait compris, répondit sans s’émouvoir: Si tu étais -chevalier, aussi bien que tu ne l’es pas, j’aurais déjà châtié ton -insolence. - -Moi pas chevalier! répliqua le Biscaïen; moi jure Dieu, jamais chrétien -n’avoir plus menti. Si toi laisses ta lance, et tires ton épée, moi fera -voir à toi comme ton _chat à l’eau vite s’en va_. Hidalgo par mer, -hidalgo par le diable, et toi mentir si dire autre chose. - -C’est ce que nous allons voir, repartit don Quichotte, puis, jetant sa -lance, il tire son épée, embrasse son écu, et il fond sur le Biscaïen, -impatient de lui ôter la vie. - -Celui-ci eût bien voulu descendre de sa mule, mauvaise bête de louage, -sur laquelle il ne pouvait compter; mais à peine eut-il le temps de -tirer son épée, et bien lui prit de se trouver assez près du carrosse -pour saisir un coussin et s’en faire un bouclier. En voyant les deux -champions courir l’un sur l’autre comme de mortels ennemis, les -assistants essayèrent de s’interposer; tout fut inutile; car le Biscaïen -jurait que si on tentait de l’arrêter, il tuerait plutôt sa maîtresse et -les personnes de sa suite. Effrayée de ces menaces, la dame, toute -tremblante, fit signe au cocher de s’éloigner, puis, arrivée à quelque -distance, elle s’arrêta pour regarder le combat. - -En abordant son adversaire, l’impétueux Biscaïen lui déchargea un tel -coup sur l’épaule, que si l’épée n’eût rencontré la rondache, il le -fendait jusqu’à la ceinture. - -Dame de mon âme! s’écria don Quichotte à ce coup qui lui parut la chute -d’une montagne; Dulcinée! fleur de beauté, daignez secourir votre -chevalier, qui pour vous obéir se trouve en cette extrémité. - -Prononcer ces mots, serrer son épée, se couvrir de son écu, fondre sur -son ennemi, tout cela fut l’affaire d’un instant. Le Biscaïen, en le -voyant venir avec tant d’impétuosité, l’attendait de pied ferme, couvert -de son coussin, d’autant plus que sa mule, harassée de fatigue et mal -dressée à ce manége, ne pouvait bouger. Ainsi don Quichotte courait -l’épée haute contre le Biscaïen, cherchant à le pourfendre, et le -Biscaïen l’attendait, abrité derrière son coussin. Les spectateurs -étaient dans l’anxiété des coups épouvantables dont nos deux combattants -se menaçaient, et la dame du carrosse faisait des vœux à tous les -saints du paradis pour obtenir que Dieu protégeât son écuyer, et la -délivrât du péril où elle se trouvait. - -Malheureusement, l’auteur de l’histoire la laisse en cet endroit -pendante et inachevée, donnant pour excuse qu’il ne sait rien de plus -sur les exploits de don Quichotte. Mais le continuateur, ne pouvant se -résoudre à penser qu’un récit aussi curieux se fût ainsi arrêté à -moitié chemin, et que les beaux esprits de la Manche eussent négligé -d’en conserver la suite, ne désespéra pas de la retrouver. En effet, le -ciel aidant, il réussit dans sa recherche de la manière qui sera exposée -dans le livre suivant. - -LIVRE II[25]--CHAPITRE IX - -OU SE CONCLUT ET SE TERMINE L’ÉPOUVANTABLE COMBAT DU BRAVE BISCAIEN ET -DU MANCHOIS - -Dans la première partie de cette histoire, nous avons laissé l’ardent -Biscaïen et le valeureux don Quichotte, les bras levés, les épées nues, -et en posture de se décharger de tels coups, que s’ils fussent tombés -sans rencontrer de résistance, nos deux champions ne se seraient rien -moins que pourfendus de haut en bas et ouverts comme une grenade; mais -en cet endroit, je l’ai dit, le récit était resté pendant et inachevé, -sans que l’auteur fît connaître où l’on trouverait de quoi le -poursuivre. J’éprouvai d’abord un violent dépit, car le plaisir que -m’avait causé le commencement d’un conte si délectable se tournait en -grande amertume, quand je vins à songer quel faible espoir me restait -d’en retrouver la fin. Toutefois il me paraissait impossible qu’un héros -si fameux manquât d’un historien pour raconter ses incomparables -prouesses, lorsque chacun de ses devanciers en avait compté plusieurs, -non-seulement de leurs faits et gestes, mais même de leurs moindres -pensées. Ne pouvant donc supposer qu’un chevalier de cette importance -fût dépourvu de ce qu’un _Platir_ et ses pareils avaient eu de reste, je -persistai à croire qu’une semblable histoire n’était point demeurée -ainsi à moitié chemin, et que le temps seul, qui détruit tout, l’avait -dévorée ou la tenait quelque part ensevelie. De plus, je me disais: -Puisque dans la Bibliothèque de notre chevalier il y avait des livres -modernes, tels que _le Remède à la jalousie_, _les Nymphes_, _le Berger -de Hénarès_, elle ne doit pas être fort ancienne, et si elle n’a pas été -écrite, on doit au moins la retrouver dans la mémoire des gens de son -village et des pays circonvoisins. - - [25] Cervantes divisa la première partie de _Don Quichotte_ en quatre - livres fort inégaux. Dans la seconde partie, il abandonna cette - division pour s’en tenir à celle des chapitres. - -Tourmenté de cette pensée, je nourrissais toujours un vif désir de -connaître en son entier la vie et les merveilleux exploits de notre -héros, cette éclatante lumière de la Manche, le premier qu’on ait vu -dans ces temps calamiteux se vouer au grand exercice de la chevalerie -errante, redressant les torts, secourant les veuves, protégeant les -damoiselles, pauvres filles qui s’en allaient par monts et par vaux sur -leurs palefrois, portant la charge et l’embarras de leur virginité avec -si peu de souci, qu’à moins de violence de la part de quelque chevalier -félon, de quelque vilain armé en guerre, de quelque géant farouche, -elles descendaient au tombeau aussi vierges que leurs mères. Je dis donc -qu’à cet égard et à beaucoup d’autres, notre brave don Quichotte est -digne d’éternelles louanges, et qu’à moi-même on ne saurait en refuser -quelques-unes pour le zèle que j’ai mis à rechercher la fin d’une si -agréable histoire. Mais toute ma peine eût été inutile, et la postérité -eût été privée de ce trésor, si le hasard ne l’avait fait tomber entre -mes mains de la manière que je vais dire. - -Me promenant un jour à Tolède, dans la rue d’Alcana, je vis un jeune -garçon qui vendait de vieilles paperasses à un marchand de soieries. Or, -curieux comme je le suis, à ce point de ramasser pour les lire les -moindres chiffons de papier, je pris des mains de l’enfant un des -cahiers qu’il tenait; voyant qu’il était en caractères arabes que je ne -connais point, je cherchai des yeux quelque Morisque[26] pour me les -expliquer, et je n’eus pas de peine à trouver ce secours dans un lieu -où il y a des interprètes pour une langue beaucoup plus sainte et plus -ancienne[27]. Le hasard m’en amena un à qui je mis le cahier entre les -mains; mais à peine en avait-il parcouru quelques lignes qu’il se prit à -rire. Je lui en demandai la cause. C’est une annotation que je trouve -ici à la marge, répondit-il; et continuant à rire, il lut ces paroles: -_Cette Dulcinée du Toboso, dont il est si souvent parlé dans la présente -histoire, eut, dit-on, pour saler les pourceaux, meilleure main -qu’aucune femme de la Manche_. - - [26] On appelait _Morisques_ les descendants des Arabes et des Mores - restés en Espagne, après la prise de Grenade, et convertis violemment - au christianisme. - - [27] Cervantes veut parler de l’hébreu, et faire entendre qu’il y - avait des juifs à Tolède. - -Au nom de Dulcinée du Toboso, m’imaginant que ces vieux cahiers -contenaient peut-être l’histoire de don Quichotte, je pressai le -Morisque de lire le titre du livre; il y trouva ces mots: _Histoire de -don Quichotte de la Manche, écrite par cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, historien -arabe_. En l’entendant, j’éprouvai une telle joie que j’eus beaucoup de -peine à la dissimuler; et rassemblant tous les papiers, j’en fis marché -avec le jeune garçon, qui me donna pour un demi-réal ce qu’il m’aurait -vendu vingt fois autant s’il eût pu lire dans mon esprit. Je m’éloignai -aussitôt avec mon Morisque par le cloître de la cathédrale, et lui -proposai de traduire ces cahiers en castillan sans y ajouter ni en -retrancher la moindre chose, moyennant la récompense qu’il voudrait. Il -se contenta de deux arrobes de raisins et de quatre boisseaux de -froment, me promettant de faire en peu de temps cette traduction aussi -fidèlement que possible; mais pour rendre l’affaire plus facile, et ne -pas me dessaisir de mon trésor, j’emmenai le Morisque chez moi, où en -moins de six semaines la version fut faite, telle que je la donne ici. - -Dans le premier cahier se trouvait représentée la bataille de don -Quichotte avec le Biscaïen, tous deux dans la posture où nous les avons -laissés, le bras levé, l’épée nue, l’un couvert de sa rondache, l’autre -abrité par son coussin. La mule du Biscaïen était d’une si grande -vérité, qu’à portée d’arquebuse on l’aurait facilement reconnue pour une -mule de louage: à ses pieds on lisait _don Sancho de Aspetia_, ce qui -était sans doute le nom du Biscaïen. Aux pieds de Rossinante on lisait -celui de _don Quichotte_. Rossinante est admirablement peint, long, -roide, maigre, l’épine du dos si tranchante, et l’oreille si basse, -qu’on jugeait tout d’abord que jamais cheval au monde n’avait mieux -mérité d’être appelé ainsi. Tout auprès, Sancho Panza tenait par le -licou son âne, au pied duquel était écrit _Sancho Zanças_. Il était -représenté avec la panse large, la taille courte, les jambes cagneuses, -et c’est sans doute pour ce motif que l’histoire lui donne -indifféremment le nom de Panza ou de Zanças. - -Il y avait encore d’autres détails, mais de peu d’importance, et qui -n’ajoutent rien à l’intelligence de ce récit. Si quelque chose pouvait -faire douter de sa sincérité, c’est que l’auteur est Arabe, et que tous -les gens de cette race sont enclins au mensonge; mais, d’autre part, ils -sont tellement nos ennemis, que celui-ci aura plutôt retranché -qu’ajouté. En effet, lorsqu’il devait, selon moi, le plus longuement -s’étendre sur les exploits de notre chevalier, il les a, au contraire, -malicieusement amoindris ou même passés sous silence: procédé indigne -d’un historien, qui doit toujours se montrer fidèle, exempt de passion -et d’intérêt, sans que jamais la crainte, l’affection ou l’inimitié le -fassent dévier de la vérité, mère de l’histoire, dépôt des actions -humaines, puisque c’est là qu’on rencontre de vrais tableaux du passé, -des exemples pour le présent et des enseignements pour l’avenir. -J’espère cependant que l’on trouvera dans ce récit tout ce que l’on peut -désirer, ou que s’il y manque quelque chose, ce sera la faute du -traducteur et non celle du sujet. - -La seconde partie commençait ainsi: - -A l’air terrible et résolu des deux fiers combattants, avec leur -tranchantes épées levées, on eût dit qu’ils menaçaient le ciel et la -terre. Celui qui porta le premier coup fut l’ardent Biscaïen, et cela -avec tant de force et de furie, que si le fer n’eût tourné dans sa main, -ce seul coup aurait terminé cet épouvantable combat et mis fin à toutes -les aventures de notre chevalier; mais le sort, qui le réservait pour -d’autres exploits, fit tourner l’épée du Biscaïen de telle sorte que, -tombant à plat sur l’épaule gauche, elle ne fit d’autre mal que de -désarmer tout ce côté-là, emportant chemin faisant un bon morceau de la -salade et la moitié de l’oreille de notre héros. - -Qui pourrait, grand Dieu! peindre la rage dont fut transporté don -Quichotte quand il se sentit atteint! Se hissant sur ses étriers, et -serrant de plus belle son épée avec ses deux mains, il en déchargea un -si terrible coup sur la tête de son ennemi, que, malgré la protection du -coussin, le pauvre diable commença à jeter le sang par le nez, la bouche -et les oreilles, prêt à tomber, ce qui certes fût arrivé s’il n’eût à -l’instant embrassé le cou de sa bête, mais bientôt ses bras se -détachèrent, ses pieds lâchèrent les étriers, et la mule épouvantée, ne -sentant plus le frein, prit sa course à travers champs, après avoir -désarçonné son cavalier qui tomba privé de sentiment. - -Don Quichotte ne vit pas plus tôt son ennemi par terre, que, sautant -prestement de cheval, il courut lui présenter la pointe de l’épée entre -les deux yeux, lui criant de se rendre, sinon qu’il lui couperait la -tête. Le malheureux Biscaïen était incapable d’articuler un seul mot, -et, dans sa fureur, don Quichotte ne l’aurait pas épargné, si la dame du -carrosse, qui, à demi morte de peur, attendait au loin l’issue du -combat, n’était accourue lui demander, avec les plus vives instances, la -vie de son écuyer. - -Je vous l’accorde, belle dame, répondit gravement notre héros, mais à -une condition: c’est que ce chevalier me donnera sa parole d’aller au -Toboso, et de se présenter de ma part devant la sans pareille Dulcinée, -afin qu’elle dispose de lui selon son bon plaisir. - -Sans rien comprendre à ce discours, ni s’informer quelle était cette -Dulcinée, la dame promit pour son écuyer tout ce qu’exigeait don -Quichotte. - -Qu’il vive donc sur la foi de votre parole, reprit notre héros, et qu’à -cause de vous il jouisse d’une grâce dont son arrogance le rendait -indigne. - -CHAPITRE X - -DU GRACIEUX ENTRETIEN QU’EUT DON QUICHOTTE AVEC SANCHO PANZA SON ÉCUYER - -Quoique moulu des rudes gourmades que lui avaient administrées les -valets des bénédictins, Sancho s’était depuis quelque temps déjà remis -sur ses pieds, et tout en suivant d’un œil attentif le combat où était -engagé son seigneur, il priait Dieu de lui accorder la victoire, afin -qu’il y gagnât quelque île et l’en fit gouverneur, comme il le lui avait -promis. Voyant enfin le combat terminé, et son maître prêt à remonter à -cheval, il courut lui tenir l’étrier; mais d’abord il se jeta à genoux -et lui baisa la main en disant: Que Votre Grâce daigne me donner l’île -qu’elle vient de gagner; car je me sens en état de la bien gouverner, si -grande qu’elle puisse être. - -Ami Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, ce ne sont pas là des aventures -d’îles, ce sont de simples rencontres de grands chemins, dont on ne peut -guère attendre d’autre profit que de se faire casser la tête ou emporter -une oreille. Prends patience, il s’offrira, pour m’acquitter de ma -promesse, assez d’autres occasions, où je pourrai te donner un bon -gouvernement, si ce n’est quelque chose de mieux encore. - -Sancho se confondit en remercîments, et après avoir baisé de nouveau la -main de son maître et le pan de sa cotte de mailles, il l’aida à -remonter à cheval, puis enfourcha son âne, et se mit à suivre son -seigneur, lequel, s’éloignant rapidement sans prendre congé de la dame -du carrosse, entra dans un bois qui se trouvait près de là. - -Sancho le suivait de tout le trot de sa bête, mais Rossinante détalait -si lestement, qu’il fut obligé de crier à son maître de l’attendre. Don -Quichotte retint la bride à sa monture, jusqu’à ce que son écuyer l’eût -rejoint. Il serait prudent, ce me semble, dit Sancho en arrivant, de -nous réfugier dans quelque église, car celui que vous venez de combattre -est en bien piteux état; on pourrait en donner avis à la -Sainte-Hermandad[28], qui viendrait nous questionner à ce sujet, et une -fois entre ses mains, il se passerait du temps avant de nous en tirer. - - [28] La _Sainte-Hermandad_ était un corps spécialement chargé de la - poursuite des malfaiteurs. - -Tu ne sais ce que tu dis, repartit don Quichotte; où donc as-tu vu ou lu -qu’un chevalier errant ait été traduit en justice, quelque nombre -d’homicides qu’il ait commis? - -Je n’entends rien à vos homicides, répondit Sancho, et je ne me souviens -pas d’en avoir jamais vu; mais je sais que ceux qui se battent au milieu -des champs ont affaire à la Sainte-Hermandad, et c’est là ce que je -voudrais éviter. - -Ne t’en mets point en peine, reprit don Quichotte; je t’arracherais des -mains des Philistins, à plus forte raison de celles de la -Sainte-Hermandad. Maintenant, réponds avec franchise, crois-tu que sur -toute la surface de la terre il y ait un chevalier aussi vaillant que je -le suis? As-tu jamais vu ou lu dans quelque histoire qu’un chevalier ait -montré autant que moi d’intrépidité dans l’attaque, de résolution dans -la défense, plus d’adresse à porter les coups, et de promptitude à -culbuter l’ennemi? - -La vérité est que je n’ai jamais rien vu ni lu de semblable, répondit -Sancho, car je ne sais ni lire ni écrire; mais ce dont je puis faire -serment, c’est que de ma vie je n’ai servi un maître aussi hardi que -Votre Grâce, et Dieu veuille que cette hardiesse ne nous mène pas là où -je m’imagine. Pour l’heure pansons votre oreille, car il en sort -beaucoup de sang; heureusement, j’ai de la charpie et de l’onguent dans -mon bissac. - -Nous nous passerions bien de tout cela, dit don Quichotte, si j’avais -songé à faire une fiole de ce merveilleux baume de Fier-à-Bras[29], et -combien une seule goutte de cette précieuse liqueur nous épargnerait de -temps et de remèdes? - - [29] C’était, dit l’histoire de Charlemagne, un géant qui guérissait - ses blessures en buvant d’un baume qu’il portait dans deux petits - barils gagnés à la conquête de Jérusalem. - -Quelle fiole et quel baume? demanda Sancho. - -C’est un baume dont j’ai la recette en ma mémoire, répondit don -Quichotte; avec lui on se moque des blessures, et on nargue la mort. -Aussi, quand après l’avoir composé, je l’aurai remis entre tes mains, si -dans un combat je viens à être pourfendu d’un revers d’épée par le -milieu du corps, comme cela nous arrive presque tous les jours, il te -suffira de ramasser la moitié qui sera tombée à terre, puis, avant que -le sang soit figé, de la rapprocher de l’autre moitié restée sur la -selle, en ayant soin de les bien remboîter; après quoi, rien qu’avec -deux gouttes de ce baume, tu me reverras aussi sain qu’une pomme. - -S’il en est ainsi, repartit Sancho, je renonce dès aujourd’hui au -gouvernement que vous m’avez promis, et pour récompense de mes services -je ne demande que la recette de ce baume. Il vaudra bien partout deux ou -trois réaux l’once; en voilà assez pour passer ma vie honorablement et -en repos. Mais dites-moi, seigneur, ce baume coûte-t-il beaucoup à -composer? - -Pour trois réaux on peut en faire plus de six pintes, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Grand Dieu! s’écria Sancho, que ne me l’enseignez-vous sur l’heure, et -que n’en faisons-nous de suite plusieurs poinçons? - -Patience, ami Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, je te réserve bien d’autres -secrets, et de bien plus grandes récompenses. Pour l’instant pansons mon -oreille; elle me fait plus de mal que je ne voudrais. - -Sancho tira l’onguent et la charpie du bissac; mais quand don Quichotte, -en ôtant sa salade, la vit toute brisée, peu s’en fallut qu’il ne perdît -le reste de son jugement. Portant la main sur son épée, et levant les -yeux au ciel il s’écria: Par le créateur de toutes choses, et sur les -quatre Évangiles, je fais le serment que fit le grand marquis de -Mantoue, lorsqu’il jura de venger la mort de son neveu Baudouin, -c’est-à-dire de ne point manger pain sur nappe, de ne point approcher -femme, et de renoncer encore à une foule d’autres choses (lesquelles, -bien que je ne m’en souvienne pas, je tiens pour comprises dans mon -serment), jusqu’à ce que j’aie tiré une vengeance éclatante de celui qui -m’a fait un tel outrage. - -Que Votre Grâce, dit Sancho, veuille bien faire attention que si ce -chevalier vaincu exécute l’ordre que vous lui avez donné d’aller se -mettre à genoux devant madame Dulcinée, il est quitte, et qu’à moins -d’une nouvelle offense, vous n’avez rien à lui demander. - -Tu parles sagement, reprit don Quichotte, et j’annule mon serment quant -à la vengeance; mais je le confirme et le renouvelle quant à la vie que -j’ai juré de mener jusqu’au jour où j’aurai enlevé de vive force à -n’importe quel chevalier une salade en tout semblable à celle que j’ai -perdue. Et ne t’imagine pas, ami, que je parle à la légère; j’ai un -exemple à suivre en ceci: la même chose arriva pour l’armet de Mambrin, -qui coûta si cher à Sacripant. - -Donnez tous ces serments au diable, dit Sancho; ils nuisent à la santé -et chargent la conscience; car, enfin, que ferons-nous si de longtemps -nous ne rencontrons un homme coiffé d’une salade? Tiendrez-vous votre -serment en dépit des incommodités qui peuvent en résulter, comme, par -exemple, de coucher tout habillé, de ne point dormir en lieu couvert, et -tant d’autres pénitences que s’imposait ce vieux fou de marquis de -Mantoue? Songez, je vous prie, seigneur, qu’il ne passe point de gens -armés par ces chemins-ci, que l’on n’y rencontre guère que des -charretiers et des conducteurs de mules. Ces gens-là ne portent point de -salades, et ils n’en ont jamais peut-être entendu prononcer le nom. - -Je fais le serment que fit le grand marquis de Mantoue (p. 40).] - -Tu te trompes, ami, repartit don Quichotte, et nous ne serons pas restés -ici deux heures, que nous y verrons se présenter plus de gens en armes -qu’il n’en vint jadis devant la forteresse d’Albraque, pour la conquête -de la belle Angélique. - -Ainsi soit-il, reprit Sancho. Dieu veuille que tout aille bien, et -qu’arrive au plus tôt le moment de gagner cette île qui me coûte si -cher, dussé-je en mourir de joie! - -Je t’ai déjà dit de ne point te mettre en peine, répliqua don Quichotte; -car en admettant que l’île vienne à manquer, n’avons-nous pas le royaume -de Danimarque et celui de Sobradise[30], qui t’iront comme une bague au -doigt? étant en terre ferme, ils doivent te convenir encore mieux. Mais -laissons cela; à présent, regarde dans le bissac si tu as quelque chose -à manger, puis nous irons à la recherche d’un château où nous puissions -passer la nuit et préparer le baume dont je t’ai parlé; car l’oreille me -fait souffrir cruellement. - - [30] Royaumes extraordinaires cités dans _Amadis de Gaule_. - -J’ai bien ici un oignon et un morceau de fromage avec deux ou trois -bribes de pain, répondit Sancho: mais ce ne sont pas là des mets à -l’usage d’un chevalier vaillant tel que vous. - -Que tu me connais mal! reprit don Quichotte. Apprends, ami Sancho, que -la gloire des chevaliers errants est de passer des mois entiers sans -manger, et, quand ils se décident à prendre quelque nourriture, de se -contenter de ce qui leur tombe sous la main. Tu n’en douterais pas si tu -avais lu autant d’histoires que moi, et dans aucune je n’ai vu que les -chevaliers errants mangeassent, si ce n’est par hasard, ou dans quelque -somptueux festin donné en leur honneur; car le plus souvent ils vivaient -de l’air du temps. Cependant, comme ils étaient hommes et qu’ils ne -pouvaient se passer tout à fait d’aliments, il faut croire que, -constamment au milieu des forêts et des déserts, et toujours sans -cuisinier, leurs repas habituels étaient des mets rustiques comme ceux -que tu m’offres en ce moment. Cela me suffit, ami Sancho; cesse donc de -t’affliger, et surtout n’essaye pas de transformer le monde, ni de -changer les antiques coutumes de la chevalerie errante. - -Il faut me pardonner, répliqua Sancho, si ne sachant ni lire ni écrire -(je l’ai déjà dit à Votre Grâce), j’ignore les règles de la chevalerie; -mais, à l’avenir, le bissac sera fourni de fruits secs pour vous, qui -êtes chevalier; et comme je n’ai pas cet honneur, j’aurai soin de le -garnir pour moi de quelque chose de plus nourrissant. - -Je n’ai pas dit, répliqua don Quichotte, que les chevaliers errants -devaient ne manger que des fruits, j’ai dit qu’ils en faisaient leur -nourriture habituelle; ils y joignaient encore quelques herbes des -champs, qu’ils savaient fort bien reconnaître et que je saurai -distinguer également. - -C’est une grande vertu que de connaître ces herbes, repartit Sancho, et -si je ne m’abuse, nous aurons plus d’une occasion de mettre cette -connaissance à profit. Pour l’instant, voici ce que Dieu nous envoie, -ajouta-t-il; et tirant les vivres du bissac, tous deux se mirent à -manger d’un égal appétit. - -Ils eurent bientôt achevé leur frugal repas, et reprirent leurs montures -afin d’atteindre une habitation avant la chute du jour; mais le soleil -venant à leur manquer, et, avec lui, l’espérance de trouver ce qu’ils -cherchaient, il s’arrêtèrent auprès de quelques huttes de chevriers pour -y passer la nuit. Autant Sancho s’affligeait de n’être pas à l’abri dans -quelque bon village, autant don Quichotte fut heureux de dormir à la -belle étoile, se figurant que tout ce qui lui arrivait de la sorte -prouvait une fois de plus sa vocation de chevalier errant. - -CHAPITRE XI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LES CHEVRIERS - -Don Quichotte reçut des chevriers un bon accueil, et Sancho ayant -accommodé du mieux qu’il put Rossinante et son âne, se dirigea en toute -hâte vers l’odeur qu’exhalaient certains morceaux de chèvre qui -cuisaient dans une marmite devant le feu. Notre écuyer eût bien voulu -s’assurer s’ils étaient cuits assez à point pour les faire passer de la -marmite dans son estomac, mais les chevriers ne lui en laissèrent pas le -temps; car, les ayant retirés du feu, ils dressèrent leur table -rustique, tout en invitant de bon cœur les deux étrangers à partager -leurs provisions; puis étendant sur le sol quelques peaux de mouton, ils -s’assirent au nombre de six, après avoir offert à don Quichotte, en -guise de siége, une auge de bois qu’ils retournèrent. - -Notre héros prit place au milieu d’eux; quant à Sancho, il se plaça -debout derrière son maître, prêt à lui verser à boire dans une coupe qui -n’était pas de cristal, mais de corne. En le voyant rester debout: Ami, -lui dit don Quichotte, afin que tu connaisses toute l’excellence de la -chevalerie errante, et que tu saches combien ceux qui en font -profession, n’importe à quel degré, ont droit d’être estimés et honorés -dans le monde, je veux qu’ici, en compagnie de ces braves gens, tu -prennes place à mon côté, pour ne faire qu’un avec moi, qui suis ton -seigneur et ton maître, et que mangeant au même plat, buvant dans ma -coupe, on puisse dire de la chevalerie errante ce qu’on dit de l’amour: -qu’elle nous fait tous égaux. - -Grand merci, répondit Sancho; mais je le dis à Votre Grâce, pourvu que -j’aie de quoi manger, je préfère être seul et debout, qu’assis à côté -d’un empereur. Je savoure bien mieux, dans un coin tout à mon aise, ce -qu’on me donne, ne fût-ce qu’un oignon sur du pain, que les fines -poulardes de ces tables où il faut mâcher lentement, boire à petits -coups, s’essuyer la bouche à chaque morceau, sans oser tousser ni -éternuer, quelque envie qu’on en ait, ni enfin prendre ces autres -licences qu’autorisent la solitude et la liberté. Ainsi donc, -monseigneur, ces honneurs que Votre Grâce veut m’accorder comme à son -écuyer, je suis prêt à les convertir en choses qui me soient de plus de -profit, car ces honneurs dont je vous suis bien reconnaissant, j’y -renonce à jamais. - -Fais ce que je t’ordonne, repartit don Quichotte: Dieu élève celui qui -s’humilie. Et prenant Sancho par le bras, il le fit asseoir à son côté. - -Les chevriers ne comprenaient rien à tout cela, et continuaient de -manger en silence, regardant leurs hôtes, qui, d’un grand appétit, -avalaient des morceaux gros comme le poing. Après les viandes, on -servit des glands doux avec une moitié de fromage plus dur que du -ciment. Pendant ce temps, la corne à boire ne cessait d’aller et de -venir à la ronde, tantôt pleine, tantôt vide, comme les pots de la roue -à chapelet[31], si bien que des deux outres qui étaient là, l’une fut -entièrement mise à sec. - - [31] Roue garnie de seaux à bascule, qui puisent l’eau et la versent - dans un réservoir. - -Quand don Quichotte eut satisfait son appétit, il prit dans sa main une -poignée de glands, puis après les avoir quelque temps considérés en -silence: Heureux siècle, s’écria-t-il, âge fortuné, auquel nos ancêtres -donnèrent le nom d’âge d’or, non pas que ce métal, si estimé dans notre -siècle de fer, se recueillît sans peine à cette époque privilégiée, mais -parce que ceux qui vivaient alors ignoraient ces deux funestes mots de -TIEN et de MIEN. En ce saint âge, toutes choses étaient communes. Afin -de se procurer l’ordinaire soutien de la vie, on n’avait qu’à étendre la -main pour cueillir aux branches des robustes chênes les fruits savoureux -qui se présentaient libéralement à tous. Les claires fontaines et les -fleuves rapides offraient en abondance leurs eaux limpides et -délicieuses. Dans le creux des arbres et dans les fentes des rochers, -les diligentes abeilles établissaient sans crainte leur république, -abandonnant au premier venu l’agréable produit de leur doux labeur. -Alors les liéges vigoureux se dépouillaient eux-mêmes, et leurs larges -écorces suffisaient à couvrir les cabanes élevées sur des poteaux -rustiques. Partout régnaient la concorde, la paix, l’amitié. Le soc aigu -de la pesante charrue ne s’était pas encore enhardi à ouvrir les -entrailles de notre première mère, dont le sein fertile satisfaisait -sans effort à la nourriture et aux plaisirs de ses enfants. Alors les -belles et naïves bergères couraient de vallée en vallée, de colline en -colline, la tête nue, les cheveux tressés, sans autre vêtement que celui -que la pudeur exige: ni la soie façonnée de mille manières, ni la -pourpre de Tyr, ne composaient leurs simples atours; des plantes mêlées -au lierre leur suffisaient, et elles se croyaient mieux parées de ces -ornements naturels que ne le sont nos grandes dames avec les inventions -merveilleuses que leur enseigne l’oisive curiosité. Alors les tendres -mouvements du cœur se montraient simplement, sans chercher, pour -s’exprimer, d’artificieuses paroles. Alors, la fraude, le mensonge -n’altéraient point la franchise et la vérité; la justice régnait seule, -sans crainte d’être égarée par la faveur et l’intérêt qui l’assiégent -aujourd’hui, car la loi du bon plaisir ne s’était pas encore emparée de -l’esprit du juge, et il n’y avait personne qui jugeât ni qui fût jugé. -Les jeunes filles, je le répète, allaient en tous lieux seules et -maîtresses d’elles-mêmes, sans avoir à craindre les propos effrontés ou -les desseins criminels. Quand elles cédaient, c’était à leur seul -penchant et de leur libre volonté; tandis qu’aujourd’hui, dans ce siècle -détestable, aucune n’est en sûreté, fût-elle cachée dans un nouveau -labyrinthe de Crète; partout pénètrent les soins empressés d’une -galanterie maudite, qui les fait succomber malgré leur retenue. C’est -pour remédier à tous ces maux que, dans la suite des temps, la -corruption croissant avec eux, fut institué l’ordre des Chevaliers -errants, défenseurs des vierges, protecteurs des veuves, appuis des -orphelins et des malheureux. J’exerce cette noble profession, mes bons -amis, et c’est à un chevalier errant et à son écuyer que vous avez fait -le gracieux accueil dont je vous remercie de tout mon cœur; et, bien -qu’en vertu de la simple loi naturelle chacun soit tenu de vous imiter, -comme vous l’avez fait sans me connaître, il est juste que je vous en -témoigne ma reconnaissance. - -Cette interminable harangue, dont il aurait fort bien pu se dispenser, -don Quichotte ne l’avait débitée que parce qu’en lui rappelant l’âge -d’or, les glands avaient fourni à sa fantaisie l’occasion de s’adresser -aux chevriers qui, sans répondre un mot, restaient tout ébahis à -l’écouter. Sancho gardait aussi le silence, mais il en profitait pour -avaler force glands et faire de fréquentes visites à la seconde outre -qu’on avait suspendue à un arbre pour tenir le vin frais. - -Le souper avait duré moins longtemps que le discours; dès qu’il fut -terminé, un des chevriers dit à don Quichotte: Seigneur chevalier -errant, afin que Votre Grâce puisse dire avec encore plus de raison que -nous l’avons régalée de notre mieux, nous voulons lui procurer un -nouveau plaisir, en faisant chanter un de nos camarades qui ne peut -tarder à arriver. C’est un jeune berger amoureux et plein d’esprit, qui -sait lire et écrire, et qui de plus est musicien, car il joue de la -viole à ravir. - -A peine le chevrier achevait-il ces mots qu’on entendit le son d’une -viole, et bientôt parut un jeune garçon âgé d’environ vingt-deux ans et -de fort bonne mine. Ses compagnons lui demandèrent s’il avait soupé; il -répondit que oui. En ce cas, Antonio, dit l’un d’eux, tu nous feras le -plaisir de chanter quelque chose, afin que ce seigneur, notre hôte, -sache que dans nos montagnes on trouve aussi des gens qui savent la -musique. Comme nous lui avons vanté tes talents, et que nous ne -voudrions point passer pour menteurs, dis-nous la romance de tes amours, -que ton oncle le bénéficier a mise en vers, et qui a tant plu à tout le -village. - -Volontiers, répondit Antonio; et sans se faire prier, il s’assit sur le -tronc d’un chêne, puis, après avoir accordé sa viole, il chanta la -romance qui suit: - - Olalla! je sais que tu m’aime, - Sans que la bouche me l’ait dit: - Tes beaux yeux sont muets de même; - Mais tu m’aimes, et je sais que cela seul suffit. - - On dit que d’un amour connu - Il faut toujours bien espérer, - Le souffrir c’est en être ému, - Et soi-même à la fin on se laisse attirer. - - Aussi, de ton indifférence - Au lieu de me montrer chagrin, - Je sens naître quelque espérance, - Et vois briller l’amour à travers tes dédains. - - C’est pourquoi mon cœur s’encourage, - Et j’en suis pour l’heure à tel point, - Que te trouvant tendre ou sauvage, - Mon amour ne peut croître, et ne s’affaiblit point. - - Si l’amour est, comme je pense, - Et, comme on dit, une vertu, - Le mien me donne l’espérance - Que mon zèle à la fin ne sera pas perdu. - - Olalla! crois, si je te presse, - Que c’est avec un bon dessein, - Et ne veux t’avoir pour maîtresse - Que lorsqu’avec mon cœur tu recevras ma main. - - L’Église a des liens de soie, - Et son joug est doux et léger; - Tu verras avec quelle joie - Je courrai m’y soumettre en t’y voyant ranger. - - Mais si je n’apprends de ta bouche - Que tu consens à mon dessein, - Je mourrai dans ce lieu farouche: - Je le jure, ou dans peu je serai capucin[32]. - - [32] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Le chevrier avait à peine cessé de chanter, que don Quichotte insistait -pour qu’il continuât, mais Sancho, qui avait grande envie de dormir, s’y -opposa en disant qu’il était temps de songer à s’arranger un gîte pour -la nuit, et que ces braves gens, qui travaillaient tout le jour, ne -pouvaient passer la nuit à chanter. - -Je t’entends, dit don Quichotte; j’oubliais qu’une tête alourdie par les -vapeurs du vin a plus besoin de sommeil que de musique. - -Dieu soit loué, chacun en a pris sa part, répliqua Sancho. - -D’accord, reprit don Quichotte: arrange-toi donc à ta fantaisie; quant à -ceux de ma profession, il leur sied mieux de veiller que de dormir; -seulement il faudrait panser mon oreille, car elle me fait souffrir -grandement. - -Sancho se disposait à obéir, quand un des bergers dit à notre chevalier -de ne pas se mettre en peine; il alla chercher quelques feuilles de -romarin; puis, après les avoir mâchées et mêlées avec du sel, il les lui -appliqua sur l’oreille, l’assurant qu’il n’avait que faire d’un autre -remède; ce qui réussit en effet. - -CHAPITRE XII - -DE CE QUE RACONTA UN BERGER A CEUX QUI ÉTAIENT AVEC DON QUICHOTTE - -Sur ces entrefaites arriva un autre chevrier de ceux qui apportaient les -provisions du village. Amis, dit-il, savez-vous ce qui se passe? - -Et comment le saurions-nous? répondit l’un d’eux. - -Apprenez, dit le paysan, que ce berger si galant, que cet étudiant qui -avait nom Chrysostome, vient de mourir ce matin même, et que chacun se -dit tout bas qu’il est mort d’amour pour la fille de Guillaume le Riche, -pour cette endiablée de Marcelle qu’on voit sans cesse rôder dans les -environs en habit de bergère. - -Pour Marcelle? demanda un des chevriers. - -Pour elle-même, répondit le paysan; mais ce qui étonne tout le monde, -c’est que, par son testament, Chrysostome ordonne qu’on l’enterre, ainsi -qu’un mécréant, au milieu de la campagne et précisément au pied de la -fontaine du Liége, parce que c’est là, dit-il, qu’il avait vu Marcelle -pour la première fois. Il a encore ordonné bien d’autres choses, mais -nos anciens disent qu’on n’en fera rien. Le grand ami de Chrysostome, -Ambrosio, répond qu’il faut exécuter de point en point ses intentions. -Le village est en grande rumeur à ce sujet. Mais on assure que tout se -fera ainsi que le veulent Ambrosio et les bergers ses amis. Demain, on -vient en grande pompe enterrer le pauvre Chrysostome à l’endroit que je -vous ai dit. Voilà qui sera beau à voir; aussi ne manquerai-je pas d’y -aller, si je ne suis pas obligé de retourner au village. - -Nous irons tous, s’écrièrent les chevriers, mais après avoir tiré au -sort à qui restera pour garder les chèvres. - -N’en ayez nul souci, reprit l’un d’eux, je resterai pour tous, et ne -m’en sachez aucun gré, car l’épine que je me suis enfoncée dans le pied -l’autre jour m’empêche de faire un pas. - -Nous ne t’en sommes pas moins obligés, repartit Pedro. - -Là-dessus don Quichotte pria Pedro de lui dire quelle était cette -bergère et quel était ce berger dont on venait d’annoncer la mort. Pedro -répondit que tout ce qu’il savait, c’est que le défunt était fils d’un -hidalgo fort riche, qui habitait ces montagnes; et qu’après avoir -longtemps étudié à Salamanque, il était revenu dans son pays natal avec -une grande réputation de science. On assure, ajouta le chevrier, qu’il -savait surtout ce que font là-haut non-seulement les étoiles, mais -encore le soleil et la lune, dont il ne manquait jamais d’annoncer les -_ellipses_ à point nommé. - -Mon ami, dit don Quichotte, c’est éclipse et non ellipse, qu’on appelle -l’obscurcissement momentané de ces deux corps célestes. - -Il devinait aussi, continua Pedro, quand l’année devait être abondante -ou _estérile_. - -Vous voulez dire stérile, observa notre chevalier. - -Peu importe repartit Pedro; ce que je puis assurer c’est que parents ou -amis quand ils suivaient ses conseils, devenaient riches en peu de -temps. Tantôt il disait: Semez de l’orge cette année et non du froment; -une autre fois: Semez des pois et non de l’orge; l’année qui vient -donnera beaucoup d’huile et les trois suivantes n’en fourniront pas une -goutte; ce qui ne manquait jamais d’arriver. - -Cette science s’appelle astrologie, dit don Quichotte. - -Je l’ignore, répliqua Pedro, mais lui il savait tout cela et bien -d’autres choses encore. Bref, quelques mois après son retour de -Salamanque, un beau matin nous le vîmes tout à coup quitter le manteau -d’étudiant pour prendre l’habit de berger, avec sayon et houlette, et -accompagné de son ami Ambrosio dans le même costume. J’oubliais de vous -dire que le défunt était un grand faiseur de chansons, au point que les -noëls de la Nativité de Notre-Seigneur et les actes de la Fête-Dieu que -représentent nos jeunes garçons étaient de sa composition. Quand on vit -ces deux amis habillés en bergers, tout le village fut bien surpris, et -personne ne pouvait en deviner la cause. Déjà, à cette époque le père de -Chrysostome était mort, lui laissant une grande fortune en bonnes terres -et en beaux et bons écus, sans compter de nombreux troupeaux. De tout -cela le jeune homme resta le maître absolu, et en vérité il le méritait, -car c’était un bon compagnon, charitable et ami des braves gens. Plus -tard, on apprit qu’en prenant ce costume, le pauvre garçon n’avait eu -d’autre but que de courir après cette bergère Marcelle, dont il était -devenu éperdument amoureux. Maintenant il faut vous dire quelle est -cette créature: car jamais vous n’avez entendu et jamais vous -n’entendrez raconter rien de semblable dans tout le cours de votre vie, -dussiez-vous vivre plus d’années que la vieille Sarna. - -Dites Sara[33] et non Sarna, reprit don Quichotte, qui ne pouvait -souffrir ces altérations de mots. - - [33] Femme d’Abraham. - -Sarna ou Sara, c’est tout un, répondit le chevrier; et si vous vous -mettez à éplucher mes paroles, nous n’aurons pas fini d’ici à l’an -prochain. - -Pardon, mon ami, reprit don Quichotte, entre Sarna et Sara il y a une -grande différence; mais continuez votre récit. - -Je dis donc, poursuivit Pedro, qu’il y avait dans notre village un -laboureur nommé Guillaume, à qui le ciel, avec beaucoup d’autres -richesses, donna une fille dont la mère mourut en la mettant au monde. -Il me semble encore la voir, la digne femme, avec sa mine -resplendissante comme un soleil, et de plus, si charitable et si -laborieuse, qu’elle ne peut manquer de jouir là-haut de la vue de Dieu. -Son mari Guillaume la suivit de près, laissant sa fille Marcelle, riche -et en bas âge, sous la tutelle d’un oncle, prêtre et bénéficier dans ce -pays. En grandissant, l’enfant faisait souvenir de sa mère, qu’elle -annonçait devoir encore surpasser en beauté. A peine eut-elle atteint -ses quinze ans, qu’en la voyant chacun bénissait le ciel de l’avoir -faite si belle; aussi la plupart en devenaient fous d’amour. Son oncle -l’élevait avec beaucoup de soin et dans une retraite sévère; néanmoins -le bruit de sa beauté se répandit de telle sorte, que soit pour elle, -soit pour sa richesse, les meilleurs partis de la contrée ne cessaient -d’importuner et de solliciter son tuteur afin de l’avoir pour femme. Dès -qu’il la vit en âge d’être mariée, le bon prêtre y eût consenti -volontiers, mais il ne voulait rien faire sans son aveu. N’allez pas -croire pour cela qu’il entendît profiter de son bien, dont il avait -l’administration; à cet égard, tout le village n’a cessé de lui rendre -justice; car il faut que vous le sachiez, seigneur chevalier, dans nos -veillées, chacun critique et approuve selon sa fantaisie, et il doit -être cent fois bon celui qui oblige ses paroissiens à dire du bien de -lui. - -C’est vrai, dit don Quichotte; mais continuez, ami Pedro, votre histoire -m’intéresse, et vous la contez de fort bonne grâce. - -Que celle de Dieu ne me manque jamais, reprit le chevrier, c’est le plus -important. Vous saurez donc, continua-t-il, que l’oncle avait beau -proposer à sa nièce chacun des partis qui se présentaient, faisant -valoir leurs qualités, et l’engageant à choisir parmi eux un mari selon -son goût, la jeune fille ne répondait jamais rien, sinon qu’elle voulait -rester libre, et qu’elle se trouvait trop jeune pour porter le fardeau -du ménage. Avec de pareilles excuses, son oncle cessait de la presser, -attendant qu’elle ait pris un peu plus d’âge, et espérant qu’à la fin -elle se déciderait. Les parents, disait-il, ne doivent pas engager leurs -enfants contre leur volonté. - -Mais voilà qu’un jour, sans que personne s’y attendit, la dédaigneuse -Marcelle se fait bergère, et que, malgré son oncle et tous les habitants -du pays qui cherchaient à l’en dissuader, elle s’en va aux champs avec -les autres filles, pour garder son troupeau. Dès qu’on la vit et que sa -beauté parut au grand jour, je ne saurais vous dire combien de jeunes -gens riches, hidalgos ou laboureurs, prirent le costume de berger afin -de suivre ses pas. - -Un d’entre eux était le pauvre Chrysostome, comme vous le savez déjà, -duquel on disait qu’il ne l’aimait pas, mais qu’il l’adorait. Et qu’on -ne pense pas que, pour avoir adopté cette manière d’être si étrange, -Marcelle ait jamais donné lieu au moindre soupçon; loin de là, elle est -si sévère, que de tous ses prétendants aucun ne peut se flatter d’avoir -obtenu la moindre espérance de faire agréer ses soins; car bien qu’elle -ne fuie personne, et qu’elle traite tout le monde avec bienveillance, -dès qu’un berger se hasarde à lui déclarer son intention, quelque juste -et sainte qu’elle soit, il est renvoyé si loin qu’il n’y revient plus. -Mais, hélas! avec cette façon d’agir, elle cause plus de ravages en ce -pays que n’en ferait la peste; car sa beauté et sa douceur attirent les -cœurs que son indifférence et ses dédains réduisent bientôt au -désespoir. Aussi ne cesse-t-on de l’appeler ingrate, cruelle, et si vous -restiez quelques jours parmi nous, seigneur, vous entendriez ces -montagnes et ces vallées retentir des plaintes et des gémissements de -ceux qu’elle rebute. - -Près d’ici sont plus de vingt hêtres qui portent gravé sur leur écorce -le nom de Marcelle; au-dessus on voit presque toujours une couronne, -pour montrer qu’elle est la reine de beauté. Ici soupire un berger, là -un autre se lamente, plus loin l’on entend des chansons d’amour, -ailleurs des plaintes désespérées. L’un passe la nuit au pied d’un -chêne, ou sur le haut d’une roche, et le jour le retrouve absorbé dans -ses pensées sans qu’il ait fermé ses paupières humides; un autre reste -à l’ardeur du soleil, étendu sur le sable brûlant, demandant au ciel la -fin de son martyre. En voyant l’insensible bergère jouir des maux -qu’elle a causés, chacun se demande à quoi aboutira cette conduite -altière, et quel mortel pourra dompter ce cœur farouche. Comme ce que -je viens de vous raconter est l’exacte vérité, nous croyons tous que la -mort de Chrysostome n’a pas eu d’autre motif. C’est pourquoi, seigneur -chevalier, vous ferez bien de vous trouver à son enterrement; cela sera -curieux à voir, car nombreux étaient ses amis, et d’ici à l’endroit -qu’il a désigné pour son tombeau à peine s’il y a une demi-lieue. - -Je n’y manquerai pas, dit don Quichotte, et vous remercie du plaisir que -m’a fait votre récit. - -Il y a encore beaucoup d’autres aventures arrivées aux amants de -Marcelle, reprit le chevrier; mais demain nous rencontrerons sans doute -en chemin quelque berger qui nous les racontera. Quant à présent vous -ferez bien d’aller vous reposer dans un endroit couvert, parce que le -serein est contraire à votre blessure, quoiqu’il n’y ait aucun danger -après le remède qu’on y a mis. - -Sancho, qui avait donné mille fois au diable le chevrier et son récit, -pressa son maître d’entrer dans la cabane de Pedro. Don Quichotte y -consentit quoique à regret, mais ce fut pour donner le reste de la nuit -au souvenir de sa Dulcinée, à l’imitation des amants de Marcelle. Quant -à Sancho, il s’arrangea sur la litière, entre son âne et Rossinante, et -y dormit non comme un amant rebuté, mais comme un homme qui a le dos -roué de coups. - -CHAPITRE XIII - -OU SE TERMINE L’HISTOIRE DE LA BERGÈRE MARCELLE AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS - -L’aurore commençait à paraître aux balcons de l’Orient quand les -chevriers se levèrent et vinrent réveiller don Quichotte, en lui -demandant s’il était toujours dans l’intention de se rendre à -l’enterrement de Chrysostome, ajoutant qu’ils lui feraient compagnie. -Notre chevalier, qui ne demandait pas mieux, ordonna à son écuyer de -seller Rossinante, et de tenir son âne prêt. Sancho obéit avec -empressement, et toute la troupe se mit en chemin. - -Ils n’eurent pas fait un quart de lieue, qu’à la croisière d’un sentier -ils rencontrèrent six bergers vêtus de peaux noires, la tête couronnée -de cyprès et de laurier-rose; tous tenaient à la main un bâton de houx. -Après eux venaient deux gentilshommes à cheval, suivis de trois valets à -pied. En s’abordant les deux troupes se saluèrent avec courtoisie, et -voyant qu’ils se dirigeaient vers le même endroit, ils se mirent à -cheminer de compagnie. - -Un des cavaliers, s’adressant à son compagnon, lui dit: Seigneur -Vivaldo, je crois que nous n’aurons pas à regretter le retard que va -nous occasionner cette cérémonie; car elle doit être fort intéressante, -d’après les choses étranges que ces bergers racontent aussi bien du -berger défunt que de la bergère homicide. - -Je le crois comme vous, reprit Vivaldo, et je retarderais mon voyage, -non d’un jour, mais de quatre, pour en être témoin. - -Don Quichotte leur ayant demandé ce qu’ils savaient de Chrysostome et de -Marcelle, l’autre cavalier répondit que, rencontrant les bergers dans un -si lugubre équipage, ils avaient voulu en connaître la cause; et que -l’un d’eux leur avait raconté l’histoire de cette bergère appelée -Marcelle, aussi belle que bizarre, les amours de ses nombreux -prétendants, et la mort de ce Chrysostome à l’enterrement duquel ils se -rendaient. Bref, il répéta à don Quichotte tout ce que Pedro lui avait -appris. - -A cet entretien en succéda bientôt un autre. Celui des cavaliers qui -avait nom Vivaldo demanda à notre chevalier pourquoi, en pleine paix et -dans un pays si tranquille, il voyageait si bien armé. - -La profession que j’exerce et les vœux que j’ai faits, répondit don -Quichotte, ne me permettent pas d’aller autrement: le loisir et la -mollesse sont le partage des courtisans, mais les armes, les fatigues et -les veilles reviennent de droit à ceux que le monde appelle chevaliers -errants, et parmi lesquels j’ai l’honneur d’être compté, quoique indigne -et le moindre de tous. - -En l’entendant parler de la sorte, chacun le tint pour fou; mais afin de -mieux s’en assurer encore, et de savoir quelle était cette folie d’une -espèce si nouvelle, Vivaldo lui demanda ce qu’il entendait par -chevaliers errants. - -Vos Grâces, répondit don Quichotte, connaissent sans doute ces -chroniques d’Angleterre qui parlent si souvent des exploits de cet -Arthur, que nous autres Castillans appelons Artus, et dont une antique -tradition, acceptée de toute la Grande-Bretagne, rapporte qu’il ne -mourut pas, mais fut changé en corbeau par l’art des enchanteurs (ce qui -fait qu’aucun Anglais depuis n’a tué de corbeau); qu’un jour cet Arthur -reprendra sa couronne et son sceptre? Eh bien, c’est au temps de ce bon -roi que fut institué le fameux ordre des chevaliers de la Table ronde, -et qu’eurent lieu les amours de Lancelot du Lac et de la reine Genièvre, -qui avait pour confidente cette respectable duègne Quintagnone. Nous -avons sur ce sujet une romance populaire dans notre Espagne: - - Onc chevalier ne fut sur terre - De dame si bien accueilli, - Que Lancelot s’en vit servi - Quand il revenait d’Angleterre. - -Depuis lors, cet ordre de chevalerie s’est étendu et développé par toute -la terre, et l’on a vu s’y rendre célèbres par leurs hauts faits Amadis -de Gaule et ses descendants jusqu’à la cinquième génération, le vaillant -Félix-Mars d’Hircanie, ce fameux Tirant le Blanc, et enfin l’invincible -don Bélianis de Grèce, qui s’est fait connaître presque de nos jours. -Voilà, seigneurs, ce qu’on appelle les chevaliers errants et la -chevalerie errante; ordre dans lequel, quoique pécheur, j’ai fait -profession, comme je vous l’ai dit, et dont je m’efforce de pratiquer -les devoirs à l’exemple de mes illustres modèles des temps passés. Cela -doit vous expliquer pourquoi je parcours ces déserts, cherchant les -aventures avec la ferme résolution d’affronter même la plus périlleuse, -dès qu’il s’agira de secourir l’innocence et le malheur. - -Ce discours acheva de convaincre les voyageurs de la folie de notre -héros, et de la nature de son égarement. Vivaldo, dont l’humeur était -enjouée, désirant égayer le reste du chemin, voulut lui fournir -l’occasion de poursuivre ses extravagants propos. Seigneur chevalier, -lui dit-il, Votre Grâce me paraît avoir fait profession dans un des -ordres les plus rigoureux qu’il y ait en ce monde; je crois même que la -règle des chartreux n’est pas aussi austère. - -Aussi austère, cela est possible, répondit don Quichotte, mais aussi -utile à l’humanité, c’est ce que je suis à deux doigts de mettre en -doute; car, pour dire mon sentiment, ces pieux solitaires dont vous -parlez, semblables à des soldats qui exécutent les ordres de leur -capitaine, n’ont rien autre chose à faire qu’à prier Dieu -tranquillement, lui demandant les biens de la terre. Nous, au contraire, -à la fois soldats et chevaliers, pendant qu’ils prient, nous agissons, -et ce bien qu’ils se contentent d’appeler de leurs vœux, nous -l’accomplissons par la valeur de nos bras et le tranchant de nos épées, -non point à l’abri des injures du temps, mais à ciel ouvert et en butte -aux dévorants rayons du soleil d’été ou aux glaces hérissées de l’hiver. -Nous sommes donc les ministres de Dieu sur la terre, les instruments de -sa volonté et de sa justice. Or, les choses de la guerre et toutes -celles qui en dépendent ne pouvant s’exécuter qu’à force de travail, de -sueur et de sang, quiconque suit la carrière des armes accomplit, sans -contredit, une œuvre plus grande et plus laborieuse que celui qui, -exempt de tout souci et de tout danger, se borne à prier Dieu pour les -faibles et les malheureux. Je ne prétends pas dire que l’état de -chevalier errant soit aussi saint que celui de moine cloîtré; je veux -seulement inférer des fatigues et des privations que j’endure, que ma -profession est plus pénible, plus remplie de misères, enfin, qu’on y est -plus exposé à la faim, à la soif, à la nudité, à la vermine. Nos -illustres modèles des siècles passés ont enduré toutes ces souffrances, -et si parmi eux quelques-uns se sont élevés jusqu’au trône, certes il -leur en a coûté assez de sueur et de sang. Encore, pour y arriver, -ont-ils eu souvent besoin d’être protégés par des enchanteurs, sans quoi -ils auraient été frustrés de leurs travaux et déçus dans leurs -espérances. - -D’accord, répliqua le voyageur; mais une chose qui, parmi beaucoup -d’autres m’a toujours choqué chez les chevaliers errants, c’est qu’au -moment d’affronter une périlleuse entreprise, on ne les voit point -avoir recours à Dieu, ainsi que tout bon chrétien doit le faire en -pareil cas, mais seulement s’adresser à leur maîtresse comme à leur -unique divinité: selon moi, cela sent quelque peu le païen. - -Seigneur, répondit don Quichotte, il n’y a pas moyen de s’en dispenser, -et le chevalier qui agirait autrement se mettrait dans son tort. C’est -un usage consacré, que tout chevalier errant, sur le point d’accomplir -quelque grand fait d’armes, tourne amoureusement les yeux vers sa dame, -pour la prier de lui être en aide dans le péril où il va se jeter; et -alors même qu’elle ne peut l’entendre, il est tenu de murmurer entre ses -dents quelques mots par lesquels il se recommande à elle de tout son -cœur: de cela nous avons nombre d’exemples dans les histoires. Mais il -ne faut pas en conclure que les chevaliers s’abstiennent de penser à -Dieu; il y a temps pour tout, et ils peuvent s’en acquitter pendant le -combat. - -Il me reste encore un doute, répliqua Vivaldo, souvent on a vu deux -chevaliers errants, discourant ensemble, en venir tout à coup à -s’échauffer à tel point que, tournant leurs chevaux pour prendre du -champ, ils revenaient ensuite à bride abattue l’un sur l’autre, ayant à -peine eu le temps de penser à leurs dames. Au milieu de la course, l’un -était renversé de cheval, percé de part en part, tandis que l’autre eût -roulé dans la poussière s’il ne se fût retenu à la crinière de son -coursier. Or, j’ai peine à comprendre comment, dans une affaire si tôt -expédiée le mort trouvait le temps de penser à Dieu. N’eût-il pas mieux -valu que ce chevalier lui eût adressé les prières qu’il adressait à sa -dame? Il eût satisfait ainsi à son devoir de chrétien, et ne fût mort -redevable qu’envers sa maîtresse: inconvénient peu grave, à mon avis, -car je doute que tous les chevaliers errants aient eu des dames à qui se -recommander; sans compter qu’il pouvait s’en trouver qui ne fussent -point amoureux. - -Cela est impossible, repartit vivement don Quichotte: être amoureux leur -est aussi naturel qu’au ciel d’avoir des étoiles. C’est proprement -l’essence du chevalier; c’est là ce qui le constitue. Trouvez-moi une -seule histoire qui dise le contraire. Au reste, si par hasard il s’était -trouvé un chevalier errant sans dame, on ne l’eût pas tenu pour -légitime, mais pour bâtard, et l’on aurait dit de lui qu’il était entré -dans la forteresse de l’ordre non par la grande porte, mais par-dessus -les murs, comme un brigand et un voleur. - -Je crois me rappeler, dit Vivaldo, que don Galaor, frère du valeureux -Amadis, n’eut jamais de dame attitrée qu’il pût invoquer dans les -combats; cependant il n’en fut pas moins regardé comme un très-fameux -chevalier. - -Une hirondelle ne fait pas le printemps, repartit don Quichotte; -d’ailleurs je sais de bonne part que ce chevalier aimait en secret. S’il -en contait à toutes celles qu’il trouvait à son gré, c’était par une -faiblesse dont il n’avait pu se rendre maître, mais toujours sans -préjudice de la dame qu’on sait pertinemment avoir été la reine de ses -pensées, et à laquelle il se recommandait souvent, et en secret, car il -se piquait d’une parfaite discrétion. - -Puisqu’il est de l’essence de tout chevalier errant d’être amoureux, -reprit Vivaldo, Votre Grâce n’aura sans doute pas dérogé à la règle de -sa noble profession; et à moins qu’elle ne se pique d’autant de -discrétion que don Galaor, je la supplie de nous apprendre le nom et la -qualité de sa dame, et de nous en faire le portrait. Elle sera flattée, -j’en suis certain, que l’univers entier sache qu’elle est aimée et -servie par un chevalier tel que vous. - -J’ignore, répondit don Quichotte en poussant un grand soupir, si cette -douce ennemie trouvera bon qu’on sache que je suis son esclave; -cependant, pour satisfaire à ce que vous me demandez avec tant -d’instance, je puis dire qu’elle se nomme Dulcinée; que sa patrie est un -village de la Manche appelé le Toboso, et qu’elle est au moins -princesse, étant dame souveraine de mes pensées. Ses charmes sont -surhumains, et tout ce que les poëtes ont imaginé de chimérique et -d’impossible pour vanter leurs maîtresses se trouve vrai chez elle au -pied de la lettre. Ses cheveux sont des tresses d’or, ses sourcils des -arcs-en-ciel, ses yeux deux soleils, ses joues des roses, ses lèvres du -corail, ses dents des perles, son cou de l’albâtre, son sein du marbre, -et ses mains de l’ivoire: par ce qu’on voit, on devine aisément que ce -que la pudeur cache aux regards doit être sans prix et n’admet pas de -comparaison. - -Pourrions-nous savoir quelle est sa famille, sa race et sa généalogie? -demanda Vivaldo. - -Elle ne descend pas des Curtius, des Caïus ou des Scipions de l’ancienne -Rome, des Colonna ou des Orsini de la Rome moderne, continua don -Quichotte; elle n’appartient ni aux Moncades, ni aux Requesans de -Catalogne; elle ne compte point parmi ses ancêtres les Palafox, les -Luna, les Urreas d’Aragon; les Cerdas, les Manriques, les Mandoces ou -les Gusmans de Castille; les Alencastres ou les Menezes de Portugal; -elle est tout simplement de la famille des Toboso de la Manche; race -nouvelle, il est vrai, mais destinée, je n’en fais aucun doute, à -devenir la souche des plus illustres familles des siècles à venir. Et à -cela je ne souffrirai point de réplique, si ce n’est aux conditions que -Zerbin écrivit au-dessous des armes de Roland: - - Que nul de les toucher ne soit si téméraire, - S’il ne veut de Roland affronter la colère. - -Pour moi, dit Vivaldo, bien que ma famille appartienne aux Cachopins[34] -de Laredo, je suis loin de vouloir la comparer à celle des Toboso de la -Manche, quoique à vrai dire ce soit la première fois que j’en entends -parler. - - [34] On donnait alors le nom de _Cachopin_ à l’Espagnol qui émigrait - aux grandes Indes, par pauvreté ou vagabondage. - -J’en suis extrêmement surpris, repartit don Quichotte. - -Les voyageurs écoutaient attentivement cette conversation, si bien que, -jusqu’aux chevriers, tous demeurèrent convaincus que notre chevalier -avait des chambres vides dans la cervelle. Le seul Sancho acceptait -comme oracle ce que disait son maître, par ce qu’il connaissait sa -sincérité et qu’il ne l’avait pas perdu de vue depuis l’enfance; il lui -restait pourtant quelque doute sur cette Dulcinée, car, bien qu’il fût -voisin du Toboso, jamais il n’avait entendu prononcer le nom de cette -princesse. - -Comme ils allaient ainsi discourant, ils aperçurent dans un chemin creux -entre deux montagnes, une vingtaine de bergers vêtus de pelisses noires, -et couronnés de guirlandes, qu’on reconnut être, les unes d’if, les -autres de cyprès; six d’entre eux portaient un brancard couvert de -rameaux et de fleurs. Dès qu’ils parurent: Voici, dit un des chevriers, -ceux qui portent le corps de Chrysostome, et c’est au pied de cette -montagne qu’il a voulu qu’on l’enterrât. - -A ces mots on hâta le pas, et la troupe arriva au moment où les porteurs -ayant déposé le brancard, quatre d’entre eux commençaient à creuser une -fosse au pied d’une roche. On s’aborda de part et d’autre avec -courtoisie; puis les saluts échangés, don Quichotte et ceux qui -l’accompagnaient se mirent à considérer le brancard sur lequel était un -cadavre revêtu d’un habit de berger et tout couvert de fleurs. Il -paraissait avoir trente ans. Malgré sa pâleur, on jugeait aisément qu’il -avait été beau et de bonne mine. Autour de lui sur le brancard étaient -placés quelques livres et divers manuscrits, les uns pliés, les autres -ouverts. - -Tous les assistants gardaient un profond silence, qu’un de ceux qui -avaient apporté le corps rompit en ces termes: Toi qui veux qu’on -exécute de point en point les volontés de Chrysostome, dis-nous, -Ambrosio, si c’est bien là l’endroit qu’il a désigné. - -Oui, c’est bien là, répondit Ambrosio, et mon malheureux ami m’y a cent -fois conté sa déplorable histoire. C’est là qu’il vit pour la première -fois cette farouche ennemie du genre humain; c’est là qu’il lui fit la -première déclaration d’un amour aussi délicat que passionné; c’est là -que l’impitoyable Marcelle acheva de le désespérer par son indifférence -et par ses dédains, et qu’elle l’obligea de terminer tragiquement ses -jours; c’est là enfin qu’en mémoire de tant d’infortunes, il a voulu -qu’on le déposât dans le sein d’un éternel oubli. - -S’adressant ensuite à don Quichotte et aux voyageurs, il continua ainsi: -Seigneurs, ce corps que vous regardez avec tant de pitié renfermait, il -y a peu de jours encore, une âme ornée des dons les plus précieux; ce -corps est celui de Chrysostome qui eut un esprit incomparable, une -loyauté sans pareille, une tendresse à toute épreuve. Il fut libéral -sans vanité, modeste sans affectation, aimable et enjoué sans -trivialité; en un mot, il fut le premier entre les bons et sans égal -parmi les infortunés. Il aima, et fut dédaigné; il adora, et fut haï; il -tenta, mais inutilement, d’adoucir un tyran farouche; il gémit, il -pleura devant un marbre sourd et insensible; ses cris se perdirent dans -les airs, le vent emporta ses soupirs, se joua de ses plaintes; et pour -avoir trop aimé une ingrate, il devint au printemps de ses jours la -proie de la mort, victime des cruautés d’une bergère qu’il voulait, par -ses vers, faire vivre éternellement dans la mémoire des hommes. Ces -papiers prouveraient au besoin ce que j’avance, s’il ne m’avait ordonné -de les livrer aux flammes en même temps que je rendrais son corps à la -terre. - -Vous seriez plus cruel encore que lui en agissant ainsi, dit Vivaldo; il -n’est ni juste ni raisonnable d’observer si religieusement ce qui est -contraire à la raison. Le monde entier aurait désapprouvé Auguste -laissant exécuter les suprêmes volontés du divin chantre de Mantoue. -Rendez donc à votre ami, seigneur Ambrosio, ce dernier service, de -sauver ses ouvrages de l’oubli, et n’accomplissez pas trop absolument ce -que son désespoir a ordonné. Conservez ces papiers, témoignages d’une -cruelle indifférence, afin que dans les temps à venir ils servent -d’avertissement à ceux qui s’exposent à tomber dans de semblables -abîmes. Nous tous, ici présents, qui connaissons l’histoire de votre ami -et la cause de son trépas, nous savons votre affection pour lui, ce -qu’il a exigé de vous en mourant, et par ce récit lamentable nous avons -compris la cruauté de Marcelle et l’amour du berger, et quelle triste -fin se préparent ceux qui ne craignent pas de se livrer aveuglément aux -entraînements de l’amour. Hier, en apprenant sa mort, et votre dessein -de l’enterrer en ce lieu, la compassion, plus que la curiosité, nous a -détournés de notre chemin, afin d’être témoins des devoirs qu’on lui -rend, et de montrer que les cœurs honnêtes s’intéressent toujours aux -malheurs d’autrui. Ainsi, nous vous prions, sage Ambrosio, ou du moins, -pour ma part, je vous supplie de renoncer à livrer ces manuscrits aux -flammes, et de me permettre d’en emporter quelques-uns. - -Sans attendre la réponse, Vivaldo étendit la main, et prit les feuilles -qui se trouvaient à sa portée. - -Que ceux-là vous restent, j’y consens, répondit Ambrosio; mais pour les -autres, laissez-moi, je vous prie, accomplir la dernière volonté de mon -ami. - -Vivaldo, impatient de savoir ce que contenaient ces papiers, en ouvrit -un qui avait pour titre: _Chant de désespoir_. - -Ce sont, dit Ambrosio, les derniers vers qu’écrivit l’infortuné; et afin -qu’on sache en quel état l’avaient réduit ses souffrances, lisez, -seigneur, de manière à être entendu; vous en aurez le temps avant qu’on -ait achevé de creuser son tombeau. - -Volontiers, dit Vivaldo. L’assemblée s’étant rangée en cercle autour de -lui, il lut ce qui suit d’une voix haute et sonore. - -CHAPITRE XIV - -OU SONT RAPPORTÉS LES VERS DÉSESPÉRÉS DU BERGER DÉFUNT ET AUTRES CHOSES -NON ATTENDUES - - CHANT DE CHRYSOSTOME - - Cruelle! faut-il donc que ma langue publie - Ce que m’a fait souffrir ton injuste rigueur! - Pour peindre mes tourments, je veux d’une furie - Emprunter aujourd’hui la rage et la fureur. - - Eh bien, oui, je le veux; la douleur qui me presse - M’anime d’elle-même à faire cet effort: - Ce poison trop gardé me dévore sans cesse, - Je souffre mille morts pour une seule mort. - - Sortez de vos forêts, monstres les plus sauvages, - Venez mêler vos cris à mes gémissements; - Ours, tigres, prêtez-moi vos effrayants langages; - Fiers lions, j’ai besoin de vos rugissements. - - Ne me refusez pas le bruit de vos orages, - Vents, préparez ici l’excès de vos fureurs: - Tonnerres, tous vos feux; tempêtes, vos ravages; - Mer, toute ta colère; enfer, tous tes malheurs. - - O toi, sombre tyran de l’amoureux empire, - Ressentiment jaloux, viens armer ma fureur; - Mais que ton souvenir m’accable et me déchire, - Et, pour finir mes maux, augmente ma douleur! - - Mourons enfin, mourons; il n’est plus de remède. - Qui vécut malheureux, doit l’être dans la mort. - Destin, je m’abandonne et renonce à ton aide; - Rends le sort qui m’attend égal au dernier sort! - - Venez, il en est temps, sortez des noirs abîmes: - Tantale, à tout jamais de la soif tourmenté; - Sisyphe infortuné, à qui d’horribles crimes - Font souffrir un tourment pour toi seul inventé; - - Fils de Japet, qui sers de pâture incessante - A l’avide vautour, sans pouvoir l’assouvir; - Ixion enchaîné sur une roue ardente, - Noires sœurs, qui filez nos jours pour les finir; - - Amenez avec vous l’implacable Cerbère, - J’invite tout l’enfer à ce funeste jour: - Ses feux, ses hurlements sont la pompe ordinaire - Qui doit suivre au cercueil un martyr de l’amour[35]. - - [35] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Tous les assistants applaudirent aux vers de Chrysostome; Vivaldo seul -trouva que ces soupçons dont ils étaient pleins s’accordaient mal avec -ce qu’il avait entendu raconter de la vertu de Marcelle. Ambrosio, qui -avait connu jusqu’aux plus secrètes pensées de son ami, répliqua -aussitôt: Je dois dire, seigneur, pour faire cesser votre doute, que -lorsque Chrysostome composa ces vers, il s’était éloigné de Marcelle, -afin d’éprouver si l’absence produirait sur lui l’effet ordinaire; et -comme il n’est pas de soupçon qui n’assiége et ne poursuive un amant -loin de ce qu’il aime, l’infortuné souffrait tous les tourments d’une -jalousie imaginaire; mais ses plaintes et ses reproches ne sauraient -porter atteinte à la vertu de Marcelle, vertu telle, qu’à la dureté -près, et sauf une fierté qui va jusqu’à l’orgueil, l’envie elle-même ne -peut lui reprocher aucune faiblesse. - -Vivaldo resta satisfait de la réponse d’Ambrosio; il s’apprêtait à lire -un autre feuillet, mais il fut empêché par une vision merveilleuse, car -on ne saurait donner un autre nom à l’objet qui s’offrit tout à coup à -leurs yeux? C’était Marcelle elle-même, qui, plus belle encore que la -renommée ne la publiait, apparaissait sur le haut de la roche au pied de -laquelle on creusait la sépulture. Ceux qui ne l’avaient jamais vue -restèrent muets d’admiration, et ceux qui la connaissaient déjà -subissaient le même charme que la première fois. A peine Ambrosio -l’eut-il aperçue, qu’il lui cria avec indignation: Que viens-tu chercher -ici, monstre de cruauté, basilic dont les regards lancent le poison? -Viens-tu voir si les blessures de l’infortuné que ta cruauté met au -tombeau se rouvriront en ta présence? Viens-tu insulter à ses malheurs -et te glorifier des funestes résultats de tes dédains? Dis-nous au moins -ce qui t’amène et ce que tu attends de nous; car sachant combien toutes -les pensées de Chrysostome te furent soumises pendant sa vie, je ferai -en sorte, maintenant qu’il n’est plus, que tu trouves la même -obéissance parmi ceux qu’il appelait ses amis. - -Vous me jugez mal, répondit la bergère; je ne viens que pour me -défendre, et prouver combien sont injustes ceux qui m’accusent de leurs -tourments et m’imputent la mort de Chrysostome. Veuillez donc, -seigneurs, et vous aussi, bergers, m’écouter quelques instants; peu de -temps et de paroles suffiront pour me justifier. - -Le ciel, dites-vous, m’a faite si belle qu’on ne saurait me voir sans -m’aimer, et parce que ma vue inspire de l’amour, vous croyez que je dois -en ressentir moi-même! Je reconnais bien, grâce à l’intelligence que -Dieu m’a donnée, que ce qui est beau est aimable; mais parce qu’on aime -ce qui est beau, faut-il en conclure que ce qui est beau soit à son tour -forcé d’aimer; car celui qui aime peut être laid et partant, n’exciter -que l’aversion. Mais quand bien même la beauté serait égale de part et -d’autre, ne faudrait-il pas que la sympathie le fût aussi, puisque -toutes les beautés n’inspirent pas de l’amour, et que telle a souvent -charmé les yeux sans parvenir à soumettre la volonté. En effet, si la -seule beauté charmait tous les cœurs, que verrait-on ici-bas, sinon une -confusion étrange de désirs errants et vagabonds qui changeraient sans -cesse d’objet? Ainsi puisque l’amour, comme je le crois, doit être libre -et sans contrainte, pourquoi vouloir que j’aime quand je n’éprouve aucun -penchant? D’ailleurs, si j’ai de la beauté, n’est-ce pas de la pure -grâce du ciel que je la tiens, sans en rien devoir aux hommes? Et si -elle produit de fâcheux effets, suis-je plus coupable que la vipère ne -l’est du venin que lui a donné la nature? La beauté, chez la femme -honnête et vertueuse, est comme le feu dévorant ou l’épée immobile; -l’une ne blesse, l’autre ne brûle que ceux qui s’en approchent de trop -près. - -Je suis née libre, et c’est pour vivre en liberté que j’ai choisi la -solitude; les bois et les ruisseaux sont les seuls confidents de mes -pensées et de mes charmes. Ceux que ma vue a rendus amoureux, je les ai -désabusés par mes paroles; après cela s’ils nourrissent de vains désirs -et de trompeuses espérances, ne doit-on pas avouer que c’est leur -obstination qui les tue, et non ma cruauté? Vous dites que les -intentions de Chrysostome étaient pures et que j’ai eu tort de le -repousser! Mais dès qu’il me les eut fait connaître, ne lui ai-je pas -déclaré, à cette même place où vous creusez son tombeau, mon dessein de -vivre seule, sans jamais m’engager à personne, et ma résolution de -rendre à la nature tout ce qu’elle m’a donné? Après cet aveu sincère, -s’il a voulu s’embarquer sans espoir, faut-il s’étonner qu’il ait fait -naufrage? Suis-je la cause de son malheur? Que celui-là que j’ai abusé -m’accuse, j’y consens; que ceux que j’ai trahis m’accablent de -reproches: mais a-t-on le droit de m’appeler trompeuse, quand je n’ai -rien promis à qui que ce soit? Jusqu’ici le ciel n’a pas voulu que -j’aimasse; et que j’aime volontairement, il est inutile d’y compter. Que -cette déclaration serve d’avertissement à ceux qui formeraient quelque -dessein sur moi; après cela s’ils ont le sort de Chrysostome, qu’on n’en -accuse ni mon indifférence ni mes dédains. Qui n’aime point ne saurait -donner de jalousie, et un refus loyal et sincère n’a jamais passé pour -de la haine ou du mépris. - -Celui qui m’appelle basilic peut me fuir comme un monstre haïssable; -ceux qui me traitent d’ingrate, de cruelle, peuvent renoncer à suivre -mes pas: je ne me mettrai point en peine de les rappeler. Qu’on cesse -donc de troubler mon repos et de vouloir que je hasarde parmi les hommes -la tranquillité dont je jouis, et que je m’imagine ne pouvoir y trouver -jamais. Je ne veux rien, je n’ai besoin de rien, si ce n’est de la -compagnie des bergères de ces bois, qui, avec le soin de mon troupeau, -m’occupent agréablement. En un mot, mes désirs ne s’étendent pas au delà -de ces montagnes; et si mes pensées vont plus loin, ce n’est que pour -admirer la beauté du ciel et me rappeler que c’est le lieu d’où je suis -venue et où je dois retourner. - -En achevant ces mots, la bergère disparut par le chemin le plus escarpé -de la montagne, laissant tous ceux qui l’écoutaient non moins -émerveillés de sa sagesse et de son esprit que de sa beauté. Plusieurs -de ceux qu’avaient blessés les charmes de ses yeux, loin d’être retenus -par le discours qu’ils venaient d’entendre, firent mine de la suivre; -don Quichotte s’en aperçut, et voyant là une nouvelle occasion d’exercer -sa profession de chevalier protecteur des dames: - -Que personne, s’écria-t-il en portant la main sur la garde de son épée, -ne soit assez hardi pour suivre la belle Marcelle, sous peine d’encourir -mon indignation. Elle a prouvé, par des raisons sans réplique, qu’elle -est tout à fait innocente de la mort de Chrysostome, et elle a fait voir -tout son éloignement pour engager sa liberté. Qu’on la laisse en repos, -et qu’elle soit à l’avenir respectée de toutes les âmes honnêtes, -puisque elle seule peut-être au monde agit avec des intentions si -pures. - -Soit à cause des menaces de don Quichotte, soit parce qu’Ambrosio pria -les bergers d’achever de rendre les derniers devoirs à son ami, personne -ne s’éloigna avant que les écrits de Chrysostome fussent livrés aux -flammes et son corps rendu à la terre, ce qui eut lieu au milieu des -larmes de tous les assistants. On couvrit la fosse d’un éclat de roche, -en attendant une tombe de marbre qu’avait commandée Ambrosio, et qui -devait porter cette épitaphe: - - Ci-gît le corps glacé d’un malheureux amant, - Que tuèrent l’amour, le dédain et la haine; - Une ingrate bergère a fait toute sa peine, - Et payé tous ses soins d’un rigoureux tourment. - - Ici de ses malheurs il vit naître la source, - Il commença d’aimer et de le dire ici; - Il apprit sa disgrâce en cet endroit aussi; - Il a voulu de même y terminer sa course. - - Passant, évite le danger; - Si la bergère vit, même sort te regarde; - On ne peut valoir plus que valait le berger. - Adieu! passant! prends-y bien garde[36]. - - [36] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -La sépulture fut ensuite couverte de branchages et de fleurs, et tous -les bergers s’éloignèrent après avoir témoigné à Ambrosio la part qu’ils -prenaient à son affliction. Vivaldo et son compagnon en firent autant de -leur côté. Don Quichotte prit congé de ses hôtes et des voyageurs. -Vivaldo le sollicita instamment de l’accompagner à Séville, l’assurant -qu’il n’y avait pas au monde de lieu plus fécond en aventures, à tel -point qu’on pouvait dire qu’elles y naissaient sous les pas à chaque -coin de rue; mais notre héros s’excusa en disant que cela lui était -impossible avant d’avoir purgé ces montagnes des brigands dont on les -disait infestées. Le voyant en si bonne résolution, les voyageurs ne -voulurent pas l’en détourner, et poursuivirent leur chemin. - -Dès qu’ils furent partis, don Quichotte se mit en tête de suivre la -bergère Marcelle, et d’aller lui offrir ses services. Mais les choses -arrivèrent tout autrement qu’il ne l’imaginait, comme on le verra dans -la suite de cette histoire. - -LIVRE III--CHAPITRE XV - -OU L’ON RACONTE LA DÉSAGRÉABLE AVENTURE QU’ÉPROUVA DON QUICHOTTE EN -RENCONTRANT DES MULETIERS YANGOIS - -Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli raconte qu’ayant pris congé de ses hôtes et de ceux -qui s’étaient trouvés à l’enterrement de Chrysostome, don Quichotte et -son écuyer s’enfoncèrent dans le bois où ils avaient vu disparaître la -bergère Marcelle; mais après l’y avoir cherchée vainement pendant plus -de deux heures, ils arrivèrent dans un pré tapissé d’une herbe fraîche -et arrosé par un limpide ruisseau, si bien que conviés par la beauté du -lieu, ils se déterminèrent à y passer les heures de la sieste: mettant -donc pied à terre, et laissant Rossinante et l’âne paître en liberté, -maître et valet délièrent le bissac, puis sans cérémonie mangèrent -ensemble ce qui s’y trouva. - -Sancho n’avait pas songé à mettre des entraves à Rossinante, le -connaissant si chaste et si paisible, que toutes les juments des -prairies de Cordoue ne lui auraient pas donné la moindre tentation. Mais -le sort, ou plutôt le diable qui ne dort jamais, voulut que dans ce -vallon se trouvât en même temps une troupe de cavales galiciennes, qui -appartenaient à des muletiers Yangois dont la coutume est de s’arrêter, -pendant la chaleur du jour, dans les lieux où ils rencontrent de l’herbe -et de l’eau fraîche. - -Or, il arriva que Rossinante n’eut pas plus tôt flairé les cavales, qu’à -l’encontre de sa retenue habituelle il lui prit envie d’aller les -trouver. Sans demander permission à son maître, il se dirige de leur -côté au petit trot pour leur faire partager son amoureuse ardeur: mais -les cavales, qui ne demandaient qu’à paître, le reçurent avec les pieds -et les dents, de telle sorte qu’en peu d’instants elles lui rompirent -les sangles de la selle, et le mirent à nu avec force contusions. Pour -surcroît d’infortune, les muletiers, qui de loin avaient aperçu -l’attentat de Rossinante, accoururent avec leurs bâtons ferrés, et lui -en donnèrent tant de coups qu’ils l’eurent bientôt jeté à terre dans un -piteux état. - -Voyant de quelle manière on étrillait Rossinante, don Quichotte et son -écuyer accoururent. A ce que je vois, ami, lui dit notre héros d’une -voix haletante, ces gens-là ne sont pas des chevaliers, mais de la basse -et vile canaille; tu peux donc en toute sûreté de conscience m’aider à -tirer vengeance de l’outrage qu’ils m’ont fait en s’attaquant à mon -cheval. - -Eh! quelle vengeance voulez-vous en tirer, seigneur? répondit Sancho; -ils sont vingt, et nous ne sommes que deux, ou plutôt même un et demi. - -Moi, j’en vaux cent, répliqua don Quichotte; et sans plus de discours, -il met l’épée à la main, et fond sur les muletiers. Sancho en fit -autant, animé par l’exemple de son maître. - -Du premier coup qu’il porta, notre chevalier fendit le pourpoint de cuir -à celui qui se rencontra sous sa main, et lui emporta un morceau de -l’épaule. Il allait continuer, quand les muletiers, honteux de se voir -ainsi malmenés par deux hommes seuls, s’armèrent de leurs pieux, et, -entourant nos aventuriers, se mirent à travailler sur eux avec une -merveilleuse diligence. Comme ils y allaient de bon cœur, l’affaire fut -bientôt expédiée. Dès la seconde décharge que Sancho reçut à la ronde, -il alla mordre la poussière; et rien ne servit à don Quichotte d’avoir -de l’adresse et du courage, il n’en fut pas quitte à meilleur marché: -son mauvais sort voulut même qu’il allât tomber aux pieds de Rossinante, -qui n’avait pu se relever. Exemple frappant de la fureur avec laquelle -officie le bâton dans des mains grossières et courroucées. Voyant la -méchante besogne qu’ils avaient faite, les muletiers rassemblèrent -promptement leurs bêtes, et poursuivirent leur chemin. - -Le premier qui se reconnut après l’orage, ce fut Sancho, lequel, se -traînant auprès de son maître, lui dit d’une voix faible et dolente: -Seigneur! aïe! aïe! seigneur! - -Que me veux-tu, ami Sancho? répondit don Quichotte d’un ton non moins -lamentable. - -N’y aurait-il pas moyen, dit Sancho, d’avaler deux gorgées de ce baume -de Fier-à-Bras, si par hasard Votre Grâce en a sous la main? Peut-être -sera-t-il aussi bon pour le brisement des os que pour d’autres -blessures. - -Hélas! ami, répondit don Quichotte, si j’en avais, que nous -manquerait-il? mais, foi de chevalier errant, je jure qu’avant deux -jours ce baume sera en mon pouvoir, ou j’aurai perdu l’usage de mes -mains. - -Deux jours! repartit Sancho; et dans combien Votre Grâce croit-elle donc -que nous pourrons seulement remuer les pieds? - -La vérité est, reprit le moulu chevalier, que je ne saurais en dire le -nombre, vu l’état où je me sens; mais aussi, Je dois l’avouer, toute la -faute en est à moi, qui vais mettre l’épée à la main contre des gens qui -ne sont pas armés chevaliers. Oui, je n’en fais aucun doute, c’est pour -avoir oublié les lois de la chevalerie que le Dieu des batailles a -permis que je reçusse ce châtiment. C’est pourquoi, ami Sancho, je dois -t’avertir d’une chose qui importe beaucoup à notre intérêt commun: -Quand, à l’avenir, de semblables canailles nous feront quelque insulte, -n’attends pas que je tire l’épée contre eux; dorénavant, je ne m’en -mêlerai en aucune façon; cela te regarde, châtie ces marauds comme tu -l’entendras. Mais si par hasard des chevaliers accourent à leur aide, -oh! alors, je saurai bien les repousser! Tu connais la force de ce bras, -tu en as vu des preuves assez nombreuses. Par ces paroles notre héros -faisait allusion à sa victoire sur le Biscaïen. - -L’avis ne fut pas tellement du goût de Sancho qu’il n’y trouvât quelque -chose à redire. Seigneur, reprit-il, je n’aime point les querelles, et -je sais, Dieu merci, pardonner une injure, car j’ai une femme à nourrir -et des enfants à élever. Votre Grâce peut donc tenir pour certain que -jamais je ne tirerai l’épée ni contre vilain ni contre chevalier, et que -d’ici au jugement dernier je pardonne les offenses qu’on m’a faites ou -qu’on me fera, qu’elles me soient venues, qu’elles me viennent ou -doivent me venir de riche ou de pauvre, de noble ou de roturier. - -Si j’étais assuré, répondit don Quichotte, que l’haleine ne me manquât -point, et que la douleur de mes côtes me laissât parler à mon aise, je -te ferais bientôt comprendre que tu ne sais pas ce que tu dis! Or çà, -réponds-moi, pécheur impénitent! Si le vent de la fortune, qui jusqu’ici -nous a été contraire, vient enfin à tourner en notre faveur, et -qu’enflant les voiles de nos désirs elle nous fasse prendre terre dans -une de ces îles dont je t’ai parlé, que feras-tu, si après l’avoir -conquise je t’en donne le gouvernement? Pourras-tu t’en acquitter -dignement, n’étant pas chevalier, et ne te souciant point de l’être, -n’ayant ni ressentiment pour venger tes injures, ni courage pour -défendre ton État? Ignores-tu que dans tous les pays nouvellement -conquis, les naturels ont l’esprit remuant et ne s’accoutument qu’avec -peine à une domination étrangère; que jamais ils ne sont si bien soumis -à leur nouveau maître, qu’ils n’éprouvent tous les jours la tentation de -recouvrer leur liberté? Crois-tu qu’avec des esprits si mal disposés, tu -n’auras pas besoin d’un bon jugement pour te conduire, de résolution -pour attaquer et de courage pour te défendre, en mille occasions qui -peuvent se présenter? - -Il m’eût été bon, repartit Sancho, d’avoir ce jugement et ce courage que -vous dites, dans l’aventure qui vient de nous arriver; mais pour -l’heure, je l’avoue, j’ai plus besoin d’emplâtres que de sermons. -Voyons, essayez un peu de vous lever pour m’aider à mettre Rossinante -sur ses jambes, quoiqu’il ne le mérite guère; car c’est lui qui a causé -tout le mal. Vraiment, je ne me serais pas attendu à cela; je le -croyais chaste et paisible, et j’aurais répondu de lui comme de moi. On -a bien raison de dire qu’il faut du temps avant de connaître les gens et -que rien n’est assuré dans cette vie. Hélas! qui aurait pu supposer, -après avoir vu Votre Grâce faire tant de merveilles contre ce malheureux -chevalier errant de l’autre jour, qu’une telle avalanche de coups de -bâton fondrait sitôt sur nos épaules. - -Encore les tiennes doivent être faites à de semblables orages, dit don -Quichotte; mais les miennes, accoutumées à reposer dans la fine toile de -Hollande, elles s’en ressentiront longtemps. Si je ne pensais, que -dis-je? s’il n’était même certain que tous ces désagréments sont -inséparables de la profession des armes, je me laisserais mourir ici de -honte et de dépit. - -Puisque de pareilles disgrâces sont les revenus de la chevalerie, -répliqua Sancho, dites-moi, je vous prie, seigneur, arrivent-elles tout -le long de l’année, ou, seulement à époque fixe, comme les moissons? car -après deux récoltes comme celle-ci, je ne pense pas que nous soyons en -état d’en faire une troisième, à moins que le bon Dieu ne vienne à notre -aide. - -Apprends, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que pour être exposés à mille -accidents fâcheux, les chevaliers errants n’en sont pas moins chaque -jour et à toute heure en passe de devenir rois ou empereurs; et sans la -douleur que je ressens, je te raconterais l’histoire de plusieurs -d’entre eux qui, par la valeur de leurs bras, se sont élevés jusqu’au -trône, quoiqu’ils n’aient pas été pour cela à l’abri des revers, car -plusieurs sont tombés ensuite dans d’étranges disgrâces. Ainsi le grand -Amadis de Gaule sévit un jour au pouvoir de l’enchanteur Archalaüs, son -plus mortel ennemi, et l’on tient pour avéré que ce perfide nécromant, -après l’avoir attaché à une colonne dans la cour de son château, lui -donna de sa propre main deux cents coups d’étrivières avec les rênes de -son cheval. Nous savons, par un auteur peu connu mais très-digne de foi, -que le chevalier Phébus, ayant été pris traîtreusement dans une trappe -qui s’enfonça sous ses pieds, fut jeté garrotté au fond d’un cachot, et -que là on lui administra un de ces lavements composés d’eau de neige et -de sable, qui le mit à deux doigts de la mort; et sans un grand -enchanteur de ses amis qui vint le secourir dans ce pressant péril, c’en -était fait du pauvre chevalier! Nous pouvons donc, ami Sancho, passer -par les mêmes épreuves que ces nobles personnages, car ils endurèrent -des affronts encore plus grands que ceux qui viennent de nous arriver. -Tu sauras d’ailleurs que toute blessure, faite avec le premier -instrument que le hasard met sous la main, n’a rien de déshonorant; et -cela est écrit en termes exprès dans la loi sur le duel: «Si le -cordonnier en frappe un autre avec la forme qu’il tient à la main, elle -a beau être de bois, on ne dira pas pour cela que le bâtonné a reçu des -coups de bâton.» Ce que j’en dis, c’est afin que tu ne croies pas que, -pour avoir été roués de coups dans cette rencontre, nous ayons essuyé -aucun outrage; car, à bien prendre, les armes dont se servaient ces -hommes n’étaient pas tant des bâtons que des pieux, sans lesquels ils ne -vont jamais, et pas un d’entre eux n’avait, ce me semble, dague, épée ou -poignard. - -Ils ne m’ont point donné le temps d’y regarder de si près, reprit -Sancho; à peine eus-je mis au vent ma _tisonne_[37], qu’avec leurs -gourdins ils me chatouillèrent si bien les épaules, que les yeux et les -jambes me manquant à la fois, je tombai tout de mon long à l’endroit où -je suis encore. Et pour dire la vérité ce qui me fâche ce n’est pas la -pensée que ces coups de pieux soient un affront, mais bien la douleur -qu’ils me causent et que je ne saurais ôter de ma mémoire, non plus que -de dessus mes épaules. - - [37] _Tizona_: c’était le nom de l’épée du Cid. - -Il n’est point de ressentiment que le temps n’efface, ni de douleur que -la mort ne guérisse, dit don Quichotte. - -Grand merci, répliqua Sancho; et qu’y a-t-il de pis qu’un mal auquel le -temps seul peut remédier et dont on ne guérit que par la mort? Passe -encore si notre mésaventure était de celles qu’on soulage avec une ou -deux couples d’emplâtres; mais à peine si tout l’onguent d’un hôpital -suffirait pour nous remettre sur nos pieds. - -Laisse là ces vains discours, dit don Quichotte, et fais face à la -mauvaise fortune. Voyons un peu comment se porte Rossinante, car le -pauvre animal a eu, je crois, sa bonne part de l’orage. - -Et pourquoi en serait-il exempt? reprit Sancho, est-il moins chevalier -errant que les autres? Ce qui m’étonne, c’est de voir que mon âne en -soit sorti sans qu’il lui en coûte seulement un poil, tandis qu’à nous -trois il ne nous reste pas une côte entière. - -Dans les plus grandes disgrâces, la fortune laisse toujours une porte -ouverte pour en sortir, dit don Quichotte; et à défaut de Rossinante, -ton grison servira pour me tirer d’ici et me porter dans quelque château -où je puisse me faire panser de mes blessures. Je n’ai point, je te -l’avoue, de répugnance pour une telle monture, car je me souviens -d’avoir lu que le père nourricier du dieu Bacchus, le vieux Silène, -chevauchait fort doucement sur un bel âne, quand il fit son entrée dans -la ville aux cent portes. - -Cela serait bon, répondit Sancho, si vous pouviez vous tenir comme lui; -mais il y a une grande différence entre un homme à cheval et un homme -couché en travers comme un sac de farine, car je ne pense pas qu’il soit -possible à Votre Grâce d’aller autrement. - -Je t’ai déjà dit que les blessures qui résultent des combats n’ont rien -de déshonorant, reprit don Quichotte. Au reste, en voilà assez sur ce -sujet; essaye seulement de te lever et place-moi comme tu pourras sur -ton âne, puis tirons-nous d’ici avant que la nuit vienne nous -surprendre. - -Il me semble avoir entendu souvent dire à Votre Grâce, répliqua Sancho, -que la coutume des chevaliers errants est de dormir à la belle étoile, -et que passer la nuit au milieu des champs est pour eux une agréable -aventure. - -Ils en usent ainsi quand ils ne peuvent faire autrement, repartit don -Quichotte, ou bien quand ils sont amoureux; et cela est si vrai, qu’on a -vu tel chevalier passer deux ans entiers sur une roche, exposé à toutes -les intempéries des saisons, sans que sa maîtresse en eût la moindre -connaissance. Amadis fut de ce nombre, quand il prit le nom de -Beau-Ténébreux, et se retira sur la Roche-Pauvre, où il passa huit ans -ou huit mois, je ne me le rappelle pas au juste, le compte m’en est -échappé. Quoi qu’il en soit, il est constant qu’il y demeura fort -longtemps faisant pénitence pour je ne sais plus quel dédain de son -Oriane. Mais laissons cela et dépêchons, de peur qu’une nouvelle -disgrâce n’arrive à Rossinante. - -Il faudrait avoir bien mauvaise chance, répliqua Sancho; puis, poussant -trente hélas! soixante soupirs entremêlés de ouf! et de aïe! et -proférant plus de cent malédictions contre ceux qui l’avaient amené là, -il fit tant qu’à la fin il se mit sur ses pieds, demeurant toutefois à -moitié chemin, courbé comme un arc, sans pouvoir achever de se -redresser. Dans cette étrange posture, il lui fallut rattraper le grison -qui profitant des libertés de cette journée, s’était écarté au loin, et -se donnait à cœur joie du bien d’autrui. Son âne sellé, Sancho releva -Rossinante, lequel, s’il avait eu une langue pour se plaindre, aurait -tenu tête au maître et au valet. Enfin, après bien des efforts, Sancho -parvint à placer don Quichotte en travers sur le bât; puis ayant attaché -Rossinante à la queue de sa bête, il la prit par le licou et se dirigea -du côté qu’il crut être le grand chemin. - -Au bout d’une heure de marche, la fortune, de plus en plus favorable, -leur fit découvrir une hôtellerie, que don Quichotte ne manqua pas de -prendre pour un château. L’écuyer soutenait que c’était une hôtellerie, -mais le maître s’obstinait à dire que c’était un château; et la querelle -durait encore quand ils arrivèrent devant la porte, que Sancho franchit -avec la caravane, sans plus d’informations. - -CHAPITRE XVI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A NOTRE CHEVALIER DANS L’HOTELLERIE QU’IL PRENAIT POUR -UN CHATEAU - -En voyant cet homme placé en travers sur un âne, l’hôtelier demanda quel -mal il ressentait; Sancho répondit que ce n’était rien, mais qu’ayant -roulé du haut d’une roche, il avait les côtes tant soit peu meurtries. -Au rebours des gens de sa profession, la femme de cet hôtelier était -charitable et s’apitoyait volontiers sur les maux du prochain; aussi -s’empressa-t-elle d’accourir pour panser notre héros, secondée dans cet -office par sa fille, jeune personne avenante et de fort bonne mine. - -Dans la même hôtellerie il y avait une servante asturienne, à la face -large, au chignon plat, au nez camus, laquelle de plus était borgne et -n’avait pas l’autre œil en très-bon état. Il est vrai de dire que chez -elle l’élégance de la taille suppléait à ce manque d’agrément, car la -pauvre fille n’avait pas sept palmes des pieds à la tête, et ses épaules -surchargeaient si fort le reste de son corps qu’elle avait bien de la -peine à regarder en l’air. Cette gentille créature accourut aider la -fille de la maison et toutes deux dressèrent à don Quichotte un méchant -lit dans un galetas qui, selon les apparences, n’avait servi depuis -longues années que de grenier à paille. - -Dans ce même réduit couchait un muletier, lequel s’était fait un lit -avec les bâts et les couvertures de ses mulets; mais tel qu’il était, ce -lit valait cent fois celui de notre héros, dont la couche se composait -de planches mal rabotées et placées sur quatre pieds inégaux, d’un -matelas fort mince, hérissé de bourrelets si durs qu’on les eût pris -pour des cailloux, enfin de deux draps plutôt de cuir que de laine. Ce -fut sur ce grabat que l’on étendit don Quichotte, et aussitôt l’hôtesse -et sa fille vinrent l’oindre d’onguent des pieds à la tête, à la lueur -d’une lampe que tenait la gentille Maritorne: c’est ainsi que s’appelait -l’Asturienne. - -En le voyant meurtri en tant d’endroits, l’hôtesse ne put s’empêcher de -dire que cela ressemblait beaucoup plus à des coups qu’à une chute. - -Ce ne sont pourtant pas des coups, dit Sancho; mais la maudite roche -avait tant de pointes, que chacune a fait sa meurtrissure. Que Votre -Grâce veuille bien garder quelques étoupes, ajouta-t-il; je sais qui -vous en saura gré, car les reins me cuisent quelque peu. - -Êtes-vous donc aussi tombé? demanda l’hôtesse. - -Non pas, répondit Sancho; mais quand j’ai vu tomber mon maître, j’ai -éprouvé un si grand saisissement par tout le corps, qu’il me semble -avoir reçu mille coups de bâton. - -Cela se comprend, dit la jeune fille; j’ai souvent rêvé que je tombais -du haut d’une tour, sans jamais arriver jusqu’à terre, et quand j’étais -réveillée, je me sentais rompue comme si je fusse tombée tout de bon. - -Justement, reprit Sancho: la seule différence c’est que sans rêver, et -plus éveillé que je ne le suis à cette heure, je ne me trouve pourtant -pas moins meurtri que mon maître. - -Comment s’appelle votre maître? demanda Maritorne. - -Don Quichotte de la Manche, chevalier errant, et l’un des plus valeureux -qu’on ait vu depuis longtemps, répondit Sancho. - -Chevalier errant? s’écria l’Asturienne; qu’est-ce que cela? - -Vous êtes bien neuve dans ce monde! reprit Sancho; apprenez, ma fille, -qu’un chevalier errant est quelque chose qui se voit toujours à la -veille d’être empereur ou roué de coups de bâton; aujourd’hui la plus -malheureuse et la plus affamée des créatures, demain ayant trois ou -quatre royaumes à donner à son écuyer. - -D’où vient donc, repartit l’hôtesse, qu’étant écuyer d’un si grand -seigneur, vous n’avez pas au moins quelque comté? - -Il n’y a pas de temps perdu, répondit Sancho; depuis un mois que nous -cherchons les aventures, nous n’en avons pas encore trouvé de cette -espèce-là; outre que bien souvent en cherchant une chose, on en -rencontre une autre. Mais que mon maître guérisse de sa chute, que je ne -reste pas estropié de la mienne, et je ne troquerais point mes -espérances contre la meilleure seigneurie d’Espagne. - -De son lit, don Quichotte écoutait attentivement cet entretien; à la -fin, se levant du mieux qu’il put sur son séant, il prit courtoisement -la main de l’hôtesse et lui dit: Belle et noble dame, vous pouvez vous -féliciter de l’heureuse circonstance qui vous a fait me recueillir dans -ce château. Si je n’en dis pas davantage, c’est qu’il ne sied jamais de -se louer soi-même; mais mon fidèle écuyer vous apprendra qui je suis. Je -conserverai toute ma vie, croyez-le bien, le souvenir de vos bons -offices, et je ne laisserai échapper aucune occasion de vous en -témoigner ma reconnaissance. Plût au ciel, ajouta-t-il, en regardant -tendrement la fille de l’hôtesse, que l’amour ne m’eût pas assujetti à -ses lois, et fait l’esclave d’une ingrate dont en ce moment même je -murmure le nom, car les yeux de cette belle demoiselle eussent triomphé -de ma liberté! - -A ce discours qu’elles ne comprenaient pas plus que si on leur eût parlé -grec, l’hôtesse, sa fille et Maritorne tombaient des nues; elles se -doutaient bien que c’étaient des galanteries et des offres de service, -mais, peu habituées à ce langage, toutes trois se regardaient avec -étonnement, et prenaient notre héros pour un homme d’une espèce -particulière. Après l’avoir remercié de sa politesse, elles se -retirèrent, et Maritorne alla panser Sancho, qui n’en avait pas moins -besoin que son maître. - -Or, il faut savoir que le muletier et l’Asturienne avaient comploté -cette nuit-là même de prendre leurs ébats ensemble. La compatissante -créature avait donné parole à son galant qu’aussitôt les hôtes retirés -et ses maîtres endormis, elle viendrait se mettre à son entière -disposition, et l’on raconte de cette excellente fille qu’elle ne donna -jamais semblable parole sans la tenir, car elle se piquait d’avoir du -sang d’hidalgo dans les veines, et ne croyait pas avoir dérogé pour être -devenue servante d’auberge. La mauvaise fortune de ses parents, -disait-elle, l’avait réduite à cette extrémité. - -Dans cet étrange appartement dont la toiture laissait voir les étoiles, -le premier lit qu’on rencontrait en entrant c’était le dur, étroit, -chétif et traître lit de don Quichotte. Tout auprès, sur une natte de -jonc, Sancho avait fait le sien avec une couverture qui paraissait -plutôt de crin que de laine. Un peu plus loin se trouvait celui du -muletier, composé, comme je l’ai dit, des bâts et des couvertures de ses -mulets, au nombre de douze, tous fort gras et bien entretenus; car -c’était un des plus riches muletiers d’Arevalo, à ce que raconte -l’auteur de cette histoire, lequel parle dudit muletier comme l’ayant -intimement connu: on ajoute même qu’ils étaient un peu parents. Or, il -faut convenir que cid Hamet Ben-Engeli est un historien bien -consciencieux, puisqu’il rapporte des choses de si minime importance: -exemple à proposer surtout à ces historiens qui dans leurs récits -laissent au fond de leur encrier, par ignorance ou par malice, le plus -substantiel de l’ouvrage. - -Je dis donc que le muletier, après avoir visité ses bêtes et leur avoir -donné la seconde ration d’orge, s’étendit sur ses harnais, attendant -avec impatience la ponctuelle Maritorne. Bien graissé, couvert -d’emplâtres, Sancho s’était couché: mais quoiqu’il fît tous ses efforts -pour dormir, la douleur de ses côtes l’en empêchait; quant à don -Quichotte, tenu éveillé par la même cause, il avait les yeux ouverts -comme un lièvre. - -Un profond silence régnait dans l’hôtellerie, où il ne restait en ce -moment d’autre lumière que celle d’une lampe qui brûlait suspendue sous -la grande porte. Ce silence, joint aux pensées bizarres qu’entretenaient -chez notre héros, les livres de chevalerie, causes de ses continuelles -disgrâces, fit naître dans son esprit l’une des plus étranges folies -dont on puisse concevoir l’idée. Il se persuada être dans un fameux -château (il n’y avait point d’hôtellerie à laquelle il ne fît cet -honneur), et que la fille de l’hôtelier, qui par conséquent était celle -du seigneur châtelain, subjuguée par sa bonne grâce, s’était éprise -d’amour pour lui, et avait résolu de venir, cette nuit même, en cachette -de ses parents, le visiter dans son alcôve. Tourmenté de cette chimère, -il était fort préoccupé du péril imminent auquel sa constance allait se -trouver exposée; mais il se promit au fond du cœur de rester fidèle à -sa chère Dulcinée, lors même que la reine Genièvre, suivie de sa duègne -Quintagnone, viendrait pour le séduire. - -Il se complaisait dans ces rêveries, lorsque arriva l’heure, pour lui -fatale, où devait venir l’Asturienne qui, fidèle à sa parole, en -chemise, pieds nus, et les cheveux ramassés sous une coiffe de serge, -entra à pas de loup, en quête du muletier. A peine eut-elle franchi la -porte que don Quichotte, toujours l’oreille au guet, l’entendit; -aussitôt se mettant sur son séant, malgré ses emplâtres et la douleur -de ses reins, il tendit les bras pour la recevoir. Toute ramassée et -retenant son haleine, l’Asturienne portait les mains en avant, cherchant -à tâtons son bien-aimé; mais en dépit de toutes ses précautions, elle -alla donner dans les bras de don Quichotte qui, la saisissant par le -poignet et la tirant à lui, sans qu’elle osât souffler mot, la fit -asseoir sur son lit. Sa chemise, qui était de la toile à sacs, ne -désabusa point notre chevalier; les bracelets en boules de verre qu’elle -portait lui parurent de précieuses perles d’Orient; ses cheveux, qu’on -eût pris pour du crin, lui semblèrent des tresses d’or fin d’Arabie, -dont l’éclat faisait pâlir celui du soleil; enfin, comparant à un -agréable mélange des parfums les plus exquis cette haleine qui sentait -l’ail mariné de la veille, il se représenta l’Asturienne comme une de -ces nobles damoiselles qu’il avait vues dans ses livres, allant visiter -à la dérobée leurs amants blessés. En un mot, tel était l’aveuglement du -pauvre chevalier que, n’étant détrompé ni par le toucher, ni par -l’haleine, ni par certaines autres particularités qui distinguaient la -pauvre fille, lesquelles auraient fait vomir les entrailles à tout autre -qu’à un muletier, il s’imagina tenir entre ses bras la reine des amours. -Éperdu, et pressant Maritorne au point de l’étouffer, il lui dit à demi -voix: Que n’est-il en mon pouvoir, noble dame, de reconnaître l’insigne -faveur dont m’honore votre merveilleuse beauté! Mais la fortune, qui ne -se lasse jamais de persécuter les gens de bien, m’a jeté dans ce lit si -moulu, si brisé que, ma volonté fût-elle d’accord avec la vôtre, il me -serait impossible de correspondre à votre désir. A cette impuissance -s’en ajoute une plus grande encore, c’est la foi que j’ai jurée à la -sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, l’unique dame de mes plus secrètes -pensées; car si cet obstacle insurmontable ne venait à la traverse, je -ne serais certes point un chevalier assez niais pour laisser s’évanouir -l’occasion fortunée que m’offrent vos bontés. - -Pendant ce beau discours, Maritorne, au supplice de se voir entre les -bras de don Quichotte, faisait sans souffler mot tous ses efforts pour -s’en dégager. De son côté, l’impatient muletier, que ses amoureux désirs -tenaient en éveil, avait entendu entrer sa belle. Prêtant l’oreille, il -la soupçonne d’abord de chercher à le trahir; transporté de jalousie, il -s’approche pour écouter. Mais quand il voit la fidèle Asturienne se -débattre entre les mains de don Quichotte, qui s’efforçait de la -retenir, le jeu lui déplut fort: levant le bras de toute sa hauteur, il -décharge un si terrible coup de poing sur les étroites mâchoires de -l’amoureux chevalier, qu’il lui met la bouche tout en sang. Ben-Engeli -ajoute même qu’il lui sauta sur le corps, et que, d’un pas qui -approchait du galop, il le lui parcourut trois ou quatre fois d’un bout -à l’autre. - -Le lit, qui était de trop faible complexion pour porter cette surcharge, -s’abîme sous le poids; L’hôtelier s’éveille au bruit; aussitôt -pressentant quelque escapade de l’Asturienne, qu’il avait appelée cinq -ou six fois à tue-tête sans obtenir de réponse, il se lève et allume sa -lampe pour aller voir d’où vient ce tapage. En entendant la voix de son -maître, dont elle connaissait l’humeur brutale, Maritorne toute -tremblante court se cacher dans le lit de Sancho, qui dormait, et se -blottit auprès de lui. - -Où est-tu, carogne? s’écrie l’hôtelier en entrant; à coup sûr, ce sont -là de tes tours. - -Sous ce fardeau qui l’étouffait, Sancho s’éveille à demi, croyant avoir -le cauchemar, et se met à distribuer au hasard de grands coups de poing, -qui la plupart tombèrent sur l’Asturienne, laquelle perdant la retenue -avec la patience, ne songe plus qu’à prendre sa revanche, et rend à -Sancho tant de coups qu’elle achève de l’éveiller. Furieux de se sentir -traité de la sorte, sans savoir pourquoi, Sancho se redresse sur son lit -du mieux qu’il peut, et saisissant Maritorne à bras-le-corps, ils -commencent entre eux la plus plaisante escarmouche qu’il soit possible -d’imaginer. - -A la lueur de lampe, le muletier, voyant le péril où se trouvait sa -dame, laisse don Quichotte pour voler à son aide; l’hôtelier y court -aussi, mais dans une intention bien différente, car c’était pour châtier -la servante, qu’il accusait du vacarme; et de même qu’on a coutume de -dire _le chien au chat, le chat au rat_, le muletier tapait sur Sancho, -Sancho sur Maritorne, Maritorne sur Sancho, l’hôtelier sur Maritorne; le -tout si dru et si menu, qu’ils semblaient craindre que le temps ne leur -manquât. Pour compléter l’aventure, la lampe s’éteignit; alors ce ne fut -plus qu’une mêlée confuse, d’où pas un des combattants ne se retira avec -sa chemise entière ni sans quelque partie du corps exempte de -meurtrissures. - -Or, par hasard un archer de l’ancienne confrérie de Tolède logeait cette -nuit dans l’hôtellerie. En entendant tout ce vacarme, il prend sa verge -noire ainsi que la boîte de fer-blanc qui contenait ses titres, et se -dirigeant vers le lieu du combat: Arrêtez! s’écrie-t-il, arrêtez! -respect à la justice, respect à la Sainte-Hermandad. - -Le premier qu’il rencontra sous sa main fut le moulu don Quichotte, qui -gisait étendu au milieu des débris de son lit, la bouche béante et privé -de sentiment; l’archer l’ayant saisi à tâtons par la barbe, crie de plus -belle: Main-forte à la justice! Mais, s’apercevant que celui qu’il -tenait ne donnait aucun signe de vie, il ne douta point qu’il ne fût -mort, et que ceux qui étaient là ne fussent ses meurtriers; ce qui le -fit crier encore plus fort: Qu’on ferme la porte, afin que personne ne -s’échappe! on vient de tuer un homme ici. - -Ce cri dispersa les combattants, et chacun alors laissa la bataille où -elle en était. L’hôtelier se retira dans sa chambre, le muletier sur ses -harnais, et Maritorne dans son taudis. Pour don Quichotte et Sancho, qui -ne pouvaient se remuer, ils restèrent à la même place, et l’archer lâcha -la barbe de notre chevalier, pour aller chercher de la lumière et -revenir s’assurer des coupables. Mais en se retirant, l’hôtelier avait -éteint la lampe qui brûlait sous la grande porte, si bien que l’archer -dut avoir recours à la cheminée, où il se trouvait si peu de feu, qu’il -souffla plus d’une heure avant de parvenir à le rallumer. - -CHAPITRE XVII - -OU SE CONTINUENT LES TRAVAUX INNOMBRABLES DU VAILLANT DON QUICHOTTE ET -DE SON ÉCUYER DANS LA MALHEUREUSE HOTELLERIE, PRISE A TORT POUR UN -CHATEAU - -Avec cet accent plaintif et de cette voix lamentable dont son écuyer -l’avait appelé la veille après leur rencontre avec les muletiers -Yangois, don Quichotte, revenu enfin de son évanouissement, l’appela à -son tour, en lui disant: Ami Sancho, dors-tu? Dors-tu, ami Sancho? - -Hé! comment voulez-vous que je dorme, répondit Sancho, outré de fureur -et de dépit, quand tous les démons de l’enfer ont été cette nuit -déchaînés après moi? - -Est-il possible? s’écria don Quichotte. Par ma foi, je n’y comprends -rien, ou ce château est enchanté. Écoute bien ce que je vais te dire... -mais avant tout jure-moi de ne révéler ce secret qu’après ma mort. - -Je le jure, répondit Sancho. - -J’exige ce serment, reprit don Quichotte, parce que je ne voudrais pour -rien au monde nuire à l’honneur de personne. - -Je vous dis que je jure de n’en ouvrir la bouche qu’après la fin de vos -jours, répliqua Sancho, et Dieu veuille que ce puisse être dès demain! - -Te suis-je donc tant à charge, dit don Quichotte, que tu souhaites me -voir si tôt mort? - -Oh! non, reprit Sancho; mais c’est que je n’aime pas à garder trop -longtemps les secrets, et je craindrais que celui-là ne vînt à me -pourrir dans le corps. - -Que ce soit pour une raison ou pour une autre, continua don Quichotte, -je me confie à ton affection et à ta loyauté. Eh bien! apprends donc -que cette nuit il m’est arrivé une surprenante aventure et dont certes -je pourrais tirer quelque vanité; mais, pour te la raconter brièvement, -tu sauras qu’il y a peu d’instants la fille du seigneur de ce château -est venue me trouver ici même, et que c’est bien la plus accorte et la -plus séduisante damoiselle qu’il soit possible de rencontrer sur une -grande partie de la terre. Je ne te parlerai pas des charmes de sa -personne et des grâces de son esprit, ni de tant d’autres attraits -cachés auxquels je ne veux pas même penser, afin de garder plus sûrement -la foi que j’ai promise à Dulcinée du Toboso; qu’il me suffise de te -dire que le ciel, envieux sans doute du merveilleux bonheur que -m’envoyait la fortune, ou plutôt, ce qui est plus certain, parce que ce -château est enchanté, a permis, au moment où j’étais avec cette dame -dans l’entretien le plus tendre et le plus passionné, qu’une main que je -ne voyais point et qui venait de je ne sais où, mais à coup sûr une main -attachée au bras de quelque énorme géant, m’assénât un si grand coup sur -les mâchoires, qu’il m’a mis tout en sang; après quoi, profitant de ma -faiblesse, le géant m’a moulu à ce point que je suis encore pis que je -n’étais hier quand les muletiers s’en prirent à nous, tu dois t’en -souvenir, de l’incontinence de Rossinante: d’où je conclus que ce trésor -de beauté est confié à la garde de quelque More enchanté, et qu’il n’est -pas réservé pour moi. - -Ni pour moi non plus, s’écria Sancho, car plus de quatre cents Mores -m’ont tanné la peau de telle sorte que les coups de pieux ne firent en -comparaison que me chatouiller. Mais Votre Grâce songe-t-elle bien à -l’état où nous sommes, pour trouver cette aventure si délectable? Vous -qui avez eu l’avantage de tenir entre vos bras cette merveilleuse -beauté, cela peut vous consoler; mais moi, qu’y ai-je gagné, si ce n’est -les plus rudes gourmades que je recevrai en toute ma vie? Malheur à moi -et à la mère qui m’a mis au monde! Je ne suis point chevalier errant, -je n’espère pas le devenir jamais, et dans les mauvaises rencontres -j’attrape toujours la plus grosse part. - -Comment! on t’a gourmé aussi? demanda don Quichotte. - -Malédiction sur toute ma race! répliqua Sancho; qu’est-ce donc que je -viens de vous dire? - -Ne fais pas attention à cela, ami, reprit don Quichotte, je vais -composer tout à l’heure le précieux baume de Fier-à-Bras, qui nous -guérira en un clin d’œil. - -Ils en étaient là quand l’archer, ayant pu enfin rallumer la lampe, -rentra dans la chambre. Sancho, qui le premier l’aperçut, en chemise, un -linge roulé autour de la tête, avec une face d’hérétique, demanda à son -maître si ce n’était point là le More enchanté qui venait s’assurer s’il -leur restait encore quelque côte à briser. - -Ce ne peut être le More, répondit don Quichotte, car les enchantés ne se -laissent voir de personne. - -Par ma foi, s’ils ne se laissent pas voir, ils se font bien sentir, -répliqua Sancho; on peut en demander des nouvelles à mes épaules. - -Crois-tu donc que les miennes ne sachent qu’en dire? ajouta don -Quichotte; cependant l’indice n’est pas suffisant pour conclure que -celui que nous voyons soit le More enchanté. - -L’archer, en s’approchant, resta fort surpris de voir des gens -s’entretenir si paisiblement; et comme notre héros était encore étendu -tout de son long, immobile, la bouche en l’air, il lui dit: Eh bien! -comment vous va, bon homme? - -Je parlerais plus courtoisement si j’étais à votre place, repartit don -Quichotte; est-il d’usage dans ce pays de parler ainsi aux chevaliers -errants, rustre que vous êtes? - -L’archer, qui était peu endurant, ne put souffrir cette apostrophe d’un -homme de si triste mine; il lança de toute sa force la lampe à la tête -du malheureux chevalier, et, ne doutant pas qu’il ne la lui eût -fracassée, il se déroba incontinent, à la faveur des ténèbres. - -Hé bien, dit Sancho, il n’y a plus moyen d’en douter; voilà justement le -More; il garde le trésor de beauté pour les autres, et, pour nous, les -gourmades et les coups de chandelier. - -Cette fois, j’en conviens, cela peut être, reprit don Quichotte; mais, -crois-moi, il n’y a qu’à se moquer de tous ces enchantements, au lieu de -s’en irriter; comme ce sont toutes choses fantastiques et invisibles, -nous chercherions en vain à qui nous en prendre, jamais nous n’en -aurions raison. Lève-toi, si tu peux, et va prier le gouverneur de ce -château de te faire donner un peu d’huile, de vin, de sel et de romarin, -afin que je compose mon baume; car, entre nous soit dit, au sang qui -coule de la blessure que ce fantôme m’a faite, je ne crois pas pouvoir -m’en passer plus longtemps. - -Sancho se leva, non sans pousser quelques gémissements, et s’en fut à -tâtons chercher l’hôtelier. Ayant rencontré l’archer, qui écoutait près -de la porte, un peu en peine des suites de sa brutalité: Seigneur, lui -dit-il, qui que vous soyez, faites-nous, je vous en supplie, la charité -de nous donner un peu de romarin, d’huile, de vin et de sel, car nous en -avons grand besoin pour panser l’un des meilleurs chevaliers errants -qu’il y ait sur toute la terre, lequel gît dans son lit grièvement -blessé par le More enchanté qui habite ce château. - -En l’entendant parler de la sorte, l’archer prit Sancho pour un homme -dont le cerveau n’était pas en bon état; toutefois il appela l’hôtelier -afin de lui dire ce que cet homme demandait; et, comme le jour -commençait à poindre, il ouvrit la porte de l’hôtellerie. - -L’hôtelier donna à Sancho ce qu’il désirait. Celui-ci, ayant porté le -tout à son maître, le trouva la tête dans ses mains, se plaignant du -coup de lampe, lequel heureusement ne lui avait fait d’autre mal que -deux bosses assez grosses; car ce qu’il prenait pour du sang était tout -simplement l’huile, qui lui coulait le long du visage. Don Quichotte -versa dans une marmite ce que Sancho venait de lui apporter, fit -bouillir le tout, et lorsque la composition lui parut à point, il -demanda une bouteille; mais comme il n’y en avait point dans la maison, -il dut se contenter d’une burette de fer-blanc qui servait à mettre -l’huile, et dont l’hôtelier lui fit présent. Ensuite il récita sur la -burette plus de cent _Pater Noster_, autant d’_Ave Maria_, de _Salve_ et -de _Credo_, accompagnant chaque parole d’un signe de croix en manière de -bénédiction. Sancho Panza, l’archer et l’hôtelier assistaient à cette -cérémonie; car le muletier était en train de panser ses bêtes, sans -avoir l’air d’avoir pris la moindre part aux aventures de la nuit. - -Le baume achevé, don Quichotte voulut sur-le-champ en faire l’épreuve, -et sans s’amuser à l’appliquer sur ses blessures, il en avala en forme -de potion la valeur d’une demi-pinte, qui n’avait pu entrer dans la -burette. Mais à peine avait-il achevé de boire, qu’il se mit à vomir -avec une telle abondance que rien ne lui resta dans l’estomac; et ces -efforts prolongés lui ayant causé une forte sueur, il demanda qu’on le -couvrît, puis qu’on le laissât reposer. Il dormit en effet trois grandes -heures, au bout desquelles il se sentit si bien soulagé, qu’il ne douta -plus d’avoir réussi à composer le précieux baume de Fier-à-Bras, et que, -possesseur d’un tel remède, il ne fût en état d’entreprendre les plus -périlleuses aventures. - -Sancho, qui tenait à miracle la guérison de son maître, demanda comme -une grâce la permission de boire ce qui restait dans la marmite; don -Quichotte le lui abandonna. Aussitôt notre écuyer saisissant, de la -meilleure foi du monde, la marmite à deux mains, s’en introduisit dans -le corps une bonne partie, c’est-à-dire presque autant qu’en avait pris -son maître. Il faut croire qu’il avait l’estomac plus délicat; car, -avant que le remède eût produit son effet, le pauvre diable fut pris de -nausées si violentes et de coliques si atroces, qu’il croyait à chaque -instant toucher à sa dernière heure; aussi, dans ses cruelles -souffrances, ne cessait-il de maudire le baume et le traître qui le lui -avait donné. - -Sancho, lui dit gravement son maître, ou je me trompe fort, ou ton mal -provient de ce que tu n’es pas armé chevalier, car je tiens pour certain -que ce baume ne convient qu’à ceux qui le sont. - -Malédiction sur moi et sur toute ma race! répliqua Sancho; si Votre -Grâce savait cela, pourquoi m’y avoir seulement laissé goûter? - -En ce moment, le breuvage opéra, et le pauvre écuyer se remit à vomir -avec si peu de relâche et une telle abondance, que la natte de jonc sur -laquelle il était couché et la couverture de toile à sacs qui le -couvrait furent mises à tout jamais hors de service. Ces vomissements -étaient accompagnés de tant et de si violents efforts, que les -assistants crurent qu’il y laisserait la vie. Enfin, au bout d’une heure -que dura cette bourrasque, au lieu de se sentir soulagé, il se trouva si -faible et si abattu, qu’à peine il pouvait respirer. - -Don Quichotte, qui, comme je l’ai dit, se sentait tout dispos, ne voulut -pas différer plus longtemps à se remettre à la recherche de nouvelles -aventures. Il se croyait responsable de chaque minute de retard; et, -confiant désormais dans la vertu de son baume, il ne respirait que -dangers et comptait pour rien les plus terribles blessures. Dans son -impatience, il alla lui-même seller Rossinante, mit le bât sur l’âne, et -son écuyer sur le bât, après l’avoir aidé à s’habiller; puis, -enfourchant son cheval, il se saisit d’une demi-pique qu’il trouva sous -sa main et qui était d’une force suffisante pour lui servir de lance. -Tous les gens de la maison le regardaient avec étonnement, mais la fille -de l’hôtelier l’observait plus curieusement que les autres, car elle -n’avait jamais rien vu de semblable. Notre chevalier avait aussi les -yeux attachés sur elle, et de temps à autre poussait un grand soupir, -qu’il tirait du fond de ses entrailles, mais dont lui seul savait la -cause, car l’hôtesse et Maritorne, qui l’avaient si bien graissé la -veille au soir, imputaient toutes deux ces soupirs à la douleur que lui -causaient ses blessures. - -Dès que le maître et l’écuyer furent en selle, don Quichotte appela -l’hôtelier, et lui dit d’une voix grave et solennelle: Seigneur -châtelain, grandes et nombreuses sont les courtoisies que j’ai reçues -dans ce château; ne puis-je les reconnaître en tirant pour vous -vengeance de quelque outrage? Vous savez que ma profession est de -secourir les faibles, de punir les félons et de châtier les traîtres. -Consultez vos souvenirs, et si vous avez à vous plaindre de quelqu’un, -parlez: je jure, par l’ordre de chevalerie que j’ai reçu, que vous aurez -bientôt satisfaction. - -Seigneur cavalier, répliqua non moins gravement l’hôtelier, je n’ai pas -besoin, Dieu merci, que vous me vengiez de personne; et lorsqu’on -m’offense, je sais fort bien me venger moi-même. Tout ce que je désire, -c’est que vous me payiez la dépense que vous avez faite, ainsi que la -paille et l’orge que vos bêtes ont mangées. On ne sort pas ainsi de chez -moi. - -Comment! dit don Quichotte, c’est donc ici une hôtellerie? - -Oui sans doute, et des meilleures, répliqua l’hôtelier. - -J’ai été étrangement abusé jusqu’à cette heure, continua notre héros; -car je la prenais pour un château, et même pour un château de grande -importance; mais puisque c’est une hôtellerie, il faut que vous -m’excusiez pour le moment de rester votre débiteur. Aussi bien il m’est -interdit de contrevenir à la règle des chevaliers errants, desquels je -sais de science certaine, sans avoir jusqu’ici lu le contraire, qu’ils -n’ont jamais rien payé dans les hôtelleries. En effet, la raison, -d’accord avec la coutume, veut qu’on les reçoive partout gratuitement, -en compensation des fatigues inouïes qu’ils endurent pour aller à la -recherche des aventures, la nuit, le jour, l’hiver, l’été, à pied et à -cheval, supportant la faim, la soif, le froid et le chaud, exposés enfin -à toutes les incommodités qui peuvent se rencontrer sur la terre. - -Sornettes que tout cela! dit l’hôtelier; payez-moi ce que vous me devez; -je ne donne pas ainsi mon bien. - -Vous êtes un insolent et un mauvais gargotier, répliqua don Quichotte; -en même temps brandissant sa demi-pique, et éperonnant Rossinante, il -sortit de l’hôtellerie avant qu’on pût l’en empêcher, puis gagna du -champ sans regarder si son écuyer le suivait. - -L’hôtelier, voyant qu’il n’y avait rien à espérer de ce côté, vint -réclamer la dépense à Sancho, lequel répondit qu’il ne payerait pas plus -que son maître, parce que, étant écuyer de chevalier errant, il devait -jouir du même privilége. L’hôtelier eut beau se mettre en colère et le -menacer, s’il refusait, de se payer de ses propres mains de façon qu’il -s’en souviendrait longtemps; Sancho jura, par l’ordre de la chevalerie -qu’avait reçu son maître, que, dût-il lui en coûter la vie, il ne -donnerait pas un maravédis, ne voulant pas que les écuyers à venir -pussent reprocher à sa mémoire qu’un si beau privilége se fût perdu par -sa faute. - -La mauvaise étoile de Sancho voulut que, parmi les gens qui étaient là, -se trouvassent quatre drapiers de Ségovie, trois merciers de Cordoue et -deux marchands forains de Séville, tous bons compagnons, malins et -goguenards, lesquels, poussés d’un même esprit, s’approchèrent de notre -écuyer, et le descendirent de son âne, pendant qu’un d’entre eux allait -chercher une couverture. Ils y jetèrent le pauvre Sancho, et voyant que -le dessous de la porte n’était pas assez élevé pour leur dessein, ils -passèrent dans la basse-cour, qui n’avait d’autre toit que le ciel. -Chacun alors prenant un coin de la couverture, ils se mirent à faire -sauter et ressauter Sancho dans les airs, se jouant de lui comme les -étudiants le font d’un chien pendant le carnaval. - -Les cris affreux que jetait le malheureux berné arrivèrent jusqu’aux -oreilles de son maître, qui crut d’abord que le ciel l’appelait à -quelque nouvelle aventure; mais reconnaissant que ces hurlements -venaient de son écuyer, il poussa de toute la vitesse de Rossinante vers -l’hôtellerie, qu’il trouva fermée. Comme il faisait le tour pour en -trouver l’entrée, les murs de la cour, qui n’étaient pas fort élevés, -lui laissèrent voir Sancho montant et descendant à travers les airs avec -tant de grâce et de souplesse, que, sans la colère où il était, notre -chevalier n’aurait pu s’empêcher d’en rire. Mais le jeu ne lui plaisant -pas, il essaya plusieurs fois de grimper sur son cheval afin d’enjamber -la muraille, et il y serait parvenu s’il n’eût été si moulu qu’il ne put -même venir à bout de mettre pied à terre. Il fut donc réduit à dire -force injures aux berneurs, à leur jeter force défis, pendant que ces -impitoyables railleurs continuaient leur besogne et n’en riaient que -plus fort. Enfin le malheureux Sancho, tantôt priant, tantôt menaçant, -n’eut de répit que lorsque les berneurs, après s’être relayés deux ou -trois fois, l’abandonnèrent de lassitude, et, l’enveloppant dans sa -casaque, le remirent charitablement où ils l’avaient pris, c’est-à-dire -sur son âne. - -La compatissante Maritorne, qui n’avait pu voir sans chagrin le cruel -traitement qu’on faisait subir à Sancho, lui apporta un pot d’eau -fraîche, qu’elle venait de tirer du puits; mais comme il le portait à sa -bouche, il fut arrêté par la voix de son maître qui lui cria de l’autre -côté de la muraille: Mon fils Sancho, ne bois point; ne bois point, mon -enfant, ou tu es mort: n’ai-je pas ici le divin baume qui va te remettre -dans un instant? Et en même temps il lui montrait la burette de -fer-blanc. - -Mais Sancho, tournant la tête et le regardant de travers, répondit: -Votre Grâce a-t-elle déjà oublié que je ne suis pas armé chevalier, ou -veut-elle que j’achève de vomir les entrailles qui me restent? De par -tous les diables, gardez votre breuvage, et laissez-moi tranquille. - -Il porta le pot à ses lèvres; mais s’apercevant à la première gorgée que -c’était de l’eau, il pria Maritorne de lui donner un peu de vin, ce que -fit de bon cœur cette excellente fille, qui le paya même de son argent, -car, on l’a déjà vu, elle possédait un grand fond de charité chrétienne. - -Dès qu’il eut achevé de boire, Sancho donna du talon à son âne, et -faisant ouvrir à deux battants la porte de l’hôtellerie, il sortit -enchanté de n’avoir rien payé, si ce n’est toutefois aux dépens de ses -épaules, ses cautions ordinaires. Son bissac, qu’il avait oublié dans -son trouble, était de plus resté pour les gages. Dès qu’il le vit -dehors, l’hôtelier voulut barricader la porte; mais les berneurs l’en -empêchèrent, car ils ne craignaient guère notre chevalier, quand même il -aurait été chevalier de la Table ronde. - -CHAPITRE XVIII - -OU L’ON RACONTE L’ENTRETIEN QUE DON QUICHOTTE ET SANCHO PANZA EURENT -ENSEMBLE, AVEC D’AUTRES AVENTURES DIGNES D’ÊTRE RAPPORTÉES - -Sancho rejoignit son maître; mais il était si las, si épuisé, qu’il -avait à peine la force de talonner son âne. - -En le voyant dans cet état: Pour le coup, mon fils, lui dit don -Quichotte, j’achève de croire que ce château ou hôtellerie, si tu veux, -est enchanté; car, je te le demande, que pouvaient être ceux qui se sont -joués de toi si cruellement, sinon des fantômes et des gens de l’autre -monde? Ce qui me confirme dans cette pensée, c’est que pendant que je -considérais ce triste spectacle par-dessus la muraille de la cour, il -n’a jamais été en mon pouvoir de la franchir, ni même de descendre de -cheval. Aussi je n’en fais aucun doute: ces mécréants me tenaient -enchanté, et certes ils ont bien fait de prendre cette précaution, car -je les aurais châtiés de telle sorte, qu’ils n’auraient de longtemps -perdu le souvenir de leur méchant tour; m’eût-il fallu pour cela -contrevenir aux lois de la chevalerie, lesquelles, comme je te l’ai -souvent répété, défendent à un chevalier de tirer l’épée contre ceux qui -ne le sont pas, si ce n’est pour sa défense personnelle, et dans le cas -d’extrême nécessité. - -Chevalier ou non, je me serais bien vengé moi-même si j’avais pu, -répondit Sancho; mais cela n’a point dépendu de moi. Et pourtant je -ferais bien le serment que les traîtres qui se sont divertis à mes -dépens n’étaient point des fantômes ou des enchantés, comme le prétend -Votre Grâce, mais bien des hommes en chair et en os, tels que nous; il -n’y a pas moyen d’en douter, puisque je les entendais s’appeler l’un -l’autre pendant qu’ils me faisaient voltiger, et que chacun d’eux avait -son nom. L’un s’appelait Pedro Martinez, l’autre Tenorio Fernando, et -l’hôtelier, Juan Palomèque le Gaucher. Ainsi donc, seigneur, si Votre -Grâce n’a pu enjamber la muraille, ni mettre pied à terre, cela vient -d’autre chose que d’un enchantement. Quant à moi, ce que je vois de plus -clair en tout ceci, c’est qu’à force d’aller chercher les aventures, -nous en trouverons une qui ne nous laissera plus distinguer notre pied -droit d’avec notre pied gauche. Or, ce qu’il y aurait de mieux à faire, -selon mon petit entendement, ce serait de reprendre le chemin de notre -village, maintenant que la moisson approche, et de nous occuper de nos -affaires, au lieu d’aller, comme on dit, tombant tous les jours de -fièvre en chaud mal. - -Ah! mon pauvre Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu es ignorant en fait -de chevalerie! Prends patience: un jour viendra où ta propre expérience -te fera voir quelle grande et noble chose est l’exercice de cette -profession. Dis-moi, je te prie, y a-t-il plaisir au monde qui égale -celui de vaincre dans un combat, et de triompher de son ennemi? Aucun, -assurément. - -Cela peut bien être, répondit Sancho, quoique je n’en sache rien. Tout -ce que je sais, c’est que depuis que nous sommes chevaliers errants, -vous du moins, car pour moi je suis indigne de compter dans une si -honorable confrérie, nous n’avons jamais gagné de bataille, si ce n’est -contre le Biscaïen; et comment Votre Grâce en sortit-elle? Avec perte de -la moitié d’une oreille et sa salade fracassée! Depuis lors tout a été -pour nous coups de poing et coups de bâton. Seulement moi, j’ai eu -l’avantage d’être berné par-dessus le marché, et cela par des gens -enchantés, dont je ne puis me venger, afin de savourer ce plaisir que -Votre Grâce dit se trouver dans la vengeance. - -C’est la peine que je ressens, répondit don Quichotte, et ce doit être -aussi la tienne; mais rassure-toi, car je prétends avant peu avoir une -épée si artistement forgée, que celui qui la portera sera à l’abri de -toute espèce d’enchantement; il pourrait même arriver que ma bonne -étoile me mît entre les mains celle qu’avait Amadis, quand il s’appelait -le chevalier de l’Ardente-Épée. C’était assurément la meilleure lame qui -fût au monde, puisque, outre la vertu dont je viens de parler, elle -possédait celle de couper comme un rasoir, et il n’était point d’armure -si forte et si enchantée qu’elle ne brisât comme verre. - -Je suis si chanceux, repartit Sancho, que quand bien même Votre Grâce -aurait une épée comme celle dont vous parlez, cette épée n’aura, comme -le baume, de vertu que pour ceux qui sont armés chevaliers; et tout -tombera sur le pauvre écuyer. - -Bannis cette crainte, dit don Quichotte; le ciel te sera plus favorable -à l’avenir. - -Nos chercheurs d’aventures allaient ainsi devisant, quand ils aperçurent -au loin une poussière épaisse que le vent chassait de leur côté; se -tournant aussitôt vers son écuyer: Ami Sancho, s’écria notre héros, -voici le jour où l’on va voir ce que me réserve la fortune; voici le -jour, te dis-je, où doit se montrer plus que jamais la force de mon -bras, et où je vais accomplir des exploits dignes d’être écrits dans les -annales de la renommée, pour l’instruction des siècles à venir. Vois-tu -là-bas ce tourbillon de poussière? Eh bien, il s’élève de dessous les -pas d’une armée innombrable, composée de toutes les nations du monde. - -A ce compte-là, dit Sancho, il doit y avoir deux armées, car de ce côté -voici un autre tourbillon. - -Don Quichotte se retourna, et voyant que Sancho disait vrai, il sentit -une joie inexprimable, croyant fermement (il ne croyait jamais d’autre -façon) que c’étaient deux grandes armées prêtes à se livrer bataille; -car le bon hidalgo avait l’imagination tellement remplie de combats, de -défis et d’enchantements, qu’il ne pensait, ne disait et ne faisait -rien qui ne tendît de ce côté. Deux troupeaux de moutons qui venaient de -deux directions opposées soulevaient cette poussière, et elle était si -épaisse, qu’on n’en pouvait reconnaître la cause à moins d’en être tout -proche. Mais don Quichotte affirmait avec tant d’assurance que c’étaient -des gens de guerre, que Sancho finit par le croire. Eh bien, seigneur, -qu’allons-nous faire ici? lui dit-il. - -Ce que nous allons faire? répondit don Quichotte; nous allons secourir -les faibles et les malheureux. Mais d’abord, afin que tu connaisses ceux -qui sont près d’en venir aux mains, je dois te dire que cette armée que -tu vois à gauche est commandée par le grand empereur Alifanfaron, -seigneur de l’île Taprobane; et que celle qui est à droite a pour chef -son ennemi, le roi des Garamantes, Pentapolin au _Bras-Retroussé_. On -l’appelle ainsi, parce qu’il combat toujours le bras droit nu jusqu’à -l’épaule. - -Et pourquoi ces deux princes se font-ils la guerre? demanda Sancho. - -Ils se font la guerre, répondit don Quichotte, parce que Alifanfaron est -devenu amoureux de la fille de Pentapolin, très-belle et très-accorte -dame, mais chrétienne avant tout: et comme Alifanfaron est païen, -Pentapolin ne veut pas la lui donner pour femme, qu’il n’ait renoncé à -son faux prophète Mahomet et embrassé le christianisme. - -Par ma barbe, reprit Sancho, Pentapolin a raison, et je l’aiderai de bon -cœur en tout ce que je pourrai. - -Tu ne feras que ton devoir, répliqua don Quichotte; aussi bien, en ces -sortes d’occasions, il n’est point nécessaire d’être armé chevalier. - -Tant mieux, repartit Sancho. Mais où mettrai-je mon âne, pour être -assuré de le retrouver après la bataille? car je n’ai guère envie de m’y -risquer sur une pareille monture. - -Tu peux, dit don Quichotte, le laisser aller à l’aventure; d’ailleurs, -vînt-il à se perdre, nous aurons après la victoire tant de chevaux à -choisir, que Rossinante lui-même court risque d’être remplacé. Mais -d’abord, écoute-moi: avant qu’elles se choquent, je veux t’apprendre -quels sont les principaux chefs de ces deux armées. Gagnons cette petite -éminence, afin que tu puisses les découvrir plus aisément. - -En même temps, ils gravirent une hauteur, d’où, si la poussière ne les -eût empêchés, ils auraient pu voir que c’étaient deux troupeaux de -moutons que notre chevalier prenait pour deux armées; mais comme don -Quichotte voyait toujours les choses telles que les lui peignait sa -folle imagination, il commença d’une voix éclatante à parler ainsi: - -Vois-tu là-bas ce chevalier aux armes dorées, qui porte sur son écu un -lion couronné, étendu aux pieds d’une jeune damoiselle? eh bien, c’est -le valeureux Laurcalco, seigneur du Pont-d’Argent. Cet autre, qui a des -armes à fleur d’or et qui porte trois couronnes d’argent en champ -d’azur, c’est le redoutable Micolambo, grand-duc de Quirochie. A sa -droite, avec cette taille de géant, c’est l’intrépide Brandabarbaran de -Boliche, seigneur des trois Arabies: il a pour cuirasse une peau de -serpent, et pour écu une des portes qu’on prétend avoir appartenu au -temple renversé par Samson, quand il se vengea des Philistins aux dépens -de sa propre vie. Maintenant tourne les yeux de ce côté, et tu pourras -voir, à la tête de cette autre armée, l’invincible Timonel de -Carcassonne, prince de la nouvelle Biscaye: il porte des armes -écartelées d’azur, de sinople, d’argent et d’or, et sur son écu un chat -d’or en champ de pourpre, avec ces trois lettres M. I. U., qui forment -la première syllabe du nom de sa maîtresse, l’incomparable fille du duc -Alphénique des Algarves. Ce cavalier intrépide, qui fait plier les reins -à cette jument sauvage, et dont les armes sont blanches comme neige, -l’écu de même et sans devise, c’est un jeune chevalier français appelé -Pierre Papin, seigneur des baronnies d’Utrique. Cet autre aux armes -bleues, qui presse les flancs de ce zèbre rapide, c’est le puissant duc -de Nervie, Espartafilando du Bocage; il a dans son écu un champ semé -d’asperges, avec cette devise: _Rastrea mi suerte_[38]. - - [38] En voie de fortune. Mot à mot: Chercher mon sort à la piste. - -Notre héros nomma encore une foule d’autres chevaliers qu’il s’imaginait -voir dans ces prétendues armées, donnant à chacun d’eux, sans hésiter un -seul instant, les armes, couleurs et devises que lui fournissait son -inépuisable folie, et sans s’arrêter il poursuivit: - -Ces escadrons qui se déploient en face de nous sont composés d’une -multitude de nations diverses; voici d’abord ceux qui boivent les douces -eaux du Xanthe fameux; viennent ensuite les montagnards qui foulent les -champs Massiliens; plus loin ceux qui criblent la fine poudre d’or de -l’Heureuse Arabie; là ceux qui jouissent des fraîches rives du limpide -Thermodon et ceux qui épuisent par mille saignées le Pactole au sable -doré; les Numides à la foi équivoque; les Perses, sans pareils à tirer -l’arc; les Mèdes et les Parthes, habiles à combattre en fuyant; les -Arabes, aux tentes voyageuses; les Scythes farouches et cruels; les -Éthiopiens, aux lèvres percées; enfin une multitude d’autres nations -dont je connais les visages, mais dont je n’ai pas retenu les noms. Dans -cette autre armée, tu dois voir ceux qui s’abreuvent au limpide cristal -du Bétis, dont les bords sont couverts d’oliviers; ceux qui se baignent -dans les ondes dorées du Tage; ceux qui jouissent des eaux fertilisantes -du divin Xénil; ceux qui foulent les champs Tartésiens aux gras -pâturages; les heureux habitants des délicieuses prairies de Xérès; les -riches Manchègues, couronnés de jaunes épis; les descendants des anciens -Goths tout couverts de fer; ceux qui font paître leurs troupeaux dans -les riches pâturages de la tournoyante Guadiana; ceux qui habitent au -pied des froides montagnes des Pyrénées ou dans les neiges de -l’Apennin; en un mot toutes les nations que l’Europe renferme dans sa -vaste étendue. - -Qui pourrait dire tous les peuples que dénombra notre héros, donnant à -chacun d’eux, avec une merveilleuse facilité, les attributs les plus -précis, rempli qu’il était de ses rêveries habituelles! Quant à Sancho, -il était si abasourdi qu’il ne soufflait mot; seulement, les yeux grands -ouverts, il tournait de temps en temps la tête pour voir s’il -parviendrait à découvrir ces chevaliers et ces géants. Mais, ne voyant -rien paraître: - -Par ma foi, s’écria-t-il, je me donne au diable, si j’aperçois un seul -des chevaliers ou des géants que Votre Grâce vient de nommer. Tout cela -doit être enchantement, comme les fantômes d’hier au soir. - -Comment peux-tu parler ainsi? repartit don Quichotte; n’entends-tu pas -le hennissement des chevaux, le son des trompettes, le roulement des -tambours? - -Je n’entends que des bêlements d’agneaux et de brebis, répliqua Sancho. -Ce qui était vrai, car les deux troupeaux étaient tout proche. - -La peur te fait voir et entendre tout de travers, dit don Quichotte; -car, on le sait, un des effets de cette triste passion est de troubler -les sens et de montrer les choses autrement qu’elles ne sont. Eh bien, -si le courage te manque, tiens-toi à l’écart, et laisse-moi faire; seul, -je suffis pour porter la victoire où je porterai mon appui. En même -temps il donne de l’éperon à Rossinante, et, la lance en arrêt, se -précipite dans la plaine avec la rapidité de la foudre. - -Arrêtez, seigneur, arrêtez, lui criait Sancho; le ciel m’est témoin que -ce sont des moutons et des brebis que vous allez attaquer. Par l’âme de -mon père, quelle folie vous possède? Considérez, je vous prie, qu’il n’y -a ici ni chevaliers, ni géants, ni écus, ni armures, ni champs -d’asperges, ni aucune autre de ces choses dont vous parlez. - -Ces cris n’arrêtaient pas don Quichotte, au contraire il vociférait de -plus belle: Courage, courage, disait-il, chevaliers qui combattez sous -la bannière du valeureux Pentapolin au _Bras-Retroussé_! suivez-moi, et -vous verrez que je l’aurai bientôt vengé du traître Alifanfaron de -Taprobane. - -En parlant ainsi il se jette au milieu du troupeau de brebis, et il se -met à larder de tous côtés, avec autant d’ardeur et de rage que s’il -avait eu affaire à ses plus mortels ennemis. - -Les bergers qui conduisaient le troupeau crièrent d’abord à notre héros -de s’arrêter, demandant ce que lui avaient fait ces pauvres bêtes. Mais -bientôt las de crier inutilement, ils dénouèrent leurs frondes, et -commencèrent à saluer notre chevalier d’une grêle de cailloux plus gros -que le poing, avec tant de diligence qu’un coup n’attendait pas l’autre. -Quant à lui, sans daigner se garantir, il courait çà et là en répétant à -haute voix: Où donc es-tu, superbe Alifanfaron? approche, approche; je -t’attends seul ici, pour te faire éprouver la force de mon bras et te -punir de la peine que tu causes au valeureux Pentapolin. - -De tant de pierres qui volaient autour de l’intrépide chevalier, une -enfin l’atteignit et lui renfonça deux côtes dans le corps. A la -violence du coup il se crut mort, ou du moins grièvement blessé; -aussitôt se rappelant son baume, il porte la burette à sa bouche, et se -met à boire la précieuse liqueur. Mais avant qu’il en eût avalé quelques -gorgées, un autre caillou vient fracasser la burette dans sa main, -chemin faisant lui écrase deux doigts, puis lui emporte trois ou quatre -dents. Ces deux coups étaient si violents, que notre chevalier en fut -jeté à terre, où il demeura étendu. Les pâtres, croyant l’avoir tué, -rassemblèrent leurs bêtes à la hâte, puis chargeant sur leurs épaules -les brebis mortes, au nombre de sept ou huit, sans oublier les blessées, -ils s’éloignèrent en diligence. - -Pendant ce temps, Sancho était resté sur la colline, d’où il contemplait -les folies de son maître, et s’arrachait la barbe à pleines mains, -maudissant mille fois le jour et l’heure où sa mauvaise fortune le lui -avait fait connaître. Quand il le vit par terre et les bergers hors de -portée, il descendit de la colline, s’approcha de lui, et le trouvant -dans un piteux état, quoiqu’il n’eût pas perdu le sentiment. - -Eh bien, seigneur, lui dit-il, n’avais-je pas averti Votre Grâce qu’elle -allait attaquer, non pas des armées, mais des troupeaux de moutons? - -C’est ainsi, reprit don Quichotte, que ce brigand d’enchanteur, mon -ennemi, transforme tout à sa fantaisie; car, mon fils, rien n’est aussi -facile pour ces gens-là. Jaloux de la gloire que j’allais acquérir, ce -perfide nécromant aura changé les escadrons de chevaliers en troupeaux -de moutons. Au reste, veux-tu me faire plaisir et te désabuser une bonne -fois, eh bien, monte sur ton âne, et suis de loin ce prétendu bétail: je -gage qu’avant d’avoir fait cent pas ils auront repris leur première -forme, et alors tu verras ces moutons redevenir des hommes droits et -bien faits, comme je les ai dépeints. Attends un peu cependant, j’ai -besoin de tes services; approche et regarde dans ma bouche combien il me -manque de dents; je crois, en vérité, qu’il ne m’en reste pas une seule. - -Sancho s’approcha, et comme en regardant de si près il avait presque les -yeux dans le gosier de son maître, le baume acheva d’opérer dans -l’estomac de don Quichotte qui, avec la même impétuosité qu’aurait pu -faire un coup d’arquebuse, lança tout ce qu’il avait dans le corps aux -yeux et sur la barbe du compatissant écuyer. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria Sancho, que vient-il de m’arriver là? Sans doute -mon seigneur est blessé à mort, puisqu’il vomit le sang par la bouche. - -Mais quand il eut regardé de plus près, il reconnut à la couleur, à -l’odeur et à la saveur, que ce n’était pas du sang, mais bien le baume -qu’il lui avait vu boire. Alors il fut pris d’une telle nausée que, sans -avoir le temps de tourner la tête, il lança à son tour au nez de son -maître ce que lui-même il avait dans les entrailles, et tous deux se -trouvèrent dans le plus plaisant état qu’il soit possible d’imaginer. -Sancho courut vers son âne pour prendre de quoi s’essuyer le visage et -panser son seigneur; mais ne trouvant point le bissac oublié dans -l’hôtellerie, il faillit en perdre l’esprit. Alors il se donna de -nouveau mille malédictions, et résolut dans son cœur de planter là -notre héros et de s’en retourner chez lui, sans nul souci de la -récompense de ses services ni du gouvernement de l’île. - -Après de pénibles efforts, don Quichotte réussit enfin à se lever, et -mettant la main gauche sur sa bouche, pour appuyer le reste de ses -dents, il prit de l’autre main la bride du fidèle Rossinante, qui -n’avait pas bougé, tant il était d’un bon naturel, et s’en fut trouver -Sancho. En le voyant courbé en deux sur son âne, la tête dans ses mains, -comme un homme enseveli dans une profonde tristesse: Ami Panza, lui -dit-il, apprends qu’un homme n’est pas plus qu’un autre, s’il ne fait -davantage. Ces orages dont nous sommes assaillis ne sont-ils pas des -signes évidents que le temps va devenir serein, et nos affaires -meilleures? Ignores-tu que le bien comme le mal a son terme? d’où il -suit que le mal ayant beaucoup duré, le bien doit être proche. Cesse -donc de t’affliger des disgrâces qui m’arrivent, d’autant plus que tu -n’en souffres pas. - -Comment! repartit Sancho; est-ce que celui qu’on berna hier était un -autre que le fils de mon père? et le bissac que l’on m’a pris, avec -tout ce qu’il y avait dedans, n’était peut-être pas à moi? - -Quoi! tu as perdu le bissac? s’écria don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais s’il est perdu, répondit Sancho, mais je ne le trouve pas où -j’ai coutume de le mettre. - -Nous voilà donc réduits à jeûner aujourd’hui? dit notre héros. - -Assurément, répondit l’écuyer, surtout si ces prés manquent de ces -herbes que vous connaissez, et qui peuvent au besoin servir de -nourriture aux pauvres chevaliers errants. - -Pour te dire la vérité, continua don Quichotte, j’aimerais mieux, à -cette heure, un quartier de pain bis avec deux têtes de sardines, que -toutes les plantes que décrit Dioscoride, même aidé des commentaires du -fameux docteur Laguna[39]. Allons, mon fils Sancho, monte sur ton âne et -suis-moi; Dieu, qui pourvoit à toutes choses, ne nous abandonnera pas, -voyant surtout notre application à le servir dans ce pénible exercice; -car il n’oublie ni les moucherons de l’air, ni les vermisseaux de la -terre, ni les insectes de l’eau, et il est si miséricordieux qu’il fait -luire son soleil sur le juste et sur l’injuste, et répand sa rosée aussi -bien sur les méchants que sur les bons. - - [39] André Laguna, né à Ségovie, médecin de l’empereur Charles-Quint, - traducteur et commentateur de Dioscoride. - -En vérité, seigneur, répondit Sancho, vous étiez plutôt fait pour être -prédicateur que chevalier errant. - -Les chevaliers errants savent tout et doivent tout savoir, dit don -Quichotte; on a vu jadis tel d’entre eux s’arrêter au beau milieu d’un -chemin, pour faire un sermon ou un discours, comme s’il eût pris ses -licences à l’Université de Paris; tant il est vrai que jamais l’épée -n’émoussa la plume ni la plume l’épée. - -Qu’il en soit comme le veut Votre Grâce, reprit Sancho. Maintenant -allons chercher un gîte pour la nuit, et plaise à Dieu que ce soit dans -un lieu où il n’y ait ni berneurs, ni fantômes, ni Mores enchantés, car, -si j’en rencontre encore, je dis serviteur à la chevalerie et j’envoie -ma part à tous les diables. - -Prie Dieu qu’il nous guide, mon fils, dit don Quichotte, et prends le -chemin que tu voudras; je te laisse pour cette fois le soin de notre -logement. Mais d’abord, donne-moi ta main, et tâte avec ton doigt -combien il me manque de dents à la mâchoire d’en haut, du côté droit, -car c’est là qu’est mon mal. - -Sancho lui mit le doigt dans la bouche; et après l’avoir soigneusement -examinée: Combien de dents Votre Grâce était-elle dans l’habitude -d’avoir de ce côté? demanda-t-il. - -Quatre, sans compter l’œillère, et toutes bien saines, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Prenez garde à ce que vous dites, observa Sancho. - -Je dis quatre, si même il n’y en avait cinq, reprit don Quichotte, car -jusqu’à cette heure on ne m’en a arraché aucune, et je n’en ai jamais -perdu, ni par carie, ni par fluxion. - -Eh bien, ici en bas, repartit Sancho, Votre Grâce n’a plus que deux -dents et demie, et pas même la moitié d’une en haut; tout est ras comme -la main. - -Malheureux que je suis! s’écria notre héros à cette triste nouvelle; -j’aimerais mieux qu’ils m’eussent coupé un bras, pourvu que ce ne fût -pas celui de l’épée; car tu sauras, mon fils, qu’une bouche sans dents -est comme un moulin sans meule, et qu’une dent est plus précieuse qu’un -diamant. Mais qu’y faire? puisque c’est là notre partage, à nous qui -suivons les lois austères de la chevalerie errante. Marche, ami, et -conduis-nous, j’irai le train que tu voudras. - -Sancho fit ce que disait son maître, et s’achemina du côté où il -comptait plus sûrement trouver un gîte, sans s’écarter du grand chemin, -fort suivi en cet endroit. Comme ils allaient à petits pas, parce que -don Quichotte éprouvait une vive douleur que le mouvement du cheval -augmentait encore, Sancho voulut l’entretenir afin d’endormir son mal; -et, entre autres choses, il lui dit ce qu’on verra dans le chapitre -suivant. - -CHAPITRE XIX - -DU SAGE ET SPIRITUEL ENTRETIEN QUE SANCHO EUT AVEC SON MAITRE, DE LA -RENCONTRE QU’ILS FIRENT D’UN CORPS MORT, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS -FAMEUX - -Je crains bien, seigneur, que toutes ces mésaventures qui nous sont -arrivées depuis quelques jours ne soient la punition du péché que Votre -Grâce a commis contre l’ordre de sa chevalerie, en oubliant le serment -que vous aviez fait de ne point manger pain sur nappe, de ne point -folâtrer avec la reine, enfin tout ce que vous aviez juré d’accomplir -tant que vous n’auriez pas enlevé l’armet de ce Malandrin, ou comme se -nomme le More, car je ne me rappelle pas très-bien son nom. - -Tu as raison, répondit don Quichotte; à dire vrai, cela m’était sorti de -la mémoire; et sois certain que c’est pour avoir manqué de m’en faire -ressouvenir que tu as été berné si cruellement. Mais je réparerai ma -faute, car dans l’ordre de la chevalerie il y a accommodement pour tout -péché. - -Est-ce que par hasard j’ai juré quelque chose, moi? répliqua Sancho. - -Peu importe que tu n’aies pas juré, dit don Quichotte; il suffit que tu -ne sois pas complétement à l’abri du reproche de complicité: en tout cas -il sera bon de nous occuper à y chercher remède. - -S’il en est ainsi, reprit Sancho, n’allez pas oublier votre serment -comme la première fois; je tremble qu’il ne prenne encore envie aux -fantômes de se divertir à mes dépens, et peut-être bien à ceux de Votre -Grâce, s’ils la trouvent en rechute. - -Pendant cette conversation, la nuit vint les surprendre au milieu du -chemin, sans qu’ils eussent trouvé où se mettre à couvert, et le pis de -l’affaire, c’est qu’ils mouraient de faim, car en perdant le bissac ils -avaient perdu leurs provisions. Pour comble de disgrâce, il leur arriva -une nouvelle aventure, ou du moins quelque chose qui y ressemblait -terriblement. Malgré l’obscurité de la nuit, ils allaient toujours -devant eux, parce que Sancho s’imaginait qu’étant sur le grand chemin -ils avaient tout au plus une ou deux lieues à faire pour trouver une -hôtellerie. - -Ils marchaient dans cette espérance, l’écuyer mourant de faim, et le -maître ayant grande envie de manger, lorsqu’ils aperçurent à quelque -distance plusieurs lumières qui paraissaient autant d’étoiles mouvantes. -A cette vue, Sancho faillit s’évanouir; don Quichotte lui-même éprouva -de l’émotion. L’un tira le licou de son âne, l’autre retint la bride de -son cheval, et, tous deux s’arrêtant pour considérer ce que ce pouvait -être, ils reconnurent que ces lumières venaient droit à eux, et que plus -elles approchaient, plus elles grandissaient. La peur de Sancho -redoubla, et les cheveux en dressèrent sur la tête de don Quichotte qui, -s’affermissant sur ses étriers, lui dit: Ami Sancho, voici sans doute -une grande et périlleuse aventure, où je pourrai déployer tout mon -courage et toute ma force. - -Malheureux que je suis! repartit Sancho; si c’est encore une aventure de -fantômes, comme elle en a bien la mine, où trouverai-je des côtes pour y -suffire? - -Fantômes tant qu’ils voudront, dit don Quichotte, je te réponds qu’il ne -t’en coûtera pas un seul poil de ton pourpoint; si l’autre fois ils -t’ont joué un mauvais tour, c’est que je ne pus escalader cette maudite -muraille; mais à présent que nous sommes en rase campagne, j’aurai la -liberté de jouer de l’épée. - -Et s’ils vous enchantent encore, comme ils l’ont déjà fait, reprit -Sancho, à quoi servira que vous ayez ou non le champ libre? - -Prends courage, dit don Quichotte, et tu vas me voir à l’épreuve. - -Eh bien, oui, j’en aurai du courage, si Dieu le veut, répondit Sancho. - -Et tous deux se portant à l’écart, pour considérer de nouveau ce que -pouvaient être ces lumières qui s’avançaient, ils aperçurent bientôt un -grand nombre d’hommes vêtus de blanc. - -Cette vision abattit le courage de Sancho, à qui les dents commencèrent -à claquer comme s’il eût eu la fièvre. Mais elles lui claquèrent de plus -belle quand il vit distinctement venir droit à eux une vingtaine -d’hommes à cheval, enchemisés dans des robes blanches, tous portant une -torche à la main, et paraissant marmotter quelque chose d’une voix basse -et plaintive. Derrière ces hommes venait une litière de deuil, suivie de -six cavaliers couverts de noir jusqu’aux pieds de leurs mules. Cette -étrange apparition, à une pareille heure et dans un lieu si désert, en -aurait épouvanté bien d’autres que Sancho, dont aussi la valeur fit -naufrage en cette occasion; mais le contraire advint pour don Quichotte, -à qui sa folle imagination représenta sur-le-champ que c’était là une -des aventures de ses livres. Se figurant que la litière renfermait -quelque chevalier mort ou blessé, dont la vengeance était réservée à lui -seul, il se campe au milieu du chemin par où cette troupe allait passer, -s’affermit sur ses étriers, met la lance en arrêt, et crie d’une voix -terrible: Qui que vous soyez, halte-là; dites-moi qui vous êtes, d’où -vous venez, où vous allez, et ce que vous portez sur ce brancard? Selon -toute apparence, vous avez reçu quelque outrage, ou vous-mêmes en avez -fait à quelqu’un. Ainsi donc, il faut que je le sache, ou pour vous -punir ou pour vous venger. - -Nous sommes pressés, répondit un des cavaliers, l’hôtellerie est encore -loin, et nous n’avons pas le temps de vous rendre les comptes que vous -demandez. En disant cela, il piqua sa mule et passa outre. - -Arrêtez, insolent, lui cria don Quichotte, en saisissant les rênes de la -mule; soyez plus poli et répondez sur-le-champ, sinon préparez-vous au -combat. - -La bête était ombrageuse; se sentant prise au mors, elle se cabra, et se -renversa sur son maître fort rudement. Ne pouvant faire autre chose, un -valet qui était à pied se mit à dire mille injures à don Quichotte, -lequel déjà enflammé de colère fondit la lance basse sur un des -cavaliers vêtus de deuil, et l’étendit par terre en fort mauvais état. -De celui-ci il passe à un autre, et c’était merveille de voir la vigueur -et la promptitude dont il allait, de sorte qu’en ce moment on eût dit -que Rossinante avait des ailes, tant il était fier et léger. - -Ces gens étaient peu courageux et sans armes; ils prirent bientôt -l’épouvante, et s’enfuyant à travers champs avec leurs torches -enflammées, on les eût pris pour des masques courant dans une nuit de -carnaval. Les hommes aux manteaux noirs n’étaient pas moins troublés, et -de plus embarrassés de leurs longs vêtements; aussi don Quichotte, -frappant à son aise, demeura maître du champ de bataille, la troupe -épouvantée le prenant pour le diable qui venait leur enlever le corps -enfermé dans la litière. Sancho admirait l’intrépidité de son seigneur, -et en le regardant faire il se disait dans sa barbe: Il faut pourtant -bien que ce mien maître-là soit aussi brave et aussi vaillant qu’il le -prétend. - -Cependant, à la lueur d’une torche qui brûlait encore, don Quichotte -apercevant le cavalier qui était resté gisant sous sa mule, courut lui -mettre la pointe de sa lance contre la poitrine, lui criant de se -rendre. Je ne suis que trop rendu, répondit l’homme à terre, puisque je -ne saurais bouger, et que je crois avoir une jambe cassée. Si vous êtes -chrétien et gentilhomme, je vous supplie de ne pas me tuer; aussi bien, -vous commettriez un sacrilége, car je suis licencié, et j’ai reçu les -premiers ordres. - -Et qui diable, étant homme d’église, vous amène ici? demanda don -Quichotte. - -Ma mauvaise fortune, répondit-il. - -Elle pourrait s’aggraver encore, si vous ne répondez sur l’heure à -toutes mes questions, répliqua notre héros. - -Rien n’est plus facile, seigneur, reprit le licencié; il me suffira de -vous dire que je m’appelle Alonzo Lopès, que je suis natif d’Alcovendas, -et que je viens de Baeça avec onze autres ecclésiastiques, ceux que vous -venez de mettre en fuite; nous accompagnons le corps d’un gentilhomme -mort depuis quelque temps à Baeça, et qui a voulu être enterré à -Ségovie, lieu de sa naissance. - -Et qui l’a tué, ce gentilhomme? demanda don Quichotte. - -Dieu, par une fièvre maligne qu’il lui a envoyée, répondit le licencié. - -En ce cas, répliqua notre chevalier, le seigneur m’a déchargé du soin de -venger sa mort, comme j’aurais dû le faire si quelque autre lui eût ôté -la vie. Mais puisque c’est Dieu, il n’y a qu’à se taire et à plier les -épaules, comme je ferai moi-même quand mon heure sera venue. Maintenant, -seigneur licencié, apprenez que je suis un chevalier de la Manche, connu -sous le nom de don Quichotte, et que ma profession est d’aller par le -monde, redressant les torts et réparant les injustices. - -Je ne sais comment vous redressez les torts, reprit le licencié; mais de -droit que j’étais, vous m’avez mis en un bien triste état, avec une -jambe rompue, que je ne verrai peut-être jamais redressée. L’injustice -que vous avez réparée à mon égard a été de m’en faire une irréparable, -et si vous cherchez les aventures, moi j’ai rencontré la plus fâcheuse, -en me trouvant sur votre chemin. - -Toutes choses n’ont pas même succès, dit don Quichotte; le mal est venu -de ce que vous et vos compagnons cheminez la nuit avec ces longs -manteaux de deuil, ces surplis, ces torches enflammées, marmottant je ne -sais quoi entre les dents, et tels enfin que vous semblez gens de -l’autre monde. Vous voyez donc que je n’ai pu m’empêcher de remplir mon -devoir, et je l’aurais fait quand bien même vous auriez été autant de -diables, comme je l’ai cru d’abord. - -Puisque mon malheur l’a voulu ainsi, repartit le licencié, il faut s’en -consoler; je vous supplie seulement, seigneur chevalier errant, de -m’aider à me dégager de dessous cette mule: j’ai une jambe prise entre -l’étrier et la selle. - -Que ne le disiez-vous plus tôt! reprit don Quichotte; autrement nous -aurions conversé jusqu’à demain. - -Il cria à Sancho de venir; mais celui-ci n’avait garde de se hâter, -occupé qu’il était à dévaliser un mulet chargé de vivres que menaient -avec eux ces bons prêtres; il fallut attendre qu’il eût fait de sa -casaque une espèce de sac et l’eût chargée sur son âne après l’avoir -farcie de tout ce qu’il put y faire entrer. Il courut ensuite à son -maître, qu’il aida à dégager le licencié de dessous sa mule et à -remettre en selle. Don Quichotte rendit sa torche à cet homme, et lui -permit de rejoindre ses compagnons, en le priant de leur faire ses -excuses pour le traitement qu’il leur avait infligé, mais qu’il n’avait -pu ni dû s’empêcher de leur faire subir. - -Seigneur, lui dit Sancho en le voyant prêt à s’éloigner, si vos -compagnons demandent quel est ce vaillant chevalier qui les a mis en -fuite, vous leur direz que c’est le fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, -autrement appelé le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -Quand le licencié fut parti, don Quichotte demanda à Sancho pourquoi il -l’avait appelé le chevalier de la Triste-Figure plutôt à cette heure -qu’à toute autre. - -C’est qu’en vous regardant à la lueur de la torche que tenait ce pauvre -diable, répondit Sancho, j’ai trouvé à Votre Grâce une physionomie si -singulière, que je n’ai jamais rien vu de semblable; il faut que cela -vous vienne de la fatigue du combat ou de la perte de vos dents. - -Tu n’y es pas, dit don Quichotte. Crois plutôt que le sage qui doit un -jour écrire l’histoire de mes exploits aura trouvé bon que j’aie un -surnom comme tous les chevaliers mes prédécesseurs. L’un s’appelait le -chevalier de l’Ardente-Épée, un autre le chevalier de la Licorne, -celui-ci des Damoiselles, celui-là du Phénix, un autre du Griffon, un -autre de la Mort, et ils étaient connus sous ces noms-là par toute la -terre. Je pense donc que ce sage t’aura mis dans la pensée et sur le -bout de la langue le surnom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure; je veux le -porter désormais, et, pour cela, je suis décidé à faire peindre sur mon -écu quelque figure extraordinaire. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, reprit Sancho, Votre Grâce peut se dispenser de -faire peindre cette figure-là, il suffira de vous montrer: vos longs -jeûnes et le mauvais état de vos mâchoires vous font une mine si -étrange, qu’il n’y a peinture qui puisse en approcher, et ceux qui vous -verront ne manqueront pas de vous donner, sans autre image et sans nul -écu, le nom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -Don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher de sourire de la saillie de son écuyer; -mais il n’en résolut pas moins de prendre le surnom qu’il lui avait -donné, et de se faire peindre sur son écu à la première occasion. -Sais-tu bien, Sancho, lui dit-il, que je crains de me voir excommunié -pour avoir porté la main sur une chose sainte, suivant ce texte: _Si -quis, suadente diabolo_..... Et pourtant, à vrai dire, je ne l’ai pas -touchée de la main, mais seulement de la lance; outre que je ne croyais -pas que ce fussent là des prêtres, ni rien qui appartînt à l’Église, que -j’honore et respecte, comme chrétien catholique, mais des fantômes et -des habitants de l’autre monde. Au surplus, il s’en faut de beaucoup que -mon cas soit aussi grave que celui du cid Ruy Dias, qui fut excommunié -par le pape en personne pour avoir osé briser, en présence de Sa -Sainteté, le fauteuil d’un ambassadeur; ce qui n’empêcha pas Rodrigue de -Vivar d’être tenu pour loyal et vaillant chevalier. - -Le licencié s’étant éloigné comme je l’ai dit, sans souffler mot, don -Quichotte voulut savoir si ce qui était dans la litière était bien le -corps du gentilhomme, ou seulement son squelette; mais Sancho ne voulut -jamais y consentir: Seigneur, lui dit-il, Votre Grâce a mis fin à cette -aventure à moins de frais qu’aucune de celles que nous avons rencontrées -jusqu’ici. Si ces gens viennent à s’apercevoir que c’est un seul homme -qui les a mis en fuite, ils peuvent revenir sur leurs pas et nous causer -bien des soucis. Mon âne est en bon état, la montagne est proche, la -faim nous talonne, qu’avons-nous de mieux à faire sinon de nous retirer -doucement? Que le mort, comme on dit, s’en aille à la sépulture, et le -vivant à la pâture. - -Là-dessus, poussant son âne devant lui, il pria son maître de le suivre, -ce que celui-ci fit sans répliquer, voyant bien que Sancho avait raison. - -Après avoir cheminé quelque temps entre deux coteaux qu’ils -distinguaient à peine, ils arrivèrent dans un vallon spacieux et -découvert, où don Quichotte mit pied à terre. Là, assis sur l’herbe -fraîche, et sans autre assaisonnement que leur appétit, ils déjeunèrent, -dînèrent et soupèrent tout à la fois avec les provisions que Sancho -avait trouvées en abondance dans les paniers des ecclésiastiques, -lesquels, on le sait, sont rarement gens à s’oublier. Mais une disgrâce -que Sancho trouva la pire de toutes, c’est qu’ils mouraient de soif, et -qu’ils n’avaient pas même une goutte d’eau pour se désaltérer. Aussi -notre écuyer, sentant que le pré autour d’eux était couvert d’une herbe -fraîche et humide, dit à son maître ce qu’on va rapporter dans le -chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XX - -DE LA PLUS ÉTONNANTE AVENTURE QU’AIT JAMAIS RENCONTRÉE AUCUN CHEVALIER -ERRANT, ET DE LAQUELLE DON QUICHOTTE VINT A BOUT A PEU DE FRAIS - -L’herbe sur laquelle nous sommes assis, dit Sancho, me paraît si fraîche -et si drue, qu’il doit y avoir ici près quelque ruisseau; aussi je crois -qu’en cherchant un peu, nous trouverons de quoi apaiser cette soif qui -nous tourmente, et qui me semble plus cruelle encore que la faim. - -Don Quichotte fut de cet avis; prenant Rossinante par la bride, et -Sancho son âne par le licou, après lui avoir mis sur le dos les restes -du souper, ils commencèrent à marcher en tâtonnant, parce que -l’obscurité était si grande qu’ils ne pouvaient rien distinguer. Ils -n’eurent pas fait deux cents pas, qu’ils entendirent un grand bruit, -pareil à celui d’une cascade qui tomberait du haut d’un rocher. Ce bruit -leur causa d’abord bien de la joie; mais en écoutant de quel côté il -pouvait venir, ils entendirent un autre bruit qui leur parut beaucoup -moins agréable que le premier, surtout à Sancho, naturellement très -poltron. C’étaient de grands coups sourds frappés en cadence avec un -cliquetis de ferrailles et de chaînes qui, joint au bruit affreux du -torrent, aurait terrifié tout autre que notre héros. - -La nuit, comme je l’ai dit, était fort obscure, et le hasard les avait -conduits sous de grands arbres, dont un vent frais agitait les feuilles -et les branches; si bien que l’obscurité, le bruit de l’eau, le murmure -du feuillage, et ces grands coups qui ne cessaient de retentir, tout -cela semblait fait pour inspirer la terreur, d’autant plus qu’ils ne -savaient pas où ils étaient et que le jour tardait à paraître. Mais, -loin de s’épouvanter, l’intrépide don Quichotte sauta sur Rossinante, et -embrassant son écu: Ami Sancho, lui dit-il, apprends que le ciel m’a -fait naître en ce maudit siècle de fer pour ramener l’âge d’or; à moi -sont réservées les grandes actions et les périlleuses aventures; c’est -moi, je te le répète, qui dois faire oublier les chevaliers de la Table -ronde, les douze pairs de France, les neuf preux, les Olivantes, les -Belianis, les Platir, les Phébus, et tous les chevaliers errants des -temps passés. Remarque, cher et fidèle écuyer, les ténèbres de cette -nuit et son profond silence; écoute le bruit sourd et confus de ces -arbres, l’effroyable vacarme de cette eau qui semble tomber des -montagnes de la Lune, et ces coups redoublés qui déchirent nos oreilles: -une seule de ces choses suffirait pour étonner le dieu Mars lui-même. Eh -bien, tout cela n’est qu’un aiguillon pour mon courage, et déjà le cœur -me bondit dans la poitrine du désir d’affronter cette aventure, toute -périlleuse qu’elle s’annonce. Serre donc un peu les sangles à -Rossinante, et reste en la garde de Dieu. Tu m’attendras ici pendant -trois jours, au bout desquels, si tu ne me vois pas revenir, tu pourras -t’en retourner à notre village; après quoi tu te rendras au Toboso afin -de dire à la sans pareille Dulcinée que le chevalier son esclave a péri -pour avoir voulu entreprendre des choses qui pussent le rendre digne -d’elle. - -En entendant son maître parler de la sorte, Sancho se mit à pleurer: -Seigneur, lui dit-il, pourquoi Votre Grâce veut-elle s’engager dans une -si périlleuse aventure? Il est nuit noire, on ne nous voit point: nous -pouvons donc quitter le chemin et éviter ce danger. Comme personne ne -sera témoin de notre retraite, personne ne pourra nous accuser de -poltronnerie. J’ai souvent entendu dire à notre curé, que vous -connaissez bien: «Celui qui cherche le péril, y périra»; ainsi -gardez-vous de tenter Dieu en vous jetant dans une aventure dont un -miracle pourrait seul nous tirer. Ne vous suffit-il pas que le ciel vous -ait garanti d’être berné comme moi, et qu’il vous ait donné pleine -victoire sur les gens qui accompagnaient ce défunt? Mais si tout cela ne -peut toucher votre cœur, que du moins il s’attendrisse en pensant qu’à -peine m’aurez-vous abandonné, la peur livrera mon âme à qui voudra la -prendre. J’ai quitté mon pays, j’ai laissé ma femme et mes enfants pour -suivre Votre Grâce, espérant y gagner et non y perdre; mais, comme on -dit, convoitise rompt le sac; elle a détruit mes espérances, car c’est -au moment où j’allais mettre la main sur cette île que vous m’avez -promise tant de fois, que vous voulez m’abandonner dans un lieu si -éloigné du commerce des hommes. Pour l’amour de Dieu, mon cher maître, -n’ayez pas cette cruauté, et si vous voulez absolument entreprendre -cette maudite aventure, attendez jusqu’au matin. D’après ce que j’ai -appris étant berger, il n’y a guère plus de trois heures d’ici à l’aube; -en effet, la bouche de la Petite Ourse[40] dépasse la tête de la croix, -et elle marque minuit à la ligne du bras gauche. - - [40] Les bergers espagnols appellent la constellation de la Petite - Ourse _la bocina_ (le clairon). - -Comment vois-tu cela? dit don Quichotte; la nuit est si obscure qu’on -n’aperçoit pas une seule étoile dans tout le ciel. - -C’est vrai, répondit Sancho; mais la peur a de bons yeux, et d’ailleurs -il est facile de connaître qu’il n’y a pas loin d’ici au jour. - -Qu’il vienne tôt ou qu’il vienne tard, reprit don Quichotte, il ne sera -pas dit que des prières et des larmes m’auront empêché de faire mon -devoir de chevalier. Ainsi, Sancho, toutes tes paroles sont inutiles. Le -ciel, qui m’a mis au cœur le dessein d’affronter cette formidable -aventure, saura m’en tirer, ou prendra soin de toi après ma mort. Sangle -Rossinante, et attends-moi; je te promets de revenir bientôt, mort ou -vif. - -Sancho, voyant l’inébranlable résolution de son maître, et que ses -prières et ses larmes n’y pouvaient rien, prit le parti d’user d’adresse -afin de l’obliger malgré lui d’attendre le jour; pour cela, avant de -serrer les sangles à Rossinante, il lui lia, sans faire semblant de -rien, les jambes de derrière avec le licou de son âne, de façon que -lorsque don Quichotte voulut partir, son cheval, au lieu d’aller en -avant, ne faisait que sauter. Eh bien, seigneur, lui dit Sancho -satisfait du succès de sa ruse, vous voyez que le ciel est de mon côté, -il ne veut pas que Rossinante bouge d’ici. Si vous vous obstinez à -tourmenter cette pauvre bête, elle ne fera que regimber contre -l’aiguillon, et mettre la fortune en mauvaise humeur. - -Don Quichotte enrageait; mais voyant que plus il piquait Rossinante, -moins il le faisait avancer, il prit le parti d’attendre le jour ou le -bon vouloir de son cheval, sans qu’un seul instant il lui vînt à -l’esprit que ce pût être là un tour de son écuyer. Puisque Rossinante ne -veut pas bouger de place, dit-il, il faut bien me résigner à attendre -l’aube, quelque regret que j’en aie. - -Et qu’y a-t-il de si fâcheux? reprit Sancho; pendant ce temps, je ferai -des contes à Votre Grâce, et je m’engage à lui en fournir jusqu’au jour, -à moins qu’elle n’aime mieux mettre pied à terre, et dormir sur le -gazon, à la manière des chevaliers errants. Demain vous en serez plus -reposé, et mieux en état d’entreprendre cette aventure qui vous attend. - -Moi, dormir! moi, mettre pied à terre! s’écria don Quichotte; suis-je -donc un de ces chevaliers qui reposent quand il s’agit de combattre? -Dors, dors, toi qui es né pour dormir, ou fais ce que tu voudras: pour -moi, je connais mon devoir. - -Ne vous fâchez point, mon cher seigneur, reprit Sancho; je dis cela sans -mauvaise intention; puis s’approchant, il mit une main sur le devant de -la selle de son maître, porta l’autre sur l’arçon de derrière, en sorte -qu’il lui embrassait la cuisse gauche et s’y tenait cramponné, tant lui -causaient de peur ces grands coups qui ne discontinuaient pas. - -Fais-moi quelque conte, lui dit don Quichotte, pour me distraire en -attendant. - -Je le ferais de bon cœur, répondit Sancho, si ce bruit ne m’ôtait la -parole. Cependant je vais tâcher de vous conter une histoire, la -meilleure peut-être que vous ayez jamais entendue, si je la puis -retrouver, et qu’on me la laisse conter en liberté. Or, écoutez bien; je -vais commencer. - -Un jour il y avait ce qu’il y avait, que le bien qui vient soit pour -tout le monde, et le mal pour qui va le chercher. Remarquez, je vous -prie, seigneur, que les anciens ne commençaient pas leurs contes au -hasard comme nous le faisons aujourd’hui. Ce que je viens de vous dire -est une sentence de Caton, le censureur romain, qui dit que le mal est -pour celui qui va le chercher: cela vient fort à propos pour avertir -Votre Grâce de se tenir tranquille, et de ne pas aller chercher le mal, -mais au contraire de prendre une autre route, puisque personne ne nous -force de suivre celle-ci, où l’on dirait que tous les diables nous -attendent. - -Poursuis ton conte, repartit don Quichotte, et laisse-moi le choix du -chemin que nous devons prendre. - -Je dis donc, reprit Sancho, qu’en un certain endroit de l’Estramadure il -y avait un berger chevrier, c’est-à-dire qui gardait des chèvres, -lequel berger ou chevrier, dit le conte, s’appelait Lopez Ruys, et ce -berger Lopez Ruys était amoureux d’une bergère nommée la Toralva, -laquelle bergère nommée la Toralva était fille d’un riche pasteur qui -avait un grand troupeau, lequel riche pasteur, qui avait un grand -troupeau..... - -Si tu t’y prends de cette façon, interrompit don Quichotte, et que tu -répètes toujours deux fois la même chose, tu ne finiras de longtemps; -conte ton histoire en homme d’esprit, sinon je te dispense d’achever. - -Toutes les nouvelles se content ainsi en nos veillées, reprit Sancho, et -je ne sais point conter d’une autre façon; trouvez bon, s’il vous plaît, -que je n’invente pas de nouvelles coutumes. - -Conte donc à ta fantaisie, dit don Quichotte, puisque mon mauvais sort -veut que je sois forcé de t’écouter. - -Eh bien, vous saurez, mon cher maître, continua Sancho, que ce berger -était amoureux, comme je l’ai dit, de la bergère Toralva, créature -joufflue et rebondie, fort difficile à gouverner et qui tenait un peu de -l’homme, car elle avait de la barbe au menton, si bien que je crois la -voir encore. - -Tu l’as donc connue? demanda don Quichotte. - -Point du tout, répondit Sancho; mais celui de qui je tiens le conte m’a -dit qu’il en était si certain, que lorsque je le ferais à d’autres je -pouvais jurer hardiment que je l’avais vue. Or donc, les jours allant et -venant, le diable, qui ne dort point et qui se fourre partout, fit si -bien que l’amour du berger pour la bergère se changea en haine, et la -cause en fut, disaient les mauvaises langues, une bonne quantité de -petites jalousies que lui donnait la Toralva, et qui passaient la -plaisanterie. Depuis lors, la haine du berger en vint à ce point qu’il -ne pouvait plus souffrir la bergère; aussi, pour ne pas la voir, il lui -prit fantaisie de s’en aller si loin qu’il n’en entendît jamais parler. -Mais dès qu’elle se vit dédaignée de Lopez Ruys, la Toralva se mit tout -à coup à l’aimer et cent fois plus que celui-ci n’avait jamais fait. - -Voilà bien le naturel des femmes, interrompit don Quichotte; elles -dédaignent qui les aime, et elles aiment qui les dédaigne. Continue. - -Il arriva donc, reprit Sancho, que le berger partit, poussant ses -chèvres devant lui, et s’acheminant par les plaines de l’Estramadure, -droit vers le royaume de Portugal. La Toralva, ayant appris cela, se mit -à sa poursuite. Elle le suivait de loin, pieds nus, un bourdon à la -main, et portant à son cou un petit sac, où il y avait, à ce qu’on -prétend, un morceau de miroir, la moitié d’un peigne, avec une petite -boîte de fard pour le visage. Mais il y avait ce qu’il y avait, peu -importe quant à présent. - -Finalement, le berger arriva avec ses chèvres sur le bord du Guadiana, à -l’endroit où le fleuve sortait presque de son lit. Du côté où il était, -il n’y avait ni barque, ni batelier, ni personne pour le passer lui et -son troupeau, ce dont il mourait d’angoisse, parce qu’il sentait la -Toralva sur ses talons, et qu’elle l’aurait fait enrager avec ses -prières et ses larmes. En regardant de tous côtés, il aperçut un pêcheur -qui avait un tout petit bateau, mais si petit qu’il ne pouvait contenir -qu’un homme et une chèvre. Comme il n’y avait pas à balancer, il fait -marché avec lui pour le passer ainsi que ses trois cents chèvres. Le -pêcheur amène le bateau, et passe une chèvre; il revient et en passe une -autre; il revient encore et en passe une troisième. Que Votre Grâce -veuille bien faire attention au nombre de chèvres qu’il passait sur -l’autre rive; car s’il vous en échappe une seule, je ne réponds de rien, -et mon histoire s’arrêtera tout net. Or, la rive, de ce côté, était -glissante et escarpée, ce qui faisait que le pêcheur mettait beaucoup de -temps à chaque voyage. Avec tout cela, il allait toujours, passait une -chèvre, puis une autre, et une autre encore. - -Que ne dis-tu qu’il les passa toutes, interrompit don Quichotte, sans le -faire aller et venir de la sorte! tu n’auras pas achevé demain de -passer tes chèvres. - -Combien Votre Grâce croit-elle qu’il y en a de passées à cette heure? -demanda Sancho. - -Et qui diable le saurait? répondit don Quichotte: penses-tu que j’y aie -pris garde? - -Eh bien, voilà ce que j’avais prévu, reprit Sancho; vous n’avez pas -voulu compter, et voilà mon conte fini; il n’y a plus moyen de -continuer. - -Est-il donc si nécessaire, dit don Quichotte, de savoir le compte des -chèvres qui sont passées, que s’il en manque une tu ne puisses continuer -ton récit? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit Sancho; et du moment que je vous ai demandé -combien il y avait de chèvres passées, et que vous avez répondu que vous -n’en saviez rien, dès ce moment j’ai oublié tout ce qui me restait à -dire, et par ma foi, c’est grand dommage, car c’était le meilleur. - -Ton histoire est donc finie? dit don Quichotte. - -Aussi finie que la vie de ma mère, reprit Sancho. - -En vérité, Sancho, continua notre chevalier, voilà bien le plus étrange -conte, et la plus bizarre manière de raconter qu’il soit possible -d’imaginer. Mais qu’attendre de ton esprit? ce vacarme continuel t’aura -sans doute brouillé la cervelle? - -Cela se pourrait, répondit Sancho; mais quant au conte, je sais qu’il -finit toujours là où manque le compte des chèvres. - -Qu’il finisse où il pourra, dit don Quichotte; voyons maintenant si mon -cheval voudra marcher; et il se mit à repiquer Rossinante qui se remit à -faire des sauts, mais sans bouger de place, tant il était bien attaché. - -En ce moment, soit que la fraîcheur du matin commençât à se faire -sentir, soit que Sancho eût mangé la veille quelque chose de laxatif, -soit plutôt que la nature opérât toute seule, notre écuyer se sentit -pressé d’un fardeau dont il était malaisé qu’un autre le soulageât; mais -le pauvre diable avait si grand’peur, qu’il n’osait s’éloigner tant soit -peu. Il lui fallait pourtant apporter remède à un mal que chaque minute -de retard rendait plus incommode; aussi, pour tout concilier, il retira -doucement la main droite dont il tenait l’arçon de la selle de son -maître, et se mettant à son aise du mieux qu’il put, il détacha -l’aiguillette qui retenait ses chausses, lesquelles tombant sur ses -talons lui restèrent aux pieds comme des entraves; ensuite il releva sa -chemise, et mit à l’air les deux moitiés d’un objet qui n’était pas de -mince encolure. Cela fait, il crut avoir achevé le plus difficile; mais -quand il voulut essayer le reste, serrant les dents, pliant les épaules -et retenant son haleine, il ne put s’empêcher de produire certain bruit -dont le son était fort différent de celui qui les importunait depuis si -longtemps. - -Qu’est-ce que j’entends? demanda brusquement don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais, seigneur, répondit Sancho. Vous verrez que ce sera quelque -nouvelle diablerie, car les aventures ne commencent jamais pour peu. - -Notre héros s’en étant heureusement tenu là, Sancho fit une nouvelle -tentative, qui cette fois eut un succès tel que sans avoir causé le -moindre bruit il se trouva délivré du plus lourd fardeau qu’il eût porté -de sa vie. Mais comme don Quichotte n’avait pas le sens de l’odorat -moins délicat que celui de l’ouïe, et que d’ailleurs Sancho était à son -côté, certaines vapeurs montant presque en ligne droite ne manquèrent -pas de lui révéler ce qui se passait. A peine en fut-il frappé, que se -serrant le nez avec les doigts: Sancho, lui dit-il, il me semble que tu -as grand’peur. - -Cela se peut, répondit Sancho, et pourquoi Votre Grâce s’en -aperçoit-elle plutôt à cette heure qu’auparavant. - -C’est, reprit notre chevalier, que tu ne sentais pas si fort, et ce -n’est pas l’ambre que tu sens. - -Peut-être bien, dit Sancho, mais ce n’est pas ma faute; aussi pourquoi -me tenir à pareille heure dans un lieu comme celui-ci? - -Éloigne-toi de trois ou quatre pas, reprit don Quichotte, et désormais -fais attention à ta personne et à ce que tu dois à la mienne; je vois -bien que la trop grande familiarité dont j’use avec toi est cause de ce -manque de respect. - -Je gagerais, répliqua Sancho, que Votre Grâce s’imagine que j’ai fait -quelque chose qui ne doit pas se faire. - -Assez, assez, repartit don Quichotte; il n’est pas bon d’appuyer -là-dessus. - -Ce fut en ces entretiens et autres semblables que notre chevalier et son -écuyer passèrent la nuit. Dès que ce dernier vit le jour prêt à poindre, -il releva ses chausses, et délia doucement les jambes de Rossinante, -qui, se sentant libre, se mit à frapper plusieurs fois la terre des -pieds de devant; quant à des courbettes, c’était pour lui fruit défendu. -Son maître, le voyant en état de marcher, en conçut le présage qu’il -était temps de commencer cette grande aventure. - -Le jour achevait de paraître, et alors les objets pouvant se distinguer, -don Quichotte vit qu’il était dans un bois de châtaigniers, mais -toujours sans pouvoir deviner d’où venait ce bruit qui ne cessait point. -Sans plus tarder, il résolut d’en aller reconnaître la cause; et faisant -sentir l’éperon à Rossinante pour achever de l’éveiller, il dit encore -une fois adieu à son écuyer, en lui réitérant l’ordre de l’attendre -pendant trois jours, et, s’il tardait davantage, de tenir pour certain -qu’il avait perdu la vie en affrontant ce terrible danger, il lui répéta -ce qu’il devait aller dire de sa part à sa dame Dulcinée; enfin il -ajouta que pour ce qui était du payement de ses gages, il ne s’en mît -point en peine, parce qu’avant de partir de sa maison il y avait pourvu -par son testament. Mais, continua-t-il, s’il plaît à Dieu que je sorte -sain et sauf de cette périlleuse affaire et que les enchanteurs ne s’en -mêlent point, sois bien assuré, mon enfant, que le moins que tu puisses -espérer, c’est l’île que je t’ai promise. - -A ce discours, Sancho se mit à pleurer, jurant à son maître qu’il était -prêt à le suivre dans cette maudite aventure, dût-il n’en jamais -revenir. Ces pleurs et cette honorable résolution, qui montrent que -Sancho était bien né et tout au moins vieux chrétien, dit l’auteur de -cette histoire, attendrirent si fort don Quichotte, que pour ne pas -laisser paraître de faiblesse, il marcha sur-le-champ du côté où -l’appelait le bruit de ces grands coups; et Sancho le suivit à pied, -tirant par le licou son âne; éternel compagnon de sa mauvaise fortune. - -Après avoir marché quelque temps, ils arrivèrent dans un pré bordé de -rochers, du haut desquels tombait le torrent qu’ils avaient d’abord -entendu. Au pied de ces rochers se trouvaient quelques mauvaises -cabanes, plutôt semblables à des masures qu’à des habitations, et là ils -commencèrent à reconnaître d’où venaient ces coups qui ne -discontinuaient point. Tant de bruit, et si proche, parut troubler -Rossinante; mais notre chevalier, le flattant de la main et de la voix, -s’approcha peu à peu des masures, se recommandant de toute son âme à sa -dame Dulcinée, la suppliant de lui être en aide et priant Dieu de ne -point l’oublier. Quant à Sancho, il n’avait garde de s’éloigner de son -maître, et, le cou tendu, il regardait entre les jambes de Rossinante, -s’efforçant de découvrir ce qui lui causait tant de peur. A peine -eurent-ils fait encore cent pas, qu’ayant dépassé une pointe de rocher, -ils virent enfin d’où venait tout ce tintamarre qui les tenait dans de -si étranges alarmes. Que cette découverte, lecteur, ne te cause ni -regret ni dépit: c’était tout simplement six marteaux à foulon, qui -n’avaient pas cessé de battre depuis la veille. - -A cette vue, don Quichotte resta muet. Sancho le regarda, et le vit la -tête baissée sur la poitrine comme un homme confus et consterné. Don -Quichotte à son tour regarda Sancho, et, lui voyant les deux joues -enflées comme un homme qui crève d’envie de rire, il ne put, malgré son -désappointement, s’empêcher de commencer lui-même: de sorte que -l’écuyer, ravi que son maître eût donné le signal, laissa partir sa -gaieté, et cela d’une façon si démesurée, qu’il fut obligé de se serrer -les côtes avec les poings pour n’en pas suffoquer. Quatre fois il -s’arrêta, et quatre fois il recommença avec la même force; mais, ce qui -acheva de faire perdre patience à don Quichotte, ce fut lorsque Sancho -alla se planter devant lui, et en le contrefaisant d’un air goguenard, -lui dit: «Apprends, ami Sancho, que le ciel m’a fait naître pour ramener -l’âge d’or dans ce maudit siècle de fer: à moi sont réservées les -grandes actions et les périlleuses aventures.....» et il allait -continuer de plus belle, quand notre chevalier, trop en colère pour -souffrir que son écuyer plaisantât si librement, lève sa lance, et lui -en applique sur les épaules deux coups tels que s’ils lui fussent aussi -bien tombés sur la tête, il se trouvait dispensé de payer ses gages, si -ce n’est à ses héritiers. - -Sancho, voyant le mauvais succès de ses plaisanteries et craignant que -son maître ne recommençât, lui dit avec une contenance humble et d’un -ton tout contrit: Votre Grâce veut-elle donc me tuer? ne voit-elle pas -que je plaisante? - -C’est parce que vous raillez que je ne raille pas, moi, reprit don -Quichotte. Répondez, mauvais plaisant; si cette aventure avait été -véritable aussi bien qu’elle ne l’était pas, n’ai-je pas montré tout le -courage nécessaire pour l’entreprendre et la mener à fin? Suis-je -obligé, moi qui suis chevalier, de connaître tous les sons que -j’entends, et de distinguer s’ils viennent ou non de marteaux à foulon, -surtout si je n’ai jamais vu de ces marteaux? c’est votre affaire à -vous, misérable vilain qui êtes né au milieu de ces sortes de choses: -Supposons un seul instant que ces six marteaux soient autant de géants, -donnez-les-moi à combattre l’un après l’autre, ou tous ensemble, peu -m’importe; oh! alors, si je ne vous les livre pieds et poings liés, -raillez tant qu’il vous plaira. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, je confesse que j’ai eu tort, je le sens -bien; mais, dites-moi, maintenant que nous sommes quittes et que la paix -est faite entre nous (Dieu puisse vous tirer sain et sauf de toutes les -aventures comme il vous a tiré de celle-ci!), n’y a-t-il pas de quoi -faire un bon conte de la frayeur que nous avons eue? moi, du moins; car, -je le sais, la peur n’est pas de votre connaissance. - -Je conviens, dit don Quichotte, que dans ce qui vient de nous arriver il -y a quelque chose de plaisant, et qui prête à rire; cependant il me -semble peu sage d’en parler, tout le monde ne sachant pas prendre les -choses comme il faut, ni en faire bon usage. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, reprit Sancho, on ne dira pas cela de Votre Grâce. -Peste! Vous savez joliment prendre la lance et vous en servir comme il -faut excepté pourtant lorsque, visant à la tête, vous donnez sur les -épaules; car si je n’eusse fait un mouvement de côté, j’en tenais de la -bonne façon. Au reste, n’en parlons plus: tout s’en ira à la première -lessive; d’ailleurs, qui aime bien châtie bien, sans compter qu’un bon -maître, quand il a dit une injure à son valet, ne manque jamais de lui -donner des chausses. J’ignore ce qu’il donne après des coups de gaule; -mais je pense que les chevaliers errants donnent au moins à leurs -écuyers des îles ou quelques royaumes en terre ferme. - -La chance pourrait finir par si bien tourner, reprit don Quichotte, que -ce que tu viens de dire ne tardât pas à se réaliser. En attendant, -pardonne-moi le passé: tu sais que l’homme n’est pas maître de son -premier mouvement. Cependant, afin que tu ne t’émancipes plus à -l’avenir, je dois t’apprendre une chose; c’est que, dans tous les livres -de chevalerie que j’ai lus, et certes ils sont en assez bon nombre, je -n’ai jamais trouvé d’écuyer qui osât parler devant son maître aussi -librement que tu le fais; et, en cela, nous avons tort tous deux, toi, -de n’avoir pas assez de respect pour moi, et moi, de ne pas me faire -assez respecter. L’écuyer d’Amadis, Gandalin, qui devint comte de l’île -Ferme, ne parlait jamais à son seigneur que le bonnet à la main, la tête -baissée, et le corps incliné, _more turquesco_, à la manière des Turcs. -Mais que dirons-nous de cet écuyer de don Galaor, Gasabal, lequel fut si -discret que, pour instruire la postérité de son merveilleux silence, -l’auteur ne le nomme qu’une seule fois dans cette longue et véridique -histoire. Ce que je viens de dire, Sancho, c’est afin de te faire sentir -la distance qui doit exister entre le maître et le serviteur. Ainsi, -vivons désormais dans une plus grande réserve, et sans prendre, comme on -dit, trop de corde; car, enfin, de quelque manière que je me fâche, ce -sera toujours tant pis pour la cruche. Les récompenses que je t’ai -promises arriveront en leur temps; et fallût-il s’en passer, les gages -au moins ne manqueront pas. - -Tout ce que vous dites, seigneur, est très-bien dit, répliqua Sancho; -mais, si par hasard le temps des récompenses n’arrivait point et qu’on -dût s’en tenir aux gages, apprenez-moi, je vous prie, ce que gagnait un -écuyer de chevalier errant: faisait-il marché au mois, ou à la journée? - -Jamais on n’a vu ces sortes d’écuyers être à gages, mais à merci, -répondit don Quichotte. Si je t’ai assigné des gages dans mon testament, -c’est qu’on ne sait pas ce qui peut arriver; et comme dans les temps -calamiteux où nous vivons, tu parviendrais peut-être difficilement à -prouver ma chevalerie, je n’ai pas voulu que pour si peu de chose mon -âme fût en peine dans l’autre monde. Nous avons assez d’autres travaux -ici-bas, mon pauvre ami, car tu sauras qu’il n’y a guère de métier plus -scabreux que celui de chercheur d’aventures. - -Je le crois, reprit Sancho, puisqu’il a suffi du bruit de quelques -marteaux à foulon pour troubler l’âme d’un errant aussi valeureux que -l’est Votre Grâce; aussi soyez bien certain qu’à l’avenir je ne rirai -plus quand il s’agira de vos affaires, et que maintenant je n’ouvrirai -la bouche que pour vous honorer comme mon maître et mon véritable -seigneur. - -C’est le moyen que tu vives longuement sur la terre, dit don Quichotte, -car après les pères et les mères, ce qu’on doit respecter le plus ce -sont les maîtres, car ils en tiennent lieu. - -CHAPITRE XXI - -QUI TRAITE DE LA CONQUÊTE DE L’ARMET DE MAMBRIN, ET D’AUTRES CHOSES -ARRIVÉES A NOTRE INVINCIBLE CHEVALIER - -En ce moment, il commença à tomber un peu de pluie. Sancho eût bien -voulu se mettre à couvert dans les moulins à foulon, mais don -Quichotte, depuis le tour qu’ils lui avaient joué, les avait pris en si -grande aversion, que jamais il ne voulut consentir à y mettre le pied. -Changeant donc de chemin, il en trouva bientôt à droite un semblable à -celui qu’ils avaient parcouru le jour précédent. - -A peu de distance don Quichotte aperçut un cavalier qui portait sur sa -tête un objet brillant comme de l’or. Aussitôt se tournant vers Sancho: -Ami, lui dit-il, sais-tu bien qu’il n’y a rien de si vrai que les -proverbes? ce sont autant de maximes tirées de l’expérience même. Mais -cela est surtout vrai du proverbe qui dit: Quand se ferme une porte, une -autre s’ouvre. En effet, si la fortune nous ferma hier soir la porte de -l’aventure que nous cherchions, en nous abusant avec ces maudits -marteaux, voilà maintenant qu’elle nous ouvre à deux battants la porte -d’une aventure meilleure et plus certaine. Si je ne parviens pas à en -trouver l’entrée, ce sera ma faute; car ici il n’y a ni vacarme inconnu -qui m’en impose, ni obscurité que j’en puisse accuser. Je dis cela parce -que, sans aucun doute, je vois venir droit à nous un homme qui porte -sur sa tête cet armet de Mambrin à propos duquel j’ai fait le serment -que tu dois te rappeler. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, prenez garde à ce que vous dites, et plus -encore à ce que vous allez faire. Ne serait-ce point ici d’autres -marteaux à foulon, qui achèveraient de nous fouler et de nous marteler -le bon sens? - -Maudits soient tes marteaux! dit don Quichotte; quel rapport ont-ils -avec un armet? - -Je n’en sais rien, reprit Sancho; mais si j’osais parler comme j’en -avais l’habitude, peut-être convaincrais-je Votre Grâce qu’elle pourrait -bien se tromper. - -Et comment puis-je me tromper, traître méticuleux? dit don Quichotte: ne -vois-tu pas venir droit à nous, monté sur un cheval gris pommelé, ce -chevalier qui porte sur sa tête un armet d’or? - -Ce que je vois et revois, reprit Sancho, c’est un homme monté sur un âne -gris brun, et qui a sur la tête je ne sais quoi de luisant. - -Eh bien, ce je ne sais quoi, c’est l’armet de Mambrin, répliqua don -Quichotte. Range-toi de côté et me laisse seul: tu vas voir comment, en -un tour de main, je mettrai fin à cette aventure et resterai maître de -ce précieux armet. - -Me mettre à l’écart n’est pas chose difficile, répliqua Sancho; mais, -encore une fois, Dieu veuille que ce ne soit pas une nouvelle espèce de -marteaux à foulon. - -Mon ami, repartit vivement don Quichotte, je vous ai déjà dit que je ne -voulais plus entendre parler de marteaux ni de foulons, et je jure -par... que si désormais vous m’en rompez la tête, je vous foulerai l’âme -dans le corps, de façon qu’il vous en souviendra. - -Sancho se tut tout court, craignant que son maître n’accomplît le -serment qu’il venait de prononcer avec une énergie singulière. - -Or voici ce qu’étaient cet armet, ce cheval et ce chevalier -qu’apercevait don Quichotte. Dans les environs il y avait deux villages, -dont l’un était si petit qu’il ne s’y trouvait point de barbier; aussi -le barbier du grand village, qui se mêlait un peu de chirurgie, servait -pour tous les deux. Dans le plus petit de ces villages, un homme ayant -eu besoin d’une saignée et un autre de se faire faire la barbe, le -barbier s’y acheminait à cette intention. Se trouvant surpris par la -pluie, il avait mis son plat à barbe sur sa tête pour garantir son -chapeau; et comme le bassin était de cuivre tout battant neuf, on le -voyait reluire d’une demi-lieue. Cet homme montait un bel âne gris, -ainsi que l’avait fort bien remarqué Sancho; mais tout cela pour don -Quichotte était un chevalier monté sur un cheval gris pommelé, avec un -armet d’or sur sa tête, car il accommodait tout à sa fantaisie -chevaleresque. Il courut donc sur le barbier bride abattue et la lance -basse, résolu de le percer de part en part. Quand il fut sur le point de -l’atteindre: Défends-toi, lui cria-t-il, chétive créature, ou rends-moi -de bonne grâce ce qui m’appartient. - -En voyant fondre si brusquement sur lui cette espèce de fantôme, le -barbier ne trouva d’autre moyen d’esquiver la rencontre que de se -laisser glisser à terre, où il ne fut pas plus tôt que, se relevant -prestement, il gagna la plaine avec plus de vitesse qu’un daim, sans nul -souci de son âne ni du bassin. - -C’était tout ce que désirait don Quichotte, qui se retourna vers son -écuyer et lui dit en souriant: Ami, le païen n’est pas bête; il imite le -castor auquel son instinct apprend à échapper aux chasseurs en se -coupant ce qui les anime à sa poursuite: ramasse cet armet. - -Par mon âme, le bassin n’est pas mauvais, dit Sancho en soupesant le -prétendu casque; il vaut une piastre comme un maravédis. Puis il le -tendit à son maître, qui voulut incontinent le mettre sur sa tête; et -comme, en le tournant de tous côtés pour trouver l’enchâssure, il n’en -pouvait venir à bout: Celui pour qui cet armet fut forgé, dit notre -héros, devait avoir une bien grosse tête; le pis, c’est qu’il en manque -la moitié. - -Quand il entendit donner le nom d’armet à un plat à barbe, Sancho ne put -s’empêcher de rire; mais, se rappelant les menaces de son maître, il -s’arrêta à moitié chemin. - -De quoi ris-tu, Sancho? lui demanda don Quichotte. - -Je ris, répondit l’écuyer, de la grosse tête que devait avoir le premier -possesseur de cet armet, qui ressemble si parfaitement à un bassin de -barbier. - -Sais-tu ce que je pense? reprit don Quichotte. Cet armet sera sans doute -tombé entre les mains de quelque ignorant, incapable d’en apprécier la -valeur; comme c’est de l’or le plus pur, il en aura fondu la moitié pour -en faire argent, puis avec le reste il a composé ceci, qui, en effet, -ressemble assez, comme tu le dis, à un bassin de barbier. Mais que -m’importe à moi qui en connais le prix? Au premier village où nous -rencontrerons une forge, je le ferai remettre en état, et j’affirme -qu’alors il ne le cédera pas même à ce fameux casque que Vulcain fourbit -un jour pour le dieu de la guerre. En attendant je le porterai tel qu’il -est: il vaudra toujours mieux que rien, et dans tous les cas il sera bon -contre les coups de pierre. - -Oui, dit Sancho, pourvu qu’elles ne soient pas lancées avec une fronde, -comme dans cette bataille entre les deux armées, quand on vous rabota si -bien les mâchoires et qu’on mit en pièces la burette où vous portiez ce -breuvage qui faillit me faire vomir les entrailles. - -C’est un malheur facile à réparer, reprit don Quichotte, puisque j’en ai -la recette en ma mémoire. - -Moi aussi, répondit Sancho; mais s’il m’arrive jamais de composer ce -maudit breuvage et encore moins d’en goûter, que ma dernière heure soit -venue. D’ailleurs, je me promets de fuir toutes les occasions d’en avoir -besoin: car désormais je suis bien résolu d’employer mes cinq sens à -m’éviter d’être blessé; comme aussi je renonce de bon cœur à blesser -personne. Pour ce qui est d’être berné encore une fois, je n’oserais en -jurer; ce sont des accidents qu’on ne peut guère prévenir, et quand ils -arrivent, ce qu’il y a de mieux à faire, c’est de plier les épaules, de -retenir son souffle, et de se laisser aller les yeux fermés où le sort -et la couverture vous envoient. - -Tu es un mauvais chrétien, Sancho, dit don Quichotte; jamais tu -n’oublies une injure; apprends qu’il est d’un cœur noble et généreux de -mépriser de semblables bagatelles. Car enfin, de quel pied boites-tu, et -quelle côte t’a-t-on brisée, pour te rappeler cette plaisanterie avec -tant d’amertume? Après tout, ce ne fut qu’un passe-temps; si je ne -l’avais ainsi considéré moi-même, je serais retourné sur mes pas, et -j’en aurais tiré une vengeance encore plus éclatante que les Grecs n’en -tirèrent de l’enlèvement de leur Hélène, qui, ajouta-t-il avec un long -soupir, n’aurait pas eu cette grande réputation de beauté, si elle fût -venue en ce temps-ci, ou que ma Dulcinée eût vécu dans le sien. - -Eh bien, dit Sancho, que l’affaire passe pour une plaisanterie, puisque -après tout il n’y a pas moyen de s’en venger; quant à moi, je sais fort -bien à quoi m’en tenir, et je m’en souviendrai tant que j’aurai des -épaules. Mais laissons cela; maintenant, seigneur, dites-moi, je vous -prie, qu’allons-nous faire de ce cheval gris pommelé, qui m’a tout l’air -d’un âne gris brun, et qu’a laissé sans maître ce pauvre diable que vous -avez renversé? Car à la manière dont il a pris la clef des champs, je -crois qu’il n’a guère envie de revenir le chercher, et par ma barbe le -grison n’est pas mauvais. - -Il n’est pas dans mes habitudes de dépouiller les vaincus, répondit don -Quichotte, et les règles de la chevalerie interdisent de les laisser -aller à pied, à moins toutefois que le vainqueur n’ait perdu son cheval -dans le combat, auquel cas il peut prendre le cheval du vaincu, comme -conquis de bonne guerre. Ainsi donc, Sancho, laisse là ce cheval ou cet -âne, comme tu voudras l’appeler; son maître ne manquera pas de venir le -reprendre dès que nous nous serons éloignés. - -Je voudrais bien pourtant emmener cette bête, reprit Sancho, ou du moins -la troquer contre la mienne, qui ne me paraît pas à moitié si bonne. -Peste! que les règles de la chevalerie sont étroites, si elles ne -permettent pas seulement de troquer un âne contre un âne! Au moins il ne -doit pas m’être défendu de troquer le harnais. - -Le cas est douteux, dit don Quichotte; cependant, jusqu’à plus ample -information, je pense que tu peux faire l’échange, pourvu seulement que -tu en aies un pressant besoin. - -Aussi pressant que si c’était pour moi-même, répondit Sancho. - -Là-dessus, usant de la permission de son maître, Sancho opéra l’échange -du harnais, _mutatio capparum_, comme on dit, ajustant celui du barbier -sur son âne, qui lui en parut une fois plus beau, et meilleur de moitié. - -Cela fait, ils déjeunèrent des restes de leur souper, et burent de l’eau -du ruisseau qui venait des moulins à foulon, sans que jamais don -Quichotte pût se résoudre à regarder de ce côté, tant il conservait -rancune de ce qui lui était arrivé. Après un léger repas, ils -remontèrent sur leurs bêtes, et sans s’inquiéter du chemin, ils se -laissèrent guider par Rossinante, que l’âne suivait toujours de la -meilleure amitié du monde. Puis ils gagnèrent insensiblement la grande -route, qu’ils suivirent à l’aventure, n’ayant pour le moment aucun -dessein arrêté. - -Tout en cheminant, Sancho dit à son maître: - -Seigneur, Votre Grâce veut-elle bien me permettre de causer tant soit -peu avec elle? car, depuis qu’elle me l’a défendu, quatre ou cinq bonnes -choses m’ont pourri dans l’estomac, et j’en ai présentement une sur le -bout de la langue à laquelle je souhaiterais une meilleure fin. - -Parle, mais sois bref, répondit don Quichotte; les longs discours sont -ennuyeux. - -Eh bien, seigneur, continua Sancho, après avoir considéré la vie que -nous menons, je dis que toutes ces aventures de grands chemins et de -forêts sont fort peu de chose, car, si périlleuses qu’elles soient, -elles ne sont vues ni sues de personne, et j’ajoute que vos bonnes -intentions et vos vaillants exploits sont autant de bien perdu, dont il -ne nous reste ni honneur ni profit. Il me semble donc, sauf meilleur -avis de Votre Grâce, qu’il serait prudent de nous mettre au service de -quelque empereur, ou de quelque autre grand prince qui eût avec ses -voisins une guerre, dans laquelle vous pourriez faire briller votre -valeur et votre excellent jugement; car enfin au bout de quelque temps -il faudrait bien de toute nécessité qu’on nous récompensât, vous et moi, -chacun selon notre mérite, s’entend; sans compter que maints -chroniqueurs prendraient soin d’écrire les prouesses de Votre Grâce, -afin d’en perpétuer la mémoire. Pour ce qui est des miennes, je n’en -parle pas, sachant qu’il ne faut pas les mesurer à la même aune: -quoique, en fin de compte, si c’est l’usage d’écrire les prouesses des -écuyers errants, je ne vois pas pourquoi il ne serait pas fait mention -de moi comme de tout autre. - -Tu n’as pas mal parlé, dit don Quichotte. Mais avant d’en arriver là il -faut d’abord faire ses preuves, chercher les aventures; parce qu’alors -le chevalier étant connu par toute la terre, s’il vient à se présenter à -la cour de quelque grand monarque, à peine aura-t-il franchi les portes -de la ville, aussitôt les petits garçons de l’endroit se précipiteront -sur ses pas en criant: Voici venir le chevalier du Soleil, ou du -Serpent, ou de tout autre emblème sous lequel il sera connu pour avoir -accompli des prouesses incomparables. C’est lui, dira-t-on, qui a -vaincu, en combat singulier, le géant Brocambruno l’indomptable, c’est -lui qui a délivré le grand Mameluk de Perse du long enchantement où il -était retenu depuis près de neuf cents ans. Si bien qu’au bruit des -hauts faits du chevalier, le roi ne pourra se dispenser de paraître aux -balcons de son palais, et reconnaissant tout d’abord le nouveau venu à -ses armes, ou à la devise de son écu, il ordonnera aux gens de sa cour -d’aller recevoir la fleur de la chevalerie. C’est alors à qui -s’empressera d’obéir, et le roi lui-même voudra descendre la moitié des -degrés pour serrer plus tôt entre ses bras l’illustre inconnu, en lui -donnant au visage le baiser de paix; puis le prenant par la main, il le -conduira aux appartements de la reine, où se trouvera l’infante sa -fille, qui doit être la plus accomplie et la plus belle personne du -monde. - -Or voici ce qu’étaient cet armet, ce cheval et ce chevalier (p. 94).] - -Une fois l’infante et le chevalier en présence, l’infante jettera les -yeux sur le chevalier et le chevalier sur l’infante, et ils se -paraîtront l’un à l’autre une chose divine plutôt qu’humaine; alors, -sans savoir pourquoi ni comment, ils se trouveront subitement embrasés -d’amour et n’ayant qu’une seule inquiétude, celle de savoir par quels -moyens ils pourront se découvrir leurs peines. Le chevalier sera conduit -ensuite dans un des plus beaux appartements du palais, où, après l’avoir -débarrassé de ses armes, on lui présentera un manteau d’écarlate, tout -couvert d’une riche broderie; et s’il avait bonne mine sous son armure, -juge de ce qu’il paraîtra en habit de courtisan. La nuit venue, il -soupera avec le roi, la reine et l’infante. Pendant le repas, et sans -qu’on s’en aperçoive, il ne quittera pas des yeux la jeune princesse; -elle aussi le regardera à la dérobée, sans faire semblant de rien, parce -que c’est, comme je te l’ai déjà dit, une personne pleine d’esprit et de -sens. Le repas achevé, on verra entrer tout à coup dans la salle du -festin un hideux petit nain, suivi d’une très-belle dame accompagnée de -deux géants, laquelle dame proposera une aventure imaginée par un ancien -sage, et si difficile à accomplir que celui qui en viendra à bout sera -tenu pour le meilleur chevalier de la terre. Aussitôt le roi voudra que -les chevaliers de sa cour en fassent l’épreuve; mais fussent-ils cent -fois plus nombreux, tous y perdront leur peine, et seul le nouveau venu -pourra la mettre à fin, au grand accroissement de sa gloire, et au grand -contentement de l’infante, qui s’estimera trop heureuse d’avoir mis ses -pensées en si haut lieu. - -Le bon de l’affaire, c’est que ce roi ou prince est engagé dans une -grande guerre contre un de ses voisins. Après quelques jours passés dans -son palais, le chevalier lui demande la permission de le servir dans -ladite guerre; le roi la lui accorde de bonne grâce, et le chevalier lui -baise courtoisement la main, pour le remercier de la faveur qui lui est -octroyée. Cette même nuit il prend congé de l’infante, à la fenêtre -grillée de ce jardin où il lui a déjà parlé plusieurs fois, grâce à la -complaisance d’une demoiselle, médiatrice de leurs amours, à qui la -princesse confie tous ses secrets. Le chevalier soupire, l’infante -s’évanouit; la confidente s’empresse de lui jeter de l’eau au visage, et -redoute de voir venir le jour, car elle serait au désespoir que -l’honneur de sa maîtresse reçût la moindre atteinte. - -Bref, l’infante reprend connaissance, et présente, aux travers des -barreaux ses blanches mains au chevalier, qui les couvre de baisers et -les baigne de larmes. Ils se concertent ensuite sur la manière dont ils -pourront se donner des nouvelles l’un de l’autre; l’infante supplie le -chevalier d’être absent le moins longtemps possible; ce qu’il ne manque -pas de lui promettre avec mille serments. Il lui baise encore une fois -les mains, et s’attendrit de telle sorte, en lui faisant ses adieux, -qu’il est sur le point d’en mourir. Il se retire ensuite dans sa chambre -et se jette sur son lit, mais il lui est impossible de fermer l’œil; -aussi, dès la pointe du jour est-il debout, afin d’aller prendre congé -du roi et de la reine. Il demande à saluer l’infante, mais la jeune -princesse lui fait répondre qu’étant indisposée elle ne peut recevoir de -visite; et comme il ne doute pas que son départ n’en soit la véritable -cause, il en est si touché qu’il est tout près de laisser éclater -ouvertement son affliction. - -La demoiselle confidente, à laquelle rien n’a échappé, va sur l’heure en -rendre compte à sa maîtresse, qu’elle trouve toute en larmes, parce que -son plus grand chagrin, dit-elle, est de ne pas savoir quel est ce -chevalier, s’il est ou non de sang royal. Mais comme on lui affirme -qu’on ne saurait unir tant de courtoisie à tant de vaillance, à moins -d’être de race souveraine, cela console un peu la malheureuse princesse, -qui, pour ne donner aucun soupçon au roi et à la reine, consent au bout -de quelques jours à reparaître en public. - -Cependant le chevalier est parti; il combat, il défait les ennemis du -roi, prend je ne sais combien de villes, et gagne autant de batailles; -après quoi il revient à la cour, et reparaît devant sa maîtresse, -couvert de gloire; il la revoit à la fenêtre que tu sais, et là ils -arrêtent ensemble que, pour récompense de ses services, il la demandera -en mariage à son père. Le roi refuse d’abord, parce qu’il ignore quelle -est la naissance du chevalier; mais l’infante, soit par un enlèvement, -soit de toute autre manière, n’en devient pas moins son épouse, et le -père finit par tenir cette union à grand honneur, car bientôt on -découvre que son gendre est le fils d’un grand roi, de je ne sais plus -quel pays: on ne le trouve même pas, je crois, sur la carte. - -Peu après, le père meurt: l’infante devient son héritière; voilà le -chevalier roi. C’est alors qu’il songe à récompenser son écuyer et tous -ceux qui ont contribué à sa haute fortune; aussi commence-t-il par -marier ledit écuyer avec une demoiselle de l’infante, celle sans doute -qui fut la confidente de leurs amours, et qui se trouve être la fille -d’un des principaux personnages du royaume. - -Voilà justement ce que je demande, s’écria Sancho, et vogue la galère! -Par ma foi, seigneur, tout arrivera au pied de la lettre, pourvu que -Votre Grâce conserve ce surnom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -N’en doute point, mon fils, répliqua don Quichotte; voilà le chemin que -suivaient les chevaliers errants, et c’est par là qu’un si grand nombre -sont devenus rois ou empereurs. Il ne nous reste donc plus qu’à chercher -un roi chrétien ou païen qui soit en guerre avec son voisin, et qui ait -une belle fille. Mais nous avons le temps d’y penser, car, comme je te -l’ai dit, avant de se présenter à la cour, il faut se faire un fonds de -renommée, afin d’y être connu en arrivant. Entre nous cependant, une -chose m’inquiète, et à laquelle je ne vois pas de remède, c’est, lorsque -j’aurai trouvé ce roi et cette infante et acquis une renommée -incroyable, comment il pourra se faire que je sois de race royale, ou -pour le moins bâtard de quelque empereur; car, malgré tous mes exploits, -le roi ne consentira jamais sans cette condition à me donner sa fille, -de sorte qu’il est à craindre que pour si peu, je ne vienne à perdre ce -que la valeur de mon bras m’aura mérité. Pour gentilhomme, je le suis de -vieille race et bien connue pour telle; j’espère même que le sage qui -doit écrire mon histoire finira par débrouiller si bien ma généalogie, -que je me trouverai tout à coup arrière-petit-fils de roi. - -A propos de cela, Sancho, je dois t’apprendre qu’il y a deux sortes de -races parmi les hommes. Les uns ont pour aïeux des rois et des princes; -mais peu à peu le temps et la mauvaise fortune les ont fait déchoir, et -ils finissent en pointe comme les pyramides; les autres, au contraire, -quoique sortis de gens de basse extraction, n’ont cessé de prospérer -jusqu’à devenir de très-grands seigneurs: de sorte que la seule -différence entre eux, c’est que les uns ont été et ne sont plus, et les -autres sont ce qu’ils n’étaient pas. Aussi, je ne vois pas pourquoi, en -étudiant l’histoire de ma race, on ne parviendrait pas à découvrir que -je suis le sommet d’une de ces pyramides à base auguste, c’est-à-dire le -dernier rejeton de quelque empereur, ce qui alors devra décider le roi, -mon futur beau-père, à m’agréer sans scrupule pour gendre. Dans tous les -cas, l’infante m’aimera si éperdument qu’en dépit de sa famille elle me -voudra pour époux, mon père eût-il été un portefaix: alors j’enlève la -princesse et l’emmène où bon me semblera, jusqu’à ce que le temps ou la -mort aient apaisé le courroux de ses parents. - -Par ma foi, vous avez raison, reprit Sancho; il n’est tel que de se -nantir soi-même; et, comme disent certains vauriens, à quoi bon demander -de gré ce qu’on peut prendre de force? Mieux vaut saut de haies que -prières de bonnes âmes; je veux dire que si le roi votre beau-père ne -consent pas à vous donner sa fille, ce sera fort bien fait à Votre Grâce -de l’enlever et de la transporter en lieu sûr. Tout le mal que j’y -trouve, c’est qu’avant que la paix soit faite entre le beau-père et le -gendre, et que vous jouissiez paisiblement du royaume, le pauvre écuyer, -dans l’attente des récompenses, fonds sur lequel il ne trouverait -peut-être pas à emprunter dix réaux, court risque de n’avoir rien à -mettre sous la dent, à moins que la demoiselle confidente qui doit -devenir sa femme, ne plie bagage en même temps que l’infante et qu’il ne -se console avec elle jusqu’à ce que le ciel en ordonne autrement; car je -pense qu’alors son maître peut bien la lui donner pour légitime épouse. - -Et qui l’en empêcherait? repartit don Quichotte. - -S’il en est ainsi, dit Sancho, nous n’avons plus qu’à nous recommander à -Dieu, et à laisser courir le sort là où il lui plaira de nous mener. - -Dieu veuille, ajouta don Quichotte, que tout arrive comme nous -l’entendons l’un et l’autre; que celui qui s’estime peu, se donne pour -ce qu’il vaudra. - -Ainsi soit-il, reprit Sancho; parbleu, je suis vieux chrétien, et cela -doit suffire pour être comte. - -Et quand tu ne le serais pas, dit don Quichotte, cela ne fait rien à -l’affaire; car, dès que je serai roi, j’aurai parfaitement le pouvoir de -t’anoblir sans que tu achètes la noblesse; une fois comte, te voilà -gentilhomme, et alors, bon gré, mal gré, il faudra bien qu’on te traite -de Seigneurie. - -Et pourquoi non? répliqua Sancho; est-ce que je n’en vaux pas un autre? -par ma foi, on pourrait bien s’y tromper. J’ai déjà eu l’honneur d’être -bedeau d’une confrérie, et chacun disait qu’avec ma belle prestance et -ma bonne mine sous la robe de bedeau, je méritais d’être marguillier. -Que sera-ce donc lorsque j’aurai un manteau ducal sur les épaules ou que -je serai tout cousu d’or et de perles, comme un comte étranger? Je veux -qu’on vienne me voir de cent lieues. - -Certes, tu auras fort bon air, dit don Quichotte: seulement il faudra -que tu te fasses souvent couper la barbe; car tu l’as si épaisse et si -crasseuse, qu’à moins d’y passer le rasoir tous les deux jours, on -reconnaîtra qui tu es à une portée d’arquebuse. - -Et bien, qu’à cela ne tienne, reprit Sancho; je prendrai un barbier à -gages, afin de l’avoir à la maison, et, dans l’occasion, je le ferai -marcher derrière moi comme l’écuyer d’un grand seigneur. - -Comment sais-tu que les grands seigneurs mènent derrière eux leurs -écuyers? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je vais vous le dire, répondit Sancho. Il y a quelques années je passai -environ un mois dans la capitale, et là je vis à la promenade un petit -homme[41], qu’on disait être un grand seigneur, suivi d’un homme à -cheval, qui s’arrêtait quand le seigneur s’arrêtait, marchait quand il -marchait, ni plus ni moins que s’il eût été son ombre. Je demandai -pourquoi celui-ci ne rejoignait pas l’autre, et allait toujours derrière -lui; on me répondit que c’était son écuyer, et que les grands avaient -l’habitude de se faire suivre ainsi. Je m’en souviens et je veux en user -de même quand mon tour sera venu. - - [41] Cervantes fait allusion au duc d’Ossuna, dont on disait qu’il - n’avait de petit que la taille. - -Par ma foi, tu as raison, dit don Quichotte; et tu feras fort bien de -mener ton barbier à ta suite: toutes les modes n’ont pas été inventées -d’un seul coup, et tu seras le premier comte qui aura mis celle-là en -usage. D’ailleurs, l’office de barbier est bien au-dessus de celui -d’écuyer. - -Pour ce qui est du barbier, reposez-vous-en sur moi, reprit Sancho; que -Votre Grâce songe seulement à devenir roi, et à me faire comte. - -Sois tranquille, dit don Quichotte, qui, levant les yeux, aperçut ce que -nous dirons dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE DONNA LA LIBERTÉ A UNE QUANTITÉ DE MALHEUREUX -QU’ON MENAIT, MALGRÉ EUX, OU ILS NE VOULAIENT PAS ALLER - -Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, auteur de cette grave, douce, pompeuse, humble et -ingénieuse histoire, raconte qu’après la longue et admirable -conversation que nous venons de rapporter, don Quichotte, levant les -yeux, vit venir sur le chemin qu’il suivait une douzaine d’hommes à pied -ayant des menottes aux bras et enfilés comme les grains d’un chapelet -par une longue chaîne, qui les prenait tous par le cou. Ils étaient -accompagnés de deux hommes à cheval, et de deux à pied, les premiers -portant des arquebuses à rouet, et les seconds des piques et des épées. - -Voilà, dit Sancho en apercevant cette caravane, la chaîne des forçats -qu’on mène servir le roi sur les galères. - -Des forçats? s’écria don Quichotte; est-il possible que le roi fasse -violence à quelqu’un? - -Je ne dis pas cela, reprit Sancho; je dis que ce sont des gens qu’on a -condamnés pour leurs crimes à servir le roi sur les galères. - -En définitive, reprit don Quichotte, ces gens sont contraints, et ne -vont pas là de leur plein gré. - -Oh! pour cela je vous en réponds, repartit Sancho. - -Eh bien, dit don Quichotte, cela me regarde, moi dont la profession est -d’empêcher les violences et de secourir les malheureux. - -Faites attention, seigneur, continua Sancho, que la justice et le roi ne -font aucune violence à de semblables gens, et qu’ils n’ont que ce qu’ils -méritent. - -En ce moment la bande passa si près de don Quichotte, qu’il pria les -gardes, avec beaucoup de politesse, de vouloir bien lui apprendre pour -quel sujet ces pauvres diables marchaient ainsi enchaînés. - -Ce sont des forçats qui vont servir sur les galères du roi, répondit un -des cavaliers; je ne sais rien de plus, et je ne crois pas qu’il soit -nécessaire que vous en sachiez davantage. - -Vous m’obligeriez beaucoup, reprit don Quichotte, en me laissant -apprendre de chacun d’eux en particulier la cause de sa disgrâce. - -Il accompagna sa prière de tant de civilités, que l’autre cavalier lui -dit: Nous avons bien ici les sentences de ces misérables, mais il serait -trop long de les lire, et cela ne vaut pas la peine de défaire nos -valises: questionnez-les vous-même, ils vous satisferont, s’ils en ont -envie, car ces honnêtes gens ne se font pas plus prier pour raconter -leurs prouesses que pour les faire. - -Avec cette permission, qu’il aurait prise de lui-même si on la lui avait -refusée, don Quichotte s’approcha de la chaîne, et demanda à celui qui -marchait en tête pour quel péché il allait de cette triste façon. - -C’est pour avoir été amoureux, répondit-il. - -Quoi! rien que pour cela? s’écria notre chevalier. Si on envoie les -amoureux aux galères, il y a longtemps que je devrais ramer. - -Mes amours n’étaient pas de ceux que suppose Votre Grâce, reprit le -forçat, j’aimais si fort une corbeille remplie de linge blanc, et je la -tenais embrassée si étroitement que, sans la justice qui s’en mêla, elle -serait encore entre mes bras. Pris sur le fait, on n’eut pas recours à -la question: je fus condamné, après avoir eu les épaules chatouillées -d’une centaine de coups de fouet; mais quand j’aurai, pendant trois ans, -fauché le grand pré, j’en serai quitte. - -Qu’entendez-vous par faucher le grand pré? demanda don Quichotte. - -C’est ramer aux galères, répondit le forçat, qui était un jeune homme -d’environ vingt-quatre ans, natif de Piedrahita. - -Don Quichotte fit la même question au suivant, qui ne répondit pas un -seul mot, tant il était triste et mélancolique; son camarade lui en -épargna la peine en disant: - -Celui-là est un serin de Canarie; il va aux galères pour avoir trop -chanté. - -Comment! on envoie aussi les musiciens aux galères? dit don Quichotte. - -Oui, seigneur, répondit le forçat, parce qu’il n’y a rien de plus -dangereux que de chanter dans le tourment. - -J’avais toujours entendu dire: Qui chante, son mal enchante, repartit -notre chevalier. - -C’est tout au rebours ici, répliqua le forçat: qui chante une fois, -pleure toute sa vie. - -Par ma foi, je n’y comprends rien, dit don Quichotte. - -Pour ces gens de bien, interrompit un des gardes, chanter dans le -tourment, signifie confesser à la torture. On a donné la question à ce -drôle; il a fait l’aveu de son crime, qui était d’avoir volé des -bestiaux; et, pour avoir confessé, ou chanté, comme ils disent, il a été -condamné à six ans de galères, outre deux cents coups de fouet qui lui -ont été comptés sur-le-champ. Si vous le voyez triste et confus, c’est -que ses camarades le bafouent et le maltraitent pour n’avoir pas eu le -courage de souffrir et de nier: car, entre eux, ils prétendent qu’il n’y -a pas plus de lettres dans un _non_ que dans un _oui_, et qu’un accusé -est bien heureux de tenir son absolution au bout de sa langue, quand il -n’y a pas de témoin contre lui. Franchement, je trouve qu’ils n’ont pas -tout à fait tort. - -C’est aussi mon avis, dit don Quichotte; et, passant au troisième, il -lui adressa la même question. - -Celui-ci, sans se faire tirer l’oreille, répondit d’un ton dégagé: - -Moi je m’en vais pour cinq ans aux galères, faute de dix ducats. - -J’en donnerai vingt de bon cœur pour vous en dispenser, dit don -Quichotte. - -Il est un peu trop tard, repartit le forçat; cela ressemble fort à celui -qui a sa bourse pleine au milieu de la mer, et qui meurt de faim faute -de pouvoir acheter ce dont il a besoin. Si j’avais eu en prison les -vingt ducats que vous m’offrez en ce moment, pour graisser la patte du -greffier, et pour aviver la langue de mon avocat, je serais à l’heure -qu’il est à me promener au beau milieu de la place de Zocodover à -Tolède, et non sur ce chemin, mené en laisse comme un lévrier. Mais, -patience! chaque chose a son temps. - -Le quatrième était un vieillard de vénérable aspect, avec une longue -barbe blanche qui lui descendait sur la poitrine. Il se mit à pleurer -quand don Quichotte lui demanda ce qui l’avait amené là, et celui qui -suivait répondit à sa place: Cet honnête barbon va servir le roi sur mer -pendant quatre ans, après avoir été promené en triomphe par les rues, -vêtu magnifiquement. - -Cela s’appelle, je crois, faire amende honorable, dit Sancho. - -Justement, répondit le forçat, et c’est pour avoir été courtier -d’oreille et même du corps tout entier; c’est-à-dire que ce gentilhomme -est ici en qualité de Mercure galant, et aussi pour quelques petits -grains de sorcellerie. - -De ces grains-là, je n’ai rien à dire, reprit don Quichotte; mais s’il -n’avait été que messager d’amour, il ne mériterait pas d’aller aux -galères, si ce n’est pour être fait général. L’emploi de messager -d’amour n’est pas ce qu’on imagine, et pour le bien remplir il faut être -habile et prudent. Dans un État bien réglé, c’est un office qui ne -devrait être confié qu’à des personnes de choix. Il serait bon, pour ces -sortes de charges, de créer des contrôleurs et examinateurs comme il y -en a pour les autres; ceux qui les exercent devraient être fixés à un -certain nombre, et prêter serment: par là on éviterait beaucoup de -désordres provenant de ce que trop de gens se mêlent du métier, gens -sans intelligence, pour la plupart, sottes servantes, laquais et jeunes -pages, qui dans les circonstances difficiles ne savent plus reconnaître -leur main droite d’avec leur main gauche, et laissent geler leur soupe -dans le trajet de l’assiette à la bouche. Si j’en avais le temps, je -voudrais donner mes raisons du soin qu’il convient d’apporter dans le -choix des gens destinés à un emploi de cette importance; mais ce n’est -pas ici le lieu. Quelque jour j’en parlerai à ceux qui peuvent y -pourvoir. Aujourd’hui je dirai seulement que ma peine à la vue de ce -vieillard, avec ses cheveux blancs et son vénérable visage, si durement -traité pour quelques messages d’amour, a quelque peu cessé quand vous -avez ajouté qu’il se mêlait aussi de sorcellerie, quoiqu’à dire vrai, je -sache bien qu’il n’y a ni charmes ni sortiléges au monde qui puissent -influencer la volonté, comme le pensent beaucoup d’esprits crédules. -Nous avons tous pleinement notre libre arbitre, contre lequel plantes -et enchantements ne peuvent rien. Ce que font quelques femmelettes par -simplicité, quelques fripons par fourberie, ce sont des breuvages, des -mixtures, au moyen desquels ils rendent les hommes fous en leur faisant -accroire qu’ils ont le secret de les rendre amoureux, tandis qu’il est, -je le répète, impossible de contraindre la volonté. - -Cela est vrai, dit le vieillard, et pour ce qui est de la sorcellerie, -seigneur, je n’ai rien à me reprocher. Quant aux messages galants, j’en -conviens; mais je ne croyais pas qu’il y eût le moindre mal à cela, je -voulais seulement que chacun fût heureux. Hélas! ma bonne intention -n’aura servi qu’à m’envoyer dans un lieu d’où je pense ne plus revenir, -chargé d’ans comme je suis, et souffrant d’une rétention d’urine qui ne -me laisse pas un moment de repos. - -A ces mots le pauvre homme se remit à pleurer de plus belle, et Sancho -en eut tant de compassion, qu’il tira de sa poche une pièce de quatre -réaux et la lui donna. - -Passant à un autre, don Quichotte lui demanda quel était son crime. Le -forçat répondit d’un ton non moins dégagé que ses camarades. - -Je m’en vais aux galères pour avoir trop folâtré avec deux de mes -cousines germaines, et même avec deux autres cousines qui n’étaient pas -les miennes. Bref, nous avons joué ensemble aux jeux innocents, et il -s’en est suivi un accroissement de famille tellement embrouillé que le -plus habile généalogiste aurait peine à s’y reconnaître. J’ai été -convaincu par preuves et témoignages. Les protections me manquant, -l’argent aussi, je me suis vu sur le point de mourir d’un mal de gorge; -cependant je n’ai été condamné qu’à six ans de galères: aussi n’en ai-je -point appelé, crainte de pis. J’ai mérité ma peine; mais je me sens -jeune, la vie est longue, et avec le temps on vient à bout de tout. -Maintenant, seigneur, si Votre Grâce veut secourir les pauvres gens, -qu’elle le fasse promptement. Dieu la récompensera dans le ciel, et -nous le prierons ici-bas pour qu’il vous donne santé aussi bonne et vie -aussi longue que vous le méritez. - -Ce dernier portait un habit d’étudiant, et un des gardes dit que c’était -un beau parleur qui savait son latin. - -Derrière tous ceux-là venait un homme d’environ trente ans, bien fait et -de bonne mine, si ce n’est qu’il louchait d’un œil; il était autrement -attaché que les autres, car il portait au pied une chaîne si longue -qu’elle lui entourait tout le corps, puis deux anneaux de fer au cou, -l’un rivé à la chaîne, et l’autre de ceux qu’on appelle PIED D’AMI, d’où -descendaient deux branches allant jusqu’à la ceinture, et aboutissant à -deux menottes qui lui serraient si bien les bras, qu’il ne pouvait -porter les mains à sa bouche, ni baisser la tête jusqu’à ses mains. Don -Quichotte demanda pourquoi celui-là était plus maltraité que les autres. - -Parce qu’à lui seul il est plus criminel que tous les autres ensemble, -répondit le garde; il est si hardi et si rusé, que même en cet état nous -craignons qu’il ne nous échappe. - -Quel crime a-t-il donc commis, s’il n’a point mérité la mort? dit don -Quichotte. - -Il est condamné aux galères pour dix ans, reprit le commissaire, ce qui -équivaut à la mort civile. Au reste, il vous suffira de savoir que cet -honnête homme est le fameux Ginez de Passamont, autrement appelé -Ginesille de Parapilla. - -Doucement, s’il vous plaît, seigneur commissaire, interrompit le forçat, -et n’épiloguons point sur nos noms et surnoms; je m’appelle Ginez et non -pas Ginesille; Passamont est mon nom de famille, et point du tout -Parapilla, comme il vous plaît de m’appeler. Que chacun à la ronde -s’examine, et, quand on aura fait le tour, ce ne sera pas temps perdu. - -Tais-toi, maître larron, dit le commissaire. - -L’homme va comme il plaît à Dieu, repartit Passamont; mais un jour on -saura si je m’appelle ou non Ginesille de Parapilla. - -N’est-ce pas ainsi qu’on t’appelle, imposteur? dit le garde. - -C’est vrai, répondit Ginez; mais je ferai en sorte qu’on ne me donne -plus ce nom, ou je m’arracherai la barbe jusqu’au dernier poil. Seigneur -chevalier, dit-il en s’adressant à don Quichotte, si vous voulez nous -donner quelque chose, faites-le promptement, et allez-vous-en en la -garde de Dieu, car tant de questions sur la vie du prochain commencent à -nous ennuyer; s’il vous plaît de connaître la mienne, sachez que je suis -Ginez de Passamont, dont l’histoire est écrite par les cinq doigts de -cette main. - -Il dit vrai, ajouta le commissaire; lui-même a écrit son histoire, et -l’on dit même que c’est un morceau fort curieux; mais il a laissé le -livre en gage dans la prison pour deux cents réaux. - -J’espère bien le retirer, reprit Passamont, fût-il engagé pour deux -cents ducats. - -Est-il donc si parfait? demanda don Quichotte. - -Si parfait, répondit Passamont, qu’il fera la barbe à Lazarille de -Tormes, et à tous les livres de cette espèce, écrits ou à écrire. Tout -ce que je puis vous dire, c’est qu’il contient des vérités si utiles et -si agréables, qu’il n’y a fables qui les vaillent. - -Et quel titre porte votre livre? poursuivit don Quichotte. - -_Vie de Ginez de Passamont_, répondit le forçat. - -Est-il achevé? dit notre héros. - -Achevé, répliqua Ginez, autant qu’il peut l’être jusqu’à cette heure où -je n’ai pas achevé de vivre. Il commence du jour où je suis né, et -s’arrête à cette nouvelle fois que je vais aux galères. - -Vous y avez donc été déjà? demanda don Quichotte. - -J’y ai passé quatre ans pour le service de Dieu et du roi, répondit -Ginez; et je connais le goût du biscuit et du nerf de bœuf. Au reste, -cela ne me fâche pas autant qu’on le croit d’y retourner, parce que là -du moins je pourrai achever mon livre, et que j’ai encore une foule de -bonnes choses à dire. Dans les galères d’Espagne, on a beaucoup de -loisir, et il ne m’en faudra guère, car ce qui me reste à ajouter, je le -sais par cœur. - -Tu as de l’esprit, dit don Quichotte. - -Et du malheur, repartit Ginez; car le malheur poursuit toujours -l’esprit. - -Il poursuit les scélérats, interrompit le commissaire. - -Je vous ai déjà dit, seigneur commissaire, de parler plus doux, répliqua -Passamont; messeigneurs nos juges ne vous ont pas mis en main cette -verge noire pour maltraiter les pauvres gens qui sont ici, mais pour les -conduire où le roi a besoin d’eux. Sinon et par la vie de... Mais -suffit; que chacun se taise, vive bien et parle mieux encore... -Poursuivons notre chemin, car voilà assez de fadaises comme cela. - -A ces mots, le commissaire leva sa baguette sur Passamont, pour lui -donner la réponse à ses menaces; mais don Quichotte, se jetant -au-devant, le pria de ne pas le maltraiter. - -Encore est-il juste, dit-il, que celui qui a les bras si bien liés ait -au moins la langue un peu libre. Puis, se tournant vers les forçats: Mes -frères, ajouta-t-il, de ce que je viens d’entendre il résulte clairement -pour moi que bien qu’on vous ait punis pour vos fautes, la peine que -vous allez subir est fort peu de votre goût, et que vous allez aux -galères tout à fait contre votre gré. Or, comme le peu de courage que -l’un a montré à la question, le manque d’argent chez l’autre, et surtout -l’erreur et la passion des juges, qui vont si vite en besogne, ont pu -vous mettre dans le triste état où je vous vois, je pense que c’est ici -le cas de montrer pourquoi le ciel m’a fait naître, et m’a inspiré le -noble dessein d’embrasser cette profession de chevalier errant dans -laquelle j’ai fait vœu de secourir les malheureux et de protéger les -petits contre l’oppression des grands. Mais comme aussi dans ce qu’on -veut obtenir la sagesse conseille de recourir à la persuasion plutôt -qu’à la violence, je prie le seigneur commissaire et vos gardiens de -vous ôter vos fers et de vous laisser aller en paix: assez d’autres se -trouveront pour servir le roi quand l’occasion s’en présentera, et -c’est, à vrai dire, une chose monstrueuse de rendre esclaves des hommes -que Dieu et la nature ont créés libres. D’ailleurs, continua-t-il en -s’adressant au commissaire et aux gardes, ces gens-là ne vous ont fait -aucune offense; eh bien, que chacun reste avec son péché, et puisqu’il y -a un Dieu là-haut qui prend soin de châtier les méchants quand ils ne -veulent pas se corriger, il n’est pas bien que des gens d’honneur se -fassent les bourreaux des autres hommes. Je vous demande cela avec calme -et douceur, afin que, si vous me l’accordez, j’aie à vous en remercier: -autrement, cette lance et cette épée, secondant la vigueur de mon bras -sauront bien l’obtenir par la force. - -Admirable conclusion! repartit le commissaire; par ma foi, voilà qui est -plaisant: nous demander la liberté des forçats du roi; comme si nous -avions le pouvoir de les délivrer, ou que vous eussiez celui de nous y -contraindre! Seigneur, continuez votre route, et redressez un peu le -bassin que vous portez sur la tête, sans vous inquiéter de savoir si -notre chat n’a que trois pattes. - -C’est vous, qui êtes le rat, le chat, et le goujat! s’écria don -Quichotte; en même temps il s’élança avec tant de furie sur le -commissaire, qu’avant de s’être mis en défense, celui-ci fut renversé -par terre dangereusement blessé d’un coup de lance. - -Surpris d’une attaque si inattendue, les autres gardes ne tardèrent pas -à se remettre, et tous alors, les uns avec leurs épées, les autres avec -leurs piques, commencèrent à attaquer notre héros, qui s’en serait fort -mal trouvé si les forçats, voyant une belle occasion de reprendre la -clef des champs, n’eussent cherché à en profiter pour rompre leurs -chaînes. La confusion devint si grande, que, tantôt courant aux forçats -qui se déliaient, tantôt ripostant à don Quichotte qui ne leur donnait -point de trêve, les gardes ne firent rien qui vaille. De son côté, -Sancho s’empressa d’aider Ginez de Passamont à rompre sa chaîne, lequel -ne fut pas plutôt libre qu’il fondit sur le commissaire, lui arracha son -arquebuse, et tour à tour visant l’un, visant l’autre, sans tirer -jamais, sut montrer tant d’audace et de résolution, que, ses compagnons -le secondant à coups de pierres, les gardes prirent la fuite et -abandonnèrent le champ de bataille. - -Sancho s’affligea fort de ce bel exploit, se doutant bien que ceux qui -se sauvaient à toutes jambes allaient prévenir la Sainte-Hermandad, et -chercher main-forte, afin de se mettre à la poursuite des coupables. -Dans cette appréhension, il conjura son maître de s’éloigner au plus -vite du grand chemin et de se réfugier dans la sierra qui était proche. - -C’est fort bien, reprit don Quichotte; mais, pour l’heure, je sais, moi, -ce qu’il convient de faire avant tout. A sa voix, les forçats, qui -couraient pêle-mêle, et qui venaient de dépouiller le commissaire -jusqu’à la peau, s’approchèrent pour savoir ce que voulait notre héros; -Des hommes bien nés comme vous l’êtes, leur dit-il, doivent se montrer -reconnaissants des services qu’ils ont reçus; et de tous les vices -l’ingratitude, vous le savez, est celui que Dieu punit le plus -sévèrement. Aussi, d’après ce que je viens de faire pour vous, persuadé -que je n’ai pas obligé des ingrats, je ne demande en retour qu’une seule -chose: c’est que, chargés de cette même chaîne dont je vous ai délivrés, -vous vous mettiez immédiatement en chemin pour la cité du Toboso. Là, -vous présentant devant madame Dulcinée, vous lui direz que son esclave, -le chevalier de la Triste-Figure lui envoie ses compliments, et vous lui -raconterez mot pour mot ce que je viens de faire pour votre délivrance. -Cela fait, allez où il vous plaira. - -A ce discours, Ginez de Passamont, prenant la parole, répondit au nom de -ses camarades: Seigneur chevalier notre libérateur, ce que désire Votre -Grâce est impossible, et nous n’oserions nous montrer ensemble le long -des grands chemins; il faut, au contraire, nous séparer au plus vite, -afin de ne plus retomber entre les mains de la Sainte-Hermandad, qui, -sans aucun doute, va envoyer à notre poursuite. Ce que doit faire Votre -Grâce, et ce qui me paraît juste qu’elle fasse, c’est de commuer le -tribut que nous devons à madame Dulcinée du Toboso en une certaine -quantité d’_Ave Maria_ et de _Credo_, que nous dirons à son intention. -Voilà du moins une pénitence que nous pourrons accomplir facilement, de -nuit comme de jour, en marche ou au repos. Mais penser que de gaieté de -cœur nous allions retourner aux marmites d’Égypte, c’est-à-dire -reprendre notre chaîne, autant vouloir qu’il soit jour en pleine nuit. -Nous demander semblable folie, c’est demander des poires à l’ormeau. - -Eh bien, don fils de gueuse, don Ginez ou Ginesille de Paropillo, car -peu m’importe comment on t’appelle, s’écria don Quichotte enflammé de -colère, je jure Dieu que seul de tes compagnons tu iras chargé de la -chaîne que je t’ai ôtée, et de tout le bagage que tu avais sur ton noble -corps. - -Peu endurant de sa nature, Passamont, qui n’en était plus à s’apercevoir -que notre héros avait la cervelle endommagée d’après ce qu’il venait de -faire, se voyant traité si cavalièrement, fit un signe à ses compagnons. -Ceux-ci, s’éloignant aussitôt, se mirent à faire pleuvoir sur don -Quichotte une telle grêle de pierres qu’il ne pouvait suffire à les -parer avec sa rondache. Quant au pauvre Rossinante, il se souciait -aussi peu de l’éperon que s’il eût été de bronze. Sancho s’abrita -derrière son âne, et par ce moyen évita la tempête; mais son maître ne -put si bien s’en garantir qu’il ne reçût à travers les reins je ne sais -combien de cailloux qui le jetèrent par terre. L’étudiant fondit sur -lui, et lui arrachant le bassin qu’il portait sur la tête, il lui en -donna plusieurs coups sur les épaules; après quoi frappant cinq ou six -fois le prétendu armet contre le sol, il le mit en pièces. Les forçats -enlevèrent au chevalier une casaque qu’il portait par-dessus ses armes, -et ils lui auraient ôté jusqu’à ses chausses, si ses genouillères ne les -en eussent empêchés. Pour ne pas laisser l’ouvrage imparfait, ils -débarrassèrent Sancho de son manteau, et le laissèrent en justaucorps, -après quoi ils partagèrent entre eux les dépouilles du combat; puis -chacun tira de son côté, plus curieux d’éviter la Sainte-Hermandad que -de faire connaissance avec la princesse du Toboso. - -L’âne, Rossinante, Sancho et don Quichotte, demeurèrent seuls sur le -champ de bataille: l’âne, la tête baissée, et secouant de temps en temps -les oreilles, comme si la pluie de cailloux durait encore; Rossinante, -étendu près de son maître; Sancho en manches de chemise, et tremblant à -la seule pensée de la Sainte-Hermandad; don Quichotte enfin, l’âme -navrée d’avoir été mis en ce piteux état par ceux-là même à qui il -venait de rendre un si grand service. - -CHAPITRE XXIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA AU FAMEUX DON QUICHOTTE DANS LA SIERRA MORENA, ET DE -L’UNE DES PLUS RARES AVENTURES QUE MENTIONNE CETTE VÉRIDIQUE HISTOIRE - -En se voyant traité si indignement, don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher de -dire à son écuyer: Sancho, j’ai toujours entendu dire que faire du bien -aux méchants, c’était porter de l’eau à la mer; si je t’avais écouté, -j’aurais évité cette mésaventure: mais enfin ce qui est fait est fait; -prenons patience, et que l’expérience nous profite pour l’avenir. - -Vous profiterez de l’expérience comme je deviendrai Turc, répondit -Sancho; vous dites que si vous m’eussiez cru, vous pouviez éviter cette -mésaventure; eh bien, croyez-moi à cette heure, et vous en éviterez une -plus grande encore; car, en un mot comme en mille, je vous avertis que -la Sainte-Hermandad se moque de toutes vos chevaleries, et qu’elle ne -fait pas plus de cas de tous les chevaliers errants du monde que d’un -maravédis. Tenez, il me semble que j’entends déjà ses flèches me siffler -aux oreilles[42]. - - [42] La Sainte-Hermandad faisait tuer à coups de flèches les criminels - qu’elle condamnait, et laissait leurs cadavres exposés au gibet. - -Tu es un grand poltron, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; cependant, afin -que tu ne dises pas que je suis un entêté et que je ne fais jamais ce -que tu me conseilles, je veux cette fois suivre ton avis, et m’éloigner -de ce danger que tu redoutes si fort; mais à une condition, c’est que, -ou mort ou vivant, tu ne diras jamais que je me suis esquivé par -crainte, mais seulement pour céder à ta prière et te faire plaisir. Si -tu dis le contraire, tu auras menti; et aujourd’hui comme alors, alors -comme aujourd’hui, je te donne un démenti, et dis que tu mens, et -mentiras toutes les fois que tu diras ou penseras pareille chose. Pas un -mot, je te prie; car la seule idée que je tourne le dos à un péril, -quelque grand qu’il puisse être, me donne envie de demeurer ici, et d’y -attendre de pied ferme, non-seulement la Sainte-Hermandad, mais encore -les douze tribus d’Israël, les sept frères Machabées, Castor et Pollux, -et tous les frères et confréries du monde. - -Se retirer n’est pas fuir, dit Sancho; et attendre n’est pas sagesse, -quand le péril dépasse l’espérance et les forces. Un homme sage doit se -conserver aujourd’hui pour demain, sans aventurer tout en un jour. -Sachez que tout rustre et vilain que je suis, j’ai pourtant quelque idée -de ce qu’on appelle se bien gouverner. Ne vous repentez donc point de -suivre mon conseil: tâchez seulement de monter sur Rossinante, sinon je -vous aiderai, et suivez-moi, car quelque chose me dit qu’à cette heure, -nous avons plus besoin de nos pieds que de nos mains. - -Don Quichotte remonta à cheval sans dire mot, et Sancho prenant les -devants sur son âne, ils entrèrent dans la sierra qui se trouvait -proche. L’intention de l’écuyer était de traverser toute cette chaîne de -montagnes, et d’aller déboucher au Viso ou bien à Almodovar del Campo, -après s’être cachés quelques jours dans ces solitudes pour échapper à la -Sainte-Hermandad, dans le cas où elle se mettrait à leur poursuite. Ce -qui le fortifiait dans ce dessein, c’était de voir que le sac aux -provisions que portait le grison avait échappé aux mains des forçats, -chose qui tenait du miracle, tant ces honnêtes gens avaient bien fureté -et enlevé tout ce qui était à leur convenance. - -Nos deux voyageurs arrivèrent cette nuit même au milieu de la _Sierra -Morena_ ou montagne Noire, et dans l’endroit le plus désert. Sancho -conseilla à son maître d’y faire halte pendant quelques jours, -c’est-à-dire tant que dureraient leurs provisions. Ils commencèrent par -s’établir entre deux roches, au milieu de quelques grands liéges. Mais -la fortune, qui, selon l’opinion de ceux que n’éclaire pas la vraie foi, -ordonne et règle toutes choses à sa fantaisie, voulut que Ginez de -Passamont, ce forçat que la générosité et la folie de notre chevalier -avaient tiré de la chaîne, fuyant de son côté la Sainte-Hermandad qu’il -redoutait avec juste raison, eût la pensée de venir chercher un asile -dans ces montagnes, et qu’il s’arrêtât précisément au même endroit où -étaient don Quichotte et Sancho. Il ne les eut pas plus tôt reconnus à -leurs discours, qu’il les laissa s’endormir paisiblement; et, comme les -méchants sont ingrats, et que la nécessité n’a pas de loi, Ginez, qui ne -brillait pas par la reconnaissance, résolut, pendant leur sommeil, de -dérober l’âne de Sancho, préférablement à Rossinante, qui lui parut de -mince ressource, soit pour le mettre en gage, soit pour le vendre. Et -avant le jour, l’insigne vaurien, monté sur le grison, était déjà trop -loin pour qu’on pût le rattraper. - -Quand l’aurore avec sa face riante vint réjouir et embellir la terre, ce -fut pour attrister le pauvre Sancho. Dès qu’il s’aperçut de la -disparition de son âne, il se mit à pousser les plus tristes -lamentations, tellement que ses sanglots réveillèrent don Quichotte qui -l’entendit pleurer en disant: O fils de mes entrailles, né dans ma -propre maison, jouet de mes enfants, délices de ma femme, envie de mes -voisins, compagnon de mes travaux, et finalement nourricier de la moitié -de ma personne, puisque, avec les quelques maravédis que tu gagnais par -jour, je subvenais à la moitié de ma dépense! - -Don Quichotte, devinant le sujet de la douleur de Sancho, entreprit de -le consoler par les meilleurs raisonnements qu’il put trouver sur les -disgrâces de cette vie; mais il n’y parvint réellement qu’après avoir -promis de lui donner une lettre de change de trois ânons, à prendre sur -cinq qu’il avait laissés dans son écurie. Aussitôt Sancho arrêta ses -soupirs, calma ses sanglots, sécha ses larmes, et remercia son seigneur -de la faveur qu’il lui accordait. - -En pénétrant dans ces montagnes qui lui promettaient les aventures qu’il -cherchait sans relâche, notre héros avait senti son cœur bondir de -joie. Il repassait dans sa mémoire les merveilleux événements qui -étaient arrivés aux chevaliers errants en de semblables lieux, et ces -pensées le transportaient et l’absorbaient à tel point, qu’il en -oubliait le monde entier. Quant à Sancho, depuis qu’il croyait cheminer -en lieu sûr, il ne songeait plus qu’à restaurer son estomac avec les -restes du butin enlevé aux prêtres du convoi. Chargé de ce qu’aurait dû -porter le grison, il cheminait à petits pas, tirant du sac à chaque -instant de quoi remplir son ventre, sans nul souci des aventures, et -n’en imaginant point de plus heureuse que celle-là. - -En ce moment il leva les yeux, et, voyant son maître s’arrêter, il -accourut pour en savoir la cause. En approchant, il reconnut que don -Quichotte remuait avec le bout de sa lance un coussin et une valise -attachés ensemble, tous deux en lambeaux et à demi pourris, mais si -pesants qu’il fallut que Sancho aidât à les soulever. Son maître lui -ayant dit d’examiner ce que ce pouvait être, il s’empressa d’obéir, et -quoique la valise fût fermée, il put facilement voir par les trous ce -qu’elle contenait. Il en tira quatre chemises de toile de Hollande -très-fine, d’autres hardes aussi propres qu’élégantes, et enfin une -certaine quantité d’écus d’or renfermés dans un mouchoir. - -A cette vue, il s’écria: Béni soit le ciel, qui enfin nous envoie une si -heureuse aventure. En poursuivant l’examen, il trouva un livre de -souvenirs richement relié. - -Je retiens cela, dit don Quichotte; quant à l’argent, tu peux le -prendre. - -Grand merci, seigneur, répondit Sancho en lui baisant les mains; et il -mit les hardes et l’argent dans son bissac. - -Il faut, dit don Quichotte, que quelque voyageur se soit égaré dans ces -montagnes, où des voleurs l’auront assassiné et seront venus l’enterrer -en cet endroit. - -Vous n’y êtes pas, seigneur, répondit Sancho: si c’étaient des voleurs, -ils auraient pris l’argent. - -Tu as raison, dit don Quichotte, et je ne devine pas ce que cela peut -être. Mais, attends; dans ce livre se trouve sans doute quelque -écriture qui nous apprendra ce que nous cherchons. - -En même temps, notre héros l’ouvrit, et il y trouva le brouillon d’un -sonnet qu’il lut à haute voix, afin que Sancho l’entendît: - - Comme Amour est sans yeux, il est sans connaissance; - Oui, c’est un dieu bizarre et plein de cruauté, - Qui condamne au hasard et sans nulle équité; - Ou le mal que je souffre excède sa sentence. - - Mais si l’Amour est dieu, c’est une conséquence, - Qu’il voit tout, connaît tout, et c’est impiété - D’accuser de rigueur une divinité: - D’où viennent donc mes maux, et qui fait ma souffrance? - - Philis, ce n’est pas vous; un si noble sujet - Ne peut jamais causer un aussi triste effet; - Et ce n’est pas du ciel que mon malheur procède. - - Je vois qu’il faut mourir dans ce trouble confus. - Comment guérir de maux qui nous sont inconnus? - Un miracle peut seul en donner le remède. - -Cette chanson-là ne nous apprend rien, dit Sancho, à moins que par ce -fil dont elle parle nous ne tenions le peloton de toute l’aventure. - -De quel fil parles-tu? demanda don Quichotte. - -Il me semble que Votre Grâce a parlé de fil, répondit Sancho. - -J’ai parlé de Philis, reprit don Quichotte; et ce nom doit être celui de -la dame dont se plaint l’auteur de ce sonnet. Certes, le poëte n’est pas -des moindres, ou je n’entends rien au métier. - -Comment! dit Sancho, est-ce que Votre Grâce se connaît aussi à composer -des vers? - -Mieux que tu ne penses, répondit don Quichotte, et bientôt tu le verras -quand je t’aurai donné une lettre toute en vers pour porter à Dulcinée -du Toboso. Apprends, Sancho, que les chevaliers errants du temps passé -étaient, la plupart du moins, poëtes et musiciens; car ces talents, ou -pour mieux dire, ces dons du ciel, sont le lot ordinaire des amoureux -errants. Malgré cela, il faut convenir que dans leurs poésies les -anciens chevaliers ont plus de vigueur que de délicatesse. - -Lisez toujours, seigneur, dit Sancho, peut-être trouverons-nous ce que -nous cherchons. - -Don Quichotte tourna le feuillet: Ceci est de la prose, dit-il, et -ressemble à une lettre. - -A une lettre missive? demanda Sancho. - -Par ma foi, le début ferait croire à une lettre d’amour, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Eh bien, que Votre Grâce ait la bonté de lire tout haut; j’aime -infiniment ces sortes de lettres et tout ce qui est dans ce genre. - -Volontiers, dit don Quichotte; et il lut ce qui suit: - - «La fausseté de tes promesses et la certitude de mon malheur me - conduisent en un lieu d’où tu apprendras plus tôt la nouvelle de ma - mort que l’expression de mes plaintes. Tu m’as trahi, ingrate, pour un - plus riche, mais non pour un meilleur que moi; car si la vertu était - estimée à l’égal de la richesse, je n’envierais pas le bonheur - d’autrui, et je ne pleurerais pas mon propre malheur. Ce qu’a fait - naître ta beauté, ton inconstance l’a détruit: par l’une tu me parus - un ange, mais l’autre m’a prouvé que tu n’étais qu’une femme. Adieu. - Vis en paix, toi qui me fais une guerre si cruelle. Fasse le ciel que - la perfidie de ton époux ne te soit jamais connue, afin que, venant à - te repentir de ta trahison, je ne sois point forcé de venger nos - déplaisirs communs sur un homme que tu es désormais tenue de - respecter.» - -Voilà qui nous en apprend encore moins que les vers, dit don Quichotte, -si ce n’est pourtant que celui qui a écrit cette lettre est un amant -trahi; et continuant de feuilleter le livre de poche, il trouva qu’il ne -contenait que des plaintes, des reproches, des lamentations, puis des -dédains et des faveurs, les unes exhalées avec enthousiasme, les autres -amèrement déplorés. - -Pendant que don Quichotte feuilletait le livre de poche, Sancho -revisitait la valise, sans y laisser non plus que dans le coussin, un -repli qu’il ne fouillât, une couture qu’il ne rompit, un flocon de laine -qu’il ne triât soigneusement, tant il était en goût, depuis la -découverte des écus d’or, dont il avait trouvé plus d’une centaine. -Cette récompense de toutes ses mésaventures lui parut satisfaisante, et -à ce prix il en eût voulu autant tous les mois. - -Notre chevalier avait grande envie de connaître le maître de la valise, -conjecturant par le sonnet et la lettre, par la quantité d’écus d’or et -la finesse du linge, qu’elle devait appartenir à un amoureux de bonne -maison, réduit au désespoir par les cruautés de sa dame. Mais, comme -dans ces lieux déserts il n’apercevait personne de qui il pût recueillir -quelque information, il se décida à passer outre, se laissant aller au -gré de Rossinante, qui marchait tant bien que mal à travers ces roches -hérissées de ronces et d’épines. - -Tandis qu’il cheminait ainsi, espérant toujours qu’en cet endroit âpre -et sauvage viendrait enfin s’offrir à lui quelque aventure -extraordinaire, il aperçut tout à coup, au sommet d’une montagne, un -homme courant avec une légèreté surprenante de rocher en rocher. Il crut -reconnaître que cet homme était presque sans vêtements, qu’il avait la -tête nue, les cheveux en désordre, la barbe noire et touffue, les pieds -sans chaussure, et qu’il portait un pourpoint qui semblait de velours -jaune, mais tellement en lambeaux, que la chair paraissait en plusieurs -endroits. Bien que cet homme eût passé avec la rapidité de l’éclair, -tout cela fut remarqué par don Quichotte, qui fit ses efforts pour le -suivre; mais il n’était pas donné aux faibles jarrets du flegmatique -Rossinante de courir sur un terrain aussi accidenté. S’imaginant que ce -devait être le maître de la valise, notre héros résolut de se mettre à -sa recherche, dût-il, pour l’atteindre, errer une année entière dans ces -solitudes. Il ordonna à Sancho de parcourir un côté de la montagne, -pendant que lui-même irait du côté opposé. - -Cela m’est impossible, répondit Sancho, car dès que je quitte tant soit -peu Votre Grâce, la peur s’empare de moi et vient m’assaillir avec -toutes sortes de visions. Aussi soyez assuré que dorénavant je ne -m’éloignerai pas de vous, fût-ce d’un demi-pied. - -J’y consens, dit don Quichotte, et je suis bien aise de voir la -confiance que tu as en ma valeur: sois certain qu’elle ne te faillira -pas, quand même l’âme viendrait à te manquer au corps. Suis-moi donc pas -à pas, les yeux grands ouverts; nous ferons le tour de cette montagne, -et peut-être rencontrerons-nous le maître de cette valise, car c’est lui -sans doute que nous avons vu passer si rapidement. - -Ne serait-il pas mieux de ne le point chercher? reprit Sancho; si nous -le trouvons, et que l’argent soit à lui, il est clair que je suis obligé -de le restituer. Vous le voyez, cette recherche ne peut être d’aucune -utilité, et mieux vaut posséder cet argent de bonne foi, jusqu’à ce que -le hasard nous en fasse découvrir le véritable propriétaire. Oh! alors, -si l’argent est parti, le roi m’en fera quitte. - -Tu te trompes en cela, Sancho, dit don Quichotte; dès qu’un seul instant -nous pouvons supposer que cet homme est le maître de cet argent, notre -devoir est de le chercher sans relâche pour lui faire restitution; car -la seule présomption qu’il peut l’être équivaut pour nous à la certitude -qu’il l’est réellement et nous en fait responsables. Ainsi donc, que -cette recherche ne te donne point de chagrin; quant à moi, il me semble -que je serai déchargé d’un grand fardeau si je peux réussir à rencontrer -cet inconnu. - -En disant cela il piqua Rossinante, et Sancho le suivit à pied, toujours -portant la charge de l’âne, grâce à Ginez de Passamont. - -Après avoir longtemps fouillé toute la montagne, ils arrivèrent au bord -d’un ruisseau, où ils rencontrèrent le cadavre d’une mule ayant encore -sa selle et sa bride et à demi mangée des corbeaux et des loups. Cela -les confirma dans l’idée que l’homme qui fuyait était le maître de la -valise et de la mule. Pendant qu’ils la considéraient, un coup de -sifflet pareil à celui d’un berger qui rassemble son troupeau se fit -entendre; aussitôt ils aperçurent sur la gauche une grande quantité de -chèvres, et plus loin un vieux pâtre qui les gardait. Don Quichotte -élevant la voix pria cet homme de descendre, lequel tout surpris leur -demanda comment ils avaient pu pénétrer dans un endroit si sauvage, -connu seulement des chèvres et des loups. - -Descendez, lui cria Sancho; nous vous en rendrons compte. - -Le chevrier descendit. Je gage, seigneur, dit-il en arrivant auprès de -don Quichotte, que vous regardiez cette mule étendue dans le ravin. Il y -a, sans mentir, six mois qu’elle est à la même place; mais, dites-moi, -n’avez-vous point rencontré son maître? - -Nous n’avons rien rencontré, répondit don Quichotte, si ce n’est un -coussin et une petite valise à quelques pas d’ici. - -Je l’ai trouvée aussi, dit le chevrier, et, comme vous, je me suis bien -gardé d’y toucher; je n’ai pas seulement voulu en approcher, de peur de -quelque surprise, et peut-être de me voir accuser de larcin; car le -diable est subtil, et souvent il met sur notre chemin des choses qui -nous font broncher sans savoir ni pourquoi ni comment. - -Voilà justement ce que je disais, repartit Sancho; moi aussi j’ai trouvé -la valise, sans vouloir en approcher d’un jet de pierre. Je l’ai laissée -là-bas, qu’elle y demeure; je n’aime pas à attacher des grelots aux -chiens. - -Savez-vous, bonhomme, quel est le maître de ces objets? reprit don -Quichotte en s’adressant au chevrier. - -Tout ce que je sais, répondit celui-ci, c’est qu’il y a environ six -mois, un jeune homme de belle taille et de bonne façon, monté sur la -même mule que vous voyez, mais qui alors était en vie, avec le coussin -et la valise que vous dites avoir trouvés et n’avoir point touchés, -arriva à des huttes qui sont à trois lieues d’ici, demandant quel était -l’endroit le plus désert de ces montagnes. Nous lui répondîmes que -c’était celui où nous sommes en ce moment; cela est si vrai qu’en -s’avançant à une demi-lieue plus loin, on aurait bien de la peine à en -sortir; aussi suis-je étonné de voir que vous ayez pu pénétrer -jusqu’ici, car il n’y a ni chemin ni sentier qui y conduise. Ce jeune -homme n’eut pas plus tôt entendu notre réponse, qu’il tourna bride et -prit la direction que nous lui avions indiquée, nous laissant tout -surpris de l’empressement qu’il mettait à s’enfoncer dans ce désert. -Depuis, personne ne l’avait revu, quand un jour il rencontra un de nos -pâtres, sur lequel il se jeta comme un furieux en l’accablant de coups; -courant ensuite aux provisions qui étaient là sur un âne, il s’empara du -pain et du fromage qui s’y trouvaient, puis disparut plus agile qu’un -daim. Quand nous apprîmes cette aventure, nous nous mîmes, quelques -chevriers et moi, à le chercher; et après avoir fouillé longtemps les -endroits les plus épais, nous le trouvâmes, enfin, caché dans le tronc -d’un gros liége. - -Il s’avança vers nous avec douceur, mais le visage si altéré et si brûlé -du soleil, que sans ses habits, qui déjà étaient en lambeaux, nous -aurions eu de la peine à le reconnaître. Il nous salua courtoisement; -et, en quelques mots bien tournés, il nous dit de ne pas nous étonner de -le voir agir de la sorte, qu’il fallait que cela fût ainsi pour -accomplir une pénitence qu’on lui avait imposée. Nous le priâmes de nous -dire qui il était, mais il s’y refusa obstinément. Nous lui demandâmes -d’indiquer l’endroit où nous pourrions le retrouver afin de lui donner, -quand il en aurait besoin, la nourriture dont il ne pouvait se passer, -l’assurant que ce serait de bon cœur; ou que, tout au moins, il vînt la -demander sans la prendre de force. Il nous remercia, s’excusa de ses -violences passées, nous promettant de demander à l’avenir, pour l’amour -de Dieu et sans violenter personne, ce qui lui serait nécessaire. Quant -à son habitation, il n’avait point de retraite fixe, il s’arrêtait, -dit-il, là où la nuit le surprenait. - -Après ces demandes et ces réponses, il se mit à pleurer si amèrement -qu’il eût fallu être de bronze pour ne pas en avoir pitié, nous autres -surtout qui le trouvions dans un état si différent de celui où nous -l’avions vu pour la première fois; car, je vous l’ai dit, c’était un -beau jeune homme, de fort bonne mine, qui avait de l’esprit, et -paraissait plein de sens; et tout cela réuni nous fit croire qu’il était -de bonne maison et richement élevé. Tout à coup, au milieu de la -conversation, le voilà qui s’arrête, devient muet, et demeure longtemps -les yeux cloués en terre, pendant que nous étions là étonnés, inquiets -attendant à quoi aboutirait cette extase, non sans éprouver beaucoup de -compassion d’un si triste état. En le voyant ouvrir de grands yeux sans -remuer les paupières, puis les fermer en serrant les lèvres et fronçant -les sourcils, nous reconnûmes sans peine qu’il était sujet à des accès -de folie. Nous ne tardâmes pas à en avoir la preuve, car après s’être -roulé par terre, il se releva brusquement et tout aussitôt se précipita -sur l’un de nous avec une telle furie, que si nous ne l’eussions arraché -de ses mains, il le tuait à coups de poings et à coups de dents; en le -frappant il lui disait: Ah! traître don Fernand, c’est ici que tu me -payeras l’outrage que tu m’as fait: c’est ici que mes mains -t’arracheront ce lâche cœur qui recèle toutes les méchancetés du monde. -Il ajoutait encore mille autres injures, qui toutes tendaient à -reprocher à ce Fernand son parjure et sa trahison. Après quoi il -s’enfonça dans la montagne, courant avec une telle vitesse à travers les -buissons et sur ces rochers, qu’il nous fut impossible de le suivre. - -Cela nous a fait penser que sa folie le prenait par intervalles, et -qu’un homme, appelé don Fernand, lui avait causé un déplaisir si grand -qu’il en avait perdu la raison. Notre soupçon s’est confirmé quand nous -l’avons vu venir tantôt demander avec douceur à manger aux bergers, -tantôt prendre leurs provisions par force, selon qu’il est ou non dans -son bon sens. Aussi, poursuivit le chevrier, deux bergers de mes amis, -leurs valets et moi, nous avons résolu de chercher ce pauvre jeune homme -jusqu’à ce que nous l’ayons trouvé, pour l’amener de gré ou de force, à -Almodovar qui est à huit lieues d’ici, et le faire traiter s’il y a -remède à son mal, ou tout au moins apprendre qui il est, afin qu’on -puisse informer ses parents de son malheur. Voilà tout ce que je puis -répondre aux questions que vous m’avez faites; mais soyez certains que -celui que vous avez vu courir si rapidement, et presque nu, est le -véritable maître de la mule et de la valise que vous avez trouvées sur -votre chemin. - -Émerveillé du récit que le chevrier venait de lui faire, don Quichotte -n’en eut que plus d’envie de savoir quel était cet homme si cruellement -traité par le sort, et qu’il trouvait si fort à plaindre. Il s’affermit -donc dans la résolution de le chercher par toute la montagne, se -promettant de ne pas laisser un recoin sans le visiter. Mais la fortune -en ordonna mieux qu’il n’espérait, car au même instant, dans une -embrasure de rocher, le jeune homme parut, s’avançant vers eux, et -marmottant tout bas des paroles qu’ils ne pouvaient entendre. Son -vêtement était tel que nous l’avons dépeint; seulement, don Quichotte -reconnut, en s’approchant, que le pourpoint qu’il portait était parfumé -d’ambre, ce qui le confirma dans l’idée qu’il devait être de haute -condition. En les abordant, le jeune homme les salua d’une voix rauque -et brusque, quoique avec courtoisie. Notre héros lui rendit son salut, -et descendant de cheval s’avança avec empressement pour l’embrasser; -mais l’inconnu, après s’être laissé donner l’accolade, s’écartant un peu -et posant ses deux mains sur les épaules de don Quichotte, se mit à le -considérer de la tête aux pieds, comme s’il eût cherché à le -reconnaître, non moins surpris de la figure, de la taille et de l’armure -du chevalier, que celui-ci ne l’était de le voir lui-même en cet état. -Enfin le premier des deux qui parla fut l’inconnu, et il dit ce qu’on -verra dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXIV - -OU SE CONTINUE L’AVENTURE DE LA SIERRA MORENA - -L’histoire rapporte que don Quichotte écoutait avec une extrême -attention l’inconnu de la montagne, lequel, poursuivant l’entretien, lui -dit: Qui que vous soyez, seigneur, je vous rends grâces de la courtoisie -dont vous faites preuve envers moi, et je voudrais être en état de vous -témoigner autrement que par des paroles la reconnaissance que m’inspire -un si bon accueil; mais ma mauvaise fortune ne s’accorde pas avec mon -cœur, et pour reconnaître tant de bontés, il ne me reste que des désirs -impuissants. - -Les miens, répondit don Quichotte, sont tellement de vous servir, que -j’avais résolu de ne point quitter ces solitudes jusqu’à ce que je vous -eusse découvert, afin d’apprendre de votre bouche s’il y a quelque -remède aux déplaisirs qui vous font mener une si triste existence, et -afin de chercher à y mettre un terme à quelque prix que ce soit, fût-ce -au péril de ma propre vie. Dans le cas où vos malheurs seraient de ceux -qui ne souffrent pas de consolation, je venais du moins pour vous aider -à les supporter, en les partageant, et mêler mes larmes aux vôtres; car -c’est un adoucissement à nos disgrâces que de trouver des gens qui s’y -montrent sensibles. Si ma bonne intention vous paraît mériter quelque -retour, je vous supplie, par la courtoisie dont je vous vois rempli, je -vous conjure par ce que vous avez de plus cher, de me dire qui vous -êtes, et quel motif vous a fait choisir une existence si triste, si -sauvage et si différente de celle que vous devriez mener. Par l’ordre de -chevalerie que j’ai reçu quoique indigne, et par la profession que j’en -fais, je jure, si vous me montrez cette confiance, de vous rendre tous -les services qui seront en mon pouvoir, soit en apportant du remède à -vos malheurs, soit, comme je vous l’ai promis, en m’unissant à vous pour -les pleurer. - -En entendant parler de la sorte le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, -l’inconnu de la montagne se mit à le considérer de la tête aux pieds. -Après l’avoir longtemps envisagé en silence, il lui dit: Si l’on a -quelque nourriture à me donner, pour l’amour de Dieu qu’on me la donne, -après quoi je ferai ce que vous souhaitez de moi. Aussitôt Sancho tira -de son bissac, et le chevrier de sa panetière, de quoi apaiser la faim -du malheureux, qui se mit à manger comme un insensé, et avec tant de -précipitation, qu’un morceau n’attendait pas l’autre, et qu’il dévorait -plutôt qu’il ne mangeait. Après avoir apaisé sa faim, il se leva, et -faisant signe à don Quichotte et aux deux autres de le suivre, il les -conduisit au détour d’un rocher, dans une prairie qui était près de là. - -Quand on y fut arrivé, il s’assit sur l’herbe et chacun en fit autant; -puis s’étant placé à son gré, il commença ainsi: Si vous voulez que je -raconte en peu de mots l’histoire de mes malheurs, il faut me promettre -avant tout de ne pas m’interrompre, parce qu’une seule parole prononcée -mettrait fin à mon récit. (Ce préambule rappela à don Quichotte certaine -nuit où, faute par lui d’avoir noté avec exactitude le nombre des -chèvres qui passaient la rivière, Sancho ne put achever son conte.) Si -je prends cette précaution, ajouta l’inconnu, c’est afin de ne pas -m’arrêter trop longtemps sur mes disgrâces: les rappeler à ma mémoire ne -fait que les accroître, et toute question en allongerait le récit; du -reste, pour satisfaire complétement votre curiosité, je n’omettrai rien -d’important. - -Don Quichotte promit au nom de tous grande attention et silence absolu, -après quoi l’inconnu commença en ces termes: - -Je m’appelle Cardenio; mon pays est une des principales villes -d’Andalousie, ma race est noble, ma famille est riche; mais si grands -sont mes malheurs, que les richesses de mes parents n’y sauraient -apporter remède, car les dons de la fortune sont impuissants contre les -chagrins que le ciel nous envoie. Dans la même ville a pris naissance -une jeune fille d’une beauté incomparable, appelée Luscinde, noble, -riche autant que moi, mais moins constante que ne méritait l’honnêteté -de mes sentiments. Dès mes plus tendres années, j’aimai Luscinde, et -Luscinde m’aima avec cette sincérité qui accompagne toujours un âge -innocent. Nos parents connaissaient nos intentions, et ne s’y opposaient -point, parce qu’ils n’en redoutaient rien de fâcheux: l’égalité des -biens et de la naissance les aurait fait aisément consentir à notre -union. Cependant l’amour crût avec les années, et le père de Luscinde, -semblable à celui de cette Thisbé si célèbre chez les poëtes, croyant -ne pouvoir souffrir plus longtemps avec bienséance notre familiarité -habituelle, me fit interdire l’entrée de sa maison. Cette défense ne -servit qu’à irriter notre amour. On enchaîna notre langue, mais on ne -put arrêter nos plumes; et comme nous avions des voies sûres et aisées -pour nous écrire, nous le faisions à toute heure. Maintes fois j’envoyai -à Luscinde des chansons et de ces vers amoureux qu’inventent les amants -pour adoucir leurs peines. De son côté, Luscinde prenait tous les moyens -de me faire connaître la tendresse de ses sentiments. Nous soulagions -ainsi nos déplaisirs, et nous entretenions une passion violente. Enfin, -ne pouvant résister plus longtemps à l’envie de revoir Luscinde, je -résolus de la demander en mariage, et pour ne pas perdre un temps -précieux, je m’adressai moi-même à son père. Il me répondit qu’il était -sensible au désir que je montrais d’entrer dans sa famille, mais que -c’était à mon père à faire cette démarche, parce que si mon dessein -avait été formé sans son consentement, ou qu’il refusât de l’approuver, -Luscinde n’était pas faite pour être épousée clandestinement. Je le -remerciai de ses bonnes intentions en l’assurant que mon père viendrait -lui-même faire la demande. Aussitôt j’allai le trouver pour lui -découvrir mon dessein, et le prier de m’y aider s’il l’approuvait. - -Quand j’entrai dans sa chambre, il tenait à la main une lettre qu’il me -présenta avant que j’eusse ouvert la bouche. Vois, Cardenio, me dit-il, -l’honneur que le duc Ricardo veut te faire. Ce duc, vous le savez sans -doute, est un grand d’Espagne, dont les terres sont dans le meilleur -canton de l’Andalousie. Je lus la lettre, et la trouvai si obligeante, -que je crus, comme mon père, ne pas devoir refuser l’honneur qu’on nous -faisait à tous deux. Le duc priait mon père de me faire partir sans -délai, désirant me placer auprès de son fils aîné, non pas à titre de -serviteur, mais de compagnon; il se chargeait, disait-il, de me faire -un sort qui répondît à la bonne opinion qu’il avait de moi. Après avoir -lu, je restai muet, et je pensai perdre l’esprit quand mon père ajouta: -il faut que tu te tiennes prêt à partir, d’ici à deux jours; Cardenio, -rends grâces à Dieu de ce qu’il t’ouvre une carrière où tu trouveras -honneur et profit. Il joignit à ces paroles les conseils d’un père -prudent et sage. - -La nuit qui précéda mon départ, je vis ma chère Luscinde, et lui appris -ce qui se passait. La veille, j’avais pris congé de son père, en le -suppliant de me conserver la bonne volonté qu’il m’avait témoignée, et -de différer de pourvoir sa fille jusqu’à mon retour. Il me le promit, et -Luscinde et moi nous nous séparâmes avec toute la douleur que peuvent -éprouver des amants tendres et passionnés. Après mille serments -réciproques, je partis, et bientôt j’arrivai chez le duc, qui me reçut -avec tant de marques de bienveillance que l’envie ne tarda pas à -s’éveiller, surtout parmi les anciens serviteurs de la maison, il leur -semblait que les marques d’intérêt qu’on m’accordait étaient à leur -détriment. Le seul qui parût satisfait de ma venue fut le second fils -du duc, appelé don Fernand, jeune homme aimable, gai, libéral et -amoureux. Il me prit bientôt en telle amitié, que tout le monde en était -jaloux, et comme entre amis il n’y a point de secrets, il me confiait -tous les siens, à ce point qu’il ne tarda pas à me mettre dans la -confidence d’une intrigue amoureuse qui l’occupait entièrement. - -Il aimait avec passion la fille d’un riche laboureur, vassal du duc son -père, jeune paysanne si belle, si spirituelle et si sage, qu’elle -faisait l’admiration de tous ceux qui la connaissaient. Tant de -perfections avaient tellement charmé l’esprit de don Fernand, que, -voyant l’impossibilité d’en faire sa maîtresse, il résolut d’en faire sa -femme. Touché de l’amitié qu’il me montrait, je crus devoir le détourner -de ce dessein, m’appuyant des raisons que je pus trouver; mais après -avoir reconnu l’inutilité de mes efforts, je pris la résolution d’en -avertir le duc. L’honneur m’imposait de lui révéler un projet si -contraire à la grandeur de sa maison. Don Fernand s’en douta, et il ne -songea qu’à me détourner de ma résolution en me faisant croire qu’il -n’en serait pas besoin. Pour le guérir de sa passion, il m’assura que le -meilleur moyen était de s’éloigner pendant quelque temps de celle qui en -était l’objet, et afin de motiver mon absence, ajouta-t-il, je dirai à -mon père que tous deux nous avons formé le projet de nous rendre dans -votre ville natale pour acheter des chevaux; c’est là en effet qu’on -trouve les plus renommés. Le désir de revoir Luscinde me fit approuver -son plan; je croyais que l’absence le guérirait, et je le pressai -d’exécuter ce projet. Mais, comme je l’ai su depuis, don Fernand n’avait -pensé à s’éloigner qu’après avoir abusé de la fille du laboureur, sous -le faux nom d’époux, et afin d’éviter le premier courroux de son père -quand il apprendrait sa faute. - -Or, comme chez la plupart des jeunes gens, l’amour n’est qu’un goût -passager, dont le plaisir est le but et qui s’éteint par la possession, -don Fernand n’eut pas plus tôt obtenu les faveurs de sa maîtresse qu’il -sentit son affection diminuer; ce grand feu s’éteignit, ses désirs se -refroidirent; et s’il avait d’abord feint de vouloir s’éloigner, il le -désirait véritablement alors. Le duc lui en accorda la permission, et -m’ordonna de l’accompagner. Nous vînmes donc chez mon père, où don -Fernand fut reçu comme une personne de sa qualité devait l’être par des -gens de la nôtre. Quant à moi, je courus chez Luscinde, qui m’accueillit -comme un amant qui lui était cher et dont elle connaissait la constance. -Après quelques jours passés à fêter don Fernand, je crus devoir à son -amitié la même confiance qu’il m’avait témoignée, et pour mon malheur -j’allai lui faire confidence de mon amour. Je lui vantai la beauté de -Luscinde, sa sagesse, son esprit; ce portrait lui inspira le désir de -connaître une personne ornée de si brillantes qualités; aussi, pour -satisfaire son impatience, un soir je la lui fis voir à une fenêtre -basse de sa maison, où nous nous entretenions souvent. Elle lui parut si -séduisante, qu’en un instant il oublia toutes les beautés qu’il avait -connues jusque-là. Il resta muet, absorbé, insensible; en un mot, il -devint épris d’amour au point que vous le verrez dans la suite. Pour -l’enflammer encore davantage, le hasard fit tomber entre ses mains un -billet de Luscinde, par lequel elle me pressait de faire parler à son -père et de hâter notre mariage; mais cela avec une si touchante pudeur -que don Fernand s’écria qu’en elle seule étaient réunis les charmes de -l’esprit et du corps qu’on trouve répartis entre les autres femmes. Ces -louanges, toutes méritées qu’elles étaient, me devinrent suspectes dans -sa bouche; je commençai à me cacher de lui; mais autant je prenais soin -de ne pas prononcer le nom de Luscinde, autant il se plaisait à m’en -entretenir. Sans cesse il m’en parlait, et il avait l’art de ramener sur -elle notre conversation. Cela me donnait de la jalousie, non que je -craignisse rien de Luscinde, dont je connaissais la constance et la -loyauté, mais j’appréhendais tout de ma mauvaise étoile, car les amants -sont rarement sans inquiétude. Sous prétexte que l’ingénieuse expression -de notre tendresse mutuelle l’intéressait vivement, don Fernand -cherchait toujours à voir les lettres que j’écrivais à Luscinde et les -réponses qu’elle y faisait. - -Un jour il arriva que Luscinde m’ayant demandé un livre de chevalerie -qu’elle affectionnait, l’Amadis de Gaule... - -A peine don Quichotte eut-il entendu prononcer le mot de livre de -chevalerie, qu’il s’écria: - -Si, en commençant son histoire, Votre Grâce m’eût dit que cette belle -demoiselle aimait autant les livres de chevalerie, cela m’aurait suffi -pour me faire apprécier l’élévation de son esprit, qui certes ne serait -pas aussi distingué que vous l’avez dépeint, si elle eût manqué de goût -pour une si savoureuse lecture. Il ne me faut donc point d’autre preuve -qu’elle est belle, spirituelle et d’un mérite accompli; et, puisqu’elle -a cette inclination, je la tiens pour la plus belle et la plus -spirituelle personne du monde. J’aurais voulu seulement, seigneur, -qu’avec Amadis de Gaule vous eussiez mis entre ses mains cet excellent -don Roger de Grèce; car l’aimable Luscinde aurait sans doute fort goûté -Daraïde et Garaya, le discret berger Darinel, et les vers de ses -admirables bucoliques, qu’il chantait avec tant d’esprit et -d’enjouement. Mais il sera facile de réparer cet oubli, et quand vous -voudrez bien me faire l’honneur de me rendre visite, je vous montrerai -plus de trois cents ouvrages qui font mes délices, quoique je croie me -rappeler en ce moment qu’il ne m’en reste plus un seul, grâce à la -malice et à l’envie des enchanteurs. Excusez-moi, je vous prie, si, -contre ma promesse, je vous ai interrompu; car dès qu’on parle devant -moi de chevalerie et de chevaliers, il n’est pas plus en mon pouvoir de -me taire qu’aux rayons du soleil de cesser de répandre de la chaleur, et -à ceux de la lune de l’humidité. Maintenant, poursuivez votre récit. - -Pendant ce discours, Cardenio avait laissé tomber sa tête sur sa -poitrine, comme un homme absorbé dans une profonde rêverie; et quoique -don Quichotte l’eût prié deux ou trois fois de continuer son histoire, -il ne répondait rien. Enfin, après un long silence, il releva la tête en -disant: Il y a une chose que je ne puis m’ôter de la pensée, et personne -n’en viendrait à bout, à moins d’être un maraud et un coquin, c’est que -cet insigne bélître d’Élisabad[43] vivait en concubinage avec la reine -Madasime. - - [43] Chirurgien d’Amadis de Gaule. - -Oh! pour cela, non, non, de par tous les diables!... s’écria don -Quichotte, enflammé de colère, c’est une calomnie au premier chef. La -reine Madasime fut une excellente et vertueuse dame, et il n’y a pas -d’apparence qu’une si grande princesse se soit oubliée à ce point avec -un guérisseur de hernies. Quiconque le dit ment impudemment, et je le -lui prouverai à pied et à cheval, armé ou désarmé, de jour et de nuit, -enfin de telle manière qu’il lui conviendra. - -Cardenio le regardait fixement en silence, et n’était pas plus en état -de poursuivre son récit, que don Quichotte de l’entendre, tant notre -héros avait ressenti l’affront qu’on venait de faire en sa présence à la -reine Madasime. Chose étrange! il prenait la défense de cette dame comme -si elle eût été sa véritable et légitime souveraine, tellement ses -maudits livres lui avaient troublé la cervelle. - -Cardenio, qui était redevenu fou, s’entendant traiter de menteur -impudent, prit mal la plaisanterie, et ramassant un caillou qui se -trouvait à ses pieds, le lança si rudement contre la poitrine de notre -héros, qu’il l’étendit par terre. Sancho Panza voulut s’élancer pour -venger son maître; mais Cardenio le reçut de telle façon, que d’un seul -coup il l’envoya par terre, puis, lui sautant sur le ventre, il le foula -tout à son aise et ne le lâcha point qu’il ne s’en fût rassasié. Le -chevrier voulut aller au secours de Sancho, il n’en fut pas quitte à -meilleur marché. Enfin, après les avoir bien frottés et moulus l’un -après l’autre, Cardenio les laissa et regagna à pas lents le chemin de -la montagne. - -Furieux d’avoir été ainsi maltraité, Sancho s’en prit au chevrier, en -lui disant qu’il aurait dû les prévenir que cet homme était sujet à des -accès de fureur, parce que, s’ils l’avaient su, ils se seraient tenus -sur leurs gardes. Le chevrier répondit qu’il les avait avertis, et que -s’ils ne l’avaient pas entendu, ce n’était pas sa faute. Sancho -repartit, le chevrier répliqua, et de reparties en répliques, de -répliques en reparties, ils en vinrent à se prendre par la barbe et à se -donner de telles gourmades que si don Quichotte ne les eût séparés, ils -se seraient mis en pièces. Sancho était en goût, et criait à son maître: -Laissez-moi faire, seigneur chevalier de la Triste-Figure; celui-ci -n’est pas armé chevalier, ce n’est qu’un paysan comme moi, je puis -combattre avec lui à armes égales et me venger du tort qu’il m’a causé. - -Cela est vrai, dit don Quichotte, mais il est innocent de ce qui nous -est arrivé. - -Étant parvenu à les séparer, notre héros demanda au chevrier s’il ne -serait pas possible de retrouver Cardenio, parce qu’il mourait d’envie -de savoir la fin de son histoire. Le chevrier répondit, comme il avait -déjà fait, qu’il ne connaissait point sa retraite; mais qu’en parcourant -avec soin les alentours, on le retrouverait sûrement, ou dans son bon -sens ou dans sa folie. - -CHAPITRE XXV - -DES CHOSES ÉTRANGES QUI ARRIVÈRENT AU VAILLANT CHEVALIER DE LA MANCHE -DANS LA SIERRA MORENA, ET DE LA PÉNITENCE QU’IL FIT A L’IMITATION DU -BEAU TÉNÉBREUX - -Ayant dit adieu au chevrier, don Quichotte remonta sur Rossinante, et -ordonna à Sancho de le suivre, ce que celui-ci fit de très-mauvaise -grâce, forcé qu’il était d’aller à pied. Ils pénétrèrent peu à peu dans -la partie la plus âpre de la montagne. Sancho mourait d’envie de parler; -mais pour ne pas contrevenir à l’ordre de son maître, il aurait désiré -qu’il commençât l’entretien. Enfin, ne pouvant supporter un plus long -silence, et don Quichotte continuant à se taire: Seigneur, lui dit-il, -je supplie Votre Grâce de me donner sa bénédiction et mon congé; je -veux, sans plus tarder, aller retrouver ma femme et mes enfants, avec -qui je pourrai au moins converser tout à mon aise; car vous suivre par -ces solitudes, jour et nuit, sans dire un seul mot, autant vaudrait -m’enterrer tout vivant. Encore si les bêtes parlaient, comme au temps -d’Ésope, le mal serait moins grand, je m’entretiendrais avec mon âne[44] -de ce qui me passerait par la tête, et je prendrais mon mal en patience; -mais être sans cesse en quête d’aventures, ne rencontrer que des coups -de poing, des pluies de pierres, des sauts de couverture, et, pour tout -dédommagement, avoir la bouche cousue, comme si on était né muet, par ma -foi, c’est une tâche qui est au-dessus de mes forces. - - [44] Inadvertance de l’auteur, car Sancho a perdu son âne et ne l’a - pas encore retrouvé. - -Je t’entends, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte; tu ne saurais tenir -longtemps ta langue captive. Eh bien, je lui rends la liberté, mais -seulement pour le temps que nous serons dans ces solitudes: parle donc à -ta fantaisie. - -A la bonne heure, reprit Sancho; et pourvu que je parle aujourd’hui, -Dieu sait ce qui arrivera demain. Aussi, pour profiter de la permission, -je demanderai à Votre Grâce pourquoi elle s’est avisée de prendre si -chaudement le parti de cette reine Marcassine, ou n’importe comme elle -s’appelle, car je ne m’en soucie guère, et que vous importait que cet -Abad fût ou non son bon ami? Si vous aviez laissé passer cela, qui ne -vous touche en rien, le fou aurait achevé son histoire, vous vous seriez -épargné le coup de pierre, et je n’aurais pas la toile du ventre -rompue. - -Si tu savais, comme moi, reprit don Quichotte, quelle grande et noble et -dame était la reine Madasime, je suis certain que tu dirais que j’ai -encore montré trop de patience en n’arrachant pas la langue insolente -qui a osé proférer un pareil blasphème; car, je t’en fais juge, n’est-ce -pas un exécrable blasphème de prétendre qu’une reine a fait l’amour avec -un chirurgien? La vérité est que cet Élisabad, dont a parlé le fou, fut -un homme prudent et de bon conseil, qui servait autant de gouverneur que -de médecin à la reine; mais soutenir qu’elle était sa maîtresse, c’est -une insolence digne du plus sévère châtiment. Au reste, afin que tu sois -bien convaincu que Cardenio ne savait ce qu’il disait, tu n’as qu’à te -rappeler qu’il était déjà retombé dans un de ses accès de folie. - -Justement, voilà où je vous attendais, s’écria Sancho; à quoi bon se -mettre en peine des discours d’un fou! et si ce caillou, au lieu de vous -frapper dans l’estomac, vous avait donné par la tête, nous serions dans -un bel état pour avoir pris la défense de cette grande dame, que Dieu a -mise en pourriture. - -Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, contre les fous et contre les sages, -tout chevalier errant est tenu de défendre l’honneur des dames, quelles -qu’elles puissent être; à plus forte raison l’honneur des hautes et -nobles princesses, comme l’était la reine Madasime, pour qui j’ai une -vénération particulière, à cause de sa vertu et de toutes ses admirables -qualités; car, outre qu’elle était fort belle, elle montra beaucoup de -patience et de résignation dans les malheurs dont elle fut accablée. -C’est alors que les sages conseils d’Élisabad l’aidèrent à supporter ses -déplaisirs, et c’est aussi de là que des gens ignorants et -malintentionnés ont pris occasion de dire qu’ils vivaient familièrement -ensemble. Mais encore une fois ils ont menti, et ils mentiront deux -cents autres fois, tous ceux qui le diront ou seulement en auront la -pensée. - -Je ne le dis ni ne le pense, repartit Sancho: que ceux qui le pensent en -soient seuls responsables; s’ils ont ou non couché ensemble, c’est à -Dieu qu’ils en ont rendu compte. Moi je viens de mes vignes, et je ne -sais rien de rien; je ne fourre point mon nez où je n’ai que faire; qui -achète et vend, en sa bourse le sent; nu je suis né, nu je me trouve; je -ne perds ni ne gagne; et que m’importe, à moi, qu’ils aient été bons -amis! Bien des gens croient qu’il y a du lard, là où il n’y a pas -seulement de crochets pour le pendre; qui peut mettre des portes aux -champs? N’a-t-on pas glosé de Dieu lui-même? - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria don Quichotte; eh! combien enfiles-tu là de -sottises? Explique-moi, je te prie, quels rapports ont tous ces -impertinents proverbes avec ce que je viens de dire? Va, va, occupe-toi -désormais de talonner ton âne, sans te mêler de ce qui ne te regarde -pas. Mais surtout, tâche de bien imprimer dans ta cervelle que ce -qu’avec l’aide de mes cinq sens j’ai fait, je fais et je ferai, est -toujours selon la droite raison, et parfaitement conforme aux lois de la -chevalerie, que j’entends mieux qu’aucun des chevaliers qui en ont -jamais fait profession. - -Mais, seigneur, est-ce une loi de la chevalerie, reprit Sancho, de -courir ainsi perdus au milieu de ces montagnes, où il n’y a ni chemin ni -sentier, cherchant un fou auquel, dès que nous l’aurons trouvé, il -prendra fantaisie d’achever de nous briser, à vous la tête, et à moi les -côtes? - -Encore une fois, laissons cela, repartit don Quichotte; apprends que mon -dessein n’est pas seulement de retrouver ce pauvre fou, mais d’accomplir -en ces lieux mêmes une prouesse qui doit éterniser mon nom parmi les -hommes, et laissera bien loin derrière moi tous les chevaliers errants -passés et à venir. - -Est-elle bien périlleuse, cette prouesse? demanda Sancho. - -Non, répondit don Quichotte. Cependant la chose pourrait tourner de -telle sorte, que nous rencontrions malheur au lieu de chance. Au reste, -tout dépendra de ta diligence. - -De ma diligence? dit Sancho. - -Oui, mon ami, reprit don Quichotte, parce que si tu reviens promptement -d’où j’ai dessein de t’envoyer, plus tôt ma peine sera finie, et plus -tôt ma gloire commencera. Mais comme il n’est pas juste que je te tienne -davantage en suspens, je veux que tu saches, ô Sancho, que le fameux -Amadis de Gaule fut un des plus parfaits chevaliers errants qui se -soient vus dans le monde; que dis-je? le plus parfait, il fut le seul, -l’unique, ou tout au moins le premier. J’en suis fâché pour ceux qui -oseraient se comparer à lui, ils se tromperaient étrangement; il n’y en -a pas un qui soit digne seulement d’être son écuyer. Lorsqu’un peintre -veut s’illustrer dans son art, il s’attache à imiter les meilleurs -originaux, et prend pour modèles les ouvrages des plus excellents -maîtres; eh bien, la même règle s’applique à tous les arts et à toutes -les sciences qui font l’ornement des sociétés. Ainsi, celui qui veut -acquérir la réputation d’homme prudent et sage doit imiter Ulysse, -qu’Homère nous représente comme le type de la sagesse et de la prudence; -dans la personne d’Énée, Virgile nous montre également la piété d’un -fils envers son père, et la sagacité d’un vaillant capitaine: et tous -deux ont peint ces héros, non pas peut-être tels qu’ils furent, mais -tels qu’ils devaient être, afin de laisser aux siècles à venir un modèle -achevé de leurs vertus. D’où il suit qu’Amadis de Gaule ayant été le -pôle, l’étoile, le soleil des vaillants et amoureux chevaliers, c’est -lui que nous devons imiter, nous tous qui sommes engagés sous les -bannières de l’amour et de la chevalerie. Je conclus donc, ami Sancho, -que le chevalier errant qui l’imitera le mieux, approchera le plus de -la perfection. Or, la circonstance dans laquelle le grand Amadis fit -surtout éclater sa sagesse, sa valeur, sa patience et son amour, fut -celle où, dédaigné de sa dame Oriane, il se retira sur la Roche Pauvre -pour y faire pénitence, changeant son nom en celui de Beau Ténébreux, -nom significatif et tout à fait en rapport avec le genre de vie qu’il -s’était imposé. Mais, comme il m’est plus facile de l’imiter en sa -pénitence que de pourfendre, comme lui, des géants farouches, de -détruire des armées, de disperser des flottes, de défaire des -enchantements, et que de plus ces lieux sauvages sont admirablement -convenables pour mon dessein, je ne veux pas laisser échapper, sans la -saisir, l’occasion qui m’offre si à propos une mèche de ses cheveux. - -Mais enfin, demanda Sancho, qu’est-ce donc que Votre Grâce prétend faire -dans un lieu si désert? - -Ne t’ai-je pas dit, reprit don Quichotte, que mon intention est -non-seulement d’imiter Amadis dans son désespoir amoureux et sa folie -mélancolique, mais aussi le valeureux Roland, alors que s’offrit à lui -sur l’écorce d’un hêtre l’irrécusable indice qu’Angélique s’était -oubliée avec le jeune Médor; ce qui lui donna tant de chagrin qu’il en -devint fou, qu’il arracha les arbres, troubla l’eau des fontaines, tua -les bergers, dispersa leurs troupeaux, incendia leurs chaumières, traîna -sa jument, et fit cent mille autres extravagances dignes d’une éternelle -mémoire? Et quoique je ne sois pas résolu d’imiter Roland, Orland ou -Rotoland (car il portait ces trois noms) dans toutes ses folies, -j’ébaucherai de mon mieux les plus essentielles; peut-être bien me -contenterai-je tout simplement d’imiter Amadis, qui, sans faire des -choses aussi éclatantes, sut acquérir par ses lamentations amoureuses -autant de gloire que personne. - -Seigneur, dit Sancho, il me semble que ces chevaliers avaient leurs -raisons pour accomplir toutes ces folies et toutes ces pénitences; mais -quel motif a Votre Grâce pour devenir fou? Quelle dame vous a rebuté, et -quels indices peuvent vous faire penser que madame Dulcinée du Toboso a -folâtré avec More ou chrétien? - -Eh bien, Sancho, continua don Quichotte, voilà justement le fin de mon -affaire: le beau mérite qu’un chevalier errant devienne fou lorsqu’il a -de bonnes raisons pour cela; l’ingénieux, le piquant, c’est de devenir -fou sans sujet, et de faire dire à sa dame: Si mon chevalier fait de -telles choses à froid, que ferait-il donc à chaud? en un mot, de lui -montrer de quoi on est capable dans l’occasion, puisqu’on agit de la -sorte sans que rien vous y oblige. D’ailleurs, n’ai-je pas un motif -suffisant dans la longue absence qui me sépare de la sans pareille -Dulcinée? N’as-tu pas entendu dire au berger Ambrosio que l’absence fait -craindre et ressentir tous les maux? Cesse donc, Sancho, de me détourner -d’une si rare et si heureuse imitation. Fou je suis, et fou je veux -demeurer, jusqu’à ce que tu sois de retour avec la réponse à une lettre -que tu iras porter de ma part à madame Dulcinée: si je la trouve digne -de ma fidélité, je cesse à l’instant même d’être fou et de faire -pénitence; mais si elle n’est pas telle que je l’espère, oh! alors, je -resterai fou définitivement, parce qu’en cet état je ne sentirai rien: -de sorte que, quoi que me réponde ma dame, je me tirerai toujours -heureusement d’affaire, jouissant comme sage du bien que j’espère de ton -retour, ou, comme fou, ne sentant pas le mal que tu m’auras apporté. -Mais dis-moi, as-tu bien précieusement gardé l’armet de Mambrin? Je t’ai -vu le ramasser après que cet ingrat eut fait tous ses efforts pour le -mettre en pièces, sans pouvoir en venir à bout, tant il est de bonne -trempe. - -Vive Dieu! reprit Sancho, je ne saurais endurer patiemment certaines -choses que dit Votre Grâce; en vérité, cela ferait croire que ce que -vous racontez des chevaliers errants, de ces royaumes dont ils font la -conquête, de ces îles qu’ils donnent pour récompense à leurs écuyers, -que toutes ces belles choses enfin sont des contes à dormir debout. -Comment sans cesse entendre répéter qu’un plat à barbe est l’armet de -Mambrin, sans penser que celui qui soutient cela a perdu le jugement? -J’ai dans mon bissac le bassin tout aplati, et je l’emporte chez moi -pour le redresser et me faire la barbe, si Dieu m’accorde jamais la -grâce de me retrouver avec ma femme et mes enfants. - -Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, par le nom du Dieu vivant que tu viens de -jurer, je jure à mon tour que sur toute la surface de la terre on n’a -pas encore vu d’écuyer d’un plus médiocre entendement. Depuis le temps -que je t’ai pris à mon service, est-il possible que tu sois encore à -t’apercevoir qu’avec les chevaliers errants tout semble chimères, -folies, extravagances, non pas parce que cela est ainsi, mais parce -qu’il se rencontre partout sur leur passage des enchanteurs, qui -changent, bouleversent et dénaturent les objets selon qu’ils ont envie -de nuire ou de favoriser? Ce qui te paraît à toi un bassin de barbier -est pour moi l’armet de Mambrin, et paraîtra tout autre chose à un -troisième. En cela j’admire la sage prévoyance de l’enchanteur qui me -protége, d’avoir fait que chacun prenne pour un bassin de barbier cet -armet, car étant une des plus précieuses choses du monde, et -naturellement la plus enviée, sa possession ne m’aurait pas laissé un -moment de repos, et il m’aurait fallu soutenir mille combats pour le -défendre; tandis que, sous cette vile apparence, personne ne s’en -soucie, comme cet étourdi l’a fait voir en essayant de le rompre, sans -daigner même l’emporter. Garde-le, ami Sancho, je n’en ai pas besoin -pour l’heure; au contraire, je veux me désarmer entièrement et me mettre -nu comme lorsque je sortis du ventre de ma mère, si toutefois je trouve -qu’il soit plus à propos d’imiter la pénitence de Roland que celle -d’Amadis. - -En devisant ainsi, ils arrivèrent au pied d’une roche très-haute et -comme taillée à pic. Sur son flanc un ruisseau limpide courait en -serpentant arroser une verte prairie. Quantité d’arbres sauvages, de -plantes et de fleurs des champs entouraient cette douce retraite. Ce -lieu plut beaucoup au chevalier de la Triste-Figure, qui, le prenant -pour théâtre de sa pénitence, en prit possession en ces termes: - -Cruelle! voici l’endroit que j’adopte et que je choisis pour pleurer -l’infortune où tu m’as fait descendre! oui, je veux que mes larmes -grossissent les eaux de ce ruisseau, que mes soupirs incessants agitent -les feuilles et les branches de ces arbres, en signe et témoignage de -l’affliction qui déchire mon cœur outragé. O vous! divinités champêtres -qui faites séjour en ce désert, écoutez les plaintes d’un malheureux -amant, qu’une longue absence et une jalousie imaginaire ont amené dans -ces lieux, afin de pleurer son triste sort, et gémir à son aise des -rigueurs d’une ingrate en qui le ciel a rassemblé toutes les perfections -de l’humaine beauté! O Dulcinée du Toboso! soleil de mes jours, lune de -mes nuits, étoile polaire de ma destinée! prends pitié du triste état où -m’a réduit ton absence, et daigne répondre par un heureux dénoûment à la -constance de ma foi! Arbres, désormais compagnons de ma solitude, faites -connaître par le doux bruissement de votre feuillage que ma présence ne -vous déplaît pas. Et toi, cher écuyer, fidèle compagnon de mes nombreux -travaux, regarde bien ce que je vais faire, afin de le raconter -fidèlement à celle qui en est l’unique cause. - -En achevant ces mots, il mit pied à terre, ôta la selle et la bride à -Rossinante, et lui frappant doucement sur la croupe avec la paume de la -main, il dit en soupirant: - -Celui qui a perdu la liberté te la donne, ô coursier aussi excellent par -tes œuvres que malheureux par ton sort! Va, prends le chemin que tu -voudras, car tu portes écrit sur le front que jamais l’hippogriffe -d’Astolphe, ni le renommé Frontin, qui coûta si cher à Bradamante, -n’ont égalé ta légèreté et ta vigueur. - -Maudit, et mille fois maudit, s’écria Sancho, soit celui qui me prive du -soin de débâter mon âne. Par ma foi, les caresses et les compliments ne -lui manqueraient pas à cette heure. Et pourtant quand il serait ici, le -pauvre grison, à quoi servirait de lui ôter le bât? Qu’a-t-il à voir aux -folies des amoureux et des désespérés, puisque son maître, et ce maître -c’est moi, n’a jamais été ni l’un ni l’autre? Mais dites-moi, seigneur, -si mon départ et votre folie sont choses sérieuses, ne serait-il pas à -propos de seller Rossinante, afin de remplacer mon âne? ce sera toujours -du temps de gagné; tandis que s’il me faut aller à pied, je ne sais trop -quand j’arriverai, ni quand je serai de retour, car je suis mauvais -marcheur. - -Fais comme tu voudras, répondit don Quichotte; d’autant que ton idée ne -me semble pas mauvaise. Au reste, tu partiras dans trois jours; je te -retiens jusque-là, afin que tu puisses voir ce que j’accomplirai pour ma -dame, et que tu puisses lui en faire un fidèle récit. - -Et que puis-je voir de plus? dit Sancho. - -Vraiment, tu n’y es pas encore, repartit don Quichotte: ne faut-il pas -que je déchire mes habits, que je disperse mes armes, que je me jette la -tête en bas sur ces rochers, et fasse mille autres choses qui te -raviront d’admiration? - -Pour l’amour de Dieu, reprit Sancho, que Votre Grâce prenne bien garde à -la manière dont elle fera ses culbutes, car vous pourriez donner de la -tête en tel endroit que dès le premier coup l’échafaudage de votre -pénitence serait renversé. Si cependant ces culbutes sont -indispensables, je suis d’avis, puisque tout cela n’est que feinte et -imitation, que vous vous contentiez de les faire dans l’eau ou sur -quelque chose de mou comme du coton; après quoi laissez-moi le soin du -reste, je saurai bien dire à madame Dulcinée que vous avez fait ces -culbutes sur des roches plus dures que le diamant. - -Je te suis reconnaissant de ta bonne intention, dit don Quichotte; mais -apprends que tout ceci, loin d’être une feinte, est une affaire -très-sérieuse. D’ailleurs, agir autrement serait manquer aux lois de la -chevalerie, qui nous défendent de mentir sous peine d’indignité; or -faire ou dire une chose pour une autre c’est mentir; il faut donc que -mes culbutes soient réelles, franches, loyales, exemptes de toutes -supercherie. Il sera bon néanmoins que tu me laisses de la charpie pour -panser mes blessures, puisque notre mauvais sort a voulu que nous -perdions le baume. - -Ç’a été bien pis de perdre l’âne, puisqu’il portait la charpie et le -baume, repartit Sancho; quant à ce maudit breuvage, je prie Votre Grâce -de ne m’en parler jamais; rien que d’en entendre prononcer le nom me met -l’âme à l’envers, et à plus forte raison l’estomac. Je vous prie aussi -de considérer comme achevés les trois jours que vous m’avez donnés pour -voir vos folies; je les tiens pour vues et revues, et j’en dirai des -merveilles à madame Dulcinée. Veuillez écrire la lettre et m’expédier -promptement; car je voudrais être déjà de retour pour vous tirer du -purgatoire où je vous laisse. - -Purgatoire! reprit don Quichotte; dis enfer, et pis encore, s’il y a -quelque chose de pire au monde. - -A qui est en enfer NULLA EST RETENTIO, à ce que j’ai entendu dire, -répliqua Sancho. - -Qu’entends-tu par RETENTIO? demanda don Quichotte. - -J’entends par RETENTIO, qu’une fois en enfer on n’en peut plus sortir, -répondit Sancho; ce qui n’arrivera pas à Votre Grâce, ou je ne saurais -plus jouer des talons pour hâter Rossinante. Plantez-moi une bonne fois -devant madame Dulcinée, et je lui ferai un tel récit des folies que vous -avez faites pour elle et de celles qui vous restent encore à faire, que -je la rendrai aussi souple qu’un gant, fût-elle plus dure qu’un tronc de -liége. Puis, avec sa réponse douce comme miel, je reviendrai comme les -sorciers, à travers les airs, vous tirer de votre purgatoire, qui semble -enfer, mais qui ne l’est pas, puisqu’il y a espérance d’en sortir, -tandis qu’on ne sort jamais de l’enfer, quand une fois on y a mis le -pied; ce qui est aussi, je crois, l’avis de Votre Grâce. - -C’est la vérité, dit don Quichotte; mais comment ferons-nous pour écrire -ma lettre? - -Et aussi la lettre de change des trois ânons? ajouta Sancho. - -Sois tranquille, je ne l’oublierai pas, reprit don Quichotte; et puisque -le papier manque, il me faudra l’écrire à la manière des anciens, sur -des feuilles d’arbres ou des tablettes de cire. Mais je m’en souviens, -j’ai le livre de poche de Cardenio, qui sera très-bon pour cela. -Seulement tu auras soin de faire transcrire ma lettre sur une feuille de -papier dans le premier village où tu trouveras un maître d’école; sinon -tu en chargeras le sacristain de la paroisse; mais garde-toi de -t’adresser à un homme de loi, car alors le diable même ne viendrait pas -à bout de la déchiffrer. - -Et la signature? demanda Sancho. - -Jamais Amadis ne signait ses lettres, répondit don Quichotte. - -Bon pour cela, dit Sancho; mais la lettre de change doit forcément être -signée: si elle n’est que transcrite, ils diront que le seing est faux, -et adieu mes ânons. - -La lettre de change sera dans le livre de poche, reprit don Quichotte, -et je la signerai; lorsque ma nièce verra mon nom, elle ne fera point -difficulté d’y faire honneur. Quant à la lettre d’amour, tu auras soin -de mettre pour signature: _A vous jusqu’à la mort, le chevalier de la -Triste-Figure_. Peu importe qu’elle soit d’une main étrangère, car, si -je m’en souviens bien, Dulcinée ne sait ni lire ni écrire, et de sa vie -n’a vu lettre de ma main. En effet, nos amours ont toujours été -platoniques, et n’ont jamais passé les bornes d’une honnête œillade; -encore ç’a été si rarement, que depuis douze ans qu’elle m’est plus -chère que la prunelle de mes yeux, qu’un jour mangeront les vers du -tombeau, je ne l’ai pas vue quatre fois; peut-être même ne s’est-elle -jamais aperçue que je la regardasse, tant Laurent Corchuelo, son père, -et Aldonça Nogalès, sa mère, la veillaient de près et la tenaient -resserrée. - -Comment! s’écria Sancho, la fille de Laurent Corchuelo et d’Aldonça -Nogalès est madame Dulcinée du Toboso? - -Elle-même, répondit don Quichotte, et qui mérite de régner sur tout -l’univers. - -Oh! je la connais bien, dit Sancho, et je sais qu’elle lance une barre -aussi rudement que le plus vigoureux garçon du village. Par ma foi, elle -peut prêter le collet à tout chevalier errant qui la prendra pour -maîtresse. Peste! qu’elle est droite et bien faite! et la bonne voix -qu’elle a! Un jour qu’elle était montée au haut du clocher de notre -village, elle se mit à appeler les valets de son père qui travaillaient -à plus de demi-lieue; eh bien, ils l’entendirent aussi distinctement que -s’ils eussent été au pied de la tour. Ce qu’elle a de bon, c’est qu’elle -n’est point dédaigneuse: elle joue avec tout le monde, et folâtre à tout -propos. Maintenant j’en conviens, seigneur chevalier de la -Triste-Figure, vous pouvez faire pour elle autant de folies qu’il vous -plaira, vous pouvez vous désespérer et même vous pendre; personne ne -dira que vous avez eu tort, le diable vous eût-il emporté. Aldonça -Lorenço! bon Dieu, je grille d’être en chemin pour la revoir. Elle doit -être bien changée, car aller tous les jours aux champs et en plein -soleil, cela gâte vite le teint des femmes. - -Seigneur don Quichotte, continua Sancho, je dois vous confesser une -chose. J’étais resté jusqu’ici dans une grande erreur; j’avais toujours -cru que madame Dulcinée était une haute princesse, ou quelque grande -dame méritant les présents que vous lui avez envoyés, comme ce Biscaïen, -ces forçats, et tant d’autres non moins nombreux que les victoires -remportées par vous avant que je fusse votre écuyer; mais en vérité que -doit penser madame Aldonça Lorenço, je veux dire madame Dulcinée du -Toboso, en voyant s’agenouiller devant elle les vaincus que lui envoie -Votre Grâce? Ne pourrait-il pas arriver qu’en ce moment elle fût occupée -à peigner du chanvre ou à battre du grain, et qu’à cette vue tous ces -gens-là se missent en colère, tandis qu’elle-même se moquerait de votre -présent? - -Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, je t’ai dit bien des fois que tu étais un -grand bavard, et qu’avec ton esprit lourd et obtus, tu avais tort de -vouloir badiner et de faire des pointes. Mais, pour te prouver que je -suis encore plus sage que tu n’es sot, je veux que tu écoutes cette -petite histoire. Apprends donc qu’une veuve, jeune, belle, riche, et -surtout fort amie de la joie, s’amouracha un jour d’un frère lai, bon -compagnon et de large encolure. En l’apprenant, le frère de la dame vint -la trouver pour lui en dire son avis: «Comment, madame, une femme aussi -noble, aussi belle et aussi riche que l’est Votre Grâce, peut-elle -s’amouracher d’un homme de si bas étage et de si médiocre intelligence, -tandis que dans la même maison il y a tant de docteurs et de savants -théologiens, parmi lesquels elle peut choisir comme au milieu d’un cent -de poires?--Vous n’y entendez rien, mon cher frère, répondit la dame, si -vous pensez que j’ai fait un mauvais choix; car pour ce que je veux en -faire, il sait autant et plus de philosophie qu’Aristote.» De la même -manière, Sancho, tu sauras que pour ce que je veux faire de Dulcinée du -Toboso, elle est autant mon fait que la plus grande princesse de la -terre. Crois-tu que les Philis, les Galatées, les Dianes et les -Amaryllis, qu’on voit dans les livres et sur le théâtre, aient été des -créatures en chair et en os, et les maîtresses de ceux qui les ont -célébrées? Non, en vérité: la plupart des poëtes les imaginent pour -s’exercer l’esprit et faire croire qu’ils sont amoureux ou capables de -grandes passions. Il me suffit donc qu’Aldonça Lorenço soit belle et -sage: quant à sa naissance, peu m’importe; on n’en est pas à faire une -enquête pour lui conférer l’habit de chanoinesse, et je me persuade, -moi, qu’elle est la plus grande princesse du monde. Apprends, Sancho, si -tu ne le sais pas, que les choses qui nous excitent le plus à aimer sont -la sagesse et la beauté; or, ces deux choses se trouvent réunies au -degré le plus éminent chez Dulcinée, car en beauté personne ne l’égale, -et en bonne renommée peu lui sont comparables. En un mot, je m’en suis -fait une idée telle, que ni les Hélènes, ni les Lucrèces, ni toutes les -héroïnes des temps passés, grecques, latines ou barbares, n’en ont -jamais approché. Qu’on dise ce qu’on voudra; si les sots ne m’approuvent -pas, les gens sensés ne manqueront pas d’être de mon sentiment. - -Seigneur, reprit Sancho, vous avez raison en tout et partout, et je ne -suis qu’un âne. Mais pourquoi, diable, ce mot-là me vient-il à la -bouche? on ne devrait jamais parler de corde dans la maison d’un pendu. -Maintenant il ne reste plus qu’à écrire vos lettres, et je décampe -aussitôt. - -Don Quichotte prit le livre de poche, et s’étant mis un peu à l’écart, -il commença à écrire avec un grand sang-froid. Sa lettre achevée, il -appela son écuyer pour la lui lire, parce que, lui dit-il, je crains -qu’elle ne se perde en chemin, et que j’ai tout à redouter de ta -mauvaise étoile. - -Votre Grâce ferait mieux de l’écrire deux ou trois fois dans le livre de -poche, reprit Sancho; c’est folie de penser que je puisse la loger dans -ma mémoire; car je l’ai si mauvaise, que j’oublie quelquefois jusqu’à -mon propre nom. Cependant, lisez-la-moi; je m’imagine qu’elle est faite -comme au moule, et je serai bien aise de l’entendre. - -Écoute, dit don Quichotte. - - LETTRE DE DON QUICHOTTE A DULCINÉE DU TOBOSO. - - «Haute et souveraine Dame, - - «Le piqué jusqu’au vif de la pointe aiguë de l’absence, le blessé dans - l’intime région du cœur, dulcissime Dulcinée du Toboso, vous souhaite - la santé dont il ne jouit pas. Si votre beauté continue à me - dédaigner, si vos mérites ne finissent par s’expliquer en ma faveur, - si enfin vos rigueurs persévèrent, il me sera impossible, quoique - accoutumé à la souffrance, de résister à tant de maux, parce que la - force du mal sera plus forte que ma force. Mon fidèle écuyer Sancho - vous rendra un compte exact, belle ingrate et trop aimable ennemie, de - l’état où je suis à votre intention. S’il plaît à Votre Grâce de me - secourir, vous ferez acte de justice, et sauverez un bien qui vous - appartient: sinon faites ce qu’il vous plaira; car, en achevant de - vivre, j’aurai satisfait à votre cruauté et à mes désirs. - - «Celui qui est à vous jusqu’à la mort. - - «Le chevalier de la TRISTE-FIGURE.» - -Par ma barbe, s’écria Sancho, voilà la meilleure lettre que j’aie -entendue de ma vie! Peste, comme Votre Grâce dit bien ce qu’elle veut -dire, et comme vous avez enchâssé là le chevalier de la Triste-Figure! -En vérité, vous êtes le diable en personne, et il n’y a rien que vous ne -sachiez. - -Dans la profession que j’exerce, il faut tout savoir, dit don Quichotte. - -Or çà, reprit Sancho, écrivez donc de l’autre côté la lettre de change -des ânons, et signez lisiblement, afin qu’on sache que c’est votre -écriture. - -Volontiers, dit don Quichotte. Après l’avoir écrite, il lut ce qui -suit: - - «Ma nièce, vous payerez, par cette première de change, trois ânons des - cinq que j’ai laissés dans mon écurie, à Sancho Panza, mon écuyer, - valeur reçue de lui. Je vous en tiendrai compte sur le vu de la - présente, quittancée dudit Sancho. Fait au fond de la Sierra Morena, - le 26 août de la présente année.» - -Très-bien, s’écria Sancho; Votre Grâce n’a plus qu’à signer. - -C’est inutile, répondit don Quichotte, je me contenterai de la parapher, -et cela suffirait pour trois cents ânes. - -Je m’en rapporte à vous, dit Sancho; maintenant je vais seller -Rossinante; préparez-vous à me donner votre bénédiction, car je veux -partir à l’instant même, sans voir les extravagances que vous avez à -faire; je dirai à madame Dulcinée que je vous en ai vu faire à bouche -que veux-tu. - -Il faut au moins, et cela est nécessaire, reprit don Quichotte, que tu -me voies nu, sans autre vêtement que la peau, faire une ou deux -douzaines de folies, afin que les ayant vues, tu puisses jurer en toute -sûreté de conscience de celles que tu croiras devoir y ajouter, et sois -certain que tu n’en diras pas la moitié. - -En ce cas, seigneur, dépêchez-vous, repartit Sancho; mais, pour l’amour -de Dieu, que je ne voie point la peau de Votre Grâce, cela me ferait -trop de chagrin, et je ne pourrais m’empêcher de pleurer. J’ai tant -pleuré cette nuit mon grison, que je ne suis pas en état de recommencer. -S’il faut absolument que je vous voie faire quelques-unes de ces folies, -faites-les tout habillé, et des premières qui vous viendront à l’esprit; -car je vous l’ai déjà dit, c’est autant de pris sur mon voyage, et je -tarderai d’autant à rapporter la réponse que mérite Votre Grâce. Par ma -foi, que madame Dulcinée se tienne bien et réponde comme elle le doit, -car autrement je fais vœu solennel de lui tirer la réponse de l’estomac -à beaux soufflets comptants et à grands coups de pied dans le ventre. -Peut-on souffrir qu’un chevalier errant, fameux comme vous l’êtes, -devienne fou, sans rime ni raison, pour une...? Qu’elle ne me le fasse -pas dire deux fois, la bonne dame, ou bien je lâche ma langue, et je lui -crache son fait à la figure. Oui-da, elle a bien rencontré son homme; je -ne suis pas si facile qu’elle s’imagine; elle me connaît mal, et -très-mal; si elle me connaissait, elle saurait que je ne me mouche pas -du pied. - -En vérité, Sancho, tu n’es guère plus sage que moi, dit don Quichotte. - -Je ne suis pas aussi fou, répliqua Sancho, mais je suis plus colère. -Enfin, laissons cela. Dites-moi, je vous prie, jusqu’à ce que je sois de -retour de quoi vivra Votre Grâce? Ira-t-elle par les chemins dérober -comme Cardenio le pain des pauvres bergers? - -Ne prends de cela aucun souci, répondit don Quichotte; quand même -j’aurais de tout en abondance, je suis résolu à ne me nourrir que des -herbes de cette prairie et des fruits de ces arbres. Le fin de mon -affaire consiste même à ne pas manger du tout, et à souffrir bien -d’autres austérités. - -A propos, seigneur, dit Sancho, savez-vous que j’ai grand’peur, lorsque -je reviendrai, de ne point retrouver l’endroit où je vous laisse, tant -il est écarté? - -Remarque-le bien, reprit don Quichotte; quant à moi, je ne m’éloignerai -pas d’ici, et de temps en temps je monterai sur la plus haute de ces -roches, afin que tu puisses me voir ou que je t’aperçoive à ton retour. -Mais, pour plus grande sûreté, tu n’as qu’à couper des branches de -genêt, et à les répandre de six pas en six pas, jusqu’à ce que tu sois -dans la plaine; cela te servira à me retrouver; Thésée ne fit pas autre -chose, quand à l’aide d’un fil il entreprit de se guider dans le -labyrinthe de Crète. - -Sancho s’empressa d’obéir, et, après avoir coupé sa charge de genêts, il -vint demander la bénédiction de son seigneur, prit congé de lui et monta -en pleurant sur Rossinante. - -Sancho, lui dit don Quichotte, je te recommande mon bon cheval; aies-en -soin comme de ma propre personne. - -Là-dessus, l’écuyer se mit en chemin, semant les branches de genêt comme -don Quichotte le lui avait conseillé. Il n’était pas encore bien -éloigné, que revenant sur ses pas: Seigneur, lui dit-il, Votre Grâce -avait raison quand elle voulait me rendre témoin de quelques-unes de ses -folies, afin que je puisse jurer en repos de conscience que je vous en -ai vu faire, sans compter que l’idée de votre pénitence n’est pas une -des moindres. - -Ne te l’avais-je pas dit? répondit don Quichotte. Eh bien, attends un -peu; en moins d’un _Credo_ ce sera fait. - -Se mettant à tirer ses chausses, il fut bientôt en pan de chemise; puis, -sans autre façon, se donnant du talon au derrière, il fit deux cabrioles -et deux culbutes, les pieds en haut, la tête en bas, et mettant à -découvert de telles choses, que pour ne pas les voir deux fois Sancho -s’empressa de tourner bride, satisfait de pouvoir jurer que son maître -était parfaitement fou. - -Nous le laisserons suivre son chemin jusqu’au retour, qui ne fut pas -long. - -CHAPITRE XXVI - -OU SE CONTINUENT LES RAFFINEMENTS D’AMOUR DU GALANT CHEVALIER DE LA -MANCHE DANS LA SIERRA MORENA - -En revenant à conter ce que fit le chevalier de la Triste-Figure quand -il se vit seul, l’histoire dit: A peine don Quichotte eut achevé ses -sauts et ses culbutes, nu de la ceinture en bas et vêtu de la ceinture -en haut, voyant Sancho parti sans en attendre la fin, qu’il gravit -jusqu’à la cime d’une roche élevée, et là se mit à réfléchir sur un -sujet qui maintes fois avait occupé sa pensée sans qu’il eût encore pu -prendre à cet égard aucune résolution: c’était de savoir lequel serait -préférable et lui conviendrait mieux d’imiter Roland dans sa démence -amoureuse, ou bien Amadis dans ses folies mélancoliques; et se parlant à -lui-même, il disait: Que Roland ait été aussi vaillant chevalier qu’on -le prétend; qu’y a-t-il à cela de merveilleux? il était enchanté, et on -ne pouvait lui ôter la vie, si ce n’est en lui enfonçant une épingle -noire sous la plante du pied. Or, il avait, pour le préserver en cet -endroit, six semelles de fer: et pourtant tout cela ne lui servit de -rien, puisque Bernard de Carpio devina la ruse et l’étouffa entre ses -bras, dans la gorge de Roncevaux. Mais laissons à part sa vaillance, et -venons à sa folie; car il est certain qu’il perdit la raison, quand les -arbres de la fontaine lui eurent dévoilé le fatal indice, et quand le -pasteur lui eut assuré qu’Angélique avait fait deux fois la sieste avec -Médor, ce jeune More à la blonde chevelure. Et certes, après que sa dame -lui eut joué ce vilain tour, il n’avait pas grand mérite à devenir fou. -Mais pour l’imiter dans sa folie, il faudrait avoir le même motif. Or, -je jurerais bien que ma Dulcinée n’a jamais vu de More, même en -peinture, et qu’elle est encore telle que sa mère l’a mise au monde: ce -serait donc lui faire une injure gratuite et manifeste que de devenir -fou du même genre de folie que Roland. - -D’un autre côté, je vois qu’Amadis de Gaule, sans perdre la raison ni -faire d’extravagances, acquit en amour autant et plus de renommée que -personne. Se voyant dédaigné de sa dame Oriane, qui lui avait défendu de -paraître en sa présence jusqu’à ce qu’elle le rappelât, il ne fit rien -de plus, dit son histoire, que de se retirer en compagnie d’un ermite, -sur la roche Pauvre, où il versa tant de larmes que le ciel le prit en -pitié et lui envoya du secours au plus fort de son âpre pénitence. Et -cela étant, comme cela est, pourquoi me déshabiller entièrement, -pourquoi m’en prendre à ces pauvres arbres qui ne m’ont fait aucun mal, -et troubler l’eau de ces ruisseaux qui doivent me désaltérer quand -l’envie m’en prendra? Ainsi donc, vive Amadis! et qu’il soit imité de -son mieux par don Quichotte de la Manche, duquel on dira ce qu’on a dit -d’un autre: que s’il ne fit pas de grandes choses, il périt du moins -pour les avoir entreprises. D’ailleurs, si je ne suis ni dédaigné, ni -outragé par ma Dulcinée, ne suffit-il pas que je sois loin de sa vue? -Courage, mettons la main à l’œuvre; revenez dans ma mémoire, -immortelles actions d’Amadis, et faites-moi connaître par où je dois -commencer. Si je m’en souviens, la prière était son passe-temps -principal; eh bien, faisons de même, imitons-le en tout et pour tout, -puisque je suis l’Amadis de mon siècle, comme il fut celui du sien. - -Là-dessus notre chevalier prit, pour lui servir de chapelet, de grosses -pommes de liége qu’il enfila et dont il se fit un rosaire. Seulement, il -était contrarié de ne pas avoir sous la main un ermite pour le confesser -et lui offrir des consolations; aussi passait-il le temps, soit à se -promener dans la prairie, soit à tracer sur l’écorce des arbres, ou même -sur le sable du chemin, une foule de vers, tous en rapport avec sa -tristesse, tous à la louange de Dulcinée. - - Beaux arbres qui portez vos têtes jusqu’aux cieux, - Et recueillez chez vous cent familles errantes; - Vous que mille couleurs font briller à nos yeux, - Aimables fleurs, herbes et plantes, - Si mon séjour pour vous n’est point trop ennuyeux, - Écoutez d’un amant les plaintes incessantes. - - Ne vous lassez point d’écouter; - Je suis venu vers vous tout exprès pour chanter - De mes maux sans pareils l’horrible destinée. - Vous aurez en revanche abondamment de l’eau; - Car don Quichotte ici va pleurer comme un veau, - De l’absence de Dulcinée - Du Toboso. - - Voici le lieu choisi par un fidèle amant: - Des plus loyaux amants le plus parfait modèle, - Qui pour souffrir tout seul un horrible tourment, - Se cache aux yeux de sa belle, - Et la fuit sans savoir ni pourquoi ni comment, - Si ce n’est qu’il est fou par un excès de zèle. - - L’amour, ce petit dieu matois, - Le brûle à petit feu par-dessous son harnois, - Et le fait enrager comme une âme damnée: - Ne sachant plus que faire en ce cruel dépit, - Don Quichotte éperdu pleure à remplir un muid, - De l’absence de Dulcinée - Du Toboso. - - Pendant que pour la gloire il fait un grand effort, - A travers les rochers cherchant des aventures - Il maudit mille fois son déplorable sort, - Ne trouvant que des pierres dures, - Des ronces, des buissons qui le piquent bien fort, - Et sans lui faire honneur lui font mille blessures. - - L’amour le frappe à tour de bras, - Non pas de son bandeau, car il ne flatte pas: - Mais d’une corde d’arc qui n’est pas étrennée, - Il ébranle sa tête, il trouble son cerveau, - Et don Quichotte alors de larmes verse un seau, - De l’absence de Dulcinée - Du Toboso[45]. - - [45] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Ces vers ne réjouirent pas médiocrement ceux qui les lurent; le refrain -_du Toboso_ leur parut surtout fort plaisant, car ils pensèrent que don -Quichotte, en les composant, s’était imaginé qu’on ne les comprendrait -pas si après le nom de Dulcinée il négligeait d’ajouter celui du Toboso; -ce qui était vrai, et ce qu’il a avoué depuis. Il écrivit encore -beaucoup d’autres vers, comme on l’a dit, mais ces stances furent les -seules qu’on parvint à déchiffrer. - -Telle était dans sa solitude l’occupation de notre amoureux chevalier: -tantôt il soupirait, tantôt il invoquait la plaintive Écho, les faunes -et les sylvains de ces bois, les nymphes de ces fontaines, les conjurant -de lui répondre et de le consoler; tantôt enfin il cherchait des herbes -pour se nourrir, attendant avec impatience le retour de son écuyer. Si -au lieu d’être absent trois jours, Sancho eût tardé plus longtemps, il -trouvait le chevalier de la Triste-Figure tellement défiguré, que la -mère qui le mit au monde aurait eu peine à le reconnaître. Mais laissons -notre héros soupirer tout à son aise, pour nous occuper de Sancho et de -son ambassade. - -A la sortie de la montagne, l’écuyer avait pris le chemin du Toboso, et -le jour suivant il atteignit l’hôtellerie où il avait eu le malheur -d’être berné. A cette vue, un frisson lui parcourut tout le corps, et -s’imaginant déjà voltiger par les airs, il était tenté de passer outre, -quoique ce fût l’heure du dîner et qu’il n’eût rien mangé depuis -longtemps. Pressé par le besoin, il avança jusqu’à la porte de la -maison. Pendant qu’il délibérait avec lui-même, deux hommes en sortirent -qui crurent le reconnaître, et dont l’un dit à l’autre: Seigneur -licencié, n’est-ce pas là ce Sancho Panza que la gouvernante de notre -voisin nous a dit avoir suivi son maître en guise d’écuyer? - -C’est lui-même, reprit le curé, et voilà le cheval de don Quichotte. - -C’était, en effet, le curé et le barbier de son village, les mêmes qui -avaient fait le procès et l’auto-da-fé des livres de chevalerie. - -Quand ils furent certains de ne pas se tromper, ils s’approchèrent; et -le curé appelant Sancho par son nom, lui demanda où il avait laissé son -maître. Sancho, qui les reconnut, se promit tout d’abord de taire le -lieu et l’état dans lequel il l’avait quitté. Mon maître, répondit-il, -est en un certain endroit occupé en une certaine affaire de grande -importance, que je ne dirai pas quand il s’agirait de ma vie. - -Ami Sancho, reprit le barbier, on ne se débarrasse pas de nous si -aisément, et si vous ne déclarez sur-le-champ où vous avez laissé le -seigneur don Quichotte, nous penserons que vous l’avez tué pour lui -voler son cheval. Ainsi, dites-nous où il est, ou bien préparez-vous à -venir en prison. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, il ne faut pas tant de menaces: je ne suis -point un homme qui tue, ni qui vole; je suis chrétien. Mon maître est au -beau milieu de ces montagnes où il fait pénitence tant qu’il peut: et -sur-le-champ il leur conta, sans prendre haleine, en quel état il -l’avait laissé, les aventures qui leur étaient arrivées, ajoutant qu’il -portait une lettre à madame Dulcinée du Toboso, la fille de Laurent -Corchuelo, dont son maître était éperdument amoureux. - -Le curé et le barbier restèrent tout ébahis de ce que leur contait -Sancho; et bien qu’ils connussent la folie de don Quichotte, leur -étonnement redoublait en apprenant que chaque jour il y ajoutait de -nouvelles extravagances. Ils demandèrent à voir la lettre qu’il écrivait -à madame Dulcinée; Sancho répondit qu’elle était dans le livre de -poche, et qu’il avait ordre de la faire copier au premier village qu’il -rencontrerait. Le curé lui proposa de la transcrire lui-même; sur ce -Sancho mit la main dans son sein pour en tirer le livre de poche; mais -il n’avait garde de l’y trouver, car il avait oublié de le prendre, et, -sans y penser, don Quichotte l’avait retenu. Quand notre écuyer vit que -le livre n’était pas où il croyait l’avoir mis, il fut pris d’une sueur -froide, et devint pâle comme la mort. Trois ou quatre fois il se tâta -par tout le corps, fouilla ses habits, regarda cent autres fois autour -de lui, mais voyant enfin que ses recherches étaient inutiles, il porta -les deux mains à sa barbe, et s’en arracha la moitié; puis, tout d’un -trait, il se donna sur le nez et sur les mâchoires cinq ou six coups de -poing avec une telle vigueur qu’il se mit le visage tout en sang. - -Le curé et le barbier, qui n’avaient pu être assez prompts pour -l’arrêter, lui demandèrent pour quel motif il se traitait d’une si rude -façon. - -C’est parce que je viens de perdre en un instant trois ânons, dont le -moindre valait une métairie, répondit Sancho. - -Que dites-vous là? reprit le barbier. - -J’ai perdu, repartit Sancho, le livre de poche où était la lettre pour -madame Dulcinée et une lettre de change, signée de mon maître, par -laquelle il mande à sa nièce de me donner trois ânons, de quatre ou cinq -qu’elle a entre les mains. - -Il raconta ensuite la perte de son grison, et, là-dessus, il voulut -recommencer à se châtier; mais le curé le calma, en l’assurant qu’il lui -ferait donner par son maître une autre lettre de change, et cette fois -sur papier convenable, parce que celles qu’on écrivait sur Un livre de -poche n’étaient pas dans la forme voulue. - -En ce cas, répondit Sancho, je regrette peu la lettre de madame -Dulcinée; d’ailleurs, je la sais par cœur, et je pourrai la faire -transcrire quand il me plaira. - -Eh bien, dites-nous-la, reprit le barbier, après quoi nous la -transcrirons. - -Sancho s’arrêta tout court; il se gratta la tête pour se rappeler les -termes de la lettre, se tenant tantôt sur un pied, tantôt sur un autre, -regardant le ciel, puis la terre; enfin, après s’être rongé la moitié -d’un ongle: Je veux mourir sur l’heure, dit-il, si le diable ne s’en -mêle pas; je ne saurais me souvenir de cette chienne de lettre, sinon -qu’il y avait au commencement: Haute et souterraine dame. - -Vous voulez dire souveraine, et non pas souterraine? reprit le barbier. - -Oui, oui, c’est cela, cria Sancho; attendez donc, il me semble qu’il y -avait ensuite: le maltraité, le privé de sommeil, le blessé baise les -mains de Votre Grâce, ingrate et insensible belle. Je ne sais ce qu’il -disait, de santé et de maladie, qu’il lui envoyait; tant il y a qu’il -discourait encore quelque peu, et puis finissait par _à vous jusqu’à la -mort, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure_. - -La fidèle mémoire de Sancho divertit beaucoup le curé et le barbier: ils -lui en firent compliment, et le prièrent de recommencer la lettre trois -ou quatre fois, afin de l’apprendre eux-mêmes par cœur. Sancho la -répéta donc quatre autres fois, et quatre autres fois répéta quatre -mille impertinences. Ensuite il se mit à conter les aventures de son -maître; mais il ne souffla mot de son bernement dans l’hôtellerie. Il -ajouta que s’il venait à rapporter une réponse favorable de madame -Dulcinée, son maître devait se mettre en campagne pour tâcher de devenir -empereur: chose d’ailleurs très-facile, tant étaient grandes la force de -son bras et sa vaillance incomparable; qu’aussitôt monté sur le trône, -il le marierait, lui Sancho, car alors il ne pouvait manquer d’être -veuf, avec une demoiselle de l’impératrice, héritière d’un grand État en -terre ferme, mais sans aucune île, parce qu’il ne s’en souciait plus. - -Sancho débitait tout cela avec tant d’assurance, que le curé et le -barbier en étaient encore à comprendre comment la folie de don Quichotte -avait pu être assez contagieuse pour brouiller en si peu de temps la -cervelle de son écuyer. Ils ne cherchèrent point à le désabuser, parce -qu’en cela sa conscience ne courait aucun danger, et que, tant qu’il -serait plein de ces ridicules espérances, il ne songerait pas à mal -faire, sans compter qu’ils étaient bien aises de se divertir à ses -dépens. Le curé lui recommanda de prier Dieu pour la santé de son -seigneur, ajoutant qu’avec le temps ce n’était pas une grande affaire -pour lui que de devenir empereur, ou pour le moins archevêque, ou -dignitaire d’un ordre équivalent. - -Mais si les affaires tournaient de telle sorte que mon seigneur ne -voulût plus se faire empereur, et qu’il se mît en tête de devenir -archevêque, dites-moi, je vous prie, demanda Sancho, ce que les -archevêques errants donnent à leurs écuyers. - -Ils ont l’habitude de leur donner, répondit le curé, un office de -sacristain, ou souvent même une cure qui leur procure un beau revenu, -sans compter le casuel, qui ne vaut pas moins. - -Mais pour cela, dit Sancho, il faudrait que l’écuyer ne fût pas marié, -et qu’il sût servir la messe. S’il en est ainsi, me voilà dans de beaux -draps: malheureux que je suis j’ai une femme et des enfants, et je ne -sais pas la première lettre de l’A, B, C. Que deviendrai-je, bon Dieu, -s’il prend fantaisie à mon maître de se faire archevêque? - -Rassurez-vous, ami Sancho, reprit le barbier, nous lui parlerons, et le -seigneur licencié lui ordonnera, sous peine de péché, de se faire plutôt -empereur qu’archevêque; chose pour lui très-facile, car il a plus de -valeur que de science. - -C’est aussi ce qu’il me semble, repartit Sancho, quoiqu’à vrai dire, je -ne croie pas qu’il y ait au monde rien qu’il ne sache. Pour moi, je -m’en vais prier Dieu de lui envoyer ce qui lui conviendra le mieux et -lui fournira le moyen de me donner de plus grandes récompenses. - -Vous parlez en homme sage, dit le curé, et vous agirez en bon chrétien. -Mais ce qui importe à présent, c’est de tirer votre maître de cette -sauvage et inutile pénitence, qui ne lui produira aucun fruit; et pour y -penser à loisir, aussi bien que pour dîner, car il en est temps, entrons -dans l’hôtellerie. - -Entrez, vous autres, dit Sancho; pour moi j’attendrai ici, et je vous -dirai tantôt pourquoi; qu’on m’envoie seulement quelque chose à manger, -de chaud bien entendu, avec de l’orge pour Rossinante. - -Les deux amis entrèrent, et peu après le barbier vint lui apporter ce -qu’il demandait. - -Ils se concertèrent ensuite sur les moyens de faire réussir leur projet: -le curé proposa un plan qui lui semblait infaillible, et tout à fait -conforme au caractère de don Quichotte: J’ai pensé, dit-il au barbier, à -prendre le costume de princesse, pendant que vous vous habillerez de -votre mieux en écuyer. Nous irons trouver don Quichotte, et feignant -d’être une grande dame affligée qui a besoin de secours, je lui -demanderai de m’octroyer un don, qu’en sa qualité de chevalier errant il -ne pourra me refuser: ce don sera de venir avec moi, pour me venger -d’une injure que m’a faite un chevalier discourtois et félon; -j’ajouterai comme grâce insigne de ne point exiger que je lève mon voile -jusqu’à ce qu’il m’ait fait rendre justice. En nous y prenant de la -sorte, je ne doute pas que don Quichotte ne fasse tout ce qu’on voudra: -nous le tirerons ainsi du lieu où il est, nous le ramènerons chez lui, -et là nous verrons à loisir s’il n’y a point quelque remède à sa folie. - -CHAPITRE XXVII - -COMMENT LE CURÉ ET LE BARBIER VINRENT A BOUT DE LEUR DESSEIN, AVEC -D’AUTRES CHOSES DIGNES D’ÊTRE RACONTÉES - -D’accord sur le mérite de l’invention, tous deux se mirent à l’œuvre -aussitôt. Ils empruntèrent à l’hôtesse une jupe de femme et des coiffes -dont le curé s’affubla, laissant pour gage une soutane toute neuve; -quant au barbier, il se fit une grande barbe avec une queue de vache -dont l’hôtelier se servait pour nettoyer son peigne. L’hôtesse demanda -quel était leur projet; le curé lui ayant appris en peu de mots la folie -de don Quichotte, et la nécessité de ce déguisement pour le tirer de la -montagne, elle devina aisément que ce fou était l’homme au baume et le -maître de l’écuyer berné: aussi s’empressa-t-elle de raconter ce qui -s’était passé dans sa maison, sans oublier ce que Sancho mettait tant de -soins à tenir secret. - -Bref, l’hôtesse accoutra le curé de la façon la plus divertissante. Elle -lui fit revêtir une jupe de drap chamarrée de bandes noires d’une palme -de large, et toute tailladée, comme on en portait au temps du roi Wamba. -Pour coiffure, le curé se contenta d’un petit bonnet en toile piquée, -qui lui servait la nuit; puis il se serra le front avec une jarretière -de taffetas noir, et fit de l’autre une espèce de masque dont il se -couvrit la barbe et le visage. Par-dessus le tout il enfonça son -chapeau, qui pouvait lui tenir lieu de parasol; puis se couvrant de son -manteau, il monta sur sa mule à la manière des femmes. Affublé de sa -barbe de queue de vache, qui lui descendait jusqu’à la ceinture, le -barbier enfourcha aussi sa mule, et dans cet équipage ils prirent congé -de tout le monde, sans oublier la bonne Maritorne, laquelle, quoique -pécheresse, promit de réciter un rosaire pour le succès d’une entreprise -si chrétienne. - -A peine avaient-ils fait cinquante pas, qu’il vint un scrupule au curé. -Réfléchissant que c’était chose inconvenante pour un prêtre de se -déguiser en femme, bien que ce fût à bonne intention, il dit au barbier: -Compère, changeons de costume; mieux vaut que vous soyez la dame et moi -l’écuyer, j’en profanerai moins mon caractère; et dût le diable emporter -don Quichotte, je suis résolu, sans avoir fait cet échange, à ne pas -aller plus avant. - -Sancho arriva sur ces entrefaites, et ne put s’empêcher de rire en les -voyant travestis de la sorte. Le barbier fit ce que voulait le curé, qui -s’empressa d’instruire son compère de ce qu’il devait dire à notre héros -pour lui faire abandonner sa pénitence. Maître Nicolas l’assura qu’il -saurait bien s’acquitter de son rôle; mais il ne voulut point s’habiller -pour le moment. Le curé ajusta sa grande barbe, et tous deux se remirent -en route sous la conduite de Sancho, qui leur conta chemin faisant tout -ce qui était arrivé à son maître et à lui avec un fou qu’ils avaient -rencontré dans la montagne, sans parler toutefois de la valise et des -écus d’or; car tout simple qu’il était, notre homme ne manquait pas de -finesse. - -Le jour suivant, on arriva à l’endroit où commençaient les branches de -genêt. Sancho leur dit que c’était là l’entrée de la montagne, et qu’ils -eussent à s’habiller, s’ils croyaient que leur déguisement pût être de -quelque utilité; car ils lui avaient fait part de leur dessein, en lui -recommandant de ne pas les découvrir. Lorsque votre maître, avaient-ils -dit, demandera, comme cela est certain, si vous avez remis sa lettre à -Dulcinée, donnez-lui cette assurance, mais ayez soin d’ajouter que sa -dame, ne sachant ni lire ni écrire, lui ordonne de vive voix, sous peine -d’encourir sa disgrâce et même sa malédiction, de se rendre sur-le-champ -auprès d’elle, et que c’est son plus vif désir. Avec cette réponse que -nous appuierons de notre côté, nous sommes assurés de le faire changer -de résolution, et de le décider à se mettre en chemin pour devenir roi -ou empereur, car alors il n’y aura plus à craindre qu’il pense à se -faire archevêque. - -Sancho les remercia de leur bonne intention. Il sera bien, ajouta-t-il, -que j’aille d’abord trouver mon maître pour lui donner la réponse de sa -dame; peut-être aura-t-elle la vertu de le tirer de là, sans que vous -preniez tant de peine. - -L’avis fut approuvé; et après qu’ils lui eurent promis d’attendre son -retour, Sancho prit le chemin de la montagne, laissant nos deux -compagnons dans un étroit défilé au bord d’un petit ruisseau, où -quelques arbres et de hautes roches formaient un ombrage d’autant plus -agréable, qu’au mois d’août, et vers trois heures après midi, la chaleur -est excessive en ces lieux. - -Le curé et le barbier se reposaient paisiblement à l’ombre, quand tout à -coup leurs oreilles furent frappées des accents d’une voix qui, sans -être accompagnée d’aucun instrument, leur parut très-belle et -très-suave. Ils ne furent pas peu surpris d’entendre chanter de la sorte -dans un lieu si sauvage; car, bien qu’on ait coutume de dire qu’au -milieu des champs et des forêts se rencontrent les plus belles voix du -monde, personne n’ignore que ce sont là plutôt des fictions que des -vérités. Leur étonnement redoubla donc lorsqu’ils entendirent -distinctement ces vers qui n’avaient rien de rustique: - - Je vois d’où vient enfin le trouble de mes sens; - L’absence, le dédain, une âpre jalousie - Empoisonnent ma vie, - Et font tous les maux que je sens. - Dans ces tourments affreux quelle est mon espérance? - Il n’est point de remède à des maux si cuisants, - Et les efforts les plus puissants - Succombent à leur violence. - - C’est toi, cruel Amour, qui causes mes douleurs! - C’est toi, rigoureux sort, dont l’aveugle caprice - Me fait tant d’injustice; - Ciel! tu consens à mes douleurs. - Il faut mourir enfin dans un état si triste, - Le ciel, le sort, l’Amour, l’ont ainsi résolu; - Ils ont un empire absolu, - Et c’est en vain qu’on leur résiste. - - Rien ne peut adoucir la rigueur de mon sort: - A moins d’être insensible au mal qui me possède, - Il n’est point de remède - Que le changement ou la mort, - Mais mourir ou changer, et perdre ce qu’on aime, - Ou se rendre insensible en perdant la raison, - Peut-il s’appeler guérison, - Et n’est-ce pas un mal extrême? - -L’heure, la solitude, le charme des vers et de la voix, tout cela réuni -causait à nos deux amis un plaisir mêlé d’étonnement. Ils attendirent -quelque temps; mais, n’entendant plus rien, ils se levaient pour aller à -la recherche de celui qui chantait si bien, quand la même voix se fit -entendre de nouveau: - - Pure et sainte amitié, rare présent des dieux, - Qui, lasse des mortels et de leur inconstance, - Ne nous laissant de toi qu’une vaine apparence, - As quitté ce séjour pour retourner aux cieux; - - De là quand il te plaît, tu répands à nos yeux, - De tes charmes si doux l’adorable abondance, - Mais une fausse image, avec ta ressemblance, - Sous le voile menteur désole tous ces lieux. - - Descends pour quelque temps, amitié sainte et pure; - Viens confondre ici-bas la fourbe et l’imposture, - Qui, sous ton sacré nom abusent les mortels; - - Découvre à nos regards l’éclat de ton visage; - Remets, avec la paix, la franchise en usage, - Et dissipant l’erreur, renverse ses autels[46]. - - [46] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Le chant fut terminé par un profond soupir. - -Non moins touchés par la compassion qu’excités par la curiosité, le curé -et le barbier voulurent savoir quelle était cette personne si affligée. -A peine eurent-ils fait quelques pas, qu’au détour d’un rocher ils -découvrirent un homme qui, en les voyant, s’arrêta tout à coup, laissant -tomber sa tête sur sa poitrine, comme en proie à une rêverie profonde. -Le curé était plein de charité; aussi se doutant, aux détails donnés par -l’écuyer de don Quichotte, que c’était là Cardenio, il s’approcha de lui -avec des paroles obligeantes, le priant en termes pressants de quitter -un lieu si sauvage et une vie si misérable, dans laquelle il courait le -risque de perdre son âme, ce qui est le plus grand de tous les malheurs. -Cardenio, libre en ce moment des accès furieux dont il était souvent -possédé, voyant deux hommes tout autrement vêtus que ceux qu’il avait -coutume de rencontrer dans ces montagnes lui parler comme s’ils -l’eussent connu, commença par les considérer avec attention et leur dit -enfin: Qui que vous soyez, seigneurs, je vois bien que le ciel, dans le -soin qu’il prend de secourir les bons et quelquefois les méchants, vous -a envoyés vers moi, sans que j’aie mérité une telle faveur, pour me -tirer de cette affreuse solitude et m’obliger de retourner parmi les -hommes; mais comme vous ignorez, ce que je sais, moi, qu’en sortant du -mal présent je cours risque de tomber dans un pire, vous me regardez -sans doute comme un être dépourvu d’intelligence et privé de jugement. -Hélas! il ne serait pas surprenant qu’il en fût ainsi, car je sens -moi-même que le souvenir de mes malheurs me trouble souvent au point -d’égarer ma raison, surtout quand on me rappelle ce que j’ai fait -pendant ces tristes accès, et qu’on m’en donne des preuves que je ne -puis récuser. Alors j’éclate en plaintes inutiles, je maudis mon étoile; -et pour faire excuser ma folie, j’en raconte la cause à qui veut -m’entendre. Il me semble que cela me soulage, persuadé que ceux qui -m’écoutent me trouvent plus malheureux que coupable, et que la -compassion que je leur inspire leur fait oublier mes extravagances. Si -vous venez ici avec la même intention que d’autres y sont déjà venus, je -vous supplie, avant de continuer vos charitables conseils, d’écouter le -récit de mes tristes aventures; peut-être, après les avoir entendues, -jugerez-vous qu’avec tant de sujets de m’affliger, et ne pouvant trouver -de consolations parmi les hommes, j’ai raison de m’en éloigner. - -Curieux d’apprendre de sa bouche la cause de ses disgrâces, le curé et -le barbier le prièrent instamment de la leur raconter, l’assurant qu’ils -n’avaient d’autre dessein que de lui procurer quelque soulagement, s’il -était en leur pouvoir de le faire. - -Cardenio commença donc son récit presque dans les mêmes termes qu’il -l’avait déjà fait à don Quichotte, récit qui s’était trouvé interrompu, -à propos de la reine Madasime et de maître Élisabad, par la trop grande -susceptibilité de notre héros sur le chapitre de la chevalerie; mais -cette fois, il en fut autrement, et Cardenio eut tout le loisir de -poursuivre jusqu’à la fin. Arrivé au billet que don Fernand avait trouvé -dans un volume d’Amadis de Gaule, il dit se le rappeler et qu’il était -ainsi conçu: - - LUSCINDE A CARDENIO. - - «Je découvre chaque jour en vous de nouveaux sujets de vous estimer; - si donc vous voulez que j’acquitte ma dette, sans que ce soit aux - dépens de mon honneur, il vous sera facile de réussir. J’ai un père - qui vous connaît, et qui m’aime assez pour ne pas s’opposer à mes - desseins quand il en reconnaîtra l’honnêteté. C’est à vous de faire - voir que vous m’estimez autant que vous le dites et que je le crois.» - -Ce billet, qui m’engageait à demander la main de Luscinde, donna si -bonne opinion de son esprit et de sa sagesse à don Fernand, que dès -lors il conçut le projet de renverser mes espérances. J’eus l’imprudence -de confier à ce dangereux ami la réponse du père de Luscinde, réponse -par laquelle il me disait vouloir connaître les sentiments du mien, et -que ce fût lui qui fît la demande. Redoutant un refus de mon père, je -n’osais lui en parler, non dans la crainte qu’il ne trouvât pas en -Luscinde assez de vertu et de beauté pour faire honneur à la meilleure -maison d’Espagne, mais parce que je pensais qu’il ne consentirait pas à -mon mariage avant de savoir ce que le duc avait l’intention de faire -pour moi. A tout cela, don Fernand me répondit qu’il se chargerait de -parler à mon père, et d’obtenir de lui qu’il s’en ouvrît au père de -Luscinde. - -Lorsque je te découvrais avec tant d’abandon les secrets de mon cœur, -cruel et déloyal ami, comment pouvais-tu songer à trahir ma confiance? -Mais, hélas! à quoi sert de se plaindre? Lorsque le ciel a résolu la -perte d’un homme, est-il possible de la conjurer, et toute la prudence -humaine n’est-elle pas inutile? Qui aurait jamais cru que don Fernand, -qui par sa naissance et son mérite pouvait prétendre aux plus grands -partis du royaume, qui me témoignait tant d’amitié et m’était redevable -de quelques services, nourrissait le dessein de m’enlever le seul bien -qui pût faire le bonheur de ma vie, et que même je ne possédais pas -encore? - -Don Fernand, qui voyait dans ma présence un obstacle à ses projets, -pensa à se débarrasser de moi adroitement. Le jour même où il se -chargeait de parler à mon père, il fit, dans le but de m’éloigner, achat -de six chevaux, et me pria d’aller demander à son frère aîné l’argent -pour les payer. Je n’avais garde de redouter une trahison; je le croyais -plein d’honneur, et j’étais de trop bonne foi pour soupçonner un homme -que j’aimais. Aussi dès qu’il m’eut dit ce qu’il souhaitait, je lui -proposai de partir à l’instant. J’allai le soir même prendre congé de -Luscinde, et lui confiai ce que don Fernand m’avait promis de faire -pour moi; elle me répondit de revenir au plus vite, ne doutant pas que -dès que mon père aurait parlé au sien, nos souhaits ne fussent -accomplis. Je ne sais quel pressentiment lui vint tout à coup, mais elle -fondit en larmes, et se trouva si émue qu’elle ne pouvait articuler une -parole. Quant à moi je demeurai plein de tristesse, ne comprenant point -la cause de sa douleur, que j’attribuais à sa tendresse et au déplaisir -qu’allait lui causer mon absence. Enfin je partis l’âme remplie de -crainte et d’émotion, indices trop certains du coup qui m’était réservé. -Je remis la lettre de don Fernand à son frère, qui me fit mille -caresses, et m’engagea à attendre huit jours, parce que don Fernand le -priait de lui envoyer de l’argent à l’insu de leur père. Mais ce n’était -qu’un artifice pour retarder mon départ; car le frère de Fernand ne -manquait pas d’argent, et il ne tenait qu’à lui de me congédier sur -l’heure. Plusieurs fois, je fus sur le point de repartir, ne pouvant -vivre éloigné de Luscinde, surtout en l’état plein d’alarmes où je -l’avais laissée. Je demeurai pourtant, car la crainte de contrarier mon -père, et de faire une action que je ne pourrais excuser raisonnablement, -l’emporta sur mon impatience. - -J’étais absent depuis quatre jours, lorsque tout à coup un homme -m’apporte une lettre, que je reconnais aussitôt être de Luscinde. -Surpris qu’elle m’envoyât un exprès, j’ouvre la lettre en tremblant: -mais avant d’y jeter les yeux, je demandai au porteur qui la lui avait -remise, et combien de temps il était resté en chemin. Il me répondit -qu’en passant par hasard dans la rue, vers l’heure de midi, une jeune -femme toute en pleurs l’avait appelé par une fenêtre, et lui avait dit -avec beaucoup de précipitation: Mon ami, si vous êtes chrétien, comme -vous le paraissez, je vous supplie, au nom de Dieu, de partir sans délai -et de porter cette lettre à son adresse; en reconnaissance de ce -service, voilà ce que je vous donne. En même temps, ajouta-t-il, elle me -jeta un mouchoir où je trouvai cent réaux avec une bague d’or et cette -lettre; quand je l’eus assurée par signes que j’exécuterais fidèlement -ce qu’elle m’ordonnait, sa fenêtre se referma. Me trouvant si bien payé -par avance, voyant d’ailleurs que la lettre s’adressait à vous, que je -connais, Dieu merci, et plus touché encore des larmes de cette belle -dame que de tout le reste, je n’ai voulu m’en fier à personne, et en -seize heures je viens de faire dix-huit grandes lieues. Pendant que cet -homme me donnait ces détails, j’étais, comme on dit, pendu à ses lèvres, -et les jambes me tremblaient si fort que j’avais peine à me soutenir. -Enfin j’ouvris la lettre de Luscinde, et voici à peu près ce qu’elle -contenait: - - AUTRE LETTRE DE LUSCINDE A CARDENIO. - - «Don Fernand s’est acquitté de la parole qu’il vous avait donnée de - faire parler à mon père; mais il a fait pour lui ce qu’il avait promis - de faire pour vous: il me demande lui-même en mariage, et mon père, - séduit par les avantages qu’il attend de cette alliance, y a si bien - consenti, que dans deux jours don Fernand doit me donner sa main, mais - si secrètement, que notre mariage n’aura d’autres témoins que Dieu et - quelques personnes de notre maison. Jugez de l’état où je suis par - celui où vous devez être, et venez promptement si vous pouvez. La - suite fera voir si je vous aime. Dieu veuille que cette lettre tombe - entre vos mains, avant que je sois obligée de m’unir à un homme qui - sait si mal garder la foi promise. Adieu.» - -Je n’eus pas achevé de lire cette lettre, poursuivit Cardenio, que je -partis, voyant trop tard la fourberie de don Fernand, qui n’avait -cherché à m’éloigner que pour profiter de mon absence. L’indignation et -l’amour me donnaient des ailes; j’arrivai le lendemain à la ville, juste -à l’heure favorable pour entretenir Luscinde. Un heureux hasard voulut -que je la trouvasse à cette fenêtre basse, si longtemps témoin de nos -amours. Notre entrevue eut quelque chose d’embarrassé, et Luscinde ne me -témoigna pas l’empressement que j’attendais. Hélas! quelqu’un peut-il se -vanter de connaître les confuses pensées d’une femme, et d’avoir jamais -su pénétrer les secrets de son cœur? Cardenio, me dit-elle, tu me vois -avec mes habillements de noce, car on m’attend pour achever la -cérémonie; mais mon père, le traître don Fernand et les autres, seront -plutôt témoins de ma mort que de mon mariage. Ne te trouble point, cher -Cardenio, tâche seulement de te trouver présent à ce sacrifice; et sois -certain que, si mes paroles ne peuvent l’empêcher, un poignard est là -qui saura du moins me soustraire à toute violence, et qui, en m’ôtant la -vie, mettra le sceau à l’amour que je t’ai voué. Faites, Madame, lui -dis-je avec précipitation, faites que vos actions justifient vos -paroles. Quant à moi, si mon épée ne peut vous défendre, je la tournerai -contre moi-même, plutôt que de vous survivre. Je ne sais si Luscinde -m’entendit, car on vint la chercher en grande hâte, en disant qu’on -n’attendait plus qu’elle. Je demeurai en proie à une tristesse et à un -accablement que je ne saurais exprimer; ma raison était éteinte et mes -yeux ne voyaient plus. Dans cet état, devenu presque insensible, je -n’avais pas la force de me mouvoir, ni de trouver l’entrée de la maison -de Luscinde. - -Enfin, ayant repris mes sens, et comprenant combien ma présence lui -était nécessaire dans une circonstance si critique, je me glissai à la -faveur du bruit, et, sans avoir été aperçu, je me cachai derrière une -tapisserie, dans l’embrasure d’une fenêtre, d’où je pouvais voir -aisément ce qui allait se passer. Comment peindre l’émotion qui -m’agitait, les pensées qui m’assaillirent, les résolutions que je -formai! Je vis d’abord don Fernand entrer dans la salle, vêtu comme à -l’ordinaire, accompagné seulement d’un parent de Luscinde; les autres -témoins étaient des gens de la maison. Bientôt après, Luscinde sortit -d’un cabinet de toilette, accompagnée de sa mère et suivie de deux -femmes qui la servaient; elle était vêtue et parée comme doit l’être une -personne de sa condition. Le trouble où j’étais m’empêcha de remarquer -les détails de son habillement, qui me parut d’une étoffe rose et -blanche, avec beaucoup de perles et de pierreries; mais rien n’égalait -l’éclat de sa beauté, dont elle était bien plus parée que de tout le -reste. O souvenir cruel, ennemi de mon repos, pourquoi me représentes-tu -si fidèlement l’incomparable beauté de Luscinde! ne devrais-tu pas -plutôt me cacher ce que je vis s’accomplir? Seigneur, pardonnez-moi ces -plaintes; je n’en suis point le maître, et ma douleur est si vive que je -me fais violence pour ne pas m’arrêter à chaque parole. - -Après quelques instants de repos, Cardenio poursuivit de la sorte: - -Quand tout le monde fut réuni dans la salle, on fit entrer un prêtre, -qui, prenant par la main chacun des fiancés, demanda à Luscinde si elle -recevait don Fernand pour époux. En ce moment j’avançai la tête hors de -la tapisserie, et, tout troublé que j’étais, j’écoutai cependant ce que -Luscinde allait dire, attendant sa réponse comme l’arrêt de ma vie ou de -ma mort. Hélas! qui est-ce qui m’empêcha de me montrer en ce moment? -Pourquoi ne me suis-je pas écrié: Luscinde, Luscinde, tu as ma foi, et -j’ai la tienne; tu ne peux te parjurer sans commettre un crime, et sans -me donner la mort. Et toi, perfide don Fernand, qui oses violer toutes -les lois divines et humaines pour me ravir un bien qui m’appartient, -crois-tu pouvoir troubler impunément le repos de ma vie? crois-tu qu’il -y ait quelque considération capable d’étouffer mon ressentiment, quand -il s’agit de mon honneur et de mon amour! Malheureux! c’est à présent -que je sais ce que j’aurais dû faire! Mais pourquoi te plaindre d’un -ennemi dont tu pouvais te venger? Maudis, maudis plutôt ton faible -cœur, et meurs comme un homme sans courage, puisque tu n’as pas su -prendre une résolution, ou que tu as été assez lâche pour ne pas -l’accomplir. Le prêtre attendait toujours la réponse de Luscinde, et -lorsque j’espérais qu’elle allait tirer son poignard pour sortir -d’embarras, ou qu’elle se dégagerait par quelque subterfuge qui me -serait favorable, je l’entendis prononcer d’une voix faible: _Oui, je le -reçois_. Fernand, ayant fait le même serment, lui donna l’anneau -nuptial: et ils demeurèrent unis pour jamais. Fernand s’approcha pour -embrasser son épouse, mais elle, posant la main sur son cœur, tomba -évanouie entre les bras de sa mère. - -Il me reste à dire ce qui se passa en moi à cette heure fatale où je -voyais la fausseté des promesses de Luscinde, et où une seule parole -venait de me ravir à jamais l’unique bien qui me fît aimer la vie! Je -restai privé de sentiment; il me sembla que j’étais devenu l’objet de la -colère du ciel, et qu’il m’abandonnait à la cruauté de ma destinée. Le -trouble et la confusion s’emparèrent de mon esprit. Mais bientôt la -violence de la douleur étouffant en moi les soupirs et les larmes, je -fus saisi d’un désespoir violent et transporté de jalousie et de -vengeance. L’évanouissement de Luscinde troubla toute l’assemblée, et sa -mère l’ayant délacée pour la faire respirer, on trouva dans son sein un -papier cacheté, dont s’empara vivement don Fernand; mais après l’avoir -lu, sans songer si sa femme avait besoin de secours, il se jeta dans un -fauteuil comme un homme qui vient d’apprendre quelque chose de fâcheux. -Pour moi, au milieu de la confusion, je sortis lentement sans -m’inquiéter d’être aperçu, et, dans tous les cas, résolu à faire un tel -éclat en châtiant le traître, qu’on apprendrait en même temps et sa -perfidie et ma vengeance. Mon étoile, qui me réserve sans doute pour de -plus grands malheurs, me conserva alors un reste de jugement qui m’a -tout à fait manqué depuis. Je m’éloignai sans tirer vengeance de mes -ennemis, qu’il m’eût été facile de surprendre, et je ne pensai qu’à -tourner contre moi-même le châtiment qu’ils avaient si justement mérité. - -Enfin je m’échappai de cette maison, et je me rendis chez l’homme où -j’avais laissé ma mule. Je la fis seller et sortis aussitôt de la ville. -Arrivé à quelque distance dans la campagne, seul alors au milieu des -ténèbres, j’éclatai en malédictions contre don Fernand, comme si -j’obtenais par là quelque soulagement. Je m’emportai aussi contre -Luscinde, comme si elle eût pu entendre mes reproches: cent fois je -l’appelai ingrate et parjure; je l’accusai de manquer de foi à l’amant -qui l’avait toujours fidèlement servie, et, pour un intérêt vil et bas, -de me préférer un homme qu’elle connaissait à peine. Mais, au milieu de -ces emportements et de ma fureur, un reste d’amour me faisait l’excuser. -Je me disais qu’élevée dans un grand respect pour son père, et -naturellement douce et timide, elle n’avait peut-être cédé qu’à la -contrainte; qu’en refusant, contre la volonté de ses parents, un -gentilhomme si noble, si riche et si bien fait de sa personne, elle -avait craint de donner une mauvaise opinion de sa conduite, et des -soupçons désavantageux à sa réputation. Mais aussi, m’écriai-je, -pourquoi n’avoir pas déclaré les serments qui nous liaient? Ne -pouvait-elle légitimement s’excuser de recevoir la main de don Fernand? -Qui l’a empêchée de se déclarer pour moi? Suis-je donc tant à dédaigner? -Sans ce perfide, ses parents ne me l’auraient pas refusée. Mais hélas! -je restai convaincu que peu d’amour et beaucoup d’ambition lui avaient -fait oublier les promesses dont elle avait jusque-là bercé mon sincère -et fidèle espoir. - -Je marchai toute la nuit dans ces angoisses, et le matin je me trouvai à -l’entrée de ces montagnes, où j’errai à l’aventure pendant trois jours, -au bout desquels je demandai à quelques chevriers qui vinrent à moi, -quel était l’endroit le plus désert. Ils m’enseignèrent celui-ci, et je -m’y acheminai, résolu d’y achever ma triste vie. En arrivant au pied de -ces rochers, ma mule tomba morte de fatigue et de faim: moi-même j’étais -sans force, et tellement abattu que je ne pouvais plus me soutenir. Je -restai ainsi je ne sais combien de temps étendu par terre, et quand je -me relevai, j’étais entouré de bergers qui m’avaient sans doute secouru, -quoique je ne m’en ressouvinsse pas. Ils me racontèrent qu’ils m’avaient -trouvé dans un bien triste état, et disant tant d’extravagances, qu’ils -crurent que j’avais perdu l’esprit. J’ai reconnu moi-même depuis lors -que je n’ai pas toujours le jugement libre et sain; car je me laisse -souvent aller à des folies dont je ne suis pas maître, déchirant mes -habits, maudissant ma mauvaise fortune, et répétant sans cesse le nom de -Luscinde, sans autre dessein que d’expirer en la nommant; puis, quand je -reviens à moi, je me sens brisé de fatigue comme à la suite d’un violent -effort. Je me retire d’ordinaire dans un liége creux, qui me sert de -demeure. Les chevriers de ces montagnes ont pitié de moi; ils déposent -quelque nourriture dans les endroits où ils pensent que je pourrai la -rencontrer; car, quoique j’aie presque perdu le jugement, la nature me -fait sentir ses besoins, et l’instinct m’apprend à les satisfaire. Quand -ces braves gens me reprochent de leur enlever quelquefois leurs -provisions et de les maltraiter quoiqu’ils me donnent de bon cœur ce -que je demande, j’en suis extrêmement affligé et je leur promets d’en -user mieux à l’avenir. - -Voilà, seigneurs, de quelle manière je passe ma misérable vie, en -attendant que le ciel en dispose, ou que, touché de pitié, il me fasse -perdre le souvenir de la beauté de Luscinde et de la perfidie de don -Fernand. Si cela m’arrive avant que je meure, j’espère que le trouble de -mon esprit se dissipera. En attendant, je prie le ciel de me regarder -avec compassion, car, je le comprends, cette manière de vivre ne peut -que lui déplaire et l’irriter; mais je n’ai pas le courage de prendre -une bonne résolution: mes disgrâces m’accablent et surmontent mes -forces; ma raison s’est si fort affaiblie, que, bien loin de n’être -d’aucun secours, elle m’entretient dans ces sentiments tout contraires. -Dites maintenant si vous avez jamais connu sort plus déplorable, si ma -douleur n’est pas bien légitime, et si l’on peut avec plus de sujet -témoigner moins d’affliction. Ne perdez donc point votre temps à me -donner des conseils; ils seraient inutiles. Je ne veux pas vivre sans -Luscinde; il faut que je meure, puisqu’elle m’abandonne. En me préférant -don Fernand, elle a fait voir qu’elle en voulait à ma vie; eh bien, je -veux la lui sacrifier, et jusqu’au dernier soupir exécuter ce qu’elle a -voulu. - -Cardenio s’arrêta; et comme le curé se préparait à le consoler, il en -fut tout à coup empêché par des plaintes qui attirèrent leur attention. -Dans le quatrième livre, nous verrons de quoi il s’agit; car cid Hamet -Ben-Engeli écrit ceci: Fin du livre troisième. - -LIVRE IV--CHAPITRE XXVIII - -DE LA NOUVELLE ET AGRÉABLE AVENTURE QUI ARRIVA AU CURÉ ET AU BARBIER -DANS LA SIERRA MORENA - -Heureux, trois fois heureux fut le siècle où vint au monde l’intrépide -chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, puisqu’en lui mettant au cœur le -généreux dessein de ressusciter l’ordre déjà plus qu’à demi éteint de la -chevalerie errante, il est cause que, dans notre âge très-pauvre en -joyeuses distractions, nous jouissons non-seulement de la délectable -lecture de sa véridique histoire, mais encore des contes et épisodes -qu’elle renferme, et qui n’ont pas moins de charme que l’histoire -elle-même. - -En reprenant le fil peigné, retors et dévidé du récit, celle-ci raconte -qu’au moment où le curé se disposait à consoler de son mieux Cardenio, -il en fut empêché par une voix plaintive qui s’exprimait ainsi: - -O mon Dieu! serait-il possible que j’eusse enfin trouvé un lieu qui pût -servir de tombeau à ce corps misérable, dont la charge m’est devenue si -pesante? Que je serais heureuse de rencontrer dans la solitude de ces -montagnes le repos qu’on ne trouve point parmi les hommes, afin de -pouvoir me plaindre en liberté des malheurs qui m’accablent! Ciel, -écoute mes plaintes, c’est à toi que je m’adresse: les hommes sont -faibles et trompeurs, toi seul peux me soutenir et m’inspirer ce que je -dois faire. - -Ces paroles furent entendues par le curé et par ceux qui -l’accompagnaient, et tous se levèrent aussitôt pour aller savoir qui se -plaignait si tristement. A peine eurent-ils fait vingt pas, qu’au détour -d’une roche, au pied d’un frêne, ils découvrirent un jeune homme vêtu en -paysan, dont on ne pouvait voir le visage parce qu’il l’inclinait en -lavant ses pieds dans un ruisseau. Ils s’étaient approchés avec tant de -précaution, que le jeune garçon ne les entendit point, et ils eurent -tout le loisir de remarquer qu’il avait les pieds si blancs, qu’on les -eût dit des morceaux de cristal mêlés aux cailloux du ruisseau. Tant de -beauté les surprit dans un homme grossièrement vêtu, et, leur curiosité -redoublant, ils se cachèrent derrière quelques quartiers de roche, d’où, -l’observant avec soin, ils virent qu’il portait un mantelet gris brun -serré par une ceinture de toile blanche, et sur la tête un petit bonnet -ou _montera_[47] de même couleur que le mantelet. Après qu’il se fut -lavé les pieds, le jeune garçon prit sous sa montera un mouchoir pour -les essuyer, et alors ce mouvement laissa voir un visage si beau, que -Cardenio ne put s’empêcher de dire au curé: Puisque ce n’est point -Luscinde, ce ne peut être une créature humaine; c’est quelque ange du -ciel. - - [47] _Montera_, espèce de casquette sans visière que portent les - paysans espagnols. - -En ce moment le jeune homme ayant ôté sa montera pour secouer sa -chevelure, déroula des cheveux blonds si beaux, qu’Apollon en eût été -jaloux. Ils reconnurent alors que celui qu’ils avaient pris pour un -paysan était une femme délicate et des plus belles. Cardenio lui-même -avoua qu’après Luscinde il n’avait jamais rien vu de comparable. En -démêlant les beaux cheveux dont les tresses épaisses la couvraient tout -entière, à ce point que de tout son corps on n’apercevait que les pieds, -la jeune fille laissa voir des bras si bien faits, et des mains si -blanches qu’elles semblaient des flocons de neige, et que l’admiration -et la curiosité de ceux qui l’épiaient s’en augmentant, ils se levèrent -afin de la voir de plus près, et apprendre qui elle était. Au bruit -qu’ils firent, la jeune fille tourna la tête, en écartant les cheveux -qui lui couvraient le visage; mais à peine eut-elle aperçu ces trois -hommes, que, sans songer à rassembler sa chevelure, et oubliant qu’elle -avait les pieds nus, elle saisit un petit paquet de hardes, et se mit à -fuir à toutes jambes. Mais ses pieds tendres et délicats ne purent -supporter longtemps la dureté des cailloux, elle tomba, et ceux qu’elle -fuyait étant accourus à son secours, le curé lui cria: - -Arrêtez, Madame; ne craignez rien, qui que vous soyez; nous n’avons -d’autre intention que de vous servir. En même temps il s’approcha d’elle -et la prit par la main; la voyant étonnée et confuse, il continua de la -sorte: - -Vos cheveux, Madame, nous ont découvert ce que vos vêtements nous -cachaient: preuves certaines qu’un motif impérieux a pu seul vous forcer -à prendre un déguisement si indigne de vous, et vous conduire au fond de -cette solitude où nous sommes heureux de vous rencontrer, sinon pour -faire cesser vos malheurs, au moins pour vous offrir des consolations. -Il n’est point de chagrins si violents que la raison et le temps ne -parviennent à adoucir. Si donc vous n’avez pas renoncé à la consolation -et aux conseils des humains, je vous supplie de nous apprendre le sujet -de vos peines, et d’être persuadée que nous vous le demandons moins par -curiosité que dans le dessein de les adoucir en les partageant. - -Pendant que le curé parlait ainsi, la belle inconnue le regardait, -interdite et comme frappée d’un charme, semblable en ce moment à -l’ignorant villageois auquel on montre à l’improviste des choses qu’il -n’a jamais vues; enfin le curé lui ayant laissé le temps de se remettre, -elle laissa échapper un profond soupir et rompit le silence en ces -termes: - -Puisque la solitude de ces montagnes n’a pu me cacher, et que mes -cheveux m’ont trahi, il serait désormais inutile de feindre avec vous, -en niant une chose dont vous ne pouvez plus douter; et puisque vous -désirez entendre le récit de mes malheurs, j’aurais mauvaise grâce de -vous le refuser après les offres obligeantes que vous me faites. -Toutefois, je crains bien de vous causer moins de plaisir que de -compassion, parce que mon infortune est si grande, que vous ne trouverez -ni remède pour la guérir, ni consolation pour en adoucir l’amertume. -Aussi ne révélerai-je qu’avec peine des secrets que j’avais résolu -d’ensevelir avec moi dans le tombeau, car je ne puis les raconter sans -me couvrir de confusion; mais trouvée seule et sous des habits d’homme, -dans un lieu si écarté, j’aime mieux vous les révéler que de laisser le -moindre doute sur mes desseins et ma conduite. - -Cette charmante fille, ayant parlé de la sorte, s’éloigna un peu pour -achever de s’habiller; puis, s’étant rapprochée, elle s’assit sur -l’herbe, et après s’être fait violence quelque temps pour retenir ses -larmes, elle commença ainsi: - -Je suis née dans une ville de l’Andalousie, dont un duc porte le nom, ce -qui lui donne le titre de grand d’Espagne. Mon père, un de ses vassaux, -n’est pas d’une condition très-relevée; mais il est riche, et si les -biens de la nature eussent égalé chez lui ceux de la fortune, il -n’aurait pu rien désirer au delà, et moi-même je serais moins à plaindre -aujourd’hui; car je ne doute point que mes malheurs ne viennent de celui -qu’ont mes parents de n’être point d’illustre origine. Ils ne sont -pourtant pas d’une extraction si basse qu’elle doive les faire rougir: -ils sont laboureurs de père en fils, d’une race pure et sans mélange; -ce sont de vieux chrétiens, et leur ancienneté, jointe à leurs grands -biens et à leur manière de vivre, les élève beaucoup au-dessus des gens -de leur profession, et les place presque au rang des plus nobles. Comme -je suis leur unique enfant, ils m’ont toujours tendrement chérie; et ils -se trouvaient encore plus heureux de m’avoir pour fille que de toute -leur opulence. De même que j’étais maîtresse de leur cœur, je l’étais -aussi de leur bien; tout passait par mes mains dans notre maison, les -affaires du dehors comme celles du dedans; et comme ma circonspection et -mon zèle égalaient leur confiance, nous avions vécu jusque-là heureux et -en repos. Après les soins du ménage, le reste de mon temps était -consacré aux occupations ordinaires des jeunes filles, telles que le -travail à l’aiguille, le tambour à broder, et bien souvent le rouet; -quand je quittais ces travaux, c’était pour faire quelque lecture utile, -ou jouer de quelque instrument, ayant reconnu que la musique met le -calme dans l’âme et repose l’esprit fatigué. Telle était la vie que je -menais dans la maison paternelle. Si je vous la raconte avec ces -détails, ce n’est pas par vanité, mais pour vous apprendre que ce n’est -pas ma faute si je suis tombée de cette heureuse existence dans la -déplorable situation où vous me voyez aujourd’hui. Pendant que ma vie se -passait ainsi dans une espèce de retraite comparable à celle des -couvents, ne voyant d’autres gens que ceux de notre maison, ne sortant -jamais que pour aller à l’église, toujours de grand matin et en -compagnie de ma mère, le bruit de ma beauté commença à se répandre, et -l’amour vint me troubler dans ma solitude. Un jour à mon insu, le second -fils de ce duc dont je vous ai parlé, nommé don Fernand, me vit... - -A ce nom de Fernand, Cardenio changea de couleur, et laissa paraître une -si grande agitation, que le curé et le barbier, qui avaient les yeux sur -lui, craignirent qu’il n’entrât dans un de ces accès de fureur dont ils -avaient appris qu’il était souvent atteint. Heureusement qu’il n’en fut -rien: seulement il se mit à considérer fixement la belle inconnue, -attachant sur elle ses regards, et cherchant à la reconnaître; mais, -sans faire attention aux mouvements convulsifs de Cardenio, elle -continua son récit. - -Ses yeux ne m’eurent pas plutôt aperçue, comme il l’avoua depuis, qu’il -ressentit cette passion violente dont il donna bientôt des preuves. Pour -achever promptement l’histoire de mes malheurs, et ne point perdre de -temps en détails inutiles, je passe sous silence les ruses qu’employa -don Fernand pour me révéler son amour: il gagna les gens de notre -maison; il fit mille offres de services à mon père, l’assurant de sa -faveur en toutes choses. Chaque jour ce n’étaient que divertissements -sous mes fenêtres, et la nuit s’y passait en concerts de voix et -d’instruments. Il me fit remettre, par des moyens que j’ignore encore, -un nombre infini de billets pleins de promesses et de tendres -sentiments. Cependant tout cela ne faisait que m’irriter, bien loin de -me plaire et de m’attendrir, et dès lors je regardai don Fernand comme -un ennemi mortel. Ce n’est pas qu’il me parût aimable, et que je ne -sentisse quelque plaisir à me voir recherchée d’un homme de cette -condition; de pareils soins plaisent toujours aux femmes, et la plus -farouche trouve dans son cœur un peu de complaisance pour ceux qui lui -disent qu’elle est belle; mais la disproportion de fortune était trop -grande pour me permettre des espérances raisonnables, et ses soins trop -éclatants pour ne pas m’offenser. Les conseils de mes parents, qui -avaient deviné don Fernand, achevèrent de détruire tout ce qui pouvait -me flatter dans sa recherche. Un jour mon père, me voyant plus inquiète -que de coutume, me déclara que le seul moyen de faire cesser ses -poursuites et de mettre un obstacle insurmontable à ses prétentions, -c’était de prendre un époux, que je n’avais qu’à choisir, dans la ville -ou dans notre voisinage, un parti à mon gré, et qu’il ferait tout ce -que je pouvais attendre de son affection. - -Je le remerciai de sa bonté, et répondis que n’ayant encore jamais pensé -au mariage, j’allais songer à éloigner don Fernand, d’une autre manière, -sans enchaîner pour cela ma liberté. Je résolus dès lors de l’éviter -avec tant de soin, qu’il ne trouvât plus moyen de me parler. Une manière -de vivre si réservée ne fit que l’exciter dans son mauvais dessein, je -dis mauvais dessein, parce que, s’il avait été honnête, je ne serais pas -dans le triste état où vous me voyez. Mais quand don Fernand apprit que -mes parents cherchaient à m’établir, afin de lui ôter l’espoir de me -posséder, ou que j’eusse plus de gardiens pour me défendre, il résolut -d’entreprendre ce que je vais vous raconter. - -Une nuit que j’étais dans ma chambre, avec la fille qui me servait, ma -porte bien fermée pour être en sûreté contre la violence d’un homme que -je savais capable de tout oser, il se dressa subitement devant moi. Sa -vue me troubla à tel point que, perdant l’usage de mes sens, je ne pus -articuler un seul mot pour appeler du secours. Profitant de ma faiblesse -et de mon étonnement, don Fernand me prit entre ses bras, me parla avec -tant d’artifice, et me montra tant de tendresse, que je n’osais appeler -quand je m’en serais senti la force. Les soupirs du perfide donnaient du -crédit à ses paroles, et ses larmes semblaient justifier son intention; -j’étais jeune et sans expérience dans une matière où les plus habiles -sont trompées. Ses mensonges me parurent des vérités, et touchée de ses -soupirs et de ses larmes, je sentais quelques mouvements de compassion. -Cependant, revenue de ma première surprise, et commençant à me -reconnaître, je lui dis avec indignation: - -Seigneur, si en même temps que vous m’offrez votre amitié, et que vous -m’en donnez des marques si étranges, vous me permettiez de choisir entre -cette amitié et le poison, estimant beaucoup plus l’honneur que la vie, -je n’aurais pas de peine à sacrifier l’une à l’autre. Je suis votre -vassale, et non votre esclave; et je m’estime autant, moi fille obscure -d’un laboureur, que vous, gentilhomme et cavalier. Ne croyez donc pas -m’éblouir par vos richesses, ni me tenter par l’éclat de vos grandeurs. -C’est à mon père à disposer de ma volonté, et je ne me rendrai jamais -qu’à celui qu’il m’aura choisi pour époux. Si donc, vous m’estimez comme -vous le dites, abandonnez un dessein qui m’offense et ne peut jamais -réussir. Pour que je jouisse paisiblement de la vie, laissez-moi -l’honneur, qui en est inséparable; et puisque vous ne pouvez être mon -époux, ne prétendez pas à un amour que je ne puis donner à aucun autre. - -S’il ne faut que cela pour te satisfaire, répondit le déloyal cavalier, -je suis trop heureux que ton amour soit à ce prix. Je t’offre ma main, -charmante Dorothée (c’est le nom de l’infortunée qui vous parle), et -pour témoins de mon serment je prends le ciel, à qui rien n’est caché, -et cette image de la Vierge qui est devant nous. - -Le nom de Dorothée fit encore une fois tressaillir Cardenio, et le -confirma dans l’opinion qu’il avait eue dès le commencement du récit; -mais pour ne pas l’interrompre, et savoir quelle en sera la fin, il se -contenta de dire: Quoi! Madame, Dorothée est votre nom? J’ai entendu -parler d’une personne qui le portait, et dont les malheurs vont de pair -avec les vôtres. Continuez, je vous prie; bientôt je vous apprendrai des -choses qui ne vous causeront pas moins d’étonnement que de pitié. - -Dorothée s’arrêta pour regarder Cardenio et l’étrange dénûment où il -était: Si vous savez quelque chose qui me regarde, je vous conjure, lui -dit-elle, de me l’apprendre à l’instant: j’ai assez de courage pour -supporter les coups que me réserve la fortune; mon malheur présent me -rend insensible à ceux que je pourrais redouter encore. - -Je vous aurais déjà dit ce que je pense, Madame, répondit Cardenio, si -j’étais bien certain de ce que je suppose; mais jusqu’à cette heure, il -ne vous importe en rien de le connaître, et il sera toujours temps de -vous en instruire. - -Dorothée continua en ces termes: - -Après ces assurances, don Fernand me présenta la main, et m’ayant donné -sa foi, il me la confirma par des paroles pressantes, et avec des -serments extraordinaires; mais, avant de souffrir qu’il se liât, je le -conjurai de ne point se laisser aveugler par la passion, et par un peu -de beauté qui ne suffirait point à l’excuser. Ne causez pas, lui dis-je, -à votre père le déplaisir et la honte de vous voir épouser une personne -si fort au-dessous de votre condition; et, par emportement, ne prenez -pas un parti dont vous pourriez vous repentir, et qui me rendrait -malheureuse. A ces raisons, j’en ajoutai beaucoup d’autres, qui toutes -furent inutiles. Don Fernand s’engagea en amant passionné qui sacrifie -tout à son amour, ou plutôt en fourbe qui se soucie peu de tenir ses -promesses. Le voyant si opiniâtre dans sa résolution, je pensai -sérieusement à la conduite que je devais tenir. Je me représentai que -je n’étais pas la première que le mariage eût élevée à des grandeurs -inespérées, et à qui la beauté eût tenu lieu de naissance et de mérite. -L’occasion était belle, et je crus devoir profiter de la faveur que -m’envoyait la fortune. Quand elle m’offre un époux qui m’assure d’un -attachement éternel, pourquoi, me disais-je, m’en faire un ennemi par -des mépris injustes? Je me représentai de plus que don Fernand était à -ménager; que s’offrant surtout avec de si grands avantages, un refus -pourrait l’irriter; et que sa passion le portant peut-être à la -violence, il se croirait dégagé d’une parole que je n’aurais pas voulu -recevoir, et qu’ainsi je demeurerais sans honneur et sans excuse. Toutes -ces réflexions commençaient à m’ébranler; les serments de don Fernand, -ses soupirs et ses larmes, les témoins sacrés qu’il invoquait; en un -mot, son air, sa bonne mine, et l’amour que je croyais voir en toutes -ses actions, achevèrent de me perdre. J’appelai la fille qui me servait, -pour qu’elle entendît les serments de don Fernand; il prit encore une -fois devant elle le ciel à témoin, appela sur sa tête toutes sortes de -malédictions si jamais il violait sa promesse; il m’attendrit par de -nouveaux soupirs et de nouvelles larmes; et cette fille s’étant retirée, -le perfide, abusant de ma faiblesse, acheva la trahison qu’il avait -méditée. - -Quand le jour qui succéda à cette nuit fatale fut sur le point de -paraître, don Fernand, sous prétexte de ménager ma réputation, montra -beaucoup d’empressement à s’éloigner. Il me dit avec froideur de me -reposer sur son honneur et sur sa foi; et pour gage, il tira un riche -diamant de son doigt et le mit au mien. Il s’en fut; la servante qui -l’avait introduit dans ma chambre, à ce qu’elle m’avoua depuis, lui -ouvrit la porte de la rue, et je demeurai si confuse de tout ce qui -venait de m’arriver, que je ne saurais dire si j’en éprouvais de la joie -ou de la tristesse. J’étais tellement hors de moi, que je ne songeais -pas à reprocher à cette fille sa trahison, ne pouvant encore bien juger -si elle m’était nuisible ou favorable. J’avais dit à don Fernand, avant -qu’il s’éloignât, que puisque j’étais à lui, il pouvait se servir de la -même voie pour me revoir, jusqu’à ce qu’il trouvât à propos de déclarer -l’honneur qu’il m’avait fait. Il revint la nuit suivante; mais depuis -lors, je ne l’ai pas revu une seule fois, ni dans la rue, ni à l’église, -pendant un mois entier que je me suis fatiguée à le chercher, quoique je -susse bien qu’il était dans le voisinage et qu’il allât tous les jours à -la chasse. - -Cet abandon que je regardais comme le dernier des malheurs, faillit -m’accabler entièrement. Ce fut alors que je compris les conséquences de -l’audace de ma servante, et combien il est dangereux de se fier aux -serments. J’éclatai en imprécations contre don Fernand, sans soulager ma -douleur. Il fallut cependant me faire violence pour cacher mon -ressentiment, dans la crainte que mon père et ma mère ne me pressassent -de leur en dire le sujet. Mais bientôt il n’y eut plus moyen de feindre, -et je perdis toute patience en apprenant que don Fernand s’était marié -dans une ville voisine, avec une belle et noble personne appelée -Luscinde. - -En entendant prononcer le nom de Luscinde, vous eussiez vu Cardenio -plier les épaules, froncer le sourcil, se mordre les lèvres, et bientôt -après deux ruisseaux de larmes inonder son visage. Dorothée, cependant, -ne laissa pas de continuer son récit. - -A cette triste nouvelle, l’indignation et le désespoir s’emparèrent de -mon esprit, et, dans le premier transport, je voulais publier partout la -perfidie de don Fernand, sans m’inquiéter si en même temps je -n’affichais pas ma honte. Peut-être un reste de raison calma-t-il tous -ces mouvements, mais je ne les ressentis plus après le dessein que je -formai sur l’heure même. Je découvris le sujet de ma douleur à un jeune -berger qui servait chez mon père, et, lui ayant emprunté un de ses -vêtements, je le priai de m’accompagner jusqu’à la ville où je savais -qu’était don Fernand. Le berger fit tout ce qu’il put pour m’en -détourner; mais, voyant ma résolution inébranlable, il consentit à me -suivre. Ayant donc pris un habit de femme, quelques bagues et de -l’argent que je lui donnai à porter pour m’en servir au besoin, nous -nous mîmes en chemin la nuit suivante, à l’insu de tout le monde. Hélas! -je ne savais pas trop ce que j’allais faire; car que pouvais-je espérer -en voyant le perfide, si ce n’est la triste satisfaction de lui adresser -des reproches inutiles? - -J’arrivai en deux jours et demi au terme de mon voyage. En entrant dans -la ville je m’informai sans délai de la demeure des parents de Luscinde; -le premier que j’interrogeais m’en apprit beaucoup plus que je ne -voulais en savoir. Il me raconta dans tous ses détails le mariage de don -Fernand et de Luscinde; il me dit qu’au milieu de la cérémonie, Luscinde -était tombée évanouie en prononçant le oui fatal, et que son époux, -ayant desserré sa robe pour l’aider à respirer, y avait trouvé cachée -une lettre écrite de sa main, dans laquelle elle déclarait ne pouvoir -être sa femme, parce qu’un gentilhomme nommé Cardenio avait déjà reçu sa -foi, et qu’elle n’avait feint de consentir à ce mariage que pour ne pas -désobéir à son père. Dans cette lettre, elle annonçait le dessein de se -tuer; dessein que confirmait un poignard trouvé sur elle, ce qu’au reste -don Fernand, furieux de se voir ainsi trompé, aurait fait lui-même, si -ceux qui étaient présents ne l’en eussent empêché. Cet homme ajouta -enfin qu’il avait quitté aussitôt la maison de Luscinde, laquelle -n’était revenue de son évanouissement que le lendemain, déclarant de -nouveau avoir depuis longtemps engagé sa foi à Cardenio. Il m’apprit -aussi que ce Cardenio s’était trouvé présent au mariage, et qu’il -s’était éloigné, désespéré, après avoir laissé une lettre dans laquelle, -maudissant l’infidélité de sa maîtresse, il déclarait la fuir pour -toujours. Cela était de notoriété publique et faisait le sujet de -toutes les conversations. - -Mais ce fut bien autre chose quand on apprit la fuite de Luscinde de la -maison paternelle et le désespoir de ses parents, qui ne savaient ce -qu’elle était devenue. Pour moi, je trouvai quelque consolation dans ce -qu’on venait de m’apprendre; je me disais que le ciel n’avait sans doute -renversé les injustes desseins de don Fernand que pour le faire rentrer -en lui-même; et qu’enfin, puisque son mariage avec Luscinde ne s’était -pas accompli, je pouvais un jour voir le mien se réaliser. Je tâchai de -me persuader ce que je souhaitais, me forgeant de vaines espérances d’un -bonheur à venir, pour ne pas me laisser accabler entièrement, et pour -prolonger une vie qui m’est désormais insupportable. - -Pendant que j’errais dans la ville, sans savoir à quoi me résoudre, -j’entendis annoncer la promesse d’une grande récompense pour celui qui -indiquerait ce que j’étais devenue. On me désignait par mon âge et par -l’habit que je portais. J’appris en même temps qu’on accusait le berger -qui était venu avec moi de m’avoir enlevée de chez mon père; ce qui me -causa un déplaisir presque égal à l’infidélité de don Fernand, car je -voyais ma réputation absolument perdue, et pour un sujet indigne et bas. -Je sortis de la ville avec mon guide, et le même soir nous arrivâmes -ici, au milieu de ces montagnes. Mais, vous le savez, un malheur en -appelle un autre; et la fin d’une infortune est le commencement d’une -plus grande. Je ne fus pas plus tôt dans ce lieu écarté, que le berger -en qui j’avais mis toute ma confiance, tenté sans doute par l’occasion -plutôt que par ma beauté, osa me parler d’amour. Voyant que je ne -répondais qu’avec mépris, il résolut d’employer la violence pour -accomplir son infâme dessein. Mais le ciel et mon courage ne -m’abandonnèrent pas en cette circonstance. Aveuglé par ses désirs, ce -misérable ne s’aperçut pas qu’il était sur le bord d’un précipice; je -l’y poussai sans peine, puis courant de toute ma force, je pénétrai -bien avant dans ces déserts, pour dérouter les recherches. Le lendemain, -je rencontrai un paysan qui me prit à son service en qualité de berger -et m’emmena au milieu de ces montagnes. Je suis restée chez lui bien des -mois, allant chaque jour travailler aux champs, et ayant grand soin de -ne pas me laisser reconnaître; mais, malgré tout, il a fini par -découvrir ce que je suis; si bien que m’ayant, à son tour, témoigné de -mauvais desseins, et la fortune ne m’offrant pas les mêmes moyens de m’y -soustraire, j’ai quitté sa maison il y a deux jours, et suis venue -chercher un asile dans ces solitudes, pour prier le ciel en repos, et -tâcher de l’émouvoir par mes soupirs et mes larmes, ou tout au moins -pour finir ici ma misérable vie, et y ensevelir le secret de mes -douleurs. - -CHAPITRE XXIX - -QUI TRAITE DU GRACIEUX ARTIFICE QU’ON EMPLOYA POUR TIRER NOTRE AMOUREUX -CHEVALIER DE LA RUDE PÉNITENCE QU’IL ACCOMPLISSAIT - -Telle est, seigneurs, l’histoire de mes tristes aventures; jugez -maintenant si ma douleur est légitime, et si une infortunée dont les -maux sont sans remède est en état de recevoir des consolations. La seule -chose que je vous demande et qu’il vous sera facile de m’accorder, c’est -de m’apprendre où je pourrai passer le reste de ma vie à l’abri de la -recherche de mes parents: non pas que je craigne qu’ils m’aient rien -retiré de leur affection, et qu’ils ne me reçoivent pas avec l’amitié -qu’ils m’ont toujours témoignée; mais quand je pense qu’ils ne doivent -croire à mon innocence que sur ma parole, je ne puis me résoudre à -affronter leur présence. - -Dorothée se tut, et la rougeur qui couvrit son beau visage, ses yeux -baissés et humides, montrèrent clairement son inquiétude et tous les -sentiments qui agitaient son cœur. - -Ceux qui venaient d’entendre l’histoire de la jeune fille étaient -charmés de son esprit et de sa grâce; et ils éprouvaient d’autant plus -de compassion pour ses malheurs, qu’ils les trouvaient aussi surprenants -qu’immérités. Le curé voulait lui donner des consolations et des avis, -mais Cardenio le prévint. - ---Quoi! madame, s’écria-t-il, vous êtes la fille unique du riche -Clenardo? - -Dorothée ne fut pas peu surprise d’entendre le nom de son père, en -voyant la chétive apparence de celui qui parlait (on se rappelle comment -était vêtu Cardenio). Qui êtes-vous, lui dit-elle, vous qui savez le nom -de mon père? car si je ne me trompe, je ne l’ai pas nommé une seule fois -dans le cours du récit que je viens de faire. - -Je suis, répondit Cardenio, cet infortuné qui reçut la foi de Luscinde, -celui qu’elle a dit être son époux, et que la trahison de don Fernand a -réduit au triste état que vous voyez, abandonné à la douleur, privé de -toute consolation, et, pour comble de maux, n’ayant l’usage de sa raison -que pendant les courts intervalles qu’il plaît au ciel de lui laisser. -C’est moi qui fut le triste témoin du mariage de don Fernand, et qui -déjà, plein de trouble et de terreur, finis par m’abandonner au -désespoir quand je crus que Luscinde avait prononcé le oui fatal. Sans -attendre la fin de son évanouissement, éperdu, hors de moi, je quittai -sa maison après avoir donné à un de mes gens une lettre avec ordre de la -remettre à Luscinde, et je suis venu dans ces déserts vouer à la douleur -une vie dont tous les moments étaient pour moi autant de supplices. Mais -Dieu n’a pas voulu me l’ôter, me réservant sans doute pour le bonheur -que j’ai de vous rencontrer ici. Consolez-vous belle Dorothée, le ciel -est de notre côté; ayez confiance dans sa bonté et sa protection, et -après ce qu’il a fait en votre faveur, ce serait l’offenser que de ne pas -espérer un meilleur sort. Il vous rendra don Fernand, qui ne peut être à -Luscinde; et il me rendra Luscinde, qui ne peut être qu’à moi. Quand mes -intérêts ne seraient pas d’accord avec les vôtres, ma sympathie pour -vos malheurs est telle qu’il n’est rien que je ne fasse pour y mettre un -terme; je jure de ne prendre aucun repos que don Fernand ne vous ait -rendu justice, et même de l’y forcer au péril de ma vie, si la raison et -la générosité ne l’y peuvent amener. - -Dorothée était si émue, qu’elle ne savait comment remercier Cardenio; et -le regardant déjà comme son protecteur, elle allait se jeter à ses -pieds, mais il l’en empêcha. Le curé, prenant la parole pour tous deux, -loua Cardenio de sa généreuse résolution, et consola si bien Dorothée -qu’il la fit consentir à venir se remettre un peu de tant de fatigues -dans sa maison, où ils aviseraient tous ensemble au moyen de retrouver -don Fernand. Le barbier, qui jusque-là avait écouté en silence, s’offrit -avec empressement à faire tout ce qui dépendrait de lui; il leur apprit -ensuite le dessein qui les avait conduits, lui et le curé, dans ces -montagnes, et l’étrange folie de don Quichotte, dont ils attendaient -l’écuyer, lequel n’avait guère moins besoin de traitement que son -maître. Cardenio se ressouvint alors du démêlé qu’il avait eu avec -notre héros, mais seulement comme d’un songe, et en le racontant il n’en -put dire le sujet. - -En ce moment des cris se firent entendre, et ils reconnurent la voix de -Sancho, qui, ne les trouvant point à l’endroit où ils les avait laissés, -les appelait à tue-tête. Tous allèrent au-devant de lui, et comme le -curé lui demandait avec empressement des nouvelles de don Quichotte, -Sancho répondit comment il l’avait trouvé en chemise, pâle, jaune, -mourant de faim, mais soupirant toujours pour sa dame Dulcinée. Je lui -ai bien dit, ajouta-t-il, qu’elle lui ordonnait de quitter ce désert -pour se rendre au Toboso, où elle l’attend avec impatience; mais il m’a -répondu qu’il est résolu à ne point paraître devant sa beauté, jusqu’à -ce qu’il ait fait des prouesses dignes de cette faveur. En vérité, -seigneurs, si cela dure plus longtemps, mon maître court grand risque de -ne jamais devenir empereur, comme il s’y est engagé, ni même archevêque, -ce qui est le moins qu’il puisse faire. Au nom du ciel, voyez donc -promptement ce qu’il y aurait à faire pour le tirer de là. - -Rassurez-vous, Sancho, dit le curé, nous l’en tirerons malgré lui; et se -tournant vers Cardenio et Dorothée, il leur raconta ce qu’ils avaient -imaginé pour la guérison de don Quichotte, ou tout au moins pour -l’obliger de retourner dans sa maison. - -Dorothée, à qui ses nouvelles espérances rendaient déjà un peu de -gaieté, s’offrit à remplir le rôle de la damoiselle affligée, disant -qu’elle s’en acquitterait mieux que le barbier, parce qu’elle avait -justement emporté un costume de grande dame; qu’au reste il n’était pas -besoin de l’instruire pour représenter ce personnage, parce qu’ayant lu -beaucoup de livres de chevalerie elle en connaissait le style, et savait -de quelle manière les damoiselles infortunées imploraient la protection -des chevaliers errants. - -A la bonne heure, madame, dit le curé; il ne s’agit plus que de se -mettre à l’œuvre. - -Dorothée ouvrit son paquet et en tira une jupe de très-belle étoffe et -un riche mantelet de brocart vert avec un tour de perles et d’autres -ajustements; quand elle s’en fut parée, elle leur parut à tous si belle, -qu’ils ne se lassaient pas de l’admirer, et plaignaient don Fernand -d’avoir dédaigné une si charmante personne. Mais celui qui trouvait -Dorothée le plus à son goût, c’était Sancho Panza; il n’avait pas assez -d’yeux pour la regarder, et il était devant elle comme en extase. - -Quelle est donc cette belle dame? demanda-t-il; et que vient-elle -chercher au milieu de ces montagnes? - -Cette belle dame, ami Sancho, répondit le curé, c’est tout simplement -l’héritière en ligne directe du grand royaume de Micomicon. Elle vient -prier votre maître de la venger d’une injure que lui a faite un géant -déloyal; et au bruit que fait dans toute la Guinée la valeur du fameux -don Quichotte, cette princesse n’a pas craint d’entreprendre ce long -voyage pour venir le chercher. - -Par ma foi! s’écria Sancho transporté, voilà une heureuse quête et une -heureuse trouvaille, surtout si mon maître est assez chanceux pour -venger cette injure et assommer ce damné géant que vient de dire Votre -Grâce. Oh! certes, il l’assommera s’il le rencontre; à moins pourtant -que ce soit un fantôme, car sur ces gens-là mon maître est sans pouvoir. -Seigneur licencié, lui dit-il, j’ai, entre autres choses, une grâce à -vous demander: pour qu’il ne prenne pas fantaisie à mon maître de se -faire archevêque, car c’est là toute ma crainte, conseillez-lui, je vous -en conjure, de se marier promptement avec cette princesse, afin que -n’étant plus en état de recevoir les ordres, il soit forcé de devenir -empereur. Franchement, j’ai bien réfléchi là-dessus, et, tout compte -fait, je trouve qu’il n’est pas bon pour moi qu’il soit archevêque, -parce que je ne vaux rien pour être d’église, et que d’ailleurs ayant -femme et enfants, il me faudrait songer à prendre des dispenses, afin -de toucher les revenus d’une prébende, ce qui me donnerait beaucoup trop -d’embarras. Le mieux est donc que mon seigneur se marie tout de suite -avec cette grande dame que je ne puis pas nommer parce que j’ignore son -nom. - -Elle s’appelle la princesse Micomicona, dit le curé; car son royaume -étant celui de Micomicon, elle doit se nommer ainsi. - -En effet, reprit Sancho: j’ai vu nombre de gens qui prennent le nom du -lieu de leur naissance, comme Pedro d’Alcala, Juan d’Ubeda, Diego de -Valladolid; il doit en être de même en Guinée. - -Sans aucun doute, Sancho, répondit le curé, et pour ce qui est du -mariage de votre maître, croyez que j’y pousserai de tout mon pouvoir. - -Sancho demeura fort satisfait de la promesse du curé, et le curé encore -plus étonné de la simplicité de Sancho, en voyant à quel point les -contagieuses folies du maître avaient pris racine dans le cerveau du -serviteur. - -Pendant cet entretien, Dorothée étant montée sur la mule du curé, et le -barbier ayant ajusté sa fausse barbe, tous dirent à Sancho de les -conduire où se trouvait don Quichotte; lui recommandant de ne pas -laisser soupçonner qu’il les connût, parce que, si le chevalier venait à -s’en douter seulement, l’occasion de le faire empereur serait perdue à -jamais. Cardenio ne voulut point les accompagner, dans la crainte que -don Quichotte ne vînt à se rappeler le démêlé qu’ils avaient eu -ensemble; et le curé, ne croyant pas sa présence nécessaire, demeura -également, après avoir donné quelques instructions à Dorothée, qui le -pria de s’en reposer sur elle, l’assurant qu’elle suivrait exactement ce -que lui avaient appris les livres de chevalerie. - -La princesse Micomicona et ses deux compagnons se mirent donc en chemin. -Ils eurent à peine fait trois quarts de lieue, qu’ils découvrirent au -milieu d’un groupe de roches amoncelées don Quichotte, déjà habillé, -mais sans armure. Sitôt que Dorothée l’aperçut et que Sancho lui eut -appris que c’était là notre héros, elle hâta son palefroi, suivi de son -écuyer barbu. Aussitôt celui-ci sauta à bas de sa mule, prit entre ses -bras sa maîtresse, qui ayant mis pied à terre avec beaucoup d’aisance, -alla se jeter aux genoux de don Quichotte; notre héros fit tous ses -efforts pour la relever, mais elle, sans vouloir y consentir, lui parla -de la sorte: - -Je ne me relèverai point, invincible chevalier, que votre courtoisie ne -m’ait octroyé un don, lequel ne tournera pas moins à la gloire de votre -magnanime personne qu’à l’avantage de la plus outragée damoiselle que -jamais ait éclairée le soleil. S’il est vrai que votre valeur et la -force de votre bras répondent à ce qu’en publie la renommée, vous êtes -tenu, par les lois de l’honneur et par la profession que vous exercez, -de secourir une infortunée qui, sur le bruit de vos exploits et à la -trace de votre nom célèbre, vient des extrémités de la terre chercher un -remède à ses malheurs. - -Je suis bien résolu, belle et noble dame, dit don Quichotte, à ne point -entendre et à ne point répondre une seule parole que vous ne vous soyez -relevée. - -Et moi, je ne me relèverai point d’où je suis, illustre chevalier, -reprit la dolente damoiselle, que vous ne m’ayez octroyé le don que -j’implore de votre courtoisie. - -Je vous l’octroie, Madame, dit don Quichotte, mais à une condition: -c’est qu’il ne s’y trouvera rien de contraire au service de mon roi ou -de mon pays, ni aux intérêts de celle qui tient mon cœur et ma liberté -enchaînés. - -Ce ne sera ni au préjudice ni contre l’honneur de ceux ou de celle que -vous venez de nommer, répondit Dorothée. - -Comme elle allait continuer, Sancho s’approcha de son maître, et lui dit -à l’oreille: Par ma foi, seigneur, vous pouvez bien accorder à cette -dame ce qu’elle vous demande; en vérité, ce n’est qu’une bagatelle: il -s’agit tout simplement d’assommer un géant, et celle qui vous en prie -est la princesse Micomicona, reine du grand royaume de Micomicon, en -Éthiopie. - -Qu’elle soit ce qu’il plaira à Dieu, répondit don Quichotte; je ferai ce -que me dicteront ma conscience et les lois de ma profession. Puis se -tournant vers Dorothée: Que Votre Beauté veuille bien se lever, Madame, -lui dit-il, je vous octroie le don qu’il vous plaira de me demander. - -Eh bien, chevalier sans pareil, reprit Dorothée, le don que j’implore de -votre valeureuse personne, c’est qu’elle me suive sans retard où il me -plaira de la mener, et qu’elle me promette de ne s’engager dans aucune -autre aventure jusqu’à ce qu’elle m’ait vengé d’un traître qui, contre -toutes les lois divines et humaines, a usurpé mon royaume. - -Ce don, très-haute dame, je répète que je vous l’octroie, répondit don -Quichotte; désormais prenez courage et chassez la tristesse qui vous -accable: j’espère, avec l’aide de Dieu et la force de mon bras, vous -rétablir avant peu dans la possession de vos États, en dépit de tous -ceux qui prétendraient s’y opposer. Or, mettons promptement la main à -l’œuvre; les bonnes actions ne doivent jamais être différées, et c’est -dans le retardement qu’est le péril. - -Dorothée fit tous ses efforts pour baiser les mains de don Quichotte, -qui ne voulut jamais y consentir. Au contraire, il la fit relever, -l’embrassa respectueusement, après quoi il dit à Sancho de bien sangler -Rossinante et de lui donner ses armes. L’écuyer détacha d’un arbre -l’armure de son maître, qui y était suspendue comme un trophée. Quand -notre héros l’eut endossée: Maintenant, dit-il, allons, avec l’aide de -Dieu, porter secours à cette grande princesse, et employons la valeur et -la force que le ciel nous a données, à la faire triompher de ses -ennemis. - -Le barbier, qui, pendant cette cérémonie, était resté à genoux, faisait -tous ses efforts pour ne pas éclater de rire ni laisser tomber sa -barbe, dans la crainte de tout gâter; quand il vit le don octroyé et -avec quel empressement notre héros se disposait à partir, il se releva, -et, prenant la princesse d’une main tandis que don Quichotte la prenait -de l’autre, tous deux la mirent sur sa mule. Le chevalier enfourcha -Rossinante, le barbier sa monture, et ils se mirent en chemin. - -Le pauvre Sancho les suivait à pied, et la fatigue qu’il en éprouvait -lui rappelait à chaque pas la perte de son grison. Il prenait toutefois -son mal en patience, voyant son maître en chemin de se faire empereur; -car il ne doutait point qu’il ne se mariât avec cette princesse, et -qu’il ne devînt bientôt souverain de Micomicon. Une seule chose -troublait le plaisir qu’il ressentait, c’était de penser que ce royaume -étant dans le pays des nègres, les gens que son maître lui donnerait à -gouverner seraient Mores; mais il trouva sur-le-champ remède à cet -inconvénient. Eh! qu’importe, se disait-il, que mes vassaux soient -Mores? Je les ferai charrier en Espagne, où je les vendrai fort bien, et -j’en tirerai du bon argent comptant, dont je pourrai acheter quelque -office, afin de vivre sans souci le reste de mes jours. Me croit-on donc -si maladroit, que je ne sache tirer parti des choses? faut-il tant de -philosophie pour vendre vingt ou trente mille esclaves? Oh! par ma foi, -je saurai bien en venir à bout; et je les rendrai blancs ou tout au -moins jaunes, seraient-ils plus noirs que le diable. Plein de ces -agréables pensées, Sancho cheminait si content, qu’il en oubliait le -désagrément d’aller à pied. - -Toute cette étrange scène, le curé et Cardenio la regardaient depuis -longtemps à travers les broussailles, fort en peine de savoir comment -ils pourraient se réunir au reste de la troupe; mais le curé, grand -trameur d’expédients, en trouva un tout à point: avec des ciseaux qu’il -portait dans un étui, il coupa la barbe à Cardenio, et lui fit prendre -sa soutane et son manteau noir, se réservant seulement le pourpoint et -les chausses. Sous ce nouveau costume, Cardenio était si changé, qu’il -ne se serait pas reconnu lui-même. Cela fait, ils gagnèrent le grand -chemin, où ils arrivèrent encore avant notre chevalier et sa suite, tant -les mules avaient de peine à marcher dans ces sentiers difficiles. Dès -que le curé aperçut venir don Quichotte suivi de ses compagnons, il -courut à lui les bras ouverts, et le regardant fixement comme un homme -qu’on cherche à reconnaître, il s’écria: Qu’il soit le bien venu, le -bien trouvé, mon cher compatriote don Quichotte de la Manche, fleur de -la galanterie, rempart des affligés, quintessence des chevaliers -errants. En parlant ainsi, il tenait embrassée la jambe gauche de notre -héros, qui, tout stupéfait d’une rencontre si imprévue, voulut mettre -pied à terre quand il l’eut enfin reconnu; mais le curé l’en empêcha. - -Il n’est pas convenable, lui disait don Quichotte, que je sois à cheval -pendant que Votre Révérence est à pied. - -Je n’y consentirai jamais, reprit le curé; que Votre Grâce reste à -cheval, où elle a fait tant de merveilles! c’est assez pour moi de -prendre la croupe d’une de ces mules, si ces gentilshommes veulent bien -le permettre; et j’aime mieux être en votre compagnie de cette façon, -que de me voir monté sur le célèbre cheval Pégase, ou sur la jument -sauvage de ce fameux More Muzarrache, qui aujourd’hui encore est -enchanté dans la caverne de Zulema, auprès de la grande ville de -Compluto. - -Vous avez raison, seigneur licencié, dit don Quichotte, et je ne m’en -étais pas avisé. J’espère que madame la princesse voudra bien, pour -l’amour de moi, ordonner à son écuyer de vous donner la selle de sa -mule, et de se contenter de la croupe, si tant est que la bête soit -accoutumée à porter double fardeau. - -Assurément, répondit Dorothée, et mon écuyer n’attendra pas mes ordres -pour cela; il a trop de courtoisie pour souffrir que le seigneur -licencié aille à pied. - -Assurément, dit le barbier; et sautant à bas de sa mule, il présenta la -selle au curé, qui l’accepta sans se faire prier. - -Par malheur la mule était de louage, c’est-à-dire quinteuse et mutine. -Quand le barbier voulut monter en croupe, elle leva brusquement le train -de derrière, et, détachant quatre ou cinq ruades, elle donna une telle -secousse à notre homme, qu’il roula par terre fort rudement; et comme -dans cette chute la barbe de maître Nicolas vint à se détacher, il ne -trouva rien de mieux à faire que de porter vivement les deux mains à son -visage, en criant de toutes ses forces que la maudite bête lui avait -cassé la mâchoire. - -En apercevant ce gros paquet de poils sans chair ni sang répandu: Quel -miracle! s’écria don Quichotte, la mule vient de lui enlever la barbe du -menton comme aurait fait un revers d’épée! - -Le curé, voyant son invention en grand danger d’être découverte, se hâta -de ramasser la barbe; et courant à maître Nicolas, qui continuait à -pousser des cris, il lui prit la tête, et l’appuyant contre sa poitrine, -il lui rajusta la barbe en un clin d’œil, en marmottant quelques -paroles qu’il dit être un charme propre à faire reprendre les barbes, -comme on l’allait voir; en effet, il s’éloigna, et l’écuyer parut aussi -barbu qu’auparavant. Don Quichotte, tout émerveillé de la guérison, pria -le curé de lui enseigner le charme quand il en aurait le loisir, ne -doutant point que sa vertu ne s’étendît beaucoup plus loin, puisqu’il -était impossible que les barbes fussent enlevées de la sorte sans que la -chair fût emportée du même coup, et que cependant il n’y paraissait -plus. Le désordre ainsi réparé, on convint que le curé monterait seul -sur la mule jusqu’à ce qu’on fût arrivé à l’hôtellerie, distante encore -de deux lieues. - -Le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, la princesse Micomicona et le curé -étant donc à cheval, tandis que Cardenio, le barbier et Sancho les -suivaient à pied, don Quichotte dit à la princesse: Que Votre Grandeur -nous conduise maintenant où il lui plaira, nous la suivrons jusqu’au -bout du monde. - -Le curé, prenant la parole avant qu’elle eût ouvert la bouche: Madame, -lui dit-il, vers quel royaume Votre Grâce veut-elle diriger ses pas? -N’est-ce pas vers celui de Micomicon? - -Dorothée comprit très-bien ce qu’il fallait répondre: C’est justement -là, reprit-elle aussitôt. - -En ce cas, Madame, dit le curé, il nous faudra passer au beau milieu de -mon village; vous prendrez ensuite la route de Carthagène; là vous -pourrez vous embarquer; et si vous avez un bon vent, en un peu moins de -neuf années vous serez rendus aux Palus-Méotides, d’où il n’y a pas plus -de cent journées de marche jusqu’au royaume de Votre Altesse. - -Votre Grâce, seigneur, me semble se tromper, répondit Dorothée; j’en -suis partie il n’y a pas deux ans, sans avoir jamais eu le vent bien -favorable, et cependant depuis quelque temps déjà je suis en Espagne, où -je n’ai pas plus tôt eu mis le pied, que le nom du fameux don Quichotte -est venu frapper mon oreille; et j’en ai entendu raconter des choses si -grandes, si merveilleuses, que quand même ce n’eût pas été ma première -pensée, j’aurais pris soudain la résolution de confier mes intérêts à la -valeur de son bras invincible. - -Assez, assez, madame, s’écria don Quichotte, mettez, je vous en supplie, -un terme à vos louanges: je suis ennemi de la flatterie, et quoique vous -me rendiez peut-être justice, je ne saurais entendre sans rougir un -discours si obligeant et des louanges si excessives. Tout ce que je -puis dire, c’est que, vaillant ou non, je suis prêt à verser pour votre -service jusqu’à la dernière goutte de mon sang, et le temps vous le -prouvera. Maintenant trouvez bon que j’apprenne du seigneur licencié ce -qui l’amène seul ici, à pied, et vêtu tellement à la légère, que je ne -sais que penser. - -Pour vous satisfaire en peu de mots, seigneur don Quichotte, répondit le -curé, il faut que vous sachiez que maître Nicolas et moi nous allions à -Séville pour y toucher de l’argent qu’un de mes parents m’envoie des -Indes, et la somme n’est pas si peu considérable qu’elle n’atteigne pour -le moins six mille écus. En passant près d’ici, nous avons été attaqués -par des voleurs, qui nous ont tout enlevé, même la barbe, si bien que -maître Nicolas est contraint d’en porter une postiche. Ils ont aussi -laissé nu comme la main ce jeune homme que vous voyez (il montrait -Cardenio). Mais le plus curieux de l’affaire, c’est que ces brigands -sont des forçats à qui un vaillant chevalier a, dit-on, donné la clef -des champs, malgré la résistance de leurs gardiens. Il faut, en vérité, -que ce chevalier soit un bien grand fou, ou qu’il ne vaille guère mieux -que les scélérats qu’il a mis en liberté, puisqu’il ne se fait aucun -scrupule de livrer les brebis à la fureur des loups; puisqu’il viole le -respect dû au roi et à la justice, et se fait le protecteur des ennemis -de la sûreté publique; puisqu’il prive les galères de ceux qui les font -mouvoir, et remet sur le pied la Sainte-Hermandad, qui se reposait -depuis longues années; puisque, enfin, il expose légèrement sa liberté -et sa vie, et renonce avec impiété au salut de son âme. - -Sancho avait conté l’histoire des forçats au curé, qui parlait ainsi -pour voir ce que dirait don Quichotte, lequel changeait de couleur à -chaque parole, et n’osait s’avouer le libérateur de ces misérables. - -Voilà, ajouta le curé, les honnêtes gens qui nous ont mis dans cet état: -que Dieu leur pardonne, et à celui qui a empêché qu’ils ne reçussent le -juste châtiment de leurs crimes. - -CHAPITRE XXX - -QUI TRAITE DE LA FINESSE D’ESPRIT QUE MONTRA LA BELLE DOROTHÉE, AINSI -QUE D’AUTRES CHOSES NON MOINS DIVERTISSANTES - -Le curé n’avait pas fini de parler que Sancho s’écria: Savez-vous, -seigneur licencié, qui a fait ce bel exploit? eh bien, c’est mon maître! -Et pourtant je n’avais cessé de lui dire de prendre garde à ce qu’il -allait faire, et de lui répéter que c’était péché de rendre libres des -coquins qu’on envoyait aux galères en punition de leurs méfaits. - -Traître, repartit don Quichotte; est-ce aux chevaliers errants à -s’enquérir si les malheureux et les opprimés qu’ils rencontrent sur leur -chemin sont ainsi traités pour leurs fautes, ou si on leur fait -injustice? Ils ne doivent considérer que leur misère, sans s’informer de -leurs actions. Je rencontre une troupe de pauvres diables, enfilés comme -les grains d’un chapelet, et je fais, pour les secourir, ce que -m’ordonne le serment de la noble profession que j’exerce. Qu’a-t-on à -dire à cela? Quiconque le trouve mauvais, n’a qu’à me le témoigner, et à -tout autre qu’au seigneur licencié, dont j’honore et respecte le -caractère, je ferai voir qu’il ne sait pas un mot de la chevalerie -errante; et je suis prêt à le lui prouver l’épée à la main, à pied et à -cheval, ou de toute autre manière. - -En disant cela, notre héros s’affermit sur ses étriers, et enfonça son -morion; car depuis le jour où les forçats l’avaient si fort maltraité, -l’armet de Mambrin était resté pendu à l’arçon de sa selle. - -Dorothée ne manquait pas de malice; connaissant la folie de don -Quichotte, et sachant d’ailleurs que tout le monde s’en moquait, hormis -Sancho Panza, elle voulut prendre sa part du divertissement: - -Seigneur chevalier, lui dit-elle, que Votre Grâce se souvienne du -serment qu’elle a fait de n’entreprendre aucune aventure, si pressante -qu’elle puisse être, avant de m’avoir rétablie dans mes États. -Calmez-vous, je vous prie, et croyez que si le seigneur licencié eût pu -se douter un seul instant que les forçats devaient leur délivrance à -votre bras invincible, il se serait mille fois coupé la langue plutôt -que de rien dire qui vous déplût. - -Je prends Dieu à témoin, ajouta le curé, que j’aurais préféré m’arracher -la moustache poil à poil. - -Il suffit, madame, reprit don Quichotte; je réprimerai ma juste colère, -et je jure de nouveau de ne rien entreprendre que je n’aie réalisé la -promesse que vous avez reçue de moi. En attendant, veuillez nous -apprendre l’histoire de vos malheurs, si toutefois vous n’avez pas de -secrètes raisons pour les cacher: car enfin, il faut que je sache de qui -je dois vous venger, et de quel nombre d’ennemis j’aurai à tirer pour -vous une éclatante et complète satisfaction. - -Volontiers, répondit Dorothée; mais je crains bien de vous ennuyer par -ce triste récit. - -Non, non, madame, repartit don Quichotte. - -En ce cas, dit Dorothée, que Vos Grâces me prêtent attention. - -Aussitôt, Cardenio et le barbier s’approchèrent pour entendre ce qu’elle -allait raconter; Sancho, non moins abusé que son maître sur le compte de -la princesse, s’approcha aussi; Dorothée s’affermit sur sa mule pour -parler plus commodément; puis après avoir toussé et pris les précautions -d’un orateur au début, elle commença de la sorte: - -Seigneur, vous saurez d’abord que je m’appelle... Elle s’arrêta quelques -instants, parce qu’elle ne se ressouvenait plus du nom que lui avait -donné le curé; celui-ci, qui vit son embarras, vint à son aide et lui -dit: Il n’est pas surprenant, madame, que Votre Grandeur hésite en -commençant le récit de ses malheurs; c’est l’effet ordinaire des -longues disgrâces de troubler la mémoire, et celles de la princesse -Micomicona ne doivent pas être médiocres, puisqu’elle a traversé tant de -terres et de mers pour y chercher remède. - -J’avoue, reprit Dorothée, qu’il s’est tout à coup présenté à ma mémoire -des souvenirs si cruels, que je n’ai plus su ce que je disais; mais me -voilà remise, et j’espère maintenant mener à bon port ma véridique -histoire. - -Je vous dirai donc, seigneurs, que je suis l’héritière légitime du grand -royaume de Micomicon. Le roi, mon père, qui se nommait Tinacrio le Sage, -était très-versé dans la science qu’on appelle magie; cette science lui -fit découvrir que ma mère, la reine Xaramilla, devait mourir la -première, et que lui-même la suivant de près au tombeau, je resterais -orpheline. Cela, toutefois, affligeait moins mon père que la triste -certitude où il était que le souverain d’une grande île située sur les -confins de mon royaume, effroyable géant appelé Pandafilando de la Vue -Sombre, ainsi surnommé parce qu’il regarde toujours de travers comme -s’il était louche, ce qu’il ne fait que par malice et pour effrayer tout -le monde; que cet effroyable géant, dis-je, me sachant orpheline, devait -un jour à la tête d’une armée formidable envahir mes États et m’en -dépouiller entièrement, sans me laisser un seul village où je pusse -trouver asile; mais que je pourrais éviter cette disgrâce en consentant -à l’épouser. Aussi mon père, qui savait bien que jamais je ne pourrais -m’y résoudre, me conseilla, lorsque je verrais Pandafilando prêt à -envahir ma frontière, de ne point essayer de me défendre, parce que ce -serait ma perte, mais, au contraire, de lui abandonner mon royaume, afin -de sauver ma vie et empêcher la ruine de mes loyaux et fidèles sujets; -et il ajouta qu’en choisissant quelques-uns d’entre eux pour -m’accompagner, je devais passer incontinent en Espagne, où j’étais -certaine de trouver un protecteur dans la personne d’un fameux chevalier -errant, connu par toute la terre pour sa force et son courage, et qui -se nommait, si je m’en souviens bien, don Chicot, ou don Gigot... - -Don Quichotte, madame, s’écria Sancho; don Quichotte, autrement appelé -le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -C’est cela, dit Dorothée. Mon père ajouta que mon protecteur devait être -de haute stature, maigre de visage, sec de corps, et, de plus, avoir -sous l’épaule gauche, ou près de là, un signe de couleur brune, tout -couvert de poil en manière de soie de sanglier. - -Approche ici, mon fils Sancho, dit notre héros à son écuyer; aide-moi à -me déshabiller promptement, que je sache si je suis le chevalier -qu’annonce la prophétie de ce sage roi. - -Que voulez-vous faire, seigneur? demanda Dorothée. - -Je veux savoir, madame, répondit don Quichotte, si j’ai sur moi ce signe -dont votre père a fait mention. - -Il ne faut point vous déshabiller pour cela, reprit Sancho; je sais que -Votre Grâce a justement au milieu du dos un signe tout semblable, et -l’on assure que c’est une preuve de force. - -Il suffit, dit Dorothée; entre amis on n’y regarde pas de si près, et -peu importe que le signe soit à droite ou à gauche, puisque après tout -c’est la même chair. Je le vois bien, mon père a touché juste en tout ce -qu’il a dit; quant à moi, j’ai encore mieux rencontré, en m’adressant au -seigneur don Quichotte, dont la taille et le visage sont si conformes à -la prophétie paternelle, et dont la renommée est si grande, -non-seulement en Espagne, mais encore dans toute la Manche, qu’à peine -débarquée à Ossuna, j’ai entendu faire un tel récit de ses prouesses, -qu’aussitôt mon cœur m’a dit que c’était bien le chevalier que je -cherchais. - -Mais comment peut-il se faire, madame, observa don Quichotte, que vous -ayez débarqué à Ossuna où il n’y a point de port? - -La princesse, répondit le curé, a voulu dire qu’après avoir débarqué à -Malaga, le premier endroit où elle apprit de vos nouvelles fut Ossuna. - -C’est ainsi que je l’entendais, seigneur, dit Dorothée. - -Maintenant, reprit le curé, Votre Altesse peut poursuivre quand il lui -plaira. - -Je n’ai rien à dire de plus, continua Dorothée, si ce n’est que ç’a été -pour moi une si haute fortune de rencontrer le seigneur don Quichotte, -que je me regarde comme déjà rétablie sur le trône de mes pères, -puisqu’il a eu l’extrême courtoisie de m’accorder sa protection, et de -s’engager à me suivre partout où il me plaira de le mener; et certes ce -sera contre le traître Pandafilando, dont il me vengera, je l’espère, en -lui arrachant, avec la vie, le royaume dont il m’a si injustement -dépouillée. J’oubliais de vous dire que le roi mon père m’a laissé un -écrit en caractères grecs ou arabes, que je ne connais point, mais par -lequel il m’ordonne de consentir à épouser le chevalier mon libérateur, -si, après m’avoir rétablie dans mes États, il me demande en mariage, et -de le mettre sur-le-champ en possession de mon royaume et de ma -personne. - -Hé bien, que t’en semble, ami Sancho? dit don Quichotte; vois-tu ce qui -se passe? Ne te l’avais-je pas dit? Avons-nous des royaumes à notre -disposition, et des filles de roi à épouser? - -Par ma foi, il y a assez longtemps que nous les cherchons, reprit -Sancho, et nargue du bâtard qui après avoir ouvert le gosier à ce -Grand-fil-en-dos, n’épouserait pas incontinent madame la princesse! -Peste! elle est assez jolie pour cela, et je voudrais que toutes les -puces de mon lit lui ressemblassent! Là-dessus, se donnant du talon au -derrière, le crédule écuyer fit deux sauts en l’air en signe de grande -allégresse; puis s’allant mettre à genoux devant Dorothée, il lui -demanda sa main à baiser afin de lui prouver que désormais il la -regardait comme sa légitime souveraine. - -Il eût fallu être aussi peu sage que le maître et le valet pour ne pas -rire de la folie de l’un et de la simplicité de l’autre. Dorothée donna -à Sancho sa main à baiser, lui promettant de le faire grand seigneur dès -qu’elle serait rétablie dans ses États, et Sancho l’en remercia par un -compliment si extravagant, que chacun se mit à rire de plus belle. - -Voilà, reprit Dorothée, la fidèle histoire de mes malheurs; je n’ai rien -à y ajouter, si ce n’est que de tous ceux de mes sujets qui m’ont -accompagnée il ne m’est resté que ce bon écuyer barbu, les autres ayant -péri dans une grande tempête en vue du port; ce fidèle compagnon et moi, -nous avons seuls échappé par un de ces miracles qui font croire que le -ciel nous réserve pour quelque grande aventure. - -Elle est toute trouvée, madame, dit don Quichotte: je confirme le don -que je vous ai octroyé; et je jure encore une fois de vous suivre -jusqu’au bout du monde, et de ne prendre aucun repos que je n’aie -rencontré votre cruel ennemi, dont je prétends, avec le secours du ciel -et par la force de mon bras, trancher la tête superbe, fût-il aussi -vaillant que le dieu Mars. Mais après vous avoir remise en possession de -votre royaume, je vous laisserai la libre disposition de votre personne, -car tant que mon cœur et ma volonté seront assujettis aux lois de -celle... Je m’arrête en songeant qu’il m’est impossible de penser à me -marier, fût-ce avec le phénix. - -Sancho se trouva si choqué des dernières paroles de son maître, qu’il -s’écria plein de courroux: Je jure Dieu et je jure diable, seigneur don -Quichotte, que Votre Grâce n’a pas le sens commun! comment se peut-il -que vous hésitiez à épouser une si grande princesse que celle-là? -Croyez-vous donc que de semblables fortunes viendront se présenter à -tout bout de champ? Est-ce que par hasard madame Dulcinée vous -semblerait plus belle? Par ma foi, il s’en faut de plus de moitié -qu’elle soit digne de lui dénouer les cordons de ses souliers! C’est -bien par ce chemin-là que j’attraperai le comté que vous m’avez promis -tant de fois, et que j’attends encore. Mariez-vous! mariez-vous! -prenez-moi ce royaume qui vous tombe dans la main; puis quand vous serez -roi, faites-moi marquis ou gouverneur, et que Satan emporte le reste. - -En entendant de tels blasphèmes contre sa Dulcinée, don Quichotte, sans -dire gare, leva sa lance, et en déchargea sur les reins de l’indiscret -écuyer deux coups tels, qu’il le jeta par terre, et sans Dorothée, qui -lui criait de s’arrêter, il l’aurait tué sur la place. Quand il se fut -un peu calmé: Pensez-vous, rustre mal appris, lui dit-il, que notre -unique occupation à tous deux soit, vous de faire toujours des sottises -et moi de vous les pardonner sans cesse? N’y comptez pas, misérable -excommunié, car tu dois l’être pour avoir osé mal parler de la sans -pareille Dulcinée. Ignorez-vous, vaurien, maraud, bélître, que sans la -valeur qu’elle prête à mon bras, je suis incapable de venir à bout d’un -enfant? Dites-moi un peu, langue de vipère, qui a conquis ce royaume, -qui a coupé la tête à ce géant, qui vous a fait marquis ou gouverneur, -car je tiens tout cela pour accompli, si ce n’est Dulcinée elle-même, -qui s’est servie de mon bras pour exécuter ces grandes choses? Sachez -que c’est elle qui combat en moi et qui remporte toutes mes victoires, -comme moi je vis et je respire en elle! Il faut que vous soyez bien -ingrat! A l’instant même où l’on vous tire de la poussière pour vous -élever au rang des plus grands seigneurs, vous ne craignez pas de dire -du mal de ceux qui vous comblent d’honneurs et de richesses. - -Tout maltraité qu’il était, Sancho entendait fort bien ce que disait son -maître; mais pour y répondre il voulait être en lieu de sûreté. Se -levant de son mieux, il alla d’abord se réfugier derrière le palefroi de -Dorothée et de là apostrophant don Quichotte: Or çà, seigneur, lui -dit-il, si Votre Grâce est très-décidée à ne point épouser madame la -princesse, son royaume ne sera pas à votre disposition; eh bien, cela -étant, quelle récompense aurez-vous à me donner? Voilà ce dont je me -plains. Mariez-vous avec cette reine, pendant que vous l’avez là comme -tombée du ciel; ce sera toujours autant de pris, après quoi vous pourrez -retourner à votre Dulcinée; car il me semble qu’il doit s’être trouvé -dans le monde des rois qui, outre leur femme, ont eu des maîtresses. -Quant à leur beauté, je ne m’en mêle pas; à vrai dire, cependant, je les -trouve fort belles l’une et l’autre, quoique je n’aie jamais vu madame -Dulcinée. - -Comment, traître, tu ne l’as jamais vue! reprit don Quichotte; ne -viens-tu pas de m’apporter un message de sa part? - -Je veux dire que je ne l’ai pas assez vue pour remarquer toute sa -beauté, repartit Sancho; mais en bloc je l’ai trouvée fort belle. - -Je te pardonne, reprit don Quichotte; pardonne-moi aussi le déplaisir -que je t’ai causé; l’homme n’est pas toujours maître de son premier -mouvement. - -Je le sens bien, repartit Sancho; et l’envie de parler est en moi un -premier mouvement auquel je ne puis résister: il faut toujours que je -dise au moins une fois ce qui me vient sur le bout de la langue. - -D’accord, dit don Quichotte; mais prends garde à l’avenir de quelle -manière tu parleras; tant va la cruche à l’eau..... Je ne t’en dis pas -davantage..... - -Dieu est dans le ciel qui voit les tricheries, répliqua Sancho; eh bien, -il jugera qui de nous deux l’offense le plus, ou moi en parlant tout de -travers, ou Votre Seigneurie en n’agissant pas mieux. - -C’est assez, dit Dorothée; Sancho, allez baiser la main de votre -seigneur, demandez-lui pardon, et soyez plus circonspect à l’avenir. -Surtout ne parlez jamais mal de cette dame du Toboso, que je ne connais -point, mais que je serais heureuse de servir, puisque le grand don -Quichotte la vénère: ayez confiance en Dieu, et vous ne manquerez point -de récompense. - -Sancho s’en alla tête baissée demander la main à son maître, qui la lui -donna avec beaucoup de gravité; après quoi, don Quichotte le prenant à -part lui dit de le suivre, parce qu’il avait des questions de haute -importance à lui adresser. - -Tous deux prirent les devants; et quand ils furent assez éloignés: Ami -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, depuis ton retour, je n’ai pas trouvé -occasion de t’entretenir touchant ton ambassade; mais à présent que nous -sommes seuls, dis-moi exactement ce qui s’est passé, et raconte-moi -toutes les particularités que j’ai besoin de savoir. - -Que Votre Grâce demande ce qu’il lui plaira, répondit Sancho, tout -sortira de ma bouche comme cela est entré par mon oreille; seulement, à -l’avenir ne soyez pas si vindicatif. - -Pourquoi dis-tu cela? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je dis cela, répondit Sancho, parce que ces coups de bâton de tout à -l’heure me viennent de la querelle que vous m’avez faite à propos des -forçats, et non de ce que j’ai dit contre madame Dulcinée, que j’honore -et révère comme une relique, encore qu’elle ne serait pas bonne à en -faire, mais parce que c’est un bien qui est à Votre Grâce. - -Laisse là ton discours, il me chagrine, repartit don Quichotte; je t’ai -pardonné tout à l’heure, mais tu connais le proverbe: A péché nouveau, -nouvelle pénitence. - -Comme ils en étaient là, ils virent venir à eux, assis sur un âne, un -homme qu’ils prirent d’abord pour un Bohémien. Sancho, qui depuis la -perte de son grison n’en apercevait pas un seul que le cœur ne lui -bondît, n’eut pas plus tôt aperçu celui qui le montait, qu’il reconnut -Ginez de Passamont, comme c’était lui en effet. Le drôle avait pris le -costume des Bohémiens, dont il possédait parfaitement la langue, et pour -vendre l’âne il l’avait aussi déguisé. Mais bon sang ne peut mentir, et -du même coup Sancho reconnut la monture et le cavalier, à qui il cria: -Ah! voleur de Ginésille, rends-moi mon bien, rends-moi mon lit de repos; -rends-moi mon âne, tout mon plaisir et toute ma joie; décampe, brigand; -rends-moi ce qui m’appartient. - -Peu de paroles suffisent à qui comprend à demi-mot; dès le premier, -Ginez sauta à terre et disparut en un clin d’œil. Sancho courut à son -âne, et l’embrassant avec tendresse: Comment t’es-tu porté, mon fils, -lui dit-il, mon cher compagnon, mon fidèle ami? et il le baisait, le -choyait comme quelqu’un qu’on aime tendrement. A cela l’âne ne répondait -rien, et se laissait caresser sans bouger. Toute la compagnie étant -survenue, chacun félicita Sancho d’avoir retrouvé son grison; et don -Quichotte, pour récompenser un si bon naturel, confirma la promesse -qu’il avait faite de lui donner trois ânons. - -Pendant que notre chevalier et son écuyer s’étaient écartés pour -s’entretenir, le curé complimentait Dorothée: Madame, lui dit-il, -l’histoire que vous avez composée est vraiment fort ingénieuse; j’admire -avec quelle facilité vous avez employé les termes de chevalerie, et -combien vous avez su dire de choses en peu de paroles. - -J’ai assez feuilleté les romans pour en connaître le style, répondit -Dorothée; mais la géographie m’est moins familière, et j’ai été dire -assez mal à propos que j’avais débarqué à Ossuna. - -Cela n’a rien gâté, madame, répliqua le curé, et le petit correctif que -j’y ai apporté a tout remis en place. Mais n’admirez-vous pas la -crédulité de ce pauvre gentilhomme, qui accueille si facilement tous -ces mensonges, par cela seulement qu’ils ressemblent aux extravagances -des romans de chevalerie? - -Je crois, dit Cardenio, qu’on ne saurait forger de fables si -déraisonnables et si éloignées de la vérité, qu’il n’y ajoutât foi. - -Ce qu’il y a de plus étonnant, continua le curé, c’est qu’à part le -chapitre de la chevalerie, il n’y a point de sujet sur lequel il ne -montre un jugement sain et un goût délicat; en sorte que, pourvu qu’on -ne touche point à la corde sensible, il n’y a personne qui ne le juge -homme d’esprit fin et de droite raison. - -CHAPITRE XXXI - -DU PLAISANT DIALOGUE QUI EUT LIEU ENTRE DON QUICHOTTE ET SANCHO, SON -ÉCUYER, AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS - -Tandis que Dorothée et le curé s’entretenaient de la sorte, don -Quichotte reprenait la conversation interrompue par Ginez. Ami Sancho, -faisons la paix, lui dit-il, jetons au vent le souvenir de nos -querelles, et raconte-moi maintenant sans garder dépit ni rancune, où, -quand et comment tu as trouvé Dulcinée. Que faisait-elle? que lui as-tu -dit? que t’a-t-elle répondu? quelle mine fit-elle à la lecture de ma -lettre? qui te l’avait transcrite? enfin raconte-moi tout, sans rien -retrancher ni rien ajouter dans le dessein de m’être agréable; car il -m’importe de savoir exactement ce qui s’est passé. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, s’il faut dire la vérité, personne ne m’a -transcrit de lettre, car je n’en ai point emporté. - -En effet, dit don Quichotte, deux jours après ton départ je trouvai le -livre de poche, ce qui me mit fort en peine; j’avais toujours cru que tu -reviendrais le chercher. - -Je l’aurais fait aussi, si je n’eusse pas su la lettre par cœur, reprit -Sancho; mais l’ayant apprise pendant que vous me la lisiez, je la -répétai mot pour mot à un sacristain qui me la transcrivit, et il la -trouva si bonne, qu’il jura n’en avoir jamais rencontré de semblable en -toute sa vie, bien qu’il eût vu force billets d’enterrement. - -La sais-tu encore? dit don Quichotte. - -Non, seigneur, répondit Sancho; quand une fois je la vis écrite, je me -mis à l’oublier, si quelque chose m’en est resté dans la mémoire, c’est -le commencement, _la souterraine_, je veux dire _la souveraine dame_, et -la fin, _à vous jusqu’à la mort, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure_; -entre tout cela j’avais mis plus de trois cents âmes, beaux yeux et -m’amours. - -Tout va bien jusqu’ici, dit don Quichotte; poursuivons. Que faisait cet -astre de beauté quand tu parus en sa présence? A coup sûr tu l’auras -trouvé enfilant un collier de perles, ou brodant quelque riche écharpe -pour le chevalier son esclave? - -Je l’ai trouvé vannant deux setiers de blé dans sa basse-cour, répondit -Sancho. - -Hé bien, dit don Quichotte, sois assuré que, touché par ses belles -mains, chaque grain de blé se convertissait en diamant; et si tu y as -fait attention, ce blé devait être du pur froment, bien lourd et bien -brun? - -Ce n’était que du seigle blond, répondit Sancho. - -Vanné par ses mains, ce seigle aura fait le plus beau et le meilleur -pain du monde! dit don Quichotte;... mais passons outre. Quand tu lui -rendis ma lettre, elle dut certainement la couvrir de baisers et -témoigner une grande joie? Que fit-elle, enfin? - -Quand je lui présentai votre lettre, répondit Sancho, son van était -plein, et elle le remuait de la bonne façon, si bien qu’elle me dit: -Ami, mettez cette lettre sur ce sac, je ne puis la lire que je n’aie -achevé de vanner tout ce qui est là. - -Charmante discrétion, dit don Quichotte; sans doute elle voulait être -seule pour lire ma lettre et la savourer à loisir. Pendant qu’elle -dépêchait sa besogne, quelles questions te faisait-elle? Que lui -répondis-tu? Achève, ne me cache rien, et satisfais mon impatience. - -Elle ne me demanda rien reprit Sancho; mais moi, je lui appris de quelle -manière je vous avais laissé dans ces montagnes, faisant pénitence à son -service, nu de la ceinture en bas comme un vrai sauvage, dormant sur la -terre, ne mangeant pain sur nappe, ne vous peignant jamais la barbe, -pleurant comme un veau, et maudissant votre fortune. - -Tu as mal fait de dire que je maudissais ma fortune, dit don Quichotte, -parce qu’au contraire je la bénis, et je la bénirai tous les jours de ma -vie, pour m’avoir rendu digne d’aimer une aussi grande dame que Dulcinée -du Toboso. - -Oh! par ma foi, elle est très-grande, repartit Sancho: elle a au moins -un demi-pied de plus que moi. - -Hé quoi! demanda don Quichotte, t’es-tu donc mesuré avec elle, pour en -parler ainsi? - -Je me suis mesuré avec elle en lui aidant à mettre un sac de blé sur son -âne, répondit Sancho: nous nous trouvâmes alors si près l’un de l’autre, -que je vis bien qu’elle était plus haute que moi de toute la tête. - -N’est-il pas vrai, dit don Quichotte, que cette noble taille est -accompagnée d’un million de grâces, tant de l’esprit que du corps? Au -moins tu conviendras d’une chose: en approchant d’elle, tu dus sentir -une merveilleuse odeur, un agréable composé des plus excellents parfums, -un je ne sais quoi qu’on ne saurait exprimer, une vapeur délicieuse, une -exhalaison qui t’embaumait, comme si tu avais été dans la boutique du -plus élégant parfumeur? - -Tout ce que je puis vous dire, répondit Sancho, c’est que je sentis une -certaine odeur qui approchait de celle du bouc; mais sans doute elle -avait chaud, car elle suait à grosses gouttes. - -Tu te trompes, dit don Quichotte: c’est que tu étais enrhumé du cerveau -ou que tu sentais toi-même. Je sais, Dieu merci, ce que doit sentir -cette rose épanouie, ce lis des champs, cet ambre dissous. - -A cela je n’ai rien à répondre, repartit Sancho; bien souvent il sort de -moi l’odeur que je sentais; mais en ce moment je me figurai qu’elle -sortait de la Seigneurie de madame Dulcinée: au reste, il n’y a là rien -d’étonnant; un diable ressemble à l’autre. - -Eh bien, maintenant qu’elle a fini de cribler son froment, et qu’elle -l’a envoyé au moulin, que fit-elle en lisant ma lettre? demanda don -Quichotte. - -Votre lettre, elle ne la lut point, répondit Sancho, ne sachant, -m’a-t-elle dit, ni lire ni écrire; au contraire, elle la déchira en -mille morceaux, ajoutant que personne ne devait connaître ses secrets; -qu’il suffisait de ce que je lui avais raconté de vive voix, touchant -l’amour que vous lui portez, et la pénitence que vous faisiez à son -intention. Finalement, elle me commanda de dire à Votre Grâce qu’elle -lui baise bien les deux mains, et qu’elle a plus d’envie de vous voir -que de vous écrire; qu’ainsi elle vous supplie et vous ordonne -humblement, aussitôt la présente reçue, de sortir de ces rochers sans -faire plus de folies, et de prendre sur-le-champ le chemin du Toboso, à -moins qu’une affaire plus importante ne vous en empêche, car elle brûle -de vous revoir. Elle faillit mourir de rire quand je lui contai que vous -aviez pris le surnom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure. Je lui demandai -si le Biscaïen était venu la trouver; elle me répondit que oui, et -m’assura que c’était un fort galant homme. Quant aux forçats, elle me -dit n’en avoir encore vu aucun. - -Maintenant, dis-moi, continua don Quichotte, quand tu pris congé d’elle, -quel bijou te remit-on de sa part pour les bonnes nouvelles que tu lui -portais de son chevalier? car entre les chevaliers errants et leurs -dames, il est d’usage de donner quelque riche bague aux écuyers en -récompense de leurs messages. - -J’en approuve fort la coutume, répondit Sancho; mais cela sans doute ne -se pratiquait qu’au temps passé: à présent on se contente de leur donner -un morceau de pain et de fromage; voilà du moins tout ce que madame -Dulcinée m’a jeté par-dessus le mur de la basse-cour, quand je m’en -allai; à telles enseignes que c’était du fromage de brebis. - -Oh! elle est extrêmement libérale, reprit don Quichotte; et si elle ne -t’a pas fait don de quelque diamant, c’est qu’elle n’en avait pas sur -elle en ce moment; mais je la verrai, et tout s’arrangera. Sais-tu, -Sancho, ce qui m’étonne? c’est qu’il semble, en vérité, que tu aies -voyagé par les airs; à peine as-tu mis trois jours pour aller et revenir -d’ici au Toboso, et pourtant il y a trente bonnes lieues; aussi cela me -fait penser que le sage enchanteur qui prend soin de mes affaires et qui -est mon ami, car je dois en avoir un, sous peine de ne pas être un -véritable chevalier errant, t’aura aidé dans ta course, sans que tu t’en -sois aperçu. En effet, il y a de ces enchanteurs qui prennent tout -endormi dans son lit un chevalier, lequel, sans qu’il s’en doute, se -trouve le lendemain à deux ou trois mille lieues de l’endroit où il -était la veille; et c’est là ce qui explique comment les chevaliers -peuvent se porter secours les uns aux autres, comme ils le font à toute -heure. Ainsi, l’un d’eux est dans les montagnes d’Arménie, à combattre -quelque andriague, ou n’importe quel monstre qui le met en danger de -perdre la vie; eh bien, au moment où il y pense le moins, il voit -arriver sur un nuage, ou dans un char de feu, un de ses amis qu’il -croyait en Angleterre, et qui vient le tirer du péril où il allait -succomber; puis le soir, ce même chevalier se retrouve chez lui frais et -dispos, assis à table et soupant fort à son aise, comme s’il revenait de -la promenade. Tout cela, ami Sancho, se fait par la science et l’adresse -de ces sages enchanteurs qui veillent sur nous. Ne t’étonne donc plus -d’avoir mis si peu de temps dans ton voyage; tu auras sans doute été -mené de la sorte. - -Je le croirais volontiers, répondit Sancho, car Rossinante détalait -comme l’âne d’un Bohême; on eut dit qu’il avait du vif-argent par tout -le corps[48]. - - [48] Allusion à l’usage des Bohémiens qui versaient du vif-argent dans - les oreilles d’une mule pour lui donner une allure plus vive. - -Du vif-argent! repartit don Quichotte; c’était plutôt une légion de ces -démons qui nous font cheminer tant qu’ils veulent, sans ressentir -eux-mêmes la moindre fatigue. Mais revenons à nos affaires. Dis-moi, -Sancho, que faut-il que je fasse, touchant l’ordre que me donne Dulcinée -d’aller la trouver? car, quoique je sois obligé de lui obéir -ponctuellement, et que ce soit mon plus vif désir, j’ai des engagements -avec la princesse; les lois de la chevalerie m’ordonnent de tenir ma -parole et de préférer le devoir à mon plaisir. D’une part, j’éprouve un -ardent désir de revoir ma dame, de l’autre, ma parole engagée et la -gloire me retiennent; cela réuni m’embarrasse extrêmement. Mais je crois -avoir trouvé le moyen de tout concilier: sans perdre de temps, je vais -me mettre à la recherche de ce géant; en arrivant, je lui coupe la tête, -je rétablis la princesse sur son trône et lui rends ses États; cela -fait, je repars à l’instant, et reviens trouver cet astre qui illumine -mes sens et à qui je donnerai des excuses si légitimes, qu’elle me saura -gré de mon retardement, voyant qu’il tourne au profit de sa gloire et de -sa renommée, car toute celle que j’ai déjà acquise, toute celle que -j’acquiers chaque jour, et que j’acquerrai à l’avenir, me vient de -l’honneur insigne que j’ai d’être son esclave. - -Aïe! aïe! c’est toujours la même note, reprit Sancho. Comment, seigneur, -vous voudriez faire tout ce chemin-là pour rien, et laisser perdre -l’occasion d’un mariage qui vous apporte un royaume; mais un royaume -qui, à ce que j’ai entendu dire, a plus de vingt mille lieues de tour, -qui regorge de toutes les choses nécessaires à la vie, et qui est à lui -tout seul plus grand que la Castille et le Portugal réunis! En vérité, -vous devriez mourir de honte des choses que vous dites. Croyez-moi, -épousez la princesse au premier village où il y aura un curé; sinon -voici le seigneur licencié qui en fera l’office à merveille. Je suis -déjà assez vieux pour donner des conseils, et celui que je vous donne, -un autre le prendrait sans se faire prier. Votre Grâce ignore-t-elle que -passereau dans la main vaut mieux que grue qui vole; et que lorsqu’on -vous présente l’anneau, il faut tendre le doigt? - -Je vois bien, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que si tu me conseilles si -fort de me marier, c’est pour que je sois bientôt roi afin de te donner -les récompenses que je t’ai promises. Mais apprends que sans cela j’ai -un sûr moyen de te satisfaire; c’est de mettre dans mes conditions, -avant d’entrer au combat, que si j’en sors vainqueur, on me donnera une -partie du royaume, pour en disposer comme il me plaira; et quand j’en -serai maître, à qui penses-tu que j’en fasse don, si ce n’est à toi? - -A la bonne heure, répondit Sancho; mais surtout que Votre Grâce n’oublie -pas de choisir le côté qui avoisine la mer, afin que si le pays ne me -plaît pas, je puisse embarquer mes vassaux nègres, et en faire ce que je -me disais tantôt. Ainsi, pour l’heure, laissez là madame Dulcinée, afin -de courir assommer ce géant, et achevons promptement cette affaire; je -ne saurais m’ôter de la tête qu’elle sera honorable et de grand profit. - -Je te promets, Sancho, de suivre ton conseil, dit don Quichotte, et de -ne pas chercher à revoir Dulcinée avant d’avoir rétabli la princesse -dans ses États. En attendant, ne parle pas de la conversation que nous -venons d’avoir ensemble, car Dulcinée est si réservée qu’elle n’aime pas -qu’on sache ses secrets, et il serait peu convenable que ce fût moi qui -les eusse découverts. - -S’il en est ainsi, reprit Sancho, à quoi pense Votre Grâce en lui -envoyant tous ceux qu’elle a vaincus? n’est-ce pas leur déclarer que -vous êtes son amoureux, et est-ce bien garder le secret pour vous et -pour elle, que de forcer les gens d’aller se jeter à ses genoux? - -Que tu es simple! dit don Quichotte; ne vois-tu pas que tout cela tourne -à sa gloire? ne sais-tu pas qu’en matière de chevalerie, il est -grandement avantageux à une dame de tenir sous sa loi plusieurs -chevaliers errants, sans que pour cela ils prétendent à d’autres -récompenses de leurs services que l’honneur de les lui offrir, et -qu’elle daigne les avouer pour ses chevaliers? - -C’est de cette façon, disent les prédicateurs, qu’il faut aimer Dieu, -reprit Sancho, pour lui seulement, et sans y être poussé par l’espérance -du paradis ou par la crainte de l’enfer; quant à moi, je serais content -de l’aimer n’importe pour quelle raison. - -Diable soit du vilain, dit don Quichotte; il a parfois des reparties -surprenantes, et on croirait vraiment qu’il a étudié à l’université de -Salamanque. - -Eh bien, je ne connais pas seulement l’A, B, C, répondit Sancho. - -Ils en étaient là quand maître Nicolas leur cria d’attendre un peu, -parce que la princesse voulait se rafraîchir à une source qui se -trouvait sur le bord du chemin. Don Quichotte s’arrêta, au grand -contentement de Sancho, qui, las de tant mentir, craignait enfin d’être -pris sur le fait; car, bien qu’il sût que Dulcinée était fille d’un -laboureur du Toboso, il ne l’avait vue de sa vie. On mit donc pied à -terre auprès de la fontaine, et on fit un léger repas avec ce que le -curé avait apporté de l’hôtellerie. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un jeune garçon vint à passer sur le chemin. Il -s’arrêta d’abord pour regarder ces gens qui mangeaient, et après les -avoir considérés avec attention, il accourut auprès de notre chevalier -et embrassant ses genoux en pleurant: Hélas! seigneur, lui dit-il, ne me -reconnaissez-vous pas? ne vous souvient-il plus de cet André que vous -trouvâtes attaché à un chêne? - -Don Quichotte le reconnut sur ces paroles, et le prenant par la main, il -le présenta à la compagnie en disant: Seigneurs, afin que Vos Grâces -voient de quelle importance et de quelle utilité sont les chevaliers -errants, et comment ils portent remède aux désordres qui ont lieu dans -le monde, il faut que vous sachiez qu’il y a quelque temps, passant -auprès d’un bois, j’entendis des cris et des gémissements. J’y courus -aussitôt pour satisfaire à mon inclination naturelle et au devoir de ma -profession. Je trouvai ce garçon dans un état déplorable, et je suis -ravi que lui-même puisse en rendre témoignage. Il était attaché à un -chêne, nu de la ceinture en haut, tandis qu’un brutal et vigoureux -paysan le déchirait à grands coups d’étrivières. Je demandai à cet homme -pourquoi il le traitait avec tant de cruauté; le rustre me répondit que -c’était son valet, et qu’il le châtiait pour des négligences qui -sentaient, disait-il, encore plus le larron que le paresseux. C’est -parce que je réclame mes gages, criait le jeune garçon. Son maître -voulut me donner quelques excuses, dont je ne fus pas satisfait. Bref, -j’ordonnai au paysan de le détacher, en lui faisant promettre d’emmener -le pauvre diable, et de le payer jusqu’au dernier maravédis. Cela -n’est-il pas vrai, André, mon ami? Te souviens-tu avec quelle autorité -je gourmandai ton maître, et avec quelle humilité il me promit -d’accomplir ce que je lui ordonnais? Réponds sans te troubler, afin que -ces seigneurs sachent de quelle utilité est dans ce monde la chevalerie -errante. - -Tout ce qu’a dit Votre Seigneurie est vrai, répondit André; mais -l’affaire alla tout au rebours de ce que vous pensez. - -Comment! répliqua don Quichotte, ton maître ne t’a-t-il pas payé sur -l’heure? - -Non-seulement il ne m’a pas payé, répondit André, mais dès que vous -eûtes traversé le bois et que nous fûmes seuls, il me rattacha au même -chêne, et me donna un si grand nombre de coups que je ressemblais à un -chat écorché. Il les assaisonna même de tant de railleries en parlant de -Votre Grâce, que j’aurais ri de bon cœur, si ç’avait été un autre que -moi qui eût reçu les coups. Enfin il me mit dans un tel état, que depuis -je suis resté à l’hôpital, où j’ai eu bien de la peine à me rétablir. -Ainsi, c’est à vous que je dois tout cela, seigneur chevalier errant: -car si, au lieu de fourrer votre nez où vous n’aviez que faire, vous -eussiez passé votre chemin, j’en aurais été quitte pour une douzaine de -coups, et mon maître m’eût payé ce qu’il me devait. Mais vous allâtes -lui dire tant d’injures qu’il en devint furieux, et que, ne pouvant se -venger sur vous, c’est sur moi que le nuage a crevé; aussi je crains -bien de ne devenir homme de ma vie. - -Tout le mal est que je m’éloignai trop vite, dit don Quichotte: je -n’aurais point dû partir qu’il ne t’eût payé entièrement; car les -paysans ne sont guère sujets à tenir parole, à moins qu’ils n’y trouvent -leur compte. Mais tu dois te rappeler, mon bon André, que je fis -serment, s’il manquait à te satisfaire, que je saurais le retrouver, -fût-il caché dans les entrailles de la terre. - -C’est vrai, reprit André; mais à quoi cela sert-il? - -Tu verras tout à l’heure si cela sert à quelque chose, repartit don -Quichotte; et se levant brusquement, il ordonna à Sancho de seller -Rossinante qui, pendant que la compagnie dînait, paissait de son côté. - -Dorothée demanda à don Quichotte ce qu’il prétendait faire: Partir à -l’instant, dit-il, pour aller châtier ce vilain, et lui faire payer -jusqu’au dernier maravédis ce qu’il doit à ce pauvre garçon, en dépit de -tous les vilains qui voudraient s’y opposer. - -Seigneur, reprit Dorothée, après la promesse que m’a faite Votre Grâce, -vous ne pouvez entreprendre aucune aventure que vous n’ayez achevé la -mienne; suspendez votre courroux, je vous prie, jusqu’à ce que vous -m’ayez rétabli dans mes États. - -Cela est juste, madame, répondit don Quichotte, et il faut de toute -nécessité qu’André prenne patience; encore une fois je jure de ne -prendre aucun repos avant que je ne l’aie vengé et qu’il ne soit -entièrement satisfait. - -Je me fie à vos serments, comme ils le méritent, dit André, mais -j’aimerais mieux avoir de quoi me rendre à Séville, que toutes ces -vengeances que vous me promettez. Seigneur, continua-t-il, faites-moi -donner un morceau de pain avec quelques réaux pour mon voyage, et que -Dieu vous conserve, ainsi que tous les chevaliers errants du monde. -Puissent-ils être aussi chanceux pour eux qu’ils l’ont été pour moi. - -Sancho tira de son bissac un quartier de pain et un morceau de fromage, -et le donnant à André: Tenez, frère, lui dit-il, il est juste que chacun -ait sa part de votre mésaventure. - -Et quelle part en avez-vous? repartit André. - -Ce pain et ce fromage que je vous donne, répondit Sancho, Dieu sait -s’ils ne me feront pas faute; car, apprenez-le, mon ami, nous autres -écuyers de chevaliers errants, nous sommes toujours à la veille de -mourir de faim et de soif, sans compter beaucoup d’autres désagréments -qui se sentent mieux qu’ils ne se disent. - -André prit le pain et le fromage; et voyant que personne ne se disposait -à lui donner autre chose, il baissa la tête et tourna le dos à la -compagnie. Mais avant de partir, s’adressant à don Quichotte: Pour -l’amour de Dieu, seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il, une autre fois ne vous -mêlez point de me secourir; et quand même vous me verriez mettre en -pièces, laissez-moi avec ma mauvaise fortune; elle ne saurait être pire -que celle que m’attirerait Votre Seigneurie, que Dieu confonde ainsi que -tous les chevaliers errants qui pourront venir d’ici au jugement -dernier. - -Don Quichotte se levait pour châtier André; mais le drôle se mit à -détaler si lestement, qu’il eût été difficile de le rejoindre, et pour -n’avoir pas la honte de tenter une chose inutile, force fut à notre -chevalier de rester sur place; mais il était tellement courroucé que, -dans la crainte de l’irriter davantage, personne n’osa rire, bien que -tous en eussent grande envie. - -CHAPITRE XXXII - -QUI TRAITE DE CE QUI ARRIVA DANS L’HOTELLERIE A DON QUICHOTTE ET A SA -COMPAGNIE - -Le repas terminé on remit la selle aux montures; et sans qu’il survînt -aucun événement digne d’être raconté, toute la troupe arriva le -lendemain à cette hôtellerie, la terreur de Sancho Panza. L’hôtelier, sa -femme, sa fille et Maritorne, qui reconnurent de loin don Quichotte et -son écuyer, s’avancèrent à leur rencontre avec de joyeuses -démonstrations. Notre héros les reçut d’un air grave, et leur dit de lui -préparer un meilleur lit que la première fois; l’hôtesse répondit que, -pourvu qu’il payât mieux, il aurait une couche de prince. Sur sa -promesse, on lui dressa un lit dans le même galetas qu’il avait déjà -occupé, et il alla se coucher aussitôt, car il n’avait pas le corps en -meilleur état que l’esprit. - -Dès que l’hôtesse eut fermé la porte, elle courut au barbier, et lui -sautant au visage: Par ma foi, dit-elle, vous ne vous ferez pas plus -longtemps une barbe avec ma queue de vache, il est bien temps qu’elle me -revienne; depuis qu’elle vous sert de barbe, mon mari ne sait plus où -accrocher son peigne. L’hôtesse avait beau faire, maître Nicolas ne -voulait pas lâcher prise; mais le curé lui fit observer que son -déguisement était inutile, et qu’il pouvait se montrer sous sa forme -ordinaire. Vous direz à don Quichotte, ajouta-t-il, qu’après avoir été -dépouillé par les forçats, vous êtes venu vous réfugier ici; et s’il -demande où est l’écuyer de la princesse, vous répondrez que par son -ordre il a pris les devants pour aller annoncer à ses sujets qu’elle -arrive accompagnée de leur commun libérateur. Là-dessus, le barbier -rendit sa barbe d’emprunt, ainsi que les autres hardes qu’on lui avait -prêtées. - -Tous les gens de l’hôtellerie ne furent pas moins émerveillés de la -beauté de Dorothée que de la bonne mine de Cardenio. Le curé fit -préparer à manger; et stimulé par l’espoir d’être bien payé, l’hôtelier -leur servit un assez bon repas. Pendant ce temps, don Quichotte -continuait à dormir, et tout le monde fut d’avis de ne point l’éveiller, -la table lui étant à cette heure beaucoup moins nécessaire que le lit. -Le repas fini, on s’entretint devant l’hôtelier, sa femme, sa fille et -Maritorne, de l’étrange folie de don Quichotte, et de l’état où on -l’avait trouvé faisant pénitence dans la montagne. L’hôtesse profita de -la circonstance pour raconter l’aventure de notre héros avec le -muletier; et comme Sancho était absent pour le moment, elle y ajouta -celle du bernement, ce qui divertit fort l’auditoire. - -Comme le curé accusait de tout cela les livres de chevalerie: Je n’y -comprends rien, dit l’hôtelier; car, sur ma foi, je ne connais pas de -plus agréable lecture au monde. Au milieu d’un tas de paperasses, j’ai -là-haut deux ou trois de ces ouvrages qui m’ont souvent réjoui le cœur, -ainsi qu’à bien d’autres. Quand vient le temps de la moisson, quantité -de moissonneurs se rassemblent ici les jours de fête: l’un d’entre eux -prend un de ces livres, on s’assoit en demi-cercle, et alors nous -restons tous à écouter le lecteur avec tant de plaisir, que cela nous -ôte des milliers de cheveux blancs. Quant à moi, lorsque j’entends -raconter ces grands coups d’épée, il me prend envie de courir les -aventures, et je passerais les jours et les nuits à en écouter le récit. - -Moi aussi, dit l’hôtesse, et je n’ai de bons moments que ceux-là; en -pareil cas, on est si occupé à prêter l’oreille, qu’on oublie tout, même -de gronder les gens. - -C’est vrai, ajouta Maritorne, j’ai de même un grand plaisir à entendre -ces jolies histoires, surtout quand il est question de dames qui se -promènent sous des orangers, au bras de leurs chevaliers, pendant que -leurs duègnes font le guet en enrageant; cela doit être doux comme -miel. - -Et vous, que vous en semble? dit le curé en s’adressant à la fille de -l’hôtesse. - -Seigneur, je ne sais, répondit la jeune fille; mais j’écoute comme les -autres. Seulement, ces grands coups d’épée qui plaisent tant à mon père -m’intéressent bien moins que les lamentations poussées par ces -chevaliers quand ils sont loin de leurs dames, et souvent ils me font -pleurer de compassion. - -Ainsi donc, vous ne laisseriez pas ces chevaliers se lamenter de la -sorte? reprit Dorothée. - -Je ne sais ce que je ferais, répondit la jeune fille; mais je trouve ces -dames bien cruelles, et je dis que leurs chevaliers ont raison de les -appeler panthères, tigresses, et de leur donner mille autres vilains -noms. En vérité, il faut être de marbre pour laisser ainsi mourir, ou -tout au moins devenir fou, un honnête homme, plutôt que de le regarder. -Je ne comprends rien à toutes ces façons-là. Si c’est par sagesse, eh -bien, pourquoi ces dames n’épousent-elles pas ces chevaliers, puisqu’ils -ne demandent pas mieux? - -Taisez-vous, repartit l’hôtesse; il paraît que vous en savez long -là-dessus; il ne convient pas à une petite fille de tant babiller. - -On m’interroge, il faut bien que je réponde, répliqua la jeune fille. - -En voilà assez sur ce sujet, reprit le curé. Montrez-moi un peu ces -livres, dit-il en se tournant vers l’hôtelier; je serais bien aise de -les voir. - -Très-volontiers, répondit celui-ci; et bientôt après il rentra portant -une vieille malle fermée d’un cadenas, d’où il tira trois gros volumes -et quelques manuscrits. - -Le curé prit les livres, et le premier qu’il ouvrit fut _don Girongilio -de Thrace_; le second, _don Félix-Mars d’Hircanie_; et le dernier, -_l’histoire du fameux capitaine Gonzalve de Cordoue_, avec la _Vie de -don Diego Garcia de Paredès_. Après avoir vu le titre des deux premiers -ouvrages, le curé se tourna vers le barbier en lui disant: Compère, il -manque ici la nièce et la gouvernante de notre ami. - -Nous n’en avons pas besoin, répondit le barbier; je saurai aussi bien -qu’elles les jeter par la fenêtre; et, sans aller plus loin, il y a bon -feu dans la cheminée. - -Comment! s’écria l’hôtelier, vous parlez de brûler mes livres? - -Seulement ces deux-ci, répondit le curé, _don Girongilio de Thrace_ et -_Félix-Mars d’Hircanie_. - -Est-ce que mes livres sont hérétiques ou flegmatiques, pour les jeter au -feu? dit l’hôtelier. - -Vous voulez dire schismatiques? reprit le curé en souriant. - -Comme il vous plaira, repartit l’hôtelier; mais si vous avez tant -d’envie d’en brûler quelques-uns, je vous livre de bon cœur le grand -capitaine et ce don Diego; quant aux deux autres, je laisserais plutôt -brûler ma femme et mes enfants. - -Frère, reprit le curé, vos préférés sont des contes remplis de sottises -et de rêveries, tandis que l’autre est l’histoire véritable de ce -Gonzalve de Cordoue qui pour ses vaillants exploits mérita le surnom de -grand capitaine. Quant à don Diego Garcia de Paredès, ce n’était qu’un -simple chevalier natif de la ville de Truxillo en Estramadure, mais si -vaillant soldat, et d’une force si prodigieuse, que du doigt il arrêtait -une meule de moulin dans sa plus grande furie. On raconte de lui qu’un -jour, s’étant placé au milieu d’un pont avec une épée à deux mains, il -en défendit le passage contre une armée entière; et il a fait tant -d’autres choses dignes d’admiration, que si au lieu d’avoir été -racontées par lui-même avec trop de modestie, de pareilles prouesses -eussent été écrites par quelque biographe, elles auraient fait oublier -les Hector, les Achille et les Roland. - -Arrêter une meule de moulin! eh bien, qu’y a-t-il d’étonnant à cela? -repartit l’hôtelier. Que direz-vous donc de ce Félix-Mars d’Hircanie, -qui, d’un revers d’épée, pourfendait cinq géants comme il aurait pu -faire de cinq raves; et qui, une autre fois, attaquant seul une armée de -plus d’un million de soldats armés de pied en cap, vous la mit en -déroute comme si ce n’eût été qu’un troupeau de moutons? Parlez-moi -encore du brave don Girongilio de Thrace, lequel naviguant sur je ne -sais plus quel fleuve, en vit sortir tout à coup un dragon de feu, lui -sauta sur le corps et le serra si fortement à la gorge, que le dragon, -ne pouvant plus respirer, n’eut d’autre ressource que de replonger, -entraînant avec lui le chevalier, qui ne voulut jamais lâcher prise. -Mais le plus surprenant de l’affaire, c’est qu’arrivés au fond de l’eau, -tous deux se trouvèrent dans un admirable palais où il y avait les plus -beaux jardins du monde; et que là le dragon se transforma en un -vénérable vieillard, qui raconta au chevalier des choses si -extraordinaires, que c’était ravissant de les entendre. Allez, allez, -seigneur, vous deviendriez fou de plaisir, si vous lisiez cette -histoire; aussi, par ma foi, deux figues[49] pour le grand capitaine et -votre don Diego Garcia de Paredès! - - [49] Allusion à un proverbe italien. - -Dorothée, se tournant alors vers Cardenio: Que pensez-vous de tout ceci? -lui dit-elle à demi-voix: il s’en faut de peu, ce me semble, que notre -hôtelier ne soit le second tome de don Quichotte. - -Il est en bon chemin, répondit Cardenio, et je suis d’avis qu’on lui -donne ses licences; car, à la manière dont il parle, il n’y a pas un mot -dans les romans qu’il ne soutienne article de foi, et je défierais qui -que ce soit de le désabuser. - -Sachez donc, frère, continua le curé, que votre don Girongilio de Thrace -et votre Félix-Mars d’Hircanie n’ont jamais existé. Ignorez-vous que ce -sont autant de fables inventées à plaisir? Détrompez-vous une fois pour -toutes, et apprenez qu’il n’y a rien de vrai dans ce qu’on raconte des -chevaliers errants. - -A d’autres, à d’autres, s’écria l’hôtelier; croyez-vous que je ne sache -pas où le soulier me blesse, et combien j’ai de doigts dans la main? Oh! -je ne suis plus au maillot, pour qu’on me fasse avaler de la bouillie, -et il faudra vous lever de grand matin avant de me faire accroire que -des livres imprimés avec licence et approbation de messeigneurs du -conseil royal ne contiennent que des mensonges et des rêveries: comme si -ces seigneurs étaient gens à permettre qu’on imprimât des faussetés -capables de faire perdre l’esprit à ceux qui les liraient! - -Mon ami, reprit le curé, je vous ai déjà dit que tout cela n’est fait -que pour amuser les oisifs: et de même que dans les États bien réglés on -tolère certains jeux, tels que la paume, les échecs, le billard, pour le -divertissement de ceux qui ne peuvent, ne veulent, ou ne doivent pas -travailler, de même on permet d’imprimer et de débiter ces sortes de -livres, parce qu’il ne vient dans la pensée de personne qu’il se trouve -quelqu’un assez simple pour s’imaginer que ce sont là de véritables -histoires. Si j’en avais le temps, et que l’auditoire y consentît, je -m’étendrais sur ce sujet; je voudrais montrer de quelle façon les romans -doivent être composés pour être bons, et mes observations ne -manqueraient peut-être ni d’utilité, ni d’agrément; mais un jour viendra -où je pourrais m’en entendre avec ceux qui doivent y mettre ordre. En -attendant, croyez ce que je viens de vous dire, tâchez d’en profiter, et -Dieu veuille que vous ne clochiez pas du même pied que le seigneur don -Quichotte! - -Oh! pour cela, non, repartit l’hôtelier: je ne serai jamais assez fou -pour me faire chevalier errant; d’ailleurs je vois bien qu’il n’en est -plus aujourd’hui comme au temps passé, lorsque ces fameux chevaliers -s’en allaient, dit-on, chevauchant par le monde. - -Sancho, qui rentrait à cet endroit de la conversation, fut fort étonné -d’entendre dire que les chevaliers errants n’étaient plus de mode, et -que les livres de chevalerie étaient autant de faussetés. Il en devint -tout pensif; il se promit à lui-même d’attendre le résultat du voyage de -son maître, et, dans le cas où il ne réussirait pas comme il l’espérait, -de le planter là, et de s’en aller retrouver sa femme et ses enfants. - -L’hôtelier emportait sa malle et ses livres pour les remettre en place; -mais le curé l’arrêta en lui disant qu’il désirait voir quels étaient -ces papiers écrits d’une si belle main. L’hôtelier les tira du coffre, -et les donnant au curé, celui-ci trouva qu’ils formaient plusieurs -feuillets manuscrits portant ce titre: _Nouvelle du Curieux malavisé_. -Il en lut tout bas quelques lignes, sans lever les yeux, puis il dit à -la compagnie: J’avoue que ceci me tente et me donne envie de lire le -reste. - -Je n’en suis pas surpris, dit l’hôtelier: quelques-uns de mes hôtes en -ont été satisfaits, et tous me l’ont demandé; si je n’ai jamais voulu -m’en défaire, c’est que le maître de cette malle pourra repasser quelque -jour, et je veux la lui rendre telle qu’il l’a laissée. Ce ne sera -pourtant pas sans regret que je verrai partir ces livres: mais enfin -ils ne sont pas à moi, et tout hôtelier que je suis, je ne laisse pas -d’avoir ma conscience à garder. - -Permettez-moi au moins d’en prendre une copie, dit le curé. - -Volontiers, répondit l’hôtelier. - -Pendant ce discours, Cardenio avait à son tour parcouru quelques lignes: -Cela me paraît intéressant, dit-il au curé, et si vous voulez prendre la -peine de lire tout haut, je crois que chacun sera bien aise de vous -entendre. - -N’est-il pas plutôt l’heure de se coucher que de lire? dit le curé. - -J’écouterai avec plaisir, reprit Dorothée, et une agréable distraction -me remettra l’esprit. - -Puisque vous le voulez, madame, reprit le curé, voyons ce que c’est, et -si nous en serons tous aussi contents. - -Le barbier et Sancho, témoignant la même curiosité, chacun prit sa -place, et le curé commença ce qu’on va lire dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXXIII - -OU L’ON RACONTE L’AVENTURE DU CURIEUX MALAVISÉ - -A Florence, riche et fameuse ville d’Italie, dans la province qu’on -appelle Toscane, vivaient deux nobles cavaliers, Anselme et Lothaire; -tous deux unis par les liens d’une amitié si étroite, qu’on ne les -appelait que Les deux amis. Jeunes et presque du même âge, ils avaient -les mêmes inclinations, si ce n’est qu’Anselme était plus galant et -Lothaire plus grand chasseur; mais ils s’aimaient par-dessus tout, et -leurs volontés marchaient si parfaitement d’accord, que deux horloges -bien réglées n’offraient pas la même harmonie. - -Anselme devint éperdument amoureux d’une belle et noble personne de la -même ville, fille de parents recommandables, et si digne d’estime -elle-même qu’il résolut, après avoir pris conseil de son ami, sans -lequel il ne faisait rien, de la demander en mariage. Lothaire s’en -chargea, et s’y prit d’une façon si habile qu’en peu de temps Anselme se -vit en possession de l’objet de ses désirs. De son côté, Camille, -c’était le nom de la jeune fille, se trouva tellement satisfaite d’avoir -Anselme pour époux, que chaque jour elle rendait grâces au ciel, ainsi -qu’à Lothaire, par l’entremise duquel lui était venu tant de bonheur. - -Lothaire continua comme d’habitude de fréquenter la maison de son ami, -tant que durèrent les réjouissances des noces; il aida même à en faire -les honneurs, mais dès que les félicitations et les visites se furent -calmées, il crut devoir ralentir les siennes, parce que cette grande -familiarité qu’il avait avec Anselme ne lui semblait plus convenable -depuis son mariage. L’honneur d’un mari, disait-il, est chose si -délicate, qu’il peut être blessé par les frères, à plus forte raison par -les amis. - -Tout amoureux qu’il était, Anselme s’aperçut du refroidissement de -Lothaire. Il lui en fit les plaintes les plus vives, disant que jamais -il n’aurait pensé au mariage s’il eût prévu que cela dût les éloigner -l’un de l’autre; que la femme qu’il avait épousée n’était que comme un -tiers dans leur amitié; qu’une circonspection exagérée ne devait pas -leur faire perdre ces doux surnoms des DEUX AMIS, qui leur avait été si -cher; il ajouta que Camille n’éprouvait pas moins de déplaisir que lui -de son éloignement, et qu’heureuse de l’union qu’elle avait formée, sa -plus grande joie était de voir souvent celui qui y avait le plus -contribué; enfin il mit tout en œuvre pour engager Lothaire à venir -chez lui comme par le passé, lui déclarant ne pouvoir être heureux qu’à -ce prix. - -Lothaire lui répondit avec tant de réserve et de prudence, qu’Anselme -demeura charmé de sa discrétion; et pour concilier la bienséance avec -l’amitié, ils convinrent entre eux que Lothaire viendrait manger chez -Anselme deux fois la semaine, ainsi que les jours de fête. Lothaire le -promit. Toutefois il continua à n’y aller qu’autant qu’il crut pouvoir -le faire sans compromettre la réputation de son ami, qui ne lui était -pas moins chère que la sienne. Il répétait souvent que ceux qui ont de -belles femmes ne sauraient les surveiller de trop près, quelque assurés -qu’ils soient de leur vertu, le monde ne manquant jamais de donner une -fâcheuse interprétation aux actions les plus innocentes. Par de -semblables discours, il tâchait de faire trouver bon à Anselme qu’il le -fréquentât moins qu’à l’ordinaire, et il ne le voyait en effet que -très-rarement. - -On trouvera, je le pense, peu d’exemples d’une aussi sincère affection; -je ne crois même pas qu’il se soit jamais rencontré un second Lothaire, -un ami jaloux de l’honneur de son ami, au point de se priver de le voir -dans la crainte qu’on interprétât mal ses visites, et cela dans un âge -où l’on réfléchit peu, où le plaisir tient lieu de tout. Aussi Anselme -ne voyait point ce fidèle ami, qu’il ne lui fît des reproches sur cette -conduite si réservée; et chaque fois Lothaire lui donnait de si bonnes -raisons, qu’il parvenait toujours à l’apaiser. - -Un jour qu’ils se promenaient ensemble hors de la ville, Anselme, lui -prenant la main, parla en ces termes: Pourrais-tu croire, mon cher -Lothaire, après les grâces dont le ciel m’a comblé en me donnant de -grands biens, de la naissance, et, ce que j’estime chaque jour -davantage, Camille et ton amitié, pourrais-tu croire que je désire -encore quelque chose et n’éprouve guère moins de souci qu’un homme privé -de tous ces biens? Depuis quelque temps, te l’avouerai-je, une idée -bizarre m’obsède sans relâche; c’est, j’en conviens, une fantaisie -extravagante: je m’en étonne moi-même et m’en fais à toute heure des -reproches; mais ne pouvant plus contenir ce secret, je m’en ouvre à toi, -dans l’espoir que par tes soins je me verrai délivré des angoisses qu’il -me cause, et que ta sollicitude saura me rendre le calme que j’ai perdu -par ma folie. - -En écoutant ce long préambule, Lothaire se creusait l’esprit pour -deviner ce que pouvait être cet étrange désir dont son ami paraissait -obsédé. Aussi, afin de le tirer promptement de peine, il lui dit qu’il -faisait tort à leur amitié en prenant tant de détours pour lui confier -ses plus secrètes pensées, puisqu’il avait dû se promettre de trouver en -lui des conseils pour les diriger, ou des ressources pour les accomplir. - -Tu as raison, répondit Anselme; aussi, dans cette confiance, je -t’apprendrai, mon cher Lothaire, que le désir qui m’obsède, c’est de -savoir si Camille, mon épouse, m’est aussi fidèle que je l’ai cru -jusqu’ici. Or, afin de m’en bien assurer, je veux la mettre à la plus -haute épreuve. La vertu chez les femmes est, selon moi, comme ces -monnaies qui ont tout l’éclat de l’or, mais que l’épreuve du feu peut -seule faire connaître. Ce grand mot de vertu, qui souvent couvre de -grandes faiblesses, ne doit s’appliquer qu’à celles qui ne sont séduites -ni par les présents ni par les promesses, qu’à celles que la -persévérance et les larmes d’un amant n’ont jamais émues. Qu’y a-t-il -d’étonnant qu’une femme reste sage quand elle n’a pas assez de liberté -pour mal faire, ou qu’elle n’est sollicitée par personne? Aussi je fais -peu de cas d’une vertu qui n’est fondée que sur la crainte ou sur -l’absence d’occasions, et j’estime celle-là seule que rien n’éblouit et -qui résiste à toutes les attaques. Eh bien, je veux savoir si la vertu -de Camille est de cette trempe, et l’éprouver par tout ce qui est -capable de séduire. L’épreuve est dangereuse, je le sens; mais je ne -puis goûter de repos tant que je ne serai pas complétement rassuré de -ce côté. Si, comme je l’espère, Camille sort victorieuse de la lutte, je -suis le plus heureux des hommes; si, au contraire, elle succombe, -j’aurai du moins l’avantage de ne m’être point trompé dans l’opinion que -j’ai des femmes, et de n’avoir pas été la dupe d’une confiance qui en -abuse tant d’autres. Ne cherche point à me détourner d’un dessein qui -doit te paraître ridicule, tes efforts seraient vains; prépare-toi -seulement à me rendre ce service. Fais en sorte de persuader à Camille -que tu es amoureux d’elle, et n’épargne rien pour t’en faire aimer. -Songe que tu ne saurais me donner une plus grande preuve de ton amitié, -et commence dès aujourd’hui, je t’en conjure. - -Atterré d’une semblable confidence, Lothaire écoutait son ami sans -desserrer les lèvres; il le regardait fixement, plein d’anxiété et -d’effroi; enfin, après une longue pause, il lui dit: - -Anselme, faut-il prendre au sérieux ce que je viens d’entendre? Crois-tu -que si je ne l’eusse regardé comme une plaisanterie je ne t’aurai pas -interrompu au premier mot? Je ne te connais plus, Anselme, ou tu ne me -connais plus moi-même; car, si tu avais réfléchi un seul instant, je ne -pense pas que tu m’eusses voulu charger d’un pareil emploi. On a raison -de recourir à ses amis en toute circonstance; mais leur demander des -choses qui choquent l’honnêteté et dont on ne peut attendre aucun bien, -c’est leur faire injure. Tu veux que je feigne d’être amoureux de ta -femme, et qu’à force de soins et d’hommages je tâche de la séduire et de -m’en faire aimer? Mais si tu es assuré de sa vertu, que te faut-il de -plus, et qu’est-ce que mes soins ajouteront à son mérite? Si tu ne crois -pas Camille plus sage que les autres femmes, résigne-toi sans chercher à -l’éprouver, et, dans la mauvaise opinion que tu as de ce sexe en -général, jouis paisiblement d’un doute qui est pour toi un avantage. -L’honneur d’une femme, mon cher Anselme, consiste avant tout dans la -bonne opinion qu’on a d’elle: c’est un miroir que le moindre souffle -ternit, une fleur délicate qui se flétrit pour peu qu’on la touche. Je -vais te citer, à ce sujet, quelques vers qui me reviennent à la mémoire -et qui sont tout à fait applicables au sujet qui nous occupe; c’est un -vieillard qui conseille à un père de veiller de près sur sa fille, de -l’enfermer au besoin, et de ne s’en fier qu’à lui-même. - - Les femmes sont comme le verre: - Il ne faut jamais éprouver - S’il briserait ou non, en le jetant par terre; - Car on ne sait pas bien ce qui peut arriver. - - Mais comme il briserait, selon toute apparence, - Il faut être bien fou pour vouloir hasarder - Une semblable expérience - Sur un corps qu’on ne peut souder! - - Ceci sur la raison se fonde, - Et c’est l’opinion de tout le monde encor: - Que tant que l’on verra des Danaés au monde, - On y verra pleuvoir de l’or[50]. - - [50] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Après avoir parlé dans ton intérêt, continua Lothaire, permets, Anselme, -que je parle dans le mien. Tu me regardes, dis-tu, comme ton véritable -ami, et cependant tu veux m’ôter l’honneur, ou tu veux que je te l’ôte à -toi-même. Que pourra penser Camille quand je lui parlerai d’amour, si ce -n’est que je suis un traître, qui viole sans scrupule les droits sacrés -de l’amitié? Ne devra-t-elle pas s’offenser d’une hardiesse qui semblera -lui dire que j’ai reconnu quelque chose de peu estimable dans sa -conduite? Si je la trouve faible, faudra-t-il que je te trahisse? Si je -cesse ma poursuite, quelle ne sera pas son aversion pour celui qui ne -voulait que se jouer de sa crédulité? Si je donne pour excuse les -instances que tu me fais, que pensera-t-elle d’un homme qui se charge -d’une pareille mission, et quel ne sera pas son mépris pour celui qui -l’a imposée? Comment éviterai-je les reproches des honnêtes gens, après -avoir troublé, par une fatale complaisance, le repos de toute une -famille? Enfin ne deviendrons-nous pas, l’un et l’autre, la risée de -ceux qui vantaient notre amitié? Crois-moi, cher Anselme, reste dans une -confiance qui doit te rendre heureux et songe que tu compromets ton -repos par un projet bien téméraire; car si l’événement ne répondait pas -à ton attente, tu en serais mortellement affligé, quoi que tu dises, et -tu ne ferais plus que traîner une vie misérable qui me jetterait -moi-même dans le désespoir. Bref, pour t’ôter l’espoir de me convaincre, -je te déclare que ta prière m’offense, et que je ne te rendrai jamais le -dangereux service que tu exiges de moi, quand même ce refus devrait me -faire perdre ton affection, ce qui est la perte la plus sensible que je -puisse faire. - -Ce discours causa une telle confusion à Anselme, qu’il resta longtemps -sans prononcer un seul mot; mais se remettant peu à peu: Mon cher -Lothaire, lui dit-il, je t’ai écouté avec attention, avec plaisir même; -tes paroles montrent tout ce que tu possèdes de discrétion et de -prudence, et ton refus fait preuve de ta sincère amitié. Oui j’avoue que -j’exige une chose déraisonnable, et qu’en repoussant tes conseils je -fuis le bien et cours après le mal. Hélas! Lothaire, celui dont je -souffre s’irrite chaque jour davantage. Je t’ai longtemps caché ma -faiblesse, espérant la surmonter; mais je n’ai pu m’en rendre maître, et -c’est ce déplorable état qui m’oblige à chercher du secours. Ne -m’abandonne pas, cher ami; ne t’irrite point contre un insensé: -traite-moi plutôt comme ces malades chez qui le goût s’est dépravé, et -qui ne savent ce qu’ils veulent. Commence, je t’en supplie, à éprouver -Camille: elle n’est pas assez faible pour se rendre à une première -attaque, et peut-être qu’alors cette simple épreuve de sa vertu et de -ton amitié me suffira, sans qu’il soit besoin d’insister davantage. -Réfléchis que j’en suis arrivé à ce point de ne pouvoir guérir seul, et -que si tu me forces à recourir à un autre, je publie moi-même mon -extravagance et perds cet honneur que tu veux me conserver. Quant au -tien, que tu redoutes de voir compromis dans l’opinion de Camille par -tes sollicitations, rassure-toi; et s’il faut lui découvrir notre -intelligence, je suis certain qu’elle ne prendra tout cela que comme un -badinage. Tu as donc bien peu de chose à faire pour me donner -satisfaction; car si après un premier effort tu éprouves de la -résistance, je suis content de Camille et de toi, et nous sommes en -repos pour jamais. - -Voyant l’obstination d’Anselme, Lothaire accepta cet étrange rôle, se -promettant de le remplir si adroitement, que, sans blesser Camille il -trouverait le moyen de satisfaire son ami: il serait imprudent, lui -dit-il, de vous confier à un autre; je me charge de l’entreprise, et mon -amitié ne saurait vous refuser plus longtemps. Anselme le serra -tendrement dans ses bras, le remerciant comme s’il lui eût accordé une -insigne faveur, et il exigea que dès le jour suivant commençât -l’exécution de ce beau dessein. Il promit à Lothaire de lui fournir le -moyen d’entretenir Camille tête à tête; il arrêta le plan des sérénades -qu’il voulait que son ami donnât à sa femme, s’offrant de composer -lui-même les vers à sa louange si Lothaire ne voulait pas s’en donner la -peine, et il ajouta qu’il lui mettrait entre les mains de l’argent et -des bijoux pour les offrir quand il le jugerait à propos. Lothaire -consentit à tout pour contenter un homme si déraisonnable, et ils -retournèrent près de Camille, qui était déjà inquiète de voir son mari -rentrer plus tard que de coutume. Après quelques propos indifférents, -Lothaire laissa Anselme plein de joie de la promesse qu’il lui avait -faite, mais se retira fort contrarié de s’être chargé d’une si -extravagante affaire. - -Ayant passé la nuit à songer comment il s’en tirerait, Lothaire alla, -dès le lendemain, dîner chez Anselme, et Camille, comme à l’ordinaire, -lui fit très-bon visage, sachant qu’en cela elle complaisait à son mari. -Le repas achevé, Anselme prétexta une affaire pour quelques heures, -priant Lothaire de tenir, pendant son absence, compagnie à sa femme. -Celui-ci voulait l’accompagner, et Camille le retenir; mais toutes leurs -instances furent inutiles; car, après avoir engagé son ami à l’attendre, -parce que, disait-il, il avait à son retour quelque chose d’important à -lui communiquer, Anselme sortit et les laissa seuls. Lothaire se vit -alors dans la situation la plus redoutable; aussi, ne sachant que faire -pour conjurer le péril où il se trouvait, il feignit d’être accablé par -le sommeil, et, après quelques excuses adressées à Camille, il se laissa -aller sur un fauteuil, où il fit semblant de dormir. Anselme revint -bientôt après; retrouvant encore Camille dans sa chambre, et Lothaire -endormi, il pensa, malgré tout, que son ami avait parlé, et il attendit -son réveil pour sortir avec lui et l’interroger. - -Lothaire lui dit qu’il avait jugé inconvenant de se découvrir dès la -première entrevue; qu’il s’était contenté de parler à Camille de sa -beauté, et de lui dire que partout on s’entretenait de l’heureux choix -d’Anselme, ne doutant point qu’en s’insinuant ainsi dans son esprit, il -ne la disposât à l’écouter une autre fois. Ce commencement satisfit le -malheureux époux, qui promit à son ami de lui ménager souvent semblable -occasion. - -Plusieurs jours se passèrent ainsi sans que Lothaire adressât une seule -parole à Camille; chaque fois cependant il assurait Anselme qu’il -devenait plus pressant, mais qu’il avait beau faire, chaque fois ses -avances étaient repoussées et qu’elle l’avait même menacé de tout -révéler à son époux s’il ne chassait pas ces mauvaises pensées. Mais -Anselme n’était pas homme à en rester là. Camille a résisté à des -paroles, dit-il; eh bien, voyons si elle aura la force de tenir contre -quelque chose de plus réel: je te remettrai demain deux mille écus d’or -que tu lui offriras en cadeau, et deux mille autres pour acheter des -pierreries; il n’y a rien que les femmes, même les plus chastes, aiment -autant que la parure; si Camille résiste à cette séduction, je -n’exigerai rien de plus. Puisque j’ai commencé, dit Lothaire, je -poursuivrai l’épreuve; mais sois bien assuré que tous mes efforts seront -vains. - -Le jour suivant, Anselme mit les quatre mille écus d’or entre les mains -de son ami, qu’il jetait ainsi dans de nouveaux embarras. Toutefois -Lothaire se promit de continuer à lui dire que la vertu de Camille était -inébranlable; que ses présents ne l’avaient pas plus émue que ses -discours, et qu’il craignait d’attirer sa haine à force de persécutions. -Mais le sort, qui menait les choses d’une autre façon, voulut qu’Anselme -ayant un jour laissé comme d’habitude Lothaire seul avec sa femme, -s’enferma dans une chambre voisine, d’où il pouvait par le trou de la -serrure s’assurer de ce qui se passait. Or, après les avoir observés -pendant près d’une heure, il reconnut que pendant tout ce temps Lothaire -n’avait pas ouvert la bouche une seule fois; ce qui lui fit penser que -les réponses de Camille étaient supposées. Pour s’en assurer il entra -dans la chambre, et ayant pris Lothaire à part, il lui demanda quelles -nouvelles il avait à lui donner et de quelle humeur s’était montrée -Camille. Lothaire répondit qu’il voulait en rester là, parce qu’elle -venait de le traiter avec tant de dureté et d’aigreur, qu’il ne se -sentait plus le courage de lui adresser désormais la parole. Ah! -Lothaire! Lothaire! reprit Anselme, est-ce donc là ce que tu m’avais -promis, et ce que je devais attendre de ton amitié? J’ai fort bien vu -que tu n’as pas parlé à Camille, et je ne doute point que tu ne m’aies -trompé en tout ce que tu m’as dit jusqu’ici. Pourquoi vouloir m’ôter par -la ruse les moyens de satisfaire mon désir? - -Piqué d’être pris en flagrant délit de mensonge, Lothaire ne songea qu’à -apaiser son ami au lieu de chercher à le guérir, et il lui promit -d’employer à l’avenir tous ses soins pour lui donner satisfaction. -Anselme le crut, et pour lui laisser le champ libre, il résolut d’aller -passer huit jours à la campagne, où il prit soin de se faire inviter par -un de ses amis, afin d’avoir auprès de Camille un prétexte de -s’éloigner. - -Malheureux et imprudent Anselme! que fais-tu? Ne vois-tu pas que tu -travailles contre toi-même, que tu trames ton déshonneur, que tu -prépares ta perte? Ton épouse est vertueuse: tu la possèdes en paix, -personne ne te cause d’alarmes; ses pensées et ses désirs n’ont jamais -franchi le seuil de ta maison; tu es son ciel sur la terre, -l’accomplissement de ses joies, la mesure sur laquelle se règle sa -volonté; eh bien, comme si tout cela ne pouvait contenter un mortel, tu -te tortures à chercher ce qui ne peut se rencontrer ici-bas. - -Dès le lendemain Anselme partit pour la campagne, après avoir prévenu -Camille que Lothaire viendrait dîner avec elle, qu’il veillerait à tout -en son absence, enfin lui enjoignant de le traiter comme lui-même. Cet -ordre contraria Camille non moins que le départ de son mari: aussi -témoigna-t-elle modestement qu’elle s’y soumettait avec peine; que la -bienséance s’opposait à ce que Lothaire vînt si familièrement pendant -son absence: Si vous doutez que je sois capable de conduire seule les -affaires de la maison, ajouta-t-elle, veuillez en faire l’expérience, et -vous vous convaincrez que je ne manque ni d’ordre ni de surveillance. -Anselme répliqua avec autorité qu’il le voulait ainsi, et partit -sur-le-champ. - -Lothaire revint donc le lendemain s’installer chez Camille, dont il -reçut un honnête et affectueux accueil; mais pour ne pas se trouver en -tête à tête avec lui, l’épouse d’Anselme eut soin d’avoir toujours dans -sa chambre quelqu’un de ses domestiques, principalement une fille -appelée Léonelle, qu’elle aimait beaucoup. Les trois premiers jours, -Lothaire ne lui adressa pas un seul mot, quoiqu’il lui fût aisé de -parler tandis que les gens de la maison prenaient leur repas. Il est -vrai que Camille avait ordonné à Léonelle de dîner toujours de bonne -heure, afin d’être à ses côtés; mais cette fille, qui avait bien -d’autres affaires en tête, ne se souciait guère des ordres de sa -maîtresse, et la laissait souvent seule. Toutefois Lothaire ne profita -pas de l’occasion, soit qu’il voulût encore abuser son ami, soit qu’il -ne pût se résoudre à se jouer de Camille, qui le traitait avec tant de -douceur et de bonté, et dont le maintien était si modeste et si grave, -qu’il ne pouvait la regarder qu’avec respect. - -Mais cette retenue de Lothaire et le silence qu’il gardait eurent à la -fin un effet opposé à son intention, car si la langue se taisait, -l’imagination n’était pas en repos. Croyant d’abord ne regarder Camille -qu’avec indifférence, peu à peu il commença à la contempler avec -admiration, et bientôt avec tant de plaisir qu’il ne pouvait plus en -détacher ses yeux. Enfin, l’amour grandissait insensiblement et avait -déjà fait bien des progrès quand lui-même s’en aperçut. Que ne se dit-il -point lorsqu’il vint à se reconnaître et à s’interroger, et quels -combats ne se livrèrent pas dans son cœur cet amour naissant et la -sincère amitié qu’il portait à Anselme! Il se repentit mille fois de sa -fatale complaisance, et il était à tout moment tenté de prendre la -fuite; mais chaque fois le plaisir de voir Camille le retenait, et il -n’avait pas la force de s’éloigner. Lutte inutile! la beauté, la -modestie, les rares qualités de cette femme, et sans doute aussi le -destin qui voulait châtier l’imprudent Anselme, finirent par triompher -de la loyauté de Lothaire. Il crut qu’une résistance de plusieurs jours, -mêlée de perpétuels combats, suffisait pour le dégager des devoirs de -l’amitié; et ne trouvant d’autre issue que celle d’aimer la plus aimable -personne du monde, il franchit ce dernier pas et découvrit à Camille la -violence de sa passion. A cette révélation inattendue, l’épouse -d’Anselme resta confondue; elle se leva de la place qu’elle occupait, et -rentra dans sa chambre sans répondre un seul mot. Mais ce froid dédain -ne rebuta point Lothaire, qui l’en estima davantage; et l’estime -augmentant encore l’amour, il résolut de poursuivre son dessein. -Cependant Camille, après avoir réfléchi au parti qu’elle devait prendre, -jugea que le meilleur était de ne plus donner occasion à Lothaire de -l’entretenir, et, dès le soir même, elle envoya un de ses gens à -Anselme, avec un billet ainsi conçu: - -CHAPITRE XXXIV - -OU SE CONTINUE LA NOUVELLE DU CURIEUX MALAVISÉ - - «De même qu’on a coutume de dire qu’une armée n’est pas bien sans son - général, ou un château sans son châtelain, de même une femme mariée - est pis encore sans son mari, lorsque aucune affaire importante ne les - sépare. Je me trouve si mal loin de vous, et je supporte si - impatiemment votre absence, que, si vous ne revenez promptement, je me - verrai contrainte de me retirer dans la maison de mon père, dût la - vôtre rester sans gardien: aussi bien, celui que vous m’avez laissé, - si vous lui donnez ce titre, me paraît plus occupé de son plaisir que - de vos intérêts. Je ne vous dis rien de plus, et même il ne convient - pas que j’en dise davantage.» - -Anselme s’applaudit en recevant ce billet; il vit que Lothaire lui avait -tenu parole, et que Camille avait fait son devoir; ravi d’un si heureux -commencement, il répondit à sa femme de ne pas songer à s’éloigner, et -qu’il serait bientôt de retour. - -Camille fut fort étonnée de cette réponse, qui la jetait dans de -nouveaux embarras. Elle n’osait ni rester dans sa maison, ni se retirer -chez ses parents. Dans le premier cas, elle voyait sa vertu en péril; -dans le second, elle désobéissait aux ordres de son mari. Livrée à cette -incertitude, elle prit le plus mauvais parti, celui de rester et de ne -point fuir la présence de Lothaire de peur de donner à ses gens matière -à causer. Déjà même elle se repentait d’avoir écrit à son époux, -craignant qu’il ne la soupçonnât d’avoir donné à Lothaire quelque sujet -de lui manquer de respect; mais, confiante en sa vertu, elle se mit sous -la garde de Dieu et de sa ferme intention, espérant triompher par le -silence de tout ce que pourrait lui dire l’ami d’Anselme. - -Dans une résolution si prudente en apparence, et en réalité si -périlleuse, Camille écouta le jour suivant les galants propos de -Lothaire, qui, trouvant l’occasion favorable, sut employer un langage si -tendre et des expressions si passionnées que la fermeté de Camille -commençant à s’ébranler, elle eut bien de la peine à empêcher ses yeux -de découvrir ce qui se passait dans son cœur. Ce combat intérieur, -soigneusement observé par Lothaire, redoubla ses espérances; persuadé -dès lors que le cœur de Camille n’était pas de bronze, il n’oublia rien -de ce qui pouvait la toucher; il pria, supplia, pleura, adula, enfin il -montra tant d’ardeur et de sincérité, qu’à la fin il conquit ce qu’il -désirait le plus et espérait le moins. Nouvel exemple de la puissance de -l’amour, qu’on ne peut vaincre que par la fuite; car pour lui résister, -il faudrait des forces surhumaines. - -Léonelle connut seule la faute de sa maîtresse. Quant à Lothaire, il se -garda bien de découvrir à Camille l’étrange fantaisie de son époux, et -d’avouer que c’était de lui qu’il avait tenu les moyens d’y réussir; il -aurait craint qu’elle ne prît son amour pour une feinte dont elle avait -été dupe, et que, venant à se repentir de sa faiblesse, elle ne le -détestât plus encore qu’elle n’était disposée à l’aimer. - -Après plusieurs jours d’absence, Anselme revint. Plein d’impatience, il -court chez son ami pour lui demander des nouvelles de sa vie ou de sa -mort. Anselme, lui dit Lothaire en l’embrassant, tu peux te vanter -d’avoir une épouse incomparable, et que toutes les femmes devraient se -proposer comme le modèle et l’ornement de leur sexe. Mes paroles se sont -perdues dans les airs; elle s’est moquée de mes larmes, et mes offres -n’ont fait que l’irriter. En un mot, Camille n’a pas moins de sagesse -que de beauté, et tu es le plus heureux des hommes. Tiens, cher ami, -voilà ton argent et tes bijoux; je n’ai point eu besoin d’y toucher. -Camille m’a fait voir qu’elle a le cœur trop noble pour céder à des -moyens si bas. Tu dois être satisfait maintenant; jouis donc de ton -bonheur, sans le compromettre davantage; c’est le sage conseil que te -donne mon amitié, et le seul fruit que je veuille tirer du service que -je t’ai rendu. - -A ce discours qu’il écoutait comme les paroles d’un oracle, on ne -saurait exprimer la joie d’Anselme. Il pria Lothaire de continuer ses -galanteries, ne fût-ce que comme passe-temps; ajoutant qu’il pouvait à -l’avenir s’épargner une partie des soins qu’il avait pris jusque-là, -mais sans les discontinuer tout à fait; et comme son ami faisait -facilement des vers, il le conjura d’en composer pour Camille, sous le -nom de Chloris. Je feindrai, lui dit-il, de les croire adressés à une -personne dont tu seras amoureux. Lothaire, pour qui ses complaisances -n’étaient plus une gêne, promit tout ce qu’on lui demandait. - -De retour dans sa maison, Anselme s’était empressé de demander à sa -femme ce qui l’avait obligée de lui écrire. Je m’étais figuré, -répondit-elle, qu’en votre absence Lothaire me regardait avec d’autres -yeux que lorsque vous étiez présent; mais j’ai bientôt reconnu que ce -n’était qu’une chimère; il me semble même que depuis ce moment il évite -de me voir et de rester seul avec moi. Anselme la rassura en lui disant -qu’elle n’avait rien à craindre de son ami, parce qu’il le savait -violemment épris d’une jeune personne pour qui il faisait souvent des -vers sous le nom de Chloris, et que, quand bien même son cœur serait -libre, il était assuré de sa loyauté. Cette feinte Chloris ne donna -point de jalousie à Camille, que Lothaire avait prévenue afin de lui -ôter tout ombrage et de pouvoir faire des vers pour elle sous un nom -supposé. - -Quelques jours après, tous trois étant réunis à table, Anselme pria, -vers la fin du repas, son ami de leur réciter quelques-unes des poésies -qu’il avait composées pour la personne objet de ses soins, ajoutant -qu’il ne devait point s’en faire scrupule, puisque Camille ne la -connaissait pas. Et quand elle la connaîtrait? reprit Lothaire, un amant -fait-il injure à celle qu’il aime lorsqu’il se plaint de sa rigueur en -même temps qu’il loue sa beauté. Quoi qu’il en soit, voici un sonnet que -j’ai fait il n’y a pas longtemps: - - SONNET - - Pendant qu’un doux sommeil dans l’ombre et le silence - Délasse les mortels de leurs rudes travaux, - Des rigueurs de Chloris je sens la violence, - Et j’implore le ciel sans trouver de repos. - - Quand l’aube reparaît, ma plainte recommence, - Et je ressens alors mille tourments nouveaux; - Je passe tout le jour dans la même souffrance, - Espérant vainement la fin de tant de maux. - - La nuit revient encor, et ma plainte est la même; - Tout est dans le repos, et mon mal est extrême, - Comme si j’étais né seulement pour souffrir. - - Qu’est-ce donc que j’attends de ma persévérance, - Si le ciel et Chloris m’ôtent toute espérance? - Mais n’est-ce pas assez d’aimer et de mourir? - -Le sonnet plut à Camille; quant à Anselme, il le trouva admirable. Il -faut, dit-il, que cette dame soit bien cruelle pour ne pas se laisser -toucher par un amour si sincère et si passionné? Est-ce que tous les -amants disent vrai dans leurs vers? demanda Camille. Non pas comme -poëtes, mais comme amoureux, ils sont bien au-dessous de la vérité, -répondit Lothaire. Cela ne fait pas le moindre doute, reprit Anselme, -toujours pour appuyer les sentiments de son ami et les faire valoir -auprès de sa femme. Camille, qui savait que ces vers s’adressaient à -elle seule et qu’elle était la véritable Chloris, demanda à Lothaire -s’il savait quelque autre sonnet, de le réciter. En voici un, répondit -celui-ci, dont je n’ai guère meilleure opinion que du premier; mais vous -en jugerez. - - AUTRE SONNET - - Je sens venir la mort, elle est inévitable! - La douleur qui me presse achève son effort; - Et moi-même après tout, j’aime bien mieux mon sort - Que de cesser d’aimer ce que je trouve aimable. - - A quoi bon essayer un remède haïssable, - Qui pour ma guérison ne peut être assez fort? - Mais, bravant les rigueurs, les mépris et la mort, - Faisons voir à Chloris un amant véritable. - - Ah! qu’on est imprudent de courir au hasard, - Sans connaître de port, sans pilote et sans art, - Une mer inconnue, et sujette à l’orage! - - Mais pourquoi murmurer? s’il faut mourir un jour, - Il est beau de mourir par les mains de l’Amour; - Et mourir pour Chloris est un heureux naufrage[51]. - - [51] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Anselme trouva ce sonnet non moins bon que le premier, et ne le loua pas -moins. Ainsi continuant à se tromper lui-même, il ajoutait chaque jour à -son malheur; car plus Lothaire le déshonorait, plus il vantait sa loyale -amitié, et plus Camille devenait coupable, plus, dans l’opinion de son -époux, elle atteignait le faîte de la vertu et de la bonne renommée. - -Un jour cependant que Camille se trouvait seule avec sa camériste: Que -je m’en veux, lui dit-elle, de m’être si tôt laissé persuader! Je crains -bien que Lothaire un jour ne vienne à me mépriser, quand il se -souviendra de ma faiblesse et du peu que lui a coûté ma possession. -Rassurez-vous, madame, répondit Léonelle; ce n’est pas ainsi que se -mesurent les affections, et pour être accordées promptement, les faveurs -ne perdent point de leur prix; loin de là: n’a-t-on pas coutume de dire -que donner vite c’est donner deux fois? Oui, repartit Camille, mais on -dit aussi que ce qui coûte peu s’estime de même. Cela ne vous regarde -pas, madame, reprit la rusée Léonelle, et vous ne vous êtes pas rendue -si promptement que vous n’ayez pu voir toute l’âme de Lothaire dans ses -yeux, dans ses serments, et reconnaître combien ses qualités le rendent -digne d’être aimé. Pourquoi donc vous mettre dans l’esprit toutes ces -chimères? Vivez plutôt contente et satisfaite de ce qu’étant tombée dans -l’amoureuse chaîne, celui qui l’a serrée mérite votre estime. Au reste, -ajouta-t-elle, j’ai remarqué une chose, car je suis de chair aussi et -j’ai du sang jeune dans les veines, c’est que l’amour ne se gouverne -pas comme on le veut, au contraire, c’est lui qui nous mène à sa -fantaisie. - -Camille sourit des propos de sa suivante, ne doutant pas, d’après ces -dernières paroles, qu’elle ne fût plus savante en amour qu’elle ne le -paraissait. Cette fille lui en fournit bientôt la preuve en avouant -franchement qu’un jeune gentilhomme de la ville la courtisait. -Extrêmement troublée d’une confidence si inattendue, Camille voulut -savoir s’il y avait entre eux autre chose que des promesses; mais -Léonelle lui déclara effrontément que les choses ne pouvaient aller plus -loin. Dans l’embarras où se trouvait l’épouse d’Anselme, elle conjura sa -suivante de ne rien dire à son amant de ce qu’elle savait, et d’avoir -soin d’agir de façon que ni Anselme ni Lothaire ne pussent en avoir -connaissance. Léonelle le promit; mais sa conduite fit bientôt voir -combien Camille avait eu raison de la craindre. En effet, assurée du -silence de sa maîtresse, cette fille fut bientôt assez hardie pour faire -venir son amant dans la maison, et jusque sous les yeux de Camille, qui, -désormais réduite à tout souffrir, était contrainte de servir sa -passion, et souvent l’aidait à cacher ce jeune homme. - -Toutes ces précautions n’empêchèrent pas qu’un matin à la pointe du -jour, Lothaire n’aperçût sortir l’amant de Léonelle. Il en fut d’abord -si étonné qu’il le prit pour un fantôme; mais en le voyant s’éloigner à -grand pas, le visage dans son manteau, il comprit que c’était un homme -qui ne voulait pas être reconnu. Aussitôt, sans que Léonelle vînt à se -présenter à sa pensée, il s’imagina que ce devait être un rival aussi -bien traité que lui-même. Transporté de fureur, il court chez Anselme: -Apprends, lui dit-il en entrant, apprends que depuis longtemps déjà je -me fais violence pour ne pas te découvrir un secret qu’il faut enfin que -tu saches; mais mon amitié pour toi l’emporte, et je ne puis dissimuler -davantage: Camille s’est enfin rendue, Anselme, et est prête à faire ce -qu’il me plaira. Si j’ai tardé à t’en avertir, c’est parce que je -n’étais pas certain si ce que je prenais chez ta femme pour un caprice -n’était point au contraire une ruse pour m’éprouver. Je m’attendais -chaque jour que tu viendrais me dire qu’elle t’a tout révélé; comme elle -n’en a rien fait, je ne doute plus qu’elle n’ait envie de me tenir -parole et de me procurer la liberté de l’entretenir seule la première -fois que tu iras à la campagne. Ce secret que je te confie ne doit pas -te causer d’emportement; car, après tout, Camille ne t’a point encore -offensé, et elle peut revenir d’une faiblesse que tu crois si naturelle -aux femmes. Jusqu’ici tu t’es bien trouvé de mes conseils, écoute celui -que je vais te donner. Feins de t’absenter pour quelques jours, et -trouve moyen de te cacher dans la chambre de Camille; si son intention -est coupable, comme je le crains, alors tu pourras venger sûrement et -sans bruit ton honneur outragé. - -Qui pourrait exprimer ce que devint le pauvre Anselme à une confidence -si imprévue? Il demeura immobile, les yeux baissés vers la terre, comme -un homme privé de sentiment. A la fin, regardant tristement Lothaire: -Vous avez fait, reprit-il, ce que j’attendais de votre amitié; dites -maintenant comment il faut que j’agisse, je m’abandonne entièrement à -vos conseils. Lothaire, ne sachant que lui répondre, l’embrassa et -sortit brusquement. Mais à peine l’eut-il quitté, qu’il commença à se -repentir d’avoir compromis si inconsidérément Camille, dont il eût pu -tirer vengeance avec moins de honte et de péril pour elle. Mais ne -pouvant plus revenir sur sa démarche, il résolut au moins de l’en -avertir; et comme il pouvait lui parler à toute heure, il voulut le -faire à l’instant même. - -Anselme était déjà sorti de chez lui quand Lothaire y entra. Ah! mon -cher Lothaire, lui dit Camille en le voyant, j’ai au fond du cœur une -chose qui me cause bien du tourment, et dont les suites me font -trembler! Ma suivante, Léonelle, a un amant, et son effronterie en est -venue à ce point de l’introduire toutes les nuits dans sa chambre, où -il reste jusqu’au jour. Jugez à quoi elle m’expose, et ce qu’on pourra -penser en voyant sortir de ma maison un homme à pareille heure? Mais ce -qui m’afflige le plus, c’est d’être forcée de dissimuler, parce qu’en -voulant châtier cette fille de son impudence, je puis provoquer un éclat -qui me serait funeste. Cependant, je suis perdue si cela ne change pas: -songez, songez à y mettre ordre, je vous en conjure. - -Aux premières paroles de Camille, Lothaire crut que c’était un artifice -de sa part; mais en la voyant toute en larmes, il ne douta plus qu’elle -ne dît vrai, ce qui accrut son repentir et sa confusion. Il lui apprit -que ce n’était pas là le plus grand de leurs malheurs; et, lui demandant -cent fois pardon de ses soupçons, il avoua ce que les transports d’une -flamme jalouse l’avaient poussé à dire à Anselme, ajoutant qu’il l’avait -fait résoudre à se cacher pour voir par ses propres yeux de quelle -loyauté était payée sa tendresse. - -Épouvantée de cet aveu de Lothaire, Camille lui reprocha d’abord avec -emportement, puis avec douceur, sa mauvaise pensée et la résolution qui -l’avait suivie; mais comme la femme a l’esprit plus prompt que l’homme -pour le bien de même que pour le mal, esprit qui lui échappe quand elle -veut réfléchir mûrement, elle trouva sur-le-champ le moyen de réparer -l’imprudence de son amant. Elle lui dit de faire en sorte qu’Anselme se -cachât le lendemain à l’endroit convenu, parce que, d’après le plan qui -lui venait à l’esprit, elle espérait tirer de cette épreuve une facilité -nouvelle pour se voir tous deux encore plus librement. Lothaire eut beau -la presser, elle refusa de s’expliquer davantage. Ne manquez pas, lui -dit-elle, de venir dès que je vous ferai appeler, et répondez comme si -vous ne saviez pas être écouté d’Anselme. Là-dessus, Lothaire s’éloigna. - -Le lendemain, Anselme monta à cheval, sous prétexte d’aller à la -campagne, chez un de ses amis: mais revenant aussitôt sur ses pas, il -alla se cacher dans le cabinet attenant à la chambre de sa femme, où il -put s’embusquer tout à son aise sans être troublé par Camille ni par -Léonelle, qui lui en donnèrent le loisir. Après l’avoir laissé quelque -temps livré aux angoisses que doit éprouver un homme qui va s’assurer -par ses propres yeux de la perte de son honneur, la maîtresse et sa -suivante entrèrent dans la chambre. - -A peine Camille y eut-elle mis le pied: Hélas! chère amie, dit-elle à sa -suivante en poussant un grand soupir et en brandissant une épée, -peut-être ferai-je mieux de me percer le cœur à l’instant même, que -d’exécuter la résolution que j’ai formée; mais d’abord je veux savoir -quelle imprudence de ma part a pu inspirer à Lothaire l’audace de -m’avouer un aussi coupable désir que celui qu’il n’a pas eu honte de me -témoigner, au mépris de mon honneur et de son amitié pour Anselme. Ouvre -cette fenêtre et donne-lui le signal; car sans doute il attend dans la -rue, espérant bientôt satisfaire sa perverse intention; mais il s’abuse -le traître, et je lui ferai voir combien la mienne est cruelle autant -qu’honorable. Hé! madame, à quoi bon cette épée? reprit la rusée -Léonelle. Ne voyez-vous pas qu’en vous tuant, ou en tuant Lothaire, cela -tournera toujours contre vous-même? Allez! il vaut mieux dissimuler -l’outrage que vous a fait ce méchant homme, et ne point le laisser -entrer maintenant que nous sommes seules: car, aveuglé par sa passion, -il serait capable, avant que vous ayez pu vous venger, de se porter à -quelque violence plus déplorable encore que s’il vous ôtait la vie. Et -puis, quand vous l’aurez tué, car je ne doute pas que ce ne soit votre -dessein, qu’en ferez-vous? Qu’Anselme en fasse ce qu’il voudra, répondit -Camille; pour moi, il me semble que chaque minute de retard me rend plus -coupable, et que je suis d’autant moins fidèle à mon mari que je diffère -plus longtemps à venger son honneur et le mien. - -Tout cela, Anselme l’entendait caché derrière une tapisserie, et à -chaque parole de Camille il formait autant de différentes pensées. En la -voyant si résolue à tuer Lothaire, il fut sur le point de se découvrir -pour sauver son ami; mais curieux de voir jusqu’où pouvait aller la -détermination de sa femme, il résolut de ne paraître qu’en temps -opportun. En ce moment, Camille parut atteinte d’une forte pâmoison; -aussitôt Léonelle de se lamenter amèrement: Malheureuse! s’écria-t-elle -en portant sa maîtresse sur un lit qui se trouvait là, suis-je donc -destinée à voir mourir entre mes bras cette fleur de chasteté, cet -exemple de vertu! avec bien d’autres exclamations qui auraient donné à -penser qu’elle était la plus affligée des servantes, et sa maîtresse une -autre Pénélope. Mais bientôt Camille, feignant de reprendre ses sens: -Pourquoi n’appelles-tu pas le traître? dit-elle à sa suivante; cours, -vole, hâte-toi, de peur que le feu de la colère qui m’embrase ne vienne -à s’éteindre, et que mon ressentiment ne se dissipe en vaines paroles! -J’y cours, répondit Léonelle; mais avant tout, madame, donnez-moi cette -épée. Ne crains rien, reprit Camille; oui, je veux mourir, et je -mourrai, mais seulement après que le sang de Lothaire m’aura fait raison -de son outrage. - -La suivante semblait ne pouvoir se résoudre à quitter sa maîtresse, et -elle ne sortit qu’après se l’être fait répéter plusieurs fois. Quand -Camille se vit seule, elle commença à marcher à grand pas, puis à -diverses reprises elle se jeta sur son lit avec les signes d’une -violente agitation. Il n’y a plus à balancer, disait-elle; il faut qu’il -périsse, il me coûte trop de larmes; il le payera de sa vie, et il ne se -vantera pas d’avoir impunément tenté la vertu de Camille. En parlant -ainsi, elle parcourait l’appartement l’épée à la main, les yeux pleins -de fureur, et laissant échapper des paroles empreintes d’un tel -désespoir, que de femme délicate, elle semblait changée en bravache -désespéré. Anselme était dans un ravissement inexprimable; aussi -craignant pour son ami la fureur de sa femme, ou quelque funeste -résolution de celle-ci contre elle-même, il allait se montrer, quand -Léonelle revint tenant Lothaire par la main. - -Aussitôt que Camille l’aperçut, elle traça par terre une longue raie -avec l’épée qu’elle tenait à la main: Arrête, lui dit-elle; ne va pas -plus avant, car si tu oses dépasser cette limite, sous tes yeux je me -perce le cœur avec cette épée. Connais-tu Anselme, et me connais-tu, -Lothaire? réponds sans détour. Celui-ci, qui avait soupçonné le dessein -de sa maîtresse, n’éprouva aucune surprise, et accommodant sa réponse à -son intention, répondit: Je ne croyais pas, madame, que vous me fissiez -appeler pour me parler de la sorte; j’avais meilleure opinion de mon -bonheur; et puisque vous n’étiez pas disposée à tenir la parole que vous -m’avez donnée, au moins vous auriez dû m’en avertir, sans me tendre un -piége qui fait tort à votre foi et à la grandeur de mon affection. -Maintenant, s’il faut vous répondre, oui, je connais Anselme, et tous -deux nous nous connaissons dès l’enfance; et si j’ai laissé paraître -des sentiments qui semblent trahir notre amitié, il faut s’en prendre à -l’amour et à vous, belle Camille, dont les charmes ont détruit mon -repos. - -Si c’est là ce que tu confesses, perfide et lâche ami, reprit Camille, -de quel front oses-tu te présenter devant moi, après une déclaration qui -ne m’offense pas moins que lui? Que pensais-tu donc, quand tu vins me -déclarer ta passion? T’avait-on dit qu’il fût si aisé de me toucher? -Mais je crois deviner à présent ce qui peut t’avoir enhardi: j’aurai -sans doute manqué de réserve, j’aurai négligé quelque bienséance, ou -souffert des familiarités que tu auras mal interprétées. Ai-je rien fait -cependant qui pût flatter ton espérance? m’as-tu trouvée sensible aux -présents, et m’as-tu jamais parlé de tes désirs sans que je les aie -rejetés avec mépris! Hélas! mon seul tort est de ne t’avoir pas repoussé -assez sévèrement; c’est mon indulgence qui t’a encouragé; aussi quand je -n’aurai d’autres reproches à me faire que la sotte prudence qui m’a -empêchée d’en instruire Anselme, afin de ne pas rompre votre amitié et -dans l’espoir que tu éprouverais du repentir, je suis assez coupable, et -je veux m’en punir; mais avant il faut que je t’arrache la vie, et que -je satisfasse ma vengeance. - -A ces mots, Camille se précipita sur Lothaire, feignant si bien de -vouloir le percer, que celui-ci ne savait plus qu’en penser, tant il lui -fallut employer de force et d’adresse pour se garantir. Elle jouait le -désespoir avec des couleurs si vraies, qu’il était impossible de ne pas -y être trompé. Enfin voyant qu’elle ne pouvait atteindre Lothaire, ou -plutôt feignant de ne pouvoir accomplir sa menace: Eh bien! tu vivras, -s’écria-t-elle, puisque je n’ai pas assez de force pour te donner la -mort; mais du moins tu ne m’empêcheras pas de me punir moi-même; et -s’arrachant des bras de son amant qui s’efforçait de la contenir, elle -se frappa de l’épée au-dessus du sein gauche, près de l’épaule, puis se -laissa tomber comme évanouie. - -Lothaire et Léonelle, frappés de surprise, accoururent pour la relever; -mais en voyant une si légère blessure, ils se regardèrent tous deux, -étonnés des merveilleux artifices de cette femme. Lothaire simula un -profond chagrin, et se donna mille malédictions, ne les épargnant pas -non plus à l’auteur de la catastrophe, qu’il savait aposté près de là. -Léonelle prit sa maîtresse entre ses bras, et, l’ayant déposée sur le -lit, pria Lothaire d’aller chercher en secret quelqu’un pour la panser, -lui demandant conseil sur ce qu’il fallait dire à Anselme s’il revenait -avant qu’elle fût guérie. Faites ce que vous voudrez, répondit Lothaire; -je suis si peu en état de donner des conseils, que je ne sais moi-même -quel parti prendre. Arrêtez au moins le sang qui s’échappe de sa -blessure; quant à moi, je vais chercher un lieu écarté afin d’y vivre -loin de tous les regards; et il sortit en donnant les marques du plus -violent désespoir. - -Léonelle étancha sans peine la blessure de Camille, blessure si légère -qu’il n’en avait coulé que le sang nécessaire pour appuyer sa feinte; et -tout en pansant sa maîtresse, elle tenait de tels discours, que le -malheureux époux ne doutait point que sa femme ne fût une seconde -Porcie, une nouvelle Lucrèce. Pendant ce temps, Camille maudissait -l’impuissance qui avait trahi son bras, et paraissait inconsolable de -survivre, tout en demandant à Léonelle si elle lui conseillait de -révéler à Anselme ce qui venait de se passer. N’en faites rien, madame, -répondait celle-ci: il ne manquerait pas de se porter à des violences -contre Lothaire; une honnête femme ne doit jamais compromettre un mari -qu’elle aime. Je suivrai ton conseil, répondit Camille; mais, pourtant, -il faut bien trouver quelque chose à lui dire quand il verra ma -blessure. Madame, repartit Léonelle, je ne saurais mentir, même en -plaisantant. Ni moi non plus, y allât-il de la vie, reprit Camille; je -ne vois donc rien de mieux que d’avouer ce qui en est. Quittez ce souci, -dit Léonelle; j’y songerai, et peut-être alors votre blessure sera si -bien fermée qu’il n’y paraîtra plus. Tâchez de vous remettre de cette -cruelle émotion, vous en serez plus tôt guérie. Si votre époux arrive -auparavant, vous ne mentirez point en lui disant qu’étant indisposée, -vous avez besoin de repos. - -Pendant que ces deux hypocrites se jouaient ainsi de la crédulité -d’Anselme, qui n’avait pas perdu une seule de leurs paroles, le -malheureux époux s’applaudissait dans son cœur, et attendait avec -impatience le moment d’aller remercier ce fidèle ami. Camille et -Léonelle, qui n’étaient pas au bout de leurs ruses, lui en laissèrent la -liberté. Sans perdre de temps, il alla trouver Lothaire, qui s’attendait -à cette visite. En entrant, il se jeta à son cou, lui fit tant de -remercîments, et dit tant de choses à la louange de sa femme, dont il ne -parlait qu’avec transport, que Lothaire tout confus et la conscience -bourrelée, ne savait que répondre et n’avait pas le courage de lui -témoigner la moindre joie. Anselme s’aperçut bien de la tristesse de son -ami; mais, l’attribuant à la blessure de Camille, dont il se disait seul -la cause, il se mit à le consoler, l’assurant que c’était peu de chose -puisqu’elle était convenue de n’en pas parler. Il ajouta que loin de -s’affliger, il devait plutôt se réjouir avec lui, puisque grâce à son -entremise et à son adresse, il se voyait parvenu à la plus haute -félicité dont il eût pu concevoir le désir; que, désormais il n’y avait -qu’à composer des vers à la louange de Camille, pour éterniser son nom -dans les siècles à venir. Lothaire répondit qu’il trouvait cela juste, -et s’offrit de l’aider pour sa part à élever ce glorieux monument. - -Anselme resta donc le mari le mieux trompé qu’on pût rencontrer dans le -monde; conduisant chaque jour par la main, dans sa maison, l’homme qu’il -croyait l’instrument de sa gloire, et qui l’était de son déshonneur, il -reprochait à sa femme de le recevoir avec un visage courroucé, tandis -qu’au contraire, elle l’accueillait avec une âme riante et gracieuse. -Cette tromperie dura encore quelque temps, jusqu’à ce que la fortune, -reprenant son rôle, la fit éclater aux yeux de tout le monde, et que la -fatale curiosité d’Anselme, après lui avoir coûté l’honneur, lui coûta -la vie. - -CHAPITRE XXXV - -QUI TRAITE DE L’EFFROYABLE BATAILLE QUE LIVRA DON QUICHOTTE A DES OUTRES -DE VIN ROUGE, ET OU SE TERMINE LA NOUVELLE DU CURIEUX MALAVISÉ - -Quelques pages de la nouvelle restaient à lire, lorsque tout à coup, -sortant effaré du galetas où couchait don Quichotte, Sancho se mit à -crier à pleine gorge: Au secours, seigneurs! au secours! accourez à -l’aide de mon maître, qui est engagé dans la plus terrible et la plus -sanglante bataille que j’aie jamais vue. Vive Dieu! du premier coup -qu’il a porté à l’ennemi de madame la princesse de Micomicon, il lui a -fait tomber la tête à bas des épaules, comme si ce n’eût été qu’un -navet. - -Que dites-vous là, Sancho? reprit le curé; avez-vous perdu l’esprit? -C’est chose impossible, puisque le géant est à plus de deux mille lieues -d’ici. - -En ce moment un grand bruit se fit entendre, et au milieu du tapage on -distinguait la voix de don Quichotte, qui criait: Arrête, brigand! -félon! malandrin! Je te tiens cette fois, et ton cimeterre ne te sauvera -pas! Le tout accompagné de coups d’épée qui retentissaient contre la -muraille. - -A quoi songez-vous, seigneurs? disait toujours Sancho; venez donc -séparer les combattants! quoique, à vrai dire, je pense qu’il n’en soit -guère besoin, car à cette heure le géant doit être allé rendre compte à -Dieu de sa vie passée; puisque j’ai vu son sang couler comme une -fontaine, et sa tête coupée rouler dans un coin, grosse, sur ma foi, -comme un muid. - -Que je meure, s’écria l’hôtelier, si ce don Quichotte ou don Diable n’a -pas donné quelques coups d’estoc à des outres de vin rouge qui sont -rangées dans sa chambre le long du mur; c’est le vin qui en sort que cet -homme aura pris pour du sang. - -Il courut aussitôt, suivi de tous ceux qui étaient là, sur le prétendu -champ de bataille, où ils trouvèrent don Quichotte dans le plus étrange -accoutrement. Sa chemise était si courte par devant, qu’elle lui -dépassait à peine la moitié des cuisses, et il s’en fallait d’un -demi-pied qu’elle fût aussi longue par derrière; ses jambes longues, -sèches, velues, étaient d’une propreté plus que douteuse; il portait sur -la tête un bonnet de couleur rouge, fort gras, qui avait longtemps servi -à l’hôtelier; autour de son bras gauche était roulée cette couverture à -laquelle Sancho gardait une si profonde rancune, et de la main droite, -brandissant son épée, il frappait à tort et à travers, en proférant des -menaces. Le plus surprenant, c’est qu’il avait les yeux fermés, car il -dormait; mais, l’imagination frappée de l’aventure qu’il allait -entreprendre, il avait fait en dormant le voyage de Micomicon, et il -croyait se mesurer avec son ennemi. Par malheur, ses coups étaient -tombés sur des outres suspendues contre la muraille, en sorte que la -chambre était inondée de vin. - -Quand l’hôtelier vit tout ce dégât, il entra dans une telle fureur, que, -s’élançant sur don Quichotte les poings fermés, il aurait promptement -mis fin à sa bataille contre le géant, si Cardenio et le curé ne le lui -eussent arraché des mains. Malgré cette grêle de coups, le pauvre -chevalier ne se réveillait pas; il fallut que le barbier courût chercher -un seau d’eau froide pour le lui jeter sur le corps, ce qui finit par -l’éveiller, mais non assez toutefois pour le faire s’apercevoir de -l’état où il était. Dorothée qui survint en ce moment, s’en retourna sur -ses pas, à l’aspect de son défenseur si légèrement vêtu, et n’en voulut -pas voir davantage. - -Quant à Sancho, il allait cherchant dans tous les coins la tête du -géant; et comme il ne la trouvait pas: Je savais bien, dit-il, que dans -cette maudite maison tout se faisait par enchantement; cela est si vrai -que dans le même endroit où je suis, j’ai reçu, il n’y a pas longtemps, -force coups de pied et de poing, sans jamais pouvoir deviner d’où ils -venaient; maintenant le diable ne veut pas que je retrouve cette tête, -quand de mes deux yeux je l’ai vu couper, et le sang ruisseler comme une -fontaine. - -De quel sang et de quelle fontaine parles-tu, ennemi de Dieu et des -saints? reprit l’hôtelier, ne vois-tu pas que cette fontaine ce sont mes -outres que ton maître a percées comme un crible, et ce sang, mon vin -dont cette chambre est inondée? Puissé-je voir nager en enfer l’âme de -celui qui m’a fait tout ce dégât! - -Ce ne sont pas là mes affaires, repartit Sancho; tout ce que je sais, -c’est que faute de retrouver cette tête, mon gouvernement vient, hélas! -de se fondre, comme du sel dans l’eau. - -L’hôtelier se désespérait du sang-froid de l’écuyer, après le dégât que -venait de lui causer le maître; il jurait que cela ne se passerait pas -cette fois-ci comme la première, et que malgré les priviléges de leur -chevalerie, ils lui payeraient jusqu’au dernier maravédis les outres et -le vin. Le curé tenait par les bras don Quichotte, lequel, croyant avoir -achevé l’aventure et se trouver en présence de la princesse de -Micomicon, se jeta à ses pieds en disant: Madame, Votre Grandeur est -maintenant en sûreté; vous n’avez plus à craindre le tyran qui vous -persécutait; quant à moi, je suis quitte de ma parole, puisque avec le -secours du ciel, et la faveur de celle pour qui je vis et je respire, -j’en suis venu à bout si heureusement. - -Eh bien, seigneurs, dit Sancho, direz-vous encore que je suis ivre? -voyez si mon maître n’est pas venu à bout du géant; plus de doute, mon -gouvernement est sauvé. - -Chacun des assistants riait à gorge déployée du maître et du valet, -excepté l’hôtelier qui les donnait à tous les diables. A la fin, -pourtant, le curé, Cardenio et le barbier parvinrent, non sans peine, à -remettre don Quichotte dans son lit, où on le laissa dormir, et tous -trois retournèrent sous le portail de l’hôtellerie consoler Sancho de ce -qu’il n’avait pu trouver la tête du géant. Mais ils furent impuissants à -calmer l’hôtelier, désespéré de la mort subite de ses outres; l’hôtesse, -surtout, jetait les hauts cris et s’arrachait les cheveux. Malédiction, -s’écriait-elle, ce diable errant n’est entré dans ma maison que pour me -ruiner: une fois, déjà, il m’a emporté sa dépense, celle de son chien -d’écuyer, d’un cheval et d’un âne, sous prétexte qu’ils sont chevaliers -errants, et qu’il est écrit dans leurs maudits grimoires qu’ils ne -doivent jamais rien débourser. Dieu les damne, et que leur ordre soit -anéanti dès demain! Mort de ma vie! il n’en sera pas cette fois quitte à -si bon marché; il me payera, ou je perdrai le nom de mon père. Que le -diable emporte tous les chevaliers errants! grommelait de son côté -Maritorne. Quant à la fille de l’hôtelier, elle souriait et ne disait -mot. - -Le curé calma cette tempête, en promettant de payer tout le dégât, -c’est-à-dire les outres et le vin, sans oublier l’usure de la queue de -vache, dont l’hôtesse faisait grand bruit. Dorothée consola Sancho, en -lui disant que puisque son maître avait abattu la tête du géant, elle -lui donnerait la meilleure seigneurie de son royaume dès qu’elle y -serait rétablie. Sancho jura de nouveau avoir vu tomber cette tête, à -telles enseignes, qu’elle avait une barbe qui descendait jusqu’à la -ceinture. Si on ne la retrouve pas, ajouta-t-il, c’est que dans cette -maison rien n’arrive que par enchantement, comme je l’ai déjà éprouvé -une première fois. Dorothée lui dit de ne pas s’affliger, et que tout -s’arrangerait à son entière satisfaction. - -La paix rétablie, le curé proposa d’achever l’histoire du Curieux -malavisé; et tous étant de son avis, il continua ainsi: - -Désormais assuré de la vertu de sa femme, Anselme se croyait le plus -heureux des hommes. Quant à Camille, elle continuait de faire, avec -intention, mauvais visage à Lothaire, et tous deux entretenaient le -malheureux époux dans une erreur dont il ne pouvait plus revenir; car -persuadé qu’il ne manquait à son bonheur que de voir son ami et sa femme -en parfaite intelligence, il s’efforçait chaque jour de les réunir, leur -fournissant ainsi mille moyens de le tromper. - -Pendant ce temps, Léonelle, emportée par le plaisir, et autorisée par -l’exemple de sa maîtresse, qui était forcée de fermer les yeux sur ces -déportements, ne gardait plus aucune mesure. Une nuit, enfin, il arriva -qu’Anselme entendit du bruit dans la chambre de cette fille; il voulut y -pénétrer pour savoir ce que c’était; sentant la porte résister, il sut -s’en rendre maître, et, en entrant, il aperçut un homme qui se laissait -glisser par la fenêtre. Il s’efforça de l’arrêter; mais il ne put y -parvenir, parce que Léonelle se jeta au-devant de lui, le suppliant de -ne point faire de bruit, lui jurant que cela ne regardait qu’elle seule, -et que celui qui fuyait était un jeune homme de la ville qui avait -promis de l’épouser. Anselme, plein de fureur, la menaça d’un poignard -qu’il tenait à la main. Parle à l’instant, lui dit-il, ou je te tue. Il -m’est impossible de le faire en ce moment, tant je suis troublée, -répondit Léonelle en embrassant ses genoux: mais attendez jusqu’à -demain, et je vous apprendrai des choses dont vous ne serez pas peu -étonné. Anselme lui accorda le temps qu’elle demandait, et, après -l’avoir enfermée dans sa chambre, il alla retrouver Camille pour lui -dire ce qui venait de se passer. - -Pensant avec raison que ces choses importantes la concernaient, Camille -fut saisie d’une telle frayeur, que sans vouloir attendre la -confirmation de ses soupçons, aussitôt Anselme endormi, elle prit tout -ce qu’elle avait de pierreries et d’argent, et courut chez Lothaire, -pour lui demander de la mettre en lieu de sûreté. La vue de sa maîtresse -jeta Lothaire dans un si grand trouble, qu’il ne sut que répondre et -encore moins quel parti prendre. Cependant l’affaire ne pouvant souffrir -de retard, et Camille le pressant d’agir, il la conduisit dans un -couvent, et la laissa entre les mains de sa sœur, qui en était abbesse; -puis, montant à cheval, il sortit de la ville sans avertir personne. - -Le jour venu, Anselme, plein d’impatience, entra dans la chambre de -Léonelle, qu’il croyait encore au lit; mais il ne la trouva point, parce -qu’elle s’était laissé glisser la nuit au moyen de draps noués ensemble, -et qui pendaient encore à la fenêtre. Il retourna aussitôt vers Camille, -et sa surprise fut au comble de ne la rencontrer nulle part, sans -qu’aucun de ses gens pût dire ce qu’elle était devenue. En la cherchant -avec anxiété, il entra dans un cabinet où il y avait un coffre resté -tout grand ouvert. Il s’aperçut alors qu’on en avait enlevé quantité de -pierreries; à cette vue, ses soupçons redoublèrent, et se rappelant ce -que lui avait dit Léonelle, il ne douta plus qu’il n’y eût chez lui -quelque désordre dont cette fille n’était pas l’unique cause. Éperdu, -et sans achever de s’habiller, il courut chez Lothaire, pour lui -raconter sa disgrâce; mais quand on lui eut appris qu’il n’y était -point, et que cette nuit-là même il était monté à cheval après avoir -pris tout l’argent dont il pouvait disposer, il ne sut plus que penser, -et peu s’en fallut qu’il ne perdît l’esprit. - -En effet que pouvait supposer un homme qui, après s’être cru au comble -du bonheur, se voyait en un instant sans femme, sans ami, et par-dessus -tout, il faut le dire, déshonoré? Ne sachant plus que devenir, il ferma -les portes de sa maison, et sortit à cheval pour aller trouver cet ami -qui habitait à la campagne, et chez lequel il avait passé le temps -employé à la machination de son infortune; mais il n’eut pas fait la -moitié du chemin, qu’à bout de forces, et accablé de mille pensées -désespérantes, il mit pied à terre et se laissa tomber au pied d’un -arbre en poussant de plaintifs et douloureux soupirs; il y resta jusqu’à -la chute du jour. - -Il était presque nuit, quand passa un cavalier qui venait de la ville. -Anselme lui ayant demandé quelles nouvelles il y avait à Florence: Les -plus étranges qu’on y ait depuis longtemps entendues, répondit le -cavalier. On dit publiquement que Lothaire, ce grand ami d’Anselme, qui -demeure auprès de Saint-Jean, lui a enlevé sa femme la nuit dernière, et -que tous deux ont disparu. C’est du moins ce qu’a raconté une suivante -de Camille, que le guet a arrêtée comme elle se laissait glisser par la -fenêtre dans la rue. Je ne saurais vous dire précisément comment cela -s’est passé; mais on ne parle d’autre chose, et tout le monde en est -dans un extrême étonnement, parce que l’amitié de Lothaire et d’Anselme -était si étroite et si connue, qu’on ne les appelait que les deux amis. -Et sait-on quel chemin ont pris les fugitifs? reprit Anselme. Je -l’ignore, répondit le cavalier; on dit seulement que le gouverneur les -fait rechercher avec beaucoup de soin. Allez avec Dieu, seigneur, dit -Anselme. Demeurez avec lui, reprit le cavalier; et il continua son -chemin. - -Ces tristes nouvelles achevèrent non-seulement de troubler la raison du -malheureux Anselme, mais de l’abattre entièrement; enfin il se leva, et, -remontant à cheval non sans peine, il alla descendre chez cet ami, qui -ignorait son malheur. Celui-ci en le voyant devina qu’il lui était -arrivé quelque chose de terrible. Anselme le pria de lui faire préparer -un lit, de lui donner de quoi écrire, et de le laisser seul; mais dès -qu’il fut en face de lui-même, la pensée de son infortune se présenta si -vivement à son esprit et l’accabla de telle sorte, que jugeant, aux -angoisses mortelles qui brisaient son cœur, que la vie allait lui -échapper, il voulut du moins faire connaître l’étrange cause de sa mort. -Il commença donc à écrire, mais le souffle lui manqua avant qu’il pût -achever; et le maître de la maison étant entré dans la chambre pour -savoir s’il avait besoin de secours, le trouva sans mouvement, le corps -à demi penché sur la table, la plume encore à la main, et posée sur un -papier ouvert sur lequel on lisait ces mots: - - «Une fatale curiosité me coûte l’honneur et la vie. Si la nouvelle de - ma mort parvient à Camille, qu’elle sache que je lui pardonne; elle - n’était pas tenue de faire un miracle, je n’en devais pas exiger - d’elle; et puisque je suis seul artisan de mon malheur, il n’est pas - juste que...» - -Ici la main s’était arrêtée, et il fallait croire qu’en cet endroit la -douleur d’Anselme avait mis fin à sa vie. Le lendemain, son ami prévint -la famille, qui savait déjà cette triste aventure. Quant à Camille, -enfermée dans un couvent, elle était inconsolable, non de la mort de son -mari, mais de la perte de son amant. Elle ne voulut, dit-on, prendre de -parti qu’après avoir appris la mort de Lothaire, qui fut tué dans une -bataille livrée près de Naples à Gonsalve de Cordoue par M. de Lautrec. -Cette nouvelle la décida à prononcer ses vœux, et depuis elle traîna -une vie languissante, qui s’éteignit peu de temps après. Ainsi tous -trois moururent victimes d’une déplorable curiosité. - -Cette nouvelle me paraît intéressante, dit le curé, mais je ne saurais -me persuader qu’elle soit véritable. Si elle est d’invention, elle part -d’un esprit peu sensé; car il n’est guère vraisemblable qu’un mari soit -assez fou pour tenter pareille épreuve: d’un amant cela pourrait à peine -se concevoir, mais d’un ami je le tiens pour impossible. - -CHAPITRE XXXVI - -QUI TRAITE D’AUTRES INTÉRESSANTES AVENTURES ARRIVÉES DANS L’HOTELLERIE - -Vive Dieu! s’écria l’hôtelier, qui était en ce moment sur le seuil de sa -maison; voici venir une belle troupe de voyageurs; s’ils arrêtent ici, -nous chanterons un fameux alléluia. - -Quels sont ces voyageurs? demanda Cardenio. - -Ce sont quatre cavaliers, masqués de noir, avec l’écu et la lance, -répondit l’hôtelier; il y a au milieu d’eux une dame vêtue de blanc, -assise sur une selle en fauteuil; elle a le visage couvert, et elle est -suivie de deux valets à pied. - -Sont-ils bien près d’ici? demanda le curé. - -Si près que les voilà arrivés, répondit l’hôtelier. - -A ces paroles Dorothée se couvrit le visage, et Cardenio courut -s’enfermer dans la chambre de don Quichotte, pendant que les cavaliers, -mettant pied à terre, s’empressaient de descendre la dame, que l’un -d’eux prit entre ses bras et déposa sur une chaise qui se trouvait à -l’entrée de la chambre où venait d’entrer Cardenio. Jusque-là personne -de la troupe n’avait quitté son masque ni prononcé une parole. La dame -seule, en s’asseyant, poussa un grand soupir, laissant tomber ses bras -comme une personne malade et défaillante. Les valets de pied ayant mené -les chevaux à l’écurie, le curé, dont ce déguisement et ce silence -piquaient la curiosité, alla les trouver, et demanda à l’un d’eux qui -étaient ses maîtres. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, je serais fort en peine de vous le dire, répondit -cet homme; il faut pourtant que ce soient des gens de qualité, surtout -celui qui a descendu de cheval la dame que vous avez vue, car les autres -lui montrent beaucoup de respect et se contentent d’exécuter ses ordres. -Voilà tout ce que j’en sais. - -Et quelle est cette dame? reprit le curé. - -Je ne suis pas plus savant sur cela que sur le reste, repartit le valet, -car pendant tout le chemin je n’ai vu qu’une seule fois son visage; mais -en revanche je l’ai entendue bien souvent soupirer et se plaindre: à -chaque instant on dirait qu’elle va rendre l’âme. Au reste, il ne faut -pas s’étonner si je ne puis vous en dire plus long: depuis deux jours -seulement, mon camarade et moi nous avons rencontré ces cavaliers en -chemin, et ils nous ont engagés à les suivre en Andalousie, avec -promesse de nous récompenser largement. - -Vous savez au moins leurs noms? demanda le curé. - -Pas davantage, répondit le valet; ils voyagent sans mot dire, et on les -prendrait pour des chartreux. Depuis que nous sommes à leurs ordres, -nous n’avons entendu que les soupirs et les plaintes de cette pauvre -dame, qu’on emmène, si je ne me trompe, contre son gré. Autant que je -puis en juger par son habit, elle est religieuse, ou va bientôt le -devenir; et c’est sans doute parce qu’elle n’a pas de goût pour le -couvent qu’elle est si mélancolique. - -Cela se pourrait, dit le curé. Là-dessus il revint trouver Dorothée, -qui, ayant aussi entendu les soupirs de la dame voilée, s’était -empressée de lui offrir ses soins. Comme celle-ci ne répondait rien, le -cavalier masqué qui l’avait descendue de cheval s’approcha de Dorothée -et lui dit: Ne perdez point votre temps, madame, à faire des offres de -service à cette femme; elle est habituée à ne tenir aucun compte de ce -qu’on fait pour elle; et ne la forcez point de parler, si vous ne voulez -entendre sortir de sa bouche quelque mensonge. - -Je n’ai jamais menti, repartit fièrement la dame affligée, et c’est pour -avoir été trop sincère que je suis dans la triste position où l’on me -voit; je n’en veux d’autre témoin que vous-même, car c’est par trop de -franchise de ma part que vous êtes devenu faux et menteur. - -Quels accents! s’écria Cardenio, qui de la chambre où il était entendit -distinctement ces paroles. - -Au cri de Cardenio, la dame voulut s’élancer; mais le cavalier masqué -qui ne l’avait pas quittée un seul instant l’en empêcha. Dans le -mouvement qu’elle fit, son voile tomba, et laissa voir, malgré sa -pâleur, une beauté incomparable. Occupé à la retenir, le cavalier dont -nous venons de parler laissa aussi tomber son masque, et, Dorothée ayant -levé les yeux, reconnut don Fernand; elle poussa un grand cri et tomba -évanouie entre les mains du barbier, qui se trouvait à ses côtés. Le -curé accourut et écarta son voile afin de lui jeter de l’eau au visage; -alors don Fernand, car c’était lui, reconnut Dorothée et resta comme -frappé de mort. Malgré son trouble, il continuait à retenir Luscinde, -qui faisait tous ses efforts pour lui échapper, depuis qu’elle avait -entendu Cardenio. Celui-ci, de son côté, ayant deviné Luscinde au son de -sa voix, s’élança hors de la chambre, et le premier objet qui frappa sa -vue, ce fut don Fernand, lequel ne fut pas moins saisi en voyant -Cardenio. Tous quatre étaient muets d’étonnement, et pouvaient à peine -comprendre ce qui venait de se passer. Après qu’ils se furent pendant -quelque temps regardés en silence, Luscinde, prenant la parole, dit à -don Fernand: - -Seigneur, il est temps de cesser une violence aussi injuste; laissez-moi -retourner au chêne dont je suis le lierre, à celui dont vos promesses ni -vos menaces n’ont pu me séparer. Voyez par quels chemins étranges et -pour nous inconnus le ciel m’a ramenée devant celui qui a ma foi. Mille -épreuves pénibles vous ont déjà prouvé que la mort seule aurait le -pouvoir de l’effacer de mon souvenir; aujourd’hui désabusé par ma -constance, changez, s’il le faut, votre amour en haine, votre -bienveillance en fureur, ôtez-moi la vie; la mort me sera douce aux yeux -de mon époux bien-aimé. - -Dorothée, revenue peu à peu de son évanouissement, devinant à ces -paroles que la dame qui parlait était Luscinde, et voyant que don -Fernand la retenait toujours sans répondre un seul mot, alla se jeter à -ses genoux, et lui dit, en fondant en larmes: - -O mon seigneur, si les rayons de ce soleil que tu tiens embrassé ne -t’ont point encore ôté la lumière des yeux, tu auras bientôt reconnu que -celle qui tombe à tes pieds est, tant qu’il te plaira qu’elle le soit, -la triste et malheureuse Dorothée. Oui je suis cette humble paysanne, -que, soit bonté, soit caprice, tu as voulu élever assez haut pour oser -se dire à toi; je suis cette jeune fille si heureuse dans la maison de -son père, et qui, contente de sa condition, n’avait connu encore aucun -désir quand tu vins troubler son innocence et son repos, et que tu lui -fis ressentir les premiers tourments de l’amour. Tu dois te rappeler, -seigneur, que tes promesses et tes présents furent inutiles, et que, -pour m’entretenir quelques instants, il te fallut recourir à la ruse. -Que n’as-tu pas fait pour me persuader de ton amour? Cependant, à quel -prix es-tu venu à bout de ma résistance? Je ne me défends pas d’avoir -été touchée par tes soupirs et par tes larmes, et d’avoir ressenti pour -toi de la tendresse; mais, tu le sais, je ne me rendis qu’à l’honneur -d’être ta femme, et sur la foi que tu m’en donnas après avoir pris le -ciel à témoin par des serments solennels. Trahiras-tu, seigneur, à la -fois tant d’amour et de constance? Et si tu ne peux être à Luscinde -puisque tu es à moi, et que Luscinde ne saurait t’appartenir puisqu’elle -est à Cardenio, rends-les l’un à l’autre; et rends-moi don Fernand, sur -lequel j’ai des droits si légitimes. - -Ces paroles, Dorothée les prononça d’un ton si touchant et en versant -tant de larmes, que chacun en fut attendri. Don Fernand l’écouta d’abord -sans répondre un mot; mais la voyant affligée au point d’en mourir de -douleur, il se sentit tellement ému, que, rendant la liberté à Luscinde, -il tendit les bras à Dorothée, en s’écriant: Tu as vaincu, belle -Dorothée. - -Encore mal remise de son évanouissement, Luscinde, que don Fernand -venait de quitter sans qu’elle s’y attendît, fut bien près de défaillir; -mais Cardenio, rapide comme l’éclair, s’empressa de la soutenir, en lui -disant: Noble et loyale Luscinde, puisque le ciel permet enfin qu’on -vous laisse en repos, vous ne sauriez trouver un plus sûr asile qu’entre -les bras d’un homme qui vous a si tendrement aimée toute sa vie. - -A ces mots, Luscinde tourna la tête, et achevant de reconnaître -Cardenio, elle se jeta à son cou. Quoi! c’est vous, cher Cardenio! lui -dit-elle; suis-je assez heureuse pour revoir, en dépit du destin -contraire, la seule personne que j’aime au monde? - -Les marques de tendresse prodiguées par Luscinde à Cardenio firent une -telle impression sur don Fernand, que Dorothée, dont les yeux ne le -quittaient pas, le voyant changer de couleur et prêt à mettre l’épée à -la main, se jeta au-devant de lui, et embrassant ses genoux: Seigneur, -qu’allez-vous faire? lui dit-elle: votre femme est devant vos yeux, vous -venez de la reconnaître à l’instant même, et pourtant vous songez à -troubler des personnes que l’amour unit depuis longtemps. Quels sont vos -droits pour y mettre obstacle? Pourquoi vous offenser des témoignages -d’amitié qu’ils se donnent? Sachez, seigneur, combien j’ai souffert; ne -me causez pas, je vous en conjure, de nouveaux chagrins; et si mon amour -et mes larmes ne peuvent vous toucher, rappelez votre raison, songez à -vos serments, et conformez-vous à la volonté du ciel. - -Pendant que Dorothée parlait ainsi, Cardenio tenant Luscinde embrassée, -ne quittait pas des yeux son rival, afin de ne point se laisser -surprendre; mais ceux qui accompagnaient don Fernand étant accourus, le -curé se joignit à eux, et tous, y compris Sancho Panza, se jetèrent à -ses pieds, le suppliant d’avoir pitié des larmes de Dorothée, puisqu’il -lui avait fait l’honneur de la reconnaître pour sa femme. Considérez, -seigneur, disait le curé, que ce n’est point le hasard, comme pourraient -le faire croire les apparences, mais une intention particulière de la -Providence, qui vous a tous réunis d’une façon si imprévue; croyez que -la mort seule peut enlever Luscinde à Cardenio, et que dût-on les -séparer avec le tranchant d’une épée, la mort qui les frapperait du même -coup leur semblerait douce. Dans les cas désespérés, ce n’est pas -faiblesse que de céder à la raison. D’ailleurs la charmante Dorothée ne -possède-t-elle pas tous les avantages qu’on peut souhaiter dans une -femme? Elle est vertueuse, elle vous aime; vous lui avez donné votre -foi, et vous avez reçu la sienne: qu’attendez-vous pour lui rendre -justice? - -Persuadé par ces raisons auxquelles chacun ajouta la sienne, don Fernand -qui, malgré tout, avait l’âme généreuse, s’attendrit, et pour le -prouver: Levez-vous, madame, dit-il à Dorothée: je ne puis voir à mes -pieds celle que je porte en mon cœur, et qui me prouve tant de -constance et tant d’amour; oubliez mon injustice et les chagrins que je -vous ai causés: la beauté de Luscinde doit me servir d’excuse. Qu’elle -vive tranquille et satisfaite pendant longues années avec son Cardenio, -je prierai le ciel à genoux qu’il m’en accorde autant avec ma Dorothée. - -En disant cela, don Fernand l’embrassait avec de telles expressions de -tendresse, qu’il eut bien de la peine à retenir ses larmes. Cardenio, -Luscinde et tous ceux qui étaient présents furent si sensibles à la joie -de ces amants, qu’ils ne purent s’empêcher d’en répandre. Sancho -lui-même pleura de tout son cœur; mais il avoua depuis que c’était du -regret de voir que Dorothée n’étant plus reine de Micomicon, il se -trouvait frustré des faveurs qu’il en attendait. - -Luscinde et Cardenio remercièrent don Fernand de la noblesse de ses -procédés, et en termes si touchants que, ne sachant comment répondre, il -les embrassa avec effusion. Il demanda ensuite à Dorothée par quel -hasard elle se trouvait dans un pays si éloigné du sien. Dorothée lui -raconta les mêmes choses qu’au curé et à Cardenio, et charma tout le -monde par le récit de son histoire. - -Don Fernand raconta, à son tour, ce qui s’était passé dans la maison de -Luscinde, le jour de la cérémonie nuptiale, quand le billet par lequel -elle déclarait avoir donné sa foi à Cardenio fut trouvé dans son sein. -Je voulus la tuer, dit-il, et je l’aurais fait si ses parents ne -m’eussent retenu. Enfin je quittai la maison plein de fureur, et ne -respirant que la vengeance. Le lendemain, j’appris la fuite de Luscinde, -sans que personne pût m’indiquer le lieu de sa retraite. Mais quelque -temps après, ayant appris qu’elle s’était retirée dans un couvent, -décidée à y passer le reste de ses jours, je me fis accompagner de trois -cavaliers, puis ayant épié le moment où la porte était ouverte, je -parvins à l’enlever sans lui laisser le temps de se reconnaître; ce qui -ne fut pas difficile, puisque ce couvent était dans la campagne et loin -de toute habitation. Il ajouta que lorsque Luscinde se vit entre ses -bras, elle s’était d’abord évanouie; mais qu’ayant repris ses sens, elle -n’avait cessé de gémir sans vouloir prononcer un seul mot, et qu’en cet -état ils l’avaient amenée jusqu’à cette hôtellerie, où le ciel réservait -une si heureuse fin à toutes leurs aventures. - -CHAPITRE XXXVII - -OU SE POURSUIT L’HISTOIRE DE LA PRINCESSE DE MICOMICON, AVEC D’AUTRES -PLAISANTES AVENTURES - -Témoin de tout cela, le pauvre Sancho avait l’âme navrée de voir ses -espérances s’en aller en fumée depuis que la princesse de Micomicon -était redevenue Dorothée, et le géant Pandafilando don Fernand, pendant -que son maître dormait comme un bienheureux sans s’inquiéter de ce qui -se passait. - -Dorothée se trouvait si satisfaite de son changement de fortune, qu’elle -croyait rêver encore; Cardenio et Luscinde ne pouvaient comprendre cette -fin si prompte de leurs malheurs, et don Fernand rendait grâces au ciel -de lui avoir fourni le moyen de sortir de ce labyrinthe inextricable où -son honneur et son salut couraient tant de risques; finalement, tous -ceux qui étaient dans l’hôtellerie faisaient éclater leur joie de -l’heureux dénoûment qu’avaient eu des affaires si désespérées. Le curé, -en homme d’esprit, arrangeait toute chose à merveille, et félicitait -chacun d’eux en particulier d’être la cause d’un bonheur dont ils -jouissaient tous. Mais la plus contente était l’hôtesse, à qui Cardenio -et le curé avaient promis de payer le dégât qu’avait fait notre -chevalier. - -Le seul Sancho était triste et affligé, comme on l’a déjà dit; aussi -entrant d’un air tout piteux dans la chambre de son maître, qui venait -de se réveiller: Seigneur Triste-Figure, lui dit-il, Votre Grâce peut -dormir tant qu’il lui plaira, sans se mettre en peine de rétablir la -princesse dans ses États, ni de tuer aucun géant; l’affaire est faite et -conclue. - -Je le crois bien, dit don Quichotte, puisque je viens de livrer à ce -mécréant le plus formidable combat que j’aurai à soutenir de ma vie, et -que d’un seul revers d’épée je lui ai tranché la tête. Aussi je t’assure -que son sang coulait comme une nappe d’eau qui tomberait du haut d’une -montagne. - -Dites plutôt comme un torrent de vin rouge, reprit Sancho; car Votre -Grâce saura, si elle ne le sait pas encore, que le géant mort est tout -simplement une outre crevée, et le sang répandu, six mesures de vin -rouge qu’elle avait dans le ventre; quant à la tête coupée, autant en -emporte le vent, et que le reste s’en aille à tous les diables. - -Que dis-tu là, fou? repartit don Quichotte; as-tu perdu l’esprit? - -Levez-vous, seigneur, répondit Sancho, et venez voir le bel exploit que -vous avez fait, et la besogne que nous aurons à payer; sans compter qu’à -cette heure la princesse de Micomicon est métamorphosée en une simple -dame, qui s’appelle Dorothée, et bien d’autres aventures qui ne vous -étonneront pas moins si vous y comprenez quelque chose. - -Rien de cela ne peut m’étonner, répliqua don Quichotte; car, s’il t’en -souvient, la première fois que nous vînmes ici, ne t’ai-je pas dit que -tout y était magie et enchantement? Pourquoi en serait-il autrement -aujourd’hui? - -Je pourrais vous croire, répondit Sancho, si mon bernement avait été de -la même espèce; mais il ne fut que trop véritable, et je remarquai fort -bien que notre hôtelier, le même qui est là, tenait un des coins de la -couverture, à telles enseignes que le traître, en riant de toutes ses -forces, me poussait encore plus vigoureusement que les autres. Or, -lorsqu’on reconnaît les gens, il n’y a point d’enchantement, je soutiens -que c’est seulement une mauvaise aventure. - -Allons, dit don Quichotte, Dieu saura y remédier. En attendant, aide-moi -à m’habiller, que je me lève et que j’aille voir toutes ces -transformations dont tu parles. - -Pendant que don Quichotte s’habillait, le curé apprenait à don Fernand -et à ses compagnons quel homme était notre héros, et la ruse qu’il avait -fallu employer pour le tirer de la Roche-Pauvre, où il se croyait exilé -par les dédains de sa dame. Il leur raconta la plupart des aventures que -Sancho lui avait apprises, ce qui les divertit beaucoup, et leur parut -la plus étrange espèce de folie qui se pût imaginer. Le curé ajouta que -l’heureuse métamorphose de la princesse, ne permettant plus de mener à -bout leur dessein, il fallait inventer un nouveau stratagème pour -ramener don Quichotte dans sa maison. Cardenio insista pour ne rien -déranger à leur projet, disant que Luscinde prendrait la place de -Dorothée. Non, non, s’écria don Fernand, Dorothée achèvera ce qu’elle a -entrepris. Je serai bien aise de contribuer à la guérison de ce pauvre -gentilhomme, puisque nous ne sommes pas loin de chez lui. - -Don Fernand parlait encore, quand soudain parut don Quichotte armé de -pied en cap, l’armet de Mambrin tout bossué sur la tête, la rondache au -bras, la lance à la main. Cette étrange apparition frappa de surprise -don Fernand et les cavaliers venus avec lui. Tous regardaient avec -étonnement ce visage d’une demi-lieue de long, jaune et sec, cette -contenance calme et fière, enfin le bizarre assemblage de ses armes, et -ils attendaient en silence qu’il prît la parole. Après quelques instants -de silence, don Quichotte, d’un air grave, et d’une voix lente et -solennelle, les yeux fixés sur Dorothée, s’exprima de la sorte: - -Belle et noble dame, je viens d’apprendre par mon écuyer que votre -grandeur s’est évanouie, puisque de reine que vous étiez, vous êtes -redevenue une simple damoiselle. Si cela s’est fait par l’ordre du grand -enchanteur, le roi votre père, dans la crainte que je ne parvinsse pas à -vous donner l’assistance convenable, je n’ai rien à dire, si ce n’est -qu’il s’est trompé lourdement, et qu’il connaît bien peu les traditions -de la chevalerie; car s’il les eût lues et relues aussi souvent et avec -autant d’attention que je l’ai fait, il aurait vu à chaque page que des -chevaliers d’un renom moindre, sans vanité, que le mien, ont mis fin à -des entreprises incomparablement plus difficiles. Ce n’est pas -merveille, je vous assure, de venir à bout d’un géant, quelles que -soient sa force et sa taille, et il n’y a pas longtemps que je me suis -mesuré avec un de ces fiers-à-bras; aussi je me tairai, de peur d’être -accusé de forfanterie; mais le temps, qui ne laisse rien dans l’ombre, -parlera pour moi, et au moment où l’on y pensera le moins. - -Vous vous êtes escrimé contre des outres pleines de vin, et non pas -contre un géant, s’écria l’hôtelier, à qui don Fernand imposa silence -aussitôt. - -J’ajoute, très-haute et déshéritée princesse, poursuivit don Quichotte, -que si c’est pour un pareil motif que le roi votre père a opéré cette -métamorphose en votre personne, vous ne devez lui accorder aucune -créance, car il n’y a point de danger sur la terre dont je ne puisse -triompher à l’aide de cette épée; et c’est par elle que, mettant à vos -pieds la tête de votre redoutable ennemi, je vous rétablirai dans peu -sur le trône de vos ancêtres. - -Don Quichotte se tut pour attendre la réponse de la princesse; et -Dorothée, sachant qu’elle faisait plaisir à don Fernand en continuant la -ruse jusqu’à ce qu’on eût ramené don Quichotte dans son pays, répondit -avec gravité: Vaillant chevalier de la Triste-Figure, celui qui vous a -dit que je suis transformée est dans l’erreur. Il est survenu, j’en -conviens, un agréable changement dans ma fortune; mais cela ne m’empêche -pas d’être aujourd’hui ce que j’étais hier, et d’avoir toujours le même -désir d’employer la force invincible de votre bras pour remonter sur le -trône de mes ancêtres. Ne doutez donc point, seigneur, que mon père -n’ait été un homme aussi prudent qu’avisé, puisque sa science lui a -révélé un moyen si facile et si sûr de remédier à mes malheurs. En -effet, le bonheur de votre rencontre a été pour moi d’un tel prix, que -sans elle je ne me serais jamais vue dans l’heureux état où je me -trouve; ceux qui m’entendent sont, je pense, de mon sentiment. Ce qui me -reste à faire, c’est de nous mettre en route dès demain; aujourd’hui il -serait trop tard. Quant à l’issue de l’entreprise, je l’abandonne à -Dieu, et m’en remets à votre courage. - -A peine Dorothée eut-elle achevé de parler, que don Quichotte, -apostrophant Sancho d’un ton courroucé: Petit Sancho, lui dit-il, tu es -bien le plus insigne vaurien qu’il y ait dans toute l’Espagne. Dis-moi -un peu, scélérat, ne viens-tu pas de m’assurer à l’instant que la -princesse n’était plus qu’une simple damoiselle, du nom de Dorothée, et -la tête du géant une plaisanterie, avec cent autres extravagances qui -m’ont jeté dans la plus horrible confusion où je me sois trouvé de ma -vie. Par le Dieu vivant, s’écria-t-il en grinçant des dents, si je ne me -retenais, j’exercerais sur ta personne un tel ravage, que tu servirais -d’exemple à tous les écuyers fallacieux et retors qui auront jamais -l’honneur de suivre des chevaliers errants. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, que Votre Grâce ne se mette point en colère; -il peut se faire que je me sois trompé quant à la transformation de -madame la princesse; mais pour ce qui est des outres percées, et du vin -au lieu de sang, oh! par ma foi! je ne me trompe pas. Les outres, toutes -criblées de coups, sont encore au chevet de votre lit, et le vin forme -un lac dans votre chambre; vous le verrez bien tout à l’heure, quand il -faudra faire frire les œufs, c’est-à-dire quand on vous demandera le -payement du dégât que vous avez fait. Au surplus, si madame la princesse -est restée ce qu’elle était, je m’en réjouis de toute mon âme, d’autant -mieux que j’y trouve aussi mon compte. - -En ce cas, Sancho, répliqua don Quichotte, je dis que tu n’es qu’un -imbécile; pardonne-moi, et n’en parlons plus. - -Très-bien, s’écria don Fernand; et puisque madame veut qu’on remette le -voyage à demain, parce qu’il est tard, il faut ne songer qu’à passer la -nuit agréablement en attendant le jour. Nous accompagnerons ensuite le -seigneur don Quichotte pour être témoins des merveilleuses prouesses -qu’il doit accomplir. - -C’est moi qui aurai l’honneur de vous accompagner, reprit notre héros; -je suis extrêmement reconnaissant envers la compagnie de la bonne -opinion qu’elle a de moi, et je tâcherai de ne pas la démériter, dût-il -m’en coûter la vie, et plus encore, s’il est possible. - -Il se faisait un long échange d’offres de services entre don Quichotte -et don Fernand, quand ils furent interrompus par l’arrivée d’un voyageur -dont le costume annonçait un chrétien nouvellement revenu du pays des -Mores, vêtu qu’il était d’une casaque de drap bleu fort courte et sans -collet, avec des demi-manches, des hauts-de-chausses de toile bleue, et -le bonnet de même couleur. Il portait un cimeterre à sa ceinture. Une -femme vêtue à la moresque, le visage couvert d’un voile, sous lequel on -apercevait un petit bonnet de brocart d’or, et habillée d’une longue -robe qui lui venait jusqu’aux pieds, le suivait assise sur un âne. Le -captif paraissait avoir quarante ans; il était d’une taille robuste et -bien prise, brun de visage, portait de grandes moustaches, et l’on -jugeait à sa démarche qu’il devait être de noble condition. En entrant -dans l’hôtellerie, il demanda une chambre, et parut fort contrarié quand -on lui répondit qu’il n’en restait point. Cependant il prit la Moresque -entre ses bras, et la descendit de sa monture. Luscinde, Dorothée et les -femmes de la maison, attirées par la nouveauté d’un costume qu’elles ne -connaissaient pas, s’approchèrent de l’étrangère; après l’avoir bien -considérée, Dorothée, qui avait remarqué son déplaisir, lui dit: Il ne -faut point vous étonner, Madame, de ne pas trouver ici toutes les -commodités désirables, c’est l’ordinaire des hôtelleries; mais si vous -consentez à partager notre logement, dit-elle en montrant Luscinde, -peut-être avouerez-vous n’avoir point rencontré dans le cours de votre -voyage un meilleur gîte que celui-ci, et où l’on vous ait fait un -meilleur accueil. L’étrangère ne répondit rien; mais croisant ses bras -sur sa poitrine, elle baissa la tête pour témoigner qu’elle se sentait -obligée; son silence ainsi que sa manière de saluer firent penser -qu’elle était musulmane et qu’elle n’entendait pas l’espagnol. - -Mesdames, répondit le captif, cette jeune femme ne comprend pas la -langue espagnole et ne parle que la sienne; c’est pourquoi elle ne -répond pas à vos questions. - -Nous ne lui adressons point de questions, reprit Luscinde; nous lui -offrons seulement notre compagnie pour cette nuit, et nos services -autant qu’il dépend de nous et que le lieu le permet. - -Je vous rends grâces, mesdames, et pour elle et pour moi, dit le captif; -et je suis d’autant plus touché de vos offres de service, que je vois -qu’elles sont faites par des personnes de qualité. - -Cette dame est-elle chrétienne ou musulmane? demanda Dorothée, car son -habit et son silence nous font croire qu’elle n’est pas de notre -religion. - -Elle est née musulmane, répondit le captif; mais au fond de l’âme elle -est chrétienne et ne souhaite rien tant que de le devenir. - -Est-elle baptisée? demanda Luscinde. - -Nous n’en avons pas encore trouvé l’occasion, depuis qu’elle est partie -d’Alger, sa patrie, répondit le captif, et nous n’avons pas voulu -qu’elle le fût avant d’être bien instruite dans notre sainte religion; -mais s’il plaît à Dieu, elle recevra bientôt le baptême avec toute la -solennité que mérite sa qualité, qui est plus relevée que ne l’annoncent -son costume et le mien. - -Ces paroles donnaient à ceux qui les avaient entendues un vif désir de -savoir qui étaient ces voyageurs; mais personne n’osa le laisser -paraître, parce qu’on voyait qu’ils avaient besoin de repos. Dorothée -prit la Moresque par la main, et l’ayant fait asseoir, la pria de lever -son voile. L’étrangère regarda le captif comme pour lui demander ce -qu’on souhaitait d’elle, et quand il lui eut fait comprendre en arabe -que ces dames la priaient de lever son voile, elle fit voir tant -d’attraits, que Dorothée la trouva plus belle que Luscinde, et Luscinde -plus belle que Dorothée; et comme le privilége de la beauté est de -s’attirer la sympathie générale, ce fut à qui s’empresserait auprès de -l’étrangère, et à qui lui ferait le plus d’avances. Don Fernand ayant -exprimé le désir d’apprendre son nom, le captif répondit qu’elle -s’appelait Lela Zoraïde; mais elle, qui avait deviné l’intention du -jeune seigneur, s’écria aussitôt: _No, no, Zoraïda! Maria! Maria!_ -voulant dire qu’elle s’appelait Marie, et non pas Zoraïde. Ces paroles, -le ton dont elle les avait prononcées, émurent vivement tous ceux qui -étaient présents, et particulièrement les dames, qui, naturellement -tendres, sont plus accessibles aux émotions. Luscinde l’embrassa avec -effusion, en disant: _Oui, oui, Marie! Marie!_ A quoi la Moresque -répondit avec empressement: _Si, si, Maria! Zoraïda macangé!_ -c’est-à-dire plus de Zoraïde. - -Cependant la nuit approchait, et sur l’ordre de don Fernand l’hôtelier -avait mis tous ses soins à préparer le souper. L’heure venue, chacun -prit place à une longue table, étroite comme celle d’un réfectoire. On -donna le haut bout à don Quichotte, qui d’abord déclina cet honneur, et -ne consentit à s’asseoir qu’à une condition, c’est que la princesse de -Micomicon prendrait place à son côté, puisqu’elle était sous sa garde. -Luscinde et Zoraïde s’assirent ensuite, et en face d’elles don Fernand -et Cardenio; plus bas le captif et les autres cavaliers, puis, -immédiatement après les dames, le curé et le barbier. - -Le repas fut très-gai, parce que la compagnie était agréable et que tous -avaient sujet d’être contents. Mais ce qui augmenta la bonne humeur, ce -fut quand ils virent que don Quichotte s’apprêtait à parler, animé du -même esprit qui lui avait fait adresser naguère sa harangue aux -chevriers. En vérité, messeigneurs, dit notre héros, il faut convenir -que ceux qui ont l’avantage d’avoir fait profession dans l’ordre de la -chevalerie errante sont souvent témoins de bien grandes et bien -merveilleuses choses! Dites-moi, je vous prie, quel être vivant y a-t-il -au monde qui, entrant à cette heure dans ce château, et nous voyant -attablés de la sorte, pût croire ce que nous sommes en réalité? Qui -pourrait jamais s’imaginer que cette dame, assise à ma droite, est la -grande reine que nous connaissons tous, et que je suis ce chevalier de -la Triste-Figure dont ne cesse de s’occuper la renommée? Comment donc ne -pas avouer que cette noble profession surpasse de beaucoup toutes celles -que les hommes ont imaginées? et n’est-elle pas d’autant plus digne -d’estime qu’elle expose ceux qui l’exercent à de plus grands dangers? -Qu’on ne vienne donc point soutenir devant moi que les lettres -l’emportent sur les armes, ou je répondrai à celui-là, quel qu’il soit, -qu’il ne sait ce qu’il dit. - -La raison que bien des gens donnent de la prééminence des lettres sur -les armes, et sur laquelle ils se fondent, c’est que les travaux de -l’intelligence surpassent de beaucoup ceux du corps, parce que, selon -eux, le corps fonctionne seul dans la profession des armes: comme si -cette profession était un métier de portefaix, qui n’exigeât que de -bonnes épaules, et qu’il ne fallût point un grand discernement pour bien -employer cette force; comme si le général qui commande une armée en -campagne et qui défend une place assiégée, n’avait pas encore plus -besoin de vigueur d’esprit que de force de corps! Est-ce par hasard avec -la force du corps qu’on devine les desseins de l’ennemi, qu’on imagine -des ruses pour les opposer aux siennes et des stratagèmes pour ruiner -ses entreprises? Ne sont-ce pas là toutes choses du ressort de -l’intelligence, et où le corps n’a rien à voir? Maintenant, s’il est -vrai que les armes exigent comme les lettres l’emploi de l’intelligence, -puisqu’il n’en faut pas moins à l’homme de guerre qu’à l’homme de -lettres, voyons le but que chacun d’eux se propose, et nous arriverons à -conclure que celui-là est le plus à estimer qui se propose une plus -noble fin. - -La fin et le but des lettres (je ne parle pas des lettres divines, dont -la mission est de conduire et d’acheminer les âmes au ciel; car à une -telle fin nulle autre ne peut se comparer); je parle des lettres -humaines, qui ont pour but la justice distributive, le maintien et -l’exécution des lois. Cette fin est assurément noble, généreuse et digne -d’éloges, mais pas autant, toutefois, que celle des armes, lesquelles -ont pour objet et pour but la paix, c’est-à-dire le plus grand des biens -que les hommes puissent désirer en cette vie. Quelles furent, je vous le -demande, les premières paroles prononcées par les anges dans cette nuit -féconde qui est devenue pour nous la source de la lumière? _Gloire à -Dieu dans les hauteurs célestes, paix sur la terre aux hommes de bonne -volonté._ Quel était le salut bienveillant que le divin maître du ciel -et de la terre recommandait à ses disciples, quand ils entraient dans -quelque lieu: _La paix soit dans cette maison_. Maintes fois il leur a -dit: _Je vous donne ma paix, je vous laisse la paix_, comme le joyau le -plus précieux que pût donner et laisser une telle main, et sans lequel -il ne saurait exister de bonheur ici-bas. Or, la paix est la fin que se -propose la guerre, et qui dit la guerre dit les armes. Une fois cette -vérité admise, que la paix est la fin que se propose la guerre, et qu’en -cela elle l’emporte sur les lettres, venons-en à comparer les travaux du -lettré avec ceux du soldat, et voyons quels sont les plus pénibles. - -Don Quichotte poursuivait son discours avec tant de méthode et -d’éloquence, qu’aucun de ses auditeurs ne songeait à sa folie; au -contraire, comme ils étaient la plupart adonnés à la profession des -armes, ils l’écoutaient avec autant de plaisir que d’attention. - -Je dis donc, continua-t-il, que les travaux et les souffrances de -l’étudiant, du lettré, sont ceux que je vais énumérer. D’abord et -par-dessus tout la pauvreté; non pas que tous les étudiants soient -pauvres, mais pour prendre leur condition dans ce qu’elle a de pire, et -parce que la pauvreté est selon moi un des plus grands maux qu’on puisse -endurer en cette vie; car qui dit pauvre, dit exposé à la faim, au -froid, à la nudité, et souvent à ces trois choses à la fois. Eh bien, -l’étudiant n’est-il jamais si pauvre, qu’il ne puisse se procurer -quelque chose à mettre sous la dent? ne rencontre-t-il pas le plus -souvent quelque _brasero_, quelque cheminée hospitalière, où il peut, -sinon se réchauffer tout à fait, au moins se dégourdir les doigts, et, -quand la nuit est venue, ne trouve-t-il pas toujours un toit où se -reposer? Je passe sous silence la pénurie de leur chaussure, -l’insuffisance de leur garde-robe, et ce goût qu’ils ont pour -s’empiffrer jusqu’à la gorge, quand un heureux hasard leur fait trouver -place à quelque festin. Mais c’est par ce chemin, âpre et difficile, -j’en conviens, que beaucoup parmi eux bronchant par ici, tombant par là, -se relevant d’un côté pour retomber de l’autre, beaucoup, dis-je, sont -arrivés au but qu’ils ambitionnaient, et nous en avons vu qui, après -avoir traversé toutes ces misères, paraissant comme emportés par le vent -favorable de la fortune, se sont trouvés tout à coup appelés à gouverner -l’État, ayant changé leur faim en satiété, leur nudité en habits -somptueux, et leur natte de jonc en lit de damas, prix justement mérité -de leur savoir et de leur vertu. Mais si l’on met leurs travaux en -regard de ceux du soldat, et que l’on compare l’un à l’autre, combien le -lettré reste en arrière! C’est ce que je vais facilement démontrer. - -CHAPITRE XXXVIII - -OU SE CONTINUE LE CURIEUX DISCOURS QUE FIT DON QUICHOTTE SUR LES LETTRES -ET SUR LES ARMES - -Don Quichotte, après avoir repris haleine pendant quelques instants, -continua ainsi: Nous avons parlé de toutes les misères et de la pauvreté -du lettré; voyons maintenant si le soldat est plus riche. Eh bien, il -nous faudra convenir que nul au monde n’est plus pauvre que ce dernier, -car c’est la pauvreté même. En effet, il doit se contenter de sa -misérable solde, qui vient toujours tard, quelquefois même jamais; -alors, si manquant du nécessaire, il se hasarde à dérober quelque chose, -il le fait souvent au péril de sa vie, et toujours au notable détriment -de son âme. Vous le verrez passer tout un hiver avec un méchant -justaucorps tailladé, qui lui sert à la fois d’uniforme et de chemise, -n’ayant pour se défendre contre l’inclémence du ciel que le souffle de -sa bouche, lequel sortant d’un endroit vide et affamé, doit -nécessairement être froid. Maintenant vienne la nuit, pour qu’il puisse -prendre un peu de repos; par ma foi, tant pis pour lui si le lit qui -l’attend pèche par défaut de largeur, car il peut mesurer sur la terre -autant de pieds qu’il voudra, pour s’y tourner et retourner tout à son -aise, sans crainte de déranger ses draps. Arrive enfin le jour et -l’heure de gagner les degrés de sa profession, c’est-à-dire un jour de -bataille; en guise de bonnet de docteur, on lui appliquera sur la tête -une compresse de charpie pour panser la blessure d’une balle qui lui -aura labouré la tempe, ou le laissera estropié d’une jambe ou d’un bras. -Mais supposons qu’il s’en soit tiré heureusement, et que le ciel, en sa -miséricorde, l’ait conservé sain et sauf, en revient-il plus riche qu’il -n’était auparavant? ne doit-il pas se trouver encore à un grand nombre -de combats, et en sortir toujours vainqueur, avant d’arriver à quelque -chose? sortes de miracles qui ne se voient que fort rarement. Aussi, -combien peu de gens font fortune à l’armée, en comparaison de ceux qui -périssent! le nombre des morts est incalculable, et les survivants n’en -font pas la millième partie. Pour le lettré, c’est tout le contraire: -car, de manière ou d’autre, avec le pan de sa robe, sans compter les -manches, il trouve toujours de quoi vivre; et pourtant, bien que les -travaux du soldat soient incomparablement plus pénibles que ceux du -lettré, il a beaucoup moins de récompenses à espérer, et elles sont -toujours de moindre importance. - -Mais, dira-t-on, il est plus aisé de récompenser le petit nombre des -lettrés que cette foule de gens qui suivent la profession des armes, -parce qu’on s’acquitte envers les premiers en leur conférant des offices -qui reviennent de droit à ceux de leur profession, tandis que les -seconds ne peuvent être rémunérés qu’aux dépens du seigneur qu’ils -servent: ce qui ne fait que confirmer ce que j’ai déjà avancé. Mais -laissons là ce labyrinthe de difficile issue, et revenons à la -prééminence des armes sur les lettres. - -On dit, pour les lettres, que sans elles les armes ne pourraient -subsister, à cause des lois auxquelles la guerre est soumise, et parce -que ces lois étant du domaine des lettrés, ils en sont les interprètes -et les dispensateurs. A cela je réponds que sans les armes, au -contraire, les lois ne pourraient pas se maintenir, parce que c’est avec -les armes que les États se défendent, que les royaumes se conservent, -que les villes se gardent, que les chemins deviennent sûrs, que les mers -sont purgées de pirates; que sans les armes enfin, les royaumes, les -cités, en un mot la terre et la mer, seraient perpétuellement en butte à -la plus horrible confusion. Or, si c’est un fait reconnu, que plus une -chose coûte cher à acquérir, plus elle s’estime et doit être estimée, je -demanderai ce qu’il en coûte pour devenir éminent dans les lettres? Du -temps, des veilles, de l’application d’esprit, faire souvent mauvaise -chère, être mal vêtu, et d’autres choses dont je crois avoir déjà parlé. -Mais, pour devenir bon soldat, il faut endurer tout cela, et bien -d’autres misères presque sans relâche, sans compter le risque de la vie -à toute heure. - -Quelle souffrance peut endurer le lettré qui approche de celle qu’endure -un soldat dans une ville assiégée par l’ennemi? Seul en sentinelle sur -un rempart, le soldat entend creuser une mine sous ses pieds; eh bien, -osera-t-il jamais s’éloigner du péril qui le menace? Tout au plus s’il -lui est permis de faire donner à son capitaine avis de ce qui se passe, -afin qu’on puisse remédier au danger; mais en attendant il doit demeurer -ferme à son poste, jusqu’à ce que l’explosion le lance dans les airs, ou -l’ensevelisse sous les décombres. Voyez maintenant ces deux galères -s’abordant par leurs proues, se cramponnant l’une à l’autre au milieu du -vaste Océan. Pour champ de bataille, le soldat n’a qu’un étroit espace -sur les planches de l’éperon: tout ce qu’il a devant lui sont autant de -ministres de la mort; ce ne sont que mousquets, lances et coutelas; il -sert de but aux grenades, aux pots à feu, et chaque canon est braqué -contre lui à quatre pas de distance. Dans une situation si terrible, -pressé de toutes parts et cerné par la mer, quand le moindre faux pas -peut l’envoyer visiter la profondeur de l’empire de Neptune, son seul -espoir est dans sa force et son courage. Aussi, intrépide et emporté par -l’honneur, il affronte tous ces périls, surmonte tous ces obstacles, et -se fait jour à travers tous ces mousquets et ces piques pour se -précipiter dans l’autre vaisseau, où tout lui est ennemi, tout lui est -danger. A peine le soldat est-il emporté par le boulet, qu’un autre le -remplace; celui-là est englouti par la mer, un autre lui succède, puis -un autre encore, sans qu’aucun de ceux qui survivent s’effraye de la -mort de ses compagnons; ce qui est une marque extraordinaire de courage -et de merveilleuse intrépidité. Heureux les temps qui ne connaissaient -point ces abominables instruments de guerre, dont je tiens l’inventeur -pour damné au fond de l’enfer, où il reçoit, j’en suis certain, le -salaire de sa diabolique invention! Grâce à lui, le plus valeureux -chevalier peut tomber sans vengeance sous les coups éloignés du lâche! -grâce à lui, une balle égarée, tirée peut-être par tel qui s’est enfui, -épouvanté du feu de sa maudite machine, arrête en un instant les -exploits d’un héros qui méritait de vivre longues années! Aussi, -m’arrive-t-il souvent de regretter au fond de l’âme d’avoir embrassé, -dans ce siècle détestable, la profession de chevalier errant; car bien -qu’aucun péril ne me fasse sourciller, il m’est pénible de savoir qu’il -suffit d’un peu de poudre et de plomb pour paralyser ma vaillance et -m’empêcher de faire connaître sur toute la surface de la terre la force -de mon bras. Mais après tout, que la volonté du ciel s’accomplisse, -puisque si j’atteins le but que je me suis proposé, je serai d’autant -plus digne d’estime, que j’aurai affronté de plus grands périls que n’en -affrontèrent les chevaliers des siècles passés. - -Pendant que don Quichotte prononçait ce long discours au lieu de prendre -part au repas, bien que Sancho l’eût averti plusieurs fois de manger, -lui disant qu’il pourrait ensuite parler à son aise, ceux qui -l’écoutaient trouvaient un nouveau sujet de le plaindre de ce qu’après -avoir montré tant de jugement sur diverses matières, il venait de le -perdre à propos de sa maudite chevalerie. Le curé applaudit à la -préférence que notre héros donnait aux armes sur les lettres, ajoutant -que tout intéressé qu’il était dans la question, en sa qualité de -docteur, il se sentait entraîné vers son sentiment. - -On acheva de souper; et pendant que l’hôtesse et Maritorne préparaient, -pour les dames, la chambre de don Quichotte, don Fernand pria le captif -de conter l’histoire de sa vie, ajoutant que toute la compagnie l’en -priait instamment, la rencontre de Zoraïde leur faisant penser qu’il -devait s’y trouver des aventures fort intéressantes. Le captif répondit -qu’il ne savait point résister à ce qu’on lui demandait de si bonne -grâce, mais qu’il craignait que sa manière de raconter ne leur donnât -pas autant de satisfaction qu’ils s’en promettaient. A la fin, se -voyant sollicité par tout le monde: Seigneurs, dit-il, que Vos Grâces me -prêtent attention, et je vais leur faire une relation véridique, qui ne -le cède en rien aux fables les mieux inventées. Chacun étant ainsi -préparé à l’écouter, il commença en ces termes: - -CHAPITRE XXXIX - -OU LE CAPTIF RACONTE SA VIE ET SES AVENTURES - -Je suis né dans un village des montagnes de Léon, de parents plus -favorisés des biens de la nature que de ceux de la fortune. Toutefois, -dans un pays où les gens sont misérables, mon père ne laissait pas -d’avoir la réputation d’être riche; et il l’aurait été en effet s’il eût -mis autant de soin à conserver son patrimoine qu’il mettait -d’empressement à le dissiper. Il avait contracté cette manière de vivre -à la guerre, ayant passé sa jeunesse dans cette admirable école, qui -fait d’un avare un libéral, et d’un libéral un prodigue, et où celui qui -épargne est à bon droit regardé comme un monstre indigne de la noble -profession des armes. Mon père, voyant qu’il ne pouvait résister à son -humeur trop disposée à la dépense et aux largesses, résolut de se -dépouiller de son bien. Il nous fit appeler, mes deux frères et moi, et -nous tint à peu près ce discours: - -Mes chers enfants, vous donner ce nom, c’est dire assez que je vous -aime; mais comme ce n’est pas en fournir la preuve que de dissiper un -bien qui doit vous revenir un jour, j’ai résolu d’accomplir une chose à -laquelle je pense depuis longtemps, et que j’ai mûrement préparée. Vous -êtes tous les trois en âge de vous établir, ou du moins de choisir une -profession qui vous procure dans l’avenir honneur et profit. Eh bien, -mon désir est de vous y aider; c’est pourquoi j’ai fait de mon bien -quatre portions égales; je vous en abandonne trois, me réservant la -dernière pour vivre le reste des jours qu’il plaira au ciel de -m’accorder; seulement, après avoir reçu sa part, je désire que chacun de -vous choisisse une des carrières que je vais vous indiquer. - -Il y a dans notre Espagne un vieux dicton plein de bon sens, comme ils -le sont tous d’ailleurs, étant appuyés sur une longue et sage -expérience; voici ce dicton: _L’Église, la mer ou la maison du roi_; -c’est-à-dire que celui qui veut prospérer et devenir riche, doit entrer -dans l’Église, ou trafiquer sur mer, ou s’attacher à la cour. Je -voudrais donc, mes chers enfants, que l’un de vous s’adonnât à l’étude -des lettres, un autre au commerce, et qu’enfin le troisième servît le -roi dans ses armées, car il est aujourd’hui fort difficile d’entrer dans -sa maison; et quoique le métier des armes n’enrichisse guère ceux qui -l’exercent, on y obtient du moins de la considération et de la gloire. -D’ici à huit jours vos parts seront prêtes, et je vous les donnerai en -argent comptant, sans vous faire tort d’un maravédis, comme il vous sera -aisé de le reconnaître. Dites maintenant quel est votre sentiment, et si -vous êtes disposés à suivre mon conseil. - -Mon père m’ayant ordonné de répondre le premier, comme étant l’aîné, je -le priai instamment de ne point se priver de son bien, lui disant qu’il -pouvait en faire tel usage qu’il lui plairait; que nous étions assez -jeunes pour en acquérir; j’ajoutai que du reste je lui obéirais, et que -mon désir était de suivre la profession des armes. Mon second frère -demanda à partir pour les Indes; le plus jeune, et je crois le mieux -avisé, dit qu’il souhaitait entrer dans l’Église, et aller à Salamanque -achever ses études. Après nous avoir entendus, notre père nous embrassa -tendrement; et dans le délai qu’il avait fixé, il remit à chacun de nous -sa part en argent, c’est-à-dire, si je m’en souviens bien, trois mille -ducats, un de nos oncles ayant acheté notre domaine afin qu’il ne sortît -point de la famille. - -Tout étant prêt pour notre départ, le même jour nous quittâmes tous -trois notre père; mais moi qui regrettais de le laisser avec si peu de -bien dans un âge si avancé, je l’obligeai, à force de prières, à -reprendre deux mille ducats sur ma part, lui faisant observer que le -reste était plus que suffisant pour un soldat. Mes frères, à mon -exemple, lui laissèrent chacun aussi mille ducats, outre ce qu’il -s’était réservé en fonds de terre. Nous prîmes ensuite congé de mon père -et de mon oncle, qui nous prodiguèrent toutes les marques de leur -affection, nous recommandant avec instance de leur donner souvent de nos -nouvelles. Nous le promîmes, et après avoir reçu leur baiser d’adieu et -leur bénédiction, l’un de nous prit le chemin de Salamanque, un autre -celui de Séville; quant à moi, je me dirigeai vers Alicante, où se -trouvait un bâtiment de commerce génois qui allait faire voile pour -l’Italie, et sur lequel je m’embarquai. Il peut y avoir vingt-deux ans -que j’ai quitté la maison de mon père; et pendant ce long intervalle, -bien que j’aie écrit plusieurs fois, je n’ai reçu aucune nouvelle ni de -lui ni de mes frères. - -Notre bâtiment arriva heureusement à Gênes; de là je me rendis à Milan, -où j’achetai des armes et un équipement de soldat, afin d’aller -m’enrôler dans les troupes piémontaises; mais, sur le chemin -d’Alexandrie, j’appris que le duc d’Albe passait en Flandre. Cette -nouvelle me fit changer de résolution, et j’allai prendre du service -sous ce grand capitaine. Je le suivis dans toutes les batailles qu’il -livra; je me trouvai à la mort des comtes de Horn et d’Egmont, et je -devins enseigne dans la compagnie de don Diego d’Urbina. J’étais en -Flandre depuis quelque temps, quand le bruit courut que le pape, -l’Espagne et la république de Venise s’étaient ligués contre le Turc, -qui venait d’enlever Chypre aux Vénitiens; que don Juan d’Autriche, -frère naturel de notre roi Philippe II, était général de la ligue, et -qu’on faisait de grands préparatifs pour cette guerre. Cette nouvelle me -donna un vif désir d’assister à la brillante campagne qui allait -s’ouvrir; et quoique je fusse presque certain d’avoir une compagnie à la -première occasion, je préférai renoncer à cette espérance, et revenir en -Italie. - -Ma bonne étoile voulut que j’arrivasse à Gênes en même temps que don -Juan d’Autriche y entrait avec sa flotte pour cingler ensuite vers -Naples, où il devait se réunir à celle de Venise, jonction qui eut lieu -plus tard à Messine. Bref, devenu capitaine d’infanterie, honorable -emploi que je dus à mon bonheur plutôt qu’à mon mérite, je me trouvai à -cette grande et mémorable journée de Lépante, qui désabusa la chrétienté -de l’opinion où l’on était alors que les Turcs étaient invincibles sur -mer. - -En ce jour où fut brisé l’orgueil ottoman, parmi tant d’heureux qu’il -fit, seul je fus malheureux. Au lieu de recevoir après la bataille, -comme au temps de Rome, une couronne navale, je me vis, la nuit -suivante, avec des fers aux pieds et des menottes aux mains. Voici -comment m’était arrivée cette cruelle disgrâce: Uchali, roi d’Alger et -hardi corsaire, ayant pris à l’abordage la galère capitane de Malte, où -il n’était resté que trois chevaliers tout couverts de blessures, le -bâtiment aux ordres de Jean-André Doria, sur lequel je servais avec ma -compagnie, s’avança pour le secourir; je sautai le premier à bord de la -galère; mais celle-ci s’étant éloignée avant qu’aucun de mes compagnons -pût me suivre, les Turcs me firent prisonnier après m’avoir blessé -grièvement. Uchali, comme vous le savez, ayant réussi à s’échapper avec -toute son escadre, je restai en son pouvoir, et dans la même journée qui -rendait la liberté à quinze mille chrétiens enchaînés sur les galères -turques, je devins esclave des barbares. - -Emmené à Constantinople, où mon maître fut fait général de la mer, en -récompense de sa belle conduite et pour avoir pris l’étendard de l’ordre -de Malte, je me trouvai à Navarin l’année suivante, ramant sur la -capitane appelée les _Trois-Fanaux_. Là, je pus remarquer comme quoi on -laissa échapper l’occasion de détruire toute la flotte turque pendant -qu’elle était à l’ancre, car les janissaires qui la montaient, ne -doutant point qu’on ne vînt les attaquer, se tenaient déjà prêts à -gagner la terre, sans vouloir attendre l’issue du combat, tant ils -étaient épouvantés depuis l’affaire de Lépante. Mais le ciel en ordonna -autrement; et il ne faut en accuser ni la conduite, ni la négligence du -général qui commandait les nôtres. En effet, Uchali se retira à Modon, -île voisine de Navarin; là, ayant mis ses troupes à terre, il fortifia -l’entrée du port, et y resta jusqu’à ce que don Juan se fût éloigné. - -Ce fut dans cette campagne que notre bâtiment, appelé la _Louve_, monté -par ce foudre de guerre, ce père des soldats, cet heureux et invincible -don Alvar de Bazan, marquis de Sainte-Croix, s’empara d’une galère que -commandait un des fils du fameux Barberousse. Vous serez sans doute bien -aise d’apprendre comment eut lieu ce fait de guerre. Ce fils de -Barberousse traitait ses esclaves avec tant de cruauté, et en était -tellement haï, que ceux qui ramaient sur sa galère, se voyant près -d’être atteints par la _Louve_, qui les poursuivait vivement, laissèrent -en même temps tomber leurs rames, et, saisissant leur chef, qui criait -du gaillard d’arrière de ramer avec plus de vigueur, le firent passer de -banc en banc, de la poupe à la proue et en lui donnant tant de coups de -dents, qu’avant qu’il eût atteint le grand mât son âme était dans les -enfers. - -De retour à Constantinople, nous y apprîmes que notre général don Juan -d’Autriche, après avoir emporté d’assaut Tunis, l’avait donné à -Muley-Hamet, ôtant ainsi l’espérance d’y rentrer à Muley-Hamida, le More -le plus vaillant mais le plus cruel qui fût jamais. Le Grand Turc -ressentit vivement cette perte; aussi avec la sagacité qui caractérise -la race ottomane, il s’empressa de conclure la paix avec les Vénitiens, -qui la souhaitaient non moins ardemment; puis, l’année suivante, il -ordonna de mettre le siége devant la Goulette et devant le fort que don -Juan avait commencé à faire élever auprès de Tunis. - -Pendant ces événements, j’étais toujours à la chaîne, sans aucun espoir -de recouvrer ma liberté, du moins par rançon, car je ne voulais pas -donner connaissance à mon père de ma triste situation. Bientôt on sut -que la Goulette avait capitulé, puis le fort, assiégés qu’ils étaient -par soixante mille Turcs réguliers, et par plus de quatre cent mille -Mores et Arabes accourus de tous les points de l’Afrique. La Goulette, -réputée jusqu’alors imprenable, succomba la première malgré son -opiniâtre résistance. On a prétendu que ç’avait été une grande faute de -s’y enfermer au lieu d’empêcher la descente des ennemis; mais ceux qui -parlent ainsi font voir qu’ils n’ont guère l’expérience de la guerre. -Comment sept mille hommes, tout au plus, qu’il y avait dans la Goulette -et dans le fort, auraient-ils pu se partager pour garder ces deux -places, et tenir en même temps la campagne contre une armée si -nombreuse? et d’ailleurs où est la place, si forte soit-elle, qui ne -finisse par capituler si elle n’est point secourue à temps, surtout -quand elle est attaquée par une foule immense et opiniâtre, qui combat -dans son pays? - -Pour moi, je pense avec beaucoup d’autres que la chute de la Goulette -fut un bonheur pour l’Espagne; car ce n’était qu’un repaire de bandits, -qui coûtait beaucoup à entretenir et à défendre sans servir à rien qu’à -perpétuer la mémoire de Charles-Quint, comme si ce grand prince avait -besoin de cette masse de pierres pour éterniser son nom. Quant au fort, -il coûta cher aux Turcs, qui perdirent plus de vingt-cinq mille hommes -en vingt-deux assauts, où les assiégés firent une si opiniâtre -résistance et déployèrent une si grande valeur, que des treize cents qui -restèrent aucun n’était sans blessures. - -Un petit fort, construit au milieu du lac, et où s’était enfermé, avec -une poignée d’hommes, don Juan Zanoguera, brave capitaine valencien, fut -contraint de capituler. Il en fut de même du commandant de la Goulette, -don Pedro Puerto-Carrero, qui, après s’être distingué par la défense de -cette place, mourut de chagrin sur la route de Constantinople, où on le -conduisait. Gabriel Cerbellon, excellent ingénieur milanais et -très-vaillant soldat, resta aussi prisonnier. Enfin, il périt dans ces -deux siéges un grand nombre de gens de marque, parmi lesquels il faut -citer Pagano Doria, chevalier de l’ordre de Saint-Jean, homme généreux -comme le montra l’extrême libéralité dont il usa envers son frère, le -fameux Jean-André Doria. Ce qui rendit sa mort encore plus déplorable, -c’est que, voyant le fort perdu sans ressource, il crut pouvoir se -confier à des Arabes qui s’étaient offerts à le conduire sous un habit -moresque à Tabarca, petit port pour la pêche du corail que possèdent les -Génois, sur ce rivage. Mais ces Arabes lui coupèrent la tête, et la -portèrent au chef de la flotte turque; celui-ci les récompensa suivant -le proverbe castillan: _La trahison plaît, mais non le traître_; car -il les fit pendre tous pour ne pas lui avoir amené Doria vivant. - -Parmi les prisonniers se trouvait aussi un certain don Pedro d’Aguilar, -de je ne sais plus quel endroit de l’Andalousie; c’était un homme d’une -grande bravoure, qui avait été enseigne dans le fort: militaire -distingué; il possédait de plus un goût singulier pour la poésie; il fut -mis sur la même galère que moi, et devint esclave du même maître. Avant -de partir, il composa, pour servir d’épitaphe à la Goulette et au fort, -deux sonnets que je vais vous réciter, si je m’en souviens; je suis -certain qu’ils vous feront plaisir. - -En entendant prononcer le nom de Pedro d’Aguilar, don Fernand regarda -ses compagnons, et tous trois se mirent à sourire. Comme le captif -allait continuer: - -Avant de passer outre, lui dit un des cavaliers, veuillez m’instruire de -ce qu’est devenu ce Pedro d’Aguilar. - -Tout ce que je sais, répondit le captif, c’est qu’après deux ans -d’esclavage à Constantinople il s’enfuit un jour en habit d’Arnaute avec -un espion grec: j’ignore s’il parvint à recouvrer la liberté; mais un -an plus tard, je vis le Grec à Constantinople, sans jamais trouver -l’occasion de lui demander des nouvelles de leur évasion. - -Je puis vous en donner, repartit le cavalier; ce don Pedro est mon -frère; il est maintenant dans son pays en bonne santé, richement marié, -et il a trois enfants. - -Dieu soit loué! dit le captif; car, selon moi, le plus grand des biens, -c’est de recouvrer la liberté. - -J’ai retenu aussi les sonnets que fit mon frère, reprit le cavalier. - -Vous me ferez plaisir de nous les réciter, répondit le captif, et vous -vous en acquitterez mieux que moi. - -Volontiers, dit le cavalier. Voici celui de la Goulette: - -CHAPITRE XL - -OU SE CONTINUE L’HISTOIRE DU CAPTIF - - SONNET - - Esprits qui, dégagés des entraves du corps, - Jouissez maintenant de cette paix profonde - Que jamais les mortels ne goûtent dans le monde, - Ce digne et juste prix de vos nobles efforts, - - Vous avez su montrer par d’illustres transports - Qu’un zèle ardent et saint rend la valeur féconde, - Lorsque de votre sang teignant à peine l’onde, - Vous fîtes des vainqueurs des montagnes de morts. - - Vous manquâtes de vie et non pas de courage, - Et vos corps épuisés après tant de carnage, - Tombèrent invaincus, les armes à la main. - - O valeur immortelle! une seule journée - Te fait vivre ici-bas à jamais couronnée, - Et le maître du ciel te couronne en son sein. - -Je me le rappelle bien, dit le captif. - -Quant à celui qui fut fait pour le fort, si j’ai bonne mémoire, il était -ainsi conçu, reprit le cavalier: - - Tous ces murs écroulés dans ces plaines stériles, - Sont le noble théâtre où trois mille soldats, - Pour renaître bientôt en des lieux plus paisibles, - Souffrirent par le fer un illustre trépas. - - Après avoir rendu leurs remparts inutiles, - Ces cruels ennemis ne les vainquirent pas; - Mais leurs corps épuisés, languissants et débiles, - Cédèrent sous l’effort d’un million de bras. - - C’est là ce lieu fatal où, depuis tant d’années, - Par les sévères lois des saintes destinées, - On moissonne en mourant la gloire et les lauriers. - - Mais jamais cette terre, en prodiges féconde, - N’a nourri pour le ciel, ou fait voir dans le monde, - Ni de plus saints martyrs, ni de plus grands guerriers[52]. - - [52] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Les sonnets ne furent pas trouvés mauvais, et le captif, après s’être -réjoui des bonnes nouvelles qu’on lui donnait de son ancien compagnon -d’infortune, continua son histoire: Les Turcs firent démanteler la -Goulette, et pour en venir plus promptement à bout, ils la minèrent de -trois côtés; mais jamais ils ne purent parvenir à renverser les vieilles -murailles, qui semblaient les plus faciles à détruire; tout ce qui -restait de la nouvelle fortification tomba au contraire en un instant. -Quant au fort, il était dans un tel état, qu’il ne fut pas besoin de le -ruiner davantage. Bref, l’armée retourna triomphante à Constantinople, -où Uchali mourut peu de temps après. On l’avait surnommé FARTAX, ce qui -en langue turque veut dire TEIGNEUX, car il l’était effectivement. Les -Turcs ont coutume de donner aux gens des sobriquets tirés de leurs -qualités ou de leurs défauts: comme ils ne possèdent que quatre noms, -ceux des quatre familles de la race ottomane, ils sont obligés pour se -distinguer entre eux d’emprunter des désignations provenant soit de -quelque qualité morale soit de quelque défaut corporel. - -Cet Uchali avait commencé par être forçat sur les galères du Grand -Seigneur, dont il resta l’esclave pendant quatorze années. A -trente-quatre ans, il se fit renégat pour devenir libre et se venger -d’un Turc qui lui avait donné un soufflet. Dans la première rencontre, -il se distingua tellement par sa valeur, que, sans passer par les -emplois subalternes, ce dont les favoris même du Grand Seigneur ne sont -pas exempts, il devint dey d’Alger, puis général de la mer, ce qui est -la troisième charge de l’empire. Il était Calabrais de nation, et, à sa -religion près, homme de bien et assez humain pour ses esclaves, dont le -nombre s’élevait à plus de trois mille. Uchali mort, ses esclaves furent -partagés entre le Grand Seigneur, qui d’ordinaire hérite de ses sujets, -et les renégats attachés à sa personne. Quant à moi, j’échus en partage -à un renégat vénitien, qui avait été mousse sur un navire tombé au -pouvoir d’Uchali, lequel conçut pour lui une si grande affection qu’il -en avait fait un de ses plus chers confidents. Il s’appelait Azanaga. -Devenu extrêmement riche, il fut fait plus tard dey d’Alger. Mais -c’était un des hommes les plus cruels qu’on ait jamais vus. - -Conduit dans cette ville avec mes compagnons d’esclavage, j’eus une -grande joie de me sentir rapproché de l’Espagne, persuadé que je -trouverais à Alger, plutôt qu’à Constantinople, quelque moyen de -recouvrer ma liberté; car je ne perdais point l’espérance, et quand ce -que j’avais projeté ne réussissait pas, je cherchais à m’en consoler en -rêvant à d’autres moyens. Je passais ainsi ma vie, dans une prison que -les Turcs appellent _bagne_, où ils renferment tous leurs esclaves, ceux -qui appartiennent au dey, ceux des particuliers, et ceux appelés -esclaves de l’_almacen_, comme on dirait en Espagne de l’_ayuntamiento_; -ils sont tous employés aux travaux publics. Ces derniers ont bien de la -peine à recouvrer leur liberté, parce qu’étant à tout le monde, et -n’appartenant à aucun maître, ils ne savent à qui s’adresser pour -traiter de leur rançon. Quant aux esclaves dits _de rachat_, on les -place dans ces bagnes jusqu’à ce que leur rançon soit venue. Là ils ne -sont employés à aucun travail, si ce n’est quand l’argent se fait trop -attendre; car alors on les envoie au bois avec les autres, travail -extrêmement pénible. Dès qu’on sut que j’étais capitaine, ce fut -inutilement que je me fis pauvre: je fus regardé comme un homme -considérable, et on me mit au nombre des esclaves de rachat, avec une -chaîne qui faisait voir que je traitais de ma liberté plutôt qu’elle -n’était une marque de servitude. - -Je demeurai ainsi quelque temps dans ce bagne, avec d’autres esclaves -qui n’étaient pas retenus plus étroitement que moi; et bien que nous -fussions souvent pressés par la faim, et que nous subissions une foule -d’autres misères, rien ne nous affligeait tant que les cruautés -qu’Azanaga exerçait à toute heure sur nos malheureux compagnons. Il ne -se passait pas de jour qu’il ne fît pendre ou empaler quelques-uns -d’entre eux; le moindre supplice consistait à leur couper les oreilles, -et pour des motifs si légers, qu’au dire même des Turcs il n’agissait -ainsi qu’afin de satisfaire son instinct cruel et sanguinaire. - -Un soldat espagnol, nommé Saavedra, trouva seul le moyen et eut le -courage de braver cette humeur barbare. Quoique, pour recouvrer sa -liberté, il eût fait des tentatives si prodigieuses que les Turcs en -parlent encore aujourd’hui, et que, chaque jour, nous fussions dans la -crainte de le voir empalé, que lui-même enfin le craignît plus d’une -fois, jamais son maître ne le fit battre ni jamais il ne lui adressa le -moindre reproche. Si j’en avais le temps, je vous raconterais de ce -Saavedra des choses qui vous intéresseraient beaucoup plus que mes -propres aventures; mais, je le répète, cela m’entraînerait trop loin. - -Sur la cour de notre prison donnaient les fenêtres de l’habitation d’un -riche More; selon l’usage du pays, ce sont plutôt des lucarnes que des -fenêtres, encore sont-elles protégées par des jalousies épaisses et -serrées. Un jour que j’étais monté sur une terrasse où, pour tuer le -temps, je m’exerçais à sauter avec trois de mes compagnons, les autres -ayant été envoyés au travail, je vis tout à coup sortir d’une de ces -lucarnes un mouchoir attaché au bout d’une canne de jonc. Au mouvement -de cette canne, qui semblait être un appel, un de mes compagnons -s’avança pour la prendre; mais on la retira sur-le-champ. Celui-ci à -peine éloigné, la canne reparut aussitôt; un autre voulut recommencer -l’épreuve, mais ce fut en vain; le troisième ne fut pas plus heureux. -Enfin je voulus éprouver la fortune à mon tour, et dès que je fus sous -la fenêtre, la canne tomba à mes pieds. Je m’empressai de dénouer le -mouchoir, et j’y trouvai dix petites pièces valant environ dix de nos -réaux. Vous jugez de ma joie en recevant ce secours dans la détresse où -nous étions, joie d’autant plus grande que le bienfait s’adressait à moi -seul. - -Je revins sur la terrasse, et regardant du côté de la fenêtre, j’aperçus -une main très-blanche qui la fermait; ce qui me fit penser que nous -devions à une femme cette libéralité. Nous la remerciâmes à la manière -des Turcs, en inclinant la tête et le corps, et en croisant les bras sur -la poitrine. Au bout de quelque temps, nous vîmes paraître à la même -lucarne une petite croix de roseau qu’on retira aussitôt. Cela nous -donna à croire que c’était une esclave chrétienne qui nous voulait du -bien; néanmoins, d’après la blancheur du bras, et aussi d’après le -bracelet que nous avions distingué, nous pensâmes que c’était plutôt une -chrétienne renégate que son maître avait épousée, les Mores préférant -ces femmes à celles de leur propre pays; mais nous nous trompions dans -nos diverses conjectures, comme vous le verrez par la suite. - -Depuis ce moment, nous avions sans cesse les yeux attachés sur la -fenêtre d’où nous avions reçu une si agréable assistance. Quinze jours -se passèrent sans qu’on l’ouvrît, et, malgré les peines que nous nous -donnâmes pour savoir s’il se trouvait dans cette maison quelque -chrétienne renégate, nous ne pûmes rien découvrir, si ce n’est que la -maison appartenait à Agimorato, homme considérable, ancien caïd du fort -de Bata, emploi des plus importants chez les Mores. - -Un jour que nous étions encore tous les quatre seuls dans le bagne, -nous aperçûmes de nouveau la canne et le mouchoir: nous répétâmes la -même épreuve, et toujours avec le même résultat; la canne ne se rendit -qu’à moi, et je trouvai dans le mouchoir quarante écus d’or d’Espagne, -avec une lettre écrite en arabe et une grande croix au bas. Je baisai la -croix, je pris les écus, et nous retournâmes sur la terrasse pour faire -notre remercîment ordinaire. Lorsque j’eus fait connaître par signe que -je lirais le papier, la main disparut et la fenêtre se referma. - -Cette bonne fortune, dans le triste état où nous étions, nous donna une -joie extrême et de grandes espérances; mais aucun de nous n’entendait -l’arabe, et nous étions fort embarrassés de savoir le contenu de la -lettre, craignant, en nous adressant mal, de compromettre notre -bienfaitrice avec nous. Enfin le désir de savoir pourquoi on m’avait -choisi plutôt que mes compagnons, m’engagea à me confier à un renégat de -Murcie qui me témoignait de l’amitié. Je m’ouvris à cet homme après -avoir pris toutes les précautions possibles pour l’engager au secret, -c’est-à-dire en lui donnant une attestation qu’il avait toujours servi -et assisté les chrétiens, et que son dessein était de s’enfuir dès qu’il -en trouverait l’occasion; les renégats se munissent de ces certificats -par précaution. Je vous dirai à ce sujet que les uns en usent de bonne -foi, mais que d’autres agissent seulement par ruse. Lorsqu’ils vont -faire la course en mer, si par hasard ils tombent entre les mains des -chrétiens, ils se tirent d’affaire au moyen de ces certificats qui -tendent à prouver que leur intention était de retourner dans leur pays. -Ils évitent ainsi la mort en feignant de se réconcilier avec la religion -chrétienne, et sous le voile d’une abjuration simulée, ils vivent en -liberté sans qu’on les inquiète; mais le plus souvent, à la première -occasion favorable, ils repassent en Barbarie. - -Le renégat auquel je m’étais confié avait une attestation semblable de -tous mes compagnons d’infortune; et si les Mores l’avaient soupçonné, il -aurait été brûlé vif. Après avoir pris mes précautions avec lui, et -sachant qu’il parlait l’arabe, je le priai, sans m’expliquer davantage, -de me lire ce billet que je disais avoir trouvé dans un coin de ma -prison. Il l’ouvrit, l’examina quelque temps, et après l’avoir lu deux -ou trois fois, il me pria, si je voulais en avoir l’explication, de lui -procurer de l’encre et du papier; ce que je fis. L’ayant traduit -sur-le-champ: voici me dit-il, ce que signifie cet écrit, sans qu’il y -manque un seul mot; je vous avertis seulement que _Lela Marien_ veut -dire vierge Marie, et _Allah_, Dieu. - -Tel était le contenu de cette lettre, qui ne sortira jamais de ma -mémoire: - - «Lorsque j’étais enfant, une femme, esclave de mon père, m’apprit en - notre langue la prière des chrétiens, et me dit plusieurs choses de - _Lela Marien_. Cette esclave mourut, et je sais qu’elle n’alla point - dans le feu éternel, mais avec Dieu; car, depuis qu’elle est morte, je - l’ai revue deux fois, et toujours elle m’a recommandé d’aller chez - les chrétiens voir _Lela Marien_, qui m’aime beaucoup. De cette - fenêtre, j’ai aperçu bien des chrétiens; mais je dois l’avouer, toi - seul parmi eux m’a paru gentilhomme. Je suis jeune et assez belle, et - j’ai beaucoup d’argent que j’emporterai avec moi: vois si tu veux - entreprendre de m’emmener. Il ne tiendra qu’à toi que je sois ta - femme; si tu ne le veux pas, je n’en suis point en peine, parce que - _Lela Marien_ saura me donner un mari. Comme c’est moi qui ai écrit - cette lettre, je voudrais pouvoir t’avertir de ne te fier à aucun - More, parce qu’ils sont tous traîtres. Aussi cela me cause beaucoup - d’inquiétude; car si mon père vient à en avoir connaissance, je suis - perdue. Il y a au bout de la canne un fil auquel tu attacheras ta - réponse; si tu ne trouves personne qui sache écrire en arabe, - explique-moi par signes ce que tu auras à me dire. _Lela Marien_ me le - fera comprendre. Je te recommande à Dieu et à elle, et encore à cette - croix que je baise souvent, comme l’esclave m’a recommandé de le - faire.» - -Il serait difficile, continua le captif, de vous exprimer combien cette -lettre nous causa de joie et d’admiration. Le renégat, qui ne pouvait se -persuader qu’elle eût été trouvée par hasard, mais qui croyait au -contraire qu’elle s’adressait à l’un de nous, nous pria de lui dire la -vérité, et de nous fier entièrement à lui, résolu qu’il était de -hasarder sa vie pour notre liberté. En parlant ainsi, il tira de son -sein un petit crucifix, et, versant des larmes abondantes, il jura, par -le Dieu dont il montrait l’image et en qui il croyait de tout son cœur -malgré son infidélité, de garder un secret inviolable; ajoutant qu’il -voyait bien que nous pouvions tous recouvrer la liberté par le secours -de celle qui nous écrivait, et qu’ainsi il aurait la consolation de -rentrer dans le sein du christianisme, dont il s’était malheureusement -séparé. Cet homme manifestait un tel repentir, que nous n’hésitâmes plus -à lui découvrir la vérité, et même à lui montrer la fenêtre d’où nous -était venu tant de bonheur. Il promit d’employer toute son adresse pour -savoir qui habitait cette maison; puis il écrivit en arabe ma réponse à -la lettre. - -En voici les propres termes, je les ai très-bien retenus, comme tout ce -qui m’est arrivé dans mon esclavage: - - «Le véritable _Allah_ vous conserve, madame, et la bienheureuse _Lela - Marien_, la mère de notre Sauveur, qui vous a mis au cœur le désir - d’aller chez les chrétiens parce qu’elle vous aime! Priez-la qu’il lui - plaise de conduire le dessein qu’elle vous a inspiré; elle est si - bonne qu’elle ne vous repoussera pas. Je vous promets de ma part, et - au nom de mes compagnons, de faire, au risque de la vie, tout ce qui - dépendra de nous pour votre service. Ne craignez point de m’écrire, et - donnez-moi avis de tout ce que vous aurez résolu: j’aurai soin de vous - faire réponse. Nous avons ici un esclave chrétien qui sait écrire en - arabe, comme vous le verrez par cette lettre. Quant à l’offre que vous - me faites d’être ma femme quand nous serons chez les chrétiens, je la - reçois de grand cœur et avec une joie extrême; et dès à présent je - vous donne ma parole d’être votre mari: vous savez que les chrétiens - tiennent mieux leurs promesses que les Mores. Le véritable _Allah_ et - _Lela Marien_ vous conservent!» - -Ce billet écrit et fermé, j’attendis deux jours que le bagne fût vide -pour retourner, comme à l’ordinaire, sur la terrasse. Je n’y fus pas -longtemps sans voir la canne, et j’y attachai ma réponse. Elle reparut -peu après, et cette fois le mouchoir tomba à mes pieds avec plus de -cinquante écus d’or, ce qui redoubla notre allégresse et nos espérances. -La nuit suivante le renégat vint nous apprendre que cette maison était -celle d’Agimorato, un des plus riches Mores d’Alger, qui n’avait, -disait-on, pour héritière qu’une seule fille, et la plus belle personne -de toute la Barbarie. Cette fille, ajouta-t-il, avait eu pour esclave -une chrétienne morte depuis peu: ce qui s’accordait avec ce qu’elle -avait écrit. Nous nous consultâmes avec le renégat sur les moyens -d’emmener la belle Moresque et de revenir tous en pays chrétiens; mais -avant de rien conclure, nous résolûmes d’attendre encore une fois des -nouvelles de Zoraïde (ainsi s’appelle celle qui souhaite si ardemment -d’être nommée Marie). Le renégat nous voyant déterminés à fuir, nous dit -de le laisser agir seul, qu’il réussirait ou qu’il y perdrait la vie. Le -bagne étant resté pendant quatre jours plein de monde, nous fûmes tout -ce temps sans voir reparaître la canne: mais le cinquième jour, comme -nous étions seuls, elle se montra de nouveau avec un mouchoir beaucoup -plus lourd que les deux précédents: on l’abaissa comme à l’ordinaire, -pour moi seulement, et je trouvai cent écus d’or, avec une lettre que -nous allâmes faire lire au renégat. Voici ce qu’elle contenait: - - «Je ne sais comment nous ferons pour gagner l’Espagne; _Lela Marien_ - ne me l’a point dit, quoique je l’en ai bien priée. Tout ce que je - puis faire, c’est de te donner beaucoup d’or, dont tu te rachèteras - ainsi que tes compagnons, et l’un d’eux ira chez les chrétiens acheter - une barque, avec laquelle il reviendra chercher les autres. Quant à - moi, tu sauras que je vais passer le printemps avec mon père et nos - esclaves dans un jardin au bord de la mer, près de la porte Babazoun; - là, tu pourras venir me prendre une nuit, et me conduire à la barque - sans rien craindre. Mais souviens-toi, chrétien, que tu m’as promis - d’être mon mari; si tu manques à ta parole, je prierai _Lela Marien_ - de te punir. Si tu ne veux te confier à personne pour acheter la - barque, vas-y toi-même: car je ne doute pas que tu ne reviennes, - puisque tu es gentilhomme et chrétien. Fais aussi en sorte de savoir - où est notre jardin. En attendant que tout soit prêt, promène-toi dans - la cour du bagne quand il sera vide, et je te donnerai autant d’or que - tu en voudras. Allah te garde, chrétien!» - -Après la lecture de cette lettre, chacun s’offrit pour aller acheter la -barque. Mais le renégat jura qu’aucun de nous ne sortirait de captivité -sans être suivi de ses compagnons, sachant, dit-il, par expérience, -qu’on ne garde pas très-scrupuleusement les paroles données dans les -fers, et que déjà plusieurs fois des esclaves riches qui en avaient -racheté d’autres pour les envoyer à Majorque ou à Valence fréter un -esquif, avaient été trompés dans leur attente; aucun n’avait reparu, la -liberté étant un si grand bien que la crainte de la perdre encore -effaçait souvent dans les cœurs tout sentiment de reconnaissance. -Donnez-moi, ajouta-t-il, l’argent que vous destinez à la rançon de l’un -de vous, j’achèterai une barque à Alger même, en disant que mon -intention est de trafiquer à Tétouan et sur les côtes; après quoi, sans -éveiller les soupçons, je me mettrai en mesure de nous sauver tous. Cela -sera d’autant plus facile, que si la Moresque vous donne autant d’argent -qu’elle l’a promis, vous pourrez facilement vous racheter, et même vous -embarquer en plein jour. Je ne vois à cela qu’une difficulté, -continua-t-il, c’est que les Mores ne permettent pas aux renégats -d’avoir de grands bâtiments pour faire la course, parce qu’ils savent, -surtout quand c’est un Espagnol, qu’il n’achète un navire que pour -s’enfuir. Il faudrait donc m’associer avec un More de Tanger pour -l’achat de la barque et la vente des marchandises; plus tard je saurai -bien m’en rendre maître, et alors j’achèverai le reste. - -Tout en pensant, mes compagnons et moi, qu’il était beaucoup plus sûr -d’envoyer acheter une barque à Majorque, comme nous le mandait Zoraïde, -nous n’osâmes point contredire le renégat, dans la crainte de l’irriter, -et qu’en allant révéler notre intelligence avec la jeune fille, il ne -compromît une existence qui nous était bien plus chère que la nôtre. -Nous mîmes donc le tout entre les mains de Dieu, et pour témoigner une -confiance entière au renégat, je le priai d’écrire à Zoraïde que nous -suivrions son conseil, car il semblait que _Lela Marien_ l’eût -inspirée; je réitérai ma parole d’être son mari, lui disant que -désormais cela ne dépendait plus que d’elle. - -Le lendemain, le bagne se trouvant vide, Zoraïde nous donna en plusieurs -fois mille écus d’or, nous prévenant en même temps que le vendredi -suivant elle quitterait la ville; qu’avant de partir elle nous -fournirait autant d’argent que nous pourrions en souhaiter, puisqu’elle -était maîtresse absolue des richesses de son père. Je remis aussitôt -cinq cents écus au renégat pour acheter une barque, et j’en déposais -huit cents autres entre les mains d’un marchand valencien, qui me -racheta sur sa parole, et sous promesse de faire compter l’argent par le -premier vaisseau qui arriverait de Valence. Il ne voulut pas payer ma -rançon sur-le-champ, dans la crainte qu’on ne le soupçonnât d’avoir -cette somme depuis longtemps; car Azanaga était un homme rusé, dont il -fallait toujours se défier. Le jeudi suivant, Zoraïde nous donna encore -mille écus d’or, en nous prévenant qu’elle se rendrait le lendemain au -jardin de son père; elle me recommandait de me faire indiquer sa -demeure, dès que je serais racheté, et de mettre tout en œuvre pour -arriver à lui parler. Je traitai de la rançon de mes compagnons, afin -qu’ils eussent aussi la liberté de sortir du bagne, parce que, me voyant -seul libre, tandis que je possédais les moyens de les racheter tous -trois, j’aurais craint que le désespoir ne les poussât à quelque -résolution fatale à Zoraïde. Je les connaissais assez pour me fier à -eux; mais parmi tant de maux qui accompagnent l’esclavage, on conserve -difficilement la mémoire des bienfaits, et de longues souffrances -rendent un homme capable de tout; en un mot, je ne voulais rien -commettre au hasard sans une nécessité absolue. Je consignai donc entre -les mains du marchand l’argent nécessaire pour nous cautionner tous, -mais je ne lui découvris rien de notre dessein. - -CHAPITRE XLI - -OU LE CAPTIF TERMINE SON HISTOIRE - -Quinze jours à peine s’étaient écoulés, que le renégat avait acheté une -barque pouvant contenir trente personnes. Pour prévenir tout soupçon et -mieux cacher son dessein, il fit d’abord seul un voyage à Sargel, port -distant de vingt lieues d’Alger, du côté d’Oran, où il se fait un grand -commerce de figues sèches. Il y retourna encore deux ou trois fois avec -le More qu’il s’était associé. Dans chacun de ses voyages, il avait -soin, en passant, de jeter l’ancre dans une petite cale située à une -portée de mousquet du jardin d’Agimorato. Là il s’exerçait avec ses -rameurs à faire la _zala_, qui est un exercice de mer, et à essayer, -comme en jouant, ce qu’il voulait bientôt exécuter en réalité. Il allait -même au jardin de Zoraïde demander du fruit, qu’Agimorato lui donnait -volontiers quoiqu’il ne le connût point. Son intention, m’a-t-il dit -depuis, était de parler à Zoraïde, et de lui apprendre que c’était de -lui que j’avais fait choix pour l’enlever et l’emmener en Espagne; mais -il n’en put trouver l’occasion, les femmes du pays ne se laissant voir -ni aux Mores ni aux Turcs. Quant aux esclaves chrétiens, c’est autre -chose, et elles ne les accueillent même que trop librement. J’aurais -beaucoup regretté que le renégat eût parlé à Zoraïde, qui sans doute -aurait pris l’alarme en voyant son secret confié à la langue d’un -renégat; mais Dieu ordonna les choses d’une autre façon. - -Quand le renégat vit qu’il lui était facile d’aller et de venir le long -des côtes, de mouiller où bon lui semblait, que le More, son associé, se -fiait entièrement à lui, et que je m’étais racheté, il me déclara qu’il -n’y avait plus qu’à chercher des rameurs, et à choisir promptement ceux -d’entre mes compagnons que je voulais emmener, afin qu’ils fussent prêts -le vendredi suivant, jour fixé par lui pour notre départ. Je m’assurai -de douze Espagnols bons rameurs, parmi ceux qui pouvaient le plus -librement sortir de la ville. Ce fut hasard d’en trouver un si grand -nombre, dans un moment où il y avait à la mer plus de vingt galères, sur -lesquelles ils étaient presque tous embarqués. Heureusement leur maître -n’allait point en course en ce moment, occupé qu’il était d’un navire -alors en construction sur les chantiers. Je ne recommandai rien autre -chose à mes Espagnols, sinon le vendredi suivant de sortir le soir l’un -après l’autre, et d’aller m’attendre auprès du jardin d’Agimorato, les -avertissant, si d’autres chrétiens se trouvaient là, de leur dire que je -leur en avais donné l’ordre. Restait encore à prévenir Zoraïde de se -tenir prête et de ne point s’effrayer en se voyant enlever avant d’être -instruite que nous avions une barque. - -En conséquence, je résolus donc de faire tous mes efforts pour lui -parler, et deux jours avant notre départ j’allai dans son jardin sous -prétexte de cueillir des herbes. La première personne que j’y rencontrai -fut son père, lequel me demanda en _langue franque_, langage usité dans -toute la Barbarie, ce que je voulais et à qui j’appartenais. Je répondis -qu’étant esclave d’Arnaute Mami, et sachant que mon maître était de ses -meilleurs amis, je venais cueillir de la salade. Il me demanda si -j’avais traité de ma rançon, et combien mon maître exigeait. Pendant ces -questions et ces réponses, la belle Zoraïde, qui m’avait aperçu, entra -dans le jardin; et, comme je l’ai déjà dit, les femmes mores se montrant -volontiers aux chrétiens, elle vint trouver son père, qui, en -l’apercevant, l’avait appelée lui-même. - -Vous peindre mon émotion en la voyant s’approcher est impossible: elle -me parut si séduisante que j’en fus ébloui, et quand je vins à comparer -cette merveilleuse beauté et sa riche parure avec le misérable état où -j’étais, je ne pouvais m’imaginer que ce fût moi qu’elle choisissait -pour son mari, et qu’elle voulût suivre ma fortune. Elle portait sur la -poitrine, aux oreilles, et dans sa coiffure, une très-grande quantité de -perles, et les plus belles que j’aie vues de ma vie; ses pieds, nus à la -manière du pays, entraient dans des espèces de brodequins d’or; ses bras -étaient ornés de bracelets en diamants qui valaient plus de vingt mille -ducats; sans compter les perles qui ne valaient pas moins que le reste. -Comme les perles sont la principale parure des Moresques, elles en ont -plus que les femmes d’aucune autre nation. Le père de Zoraïde passait -pour posséder les plus belles perles de tout le pays, et en outre plus -de deux cent mille écus d’or d’Espagne, dont il lui laissait la libre -disposition. Jugez, seigneurs, par les restes de beauté que Zoraïde a -conservés après tant de souffrances, ce qu’elle était avec une parure si -éclatante et un cœur libre d’inquiétude. Pour moi, je la trouvai plus -belle encore qu’elle n’était richement parée; et, le cœur plein de -reconnaissance, je la regardais comme une divinité descendue du ciel -pour me charmer et me sauver tout ensemble. - -Dès qu’elle nous eut rejoint, son père lui dit dans son langage que -j’étais un esclave d’Arnaute Mami, et que je venais chercher de la -salade; se tournant alors de mon côté, elle me demanda dans cette langue -dont je vous ai déjà parlé, pourquoi je ne me rachetais point. Madame, -je me suis racheté, lui dis-je, et mon maître m’estimait assez pour -mettre ma liberté au prix de quinze cents sultanins. En vérité, repartit -Zoraïde, si tu avais appartenu à mon père, je n’aurais pas consenti -qu’il t’eût laissé partir pour deux fois autant; car, vous autres -chrétiens, vous mentez en tout ce que vous dites, et vous vous faites -pauvres pour nous tromper. Peut-être bien y en a-t-il qui ne s’en font -pas scrupule, répondis-je; mais j’ai traité de bonne foi avec mon -maître, et je traiterai toujours de même avec qui que ce soit au monde. -Et quand t’en vas-tu? demanda Zoraïde. Je pense que ce sera demain, -madame, répondis-je; il y a au port un vaisseau français prêt à mettre à -la voile, et je veux profiter de l’occasion. Et ne serait-il pas mieux, -dit Zoraïde, d’attendre un vaisseau espagnol plutôt que de t’en aller -avec des Français, qui sont ennemis de ta nation? Madame, répondis-je, -quoiqu’il puisse arriver bientôt, dit-on, un navire d’Espagne, j’ai si -grande envie de revoir ma famille et mon pays, que je ne puis me -résoudre à retarder mon départ. Tu es sans doute marié, dit Zoraïde, et -tu souhaites de revoir ta femme? Je ne le suis pas, madame, mais j’ai -donné ma parole de l’être aussitôt que je serai dans mon pays. Et celle -à qui tu as donné ta parole est-elle belle? demanda Zoraïde. Elle est si -belle, répondis-je, que pour en donner une idée, je dois dire qu’elle -vous ressemble. Cette réponse fit sourire Agimorato: Par Allah, -chrétien, me dit-il, tu n’es pas à plaindre si ta maîtresse ressemble à -ma fille, qui n’a point sa pareille dans tout Alger; regarde-la bien, et -vois si je dis vrai. Le père de Zoraïde nous servait comme d’interprète -dans cette conversation; car, pour elle, quoiqu’elle entendît assez bien -la _langue franque_, elle s’expliquait beaucoup plus par signes -qu’autrement. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un More, ayant aperçu quatre Turcs franchissant les -murailles du jardin pour cueillir du fruit, vint, en courant, donner -l’alarme. Agimorato se troubla, car les Mores redoutent extrêmement les -Turcs, et surtout les soldats, qui les traitent avec beaucoup -d’insolence. Rentre dans la maison, ma fille, dit Agimorato, et restes-y -jusqu’à ce que j’aie parlé à ces chiens. Toi, chrétien, ajouta-t-il, -prends de la salade autant que tu voudras, et que Dieu te conduise en -santé dans ton pays. Je m’inclinai, en signe de remercîment, et -Agimorato s’en fut au-devant de ces Turcs, me laissant seul avec -Zoraïde, qui fit alors semblant de se conformer à l’ordre de son père. -Mais dès qu’elle le vit assez éloigné, elle revint sur ses pas, et me -dit les yeux pleins de larmes: _Amexi, christiano, amexi?_ ce qui veut -dire: Tu t’en vas donc, chrétien, tu t’en vas? Oui, madame, répondis-je; -mais je ne m’en irai point sans vous. Tout est prêt pour vendredi; -comptez sur moi: je vous donne ma parole de vous emmener chez les -chrétiens. J’avais dit ce peu de mots de manière à me faire comprendre; -alors, appuyant sa main sur mon épaule, elle se dirigea d’un pas -tremblant vers la maison. - -Tandis que nous marchions ainsi, nous aperçûmes Agimorato qui revenait. -Pensant bien qu’il nous avait vus dans cette attitude, je tremblais pour -ma chère Zoraïde; mais elle au lieu de retirer sa main, elle s’approcha -encore plus de moi, et, appuyant sa tête contre ma poitrine, se laissa -aller comme une personne défaillante, pendant que de mon côté je -feignais de la soutenir. En voyant sa fille en cet état, Agimorato lui -demanda ce qu’elle avait; et n’obtenant pas de réponse: Sans doute, -dit-il, ma fille s’est évanouie de la frayeur que ces chiens lui ont -faite, et il la prit entre ses bras. Zoraïde poussa un grand soupir, en -me disant les yeux pleins de larmes: Va-t’en, chrétien, va-t’en. Mais -pourquoi veux-tu qu’il s’en aille, ma fille? dit Agimorato; il ne t’a -point fait de mal, et les Turcs se sont retirés. Ne crains rien, il n’y -a personne ici qui veuille te causer du déplaisir. Ces Turcs, dis-je à -Agimorato, l’ont sans doute épouvantée, et puisqu’elle veut que je m’en -aille, il n’est pas juste que je l’importune: avec votre permission, -ajoutai-je, je reviendrai ici quelquefois pour chercher de la salade, -parce que mon maître n’en trouve pas de pareille ailleurs. Tant que tu -voudras, répondit Agimorato; ce que vient de dire ma fille ne regarde ni -toi ni aucun des chrétiens; elle désirait seulement que les Turcs s’en -allassent; mais comme elle était un peu troublée, elle s’est méprise, ou -peut-être a-t-elle voulu t’avertir qu’il est temps de cueillir tes -herbes. - -Ayant pris congé d’Agimorato et de sa fille, qui, en se retirant, me -montra qu’elle se faisait une violence extrême, je visitai le jardin -tout à mon aise; j’en étudiai les diverses issues, en un mot tout ce qui -pouvait favoriser notre entreprise, et j’allai en donner connaissance au -renégat et à mes compagnons. - -Enfin le temps s’écoula et amena pour nous le jour tant désiré. A -l’entrée de la nuit le renégat vint jeter l’ancre en face du jardin -d’Agimorato. Mes rameurs, déjà cachés en plusieurs endroits des -environs, m’attendaient avec inquiétude, parce que n’étant point -instruits de notre dessein et ne sachant pas que le renégat fût de nos -amis, il ne s’agissait plus, disaient-ils, que d’attaquer la barque, -d’égorger les Mores qui la montaient pour s’en rendre maîtres, et de -fuir. Quand j’arrivai avec mes compagnons, nos Espagnols me reconnurent, -et vinrent se joindre à nous. Par bonheur les portes de la ville étaient -déjà fermées, et il ne paraissait plus personne de ce côté-là. Une fois -réunis, nous délibérâmes sur ce qui était préférable, ou de commencer -par enlever Zoraïde, ou de nous assurer des Mores. Mais le renégat, qui -survint pendant cette délibération, nous dit qu’il était temps de mettre -la main à l’œuvre; que ces Mores étant la plupart endormis, et ne se -tenant point sur leurs gardes, il fallait s’en rendre maîtres avant -d’aller chercher Zoraïde. Se dirigeant aussitôt vers la barque, il sauta -le premier à bord, le cimeterre à la main: Que pas un ne bouge, s’il -veut conserver la vie! s’écria-t-il en langue arabe. Ces hommes, qui -manquaient de résolution, surpris des paroles du patron, ne firent -seulement pas mine de saisir leurs armes, dont ils étaient d’ailleurs -très-mal pourvus. On les mit sans peine à la chaîne, les menaçant de la -mort au moindre cri. Une partie des nôtres resta pour les garder. Puis, -le renégat servant de guide au reste de notre troupe, nous courûmes au -jardin, et, ayant ouvert la porte, nous approchâmes de la maison sans -être vus de personne. - -Zoraïde nous attendait à sa fenêtre. Quand elle nous vit approcher, elle -demanda à voix basse si nous étions _Nazarani_, ce qui veut dire -chrétiens; je lui répondis affirmativement, et qu’elle n’avait qu’à -descendre. Ayant reconnu ma voix, elle n’hésita pas un seul instant, et, -descendant en toute hâte, elle se montra à nos yeux si belle, si -richement parée, que je ne pourrais en donner l’idée. Je pris sa main, -que je baisai; le renégat et mes compagnons en firent autant pour la -remercier de la liberté qu’elle nous procurait. Le renégat lui demanda -où était son père; elle répondit qu’il dormait. Il faut l’éveiller, -répliqua-t-il, et l’emmener avec nous. Non, non, dit Zoraïde, qu’on ne -touche point à mon père: j’emporte avec moi tout ce que j’ai pu réunir, -et il y en a assez pour vous rendre tous riches. Elle rentra chez elle -en disant qu’elle reviendrait bientôt. En effet, nous ne tardâmes pas à -la revoir portant un coffre rempli d’écus d’or, et si lourd qu’elle -fléchissait sous le poids. - -La fatalité voulut qu’en cet instant Agimorato s’éveillât. Le bruit -qu’il entendit lui fit ouvrir la fenêtre, et, à la vue des chrétiens, il -se mit à pousser des cris. Dans ce péril, le renégat, sentant combien -les moments étaient précieux avant qu’on pût venir au secours, s’élança -dans la chambre d’Agimorato avec quelques-uns de nos compagnons, pendant -que je restai auprès de Zoraïde, tombée presque évanouie entre mes bras. -Bref, ils firent si bien, qu’au bout de quelques minutes ils accoururent -nous rejoindre, emmenant avec eux le More, les mains liées et un -mouchoir sur la bouche. - -Nous les dirigeâmes tous deux vers la barque, où nos gens nous -attendaient dans une horrible anxiété. Il était environ deux heures de -la nuit quand nous y entrâmes. On ôta à Agimorato le mouchoir et les -liens, en le menaçant de le tuer s’il jetait un seul cri. Tournant les -yeux sur sa fille qu’il ne savait pas encore s’être livrée elle-même, -il fut étrangement surpris de voir que je la tenais embrassée, et -qu’elle le souffrait sans résistance; il poussa un soupir, et -s’apprêtait à lui faire d’amers reproches, quand les injonctions du -renégat lui imposèrent silence. - -Dès que l’on commença à ramer, Zoraïde me fit prier par le renégat de -rendre la liberté aux prisonniers, menaçant de se jeter à la mer plutôt -que de souffrir qu’on emmenât captif un père qui l’aimait si tendrement, -et pour qui elle avait une affection non moins vive. J’y consentis -d’abord; mais le renégat m’ayant représenté combien il était dangereux -de délivrer des gens qui ne seraient pas plus tôt libres qu’ils -compromettraient notre entreprise, nous tombâmes tous d’accord de ne les -relâcher que sur le sol chrétien. Aussi, après nous être recommandés à -Dieu, nous naviguâmes gaiement, à l’aide de nos bons rameurs, faisant -route vers les îles Baléares, terre chrétienne la plus proche. Mais tout -à coup le vent du nord s’éleva, et, la mer grossissant à chaque instant, -il devint impossible de conserver cette direction: nous fûmes contraints -de tourner la proue vers Oran, non sans appréhension d’être découverts -ou de rencontrer quelques bâtiments faisant la course. Pendant ce temps, -Zoraïde tenait sa tête entre ses mains pour ne pas voir son père, et -j’entendais qu’elle priait _Lela Marien_ de venir à notre secours. - -Nous avions fait trente milles environ, quand le jour, qui commençait à -poindre, nous laissa voir la terre à trois portées de mousquet. Nous -gagnâmes la haute mer, devenue moins agitée; puis lorsque nous fûmes à -deux lieues du rivage, nous dîmes à nos Espagnols de ramer plus -lentement, afin de prendre un peu de nourriture. Ils répondirent qu’ils -mangeraient sans quitter les rames, parce que le moment de se reposer -n’était pas venu. Un fort coup de vent nous ayant alors assaillis à -l’improviste, nous fûmes obligés de hisser la voile et de cingler de -nouveau sur Oran. On donna à manger aux Mores, que le renégat consolait -en leur affirmant qu’ils n’étaient point esclaves, et que bientôt ils -seraient libres. - -Il tint le même langage au père de Zoraïde; mais le vieillard répondit: -Chrétiens, après vous être exposés à tant de périls pour me ravir la -liberté, pensez-vous que je sois assez simple pour croire que vous ayez -l’intention de me la rendre si libéralement et si vite, surtout me -connaissant, et sachant de quel prix je puis la payer? Si vous voulez la -mettre à prix, je vous offre tout ce que vous demanderez pour moi et -pour ma pauvre fille, ou seulement pour elle, qui m’est plus chère que -la vie. - -En achevant ces mots, il se mit à verser des larmes amères. Zoraïde, qui -s’était tournée vers son père, en voyant son affliction, l’embrassa -tendrement, et ils pleurèrent tous deux avec de telles expressions de -tendresse et de douleur, que la plupart d’entre nous sentirent leurs -yeux se mouiller de larmes. - -Mais lorsque Agimorato vint à s’apercevoir que sa fille était parée et -aussi couverte de pierreries que dans un jour de fête: Qu’est-ce que -ceci? lui dit-il. Hier, avant notre malheur, tu portais tes vêtements -ordinaires, et aujourd’hui que nous avons sujet d’être dans la dernière -affliction, te voilà parée de ce que tu as de plus précieux, comme au -temps de ma prospérité? Réponds à cela, je te prie, car j’en suis encore -étonné plus que de l’infortune qui nous accable. - -Zoraïde ne répondait rien, quand tout à coup son père, découvrant dans -un coin de la barque sa cassette de pierreries, lui demanda, frappé -d’une nouvelle surprise, comment ce coffre se trouvait entre nos mains. - -Seigneur, lui dit le renégat, n’obligez point votre fille à s’expliquer -là-dessus; je vais tout vous apprendre en peu de mots: Zoraïde est -chrétienne; elle a été la lime de nos chaînes, et c’est elle qui nous -rend la liberté; elle vient avec nous de son plein gré, heureuse surtout -d’avoir embrassé une religion aussi pleine de vérités que la vôtre l’est -de mensonges. Cela est-il vrai, ma fille? dit le More. Oui, mon père, -répondit Zoraïde. Tu es chrétienne! s’écria Agimorato; c’est donc toi -qui as mis ton père au pouvoir de ses ennemis? Je suis chrétienne, il -est vrai, répliqua Zoraïde; mais je ne vous ai point mis dans l’état où -vous êtes; jamais je n’ai pensé à vous livrer, ni à vous causer le -moindre déplaisir; j’ai seulement voulu chercher un bien que je ne -pouvais trouver parmi les Mores. Et quel est ce bien, ma fille? dit le -vieillard. Demandez-le à Lela Marien, répondit Zoraïde; elle vous -l’apprendra mieux que moi. - -Agimorato n’eut pas plutôt entendu cette réponse, que sans dire un mot -il se précipita dans la mer, et il y eut certainement trouvé la mort -sans les longs vêtements qu’il portait. Aux cris de Zoraïde, on s’élança -et l’on parvint à remettre le vieillard dans la barque à demi-mort et -privé de sentiment. Pénétrée de douleur, Zoraïde embrassait avec -désespoir le corps de son père; mais grâce à nos soins, au bout de -quelques heures il reprit connaissance. - -Bientôt le vent changea; alors nous fûmes forcés de nous diriger vers la -terre, craignant sans cesse d’y être jetés, et tâchant de nous en -garantir à force de rames. Mais notre bonne étoile nous fit aborder à -une cale voisine d’un petit cap ou promontoire que les Mores appellent -la _Cava rumia_[53], ce qui en leur langue veut dire la _mauvaise femme -chrétienne_, parce que la tradition raconte que Florinde, cette fameuse -fille du comte Julien, qui fut la cause de la perte de l’Espagne, y est -enterrée. Ils regardent comme un mauvais présage d’être obligé de se -réfugier dans cet endroit, et ils ne le font jamais que par nécessité: -mais ce fut pour nous un port assuré contre la tempête qui nous -menaçait. Nous plaçâmes des sentinelles à terre, et, sans abandonner les -rames, nous prîmes un peu de nourriture, priant Dieu de mener à bonne -fin une entreprise si bien commencée. - - [53] Le mot _cava_, signifie mauvaise, et _rumia_ veut dire - chrétienne. - -Pour céder aux supplications de Zoraïde, on se prépara à mettre à terre -son père et les autres Mores prisonniers. En effet, le ciel ayant exaucé -nos prières, et la mer étant devenue plus tranquille, nous déliâmes les -Mores, et contre leur espérance nous les déposâmes sur le rivage. Mais -quand on voulut faire descendre le père de Zoraïde: Chrétiens, nous -dit-il, pourquoi pensez-vous que cette méchante créature souhaite de me -voir en liberté? croyez-vous qu’un sentiment d’amour et de pitié -l’engage à ne pas me rendre le témoin de ses mauvais desseins? -Croyez-vous qu’elle ait changé de religion dans l’espoir que la vôtre -soit meilleure que la sienne? Non, non, c’est parce qu’elle sait que les -femmes sont plus libres chez vous que chez les Mores. Infâme, -ajouta-t-il en se tournant vers elle, pendant que nous le tenions à -bras-le-corps pour prévenir quelque emportement, fille dénaturée, que -cherches-tu? où vas-tu, aveugle? ne vois-tu point que tu te jettes -entre les bras de nos plus dangereux ennemis? Va, misérable! je me -repens de t’avoir donné la vie. Que l’heure en soit maudite à jamais! à -jamais maudits soient les soins que j’ai pris de ton enfance! - -Voyant que ces imprécations ne tarissaient pas, je fis promptement -déposer sur le rivage Agimorato; mais à peine y fut-il qu’il les -recommença avec une fureur croissante, priant Allah de nous engloutir -dans les flots; puis, quand il crut que ses paroles ne pouvaient presque -plus arriver jusqu’à nous, la barque commençant à s’éloigner, il -s’arracha les cheveux et la barbe, et se roula par terre avec de si -grandes marques de désespoir, que nous redoutions quelque funeste -événement. - -Mais bientôt nous l’entendîmes crier de toutes ses forces: Reviens, ma -chère fille, reviens! je te pardonne; laisse à tes ravisseurs ces -richesses, et viens consoler un père qui t’aime et qui va mourir dans ce -désert où tu l’abandonnes. Zoraïde pleurait à chaudes larmes sans -pouvoir articuler une parole; à la fin, faisant un suprême effort: Mon -père, lui dit-elle, je prie Lela Malien, qui m’a faite chrétienne, de -vous donner de la consolation. Allah m’est témoin que je n’ai pu -m’empêcher de faire ce que j’ai fait; les chrétiens ne m’y ont nullement -forcée; mais je n’ai pu résister à Lela Marien. Zoraïde parlait encore, -quand son père disparut à nos yeux. - -Délivrés de cette inquiétude, nous voulûmes profiter d’une brise qui -nous faisait espérer d’atteindre le lendemain les côtes d’Espagne. Par -malheur, notre joie fut de courte durée; peut-être aussi les -malédictions d’Agimorato produisirent-elles leur effet, car vers trois -heures de la nuit, voguant à pleines voiles et les rames au repos, nous -aperçûmes tout à coup, à la clarté de la lune, un vaisseau rond qui -venait par notre travers, et déjà si rapproché que nous eûmes beaucoup -de peine à éviter sa rencontre. Il nous héla, demandant qui nous étions, -d’où nous venions, et où nous allions. A ces questions faites en -français, le renégat ne voulut pas qu’on répondît, assurant, disait-il, -que c’étaient des corsaires français qui pillaient indifféremment amis -et ennemis. Nous pensions déjà en être quittes pour la peur, quand nous -reçûmes deux boulets ramés, dont l’un coupa en deux notre grand mât, qui -tomba dans la mer avec la voile, et dont l’autre donna dans les flancs -de la barque, et la perça de part en part, sans pourtant blesser -personne. En nous sentant couler, nous demandâmes du secours aux gens du -vaisseau, leur criant de venir nous prendre, parce que nous périssions. -Ils diminuèrent de voiles, et, mettant la chaloupe à la mer, ils vinrent -au nombre de douze, mousquet et mèche allumée; lorsqu’ils eurent reconnu -que la barque enfonçait, ils nous prirent avec eux, tout en nous -reprochant de nous être attiré ce traitement par notre incivilité. - -A peine fûmes-nous montés à leur bord, qu’après s’être informés de ce -qu’ils voulaient savoir, ils se mirent à nous traiter en ennemis: nous -dépouillant du peu que nous possédions, car la cassette où étaient les -pierreries, avait été jetée à la mer par le renégat sans que personne -s’en fût aperçu. Ils ôtèrent aussi à Zoraïde les bracelets qu’elle avait -aux pieds et aux mains; et plus d’une fois je craignis qu’ils ne -passassent à des violences plus graves; mais heureusement ces gens-là, -tout grossiers qu’ils sont, n’en veulent qu’au butin, dont ils sont si -avides, qu’ils nous auraient enlevé jusqu’à nos habits d’esclaves s’ils -avaient pu s’en servir. Un moment ils délibérèrent entre eux s’ils ne -nous jetteraient point à la mer, enveloppés dans une voile, parce -qu’ayant dessein, disaient-ils, de trafiquer dans quelques ports de -l’Espagne, sous pavillon anglais, ils craignaient que nous ne -donnassions avis de leurs brigandages. Beaucoup furent de cette opinion; -mais le capitaine, à qui la dépouille de ma chère Zoraïde était tombée -en partage, déclara qu’il était content de sa prise, et qu’il ne -songeait plus qu’à repasser le détroit de Gibraltar, pour regagner, -sans s’arrêter, le port de la Rochelle, d’où il était parti. S’étant mis -d’accord sur ce point, le jour suivant ils nous donnèrent leur chaloupe -avec le peu de vivres qu’il fallait pour le reste de notre voyage, car -nous étions déjà proche des terres d’Espagne, dont la vue nous causa -tant de joie que nous en oubliâmes toutes nos disgrâces. - -Il était midi environ quand nous descendîmes dans la chaloupe, avec deux -barils d’eau et un peu de biscuit. Touché de je ne sais quelle pitié -pour Zoraïde, le capitaine, en nous quittant, lui remit quarante écus -d’or, et de plus défendit à ses compagnons de la dépouiller de ses -habits, qui sont ceux qu’elle porte encore aujourd’hui. Nous prîmes -congé de ces hommes, en les remerciant et en leur témoignant moins de -déplaisir que de reconnaissance; et pendant qu’ils continuaient leur -route, nous voguâmes en hâte vers la terre, que nous avions en vue, et -dont nous approchâmes tellement au coucher du soleil, que nous aurions -pu aborder avant la nuit. Mais comme le temps était couvert, et que nous -ne connaissions point le pays, nous n’osâmes débarquer, malgré l’avis de -plusieurs d’entre nous, qui disaient, non sans raison, qu’il valait -mieux donner contre un rocher, loin de toute habitation, plutôt que de -s’exposer à la rencontre des corsaires de Tétouan, qui toutes les nuits -infestent ces parages. - -De ces avis opposés il s’en forma un troisième, ce fut d’approcher peu à -peu de la côte, et de descendre dès que l’état de la mer le permettrait. -On continua donc à ramer, et vers minuit nous arrivâmes près d’une haute -montagne; tous alors nous descendîmes sur le sable, et aussitôt chacun -de nous embrassa la terre avec des larmes de joie, rendant grâce à Dieu -de la protection qu’il nous avait accordée. On ôta les provisions de la -chaloupe, après l’avoir tirée sur le rivage; puis nous nous dirigeâmes -vers la montagne, ne pouvant croire encore que nous fussions chez des -chrétiens et en lieu de sûreté. Le jour venu, il fallut atteindre le -sommet pour découvrir de là quelque village, ou quelque cabane de -pêcheur; mais ne voyant ni habitation, ni chemin, ni même le moindre -sentier, si loin que nous pussions porter la vue, nous nous mîmes en -chemin, soutenus par l’espoir de rencontrer quelqu’un qui nous apprît où -nous étions. - -Après avoir fait environ un quart de lieue, le son d’une petite -clochette nous fit penser qu’il y avait non loin de là quelque troupeau, -et en même temps nous vîmes assis au pied d’un liége un berger qui, dans -le plus grand calme, taillait un bâton avec son couteau. Nous -l’appelâmes; il se leva, tourna la tête, et, à ce que nous avons su -depuis, ayant aperçu le renégat et Zoraïde vêtus en Mores, il s’enfuit -avec une vitesse incroyable, en criant: Aux armes! aux armes! et croyant -avoir tous les Mores d’Afrique à ses trousses. Cela nous mit un peu en -peine; aussi, prévoyant que tout le canton allait prendre l’alarme, et -ne manquerait pas de venir nous reconnaître, nous fîmes prendre au -renégat, la casaque d’un des nôtres, au lieu de sa veste; puis, nous -recommandant à Dieu, nous suivîmes la trace du berger, toujours dans -l’appréhension de voir d’un moment à l’autre la cavalerie de la côte -fondre sur nous. Au bout de deux heures, la chose arriva comme nous -l’avions pensé. - -A peine étions-nous entrés dans la plaine, à la sortie d’une vaste -lande, que nous aperçûmes une cinquantaine de cavaliers qui venaient au -grand trot à notre rencontre. Nous fîmes halte pour les attendre; mais -quand ils furent arrivés, et qu’au lieu de Mores qu’ils cherchaient, ils -virent une petite troupe de chrétiens misérables et en désordre, ils -s’arrêtèrent tout surpris et nous demandèrent si ce n’était point nous -qui avions causé l’alarme. Je répondis que oui, et je me préparais à en -dire davantage, lorsqu’un de mes compagnons, reconnaissant le cavalier -qui parlait, m’interrompit en s’écriant: Dieu soit loué, qui nous a si -bien adressés! car, si je ne me trompe, nous sommes dans la province de -Velez-Malaga; et vous, seigneur, si ma captivité ne m’a point fait -perdre la mémoire, vous êtes Pedro Bustamente, mon cher oncle. - -A ce nom, le cavalier sauta à bas de son cheval, et courut embrasser le -jeune homme: Oui, c’est moi, mon cher neveu, lui dit-il; oui, c’est bien -toi, mon enfant, que j’ai cru mort et pleuré tant de fois; ta mère et -toute ta famille auront bien de la joie de ton retour: nous avions enfin -appris que tu étais à Alger, et à tes vêtements comme à ceux de tes -compagnons, je comprends que vous vous êtes sauvés par quelque voie -extraordinaire. Cela est vrai, répondit le captif, et Dieu aidant, nous -vous en ferons le récit. - -Dès qu’ils surent que nous étions des chrétiens esclaves, les cavaliers -mirent pied à terre, et chacun offrit sa monture pour nous conduire à -Velez-Malaga, qui était distant d’une lieue et demie. Quelques-uns -d’entre eux se chargèrent d’aller prendre la barque pour la porter à la -ville; les autres nous prirent en croupe de leurs chevaux; et Bustamente -fit monter Zoraïde avec lui sur le sien. En cet équipage nous fûmes -accueillis avec joie par tous les habitants, qui, déjà prévenus, -venaient au-devant de nous. Ils s’étonnaient peu de voir des esclaves et -des Mores esclaves, parce que ceux qui habitent ces côtes sont -accoutumés à semblables rencontres. Quant à Zoraïde, la fatigue du -chemin et la joie de se voir parmi les chrétiens, donnaient des couleurs -si vives et tant d’éclat à sa beauté, que, je puis le dire sans -flatterie, elle excitait l’admiration générale. Tout le peuple nous -accompagna à l’église, pour aller rendre grâces à Dieu. Nous n’y fûmes -pas plus tôt entrés, que Zoraïde s’écria: Voilà des visages qui -ressemblent à celui de Lela Marien. Nous lui dîmes que c’étaient ses -images, et le renégat lui expliqua de son mieux pourquoi elles étaient -là, afin qu’elle leur rendît le même hommage que les chrétiens. - -L’esprit vif de Zoraïde lui fit comprendre aisément les paroles du -renégat, et dans sa dévotion naïve elle montra à sa manière une si -véritable piété que tous ceux qui la regardaient pleuraient de joie. En -sortant de l’église, on nous donna des logements, et mon compagnon, ce -neveu de Bustamente, nous emmena, le renégat, Zoraïde et moi, dans la -maison de son père, qui nous reçut avec la même affection qu’il -témoignait à son propre fils. Après avoir passé environ six jours à -Velez-Malaga, et avoir fait toutes les démarches nécessaires à sa -sûreté, le renégat se rendit à Grenade afin de rentrer, par le moyen de -la Sainte-Inquisition, dans le giron de l’Église, et chacun de nos -compagnons prit le parti qui lui plut. Zoraïde et moi nous restâmes -seuls avec le secours qu’elle tenait de la libéralité du corsaire -français, dont j’employai une partie à acheter cette monture afin de lui -épargner de la fatigue. - -Maintenant, lui servant toujours de protecteur et d’écuyer, nous allons -savoir si mon père est encore vivant, et si l’un de mes frères a -rencontré un meilleur sort que le mien, quoique après tout je n’aie pas -lieu de m’en plaindre, puisqu’il me vaut l’affection de Zoraïde, dont la -beauté et la vertu sont pour moi d’un plus haut prix que tous les -trésors du monde. Mais je voudrais pouvoir la dédommager de tout ce -qu’elle a perdu, et qu’elle n’eût pas lieu de se repentir d’avoir -abandonné tant de richesses, et un père qui l’aimait si tendrement, pour -accompagner un malheureux. Rien de plus admirable que la patience dont -elle a fait preuve dans toutes les fatigues que nous avons souffertes et -de tous les accidents qui nous sont arrivés, si ce n’est le désir ardent -qu’elle a de se voir chrétienne. Aussi, quand je ne serais point son -obligé autant que je le suis, sa seule vertu m’inspirerait toute -l’estime et l’attachement que je lui dois par reconnaissance, et -m’engagerait à la servir et à l’honorer toute ma vie. Mais le bonheur -que j’éprouve d’être à elle est troublé par l’inquiétude de savoir si je -pourrai trouver dans mon pays quelque abri pour la retirer, mon père -étant mort sans doute, et mes frères occupant, je le crains, des emplois -qui les tiennent éloignés du lieu de leur naissance, sans compter que la -fortune ne les aura peut-être pas mieux traités que moi-même. - -Seigneurs, telle est mon histoire. J’aurais désiré vous la raconter -aussi agréablement qu’elle est pleine d’étranges aventures; mais je n’ai -point l’art de faire valoir les choses, et dans un pays où j’ai été -obligé d’apprendre une autre langue, j’ai presque oublié la mienne. -Aussi je crains bien de vous avoir ennuyés par la longueur de ce récit; -cependant il n’a pas dépendu de moi de le faire plus court, et j’en ai -même retranché plusieurs circonstances. - -CHAPITRE XLII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA DE NOUVEAU DANS L’HOTELLERIE, ET DE PLUSIEURS AUTRES -CHOSES DIGNES D’ÊTRE CONNUES - -Après ces dernières paroles, le captif se tut. En vérité, seigneur -capitaine, lui dit don Fernand, la manière dont vous avez raconté votre -histoire égale l’intérêt et le charme de l’histoire elle-même; tout y -est curieux, extraordinaire, et plein des plus merveilleux incidents; -dût le jour de demain nous retrouver occupés à vous écouter, nous -serions aises de l’entendre encore une fois. Cardenio et les autres -convives lui firent les mêmes compliments, mêlés d’offres si -obligeantes, que le captif ne pouvait suffire à exprimer sa -reconnaissance, et il remerciait Dieu d’avoir trouvé tant d’amis dans sa -mauvaise fortune. Don Fernand ajouta que s’il voulait l’accompagner, il -prierait le marquis, son frère, d’être parrain de Zoraïde, et que pour -lui, il se chargeait de le mettre en mesure de rentrer dans son pays -avec toute la considération due à son mérite. Le captif les remercia -courtoisement, et se défendit de bonne grâce d’accepter ces offres -généreuses. - -Cependant le jour baissait, et quand la nuit fut venue, un carrosse -s’arrêta devant la porte de l’hôtellerie, escorté de quelques cavaliers -qui demandèrent à loger. On leur répondit qu’il n’y avait pas un pied -carré de libre dans toute la maison. Pardieu, dit un des cavaliers qui -avait déjà pied à terre, il y aura bien toujours place pour monseigneur -l’auditeur. A ce nom, l’hôtesse se troubla: Seigneur, reprit-elle, je -veux dire que nous n’avons point de lits vacants; mais si monseigneur -fait porter le sien, comme je n’en doute pas, nous lui abandonnerons -volontiers notre chambre pour que Sa Grâce s’y établisse. A la bonne -heure, dit l’écuyer. - -En même temps descendait du carrosse un homme de bonne mine, dont le -costume indiquait la dignité. Sa longue robe à manches tailladées -faisait assez connaître qu’il était auditeur, comme l’avait annoncé son -valet. Il tenait par la main une jeune demoiselle d’environ quinze à -seize ans, en habit de voyage, mais si fraîche, si jolie et de si bon -air, que tous ceux qui étaient dans l’hôtellerie la trouvèrent non moins -belle que Dorothée, Luscinde et Zoraïde. Don Quichotte, qui se trouvait -présent, ne put s’empêcher, en le voyant s’avancer, de lui adresser ces -paroles: Seigneur, lui dit-il, que Votre Grâce entre avec assurance dans -ce château, et y demeure tant qu’il lui plaira. Tout étroit qu’il est et -assez mal pourvu des choses nécessaires, il peut suffire à n’importe -quel homme de guerre ou de lettres, surtout quand il se présente, ainsi -que Votre Grâce, accompagné d’une si charmante personne, devant qui -non-seulement les portes des châteaux doivent s’ouvrir, mais les rochers -se dissoudre, et les montagnes s’abaisser. Que Votre Grâce entre donc -dans ce paradis, elle y trouvera des soleils et des étoiles dignes de -faire compagnie à l’astre éblouissant qu’elle conduit par la main: je -veux dire les armes à leur poste, et la beauté dans toute son -excellence. - -Tout interdit de cette harangue, l’auditeur se mit à considérer notre -héros de la tête aux pieds, non moins étonné de sa figure que de ses -paroles. Pendant que Luscinde et Dorothée entendant l’hôtesse vanter la -beauté de la jeune voyageuse, s’avançaient avec empressement pour la -recevoir, Don Fernand, Cardenio et le curé vinrent se joindre à elles; -et tous accablèrent l’auditeur de tant de civilités, qu’il avait à peine -le temps de se reconnaître; aussi, tout surpris de ce qu’il venait de -voir et d’entendre en si peu de temps, il entra dans l’hôtellerie, -faisant de grandes révérences à droite et à gauche sans savoir que -répondre. Il ne doutait pas qu’il n’eût affaire à des gens de qualité; -mais le visage, le costume et les manières de don Quichotte le -déroutaient. Enfin, après force compliments de part et d’autre, on -arrêta que les dames coucheraient toutes dans la même chambre, et que -les hommes se tiendraient au dehors, comme leurs protecteurs et leurs -gardiens; l’auditeur consentit à tout et s’accommoda du lit de -l’hôtelier joint à celui qu’il faisait porter. - -Quant au captif, dès le premier regard jeté sur l’auditeur, il avait -ressenti de secrets mouvements qui lui disaient que cet inconnu était -son frère; mais dans la joie que lui donnait cette rencontre, ne voulant -pas s’en rapporter à son pressentiment, il demanda à l’un des écuyers le -nom de son maître. L’écuyer répondit qu’il s’appelait Juan Perez de -Viedma; et qu’il le croyait originaire des montagnes de Léon. Cette -réponse acheva de confirmer le captif dans son opinion, il prit à part -don Fernand, Cardenio et le curé, et les assura que le voyageur était -certainement ce frère qui avait voulu se livrer à l’étude; que ses gens -venaient de lui apprendre qu’il était auditeur dans les Indes, en -l’audience du Mexique, et que la jeune demoiselle était sa fille, dont -la mère était morte en la mettant au monde. Là-dessus il leur demanda -conseil sur la manière dont il pourrait se faire reconnaître, et s’il ne -devait pas d’abord s’assurer de l’accueil qui lui était réservé, parce -que, dans le dénûment où il se trouvait, l’auditeur aurait peut-être -quelque honte de l’avouer pour son frère. - -Seigneur, laissez-moi tenter cette épreuve, dit le curé; j’ai bonne -opinion du succès, et à sa physionomie je vois d’avance qu’il n’a pas ce -sot orgueil qui fait mépriser les gens que la fortune persécute. - -Je ne voudrais pourtant pas me présenter brusquement, reprit le captif; -il serait préférable, ce me semble, de le pressentir et de le préparer -adroitement à me revoir. - -Encore une fois, répliqua le curé, si vous voulez vous en rapporter à -moi, je ne doute point que vous n’ayez satisfaction, et vous me ferez -plaisir en me procurant cette occasion de vous rendre service. - -Le souper étant servi, l’auditeur se mit à table; don Fernand, ses -compagnons, le curé et Cardenio vinrent lui tenir compagnie, quoiqu’ils -eussent déjà pris leur repas du soir; les dames, de leur côté, restèrent -avec la jeune fille, qui alla souper dans l’autre chambre, où le captif -entra sous prétexte de servir d’interprète à Zoraïde. - -Le curé, s’adressant à l’auditeur, pendant qu’il mangeait: Seigneur, lui -dit-il, étant jadis esclave à Constantinople, j’ai eu un compagnon de ma -mauvaise fortune du même nom que Votre Grâce; c’était un brave homme, et -un des meilleurs officiers de l’infanterie espagnole; mais le pauvre -diable éprouva autant de traverses qu’il avait de mérite. - -Et comment s’appelait cet officier? demanda l’auditeur. - -Ruiz Perez de Viedma, répondit le curé, et il était des montagnes de -Léon. Un jour, il me raconta une particularité assez étrange de lui et -de ses deux frères: son père, me disait-il, craignant, par suite d’une -humeur trop libérale, de dissiper son bien, le partagea entre ses trois -enfants, en y ajoutant des conseils qui faisaient voir qu’il était homme -de sens. Mon compagnon avait choisi la carrière des armes; il s’y -distingua si bien par sa valeur, qu’en peu de temps on lui donna une -compagnie d’infanterie, et il était en passe de devenir mestre de camp, -quand le sort voulut qu’il perdît cet espoir avec la liberté dans cette -grande journée de Lépante, où tant d’esclaves la recouvrèrent; pour moi, -je fus fait prisonnier à la Goulette, et, après divers événements, nous -nous trouvâmes à Constantinople appartenir à un même maître. De là il -fut conduit à Alger, où il lui arriva des aventures qui semblent tenir -du prodige. Le curé termina par le récit succinct de l’histoire du -captif et de Zoraïde, récit que l’auditeur écoutait avec une attention -extrême, jusqu’au moment où les Français, après s’être emparés de la -barque et avoir dépouillé les malheureux Espagnols, laissèrent Zoraïde -et son compagnon dans le plus grand dénûment. Depuis ce jour, -ajouta-t-il, on n’a pas eu de leurs nouvelles, et j’ignore s’ils sont -arrivés en Espagne, ou si les corsaires les ont emmenés en France. - -Le captif ne perdait pas une des paroles du curé, et observait avec une -égale attention tous les mouvements de l’auditeur. Celui-ci poussa un -grand soupir, et les yeux pleins de larmes: Ah! seigneur, dit-il au -curé, si vous saviez combien votre récit me touche! Ce brave soldat dont -vous parlez est mon frère aîné, qui, plein d’une généreuse résolution, -embrassa la carrière des armes; moi j’ai préféré celle des lettres, où -Dieu, mes travaux et mes veilles m’ont fait parvenir à la dignité -d’auditeur. Quant à notre frère cadet, il habite le Pérou, où il s’est -enrichi. L’argent qu’il nous a envoyé surpasse de beaucoup la somme -qu’il avait reçue en partage, et elle a mis notre père à même de -satisfaire cette libéralité qui lui est naturelle. Cet excellent homme -vit encore, et tous les jours il prie Dieu de ne point le retirer de ce -monde qu’il n’ait eu la consolation d’embrasser l’aîné de ses enfants, -dont il n’a pas reçu la moindre nouvelle depuis son départ. On a -vraiment peine à comprendre qu’un homme tel que mon frère soit resté -aussi longtemps sans informer de sa situation un père qui l’aime et sans -témoigner quelque sollicitude pour sa famille. Si nous eussions été -instruits de sa disgrâce, il n’aurait pas, à coup sûr, eu besoin de -cette canne merveilleuse qui lui rendit la liberté. Mais je crains bien -qu’il ne l’ait reperdue avec ces corsaires. Et qui sait si ces -misérables ne se seront pas défaits de lui pour mieux cacher leurs -brigandages? Hélas! cette pensée va troubler tout l’agrément que je me -promettais de mon voyage, et je ne saurais plus goûter de véritable -joie. Ah! mon pauvre frère, si je pouvais savoir où vous êtes en ce -moment, je n’épargnerais rien pour adoucir votre misère, et je suis -assuré que notre père donnerait tout pour vous délivrer. O Zoraïde! -aussi libérale que belle, qui pourra jamais vous récompenser dignement? -Que j’aurais de plaisir à voir la fin de vos malheurs, et, par un -mariage tant désiré, de contribuer à faire deux heureux! L’auditeur -prononça ces paroles avec une telle expression de douleur et de -tendresse, que tous ceux qui l’entendaient en furent touchés. - -Le curé, voyant que son dessein avait si bien réussi, ne voulut pas -différer plus longtemps: il se leva de table, et allant prendre d’une -main Zoraïde, que suivirent Dorothée, Luscinde et Claire, il saisit en -passant de l’autre main celle du captif: Essuyez vos larmes, seigneur, -dit-il à l’auditeur en revenant vers lui; vous avez devant vous ce cher -frère et cette aimable belle-sœur que vous souhaitez si ardemment de -voir: voilà le capitaine Viedma, et voici la belle More à qui il est -redevable de si grands services; en voyant le misérable état où ces -Français les ont réduits, vous serez heureux de donner un libre cours à -votre générosité. - -Le captif courut aussitôt vers son frère, qui, l’ayant considéré quelque -temps et achevant de le reconnaître, se jeta dans ses bras, et tous deux -étroitement attachés l’un à l’autre, ils versèrent tant de larmes -qu’aucun des assistants ne put retenir les siennes. Il serait impossible -de répéter tout ce que se dirent les deux frères: qu’on se figure ce que -de braves gens qui s’aiment peuvent éprouver dans un pareil moment! Ils -se racontèrent succinctement leurs aventures, et à chaque parole ils se -prodiguaient les plus précieuses marques d’une vive amitié. Tantôt -l’auditeur quittait son frère pour embrasser Zoraïde, à qui il faisait -mille offres obligeantes, tantôt il retournait embrasser son frère; la -fille de l’auditeur et la belle More ne pouvaient non plus se séparer, -et par les témoignages de tendresse qu’ils se donnaient les uns aux -autres, ils firent de nouveau couler les larmes de tous les yeux. - -Quant à don Quichotte, il regardait tout cela sans dire mot, et -l’attribuait en lui-même aux prodiges de la chevalerie errante. Les deux -frères, après s’être embrassés de nouveau, adressèrent quelques excuses -à la compagnie, qui leur exprima combien elle prenait part à leur joie. -Les compliments étant épuisés de part et d’autre, l’auditeur voulut que -le captif l’accompagnât à Séville, pendant qu’on donnerait avis de son -retour à leur père, afin que le vieillard pût s’y rendre pour assister -au baptême et aux noces de Zoraïde, lui-même devant continuer son -voyage, afin de ne pas laisser échapper l’occasion d’un bâtiment prêt à -mettre à la voile pour les Indes. Tout le monde partageait la joie du -captif, et ne cessait point de le lui témoigner; mais comme il était -fort tard, chacun se décida à aller dormir le reste de la nuit. - -Don Quichotte s’offrit à faire la garde du château, afin d’empêcher -qu’un géant ou quelqu’autre brigand de cette espèce, jaloux des trésors -de beautés qu’il renfermait, ne vînt à s’y introduire par surprise. Ceux -qui le connaissaient le remercièrent de son offre et ils apprirent à -l’auditeur la bizarre manie du chevalier de la Triste-Figure, ce qui le -divertit beaucoup. Le seul Sancho se désespérait au milieu de la joie -générale, en voyant qu’on tardait à se mettre au lit; lorsqu’il en eut -enfin reçu la permission de son maître, il alla s’étendre sur le bât de -son âne, qui va lui coûter bien cher, comme nous le verrons tout à -l’heure. Les dames retirées dans leur chambre, et les hommes arrangés de -leur mieux, don Quichotte sortit de l’hôtellerie pour aller se mettre en -sentinelle et faire, comme il l’avait offert, la garde du château. - -Or, au moment où l’aube commençait à poindre, les dames entendirent tout -à coup une voix douce et mélodieuse: d’abord elles écoutèrent avec -grande attention, surtout Dorothée, qui s’était éveillée depuis quelque -temps, tandis que Claire Viedma, la fille de l’auditeur, dormait à ses -côtés. Cette voix n’était accompagnée d’aucun instrument, et tantôt il -leur semblait que c’était dans la cour qu’on chantait, tantôt dans un -autre endroit. Comme elles étaient dans ce doute et toujours fort -attentives, Cardenio s’approcha de la porte de leur chambre: Mesdames, -dit-il à demi-voix, si vous ne dormez point, écoutez un jeune muletier -qui chante à merveille. - -Nous l’écoutions, et avec beaucoup de plaisir, répondit Dorothée; puis -voyant que la voix recommençait, elle prêta de nouveau l’oreille, et -entendit les couplets suivants: - -CHAPITRE XLIII - -OU L’ON RACONTE L’INTÉRESSANTE HISTOIRE DU GARÇON MULETIER, AVEC -D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS EXTRAORDINAIRES ARRIVÉS DANS L’HOTELLERIE - - Je suis un nautonnier d’amour, - Voguant sur cette mer si fertile en orages; - Sans connaître de port où se termine un jour - Ma course et mes voyages. - - J’ai pour guide un astre brillant, - Dont je suis en tous lieux l’éclatante lumière; - le soleil n’en voit point de plus étincelant - En toute sa carrière. - - Mais comme j’ignore son cours, - Je navigue au hasard, incertain de ma course, - Attentif seulement à l’observer toujours, - Et sans autre ressource. - - Trop souvent le jaloux destin, - Sous le voile fâcheux de quelque retenue, - Me fait sans guide errer du soir jusqu’au matin - Le cachant à ma vue. - - Bel astre si doux à mes yeux! - Ne cache plus le phare utile à mon voyage: - Si tu cesses de luire, en ces funestes lieux - Je vais faire naufrage. - -En cet endroit de la chanson, Dorothée voulut faire partager à Claire le -plaisir qu’elle éprouvait: elle la poussa deux ou trois fois, et étant -parvenue à l’éveiller: Pardonnez-moi, ma belle enfant, lui dit-elle, si -j’interromps votre sommeil, mais c’est pour vous faire entendre la plus -agréable voix qui soit au monde. - -Claire ouvrit les yeux à demi, sans comprendre d’abord ce que lui disait -Dorothée; mais après se l’être fait répéter, elle se mit aussi à -écouter. A peine eut-elle entendu la voix, qu’il lui prit un tremblement -dans tous les membres comme si elle avait eu la fièvre. Ah! madame, -dit-elle en se jetant dans les bras de sa compagne, pourquoi m’avez-vous -réveillée? La plus grande faveur que pouvait à cette heure m’accorder la -fortune, c’était de me tenir les oreilles fermées pour ne pas entendre -ce pauvre musicien. - -Ma chère enfant, dit Dorothée, apprenez que celui qui chante n’est qu’un -garçon muletier. - -Ce n’est pas un garçon muletier, reprit Claire, c’est un seigneur de -terre et d’âmes, et si bien seigneur de la mienne, que s’il ne veut pas -de lui-même y renoncer, il la conservera éternellement. - -Dorothée, surprise de ce discours, qu’elle n’attendait pas d’une fille -de cet âge, lui répondit: Expliquez-vous, ma belle, et apprenez-moi quel -est ce musicien qui vous cause tant d’inquiétude. Mais il me semble -qu’il recommence à chanter; il mérite bien qu’on l’écoute, vous -répondrez ensuite à mes questions. - -Oui, dit Claire en se bouchant les oreilles avec ses deux mains pour ne -pas entendre. La voix reprit ainsi: - - Mon cœur, ne perds point l’espérance, - Persévérons jusques au bout; - L’amour est le maître de tout; - On devient plus heureux lorsque moins on y pense. - - Et le triomphe et la victoire - Suivent un généreux effort; - Il faut toujours tenter le sort, - Mais pour les paresseux il n’est aucune gloire. - - L’amour vend bien cher ses caresses; - Pourrait-on les acheter moins? - Qu’est-ce que du temps et des soins? - Un moment de bonheur vaut toutes les richesses[54]. - - [54] Ces vers et les précédents sont empruntés à la traduction de - Filleau de Saint-Martin. - -Ici, la voix cessa, et la fille de l’auditeur poussa de nouveaux -soupirs. Dorothée, dont la curiosité s’augmentait, la pria de remplir sa -promesse. Claire, approchant sa bouche de l’oreille de Dorothée pour ne -pas être entendue de Luscinde qui était dans l’autre lit: Celui qui -chante, lui dit-elle, est le fils d’un grand seigneur d’Aragon, qui a sa -maison à Madrid, vis-à-vis celle de mon père. Je ne sais vraiment où ce -jeune gentilhomme a pu me voir, si ce fut à l’église ou ailleurs, car -nos fenêtres étaient toujours soigneusement fermées: quoi qu’il en -soit, il devint amoureux de moi, et il me l’exprimait souvent par une -des fenêtres de sa maison qui ouvrait sur les nôtres, et où je le voyais -verser tant de larmes qu’il me faisait pitié. Je m’accoutumai à sa vue, -et je me mis à l’aimer sans savoir ce qu’il me demandait. Entre autres -signes, je le voyais toujours joindre ses deux mains pour me faire -comprendre qu’il désirait se marier avec moi. J’aurais été bien aise -qu’il en fût ainsi; mais, hélas! seule et sans mère, je ne savais -comment lui faire connaître mes sentiments. Je le laissai donc -continuer, sans lui accorder aucune faveur, si ce n’est pourtant quand -mon père n’était pas au logis, celle de hausser un moment la jalousie, -afin qu’il pût me voir, ce dont le pauvre garçon avait tant de joie, -qu’on eût dit qu’il en perdait l’esprit. - -Enfin l’époque de notre départ approchait. J’ignore comment il en fut -instruit, car je ne pus trouver moyen de l’en prévenir; j’appris alors -qu’il en était tombé malade de chagrin, et, ce moment venu, il me fut -impossible de lui dire adieu. Mais au bout de deux jours de route, comme -nous entrions dans une hôtellerie qui est à une journée d’ici, voilà que -je l’aperçois sur la porte en habit de muletier, et si bien déguisé, que -je ne l’aurais pas reconnu si je ne l’avais toujours présent à la -pensée. Je fus fort étonnée de cette rencontre; et j’en ressentis bien -de la joie. Quant à lui, il a les yeux sans cesse attachés sur moi, -excepté devant mon père, dont il se cache avec beaucoup de soin. Comme -je sais qui il est, et que c’est par amour pour moi qu’il a fait la -route à pied avec tant de fatigue, j’en ai beaucoup de chagrin, et -partout où il met les pieds, je le suis des yeux. J’ignore quelles sont -ses intentions, ni comment il a pu s’échapper de chez son père, qui -l’aime tendrement, car il n’a que lui pour héritier, et aussi parce -qu’il est fort aimable, comme en jugera sans doute Votre Grâce. On dit -qu’il a beaucoup d’esprit, qu’il compose tout ce qu’il chante, qu’il -fait très-bien les vers. Aussi, chaque fois que je le vois et -l’entends, je tremble que mon père ne vienne à le reconnaître. De ma vie -je ne lui ai adressé la parole, et pourtant je l’aime à tel point qu’il -me serait désormais impossible de vivre sans lui. Voilà, ma chère dame, -tout ce que je puis vous dire de ce musicien dont les accents vous ont -charmée; vous voyez, d’après cela, que ce n’est pas un garçon muletier, -mais le fils d’un grand seigneur. - -Calmez-vous, ma chère enfant, reprit Dorothée en l’embrassant; tout ira -bien, et j’espère que des sentiments si raisonnables auront une heureuse -fin. - -Hélas! madame, dit Claire, quelle fin dois-je espérer! Son père est un -seigneur si noble et si riche, qu’il m’estimera toujours trop au-dessous -de son fils; et quand à me marier à l’insu du mien, je ne le ferais pas -pour tous les trésors du monde. Je voudrais seulement que ce pauvre -enfant s’en retournât; peut-être alors que ne le voyant plus, et près de -faire moi-même avec mon père un si long voyage, je serai soulagée du mal -dont je souffre, quoique je ne pense pas que cela puisse servir à -grand’chose. Je ne sais, vraiment, quel démon nous a mis ces idées-là -dans la tête, puisque nous sommes tous deux si jeunes, que je le crois à -peine âgé de seize ans, tandis que j’en aurai treize seulement dans -quelques mois, à ce que m’a dit mon père. - -Dorothée ne put s’empêcher de sourire de l’ingénuité de l’aimable -Claire: Mon enfant, lui dit-elle, dormons le reste de la nuit; le jour -viendra, et il faut espérer que Dieu aura soin de toutes choses. - -Elles se rendormirent après cet entretien, et dans l’hôtellerie régna le -plus profond silence: il n’y avait d’éveillée que la fille de l’hôtelier -et Maritorne, qui, toutes deux connaissant la folie de don Quichotte, -résolurent de lui jouer quelque bon tour, pendant que notre chevalier, -armé de pied en cap et monté sur Rossinante, ne songeait qu’à faire une -garde exacte. - -Or, il faut savoir qu’il n’y avait dans toute la maison d’autre fenêtre -donnant sur les champs, qu’une simple lucarne pratiquée dans la -muraille, et par laquelle on jetait la paille pour les mules et les -chevaux. Ce fut à cette lucarne que vinrent se poster les deux -donzelles, et c’est de là qu’elles aperçurent don Quichotte à cheval, -languissamment appuyé sur sa lance et poussant par intervalles de -profonds et lamentables soupirs, comme s’il eût été prêt de rendre -l’âme. O Dulcinée du Toboso! disait-il d’une voix tendre et amoureuse; -type suprême de la beauté, idéal de l’esprit, sommet de la raison, -archives des grâces, dépôt des vertus, et finalement abrégé de tout ce -qu’il y a dans le monde de bon, d’utile et de délectable, que fait Ta -Seigneurie en ce moment? Ta pensée s’occupe-t-elle par aventure du -chevalier, ton esclave qui, dans le seul dessein de te plaire, s’est -exposé volontairement à tant de périls? Oh! donne-moi de ses nouvelles, -astre aux trois visages, qui, peut-être envieux du sien, te livres au -plaisir de la regarder, soit qu’elle se promène dans quelque galerie -d’un de ses magnifiques palais, soit qu’appuyée sur un balcon doré, elle -rêve aux moyens de faire rentrer le calme dans mon âme agitée; -c’est-à-dire de me rappeler d’une triste mort à une délicieuse vie, et, -sans péril pour sa réputation, de récompenser mon amour et mes services. -Et toi, Soleil, qui sans doute ne te hâtes d’atteler tes coursiers -qu’afin de venir admirer plus tôt celle que j’adore, salue-la, je t’en -prie, de ma part; mais garde-toi de lui donner un baiser, car j’en -serais encore plus jaloux que tu ne le fus de cette nymphe ingrate et -légère qui te fit tant courir dans les plaines de la Thessalie ou sur -les rives du Pénée: je ne me rappelle pas bien où ton amour et ta -jalousie t’entraînèrent en cette circonstance. - -Notre héros en était là de son pathétique monologue, quand il fut -interrompu par la fille de l’hôtelier, qui, faisant signe avec la main, -lui dit, en l’appelant à voix basse: Mon bon seigneur, approchez quelque -peu, je vous prie. A cette voix, l’amoureux chevalier tourna la tête, et -reconnaissant, à la clarté de la lune, qu’on l’appelait par cette -lucarne, qu’il transformait en une fenêtre à treillis d’or, ainsi qu’il -en voyait à tous les châteaux dont il avait l’imagination remplie, il se -mit dans l’esprit, comme la première fois, que la fille du seigneur -châtelain, éprise de son mérite et cédant à la passion, le sollicitait -de nouveau d’apaiser son martyre. Aussi, plein de cette chimère, et pour -ne pas paraître discourtois, il tourna la bride à Rossinante, et -s’approcha: Que je vous plains, madame, lui dit-il en soupirant, que je -vous plains d’avoir pris pour but de vos amoureuses pensées un -malheureux chevalier errant, qui ne s’appartient plus, et que l’amour -tient ailleurs enchaîné. Ne m’en voulez pas, aimable demoiselle; -retirez-vous dans votre appartement, je vous en conjure, et à force de -faveurs ne me rendez point encore plus ingrat. Mais si, à l’exception de -mon cœur, il se trouve en moi quelque chose qui puisse payer l’amour -que vous me témoignez, demandez-le hardiment: je jure par les yeux de la -belle et douce ennemie dont je suis l’esclave, de vous l’accorder sur -l’heure, quand bien même vous exigeriez une tresse des cheveux de -Méduse, qui étaient autant d’effroyables couleuvres, ou les rayons du -Soleil lui-même enfermés dans une fiole. - -Ma maîtresse n’a pas besoin de tout cela, seigneur chevalier, répondit -Maritorne. - -De quoi votre maîtresse a-t-elle besoin, duègne sage et discrète? -demanda don Quichotte. - -Seulement d’une de vos belles mains, répondit Maritorne, afin de calmer -un feu dont l’ardeur l’a conduite à cette lucarne en l’absence d’un père -qui, sur le moindre soupçon, hacherait sa fille si menu que l’oreille -resterait la plus grosse partie de toute sa personne. - -Qu’il s’en garde bien, repartit don Quichotte, s’il ne veut avoir la -plus terrible fin que père ait jamais eue pour avoir porté une main -insolente sur les membres délicats de son amoureuse fille. - -Après un pareil serment, Maritorne ne douta point que don Quichotte ne -donnât sa main. Aussi pour exécuter son projet, elle courut à l’écurie -chercher le licou de l’âne de Sancho, et revint bientôt après juste au -moment où le chevalier venait de se mettre debout sur sa selle, pour -atteindre jusqu’à la fenêtre grillée où il apercevait la passionnée -demoiselle: Voilà, lui dit-il en se haussant, voilà cette main que vous -demandez, madame, ou plutôt ce fléau des méchants qui troublent la terre -par leurs forfaits, cette main que personne n’a jamais touchée, pas même -celle à qui j’appartiens corps et âme; prenez-la cette main, je vous la -donne non pour la couvrir de baisers, mais simplement pour vous faire -admirer l’admirable contexture de ses nerfs, le puissant assemblage de -ses muscles, et la grosseur peu commune de ses veines; jugez, d’après -cela, quelle est la force du bras auquel appartient une telle main. - -Nous le verrons dans un instant, dit Maritorne, qui ayant fait un nœud -coulant à l’un des bouts du licou, le jeta au poignet de don Quichotte, -puis s’empressa d’attacher l’autre bout au verrou de la porte. - -Le chevalier, sentant la rudesse du lien qui lui retenait le bras, ne -savait que penser: Ma belle demoiselle, lui dit-il avec douceur, il me -semble que Votre Grâce m’égratigne la main au lieu de la caresser, -épargnez-la, de grâce; elle n’a aucune part au tourment que vous -endurez; il n’est pas juste que vous vengiez sur une petite partie de -moi-même la grandeur de votre dépit: quand on aime bien, on ne traite -pas les gens avec cette rigueur. - -Il avait beau se plaindre, personne ne l’écoutait, car dès que Maritorne -l’eut lié de telle sorte qu’il ne pouvait plus se détacher, nos deux -donzelles s’étaient retirées en pouffant de rire. Le pauvre chevalier -resta donc debout sur son cheval, le bras engagé dans la lucarne, -fortement retenu par le poignet, et mourant de peur que Rossinante, en -se détournant tant soit peu, ne l’abandonnât à ce supplice d’un nouveau -genre. Dans cette inquiétude il n’osait remuer; et retenant son haleine, -il craignait de faire un mouvement qui impatientât son cheval, car il ne -doutait pas que de lui-même le paisible quadrupède ne fût capable de -rester là un siècle entier. Au bout de quelque temps néanmoins, le -silence de ces dames commença à lui faire penser qu’il était le jouet -d’un enchantement, comme lorsqu’il fut roué de coups dans ce même -château par le More enchanté, et il se reprochait déjà l’imprudence -qu’il avait eue de s’y exposer une seconde fois, après avoir été si -maltraité la première. J’aurais dû me rappeler, se disait-il en -lui-même, que lorsqu’un chevalier tente une aventure sans pouvoir en -venir à bout, c’est une preuve qu’elle est réservée à un autre; et il -est dispensé dans ce cas de l’entreprendre de nouveau. Cependant il -tirait son bras, avec beaucoup de ménagement toutefois, de crainte de -faire bouger Rossinante, mais tous ses efforts ne faisaient que -resserrer le lien, de sorte qu’il se trouvait dans cette cruelle -alternative, ou de se tenir sur la pointe des pieds, ou de s’arracher -le poignet pour parvenir à se remettre en selle. Oh! comme en cet -instant il eût voulu posséder cette tranchante épée d’Amadis, qui -détruisait toutes sortes d’enchantements! que de fois il maudit son -étoile, qui privait la terre du secours de son bras tant qu’il resterait -enchanté! Que de fois il invoqua sa bien-aimée Dulcinée du Toboso! que -de fois il appela son fidèle écuyer Sancho Panza, qui, étendu sur le bât -de son âne, et enseveli dans un profond sommeil, oubliait que lui-même -fût de ce monde! - -Finalement, l’aube du jour le surprit, mais si confondu, si désespéré, -qu’il mugissait comme un taureau, et malgré tout si bien persuadé de son -enchantement, que confirmait encore l’incroyable immobilité de -Rossinante, qu’il ne douta plus que son cheval et lui ne dussent rester -plusieurs siècles sans boire, ni manger, ni dormir, jusqu’à ce que le -charme fût rompu, ou qu’un plus savant enchanteur vînt le délivrer. - -Il en était là, lorsque quatre cavaliers bien équipés et portant -l’escopette à l’arçon de leurs selles, vinrent frapper à la porte de -l’hôtellerie. Don Quichotte, pour remplir malgré tout le devoir d’une -vigilante sentinelle, leur cria d’une voix haute: Chevaliers ou écuyers, -ou qui que vous soyez, cessez de frapper à la porte de ce château: ne -voyez-vous pas qu’à cette heure ceux qui l’habitent reposent encore? On -n’ouvre les forteresses qu’après le lever du soleil. Retirez-vous, et -attendez qu’il soit jour; nous verrons alors s’il convient ou non de -vous ouvrir. - -Quelle diable de forteresse y a-t-il ici, pour nous obliger à toutes ces -cérémonies? dit l’un des cavaliers; si vous êtes l’hôtelier, faites-nous -ouvrir promptement, car nous sommes pressés, et nous ne voulons que -faire donner l’orge à nos montures, puis continuer notre chemin. - -Est-ce que j’ai la mine d’un hôtelier? repartit don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais de qui vous avez la mine, répondit le cavalier; mais il faut -rêver pour appeler cette hôtellerie un château. - -C’en est un pourtant, et des plus fameux de tout le royaume, répliqua -don Quichotte; il a pour hôtes en ce moment tels personnages qui se sont -vus le sceptre à la main et la couronne sur la tête. - -C’est sans doute une troupe de ces comédiens qu’on voit sur le théâtre, -répondit le cavalier; car il n’y a guère d’apparence qu’il y ait -d’autres gens dans une pareille hôtellerie. - -Vous connaissez peu les choses de la vie, repartit don Quichotte, -puisque vous ignorez encore les miracles qui ont lieu chaque jour dans -la chevalerie errante. - -Ennuyés de ce long dialogue, les cavaliers recommencèrent à frapper de -telle sorte, qu’ils finirent par éveiller tout le monde. Or, il arriva -qu’en ce moment la jument d’un d’entre eux s’en vint flairer Rossinante, -qui, immobile et l’oreille basse, continuait à soutenir le corps allongé -de son maître. Rossinante, qui était de chair, quoiqu’il parût de bois, -voulut à son tour s’approcher de la jument qui lui faisait des avances; -mais à peine eût-il bougé tant soit peu, que, glissant de sa selle, les -deux pieds de don Quichotte perdirent à la fois leur appui, et le pauvre -homme serait tombé lourdement s’il n’avait été fortement attaché par le -bras. Il éprouva une telle angoisse, qu’il crut qu’on lui arrachait le -poignet. Allongé par le poids de son corps, il touchait presque à terre, -ce qui lui fut un surcroît de douleur, car, sentant combien peu il s’en -fallait que ses pieds ne portassent, il s’allongeait de lui-même encore -plus, comme font les malheureux soumis au supplice de l’estrapade, et -augmentait ainsi son tourment. - -CHAPITRE XLIV - -OU SE POURSUIVENT LES ÉVÉNEMENTS INOUIS DE L’HOTELLERIE - -Aux cris épouvantables que poussait don Quichotte, l’hôtelier -s’empressa d’ouvrir la porte, pendant que de son côté Maritorne, -éveillée par le bruit et en devinant sans peine la cause, se glissait -dans le grenier afin de détacher le licou et de rendre la liberté au -chevalier, qui roula par terre en présence des voyageurs. Ils lui -demandèrent pour quel sujet il criait si fort; mais, sans leur répondre, -notre héros se relève promptement, saute sur Rossinante, embrasse son -écu, met la lance en arrêt, et, prenant du champ, revient au petit galop -en disant: Quiconque prétend que j’ai été justement enchanté ment comme -un imposteur; je lui en donne le démenti! et pourvu que madame la -princesse de Micomicon m’en accorde la permission, je le défie et -l’appelle en combat singulier. - -Ces paroles surprirent grandement les nouveaux venus qui, ayant su -l’humeur bizarre du chevalier, ne s’y arrêtèrent pas davantage et -demandèrent à l’hôtelier s’il n’y avait point chez lui un jeune homme -d’environ quinze ans, vêtu en muletier; en un mot, ils donnèrent le -signalement complet de l’amant de la belle Claire. - -Il y a tant de gens de toute sorte dans ma maison, répondit l’hôtelier, -que je n’ai pas pris garde à celui dont vous parlez. - -Mais un des cavaliers, reconnaissant le cocher qui avait amené -l’auditeur, s’écria que le jeune homme était sans doute là: Qu’un de -nous, ajouta-t-il, se tienne à la porte et fasse sentinelle, pendant que -les autres le chercheront; il serait bon aussi de veiller autour de -l’hôtellerie, de peur que le fugitif ne s’échappe par-dessus les murs. -Ce qui fut fait. - -Le jour étant venu, chacun pensa à se lever, surtout Dorothée et la -jeune Claire, qui n’avaient pu dormir, l’une troublée de savoir son -amant si près d’elle, et l’autre brûlant d’envie de le connaître. Don -Quichotte étouffait de rage, en voyant qu’aucun des voyageurs ne faisait -attention à lui, et s’il n’eût craint de manquer aux lois de la -chevalerie, il les aurait assaillis tous à la fois, pour les contraindre -de répondre à son défi. Mais tenu comme il l’était de n’entreprendre -aucune aventure avant d’avoir rétabli la princesse de Micomicon sur le -trône, il se résigna et regarda faire les voyageurs. - -L’un d’eux ayant enfin trouvé le jeune garçon qu’ils cherchaient, -endormi tranquillement auprès d’un muletier, le saisit par le bras et -lui dit en l’éveillant: Par ma foi, seigneur don Luis, je vous trouve -dans un bel équipage, et ce lit répond bien aux délicatesses dans -lesquelles vous avez été élevé! - -Notre amoureux, encore tout assoupi, se frotta les yeux, et ayant -envisagé celui qui le tenait, reconnut un des valets de son père, ce -dont il fut si surpris qu’il fut longtemps sans pouvoir articuler une -parole. - -Seigneur don Luis, continua le valet, vous n’avez qu’un seul parti à -prendre. Retournez chez votre père, si vous ne voulez être bientôt privé -de lui; car il n’y a guère autre chose à attendre de l’état où l’a mis -votre fuite. - -Hé! comment mon père a-t-il su que j’avais pris ce chemin et ce -déguisement? répondit don Luis. - -En voyant son affliction, un étudiant à qui vous aviez confié votre -dessein lui a tout découvert, et il nous a envoyés à votre poursuite, -ces trois cavaliers et moi. Nous serons heureux de pouvoir bientôt vous -remettre entre les bras d’un père qui vous aime tant. - -Oh! il n’en sera que ce que je voudrai, répondit don Luis. - -Le muletier auprès de qui don Luis avait passé la nuit, ayant entendu -cette conversation, en alla donner avis à don Fernand et aux autres, qui -étaient déjà sur pied; il leur dit que le valet appelait le jeune homme -seigneur, et qu’on voulait l’emmener malgré lui. Ces paroles leur -donnèrent à tous l’envie de le connaître et de lui prêter secours au cas -où l’on voudrait lui faire quelque violence; ils coururent donc à -l’écurie, où ils le trouvèrent se débattant contre le valet. Dorothée -qui, en sortant de sa chambre, avait rencontré Cardenio, lui conta en -peu de mots l’histoire de Claire et du musicien inconnu, et Cardenio, de -son côté, lui apprit ce qui se passait entre don Luis et les gens de son -père. Mais il ne le fit pas si secrètement que Claire, qui suivait -Dorothée, ne l’entendît. Elle en fut si émue, qu’elle faillit -s’évanouir. Heureusement Dorothée la soutint et l’emmena dans sa -chambre, après que Cardenio l’eût assurée qu’il allait faire tous ses -efforts pour arranger tout cela. - -Cependant les quatre cavaliers venus à la recherche de don Luis ne le -quittaient pas; ils tâchaient de lui persuader de partir sur-le-champ -pour aller consoler son père; et comme il refusait avec emportement, -ayant, disait-il, à terminer une affaire qui intéressait son honneur, sa -vie, et même son salut, ils le pressaient de façon à ne lui laisser -aucun doute sur la résolution où ils étaient de l’emmener à quelque prix -que ce fût. Tous ceux qui étaient dans l’hôtellerie étaient accourus au -bruit, Cardenio, don Fernand et ses cavaliers, l’auditeur, le curé, -maître Nicolas et don Quichotte lui-même, auquel il avait semblé -inutile de faire plus longtemps la garde du château. Cardenio, qui -connaissait déjà l’histoire du garçon muletier, demanda à ceux qui -voulaient l’entraîner par force, quel motif ils avaient d’emmener ce -jeune homme, puisqu’il s’y refusait obstinément. - -Notre motif, répondirent-ils, c’est de rendre la vie au père de ce -gentilhomme, que son absence réduit au désespoir. - -Ce sont mes affaires et non les vôtres, répliqua don Luis; je -retournerai s’il me plaît, et pas un de vous ne saurait m’y forcer. - -La raison vous y forcera, répondit un des valets, et si elle ne peut -rien sur vous, nous ferons notre devoir. - -Sachons un peu ce qu’il y a au fond de tout cela, dit l’auditeur. - -Ce valet reconnut l’auditeur. Est-ce que Votre Grâce, Seigneur, lui -dit-il en le saluant, ne se rappelle pas ce jeune gentilhomme? C’est le -fils de votre voisin; il s’est échappé de chez son père sous un costume -qui ne ferait guère soupçonner qui il est. - -Frappé de ces paroles, l’auditeur le considéra quelque temps, et, -s’étant rappelé ses traits, il lui dit en l’embrassant: Hé! quel -enfantillage est-ce là, seigneur don Luis? Quel motif si puissant a pu -vous faire prendre un déguisement si indigne de vous? mais voyant le -jeune garçon les yeux pleins de larmes, il dit aux valets de s’éloigner; -et l’ayant pris à part, il lui demanda ce que cela signifiait. - -Pendant que l’auditeur interrogeait don Luis, on entendit de grands cris -à la porte de l’hôtellerie. Deux hommes qui y avaient passé la nuit, -voyant tous les gens de la maison occupés, voulurent déguerpir sans -payer: mais l’hôtelier, plus attentif à ses affaires qu’à celles -d’autrui, les arrêta au passage, leur réclamant la dépense avec un tel -surcroît d’injures qu’il les excita à lui répondre à coups de poing, et -en effet, ils le gourmaient de telle sorte, qu’il fut contraint -d’appeler au secours. L’hôtesse et sa fille accoururent; mais comme -elles n’y pouvaient rien, la fille de l’hôtesse, qui avait vu en passant -don Quichotte les bras croisés et au repos, revint sur ses pas et lui -dit: Seigneur chevalier, par la vertu que Dieu vous a donnée, venez, je -vous en supplie, venez secourir mon père, que deux méchants hommes -battent comme plâtre. - -Très-belle demoiselle, répondit don Quichotte avec le plus grand -sang-froid, votre requête ne saurait pour l’heure être accueillie, car -j’ai donné ma parole de n’entreprendre aucune aventure avant d’en avoir -achevé une à laquelle je me suis engagé. Mais voici ce que je peux faire -pour votre service: courez dire au seigneur votre père de soutenir de -son mieux le combat où il est engagé, sans se laisser vaincre; j’irai -pendant ce temps demander à la princesse de Micomicon la liberté de le -secourir; si elle me l’octroie, soyez convaincue que je saurai le tirer -d’affaire. - -Pécheresse que je suis! s’écria Maritorne qui était présente, avant que -Votre Seigneurie ait la permission qu’elle vient de dire, notre maître -sera dans l’autre monde! - -Trouvez bon, madame, que j’aille la réclamer, repartit don Quichotte, et -quand une fois je l’aurai obtenue, peu importe que le seigneur châtelain -soit ou non dans l’autre monde; je saurai l’en arracher en dépit de tous -ceux qui voudraient s’y opposer, ou du moins je tirerai de ceux qui l’y -auront envoyé une vengeance si éclatante que vous aurez lieu d’être -satisfaite. - -Cela dit, il va se jeter à genoux devant Dorothée, la suppliant, avec -les expressions les plus choisies de la chevalerie errante, de lui -permettre de secourir le seigneur du château, qui se trouvait dans un -pressant péril. La princesse y consent; alors notre valeureux chevalier, -mettant l’épée à la main et embrassant son écu, se dirige vers la porte -de l’hôtellerie, où le combat continuait au grand désavantage de -l’hôtelier. Mais tout à coup il s’arrête et demeure immobile, quoique -l’hôtesse et Maritorne le harcelassent en lui demandant ce qui -l’empêchait de secourir leur maître. - -Ce qui m’en empêche, répondit don Quichotte, c’est qu’il ne m’est pas -permis de tirer l’épée contre de pareilles gens; appelez mon écuyer -Sancho Panza, c’est à lui que revient de droit le châtiment de ceux qui -ne sont pas armés chevaliers. - -Voilà ce qui se passait à la porte de l’hôtellerie, où les gourmades -tombaient dru comme grêle sur la tête de l’hôtelier, pendant que -Maritorne, l’hôtesse et sa fille enrageaient de la froideur de don -Quichotte et lui reprochaient sa poltronnerie. Mais quittons-les un -moment, et allons savoir ce que don Luis répondait aux questions de -l’auditeur, au sujet de sa fuite et de son déguisement. - -Le jeune homme pressait les mains du père de la belle Claire et versait -des larmes abondantes. Seigneur, lui disait-il, je ne saurais confesser -autre chose, sinon qu’après avoir vu mademoiselle votre fille, lorsque -vous êtes venu habiter dans notre voisinage, j’en devins éperdument -amoureux; et si vous consentez à ce que j’aie l’honneur d’être votre -fils, dès aujourd’hui même elle sera ma femme: c’est pour elle que j’ai -quitté sous ce déguisement la maison de mon père, et je suis résolu à la -suivre partout. Elle ne sait pas combien je l’aime, à moins pourtant -qu’elle ne l’ait deviné à mes larmes, car je n’ai jamais eu le bonheur -de lui parler. Vous savez qui je suis, quel est le bien de mon père, -vous savez aussi qu’il n’a pas d’autre héritier que moi. D’après cela si -vous me jugez digne de votre alliance, rendez-moi heureux promptement, -je vous en supplie, en m’acceptant pour votre fils, et je vous jure de -vous servir toute ma vie avec tout le respect et toute l’affection -imaginables. Si, par hasard, mon père refusait d’y consentir, j’espère -que le temps et l’excellence de mon choix le feront changer d’idée. - -L’amoureux jeune homme se tut; l’auditeur demeura non moins surpris -d’une confidence si imprévue, qu’indécis sur le parti qu’il devait -prendre. Il engagea d’abord don Luis à se calmer, et lui dit que pourvu -qu’il obtînt des gens de son père de ne pas le forcer à les suivre, il -allait aviser au moyen de faire ce qui conviendrait le mieux. - -L’hôtelier avait fait la paix avec ses deux hôtes, que les conseils de -don Quichotte, encore plus que ses menaces, avaient décidés à payer leur -dépense, et les valets de don Luis attendaient le résultat de -l’entretien de leur jeune maître avec l’auditeur, quand le diable, qui -ne dort jamais, amena dans l’hôtellerie le barbier à qui don Quichotte -avait enlevé l’armet de Mambrin, et Sancho Panza le harnais de son âne. -En conduisant sa bête à l’écurie, cet homme reconnut Sancho qui -accommodait son grison: Ah! larron, lui dit-il en le prenant au collet, -je te tiens à la fin; tu vas me rendre mon bassin, mon bât et tout -l’équipage que tu m’as volé. Se voyant attaqué à l’improviste, et -s’entendant dire des injures, Sancho saisit d’une main l’objet de la -dispute, et de l’autre appliqua un si grand coup de poing à son -agresseur, qu’il lui mit la mâchoire en sang; néanmoins le barbier ne -lâchait point prise, et il se mit à pousser de tels cris, que tout le -monde accourut. Justice! au nom du roi! justice! criait-il; ce -détrousseur de passants veut m’assassiner parce que je reprends mon -bien. - -Tu en as menti par la gorge! répliquait Sancho; je ne suis point un -détrousseur de passants, et c’est de bonne guerre que mon maître a -conquis ces dépouilles. - -Témoin de la valeur de son écuyer, don Quichotte jouissait de voir avec -quelle vigueur Sancho savait attaquer et se défendre; aussi dès ce -moment il le tint pour homme de cœur, et il résolut de l’armer -chevalier à la première occasion qui viendrait à se présenter, ne -doutant point que l’ordre n’en retirât un très-grand lustre. Pendant ce -temps, le pauvre barbier continuait à s’escrimer de son mieux. De même -que ma vie est à Dieu, disait-il, ce bât est à moi, et je le reconnais -comme si je l’avais mis au monde! d’ailleurs mon âne est là qui pourra -me démentir: qu’on le lui essaye, et si ce bât ne lui va pas comme un -gant, je consens à passer pour un infâme. Mais ce n’est pas tout, le -même jour qu’ils me l’ont pris, ils m’ont aussi enlevé un plat à barbe -de cuivre tout battant neuf, qui m’avait coûté un bel et bon écu. - -En entendant ces paroles, don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher d’intervenir; -il sépara les combattants, déposa le bât par terre, afin qu’il fût vu de -tout le monde, et dit: Seigneurs, Vos Grâces vont reconnaître -manifestement l’erreur de ce bon écuyer, qui appelle un plat à barbe ce -qui est, fut et ne cessera jamais d’être l’armet de Mambrin; or, cet -armet, je le lui ai enlevé en combat singulier, j’en suis donc maître de -la façon la plus légitime. Quant au bât, je ne m’en mêle point: tout ce -que je puis dire à ce sujet, c’est qu’après le combat mon écuyer me -demanda la permission de prendre le harnais du cheval de ce poltron, -pour remplacer le sien. Expliquer comment ce harnais s’est métamorphosé -en bât, je ne saurais en donner d’autre raison, sinon que ces sortes de -transformations se voient chaque jour dans la chevalerie errante; et -pour preuve de ce que j’avance, ajouta-t-il, cours, Sancho, mon enfant, -va chercher l’armet que ce brave homme appelle un bassin de barbier. - -Si nous n’avons pas d’autre preuve, répliqua Sancho, nous voilà dans de -beaux draps: aussi plat à barbe est l’armet de Mambrin, que la selle de -cet homme est bât. - -Fais ce que je t’ordonne, repartit don Quichotte; peut-être que ce qui -arrive dans ce château ne se fera pas toujours par voie d’enchantement. - -Sancho alla chercher le bassin et l’apporta. Voyez maintenant, -seigneurs, dit don Quichotte en le présentant à l’assemblée, voyez s’il -est possible de soutenir que ce ne soit pas là un armet? Je jure, par -l’ordre de chevalerie dont je fais profession, que cet armet est tel que -je l’ai pris, sans y avoir rien ajouté, rien retranché. - -Il n’y a pas le moindre doute, ajouta Sancho, et depuis que mon maître -l’a conquis, il n’a livré qu’une seule bataille, celle où il délivra ces -misérables forçats; et bien lui en prit, car ce plat à barbe ou armet, -comme on voudra l’appeler, lui a garanti la tête de nombreux coups de -pierre en cette diabolique rencontre. - -Eh bien! messeigneurs, dit le barbier, que vous semble de gens qui -affirment que ceci n’est point un plat à barbe, mais un armet? - -CHAPITRE XLV - -OU L’ON ACHÈVE DE VÉRIFIER LES DOUTES SUR L’ARMET DE MAMBRIN ET SUR LE -BAT DE L’ANE, AVEC D’AUTRES AVENTURES AUSSI VÉRITABLES - -A qui osera soutenir le contraire, repartit don Quichotte, je dirai -qu’il ment, s’il est chevalier, et s’il n’est qu’écuyer, qu’il a menti -et rementi mille fois. - -Pour divertir la compagnie, maître Nicolas voulut appuyer la folie de -don Quichotte, et s’adressant à son confrère: Seigneur barbier, lui -dit-il, sachez que nous sommes, vous et moi, du même métier: il y a plus -de vingt ans que j’ai mes lettres de maîtrise, et je connais fort bien -tous les instruments de barberie, depuis le plus grand jusqu’au plus -petit. Sachez de plus qu’ayant été soldat dans ma jeunesse je connais -parfaitement ce que c’est qu’un armet, un morion, une salade, en un mot -toutes les choses de la guerre. Ainsi donc, sauf meilleur avis, je dis -que cette pièce qui est entre les mains du seigneur chevalier est si -éloignée d’être un plat à barbe, qu’il n’existe pas une plus grande -différence entre le blanc et le noir; je dis et redis que c’est un -armet; seulement il n’est pas entier. - -Assurément, répliqua don Quichotte, car il en manque la moitié, à savoir -la mentonnière. - -Tout le monde est d’accord là-dessus! ajouta le curé, qui avait saisi -l’intention de maître Nicolas. - -Cardenio, don Fernand et ses amis affirmèrent la même chose. L’auditeur -aurait volontiers dit comme eux, si l’affaire de don Luis ne lui eût -donné à réfléchir; mais il la trouvait assez grave pour ne pas se mêler -à toutes ces plaisanteries. - -Dieu me soit en aide! s’écriait le malheureux barbier; comment tant -d’honnêtes gentilshommes peuvent-ils prendre un plat à barbe pour un -armet? En vérité, il y a là de quoi confondre toute une université; si -ce plat à barbe est un armet, alors ce bât doit être aussi une selle de -cheval, comme le prétend ce seigneur. - -Quant à cet objet, il me semble bât, reprit notre chevalier; mais je -vous ai déjà dit que je ne me mêle point de cela. - -Selle ou bât, dit le curé, c’est à vous, seigneur don Quichotte, qu’il -appartient de résoudre cette question, car, en matière de chevalerie, -tout le monde ici vous cède la palme, et nous nous en rapportons à votre -jugement. - -Vos Grâces me font trop d’honneur, répliqua notre héros; mais il m’est -arrivé des aventures si étranges, les deux fois que je suis venu loger -dans ce château, que je n’ose plus me prononcer sur ce qu’il renferme: -car tout s’y fait, je pense, par voie d’enchantement. La première fois, -je fus très-tourmenté par le More enchanté qui est ici, et Sancho n’eut -guère à se louer des gens de sa suite. Hier au soir, la date est toute -fraîche, je me suis trouvé suspendu par le bras, et je suis resté en cet -état pendant près de deux heures, sans pouvoir m’expliquer d’où me -venait cette disgrâce. Après cela, donner mon avis sur des choses si -confuses, serait témérité de ma part. J’ai dit mon sentiment pour ce qui -est de l’armet; mais décider si c’est là un bât d’âne ou une selle de -cheval, cela vous regarde, seigneurs. Peut-être que, n’étant pas armés -chevaliers, les enchantements n’auront point de prise sur vous; -peut-être aussi jugerez-vous plus sainement de ce qui se passe ici, les -objets vous paraissant autres qu’ils ne me paraissent à moi-même. - -Le seigneur don Quichotte a raison, reprit don Fernand; c’est à nous de -régler ce différend; et pour y procéder avec ordre et dans les formes, -je vais prendre l’opinion de chacun en particulier: la majorité -décidera. - -Pour qui connaissait l’humeur du chevalier, tout cela était fort -divertissant; mais pour ceux qui n’étaient pas dans le secret, c’était -de la dernière extravagance, notamment pour les gens de don Luis, don -Luis lui-même, et trois nouveaux venus qu’à leur mine on prit pour des -archers, ce qu’ils étaient en effet. Le barbier enrageait de voir son -plat à barbe devenir un armet, et il ne doutait pas que le bât de son -âne ne se transformât en selle de cheval. Tous riaient en voyant don -Fernand consulter sérieusement l’assemblée, et dans les mêmes formes que -s’il se fût agi d’une affaire de grande importance. Enfin, après avoir -recueilli les voix, don Fernand dit au barbier: Bon homme, je suis las -de répéter tant de fois la même question, et d’entendre toujours -répondre qu’il est inutile de s’enquérir si c’est là un bât d’âne, quand -il est de la dernière évidence que c’est une selle de cheval et même -d’un cheval de race: prenez donc patience, car en dépit de votre âne et -de vous, c’est une selle et non un bât. Vous avez mal plaidé, et encore -moins fourni de preuves. - -Que je perde ma place en paradis, s’écria le pauvre barbier, si vous ne -rêvez, tous tant que vous êtes; et puisse mon âme paraître devant Dieu, -comme cela me paraît un bât! mais les lois vont... Je n’en dis pas -davantage; et certes je ne suis pas ivre, car je n’ai encore bu ni mangé -d’aujourd’hui. - -On ne s’amusait pas moins des naïvetés du barbier que des extravagances -de don Quichotte, qui conclut en disant: Ce qu’il y a de mieux à faire, -c’est que chacun ici reprenne son bien. Et comme on dit: ce que Dieu t’a -donné, que saint Pierre le bénisse. - -Mais si la chose en fût restée là, le diable n’y aurait pas trouvé son -compte; un des valets de don Luis voulut aussi donner son avis. Si ce -n’est pas une plaisanterie, dit-il, comment tant de gens d’esprit -peuvent-ils prendre ainsi martre pour renard? Assurément ce n’est pas -sans intention que l’on conteste une chose si évidente; quant à moi, je -défie qui que ce soit de m’empêcher de croire que cela est un plat à -barbe, et ceci un bât d’âne. - -Ne jurez pas, dit le curé; ce pourrait être celui d’une ânesse. - -Comme vous voudrez, repartit le valet; mais enfin, c’est toujours un -bât. - -Un des archers qui venaient d’entrer voulut aussi se mêler de la -contestation. Parbleu! dit-il, voilà qui est plaisant! ceci est un bât -comme mon père est un homme, et quiconque soutient le contraire doit -être aviné comme un grain de raisin. - -Tu en as menti, maraud! répliqua don Quichotte; et levant sa lance, -qu’il ne quittait jamais, il lui en déchargea un tel coup sur la tête, -que si l’archer ne se fût un peu écarté, il l’étendait tout de son long. -La lance se brisa, et les autres archers, voyant maltraiter leur -compagnon, commencèrent à faire grand bruit, demandant main-forte pour -la Sainte-Hermandad. Là-dessus l’hôtelier, qui était de cette noble -confrérie, courut chercher sa verge et son épée, et revint se ranger du -côté des archers; les gens de don Luis entourèrent leur jeune maître -pour qu’il ne pût s’échapper à la faveur du tumulte; le pauvre barbier, -qu’on avait si fort mystifié, voyant toute l’hôtellerie en confusion, -voulut en profiter pour reprendre son bât, et Sancho en fit autant. - -Don Quichotte mit l’épée à la main, et attaqua vigoureusement les -archers; don Luis, voyant la bataille engagée, se démenait au milieu de -ses gens, leur criant de le laisser aller, et de courir au secours de -don Quichotte, de don Fernand et de Cardenio, qui s’étaient mis de la -partie; le curé haranguait de toute la force de ses poumons; l’hôtesse -jetait les hauts cris, sa fille était toute en larmes, Maritorne hors -d’elle-même; Dorothée et Luscinde épouvantées, la jeune Claire évanouie; -le barbier gourmait Sancho, et Sancho rouait de coups le barbier; d’un -autre côté, don Luis, qui ne songeait qu’à s’échapper, se sentant saisi -par un des valets de son père, lui appliqua un si vigoureux coup de -bâton, qu’il lui fit lâcher prise; don Fernand tenait sous lui un archer -et le foulait aux pieds, Cardenio frappait à tort et à travers, pendant -que l’hôtelier ne cessait d’invoquer la Sainte-Hermandad: si bien que -dans toute la maison ce n’était que cris, sanglots, hurlements, coups de -poings, coups de pied, coups de bâton, coups d’épée et effusion de sang. - -Tout à coup, au milieu de ce chaos, l’idée la plus bizarre vient -traverser l’imagination de don Quichotte; il se croit transporté dans le -camp d’Agramant, et, s’imaginant être au plus fort de la mêlée, il crie -d’une voix à ébranler les murs: Que tout le monde s’arrête! qu’on -remette l’épée au fourreau! et que chacun m’écoute s’il veut conserver -la vie! Tous s’arrêtèrent à la voix de notre héros, qui continua en ces -termes: Ne vous ai-je pas déjà dit, seigneurs, que ce château est -enchanté, et qu’une légion de diables y fait sa demeure? voyez plutôt de -vos propres yeux si la discorde du camp d’Agramant ne s’est pas glissée -parmi nous: voyez, vous dis-je; ici l’on combat pour l’épée, là pour le -cheval, d’un autre côté pour l’aigle blanc, ailleurs pour un armet; -enfin nous en sommes tous venus aux mains sans nous entendre, et sans -distinguer amis ni ennemis. De grâce, seigneur auditeur, et vous, -seigneur licencié, soyez, l’un le roi Agramant, l’autre le roi Sobrin, -et tâchez de nous mettre d’accord; car, par le Dieu tout-puissant, il -est vraiment honteux que tant de gens de qualité s’entre-tuent pour de -si misérables motifs. - -Les archers, qui ne comprenaient rien aux rêveries de don Quichotte et -que Cardenio, don Fernand et ses compagnons avaient rudement étrillés, -ne voulaient point cesser le combat; le pauvre barbier, au contraire, ne -demandait pas mieux, car son bât était rompu, et à peine lui restait-il -un poil de la barbe; quant à Sancho, il s’était arrêté à la voix de son -maître, et reprenait haleine en s’essuyant le visage; seul, l’hôtelier -ne pouvait se contenir et s’obstinait à vouloir châtier ce fou, qui -mettait sans cesse le trouble dans sa maison. A la fin pourtant les -querelles s’apaisèrent, ou du moins il y eut suspension d’armes: le bât -demeura selle, le plat à barbe armet, et l’hôtellerie resta château dans -l’imagination de don Quichotte. - -Les soins de l’auditeur et du curé ayant rétabli la paix, et tous étant -redevenus amis, ou à peu près, les gens de don Luis le pressèrent de -partir sans délai pour aller retrouver son père; et pendant qu’il -discutait avec eux, l’auditeur, prenant à part don Fernand, Cardenio et -le curé, leur apprit ce que lui avait révélé ce jeune homme, demandant -leur avis sur le parti qu’il fallait prendre. Il fut décidé d’un commun -accord que don Fernand se ferait connaître aux gens de don Luis, leur -déclarant qu’il voulait l’emmener en Andalousie, où le marquis son frère -l’accueillerait de la manière la plus distinguée, puisque ce jeune homme -refusait absolument de retourner à Madrid. Cédant à la volonté de leur -jeune maître, les valets convinrent que trois d’entre eux iraient donner -avis au père de ce qui se passait, et que le dernier resterait auprès -du fils en attendant des nouvelles. - -C’est ainsi que, par l’autorité du roi d’Agramant et par la prudence du -roi Sobrin, fut apaisée cette effroyable tempête, et que fut étouffé cet -immense foyer de divisions et de querelles. Mais quand le démon, ennemi -de la concorde et de la paix, se vit arracher le fruit qu’il espérait de -si grands germes de discorde, il résolut de susciter de nouveaux -troubles. - -Or, voici ce qui arriva: les archers, voyant que leurs adversaires -étaient des gens de qualité, avec qui il n’y avait à gagner que des -coups, se retirèrent doucement de la mêlée. Mais l’un d’entre eux, celui -qui avait été si malmené par don Fernand, s’étant ressouvenu que parmi -divers mandats dont il était porteur, il y en avait un contre un certain -don Quichotte, que la Sainte-Hermandad ordonnait d’arrêter pour avoir -mis en liberté des forçats qu’on menait aux galères, voulut s’assurer si -par hasard le signalement de ce don Quichotte s’appliquait à l’homme -qu’il avait devant les yeux: il tira donc un parchemin de sa poche, et -le lisant assez mal, car il était fort peu lettré, il se mit à comparer -chaque phrase du signalement avec le visage de notre chevalier. -Reconnaissant enfin que c’était bien là le personnage en question, il -prend son parchemin de la main gauche, saisit au collet notre héros de -la main droite, et cela avec une telle force, qu’il lui coupait la -respiration: Main-forte, seigneurs, s’écriait-il, main-forte à la -Sainte-Hermandad! et afin que personne n’en doute, voilà le mandat qui -m’ordonne d’arrêter ce détrousseur de grands chemins. Le curé prit le -mandat, et vit que l’archer disait vrai; mais lorsque don Quichotte -s’entendit traiter de détrousseur de grands chemins, il entra dans une -si effroyable colère, que les os de son corps en craquaient; et, -saisissant à son tour l’archer à la gorge, il l’aurait étranglé plutôt -que de lâcher prise, si on n’était venu au secours. L’hôtelier accourut, -obligé qu’il y était par le devoir de sa charge. En voyant de nouveau -son mari fourré dans cette mêlée, l’hôtesse se mit à crier de plus -belle, pendant que sa fille et Maritorne, renchérissant sur le tout, -imploraient en hurlant le secours du ciel et de ceux qui se trouvaient -là. - -Vive Dieu! s’écria Sancho; mon maître a bien raison de dire que ce -château est enchanté; tous les diables de l’enfer y sont déchaînés, et -il n’y a pas moyen d’y vivre une heure en repos. - -On sépara l’archer et don Quichotte, au grand soulagement de tous les -deux, car ils s’étranglaient réciproquement. Cependant les archers -continuaient à réclamer leur prisonnier, priant qu’on les aidât à le -lier et qu’on le remît entre leurs mains, et disant qu’il y allait du -service du roi et de la Sainte-Hermandad, au nom de laquelle ils -demandaient secours et protection, afin de s’assurer de cet insigne -brigand, de ce détrousseur de passants. - -A tout cela don Quichotte souriait dédaigneusement, et avec un calme -admirable, il se contenta de leur répondre: Approchez ici, hommes mal -nés, canaille mal apprise! Quoi! rendre la liberté à des hommes -enchaînés, secourir des malheureux, prendre la défense des opprimés, -vous appelez cela détrousser les passants! Ah! race infâme, race -indigne, par la bassesse de votre intelligence, que le ciel vous révèle -jamais la moindre parcelle de cette vertu que renferme en soi la -chevalerie errante, ni qu’il vous tire de l’erreur où vous croupissez, -en refusant d’honorer la présence, que dis-je? l’ombre du moindre -chevalier errant! Venez ici, archers, ou plutôt voleurs de grands -chemins avec licence de la Sainte-Hermandad; dites-moi un peu quel est -l’étourdi qui a osé signer un mandat contre un chevalier tel que moi? -quel est l’ignorant qui en est à savoir que les chevaliers errants ne -sont pas gibier de justice, qu’ils ne reconnaissent au monde ni -tribunaux, ni juges, qu’ils n’ont d’autres lois que leur épée, et que -leur seule volonté remplace pour eux édits, arrêts et ordonnances? Quel -est le sot, continua-t-il, qui ne sait pas encore qu’aucunes lettres de -noblesse ne confèrent autant de priviléges et d’immunités qu’en acquiert -un chevalier errant, dès le jour où il se voue à ce pénible et honorable -exercice? quel chevalier errant a jamais payé taille, impôts, gabelle? -quel tailleur leur a jamais demandé la façon d’un habit? quel châtelain -leur a jamais refusé l’entrée de son château? quel roi ne les a fait -asseoir à sa table? quelle dame n’a été charmée de leur mérite, et ne -s’est mise à leur entière discrétion? Enfin quel chevalier errant -vit-on, voit-on ou verra-t-on jamais dans le monde, qui n’ait assez de -force et de courage pour donner à lui seul quatre cents coups de bâton à -quatre cents marauds d’archers qui oseraient lui tenir tête? - -CHAPITRE XLVI - -DE LA GRANDE COLÈRE DE DON QUICHOTTE, ET D’AUTRES CHOSES ADMIRABLES - -Pendant cette harangue, le curé cherchait à faire entendre aux archers -comme quoi notre chevalier ne jouissait pas de son bon sens, ainsi -qu’ils pouvaient en juger eux-mêmes par ses actions et ses paroles, -ajoutant qu’il était inutile d’aller plus avant, car ils ne l’auraient -pas plus tôt pris et emmené, qu’on le relâcherait comme fou. - -Le porteur du mandat répondait qu’il n’était pas juge de la folie du -personnage; qu’il devait d’abord exécuter son ordre, qu’ensuite on -pourrait relâcher le prisonnier sans qu’il s’en mît en peine. - -Vous ne l’emmènerez pourtant pas de cette fois, dit le curé; car je vois -bien qu’il n’est pas d’humeur à y consentir. Enfin le curé parla si -bien, et don Quichotte fit tant d’extravagances, que les archers eussent -été plus fous que lui s’ils n’eussent reconnu qu’il avait perdu -l’esprit. Ils prirent donc le parti de s’apaiser, et se portèrent même -médiateurs entre le barbier et Sancho, qui se regardaient toujours de -travers et mouraient d’envie de recommencer. Comme membres de la -justice, ils arrangèrent l’affaire à la satisfaction des deux parties; -quant à l’armet de Mambrin, le curé donna huit réaux au barbier sans que -don Quichotte s’en aperçût, et sur la promesse qu’il ne serait exercé -aucune poursuite. - -Ces deux importantes querelles apaisées, il ne restait plus qu’à forcer -les gens de don Luis à s’en retourner, à l’exception d’un seul qui -suivrait le jeune garçon là où don Fernand avait dessein de l’emmener. -Après avoir commencé à se déclarer en faveur des amants et des braves, -la fortune voulut achever son ouvrage: les valets de don Luis firent -tout ce qu’il exigea, et la belle Claire eut tant de joie de voir rester -son amant, qu’elle en parut mille fois plus belle. Quant à Zoraïde, qui -ne comprenait pas bien ce qu’elle voyait, elle s’attristait ou se -réjouissait selon qu’elle voyait les autres être gais ou tristes, -réglant ses sentiments sur ceux de son Espagnol, qu’elle ne quittait pas -des yeux un seul instant. L’hôtelier, qui s’était aperçu du présent que -le curé avait fait au barbier, voulut se faire apaiser de la même -manière, et se mit aussi à réclamer l’écot de don Quichotte, plus le -prix de ses outres et de son vin, jurant qu’il ne laisserait sortir ni -Rossinante, ni Sancho, ni l’âne, avant d’être payé jusqu’au dernier -maravédis. Le curé régla le compte, et don Fernand en paya le montant, -quoique l’auditeur eût offert sa bourse. Ainsi, pour la seconde fois, la -paix fut conclue, et, selon l’expression de notre chevalier, au lieu de -la discorde du camp d’Agramant, on vit régner le calme et la douceur de -l’empire d’Auguste. Tout le monde convint que cet heureux résultat était -dû à l’éloquence du curé et à la libéralité de don Fernand. - -Se voyant débarrassé de toutes ces querelles, tant des siennes que de -celles de son écuyer, don Quichotte crut qu’il était temps de continuer -son voyage, et de songer à poursuivre la grande aventure qu’il s’était -chargé de mener à fin. Dans cette intention, il alla se jeter aux genoux -de Dorothée, qui d’abord ne voulut point l’écouter; aussi, pour lui -obéir, il se releva et dit: C’est un adage bien connu, très-haute et -très-illustre princesse, que la diligence est mère du succès, et -l’expérience a prouvé maintes fois que l’activité du plaideur vient à -bout d’un procès douteux; mais cette vérité n’éclate nulle part mieux -qu’à la guerre, où la vigilance et la célérité à prévenir les desseins -de l’ennemi nous en font souvent triompher avant qu’il se soit mis sur -la défensive. Je vous dis ceci, très-excellente dame, parce qu’il me -semble que notre séjour dans ce château est non-seulement désormais -inutile, mais qu’il pourrait même nous devenir funeste. Qui sait si -Pandafilando n’aura point appris par des avis secrets que je suis sur le -point de l’aller détruire, et si, se prévalant du temps que nous -perdons, il ne sera point fortifié dans quelque château, contre lequel -toute ma force et toute mon adresse seront impuissantes? Prévenons donc -ses desseins par notre diligence, et partons à l’instant même, car -l’accomplissement des souhaits de Votre Grâce n’est éloigné que de la -distance qui me sépare encore de son ennemi. - -Après ces paroles, don Quichotte se tut, et attendit gravement la -réponse de la princesse, qui, avec une contenance étudiée et un langage -accommodé à l’humeur de notre héros, lui répondit en ces termes: - -Seigneur, je vous sais gré du désir ardent que vous faites paraître de -soulager mes peines; c’est agir en véritable chevalier; plaise au ciel -que vos vœux et les miens s’accomplissent, afin que je puisse être à -même de vous prouver que toutes les femmes ne sont pas ingrates. Partons -sur-le-champ si tel est votre désir, je n’ai de volonté que la vôtre; -disposez de moi: celle qui a mis entre vos mains ses intérêts et la -défense de sa personne a hautement manifesté l’opinion qu’elle a de -votre prudence, et témoigné qu’elle s’abandonne aveuglément à votre -conduite. - -A la garde de Dieu! reprit don Quichotte; puisqu’une si grande princesse -daigne s’abaisser devant moi, je ne veux point perdre l’occasion de la -relever et de la rétablir sur son trône; partons sur-le-champ. Sancho, -selle Rossinante, prépare ta monture et le palefroi de la reine; prenons -congé du châtelain et de tous ces chevaliers, et quittons ces lieux au -plus vite. - -Seigneur, seigneur, répondit Sancho en branlant la tête, va le hameau -plus mal que n’imagine le bedeau, soit dit sans offenser personne. - -Traître, repartit don Quichotte, quel mal peut-il y avoir en aucun -hameau, ni en aucune ville du monde, qui soit à mon désavantage? - -Si Votre Grâce se met en colère, reprit Sancho, je me tairai; alors vous -ne saurez point ce que je me crois obligé de vous révéler et ce que tout -bon serviteur doit dire à son maître. - -Dis ce que tu voudras, répliqua don Quichotte, pourvu que tes paroles -n’aient pas pour but de m’intimider: si la peur te possède, songe à t’en -guérir; quant à moi, je ne veux la connaître que sur le visage de mes -ennemis. - -Il ne s’agit point de cela, ni de rien qui en approche, répondit Sancho; -mais il est une chose que je ne saurais cacher plus longtemps à Votre -Grâce, c’est que cette grande dame qui se prétend reine du royaume de -Micomicon ne l’est pas plus que ma défunte mère; si elle l’était, elle -n’irait pas, dès qu’elle se croit seule, et à chaque coin de mur, se -becqueter avec quelqu’un de la compagnie. - -Ces paroles firent rougir Dorothée, parce qu’à dire vrai don Fernand -l’embrassait souvent à la dérobée; et Sancho, qui s’en était aperçu, -trouvait que ce procédé sentait plutôt la courtisane que la princesse: -de sorte que la jeune fille, un peu confuse, ne sut que répondre. Ce qui -m’oblige à vous dire cela, mon cher maître, c’est que, si après avoir -vous et moi bien chevauché, passé de mauvaises nuits et de pires -journées, il faut qu’un fanfaron de taverne vienne jouir du fruit de nos -travaux, je n’ai pas besoin de me presser de seller Rossinante et le -palefroi de la reine, ni vous de battre les buissons pour qu’un autre en -prenne les oiseaux. En pareil cas, mieux vaut rester tranquille, et que -chaque femelle file sa quenouille. - -Qui m’aidera à peindre l’effroyable colère de don Quichotte, quand il -entendit les inconvenantes paroles de son écuyer? Elle fut telle que, -les yeux hors de la tête, et bégayant de rage, il s’écria: Scélérat, -téméraire et impudent blasphémateur! comment as-tu l’effronterie de -parler ainsi en ma présence, et devant ces illustres dames! comment -oses-tu former dans ton imagination des pensées si détestables! Fuis -loin de moi, cloaque de mensonges, réceptacle de fourberies, arsenal de -malice, publicateur d’extravagances scandaleuses, perfide ennemi de -l’honneur et du respect qu’on doit aux personnes royales! fuis, ne -parais jamais en ma présence, si tu ne veux pas que je t’anéantisse -après t’avoir fait souffrir tout ce que la fureur peut inventer. En -parlant ainsi, il fronçait les sourcils, il s’enflait les narines et les -joues, portait de tous côtés des regards menaçants, et frappait du pied -à grands coups sur le sol, signes évidents de l’épouvantable colère qui -faisait bouillonner ses entrailles. - -En entendant ces terribles invectives, devant ces gestes furieux et -menaçants, Sancho demeura si atterré, que Ben-Engeli ne craint pas de -dire que le pauvre écuyer eût voulu de bon cœur que la terre se fût -entr’ouverte pour l’engloutir; aussi, dans l’impuissance de répondre, -il tourna les talons, et s’en fut loin de la présence de son maître. -Mais la spirituelle Dorothée, qui connaissait l’humeur de don Quichotte, -lui dit pour l’adoucir: Seigneur chevalier, ne vous irritez point des -impertinences de votre bon écuyer; peut-être ne les a-t-il pas proférées -sans raison, car on ne peut soupçonner sa conscience chrétienne d’avoir -sciemment porté un faux témoignage. Il faut donc croire, et même cela -est certain, que, dans ce château, toutes choses arrivant par -enchantement, Sancho aura vu par cette voie diabolique ce qu’il dit -avoir vu d’offensant contre mon honneur. - -Par le Dieu tout-puissant, créateur de l’univers, s’écria don Quichotte, -Votre Grandeur a touché juste: quelque mauvaise vision a troublé ce -misérable pécheur, et lui aura fait voir par enchantement, ce qu’il -vient de dire; car je connais assez sa simplicité et son innocence pour -être persuadé que de sa vie il ne voudrait faire de tort à qui que ce -soit. - -Sans aucun doute, ajouta don Fernand; et votre Seigneurie doit lui -pardonner et le rappeler au giron de ses bonnes grâces, comme avant que -ces visions lui eussent brouillé la cervelle. - -Je lui pardonne, dit don Quichotte; et aussitôt le curé alla chercher -Sancho, qui vint humblement se prosterner aux pieds de son maître, en -lui demandant sa main à baiser. - -Don Quichotte la donna. A présent, mon fils Sancho, lui dit-il, tu ne -douteras plus de ce que je t’ai dit tant de fois, que tout ici n’arrive -que par voie d’enchantement. - -Je n’en doute plus, et j’en jurerai quand on voudra, répondit Sancho, -car je vois que je parle moi-même par enchantement. Toutefois, il faut -en excepter mon bernement, qui fut véritable, et dont le diable ne se -mêla point, si ce n’est pour en suggérer l’idée. - -N’en crois rien, répliqua don Quichotte: s’il en était ainsi, je -t’aurais vengé alors, et je te vengerai à cette heure; mais ni à cette -heure, ni alors, je n’ai pu trouver sur qui venger ton outrage. - -On voulut savoir ce que c’était que ce bernement, et l’hôtelier conta de -point en point de quelle manière on s’était diverti de Sancho, ce qui -fit beaucoup rire l’auditoire; aussi, pendant ce récit, l’écuyer -aurait-il cent fois éclaté de colère, si son maître ne l’eût assuré de -nouveau que tout cela n’était qu’enchantement. Néanmoins la simplicité -de Sancho n’alla jamais jusqu’à croire que ce fût une fiction; au -contraire, il persista à penser que c’était une malice bien et dûment -exécutée par des hommes en chair et en os. - -Il y avait deux jours que tant d’illustres personnages se trouvaient -réunis dans l’hôtellerie. Jugeant qu’il était temps de partir, ils -pensèrent aux moyens de ramener don Quichotte en sa maison, où le curé -et maître Nicolas pourraient travailler plus aisément à remonter cette -imagination détraquée, sans donner à don Fernand et à Dorothée la peine -de faire le voyage, comme on l’avait arrêté d’abord, sous prétexte de -rétablir la princesse de Micomicon dans ses États. Ils imaginèrent de -faire marché avec le conducteur d’une charrette à bœufs, qui passait là -par hasard, pour emmener notre chevalier de la manière que je vais -raconter. - -Avec de grands bâtons entrelacés, on construisit une espèce de cage, -assez vaste pour qu’un homme y pût tenir passablement à l’aise; après -quoi don Fernand et ses compagnons, les gens de don Luis, les archers et -l’hôtelier, ayant pris divers déguisements d’après l’avis du curé qui -conduisait l’affaire, entrèrent en silence dans la chambre de don -Quichotte. Plongé dans le sommeil, notre héros était loin de s’attendre -à une pareille aventure. On lui lia les pieds et les mains si -étroitement, que lorsqu’il s’éveilla il ne put faire autre chose que -s’étonner de l’état où il se trouvait et de l’étrangeté des figures qui -l’environnaient. Il ne manqua pas de croire tout aussitôt ce que son -extravagante imagination lui représentait sans cesse, c’est-à-dire que -c’étaient des fantômes habitants de ce château enchanté, et qu’il était -enchanté, puisqu’il ne pouvait se défendre ni même se remuer. Tout -réussit précisément comme l’avait prévu le curé inventeur de ce -stratagème. - -De tous les assistants, le seul Sancho était avec sa figure ordinaire, -et peut-être aussi le seul dans son bon sens. Quoiqu’il fût bien près de -partager la maladie de son maître, il ne laissa pas de reconnaître ces -personnages travestis; mais dans son abasourdissement, il n’osa point -ouvrir la bouche avant d’avoir vu où aboutirait cette séquestration de -son seigneur, lequel, muet comme un poisson, attendait le dénoûment de -tout cela. Le dénoûment fut qu’on apporta la cage près de son lit et -qu’on le mit dedans. Après en avoir cloué les ais de telle façon qu’il -eût fallu de puissants efforts pour les rompre, les fantômes le -chargèrent sur leurs épaules; et au sortir de la chambre, on entendit -une voix éclatante (c’était celle de maître Nicolas) prononcer ces -paroles: - -O noble et vaillant chevalier de la Triste-Figure! N’éprouve aucun -déconfort de la captivité que tu subis en ce moment; il doit en être -ainsi pour que l’aventure où t’a engagé la grandeur de ton courage soit -plus tôt achevée. On en verra la fin, quand le terrible lion de la -Manche et la blanche colombe du Toboso reposeront dans le même nid, -après avoir humilié leurs fronts superbes sous le joug d’un doux hyménée -d’où sortiront un jour de vaillants lionceaux qui porteront leurs -griffes errantes sur les traces de leur inimitable père. Et toi, ô le -plus discret et le plus obéissant écuyer qui ait jamais ceint l’épée et -porté barbe au menton, ne te laisse pas troubler en voyant ainsi enlever -sous tes yeux la fleur de la chevalerie errante. Bientôt, toi-même, s’il -plaît au grand régulateur des mondes, tu te verras élevé à une telle -hauteur que tu ne pourras plus te reconnaître; ainsi seront accomplies -les promesses de ton bon seigneur. Je viens encore te dire, au nom de la -sage Mentironiane, que tes travaux ne demeureront pas sans récompense, -et que tu verras en son temps s’abattre sur toi une fertile rosée de -gages et de salaires. Va, divin écuyer, va sur les traces de ce -valeureux et enchanté chevalier, car il t’est commandé de le suivre -jusqu’au terme fixé par votre commune destinée; et comme il ne m’est pas -permis de t’en dire davantage, je te fais mes adieux, et m’en retourne -où seul je sais. - -A la fin de la prédiction, le barbier renforça sa voix, puis la baissa -peu à peu avec une inflexion si touchante, que ceux même qui savaient la -supercherie furent sur le point de prendre au sérieux ce qu’ils venaient -d’entendre. - -Don Quichotte se sentit consolé par les promesses de l’oracle, car il en -démêla le sens et la portée et comprit fort bien qu’on lui faisait -espérer de se voir un jour uni par les liens sacrés d’un légitime -mariage avec sa chère Dulcinée du Toboso, dont le sein fécond mettrait -au monde les lionceaux, ses fils, pour l’éternelle gloire de la Manche. -Ajoutant donc à ces promesses une foi égale à celle qu’il avait pour les -livres de chevalerie, il répondit en poussant un grand soupir: - -O toi, qui que tu sois, qui m’annonces de si heureux événements, conjure -de ma part, je t’en supplie, le sage enchanteur qui prend soin de mes -affaires de ne pas me laisser mourir dans cette prison où l’on m’emmène, -avant d’avoir vu l’entier accomplissement des incomparables promesses -que tu m’annonces. Pourvu qu’elles viennent à se réaliser, je ferai -gloire des peines de ma captivité; et loin de regarder comme un rude -champ de bataille le lit étroit et dur sur lequel je suis étendu en ce -moment, je le tiendrai pour une molle et délicieuse couche nuptiale. -Quant à la consolation que doit m’offrir la compagnie de Sancho Panza, -mon écuyer, j’ai trop de confiance dans sa loyauté et son affection pour -craindre qu’il m’abandonne en la bonne ou en la mauvaise fortune; et -s’il arrivait, par la faute de son étoile ou de la mienne, que je ne -pusse lui donner l’île que je lui ai promise ou quelque chose -d’équivalent, il est du moins assuré de ses gages, car j’ai eu soin de -déclarer par mon testament le dédommagement que je lui destine, -dédommagement, il est vrai, fort au-dessous de ses services et de mes -bonnes intentions à son égard, mais enfin le seul que me permettent mes -faibles moyens. - -A ces mots, Sancho Panza, tout attendri, fit un profond salut et baisa -les deux mains de son maître, car lui en baiser une seulement n’était -pas possible, puisqu’elles étaient attachées ensemble; aussitôt les -fantômes, enlevant la cage, la placèrent sur la charrette. - -CHAPITRE XLVII - -QUI CONTIENT DIVERSES CHOSES - -Lorsque don Quichotte se vit hissé sur la charrette: Certes, dit-il, -j’ai lu bien des histoires de chevaliers errants, mais de ma vie je -n’ai lu, ni vu, ni entendu dire, qu’on emmenât de la sorte les -chevaliers enchantés, surtout avec la lenteur particulière à ces lourds -et paresseux animaux. En effet, c’est toujours par les airs, et avec une -rapidité excessive qu’on a coutume de les enlever, soit enfermés dans un -épais nuage, soit sur un char de feu, soit enfin montés sur quelque -hippogriffe; mais être emmené dans une charrette traînée par des bœufs, -vive Dieu! j’en mourrai de honte. Après tout, peut-être, les enchanteurs -de nos jours procèdent-ils autrement que ceux des temps passés. -Peut-être aussi étant nouveau chevalier dans le monde, et le premier qui -ait ressuscité l’exercice oublié de la chevalerie errante, aura-t-on -inventé, pour moi, de nouveaux genres d’enchantements et de nouvelles -manières de faire voyager les enchantés. Dis-moi, que t’en semble, ami -Sancho? - -Je ne sais trop, seigneur, ce qu’il m’en semble, répondit Sancho, car je -n’ai pas autant lu que Votre Grâce dans les écritures errantes, mais -pourtant j’oserais affirmer que ces visions qui nous entourent ne sont -pas très-catholiques. - -Catholiques! s’écria don Quichotte; hé, bon Dieu! comment seraient-elles -catholiques, puisque ce sont autant de démons qui ont pris des figures -fantastiques pour venir me mettre en cet état? Si tu veux t’en assurer -par toi-même, touche-les, mon ami, et tu verras que ce sont de purs -esprits qui n’ont d’un corps solide que l’apparence. - -Pardieu, seigneur, repartit Sancho, je les ai déjà assez maniés, à -telles enseignes que le diable qui se donne là tant de peine est bien en -chair et en os, et je ne pense pas que cet autre se nourrisse de vent. -Il a de plus une propriété très-différente de celle qu’on attribue aux -démons, qui est de sentir toujours le soufre, car lui, il sent l’ambre à -une demi-lieue de distance. - -Sancho désignait par là don Fernand, qui, en qualité de grand seigneur, -portait toujours sur lui des parfums. - -Ne t’en étonne point, ami Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, les diables en -savent plus long que tu ne penses; et bien qu’ils portent avec eux des -odeurs, ils ne peuvent rien sentir, étant de purs esprits; ou s’ils -sentent quelque chose, ce ne peut être qu’une odeur fétide et -détestable. La raison en est simple, quelque part qu’ils aillent, ils -traînent après eux leur enfer; et comme la bonne odeur est une chose qui -réjouit les sens, il est impossible qu’ils sentent jamais bon. Quand -donc tu t’imagines que ce démon sent l’ambre, ou tu te trompes, ou il -veut te tromper, afin de t’empêcher de reconnaître qui il est. - -Pendant cet entretien du maître et du valet, don Fernand et Cardenio, -craignant que don Quichotte ne vînt à découvrir la supercherie, -décidèrent, afin de prévenir ce contre-temps, de partir sur l’heure; en -conséquence, ils ordonnèrent à l’hôtelier de seller Rossinante et de -bâter le grison, en même temps que le curé faisait prix avec les archers -pour accompagner jusqu’à son village le chevalier enchanté. Cardenio -attacha le plat à barbe et la rondache à l’arçon de la selle de -Rossinante, puis le donna à mener à Sancho, qu’il fit monter sur son -âne, et prendre les devants, pendant que deux archers, armés de leurs -arquebuses, marchaient de chaque côté de la charrette. Mais avant que -les bœufs commençassent à tirer, l’hôtesse sortit du logis avec sa -fille et Maritorne, pour prendre congé de don Quichotte, dont elles -feignaient de pleurer amèrement la disgrâce. - -Ne pleurez point, mes excellentes dames, leur dit notre héros; ces -malheurs sont attachés à la profession que j’exerce, et sans eux je ne -me croirais pas un véritable chevalier errant, car rien de semblable -n’arrive aux chevaliers de peu de renom, qu’on laisse toujours dans -l’obscurité où ils s’ensevelissent d’eux-mêmes. Ces malheurs, n’en -doutez pas, sont le lot des plus renommés, de ceux enfin dont la -vaillance et la vertu excitent la jalousie des chevaliers leurs -confrères qui, désespérant de pouvoir égaler leur mérite, trament -lâchement leur ruine; mais la vérité est d’elle-même si puissante, qu’en -dépit de la magie inventée par Zoroastre, elle sortira victorieuse de -tous ces périls, surmontera tous ces obstacles, et répandra dans le -monde un éclat non moins vif que celui dont le soleil illumine les -cieux. Pardonnez-moi, mes bonnes dames, si je vous ai causé quelque -déplaisir: croyez bien que ce fut malgré moi, car volontairement et en -connaissance de cause jamais je n’offenserai personne. Priez Dieu qu’il -me tire de cette prison où me retient quelque malintentionné enchanteur: -et si un jour je deviens libre, je veux rappeler à ma mémoire, où elles -sont du reste profondément gravées, les courtoisies que j’ai reçues dans -votre château, pour vous en témoigner ma gratitude par toutes sortes de -bons offices. - -Pendant que notre chevalier faisait ses adieux aux dames du château, le -curé et le barbier prenaient congé de don Fernand et de ses compagnons, -ainsi que du captif, de l’auditeur et des autres dames, principalement -de Dorothée et de Luscinde. Tous s’embrassèrent en se promettant de se -donner de leurs nouvelles. Don Fernand indiqua au curé une voie sûre -pour l’informer de ce que deviendrait don Quichotte, affirmant qu’il ne -saurait lui faire un plus grand plaisir; de son côté, il s’engagea à lui -mander tout ce qu’il croyait pouvoir l’intéresser, tel que son mariage -avec Dorothée, la solennité du baptême de Zoraïde, le succès des amours -de don Luis et de la belle Claire. Les compliments terminés, on -s’embrassa de nouveau, en se réitérant les offres de service. - -Sur le point de se séparer, l’hôtelier s’approcha du curé et lui remit -quelques papiers qu’il avait trouvés dans la même valise où était -l’histoire du Curieux malavisé, désirant, disait-il, lui en faire -présent, puisqu’il n’avait point de nouvelles du maître de cette -valise. Le curé le remercia, et prenant le manuscrit, il lut au titre: -_Histoire de Rinconette et de Cortadillo_[55]. Puisqu’elle est du même -auteur, pensa-t-il, cette histoire ne doit pas être moins intéressante -que celle du Curieux malavisé. - - [55] Cette nouvelle est de Cervantes lui-même. Elle fut publiée, pour - la première fois, dans le recueil de ses nouvelles, 1613. Elles - étaient divisées en (_jocosas_) badines et (_serias_) sérieuses. - -Là-dessus, le cortége se mit en route dans l’ordre suivant: d’abord, le -char à bœufs, accompagné, comme je l’ai déjà dit, par deux archers -marchant de chaque côté armés de leurs arquebuses; Sancho suivait, monté -sur son âne et tirant Rossinante par la bride; puis enfin le curé et le -barbier, sur leurs mules et le masque sur le visage pour n’être pas -reconnus. Cette illustre troupe marchait d’un pas grave et majestueux, -s’accommodant à la lenteur de l’attelage. Quant à don Quichotte, il -était assis, appuyé contre les barreaux de sa cage, les mains attachées -et les jambes étendues, immobile et silencieux comme une statue de -pierre. On fit dans cet ordre environ deux lieues, jusqu’à ce qu’on fût -arrivé dans un vallon où le conducteur demanda à faire paître ses -bœufs; après en avoir parlé au curé, le barbier conseilla d’aller un -peu plus loin, parce que derrière un coteau qu’ils voyaient devant eux -se trouvait, disait-il, une vallée où il y avait beaucoup plus d’herbe, -et de la meilleure. - -Ils continuèrent donc leur chemin, mais le curé ayant tourné la tête, -vit venir six ou sept hommes, montés sur de puissantes mules, qui les -eurent bientôt rejoints, car ils allaient le train de gens pressés -d’arriver à l’hôtellerie, encore éloignée d’une bonne lieue, pour y -passer la grande chaleur du jour. Ils se saluèrent les uns les autres, -et un des voyageurs, qui était chanoine de Tolède et paraissait chef de -la troupe, voyant cette procession si bien ordonnée et un homme renfermé -dans une cage, ne put s’empêcher de demander ce que cela signifiait et -pourquoi on menait ainsi ce malheureux, pensant bien toutefois, à la vue -des archers, que c’était quelque fameux brigand dont le châtiment -appartenait à la Sainte-Hermandad. - -L’archer à qui le chanoine avait adressé la parole répondit: Seigneur, -c’est à ce gentilhomme à vous apprendre lui-même pourquoi on le conduit -de la sorte, car nous n’en savons rien. - -Don Quichotte avait tout entendu: Est-ce que par hasard, dit-il, Vos -Grâces seraient instruites et versées dans ce qu’on appelle la -chevalerie errante? En ce cas, je ne ferai pas de difficultés pour vous -apprendre mes infortunes; sinon, il est inutile que je me fatigue à vous -les raconter. - -Frère, répondit le chanoine, je connais bien mieux les livres de -chevalerie que les éléments de logique du docteur Villalpando[56]; ainsi -vous pouvez en toute assurance me confier ce qu’il vous plaira. - - [56] Gaspard de Villalpando est l’auteur d’un livre scolastique fort - estimé de son temps. - -Eh bien, seigneur chevalier, répliqua don Quichotte, apprenez que je -suis retenu dans cette cage par la malice et la jalousie des -enchanteurs, car la vertu est toujours plus vivement persécutée par les -méchants qu’elle n’est soutenue par les gens de bien. Je suis chevalier -errant, non de ceux que la renommée ne connaît point, ou dont elle -dédaigne de s’occuper, mais de ces chevaliers dont, en dépit de l’envie, -en dépit de tous les mages de la Perse, de tous les brahmanes de l’Inde -et de tous les gymnosophistes de l’Éthiopie, elle prend soin de graver -le nom et les exploits dans le temple de l’immortalité, pour servir, -dans les siècles à venir, de modèle et d’exemple aux chevaliers errants -qui voudront arriver jusqu’au faîte de la gloire des armes. - -Le curé, qui s’était approché avec le barbier, ajouta: Le seigneur don -Quichotte a raison; il est enchanté sur cette charrette, non par sa -faute et pour ses péchés, mais par la surprise et l’injuste violence de -ceux à qui sa valeur et sa vertu donnent de l’ombrage. Vous avez devant -vous ce chevalier de la Triste-Figure dont vous aurez sans doute entendu -parler et de qui les actions héroïques et les exploits inouïs seront à -jamais gravés sur le marbre et le bronze, quelque effort que fassent -l’envie pour en ternir l’éclat, et la malice pour les ensevelir dans -l’oubli. - -Lorsque le chanoine entendit celui qui était libre tenir même langage -que le prisonnier, il fut sur le point de se signer de surprise, ainsi -que ceux qui l’accompagnaient. En ce moment, Sancho Panza, qui s’était -approché afin d’entendre la conversation, voulut tout raccommoder, et -prit la parole: - -Par ma foi, seigneurs, dit-il, qu’on me sache gré ou non de ce que je -vais dire, peu m’importe, puisque ma conscience m’oblige à parler. La -vérité est que monseigneur don Quichotte n’est pas plus enchanté que ma -défunte mère: il jouit de son bon sens, il boit, il mange, et il fait -ses nécessités comme les autres hommes, enfin tout comme avant d’être -mis dans cette cage. Cela étant, pourquoi donc veut-on me faire accroire -qu’il est enchanté? comme si je ne savais pas que les enchantés ne -mangent, ni ne dorment, ni ne parlent; tandis que si une fois mon maître -s’y met, je gage qu’il va jaser plus que trente procureurs. Puis, -regardant le curé, il ajouta: Est-ce que Votre Grâce s’imagine que je ne -devine pas où tendent tous ces enchantements? Vous avez beau cacher -votre visage, seigneur licencié, je vous connais comme je connais mon -âne. Au diable soit la rencontre! si Votre Révérence ne s’était mise à -la traverse, mon maître serait déjà marié avec l’infante de Micomicon, -et moi j’allais obtenir un comté ou une seigneurie, ce qui est la -moindre récompense que je puisse espérer de la générosité de monseigneur -de la Triste-Figure, et de la fidélité de mes services. Je vois à -présent combien est vrai ce qu’on dit dans mon pays: «La roue de la -fortune va plus vite que celle d’un moulin, et ceux qui étaient hier sur -le pinacle sont aujourd’hui dans la poussière.» J’en suis fâché -seulement pour ma femme et mes enfants, qui me verront revenir comme un -simple palefrenier, au lieu de me voir arriver gouverneur ou vice-roi de -quelque île. En attendant, seigneur licencié, prenez garde que Dieu ne -vous demande compte, dans ce monde ou dans l’autre, du tour que l’on -joue à mon maître, et de tout le bien qu’on l’empêche de faire en lui -ôtant les moyens de secourir les affligés, les veuves et les orphelins, -et de châtier les brigands. - -Allons! nous y voilà, repartit le barbier: comment Sancho, vous êtes -aussi de la confrérie de votre maître? Vive Dieu! il me prend envie de -vous enchanter, et de vous mettre en cage avec lui comme membre de la -même chevalerie. A la malheure, vous vous êtes laissé engrosser de ses -promesses, et fourrer dans la cervelle cette île que vous convoitez si -fort. - -Je ne suis gros de personne, repartit Sancho, et je ne suis point homme -à me laisser engrosser, fût-ce par un prince. Quoique pauvre, je suis un -vieux chrétien, et je ne dois rien à personne; si je convoite des îles, -les autres convoitent bien autre chose, et chacun est fils de ses -œuvres. Après tout, puisque, étant homme, je pourrais devenir pape, -pourquoi pas gouverneur d’îles, si mon maître en peut conquérir tant -qu’il ne sache qu’en faire? Prenez garde à ce que vous dites, seigneur -barbier: ce n’est pas tout que de faire des barbes, il faut savoir faire -la différence de Pierre à Pierre. Je dis cela parce que nous nous -connaissons, et que ce n’est pas à moi qu’il faut donner de faux dés. -Quant à l’enchantement de mon maître, Dieu sait ce qui en est. Mais -restons-en là, aller plus loin nous ferait trouver pire. - -Le barbier ne voulut pas répliquer, de crainte que Sancho, en parlant -davantage, ne découvrît ce que lui et le curé avaient tant d’envie de -cacher. Pour conjurer ce danger le curé avait pris les devants avec le -chanoine et ses gens, à qui il dévoilait le mystère de cet homme encagé; -il les informa de la condition du chevalier, de sa vie et de ses mœurs, -racontant succinctement le commencement et la cause de ses rêveries -extravagantes, et la suite de ses aventures, jusqu’à celle de la cage, -enfin le dessein qu’ils avaient de le ramener chez lui, pour essayer si -sa folie était susceptible de guérison. - -Le chanoine et ses gens écoutaient tout surpris l’histoire de don -Quichotte; quand le curé l’eut achevée: Seigneur, lui dit le chanoine, -les livres de chevalerie sont, suivant moi, non-seulement inutiles, mais -encore très-préjudiciables à un État; et quoique j’aie commencé la -lecture de presque tous ceux qui sont imprimés, je n’ai jamais pu me -résoudre à en achever un seul, car tous se ressemblent, et il n’y a pas -plus à apprendre dans l’un que dans l’autre. Ces sortes de compositions -rentrent beaucoup dans le genre des anciennes fables milésiennes, contes -bouffons, extravagants, lesquels avaient pour unique objet d’amuser et -non d’instruire, au rebours des apologues, dont le but est de divertir -et d’enseigner tout ensemble. Si réjouir l’esprit est le but qu’on s’est -proposé dans les livres de chevalerie, il faut convenir qu’ils sont loin -d’y atteindre, car ils ne sont remplis que d’événements -invraisemblables, comme si leurs auteurs ignoraient que le mérite d’une -composition résultant toujours de la beauté de l’ensemble et de -l’harmonie des parties, la difformité et le désordre ne sauraient jamais -plaire. - -En effet, quelle proportion de l’ensemble avec les parties et des -parties avec l’ensemble peut-on trouver dans une composition où un -damoiseau de quinze ans pourfend d’un seul revers un géant d’une taille -énorme, comme s’il s’agissait d’un peu de fumée? Comment croire qu’un -chevalier triomphe seul, par la force de son bras, d’un million -d’ennemis, et sans qu’il lui en coûte une goutte de sang? Que dire de la -facilité avec laquelle une reine, ou l’héritière de quelque grand -empire, confie ses intérêts au premier chevalier errant qu’elle -rencontre? Quel est l’esprit assez stupide et d’assez mauvais goût pour -se complaire à entendre raconter qu’une grande tour remplie de -chevaliers vogue légèrement sur la mer comme le vaisseau le plus léger -pourrait le faire par un bon vent; que le soir cette tour arrive en -Lombardie, et le lendemain, à la pointe du jour, sur les terres du -Prêtre-Jean des Indes, ou en d’autres royaumes que jamais Ptolémée ou -Marco Polo n’ont décrits? - -On dit que les auteurs de ces ouvrages, les donnant comme de pure -invention, dédaignent la vraisemblance; parbleu! voilà une étrange -raison. Pour que la fiction puisse plaire, ne doit-elle pas approcher un -peu de la vérité, et n’est-ce pas une règle du bon sens que, pour être -divertissantes, les aventures ne doivent pas sembler impossibles? il -conviendrait, selon moi, que les ouvrages d’imagination fussent composés -de manière à ne pas choquer le sens commun, et qu’après avoir tenu -l’esprit en suspens, ils en vinssent à l’émouvoir, à le ravir, et à lui -causer autant de plaisir que d’admiration; ce qui est toute la -perfection d’un livre. Eh bien, quel livre de chevalerie a-t-on jamais -vu dont tous les membres formassent un corps entier, c’est-à-dire dont -le milieu répondît au commencement, et la fin au commencement et au -milieu? Loin de là, les auteurs les composent de tant de membres -dépareillés, qu’on dirait qu’ils se sont plutôt proposés de peindre un -monstre ou une chimère qu’une figure avec ses proportions naturelles. -Outre cela, leur style est rude et grossier, les prouesses qu’ils -racontent sont incroyables, leurs aventures d’amour blessent la pudeur; -ils sont prolixes dans la description des batailles, ignorants en -géographie, et extravagants dans les voyages; finalement dépourvus de -tact, d’art, d’invention, et dignes d’être chassés de tous les États -comme gens inutiles et dangereux. - -Le curé avait attentivement écouté le chanoine, et le trouvait homme de -sens. Il dit qu’il partageait son opinion, et que, par une aversion -particulière qu’il avait toujours eue pour les livres de chevalerie, il -avait fait brûler le plus grand nombre de ceux que possédait don -Quichotte. Il raconta de quelle façon il avait instruit leur procès, -ceux qu’il avait condamnés au feu, ceux auxquels il avait fait grâce, -enfin ce qu’avait pensé le chevalier de la perte de sa bibliothèque. Ce -récit divertit beaucoup le chanoine et ceux qui l’accompagnaient. - -Néanmoins, seigneur, reprit le chanoine, quelque mal que je pense de ces -livres, ils ont, selon moi, un bon côté, et ce côté le voici: c’est -l’occasion qu’ils offrent à l’intelligence de s’exercer et de se -déployer à l’aise; en effet, la plume peut y courir librement, soit pour -décrire des tempêtes, des naufrages, des rencontres, des batailles, soit -pour peindre un grand capitaine avec toutes les qualités qui doivent le -distinguer, telles que la vigilance à prévenir l’ennemi, l’éloquence à -persuader les soldats, la prudence dans le conseil. Tantôt l’auteur -peindra une lamentable histoire, tantôt quelque joyeux événement; là, il -représentera une femme belle et vertueuse; ici, un cavalier vaillant et -libéral: d’un côté, un barbare insolent et téméraire; de l’autre, un -prince sage et modéré, sans cesse occupé du bien de ses sujets, et -toujours prêt à récompenser le zèle et la fidélité de ses serviteurs. Il -prêtera successivement à ses héros l’adresse et l’éloquence d’Ulysse, la -piété d’Énée, la vaillance d’Achille, la prudence de César, la clémence -d’Auguste, la bonne foi de Trajan, la sagesse de Caton, enfin toutes les -grandes qualités qui peuvent rendre un homme illustre. Si avec cela, -l’ouvrage est écrit d’un style pur, facile et agréable; si, au mérite de -l’invention, l’auteur joint l’art de conserver la vraisemblance dans les -événements, il aura tissu sa toile de fils précieux et variés, et -composé un tableau qui ne manquera pas de plaire et d’instruire, ce qui -est la fin qu’on doit se proposer en prenant la plume. - -CHAPITRE XLVIII - -SUITE DU DISCOURS DU CHANOINE SUR LE SUJET DES LIVRES DE CHEVALERIE - -Votre Grâce a raison, dit le curé, et ceux qui composent ces sortes -d’ouvrages sont d’autant plus à blâmer, qu’ils négligent les règles que -vous venez de poser, règles dont l’observation a rendu si célèbres les -deux princes de la poésie grecque et latine. - -J’ai quelquefois été tenté, reprit le chanoine, de composer un livre de -chevalerie d’après ces mêmes règles, et j’en avais déjà écrit une -centaine de pages. Pour éprouver si cet essai méritait quelque estime, -je l’ai montré à des personnes qui, quoique gens d’esprit et de science, -aiment passionnément ces sortes d’ouvrages, et à des ignorants qui n’ont -de goûts que pour les folies; eh bien, chez les uns comme chez les -autres, j’ai trouvé une agréable approbation. Néanmoins j’y ai renoncé, -parce que d’abord cela ne me semblait guère convenir à ma profession, et -qu’ensuite les gens ignorants sont beaucoup plus nombreux que les gens -éclairés; et, quoiqu’on puisse se consoler d’être sifflé par le grand -nombre des sots, quand on a l’estime de quelques sages, je n’ai pas -voulu me soumettre au jugement de cet aveugle et impertinent vulgaire, -à qui s’adressent principalement de semblables livres. - -Mais ce qui m’ôta surtout la pensée de le terminer, ce fut un -raisonnement que je me fis à propos des comédies qu’on représente -aujourd’hui. Si ces comédies, me disais-je, aussi bien celles -d’invention que celles empruntées à l’histoire, sont, de l’aveu de tous, -des ouvrages ridicules, sans nulle délicatesse, et entièrement contre -les règles, si pourtant le vulgaire ne cesse d’y applaudir, si les -auteurs qui les composent et les acteurs qui les représentent prétendent -qu’elles doivent être ainsi composées, parce que le public les veut -ainsi, tandis que les pièces où l’on respecte les règles de l’art n’ont -pour approbateurs que quelques hommes de goût, la même chose arrivera à -mon livre; et quand je me serai brûlé les sourcils à force de travail, -je resterai comme ce _tailleur de Campillo_, qui fournissait gratis le -fil et la façon. - -Souvent j’ai entrepris de faire comprendre à ces auteurs qu’ils -faisaient fausse route, qu’ils obtiendraient plus de gloire et de profit -en composant des pièces régulières; mais je les ai trouvés si entichés -de leur méthode, qu’il n’y a raisons ni évidence qui puisse les y faire -renoncer. M’adressant un jour à un de ces opiniâtres: Seigneur, lui -disais-je, ne vous souvient-il point qu’il y a quelques années on -représenta trois comédies d’un poëte espagnol qui obtinrent -l’approbation générale; et que les comédiens y gagnèrent plus qu’ils -n’ont gagné depuis avec trente autres des meilleurs qu’on ait composées? -Je m’en souviens, répondit-il, vous voulez assurément parler de la -_Isabella_, de la _Philis_ et de la _Alexandra_[57]? Justement, -répliquai-je. Hé bien, ces pièces ne sont-elles pas selon les règles? et -pourtant elles ont enlevé tous les suffrages. La faute n’en est donc pas -au vulgaire, qu’on laisse se plaire à voir représenter des inepties, -mais à ceux qui ne savent lui servir autre chose. Il n’y a rien de tel -dans l’_Ingratitude vengée_[58], dans la _Numancia_, dans le _Marchand -amoureux_, et encore moins dans l’_Ennemi favorable_, ni dans beaucoup -d’autres pièces qui ont fait la réputation de leurs auteurs, et enrichi -les comédiens qui les ont représentées. J’ajoutai encore bien des -raisons qui confondirent mon homme, mais sans le faire changer -d’opinion. - - [57] Ces trois pièces sont de Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola. - - [58] L’_Ingratitude vengée_ est de Lope de Vega; _Numancia_, de - Cervantes lui-même; le _Marchand amoureux_, de Gaspard de Aguilar, et - l’_Ennemi favorable_, de Francisco Tarraga. - -Seigneur chanoine, répondit le curé, vous venez de toucher là un sujet -qui a réveillé dans mon esprit une aversion que j’ai toujours eue pour -les comédies de notre temps, aversion au moins égale à celle que -j’éprouve pour les livres de chevalerie. Lorsque la comédie, suivant -Cicéron, devrait être l’image de la vie humaine, l’exemple des bonnes -mœurs et le miroir de la vérité, pourquoi, de nos jours, la comédie -n’est-elle que miroir d’extravagances, exemple de sottises, image -d’impudicités? Car quelle plus grande extravagance que de montrer un -enfant qui, dans la première scène, est au berceau, et dans la seconde a -déjà barbe au menton? Quoi de plus ridicule que de nous peindre un -vieillard bravache, un homme poltron dans toute la force de l’âge, un -laquais orateur, un page conseiller, un roi crocheteur, une princesse -laveuse de vaisselle? Que dire de cette confusion des temps et des lieux -dans les pièces qu’on représente! N’ai-je pas vu une comédie où le -premier acte se passait en Europe, le second en Asie, et le troisième en -Afrique! En vérité, je gage que si l’ouvrage avait eu plus de trois -actes, l’Amérique aurait eu aussi sa part. Si la vraisemblance doit être -observée dans une pièce de théâtre, comment peut-on admettre que dans -celle dont l’action est présentée comme contemporaine de Pépin ou de -Charlemagne, le principal personnage soit l’empereur Héraclius, que -l’on fait s’emparer de la terre sainte et entrer dans Jérusalem avec la -croix? exploit qui fut l’œuvre de Godefroy de Bouillon, séparé du héros -byzantin par un si grand nombre d’années! - -Si nous arrivons aux sujets sacrés, que de faux miracles, que de faits -apocryphes! Ne va-t-on pas même jusqu’à introduire le surnaturel dans -les sujets purement profanes? Tel en est presque toujours aujourd’hui le -dénoûment, et cela sans autre motif que celui-ci: le vulgaire se laisse -facilement toucher par ces scènes extraordinaires et en aime la -représentation; ce qui est un oubli complet de la vérité, et la honte -des écrivains espagnols, que les étrangers, observateurs fidèles des -règles du théâtre, regardent comme des barbares dépourvus de goût et de -sens. C’est un grand tort de prétendre que les spectacles publics étant -faits pour amuser le peuple et le détourner des vices qu’engendre -l’oisiveté, on obtient ce résultat par une mauvaise comédie aussi bien -que par une bonne, et qu’il est fort inutile de s’assujettir à des -règles qui fatiguent l’esprit et consument le temps; car bien -certainement le spectateur serait plus satisfait d’une pièce à la fois -régulière et embellie de tous les ornements de l’art, une action bien -représentée ne manquant jamais d’intéresser le spectateur, et d’émouvoir -l’esprit même le plus grossier. - -Après tout, peut-être ne faut-il pas s’en prendre tout à fait aux -auteurs des défauts de leurs ouvrages: la plupart les connaissent, et -certains parmi eux ne manquent ni d’intelligence ni de goût, mais ils ne -travaillent pas pour la gloire, et les pièces de théâtre sont devenues -une marchandise que les comédiens refuseraient si elles n’étaient pas -conçues selon leur fantaisie: si bien que l’auteur est forcé de -s’accommoder à la volonté de celui qui doit payer son ouvrage, et de le -livrer tel qu’on lui a commandé. N’avons-nous pas vu un des plus beaux -et des plus rares esprits de ce royaume[59], pour complaire aux -comédiens, négliger de mettre la dernière main à ses ouvrages et de les -rendre excellents, comme il pouvait le faire? D’autres, enfin, n’ont-ils -pas écrit avec si peu de mesure, qu’après une seule représentation de -leurs pièces, on a vu les acteurs obligés de s’enfuir, dans la crainte -d’être châtiés pour avoir parlé contre la conduite du prince, ou contre -l’honneur de sa maison? On obvierait, il me semble, à ces inconvénients, -si, choisissant un homme d’autorité et d’intelligence, on lui donnait la -charge d’examiner ces sortes d’ouvrages, et de n’en permettre -l’impression et le débit qu’après avoir été revêtus de son approbation. -Ce serait un remède contre la licence qui règne au théâtre: la crainte -d’un examen sévère forcerait les auteurs à montrer plus de retenue; on -ne verrait que de bons ouvrages, écrits avec la perfection dont vous -venez de nous tracer les règles; enfin le public aurait là un -passe-temps utile et agréable, car l’arc ne peut toujours être tendu, et -l’humaine faiblesse a besoin de se reposer dans d’honnêtes récréations. - - [59] Lope de Vega. Il a composé près de dix-huit cents pièces de - théâtre. - -La conversation en était là, quand le barbier s’approcha et dit au curé: -Seigneur, voici l’endroit où j’ai pensé que nous pourrions plus -commodément faire la sieste, et où les bœufs trouveront une herbe -fraîche et abondante. - -C’est aussi ce qu’il me semble, répondit le curé; et il demanda au -chanoine quels étaient ses projets. - -Le chanoine répondit qu’il serait bien aise de rester avec eux pour -jouir de la beauté du vallon qui s’offrait à leur vue, pour profiter de -la conversation du curé, qui l’intéressait vivement, enfin pour -apprendre plus en détail l’histoire et les prouesses de don Quichotte. -Afin de pouvoir se reposer en cet endroit l’après-dînée, il commanda à -un de ses gens d’aller à l’hôtellerie voisine chercher de quoi manger; -et comme on lui répondit que le mulet de bagage, bien pourvu de vivres, -devait être arrivé, il se contenta d’envoyer son équipage à -l’hôtellerie, ordonnant d’amener le mulet porteur des provisions. - -Pendant que cet ordre s’exécutait, Sancho, voyant qu’il pouvait enfin -parler à son maître sans la continuelle présence du curé et du barbier, -s’approcha de la cage et lui dit: Seigneur, pour la décharge de ma -conscience, je veux vous dire ce qui se passe au sujet de votre -enchantement. Ces deux hommes qui vous accompagnent avec le masque sur -le visage sont le curé de notre paroisse et maître Nicolas, le barbier -de notre endroit. Je pense qu’ils ne vous emmènent de la sorte que par -jalousie, et parce que vos exploits leur donnent de l’ombrage; j’en -conclus donc que vous n’êtes pas plus enchanté que mon âne, mais tout -simplement joué et mystifié. Je n’en veux pour preuve que la réponse à -une question que je vais vous adresser: si elle est telle qu’elle doit -être et qu’elle sera, j’en suis certain, je vous ferai toucher du doigt -la ruse, et alors vous avouerez qu’au lieu d’être enchanté, vous n’avez -que la cervelle à l’envers. - -Demande ce que tu voudras, mon fils, répondit don Quichotte, je te -donnerai satisfaction. Quant à l’opinion que tu as que ces deux hommes -qui vont et viennent autour de nous sont le curé et le barbier de notre -village, il peut se faire qu’ils te paraissent tels; mais qu’ils le -soient effectivement, n’en crois rien, je te prie. S’ils te semblent ce -que tu dis, sois sûr que les enchanteurs, auxquels il est facile de se -transformer à volonté, ont pris leur ressemblance, afin de t’abuser et -de te jeter dans un labyrinthe de doutes et d’incertitudes dont tu ne -sortirais pas quand tu aurais en main le fil de Thésée, et aussi pour me -troubler l’esprit, afin que je ne puisse pas deviner qui me joue ce -mauvais tour. Car, enfin, d’un côté tu me dis que ce sont là le curé et -le barbier de notre village; d’un autre côté, je me vois enfermé dans -une cage, pendant que je suis certain qu’aucune puissance humaine ne -serait capable de m’y retenir; que dois-je en conclure, si ce n’est que -mon enchantement est bien plus fort et d’une tout autre espèce que ceux -que j’ai lus dans toutes les histoires de chevaliers errants qui ont -subi le même sort que moi? Ainsi donc, cesse de croire que ces gens-là -sont ce que tu dis, car ils le sont tout comme je suis turc. Maintenant -adresse-moi telle question que tu voudras; je consens à répondre jusqu’à -demain. - -Par Notre-Dame; s’écria Sancho, faut-il que vous ayez la tête assez dure -pour en être encore à reconnaître que le diable se mêle bien moins de -vos affaires que les hommes! Or çà, je m’en vais vous prouver clair -comme le jour que vous n’êtes point enchanté: dites-moi, je vous prie, -seigneur... que Dieu vous délivre du tourment où vous êtes, et -puissiez-vous tomber dans les bras de madame Dulcinée, au moment où vous -y penserez le moins... - -Cesse tes exorcismes, mon fils, reprit don Quichotte: ne t’ai-je pas dit -que je répondrai ponctuellement à tes questions? - -Voilà justement ce que je demande, répliqua Sancho: or çà, dites-moi, -sans rien ajouter ni rien retrancher, mais franchement et avec vérité, -comme doivent parler tous ceux qui font profession des armes en qualité -de chevaliers errants... - -Je te répète que je ne mentirai en rien, reprit don Quichotte; mais pour -l’amour de Dieu, finis-en, tu me fais mourir d’impatience avec tes -préambules. - -Je n’en voulais pas davantage, dit Sancho; et je me crois assuré de la -bonté et de la franchise de mon maître. Dès lors, comme cela vient fort -à propos, je lui ferai une question: voyons, répondez, seigneur, depuis -que Votre Grâce est enchantée dans cette cage, a-t-elle eu par hasard -envie de faire, comme on dit, le petit ou le gros? - -Mon ami, je ne te comprends pas, dit don Quichotte; explique-toi mieux, -si tu veux que je réponde d’une manière nette et précise. - -Vous ne comprenez pas ce que signifie le petit et le gros! repartit -Sancho: vous moquez-vous de moi? mais c’est la première chose qu’on -apprend à l’école. Je demande si vous n’avez point eu envie de faire ce -que personne ne peut faire à votre place? - -Ah! si, vraiment! je comprends, répondit don Quichotte, et plus d’une -fois; même à l’heure où je te parle, je me sens bien pressé; mets-y -ordre promptement, je te prie; je crains qu’il ne soit déjà trop tard. - -CHAPITRE XLIX - -DE L’EXCELLENTE CONVERSATION DE DON QUICHOTTE ET DE SANCHO PANZA. - -Par ma foi, vous êtes pris, s’écria Sancho, et voilà où je voulais en -venir. Or çà, monseigneur: nierez-vous quand on voit une personne -abattue et languissante, qu’on n’ait l’habitude de se dire: Qu’est-ce -qu’a un tel? il ne mange, ne boit, ni ne dort, et ne sait jamais ce -qu’on lui demande; on dirait qu’il est enchanté? Il faut donc conclure -de là que ceux qui ne boivent, ne mangent, ni ne dorment, et ne font -point leurs fonctions naturelles, sont enchantés; mais non pas ceux qui -ont l’envie qui vous presse à cette heure, qui boivent quand ils ont -soif, mangent quand ils ont faim, et répondent à propos. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, répliqua don Quichotte; mais ne t’ai-je pas dit -aussi qu’il y avait plusieurs sortes d’enchantements, que peut-être la -forme en a changé par la succession des temps, et qu’aujourd’hui c’est -un usage établi que les enchantés fassent tout ce que je fais? Cela -étant, il n’y a rien à objecter; d’ailleurs, je sais et je tiens pour -certain que je suis enchanté, ce qui suffit pour mettre ma conscience en -repos: car si j’en doutais un seul instant, je me ferais scrupule de -demeurer ainsi enseveli dans une lâche oisiveté, pendant que le monde -est rempli d’infortunés qui sans doute ont besoin de mon secours et de -ma protection. - -Eh bien, repartit Sancho, que n’essayez-vous, pour en être plus certain, -de sortir de prison, ce à quoi je vous aiderai, puis de tâcher de monter -sur Rossinante, qui me paraît aussi enchanté que vous, tant il est -triste et mélancolique, et de nous mettre encore une fois à la recherche -des aventures? Si cela ne réussit point, nous avons tout le temps de -revenir à la cage, où je promets et je jure, foi de bon et loyal écuyer, -de m’enfermer avec Votre Grâce, s’il arrive que vous soyez assez -malheureux et moi assez imbécile pour ne pouvoir venir à bout de ce que -je viens de dire. - -Je consens à tout, mon ami, répondit don Quichotte, et dès que tu verras -l’occasion favorable, tu n’as qu’à mettre la main à l’œuvre; je ferai -tout ce que tu voudras, et me laisserai conduire: mais tu verras, mon -pauvre Sancho, combien est fausse l’opinion que tu te formes de tout -ceci. - -Le chevalier errant et le fidèle écuyer s’entretinrent de la sorte -jusqu’à ce qu’ils fussent arrivés à l’endroit où le curé, le chanoine et -le barbier avaient mis pied à terre en les attendant. Les bœufs furent -dételés pour les laisser paître en liberté, et Sancho pria le curé de -permettre que son maître sortît un moment de la cage, parce qu’autrement -elle courait grand risque de ne pas rester aussi propre que l’exigeait -la dignité et la décence d’un chevalier tel que lui. Le curé comprit -Sancho, et répondit qu’il y consentirait de bon cœur, sans la crainte -où il était que don Quichotte, une fois libre, ne vînt à faire des -siennes, et qu’il ne s’en allât si loin qu’on ne le revît plus. - -Je réponds de lui, reprit Sancho. - -Et moi aussi, ajouta le chanoine, pourvu qu’il nous donne sa foi de -chevalier qu’il ne s’éloignera pas sans notre consentement. - -J’en fais le serment, dit don Quichotte. D’ailleurs, ajouta-t-il, -l’enchanté n’a pas la liberté de faire sa volonté, puisque l’enchanteur -peut empêcher qu’il ne bouge de trois siècles entiers; et que s’il -s’enfuyait, il peut le faire revenir plus vite que le vent: ainsi, -seigneurs, relâchez-moi sans crainte; car franchement la chose presse, -et je ne réponds de rien. - -Sur sa parole, le chanoine le prit par la main et le tira de sa cage, ce -dont le pauvre homme ressentit une joie extrême. La première chose qu’il -fit fut de se détirer deux ou trois fois tout le corps; puis -s’approchant de Rossinante: Miroir et fleur des coursiers errants, -dit-il en lui donnant deux petits coups sur la croupe, j’espère toujours -que, grâce à Dieu et à sa sainte Mère, nous nous reverrons bientôt dans -l’état que nous souhaitons l’un et l’autre; toi sous ton cher maître, et -moi sur tes reins vigoureux, exerçant ensemble la profession pour -laquelle Dieu nous a mis en ce monde. - -Après avoir ainsi parlé, notre chevalier se retira à l’écart avec -Sancho, et revint peu après, fort soulagé, et très-impatient de voir -l’effet des promesses de son écuyer. - -Le chanoine ne pouvait se lasser de considérer notre héros: il observait -jusqu’à ses moindres mouvements, étonné de cette étrange folie qui lui -laissait l’esprit libre sur toutes sortes de sujets, et l’altérait si -fort quand il s’agissait de chevalerie. Le malheur de ce pauvre -gentilhomme lui fit compassion, et il voulut essayer de le guérir par le -raisonnement. Toute la compagnie s’étant donc assise sur l’herbe, en -attendant les provisions, il parla ainsi à don Quichotte: - -Est-il possible, seigneur, que cette fade et impertinente lecture des -romans de chevalerie ait troublé votre esprit au point de vous persuader -que vous êtes enchanté? comment peut-il se trouver au monde un homme -assez simple pour s’imaginer que ces Amadis, ces empereurs de -Trébizonde, ces Félix Mars d’Icarnie, tous ces monstres et tous ces -géants, ces enchantements, ces querelles, ces défis, ces combats, en un -mot tout ce fatras d’extravagances dont parlent les livres de chevalerie -aient jamais existé? Pour moi, je l’avoue, quand je les lis sans faire -réflexion qu’ils sont pleins de mensonges, ils ne laissent pas de me -donner quelque plaisir; mais lorsque je viens à ne les plus considérer -que comme un tissu de fables sans vraisemblance, je les jetterais de bon -cœur au feu, comme des impostures qui abusent de la crédulité publique, -et portent le trouble et le désordre dans les meilleurs esprits, tels -enfin que le vôtre, au point qu’on est obligé de vous mettre en cage, et -de vous conduire dans un char à bœufs, comme un lion ou un tigre -promené de ville en ville. - -Allons, seigneur don Quichotte, rappelez votre raison et servez-vous de -ce discernement admirable que le ciel vous a donné, afin de choisir des -lectures plus profitables à votre esprit; et si, après tout, par -inclination naturelle, vous éprouvez un grand plaisir à lire les -exploits guerriers et les actions prodigieuses, adressez-vous à -l’histoire, et là vous trouverez des miracles de valeur qui -non-seulement ne le cèderont en rien à la fable, mais qui surpassent -encore tout ce que l’imagination peut enfanter. Si vous voulez des -grands hommes, la Grèce n’a-t-elle pas son Alexandre, Rome son César, -Carthage son Annibal, la Lusitanie son Viriate? N’avons-nous pas, dans -la Castille, Fernando Gonzalès, le Cid dans Valence, don Diego Garcia de -Paredès dans l’Estramadure, don Garcy Perès de Vargas dans Xerès, don -Garcilasso dans Tolède, et don Manuel Ponce de Léon dans Séville, tous -modèles d’une vertu héroïque, dont les prouesses intéressent le lecteur, -et lui donnent de grands exemples à suivre? Voilà, seigneur don -Quichotte, une lecture digne d’occuper votre esprit; là vous apprendrez -le métier de la guerre, et comment doit se conduire un grand capitaine; -là, enfin, vous verrez des prodiges de valeur, qui, tout en restant dans -les limites de la vérité, surpassent de beaucoup les actions ordinaires. - -Don Quichotte écoutait avec une extrême attention le discours du -chanoine; après l’avoir considéré quelque temps en silence, il répondit: -Si je ne me trompe, seigneur, cette longue harangue tend à me persuader -qu’il n’a jamais existé de chevaliers errants; que les livres de -chevalerie sont faux, menteurs, inutiles et pernicieux à l’État; que -j’ai mal fait de les lire, fort mal fait d’y ajouter foi, et plus mal -fait encore de les prendre pour modèles dans la profession que j’exerce; -en un mot, qu’il n’y a jamais eu d’Amadis de Gaule, ni de Roger de -Grèce, ni cette foule de chevaliers dont nous possédons les histoires. - -C’est la pure vérité, répondit le chanoine. - -Vous avez ajouté, continua don Quichotte, que ces livres m’ont porté un -grand préjudice, puisqu’ils m’ont troublé le jugement, et qu’ils sont -cause qu’on m’a mis dans cette cage; enfin vous m’avez conseillé de -changer de lecture et de choisir des livres sérieux, qui soient en même -temps utiles et agréables. - -Tout cela est vrai au pied de la lettre, répondit le chanoine. - -Eh bien, reprit don Quichotte, toute réflexion faite, je trouve que -c’est vous qui êtes enchanté et sans jugement, puisque vous osez -proférer de pareils blasphèmes contre une chose si généralement reçue, -et tellement admise pour véritable, que celui qui la nie, comme le fait -Votre Grâce, mérite le même châtiment que vous infligez à ces livres -dont la lecture vous révolte; car enfin prétendre qu’il n’y a jamais eu -d’Amadis ni aucun de ces chevaliers errants dont les livres font -mention, autant vaut soutenir que le soleil n’éclaire point, ou que la -terre n’est pas ronde. - -Ainsi, selon vous, ce serait autant de faussetés, poursuivit notre -héros, que l’histoire de l’infante Floride avec Guy de Bourgogne, et -cette aventure de Fier-à-Bras au pont de Mantible, aventure qui se passa -du temps de Charlemagne. Mais si vous traitez cela de mensonges, il doit -en être de même d’Hector, d’Achille, de la guerre de Troie, des douze -pairs de France, de cet Artus, roi d’Angleterre, qui existe encore -aujourd’hui sous la forme d’un corbeau, et qu’à toute heure on s’attend -à voir reparaître dans son royaume. Que ne dites-vous que l’histoire de -Guérin Mesquin et de la dame de Saint-Grial, que les amours de don -Tristan et de la reine Iseult sont fausses également; que celles de la -belle Geneviève et de Lancelot sont apocryphes, quand il y a des gens -qui se souviennent presque d’avoir vu la duègne Quintagnonne, qui eut le -don de se connaître en vins mieux que le meilleur gourmet de la -Grande-Bretagne. Ainsi, moi qui vous parle, je crois entendre encore mon -aïeule, du côté paternel, me dire quand elle rencontrait une de ces -vénérables matrones à long voile: Vois-tu, mon fils, en voici une qui -ressemble à la duègne Quintagnonne; d’où j’infère qu’elle devait la -connaître, ou qu’elle avait pour le moins vu son portrait. Il faudrait -donc contester aussi l’histoire de Pierre de Provence et de la belle -Maguelonne, lorsqu’on voit encore aujourd’hui dans le musée royal -militaire la cheville de bois que montait ce chevalier, laquelle -cheville, plus grosse qu’un timon de charrette, est auprès de la selle -de Babieça, le cheval du Cid. De tout cela donc, je dois conclure, qu’il -y a eu douze pairs de France, un Pierre de Provence, un Cid, et d’autres -chevaliers de même espèce, enfin de ceux dont on dit communément qu’ils -vont aux aventures. - -Voudrait-on soutenir encore que Juan de Merlo, ce vaillant Portugais, -n’était pas chevalier errant, qu’il ne se battit pas en Bourgogne contre -le fameux Pierre seigneur de Chargny, et plus tard à Bâle avec Henry de -Ramestan, et qu’il ne remporta pas l’honneur de ces deux rencontres? Il -ne manquerait plus que de traiter de contes en l’air les aventures de -Pedro Barba, et celles de Guttierès Quixada (duquel je descends en -droite ligne par les mâles), qui se signalèrent par la défaite des fils -du comte de Saint-Pol. Ce sont sans doute aussi des fables que ces -fameuses joutes de Suero de Quinones, ce célèbre défi du pas de -l’Orbigo, celui de Luis de Falces contre don Gonzalès de Gusman, -chevalier castillan, et mille autres glorieux faits d’armes des -chevaliers chrétiens, à travers le monde, tous si véritables et si -authentiques, que, je ne crains pas de le répéter, il faut avoir perdu -la raison pour en douter un seul instant. - -Le chanoine était de plus en plus étonné de voir ce mélange confus que -faisait notre héros de la fable et de l’histoire, et de l’admirable -connaissance qu’avait cet homme de tout ce qui a été écrit touchant la -chevalerie errante. - -Je ne puis nier, seigneur don Quichotte, répliqua-t-il, qu’il n’y ait -quelque chose de vrai dans ce que vous venez de dire, et -particulièrement dans ce qui concerne les chevaliers errants d’Espagne; -je vous accorde aussi qu’il y a eu douze pairs de France, mais je ne -saurais ajouter foi à tout ce qu’en a écrit le bon archevêque Turpin. Il -est vrai que des chevaliers choisis par les rois de France reçurent le -nom de pairs, parce qu’ils avaient tous le même rang et qu’ils étaient -égaux en naissance et en valeur: c’était un ordre à peu près comme -l’ordre de Saint-Jacques ou celui de Calatrava en Espagne, dont chacun -des membres est réputé vaillant et d’illustre origine, et de même que -nous disons chevalier de Saint-Jean ou d’Alcantara, on disait alors un -des douze pairs, parce qu’ils n’étaient que douze. Pour ce qui est de -l’existence du Cid, je n’en doute pas plus que de celle de Bernard de -Carpio; mais qu’ils aient fait tout ce qu’on en raconte, c’est autre -chose. Quant à la cheville du cheval de Pierre de Provence, que vous -dites se trouver à côté de la selle de Babieça dans le musée royal, je -confesse à cet égard mon ignorance ou la faiblesse de ma vue, car je -n’ai jamais remarqué cette cheville, ce qui me surprend, d’après le -volume que vous dites, quoique j’aie bien vu la selle. - -Elle y est pourtant, répliqua don Quichotte, et la preuve, c’est qu’on -l’a mise dans un fourreau de cuir pour la conserver. - -D’accord, repartit le chanoine, mais je ne me souviens pas de l’avoir -vue; d’ailleurs, quand je vous accorderais qu’elle y fût, cela ne -suffirait pas pour me faire ajouter foi aux histoires de tous ces Amadis -et de ce nombre infini de chevaliers. C’est vraiment chose étonnante, -qu’un galant homme tel que vous, doué d’un si bon entendement, ait pu -prendre toutes ces extravagances pour autant de vérités incontestables. - -CHAPITRE L - -DE L’AGRÉABLE DISPUTE DU CHANOINE ET DE DON QUICHOTTE - -Sur ma foi! voilà qui est plaisant! s’écria don Quichotte; comment des -livres imprimés avec privilége du roi et approbation des examinateurs, -accueillis de tout le monde, des gens de qualité et du peuple, des -savants et des ignorants, comment de tels livres ne seraient que -rêveries et mensonges, quand la vérité y est partout si claire et si -nue, et toutes les circonstances si bien précisées, qu’on y trouve le -lieu de naissance et l’âge des chevaliers, les noms de leurs pères et -mères, leurs exploits, les lieux où ils les ont accomplis; et tout cela -de point en point, jour par jour, avec la plus scrupuleuse exactitude! -Pour l’amour de Dieu, seigneur, n’ouvrez jamais la bouche, plutôt que de -prononcer un tel blasphème, et, croyez que je vous conseille en ami: -sinon, lisez ces livres; et vous verrez quel plaisir vous en donnera la -lecture. Dites-moi un peu, je vous prie, n’auriez-vous pas un bonheur -extrême, à l’instant où je vous parle, s’il s’offrait soudain devant -vous un lac de poix bouillante, rempli de serpents, de lézards et de -couleuvres, et que, du milieu de ses ondes épaisses et fumantes, une -voix lamentable s’élevât, en vous disant: - -«O toi, chevalier, qui que tu sois, qui es à regarder ce lac -épouvantable, si tu veux posséder le trésor caché sous ses eaux, eh -bien, montre la grandeur de ton courage en te plongeant au milieu de ces -ondes enflammées; autrement tu es indigne de contempler les -incomparables merveilles qu’enferment les sept châteaux des sept fées, -qui gisent sous sa noire épaisseur!» - -A peine la voix a-t-elle cessé de se faire entendre, que le chevalier, -sans considérer le péril auquel il s’expose, se recommande à Dieu et à -sa dame, s’élance dans ce lac bouillonnant, puis quand on le croit -perdu, et que lui-même ne sait plus ce qu’il va devenir; le voilà qui se -retrouve dans une merveilleuse campagne, à laquelle les Champs-Élysées -eux-mêmes n’ont rien de comparable. Là, le ciel lui semble plus pur et -plus serein, et le soleil brille d’une lumière nouvelle; bientôt une -agréable forêt se présente à sa vue, et pendant qu’une foule d’arbres -différents et toujours verts réjouit ses yeux, un nombre infini de -petits oiseaux nuancés de mille couleurs voltigent de branches en -branches, et charment son oreille par leur doux gazouillement; sans -compter que non loin de là, un ruisseau roule en serpentant des flots -argentés sur un sable d’or. Le chevalier aperçoit ensuite une élégante -fontaine formée de jaspe aux mille couleurs et de marbre poli; plus loin -il en voit une autre, disposée d’une façon rustique, où les fins -coquillages de la moule et les tortueuses maisons de l’escargot, rangés -dans un aimable désordre et mêlés de brillants morceaux de cristal, -forment un ouvrage varié, où l’art imitant la nature, rivalise avec elle -et semble même la vaincre cette fois. - -Soudain le chevalier voit s’élever un palais, dont les murailles sont -d’or massif, les créneaux de diamants, les portes de hyacinthes et -finalement d’une si admirable architecture que les rubis, les -escarboucles, les perles et les émeraudes en composent la moindre -matière. Tout à coup par une des portes du château sort une foule de -jeunes damoiselles, dans un costume si riche et si galant, que je n’en -finirais jamais si j’entreprenais de vous le dépeindre. Celle qui -paraît être la maîtresse de ce lieu enchanteur prend alors par la main -le preux aventurier, et, sans lui adresser une seule parole, elle le -conduit dans ce riche palais, où après l’avoir fait déshabiller par ses -compagnes, il est plongé dans un bain d’eaux délicieuses, où on le -frotte de diverses essences; au sortir du bain, on lui passe une chemise -de lin toute parfumée; après quoi on lui jette sur les épaules un -magnifique manteau dont le prix égale pour le moins une ville entière, -si ce n’est même davantage. - -Mais ce n’est pas tout: on l’introduit dans une salle dont l’ameublement -surpasse tout ce qu’on peut imaginer; là, le chevalier trouve la table -toute dressée; on lui donne à laver ses mains dans un bassin d’or -ciselé, enrichi de diamants, avec une eau toute distillée d’ambre et de -fleurs les plus odorantes; puis on le fait asseoir dans une chaise -d’ivoire, et alors les damoiselles le servent à l’envi en observant un -profond silence. Que dire du nombre et de la délicatesse des mets qui -lui sont présentés? comment exprimer l’excellence de la musique qu’on -lui donne pendant le repas, sans qu’il voie ni ceux qui chantent, ni -ceux qui jouent des instruments? Le festin achevé, pendant que, -mollement enfoncé dans son fauteuil, le chevalier est peut-être à se -curer les dents, entre à l’improviste une damoiselle incomparablement -plus belle que toutes les autres; elle va s’asseoir auprès de lui, lui -dit ce que c’est que ce château, lui apprend qu’elle y est enchantée, et -lui raconte mille autres choses qui ravissent le chevalier et causeront -l’admiration de tous ceux qui liront cette histoire. Mais il est inutile -de m’étendre davantage sur ce sujet; en voilà plus qu’il n’en faut, ce -me semble, pour prouver qu’on ne saurait rencontrer un tableau plus -délicieux. Croyez-moi, seigneur, lisez ces livres, et vous verrez comme -ils savent insensiblement charmer la mélancolie et faire naître la joie -dans le cœur; je dirai plus: si, par hasard vous aviez un mauvais -naturel, ils sont capables de le corriger, et de vous inspirer de -meilleures inclinations. - -Pour moi, depuis que je suis chevalier errant, je puis dire que je me -sens plein de vaillance, affable, complaisant, généreux, hardi, patient, -infatigable; enfin prêt à supporter avec un surcroît de vigueur d’esprit -et de corps les rudes travaux, la captivité et les enchantements. Tout -enfermé que je suis à cette heure dans une cage comme un fou, je ne -désespère pas de me voir, sous très-peu de jours, par la force de mon -bras et la faveur du ciel, souverain de quelque grand empire, ce qui me -permettra de faire éclater la libéralité et la reconnaissance que je -porte au fond de mon cœur. Mais en eût-il le plus vif désir, le pauvre -n’a pas le pouvoir d’être libéral, car la gratitude, qui ne gît que dans -le désir est une vertu morte, comme la foi sans les œuvres: voilà -pourquoi je voudrais que la fortune m’offrît bientôt l’occasion de me -faire empereur, afin de pouvoir faire éclater mes bons sentiments en -enrichissant mes amis, à commencer par ce fidèle écuyer ici présent, qui -est le meilleur des hommes. Je serais fort aise de lui donner un comté, -que du reste je lui promets depuis longtemps, quoique, à vrai dire, je -me défie un peu de sa capacité pour le bien gouverner. - -Seigneur, repartit Sancho, travaillez seulement à me donner ce comté, -que vous me faites tant attendre: et je le gouvernerai bien, je vous en -réponds. D’ailleurs, si je n’en puis venir à bout, j’ai entendu dire -qu’il y a des gens qui prennent à ferme les terres des seigneurs et les -font valoir à leur place, tandis que les maîtres se donnent du bon temps -et mangent gaiement leur revenu. Par ma foi, j’en ferais bien autant, et -cela ne me paraît pas si difficile. Oh! que je ne m’amuserai point à -marchander! je vous mettrai prestement le fermier en fonctions, et je -mangerai mes rentes comme un prince: après cela, qu’on en fasse des -choux ou des raves, du diable si je m’en soucie! - -Ce ne sont pas là de mauvaises philosophies, comme vous le prétendez, -Sancho, répliqua le chanoine; mais il y a bien quelque chose à dire au -sujet de ce comté. - -Je n’entends rien à vos philosophies, répondit Sancho; qu’on commence -par me donner ce comté, et je saurai bien le gouverner. J’ai autant -d’âme qu’un autre et autant de corps que celui qui en a le plus, -j’espère donc être aussi roi dans mon État que chacun l’est dans le -sien: cela étant, je ferai ce que je voudrai, et faisant ce que je -voudrai, je ferai à ma fantaisie; faisant à ma fantaisie, je serai -content, et quand je serai content, je n’aurai plus rien à désirer; et -quand je n’aurai plus rien à désirer, que diable me faudra-t-il de plus? -Ainsi donc, que le comté vienne, et adieu jusqu’au revoir, comme se -disent les aveugles. - -Compère Sancho, quant au revenu, dit le chanoine, cela se peut; mais -quant à l’administration de la justice, c’est autre chose: c’est là que -le seigneur doit appliquer tous ses soins; c’est là qu’il montre -l’excellence de son jugement, et surtout son désir de bien faire, désir -qui doit être le principe de ses moindres actions. Car de même que Dieu -aide et récompense les bonnes intentions, de même il renverse les -mauvais desseins. - -Je ne sais pas ce qu’il y a à dire au sujet du comté que j’ai promis à -Sancho, dit don Quichotte; mais je me guide sur l’exemple du grand -Amadis, lequel fit son écuyer comte de l’île Ferme; je puis donc sans -scrupule donner un comté à Sancho Panza, qui est assurément un des -meilleurs écuyers qu’ait jamais eu chevalier errant. - -Le chanoine était confondu des extravagances que débitait don Quichotte: -il admirait cette présence d’esprit avec laquelle il venait d’improviser -l’aventure du chevalier du Lac, et cette vive impression que les -rêveries contenues dans les romans avaient faite dans son imagination. -Il n’était guère moins étonné de la simplicité de Sancho, qui demandait -un comté avec tant d’empressement, et qui croyait que son maître pouvait -le lui donner comme on donne une simple métairie. Pendant qu’il -réfléchissait là-dessus, ses gens revinrent avec le mulet de bagages, et -ayant jeté un tapis sur l’herbe à l’ombre de quelques arbres, on se mit -à manger. - -A peine avaient-ils commencé, qu’ils entendirent le son d’une clochette, -et en même temps ils virent sortir des buissons qui étaient là une -chèvre noire et blanche, mouchetée de taches fauves; derrière elle -courait un berger qui la flattait en son langage pour la faire arrêter -ou retourner au troupeau. La fugitive s’en vint tout effarouchée se -jeter, comme dans un asile, au milieu des personnes qui mangeaient, et -s’y arrêta; alors le chevrier la prenant par les cornes, se mit à lui -dire, comme si elle eût été capable de raison: Ah çà, montagnarde -mouchetée, comme vous fuyez! Qu’avez-vous donc, la belle? Qu’est-ce qui -vous fait peur? me le direz-vous, ma fille? A moins qu’en votre qualité -de femelle il vous soit impossible de rester en repos? Revenez, ma mie, -revenez; vous serez plus en sûreté dans la bergerie, ou parmi vos -compagnes. Vous qui devez les conduire, que deviendront-elles, si vous -vous égarez de la sorte? - -Ces paroles intéressèrent le chanoine, qui pria le berger de ne point se -presser de remmener sa chèvre. Mon ami, lui dit-il, étant femelle comme -vous dites, il faut la laisser suivre sa volonté: vous auriez beau -vouloir l’en empêcher, elle n’écoutera jamais que sa fantaisie. Prenez -ce morceau, mon camarade, ajouta-t-il, et buvez un coup pour vous -remettre, pendant que votre chèvre se reposera. - -On lui donna une cuisse de lapin froid, qu’il accepta sans façon, et -après avoir bu un coup à la santé de la compagnie: Seigneurs, dit-il, -pour m’avoir entendu parler ainsi à cette bête, ne croyez pas que je -sois un imbécile. Ce que je viens de dire ne vous paraît pas -très-raisonnable; mais tout rustre que je suis, je sais comment il faut -parler aux hommes et aux bêtes. - -Je n’en fais aucun doute, dit le curé; car je sais par expérience qu’on -trouve des poëtes dans les montagnes, et que souvent les cabanes -abritent des philosophes. - -Seigneurs, répliqua le chevrier, il ne laisse pas de s’y trouver -quelquefois des gens qui sont devenus sages à leurs dépens, et si je ne -craignais de vous ennuyer, je vous conterais une petite histoire pour -confirmer ce que le seigneur licencié vient de dire. - -Mon ami, reprit don Quichotte, prenant la parole au nom de la compagnie -entière, comme ce que vous avez à nous conter me paraît avoir quelque -semblant d’aventure de chevalerie, je vous écouterai de bon cœur; tous -ceux qui sont ici feront de même, j’en suis certain, car ils aiment les -choses curieuses: vous n’avez donc qu’à commencer, nous vous donnerons -toute notre attention. - -Pour moi, je suis votre serviteur, dit Sancho: ventre affamé n’a pas -d’oreilles. Avec votre permission, je m’en vais au bord de ce ruisseau -m’en donner avec ce pâté et me farcir la panse pour trois jours. Aussi -bien ai-je entendu dire à mon maître que l’écuyer d’un chevalier errant -ne doit jamais perdre l’occasion de se garnir l’estomac, quand il la -trouve, car il n’a ensuite que trop de loisir pour digérer. En effet, il -lui arrive souvent de s’égarer dans une forêt dont on ne trouverait pas -le bout en six jours; si donc le pauvre diable n’a pas pris ses -précautions, et n’a rien dans son bissac, il demeure là comme une momie. -D’ailleurs, cela nous est arrivé plus d’une fois. - -Tu as peut-être raison, Sancho, dit don Quichotte; va où tu voudras et -mange à ton aise. Pour moi, j’ai pris ce qu’il me faut, et je n’ai plus -besoin que de donner un peu de nourriture à mon esprit, comme je vais le -faire en écoutant l’histoire du chevrier. - -Allons, dit le chanoine, il peut commencer quand il voudra; il me semble -que nous sommes prêts. - -Le chevrier frappa deux petits coups sur le dos de sa chèvre, en lui -disant: Couche-toi auprès de moi, mouchetée, nous avons plus de loisir -qu’il ne nous en faut pour retourner au troupeau. On eût dit que la -chèvre comprenait les paroles de son maître, car elle s’étendit près de -lui; puis le regardant fixement au visage, elle semblait attendre qu’il -commençât, ce qu’il fit en ces termes: - -CHAPITRE LI - -CONTENANT CE QUE RACONTE LE CHEVRIER - -A trois lieues de ce vallon, dans un hameau qui, malgré son peu -d’étendue, n’en est pas moins un des plus riches du pays, demeurait un -laboureur aimé et estimé de ses voisins, mais bien plus encore pour sa -vertu que pour sa richesse. Ce laboureur se trouvait si heureux d’avoir -une fille belle et sage, qu’il en faisait sa plus grande joie, ne -comptant pour rien, au prix de cet enfant, tout ce qu’il possédait. A -peine eut-elle atteint seize ans, la renommée de ses charmes se répandit -tellement, que non-seulement des villages d’alentour, mais même des plus -éloignés, on venait la voir, ainsi qu’une image de sainte opérant des -miracles. Le père la gardait ni plus ni moins qu’un trésor, mais elle se -gardait encore mieux elle-même, et vivait dans une extrême retenue. -Aussi quantité de gens, attirés par le bien du père, par la beauté de la -jeune fille, et surtout par la bonne réputation dont ils jouissaient -tous deux, se déclarèrent les serviteurs de la belle, et embarrassèrent -fort le bon homme, en la lui demandant en mariage. - -Parmi ce grand nombre de prétendants, j’étais un de ceux qui avaient le -plus sujet d’espérer: fort connu du père, et habitant le même village, -il savait que je sortais de gens sans reproche; il connaissait mon bien -et mon âge, et autour de moi on disait que je ne manquais pas d’esprit. -Tout cela parlait en ma faveur; mais un certain Anselme, garçon de -l’endroit, estimé de tout le monde, et qui avait même dessein que moi, -tenait en suspens l’esprit du père; de sorte que ce brave homme, jugeant -que nous pourrions l’un ou l’autre être le fait de sa Leandra (c’est le -nom de la jeune fille) se remit entièrement à elle du choix qu’elle -ferait entre nous deux, ne voulant pas contraindre son inclination en -choisissant lui-même. J’ignore quelle fut la réponse de Leandra; mais -dès ce moment son père nous ajourna toujours avec adresse, sous prétexte -du peu d’âge de sa fille, sans s’engager et sans nous rebuter. - -Vers cette époque, on vit tout à coup arriver dans le village un certain -Vincent de la Roca, fils d’un pauvre laboureur, notre voisin. Ce Vincent -revenait d’Italie et d’autres contrées lointaines où il avait, -disait-il, fait la guerre. Un capitaine d’infanterie, qui passait dans -le pays avec sa compagnie, l’avait enrôlé à l’âge de douze ans, et au -bout de douze autres années, nous vîmes reparaître ce Vincent avec un -habit de soldat, bariolé de mille couleurs, et tout couvert de -verroteries et de chaînettes d’acier. Chaque jour il changeait de -costume: aujourd’hui une parure, demain une autre, le tout de peu de -poids et surtout de peu de valeur. Comme on est malicieux dans nos -campagnes, et que souvent on n’a rien de mieux à faire, on s’amusait à -regarder ces braveries, et de compte fait on finit par trouver qu’il -n’avait que trois habits d’étoffes différentes, tant bons que mauvais, -avec les hauts-de-chausses et les jarretières, mais qu’il savait si bien -les ajuster, et de tant de façons, qu’on eût juré qu’il en avait plus de -dix paires, avec autant de panaches. Ne vous étonnez pas, seigneurs, si -je fais mention de ces bagatelles; la suite vous apprendra qu’elles -jouent un grand rôle dans cette histoire. - -D’ordinaire, notre soldat s’asseyait sur un banc de pierre qui est sous -le grand peuplier de la place du village; là il faisait le récit de ses -aventures, et vantait sans cesse ses prouesses. Il n’existait point de -lieu au monde qu’il ne connût, ni de bataille où il n’eût assisté: il -avait tué plus de Mores qu’il n’y en a dans le Maroc et dans Tunis. -Gante, Luna, don Diego Garcia de Paredès, et mille autres qu’il nommait, -n’avaient pas paru aussi souvent que lui sur le pré, et il s’était -toujours tiré avec avantage de ces différentes affaires, sans qu’il lui -en coûtât une seule goutte de sang. Après avoir raconté ses exploits, il -nous montrait des cicatrices imperceptibles, prétendant qu’elles -venaient d’autant d’arquebusades reçues dans différentes batailles. -Bref, pour achever son portrait, il était si arrogant qu’il traitait -sans façon non-seulement ses égaux, mais ceux mêmes qui l’avaient connu -jadis, disant que son bras était son père, ses actions sa race, et -qu’étant soldat, il ne le cédait dans le monde à qui que ce fût. Ce -fanfaron, qui est quelque peu musicien, se mêlait aussi de racler une -guitare, qu’il disait avoir reçue en présent d’une duchesse: il obtenait -de la sorte l’admiration des niais, et amusait les habitants du village. - -Mais là ne se bornaient pas les perfections de ce drôle: il était poëte, -et sur le moindre incident arrivé dans le pays, il composait une romance -de trois ou quatre pages d’écriture. Or, ce soldat que je viens de dire, -ce Vincent de la Roca, ce brave, ce galant, fut vu de Leandra par une -fenêtre de la maison de son père qui donne sur la place; la belle le -remarqua; l’oripeau de ses habits l’éblouit; elle fut charmée de ses -romances, dont il donnait libéralement des copies, et le récit de ses -prétendues prouesses lui ayant tourné la tête, le diable aussi s’en -mêlant, elle devint éperdument amoureuse de cet homme avant même qu’il -eût osé lui parler d’amour. Or comme, en pareille matière, on dit que la -chose est en bon train lorsque le galant est regardé d’un bon œil, -bientôt la Roca et Leandra s’aimèrent, et ils étaient d’intelligence -avant qu’aucun de nous s’en fût aperçu. Aussi n’eurent-ils pas de peine -à faire ce qu’ils avaient résolu. Un beau matin Leandra s’enfuit de la -maison de son père, qui l’aimait tendrement, pour suivre un homme -qu’elle ne connaissait pas; et Vincent de la Roca sortit plus triomphant -de cette entreprise que de toutes celles dont il se vantait. - -L’événement surprit tout le monde; le père fut accablé de douleur; -Anselme, ainsi que moi, nous faillîmes mourir de désespoir. - -Furieux de l’outrage, les parents eurent recours à la justice; -incontinent les archers se mirent en campagne, on battit les chemins, on -fouilla les bois; enfin, au bout de trois jours, Leandra fut retrouvée -dans la montagne au fond d’une caverne, presque sans vêtements et -n’ayant plus ni l’argent, ni les pierreries qu’elle avait emportés. La -pauvre créature fut ramenée à son père; on lui demanda la cause de son -malheur; elle confessa que Vincent de la Roca l’avait trompée; que sous -promesse d’être son mari, il lui avait persuadé de l’accompagner à -Naples, où il prétendait avoir de très-hautes connaissances; elle ajouta -que ce misérable, abusant de son inexpérience et de sa faiblesse, après -lui avoir fait emporter le plus possible d’argent et de bijoux, l’avait -menée dans la montagne, et enfermée dans cette caverne, dans l’état où -on la trouvait, sans lui demander autre chose, ni lui avoir fait aucune -violence. - -Croire à la continence du jeune homme était chose difficile; mais -Leandra l’affirma de tant de manières, que, sur la parole de sa fille, -le pauvre père se consola, et rendit grâces à Dieu de l’avoir si -miraculeusement préservée. Le même jour, il la fit disparaître à tous -les regards, et alla l’enfermer dans un couvent des environs, en -attendant que le temps eût effacé la honte dont la couvrait son -imprudence. La jeunesse de Leandra servit d’excuse à sa légèreté, au -moins auprès des gens qui ne prenaient pas d’intérêt à elle: mais ceux -qui la connaissaient n’attribuèrent point sa faute à son ignorance, ils -en accusèrent plutôt le naturel des femmes, qui sont pour la plupart -volages et inconsidérées. Depuis lors, Anselme est en proie à une -mélancolie dont rien ne peut le guérir. Pour moi, qui l’aimais tant, et -qui l’aime peut-être encore, je ne connais plus de joie ici-bas, et la -vie m’est devenue insupportable. Je ne vous dis point toutes les -malédictions que nous avons données au soldat; combien de fois nous -avons déploré l’imprévoyance du père, qui a si mal gardé sa fille, et -combien nous lui avons adressé de reproches à elle-même, en un mot tous -ces regrets inutiles auxquels se livrent les amants désespérés. - -Aussi, depuis la fuite de Leandra, Anselme et moi, tous deux -inconsolables, nous sommes-nous retirés dans cette vallée, où nous -menons paître deux grands troupeaux, passant notre vie au milieu de ces -arbres, tantôt soupirant chacun de notre côté, tantôt chantant ensemble, -soit des vers pour célébrer la belle Leandra, soit des invectives -contre elle. A notre exemple, bien d’autres de ses amants sont venus -habiter ces montagnes, où ils mènent une vie aussi déraisonnable que la -nôtre; et le nombre des bergers et des troupeaux est tel, qu’il semble -que ce soit ici l’Arcadie pastorale, dont vous avez sans doute entendu -parler. Les lieux d’alentour retentissent sans cesse du nom de Leandra: -un berger l’appelle fantasque et légère; un autre la traite de facile et -d’imprudente; d’autres tout à la fois l’accusent et la plaignent; -ceux-ci ne parlent que de sa beauté, et regrettent son absence; ceux-là -lui reprochent les maux qu’ils endurent. Tous la maudissent et tous -l’adorent; et leur folie est si grande, que les uns se plaignent de ses -mépris sans jamais l’avoir vue, tandis que d’autres meurent de jalousie -avec aussi peu de raison; car, ainsi que je l’ai déjà dit, je ne la -crois coupable que de l’imprudence qu’elle-même a confessée. Quoi qu’il -en soit, on ne voit sur ces rochers, au bord des ruisseaux et au pied -des arbres, qu’amants désolés, poussant mille plaintes, et prenant le -ciel et la terre à témoin de leur martyre: les échos ne se lassent pas -de répéter le nom de Leandra; les montagnes en retentissent, l’écorce -des arbres en est couverte, et l’on dirait que les ruisseaux le -murmurent. On n’entend, la nuit, le jour, que le nom de Leandra, et -cette Leandra qui ne pense guère à nous, nous enchante et nous poursuit -sans cesse; tous enfin nous sommes en proie à l’espérance et à la -crainte, sans savoir ce que nous devons craindre ou ce que nous devons -espérer. - -Parmi ces pauvres insensés, le plus raisonnable et à la fois le plus -fou, c’est Anselme, mon rival, qui, avec tant de sujets de se lamenter, -ne gémit que de la seule absence de Leandra, et au son d’un violon dont -il joue admirablement, exprime sa douleur en cadence, chantant des vers -de sa façon, qui prouvent combien il a d’esprit. Quant à moi, je suis un -chemin plus facile et plus sage, à mon avis: je passe mon temps à me -plaindre de la légèreté des femmes, de leur inconstance, de la fausseté -de leurs promesses, et de l’inconséquence empreinte dans presque toutes -leurs actions. - -Voilà, seigneurs, l’explication des paroles que vous m’avez entendu -adresser à cette chèvre quand j’approchai de vous; car, en sa qualité de -femelle, je l’estime peu, quoiqu’elle soit la meilleure de mon troupeau. - -Mon histoire, seigneurs, vous a peu divertis, j’en suis certain; mais si -vous voulez prendre la peine de venir jusqu’à ma cabane, qui est près -d’ici, je tâcherai de réparer l’ennui que je vous ai causé, par un petit -rafraîchissement de fromage et de lait, mêlé à quelques fruits de la -saison, qui, j’espère, ne vous sera pas désagréable. - -CHAPITRE LII - -DU DÉMÊLÉ DE DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LE CHEVRIER, ET DE LA RARE AVENTURE DES -PÉNITENTS, QUE LE CHEVALIER ACHEVA A LA SUEUR DE SON CORPS - -L’histoire fut trouvée intéressante, et le chanoine, à qui elle avait -beaucoup plu, vanta le récit du chevrier, en lui disant que loin -d’avoir rien de grossier et de rustique, il avait parlé en homme délicat -et de bons sens, et que le seigneur licencié avait eu grandement raison -de dire qu’on rencontrait parfois dans les montagnes des gens qui ont de -l’esprit. Chacun lui fit son compliment; mais don Quichotte renchérit -sur tous les autres. - -Frère, lui dit-il, je jure que s’il m’était permis d’entreprendre -aujourd’hui quelque aventure, je me mettrais à l’instant même en chemin -pour vous en procurer une heureuse: oui, j’irais arracher la belle -Leandra de son couvent, où sans doute on la retient contre sa volonté; -et en dépit de l’abbesse, en dépit de tous les moines passés, présents -et à venir, je la remettrais entre vos mains pour que vous puissiez en -disposer selon votre gré, en observant toutefois les lois de la -chevalerie errante, qui défendent de causer aux dames le moindre -déplaisir. Mais j’ai l’espoir, Dieu aidant, que le pouvoir d’un -enchanteur plein de malice ne prévaudra pas toujours contre celui d’un -autre enchanteur mieux intentionné; et alors je vous promets mon -concours et mon appui, comme l’exige ma profession, qui n’est autre que -de secourir les opprimés et les malheureux. - -Jusque-là le chevrier n’avait pas fait attention à don Quichotte; il se -mit alors à le regarder de la tête aux pieds, et, en le voyant de si -pauvre pelage et de si pauvre carrure, il se tourna vers le barbier, -assis près de lui: Seigneur, lui dit-il, quel est donc cet homme qui a -une mine si étrange et qui parle d’une si singulière façon? - -Et qui ce peut-il être, répondit le barbier, sinon le fameux don -Quichotte de la Manche, le redresseur de torts, le réparateur -d’injustices, le protecteur des dames, la terreur des géants, le -vainqueur invincible dans toutes les batailles. - -Voilà, reprit le chevrier, qui ressemble fort à ce qu’on lit dans les -livres des chevaliers errants, qui étaient tout ce que vous dites; mais -pour moi, je crois que vous vous moquez, ou plutôt que ce gentilhomme a -des cases vides dans la cervelle. - -Insolent, s’écria don Quichotte, c’est vous qui manquez de cervelle, à -moi seul j’en ai cent fois plus que la double carogne qui vous a mis au -monde! - -En disant cela il prit un pain sur la table, et le jeta à la tête du -chevrier avec tant de force, qu’il lui cassa presque le nez et les -dents. Cet homme n’entendait point raillerie; sans nul souci de la nappe -ni des viandes, ni de ceux qui les entouraient, il sauta brusquement sur -don Quichotte, et lui portant les mains à la gorge, il l’aurait -étranglé, si Sancho, le saisissant lui-même par les épaules, ne l’eût -renversé sur le pré pêle-mêle avec les débris du festin. - -Don Quichotte, aussitôt qu’il se vit libre, se rejeta sur le chevrier, -tandis que celui-ci, se trouvant deux hommes sur les bras, le visage -sanglant et le corps tout brisé des coups que lui portait Sancho, -cherchait à tâtons un couteau pour en percer son ennemi; mais, par -prudence, le chanoine et le curé s’étaient emparés de toutes les armes -offensives. Le barbier, naturellement charitable, eut pitié du pauvre -diable, et parvint à mettre sous lui don Quichotte, sur lequel le -chevrier, devenu maître d’agir, fit pleuvoir tant de coups pour se -venger du sang qu’il avait perdu, par celui qu’il tira du nez de son -adversaire, qu’on eût dit qu’ils portaient chacun un masque, tant ils -étaient défigurés. Le curé et le chanoine étouffaient de rire; les -archers trépignaient de joie; et tous ils les animaient l’un contre -l’autre en les agaçant comme on fait aux chiens qui se battent. Sancho -seul se désespérait en se sentant retenu par un des valets du chanoine, -qui l’empêchait de secourir son maître. - -Pendant qu’ils étaient ainsi occupés, les spectateurs à rire, les -combattants à se déchirer, on entendit tout à coup le son d’une -trompette, mais si triste et si lugubre, qu’il attira l’attention -générale. Le plus ému fut don Quichotte, qui, toujours sous le chevrier, -et plus que moulu des coups qu’il en recevait, fit néanmoins céder le -sentiment de la vengeance à l’instinct de la curiosité. Frère diable, -dit-il à son adversaire, car tu ne peux être autre chose, ayant assez de -valeur et de force pour triompher de moi, faisons trêve, je te prie, -pour une heure seulement: il me semble que le son lamentable de cette -trompette m’appelle à quelque nouvelle aventure. - -Le chevrier, non moins las de gourmer que d’être gourmé, le lâcha -aussitôt. Don Quichotte s’étant relevé s’essuya le visage, tourna la -tête du côté d’où venait le bruit, et aperçut plusieurs hommes vêtus de -blanc, semblables à des pénitents ou à des fantômes, qui descendaient la -pente d’un coteau. Or, il faut savoir que cette année-là le ciel avait -refusé sa rosée à la terre, et que dans toute la contrée on faisait des -prières pour obtenir de la pluie; c’est pourquoi les habitants d’un -village voisin venaient en procession à un saint ermitage construit sur -le penchant de la montagne. - -A la vue de l’étrange habillement des pénitents, don Quichotte, sans se -rappeler qu’il en avait cent fois rencontré dans sa vie, se figure que -c’était quelque aventure réservée pour lui comme au seul chevalier -errant de la troupe. Une statue couverte de deuil que portaient ces gens -le confirma dans cette illusion; il s’imagina que c’était quelque -princesse emmenée de force par des brigands félons et discourtois. Dans -cette pensée, il court promptement à Rossinante qui paissait, le bride, -saute en selle; puis, son écuyer lui ayant donné ses armes, il embrasse -son écu, et, s’adressant à ceux qui l’entouraient, il s’écrie: C’est -maintenant, illustre compagnie, que vous allez reconnaître combien -importe au monde l’existence des gens voués à l’exercice de la -chevalerie errante; c’est maintenant que vous allez voir par mes actions -et par la liberté rendue à cette dame captive, quelle estime on doit -faire des chevaliers errants. - -Aussitôt, à défaut d’éperons, il serre les flancs de Rossinante, et s’en -va au grand trot donner au milieu des pénitents, malgré les efforts du -curé et du chanoine pour le retenir, et sans s’inquiéter des hurlements -de Sancho, qui criait de toutes ses forces: Où courez-vous, seigneur don -Quichotte? quel diable vous tient au corps pour aller ainsi contre la -foi catholique? Ne voyez-vous pas que c’est une procession de pénitents, -et que la dame qu’ils portent sur ce brancard est l’image de la Vierge? -Seigneur, seigneur, prenez garde à ce que vous allez faire. Mort de ma -vie! c’est maintenant qu’il faut dire que vous avez perdu la raison. - -Sancho s’épuisait en vain, car son maître était trop pressé de délivrer -la dame en deuil pour écouter une seule parole; et l’eût-il entendu, il -n’aurait pas tourné bride, même sur l’ordre du roi. Lorsqu’il fut à -vingt pas de la procession, le chevalier retint sa monture, qui déjà ne -demandait pas mieux, puis cria d’une voix rauque et tremblante: Arrêtez, -misérables, qui vous masquez sans doute à cause de vos méfaits; arrêtez -et écoutez ce que je veux vous dire. - -Les porteurs de l’image obéirent les premiers. Un des prêtres qui -chantaient des litanies, voyant l’étrange mine de don Quichotte, la -maigreur de Rossinante, et tout ce qu’il y avait de ridicule dans le -chevalier répliqua: Frère, si vous avez à nous dire quelque chose, -parlez vite, car ces pauvres gens ont les épaules rompues, et nous -n’avons pas le loisir d’entendre de longs discours. - -Je n’ai qu’une parole à dire, repartit don Quichotte: rendez sur l’heure -la liberté à cette noble dame, dont la contenance triste et l’air -affligé font assez connaître que vous lui avez fait quelque outrage, et -que vous l’emmenez contre son gré; quant à moi, qui ne suis venu en ce -monde que pour redresser de semblables torts, je ne puis vous laisser -faire un pas de plus. - -Il n’en fallut pas davantage pour apprendre à ces gens que don Quichotte -était fou, et ils ne purent s’empêcher de rire. Malheureusement, c’était -mettre le feu aux étoupes. Se voyant bafoué, notre héros tire son épée, -et court furieux vers la sainte image. Aussitôt un des porteurs, -laissant toute la charge à ses compagnons, se jette au-devant du -chevalier, et lui oppose une des fourches qui servaient à soutenir le -brancard pendant le repos. Du premier choc, elle se rompit, mais du -tronçon qui restait il porta un si rude coup à notre héros sur l’épaule -droite, que l’écu n’arrivant pas assez à temps pour la couvrir, ou -n’étant pas assez fort pour amortir la violence du choc, don Quichotte -roula à terre, les bras étendus, et comme inanimé. Sancho, qui suivait, -arrive tout essoufflé; à la vue de son maître en ce piteux état, il crie -au paysan d’arrêter, en lui jurant que c’est un pauvre chevalier -enchanté, lequel, en toute sa vie, n’avait jamais fait de mal à -personne. - -Les cris de Sancho eussent été inutiles si le paysan, voyant son -adversaire immobile, n’eût cru l’avoir tué; retroussant donc son surplis -pour courir plus à l’aise, il détala comme s’il avait eu la -Sainte-Hermandad à ses trousses. Témoins de ce qui se passait, les -compagnons de don Quichotte accoururent pleins de colère, et les gens de -la procession, remarquant parmi eux des archers armés d’arquebuses, -jugèrent prudent de se tenir sur leurs gardes. En un clin d’œil ils se -rangèrent autour de l’image, et relevant leurs voiles, les pénitents -armés de leurs disciplines, les clercs armés de leurs chandeliers, ils -attendirent de pied ferme, résolus à se bien défendre. Toutefois la -fortune en ordonna mieux qu’ils n’osaient l’espérer, et se rendit -favorable aux deux partis. Pendant que Sancho, couché sur le corps de -son maître, poussait les plus tristes et les plus plaisantes -lamentations du monde, le curé fut reconnu par celui de la procession, -ce qui calma les esprits; et le premier ayant appris à son confrère ce -qu’était le chevalier, tous deux ils se hâtèrent d’aller, suivis des -pénitents et de toute l’assistance, pour voir si le pauvre gentilhomme -était mort. En arrivant, ils trouvèrent Sancho qui, les larmes aux yeux, -exprimait sa douleur en ces termes: - -O fleur de la chevalerie: qui d’un seul coup de bâton as vu terminer le -cours d’une vie si bien employée! ô honneur de ta race, gloire et -merveille de la Manche, merveille du monde entier, que la mort laisse -orphelin et exposé à la rage des scélérats qui vont le mettre sens -dessus dessous, parce qu’il n’y aura plus personne pour châtier leurs -brigandages! ô toi, dont la libéralité surpasse celle de tous les -Alexandre, puisque, pour huit mois de service seulement, tu m’avais -donné la meilleure île de la terre! ô toi, humble avec les superbes et -arrogant avec les humbles; affronteur de périls, endureur d’outrages, -amoureux sans sujet, imitateur des bons, fléau des méchants et ennemi de -toute malice; en un mot, chevalier errant, ce qui est tout ce qu’on peut -dire de plus! - -Aux cris et aux gémissements de Sancho, don Quichotte ouvrit les yeux, -et la première parole qu’il prononça fut celle-ci: Celui qui vit loin de -vous, sans pareille Dulcinée, ne peut jamais être que misérable. Ami -Sancho, ajouta-t-il, aide-moi à me remettre sur le char enchanté, car je -ne suis plus en état de me tenir sur Rossinante, j’ai l’épaule toute -brisée. - -Bien volontiers, mon cher maître, répondit l’écuyer. Allons, retournons -à notre village en compagnie de ces seigneurs qui ne veulent que votre -bien; et là nous songerons à faire une nouvelle excursion qui nous -procure plus de gloire et plus de profit. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, repartit son maître; il est prudent de laisser -passer cette maligne influence des astres qui nous poursuit en ce -moment. - -Le chanoine, le curé, et maître Nicolas, approuvèrent vivement cette -résolution; et plus étonnés que jamais des simplicités de Sancho, ils se -hâtèrent de replacer don Quichotte sur la charrette. La procession se -reforma, et se remit en chemin, le chevrier se retira après avoir salué -la compagnie; les deux archers, se voyant désormais inutiles, firent de -même, non sans avoir d’abord été largement récompensés par le curé. De -son côté, le chanoine ayant embrassé son confrère, le pria instamment de -lui donner des nouvelles de ce qui arriverait à notre héros, et -poursuivit son chemin. Bref, la troupe se sépara, et il ne resta plus -que le curé, le barbier, don Quichotte et Sancho, sans compter -l’illustre Rossinante, qui en tout ceci n’avait pas témoigné moins de -patience que son maître. Le bouvier attela ses bœufs, accommoda le -chevalier sur une botte de foin, et suivit avec son flegme accoutumé la -route qu’on lui indiqua. - -Au bout de six jours ils arrivèrent au village du pauvre Hidalgo, où -entrant en plein midi et un jour de dimanche, ils trouvèrent la -population assemblée sur la place; aussi ne manqua-t-il pas de curieux -qui tous reconnurent leur concitoyen. - -Pendant qu’on entoure le chariot, que chacun à l’envi demande à don -Quichotte de ses nouvelles, et à ceux qui l’accompagnent pourquoi on le -menait dans cet équipage, un petit garçon court avertir la nièce et la -gouvernante que leur maître arrivait dans une charrette traînée par des -bœufs, couché sur une botte de foin, mais si maigre et si décharné, -qu’il ressemblait à un squelette. - -Aussi ce fut pitié d’ouïr les cris que jetèrent ces pauvres femmes, de -voir les soufflets dont elles se plombèrent le visage, d’entendre les -malédictions qu’elles donnèrent à ces maudits livres de chevalerie, -quand elles virent notre héros franchir le seuil de sa maison en plus -mauvais état encore qu’on ne le leur avait annoncé. - -A la nouvelle du retour de nos deux aventuriers, Thérèse Panza qui avait -fini par savoir que Sancho accompagnait don Quichotte en qualité -d’écuyer, vint des premières pour lui faire son compliment, et -rencontrant son mari: Eh bien, mon ami, lui dit-elle, comment se porte -notre âne? - -Il se porte mieux que son maître, répondit Sancho. - -Dieu soit loué, dit Thérèse. Mais conte-moi donc tout de suite ce que tu -as gagné dans ton écuyerie: où sont les jupes que tu m’apportes? où sont -les souliers pour nos enfants? - -Je n’apporte rien de tout cela, femme, répondit Sancho; mais j’apporte -d’autres choses qui sont de bien plus haute importance. - -Quel plaisir tu me fais, reprit Thérèse: Oh! montre-les-moi ces choses -de haute importance, mon ami; j’ai grande envie de les voir pour réjouir -un peu mon pauvre cœur, qui a été triste tout le temps de ton absence. - -Je te les montrerai demain, femme, repartit Sancho, prends patience, et -sois assurée que, s’il plaît à Dieu, mon maître et moi nous irons encore -une fois chercher les aventures, et qu’alors tu me verras bientôt comte -ou gouverneur d’une île, je dis d’une île en terre ferme, et des -meilleures qui puissent se rencontrer. - -Dieu le veuille! ajouta Thérèse, car nous en avons grand besoin; mais -qu’est-ce que cela, des îles? Je n’y entends rien. - -Le miel n’est pas fait pour la bouche de l’âne, répondit Sancho; tu -sauras cela en son temps, femme, et alors tu t’émerveilleras de -t’entendre appeler Seigneurie par tes vassaux. - -Que parles-tu de seigneurie et de vassaux, repartit Juana Panza. (C’est -ainsi que s’appelait la femme de Sancho, non qu’ils fussent parents, -comme le fait observer Ben-Engeli, mais parce que c’est la coutume de la -Manche, que la femme prenne le nom de son mari.) - -Tu as tout le temps d’apprendre cela, Juana, répliqua Sancho: le jour -dure plus d’une heure; il suffit que je dise la vérité. Sache, en -attendant, qu’il n’y a pas de plus grand plaisir au monde que d’être -l’honnête écuyer d’un chevalier errant en quête d’aventures, quoique -celles qu’on rencontre n’aboutissent pas toujours comme on le voudrait, -et que sur cent il s’en trouve au moins quatre-vingt-dix-neuf de -travers. Je le sais par expérience, femme; j’en ai tâté, Dieu merci, et -tu peux m’en croire sur parole: il y en a d’où je me suis tiré berné; -d’autres, d’où je suis sorti roué de coups de bâton; et pourtant, malgré -cela, c’est une chose très-agréable que d’aller chercher fortune, -gravissant les montagnes, traversant les forêts, visitant les châteaux -et logeant dans les hôtelleries sans jamais payer son écot, quelque -chère qu’on y fasse. - -Pendant ce dialogue de Sancho et de sa femme, la nièce et la gouvernante -déshabillaient et étendaient dans son antique lit à ramages don -Quichotte qui les regardait tour à tour avec des yeux hagards, sans -parvenir à les reconnaître ni à se reconnaître lui-même. Le curé -recommanda à la nièce d’avoir grand soin de son oncle, et de veiller à -ce qu’il ne vînt point à leur échapper encore une fois. Mais quand il -se mit à raconter le mal qu’on avait eu à le ramener dans sa maison, les -deux femmes se remirent à crier de plus belle, et fulminèrent de nouveau -mille malédictions contre les livres de chevalerie; elles se laissèrent -même aller à un tel degré d’emportement, qu’elles conjuraient le ciel de -plonger dans le fond des abîmes les auteurs de tant d’impostures et -d’extravagances. A la fin pourtant elles se calmèrent et ne songèrent -plus qu’à soigner attentivement leur seigneur, au milieu des transes -continuelles que leur causait la crainte de le reperdre aussitôt qu’il -serait en meilleure santé; ce qui, malgré tout, ne tarda guère à -arriver. - -Mais quelques soins qu’ait pris l’auteur de cette histoire pour -rechercher la suite des exploits de don Quichotte, il n’a pu en obtenir -une connaissance exacte, du moins par des écrits authentiques. La seule -tradition qui se soit conservée dans la mémoire des peuples de la -Manche, c’est que notre chevalier fit une troisième sortie, que cette -fois il se rendit à Saragosse, et qu’il y figura dans un célèbre -tournoi, où il accomplit des prouesses dignes de sa valeur et de -l’excellence de son jugement. L’auteur n’a pu recueillir rien de plus -concernant ses aventures ni la fin de sa vie, et jamais il n’en aurait -su davantage, si par bonheur il n’eût fait la rencontre d’un vieux -médecin, possesseur d’une caisse de plomb, trouvée, disait-il, sous les -fondations d’un ancien ermitage, et dans laquelle on découvrit un -parchemin où des vers espagnols en lettres gothiques retraçaient -plusieurs des exploits de don Quichotte, et célébraient la beauté de -Dulcinée du Toboso, la vigueur de Rossinante et la fidélité de Sancho -Panza. - -Le scrupuleux historien de ces incroyables aventures rapporte ici tout -ce qu’il a pu en apprendre, et pour récompense de la peine qu’il s’est -donnée en feuilletant toutes les archives de la Manche, il ne demande -qu’une chose au lecteur: c’est d’ajouter foi à son récit, autant que les -honnêtes gens en accordent aux livres de chevalerie, si fort en crédit -par le monde. Tel est son unique désir, et cela suffira pour -l’encourager à s’imposer de nouveaux labeurs et à poursuivre ses -investigations touchant la véritable suite de cette histoire, ou tout au -moins à écrire des aventures aussi divertissantes. - -Les premières paroles qui étaient écrites sur le parchemin trouvé dans -la caisse de plomb, étaient celles-ci: - - LES ACADÉMICIENS DE L’ARGAMASILLA - VILLAGE DE LA MANCHE - _HOC SCRIPSERUNT_ - SUR LA VIE ET LA MORT - DU VAILLANT DON QUICHOTTE - DE LA MANCHE - - LE MONICONGO[60], ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA, - DANS LE TOMBEAU DE DON QUICHOTTE - - ÉPITAPHE - - La tête brûlée qui para la Manche - De plus de dépouilles que Jason de Crète; - Le jugement qui eut la girouette pointue, - Là où elle aurait dû être plate; - - Le bras que sa force a tant allongé, - Puisqu’il atteignit du Catay à Gaëte, - La Muse la plus affreuse et la plus discrète, - Qui grava jamais des vers sur l’airain: - - Celui qui laissa en arrière les Amadis, - Et fit très-peu de cas des Galaors, - S’appuyant sur son amour et sur sa bravoure: - - Celui qui fit taire les Bélianes: - Celui qui erra çà et là sur Rossinante, - Gît ici sous cette pierre froide. - - [60] Mot composé de _mono_, singe, et de _congo_, c’est-à-dire singe - du Congo, marmot, gros singe. - - LE PANIAQUADO[62], ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - IN LAUDEM DULCINEÆ DU TOBOSO - - SONNET - - Celle que vous voyez au visage joufflu, - A la forte poitrine et au maintien altier, - C’est Dulcinée, reine du Toboso, - Dont le grand don Quichotte fut l’adorateur. - - Il foula, pour elle, à pied et fatigué, - L’un et l’autre flanc de la grande montagne Noire - Et les fameux champs de Montiel, - Jusqu’à la plaine verdoyante d’Aranjuez. - - Par la faute de Rossinante, ô étoile adverse! - Cette dame manchoise et cet invincible - Chevalier errant, dans leurs jeunes années, - - Elle cessa en mourant d’être belle, - Et lui, bien qu’il reste écrit sur le marbre, - Il ne put échapper à l’amour et aux tromperies. - - [62] Ce mot a différentes acceptions, telles que _commensal - compagnon_, _partisan déclaré_, etc. - - LE CAPRICIEUX TRÈS-DISCRET ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - A LA LOUANGE DE ROSSINANTE, - CHEVAL DE DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - - SONNET - - Sur le superbe tronc diamanté, - Que Mars foule de ses pieds sanglants, - Le Manchois frénétique fait flotter son étendard - Avec un courage extraordinaire. - - Il suspend les armes et le fin acier - Avec lequel il détruit, il ravage, il fend, il taille: - Nouvelles prouesses; mais l’art invente - Un nouveau style pour le nouveau paladin. - - Et si la Gaule se glorifie de son Amadis, - Dont les braves descendants firent triompher - Mille fois la Grèce en propageant sa renommée; - - Aujourd’hui le temple où Bellone règne, - Couronne don Quichotte, et la Manche se glorifie - Plus de lui que la Grèce et la Gaule. - - L’oubli ne souillera jamais ses gloires, - Car Rossinante même excède en gaillardise - Brilladore et Bayard. - - DU FACÉTIEUX ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - A SANCHO PANÇA - - SONNET - - Voici Sancho Pança, petit de corps, - Mais d’un grand courage. Miracle étrange! - Je vous jure et certifie qu’il fut l’écuyer le plus simple - Et sans artifice qu’il y eût au monde. - - Il tint à un rien qu’il ne fût comte, - Et il l’aurait certes été si les insolences et les injures - De ce siècle mesquin qui ne pardonne, pas même - A un âne, ne se fussent conjurées pour sa ruine. - - C’est sur lui[63] (pardon de le nommer) - Que marchait ce paisible écuyer, derrière le paisible - Cheval Rossinante, et derrière son maître. - - O vaines espérances du monde! - Vous passez en promettant le repos, - A la fin vous devenez une ombre, de la fumée ou un rêve. - - [63] L’âne. - - LE CACHIDIABLO[64], ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - SUR LE TOMBEAU DE DON QUICHOTTE - - ÉPITAPHE - - Ci-gît le chevalier - Bien moulu et mal errant - Que porta Rossinante - Par maint et maint sentier. - - Sancho Pança le Nigaud - Repose aussi près de lui; - Ce fut l’écuyer le plus fidèle - Parmi tous les écuyers. - - [64] Nom d’un fameux renégat. - - DU TIQUETOC, ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA, SUR LE TOMBEAU - DE DULCINÉE DU TOBOSO - - ÉPITAPHE - - Ici repose Dulcinée, - Que, bien que fraîche et dodue, - A été changée en poussière et en cendre - Par la mort épouvantable et vilaine. - - Elle naquit de bonne race, - Et eut un certain air de dame; - Elle fut la flamme du grand Quichotte - Et la gloire de son hameau. - - Voici les seuls vers que l’on put lire; l’écriture des autres était - tellement vermoulue, qu’on les remit à un académicien pour qu’il les - défrichât par conjectures. On a appris qu’il est parvenu à le faire à - force de veilles et d’assiduité et qu’il a l’intention de les publier - dans l’espoir de la troisième sortie de don Quichotte. - - LOS ACADÉMICOS DE LA ARGAMASILLA - LUGAR DE LA MANCHA - _HOC SCRIPSERUNT_ - EN VIDA Y MUERTE - DEL VALEROSO DON QUIJOTE - DE LA MANCHA - - EL MONICONGO, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, - A LA SEPULTURA DE DON QUIJOTE - - EPITAFIO - - El calvatrueno[61] que adornó la Mancha - De mas despojos que Jason de Creta; - El juicio que tuvo la veleta, - Aguda, donde fuera mejor ancha; - - El brazo que su fuerza tanto ensancha, - Que llegó del Catay hasta Gaeta, - La Musa mas horrenda y mas discreta, - Que grabó versos en broncinea plancha: - - El que á cola dejó los Amadises, - Y en muy poquito á Galaores tuvo, - Estribando en su amor y bizarría: - - El que hizo callar los Belianises: - Aquel que en Rocinante errando anduvo, - Yace debajo desta losa fria. - - [61] Se dice del que tiene la cabeza atronada, y es vocinglero y - alocado. - - DEL PANIAGUADO, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, - IN LAUDEM DULCINEÆ DEL TOBOSO - - SONETO - - Esta que veis de rostro amondongado, - Alta de pechos y ademan brioso, - Es Dulcinea, Reyna del Toboso, - De quien fué el gran Quijote aficionado. - - Pisó por ella el uno y otro lado - De la gran Sierra Negra, y el famoso - Campo de Montiel, hasta el herboso - Llano de Aranjuez, á pie y cansado: - - Culpa de Rocinante. ¡O dura estrella! - Que esta Manchega dama, y este invito - Andante caballero, en tiernos años, - - Ella dejó muriendo de ser bella, - Y él, aunque queda en mármoles escrito, - No pudo huir de amor, iras y engaños. - - DEL CAPRICHOSO, DISCRETISIMO ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA - EN LOOR DE ROCINANTE - CABALLO DE DON QUIJOTE DE LA MANCHA - - SONETO - - En el soberbio tronco diamantino, - Que con sangrientas plantas huella Marte, - Frenético el Manchego su estandarte - Tremola con esfuerzo peregrino. - - Cuelga las armas y el acero fino, - Con que destroza, asuela, raja y parte: - Nuevas proezas; pero inventa el arte. - Un nuevo estilo al nuevo Paladino. - - Y si de su Amadis se precia Gaula, - Por cuyos bravos descendientes Grecia - Triunfó mil veces, y su fama ensancha, - - Hoy á Quijote le corona el aula - Dó Belona preside, y dél se precia - Mas que Grecia ni Gaula, la alta Mancha. - - Nunca sus glorias el olvido mancha, - Pues hasta Rocinante, en ser gallardo, - Excede á Brilladoro y á Bayardo. - - DEL BURLADOR, ACADÉMICO ARGAMASILLESCO, - A SANCHO PANZA - - SONETO - - Sancho Panza es aqueste en cuerpo chico; - Pero grande en valor. ¡Milagro extraño! - Escudero el mas simple y sin engaño, - Que tuvo el mundo, os juro y certifico. - - De ser Conde no estuvo en un tantico, - Si no se conjuraran en su daño - Insolencias y agravios del tacaño - Siglo, que aun no perdonan á un borrico. - - Sobre él anduvo (con perdon se miente) - Este manso escudero, tras el manso - Caballo Rocinante y tras su dueño. - - ¡O vanas esperanzas de la gente, - Como pasais con prometer descanso, - Y al fin parais en sombra, en humo, en sueño! - - DEL CACHIDIABLO, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, - EN LA SEPULTURA DE DON QUIJOTE - - EPITAFIO - - Aquí yace el Caballero - Bien molido y mal andante, - A quien llevó Rocinante - Por uno y otro sendero. - - Sancho Panza el majadero - Yace también junto á él, - Escudero el mas fiel, - Que vió el trato de escudero. - - DEL TIQUETOC, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, EN LA - SEPULTURA DE DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO - - EPITAFIO - - Reposa aquí Dulcinea, - Y aunque de carnes rolliza, - La volvió en polvo y ceniza - La muerte espantable y fea. - - Fué de castiza ralea, - Y tuvo asomos de dama, - Del gran Quijote fué llama, - Y fué gloria de su aldea. - -Estos fueron los versos que se pudieron leer: los demás, por estar -carcomida la letra, se entregaron á un Académico, para que por -conjeturas, los declarase. Tiénese noticia que lo ha hecho á costa de -muchas vigilias y mucho trabajo, y que tiene intencion de sacallos á -luz, con esperenza de la tercera salida de don Quijote. - - _Forse altro canterà con miglior plettro._ - -FIN DE LA PREMIÈRE PARTIE - -PRÉFACE - -Vive Dieu! avec quelle impatience, ami lecteur, illustre ou plébéien, -peu importe, tu dois attendre cette préface, croyant sans doute y -trouver des personnalités, des représailles, des injures, contre -l’auteur du second _don Quichotte_: je veux parler de celui qui fut, -dit-on, engendré à Tordesillas, et naquit à Tarragone[65]. Eh bien, je -t’en demande pardon, mais il ne m’est pas possible de te donner cette -satisfaction, car si d’habitude l’injustice et l’outrage éveillent la -colère dans les plus humbles cœurs, cette règle rencontre une exception -dans le mien. Voudrais-tu que j’allasse jeter au nez de cet homme qu’il -n’est qu’un impertinent, un sot, un âne? Eh bien, je n’en n’ai pas même -la pensée; qu’il reste avec son péché, qu’il le mange avec son pain, et -grand bien lui fasse. - - [65] C’est l’écrivain caché sous le nom du licencié Alonzo Fernandez - de Avellaneda, natif de Tordesillas, et dont le livre fut imprimé à - Tarragone. - -Mais ce que je ne puis me résoudre à passer sous silence et à couvrir -simplement de mon mépris, c’est de m’entendre appeler par lui vieux et -manchot, comme s’il avait été en mon pouvoir d’arrêter la marche du -temps et de faire qu’il ne s’écoulât pas pour moi, et comme si ma main -brisée l’avait été dans quelque dispute de taverne, et non dans la plus -éclatante rencontre[66] qu’aient vue les siècles passés et présents et -que puissent voir les siècles à venir. - - [66] La bataille de Lépante, livrée le 5 octobre 1571. - -Si ma blessure ne brille pas aux yeux, elle est, du moins, appréciée par -ceux qui savent où elle fut reçue, car mourir en combattant sied mieux -au soldat, qu’être libre dans la fuite; et je préfère avoir assisté -jadis à cette prodigieuse affaire que de me voir aujourd’hui exempt de -blessures sans y avoir pris part. Les cicatrices que le soldat porte sur -la poitrine et au visage sont autant d’étoiles qui nous guident dans le -sentier de l’honneur vers le désir des nobles louanges. D’ailleurs -est-ce avec les cheveux blancs qu’on écrit? N’est-ce pas plutôt avec -l’entendement, lequel a coutume de se fortifier par les années? - -Autre chose encore m’a causé du chagrin: cet homme m’appelle envieux et -il se donne la peine de m’expliquer, comme si je l’ignorais, ce que -c’est que l’envie; eh bien, qu’il le sache, des deux sortes d’envie que -l’on connaît, je n’éprouve que celle qui est sainte, noble, bien -intentionnée. Comment donc oser supposer que j’aille m’attaquer à un -prêtre, surtout quand ce prêtre ajoute à ce respectable caractère le -titre de familier du saint-office[67]? Je le déclare ici, mon adversaire -se trompe; car de celui qu’il prétend que j’ai voulu désigner, j’adore -le génie, j’admire les travaux et je respecte le labeur incessant et -honorable. Quant à mes _Nouvelles_, que cet aristarque trouve plus -satiriques qu’exemplaires; eh bien, qu’importe? pourvu qu’elles soient -bonnes, et elles ne pourraient l’être s’il ne s’y trouvait un peu de -tout. - - [67] Allusion à Lope de Vega, qui était en effet prêtre et familier du - Saint-Office. - -Tu vas dire sans doute, ami lecteur, que je me montre peu exigeant, mais -il ne faut pas accroître les chagrins d’un homme déjà si affligé, et -ceux de ce seigneur doivent être grands puisqu’il dissimule sa patrie et -déguise son nom, comme s’il se sentait coupable du crime de -lèse-majesté. Si donc par aventure tu viens à le connaître, dis-lui de -ma part que je ne me tiens nullement pour offensé, que je connais fort -bien les piéges du démon, et qu’un des plus dangereux qu’il puisse -tendre à un homme, c’est de lui mettre dans la cervelle qu’il est -capable de composer un livre qui lui procurera autant de renommée que -d’argent et autant d’argent que de renommée. A l’appui de ce que -j’avance, conte-lui avec ton esprit et ta bonne grâce accoutumée la -petite histoire que voici: - -«Il y avait à Séville un fou qui donna dans la plus plaisante folie dont -fou se soit jamais avisé. Il prit un jonc qu’il tailla en pointe par un -bout, et quand il rencontrait un chien, il lui mettait un pied sur la -patte de derrière, lui levait l’autre patte avec la main, après quoi lui -introduisant son tuyau dans certain endroit, il soufflait par l’autre -bout, et rendait bientôt l’animal rond comme une boule. Quand il l’avait -mis en cet état, il lui donnait deux tapes sur le ventre et le lâchait -en disant à ceux qui étaient là toujours en grand nombre: «Vos Grâces -pensent-elles que ce soit chose si facile que d’enfler un chien?» Eh -bien, à mon tour, je demanderai: Pensez-vous que ce soit un petit -travail de faire un livre? - -Si ce conte, ami lecteur, ne lui convient pas, dis-lui cet autre, qui -est encore un conte de fou et de chien: «Il y avait à Cordoue un fou qui -avait coutume de porter sur sa tête un morceau de dalle en marbre ou en -pierre, non des plus légers; quand il apercevait un chien, il s’en -approchait avec précaution et laissait la dalle tomber d’aplomb sur le -pauvre animal. Roulant d’abord sous le coup, le chien ne tardait pas à -se sauver en jetant des hurlements à ne pas s’arrêter au bout de trois -rues. Or, il arriva qu’un jour il s’en prit au chien d’un mercier, que -son maître aimait beaucoup. L’animal poussa des cris perçants. Le -mercier, furieux, saisit une aune, tomba sur le fou et le bâtonna -rondement, en lui disant à chaque coup: «Chien de voleur, ne vois-tu pas -que mon chien est un lévrier?» Et après lui avoir répété le mot de -lévrier plus de cent fois, il le renvoya moulu comme plâtre. -L’avertissement fit son effet, et le fou fut tout un mois sans se -montrer. A la fin cependant, il reparut avec une dalle bien plus pesante -que la première, mais quand il rencontrait un chien, il s’arrêtait tout -court en disant: «Oh! oh! celui-ci est un lévrier.» Depuis lors, tous -les chiens qu’il trouvait sur son chemin, fussent-ils dogues ou roquets, -étaient pour lui autant de lévriers, et il ne lâchait plus sa pierre. -Peut-être en arrivera-t-il de même à cet homme; il n’osera plus lâcher -en livres le poids de son esprit, lequel, il faut en convenir, est plus -lourd que le marbre. - -Quant à la menace qu’il me fait de m’enlever tout profit avec son -ouvrage, dis-lui, ami lecteur, que je m’en moque comme d’un maravédis et -que je lui réponds: «Vive pour moi le comte de Lémos, et Dieu pour -tous!» Oui, vive le grand comte de Lémos, dont la libéralité bien connue -m’abrite contre la mauvaise fortune, et vive la suprême charité de -l’archevêque de Tolède[68]! Ces deux princes, par leur seule bonté d’âme -et sans que je les aie sollicités par aucune espèce d’éloges, ont pris à -leur charge le soin de venir généreusement à mon aide, et en cela je me -tiens pour plus honoré et plus riche que si la fortune, par une voie -ordinaire, m’eût comblé de ses faveurs. L’honneur, je le sens, peut -rester au pauvre, mais non au pervers; la pauvreté peut couvrir d’un -nuage la noblesse, mais non l’obscurcir entièrement. Pourvu que la vertu -jette quelque lumière, fût-ce par les fissures de la détresse, elle -finit toujours par être estimée des grands et nobles esprits. - - [68] Don Bernardo Sandoval y Rojas. - -Ne lui dis rien de plus, ami lecteur; quant à moi, je me contenterai de -te faire remarquer que cette seconde partie de _Don Quichotte_, dont je -te fais hommage, est taillée sur le même patron, et qu’elle est de même -étoffe que la première. Dans cette seconde partie, je te donne mon -chevalier conduit jusqu’au terme de sa vie, et finalement mort et -enterré, afin que personne ne puisse en douter désormais. C’est assez -qu’un honnête homme ait rendu compte de ses aimables folies, sans que -d’autres prétendent encore y mettre la main. L’abondance des choses, -même bonnes, en diminue le prix, tandis que la rareté des mauvaises les -fait apprécier en ce point... - -J’oubliais de te dire que tu auras bientôt _Persiles_, que je suis en -train d’achever, ainsi que la seconde partie de _Galatée_. - -L’INGÉNIEUX CHEVALIER DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - -DEUXIÈME PARTIE - -CHAPITRE PREMIER - -DE CE QUI SE PASSA ENTRE LE CURÉ ET LE BARBIER AVEC DON QUICHOTTE AU -SUJET DE SA MALADIE - -Dans la seconde partie de cette histoire, qui contient la troisième -sortie de don Quichotte, Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli raconte que le curé et le -Barbier restèrent plus d’un mois sans chercher à le voir, pour ne pas -lui rappeler par leur présence le souvenir des choses passées. Ils ne -laissaient pas néanmoins de visiter souvent sa nièce et sa gouvernante, -leur recommandant chaque fois d’avoir grand soin de leur maître, et de -lui donner une nourriture bonne pour l’estomac et surtout pour le -cerveau, d’où venait, à n’en pas douter, tout son mal. Ces femmes -répondaient qu’elles n’auraient garde d’y manquer, d’autant plus que, -par moment, leur seigneur paraissait avoir recouvré tout son bon sens. -Cette nouvelle causa bien de la joie à nos deux amis, qui s’applaudirent -d’autant plus d’avoir employé, pour le ramener chez lui, le stratagème -que nous avons raconté dans les chapitres qui terminent la première -partie de cette grande et véridique histoire. Toutefois, comme ils -tenaient cette guérison pour impossible, ils résolurent de s’en assurer -par eux-mêmes, et après s’être promis de ne pas toucher la corde de la -chevalerie, dans la crainte de découdre les points d’une blessure si -fraîchement fermée[69], ils se rendirent chez don Quichotte, qu’ils -trouvèrent dans sa chambre, assis sur son lit, en camisole de serge -verte, et coiffé d’un bonnet de laine rouge de Tolède, mais tellement -sec et décharné, qu’il ressemblait à une momie. Ils furent très-bien -reçus de notre chevalier, qui répondit à leurs questions sur sa santé -avec beaucoup de justesse et en termes choisis. - - [69] Il était alors d’usage en chirurgie de coudre les blessures. - -Peu à peu la conversation s’engagea, et après avoir causé d’abord de -choses indifférentes, on en vint à entamer le chapitre des affaires -publiques et des formes de gouvernement. Celui-ci changeait une coutume, -celui-là corrigeait un abus; bref, chacun de nos trois amis devint, -séance tenante, un nouveau Lycurgue, un moderne Solon, et ils -remanièrent si bien l’État, qu’il semblait qu’après l’avoir mis à la -forge, ils l’en avaient retiré entièrement remis à neuf. Sur ces divers -sujets, don Quichotte montra tant de tact et d’à-propos, que les deux -visiteurs ne doutèrent plus qu’il n’eût recouvré tout son bon sens. -Présentes à l’entretien, la nièce et la gouvernante versaient des larmes -de joie et ne cessaient de rendre grâces à Dieu en voyant leur maître -montrer une telle lucidité d’esprit. Mais le curé, revenant sur sa -première intention, qui était de ne point parler chevalerie, voulut -compléter l’épreuve, afin de s’assurer si cette guérison était réelle ou -seulement apparente. De propos en propos, il se mit à conter quelques -nouvelles récemment venues de la cour: On tient pour assuré, dit-il, que -le Turc fait de grands préparatifs de guerre, et qu’il se dispose à -descendre le Bosphore avec une immense flotte; seulement, on ne sait pas -sur quels rivages ira fondre une si formidable tempête; il ajouta que la -chrétienté en était fort alarmée, et qu’à tout événement Sa Majesté -faisait pourvoir à la sûreté du royaume de Naples, des côtes de la -Sicile et de l’île de Malte. - -Sa Majesté agit en prudent capitaine, dit don Quichotte, lorsqu’elle met -ses vastes États sur la défensive, afin que l’ennemi ne les prenne pas -au dépourvu. Mais si elle me faisait l’honneur de me demander mon avis, -je lui conseillerais une mesure à laquelle elle est, j’en suis certain, -bien éloignée de penser à cette heure. - -A peine le curé eut-il entendu ces paroles, qu’il se dit en lui-même: -Dieu te soit en aide, pauvre don Quichotte; car, si je ne me trompe, te -voilà retombé au plus profond de ta démence. - -Le barbier, qui avait eu la même pensée, demanda quelle était cette -importante mesure, craignant, disait-il, que ce ne fût un de ces -impertinents avis qu’on ne se fait pas faute de donner aux princes. - -Maître râpeur de barbes, repartit don Quichotte, mon avis n’a rien -d’impertinent; il est, au contraire, tout à fait pertinent. - -D’accord, répliqua le barbier; cependant l’expérience a prouvé que ces -sortes d’expédients sont presque toujours impraticables ou ridicules, -quelquefois même contraires à l’intérêt du roi et de l’État. - -Soit; mais le mien, reprit don Quichotte, n’est ni impraticable ni -ridicule: loin de là, c’est le plus simple et le plus convenable qui -puisse se présenter à l’esprit d’un donneur de conseil. - -Votre Grâce tarde bien à nous l’apprendre, dit le curé. - -Je ne suis pas fort empressé de le faire connaître, répondit don -Quichotte, de peur qu’en arrivant aux oreilles de messeigneurs du -conseil, l’honneur de l’invention ne soit aussitôt enlevé. - -Quant à moi, reprit le barbier, je jure devant Dieu et devant les hommes -de n’en parler ni à roi, ni _à Roch_, ni à âme qui vive, comme il est -dit dans cette romance du curé[70], où l’on avise le roi de ce voleur -qui lui avait escamoté cent doublons et sa mule qui allait si bien -l’amble. - - [70] Allusion à quelque romance populaire de l’époque, aujourd’hui - inconnue. - -Je ne connais pas cette histoire, dit don Quichotte, mais je tiens le -serment pour bon, sachant le seigneur barbier homme de bien. - -Et quand cela ne serait pas, reprit le curé, je me porte fort pour lui, -et je réponds qu’il n’en parlera pas plus que s’il était né muet. - -Et vous, seigneur curé, demanda don Quichotte, quelle sera votre -caution? - -Mon caractère, répliqua le curé, car il me fait un devoir de garder les -secrets. - -Eh bien donc, s’écria don Quichotte, j’affirme que si le roi faisait -publier à son de trompe que tous les chevaliers qui errent par l’Espagne -sont tenus de se rendre à sa cour, à jour nommé, ne s’en présentât-il -qu’une demi-douzaine, tel parmi eux, j’en suis certain, pourrait se -rencontrer qui viendrait à bout de la puissance du Turc. Que Vos Grâces -veuillent bien me prêter attention et suivre mon raisonnement. Est-ce -qu’on n’a pas vu maintes fois un chevalier défaire à lui seul une armée -de deux cent mille hommes, comme si tous ensemble ils n’avaient eu -qu’une tête à couper? Vive Dieu! si le fameux don Bélianis, ou même un -simple rejeton des Amadis de Gaule était encore vivant, et que le Turc -se trouvât face à face avec lui, par ma foi, je ne parierais pas pour le -Turc. Mais patience, Dieu aura pitié de son peuple, et saura lui envoyer -quelque chevalier moins illustre peut-être que ceux des temps passés, -qui pourtant ne leur sera point inférieur en vaillance. Je n’en dis pas -davantage, Dieu m’entend. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria la nièce, que je meure si mon oncle n’a pas envie -de se faire encore une fois chevalier errant! - -Oui, oui, repartit don Quichotte, chevalier errant je suis, et chevalier -errant je mourrai; que le Turc monte ou descende quand il voudra, et -déploie toute sa puissance! je le répète, Dieu m’entend. - -Sur ce le barbier prit la parole: Que Vos Grâces, dit-il, me permettent -de leur raconter une petite histoire; elle vient ici fort à propos. - -Comme il vous plaira, reprit don Quichotte; nous sommes prêts à vous -donner audience. - -Le barbier continua de la sorte: A Séville, dans l’hôpital des fous, il -y avait un homme que ses parents firent enfermer comme ayant perdu la -raison. Cet homme avait pris ses licences à l’université d’Ossuna; mais -quand même il les eût prises à celle de Salamanque, il n’en serait pas -moins, disait-on, devenu fou. Après plusieurs années de réclusion, le -pauvre diable se croyant guéri, écrivit à l’archevêque une lettre pleine -de bon sens, dans laquelle il le suppliait de le tirer de sa misérable -vie, puisque Dieu, dans sa miséricorde, lui avait fait la grâce de lui -rendre la raison. Il prétendait que ses parents, pour jouir de son bien, -continuaient à le tenir enfermé, et voulaient, en dépit de la vérité, le -faire passer pour fou jusqu’à sa mort. Convaincu du bon sens de cet -homme par les lettres qu’il ne cessait d’en recevoir, l’archevêque -chargea un de ses chapelains de s’informer auprès du directeur de -l’hôpital si tout ce que lui écrivait le licencié était exact, enfin de -l’interroger lui-même, l’autorisant, si l’examen était favorable, à le -faire mettre en liberté. - -Le chapelain vint trouver le directeur de l’hôpital, et lui demanda ce -qu’il pensait de l’état mental du licencié. Le directeur répondit qu’il -le tenait pour aussi fou que jamais; qu’à la vérité il parlait -quelquefois en homme de bon sens, mais qu’en fin de compte il retombait -toujours dans ses premières extravagances, comme le chapelain pouvait -d’ailleurs s’en assurer par lui-même. Celui-ci témoigna le désir de -tenter l’expérience. On le mena à la chambre du licencié, avec lequel il -s’entretint plus d’une heure sans que pendant tout ce temps cet homme -donnât le moindre signe de folie; loin de là, ses discours furent si -pleins d’à-propos et de bon sens, que le chapelain ne put s’empêcher de -le regarder comme entièrement guéri. - -Entre autres choses, le pauvre diable se plaignit de la connivence du -directeur de l’hôpital, qui, pour plaire à sa famille et ne pas perdre -les cadeaux qu’il en recevait, affirmait qu’il était toujours fou, -quoiqu’il eût souvent de bons moments. Il ajoutait que, dans son -malheur, son plus grand ennemi, c’était sa fortune; car pour en jouir, -disait-il, mes parents portent un jugement qu’ils savent faux, -puisqu’ils ne veulent pas reconnaître la grâce que Dieu m’a faite en me -rappelant de l’état de brute à l’état d’homme. Bref, il parla de telle -sorte, qu’il réussit à rendre le directeur suspect, et à faire passer -ses parents pour cupides et dénaturés, si bien que le chapelain résolut -de l’emmener, pour rendre l’archevêque lui-même témoin d’une guérison -dont il n’était plus permis de douter. Le directeur fit tous ses efforts -pour dissuader le chapelain, lui disant d’y prendre garde; que cet homme -n’avait jamais cessé d’être fou, et qu’il aurait le déplaisir de s’être -trompé sur son compte; mais quand on lui eut montré la lettre de -l’archevêque, il ordonna de rendre au licencié ses anciens vêtements, et -le laissa entre les mains du chapelain. - -A peine dépouillé de sa casaque de fou, notre homme voulut aller prendre -congé de ses anciens compagnons. Il en demanda avec instance la -permission au chapelain, qui désira même l’accompagner dans cette -visite; quelques-uns de ceux qui étaient là se joignirent à lui. En -passant devant la loge d’un fou furieux qui par hasard était calme en ce -moment: Adieu, frère, lui dit le licencié; voyez si vous n’avez pas -quelque chose à me demander, car je vais retourner chez moi, puisque -Dieu dans sa bonté infinie et sans que je le méritasse, m’a fait la -grâce de me rendre la raison. J’espère qu’il fera de même pour vous; -aussi priez-le bien et ne manquez jamais de confiance; en attendant, -j’aurai soin de vous envoyer quelques bons morceaux, car je sais, par ma -propre expérience, que la folie ne vient le plus souvent que du vide de -l’estomac et du cerveau. Prenez donc courage, et ne vous laissez point -abattre; dans les disgrâces qui nous arrivent, le découragement détruit -la santé et ne fait qu’avancer la mort. - -En entendant ce discours, un autre fou renfermé dans une loge qui -faisait face à celle du fou furieux, se redressa tout à coup d’une -vieille natte de jonc sur laquelle il était couché, et demanda en criant -à tue-tête quel était ce camarade qui s’en allait si sain de corps et -d’esprit? - -C’est moi, frère, répondit le licencié; je n’ai plus besoin de rester -dans cette maison après la grâce que Dieu m’a faite. - -Prends garde à ce que tu dis, licencié mon ami, repartit cet homme, et -que le diable ne t’abuse pas. Crois-moi, reste avec nous, afin de -t’épargner l’allée et le retour. - -Je sais que je suis guéri, reprit le licencié, et je ne pense pas avoir -jamais à recommencer mes stations. - -Toi, guéri, continua le fou; à la bonne heure, et que Dieu te conduise; -mais par le nom de Jupiter, dont je représente ici-bas la majesté -souveraine, je jure que pour ce seul péché, que Séville vient de -commettre en te rendant la liberté, je la frapperai d’un tel châtiment, -que le souvenir s’en perpétuera dans les siècles des siècles. _Amen._ Ne -sais-tu pas, pauvre petit licencié sans cervelle, que j’en ai le -pouvoir, puisque je suis Jupiter Tonnant, et que je tiens dans mes mains -les foudres destructeurs qui peuvent en un instant réduire toute la -terre en cendres? Mais non, je n’infligerai qu’une simple correction à -cette ville ignorante et stupide; je me contenterai de la priver de -l’eau du ciel, ainsi que tous ses habitants, pendant trois années -entières et consécutives, à compter du jour où la menace vient d’en être -prononcée. Ah! tu es libre, tu es dans ton bon sens, et moi je suis fou -et en prison! De par mon tonnerre, je leur enverrai de la pluie, tout -comme je songe à me pendre. - -Chacun écoutait ces propos avec étonnement, quand le licencié se tourna -vivement vers le chapelain et lui prenant les deux mains: Que Votre -Grâce, mon cher seigneur, lui dit-il, ne se mette point en peine des -menaces que ce fou vient de débiter; car s’il est Jupiter, le dieu de la -foudre, je suis Neptune, le dieu des eaux, et je ferai pleuvoir quand il -en sera besoin. - -Très-bien, très-bien, repartit le chapelain; mais en attendant, il ne -faut pas irriter Jupiter, seigneur Neptune. Rentrez dans votre loge, -nous reviendrons vous chercher une autre fois. - -Chacun se mit à rire en voyant la confusion du chapelain. Quant au -licencié, on lui remit sa casaque, on le renferma de nouveau, et le -conte est fini. - -C’était donc là, reprit don Quichotte, ce conte venu si à point qu’on ne -pouvait se dispenser de nous le servir. Ah! maître raseur, maître -raseur, bien aveugle est celui qui ne voit pas à travers la toile du -tamis! Votre Grâce en est-elle encore à ignorer que ces comparaisons -d’esprit à esprit, de courage à courage, de beauté à beauté, de famille -à famille, sont toujours odieuses et mal reçues? Seigneur barbier, je ne -suis pas Neptune, le dieu des eaux, et je m’inquiète fort peu de passer -pour un homme d’esprit, surtout ne l’étant pas; mais, quoi qu’il en -soit, je n’en continuerai pas moins jusqu’à mon dernier jour à signaler -au monde l’énorme faute que l’on commet en négligeant de rétablir -l’ancienne chevalerie errante. Hélas! je ne le vois que trop, notre âge -dépravé ne mérite pas de jouir du bonheur ineffable dont ont joui les -siècles passés, alors que les chevaliers errants prenaient en main la -défense des royaumes, la protection des jeunes filles, des veuves et des -orphelins. Maintenant, les chevaliers abandonnent la cuirasse et la -cotte de mailles, pour revêtir la veste de brocard et de soie. Où -sont-ils ceux qui, armés de pied en cap, à cheval et appuyés sur leur -lance, s’ingéniaient à tromper le sommeil, la faim, la soif, et les -besoins les plus impérieux de la nature? Où est le chevalier de notre -temps qui, après une longue course à travers les montagnes et les -forêts, arrivant au bord de la mer, où il ne trouve qu’un frêle esquif, -s’y jette hardiment, malgré les vagues furieuses qui tantôt le lancent -au ciel, tantôt le précipitent au fond des abîmes; puis le lendemain, à -trois mille lieues de là, abordant une terre inconnue, y accomplit des -prouesses si extraordinaires, qu’elles méritent d’être gravées sur le -bronze? A présent, la mollesse et l’oisiveté sont vertus à la mode, et -la véritable valeur qui fut jadis le partage des chevaliers errants -n’est plus de saison. Où rencontrer aujourd’hui un chevalier aussi -vaillant qu’Amadis? aussi courtois que Palmerin d’Olive? aussi galant -que Lisvart de Grèce? plus blessant et plus blessé que don Bélianis? -aussi brave que Rodomont? aussi prudent que le roi Sobrin? aussi -entreprenant que Renaud? aussi invincible que Roland? aussi séduisant -que Roger, de qui, en droite ligne, descendent les ducs de Ferrare, -d’après Turpin dans sa _Cosmographie_. - -Tous ces chevaliers et tant d’autres que je pourrais citer, ont été -l’honneur de la chevalerie errante; c’est d’eux et de leurs pareils que -je conseillerais au roi de se servir, s’il veut être bien servi et à bon -marché, et voir le Turc s’arracher la barbe à pleines mains. Mais avec -tout cela, il faut que je reste dans ma loge, puisqu’on refuse de m’en -tirer; et si Jupiter, comme a dit le barbier, ne veut pas qu’il pleuve, -je suis ici, moi, pour faire pleuvoir quand il m’en prendra fantaisie. -Ceci soit dit afin que le seigneur Plat-à-Barbe sache que je l’ai -compris. - -Seigneur don Quichotte, répondit le barbier, Votre Grâce aurait tort de -se fâcher; Dieu m’est témoin que je n’ai pas eu dessein de vous -déplaire. - -Si je dois me fâcher ou non, c’est à moi de le savoir, reprit don -Quichotte. - -Seigneurs, interrompit le curé, qui jusqu’alors avait écouté sans rien -dire, je voudrais éclaircir un doute qui me pèse, et que vient de faire -naître en moi le discours du seigneur don Quichotte. - -Parlez sans crainte, répondit notre chevalier, et mettez votre -conscience en repos. - -Eh bien, dit le curé, je dois avouer qu’il m’est impossible de croire -que tous ces chevaliers errants dont Votre Grâce vient de parler, aient -été des hommes en chair et en os; pour moi, tout cela n’est que -fictions, rêveries et contes faits à plaisir. - -Voilà une erreur, répondit don Quichotte, dans laquelle sont tombés -nombre de gens. J’ai souvent cherché à faire luire la lumière de la -vérité sur cette illusion devenue presque générale: quelquefois je n’ai -pu réussir; mais presque toujours j’en suis venu à bout, et j’ai eu le -bonheur de rencontrer des personnes qui se sont rendues à la force de -cette vérité pour moi si manifeste, que je pourrais dire avoir vu de mes -yeux Amadis de Gaule. Oui, c’était un homme de haute taille, au teint -vif et blanc; il avait la barbe noire et bien plantée, le regard fier et -doux; il n’était pas grand parleur, se mettait rarement en colère, et -n’y restait pas longtemps. Non moins aisément que j’ai dépeint Amadis, -je pourrais vous faire le portrait de tous les chevaliers errants; car -sur l’idée qu’en donnent leurs histoires, il est facile de dire quel -était leur air, quelle était leur stature et la couleur de leur teint. - -S’il en est ainsi, seigneur, dit le barbier, apprenez-nous quelle taille -avait le géant Morgan? - -Qu’il ait existé des géants ou qu’il n’en ait pas existé, répondit don -Quichotte, les opinions sont partagées à ce sujet. Cependant la sainte -Écriture, qui ne peut induire en erreur, nous apprend qu’il y en a eu, -par ce qu’elle raconte de ce Goliath qui avait sept coudées et plus de -hauteur. On a trouvé en Sicile des ossements de jambes et de bras dont -la longueur prouve qu’ils appartenaient à des géants aussi hauts que des -tours. Toutefois je ne saurais affirmer que le géant Morgan ait été -d’une très-grande taille; je ne le pense pas, et en voici la raison: son -histoire dit qu’il dormait souvent à couvert; or, puisqu’il trouvait des -habitations capables de le recevoir, il ne devait pas être d’une -grandeur démesurée. - -C’est juste, dit le curé, qui, prenant plaisir à entendre notre héros -débiter de telles extravagances, lui demanda à son tour ce qu’il pensait -de Roland, de Renaud et des douze pairs de France, tous anciens -chevaliers errants? - -De Renaud, répondit don Quichotte, je dirai qu’il devait avoir la face -large, le teint vermeil, les yeux à fleur de tête et pleins de feu; il -était extrêmement chatouilleux et emporté, et se plaisait à protéger les -malandrins et gens de cette espèce. Quant à Roland, Rotoland ou Orland -(l’histoire lui donne ces trois noms), je crois pouvoir affirmer qu’il -était de moyenne taille, large des épaules, un peu cagneux des genoux; -il avait le teint brun, la barbe rude et rousse, le corps velu, la -parole brève et le regard menaçant; du reste, courtois, affable et bien -élevé. - -Par ma foi, si Roland ressemblait au portrait que vient d’en faire Votre -Grâce, dit le barbier, je ne m’étonne plus que la belle Angélique lui -ait de beaucoup préféré ce petit More à poil follet à qui elle livra ses -charmes. - -Cette Angélique, reprit don Quichotte, était une créature fantasque et -légère, une coureuse, qui a rempli le monde du bruit de ses fredaines. -Sacrifiant sa réputation à son plaisir, elle a dédaigné mille nobles -personnages, mille chevaliers pleins d’esprit et de bravoure, pour un -petit page au menton cotonneux, sans naissance et sans fortune, et dont -tout le renom fut l’attachement qu’il montra pour son vieux maître[71]. -Aussi, le chantre de sa beauté, le grand Arioste, cesse-t-il d’en parler -après cette faiblesse impardonnable, et pour ne plus s’occuper d’elle, -il termine brusquement son histoire par ces vers: - - Peut-être à l’avenir une meilleure lyre, - Dira comme elle obtint du grand Catay l’empire. - - [71] Médor fut laissé pour mort sur la place, en allant relever le - cadavre de son maître. (ARIOSTE, chant XXIII.) - -Ces vers furent une prophétie, car les poëtes s’appellent _vates_, -c’est-à-dire devins, et la prédiction s’accomplit si bien, que depuis -lors ce fut un poëte andaloux qui chanta les larmes d’Angélique, et un -poëte castillan qui chanta sa beauté. - -Parmi tant de poëtes qui l’ont célébrée, dit maître Nicolas, il doit -s’en être trouvé au moins un pour lui dire son fait. - -Si Sacripant ou Roland eussent été poëtes, reprit don Quichotte, -j’incline à croire qu’ils auraient joliment savonné la tête à cette -écervelée; car c’est l’ordinaire des amants rebutés de se venger par -des satires et des libelles: vengeance, après tout, indigne d’un cœur -généreux. Mais jusqu’à ce jour, je n’ai pas connaissance d’un seul vers -injurieux contre cette Angélique qui a bouleversé le monde. - -C’est miracle! dit le curé; et tout à coup on entendit la nièce et la -gouvernante, qui depuis quelque temps déjà s’étaient retirées, jeter les -hauts cris; aussitôt nos trois amis se levèrent et coururent au bruit. - -CHAPITRE II - -QUI TRAITE DE LA GRANDE QUERELLE QU’EUT SANCHO PANZA AVEC LA NIÈCE ET LA -GOUVERNANTE, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES PLAISANTS ÉVÉNEMENTS - -L’histoire raconte que les auteurs de tout ce tapage étaient Sancho, -lequel voulait entrer pour voir son seigneur, et la nièce et la -gouvernante qui s’y opposaient de toutes leurs forces. - -Que veut ce vagabond, ce fainéant? demandait la gouvernante. Retournez -chez vous, mon ami, vous n’avez que faire céans; c’est vous qui -débauchez et pervertissez notre maître, et l’emmenez courir les grands -chemins. - -Gouvernante de Satan, répondait Sancho, vous vous trompez de plus de -moitié; le débauché, le perverti et l’emmené par les chemins, c’est moi -et non pas votre maître. C’est lui qui m’a tiré de ma maison en -m’enjôlant avec des tricheries et en me promettant une île que j’attends -encore. - -Que veut-il dire avec ses îles? répliquait la gouvernante. Est-ce par -hasard quelque chose de bon à manger, glouton que tu es? - -Non pas à manger, reprenait Sancho, mais à gouverner, et meilleur que -quatre villes et une province entière. - -Tu n’entreras pas ici, tonneau de malices, sac de méchancetés, -continuait la gouvernante: va gouverner ta maison et labourer ton coin -de terre, et laisse-là tes gouvernements. - -Le curé et le barbier riaient de bon cœur de ce plaisant dialogue; mais -don Quichotte craignant que Sancho ne lâchât sa langue et n’en vînt à -débiter, selon sa coutume quelques malicieuses simplicités, fit taire les -deux femmes, et ordonna qu’on le laissât entrer. Sancho entra. Aussitôt -le curé et le barbier prirent congé de leur ami, désespérant de sa -guérison, puisqu’il se montrait entiché plus que jamais de sa maudite -chevalerie. - -Vous verrez, compère, dit le curé en sortant, qu’au moment où nous y -penserons le moins, notre hidalgo reprendra sa volée. - -Oh! cela est certain, reprit le barbier; mais ce qui m’étonne, c’est -moins la folie du maître que la simplicité de l’écuyer: il s’est si bien -fourré cette île dans la cervelle, que rien au monde ne pourrait l’en -faire sortir. - -Dieu leur soit en aide, dit le curé; quant à nous, guettons-les bien -afin de voir où aboutira cette mise en commun d’extravagances; car on -dirait qu’ils ont été créés l’un pour l’autre, et que les folies du -maître vaudraient moins sans celles du valet. - -C’est vrai, ajouta le barbier; mais je voudrais bien savoir ce qu’ils -vont comploter ensemble. - -Soyez tranquille, répliqua le curé, la nièce et la gouvernante ne nous -laisseront rien ignorer; elles ne sont pas femmes à en perdre leur part. - -Pendant cet entretien, don Quichotte et son écuyer s’étaient renfermés. -Quand ils se virent seuls: Sancho, dit don Quichotte, je suis très-peiné -d’apprendre que tu ailles répétant partout que je t’ai enlevé de ta -chaumière, quand tu sais que je ne suis pas resté dans ma maison. Partis -ensemble, nous avons fait tous deux même chemin et éprouvé même fortune: -si une fois on t’a berné, cent fois j’ai reçu des coups de bâton: c’est -le seul avantage que j’ai sur toi. - -C’était bien juste, répondit Sancho; puisque, d’après le dire de Votre -Grâce, les mésaventures sont plutôt le fait des chevaliers errants que -de leurs écuyers. - -Tu te trompes, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, témoins ces vers: _Quando -caput dolet_... - -Je n’entends point d’autre langue que la mienne, dit Sancho. - -Je veux dire, répliqua don Quichotte, que quand la tête souffre, -souffrent tous les membres. Ainsi, moi, ton maître, je suis la tête du -corps dont tu fais partie, étant mon serviteur; par conséquent, le mal -que j’éprouve, tu dois le ressentir, et moi le tien. - -Cela devrait être, repartit Sancho; mais pendant qu’on me bernait, moi, -pauvre membre, ma tête était derrière la muraille de la cour, et elle me -regardait voltiger dans les airs, sans éprouver la moindre douleur; si -les membres sont obligés de ressentir le mal de la tête, il me semble -que la tête devrait à son tour prendre part à leur mal. - -Crois-tu, reprit don Quichotte, que je ne souffrais pas pendant qu’on te -bernait? Ne le dis, ni ne le pense, mon ami, et sois bien persuadé que -je souffrais plus dans mon esprit que toi dans tout ton corps. Mais -laissons cela, nous en reparlerons à loisir. Maintenant, ami Sancho, -réponds-moi franchement, je te prie; que dit-on de moi dans le pays? -comment en parlent les paysans, les hidalgos, les chevaliers? quelle -opinion a-t-on de ma courtoisie, de ma valeur, de mes exploits? que -pense-t-on du dessein que j’ai formé de rétablir dans son antique lustre -l’ordre oublié de la chevalerie errante? Bref, répète-moi, sans -flatterie, ce qui est arrivé à tes oreilles, sans rien ajouter, sans -rien retrancher; car le devoir d’un serviteur fidèle est de dire à son -seigneur la vérité telle qu’elle est, sans qu’aucune considération la -lui fasse exagérer ou diminuer. Tu sauras, Sancho, que si la vérité se -présentait toujours devant les princes nue et dépouillée des ornements -de la flatterie, notre siècle serait un âge d’or, ce qu’il est déjà, à -ce que j’entends dire chaque jour, comparé aux siècles qui nous ont -précédés. Mets à profit cet avis, et réponds sans déguisement à ma -question. - -Volontiers, répondit Sancho, mais à condition que Votre Grâce ne se -fâchera pas si je lui redis les choses telles qu’elles sont venues à mes -oreilles. - -Je t’assure que je ne me fâcherai nullement, dit don Quichotte; parle -librement et sans détour. - -Eh bien, seigneur, reprit Sancho, vous saurez que tout le monde nous -tient, vous, pour le plus grand des fous, et moi, pour le dernier des -imbéciles. Les hidalgos disent que Votre Grâce n’avait pas le droit de -s’arroger le _don_, et de se faire d’emblée chevalier, avec quatre pieds -de vigne, deux journaux de terre, un fossé par devant et un par -derrière. Quant aux chevaliers, ils sont fort peu satisfaits que les -hidalgos se mêlent à eux, principalement ceux qui sont tout au plus bons -pour être écuyers, qui noircissent leurs chaussures avec de la suie, et -raccommodent leurs bas noirs avec de la soie verte. - -Cela ne me regarde pas, dit don Quichotte; je suis toujours -très-convenablement vêtu, et je ne porte jamais d’habits rapiécés; -déchirés, c’est possible, et encore plutôt par le frottement des armes -que par l’action du temps. - -Quant à votre valeur, votre courtoisie, vos exploits et vos projets, -continua Sancho, les opinions sont partagées; les uns disent: C’est un -fou, mais il est plaisant; les autres: Il est vaillant, mais peu -chanceux; d’autres: Il est courtois, mais extravagant; et pour ne rien -vous cacher, ils en débitent tant sur votre compte, que, par ma foi, ils -ne laissent rien à y ajouter. - -Tu le vois, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, plus la vertu est éminente, plus -elle est exposée à la calomnie. Peu de grands hommes y ont échappé: -Jules César, ce sage et vaillant capitaine a passé pour un ambitieux; on -lui a même reproché de n’avoir ni grande propreté dans ses habits, ni -grande pureté dans ses mœurs. On a accusé d’ivrognerie Alexandre, ce -héros auquel tant de belles actions ont mérité le surnom de Grand. -Hercule, après avoir consumé sa vie en d’incroyables travaux, a fini par -passer pour un homme voluptueux et efféminé. On a dit du frère d’Amadis, -don Galaor, que c’était un brouillon, un querelleur, et d’Amadis -lui-même, qu’il pleurait comme une femme. Aussi, mon pauvre Sancho, je -ne me mets nullement en peine des traits de l’envie, et pourvu que ce -soit là tout, je m’en console avec ces héros, qui ont fait l’admiration -de l’univers. - -Oh! répliqua Sancho, on ne s’arrête pas en si beau chemin. - -Qu’y a-t-il donc encore? demanda don Quichotte. - -Il reste la queue à écorcher, répondit Sancho: jusqu’ici ce n’était que -miel, mais si vous voulez savoir le reste, je vais vous amener un homme -qui vous donnera contentement. Le fils de Bartholomé Carrasco est -arrivé hier soir de Salamanque, où il s’est fait recevoir bachelier; et -comme j’allais le voir pour me réjouir avec lui, il m’a raconté que -l’histoire de Votre Grâce est déjà mise en livre sous le titre de -l’_Ingénieux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche_; il dit de plus que -j’y suis tout du long avec mon propre nom de Sancho Panza, et qu’on y a -même fourré madame Dulcinée du Toboso, sans compter bien d’autres choses -qui se sont passées entre vous et moi, tellement que j’ai fait mille -signes de croix, ne sachant comment ce diable d’auteur a pu les -apprendre. - -Il faut assurément, dit don Quichotte, que ce soit un enchanteur qui ait -écrit cette histoire, car ces gens-là devinent tout. - -Parbleu, si c’est un enchanteur, je le crois bien, reprit Sancho, -puisque le bachelier Samson Carrasco dit qu’il s’appelle Cid Hamet -Berengena. - -C’est un nom moresque, dit don Quichotte. - -Cela se pourrait, répondit Sancho, d’autant plus que j’ai ouï dire que -les Mores aiment beaucoup les aubergines[72]. - - [72] Sancho change le nom de Ben-Engeli en Berengena, qui veut dire - aubergine, espèce de légume fort commun dans le royaume de Valence. - -Il faut que tu te trompes quant au mot de cid, dit don Quichotte, car ce -mot signifie seigneur. - -Je n’en sais rien, répondit Sancho; mais si vous voulez que j’amène ici -le bachelier, je l’irai querir à vol d’oiseau. - -Tu me feras plaisir, mon enfant, dit don Quichotte; ce que tu viens de -m’apprendre m’a mis la puce à l’oreille, et je ne mangerai morceau qui -me profite jusqu’à ce que je sois exactement informé de tout. - -Sancho s’en fut. Peu après il revint avec le bachelier, et il y eut -entre eux trois la plaisante conversation que l’on verra dans le -chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE III - -DU RISIBLE ENTRETIEN QU’EURENT ENSEMBLE DON QUICHOTTE SANCHO PANZA ET LE -BACHELIER SAMSON CARRASCO - -En attendant le bachelier Samson Carrasco, don Quichotte resta tout -pensif; il ne pouvait se persuader que l’histoire de ses prouesses fût -déjà publiée, quand son épée fumait encore du sang de ses ennemis. Il en -vint alors à s’imaginer qu’un enchanteur, ami ou ennemi, les avait, par -son art, écrites et livrées à l’impression: ami, pour les grandir et les -élever au-dessus de celles des plus illustres chevaliers; ennemi, pour -les ravaler et les mettre au-dessous des moindres exploits du plus mince -écuyer. Cependant, se disait-il à lui-même, jamais, s’il m’en souvient, -exploits d’écuyer ne furent écrits! et s’il est vrai que mon histoire -existe, étant celle d’un chevalier errant, elle doit être noble, fière, -pompeuse et véridique. Cette réflexion le consola; mais venant à songer -que l’auteur était More, comme l’indiquait ce nom de cid, et que de -pareilles gens on ne doit attendre rien de vrai, puisqu’ils sont tous -menteurs et faussaires, cela lui fit craindre que cet écrivain n’eût -parlé de ses amours avec madame Dulcinée du Toboso d’une manière peu -décente et qui entachât l’honneur de la souveraine de son cœur. Il -espérait au moins qu’en parlant de lui, l’auteur avait eu soin d’exalter -cette admirable constance envers sa dame, qui lui fit refuser tant -d’impératrices et de reines, pour ne point porter d’atteinte, même -légère, à la fidélité qu’il lui devait. Ce fut plongé dans ces pensées -que le trouvèrent Sancho Panza et Samson Carrasco, et il sortit comme -d’un assoupissement pour recevoir le bachelier, à qui il fit beaucoup de -civilités. - -Bien qu’il s’appelât Samson, ce Carrasco était un petit homme, âgé -d’environ vingt-quatre ans, maigre et pâle, de beaucoup d’esprit et -très-railleur: il avait le visage rond, le nez camard et la bouche -grande, signes caractéristiques des gens qui ne se font pas scrupule de -se divertir aux dépens d’autrui. En entrant chez don Quichotte, il se -jeta à genoux en lui demandant sa main à baiser: Seigneur, lui dit-il, -par les licences que j’ai reçues, vous êtes bien le plus fameux -chevalier errant qui ait jamais été et qui sera jamais dans tout -l’univers. Soit mille fois loué Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli du soin qu’il a -pris d’écrire l’histoire de vos merveilleuses prouesses! et cent mille -fois loué soit celui qui l’a fidèlement traduit de l’arabe en castillan -et qui par là nous fait jouir d’une si agréable lecture! - -Il est donc vrai, dit don Quichotte en le relevant, que l’on a écrit mon -histoire, et qu’un More en est l’auteur? - -Cela est si vrai, seigneur, repartit Carrasco, qu’à cette heure on en a -imprimé, je crois, plus de douze mille exemplaires tant à Lisbonne qu’à -Barcelone et à Valence; on dit même qu’on a commencé de l’imprimer à -Anvers, et je ne doute point qu’un jour on ne l’imprime partout, et -qu’on ne la traduise dans toutes les langues. - -Une des choses qui peuvent donner le plus de satisfaction à un homme -éminent et vertueux, dit don Quichotte, c’est de se savoir en bon renom -dans le monde, imprimé et gravé de son vivant. - -Oh! pour le bon renom, repartit le bachelier, Votre Grâce l’emporte de -cent piques sur tous les chevaliers errants, car l’auteur more dans sa -langue, et le chrétien dans la sienne, ont pris à tâche de peindre votre -caractère avec tous les ornements qui pouvaient lui donner de l’éclat: -l’intrépidité dans le péril, la patience dans les adversités, le courage -à supporter les blessures, enfin la chasteté de vos amours platoniques -avec madame dona Dulcinée du Toboso. - -Ah! ah! interrompit Sancho, je n’avais pas encore entendu donner le -_don_ à madame Dulcinée du Toboso, on l’appelait seulement madame -Dulcinée, voilà déjà une faute dans l’histoire. - -C’est une objection sans importance, répondit le bachelier. - -Certainement, ajouta don Quichotte. Mais, dites-moi, je vous prie, -seigneur bachelier, quels sont ceux de mes exploits que l’on vante le -plus dans cette histoire? - -Les goûts diffèrent à ce sujet, répondit Carrasco, et les opinions sont -partagées. Ceux-ci raffolent de l’aventure des moulins à vent, que Votre -Grâce prit pour des géants; ceux-là de l’aventure des moulins à foulon; -quelques-uns préfèrent celle des deux armées qui se trouvèrent être deux -troupeaux de moutons; il y en a qui sont pour l’histoire du mort qu’on -menait à Ségovie; d’autres pour celle des forçats; beaucoup enfin -prétendent que votre bataille contre le valeureux Biscayen l’emporte sur -tout le reste. - -Dites-moi, je vous prie, seigneur bachelier, demanda Sancho, parle-t-on -dans cette histoire de l’aventure des muletiers Yangois, quant il prit -fantaisie à Rossinante de faire le galant? - -Il n’y manque rien, répondit le bachelier: l’auteur n’a rien laissé au -fond de son écritoire, il a tout relaté, tout bien circonstancié, -jusqu’aux cabrioles que le bon Sancho fit dans la couverture. - -Je ne fis pas de cabrioles dans la couverture, répliqua Sancho; mais -dans l’air, et beaucoup plus que je n’aurais voulu. - -Il n’y a point d’histoire, ajouta don Quichotte, qui n’ait ses hauts et -ses bas, surtout les histoires qui traitent de chevalerie, car elles ne -sont pas toujours remplies d’événements heureux. - -En effet, repartit Carrasco, parmi ceux qui ont lu celle-ci, beaucoup -disent que l’auteur aurait bien dû omettre quelques-uns de ces nombreux -coups de bâton que le seigneur don Quichotte a reçus en diverses -rencontres. - -Ils sont pourtant bien réels, dit Sancho. - -On aurait mieux fait de les passer sous silence, reprit don Quichotte: à -quoi bon rapporter des choses inutiles à l’intelligence du récit, et qui -sont faites pour déconsidérer le héros qui en est l’objet? Croit-on -qu’Énée ait été aussi pieux que le dépeint Virgile, et Ulysse aussi -prudent que le fait Homère? - -En effet, répliqua Carrasco, autre chose est d’écrire comme poëte ou -d’écrire comme historien; le poëte peut raconter les événements non tels -qu’ils furent, mais tels qu’ils devraient être; tandis que l’historien -doit toujours les rapporter comme ils sont, sans rien y ajouter, ni rien -retrancher. - -Pardieu, si ce seigneur more est un historien véridique, dit Sancho, -sans doute qu’en parlant des coups de bâton de mon maître, il aura fait -mention des miens; car jamais on n’a pris à Sa Grâce la mesure des -épaules, qu’en même temps on ne m’ait pris celle de tout le corps. Mais -il ne faut pas s’en étonner, si, comme le dit monseigneur, du mal de la -tête les membres doivent souffrir. - -Sancho, vous êtes un mauvais plaisant, reprit don Quichotte, et vous ne -manquez pas de mémoire, quand cela vous convient. - -Comment pourrais-je oublier les coups de bâton, repartit Sancho, quand -les meurtrissures sont encore toutes fraîches sur mes côtes? - -Taisez-vous, dit don Quichotte, et n’interrompez pas le seigneur -bachelier, que je prie de passer outre, et de m’apprendre ce qu’on -raconte de moi dans l’histoire en question. - -Et de moi aussi, ajouta Sancho, car on prétend que j’en suis un des -principaux parsonnages. - -Dites personnages, et non parsonnages, interrompit Carrasco. - -Allons! voilà un autre éplucheur de paroles, s’écria Sancho; si cela -continue, nous ne finirons de la vie. - -Que Dieu cesse de veiller sur la mienne, Sancho, reprit le bachelier, si -vous n’êtes pas le second personnage de cette histoire; il y a des gens -qui préfèrent vous entendre parler que d’entendre le plus huppé du -livre; mais on trouve que vous avez été bien crédule en prenant pour -argent comptant cette île que le seigneur don Quichotte devait vous -donner à gouverner. - -Il y a encore du soleil derrière la montagne, dit don Quichotte; à -mesure que Sancho avancera en âge, il deviendra, avec l’expérience des -années, plus capable d’être gouverneur qu’il ne l’est à présent. - -Par ma foi, reprit Sancho, l’île que je ne saurais pas gouverner à l’âge -que j’ai, je n’en viendrais pas à bout, quand même j’aurais l’âge de -Mathusalem: le mal est que l’île se cache, et qu’on ne sait où la -trouver, mais ce n’est pas la cervelle qui manque pour cela. - -Il faut s’en rapporter à Dieu là-dessus, reprit don Quichotte, et tout -ira peut-être mieux qu’on ne pense; il ne tombe pas une feuille de -l’arbre sans sa volonté. - -Cela est vrai, reprit Carrasco, et si Dieu le veut, Sancho aura plutôt -cent îles à gouverner qu’une seule. - -Moi, j’ai vu par ici, dit Sancho, des gouverneurs qui ne me vont pas à -la cheville; cependant on les traite de Seigneurie, et ils mangent dans -des plats d’argent. - -Ce ne sont pas des gouverneurs d’îles, mais d’autres gouvernements plus -à la main, reprit Carrasco; car ceux qui ont la prétention de gouverner -des îles doivent au moins savoir la grammaire. - -Je n’entends rien à toutes vos balivernes, répliqua Sancho; au reste, -Dieu saura m’envoyer là où je pourrai mieux le servir. Seigneur -bachelier, l’auteur de cette histoire a bien fait, en parlant de moi, de -prendre garde à ce qu’il disait; autrement je jure que j’aurais crié à -me faire entendre des sourds. - -Par ma foi, on aurait crié au miracle, repartit Samson. - -Miracle ou non, répliqua Sancho, que chacun fasse attention à la manière -dont il parle des personnes, et qu’il ne mette pas à tort et à travers -tout ce qui lui passe par la cervelle. - -Un des défauts de cette histoire, continua le bachelier, c’est que -l’auteur y a inséré une nouvelle intitulée: _le Curieux malavisé_; non -que cette nouvelle soit ennuyeuse ou mal écrite, mais parce qu’elle n’a -aucun rapport avec les aventures du seigneur don Quichotte. - -Je gage que, dans cette histoire, ce fils de chien aura tout fourré -pêle-mêle comme dans une valise, dit Sancho. - -S’il en est ainsi, reprit don Quichotte, cet historien n’est pas un sage -enchanteur, mais quelque bavard ignorant; il aura sans doute écrit sans -jugement et au hasard, comme peignait ce peintre d’Ubeda qui, lorsqu’on -lui demandait ce qu’il allait faire, répondait: Ce qui se rencontrera. -Une fois, il peignit un coq si ressemblant, qu’on fut obligé d’écrire au -bas: Ceci est un coq. Je crains bien qu’il n’en soit de même de mon -histoire, et qu’elle n’ait grand besoin de commentaire. - -Oh! pour cela, non, répondit Carrasco; elle est si claire, qu’aucune -difficulté n’y embarrasse, et que tout le monde la comprend. Les enfants -la feuillettent, les jeunes gens la dévorent, les hommes en sont épris, -les vieillards la vantent. Finalement, elle est lue et relue par tant de -gens, qu’à peine voit-on passer un cheval étique, aussitôt chacun de -s’écrier: Voilà Rossinante. Mais ceux qui raffolent le plus de cette -lecture, ce sont les pages: il n’y a pas d’antichambre de grand seigneur -où l’on ne trouve un DON QUICHOTTE; dès que l’un l’a quitté, l’autre -s’en empare; et tous voudraient l’avoir à la fois. Enfin, ce livre est -bien le plus agréable et le plus innocent passe-temps que l’on ait -encore vu, car on n’y rencontre pas un seul mot qui éveille une pensée -déshonnête ou qui prête à une interprétation qui ne soit parfaitement -orthodoxe. - -Celui qui écrirait autrement mériterait d’être brûlé vif comme -faux-monnayeur, reprit don Quichotte. Mais je ne sais vraiment pourquoi -l’auteur s’est avisé d’aller mettre dans cette histoire des aventures -épisodiques et qui n’ont nul rapport au sujet, alors que les miennes lui -fournissaient une si ample matière? Rien qu’avec mes pensées, mes -soupirs, mes larmes, mes chastes désirs et mes hardies entreprises, -n’avait-il pas de quoi remplir plusieurs volumes? Je conclus de tout -ceci, seigneur bachelier, que pour composer un livre il faut posséder un -jugement solide et un mûr entendement; il n’appartient qu’aux grands -esprits de plaisanter avec grâce, de dire des choses piquantes et -ingénieuses. Dans la comédie, vous le savez, le rôle le plus difficile à -peindre, c’est celui du niais; car il ne faut pas être simple pour -savoir le paraître à propos. Je ne dis rien de l’histoire, chose sacrée, -qui doit toujours être conforme à la vérité; et cependant on voit des -gens qui composent et débitent des livres à la douzaine, comme si -c’étaient des beignets. - -Il n’y a livre si médiocre qui ne contienne quelque chose de bon, dit le -bachelier. - -Sans doute, repartit don Quichotte: mais on a vu souvent des écrits -vantés tant qu’il restent en portefeuille, être réduits à rien dès -qu’ils sont livrés à l’impression. - -La raison en est simple, dit Carrasco; un ouvrage imprimé s’examine à -loisir, on est à même d’en saisir tous les défauts, et plus la -réputation de l’auteur est grande, plus on les relève avec soin. Nos -grands poëtes, nos historiens célèbres, ont toujours eu pour envieux -cette foule de gens qui n’ayant jamais rien produit, se font un malin -plaisir de juger sévèrement les ouvrages d’autrui. - -Il ne faut pas s’en étonner, reprit don Quichotte; nous avons quantité -de théologiens qui figureraient très-mal en chaire, quoiqu’ils jugent -admirablement des sermons. - -D’accord, répliqua le bachelier, mais au moins ces rigides censeurs -devraient être plus indulgents, et considérer que _si aliquando bonus -dormitat Homerus_[73], il a dû se tenir longtemps éveillé pour imprimer -à la lumière de son œuvre le moins d’ombre possible; il se pourrait -même que ces prétendus défauts dont ils sont choqués fussent comme ces -signes qui relèvent la beauté de certains visages. Aussi, je dis que -celui qui publie un livre s’expose à une bien grande épreuve, car, quoi -qu’il fasse, il ne pourra jamais plaire à tout le monde. - - [73] Si le bon Homère dort quelquefois. - -D’après cela, dit don Quichotte, je crois que mon histoire n’aura pas -satisfait beaucoup de gens. - -Au contraire, repartit le bachelier; comme _stultorum infinitus est -numerus_[74], infini est le nombre de ceux à qui a plu cette histoire. -On reproche seulement à l’auteur de manquer de mémoire, parce qu’il -oublie de faire connaître le voleur qui déroba l’âne de Sancho; en -effet, il dit que le grison fut volé, et quelques pages plus loin on -revoit Sancho sur son âne, sans qu’on sache comment il l’a retrouvé. On -lui reproche encore d’avoir oublié de nous apprendre ce que Sancho fit -des cent écus qu’il trouva dans certaine valise; car il n’en est plus -question, et l’on serait bien aise de savoir ce qu’ils sont devenus. - - [74] Infini est le nombre des fous. - -Seigneur bachelier, répondit Sancho, je ne suis guère, à l’heure qu’il -est, en état de vous répondre sur tant de points; je viens d’être pris -d’une faiblesse d’estomac que je vais m’empresser de guérir avec deux -bonnes rasades. Ma ménagère m’attend, et dès que j’aurai fini, je -reviendrai vous satisfaire sur l’âne, sur les cent écus, sur tout ce que -vous voudrez; et il partit sans attendre de réponse. - -Don Quichotte retint Carrasco à dîner; on ajouta deux pigeons à -l’ordinaire, ils prirent place à table, et le bachelier se mettant à -l’unisson de son hôte, on ne parla que de chevalerie. Après le repas, -ils firent la sieste, et quand Sancho revint on reprit la conversation. - -CHAPITRE IV - -OU SANCHO PANZA RÉPOND AUX QUESTIONS ET ÉCLAIRCIT LES DOUTES DU -BACHELIER SAMSON CARRASCO, AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS DIGNES D’ÊTRE -RACONTÉS - -Vous voulez savoir, seigneur bachelier, dit Sancho, reprenant la -conversation précédente, quand, comment et par qui mon âne fut volé. Eh -bien, je m’en vais vous le dire. La nuit où, redoutant la -Sainte-Hermandad, nous gagnâmes, mon seigneur et moi, la sierra Morena, -après cette maudite aventure des forçats et la rencontre du défunt qu’on -menait à Ségovie, nous nous enfonçâmes dans l’épaisseur d’un bois, et -là, lui à cheval, et appuyé sur sa lance, et moi planté sur mon grison, -tous deux moulus de nos derniers combats, nous nous endormîmes comme sur -de bons lits de plume. Pour mon compte, mon sommeil fut si profond, que -qui voulut eut tout le temps de mettre quatre pieux aux quatre coins du -bât pour le soutenir, puis de tirer mon âne d’entre mes jambes sans que -je m’en aperçusse. - -L’aventure n’est pas nouvelle, dit don Quichotte; pareille chose est -arrivée à Sacripan, lorsqu’au siége d’Albraque ce larron de Brunel lui -déroba son cheval. - -Le jour vint, continua Sancho, et au premier mouvement que je fis en -m’éveillant, les quatre pieux manquant à la fois, je tombai à terre fort -lourdement. Je cherchai mon âne, et je ne le vis plus. Aussitôt mes yeux -se remplirent de larmes, et je me livrai à une lamentation telle que si -l’auteur de notre histoire n’en a rien dit, il peut se vanter d’avoir -oublié un excellent morceau. A quelque temps de là, comme je suivais -madame la princesse Micomicona, je reconnus sur le dos de mon âne, en -habit de bohémien, ce vaurien de Ginez de Passamont que mon maître avait -délivré de sa chaîne. - -Ce n’est pas en cela qu’est l’erreur, dit Carrasco, mais en ce qu’avant -d’avoir retrouvé l’âne, l’auteur dit que Sancho était monté sur ce même -grison. - -Je n’ai rien à répondre à cela, reprit Sancho, sinon que l’historien -s’est trompé ou que c’est une faute de l’imprimeur. - -C’est assez probable; mais qu’avez-vous fait des cent écus? demanda -Carrasco. - -Je les ai défaits, répondit Sancho; je les ai dépensés pour l’utilité de -ma personne, pour celle de ma femme et de mes enfants. Ils sont cause -que ma Thérèse a pris en patience toutes mes courses à la suite du -Seigneur don Quichotte; car si, après ma longue absence, j’étais revenu -sans âne et sans argent, je n’en aurais pas été quitte à bon marché! -Maintenant veut-on en savoir plus long? Me voici prêt à répondre au roi -même en personne. Et qu’on ne se mette point à éplucher ce que j’ai -rapporté, ce que j’ai dépensé; car si tous les coups de bâton que j’ai -reçus dans le cours de ces voyages m’étaient comptés seulement quatre -maravédis la pièce, mille réaux ne suffiraient pas pour m’en payer la -moitié. Seigneur bachelier, que chacun s’examine, sans se mêler de -critiquer les autres. - -J’aurai soin, reprit Carrasco, d’avertir l’auteur de l’histoire de ne -point oublier, s’il la réimprime, ce que le bon Sancho vient de dire; -cela devra rehausser le prix d’une nouvelle édition. - -Y a-t-il encore autre chose à corriger? demanda don Quichotte. - -Sans doute, répondit Carrasco, mais aucune correction n’aura -l’importance de celle-ci. - -Et l’auteur promet-il par hasard une seconde partie? poursuivit don -Quichotte. - -Oui, certes, répondit Carrasco, mais il dit qu’il ne l’a pas encore -trouvée et qu’il ne sait où la prendre; de sorte qu’on ignore si jamais -elle paraîtra. Ainsi, pour cette raison d’abord, puis à cause de la -prévention que le public a toujours eue pour les secondes parties, on -craint bien que l’auteur n’en reste là; et pourtant on ne cesse de -demander des Aventures de don Quichotte. Que don Quichotte agisse et que -Sancho Panza parle, entend-on répéter à tout propos, nous sommes -contents. - -Et à quoi se décide l’auteur? demanda notre chevalier. - -A quoi? répondit Carrasco, à chercher cette histoire avec un soin -extrême, et quand il l’aura trouvée, à la livrer sans retard à -l’impression, plutôt en vue du profit que de l’honneur qu’il peut en -tirer. - -Ah! l’auteur ne pense qu’à l’argent! s’écria Sancho; par ma foi, ce sera -merveille s’il réussit. Il m’a bien la mine de faire comme ces tailleurs -qui, la veille de Pâques, cousent à grands points pour expédier la -besogne, mais du diable s’il y a morceau qui tienne. Dites de ma part à -ce seigneur more de prendre un peu de patience; car mon maître et moi -nous lui fournirons bientôt tant d’aventures, qu’il pourra publier -non-seulement une seconde partie, mais dix autres encore. Le bon homme -pense peut-être que nous ne songeons qu’à dormir; eh bien, qu’il vienne -nous tenir le pied à la forge, et il verra duquel nous sommes -chatouilleux. Tenez, seigneur bachelier, si mon maître voulait suivre -mon conseil, nous serions déjà en campagne, redressant les torts, -réparant les injustices, vengeant les outrages, comme c’est le devoir -des chevaliers errants. - -A peine Sancho achevait de parler, qu’on entendit hennir Rossinante; don -Quichotte, voyant là un favorable augure, résolut de faire sous peu de -jours une nouvelle sortie. Il s’ouvrit de son projet à Samson Carrasco, -et lui demanda son avis sur le chemin qu’il devait prendre. - -Si vous m’en croyez, répondit le bachelier, vous vous dirigerez du côté -de Saragosse, où dans peu, pour la Saint-Georges, doivent avoir lieu des -joutes solennelles; là il y aura de la gloire à acquérir, car, en -l’emportant sur les chevaliers aragonais, vous pourrez vous vanter de -l’emporter sur tous les chevaliers du monde. Carrasco loua sa généreuse -résolution, tout en lui conseillant d’affronter désormais le péril avec -moins de témérité, parce que sa vie ne lui appartenait pas, mais à ceux -qui avaient besoin du secours de son bras. - -Voilà justement ce qui me fait donner au diable, dit Sancho; mon maître -se précipite sur cent hommes armés, comme un enfant gourmand tombe sur -une douzaine de poires. Mort de ma vie! il y a temps pour attaquer, et -temps pour faire retraite; on ne peut pas toujours crier _Saint -Jacques!_ et _Ferme Espagne!_ d’autant plus que j’ai entendu dire bien -des fois, et, si j’ai bonne mémoire, c’est à monseigneur lui-même, -qu’entre la témérité et la poltronnerie, il y place pour le vrai -courage. On ne doit donc pas fuir sans motif, ni attaquer hors de -propos. Au surplus, je l’avertis que s’il m’emmène avec lui, ce sera à -condition qu’il se chargera seul de toutes les batailles, et que je -n’aurai à m’occuper que de sa nourriture et de ses vêtements; oh! pour -cela, il ne me trouvera pas en défaut; mais espérer que je mette l’épée -à la main, fût-ce même contre des muletiers, par ma foi, je suis bien -son serviteur. - -Seigneur bachelier, jamais je n’ai songé à passer pour un Roland, mais -pour le meilleur et le plus loyal écuyer qui ait servi chevalier errant. -Après cela, si, en récompense de mes bons services, monseigneur don -Quichotte veut m’accorder une de ces îles qu’il doit conquérir, à la -bonne heure! je lui en aurai grande obligation. S’il ne me la donne pas, -eh bien, il faudra s’en consoler; l’homme ne doit pas vivre sur la -parole d’autrui, mais sur celle de Dieu. Et puis, gouverné ou -gouvernant, le pain que je mangerai me semblera-t-il meilleur? Que -sais-je même, si, en fin de compte, le diable ne me prépare pas dans ces -gouvernements quelque croc-en-jambe pour me faire tomber et casser la -mâchoire? Sancho je suis né, et Sancho je pense mourir. Pourtant, si, -sans risques ni soucis, le ciel m’envoyait une île ou quelque chose de -semblable, je ne suis pas si sot que d’en faire fi. Quand on te donne la -génisse, dit le proverbe, jette-lui la corde au cou et mène-la dans ta -maison. - -Ami Sancho, vous venez de parler comme un livre, reprit le bachelier; -prenez patience; tout vient à point pour qui sait attendre, et le -seigneur don Quichotte vous donnera non-seulement une île, mais un -royaume. - -Va pour le plus comme pour le moins, repartit Sancho. Soyez certain, -seigneur bachelier, que si mon maître me donne un royaume, il n’aura pas -lieu de s’en repentir; je me suis bien tâté là-dessus, et me sens de -force à gouverner île ou royaume. - -Prenez garde, Sancho, dit le bachelier; les honneurs changent les -mœurs, et il se pourrait qu’une fois gouverneur, vous en vinssiez à -méconnaître la mère qui vous a mis au monde. - -Cela serait bon pour ces petites gens nés sous la feuille d’un chou, -répliqua Sancho; mais ceux qui, comme moi, ont sur l’âme quatre doigts -de graisse de vieux chrétien! oh! ne craignez rien, tout le monde sera -content. - -Dieu le veuille ainsi, ajouta don Quichotte. Au reste, nous ne tarderons -pas à voir Sancho à l’œuvre; car, si je ne me trompe, l’île est bien -près de venir, je crois déjà la voir d’ici. - -Cela dit, notre héros pria le bachelier, en sa qualité de poëte de -vouloir bien lui composer quelques vers pour prendre congé de madame -Dulcinée du Toboso. Je voudrais, lui dit-il, que chaque vers commençât -par une lettre de son nom, de manière que les premières lettres de -chacun d’eux formassent par leur réunion le nom de Dulcinée du Toboso. - -Bien que je ne sois pas un des poëtes fameux que possède l’Espagne, -puisqu’on n’en compte que trois et demi, j’essayerai de vous donner -satisfaction, repartit le bachelier. - -Surtout, répliqua don Quichotte, faites de façon à ne pas laisser croire -que ces vers aient pu être composés pour une autre dame que pour -Dulcinée du Toboso. - -Ils tombèrent d’accord sur ce point et fixèrent le départ à huit jours -de là. Don Quichotte recommanda au bachelier le secret, surtout à -l’égard du curé, de maître Nicolas, de sa nièce et de sa gouvernante, -afin qu’ils ne vinssent pas se jeter en travers de sa louable -résolution. Carrasco le promit et prit congé de notre héros, le priant -de l’aviser, quand il en aurait l’occasion, de sa bonne ou de sa -mauvaise fortune. Sur cela ils se séparèrent, et Sancho alla faire ses -dispositions pour leur nouvelle campagne. - -CHAPITRE V - -DU SPIRITUEL, PROFOND ET GRACIEUX ENTRETIEN DE SANCHO ET DE SA FEMME, -AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS DIGNES D’HEUREUSE SOUVENANCE - -En arrivant à écrire ce cinquième chapitre, le traducteur de cette -histoire avertit qu’il le tient pour apocryphe, parce que Sancho y parle -un langage qui semble surpasser son intelligence bornée, et qu’il y dit -des choses si subtiles qu’elles ne sauraient venir de son propre fonds; -toutefois, il ajoute qu’il n’a pas voulu manquer de le traduire, comme -c’était son devoir, puis il continue de la sorte: - -Sancho revenait chez lui si joyeux, si content, que sa femme, qui avait -aperçu son allégresse à la distance d’un trait d’arbalète, lui demanda -avec empressement: Qu’avez-vous donc, mon ami, que vous paraissez si -joyeux? - -Femme, répondit Sancho, je le serais bien davantage, si je n’étais pas -si content. - -Je ne vous comprends pas, mon ami. Vous dites que vous seriez plus -joyeux si vous n’étiez pas si content; encore que je sois bien sotte, je -ne crois pas qu’on puisse regretter d’être content. - -Apprends, Thérèse, répondit Sancho, que si je suis joyeux, c’est parce -que j’ai résolu de repartir avec mon maître don Quichotte, qui s’en va -pour la troisième fois chercher les aventures; apprends de plus que si -je m’en vais avec lui, c’est d’abord par nécessité, et ensuite dans -l’espoir de trouver cent autres écus comme ceux que nous avons déjà -dépensés; car si Dieu m’avait accordé de vivre à l’aise dans ma maison, -ce qui lui était facile, puisqu’il n’avait qu’à le vouloir, ma joie -serait bien plus grande encore, car je n’aurais pas le déplaisir de te -quitter ainsi que mes enfants! N’ai-je donc pas raison de dire que je -serais plus content si je n’étais pas si joyeux? - -En vérité, dit Thérèse, il n’y a plus moyen de vous entendre depuis que -vous êtes dans vos chevaleries. - -Dieu m’entend, femme, répliqua Sancho; et comme il est l’entendeur de -toutes choses, cela me suffit. Aie seulement soin du grison pendant ces -trois jours-ci, afin qu’il soit en bon état; double-lui sa ration, -regarde s’il ne manque rien aux harnais, car ce n’est pas à la noce que -nous allons, mais bien faire le tour du monde, nous prendre de querelle -avec des géants, des andriaques, des vampires; et tout cela encore ne -serait que pain bénit, si l’on ne rencontrait pas des muletiers yangois -et des Mores enchantés. - -Je me doute bien, répliqua Thérèse, que les écuyers errants ne mangent -pas gratis le pain de leur maître; aussi je prierai Dieu qu’il vous -garantisse des mauvaises aventures. - -Vois-tu, femme, dit Sancho, si je n’espérais devenir bientôt gouverneur -d’une île, je me laisserais tomber mort à l’instant même. - -Que dites-vous là, Sancho? reprit Thérèse, vive, vive la poule, même -avec sa pépie! Vivez donc, et que les gouvernements s’en aillent à tous -les diables. Vous êtes sorti sans gouvernement du ventre de votre mère, -et sans gouvernement vous avez vécu jusqu’à cette heure; il faudra bien -trouver moyen de s’en passer; que de gens vivent sans cela, et qui n’en -sont pas moins gens de bien! Tenez, la meilleure sauce du monde c’est la -faim, et comme elle ne manque jamais aux pauvres, ils mangent toujours -avec appétit. Mais pourtant, mon ami, si vous veniez à attraper un -gouvernement, tâchez de ne pas oublier votre femme et vos enfants. Votre -fils Sancho a bientôt quinze ans, et il est temps de l’envoyer à -l’école, si tant est que son oncle le bénéficier le destine toujours à -l’Église; quant à Sanchette, votre fille, je ne pense pas qu’un mari lui -fasse peur; et si je ne me trompe, elle n’a pas moins d’envie d’être -mariée que vous d’être gouverneur; après tout, mieux vaut fille mal -mariée que bien amourachée. - -Écoute, femme, repartit Sancho, je t’assure que si je deviens -gouverneur, je marierai notre fille en si haut lieu, qu’on ne -l’approchera pas à moins de la traiter de Seigneurie. - -Oh! pour cela, non, non, s’il vous plaît, répliqua Thérèse, croyez-moi, -mariez-la avec votre égal, c’est le plus sage parti; mais si vous la -faites passer des sabots aux escarpins et de la jaquette de laine au -vertugadin de velours; si d’une Sanchette qu’on tutoie, vous en faites -une dona Maria, qu’on traitera de Seigneurie, la pauvre enfant ne s’y -reconnaîtra plus, et fera voir à chaque instant qu’elle n’est qu’une -grossière paysanne. - -Tais-toi, sotte, repartit Sancho, tout cela n’est que l’affaire de deux -ou trois ans, après quoi tu verras si elle ne fait pas comme les autres! -Qu’elle soit Seigneurie d’abord, après nous verrons. - -Mesurez-vous avec votre état, Sancho, reprit Thérèse, sans chercher à -vous élever plus haut que lui. Ce serait, par ma foi, une belle affaire -de marier notre Sanchette avec quelque gentillâtre, qui, lorsqu’il lui -en prendrait fantaisie, l’appellerait fille de manant pioche-terre et de -dame tourne-fuseau. Non, non, mon ami, ce n’est pas pour cela que je -l’ai élevée; tâchez seulement d’apporter de l’argent; et quant à la -marier, fiez-vous-en à moi. Nous avons ici tout près le fils de Juan -Tocho, notre voisin, Lope Tocho, garçon frais et gaillard, que nous -connaissons depuis longtemps; je sais qu’il ne regarde pas la petite -d’un mauvais œil, il est notre égal, et avec lui elle sera bien -mariée. Nous les aurons tous les deux sous nos yeux; père, mère, enfants -et petits-enfants, nous vivrons tous ensemble, et la bénédiction de Dieu -sera sur nous. Mais n’allez pas me la marier dans vos grands palais, où -on ne l’entendrait pas plus qu’elle ne s’entendrait elle-même. - -Viens çà, bête opiniâtre, femme de Barabbas, répliqua Sancho; pourquoi -veux-tu m’empêcher, sans rime ni raison, de marier ma fille avec un -homme qui me donnerait des grands seigneurs pour héritiers? Écoute, -Thérèse, j’ai toujours entendu dire à mon grand-père que celui qui ne -sait pas saisir le bonheur quand il vient ne doit pas se plaindre quand -il s’en va; ainsi, à cette heure, qu’il frappe à notre porte, nous -serions bien sots de la lui fermer au nez. Laissons-nous donc emporter -par le vent favorable de la fortune, puisqu’il souffle dans nos voiles! -(C’est à cause de cette façon de parler, et aussi pour ce que Sancho va -dire plus bas, que le traducteur de cette histoire tient le présent -chapitre pour apocryphe.) Lorsque j’aurai attrapé quelque bon -gouvernement qui nous tire de la misère, et que j’aurai marié ma fille -selon mon goût, tu verras alors comme on t’appellera dona Teresa Panza, -gros comme le poing, et comment à l’église tu t’assoiras sur des tapis -et des carreaux de velours, en dépit de toutes les femmes d’hidalgos du -pays? Veux-tu donc rester toujours dans le même état, sans jamais -croître ni décroître, comme une figure de tapisserie? Mais en voilà -assez là-dessus. Quoi que tu dises, notre fille sera comtesse. - -Prenez garde à ce que vous dites, mon ami, répondit Thérèse, j’ai bien -peur que tout cela ne soit un jour la perdition de votre fille. -Faites-en ce que vous voudrez, mais pour comtesse, jamais je n’y -donnerai mon consentement. Voyez-vous, Sancho, j’ai toujours aimé -l’égalité, et je ne saurais endurer la morgue et la suffisance; on m’a -nommée, au baptême, Thérèse tout court; mon père s’appelait Cascayo, et -moi je m’appelle Thérèse Panza, parce que je suis votre femme, car je -devrais m’appeler Thérèse Cascayo; mais là où sont les rois, là vont les -lois; tant il y a que je suis contente de mon nom, et ne veux pas qu’on -le grossisse, de peur qu’il ne pèse trop et ne fasse jaser les gens. -Vraiment ils se gêneraient bien pour dire: Voyez donc comme elle fait la -renchérie, cette gardeuse de cochons! Hier encore elle filait de -l’étoupe et allait à la messe avec le pan de sa robe en guise de mante, -et aujourd’hui madame se promène avec une robe de soie et porte un -vertugadin. Si Dieu me conserve mes cinq ou six sens, enfin le nombre -que j’en ai, je jure bien de ne pas leur donner cette satisfaction. Pour -vous, mon ami, soyez gouverneur, président, tout ce qu’il vous plaira; -mais quand à votre fille et à moi, nous ne ferons jamais un pas hors de -notre village, ou je n’aurai pas voix au chapitre. Femme de bon renom a -la jambe cassée et reste à la maison, et fille honnête de travailler se -fait fête. Allez-vous-en courir à vos aventures avec votre seigneur don -Quichotte, et laissez-nous tranquilles; en vérité, je ne sais où il a -pris le _don_ celui-là, car ni son père ni son grand-père ne l’ont -jamais porté! - -En vérité, femme, répliqua Sancho, il faut que tu aies un démon familier -dans le corps; où vas-tu prendre toutes les sottises que tu viens de -débiter? Qu’est-ce que tes Cascayo, tes vertugadins et tes présidents -ont à voir avec ce que j’ai dit? Viens çà, stupide ignorante; car j’ai -bien le droit de t’appeler ainsi, puisque tu n’entends pas raison, et -que tu fuis ton bonheur. Si je te disais qu’il faut que ma fille se -jette du haut d’une tour en bas, ou s’en aille courir le monde, comme -l’infante _dona Urraca_[75], tu pourrais te fâcher: mais si en trois -pas et un saut je fais tant qu’on la nomme madame, si je la tire du -chaume pour la faire asseoir sous un dais, et sur plus de coussins de -velours qu’il n’y a d’Almohades au Maroc, pourquoi ne veux-tu pas être -de mon avis? - - [75] L’infante dona Urraca n’ayant rien reçu dans le partage des biens - de la couronne que fit le roi de Castille, Ferdinand Ier, entre ses - trois fils, prit le bourdon de pèlerin, et menaça son père de quitter - l’Espagne. Elle obtint alors la ville de Zamora. - -Pourquoi? répondit Thérèse; c’est à cause du proverbe qui dit: Qui te -couvre, te découvre. On ne jette les yeux qu’en passant sur les pauvres, -mais on les arrête sur les riches; quand le riche a été pauvre, on ne -fait que murmurer et en médire, et le pis est que lorsqu’on a commencé, -on ne finit plus; car il y a dans les rues des médisants par tas, comme -des essaims d’abeilles. - -Ma pauvre Thérèse, répliqua Sancho, je m’en vais te dire des choses que -tu n’as peut-être jamais entendues en toute ta vie, et certes elles ne -sont pas de mon cru, car ce sont les propres paroles du prédicateur qui -prêchait le carême dernier dans notre village. Il disait, si j’ai bonne -mémoire, que les choses qu’on a tous les jours devant les yeux entrent -dans la tête, et s’impriment mieux dans la mémoire que les choses -passées. (Ce discours que va tenir Sancho est tellement au-dessus de sa -portée d’esprit habituelle, que c’est le second motif pour lequel le -traducteur croit que le présent chapitre n’est pas authentique.) Ainsi, -lorsque nous voyons un homme paré de beaux habits et entouré de nombreux -valets, nous lui portons involontairement du respect, quoique nous nous -rappelions de l’avoir jadis vu pauvre, parce qu’il ne l’est plus, et que -nous ne pensons qu’à ce qu’il est devenu: l’état où on le voit fait -oublier l’état où on l’a vu. Pourquoi donc, celui que le sort favorise, -s’il est bon et libéral, serait-il moins aimé et estimé que ceux qui -sont de noble race, puisqu’il vit comme s’il l’était, et qu’il mérite de -l’être; il n’y a que les envieux qui se rappellent son passé pour lui en -faire reproche. - -Je ne comprends rien à tout cela, reprit Thérèse; faites ce que vous -voudrez, mon ami, et ne me rompez plus la tête si vous êtes si révolu de -faire ce que vous dites... - -Il faut dire résolu, femme, et non pas révolu, observa Sancho. - -Ne nous amusons point à disputer, répliqua Thérèse, je parle comme il -plaît à Dieu, et cela me suffit. Je veux dire que si vous vous -opiniâtrez à être gouverneur, il faudra emmener avec vous votre fils -Sancho, pour lui apprendre à tenir un gouvernement; car les fils doivent -apprendre de bonne heure le métier de leurs pères. - -Quand je serai dans le gouvernement, répondit Sancho, j’enverrai -chercher le petit par la poste, et en même temps je t’enverrai de -l’argent; je n’en manquerai pas alors, car il n’y a personne qui n’en -prête aux gouverneurs; seulement, fais en sorte que son habit ne laisse -pas voir ce qu’il est, mais ce qu’il doit paraître. - -Commencez par envoyer l’argent, ajouta Thérèse, et je vous l’habillerai -comme un chérubin. - -Or çà, femme, dit Sancho, sommes-nous d’accord que notre fille sera -comtesse? - -Le jour où elle sera comtesse, s’écria Thérèse, je préférerais la voir à -cent pieds sous terre. Mais encore une fois, faites comme vous -l’entendrez: car, vous autres hommes, vous êtes les maîtres, et les -femmes ne sont que vos servantes. - -Là-dessus la pauvre Thérèse se mit à pleurer, comme si l’on eût porté sa -fille en terre. Mais Sancho l’apaisa en l’assurant qu’il attendrait le -plus tard possible pour la faire comtesse, et il alla trouver don -Quichotte pour procéder aux préparatifs du départ. - -CHAPITRE VI - -QUI TRAITE DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC SA NIÈCE ET SA -GOUVERNANTE, ET L’UN DES PLUS IMPORTANTS CHAPITRES DE CETTE HISTOIRE - -Pendant que Sancho Panza et sa femme Thérèse Cascayo avaient ensemble -l’étonnante conversation que nous venons de rapporter, la nièce et la -gouvernante de don Quichotte étaient dans une grande anxiété, car à -mille signes divers elles voyaient bien que leur oncle et seigneur se -préparait à leur échapper une troisième fois pour retourner à sa maudite -chevalerie; aussi, par tous les moyens possibles, tâchaient-elles de -l’en détourner, mais c’était prêcher dans le désert et battre le fer à -froid. - -Enfin après y avoir dépensé toute son éloquence, la gouvernante ne put -s’empêcher de lui dire: En vérité, monseigneur, si Votre Grâce a résolu -de quitter encore une fois sa maison pour s’en aller courir par monts et -par vaux, comme une âme en peine, cherchant ce que vous appelez des -aventures, et ce qu’il faudrait plutôt appeler mauvaises rencontres, je -jure que j’irai m’en plaindre à Dieu et au roi. - -J’ignore, ma mie, repartit don Quichotte, ce que Dieu répondra à vos -plaintes, non plus que ce que dira le roi; mais ce que je sais, c’est -qu’à sa place, je me dispenserais de recevoir toutes ces impertinentes -requêtes qu’on lui fait parvenir chaque jour. Un des plus grands ennuis -de la royauté, parmi beaucoup d’autres, c’est, à mon avis, d’être forcé -d’écouter tout et de répondre à tout; aussi ne voudrais-je pas que mes -affaires causassent au roi le moindre souci. - -Dites-moi, seigneur, demanda la gouvernante, est-ce que dans la cour du -roi il n’y a pas des chevaliers? - -Il y en a un grand nombre, répondit don Quichotte, car ces chevaliers -sont le soutien du trône, et leur présence augmente l’éclat de la -majesté royale. - -Eh bien, reprit la nièce, pourquoi ne seriez-vous pas un de ces heureux -chevaliers qui, sans tourner les talons à tout propos, servent -tranquillement, dans sa cour, leur roi et seigneur? - -Ma mie, répliqua don Quichotte, tous les chevaliers ne peuvent pas être -courtisans, ni tous les courtisans être chevaliers; il faut de tout dans -le monde, et quoique les uns et les autres portent le même nom, il -existe cependant entre eux une grande différence. En effet, sans quitter -la cour, sans dépenser un maravédis, et sans éprouver la moindre -fatigue, il suffit aux courtisans, pour voyager par toute la terre, de -regarder simplement la carte. Mais nous, chevaliers errants, c’est -exposés au brûlant soleil de l’été et au froid glacé de l’hiver, que -nous parcourons incessamment la surface entière du globe; ce n’est pas -en peinture que nous connaissons l’ennemi, c’est armés et à chaque -instant que nous l’affrontons, sans consulter cette loi du duel qui veut -que la longueur des épées soit égale de part et d’autre; sans savoir si -notre adversaire n’a pas sur lui quelque talisman qui lui assure -l’avantage; sans penser, avant d’en venir aux mains, à partager le -soleil; et tant d’autres cérémonies en usage dans les combats -singuliers. Sachez, ma chère nièce, qu’un véritable chevalier errant, -loin de s’épouvanter de la rencontre de dix géants, leurs têtes -dépassassent-elles les nuages, leurs jambes fussent-elles plus grosses -que des tours, leurs bras plus longs que des mâts de navires, leurs yeux -plus grands que des roues de moulins et plus ardents qu’un four de -vitrier; sachez, dis-je, que loin d’éprouver la moindre crainte, ce -chevalier doit, avec une contenance dégagée et un cœur intrépide, -attaquer ces géants, s’efforcer de les vaincre, de les tailler en -pièces: et cela, quand bien même ils auraient pour armure les écailles -d’un certain poisson qu’on dit plus dures que le diamant, et pour épées, -des cimeterres de Damas ou des massues à pointes d’acier, comme j’en ai -vu très-souvent. Je vous dis cela afin que vous fassiez la différence de -tel chevalier à tel autre chevalier; il serait bon que les princes -sussent faire aussi cette différence, afin d’apprécier un peu mieux le -mérite et l’importance de ceux qu’on appelle chevaliers errants, car il -s’est rencontré tel parmi eux qui a été le salut de tout un royaume. - -Que dites-vous là, mon bon seigneur? repartit la nièce; considérez donc -que tout ce qu’on dit des chevaliers errants n’est que fable et -mensonge; par ma foi, leurs histoires mériteraient un _san benito_[76], -comme corruptrices des bonnes mœurs. - - [76] C’était la coiffure des condamnés du Saint-Office. - -Par le Dieu vivant qui nous éclaire! s’écria don Quichotte, si tu -n’étais ma nièce, la fille de ma propre sœur, je t’infligerais, pour le -blasphème que tu viens de prononcer, un tel châtiment, que tout -l’univers en parlerait. Est-il possible qu’une petite morveuse qui sait -à peine tourner le fuseau, ait l’audace de parler ainsi des chevaliers -errants! qu’aurait dit le grand Amadis s’il t’avait entendue tenir un -semblable langage? Tiens... il aurait eu pitié de toi, car c’était le -plus courtois des chevaliers et le plus grand protecteur des jeunes -filles. Mais tel autre te l’aurait fait payer cher; car ils n’avaient -pas tous la même modération, et pour s’appeler chevaliers, ils ne se -ressemblaient pas en toutes choses. Si les uns sont d’or pur, les autres -sont d’alliage. Les premiers s’élèvent par leur mérite et leur courage, -les seconds s’abaissent par leur mollesse et leurs vices. Il faut, je -t’assure, beaucoup de discernement et d’expérience pour distinguer ces -deux espèces de chevaliers, si semblables par le nom, mais si différents -par la conduite. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria la nièce; en vérité, mon cher oncle, vous -pourriez monter en chaire et devenir prédicateur; et pourtant vous êtes -aveugle à ce point de vous croire encore un jeune homme, tout vieux que -vous êtes, et surtout de vous dire chevalier, ne l’étant pas? car bien -que les hidalgos puissent le devenir, ce n’est pas quand ils sont -pauvres. - -En ceci tu as raison, ma chère nièce, répondit don Quichotte, et je -pourrais, sur ce chapitre de la naissance, t’apprendre des choses qui -t’étonneraient; mais pour ne pas mêler le divin au terrestre, je m’en -abstiens. Écoutez seulement ceci, l’une et l’autre, et faites-en votre -profit. On peut réduire à quatre toutes les races ou familles qu’il y a -dans le monde: les unes, parties d’un humble commencement, se sont -progressivement élevées jusqu’à la puissance souveraine; d’autres, -illustres dès l’origine, se maintiennent encore aujourd’hui dans le même -éclat; il en est dont la grandeur peut se comparer à celle des -pyramides: ayant eu d’abord une base large et puissante, elles ont fini -peu à peu en pointe imperceptible; la dernière, enfin, et la plus -nombreuse, est toujours restée dans l’obscurité, et continuera d’y -demeurer, c’est le menu peuple. - -De ces races parties d’humbles commencements, je pourrais citer en -exemple la maison ottomane, qui a eu pour point de départ un simple -pâtre, et s’est élevée successivement au faîte de la grandeur où nous la -voyons aujourd’hui. Nombre de princes qui règnent par droit de -succession et qui ont su conserver en paix leurs États, sont la preuve -des secondes; pour les troisièmes, qui ont fini en pointe ainsi que les -pyramides, nous avons les Pharaons et les Ptolémées d’Égypte, les -Césars de Rome, et cette multitude de princes, assyriens, mèdes, grecs -ou barbares, dont il ne reste plus que le nom. Quant aux familles -plébéiennes, je n’ai rien à en dire, si ce n’est qu’elles servent à -augmenter le nombre des vivants, sans mériter aucune mention dans -l’histoire. - -Par tout ce que je viens de dire, mes enfants, je veux vous faire -conclure qu’il y a des différences considérables entre les races, et que -celle-là seule est grande et illustre, qui se distingue par la vertu, la -richesse et la libéralité de ses membres; je dis la vertu, la richesse -et la libéralité, parce qu’un grand seigneur sans vertu n’est qu’un -grand vicieux; et le riche sans libéralité, qu’un mendiant avare. Ce ne -sont pas les richesses qui font le bonheur, c’est l’usage qu’on en fait. -Le chevalier pauvre a un sûr moyen de prouver qu’il est un véritable -chevalier; ce moyen, c’est de se montrer loyal, obligeant, sans orgueil, -et surtout charitable, car avec deux maravédis seulement qu’il donnera -d’un cœur joyeux, il ne sera pas moins libéral que celui qui fait -l’aumône à son de cloches. En le voyant orné de ces vertus, chacun, même -en sachant sa détresse, le jugera de noble race, et ce serait miracle -qu’il en fût autrement; car l’estime publique a toujours récompensé la -vertu. - -Deux chemins, mes chères filles, peuvent conduire aux richesses et aux -honneurs; ces deux chemins ce sont les lettres et les armes. Il faut -croire que la planète de Mars dominait quand je vins au monde, puisque -les armes sont plus de mon goût; aussi je me vois contraint d’obéir à -leur influence, et de suivre le penchant de ma nature. Oui, c’est en -vain que l’on voudrait me persuader de résister à la volonté du ciel, -d’aller contre ma destinée, et avant tout contre mon désir. Je connais -les rudes travaux imposés à la chevalerie errante, mais je sais aussi -combien on y rencontre de sérieux avantages; je n’ignore pas que le -sentier de la vertu est rude et étroit, et le chemin du vice large et -facile; mais je sais aussi que ces deux voies aboutissent à des -résultats bien différents: le chemin du vice, avec tous ses charmes, -nous conduit à la mort; tandis que le sentier de la vertu, tout pénible -qu’il est, nous conduit à la vie, non à une vie périssable, mais à une -vie qui n’a point de fin; et, comme dit notre grand poëte castillan[77]: - - Par ce sentier étroit, si rude et si pénible, - On arrive à la fin au séjour éternel; - Le chercher autrement, c’est tenter l’impossible - Et renoncer au ciel. - - [77] Garcilaso de la Vega. - -Miséricorde! s’écria la nièce, quoi! mon oncle est poëte aussi? il -connaît tout, il sait tout; je gage, s’il l’eût entrepris, qu’il -pourrait bâtir une maison. - -Ma pauvre enfant, repartit don Quichotte, je t’assure que si l’exercice -de la chevalerie errante ne m’absorbait tout entier, il n’est rien au -monde dont je ne puisse venir à bout. - -En ce moment, on entendit frapper à la porte. Sancho ayant fait -connaître que c’était lui, la gouvernante se cacha aussitôt pour ne pas -le voir, car elle le haïssait mortellement; la nièce alla lui ouvrir; -don Quichotte courut au-devant de son écuyer, l’embrassa, se renferma -avec lui dans sa chambre, où ils eurent ensemble une conversation qui ne -le cède en rien à celle qui vient d’avoir lieu. - -CHAPITRE VII - -DE CE QUI SE PASSA ENTRE DON QUICHOTTE ET SON ÉCUYER, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES -ÉVÉNEMENTS ON NE PEUT PLUS DIGNES DE MÉMOIRE - -Dès que la gouvernante vit Sancho s’enfermer avec son seigneur, elle -devina leur dessein; aussi, se doutant bien que de cette entrevue allait -naître la résolution d’une troisième sortie, elle prit sa mante, et, -pleine de trouble et de chagrin, elle courut trouver le bachelier -Samson Carrasco, pensant que, comme nouvel ami de son maître, et doué -d’une parole facile, il pourrait mieux que personne le dissuader de son -impertinente résolution. Quand elle entra, le bachelier se promenait -dans la cour de sa maison; aussitôt qu’elle l’aperçut, elle se laissa -tomber à ses pieds haletante et désolée. - -Qu’avez-vous, dame gouvernante? demanda Carrasco; qu’est-il donc arrivé? -On dirait que vous allez rendre l’âme. - -Rien, rien, seigneur bachelier, répondit-elle, sinon que mon maître s’en -va; bien certainement il s’en va. - -Et par où s’en va votre maître? demanda Carrasco; s’est-il ouvert -quelque partie du corps? - -Non, seigneur, répondit-elle; il s’en va par la porte de sa folie; je -veux dire, seigneur bachelier de mon âme, qu’il va faire une nouvelle -sortie, et ce sera la troisième, afin d’aller courir encore une fois le -monde à la recherche de ce qu’il appelle d’heureuses aventures, quoique -je ne sache guère comment il peut les nommer ainsi. La première fois, on -nous le ramena couché en travers sur un âne, et roué de coups de bâton; -la seconde, nous le vîmes revenir sur une charrette traînée par des -bœufs, enfermé dans une cage où il se prétendait enchanté, et dans un -état tel que la mère qui l’a mis au monde aurait eu peine à le -reconnaître. Il était jaune comme un parchemin, et il avait les yeux -tellement enfoncés dans le fin fond de la cervelle, que pour le remettre -sur pied, il m’en a coûté plus de cent douzaines d’œufs, comme Dieu le -sait, et comme le diraient mes pauvres poules si elles pouvaient parler. - -Il n’est pas besoin de témoin pour cela, reprit Carrasco; on sait que -pour tout au monde vous ne voudriez pas altérer la vérité. Ainsi donc, -dame gouvernante, il ne s’est passé rien autre chose, et vous n’avez à -cette heure d’autre souci que celui de voir le seigneur don Quichotte -prendre encore une fois la clef des champs? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit-elle. - -Eh bien, ne vous mettez point en peine, repartit le bachelier, retournez -chez vous, et préparez-moi quelque chose de chaud pour déjeuner. Vous -direz seulement, chemin faisant, l’oraison de sainte Apolline; je vous -suis de près et vous verrez merveilles. - -L’oraison de sainte Apolline! _Jésus! Maria!_ s’écria la gouvernante; -ce serait bon si mon maître avait mal aux dents; mais, ce qui est malade -chez lui, c’est la cervelle. - -Allez, dame gouvernante, allez, repartit Carrasco; faites ce que je vous -dis sans répliquer; car, ne l’oubliez pas, je suis bachelier, et qui -plus est de par l’université de Salamanque. - -Là-dessus, la gouvernante se retira, et le bachelier alla trouver le -curé pour comploter avec lui ce qu’on verra plus tard. - -Pendant ce temps, don Quichotte et Sancho avaient ensemble une longue -conversation, dont l’histoire nous a conservé la relation véridique. - -Seigneur, disait Sancho, j’ai fait si bien que ma femme est réluite à me -laisser aller encore une fois avec Votre Grâce, partout où il lui plaira -de m’emmener. - -C’est réduite qu’il faut dire, et non réluite, reprit don Quichotte. - -Je vous ai déjà prié, seigneur, répondit Sancho, de ne pas me reprendre -sur les mots, lorsque vous comprenez ce que je veux dire; quand vous ne -me comprenez pas, dites: Sancho, je ne te comprends pas. Si après cela -je m’explique mal, alors vous pourrez me reprendre; car je n’ai pas un -esprit de contravention et je ne demande pas mieux qu’on m’induise? - -Du diable si je te comprends, repartit don Quichotte; que veux-tu dire -avec ton _esprit de contravention_, et ton je veux bien qu’on -_m’induise_? - -Un esprit de contravention, répliqua Sancho, cela veux dire un esprit -qui est... tout... attendez... tout je ne sais comment, qui n’aime point -à être... vous me comprenez bien. - -Je te comprends encore moins, dit don Quichotte. - -Par ma foi, si vous ne me comprenez pas, je ne sais plus comment parler, -reprit Sancho: nous n’avons donc qu’à en rester là. - -Ah! si vraiment, je devine, repartit don Quichotte: tu veux dire que tu -n’as pas un esprit de contradiction, et que tu es bien aise qu’on -t’instruise. - -Je gagerais ma vie, reprit Sancho, que vous m’avez compris du premier -coup; mais vous prenez plaisir à me faire trébucher à tout bout de -champ. - -Ce n’était pas mon intention, observa don Quichotte; mais enfin que dit -Thérèse? - -Thérèse dit qu’il faut que je prenne mes sûretés avec Votre Grâce, que -quand l’homme se tait le papier parle; que qui prend bien ses mesures ne -se trompe point: qu’un tiens vaut mieux que deux tu l’auras; et moi -j’ajoute qu’un conseil de femme n’est pas grand’chose, mais que celui -qui ne l’écoute pas est un fou. - -C’est aussi mon avis, dit don Quichotte; continue, Sancho, tu parles -aujourd’hui comme un livre. - -Je dis donc, poursuivit Sancho, et Votre Grâce le sait mieux que moi, je -dis donc que nous sommes tous mortels, que l’agneau meurt comme la -brebis, et que nul ne peut en cette vie se promettre une heure au delà -de celle que Dieu a jugé bon de lui accorder; car la mort est sourde, et -lorsqu’elle frappe à notre porte, c’est toujours à grand’hâte, et alors -prières, couronnes, sceptres, mitres n’y peuvent rien, comme disent les -prédicateurs. - -Tout cela est vrai, mais où veux-tu en venir? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je veux en venir, répondit Sancho, à ce que Votre Grâce m’alloue des -gages fixes, c’est-à-dire, tant par mois, tout le temps que j’aurai -l’honneur de la servir, et que ces gages me soient payés sur ses biens. -J’aime mieux cela que d’être à merci, parce que les récompenses -viennent trop tard ou même jamais, tandis qu’avec des gages, je sais au -moins à quoi m’en tenir. Peu ou beaucoup, on est bien aise de savoir ce -que l’on gagne; et qui gagne, ne perd point. Malgré cela, s’il arrivait, -ce que je ne crois ni n’espère plus, que Votre Grâce vînt à me donner -l’île qu’elle m’a promise, je ne suis pas si ingrat ni si exigeant, que -je ne consente volontiers à rabattre mes gages sur le montant des -revenus de l’île. - -A bon chat bon rat, ami Sancho, dit don Quichotte. - -Je gage, repartit Sancho, que Votre Grâce a voulu dire qu’un rat est -aussi bon qu’un chat; mais qu’importe! puisque vous m’avez compris. - -Si bien compris, continua don Quichotte, que j’ai pénétré le fond de ta -pensée, et deviné le but où visent les innombrables flèches de tes -proverbes. Écoute, Sancho, si dans une seule histoire j’avais pu trouver -le plus léger indice de ce que les chevaliers errants donnaient par mois -à leurs écuyers, je ne ferais aucune difficulté de condescendre à ton -désir; mais je t’affirme qu’après les avoir toutes lues et relues, je -n’y ai jamais rencontré rien de semblable. Tout ce que je sais, c’est -que les écuyers servaient à merci; seulement à l’heure où ils y -pensaient le moins; et si la chance tournait en faveur de leurs maîtres, -ils étaient gratifiés de quelque île, ou tout au moins ils attrapaient -un titre ou une seigneurie. Si dans cette espérance, mon ami, vous -voulez rester à mon service, à la bonne heure; sinon je vous baise les -mains; car, croyez-le bien, je n’irai pas pour vos beaux yeux changer -les antiques coutumes de la chevalerie errante. Vous n’avez donc qu’à -retourner chez vous, et consulter votre Thérèse: si elle trouve bon que -vous me serviez dans l’attente des récompenses, ainsi soit-il; si elle -ne le veut pas, ni vous non plus, _bene quidem_, nous n’en serons pas -moins bons amis. Tant que le grain ne manquera pas au colombier, le -colombier ne manquera point de pigeons. Cependant, je vous avertis que -bonne espérance vaut mieux que mauvaise possession, et bonne -revendication mieux que mauvais payement. Vous voyez, Sancho, que les -proverbes ne me coûtent pas plus qu’à un autre. Je vous parle -franchement, si vous n’avez pas envie de me suivre à merci, Dieu vous -bénisse et vous sanctifie! quant à moi, je saurai trouver des écuyers -plus obéissants, plus empressés, et surtout moins bavards que vous. - -Devant une si ferme décision de son maître, Sancho sentit son cœur -défaillir et ses yeux se couvrir d’un nuage; car il s’était persuadé que -pour tous les trésors du monde don Quichotte ne partirait pas sans lui. -Il en était encore tout interdit, lorsque Samson Carrasco survint avec -la nièce et la gouvernante, qui le suivaient, empressées de savoir -comment le bachelier parviendrait à détourner leur seigneur de se lancer -encore une fois à la recherche des aventures. A peine le bachelier -fut-il entré, qu’embrassant les genoux de notre héros: O fleur de la -chevalerie errante, s’écria-t-il, lumière resplendissante des armes, -honneur et miroir de la vaillante nation espagnole! plaise au Dieu -tout-puissant que ceux qui voudraient s’opposer à la généreuse -résolution que tu as formée de faire une troisième sortie, ne sachent -plus comment sortir du labyrinthe de leurs folles pensées, et ne voient -jamais s’accomplir leurs souhaits les plus ardents! - -Il est inutile de réciter plus longtemps l’oraison de sainte Apolline, -dit-il à la gouvernante; je sais que le ciel, dans ses décrets -immuables, a décidé que le seigneur don Quichotte retournerait au grand -exercice de la chevalerie errante; je chargerais donc gravement ma -conscience si je ne conseillais, que dis-je, si je n’intimais à ce -chevalier de faire éclater de nouveau la bonté de son imperturbable -cœur et la force de son valeureux bras, qu’il ne peut laisser plus -longtemps dans l’inaction, sans tromper l’attente des malheureux, sans -faire tort aux orphelins et aux veuves, sans exposer l’honneur des -femmes et des filles, dont il est le rempart et l’appui, sans -contrevenir à toutes les lois de cet ordre incomparable que Dieu -enflamma de son souffle tout-puissant pour la sûreté du genre humain. -Courage donc, seigneur don Quichotte! courage! commençons aujourd’hui -plutôt que demain; et si quelque chose vous manque pour l’exécution de -vos grands desseins, je suis prêt à vous y aider en personne; je -tiendrai non-seulement à honneur d’être écuyer de Votre Grâce, mais j’en -recevrai encore le titre comme la première et la plus glorieuse fortune -du monde. - -Eh bien, que t’avais-je dit, reprit Don Quichotte en se tournant vers -Sancho; crois-tu maintenant que je manquerai d’écuyer? vois-tu qui -s’offre à m’en servir! sais-tu que c’est l’étonnant bachelier Samson -Carrasco, le joyeux boute-en-train de l’université de Salamanque? -Considère comme il est sain de corps et d’esprit, bien fait de sa -personne, et dans la vigueur de l’âge; celui-là sait souffrir le chaud -et le froid, la faim et la soif, et, ce qui vaut mieux, il sait se -taire; enfin c’est un homme qui possède au plus haut degré toutes les -qualités requises chez l’écuyer d’un chevalier errant. A Dieu ne plaise -cependant que pour mon intérêt particulier, j’expose ainsi le vase de la -science, la colonne des lettres, et la palme des beaux-arts! Que le -nouveau Samson reste dans sa patrie dont il est l’honneur et la défense; -ne privons pas son vieux père de l’appui de sa vieillesse; et puisque -Sancho ne veut pas venir avec moi... j’aime mieux me contenter du -premier écuyer venu. - -Si fait, si fait, je veux y aller, reprit Sancho tout attendri et les -yeux pleins de larmes: il ne sera pas dit que j’aurai faussé compagnie à -un homme après avoir mangé son pain. Je ne suis point, Dieu merci, d’une -race ingrate, et, dans notre village, tout le monde connaît ceux dont je -suis sorti; et puis, je vois à vos actes et plus encore à vos paroles, -que vous avez envie de me faire du bien. Si je vous ai demandé des -gages, c’était pour complaire à ma femme; car dès qu’elle s’est mis une -chose dans la tête, il n’y a pas de maillet qui serre autant les cercles -d’une cuve, qu’elle vous serre le bouton pour en venir à ses fins. Mais, -après tout, il faut que l’homme soit homme, et puisque je le suis, je le -serai dans ma maison comme ailleurs, quand on devrait en enrager. Il n’y -a donc plus qu’une chose à faire, c’est que Votre Grâce rédige son -testament et son concile, de telle façon qu’il ne se puisse rétorquer; -après quoi mettons-nous en chemin, afin que l’âme du seigneur bachelier -ne pâtisse pas davantage, car il a dit que sa conscience le pressait de -pousser Votre Grâce à faire une troisième sortie. Quant à moi, mon cher -maître, je suis prêt à vous suivre jusqu’au bout du monde; et je vous -servirai aussi fidèlement, et même mieux qu’aucun des écuyers qui ont -jamais servi les chevaliers errants passés, présents et à venir. - -Le bachelier ne fut pas médiocrement étonné du discours de Sancho, car -bien qu’il connût la première partie de l’histoire de don Quichotte, il -ne croyait pas son écuyer aussi plaisant que l’auteur le fait; mais en -lui entendant dire un testament et un concile qui ne se puisse -rétorquer, au lieu d’un testament et d’un codicille qui ne se puisse -révoquer, il crut aisément tout ce qu’il avait lu sur son compte, et il -se dit en lui-même qu’après le maître il n’y avait guère de plus grand -fou au monde que le serviteur. - -Finalement, don Quichotte et Sancho s’embrassèrent, meilleurs amis que -jamais; puis, sur l’avis du grand Samson Carrasco, qui était devenu son -oracle, notre chevalier arrêta de partir sous trois jours, pendant -lesquels il aurait le loisir de se munir des choses nécessaires pour le -voyage et de se procurer une salade à visière, décidé qu’il était à en -porter désormais une de la sorte. Carrasco s’offrit à lui procurer celle -que possédait un de ses amis, l’assurant qu’elle était de bonne trempe, -et qu’il suffirait de la dérouiller. - -La nièce et la gouvernante, qui attendaient tout autre chose des -conseils du bachelier, lui donnèrent mille malédictions: elles -s’arrachèrent les cheveux et s’égratignèrent le visage, criant et -hurlant, comme si la troisième sortie de don Quichotte eût été un -présage de sa mort. Le projet de Carrasco, en lui conseillant de se -mettre encore une fois en campagne, était de faire ce qu’on verra dans -la suite de cette histoire. - -Enfin, pourvus de tout ce qui leur parut nécessaire, Sancho ayant apaisé -sa femme, et don Quichotte sa nièce et sa gouvernante, un beau soir, -sans témoins, hormis le bachelier, qui voulut les accompagner à -demi-lieue, nos deux chercheurs d’aventures prirent le chemin du Toboso, -don Quichotte sur Rossinante, et Sancho sur son ancien grison, le bissac -bien bourré de provisions de bouche et la bourse garnie d’argent. -Carrasco prit congé du chevalier, après l’avoir supplié de lui donner -avis de sa bonne ou de sa mauvaise fortune, afin de se réjouir de l’une -ou de s’attrister de l’autre, comme le voulait leur amitié. Ils -s’embrassèrent; le bachelier reprit le chemin de son village, et don -Quichotte continua le sien vers la grande cité du Toboso. - -CHAPITRE VIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE ET A SANCHO EN ALLANT VOIR DULCINÉE - -Béni soit le Tout-Puissant Allah! s’écrie cid Hamed-Ben-Engeli au -commencement de ce chapitre, Allah soit béni! répète-t-il par trois -fois! ajoutant que s’il lui adresse ses bénédictions, c’est parce -qu’enfin don Quichotte et Sancho sont en campagne, et que désormais vont -recommencer les exploits du maître et les facéties de l’écuyer. Il -invite en même temps le lecteur à oublier les prouesses passées de notre -héros, pour accorder toute son attention à celles qu’il va raconter et -qui commencent sur le chemin du Toboso, comme les premières ont commencé -dans la plaine de Montiel; et en vérité ce qu’il demande est peu de -chose en comparaison de ce qu’il promet. Après quoi il continue de la -sorte: - -A peine don Quichotte et Sancho venaient-ils de quitter Samson Carrasco, -que Rossinante se mit à hennir et le grison à braire; ce que le maître -et l’écuyer tinrent à bon signe et regardèrent comme un heureux présage. -Toutefois, s’il faut dire la vérité, les soupirs et les braiments de -l’âne furent plus prolongés et plus forts que les hennissements du -cheval, d’où Sancho conclut que son bonheur devait surpasser celui de -son maître, se fondant sur je ne sais quelle astrologie judiciaire dont -il avait sans doute connaissance, quoique l’histoire n’en parle pas. -Seulement on lui avait entendu dire que lorsqu’il trébuchait ou tombait, -il eût voulu n’être pas sorti de sa maison, parce que trébucher et -tomber signifiait, selon lui, souliers rompus, ou côtes brisées; et par -ma foi, tout simple qu’il était, il faut convenir qu’il avait raison. - -Ami Sancho, dit don Quichotte, plus nous marchons, plus la nuit avance, -et bientôt elle sera si obscure, que nous ne pourrons apercevoir le -Toboso; et pourtant c’est là que j’ai résolu de me rendre avant -d’entreprendre aucune aventure. Là je demanderai à la sans pareille -Dulcinée son agrément et sa bénédiction, et dès qu’elle m’aura accordé -l’un et l’autre, j’espère et je suis même assuré de mener à bonne fin -toute périlleuse prouesse, car rien n’exalte et ne fortifie le cœur -d’un chevalier errant comme de se savoir protégé par sa dame. - -Je le crois aussi, répondit Sancho; mais il me semble qu’il sera bien -difficile à Votre Grâce de lui parler et de recevoir sa bénédiction, à -moins cependant qu’elle ne vous la jette par-dessus le mur de la -basse-cour où je la vis la première fois quand je lui portai votre -lettre avec le détail des extravagances que vous faisiez pour elle au -fond de la Sierra-Morena. - -Un mur de basse-cour! s’écria don Quichotte. Quoi! c’est là que tu -t’imagines avoir vu cet astre de beauté! Tu te trompes grandement, mon -ami; ce ne pouvait être que sur quelque balcon doré ou sous le riche -vestibule de quelque somptueux palais. - -C’est possible, répondit Sancho; mais à moi, si je m’en souviens bien, -cela m’a semblé le mur d’une basse-cour. - -Quoi qu’il en soit, allons-y, reprit don Quichotte, et pourvu que je -voie Dulcinée, peu m’importe que ce soit par-dessus le mur d’une -basse-cour ou à travers la grille d’un jardin, car de quelque endroit -que m’arrive le moindre rayon de sa beauté, il éclairera mon entendement -et fortifiera mon cœur de telle sorte que je deviendrai sans égal pour -l’esprit et pour la vaillance. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, dit Sancho, quand je vis ce soleil de madame -Dulcinée, il n’était pas assez brillant pour jeter aucun rayon. Mais -cela vient sans doute de ce qu’étant à cribler le grain que je vous ai -dit, la poussière épaisse qui en sortait élevait devant elle un nuage -qui m’empêchait de la voir. - -Est-il possible, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu persistes encore à -croire et à soutenir que Dulcinée criblait du grain, quand tu sais -combien une semblable occupation est indigne d’une personne de son -mérite et de sa qualité! As-tu donc oublié ces vers dans lesquels notre -grand poëte[78] dépeint les ouvrages délicats dont s’occupaient, au fond -de leur palais de cristal, ces nymphes qui, sortant des profondeurs du -Tage, allaient souvent s’asseoir dans une verte prairie pour travailler -à de riches étoffes toutes de perles, d’or et de soie? Eh bien, telle -devait être l’occupation de Dulcinée quand tu la vis, à moins cependant -que quelque maudit enchanteur, par une de ces transformations qu’ils ont -toujours à leurs ordres, ne t’ait donné le change et jeté dans l’erreur. -Aussi je crains bien que l’histoire de mes prouesses (qui circule -imprimée, dit-on), si elle a pour auteur un de ces mécréants, contienne -fort peu de vérités mêlées à beaucoup de mensonges. O envie! source de -tous les maux, ver rongeur de toutes les vertus! Les autres vices, -Sancho, ont encore, malgré leur laideur, je ne sais quel charme, mais -l’envie ne traîne après elle que désordres, ressentiments et fureurs! - - [78] Garcilaso de la Vega. - -Voilà justement ce que je pense, dit Sancho: aussi je gage que dans ce -livre, dont a parlé le bachelier Carrasco, je suis arrangé de la bonne -façon, et que mon honneur y va roulant de çà, de là, battant les murs -comme une voiture disloquée; et pourtant, je le jure par l’âme des -Panza, je n’ai de ma vie médit d’aucun enchanteur, et je ne suis pas -assez riche pour faire des jaloux. Ce qu’on peut me reprocher, c’est -d’avoir un petit grain de coquinerie et de dire trop souvent ce qui me -vient au bout de la langue; mais, après tout, je suis plus simple que -méchant, et quand je n’aurais pour moi que de croire sincèrement et -fermement à tout ce que croit et enseigne la sainte Église catholique -romaine, et d’être, comme je le suis, ennemi mortel des Juifs, les -historiens devraient m’en tenir compte et m’épargner dans leurs écrits. -Au reste, puisque je n’y peux rien, et que me voilà mis en livre, qu’ils -disent ce qu’ils voudront; je m’en soucie comme d’une figue, et je ne -donnerais pas un maravédis pour les en empêcher. - -Ce que tu viens de dire, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, me rappelle -l’histoire d’un poëte de notre temps, qui, dans une satire contre les -dames galantes de la cour, avait négligé à dessein d’en nommer une sur -le compte de laquelle il n’osait pas se prononcer. Furieuse de l’oubli, -la dame courut chez le poëte, le sommant de réparer l’omission et le -menaçant, en cas de refus, de lui faire un mauvais parti. Le poëte -s’empressa de lui donner satisfaction, et l’arrangea de telle sorte que -mille langues de duègnes n’eussent pas mieux fait. A ce propos vient -encore l’histoire de ce berger qui, dans le seul but d’immortaliser son -nom, incendia une des sept merveilles du monde, le fameux temple de -Diane à Éphèse: aussi malgré tout ce qu’on put faire pour empêcher d’en -parler, nous ne savons pas moins qu’il s’appelait Érostrate. - -On peut encore citer à ce sujet ce qui arriva à notre grand empereur -Charles-Quint. En passant à Rome, ce prince voulut visiter le Panthéon -d’Agrippa, ce fameux temple de tous les dieux, qu’on a depuis appelé -temple de tous les saints: c’est l’édifice le mieux conservé de -l’ancienne Rome, celui qui donne la plus haute idée de la magnificence -de ses fondateurs; il est d’une admirable architecture, et quoiqu’il ne -reçoive le jour que par une large ouverture placée au sommet du -monument, il est aussi bien éclairé que s’il était ouvert de tous côtés. -L’illustre visiteur considérait de là l’édifice, pendant qu’un -gentilhomme romain, qui l’accompagnait, lui faisait remarquer les -détails de ce chef-d’œuvre d’architecture. Lorsque l’empereur se fut -retiré: «Sire, lui dit ce gentilhomme, il faut que j’avoue à Votre -Majesté une pensée bizarre qui vient de me traverser l’esprit: pendant -qu’elle était au bord de ce trou, il m’a pris plusieurs fois envie de la -saisir à bras-le-corps et de me jeter du haut en bas avec elle, afin de -rendre, par sa mort, mon nom immortel!--Je vous sais gré de n’avoir pas -mis à exécution cette mauvaise pensée, reprit Charles-Quint; et pour ne -plus vous exposer à semblable tentation, je vous défends de jamais vous -trouver dans le même lieu que moi.» Après quoi il le congédia en lui -accordant une grande faveur. - -Ceci te montre, Sancho, combien est vif, chez les hommes, le désir de -faire parler de soi. Quel motif, à ton sens, avait Horatius Coclès pour -se jeter dans le Tibre, chargé du poids de ses armes? Qui pouvait -inspirer à Mutius, surnommé depuis Scævola, un mépris de la douleur -assez grand pour lui faire tenir la main étendue sur un brasier ardent, -jusqu’à ce qu’elle fût presque consumée? Qui poussa Curtius à se -précipiter dans cet abîme de feu qui s’était ouvert tout à coup au -milieu de Rome? Pourquoi Jules César passa-t-il le Rubicon après tant de -présages sinistres? De nos jours, enfin, pourquoi les vaillants -Espagnols, que guidait le grand Cortez à la conquête du nouveau monde, -coulèrent-ils eux-mêmes leurs vaisseaux, s’ôtant ainsi tout moyen de -retraite? - -Eh bien, Sancho, c’est la soif de la renommée qui a produit tous ces -exploits; c’est pour elle qu’on affronte les plus grands périls et la -mort même, comme si dans la résolution que l’on fait paraître on -jouissait par avance de l’immortalité. Mais nous, chrétiens catholiques -et chevaliers errants, nous devons travailler plutôt pour la gloire -éternelle dont on jouit dans le ciel, que pour une vaine renommée qui -doit finir avec cette vie périssable. Ainsi donc, Sancho, que nos -actions soient toujours conformes aux règles de cette religion que nous -avons le bonheur de connaître et de professer. En tuant des géants, -proposons-nous de terrasser l’orgueil, combattons l’envie par la -générosité et la grandeur d’âme, opposons à la colère le calme et le -sang-froid, à la gourmandise la sobriété, à l’incontinence et à la -luxure la fidélité due à la dame de nos pensées; triomphons de la -paresse en parcourant les quatre parties du monde et en recherchant sans -cesse toutes les occasions qui peuvent nous rendre non-seulement bons -chrétiens, mais encore fameux chevaliers. Voilà, Sancho, les degrés par -lesquels on peut et on doit atteindre au faîte glorieux d’une bonne -renommée. - -Seigneur, dit Sancho, j’ai bien compris ce que vient de dire Votre -Grâce: je désire seulement que vous me débarrassiez d’un doute qui -m’arrive à l’esprit. - -Qu’est-ce, mon fils, reprit don Quichotte; dis ce que tu voudras, et je -te répondrai de mon mieux. - -Ces Césars, ces Jules, tous ces chevaliers dont vous venez de parler et -qui sont morts, où sont-ils maintenant? demanda Sancho. - -Sans aucun doute, les païens sont en enfer, répondit don Quichotte; les -chrétiens, s’ils ont bien vécu, sont dans le purgatoire ou dans le ciel. - -Voilà qui est bien, continua Sancho; mais, dites-moi, les tombeaux où -reposent les corps de ces gros seigneurs ont-ils à leurs portes des -lampes d’argent sans cesse allumées, et les murailles de leurs chapelles -sont-elles ornées de béquilles, de suaires, de têtes, de jambes et de -bras en cire: Si ce n’est de tout cela, de quoi sont-elles ornées, je -vous prie? - -Les tombeaux des païens, répondit don Quichotte, ont été, pour la -plupart des monuments fastueux. Les cendres de Jules César furent mises -sous une pyramide en pierre d’une grandeur démesurée, qu’on appelle, à -Rome, l’aiguille de Saint-Pierre, un tombeau grand comme un village, -qu’on appelait alors _Moles Adriani_, et qui est aujourd’hui le château -Saint-Ange, a servi de sépulture à l’empereur Adrien; la reine Artémise -a fait placer le corps de son époux Mausole dans un tombeau si vaste et -d’un travail si exquis, qu’on l’a mis au rang des sept merveilles du -monde; mais tous ces somptueux monuments n’ont jamais été ornés de -suaires ou d’offrandes pouvant faire penser que ceux qu’ils renferment -soient devenus des saints. - -Très-bien, répliqua Sancho, maintenant que choisirait Votre Grâce de -tuer un géant ou de ressusciter un mort? - -La réponse est facile, dit don Quichotte; je préférerais ressusciter un -mort. - -Par ma foi, je vous tiens! s’écria Sancho: vous convenez que la renommée -de ceux qui ressuscitent les morts, qui rendent la vue aux aveugles, qui -font marcher les boiteux, et qui ont sans cesse la foule agenouillée -devant leurs reliques, est plus grande dans ce monde et dans l’autre que -celle de tous les empereurs idolâtres et de tous les chevaliers errants -ayant jamais existé? - -J’en demeure d’accord, dit don Quichotte. - -Eh bien, reprit Sancho, puisque les saints ont seuls le privilége -d’avoir des chapelles toujours remplies de lampes allumées, de jambes et -de bras en cire; que les évêques et les rois portent leurs reliques sur -leurs épaules, qu’ils en décorent leurs oratoires, et en enrichissent -leurs autels... - -Achève, dit don Quichotte; que veux-tu conclure de là? - -Je conclus, continua Sancho, que nous ferions mieux de nous adonner à -être saints, pour atteindre plus tôt cette bonne renommée que nous -cherchons, et qui nous fuira peut-être encore longtemps. Tenez: -avant-hier, on canonisa deux carmes déchaux; eh bien, vous ne sauriez -imaginer la foule qu’il y avait pour baiser les chaînes qu’ils -portaient autour de leur corps. Sur ma foi, on paraissait les priser -bien plus que cette fameuse épée de Roland qui est dans le magasin des -armes du roi, notre maître, que Dieu garde! Vous voyez donc, seigneur, -qu’il vaut mieux être un simple moine, n’importe de quel ordre, que le -plus vaillant chevalier errant du monde. Douze coups de discipline -appliqués à propos sont plus agréables à Dieu que mille coups de lance -qui tombent sur des géants, des vampires ou autres monstres de cette -espèce. - -J’en conviens, mon ami, dit don Quichotte; mais nous ne pouvons pas tous -être moines et Dieu a plusieurs voies pour acheminer ses élus au ciel. -La chevalerie est un ordre religieux, et il y a des saints chevaliers -dans le paradis. - -D’accord, reprit Sancho; mais on dit qu’il s’y trouve encore plus de -moines. - -C’est vrai, répondit don Quichotte, car le nombre des religieux est plus -grand que celui des chevaliers errants. - -Il y a pourtant bien des gens qui errent, dit Sancho. - -Beaucoup, reprit don Quichotte, mais peu qui méritent le nom de -chevaliers. - -Ce fut dans cet entretien et autres semblables, que nos aventuriers -passèrent la nuit et le jour suivant, sans qu’il leur arrivât rien qui -mérite d’être raconté, ce qui chagrinait fort don Quichotte. Enfin, le -second jour, ils découvrirent la grande cité du Toboso, et notre -chevalier ne l’eût pas plus tôt aperçue qu’il ressentit une joie -incroyable. Sancho, au contraire, devint mélancolique et rêveur, parce -qu’il ne connaissait pas la maison de Dulcinée, et que pas plus que son -seigneur, il n’avait vu la dame; de sorte que tous deux, l’un pour la -voir, l’autre pour ne pas l’avoir vue, ils étaient inquiets et agités. -Bref, notre chevalier résolut de n’entrer dans la ville qu’à la nuit -close; en attendant l’heure, ils se tinrent cachés dans un bouquet de -chênes qui est proche du Toboso, et la nuit venue ils entrèrent dans la -grande cité, où il leur arriva des choses qui peuvent être qualifiées -ainsi. - -CHAPITRE IX - -OU L’ON RACONTE CE QU’ON Y VERRA - -Il était minuit ou à peu près, quand don Quichotte et Sancho quittèrent -le petit bois pour entrer dans le Toboso. Un profond silence régnait -dans tout le village, car à cette heure les habitants dormaient, comme -on dit, à jambe étendue. La nuit était d’une clarté douteuse, et Sancho -aurait bien voulu qu’elle fût tout à fait noire, afin que cette -obscurité vînt en aide à son ignorance. Partout ce n’était qu’aboiements -de chiens, qui assourdissaient don Quichotte et troublaient l’âme de son -écuyer. De temps en temps un âne se mettait à braire, des cochons -grognaient, des chats miaulaient, et ces bruits divers produisaient un -vacarme qu’augmentait encore le silence de la nuit. Tout cela parut de -mauvais augure à l’amoureux chevalier; cependant il dit à Sancho: Mon -fils, conduis-nous au palais de Dulcinée; peut-être la trouverons-nous -encore éveillée. - -A quel diable de palais voulez-vous que je vous conduise, répondit -Sancho; celui où j’ai vu Sa Grandeur n’était qu’une toute petite maison -des moins apparentes du village. - -Sans doute, répondit don Quichotte, elle s’était retirée dans quelque -modeste pavillon de son alcazar, pour se divertir en liberté avec ses -femmes, comme c’est la coutume des grandes princesses. - -Puisque Votre Grâce veut à toute force que la maison de madame Dulcinée -soit un alcazar, répliqua Sancho, dites-moi, je vous prie, est-ce bien -l’heure d’en trouver la porte ouverte? est-il convenable d’y aller -frapper à tour de bras, au risque de mettre sur pied tout le monde? -Allons-nous par hasard chez nos donzelles, semblables à ces galants -protecteurs qui entrent et sortent à toute heure de nuit? - -Commençons par trouver l’alcazar, dit don Quichotte; après je te dirai -ce qu’il faut faire. Mais, ou je n’y vois goutte, ou cette masse qu’on -aperçoit là-bas et qui projette une si grande ombre doit être le palais -de Dulcinée? - -Eh bien, seigneur, conduisez-moi, répondit Sancho; peut-être bien est-ce -cela; mais quand même je le verrais de mes yeux et le toucherais de mes -mains, j’y croirais comme je crois qu’il fait jour à présent. - -Don Quichotte prit les devants, et après avoir fait environ deux cents -pas, il s’arrêta au pied de la masse qui projetait la grande ombre. En -voyant une haute tour, il reconnut que cet édifice n’était pas un -palais, mais l’église paroissiale du village. Nous avons rencontré -l’église, dit-il à son écuyer. - -Je le vois bien, répondit Sancho, et Dieu veuille que nous n’ayons pas -rencontré notre sépulture, car c’est mauvais signe de courir les -cimetières à pareille heure, surtout, si je m’en souviens, quand j’ai -dit à Votre Grâce que la maison de sa dame est dans un cul-de-sac. - -Maudit sois-tu de Dieu, s’écria don Quichotte; où et par qui as-tu -jamais entendu dire que les maisons royales étaient bâties dans de -pareils endroits? - -Seigneur, répliqua Sancho, chaque pays a sa coutume, et peut-être que -celle du Toboso est de placer dans les culs-de-sac les palais et les -grands édifices; je supplie Votre Grâce de me laisser chercher autour -d’ici, et sans doute je trouverai dans quelque coin cet alcazar que je -voudrais voir mangé des chiens, tant il nous fait donner au diable. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, parle avec plus de respect de ce qui concerne -ma dame; passons la fête en paix et ne jetons pas le manche après la -cognée. - -Je tiendrai ma langue, Seigneur, répondit Sancho, mais comment Votre -Grâce veut-elle que je reconnaisse la maison de notre maîtresse, que je -n’ai vu qu’une seule fois dans ma vie, et surtout quand il fait noir -comme dans un four, tandis que vous, qui devez l’avoir vue plus de cent -fois, vous ne pouvez la retrouver. - -Tu me ferais perdre l’esprit! reprit don Quichotte. Viens çà, hérétique. -Ne t’ai-je pas dit mille et mille fois que de ma vie je n’ai vu la sans -pareille Dulcinée; que je n’ai jamais franchi le seuil de son palais; -qu’enfin je n’en suis amoureux que sur ouï-dire et d’après cette grande -réputation qu’elle a d’être la plus belle et la plus sage princesse de -la terre! - -Je l’apprends à cette heure, répondit Sancho, et je dis que puisque -Votre Grâce ne l’a pas vue, par ma foi, je ne l’ai pas vue davantage. - -Cela ne peut être, répliqua don Quichotte, puisque tu m’as dit l’avoir -trouvée criblant du blé, quand tu me rapportas sa réponse à la lettre -que tu lui avais remise de ma part. - -Ne vous y fiez pas, seigneur, répondit Sancho; car, sachez-le, ma visite -et la réponse que je vous rapportai sont aussi sur ouï-dire; je connais -madame Dulcinée tout comme je puis donner un coup de poing dans la lune. - -Sancho, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, il y a temps pour plaisanter et -temps où la plaisanterie ne serait pas de saison. Parce que je dis -n’avoir jamais vu la dame de mes pensées, il ne t’est pas permis à toi -d’en dire autant, surtout quand tu sais que c’est le contraire qui est -la vérité. - -Ils en étaient là de leur entretien, lorsqu’ils virent venir à eux un -homme qui poussait deux mules devant lui. Au bruit que faisait la -charrue que traînaient ces mules, nos aventuriers jugèrent que ce devait -être quelque laboureur levé avant le jour pour aller aux champs; ce qui -était vrai. Tout en cheminant, ce rustre chantait ce refrain d’une -vieille romance: - - On vous fit bonne chasse, - Français, à Roncevaux[79]. - - [79] Mala la hovistes, Franceses, - La caza de Roncesvalles; etc., etc. (_Cancionero._) - -Que je meure, dit don Quichotte, s’il nous arrive rien de bon cette -nuit; entends-tu ce que chante ce drôle? - -Je l’entends fort bien, répondit Sancho, mais qu’est-ce que cela fait à -notre affaire, la chasse de Roncevaux? - -Le laboureur les ayant rejoints: Ami, lui dit don Quichotte, Dieu vous -donne sa bénédiction. Pourriez-vous m’indiquer où est le palais de la -sans pareille princesse dona Dulcinée du Toboso? - -Seigneur, répondit le laboureur, je ne suis pas d’ici, et il y a peu de -temps que je sers un riche fermier de ce village; mais, dans cette -maison, là en face, demeurent le curé et le sacristain; l’un ou l’autre -pourra vous donner des nouvelles de cette princesse, parce qu’ils ont la -liste de tous les habitants du Toboso; quoique, à vrai dire, je ne pense -pas qu’il y ait dans ce pays aucune princesse, mais seulement des dames -de qualité qui peut-être sont princesses dans leurs maisons. - -Eh bien, c’est parmi elles que doit se trouver celle que je cherche, dit -don Quichotte. - -Cela se pourrait, répondit le laboureur: le jour vient, adieu; et -touchant ses mules, il s’éloigna. - -Voyant son maître indécis et mécontent de la réponse, Sancho lui dit: -Seigneur, voici venir le jour, et il me semble qu’il ne serait pas -prudent que le soleil nous trouvât dans la rue. Si vous m’en croyez, -nous sortirons de la ville, et nous irons nous embusquer dans quelques -bois près d’ici; quand le jour sera venu, je reviendrai chercher de -porte en porte le palais de votre maîtresse; et, par ma foi, il faudra -que je sois bien malheureux si je ne parviens pas à le déterrer; puis, -quand je l’aurai trouvé, je parlerai à Sa Grâce et je lui demanderai -humblement où et comment vous pourrez la voir sans dommage pour sa -réputation et son honneur. - -Bien parlé, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, ces quelques mots valent un -millier de proverbes, et je veux suivre ton conseil. Allons, mon fils, -allons chercher un endroit propre à m’embusquer en t’attendant; après -quoi tu iras trouver cette reine de la beauté, dont la discrétion et la -courtoisie me font espérer mille faveurs miraculeuses. - -Sancho brûlait d’impatience d’emmener son maître, tant il craignait de -voir découvrir sa fraude au sujet de cette réponse qu’il lui avait -rapportée dans la Sierra-Morena, de la part de Dulcinée; il se mit donc -à marcher le premier, et au bout d’une demi-lieue, ayant rencontré un -petit bois, don Quichotte s’y cacha pendant que son écuyer alla faire -cette ambassade dans laquelle il lui arriva des événements qui méritent -un redoublement d’attention. - -CHAPITRE X - -OU L’ON RACONTE LE STRATAGÈME QU’EMPLOYA SANCHO POUR ENCHANTER DULCINÉE -AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS NON MOINS PLAISANTS QUE VÉRITABLES - -En arrivant à raconter les événements que renferme le présent chapitre, -l’auteur de cette grande histoire dit qu’il fut tenté de les passer sous -silence, dans la crainte qu’on ne voulût pas y ajouter foi, parce qu’ici -les folies de don Quichotte touchèrent la dernière limite qu’il soit -possible d’atteindre et allèrent même à deux portées d’arquebuse au -delà. Il se décida pourtant à les écrire comme le chevalier les avait -faites, sans rien ajouter, sans rien retrancher, dût-il être accusé -d’avoir menti; et en cela il eut raison, car la vérité, si ténue qu’elle -soit, ne se brise jamais, et nage toujours au-dessus du mensonge, comme -l’huile nage au-dessus de l’eau. - -Continuant donc son récit, l’historien dit qu’à peine entré dans le -petit bois qui est près du Toboso, don Quichotte ordonna à Sancho de -retourner à la ville, et de ne pas reparaître devant lui sans avoir -parlé à sa dame, pour la supplier de daigner admettre en sa présence son -captif chevalier, dont le souhait le plus ardent était d’obtenir et de -recevoir sa bénédiction, afin qu’il pût se promettre de sortir -heureusement de toutes les entreprises qu’il allait affronter désormais. -Sancho promit d’exécuter ponctuellement les ordres de son maître, et de -lui rapporter une réponse non moins bonne que la première fois. - -Va, mon fils, lui dit don Quichotte, va, mais songe à ne point te -troubler quand tu approcheras de ce soleil de beauté à la recherche -duquel je t’envoie, ô le plus fortuné des écuyers du monde! Lorsque tu -seras admis en son auguste présence, aies bien soin de graver dans ta -mémoire de quelle façon elle te recevra; observe si elle se trouble -quand tu lui exposeras l’objet de ton ambassade, si elle rougit en -entendant prononcer mon nom. Si tu la trouves assise sur les moelleux -coussins de la riche estrade où doit te recevoir une femme de sa -condition, remarque bien si elle s’agite, si elle a de la peine à rester -en place. Dans le cas où elle serait debout, observe si elle se pose -tantôt sur un pied, tantôt sur l’autre; si elle hésite dans sa réponse, -si elle la change de douce en aigre, et d’aigre en amoureuse; si enfin, -pour cacher son embarras, elle porte la main à sa chevelure, faisant -semblant de l’arranger, bien qu’elle ne soit pas en désordre. Bref, mon -fils, examine avec soin tous ses gestes, tous ses mouvements, afin de -m’en faire un fidèle récit. Car tu sauras, Sancho, si tu ne le sais pas -encore, qu’en amour les mouvements extérieurs trahissent les secrets -sentiments de l’âme. Pars, ami, sois guidé par un meilleur sort que le -mien, et ramené par un meilleur succès que celui dans l’attente duquel -je vais rester en l’amère solitude où tu me laisses. - -J’irai et je reviendrai promptement, répondit Sancho; mais, seigneur, -remettez-vous, de grâce, et laissez dilater un peu ce petit cœur, qui -ne doit pas être en ce moment plus gros qu’une noisette; rappelez-vous -ce qu’on a coutume de dire: Bon courage vient à bout de mauvaise -fortune, et à l’heure où l’on s’y attend le moins, saute le lièvre. Si -je n’ai pu trouver, cette nuit, le palais de madame Dulcinée, maintenant -qu’il fait jour je saurai bien le reconnaître, et quand je l’aurai -trouvé, laissez-moi faire. - -Sur ce, Sancho tourna le dos et bâtonna son grison, tandis que don -Quichotte restait à cheval, languissamment appuyé sur sa lance, l’esprit -livré à de tristes et confuses pensées. Nous le laisserons dans cette -attitude pour suivre l’écuyer, qui s’éloignait non moins pensif et -préoccupé que son maître. - -Quand Sancho fut hors du bois, il tourna la tête; n’apercevant plus don -Quichotte, il mit pied à terre, puis s’asseyant au pied d’un arbre, il -commença de la sorte à se parler à lui-même: Maintenant, frère Sancho, -dites-moi un peu où va Votre Grâce? Allez-vous à la recherche de quelque -âne que vous avez perdu?--Pas le moins du monde.--Eh bien, qu’allez-vous -donc chercher?--Je vais tout simplement chercher une princesse qui, à -elle seule, est plus belle que le soleil et tous les astres -ensemble.--Et où pensez-vous trouver cette princesse?--Où? Dans la -grande cité du Toboso.--Fort bien. Et de quelle part l’allez-vous -chercher?--De la part du fameux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, -celui qui redresse les torts, qui donne à manger à ceux qui ont soif, et -à boire à ceux qui ont faim.--Très-bien. Connaissez-vous la demeure de -cette dame?--Pas du tout; seulement mon maître m’a dit que c’était un -magnifique palais, un superbe alcazar.--L’avez-vous vue quelquefois, -cette dame?--Ni mon maître ni moi ne l’avons jamais vue.--Et si les gens -du Toboso savaient que vous venez dans l’intention d’enlever leurs -princesses et de débaucher leurs femmes, croyez-vous, ami Sancho, qu’ils -auraient tort de vous frotter les épaules à grands coups de -bâton?--C’est juste; mais s’ils considèrent que je ne suis -qu’ambassadeur, et que je ne viens que pour le compte d’autrui, je ne -pense pas qu’ils se permettent d’en user si librement.--Ne vous y fiez -pas, Sancho; les gens de la Manche n’entendent point raillerie. Vive -Dieu! s’ils vous dépistent, vous n’avez qu’à bien vous tenir, ou à jouer -des jambes au plus vite.--En ce cas, qu’est-ce donc que je viens -chercher? Par ma foi, je l’ignore moi-même, et j’en donne ma langue aux -chiens; d’ailleurs, chercher madame Dulcinée dans le Toboso, n’est-ce -pas chercher le bachelier dans Salamanque? Malédiction! c’est le diable -en personne qui m’a fourré dans cette affaire. - -Telles étaient les réflexions que faisait Sancho, et la conclusion qu’il -en tira fut de se raviser sur-le-champ. Pardieu, se dit-il, il y a -remède à tout, si ce n’est à la mort, à laquelle nous devons tribut à -la fin de la vie. Mon maître est fou à lier, comme je m’en suis maintes -fois aperçu; et franchement je ne suis guère en reste avec lui, puisque -je l’accompagne et le sers; car, selon le proverbe, dis-moi qui tu -hantes, et je te dirai qui tu es. Or, mon maître étant fou, et d’une -folie qui lui fait prendre le blanc pour le noir et le noir pour le -blanc, des moulins à vent pour des géants, des mules pour des -dromadaires, des troupeaux de moutons pour des armées, et cent autres -choses de la même force, il ne me sera pas difficile de lui faire -accroire que la première paysanne qui me tombera sous la main est madame -Dulcinée. S’il s’y refuse, j’en jurerai; s’il soutient le contraire, -j’en jurerai encore plus fort; s’il tient bon, je n’en démordrai pas; de -cette façon, j’aurai toujours manche pour moi, quoi qu’il arrive. -Peut-être ainsi le dégoûterai-je de me charger de pareils messages, en -voyant le peu d’avantage qu’il en tire; ou plutôt s’en prendra-t-il à -quelque enchanteur qui, pour lui faire pièce, aura changé la figure de -sa dame. - -De cette manière, Sancho se mit l’esprit en repos et regarda l’affaire -comme arrangée. Il resta sous son arbre jusqu’au soir, afin de mieux -tromper son maître sur l’aller et le retour, et son bonheur fut tel, que -lorsqu’il se leva pour remonter sur son grison, il aperçut venir, sur le -chemin du Toboso, trois paysannes montées sur trois ânes ou trois -ânesses (l’auteur se tait sur ce point), mais il faut croire que -c’étaient des bourriques, monture ordinaire des femmes de la campagne. -Bref, dès que Sancho vit ces trois donzelles, il revint au petit trot -chercher don Quichotte, qu’il retrouva dans la même attitude où il -l’avait laissé, continuant à se lamenter et à soupirer amoureusement. - -Eh bien, qu’y a-t-il, ami? lui dit son maître, dois-je marquer cette -journée avec une pierre blanche ou avec une pierre noire? - -Il faut la marquer avec une pierre rouge, répondit Sancho; comme ces -écriteaux qu’on veut qui soient vus de loin. - -Tu m’apportes donc de bonnes nouvelles, mon fils? demanda don Quichotte. - -Si bonnes, répondit Sancho, que vous n’avez qu’à éperonner Rossinante, -pour aller au-devant de madame Dulcinée, qui vient avec deux de ses -femmes rendre visite à Votre Grâce. - -Sainte Vierge! dis-tu vrai? s’écria don Quichotte; ne m’abuse point, mon -ami, et ne cherche pas à me donner de fausses joies pour charmer mes -ennuis. - -Et que gagnerais-je à vous tromper, répliqua Sancho, quand vous êtes à -deux doigts de savoir ce qu’il en est? Avancez seulement de quelques -pas, et vous verrez venir votre maîtresse parée comme une châsse. Elle -et ses femmes ne sont que colliers de perles, rivières de diamants, -étoffes d’argent et d’or, si bien que je ne sais comment elles peuvent -porter tout cela; leurs cheveux tombent sur leurs épaules à grosses -boucles, et on dirait les rayons du soleil agités par le vent; enfin, -dans un moment, vous allez les voir toutes les trois, montées sur des -caquenées grasses à lard, et qui valent leur pesant d’or. - -C’est haquenées qu’il faut dire, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; si -Dulcinée t’entendait parler de la sorte, elle ne nous prendrait pas pour -ce que nous sommes. - -La distance de caquenées à haquenées n’est pas bien grande, répliqua -Sancho; mais qu’elles soient montées sur ce qu’elles voudront, je n’ai -jamais vu de dames plus élégantes, et surtout madame Dulcinée. - -Allons, reprit don Quichotte, pour étrennes d’une nouvelle si heureuse -et si peu attendue, je t’abandonne le butin de notre prochaine aventure; -ou, si tu l’aimes mieux, les poulains de mes trois juments, qui, tu le -sais, sont près de mettre bas. - -Je m’en tiens aux poulains, repartit Sancho, car il n’est pas sûr que le -butin de votre prochaine aventure soit bon à garder. - -Ainsi discourant ils sortirent du bois; aussitôt don Quichotte jeta les -yeux sur toute la longueur du chemin du Toboso; mais n’apercevant que -trois paysannes, il commença à se troubler, et demanda à son écuyer s’il -avait laissé ces dames hors de la ville. - -Hors de la ville? répondit Sancho. Votre Grâce a-t-elle les yeux -derrière la tête? ne voyez-vous point ces trois dames qui viennent à -nous, resplendissantes comme le soleil en plein midi? - -Je ne vois que trois paysannes montées sur trois ânes, dit don -Quichotte. - -Dieu me soit en aide! repartit Sancho; se peut-il que vous preniez pour -trois ânes trois haquenées plus blanches que la neige! Par ma foi, on -dirait que vous n’y voyez goutte, ou que vous êtes encore enchanté. - -En vérité, Sancho, reprit notre chevalier, c’est toi qui n’y vois -goutte: ce sont des ânes ou des ânesses, aussi sûr que je suis don -Quichotte et que tu es Sancho Panza; du moins il me le semble ainsi. - -Allons, allons, seigneur, vous vous moquez, repartit Sancho: -frottez-vous les yeux, et venez faire la révérence à la dame de vos -pensées que voilà tout près de vous. - -En même temps, il alla à la rencontre des paysannes, et sautant à bas de -son grison, il arrêta un des ânes par le licou, puis, se jetant à deux -genoux: - -O sublime princesse! s’écria-t-il, reine et duchesse de la beauté, que -Votre Grandeur ait la bonté d’admettre en grâce et d’accueillir avec -faveur ce pauvre chevalier, votre esclave, qui est là froid comme le -marbre, tant il est troublé et haletant de se voir en votre magnifique -présence! Je suis Sancho Panza, son écuyer, pour vous servir, et lui, -c’est le vagabond chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, autrement appelé -le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -Pendant cette harangue, l’amoureux chevalier s’était jeté à genoux -auprès de Sancho et ouvrait de grands yeux; mais ne voyant dans celle -que son écuyer traitait de reine et de princesse qu’une grossière -paysanne au visage boursouflé et au nez camard, il demeura si stupéfait -qu’il ne pouvait desserrer les lèvres. Les paysannes n’étaient pas moins -étonnées à la vue de ces deux hommes si différents l’un de l’autre, tous -deux à genoux et leur barrant le chemin; aussi celle que Sancho avait -arrêtée, prenant la parole: Gare, seigneurs, gare, dit-elle, passez -votre chemin et laissez-nous, nous sommes pressées. - -O grande princesse! répondit Sancho, ô dame universelle du Toboso! -comment votre cœur magnanime ne s’amollit-il point, en voyant prosterné -devant votre sublime présence la colonne et l’arc-boutant de la -chevalerie errante? - -Oui-da, oui-da, reprit une des paysannes: voyez un peu ces hidalgos qui -viennent se gausser des filles du village; comme si nous n’étions pas -faites comme les autres! Passez, passez, celles-là sont prises; -laissez-nous continuer notre chemin. - -Lève-toi, Sancho, lève-toi, dit tristement don Quichotte; je vois bien -que le sort n’est point encore rassasié de mon malheur, et qu’il a fermé -tous les chemins par où pouvait arriver quelque joie à cette âme chétive -que je porte en ma chair. Et toi, dernier terme de la beauté humaine, -résumé accompli de toutes les perfections, unique soutien de ce cœur -affligé qui t’adore, puisque le maudit enchanteur qui me poursuit a jeté -sur mes yeux une effroyable cataracte, et que pour moi et non pour -d’autres il cache ton incomparable beauté sous les traits d’une -grossière paysanne, ne laisse pas, je t’en supplie, de me regarder avec -amour, à moins toutefois qu’il ne m’ait donné aussi l’aspect de quelque -vampire, pour me rendre horrible à tes yeux! Tu vois, adorable -princesse, tu vois quelle est ma soumission et mon zèle, et que, malgré -l’artifice de mes ennemis, mon cœur ne laisse pas de t’offrir les -hommages qui te sont dus. - -Ah! par ma foi, repartit la paysanne, je suis bien bonne d’écouter vos -cajoleries! Laissez-nous passer, seigneurs, nous n’avons pas de temps à -perdre. - -Sancho s’empressa de se relever et de lui faire place, ravi dans son -cœur d’être parvenu si heureusement à sortir d’embarras. - -A peine la prétendue Dulcinée se vit-elle libre, qu’avec le clou qui -était fixé au bout de son bâton elle piqua son âne, et se mit à le faire -courir de toute sa force à travers le pré. Mais pressé par l’aiguillon -plus qu’à l’ordinaire, le baudet allait par sauts et par bonds, lâchant -force ruades, et il fit tant qu’à la fin il jeta madame Dulcinée par -terre. Aussitôt, l’amoureux chevalier courut pour la relever, tandis que -Sancho ramenait le bât qui avait tourné sous le ventre de la bête. Le -bât replacé et sanglé, don Quichotte voulut prendre sa dame entre ses -bras pour la porter sur l’âne, mais la belle, se relevant prestement, -fit trois pas en arrière pour prendre son élan, posa les mains sur la -croupe de sa monture, et d’un saut se trouva à califourchon sur le bât. - -Vive Dieu! s’écria Sancho, notre maîtresse est plus légère qu’un daim, -et elle rendrait des points à tous les écuyers de Cordoue et du Mexique! -D’un seul bond elle a passé par-dessus l’arçon de sa selle. Voyez comme -elle fait courir sa haquenée sans éperons. Par ma foi! ses femmes ne -sont point en reste, tout cela court comme le vent. - -Sancho disait vrai, car toutes trois galopaient à qui mieux mieux, sans -tourner la tête, et elles coururent ainsi plus d’une demi-lieue. - -Don Quichotte les suivit des yeux pendant quelque temps, et lorsqu’il -cessa de les apercevoir: Vois, Sancho, lui dit-il, jusqu’où va la haine -des enchanteurs, et de quel détestable artifice ils se servent pour me -priver du bonheur que j’aurais eu à contempler Dulcinée! Fut-il jamais -homme plus malheureux que moi, et ne suis-je pas le type du malheur -même? Les traîtres! non contents de la transformer en une grossière -paysanne, et de me la montrer sous une figure indigne de sa qualité et -de son mérite, ils lui ont encore ôté ce qui distingue les grandes -princesses, dont l’haleine respire toujours un si doux parfum; car -lorsque je me suis approchée de Dulcinée pour la remettre sur sa -haquenée, comme tu l’appelles, quoique j’aie constamment pris sa monture -pour une ânesse, elle m’a lancé, te l’avouerai-je, une odeur d’oignon -cru qui m’a soulevé le cœur. - -Canailles! misérables et pervers enchanteurs! cria Sancho, n’aurai-je -jamais le plaisir de vous voir tous enfilés par la même broche, et -griller comme des sardines! Ne devait-il pas vous suffire, infâmes -coquins! brigands maudits! d’avoir changé les perles des yeux de notre -maîtresse en des yeux de chèvre, ses cheveux d’or pur en queue de vache -rousse, et finalement d’avoir gâté toute sa personne, sans pervertir -encore son odeur? Par là du moins nous aurions pu nous faire quelque -idée de ce qui était caché sous cette grossière écorce; bien qu’à vrai -dire, je ne me sois point aperçu de sa laideur, et qu’au contraire je -n’aie vu que sa beauté, à telles enseignes qu’elle a sur la lèvre droite -un gros signe, en manière de moustache, d’où sortent sept ou huit poils -roux de deux doigts de long, qu’on prendrait pour autant de filets d’or. - -D’après les rapports que les signes du visage ont avec ceux du corps, -reprit don Quichotte, Dulcinée doit en avoir un du même côté sur le plat -de la cuisse; mais ces poils que tu viens de dire, Sancho, sont bien -grands pour un signe, et cela n’est point ordinaire. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, repartit Sancho, ils font là merveille. - -Oh! j’en suis persuadé, dit don Quichotte, car la nature n’a rien mis en -Dulcinée qui ne soit l’idéal de la perfection; et ces signes dont tu -parles ne sont pas en elle des défauts, ce sont plutôt des étoiles -resplendissantes et lumineuses. Mais dis-moi, ce qui m’a semblé un bât, -était-ce une selle plate ou une selle en fauteuil? - -C’était une selle à la genette[80] avec une housse si riche, mais si -riche, qu’elle vaut la moitié d’un royaume, répondit Sancho. - - [80] Selle arabe, avec deux montants, un par devant et un par - derrière. - -Et je n’ai rien vu de tout cela? reprit don Quichotte: ah! je ne -cesserai de le répéter, je suis le plus malheureux des hommes. - -Le sournois d’écuyer avait bien de la peine à s’empêcher de rire en -voyant l’extravagance et la crédulité de son maître, et il se -réjouissait tout bas de l’avoir trompé si adroitement. Finalement, nos -deux aventuriers remontèrent sur leurs bêtes, et prirent le chemin de -Saragosse, où ils comptaient être encore assez à temps pour se trouver à -une fête solennelle qui a lieu tous les ans dans cette ville: mais il -leur arriva tant de choses et de si surprenantes, qu’elles méritent -d’être racontées comme on le verra ci-après. - -CHAPITRE XI - -DE L’ÉTRANGE AVENTURE DU CHAR DES CORTÈS DE LA MORT - -Don Quichotte suivait son chemin tout pensif et tout préoccupé du -mauvais tour que lui avaient joué les enchanteurs en transformant sa -dame en une grossière paysanne, ce qui malheureusement lui paraissait -sans remède. Ces pensées l’absorbaient tellement que, sans y faire -attention, il lâcha la bride à Rossinante, lequel, se sentant libre, -s’arrêtait à chaque pas pour paître l’herbe fraîche qui croissait -abondamment dans cet endroit. - -Seigneur, lui dit Sancho en le voyant ainsi, la tristesse, j’en -conviens, n’a pas été faite pour les bêtes, mais pour l’homme; et -pourtant, quand l’homme s’y abandonne, il devient une bête. Allons, -allons! remettez-vous, relevez la bride à Rossinante, et faites voir ce -que vous êtes: un véritable chevalier errant. Morbleu! pourquoi vous -décourager de la sorte? Que Satan emporte toutes les Dulcinées qu’il y a -dans ce monde, plutôt que j’aie la douleur de voir un seul chevalier -errant succomber à la maladie! - -Tais-toi, répondit don Quichotte, et ne profère point de blasphème -contre Dulcinée; c’est moi qui suis la seule cause de sa disgrâce: elle -ne serait pas telle qu’elle m’est apparue si les enchanteurs ne -portaient envie à ma gloire et à mes plaisirs. - -C’est aussi mon avis, reprit Sancho; en vérité le cœur se fend quand on -pense à ce qu’elle était jadis et à ce qu’elle est maintenant. - -Ah! tu peux bien le dire, toi qui l’as vue dans tout l’éclat de sa -beauté, car le charme dirigé contre moi ne troublait point ta vue. Il me -semble pourtant, Sancho, que tu as mal dépeint la beauté de ma dame en -disant qu’elle avait des yeux de perles: des yeux de perles sont des -yeux de poisson plutôt que des yeux de femme. Les yeux de Dulcinée ne -peuvent être que deux vertes émeraudes, avec deux arcs-en-ciel pour -sourcils. Mon ami, réserve les perles pour les dents et non pour les -yeux; tu auras sans doute fait confusion. - -Cela peut être, répondit Sancho, car j’ai été aussi troublé de sa beauté -que vous avez pu l’être de sa laideur. Mais recommandons le tout à Dieu, -qui seul sait ce qui doit arriver dans cette vallée de larmes, dans ce -méchant monde où il n’y a rien qui soit exempt de malice ou de -fourberie. Une seule chose m’inquiète, c’est de savoir comment on s’y -prendra quand, après avoir vaincu quelque géant ou quelque chevalier, -Votre Grâce lui ordonnera d’aller se présenter devant madame Dulcinée. -Où le pauvre diable la trouvera-t-il? Il me semble le voir d’ici se -promener dans les rues du Toboso, le nez en l’air, la bouche béante, et -cherchant madame Dulcinée, qui passera cent fois devant lui sans qu’il -la reconnaisse. - -L’enchantement ne s’étendra peut-être pas jusqu’aux géants ou aux -chevaliers vaincus, répondit don Quichotte. Au reste, nous en ferons -l’expérience sur les deux ou trois premiers auxquels nous aurons -affaire, en leur ordonnant de venir me rendre compte de ce qu’ils auront -éprouvé à ce sujet. - -Votre idée me paraît excellente, repartit Sancho. Une fois certain que -la beauté de notre maîtresse n’est voilée que pour vous seul, il faudra -en prendre votre parti; le malheur sera pour vous et non pour elle; et -puis du moment que madame Dulcinée se porte bien, pourquoi nous -attrister? En attendant, poussons notre fortune du mieux que nous -pourrons en cherchant les aventures; le temps arrangera le reste, car il -est le meilleur médecin du monde, et il n’y a pas de maladie qu’il ne -guérisse. - -Don Quichotte allait répliquer, quand tout à coup, au détour du chemin, -parut un chariot chargé de divers personnages et des plus étranges -figures qu’on puisse imaginer. Celui qui faisait l’office de cocher -était un horrible démon, et comme le chariot était découvert, on voyait -aisément ceux qui étaient dedans. Après le cocher, la première figure -qui s’offrit aux yeux de don Quichotte fut celle de la Mort sous un -visage humain. Tout près d’elle se tenait un ange avec de grandes ailes -de différentes couleurs; à sa droite était un empereur avec une couronne -qui paraissait d’or; aux pieds de la Mort, on voyait assis le dieu -Cupidon, avec son carquois, son arc et ses flèches, mais sans bandeau -sur les yeux; enfin, un chevalier armé de toutes pièces, si ce n’est -qu’au lieu de casque il portait un chapeau orné de plumes de diverses -couleurs, complétait la troupe. - -Ce spectacle inattendu troubla quelque peu notre chevalier, et jeta -l’effroi dans l’âme de Sancho; mais une prompte joie succéda à la -surprise dans l’esprit de don Quichotte, qui ne douta point que ce ne -fût quelque périlleuse aventure. Dans cette pensée, et avec un courage -prêt à tout braver, il se campe au-devant de l’équipage, et d’une voix -fière et menaçante: Cocher ou diable, s’écrie-t-il, il faut que tu me -dises à l’instant qui tu es, où tu vas, et quelles gens tu mènes dans ce -chariot, qui a plutôt l’air de la barque à Caron que d’une charrette -ordinaire. - -Seigneur, répondit le diable d’une voix mielleuse et en retenant les -rênes, nous sommes acteurs de la troupe d’Angulo le Mauvais. Ce matin, -octave de la Fête-Dieu, nous venons de représenter derrière cette -colline que vous voyez là-bas, la tragédie des _Cortès de la Mort_, et -nous devons la jouer encore ce soir dans le village qui est devant nous: -comme c’était tout proche, nous n’avons pas voulu quitter nos habits, -afin de n’avoir pas la peine de les reprendre. Ce jeune homme que vous -voyez représente la Mort; cet autre un ange; cette dame, qui est la -femme de l’auteur de la pièce, fait la reine; en voilà un qui remplit un -rôle d’empereur, cet autre celui de soldat; quant à moi je suis le -diable pour vous servir et un des principaux acteurs, car j’ouvre la -scène. Si vous avez d’autres questions à me faire, parlez, seigneur, -parlez, je répondrai à tout ponctuellement, étant le diable, il n’y a -rien que je ne sache. - -Foi de chevalier errant, répondit don Quichotte, dès que j’ai vu votre -chariot, j’aurais juré que c’était une grande aventure qui s’offrait à -moi; je vois bien qu’il ne faut pas se fier aux apparences, si l’on ne -veut être trompé. - -Allez, mes amis, allez en paix célébrer votre fête, et si je puis vous -être utile à quelque chose, croyez que je suis à vous de bien bon cœur: -j’ai été toute ma vie grand amateur du théâtre, et dès ma tendre -jeunesse je ne rêvais que comédie. - -Comme ils en étaient là, le sort voulut qu’un des acteurs de la troupe, -qui était resté en arrière, les rejoignît. Ce dernier était habillé en -fou de cour, avec quantité de grelots autour du corps, et il portait au -bout d’un bâton trois vessies gonflées. En approchant de don Quichotte, -ce grotesque personnage se mit à s’escrimer avec son bâton, frappant la -terre avec ses vessies, et sautant de droite et de gauche pour faire -résonner ses grelots. Cette fantastique vision épouvanta tellement -Rossinante, que, malgré les efforts de son maître pour le calmer, il -prit le mors aux dents et se mit à courir à travers champs avec une -vitesse qu’on était loin d’attendre de lui. A cette vue Sancho sauta à -bas de son âne pour aller secourir son seigneur, mais quand il arriva, -cheval et cavalier étaient étendus sur la poussière, conclusion -ordinaire des prouesses de Rossinante. - -Or, à peine Sancho eut-il lâché sa monture, que le fou sauta dessus, et, -la fouettant à grands coups de vessies, il la fit courir vers le village -où la fête allait avoir lieu. Entre la chute de son maître et la fuite -de son âne, Sancho se trouvait dans une cruelle perplexité; mais, en -fidèle écuyer, l’amour de son seigneur l’emporta, et malgré la pluie de -coups qu’il voyait tomber sur la croupe du baudet, et qu’il eut préféré -cent fois recevoir sur la prunelle de ses propres yeux, il accourut -auprès de don Quichotte qu’il trouva en fort mauvais état. Tout en -l’aidant à remonter sur Rossinante: Seigneur, lui dit-il, le diable -emporte l’âne. - -Quel diable? demanda don Quichotte. - -Le diable aux vessies, répondit Sancho. - -Sois tranquille, reprit notre héros, je te le ferai rendre, allât-il se -cacher au fond des enfers. Suis-moi; le chariot marche lentement; et -avec les mules qui le traînent je couvrirai, sois-en certain, la perte -de ton grison. - -Plus n’est besoin de s’en occuper! s’écria Sancho: le diable l’a lâché, -et le voilà qui revient, le pauvre enfant! - -Sancho disait vrai; le diable et le grison avaient culbuté à l’instar de -don Quichotte et de Rossinante, et pendant que l’un gagnait le village, -l’autre venait retrouver son maître. - -Malgré tout, dit don Quichotte, il serait bon de châtier l’insolence de -ce démon sur un des hommes du chariot, fût-ce sur l’empereur lui-même. - -Otez-vous cela de l’esprit, Seigneur, repartit Sancho; il n’y a rien à -gagner avec les comédiens, ces gens-là ont des amis partout. J’ai connu -autrefois un comédien poursuivi pour deux meurtres; eh bien, il s’en est -tiré sans qu’il lui en coûtât un cheveu de la tête. Comme ce sont des -gens de plaisir, tout le monde les protége et les aime, ceux-ci surtout -qui se prétendent de la troupe royale. - -Il ne sera pas dit, répliqua don Quichotte, que ce mauvais histrion -m’aura échappé, dût le genre humain tout entier le prendre sous sa -protection! Et il se mit à courir après le chariot, en criant: Arrêtez, -baladins! arrêtez, mauvais bouffons! je veux vous apprendre à respecter -à l’avenir les bêtes qui servent de monture aux écuyers des chevaliers -errants. - -Don Quichotte criait si fort que les comédiens l’entendirent. Jugeant de -son intention par ses paroles, la Mort saute à terre, avec le diable, -suivi de l’empereur et de l’ange; il n’y eut pas jusqu’au dieu Cupidon -qui ne voulût être de la partie: alors tous se chargent de pierres, et, -se retranchant derrière leur voiture, ils attendent l’assaillant, -résolus à se défendre. En les voyant si bien armés et faire bonne -contenance, notre héros retint la bride à Rossinante, et se mit à -réfléchir de quelle manière il attaquerait ce bataillon avec le moins de -danger. Pendant qu’il délibérait sur ce qu’il avait à faire, Sancho -arriva, et trouvant son maître prêt à en venir aux mains: - -Seigneur, lui dit-il, voici une aventure qui ne me paraît nullement -bonne à entreprendre. Considérez que contre des amandes de ruisseaux il -n’existe pas d’armes défensives, à moins de se blottir sous une cloche -de bronze? Considérez aussi qu’il y a plus de témérité que de courage à -vouloir attaquer seul une armée où les empereurs combattent en personne, -et qui est soutenue par les bons et les mauvais anges, sans compter la -Mort, qui est à leur tête? Et puis, remarquez, je vous prie, mon cher -maître, que parmi tous ces gens-là il n’y a pas un seul chevalier -errant. - -Tu as touché juste, interrompit don Quichotte, et voilà de quoi me faire -changer de résolution: je ne puis ni ne dois tirer l’épée contre -n’importe quelles gens s’ils ne sont armés chevaliers; ainsi donc, -Sancho, cela te regarde; c’est à toi de tirer vengeance de l’outrage -fait à ton grison. Je me tiendrai ici pour te donner mes conseils et -t’animer au combat. - -Seigneur, il n’y a pas là de quoi tirer vengeance de personne, repartit -Sancho, et un bon chrétien doit savoir oublier les offenses; d’ailleurs, -je m’arrangerai avec mon âne, et comme il n’est pas moins pacifique que -son maître, je suis certain qu’une mesure d’avoine sera bien plus de son -goût. - -Si c’est là ton avis, bon et pacifique Sancho, répliqua don Quichotte, -laissons-là ces fantômes et allons chercher de meilleures aventures; car -ce pays-ci m’a tout l’air d’en fournir un bon nombre et des plus -surprenantes. - -En parlant ainsi, il tourna bride, suivi de son écuyer. De son côté, la -Mort et ses compagnons remontèrent sur le chariot et continuèrent leur -voyage. Telle fut, grâce aux sages conseils de Sancho Panza, l’heureuse -fin de la terrible aventure du char de la Mort. Le jour suivant, notre -héros eut une autre aventure avec un chevalier amoureux et errant, -laquelle mérite, à elle seule, un nouveau chapitre. - -CHAPITRE XII - -DE L’ÉTRANGE AVENTURE QUI ARRIVA AU VALEUREUX DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LE -GRAND CHEVALIER DES MIROIRS - -La nuit qui suivit le jour de la rencontre du char de la Mort, don -Quichotte et son écuyer la passèrent sous un bouquet de grands arbres où -ils soupèrent avec les provisions que portait le grison. Pendant qu’ils -mangeaient, Sancho dit à son maître: Avouez, Seigneur, que j’aurais eu -grand tort de choisir pour étrennes le butin de votre dernière aventure -plutôt que les poulains des trois juments: Par ma foi, mieux vaut -moineau en cage que grue qui vole! - -Cela se peut, répondit don Quichotte, mais pourtant si tu m’avais laissé -attaquer et combattre comme je le voulais, tu n’aurais certes pas eu -lieu de te plaindre, car à cette heure, tu serais en possession de la -couronne d’or de l’empereur et des ailes peintes de ce Cupidon: je les -lui aurais arrachées pour les remettre entre tes mains. - -Bah! reprit Sancho, jamais sceptres ni couronnes des empereurs de -comédie n’ont été d’or, mais bien de cuivre ou de fer-blanc. - -Cela est vrai, reprit don Quichotte; en effet, il ne conviendrait pas -que les hochets de la comédie fussent de fine matière; ils doivent être -comme elle une sorte de fiction, une simple apparence. A propos de -comédie, j’entends, Sancho, que tu sois bien disposé pour le théâtre, -ainsi que pour ceux qui composent les pièces et ceux qui les -représentent, parce que ce sont des gens fort utiles dans un État, car, -en nous offrant chaque jour un miroir fidèle où se reflète la vie -humaine, ils nous montrent ce que nous sommes et ce que nous devrions -être. Tu as sans doute vu représenter des comédies dans lesquelles il y -avait des rois, des prêtres, des chevaliers, des dames et autres -personnages divers? L’un fait le fanfaron, l’autre le fourbe, celui-là -le soldat, celui-ci l’amoureux; puis, quand la pièce est terminée, -chacun quitte son costume, et, dans la coulisse tout se donne la main. - -Oui, vraiment, j’ai vu de ces comédies-là, répondit Sancho. - -Eh bien, reprit don Quichotte, il en est de même dans la comédie de ce -monde: les uns sont empereurs, les autres papes; finalement autant de -personnages différents que sur le théâtre. Puis quand arrive la fin de -la pièce, c’est-à-dire quand vient la mort qui leur fait quitter les -oripeaux qui les distinguaient, tous redeviennent égaux dans la -sépulture. - -Voilà une comparaison que j’ai entendu faire bien souvent et qui -ressemble comme deux gouttes d’eau au jeu des échecs, dit Sancho: tant -que le jeu dure, chaque pièce représente un personnage; mais une fois le -jeu fini, elles sont toutes jetées pêle-mêle dans une boîte, comme dans -un tombeau. - -Il me semble, reprit don Quichotte, que tu deviens chaque jour moins -simple et plus avisé. - -Pardieu, répliqua Sancho, en me frottant tous les jours contre Votre -Grâce, il faut bien qu’il m’en reste quelque chose. Bien aride serait le -terrain qui ne rapporterait rien, quand on le cultive et qu’on le fume: -je veux dire, seigneur, que la conversation de Votre Grâce a été -l’engrais répandu sur la terre sèche de mon esprit, et le temps passé à -votre service la culture moyennant laquelle j’espère rapporter des -moissons dignes du bon labourage que vous avez fait dans mon stérile -entendement. - -Le chevalier ne put s’empêcher de sourire des expressions recherchées -dont Sancho appuyait son raisonnement; il lui sembla qu’il en savait -plus long qu’à l’ordinaire, et il en était tout surpris. En effet, -depuis quelque temps, Sancho parlait de façon à étonner son maître; -seulement, quand il voulait par trop faire le beau parleur, comme un -candidat au concours, il trébuchait lourdement. Ce qui lui allait le -mieux, c’était de débiter des proverbes, qu’ils vinssent à tort ou à -raison, comme on l’a vu souvent et comme on le verra encore dans la -suite de cette histoire. - -Nos aventuriers passèrent une partie de la nuit en de semblables -entretiens, jusqu’à ce qu’il prit envie à Sancho de laisser tomber les -rideaux de ses yeux: c’était sa manière de s’exprimer lorsqu’il voulait -dormir. Il ôta le bât et le licou au grison, et le laissa paître en -liberté. Quant à Rossinante, il se contenta de lui retirer la bride, -parce que don Quichotte lui avait expressément défendu d’enlever la -selle tant qu’ils seraient en campagne, suivant la coutume si prudemment -établie et si fidèlement observée par les chevaliers errants. - -D’après la même tradition, l’amitié de ces deux pacifiques animaux fut -si intime, que l’auteur de ce récit lui avait consacré plusieurs -chapitres; il les supprima depuis par bienséance et pour garder la -dignité qui convient à une si héroïque histoire. Parfois, néanmoins, il -oublie sa résolution, et se complaît à nous représenter les deux amis se -grattant l’un l’autre; puis, quand ils étaient fatigués de cet exercice, -Rossinante croisant sur le cou du grison un cou qui le dépassait d’une -demi-aune; et tous deux les yeux fichés en terre demeuraient ainsi des -jours entiers, à moins qu’on ne les tirât de leur immobilité, ou que la -faim ne les talonnât. L’auteur n’avait pas craint de comparer leur -amitié à celle de Nisus et Euryale, ou bien encore à celle d’Oreste et -Pylade, ce qui fait voir la haute opinion qu’il en avait conçue; -peut-être aussi voulait-il par là montrer aux hommes combien ils ont -tort de trahir l’amitié, quand les bêtes la pratiquent si fidèlement. -C’est pourquoi l’on a dit: il n’y a pas d’ami pour l’ami, et les roseaux -se changent en lance. Et qu’on n’aille pas blâmer cette comparaison de -l’amitié des bêtes avec celle des hommes: n’avons-nous pas appris du -chien la fidélité, de la fourmi la prévoyance, de l’éléphant la pudeur, -et du cheval la loyauté! - -Nos aventuriers reposaient depuis peu de temps, Sancho sous un liége et -don Quichotte sous un robuste chêne, lorsque notre héros fut réveillé -par un bruit qui se fit derrière sa tête; se levant en sursaut pour -s’assurer d’où ce bruit provenait, il crut entendre deux cavaliers, dont -l’un, se laissant glisser de sa selle, disait à l’autre: - -Ami, mets pied à terre, et ôte la bride à nos chevaux; ils doivent -trouver ici de l’herbe fraîche, comme j’y trouverai moi-même le silence -et la solitude propres à entretenir mes amoureuses pensées. - -Dire ce peu de mots et s’étendre à terre fut l’affaire d’un instant. -Mais en se couchant l’inconnu fit résonner les armes dont il était -couvert. A cet indice, don Quichotte reconnut un chevalier; s’approchant -de Sancho, et le secouant par le bras pour l’éveiller: Ami, lui dit-il à -voix basse, nous tenons une aventure. - -Dieu veuille nous l’envoyer bonne, répondit Sancho encore à moitié -endormi; mais, dites-moi, seigneur, où est-elle Sa Grâce madame -l’aventure? - -Où elle est, répliqua don Quichotte: regarde de ce côté, et tu y verras -étendu un chevalier qui, si je ne me trompe, a quelque grand sujet de -déplaisir, car il s’est laissé tomber à terre si lourdement, que ses -armes en ont résonné. - -Eh bien, où voyez-vous que ce soit une aventure? dit Sancho. - -Je ne prétends pas que ce soit absolument une aventure, repartit don -Quichotte, je dis que c’est un commencement d’aventure, car elles -débutent toujours ainsi. Au reste, écoutons; il me semble que ce -chevalier accorde un luth ou une guitare, et à la manière dont il tousse -pour se nettoyer le gosier, il doit se préparer à chanter. - -Par ma foi, vous avez raison, dit Sancho, il faut que ce soit un -chevalier amoureux. - -Crois-tu donc qu’il y en ait d’autres? reprit don Quichotte; apprends, -mon ami, qu’il n’y a point de chevalier qui ne soit amoureux. -Écoutons-le; sa plainte nous apprendra sans doute son secret, car -l’abondance du cœur fait parler la langue. - -Sancho allait répliquer, quand l’inconnu se mit à chanter ce qui suit: - - Eh bien, il faut, madame, il faut vous satisfaire, - Et ne plus vous parler d’amour, - Mon tourment a beau croître et grandir chaque jour, - Ce cœur, trop amoureux, sait souffrir et se taire; - Mais quand pour vos beaux yeux je consens à mourir, - Pardonnez à l’amour s’il m’échappe un soupir. - -L’inconnu poussa un profond soupir, et bientôt il s’écria d’une voix -dolente et plaintive: O la plus belle, mais la plus ingrate de toutes -les femmes, sérénissime Cassildée de Vandalie! comment peux-tu consentir -à laisser errer par le monde et consumer sa vie en d’âpres et pénibles -travaux le chevalier ton esclave? Ne suffit-il pas que ma valeur et mon -bras aient fait confesser à tous les chevaliers de la Navarre, à tous -les chevaliers de Léon, d’Andalousie, de Castille, et enfin à tous les -chevaliers de la Manche que tu es la plus belle personne du monde? - -Oh! pour cela non, repartit don Quichotte, car je suis de la Manche, et -je n’ai jamais confessé ni ne confesserai de ma vie une chose si -contraire et si préjudiciable à la beauté de Dulcinée. Sancho, ce -chevalier divague; mais écoutons encore, peut-être va-t-il se faire -mieux connaître. - -Sans aucun doute, répliqua Sancho; car il me paraît prendre le chemin de -se lamenter un mois durant. - -Toutefois, il n’en fut pas ainsi: l’inconnu ayant cru entendre qu’on -parlait à ses côtés, se leva et dit d’une voix sonore: Qui va là? qui -êtes-vous? Êtes-vous du nombre des heureux, ou de celui des affligés? - -Je suis du nombre des affligés, répondit don Quichotte. - -Dans ce cas, approchez, reprit l’inconnu; vous trouverez ici la -tristesse et l’affliction en personne. - -Don Quichotte s’approcha, s’y voyant invité avec tant de courtoisie, et -l’inconnu le prenant par le bras: - -Asseyez-vous, seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il; car pour deviner que vous -l’êtes, il me suffit de vous avoir rencontré dans cet endroit, où vous -font compagnie la solitude et le serein, gîte naturel et couche -ordinaire des chevaliers errants. - -Je suis chevalier, en effet, répondit don Quichotte, et de la profession -que vous dites; accablé moi-même par le souvenir de mes disgrâces, je ne -laisse pas d’avoir le cœur sensible aux malheurs d’autrui; et je -compatis d’autant plus aux vôtres, seigneur, que par vos plaintes j’ai -compris qu’ils doivent avoir leur source dans votre amour pour l’ingrate -que vous venez de nommer. - -Pendant qu’ils s’entretenaient de la sorte, tous deux étaient assis sur -le gazon, l’un à côté de l’autre, et aussi tranquilles que s’ils -n’eussent pas dû se couper la gorge au lever de l’aurore. - -Seigneur chevalier, seriez-vous par bonheur amoureux? demanda l’inconnu. - -Pour mon malheur, je le suis, répondit notre héros, quoique, après tout, -les souffrances qui résultent du choix d’un trop noble sujet puissent -plutôt passer pour des biens que pour des maux. - -Oui, reprit l’inconnu, si les dédains d’une ingrate n’en venaient pas à -troubler notre raison, et à nous exciter à la vengeance. - -Pour moi, repartit don Quichotte, je n’ai jamais éprouvé le dédain de ma -dame. - -Non, par ma foi, interrompit Sancho; notre maîtresse est tendre comme la -rosée, et plus douce qu’un mouton. - -Est-ce là votre écuyer? demanda l’inconnu du bocage à don Quichotte. - -C’est mon écuyer, répondit notre héros. - -En vérité, répliqua l’inconnu, il est le premier que j’aie entendu -parler si librement en présence de son maître; j’ai là le mien, qui n’a -jamais été assez hardi pour desserrer les dents, quand il est devant -moi. - -Eh bien, moi, s’écria Sancho, j’ai parlé et je parlerai devant le... et -même plus... mais laissons cela. - -En ce moment, l’autre écuyer tira Sancho par le bras, et lui dit à -l’oreille: Frère, cherchons quelque endroit où nous puissions parler à -notre aise, et laissons ici nos maîtres s’entretenir de leurs amours; -car le jour les surprendra qu’ils n’auront pas encore fini. - -Volontiers, repartit Sancho; je serais bien aise d’apprendre à Votre -Grâce qui je suis, et de vous montrer si c’est à moi qu’on peut -reprocher d’être un bavard. - -Tous deux s’en furent à l’écart, et il s’établit entre eux une -conversation pour le moins aussi plaisante que celle de leurs maîtres -fut sérieuse. - -CHAPITRE XIII - -OU SE POURSUIT L’AVENTURE DU CHEVALIER DU BOCAGE AVEC LE PIQUANT -DIALOGUE QU’EURENT ENSEMBLE LES ÉCUYERS - -Ainsi séparés, d’un côté étaient les chevaliers, de l’autre les écuyers, -ceux-ci se racontant leurs vies, ceux-là se confiant leurs amours; mais -l’histoire s’occupe d’abord de la conversation des valets, et rapporte -que l’écuyer du Bocage dit à Sancho: - -Il faut convenir, frère, qu’il y a peu d’existences aussi rudes que -celles des écuyers errants, et c’est bien à eux que peut s’appliquer la -malédiction dont Dieu frappa notre premier père, quand il lui dit: «Tu -mangeras ton pain à la sueur de ton front.» - -Et à la froidure de ton corps, ajouta Sancho, car qui souffre plus de -l’intempérie des saisons qu’un écuyer dans la chevalerie errante? Encore -s’il avait toujours de quoi manger, le mal serait moins grand: avec du -pain on nargue le chagrin; mais il se passe des jours entiers où nous -n’avons rien à mettre sous la dent, si ce n’est pourtant l’air que nous -respirons. - -Quand on a l’espoir d’être récompensé quelque jour, tout cela peut se -prendre en patience, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage; car il faut qu’un -chevalier errant soit bien peu chanceux s’il n’a pas une fois en sa vie -une île ou un comté à donner à son écuyer. - -J’ai souvent dit à mon maître qu’avec une île je me tiendrais pour -satisfait, répliqua Sancho, et il est si noble et si libéral qu’il me -l’a promise bien des fois. - -Je n’ai pas de si hautes prétentions, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage, et -avec un canonicat dont mon maître m’a déjà pourvu je me trouverai -amplement récompensé de mes services. - -Votre maître, demanda Sancho, est donc chevalier ecclésiastique, -puisqu’il peut donner un canonicat à son écuyer? Quant au mien, il est -simple laïque; et pourtant, je me rappelle que des gens d’esprit et de -sens, dans des intentions suspectes, à mon avis, lui conseillaient de -devenir archevêque. Par bonheur, il ne voulut jamais être qu’empereur; -mais je tremblais qu’il ne lui prît fantaisie de se faire d’église; car, -entre nous, tout dégourdi que je paraisse, vous saurez que je ne suis -qu’une bête pour gérer un bénéfice. - -Ne vous y trompez pas, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage, les gouvernements -d’îles ne sont pas si aisés à conduire que vous pourriez le supposer, et -souvent on n’y trouve pas même de l’eau à boire. Il y en a de fort -pauvres, d’autres sont très-mélancoliques; et les meilleurs sont des -charges fort pesantes que se mettent sur les épaules certains -gouverneurs; aussi à toute heure en voit-on qui ploient sous le faix. -Tenez, plutôt que d’exercer une profession comme la nôtre, on ferait -mieux de s’en aller chez soi pour y passer le temps à des exercices plus -paisibles, tels que la chasse ou la pêche; car quel est l’écuyer, si -pauvre soit-il, qui n’a pas quelque méchant cheval et une couple de -lévriers, ou tout au moins une ligne à pêcher, pour se divertir dans son -village? - -A l’exception du cheval, je possède tout cela, répondit Sancho; mais -j’ai un âne qui, sans le flatter, vaut deux fois le cheval de mon -maître; aussi je me garderais bien de le troquer, me donnât-t-il quatre -boisseaux d’avoine en retour. Sur ma foi, vous ne sauriez croire ce que -vaut mon grison, je dis grison, parce que c’est sa couleur; quant aux -lévriers, du diable si j’en manquais, car il y en a de reste dans notre -village, et la chasse est d’autant plus agréable qu’on la fait aux -dépens d’autrui. - -Seigneur, dit l’écuyer du Bocage, il faut que je vous avoue une chose: -c’est que j’ai résolu de laisser là cette ridicule chevalerie et de me -retirer chez moi, afin d’y vivre en paix et d’élever mes enfants; j’en -ai trois, Dieu merci, qui sont beaux comme des anges. - -Moi, repartit Sancho, j’en ai deux qu’on pourrait présenter au pape en -personne, surtout une jeune créature que j’élève pour être comtesse, -s’il plaît à Dieu, quoique un peu en dépit de sa mère. - -Eh! quel âge a cette demoiselle que vous élevez pour être comtesse? -demanda l’écuyer du Bocage. - -Environ quinze ans et demi, plus ou moins, répondit Sancho; elle est -grande comme une perche, fraîche comme une matinée d’avril, et forte -comme un portefaix. - -Peste! s’écria l’écuyer du Bocage, voilà bien des qualités: il y a là de -quoi faire non-seulement une comtesse, mais encore une nymphe du vert -bosquet. Oh! la gueuse, la fille de gueuse, elle m’a la mine de porter -joliment son bois! - -Ma fille n’est point une gueuse, repartit Sancho avec humeur, ni sa mère -non plus; et il n’en entrera jamais à la maison tant que je vivrai. -Seigneur écuyer, parlons plus sagement: pour un homme nourri parmi les -chevaliers errants, qui sont la courtoisie même, vos propos sont -très-malsonnants. - -Oh! que vous vous connaissez mal en fait de louanges! répliqua l’écuyer -du Bocage. N’avez-vous donc jamais entendu, lorsque dans un combat de -taureaux le toréador vient de faire un beau coup, chacun s’écrier: Oh! -le gueux, le fils de gueuse, comme il s’en est bien tiré! Vous voyez -donc que ce n’est pas une injure, mais une sorte de louange. Allez, -seigneur, reniez plutôt vos enfants s’ils ne font rien pour mériter de -pareils éloges. - -A ce compte-là vous pourriez leur jeter toute une gueuserie sur le -corps, repartit Sancho; mais j’espère qu’ils ne me causeront point ce -chagrin, car ils ne font et ne disent rien qui mérite de pareils -compliments: aussi je voudrais déjà les revoir, tant je les aime, et -tous les jours je prie Dieu qu’il me tire de ce dangereux métier -d’écuyer, où je me suis fourré encore une fois dans l’espoir de trouver -une bourse de cent ducats, comme je l’ai déjà fait dans la -Sierra-Morena. Depuis lors, le diable me met à toute heure devant les -yeux un sac de doublons; il me semble en ce moment que je le vois, que -je me jette dessus, que je le tiens entre mes bras, que je l’emporte -dans ma maison, que j’en achète des terres, et que je vis comme un -prince. Aussi chaque fois que je pense à cela, je compte pour rien -toutes les fatigues que j’endure à la suite de mon maître, qui, je le -vois bien, tient plus du fou que du chevalier. - -C’est pour cela qu’on dit convoitise rompt le sac, reprit l’écuyer du -Bocage; et, s’il faut parler de nos maîtres, je ne crois pas qu’il y ait -au monde un plus grand fou que le mien; il est de ceux dont on dit: Des -soucis d’autrui, l’âne dépérit. Ainsi, pour rétablir en son bon sens un -chevalier qui est devenu fou, il est devenu fou lui-même, et il va -chercher sans difficulté une chose telle, que s’il la trouvait, il -pourrait bien s’en mordre les doigts. - -Serait-il par hasard amoureux, votre maître? dit Sancho. - -Justement, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage, il est amoureux d’une certaine -Cassildée de Vandalie, qui est la plus cruelle créature et la plus -difficile à gouverner qu’on puisse rencontrer dans le monde. Mais ce -n’est point cela qui occupe mon maître en ce moment: il a bien d’autres -projets en tête, comme il le fera voir avant peu. - -Il n’est chemin si uni qui n’ait quelques pierres à faire broncher, -reprit Sancho; si l’on fait cuire des fèves chez les autres, chez nous -c’est à pleine marmite, et la folie a toujours plus de commensaux que la -raison. Mais si, comme je l’ai entendu dire souvent, les malheureux se -consolent entre eux, je pourrai me consoler avec Votre Grâce, puisque -vous servez un maître aussi fou que le mien. - -Fou, oui, mais vaillant, dit l’écuyer du Bocage, et plus matois encore -que vaillant et que fou. - -Oh! ce n’est point ainsi qu’est mon maître, reprit Sancho: il n’y a pas -chez lui la moindre malice; au contraire, il a un cœur de pigeon, et il -est incapable de faire du mal à une fourmi; de plus, il est si naïf, -qu’un enfant lui ferait accroire qu’il est nuit en plein jour. Eh bien, -c’est une simplicité qui fait que je l’aime comme la prunelle de mes -yeux, et que je ne puis me résoudre à le quitter malgré toutes ses -extravagances. - -Mais, en fin de compte, dit l’écuyer du Bocage, quand un aveugle en -conduit un autre, il y a danger pour les deux. Je pense donc que le -meilleur et le plus sûr serait de battre en retraite et de regagner nos -gîtes; car ceux qui cherchent les aventures ne les trouvent pas toujours -comme ils les voudraient. - -En cet endroit de la conversation, l’écuyer du Bocage s’apercevant que -Sancho crachait souvent et avec peine, lui dit: Seigneur, il me semble -qu’à force de parler nous nous sommes desséché le gosier et la langue; -il n’y aurait pas grand mal de nous les rafraîchir, et, contre de tels -accidents, mon cheval porte à l’arçon de ma selle un remède qui n’est -pas à dédaigner. Attendez-moi un moment. - -Cela dit, il se leva, et revint bientôt après portant une grande outre -pleine de vin, et un pâté si long, que Sancho crut qu’il contenait non -pas un chevreau, mais un bouc. - -Comment, seigneur! dit Sancho en le débarrassant du pâté, ce sont là vos -provisions? - -Et qu’attendiez-vous donc? répondit l’écuyer du Bocage: me preniez-vous -pour un écuyer au pain et à l’eau? Je ne me mets jamais en chemin sans -avoir semblable valise en croupe. - -Ils s’assirent à terre; et Sancho, sans se faire prier, se mit à manger -d’un si grand appétit, que, grâce à l’obscurité, il avalait des morceaux -gros comme le poing. - -Seigneur, dit-il, à en juger par les provisions que vous portez, si vous -n’êtes point ici par enchantement, au moins le croirait-on; vous êtes -bien le plus magnifique et le plus généreux écuyer que j’aie rencontré -de ma vie; en vérité, vous méritez d’être celui d’un roi. Tandis que -moi, pauvre diable, je n’ai dans mon bissac qu’un morceau de fromage si -dur, si dur, qu’on pourrait en casser la tête à un géant: puis quelques -oignons et deux ou trois douzaines de noisettes qui lui font compagnie, -grâce à la détresse de mon maître, et à la conviction où il est que les -chevaliers errants doivent se contenter de quelques fruits secs et des -herbes des champs. - -Mon estomac n’est point accoutumé aux oignons et aux racines sauvages, -répliqua l’écuyer du Bocage; que nos maîtres vivent tant qu’ils voudront -selon les règles de leur étroite chevalerie; moi, je porte toujours des -viandes froides, et de plus cette outre pendue à l’arçon de ma selle: -c’est ma fidèle compagne, et je l’aime si tendrement que je lui donne à -chaque instant mille embrassades et mille baisers. - -En disant cela, il passa l’outre à Sancho, qui, l’ayant aussitôt portée -à sa bouche, se mit à regarder les étoiles pendant un bon quart d’heure. -Quand il eut achevé d’étancher sa soif, il laissa tomber sa tête sur son -épaule, et jetant un profond soupir, il s’écria: Oh! le fils de gueuse! -comme il est catholique et comme il se laisse avaler! - -Ah! pour le coup, je vous y prends, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage: comment -venez-vous d’appeler ce vin? - -Je conviens, répondit Sancho, ce n’est pas une injure que d’appeler -quelqu’un fils de gueuse, quand c’est avec intention de le louer. Mais, -dites-moi, seigneur, par le salut de votre âme, n’est-ce pas là du vin -de Ciudad-Réal? - -Par ma foi, vous êtes un fin gourmet, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage; vous -l’avez deviné, il n’est pas d’un autre cru, et il est vieux de plusieurs -années. - -Oh! j’ai le nez bon, repartit Sancho; et pour se connaître en vin, je -défie qui que ce soit: rien qu’au flair je vous dirai d’où il vient, -quel est son âge, s’il est de garde; enfin toutes ses bonnes ou -mauvaises qualités. Et il ne faut pas s’étonner de cela: dans ma -famille, du côté de mon père, nous avons eu les deux plus fameux -gourmets qui se soient jamais vus dans toute la Manche. Ce que je vais -vous conter en est la preuve. Un jour on les appela pour avoir leur avis -sur du vin qui était dans une cuve. L’un en mit sur le bout de sa -langue, l’autre l’approcha de son nez; le premier prétendit que le vin -sentait le fer, le second assura qu’il sentait le cuir; le maître du vin -jura qu’il était franc, et qu’on n’y avait rien mis qui pût lui donner -aucune odeur: mais nos deux gourmets ne voulurent pas en démordre. A -quelque temps de là, le vin se vendit, et quand on eut nettoyé la cuve, -on trouva, au fond, une petite clef attachée à une aiguillette de cuir. -Maintenant, seigneur, dites-moi si un homme qui sort d’une telle race -peut donner son avis en semblable matière? - -Assurément, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage, mais à quoi cela vous sert-il -dans le métier que vous faites? Croyez-moi, laissons la chevalerie et -les aventures pour ce qu’elles valent, et puisque nous avons du pain -chez nous, n’allons pas chercher des tourtes là où il n’y a peut-être -pas de farine. - -J’ai résolu d’accompagner mon maître jusqu’à Saragosse, repartit Sancho; -mais après, serviteur! et je verrai le parti qu’il me faudra prendre. - -Finalement, tant parlèrent et tant burent nos deux écuyers, que le -sommeil seul fut capable de mettre fin à leurs propos et à leurs -rasades. Aussi, tous deux, tenant embrassée l’outre à peu près vide, et -ayant encore les morceaux mâchés dans la bouche, ils s’endormirent sur -la place. Nous les y laisserons, pour conter ce qui se passa entre le -chevalier du Bocage et le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -CHAPITRE XIV - -OU SE POURSUIT L’AVENTURE DU CHEVALIER DU BOCAGE - -Parmi beaucoup de propos qu’échangèrent don Quichotte et le chevalier du -Bocage, l’histoire raconte que celui-ci dit à l’autre: Enfin, Seigneur, -vous saurez que ma destinée, ou plutôt mon libre choix, m’a rendu -amoureux de la sans pareille Cassildée de Vandalie; je dis sans -pareille, parce qu’elle n’a point d’égale pour l’élégance de la taille, -ni pour la perfection de la beauté; eh bien, quoique j’aie pu faire, -cette Cassildée, dont je vous parle, n’a su récompenser mes honnêtes -pensées et mes chastes désirs qu’en m’exposant sans cesse comme la -marâtre d’Hercule à une foule de périlleux travaux, me flattant de -l’espérance toujours déçue de me récompenser à la fin de chaque -aventure. - -Une fois, le croiriez-vous, elle m’a commandé d’aller combattre en champ -clos cette fameuse géante de Séville, appelée la Giralda[81], qui, tout -naturellement offre la résistance et la force du bronze, et qui, sans -jamais bouger de place, est la plus volage et la plus changeante femme -de la terre. Je vins, je la vis, je la vainquis, et je la tins immobile, -aidé d’un vent du nord qui souffla toute une semaine. Une autre fois, -Cassildée m’ordonna d’aller prendre et soupeser les formidables -taureaux de Guisando[82], entreprise plus digne d’un portefaix que d’un -chevalier. Ce n’est pas tout, elle a voulu que je me précipitasse tout -vivant dans les profondeurs de Cabra pour lui rapporter une relation -exacte de ce que renferme cet obscur abîme, entreprise téméraire, -inouïe, et dont on ne peut sortir que par miracle. Eh bien, j’arrêtai la -Giralda, je soupesai les taureaux de Guisando, je révélai le secret des -abîmes de Cabra, sans que Cassildée cessât de se montrer ingrate et -dédaigneuse. Enfin, pour dernière épreuve, elle m’a ordonné de parcourir -toutes les provinces d’Espagne, afin de faire confesser à tous les -chevaliers errants que je viendrais à rencontrer, qu’elle seule mérite -le sceptre de la beauté, et que je suis le plus vaillant et le plus -amoureux des chevaliers. J’ai obéi, et dans plusieurs rencontres, j’ai -vaincu bon nombre de chevaliers assez hardis pour me contredire. Mais, -je dois l’avouer, l’exploit dont je suis le plus fier, c’est d’avoir -vaincu en combat singulier, le fameux, l’illustre chevalier don -Quichotte de la Manche, et de lui avoir fait confesser que ma Cassildée -de Vandalie est incomparablement plus belle que sa Dulcinée du Toboso: -victoire à jamais glorieuse pour moi, et dans laquelle je puis me vanter -d’avoir triomphé de tous les chevaliers errants du monde, puisque le -fameux, l’illustre don Quichotte dont je vous parle les a tous vaincus. - - [81] La Giralda, grande statue de bronze qui sert de girouette à la - haute tour arabe de la cathédrale de Séville. - - [82] Les taureaux de Guisando sont quatre énormes blocs de pierre qui - ont la forme de taureaux; ils sont dans la province d’Avila. - -Don Quichotte eut besoin de toute sa courtoisie pour ne pas donner sur -le champ un démenti au chevalier du Bocage; la formule consacrée _tu en -as menti_ lui vint même au bout de la langue: il se contint toutefois, -certain de lui faire confesser plus tard son erreur de sa propre bouche. - -Seigneur, lui dit-il avec calme, que Votre Grâce ait triomphé de la -plupart des chevaliers errants d’Espagne et même du monde entier, à cela -je n’ai rien à répondre; mais que vous ayez vaincu don Quichotte de la -Manche, vous me permettrez d’en douter; il se pourrait que ce fût -quelqu’un qui lui ressemblât, quoiqu’à vrai dire il y ait bien peu de -gens qui lui ressemblent. - -Non, non répliqua le chevalier du Bocage, c’est bien don Quichotte de la -Manche que j’ai combattu, que j’ai vaincu, que j’ai fait rendre à merci. -C’est un homme de haute taille, maigre de visage, qui a les membres -longs et grêles, les cheveux grisonnants, le nez aquilin et même un peu -crochu, les moustaches grandes, noires et tombantes; il combat sous le -nom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure, et mène pour écuyer un paysan -nommé Sancho Panza; il presse le flanc et dirige le frein d’un fameux -coursier appelé Rossinante; enfin il a pour dame de ses pensées une -certaine Dulcinée du Toboso, appelée jadis Aldonça Lorenzo, comme la -mienne que j’appelle Cassildée de Vandalie, parce qu’elle a nom Cassilda -et qu’elle est Andalouse: maintenant si tout cela ne suffit pas pour -prouver ce que j’avance, j’ai là une épée qui saura mettre les -incrédules à la raison. - -Doucement, seigneur chevalier, reprit don Quichotte; ne vous emportez -pas, et écoutez ce que je vais vous dire. Apprenez que ce don Quichotte -est le meilleur ami que j’aie au monde, et que sa réputation ne m’est -pas moins chère que la mienne. Aux indices que vous m’en donnez, je dois -croire que c’est lui-même que vous avez vaincu; cependant, je vois avec -les yeux et je touche avec les mains que cela est de toute -impossibilité, et je ne trouve aucune explication à ce que vous -affirmez, si ce n’est que des enchanteurs, surtout un, qui est son -ennemi particulier, aura pris sa ressemblance et se sera laissé vaincre -tout exprès pour lui enlever la gloire que ses exploits lui ont si -justement acquise par toute la terre; et pour preuve de cela, je dois -vous apprendre qu’il y a deux jours à peine, ces mécréants ont -transformé la belle Dulcinée du Toboso en une horrible paysanne. Ils -auront sans doute aussi transformé don Quichotte. Si, après cela, il -vous reste encore quelque incertitude, voici devant vous don Quichotte -en personne qui maintiendra ce qu’il avance les armes à la main, soit à -pied, soit à cheval, enfin de telle manière qui vous conviendra. - -En même temps, don Quichotte se leva brusquement, et portant la main sur -la garde de son épée, il attendit la décision du chevalier du Bocage, -qui lui répondit froidement: - -Un bon payeur ne craint pas de donner des gages, seigneur chevalier; -celui qui une première fois a su vous vaincre transformé peut espérer -vous vaincre de nouveau sous votre forme véritable. Mais comme il n’est -pas convenable que les chevaliers errants accomplissent leurs exploits -dans les ténèbres, ainsi que des vauriens et des brigands, attendons le -lever du soleil, et alors nous verrons à qui des deux Mars sera -favorable; toutefois, seigneur, sous cette condition, que le vaincu -restera à la discrétion du vainqueur, et sera obligé de faire ce qu’il -lui ordonnera, pourvu que ce soit selon les règles de la chevalerie. - -Cela dit, ils se rapprochèrent de leurs écuyers, qu’ils trouvèrent -dormant et ronflant dans la même posture où ils avaient été surpris par -le sommeil; ils les réveillèrent en leur ordonnant de tenir leurs -chevaux prêts et en bon état, parce qu’au lever du soleil allait se -livrer un combat sanglant et formidable. - -Atterré de cette nouvelle, Sancho tremblait déjà pour les jours de son -maître, après les prouesses qu’il avait entendu raconter du chevalier du -Bocage par son écuyer. Tous deux néanmoins se mirent en devoir d’obéir, -et s’en furent chercher leur troupeau; car, après s’être flairés, les -trois chevaux et l’âne paissaient ensemble. - -Chemin faisant, l’écuyer du Bocage dit à Sancho: Vous saurez, frère, que -la coutume des écuyers d’Andalousie n’est pas de rester les bras croisés -quand leurs maîtres se battent; ainsi nous n’avons qu’à nous préparer à -jouer des couteaux. - -Cette coutume peut être celle des bravaches dont vous parlez, répondit -Sancho; mais que ce soit la coutume des chevaliers errants, je ne le -pense pas; au moins n’ai-je jamais entendu dire rien de semblable à mon -maître, lui qui sait par cœur tous les règlements de la chevalerie. -D’ailleurs, s’il y a obligation pour les écuyers de se battre quand -s’escriment leurs seigneurs, il doit y avoir une peine pour les -contrevenants; eh bien, je préfère payer l’amende; elle n’excédera -point, j’en suis sûr, la valeur de deux livres de cire[83]; aussi, -j’aime mieux payer les cierges que de recevoir quelque mauvais coup et -de me ruiner en emplâtres; il y a plus, c’est que je n’ai point d’épée, -et que je n’en ai porté de ma vie. - - [83] C’était l’amende à laquelle on condamnait les membres d’une - confrérie absents le jour d’une réunion - -Qu’à cela ne tienne, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage; j’ai là deux sacs de -toile de la même grandeur: Votre Grâce en prendra un, moi l’autre, et -de la sorte nous combattrons à armes égales. - -Très-bien, dit Sancho: d’autant que ces armes seront plus propres à ôter -la poussière de nos habits qu’à nous faire du mal. - -Comment l’entendez-vous? répliqua l’écuyer du Bocage: nous mettrons dans -chaque sac, afin que le vent ne les emporte pas, une douzaine de jolis -cailloux bien polis, bien ronds, et après cela nous pourrons nous battre -tout à notre aise. - -Une douzaine de cailloux! quelle ouate! repartit Sancho; si vous avez la -tête de bronze, la mienne est de chair et d’os: mais, je vous le dis et -le redis, n’y aurait-il dans les sacs que des cocons de soie, je ne me -sens pas d’humeur à guerroyer: laissons nos maîtres combattre tant -qu’ils voudront, s’ils en ont envie; quant à nous, buvons et mangeons, -par ma foi, c’est le plus court et le plus sûr; le temps se chargera -bien assez du soin de nous ôter la vie, sans travailler à la raccourcir -nous-mêmes avant qu’elle soit à terme et tombe de maturité. - -Vous avez beau dire, répliqua l’écuyer du Bocage, nous nous battrons au -moins une demi-heure. - -Non, non, répondit Sancho, pas même une minute: je suis trop courtois -pour chercher querelle à un homme avec qui je viens de boire et de -manger; et puis, diable! qui peut songer à se battre sans être en -colère? - -A cela je sais un remède, dit l’écuyer du Bocage: avant de commencer le -combat je m’approcherai tout doucement de Votre Grâce, et avec cinq ou -six coups de poing par les mâchoires et autant de coups de pied dans le -ventre, je suis assuré de réveiller votre colère, fût-elle plus endormie -qu’une marmotte. - -Et moi j’en sais un autre qui ne lui cède en rien, reprit Sancho: je -prendrai un bon gourdin, et avant que vous ayez réveillé ma colère, -j’endormirai si bien la vôtre, qu’elle ne pourra se réveiller que dans -l’autre monde. Oh! je ne suis pas homme à me laisser manier de la -sorte; tenez, le meilleur est de laisser dormir chacun notre colère. Il -ne faut point, comme on dit, réveiller le chat qui dort, et tel souvent -va chercher de la laine qui revient tondu. Dieu a béni la paix et maudit -les querelles; faisons de même: aussi bien, si un chat enfermé se change -en lion, en quoi suis-je capable de me changer, moi qui suis un homme? - -C’est bien, dit l’écuyer du Bocage; le jour ne tardera pas à paraître, -et nous verrons ce qu’il faudra faire. - -Déjà l’on entendait gazouiller dans le feuillage une foule de petits -oiseaux, saluant de leurs cris joyeux la venue de la blanche aurore, qui -commençait à se montrer sur les balcons de l’Orient. De sa chevelure -dorée ruisselait un nombre infini de perles liquides, et les plantes, -baignées de cette suave liqueur, paraissaient elles-mêmes répandre des -gouttes de diamant; les saules distillaient une manne savoureuse, les -fontaines semblaient rire, les ruisseaux murmurer, les bois prenaient un -air de fête et les prairies se paraient de fleurs. - -Aussitôt que le jour parut, le premier objet qui s’offrit aux regards de -Sancho fut le nez de l’écuyer du Bocage, nez si grand, si énorme, qu’il -faisait ombre sur son corps. En effet, l’histoire raconte que ce nez -était d’une longueur démesurée, bossu au milieu, tout couvert de -verrues, d’une couleur violacée comme celle des mûres, et qu’il -descendait deux doigts plus bas que la bouche. Cette hideuse vision -épouvanta si fort le pauvre Sancho, et il fut saisi d’un tel tremblement -que, tout bas, il se vouait à tous les saints d’Espagne, afin d’être -délivré de ce fantôme, bien résolu d’en recevoir cent gourmades plutôt -que de laisser éveiller sa propre colère pour combattre ce vampire. - -Don Quichotte regarda aussi son adversaire; mais celui-ci avait déjà le -casque en tête et la visière baissée, de sorte qu’il ne put le voir au -visage; seulement il remarqua que c’était un homme fort et robuste, -quoique de moyenne taille; par-dessus ses armes il portait une casaque -qui paraissait de brocart d’or; on y voyait éclater quantité de petites -lunes ou miroirs d’argent, et ce riche costume lui prêtait beaucoup -d’élégance et de grâce; son casque était surmonté de plumes jaunes, -vertes et blanches; sa lance, appuyée contre un arbre, était grosse et -longue, et terminée par une pointe d’acier d’une palme de long. De tout -cela, don Quichotte conclut que l’inconnu devait être d’une force peu -commune; mais loin de s’en étonner, il s’avança vers lui d’un air -dégagé: Seigneur, lui dit-il, si l’ardeur qui vous porte au combat -n’altère point votre courtoisie, je vous prie de lever un moment votre -visière, afin que je puisse voir si votre bonne mine répond à la vigueur -qu’annonce votre noble taille. - -Vainqueur ou vaincu, répondit le chevalier des Miroirs, vous aurez tout -le temps de m’examiner après le combat; je ne puis accéder à votre -demande, car il me semble que je fais tort à la beauté de ma Cassildée -et à ma gloire, en reculant d’une seule minute l’aveu que je dois vous -arracher. - -Au moins, répliqua notre héros, vous pouvez me dire, avant que nous -montions à cheval, si je suis ce don Quichotte que vous prétendez avoir -vaincu. - -A cela, je répondrai qu’on ne peut pas avoir plus de ressemblance, dit -le chevalier des Miroirs: mais, après ce que vous m’avez dit de la -persécution des enchanteurs, je n’oserais jurer que vous soyez le même. - -Il suffit, reprit don Quichotte; qu’on amène nos chevaux, et je vous -tirerai d’erreur en moins de temps que vous n’en auriez mis à lever -votre visière; si Dieu, ma dame et mon bras, ne me font pas défaut, je -verrai votre visage, et vous me direz alors si je suis ce don Quichotte -qui se laisse vaincre si aisément. - -Ils montèrent à cheval sans discourir davantage, et tournèrent leurs -chevaux pour prendre du champ; mais à peine s’étaient-ils éloignés -d’une vingtaine de pas, que le chevalier des Miroirs appela don -Quichotte. - -Seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il en se rapprochant, vous savez les -conditions de notre combat; le vaincu sera à la disposition du -vainqueur. - -Je le sais, répondit don Quichotte; mais à la condition aussi que le -vainqueur n’imposera rien de contraire aux lois de la chevalerie. - -Cela est de toute justice, repartit le chevalier des Miroirs. - -En ce moment, l’étrange nez de l’écuyer du Bocage vint frapper les -regards de don Quichotte, qui n’en fut pas moins surpris que Sancho; il -crut même voir une sorte de monstre, un homme de race nouvelle, -jusqu’alors inconnu sur la terre. Sancho, voyant partir son maître pour -prendre du champ, ne voulut pas rester seul avec cet effroyable nez; -s’accrochant à une des courroies de la selle de Rossinante, il courut -derrière don Quichotte, et dès qu’il le vit prêt à tourner bride, il lui -dit à l’oreille: Seigneur, je vous supplie de m’aider à grimper sur ce -chêne, afin que je puisse voir plus à mon aise votre combat avec ce -chevalier. - -N’est-ce point plutôt, dit don Quichotte, que tu veux monter sur les -banquettes pour voir sans danger courir les taureaux? - -S’il faut dire la vérité, repartit Sancho, l’effroyable nez de cet homme -me fait peur, et je n’ai pas le courage de rester seul avec lui. - -Il est tel, en effet, reprit don Quichotte, que si je n’étais pas ce que -je suis, il me ferait trembler moi-même. Viens çà, que je t’aide à -accomplir ton dessein. - -Pendant que don Quichotte secondait les efforts de Sancho, le chevalier -des Miroirs prenait le champ qu’il jugeait nécessaire; et pensant que -son adversaire avait fait de même, il tourna bride pour venir à sa -rencontre de toute la vitesse de son cheval, c’est-à-dire au petit trot, -car son coursier ne valait guère mieux que Rossinante. Mais en voyant -don Quichotte occupé à prêter secours à Sancho, il s’arrêta au milieu de -la carrière, à la grande satisfaction de sa monture, qui ne pouvait déjà -plus remuer. Notre héros, qui croyait au contraire que son adversaire -allait tomber sur lui comme la foudre, enfonça vigoureusement l’éperon -dans les flancs de Rossinante, et le fit détaler de telle sorte, que -l’histoire rapporte qu’il prit enfin le galop, ce qui ne lui était -jamais arrivé. Ainsi emporté, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure s’élança -sur celui des Miroirs, qui ne cessait de talonner son cheval sans -pouvoir le faire avancer; et le choc fut si violent, qu’il lui fit vider -les arçons et le coucha par terre privé de connaissance. - -Sancho, se laissant glisser de son arbre, vint en toute hâte rejoindre -son maître, qui déjà s’était précipité sur le vaincu, et lui détachait -les courroies de son armet, pour voir s’il était mort, ou pour lui -donner de l’air, si par hasard il était encore vivant. Il reconnut... -(comment le dire sans frapper d’étonnement et d’épouvante ceux qui -liront ce récit?...) il reconnut, dit l’histoire, le visage, la figure, -l’aspect, l’effigie, enfin toute l’apparence du bachelier Samson -Carrasco. A cette vue, il appela Sancho à grands cris: Accours, mon -fils, lui dit-il, accours, viens voir ce que tu ne pourras jamais -croire, même après l’avoir vu; regarde quel est le pouvoir de la magie, -la malice des enchanteurs et la force des enchantements. - -L’écuyer s’approcha, et reconnaissant Samson Carrasco, il se signa plus -de mille fois. Mais comme le chevalier vaincu ne donnait pas signe de -vie: Seigneur, dit-il à son maître, plantez-moi, à tout hasard, votre -épée deux ou trois fois dans la gorge de cet homme qui ressemble si -fort au bachelier; peut-être tuerez-vous en lui un de vos ennemis les -enchanteurs. - -Tu as raison, repartit don Quichotte; aussi bien, plus de morts, moins -d’ennemis. Et déjà il tirait son épée quand l’écuyer du chevalier des -Miroirs, qui n’avait plus ce nez qui le rendait si effroyable, accourut -en criant de toutes ses forces: Arrêtez, seigneur, arrêtez, prenez garde -à ce que vous allez faire, cet homme étendu à vos pieds est le bachelier -Samson Carrasco, votre bon ami, et moi qui vous parle, je lui servais -d’écuyer. - -A d’autres, répliqua Sancho; qu’est devenu le nez? - -Le voici, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage; et il tira de sa poche un nez de -carton vernissé, tel qu’il a été dépeint. - -Sainte-Vierge! s’écria Sancho en regardant l’homme qui le lui montrait, -n’est-ce pas là Thomas Cécial, mon voisin et mon compère? - -C’est lui-même, ami Sancho, répondit Thomas, c’est votre voisin, et qui -vous dira tout à l’heure par suite de quelle intrigue il se trouve ici. -Mais priez d’abord votre maître de ne point faire de mal à ce chevalier -qu’il tient sous ses pieds, et qui n’est autre que le pauvre et -imprudent Samson Carrasco. - -En cet instant, le chevalier des Miroirs revint à lui, et au premier -signe de vie qu’il donna, don Quichotte lui présentant l’épée à la -gorge: Vous êtes mort, chevalier, lui dit-il, si vous ne confessez que -la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso l’emporte en beauté sur votre -Cassildée de Vandalie. Vous allez promettre en outre, dans le cas où -vous survivriez à ce combat et à cette chute, de vous rendre à la ville -du Toboso, et de vous présenter devant madame, pour qu’elle dispose de -vous selon son bon plaisir. Si elle vous laisse libre, vous reviendrez -me chercher à la trace de mes exploits, afin de me rendre compte de ce -qui se sera passé entre elle et vous, conditions qui, ainsi que nous en -sommes convenus avant le combat, ne sortent pas des règles de la -chevalerie. - -Oui, je le confesse, répondit le pauvre Carrasco, mieux vaut cent fois -le soulier sale et déchiré de madame Dulcinée du Toboso, que les mules -brodées d’or de Cassildée de Vandalie; je promets d’aller au Toboso me -présenter devant votre dame, et de revenir ensuite vous rendre un compte -exact et détaillé de ce que vous demandez. - -Il faut encore confesser, continua don Quichotte, que le chevalier que -vous avez vaincu n’était ni ne pouvait être don Quichotte de la Manche, -mais seulement quelqu’un qui lui ressemblait: comme aussi, de mon côté, -je reconnais que vous n’êtes point le bachelier Samson Carrasco, mais -quelque autre qui lui ressemble, et à qui les enchanteurs mes ennemis -ont donné le même visage et la même forme, afin de modérer les -mouvements impétueux de ma colère, et me faire user avec clémence de la -victoire. - -J’avoue tout cela et le confesse selon votre désir, dit Carrasco; -laissez-moi seulement me remettre debout, je suis fort incommodé de ma -chute. - -Don Quichotte l’aida à se relever, secondé par Thomas Cécial, que Sancho -ne quittait pas des yeux, lui faisant mille questions pour s’assurer si -c’était bien lui qu’il voyait, car il ne pouvait y croire, tant la -rencontre lui semblait surprenante, et tant l’opinion de son maître sur -le pouvoir des enchanteurs s’était fortement imprimé dans son esprit. - -Finalement, maître et valet restèrent dans cette erreur, et le chevalier -des Miroirs s’éloigna, suivi de son écuyer, afin d’aller se faire guérir -les côtes. Un moment après, don Quichotte reprit sa route vers -Saragosse, où il faut le laisser aller pour dire quels étaient le -chevalier des Miroirs et l’écuyer au grand nez. - -CHAPITRE XV - -QUELS ÉTAIENT LE CHEVALIER DES MIROIRS ET L’ÉCUYER AU GRAND NEZ - -Don Quichotte s’en allait tout ravi, tout glorieux, tout fier de la -victoire remportée sur un aussi vaillant adversaire que le chevalier des -Miroirs; confiant dans la parole que ce chevalier lui avait si -solennellement donnée, il comptait apprendre bientôt des nouvelles de -Dulcinée, et surtout si son enchantement durait toujours. Mais si le -vainqueur pensait une chose, le vaincu en pensait une autre; car ce -dernier ne songeait, comme on l’a dit, qu’à se faire guérir promptement -les côtes pour être en état d’exécuter son nouveau dessein. - -Or, voici ce que rapporte l’histoire: lorsque Samson Carrasco conseilla -à don Quichotte de retourner à la recherche des aventures, ce ne fut -qu’après en avoir conféré avec le curé et le barbier. Sur sa proposition -particulière, l’avis unanime fut qu’on laisserait partir notre héros, -puisque le retenir était chose impossible; que quelques jours après, -Carrasco partirait à sa rencontre, en équipage de chevalier errant, -chercherait à le provoquer et à le vaincre, ayant auparavant mis dans -les conditions du combat que le vaincu serait à la discrétion du -vainqueur; qu’alors il lui ordonnerait de retourner dans sa maison, et -de n’en pas sortir sans sa permission avant l’expiration de deux années: -ce que don Quichotte ne manquerait pas d’accomplir religieusement, pour -ne pas contrevenir aux lois de la chevalerie, et qu’alors peut-être il -oublierait ses extravagances, ou du moins qu’on aurait le loisir d’y -apporter remède. Samson s’était chargé de bon cœur de l’entreprise; -Thomas Cécial, compère et voisin de Sancho, et de plus bon compagnon, -s’était offert à lui servir d’écuyer. - -Carrasco s’équipa donc comme nous venons de le voir, et prit le nom de -chevalier des Miroirs. Pour n’être pas reconnu de Sancho, Thomas Cécial -s’étant mis un faux nez, tous deux suivirent don Quichotte à la trace, -et de si près, qu’ils faillirent assister à l’aventure du char de la -Mort; mais ils le rejoignirent seulement dans le bois où eut lieu le -combat que nous venons de raconter; et n’eût été la cervelle détraquée -de don Quichotte, qui se figura que le vaincu n’était point Carrasco, -notre bachelier demeurait à tout jamais hors d’état de prendre ses -licences de docteur. - -Thomas Cécial, voyant le mauvais succès de leur voyage, et le pauvre -Carrasco en si piteux état: Par ma foi, seigneur bachelier, lui dit-il, -nous n’avons que ce que nous méritons; entreprendre une aventure n’est -pas chose difficile, mais la mener à bonne fin est tout différent. Don -Quichotte est un fou, et nous nous croyons sages; cependant il s’en va -sain et content, et nous nous en retournons tous deux tristes, et de -plus vous bien frotté. Dites-moi, je vous prie, quel est le plus fou, ou -de celui qui l’est parce qu’il ne peut s’en empêcher, ou de celui qui le -devient par l’effet de sa volonté? La différence entre ces deux espèces -de fous est que celui qui l’est sans le vouloir, le sera toujours, -tandis que celui qui l’est par sa volonté, cessera de l’être quand il -lui plaira. Ainsi donc, si j’ai consenti à être fou en vous servant -d’écuyer, je veux, pour ne l’être pas davantage, reprendre le chemin de -ma maison. - -Comme il vous conviendra, dit le bachelier: mais si vous croyez que je -rentrerai chez moi avant d’avoir roué de coups don Quichotte, vous vous -trompez étrangement. Ce qui m’anime à cette heure, ce n’est pas le désir -de lui rendre la raison, mais bien le désir de tirer une éclatante -vengeance de l’effroyable douleur que je ressens dans les côtes. - -Tout en parlant ainsi, ils atteignirent un village où, par bonheur, il y -avait un chirurgien; Samson se mit entre ses mains, et Thomas Cécial -reprit le chemin de sa maison. Pendant que le bachelier se fait panser -et songe à sa vengeance, allons retrouver don Quichotte, et voyons s’il -ne nous donnera point de nouveaux sujets de divertissement. - -CHAPITRE XVI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC UN CHEVALIER DE LA MANCHE - -Dans cette satisfaction, ce ravissement et cet orgueil qu’on vient de -dire, notre héros poursuit son chemin, se croyant désormais le plus -vaillant chevalier du monde, car cette dernière victoire lui semblait le -présage assuré de toutes les autres; il tenait pour achevées et menées à -bonne fin les aventures qui pourraient lui arriver désormais; et -narguant enchanteurs et enchantements, il ne se souvenait plus des -nombreux coups de bâton qu’il avait reçus dans le cours de ses -expéditions chevaleresques, ni de cette pluie de pierres qui lui cassa -la moitié des dents, ni de l’ingratitude des forçats, ni de l’insolence -des muletiers yangois. Enfin, se disait-il en lui-même, si je parviens à -découvrir quelque moyen de désenchanter Dulcinée, je n’aurai rien à -envier au plus fortuné de tous les chevaliers errants des siècles -passés. - -Il était plongé dans ces agréables rêveries, lorsque Sancho lui dit: - -Seigneur, n’est-il pas singulier que j’aie toujours devant les yeux cet -effroyable nez de mon compère Cécial? - -Est-ce que par hasard tu t’imagines que le chevalier des Miroirs était -le bachelier Samson Carrasco, et son écuyer Thomas Cécial? repartit don -Quichotte. - -Je ne sais que dire à cela, répondit Sancho, mais tout ce que je sais, -c’est qu’un autre que Cécial ne pouvait savoir ce que celui-là m’a conté -de ma maison, de ma femme et de mes enfants; et puis, quand il n’a plus -ce grand nez, c’est bien le visage de Cécial, c’est aussi le même son de -voix; en un mot, il est tel que je l’ai connu toute ma vie. Je ne puis -m’y tromper, puisque nous demeurons porte à porte et que chaque jour -nous sommes ensemble. - -D’accord, répliqua don Quichotte; mais raisonnons un peu. Comment -peux-tu supposer que le bachelier Samson Carrasco vienne en équipage de -chevalier errant, avec armes offensives et défensives, pour me -combattre? Suis-je son ennemi, lui ai-je jamais donné le moindre sujet -d’être le mien? Peut-il me regarder comme son rival? Enfin exerce-t-il -la profession des armes, pour porter envie à la gloire que je m’y suis -acquise? - -Mais enfin, seigneur, reprit Sancho, que penser de la ressemblance de ce -chevalier avec Samson Carrasco, et de celle de son écuyer avec mon -compère Cécial? Si c’est enchantement, comme le dit Votre Grâce, n’y -a-t-il pas dans le monde d’autres individus dont ils auraient pu prendre -la figure? - -Tout cela n’est qu’artifice et stratagème de mes ennemis les -enchanteurs, dit don Quichotte. Prévoyant que je sortirais vainqueur de -ce combat, ils ont, par prudence, changé le visage de mon adversaire en -celui du bachelier Samson Carrasco, afin que l’amitié qu’ils savent que -je lui porte, arrêtant ma juste fureur, me fît épargner la vie de celui -qui attaquait si déloyalement la mienne. Te faut-il d’autre preuve de la -malice et du pouvoir de ces mécréants, que celle que nous avons eue tout -récemment dans la transformation de Dulcinée? Ne m’as-tu pas dit -toi-même que tu la voyais dans toute sa beauté naturelle, avec tous les -charmes que lui a si largement départis la nature, tandis que moi, objet -de l’aversion de ces misérables, elle m’apparaissait sous la figure -d’une paysanne laide et difforme, avec des yeux chassieux et une haleine -empestée! Qu’y a-t-il donc d’étonnant à ce que l’enchanteur pervers, qui -a osé faire une si détestable transformation, ait également opéré celle -de Samson Carrasco et de ton compère, pour me priver de la gloire du -triomphe? Cependant, j’ai lieu de me consoler, puisque mon bras a été -plus fort que toute sa magie, et qu’en dépit de la puissance d’un art -détestable, mon courage m’a rendu vainqueur. - -Dieu sait la vérité de toutes choses, reprit Sancho peu satisfait des -raisonnements de son maître; mais il ne voulait pas le contredire, dans -la crainte de découvrir sa supercherie à propos de l’enchantement de -Dulcinée. - -Ils en étaient là de leur entretien, quand ils furent rejoints par un -cavalier monté sur une belle jument gris pommelé. Ce cavalier portait un -caban de drap vert, avec une bordure de velours fauve, et sur la tête -une _montera_ de même étoffe; un cimeterre moresque, soutenu par un -baudrier vert et or, pendait à sa ceinture. Ses bottines étaient du même -travail que le baudrier, et ses éperons également vernis de vert d’un -bruni si luisant, que par leur harmonie avec le reste du costume, ils -faisaient meilleur effet que s’ils eussent été d’or pur. Le gentilhomme -les salua poliment en passant près d’eux; puis, donnant de l’éperon à sa -monture, il allait poursuivre sa route, quand don Quichotte lui dit: -Seigneur, si Votre Grâce suit le même chemin que nous et si rien ne la -presse, je serais flatté de cheminer avec elle. - -Seigneur, j’avais même intention, répondit le voyageur; mais j’ai craint -que votre cheval ne s’emportât à cause de ma jument. - -Oh! pour cela ne craignez rien, repartit Sancho; notre cheval est le -plus honnête et le mieux appris qui soit au monde; ce n’est pas un -animal à faire des escapades, et pour une fois en toute sa vie qu’il -s’est émancipé, nous l’avons payé cher, mon maître et moi. Ne craignez -rien, je le répète; votre jument est en sûreté, car ils seraient dix ans -côte à côte, qu’il ne prendrait pas à notre cheval la moindre envie de -folâtrer. - -Le gentilhomme ralentit sa monture et se mit à considérer, non sans -étonnement, la figure de notre héros, qui marchait tête nue, Sancho -portant le casque de son maître pendu à l’arçon du bât de son âne. Mais -si le cavalier regardait attentivement don Quichotte, don Quichotte -regardait le cavalier avec une curiosité plus grande encore, le jugeant -homme d’importance. Son âge paraissait être d’environ cinquante ans, il -avait les cheveux grisonnants, le nez aquilin, le regard grave et doux; -enfin sa tenue et ses manières annonçaient beaucoup de distinction. - -Quant à l’inconnu, le jugement qu’il porta de notre chevalier fut que -c’était quelque personnage extraordinaire, et il ne se souvenait pas -d’avoir jamais vu quelqu’un équipé de la sorte. Sa longue taille, la -maigreur de son visage, ces armes dépareillées et cette singulière -tournure sur ce cheval efflanqué, tout enfin lui paraissait si étrange, -qu’il ne se lassait point de le regarder. Don Quichotte s’aperçut de la -surprise qu’éprouvait le gentilhomme, et lisant dans ses yeux l’envie -qu’il avait d’en savoir davantage, il voulut le prévenir par un effet de -sa courtoisie habituelle. - -Je comprends, seigneur, lui dit-il, que vous soyez surpris de voir en -moi un air et des manières si différentes de celles des autres hommes; -mais votre étonnement cessera, quand vous saurez que je suis chevalier -errant, de ceux dont on dit communément qu’ils vont à la recherche des -aventures. Oui, j’ai quitté mon pays, j’ai engagé mon bien, j’ai renoncé -à tous les plaisirs, et je me suis jeté dans les bras de la fortune, -pour qu’elle m’emmenât où bon lui semblerait. Mon dessein a été de -ressusciter la défunte chevalerie errante, et depuis longtemps déjà, -bronchant ici, tombant là, me relevant plus loin, j’ai en grande partie -réalisé mon désir, car j’ai secouru les veuves, protégé les jeunes -filles, défendu les droits des femmes mariées, des orphelins, et de tous -les affligés, labeur ordinaire des chevaliers errants. Aussi, par bon -nombre de vaillantes et chrétiennes prouesses, ai-je mérité de parcourir -en lettres moulées presque tous les pays du globe. Trente mille volumes -de mon histoire sont déjà imprimés, et elle pourra bientôt se répandre -encore davantage, si Dieu n’y met ordre. Bref, pour tout dire en peu de -mots, et même en un seul, je suis don Quichotte de la Manche, autrement -dit, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure; et quoiqu’il soit peu convenable -de publier ses propres louanges, je suis parfois obligé de le faire, -quand personne ne se rencontre pour m’en épargner le soin et la peine. -Ainsi donc, seigneur, ni cet écu, ni cette lance, ni cet écuyer, ni ce -cheval, ni la couleur de mon visage, ni la maigreur de mon corps, ne -doivent vous étonner, puisque vous savez qui je suis et la profession -que j’exerce. - -Don Quichotte se tut, et l’homme au caban vert, après avoir tardé -quelque temps à lui répondre, dit enfin: Seigneur chevalier, au moment -de notre rencontre, vous aviez lu ma curiosité sur mon visage; mais ce -que vous venez de dire est loin de l’avoir fait cesser. Est-il possible -qu’il existe aujourd’hui des chevaliers errants, et qu’on ait imprimé -des histoires de véritable chevalerie? Par ma foi, seigneur, j’aurais -eu peine à me persuader qu’il y eût encore de ces défenseurs des dames, -de ces protecteurs des veuves et des orphelins, si mes yeux ne m’en -faisaient voir en votre personne un témoignage assuré. Béni soit le ciel -qui a permis que l’histoire de vos grands et véridiques exploits, que -vous dites imprimée, soit venue faire oublier les innombrables prouesses -de ces chevaliers errants imaginaires, dont le monde était plein, au -grand détriment des histoires véritables. - -Il y a beaucoup à dire sur la question de savoir si les histoires des -chevaliers errants sont imaginaires ou ne le sont pas, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Comment! reprit le voyageur, se trouverait-il quelqu’un qui doutât de la -fausseté de ces histoires? - -Moi j’en doute, répliqua don Quichotte. Mais laissons cela; j’espère, si -nous voyageons quelque temps ensemble, vous tirer de l’erreur dans -laquelle vous a entraîné le torrent de l’opinion. - -Ces dernières paroles, le ton dont elles avaient été prononcées, firent -penser au voyageur que notre héros devait être quelque cerveau fêlé, et -il l’observait soigneusement pour saisir un nouvel indice qui vînt -confirmer ses premiers soupçons. - -Mais avant d’aborder un autre sujet d’entretien, don Quichotte le pria -de lui dire à son tour qui il était. - -Seigneur chevalier, répondit le voyageur, je m’appelle don Diego de -Miranda; je suis un hidalgo, natif d’un bourg voisin, où nous irons -souper ce soir, s’il plaît à Dieu. Possesseur d’une fortune raisonnable, -je passe doucement ma vie entre ma femme et mon fils. Mes exercices -ordinaires sont la chasse et la pêche; mais je n’entretiens ni faucons -ni lévriers: je me contente d’un chien courant ou d’un hardi furet. Ma -bibliothèque se compose d’une soixantaine de volumes, tant latins -qu’espagnols, quelques-uns d’histoire, d’autres de dévotion; quant aux -livres de chevalerie, jamais ils n’ont passé le seuil de ma maison. Je -préfère à tous les autres les livres profanes, pourvu qu’ils aient du -style et de l’invention; et de ceux-là il y en a fort peu dans notre -Espagne. Mes voisins et moi nous vivons en parfaite intelligence, et -souvent nous mangeons les uns chez les autres; nos repas sont abondants -sans superfluité. Je ne glose jamais sur la conduite d’autrui, et ne -souffre pas que la médisance se donne carrière devant moi. Je ne fouille -la vie et n’épie les actions de personne. J’entends la messe chaque -jour; je donne aux pauvres une partie de mon bien, sans faire parade de -bonnes œuvres, afin de ne pas ouvrir dans mon âme accès à l’hypocrisie -ou à la vanité, ennemis qui, si l’on n’y prend garde, ne tardent pas à -s’emparer du cœur le plus humble. Je m’efforce d’apaiser autour de moi -les querelles; je suis dévot à la mère de notre Sauveur, et j’ai -confiance dans la miséricorde de Dieu. - -Sancho avait écouté avec la plus grande attention cet exposé de la vie -et des occupations du gentilhomme au caban vert; aussi, persuadé qu’un -homme qui vivait de la sorte devait être un saint et faire des miracles, -il saute à bas de son âne, va saisir l’étrier du voyageur, puis d’un -cœur dévot et les larmes aux yeux, il lui baise le pied à plusieurs -reprises. - -Que faites-vous là, mon ami? s’écria le gentilhomme; qu’avez-vous à me -baiser ainsi les pieds? - -Laissez-moi faire, seigneur, répondit Sancho; j’ai toujours honoré les -saints, mais votre Grâce est le premier saint à cheval que j’aie vu en -toute ma vie. - -Je ne suis pas un saint, répliqua le gentilhomme, mais un grand pécheur; -c’est plutôt vous, mon frère, qui méritez le titre de saint, par -l’humilité que vous faites paraître. - -Satisfait de ce qu’il venait de faire, Sancho, sans rien répondre, -remonta sur son grison. - -Don Quichotte, qui malgré sa mélancolie n’avait pu s’empêcher de rire de -la naïveté de son écuyer, prit la parole, et demanda au seigneur don -Diego s’il avait beaucoup d’enfants, ajoutant que la chose dans laquelle -les anciens philosophes, qui pourtant manquèrent de la connaissance du -vrai Dieu, avaient placé le souverain bien, c’était, outre les avantages -de la nature et de la fortune, de posséder beaucoup d’amis et d’avoir -des enfants bons et nombreux. - -Seigneur, répondit don Diego, je n’ai qu’un fils, mais il est tel que -peut-être sans lui je serais plus complétement heureux que je ne suis; -non que ses inclinations soient mauvaises, mais enfin parce qu’il n’a -pas celles que j’aurais souhaité qu’il eût. Il a environ dix-huit ans; -les six dernières années il les a passées à Salamanque à apprendre les -langues grecque et latine; mais quand j’ai voulu l’appliquer à d’autres -sciences, je l’ai trouvé si entêté de poésie (si toutefois la poésie -peut s’appeler une science), qu’il m’a été impossible de le faire mordre -à l’étude du droit, ni à la première de toutes les sciences, la -théologie. J’aurais voulu qu’il étudiât pour devenir l’honneur de sa -race, puisque nous avons le bonheur de vivre dans un temps où les rois -savent si bien récompenser le mérite vertueux[84]; mais il préfère -passer ses journées à discuter sur un passage d’Homère, ou sur la -manière d’interpréter tel ou tel vers de Virgile. Enfin il ne quitte pas -un seul instant ces auteurs, non plus qu’Horace, Perse, Juvénal et -Tibulle, car des poëtes modernes il fait fort peu de cas; et cependant, -malgré son dédain pour notre poésie espagnole, il est complétement -absorbé, à l’heure qu’il est, par la composition d’une glose sur quatre -vers qu’on lui a envoyés de Salamanque, et qui sont, je crois, le sujet -d’une joute littéraire. - - [84] Ce passage, sous la plume de Cervantes, pauvre et oublié, est une - bien innocente ironie. - -Seigneur, répondit don Quichotte, nos enfants sont une portion de nos -entrailles, et nous devons les aimer tels qu’ils sont, comme nous -aimons ceux qui nous ont donné la vie. C’est aux parents à les diriger -dès l’enfance dans le sentier de la vertu par une éducation sage et -chrétienne, afin que, devenus hommes, ils soient l’appui de leur -vieillesse et l’honneur de leur postérité. Quant à étudier telle ou -telle science, je ne suis pas d’avis de les contraindre; il vaut mieux y -employer la persuasion; après quoi, surtout s’ils n’ont pas besoin -d’étudier de _pane lucrando_, on fera bien de laisser se développer leur -inclination naturelle. Quoique la poésie offre plus d’agrément que -d’utilité, c’est un art qui ne peut manquer d’honorer celui qui le -cultive. La poésie, seigneur, est à mon sens comme une belle fille dont -les autres sciences forment la couronne; elle doit se servir de toutes, -et toutes doivent se rehausser par elle. Mais cette aimable vierge ne -doit pas s’émanciper en honteuses satires ou en sonnets libertins; noble -interprète, c’est à des poëmes héroïques, à des tragédies intéressantes, -à des comédies ingénieuses, qu’elle prêtera ses accents et sa voix. -Celui donc qui s’occupera de poésie dans les conditions que je viens de -poser rendra son nom célèbre chez toutes les nations policées. - -Quant à ce que vous dites, seigneur, que votre fils fait peu de cas de -notre poésie espagnole, je trouve qu’il a tort; et voici ma raison: -puisque le grand Homère, l’harmonieux et tendre Virgile, en un mot tous -les poëtes anciens ont écrit dans leur langue maternelle, et n’ont point -cherché des idiomes étrangers pour exprimer leurs hautes conceptions, -pourquoi condamner le poëte allemand parce qu’il écrit dans sa langue, -ou le castillan, et même le biscayen parce qu’il écrit dans la sienne? -La conclusion de tout ceci, seigneur, est que vous laissiez votre fils -suivre son inclination; laborieux comme il doit l’être, puisqu’il a -franchi heureusement le premier échelon des sciences, je veux dire la -connaissance des langues anciennes, il parviendra de lui-même au faite -des lettres humaines, ce qui sied non moins à un gentilhomme que la -mitre aux évêques, ou la toge aux jurisconsultes. Réprimandez votre fils -s’il compose des satires qui puissent nuire à la réputation d’autrui; -mais s’il s’occupe, à la manière d’Horace, de satires morales, où il -gourmande le vice en général, surtout avec autant d’élégance que l’a -fait son devancier, oh! alors, ne lui épargnez pas les éloges. On a vu -certains poëtes, qui, pour le stérile plaisir de dire une méchanceté, -n’ont pas craint de se faire exiler dans les îles du Pont[85]. Mais si -le poëte est réservé dans ses mœurs, il le sera dans ses vers. La plume -est l’interprète de l’âme; ce que l’une pense, l’autre l’exprime. Aussi -quand les princes rencontrent, chez des hommes sages et vertueux, cette -merveilleuse science de la poésie, ils s’empressent de l’honorer, de -l’enrichir et de la couronner des feuilles de cet arbre que la foudre ne -frappe jamais, pour montrer qu’on doit respecter ceux dont le front est -paré de telles couronnes. - - [85] Allusion à l’exil d’Ovide. - -L’homme au caban vert ne savait que penser du langage de don Quichotte, -et il commençait à revenir de l’opinion peu favorable qu’il avait -d’abord conçue de son jugement. Vers le milieu de ce discours, qui -n’était pas fort de son goût, Sancho s’était écarté du chemin pour -demander un peu de lait à des bergers occupés près de là à traire des -brebis. Le gentilhomme s’apprêtait à répondre, enchanté de l’esprit et -du bon sens de notre héros, lorsque celui-ci, levant les yeux, vit venir -sur le chemin qu’il suivait un char surmonté de bannières aux armes -royales. S’imaginant que c’était quelque nouvelle aventure, il appela -Sancho à grands cris pour qu’il lui apportât sa salade. Quittant -aussitôt les bergers, et talonnant le grison de toutes ses forces, -l’écuyer accourut auprès de son maître, auquel, en effet, il va arriver -la plus insensée et la plus épouvantable aventure. - -CHAPITRE XVII - -DE LA PLUS GRANDE PREUVE DE COURAGE QU’AIT JAMAIS DONNÉE DON QUICHOTTE -ET DE L’HEUREUSE FIN DE L’AVENTURE DES LIONS - -L’histoire raconte que Sancho était en train d’acheter de petits -fromages aux bergers lorsque don Quichotte l’appela. Pressé d’obéir et -ne sachant comment emporter ces fromages qu’il ne pouvait se résoudre à -perdre après les avoir payés, notre écuyer imagina de les jeter dans le -casque de son seigneur; puis il accourut en toute hâte pour savoir ce -qu’il voulait. - -Donne, ami, donne-moi ma salade, lui dit don Quichotte; car je suis peu -expert en fait d’aventures, ou celle que j’aperçois m’oblige dès à -présent à prendre les armes. - -En entendant ces paroles, l’homme au caban vert jeta les yeux de tous -côtés et ne découvrit rien autre chose qu’un chariot surmonté de deux ou -trois petites banderoles, qui venait à leur rencontre; d’où il conclut -que ce chariot portait l’argent du trésor royal. Il fit part de cette -pensée à don Quichotte; mais notre héros, qui n’était pas homme à se -détromper aisément, et croyait toujours voir arriver aventure sur -aventure, lui répondit: Seigneur, un homme découvert est à demi vaincu; -je ne risque rien en me tenant sur mes gardes, car je sais par -expérience que je ne manque pas d’ennemis visibles et invisibles, -toujours prêts à me surprendre. En parlant ainsi, il prit le casque et -le mit sur sa tête, avant que son écuyer eût eu le temps d’en ôter les -fromages; mais le petit lait commença à dégoutter de tous côtés sur ses -yeux et sur sa barbe. - -Qu’est-ce ceci, Sancho? s’écria don Quichotte: on dirait que mon crâne -se ramollit, et que ma cervelle se fond; en effet, je sue des pieds à la -tête; ce n’est pas de peur assurément. Oui, j’en ai le pressentiment, -j’ai devant moi une terrible aventure; donne-moi de quoi m’essuyer, -ajouta-t-il, je suis aveuglé par la sueur. - -Sancho lui donna un mouchoir, sans dire mot, remerciant Dieu de ce que -son maître ne devinait point ce que c’était. Don Quichotte s’essuya le -visage, et ayant ôté son casque pour s’essuyer aussi la tête, et savoir -ce qui la rafraîchissait à contre-temps, il vit cette bouillie blanche, -qu’il porta aussitôt à son nez: Par la vie de la sans pareille Dulcinée, -s’écria-t-il, traître, malappris et impertinent écuyer, tu as mis des -fromages dans mon casque. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho sans s’émouvoir et avec une dissimulation -parfaite, si ce sont des fromages, donnez-les moi, je les mangerai bien. -Mais non: que le diable les mange, lui qui les a fourrés là. Me -croyez-vous assez hardi pour salir l’armet de Votre Grâce? Par ma foi, -vous avez joliment trouvé le coupable. Tout ce que je vois, c’est qu’il -y a des enchanteurs qui me persécutent aussi bien que vous; et pourquoi -y échapperais-je, étant membre de Votre Grâce? Vous verrez que ce sont -eux qui auront placé là ces immondices, pour exciter votre colère, et me -faire, suivant l’usage, moudre les côtes; mais, cette fois, ils auront -craché en l’air, car j’ai affaire à un bon maître, qui connaît toute -leur malice, et qui sait que si ce sont là des fromages, j’aurais mieux -aimé les mettre dans mon estomac. - -Tout cela est possible, reprit don Quichotte, mais finissons. - -L’homme au caban vert les regardait tout étonné; et son étonnement fut -au comble lorsqu’il vit don Quichotte, après s’être essuyé le visage et -la barbe, enfoncer de nouveau son casque sur sa tête, s’affermir sur ses -étriers, dégainer à demi son épée et empoigner sa lance en disant: -Maintenant advienne que pourra, me voilà prêt et résolu à en venir aux -mains avec Satan lui-même. - -Sur ces entrefaites, arriva le char aux banderoles, où il n’y avait -d’autres gens que le gardien assis sur le devant, et le conducteur monté -sur une des mules. Don Quichotte leur barra le passage. Où allez-vous, -amis, leur dit-il, quel est ce chariot? qu’y a-t-il dedans, et que -signifient ces banderoles! - -Seigneur, répondit le gardien, ce chariot est à moi, et dans ces deux -cages il y a deux lions, que le gouverneur d’Oran envoie au roi notre -maître. Au reste, pour preuve de ce que j’avance, voilà les armoiries -royales. - -Les lions sont-ils grands? demanda don Quichotte. - -Oui, vraiment, ils sont grands, répondit le gardien, et si grands qu’il -n’en est point encore venu de semblables d’Afrique en Espagne; c’est moi -qui en suis le gardien, ajouta-t-il, j’en ai conduit beaucoup en ma vie, -mais jamais qui approchent de ceux-là. Dans cette première cage est le -lion, et dans l’autre la lionne; à cette heure ils ont grand’faim, car -d’aujourd’hui ils n’ont encore pris aucune nourriture. Ainsi, seigneur, -veuillez nous laisser continuer notre chemin jusqu’à l’endroit où nous -pourrons leur donner à manger. - -Le conducteur allait passer outre; mais don Quichotte lui dit en -souriant: A moi des lions! des lions à moi! eh bien, je veux montrer à -ceux qui me les envoient si je suis homme à m’épouvanter pour des lions. -Ami, mets pied à terre, et, puisque tu es leur gardien, ouvre ces cages -et fais-les sortir. Je veux au milieu de cette campagne, en dépit et à -la barbe des enchanteurs, leur faire connaître quel est don Quichotte de -la Manche. - -Oh! pour le coup, il n’en faut plus douter, dit en lui-même l’homme au -caban vert, notre chevalier vient de se découvrir, ces fromages lui -auront sans doute amolli la cervelle. - -Seigneur, au nom de Dieu, lui dit Sancho en s’approchant tout -tremblant, empêchez que mon maître n’ait querelle avec ces lions; car -s’il les attaque, ils vont nous mettre en pièces. - -Croyez-vous donc votre maître assez fou pour vouloir en venir aux mains -avec des bêtes féroces? reprit le gentilhomme. - -Il n’est pas fou, dit Sancho; mais c’est un homme qui ne craint rien. - -Allez, allez, reprit le gentilhomme, je réponds de lui; et s’approchant -de don Quichotte, qui pressait toujours le gardien d’ouvrir les cages: -Seigneur, lui dit-il, les chevaliers errants ne doivent entreprendre que -des aventures dont ils puissent venir à bout, mais non celles dont le -succès est impossible; autrement leur courage n’est que brutalité -farouche qui tient plus de la folie que de la véritable vaillance. -D’ailleurs, ces lions ne viennent pas contre vous, c’est un présent que -l’on envoie au roi; il serait malséant de les retenir et de retarder -leur voyage. - -A chacun son métier, mon gentilhomme, répondit brusquement don -Quichotte; mêlez-vous de vos perdrix et de vos filets: ceci me regarde, -et c’est à moi de savoir si les lions viennent ou non contre moi; puis -se tournant vivement vers le gardien: Maraud, lui dit-il, ouvre ces -cages, ou je te cloue à l’instant même contre ton chariot avec ma lance. - -Par charité, seigneur, s’écria le conducteur, permettez que je dételle -mes mules, afin de m’enfuir avec elles avant qu’on ouvre aux lions; car -s’ils se jettent sur ces pauvres bêtes, me voilà ruiné pour le reste de -mes jours, et, je le jure devant Dieu, je n’ai d’autre bien que ces -mules et ce chariot. - -Homme de peu de foi, ajoute don Quichotte, descends, dételle, fais ce -que tu voudras, mais tu vas voir que c’était une peine que tu aurais pu -t’épargner. - -Le muletier ne se le fit point répéter; il sauta par terre et détela ses -mules en toute hâte pendant que le gardien criait: Je vous prends à -témoin vous tous ici présents, que c’est contre ma volonté et par force -que j’ouvre les cages et que je lâche ces lions; je proteste contre ce -seigneur de tout le mal qui peut en arriver, comme aussi de la perte de -mon salaire. Hâtez-vous de vous mettre en sûreté; quant à moi, je suis -bien sûr que les lions ne me feront aucun mal. - -Le gentilhomme voulut encore une fois détourner don Quichotte d’un si -étrange dessein, en lui représentant que c’était tenter Dieu que de -s’exposer à un pareil danger; mais notre héros répondit qu’il n’avait -pas besoin de conseils. - -Prenez-y garde, reprit l’homme au caban vert; bien certainement vous -vous trompez. - -Seigneur, répliqua don Quichotte, si vous croyez qu’il y ait tant de -danger, vous n’avez qu’à jouer de l’éperon. - -Sancho, voyant que le gentilhomme n’y pouvait rien, voulut à son tour -dissuader son maître, et, les larmes aux yeux, il le supplia de ne point -entreprendre cette aventure, disant que celle des moulins à vent et -celle des marteaux à foulon n’étaient en comparaison que jeux d’enfants. -Seigneur, faites attention, lui disait-il, qu’il n’y a point ici -d’enchantement: j’ai vu une des pattes du lion à travers les barreaux de -sa cage, et, par ma foi, à en juger par les ongles, il doit être plus -gros qu’un éléphant. - -Bientôt la peur te le fera voir plus gros qu’une montagne, repartit don -Quichotte; retire-toi, mon pauvre Sancho, et laisse-moi seul, tu perds -ton temps, aussi bien que les autres. S’il m’arrive malheur, qu’il te -souvienne de ce dont nous sommes convenus: tu iras trouver Dulcinée de -ma part, et, je ne t’en dis pas davantage. Il ajouta encore quelques -paroles qui montraient que rien n’était capable de le faire reculer. - -Le gentilhomme tenta un dernier effort; mais voyant que tout était -inutile, et se trouvant d’ailleurs hors d’état de mettre à la raison ce -fou qui n’entendait point raillerie, et qui était d’ailleurs bien armé, -il prit le parti de s’éloigner avec Sancho et le muletier, qui -pressèrent vigoureusement leurs montures, pendant que don Quichotte -continuait à menacer le gardien des lions. Le pauvre Sancho était -accablé de douleur, pleurant déjà la mort de son maître; il maudissait -son étoile et l’heure où il s’était attaché à son service; mais tout en -regrettant la perte de son temps et de ses récompenses, il talonnait le -grison de toutes ses forces pour s’enfuir au plus vite. - -Quand le gardien vit nos gens assez éloignés, il pria de nouveau don -Quichotte de ne point le contraindre d’ouvrir à des animaux si -dangereux, et voulut encore une fois lui remontrer la grandeur du péril; -mais notre chevalier ne fit que sourire, lui disant seulement de se -hâter. Pendant que le gardien ouvrait avec lenteur une des cages, don -Quichotte se demanda en lui-même s’il ne ferait pas mieux de combattre à -pied; considérant, en effet, que Rossinante pourrait s’épouvanter à -l’aspect du lion, il saute à bas de son cheval, jette sa lance, embrasse -son écu, tire son épée, et va intrépidement se camper devant le chariot, -se recommandant d’abord à Dieu, puis à sa dame Dulcinée. - -Or, vous saurez qu’arrivé en cet endroit, l’auteur de cette véridique -histoire s’écrie, transporté d’admiration: O vaillant! ô intrépide don -Quichotte de la Manche! Miroir où peuvent venir se contempler tous les -vaillants du monde! O nouveau Ponce de Léon, honneur et gloire des -chevaliers espagnols[86]! quelles paroles employer pour raconter cette -prouesse surhumaine, afin de la rendre vraisemblable aux âges futurs! où -trouver des louanges qui ne soient toujours au-dessous de la grandeur -de ton courage! Toi seul, à pied, couvert d’une mauvaise rondache, armé -d’une simple épée et non d’une de ces fines lames de Tolède marquées au -petit chien[87], tu provoques et tu attends les deux plus formidables -lions qu’aient produits les déserts africains. Que tes exploits parlent -seuls à ta louange, héros incomparable, valeureux Manchois. Quant à moi, -je m’arrête, car les expressions me manquent pour te louer dignement. - - [86] On raconte que pendant la dernière guerre de Grenade, les Rois - catholiques ayant reçu d’un émir africain un présent de plusieurs - lions, des dames de la cour regardaient du haut d’un balcon ces - animaux dans leur enceinte. L’une d’elles, que _servait_ le célèbre - don Manuel Ponce, laissa tomber son gant exprès ou par mégarde. - Aussitôt don Manuel s’élança dans l’enceinte l’épée à la main, et - releva le gant de sa maîtresse. C’est à cette occasion que la reine - Isabelle l’appela don Manuel Ponce de _Léon_, nom que ses descendants - ont conservé depuis; et c’est aussi pour cela que Cervantes appelle - don Quichotte _nouveau Ponce de Léon_. - - [87] Célèbres épées qui se fabriquaient à Tolède et qui avaient pour - marque un petit chien. - -Après cette invocation, l’auteur continue son récit. - -Quand le gardien des lions vit qu’il lui était impossible de résister -sans s’attirer la colère de notre héros, il ouvrit à deux battants la -première cage où se trouvait le lion mâle, lequel parut d’une grandeur -démesurée. La première chose que fit l’animal fut de se retourner -plusieurs fois, puis de s’étendre tout de son long, en allongeant ses -pattes et faisant jouer ses griffes; il ouvrit ensuite une gueule -immense, bâilla lentement et tirant deux pieds de langue, il s’en -frotta les yeux et s’en lava la face. Cela fait, il avança la tête hors -de sa cage, et regarda de tous côtés avec deux yeux rouges comme du -sang. Ce spectacle, capable d’effrayer la témérité en personne, don -Quichotte se contentait de l’observer attentivement, impatient d’en -venir aux mains avec son terrible adversaire et comptant bien le mettre -en pièces. Mais le lion, plus courtois qu’arrogant, tourna le dos sans -faire attention à toutes ces bravades, se mit à regarder de tous côtés, -puis alla se recoucher au fond de sa cage avec le plus grand sang-froid. -En voyant cela, notre chevalier ordonna impérieusement au gardien de -harceler le lion à coups de bâton, pour le faire sortir à quelque prix -que ce fût. - -Oh! pour cela je n’en ferai rien, dit le gardien; car si on l’excite, le -premier qui sera mis en pièces, ce sera moi. Votre Grâce, seigneur -chevalier, n’a-t-elle pas assez montré sa vaillance sans vouloir tenter -une seconde fois la fortune? Le lion a eu la porte ouverte; s’il n’est -pas sorti, c’est qu’il ne sortira pas de tout le jour. Personne n’est -tenu à plus qu’à défier son ennemi et à l’attendre en rase campagne. Si -le provoqué ne vient pas, tant pis pour lui: le combattant exact au -rendez-vous est sans contredit le victorieux. - -Par ma foi, tu as raison, répondit don Quichotte; donne-moi une -attestation en bonne forme de ce qui vient de se passer, c’est-à-dire, -que tu as ouvert au lion, que je l’ai attendu, et qu’il n’est point -sorti; que je l’ai attendu une seconde fois, qu’il a de nouveau refusé -de sortir, et qu’il est allé se coucher. Je ne dois rien de plus: -arrière les enchanteurs et les enchantements, et vive la véritable -chevalerie! Ferme la cage, pendant que je vais rappeler nos fuyards, -afin qu’ils apprennent la vérité de ta propre bouche. - -Le gardien ne se le fit pas dire deux fois, et don Quichotte, attachant -au bout de sa lance le mouchoir avec lequel il avait essuyé les -fromages, l’éleva dans l’air pour faire signe aux fuyards de revenir. -Sancho courait toujours avec les autres; mais comme il tournait de temps -en temps la tête, il aperçut le signal: Que je sois pendu, dit-il, si -mon maître n’a pas vaincu ces bêtes féroces, car le voilà qui nous -appelle! - -Tous trois s’arrêtèrent, reconnaissant que c’était bien don Quichotte -qui leur faisait signe; ils commencèrent à se rassurer, et se -rapprochant peu à peu, ils entendirent bientôt la voix de notre héros, -auprès duquel ils ne tardèrent pas à arriver. - -Camarade, dit don Quichotte au muletier, attelle tes mules, et continue -ton chemin; et toi, Sancho, donne deux écus d’or à cet homme, pour le -temps que je lui ai fait perdre. - -De bon cœur, répondit Sancho en les tirant de sa bourse; mais que sont -devenus les lions? ajouta-t-il: sont-ils morts ou vivants? - -Alors le gardien se mit à raconter longuement comment l’action s’était -passée, exagérant à dessein l’intrépidité de notre héros, et attribuant -la poltronnerie du lion à la frayeur qu’il lui avait causée. - -Eh bien! que t’en semble, ami Sancho? dit don Quichotte, crois-tu qu’il -y ait des enchantements au-dessus de la véritable vaillance? Les -enchanteurs pourraient peut-être me dérober la victoire, mais diminuer -mon courage, je les en défie. - -Sancho donna les deux écus, le muletier attela ses bêtes, le gardien -baisa les mains du chevalier en signe de reconnaissance, et promit de -raconter ce merveilleux exploit au roi lui-même, quand il serait arrivé -à la cour. - -Si par hasard, ajouta don Quichotte, Sa Majesté désire connaître celui -qui en est l’auteur, vous lui direz que c’est le chevalier des Lions, -car désormais je veux porter ce nom au lieu de celui de chevalier de la -Triste-Figure, et en cela je ne fais que suivre l’antique coutume des -chevaliers errants, qui changeaient de nom à leur fantaisie. - -Sur ce, le chariot se remit en marche, puis don Quichotte, Sancho et le -gentilhomme au caban vert, continuèrent leur chemin. - -Pendant tout ce temps, don Diego n’avait pas dit une seule parole, -occupé qu’il était à observer notre chevalier, qui lui paraissait tantôt -le plus sage des fous, tantôt le plus fou des sages. N’ayant pas lu la -première partie de son histoire, il ne pouvait comprendre quelle était -cette folie d’une si étrange espèce. Quelle plus grande extravagance, se -disait-il en lui-même que de mettre sur sa tête un casque plein de -fromages, et d’aller s’imaginer que les enchanteurs vous ramollissent la -cervelle? Quelle témérité peut se comparer à celle d’un homme qui veut -lutter seul contre des lions? - -Don Quichotte vint le tirer de ses réflexions en lui disant: Je -gagerais, seigneur, que Votre Grâce me regarde comme un être privé de -raison; et à dire vrai, je ne serais point étonné qu’il en fût ainsi, -car mes actions ne rendent pas d’autre témoignage; toutefois je vous -prie de suspendre votre jugement, et de croire que je ne suis pas aussi -fou que je le parais. Tel chevalier se distingue sous les yeux de son -roi, en donnant un beau coup de lance à un taureau farouche; tel autre -couvert d’une brillante armure paraît dans la lice aux yeux des dames; -et tous deux, à des titres divers sont admirés, fêtés, applaudis. Mais -combien est plus digne d’estime le chevalier errant qui parcourt les -forêts et les montagnes, recherchant les aventures les plus périlleuses -pour les mener à bonne fin, et cela dans la seule intention d’acquérir -une renommée glorieuse et durable? N’aurait-il qu’une fois le bonheur de -protéger dans quelque lieu désert une pauvre veuve, combien il l’emporte -sur le chevalier qui courtise la jeune fille au sein des cités! - -Au surplus, chacun a sa fonction: que le chevalier de cour serve les -dames, qu’il rehausse par le luxe de ses livrées l’éclat de la suite des -princes, qu’il reçoive à sa table les gentilshommes pauvres, qu’il porte -un défi dans une joute, qu’il soit tenant dans un tournoi; s’il se -montre libéral, magnifique, et surtout bon chrétien, il aura fait tout -ce que son rang lui impose. Mais le chevalier errant, oh! pour celui-là, -c’est autre chose: son devoir est de sans cesse parcourir tous les coins -du globe, de pénétrer dans les labyrinthes les plus inextricables, de -tenter à chaque pas l’impossible, de braver les brûlants rayons du -soleil d’été, aussi bien que les glaces hérissées de l’hiver, de -regarder les lions sans effroi, les vampires sans épouvante, les -andriagues sans terreur; car chercher les uns, attaquer les autres, les -vaincre tous, voilà ses principaux et véritables exercices. Comme membre -de la chevalerie errante, il m’est imposé d’entreprendre tout ce qui -tient au devoir de ma profession; ainsi donc j’ai dû aujourd’hui -attaquer ces lions, quoique je susse à n’en pas douter que c’était une -extrême témérité. Je n’ignore pas que la véritable vaillance est un -juste milieu placé entre la couardise et la témérité; mais mieux vaut ce -dernier excès que d’être accusé de poltronnerie; et de même qu’il est -plus facile au prodigue qu’à l’avare de se montrer libéral, de même il -est plus aisé au téméraire de rester dans les bornes du vrai courage, -qu’au lâche de s’y élever. Pour ce qui est de tenter les aventures, -croyez-moi, seigneur, mieux vaut se perdre pour le plus que pour le -moins, et cela résonne plus agréablement à l’oreille, quand on s’entend -dire: Ce chevalier est audacieux et téméraire, que si l’on disait: Il -est timide et poltron. - -Je le reconnais, seigneur don Quichotte, reprit don Diego; tout ce que -dit et fait Votre Grâce est marqué au cachet de la droite raison, et je -suis certain que si les lois de la chevalerie venaient à se perdre, -elles se retrouveraient dans votre cœur, comme dans leur dernier asile. -Cependant il se fait tard; doublons le pas, je vous prie, afin d’arriver -d’assez bonne heure chez moi, où je serai heureux de profiter de tout le -temps que vous voudrez bien y demeurer. - -Je tiens l’invitation à grand honneur, répondit don Quichotte. - -En même temps, ils pressèrent leurs chevaux, et sur les deux heures de -l’après-midi, ils arrivèrent à la maison de l’homme au caban vert. - -CHAPITRE XVIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE DANS LA MAISON DE DON DIEGO - -En entrant dans la maison de don Diego, qu’il trouva belle et surtout -spacieuse, comme elles le sont toutes à la campagne, avec armes -sculptées au-dessus de la porte, don Quichotte aperçut plusieurs grandes -cruches de terre propres à garder le vin, rangées en cercle dans la -cour, près du cellier; ces cruches, qui se fabriquent au Toboso, lui -rappelèrent sa dame enchantée. Aussitôt il se prit à soupirer, et sans -faire attention à ceux qui l’entouraient, il s’écria: O chers trésors -rencontrés pour mon malheur! chers et joyeux tant que Dieu l’a permis! -cruches tobosines, qui me rappelez de si amers chagrins! - -Ces exclamations furent entendues de l’étudiant-poëte, fils de don -Diego, qui était venu le recevoir accompagné de sa mère; la mère et le -fils restèrent interdits en voyant l’étrange figure de notre héros. -Quant à celui-ci, il s’avança vers la dame en réclamant la faveur de lui -baiser la main. - -Madame, dit don Diego à sa femme, je vous présente et vous prie de -recevoir avec votre bonne grâce accoutumée le seigneur don Quichotte, le -chevalier errant le plus discret, le plus spirituel et le plus vaillant -qui soit au monde. - -Dona Christina, c’était le nom de la dame, reçut son hôte avec de -grandes démonstrations de politesse et d’estime auxquelles celui-ci -répondit avec sa courtoisie accoutumée. Il en fut de même de l’étudiant -qui, en l’entendant, le tint pour un homme d’un esprit fin et délicat. - -Ici l’auteur décrit dans tous ses détails la maison de don Diego, qui -était celle d’un riche campagnard. Mais le traducteur laisse de côté ces -minuties, comme inutiles à l’objet principal de l’histoire, qui n’a que -faire de froides digressions. - -Notre héros fut conduit dans une salle basse où, s’étant fait désarmer -par Sancho, il resta en chausses à la wallonne et en pourpoint de -chamois tout souillé de la crasse de ses vieilles armes. Il portait un -collet de simple toile à la façon des étudiants. Ses bottines étaient -jaunes et ses souliers enduits de cire. Il passa sur l’épaule sa bonne -épée, qui pendait à un baudrier de peau de loup marin, et qu’il ne -ceignait pas autour de son corps, parce que, dit-on, il avait souffert -des reins pendant longues années. Puis il jeta sur son dos un petit -manteau de drap brun. Mais, avant toute chose, il s’était lavé la tête -et le visage dans cinq ou six aiguiérées d’eau (on n’est pas d’accord -sur le nombre), encore la dernière resta-t-elle couleur de petit lait, -grâce à la gourmandise de Sancho et à ces maudits fromages qui avaient -si bien barbouillé son maître. - -Le désordre de son costume ainsi réparé, don Quichotte, d’un air libre -et dégagé, entra dans une autre pièce où l’étudiant l’attendait pour lui -tenir compagnie jusqu’à ce que la table fût servie, car pour honorer un -tel hôte dona Christina n’avait rien épargné. - -Pendant que don Quichotte quittait son armure, don Lorenzo, ainsi -s’appelait l’étudiant, avait eu le temps de dire à son père: Quel est -cet hidalgo que nous amène Votre Grâce? Nous sommes étrangement surpris, -ma mère et moi, de sa figure, de son nom, et surtout de ce titre de -chevalier errant que vous lui avez donné. - -En vérité, je ne sais qu’en penser, répondit don Diego; tout ce que je -puis dire, c’est qu’il parle comme un sage et qu’il agit comme un fou. -Au reste, entretiens-le toi-même, et tu m’en diras ton avis. - -Sur ce, don Lorenzo alla, comme il a été dit, tenir compagnie à don -Quichotte, et dans la conversation qu’ils eurent ensemble, notre héros -lui dit entre autres choses: Le seigneur don Diego, votre père, m’a -parlé de l’esprit ingénieux que possède Votre Grâce; il m’a entretenu -particulièrement de votre talent pour la poésie, il a même ajouté que -vous étiez un grand poëte. - -Poëte, c’est possible, répondit le jeune homme; pour grand, je ne m’en -flatte pas. La vérité est que j’ai du goût pour la poésie et que j’aime -à lire les bons auteurs; mais pour être qualifié de grand poëte, comme -l’a fait mon père, cela ne suffit pas. - -Cette modestie est de bon augure, répliqua don Quichotte, car qui dit -poëte, dit présomptueux, et le moindre se croit toujours le premier. - -Il n’y a point de règle sans exception, répondit Lorenzo, et tel peut se -rencontrer qui soit poëte sans s’en douter. - -Peu sont dans ce cas, repartit don Quichotte; mais dites-moi, je vous -prie, quels sont les vers que vous avez maintenant sur le métier et qui -vous tiennent préoccupé et soucieux? Si c’est par hasard quelque glose, -je m’entends assez dans ce genre de composition, et je serai charmé de -connaître votre ouvrage. S’il s’agit d’autre chose, d’une joute -littéraire, par exemple, je souhaite à Votre Grâce, d’obtenir plutôt le -second prix que le premier, car le premier prix se donne toujours à la -faveur ou à la qualité de la personne, tandis que le second ne s’accorde -qu’au mérite; de manière que le troisième prix devient le second, et que -le premier à ce compte, n’est plus que le troisième, à la façon des -licences qui s’obtiennent dans les universités. Malgré tout, cela -n’empêche pas le premier prix d’être une très-honorable distinction. - -Jusqu’à présent, dit à part lui Lorenzo, je ne puis le prendre pour un -fou. Il me semble, continua-t-il que Votre Grâce a fréquenté les -universités: quelles sciences y a-t-elle principalement étudiées? - -Celle de la chevalerie errante, répondit don Quichotte, qui est aussi -élevée que celle de la poésie, et la dépasse même de deux doigts, à -quelque point qu’on puisse y exceller. - -J’ignore quelle est cette science, répliqua Lorenzo, et jusqu’à présent -je n’en avais pas entendu parler. - -C’est une science qui renferme toutes les autres, reprit don Quichotte. -En effet, celui qui la professe doit être jurisconsulte, et savoir les -lois de la justice distributive et commutative, pour rendre à chacun ce -qui lui appartient. Il doit être théologien, afin de pouvoir, en toute -circonstance, donner les raisons de sa foi. Il doit être médecin et -connaître les simples qui ont la vertu de guérir, car au milieu des -montagnes et des déserts, le chevalier errant ne trouve guère de -chirurgien pour panser ses blessures. S’il n’est pas instruit de -l’astronomie et qu’il ignore le cours des astres, comment pourra-t-il -savoir la nuit quelle heure il est, sous quel climat, dans quelle partie -du monde il se trouve? Il doit connaître les mathématiques, car à chaque -pas le calcul lui est nécessaire; et laissant de côté, comme chose -convenue, qu’il doit être orné de toutes les vertus théologales et -cardinales, je dirai, pour descendre à des bagatelles, qu’il lui faut -savoir monter un cheval, le ferrer au besoin, raccommoder une selle et -une bride, nager comme un poisson, danser, faire des armes, enfin tout -ce qui constitue le cavalier accompli; remontant ensuite aux choses d’en -haut, je dirai qu’il doit être fidèle à Dieu et à sa dame, chaste dans -ses pensées, discret dans ses discours, généreux, vaillant, charitable -envers les malheureux; finalement, le constant et ferme champion de la -vérité en tous temps et en tous lieux, aux dépens même de sa vie. Telles -sont les qualités, grandes et petites, qui constituent le véritable -chevalier errant; jugez maintenant, seigneur Lorenzo, quelle science est -la chevalerie errante, et si parmi celles qu’on enseigne dans les -gymnases et les écoles, aucune est capable d’en approcher. - -S’il en est ainsi, répondit Lorenzo, cette science assurément l’emporte -sur toutes les autres. - -En doutez-vous? repartit don Quichotte. - -Je veux dire, répliqua Lorenzo, que j’ai de la peine à croire qu’il y -ait jamais eu, et encore moins qu’il y ait aujourd’hui dans le monde des -chevaliers si accomplis. - -Voilà justement, dit don Quichotte, comment parlent la plupart des -hommes; je vois bien que si le ciel ne fait un miracle tout exprès pour -leur prouver clair comme le jour qu’il a existé des chevaliers errants, -et qu’il en existe encore à cette heure, c’est vouloir se casser la tête -que de prétendre le leur démontrer. Seigneur, je ne chercherai point en -ce moment à vous tirer d’une ignorance que Votre Grâce partage avec tant -d’autres; tout ce que je puis faire, c’est de prier Dieu qu’il vous -éclaire, et vous fasse comprendre combien ces chevaliers furent -nécessaires dans les siècles passés, et combien ils seraient utiles dans -le siècle présent; mais aujourd’hui triomphent, pour nos péchés, la -paresse, l’oisiveté, la gourmandise et la mollesse. - -Notre hôte vient de se trahir, dit tout bas Lorenzo, qui ne cessait de -l’observer avec beaucoup d’attention; malgré tout, c’est un fou -remarquable, et j’aurais grand tort de ne pas être de son avis. - -En ce moment, on les appela pour dîner, et don Diego, prenant son fils à -part, lui demanda ce qu’il pensait de notre chevalier. - -Je pense, seigneur, répondit le jeune homme, que tous les médecins du -monde ne viendraient pas à bout de le guérir, car il est fou sans -remède; mais tel qu’il est, il a, sur ma foi, de fort bons moments. - -On se mit à table, et l’on fit bonne chère. Ce qui enchanta le plus don -Quichotte pendant le repas, ce fut le merveilleux silence qu’on -observait dans toute la maison, qu’il comparait en lui-même à un couvent -de chartreux. - -Sitôt qu’on eût desservi, récité les grâces et jeté de l’eau sur les -mains, don Quichotte pria instamment Lorenzo de lui montrer les vers -dont il lui avait parlé. - -Seigneur, répondit l’étudiant, pour ne point ressembler à ces poëtes qui -refusent de montrer leurs ouvrages quand on les en prie, et les jettent -à la tête des gens quand on ne les leur demande pas, je vais vous lire -ma glose dont je n’attends aucun prix, et que j’ai composée seulement -dans le but de m’exercer l’imagination. - -Un de mes amis, qui est homme de sens et d’esprit, reprit don Quichotte, -me disait un jour qu’il n’était pas d’avis qu’on se fatiguât à composer -une glose, parce que c’était, selon lui, un travail ingrat, et dont les -règles sont fort étroites; en effet, jamais glose ne peut égaler le -thème; la plupart du temps, elle s’éloigne du sujet qu’elle est destinée -à développer, enfin elle présente une foule d’entraves qui gênent un -auteur et qu’on ne rencontre que dans ce genre de poésie, comme doit le -savoir Votre Grâce. - -En vérité, seigneur, répondit Lorenzo, vous m’apprenez là bien des -choses qu’on ignore généralement; j’espérais trouver Votre Grâce en -défaut, mais vous m’échappez toujours au moment où je crois le mieux -vous tenir. - -Je n’entends point ce que vous voulez dire par ces mots, que je vous -échappe, repartit don Quichotte. - -Je m’expliquerai mieux plus tard, répliqua l’étudiant; pour l’heure -voyons ma glose. Voici le texte qu’on m’a envoyé: - - Si mon bonheur passé pouvait encor renaître, - Sans me faire espérer un douteux avenir, - Ou que dès aujourd’hui l’avenir pût paraître, - Et que je susse enfin si mon mal doit finir....[88] - - [88] Ces vers et les suivants sont empruntés à la traduction de - Filleau de Saint-Martin. - -Et voici la glose que j’ai faite: - - Tout change, hélas! et rien ici-bas n’est durable; - Dans les plus grands plaisirs il n’est rien d’arrêté; - Le sort à mes désirs autrefois favorable - Par un nouveau caprice enfin m’a tout ôté. - Fortune, en ma faveur, poursuis ton inconstance; - Je n’ai que trop souffert, fais cesser ma souffrance, - Et laisse-toi fléchir à l’ardeur de mes vœux; - Je ne désire rien qu’un bien dont je fus maître; - Et malgré tant de maux je serais trop heureux - Si mon bonheur passé pouvait encor renaître. - - Je ne demande point la pompe et l’ornement, - Ce superbe appareil, où la richesse éclate; - La gloire qui des rois fait tout l’empressement - N’est point ce qui me touche, et n’a rien qui me flatte; - Sans orgueil, sans envie, et sans ambition, - Mon cœur avait borné toute sa passion - A goûter mon bonheur dans une paix tranquille; - Mais que m’en reste-t-il, qu’un triste souvenir? - Rends-moi ce bien, Fortune, à qui tout est facile, - Et sans me faire attendre un douteux avenir. - - Mais il faut que mes maux me rendent bien sensible, - Pour nourrir si longtemps des désirs superflus; - Je souhaite, et je tente une chose impossible; - Hélas! le temps passé ne se rappelle plus. - Le temps, qui fuit sans cesse, incessamment s’efface; - Il ne laisse après lui qu’une invisible trace; - C’est en vain qu’on le cherche, en vain qu’on le poursuit; - Cessons donc d’espérer ce qui ne saurait être, - Ou qu’on pût retenir le passé qui nous fuit, - Ou que dès aujourd’hui l’avenir pût paraître. - - Que le sort m’a réduit dans un état fâcheux! - A toute heure agité d’espérance et de crainte; - Et si quelque moment j’espère un bien douteux, - La crainte au même instant me donne quelque atteinte. - Ah! terminons enfin le cours de mes ennuis, - Mourons, c’est un bien sûr en l’état où je suis - Mourons; mais perdre tout, renonçant à la vie, - Le dur remède, hélas! ne saurais-je obtenir, - Perdant l’espoir du bien, d’en perdre aussi l’envie, - Ou que je susse enfin si mon mal doit finir? - -A peine Lorenzo eut achevé de lire, que don Quichotte se levant -vivement, et lui saisissant les deux mains; Vive Dieu! s’écria-t-il avec -transport, vous êtes bien le meilleur poëte que j’aie rencontré de ma -vie: et certes, vous auriez bien mérité d’être couronné de lauriers par -les académies d’Athènes, si elles existaient encore, comme vous méritez -de l’être aujourd’hui par celles de Paris, de Bologne et de Salamanque. -Qu’Apollon perce de ses flèches les juges assez ignorants pour vous -refuser le premier prix, et que jamais les Muses ne franchissent le -seuil de leurs demeures. Récitez-moi, je vous supplie, Seigneur, -quelques vers de grande mesure, car je désire connaître à fond votre -admirable génie. - -Est-il besoin de dire que Lorenzo fut enchanté de s’entendre louer par -don Quichotte, bien qu’il le tînt pour fou! O puissance de la flatterie! -que tu es grande, et combien loin s’étendent les lois de ton séduisant -empire! Notre jeune étudiant confirma cette vérité, en s’empressant de -réciter à don Quichotte un sonnet sur la mort de Pyrame et Thisbé, qui -lui valut encore de la part de notre héros les plus hyperboliques -compliments. - -Enfin, après quatre jours passés dans la maison de don Diego, don -Quichotte lui demanda la permission de prendre congé: Je suis -très-reconnaissant de votre bon accueil, lui dit-il; mais il sied mal -aux chevaliers errants de s’oublier au sein de l’oisiveté; je dois -poursuivre le devoir de ma profession, et chercher les aventures dont je -sais que le pays abonde, en attendant l’époque des joutes de Saragosse, -qui sont le principal but de mon voyage. Mon intention est de commencer -par la caverne de Montésinos, dont on raconte tant de merveilles, et de -rechercher la source de ces lacs, au nombre de sept, vulgairement -appelés les lagunes de Ruidera. - -Don Diego et son fils louèrent sa noble résolution, et se mirent à son -service pour tout ce qui était en leur pouvoir et dont il pourrait avoir -besoin. - -Enfin arriva le jour du départ, aussi beau pour don Quichotte que triste -pour Sancho, qui, du sein de l’abondance où il nageait, se voyait forcé -de retourner aux aventures et d’en revenir aux maigres provisions de son -bissac. En attendant, il le remplit tout comble de ce qui lui parut -nécessaire. - -En prenant congé de ses hôtes, don Quichotte s’adressa à Lorenzo: -Seigneur, je ne sais si j’ai dit à Votre Grâce, mais en tous cas je le -lui répète, que si elle veut arriver sûrement au temple de Mémoire, il -lui faut quitter le sentier déjà fort étroit de la poésie pour prendre -le sentier plus étroit encore de la chevalerie errante; cela suffit pour -devenir empereur en un tour de main. - -Par ces propos, don Quichotte acheva de vider le procès de sa folie, et -surtout quand il ajouta: Dieu sait si j’aurais eu du plaisir à emmener -avec moi le seigneur Lorenzo, pour lui enseigner les vertus inhérentes à -la profession que j’exerce, et lui montrer de quelle manière on épargne -les humbles et on abat les superbes. Mais comme il est trop jeune pour -cela, et qu’il a d’ailleurs d’autres occupations, je me bornerai à lui -donner un conseil: c’est que pour devenir un poëte célèbre, il fera bien -de se guider plutôt sur l’opinion d’autrui que sur la sienne propre; car -s’il n’y a pas d’enfants disgracieux aux yeux de leur père et mère, pour -les enfants de notre intelligence, c’est bien une autre affaire. - -Don Diego et son fils ne cessaient de s’étonner des propos tantôt -sensés, tantôt extravagants de notre chevalier, et surtout de son -incurable manie de se lancer incessamment à la recherche des aventures. -On réitéra de part et d’autre les politesses et les offres de service, -après quoi, avec la gracieuse permission de la dame du château, don -Quichotte et Sancho s’éloignèrent, l’un sur Rossinante et l’autre sur -son grison. - -CHAPITRE XIX - -DE L’AVENTURE DU BERGER AMOUREUX, ET DE PLUSIEURS AUTRES CHOSES - -Don Quichotte n’était qu’à peu de distance du village de don Diego, -quand il fut rejoint par quatre hommes, dont deux étaient des laboureurs -et les deux autres paraissaient des étudiants, tous montés sur des ânes. -L’un des étudiants portait en guise de porte-manteau un petit paquet -composé de quelques hardes et de deux paires de bas en bure noire; tout -le bagage de son compagnon consistait en deux fleurets mouchetés; quant -aux laboureurs, leurs bêtes étaient chargées de différentes provisions -qu’ils venaient sans doute d’acheter à quelque ville voisine. - -Étudiants et laboureurs éprouvèrent la même surprise que causait don -Quichotte à quiconque le voyait pour la première fois, et tous ils -mouraient d’envie de savoir quel était cet homme dont le pareil ne -s’était jamais présenté à leurs yeux. Notre héros les salua, et -lorsqu’il eut appris qu’ils suivaient la même direction, il leur -témoigna le désir de faire route ensemble, en les priant de ralentir le -pas, parce que leurs bêtes marchaient plus vite que son cheval. Par -courtoisie, il leur dit sa qualité et sa profession; à savoir, qu’il -était chevalier errant, et qu’il allait cherchant les aventures par -toute la terre, il ajouta qu’il s’appelait don Quichotte de la Manche, -surnommé le chevalier des Lions. Pour les laboureurs, c’était parler -grec, mais il n’en fut pas de même des étudiants, qui comprirent -aussitôt que cet inconnu avait des chambres vides dans la cervelle. -Néanmoins ils le regardaient avec un étonnement mêlé de respect, et l’un -d’eux lui dit: Seigneur chevalier, si, comme tous ceux qui cherchent les -aventures, Votre Grâce n’a point de chemin arrêté, venez avec nous, et -vous verrez assurément une des noces les plus belles et les plus -magnifiques dont on ait eu, depuis longtemps, le spectacle dans toute la -Manche. - -De la façon dont vous parlez, il faut que ce soient les noces de quelque -prince, répondit don Quichotte. - -Point du tout, répliqua l’étudiant, ce sont les noces d’un laboureur, -mais le plus riche du pays, et d’une paysanne, la plus belle fille qui -se puisse voir. Ces noces doivent se faire dans un pré, voisin du -village de la fiancée. Elle s’appelle Quitterie la belle; le fiancé se -nomme Gamache le riche; c’est un garçon d’environ vingt-deux ans; la -fiancée en compte à peine dix-huit; en un mot, ils sont faits l’un pour -l’autre, quoique certains disent que la race de Quitterie est plus -ancienne que celle de Gamache; mais il ne faut pas s’arrêter à cela, et -dans la richesse il y a de quoi boucher bien des trous. Ce Gamache, qui -est libéral, ne veut rien épargner pour rendre la fête célèbre; il a -fait couvrir le pré avec des branches d’arbres, afin que le soleil ne -puisse y pénétrer: là auront lieu toutes sortes de divertissements, jeu -de paume, jeu de barre, luttes, danse avec les castagnettes et le -tambour de basque, car son village est rempli de gens qui savent le -faire résonner, sans compter la _Zapateta_[89], qu’on y exécute dans la -perfection. Mais de toutes ces belles choses et de bien d’autres encore -que je passe sous silence, aucune, j’imagine, ne vaudra le spectacle que -nous donnera le désespéré Basile. - - [89] _Zapateta_, danse aux souliers. Le danseur frappe par intervalle - son soulier avec la paume de sa main. - -Et quel est ce Basile? demanda don Quichotte. - -Basile, répondit l’étudiant, est un berger du même village que -Quitterie, et dont la maison touche presque à la sienne: tous deux ils -se sont aimés dès l’enfance. Lorsqu’ils commencèrent à devenir grands, -le père de Quitterie, qui ne trouvait pas Basile assez riche pour sa -fille, commença par lui refuser l’entrée de sa maison: et pour lui ôter -toute espérance, il résolut de la marier avec Gamache. Ce Gamache a -beaucoup plus de bien que Basile; mais, à vrai dire, il ne l’égale pas -dans le reste, car Basile est le garçon le mieux fait et le plus adroit, -toujours le premier à la course et à la lutte; personne ne lance mieux -une barre, et n’est si adroit à la paume; il pince de la guitare au -point de la faire parler; il chante comme une alouette, saute comme un -daim; mais surtout il manie l’épée comme un maître d’escrime. - -Pour ce seul talent, dit don Quichotte, ce garçon méritait d’épouser, -non-seulement la belle Quitterie, mais la reine Genièvre elle-même, si -elle vivait encore, en dépit de Lancelot et de tous ceux qui voudraient -s’y opposer. - -Allez donc dire cela à ma femme, interrompit Sancho, qui n’avait fait -jusque-là qu’écouter et se taire; elle qui veut qu’on ne se marie -qu’avec son égal, chaque brebis avec sa pareille. Ce que je demande, -moi, c’est que ce brave Basile, car je commence à l’aimer, se marie avec -cette dame Quitterie; maudits soient dans ce monde et dans l’autre ceux -qui empêchent les gens de se marier à leur goût! - -Si tous ceux qui s’aiment pouvaient se marier ainsi, repartit don -Quichotte, que deviendraient le pouvoir et l’autorité des pères? Il -serait beau vraiment que les enfants eussent la liberté de choisir -suivant leur caprice! Si le choix d’un mari était laissé à la volonté -des filles, telle épouserait le valet de son père, ou le premier venu -qu’elle trouverait à sa fantaisie, quand même ce serait un débauché et -un spadassin; car l’amour est aveugle, et, quand il nous possède, on n’a -plus assez de raison pour faire un bon choix. Ainsi tu vois, mon pauvre -Sancho, qu’il n’y a point de circonstance dans la vie où l’on ait plus -grand besoin de jugement que lorsqu’il s’agit de contracter mariage: une -femme légitime n’est pas une marchandise dont on puisse se défaire à sa -volonté; c’est une compagne inséparable qu’on s’associe au lit, à la -table, en tout et partout; c’est un lien qu’on ne peut rompre, à moins -qu’il ne soit tranché par le ciseau des Parques. Je pourrais en dire -beaucoup plus sur ce sujet, mais j’ai hâte de savoir si le seigneur -licencié n’a point autre chose à nous apprendre touchant ce Basile. - -Il ne me reste qu’une chose à dire, répondit l’étudiant, c’est que du -jour où Basile a su que la belle Quitterie épousait Gamache le riche, on -ne l’a plus vu rire, on ne lui a plus entendu tenir un propos sensé. Il -marche triste, la tête basse, se parlant à lui-même; il mange peu et ne -dort pas davantage; s’il mange, ce sont des fruits, et s’il dort, c’est -comme une brute, sur la terre nue. De temps en temps on le voit lever -les yeux au ciel, puis tout à coup les attacher fixement sur le sol, -comme s’il était en extase, et de telle sorte qu’il semble métamorphosé -en statue; enfin, le pauvre garçon est dans un tel état, que ceux qui le -connaissent ne doutent pas qu’à peine Quitterie aura prononcé le oui -fatal, il ne rende le dernier soupir. - -Dieu y mettra ordre, reprit Sancho: quand il envoie le mal, il envoie le -remède; personne ne sait ce qui doit arriver! d’ici à demain il y a bien -des heures, et dans un instant la maison peut tomber. Combien de fois -ai-je vu pleuvoir et faire soleil tout ensemble! tel se couche bien -portant, qui s’éveille roide mort le lendemain; quelqu’un pourrait-il se -vanter d’avoir attaché un clou à la roue de fortune? sans compter -qu’entre le oui et le non d’une femme, je ne voudrais pas mettre la -pointe d’une aiguille, elle n’y tiendrait pas. Faites seulement que -Quitterie ait de la bonne volonté pour Basile, et je prédis qu’il lui -reste encore de fameuses chances; car, à ce que j’ai entendu dire, -l’amour regarde avec des yeux qui font passer le cuivre pour de l’or et -des noyaux pour des perles. - -Où t’arrêteras-tu, maudit Sancho? interrompit don Quichotte; quand une -fois tu commences à enfiler des proverbes, personne ne peut te suivre, -si ce n’est le diable en personne, et puisse-t-il t’emporter! Dis-moi, -animal, sais-tu ce que c’est que la roue de fortune, pour te mêler d’en -dire ton sentiment? - -Si l’on ne m’entend pas, répondit Sancho, il n’est pas étonnant que mes -sentences passent pour des sottises; mais qu’importe! je m’entends -moi-même, et je suis sûr de n’avoir pas dit trop de bêtises; mais Votre -Grâce prend toujours plaisir à pontrôler mes paroles. - -Dis donc contrôler, prévaricateur du beau langage, reprit don Quichotte, -ou que Dieu te rende muet pour le reste de tes jours. - -Que Votre Grâce ne se fâche point contre moi, répondit Sancho; vous -savez bien que je n’ai pas été élevé à la cour, et que je n’ai pas -étudié à Salamanque, pour savoir si je manque quand je parle. Vive Dieu! -le paysan de Sayago ne peut pas parler comme le citadin de Tolède: sans -compter qu’il y a beaucoup de gens à Tolède qui parlent comme il plaît à -Dieu. - -C’est vrai, reprit un des étudiants; ceux qui sont élevés dans les -tanneries ou dans les boutiques du Zocodover ne parlent pas aussi bien -que ceux qui passent tout le jour à se promener dans le cloître de la -cathédrale: cependant ils sont tous de Tolède. L’élégance du langage ne -se trouve guère que parmi les courtisans, et encore parmi les plus -délicats. Quant à moi, seigneurs, j’ai, pour mes péchés, étudié quelque -temps à Salamanque, et je me pique de m’exprimer en termes choisis. - -Si vous ne vous piquiez pas de jouer encore mieux de ces fleurets que de -la langue, dit l’autre étudiant, vous auriez tenu la tête du concours, -au lieu d’en avoir la queue. - -Bachelier, répliqua le licencié, vous vous trompez grandement quand vous -croyez que savoir manier l’épée soit chose inutile. - -Pour moi ce n’est pas une opinion, repartit Corchuelo (c’était le nom du -bachelier), c’est une vérité démontrée; au reste, s’il vous plaît d’en -faire l’expérience, l’occasion est belle: vous avez là deux épées, et je -possède en force et en courage plus qu’il n’en faut pour vous prouver -que j’ai raison. Descendez seulement de votre monture, mettez en usage -toutes les ruses de la salle, et si, avec la seule adresse que m’a -donnée la nature, je ne vous fais voir des étoiles en plein midi, je -veux recevoir des étrivières: tel que je suis, voyez-vous, je défie qui -que ce soit de me faire reculer d’un pas, et il n’est personne à qui je -ne puisse faire perdre terre. - -Pour ce qui est de ne point reculer, je le crois, répondit le licencié; -mais il pourrait se faire que là où vous auriez cloué le pied on creusât -votre sépulture: je veux dire que, faute d’avoir appris le métier, il -pourrait vous en coûter la vie. - -C’est ce que nous allons voir, repartit Corchuelo; et, sautant à bas de -son âne, il saisit avec furie un des fleurets que portait le licencié. - -Ah! vraiment, cela ne peut se passer ainsi, dit don Quichotte; il faut -procéder avec méthode, et je veux être le juge d’une question tant de -fois débattue et qui n’est point encore décidée. - -Aussitôt il descendit de cheval, et prenant sa lance, il se campa au -milieu du chemin, pendant que le licencié, d’un air dégagé et en -mesurant ses pas, s’avançait contre Corchuelo, qui courait sur lui plein -de fureur, et, comme on dit, jetant le feu par les yeux. Les deux -paysans et Sancho s’écartèrent un peu, sans descendre de leurs ânes, et -furent ainsi spectateurs du combat qui commença à l’instant. Les bottes -d’estoc et de taille que portait Corchuelo ne pouvaient se compter; il -attaquait en lion, et un coup n’attendait pas l’autre; mais le licencié, -sans s’émouvoir, parait toutes ses attaques, et lui faisait souvent -baiser la pointe de son fleuret comme si c’eût été une relique, quoique -avec moins de dévotion. Bref, le licencié lui coupa l’un après l’autre -tous les boutons de sa soutanelle, et la mit en lambeaux, sans jamais -être touché; il lui abattit deux fois son chapeau, et le fatigua de -telle sorte, que, de dépit et de rage, Corchuelo jeta son fleuret, qui -alla tomber à plus de cinquante pas, comme en témoigna par écrit un des -laboureurs, greffier de son état, qui était allé le ramasser; ce qui fit -voir par preuve authentique, comment la force est vaincue par l’adresse. - -Corchuelo s’était assis tout essoufflé: Par ma foi, seigneur bachelier, -lui dit Sancho, si vous m’en croyez, dorénavant vous ne défierez -personne à l’escrime, mais plutôt à jeter la barre, ou à lutter, car -vous avez la force nécessaire pour cela. Quant à ces bretteurs, -croyez-moi, il ne faut pas s’y frotter: je me suis laissé dire qu’ils -mettraient la pointe de leur épée dans le trou d’une aiguille. - -J’en conviens, reprit Corchuelo, et ne regrette pas l’expérience qui m’a -fait revenir de mon erreur. - -En même temps il embrassa le licencié, et ils restèrent meilleurs amis -que jamais. - -Les voyageurs se remirent en marche, hâtant leurs montures pour arriver -de bonne heure au village de Quitterie, d’où ils étaient tous. Chemin -faisant, le licencié leur expliqua l’excellence de l’escrime, et il en -prouva les avantages par tant de figures et de démonstrations -mathématiques, que chacun resta persuadé de l’utilité de cet art; -Corchuelo encore plus que les autres. - -La nuit venue, et comme ils étaient sur le point d’arriver, ils crurent -voir en avant du village un ciel resplendissant d’innombrables étoiles; -bientôt après ils entendirent un bruit confus, mais agréable, de divers -instruments, flûtes, hautbois, fifres et tambours de basque. En -approchant ils virent qu’on avait suspendu aux arbres une infinité de -lampions, dont l’effet était d’autant plus agréable qu’il ne faisait pas -le moindre vent. Les joueurs d’instruments qu’on rencontrait de tous -côtés par bandes, les uns dansant, les autres jouant de leurs cornemuses -ou de leurs flageolets, réjouissaient toute l’assemblée. Enfin, ce pré -semblait le séjour de la joie et des plaisirs: en divers endroits il y -avait des gens occupés à dresser des échafauds pour placer beaucoup de -monde durant la fête qui devait avoir lieu le lendemain, jour fixé pour -la solennité des noces du riche Gamache, et, suivant les apparences, -pour les funérailles du pauvre Basile. - -Don Quichotte ne voulut pas pénétrer dans le village, quelques instances -que lui fissent ses compagnons de route, alléguant l’antique coutume des -chevaliers errants, qui aimaient mieux dormir à la belle étoile que sous -les lambris dorés. Il se détourna donc un peu du chemin, quoi que pût -dire son écuyer, qui regrettait de tout son cœur la maison du seigneur -don Diego. - -CHAPITRE XX - -DES NOCES DE GAMACHE, ET DE CE QU’Y FIT BASILE - -A peine les rayons du brûlant Phébus achevaient de sécher les perles -liquides des cheveux de la pâle Aurore, que don Quichotte, secouant ses -membres engourdis, se leva et appela son écuyer qui dormait encore; mais -en l’entendant ronfler de toutes ses forces, il s’arrêta pour lui -adresser ces paroles: - -O toi, bienheureux entre tous les mortels, puisque, sans exciter ni -ressentir l’envie, tu dors dans le repos de ton esprit, aussi libre des -persécutions des enchanteurs que peu troublé des enchantements; dors, te -dirai-je mille fois, dors, toi qui ne connus jamais les cuisants soucis -d’une flamme jalouse, les pénibles insomnies du débiteur qui ne peut -s’acquitter, ni la sollicitude quotidienne de fournir à ta subsistance -et à celle de ta pauvre famille; dors, toi dont le repos n’est pas -troublé par l’ambition, et dont la vaine pompe du monde n’excite pas les -désirs, lesquels se bornent au soin de ton âne, celui de ta personne -étant remis à ma charge, compensation légitime qu’imposent au seigneur -la nature et la coutume. Le valet dort, pendant que veille le seigneur, -songeant au moyen de le nourrir et de lui assurer un juste salaire: un -ciel de bronze a beau refuser à la terre la rosée dont elle a besoin, ce -soin ne regarde pas le serviteur, il revient tout entier au maître, qui -doit, dans la stérilité, nourrir celui qui l’a servi dans l’abondance. - -A tout cela Sancho ne répondait mot, car il dormait, et certes il ne se -serait pas réveillé de longtemps si don Quichotte ne l’eût poussé deux -ou trois fois avec le bois de sa lance. Enfin il ouvrit les yeux, et -encore à moitié endormi, il promena ses regards à droite et à gauche. Du -côté de cette ramée, dit-il, vient, si je ne me trompe, une odeur de -jambon rôti qui vaut bien celle du thym et du serpolet. Sur mon âme, -des noces qui s’annoncent par de tels parfums promettent d’être -abondantes et libérales. - -Paix! glouton, dit don Quichotte; lève-toi, et allons voir ces noces qui -te préoccupent si fort, pour savoir ce que fera le pauvre Basile. - -Par ma foi! qu’il fasse ce qu’il voudra, répondit Sancho. Puisqu’il est -pauvre, pourquoi veut-il épouser Quitterie? Quand on n’a pas le sou -vaillant, pourquoi vouloir se marier dans les nuages? En vérité, -seigneur, le pauvre, selon moi, devrait se contenter de ce qu’il trouve, -sans chercher des perles dans les vignes. Je gagerais bien ma tête que -Gamache pourrait enterrer Basile sous ses réaux; cela étant, pourquoi -Quitterie irait-elle renoncer aux parures et aux joyaux que Gamache lui -a donnés, et lui donnera encore, pour un tireur de barre ou de fleuret -comme Basile. Ce n’est pas sur un coup de barre ou un coup d’épée qu’on -trouve à la taverne un verre de vin. Foin des talents qui ne rapportent -rien; quand ils se rencontrent avec les écus, oh! c’est différent. Sur -un bon fondement on peut bâtir une bonne maison; et en fait de -fondement, il n’y a rien de tel que l’argent. - -Au nom de Dieu! Sancho, dit don Quichotte; mets fin à ta harangue! quand -une fois tu as commencé à parler, je crois, si l’on ne t’arrêtait, que -tu ne songerais plus à manger ni à dormir. - -Si Votre Grâce avait bonne mémoire, répliqua Sancho, elle se -souviendrait qu’avant notre dernière sortie, nous sommes convenus qu’il -me serait permis de parler tant que je voudrais, pourvu que ce ne soit -pas contre le prochain ou contre votre autorité. Jusqu’à présent, vous -n’avez rien à me reprocher. - -Je ne m’en souviens pas, répondit don Quichotte, et quand cela serait -vrai, je veux que tu te taises et que tu me suives. J’entends déjà le -son des instruments qui retentissent de toutes parts; sans doute que le -mariage aura lieu de bon matin, pour éviter la chaleur du jour. - -Sancho obéit et sella promptement Rossinante, puis, ayant mis le bât -sur le grison, le maître et l’écuyer montèrent sur leurs bêtes et se -dirigèrent au petit pas du côté de la ramée. - -La première chose qui s’offrit aux regards de Sancho, ce fut un bœuf -entier, auquel un ormeau servait de broche. Une montagne de gros bois -composait le foyer où l’on allait le faire rôtir; alentour bouillaient -six grandes marmites, ou plutôt six cuves capables d’engloutir plusieurs -moutons tout entiers; une multitude de chapons, d’oisons et de poules, -étaient déjà préparés pour être ensevelis dans les marmites, et toutes -sortes d’oiseaux, de gibier de basse-cour et autres pendaient en foule à -des arbres où on les avait mis la veille pour les mortifier. Sancho -compta plus de soixante outres pleines de vin, qui contenaient chacune -pour le moins cinquante pintes. On voyait là des monceaux de pain blanc, -comme on voit les tas de moëllons près des carrières; les fromages -empilés ressemblaient à un mur de briques. Tout auprès, deux chaudières -pleines d’huile et plus grandes que celles des teinturiers, servaient à -faire des beignets et la pâtisserie, pendant qu’on prenait le sucre à -pleines mains dans une caisse qui en était remplie. Il y avait plus de -cinquante cuisiniers ou cuisinières, tous la joie peinte sur le visage, -et travaillant avec diligence. Dans le large ventre du bœuf on avait -cousu une douzaine de cochons de lait pour l’attendrir et lui donner du -goût. Quant aux épiceries de toutes sortes, elles n’étaient point là en -cornets de papier, mais par quintaux et à plein coffre. Finalement, les -préparatifs de la noce, quoique rustiques, étaient très-abondants, et il -y avait de quoi nourrir une armée entière. - -Sancho regardait chaque chose avec de grands yeux; il prenait tout en -amitié, et était enchanté de ce spectacle. Les marmites le tentèrent les -premières, et il eût de bon cœur pris le soin de les écumer. Plus loin, -il se sentit attendri par la vue des outres de vin; puis les gâteaux et -l’odeur des beignets le captivèrent tout à fait; enfin, n’y pouvant plus -tenir, il aborda un des cuisiniers et avec la politesse d’un estomac -affamé, il le pria de permettre qu’il trempât une croûte de pain dans -une de ces marmites. - -Frère, répondit le cuisinier, ce jour-ci n’est pas un jour de jeûne, -grâce à la libéralité du riche Gamache; mettez pied à terre, et cherchez -s’il n’y a point là quelque cuiller à pot pour écumer une ou deux -poules, et grand bien vous fasse! personne ne s’avisera de vous le -reprocher. - -Je ne vois point de cuiller, dit Sancho en soupirant. - -Parbleu! répondit le cuisinier, vous voilà embarrassé pour bien peu de -chose; et prenant une casserole, il la plongea dans une marmite d’où il -tira d’un seul coup trois poules et deux oies: Tenez, ami, dit-il à -Sancho, déjeunez de cette écume en attendant l’heure du dîner. - -Grand merci, mais je ne sais où mettre cela, dit Sancho. - -Emportez la casserole et ce qu’elle contient, repartit le cuisinier; -Gamache est trop riche et trop heureux aujourd’hui pour y regarder de si -près. - -Pendant que Sancho mettait ainsi le temps à profit, don Quichotte -regardait entrer douze jeunes garçons en habits de fête, et montés sur -de belles juments couvertes de riches harnais avec quantité de grelots -autour du poitrail. Ils s’élancèrent dans le pré, maniant leurs montures -avec beaucoup d’adresse, et criant tous ensemble. Vive Quitterie et -Gamache, lui aussi riche qu’elle est belle, et elle la plus belle du -monde! On voit bien, dit don Quichotte en lui-même, que ces gens-là ne -connaissent pas ma Dulcinée, car s’ils l’avaient vue, ils seraient un -peu plus sobres de louanges pour leur Quitterie. Un moment après, on vit -déboucher sur plusieurs points de la ramée une troupe de danseurs que -précédaient vingt-quatre jeunes bergers de bonne mine, vêtus de toile -blanche et fine, ayant sur la tête des mouchoirs de soie de différentes -couleurs, avec des couronnes de laurier et de chêne, et tous l’épée à -la main. Sitôt qu’ils parurent, un de ceux qui étaient à cheval demanda -à celui qui les conduisait, jeune homme élégant et bien pris, si aucun -des danseurs n’était blessé. - -Aucun jusqu’à cette heure, répondit celui-ci; nous sommes, Dieu merci, -tous bien portants et prêts à faire merveille; et aussitôt il se mêla -avec ses compagnons, qui s’escrimèrent les uns contre les autres en -cadence et avec tant d’adresse, que don Quichotte, tout habitué qu’il -était à ces sortes de spectacles, avoua qu’il n’en avait jamais vu de -comparable. Notre héros ne fut pas moins charmé de l’entrée d’une autre -troupe: c’étaient de belles jeunes filles âgées de quinze à seize ans au -plus, vêtues d’une étoffe verte; partie de leurs cheveux était attachée -avec des rubans, et le reste épars et traînant presque jusqu’à terre; -elles portaient sur la tête des guirlandes de jasmin, de roses et de -chèvrefeuille. Cette troupe, sous la conduite d’un vénérable vieillard -et d’une imposante matrone, tous deux plus dispos que ne l’annonçait -leur grand âge, exécuta une danse moresque au son de la cornemuse et -avec tant de légèreté et d’élégance, qu’elle enleva tous les suffrages. - -Après cela on vit exécuter une autre danse fort ingénieusement composée, -de celles qu’on appelle _parlantes_[90]. C’était une troupe de huit -nymphes partagées en deux files, l’une conduite par l’Amour, avec ses -ailes, son carquois, son arc et ses flèches; et l’autre par l’Intérêt, -couvert d’une riche étoffe d’or et de soie. Les nymphes qui suivaient -l’Amour avaient sur les épaules un morceau de taffetas blanc pour les -distinguer: la Poésie était la première; la Sagesse, la seconde; la -Noblesse, la troisième, et la Vaillance, la quatrième. Celles qui -marchaient sous la conduite de l’Intérêt avaient des marques -différentes: l’une s’appelait la Libéralité; l’autre, la Largesse; -celle-ci, la Richesse, et celle-là, la Possession pacifique. Devant -cette troupe, une espèce de château était traîné par quatre sauvages -vêtus de toile verte, tous couverts de lierre, et porteurs de si -horribles masques, que Sancho ne put les voir sans en être effrayé. Sur -la façade du château et sur les trois autres côtés, on lisait: _Château -de la Prudence_. - - [90] Les danses parlantes, pantomimes mêlées de danses et de - récitatifs. - -L’Amour ouvrit la danse au son de deux tambours et de deux flûtes; après -avoir fait quelques pas, il leva les yeux, saisit une flèche et fit mine -de vouloir tirer sur une jeune fille qui était venue se placer entre les -créneaux du château, mais à laquelle il adressa d’abord ces paroles: - - Je suis le souverain de la terre et de l’onde, - Et tout cède à ma voix: - Je ne me borne pas à l’empire du monde, - Le ciel et les enfers reconnaissent mes lois; - C’est en vain qu’on résiste, et jusqu’à l’impossible, - J’en sais venir à bout; - Et portant en tous lieux un pouvoir invincible, - La gloire et les lauriers m’accompagnent partout. - -En finissant, l’Amour décocha une flèche par-dessus le château, et -regagna sa place. L’Intérêt s’avança à son tour, dansa aussi deux pas, -puis regardant la jeune fille, il récita ces vers: - - J’ai plus de pouvoir que l’Amour, - Quelque vanité qu’il en fasse; - Rien n’est plus noble que ma race, - Dont l’auteur est père du jour. - C’est moi qui fais la paix, c’est moi qui fais la guerre; - C’est moi qui meus tout ici-bas: - Mais pendant que je règne en tyran sur la terre, - Je veux suivre en captif et ton char et tes pas. - -L’Intérêt se retira, et la Poésie ayant pris sa place, récita les vers -suivants, les yeux élevés du côté du château, comme l’avaient fait les -deux personnages précédents: - - C’est moi qui des vertus conserve la mémoire, - Moi qui les sauve de l’oubli; - Et le nom des héros serait enseveli, - Si mes soins et mes vers ne consacraient leur gloire. - Je viens, au bruit de ta beauté, - Te rendre un légitime hommage, - Et par un immortel ouvrage - Apprendre à l’univers quelle est la vanité - De t’en disputer l’avantage. - -La Poésie étant retournée à sa place, la Libéralité quitta la troupe de -l’Intérêt, et vint dire à son tour: - - C’est mon humeur et mon plaisir - De donner avec abondance, - Et sans attendre qu’on y pense - Je préviens même le désir; - Mais enfin je me lasse - De donner au hasard, et donner tant de fois: - Il est temps de faire un beau choix - Qui relève l’éclat des trésors que j’amasse: - Je vous les offre tous, et ne voudrais pour grâce - Que recevoir vos lois[91]. - - [91] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -De la même façon entrèrent et sortirent tous les personnages des deux -troupes, chacun récitant des vers après avoir fait son entrée. Les uns -étaient bons, les autres mauvais, et don Quichotte, qui avait une -excellente mémoire, retint seulement ceux que je viens de citer. -Ensuite tous les personnages se mêlèrent, formant tour à tour ou rompant -la chaîne, et se séparant à la fin de chaque cadence avec beaucoup -d’aisance et de grâce. Toutes les fois que l’Amour passait devant le -château, il lançait ses flèches par-dessus, tandis que l’Intérêt brisait -contre ses murs des boules dorées. Finalement, quand ils eurent -longtemps dansé, l’Intérêt tira une grande bourse qui paraissait pleine -d’argent, et l’ayant lancée contre le château, les planches qui le -formaient tombèrent, laissant à découvert et sans défense cette belle -fille qui avait paru entre les créneaux. L’Intérêt s’approcha aussitôt -avec sa suite, et lui jeta au cou une chaîne d’or, comme pour la faire -prisonnière; mais l’Amour accourut avec les siens pour la défendre. - -Quand on eut bien disputé de part et d’autre, toujours au son des -tambours, et avec des mouvements appropriés à la cadence et au sujet, -les sauvages les séparèrent, et rajustèrent en un instant les planches -du château, où la jeune fille s’enferma comme auparavant. C’est ainsi -que le ballet finit aux applaudissements de tous les spectateurs. - -Don Quichotte demanda qui avait composé cette petite fête; on lui -répondit que c’était un bénéficier de village, qui avait beaucoup de -talent pour ces sortes d’inventions. - -Je gagerais, dit le chevalier, qu’il est plus ami de Gamache que de -Basile, et qu’il s’entend mieux à cela qu’à réciter son bréviaire: sa -pièce est fort bonne, et il y fait valoir adroitement la richesse de -Gamache et les talents de Basile. - -Ma foi, dit Sancho, qui écoutait, le roi est mon coq, et je suis pour -Gamache. - -On voit bien, reprit don Quichotte, que tu es un vilain, et de ceux qui -toujours disent: Vive le plus fort! - -Je ne sais trop desquels je suis, répliqua Sancho, mais je sais que je -ne tirerai jamais de la marmite de Basile l’écume que j’ai tirée de -celle de Gamache. En même temps il montrait les poules et les oies dont -il se remit à manger avec grand appétit, en disant: Nargue des talents -de Basile! Autant tu as, autant tu vaux; autant tu vaux, autant tu as. -Il n’y a que deux familles au monde, disait ma grand’mère: avoir ou -n’avoir pas, et elle se sentait beaucoup de penchant pour avoir. -Aujourd’hui, mon seigneur et maître, on aime mieux l’argent que la -science, et un âne chargé d’or a meilleure mine qu’un cheval couvert de -panaches. Encore une fois, je suis pour Gamache, dont la marmite est -farcie d’oies et de poules, tandis que celle de Basile ne me donnerait, -je le crains bien, que de l’eau claire. - -Auras-tu bientôt fini? dit don Quichotte. - -Voilà qui est fait, seigneur, répondit Sancho, car je vois que cela vous -fâche: autrement, j’avais de la besogne taillée pour huit jours. - -Que Dieu m’accorde la grâce de ne pas mourir avant de t’avoir vu devenir -muet, dit don Quichotte. - -Au train dont nous allons, repartit Sancho, j’ai peur de vous en donner -le plaisir un de ces jours: il ne faut pour cela que tomber entre les -mains des muletiers Yangois, ou marcher toute une semaine à travers les -forêts, sans trouver quoi que ce soit à mettre sous la dent; alors vous -me verrez si bien muet, que je ne dirai pas une seule parole d’ici au -jugement dernier. - -Et quand cela serait, reprit don Quichotte, jamais ton silence n’égalera -ton bavardage. D’ailleurs, selon l’ordre de la nature, je dois mourir -avant toi; aussi je désespère de jamais te voir muet, non pas même en -buvant, ou en dormant, ce qui est tout ce que je peux dire de plus. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, repartit Sancho, il n’y a point à se fier à cette -maudite camarde, je veux dire à la Mort: car elle mange l’agneau tout -comme le mouton; et j’ai entendu notre curé dire qu’elle frappait -également les palais des rois et les cabanes des chevriers[92]. Elle a -beaucoup de pouvoir, cette dame, mais pas un brin de courtoisie: car -elle s’en prend à tout, mange de tout, et remplit sa besace de gens de -tout âge et de toute condition. Oh! ce n’est point là un moissonneur qui -fasse la sieste; elle a les yeux sans cesse ouverts, elle coupe l’herbe -verte comme la sèche, aussi bien la nuit que le jour. Par ma foi, on -peut dire non pas qu’elle mange, mais bien plutôt qu’elle dévore et -engloutit tout ce qui se trouve sur son chemin, car elle a une faim -qu’on ne peut rassasier; et quoiqu’elle n’ait point de ventre, on la -dirait hydropique, tant elle a soif de boire la vie de tous les hommes, -comme on boit une jarre d’eau fraîche. - - [92] Pallida mors æquo, etc. (HORACE.) - -Assez, assez, s’écria don Quichotte, tu ne t’en es pas mal tiré avec ton -éloquence rustique: ne va pas plus loin, mon ami, dans la crainte de -tomber; par ma foi, si tu avais autant de science et d’étude que tu as -d’esprit naturel et de jugement, tu pourrais monter en chaire et devenir -un excellent prédicateur. - -Qui vit bien prêche bien, repartit Sancho, je n’en sais point davantage. - -Tu n’as pas besoin d’en savoir davantage, dit don Quichotte; cependant -je ne puis comprendre que, le commencement de la sagesse étant la -crainte de Dieu, toi qui crains moins Dieu qu’un lézard, tu en saches si -long. - -Seigneur, reprit Sancho, que Votre Grâce soit juge de sa chevalerie, et -non de la peur ou du courage des autres, puisque notre curé dit qu’il -faut examiner ses actions et non celles d’autrui. Après tout, -laissez-moi dire un mot à cette écume, car tous ces discours ne sont que -paroles oiseuses, dont il nous faudra rendre compte au jour du jugement. - -Sans plus discourir, il donna un nouvel assaut à la casserole, et avec -tant de vigueur, qu’il réveilla l’appétit de son maître; lequel lui -aurait tenu compagnie s’il n’en eût été empêché par ce qu’il faudra -remettre au chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXI - -SUITE DES NOCES DE GAMACHE, ET DES CHOSES ÉTRANGES QUI Y ARRIVÈRENT - -Don Quichotte et Sancho achevaient la conversation que nous venons de -rapporter, quand il se fit un grand bruit de voix; ce bruit venait des -cavaliers qui venaient au-devant des nouveaux époux. En effet, ceux-ci -s’avançaient au milieu de toutes sortes d’instruments, avec le curé, -leurs familles, et suivis de la plus brillante compagnie des villages -circonvoisins, tous en habit de fête. - -Dès que la fiancée parut; Peste! s’écria Sancho, ce n’est point là une -paysanne; par ma foi, on dirait plutôt une princesse: quelle belle -guirlande de corail elle vous a autour du cou! et cette robe d’un -velours à trente poils, avec bordures de satin! Mais voyez donc ses -mains: que je meure si elles ne sont pas d’émail; et ces belles bagues -d’or avec des perles blanches comme du lait; il n’y en a pas une qui ne -vaille pour le moins un œil de la tête. Tudieu! quels cheveux! s’ils ne -sont pas faux, je n’en ai vu de ma vie d’aussi longs ni d’aussi blonds. -Que dites-vous de sa taille et de sa tournure? A la voir ainsi couverte -de joyaux de la tête aux pieds, on la prendrait pour un palmier chargé -de dattes. En vérité, voilà une maîtresse fille et qui pourrait passer -sur les bancs de Flandre[93]. - - [93] Passage dangereux qui borde la côte des Pays-Bas. On disait - proverbialement pour faire l’éloge de quelqu’un, qu’il pouvait passer - sur les bancs de Flandre. - -Don Quichotte souriait des éloges de Sancho, et il convenait en lui-même -qu’après Dulcinée on n’avait jamais rien vu de si merveilleux. Quitterie -paraissait un peu pâle, suite ordinaire de la mauvaise nuit que passent -les jeunes filles en préparant pour le lendemain leur parure de noces. -Les fiancés se dirigeaient vers une espèce d’estrade, couverte de -rameaux, de tapis et de branchages, sur laquelle devaient se faire les -épousailles, et d’où ils pouvaient plus commodément voir les jeux et les -danses. - -Tout à coup, au moment d’atteindre leurs places, ils entendirent -derrière eux un grand tumulte, et du milieu sortit une voix qui disait: -«Attendez, attendez, gens inconsidérés, vous êtes trop pressés d’en -finir.» A ces mots tous les assistants tournèrent la tête, et l’on vit -s’avancer un homme vêtu d’une casaque noire, bordée de bandes cramoisies -et parsemée de flammes; il avait sur la tête une couronne de cyprès, et -dans la main un long bâton. Quand il fut proche, chacun reconnut Basile, -et, le voyant dans un pareil lieu, l’on commença à craindre quelque -triste événement. Il arriva enfin essoufflé, hors d’haleine, et dès -qu’il fut devant les deux époux, fichant en terre son bâton garni d’une -pointe d’acier, le visage pâle et les yeux attachés sur Quitterie, il -lui dit d’une voix sourde et tremblante: - -As-tu donc oublié, ingrate Quitterie, que tu m’avais donné ta foi, et -que tu ne pourrais prendre un autre époux, tant que je serais vivant? -M’as-tu jamais trouvé infidèle, et en attendant qu’il me fût donné de -t’épouser, peux-tu me reprocher d’avoir manqué à l’amitié que je te -dois, ou fait quelque chose qui pût t’offenser? Pourquoi donc fausser ta -parole, pourquoi donner à un autre un bien qui m’appartient, sans qu’il -ait sur moi d’autre avantage que celui que le hasard distribue suivant -sa fantaisie? Eh bien, qu’il en jouisse, puisque c’est ta volonté; je -vais faire disparaître l’obstacle qui pouvait s’y opposer, et le rendre -heureux aux dépens de ma propre vie. Vivent! vivent le riche Gamache et -l’ingrate Quitterie! et meure Basile, puisque la pauvreté a coupé les -ailes à son bonheur et l’a précipité dans le tombeau. - -En achevant ces paroles, Basile tira une courte épée qui était cachée -dans son bâton, et, en ayant appuyé la poignée contre terre, il se jeta -sur la pointe avec autant de célérité que de résolution, et tomba -nageant dans son sang. A ce funeste spectacle, ses amis accoururent, -poussant des cris et déplorant son malheur. Don Quichotte accourut -aussi, et prenant l’infortuné entre ses bras, il trouva qu’il respirait -encore. On voulut lui retirer l’épée de la poitrine, mais le curé s’y -opposa, avant qu’il ne se fût confessé, disant qu’on ne pouvait arracher -l’épée sans lui ôter en même temps la vie. Alors Basile, revenant un peu -à lui, dit d’une voix affaiblie et presque éteinte: Cruelle Quitterie! -si à cette heure terrible et solennelle tu voulais m’accorder ta main -comme époux, je regretterais moins ma témérité, puisqu’elle m’a procuré -le bonheur d’être à toi. - -Mon enfant, lui dit le curé, il n’est plus temps de penser aux choses de -ce monde; songez à vous réconcilier avec Dieu, et à lui demander pardon -d’une résolution si désespérée. - -J’avoue que je suis désespéré, reprit Basile; et il prononça encore -quelques paroles qui montraient sa résolution de ne point se confesser -sans obtenir de Quitterie ce qu’il demandait, ajoutant que cette -satisfaction pouvait seule lui en donner le courage et la force. - -Don Quichotte déclara la demande parfaitement juste et raisonnable, et -d’autant plus aisée à accorder, qu’il y avait le même honneur pour -Gamache à prendre Quitterie, veuve d’un si honnête homme, que s’il la -recevait des mains de son père. D’ailleurs, ajouta-t-il, il n’y a qu’un -oui à proférer, et ce oui ne doit pas lui coûter beaucoup, puisque le -lit nuptial de Basile sera son tombeau. - -En voyant et entendant tout cela, Gamache était plein d’incertitude; -mais les amis de Basile le prièrent avec tant d’instances de consentir à -ce que Quitterie donnât la main à leur ami mourant, au moins pour sauver -son âme, qu’ils le décidèrent à déclarer que si elle y consentait il ne -s’y opposait pas, puisque ce n’était que différer un instant -l’accomplissement de ses propres désirs. Alors tous s’approchèrent de -Quitterie, et les uns les larmes aux yeux, les autres avec des paroles -obligeantes, ils tâchèrent de l’émouvoir en lui représentant qu’elle ne -pouvait refuser cette dernière grâce à un homme qui n’en jouirait pas -longtemps. Mais la belle Quitterie, immobile comme un marbre, ne savait -ou ne voulait pas répondre, et l’on n’aurait peut-être pas tiré d’elle -une parole, si le curé ne l’eût pressée de prendre un parti, disant que -Basile ayant la mort sur les lèvres, il n’y avait pas un instant à -perdre. Triste et troublée, Quitterie s’approcha de Basile, qui, les -yeux déjà fermés et respirant à peine, murmurait entre ses dents le nom -de Quitterie. Dès qu’elle fut près de lui, elle se mit à genoux et lui -demanda sa main, mais seulement par signe, comme n’ayant pas la force de -parler. - -Basile ouvrit les yeux, et les attachant languissamment sur elle: O -Quitterie! lui dit-il, à quoi bon cette pitié, maintenant qu’il me -reste si peu d’instants pour jouir du bonheur d’être ton époux, et que -rien ne peut arrêter le coup qui va me mettre au tombeau? Mais, au -moins, je t’en conjure, ô ma fatale étoile! c’est qu’en ce moment où tu -me demandes la main et tu m’offres la tienne, ce ne soit pas par -complaisance et pour m’abuser de nouveau: déclare donc que c’est sans -contrainte que tu me prends pour époux, et aussi librement que lorsque -nous nous donnâmes une foi mutuelle. Dans le triste état où tu m’as -réduit, il serait affreux de feindre avec moi, après m’avoir toujours -trouvé si fidèle et si sincère. - -Pendant qu’il parlait, on le voyait défaillir de telle sorte que tous -les assistants croyaient qu’il allait expirer à chaque parole. -Quitterie, confuse et les yeux baissés, prit de sa main droite celle de -son malheureux amant et lui dit: Rien n’est capable de forcer ma -volonté, Basile; d’un esprit aussi libre que je te donne ma main, je -reçois la tienne, s’il est vrai qu’il te reste assez de présence -d’esprit pour savoir ce que tu fais. - -Je te la donne, répondit Basile, l’esprit aussi sain et aussi entier que -je l’ai reçu du ciel; et c’est de tout mon cœur que je te reçois pour -épouse. - -Et moi, ajouta Quitterie, je te reçois pour époux, soit que tu vives de -longues années, soit qu’on te porte de mes bras dans le tombeau. - -Pour être aussi grièvement blessé, dit Sancho, voilà un garçon qui jase -beaucoup: il faudrait lui dire de laisser là toutes ces galanteries, et -de songer à son âme, qu’il a, ce me semble, plutôt sur le bout de la -langue qu’entre les dents. - -Pendant que Basile tenait ainsi la main de Quitterie, le curé attendri, -et les larmes aux yeux, leur donna la bénédiction nuptiale, priant Dieu -de recevoir en paix l’âme du nouveau marié. Mais celui-ci n’eut pas -plutôt reçu la bénédiction, qu’il se releva prestement, et avec une -célérité merveilleuse retira la dague à laquelle son corps servait de -fourreau. Les assistants étaient frappés de surprise, et plusieurs dans -leur simplicité se mirent à crier au miracle. Non, répliqua Basile, ce -n’est pas miracle, c’est adresse qu’il faut dire. Le curé, stupéfait, -hors de lui, accourut pour tâter la blessure avec sa main, et il trouva -que la dague, au lieu de percer le corps de Basile, était entrée dans un -fourreau de fer, adroitement rempli de sang. Bref, le curé, Gamache, et -ses amis, virent qu’on les avait joués. Quant à la fiancée, elle n’en -témoigna pas le moindre déplaisir; loin de là, entendant dire que ce -mariage entaché de fraude ne serait pas valable, elle déclara qu’elle le -ratifiait de nouveau: ce qui fit penser à tout le monde que la ruse -avait été concertée entre eux. Gamache et ses amis étaient si irrités, -qu’ils voulurent en tirer vengeance sur l’heure, et ils attaquèrent -Basile, pour lequel, en un clin d’œil, brillèrent cent épées nues. - -Don Quichotte accourut à cheval un des premiers, la rondache au bras, la -lance au poing, et se jeta entre les combattants, lesquels s’écartèrent -aussitôt. Quant à Sancho, qui avait les querelles en horreur, il se -réfugia au milieu des marmites, comme dans un asile sacré. - -Arrêtez! seigneurs, arrêtez! criait don Quichotte; on ne doit jamais se -venger des ruses que fait inventer l’amour, car l’amour et la guerre -sont même chose; et comme dans la guerre il a été de tout temps permis -d’employer des stratagèmes pour vaincre son ennemi, de même dans les -rivalités d’amour il faut tenir pour légitimes les ruses qu’on emploie -afin de réussir, pourvu toutefois que ce ne soit pas au détriment de -l’objet aimé. Quitterie est à Basile, et Basile à Quitterie, ainsi l’a -voulu le ciel. Gamache est riche, il trouvera assez d’autres femmes; -Basile, au contraire, n’a que cette brebis, il serait injuste de vouloir -la lui ravir. L’homme n’a pas le droit de séparer ce que Dieu a uni; -celui qui osera l’entreprendre, aura d’abord affaire à la pointe de -cette lance. En disant cela, il brandissait son arme avec tant de -vigueur, qu’il terrifia tous ceux qui ne le connaissaient pas. - -L’indifférence de Quitterie avait produit une telle impression sur -l’esprit de Gamache, qu’en un instant elle s’effaça de sa mémoire. Aussi -céda-t-il sans efforts aux exhortations du curé, homme sage et -conciliant; et pour montrer leurs intentions pacifiques, lui et ses amis -remirent leurs épées dans le fourreau, blâmant plutôt la facilité de -Quitterie que la ruse de Basile. Bien plus, quand Gamache eut réfléchi -que si Quitterie aimait Basile, étant jeune fille, elle l’eût encore -aimé après son mariage, il rendit grâce au ciel de la lui avoir enlevée, -et afin de prouver qu’il n’avait aucun ressentiment de ce qui venait de -se passer, il voulut que la fête s’achevât comme s’il se fût marié -réellement. - -Basile et Quitterie, ainsi que tous ceux de leur parti, refusèrent d’y -assister, et l’on se mit en chemin pour le village de Basile, qui malgré -sa pauvreté eut tout sujet de se réjouir; car le pauvre vertueux trouve -des amis pour le soutenir et l’honorer, comme le riche ne manque jamais -de flatteurs pour lui faire cortége. Ils emmenèrent avec eux don -Quichotte, le tenant pour homme de cœur et qui avait, comme on dit, du -poil sur l’estomac. Le seul Sancho avait l’âme navrée d’être forcé de -renoncer au splendide festin des noces de Gamache, qui se prolongèrent -une grande partie de la nuit. Tournant donc le dos, bien qu’il les -portât dans son cœur, aux marmites d’Égypte, dont l’écume presque -achevée qu’il emportait dans la casserole lui représentait l’abondance -perdue, il suivit son seigneur qui s’en allait avec le quadrille de -Basile. Ainsi, tout chagrin, quoique largement repu, il remonta sur son -grison et suivit Rossinante. - -CHAPITRE XXII - -DE L’AVENTURE INOUIE DE LA CAVERNE DE MONTESINOS DONT LE VALEUREUX DON -QUICHOTTE VINT A BOUT - -Grands et nombreux furent les régals qui attendaient don Quichotte chez -les nouveaux époux, empressés de reconnaître la protection qu’il leur -avait apportée si à propos; aussi mettant son esprit au niveau de son -courage, ils le qualifiaient tour à tour de Cicéron pour l’éloquence et -de Cid pour la valeur. Le bon Sancho se récréa trois jours aux dépens -des mariés, desquels on apprit que Quitterie n’avait eu aucune part à la -supercherie de Basile, qui seul s’était concerté avec ses amis, afin que -l’heure venue ils lui prêtassent appui. - -On ne doit point appeler supercherie, disait don Quichotte, les moyens -qui tendent à une fin louable et vertueuse; or pour les amants le -mariage est la fin par excellence. Seulement, comme dans le mariage tout -doit être contentement, joie et plaisir, le plus grand ennemi que puisse -redouter l’amour c’est la pauvreté. Ce que j’en dis c’est afin que le -seigneur Basile sache qu’il est temps de renoncer à tous ces exercices -du corps où il excelle et qui ne lui feront qu’une réputation inutile, -sans lui procurer aucun profit, et qu’ayant maintenant une épouse -vertueuse autant que belle, qui a dédaigné pour lui de grandes -richesses, il est désormais obligé de travailler à se faire une fortune -digne de sa femme, afin d’être tous deux en état de passer leur vie en -repos. - -Je ne sais quel sage, ajoutait notre chevalier, a dit qu’il n’existait -au monde qu’une seule femme véritablement bonne; mais qu’il conseillait -à chaque mari de se persuader, pour être heureux, que cette femme était -la sienne. Moi, qui ne suis pas marié et qui n’ai encore jamais pensé au -mariage, j’oserais cependant donner à celui qui me les demanderait -quelques conseils sur le choix d’une épouse. Je lui dirais: faites plus -attention, chez une femme, à la réputation qu’à la fortune; la femme -vertueuse n’acquiert pas la bonne renommée seulement parce qu’elle est -vertueuse, mais aussi parce qu’elle le paraît; les légèretés et les -imprudences nuisent plus aux femmes que les fautes secrètes. Si vous -ouvrez votre maison à une épouse vertueuse, il vous sera facile de la -maintenir dans cet état et même de l’y fortifier; mais si pour compagne -vous prenez une femme aux penchants vicieux, vous aurez bien de la peine -à l’en corriger, car il est très-difficile de revenir du vice à la -vertu. La chose n’est pas impossible, j’en conviens, mais je la regarde -comme d’une excessive difficulté. - -Sancho écoutait, se disant à lui-même: Ce mien maître-là, quand je viens -à dire quelques bonnes choses, ne manque jamais de s’écrier que je -pourrais monter en chaire et m’en aller prêcher par le monde; eh bien, -je soutiens, moi, que lorsqu’il se met à enfiler des sentences et à -donner des conseils, non-seulement il pourrait monter en chaire, mais -même sur le haut du clocher. Peste soit de l’homme qui, en sachant si -long, s’est fait chevalier errant! je m’étais figuré qu’il ne savait -guère que ce qui a rapport à sa chevalerie, mais je vois qu’il n’y a -point de sujet où il ne puisse placer son mot. - -Que murmures-tu là Sancho? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je ne murmure rien, répondit Sancho; je pensais seulement à part moi, -qu’avant d’avoir pris femme, j’aurais bien voulu entendre dire ce que -dit Votre Grâce; peut-être dirais-je à présent que le bœuf libre du -joug se lèche plus à l’aise. - -Comment, ta Thérèse est méchante à ce point? reprit don Quichotte. - -Elle n’est pas très-méchante, répliqua Sancho; mais elle n’est pas non -plus très-bonne; du moins elle n’est pas aussi bonne que je voudrais. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, tu as tort de mal parler de ta femme; car -c’est la mère de tes enfants. - -Oh! nous ne nous devons rien, répondit Sancho; et quand la fantaisie lui -en prend, elle ne me ménage guère, surtout si elle a un grain de -jalousie. Aussi, dans ces moments-là, je la donnerais à tous les -diables. - -Nos aventuriers passèrent trois jours à faire bonne chère chez les -nouveaux mariés; mais don Quichotte, qui se lassait déjà d’une vie -oisive et si contraire à sa profession, pria le licencié avec qui il -était venu, et qui jouait si bien des fleurets, de lui donner un guide -pour le conduire à la caverne de Montesinos, où il avait le plus vif -désir de pénétrer, afin de voir par ses propres yeux les merveilles que -l’on en racontait dans le pays. Le licencié lui dit qu’un de ses -cousins, garçon fort instruit, et grand amateur de livres de chevalerie, -le conduirait de bon cœur jusqu’à l’entrée de la caverne, et lui -indiquerait les sources de Ruidera, si fameuses dans toute l’Espagne, -ajoutant qu’il aurait grand plaisir dans la compagnie de ce jeune homme. -En effet, le cousin arriva bientôt après, monté sur une bourrique -pleine. Sancho sella Rossinante, bâta son grison, puis s’étant -recommandé à Dieu, et le bissac bien fourni, la caravane se mit en route -dans la direction de la fameuse caverne. - -Chemin faisant, don Quichotte demanda à son guide quelles étaient ses -études et sa profession. - -Seigneur, répondit celui-ci, ma profession est celle d’humaniste, et je -compose des livres pour le plaisir et l’utilité du public. J’en ai un -prêt à paraître, qui a pour titre: _Recueil de livrées_: il contiendra -plus de sept cents figures, chiffres et devises, dont le but est -d’épargner aux chevaliers de la cour la peine de se creuser la cervelle -pour en trouver de conformes à leur intention, lorsqu’ils ont à figurer -dans un carrousel ou dans un tournoi. J’ai prévu tout ce qu’on peut -souhaiter là-dessus: il y a des devises pour le jaloux, il y en a pour -l’absent, pour le dédaigné, qui leur vont comme un gant. Je viens aussi -d’achever un autre ouvrage que j’intitule les _Métamorphoses_ ou -l’_Ovide espagnol_. Celui-ci est d’une invention rare et originale, car, -imitant Ovide dans le genre burlesque, j’explique ce que furent la -Giralda de Séville, l’ange de la Madeleine, l’égout de Vinceguerra à -Cordoue, les taureaux de Guisando, les fontaines de Legatinos et de -Lavapiès à Madrid, sans oublier celles du Pou, du Tuyau doré, et de la -Prieure, le tout accompagné de métaphores et d’allégories, de façon que -l’ouvrage soit à la fois instructif et amusant. J’en ai encore sur le -chantier un autre que j’appelle: _Supplément à Polydore Virgile_, et qui -traite de l’origine des choses: c’est un livre d’une grande érudition, -car j’y explique toutes les questions importantes qu’avait oubliées -Polydore. Par exemple, il n’a point dit quel est le premier homme du -monde qui ait eu un catarrhe; quel recourut le premier aux frictions -pour guérir le mal français; eh bien, moi, j’enseigne tout cela de point -en point et appuyé de l’autorité de plus de vingt-cinq auteurs, la -plupart contemporains. Jugez, seigneur, si mon travail est utile et -curieux. - -Seigneur, vous qui savez tout, demanda Sancho, pourriez-vous me dire -quel est le premier homme qui s’est gratté la tête; quant à moi, je -pense que c’est Adam, notre premier père. - -Très-probablement, répondit le guide, car Adam avait une tête et des -cheveux, et il y a apparence qu’étant le premier homme, il y a le -premier senti de la démangeaison. - -C’est ce que je crois aussi, reprit Sancho; dites-moi maintenant quel -est l’homme qui a sauté ou voltigé le premier? - -En vérité, frère, répondit le guide, je ne saurais résoudre cela sur -l’heure, et il faut avant tout que j’en fasse la recherche; je -feuilletterai mes livres aussitôt que je serai de retour, et je vous -rendrai raison à la prochaine rencontre, car j’espère que celle-ci ne -sera pas la dernière. - -Ne prenez pas tant de peine, dit Sancho, je viens de trouver la chose: -le premier sauteur du monde fut Lucifer, car, lorsqu’il fut chassé du -ciel, il s’en alla voltigeant jusqu’au fond des enfers. - -Vous avez raison, compère, répondit le guide. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, la demande et la réponse ne sont pas de toi; -tu les as déjà entendu faire. - -Seigneur, repartit Sancho, en fait de demandes et de réponses, j’en ai -au moins pour deux jours; et quant à débiter des sottises, je n’ai, Dieu -merci, besoin de personne. - -Tu en dis plus que tu ne penses, repartit don Quichotte: en effet, il y -a nombre de gens qui se donnent beaucoup de peine pour apprendre et -vérifier des choses oiseuses où la mémoire et l’esprit n’ont rien à -gagner. - -Nos voyageurs passèrent la journée dans ces agréables entretiens. Puis -la nuit venue, ils allèrent loger dans un petit village, d’où, suivant -le guide, il n’y avait pas plus de deux lieues jusqu’à la caverne de -Montesinos. Notre chevalier fut averti de se pourvoir de cordes, s’il -avait envie de descendre jusqu’au fond. Don Quichotte répondit qu’il y -était résolu, dût-il pénétrer jusqu’aux abîmes. On acheta cent brasses -de corde, et, le jour suivant, les trois voyageurs arrivèrent, sur les -deux heures après midi, proche de la caverne, dont l’entrée, quoique -large et spacieuse, était tellement obstruée de ronces et de -broussailles entrelacées, qu’elle semblait inaccessible. - -Quand ils furent près du bord, don Quichotte, le guide et Sancho, mirent -pied à terre; puis les deux compères s’occupèrent à attacher fortement -notre chevalier avec des cordes. Pendant qu’on lui ceignait les reins, -Sancho lui dit: Que Votre Grâce, mon bon seigneur, prenne garde à ce -qu’elle va faire; pourquoi vous enterrer tout vivant, comme une cruche -qu’on met dans un puits pour la rafraîchir? Quel intérêt vous force -d’aller voir ce qui se passe au fond d’un trou qui doit être pire qu’une -prison de Maures? - -Attache et tais-toi, répondit don Quichotte; à moi seul était réservée -une entreprise telle que celle-ci. - -Seigneur, lui dit le guide, observez bien, je vous prie, tout ce qu’il y -a dans cette caverne: peut-être s’y rencontrera-t-il des choses dignes -de trouver place dans mon livre des métamorphoses. - -Soyez tranquille, reprit Sancho; mon maître tient la flûte, je vous -assure qu’il en jouera bien. - -Se voyant prêt à descendre: Pardieu! dit don Quichotte, nous avons été -bien imprévoyants de ne pas nous munir d’une petite clochette qu’on -aurait attachée à la corde même, et dont le bruit vous eût avertis que -je descendais toujours et que j’étais encore vivant; mais puisqu’il n’en -est plus temps, à la grâce de Dieu. Sur ce, notre chevalier se jeta à -genoux, fit une courte prière à voix basse, pour demander le secours du -ciel dans une si périlleuse aventure, après quoi il s’écria: O dame de -mes pensées, maîtresse de mes actions, illustre et sans pareille -Dulcinée du Toboso, si les prières de ton amant fortuné arrivent jusqu’à -toi, daigne, je t’en conjure, par cette beauté incomparable qui m’a -charmé, daigne les écouter favorablement; car elles n’ont d’autre objet -que d’obtenir ta protection dont j’ai si grand besoin, au moment où je -vais m’enfoncer dans cet abîme, poussé par le seul désir d’apprendre à -tout l’univers que celui que tu favorises ne connaît rien d’impossible. - -En disant ces paroles, il s’approcha de l’ouverture de la caverne, et -voyant qu’il était impossible d’y pénétrer, à moins de s’ouvrir par -force un passage, il tira son épée, et se mit à abattre les broussailles -et les épines. Au bruit que faisaient ses coups, il s’en échappa une -nuée si rapide et si épaisse d’énormes corbeaux, de corneilles et de -chauves-souris, que notre héros en fut renversé. S’il eût été aussi -superstitieux qu’il était bon catholique et franc chevalier, il aurait -tenu cela à mauvais présage et renoncé à l’entreprise; mais se relevant -avec un courage intrépide et voyant qu’il ne sortait plus d’oiseaux, il -demanda de la corde au guide et à Sancho, qui commencèrent à le laisser -couler doucement. Au moment où il disparut, Sancho lui envoya sa -bénédiction, en faisant sur lui mille signes de croix: Que Dieu te -conduise, dit-il, ainsi que Notre-Dame du Puy et la Sainte-Trinité de -Gayette, crème, fleur, écume des chevaliers errants! Va en paix, -champion du monde, cœur d’acier, bras d’airain; que Dieu te conduise et -te ramène sain et sauf à la lumière de cette vie que tu abandonnes pour -t’enterrer dans cette obscurité! - -Le guide répéta à peu près les mêmes invocations. - -Cependant don Quichotte criait toujours qu’on lui lâchât de la corde, et -ils continuaient à lui en envoyer peu à peu. Quand ils reconnurent -qu’ils en avaient coulé plus de cent brasses, et qu’aucun son -n’arrivait jusqu’à eux, ils furent d’avis de remonter notre chevalier; -néanmoins ils attendirent près d’une demi-heure, après quoi ils -commencèrent à retirer la corde. Comme elle remontait sans qu’ils -éprouvassent aucune résistance, ils craignirent que don Quichotte ne fût -resté au fond de la caverne. Sancho pleurait déjà amèrement, et tirait -en toute hâte pour s’assurer de la vérité. Au bout de quatre-vingts -brasses environ, ils sentirent un poids assez lourd, ce qui leur causa -une joie extrême, puis enfin après dix autres brasses ils aperçurent -distinctement don Quichotte, à qui Sancho cria tout joyeux: Soyez le -bienvenu, mon bon seigneur; nous pensions que vous étiez resté là-bas -pour faire race. Don Quichotte ne répondit mot; mais quand il fut au -bord du trou, ils virent qu’il avait les yeux fermés, comme un homme -endormi. Ils le délièrent et l’étendirent par terre, sans qu’il -s’éveillât; enfin quand ils l’eurent bien tourné et retourné, il revint -à lui, se frotta les yeux, s’allongea comme si on l’eût tiré d’un -profond sommeil, puis jetant de côté et d’autre des regards effarés: -Dieu vous le pardonne, amis, s’écria-t-il; mais vous venez de m’enlever -au plus beau spectacle et à la plus délicieuse vie dont mortel ait -jamais joui. C’est maintenant qu’il me faut reconnaître que toutes les -joies de ce monde passent comme l’ombre et se flétrissent comme la fleur -des champs. O malheureux Montesinos! ô Durandart, lâchement assassiné! ô -infortuné Belerne! ô larmoyant Guadiana! et vous, déplorables filles de -Ruidera, qui par l’abondance de vos eaux faites voir combien vos beaux -yeux ont versé de larmes! - -Étonnés d’entendre ces paroles qu’il proférait comme s’il eût été -pénétré d’une profonde douleur, le guide et Sancho le supplièrent de -leur en apprendre le sens, et de leur raconter ce qu’il avait vu dans -cet enfer. - -Enfer! s’écria don Quichotte; ce nom, je vous l’assure, ne lui convient -nullement. Il demanda quelque chose à manger, parce qu’il avait grand -faim; on étendit sur l’herbe le tapis qui formait la selle du coursier, -on vida les besaces, et tous trois, de bon appétit, dînèrent et -soupèrent d’un même coup. Quand le tapis fut enlevé: Que personne ne -bouge, enfants, dit don Quichotte, et prêtez-moi la plus grande -attention. - -CHAPITRE XXIII - -DES ADMIRABLES CHOSES QUE L’INCOMPARABLE DON QUICHOTTE PRÉTENDIT AVOIR -VUES DANS LA PROFONDE CAVERNE DE MONTESINOS, ET DONT L’INVRAISEMBLANCE -ET LA GRANDEUR FONT QUE L’ON TIENT CETTE AVENTURE POUR APOCRYPHE - -Il était environ quatre heures du soir, lorsque le soleil, caché par des -nuages qui amortissaient l’éclat de sa lumière et tempéraient l’ardeur -de ses rayons, permit à don Quichotte de raconter, sans fatigue, à ses -deux illustres auditeurs, les choses merveilleuses qu’il avait vues dans -la caverne de Montesinos. Il commença en ces termes: - -A douze ou quatorze hauteurs d’homme du fond de cette caverne se trouve -à main droite une cavité ou espace vide pouvant contenir un grand -chariot attelé de ses mules. Une faible lueur y arrive par quelques -fentes assez éloignées, puisqu’elles viennent de la surface du sol. -J’aperçus cette cavité dans un moment où j’étais las et attristé de me -sentir, suspendu à une corde, descendre dans cette région obscure sans -avoir de route certaine; cela me détermina à y entrer pour prendre un -peu de repos. Je vous criai en même temps de ne plus lâcher de corde, -mais probablement vous ne m’entendîtes pas. Je ramassai alors celle que -vous continuiez à m’envoyer, et j’en fis, en la roulant, une sorte de -siége sur lequel je m’assis tout pensif, réfléchissant sur ce que -j’avais à faire pour gagner le fond. Pendant que j’étais plongé dans ces -pensées et dans cette incertitude, je fus gagné par un sommeil des plus -profonds: puis, quand j’y songeais le moins, je m’éveillai et alors je -me trouvai, sans savoir ni pourquoi ni comment, au milieu de la plus -belle, de la plus agréable, et de la plus délicieuse prairie que puisse -former la nature ou rêver une riante imagination. Je me frottai les -yeux, et reconnus que je ne dormais plus et que j’étais bien réellement -éveillé. Je me tâtai la tête et la poitrine, pour m’assurer si c’était -bien moi qui étais là ou seulement quelque vain fantôme, quelque -contrefaçon de ma personne; mais le sentiment, le toucher, les -raisonnements suivis que je faisais en moi-même, tout m’attesta que -j’étais véritablement alors ce que je suis à présent. - -Bientôt s’offrit à ma vue un royal et somptueux palais dont les murs -semblaient être faits d’un cristal pur et diaphane. Deux grandes portes -s’ouvrirent, et je vis s’avancer vers moi un vénérable vieillard, vêtu -d’un manteau violet qui traînait jusqu’à terre. Sa poitrine et ses -épaules étaient entourées d’un chaperon collégial en satin vert. Une -toque milanaise en velours noir lui couvrait la tête, et sa barbe -blanche se prolongeait plus bas que sa ceinture. Il ne portait aucune -arme; seulement il tenait à la main un rosaire dont les grains étaient -plus gros que des noix et les dizains comme des œufs d’autruche. Sa -démarche, sa noble prestance et l’ampleur de sa personne, tout en lui, -dans les détails comme dans l’ensemble, me frappa de surprise et -d’admiration. Il s’approcha, et m’embrassant étroitement: Vaillant -chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, me dit-il, nous tous qui depuis -longues années sommes enchantés dans ces solitudes, nous attendions ta -venue afin que tu puisses faire connaître au monde ce que recèle l’antre -profond dans lequel tu viens de pénétrer, et qui s’appelle la caverne de -Montesinos. Cette prouesse était réservée à ton grand cœur et à ton -invincible courage. Viens avec moi, illustre seigneur, viens; je veux te -dévoiler les merveilles que renferme ce transparent Alcazar dont je -suis à perpétuité le gouverneur et le gardien; car tu vois Montesinos -lui-même, de qui cette caverne a pris le nom. - -A ce nom de Montesinos, je lui demandai s’il était vrai, comme on le -racontait dans le monde d’en haut, qu’il eût avec une petite dague tiré -le cœur de Durandart du fond de sa poitrine, pour le porter à la señora -Belerme, suivant le vœu de son ami mourant. - -Cela est vrai de tout point, sauf la dague, me dit-il, car c’était un -poignard fourbi et pointu comme une alène. - -En ce cas, interrompit Sancho, ce devait être un poignard du fameux -Ramon de Hocès, l’armurier de Séville[94]. - - [94] Célèbre armurier au seizième siècle. - -Je n’en sais rien, répondit don Quichotte; mais cela ne se peut, puisque -l’armurier que tu cites n’est que d’hier, tandis que l’événement dont je -parle s’est passé à Roncevaux il y a plusieurs siècles. Au surplus, -cette particularité est sans importance; elle ne peut en rien altérer le -fond de cette histoire. - -Non, certes, ajouta le guide; continuez, seigneur don Quichotte; -j’éprouve le plus grand plaisir à vous entendre. - -Et moi non moins à vous faire ce récit, reprit notre héros. Je suivis -donc le vénérable Montesinos au palais de cristal, où dans une salle -toute en albâtre et d’une fraîcheur délicieuse, se trouvait un tombeau -en marbre sculpté avec un art merveilleux. Sur ce tombeau je vis étendu -tout de son long un chevalier, non de bronze, de marbre, ni de jaspe, -tel qu’on en voit sur d’autres monuments, mais bien de chair et d’os. Il -tenait sa main droite (qui me sembla nerveuse et très-velue, ce qui est -un attribut de la force) posée sur son cœur. En me voyant contempler -l’homme du tombeau: Voilà, me dit Montesinos, voilà mon ami Durandart, -miroir, fleur des vaillants et amoureux chevaliers de son temps; il est -retenu ici enchanté comme moi et tant d’autres, hommes et femmes, par -Merlin, l’enchanteur français, qui passait pour être fils du diable. -Quant à moi, je ne pense pas qu’il ait eu un tel père; car il en savait -plus long que le diable, et il lui aurait même rendu des points. Comment -et pourquoi nous a-t-il enchantés? Tout le monde l’ignore; mais le temps -le révélera et ce temps-là n’est pas loin, je l’imagine. Tout ce que je -sais, et cela est aussi certain qu’il fait jour à présent, c’est que -Durandart a cessé de vivre entre mes bras; qu’après sa mort j’ai enlevé -son cœur de sa poitrine, et cela de mes propres mains; et en vérité il -devait peser au moins deux livres, car suivant les naturalistes, l’homme -qui a un grand cœur est doué de plus de vaillance que celui chez lequel -il est petit. Eh bien, puisqu’il en est ainsi et que ce chevalier est -bien mort, comment peut-il encore parfois pousser des soupirs et des -plaintes comme s’il était vivant? A ces mots, l’infortuné Durandart jeta -un grand cri, et s’adressant à Montesinos: - -O mon cousin, la dernière prière que je vous adressai, ce fut, quand mon -âme aurait quitté mon corps, de porter vous-même mon cœur à la señora -Belerme, après l’avoir détaché de ma poitrine, soit avec un poignard, -soit avec une dague. - -En entendant cela, Montesinos se jeta à genoux devant le déplorable -chevalier, et lui dit les larmes aux yeux: Seigneur Durandart, mon -très-cher cousin, j’ai exécuté ponctuellement ce que vous m’aviez -prescrit à l’heure fatale de notre défaite; je vous ai détaché le cœur -du mieux que j’ai pu, ayant bien soin de n’en pas laisser la moindre -parcelle dans votre poitrine; je l’ai essuyé avec un mouchoir de -dentelle, et sans perdre un instant j’ai pris le chemin de France, après -vous avoir préalablement déposé dans le sein de la terre, et avoir versé -tant de larmes, qu’elles ont suffi à me laver les mains, et à effacer -les traces de votre sang. Pour surcroît de preuves, cousin de mon âme, -dans le premier village que je traversai à ma sortie de Roncevaux, je -saupoudrai votre cœur d’un peu de sel, afin qu’il ne prît pas mauvaise -odeur, et qu’il arrivât, sinon parfaitement frais, du moins bien -conservé, en présence de la señora Belerme. Cette dame, comme vous, moi, -Guadiana, votre écuyer, la duègne Ruidera, ses sept filles, ses deux -nièces, et bon nombre de nos amis et connaissances, sommes depuis -longtemps enchantés ici par le sage Merlin. Quoiqu’il y ait de cela -maintenant plus de cinq cents ans révolus, personne n’est mort parmi -nous; il ne nous manque que Ruidera, ses filles et ses nièces, -lesquelles, à force de larmes, ont attendri Merlin et ont été changées -par lui en autant de lagunes qui, dans le monde des vivants et dans la -province de la Manche, s’appellent les lagunes de Ruidera. Quant à votre -écuyer Guadiana, qui pleurait aussi votre disgrâce, il est devenu un -fleuve[95], qu’on appelle du même nom, et qui, arrivé à la surface du -sol, voyant un autre soleil que celui qu’il connaissait, fut pris d’un -tel regret de nous quitter, qu’il se replongea dans les entrailles de -la terre; mais comme il faut toujours obéir à sa pente naturelle, il -reparaît de temps en temps, et se montre à la face du ciel et des -hommes. Les lagunes dont j’ai parlé lui prêtent leurs eaux, et avec ce -secours et celui de quelques autres rivières, il entre majestueusement -dans le royaume de Portugal. - - [95] Le Guadiana tire sa source des lagunes de Ruidera, au pied de la - Sierra de Alcaraz, dans la province de la Manche. - -Ce que je viens de vous dire, mon cher cousin, je vous l’ai bien souvent -répété; mais comme vous ne répondez pas, j’en conclus que vous ne pouvez -m’entendre, ou que vous ne m’en croyez pas sur parole; et Dieu sait à -quel point cela me chagrine. Présentement, je viens vous faire part -d’une nouvelle qui, si elle n’apporte pas un grand soulagement à votre -douleur, ne peut du moins l’aggraver en aucune façon. Sachez que vous -avez en votre présence (ouvrez les yeux et vous le verrez) ce noble -chevalier duquel Merlin a prophétisé tant et de si grandes choses, ce -fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, qui a ressuscité, avec un éclat plus -vif encore que dans les siècles passés, la chevalerie errante oubliée de -nos jours. Par lui et à cause de lui, il pourrait arriver que nous -fussions désenchantés, car c’est aux grands hommes que sont réservées -les grandes prouesses. Et quand cela ne serait pas, répondit d’une voix -basse et étouffée l’affligé Durandart, je dirais: Patience, et battons -les cartes. Puis, sans ajouter un seul mot, il se tourna sur le côté, et -retomba dans son silence habituel. - -En ce moment, de grands cris se firent entendre ainsi que des pleurs -accompagnés de profonds gémissements et de sanglots entrecoupés. Je -tournai la tête, et à travers les murailles de cristal, j’aperçus dans -une autre salle du château une procession de belles damoiselles défilant -sur deux rangs; elles étaient toutes vêtues de deuil, et coiffées de -turbans blancs, à la manière des Turcs. A leur suite venait une dame -(ainsi le faisait supposer la gravité de sa prestance) également -habillée de noir; elle portait un voile blanc si long qu’il balayait la -terre. Son turban était deux fois plus gros que ceux des damoiselles; -elle avait des sourcils qui se joignaient, le nez épaté, la bouche -grande, les lèvres d’un rouge vif. Ses dents, que par intervalles elle -laissait voir, semblaient rares et mal rangées, mais blanches comme des -amandes dépouillées de leur pellicule. Elle tenait à la main un linge -très-fin, dans lequel, autant que j’ai pu le remarquer, était un cœur -momifié, tant il me parut sec et ratatiné. Montesinos m’apprit que toute -cette procession était composée des serviteurs de Durandart et de -Belerme, qui se trouvaient enchantés en ce lieu avec leurs seigneurs, et -que celle qui portait le cœur enveloppé dans un linge, était la señora -Belerme elle-même, laquelle, quatre fois par semaine, renouvelait avec -ses damoiselles la même procession, en récitant d’une voix plaintive des -chants funèbres sur le cœur de son infortuné cousin. Si elle vous -semble laide, ajouta-t-il, ou du moins inférieure à sa réputation de -beauté, cela tient aux mauvaises nuits et aux tristes journées qu’elle a -passées dans cet enchantement, comme on peut le voir à son teint pâle et -à ses yeux fatigués: résultat inévitable du douloureux spectacle qui lui -rappelle sans cesse la fin de son amant; car autrement sa beauté, sa -grâce et ses charmes seraient à peine égalés par ceux de la grande -Dulcinée du Toboso; si renommée, non-seulement dans tous les environs, -mais même dans le monde entier. - -Halte-là seigneur, dis-je à don Montesinos; que Votre Grâce conte son -histoire simplement; vous savez que toute comparaison est odieuse, et il -ne s’agit point ici d’établir de parallèle. La sans pareille Dulcinée du -Toboso est ce qu’elle est, et la señora Belerme est aussi ce qu’elle -est, et ce qu’elle a été; n’allons pas plus loin.--Seigneur don -Quichotte, me répondit Montesinos, que Votre Grâce veuille bien -m’excuser; j’avoue que j’ai eu tort de dire que la beauté de la señora -Belerme serait à peine égalée par celle de la grande Dulcinée du -Toboso; car il me suffisait d’avoir soupçonné, sur je ne sais quels -indices, que vous êtes son chevalier, pour me mordre la langue plutôt -que de faire un rapprochement avec quoi que ce soit, si ce n’est avec le -ciel lui-même. - -Grâce à cette satisfaction que me donna le seigneur Montesinos, je -sentis mon cœur s’apaiser et se remettre de l’émotion que j’avais -éprouvée en entendant comparer ma Dulcinée à la señora Belerme. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, s’écria Sancho, je m’étonne que vous n’ayez pas -grimpé sur le corps du bonhomme, que vous ne lui ayez pas moulu les os -et arraché la barbe jusqu’au dernier poil. - -En cela j’eusse mal agi, reprit don Quichotte; nous sommes tenus de -respecter les vieillards, même lorsqu’ils ne sont pas chevaliers; à plus -forte raison quand ils le sont, et enchantés par-dessus le marché. Nous -avons, du reste, Montesinos et moi, échangé bon nombre de questions pour -lesquelles nous sommes quittes l’un envers l’autre. - -Je ne sais vraiment, seigneur, dit le guide, comment dans le peu de -temps qu’elle est restée là-bas, Votre Grâce a pu voir tant de choses, -questionner et répondre sur tant de points. - -Combien y a-t-il donc de temps que je suis descendu? demanda don -Quichotte. - -Un peu plus d’une heure, répondit Sancho. - -Cela ne se peut, dit don Quichotte, puisque j’ai vu venir la nuit, -ensuite le jour, et par trois fois; de façon qu’à mon compte je ne suis -pas resté moins de trois jours dans ces profondeurs cachées à votre vue. - -Ce que dit là mon maître doit être vrai, repartit Sancho; en effet, -comme toutes choses lui arrivent par enchantement, ce qui nous semble -une heure lui aura sans doute paru trois jours et autant de nuits. - -Il faut croire qu’il en est ainsi, dit don Quichotte. - -Mais, seigneur, Votre Grâce n’a-t-elle rien mangé pendant tout ce -temps? demanda le guide. - -Pas une seule bouchée, répondit don Quichotte; je n’en ai pas éprouvé le -besoin, et n’y ai même pas pensé. - -Les enchantés mangent-ils? demanda le guide. - -Non, ils ne mangent pas, reprit don Quichotte, et ils ne font pas non -plus leurs nécessités majeures; mais on croit que leurs ongles, leur -barbe et leurs cheveux continuent à pousser. - -Et dorment-ils par hasard, les enchantés? demanda Sancho. - -Pas davantage, répliqua don Quichotte; du moins, pendant les trois jours -que j’ai séjourné parmi eux, aucun n’a fermé l’œil, ni moi non plus. - -Par ma foi, reprit Sancho, c’est bien ici que peut s’encadrer le -proverbe: Dis-moi qui tu hantes, je te dirai qui tu es. Votre Grâce -fréquente des enchantés qui jeûnent et veillent; eh bien, qu’y a-t-il -d’étonnant à ce qu’elle jeûne et veille comme eux? Mais pardonnez-moi, -mon cher maître, d’avoir parlé comme je viens de le faire; car Dieu -m’emporte, j’allais dire le diable, si j’en crois le premier mot. - -Le seigneur don Quichotte est incapable de mentir, repartit le guide; et -d’ailleurs, quand il l’eût voulu, jamais il n’aurait eu le temps -d’inventer ce million de mensonges. - -Je ne crois pas du tout que mon maître mente, reprit Sancho. - -Eh! que crois-tu donc? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je crois, répondit Sancho, que ce Merlin ou ces enchanteurs qui ont -enchanté toute la bande que Votre Grâce dit avoir vue là-bas, vous ont -fourré dans la cervelle les rêveries que vous venez de nous débiter et -toutes celles qu’il vous reste à nous conter encore. - -Cela pourrait être, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, mais cela n’est pas: -ce que j’ai conté, je l’ai vu de mes yeux et touché de mes mains. Mais -que diras-tu quand, parmi les merveilles sans nombre que m’a montrées -Montesinos (je te les conterai l’une après l’autre et en temps opportun -dans le cours de notre voyage, car toutes ne sont pas de saison), que -diras-tu quand je t’apprendrai qu’il m’a fait remarquer, dans ces -délicieuses campagnes où nous nous promenions ensemble, trois -villageoises sautant et gambadant comme des chèvres? A peine les eus-je -aperçues, que je reconnus, à n’en pas douter, l’une d’elles pour la sans -pareille Dulcinée, et les deux autres pour ces deux paysannes que nous -accostâmes à la sortie du Toboso. Je demandai à Montesinos s’il les -connaissait; il me répondit que non, mais que c’étaient sans doute -quelques grandes dames enchantées, qui depuis peu de jours avaient fait -leur apparition dans ces prairies; que je ne devais pas m’en étonner, -parce qu’il y en avait là beaucoup d’autres, des siècles passés et -présents, enchantées sous des figures aussi diverses qu’étranges, entre -autres la reine Genièvre et sa duègne Quintagnone, celle qui, suivant la -_romance_, versa du vin à Lancelot quand il revint de Bretagne. - -Lorsque Sancho entendit son maître tenir un pareil langage, il faillit -en perdre l’esprit ou en crever de rire. Comme il savait le fin mot de -l’enchantement de Dulcinée, dont il était l’inventeur et l’unique -témoin, il acheva de se convaincre que son maître était fou de tout -point; il lui dit donc: Maudits soient le jour et l’heure, mon cher -patron, où vous vous êtes mis en tête de descendre dans l’autre monde; -et maudit soit surtout l’instant où vous avez fait la rencontre du -seigneur Montesinos, qui vous renvoie en pareil état. Nous vous -connaissions bien ici en haut avec votre jugement sain et entier, tel -que Dieu vous l’a donné débitant des sentences et donnant des conseils à -chaque pas; mais que devons-nous penser à cette heure, où vous nous -contez les plus énormes extravagances qui se puissent imaginer. - -Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, je te connais assez pour ne tenir aucun -compte de tes paroles. - -Ni moi de celles de Votre Grâce, répliqua Sancho, dussiez-vous me -battre, dussiez-vous me tuer, pour ce que je vous ai déjà dit et pour ce -que je compte vous répéter tous les jours, si vous ne songez à vous -corriger et à vous amender dans vos propos. Mais, pendant que la paix -règne entre nous, dites-moi, je vous prie, à quels signes avez-vous -reconnu madame notre maîtresse? Si vous lui avez parlé, que lui -avez-vous dit, et qu’a-t-elle répondu? - -Je l’ai reconnue, répondit don Quichotte, à ce qu’elle portait les mêmes -vêtements que lorsque tu me l’as montrée à la sortie du Toboso. Je lui -parlai; mais, sans me répondre, elle tourna le dos et s’enfuit avec une -telle vitesse, qu’une flèche n’aurait pu l’atteindre. Je voulus la -suivre, et je l’aurais fait, si Montesinos ne m’eût conseillé de ne pas -prendre une fatigue inutile, m’avertissant que l’heure approchait où je -devais quitter la caverne. Il me dit aussi qu’il me ferait connaître, à -une époque ultérieure, la manière dont ils devraient être désenchantés, -lui, la señora Belerme, Durandart et leurs compagnons. Mais de tout ce -que j’ai vu et observé là-bas, il est une chose qui, je dois te -l’avouer, m’a causé un profond chagrin. Pendant que je causais avec -Montesinos, une des compagnes de la malheureuse Dulcinée s’approcha de -moi timidement, et me dit d’une voix émue, les yeux pleins de larmes: -Seigneur, ma maîtresse Dulcinée du Toboso baise les mains de Votre -Grâce, et vous supplie de lui faire savoir des nouvelles de votre santé; -et, comme elle se trouve en ce moment dans un pressant besoin, elle -conjure Votre Grâce de vouloir bien lui prêter, sur ce cotillon neuf en -cotonnade que voici, une demi-douzaine de réaux, ou ce que vous aurez -sur vous: elle engage sa parole de les restituer à très-court terme. - -Un semblable message me surprit étrangement; je me tournai vers -Montesinos, et lui dis: Est-il possible, seigneur, que la pénurie se -fasse sentir, même parmi les enchantés de haut rang? Seigneur don -Quichotte de la Manche, me répondit Montesinos, croyez que ce qu’on -nomme la misère se rencontre et s’étend partout, atteint tous les -hommes, et n’épargne même pas les enchantés. Puisque madame Dulcinée -vous envoie demander ces six réaux, et que d’ailleurs le gage paraît -valable, vous ferez bien de les lui prêter; car, à coup sûr, elle doit -être dans une grande disette d’argent. Je ne veux point de gage, -répliquai-je, et quant à lui remettre ce qu’elle me demande, cela m’est -impossible, puisque je ne possède en tout que quatre réaux (ceux que tu -me donnas l’autre jour, Sancho, pour faire l’aumône aux pauvres que je -rencontrerais sur ma route). Je les remis à cette fille en lui disant: -Ma chère, assurez à votre maîtresse que ses peines retombent sur mon -cœur, et que je voudrais être un _Fucar_[96] pour y porter remède; -dites-lui bien qu’il ne peut, qu’il ne doit y avoir pour moi ni -satisfaction, ni relâche, tant que je serai privé de son adorable vue -et de sa charmante conversation, et que je la supplie humblement de -consentir à se laisser voir et entretenir par son captif serviteur et -désolé chevalier. Dites-lui aussi que, lorsqu’elle y pensera le moins, -elle entendra parler d’un vœu et d’un serment faits par moi, vœu et -serment en tout semblables à ceux que fit le marquis de Mantoue pour -venger son neveu Baudouin, quand il le trouva près d’expirer dans la -montagne; lesquels consistaient à ne point manger pain sur table, à ne -point approcher femme, sans compter une kyrielle d’autres pénitences à -accomplir, jusqu’à ce que son neveu fût vengé. Eh bien, moi, je fais de -même le serment de ne prendre aucun repos, et de parcourir les quatre -parties du monde, avec encore plus de ponctualité que l’infant don Pedro -de Portugal, jusqu’à ce que je l’aie désenchantée. Tout cela, et plus -encore, est bien dû par Votre Grâce à ma maîtresse, me répondit la -damoiselle; puis prenant les quatre réaux, au lieu de me tirer sa -révérence, elle fit une cabriole et sauta en l’air à plus de six pieds -de haut. - - [96] Famille suisse établie à Augsbourg, et qui rappelait par ses - richesses les Médicis de Florence. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria Sancho, est-il possible de voir jamais rien de -pareil! et que la puissance des enchanteurs ait été assez grande pour -changer le sain et droit jugement de mon maître en une folie si bien -conditionnée! Seigneur, seigneur, par le saint nom de Dieu, que Votre -Grâce s’observe et prenne soin de son honneur; gardez-vous de donner -créance à ces billevesées qui troublent et altèrent votre bon sens. - -Comme je sais que tu me veux du bien, Sancho, je comprends que tu parles -ainsi; et comme, d’un autre côté, tu n’as aucune expérience des choses -de ce monde, tout ce qui présente quelques difficultés est jugé par toi -impossible. Mais, je te l’ai déjà dit, le temps marche; plus tard je te -raconterai quelques-unes des particularités de mon séjour dans la -caverne; elles te convaincront que celles que j’ai déjà rapportées sont -d’une telle exactitude qu’elles ne souffrent ni objection ni réplique. - -CHAPITRE XXIV - -OU L’ON VERRA MILLE BABIOLES AUSSI RIDICULES QU’ELLES SONT NÉCESSAIRES -POUR L’INTELLIGENCE DE CETTE VÉRIDIQUE HISTOIRE - -Le traducteur de cette grande histoire dit qu’en arrivant au chapitre -qui suit l’aventure de la caverne de Montesinos, il trouva en marge du -manuscrit original les paroles suivantes, écrites de la main de cid -Hamet Ben-Engeli lui-même: - -Je ne puis comprendre ni me persuader que les aventures rapportées dans -le chapitre précédent soient arrivées au grand don Quichotte. La raison -en est que jusqu’ici toutes ses autres prouesses sont possibles et -vraisemblables; mais quant à cette aventure de la caverne, je ne vois -aucun moyen d’y ajouter foi, tant elle sort des limites du sens commun. -Supposer que don Quichotte ait menti, lui l’homme le plus véridique et -le plus noble chevalier de son temps, cela ne se peut; il eût mieux aimé -se laisser cribler de flèches. Cependant il raconte cette aventure avec -des circonstances tellement minutieuses, qu’on doit le croire sur -parole, surtout si l’on réfléchit que le temps lui manquait pour -fabriquer un pareil assemblage d’extravagances. Si donc cette aventure -paraît apocryphe, ce n’est pas ma faute, je la raconte telle qu’elle -est. Toi, lecteur, dans ta sagesse, juges-en comme il te plaira; quant à -moi, je ne dois ni ne peux rien de plus. Cependant on tient pour certain -qu’au moment de sa mort, don Quichotte se rétracta, et confessa avoir -inventé cette aventure parce qu’elle lui semblait cadrer à merveille -avec toutes celles qu’il avait lues dans ses livres de chevalerie. - -Le guide, déjà fort étonné de la liberté de l’écuyer, le fut encore plus -de la patience du maître; mais il pensa que la joie d’avoir vu sa dame, -tout enchantée qu’elle était, avait adouci son humeur et lui faisait -supporter des insolences qui, en toute autre circonstance, auraient -attiré à Sancho cent coups de bâton. Pour moi, seigneur don Quichotte, -lui dit-il, je regarde cette journée comme bien employée, car j’y ai -trouvé plusieurs avantages: le premier, d’avoir connu Votre Grâce, -avantage que je tiens à grand honneur; le second, d’avoir appris les -choses merveilleuses que renferme la caverne de Montesinos, telles que -la transformation de Guadiana et des filles de Ruidera, ce qui certes ne -sera pas un médiocre ornement pour l’_Ovide espagnol_ que j’ai sur le -métier; le troisième, d’être renseigné positivement sur l’antiquité des -cartes à jouer: en effet, l’on devait s’en servir du temps de -Charlemagne, comme le prouvent les dernières paroles proférées par le -seigneur Durandart: _patience, et battons les cartes_; car enfin ce -chevalier ne peut avoir connu cette expression depuis qu’il est -enchanté, mais seulement pendant son séjour en France, sous le règne de -cet empereur; et cela vient fort à propos pour mon _Supplément à -Polydore Virgile_, sur l’origine des choses. Je ne crois pas qu’il ait -encore été parlé de l’invention des cartes, et comme il était important -de la connaître, je suis bien aise d’avoir pour garant un témoignage -aussi grave que celui du seigneur Durandart. Le dernier avantage, enfin, -c’est de savoir avec certitude la source du fleuve Guadiana, ignorée -jusqu’ici de tout le monde. - -Votre Grâce a raison, dit don Quichotte; je suis heureux d’avoir -contribué à éclaircir des choses si importantes. Mais dites-moi, je vous -prie, si tant est que vous obteniez le privilége d’imprimer vos -ouvrages, à qui pensez-vous en faire la dédicace? - -Il ne manque pas de grands seigneurs en Espagne pour cela, répondit le -guide. - -Moins que vous ne pensez, repartit don Quichotte: la plupart refusent -les dédicaces, pour n’être pas obligés de récompenser le travail des -auteurs; quant à moi, je sais un prince[97] qui seul peut remplacer tous -les autres, un prince d’un mérite tel, que si j’osais dire ce que je -pense, j’éveillerais une noble émulation dans plus d’un cœur généreux. -Au reste, nous reparlerons de cela en temps opportun; mais allons -chercher un gîte pour la nuit. - - [97] Cervantes fait ici allusion au comte de Lemos, son protecteur. - -Il y a tout près d’ici, reprit le guide, une petite habitation où -demeure un ermite qui, dit-on, fut autrefois soldat; c’est un homme si -charitable, qu’il a fait bâtir à ses dépens cette maison près de -l’ermitage, où il reçoit de bon cœur tous ceux qui s’y présentent. - -A-t-il des poules, ce bon ermite? demanda Sancho. - -Peu d’ermites en manquent, répondit don Quichotte; nos solitaires ne -sont plus comme ceux de la Thébaïde, qui se couvraient de feuilles de -palmier et ne vivaient que de racines; quoique je parle bien des uns, -n’allez pas croire que je parle mal des autres; je veux dire seulement -que leur vie n’a plus la même austérité. A mon avis, cependant, ils ne -sont pas moins dignes de nos respects; car, lorsque tout va de travers, -l’homme qui feint la vertu est toujours plus utile que celui qui fait -vanité de ses vices. - -Ils en étaient là, quand ils virent venir à leur rencontre un paysan qui -marchait en toute hâte, chassant devant lui un mulet chargé de lances et -de hallebardes. Arrivé près d’eux, cet homme les salua et passa outre: -Arrêtez un peu, ami, lui cria don Quichotte; il me semble que votre -mulet ne demande pas que vous le pressiez si fort. - -Je ne puis m’arrêter, seigneur, répondit le paysan; ces armes que vous -voyez doivent servir demain, et je n’ai pas de temps à perdre. Pour peu -que vous ayez envie de savoir pourquoi je les porte, je coucherai cette -nuit à l’hôtellerie située au-dessus de l’ermitage; si par hasard c’est -votre chemin, vous m’y trouverez, et je vous conterai merveille. Adieu, -seigneur, adieu, ainsi qu’à votre compagnie. - -Sur ce, il pressa si bien son mulet, que notre héros n’eut pas le loisir -de lui en demander davantage. - -Curieux comme il l’était de tout ce qui avait la moindre apparence -d’aventures, don Quichotte résolut aussitôt d’aller, sans s’arrêter, -coucher à cette hôtellerie. Nos voyageurs reprirent leurs montures, et -un peu avant la fin du jour ils arrivèrent à l’ermitage, où le guide -proposa d’entrer pour boire un coup. Aussitôt Sancho poussa le grison de -ce côté, et don Quichotte le suivit sans faire d’objection. Mais le sort -voulut que l’ermite fût absent. Il ne s’y trouvait que son compagnon, à -qui notre écuyer demanda s’il y avait moyen de s’humecter le gosier; on -leur répondit que le père n’avait point de vin, mais que s’ils voulaient -de l’eau on leur en offrirait de bon cœur, et qui ne leur coûterait -rien. - -Si j’avais soif d’eau, repartit Sancho, j’ai assez trouvé de sources en -chemin. Ah! noces de Gamache, ajouta-t-il en soupirant, abondance de la -maison de Diego, qu’êtes-vous devenues? - -Quittant donc l’ermitage, ils prirent le chemin de l’hôtellerie. A -quelque distance, ils rejoignirent un jeune garçon qui marchait d’un pas -délibéré; sur son épaule, il portait, en guise de bâton, une épée, à -laquelle pendait un paquet renfermant quelques hardes; il était vêtu -d’un pourpoint de velours, dont l’usure, en certains endroits, laissait -voir sa chemise; ses bas étaient en soie et ses souliers carrés à la -mode de la cour; il paraissait avoir dix-huit à dix-neuf ans; il avait -l’air jovial, la démarche agile, et s’en allait chantant des -_seguidillas_ pour charmer l’ennui de la route. En ce moment, il en -finissait une dont voici le refrain: - - Je m’en vais à la guerre et c’est en enrageant; - Au diable le métier, si j’avais de l’argent! - -Où allez-vous ainsi, mon brave? lui demanda don Quichotte; il me semble -que vous cheminez bien à la légère? - -C’est à cause de la chaleur et de la pauvreté, répondit le jeune homme; -et je m’en vais à la guerre. - -A cause de la chaleur, je le crois aisément, dit don Quichotte: mais -pourquoi à cause de la pauvreté? - -Seigneur, repartit le jeune garçon, j’ai là dans ce paquet des chausses -de velours qui accompagnent le pourpoint, mais je ne veux pas les user -en voyageant; ils ne me feraient plus d’honneur une fois arrivé à la -ville, et je n’ai pas d’argent pour les remplacer. Par cette raison, et -aussi afin de n’avoir pas trop chaud, je marche comme vous voyez, -jusqu’à ce que j’aie rejoint, à dix ou douze lieues d’ici, quelques -compagnies d’infanterie dans lesquelles je compte m’enrôler; alors -j’aurai tout ce qu’il me faut pour atteindre plus à l’aise le lieu de -l’embarquement, qu’on dit être Carthagène, car j’aime mieux avoir le roi -pour maître, et le servir dans les camps, que d’être aux gages de -quelque ladre à la cour. - -Mais n’avez-vous pas quelque haute paye? demanda le guide. - -Si j’avais servi un grand d’Espagne, ou quelque autre personnage -d’importance, répondit le jeune homme, certes elle ne manquerait pas, -car de la table des pages on sort enseigne et capitaine, souvent avec -quelque bonne pension; mais je n’ai jamais servi que des solliciteurs de -places et des gens de rien, qui mettent leurs valets à la portion -congrue et si maigre, que la moitié de mes gages suffisait à peine pour -payer l’empois de mon collet. En vérité, ce serait miracle qu’un page -d’aventure eût pu faire quelques économies. - -Depuis le temps que vous êtes en service, demanda don Quichotte, comment -se fait-il que vous n’ayez pas attrapé au moins quelque livrée? - -J’ai eu deux maîtres, répondit le jeune garçon; mais de même qu’à celui -qui quitte le couvent avant d’y faire profession on retire le capuchon -et la robe, de même les maîtres que je servais, ayant achevé les -affaires qui les amenaient à la cour, sont retournés chez eux après -m’avoir repris les habits de livrée qu’ils ne m’avaient donnés que par -ostentation. - -Insigne vilenie! s’écria don Quichotte. Félicitez-vous, mon ami, d’avoir -quitté de pareilles gens, surtout avec le dessein qui vous anime, car je -ne connais rien de plus honorable après le service de Dieu, que de -servir son roi dans le noble métier des armes. Si l’on n’y amasse pas de -grandes richesses, au moins y acquiert-on plus de gloire et d’honneur -que dans la profession des lettres, comme je crois l’avoir déjà -démontré. Les lettres servent souvent de marchepied à la fortune, mais -les armes ont je ne sais quoi de grand et de noble qui répand sur les -familles un plus vif éclat. Maintenant écoutez bien ce que je vais vous -dire, et gravez-le dans votre mémoire, vous y trouverez profit et -soulagement dans les peines attachées au métier que vous allez -embrasser. Affermissez-vous sans cesse contre les adversités, et soyez -préparé à tous les événements, en songeant que le plus funeste c’est la -mort, mais que pourvu qu’elle soit glorieuse, elle est préférable à la -vie. On demandait un jour au grand Jules César quelle était la meilleure -mort: La soudaine et l’imprévue, répondit-il; et il disait vrai, car la -crainte de la mort est le plus fort instinct de notre nature. Qu’importe -qu’on soit tué d’une décharge d’artillerie, ou des éclats d’une mine! -c’est toujours mourir, et la besogne est faite. Térence l’a dit: Mourir -en combattant sied mieux au soldat que d’être libre dans la fuite. -Croyez-moi, le soldat doit plutôt sentir la poudre que l’ambre, et si la -vieillesse l’atteint dans ce noble métier, fût-il mutilé et couvert de -blessures, au moins ne le surprendra-t-elle point sans honneur, et ces -marques glorieuses le protégeront contre le mépris qui s’attache -toujours à la pauvreté. Grâce au ciel, on s’occupe en ce moment à -établir un fonds pour l’entretien des soldats vieux et estropiés; car il -n’était pas juste de les traiter comme ces misérables Mores à qui on -donne la liberté quand l’âge les a rendus inutiles, les faisant ainsi -esclaves de la faim pour récompenses de leurs services. Quant à présent, -mon ami, je n’ai rien à vous dire de plus, si ce n’est de prendre la -croupe de mon cheval jusqu’à l’hôtellerie, où je veux que vous soupiez -avec moi, et demain vous continuerez votre voyage, que je vous souhaite -aussi bon que le mérite votre louable résolution. - -Le page s’excusa de monter derrière don Quichotte, mais il accepta -l’invitation à souper avec force remercîments. L’histoire rapporte que -pendant le discours de son maître, Sancho disait en lui-même: Comment se -peut-il que l’homme qui dit tant et de si belles choses, comme celles -qu’il vient de débiter, soutienne avoir vu toutes ces bêtises -impossibles qu’il raconte de la caverne de Montesinos? Par ma foi, j’en -jette ma langue aux chiens. - -Ils arrivèrent bientôt à l’hôtellerie, et outre la joie d’y arriver, -Sancho eut encore celle de voir que son maître la prenait pour ce -qu’elle était, et non pour un château selon sa coutume. En entrant, don -Quichotte s’informa d’un homme qui portait des lances et des -hallebardes; et après qu’on lui eut répondu qu’il était à l’écurie où il -arrangeait son mulet, tous trois s’y rendirent et y attachèrent leurs -montures. - -CHAPITRE XXV - -DE L’AVENTURE DU BRAIEMENT DE L’ANE, DE CELLE DU JOUEUR DE MARIONNETTES, -ET DES DIVINATIONS ADMIRABLES DU SINGE - -Don Quichotte grillait, comme on dit, d’impatience d’apprendre les -merveilles que l’homme aux hallebardes avait promis de lui raconter; -aussi en l’abordant le somma-t-il de tenir sa parole. - -Seigneur, répondit celui-ci, ce n’est ni si vite, ni sur les pieds qu’on -peut conter tout cela; que Votre Grâce me laisse achever de panser mon -mulet, après quoi je vous donnerai satisfaction. - -Qu’à cela ne tienne, répondit notre chevalier, et je vais vous y aider -moi-même. Aussitôt il se mit à vanner l’orge, à nettoyer la mangeoire: -courtoisie pleine de simplicité qui lui gagna si complétement les bonnes -grâces de l’inconnu, que, sortant de l’écurie, celui-ci vint s’asseoir -sur le bord d’un puits, et là, ayant pour auditoire don Quichotte, -Sancho, le guide, le page et l’hôtelier, il commença de la sorte: - -Vous saurez, seigneurs, que dans un village situé à quatre ou cinq -lieues d’ici, il arriva qu’un régidor perdit, il y a quelque temps, un -âne, par la faute ou plutôt, dit-on, par la malice de sa servante; et -quelque diligence qu’il fît pour le retrouver, il n’en put jamais venir -à bout. A quinze jours de là environ, comme il se promenait dans le -marché, un autre régidor, son voisin, vint à lui: Que me donnerez-vous, -compère, lui dit-il, si je vous apporte des nouvelles de votre âne? - -Tout ce que vous voudrez, répondit le régidor; mais dites-moi, je vous -prie, qu’en savez-vous? - -Eh bien, votre âne, reprit l’autre, je l’ai rencontré ce matin, dans la -montagne, sans bât, sans licou, et si maigre, que c’était pitié; j’ai -voulu le chasser devant moi, pour vous l’amener, mais il était déjà -devenu si farouche, que dès que je m’en suis approché, il s’est mis à -ruer, puis s’est enfui dans le fourré le plus épais. Si vous voulez, -nous l’irons chercher ensemble; laissez-moi seulement mettre cette -bourrique à l’écurie, et dans un moment je suis à vous. - -Vous me ferez grand plaisir, répondit le régidor, et en pareille -occasion vous pouvez compter sur moi. - -C’est de cette façon que ceux qui savent l’histoire la content mot pour -mot. Bref, nos deux régidors se rendirent à pied dans la montagne, vers -l’endroit où ils espéraient trouver l’âne; et après bien des allées et -venues inutiles: Compère, dit celui qui l’avait vu, je viens d’imaginer -un bon moyen pour découvrir votre baudet, fût-il caché dans les -entrailles de la terre. Je sais braire à merveille, et pour peu que vous -le sachiez aussi, l’affaire est faite? - -Pour peu que je le sache! répondit l’autre régidor; sans vanité je ne le -cède à qui que ce soit, pas même aux ânes en chair et en os. - -Tant mieux, repartit le premier régidor: nous n’avons donc qu’à marcher -chacun de notre côté, en faisant le tour de la montagne; vous brairez de -temps en temps, moi après vous, et il faudra que le diable s’en mêle, si -l’âne nous entend pas. - -Par ma foi, compère, dit le second régidor, l’invention est admirable et -digne de votre rare esprit. - -Sur ce, ils se séparèrent. Or, il arriva qu’en marchant ils se mirent à -braire en même temps, et de telle sorte que chacun d’eux, trompé par les -braiments de son compagnon, courut à sa voix, croyant que l’âne était -retrouvé; mais ils furent bien étonnés de se rencontrer. - -Serait-il vrai, compère, s’écria le premier régidor, que ce n’est pas -mon âne que j’ai entendu? - -Non, vraiment, c’est moi, répondit le voisin. - -Vous? repartit le régidor, est-il possible? Ah! je dois l’avouer, il n’y -a aucune différence entre vous et un âne, au moins en fait de braiments; -de ma vie je n’ai entendu rien de semblable. - -Vous vous moquez, reprit l’autre; ces louanges vous appartiennent plus -qu’à moi, et sans flatterie, vous feriez la leçon aux meilleurs maîtres; -vous avez la voix forte, l’haleine longue et vous faites les roulements -à merveille. En vérité, je me rends, et je dirai partout que vous en -savez plus que tous les ânes ensemble. - -Trêve de louanges, compère, dit le régidor; je ne me reconnais pas tant -de mérite qu’il vous plaît de m’en accorder, mais après ce que vous -venez de dire, je m’estimerai désormais davantage. - -Il faut avouer, dit son compagnon, qu’il y a bien des talents perdus -dans le monde, faute d’avoir l’occasion de s’en servir. - -Je ne sais guère à quoi peut servir celui que nous avons montré tous -deux, répondit le régidor, si ce n’est en pareille circonstance. - -Après ces compliments ils se séparèrent de nouveau, et se mirent à -chercher en brayant de plus belle; mais ils ne faisaient que se tromper -à chaque pas et couraient l’un vers l’autre, croyant toujours que -c’était l’âne, jusqu’à ce qu’enfin ils convinrent de braire deux fois de -suite, pour indiquer que c’était eux. De cette manière ils firent le -tour de la montagne, toujours brayant, mais toujours inutilement; l’âne -ne répondait rien. En effet, comment eût-elle répondu, la pauvre bête, -puisqu’ils finirent par la trouver dans le fourré le plus épais, à demi -mangée par les loups? - -Je m’étonnais bien qu’il ne répondît pas, dit son maître en le voyant, -car il n’eût pas manqué de le faire, s’il nous eût entendus braire, ou -il n’aurait pas été un âne. Après tout, compère, je tiens pour bien -employé le temps que j’ai mis à vous entendre, car ce plaisir compense -pour moi la perte de ma bête. - -A la bonne heure, répondit l’autre; mais si le curé chante bien, son -vicaire ne lui cède en rien. - -Enfin ils s’en retournèrent au village, tristes et enroués, et ils -contèrent à leurs amis ce qui venait de leur arriver, se donnant l’un à -l’autre de grandes louanges sur leur habileté à braire. - -Tout cela se sut et se répandit dans les villages voisins; aussi le -diable, qui ne dort jamais et qui ne demande que plaies et bosses, fit -si bien, que les habitants de ces villages, quand ils rencontraient -quelqu’un du nôtre, lui allaient braire au nez, pour se moquer de nos -régidors. Les enfants mêmes se sont mis de la partie, au point que les -gens de notre village sont à cette heure connus comme les nègres parmi -les blancs. Mais ce n’est pas tout: la raillerie a été si avant, que -railleurs et raillés en sont souvent venus aux coups, sans s’inquiéter -ni du roi ni de la justice; et je crois que demain ou après-demain, pas -plus tard, nos gens iront combattre ceux d’un autre village qui est à -deux lieues d’ici, parce que ce sont ceux qui les persécutent le plus; -et c’est pour ce combat que je viens d’acheter les lances et les -hallebardes que vous avez vues. Voilà, seigneurs, les merveilles que -j’avais à vous conter, je n’en sais point d’autres. - -En cet instant, parut à la porte de l’hôtellerie un homme habillé de -peau de chamois, bas, chausses et pourpoint. - -Seigneur hôtelier, dit-il en élevant la voix, y a-t-il place au logis? -voici venir le singe qui devine, et le tableau de la liberté de -Mélisandre. - -Comment, reprit l’hôtelier, c’est maître Pierre! Mort de ma vie! nous -nous divertirons joliment ce soir. Que maître Pierre soit le bienvenu! -Où donc sont le singe et le tableau? Je ne les vois point. - -Ils ne sont pas loin, répondit maître Pierre; j’ai pris les devants pour -savoir s’il y avait de quoi loger? - -Pour loger maître Pierre, je refuserais le duc d’Albe en personne, dit -l’hôtelier; faites venir le singe et le tableau, il y a ici des gens qui -en payeront la vue bien volontiers. - -Et moi, repartit maître Pierre, j’en ferai meilleur marché, à cause de -l’honorable compagnie; pourvu que je retire mes frais, je me trouverai -content. Je m’en vais chercher la charrette, et dans un moment je suis à -vous. - -J’avais oublié de dire que ce maître Pierre avait l’œil gauche couvert -d’un emplâtre de taffetas vert qui lui cachait la moitié du visage; ce -qui faisait penser qu’il devait avoir ce côté-là endommagé. - -Don Quichotte demanda à l’hôtelier qui était ce maître Pierre, et ce -qu’étaient son singe et son tableau. - -C’est, répondit l’hôtelier, un excellent joueur de marionnettes, qui -depuis quelque temps parcourt la province, montrant un tableau de -Mélisandre délivré par don Galiferos, et c’est bien la plus merveilleuse -peinture qu’on ait vue depuis longtemps dans tout le pays. Il mène avec -lui un singe admirable, et qui n’a jamais eu son pareil. Lui fait-on une -question, il commence par écouter, puis après avoir réfléchi quelque -temps, il saute sur l’épaule de son maître, et lui dit la réponse à la -question; réponse que maître Pierre répète tout haut sur-le-champ. Il -connaît mieux les choses passées que celles de l’avenir, et quoiqu’il ne -rencontre pas toujours juste, il se trompe rarement, si bien que cela -fait croire à beaucoup de gens qu’il a un démon dans le corps. On donne -deux réaux pour chaque question, si le singe répond, ou, pour mieux -dire, si maître Pierre répond après que le singe lui a parlé à -l’oreille: de sorte que ce maître Pierre passe pour être fort riche. -C’est un bon compagnon; il parle plus que six et boit comme douze; en un -mot, il mène la plus joyeuse vie du monde, et tout cela grâce à son -industrie. - -Là-dessus, maître Pierre arriva avec la charrette et le singe, qui était -très-grand, sans queue, les fesses pelées, et fort plaisant à voir. A -peine don Quichotte l’eût-il aperçu, que, poussé par l’impatience qu’il -avait de tout connaître, il lui dit: Maître devin, _quel poisson -prenons-nous_[98]? que doit-il nous arriver? tenez, voilà mes deux -réaux. Et il fit signe à Sancho de les donner à maître Pierre; celui-ci -prenant la parole pour son singe: Seigneur, cet animal ne sait rien de -l’avenir, comme je vous l’ai déjà dit; il ne parle que du passé et un -peu du présent. - - [98] Expression italienne, prêtée par Cervantes à don Quichotte, qui - équivaut à cette locution française. «Quelle anguille sous roche?» - -Pardieu, reprit Sancho, du diable si je donnerais un maravédis pour -apprendre ce qui m’est arrivé: qui est-ce qui le sait mieux que moi? il -faudrait que je fusse bien fou que de bailler pour cela. Mais puisque le -seigneur singe connaît le présent, voilà mes deux réaux: qu’il me dise -ce que fait Thérèse Panza ma femme, et à quoi elle s’occupe en ce -moment. - -Maître Pierre répondit qu’il ne recevait point d’argent par avance, -qu’il fallait attendre la réponse du singe. Il frappa deux coups sur son -épaule gauche, le singe s’élança et s’approchant de l’oreille de son -maître, il commença à remuer les mâchoires, comme s’il eût marmotté -quelque chose, puis, au bout d’un _credo_, il sauta par terre. Aussitôt -maître Pierre courut s’agenouiller devant don Quichotte, et lui -embrassant les deux jambes: - -J’embrasse ces jambes avec plus de joie que je n’embrasserais les -colonnes d’Hercule, s’écria-t-il. O restaurateur insigne de l’oubliée -chevalerie errante! ô illustre chevalier, jamais assez dignement loué, -fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, appui des faibles, soutien de ceux -qui chancellent, bras qui relève les abattus, en un mot, renfort de tous -les nécessiteux. - -Don Quichotte demeura très-surpris, Sancho plein de frayeur, le guide et -le page en admiration; bref, les cheveux en dressèrent à tous ceux qui -étaient présents. Maître Pierre, sans se troubler, continua ainsi: Et -toi, ô bon Sancho Panza! le meilleur écuyer du meilleur chevalier du -monde, réjouis-toi; ta Thérèse s’occupe à l’heure qu’il est de filer une -livre d’étoupes; à telles enseignes qu’elle a près d’elle une jarre -ébréchée par le haut, remplie de deux pintes de bon vin, qui lui sert à -se délasser de son travail. - -Oh! pour cela, je le crois aisément, repartit Sancho, c’est une vraie -bienheureuse, et n’était sa jalousie, je ne la troquerais pas pour la -géante Andandona, qui, suivant mon maître, fut une femme très-entendue -et de grand mérite. Ma Thérèse est de celles qui ne se laissent manquer -de rien, dussent en pâtir leurs héritiers. - -C’est avec raison qu’il est dit: on s’instruit beaucoup en voyageant, -reprit notre chevalier; qui se serait jamais douté qu’il y a des singes -qui devinent! Par ma foi, je ne le croirais point si je ne l’avais vu de -mes yeux. En effet, seigneurs, poursuivit-il, je suis ce même don -Quichotte de la Manche, qu’a dit ce bon animal, au mérite près, sur -lequel il s’est un peu trop étendu; mais, quoi qu’il en soit, je rends -grâces au ciel de m’avoir donné un bon cœur, et le désir d’être utile à -tout le monde. - -Si j’avais de l’argent, dit le page, je demanderais au singe de -m’apprendre ce qui doit m’arriver dans mon voyage. - -Seigneurs, répondit maître Pierre, je vous ai déjà dit que mon singe ne -savait rien de l’avenir; s’il en avait connaissance, vous n’auriez pas -besoin d’argent pour cela, car il n’est rien que je ne fusse disposé à -faire en considération du seigneur don Quichotte, dont j’estime l’amitié -plus que tous les trésors du monde. Aussi, pour le lui témoigner, je -vais préparer mon théâtre, et en donner gratis le divertissement à la -compagnie. - -L’hôtelier, tout joyeux, indiqua l’endroit où l’on pouvait dresser le -théâtre; ce qui fut fait en un instant. - -Don Quichotte avait peine à comprendre qu’un singe devinât et fît des -réponses; il se retira avec Sancho dans un coin de l’écurie pendant que -maître Pierre s’occupait de ses préparatifs, et voyant que personne ne -pouvait les entendre: Sancho, lui dit-il, j’ai pensé et repensé à -l’étonnante habileté de ce singe, et pour mon compte je suis très-porté -à croire que son maître a fait quelque pacte ou convention tacite avec -le démon. - -Oh! je gagerais bien, répondit Sancho, qu’ils n’ont point dit leur -_bénédicité_ avant de faire cette collation; mais, seigneur, à quoi sert -à ce maître Pierre d’avoir fait un pacte avec le diable? - -Tu ne m’as pas compris, reprit don Quichotte: je veux dire que, par un -pacte, le diable est convenu de donner ce talent au singe, pour enrichir -le maître qui, plus tard en retour, devra livrer son âme au diable, but -que poursuit sans cesse cet ennemi du genre humain. Ce qui me le fait -penser, c’est que le singe ne parle que du passé et du présent, car là -se borne toute la science du démon, qui ne sait rien de l’avenir, si ce -n’est par quelques conjectures, et encore se trompe-t-il souvent, Dieu -seul s’étant réservé la connaissance de toutes choses. Cela étant, il -est clair que le singe ne parle qu’avec le secours du diable, et je -suis étonné qu’on n’ait point encore déféré ce maître Pierre au -saint-office, pour lui faire avouer en vertu de quoi son singe devine. -Après tout, ni son maître ni lui ne sont prophètes, ils ne sont point -non plus tireurs d’horoscopes, si ce n’est peut-être à la manière dont -tout le monde s’en mêle aujourd’hui en Espagne, même les savetiers et -les laquais, qui, par leurs mensonges et leur ignorance, sont parvenus à -discréditer l’astrologie judiciaire, cette science merveilleuse et -ineffable. - -A propos d’astrologie, cela me rappelle cette femme de qualité qui -demandait à un de ces tireurs d’horoscopes, si une petite chienne -qu’elle avait deviendrait pleine, si elle mettrait bas, de quelle -couleur seraient ses petits, et quel en serait le nombre. Notre homme, -après avoir interrogé sa figure, répondit que la chienne aurait trois -chiens, l’un vert, l’autre rouge et le troisième mêlé, pourvu toutefois -qu’elle fût couverte le lundi ou le samedi, entre onze et douze heures -du jour ou de la nuit. Eh bien, la petite chienne mourut au bout de -trois jours, et la prédiction ne laissa pas de mettre l’astrologue en -grande réputation d’habileté. - -Malgré tout, seigneur, reprit Sancho, je voudrais bien faire demander au -singe si ce que vous avez raconté de la caverne de Montesinos est -véritable; pour moi, je pense, soit dit sans vous offenser, que ce sont -autant de rêveries, ou tout au moins des visions que vous aurez eues en -dormant. - -Tout est possible, répondit don Quichotte; je le demanderai pour te -faire plaisir, bien que j’en éprouve quelque scrupule. - -Ils en étaient là, quand maître Pierre vint chercher don Quichotte, -disant que son théâtre était prêt et qu’on n’attendait que Sa Grâce pour -commencer. Notre héros lui répondit qu’avant tout il voulait faire une -question au singe, et savoir si certaines choses qui lui étaient -arrivées dans un souterrain, appelé la caverne de Montesinos, étaient -vision ou réalité, lui-même croyant qu’il y avait à la fois un peu de -tout cela. Maître Pierre alla aussitôt chercher son singe: Savant singe, -lui dit-il, l’illustre chevalier qui est devant vous désire savoir si -certaines choses qui lui sont arrivées dans la caverne de Montesinos -sont fausses ou vraies. Au signal accoutumé, le singe sauta sur l’épaule -gauche de son maître, puis après avoir quelque temps remué les -mâchoires, comme s’il lui eût parlé à l’oreille, il s’élança à terre. -Aussitôt maître Pierre dit à don Quichotte: Seigneur chevalier, le singe -répond qu’une partie des merveilles que vous avez vues dans la caverne -est vraisemblable, et l’autre douteuse: c’est tout ce qu’il peut en -dire. Si vous voulez en savoir davantage, il satisfera vendredi prochain -aux questions que vous lui adresserez; quant à présent, sa faculté -divinatrice est suspendue. - -Avais-je tort de dire, seigneur, repartit Sancho, que ces aventures -n’étaient pas toutes véritables? Par ma foi, il s’en faut de plus de la -moitié. - -La suite nous l’apprendra, répondit don Quichotte; car le temps, grand -découvreur de toutes choses, n’en laisse aucune sans la traîner à la -lumière du soleil, fût-elle cachée dans les profondeurs de la terre. -Mais, brisons-là pour l’heure, et voyons le tableau de maître Pierre; je -suis persuadé qu’il nous présentera quelque chose de curieux. - -Comment, quelque chose! répliqua maître Pierre; dites cent mille choses; -seigneur chevalier, il n’y a rien aujourd’hui qui mérite plus votre -attention. Au surplus, _operibus credite, non verbis_, c’est-à-dire -mettons la main à l’œuvre, car il se fait tard, et nous avons beaucoup -à faire voir et à expliquer. - -Don Quichotte et Sancho le suivirent dans la chambre où était dressé le -théâtre, éclairé d’une foule de petites bougies; maître Pierre passa -derrière le tableau, parce que c’était lui qui faisait jouer les -figures; en avant se tenait un petit garçon pour servir d’interprète, -et annoncer avec une baguette les mystères de la représentation. Enfin, -la compagnie s’étant placée, le spectacle commença. - -CHAPITRE XXVI - -DE LA REPRÉSENTATION DU TABLEAU, AVEC D’AUTRES CHOSES QUI NE SONT PAS EN -VÉRITÉ MAUVAISES - -Tous se turent, Tyriens et Troyens[99]: je veux dire que les -spectateurs, les yeux fixés sur le théâtre, étaient suspendus à la -bouche de l’explicateur de ces merveilles, quand tout à coup on entendit -un grand bruit de timbales et de trompettes; puis, après deux ou trois -décharges d’artillerie, le petit garçon qui servait d’interprète éleva -la voix en disant: Cette histoire véritable que nous allons représenter -devant vous est tirée mot pour mot des chroniques de France et des -romances espagnoles, que tout le monde sait et que les enfants chantent -par les rues. Nous allons voir comment don Galiferos délivra la belle -Mélisandre, son épouse, que les Mores tenaient captive dans la cité de -Sansuena, appelée aujourd’hui Sarragosse. Regardez bien, seigneurs; -voici don Galiferos qui s’amuse à jouer au trictrac, ne pensant déjà -plus à sa femme, comme le dit la romance. - - [99] Réminiscence du commencement du second chant de l’_Énéide_: - _Conticuere omnes_, etc., etc. - -Cet autre personnage, le plus grand de tous, couronne en tête et sceptre -à la main, est le grand empereur Charlemagne, père putatif de la belle -Mélisandre. Fort mécontent de la nonchalance de son gendre, il vient lui -en faire des reproches. Remarquez, je vous prie, comme il le gourmande; -ne dirait-on pas qu’il a envie de lui casser la tête avec son sceptre? -Certains auteurs prétendent même qu’il lui en donna cinq ou six horions -bien appliqués, après lui avoir remontré le tort qu’il se faisait en ne -portant point secours à sa femme. Considérez comment, après une bonne -poignée d’avertissements, l’empereur lui tourne le dos; et comment don -Galiferos, tout dépité, renverse la table et le trictrac, fait signe -qu’on lui apporte ses armes, et prie son cousin Roland de lui prêter sa -bonne épée Durandal. Roland ne veut pas la lui prêter, et offre à son -cousin de l’accompagner; mais don Galiferos refuse en disant qu’il -suffit seul pour tirer sa femme de captivité, fût-elle à cent cinquante -lieues par delà les antipodes. Voyez comme il s’empresse de s’armer pour -se mettre en route à l’instant même. - -Maintenant, seigneurs, tournez les yeux vers cette tour qui est là-bas; -c’est une des tours de l’alcazar de Saragosse, qu’on appelle aujourd’hui -Aljaferia. Cette dame, que vous voyez sur ce balcon, vêtue à la -moresque, est la sans pareille Mélisandre, qui venait souvent s’y placer -pour regarder du côté de la France, et se consoler ainsi de sa captivité -par le ressouvenir de son cher mari et de la bonne ville de Paris. Oh! -c’est ici, seigneurs, qu’il faut considérer avec attention une chose -nouvelle, et qu’on n’a peut-être jamais vue. N’apercevez-vous pas un -More qui s’en vient tout doucement le doigt sur la bouche? Le -voyez-vous se glisser derrière Mélisandre? Le voilà qui lui frappe sur -l’épaule? Mélisandre tourne la tête, et le More lui donne un baiser. -Voyez comme la belle s’essuie les lèvres avec la manche de sa chemise! -comme elle se lamente! la voilà toute en pleurs, qui arrache ses beaux -cheveux blonds, comme s’ils étaient coupables de l’affront que le More -vient de lui faire. Voyez aussi ce grave personnage à turban qui se -promène dans cette galerie. Ce grave personnage, c’est Marsile, roi de -Sansuena, qui, s’étant aperçu de l’insolence du More, et sans considérer -que c’est son parent et l’un de ses favoris, le fait saisir par les -archers de sa garde, et commande qu’on le promène dans toutes les rues -et par toutes les places publiques de la ville, avec un écriteau devant -et un autre derrière, et qu’on lui applique deux cents coups de fouet. - -Voyez maintenant comment les archers sortent pour exécuter la sentence -aussitôt qu’elle est prononcée, parce que chez les Mores il n’y a ni -information, ni confrontation, ni appel. - -Holà, l’ami, s’écria don Quichotte, suivez votre histoire en droite -ligne, sans prendre de chemin de traverse; car pour tirer au clair une -vérité, il faut bien des preuves et des surpreuves. - -Petit garçon, répliqua de derrière son tableau maître Pierre, fais ce -que te dit ce bon seigneur, sans t’amuser à battre les buissons: -poursuis ton chemin et ne t’occupe pas du reste. - -Le jeune garçon reprit: Celui qui se présente là, à cheval, couvert -d’une cape de Béarn, c’est don Galiferos en personne, à qui la belle -Mélisandre, apaisée par le châtiment du More amoureux, parle du haut de -la tour; croyant que c’est quelque voyageur étranger: Chevalier, lui -dit-elle, si vous allez en France, informez-vous de don Galiferos. Je ne -vous rapporte point tout leur entretien, parce que les longs discours -sont ennuyeux; il suffit de savoir comment don Galiferos se fait -reconnaître, et comment Mélisandre montre, par les transports auxquels -elle se livre, qu’elle l’a reconnu, surtout maintenant qu’on la voit se -glisser du balcon, pour se mettre en croupe sur le cheval de son époux -bien-aimé. Mais le malheur poursuit toujours les gens de bien. Voilà -Mélisandre arrêtée par sa jupe à un des fers du balcon; elle reste -suspendue en l’air sans pouvoir atteindre le sol. Hélas! comment -fera-t-elle, et qui la secourra dans un si grand péril? Voyez, pourtant, -seigneurs, que le ciel ne l’abandonne point dans un danger si pressant; -car don Galiferos s’approche, et sans nul souci de gâter sa riche jupe, -il tire sa femme en bas, et malgré tous ces empêchements il la -débarrasse, et la met aussitôt en croupe, à califourchon, comme un -homme, l’avertissant de l’embrasser fortement par le milieu du corps, -crainte de tomber, car elle n’était pas habituée à chevaucher ainsi. -N’est-ce pas merveille d’entendre ce cheval, qui témoigne par ses -hennissements combien il a de joie d’emporter son maître et sa -maîtresse? Voyez comme ils s’éloignent de la ville, et prennent gaiement -le chemin de Paris. Allez en paix, ô couple de véritables amants! -arrivez sains et saufs dans votre chère patrie; puisse la mauvaise -fortune ne pas mettre obstacle à votre voyage, que vos parents et vos -amis vous voient jouir d’une paix tranquille le reste de vos jours, et -que ces mêmes jours puissent égaler ceux de Nestor. - -En cet endroit, maître Pierre éleva de nouveau la voix: Doucement, petit -garçon, lui cria-t-il; ne montez pas si haut, la chute en deviendrait -plus lourde. - -L’interprète continua sans répondre: Il ne manqua pas d’yeux oisifs, car -il y en a pour tout voir, qui s’aperçurent de la fuite de Mélisandre, et -qui en donnèrent incontinent avis au roi Marsile, qui fit aussitôt -donner l’alarme. Ne dirait-on pas que la ville est près de s’abîmer sous -le bruit des cloches qui retentissent dans toutes les mosquées? - -Oh! pour ce qui est des cloches, observa don Quichotte, maître Pierre se -trompe lourdement: les Mores n’en ont point; ils ne se servent que de -tambours et de timbales, et de certaines _dulzaïna_, qui ressemblent -beaucoup à nos clairons; faire sonner les cloches à Sansuena est un -énorme anachronisme. - -Ne vous inquiétez pas pour si peu, seigneur chevalier, reprit maître -Pierre: ne savez-vous pas que tous les jours on représente en Espagne -des comédies remplies de sottises et d’extravagances, et qui n’en sont -pas moins applaudies avec enthousiasme? Allez toujours, petit garçon, et -laissez dire: pourvu que je garnisse mon gousset, je me moque du reste. - -Pardieu, maître Pierre a raison, dit don Quichotte. - -Or, voyez, seigneurs, poursuivit l’interprète, la belle et nombreuse -cavalerie qui sort de la ville à la poursuite de nos amants; combien de -trompettes résonnent, combien de timbales et de tambours retentissent de -toutes parts! Pour moi, je crains bien qu’on ne les rattrape, et que -nous ne les voyions ramener attachés à la queue des chevaux; ce qui -serait un épouvantable spectacle. - -Don Quichotte, comme réveillé par ces paroles, voyant cette multitude de -Mores et entendant tout ce tapage, crut en effet qu’il était temps de -secourir ces amants fugitifs, il se leva brusquement, et s’écria tout -hors de lui: Pour qui me prend-on donc ici? sera-t-il dit que, moi -présent et vivant, on aura fait violence à un si fameux chevalier que -don Galiferos? Arrêtez, canaille insolente, et ne soyez pas assez hardis -pour oser passer outre, ou vous aurez affaire à don Quichotte de la -Manche. - -Ce disant, il tire son épée, d’un bond atteint le théâtre, et commence à -tomber sur la foule des Mores avec une fureur inouïe, pourfendant tous -ceux qui se trouvent sous sa main. En s’escrimant ainsi, il porta un si -furieux coup de haut en bas, que si le joueur de marionnettes n’eût -baissé la tête, il la lui aurait fait sauter de dessus les épaules. - -Que faites-vous! seigneur chevalier! que faites-vous? criait maître -Pierre; ce ne sont pas ici de véritables Mores: ne voyez-vous pas que ce -sont des figures de carton, et que vous allez me ruiner? - -Les cris de maître Pierre n’arrêtèrent point notre héros. Tant qu’il -croit voir des ennemis, ses coups tombaient serrés comme la pluie, si -bien qu’en moins d’un _credo_ il mit le tableau en pièces, laissant le -roi Marsile dangereusement blessé, Charlemagne la tête fendue, sans -distinguer entre Mores ni chrétiens. Toute l’assistance se troubla; le -singe s’enfuit et gagna le toit de la maison, le guide trembla, le page -resta stupéfait; Sancho lui-même éprouva une grande frayeur, car, ainsi -qu’il l’avoua après la tempête passée, il n’avait jamais vu son maître -dans une pareille colère. - -Enfin, après avoir tout bouleversé, don Quichotte se calma: Je voudrais -bien, dit-il en s’essuyant le front, tenir à l’heure qu’il est ces gens -qui ne veulent pas reconnaître de quel avantage sont dans le monde les -chevaliers errants. Si je ne m’étais pas trouvé là, dites-moi, je vous -prie, ce qui serait advenu de don Galiferos et de la belle Mélisandre? A -coup sûr ces mécréants les auraient déjà rattrapés et leur auraient fait -un mauvais parti. Vive, vive la chevalerie errante, ajouta-t-il, en -dépit de l’envie et malgré l’ignorance et la faiblesse de ceux qui n’ont -pas le courage de se ranger sous ses lois! Que celui qui oserait -soutenir le contraire paraisse à l’instant. - -Ah! qu’elle vive, j’y consens, repartit maître Pierre d’un ton -lamentable; mais que je meure, moi misérable, qui puis bien répéter ce -que disait le roi don Rodrigue: Hier, j’étais seigneur de toutes les -Espagnes, aujourd’hui il ne me reste plus un pouce de terre. Il n’y a -pas un quart d’heure j’avais la plus belle cour du monde, je commandais -à des rois et à des empereurs, j’avais une armée innombrable en hommes -et en chevaux, mes coffres étaient pleins de parures magnifiques, et me -voilà dépouillé, pauvre et mendiant! me voilà surtout sans mon singe, -qui était mon unique ressource; et cela par la fureur inconsidérée de ce -chevalier, qu’on dit être le rempart des orphelins et des veuves, -l’appui et le réconfort des affligés. Cette immense charité qu’on lui -reconnaît envers les autres, il y renonce pour moi seul! Cependant béni -soit Dieu mille fois jusqu’au trône de sa gloire, quoiqu’il ait permis -que le chevalier de la Triste Figure ait tellement défiguré les miennes, -qu’elles méritent mieux que lui-même de porter ce nom! - -Sancho se sentit tout attendri: Ne pleurez point, maître Pierre, lui -dit-il, ne vous lamentez point; vous me fendez le cœur. Sachez que mon -maître est aussi bon chrétien que vaillant chevalier; s’il vient à -reconnaître qu’il vous a fait le moindre dommage, il vous le payera au -centuple. - -Pourvu que le seigneur don Quichotte me paye une partie de ce que m’ont -coûté mes figures, dit maître Pierre, je serai content et il mettra sa -conscience en repos; car on ne saurait sauver son âme si l’on ne répare -le tort fait au prochain, si l’on ne lui restitue le bien qu’on lui a -pris. - -Cela est vrai, reprit don Quichotte; mais jusqu’à présent, maître -Pierre, je ne sache pas avoir rien à vous. - -Comment! rien, seigneur, repartit maître Pierre: et ces tristes débris -que vous voyez gisants sur le sol, qui les a dispersés, anéantis, si ce -n’est la force de votre bras invincible? et ces corps à qui -appartenaient-ils, si ce n’est à moi? enfin qui me faisait subsister, si -ce n’étaient eux? - -Pour le coup, reprit don Quichotte, je doute moins que jamais de ce que -j’ai répété si souvent: oui, les enchanteurs changent et bouleversent -toutes choses à leur fantaisie pour m’abuser; car, je vous le jure, -seigneurs qui m’entendez, ce que j’ai vu là m’a semblé réel et constant, -comme au temps de Charlemagne; j’ai pris cette Mélisandre pour -Mélisandre, don Galiferos pour don Galiferos, et Marsile pour le roi -Marsile; en un mot, les Mores pour les Mores, comme s’ils avaient été en -chair et en os. Cela étant, je n’ai pu retenir ma colère; et pour -accomplir le devoir de ma profession, qui m’ordonne de secourir les -opprimés, j’ai fait ce dont vous avez été témoins; si les effets ne -répondent pas à mon intention, ce n’est pas ma faute, mais celle des -enchanteurs qui me persécutent sans relâche. Cependant, tout innocent -que je suis de leur malice, je me condamne à réparer le dommage: que -maître Pierre dise ce qu’il lui faut pour la perte de ses figures, et je -le lui ferai payer sur-le-champ. - -Je n’attendais pas moins, dit maître Pierre, en s’inclinant -profondément, de la chrétienne probité du vaillant don Quichotte de la -Manche, le véritable soutien de tous les vagabonds nécessiteux: voilà le -seigneur hôtelier et le grand Sancho Panza qui seront, s’il plaît à -Votre Seigneurie, médiateurs entre elle et moi, et qui apprécieront mes -figures brisées. - -J’y consens et de tout mon cœur, dit don Quichotte. - -Aussitôt maître Pierre ramassa Marsile, et montrant qu’il était sans -tête: Vous voyez bien, seigneurs, dit-il, qu’il m’est impossible de -remettre le roi de Saragosse en son premier état; ainsi je crois, sauf -meilleur avis, qu’on ne peut me donner pour sa personne moins de quatre -réaux et demi. - -D’accord, dit don Quichotte; passons à un autre. - -Pour cette ouverture de haut en bas, continua maître Pierre en levant de -terre l’empereur Charlemagne, serait-ce trop de cinq réaux et un quart? - -Ce n’est-pas peu, dit Sancho. - -Ce n’est pas trop, repartit l’hôtelier; mais partageons le différend, et -accordons-lui cinq réaux. - -Qu’on lui donne cinq réaux et le quart avec, dit don Quichotte; mais -dépêchez-vous, maître Pierre; car il est temps de souper; et la faim -commence à se faire sentir. - -Pour cette figure sans nez, avec un œil de moins, qui est celle de la -belle Mélisandre, il me semble, dit maître Pierre, que, demander deux -réaux et douze maravédis, c’est être fort accommodant. - -Ah! parbleu, s’écria don Quichotte, ce serait bien le diable si, à cette -heure et d’après le galop qu’avait pris son cheval, don Galiferos et -Mélisandre ne sont pas au moins sur la frontière de France. A d’autres, -maître Pierre, ce n’est pas à moi qu’on vend un chat pour un lièvre; -n’espérez pas me faire passer votre Mélisandre camuse pour la véritable -Mélisandre qui, en ce moment, doit être à la cour de Charlemagne, en -train de se divertir avec son époux. - -Maître Pierre voyant don Quichotte retourner à son premier thème, ne -voulut pas le laisser échapper; il se mit à considérer la figure de -plus près, et dit: Si ce n’est point là Mélisandre, il faut que ce soit -quelqu’une de ses damoiselles, qui se servait de ses habits; qu’on me -donne seulement soixante maravédis, je serai content. - -Il examina ainsi toutes les autres figures, mettant le prix à chacune, -prix que les juges réglèrent, à la satisfaction des parties, à la somme -de quarante réaux et trois quarts payés sur-le-champ par Sancho. Maître -Pierre demanda encore deux réaux pour la peine qu’il aurait à rattraper -son singe. - -Donne-les, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, et plus s’il le faut, pour le -satisfaire; mais j’en donnerais volontiers deux cents autres, -ajouta-t-il, à qui m’assurerait que don Galiferos et Mélisandre sont -maintenant en France, dans le sein de leur famille. - -Personne ne pourra le dire mieux que mon singe, repartit maître Pierre; -mais le diable ne le rattraperait pas, effarouché comme il l’est; -j’espère pourtant que la faim, jointe à l’attachement qu’il a pour moi, -le feront revenir cette nuit. Au reste, demain il fera jour, et nous -verrons. - -Enfin, la tempête apaisée, toute la compagnie soupa aux dépens de don -Quichotte. L’homme aux hallebardes partit de grand matin; et dès qu’il -fut jour, le guide et le page allèrent prendre congé de notre héros, -l’un pour s’en retourner dans son pays, l’autre pour continuer son -voyage. Don Quichotte donna une douzaine de réaux au page, et, après -quelques judicieux conseils touchant la carrière qu’il allait suivre, il -l’embrassa et le laissa partir. Quant à maître Pierre, bien instruit de -l’humeur du chevalier, il ne voulut rien avoir de plus à démêler avec -lui; ayant donc rattrapé son singe et ramassé les débris de son théâtre, -il partit avant le lever du soleil, sans dire adieu, et alla, de son -côté, chercher les aventures. Don Quichotte fit payer largement -l’hôtelier, et, le laissant non moins surpris de ses extravagances que -de sa libéralité, il monta à cheval vers huit heures du matin, et se -mit en route. - -Nous le laisserons cheminer, afin de donner à loisir plusieurs -explications nécessaires à l’intelligence de cette histoire. - -CHAPITRE XXVII - -OU L’ON APPREND CE QU’ÉTAIENT MAITRE PIERRE ET SON SINGE, AVEC LE FAMEUX -SUCCÈS QU’EUT DON QUICHOTTE DANS L’AVENTURE DU BRAIMENT, QU’IL NE -TERMINA PAS COMME IL L’AVAIT PENSÉ - -Cid Hamed Ben-Engeli, l’auteur de cette grande histoire, commence le -présent chapitre par ces paroles: _Je jure comme chrétien catholique_, -etc., etc. Sur quoi le traducteur fait observer qu’en jurant comme -chrétien catholique, tandis qu’il était More (et sans aucun doute il -l’était), cid Hamed n’a voulu dire autre chose, sinon que comme le -chrétien catholique promet, quand il jure, de dire la vérité, de même il -promet de la dire en ce qui concerne don Quichotte, principalement en -expliquant ce qu’étaient maître Pierre et son singe, dont les -divinations faisaient l’admiration de toute la contrée. Il dit donc que -ceux qui ont lu la première partie de cette histoire se rappelleront -sans doute un certain Ginez de Passamont, auquel don Quichotte rendit la -liberté ainsi qu’à d’autres forçats qu’on menait aux galères; bienfait -dont ces gens de mauvaise vie le récompensèrent d’une si étrange -manière. Ce Ginez de Passamont, que don Quichotte appelait don Ginesille -de Parapilla, déroba, on se le rappelle, le grison de Sancho dans la -Sierra Morena; et parce qu’il n’a point été dit alors de quelle manière -eut lieu ce larcin, l’imprimeur ayant supprimé cinq ou six lignes qui -l’expliquent, on a généralement attribué à l’auteur ce qui n’était -qu’une omission de l’imprimerie. Voici comment le fait arriva. - -Pendant que Sancho dormait d’un profond sommeil sur son âne, Ginez -employa le même artifice dont Brunel avait fait usage devant la -forteresse d’Albraque, pour voler le cheval de Sacripant, et lui tira -son grison d’entre les jambes après avoir placé sous le bât quatre pieux -appuyés contre terre; depuis, Sancho retrouva son âne, ainsi que nous -l’avons raconté. Ce Ginez, craignant d’être repris par la justice qui le -recherchait pour ses prouesses (le nombre en était si grand qu’il en -composa lui-même un gros volume), s’appliqua un emplâtre sur l’œil, et, -ainsi déguisé, résolut de passer au royaume d’Aragon comme joueur de -marionnettes, car en pareille matière et pour les tours de gobelets il -était maître achevé. Chemin faisant, il acheta de quelques chrétiens qui -revenaient de Barbarie le singe dont nous avons parlé, auquel il apprit, -à certain signal, à lui sauter sur l’épaule et à paraître lui marmotter -quelque chose à l’oreille. Son plan arrêté, notre homme, avant d’entrer -dans un village, s’informait avec soin aux environs des particularités -survenues dans cet endroit et des gens qu’elles concernaient. Cela logé -dans sa mémoire, la première chose qu’il faisait en arrivant, c’était de -dresser son théâtre, lequel représentait tantôt une histoire, tantôt une -autre, mais toutes agréables et divertissantes. La représentation finie, -il annonçait le talent de son singe, qui connaissait, disait-il, le -passé et le présent, mais ne se mêlait point de l’avenir; pour chaque -question il prenait deux réaux, et faisait meilleur marché à -quelques-uns, après avoir tâté le pouls aux curieux. Souvent, quand il -se trouvait avec des gens dont il savait bien l’histoire, encore qu’on -ne lui adressât point de demande, il faisait à son singe le signal -accoutumé, disait qu’il venait de lui révéler telle ou telle chose, et -comme cela concordait presque toujours avec ce qui était arrivé, il -s’était acquis un crédit incroyable parmi le peuple. S’il n’était pas -bien informé, il y suppléait avec adresse, faisant une réponse ambiguë -qui avait rapport à la demande; mais comme la plupart des gens n’y -voyaient que du feu, il se moquait de tout le monde, et remplissait -ainsi son escarcelle. En entrant dans l’hôtellerie, il reconnut de suite -don Quichotte et Sancho, et il lui fut facile, on le pense bien, de les -étonner, ainsi que tous ceux qui étaient présents. Cependant il lui en -aurait coûté cher, si notre chevalier eût un peu plus baissé le bras -quand il fit sauter la tête au roi Marsile et détruisit toute sa -cavalerie, comme nous l’avons dit au chapitre précédent. - -Mais revenons à don Quichotte. En quittant l’hôtellerie, le héros de la -Manche résolut d’aller visiter les beaux rivages de l’Èbre et les lieux -environnants, avant de gagner Saragosse, l’époque des joutes annoncées -dans cette ville étant encore assez éloignée. Il marcha ainsi deux jours -entiers, sans qu’il lui arrivât rien qui mérite d’être raconté. Le -troisième jour, comme il gravissait une petite colline, il entendit un -grand bruit de tambours et de trompettes. Il crut d’abord que c’était -quelque troupe de soldats, et poussa Rossinante de ce côté; mais arrivé -au sommet de la colline, il aperçut à l’autre extrémité de la plaine -plus de deux cents hommes armés de lances, pertuisanes, arbalètes, -piques, avec quelques arquebuses et un bon nombre de rondaches. Il -descendit la côte et s’approcha assez du bataillon pour pouvoir -distinguer des bannières avec leurs couleurs et leurs devises, parmi -lesquelles une entre autres en satin blanc représentait un âne peint au -naturel, le cou tendu, le nez en l’air, la bouche béante, la langue -allongée, comme s’il eût été prêt à braire; autour étaient écrits ces -mots: «Ce n’est pas pour rien que nos alcades se sont mis à braire.» - -Don Quichotte comprit par là que ces gens armés appartenaient au village -du braiment, et il le dit à Sancho, tout en lui faisant remarquer que -l’homme dont ils tenaient l’histoire s’était sans doute trompé, -puisqu’il n’avait parlé que de régidors, tandis que la bannière mettait -en scène des alcades. - -Il ne faut pas y regarder de si près, seigneur, répondit Sancho; ces -régidors sont peut-être devenus alcades par la suite des temps; et puis, -que ce soient des régidors ou des alcades, qu’est-ce que cela fait, -s’ils se sont mis de même à braire? Il n’est pas plus étonnant -d’entendre braire un alcade qu’un régidor. - -Bref, ils reconnurent et apprirent que les gens du village persiflé -s’étaient mis en campagne pour combattre les habitants d’un autre -village, qui les raillaient plus que de raison. Don Quichotte -s’approcha, malgré les conseils de Sancho, qui avait peu de goût pour de -semblables rencontres, et les gens du bataillon l’accueillirent, croyant -que c’était quelqu’un de leur parti. Quant à lui, haussant sa visière, -il poussa jusqu’à l’étendard, et là il fut entouré par les principaux de -la troupe, lesquels demeurèrent plus qu’étonnés de son étrange figure. - -Don Quichotte les voyant attentifs à le considérer sans lui adresser la -parole, voulut profiter de leur silence et leur parla en ces termes: -Braves seigneurs, je vous supplie de ne point interrompre le discours -que je vais vous adresser, à moins que vous ne le trouviez ennuyeux, -car, dans ce cas, au moindre signe, je mettrai un frein à ma langue et -un bâillon à ma bouche. Tous répondirent qu’il pouvait parler, et qu’ils -l’écouteraient de bon cœur; notre héros continua donc de la sorte: Mes -chers amis, je suis chevalier errant; ma profession est celle des armes -et me fait un devoir de protéger ceux qui en ont besoin. Depuis -plusieurs jours je connais votre disgrâce et la cause qui vous rassemble -pour tirer vengeance de vos ennemis. Après avoir bien réfléchi sur votre -affaire, et consulté les lois sur le duel, j’ai conclu que vous avez -tort de vous tenir pour offensés, et en voici la raison: un seul homme -ne peut, selon moi, offenser une commune entière, si ce n’est pourtant -en l’accusant de trahison en général, comme nous en avons un exemple -dans don Diego Ordugnez de Lara, qui défia tous les habitants de -Zamora[100], ignorant que c’était le seul Vellidos Dolfos qui avait tué -le roi son maître. Or, cette accusation et ce défi les offensant -également, la vengeance en appartenait à tous en général et à chacun en -particulier. Dans cette occasion, néanmoins, le seigneur don Diego -s’emporta outre mesure, et dépassa de beaucoup les limites du défi, car -il n’y avait aucun motif pour y comprendre avec les vivants, les morts, -l’eau, le pain, les enfants à naître, et tant d’autres particularités -dont son cartel contient l’énumération; mais lorsque la colère a débordé -et s’est emparée d’un homme, aucun frein n’est capable de le retenir. - - [100] Voici ce défi: - - «Moi don Diego Ordunez de Lara, je vous défie, gens de Zamora, comme - traîtres et félons; je défie tous les morts et avec eux tous les - vivants; je défie les hommes et les femmes, ceux qui sont nés et ceux - à naître; je défie les grands et les petits, la viande, le poisson, - les eaux des rivières. - - «CANCIONERO.» - -Ainsi donc, puisqu’un seul homme ne peut offenser une république, un -royaume, une province, une ville, une commune entière, il est manifeste -que vous avez tort de vous mettre en campagne pour venger une offense -qui n’existe pas. Que diriez-vous, je vous le demande, si les habitants -de Valladolid, de Tolède ou de Madrid, se battaient à tout propos avec -ceux qui les appellent _Cazalleros_[101], _Auberginois_, _Baleinaux_, et -si ceux auxquels les enfants donnent de pareils surnoms s’escrimaient à -tout bout de champ? Il ferait beau voir que ces illustres cités fussent -toujours prêtes à prendre les armes à la moindre provocation! Non, non, -que Dieu ne le veuille ni ne le permette jamais! Il n’y a que quatre -circonstances dans lesquelles les républiques bien gouvernées et les -hommes sages doivent prendre les armes et tirer l’épée. Ces quatre -circonstances les voici: la première, c’est la défense de la foi -catholique; la seconde, la défense de leur vie, qui est de droit naturel -et divin; la troisième, la conservation de leur honneur, de leur famille -et de leur fortune; la quatrième, le service de leur roi dans une guerre -juste; et si nous voulions en ajouter une cinquième, qu’il faudrait -placer en seconde ligne, c’est la défense de la patrie. Mais recourir -aux armes pour de simples badinages, pour de simples plaisanteries qui -ne sont pas de véritables offenses, par ma foi, ce serait manquer de -raison. D’ailleurs, tirer une vengeance injuste (car juste, aucune ne -peut l’être), c’est aller directement contre la sainte loi que nous -professons, laquelle nous ordonne de faire du bien à nos ennemis, et -d’aimer ceux qui nous haïssent. Ce commandement, je le sais, paraît -quelque peu difficile à accomplir, mais il ne l’est que pour ceux qui -sont moins à Dieu qu’au monde, et plus selon la chair que selon -l’esprit; car Jésus-Christ, qui Dieu et homme tout ensemble, jamais n’a -menti et jamais n’a pu mentir, a dit, en se faisant notre législateur, -que son joug était doux et son fardeau léger; il n’a donc pu nous -prescrire rien d’impossible. Ainsi, mes bons seigneurs, Vos Grâces sont -obligées, par les lois divines et humaines, à calmer leurs -ressentiments et à déposer leurs armes. - - [101] On appelait _Cazalleros_ les habitants de Valladolid, par - allusion à Augustin de Cazalla, qui y périt sur l’échafaud. On ignore - l’origine des autres surnoms. - -Que je meure à l’instant, dit tout bas Sancho, si ce mien maître-là -n’est pas théologien; et s’il ne l’est pas, par ma foi, il y ressemble -comme un œuf ressemble à un autre œuf. - -Don Quichotte se tut quelque temps pour reprendre haleine, et voyant que -toute l’assistance l’écoutait favorablement, il allait continuer sa -harangue, quand, voyant que son maître s’arrêtait, Sancho se jeta à la -traverse, prit la parole et dit: Monseigneur don Quichotte de la Manche, -naguère appelé le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, et à présent le -chevalier des Lions, est un gentilhomme de beaucoup de sens, et qui -connaît son latin comme un bachelier. Dans les conseils qu’il donne il y -va toujours rondement, et il n’y a point de lois ni d’ordonnances pour -la guerre qu’il ne sache sur le bout de son doigt; ainsi donc, -seigneurs, croyez tout ce qu’il dit, et qu’on s’en prenne à moi si l’on -n’est pas content. Il est évident qu’on a tort de se mettre en colère -pour cela seul qu’on entend braire, car moi, je m’en souviens fort bien, -lorsque j’étais petit garçon, je brayais lorsqu’il m’en prenait envie, -sans que personne y trouvât à redire; et sans vanité, c’était avec tant -de naturel et de grâce, que tous les ânes du pays se mettaient à braire -quand ils m’entendaient: je n’en étais pourtant pas moins fils de mon -père, qui fut homme de bien. Ce talent excita la jalousie de -quelques-uns des plus huppés du village, mais je m’en souciais comme -d’un maravédis. Au reste, pour vous prouver ce que j’avance, écoutez -seulement, et vous allez voir; car cette science est comme celle de -nager, une fois apprise, on ne l’oublie plus. - -Aussitôt se serrant le nez avec les doigts, Sancho se mit à braire si -puissamment, que tous les lieux d’alentour en retentirent; et il allait -recommencer de plus belle, lorsqu’un des auditeurs, croyant qu’il ne le -faisait que pour se moquer d’eux, leva une longue gaule et lui en -déchargea sur les reins un si rude coup, qu’il l’étendit à terre tout de -son long. - -Le voyant ainsi maltraité, don Quichotte courut la lance basse contre -l’agresseur; mais tant de gens s’y opposèrent, qu’il lui fut impossible -de venger son écuyer. Loin de là, lui-même se vit assailli d’une telle -grêle de pierres, tellement menacé de toutes parts avec l’arbalète -tendue et l’arquebuse en joue, qu’il tourna bride et s’échappa au grand -galop de Rossinante, se recommandant à Dieu, et s’imaginant déjà être -percé de mille balles. Mais ces gens se contentèrent de le voir fuir -sans tirer un seul coup. Quand à Sancho, ils le replacèrent sur son âne, -et lui permirent de rejoindre son maître; ce que le grison fit de -lui-même, accoutumé qu’il était à suivre Rossinante et n’en pouvant -demeurer un seul moment séparé. - -Lorsque don Quichotte fut hors de portée, il tourna la tête, et voyant -que Sancho n’était pas poursuivi, il attendit. Quant aux gens du village -persiflé, ils restèrent là jusqu’à la nuit; puis ils s’en retournèrent -chez eux, triomphant de ce que l’ennemi n’avait point paru. Je crois -même, s’ils avaient connu l’antique coutume des Grecs, qu’ils n’eussent -pas manqué d’élever sur le terrain un trophée pour servir de monument à -leur valeur. - -CHAPITRE XXVIII - -DES GRANDES CHOSES QUE DIT BEN-ENGELI, ET QUE SAURA CELUI QUI LES LIRA -S’IL LES LIT AVEC ATTENTION - -Quand le brave fuit, c’est que l’embuscade est découverte, et l’homme -prudent doit se réserver pour une meilleure occasion. De ceci nous avons -une preuve en don Quichotte, qui, sans songer au péril où il laissait le -pauvre Sancho, aima mieux prendre la poudre d’escampette que de -s’exposer à la fureur de cette troupe en courroux, et s’éloigna jusqu’à -ce qu’il se crût en lieu de sûreté. - -Plié en deux sur son âne, Sancho le suivait, comme nous avons dit; en -arrivant près de son seigneur, déjà il avait repris ses sens, et il se -laissa tomber haletant devant Rossinante. Don Quichotte mit pied à terre -pour voir s’il était blessé, et ne lui trouvant aucune égratignure, il -lui dit avec colère: Sancho, mon ami, vous avez mal choisi votre temps -pour braire; où diable avez-vous trouvé qu’il fût sage de parler corde -dans la maison d’un pendu? A musique comme la vôtre, quel accompagnement -pouvait-on faire, si ce n’est de coups de bâton? Rendez grâces à Dieu, -Sancho, de ce qu’au lieu de vous bâtonner ils ne vous aient point fait -le _per signum crucis_ avec une lame de cimeterre. - -Je ne suis pas en état de répondre, dit Sancho, et il me semble que je -parle par les épaules; montons sur nos bêtes et tirons-nous d’ici. Soyez -certain que je ne brairai de ma vie, mais à ce que je vois, les -chevaliers errants lâchent pied tout comme les autres, et se soucient -fort peu de laisser leurs pauvres écuyers moulus comme plâtre au pouvoir -des ennemis. - -Se retirer n’est pas fuir, répondit don Quichotte. Apprenez-le Sancho, -la valeur qui n’est pas fondée sur la prudence s’appelle témérité, et -les prouesses d’un homme téméraire s’attribuent moins à son courage qu’à -sa bonne fortune; ainsi je confesse m’être retiré, mais non pas avoir -fui, et en cela j’ai imité plusieurs vaillants guerriers, qui surent se -réserver pour de meilleures occasions. Les histoires sont pleines de -semblables événements, que je pourrais vous raconter; mais comme cela -est inutile, je m’en abstiens pour l’heure. - -En discourant de la sorte, don Quichotte avait remis Sancho sur son âne, -puis, étant remonté à cheval, tous deux gagnèrent à petits pas un bois -qu’on apercevait près de là. De temps en temps l’écuyer poussait de -profonds hélas! et des gémissements douloureux; don Quichotte lui en -demanda le sujet: C’est, répondit Sancho, que depuis l’extrémité de -l’échine jusqu’à la nuque du cou, je ressens une douleur qui me fait -perdre l’esprit. - -Sans aucun doute, reprit don Quichotte, cela vient de ce que le bâton -étant large et long, il aura porté sur toutes les parties qui te font -mal; s’il eût touché en quelque autre endroit, tu souffrirais de même à -cet endroit-là. - -Pardieu, dit Sancho, Votre Grâce vient de me tirer d’un grand embarras, -et de m’expliquer la chose en bons termes. Mort de ma vie! faut-il tant -de paroles pour me prouver que je souffre à tous les endroits où le -bâton a porté? Si je souffrais à la cheville du pied, passe encore; mais -pour deviner que je souffre là où l’on m’a meurtri, il ne faut pas être -sorcier. Je le vois, mon seigneur et maître, mal d’autrui n’est que -songe, et chaque jour découvre ce que je dois attendre en compagnie de -Votre Grâce. Aujourd’hui, vous m’avez laissé bâtonner; demain, vous me -laisserez berner, comme l’autre fois; et si un jour il m’en coûte une -côte, un autre jour il m’en coûtera les yeux de la tête. Que je ferais -bien mieux... (mais je ne suis qu’une bête, et bête je resterai toute ma -vie); que je ferais bien mieux de m’en aller retrouver ma femme et mes -enfants, et prendre soin de ma maison avec le peu d’esprit que Dieu m’a -donné, au lieu de m’amuser à vous suivre à travers champs, bien souvent -sans boire ni manger. Car enfin, après avoir couru pendant tout le jour, -si l’on a besoin de dormir, eh bien frère écuyer, vous dit-on, mesurez -six pieds de terre; en voulez-vous davantage? taillez, taillez, en plein -drap, vous êtes à même, étendez-vous de tout votre long. Ah! que je -voudrais voir brûlé et réduit en cendres le premier qui s’avisa de la -chevalerie errante, ou du moins celui qui a été assez sot pour servir -d’écuyer à de pareils étourdis; je parle des chevaliers errants du temps -passé; de ceux d’aujourd’hui je ne dis rien, je leur porte trop de -respect, Votre Grâce étant du nombre: aussi bien, je commence à -m’apercevoir qu’elle en revendrait au diable en personne. - -Maintenant que vous parlez à votre aise, reprit don Quichotte, je -gagerais que vous ne ressentez aucun mal; eh bien, parlez, mon ami, -parlez tout votre soûl, et dites tout ce qui vous viendra sur le bout de -la langue: pourvu que vous ne vous plaigniez point, je supporterai de -bon cœur l’ennui de vos impertinences. Au reste, avez-vous si grande -envie d’aller retrouver votre femme et vos enfants, à Dieu ne plaise que -je vous en empêche; vous avez mon argent, comptez le nombre de jours qui -se sont écoulés depuis notre troisième sortie, supputez ce que vous -devez gagner par mois, et payez-vous de vos propres mains. - -Quand je servais Thomas Carrasco, le père du bachelier Samson, que Votre -Grâce connaît bien, je gagnais deux ducats par mois, sans compter ma -nourriture, répondit Sancho: je ne sais pas ce que je dois gagner avec -vous, mais j’affirme que l’écuyer d’un chevalier errant fatigue beaucoup -plus que le valet d’un laboureur, car, après tout, quand nous servons -ces derniers, quel que soit le travail de la journée, au moins, la nuit -venue, mangeons-nous à la marmite et dormons-nous dans un lit. Tandis -que, depuis que je vous sers, je jure n’avoir tâté ni de l’un, ni de -l’autre, si ce n’est le peu de jours que nous avons passés chez le -seigneur don Diego, ou lorsque j’écumai la marmite de Gamache, et puis -ce que j’ai mangé, bu et dormi chez Basile; le reste du temps, j’ai -couché sur la dure et à ciel découvert, vivant à la grâce de Dieu, de -pelures de fromage, de quelques noisettes, de croûtes de pain, et buvant -l’eau qu’on trouve en ces déserts. - -J’en demeure d’accord, dit don Quichotte: combien croyez-vous donc que -je doive vous donner de plus que Thomas Carrasco? - -Avec deux réaux par mois qu’ajouterait Votre Grâce, il me semble, -répondit Sancho, que je serai raisonnablement payé quant aux gages; -mais pour me dédommager de la perte de l’île que vous m’aviez promise, -il serait juste d’ajouter encore six réaux, ce qui ferait trente réaux -en tout. - -C’est très-bien, répliqua don Quichotte; voilà vingt-cinq jours que nous -sommes partis de notre village, comptez ce qui vous est dû, et, je le -répète, payez-vous de vos propres mains. - -Nous sommes un peu loin de compte, repartit Sancho; car, pour ce qui est -de l’île, il faut compter à partir du jour que vous me l’avez promise -jusqu’à cette heure. - -Combien donc y a-t-il de jours que je vous l’ai promise? dit don -Quichotte. - -Si je m’en souviens bien, répondit Sancho, il y a aujourd’hui quelque -vingt ans, trois ou quatre jours de plus ou de moins. - -Par ma foi, voilà qui est plaisant, s’écria don Quichotte en partant -d’un grand éclat de rire; à peine avons-nous employé deux mois dans -toutes nos courses, et tu dis, Sancho, qu’il y a vingt ans que je t’ai -promis cette île? Mon ami, je commence à croire que tu veux garder tout -l’argent que tu as à moi! Eh bien, soit, qu’à cela ne tienne, je te -l’abandonne de bon cœur, pour me voir au plus tôt débarrassé d’un si -pitoyable écuyer! Mais, réponds-moi, prévaricateur des ordonnances -écuyéresques de la chevalerie errante, où as-tu vu ou lu que jamais -écuyer ait marchandé avec son seigneur, et contesté sur le plus ou sur -le moins? Entre, pénètre, félon, brigand, vampire, car tu mérites tous -ces noms; pénètre, dis-je, dans ce _mare magnum_ de leurs histoires, et -si tu y trouves rien d’égal à ce que tu oses me proposer, je consens à -passer pour le plus indigne chevalier qui ait jamais ceint l’épée. -Aussi, et c’en est fait, tu peux prendre le chemin de ta maison, car je -suis résolu à ne pas souffrir que tu me suives un seul instant de plus. -O pain mal reconnu, ô promesses mal placées, ô misérable sans cœur, qui -tient plus de la brute que de l’homme! tu songes à me quitter, quand -j’étais sur le point de t’élever à une condition telle, qu’en dépit de -ta femme on allait t’appeler monseigneur! tu te retires, quand j’ai la -meilleure île de la mer à te donner! On a bien raison de dire que le -miel n’est pas fait pour la bouche de l’âne: car âne tu es, âne tu -vivras, et âne tu mourras, sans t’apercevoir même que tu n’es qu’une -bête. - -Pendant que don Quichotte l’accablait de reproches, Sancho tout confus -le regardait fixement; enfin, se sentant pénétré d’une vive douleur, le -pauvre écuyer répondit d’une voix dolente et entrecoupée de sanglots: -Monseigneur, mon bon maître, je confesse que je suis un âne, et que pour -l’être tout à fait il ne manque que la queue; si vous voulez me la -mettre, je la tiendrai pour bien placée, et je vous servirai comme un -âne le reste de mes jours. Que Votre Grâce me pardonne et prenne pitié -de ma jeunesse; considérez que je ne sais pas grand’chose, et que si je -parle beaucoup, c’est plutôt par infirmité que par malice; mais qui -pèche et s’amende, à Dieu se recommande. - -J’aurais été fort étonné, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu eusses -prononcé vingt paroles sans citer quelque proverbe; eh bien, oui, je te -pardonne à condition que tu te corrigeras et que tu ne seras plus -désormais si attaché à ton intérêt; prends courage et repose-toi sur la -foi de mes promesses qui, pour ne pas encore être réalisées, n’en sont -pas moins certaines. - -Sancho promit de s’amender et de faire de nécessité vertu. Sur ce ils -entrèrent dans le bois, et se couchèrent chacun au pied d’un arbre. -Sancho dormit mal, les coups de gaule se faisant mieux sentir par le -serein; quant à don Quichotte, il s’abandonna à ses rêveries -habituelles. Après avoir pris quelque repos, le jour venu, ils -continuèrent leur chemin vers les célèbres rivages de l’Èbre, où il leur -arriva ce que nous raconterons dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXIX - -DE LA FAMEUSE AVENTURE DE LA BARQUE ENCHANTÉE - -Après avoir cheminé pendant deux jours entiers, nos aventuriers -arrivèrent au bord de l’Èbre. Don Quichotte éprouva un vif plaisir à la -vue de ce fleuve; il ne pouvait se lasser de considérer la beauté de ses -rives, l’abondance et la tranquillité de ses eaux, et cet aspect -réveilla dans sa mémoire mille amoureuses pensées. Il se rappela ce -qu’il avait vu dans la caverne de Montesinos, car bien que le singe de -maître Pierre lui eût dit que ces choses étaient en partie vraies, en -partie fausses, il était disposé à les regarder comme des réalités, au -rebours de Sancho qui les tenait pour autant de mensonges. - -Tout à coup notre héros aperçut une petite barque, sans rames et sans -voiles, attachée à un tronc d’arbre; il regarda de tous côtés, et ne -voyant personne, il mit pied à terre, dit à son écuyer d’en faire autant -et de lier leurs montures à un saule qui se trouvait là. Sancho lui -demanda pourquoi il descendait si brusquement de cheval et quel était -son dessein. - -Apprends, répondit don Quichotte, que ce bateau est ici pour m’inviter à -y entrer, afin que j’aille au secours soit d’un chevalier, soit de toute -autre personne qui se trouve en pressant danger: car c’est ainsi que -procèdent les enchanteurs. Lorsqu’un chevalier de leurs amis court -quelque péril dont il ne peut être tiré que par le bras d’un autre -chevalier, ils lui envoient un bateau comme celui-ci, ou bien ils -l’enlèvent dans quelque nuage, et en un clin d’œil il est transporté, à -travers les airs ou sur les eaux, aux lieux où on a besoin de son aide. -Sans nul doute, cette barque est placée ici pour le même objet, ou je -ne m’y connais pas. Donc, avant que la nuit arrive, attache ensemble -Rossinante et ton grison, et partons sans perdre de temps, car je suis -résolu de tenter cette aventure, une troupe de carmes déchaussés -vint-elle me prier de n’en rien faire. - -Puisqu’il en est ainsi, reprit Sancho, et que Votre Grâce veut à tout -propos donner dans ce que j’appellerai des folies, il n’y a qu’à obéir -et à baisser la tête, suivant le proverbe qui dit: Fais ce que ton -maître ordonne, et assieds-toi à table à ses côtés. Toutefois, et pour -l’acquit de ma conscience, je veux avertir Votre Grâce que ce bateau -n’appartient pas à des enchanteurs, mais plutôt à quelque pêcheur de -cette rivière où l’on prend, dit-on, les meilleures aloses du monde. - -Tout en disant cela, Sancho attachait Rossinante et le grison, -très-affligé de les laisser seuls, et appelant sur eux dans le fond de -son âme la protection des enchanteurs. - -Ne te mets point en peine de ces animaux, lui dit don Quichotte; celui -qui va conduire les maîtres en prendra soin. - -Or ça, reprit Sancho, les voilà attachés: que faut-il faire? - -Nous recommander à Dieu et lever l’ancre, repartit don Quichotte; je -veux dire nous embarquer et couper la corde qui retient ce bateau. Puis -sans plus délibérer il saute dedans, suivi de son écuyer, coupe la -corde, et le bateau s’éloigne de la rive. - -A peine Sancho fut-il à vingt pas du bord, qu’il commença à trembler, se -croyant perdu; mais ce fut bien pis quand il entendit le grison braire -et vit Rossinante se débattre pour se détacher: Seigneur, dit-il, voilà -Rossinante qui s’efforce de rompre son licou pour venir nous retrouver, -et mon âne qui gémit de notre absence. Mes bons amis, continua-t-il en -tournant vers eux ses regards, prenez patience: nous nous désabuserons, -s’il plaît à Dieu, de la folie qui nous mène, et nous vous rejoindrons -bientôt. Et il se mit à pleurer si amèrement, que don Quichotte -impatienté, lui dit: - -Que crains-tu, lâche créature? qui te poursuit, cœur de souris -casanière, et qu’as-tu à gémir de la sorte? Ne dirait-on pas que tu -marches pieds nus sur les rochers aigus et tranchants des monts Riphées, -ou à travers les sables ardents des déserts de la Libye? N’es-tu pas -assis comme un prince, t’abandonnant sans fatigue au cours de cet -aimable fleuve? Va, va, console-toi, nous allons bientôt entrer dans le -vaste Océan, si déjà nous n’y sommes, car nous avons fait pour le moins -sept ou huit cents lieues. Si j’avais un astrolabe pour prendre la -hauteur du pôle, je te dirais au juste combien de chemin nous avons -fait; cependant, ou je n’y entends rien, ou nous avons passé, ou nous -sommes sur le point de passer la ligne équinoxiale, située à égale -distance des deux pôles. - -Et quand nous aurons passé cette ligne, combien aurons-nous fait de -chemin? demanda Sancho. - -Beaucoup assurément, répondit don Quichotte: car alors nous aurons -parcouru la moitié du globe terrestre, qui, selon le comput de Ptolémée, -le plus célèbre des cosmographes, ne compte pas moins de trois cent -soixante degrés, ce qui, à vingt-cinq lieues par degré, fait neuf mille -lieues de tour. - -Pardieu, Votre Grâce prend à témoin une jolie personne, l’homme qui pue -comme quatre! dit Sancho. - -Don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher de sourire de la manière dont son écuyer -avait compris les mots comput et cosmographe: Tu sauras, lui dit-il, que -ceux qui vont aux Indes regardent comme un signe positif que la ligne -est passée, quand certains insectes meurent instantanément, et qu’on ne -pourrait en trouver un sur tout le bâtiment, fût-ce au poids de l’or. -Ainsi, promène ta main sous une de tes cuisses, et si tu y trouves -quelque être vivant, nos doutes seront éclaircis; dans le cas -contraire, nous aurons passé la ligne. - -Je ferai ce que m’ordonne Votre Grâce, répliqua Sancho, quoique ces -expériences me paraissent inutiles, puisque, selon moi, nous ne sommes -pas à cinq toises du rivage, et que je vois de mes yeux Rossinante et le -grison au même endroit où nous les avons laissés. - -Fais ce que je t’ai dit, répliqua don Quichotte, et ne t’inquiète pas du -reste. Tu ne sais pas, je pense, ce que c’est que zodiaque, lignes, -parallèles, pôles, solstices, équinoxes, planètes, enfin tous les degrés -et les mesures dont se composent la sphère céleste et la sphère -terrestre; car si tu connaissais toutes ces choses, même d’une manière -imparfaite, tu saurais combien de parallèles nous avons coupés, combien -de signes nous avons parcourus, et combien de constellations nous avons -laissées derrière nous. Mais je te le répète, tâte-toi de la tête aux -pieds; je suis certain qu’à cette heure tu es plus net qu’une feuille de -papier blanc. - -Sancho obéit, et porta la main sous le pli de son jarret gauche, après -quoi il se mit à regarder son maître en souriant: Ou l’expérience est -fausse, lui dit-il, ou nous ne sommes pas arrivés à l’endroit que pense -Votre Grâce, il s’en faut de bien des lieues. - -Comment! reprit don Quichotte, est-ce que tu as trouvé quelqu’un? - -Et même quelques-uns, répondit Sancho. Puis, secouant les doigts, il -plongea sa main dans le fleuve, sur lequel glissait tranquillement la -barque sans être poussée par aucun enchanteur, mais tout bonnement par -le courant, qui était alors doux et paisible. - -Tout à coup ils aperçurent un grand moulin établi au milieu du fleuve. A -cette vue, don Quichotte s’écria d’une voix retentissante: Regarde, ami -Sancho, tu as devant toi la forteresse ou le château dans lequel doivent -se trouver le chevalier ou la princesse infortunés au secours de qui le -ciel nous envoie. - -De quel château ou forteresse parlez-vous? répondit Sancho; ne -voyez-vous pas que c’est un moulin établi sur la rivière pour moudre le -blé? - -Tais-toi, repartit don Quichotte. Cela te semble un moulin, mais ce -n’est qu’une illusion: ne t’ai-je pas répété plus de cent fois que les -enchanteurs changent, dénaturent, transforment toutes choses à leur -fantaisie? je ne dis pas qu’ils les transforment réellement, mais qu’ils -paraissent les transformer, comme ils nous l’ont fait assez voir dans la -métamorphose de Dulcinée. - -Pendant ce dialogue, le bateau ayant gagné le milieu du fleuve, commença -à marcher avec plus de rapidité. Les gens du moulin, voyant venir au fil -de l’eau une barque prête à s’engouffrer sous les roues, sortirent avec -de longues perches pour l’arrêter, en criant de toutes leurs forces: Où -allez-vous, imprudents? quel désespoir vous pousse? voulez-vous donc -vous faire mettre en pièces? Et comme ces hommes étaient couverts de -farine de la tête aux pieds, ils ressemblaient beaucoup à une apparition -fantastique. - -Ne t’ai-je pas dit, Sancho, que j’allais avoir à montrer toute la force -de mon bras? Regarde combien de monstres s’avancent contre moi, combien -de fantômes hideux essayent de m’épouvanter! - -Se dressant debout dans la barque, il se met à menacer les meuniers: -Canaille mal née, canaille mal apprise, leur criait-il, hâtez-vous de -mettre en liberté ceux que vous retenez injustement dans votre château; -car je suis don Quichotte de la Manche, surnommé le chevalier des Lions, -que l’ordre souverain des cieux envoie pour mettre fin à cette aventure. - -En même temps, il tire son épée et s’escrime en l’air contre les -meuniers, qui, sans rien comprendre à ces extravagances, tâchaient -seulement d’empêcher avec leurs perches le bateau d’entrer dans le -torrent formé par les roues du moulin. Le pauvre Sancho était à genoux, -priant Dieu de le sauver d’un si grand péril. Enfin, les meuniers -parvinrent à détourner le bateau, mais non pas si heureusement qu’il ne -chavira au milieu de la rivière avec ceux qu’il portait. Bien prit à don -Quichotte de savoir nager, car le poids de ses armes l’entraîna par deux -fois au fond de l’eau; et si les meuniers ne s’y fussent jetés pour les -en tirer, l’un par les pieds, l’autre par la tête, les aventures du -maître et du valet en restaient là. Quand ils furent déposés à terre, -plus trempés que morts de soif, Sancho s’agenouilla, et les mains -jointes, les yeux levés au ciel, il se mit à demander à Dieu, dans une -longue et fervente oraison, de le délivrer à jamais des folies de son -seigneur. - -Pendant ce temps, les pêcheurs étaient accourus; voyant leur barque -brisée, ils se jetèrent sur Sancho, demandant à don Quichotte de leur -payer le dommage. - -Très-volontiers, reprit notre héros avec son sang-froid habituel, mais à -une condition, c’est que sur-le-champ vous allez mettre en liberté ceux -que vous retenez par violence dans ce château. - -De quel château et de quels prisonniers parles-tu, tête à l’envers? -repartit un des meuniers; veux-tu, par hasard, emmener ceux qui viennent -moudre le blé à ce moulin? - -C’est folie, dit à part soi don Quichotte, c’est parler dans le désert -que vouloir faire entendre raison à semblable canaille. Il faut qu’il se -soit ici rencontré deux enchanteurs, dont l’un détruit ce que l’autre -fait; car l’un m’envoie la barque, et l’autre la renverse. Que Dieu y -porte remède, s’il lui plaît! Au reste, voilà le train du monde, on n’y -rencontre qu’artifice et contrariété de toutes parts. Se tournant -ensuite vers le moulin: Qui que vous soyez, amis, qui gémissez enfermés -dans cette prison, pardonnez-moi si, pour mon malheur et pour le vôtre, -je ne puis briser vos fers; c’est sans doute à un autre chevalier qu’est -réservée cette aventure. Il finit par entrer en arrangement avec les -pêcheurs, à qui Sancho compta cinquante réaux en poussant de profonds -soupirs. Encore une seconde traversée comme celle-ci, disait-il, et tout -notre avoir sera bientôt au fond de l’eau. - -Meuniers et pêcheurs considéraient, pleins de surprise, ces deux hommes, -et, les tenant pour fous, ils se retirèrent, les premiers dans leur -moulin, les seconds dans leurs cabanes. Don Quichotte et Sancho -retournèrent à leurs bêtes, et bêtes ils restèrent comme devant. Ainsi -finit l’aventure de la barque enchantée. - -CHAPITRE XXX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC UNE BELLE CHASSERESSE - -Nos aventuriers rejoignirent Rossinante et le grison, l’oreille basse, -principalement Sancho, à qui c’était percer l’âme que de toucher à son -argent. Finalement ils enfourchèrent leurs montures sans mot dire, et -s’éloignèrent du célèbre fleuve: don Quichotte enseveli dans ses -pensées amoureuses, et Sancho dans celle de sa fortune à faire, qu’il -voyait plus reculée que jamais, car, malgré sa simplicité, il -s’apercevait bien que les espérances et les promesses de son maître -étaient autant de chimères; aussi cherchait-il l’occasion de décamper et -de prendre le chemin de son village. Mais le sort en ordonna autrement, -comme nous le verrons bientôt. - -Il arriva donc le jour suivant qu’au coucher du soleil, en débouchant -d’un bois, don Quichotte aperçut dans une vaste prairie quantité de gens -qui chassaient à l’oiseau. En approchant, il distingua parmi les -chasseurs une dame très-gracieuse, montée sur une haquenée ou palefroi -portant selle en drap vert et à pommeau d’argent; cette dame était -également habillée de vert et en équipage de chasse, mais d’un si bon -goût et avec tant de richesse, qu’elle semblait l’élégance en personne. -Sur son poing droit se voyait un faucon, ce qui fit penser à don -Quichotte que ce devait être une grande dame et la maîtresse de ces -chasseurs, comme elle l’était en effet; aussi dit-il à Sancho: Cours, -mon fils, cours saluer de ma part la dame au palefroi et au faucon, et -dis-lui que moi, le chevalier des Lions, je baise les mains à son -insigne beauté, et que si elle le permet j’irai les lui baiser moi-même -et la servir en tout ce qu’il plaira à Sa Grandeur de m’ordonner. -Seulement, prends garde à tes paroles, et ne va pas enchâsser dans ton -compliment quelques-uns de ces proverbes dont tu regorges à toute heure. - -Vous avez bien trouvé l’enchâsseur, répondit Sancho; est-ce la première -fois que je porte des messages à de grandes dames? - -Hormis le message que tu as porté à Dulcinée, je n’en sais pas d’autres, -dit don Quichotte, au moins depuis que tu es à mon service. - -Il est vrai, reprit Sancho; mais un bon payeur ne craint point de donner -des gages, et dans une maison bien fournie la nappe est bientôt mise; je -veux dire qu’il n’est pas besoin de me faire la leçon, car Dieu merci, -je sais un peu de tout. - -Je le crois, dit don Quichotte; va donc et que Dieu te conduise. - -Sancho partit au grand trot de son âne. Quand il fut arrivé près de la -belle chasseresse, il mit pied à terre, et s’agenouillant devant elle, -il lui dit: Belle et noble dame, ce chevalier que vous voyez là-bas, et -qu’on appelle le chevalier des Lions, est mon maître; moi, je suis son -écuyer, qui dans sa maison a nom Sancho Panza. Ce chevalier des Lions -qui, naguère encore, s’appelait le chevalier de la Triste Figure, -m’envoie prier Votre Grandeur de lui octroyer la très-humble permission -de vous offrir ses services afin de satisfaire son désir, lequel est, à -ce qu’il dit, et comme je le crois, de servir éternellement votre haute -fauconnerie et beauté. En octroyant cette permission, Votre Seigneurie -fera une chose qui tournera à son profit, tandis que mon maître en -recevra faveur insigne et signalé contentement. - -Assurément, bon écuyer, répondit la dame, vous vous êtes acquitté de -votre commission avec toutes les formalités qu’exigent de pareils -messages; levez-vous, je vous prie: l’écuyer d’un aussi fameux chevalier -que le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, dont nous connaissons très-bien -les aventures, ne doit pas rester sur ses genoux: levez-vous, mon ami, -et allez dire à votre maître qu’il fera honneur et plaisir au duc mon -époux, et à moi, s’il veut prendre la peine de se rendre à une maison de -plaisance que nous avons près d’ici. - -Sancho se leva, charmé de l’exquise courtoisie de la belle chasseresse, -et surtout de lui avoir entendu dire qu’elle connaissait parfaitement le -chevalier de la Triste-Figure, qu’elle n’avait pas appelé chevalier des -Lions, parce que sans doute il portait ce nom depuis trop peu de temps. - -Brave écuyer, ajouta la duchesse, votre maître n’est-il pas celui dont -il circule une histoire imprimée sous le nom de l’ingénieux chevalier -don Quichotte de la Manche, et qui a pour maîtresse une certaine -Dulcinée du Toboso? - -C’est lui-même, Madame, répondit Sancho, et cet écuyer dont il est parlé -dans l’histoire, et qu’on appelle Sancho Panza, c’est moi si l’on ne m’a -pas changé en nourrice; je veux dire, si l’on ne m’a pas défiguré à -l’imprimerie. - -Je suis charmée, reprit la duchesse: allez, mon cher Panza, dites à -votre maître qu’il sera le bienvenu sur nos terres, et que rien ne -pouvait nous causer une plus grande satisfaction. - -Avec une si agréable réponse, Sancho retourna plein de joie vers son -maître, à qui il raconta tout ce qu’avait dit la dame, élevant jusqu’au -ciel sa courtoisie, sa grâce et sa beauté. Aussitôt don Quichotte se met -gaillardement en selle, s’affermit sur ses étriers, relève sa visière, -et donnant de l’éperon à Rossinante, part pour aller baiser la main de -la duchesse, qui, dès que Sancho l’eut quittée, avait fait prévenir le -duc, son époux, de l’ambassade qui venait de se présenter. Tous deux se -préparèrent donc à recevoir notre chevalier, et comme ils connaissaient -la première partie de son histoire, ils l’attendaient avec impatience, -se promettant de le traiter selon sa fantaisie, d’abonder dans son sens -pendant le temps qu’il passerait près d’eux, sans le contredire en quoi -que ce fût, et surtout en observant le cérémonial de la chevalerie -errante, dont ils connaissaient parfaitement les histoires, car ils en -étaient très-friands. - -En ce moment parut don Quichotte, la visière haute; et comme il se -préparait à descendre de cheval, Sancho se hâta d’aller l’y aider. Mais -le sort voulut qu’en sautant à bas du grison, notre écuyer s’embarrassa -si bien le pied dans la corde qui lui servait d’étrier, qu’il lui fut -impossible de se dégager, et qu’il tomba, la poitrine et le visage -contre le sol. Notre héros, qui ne s’était aperçu de rien et croyait -Sancho à son poste, leva la jambe pour mettre pied à terre; mais -entraînant la selle, mal sanglée sans doute, il roula entre les jambes -de Rossinante, crevant de dépit et maudissant son écuyer, qui de son -côté restait le pied pris dans l’entrave. - -Sur l’ordre du duc, les chasseurs coururent au secours du maître et de -l’écuyer; ceux-ci relevèrent don Quichotte, qui, tout maltraité de sa -chute, s’en alla cependant, clopin clopant, s’agenouiller devant Leurs -Seigneuries. Le duc ne voulut point le permettre, mais, au contraire il -descendit de cheval et fut embrasser don Quichotte. - -C’est pour moi un bien grand déplaisir, seigneur chevalier de la -Triste-Figure, lui dit-il, que le jour où pour la première fois Votre -Grâce met le pied dans mes domaines, elle ait lieu de s’en repentir; -mais l’incurie des écuyers est souvent cause de pareils accidents. - -Votre présence, prince, répondit don Quichotte, m’est un si grand -bonheur, que peu importe le prix auquel j’en obtiens l’avantage; et je -me consolerais de ma disgrâce, eussé-je été précipité dans le fond des -abîmes, car la gloire d’avoir approché de votre personne suffirait pour -m’en tirer. Mon écuyer, que Dieu maudisse, sait mieux délier sa langue -pour débiter des sottises que fixer solidement une selle. Mais dans -quelque posture que je me trouve, tombé ou relevé, à pied ou à cheval, -je n’en serai pas moins toujours à votre service, et à celui de madame -la duchesse, votre digne compagne, reine de la beauté et princesse -universelle de la courtoisie. - -Trève de flatterie, seigneur don Quichotte de la Manche, reprit le duc: -là ou règne la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, on ne peut, on ne doit -louer d’autre beauté que la sienne. - -Sancho, qui achevait de se débarrasser de la corde qui lui servait -d’étrier, prit la parole et dit: Certes, on ne saurait nier que madame -Dulcinée du Toboso ne soit fort belle, et j’en conviens tout le premier; -mais au moment où on y pense le moins saute le lièvre, et j’ai ouï dire -que dame nature ressemble au potier qui a fait un beau vase; quand il -en a fait un, il peut en faire deux, trois, voire même cent: aussi, sur -mon âme, madame la duchesse ne le cède en rien à madame Dulcinée. - -Madame, dit don Quichotte en se tournant vers la duchesse, Votre -Grandeur saura que jamais chevalier errant n’a eu un écuyer plus bavard -et plus facétieux que le mien; au reste, il prouvera surabondamment la -vérité de ce que j’avance, si Votre Altesse daigne me garder quelques -jours à son service. - -Si le bon Sancho est plaisant, je l’en estime davantage, reprit la -duchesse; vous le savez, seigneur chevalier, bien plaisanter n’est point -le partage des esprits lourds et grossiers; et puisque Sancho est -plaisant, je le tiens désormais pour homme d’esprit. - -Et grand bavard, ajouta don Quichotte. - -Tant mieux, repartit le duc; un homme qui parle bien ne saurait trop -parler. Mais pour ne point perdre nous-mêmes le temps en vains discours, -marchons, et que l’illustre chevalier de la Triste-Figure nous fasse -l’honneur de nous accompagner. - -Vos Altesses voudront bien dire chevalier des Lions, reprit Sancho; il -n’y a plus de Triste-Figure. - -Des Lions, soit, reprit le duc; eh bien, que le seigneur chevalier des -Lions vienne donc, s’il lui plaît, à un château que j’ai près d’ici, où -madame la duchesse et moi lui ferons l’accueil que nous avons coutume -d’accorder à tous les chevaliers errants qui nous honorent de leur -visite. - -Tous montèrent à cheval et se mirent en marche. Le duc et don Quichotte -se tenant à côté de la duchesse, qui appela Sancho et voulut qu’il se -tînt auprès d’elle, parce qu’elle prenait beaucoup de plaisir à -l’entendre. Notre écuyer ne se fit pas prier, et se mit de quart dans la -conversation, au grand plaisir des deux époux, pour qui c’était une -bonne fortune d’héberger un tel chevalier errant et un tel écuyer -parlant. - -CHAPITRE XXXI - -QUI TRAITE DE PLUSIEURS GRANDES CHOSES - -On ne saurait exprimer la joie qu’avait Sancho de se voir en si grande -faveur auprès de la duchesse, comptant bien trouver chez elle la même -abondance qu’il avait rencontrée chez le seigneur don Diego et chez -Basile; car toujours prêt à mener joyeuse vie, notre écuyer saisissait -aux cheveux, dès qu’elle se présentait, l’occasion de faire bonne chère. - -Avant d’arriver au château, le duc avait pris les devants, afin -d’avertir ses gens de la manière dont il voulait qu’on traitât don -Quichotte: si bien que lorsque le chevalier parut, deux laquais ou -palefreniers, vêtus de longues vestes de satin cramoisi, l’aidèrent à -descendre de cheval, le priant en même temps d’aider leur maîtresse à -mettre pied à terre. Don Quichotte obéit; mais comme, après mille -cérémonies, la duchesse s’opiniâtrait à ne point descendre, disant -qu’elle ne pouvait consentir à charger un si fameux chevalier d’un si -inutile fardeau, le duc vint donner la main à son épouse. On entra -ensuite dans une cour d’honneur, où deux belles damoiselles -s’approchèrent de don Quichotte, et lui jetèrent sur les épaules un -manteau de fine écarlate, pendant que les galeries se remplissaient de -serviteurs qui, après avoir crié: Bienvenues soient la crème et la fleur -des chevaliers errants! répandirent des flacons d’eau de senteur sur -toute la compagnie. - -Une telle réception ravissait notre héros, et ce jour fut le premier où -il se crut un véritable chevalier errant, parce qu’on le traitait de la -même façon que, dans ses livres, il avait vu qu’on traitait les -chevaliers des siècles passés. - -Sancho, laissant son grison, s’était attaché aux jupons de la duchesse; -il la suivit dans le château; mais bientôt sa conscience lui reprochant -d’avoir abandonné son âne seul à la porte, il s’approcha d’une -respectable duègne qui était venue avec d’autres femmes au-devant de -leur maîtresse: Dame Gonzalès, lui dit-il à demi-voix, comment s’appelle -Votre Grâce? - -Je m’appelle Rodriguez de Grijalva, reprit la duègne; que -souhaitez-vous, mon ami? - -Je voudrais bien, dit Sancho, que Votre Grâce me fît celle d’aller à la -porte du château; là vous trouverez un âne, qui m’appartient; ayez la -bonté de le faire conduire à l’écurie, ou de l’y conduire vous-même, car -le pauvre animal est timide, et ne saurait rester seul un instant. - -Si le maître n’est pas mieux appris que le valet, nous voilà bien -tombées, répondit la duègne; allez, mon ami, allez ailleurs chercher des -dames qui prendront soin de votre âne; ici elles ne sont point faites -pour semblables besognes. - -Peste! vous voilà bien dégoûtée, répliqua Sancho; j’ai entendu dire à -monseigneur don Quichotte, qui sait par cœur toutes les histoires, que -lorsque Lancelot revint d’Angleterre, les princesses prenaient soin de -lui, et les damoiselles de son cheval; et par ma foi, ma chère dame, -pour ce qui est de mon âne, je ne troquerais pas contre le cheval de -Lancelot. - -Ami, repartit la señora Rodriguez, si vous êtes bouffon de votre métier, -gardez vos bons mots pour ceux qui les aiment et qui peuvent les payer, -car de moi vous n’aurez qu’une figue. - -Elle serait du moins bien mûre, pour peu quelle gagne un point sur Votre -Grâce, reprit Sancho. - -Je suis vieille, repartit la duègne, c’est à Dieu que j’en rendrai -compte, et non à toi, imbécile, rustre et malappris, qui empestes l’ail -d’une lieue. - -Cela fut dit d’un ton si haut, que la duchesse l’entendit, et demanda à -la señora Rodriguez à qui elle en avait. - -J’en ai, répondit-elle, à cet homme qui me charge de mener son âne à -l’écurie, en me disant que de plus grandes dames que moi pansaient le -cheval de je ne sais quel Lancelot, et par-dessus le marché ce sot m’a -appelée vieille. - -Cela m’offense encore plus que vous, repartit la duchesse: et se -tournant vers Sancho: La señora Rodriguez, lui dit-elle, est encore -toute jeune, et si elle porte ces longues coiffes, c’est plutôt parce -que sa charge le veut ainsi, qu’à cause de ses années. - -Qu’il ne m’en reste pas une à vivre, repartit Sancho, si j’ai dit cela -pour la fâcher; mais j’ai tant d’amitié pour mon grison, qui ne m’a pas -quitté depuis l’enfance, que j’ai cru ne pouvoir le recommander à une -personne plus charitable que cette bonne dame. - -Sancho, interrompit don Quichotte en le regardant de travers, est-ce -dans une aussi honorable maison qu’il convient de parler de la sorte? - -Chacun parle de ses affaires où il se trouve, répondit Sancho; je me -suis souvenu ici du grison, et j’en parle ici; si je m’en étais souvenu -dans l’écurie, j’en aurais parlé dans l’écurie. - -Sancho a raison, dit le duc, et je ne vois pas qu’il y ait là de quoi le -blâmer; mais qu’il ne se mette pas en peine de son âne, on en aura soin -comme de lui-même. - -Au milieu de ces propos qui divertissaient tout le monde, excepté don -Quichotte, ils montèrent l’escalier du château, et l’on conduisit notre -chevalier dans une salle richement tendue de brocart d’or et d’argent. -Six jeunes filles, instruites par le duc et la duchesse de la manière -dont il fallait traiter notre héros, afin qu’il ne doutât point qu’on le -traitait en chevalier errant, vinrent lui servir de pages et -s’occupèrent à le désarmer. - -Débarrassé de sa cuirasse, don Quichotte demeura avec ses étroits -hauts-de-chausses et son pourpoint de chamois, long, sec, maigre, les -mâchoires serrées et les joues si creuses qu’elles s’entre-baisaient, -enfin sous un aspect si comique que, les jeunes filles le voyant ainsi, -eussent éclaté de rire si le duc ne leur eût expressément enjoint de -s’observer. Elles prièrent notre héros de trouver bon qu’on le -déshabillât, afin de lui passer une chemise; mais il ne voulut jamais y -consentir, disant que les chevaliers errants ne se piquaient pas moins -de chasteté que de vaillance. Il les pria donc de remettre la chemise à -son écuyer; et pour exécuter lui-même ce qu’on lui proposait, il passa -avec Sancho dans une chambre où se trouvait un lit magnifique. - -Dès qu’il se vit seul avec son écuyer, il se mit à le gourmander en ces -termes: Dis-moi un peu, bouffon récent et imbécile de vieille date, où -as-tu jamais vu traiter comme tu viens de le faire une dame vénérable et -aussi digne de respect qu’est la señora Rodriguez? Était-ce bien le -moment de te ressouvenir de ton âne? Crois-tu donc que des personnes -d’une telle importance, et qui reçoivent si bien les maîtres, puissent -oublier leurs montures? Au nom de Dieu, Sancho, défais-toi de ces -libertés, et ne laisse pas voir, à force de sottises, de quelle -grossière étoffe tu es formé. Ignores-tu, pécheur endurci, qu’on a -d’autant meilleure opinion des seigneurs que leurs gens sont biens -élevés, et qu’un des principaux avantages qui font que les grands -l’emportent sur les autres hommes, c’est d’avoir à leur service des gens -qui valent autant qu’eux? Quand on verra que tu n’es qu’un rustre -grossier et un mauvais bouffon, pour qui me prendra-t-on? N’aura-t-on -pas sujet de penser que je ne suis moi-même qu’un hobereau de colombier -ou quelque chevalier d’emprunt? Apprends, Sancho, qu’un parleur -indiscret, et qui veut plaisanter sur tout et à toute heure, finit par -devenir un bateleur fade et dégoûtant. Mets donc un frein à ta langue, -pèse tes paroles, et, avant d’ouvrir la bouche, regarde à qui tu -parles. Nous voilà, Dieu merci, arrivés en un lieu d’où, avec la faveur -du ciel et la force de mon bras, nous devons sortir deux fois plus -grands en réputation et en fortune. - -Sancho promit à son maître de se coudre la bouche et de se mordre la -langue plutôt que de prononcer un seul mot qui ne fût à propos. -Défaites-vous de tout souci à cet égard, ajouta-t-il; ce ne sera jamais -par moi qu’on découvrira qui nous sommes. - -Enfin, don Quichotte acheva de s’habiller; il prit son baudrier et son -épée, jeta un manteau d’écarlate sur ses épaules, mit sur sa tête une -_montera_ de satin vert, et, paré de ce costume, rentra dans la salle où -il trouva les mêmes damoiselles, rangées sur deux files et toutes tenant -des flacons d’eau de senteur qu’elles lui versèrent sur les mains avec -mille révérences et cérémonies. Bientôt après arrivèrent douze pages -avec le maître d’hôtel, pour le conduire à table, où on l’attendait. -Notre héros s’avança gravement au milieu d’eux, jusqu’à une autre salle -où étaient dressés un buffet magnifique et une table somptueuse avec -quatre couverts seulement. Le duc et la duchesse allèrent le recevoir à -la porte, accompagnés d’un de ces ecclésiastiques qu’en Espagne on voit -gouverner les maisons des grands seigneurs, mais qui eux-mêmes, n’étant -pas nés grands seigneurs, ne sauraient apprendre à leurs maîtres comment -ils doivent se conduire: de ceux, dis-je, qui veulent que la grandeur -des grands se mesure à leur petitesse, et qui, sous prétexte de modérer -leur libéralité, les rendent mesquins et misérables. Au nombre de ces -gens-là devait être l’ecclésiastique qui vint avec le duc et la duchesse -au-devant de don Quichotte. On échangea mille courtoisies, et finalement -ayant placé notre héros au milieu d’eux, ils prirent place à table. Le -duc offrit le haut bout à son hôte, lequel voulut décliner cet honneur; -mais les instances furent telles, qu’il dut accepter; l’ecclésiastique -s’assit en face du chevalier, le duc et la duchesse à ses côtés. - -Sancho était si stupéfait de l’honneur qu’on faisait à son maître, qu’on -eût dit qu’il tombait des nues; mais en voyant toutes les courtoisies -échangées au sujet de la place d’honneur, il ne put retenir sa langue: -Si Vos Seigneuries, dit-il, veulent bien m’en accorder la permission, je -leur conterai ce qui arriva un jour dans notre village à propos de -places à table. Sancho n’avait pas achevé de prononcer ces mots, que don -Quichotte prit l’alarme, se doutant bien qu’il allait lâcher quelque -sottise; ce que voyant, l’écuyer: Rassurez-vous, monseigneur, lui -dit-il, je ne dirai rien qui ne soit à son point; je n’ai pas encore -oublié la leçon que vous m’avez faite. - -Je ne me souviens de rien, répondit don Quichotte; dis ce que tu -voudras, pourvu que tu le dises vite. - -Or, seigneurs, ce que j’ai à dire est vrai comme il fait jour, reprit -Sancho; aussi bien, mon maître est là qui pourra me démentir. - -Mens tant que tu voudras, répliqua don Quichotte; mais prends garde à -tes paroles. - -Oh! j’y ai pensé et repensé, dit Sancho; je suis certain qu’on ne me -fera aucun reproche. - -En vérité, reprit don Quichotte, Vos Altesses devraient faire chasser -cet imbécile, qui va débiter mille stupidités. - -Ah! pour cela non, dit la duchesse, Sancho ne s’éloignera pas de moi; je -l’aime trop, et je me fie à sa discrétion. - -Que Dieu accorde à Votre Grandeur, madame, mille années de vie, en -récompense de la bonne opinion que vous avez de moi, quoique je ne le -mérite guère, reprit Sancho. Or, voici mon conte: Un gentilhomme de -notre village, fort riche et de bonne famille, car il venait de ceux de -Medina del Campo, convia un jour... ah! j’oubliais de vous dire que ce -gentilhomme avait épousé une certaine Mancia de Quignonez, fille de don -Alonzo de Martagnon, chevalier de l’ordre de Saint-Jacques, lequel se -noya dans l’île de la Herradura, et qui fut cause de cette grande -querelle, dont se mêla monseigneur don Quichotte, querelle où fut blessé -Tomasillo, le garnement, fils de Balbastro, le maréchal... Tout cela -n’est-il pas la vérité, mon cher maître? parlez hardiment, afin que ces -seigneurs ne me prennent pas pour un menteur et un bavard. - -Jusqu’à cette heure, mon ami, vous me paraissez plutôt bavard que -menteur, dit l’ecclésiastique; j’ignore ce que, dans la suite, je -penserai de vous. - -Tu prends tant de gens à témoin, Sancho, et tu cites tant de -circonstances, ajouta don Quichotte, qu’il faut assurément que tu dises -vrai; mais abrége, car, de la manière dont tu procèdes, tu ne finiras -d’aujourd’hui. - -Que Sancho n’abrége pas, s’il veut me faire plaisir, dit la duchesse; -qu’il conte son histoire comme il l’entend; dût-elle durer six jours, il -me trouvera toujours prête à l’écouter. - -Je dis donc, messeigneurs, continua Sancho, que ce gentilhomme dont je -parle, et que je connais comme je connais mes deux mains, car de sa -maison à la mienne il n’y a pas un trait d’arbalète, convia un jour un -paysan pauvre mais honnête... - -Au fait, frère, au fait, interrompit l’ecclésiastique, ou votre histoire -ne finira que dans l’autre monde. - -J’arriverai bien à mi-chemin, s’il plaît à Dieu, répliqua Sancho. Je dis -donc que ce paysan, étant arrivé à la maison de ce gentilhomme, qui -l’avait convié, et qui avait épousé la fille de don Alonzo de -Martagnon... hélas! ce pauvre gentilhomme, que Dieu veuille avoir son -âme, car il est mort depuis ce temps-là et à telles enseignes qu’on dit -qu’il fit une mort d’ange; pour moi, je n’assistai pas à sa dernière -heure, j’étais allé faire la moisson à Tembleque. - -Allons, mon ami, dit l’ecclésiastique, sortez promptement de Tembleque, -et poursuivez votre histoire sans vous occuper à faire les funérailles -de ce gentilhomme, si vous ne voulez faire aussi les nôtres. - -Il arriva donc, continua Sancho, que comme ils étaient prêts à se mettre -à table, je veux dire le gentilhomme et le paysan... Tenez, il me semble -que je les vois, comme si c’était aujourd’hui. - -Le duc et la duchesse s’amusaient fort du dépit que causaient à -l’ecclésiastique les interruptions de Sancho et la longueur de son -conte; quant à don Quichotte, il enrageait dans l’âme, mais ne soufflait -mot. - -Il fallait pourtant se mettre à table, poursuivit Sancho; or, le paysan -attendait toujours que le gentilhomme prît le haut bout, mais celui-ci -insistait pour le faire prendre au paysan, disant qu’il était maître -chez lui; le paysan qui se piquait de civilité et de savoir-vivre, ne -voulait point y consentir; tant enfin que le gentilhomme, le prenant par -les épaules, le fit asseoir par force, en lui disant: Asseyez-vous, -lourdaud; quelque place que je prenne, je tiendrai toujours le haut -bout. Voilà mon conte, mes seigneurs; et en vérité, je crois qu’il -arrive assez à point. - -Aux paroles de son écuyer, don Quichotte rougit, pâlit, se marbra de -tant de couleurs, que son visage semblait moins de chair que de jaspe. -Le duc et la duchesse, qui s’aperçurent du trouble où il était, se -continrent, quoiqu’ils mourussent d’envie de rire; car ils avaient -compris la malice de Sancho. Afin de changer l’entretien, la duchesse -demanda à don Quichotte quelle nouvelle il avait de madame Dulcinée; et -s’il lui avait envoyé depuis peu quelques malandrins, ou quelques -géants; car il ne pouvait manquer d’en avoir vaincu un grand nombre. - -Madame, répondit don Quichotte, mes disgrâces ont eu un commencement, -mais je ne crois pas qu’elles aient jamais de fin. Oui, j’ai vaincu des -géants, défait des malandrins, et je les lui ai envoyés; mais, hélas! où -auraient-ils pu la rencontrer, et à quelles marques la reconnaître, -puisqu’elle est enchantée et changée en la plus horrible créature qu’il -soit possible d’imaginer? - -Je n’y comprends rien, dit Sancho, à moi elle m’a paru la plus belle -personne du monde. Pour l’agilité, du moins, elle en revendrait à un -danseur de corde: par ma foi, elle saute sur une bourrique comme le -ferait un chat! - -Et vous, Sancho, demanda le duc, l’avez-vous vue enchantée? - -Comment! si je l’ai vue! s’écria Sancho; et qui diable a découvert cela -si ce n’est moi? Oui, oui, je l’ai vue, et elle est enchantée tout comme -mon père. - -L’ecclésiastique, entendant parler de géants et d’enchantements, -commença à croire, ce qu’il soupçonnait déjà, que le nouveau venu -pourrait bien être ce don Quichotte de la Manche dont le duc feuilletait -sans cesse l’histoire; se tournant donc vers ce dernier: Monseigneur, -lui dit-il plein de colère, Votre Excellence un jour rendra compte à -Dieu de la conduite de ce pauvre homme: ce don Quichotte ou don -Extravagant, comme il vous plaira de l’appeler, n’est peut-être pas -aussi fou que Votre Grandeur le croit, et lui donne sujet de le -paraître en lâchant la bride à ses impertinences. Et vous, maître fou, -continua-t-il en s’adressant à notre héros, qui vous a fourré dans la -cervelle que vous êtes chevalier errant, et que vous défaites des -malandrins et des géants? Croyez-moi, retournez dans votre maison, afin -de prendre soin de vos enfants et de vos affaires, au lieu de vous -amuser à courir le monde, prêtant à rire à ceux qui vous voient? Où -avez-vous trouvé qu’il y ait jamais eu des chevaliers errants, et encore -moins qu’il y en ait à cette heure? En quel endroit de l’Espagne -avez-vous rencontré des géants, des lutins, des Dulcinées enchantées, et -toute cette foule d’extravagances qu’on vous attribue. - -Don Quichotte écouta ce discours sans donner aucun signe d’impatience: -mais à peine l’ecclésiastique eut-il achevé, que se levant de table, le -visage enflammé de colère, il lui fit une réponse qui à elle seule -mérite un nouveau chapitre. - -CHAPITRE XXXII - -DE LA RÉPONSE QUE FIT DON QUICHOTTE AUX INVECTIVES DE L’ECCLÉSIASTIQUE - -Se levant donc de toute sa hauteur et tremblant des pieds à la tête -comme un épileptique, notre héros s’adressa au censeur imprudent qui -l’avait si peu ménagé, et lui dit d’une voix émue et précipitée: Si le -lieu où je suis, si la présence de mes illustres hôtes et la vénération -que j’ai toujours eue pour votre caractère n’enchaînaient mon bras, je -vous aurais déjà appris à refréner l’indiscrétion de votre langue: mais -puisque les gens de votre robe n’ont d’autres armes que celles dont se -servent les femmes, je ne vous menacerai point des miennes, et je -consens à me servir des vôtres. - -J’avais toujours pensé que d’un homme tel que vous il fallait n’attendre -que de charitables conseils et des remontrances bienveillantes; loin de -là, oubliant toute mesure, vous vous laissez emporter, sans provocation -de ma part et sans me connaître, à m’accabler de propos outrageants. -Quel droit, je vous prie, avez-vous d’en user ainsi? Sachez que les -remontrances bien intentionnées demandent d’autres circonstances et -exigent d’autres formes; mais me reprendre ainsi devant tout le monde, -et avec tant d’aigreur, c’est dépasser les bornes de la correction -fraternelle, correction que vous devriez exercer avec plus de charité -que tout autre; oui, c’est mal, croyez-le bien, quand on n’a aucune -connaissance du péché que l’on censure, de traiter, sans examen, le -pécheur d’imbécile et de fou. - -De quelles extravagances suis-je donc coupable pour que Votre Grâce ose -ainsi me conseiller d’aller prendre soin de ma femme et de mes enfants, -sans savoir si je suis marié ou non? Suffit-il d’avoir su se glisser -dans une maison pour se croire appelé à en gouverner les maîtres? et -parce qu’un homme aura été élevé dans l’étroite enceinte d’un collége, -sans avoir jamais vu plus de monde que n’en contiennent quelques lieues -de pays, s’arrogera-t-il de but en blanc le droit de donner des lois à -la chevalerie, et de juger les chevaliers errants? Ah! c’est, selon -vous, une occupation oiseuse et un temps perdu que le temps employé à -courir le monde, non pour en rechercher les avantages, mais au -contraire, pour en affronter ces périls qui, pour les gens de cœur, -sont le chemin de l’immortalité? Si ce reproche m’était adressé par un -véritable gentilhomme, ce serait un malheur dont je ne pourrais me -consoler; mais qu’un pédant, étranger à la chevalerie, ose me traiter -d’insensé, je m’en soucie comme d’un maravédis. Chevalier je suis, et -chevalier je mourrai, s’il plaît à Dieu. - -Les uns suivent ici-bas le chemin de l’orgueilleuse ambition, d’autres -le chemin de l’adulation basse et servile: ceux-ci préfèrent les routes -ténébreuses de l’hypocrisie; ceux-là, les voies de la piété sincère. -Quant à moi, guidé par mon étoile, j’ai suivi l’étroit sentier de la -chevalerie errante, qui m’apprend à mépriser les richesses et les vains -amusements du monde, pour rechercher l’honneur et la véritable gloire. -J’ai redressé des torts, j’ai vengé des injures, j’ai terrassé des -géants et combattu des fantômes; je suis amoureux, il est vrai, mais en -tant que ma profession de chevalier errant m’oblige à l’être, et non au -delà; je ne suis donc pas un de ces amants qui n’ont que la volupté pour -objet, mais un amant continent et platonique. Mes intentions sont -irréprochables, Dieu merci; car je ne songe qu’à faire du bien à tout le -monde, et à ne jamais donner lieu à personne de se plaindre de moi. Si -un homme guidé par de tels sentiments, et qui s’efforce chaque jour de -les mettre en pratique, mérite d’être traité de fou, c’est à vous de -prononcer, noble duc et noble duchesse; je m’en rapporte à Vos -Grandeurs. - -Par ma foi, dit Sancho, il n’y a rien à ajouter: tenez-vous-en là, mon -cher maître; et puisque ce seigneur n’est pas d’accord qu’il y ait eu -des chevaliers errants, il ne faut pas s’étonner qu’il n’ait su ce qu’il -disait. - -Vous qui parlez, mon ami, dit l’ecclésiastique, ne seriez-vous point ce -Sancho Panza à qui son maître a promis le gouvernement d’une île? - -Oui, c’est moi, répondit Sancho, et qui le mérite autant qu’un autre, si -huppé qu’il puisse être; oui, je suis de ceux dont on peut dire: -Mets-toi avec les bons et tu seras bon; ou bien encore: Appuie-toi -contre un bon arbre, et tu auras une bonne ombre. Je me suis attaché à -un bon maître, et il y a déjà longtemps que je suis en sa compagnie; je -dois donc être un autre lui-même, et si Dieu permet que tous deux nous -vivions, il ne manquera pas de royaumes à donner ni moi d’îles à -gouverner. - -Non assurément, Sancho, dit le duc, et en considération du seigneur don -Quichotte, je vous donne le gouvernement d’une île que j’ai vacante en -ce moment. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, va te mettre à genoux devant Son Excellence, -et baise-lui les pieds, pour la remercier de la faveur qu’elle te fait. - -Sancho obéit. Aussitôt l’ecclésiastique, outré de voir l’insuccès de ses -remontrances, se leva de table plein de dépit, et dit au duc: Par -l’habit que je porte, monseigneur, je vous crois, en vérité, aussi -insensé que ces misérables: comment se pourrait-il qu’ils ne soient pas -fous, lorsque les sages applaudissent à leurs folies? Que Votre -Excellence reste avec eux puisqu’elle s’en accommode si bien; quant à -moi, je ne mettrai pas les pieds dans ce château, tant que ces honnêtes -gens y demeureront: au moins ne serai-je pas témoin de leurs -extravagances, et l’on n’aura point à me reprocher d’avoir souffert ce -que je pouvais empêcher. - -Là-dessus il sortit malgré toutes les prières qu’on fit pour le retenir. -Il est vrai que le duc n’insista pas beaucoup, occupé qu’il était à rire -de son impertinente colère. - -Quand il eut repris son sérieux, le duc dit à don Quichotte: Votre -Grâce, seigneur chevalier des Lions, vient de répondre à cet homme d’une -manière si victorieuse et si complète, qu’il ne vous faut point d’autre -satisfaction de son indigne emportement; et puis, après tout, vous le -savez, ce qui vient des religieux ou des femmes ne peut passer pour un -affront. - -Vous dites vrai, monseigneur, répliqua don Quichotte, et la raison en -est que celui qui ne peut être outragé ne peut non plus outrager -personne. Aussi, les enfants, les femmes et les gens d’église, étant -considérés comme des personnes incapables de se défendre, ne peuvent -faire d’affront ni en recevoir. D’ailleurs, Votre Excellence n’ignore -pas qu’il y a une notable différence entre une offense et un affront: on -appelle affront l’offense que soutient celui qui l’a faite; tandis que -l’offense peut venir du premier venu, sans que pour cela il y ait -affront. - -Par exemple, un homme passe dans la rue sans défiance, dix hommes armés -l’attaquent et lui donnent des coups de bâton; il met l’épée à la main, -afin de se venger, mais il en est empêché par le grand nombre de ses -ennemis: on peut dire de cet homme-là qu’il a reçu une offense, mais non -un affront. Autre exemple pour confirmer ce que j’avance: Quelqu’un a le -dos tourné, un homme vient par derrière, le frappe avec un bâton et -s’enfuit; le premier le poursuit et ne peut l’atteindre: dans ce cas, le -frappé a reçu une offense et non pas un affront, qui pour être tel -aurait dû être soutenu. Si celui qui l’a attaqué, même à la dérobée, eût -mis l’épée à la main et fait face à son adversaire, le frappé aurait -tout à la fois reçu une offense et un affront: une offense, parce qu’on -l’aurait pris en trahison; un affront, parce que l’agresseur aurait -soutenu ce qu’il avait fait. De tout ce que je viens de dire, il résulte -que je puis avoir été offensé, mais je n’ai point reçu d’affront, aussi -je ne me crois obligé à aucun ressentiment contre ce brave homme pour -les paroles qu’il m’a adressées: j’aurais voulu seulement qu’il prît -patience, et m’eût laissé le temps de le désabuser de l’erreur où il est -quant à l’existence des chevaliers errants. Par ma foi, si Amadis ou un -de ses descendants l’avait entendu parler de la sorte, il aurait eu, je -crois, sujet de s’en repentir. - -Je jure, moi, ajouta Sancho, qu’ils lui auraient ouvert le ventre comme -à un melon bien mûr: oh! qu’ils n’étaient pas gens à souffrir qu’on leur -marchât sur le pied! Mort de ma vie! si Renaud de Montauban avait -entendu les paroles de ce petit bonhomme, il lui aurait appliqué un tel -horion sur le museau, que le malheureux en serait resté plus de trois -ans muet. Oui, oui, qu’il aille s’y frotter, et il verra comment il se -tirera de leurs mains. - -La duchesse mourait de rire en entendant les folies que débitait Sancho; -elle le trouvait encore plus plaisant et plus fou que son maître, et -tous les témoins de cette scène étaient de son avis. - -Enfin don Quichotte se calma, et l’on acheva de dîner. Comme on -commençait à desservir entrèrent quatre jeunes filles, dont l’une tenait -un bassin d’argent, l’autre une aiguière, la troisième du linge parfumé -et d’une blancheur éclatante; la dernière, enfin, les bras nus jusqu’aux -coudes, portait dans une boîte des savonnettes de senteur. La première -s’approcha de don Quichotte, lui passa sous le menton une serviette, -qu’elle lui attacha derrière le cou, puis, après une profonde révérence, -celle qui tenait le bassin le plaça sous le menton de notre héros, qui, -surpris d’abord d’une cérémonie si extraordinaire, mais croyant sans -doute que c’était l’usage du pays de laver la barbe au lieu des mains, -tendit le cou sans rien dire. Cela fait, la jeune fille versa de l’eau -dans le bassin, et celle qui tenait la savonnette se mit à laver et à -savonner, de toute sa force, non-seulement la barbe de don Quichotte, -mais encore son visage et ses yeux, qu’il fut obligé de fermer. Le duc -et la duchesse, qui n’étaient avertis de rien, se regardaient l’un -l’autre, et attendaient la fin de cette étrange cérémonie. Quand la -demoiselle barbière eut bien savonné notre chevalier, elle feignit de -manquer d’eau et envoya sa compagne en chercher, le priant de patienter -quelque peu. Don Quichotte resta donc dans le plus plaisant état qu’on -puisse imaginer, le cou tendu, les yeux fermés et la barbe pleine de -savon. Celles qui lui jouaient ce mauvais tour tenaient les yeux -baissés, sans oser regarder le duc et la duchesse, qui, de leur côté, -bien qu’ils ne goûtassent guère une plaisanterie qu’ils n’avaient pas -ordonnée, avaient toutes les peines du monde à s’empêcher de rire. Enfin -la demoiselle à l’aiguière revint, et l’on acheva de laver notre héros, -après quoi celle qui tenait le linge l’essuya le plus tranquillement du -monde, et toutes quatre, ayant fait une grande révérence, s’apprêtèrent -à se retirer. Mais le duc, craignant que don Quichotte ne s’aperçût -qu’on se moquait de lui, appela la demoiselle qui portait le bassin: -Venez, lavez-moi, lui dit-il, et surtout que l’eau ne vienne pas à -manquer. La jeune fille, qui était fort avisée, comprit l’intention, et -mettant le bassin au duc comme à don Quichotte, le lava prestement; puis -après une nouvelle révérence, elle et ses compagnes sortirent de la -salle. Sancho, tout ébahi, regardait cette cérémonie: Pardieu! se -disait-il à lui-même, si c’est l’usage de ce pays de laver aussi la -barbe aux écuyers, j’en aurais grand besoin, et je donnerais volontiers -un demi-réal à qui m’y passerait le rasoir. - -Que dites-vous là tout bas, Sancho? demanda la duchesse. - -Je dis, madame, que dans les cours des autres princes, j’ai entendu -raconter qu’une fois la nappe enlevée, on versait de l’eau sur les -mains, mais non du savon sur les barbes. Ainsi il fait bon vivre pour -beaucoup voir, celui qui vit longtemps, dit-on, a de mauvais moments à -passer; mais passer par un savonnage de cette espèce, ce doit être -plutôt un plaisir qu’un ennui. - -Eh bien, ne vous en mettez point en peine, Sancho, dit la duchesse; je -vous ferai savonner par mes filles, et même mettre en lessive, si cela -est nécessaire. - -Quant à présent, je me contente de la barbe, reprit Sancho; pour -l’avenir, Dieu sait ce qui arrivera. - -Maître d’hôtel, dit la duchesse, occupez-vous de ce que demande le bon -Sancho, et que ses ordres soient exécutés de point en point. - -Le maître d’hôtel répondit que le seigneur Sancho serait servi à -souhait, et il l’emmena dîner avec lui. Le duc, la duchesse et don -Quichotte restèrent à table. - -Après s’être entretenus quelque temps, et toujours de chevalerie, la -duchesse pria notre héros de vouloir bien lui faire le portrait de -madame Dulcinée; car, d’après ce que la renommée publie de ses charmes, -ajouta-t-elle, je dois croire qu’elle est la plus belle créature de -l’univers, et même de toute la Manche. - -A ces paroles, don Quichotte poussa un grand soupir: Madame, dit-il, si -m’arrachant de la poitrine ce cœur où est empreint le portrait de ma -Dulcinée, je pouvais le mettre ici sous les yeux de Votre Grandeur, -j’épargnerais à ma langue une tentative surhumaine; car comment puis-je -venir à bout de tracer un fidèle portrait de celle qui eût mérité -d’occuper le pinceau de Parrhasius, de Timanthe et d’Apelle, le burin de -Lysippe, le ciseau de Phidias, l’éloquence de Cicéron et de Démosthène? - -Tout vous est possible, seigneur don Quichotte, reprit le duc; ne fût-ce -qu’une esquisse, un profil, un simple trait, cela suffira, j’en suis -certain, pour exciter la jalousie des plus belles. - -Je le ferais bien volontiers, repartit don Quichotte, si la disgrâce qui -lui est arrivée tout récemment n’avait effacé son image de ma mémoire, -et ne m’invitait plutôt à la pleurer qu’à en faire le portrait. Vos -Grandeurs sauront donc qu’il y a quelque temps je voulus aller lui -baiser les mains, recevoir sa bénédiction et prendre ses ordres pour ma -troisième campagne. Mais, hélas! quelle douleur m’était réservée! Au -lieu d’une princesse, je ne trouvai qu’une vulgaire paysanne: sa beauté -était devenue une horrible laideur, la suave odeur qu’elle a coutume -d’exhaler, une puanteur repoussante; je croyais trouver un ange, je -rencontrai un démon; au lieu d’une personne sage et modeste, une -baladine effrontée; des ténèbres au lieu de la lumière, et enfin, au -lieu de la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, une brute stupide et -dégoûtante. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria le duc, quel monstre assez pervers a pu causer -une pareille affliction à la terre, lui ravir la beauté qui la charmait -et la pudeur qui faisait son plus bel ornement? - -Eh qui pourrait-ce être, repartit don Quichotte, sinon un de ces maudits -enchanteurs qui me persécutent, un de ces perfides nécromants vomis par -l’enfer pour obscurcir la gloire et les exploits des gens de bien, -exalter et glorifier les actions des méchants! Les enchanteurs m’ont -persécuté et me persécuteront sans relâche, jusqu’à ce qu’ils aient -enseveli moi et mes hauts faits dans les profonds abîmes de l’oubli. Les -traîtres savaient bien qu’en faisant cela ils me blessaient dans -l’endroit le plus sensible! En effet, priver un chevalier de sa dame, -c’est le priver de la lumière du soleil, de l’aliment qui le sustente, -de l’appui qui le soutient, de la source féconde où il puise et sa -vigueur et sa force; car, je le répète et le répéterai sans cesse, un -chevalier errant sans dame n’est plus qu’un arbre sans sève, un édifice -bâti sur le sable, un corps privé de sa chaleur vivifiante. - -Vous dites vrai, repartit la duchesse; mais s’il faut en croire -l’histoire imprimée depuis quelque temps du seigneur don Quichotte, -histoire qui a mérité l’approbation générale, Sa Seigneurie n’a jamais -vu madame Dulcinée; ce n’est qu’une dame imaginaire et chimérique, qui -n’existe que dans son imagination, et à qui il attribue les perfections -et les avantages qu’il lui plaît. - -Il y a beaucoup à dire là-dessus, répondit don Quichotte: Dieu seul sait -s’il y a, ou non, une Dulcinée dans ce monde, et si elle est réelle ou -chimérique; ce sont des choses qu’il ne faut pas trop vouloir -approfondir. Quoi qu’il en soit, je la tiens pour une personne qui -réunit toutes les qualités capables de la distinguer des autres femmes: -beauté accomplie, fierté sans orgueil, passion pleine de pudeur, modeste -enjouement, parfaite courtoisie, enfin, illustre origine; car la beauté -resplendit encore avec plus d’éclat chez une personne issue d’un noble -sang, que chez celle d’une humble naissance. - -Cela est incontestable, dit le duc; mais Votre Seigneurie me permettra -de lui soumettre un doute qu’a fait naître en mon esprit l’histoire que -j’ai lue de ses prouesses, et ce doute le voici: Tout en demeurant -d’accord qu’il existe une Dulcinée au Toboso, ou hors du Toboso, et -qu’elle est belle au degré de beauté que le prétend Votre Grâce, il me -semble qu’en fait de noble origine elle ne saurait entrer en comparaison -avec les Oriane, les Madasine, les Genièvre, enfin avec ces grandes -dames dont sont pleines les histoires que vous connaissez. - -A cela, monseigneur, je répondrai que Dulcinée est fille de ses œuvres, -que le mérite rachète la naissance, enfin qu’il vaut mieux être -distingué par sa vertu que par ses aïeux. D’ailleurs, Dulcinée possède -des qualités suffisantes pour devenir un jour reine avec sceptre et -couronne, puisqu’une femme belle et vertueuse peut prétendre à tout, -puisqu’on ne doit point limiter l’espérance là où le mérite est sans -bornes, et qu’il renferme en lui, sinon formellement, du moins -virtuellement, les plus hautes destinées. - -Il faut l’avouer, seigneur don Quichotte, reprit la duchesse, Votre -Grâce possède le grand art de la persuasion; aussi je me range à son -avis, et désormais je soutiendrai partout qu’il existe une Dulcinée du -Toboso, qu’elle est parfaitement belle, de race illustre, et digne, en -un mot, des vœux et des soins du chevalier des Lions, du grand don -Quichotte de la Manche. Toutefois, il me reste un scrupule, et je ne -puis m’empêcher d’en vouloir un peu à votre écuyer: c’est qu’il est -raconté dans l’histoire que lorsqu’il porta de votre part une lettre à -madame Dulcinée, il la trouva criblant de l’avoine, ce qui, à vrai dire, -pourrait faire douter quelque peu de sa noble origine. - -Madame, répondit don Quichotte, Votre Grandeur saura que les aventures -qui m’arrivent, au moins pour la plupart, sont extraordinaires et ne -ressemblent en rien à celles des autres chevaliers errants, soit que -cela provienne de la volonté du destin, soit plutôt de la malice et de -la jalousie des enchanteurs. Or, il est incontestable que parmi les plus -fameux chevaliers, certains furent doués de vertus secrètes, celui-ci de -ne pouvoir être enchanté, celui-là d’avoir la chair impénétrable, -Roland, par exemple, l’un des douze pairs de France, qui, disait-on, ne -pouvait être blessé que sous la plante du pied gauche, et seulement par -une épingle; aussi à Roncevaux, quand Bernard de Carpio reconnut qu’il -ne pouvait lui ôter la vie avec son épée, fut-il obligé de l’étouffer -entre ses bras, comme Hercule avait fait d’Antée, ce féroce géant qu’on -disait fils de la Terre. Eh bien, de tout ceci, je conclus qu’il serait -fort possible que je possédasse une de ces vertus, non point celle de -n’être jamais blessé, car l’expérience m’a prouvé bien des fois que je -suis formé de chairs tendres et nullement impénétrables; mais, par -exemple, celle de ne pouvoir être enchanté, puisque je me suis vu pieds -et poings liés, enfermé dans une cage, où le monde entier n’aurait pas -été capable de me retenir, si ce n’est à force d’enchantements; et comme -peu de temps après je m’en tirai moi-même, je crois qu’il n’y a -désormais rien au monde qui ait le pouvoir de m’arrêter. Aussi, mes -ennemis, voyant qu’ils ne peuvent rien contre moi, s’en prennent à ce -que j’aime le plus, et veulent me faire perdre la vie en attaquant celle -de Dulcinée, par qui je vis et je respire. - -Quand mon écuyer lui porta mon message, ils la lui montrèrent -malicieusement sous la figure d’une paysanne, occupée à un exercice -indigne d’elle, celui de cribler du froment; au reste, j’ai soutenu que -ce froment n’était ni de l’orge, ni du blé, mais des grains de perles -orientales. Et pour preuve, je dirai à Vos Grandeurs qu’étant allé -dernièrement au Toboso, il me fut impossible de trouver seulement le -palais de Dulcinée. Quelques jours après, tandis que mon écuyer la -voyait sous sa figure véritable, qui est la plus belle du monde, elle me -sembla, à moi, une femme grossière, sotte en ses discours, bien -qu’ordinairement elle soit l’esprit, la modestie et la discrétion mêmes. -Or donc, puisque je ne suis point enchanté, ni ne puis l’être, ainsi que -je viens de le prouver, c’est elle qui est enchantée, transformée, -métamorphosée, c’est sur elle que mes ennemis se sont vengés de moi; et -comme c’est parce qu’elle m’appartient qu’elle souffre tout cela, je -veux renoncer à tous plaisirs, et me consumer en regrets et en larmes, -jusqu’à ce que je l’aie rétablie en son premier état. Que Sancho ait vu -Dulcinée criblant de l’avoine, cela ne prouve rien, car si les -enchanteurs l’ont changée pour moi, ils ont bien pu la changer pour lui. -Dulcinée est de bonne naissance, d’une des plus nobles races de tout le -Toboso, où il en existe beaucoup et de très-anciennes, et je ne doute -pas qu’un jour le lieu qui l’a vue naître ne devienne célèbre au même -titre que Troie pour son Hélène, et l’Espagne à cause de sa Cava[102], -mais avec bien plus de raison, et avec un nom incomparablement plus -glorieux. - - [102] Nom donné par les Arabes à la fille du comte Julien. - -Je dirai aussi à Vos Excellences que Sancho Panza est le plus plaisant -écuyer qui ait jamais servi chevalier errant. Il a souvent des naïvetés -telles, qu’on se demande s’il est simple ou malin; quelquefois ses -malices le font croire un rusé drôle, et, tout d’un coup, à ses -simplicités on le prendrait pour un lourdaud. Il doute de tout, et il -croit tout; puis au moment où l’on craint qu’il ne s’embarrasse et ne se -perde dans ses raisonnements, il s’en tire avec une adresse qu’on était -loin d’attendre de lui. Enfin, tel qu’il est, je ne le troquerais pas -contre un autre écuyer, m’offrît-on en retour une ville entière. Je me -demande s’il est bon de l’envoyer dans le gouvernement que lui a donné -Votre Grandeur; pourtant il me semble doué d’une capacité suffisante -pour être gouverneur, et je m’imagine qu’en lui aiguisant un peu -l’esprit, il fera tout comme un autre, d’autant plus que nous voyons -chaque jour qu’il ne faut pas tant d’habileté ni tant de science pour -cela, car nous avons quantité de gouverneurs qui savent à peine lire, et -qui gouvernent comme des aigles[103]. L’important est d’avoir -l’intention droite; pour le reste on ne manque pas de conseillers qui -conduisent les affaires. Le seul avis que je donnerai à Sancho, c’est de -défendre ses droits, mais sans accabler ses sujets. Je tiens en réserve -dans mon esprit d’autres recommandations, qui plus tard lui seront -utiles dans le gouvernement de son île. - - [103] Le texte porte _Girifaltes_, Gerfauts, oiseaux de proie. - -L’entretien en était là quand il se fit un grand bruit, et Sancho tout -effaré se précipita dans la salle, un torchon au cou pour bavette, et -suivi d’une bande de marmitons et autres vauriens de même espèce; l’un -d’eux portait un chaudron plein d’une eau si sale, qu’il était aisé de -reconnaître que c’était de l’eau de vaisselle. Il poursuivait Sancho, -pour la lui mettre sous le menton, pendant qu’un autre faisait tous ses -efforts pour lui laver le visage. - -Qu’est-ce donc, mes amis? dit la duchesse; que voulez-vous à ce brave -homme? eh quoi! oubliez-vous qu’il est gouverneur? - -Madame, ce seigneur ne veut point se laisser laver, comme c’est l’usage, -et comme monseigneur le duc et son maître l’ont été, répondit le -marmiton. - -Si fait, si fait, je le veux bien, repartit Sancho étouffant de colère, -mais je voudrais que ce fût avec du linge plus blanc, de l’eau plus -claire, et par des mains moins crasseuses; il n’y a pas si grande -différence entre mon maître et moi, pour qu’on me donne cette lessive du -diable, lorsque, lui, on l’a lavé avec de l’eau de rose: les usages -valent d’autant mieux qu’ils ne fâchent personne, mais le lavage qu’on -me propose serait tout au plus bon pour les pourceaux. J’ai la barbe -propre, et je n’ai pas besoin d’être rafraîchi; quiconque viendra m’en -toucher un seul poil, recevra une si bonne taloche, que mon poing lui -restera enfoncé dans la mâchoire; ces cirimonies et ces savonnages -ressemblent par trop à de méchantes farces. - -En voyant la colère de Sancho, la duchesse étouffait de rire; quant à -don Quichotte, il n’était guère satisfait de voir son écuyer mystifié de -la sorte et entouré de cette impertinente canaille. Après s’être -profondément incliné comme pour demander à Leurs Excellences la -permission de parler, il dit aux marmitons d’une voix grave: Holà, -seigneurs, holà; retirez-vous, et laissez-nous en paix; mon écuyer est -aussi propre que le premier venu, et ces écuelles ne sont pas faites -pour son visage; encore une fois, retirez-vous, car ni lui ni moi -n’entendons raillerie. - -Non, non, qu’ils s’approchent, ajouta Sancho et nous verrons beau jeu! -Maintenant, qu’on apporte un peigne si l’on veut, et qu’on me râcle la -barbe; si l’on y trouve quelque chose qui offense la propreté, je -consens qu’on me l’arrache poil à poil. - -Sancho a raison, dit la duchesse, et toujours il aura raison; il est -fort propre, et n’a pas besoin d’être lavé; puisque nos usages lui -déplaisent, il est le maître de s’en dispenser. Vous, ministres de la -propreté, je vous trouve bien impertinents d’apporter pour la barbe d’un -tel personnage, au lieu d’aiguières d’or et de serviettes de fin lin de -Hollande, des écuelles de bois et des torchons de toile d’emballage. En -vérité, ces drôles ne sauraient s’empêcher de montrer en toute occasion -leur aversion pour les écuyers des chevaliers errants. - -Les marmitons et le maître d’hôtel, qui était avec eux, crurent que la -duchesse parlait sérieusement; ils se hâtèrent d’ôter le torchon qu’ils -avaient mis au cou du pauvre diable, et disparurent. - -Dès qu’il se vit libre, Sancho alla s’agenouiller devant la duchesse, et -lui dit: Des grandes dames on attend les grandes faveurs, et je ne -saurais mieux reconnaître celle dont vient de me gratifier Votre -Grandeur, qu’en me faisant armer chevalier errant pour demeurer toute ma -vie à son très-humble service: je suis laboureur, je m’appelle Sancho -Panza, j’ai une femme et des enfants, et je fais le métier d’écuyer; si -dans quelqu’une de ces choses il m’est possible de vous servir, je -mettrai moins de temps à vous obéir que Votre Seigneurie à commander. - -On voit bien, Sancho, répondit la duchesse, que vous avez puisé à la -source même de la courtoisie, et que vous avez été élevé dans le giron -du seigneur don Quichotte, qui est la crème de la politesse et la fleur -des cérémonies ou cirimonies, comme vous dites. Heureux siècle qui -possède un tel chevalier et un tel écuyer: l’un l’honneur de la -chevalerie errante, l’autre le type de la fidélité écuyéresque! -Levez-vous, ami Sancho, et reposez-vous-en sur moi; pour reconnaître -votre courtoisie, je ferai en sorte que mon seigneur le duc vous donne -promptement le gouvernement qu’il vous a promis. - -La conversation finie, don Quichotte alla faire la sieste, et la -duchesse dit à Sancho que s’il n’avait pas besoin de repos, il pouvait -venir passer l’après-dînée avec elle et ses femmes dans une salle bien -fraîche. Sancho répondit que quoiqu’il eût l’habitude de dormir en été -ses quatre ou cinq heures après le repas, il s’en priverait pour obéir à -ses commandements. - -De son côté, le duc sortit pour donner de nouveaux ordres aux gens de sa -maison sur la manière de traiter don Quichotte sans s’éloigner en aucun -point du cérémonial avec lequel étaient reçus les anciens chevaliers -errants. - -CHAPITRE XXXIII - -DE LA CONVERSATION QUI EUT LIEU ENTRE LA DUCHESSE ET SANCHO PANZA, -CONVERSATION DIGNE D’ÊTRE LUE AVEC ATTENTION - -L’histoire rapporte que Sancho ne dormit point cette sieste, et qu’au -contraire, pour tenir sa parole, il alla trouver la duchesse, laquelle, -dès qu’il fut entré, lui offrit un tabouret à ses côtés, ce que Sancho -refusa en homme qui savait vivre; mais la duchesse l’engagea à s’asseoir -comme gouverneur, et à parler comme écuyer, puisqu’à ces deux titres il -méritait le siége même du cid Ruy Dias le Campeador. Sancho s’inclina et -s’assit. Aussitôt toutes les femmes de la duchesse l’environnèrent en -silence, attentives à ce qu’il allait dire; mais ce fut leur maîtresse -elle-même qui ouvrit l’entretien. - -A présent que nous sommes seuls, dit la duchesse, je voudrais bien que -le seigneur gouverneur éclaircît certains doutes que j’ai conçus en -lisant l’histoire du grand don Quichotte de la Manche. Le premier de ces -doutes est celui-ci: puisque Sancho n’a jamais vu Dulcinée, je veux dire -madame Dulcinée du Toboso, et qu’il ne lui porta point la lettre que le -seigneur don Quichotte lui écrivait de la Sierra Morena, ayant oublié de -prendre le livre de poche qui la renfermait, comment a-t-il été assez -hardi pour inventer une réponse, et prétendre qu’il avait trouvé cette -dame criblant de l’avoine? ce qui est non-seulement un mensonge capable -de porter atteinte à la considération de la sans pareille Dulcinée, mais -de plus une imposture indigne d’un fidèle écuyer. - -Avant de répondre, Sancho se leva, puis le corps penché, le doigt sur -les lèvres, il s’en alla sur la pointe du pied soulever, l’une après -l’autre, toutes les tapisseries, après quoi il vint se rasseoir près de -la duchesse: A présent, dit-il, que je suis bien certain de n’être pas -écouté, me voilà prêt, madame, à répondre à tout ce qu’il vous plaira de -me demander. Et d’abord je vous dirai que je tiens monseigneur don -Quichotte pour un fou achevé, bien que parfois, à mon avis et à celui de -tous ceux qui l’entendent, il ne laisse pas de dire des choses si -bonnes, si bonnes, que le diable lui-même, avec toute sa science, n’en -inventerait pas de meilleures. Cela pourtant n’empêche pas que je ne -croie qu’il a le cerveau fêlé, aussi je lui en baille à garder de toutes -les façons: telle entre autres la réponse à la lettre de la Sierra -Morena, et cette affaire de l’autre jour, qui n’est pas encore écrite -dans l’histoire, je veux dire l’enchantement de madame Dulcinée que je -lui ai fait accroire, quoique cette dame ne soit pas plus enchantée que -mon grison. - -La duchesse pria Sancho de lui raconter cet enchantement, ce qu’il fit -sans oublier la moindre circonstance, et au grand contentement de celles -qui l’écoutaient. De ce que vient de conter le seigneur Sancho, reprit -alors la duchesse, il se forme un terrible scrupule dans mon esprit, et -il me semble entendre murmurer à mes oreilles une voix qui me dit: Mais -s’il est vrai que don Quichotte de la Manche soit fou sans ressources, -pourquoi Sancho Panza, son écuyer, qui le connaît pour tel, -continue-t-il à le servir sur l’espoir de ses vaines promesses? il faut -donc que l’écuyer soit encore plus fou que le maître. S’il en est ainsi, -un jour tu rendras compte à Dieu, madame la duchesse, d’avoir donné à ce -Sancho Panza une île à gouverner; car celui qui ne sait pas se gouverner -lui-même saura encore moins gouverner les autres. - -Pardieu, madame la duchesse, cette voix n’a point tort, repartit Sancho, -et vous pouvez bien lui répondre de ma part que je reconnais qu’elle dit -vrai. Si j’avais deux onces de bon sens, depuis longtemps j’aurais -quitté mon maître; mais il n’y a pas moyen de s’en dédire: là où est -attachée la chèvre, il faut qu’elle broute. Et puis, voyez-vous, nous -sommes du même village; c’est un bon maître, je l’aime, j’ai mangé son -pain, il m’a donné ses ânons, et par-dessus tout je suis fidèle; il est -donc impossible que rien puisse nous séparer, si ce n’est quand la pelle -et la pioche nous feront à chacun notre lit. Maintenant si Votre -Grandeur ne trouve pas bon qu’on me donne le gouvernement que -monseigneur m’a promis, eh bien, ce sera un gouvernement de moins; je ne -l’avais pas en sortant du ventre de ma mère, et s’il m’échappe, -peut-être sera-ce tant mieux pour mon salut. Tout sot que je suis, -croyez que j’ai bien compris le proverbe qui dit: Pour son malheur, des -ailes sont venues à la fourmi. Il se pourrait donc que Sancho écuyer -montât plus vite en paradis que Sancho gouverneur. Personne, d’ailleurs, -n’a l’estomac deux fois plus grand que celui d’un autre, et tant grand -qu’il soit on peut le remplir de paille ou de foin. Les petits oiseaux -dans les champs ont Dieu pour pourvoyeur, et quatre vares de gros drap -de Cuença tiennent plus chaud que quatre vares de drap fin de Ségovie. -Quand il nous faut déguerpir de ce monde, le chemin est le même pour le -prince et pour le laboureur; et le corps du pape ne tient pas plus -d’espace que celui du sacristain, car en entrant dans la fosse, nous -nous pressons, nous nous serrons, ou plutôt l’on nous fait serrer et -presser malgré nous; après quoi il n’y a plus qu’à tirer le rideau, la -farce est jouée, et au revoir, bonsoir. - -Je vous déclare donc, madame la duchesse, que si Votre Seigneurie ne -veut pas me donner une île, parce qu’elle me croit un imbécile, je serai -assez sage pour m’en passer. J’ai ouï dire, il y a longtemps, que -derrière la croix se tient le diable, et que tout ce qui reluit n’est -pas or; j’ai ouï dire aussi qu’on tira le laboureur Vamba[104] de sa -chaumière pour le faire roi d’Espagne, et le roi Rodrigue[105] d’entre -les fêtes et les divertissements, pour le faire manger aux couleuvres, -si toutefois la romance ne ment point. - - [104] Vamba régna sur l’Espagne gothique au septième siècle. - - [105] Rodrigue, dernier roi des Goths, périt à la bataille de - Guadalète en 712. - -Et pourquoi mentirait-elle, dit la señora Rodriguez, en racontant que ce -roi fut mis dans une fosse pleine de crapauds, de serpents et de -lézards; et que deux jours après on l’entendait s’écrier d’une voix -dolente: Ils me déchirent, ils me dévorent par où j’ai le plus péché; -puisque cela est certain, ce seigneur a donc grande raison de dire qu’il -vaut mieux être laboureur que roi, si l’on doit être mangé par ces -affreuses bêtes. - -La duchesse ne put s’empêcher de sourire de la simplicité de la señora -Rodriguez, et elle dit à Sancho: Sancho, vous savez que lorsqu’un -chevalier a donné sa parole, il la tient, dût-il lui en coûter la vie; -or, quoique monseigneur le duc ne coure pas les aventures, il n’en est -pas moins chevalier, et il tiendra sa promesse en dépit de la médisance -et de l’envie. Prenez donc courage; vous vous verrez bientôt en -possession de votre gouvernement, logé comme un prince, et couvert de -velours et de brocart. Tout ce que je vous recommande, c’est de vous -appliquer à bien gouverner vos sujets, qui tous sont loyaux et bien nés. - -Pour ce qui est de bien gouverner, répondit Sancho, on peut s’en -rapporter à moi, car je suis charitable de ma nature et j’ai compassion -des pauvres. A qui pétrit le pain, ne vole pas le levain. Oh! par mon -saint patron, on ne me trichera pas avec de faux dés! Je n’ai pas, Dieu -merci, besoin qu’on me chasse les mouches de devant les yeux, je les -chasse bien moi-même, et je sais fort bien où le soulier me blesse: je -veux dire que les bons auront avec moi la main et la porte ouvertes, -mais les méchants ni pieds ni accès. Il me semble qu’en fait de -gouvernement le tout est de commencer, et il se pourrait qu’au bout de -quinze jours j’entende mieux le gouvernement que le labourage où j’ai -été élevé depuis mon enfance. - -Vous avez raison, Sancho, repartit la duchesse; les hommes ne naissent -pas tous avec la science infuse, et c’est avec des hommes qu’on fait des -évêques, non avec des pierres. Mais pour en revenir à l’enchantement de -madame Dulcinée, je pense, et je tiens même pour certain que l’intention -qu’eut Sancho de mystifier son maître en lui faisant accroire que sa -dame était enchantée, fut plutôt une malice des enchanteurs: car je sais -de bonne part que la paysanne qui sauta sur l’âne était la véritable -Dulcinée, et qu’ainsi le bon Sancho, en pensant être le trompeur, fut le -premier trompé. Cela est positif et clair comme le jour; car sachez-le, -seigneur Sancho, nous avons en ce pays des enchanteurs qui nous -apprennent tout ce qui se passe dans le monde. Soyez donc certain que -cette paysanne si leste était Dulcinée elle-même, Dulcinée enchantée -tout comme la mère qui l’a mise au monde, et que lorsque nous y -penserons le moins, nous la verrons tout à coup reparaître sous sa -propre figure: alors, je le pense, vous reviendrez de votre erreur. - -Cela est très-possible, Madame, répondit Sancho, et je commence à croire -vrai ce que mon maître raconte de cette caverne de Montesinos, dans -laquelle il prétend avoir trouvé madame Dulcinée sous le même costume où -je lui dis l’avoir vue quand il me prit fantaisie de l’enchanter; oui, -je reconnais bien maintenant que je fus le premier trompé, comme le dit -Votre Grandeur. En effet, comment supposer que j’ai eu assez d’esprit -pour fabriquer sur-le-champ tant de subtilités, et puis mon maître n’est -pas encore assez fou pour se laisser tromper si aisément. N’allez pas -croire pour cela, Madame, que j’ai de mauvaises intentions; un lourdaud -comme moi n’est pas obligé de connaître la malice de ces scélérats -d’enchanteurs: quand j’ai imaginé cela, c’était pour échapper aux -reproches de mon maître, et non dans l’intention de l’offenser; si -l’affaire a tourné autrement, Dieu sait à qui il faut s’en prendre, et -il châtiera les coupables. - -Très-bien, repartit la duchesse. Mais, dites-moi, Sancho, qu’est-ce que -cette aventure de la caverne de Montesinos? j’ai grande envie de la -connaître. - -Alors Sancho se mit à raconter ce que nous avons dit de cette aventure. - -Quand il eut terminé: De tout ceci, dit la duchesse, on peut conclure -que puisque le grand don Quichotte affirme avoir vu la même paysanne qui -se montra à Sancho à la sortie du Toboso, il est clair que cette -paysanne était Dulcinée; ainsi donc, vous le voyez, nos enchanteurs sont -très-dignes de foi. - -Après tout, reprit Sancho, si madame Dulcinée est enchantée, tant pis -pour elle: je ne me soucie guère de m’attirer pour cela des querelles -avec les ennemis de mon maître, qui sont très-nombreux et très-méchants. -La vérité est que celle que j’ai vue était une paysanne; si cette -paysanne était Dulcinée ou non, cela ne me regarde pas, et l’on ne doit -pas m’en rendre responsable. Autrement on viendrait dire à tout bout de -champ: Sancho a dit ceci, Sancho a fait cela, Sancho par-ci, Sancho -par-là, comme si Sancho était un je ne sais qui, et non ce même Sancho -qu’on voit tout de son long dans une histoire, à ce que m’a dit Samson -Carrasco, lequel n’est rien moins que bachelier; et, comme on sait, ces -gens-là ne mentent jamais, si ce n’est quand il leur en prend fantaisie, -ou lorsqu’ils y trouvent leur profit. Qu’on ne s’en prenne donc pas à -moi, je m’en lave les mains, vienne seulement le gouvernement, et vous -verrez merveilles; car qui a été bon écuyer, sera encore meilleur -gouverneur. - -En vérité, Sancho, s’écria la duchesse, vous êtes un homme incomparable: -tout ce que vous venez de dire équivaut à autant de sentences, et, comme -dit notre proverbe espagnol: souvent mauvaise cape couvre un bon buveur. - -Madame, répondit Sancho, je jure que de ma vie je n’ai bu par vice; par -soif, c’est possible; car je n’ai pas la moindre hypocrisie. Je bois -quand l’envie m’en prend, ou, si je ne l’ai pas, quand on m’offre à -boire; alors j’accepte pour ne pas paraître mal élevé; à une santé -portée par un ami, y a-t-il cœur de pierre qui ne soit prêt à faire -raison? mais quoique je mette mes chausses, je ne les salis pas, je veux -dire que si je bois, je ne m’enivre pas. Au reste, c’est un reproche -qu’on ne fera guère aux écuyers des chevaliers errants; car les pauvres -diables sont toujours par les forêts, par les déserts et par les -montagnes, buvant de l’eau plus qu’ils ne veulent: et souvent ils -donneraient un œil de la tête pour se procurer une seule goutte de vin. - -Je vous crois, répondit la duchesse. Mais il se fait tard, allez -reposer, mon ami; une autre fois nous en dirons davantage. En attendant, -je veillerai à ce que l’on vous donne ce gouvernement. - -Sancho baisa les mains de la duchesse, et après l’avoir remerciée, il la -supplia qu’on eût soin de son grison, parce que c’était ce qu’il avait -de plus cher au monde. - -Qu’est-ce que ce grison? demanda la duchesse. - -Madame, c’est mon âne, répondit Sancho; pour ne pas l’appeler ainsi, -j’ai coutume de l’appeler le grison. En entrant dans ce château, j’avais -voulu le recommander à cette bonne dame que voilà, mais elle s’est -fâchée tout rouge comme si je l’eusse appelée vieille ou laide, et -pourtant l’affaire des duègnes devrait être plutôt, ce me semble, de -panser les ânes que de parader dans un salon. Dieu de Dieu, quelle dent -avait contre elles un hidalgo de mon village! - -C’était sans doute quelque manant comme vous, interrompit la señora -Rodriguez, car s’il eût été un véritable gentilhomme, il les aurait -honorées et respectées. - -Assez, assez, señora Rodriguez, dit la duchesse; et vous, Sancho, ne -vous mettez point en peine de votre grison; je m’en charge. Puisque -c’est le bien-aimé de mon ami, je veux le porter dans mon cœur. - -Il suffit qu’il soit à l’écurie, madame, repartit Sancho; quant à être -porté dans le cœur de Votre Excellence, ni lui ni moi ne sommes dignes -de nous y voir un seul instant. - -Eh bien, Sancho, dit la duchesse, emmenez le grison à votre -gouvernement; vous l’y traiterez à votre fantaisie, et il n’aura plus -qu’à s’engraisser. - -Madame, répondit Sancho, j’ai vu plus d’un âne entrer dans un -gouvernement: il n’y aurait donc rien d’étonnant que j’y emmenasse le -mien. - -Tous ces propos égayèrent la duchesse, et après avoir de nouveau dit à -Sancho d’aller se reposer, elle fut raconter au duc la conversation qui -venait d’avoir lieu. Ils concertèrent ensemble quelque bonne -mystification dans le genre chevaleresque, afin que le chevalier et son -écuyer ne s’aperçussent en aucune manière de la tromperie, et -assurément ce sont là les plus mémorables aventures que contienne cette -grande histoire. - -CHAPITRE XXXIV - -DES MOYENS QU’ON TROUVA POUR DÉSENCHANTER DULCINÉE - -Le duc et la duchesse prenaient un plaisir extrême à la conversation de -leurs hôtes, et ne songeaient qu’à trouver de nouveaux moyens de s’en -divertir: ce qui étonnait le plus la duchesse, c’était la simplicité de -Sancho, qui en était venu à croire véritable l’enchantement de Dulcinée, -dont lui seul était l’inventeur. L’aventure de la caverne de Montesinos, -qu’avait racontée notre écuyer, leur parut excellente pour la -mystification qu’ils se proposaient. - -Six jours ayant été employés à se préparer et à instruire leurs gens, -ils engagèrent le chevalier à une chasse au sanglier, qui devait avoir -lieu avec un équipage complet de piqueurs et de chiens. Avant le départ, -on présenta à notre héros et à son écuyer un habit de chasse en beau -drap vert: don Quichotte refusa, disant qu’il aurait bientôt à reprendre -le rude métier des armes et qu’il ne pouvait se charger d’un -porte-manteau; tout au contraire, Sancho accepta, se promettant bien -d’en faire argent à la plus prochaine occasion. - -Les préparatifs achevés, don Quichotte s’arma de toutes pièces; Sancho -endossa son nouvel habit, et monté sur son grison, de préférence à un -bon cheval qu’on lui offrait, il se mêla à la troupe des chasseurs. La -duchesse ne tarda pas à paraître élégamment parée, et don Quichotte, -avec courtoisie, prit la bride de son palefroi, malgré les efforts que -faisait le duc pour s’y opposer. On se dirigea vers un bois planté entre -deux grandes collines. Quand les postes furent pris, les sentiers -occupés, on découpla les chiens, on partagea les chasseurs en plusieurs -troupes, et la chasse commença avec de si grands cris qu’il devenait -impossible de s’entendre. Bientôt la duchesse descendit de son palefroi, -et l’épieu à la main, vint s’embusquer dans un endroit par lequel le -sanglier avait coutume de passer; le duc et don Quichotte mirent aussi -pied à terre, et se placèrent à ses côtés; Sancho, lui, sans descendre -du grison, se tint coi derrière tout le monde, de crainte de quelque -mésaventure. - -A peine étaient-ils rangés en haie avec une partie de leurs gens, qu’ils -virent accourir un énorme sanglier, harcelé par les chiens et poursuivi -par les chasseurs. Don Quichotte, embrassant fortement son écu, marche à -la rencontre de la bête l’épée à la main; le duc y court aussi avec son -épieu, et la duchesse les aurait devancés si son époux ne l’en eût -empêchée. Quant à Sancho, dès qu’il aperçut le terrible animal, avec ses -longues défenses, la gueule blanchie d’écume et les yeux étincelants, il -lâcha son grison et courut à toutes jambes vers un chêne, pour y -grimper; mais au moment où il atteignait le milieu, prêt à saisir une -branche pour gagner la cime, cette branche se rompit, et en tombant il -resta accroché à un tronçon. Lorsque, suspendu de la sorte, il sentit -son habit se déchirer, l’idée lui vint que le sanglier pourrait bien le -déchirer lui-même, et il se mit à pousser de tels cris, que tous ceux -qui l’entendaient le crurent sous la dent de quelque bête sauvage. -Finalement le sanglier resta sur la place, percé de mille coups -d’épieux, et don Quichotte, accourant aux cris de Sancho, le trouva -suspendu, la tête en bas, le fidèle grison auprès de lui. Il dégagea son -écuyer. Devenu libre, Sancho examina la déchirure faite à son habit de -chasse, accident dont il eut un déplaisir mortel, car dans cet habit il -s’imaginait posséder une métairie. - -Enfin, l’énorme sanglier, couvert de branches de romarin et de myrte, -fut placé par les chasseurs sur le dos d’un mulet et conduit en triomphe -vers une tente dressée au milieu du bois, où l’on trouva la table -chargée d’un abondant repas, tout à fait digne de la munificence du -personnage qui l’offrait à ses convives. - -Montrant à la duchesse les plaies de son habit tout déchiré: Si cette -chasse, dit Sancho, eût été aux lièvres et aux petits oiseaux, mon -pourpoint ne serait pas en cet état. Je ne sais vraiment quel plaisir on -peut trouver à poursuivre un animal qui, s’il vous attrape avec ses -crochets, peut envoyer son homme dans l’autre monde. Cela me rappelle -cette vieille romance dont le refrain était: Sois-tu mangé des ours -comme fut Favila! - -Ce Favila était un roi goth qui, dans une chasse aux bêtes sauvages, fut -dévoré par un ours, dit don Quichotte[106]. - - [106] Ce Favila n’était pas un roi goth; il succéda à Pélage dans les - Asturies. - -Justement, repartit Sancho: aussi comment les princes et les rois -s’exposent-ils à se faire dévorer, pour le seul plaisir de tuer un -pauvre animal qui ne leur a fait aucun tort? - -Vous vous trompez, Sancho, dit le duc: la chasse aux bêtes sauvages est -le divertissement favori des rois et des princes; cette chasse est une -image de la guerre: on y emploie des ruses et des stratagèmes pour -vaincre l’ennemi; on s’y accoutume à endurer le froid et le chaud; on -oublie le sommeil et l’oisiveté; en un mot, c’est un exercice qu’on -prend sans nuire à personne, et un plaisir qu’on partage avec beaucoup -de gens. Cette chasse, d’ailleurs, n’est pas permise à tout le monde, -non plus que celle du haut vol, car toutes deux n’appartiennent qu’aux -princes et aux grands seigneurs. Ainsi donc, Sancho, quand vous serez -gouverneur, adonnez-vous à la chasse, et vous verrez que vous vous en -trouverez bien. - -Oh! pour cela, non, répondit Sancho; à bon gouverneur, comme à bonne -ménagère, jambe rompue et à la maison; il ferait beau voir des gens -pressés, bien fatigués du chemin, venir demander le gouverneur, et qu’il -fût au bois à se divertir! les affaires marcheraient d’une singulière -façon! Par ma foi, seigneur, m’est avis que la chasse est plutôt le fait -des fainéants que des gouverneurs; moi, je me contente de jouer à _la -triomphe_ les quatre jours de Pâques[107], et aux boules les dimanches -et fêtes. Toutes ces chasses ne vont guère à mon humeur et ne -s’accordent pas avec ma conscience. - - [107] Noël, l’Épiphanie, Pâques et la Pentecôte. - -Qu’il en soit ce qu’il plaira à Dieu, Sancho, repartit le duc: mais -entre le dire et le faire il y a bien du chemin. - -Qu’il y ait le chemin qu’on voudra, repartit Sancho, au bon payeur il ne -coûte rien de donner des gages; et mieux vaut celui que Dieu assiste, -que celui qui se lève de grand matin; c’est le ventre qui fait mouvoir -les pieds, et non les pieds le ventre: je veux dire que si Dieu -m’assiste, et si je vais droit mon chemin, avec bonne intention, je -gouvernerai mieux qu’un aigle royal. Si l’on ne m’en croit pas, qu’on me -mette le doigt dans la bouche, et on verra si je serre bien. - -Maudit sois-tu de Dieu et des saints, détestable Sancho, s’écria don -Quichotte; quand donc t’entendrai-je parler un quart d’heure sans cette -avalanche de proverbes? Que Vos Grâces laissent là cet imbécile, mes -seigneurs, si vous ne voulez être accablés de si ridicules -impertinences. - -Pour être nombreux, dit la duchesse, les proverbes de Sancho n’en sont -pas moins agréables; quant à moi, ils me divertissent extrêmement, -qu’ils viennent à propos ou non; d’ailleurs, entre amis, on ne doit pas -y regarder de si près. - -Au milieu de ces agréables entretiens, on sortit des tentes pour rentrer -dans le bois, où le reste du jour se passa à préparer des affûts. La -nuit vint surprendre les chasseurs, non pas la nuit sereine, comme elle -l’est presque toujours en été, mais un peu obscure, et d’autant plus -favorable aux projets du duc et de la duchesse. - -Soudain le bois parut en feu, et de toutes parts on entendit un grand -bruit de trompettes et autres instruments de guerre, ainsi que le pas de -nombreuses troupes de cavaliers qui traversaient le bois en tous sens. -Cette lumière subite, ce bruit inattendu surprirent l’assemblée; les -sons discordants d’une infinité de ces instruments dont les Mores se -servent dans les batailles, ceux des trompettes et des clairons, enfin -les fifres, les hautbois et les tambours mêlés confusément, faisaient un -tel vacarme, qu’il eût fallu être privé de sens pour n’en être pas ému. -Le duc pâlit, la duchesse frissonna, et don Quichotte lui-même ressentit -quelque émotion; quant à Sancho, il tremblait de tous ses membres, et il -n’y eut pas jusqu’à ceux qui étaient dans le secret qui n’éprouvassent -de l’effroi. - -Tout à coup ce vacarme cesse; et un courrier, qu’à son costume on eût -pris pour un démon, passe brusquement, sonnant avec un bruit -épouvantable dans une corne démesurée. - -Holà, dit le duc, qui êtes-vous? à qui en voulez-vous? et que signifie -cette troupe de gens de guerre qui traverse ce bois? - -Je suis le diable! répondit le courrier d’une voix rauque; je vais à la -recherche de don Quichotte de la Manche, et les gens que vous entendez -sont six troupes de magiciens, qui amènent la sans pareille Dulcinée du -Toboso enchantée sur un char de triomphe; elle est accompagnée du -vaillant Montesinos, qui vient révéler au seigneur don Quichotte les -moyens de désenchanter la pauvre dame. - -Si vous étiez le diable, comme vous le dites, repartit le duc, vous -auriez déjà reconnu le chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche; car il est -devant vous. - -En mon âme et conscience, je n’y prenais pas garde, répondit le diable: -j’ai tant de choses dans la tête, que j’oubliais la principale, celle -pour laquelle je suis venu. - -Ce démon, dit Sancho, doit être honnête homme et bon catholique: -autrement il ne jurerait pas sur son âme et sur sa conscience; il y a -partout des gens de bien, à ce que je vois, même en enfer. - -Aussitôt le démon, sans mettre pied à terre, tourna les yeux vers don -Quichotte: C’est vers toi, lui dit-il, chevalier des Lions (puissé-je -bientôt te voir entre leurs griffes!), c’est vers toi que m’envoie -l’infortuné mais vaillant Montesinos, pour te dire de l’attendre à -l’endroit même où je te rencontrerai, parce qu’il amène avec lui la sans -pareille Dulcinée du Toboso; il veut t’apprendre le moyen de la -désenchanter. Ma venue n’étant à autre fin, je ne m’arrêterai pas plus -longtemps; que les démons de mon espèce restent dans ta compagnie, et -les bons anges avec ces seigneurs. Puis, sonnant dans sa corne, il -tourna bride et disparut. - -La surprise s’accrut pour tout le monde, mais surtout pour don Quichotte -et Sancho: pour l’écuyer, parce qu’on voulait à toute force que Dulcinée -fût enchantée; pour le chevalier, parce qu’il ne savait plus à quoi s’en -tenir sur les visions qu’il avait eues dans la caverne de Montesinos. -Pendant que notre héros s’abîmait dans ses pensées, le duc lui dit: -Est-ce que Votre Grâce veut attendre cette visite, seigneur don -Quichotte? - -Certainement, répondit-il; je l’attendrai ici de pied ferme, dût l’enfer -entier m’assaillir. - -Eh bien, moi, dit Sancho, s’il vient encore un diable me corner aux -oreilles, je resterai ici tout comme je suis en Flandre. - -La nuit achevait de se fermer, et l’on commençait à distinguer à travers -le bois un nombre infini de lumières courant de tous côtés; telles dans -un temps serein on voit voltiger les exhalaisons de la terre. Bientôt se -fit entendre un bruit semblable à celui que produiraient les roues -massives d’une charrette à bœufs, bruit strident qui fait fuir les -loups et les ours. A ce tintamarre vint s’en joindre un autre qui le -rendit plus horrible encore: il semblait qu’en divers endroits de la -forêt on livrât plusieurs batailles; d’un côté retentissait le bruit de -l’artillerie, d’un autre, celui d’un grand nombre de mousquetades: à la -voix des combattants, on les aurait jugés tout proche, tandis que plus -loin, une multitude d’instruments ne cessaient de jouer à la manière des -Mores, comme pour animer au combat. En un mot, le bruit confus de ces -instruments, les cris des guerriers, le sourd retentissement des -chariots, inspiraient de la frayeur aux plus hardis; et don Quichotte -lui-même eut besoin de tout son courage pour n’être pas épouvanté. Quant -à Sancho, le sien fut bientôt abattu, et il tomba évanoui aux pieds de -la duchesse, qui s’empressa de lui faire jeter de l’eau au visage. Il -fut assez longtemps à revenir, et il commençait à ouvrir les yeux -lorsqu’un de ces chariots qui faisaient tant de bruit arriva, tiré par -quatre bœufs entièrement couverts de drap noir et ayant à chaque corne -une torche allumée. Au sommet du char, sur une espèce de trône, se -tenait assis un vieillard vénérable, dont la longue barbe, plus blanche -que la neige, lui descendait jusqu’à la ceinture; pour tout vêtement, il -avait une ample robe de boucassin noir. Comme ce chariot portait une -infinité de lumières, on pouvait aisément distinguer les objets. Il -était conduit par deux démons habillés de la même étoffe, et dont les -effroyables visages auraient fait retomber Sancho en défaillance, s’il -n’eût fermé les yeux pour ne pas les voir. - -Ce noir équipage étant arrivé devant le duc, le vieillard se leva, et -dit d’une voix grave: Je suis le sage Lirgande; et le char passa outre. -Il fut suivi d’un autre, tout à fait semblable, sur lequel était un -vieillard vêtu comme le premier, qui, ayant fait arrêter le chariot, dit -d’une voix non moins grave: Je suis le sage Alquif, le grand ami -d’Urgande la déconvenue; et il passa comme le précédent. Un troisième -char avec un pareil attelage et de semblables conducteurs, s’avança de -même; mais celui qu’on voyait assis sur le trône était un homme robuste -et à mine rébarbative, qui, se redressant, cria d’une voix rauque et -satanique: Je suis l’enchanteur Arcalaüs, ennemi mortel d’Amadis de -Gaule et de toute sa postérité. - -A quelques pas plus loin les trois chars s’arrêtèrent, et le bruit -criard des roues ayant cessé, on entendit une agréable musique, dont -Sancho tout réjoui tira bon augure. - -Madame, dit-il à la duchesse, dont il ne s’éloignait jamais d’un pas, là -où est la musique, il ne peut y avoir rien de mauvais. - -Non plus que là où est la lumière, ajouta la duchesse. - -Madame, répliqua Sancho, la lumière vient de la flamme et la flamme peut -tout embraser. Ces lumières que nous voyons là sont capables de mettre -le feu à la forêt, tandis que la musique est toujours signe de -réjouissance et de fêtes. - -C’est ce que nous apprendra l’avenir dit don Quichotte. - -Et notre héros avait raison, comme le prouve le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXXV - -SUITE DES MOYENS QU’ON PRIT POUR DÉSENCHANTER DULCINÉE ETC. - -Au son de cette agréable musique s’avançait un char traîné par six mules -caparaçonnées de toiles blanches; sur chacune des mules était monté un -pénitent, à la manière de ceux qui font amende honorable, tous également -vêtus de blanc, avec une grosse torche de cire à la main. Ce char était -deux fois et même trois fois plus grand que les précédents; de chaque -côté marchaient douze autres pénitents, tenant une torche allumée. Sur -un trône élevé au centre du char, était assise une jeune fille habillée -d’une étoffe de gaze d’argent, si brillante de paillettes d’or que les -yeux n’en pouvaient soutenir l’éclat; un voile de soie, assez -transparent pour laisser voir sa beauté, lui couvrait le visage, et les -nombreuses lumières permettaient de distinguer ses attraits et son âge, -qui semblait être de dix-sept à vingt ans. Auprès d’elle se tenait un -personnage enveloppé jusqu’aux pieds d’une robe de velours à longue -queue, et la tête couverte d’un voile noir. - -Quand le char fut arrivé en face du duc, la musique cessa, et le -personnage que nous venons de dépeindre, s’étant levé, écarta sa robe, -rejeta son voile, et fit voir la figure de la Mort hideuse et décharnée. -Don Quichotte en pâlit, Sancho pensa mourir de peur, le duc et la -duchesse firent un mouvement d’effroi. Cette Mort vivante s’étant levée -sur ses pieds, prononça ces paroles d’une voix lente: - - O toi dont les nobles travaux - Méritaient en amour un destin plus prospère, - Reconnais ce Merlin, des enchanteurs le père, - Le fléau des méchants et l’ami des héros. - Sur les bords du Léthé j’appris que Dulcinée - Avait en un moment perdu tous ses attraits; - Je viens finir les maux de cette infortunée. - Du sort écoute les arrêts: - Par la main de Sancho, sur son large derrière, - Trois mille et trois cents coups appliqués fortement - Avec une longue étrivière - Rendront à cet objet charmant - Son éclat, sa beauté première[108]. - - [108] Ces vers sont empruntés à Florian. - -Oui-da, je t’en pondrai, s’écria Sancho, je ne me donnerai pas seulement -trois coups de fouet. Au diable soit ta manière de désenchanter! et -qu’est-ce que mes fesses ont à voir avec les enchantements? Je jure que -si le seigneur Merlin n’a pas d’autre moyen de désenchanter Dulcinée, -elle pourra s’en aller avec son enchantement dans la sépulture. - -Et bien moi, je vous saisirai, don manant farci d’ail, reprit don -Quichotte, et je vous attacherai à un arbre, nu comme quand votre mère -vous a mis au monde; après quoi je vous donnerai non pas trois mille -trois cents coups de fouet, mais cinquante mille, et si bien appliqués -qu’il vous en cuira toute votre vie. Pas de réplique, ou je vous -étrangle sur l’heure. - -Tout beau, tout beau! interrompit Merlin, cela ne peut se passer ainsi: -les coups de fouet que recevra Sancho doivent être volontaires, et le -moment à son choix, car il n’y a point d’époque limitée pour cela; il -dépend même de lui d’en être quitte pour la moitié, pourvu qu’il trouve -bon que ces coups lui soient appliqués par une autre main que la sienne, -si rude qu’elle puisse être. - -Ni ma main, ni celle d’un autre, ni pesante, ni à peser, ni dure, ni -douce, ne me touchera, repartit Sancho. Est-ce que j’ai engendré madame -Dulcinée du Toboso, pour que mes fesses payent le mal qu’ont fait ses -beaux yeux? que monseigneur don Quichotte ne se fouette-t-il? c’est son -affaire. Lui qui l’appelle sans cesse sa joie, sa vie, son âme, c’est à -lui de chercher les moyens de la désenchanter; mais me fouetter, moi? -_abernuncio[109]!_ - - [109] _Abrenuncio_: locution familière pour exprimer la répugnance. - -Sancho eut à peine achevé de parler, que la nymphe qui se tenait près de -Merlin se leva, écarta le voile qui lui couvrait le visage, et fit -briller aux yeux de tous une beauté incomparable; puis, avec un geste -assez masculin, et d’une voix fort peu féminine, elle apostropha Sancho -en ces termes: - -O malencontreux écuyer, cœur de poule, âme de bronze, entrailles de -pierres et de cailloux, si l’on te demandait, larron, meurtrier, de te -jeter du haut d’une tour; si l’on voulait, tigre sans pitié, te faire -avaler des crapauds et des lézards; si l’on t’ordonnait, serpent -venimeux, d’étrangler ta femme et tes enfants, il ne serait pas étonnant -de te voir faire tant de façons: mais regarder à trois mille et trois -cents coups de fouet, quand il n’est si chétif écolier de la doctrine -chrétienne qui n’en attrape autant chaque mois, en vérité tu devrais en -mourir de honte, et il y a là de quoi surprendre, étourdir, stupéfier, -non-seulement ceux qui t’écoutent, mais quiconque un jour l’apprendra. -Lève, ô misérable et endurci animal, lève tes yeux de mulet ombrageux -sur la prunelle des miens, et tu verras mes larmes tracer goutte à -goutte des sillons et des sentiers à travers les campagnes fleuries de -mes belles joues. N’es-tu pas ému, monstre sournois et malintentionné, -en voyant une princesse de mon âge se flétrir et se consumer sous -l’écorce d’une grossière paysanne! quoique je ne paraisse pas telle à -présent, grâce à la faveur particulière du seigneur Merlin, qui a pensé -que les pleurs d’une belle affligée seraient plus capables de -t’attendrir. Résouds-toi donc, brute indomptée, à frapper tes chairs -épaisses: triomphe une fois en ta vie de cette inclination gloutonne qui -te fait ne songer qu’à te farcir la panse; et remets dans son premier -état la délicatesse de ma peau, l’aimable douceur de mon caractère, -l’incomparable beauté de mon visage; et si je ne suis pas capable -d’adoucir ton humeur farouche, si tu ne me trouves pas encore assez à -plaindre pour exciter ta pitié, aie au moins compassion de ce pauvre -chevalier qui est à tes côtés, de ce bon maître qui t’aime si -tendrement, et dont l’âme, je le vois, est à deux doigts de ses lèvres -et n’attend plus que ta réponse, ou compatissante ou impitoyable, pour -lui sortir par la bouche ou lui rentrer dans le gosier. - -En entendant ces mots, don Quichotte se tâta le gosier. Parbleu, dit-il -en se tournant vers le duc, Dulcinée dit vrai; voici que j’ai l’âme -arrêtée là, comme une noix d’arbalète. - -Eh bien, Sancho, que dites-vous de tout ceci? demanda la duchesse? - -Madame, ce que j’ai dit, je le répète, répondit Sancho; quant aux coups -de fouet, _abernuncio_. - -C’est _abrenuncio_ qu’il faut dire, observa le duc. - -Pour l’amour de Dieu, monseigneur, répliqua Sancho, que Votre Grandeur -me laisse parler à ma guise; est-ce que je suis en état de m’amuser à -ces subtilités? Vraiment il m’importe bien d’une lettre de plus ou de -moins quand il s’agit de quatre à cinq mille coups de fouet! - -Vous vous trompez, Sancho, reprit le duc, il ne s’agit que de trois -mille trois cents. - -Voilà le compte bien diminué! dit Sancho; qui trouve le marché bon n’a -qu’à le prendre. Par ma foi, je voudrais bien savoir où notre maîtresse -Dulcinée du Toboso a trouvé cette manière de prier les gens! Comment, -venir du même coup me demander de me mettre le corps en lambeaux pour -l’amour d’elle et m’appeler cœur de poule, bête farouche, tigre -abominable, avec une kyrielle d’injures à faire fuir le diable. Est-ce -que par hasard mes chairs sont de bronze, est-ce que je gagnerai quelque -chose à la désenchanter? Encore, si elle venait avec une belle corbeille -de linge blanc, quelques coiffes de nuit ou seulement des escarpins -(bien que je n’en mette pas) peut-être me laisserais-je faire: mais -pour m’attendrir elle me débite un boisseau d’injures et l’on dirait -qu’elle va me dévisager. Ne sait-elle point qu’un mulet chargé d’or n’en -gravit que mieux la montagne, que les présents ramollissent les pierres, -et qu’un tiens vaut mieux que deux tu auras? Mais ce n’est pas tout: -voilà qu’au lieu de m’encourager, mon seigneur et maître me menace de -m’attacher à un arbre, et de doubler la dose prescrite par le seigneur -Merlin. On devrait bien considérer que ce n’est pas un simple écuyer -qu’on prie de se fouetter, mais un gouverneur; car enfin faut-il -regarder à qui l’on parle et comment on prie. Il conviendrait, ce me -semble, de choisir un autre temps; on me voit navré de la déchirure de -mon habit vert, et l’on vient me demander de me déchirer moi-même, -quoique je n’en aie pas plus envie que de me faire cacique! - -En vérité, ami Sancho, reprit le duc, vous faites trop de façons: mais -je vous le dis en un mot comme en mille, si vous ne devenez plus souple -qu’un gant, il faudra renoncer au gouvernement: il serait beau vraiment -que je donne à mes sujets un gouverneur aux entrailles de pierre, qui ne -fût touché ni des larmes des dames affligées, ni des prières et des -conseils des plus sages enchanteurs! Encore une fois, Sancho, vous vous -fouetterez ou l’on vous fouettera, ou vous ne serez point gouverneur. - -Monseigneur, répondit Sancho, ne m’accorderait-on pas au moins deux -jours pour y penser? - -Cela ne se peut, repartit Merlin, cette affaire-là doit être conclue à -l’heure même, sinon Dulcinée retourne à la caverne de Montesinos, -changée en paysanne; ou bien, dans l’état où elle est, elle sera -conduite aux champs Élyséens, pour y attendre que le nombre des coups de -fouet soit complet. - -Allons, Sancho, ajouta la duchesse, prenez courage; songez que vous avez -mangé le pain du seigneur don Quichotte, que nous devons tous servir et -aimer à cause de sa loyauté et de ses grands exploits de chevalerie: -consentez à ces coups de fouet, mon enfant; la crainte est pour le -poltron, et un noble cœur ne trouve rien de difficile. - -Au lieu de répondre, Sancho, tout hors de lui, se tourna vers Merlin: -Seigneur Merlin, lui dit-il, ce diable, qui est venu ici en poste, a -ordonné à mon maître d’attendre le seigneur Montesinos, qui allait venir -lui parler du désenchantement de madame Dulcinée: cependant, nous -n’avons point encore vu Montesinos, ni rien qui lui ressemble. - -Ami Sancho, répondit Merlin, ce diable est un étourdi et un grandissime -vaurien: c’est moi qui l’envoyais vers votre maître, et non Montesinos, -lequel n’a pas quitté sa caverne, où longtemps encore il attendra la fin -de son enchantement. Si Montesinos est votre débiteur, ou si vous avez -quelque affaire à traiter avec lui, je l’amènerai où il vous plaira; -pour l’heure, résignez-vous à cette petite pénitence que nous vous avons -ordonnée, et, croyez-moi, elle vous sera d’un grand profit pour l’âme et -pour le corps: pour l’âme, parce que vous ferez une bonne action; pour -le corps parce qu’étant d’une complexion sanguine, il n’y a pas de mal -de vous tirer un peu de sang. - -Par ma foi, celui-là est bon, répliqua Sancho: il n’y a pas déjà assez -de médecins sur terre, il faut encore que les enchanteurs s’en mêlent! -Mais enfin, puisque tout le monde ici, excepté moi, le trouve utile, je -consens à m’appliquer les trois mille trois cents coups de fouet, à la -condition que je me les donnerai quand il me plaira, sans qu’on me fixe -ni le temps ni le jour; de mon côté, je tâcherai de terminer cette -affaire le plus tôt possible, afin que le monde puisse jouir de la -beauté de madame Dulcinée, beauté, à ce qu’il paraîtrait, beaucoup plus -grande que je n’avais pensé. J’y mets encore une condition, c’est que je -ne serai point obligé de me fouetter jusqu’au sang, et si quelques coups -ne font que chasser les mouches, ils compteront de même; de plus, si je -venais à me tromper sur la quantité, le seigneur Merlin, qui sait tout, -aura soin de les compter, et il me dira si je m’en suis donné trop ou -trop peu. - -Du trop il ne faut pas s’inquiéter, répondit Merlin, car sitôt que le -nombre sera complet, soudain madame Dulcinée se trouvera désenchantée, -et elle viendra remercier le bon Sancho et lui témoigner sa -reconnaissance par des présents considérables; n’ayez donc aucun souci -du trop ou du trop peu, je le prends sur ma conscience; le ciel me -préserve de tromper personne, ne fût-ce que d’un cheveu de la tête. - -Allons, dit Sancho, je consens à mon supplice, c’est-à-dire j’accepte la -pénitence; aux conditions que j’ai dites, s’entend. - -Sancho n’eut pas plutôt prononcé ces dernières paroles, que la musique -recommença avec accompagnement de deux ou trois décharges d’artillerie, -et don Quichotte alla se jeter au cou de son écuyer, qu’il baisa cent -fois sur le front et sur les joues. Le duc, la duchesse, tous les -chasseurs, lui témoignèrent la joie qu’ils éprouvaient de le voir se -rendre à la raison; puis, le char se remit en marche, la belle Dulcinée -salua Leurs Excellences et fit une profonde révérence à son futur -libérateur. - -Cependant l’aube riante et vermeille commençait à poindre: la terre -joyeuse, le ciel serein, la lumière pure, tout annonçait le jour qui -déjà posant le pied sur le pan de la robe de la fraîche Aurore -promettait d’être magnifique. Le duc et la duchesse, très-satisfaits de -leur chasse, et surtout d’avoir si bien réussi dans leur projet, -retournèrent au château, décidés à continuer ces plaisanteries qui les -divertissaient de plus en plus. - -CHAPITRE XXXVI - -DE L’ÉTRANGE ET INOUIE AVENTURE DE LA DUÈGNE DOLORIDE, APPELÉE COMTESSE -TRIFALDI: ET D’UNE LETTRE QUE SANCHO ÉCRIVIT A SA FEMME - -Le duc avait un majordome d’un esprit jovial et plein de ressources; -c’était lui qui avait composé les vers, disposé tout l’appareil de la -scène, représenté le personnage de Merlin, et fait remplir par un jeune -page celui de Dulcinée. A la demande de ses maîtres, il composa une -autre comédie aussi originale que la première, et non moins bien -imaginée. - -Le jour suivant, la duchesse demanda à Sancho s’il avait commencé sa -pénitence; il répondit que la nuit précédente il s’était donné cinq -coups de fouet. - -Avec quoi? reprit la duchesse. - -Avec ma main, répliqua Sancho. - -Mais c’est plutôt se caresser que se fouetter, dit la duchesse, et je ne -sais si Merlin sera satisfait. Je pense donc qu’il conviendrait que -Sancho fit une discipline composée de chardons ou de quelques -cordelettes de cuir, capable de se faire bien sentir, ce qui est une -condition expresse imposée par Merlin; car la liberté d’une aussi grande -dame que Dulcinée ne saurait être achetée à vil prix. - -Madame, répondit Sancho, que Votre Excellence me donne une discipline à -sa fantaisie, et je m’en servirai pourvu qu’elle ne me fasse pas trop de -mal, car je l’avouerai à Votre Grandeur, tout paysan que je suis, j’ai -la peau fort délicate; et il ne serait pas juste que je me misse en -lambeaux pour le service d’autrui. - -Eh bien, dit la duchesse, demain je vous donnerai une discipline faite -exprès pour vous, et qui s’accommodera à la délicatesse de vos chairs -comme si elles étaient ses propres sœurs. - -A propos, dit Sancho, Votre Altesse saura que j’ai écrit une lettre à -Thérèse Panza, ma femme, où je lui donne avis de tout ce qui m’est -arrivé depuis que je suis parti d’auprès d’elle; j’ai la lettre sur moi, -et il n’y a plus qu’à mettre l’adresse; je voudrais bien que Votre Grâce -eût la bonté de la lire, elle me semble tournée de la façon dont doivent -écrire les gouverneurs. - -Et qui l’a dictée? demanda la duchesse. - -Sainte Vierge! répondit Sancho, et qui l’aurait dictée, si ce n’est moi? - -C’est donc vous qui l’avez écrite? dit la duchesse. - -Oh! pour ça non, madame, répondit Sancho, car je ne sais ni lire ni -écrire, encore que je sache signer. - -Voyons-la, dit la duchesse, votre esprit et votre excellent jugement -doivent s’y montrer à chaque ligne. - -Sancho mit la main dans son sein, et en tira la lettre. Elle était ainsi -conçue: - - LETTRE DE SANCHO PANZA A THÉRÈSE PANZA, SA FEMME - - «Bien m’a pris, femme, d’avoir bon dos, car j’ai été bien étrillé; et - si j’ai un riche gouvernement, il m’en coûte de bons coups de fouet; - mais tu sauras cela plus tard; aujourd’hui tu n’y comprendrais rien. - Apprends donc, ma chère Thérèse, que j’ai résolu de te faire monter en - carrosse; voilà l’essentiel, car aller autrement, autant vaut marcher - à quatre pattes. Finalement, tu es femme de gouverneur; dis-moi si à - cette heure quelqu’un te va à la cheville. Je t’envoie ci-joint un - habit de chasse vert, que m’a donné madame la duchesse; arrange-le de - manière qu’il fasse un corsage et une jupe à notre fille Sanchette. - - «Don Quichotte, mon maître, à ce que j’ai ouï dire en ce pays-ci, est - un fou sensé, un cerveau brûlé divertissant, et, sans vanité, on dit - que je ne lui cède en rien. Nous avons été visiter ensemble la caverne - de Montesinos, et le sage Merlin a jeté les yeux sur moi pour - désenchanter Dulcinée du Toboso, qui est celle qu’on appelle là-bas - Aldonza Lorenzo. Avec trois mille trois cents coups de fouet que je - dois me donner, moins cinq, que j’ai déjà reçus, elle sera - désenchantée comme la mère qui l’a mise au monde. Bouche close sur - cela, femme, car les uns diraient que c’est du blanc, les autres que - c’est du noir. - - «D’ici à quelques jours je partirai pour mon gouvernement, où je - grille de me voir installé, afin d’amasser de l’argent, car on m’a dit - que les nouveaux gouverneurs n’ont point d’autre souci; je sonderai le - terrain, et je te manderai s’il faut que tu viennes me rejoindre. Le - grison se porte à merveille, et il se recommande à toi et à nos - enfants. Je veux l’emmener avec moi et je ne le quitterais pas quand - même on me ferait Grand Turc. Son Excellence madame la duchesse te - baise mille fois les mains; baises-les-lui en retour deux mille fois, - car il n’y a rien de si bon marché que les compliments, à ce que j’ai - entendu dire à mon maître. - - «Dieu n’a pas voulu que je trouvasse encore une bourse de cent - doublons, comme celle de la fois passée; ce n’a pas été faute de la - chercher; mais que cela ne te chagrine pas, ma chère Thérèse: celui - qui sonne les cloches est en sûreté, et tout se trouvera dans la - lessive du gouvernement. Une chose pourtant me met en peine, c’est - qu’on me dit que si j’en tâte une fois, je me lécherai les doigts - jusqu’à me manger les mains. Mais, baste! qu’y faire? pour les - estropiés les aumônes valent autant qu’un canonicat. Tu vois bien, - femme, que de façon ou d’autre, tu ne peux manquer d’être riche et - heureuse. Dieu te soit en aide comme il le peut, et qu’il me conserve - pour te servir. De ce château, le 20 juillet 1614. - - «Ton mari, le gouverneur SANCHO PANZA.» - -Il me semble, dit la duchesse après avoir lu, que notre bon gouverneur -se fourvoie ici de deux façons: la première, en disant, ou, pour le -moins, en donnant à penser, qu’il n’a obtenu son gouvernement que pour -les coups de fouet qu’il doit se donner, quoiqu’il sache bien, cependant -que lorsque monseigneur le duc, mon époux, le lui promit, on ne songeait -pas plus aux coups de fouet que s’il n’y en avait jamais eu au monde; la -seconde, c’est qu’il me paraît trop attaché à son intérêt, penchant qui -donne mauvaise opinion d’un homme, car, on dit que convoitise rompt le -sac, et qu’un gouverneur avare est bien près de vendre la justice. - -Ce n’est pas ce que j’ai voulu dire, madame, répondit Sancho; et si ma -lettre ne plaît pas à Votre Grâce, il n’y a qu’à la déchirer et en -écrire une autre; mais il se pourrait faire que la seconde fût pire, si -je m’en mêle encore une fois. - -Sur ce, on se rendit au jardin où l’on devait dîner ce jour-là. - -La duchesse montra la lettre de Sancho au duc, qui s’en amusa beaucoup -pendant le repas, et quand la table fut desservie, ils s’entretinrent -quelque temps avec lui, car sa conversation les divertissait -merveilleusement. Tout à coup et lorsqu’on y pensait le moins, on -entendit le son aigu d’un fifre, mêlé à celui d’un tambour discordant. -A cette harmonie triste et confuse, chacun parut se troubler. Don -Quichotte devint tout pensif, et Sancho courut se blottir auprès de la -duchesse, son refuge ordinaire. Au milieu de la stupéfaction générale, -on vit entrer dans le jardin deux hommes portant des robes de deuil si -longues, qu’elles balayaient la terre: ils frappaient deux grands -tambours couverts de drap noir; à leurs côtés marchait le joueur de -fifre, vêtu de noir comme les autres. Derrière ces trois hommes venait -un personnage à taille gigantesque, enveloppé d’une grande robe noire; -par-dessus la robe il portait un large baudrier d’où pendait un énorme -cimeterre à poignée noire ainsi que le fourreau. Son visage était -couvert d’un long voile, au travers duquel on apercevait une barbe -blanche comme la neige. D’un pas lent et solennel qu’il semblait régler -sur le son du tambour, ce grave personnage vint se mettre à genoux -devant le duc, qui l’attendait debout; mais le duc ne voulut point -l’écouter qu’il ne se fût relevé. Le fantôme obéit, et en se redressant -il écarta son voile et mit à découvert la plus longue, la plus blanche -et la plus épaisse barbe qu’eussent jamais vue des yeux humains; puis, -les regards fixés sur le duc et d’une voix pleine et sonore qu’il -paraissait tirer du fond de sa poitrine, il lui dit: - -Très-haut et très-puissant seigneur, je m’appelle Trifaldin de la barbe -blanche. Écuyer de la comtesse Trifaldi, autrement appelée la duègne -Doloride, je suis envoyé par elle vers Votre Altesse, pour supplier -Votre Magnificence de lui permettre de venir vous exposer son infortune, -qui est assurément la plus surprenante, aussi bien que la plus inouïe. -Mais, avant tout, j’ai ordre de m’informer si par hasard le grand, le -valeureux et invaincu chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche se trouve en -ces lieux, car c’est lui que cherche ma maîtresse, et c’est pour lui -qu’elle est venue à pied et à jeun, depuis le royaume de Candaya jusque -dans vos États, miracle qu’on ne peut attribuer qu’à la force des -enchantements. Elle attend, devant ce palais, que je lui porte de votre -part la permission d’y entrer. - -Il finit en toussant, puis promenant la main sur sa longue barbe, du -haut jusqu’en bas, il attendit gravement la réponse du duc, qui lui dit: - -Noble écuyer Trifaldin de la barbe blanche, depuis longtemps nous -connaissons la disgrâce de madame la comtesse Trifaldi, à qui les -enchanteurs ont fait prendre la figure et le nom de la duègne Doloride: -allez, merveilleux écuyer, lui porter l’assurance qu’elle sera la -bienvenue, et que nous possédons ici l’incomparable chevalier don -Quichotte de la Manche, dont le caractère généreux lui promet secours et -protection. Ajoutez de ma part que mon appui ne lui fera pas défaut non -plus, s’il lui est nécessaire, mon devoir étant de le lui offrir comme -chevalier, titre qui m’impose l’obligation de protéger toutes les -femmes, et principalement les pauvres veuves affligées, comme l’est Sa -Seigneurie. - -A cette réponse, Trifaldin mit un genou en terre, puis, au triste son -des tambours et du fifre, il quitta le jardin du même pas qu’il y était -entré, laissant toute la compagnie étonnée de sa haute taille et de son -air tout à la fois vénérable et modeste. - -Vous le voyez, vaillant chevalier, dit le duc en se tournant vers don -Quichotte, les ténèbres de l’ignorance et de l’envie ne sauraient -obscurcir l’éclat de la valeur et de la vertu: depuis six jours à peine -vous êtes dans ce château, et déjà l’on vient vous y chercher des pays -les plus lointains, non pas en carrosse ni à cheval, mais à pied et à -jeun, tant les malheureux ont d’empressement à vous voir, tant ils ont -de confiance en la force de votre bras et en la grandeur de votre -courage, grâce à la réputation que vos exploits vous ont acquise, grâce -au bruit qui en est répandu par tout l’univers. - -Je regrette fort, seigneur duc, répondit don Quichotte, que ce bon -ecclésiastique qui l’autre jour montrait tant d’aversion pour les -chevaliers errants, ne soit pas témoin de ce qui se passe: il verrait -par lui-même si ces chevaliers sont ou non nécessaires au monde; il -pourrait du moins se convaincre que dans leur détresse les malheureux ne -vont pas chercher du secours auprès des hommes de robe, ni chez les -sacristains de village, ni chez le gentilhomme qui n’a jamais franchi -les limites de sa paroisse; en pareil cas, la véritable panacée à -l’affliction, c’est l’épée du chevalier errant. Qu’elle vienne donc, -cette duègne, qu’elle demande ce qu’elle voudra; le remède à son mal lui -sera bientôt expédié par la force de mon bras et par l’intrépidité du -cœur qui le fait agir. - -CHAPITRE XXXVII - -SUITE DE LA FAMEUSE AVENTURE DE LA DUÈGNE DOLORIDE - -Le duc et la duchesse étaient charmés de voir don Quichotte donner si -complétement dans leurs vues; lorsque Sancho se mit de la partie. Je -voudrais bien, dit-il, que cette bonne duègne ne vînt pas jeter quelque -bâton dans les roues de mon gouvernement! car, je tiens d’un apothicaire -de Tolède, qui parlait comme un chardonneret, que partout où se fourrent -les duègnes, tout va de mal en pis. Dieu de Dieu! comme il les -détestait! et par ma foi, puisque toutes les duègnes sont fâcheuses et -impertinentes, que faut-il attendre d’une affligée comme l’est, dit-on, -cette comtesse Trifaldi? - -Silence, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte: puisque cette dame vient de si -loin me chercher, elle ne peut être de celles dont parlait ton -apothicaire; de plus, elle est comtesse, et quand les comtesses servent -en qualité de duègnes, c’est auprès des reines et des impératrices: car -dans leurs maisons, elles sont dames et maîtresses et se font servir par -d’autres duègnes. - -Madame la duchesse a pour suivantes des duègnes qui seraient comtesses, -si le sort l’eût voulu, repartit la señora Rodriguez qui était présente; -mais là vont les lois où il plaît aux rois. Cependant, qu’on ne dise pas -de mal des duègnes, surtout de celles qui sont vieilles filles: car bien -que je ne compte pas parmi ces dernières, je sens l’avantage qu’une -duègne fille a sur une duègne veuve. A quiconque voudra nous tondre, les -ciseaux resteront dans la main. - -Ce ne sera pas faute de trouver à tondre sur les duègnes, toujours -suivant mon apothicaire, repartit Sancho: mais ne remuons pas le riz, -dût-il prendre au fond du pot. - -Les écuyers ont toujours été nos ennemis, répliqua la señora Rodriguez; -véritables piliers d’antichambre, ces fainéants, au lieu de prier Dieu, -emploient leur temps à médire de nous, vont fouillant dans notre -généalogie, et font de rudes accrocs à notre réputation. Eh bien, moi, -je déclare ici, qu’en dépit d’eux nous continuerons à vivre dans les -grandes maisons, quoiqu’on nous y laisse mourir de faim et qu’on nous y -donne à peine une chétive robe noire pour couvrir nos chairs délicates. -Oui, si j’en avais le talent et le loisir, je voudrais prouver, -non-seulement aux personnes ici présentes, mais encore au monde entier -qu’il n’est point de vertu qui ne se rencontre chez une duègne. - -Je suis de l’avis de ma chère Rodriguez, dit la duchesse; mais elle -voudra bien remettre à une autre fois à défendre sa cause et celle des -duègnes, à réfuter les propos de ce méchant apothicaire, et à faire -revenir le grand Sancho de sa mauvaise opinion. - -Par ma foi, madame, repartit Sancho, depuis que le gouvernement m’est -monté à la tête, je ne me souviens plus d’avoir été écuyer, et je me -moque de toutes les duègnes du monde comme d’un fétu. - -Ici la conversation fut interrompue par les deux tambours et le fifre -annonçant l’approche de la Doloride. La duchesse demanda à son époux si -elle ne devait pas aller au-devant de cette dame, puisque c’était une -comtesse et une femme de qualité. - -Comme comtesse, ce serait chose juste, dit Sancho; comme duègne, je ne -conseille pas à Vos Excellences de faire un pas. - -Eh! de quoi te mêles-tu, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte. - -De quoi je me mêle, seigneur? répondit Sancho: je me mêle de ce dont je -puis me mêler, étant un écuyer nourri à l’école de Votre Grâce, vous le -chevalier le plus courtois de toute la courtoiserie. En ces choses-là, -je vous ai entendu dire qu’on risque autant de perdre pour un point de -plus que pour un point de moins; et à bon entendeur salut. - -Sancho a raison, ajouta le duc, il nous faut voir un peu quelle mine a -cette comtesse; d’après cela, nous mesurerons la politesse qui lui est -due. - -En ce moment rentrèrent dans le jardin les tambours et le fifre jouant -leur marche ordinaire, toujours sur un ton lugubre, et l’auteur termine -ici ce court chapitre pour commencer le suivant, où se continue la même -aventure, une des plus remarquables de toute l’histoire. - -CHAPITRE XXXVIII - -OU LA DUÈGNE DOLORIDE RACONTE SON AVENTURE - -A la suite des musiciens parurent d’abord douze duègnes rangées sur deux -files, toutes vêtues de larges robes de mousseline blanche, avec des -voiles d’une telle longueur, qu’on n’apercevait que le bas de leur -vêtement; après elles venait la comtesse Trifaldi, donnant la main à -Trifaldin, son écuyer: elle était vêtue d’une robe de frise noire à -longue queue, terminée par trois pointes à angles aigus, que portaient -trois pages habillés de deuil. Cette partie de son ajustement fit penser -à tout le monde que la noble dame tirait son nom de cette invention -nouvelle. En effet, Trifaldi, c’est comme qui dirait la comtesse à trois -queues. Ben-Engeli en tombe d’accord, mais en faisant remarquer que son -nom propre était la comtesse Loupine, à cause de la grande quantité de -loups qui peuplaient ses terres, tandis que si, au lieu de loups, c’eût -été des renards, on l’aurait appelée la comtesse Renardine. Quoi qu’il -en soit, la comtesse et ses douze duègnes s’avançaient lentement, le -visage couvert de voiles noirs si épais qu’il eût été impossible de rien -distinguer au travers. Sitôt qu’elles se furent arrêtées pour former la -haie, le duc et don Quichotte se levèrent; alors, passant au milieu des -duègnes, la Doloride, sans quitter la main de son écuyer, se dirigea -vers le duc, qui, avec toute la compagnie, s’avança pour la recevoir. - -Que Vos Grandeurs veuillent bien ne pas faire tant de courtoisies à leur -humble serviteur, je me trompe, à leur humble servante, car mon -affliction est telle que je ne pourrai jamais y répondre, tant ma -disgrâce étrange, inouïe, m’a emporté l’esprit je ne sais où, et ce doit -être fort loin, puisque plus je le cherche, moins je le trouve. - -Il faudrait que nous l’eussions perdu tout à fait, madame la comtesse, -répondit le duc, pour ne pas reconnaître votre mérite, et l’on ne -saurait vous rendre trop d’honneurs. - -En parlant ainsi il la releva, et la fit asseoir auprès de la duchesse, -qui l’accueillit avec beaucoup d’empressement. Don Quichotte regardait -sans prononcer un seul mot, tandis que de son côté Sancho mourait -d’envie de voir le visage de la comtesse Trifaldi ou de quelqu’une de -ses duègnes; mais il lui fallut y renoncer jusqu’à ce qu’elles -voulussent bien se découvrir elles-mêmes. - -Chacun gardait le silence: ce fut enfin la Doloride qui le rompit pour -s’exprimer en ces termes: J’ai la confiance, très-haut et puissantissime -seigneur, très-belle et excellentissime dame, et très-sages et -illustrissimes auditeurs, que ma peine grandissime trouvera un accueil -favorable dans la générosité de vos sentiments, car mon infortune est -telle qu’elle est capable de faire pleurer le marbre, d’attendrir le -diamant et d’amollir l’acier des cœurs les plus endurcis. Mais avant de -porter jusqu’à vos courtoises oreilles le récit de mes tristes -aventures, je voudrais savoir si l’illustrissime chevalier don Quichotte -de la Manche et son fameusissime écuyer Panza sont dans votre noble et -brillante compagnie. - -Panza est ici en personnissime, répliqua Sancho, et monseigneur don -Quichotte aussi; vous pouvez donc, très-honnêtissime dame, dire tout ce -qu’il vous plaira à votre agréabilissime fantaisie, et vous nous -trouverez diligentissimes à servir votre dolentissime beauté. - -Madame, ajouta don Quichotte en s’adressant à la Doloride, si vous -croyez trouver un remède à vos malheurs dans le bras de quelque -chevalier errant, voici le mien; si faible qu’il soit, je le mets tout à -votre service. Je suis don Quichotte de la Manche, dont la profession et -le devoir sont de protéger et de défendre les affligés. Il n’est pas -besoin de détours ni de paroles éloquentes pour s’assurer de ma -bienveillance, vous n’avez qu’à raconter simplement vos disgrâces; ceux -qui vous écoutent, s’ils ne peuvent remédier à vos maux, sauront du -moins y compatir. - -A ces paroles, la Doloride fit mine de se jeter aux genoux de don -Quichotte, et elle s’y jeta réellement, cherchant à les embrasser: Je me -prosterne devant ces pieds, devant ces jambes s’écria-t-elle, ô -invincible chevalier! comme devant les bases et les colonnes de la -chevalerie errante; laissez-moi baiser ces pieds que je ne saurais trop -révérer, puisque leurs pas doivent atteindre au terme de mes maux, que -Votre Grâce est seule capable de guérir, ô valeureux errant, dont les -merveilleux exploits font pâlir les fabuleuses histoires des Amadis, -réduisent en fumée les hauts faits des Bélianis, et anéantissent les -actions imaginaires des Esplandians! Puis, se tournant vers Sancho, et -le prenant par la main: Et toi, ajouta-t-elle, ô le plus loyal écuyer -qui ait jamais servi chevalier errant, dans les siècles passés, présents -et à venir; écuyer dont la bonté est encore plus grande et plus longue -que la barbe de mon écuyer Trifaldin, tu peux t’enorgueillir à juste -titre; puisqu’en servant le grand don Quichotte, tu sers toute la valeur -errante concentrée dans un seul chevalier. Je te conjure, nobilissime -écuyer, je te conjure par la fidélité exorbitante de tes services, -d’être un intercesseur bénévole auprès de ton maître, afin qu’il -favorise une infélicissime comtesse, et ta très-humilissime servante. - -Madame la comtesse, répondit Sancho, que ma bonté soit aussi grande que -la barbe de votre écuyer, ce n’est pas là ce dont il s’agit. Au surplus, -sans toutes ces câlineries et ces supplications, je prierai mon maître -(qui m’aime bien, je le sais, et surtout en ce moment qu’il a besoin de -moi pour certaine affaire) de vous favoriser et de vous aider en tout ce -qu’il pourra. Ainsi donc, ne vous gênez pas, contez-nous votre peine, et -vous verrez ce que nous savons faire. - -Le duc et la duchesse étaient ravis de voir leur dessein si bien -réussir, car la Doloride faisait merveilles. La comtesse s’assit à la -prière du duc, et après que tout le monde eut fait silence, elle -commença de la sorte: - -Sur le fameux royaume de Candaya, situé entre la grande Trapobane et la -mer du Sud, deux lieues par delà le cap Comorin, régnait la reine -Magonce, veuve du roi Archipiel, son époux. De leur mariage était issue -l’infante Antonomasie, qu’ensemble ils avaient procréée. L’héritière du -royaume me fut confiée en naissant et grandit sous ma tutelle, parce que -j’étais la plus ancienne et la plus noble duègne de sa mère. Après bien -des soleils (c’est ainsi que l’on compte les jours en notre pays) la -petite Antonomasie se trouva avoir quatorze ans et plus de beauté que la -nature en a jamais départi à celles qu’elle a le mieux favorisées; son -esprit n’était pas en retard, car elle montrait déjà un très-bon -jugement; enfin elle était aussi discrète que belle, ou pour mieux dire -elle est encore la plus belle personne du monde, si le destin jaloux et -les Parques au cœur de bronze n’ont point tranché le fil délié de sa -délicate vie; et ils ne l’auront pas osé sans doute, car le ciel ne -saurait permettre qu’on fasse à la terre ce tort insigne, de couper -toutes vertes les grappes de la plus belle vigne qui en aucun temps se -soit vue dans le contour de sa vaste étendue. - -De cette beauté sans pareille, et dont ma langue inculte ne saurait -assez dignement célébrer les louanges, devinrent amoureux un nombre -infini de princes, tant nationaux qu’étrangers. Mais parmi tous ces -soupirants, un simple chevalier, porté sur les ailes rapides de son -ambition démesurée, confiant dans sa jeunesse, sa bonne mine, et la -vivacité de l’esprit le plus heureux, osa lever les yeux jusqu’au -neuvième ciel de cette miraculeuse beauté. Je dois dire à Vos Grandeurs -qu’il jouait de la guitare à ravir; que de plus il était poëte et grand -danseur, et si adroit à fabriquer des cages d’oiseaux, qu’il aurait pu -gagner sa vie rien qu’à ce métier, s’il y eût été forcé par le besoin. -Avec tous ces mérites, de quoi ne viendrait-on pas à bout? à plus forte -raison du cœur d’une jeune fille; et cependant toutes ces qualités -n’auraient pas suffi à faire capituler la forteresse dont j’étais -gouvernante, si l’effronté scélérat n’eût habilement commencé par me -faire capituler moi-même. A force de cajoleries et de présents, il -flatta mon cœur et s’empara de ma volonté; mais ce qui acheva ma -défaite, ce fut certain couplet que j’entendis chanter une nuit sous mes -fenêtres; le voici, si je m’en souviens bien: - - De l’éclat des beaux yeux de la cruelle Aminte - Il sort des traits ardents qui consument mon cœur; - Et parmi tous mes maux elle a tant de rigueurs, - Que même il ne faut pas qu’il m’échappe une plainte. - -La strophe me sembla d’or, et la voix de miel; aussi depuis lors, chaque -fois que j’ai réfléchi sur ma faute, j’ai conclu en moi-même que Platon -avait eu raison de vouloir bannir les poëtes de toute république bien -ordonnée, au moins les poëtes érotiques, parce qu’ils font des vers, non -pas comme ceux du marquis de Mantoue, bons tout au plus à divertir les -petits enfants et à faire pleurer les femmes, mais des vers qui sont -autant d’épines qui percent le cœur, et qui, de même que la foudre fond -une épée sans attaquer le fourreau, consument et brûlent le corps sans -endommager les habits. Une autre fois il me chanta ceux-ci: - - O Mort! viens promptement contenter mon envie; - Mais viens sans te faire sentir, - De peur que le plaisir que j’aurais à mourir - Ne me rendît encor la vie. - -Il m’en débita encore beaucoup d’autres, qui transportent quand on les -chante et qui ravissent quand on les lit. Mais, qu’est-ce, bon Dieu! -quand ces séducteurs s’avisent de composer certains morceaux de poésie -fort à la mode dans le royaume de Candaya, et qu’on appelle -_seguidillas_? Aussi, je le répète, on devrait les reléguer dans quelque -île par delà les antipodes. Après tout, cependant, il ne faut point s’en -prendre à eux, mais aux ignorants qui les louent et aux sots qui les -croient. Si j’avais été sur mes gardes, comme doit le faire toute bonne -gouvernante, je n’aurais pas prêté l’oreille à leurs cajoleries, ni pris -au sérieux leurs dangereux propos; tels que ceux-ci: _je vis en -mourant_, _je brûle dans la glace_, _j’espère sans espoir_, _je pars et -je reste_, et tant d’autres du même genre, dont ils farcissent leurs -écrits, et qu’on trouve d’autant plus beaux, qu’on les comprend moins. -N’ont-ils pas le front de nous promettre le phénix, la toison d’or, la -couronne d’Ariadne, l’anneau de Gigès, les pommes du jardin des -Hespérides, des montagnes d’or et des monceaux de diamants! et pourtant -on s’y laisse prendre comme s’ils en montraient des échantillons. Mais à -quoi me laissé-je entraîner, et quelle folie me pousse à parler des -faiblesses d’autrui, quand j’ai tant à dire sur les miennes? Hélas! -infortunée, ce ne sont pas ces vers, ces discours qui t’ont abusée, ni -ces sérénades qui t’ont perdue; c’est ton imprudente simplicité, c’est -ta faiblesse, c’est ton peu de prévoyance, qui ont ouvert les sentiers -et aplani le chemin aux séductions de don Clavijo. Tel est le nom du -chevalier. Sous mon patronage, il entra non pas une fois, mais cent -fois, dans la chambre d’Antonomasie, abusée plutôt par moi que par lui, -et cela sous le titre de légitime époux, car, autrement, toute -pécheresse que je suis, je n’aurais jamais consenti qu’il eût seulement -baisé le pan de sa robe; oh! non, non, le mariage sera toujours en -première ligne quand je me mêlerai de semblables affaires. Dans -celle-ci, il n’y avait qu’un inconvénient, la différence des conditions, -don Clavijo n’étant qu’un simple chevalier, et l’infante Antonomasie -étant princesse, et de plus, comme je vous l’ai dit, l’héritière d’un -grand royaume. Par mes soins, l’intrigue demeura longtemps ignorée, -jusqu’à ce qu’enfin certaine enflure au-dessous de l’estomac de la jeune -fille me fit juger que le secret ne tarderait guère à être divulgué. -Dans cette appréhension, tous trois nous tînmes conseil, et l’avis -unanime fut, avant que le pot aux roses vînt à se découvrir, que -par-devant le grand vicaire, don Clavijo demandât pour femme Antonomasie -en vertu d’une promesse qu’il avait d’elle, promesse que j’avais -moi-même formulée, mais formulée avec tant de force qu’elle aurait défié -celle de Samson; bref, le grand vicaire vit la cédule, reçut la -confession de l’infante qui avoua tout, après quoi il la mit sous la -garde d’un honnête alguazil. - -Comment! s’écria Sancho! il y a à Candaya des alguazils, des poëtes et -des seguidillas? Par ma foi, le monde est partout semblable, à ce que -je vois. Mais que Votre Grâce se dépêche, dame Trifaldi: il est tard, et -je meurs d’envie de savoir la fin de cette histoire, qui, sans reproche, -est un peu longue. - -Vous allez l’apprendre, répondit la comtesse. - -CHAPITRE XXXIX - -SUITE DE L’ÉTONNANTE ET MÉMORABLE HISTOIRE DE LA COMTESSE TRIFALDI - -Chaque mot de Sancho enchantait la duchesse et désolait don Quichotte, -qui lui ordonna de se taire. La Doloride poursuivit: - -Enfin, après bien des questions, comme l’infante ne variait point en ses -réponses et persistait dans ses dires, le grand vicaire prononça en -faveur de don Clavijo, et lui adjugea Antonomasie pour légitime épouse, -ce dont la reine Magonce eut tant de déplaisir, que trois jours après on -l’enterra. - -Elle était donc morte? dit Sancho. - -Assurément, répondit Trifaldin; car en Candaya nous n’enterrons personne -qu’il ne soit bien convaincu d’être mort. - -Seigneur écuyer, repartit Sancho, ce ne serait pas la première fois -qu’on aurait enterré des gens évanouis, les croyant morts; et par ma -foi, vous en conviendrez, on n’a jamais vu mourir si vite que votre -reine Magonce: il me semble que c’eût été assez de s’évanouir, car enfin -on remédie à bien des choses avec la vie, et la folie de cette infante -n’avait pas été si grande, qu’il fallût se laisser mourir. Si cette -demoiselle eût épousé un de ses pages, ou quelque autre domestique de sa -maison, comme cela est arrivé à tant d’autres, le mal eût été sans -remède; mais épouser un chevalier aussi noble et distingué que vous le -dites, en vérité, ce n’est pas là un bien grand malheur, et c’est aussi, -je pense, l’avis de monseigneur don Quichotte, qui est là pour me -démentir: les chevaliers, surtout s’ils sont errants, sont du bois dont -on fait les rois et les empereurs, de même qu’avec des clercs on fait -des évêques. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; oui, et pour peu qu’un -chevalier errant ait de chance, il est toujours au moment de se voir le -plus grand seigneur du monde. Mais continuez, madame, s’il vous plaît; -il me semble que le plus désagréable de cette histoire reste à raconter, -car ce que nous avons entendu jusqu’ici ne mérite pas qu’on s’en afflige -si fort. - -En effet, répondit la comtesse, c’est le plus pénible qui reste à dire, -et même si pénible, que l’absinthe et les fruits sauvages n’ont ni -autant d’aigreur ni autant d’amertume. Dès que la reine fut morte, nous -l’enterrâmes, mais à peine, hélas! _quis talia fando temperet a -lacrymis_[110], à peine lui eûmes-nous dit le dernier adieu, que nous -vîmes subitement paraître au-dessus de sa tombe le géant Malambrun, -cousin germain de la défunte, monté sur un cheval de bois et lançant sur -les assistants des regards farouches. Ce géant, aussi versé dans l’art -du nécromant qu’il est vindicatif et cruel, était là pour tirer -vengeance de la mort de feu sa cousine, et pour châtier l’audace de don -Clavijo et la légèreté d’Antonomasie. Il les enchanta tous deux sur la -tombe de la reine: Antonomasie devint une guenon de bronze, don Clavijo -un effroyable crocodile d’un métal inconnu; et entre eux fut placée une -colonne également de métal, portant un écriteau en langue syriaque: «Ces -téméraires amants ne reprendront leur forme première que lorsque le -valeureux Manchois se sera rencontré avec moi en combat singulier; c’est -à sa valeur incomparable que les immuables destins réservent une -aventure si extraordinaire.» Puis, il tira d’un large fourreau un -démesuré cimeterre, et m’ayant saisie par les cheveux, il fit mine de -vouloir me couper la tête; j’étais si troublée que je n’osais ni ne -pouvais crier, tant la frayeur me rendait immobile. Néanmoins, me -rassurant de mon mieux, je lui dis d’une voix tremblante de telles -choses, qu’il suspendit l’exécution de ce châtiment rigoureux. Bref, il -fit amener devant lui toutes les duègnes du palais, celles qui sont ici -présentes; et après nous avoir reproché notre défaut de surveillance, -tempêté contre les duègnes, en les chargeant toutes de la faute dont -j’étais coupable, il déclara ne pas vouloir nous infliger la perte de la -vie, mais un long supplice qui fût pour nous comme une espèce de mort -civile. A l’instant où il achevait ces paroles, nous sentîmes les pores -de notre visage se dilater, avec une vive démangeaison, semblable à -celle que causeraient des pointes d’aiguilles; et en y portant les -mains, nous nous trouvâmes dans l’état que vous allez voir. - - [110] Qui pourrait, sans pleurer, conter pareille histoire! - (Réminiscence de l’_Énéide_ de Virgile.) - -Sur ce, la Doloride et ses compagnes ôtèrent leurs voiles, et -découvrirent des visages chargés d’épaisses barbes, les unes noires, les -autres blanches, d’autres rousses, et d’autres grisonnantes. A cette -vue, le duc, la duchesse et don Quichotte parurent frappés de stupeur, -et Sancho fut épouvanté. Voilà, dit la Trifaldi en continuant, voilà -dans quel état nous a mis ce scélérat de Malambrun, couvrant la -blancheur et la beauté de nos visages de ces rudes soies; trop heureuses -si par le fil acéré de son épouvantable cimeterre il nous eût fait voler -la tête de dessus les épaules plutôt que de nous rendre ainsi difformes -et velues comme des chèvres! Car en fin de compte, seigneurs (et ce que -je vais ajouter, je voudrais le faire avec des yeux convertis en -torrents, mais les mers de pleurs que j’ai versés en pensant à nos -disgrâces sont taries, aussi parlerai-je sans répandre de nouvelles -larmes); car en fin de compte, je vous le demande, où osera se présenter -une duègne barbue? qu’en diront les mauvaises langues? quel père ou -quelle mère voudront la reconnaître? et puisqu’une duègne qui a le teint -frais et poli, qui se martyrise le visage à force de fards et de -pommades, a tant de peine à plaire, que sera-ce de celles qui sont -velues comme des ours? O duègnes, mes compagnes, que nous sommes nées -sous une funeste étoile, et qu’elle fut néfaste l’heure où nos mères -nous ont mises au monde! - -En prononçant ces paroles, la Doloride fit semblant de tomber évanouie. - -CHAPITRE XL - -SUITE DE CETTE AVENTURE, AVEC D’AUTRES CHOSES DE MÊME IMPORTANCE - -Ceux qui aiment les histoires comme celle-ci doivent savoir gré à son -premier auteur, cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, pour l’attention qu’il met à en -raconter les plus minutieux détails. En effet, il découvre les secrètes -pensées, éclaircit les doutes, résout les objections, et, en un mot, -donne satisfaction sur tous les points à la curiosité la plus exigeante. -O incomparable auteur! ô infortuné don Quichotte! ô sans pareille -Dulcinée! ô réjouissant Sancho Panza! vivez de longs siècles, ensemble -ou séparément, pour le plaisir et l’amusement des générations présentes -et à venir. - -L’histoire dit donc qu’en voyant la Doloride évanouie, Sancho s’écria: -Foi d’homme de bien, et par l’âme de tous les Panza mes ancêtres, -jamais, je le jure, je n’ai vu, ni entendu, ni rêvé, et jamais non plus -mon maître ne m’a raconté pareille aventure. Que mille satans -t’entraînent jusqu’au fond des abîmes, si cela n’est déjà fait, maudit -enchanteur de Malambrun! Ne pouvais-tu imaginer quelque autre manière de -punir ces créatures, sans les rendre barbues comme des chèvres? Eh! ne -valait-il pas mieux leur fendre les naseaux, dussent-elles nasiller un -peu, que de les gratifier de ces barbes-là? Je gagerais mon âne qu’elles -n’ont pas seulement de quoi payer un barbier. - -C’est la vérité pure, seigneur, répondit une des duègnes; entre toutes, -nous ne possédons pas un maravédis, aussi sommes-nous forcées, par -économie, d’user d’emplâtres de poix: nous nous les appliquons sur le -visage, et en les tirant tout d’un coup, nos mentons demeurent lisses -comme la paume de la main. Il y a bien à Candaya des femmes qui vont de -maison en maison épiler les dames, leur polir les sourcils, et préparer -certains ingrédients servant à la toilette féminine[111], mais nous -autres, duègnes de madame, nous n’avons jamais voulu les recevoir, parce -que la plupart font le métier d’entremetteuses. Vous voyez donc que si -le seigneur don Quichotte ne vient à notre secours, nous emporterons nos -barbes au tombeau. - - [111] Les épileuses étaient fort à la mode du temps de Cervantes. - -Je me laisserais plutôt arracher la mienne poil à poil par les Mores, -que de manquer à vous soulager, repartit notre héros. - -En cet endroit, la comtesse Trifaldi reprit ses esprits, et s’adressant -à don Quichotte: L’agréable son de vos promesses, valeureux chevalier, a -frappé mes oreilles et suffit pour me rappeler à la vie; je vous -supplie de nouveau, errant, glorieux et indomptable seigneur, de -convertir promptement vos paroles en œuvres efficaces. - -Il ne tiendra pas à moi, répondit don Quichotte; dites ce qu’il faut que -je fasse, et vous me trouverez prêt à vous servir. - -Votre Magnanimité, saura donc, invincible chevalier, repartit la -Doloride, que d’ici au royaume de Candaya, si l’on y va par terre, il y -a cinq mille lieues, peut-être une ou deux de plus ou de moins; mais si -l’on y va par les airs et en ligne droite, il n’y en a que trois mille -deux cent vingt-sept. Vous saurez encore que le géant Malambrun m’a dit -qu’aussitôt que ma bonne fortune m’aurait fait rencontrer le chevalier -notre libérateur, il lui enverrait une monture incomparablement -meilleure et moins mutine que toutes les mules de louage, car c’est le -même cheval de bois sur lequel Pierre de Provence enleva la belle -Maguelonne; animal paisible et qu’on gouverne au moyen d’une cheville -plantée dans le front, mais qui parcourt l’espace avec tant de légèreté -et de vitesse, qu’on le dirait emporté par le diable en personne. Ce -cheval, disent les anciennes traditions, est un ouvrage du sage Merlin, -qui le prêta à son ami, Pierre de Provence, lequel fit sur cette monture -de très-longs voyages par les airs, laissant ébahis ceux qui d’en bas le -regardaient passer. Merlin ne le prêtait qu’aux gens qu’il aimait, ou -qui lui payaient un bon prix: aussi n’avons-nous pas ouï dire que depuis -le fameux Pierre de Provence jusqu’à présent, personne l’ait monté. -Malambrun, par la force de ses enchantements, est parvenu à s’en -emparer; il s’en sert dans tous ses voyages: aujourd’hui il est ici, -demain en France, et le jour suivant au Potose ou en Chine. Le plus -merveilleux, c’est que ce cheval ne boit pas, ne mange pas, ne dort pas -et n’use point de fers; et il marche si bien l’amble, que celui qui est -dessus peut porter à la main une tasse pleine d’eau sans en renverser -une seule goutte: voilà pourquoi la belle Maguelonne aimait tant à s’y -trouver en croupe. - -Pour avoir une douce allure, s’écria Sancho, vive mon grison! à cela -près qu’il ne marche point dans l’air; mais sur la terre, ma foi, il -défierait tous les ambles du monde. - -Chacun se mit à rire, et la Doloride continua: Eh bien, si Malambrun -veut mettre fin à nos disgrâces, ce cheval sera ici après la tombée de -la nuit; car il me l’a dit, l’indice certain que j’aurai trouvé le -chevalier qui doit nous délivrer consiste à voir arriver promptement le -cheval partout où il en sera besoin. - -Combien tient-t-on sur ce cheval? demanda Sancho. - -Deux, répondit Doloride, un sur la selle et un autre en croupe; et -d’ordinaire ces deux personnes sont le chevalier et l’écuyer lorsqu’il -n’y a point de dame enlevée. - -Madame, continua Sancho, comment appelle-t-on ce cheval? - -La Doloride répondit: Il ne s’appelle pas Pégase, comme le cheval de -Bellérophon, ni Bucéphale, comme le cheval du grand Alexandre, ni -Bride-d’Or, comme celui de Roland, ni Bayard, comme celui de Renaud de -Montauban, ni Frontin, comme celui de Roger, encore moins Bootès, ou -Pirithoüs, comme se nommaient, dit-on, les chevaux du Soleil; ni même -Orélie, comme le coursier que montait le malheureux Rodrigue, le dernier -roi des Goths, dans la bataille où il perdit le trône et la vie. - -Puisqu’on ne lui a donné aucun des noms de ces chevaux fameux, je -gagerais bien, dit Sancho, qu’on ne lui a pas donné non plus le nom du -cheval de mon maître, Rossinante, celui de tous qui me semble le mieux -approprié à la bête. - -Assurément, dit la comtesse; néanmoins il a un nom convenable et -significatif, car il s’appelle Chevillard le Léger, parce qu’il est de -bois et qu’il a une cheville au front, mais surtout à cause de sa -légèreté merveilleuse. Ainsi, quant au nom, il peut le disputer même au -fameux Rossinante. - -Le nom me revient assez, reprit Sancho. Mais avec quoi le gouverne-t-on? -est-ce avec une bride ou avec un licou? - -Je vous ai déjà dit, répondit la Trifaldi, que c’est avec la cheville: -en la tournant à droite ou à gauche, le cavalier le fait marcher comme -il l’entend, tantôt au plus haut des airs et tantôt rasant la terre -jusqu’à l’effleurer, tantôt dans ce juste milieu que l’on doit chercher -en toutes choses. - -Je serais curieux de le voir, repartit Sancho, non pas pour monter -dessus, car de penser que jamais je m’y mette en selle ou en croupe, -votre serviteur: il serait bon, ma foi, qu’un homme qui a déjà bien de -la peine à se tenir sur son âne, assis sur un bât douillet comme du -coton, allât monter en croupe sur un chevron sans coussin ni tapis! Oh! -que nenni; je n’ai pas envie de me faire écorcher le derrière pour ôter -la barbe aux gens: qui a de la barbe de trop se rase. Pour mon compte, -je n’entends pas accompagner mon maître dans un pareil voyage; -d’ailleurs, je ne dois pas être nécessaire dans ce rasement de barbes, -comme je le suis dans le désenchantement de madame Dulcinée. - -Pardon, vous êtes nécessaire, repartit la Trifaldi, et même tellement -nécessaire, qu’on ne peut rien sans vous. - -A d’autres, à d’autres, s’écria Sancho: qu’est-ce que les écuyers ont à -voir avec les aventures de leurs maîtres? Ceux-ci auraient toute la -gloire, et nous toute la peine. Encore, si les faiseurs d’histoires -disaient: Un tel chevalier a achevé une grande aventure avec l’aide d’un -tel son écuyer, sans quoi il lui aurait été impossible d’en venir à -bout; à la bonne heure. Mais au lieu de cela, ils vous écrivent tout -sec: Don Paralipomenon des trois Étoiles a mis fin à l’aventure des six -vampires; sans plus faire mention de l’écuyer que s’il n’eût point été -au monde, quoiqu’il fût présent, qu’il suât à grosses gouttes, et qu’il -y eût attrapé de bons horions. Encore une fois, mon maître peut partir -tout seul si cela lui convient, et Dieu l’assiste! Quant à moi, je ne -lui porte point envie, je resterai en compagnie de madame la duchesse; -et quand il sera de retour, peut-être trouvera-t-il l’affaire de madame -Dulcinée en bon chemin, car, à mes moments perdus, je prétends -m’étriller d’importance. - -Mon ami, dit la duchesse, il faut pourtant accompagner votre maître si -cela est nécessaire, nous vous en conjurons tous; pour de vaines -frayeurs, il serait fort mal de laisser le visage de ces dames en l’état -où il est. - -A d’autres encore une fois, répliqua Sancho; passe encore, si c’était -pour de jeunes recluses, ou pour de petites filles de la doctrine -chrétienne, on pourrait risquer quelques fatigues; mais hasarder de se -casser bras ou jambes pour tondre des duègnes, au diable qui en fera -rien; qu’elles cherchent d’autres tondeurs; dans tous les cas, ce ne -sera pas Sancho Panza. Pardieu! j’aime mieux les voir toutes barbues -comme des boucs, depuis la plus grande jusqu’à la plus petite, depuis la -plus mijaurée jusqu’à la plus pimpante. - -Vous en voulez bien aux duègnes, ami Sancho, dit la duchesse, et vous -les épargnez encore moins que ne faisait votre apothicaire de Tolède! En -vérité, vous avez tort: il y a telle duègne qui peut servir de modèle à -toutes les femmes, et quand ce ne serait que ma bonne señora Rodriguez -ici présente... Je n’en veux pas dire davantage. - -Votre Excellence peut dire ce qui lui plaira, répondit la duègne; Dieu -sait la vérité de tout, et bonnes ou méchantes, barbues ou non barbues, -nous sommes, comme toutes les autres femmes, filles de nos mères; et -puisque Dieu nous a mises au monde, il sait pourquoi. Aussi je compte -sur sa miséricorde, et non sur la charité d’autrui. - -La señora Rodriguez a raison, dit don Quichotte. Quant à vous, comtesse -Trifaldi et compagnie, espérez du ciel la fin de vos malheurs; et croyez -que Sancho fera ce que je lui ordonnerai. Je voudrais que Chevillard fût -ici, et déjà me voir aux prises avec Malambrun; je lui apprendrai à -persécuter les duègnes et à défier des chevalier errants. Dieu tolère -les méchants, mais ce n’est jamais que pour un temps limité. - -Valeureux chevalier, s’écria la Doloride, puissent les étoiles du ciel -regarder avec des yeux bénins Votre Grandeur, et verser sur votre cœur -magnanime toute la force et toute la prospérité qu’elles enserrent, afin -que vous deveniez le bouclier et le rempart des malheureuses duègnes -détestées des apothicaires, calomniées par les écuyers, et tourmentées -par les pages. Maudit soit l’insensée qui, à la fleur de son âge, ne se -fait pas religieuse plutôt que duègne! O géant Malambrun qui, tout -enchanteur que tu es, ne laisses pas d’être fidèle en tes promesses, -envoie-nous promptement le sans pareil Chevillard, afin que nous voyions -dans peu la fin de nos disgrâces. Si les chaleurs viennent nous -surprendre avec de telles barbes, nous sommes perdues! - -La Trifaldi laissa tomber ces mots d’un ton si affligé, avec une -expression si touchante, que chacun en fut attendri. Sancho pleura tout -de bon, et résolut en son cœur d’accompagner son maître, dût-il le -conduire jusqu’aux antipodes, s’il ne fallait que cela pour faire tomber -la laine de ces vénérables visages. - -CHAPITRE XLI - -DE L’ARRIVÉE DE CHEVILLARD, ET DE LA FIN DE CETTE LONGUE ET TERRIBLE -AVENTURE - -Sur ce vint la nuit, et avec elle l’heure indiquée pour l’arrivée du -fameux Chevillard, dont le retardement commençait à inquiéter don -Quichotte. Puisque, se disait-il, Malambrun diffère de l’envoyer, je ne -suis pas le chevalier à qui cette aventure est réservée; peut-être aussi -le géant craint-il de se mesurer avec moi. Mais voilà que tout à coup -quatre sauvages, couverts de lierre, entrent dans le jardin, portant sur -leurs épaules un grand cheval de bois; ils le posent à terre, et l’un -d’entre eux prononce ces paroles: Que le chevalier qui en aura le -courage monte sur cette machine. - -Pour moi, je n’y monte pas, dit Sancho, je n’en ai pas le courage, et -d’ailleurs je ne suis point chevalier. - -Que son écuyer, s’il en a un, monte en croupe, continua le sauvage; il -peut prendre confiance dans le valeureux Malambrun, et être sûr de -n’avoir à redouter de lui que son épée. Il suffira de tourner cette -cheville pour que le chevalier et l’écuyer s’en aillent à travers les -airs, là où Malambrun les attend. Mais afin de prévenir les vertiges que -pourrait leur causer l’élévation extraordinaire de la route, ils devront -tous deux avoir les yeux bandés, jusqu’à ce que le cheval hennisse; à ce -signe ils reconnaîtront que leur voyage est achevé. - -Cela dit, les sauvages se retirèrent d’un pas dégagé, comme ils étaient -venus. - -Quand la Doloride aperçut le cheval, elle dit à don Quichotte d’une voix -presque larmoyante: Vaillant chevalier, les promesses de Malambrun sont -accomplies; voici le cheval, et pourtant nos barbes ne cessent de -croître: nous te supplions donc, chacune en particulier, de nous -débarrasser de cette bourre importune qui nous défigure, puisqu’il te -suffit de monter, toi et ton écuyer, sur Chevillard et d’entreprendre -ce voyage d’un nouveau genre. - -Je le ferai de bien bon cœur, comtesse Trifaldi, répondit don -Quichotte, sans prendre coussins ni éperons, tant j’ai hâte de soulager -votre infortune. - -Et moi, ajouta Sancho, je ne le ferai pas. Si ce voyage ne peut avoir -lieu sans que je monte en croupe, mon maître n’a qu’à prendre un autre -écuyer, et ces dames chercher quelque autre moyen de se polir le menton. -Suis-je sorcier pour m’en aller ainsi courir par les airs? Et que -penseraient les habitants de mon île, quand on leur dirait que leur -gouverneur s’expose ainsi à tous les vents? Il y a, dit-on, trois ou -quatre mille lieues d’ici à Candaya; et si le cheval vient à se fatiguer -ou si le géant se fâche, nous mettrons donc une douzaine d’années à -revenir, et alors quelle île et quels vassaux voudront me reconnaître. -Puisqu’on dit que c’est dans le retardement qu’est le péril, j’en -demande pardon aux barbes de ces dames; mais saint Pierre est bien à -Rome: je veux dire que je me trouve au mieux dans cette maison où l’on -me traite avec tant de bonté, et du maître de laquelle j’attends le -bonheur insigne de me voir gouverneur. - -Ami Sancho, dit le duc, l’île que je vous ai promise n’est ni mobile ni -fugitive, elle tient à la terre par de profondes racines; et puis, vous -le savez aussi bien que moi, les dignités de ce monde ne s’obtiennent -pas sans une sorte de pot-de-vin. Celui que je demande pour prix du -gouvernement que je vous ai donné, c’est d’accompagner le seigneur don -Quichotte dans cette mémorable aventure; et soit que vous reveniez aussi -promptement que le promet la célérité de Chevillard, soit que la fortune -contraire vous ramène à pied comme un pèlerin, mendiant de porte en -porte, en tout temps et à toute heure vous retrouverez votre île où vous -l’aurez laissée, et vos vassaux aussi disposés à vous prendre pour -gouverneur qu’ils l’aient jamais été. Quant à moi, supposer que je -puisse changer à votre égard, ce serait faire injure à mes sentiments -pour vous. - -Assez, monseigneur, assez, dit Sancho: je ne suis qu’un pauvre écuyer, -et je n’ai pas la force de résister à tant de courtoisies. Allons! que -mon maître monte, qu’on me bande les yeux, et qu’on me recommande à -Dieu. Mais quand nous serons là-haut, dites-moi, je vous prie, -pourrai-je moi-même implorer Notre-Seigneur, et invoquer les saints -anges? - -Vous le pourrez en toute sûreté, dit la Trifaldi; car, quoique Malambrun -soit enchanteur, il est bon catholique; et il a soin de faire ses -enchantements avec beaucoup de tact et de prudence, afin de ne s’attirer -aucun reproche. - -Allons, reprit Sancho, que Dieu m’assiste et la sainte Trinité de Gaëte! - -Depuis la formidable aventure des moulins à foulon, dit don Quichotte, -je n’ai jamais vu Sancho aussi effrayé qu’il l’est à cette heure; et si, -comme tant d’autres, je croyais aux présages, cela ferait quelque peu -fléchir mon courage. Approche, mon ami, que je te dise deux mots en -particulier, avec la permission de Leurs Excellences. - -Il emmena son écuyer au fond du jardin, sous de grands arbres, et là lui -prenant les mains: Tu vois, lui dit-il, le long voyage que nous allons -faire. Dieu seul sait quand nous en reviendrons, et les aventures qui -nous attendent; je voudrais donc, mon enfant, que sous le prétexte -d’aller prendre quelque chose dont tu aurais besoin, tu te retirasses -dans ta chambre, et que là tu te donnasses quatre ou cinq cents coups de -fouet à compte sur les trois mille trois cents auxquels tu t’es engagé; -ce sera toujours autant de fait: chose bien commencée est à moitié -finie. - -Pardieu, s’écria Sancho, il faut que Votre Grâce ait perdu l’esprit; -c’est comme qui dirait: Tu me vois un procès sur les bras et tu me -demandes ma fille en mariage! Au moment de monter sur une croupe fort -dure, vous voulez que j’aille m’écorcher le derrière; en vérité, cela -n’est pas raisonnable. Allons d’abord barbifier ces dames, et au retour -je vous promets, foi d’homme de bien, que j’aviserai au reste; pour le -moment n’en parlons pas. - -Je m’en fie à ta parole, dit don Quichotte, car, quoique simple, tu es -sincère et véridique. - -Bon! bon! reprit Sancho, soyez tranquille; mais n’entreprenons pas tant -de besogne à la fois. - -Sans plus discourir ils se rapprochèrent de Chevillard; et sur le point -de l’enfourcher, don Quichotte dit à Sancho: Bande-toi les yeux et monte -hardiment; il n’y a pas d’apparence que celui qui nous a envoyé chercher -de si loin ait dessein de nous tromper: quel avantage aurait-il à se -jouer de gens qui se fient à lui? Mais quand tout irait au rebours de ce -que j’imagine, la gloire d’avoir entrepris cette aventure est assez -grande pour ne pas craindre de la voir obscurcie par les ténèbres de -l’envie! - -Allons, seigneur, dit Sancho, il me semble que j’ai la conscience -chargée de toute la bourre de ces pauvres duègnes, et je ne mangerai -morceau qui me profite avant d’avoir vu leur menton en meilleur état. -Montez, seigneur, continua-t-il, car si je dois aller en croupe, il faut -commencer par vous mettre en selle. - -Tu as raison, repartit don Quichotte. Et tirant un mouchoir de sa poche, -il pria la Doloride de lui bander les yeux; mais tout aussitôt d’un -mouvement brusque il l’ôta lui-même, en disant: Je me souviens, si j’ai -bonne mémoire, d’avoir lu dans Virgile que le palladium de Troie était -un cheval de bois que les Grecs présentèrent à la déesse Pallas, et qui -avait dans ses flancs des combattants armés, par lesquels la ruine -d’Ilion fut consommée; il serait donc à propos d’examiner ce que -Chevillard a dans l’estomac. - -C’est inutile, reprit la Doloride, je me rends caution de tout; -Malambrun n’est pas un traître: montez, sur ma parole, et s’il vous -arrive du mal je le prends sur moi. - -Don Quichotte, pensant que plus d’insistance ferait suspecter son -courage, monta sans autre objection; et comme, faute d’étriers, il -tenait les jambes allongées et pendantes, on eût dit une de ces figures -de tapisserie qui représentent un triomphateur romain. - -Sancho vint monter à son tour, mais lentement et à contre-cœur. Sitôt -qu’il fut sur le cheval, dont il trouva la croupe fort dure, il commença -à se remuer en tout sens pour s’asseoir plus à son aise; enfin ne -pouvant en venir à bout, il pria le duc de lui faire donner un coussin, -fût-ce même un de ceux de l’estrade de madame la duchesse, parce que, -ajouta-t-il, ce cheval me paraît avoir le trot dur. - -La Trifaldi répondit que Chevillard ne souffrirait sur son dos aucune -espèce de harnais; que Sancho pouvait, pour être moins durement, monter -à la manière des femmes. Sancho le fit; ensuite on lui banda les yeux, -et il dit adieu à la compagnie. Mais à peine le bandeau fut-il placé, -qu’il le releva, et regardant tristement ceux qui étaient dans le -jardin, il les conjura les larmes aux yeux de dire force _Pater_ et -_Ave_ à son intention, afin qu’en semblable passe Dieu leur envoyât à -eux-mêmes de bonnes âmes pour les assister de leurs prières. - -Larron! s’écria don Quichotte, es-tu donc attaché au gibet pour user de -pareilles supplications? n’es-tu pas assis, lâche créature, au même -endroit qu’occupa jadis la belle Maguelonne, et d’où elle descendit pour -devenir reine de France? et moi qui te parle, ne suis-je point à tes -côtés, puisqu’on m’a choisi pour remplir la même place qu’occupa le -fameux Pierre de Provence? Couvre tes yeux, être sans courage, et qu’il -ne t’arrive plus de laisser paraître de semblables frayeurs, du moins en -ma présence. - -Qu’on me bande donc les yeux, répondit Sancho; et puisqu’on ne veut pas -que je me recommande à Dieu, ni que je lui sois recommandé, est-il -étonnant si j’ai peur qu’il se trouve par ici quelque légion de diables -pour nous emporter à Peralvillo[112]. - - [112] Village près de Tolède, où la Sainte-Hermandad faisait exécuter - les malfaiteurs. - -Enfin on leur banda les yeux, après quoi don Quichotte, assuré que tout -était en bon état, commença à tourner la cheville. A peine y eut-il -porté la main que tous les assistants élevèrent la voix en criant: Dieu -te conduise, valeureux chevalier! Dieu te soit en aide, écuyer -intrépide! puissions-nous bientôt vous revoir? ce qui ne saurait tarder, -à la vitesse dont vous fendez l’air, car déjà nous vous perdons presque -de vue. Tiens-toi bien, valeureux Sancho, ne te dandine pas; prends -garde de tomber, car ta chute serait encore plus lourde que celle de ce -jeune étourdi qui voulut conduire les chevaux du soleil. - -A ces paroles, Sancho se serrait contre son maître, et l’embrassant par -la ceinture, il lui dit: Seigneur, pourquoi ces gens disent-ils que -nous sommes déjà très-haut, puisque nous les entendons si clairement -qu’on dirait qu’ils nous parlent aux oreilles! - -Ne t’arrête pas à cela, répondit don Quichotte: comme ces manières de -voyager sont extraordinaires, tout le reste est à l’avenant; ainsi la -voix ne trouvant aucun obstacle, vient aisément jusqu’à nous, l’air lui -servant de véhicule. Ne me serre donc pas si fort, tu m’étouffes. En -vérité, je ne comprends pas de quoi tu peux t’épouvanter: car de ma vie -je n’ai monté cheval d’une plus douce allure! on dirait que nous ne -bougeons pas de place. Allons, ami, rassure-toi, les choses vont comme -elles doivent aller, et nous pouvons dire que nous avons le vent en -poupe. - -Par ma foi, repartit Sancho, je sens déjà de ce côté une bise qui me -siffle aux oreilles. - -Il ne se trompait pas: quatre ou cinq hommes l’éventaient par derrière -avec de grands soufflets, tant le duc et son intendant avaient bien pris -leurs dispositions pour qu’il ne manquât rien à l’affaire. - -Don Quichotte ayant senti le vent: Sans aucun doute, dit-il, Sancho, -nous devons être arrivés à la moyenne région de l’air, où se forment la -grêle, les vents et la foudre; et si nous montons toujours avec la même -vitesse, nous atteindrons bientôt la région du feu. Vraiment, je ne sais -comment tourner cette cheville, afin de ne pas être bientôt embrasés. - -En effet, on leur chauffait le visage avec des étoupes enflammées qu’on -promenait devant eux au bout d’un long roseau. - -Nous devons être où vous dites, ou du moins bien près, s’écria Sancho, -car j’ai la barbe à demi grillée; seigneur, je vais me découvrir les -yeux, pour voir où nous sommes. - -Garde-toi d’en rien faire, reprit don Quichotte: ne connais-tu pas -l’histoire du licencié Torralva, que le diable enleva dans les airs, à -cheval sur un bâton et les yeux bandés? En douze heures, il arriva à -Rome, assista à l’assaut de la ville, vit la mort du connétable de -Bourbon, et le lendemain, à la pointe du jour, il était de retour à -Madrid, où il rendit compte de ce dont il avait été témoin. Entre autres -choses, ce Torralva raconta que pendant qu’il traversait les airs, le -diable lui ayant dit d’ouvrir les yeux, il les ouvrit, et se vit -tellement proche du corps de la lune, qu’il pouvait y toucher avec la -main; mais il n’osa regarder en bas, de crainte que la tête ne lui -tournât. D’après cela, Sancho, juge si ta curiosité serait dangereuse. -Celui qui a pris l’engagement de nous conduire répondra de nous; et bien -qu’en apparence il n’y ait pas une demi-heure que nous sommes partis, -crois-moi, nous devons avoir fait bien du chemin. - -Je n’ai rien à répondre, répliqua Sancho; mais tout ce que je puis dire, -c’est que si la dame Maguelonne s’arrangeait de cette chienne de croupe, -il fallait qu’elle eût la peau bien dure. - -Le duc, la duchesse et leur compagnie ne perdaient rien de ce plaisant -dialogue, et riaient comme des fous, sans éclater toutefois, de peur de -découvrir la mystification. Enfin, pour donner une digne issue à une -aventure si adroitement fabriquée, ils firent mettre le feu à un paquet -d’étoupes placé sous la queue de Chevillard, dont l’intérieur était -rempli de fusées et de pétards. Le cheval sauta en l’air avec un bruit -épouvantable, renversant sur l’herbe don Quichotte et Sancho, tous deux -à demi roussis. - -Un peu auparavant, la Doloride et sa suite étaient sorties du jardin; -ceux qui restaient s’étendirent par terre comme évanouis. Don Quichotte -et Sancho se relevèrent un peu maltraités de leur chute, et ayant -regardé de tous côtés, ils furent stupéfaits de se revoir dans le même -lieu et d’y trouver tant de gens couchés sans mouvement; mais leur -surprise s’accrut encore lorsqu’ils aperçurent une lance fichée en -terre, d’où pendait, à deux cordons de soie verte, un parchemin portant -ces mots tracés en lettres d’or: - - _L’illustre et valeureux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche a mis - fin à l’aventure de la comtesse Trifaldi, autrement dite la duègne - Doloride et compagnie, rien qu’en l’entreprenant. Malambrun est - satisfait. Les mentons des duègnes sont nets et rasés, le roi don - Clavijo et la reine Antonomasie ont repris leur première forme. - Aussitôt que le gracieux écuyer aura accompli sa pénitence, la blanche - colombe Tobosine se verra hors des griffes des vautours qui la - persécutent et dans les bras de son bien-aimé tourtereau. Ainsi - l’ordonne le sage Merlin, proto-enchanteur des enchanteurs._ - -Ces dernières paroles firent comprendre aisément à don Quichotte qu’il -s’agissait du désenchantement de Dulcinée. Rendant grâces au ciel -d’avoir accompli avec si peu de risques un tel exploit, et rendu leur -poli aux visages des vénérables duègnes, il s’approcha de la duchesse et -du duc, en apparence toujours évanouis. Allons, seigneur, lui dit-il, -bon courage, tout ceci n’est rien; l’aventure est achevée, ainsi que -vous pouvez le voir par l’écriteau que voici. - -Le duc, comme s’il sortait d’un profond sommeil, parut reprendre peu à -peu ses sens; la duchesse fit de même, et tous ceux qui étaient dans le -jardin simulèrent si bien la surprise qu’on aurait cru effectivement -qu’il leur était arrivé quelque chose d’étrange. Le duc lut l’écriteau, -les yeux encore à demi fermés, et se les frottant à chaque mot; mais -aussitôt qu’il eût achevé de lire, il se jeta les bras ouverts au cou de -don Quichotte, lui disant qu’il était plus grand que tous les chevaliers -des siècles passés. Sancho cherchait des yeux la Doloride, pour voir -quelle figure elle avait sans barbe, et si elle était aussi belle, le -menton rasé, que le promettait sa bonne mine; mais on lui dit qu’en même -temps que Chevillard tombait tout en feu du haut des airs, la Trifaldi -avait disparu avec sa troupe, n’ayant plus au menton le moindre poil de -barbe ni l’apparence d’en avoir jamais eu. - -La duchesse demanda à Sancho comment il se trouvait d’un si long voyage -et ce qui lui était arrivé. - -Dieu merci, madame, répondit-il, je me trouve assez bien, si ce n’est -que je me suis un peu meurtri l’épaule en tombant, mais cela n’est rien. -Je vous dirai seulement que comme nous allions atteindre la région du -feu, je demandai à mon maître la permission de me découvrir les yeux, -mais il ne voulut jamais y consentir. Alors, moi, qui suis un peu -curieux de mon naturel, et qui ai toujours la démangeaison d’apprendre -ce qu’on veut me cacher, je relevai tout doucement mon bandeau, et me -mis à regarder la terre du coin de l’œil. Nous étions en ce moment si -haut, si haut, qu’elle ne me parut pas plus grosse qu’un grain de -moutarde, et les hommes qui marchaient dessus, guère plus gros que des -noisettes. - -Prenez garde, ami Sancho, reprit la duchesse: d’après vos propres -paroles, vous ne pouviez voir la terre, mais seulement les hommes qui -marchaient dessus. Et cela se conçoit: si la terre ne paraissait pas -plus grosse qu’un grain de moutarde, et chaque homme gros comme une -noisette, un seul homme devait la couvrir toute entière. - -Il devrait en être ainsi, répondit Sancho; malgré cela, je la découvris -par un petit coin, et je l’ai vue en son entier. - -Mais, repartit la duchesse, on ne saurait voir en son entier ce qu’on ne -regarde que par un petit coin. - -Je n’entends rien à ces finesses-là, répliqua Sancho; qu’il suffise à -Votre Seigneurie de savoir que nous volions par enchantement, et que par -enchantement aussi j’ai pu voir la terre et les hommes, de quelque façon -que je les eusse regardés. Si Votre Grâce ne croit pas cela, elle croira -encore moins que, me découvrant les yeux pour regarder en haut, je me -vis si près du ciel, qu’il ne s’en fallait pas d’un demi-pied que j’y -touchasse; et ce dont je puis faire serment, madame, c’est qu’il est -furieusement grand. Nous étions en ce moment vers l’endroit où sont les -chèvres; et comme, étant enfant, j’ai été chevrier dans mon pays, il me -prit une si grande envie de causer quelques instants avec ces chèvres, -que si je ne l’eusse fait, je crois que j’en serais mort. J’arrive donc -près d’elles, sans rien dire à personne, ni même à mon maître; je -descends tout bonnement de Chevillard, et me mets à causer environ trois -ou quatre heures avec ces chèvres, qui en vérité sont gentilles comme -des giroflées et douces comme des fleurs; et pendant tout ce temps, -Chevillard ne bougea pas. - -Pendant que Sancho s’entretenait avec les chèvres, que faisait le -seigneur don Quichotte? demanda le duc. - -Comme toutes les choses qui m’arrivent ont lieu par des voies -extraordinaires, répondit don Quichotte, il ne faut pas s’étonner de ce -que raconte Sancho. Moi, je ne me découvris point les yeux, et ne vis ni -ciel, ni terre, ni mer, ni montagnes; je m’aperçus seulement, lorsque -nous eûmes traversé la moyenne région de l’air, que nous approchions -fort de la région du feu; mais que nous ayons été plus avant, je ne le -crois pas. En effet, la région du feu étant placée entre la lune et la -dernière région de l’air, nous ne pouvions arriver jusqu’où sont les -sept chèvres dont parle Sancho sans être consumés; et puisque nous voilà -ici, Sancho ment, ou il rêve. - -Je ne mens ni ne rêve, repartit Sancho: qu’on me demande le signalement -des chèvres, et on verra si je dis, ou non, la vérité. - -Eh bien, comment sont-elles? demanda la duchesse. - -Il y en avait deux vertes, deux incarnates, deux bleues, et la dernière -bariolée, répondit Sancho. - -Voilà une nouvelle espèce de chèvres, reprit le duc; sur terre nous n’en -avons point de semblables. - -Est-il donc si étonnant qu’il y ait de la différence entre les chèvres -de la terre et les chèvres du ciel? repartit Sancho. - -Dites-moi un peu, mon ami, n’y avait-il aucun bouc parmi ces chèvres? -demanda le duc. - -Non, monseigneur, répondit Sancho; j’ai toujours entendu dire qu’aucun -animal à cornes ne passait les cornes de la lune. - -Le duc et la duchesse cessèrent de questionner notre écuyer, qu’ils -voyaient en train de se promener à travers les sept cieux et de leur en -donner des nouvelles sans avoir bougé du jardin. - -Telle fut la fin de l’aventure de Doloride. - -Don Quichotte s’approchant de son écuyer, lui dit à l’oreille: Sancho, -puisque vous voulez qu’on ajoute foi à ce que vous racontez avoir vu -dans le ciel, je veux à mon tour que vous teniez pour véritable ce que -j’ai vu dans la caverne de Montesinos: je ne vous en dis pas davantage. - -CHAPITRE XLII - -DES CONSEILS QUE DON QUICHOTTE DONNA A SANCHO PANZA TOUCHANT LE -GOUVERNEMENT DE L’ILE, ETC. - -Le duc et la duchesse furent si satisfaits de l’heureux et plaisant -dénoûment de l’aventure de la Doloride, qu’ils ne pensèrent plus qu’à -inventer de nouveaux sujets de se divertir, et toujours aux dépens de -leurs hôtes. Ayant donc préparé leur plan et instruit leurs gens de la -manière dont ils devaient agir avec Sancho, le duc lui dit de se -préparer à partir afin d’aller prendre possession de son gouvernement, -où les vassaux l’attendaient avec non moins d’impatience que la terre -desséchée attend la rosée du matin. - -Sancho s’inclina jusqu’à terre, et répondit: Monseigneur, depuis que je -suis descendu du ciel, depuis que, du plus haut de sa voûte, j’ai -considéré la terre, je l’ai trouvée si petite, si petite, que l’envie -m’a presque passé d’être gouverneur. Le bel honneur, en effet, de -commander sur un grain de moutarde, à une douzaine d’hommes, gros chacun -comme une noisette! car il me semblait qu’il n’y en avait pas davantage -sur toute la terre. Si Votre Seigneurie voulait me donner à gouverner -une petite partie du ciel, ne fût-elle que d’une demi-lieue, je la -préférerais à la plus grande île du monde. - -Ami Sancho, répondit le duc, je ne puis donner à personne aucune partie -du ciel, ne fût-elle pas plus grande que l’ongle: Dieu seul a le pouvoir -d’accorder semblables faveurs. Je vous donne ce que je puis vous donner, -une île faite et parfaite, ronde, bien proportionnée, fertile et -abondante, où, si vous en prenez la peine, vous pourrez ajouter aux -richesses de la terre celles du ciel. - -Monseigneur, répliqua Sancho, que l’île vienne, et je m’efforcerai de la -gouverner si bien, qu’en dépit de tous les méchants j’irai droit au -ciel. Ce n’est point par ambition, croyez-le, que je songe à quitter ma -chaumière, mais seulement pour tâter de ces gouvernements, dont tout le -monde est si affamé. - -Ami Sancho, dit le duc, quand vous en aurez une fois goûté, vous vous en -lécherez les doigts jusqu’aux coudes, tant est grand le plaisir de -commander et de se faire obéir. - -Monseigneur, répondit Sancho, je m’imagine qu’il est fort agréable de -commander, ne fût-ce qu’à un troupeau de moutons. - -Par ma foi, vous possédez toute science, Sancho, repartit le duc, et je -crois que vous serez un fort bon gouverneur. Mais trêve de discours, et -sachez que dès demain vous irez prendre possession de votre île. Ce soir -on prépare l’équipage qui vous convient et toutes les choses -nécessaires à votre installation. - -Qu’on m’habille comme on voudra, répondit Sancho; sous quelque habit que -ce soit, je n’en serai pas moins Sancho Panza. - -Cela est vrai, dit le duc; cependant le costume doit être conforme à -l’état qu’on professe et à la dignité dont on est revêtu: il serait -ridicule qu’un jurisconsulte fût vêtu comme un homme d’épée, et un -soldat comme un prêtre. Quant à vous, Sancho, votre costume doit tenir -du lettré et de l’homme de guerre, parce que dans l’île que je vous -donne, les armes sont aussi nécessaires que les lettres, et les lettres -que les armes. - -Pour la science, repartit Sancho, je n’en suis guère pourvu, car je ne -sais pas l’A B C; mais je sais mon _Pater noster_, et c’est assez pour -être bon gouverneur; quant aux armes, je me servirai de celles qu’on me -donnera, jusqu’à ce qu’elles me tombent des mains, et à la grâce de -Dieu. - -Avec de pareils sentiments, dit le duc, Sancho ne pourra faillir en -rien. - -Sur ces entrefaites arriva don Quichotte. Ayant appris que Sancho devait -partir le jour suivant, il le prit par la main, et avec la permission du -duc l’emmena dans sa chambre, pour lui donner, avant son départ, -quelques leçons sur la manière dont il devait remplir son nouvel emploi. -Sitôt qu’ils furent entrés, le chevalier ferma la porte, et ayant fait -asseoir Sancho presque malgré lui, d’une voix lente et posée il lui -parla en ces termes: - -Je rends grâces au ciel, ami Sancho, de ce que la fortune, qui n’a -encore eu pour moi que des rigueurs, soit venue, pour ainsi dire, te -prendre par la main. Moi, qui pensais trouver dans les faveurs du sort -de quoi récompenser la fidélité de tes services, je suis encore au début -de mes espérances, tandis que toi, avant le temps et contre tout calcul -raisonnable, tu vas voir combler tous tes désirs. L’un se donne mille -soucis et travaille sans relâche pour atteindre son but, quand l’autre -sans y songer, sans savoir pourquoi ni comment, se trouve en possession -de l’emploi sollicité par une foule de prétendants. C’est bien le cas de -dire que dans la poursuite des places il n’y a qu’heur et malheur. -Ainsi, quoique tu ne sois qu’un lourdaud, te voilà, sans faire un pas, -sans perdre une minute de ton sommeil, mais par cela seulement que la -chevalerie errante t’a touché de son souffle, te voilà appelé au -gouvernement d’une île. - -Je te dis cela, Sancho, pour que tu n’attribues pas ta bonne fortune à -ton mérite, mais afin que tu apprennes à remercier incessamment le ciel, -et après lui la chevalerie errante dont la grandeur renferme en elle -tant de biens. Maintenant que ton cœur est disposé à suivre mes -conseils, écoute avec l’attention d’un disciple qui veut profiter des -enseignements de son maître, écoute les préceptes qui devront te servir -d’étoile et de guide pour éviter les écueils de cette mer orageuse où tu -vas te lancer; car les hauts emplois et les charges d’importance ne sont -qu’un profond abîme couvert d’obscurités et rempli d’écueils. - -Premièrement, mon fils, garde la crainte de Dieu, parce que cette -crainte est le commencement de la sagesse, et que celui qui est sage ne -tombe jamais dans l’erreur. - -Secondement, souviens-toi toujours de ta première condition, et ne cesse -de t’examiner pour arriver à te connaître toi-même; c’est la chose à -laquelle on doit le plus s’appliquer, et à laquelle d’ordinaire on -réussit le moins. Cette connaissance t’apprendra à ne pas t’enfler comme -la grenouille qui voulut un jour s’égaler au bœuf; et si la vanité, -cette sotte enflure de cœur, venait à s’emparer de ton âme, -rappelle-toi que tu as gardé les cochons. - -C’est vrai, répondit Sancho; mais j’étais petit garçon; plus tard, en -grandissant, ce sont les oies que j’ai gardées et non pas les cochons. -Au reste, qu’est-ce que cela fait à l’affaire? tous les gouverneurs ne -sont pas fils de princes. - -J’en demeure d’accord, dit don Quichotte; c’est pourquoi ceux dont la -naissance ne répond pas à la gravité de leur emploi doivent être -affables, afin d’échapper à la médisance et à l’envie, qui toujours -s’attachent aux dépositaires de l’autorité. - -Fais gloire, Sancho, de l’humilité de ta naissance, et n’aie point honte -d’avouer que tu es fils de laboureur; car tant que tu ne t’élèveras -point, personne ne songera à t’humilier. Pique-toi plutôt d’être humble -vertueux, que pécheur superbe. On ne saurait dire le nombre de ceux que -la fortune a tirés de la poussière pour les élever jusqu’à la dignité de -la couronne et de la tiare, et je pourrais t’en citer des exemples -jusqu’à te fatiguer. - -Que la vertu soit la règle constante de tes actions, et tu n’auras rien -à envier à ceux qui sont princes et grands seigneurs; car on hérite de -la noblesse, mais la vertu s’acquiert, et par elle seule la vertu vaut -ce que le sang ne peut valoir. - -Cela étant, si un de tes parents va te voir dans ton gouvernement, ne le -rebute point; au contraire, fais-lui bon accueil; ainsi tu obéiras à -Dieu, qui défend de mépriser son ouvrage, et tu te conformeras aux -saintes lois de la nature, qui veulent que tous les hommes se traitent -en frères. - -Si tu emmènes ta femme avec toi (et il n’est pas convenable qu’un -gouverneur soit longtemps sans sa femme), tâche de la dégrossir et de la -former, car ce que peut gagner un gouverneur sage et discret, une femme -sotte et grossière le lui fait perdre. - -Si par hasard tu deviens veuf, ce qui peut arriver, et si l’emploi te -faisait trouver une femme de plus haute condition, ne la prends pas -telle qu’elle serve d’amorce et prenne à toutes mains; car je te le dis, -ce que reçoit la femme du juge, le mari en rendra compte au jour du -jugement; et alors il payera au centuple ce dont il fut innocent pendant -sa vie. - -Ne te laisse point aller à l’interprétation arbitraire de la loi, comme -font les ignorants qui se piquent d’habileté et de pénétration. - -Que les larmes du pauvre trouvent accès auprès de toi, mais sans te -faire oublier la justice qui est due au riche. Fais en sorte de -découvrir la vérité à travers les promesses et les présents du riche, -comme à travers les sanglots et les importunités du pauvre. - -Ne frappe pas le coupable avec toute la rigueur de la loi: la réputation -de juge impitoyable ne vaut pas mieux que celle de juge trop -compatissant. - -Si tu laisses quelquefois pencher la balance de la justice, que ce ne -soit pas sous le poids des présents, mais sous celui de la miséricorde. - -Quand tu auras à juger un de tes ennemis, abjure tout ressentiment, et -n’examine que son procès; autrement si la passion dictait ta sentence, -tu te verrais un jour obligé de réparer ton injustice aux dépens de ton -honneur et de ta bourse. - -Si une femme belle vient te solliciter, ferme tes yeux et bouche tes -oreilles; car la beauté est dangereuse, il n’y a point de poison plus -fait pour corrompre l’intégrité d’un juge. - -Ne maltraite point en paroles celui que tu châtieras en actions; la -peine suffit aux malheureux, sans y ajouter de cruels propos. - -Pense toujours à la misérable condition des hommes sujets aux infirmités -de leur nature dépravée; et autant que tu le pourras, montre-toi -miséricordieux, sans blesser l’équité; car parmi les attributs de Dieu, -bien qu’ils soient tous égaux, la miséricorde resplendit avec encore -plus d’éclat que la justice. - -En suivant ces préceptes, Sancho, tu auras de longs jours, ta renommée -sera éternelle, tes désirs seront comblés, ta félicité sera ineffable, -et après avoir vécu dans la paix de ton cœur, entouré des bénédictions -des gens de bien, la mort t’atteindra dans une douce vieillesse, et tes -yeux se fermeront sous les doigts tendres et délicats de tes petits -enfants. - -Voilà mon ami, les conseils que j’avais à te donner, en ce qui concerne -l’ornement de ton âme; écoute maintenant ceux qui doivent servir à la -parure de ton corps. - -CHAPITRE XLIII - -SUITE DES CONSEILS QUE DON QUICHOTTE DONNA A SANCHO - -Qui aurait pu entendre ce discours sans tenir don Quichotte pour un -homme plein de sagesse et de bonnes intentions? Mais, comme nous l’avons -vu plus d’une fois dans le cours de cette grande histoire, l’esprit de -notre pauvre gentilhomme, raisonnable sur tout le reste, déménageait -quand il était question de chevalerie: de sorte qu’à toute heure ses -œuvres discréditaient son jugement, et son jugement démentait ses -œuvres. Dans les secondes instructions qu’il donna à Sancho, il fit -preuve d’une grâce parfaite, et montra dans tout leur jour sa sagesse et -sa folie. Sancho l’écoutait avec une extrême attention, et tâchait -d’imprimer ses conseils dans sa mémoire, bien résolu à les suivre, afin -de se tirer au mieux de la grande affaire de son gouvernement. Don -Quichotte continua ainsi: - -En ce qui touche, Sancho, la manière dont tu dois gouverner ta maison et -ta personne, la première chose que je te recommande, c’est d’être propre -et de te couper les ongles, au lieu de les laisser pousser à l’exemple -de certaines gens assez sots pour croire que de grands ongles -embellissent les mains; comme si cet appendice pouvait s’appeler des -ongles, quand ce sont plutôt des griffes d’épervier. - -Ne te montre jamais avec des vêtements débraillés et en désordre, c’est -le signe d’un esprit faible et lâche; à moins que cette négligence ne -couvre une grande dissimulation, comme on l’a pensé de Jules César. - -Sonde discrètement ce que peut te rapporter ton office: s’il te permet -de donner une livrée à tes gens, donne-leur en une qui soit propre et -commode, plutôt que brillante et magnifique, et emploie l’épargne que tu -feras là-dessus à habiller autant de pauvres. Si donc tu as de quoi -entretenir six pages, habilles-en trois seulement, et distribues le -reste à autant de pauvres: tu auras ainsi trois pages pour le ciel et -trois pour la terre, manière de donner des livrées que ne connaissent -point les glorieux. - -Ne mange point d’ail ni d’oignon, de crainte que ce parfum ne vienne à -trahir ta condition première. Marche posément, parle avec lenteur, mais -non pas à ce point que tu paraisses t’écouter toi-même, car toute -affectation est mauvaise. - -Dîne peu; soupe moins encore; la santé de tout le corps s’élabore dans -l’officine de l’estomac. - -Sois tempérant dans le boire; celui qui s’enivre est incapable de garder -un secret ni de tenir un serment. - -Fais attention, en mangeant, à ne point mâcher des deux côtés à la fois, -et à n’éructer devant personne. - -Qu’entendez-vous par éructer? demanda Sancho. - -Éructer, répondit don Quichotte, signifie roter, ce qui est un des plus -vilains mots de notre langue, quoique fort expressif: aussi les gens -bien élevés ont recours au latin, et au lieu de roter, ils disent -éructer; au lieu de rots, éructations. Si quelques personnes n’entendent -point cela, peu importe; l’usage et le temps feront adopter le mot; -ainsi s’enrichissent les langues, sur lesquelles le vulgaire et l’usage -ont tant de pouvoir. - -En vérité, seigneur, reprit Sancho, un des conseils que je veux surtout -retenir, c’est de ne pas roter; car cela m’arrive à tout bout de champ. - -Éructer, reprit don Quichotte, et non pas roter. - -A l’avenir, je dirai toujours éructer, repartit Sancho, et je vous -promets de ne pas l’oublier. - -Veille aussi à ne pas mêler à tes discours cette foule de proverbes dont -tu abuses à chaque instant; les proverbes, il est vrai, sont de courtes -sentences, mais tu les tires tellement par les cheveux, qu’ils ont -plutôt l’air de balourdises que de maximes. - -Dieu seul peut y remédier, dit Sancho; car j’ai en moi plus de proverbes -qu’un livre; et sitôt que je desserre les dents, il m’en vient sur le -bout de la langue un si grand nombre, qu’ils se disputent à qui sortira -le premier: mais j’aurai soin dorénavant de ne dire que ceux qui -conviendront à la gravité de mon emploi; car en bonne maison la nappe -est bientôt mise, qui convient du prix n’a pas de dispute, celui-là ne -craint rien qui sonne le tocsin, et entre donner et prendre garde de se -méprendre. - -Allons, mon ami, lâche, lâche tes proverbes! c’est bien le cas de dire -ma mère me châtie, et je fouette la toupie: je suis à te corriger de ta -manie des proverbes, et tu en débites une kyrielle qui viennent aussi à -propos que s’ils tombaient des nues. Je ne blâme pas un proverbe bien -placé; mais les enfiler sans rime ni raison, cela rend la conversation -lourde et fastidieuse. - -Quand tu monteras à cheval, aie soin de tenir la jambe tendue et le -corps droit; autrement tu aurais l’air d’être encore sur ton grison. - -Sois modéré quant au sommeil: celui qui n’est pas levé avec le soleil ne -jouit pas du jour. Je t’avertis, Sancho, que la diligence est mère de la -bonne fortune, et que la paresse, son ennemie, n’atteignit jamais un but -honorable. - -J’ai à te donner un dernier conseil, et quoiqu’il ne regarde pas, comme -les précédents, la parure de ton corps, je crois que son observation te -sera très-profitable. Le voici: Ne dispute jamais sur la noblesse des -familles; quand on les compare, l’une finit toujours par l’emporter, et -tu te ferais une ennemie de celle que tu mettrais au second rang, sans -que l’autre te sût le moindre gré de ta préférence. - -Ton habillement devra se composer de chausses entières, d’un pourpoint -et d’un manteau. Jamais de grègues, elles ne conviennent ni aux -gentilshommes, ni aux gouverneurs. - -Voilà, Sancho, les conseils qui, pour le moment, se sont présentés à mon -esprit; je t’en enverrai d’autres à l’occasion, pourvu que tu aies soin -de m’informer de l’état de tes affaires. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, toutes les choses que vous venez de me dire -sont saintes et profitables; mais à quoi cela me servira-t-il, si je ne -m’en souviens pas? Pour ce qui est de me rogner les ongles, et de me -remarier, si le cas se présente, cela ne sortira point de la tête: quant -à toutes ces autres minuties que vous m’avez recommandées, par ma foi, -je ne m’en souviens pas plus que des nuages de l’an passé. Veuillez me -les coucher par écrit, et je les remettrai à mon confesseur, afin qu’au -besoin il me les fourre dans la cervelle. - -Qu’il sied mal à un gouverneur de ne savoir ni lire ni écrire! reprit -don Quichotte. Sais-tu, Sancho, ce qu’on pense d’un homme qui ne sait -pas lire? de deux choses l’une, ou qu’il a eu pour parents des gens de -la dernière condition, ou qu’il a été lui-même un si mauvais sujet, -qu’on ne l’a pas trouvé susceptible de correction. C’est un grand défaut -que tu as là, mon ami, et je voudrais au moins que tu apprisses à signer -ton nom. - -Je sais signer mon nom, repartit Sancho: lorsque j’étais bedeau dans -notre village, j’ai appris à tracer des lettres comme celles qu’on met -sur les ballots de marchandises, et on disait que cela figurait mon -nom. Après tout, je ferai semblant d’avoir la main droite estropiée, et -un autre signera pour moi; car il y a remède à tout, fors à la mort; et -comme je serai le maître, et tiendrai la baguette, je ferai ce que je -voudrai, d’autant plus que celui dont le père est alcade... et comme je -serai gouverneur, ce qui est encore plus que d’être alcade.... Oui-da, -qu’on s’y frotte, et on sera bien reçu: tel vient chercher de la laine, -qui s’en retourne tondu. D’ailleurs, les sottises du riche passent dans -le monde pour sentences, et quand je serai riche, puisque je serai -gouverneur, qui est-ce qui me trouvera un défaut? Oui, oui, faites-vous -miel, et les mouches vous mangeront; autant tu possèdes, autant tu vaux, -disait ma grand’mère; et d’un homme qui a pignon sur rue on n’a jamais -raison. - -Maudit sois-tu de Dieu et des saints! interrompit don Quichotte; mille -satans puissent-ils emporter toi et tes proverbes! Il y a plus d’une -heure que tu me tiens à la torture. Si tes proverbes ne te conduisent un -jour au gibet, dis que je suis un faux prophète: ils exciteront quelque -sédition parmi tes vassaux, et finiront par te faire perdre ton -gouvernement. Et où diable vas-tu les trouver, imbécile, lorsque moi, -pour en citer un à propos, je sue comme si je piochais la terre. - -Par ma foi, Votre Grâce se fâche pour peu de chose, repartit Sancho; qui -diable peut trouver mauvais que je me serve de mon bien, puisque je n’en -possède pas d’autres? Je n’ai que des proverbes, eh bien, je lâche des -proverbes; tenez, j’en ai quatre en ce moment sur le bout de la langue, -qui venaient à point nommé, mais je ne les dirai pas; car, comme dit le -vieux dicton, pour se taire à propos, il n’est tel que Sancho. - -Tu n’es pas ce Sancho-là reprit don Quichotte, mais Sancho le bavard et -l’opiniâtre. Néanmoins je serais curieux de connaître les quatre -proverbes que tu prétends venir si à propos: j’ai beau y songer, et -quoique j’aie la mémoire assez bonne, il ne s’en présente aucun. - -Eh! quels meilleurs proverbes peut-il y avoir que ceux-ci, répondit -Sancho: Entre deux dents mâchelières ne mets jamais le doigt; Videz la -maison et que voulez-vous à ma femme? et cet autre, Si la pierre donne -contre la cruche, ou la cruche contre la pierre, tant pis pour la -cruche. Ce qui veut dire: que personne ne se prenne de querelle avec son -gouverneur, autrement, il lui en cuira; lorsque le gouverneur commande, -il n’y a pas à répliquer, non plus qu’à Vider la maison, et que -voulez-vous à ma femme? Pour celui de la cruche et de la pierre, un -aveugle le verrait. Du reste, Votre Seigneurie n’ignore pas qu’un sot en -sait plus long dans sa maison qu’un sage dans celle d’autrui. - -Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, ni dans sa maison ni ailleurs, un sot ne -sait rien; il est impossible de rien asseoir de raisonnable sur le -fondement de la sottise. Mais restons-en là mon ami: si tu gouvernes -mal, à toi la faute, à moi la honte; cependant j’aurai la consolation de -n’avoir rien négligé, et de t’avoir donné mes conseils en homme -d’honneur et de conscience. Dieu te conduise, Sancho, qu’il te gouverne -dans ton gouvernement, et me délivre, moi, de l’inquiétude où je vais -rester que tu ne mettes tout sens dessus dessous dans ton île. Il ne -tiendrait qu’à moi de m’ôter cette crainte; je n’aurais qu’à découvrir -au duc qui tu es, et que ton épaisse personne n’est qu’un magasin de -proverbes et un sac plein de malice. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, si Votre Grâce ne me croit pas capable de -remplir le devoir d’un bon gouverneur, eh bien, n’en parlons plus, je -renonce au gouvernement; la plus petite portion de mon âme m’est plus -chère que mon corps tout entier; je vivrai aussi bien Sancho avec un -morceau de pain et un oignon, que Sancho gouverneur avec des chapons et -des perdrix. D’ailleurs, si Votre Seigneurie veut bien se le rappeler, -c’est elle qui m’a mis le gouvernement en tête, car moi, je ne sais ce -que c’est qu’île et gouvernement. Après tout, enfin, si vous croyez que -le diable doive emporter le gouverneur, j’aime mieux aller simple Sancho -en paradis que gouverneur en enfer. - -En vérité, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, les dernières paroles que tu viens -de prononcer méritent à elles seules le gouvernement de cent îles: tu as -un bon naturel, sans quoi il n’y a science qui vaille. Va, -recommande-toi à Dieu; et surtout cherche le bien en toutes choses; le -ciel ne manque jamais de favoriser les bonnes intentions. - -Maintenant allons dîner: Leurs Seigneuries, je crois, nous attendent. - -CHAPITRE XLIV - -COMMENT SANCHO ALLA PRENDRE POSSESSION DU GOUVERNEMENT DE L’ILE, ET DE -L’ÉTRANGE AVENTURE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE DANS LE CHATEAU - -Dans l’original de cette histoire, on trouve au présent chapitre un -exorde dont voici le sens: Cid Hamet se plaint à lui-même et regrette -d’avoir entrepris une tâche aussi aride et aussi uniforme que celle-ci, -forcé qu’il est de parler toujours de don Quichotte et de Sancho. Il dit -qu’avoir l’esprit et la plume sans cesse occupés d’un seul personnage, -ne parler que par la bouche de peu de gens, c’est un travail par trop -ingrat. Pour éviter cet inconvénient, j’avais, ajoute-t-il, usé d’un -artifice dans la première partie, en y intercalant quelques nouvelles, -comme celles du _Curieux malavisé_ et du _Captif_, qui sont en dehors de -l’histoire; mais ayant fait réflexion que les lecteurs, absorbés par le -récit des prouesses de don Quichotte, n’accorderaient aucune attention -aux _nouvelles_ et les parcourraient à la hâte, je me suis abstenu d’en -insérer dans cette seconde partie, me bornant à quelques épisodes semés -çà et là, et encore d’une manière fort restreinte et en aussi peu de -mots qu’en exige l’exposition. Son exorde terminé, il continue son -récit: - -Au sortir de table, don Quichotte coucha par écrit les conseils que dans -la journée il avait donnés à Sancho, et les lui remit en disant qu’il -n’avait qu’à se les faire lire quand il lui plairait; mais le papier fut -aussitôt perdu que donné, et un valet, dans les mains duquel il tomba, -s’empressa de le porter au duc et à la duchesse, qui admirèrent de -nouveau la folie et le grand sens de notre héros. Pour continuer une -plaisanterie dont ils s’amusaient tous deux de plus en plus, dès le même -soir ils envoyèrent Sancho avec un grand cortége au bourg qui devait -passer pour son île. Ils le firent accompagner d’un majordome, homme -plein d’esprit et d’enjouement (il n’y a pas d’enjouement sans esprit), -lequel avait fait le personnage de la comtesse Trifaldi, et inventé la -mystification que nous avons rapportée. Grâce à ses talents et aux -instructions qu’il avait reçues, il ne réussit pas moins agréablement -dans celle qui va suivre. - -Or, il arriva que Sancho, ayant regardé avec attention ce majordome, -reconnut la figure de la Trifaldi: Seigneur, dit-il en se tournant vers -son maître, le diable m’emporte si le majordome de monseigneur ne -ressemble pas comme deux gouttes d’eau à la duègne Doloride. - -Don Quichotte, après avoir bien considéré cet homme, répondit: Il -existe, j’en conviens, de la ressemblance entre le visage de la Doloride -et celui du majordome; mais il ne s’ensuit pas que le majordome soit la -Doloride. Au reste, ce n’est pas le moment de faire de pareilles -investigations, elles nous jetteraient dans un labyrinthe inextricable; -crois-moi, mon ami, nous n’avons tous deux qu’un besoin, c’est de prier -instamment Notre-Seigneur qu’il nous délivre des maudits sorciers et des -méchants enchanteurs. - -Ce n’est pas une plaisanterie, seigneur, répliqua Sancho; je viens à -l’instant même d’entendre parler le majordome, et, sur ma foi, il me -semblait que la voix de la Doloride me cornait aux oreilles. Pour -l’heure, je n’en dis pas davantage, mais je me tiendrai sur mes gardes, -et nous verrons si je ne découvrirai rien qui nous éclaircisse mieux sur -ce point. - -Tu feras bien, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, de me donner avis de ce que tu -auras pu découvrir, comme aussi de tout ce qui t’arrivera dans ton -gouvernement. - -Enfin l’heure du départ étant venue, Sancho sortit accompagné d’une -suite nombreuse. Il était vêtu en magistrat, avec un long manteau de -camelot fauve, une toque de même couleur, et montait un mulet avec selle -à la genette; son âne, magnifiquement caparaçonné et couvert d’une -housse de cheval d’une étoffe incarnate, marchait derrière lui. De temps -en temps, Sancho tournait la tête pour considérer son grison, ravi de -l’état où il le voyait, non moins que de celui où il était lui-même, et -il n’aurait pas changé sa fortune contre celle d’un empereur -d’Allemagne. J’oubliais de dire qu’en prenant congé du duc et de la -duchesse, il leur baisa les mains, puis alla demander la bénédiction de -son maître. Don Quichotte la lui donna les larmes aux yeux, ce dont -Sancho éprouva un attendrissement qui se traduisit en une fort laide -grimace. - -Maintenant, ami lecteur, laissons aller en paix notre gouverneur; prends -patience et sois assuré de la pinte de bon sang que tu vas faire quand -tu verras comment il se comporte dans son nouvel emploi. A présent -occupons-nous de don Quichotte. - -A peine Sancho fut-il en chemin, que notre chevalier éprouva un tel -regret de son départ et de l’isolement où il se trouvait réduit, que -s’il eût pu révoquer la mission de son écuyer, il l’eût rappelé sur -l’heure sans s’inquiéter s’il le privait d’un gouvernement, juste -récompense de ses services. La duchesse, qui s’aperçut de sa mélancolie, -lui en demanda le sujet, ajoutant que si l’absence de Sancho en était la -cause, il y avait dans sa maison cent duègnes ou demoiselles qui -mettraient le plus grand empressement à le servir. - -Madame, répondit don Quichotte, j’avoue que Sancho me fait faute, mais -ce n’est pas là la principale cause de ma tristesse. Quant aux offres -que Votre Excellence a la bonté de me faire, j’accepte seulement la -courtoisie qui les dicte, et je supplie très-humblement Votre Grandeur -de vouloir bien permettre que je n’aie d’autre serviteur que moi-même. - -Oh! par ma foi, il n’en sera pas ainsi, seigneur don Quichotte, dit la -duchesse, et je veux vous faire servir par quatre de mes filles, qui -sont toutes fraîches comme des roses. - -Elles ne seraient pas pour moi des roses, mais des épines, reprit notre -héros; aussi, Madame, suis-je bien résolu, sauf le respect que je dois à -Votre Grâce, à ne point les laisser pénétrer dans ma chambre. -Laissez-moi, je vous prie, me servir seul, à huis clos; il m’importe de -mettre une muraille entre mes désirs et ma chasteté; je dormirais plutôt -tout habillé, que de me laisser déshabiller par personne. - -Eh bien, seigneur don Quichotte, répliqua la duchesse, puisque vous -l’exigez, non-seulement aucune de mes filles, mais pas même une mouche -n’entrera dans votre appartement. Je sais que parmi les nombreuses -vertus de Votre Seigneurie, celle qui tient le premier rang, c’est la -chasteté, et je ne suis pas femme à permettre qu’on y porte la moindre -atteinte: que Votre Grâce s’habille et se déshabille comme il lui -plaira; seulement on aura soin de mettre dans votre appartement les -meubles nécessaires à qui dort porte close, afin de vous épargner la -peine de les demander. Vive à jamais la grande Dulcinée du Toboso! que -son nom soit célébré par toute la terre, puisqu’elle a mérité d’avoir -pour serviteur un chevalier si chaste et si vaillant! Veuille le ciel -mettre au cœur de notre gouverneur Sancho Panza la résolution -d’accomplir sans retard l’heureuse pénitence qui doit faire jouir -l’univers des attraits d’une si grande dame. - -Votre Grandeur, répondit notre héros, imprime le dernier sceau au mérite -de ma Dulcinée; c’est votre bouche qui relève l’éclat de sa beauté et la -met dans tout son lustre. Après l’éloge que vous venez d’en faire, le -nom de Dulcinée sera encore plus glorieux et plus révéré dans le monde, -que si les orateurs les plus éloquents avaient pris soin de célébrer ses -louanges. - -Trève de compliments, seigneur don Quichotte, repartit la duchesse; -voici l’heure du souper et le duc doit nous attendre. Votre Grâce -veut-elle bien m’accompagner? Au sortir de table nous vous laisserons -jouir du repos dont vous avez sans doute grand besoin, car le voyage de -Candaya a dû vous causer quelque fatigue. - -Je n’en sens aucune, répondit le chevalier, et j’oserais jurer à Votre -Excellence, que de ma vie je n’ai rencontré monture plus agréable que -Chevillard; aussi ne puis-je comprendre comment Malambrun a pu se -défaire d’un cheval d’une si douce allure et le brûler sans plus de -façon. - -Je pense, répondit la duchesse, que le repentir du mal qu’il avait fait -à la Trifaldi et à ses compagnes, ainsi qu’à bien d’autres, l’a porté à -détruire tous les éléments de ses maléfices, surtout Chevillard, qui en -était le principal, et qui le tenait dans une extrême agitation, en le -faisant courir sans cesse de pays en pays: sans nul doute, il aura pensé -que cette machine ne devait plus servir à personne, après avoir porté le -grand don Quichotte de la Manche. - -Notre chevalier fit de nouveaux remercîments à la duchesse, et dès qu’il -eut soupé, il se retira dans sa chambre, sans vouloir souffrir que -personne y pénétrât, tant il craignait de porter atteinte à la fidélité -promise à Dulcinée. Il ferma donc la porte sur lui, et à la lueur de -deux bougies, il commença à se déshabiller. Mais en se déchaussant, ô -disgrâce indigne d’un tel personnage! il fit partir, non des soupirs, ni -rien autre chose qui fût contraire à ses habitudes de propreté et -d’extrême courtoisie, mais environ deux douzaines de mailles à un de ses -bas, lequel demeura percé à claire-voie comme une jalousie. Le bon -seigneur en fut contristé jusqu’au fond de l’âme, et il aurait -volontiers donné une once d’argent pour quelques fils de soie verte, je -dis de soie verte car ses bas étaient de cette couleur. - -En cet endroit, Ben-Engeli interrompt son récit pour s’écrier: O -pauvreté! pauvreté! je ne sais quel motif a pu pousser le grand poëte de -Cordoue[113] à t’appeler _saint présent dont on ne connaît pas le prix_. -Pour moi, quoique More, je sais, par mes rapports avec les chrétiens, -que la sainteté consiste dans la charité, l’humilité, la foi, -l’obéissance et la pauvreté. Malgré tout, celui-là doit être élu de -Dieu, qui se félicite d’être pauvre, à moins que ce ne soit de cette -pauvreté dont saint Paul a dit: _Possédez toutes choses, comme si vous -ne les possédiez pas_. Par là, il entendait l’absolu détachement des -biens de ce monde. Mais toi, seconde pauvreté, qui es celle dont je -parle ici, pourquoi t’attaquer de préférence aux hidalgos? pourquoi les -forces-tu à rapiécer leurs chausses, et à porter à leurs pourpoints des -boutons, les uns de soie, les autres de crin ou de verre? Pourquoi es-tu -cause que leurs collets, presque toujours sales et chiffonnés, sont -ouverts autrement qu’au moule (ce qui prouve combien est ancien l’usage -de l’amidon et des collets ouverts)? Malheureux, continue Ben-Engeli, -malheureux l’hidalgo qui met son honneur au régime, fait maigre chère à -huis clos, puis sort de chez lui armé d’un cure-dent hypocrite, sans -avoir rien mangé qui l’oblige à se nettoyer la bouche. Oui, malheureux -celui dont l’honneur ombrageux s’imagine qu’on aperçoit d’une lieue le -rapiéçage de son soulier, la crasse de son chapeau, la corde du drap de -son manteau et le vide de son estomac. - - [113] Juan de Mena, natif de Cordoue, auteur du _Labyrinthe_, ouvrage - dans lequel il avait entrepris de réunir toute la science humaine. - -Toutes ces réflexions vinrent à l’esprit de don Quichotte, à propos de -la rupture de ses mailles; mais il se consola en voyant que Sancho lui -avait laissé des bottes de voyage qu’il résolut de mettre le lendemain. -Finalement il se coucha pensif et chagrin. Puis ayant éteint la lumière, -il voulut s’endormir, mais il n’en put venir à bout: l’absence de Sancho -et l’extrême chaleur l’en empêchaient. Il se leva donc et se promena -quelque temps dans sa chambre; ne trouvant pas encore assez de -fraîcheur, il ouvrit une fenêtre grillée qui donnait sur un jardin. Tout -aussitôt il entendit des voix de femmes, dont l’une disait à l’autre, en -poussant un grand soupir: N’exige pas que je chante, ô Émerancie! Tu le -sais, depuis que cet étranger est entré dans ce château, depuis que mes -regards se sont attachés sur lui, j’ai moins envie de chanter que de -verser des larmes. D’ailleurs, madame a le sommeil léger, et, pour tous -les trésors du monde, je ne voudrais pas qu’elle nous surprît; mais -quand elle dormirait, à quoi servirait mon chant, si ce nouvel Énée, -auteur de ma souffrance, dort d’un paisible sommeil, et ignore le sujet -de mes plaintes? - -Bannis cette inquiétude, chère Altisidore, répondit une autre voix: tout -dort dans le château, excepté l’objet de tes désirs, car si je ne me -trompe, je viens d’entendre ouvrir sa fenêtre. Ne crains donc point de -chanter, pauvre blessée, chante à voix basse, et si la duchesse nous -entend, la chaleur qu’il fait nous servira d’excuse. - -Ce n’est pas là ce qui me retient, repartit Altisidore: je ne voudrais -pas que mon chant découvrit l’état de mon âme, et que ceux qui ignorent -la puissance irrésistible de l’amour me prissent pour une créature -volage et sans pudeur. Mais advienne que pourra, mieux vaut honte sur le -visage que souffrance au cœur. Et prenant son luth, elle se mit à -préluder. - -En entendant ces paroles et cette musique, notre héros éprouva un -ravissement inexprimable, car se rappelant aussitôt ce qu’il avait lu -dans ses livres, il s’imagina que c’était quelque femme de la duchesse -éprise d’amour pour lui, que la pudeur forçait à cacher sa passion. -Après s’être recommandé avec dévotion à sa Dulcinée, et avoir fait en -son cœur un ferme propos de ne pas se laisser vaincre, il se décida à -écouter; bien plus, afin d’indiquer qu’il était là, il feignit -d’éternuer, ce qui réjouit fort les deux donzelles, qui n’avaient qu’un -désir, celui d’être entendues de don Quichotte. - -Altisidore ayant accordé son luth, chanta cette romance: - - Toi qui du soir jusqu’au matin, - Dans ton lit à jambe étendue, - Dors, quand pleine de chagrin - Je fais ici le pied de grue! - - Écoute le chant ennuyeux - D’une triste et dolente dame - A qui le feu de tes beaux yeux - A consumé le corps et l’âme. - - Sais-tu que par monts et par vaux - Courant après les aventures, - Tu viens nous causer tous les maux - Sans jamais guérir nos blessures? - - Dis-moi, courage de lion, - Quel monstre t’a donné la vie? - Es-tu né sous le Scorpion - Ou dans les sables de Libye? - - Un serpent t’a-t-il enfanté? - Quelque dragon fut-il ton père? - Une ourse t’a-t-elle allaité, - Ou le sein de quelque panthère? - - Dulcinée, comment donc fis-tu - Pour vaincre ce tigre sauvage? - Si j’avais pareille vertu, - Je n’en voudrais pas davantage. - - Mon cœur, tu fais bien du chemin! - Arrête un désir téméraire: - Crois-tu que ce héros divin - Ait été formé pour te plaire? - - Si tu voulais, mon Adonis, - Avoir pitié de ta captive, - J’ai mille choses de grand prix, - Que je t’offrirais morte ou vive. - - Je suis aussi droite qu’un jonc. - Et plus vermeille que l’Aurore; - Mes cheveux, d’une aune de long, - Sont d’argent, et plus beaux encore. - - Mes yeux ressemblent au corail, - Aussi bien qu’à l’azur ma bouche, - Et mes dents sont d’un pur émail - Où l’on a mis d’ambre une couche. - - Le ciel m’a fait mille autres dons, - Que je tais; mais à ma requête - Prête l’oreille, et je réponds - Qu’Altisidore est ta conquête[114]. - - [114] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Ici s’arrêta le chant de l’amoureuse Altisidore et commença l’effroi du -trop courtisé chevalier, qui, poussant un grand soupir, se dit à -lui-même: Faut-il que je sois si malheureux qu’il n’y ait pas un cœur -de femme que je n’embrase à la première vue? Qu’as-tu donc fait au ciel, -sans pareille Dulcinée, pour te voir sans cesse troublée dans la -possession de ma constance et de ma foi? Que lui voulez-vous, reines? -qu’avez-vous à lui reprocher, impératrices? et vous, jeunes filles, -pourquoi la poursuivre ainsi? Laissez-la, laissez-la s’enorgueillir et -triompher du destin que lui a fait l’amour, en soumettant mon âme à ses -lois. Songez-y bien, troupe amoureuse, je suis de cire molle pour la -seule Dulcinée, de marbre et de bronze pour toutes les autres. Dulcinée -est la seule belle, la seule chaste, la seule discrète, la seule noble, -la seule digne d’être aimée; chez les autres, je ne vois que laideur, -sottise, dévergondage et basse origine. C’est pour elle seule que le -ciel m’a fait naître. Qu’Altisidore chante ou pleure, qu’elle nourrisse -de vains désirs ou meure de désespoir, c’est à Dulcinée que je dois -appartenir, en dépit de tous les enchantements du monde. - -Là-dessus, don Quichotte ferma brusquement sa fenêtre et alla se jeter -sur son lit. Nous l’y laisserons reposer, car ailleurs nous appelle le -grand Sancho, qui va débuter dans le gouvernement de son île. - -CHAPITRE XLV - -COMMENT LE GRAND SANCHO PRIT POSSESSION DE SON ILE ET DE LA MANIÈRE DONT -IL GOUVERNA - -O toi qui parcours incessamment l’un et l’autre hémisphère, flambeau du -beau monde, œil du ciel, aimable auteur du balancement des cruches à -rafraîchir[115]; Phœbus par ici, Tymbrius par là, archer d’un côté, -médecin de l’autre, père de la poésie, inventeur de la musique; toi qui -tous les jours te lèves et ne te couches jamais, c’est à toi que je -m’adresse, ô Soleil! avec l’aide de qui l’homme engendre l’homme, afin -que tu illumines l’obscurité de mon esprit, et que tu me donnes la force -de raconter de point en point le gouvernement du grand Sancho Panza; car -sans toi je me sens troublé, faible, abattu. - - [115] En Espagne, pour rafraîchir l’eau pendant l’été, on place dans - un courant d’air des cruches nommées _alcarazas_. - -Or donc, notre gouverneur, avec tout son cortége, arriva bientôt dans un -bourg d’environ mille habitants, qui était un des meilleurs de la -dépendance du duc. On lui dit que c’était l’île Barataria, soit que le -bourg s’appelât Baratorio, soit pour exprimer combien peu lui en coûtait -le gouvernement, _barato_, signifiant bon marché. Sitôt qu’il fut arrivé -aux portes du bourg, qui était entouré de bonnes murailles, les notables -sortirent à sa rencontre, on sonna les cloches, et au milieu de -l’allégresse générale on le conduisit en grande pompe à la cathédrale; -puis, après avoir rendu grâces à Dieu, on lui présenta les clefs, et on -l’installa comme gouverneur perpétuel de l’île Barataria. Le costume, la -barbe, la taille épaisse et raccourcie du nouveau gouverneur surprirent -tout le monde, ceux qui n’étaient pas dans la confidence, comme ceux -qui avaient le mot de l’énigme. Bref, au sortir de l’église, on le mena -dans la salle d’audience, et quand il se fut assis comme juge souverain, -le majordome du duc lui dit: Seigneur gouverneur, c’est une ancienne -coutume dans cette île que celui qui vient en prendre possession soit -tenu, pour mettre en lumière la solidité de son jugement, de résoudre -une question difficile, afin que, par sa réponse, le peuple sache s’il a -lieu de se réjouir ou de s’attrister de sa venue. - -Pendant que le majordome parlait, Sancho regardait avec attention -plusieurs grandes lettres tracées sur le mur; mais comme il ne savait -pas lire, il demanda ce que signifiaient ces peintures. - -On lui répondit: Seigneur, elles marquent le jour où vous êtes entré en -fonction, et voici en quels termes: Aujourd’hui, tel jour et tel an, le -seigneur don Sancho Panza a pris possession de cette île; puisse-t-il en -jouir longues années! - -Et qui appelle-t-on don Sancho Panza? demanda le gouverneur. - -Votre Seigneurie, répondit le majordome; jamais aucun Panza n’a occupé -la place où vous êtes. - -Eh bien, sachez, mon ami, reprit Sancho, que je ne porte point le don; -que jamais personne de ma famille ne l’a porté; je m’appelle Sancho -Panza tout court; Panza s’appelait mon aïeul, et tous mes aïeux se sont -appelés Panza sans don ni seigneurie. Au reste, Dieu m’entend; et si ce -gouvernement dure seulement quatre jours, je prétends dissiper tous ces -DON comme autant de moustiques importuns. Maintenant, qu’on me fasse -telle question qu’on voudra, et je répondrai du mieux que je pourrai, -sans m’inquiéter que le peuple s’afflige ou qu’il se réjouisse de ma -venue. - -Au même instant, on vit entrer dans la salle deux hommes, l’un vêtu en -paysan, et l’autre qu’aux ciseaux qu’il tenait à la main on reconnut -pour un tailleur: Seigneur gouverneur, dit le dernier, ce paysan et moi -nous sommes devant Votre Grâce pour le fait que voici: cet homme est -venu il y a peu de jours à ma boutique (car, sauf votre respect et celui -de la compagnie, je suis maître tailleur juré), et, me mettant un coupon -de drap entre les mains, il me dit: Seigneur, y a-t-il là assez d’étoffe -pour faire un chaperon? Je mesurai l’étoffe, et lui répondis qu’elle -suffisait amplement. Fondé sur sa propre malice, et sur la mauvaise -opinion qu’en général on a des tailleurs, il s’imagina sans doute que -j’avais envie de lui voler une partie de son drap, et il me dit de bien -regarder s’il n’y avait pas de quoi faire deux chaperons. Je devinai sa -pensée, et je lui répondis que oui; mais lui, toujours poursuivant sa -méchante intention, me demanda si l’on ne pourrait pas en faire -davantage; je répondis affirmativement, et il fut convenu entre nous que -je lui en livrerais cinq; maintenant que la besogne est achevée, il me -refuse mon salaire et veut me faire payer son drap, ou que je le lui -rende. - -Tout cela est-il vrai? demanda Sancho au paysan. - -Oui, seigneur, répondit celui-ci; mais ordonnez, je vous prie, qu’il -montre les chaperons qu’il m’a faits. - -Les voici, repartit le tailleur, qui, tirant la main de dessous son -manteau, montra au bout de ses cinq doigts cinq petits chaperons, en -disant: Voici les chaperons que cet homme m’a demandés, et sur mon Dieu -et ma conscience, si je n’y ai employé toute l’étoffe, je m’en rapporte -à l’examen des experts! - -Tout le monde se mit à rire en voyant ce nombre de chaperons. Quant à -Sancho, il resta quelque temps à rêver: Ce procès-là, dit-il, ne me -semble pas demander un long examen, voici donc ma sentence: Le paysan -perdra son drap, et le tailleur sa façon; que les chaperons soient -livrés aux prisonniers, et qu’il ne soit plus question de cette affaire. - -On fit ce que venait d’ordonner le gouverneur, devant lequel parurent -ensuite deux vieillards, dont l’un avait pour bâton une tige de roseau; -celui qui était sans bâton dit à Sancho: Seigneur, il y a quelque temps -je prêtai à cet homme dix écus d’or pour lui faire plaisir et lui rendre -service, à condition qu’il me les remettrait dès que je lui en ferais la -demande. Depuis lors bien des jours se sont passés sans que je lui aie -rien réclamé, mais quand j’ai vu qu’il ne songeait point à s’acquitter, -je lui ai redemandé plusieurs fois mon argent; et maintenant -non-seulement il ne veut pas me payer, mais il nie la dette, disant que -je ne lui ai rien prêté, ou que si je lui ai fait un prêt, il me l’a -rendu. Comme je n’ai point de témoins de mon côté, ni lui du sien, je -prie Votre Grâce de lui déférer le serment; alors s’il jure qu’il m’a -rendu mon argent, je le tiens quitte. - -Qu’avez-vous à répondre à cela, bonhomme? dit Sancho. - -Seigneur, répondit le vieillard au bâton, je confesse qu’il m’a prêté -dix écus; et puisqu’il s’en rapporte à mon serment, je suis prêt à -jurer que je les lui ai bien et loyalement restitués. - -Le gouverneur lui ordonna de lever la main; alors le vieillard passant -son bâton à son adversaire, comme s’il en eût été embarrassé, étendit la -main sur la croix, suivant la coutume d’Espagne, et dit: J’avoue avoir -reçu des mains de cet homme les dix écus d’or, mais je jure que je les -lui ai remis, et c’est faute d’y avoir pris garde qu’il me les réclame -une seconde fois. - -Là-dessus, le créancier répliqua que puisque son débiteur jurait, il -fallait qu’il dît la vérité, le sachant homme de bien et bon chrétien, -et que dorénavant il ne lui réclamerait plus rien. Le débiteur -s’inclina, reprit son bâton, et sortit de l’audience. - -Sancho, considérant la résignation du demandeur, tandis que l’autre s’en -allait sans plus de façon, pencha la tête sur sa poitrine, puis tout -d’un coup, se mordant le bout du doigt, il fit rappeler le vieillard qui -déjà avait disparu. Au bout de quelque temps on le ramena. - -Donnez-moi votre bâton, brave homme, lui dit Sancho. - -Le voilà, seigneur, répondit le vieillard. - -Sancho le prit, et le tendant à l’autre vieillard: Allez avec Dieu, lui -dit-il, vous êtes payé maintenant. - -Qui! moi! seigneur, répondit celui-ci; est-ce que ce roseau vaut dix -écus d’or? - -Oui, oui, répliqua le gouverneur, il les vaut, ou je suis le plus grand -sot du monde, et on verra tout à l’heure si je m’entends en fait de -gouvernement. Qu’on rompe le bâton, ajouta-t-il. - -Le bâton fut rompu, et dans l’intérieur on trouva dix écus d’or. Tous -les assistants demeurèrent émerveillés et il n’y en eut pas un seul qui -ne regardât le seigneur gouverneur comme un nouveau Salomon. On lui -demanda d’où il avait conjecturé que les écus d’or étaient dans le -bâton: C’est, répondit-il, parce que j’ai vu que celui qui le portait -l’avait mis sans nécessité entre les mains de sa partie adverse, pendant -qu’il jurait, et qu’il l’avait repris aussitôt après, ce qui m’a donné à -penser qu’il n’aurait pas juré si affirmativement sans être sûr de son -fait. De là, ajouta-t-il, on peut tirer cette conclusion: que ceux qui -sont appelés à gouverner encore qu’ils soient simples, Dieu quelquefois -leur fait la grâce de les diriger dans leurs jugements. - -Finalement les vieillards se retirèrent, l’un remboursé, l’autre confus, -et les spectateurs restèrent dans l’admiration. Celui qui avait charge -d’enregistrer les faits et gestes de Sancho ne savait plus, après cela, -s’il devait le tenir pour fou ou pour sage. - -Cette affaire terminée, une femme entra dans l’audience, traînant à deux -mains un homme vêtu en riche éleveur de bétail. Justice! s’écriait-elle, -justice, seigneur gouverneur; si on ne me la fait sur la terre, j’irai -la chercher dans le ciel. Ce manant m’a surprise seule au milieu des -champs, et s’est servi de mon corps comme d’une guenille; ah! -malheureuse que je suis! il m’a dérobé ce que j’avais défendu pendant -vingt-cinq ans contre Mores et chrétiens, nationaux et étrangers. -C’était bien la peine de me conserver jusqu’à ce jour intacte comme la -salamandre dans le feu, pour que ce malotru vînt mettre sur moi ses -sales mains. - -Reste à vérifier, dit Sancho, si ce galant a les mains sales ou non; -puis se tournant vers le paysan, il lui demanda ce qu’il avait à -répondre à la plainte de cette femme. - -Seigneur, répondit l’homme tout ému, je suis un pauvre berger, éleveur -de bêtes à soies. Ce matin comme je sortais de ce bourg où j’étais venu, -sauf votre respect, vendre quatre cochons, que j’ai même donnés à bon -marché, afin de pouvoir payer la taille, j’ai rencontré cette duègne sur -mon chemin. Le diable, qui se fourre partout, nous a fait folâtrer -ensemble; je n’ai point fait le difficile, ni elle la renchérie; mais -du reste, seigneur, je lui ai bien payé ce qui lui était dû. Cependant -cette enragée m’a traîné jusqu’ici, prétendant que je lui ai fait -violence; mais elle ment par le serment que j’en fais et que je suis -prêt à faire. Voilà toute la vérité, sans qu’il y manque un fil. - -Avez-vous de l’argent sur vous, mon ami? demanda le gouverneur. - -Seigneur, j’ai environ vingt ducats dans le fond d’une bourse en cuir, -répondit le paysan. - -Donnez telle qu’elle est votre bourse à la plaignante, répliqua le -gouverneur. - -Le pauvre diable obéit tout tremblant, la femme prit la bourse, après -s’être bien assurée toutefois que c’était de la monnaie d’argent qu’elle -contenait; et priant Dieu pour la vie et la santé du seigneur -gouverneur, qui prenait ainsi la défense des pauvres orphelines, elle -sortit toute joyeuse de l’audience. - -Elle était à peine dehors que Sancho dit au berger, dont le cœur et les -yeux s’en allaient après la bourse: Mon ami, courez après cette femme, -reprenez-lui votre bourse de gré ou de force, et revenez tous deux ici. - -Notre homme n’était ni sot ni sourd; il partit comme un éclair pour -exécuter les ordres du gouverneur, et pendant que les spectateurs -étaient en suspens, attendant la fin de l’affaire, le berger et la femme -revinrent cramponnés l’un à l’autre, elle sa jupe retroussée tenant la -bourse entre ses jambes, lui faisant tous ses efforts pour la reprendre; -mais il n’y avait pas moyen, tant cette femme la défendait bien. -Justice, criait-elle de toute sa force, justice! Voyez, seigneur, voyez -l’effronterie de ce vaurien, qui, au milieu de la rue et devant tout le -monde, veut me reprendre la bourse que Votre Grâce m’a fait donner. - -Et vous l’a-t-il ôtée? demanda Sancho. - -Otée! répliqua-t-elle, oh! il m’arracherait plutôt la vie; je ne suis -pas si sotte, il faudrait me jeter d’autres chats à la gorge, que ce -nigaud répugnant. Ni marteau, ni tenaille, ni ciseau, ni maillet, ne me -feraient lâcher prise; on m’arracherait plutôt l’âme du milieu des -chairs. - -Je confesse que je suis rendu, dit le paysan, et qu’elle est plus forte -que moi; et il la laissa aller. - -Donnez cette bourse, chaste et vaillante héroïne, dit le gouverneur. La -femme la donna aussitôt, et Sancho l’ayant prise la rendit au laboureur, -en disant à la plaignante: Ma sœur, si vous vous étiez défendue ce -matin avec autant de force et de courage que vous venez de défendre -cette bourse, dix hommes réunis n’auraient jamais été capables de vous -violenter. Allons, tirez au large, dévergondée, enjôleuse, et de vos -jours n’approchez de cette île ni de six lieues à la ronde, sous peine -de deux cents coups de fouet. - -La femme s’en fut tête baissée et maugréant. Mon ami, dit le gouverneur -au paysan, allez-vous-en avec votre argent; et si vous ne voulez le -perdre, abstenez-vous à l’avenir de folâtrer avec personne. - -Le bonhomme remercia comme il put et sortit, laissant chacun stupéfait -de la sagesse du nouveau gouverneur. Tous ces détails, recueillis par -son historiographe, furent aussitôt envoyés au duc, qui les attendait -avec impatience. - -Mais laissons ici le bon Sancho, et retournons à son maître, encore tout -agité des plaintes d’Altisidore. - -CHAPITRE XLVI - -DE L’ÉPOUVANTABLE CHARIVARI QUE REÇUT DON QUICHOTTE PENDANT QU’IL RÊVAIT -A L’AMOUR D’ALTISIDORE - -Nous avons laissé le grand don Quichotte livré aux préoccupations -qu’avait fait naître dans son âme la sérénade de l’amoureuse Altisidore; -ces préoccupations le suivirent au lit comme autant de puces, et la -déconfiture de ses bas se joignant aux pensées tumultueuses qui -l’agitaient, il lui fut impossible de prendre un seul instant de repos. -Mais le temps est léger, rien ne l’arrête dans sa course, et comme il -court à cheval sur les heures, bientôt arriva celle du matin. A la -pointe du jour, notre vigilant chevalier sauta à bas du lit, revêtit son -pourpoint de chamois et chaussa ses bottes de voyage; il jeta sur son -épaule son manteau d’écarlate, mit sur sa tête une toque de velours -vert, garnie de passements d’argent, sans oublier sa bonne épée et son -large baudrier de buffle, puis tenant à la main son rosaire, qu’il -portait toujours avec lui, il s’avança gravement vers la salle, où le -duc et la duchesse, déjà levés, semblaient s’être rendus pour -l’attendre. - -Dans une galerie qu’il devait traverser, Altisidore et sa compagne -s’étaient postées pour le saisir au passage. Dès qu’Altisidore aperçut -le chevalier, elle feignit de s’évanouir, et se laissa tomber entre les -bras de son amie, qui la délaça promptement pour lui donner de l’air. - -Don Quichotte s’approcha, et sans beaucoup s’émouvoir: Nous savons, -dit-il, d’où procèdent de semblables accidents. - -Et moi je n’en sais rien, repartit l’amie; car Altisidore est la fille -du monde qui se portait le mieux il y a quelques jours, et depuis que je -la connais, je ne l’ai jamais entendue se plaindre de quoi que ce soit: -que maudits soient jusqu’au dernier les chevaliers errants, si tous sont -ingrats! Retirez-vous, seigneur don Quichotte; car tant que vous -resterez-là, cette pauvre fille ne reprendra point ses sens. - -Mademoiselle, faites, je vous prie, porter un luth dans ma chambre, dit -don Quichotte; je tâcherai, cette nuit, de consoler la pauvre blessée. -Quand l’amour commence à se manifester, le meilleur remède est un prompt -désabusement. Là-dessus il s’éloigna. - -A peine avait-il tourné les talons, que se relevant, Altisidore dit à sa -compagne: Il ne faut pas manquer de procurer à don Quichotte le luth -qu’il demande: sans doute il veut nous faire de la musique, et Dieu sait -si elle sera bonne. - -Elles allèrent conter à la duchesse ce qui venait d’arriver, laquelle, -ravie de l’occasion, concerta sur-le-champ avec le duc une nouvelle -mystification. En attendant, ils s’entretinrent avec leur hôte, dont la -conversation les divertissait de plus en plus. - -Dans la journée, la duchesse expédia à Thérèse Panza un page porteur de -la lettre de son mari et du paquet de hardes auquel Sancho avait donné -la même destination. Ce page devait, au retour, rendre un compte exact -de son message. - -La nuit venue, don Quichotte se retira dans la chambre et y trouva un -luth; après l’avoir accordé, il ouvrit la fenêtre, et s’apercevant qu’il -y avait du monde au jardin, il chanta d’une voix enrouée mais juste, la -romance qui suit, romance qu’il avait composée le jour même: - - Oh! que l’amour est dangereux - Pour une créature oisive! - Il s’empare toujours d’un esprit paresseux, - Et c’est là qu’il allume une flamme plus vive. - - Mais quand on est dès le matin, - Durant le jour bien occupée, - Il rôde vainement, et se retire enfin, - Trouvant de tous côtés la place sans entrée. - - Jamais les chevaliers errants - N’ont fait cas des filles coquettes, - Et non plus qu’eux les sages courtisans - Ne veulent épouser que des filles discrètes. - - L’amour que le hasard produit - Aussi légèrement s’efface; - Un instant le fait naître, un autre le détruit, - Et le cœur en conserve à peine quelque trace. - - Mais Dulcinée dans mon esprit - Est si profondément gravée, - Et mon cœur à tel point l’estime et la chérit, - Qu’on ne saurait jamais en arracher l’idée[116]. - - [116] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Don Quichotte en était là de son chant, quand tout à coup du balcon -placé au-dessus de sa tête on entendit retentir le bruit de plus de cent -clochettes; un instant après, un grand sac rempli de chats, qui avaient -autant de sonnettes attachées à la queue, fut secoué sur sa fenêtre. Les -miaulements de ces animaux, joints au bruit des sonnettes, produisirent -un si grand tintamarre, que les auteurs du tour en furent stupéfaits, et -que don Quichotte lui-même sentit ses cheveux se dresser sur sa tête. -Trois ou quatre de ces animaux entrèrent dans sa chambre, et comme ils -couraient çà et là tout effarés, on eût dit une légion de diables qui -prenaient leurs ébats. En cherchant à s’échapper, ils éteignirent les -bougies et renversèrent tout ce qui se trouvait sur leur passage. -Pendant ce temps, les sonnettes faisaient un tel carillon, que ceux qui -n’étaient pas dans le secret de la plaisanterie ne savaient plus que -penser. - -Debout près de la fenêtre et l’épée à la main, le chevalier se mit à -porter à droite et à gauche de grandes estocades, en criant: Arrière, -arrière, malins enchanteurs! fuyez, canailles maudites! Je suis don -Quichotte de la Manche, contre qui tous vos enchantements sont inutiles. -Puis attaquant les chats qui couraient de tous côtés, et qu’il -distinguait à l’éclat de leurs yeux, il les poursuivit si vivement, -qu’il les contraignit à se précipiter par la fenêtre. Mais l’un d’entre -eux, serré de trop près, sauta au visage de notre héros et s’y attacha -de telle sorte avec les griffes et les dents, qu’il lui fit jeter des -cris aigus. Le duc devinant ce qui se passait, accourut avec de la -lumière, suivi de ses gens; et lorsqu’ils eurent ouvert la porte de la -chambre, ils virent le pauvre chevalier s’escrimant de toutes ses forces -pour faire lâcher prise au chat, sans pouvoir en venir à bout. Aussitôt -chacun s’empressa de le secourir. - -Mais lui de s’écrier: Que personne ne s’en mêle; qu’on me laisse faire; -je suis ravi de le tenir entre mes mains, ce démon, ce sorcier, cet -enchanteur, et je veux lui apprendre aujourd’hui à connaître don -Quichotte de la Manche. - -De son côté, le chat ne serrait que plus fort, et ne cessait de gronder, -comme pour défendre sa proie; enfin le duc parvint à le saisir et le -jeta par la fenêtre. - -Le pauvre chevalier resta le visage percé comme un crible, et le nez en -fort mauvais état, mais encore plus dépité de ce qu’en arrachant de ses -mains ce malandrin d’enchanteur, on lui avait enlevé le plaisir d’en -triompher. On apporta une espèce d’onguent; et de ses mains blanches, -Altisidore appliqua des emplâtres sur toutes les parties blessées. -Pendant l’opération, elle disait à voix basse: Cette mésaventure, -impitoyable chevalier, est le châtiment de ton indifférence et de ta -cruauté; plaise à Dieu que ton écuyer Sancho néglige de se fustiger, -afin que tu restes à jamais privé des embrassements de ta Dulcinée, au -moins tant que je verrai le jour, moi qui t’adore. - -A ce discours, don Quichotte ne répondit que par un profond soupir, puis -il alla se mettre au lit, non sans avoir adressé à ses nobles hôtes des -excuses pour le dérangement que leur avaient causé ces maudits -enchanteurs, et des remercîments pour l’empressement qu’on lui avait -témoigné en venant à son secours. Le duc et la duchesse le laissèrent -reposer, et se retirèrent assez mécontents du mauvais succès de la -plaisanterie, car notre héros fut obligé de garder la chambre plus d’une -semaine. - -Peu de temps après, il lui arriva une aventure encore plus plaisante, -dont il faut ajourner le récit. Pour le moment, retournons à Sancho, que -nous trouverons assez embarrassé dans son gouvernement, mais plus -étonnant que jamais. - -CHAPITRE XLVII - -SUITE DU GOUVERNEMENT DU GRAND SANCHO PANZA - -Cid Hamet raconte qu’après l’audience Sancho fut conduit à un magnifique -palais, où dans la grande salle était dressée une table élégamment -servie. Dès qu’il parut, les clairons sonnèrent, et quatre pages -s’avancèrent pour lui verser de l’eau sur les mains, cérémonie qu’il -laissa s’accomplir avec la plus parfaite gravité. La musique ayant cessé -Sancho se mit seul à table, car il n’y avait d’autre siége ni d’autre -couvert que le sien. Près de lui, mais debout, vint se placer un -personnage qu’on reconnut bientôt pour un médecin: Il tenait à la main -une petite baguette. Au signal qu’il donna on enleva une fine et blanche -nappe qui couvrait les mets dont la table était chargée; puis un -ecclésiastique ayant donné la bénédiction, un page passa sous le menton -de Sancho une bavette à franges, et un maître d’hôtel lui présenta un -plat de fruits. Le gouverneur y porta aussitôt la main, le médecin -toucha le plat de sa baguette, et on l’enleva avec une merveilleuse -célérité. Le maître d’hôtel approcha un autre plat; mais cette fois -avant même que le gouverneur eût allongé le bras, la baguette fit son -office, et le plat disparut. Sancho, fort étonné de cette cérémonie, et -promenant son regard sur tout le monde, demanda ce que cela signifiait, -et si dans l’île on ne dînait qu’avec les yeux. - -Seigneur, répondit l’homme à la baguette, on mange ici selon la coutume -de toutes les îles où il y a des gouverneurs. Je suis médecin, et gagé -pour être celui des gouverneurs de cette île. Je m’occupe plus de leur -santé que de la mienne, et j’étudie jour et nuit le tempérament du -gouverneur, afin de bien savoir comment je dois le traiter quand il -tombe malade: pour cela j’assiste à tous ses repas, afin qu’il ne mange -pas ce qui peut être nuisible à son estomac. J’ai fait enlever le plat -de fruits, parce que c’est une chose trop humide, et l’autre mets parce -que c’est une substance chaude, épicée et faite pour exciter la soif; -or, celui qui boit beaucoup consume et détruit l’humide radical, -principe de la vie. - -En ce cas, répliqua Sancho, ce plat de perdrix rôties, et qui me -semblent cuites fort à point, ne peut me faire aucun mal? - -Le seigneur gouverneur ne mangera pas de ce plat, tant que j’aurai un -souffle de vie, repartit le médecin. - -Et pourquoi? demanda Sancho. - -Pourquoi? répondit le médecin; parce que notre maître Hippocrate, cette -grande lumière de la médecine, a dit dans ses aphorismes: _Omnis -saturatio mala, perdicis autem pessima_, c’est-à-dire: «toute -indigestion est mauvaise, et celle que cause la perdrix est la pire de -toutes.» - -Puisqu’il en est ainsi, dit Sancho, que le seigneur docteur voie donc de -tous ces mets celui qui m’est bon ou mauvais, et qu’ensuite il me laisse -satisfaire mon appétit, sans jouer de sa baguette, car je meurs de faim, -et n’en déplaise à la médecine, c’est vouloir me faire mourir que -m’empêcher de manger. - -Votre Grâce a raison, répondit le médecin; aussi suis-je d’avis qu’on -enlève ce civet de lapin comme viande trop commune; quant à cette pièce -de veau, si elle n’était ni rôtie ni marinée, on pourrait en goûter, -mais telle qu’elle est il n’y faut pas songer. - -Et ce grand plat qui fume, et qui, si je ne me trompe, est une olla -podrida, dit Sancho, il ne présente sans doute aucun danger, car ces -ollas podridas étant composées de toutes sortes de viandes, il doit s’en -trouver au moins une qui soit bonne pour mon estomac. - -_Absit_, s’écria le médecin, il n’y a rien de pire au monde qu’une _olla -podrida_; il faut laisser cela aux chanoines, aux recteurs de colléges -et aux noces de village; quant aux gouverneurs, on ne doit leur servir -que des viandes délicates et sans assaisonnement. La raison en est -claire: les médecines simples sont toujours préférables aux médecines -composées; dans les premières on ne peut errer; c’est tout le contraire -dans les secondes, à cause de la grande quantité de substances qui y -entrent, et qui en altèrent la qualité. Mais ce que peut manger Son -Excellence pour corroborer et même entretenir sa santé, c’est un cent de -ces fines oublies avec deux ou trois tranches de coing; elles sont -admirables pour la digestion. - -Quand Sancho entendit cet arrêt, il se renversa sur le dossier de sa -chaise, et regardant fixement le médecin, il lui demanda comment il -s’appelait, et où il avait étudié? - -Moi, seigneur, répondit-il, je m’appelle Pedro Rezio de Aguero; je suis -natif d’un village nommé Tirteafuera, situé entre Caraquel et Almodovar -del Campo, en tirant sur la droite, et j’ai pris mes licences dans -l’université d’Ossuna. - -Eh bien, docteur Pedro Rezio de mal Aguero, natif de Tirteafuera, entre -Caraquel et Almodovar, gradué par l’université d’Ossuna, lui dit Sancho -avec des yeux pleins de colère, décampez à l’instant; sinon, je prends -un gourdin, et je jure qu’à coups de trique, en commençant par vous, je -ne laisserai pas un médecin vivant dans l’île entière, au moins de ceux -que je reconnaîtrai pour ignorants; car les médecins savants et -discrets, je les honore et les estime. Mais, je le répète, si Pedro -Rezio ne décampe au plus vite, j’empoigne cette chaise et je l’envoie -exercer son métier dans l’autre monde: s’en plaigne après qui voudra, -j’aurai du moins rendu service à Dieu, en assommant un méchant médecin, -un bourreau de la république. Maintenant, qu’on me donne à manger ou -qu’on me reprenne le gouvernement; car un métier qui ne nourrit pas son -maître, ne vaut pas un maravédis. - -Épouvanté de la colère et des menaces du gouverneur, le médecin voulait -gagner la porte, quand le cornet d’un postillon se fit entendre; et le -maître d’hôtel ayant regardé par la fenêtre: Voici venir, dit-il, un -exprès de monseigneur le duc; c’est sans doute quelque affaire -d’importance. Le courrier entra tout hors d’haleine, et tirant un paquet -de son sein, il le présenta au gouverneur, qui le mit entre les mains du -majordome en lui disant de voir la suscription; elle était ainsi conçue: -_A don Sancho Panza, gouverneur de l’île Barataria, en mains propres ou -en celles de son secrétaire_. - -Qui est ici mon secrétaire? demanda Sancho. - -Moi, seigneur, répondit un jeune homme; car je sais lire et écrire, et -je suis Biscayen[117], pour vous servir. - - [117] A l’époque de Cervantes, les Biscayens étaient depuis longtemps - en possession des places de secrétaire du conseil. - -A ce titre, répliqua Sancho, vous pourriez être secrétaire de l’Empereur -lui-même: ouvrez ce paquet, et voyez ce dont il s’agit. - -Le secrétaire obéit, et après avoir lu, il dit au gouverneur qu’il -s’agissait d’une affaire dont il devait l’informer en secret. Sancho fit -signe que tout le monde se retirât, excepté le majordome et le maître -d’hôtel; l’ordre exécuté, le secrétaire lut tout haut ce qui suit: - - «Seigneur don Sancho Panza, j’ai eu avis que vos ennemis et les miens - ont résolu de vous attaquer une de ces nuits: il faut donc veiller et - vous tenir sur vos gardes pour n’être pas pris au dépourvu. J’ai - encore appris par des espions sûrs, que quatre hommes déguisés sont - entrés dans votre île pour vous ôter la vie, car on redoute - singulièrement la pénétration de votre esprit: ainsi, ouvrez l’œil; - observez avec soin ceux qui vous approchent et surtout ne mangez rien - de ce qui vous sera présenté; j’aurai soin de vous porter secours, si - vous êtes en danger. Adieu, je m’en remets à votre prudence ordinaire. - Ce 16 d’août, sur les quatre heures du matin. - - «Votre ami, LE DUC.» - -Sancho resta frappé de stupeur, ainsi que les assistants. Se tournant -vers le majordome: Ce qu’il faut faire et sans perdre de temps, lui -dit-il, c’est de mettre au fond d’un cachot le docteur Rezio; car si -quelqu’un doit me tuer, c’est lui, et de la mort la plus lente et la -plus horrible, celle de la faim. - -Il me semble pourtant, dit le maître d’hôtel, que Votre Grâce fera bien -de ne rien manger de tout ce qui est là, car ce sont des friandises -faites par des religieuses, et, comme on dit, derrière la croix se tient -le diable. - -Vous avez raison, reprit Sancho; qu’on me donne seulement un morceau de -pain et quelques livres de raisin: personne ne se sera avisé, je pense, -de les empoisonner; car, après tout, je ne puis me passer de manger; et -puisqu’il faut se préparer à combattre, il est bon de se nourrir, car -c’est l’estomac qui soutient le cœur, et non le cœur qui soutient -l’estomac. Vous, secrétaire, faites réponse à monseigneur le duc, et -mandez-lui qu’on exécutera ce qu’il ordonne, sans oublier un seul point. -Vous donnerez de ma part un baisemain à madame la duchesse, et vous -ajouterez que je la prie de se souvenir d’envoyer, par un exprès, ma -lettre et le paquet de hardes à Thérèse Panza, ma femme; dites-lui -qu’elle me fera grand plaisir, et que je m’efforcerai toujours de la -servir de mon mieux. Chemin faisant, vous enchâsserez dans la lettre -quelques baisemains pour monseigneur don Quichotte, afin qu’il voie que -je ne suis pas un ingrat; puis, comme bon secrétaire et bon Biscayen, -vous ajouterez tout ce qu’il vous plaira. Maintenant, reprit-il, qu’on -enlève cette nappe, et qu’on me donne à manger; on verra ensuite si je -crains les espions, les enchanteurs ou les assassins qui viendront -fondre sur nous. - -Comme il achevait de parler, entra un page: Monseigneur, lui dit-il, un -paysan demande à entretenir Votre Seigneurie d’une affaire importante. - -Au diable soit l’importun, s’écria Sancho: ignore-t-il que ce n’est pas -l’heure de venir parler d’affaires? est-ce que, par hasard, les -gouverneurs ne sont pas de chair et d’os comme les autres hommes? Nous -croit-on de bronze ou de marbre? Si ce gouvernement me dure entre les -mains, ce que je ne crois guère, je mettrai à la raison plus d’un -solliciteur. Cependant qu’on fasse entrer cet homme, mais après s’être -assuré d’abord si ce n’est point un des espions dont je suis menacé. - -Non, seigneur, repartit le page: celui-là, si je ne me trompe, est bon -comme le bon pain. - -Ne craignez rien, seigneur, ajouta le majordome, nous ne nous -éloignerons pas. - -N’y a-t-il pas moyen, maître d’hôtel, demanda Sancho, qu’en l’absence du -docteur Rezio, je mange quelque chose, ne fût-ce qu’un quartier de pain -et un oignon? - -Ce soir vous serez satisfait, seigneur, répondit le maître d’hôtel, au -souper on compensera le défaut du dîner. - -Dieu le veuille, repartit Sancho. - -Sur ce entra le paysan: Qui de vous tous est le gouverneur? demanda cet -homme, dont la mine annonçait la simplicité. - -Et quel autre serait-ce, répondit le secrétaire, sinon la personne -assise dans le fauteuil? - -Pardon, dit le paysan; et se jetant à genoux devant Sancho, il lui -demanda sa main à baiser. Sancho s’y refusa, lui enjoignit de se lever, -et d’exposer promptement sa requête. Le paysan obéit. Seigneur, -reprit-il, je suis laboureur, natif de Miguel-Turra, village qui est à -deux lieues de Ciudad-Real. - -Voici un autre Tirteafuera, grommela Sancho. Continuez, bonhomme, je -connais Miguel-Turra, je n’en suis pas fort éloigné. - -Le cas est donc, seigneur, poursuivit le paysan, que par la miséricorde -de Dieu je me suis marié en face de la sainte Église catholique, -apostolique et romaine; j’ai deux fils qui étudient, le cadet pour être -bachelier, et l’aîné pour être licencié; je suis veuf, parce que ma -femme est morte, ou plutôt parce qu’un mauvais médecin l’a tuée en lui -donnant une médecine pendant qu’elle était enceinte, et si Dieu eût -voulu qu’elle eût accouché d’un troisième garçon, j’avais dessein de le -faire étudier pour être docteur, afin qu’il n’eût rien à envier à ses -frères le bachelier et le licencié. - -De façon, interrompit Sancho, que si votre femme ne s’était pas laissée -mourir, ou qu’on ne l’eût point tuée, vous ne seriez point veuf? - -Non, seigneur, répondit le paysan. - -Nous voilà bien avancés, reprit Sancho. Achevez, mon ami, car il est -plutôt l’heure de dormir que de parler d’affaires. - -Je dis donc, continua le laboureur, qu’un de mes enfants, celui qui sera -bachelier, s’est amouraché dans notre village d’une jeune fille qu’on -appelle Claire Perlerina. Le père, André Perlerino, est un riche -cultivateur. Ce nom de Perlerino ne vient d’aucune terre, il leur a été -donné parce qu’ils sont tous culs-de-jatte dans cette famille, et -pourtant, s’il faut dire la vérité, la jeune fille est une vraie perle -d’Orient. Quand on la regarde du côté droit, elle est belle comme un -astre, mais ce n’est pas de même du côté gauche, parce que la petite -vérole lui a fait perdre un œil, et lui a laissé en revanche de grands -trous sur le visage; mais on dit que cela n’est rien, et que ce sont -autant de fossettes où viennent s’ensevelir les cœurs de ses amants. -Elle n’a point le nez trop long, au contraire, il est un peu retroussé, -avec trois bons doigts de distance jusqu’à la bouche, qu’elle a fort -bien fendue, et les lèvres aussi minces qu’on en puisse voir; et s’il ne -lui manquait point une douzaine de dents, ce serait une perfection. -J’oubliais d’ajouter, et par ma foi je lui faisais grand tort, que ses -lèvres sont de la plus belle couleur qu’on ait jamais vue, et peut-être -la moins commune: elle ne les a point rouges comme les autres femmes, -mais jaspées de bleu et de vert, et d’un violet qui tire sur celui des -figues quand elles sont trop mûres. Je vous demande pardon, seigneur -gouverneur, si je prends tant de plaisir à peindre et à vous expliquer -toutes les beautés de cette jeune fille, mais c’est que je l’aime déjà -comme mon propre enfant. - -Peignez tout ce que vous voudrez, dit Sancho; la peinture me divertit, -et si j’avais dîné, je ne trouverais pas de meilleur dessert que le -portrait que vous faites là. - -Il est au service de Votre Grâce et moi aussi, repartit le laboureur; -mais un temps viendra qui n’est pas venu. Je dis donc, seigneur, que si -je pouvais peindre la bonne mine et la taille de cette fille, vous en -seriez ravi. Mais cela m’embarrasse un peu, parce qu’elle est si courbée -que ses genoux touchent son menton; cependant il est aisé de voir que si -elle pouvait se tenir droite, elle toucherait le toit avec sa tête. Elle -aurait depuis longtemps déjà donné la main à mon fils le bachelier, si -ce n’est qu’elle ne peut l’étendre, parce qu’elle a les nerfs tout -retirés; et malgré tout, on voit bien à ses ongles croches que sa main a -une belle forme. - -Bien, bien, dit Sancho, supposez que vous l’avez peinte de la tête aux -pieds: que voulez-vous maintenant? venez au fait sans tourner autour du -pot et sans nous faire tant de peintures. - -Je voudrais donc, si c’est un effet de votre bonté, seigneur gouverneur, -que Votre Grâce me donnât pour le père de ma bru une lettre de -recommandation, dans laquelle vous le supplieriez de permettre ce -mariage au plus vite; d’ailleurs, puisque nous sommes égaux en fortune -lui et moi, nos enfants n’ont rien à se reprocher. En effet, pour ne -vous rien cacher, je vous dirai que mon fils est possédé du diable, et -qu’il n’y a pas de jour que le malin esprit ne le tourmente trois ou -quatre fois; que de plus, pour être un jour tombé dans le feu, il a le -visage si retiré, qu’il ressemble à un morceau de parchemin, et que ses -yeux coulent et pleurent comme s’il avait une source dans la tête. Mais -à cela près, il a un très-bon naturel; et n’était qu’il se gourme et se -déchire souvent lui-même, ce serait un ange du ciel. - -Eh bien, voulez-vous encore autre chose, bonhomme? dit Sancho. - -Seigneur, je voudrais bien encore quelque chose, répliqua le paysan; -seulement je n’ose le dire; mais vaille que vaille, et puisque je l’ai -sur le cœur, il faut que je m’en débarrasse. Je dis donc, seigneur, que -je voudrais que Votre Grâce eût l’obligeance de me donner cinq ou six -cents ducats pour grossir la dot de mon bachelier, afin de lui aider à -se mettre en ménage; car il faut que ces enfants vivent chez eux et -qu’ils ne dépendent ni l’un ni l’autre d’un beau-père. - -Voyez si vous voulez encore autre chose, ajouta Sancho; continuez, et -que la honte ne vous arrête pas. - -Seigneur, je n’ai plus rien à demander, répondit le laboureur. - -Il n’eut pas plus tôt achevé, que le gouverneur se levant brusquement, -et saisissant le fauteuil sur lequel il était assis: Je jure, -s’écria-t-il, pataud, rustre et malappris, je jure que si tu ne sors à -l’instant de ma présence, je te casse la tête! Voyez un peu ce maroufle, -ce peintre de Belzébuth, qui vient me demander effrontément six cents -ducats, comme il demanderait six maravédis! D’où veux-tu que je les aie, -puant que tu es? et quand je les aurais, pourquoi te les donnerais-je, -sournois, imbécile? Que me font à moi, toi et tous tes Perlerino? Hors -d’ici! et ne sois jamais assez hardi pour t’y présenter, ou je fais -serment par la vie du duc, mon seigneur, de te casser bras et jambes. Il -n’y a pas vingt-quatre heures que je suis gouverneur, et tu veux que -j’aie six cents ducats à te donner! Mort de ma vie, il me prend -fantaisie de te sauter sur le ventre, et de t’arracher les entrailles. - -Le maître d’hôtel fit signe au laboureur de se retirer; ce que celui-ci -s’empressa de faire, ayant l’air d’avoir grand’peur que le gouverneur -n’exécutât ses menaces, car le fripon jouait admirablement son rôle. - -Enfin Sancho eut bien de la peine à s’apaiser. Laissons-le ronger son -frein, et retournons à don Quichotte, que nous avons laissé couvert -d’emplâtres et en si mauvais état, qu’il mit à guérir plus de huit -jours, pendant lesquels il lui arriva ce que nous allons voir dans le -chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XLVIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ, ET D’AUTRES -CHOSES AUSSI ADMIRABLES. - -Triste, mélancolique, et le visage couvert de compresses, languissait le -pauvre chevalier. Il resta plus de six jours sans oser se montrer en -public; une nuit enfin, comme il réfléchissait à ses disgrâces et aux -persécutions d’Altisidore, il crut entendre une clef qui cherchait à -ouvrir la porte de sa chambre. S’imaginant que l’amoureuse demoiselle -venait livrer un dernier assaut à sa pudeur, et tâcher d’ébranler la foi -qu’il avait jurée à sa dame Dulcinée du Toboso: Non, s’écria-t-il assez -haut pour être entendu, non, la plus grande beauté de la terre ne -saurait effacer de mon cœur celle que l’amour y a gravée si -profondément; que tu sois, ô ma dame, transformée en ignoble paysanne -occupée à manger des oignons, ou bien en nymphe du Tage tissant des -étoffes d’or et de soie; que Merlin ou Montesinos te retiennent où il -leur plaira, libre ou enchantée, absente ou présente, tu es toujours ma -souveraine, et je serai toujours ton esclave. - -Il achevait ces mots quand la porte s’ouvrit. Aussitôt, s’enveloppant -d’une courte-pointe de satin jaune, une barrette sur la tête, le visage -parsemé d’emplâtres, et les moustaches en papillotes, don Quichotte se -dressa debout sur son lit. Dans ce costume, il avait l’air du plus -épouvantable fantôme qui se puisse imaginer. Mais lorsque, les yeux -cloués sur la porte, il espérait voir paraître la dolente Altisidore, il -vit entrer une vénérable duègne avec des voiles blancs à sa coiffe, si -plissés et si longs, qu’ils la cachaient de la tête aux pieds. De sa -main gauche elle tenait une petite bougie allumée, et portait l’autre -main au-devant, afin que la lumière ne lui donnât pas dans les yeux, -qu’elle avait de plus protégés par de grandes lunettes. Elle marchait à -pas de loup et sur la pointe du pied. Du lieu où il était comme en -sentinelle, don Quichotte l’observait attentivement, et à la lenteur de -sa démarche, à son accoutrement étrange, il la prit pour une sorcière -qui venait exercer sur lui ses maléfices. - -Cependant la duègne continuait d’avancer. Quand elle fut au milieu de -l’appartement, elle leva les yeux, et alors elle vit le chevalier qui -faisait des signes de croix de toute la vitesse de son bras. S’il fut -intimidé en apercevant une telle figure, la duègne fut encore plus -épouvantée en voyant la sienne; Jésus, qu’aperçois-je! s’écria-t-elle. - -Dans son effroi, la bougie lui échappa des mains et s’éteignit; plongée -dans les ténèbres, elle voulut fuir, mais elle s’embarrassa dans les -plis de son voile, et tomba tout de son long sur le plancher. - -Plus effrayé que jamais: Je t’adjure, ô fantôme, ou qui que tu sois, se -mit à dire don Quichotte, je t’adjure de me dire qui tu es, et ce que tu -exiges de moi. Si tu es une âme en peine, parle, je ferai pour te -soulager tout ce qu’on doit attendre d’un bon catholique, car je le -suis, et me complais à être utile à tout le monde; c’est pour cela que -j’ai embrassé l’ordre de la chevalerie errante, dont la profession -s’étend jusqu’à rendre service aux âmes du purgatoire. - -S’entendant adjurer de la sorte, la pauvre duègne jugea par sa propre -frayeur de celle de notre héros, et répondit d’une voix basse et -dolente: Seigneur don Quichotte, si toutefois c’est bien vous, je ne -suis ni vision ni fantôme, ni âme du purgatoire, comme Votre Grâce se -l’imagine; je suis la señora Rodriguez, cette dame d’honneur de madame -la duchesse, et je viens ici vous demander aide et secours pour une -affliction à laquelle Votre Grâce peut seule remédier. - -Parlez franchement, señora Rodriguez, repartit don Quichotte, êtes-vous -ici pour quelque entremise d’amour? Dans ce cas, vous perdez votre -temps: la beauté de Dulcinée du Toboso s’est tellement emparée de mon -cœur, qu’elle me rend sourd et insensible à toutes prières de cette -nature. Mais s’il n’est point question de message amoureux, allez -rallumer votre bougie et revenez ici; nous aviserons ensuite, sauf -toutefois les réserves que je viens de faire. - -Moi, messagère d’amour! mon bon Seigneur, reprit la duègne; Votre Grâce -me connaît mal. Dieu merci, je ne suis point encore assez vieille pour -faire ce métier-là; je suis bien saine, et j’ai toutes mes dents, hormis -quelques-unes qui me sont tombées par suite de catarrhes fort ordinaires -dans ce pays d’Aragon. Mais que Votre Grâce m’accorde un instant, je -vais rallumer ma bougie, et je reviens vous conter mes ennuis, comme à -celui qui sait remédier à tous les déplaisirs du monde; et elle sortit -sans attendre de réponse. - -Une pareille visite à une pareille heure fit à l’instant naître de si -étranges pensées dans l’imagination de don Quichotte, qu’il ne se crut -point en sûreté malgré toutes ses résolutions: Qui sait, se disait-il, -si le diable, toujours artificieux et subtil, ne me tend pas ici quelque -nouveau piége? Qui sait s’il n’essayera pas, au moyen d’une duègne, de -me faire tomber dans les précipices que j’ai si souvent évités? J’ai ouï -dire bien des fois que, quand il le peut, il nous envoie la tentatrice -plutôt à nez camard qu’à nez aquilin. Quelle honte pour moi et quel -affront pour Dulcinée, si cette vieille femme allait triompher d’une -constance que reines, impératrices, duchesses et marquises ont cherché -vainement à ébranler! En pareil cas, mieux vaut fuir qu’accepter le -combat. Mais, en vérité, ajouta notre chevalier, je dois avoir perdu la -tête, pour que de telles extravagances me viennent à l’esprit et sur les -lèvres? Est-il possible qu’une duègne avec ses coiffes blanches, son -visage ridé et ses lunettes, éveille une pensée lascive, même dans le -cœur le plus dépravé? Y a-t-il par hasard dans l’univers entier une -duègne qui ait la chair ferme et rebondie? toutes ne sont-elles pas -grimacières et mijaurées? Arrière donc, troupe embéguinée, ennemie de -toute humaine création. Oh! combien eut raison cette dame qui avait fait -placer aux deux bouts de son estrade deux duègnes en cire, avec lunettes -et coussinets, assises comme si elles eussent travaillé à l’aiguille! -Car, sur ma foi, ces deux statues lui rendaient tout autant de services -que deux véritables duègnes. - -En disant cela, il se jeta à bas du lit, dans l’intention d’aller fermer -sa porte; mais au moment où il touchait la serrure, la señora Rodriguez -rentra. Quand elle vit notre chevalier dans l’état où nous l’avons -dépeint, elle fit trois pas en arrière: Sommes-nous en sûreté, seigneur -don Quichotte? lui dit-elle; je ne sais vraiment que penser en voyant -que Votre Grâce a quitté son lit. - -Je vous adresserai la même question, señora, reprit notre héros, et je -voudrais être assuré qu’il ne me sera fait aucune violence. - -Contre qui, et à qui demandez-vous cela, seigneur chevalier? repartit la -duègne. - -C’est à vous et contre vous-même, répondit don Quichotte; car enfin ni -vous ni moi ne sommes de bronze; et puis, l’heure est suspecte, surtout -dans une chambre plus close et aussi sourde que la caverne où le perfide -Énée abusa de la faiblesse de la malheureuse Didon. Néanmoins, -donnez-moi la main, car, après tout, ma continence et ma retenue me -suffiront, je l’espère, surtout avec le secours de vos vénérables -coiffes. Et lui ayant baisé la main droite, il lui offrit la sienne, que -la señora accepta de bonne grâce. - -Ben-Engeli s’arrête en cet endroit pour faire une parenthèse et -s’écrier: Par Mahomet! pour voir ces deux personnages dans un semblable -costume, se dirigeant de la porte de la chambre vers le lit, j’aurais -donné la meilleure pelisse des deux que je possède. - -Enfin don Quichotte se remit dans ses draps, tandis que la señora -Rodriguez prenait place sur une chaise assez écartée du lit, sans -quitter ni sa bougie ni ses lunettes. Puis, quand ils furent tous deux -bien installés, le premier qui rompit le silence fut don Quichotte. -Madame, dit-il, vous pouvez maintenant découdre vos lèvres, et -m’apprendre le sujet de vos déplaisirs: vous serez écoutée par de -chastes oreilles et secourue par de charitables œuvres. - -Je n’en fais aucun doute, répondit la señora Rodriguez, car du gentil et -tout aimable aspect de Votre Grâce, on ne pouvait espérer qu’une réponse -si chrétienne. Apprenez donc, seigneur chevalier, quoique vous me voyiez -assise ici sur cette chaise en costume de misérable duègne, au beau -milieu du royaume d’Aragon, que je n’en suis pas moins native des -Asturies d’Oviedo, et d’une des meilleures races de cette province. La -mauvaise étoile de mon père et de ma mère, qui s’appauvrirent de bonne -heure, sans savoir pourquoi ni comment, m’amena à Madrid, où, pour me -faire un sort, mes parents me placèrent chez une grande dame, en qualité -de femme de chambre; car il faut que vous le sachiez, seigneur don -Quichotte, pour toutes sortes d’ouvrages, surtout ceux à l’aiguille, je -ne le cède à personne. Mon père et ma mère s’en retournèrent dans leur -province, me laissant en condition, et peu de temps après, ils -quittèrent ce monde pour aller en paradis, car ils étaient bons -catholiques. Je restai donc orpheline, sans autre ressource que les -misérables gages qu’on nous donne dans les palais des grands. Un écuyer -de la maison où j’étais devint amoureux de moi, sans que j’y songeasse: -c’était un homme déjà avancé en âge, à grande barbe, à vénérable aspect, -et noble comme le roi, car il était montagnard. Nos amours ne furent pas -toutefois si secrètes que ma maîtresse n’en eût connaissance, et pour -empêcher les caquets elle nous maria en face de notre mère la sainte -Église catholique. De notre union naquit une fille; pour combler ma -disgrâce, non pas que je sois morte en couche, car l’enfant vint bien et -à terme, mais parce que mon pauvre mari, Dieu veuille avoir son âme, -mourut peu de temps après d’une frayeur qu’il eut, et dont vous serez -étonné vous-même, si j’ai le temps de vous la raconter. - -Ici, la pauvre duègne se mit à pleurer amèrement, après quoi elle -reprit: Pardonnez-moi, seigneur chevalier, si je verse des larmes, mais -je ne puis me rappeler le pauvre défunt sans pleurer; Dieu! qu’il avait -bonne mine, quand il menait ma maîtresse en croupe sur une belle mule -noire comme jais! car dans ce temps-là on n’avait point de carrosse -comme aujourd’hui, et les dames allaient en croupe derrière leurs -écuyers. Ce que je dis, c’est afin de vous faire connaître la politesse -et la ponctualité de cet excellent homme. Un jour, à Madrid, comme il -allait entrer dans la rue Santiago, rue fort étroite, un alcade de cour -en sortait suivi de deux alguazils; mon mari aussitôt tourna bride pour -accompagner l’alcade; mais ma maîtresse qui était en croupe, lui dit à -voix basse: Que faites-vous, malheureux? ne songez-vous plus que je suis -ici? L’alcade, en homme courtois, retint la bride de son cheval et dit à -mon mari: Seigneur, suivez votre chemin; c’est à moi d’accompagner la -señora Cassilda. C’était le nom de ma maîtresse. Malgré cela, mon mari, -la toque à la main, s’opiniâtrait à suivre l’alcade. Ce que voyant, ma -maîtresse tira de son étui une grosse aiguille, peut-être bien même un -poinçon, et, pleine de dépit et de fureur, elle l’enfonça dans le corps -de mon pauvre mari qui, jetant un grand cri, roula à terre avec elle. -Les laquais de la dame accoururent, avec l’alcade et les alguazils, pour -les relever. Cela mit en confusion toute la porte de Guadalajara, je -veux dire les oisifs qui s’y trouvaient. Ma maîtresse s’en retourna à -pied, et mon époux se réfugia dans la boutique d’un barbier, disant -qu’il avait les entrailles traversées de part en part. On ne parla plus -dans Madrid que de sa courtoisie, et quand il fut guéri, les petits -garçons le suivaient par les rues. Pour ce motif, et aussi parce qu’il -avait la vue un peu basse, ma maîtresse lui donna son congé, ce dont il -eut tant de chagrin, que telle fut, sans nul doute, la cause de sa mort. -Je restai veuve, pauvre, et chargée d’une fille qui chaque jour allait -croissant en beauté. Comme j’avais la réputation de travailler -admirablement à l’aiguille, madame la duchesse, qui était récemment -mariée avec monseigneur le duc, m’emmena en Aragon et ma fille aussi. -Bref, les jours se succédant, ma fille a grandi ornée de toutes les -grâces du monde; aujourd’hui elle chante comme un rossignol, danse comme -une sylphide, lit et écrit comme un maître d’école, et compte comme un -usurier. Je ne dis rien des soins qu’elle prend de sa personne: l’eau -courante n’est pas plus nette; et à cette heure, elle a, si je ne me -trompe, seize ans cinq mois et trois jours, pas un de plus, pas un de -moins. - -De cette mienne enfant est devenu amoureux le fils d’un riche laboureur, -qui tient ici près une ferme de monseigneur le duc. Le jeune homme a si -bien fait, que, sous promesse de l’épouser, il a abusé de la pauvre -créature, et aujourd’hui il refuse de tenir sa parole, quoique -monseigneur sache toute l’affaire, car je me suis plainte à lui, non pas -une fois, mais mille, le suppliant de forcer ce garçon à épouser ma -fille; mais notre maître fait la sourde oreille et veut à peine -m’entendre. La raison en est que le père du séducteur, qui est fort -riche, lui prête de l’argent et chaque jour lui sert de caution pour ses -sottises, c’est pourquoi il ne veut le désobliger en rien. - -Je viens donc vous demander, seigneur chevalier, puisqu’au dire de tout -le monde Votre Grâce est venue ici-bas pour redresser les torts et -prêter assistance aux malheureux, de prendre fait et cause pour ma -fille, afin que, soit par la persuasion, soit par les armes, vous -obteniez réparation du tort qu’on lui a fait. Jetez les yeux, je vous en -supplie, sur l’abandon de cette pauvre enfant, sur sa jeunesse, sa -gentillesse et toutes ses bonnes qualités; car, sur mon honneur, de -toutes les femmes de madame la duchesse, il n’y en a pas une qui la -vaille; et une certaine Altisidore, qui passe pour la plus huppée et la -plus égrillarde, n’en approche pas de cent lieues. Votre Grâce, seigneur -don Quichotte, doit savoir que tout ce qui reluit n’est pas or: aussi -cette Altisidore a-t-elle plus de présomption que de beauté, et plus -d’effronterie que de retenue, sans compter qu’elle n’est pas fort saine, -car elle a l’haleine si forte qu’on ne saurait rester longtemps auprès -d’elle. Madame la duchesse elle-même... mais il faut se taire, parce -que, vous le savez, les murs ont des oreilles. - -Qu’a donc madame la duchesse, señora Rodriguez? demanda don Quichotte; -sur ma vie, expliquez-vous. - -Je n’ai rien à vous refuser, répondit la duègne: eh bien, voyez-vous, -seigneur chevalier, la beauté de madame la duchesse, ce teint si -brillant qu’on dirait que c’est une lame d’épée fourbie, ces joues qui -semblent pétries de lait et de vermillon, et cet air dont elle marche, -dédaignant presque de toucher la terre; eh bien, tout cela, c’est grâce -à deux fontaines qu’elle a aux jambes, par où vont s’écoulant toutes les -mauvaises humeurs dont les médecins assurent qu’elle est remplie. - -Bon Dieu? que m’apprenez-vous là, señora? s’écria don Quichotte; est-il -possible que madame la duchesse ait de semblables exutoires? En vérité, -je ne l’aurais jamais cru, quand tous les carmes déchaussés me -l’auraient affirmé; mais puisque vous me le dites, je n’en doute plus. -D’ailleurs, j’en suis persuadé, de pareilles fontaines doivent répandre -plutôt de l’ambre liquide qu’aucune autre humeur, et tout de bon je -commence à croire que ces sortes de fontaines sont fort utiles pour la -santé. - -Don Quichotte achevait de parler, lorsque la porte de la chambre -s’ouvrit avec fracas; le saisissement fit tomber la bougie des mains de -la señora Rodriguez, et l’appartement resta, comme on dit, aussi noir -qu’un four. En même temps, la pauvre duègne se sentit prendre à la gorge -par deux mains qui la serrèrent si vigoureusement qu’elle ne pouvait -respirer; et une troisième main lui ayant relevé sa jupe, une quatrième, -avec quelque chose qui ressemblait à une pantoufle, commença à la -fustiger si vertement, que c’était pitié. Don Quichotte, tout charitable -qu’il était, ne bougea pas de son lit, ignorant ce que ce pouvait être, -et redoutant pour lui-même l’orage qu’il entendait éclater à ses côtés. -Le bon chevalier ne craignait pas sans raison: car après que les -invisibles bourreaux eurent bien corrigé la malheureuse duègne, qui -n’osait souffler mot, ils se jetèrent sur lui, et ayant enlevé sa -couverture, ils le pincèrent si fort et si dru, qu’il fut forcé de se -défendre à grands coups de pieds, et tout cela dans un admirable -silence. La bataille dura plus d’une demi-heure, après quoi les fantômes -disparurent. La señora Rodriguez se releva, rajusta sa jupe, et sortit -sans proférer une parole. - -Quant à don Quichotte, il resta dans son lit, triste et pensif, pincé et -meurtri, mais mourant d’envie de savoir quel était l’enchanteur qui -l’avait mis en cet état. - -Nous verrons cela une autre fois, car il nous faut retourner à Sancho, -comme le veut l’ordre de cette histoire. - -CHAPITRE XLIX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A SANCHO PANZA, EN FAISANT LA RONDE DANS SON ILE. - -Nous avons laissé notre gouverneur fort courroucé contre ce narquois de -paysan qui, instruit par le majordome d’après les ordres du duc, s’était -moqué de lui; mais, tout simple qu’il était, Sancho Panza leur tenait -tête à tous, sans reculer d’un pas. Maintenant, dit-il à ceux qui -l’entouraient, parmi lesquels était le docteur Pedro Rezio, je comprends -qu’il faut que les gouverneurs et les juges soient de bronze, afin de -pouvoir résister à ces importuns qui à toute heure viennent demander -qu’on les écoute et qu’on expédie leur affaire quoi qu’il arrive; et si -un pauvre juge refuse de les entendre, parce que c’est le moment de -prendre son repas, ou parce qu’il n’a pas le loisir de donner audience, -ils en disent pis que pendre. A ce plaideur malavisé, je dirai: Choisis -mieux ton temps, mon ami, et ne viens pas aux heures où l’on mange, ni à -celles où l’on dort, car nous autres juges et gouverneurs, nous sommes -de chair et d’os comme les autres hommes: il faut que nous accordions à -la nature ce qu’elle exige, si ce n’est moi pourtant qui ne donne rien à -manger à la mienne, grâce au docteur Pedro Rezio de Tirteafuera ici -présent, qui veut que je meure de faim, et affirme que c’est pour ma -santé. Dieu lui donne santé pareille; ainsi qu’à tous les médecins de -son espèce. - -En entendant Sancho chacun s’étonnait, et se disait qu’il n’est rien de -tel que les charges d’importance soit pour aviver, soit pour engourdir -l’esprit. Finalement, le docteur Pedro Rezio lui promit de le laisser -souper ce soir-là, dût-il violer tous les aphorismes d’Hippocrate. Cette -promesse remplit de joie notre gouverneur, qui attendit avec une extrême -impatience que la nuit vînt, et avec elle l’heure du souper. - -Enfin arriva le moment tant désiré, et on servit à Sancho un hachis de -bœuf à l’oignon, avec les pieds d’un veau quelque peu avancé en âge. -Notre bon gouverneur se jeta sur ces ragoûts avec plus d’appétit que si -on lui eût présenté des faisans d’Étrurie, du veau de Sorrente, des -perdrix de Moron ou des oies de Lavajos. Aussi, pendant le repas, se -tourna-t-il vers le médecin et lui dit: Seigneur docteur, ne vous mettez -point en peine à l’avenir de me donner des mets recherchés, mon estomac -n’y est pas fait, et il s’accommode fort bien de bœuf, de lard, de -navets et d’oignons; lorsque par aventure on lui donne des ragoûts de -roi, il ne les reçoit qu’en rechignant, et souvent avec dégoût. Ce que -le maître d’hôtel pourra faire de mieux, c’est de me donner ce qu’on -appelle pots pourris; plus ils sont pourris, meilleurs ils sont; qu’il y -fourre tout ce qu’il voudra: pourvu que ce soient choses bonnes à -manger, je serai satisfait, et m’en souviendrai dans l’occasion; et que -personne ne s’avise d’en plaisanter, car enfin je suis gouverneur ou je -ne le suis pas. Vivons et mangeons en paix, puisque quand Dieu fait -luire le soleil c’est pour tout le monde. Je gouvernerai cette île sans -rien prendre ni laisser prendre; mais que chacun ait l’œil au guet, et -se tienne sur le qui-vive, autrement je lui fais savoir que le diable -s’est mis de la danse; et si on me fâche, on trouvera à qui parler. - -Assurément, seigneur gouverneur, dit le maître d’hôtel, Votre Grâce a -raison en tout et partout, et je me rends caution, au nom de tous les -habitants de cette île, que vous serez servi et obéi avec ponctualité, -amour et respect: votre aimable façon de gouverner ne saurait leur -inspirer d’autre désir que celui d’être tout à votre service. - -Je le crois bien, repartit Sancho, et ils seraient des imbéciles s’ils -pensaient autrement: je recommande seulement qu’on ait soin de pourvoir -à ma subsistance et à celle de mon âne; de cette façon nous serons tous -contents. Maintenant, quand il sera temps de faire la ronde, qu’on -m’avertisse, mon intention est de purger cette île des gens désœuvrés, -des vagabonds; car je vous l’apprendrai, mes amis, les gens oisifs et -les batteurs de pavé sont aux États ce que les frelons sont aux -abeilles, ils mangent et dissipent ce qu’elles amassent avec beaucoup de -travail. Moi, je prétends protéger les laboureurs, assurer les -priviléges de la noblesse, récompenser les hommes vertueux, et surtout -faire respecter la religion et ceux qui la pratiquent. Eh bien, que vous -en semble? ai-je raison, ou me casserais-je la tête inutilement? - -Vous parlez si bien, seigneur gouverneur, répondit le majordome, que je -suis encore à comprendre qu’un homme aussi peu lettré que l’est Votre -Grâce, je crois même que vous ne l’êtes pas du tout, dise de telles -choses, et prononce autant de sentences que de paroles. Certes, ceux qui -vous ont envoyé ici et ceux que vous y trouvez ne s’y attendaient guère: -ainsi chaque jour on voit des choses nouvelles, et les moqueurs, comme -on dit, se trouvent moqués. - -Après avoir assez amplement soupé, avec la permission du docteur Pedro -Rezio, le gouverneur, accompagné du majordome, du secrétaire, du maître -d’hôtel, de l’historien chargé de recueillir par écrit ses faits et -gestes, et suivi d’une foule d’alguazils et de gens de justice, sortit -pour faire sa ronde. Sancho marchait gravement au milieu d’eux, sa verge -à la main. Ils avaient à peine traversé plusieurs rues, qu’un cliquetis -d’épées vint à leurs oreilles; ils y coururent, et trouvèrent deux -hommes qui étaient aux prises. Ces hommes voyant venir la justice -s’arrêtèrent, et l’un d’eux s’écria: Est-il possible qu’on vole ici -comme sur un grand chemin, et qu’on assassine en pleine rue? - -Calmez-vous, homme de bien, dit Sancho, et contez-moi le sujet de votre -plainte; je suis le gouverneur. - -Seigneur gouverneur, répondit un des combattants, je vais vous l’exposer -en deux mots. Votre Excellence saura que ce gentilhomme vient de gagner -mille réaux dans une maison qui est près d’ici; je suis son compère, et -Dieu sait combien de fois j’ai prononcé en sa faveur, souvent même -contre ma conscience! Eh bien, quand j’espérais qu’il me donnerait -quelques écus, comme c’est la coutume avec les gens de qualité tels que -moi, qui viennent là pour juger les coups et empêcher les querelles, il -a ramassé son argent et est sorti sans daigner me regarder. J’ai couru -après lui, le priant avec politesse de me donner au moins huit réaux, -car il n’ignore pas que je suis homme d’honneur, et que je n’ai ni -métier ni rentes, parce que mes parents ne m’ont laissé ni l’un ni -l’autre; mais ce ladre n’a consenti à m’accorder que quatre réaux. Voyez -un peu quelle dérision! Par ma foi, sans l’arrivée de Votre Grâce, je -lui aurais fait rendre gorge, et appris à me donner bonne mesure. - -Que répondez-vous à cela? demanda Sancho à l’autre partie. - -Celui-ci répondit que ce que son adversaire venait de dire était exact, -et qu’il n’avait pas voulu lui donner plus de quatre réaux, parce qu’il -les lui donnait très-souvent. Ceux qui attendent la gratification des -joueurs, ajouta-t-il, doivent être polis et prendre gaiement ce qu’on -leur donne, sans marchander avec les gagnants, à moins de savoir avec -certitude que ce sont des escrocs et que ce qu’ils gagnent est mal -gagné. Au reste la meilleure preuve que je suis un homme d’honneur, -c’est que je n’ai voulu donner rien de plus, car les fripons sont -toujours tributaires de ceux qui les connaissent. - -Cela est vrai; que plaît-il à Votre Seigneurie qu’on fasse de ces deux -hommes? dit le majordome. - -Ce qu’il y a à faire, le voici, répondit Sancho: vous homme de bonne ou -de mauvaise foi, donnez sur-le-champ à votre compère cent réaux, et -trente pour les pauvres; vous qui n’avez ni métier ni rente, et qui -vivez les bras croisés, prenez ces cent réaux, puis demain de grand -matin décampez au plus vite de cette île, et n’y rentrez de dix années, -sous peine, si vous y manquez, de les achever dans l’autre monde: car je -vous fais accrocher par la main du bourreau à la première potence venue. -Et qu’aucun des deux ne réplique, ou gare à lui. - -La sentence fut exécutée sur-le-champ, et le gouverneur ajouta: Ou je -serai sans pouvoir, ou je fermerai ces maisons de jeu; tant je suis -persuadé qu’elles causent de dommage. - -Pas celle-ci du moins, répondit le greffier, car elle est tenue par un -grand personnage, qui assurément y perd beaucoup plus d’argent chaque -année qu’il n’en gagne; mais Votre Grâce pourra montrer son pouvoir -contre les tripots de bas étage, qui donnent à jouer à tous venants, et -dans lesquels il se commet mille friponneries, les filous n’étant pas -assez hardis pour exercer leur industrie chez les personnes de -distinction; et puisque enfin la passion du jeu est devenue générale, il -vaut mieux que l’on joue chez les gens de qualité que dans ces repaires -où l’on retient un malheureux toute la nuit pour l’écorcher tout vif. - -Il y a beaucoup à dire à cela, greffier, répliqua Sancho; mais nous en -reparlerons. - -Sur ce arriva un alguazil qui tenait un homme au collet: Seigneur -gouverneur, dit-il, ce jeune compagnon venait de notre côté, mais -aussitôt qu’il a aperçu la justice, le drôle a tourné les talons, et -s’est mis à courir de toute sa force: signe certain qu’il a quelque -chose à se reprocher. J’ai couru après lui, et s’il n’eût trébuché il ne -serait pas maintenant devant vous. - -Pourquoi donc fuyais-tu, jeune homme? demanda Sancho. - -Seigneur, répondit le garçon, je fuyais pour éviter toutes ces questions -que font les gens de justice. - -Fort bien; quel est ton métier? - -Tisserand, avec la permission de Votre Grâce. - -Et qu’est-ce que tu tisses? - -Des fers de lance. - -Ah! ah! repartit Sancho, tu fais le plaisant, j’en suis bien aise. Et où -allais-tu, à l’heure qu’il est? - -Prendre l’air, répondit-il. - -Et où prend-on l’air dans cette île? demanda Sancho. - -Là où il souffle, seigneur, répondit le jeune homme. - -C’est très-bien répondre, dit le gouverneur, et je vois que tu en sais -long. Eh bien, mon ami, imagine-toi que c’est moi qui suis l’air, que je -te souffle en poupe, et que je te pousse à la prison: holà, qu’on l’y -mène à l’instant! Je saurai bien empêcher que tu dormes cette nuit en -plein air. - -Pardieu, seigneur, reprit-il, vous me ferez dormir en prison, tout comme -je serai roi. - -Et pourquoi donc ne te ferais-je pas dormir en prison, insolent? -repartit Sancho; est-ce que je n’ai pas le pouvoir de t’y faire -conduire, et de t’en tirer quand il me plaira. - -Ma foi, vous auriez cent fois plus de pouvoir, que vous ne m’y feriez -point dormir, répondit le jeune homme. - -Comment, non! répliqua Sancho; qu’on le mène en prison sur-le-champ, -afin qu’il apprenne à ses dépens si je suis le maître ou non; et si le -geôlier le laisse échapper, je le condamne d’avance à deux mille ducats -d’amende. - -Plaisanterie que tout cela! Je défie tous les habitants de la terre de -me faire dormir cette nuit en prison. - -Es-tu le diable en personne, ou possèdes-tu quelque esprit familier pour -t’ôter les menottes qu’on va te mettre? demanda Sancho avec colère. - -Un instant, seigneur gouverneur, répondit le jeune homme d’un air -dégagé; soyons raisonnable, et venons au fait. Je suppose que Votre -Seigneurie m’envoie en prison, qu’on me mette au fond d’un cachot, les -fers aux pieds et aux mains, et qu’on me garde à vue: eh bien, si je ne -veux pas dormir, et si je veux passer la nuit les yeux ouverts, tout -votre pouvoir serait-il capable de me contraindre à les fermer. - -Il a raison, observa le secrétaire. - -De sorte, dit Sancho, que tu ne dormiras pas, uniquement pour suivre ta -fantaisie, et non pour contrevenir à ma volonté? - -Assurément, seigneur, répondit le jeune homme; je n’en ai pas même la -pensée. - -A la bonne heure, va dormir chez toi, je ne prétends pas l’empêcher; -mais, à l’avenir, je te conseille de ne pas plaisanter avec la justice, -car tu pourrais tomber entre les mains d’un juge qui n’entendrait pas -raillerie et te donnerait sur les doigts. - -Le jeune homme s’en fut, et le gouverneur continua la ronde. - -A quelques pas de là, deux archers survinrent avec un nouveau -prisonnier: Seigneur, dit l’un d’eux, celui que nous vous amenons n’est -point un homme, c’est une femme, et même fort aimable, qui a pris ce -travestissement. - -On approcha deux lanternes, à la lumière desquelles on reconnut que -c’était une fille d’environ quinze à seize ans. Ses cheveux étaient -ramassés dans une résille de fils d’or et de soie verte; elle portait un -vêtement de brocart d’or à fond vert; ses bas de soie étaient incarnats, -ses jarretières de taffetas blanc, bordées de franges d’or avec des -perles, ses souliers étaient blancs comme ceux des hommes; elle n’avait -point d’épée, mais seulement un riche poignard, et aux doigts plusieurs -bagues d’un grand prix. En un mot, sa beauté surprit tout le monde, mais -aucun des assistants ne put la reconnaître; ceux mêmes qui étaient dans -le secret des tours qu’on voulait jouer à Sancho, non moins étonnés que -les autres, attendaient la fin de l’aventure. - -Émerveillé de la beauté de cette jeune fille, Sancho lui demanda qui -elle était, où elle allait, et pourquoi on la rencontrait sous ce -déguisement. - -Seigneur, répondit-elle en rougissant, je ne saurais dire devant tant de -monde une chose qu’il m’importe de cacher; je puis seulement vous -assurer que je ne suis point un malfaiteur, mais une infortunée à qui la -violence d’un sentiment jaloux a fait oublier les règles de la -bienséance. - -Le majordome, qui l’avait entendue, dit à Sancho: Seigneur gouverneur, -ordonnez à vos gens de s’éloigner, afin que cette dame puisse parler en -toute liberté. - -Lorsqu’ils se furent retirés sur l’ordre du gouverneur, avec qui il ne -demeura que le majordome, le maître d’hôtel et le secrétaire, la jeune -fille parla ainsi: Seigneur, je suis la fille de Pedro Perez Mazorca, -fermier des laines de ce pays, lequel a l’habitude de venir souvent chez -mon père. - -Cela n’a pas de sens, madame! interrompit le majordome; je connais fort -bien Pedro Perez, et je sais qu’il n’a pas d’enfants; d’ailleurs, après -avoir dit que vous êtes sa fille, vous ajoutez qu’il va souvent chez -votre père: cela ne se comprend pas. - -J’en avais déjà fait la remarque, dit Sancho. - -Seigneurs, je vous demande pardon, continua la jeune fille, je suis si -troublée que je ne sais ce que je dis; la vérité est que je suis la -fille de don Diego de la Lana. - -Je connais très-bien don Diego de la Lana, dit le majordome. Don Diego -est un gentilhomme fort riche, qui a un fils et une fille; mais depuis -qu’il est veuf, personne ne peut se vanter d’avoir vu le visage de sa -fille; il la tient si resserrée qu’il la cache au soleil lui-même, mais -malgré toutes ses précautions on sait qu’elle est d’une remarquable -beauté. - -Vous dites vrai, seigneur, répliqua-t-elle, et cette fille c’est moi. -Quant à cette beauté dont vous parlez, vous pouvez en juger maintenant -que vous m’avez vue. - -A ces mots, elle se mit à sangloter, et le secrétaire dit à l’oreille du -majordome: il faut qu’il soit arrivé quelque chose d’extraordinaire à -cette jeune fille, puisque bien née comme elle l’est, on la rencontre à -pareille heure hors de sa maison. - -Il n’en faut pas douter, répondit celui-ci, et ses larmes en font foi. - -Sancho la consola du mieux qu’il put, la conjurant d’avouer, sans nulle -crainte, ce qui lui était arrivé, et lui promettant de faire tout ce qui -serait en son pouvoir pour lui rendre service. - -Seigneurs, répondit-elle, depuis dix ans que ma mère est morte, mon père -m’a tenu renfermée, et pendant tout ce temps je n’ai vu d’homme que mon -père, un frère que j’ai, et Pedro Perez, le fermier que tout à l’heure -j’ai dit être mon père afin de ne pas nommer le mien. Cette solitude si -resserrée, la défense de sortir de la maison, même pour aller à -l’église, car chez nous on dit la messe dans un riche oratoire, me -donnaient beaucoup de chagrin, et je mourais d’ennui de voir le monde, -ou pour le moins le lieu où je suis née, ne croyant pas qu’il y eût -rien de coupable à cela. Quand j’entendais parler de courses de -taureaux, de jeux de bagues, de comédies, je demandais à mon frère, qui -est d’un an plus jeune que moi, ce que c’était, et il me l’expliquait de -son mieux, ce qui redoubla l’envie que j’avais de les voir; enfin, pour -abréger le récit de ma faute, je suppliai mon frère, et plût à Dieu que -je ne lui eusse jamais rien demandé de semblable!... Ici, la pauvre -enfant se mettant à pleurer de plus belle, excita une grande compassion -chez tous ceux qui l’écoutaient. - -Jusqu’ici il n’y a point lieu de s’affliger, dit le majordome; -rassurez-vous, madame, et continuez; vos paroles et vos larmes nous -tiennent en suspens. - -Je n’ai rien à dire de plus, répondit-elle; mais j’ai beaucoup à pleurer -mon imprudence et ma curiosité. - -Les charmes de la jeune fille avaient impressionné le maître d’hôtel; il -approcha de nouveau sa lanterne pour la regarder, et il lui sembla que -ce n’étaient point des larmes qui coulaient de ses yeux, mais plutôt des -gouttes de rosée; il en vint même à les élever au rang de perles -orientales. Aussi désirait-il avec ardeur que le malheur de cette belle -enfant ne fût pas aussi grand que le témoignaient ses soupirs et ses -pleurs. Quant au gouverneur, il se désespérait de ces retards et de ces -interruptions, et il la pria d’achever son récit, disant qu’il se -faisait tard et qu’il avait encore une grande partie de la ville à -parcourir pour terminer sa ronde. - -Alors, d’une voix entrecoupée par de nouveaux sanglots, la jeune fille -poursuivit: Ma disgrâce vient d’avoir, pendant que mon père dormait, -demandé à mon frère de me prêter un de ses habillements, afin d’aller -ensemble nous promener par la ville. Importuné de mes prières, il m’a -donné ses vêtements, et il a pris le mien, qui lui sied à ravir, car -sous ce costume il ressemble à une jolie fille. Il y a environ une -heure que nous sommes sortis de la maison, poussés par notre imprudente -curiosité; nous avions fait le tour du pays, quand tout à coup, en -revenant, nous avons vu s’avancer vers nous une nombreuse troupe de -gens. Mon frère me dit: Voici sans doute les archers; tâche de me -suivre, et fuyons au plus vite; si on nous reconnaît, nous sommes -perdus. Aussitôt il s’est mis à courir, mais avec tant de vitesse qu’on -eût dit qu’il volait; pour moi, je suis bientôt tombée de peur; alors -survint cet homme qui m’a amenée ici, où j’ai honte de paraître une -fille fantasque et dévergondée aux yeux de tant de monde. - -Ne vous est-il arrivé que cela? demanda Sancho; ce n’est donc point la -jalousie, comme vous le disiez d’abord, qui vous a fait quitter votre -maison? - -Il ne m’est rien arrivé que cela, Dieu merci, et en sortant mon seul -dessein était de voir la ville, ou tout ou moins les rues de ce pays que -je ne connaissais pas encore. - -Ce qu’avait dit la jeune fille fut confirmé par son frère, qu’un des -archers ramenait après l’avoir rattrapé à grand’peine. Il portait une -jupe de femme, avec un mantelet de damas bleu bordé d’une riche -dentelle; sa tête était nue et sans autre ornement que ses propres -cheveux, qui semblaient autant d’anneaux d’or, tant ils étaient blonds -et bouclés. Le gouverneur, le majordome et le maître d’hôtel -s’écartèrent un peu du reste de la troupe, et ayant demandé au jeune -garçon, sans que sa sœur l’entendît, pourquoi il était en cet équipage, -il répéta tout ce qu’avait déjà raconté celle-ci, et avec la même -naïveté et le même embarras: ce dont eut beaucoup de joie le maître -d’hôtel, que tout cela intéressait vivement. - -Voilà, il faut l’avouer, un terrible enfantillage! dit le gouverneur; et -il ne fallait pas tant de soupirs et tant de larmes pour en faire le -récit: était-il si difficile de dire: Nous sommes un tel et une telle, -sortis de chez nos parents pour nous promener, sans autre dessein que -la curiosité? Le conte eût été fini, et vous vous seriez épargné toutes -ces pleurnicheries. - -Vous avez raison, seigneur, répondit la jeune fille, mais mon trouble a -été si grand que je n’ai pas eu la force de retenir mes larmes. - -Il n’y a rien de perdu, dit Sancho; allons, venez avec nous: nous allons -vous reconduire chez votre père, qui peut-être ne s’est pas aperçu de -votre absence. Mais une autre fois n’ayez pas tant d’envie de voir le -monde; à fille de renom, dit le proverbe, la jambe cassée et la maison; -poule et femme se perdent pour trop vouloir trotter; car celle qui a -envie de voir a aussi envie d’être vue. - -Nos deux étourdis remercièrent le gouverneur de sa bonté; et l’on prit -le chemin de la maison de don Diego de la Lana, qui n’était pas -éloignée. En arrivant, le jeune homme jeta un petit caillou contre la -fenêtre, aussitôt une servante vint ouvrir la porte; le frère et la -sœur entrèrent. Le seigneur gouverneur et sa troupe continuèrent la -ronde, s’entretenant de la gentillesse de ces pauvres enfants, et de -l’envie qu’ils avaient eue de courir le monde de nuit, sans sortir de -leur village. - -Pendant le peu de temps qu’il avait vu cette jeune fille, le maître -d’hôtel en était devenu si amoureux, qu’il résolut de la demander à son -père dès le lendemain, ne doutant point qu’on ne lui accordât, puisqu’il -était attaché à la personne du duc. De son côté, Sancho eut aussi -quelque désir de marier le jeune homme à sa petite Sanchette, se -réservant d’effectuer son dessein quand le temps serait venu, et -persuadé qu’il n’y avait point de parti au-dessus de la fille du -gouverneur. Ainsi finit cette ronde de nuit, et, deux jours après, le -gouvernement, avec la chute duquel s’écroulèrent tous les projets de -Sancho, comme on le verra plus loin. - -CHAPITRE L - -DES ENCHANTEURS QUI FOUETTÈRENT LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ ET QUI ÉGRATIGNÈRENT -DON QUICHOTTE. - -Cid Hamet, le ponctuel chroniqueur des moindres faits de cette véridique -histoire, dit qu’au moment où la señora Rodriguez se leva pour aller -trouver don Quichotte, une autre duègne, qui était couchée près d’elle -s’en aperçut; et comme toutes les duègnes sont curieuses, celle-ci -suivit sa compagne à pas de loup. L’ayant vue entrer dans la chambre de -notre chevalier, elle ne manqua pas, suivant la louable coutume qu’ont -aussi les duègnes d’être bavardes et rapporteuses, de courir en -instruire la duchesse. Aussitôt, afin d’approfondir ce mystère, la -duchesse prit avec elle Altisidore, et toutes deux allèrent se poster -près de la porte pour écouter. Comme la señora Rodriguez parlait haut, -elles ne perdirent pas un seul mot de la conversation; aussi, quand la -duchesse entendit dévoiler le secret de ses fontaines, elle ne put se -contenir; Altisidore encore moins. Elles enfoncèrent la porte, -criblèrent de coups d’ongles notre héros et fustigèrent la señora comme -nous l’avons déjà dit; tant les outrages qui s’adressent à la beauté des -femmes allument dans leur cœur le désir de la vengeance. La duchesse -alla raconter le tout au duc qui s’en amusa beaucoup; puis pour -continuer à se divertir de leur hôte, la duchesse dépêcha un jeune page -(celui-là même qui avait fait le personnage de Dulcinée dans la -cérémonie du désenchantement) chargé de remettre à Thérèse Panza une -lettre de son mari et une autre lettre de sa propre main, avec un grand -collier de corail. - -Or, dit l’histoire, ce page était fort égrillard; aussi, charmé de -complaire à ses maîtres, il partit de grand matin pour le village de -Sancho. Un peu avant d’y arriver, il trouva quantité de femmes qui -lavaient dans un ruisseau. Il les aborda en les priant de lui indiquer -une personne du village qui avait nom Thérèse Panza, et qui était femme -d’un certain Sancho Panza, écuyer d’un chevalier qu’on appelait don -Quichotte de la Manche. - -A cette question, une jeune fille qui lavait avec les autres se leva, en -disant: Cette Thérèse Panza, c’est ma mère; ce Sancho, c’est mon -seigneur père, et ce chevalier c’est notre maître. - -Eh bien, mademoiselle, reprit le page, venez avec moi, et conduisez-moi -vers votre mère, car je lui apporte une lettre et un présent de ce -seigneur votre père. - -Volontiers, répondit la jeune fille, qui paraissait avoir quinze ans; -puis laissant son linge, et sans prendre le temps de se chausser, tant -elle avait hâte, elle se mit à courir en gambadant devant le page: -Venez, seigneur, venez, disait-elle, notre maison n’est pas loin d’ici, -et ma mère y est en ce moment bien en peine, car il y a bien longtemps -qu’elle n’a reçu des nouvelles de mon seigneur père. - -Eh bien, repartit le page, je lui en apporte de si bonnes qu’elle aura -sujet d’en rendre grâces à Dieu. - -Enfin, la petite Sanchette, courant, sautant, et gambadant, arriva à la -maison; et de si loin qu’elle crut pouvoir être entendue: Venez! ma -mère, s’écria-t-elle, venez vite! voici un seigneur qui apporte une -lettre de mon père et d’autres choses qui vous réjouiront. - -Aux cris de sa fille, parut Thérèse Panza, sa quenouille à la main, -vêtue d’un jupon de serge brune, mais si court qu’il ne descendait pas à -la moitié des jambes; elle n’était pas très-vieille, bien qu’elle eût -dépassé la quarantaine, mais forte, droite, nerveuse et hâlée. Qu’est-ce -donc, Sanchette? dit-elle à sa fille; quel est ce seigneur? - -C’est le très-humble serviteur de madame dona Thérésa Panza, répondit le -page. En même temps il mit pied à terre, et fléchissant le genou devant -elle, il ajouta: Que Votre Grâce veuille bien me permettre de baiser sa -main, très-honorée dame, en qualité de propre et légitime épouse du -seigneur Sancho Panza, gouverneur souverain de l’île Barataria. - -Levez-vous, seigneur, reprit Thérèse, je ne suis point une dame, mais -une pauvre paysanne, fille de bûcheron, femme d’un écuyer errant, et non -d’un gouverneur. - -Votre Seigneurie, repartit le page, est la très-digne épouse d’un -archiduquissime gouverneur; et pour preuve, lisez cette lettre et -recevez ce présent. - -Il lui remit la lettre, et lui passa au cou la chaîne de corail, dont -les agrafes étaient d’or: Cette lettre, ajouta-t-il, est du seigneur -gouverneur, et cette autre, ainsi que la chaîne est de madame la -duchesse qui m’envoie auprès de Votre Grâce. - -Thérèse et sa fille restèrent pétrifiées. Que je meure, dit la petite, -si notre seigneur et maître don Quichotte n’est pas là dedans; il aura -donné à mon père le comté qu’il lui avait promis. - -Justement, répondit le page, c’est en considération du seigneur don -Quichotte que le seigneur Sancho est devenu gouverneur de l’île -Barataria, comme vous le verrez par cette lettre. - -Lisez-la donc, seigneur, dit Thérèse; je sais filer, mais je ne sais pas -lire. - -Ni moi non plus, ajouta Sanchette; attendez, j’irai chercher quelqu’un -qui la lira, soit le curé, soit le bachelier Samson Carrasco; ils -viendront de bon cœur pour apprendre des nouvelles de mon seigneur -père. - -Il n’est besoin d’aller chercher personne, dit le page; je ne sais point -filer, mais je sais lire, et je la lirai bien tout seul. - -Comme cette lettre est rapportée plus haut, on ne la répète point ici. -Le page ensuite en prit une autre, celle de la duchesse, qui était -conçue en ces termes: - - «Amie Thérèse, les excellentes qualités de cœur et d’esprit de votre - époux Sancho m’ont décidée à prier monseigneur le duc de lui donner le - gouvernement d’une île parmi celles qu’il possède. J’apprends qu’il - gouverne comme un aigle, ce dont je me réjouis fort, ainsi que le duc - mon seigneur, qui s’applaudit chaque jour du choix qu’il a fait; car, - vous le savez, ma chère dame, il n’y a rien de si difficile au monde - que de trouver un homme capable, et Dieu veuille faire de moi une - femme aussi bonne que Sancho est bon gouverneur. Mon page vous - remettra une chaîne de corail dont les agrafes sont en or. Je - voudrais, ma bonne amie, que ce fût autant de perles orientales; mais - enfin qui te donne un os ne veut pas ta mort. Un temps viendra, - j’espère, où nous pourrons nous connaître et nous visiter; en - attendant, faites mes compliments à la petite Sanchette; dites-lui de - ma part qu’elle se tienne prête, et qu’au moment où elle y pensera le - moins, je veux la marier à un grand seigneur. On dit ici que vous avez - dans votre village une très-belle espèce de gland, envoyez-m’en, je - vous prie, deux douzaines; le présent me sera considérable venant de - vous. Écrivez-moi longuement de votre santé, de vos occupations, - enfin de tout ce qui vous regarde; et si vous avez besoin de quelque - chose, faites-moi-le savoir, vous serez servie à bouche que veux-tu. - Dieu vous tienne en sa sainte garde! - - «Votre bonne amie, qui vous aime bien. - - «LA DUCHESSE. - - «De cet endroit tel jour.» - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria Thérèse, la bonne dame que voilà, et qu’elle est -simple et modeste! Dieu fasse qu’on m’enterre avec de pareilles dames, -et non avec ces femmes d’hidalgos de notre village, qui, parce qu’elles -sont nobles, ne voudraient pas que le vent les touche, vont à l’église -avec autant de morgue que si elles étaient des reines, et croiraient se -déshonorer si elles regardaient une paysanne en face; tandis que voilà -une duchesse qui m’appelle sa bonne amie, et me traite comme si j’étais -son égale. Plaise à Dieu que je la voie un jour aussi élevée que le plus -haut clocher de la Manche! Quant aux glands doux qu’elle me demande, je -lui en enverrai un boisseau, mais de si gros que je veux qu’on vienne -les voir d’une lieue. Sanchette aie soin de ce seigneur, et qu’on traite -son cheval comme lui-même: va chercher des œufs dans l’étable, coupe -une large tranche de lard, enfin traite-le comme un prince: les -nouvelles qu’il nous apporte méritent bien qu’on lui fasse faire bonne -chère. En attendant, je m’en vais raconter l’heureuse nouvelle à nos -voisines, au seigneur curé et à maître Nicolas, qui étaient et qui sont -encore si bons amis de ton père. - -Soyez tranquille, ma mère, répondit la petite, je me charge de tout. -Mais, dites-moi, n’oubliez pas de me donner la moitié de votre collier, -car je ne pense pas que madame la duchesse soit si mal apprise que de -l’envoyer pour vous seule. - -Il sera pour toi tout entier, ma fille, reprit Thérèse; laisse-le-moi -porter seulement quelques jours, cela me réjouira le cœur. - -Votre cœur se réjouira bien davantage, dit le page, quand je vous -ferai voir ce que j’ai dans cette valise: c’est un habillement de drap -fin, que le gouverneur n’a porté qu’une seule fois à la chasse, et il -l’envoie tout complet à mademoiselle Sanchette. - -Qu’il vive mille années, mon bon père! s’écria Sanchette, ainsi que -celui qui nous apporte de si bonnes nouvelles, et même deux mille, au -besoin. - -Thérèse s’en fut aussitôt, le collier au cou et les lettres à la main; -et ayant rencontré le curé et Samson Carrasco, elle se mit à sauter en -disant: Par ma foi, c’est aujourd’hui qu’il n’y a plus de parents -pauvres, nous tenons un gouvernement. Que la plus huppée de ces dames -vienne se frotter à moi, elles trouveront à qui parler. - -Que voulez-vous dire, Thérèse, demanda le curé; d’où vient cette folie, -et quel papier tenez-vous là? - -Toute la folie est que voici des lettres de duchesse et de gouverneur, -que le collier que je porte a les _Ave_ de fin corail, les _Pater -noster_ d’or pur, et que je suis gouverneuse. - -Que Dieu vous entende, Thérèse, dit Carrasco; car nous ne vous entendons -pas, et nous ne savons ce que vous voulez dire. - -Vous l’allez voir à l’instant, repartit Thérèse; lisez seulement. - -Le curé lut les lettres à haute voix, et lui et le bachelier restèrent -encore plus étonnés qu’auparavant, car ils n’y pouvaient rien -comprendre. Carrasco demanda qui les avait apportées. - -Venez à la maison, répondit Thérèse, et vous verrez le messager: c’est -un jeune garçon beau comme le jour, et il m’apporte en présent bien -d’autres choses. - -Le curé prit le collier, le considéra trois ou quatre fois, et -reconnaissant qu’il était de prix, il ne pouvait revenir de sa surprise. -Par l’habit que je porte, s’écria-t-il, je m’y perds: le cadeau n’est -pas de médiocre valeur; et voici une duchesse qui envoie demander des -glands, comme si c’était chose rare et qu’elle n’en eût jamais vu. - -Tout cela est bizarre, dit Carrasco: mais allons trouver le messager, -nous apprendrons peut-être ce que cela signifie. - -Ils suivirent Thérèse, que la joie avait rendue folle, et en entrant ils -virent le page qui criblait de l’avoine pour son cheval, et la petite -Sanchette qui coupait du jambon pour faire une omelette. Le messager -leur parut de bonne mine et en galant équipage. S’étant salués de part -et d’autre, Carrasco lui demanda des nouvelles de don Quichotte et de -son écuyer, disant que les lettres qu’ils venaient de lire ne faisaient -que les embarrasser, qu’ils ne comprenaient rien au gouvernement de -Sancho, et surtout à cette île qu’on lui avait donnée, puisque celles de -la Méditerranée appartenaient au roi d’Espagne. - -Seigneur, répondit le page, il n’y a cependant rien de plus vrai; le -seigneur Sancho est gouverneur, que ce soit d’une île ou d’autre chose, -je n’en sais rien: quoi qu’il en soit, c’est une ville de plus de mille -habitants. Pour ce qui est des glands que madame la duchesse envoie -demander à une paysanne, il ne faut point s’en étonner: elle n’est pas -fière, et je l’ai vue plus d’une fois envoyer prier une de ses voisines -de lui prêter un peigne. Nos dames, d’Aragon ne sont pas si fières ni si -pointilleuses que celles de Castille, et elles traitent les gens avec -moins de hauteur. - -Pendant cet entretien, la petite Sanchette accourut avec des œufs dans -le pan de sa robe, et s’adressant au page: Dites-moi, seigneur, est-ce -que mon seigneur père attache ses chausses avec des aiguillettes, depuis -qu’il est gouverneur? - -Je n’y ai pas fait attention, répondit le page, mais il doit en être -ainsi. - -Eh bon Dieu, continua Sanchette, que je serais aise de voir mon seigneur -père en hauts-de-chausses! je l’ai toujours demandé à Dieu, depuis que -je suis au monde. - -Si le gouvernement dure seulement deux mois, répondit le page, vous le -verrez voyager avec un masque sur le visage. - -Le curé et le bachelier s’apercevaient bien qu’on se moquait de la mère -et de la fille; mais ils ne savaient que penser du riche collier et de -l’habit de chasse que Thérèse leur avait montrés. Cependant ils riaient -de bon cœur de la simplicité de Sanchette; et ce fut bien mieux encore -lorsque Thérèse vint à dire: Or çà, seigneur licencié, connaissez-vous -ici quelqu’un qui aille à Madrid ou à Tolède? Je voudrais faire acheter -pour moi un vertugadin à la mode. Car, en vérité, je veux honorer le -gouvernement de mon mari en tout ce que je pourrai, et si on me fâche, -je m’en irai à la cour, et j’aurai un carrosse comme les autres: une -femme dont le mari est gouverneur a bien le droit d’en avoir un. - -Plût à Dieu, ma mère, que ce fût aujourd’hui plutôt que demain, ajouta -Sanchette, quand même ceux qui me verraient dedans devraient dire: -Regardez donc cette péronnelle, cette fille de mangeur d’ail, la -voyez-vous se prélasser dans ce carrosse, à côté de madame sa mère! ne -dirait-on pas que c’est la papesse Jeanne? Mais qu’ils enragent, je m’en -moque, et qu’ils pataugent dans la boue, pourvu que j’aille dans un bon -carrosse les pieds chauds. N’ai-je pas raison, ma mère? - -Oui, ma fille, répondit Thérèse, et mon bon Sancho me l’a toujours dit, -qu’il me ferait un jour comtesse. Le tout est de commencer, et, comme je -l’ai ouï dire bien des fois à ton père, qui est autant le père des -proverbes que le tien: Si on te donne la vache, mets-lui la corde au -cou; si on te donne un gouvernement, empoigne-le; si on te donne un -comté, saute dessus; ce qui est bon à prendre, est bon à garder; sinon, -fermez l’oreille et ne répondez pas au bonheur qui vient frapper à votre -porte. - -Je me moque bien, moi, reprit Sanchette, qu’on dise en me voyant prendre -des grands airs: Le lévrier s’est joliment refait, depuis qu’il a un -collier d’or, il ne connaît plus son compagnon. - -En vérité, dit le curé, je crois que toute cette race des Panza est -venue au monde avec un sac de proverbes dans le corps; je n’en ai pas vu -un seul qui n’en lâche une douzaine à tout propos. - -Il est vrai, repartit le page, qu’ils ne coûtent rien au seigneur -gouverneur; il en débite à chaque instant, et quoique nombre ne viennent -pas fort à propos, cela ne laisse pas de divertir madame la duchesse, -ainsi que son époux. - -Seigneur, dit Carrasco, parlons sérieusement, je vous prie. Quel est ce -gouvernement de Sancho, et quelle est cette duchesse qui écrit à sa -femme et lui envoie des présents? Quoique nous voyions les présents et -les lettres, nous ne savons qu’en penser, sinon que c’est une de ces -choses extraordinaires qui arrivent constamment au seigneur don -Quichotte, et qu’il s’imagine toujours avoir lieu par enchantement. Nous -sommes même tentés de vous prendre pour un ambassadeur fantastique. - -Quant à moi, répondit le page, tout ce que je puis vous dire, c’est que -je suis un véritable ambassadeur, qu’on m’a envoyé ici avec ces lettres -et ces présents; que le seigneur Sancho Panza est bien effectivement -gouverneur, et que le duc, mon maître, lui a donné ce gouvernement où il -fait merveilles. Si dans tout cela il y a enchantement, je laisse Vos -Grâces en discuter entre elles; pour moi, je ne sais rien autre chose, -et j’en jure par la vie de mes père et mère, qui sont en bonne santé et -que je chéris tendrement. - -Cela peut être ainsi, repartit Carrasco; mais vous me permettrez d’en -douter. - -Doutez-en si vous voulez, dit le page; je vous ai dit la vérité: sinon, -venez avec moi, et vous la verrez de vos propres yeux. - -Moi, moi, j’irai, cria Sanchette; prenez-moi sur la croupe de votre -bidet, je serai fort aise d’aller voir mon seigneur père. - -Les filles des gouverneurs ne doivent point aller ainsi, mais en -carrosse ou en litière, et avec un grand nombre de serviteurs, repartit -le page. - -J’irai sur une bourrique aussi bien assise que dans un coche, reprit -Sanchette; vraiment, vous l’avez bien trouvée votre mijaurée. - -Tais-toi, petite, dit Thérèse à sa fille, tu ne sais ce que tu dis, et -ce seigneur a raison; il y a temps et temps; quand c’était Sancho, -c’était la petite Sanchette, et quand c’est le gouverneur, c’est -mademoiselle; tâche de ne point l’oublier. - -Madame Thérèse a raison, ajouta le page; mais qu’on me donne, je vous -prie, un morceau à manger, afin que je m’en aille, car je dois être ce -soir de retour. - -Seigneur, dit le curé, vous viendrez, s’il vous plaît, faire pénitence -avec moi: madame Thérèse a plus de bonne volonté que de moyens pour -traiter un homme de votre qualité. - -Le page le remercia d’abord, mais finit par se rendre, et le curé fut -charmé de pouvoir le questionner à son aise sur don Quichotte et sur -Sancho. Le bachelier Carrasco offrit à Thérèse d’écrire ses réponses, -mais elle ne voulut point qu’il se mêlât de ses affaires, le sachant -très-goguenard; elle s’adressa à un enfant de chœur, qui écrivit deux -lettres, l’une pour la duchesse, l’autre pour Sancho, toutes deux -sorties de sa propre cervelle, et qui ne sont pas les plus mauvais -morceaux de cette histoire. - -CHAPITRE LI - -SUITE DU GOUVERNEMENT DE SANCHO PANZA. - -L’esprit préoccupé des attraits de la jeune fille déguisée, le maître -d’hôtel avait passé la nuit sans dormir, tandis que le majordome -l’employait, de son côté, à écrire à ses maîtres tout ce que disait et -faisait Sancho Panza. Le jour venu, le seigneur gouverneur se leva, et, -par ordre du docteur Pedro Rezio, on le fit déjeuner avec un peu de -conserves et quelques gorgées d’eau fraîche, mets que Sancho eût troqués -de bon cœur contre un quartier de pain bis. Enfin, voyant qu’il fallait -en passer par là, il s’y résigna à la grande douleur de son âme et à la -grande fatigue de son estomac, le médecin lui affirmant que manger peu -avive l’esprit; chose nécessaire aux personnes constituées en dignité et -chargées de graves emplois, où l’on a bien moins besoin des forces du -corps que de celles de l’intelligence. Avec ces beaux raisonnements, -Sancho souffrait la faim, maudissant tout bas le gouvernement et celui -qui le lui avait donné. - -Cependant il ne laissa pas de tenir audience ce jour-là, et la première -affaire qui s’offrit, ce fut une question que lui fit un étranger en -présence du majordome et des autres gens de sa suite. - -Monseigneur, lui dit cet homme, que Votre Grâce veuille bien m’écouter -avec attention, car le cas est grave et passablement difficile. Une -large et profonde rivière sépare en deux les terres d’un même seigneur; -sur cette rivière il y a un pont, et au bout de ce pont une potence, -ainsi qu’une salle d’audience, où d’ordinaire sont quatre juges chargés -d’appliquer la loi établie par le propriétaire de la seigneurie. Cette -loi est ainsi conçue: «Quiconque voudra traverser ce pont doit d’abord -affirmer par serment d’où il vient et où il va: s’il dit la vérité, -qu’on le laisse passer; s’il ment, qu’on le pende sans rémission à ce -gibet.» Cette loi étant connue de tout le monde, on a l’habitude -d’interroger ceux qui se présentent pour passer; on les fait jurer, et -s’ils disent vrai, ils passent librement. Or, un jour il arriva qu’un -homme, après avoir fait le serment d’usage, dit: Par le serment que je -viens de prêter, je jure que je mourrai à cette potence, et non d’autre -manière. Les juges se regardèrent en disant: Si nous laissons passer cet -homme, il aura fait un faux serment, et suivant la loi il doit mourir; -mais si nous le faisons pendre, il aura dit vrai, et suivant la même -loi, ayant dit vrai, on doit le laisser passer. Or, on demande à Votre -Grâce ce que les juges doivent faire de cet homme, car ils sont encore -en suspens et ne savent quel parti adopter. Ayant appris par le bruit -public combien vous êtes clairvoyant dans les matières les plus -difficiles, ils m’ont envoyé vers vous, Monseigneur, pour supplier Votre -Grâce de donner son avis dans un cas si douteux et si embrouillé. - -En vérité, répondit Sancho, ceux qui vous envoient ici auraient bien pu -s’en épargner la peine; car je ne suis pas aussi subtil qu’ils le -pensent, et j’ai plus d’épaisseur de chair que de finesse d’esprit. -Néanmoins, répétez-moi votre question; je tâcherai de bien la -comprendre, et peut-être qu’à force de chercher, je toucherai le but. - -Le questionneur répéta une ou deux fois ce qu’il avait d’abord exposé. -Il me semble, continua Sancho, qu’on peut bâcler cela en un tour de -main, et voici comment: cet homme jure qu’il va mourir à cette potence, -et s’il y meurt, il a dit vrai: or, s’il dit vrai, la loi veut qu’on le -laisse passer; si on ne le pend point, il a menti, et il doit être -pendu: n’est-ce pas cela? - -C’est cela même, seigneur gouverneur, répondit l’étranger. - -Eh bien, mon avis, ajouta Sancho, est qu’on laisse passer de cet homme -la partie qui a dit vrai, et qu’on pende la partie qui a dit faux; de -cette façon, la loi sera exécutée au pied de la lettre. - -Mais, seigneur, repartit l’étranger, il faudra couper cet homme en deux? -et cela ne pouvant se faire sans qu’il meure, la question reste -indécise. - -Écoutez, répliqua Sancho: ou je suis un sot, ou il y a autant de raisons -pour laisser vivre cet homme que pour le faire mourir, car si le -mensonge le condamne, la vérité le sauve: ainsi donc, vous direz à ceux -qui vous envoient que, puisqu’il est, à mon avis, aussi raisonnable de -l’absoudre que de le condamner, ils doivent le laisser aller. Il vaut -toujours mieux qu’un juge soit doux que rigoureux, et cela je le -signerais de ma main si je savais signer. D’ailleurs, je vous apprendrai -que ce que je viens de dire n’est pas de mon cru. Je me rappelle que -monseigneur don Quichotte m’a dit, entre autres choses, la veille même -de mon départ pour venir gouverner cette île, que quand je trouverais un -cas douteux, je fisse miséricorde; et Dieu a voulu que je m’en sois -ressouvenu ici fort à propos. - -Seigneur, dit le majordome, ce jugement est si équitable que Lycurgue, -qui donna des lois à Lacédémone, n’en aurait pu rendre un meilleur. Mais -en voilà assez pour l’audience de ce matin, et je vais donner des ordres -pour que Votre Grâce dîne tout à son aise. - -C’est cela, dit Sancho, qu’on me nourrisse bien, et qu’on me fasse -question sur question; si je ne vous les éclaircis comme un crible, -dites que je suis une bête. - -Le majordome tint parole, se faisant conscience de laisser mourir de -faim un si grand gouverneur et un juge si éclairé; outre qu’il avait -envie de jouer à Sancho, la nuit suivante, le dernier tour qu’on lui -réservait. - -Or, il arriva que notre gouverneur ayant fort bien dîné ce jour-là, en -dépit des aphorismes du docteur Tirteafuera, un courrier entra dans la -salle et lui remit une lettre de la part de don Quichotte. Sancho -ordonna au secrétaire de la parcourir des yeux, pour voir s’il n’y avait -rien de secret. Après l’avoir achevée, le secrétaire s’écria que -non-seulement on devait en donner lecture devant tout le monde, mais -qu’elle devrait être gravée en lettres d’or, et il lut ce qui suit: - - LETTRE DE DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE A SANCHO PANZA, GOUVERNEUR DE - L’ÎLE DE BARATARIA. - - «Quand je m’attendais à recevoir des nouvelles de ta négligence et de - tes sottises, ami Sancho, je n’entends parler que de ta sage - administration et de ta prudence, ce dont je rends grâces au ciel, qui - sait tirer le pauvre du fumier et de sots faire des gens d’esprit. - - «On me dit que tu gouvernes ton île avec la dignité d’un homme, mais - qu’on te prendrait pour une brute, tant est grande la simplicité de ta - vie. Je dois t’avertir, Sancho, que pour conserver l’autorité de sa - place, il faut savoir résister à l’humilité de son cœur; la - bienséance exige que ceux qui sont chargés de hautes fonctions se - conforment à la dignité de ces fonctions, et oublient le rôle chétif - qu’ils remplissaient auparavant. Sois toujours bien vêtu, car un bâton - paré n’est plus un bâton; je ne dis pas cela pour que tu te couvres de - dentelles et de broderies, et qu’étant magistrat, tu aies l’air d’un - courtisan; mais afin que l’habit que requiert ta profession soit - propre, et décent. - - «Pour gagner l’affection de ceux que tu gouvernes, observes deux - choses: la première, c’est d’être affable avec tout le monde, ainsi - que je te l’ai déjà dit; la seconde, d’entretenir l’abondance dans ton - île, car il n’y a rien qui fasse autant murmurer le peuple que la - disette et la faim. - - «Fais le moins possible de lois et d’ordonnances; mais quand tu en - feras, qu’elles soient bonnes et qu’on les suive exactement; les lois - qu’on n’observe pas, font dire que celui qui a eu la sagesse de les - concevoir n’a pas eu la force de les faire exécuter. Or, la loi qui - reste impuissante est comme cette poutre qu’on donna pour reine aux - grenouilles; après avoir commencé par la craindre, elles finirent par - la mépriser jusqu’à sauter dessus. - - «Sois une mère pour les vertus et une marâtre pour les vices. Ne te - montre ni toujours rigoureux, ni toujours débonnaire, et tiens le - milieu entre ces deux extrêmes: c’est là qu’est la sagesse. - - «Visite les prisons, les boucheries, les marchés; tous les endroits, - en un mot, où la présence du gouverneur est indispensable. - - «Console les prisonniers qui attendent la prompte expédition de leur - affaire. - - «Sois un épouvantail pour les bouchers et les revendeurs, afin qu’ils - donnent le juste poids. - - «Garde-toi de te montrer, quand tu le serais, ce que je ne crois pas, - avide, gourmand, débauché; car dès qu’on aura découvert en toi de - mauvaises inclinations, il ne manquera pas de gens pour te tendre des - piéges, et dès lors ta passion causerait ta perte. - - «Lis et relis sans cesse les instructions que je t’ai données quand tu - partis pour ton gouvernement; si tu les suis, tu verras de quelle - utilité elles te seront dans une charge si épineuse. - - «Écris à tes seigneurs, et montre-toi reconnaissant à leur égard: - l’ingratitude est fille de l’orgueil et l’un des plus grands péchés - que l’on connaisse; tandis qu’être reconnaissant du bien qu’on a reçu, - est une preuve qu’on le sera également envers Dieu, qui nous accorde - chaque jour tant de faveurs. - - «Madame la duchesse a dépêché un exprès à ta femme pour lui porter ton - habit de chasse, et un autre présent qu’elle lui envoie par la même - occasion; nous attendons d’heure en heure la réponse. - - «J’ai été quelque peu indisposé par suite de certaines égratignures de - chats, dont mon nez ne s’est pas fort bien trouvé, mais cela n’a rien - été, car s’il y a des enchanteurs qui me maltraitent, il n’en manque - pas pour me protéger. - - «Le majordome qui t’accompagnait a-t-il quelque chose de commun avec - la Trifaldi, comme tu l’avais cru d’abord? Donne-moi avis de tout ce - qui t’arrivera, puisque la distance est si courte. - - «Entre nous, je te dirai que je songe à quitter la vie oisive où je - languis; elle n’est pas faite pour moi. Une circonstance s’est - présentée qui, je le crains bien, a dû me faire perdre les bonnes - grâces de monseigneur le duc et de madame la duchesse: mais enfin, - malgré le regret que j’en ai, quoi que je puisse leur devoir, je me - dois encore plus à ma profession; suivant cet adage: _Amicus Plato, - sed magis amica veritas_[118]. Je te dis ces quelques mots de latin, - parce que je pense que depuis que tu es gouverneur tu n’auras pas - manqué de l’apprendre. - - «Sur ce, Dieu te garde longues années, et qu’il te préserve de la - compassion d’autrui. - - «Ton ami, - - «DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE.» - - [118] J’aime Platon, mais j’aime encore plus la vérité. - -Cette lettre fut trouvée admirable et pleine de bon sens; aussi dès que -Sancho en eut entendu la lecture, il se leva de table, appela son -secrétaire, et alla s’enfermer avec lui pour y faire réponse -sur-le-champ. Après avoir ordonné au secrétaire d’écrire, sans ajouter -ni retrancher un seul mot, voici ce qu’il lui dicta: - - LETTRE DE SANCHO PANZA A DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE. - - «L’occupation que me donnent mes affaires est si grande, que je n’ai - pas le temps de me gratter la tête, ni même de me couper les ongles; - aussi les ai-je si longs, que Dieu seul peut y remédier. Je dis cela, - mon cher maître, afin que Votre Grâce ne soit pas surprise si jusqu’à - présent je ne l’ai pas informée comment je me trouve dans ce - gouvernement, où je souffre encore plus de la faim que quand nous - errions tous les deux par les forêts et les déserts. - - «Monseigneur le duc m’a écrit l’autre jour, pour me donner avis qu’il - est entré dans mon île des assassins avec le dessein de me tuer. Mais - jusqu’à présent je n’ai pu en découvrir d’autre qu’un certain docteur, - qui est gagé dans ce pays pour tuer autant de gouverneurs qu’il y en - vient. Il s’appelle le docteur Pedro Rezio, et est natif de - Tirteafuera. Voyez quel nom, et si j’ai raison de craindre de mourir - par ses mains. Ce docteur avoue qu’il ne guérit point la maladie qu’on - a; mais qu’il la prévient pour qu’elle ne vienne pas. Or, ses remèdes - sont diète sur diète, jusqu’à rendre un homme plus sec que du bois, - comme si la maigreur n’était pas un plus grand mal que la fièvre. - Finalement il me fait mourir de faim, et en attendant je crève de - dépit: car lorsque je vins dans le gouvernement, je comptais manger - chaud, boire frais, et me reposer sur la plume entre des draps de - fine toile de Hollande, tandis que j’y suis réduit à faire pénitence - comme un ermite: mais comme je ne la fais qu’en enrageant, j’ai bien - peur qu’à la fin le diable n’en profite, et ne m’emporte un beau jour - décharné comme un squelette. - - «Jusqu’à présent je n’ai perçu aucuns droits, ni reçu aucuns cadeaux; - j’ignore pourquoi, car on m’avait dit que les habitants de ce pays - donnent ou prêtent de grandes sommes aux gouverneurs à leur entrée - dans l’île, comme c’est aussi la coutume dans les autres - gouvernements. - - «Hier soir, en faisant ma ronde, j’ai rencontré une jeune demoiselle, - belle à ravir, en habit de garçon, et son frère en habit de femme. Mon - maître d’hôtel est devenu en un instant amoureux de la fille, et il - veut en faire sa femme, à ce qu’il nous a dit; quant à moi, j’ai - choisi le jeune homme pour mon gendre. Aujourd’hui nous en causerons - avec le père, qui est un certain don Diego de Lana, vieux chrétien, et - gentilhomme si jamais il en fut. - - «Je visite souvent les marchés et les places publiques, comme Votre - Grâce me le conseille. Hier, je vis une marchande qui vendait des - noisettes fraîches, parmi lesquelles s’en trouvaient bon nombre de - vieilles et pourries: je confisquai le tout au profit des enfants de - la doctrine chrétienne, qui sauront bien distinguer les bonnes des - mauvaises, et j’ai condamné en outre la marchande à ne point - reparaître de quinze jours dans le marché. Et on m’a dit que j’avais - fort bien fait. Ce que je puis assurer à Votre Grâce, c’est que le - bruit court en ce pays qu’il n’y a pas de plus mauvaise engeance que - ces revendeuses, qu’elles sont toutes effrontées, menteuses, sans foi - ni loi; et je le crois bien, car partout je les ai vues de même. - - «Que madame la duchesse ait écrit à Thérèse, et lui ait envoyé le - présent que dit Votre Grâce, j’en suis très-satisfait; et je tâcherai, - en temps et lieu, de montrer que je ne suis pas ingrat. En attendant, - baisez-lui les mains de ma part, et dites-lui que le bien qu’elle m’a - fait n’est point tombé dans un sac percé. - - «Je ne voudrais pas que Votre Seigneurie eût des démêlés et des - fâcheries avec monseigneur le duc et madame la duchesse; car si Votre - Grâce se brouille avec eux, il est clair que ce sera à mon détriment, - et puis ce serait mal à vous, qui me conseillez d’être reconnaissant, - de ne pas l’être envers des personnes qui vous ont si bien accueilli - et régalé dans leur château. - - «Quant aux égratignures de chats, j’ignore ce que cela signifie; je - m’imagine que ce doit être quelque méchant tour de vos ennemis les - enchanteurs; vous me direz au juste ce qui en est quand nous nous - reverrons. - - «J’aurais voulu envoyer quelque chose en présent à Votre Grâce, mais - je n’ai rien trouvé dans ce pays, si ce n’est des canules de seringue - ajustées à des vessies, instruments qu’on y travaille à merveille; au - reste, si l’office me demeure, je saurai bien sous peu vous envoyer - quelque chose de mieux. - - «Dans le cas où Thérèse Panza, ma femme, viendrait à m’écrire, payez - le port, et envoyez-moi la lettre sans retard, car je meurs d’envie de - savoir comment on se porte chez nous. Je prie Dieu qu’il vous délivre - des enchanteurs, et moi, qu’il me tire sain et sauf de ce - gouvernement, chose dont je doute fort à la manière dont me traite le - docteur Pedro Rezio. - - «Le très-humble serviteur de Votre Grâce, - - «SANCHO PANZA, le gouverneur. - - «De mon île, le même jour où je vous écris.» - -Le secrétaire ferma la lettre, et fit partir le courrier; puis les -mystificateurs de Sancho arrêtèrent entre eux de mettre fin à son -gouvernement. Quant à lui, il passa l’après-dînée à dresser quelques -ordonnances touchant la bonne administration de ce qu’il croyait être -une île. Il défendit les revendeurs de comestibles, mais il permit de -faire venir du vin d’où l’on voudrait, pourvu qu’on déclarât l’endroit -d’où il était, afin d’en fixer le prix selon la qualité et selon -l’estime qu’on faisait du cru; déclarant que celui qui y mettrait de -l’eau ou le dirait d’un autre endroit que celui d’où il provenait, -serait puni de mort. Il abaissa le prix de toute espèce de chaussures, -et principalement celui des souliers, qui lui semblait exorbitant. Il -taxa les gages des valets. Il établit des peines rigoureuses contre ceux -qui chanteraient des chansons obscènes, soit de jour, soit de nuit. Il -défendit qu’aucun aveugle chantât des complaintes faites sur des -miracles, à moins de fournir des preuves de leur authenticité; car il -lui semblait que la plupart étant controuvés, ils faisaient tort aux -véritables. Il créa un alguazil des pauvres, non pas pour les -poursuivre, mais pour s’assurer s’ils l’étaient véritablement, parce -que, disait-il, ces prétendus manchots, avec leurs plaies factices, ne -sont souvent que des coupeurs de bourse et des ivrognes. En un mot, il -rendit des ordonnances si équitables et si utiles, qu’on les observe -encore aujourd’hui dans le pays, où on les appelle les _Constitutions du -grand gouverneur Sancho Panza_. - -CHAPITRE LII - -AVENTURE DE LA SECONDE DOLORIDE, AUTREMENT LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ. - -Cid Hamet raconte que don Quichotte, une fois guéri de ses égratignures, -trouvant la vie qu’il menait indigne d’un véritable chevalier errant, -résolut de prendre congé de ses hôtes et de s’en aller à Saragosse, afin -de se trouver au tournoi annoncé, où il prétendait conquérir l’armure, -prix ordinaire de ces joutes. Un jour qu’il était à table avec le duc, -bien résolu à lui déclarer son intention, on vit tout à coup entrer dans -la salle deux femmes couvertes de deuil de la tête aux pieds. L’une -d’elles, s’approchant de notre héros, se jeta à ses pieds et les -embrassa avec des gémissements si prolongés, qu’on crut qu’elle allait -expirer de douleur. Quoique le duc et la duchesse s’imaginassent que -c’était quelque nouveau tour qu’on voulait jouer à don Quichotte, -l’affliction de cette femme paraissait tellement naturelle, qu’ils ne -savaient qu’en penser. - -Touché de compassion, don Quichotte fit relever la suppliante, puis, -l’ayant priée d’écarter son voile, on reconnut la vénérable señora -Rodriguez, et dans la personne qui l’accompagnait, cette jeune fille -qu’avait séduite le fils du riche laboureur. Ce fut une grande surprise, -surtout pour le duc et la duchesse, car quoiqu’ils connussent la duègne -pour une créature assez simple, ils ne pensaient pas qu’elle fût capable -d’une si grande crédulité. Enfin la señora Rodriguez se tourna du côté -de ses maîtres, et après avoir fait une profonde révérence, elle leur -dit humblement: - -Que Vos Excellences veuillent bien me permettre d’entretenir un instant -ce chevalier; j’ai besoin de lui pour sortir à mon honneur d’un embarras -où m’a plongée l’audace d’un vilain malintentionné. - -Je vous l’accorde, lui répondit le duc, et vous pouvez dire au seigneur -don Quichotte tout ce qu’il vous plaira. - -Valeureux chevalier, dit la señora Rodriguez en se tournant vers don -Quichotte, il y a quelques jours, je vous ai raconté la perfidie dont un -rustre s’est rendu coupable envers ma chère fille, l’infortunée ici -présente. Vous me promîtes alors de prendre sa défense, et de redresser -le tort qu’on lui a fait; mais j’apprends que votre intention est de -quitter ce château pour retourner aux aventures qu’il plaira à Dieu de -vous envoyer; je voudrais donc qu’avant de vous mettre en chemin, il -plût à Votre Grâce de défier ce rustre indompté, pour le contraindre à -épouser ma fille, selon sa promesse; car de penser que monseigneur le -duc me fasse rendre justice, c’est demander des poires à l’ormeau, pour -la raison que je vous ai déjà confiée. Sur cela, que Notre-Seigneur -Jésus-Christ donne à Votre Grâce une excellente santé, et qu’il ne nous -abandonne point, ma fille et moi. - -Ma chère dame, répondit don Quichotte avec gravité, séchez vos larmes, -et arrêtez vos soupirs: je prends à ma charge la réparation due à votre -fille; elle n’aurait pas dû sans doute croire si facilement aux -promesses des amoureux, promesses très-légères à contracter et -très-lourdes à tenir; mais enfin, puisque le mal est fait, il faut -penser au remède; ainsi donc je vous promets, avec la permission de -monseigneur le duc, de me mettre sur-le-champ à la recherche de ce -dénaturé garçon, et quand je l’aurai trouvé, de le défier et de le tuer -s’il refuse d’accomplir sa promesse; car le premier devoir de ma -profession est de châtier les insolents et de pardonner aux humbles, de -secourir les affligés et d’abattre les persécuteurs. - -Seigneur chevalier, répondit le duc, ne vous mettez point en peine de -chercher le paysan dont se plaint cette dame, et dispensez-vous de me -demander la permission de le défier; je le donne et le tiens pour défié; -je me charge de lui transmettre votre cartel, et de le lui faire -accepter; il viendra répondre lui-même, et je vous donnerai à tous deux -le champ libre et sûr, observant les conditions en usage dans de -semblables rencontres, et faisant à chacun une égale justice, comme y -sont obligés tous princes qui accordent le champ clos aux combattants. - -Avec l’assurance que me donne Votre Grandeur, repartit don Quichotte, je -renonce pour cette fois aux priviléges de ma noblesse, je m’abaisse -jusqu’à la condition de l’offenseur et me rends son égal, afin qu’il -puisse mesurer sa lance avec la mienne. Ainsi donc, quoique absent, je -l’appelle et le défie comme traître, pour avoir abusé de cette -demoiselle et lui avoir ravi l’honneur. Il deviendra son époux, ou il -payera de la vie son manque de foi. - -Aussitôt tirant le gant de sa main gauche, notre héros le jeta au milieu -de la salle. Le duc le releva, en répétant qu’il acceptait le défi au -nom de son vassal, qu’il fixait au sixième jour l’époque du combat, et -assignait la cour du château pour champ de bataille, avec les armes -ordinaires des chevaliers, la lance et l’écu, le harnais à cotte de -mailles et les autres pièces de l’armure, sans fraude ni supercherie, le -tout dûment examiné par les juges du camp. Mais, d’abord, reprit-il, il -faut savoir si cette bonne duègne et son imprudente fille remettent -formellement leur droit entre les mains du seigneur don Quichotte; -autrement le défi serait non avenu. - -Je les y remets, dit la duègne. - -Et moi aussi, ajouta la jeune fille en baissant les yeux. - -Ces dispositions arrêtées, les deux plaignantes se retirèrent. La -duchesse ordonna qu’on ne les traitât plus dorénavant comme ses -suivantes, mais en dames aventurières qui venaient demander justice: on -leur donna un appartement dans le château, où elles furent servies à -titre d’étrangères, au grand ébahissement de ceux qui ne savaient ce que -tout cela signifiait. - -On était à la fin du repas, quand, pour compléter la fête, entra le page -qui avait porté le présent à Thérèse Panza, femme de notre illustre -gouverneur. Le duc le questionna avec empressement sur son voyage; il -répondit qu’il avait beaucoup de choses à dire, mais que, comme -plusieurs étaient de haute importance, il suppliait Leurs Excellences de -lui accorder un entretien particulier. Le duc ayant fait sortir la -plupart de ses gens, le page tira deux lettres de son sein, et les mit -entre les mains de la duchesse; il y en avait une pour elle, et l’autre -pour Sancho avec cette suscription: _A mon mari Sancho Panza, gouverneur -de l’île Barataria, à qui Dieu donne heureuse et longue vie_. - -Impatiente de savoir ce que contenait sa lettre, la duchesse l’ouvrit et -en prit lecture. - - LETTRE DE THÉRÈSE PANZA A LA DUCHESSE. - - «Ma bonne dame, j’ai eu bien de la joie de la lettre que Votre - Grandeur m’a écrite; car, en vérité, il y a longtemps que je la - désirais. Le collier de corail est très-beau, et l’habit de chasse de - mon mari ne lui cède en rien. Tout notre village s’est fort réjoui de - ce que Votre Seigneurie a fait mon mari gouverneur, quoique personne - ne veuille le croire, principalement notre curé, maître Nicolas le - barbier, et le bachelier Carrasco; mais ça m’est égal, et je ne me - soucie guère qu’ils le croient, ou qu’ils ne le croient pas, pourvu - que cela soit comme je sais que cela est. Pourtant, s’il faut dire la - vérité, je ne l’aurais pas cru non plus, sans le collier de corail et - l’habit de chasse, car tous les gens du pays disent que mon mari est - un imbécile, qui n’a jamais gouverné que des chèvres et qui ne saurait - gouverner autre chose; mais celui que Dieu aide est bien aidé. - - «Il faut que je vous dise, ma chère dame, qu’un de ces jours, j’ai - résolu d’aller à la cour, en carrosse, pour faire crever de dépit - mille envieux que j’ai déjà. Je prie donc Votre Seigneurie de - recommander à mon mari de m’envoyer un peu d’argent, et même en assez - grande quantité, parce que la dépense est grande à la cour, où le pain - vaut, dit-on, un réal, et la viande trois maravédis la livre; mais - s’il ne veut pas que j’y aille, qu’il me le mande bien vite, car déjà - les pieds me démangent de me mettre en route. Mes voisines me disent - que si ma fille et moi nous allons bien parées à la cour, mon mari - sera bientôt plus connu par moi que moi par lui: parce que tout le - monde demandera quelles sont les dames de ce carrosse, et que mon - valet répondra: La femme et la fille de Sancho Panza, gouverneur de - l’île Barataria; de cette façon, mon mari sera connu, moi je serai - prônée, et à la grâce de Dieu. - - «Je suis bien fâchée que dans notre pays les glands n’aient pas donné - cette année; j’en envoie pourtant à Votre Seigneurie un demi-boisseau - que j’ai cueilli moi-même un à un dans la montagne. Ce n’est pas ma - faute s’ils ne sont pas aussi gros que des œufs d’autruche, comme je - l’aurais voulu. - - «Que Votre Grandeur ne manque pas de m’écrire; j’aurai soin de lui - faire réponse aussitôt, et de lui donner avis de ma santé et de tout - ce qui se passe dans notre village, où je reste priant Dieu qu’il vous - garde longues années et qu’il ne m’oublie pas. Sanchette, ma fille, et - mon fils baisent les mains de Votre Grâce. - - «Celle qui a plus envie de vous voir que de vous écrire. - - «Votre servante, THÉRÈSE PANZA.» - -La lettre fut trouvée fort divertissante, et la duchesse ayant demandé à -don Quichotte s’il pensait qu’on pût décacheter celle que Thérèse -écrivait à son mari, le chevalier répondit qu’il l’ouvrirait pour leur -faire plaisir. Elle disait ce qui suit: - - «J’ai reçu ta lettre, Sancho de mon âme, et je te jure, foi de - chrétienne catholique, qu’il ne s’en est pas fallu de deux doigts que - je ne devienne folle de joie. Quand j’ai su, mon ami, que tu étais - gouverneur, j’ai failli tomber morte du coup, tant j’étais - transportée; car tu le sais, on meurt de joie aussi bien que de - tristesse. Notre petite Sanchette a mouillé son jupon sans s’en - apercevoir, et cela de pur contentement. J’avais sous les yeux l’habit - que tu m’as envoyé, et à mon cou le collier de corail de madame la - duchesse; je tenais les lettres à la main, le messager était devant - moi; eh bien, malgré tout, je croyais que ce que je voyais et touchais - n’était que songe; car qui aurait jamais pu penser qu’un gardeur de - chèvres deviendrait gouverneur d’île? Tu te rappelles ce que disait ma - défunte mère, et elle avait raison: Qui vit beaucoup, voit beaucoup; - je te dis cela parce que j’espère voir encore davantage si je vis plus - longtemps, et je ne serai point contente que je ne te voie fermier de - la gabelle; car bien qu’on prétende que ce sont des offices du diable, - toujours font-ils venir l’eau au moulin. - - «Madame la duchesse te dira l’envie que j’ai d’aller à la cour: vois - si c’est à propos, et me mande ta volonté; j’irai en carrosse pour te - faire honneur. - - «Le curé, le barbier, le bachelier et même le sacristain, ne peuvent - encore croire que tu sois gouverneur, et disent que tout cela est - folie ou enchantement, comme tout ce qui arrive à ton maître. Samson - Carrasco dit qu’il t’ira trouver, afin de t’ôter le gouvernement de la - tête, et à monseigneur don Quichotte la folie de sa cervelle; quant à - moi, je ne fais qu’en rire, en considérant mon collier de corail, et - je songe toujours à l’habit que je vais faire à notre fille avec celui - que tu m’as envoyé. J’envoie des glands à madame la duchesse, et je - voudrais qu’ils fussent d’or; toi, envoie-moi quelque collier de - perles, si l’on en porte dans ton île. - - «Maintenant voici les nouvelles de notre village: la Berruca a marié - sa fille avec un mauvais barbouilleur, qui était venu ici pour peindre - tout ce qu’il rencontrerait. L’_ayuntamiento_[119] l’a chargé de - peindre les armoiries royales sur la porte de la maison commune; il a - demandé deux ducats par avance; il a travaillé huit jours, et comme il - n’a pu en venir à bout, il a dit pour raison qu’il n’était pas fait - pour peindre de pareilles bagatelles. Il a donc rendu l’argent, et - malgré tout il s’est marié à titre de bon ouvrier: il est vrai que - depuis il a quitté le pinceau pour la pioche, et qu’il va aux champs - comme un gentilhomme. Le fils de Pedro Lobo veut se faire prêtre; il a - déjà reçu la tonsure; la petite-fille de Mingo Silvato, Minguilla, l’a - su, et elle va lui faire un procès, parce qu’il lui avait promis de - l’épouser: les mauvaises langues disent qu’elle est enceinte de son - fait, mais lui s’en défend comme un beau diable. - - [119] _Ayuntamiento_, corps municipal. - - «Il n’y a point chez nous d’olives cette année, et l’on ne saurait - trouver une goutte de vinaigre dans tout le pays. Une compagnie de - soldats est passée par ici, et ils ont emmené chemin faisant trois - filles du village; je ne veux pas te les nommer parce qu’elles - reviendront peut-être, et alors il ne manquera pas de gens pour les - épouser, avec leurs taches bonnes ou mauvaises. Notre petite travaille - à faire du réseau, et elle gagne par jour huit maravédis, qu’elle met - dans une bourse, pour amasser son trousseau: mais à cette heure que tu - es gouverneur, tu lui donneras une dot sans qu’elle ait besoin de - travailler pour cela. La fontaine de la place s’est tarie, et le - tonnerre est tombé sur la potence; plaise à Dieu qu’il en arrive - autant à toutes les autres. J’attendrai ta réponse et ta décision pour - mon voyage à la cour. Dieu te donne bonne et longue vie, je veux dire - autant qu’à moi, car je ne voudrais pas te laisser seul dans ce monde. - - «Ta femme, THÉRÈSE PANZA.» - -Les deux lettres furent trouvées admirables et dignes d’éloges; pour -mettre le sceau à la bonne humeur de l’assemblée, on vit entrer le -courrier qui apportait à don Quichotte la lettre de Sancho. On la lut de -même devant ceux qui étaient là: mais elle fit quelque peu douter de la -simplicité du gouverneur. La duchesse alla se renfermer avec le page qui -revenait du village de Thérèse Panza, et lui fit tout conter, jusqu’à la -moindre circonstance. Le page lui présenta les glands, et de plus un -fromage que la bonne dame lui envoyait comme chose d’une délicatesse -exquise. - -Mais il est temps de retourner à Sancho, fleur et miroir de tous les -gouverneurs insulaires. - -CHAPITRE LIII - -DE LA FIN DU GOUVERNEMENT DE SANCHO PANZA. - -S’imaginer que dans cette vie les choses doivent rester toujours en même -état, c’est se tromper étrangement. Au printemps succède l’été, à l’été -l’automne, à l’automne l’hiver; et le temps, revenant chaque jour sur -lui-même, ne cesse de tourner ainsi sur cette roue perpétuelle. L’homme -seul court à sa fin sans espoir de se renouveler, si ce n’est dans -l’autre vie, qui n’a point de bornes. Ainsi parle Cid Hamet, philosophe -mahométan, car cette question de la rapidité et de l’instabilité de la -vie présente et de l’éternelle durée de la vie future, bien des gens, -quoique privés de la lumière de la foi, l’ont comprise par la seule -lumière naturelle. Mais ici notre auteur n’a voulu que faire allusion à -la rapidité avec laquelle le gouvernement de Sancho s’éclipsa, -s’anéantit, et s’en alla en fumée. - -La septième nuit de son gouvernement, Sancho était dans son lit, plus -rassasié de procès que de bonne chère, plus fatigué de rendre des -jugements et de donner des avis, que de toute autre chose; il cherchait -dans le sommeil à se refaire de tant de fatigues, et commençait à -fermer les yeux, quand tout à coup il entendit un bruit épouvantable de -cris et de cloches qui lui fit croire que l’île entière s’écroulait. Il -se leva en sursaut sur son séant, et prêta l’oreille pour démêler la -cause d’un si grand vacarme; non-seulement il n’y comprit rien, mais un -grand bruit de trompettes et de tambours vint encore se joindre aux cris -et au son des cloches. Plein d’épouvante et de trouble, il saute à -terre, et court pieds nus et en chemise à la porte de sa chambre. Au -même instant, il voit se précipiter par les corridors un grand nombre de -gens armés d’épées et portant des torches enflammées: Aux armes! aux -armes! criaient-ils; seigneur gouverneur, les ennemis sont dans l’île, -et nous périssons si votre valeur et votre prudence nous font défaut. -Puis, arrivés près de Sancho, qui était plus mort que vif: Que Votre -Grâce s’arme à l’instant, lui dirent-ils tous ensemble, ou nous sommes -perdus. - -A quoi bon m’armer? répondit Sancho; est-ce que je connais quelque chose -en fait d’attaque et de défense? Il faut laisser cela à mon maître don -Quichotte, qui dépêchera vos ennemis en un tour de main; quant à moi, -pauvre pécheur, je n’y entends rien. - -Quelle froideur est-ce là? armez-vous, seigneur, repartit un d’entre -eux; voici des armes offensives et défensives: guidez-nous, comme notre -chef et notre gouverneur. - -Eh bien, que l’on m’arme; et à la grâce de Dieu, répondit Sancho. - -Aussitôt on apporta deux grands boucliers, qu’on lui attacha l’un par -devant, l’autre par derrière, en les liant étroitement avec des -courroies, les bras seuls étant laissés libres, de façon que le pauvre -homme, une fois enchâssé, ne pouvait ni remuer, ni seulement plier les -genoux. Cela fait, on lui mit dans la main une lance sur laquelle il fut -obligé de s’appuyer pour se tenir debout. Quand il fut équipé de la -sorte, on lui dit de marcher le premier, afin d’animer tout le monde au -combat, ajoutant que tant qu’on l’aurait pour guide, on était assuré de -la victoire. - -Et comment diable marcherais-je? répondit Sancho: entre ces planches où -vous m’avez emboîté, je ne puis seulement pas plier le jarret. Ce qu’il -faut faire, c’est de m’emporter à bras et de me placer en travers ou -debout à quelque poterne que je défendrai ou avec ma lance ou avec mon -corps. - -Allons donc, seigneur gouverneur, dit un de ces gens, ce ne sont pas vos -armes, c’est bien plutôt la peur qui vous empêche de marcher: -hâtez-vous; le bruit augmente et le danger redouble. - -A ces exhortations et à ces reproches, le pauvre Sancho essaya de se -remuer; mais dès les premiers pas il tomba si lourdement qu’il crut -s’être mis en pièces. Il demeura par terre étendu tout de son long, -assez semblable à une tortue sous son écaille, ou à quelque barque -échouée sur le sable. Mais ces impitoyables railleurs n’en eurent pas -plus de compassion: au contraire, ils éteignirent leurs torches, et -simulant le bruit de gens qui combattent, ils passèrent et repassèrent -plus de cent fois sur le corps du gouverneur, donnant de grands coups -d’épée sur le bouclier qui le couvrait, pendant que se ramassant de son -mieux dans cette étroite prison, le pauvre diable suait à grosses -gouttes, et priait Dieu de tout son cœur de le tirer d’un si grand -péril. Les uns trébuchaient, d’autres tombaient sur lui, il y en eut -même un qui, après lui avoir monté sur le dos, se mit à crier comme -d’une éminence, et simulant l’office de général: Courez par ici, -l’ennemi vient de ce côté; qu’on garde cette brèche, qu’on ferme cette -porte; rompez les échelles; vite, vite, de la poix et de la résine; -qu’on apporte des chaudrons pleins d’huile bouillante, qu’on couvre les -maisons avec des matelas; puis il continuait à nommer l’un après l’autre -tous les instruments et machines de guerre dont on se sert dans une -ville prise d’assaut. - -Quant au malheureux Sancho, étendu par terre, foulé aux pieds et demi -mort de peur, il murmurait entre ses dents: Plût à Dieu que l’île fût -déjà prise, et que je me visse mort ou délivré de cette horrible -angoisse! Enfin le ciel eut pitié de lui, et lorsqu’il s’y attendait le -moins, il entendit crier: Victoire, victoire! les ennemis sont en fuite. -Allons, seigneur, levez-vous, venez jouir de votre triomphe et prendre -votre part des dépouilles conquises par votre bras invincible. - -Qu’on me lève, dit Sancho tristement. Quand on l’eut aidé à se remettre -sur ses pieds: L’ennemi que j’ai tué, ajouta-t-il, je consens qu’on me -le cloue sur le front; quant aux dépouilles, vous pouvez vous les -partager, je n’y prétends rien. S’il me reste ici un ami, qu’il me donne -un peu de vin; le cœur me manque, et, pour l’amour de Dieu, qu’on -m’essuie le visage, je suis tout en eau. - -On l’essuya, on lui donna du vin, on le débarrassa des boucliers; enfin, -se voyant libre, il voulut s’asseoir sur son lit, mais il tomba évanoui -de fatigue et d’émotion. - -Les mystificateurs commençaient à se repentir d’avoir poussé si loin la -plaisanterie, lorsque Sancho, en revenant à lui, calma la crainte que -leur avait causée sa pâmoison. Il demanda quelle heure il était; on lui -répondit que le jour venait de poindre. Aussitôt, sans ajouter un mot, -il acheva de s’habiller, laissant tous les assistants surpris de -l’empressement qu’il y mettait. Quand il eut terminé, quoique avec bien -de la peine, tant il était brisé de fatigue, il se dirigea vers -l’écurie, suivi de tous ceux qui étaient là, puis s’approchant du -grison, il le prit tendrement entre ses bras, lui donna un baiser sur le -front, et lui dit les yeux pleins de larmes: Viens çà, mon fidèle ami, -viens, cher compagnon de mes aventures et de mes travaux; quand je -cheminais avec toi, sans autre souci que d’avoir à raccommoder ton -harnais et soigner ta gentille personne, heureux étaient mes heures, mes -jours, mes années. Mais depuis que je t’ai quitté pour me laisser -emporter sur les tours de l’ambition et de l’orgueil, tout a été pour -moi souffrances, inquiétudes et misères. En parlant ainsi, Sancho -passait le licou à son âne, et lui ajustait le bât; le grison bâté, il -monta dessus avec beaucoup d’efforts, et s’adressant au majordome, au -maître d’hôtel et au docteur Pedro Rezio: Place, place, messeigneurs, -leur dit-il, laissez-moi retourner à mon ancienne liberté; laissez-moi -retourner à ma vie passée, pour me ressusciter de cette mort présente. -Je ne suis point né pour être gouverneur; mon lot est de conduire la -charrue, de manier la pioche et de tailler la vigne, et non de donner -des lois ou de défendre des îles contre ceux qui viennent les attaquer. -Saint-Pierre est bien à Rome, je veux dire que chacun doit rester chez -lui et faire son métier. Faucille me sied mieux en main que bâton de -commandement; je préfère me rassasier de soupe à l’oignon, que d’être à -la merci d’un méchant médecin, qui me fait mourir de faim. Je dors mieux -en été, à l’ombre d’un chêne, que l’hiver entre deux draps de fine toile -de Hollande et enveloppé de riches fourrures. Adieu, adieu encore une -fois. Dites à monseigneur le duc que nu je suis né, nu je me trouve; je -veux dire qu’entré ici sans un maravédis, j’en sors les mains vides, -tout au rebours des autres gouverneurs. Allons, gare! vous dis-je; -laissez-moi passer, que j’aille me graisser les côtes, car il me semble -que je les ai rompues, grâce aux ennemis qui se sont promenés cette nuit -sur mon estomac. - -Arrêtez, seigneur gouverneur, lui dit le docteur Pedro Rezio; arrêtez, -je vais vous faire donner un breuvage qui vous remettra dans un -instant; quant à votre table, je promets à Votre Grâce de m’amender, et -de lui laisser à l’avenir manger tout ce qu’il lui plaira. - -Grand merci, reprit Sancho, il est trop tard; j’ai envie de rester comme -de me faire Turc. Ce n’est pas moi qu’on attrape deux fois de la même -façon, et si jamais il me prend envie d’avoir un gouvernement, que je -meure avant que d’y mettre le pied. Je suis de la famille des Panza; ils -sont tous entêtés comme des mulets, et quand une fois ils ont dit non, -ils n’en démordraient pas pour tout l’or du monde. Je laisse ici les -ailes de la vanité qui ne m’ont enlevé dans les airs qu’afin de me faire -manger aux hirondelles et aux oiseaux de proie; je redescends sur terre -pour y marcher comme auparavant, et si je n’ai pas de chaussures de -maroquin piqué, au moins ne manquerais-je jamais de sandales de cordes. -Adieu, encore une fois, qu’on me laisse passer, car il se fait tard. - -Seigneur gouverneur, dit le majordome, nous laissons partir Votre Grâce, -puisqu’elle le veut, quoique ce ne soit pas sans regret que nous -consentions à perdre un homme de votre mérite, et dont la conduite a été -si chrétienne; mais tout gouverneur qui se démet de sa charge est obligé -de rendre compte de son administration: rendez le vôtre, s’il vous -plaît, après quoi nous ne vous retenons plus. - -Personne n’a le droit de me demander des comptes, repartit Sancho, s’il -n’en a reçu le pouvoir de monseigneur le duc; je m’en vais le trouver, -et c’est à lui que je les rendrai. D’ailleurs, je sors d’ici nu, et cela -me dispense d’autre preuve. - -Le seigneur Sancho a raison, dit Pedro Rezio, il faut le laisser aller; -d’autant plus que monseigneur sera enchanté de le revoir. - -Tout le monde fut du même sentiment, et on le laissa partir en lui -offrant de l’accompagner et de lui fournir ce qui serait nécessaire pour -faire commodément son voyage. Sancho répondit qu’il ne voulait qu’un peu -d’orge pour son âne, et pour lui un morceau de pain et du fromage; que -le chemin étant si court, il n’avait pas besoin d’autre chose. Tous -l’embrassèrent; lui les embrassa aussi en pleurant, les laissant non -moins étonnés de son bon sens que de la prompte et énergique résolution -qu’il avait prise. - -CHAPITRE LIV - -QUI TRAITE DES CHOSES RELATIVES A CETTE HISTOIRE ET NON A D’AUTRES. - -Le duc et la duchesse résolurent de donner suite au défi qu’avait porté -don Quichotte à leur vassal, pour le motif dont nous avons parlé plus -haut; mais comme le jeune homme était en Flandre, où il s’était enfui -afin de ne pas épouser la fille de la señora Rodriguez, ils imaginèrent -de lui substituer un laquais gascon, appelé Tosilos. Après avoir donné à -cet homme les instructions nécessaires pour bien jouer son personnage, -le duc déclara à don Quichotte que dans un délai de quatre jours son -adversaire viendrait, armé de toutes pièces, se présenter en champ clos -et soutenir par la moitié de sa barbe, et même par sa barbe entière, que -la jeune fille mentait en affirmant qu’il lui avait promis de l’épouser. -Grande fut la joie de notre héros d’avoir rencontré une si belle -occasion de montrer à ses illustres hôtes sa valeur et la force de son -bras formidable; aussi dans son impatience, ces quatre jours lui -semblèrent-ils autant de siècles. Pendant qu’il se repose bien malgré -lui, allons tenir compagnie à Sancho qui, moitié triste, moitié joyeux, -venait retrouver son maître, plus content toutefois de se sentir sur son -fidèle grison qu’affligé de la perte de son gouvernement. - -Il n’était pas encore bien loin de son île, de sa ville ou de son -village, car on n’a jamais su précisément ce que c’était, quand il vit -venir six pèlerins étrangers. Arrivés près de lui, ces pèlerins se -rangèrent sur deux files et se mirent à chanter à tue-tête dans une -langue dont Sancho ne put rien démêler, sinon le mot _aumône_. Il en -conclut que toute la chanson n’avait pas d’autre but, et comme il était -naturellement charitable, il leur offrit le pain et le fromage qu’il -portait dans son bissac, leur faisant entendre par signes qu’il n’avait -rien de plus. Les pèlerins acceptèrent l’aumône en criant: _Geld! -geld[120]!_ - - [120] Mot allemand qui veut dire _argent_. - -Je ne vous comprends pas, frères, dit Sancho; que voulez-vous! - -L’un d’eux alors tira une bourse de son sein, pour faire entendre à -Sancho qu’ils demandaient de l’argent; mais lui, ouvrant la main et -écartant les doigts, afin de leur montrer qu’il ne possédait pas une -obole, piqua son grison et voulut passer au milieu d’eux. Mais un de ces -étrangers, qui l’avait reconnu, l’arrêta, et l’embrassant lui dit en -castillan: Sainte Vierge! qu’est-ce que je vois? n’est-ce pas mon ami, -mon bon voisin Sancho Panza? Oui! par ma foi, c’est bien lui, car je ne -suis ni ivre ni endormi. - -Tout surpris d’entendre prononcer son nom et de se sentir embrasser, -Sancho regarda longtemps cet homme sans rien dire; mais il avait beau le -considérer, il ne pouvait se rappeler ses traits. Comment se peut-il, -lui dit alors le pèlerin, que tu ne reconnaisses pas ton voisin Ricote -le Morisque, le mercier de notre village? - -Et qui diable t’aurait reconnu sous ce costume? reprit Sancho en -l’examinant de plus près; mais comment oses-tu revenir en Espagne? -Malheur à toi, mon pauvre ami, si tu venais à être découvert; tu -n’aurais pas à te louer de l’aventure. - -Si tu te tais, répondit le pèlerin, je suis bien sûr que personne ne me -reconnaîtra sous cet habit. Mais quittons le grand chemin, et allons -dans ce bois où mes camarades veulent dîner et faire la sieste: ce sont -de braves gens, tu dîneras avec eux, et là je pourrai te conter ce qui -m’est arrivé depuis cet édit que le roi a fait publier contre les débris -de notre malheureuse nation. - -Sancho y consentit, et Ricote ayant parlé à ses compagnons, tous -s’enfoncèrent dans le bois qui était en vue, s’éloignant ainsi de la -grand’route. Arrivés là, ils se débarrassèrent de leurs bourdons, de -leurs mantelets, et restèrent en justaucorps. Ils étaient jeunes, -enjoués et de bonne mine, hormis Ricote qui était déjà avancé en âge; -chacun d’eux portait une besace bien pourvue, au moins de ces viandes -qui appellent la soif de deux lieues. Ils s’assirent sur l’herbe, qui -leur servit de nappe, et tous alors fournissant ce qu’ils portaient dans -leur bissac, la place se trouva en un clin d’œil couverte de pain, de -noix, de fromage et de quelques os où il restait encore à ronger, sans -compter une espèce de saucisson appelé _cavial_, composé de ces œufs -d’esturgeon, grands provocateurs de l’appétit. Il s’y trouva aussi des -olives en quantité, lesquelles, quoiqu’un peu sèches, ne laissaient pas -d’être de bon goût. Mais ce qui fit ouvrir les yeux à Sancho, c’étaient -six grandes outres de vin, chacun ayant fourni la sienne, sans compter -celle de Ricote qui seule valait toutes les autres ensemble. Enfin nos -gens se mirent à manger, mais lentement et en savourant chaque morceau. -Puis tout à coup, levant les bras et les outres en l’air, le goulot sur -la bouche et les yeux fixés au ciel, comme s’ils y avaient pris leurs -points de mire, ils restèrent tous un bon quart d’heure à transvaser le -vin dans leur estomac. Sancho admirait cette harmonie muette, et ne -pensait déjà plus au gouvernement qu’il venait de quitter. Afin de se -mettre à l’unisson, il pria Ricote de lui prêter son outre, et l’ayant -embouchée, il fit voir qu’il ne manquait pour cet exercice ni de méthode -ni d’haleine. - -De temps en temps, un des pèlerins prenant la main de Sancho, lui -disait: _Espagnoli y Tudesqui, tuto uno bon compagno_; et Sancho -répondait: _Bon compagno jura di_; puis il éclatait de rire, mettant en -oubli sa mésaventure; en effet, sur le temps où l’on est occupé à manger -ou à boire, les soucis n’ont guère de prise. Quatre fois nos gens -recommencèrent à jouer de leurs musettes, mais à la cinquième fois elles -se désenflèrent si bien, qu’il n’y eut plus moyen d’en rien tirer: -toutefois, si le vin fit défaut, le sommeil ne leur manqua pas, car ils -s’endormirent sur la place. Ricote et Sancho, se trouvant plus éveillés, -pour avoir moins bu, laissèrent dormir leurs compagnons, et allèrent -s’asseoir au pied d’un hêtre, où le pèlerin, quittant sa langue -maternelle pour s’exprimer en bon castillan, parla de la sorte: - -Tu n’as pas oublié, ami Sancho, quelle terreur s’empara des nôtres quand -le roi fit publier son édit contre les Mores; je fus si alarmé moi-même, -que craignant de ne pouvoir quitter l’Espagne assez tôt, je me voyais -déjà traîner au supplice avec mes enfants. Toutefois, ne trouvant pas -que nous fissions sagement de fuir avec tant de hâte, je résolus de -laisser ma famille dans notre village, et d’aller seul chercher quelque -endroit où je pusse la mettre en sûreté. Je m’étais bien aperçu, ainsi -que les plus habiles de notre nation, que cet édit n’était pas une vaine -menace, mais une résolution arrêtée. En effet, connaissant les mauvaises -intentions de beaucoup d’entre nous, intentions qu’ils ne cachaient pas, -je restai convaincu que Dieu seul avait pu mettre dans l’esprit du roi -une résolution si soudaine et si rigoureuse. Non pas que nous fussions -tous coupables: car parmi nous, il se trouvait des chrétiens sincères, -mais en si petit nombre qu’à parler franchement, souffrir tant d’ennemis -dans le royaume, c’était nourrir un serpent dans son sein. Quoi qu’il en -soit, le bannissement, trop doux pour quelques-uns, fut trop sévère pour -ceux qui, non plus que moi, n’avaient pas de mauvais desseins. Depuis -cette époque, dans quelque endroit que nous portions nos pas, nous -regrettons toujours l’Espagne, notre berceau, ne trouvant point ailleurs -le repos que nous espérions. Nous avions cru qu’en Barbarie et en -Afrique on nous recevrait à bras ouverts, mais c’est là qu’on nous -méprise et qu’on nous maltraite le plus. Hélas! nous n’avons connu notre -bonheur qu’après l’avoir perdu; aussi notre désir de revoir l’Espagne -est si grand, que la plupart d’entre nous, qui en savent fort bien la -langue, n’ont pas craint d’abandonner femme et enfants pour y revenir. - -Je quittai donc notre village, et je partis pour la France avec -quelques-uns des nôtres; quoique nous y fussions bien reçus, le désir me -prit d’aller plus loin. Je passai en Italie, et de là en Allemagne, où -il me sembla qu’on vivait avec encore plus de sécurité, car presque -partout il y a une grande liberté de conscience. Je m’assurai d’une -maison proche d’Augsbourg, et m’associai à ces pèlerins qui ont coutume -de venir visiter les sanctuaires de l’Espagne, visite qui pour eux vaut -les mines du Pérou. Chaque année, ils la parcourent tout entière, et il -n’y a point de village qu’ils ne quittent repus jusqu’à la gorge, et -emportant un bon sac d’argent. Cet argent ils ont soin de l’échanger -contre de l’or, dont ils remplissent le creux de leurs bourdons, ou bien -ils le cousent dans les plis de leurs mantelets; puis, à force -d’industrie, ils parviennent à sortir d’Espagne avec leur butin, malgré -la rigoureuse surveillance des gardiens des passages. Aujourd’hui, ami -Sancho, mon intention est de reprendre l’argent que j’ai enfoui avant de -partir; et comme c’est hors de notre village, je pourrai le faire sans -péril, après quoi j’irai de Valence à Alger rejoindre ma femme et ma -fille. De là, nous repasserons en France, d’où je les emmènerai en -Allemagne, en attendant ce que Dieu voudra faire de nous; car enfin je -suis certain que ma femme et ma fille sont bonnes catholiques; quant à -moi, quoique je ne le sois pas autant, je suis plus chrétien que More, -et tous les jours je prie Dieu de m’ouvrir les yeux davantage, et de -m’apprendre comment il veut que je le serve. Mais ce qui m’étonne le -plus, Sancho, c’est que ma femme ait mieux aimé aller vivre en Barbarie -qu’en France, où elle et sa fille pourraient librement pratiquer leur -religion. - -Oh! cela n’a pas dépendu d’elles, dit Sancho, c’est Jean Tiopevo, ton -beau-frère, qui les a emmenées: et comme c’est un vrai More, il n’a -songé qu’à ce qui l’accommodait le mieux. Mais veux-tu que je te dise, -Ricote: je suis certain que tu irais en vain chercher ton trésor, tu ne -le trouveras plus, car nous avons su qu’on avait pris à ton beau-frère -et à ta femme des perles et beaucoup d’argent qu’ils allaient faire -enregistrer. - -Cela peut être, répliqua Ricote, mais je suis bien certain qu’ils n’ont -point touché à mon trésor, n’ayant confié le secret à personne, de -crainte de malheur. Si tu veux venir avec moi et m’aider à l’emporter, -je te promets deux cents écus: cet argent pourra te mettre à l’aise, car -je sais, mon ami, que tu n’es pas bien riche. - -Je le ferais volontiers, repartit Sancho, mais je ne suis point aussi -intéressé que tu pourrais le croire. Si j’aimais la richesse, je -n’aurais pas quitté ce matin un office où je pouvais faire d’or les murs -de ma maison, et avant qu’il fût six mois manger dans des plats -d’argent. Et pour cette raison, comme aussi parce que ce serait trahir -le roi notre maître, que d’aider ses ennemis, je n’irais pas avec toi, -quand au lieu de deux cents écus tu m’en offrirais le double. - -Quel office as-tu donc quitté? demanda Ricote. - -J’ai quitté le gouvernement d’une île, mais d’une île, vois-tu, qui n’a -pas sa pareille à un quart de lieue à la ronde, répondit Sancho. - -Et où est-elle située, cette île? continua Ricote. - -Où elle est? A deux lieues d’ici, répliqua Sancho, et elle s’appelle -l’île de Barataria. - -Que dis-tu là, reprit Ricote; est-ce qu’il y a des îles en terre ferme? - -Pourquoi non? reprit Sancho. Je te dis, mon ami, que j’en suis parti ce -matin, et qu’hier encore je la gouvernais à ma fantaisie; malgré tout, -je l’ai quittée, parce qu’il m’est avis que l’office de gouverneur est -dangereux. - -Et qu’as-tu gagné dans ton gouvernement? demanda Ricote. - -Ce que j’y ai gagné? répondit Sancho; par ma foi, j’y ai gagné -d’apprendre que je ne suis pas bon à être gouverneur, si ce n’est d’un -troupeau de chèvres, et que les richesses amassées dans les -gouvernements coûtent le repos et le sommeil, voire même le boire et le -manger. Dans les îles, il faut que les gouverneurs ne mangent presque -rien, surtout s’ils ont des médecins qui prennent soin de leur santé. - -Je ne sais ce que tu veux dire, répliqua Ricote. Hé! qui diable pouvait -s’aviser de te donner une île à gouverner? manque-t-il d’habiles gens au -monde, qu’il faille prendre des paysans pour en faire des gouverneurs? -Tu rêves, mon pauvre ami. Vois seulement si tu veux venir avec moi pour -m’aider à emporter mon trésor. Je t’assure qu’il en mérite bien le nom, -et je te donnerai ce que je t’ai promis. - -Je t’ai déjà dit que je ne le veux pas, répondit Sancho; mais sois sûr -de n’être pas dénoncé par moi. Adieu; continue ton chemin, et -laisse-m’en faire autant: si le bien gagné honnêtement se perd -quelquefois, à plus forte raison le bien mal acquis doit-il se perdre -avec son maître. - -Je n’insiste pas, reprit Ricote, mais tu ne sais pas ce que tu refuses. -Dis-moi, étais-tu dans le village quand mon beau-frère emmena ma femme -et ma fille? - -Vraiment oui, j’y étais, répondit Sancho, et tout le monde trouvait ta -fille si belle, qu’on sortait en foule pour la voir: chacun la suivait -des yeux, disant que c’était la plus jolie fille d’Espagne. La pauvre -créature pleurait en embrassant ses amies, les priant de la recommander -à Dieu et à sa sainte mère. Elle nous faisait pitié, tant elle était -triste, et je ne pus m’empêcher de pleurer, moi qui ne suis pas un grand -pleurard. Bien des gens voulaient la cacher; d’autres, s’ils n’eussent -pas craint l’édit de Sa Majesté, de l’enlever par les chemins. Don Pedro -Gregorio, ce jeune homme que tu connais, et qui est si riche, se -démenait fort pour elle: il l’aimait beaucoup, à ce qu’on dit; aussi ne -l’a-t-on plus revu depuis qu’elle est partie, et nous crûmes tous qu’il -avait couru après elle pour l’enlever, mais on n’en a pas entendu parler -jusqu’à cette heure. - -Par ma foi, dit Ricote, j’avais toujours cru ce jeune homme amoureux de -ma fille; mais comme je me fiais à elle, je m’en inquiétais peu. Tu sais -bien, Sancho, que les Morisques ne se marient guère par amour avec les -vieux chrétiens; et ma fille, ce me semble, songeait moins à se marier -qu’à devenir bonne chrétienne; aussi je pense qu’elle se souciait fort -peu des poursuites de ce gentilhomme. - -Dieu le veuille, repartit Sancho, car cela ne convient ni à l’un ni à -l’autre. Adieu, mon ami; laisse-moi partir; je veux aller ce soir -retrouver mon maître, le seigneur don Quichotte. - -Que Dieu t’accompagne, frère Sancho, dit Ricote. Aussi bien, voilà mes -compagnons qui s’éveillent, et il est temps de continuer notre chemin. - -Après s’être embrassés, Sancho monta sur son âne, Ricote prit son -bourdon, et ils se séparèrent. - -CHAPITRE LV - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A SANCHO EN CHEMIN. - -Pour avoir passé trop de temps à s’entretenir avec Ricote, Sancho ne put -arriver de jour au château du duc, et il en était encore à une -demi-lieue quand la nuit le surprit. Comme on était au printemps, il ne -s’en mit pas en peine; seulement, il s’écarta de la route dans -l’intention de se procurer un gîte. Mais sa mauvaise étoile voulut qu’en -cherchant un endroit pour passer la nuit, lui et son grison tombèrent -dans un sombre et profond souterrain qui se trouvait au milieu de -bâtiments en ruine. Lorsque Sancho sentit la terre lui manquer, il se -recommanda à Dieu avec ferveur, se croyant déjà au fond des abîmes; -pourtant, il en fut quitte à meilleur marché, car à quatre toises il se -trouva sur la terre ferme et assis sur sa monture sans s’être fait aucun -mal. Il commença par se tâter par tout le corps, et retint son haleine -pour s’assurer s’il n’avait aucune blessure; quand il se sentit bien -portant, il rendit grâces au ciel de l’avoir préservé d’un danger où il -avait failli se mettre en pièces. Le pauvre diable porta aussitôt ses -mains de tous côtés pour voir s’il n’y avait pas moyen de se tirer de -là; mais les murs étaient si droits et si escarpés qu’il lui était -impossible d’y grimper. Désolé de cette découverte, il le fut bien -davantage quand il entendit son grison se plaindre douloureusement, et -certes avec sujet, car il était en assez piteux état. - -Hélas! hélas! s’écria Sancho, que d’accidents imprévus dans ce misérable -monde! Qui aurait dit que l’homme qui était hier gouverneur d’une île, -commandant à ses serviteurs et à ses vassaux, se verrait aujourd’hui -seul, sans serviteurs ni vassaux pour le secourir! Faudra-t-il donc, mon -pauvre grison, que tous les deux nous mourions de faim ici, ou toi de -tes blessures, et moi de chagrin! Encore si j’étais aussi chanceux que -le fut monseigneur don Quichotte dans la caverne de Montesinos, où il -trouva la nappe mise et son lit tout prêt! Mais que trouverai-je dans ce -maudit trou, sinon des couleuvres et des crapauds? Malheureux que je -suis! où ont abouti mes folies et mes caprices? Si du moins nous étions -morts dans notre pays et parmi les gens de notre connaissance, nous -n’eussions pas manqué d’âmes charitables pour nous pleurer et nous -fermer les yeux à notre dernière heure! O mon fidèle ami, mon cher -compagnon, quelle récompense je donne à tes bons services! mais -pardonne-moi, et prie la fortune qu’elle nous tire de ce mauvais pas, -après quoi tu verras que je ne suis pas ingrat, et je te promets double -ration. - -Pendant que le maître se lamentait de la sorte, l’âne restait immobile, -tant grande était l’angoisse que le pauvre animal endurait. Le jour -revint, et aux premières clartés de l’aurore, Sancho, voyant qu’il était -absolument impossible, sans être aidé, de sortir de cette espèce de -puits, recommença à se lamenter et à jeter de grands cris pour appeler -du secours. Mais personne ne l’entendait, et il se tint pour mort, -surtout en voyant son âne couché à terre, les oreilles basses et faisant -fort triste mine. Enfin, il l’aida à se remettre sur ses pieds, non sans -beaucoup de peine; puis, ayant tiré un morceau de pain de son bissac, il -le lui donna en disant: _Tiens, mon enfant, quand on a du pain, les maux -se sentent moins_. - -L’infortuné Sancho était dans cette cruelle anxiété, cherchant de tous -côtés remède à son malheur, quand il découvrit à l’un des bouts du -souterrain une ouverture assez grande pour qu’un homme pût y passer. Il -s’y glissa à quatre pattes, et il vit qu’à l’autre bout le trou allait -toujours s’élargissant. Revenant sur ses pas, il prit une pierre avec -laquelle il pratiqua une brèche capable de livrer passage à son âne, et, -le tirant par le licou, il commença à cheminer le long du souterrain. -Tantôt il marchait à tâtons, tantôt il entrevoyait la lumière, mais -toujours avec une égale frayeur. Dieu puissant, se disait-il, mon maître -trouverait ceci une excellente aventure, tandis que moi, malheureux, -privé de conseil et dénué de courage, il me semble à tous moments que la -terre va me manquer sous les pieds. Tout en se lamentant, et après avoir -fait, à ce qu’il crut, près de demi-lieue, il commença à découvrir un -faible jour qui se glissait par une étroite fissure, et il espéra revoir -la lumière encore une fois. Mais Ben-Engeli le laisse là pour retourner -à don Quichotte, lequel attendait avec autant d’impatience que de joie -le jour fixé pour le combat qu’il devait livrer au séducteur de la fille -de la señora Rodriguez. - -Or, comme ce matin-là notre héros était sorti pour tenir son cheval en -haleine et le disposer au combat du lendemain, il arriva qu’à la suite -d’une attaque simulée à toute bride, Rossinante vint mettre les pieds de -devant sur le bord d’un trou dans lequel, sans la vigueur du cavalier -qui arrêta sa monture sur les jarrets de derrière, tous deux seraient -tombés infailliblement. La curiosité de don Quichotte l’engagea à voir -de plus près ce que c’était: il s’approcha sans mettre pied à terre. -Pendant qu’il considérait cette large ouverture, de grands cris, partis -du fond, vinrent frapper son oreille: Hélas! disait une voix, n’y a-t-il -point là-haut quelque chrétien qui m’entende, quelque chevalier -charitable qui ait pitié d’un malheureux pécheur enterré tout vivant, -d’un pauvre gouverneur qui n’a pas su se gouverner lui-même? - -Surpris au dernier point, don Quichotte crut reconnaître la voix de -Sancho, et, pour s’en assurer, il cria de toute sa force: Qui es-tu -là-bas, toi qui te plains ainsi? - -Et qui peut se plaindre, répondit la voix, si ce n’est le malheureux -Sancho Panza, ci-devant écuyer du fameux chevalier don Quichotte de la -Manche, et, pour ses péchés, gouverneur de l’île Barataria? - -Ces paroles redoublèrent la surprise du chevalier. S’imaginant que -Sancho était mort, et que son âme faisait là son purgatoire, il répondit -à son tour: En ma qualité de chrétien catholique, je t’engage à me -déclarer qui tu es. Si tu es une âme en peine, dis-moi ce que tu veux -que je fasse pour te soulager, car ma profession étant de secourir tous -les affligés, je puis aussi porter secours à ceux de l’autre monde qui -ne sauraient s’aider eux-mêmes. - -Vous qui me parlez, reprit la voix, vous êtes donc monseigneur don -Quichotte de la Manche; car à l’accent et à la parole ce ne peut être -que lui. - -Oui, oui, répliqua notre héros, je suis ce don Quichotte qui a fait -profession de secourir et d’assister en leurs nécessités les vivants et -les morts; apprends-moi donc qui tu es toi-même, car tu me tiens en -grand souci. Si tu es Sancho mon écuyer, et si tu as cessé de vivre, -pourvu que les diables ne t’aient point emporté, et que par la -miséricorde de Dieu tu sois seulement en purgatoire, notre mère la -sainte Église catholique a des prières efficaces pour abréger tes -peines; de ma part j’y emploierai tous mes efforts: achève donc de -t’expliquer et dis-moi qui tu es. - -Je jure Dieu, seigneur don Quichotte, répondit la voix, et je fais -serment que je suis Sancho Panza, votre écuyer, et que je ne suis jamais -mort depuis que je suis dans ce monde; mais qu’après avoir quitté mon -gouvernement pour des raisons qu’il serait trop long de raconter, je -tombai hier dans ce trou où je suis encore avec le grison qui ne me -laissera pas mentir à telles enseignes, qu’il est à mes côtés. - -En ce moment, comme s’il eût compris son maître et voulu lui rendre -témoignage, l’âne se mit à braire si puissamment, que toute la caverne -en retentit. - -Voilà un témoin irrécusable, dit don Quichotte; au bruit je reconnais -l’âne, et le maître à sa parole. Attends un peu, mon pauvre ami, je m’en -vais au château qui est tout proche, et j’amènerai des gens pour te -tirer d’ici. - -Dépêchez-vous, je vous prie, seigneur, car je suis au désespoir de me -voir enterré tout vivant, et je me sens mourir de peur. - -Don Quichotte alla conter l’aventure au duc et à la duchesse, qui -savaient que ce souterrain existait depuis un temps immémorial; mais ce -qui surtout les surprit, ce fut d’apprendre que Sancho avait quitté son -gouvernement sans qu’on leur eût donné avis de son départ. On courut -avec des cordes et des échelles, et à force de bras on ramena Sancho et -le grison à la lumière du soleil. Un étudiant qui se trouvait là par -hasard ne put s’empêcher de dire en voyant notre écuyer: Il serait bon -que tous les mauvais gouverneurs sortissent de leurs gouvernements, -comme celui-ci sort de cet abîme, pâle et mourant de faim, et, si je ne -me trompe, la bourse très-peu garnie. - -Frère, repartit Sancho, il y a huit jours que je suis entré dans l’île -qu’on m’avait donné à gouverner; pendant ces huit jours, je n’ai pas -mangé mon soûl une seule fois: j’ai été persécuté par les médecins, les -ennemis m’ont rompu les os, et je n’ai pas même eu le temps de toucher -mes gages. Vous voyez bien que je ne méritais point d’en sortir ainsi; -mais l’homme propose et Dieu dispose, et où l’on croit trouver du lard, -il n’y souvent pas de crochet pour le pendre. Au reste, Dieu m’entend, -et cela me suffit. - -Sancho, laisse parler les gens, lui dit son maître; repose-toi sur ta -bonne conscience, et qu’on dise ce qu’on voudra. Qui prétendrait -attacher toutes les langues n’aurait jamais fini; on mettrait plutôt des -portes aux champs. Si un gouverneur est riche, on dit qu’il a volé; s’il -est pauvre, on dit que c’est un niais et un imbécile. - -Permis de m’appeler un imbécile, répliqua Sancho, mais non de dire que -je suis un voleur. - -Tout en discourant, ils arrivèrent au château, entourés d’une foule de -gens, et ils trouvèrent le duc et la duchesse qui les attendaient dans -une galerie. Sancho ne voulut point monter rendre visite au duc et à la -duchesse qu’il n’eût mis son grison à l’écurie, car la pauvre bête -avait, disait-il, passé une très-mauvaise nuit. Enfin il alla saluer -Leurs Excellences: Messeigneurs, dit-il en mettant un genou en terre, je -suis allé gouverner votre île de Barataria, parce que Vos Grandeurs -l’ont voulu, et non parce que je l’avais mérité: j’y suis entré nu, et -nu j’en sors; je n’y ai perdu ni gagné, et si j’ai bien ou mal gouverné, -il y a des témoins qui pourront dire ce qui en est. J’ai éclairci des -difficultés, jugé des procès, toujours mourant de faim, grâce au docteur -Pedro Rezio, naturel de Tirteafuera, médecin de l’île et assassin des -gouverneurs. Les ennemis nous ont attaqués nuitamment et mis en grand -péril; mais ceux de l’île ont assuré que nous étions victorieux par la -force de mon bras; Dieu les récompense dans ce monde et dans l’autre -s’ils ne mentent point. Après avoir pesé les charges et les fatigues -qu’on rencontre dans les gouvernements, j’ai trouvé le fardeau trop -pesant pour mes épaules, et en fin de compte j’ai reconnu que je ne suis -pas du bois dont on fait les gouverneurs; aussi, avant que le -gouvernement me quittât, j’ai quitté le gouvernement, et hier, de bon -matin, j’ai laissé l’île à l’endroit où je l’avais trouvée, avec les -mêmes maisons et les mêmes rues, sans y avoir rien changé. Je n’ai rien -emprunté à personne, je n’ai fait de profit sur quoi que ce soit, et si, -comme cela est, j’ai songé à faire des ordonnances utiles et -profitables, j’y ai renoncé bien vite, de peur qu’on ne les observât -pas; parce qu’alors les faire ou ne pas les faire, c’est absolument la -même chose. Je suis parti sans autre compagnie que celle de mon grison. -Pendant la nuit, je suis tombé dans un souterrain, je l’ai parcouru tout -du long; puis j’ai tant fait que, le jour venu, j’ai découvert une -issue, mais non si facile toutefois que je n’y fusse demeuré jusqu’au -jugement dernier sans le secours de mon maître. Voici donc, monseigneur -le duc et madame la duchesse, votre gouverneur Sancho Panza, qui, en dix -jours qu’il a gouverné, a appris à mépriser le gouvernement, -non-seulement d’une île, mais encore du monde entier. Sur quoi je baise -très-humblement les pieds de Vos Excellences; et avec leur permission, -je retourne au service de monseigneur don Quichotte, avec qui je mange -au moins du pain tout mon soûl. Encore bien, je l’avoue, que cela ne -m’arrive que par saccades, je m’en rassasie du moins; et pourvu que je -m’emplisse le ventre, peu m’importe que ce soit de fèves ou de perdrix. - -L’écuyer finit là sa harangue, au grand contentement de son maître, qui -mourait de peur qu’il ne lui échappât mille impertinences. Le duc -embrassa Sancho, lui disant qu’il regrettait de le voir quitter son -gouvernement, mais qu’il lui donnerait dans ses États quelque autre -emploi où il aurait moins de peine et plus de profit. La duchesse aussi, -recommanda qu’on lui fît faire grande chère et qu’on lui dressât un bon -lit, car il paraissait tout moulu et à moitié disloqué. - -CHAPITRE LVI - -DE L’ÉTRANGE COMBAT DE DON QUICHOTTE ET DU LAQUAIS TOSILOS, AU SUJET DE -LA FILLE DE LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ. - -Le majordome qui avait accompagné Sancho à Barataria revint le même jour -raconter au duc et à la duchesse les faits et gestes de notre -gouverneur, et jusqu’à ses moindres paroles; mais ce qui les amusa le -plus, ce fut l’assaut simulé de l’île, les frayeurs de Sancho et enfin -son départ précipité. - -Cependant arriva le jour fixé pour le combat. Dans l’intervalle, le duc -avait eu le temps d’instruire son laquais Tosilos des précautions qu’il -fallait prendre pour vaincre don Quichotte sans le tuer ni le blesser. -Il décida qu’on ôterait le fer des lances, alléguant que les sentiments -chrétiens dont il se piquait ne permettaient pas que ce combat pût -entraîner la mort, et que les combattants devaient se contenter d’avoir -le champ libre sur ses terres, malgré les décrets des conciles qui -défendent ce genre de duel, sans le vouloir encore à outrance. Notre -héros répondit que le duc pouvait régler les choses comme il -l’entendrait; qu’il se conformerait en tout à ses volontés. - -Sur l’esplanade du château, le duc avait fait dresser un spacieux -échafaud, où devaient se tenir les juges du camp et les dames qui -demandaient justice. Le grand jour arrivé, une foule immense de curieux -accourut de tous les villages environnants. Jamais dans le pays vivants -ou morts n’avaient entendu raconter pareille chose. - -Le premier qui parut dans la lice fut le maître des cérémonies; il la -parcourut d’un bout à l’autre pour s’assurer qu’il n’y avait aucun piége -ou obstacle qui pût faire trébucher les combattants. La duègne et sa -fille, dans une contenance affligée et avec leurs voiles tombant jusqu’à -terre, vinrent ensuite prendre place. Notre héros était déjà dans la -lice, quand par un des angles de la place et au son des trompettes on -vit entrer le grand laquais Tosilos, couvert d’armes resplendissantes, -le casque en tête et la visière baissée. Il montait un puissant cheval -de Frise qui faisait trembler la terre sous ses pas. Tosilos n’avait -point oublié les instructions du duc son seigneur, c’est-à-dire d’éviter -le premier choc, pour éviter la mort si don Quichotte l’atteignait. Il -parcourut la place, et s’approchant des dames, il regarda quelque temps -avec beaucoup d’attention, celle qui le réclamait pour époux. Enfin, le -juge du camp appela notre chevalier, et suivi de Tosilos, il alla -demander aux plaignantes si elles consentaient à prendre pour champion -le seigneur don Quichotte de la Manche. Toutes deux s’inclinèrent en -répondant qu’elles tenaient pour bon et valable ce qu’il ferait en cette -circonstance. - -Le duc et la duchesse étaient assis dans une galerie construite -au-dessus de l’enceinte et remplie de gens qui attendaient l’issue d’un -combat si extraordinaire. Les conditions du champ clos furent que si don -Quichotte était vainqueur, le vaincu épouserait la fille de la señora -Rodriguez; qu’au contraire, s’il succombait, son adversaire se -trouverait relevé de sa promesse. Le maître des cérémonies partagea le -soleil aux combattants, et assigna à chacun le lieu où il devait se -placer. Puis dès qu’il fut retourné à sa place, les clairons -retentirent. - -Tout en attendant le dernier signal, don Quichotte s’était recommandé à -Dieu et à sa dame Dulcinée; quant à Tosilos, il avait bien d’autres -pensées en tête. S’étant mis à considérer son aimable ennemie, elle lui -avait semblé la plus charmante créature du monde: aussi le petit dieu -qu’on appelle Amour ne voulut-il pas perdre l’occasion de triompher d’un -cœur de laquais; il s’approcha du drôle, sans être vu de personne, et -il lui décocha une flèche qui le perça de part en part (car l’amour est -invisible, il va et vient, entre et sort à sa fantaisie), si bien que -lorsque les clairons sonnèrent, Tosilos n’entendit rien, ne songeant -déjà plus qu’à la beauté dont il était devenu tout à coup l’esclave. - -Don Quichotte, au contraire, n’avait pas plutôt entendu le signal de -l’attaque qu’il s’était élancé sur son adversaire de toute la vitesse de -Rossinante, pendant que Sancho criait de toutes ses forces: Que Dieu te -conduise, fleur et crème de la chevalerie errante! que Dieu te donne la -victoire comme tu la mérites! - -Bien que Tosilos vît fondre sur lui don Quichotte, il ne bougea pas; au -contraire, appelant à haute voix le juge du camp: Seigneur, lui dit-il, -ce combat n’a-t-il lieu que pour m’obliger à épouser cette dame? - -Précisément, lui répondit celui-ci. - -En ce cas, repartit Tosilos, ma conscience me défend de passer outre: je -me tiens pour vaincu, et je suis prêt à épouser cette dame à l’instant -même. - -A ces paroles, le juge du camp, qui était un des confidents de cette -facétie, demeura fort étonné, et ne sut que répondre. - -Quant à don Quichotte, voyant que son ennemi ne venait point à sa -rencontre, il s’était arrêté au milieu de la carrière. Le duc cherchait -à deviner ce qui suspendait le combat; mais lorsqu’il sut ce qu’il en -était, il entra dans une grande colère contre son domestique, sans -toutefois oser le laisser paraître. - -Tosilos s’approchant de l’estrade où était la señora Rodriguez: Madame, -lui dit-il, je suis prêt à épouser votre fille, et je ne veux point -obtenir par les armes ce que je puis posséder sans débat. - -S’il en est ainsi, je suis libre et délié de mon serment, ajouta don -Quichotte; qu’ils se marient, et puisque Dieu la lui donne, que saint -Pierre les bénisse! - -Le duc descendit dans la lice: Est-il vrai, chevalier, dit-il en -s’adressant à Tosilos, que vous vous teniez pour vaincu, et que pressé -des remords de votre conscience, vous consentiez à épouser cette jeune -fille? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit celui-ci. - -Par ma foi, il fait bien, dit alors Sancho, car ce que tu voulais donner -au rat, donne-le au chat, et de peine il te sortira. - -Cependant Tosilos s’était mis à délacer son casque, et priait qu’on -l’aidât, parce qu’il ne pouvait plus respirer, tant il était serré dans -cette étroite prison. On s’empressa de le satisfaire. Alors se montra à -découvert le visage du laquais Tosilos. Quand la señora Rodriguez et sa -fille virent ce qu’il en était, elles se mirent à crier en disant: C’est -une tromperie, c’est une infâme tromperie. On a mis Tosilos, le laquais -de monseigneur, à la place de mon véritable époux. Justice, justice! -nous ne souffrirons pas cette trahison. - -Ne vous affligez point, mesdames, dit don Quichotte, il n’y a ici ni -malice ni tromperie; du reste, s’il y en a, elle n’est point de la part -de monseigneur le duc, mais de la part des enchanteurs, mes ennemis, -qui, jaloux de la gloire que j’allais acquérir dans ce combat, ont -changé le visage de votre époux en celui de ce laquais. N’en doutez pas, -mademoiselle, ajouta-t-il, et en dépit de la malice de nos ennemis, -mariez-vous avec ce cavalier; car c’est bien celui que vous désiriez. -Là-dessus, vous pouvez vous en fier à moi. - -En entendant notre héros, le duc sentit s’évanouir sa colère: En vérité, -dit-il, tout ce qui arrive au chevalier de la Manche est tellement -extraordinaire, que je suis disposé à croire que l’homme ici présent -n’est point mon laquais; mais pour en être plus certains, remettons le -mariage à quinzaine, et gardons sous clef ce personnage qui nous tient -en suspens; peut-être alors aura-t-il repris sa première forme. La -malice des enchanteurs contre le seigneur don Quichotte ne peut pas -toujours durer, surtout quand ils verront que toutes leurs ruses et -leurs transformations sont inutiles. - -Oh! vraiment, dit Sancho, ces diables d’enchanteurs sont plus opiniâtres -qu’on ne pense, et ils ne tiennent pas mon maître quitte à si bon -marché: dans ce qui lui arrive, ce n’est que transformation de celui-ci -en celui-là, et de celui-là en un autre. Il y a peu de jours il vainquit -un chevalier qui s’appelait le chevalier des Miroirs; eh bien, les -enchanteurs donnèrent au vaincu la figure du bachelier Samson Carrasco, -qui est un de ses meilleurs amis; madame Dulcinée, ils l’ont changée en -une grossière paysanne; mais je serais bien trompé si ce laquais ne -reste pas laquais jusqu’à la fin de ses jours. - -Il en sera ce qui pourra, reprit la fille de la señora Rodriguez; et -puisqu’il consent à m’épouser, je l’accepte de bon cœur: j’aime mieux -être la femme d’un laquais que la maîtresse d’un gentilhomme, d’autant -plus que mon séducteur ne l’est pas. - -Malgré tout on renferma Tosilos, sous prétexte de voir ce qui -adviendrait de sa métamorphose, et don Quichotte fut proclamé vainqueur. -Quant aux spectateurs qui avaient espéré voir les combattants se mettre -en pièces, ils se retirèrent aussi désappointés que le sont les petits -garçons lorsqu’on fait grâce au condamné qu’ils étaient venus pour voir -pendre. Le duc, la duchesse et le glorieux don Quichotte rentrèrent au -château; la señora Rodriguez et sa fille étaient charmées de voir que, -de façon ou d’autre, cette aventure finissait par un mariage; quant à -Tosilos, il ne demandait pas mieux. - -CHAPITRE LVII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE PRIT CONGÉ DU DUC, ET DE CE QUI LUI ARRIVA AVEC LA -BELLE ALTISIDORE, DEMOISELLE DE LA DUCHESSE. - -Craignant enfin d’avoir un jour à rendre compte à Dieu de la vie oisive -qu’il menait dans ce château, vie qu’il trouvait si contraire à sa -profession de chevalier errant, don Quichotte se résolut enfin à partir, -et demanda congé à Leurs Excellences. Ce ne fut pas sans montrer un -grand déplaisir que le duc y consentit; mais enfin, il se rendit aux -raisons du chevalier. - -La duchesse remit à Sancho les lettres de sa femme. Après en avoir -entendu la lecture: Qui eût pensé, se disait-il en pleurant, que toutes -mes espérances s’en iraient en fumée, et qu’il me faudrait encore une -fois me mettre en quête d’aventures à la suite de mon maître? Au moins -je suis bien aise d’apprendre que Thérèse a fait son devoir en envoyant -des glands à madame la duchesse: si elle y eût manqué, je l’aurais -regardée comme une ingrate. Ce qui me console, c’est qu’on ne peut -appeler ce cadeau un pot-de-vin, puisque j’occupais déjà le gouvernement -quand elle l’a envoyé; si petit qu’il soit, il montre que nous sommes -reconnaissants. Nu je suis entré dans le gouvernement, et nu j’en sors. -Ainsi, on n’a rien à me reprocher, et me voilà tel que ma mère m’a mis -au monde. - -Don Quichotte, qui, la veille au soir, avait pris congé du duc et de la -duchesse, voulut se mettre en route de grand matin. Au lever du soleil, -il parut tout armé dans la cour du château, dont les galeries étaient -remplies de gens curieux d’assister à son départ. Sancho était sur son -grison avec sa valise et son bissac, le cœur plus joyeux qu’on ne -pensait, car, à l’insu de don Quichotte, le majordome du duc lui avait -remis deux cents écus d’or pour continuer leur voyage. - -Tout le monde avait les yeux attachés sur notre chevalier, quand tout à -coup l’effrontée et spirituelle Altisidore éleva la voix du milieu des -filles de la duchesse et dit d’un ton amoureux et plaintif: - - Arrête, ô le plus dur des chevaliers errants! - Retiens le mors, quitte la selle; - Sans fatiguer en vain les flancs - De ta vieille et maigre haridelle; - Apprends donc que tu ne fuis pas - Une vipère venimeuse, - Mais un petit agneau qui recherche tes bras, - Et qui n’est point brebis galeuse. - - Monstre, tu réduis aux abois - La plus aimable créature - Que Diane ait vue dans ses bois, - Ou Vénus dans sa grotte obscure. - Cruel Énée, amant trop fugitif, - Que le diable t’emporte et t’étrangle tout vif! - - Tu m’as ravi, cruel, oui, oui, tu m’as ravi - Un cœur plein d’amoureuse rage; - Et tu t’en es si mal servi, - Qu’il ne peut servir davantage: - Mais voler trois coiffes de nuit, - Et dérober ma jarretière! - Va, va te promener, et tout ce qui s’ensuit: - Ce ne sont point là tours à faire. - - Tu m’as volé mille soupirs, - Et des soupirs chauds comme braise, - Non pas de languissants zéphyrs, - Mais de vrais soufflets à fournaise. - Cruel Énée, amant trop fugitif, - Que le diable t’emporte et t’étrangle tout vif. - - Que toujours le nigaud qui te sert d’écuyer, - Laisse ton âme désolée, - Sans mettre en son état premier - Ta ridicule Dulcinée; - Qu’elle se ressente à jamais, - L’impertinente créature, - De toutes tes rigueurs, des maux que tu m’as faits, - De tous les tourments que j’endure. - - Puisses-tu dans tes plus hauts faits, - N’avoir que mauvaise aventure, - Et qu’avec toi tous tes souhaits - Soient bientôt dans ta sépulture! - Cruel Énée, amant trop fugitif, - Que le diable t’emporte et t’étrangle tout vif[121]! - - [121] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Tandis qu’Altisidore se lamentait de la sorte, don Quichotte la -regardait avec de grands yeux; tout à coup, se tournant vers Sancho: Par -le salut de tes aïeux, lui dit-il, je te prie, je t’adjure de déclarer -la vérité: emportes-tu, par hasard, les trois mouchoirs et les -jarretières dont parle cette amoureuse damoiselle! - -Les mouchoirs, j’en conviens, répondit Sancho; mais de jarretières, pas -plus que sur ma main. - -Quoiqu’elle la connût pour une personne très-hardie et très-facétieuse, -la duchesse ne revenait pas de l’effronterie de sa suivante; mais le -duc, à qui le jeu plaisait, ne fut pas fâché de le prolonger. Seigneur -chevalier, dit-il à don Quichotte, votre conduite est inexcusable, -surtout après le bon accueil que Votre Grâce a reçu dans ce château: -votre action dénote un mauvais cœur, et trahit un genre de faiblesse -qui s’accorde mal avec ce que la renommée publie de vous. Rendez les -jarretières à cette demoiselle, sinon je vous défie en combat à outrance -sans craindre que les enchanteurs changent mes traits, comme cela est -arrivé à mon laquais Tosilos. - -Dieu me préserve, seigneur, répondit notre héros, de tirer l’épée contre -votre illustre personne de qui j’ai reçu tant de faveurs. Les mouchoirs, -je les ferai rendre, puisque Sancho dit qu’il les a: quant aux -jarretières, ni lui ni moi ne les avons vues: que cette belle demoiselle -veuille bien les chercher dans sa toilette, sans aucun doute elle les y -trouvera. Jamais je n’ai rien dérobé, seigneur duc, et j’espère ne -jamais donner sujet qu’on m’accuse de pareilles bassesses, à moins que -Dieu ne m’abandonne. Cette jeune fille, on le voit bien, parle avec le -dépit d’un cœur amoureux, que je n’ai nullement pensé à enflammer; -aussi n’ai-je point d’excuses à lui faire, non plus qu’à Votre -Excellence, que je supplie très-humblement d’avoir de moi meilleure -opinion, et de me permettre de continuer mon voyage. - -Partez, seigneur don Quichotte, dit la duchesse, et puisse la fortune -vous être toujours fidèle, afin que nous puissions entendre parler de -vos nouveaux exploits; partez, car votre présence est un mauvais remède -aux blessures que l’amour a faites à mes femmes. Quant à celle-ci, je la -châtierai si bien, qu’elle sera plus réservée à l’avenir. - -O valeureux chevalier! s’écria Altisidore, encore deux mots, je t’en -conjure: pardon de t’avoir accusé du vol de mes jarretières; je te fais -réparation d’honneur, car je les ai sur moi en ce moment; mais je suis -si troublée que je ressemble à celui qui cherchait son âne pendant qu’il -était monté dessus. - -Ne l’avais-je pas dit? s’écria Sancho: ah! vraiment, c’est bien moi -qu’il faut accuser de larcin! si j’avais voulu voler, n’en avais-je pas -une belle occasion dans mon gouvernement? - -Don Quichotte se baissa avec grâce sur ses arçons, pour saluer le duc, -la duchesse et tous les assistants, puis, tournant bride, il sortit du -château et prit le chemin de Saragosse. - -CHAPITRE LVIII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE RENCONTRA AVENTURES SUR AVENTURES, ET EN SI GRAND -NOMBRE, QU’IL NE SAVAIT DE QUEL COTÉ SE TOURNER. - -Lorsque don Quichotte se vit en rase campagne, libre et à l’abri des -importunités d’Altisidore, il se sentit renaître, et il lui sembla -qu’une force nouvelle se manifestait en lui pour pratiquer mieux que -jamais sa profession de chevalier errant. Ami, dit-il en se tournant -vers son écuyer, de tous les biens dont le ciel a comblé les mortels, le -plus précieux est la liberté, les trésors que la terre cache dans ses -entrailles, ceux que la mer recèle dans ses vastes profondeurs, n’ont -rien qui lui soit comparable: pour la liberté aussi bien que pour -l’honneur, on peut et on doit aventurer sa vie. Tu as été témoin, -Sancho, des délices et de l’abondance dont nous avons joui dans ce -château; eh bien, te l’avouerai-je? au milieu de ces banquets somptueux, -de ces breuvages exquis, il me semblait toujours souffrir le tourment -de la soif et de la faim. Non, je ne jouissais point de ces choses avec -la même liberté que si elles m’eussent appartenu: car l’obligation de -reconnaître les bienfaits et les services qu’on a reçus est un lien -serré de mille nœuds qui tient une âme constamment captive. Heureux -celui à qui le ciel a donné un morceau de pain, et qui n’est tenu d’en -remercier que le ciel lui-même! - -Malgré tout ce que vient de dire Votre Grâce, répondit Sancho, nous ne -saurions nous empêcher d’être reconnaissants de la bourse de deux cents -écus d’or que m’a donnée le majordome de monseigneur le duc; aussi je la -porte sur mon cœur, comme une relique contre la nécessité, et comme un -bouclier contre les accidents qu’on rencontre à toute heure: car pour un -château où l’on fait bonne chère, il y a cent hôtelleries où l’on est -roué de coups. - -Déjà depuis quelque temps le chevalier et l’écuyer errants marchaient -s’entretenant de la sorte, quand ils aperçurent une douzaine d’hommes en -costume de paysans, qui dînaient assis sur l’herbe, leurs manteaux leur -servant de nappe. Près d’eux, d’espace en espace, étaient étendus de -grands draps blancs, qui recouvraient quelque chose. Don Quichotte -s’approcha, et ayant salué poliment, il demanda ce que cachaient ces -toiles. - -Seigneur, répondit un de ces hommes, sous ces toiles sont des figures -sculptées destinées à un reposoir qu’on est en train de faire dans notre -village. Nous les portons sur nos épaules, de peur qu’elles ne se -brisent, et nous les couvrons, afin qu’elles ne se gâtent point à l’air -et par les chemins. - -Vous me feriez plaisir si vous vouliez me permettre de les voir, dit don -Quichotte, car je m’imagine que des figures dont on prend un tel soin -doivent être fort belles. - -Oui, certes, elles le sont, répondit l’interlocuteur; mais aussi il faut -savoir ce qu’elles coûtent! il n’y en a pas une seule qui ne revienne à -plus de cinquante ducats. Vous allez en juger, ajouta-t-il. Et il -découvrit une superbe figure représentant un saint George à cheval -vainqueur d’un dragon auquel il tenait la lance contre la poitrine. -L’image entière ressemblait à une châsse d’or. - -Don Quichotte ayant quelque temps considéré la figure: Ce chevalier, -dit-il, fut un des plus illustres chevaliers errants de la milice -céleste; il s’appelait saint George et fut un grand protecteur de -l’honneur des dames. Passons au suivant. L’homme la découvrit, et l’on -reconnut l’image de saint Martin également à cheval, et partageant son -manteau avec le pauvre. Ce chevalier, poursuivit notre héros, était -aussi un grand aventurier chrétien; mais il se montra plus charitable -encore que vaillant, comme tu peux le voir, Sancho, puisqu’il coupe son -manteau pour en donner la moitié à un pauvre; et ce fut probablement en -hiver; autrement, charitable comme il l’était, il lui aurait donné le -manteau tout entier. - -Vous n’y êtes pas, repartit Sancho; c’est parce qu’il savait le -proverbe: Pour donner et pour avoir, compter il faut savoir. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, et il demanda qu’on lui fît -voir une autre figure. - -Cette fois on découvrit l’image du patron des Espagnes, l’épée sanglante -à la main, culbutant les Mores et les foulant sous les pieds de son -coursier. Oh! pour celui-ci, s’écria notre héros, c’était un des plus -fameux aventuriers qui aient jamais suivi l’étendard de la croix: c’est -le grand saint Jacques, surnommé le tueur de Mores, un des plus -vaillants chevaliers qu’ait possédé le monde, et que possède maintenant -le ciel. - -On lui fit voir ensuite un saint Paul précipité à bas de son cheval, -avec toutes les circonstances qui d’habitude accompagnent le récit de sa -conversion. Ce saint-là, dit don Quichotte, fut d’abord un très-grand -ennemi de l’Église de Dieu, mais il a fini par en être le plus zélé -défenseur. Chevalier errant pendant sa vie, saint inébranlable dans la -foi jusqu’à la mort, ouvrier infatigable de la vigne du Seigneur, -docteur des nations, il puisa sa doctrine dans le ciel, et eut -Jésus-Christ lui-même pour instituteur et pour maître. Enfants, couvrez -vos images. Mes frères, reprit-il, je tiens à bon présage ce que je -viens de voir; car ces chevaliers exercèrent la profession que j’ai -embrassée, celle des armes, avec cette différence toutefois qu’ils -furent saints, et qu’ils combattirent avec des armes célestes, tandis -que moi, pécheur, je combats à la manière des hommes. Ils ont conquis le -ciel par la violence, car le royaume des cieux veut qu’on l’obtienne par -la violence; mais moi, jusqu’à cette heure, je ne sais trop ce que j’ai -conquis, quelles que soient les fatigues que j’ai endurées. Oh! si ma -chère Dulcinée pouvait être délivrée des peines qu’elle endure, mon sort -s’améliorant et mon esprit se trouvant plus en repos, peut-être -m’engagerais-je dans une voie meilleure que celle où j’ai marché jusqu’à -présent. - -Que Dieu t’entende! dit tout bas Sancho! - -Ces hommes n’étaient pas moins surpris de la figure de notre héros que -de son langage, auquel ils ne comprenaient rien ou peu s’en faut. Leur -repas achevé, ils chargèrent les figures sur leurs épaules, prirent -congé de don Quichotte, et continuèrent leur chemin. - -Comme s’il n’eût jamais entendu parler son maître, Sancho était resté -tout ébahi, voyant bien qu’il n’y avait point d’histoire au monde dont -il n’eût une parfaite connaissance. En vérité, monseigneur, lui dit-il, -si ce qui vient de nous arriver peut s’appeler une aventure, c’est -assurément la plus douce et la plus agréable que nous ayons rencontrée -jusqu’ici: nous en sommes sortis sans coups de bâton; nous n’avons point -mis l’épée à la main; nous n’avons pas mesuré la terre de nos corps, -enfin nous voilà sains et saufs, sans avoir souffert ni la soif ni la -faim. Dieu soit béni de la grâce qu’il m’a faite de voir tout cela de -mes propres yeux. - -C’est vrai, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte; mais tu dois savoir que les -temps ne se ressemblent pas, et qu’on n’a pas toujours mauvaise chance. -Là où le vulgaire ne voit qu’un fâcheux présage, celui qui a le sens -droit voit une heureuse rencontre. Un homme superstitieux sort de chez -lui de bon matin, et il se trouve face à face avec un moine de l’ordre -de Saint-François, aussitôt il tourne les talons comme s’il eût -rencontré le diable; on renverse du sel sur la table, et le voilà tout -mélancolique, comme si la nature devait employer des moyens aussi -futiles pour nous avertir des malheurs qui nous menacent. L’homme sage -et chrétien n’attache aucune importance à de semblables vétilles. -Scipion arrive en Afrique, trébuche en sautant à terre, et voit que ses -soldats tiennent sa chute à mauvais présage; aussitôt, embrassant le -sol: Afrique, je te tiens, dit-il, tu ne m’échapperas pas. Ainsi, moi, -ami Sancho, je considère comme un bonheur d’avoir rencontré ces images. - -Je le crois, dit Sancho; je voudrais seulement que Votre Grâce daignât -m’expliquer pourquoi, en invoquant, avant de livrer bataille, ce saint -Jacques, le tueur de Mores, les Espagnols ont coutume de s’écrier: -_Saint Jacques, et ferme, Espagne[122]!_ L’Espagne est-elle ouverte, -qu’il soit besoin de la fermer? Quelle cérémonie est-ce là? - - [122] Santiago, y cierra, España. Le mot _cerrar_, qui primitivement - signifiait attaquer, veut dire aujourd’hui: fermer. C’est comme, en - France, _Montjoie, Saint-Denis!_ - -Que tu es simple, mon pauvre ami! répondit don Quichotte: apprends que -Dieu a donné aux Espagnols pour protecteur ce grand chevalier à la -Croix-Vermeille, et surtout dans les luttes terribles qu’ils ont -autrefois soutenues contre les Mores! C’est pour cela qu’ils l’invoquent -dans les combats, car on l’a vu souvent en personne, foulant aux pieds, -détruisant les escadrons ennemis, comme je pourrais t’en fournir cent -exemples tirés des histoires les plus dignes de foi. - -Changeant d’entretien, Sancho dit à son maître: En vérité, seigneur, je -ne reviens pas de l’effronterie de cette Altisidore: il faut que la -pauvrette en ait dans l’aile, et que ce petit scélérat qu’on appelle -Amour l’ait diantrement blessée! Le drôle n’y voit goutte, dit-on; mais -cela n’y fait rien: lorsqu’il prend un cœur pour but, il vous le perce -de part en part avec ses flèches. J’avais entendu dire que les flèches -de l’amour s’émoussaient contre la sagesse des filles; eh bien, c’est -tout le contraire chez cette Altisidore, car on dirait qu’elles ne s’en -aiguisent que mieux. - -Ami Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, l’amour ne connaît ni ménagements, ni -considérations: il est comme la mort, qui n’épargne pas plus les rois -que les bergers. Lorsqu’il s’empare d’un cœur, la première chose qu’il -fait, c’est d’en chasser la honte et la crainte. Ainsi, comme tu l’as -vu, c’est sans pudeur qu’Altisidore m’a montré des désirs qui ont excité -chez moi moins de pitié que de confusion. - -O cruauté notoire, ingratitude inouïe! s’écria Sancho; que ne -s’adressait-elle à moi, je me serais rendu au premier petit mot d’amour! -Mort de ma vie! quel cœur de rocher! quelles entrailles de bronze a -Votre Grâce! Mais qu’a donc pu découvrir en vous la pauvre fille pour -prendre ainsi feu comme une étoupe? Où donc est la beauté qui l’a si -fort charmée dans votre personne? Je vous ai bien des fois regardé de la -tête aux pieds, et jamais, je dois l’avouer, je n’ai vu chez vous que -des choses plutôt faites pour épouvanter les gens que pour les séduire. -S’il est vrai, comme on le prétend, que pour éveiller l’amour -l’essentiel soit la beauté, Votre Grâce n’en ayant pas du tout, je ne -sais de quoi s’est amourachée cette Altisidore. - -Apprends, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, qu’il y a deux sortes de beauté, -celle de l’âme et celle du corps. Celle de l’âme se manifeste par -l’esprit, la libéralité, la courtoisie, et tout cela peut se rencontrer -chez un homme laid; quand on possède cette beauté, et non celle du -corps, l’amour qu’on inspire n’est que plus ardent et plus durable. Moi, -Sancho, je sais fort bien que je ne suis pas beau, mais enfin je ne suis -pas difforme; et il suffit à un honnête homme de n’être pas un monstre, -pour être capable d’inspirer une passion aussi vive que profonde. - -En devisant ainsi, ils étaient entrés dans une forêt qui se trouvait sur -leur chemin, lorsque, sans y penser, don Quichotte se trouva pris dans -de grands filets de soie verte, tendus parmi les arbres: Sancho, dit-il, -voici, si je ne me trompe, une des aventures les plus étranges qu’on -puisse imaginer: qu’on me pende si les enchanteurs qui me persécutent -n’ont pas résolu de m’empêtrer dans ces filets et d’interrompre mon -voyage pour venger Altisidore de l’indifférence que je lui ai montrée. -Eh bien, je leur déclare que quand même ces filets, au lieu d’être -tissus de soie verte, seraient de durs diamants, et mille fois plus -forts que ceux dans lesquels le jaloux Vulcain emprisonna jadis Mars et -Vénus, je les romprais avec la même facilité que s’ils n’étaient -composés que de joncs marins ou d’effilures de coton. - -Il s’apprêtait à passer outre, au risque de tout briser, quand il vit -sortir de l’épaisseur du bois deux femmes vêtues en bergères; mais avec -cette différence que leurs corsets étaient de fin brocart et leurs jupes -de riche taffetas doré! Leurs cheveux, si blonds qu’ils pouvaient le -disputer à ceux d’Apollon lui-même, tombaient en longues boucles sur -leurs épaules; leurs têtes étaient couronnées de guirlandes, où se -mêlaient le laurier vert et la rouge amarante, leur âge était au-dessus -de quinze années, mais sans atteindre encore la dix-huitième. A cette -vue, Sancho ouvre de grands yeux, et don Quichotte reste interdit; le -Soleil arrête sa course, et tous étaient dans un merveilleux silence. -Enfin une des bergères, s’adressant à notre héros: - -Arrêtez, seigneur chevalier, arrêtez, lui dit-elle, ne brisez pas ces -filets, ils ne cachent aucun piége; nous ne les avons fait tendre que -pour nous divertir; comme je pense que vous désirez savoir qui nous -sommes et quel est notre dessein, je vais vous l’expliquer en peu de -mots. A deux lieues d’ici, dans un village qu’habitent des gens de -qualité, plusieurs personnes de la même famille sont convenues de venir -s’amuser en cet endroit, qui est un des plus agréables des environs, -afin de former entre elles une nouvelle Arcadie pastorale. Les jeunes -gens sont vêtus en bergers, les jeunes filles en bergères. Nous avons -étudié deux églogues, l’une est de Garcilasso, l’autre du fameux -Camoëns, poëte portugais. Nous ne sommes ici que d’hier, et nous avons -fait dresser des tentes sous ces arbres, au bord de ce ruisseau qui -arrose les prés d’alentour. La nuit dernière, on a tendu ces filets pour -y prendre les petits oiseaux qui, chassés par le bruit, viendraient s’y -jeter sans méfiance. Si vous consentez, seigneur, à devenir notre hôte, -soyez le bienvenu; nous en aurons tous une grande joie, car nous ne -connaissons pas la mélancolie. - -En vérité, belle et noble dame, répondit don Quichotte, Actéon fut moins -agréablement surpris quand il aperçut au bain la chaste Diane, que je le -suis en vous voyant. Je loue l’objet de vos divertissements, et je vous -rends grâces de vos offres obligeantes. Si je puis vous servir, parlez, -vous êtes sûre d’être promptement obéie, car ma profession est de me -montrer affable et empressé, surtout envers les personnes de votre -qualité et de votre mérite. Si ces filets, qui n’occupent qu’un faible -espace, s’étendaient sur toute la surface de la terre, j’irais, plutôt -que de les rompre, chercher un passage dans de nouveaux continents; et -afin que vous n’en doutiez pas, apprenez que celui qui vous parle est -don Quichotte de la Manche, si toutefois ce nom est arrivé jusqu’à vos -oreilles. - -Quel bonheur est le nôtre! chère amie de mon âme, s’écria l’autre -bergère; regarde ce seigneur! eh bien, c’est le plus vaillant et le plus -courtois chevalier qu’il y ait au monde, si l’histoire qui court -imprimée de ses hauts faits ne ment point: je l’ai lue, et je gage que -ce brave homme qui l’accompagne est Sancho Panza, son écuyer, dont -personne n’égale les aimables saillies. - -Vous ne vous trompez pas, Madame, répondit Sancho, c’est moi-même qui -suis ce plaisant écuyer que vous dites, et ce seigneur est mon maître, -le même don Quichotte de la Manche dont parle cette histoire. - -Est-il possible, chère amie! dit l’autre bergère; en ce cas, il faut -prier ces étrangers de rester avec nous; nos parents et nos frères en -auront une joie infinie. J’avais déjà entendu parler de ce que tu viens -de me dire; on ajoute même que ce chevalier est l’amant le plus constant -et le plus amoureux que l’on connaisse, et que sa dame est une certaine -Dulcinée du Toboso à qui l’Espagne entière décerne la palme de la -beauté. - -Rien de plus vrai, repartit don Quichotte; votre beauté, mesdames, -pourrait seule remettre la chose en question. Mais cessez de vouloir me -retenir: les devoirs impérieux de ma profession m’interdisent de me -reposer jamais. - -Sur ces entrefaites arriva le frère d’une des bergères, vêtu aussi en -berger, et avec non moins de richesse et d’élégance. Sa sœur lui ayant -appris que celui à qui elles parlaient était le valeureux don Quichotte -de la Manche, et l’autre son écuyer Sancho, le jeune homme, qui avait lu -leur histoire, adressa un gracieux compliment au chevalier, et le pria -avec tant d’instance de les accompagner, que notre héros y consentit. On -continua la chasse aux huées, et une multitude d’oiseaux, trompés par la -couleur des filets, tombèrent dans le péril qu’ils croyaient éviter. -Cela fit rassembler les chasseurs, qui bientôt réunis au nombre de plus -de cinquante, vêtus en bergers et en bergères, et ravis d’apprendre que -c’était là don Quichotte et son écuyer, les emmenèrent vers les tentes -où la table était dressée. On fit asseoir le chevalier à la place -d’honneur; et pendant le repas, tous le regardaient avec étonnement, -tous étaient ravis de le voir. Mais lorsqu’on fut près de lever la -nappe, don Quichotte, promenant ses yeux sur les convives, prit la -parole en ces termes: - -De tous les péchés des hommes, bien qu’on ait souvent prétendu que le -plus grand c’est l’orgueil, je soutiens, moi, que c’est l’ingratitude, -et je me fonde sur ce qu’on dit communément que l’enfer est peuplé -d’ingrats. Ce péché, je me suis toute ma vie efforcé de l’éviter; et -lorsque je ne puis payer par d’autres services les services qu’on me -rend, mon impuissance est du moins compensée par l’intention; mais comme -cela ne saurait suffire, je les publie, je les proclame, afin qu’on -sache bien que si un jour il m’arrive de pouvoir les reconnaître, je n’y -faillirai pas. Trop souvent, hélas! je me suis vu réduit au stérile -désir de m’acquitter, celui qui reçoit étant toujours au-dessous de -celui qui donne. Ainsi, envers Dieu qui nous accorde à toute heure tant -de faveurs, qu’est-il possible à l’homme de faire pour s’acquitter? -Rien, car la distance qui les sépare est infinie. A cette impuissance, à -cette misère, supplée jusqu’à un certain point la gratitude et la -reconnaissance. C’est pourquoi, reconnaissant du gracieux accueil qu’on -m’a fait ici, mais ne pouvant y répondre dans la même mesure, je suis -contraint de me renfermer dans les étroites limites de mon pouvoir, et -de n’offrir bien à regret que les modestes prémices de ma moisson. Je -déclare donc que pendant deux jours entiers, armé de toutes pièces, et -au milieu de cette grande route qui conduit à Saragosse, je soutiendrai -contre tout venant que les dames ici présentes sont les plus courtoises -et les plus belles qu’il y ait au monde, à l’exception toutefois de la -sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, unique maîtresse de mes pensées, soit -dit sans offenser aucune des dames qui m’entendent. - -A ces dernières paroles, Sancho, qui écoutait de toutes ses oreilles, ne -put se contenir et s’écria: Est-il possible qu’il y ait sous le ciel des -gens assez osés pour dire et jurer même que mon maître est fou? -Répondez, seigneurs bergers, quel est le curé de village, si sensé et si -savant qu’il soit, qui serait capable de mieux parler que ne vient de le -faire monseigneur don Quichotte, quel chevalier errant avec toutes ses -rodomontades oserait proposer chose pareille? - -Don Quichotte se tourna brusquement vers son écuyer, et lui dit le -visage enflammé de colère: Est-il possible, ô Sancho! qu’il se trouve -dans l’univers entier un homme qui ose dire que tu n’es pas un sot -doublé de malice et de friponnerie? Qui te prie de te mêler de mes -affaires, et de rechercher si je suis fou ou si je ne le suis pas. -Tais-toi, va seller Rossinante, afin que je réalise ma promesse, car -avec la raison que j’ai de mon côté, tu peux tenir pour vaincus tous -ceux qui oseraient me contredire. - -Sur ce, il se leva avec des gestes d’indignation, laissant les -spectateurs douter de sa sagesse aussi bien que de sa folie. Tous le -prièrent de ne point pousser le défi plus avant, disant qu’ils -connaissaient assez la délicatesse de ses sentiments, sans qu’il en -donnât de nouvelles preuves; et qu’il n’avait pas non plus besoin de -signaler davantage sa valeur, puisqu’ils connaissaient son histoire. - -Don Quichotte n’en persista pas moins dans sa résolution. Enfourchant -Rossinante, il embrasse sa rondache, et, la lance au poing, va se camper -au milieu du grand chemin, suivi de Sancho et de toute la troupe des -bergers et des bergères curieux de voir quelle serait l’issue d’un défi -si singulier et si arrogant. Campé, comme on vient de le dire, au beau -milieu du chemin, notre héros fit retentir l’air de ces superbes -paroles: - -O vous, chevaliers, écuyers, voyageurs à pied et à cheval, qui passez ou -devez passer sur cette route pendant les deux jours entiers qui vont -suivre, apprenez que don Quichotte de la Manche, chevalier errant, est -ici pour soutenir que toutes les beautés et courtoisies de la terre sont -surpassées par celles que l’on rencontre chez les nymphes de ces prés et -de ces bois, à l’exception toutefois de la reine de mon âme, la sans -pareille Dulcinée du Toboso. Que celui qui oserait soutenir le -contraire, sache que je l’attends ici! - -Par deux fois il répéta le même défi, et deux fois ses paroles ne furent -entendues d’aucun chevalier errant. - -Mais le sort, qui conduisait de mieux en mieux ses affaires, voulut que -peu de temps après on vît venir sur la route un grand nombre de -cavaliers, armés de lances et s’avançant en toute hâte. Ceux qui étaient -avec notre chevalier ne les eurent pas plus tôt aperçus, qu’ils -s’empressèrent de s’éloigner du chemin, jugeant qu’il y avait danger à -barrer le passage. Don Quichotte, d’un cœur intrépide, resta seul sur -la place, tandis que Sancho se faisait un bouclier de la croupe de -Rossinante. Cependant la troupe confuse des cavaliers approchait, et -l’un d’eux, qui marchait en avant, se mit à crier à don Quichotte: Gare, -homme du diable, gare du chemin! ne vois-tu pas que ces taureaux vont te -mettre en pièces? - -Canailles, répondit don Quichotte, vous avez bien rencontré votre homme! -Pour moi, il n’y a taureaux qui vaillent, fussent-ils les plus -formidables de la vallée de Jarama. Confessez tous, malandrins, -confessez la vérité de ce que je viens de proclamer, sinon préparez-vous -au combat. - -Le guide n’eut pas le temps de répliquer, ni don Quichotte de se -détourner, quand même il l’aurait voulu: aussi la bande entière des -redoutables taureaux, avec les bœufs paisibles qui servaient à les -conduire, et la foule de gens qui les accompagnaient à la ville où une -course devait se faire le lendemain, tout cela passa par-dessus don -Quichotte, par-dessus Sancho, Rossinante et le grison, les roulant à -terre et les foulant aux pieds. De l’aventure, Sancho resta moulu, don -Quichotte exaspéré, Rossinante et le grison dans un état fort peu -orthodoxe. A la fin, pourtant, ils se relevèrent, et don Quichotte, -encore étourdi de sa chute, trébuchant ici, bronchant là, se mit à -courir après le troupeau de bêtes à cornes, en criant: Arrêtez, -malandrins, arrêtez; c’est un seul chevalier qui vous défie, lequel -n’est ni de l’humeur ni de l’avis de ceux qui disent: «A l’ennemi qui -fuit fais un pont d’or.» - -Mais le vent emportait ses menaces, et, le troupeau s’éloignant -toujours, notre chevalier, plus enflammé de colère que rassasié de -vengeance, s’assit sur le bord du chemin, attendant Sancho, Rossinante -et le grison. Ils arrivèrent enfin; maître et valet remontèrent sur -leurs bêtes, et sans dire adieu aux nymphes de la nouvelle Arcadie -continuèrent tout honteux leur chemin. - -Une claire fontaine, qui serpentait au milieu d’un épais bouquet -d’arbres, fut un utile secours pour rafraîchir nos aventuriers et -nettoyer la poussière qu’ils devaient à l’incivilité des taureaux. Ils -s’assirent auprès de cette fontaine, et après avoir débridé Rossinante -et le grison, ils secouèrent leurs habits. Don Quichotte se rinça la -bouche, se lava le visage, et par cette ablution rendit quelque énergie -à ses esprits abattus; quant à Sancho, il se mit à visiter le bissac, et -en tira ce qu’il avait coutume d’appeler sa victuaille. - -CHAPITRE LIX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE, ET QUE L’ON PEUT VÉRITABLEMENT APPELER -UNE AVENTURE. - -Don Quichotte était si triste, si fatigué, qu’il ne songeait point à -manger, et Sancho, par déférence, n’osait toucher à ce qui était devant -lui. Mais voyant qu’enseveli dans ses pensées son maître oubliait de -prendre aucune nourriture, il mit de côté toute retenue et commença à -enfourner dans son estomac le pain et le fromage qu’il avait sous la -main. Mange, ami Sancho, mange, lui dit don Quichotte; jouis du plaisir -de vivre, plaisir que tu sais goûter bien mieux que moi, et laisse-moi -mourir sous le poids de mes disgrâces. Je suis né pour vivre en mourant, -comme toi, Sancho, pour mourir en mangeant; et afin de te prouver -combien j’ai raison de parler ainsi, vois-moi, je te prie, imprimé dans -les histoires, fameux par mes exploits, loyal dans mes actions, honoré -des princes, sollicité des jeunes filles; et malgré tout cela, au moment -où j’avais le droit d’espérer les palmes et les lauriers mérités par mes -hauts faits, je me suis vu ce matin terrassé, foulé aux pieds par des -animaux immondes, au point d’être pris en pitié par ceux qui apprendront -notre aventure! Crois-tu, mon ami, que l’amertume d’une telle pensée ne -soit pas faite pour émousser les dents, engourdir les mains et ôter -l’appétit? Aussi, mon enfant, suis-je résolu à me laisser mourir de -faim, ce qui de toutes les morts est la mort la plus cruelle. - -Ainsi, répondit Sancho, qui ne cessait de jouer des mâchoires, Votre -Grâce n’est pas de l’avis du proverbe qui dit: Meure la poule, pourvu -qu’elle meure soûle. Quant à moi, je ne suis pas si sot que de me -laisser mourir de faim: et je prétends imiter le cordonnier, qui tire le -cuir avec ses dents jusqu’à ce qu’il le fasse arriver où il veut. -Sachez, seigneur, qu’il n’y a pire folie que celle de se désespérer -comme le fait Votre Grâce; croyez-moi, mangez, et après avoir mangé, -dormez deux heures, le ventre au soleil, sur l’herbe de cette prairie: -et si vous n’êtes pas mieux en vous réveillant, dites que je suis une -bête. - -Don Quichotte lui promit de suivre son conseil, sachant par expérience -combien la philosophie naturelle l’emporte sur tous les raisonnements. -Si, en attendant, mon fils, ajouta-t-il, tu voulais faire ce que je vais -te dire, mon soulagement serait plus assuré et mes peines plus légères: -ce serait tandis que je vais sommeiller uniquement pour te complaire, de -t’écarter un peu, et, mettant ta peau à l’air, de t’administrer avec la -bride de Rossinante trois ou quatre cents coups de fouet, à valoir sur -les trois mille trois cents que tu dois te donner pour le -désenchantement de Dulcinée; car, je te le demande, n’est-ce pas pitié -que cette pauvre dame reste dans l’état où elle est, et cela par ta -négligence? - -L’affaire mérite réflexion, répondit Sancho; dormons d’abord, nous -verrons ensuite; car enfin, croyez-vous que ce soit chose bien -raisonnable, qu’un homme se fouette ainsi de sang-froid, et surtout -quand les coups doivent tomber sur un corps mal nourri? Que madame -Dulcinée prenne patience; un de ces jours, quand elle y pensera le -moins, elle me verra percé comme un crible. Jusqu’à la mort tout est -vie: je veux dire que je suis encore de ce monde, et que j’aurai tout le -temps de tenir ma promesse. - -Don Quichotte se tint pour satisfait de la parole de son écuyer, et -après avoir mangé, l’un beaucoup, l’autre peu, tous deux s’étendirent -sur l’herbe, laissant paître en liberté Rossinante et le grison. - -Le jour était avancé quand nos aventuriers se réveillèrent; aussitôt ils -reprirent leurs montures pour atteindre une hôtellerie que l’on -découvrait à environ une lieue de là: je dis hôtellerie, parce que don -Quichotte la nomma ainsi de lui-même, contre sa coutume d’appeler toutes -les hôtelleries des châteaux. En entrant, ils demandèrent s’il y avait -place pour loger; il leur fut répondu que oui, et avec toutes les -commodités qu’ils pourraient trouver même à Saragosse. Ils mirent donc -pied à terre; puis Sancho ayant déposé les bagages dans une chambre dont -l’hôtelier lui remit la clef, il alla mettre Rossinante et le grison à -l’écurie, et leur donna la ration en rendant grâces à Dieu de ce que son -maître avait pris cette maison pour ce qu’elle était en réalité. Quand -il revint auprès de lui, il le trouva assis sur un banc. - -L’heure du souper venue, don Quichotte se retira dans sa chambre, et -Sancho demanda à l’hôtelier ce qu’il avait à leur donner. - -Parlez, répondit celui-ci: en animaux de la terre, en oiseaux de l’air, -en poissons de la mer, vous serez servis à bouche que veux-tu. - -Il ne nous en faut pas tant, repartit Sancho: deux bons poulets feront -notre affaire, car mon maître est délicat et mange peu, et moi, je ne -suis pas glouton à l’excès. - -L’hôtelier répondit qu’il n’y avait pas de poulets, parce que les milans -les détruisaient tous. - -Eh bien, faites-nous donner une poule grasse et tendre, dit Sancho. - -Une poule? reprit l’hôtelier, en frappant du pied, par ma foi, j’en -envoyai vendre hier plus de cinquante à la ville. Mais, excepté cela, -dites ce que vous désirez. - -Aurez-vous du moins quelque tranche de veau ou de chevreau? demanda -Sancho. - -Pour l’heure, il n’y en a point céans, répondit l’hôtelier; ce matin on -a mangé le dernier morceau; mais je vous assure que la semaine prochaine -il y en aura de reste. - -Courage, dit Sancho, nous y voilà: je gage que toutes ces grandes -provisions vont aboutir à une tranche de lard et à des œufs. - -Parbleu, reprit l’hôtelier, mon hôte a bonne mémoire! je viens de lui -dire que je n’ai ni poules ni poulets, et il veut qu’il y ait des œufs! -Cherchez, s’il vous plaît, quelque autre chose, et laissons-là toutes -ces délicatesses. - -Eh, morbleu! finissons-en, dit Sancho, et dites-nous vite ce que vous -avez pour souper, sans nous faire tant languir. - -Eh bien, répondit l’hôtelier, j’ai tout prêts deux pieds de bœuf à -l’oignon avec de la moutarde: c’est un manger de prince. - -Des pieds de bœuf! s’écria Sancho; que personne n’y touche, je les -retiens pour moi: rien n’est plus de mon goût. - -Je vous les garderai, répondit l’hôtelier, parce que les autres -voyageurs que j’ai ici sont gens d’assez haute volée pour mener avec -eux cuisinier, sommelier et provisions de bouche. - -Pour la qualité, dit Sancho, mon maître ne le cède à personne; mais sa -profession ne permet ni sommelier, ni maître d’hôtel; le plus souvent -nous nous étendons au milieu d’un pré, et nous mangeons à notre soûl des -nèfles et des glands. - -La discussion finit là; et quoique l’hôtelier eût demandé à Sancho -quelle était la profession de son maître, Sancho s’en alla sans lui -donner satisfaction. L’heure du souper venue, l’hôtelier apporta le -ragoût, qu’il avait annoncé, dans la chambre de don Quichotte, et le -chevalier se mit à table. - -A peine commençait-il à manger que, dans une chambre séparée de la -sienne par une simple cloison, il entendit quelqu’un qui disait: Par la -vie de Votre Grâce, seigneur don Geronimo, lisons en attendant qu’on -apporte le souper un autre chapitre de la seconde partie de l’histoire -de don Quichotte de la Manche. - -Notre chevalier n’eut pas plutôt entendu son nom qu’il était debout, et -prêtant l’oreille, il écouta ce qu’on disait de lui. Il saisit cette -réponse de don Geronimo: Pourquoi voulez-vous, seigneur don Juan, que -nous lisions ces sottises? Quand on connaît la première partie, quel -plaisir peut-on trouver à la seconde? - -D’accord, répliqua don Juan, mais il n’y a si mauvais livre qui n’ait -quelque bon côté: ce qui me déplaît toutefois dans cette seconde partie, -c’est qu’on y dit que don Quichotte est guéri de son amour pour Dulcinée -du Toboso. - -A ces mots, notre héros s’écria plein de dépit et de fureur: Quiconque -prétend que don Quichotte de la Manche a oublié, ou est capable -d’oublier Dulcinée du Toboso, ment par sa gorge, et je le lui prouverai -à armes égales. La sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso ne saurait être -oubliée, et un tel oubli est indigne de don Quichotte de la Manche: la -constance est sa devise, et son devoir de la garder incorruptible -jusqu’à la mort. - -Qui est-ce qui parle là? demanda-t-on de l’autre chambre. - -Et qui ce peut-il être, répondit Sancho, sinon don Quichotte de la -Manche lui-même, qui soutiendra tout ce qu’il vient de dire; car un bon -payeur ne craint pas de donner des gages. - -Sancho n’avait pas achevé de parler, que deux gentilshommes entrèrent -dans la chambre, et l’un d’eux se jetant dans les bras de notre héros: -Votre aspect, lui dit-il, ne dément point votre nom, ni votre nom votre -aspect, seigneur chevalier, et sans aucun doute vous êtes le véritable -don Quichotte de la Manche, l’étoile polaire de la chevalerie errante, -en dépit de l’imposteur qui a usurpé votre nom, et qui tâche d’effacer -l’éclat de vos prouesses, comme le prouve ce livre que je remets entre -vos mains. - -Don Quichotte prit le livre, et après l’avoir quelque temps feuilleté en -silence, il le rendit. Dans le peu que je viens de lire, dit-il, je -trouve trois choses fort blâmables: la première, ce sont quelques -passages de la préface; la seconde, c’est que le dialecte est aragonais, -car l’auteur supprime souvent les articles; et enfin la troisième, qui -prouve son ignorance, c’est qu’il se fourvoie sur un point capital de -l’histoire en disant que la femme de Sancho Panza, mon écuyer, s’appelle -Marie Guttierez, tandis qu’elle s’appelle Thérèse Panza. Celui qui fait -une erreur de cette importance doit être inexact dans tout le reste. - -Par ma foi, s’écria Sancho, voilà qui est beau pour un historien, et il -est joliment au courant de nos affaires, puisqu’il appelle Thérèse -Panza, ma femme, Marie Guttierez: seigneur, reprenez ce livre, je vous -prie, voyez un peu s’il y est parlé de moi, et si l’on n’a point aussi -changé mon nom. - -A ce que je vois, mon ami, repartit don Geronimo, vous êtes Sancho -Panza, l’écuyer du seigneur don Quichotte? - -Oui, seigneur, c’est moi, et je serais très-fâché que ce fût un autre. - -En vérité, dit le cavalier, l’auteur ne vous traite guère comme vous me -paraissez le mériter: il vous fait glouton et niais, et nullement -plaisant, bien différent en cela du Sancho de la première partie de -l’histoire de votre maître. - -Dieu lui pardonne, repartit Sancho, mieux eût valu qu’il m’oubliât tout -à fait; quand on ne sait pas jouer de la flûte, on ne devrait pas s’en -servir, et saint Pierre n’est bien qu’à Rome. - -Les deux cavaliers invitèrent notre héros à passer dans leur chambre et -à partager leur repas, disant qu’ils savaient que dans cette hôtellerie -il n’y avait rien qui fût digne de lui. Don Quichotte qui était la -courtoisie même, ne se fit pas prier davantage, et alla souper avec eux. -Resté en pleine possession du ragoût, Sancho prit le haut bout de la -table, l’hôtelier s’assit à ses côtés, et ils mangèrent avec appétit -leurs pieds de bœuf, buvant et riant comme s’ils eussent fait la plus -grande chère du monde. - -Pendant le repas, don Juan demanda à notre héros quelles nouvelles il -avait de madame Dulcinée du Toboso; si elle était mariée, si elle était -accouchée ou enceinte, ou si, restée chaste et fidèle, elle pensait à -couronner la constance du seigneur don Quichotte. - -Dulcinée est aussi pure, aussi intacte qu’au sortir du ventre de sa -mère, répondit notre chevalier; mon cœur est plus fidèle que jamais, -notre correspondance est toujours nulle, et sa beauté changée en la -laideur d’une grossière paysanne. Puis il leur conta l’enchantement de -sa maîtresse, ses aventures personnelles dans la caverne de Montesinos, -et la recette que lui avait enseignée Merlin pour désenchanter sa dame; -recette qui était la flagellation de Sancho. - -Les deux voyageurs furent ravis d’entendre de la bouche de don Quichotte -le récit de ses étranges aventures. Étonnés de tant d’extravagances et -de la manière dont il les racontait, tantôt ils le prenaient pour un -fou, tantôt pour un homme de bon sens, et en définitive ils ne savaient -que penser. - -Ayant achevé de souper, Sancho laissa l’hôtelier bien repu, et passa -dans la chambre des cavaliers: Qu’on me pende, seigneurs, dit-il en -entrant, si l’auteur de ce livre a envie que nous restions longtemps -bons amis; je voudrais bien, puisqu’il m’appelle glouton, comme vous le -dites, qu’il se dispensât de m’appeler ivrogne. - -En effet, c’est ainsi qu’il vous qualifie, répondit don Geronimo; je ne -me rappelle point le passage, mais je soutiens qu’il a mille fois tort: -la physionomie seule du seigneur Sancho, ici présent, fait assez voir -que celui qui en parle de la sorte est un imposteur. - -Vos Grâces peuvent m’en croire, reprit Sancho; le Sancho et le don -Quichotte de cette histoire doivent être d’autres gens que ceux de -l’histoire de Cid Hamet, qui fait mon maître sage, vaillant et amoureux, -et moi, simple et plaisant, mais non ivrogne et glouton. - -Je n’en doute pas, répondit don Juan, et il aurait fallu faire défense à -tout autre qu’à Cid Hamet de se mêler d’écrire les prouesses du grand -don Quichotte, de même qu’Alexandre défendit à tout autre peintre -qu’Apelle de faire son portrait. - -Fasse mon portrait qui voudra, dit don Quichotte; mais qu’on y prenne -garde, il y a un terme à la patience. - -Hé! répliqua don Juan, quelle injure ferait-on au seigneur don Quichotte -dont il ne puisse aisément tirer vengeance? à moins qu’il ne préférât la -parer avec le bouclier de cette patience qui, on le sait, n’est pas la -moindre des vertus qu’il possède? - -Une partie de la nuit se passa en de semblables entretiens, et toutes -les instances de don Juan pour engager notre héros à s’assurer si le -livre ne contenait pas d’autres impertinences, furent inutiles, don -Quichotte disant qu’il tenait l’ouvrage pour lu et relu, qu’il le -déclarait en tout et partout impertinent et menteur; que de plus si -l’auteur venait à savoir qu’il lui fût tombé entre les mains, il ne -voulait pas donner à un pareil imposteur le plaisir de croire qu’il se -fût arrêté à le lire, parce que si un honnête homme doit détourner sa -pensée des objets ridicules ou obscènes, à plus forte raison doit-il en -détourner les yeux. - -Don Juan ayant demandé à notre héros quels étaient ses projets et le but -de son voyage, il répondit qu’il se rendait à Saragosse, afin d’assister -aux joutes qui avaient lieu tous les ans. Mais lorsque don Juan lui eut -appris que dans l’ouvrage il était question d’une course de bagues où -l’auteur faisait figurer don Quichotte, récit dénué d’invention, pauvre -de style, plus pauvre encore en descriptions de livrées, mais fort riche -en niaiseries, en ce cas, repartit notre chevalier, il en aura le -démenti, je ne mettrai pas le pied à Saragosse; et alors tout le monde -reconnaîtra, je l’espère, que je ne suis pas le don Quichotte dont il -parle. - -Ce sera fort bien fait, dit don Geronimo: d’ailleurs il y a d’autres -joutes à Barcelone où Votre Seigneurie pourra signaler sa valeur. - -Tel est mon dessein, repartit don Quichotte. Mais il est temps que Vos -Grâces me permettent de leur souhaiter le bonsoir et d’aller prendre -quelque repos. Qu’elles me comptent désormais au nombre de leurs -meilleurs amis et de leurs plus fidèles serviteurs. - -Et moi aussi, ajouta Sancho; peut-être leur serai-je bon à quelque -chose. - -Le maître et le valet se retirèrent dans leur chambre, laissant nos -cavaliers émerveillés de ce mélange de sagesse et de folie, et bien -convaincus que c’étaient là le véritable don Quichotte et le vrai -Sancho, et non ceux qu’avait dépeints l’auteur aragonais. Don Quichotte -se leva de grand matin, et, frappant à la cloison, il dit adieu à ses -hôtes de la veille; puis Sancho paya magnifiquement l’hôtelier, tout en -lui conseillant de moins vanter à l’avenir son auberge, et de la tenir -un peu mieux approvisionnée. - -CHAPITRE LX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE EN ALLANT A BARCELONE. - -La matinée était fraîche et promettait une belle journée, quand don -Quichotte partit de l’hôtellerie après s’être informé de la route la -plus courte pour se rendre à Barcelone, résolu qu’il était, en n’allant -pas à Saragosse, de faire mentir l’auteur aragonais qui le traitait si -mal dans son histoire. Il chemina six jours entiers, sans qu’il lui -arrivât rien qui mérite d’être rapporté. - -Le septième jour, vers le soir, s’étant écarté du chemin, la nuit le -surprit dans un épais bouquet de chênes et de liéges. Maître et valet -mirent pied à terre, et Sancho, qui avait fait ses quatre repas, ne -tarda pas à franchir la porte du sommeil. Don Quichotte, au contraire, -que ses pensées tenaient constamment éveillé, ne put fermer les yeux: -porté par son imagination en cent lieux divers, tantôt il se croyait -dans la caverne de Montesinos, tantôt il voyait Dulcinée transformée en -paysanne, cabrioler et sauter sur son âne; tantôt résonnaient à ses -oreilles les paroles du sage Merlin, qui venait lui révéler -l’infaillible moyen de désenchanter la pauvre dame. A ce souvenir il se -désespérait en voyant la lenteur et le peu de charité de Sancho, qui, de -son propre aveu, s’était donné cinq coups de fouet seulement, nombre -bien minime en comparaison de ceux qu’il lui restait à s’appliquer. -Notre amoureux chevalier en conçut un tel dépit, qu’il voulut y mettre -ordre sur-le-champ. Si Alexandre le Grand, se disait-il, trancha le -nœud gordien, en soutenant qu’_autant vaut couper que délier_, et -n’en devint pas moins le maître de l’Asie, pourquoi donc ne viendrais-je -pas à bout de désenchanter Dulcinée en fouettant moi-même Sancho? Si la -vertu du remède consiste en ce que Sancho reçoive les trois mille et -tant de coups de fouet, qu’importe de quelle main ils lui soient -appliqués? l’essentiel est qu’il les reçoive. Là-dessus, muni des rênes -de Rossinante, il s’approche avec précaution de son écuyer, et se met en -devoir de lui détacher l’aiguillette, mais à peine avait-il commencé, -que Sancho s’éveillant en sursaut se mit à crier: Qui va là? qui est-ce -qui détache mes chausses? - -C’est moi, répondit don Quichotte, qui viens réparer ta négligence et -remédier à mes peines: je viens te fouetter, et acquitter en partie la -dette que tu as contractée. Dulcinée périt, malheureux! et pendant que -je me consume dans le désespoir, tu vis sans te soucier de rien. Défais -tes chausses de bonne volonté, car mon intention est de t’appliquer dans -cette solitude au moins deux mille coups de fouet. - -Non pas, non pas, dit Sancho; laissez-moi, ou je vais pousser de tels -cris, que les sourds nous entendront: les coups de fouet auxquels je me -suis engagé, doivent être volontaires; et pour l’heure, je n’ai nulle -envie d’être fouetté. Qu’il vous suffise de la parole que je vous donne -de me fustiger aussitôt que la fantaisie m’en prendra, mais encore -faut-il la laisser venir. - -Je ne puis m’en fier à toi, mon ami, répondit don Quichotte, car tu es -dur de cœur, et, quoique vilain, tendre de chair. - -En parlant ainsi, il s’efforçait de lui dénouer l’aiguillette; mais -Sancho, se dressant sur ses pieds, sauta sur notre héros, lui donna un -croc en jambe, l’étendit par terre tout de son long, puis il lui mit le -genou sur la poitrine et lui saisit les deux mains de façon qu’il ne -pouvait remuer. - -Comment! traître, s’écria don Quichotte, tu te révoltes contre ton -maître, contre ton seigneur naturel! tu t’attaques à celui qui te donne -du pain! - -Je ne trahis point mon roi, répondit Sancho, je ne fais que me secourir -moi-même, qui suis mon propre maître et mon véritable seigneur; que -Votre Grâce me promette de me laisser tranquille et de ne point parler -de me fouetter pour le moment, aussitôt je vous lâche; sinon, _tu -mourras ici, traître, ennemi de dona Sancha_[123]. - - [123] Aqui moriras, traydor - Enemigo de dona Sancha. - (_Ancien romancero._) - -Notre héros lui promit ce qu’il exigeait, jurant par la vie de Dulcinée -qu’il ne toucherait pas un poil de son pourpoint, et que désormais il -s’en remettait à sa bonne volonté. - -Sancho, s’étant relevé, alla chercher pour dormir un endroit plus -éloigné. Comme il s’appuyait contre un arbre, il sentit quelque chose -lui toucher la tête; il y porta les mains, et rencontra deux jambes -d’hommes. Saisi de frayeur, il courut se réfugier sous un autre arbre, -où il fit même rencontre. Alors il se mit à pousser de grands cris; don -Quichotte accourut, et lui en demanda la cause. - -Ces arbres sont pleins de pieds et de jambes d’hommes, répondit Sancho. - -Don Quichotte toucha à tâtons, et devina sur-le-champ ce qu’il en était: -Ne crains rien, lui dit-il; ces pieds et ces jambes appartiennent sans -doute à des bandits qu’on a pendus à ces arbres. C’est le lieu où l’on a -coutume d’en faire justice quand on les prend; on les attache par vingt -et trente à la fois, et cela m’indique que nous ne sommes pas loin de -Barcelone. - -Le chevalier avait raison; car dès qu’il fut jour ils reconnurent que la -plupart des arbres étaient chargés de cadavres. Déjà épouvantés par les -morts, ce fut bien pis encore quand nos aventuriers virent tout à coup -fondre sur eux une cinquantaine de bandits vivants, qui sortant d’entre -les arbres leur crièrent en catalan de ne pas bouger jusqu’à la venue de -leur capitaine. Se trouvant à pied, son cheval débridé, sa lance loin -de lui, don Quichotte ne pouvait penser à se défendre. Il croisa les -mains et baissa la tête, réservant son courage pour une meilleure -occasion. Les bandits débarrassèrent le grison de tout ce qu’il portait, -ne laissant rien ni dans le bissac ni dans la valise; et bien prit à -Sancho d’avoir sur lui les écus d’or que lui avait donnés le majordome, -ainsi que l’argent de son maître, qu’il portait dans une ceinture sous -sa chemise, car ces honnêtes gens n’auraient pas manqué de le trouver, -l’eût-il caché dans la moelle de ses os, si par bonheur leur capitaine -n’était survenu. - -C’était un homme robuste, d’environ trente-cinq ans, d’une taille haute, -au teint brun, au regard sévère; il portait une cotte de mailles, à sa -ceinture quatre de ces pistolets qu’en Catalogne on appelle -_pedrenales_, et il montait un cheval de forte encolure. Voyant que ses -écuyers (c’est le nom que se donnent entre eux les gens de cette -profession) allaient dépouiller Sancho, il leur commanda de n’en rien -faire: ainsi fut sauvée la ceinture. Étonné de voir une lance appuyée -contre un arbre, une rondache par terre, et de plus un personnage armé -de pied en cap, avec la mine la plus triste et la plus mélancolique -qu’il soit possible d’imaginer, il s’approcha en lui disant: -Rassurez-vous, bonhomme, vous n’êtes pas tombé entre les mains de -quelque cruel Osiris, mais dans celles de Roque Guinart, qui jamais ne -maltraite les gens dont il n’a pas à se plaindre. - -Ma tristesse, répondit don Quichotte, ne provient pas de ce que je suis -tombé en ton pouvoir, ô vaillant Roque, toi dont la renommée n’a point -de bornes sur la terre, mais de ce que tes soldats m’ont surpris sans -bride à mon cheval; car les règles de la chevalerie errante, dont je -fais profession, me prescrivent d’être constamment en alerte et de me -servir de sentinelle à moi-même. Apprends, ô grand Roque Guinart, que -s’ils m’avaient trouvé en selle, la rondache au bras et la lance au -poing, ils ne seraient pas venus à bout de moi si aisément, car je suis -ce don Quichotte de la Manche qui a rempli l’univers du bruit de ses -exploits. - -Il n’en fallut pas davantage pour faire connaître à Roque Guinart quelle -était la maladie de notre héros; il avait souvent entendu parler de lui, -mais il avait peine à se persuader que semblable fantaisie fût parvenue -à se loger dans une cervelle humaine. Ravi d’avoir rencontré don -Quichotte, afin de pouvoir juger par lui-même si l’original ressemblait -aux copies: Vaillant chevalier, lui dit-il, consolez-vous et -n’interprétez point à mauvaise fortune l’état où vous vous trouvez; il -se pourrait, au contraire, que votre sort fourvoyé retrouvât sa droite -ligne. C’est souvent par des chemins étranges, en dehors de toute -prévoyance humaine, que le ciel se plaît à relever les abattus et à -enrichir les pauvres. - -Don Quichotte s’apprêtait à lui rendre grâces quand ils entendirent -derrière eux comme le bruit d’une troupe de gens à cheval: il n’y avait -pourtant qu’un cavalier, mais il était monté sur un puissant coursier, -et s’approchait à toute bride. En tournant la tête, ils aperçurent un -jeune homme de fort bonne mine, d’environ vingt ans, vêtu d’une étoffe -de damas vert ornée de dentelle d’or, le chapeau retroussé à la -wallonne, les bottes étroites et luisantes, l’épée, le poignard et les -éperons dorés; il tenait un mousquet à la main et avait deux pistolets à -sa ceinture. - -O vaillant Roque! je te cherchais, pour trouver auprès de toi sinon le -remède, du moins quelque soulagement à mon malheur, dit le cavalier en -les abordant; et pour ne pas te tenir davantage en suspens, car je vois -que tu ne me reconnais pas, sache que je suis Claudia Geronima, fille de -Simon Forte, ton meilleur ami et l’ennemi juré de Clauquel Torellas, qui -est dans le parti de tes ennemis. Ce Torellas a un fils nommé don -Vincent. Don Vincent me vit et devint amoureux de moi; je l’écoutai -favorablement à l’insu de mon père; enfin il me promit de m’épouser, me -donna sa parole, et reçut la mienne. Eh bien, j’ai appris hier -qu’oubliant sa promesse, l’ingrat allait en épouser une autre. Cette -nouvelle a produit sur moi l’effet que tu peux imaginer, aussi, -profitant de l’absence de mon père, je me suis mise à la recherche du -perfide en l’équipage où tu me vois. Je l’ai rejoint à une lieue d’ici; -et sans perdre de temps à lui faire des reproches, ni à recevoir ses -excuses, je lui ai tiré un coup de carabine et deux coups de pistolet, -lavant ainsi mon affront dans son sang. Il est resté sur la place, entre -les mains de ses gens, qui n’ont osé ni pu prendre sa défense. Je viens -te prier de me faire passer en France, où j’ai des parents, et de -protéger mon père contre la vengeance de la famille et des amis de don -Vincent. - -Surpris de la bonne mine de la belle Claudia, aussi bien que de sa -résolution, Roque lui promit de l’accompagner partout où elle voudrait. -Mais avant tout, ajouta-t-il, allons voir si votre ennemi est mort; nous -aviserons ensuite à ce qu’il faudra faire. - -Notre héros, qui avait écouté attentivement la belle Claudia et la -réponse de Roque Guinart: Que personne, dit-il, ne se mette en peine de -défendre cette dame; je la prends sous ma protection; qu’on me donne mon -cheval et mes armes, et qu’on m’attende ici: j’irai chercher ce -chevalier, et, mort ou vif, je saurai bien le forcer à ne pas devenir -parjure. - -Oh! cela est certain, s’écria Sancho, car mon maître a la main heureuse -en fait de mariages: il y a peu de jours, il fit tenir à un certain -drôle la parole qu’il avait de même donnée à une demoiselle; et si les -enchanteurs qui le poursuivent n’avaient transformé cet homme en -laquais, à cette heure la pauvre fille serait pourvue. - -Plus occupé de la belle Claudia que des discours du maître et du valet, -Roque fit rendre à Sancho tout ce que lui avaient pris ses compagnons; -et après leur avoir ordonné de l’attendre, il s’éloigna avec elle au -grand galop. Arrivés à l’endroit où Claudia avait rencontré son amant, -ils n’y trouvèrent que des taches de sang fraîchement répandu; mais en -promenant la vue de toutes parts, ils aperçurent un groupe d’hommes au -sommet d’une colline. Jugeant que ce devait être le blessé que ses gens -emportaient, ils piquèrent de ce côté et ne tardèrent pas à les -rejoindre. En effet, ils trouvèrent entre leurs bras don Vincent, qui, -d’une voix éteinte, les priait de le laisser mourir sur la place; le -sang qu’il perdait et la douleur causée par ses blessures ne lui -permettant pas d’aller plus loin. - -Roque et Claudia sautèrent à bas de leurs chevaux, et celle-ci, le cœur -partagé entre l’amour et la vengeance, s’approcha de son amant: Si tu ne -m’avais pas trahie, don Vincent, dit-elle en lui prenant la main, tu ne -serais pas en cette cruelle extrémité. - -Le malheureux ouvrit les yeux, et reconnaissant les traits de la jeune -fille: Belle et abusée Claudia, répondit-il, je vois que c’est toi qui -m’as donné la mort; mais ni mes actions ni mes sentiments ne méritaient -ce cruel châtiment. - -Grand Dieu! repartit Claudia, tu ne devais donc pas, ce matin même, -épouser Léonore, la fille du riche Ballastro? - -Non, certainement! répondit don Vincent; c’est ma mauvaise fortune qui -t’a porté cette fausse nouvelle, afin qu’elle me coûtât la vie. Mais -puisque je la quitte entre tes bras, je ne meurs pas sans consolation, -et je me trouve trop heureux de pouvoir encore te donner des marques -sincères de mon amour et de ma constance. Serre ma main, chère Claudia, -et reçois-moi pour époux: la seule joie que je puisse avoir en mourant, -c’est de te donner satisfaction de l’injure que tu croyais avoir reçue -de moi. - -Pénétrée d’une vive douleur, Claudia tomba évanouie sur le corps de son -amant, qui rendit le dernier soupir. Les gens de don Vincent coururent -chercher de l’eau pour la jeter au visage de leur maître, mais ce fut -inutilement. - -Lorsque, revenue à elle, Claudia s’aperçut que don Vincent avait cessé -de vivre, elle remplit l’air de ses cris, s’arracha les cheveux et se -déchira le visage. Malheureuse, disait-elle, avec quelle facilité -t’es-tu laissée emporter à cet horrible dessein! Ta jalousie a mis au -tombeau celui qui ne vivait que pour toi; eh bien, meurs à ton tour, -meurs de douleur, puisque tu survis à un époux si fidèle! Meurs de honte -et de désespoir, car après ton crime, te voilà devenue l’objet de la -vengeance de Dieu et des hommes! Hélas! cher amant, ajouta-t-elle en -jetant ses bras autour de ce corps inanimé, faut-il que je te perde, -faut-il que nous ne soyons réunis que pour être séparés à jamais! - -Il y avait dans ces plaintes une douleur si déchirante et si vraie, que, -pour la première fois peut-être, Roque lui-même se sentit attendri; les -domestiques fondaient en larmes, et les lieux d’alentour semblaient -devenus un champ de tristesse et de deuil. - -Roque commanda aux gens de don Vincent de porter le corps de leur maître -à la maison de son père, qui était située non loin de là. En les -regardant s’éloigner, Claudia exprima le désir de se retirer dans un -monastère dont l’abbesse était sa tante. Là, dit-elle, je finirai mes -jours dans la compagnie d’un époux préférable à tout autre, et qui ne -m’abandonnera jamais. Roque approuva sa résolution, et proposa de -l’accompagner, l’assurant qu’il défendrait sa famille contre celle de -don Vincent, et même contre le monde entier; Claudia le remercia de ses -offres, et prit congé de lui en pleurant. - -Étant venu rejoindre ses hommes, Roque trouva au milieu d’eux don -Quichotte à cheval. Notre héros, par un sage discours, tâchait de leur -faire quitter un genre de vie qui présente tant de danger pour l’âme et -pour le corps; mais comme la plupart étaient des Gascons, gens grossiers -et farouches, ils goûtaient médiocrement le prédicateur et le sermon. Le -chef demanda à Sancho si on lui avait rendu tout ce qui lui appartenait; -Sancho répondit que oui, hormis trois mouchoirs de tête qui valaient -trois bonnes villes. - -Eh! l’ami, que dis-tu là? reprit un des bandits, c’est moi qui les ai, -et ils ne valent pas trois réaux. - -Cela est vrai, repartit don Quichotte; mais mon écuyer les estime -beaucoup à cause de la personne qui les lui a donnés. - -Roque les fit rendre sur-le-champ; il fit ensuite ranger sa troupe et -apporter devant lui les pierreries, l’argent, enfin le butin fait depuis -le dernier partage; et après en avoir examiné la valeur, supputé en -argent ce qui ne pouvait être divisé, il répartit le tout avec tant -d’équité que chacun se montra satisfait. Seigneur, dit-il ensuite à don -Quichotte, si avec ces gens-là on n’observait pas une exacte justice, il -n’y aurait pas moyen d’être obéi. - -Par ma foi, il faut que la justice soit une bonne chose, puisqu’elle se -pratique même parmi des voleurs! répliqua Sancho. - -A ces paroles, un des bandits qui les avait entendues le coucha en joue -avec son arquebuse, et il lui aurait cassé la tête, si Roque n’eût crié -à cet homme de s’arrêter. Sancho frissonna de tout son corps et éprouva -un tel saisissement, qu’il se promit bien de ne plus ouvrir la bouche au -milieu de gens qui entendaient si peu raillerie. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un des écuyers postés sur le grand chemin accourut -dire au capitaine: Seigneur, j’aperçois non loin d’ici une troupe de -voyageurs qui se dirigent vers Barcelone. - -Sont-ils de ceux qui nous cherchent ou de ceux que nous cherchons? -demanda Roque. - -De ceux que nous cherchons, répondit l’écuyer. - -En ce cas, à cheval, enfants! cria le capitaine, et qu’on les amène ici -sans qu’il en manque un seul. - -Les bandits obéirent. Pendant ce temps, Roque, don Quichotte et Sancho -se trouvant seuls, le premier dit à notre héros: Seigneur, ce genre de -vie vous paraît étrange, et je ne m’en étonne pas, car ce sont tous les -jours aventures nouvelles, nouveaux événements, et tous également -périlleux. Il n’y a pas, je dois l’avouer, une vie plus inquiète, plus -agitée que la nôtre. Malheureusement, je m’y trouve engagé par des -sentiments de vengeance dont je n’ai pu triompher, car je suis par -nature d’une humeur douce et compatissante; le besoin de me venger a si -bien imposé silence à mes honnêtes inclinations, qu’il me retient dans -ce périlleux métier en dépit de moi-même; et comme toujours l’abîme -attire un autre abîme, comme les vengeances sont toutes enchaînées, -non-seulement je poursuis les miennes, mais encore je me charge de -poursuivre celles des autres. Malgré tout, j’espère de la miséricorde de -Dieu, plein de pitié pour la faiblesse humaine, qu’il me tirera de cet -affreux labyrinthe dont je n’ai pas la force de me tirer moi-même. - -En entendant un tel discours, don Quichotte se demandait comment parmi -des voleurs et des assassins il pouvait se trouver un homme qui montrât -des sentiments si sensés et si édifiants. Seigneur Roque, lui dit-il, -pour le malade, le commencement de la santé c’est de connaître son mal -et de se montrer disposé à prendre les remèdes que prescrit le médecin. -Votre Grâce est malade, elle connaît son mal; Eh bien, ayez recours à -Dieu, c’est un médecin infaillible: il vous donnera les remèdes dont -vous avez besoin, remèdes qui agissent d’autant plus sûrement qu’ils -rencontrent une bonne nature et une heureuse disposition. Un pécheur -éclairé est bien plus près de s’amender qu’un sot, car discernant entre -le bien et le mal, il rougit de ses propres vices; tandis que le sot, -aveuglé par son ignorance, n’écoute que son instinct et s’abandonne à -ses passions dont il ne connaît pas le danger. Courage, donc, seigneur -Roque, courage, et puisque vous avez de l’esprit et du bon sens, -servez-vous de ces lumières, et ne désespérez pas de l’entière guérison -de votre âme. Mais si Votre Grâce veut abréger le chemin et entrer dans -celui de son salut, venez avec moi; je vous apprendrai la profession de -chevalier errant. A la vérité, c’est une source inépuisable de travaux -et de fâcheuses aventures, mais en les offrant à Dieu comme expiation de -vos fautes, vous vous ouvrirez les portes du ciel. - -Roque sourit du conseil de notre héros, et pour changer d’entretien il -lui raconta la triste fin de l’aventure de Claudia, dont Sancho se -trouva très-contristé, car il avait trouvé fort de son goût la pétulance -et la beauté de la jeune personne. - -En cet instant les bandits arrivèrent avec leurs prisonniers, -c’est-à-dire avec deux cavaliers assez bien montés, deux pèlerins à -pied, puis un carrosse dans lequel il y avait des dames accompagnées de -sept ou huit valets tant à pied qu’à cheval. Ces hommes farouches les -environnèrent en silence, attendant que leur chef prît la parole. Roque -demanda aux cavaliers qui ils étaient et où ils allaient. - -Seigneurs, répondit l’un d’eux, nous sommes capitaines d’infanterie; nos -compagnies sont à Naples, et nous allons nous embarquer à Barcelone, -d’où quatre galères ont reçu l’ordre de passer en Sicile. Nous possédons -environ deux ou trois cents écus, avec lesquels nous nous croyons assez -riches, car, vous le savez, le métier ne permet guère de thésauriser. - -Et vous? demanda Roque aux pèlerins. - -Monseigneur, répondirent-ils, nous allons à Rome; et à nous deux nous -n’avons qu’une soixantaine de réaux. - -Roque demanda ensuite quels étaient les gens du carrosse; un des hommes -à cheval répondit: Ma maîtresse est la señora Guyamor de Quinonez, femme -du régent de l’intendance de Naples, elle est avec sa fille, une femme -de chambre et une duègne; nous sommes trois valets à cheval et trois -valets à pied qui les accompagnons, et leur argent monte à six cents -écus. - -De façon, dit Roque, que nous avons ici neuf cents écus et soixante -réaux. Moi, j’ai soixante soldats; voyez, seigneurs, ce qui peut revenir -à chacun d’eux, car je ne sais guère calculer. - -A ces mots, les bandits s’écrièrent: Vive le grand Roque Guinart, en -dépit de ceux qui ont juré sa perte! - -Les capitaines, la tête baissée, faisaient bien voir à leur contenance -qu’ils regrettaient leur argent; la régente et sa suite n’étaient guère -plus gaies, et les pauvres pèlerins ne montraient nul envie de rire. - -Roque les tint un moment en suspens, mais ne voulant pas prolonger leur -anxiété: Seigneurs capitaines, leur dit-il en se tournant vers eux, -prêtez-moi, je vous prie, soixante écus; madame la régente m’en donnera -quatre-vingts: pour contenter mes soldats, car le prêtre vit de ce qu’il -chante. Cela fait, vous pourrez continuer votre route, munis d’un -sauf-conduit de ma main, afin que ceux de mes hommes qui parcourent les -environs ne vous fassent aucune insulte; car je ne veux pas qu’on -maltraite les gens de guerre ni les femmes, et surtout les dames de -qualité. - -Les capitaines se confondirent en remercîments sur la courtoisie et la -libéralité de Roque, car, à leurs yeux, c’en était une de leur laisser -leur propre argent; la señora voulait descendre de son carrosse pour -embrasser ses genoux, mais il s’y opposa, lui demandant pardon de la -violence que son méchant état le forçait à lui faire. - -La régente et les capitaines avaient donné ce qu’on leur demandait, et -voyant qu’on ne parlait point de diminuer leur contribution, les pauvres -pèlerins s’apprêtaient à remettre tout leur argent; mais Roque leur fit -signe d’attendre: De ces cent quarante écus, dit-il à ses gens, il vous -en revient deux à chacun; des vingt formant l’excédant, donnez-en dix à -ces pèlerins, et les autres à ce bon écuyer, afin qu’il ait sujet de se -réjouir de cette aventure. Puis se faisant apporter de l’encre et du -papier, il écrivit un sauf-conduit par lequel il était enjoint à ses -lieutenants de laisser passer librement toute la caravane, qui s’éloigna -exaltant la façon d’agir du grand Roque, sa courtoisie, sa bonne mine, -et le traitant plutôt de galant homme que de corsaire. - -Un des bandits qui ne partageait pas l’humeur généreuse de son chef, ne -put s’empêcher de donner son avis: Parbleu, dit-il dans son jargon -mi-gascon, mi-catalan, notre capitaine serait meilleur moine que chef de -bons garçons; mais à l’avenir s’il a de pareils accès de libéralité, -qu’il les satisfasse avec son argent et non avec le nôtre. Le malheureux -ne parla pas si bas qu’il ne fût entendu de Roque, qui tirant son épée -lui fendit presque la tête, en disant: C’est ainsi que je châtie les -insolents et les téméraires. Aucun n’osa souffler mot, tant le chef -savait se faire craindre et obéir. - -Roque se retira à l’écart et écrivit à un de ses amis de Barcelone, pour -lui donner avis qu’il avait fait rencontre du fameux don Quichotte de la -Manche, cet illustre chevalier errant dont on parlait par toute -l’Espagne, l’assurant que c’était l’homme le plus divertissant qu’on pût -trouver; il ajouta que sous quatre jours, à la fête de Saint-Jean, il -l’amènerait lui-même à Barcelone, sur la grande place, armé de pied en -cap et montant le superbe Rossinante, suivi de l’écuyer Sancho sur son -âne. Il le priait d’en donner avis aux Niaros, ses amis, à qui il -voulait procurer ce plaisir; il eût bien désiré que leurs ennemis les -Cadeils n’y eussent point part, mais il en reconnaissait -l’impossibilité, les extravagances du maître et les bouffonneries du -valet étant trop éclatantes pour ne pas attirer tout le monde. - -La lettre, portée par un des bandits déguisé en paysan, fut remise à son -adresse. - -CHAPITRE LXI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE A SON ENTRÉE DANS BARCELONE, AVEC -D’AUTRES CHOSES QUI SEMBLENT PLUS VRAIES QUE RAISONNABLES. - -Don Quichotte demeura trois jours et trois nuits avec les bandits, et -fût-il resté trois siècles, il aurait toujours trouvé de quoi s’étonner. -C’était sans cesse nouvelle aventure: on s’éveillait ici, on mangeait -là-bas; quelquefois on fuyait sans savoir pourquoi, et l’on s’arrêtait -de même. En alerte continuelle, ces hommes dormaient à cheval, -interrompaient à toute heure leur sommeil pour changer d’asile; leur -temps se passait à poser des sentinelles, à écouter le cri d’alarme, à -souffler des mèches d’arquebuse, quoiqu’ils eussent peu de ces armes, -presque tous portant des mousquets à pierre. Roque passait la nuit loin -des siens; car le vice-roi de Barcelone ayant mis sa tête à prix, il -craignait d’être livré par eux à la justice: existence assurément fort -triste et fort misérable. - -Enfin, par des chemins détournés et des sentiers couverts, Roque, don -Quichotte et Sancho se dirigèrent vers Barcelone. Ils arrivèrent sur la -plage la veille de la Saint-Jean, pendant la nuit. Après avoir donné à -Sancho les dix écus qu’il lui avait promis, le capitaine l’embrassa -ainsi que son maître, puis on se sépara, échangeant mille offres de -services. - -Don Quichotte attendit en selle la venue du jour, et il ne tarda pas à -voir paraître la face pâle de la blanche aurore, qui s’avançant en -silence sur les balcons de l’orient, venait humecter les plantes et les -fleurs. Presque au même instant, le son d’une agréable musique se fit -entendre: c’étaient des hautbois, des fifres et des tambours auxquels -succédaient des cris joyeux qui paraissaient venir de la ville. L’aurore -fit bientôt place au soleil, dont le visage plus large qu’une rondache -s’élevait sur l’horizon. Don Quichotte et Sancho, jetant les yeux de -toutes parts, aperçurent pour la première fois la mer, qui leur parut -spacieuse, immense et beaucoup plus étendue que les lagunes de Ruidera, -situées dans leur province. Ils virent aussi des galères amarrées à la -plage, lesquelles, abattant leurs voiles, se montrèrent couvertes de -mille banderoles qui tantôt flottaient au vent, tantôt balayaient la -surface des eaux, pendant qu’échappé de leurs flancs le bruit des -clairons et des trompettes faisait retentir les lieux d’alentour d’une -harmonie suave et belliqueuse. Bientôt ces galères commencèrent à -s’ébranler, simulant une escarmouche navale, tandis qu’un nombre infini -de cavaliers, sortant de la ville avec de brillantes livrées, maniaient -adroitement leurs chevaux, et suivaient les mouvements de la flotte, -dont l’artillerie faisait un bruit épouvantable, la mer était calme, le -jour pur et serein, quoique voilé de temps en temps par la fumée du -canon. Tout semblait d’accord pour enivrer de joie la population -entière. Quant à Sancho, il ne parvenait pas à comprendre comment ces -énormes masses qui se mouvaient sur l’eau pouvaient avoir tant de pieds. - -Bientôt une troupe de cavaliers, portant de magnifiques livrées, accourt -avec des cris de joie vers don Quichotte, qui était resté tout stupéfait -d’un si beau spectacle; et l’un d’entre eux, celui que Roque avait fait -prévenir, dit à haute voix: - -Qu’il soit le bienvenu, le miroir, le fanal, l’étoile polaire de la -chevalerie errante; qu’il soit le bienvenu, le grand, le valeureux don -Quichotte, le vrai chevalier de la Manche, dont la fleur des historiens, -cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, nous a raconté les exploits, et non pas le -controuvé, le faux historien, dont on vient de publier le livre -mensonger. - -Don Quichotte n’eut pas le temps de répondre, parce que les cavaliers et -les gens de leur suite faisant caracoler leurs chevaux, l’entourèrent -aussitôt en décrivant mille cercles autour de lui: Ces seigneurs, dit-il -à Sancho, nous ont sans doute reconnus; je parierais qu’ils ont lu notre -histoire, et même celle que l’Aragonais a publiée récemment. - -Le cavalier qui avait parlé à don Quichotte s’approcha de nouveau, et -lui dit: Que Votre Grâce, seigneur, veuille bien venir avec nous: tous -nous sommes ses serviteurs et les amis de Roque Guinart. - -Si les courtoisies engendrent les courtoisies, répondit don Quichotte, -la vôtre, seigneur chevalier, doit être fille ou proche parente de celle -du grand Roque. Conduisez-moi où il vous plaira, je vous suivrai avec -plaisir, surtout si vous me faites l’honneur d’accepter mes services. - -Le cavalier répondit avec non moins de civilité; puis, lui et ses amis -ayant placé notre héros au milieu d’eux, on prit le chemin de Barcelone, -au son des fifres et des tambours. Mais, à l’entrée de la ville, deux -petits drôles, plus malins que la malice elle-même, s’avisèrent d’un -méchant tour: se faufilant au milieu de la foule, ils s’approchèrent de -nos aventuriers, et levant la queue, l’un à Rossinante, l’autre au -grison, ils leur plantèrent à chacun dans cet endroit un paquet de -chardons. Les pauvres bêtes ne sentirent pas plus tôt ces éperons d’un -nouveau genre, qu’elles se mirent à serrer la queue; ce qui, augmentant -leur souffrance, les poussa à ruer de telle sorte qu’elles jetèrent -leurs cavaliers dans la poussière. Honteux et mortifié, don Quichotte se -hâta d’enlever le panache à Rossinante, et Sancho en fit autant à son -âne. Leurs nouveaux amis s’apprêtaient à châtier cette insolente -canaille, mais il leur fallut y renoncer, car les deux espiègles -s’étaient perdus dans la foule. Bref, don Quichotte et Sancho -remontèrent sur leurs bêtes, et toujours suivis de la musique et -accompagnés des mêmes cris de joie, ils gagnèrent la maison de leur -hôte, une des plus belles de Barcelone. Suivons-y notre chevalier, ainsi -le veut cid Hamet Ben-Engeli. - -CHAPITRE LXII - -AVENTURE DE LA TÊTE ENCHANTÉE, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES ENFANTILLAGES QU’ON NE -PEUT S’EMPÊCHER DE RACONTER. - -L’hôte de don Quichotte s’appelait don Antonio Moreno; c’était un -gentilhomme riche et plein d’esprit, qui aimait à se divertir avec -décence et bon goût. Quand il vit notre héros en sa maison, il songea à -lui faire faire quelques bonnes folies, sans lui causer de déplaisir, -car la plaisanterie a des bornes, et un passe-temps ne saurait être -agréable, s’il a lieu aux dépens d’autrui. La première chose dont il -s’avisa, ce fut, quand on eut désarmé le chevalier, de le conduire, -couvert seulement de cet étroit pourpoint déjà décrit tant de fois, à un -balcon donnant sur une des principales rues de la ville, où on l’exposa -à la vue des passants comme une bête curieuse. Les cavaliers aux livrées -firent de nouvelles passes sous ses yeux, de même que si c’eût été pour -lui seul, et non à cause de la fête, qu’ils se fussent mis en frais. -Sancho était tout radieux, s’imaginant avoir trouvé de nouvelles noces -de Gamache, ou une maison semblable à celle de don Diego, ou bien un -château comme celui du duc. - -Plusieurs amis de don Antonio vinrent dîner avec lui; tous firent de -grands honneurs à don Quichotte, et le traitèrent en véritable -chevalier errant, ce qui le rendit si fier et si rengorgé, qu’il ne se -sentait pas d’aise. De son côté, Sancho lâcha tant de plaisantes -reparties, que les gens de la maison et tous ceux qui étaient là -n’avaient d’oreilles que pour lui et riaient à gorge déployée. - -Seigneur écuyer, lui dit don Antonio, il nous a été conté que vous êtes -extrêmement friand de blanc-manger et de petites andouilles; et que -lorsque vous en avez de reste, vous les mettez dans votre poche pour le -lendemain[124]. - - [124] Allusion au don Quichotte d’Avellaneda. - -C’est une insigne fausseté, seigneur, répondit Sancho; je suis plus -propre que goulu, et monseigneur don Quichotte, ici présent, pourra vous -dire que nous nous contentions bien souvent, lui et moi, pendant des -jours entiers, d’une poignée de noisettes, ou d’une demi-douzaine -d’oignons. Il est vrai que si parfois on me donne la génisse, je cours -lui mettre la corde au cou; c’est-à-dire que je mange ce qu’on me -présente, et prends le temps comme il vient. Mais quiconque ose avancer -que je suis un mangeur vorace et malpropre, peut se tenir pour dit qu’il -se trompe du tout au tout, et je le lui apprendrais d’une autre façon, -n’était le respect que je dois aux vénérables barbes ici présentes. - -Oui, certes, dit don Quichotte, la modération et la propreté de Sancho -quand il mange, mériteraient d’être écrites et gravées sur le bronze -pour servir d’exemple aux races futures: tout ce qu’on peut lui -reprocher, c’est lorsqu’il a faim d’être un peu glouton; alors il mâche -des deux côtés à la fois, et un morceau n’attend pas l’autre. Mais pour -ce qui est de la propreté, on ne le trouvera jamais en défaut, et il l’a -prouvé du reste pendant qu’il était gouverneur, car il mangeait avec -tant de délicatesse, qu’il prenait les grains de raisin avec sa -fourchette. - -Comment! s’écria don Antonio, le seigneur Sancho a été gouverneur? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit Sancho, j’ai été gouverneur, et d’une île qu’on -appelle Barataria; je l’ai gouvernée pendant dix jours, à bouche que -veux-tu; j’y ai perdu le repos, l’esprit et l’embonpoint, et j’y ai -appris à mépriser tous les gouvernements du monde. J’ai quitté l’île en -courant, et je suis tombé dans un grand trou, où je me suis cru mort, -mais dont par miracle je suis sorti vivant. - -Alors don Quichotte se mit à conter l’histoire du gouvernement de -Sancho, ce qui divertit fort la compagnie. - -Le repas achevé, don Antonio prit notre héros par la main, et le -conduisit dans une pièce où pour tout meuble se trouvait une table de -jaspe, soutenue par un pied de même matière; sur cette table était un -buste qui paraissait de bronze et représentait un empereur romain. Ils -se promenèrent pendant quelque temps de long en large, firent le tour de -la table, puis, don Antonio s’arrêtant dit à don Quichotte: Maintenant -que je suis certain de n’être écouté par personne, je vais apprendre à -Votre Grâce une des plus étonnantes aventures dont on ait jamais entendu -parler, à condition toutefois que ce secret restera entre elle et moi. - -Je le jure, seigneur, répondit notre héros: celui à qui vous parlez a -des yeux et des oreilles, mais point de langue. Votre Grâce peut en -toute assurance verser dans mon cœur ce qu’elle a dans le sien, et -rester persuadée qu’elle l’a jeté dans les abîmes du silence. - -Sur la foi de cette promesse, repartit don Antonio, je vais vous confier -des choses qui vous raviront d’admiration, et je me soulagerai moi-même -d’un fardeau qui me pèse, car je n’ai encore révélé à personne le secret -que je vais vous dire. Cette tête que vous voyez, seigneur don -Quichotte, ajouta-t-il en la lui faisant toucher avec la main, a été -fabriquée par un des plus grands enchanteurs qui aient jamais existé. -C’était, je crois, un Polonais, disciple du fameux Scot dont on raconte -tant de merveilles. Je reçus chez moi cet enchanteur; et pour la somme -de mille écus il me fabriqua cette tête, qui a la propriété de répondre -à toutes les questions qu’on lui adresse. Après avoir tracé des cercles, -observé les astres, écrit des caractères cabalistiques, épié les -conjonctions voulues, l’auteur mit la dernière main à son ouvrage avec -une perfection dont vous aurez la preuve demain, car le vendredi cette -tête est muette, et il serait inutile de lui rien demander aujourd’hui. -D’ici là, Votre Grâce peut songer aux questions qu’il vous conviendra de -lui faire, et l’expérience vous prouvera si je dis vrai. - -Étonné de ce qu’il entendait, don Quichotte avait peine à croire que -cette tête fût douée d’une telle vertu; mais comme il devait bientôt -savoir à quoi s’en tenir, il se contenta de faire de grands remercîments -à son hôte pour lui avoir confié un secret de cette importance. Ils -sortirent de la chambre, que don Antonio ferma à clef, et ils -retournèrent dans le salon, où Sancho avait eu le temps de conter à la -compagnie une partie des aventures de son maître. - -Le soir venu, ils allèrent tous ensemble se promener par la ville, don -Quichotte sans armes, mais couvert d’une houppelande de drap fauve, -capable, à cette époque de l’année, de mettre en sueur l’hiver lui-même. -Sancho resta au logis avec les valets, qui avaient ordre de l’entretenir -et de l’amuser si bien qu’il ne pensât point à sortir. Notre héros ne -montait pas Rossinante, mais un grand mulet de bât harnaché avec -beaucoup de richesse et d’élégance; sans qu’il s’en doutât, on lui avait -attaché au dos, et par-dessus la houppelande, un parchemin sur lequel -était écrit en grosses lettres: _Je suis don Quichotte de la Manche_. -Cet écriteau arrêtait tous les passants; et comme chacun répétait: _Je -suis don Quichotte de la Manche_, le chevalier fut surpris que tant de -gens prononçassent son nom comme s’ils le connaissaient: - -Seigneur, dit-il à don Antonio qui marchait à côté de lui, la chevalerie -errante a de bien grands avantages, puisqu’elle répand sur toute la -terre le nom de ceux qui l’exercent. Entendez-vous comme on parle de -moi; jusqu’aux petits enfants, tous me connaissent sans m’avoir jamais -vu! - -Quoi d’étonnant à cela, seigneur don Quichotte? répondit don Antonio. De -même que le feu jette une lumière qui le trahit, de même la vertu a un -éclat qui ne manque jamais de la faire reconnaître, surtout celle qui -s’acquiert dans la profession des armes, car elle resplendit par-dessus -toutes les autres. - -Or, pendant que don Quichotte marchait ainsi, tout fier de lui-même, il -arriva qu’à la vue de l’écriteau, un passant s’arrêta, et lui jeta ces -mots à la face en bon castillan: Au diable soit don Quichotte de la -Manche! comment peux-tu être encore de ce monde, après les coups de -bâton que tu as reçus? Il faut, en vérité, que tu sois fou. Si encore tu -l’étais seul, il n’y aurait pas grand dommage; mais ta folie est si -contagieuse, qu’elle se communique à tous ceux qui t’approchent; ceux -qui t’accompagnent en ce moment n’en sont-ils pas la preuve? Va, va, -nigaud, retourne chez toi prendre soin de ton bien, de ta femme et de -tes enfants, sans creuser davantage ta pauvre cervelle, qui n’est déjà -que trop endommagée. - -Mon ami, dit Antonio à cet homme, passez votre chemin sans vous mêler de -donner des conseils à qui ne vous en demande pas: le seigneur don -Quichotte est très-sain d’esprit, et nous qui l’accompagnons, nous ne -sommes pas des imbéciles: la vertu a droit à nos hommages, en quelque -lieu qu’elle se rencontre. Passez votre chemin, et mêlez-vous de vos -affaires. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, vous avez raison, répondit le Castillan; aussi -bien, donner des conseils à ce pauvre fou, ce serait frapper du poing -contre l’aiguillon. Mais il est vraiment dommage de voir le bon sens -qu’il montre, dit-on, sur tant de matières, s’en aller en eau claire -quand il s’agit de chevalerie. Que je meure à l’instant, moi et tous mes -descendants, si je m’avise jamais de donner des conseils à personne, -dût-on m’en prier à genoux. - -Le Castillan disparut, et la promenade continua; mais une telle foule se -pressait pour lire l’écriteau, que don Antonio fut obligé de l’enlever. - -La nuit venue, on retourna chez don Antonio, où sa femme, personne aussi -aimable que belle, avait invité plusieurs de ses amies pour faire -honneur à leur hôte et s’amuser de ses étranges folies. Il vint donc -quantité de dames; il y eut un souper magnifique, et sur les dix heures -le bal commença. Parmi ces dames, il s’en trouvait surtout deux pleines -d’esprit et d’humeur moqueuse, qui, pour divertir la compagnie, -invitèrent don Quichotte à danser; et, chacune tour à tour s’emparant de -lui dès que l’autre l’avait quitté, elles exténuèrent si bien le pauvre -chevalier qu’il suait à grosses gouttes et ne pouvait presque plus se -remuer. Qu’on se représente ce grand corps maigre, sec, efflanqué, au -teint jaune, aux yeux creux, aux moustaches longues et tombantes, serré -dans ses habits, fort maussade enfin et d’une légèreté plus que -problématique, agacé par deux belles personnes qui lui lançaient à la -dérobée des propos d’amour auxquels il ne répondait qu’avec dédain. A -bout de patience: Arrière, démons! s’écria-t-il, arrière; laissez-moi en -paix, importunes pensées. Tâchez, Mesdames, de maîtriser vos sentiments; -la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso est l’unique souveraine de mon âme, -et elle ne souffre point que d’autres en triomphent. Puis il se laissa -tomber au beau milieu du salon, brisé et rompu d’un si violent -exercice. - -Don Antonio le fit emporter à bras dans sa chambre. Sancho, qui s’était -empressé de le suivre: Peste, monseigneur, lui dit-il, comme vous vous -êtes trémoussé! Pensiez-vous, par hasard, que tous les braves sont tenus -d’être des danseurs, et tous les chevaliers errants des faiseurs -d’entrechats? Par ma foi, mon cher maître, vous étiez dans une grande -erreur, car tel aura moins de mal à tuer un géant qu’à faire une -cabriole. Sauter en se donnant du talon dans le derrière, c’est mon -fort, à moi; mais danser comme vous venez de le faire, je ne m’en pique -point. - -Chacun riait aux éclats des propos de notre écuyer, qui, ayant mis son -maître au lit, eut grand soin de le bien couvrir, dans la crainte qu’il -n’éprouvât quelque refroidissement. - -Le lendemain, don Antonio jugea à propos de faire l’expérience de la -tête enchantée. Suivi de don Quichotte, de Sancho, de deux de ses amis -et des dames qui avaient fait danser notre chevalier, il se dirigea vers -la chambre où elle se trouvait. Quand tout le monde fut entré, il ferma -soigneusement la porte, énuméra à la compagnie les vertus de cette tête, -disant que c’était la première fois qu’on en faisait l’épreuve et qu’il -demandait le secret. Personne, à l’exception des deux gentilshommes, ne -savait ce qui allait se passer. - -Don Antonio s’approcha le premier, et demanda à voix basse, de manière -pourtant à être entendu: Tête, par la vertu que tu renfermes, dis-moi ce -que je pense en ce moment. Sans remuer les lèvres, mais d’une voix -claire et distincte, la tête répondit vivement: «Je ne juge point des -pensées.» - -Chacun resta stupéfait, surtout les dames, car ni autour de la table ni -dans la salle il ne se trouvait personne qui pût faire cette réponse, et -on voyait bien qu’elle venait directement de la tête. - -Combien sommes-nous ici? continua don Antonio? - -«Toi et ta femme, répondit la tête, deux de ses amies et deux des tiens, -ainsi qu’un fameux chevalier appelé don Quichotte de la Manche, et son -écuyer, qui se nomme Sancho Panza.» - -La surprise augmenta, et plus d’un assistant sentit ses cheveux se -dresser. - -Bien, dit don Antonio en se retirant; ceci fait voir que je n’ai point -été trompé par celui qui t’a fabriquée, tête sage, tête parlante, tête -merveilleuse et incomparable. Qu’un autre me remplace, ajouta-t-il, et -t’adresse telle question qu’il voudra. - -Comme les femmes sont d’ordinaire assez curieuses, une des dames -s’approcha: Dis-moi, tête, demanda-t-elle, que faut-il que je fasse pour -être très-belle? - -«Sois très-honnête.» - -Cela suffit, dit la dame en faisant place à sa compagne. - -Savante tête, demanda celle-ci, je désirerais bien savoir si mon mari -m’aime ou non? - -«Remarque sa conduite envers toi, et tu le sauras.» - -Je n’en veux pas davantage, dit la dame: en effet, la conduite des -hommes nous donne la mesure de l’affection qu’ils nous portent. - -Un des amis de don Antonio demanda: Qui suis-je? - -«Tu le sais,» lui fut-il répondu. - -Ce n’est pas là ce que je demande, repartit le cavalier; je veux savoir -si tu me connais. - -«Je te connais, tu es don Pedro Noriz.» - -O tête admirable! c’en est assez pour me convaincre que tu n’ignores -rien, ajouta le cavalier. - -L’autre ami s’approcha et fit cette question: Quel est le plus vif désir -de mon fils aîné? - -«Je t’ai déjà dit que je ne juge point des pensées; cependant je puis -ajouter: Ton fils ne souhaite que de t’enterrer.» - -Je le savais déjà, repartit le gentilhomme, et je n’en doutais -nullement. - -La femme de don Antonio s’approcha comme les autres, et dit: En vérité, -tête, je ne sais que te demander; je voudrais seulement savoir si je -conserverai longtemps mon cher mari. - -«Oui, car sa bonne santé et sa manière de vivre lui promettent de longs -jours, que la plupart des hommes abrégent par la débauche et -l’intempérance.» - -A son tour, don Quichotte s’approcha: Dis-moi, tête, toi qui réponds si -bien, est-ce une réalité ou un songe ce que j’ai vu dans la caverne de -Montesinos? Sancho, mon écuyer, se donnera-t-il les coups de fouet -auxquels il s’est engagé? et verrai-je enfin le désenchantement de -Dulcinée? - -«Quant à l’histoire de la caverne, il y a beaucoup à dire, l’aventure -tient de la réalité et du songe; les coups de fouet de Sancho se feront -un peu attendre, mais l’enchantement de Dulcinée finira.» - -Cela me suffit, répliqua don Quichotte; que Dulcinée soit désenchantée, -et mes vœux seront accomplis. - -Le dernier qui interrogea la tête, ce fut Sancho. Il le fit en ces -termes: Dis-moi, tête, aurai-je encore un gouvernement? quitterai-je le -misérable métier d’écuyer errant, et reverrai-je enfin ma femme et mes -enfants? - -Il lui fut répondu: «Tu gouverneras en ta maison, si tu y retournes; tu -pourras y revoir ta femme et tes enfants, s’ils y sont; et quand tu ne -pourras plus servir, tu ne seras plus écuyer.» - -Par ma foi, voilà qui est plaisant, repartit Sancho; il ne faut pas être -sorcier pour deviner cela, je le savais de reste. - -Et que veux-tu donc qu’on te dise, imbécile? repartit don Quichotte: -n’est-ce pas assez que les réponses de la tête concordent avec les -questions? - -Cela suffit, puisque vous le voulez, répondit Sancho; mais je voudrais -qu’elle se fût un peu mieux expliquée et qu’elle m’en apprît davantage. - -Là s’arrêtèrent les questions et les réponses, mais non l’étonnement de -la compagnie, car tous étaient en admiration, excepté les deux amis de -don Antonio, qui savaient à quoi s’en tenir. Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, pour -ne pas laisser le lecteur en suspens, de crainte qu’il ne soupçonne de -la magie dans une chose si surprenante, s’empresse de révéler le secret: -Don Antonio, dit-il, afin de se divertir aux dépens des niais, fit faire -cette tête à l’imitation d’une autre qu’il avait vue à Madrid. La table -avec son pied, d’où sortaient quatre griffes d’aigle, était de bois -peint en jaspe, la tête, semblable à un buste d’empereur romain et -couleur de bronze, était creuse comme la table, sur laquelle on l’avait -si bien enchâssée que tout paraissait d’une seule pièce. Le pied de la -table était creux aussi et communiquait par deux tuyaux à la bouche et à -l’oreille de la tête; ces tuyaux descendaient dans une chambre -au-dessous, où se tenait cachée la personne qui faisait les réponses. La -voix, partie de haut en bas ou de bas en haut, passait si bien par ces -tuyaux, qu’on ne perdait pas une parole; de sorte qu’à moins de le -savoir, il était impossible de pénétrer l’artifice. Un étudiant, neveu -de don Antonio, jeune homme plein d’esprit, fut chargé des réponses; et -comme il connaissait les personnes entrées dans la chambre où était la -tête, il lui fut facile de répondre sans hésiter, tantôt directement, -tantôt par conjecture, et toujours avec un extrême à-propos. - -Cid Hamet ajoute que cette merveille dura une douzaine de jours. Le -bruit s’étant répandu par la ville que don Antonio avait chez lui une -tête enchantée, la crainte que la chose ne parvînt aux oreilles des -seigneurs inquisiteurs le décida à aller lui-même leur apprendre ce qui -en était. Ils lui dirent de briser la machine et qu’il n’en fût plus -question. La tête n’en passa pas moins pour enchantée dans l’opinion de -don Quichotte et de Sancho: le chevalier resta très-satisfait de la -réponse qu’il avait obtenue, et l’écuyer assez peu content de la -sienne. - -Pour complaire à don Antonio, pour profiter de la présence de notre -héros et se divertir de ses folies, plusieurs gentilshommes de la ville -avaient résolu de faire, à six jours de là, une course de bagues: cette -course n’eut point lieu, pour les raisons que nous dirons par la suite. -Dans l’intervalle il prit envie à don Quichotte de parcourir Barcelone, -mais à pied et comme _incognito_, pour ne plus se voir poursuivi par les -petits garçons: il sortit accompagné de Sancho, et de deux valets que -lui donna don Antonio. Or, pendant qu’il se promenait, il lut par hasard -sur une porte ces mots écrits en grandes lettres: IMPRIMERIE. Poussé par -la curiosité, car il n’en avait jamais vu, il y entra avec tout son -cortége. Il vit d’abord des gens qui tiraient des feuilles de papier de -dessous la presse, d’autres qui corrigeaient des épreuves, d’autres qui -composaient; en un mot, tout ce qui se pratique dans une imprimerie. -Notre chevalier s’approchait de chaque ouvrier, s’informant de ce qu’il -faisait, admirait et passait outre. Enfin il s’arrêta près d’un -compositeur, et lui demanda quel était son emploi. - -Seigneur, répondit l’ouvrier, ce gentilhomme qui est assis là (en lui -montrant un homme de bonne mine et qui avait l’air fort soucieux) a -traduit un livre de l’italien en langue castillane, et je suis en train -de le composer pour le mettre sous presse. - -Quel est le titre de ce livre? demanda don Quichotte. - -Seigneur, lui répondit l’auteur en s’approchant, ce livre se nomme _le -Bagatele_ en italien. - -Comment rendez-vous ce mot en castillan? continua don Quichotte. - -_Le Bagatele_, reprit l’auteur, signifie _les Bagatelles_; et bien qu’un -pareil titre n’en donne pas une grande idée, ce livre ne laisse pas de -renfermer des choses utiles et de bon goût. - -Je sais quelque peu la langue italienne, repartit don Quichotte, et je -connais passablement mon Arioste. Dites-moi, seigneur, et je ne vous -adresse cette question que par simple curiosité et non pour faire subir -un examen à Votre Grâce, avez-vous rencontré quelquefois dans la langue -italienne le mot _pignata_? - -Fort souvent, répondit l’auteur. - -Comment le traduisez-vous en castillan? demanda don Quichotte. - -Et comment le traduire autrement que par le mot _marmite_? répliqua -celui-ci. - -Mort de ma vie! dit don Quichotte, je vois que vous connaissez à fond -l’idiome toscan. Ainsi, quand il y a dans l’italien _piace_, vous le -traduisez par _plaît_, _più_ par _plus_, _sù_ par _en haut_, et _giù_ -par _en bas_. - -En effet, répondit l’auteur, ce sont là les véritables équivalents. - -Eh bien, malgré votre savoir, je gagerais, repartit don Quichotte, que -vous n’en êtes pas mieux apprécié du public, toujours enclin à dédaigner -les louables travaux. Oh! que de talents enfouis, que de génies oubliés! -Toutefois il faut convenir que les traductions d’une langue dans une -autre, à moins qu’il ne s’agisse du grec et du latin, véritables reines -des langues, ressemblent beaucoup à ces tapisseries de Flandre qui, vues -à l’envers, n’ont ni le poli, ni le brillant de l’endroit. Je n’entends -pas dire par là que le métier de traducteur ne soit pas estimable; car -on peut s’occuper à de pires choses et qui donnent moins de profit. Dans -tous les cas, il faut faire une exception en faveur de deux célèbres -traducteurs, Christoval de Figueroa, pour le _Pastor Fido_, et don Juan -de Jauregui, pour l’_Aminta_, où l’un et l’autre ont su faire douter -quelle est la traduction, et quel est l’original. Mais, dites-moi, je -vous prie, votre livre s’imprime-t-il pour votre compte, ou bien en -avez-vous vendu le privilége à quelque libraire? - -Je le fais imprimer à mes frais, répondit l’auteur, et je prétends -gagner mille ducats au moins avec la première édition, que l’on tire en -ce moment à deux mille exemplaires: ils seront bientôt, je l’espère, -débités aux prix de six réaux chacun. - -Je crains que vous n’ayez mauvaise chance, repartit don Quichotte; on -voit bien que vous ne connaissez pas encore les libraires: allez, -seigneur, vous êtes loin de compte; quand vous aurez sur les bras ces -deux mille exemplaires, vos épaules en seront moulues à crier merci, -surtout si l’ouvrage n’a rien de piquant. - -Eh! que voulez-vous que je fasse? répondit l’auteur: faut-il que j’aille -donner mon livre à un libraire qui m’en offrirait la dixième partie de -ce qu’il vaut, et croirait me faire encore trop d’honneur? Tenez, je -dois vous dire la vérité: eh bien, je ne travaille pas pour me faire une -réputation, car je suis assez connu, c’est du profit que je cherche, et -sans le profit je ne donnerais pas un maravédis de la bonne renommée -pour mes ouvrages. - -Dieu veuille que vous réussissiez! dit don Quichotte. - -Il passa à une autre casse, où l’ouvrier corrigeait une feuille d’un -livre intitulé: _La lumière de l’âme_. Voilà, dit-il, les livres qu’on a -raison d’imprimer, quoiqu’il y en ait déjà beaucoup; mais le nombre des -pécheurs est plus grand encore, et il ne saurait y avoir trop de -lumières pour tant d’aveugles. - -Plus loin on travaillait à un autre ouvrage; notre héros en ayant -demandé le titre, on lui répondit que c’était _la seconde partie de -l’ingénieux don Quichotte de la Manche_, composée par un bourgeois de -Tordesillas. - -Je connais ce livre, dit-il, et je croyais qu’on l’avait fait brûler -comme n’étant qu’un tissu d’impostures; mais patience, son heure -viendra. Il est impossible que l’on ne finisse pas par se désabuser de -tant de sottises, surtout dépourvues qu’elles sont d’agrément et de -vraisemblance. - -En disant cela, il sortit de l’imprimerie, mais non sans laisser percer -quelques marques de dépit. - -Le même jour, don Antonio voulut faire visiter à don Quichotte les -galères ancrées dans le port, à la grande joie de Sancho, qui n’en avait -vu de sa vie, il envoya dire à l’amiral, lequel avait déjà entendu -parler de notre chevalier, qu’il le lui mènerait après le dîner. Ce qui -leur arriva dans cette visite se verra dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE LXIII - -DU PLAISANT RÉSULTAT QU’EUT POUR SANCHO SA VISITE AUX GALÈRES, ET DE -L’AVENTURE DE LA BELLE MORISQUE. - -Don Quichotte ne cessait de réfléchir aux réponses de la tête enchantée, -dont il cherchait vainement à pénétrer le secret; toutefois il se -réjouissait en lui-même de la promesse qu’elle lui avait faite touchant -le désenchantement de Dulcinée, qu’il tenait pour certain désormais. -Quant à Sancho, quoiqu’il eût pris en haine les fonctions de gouverneur, -il souhaitait toujours de commander et de se voir obéi encore une fois, -tant on trouve de plaisir à se sentir au-dessus des autres, même quand -ce n’est qu’un simple jeu. - -Enfin, après le dîner, don Antonio, ses deux amis, don Quichotte et -Sancho, allèrent visiter les galères. Ils ne furent pas plutôt au bord -de la mer, que l’amiral, prévenu de leur arrivée, se prépara à les -recevoir dignement. On abattit la tente, les clairons retentirent; on -mit à l’eau l’esquif couvert de riches tapis et garni de coussins de -velours cramoisi. Au moment où don Quichotte y posait le pied, la galère -capitane fit une salve de son artillerie, à laquelle répondit toute la -flotte. Puis, quand il s’apprêtait à monter à l’échelle, la chiourme le -salua, comme c’est l’usage lorsqu’une personne de qualité entre dans un -bâtiment, par ce cri trois fois répété: _hou, hou, hou_. L’amiral, qui -était un gentilhomme valencien, lui tendit la main, et lui dit en -l’embrassant: Je marquerai ce jour avec une pierre blanche, comme un des -plus heureux de ma vie, puisque j’ai eu le bonheur de voir le seigneur -don Quichotte de la Manche, en qui brille et se résume tout l’éclat de -la chevalerie errante. Notre héros répondit à ce compliment avec sa -courtoisie habituelle, heureux qu’il était de se voir traité avec tant -de distinction. Toute la compagnie entra dans la cabine de poupe, qui -était meublée avec élégance, et s’assit sur les bancs des plats bords. -Aussitôt le _comite_ passa dans l’entre-pont, et d’un coup de sifflet -fit mettre casaque bas à la chiourme, ce qui fut exécuté en un clin -d’œil. - -A l’aspect de tant de gens nus, Sancho resta bouche béante; mais ce fut -bien autre chose quand il les vit hisser la tente avec une si grande -promptitude, qu’il crut que c’était un enchantement. Notre écuyer était -assis sur le pilier de poupe, près du premier rameur du banc de droite; -celui-ci, qui avait reçu le mot d’ordre, le saisit vivement, et -l’enlevant à bras tendus, le passa à la chiourme. Voilà donc Sancho -voltigeant de banc en banc, de main en main, et avec une telle vitesse -qu’il se croyait emporté par tous les diables; enfin, les forçats ne le -lâchèrent qu’après l’avoir déposé à la place qu’il occupait d’abord, -mais suant à grosses gouttes, et si haletant qu’il ne pouvait plus -respirer. Étonné de voir ainsi voltiger son écuyer, don Quichotte -demanda à l’amiral si c’était là une cérémonie dont on honorait les -nouveaux venus sur les galères. Quant à moi, ajouta-t-il, je n’ai nulle -envie d’y faire profession, et si quelqu’un est assez osé pour me -toucher du doigt, je lui tirerai l’âme du corps à grands coups de pieds -dans les côtes. En prononçant ces paroles, il se leva et mit la main sur -la garde de son épée. - -Tout à coup, on abattit la tente, et l’on fit tomber la grande vergue -avec un bruit épouvantable; si bien que Sancho, croyant que le ciel lui -croulait sur les épaules, se cacha la tête entre les jambes. Don -Quichotte lui-même tressaillit et changea de couleur. La chiourme hissa -la vergue avec la même promptitude et dans le même silence. Le _comite_ -ayant donné le signal de lever l’ancre sauta au milieu de l’entre-pont, -le nerf de bœuf à la main, se mit à cingler les épaules des forçats, et -la galère prit le large. - -Quand Sancho vit se mouvoir à la fois tous ces pieds rouges, car il -prenait les rames pour des pieds: Pour le coup, dit-il en lui-même, -voilà des choses vraiment enchantées, et non pas celles que raconte mon -maître. Mais qu’ont fait ces malheureux pour qu’on les traite de la -sorte? Comment cet homme, qui se promène en sifflant, a-t-il l’audace de -fouetter à lui seul tant de gens? Par ma foi, si ce n’est pas ici -l’enfer, je jurerais que nous n’en sommes pas loin. - -Don Quichotte, voyant avec quelle attention Sancho regardait tout ce qui -se passait, s’approcha et lui dit: Sancho, mon ami, avec quelle facilité -tu pourrais, à peu de frais, te mettre nu jusqu’à la ceinture seulement, -et te glisser pendant quelques instants parmi ces gentilshommes, pour -en finir une bonne fois avec le désenchantement de Dulcinée! Au milieu -des souffrances de tant de gens, tu ne sentirais pas les tiennes. Je -suis même certain que le sage Merlin compterait chaque coup pour dix en -les voyant si bien appliqués. - -L’amiral allait demander quels étaient ces coups de fouet et ce -désenchantement de Dulcinée, quand on signala un bâtiment près de la -côte, au couchant. Aussitôt s’élançant sur le tillac, l’amiral cria: -Allons, enfants, qu’il ne nous échappe pas; c’est sans doute quelque -corsaire algérien. Les autres galères s’approchèrent de la galère -capitane pour prendre l’ordre de l’amiral, qui en fit partir deux vers -la haute mer, tandis qu’avec la troisième il se proposait de serrer la -terre de si près que le corsaire ne pût s’échapper. La chiourme -travaillait avec une telle ardeur que les galères semblaient voler sur -les eaux. Celles qui avaient gagné le large ne tardèrent pas à découvrir -le brigantin, qui, de son côté, ne les eut pas plus tôt aperçues qu’il -prit chasse, espérant échapper par sa légèreté; mais ce fut en vain; -aussi le patron était-il d’avis qu’on cessât de ramer et qu’on se rendît -à discrétion, afin de ne pas trop irriter notre amiral. Malheureusement -le sort voulut qu’au moment d’amener, deux Turcs pris de vin, qui -étaient à bord du brigantin, tirèrent chacun un coup d’arquebuse, et -tuèrent deux de nos gens montés dans la grande hune. A ce spectacle, -notre amiral fit serment de mettre à mort tous ceux qui étaient sur ce -navire. Il poussa avec fureur sur le brigantin qui esquiva par-dessous -les rames; mais la galère lui coupa le chemin et le devança d’un -demi-mille environ. Se voyant perdu, l’équipage déploya ses voiles -pendant que le capitaine revirait, et se mit à fuir de toute sa vitesse. -Mais cela ne servit qu’à retarder de quelques instants sa perte; il fut -contraint de se rendre. Les autres galères étant arrivées au même -instant, toutes quatre, avec leur capture, retournèrent à la côte, où -une foule nombreuse et impatiente les attendait. L’amiral jeta l’ancre -près de terre, et sachant que le vice-roi était sur le rivage, il fit -mettre l’esquif à la mer pour l’aller chercher; il commanda ensuite de -descendre la vergue, décidé qu’il était à faire pendre sur-le-champ le -patron du corsaire, et les Turcs, au nombre de trente-six, tous beaux -hommes et bons tireurs. - -L’amiral ayant demandé quel était leur capitaine; un des captifs, qu’on -sut depuis être un renégat espagnol, répondit en castillan, en désignant -de la main un jeune garçon d’environ vingt ans, d’une admirable beauté: -Ce jeune homme que tu vois là est notre commandant. - -Dis-moi, chien, demanda l’amiral à ce dernier, qui t’a poussé à faire -tuer mes soldats, voyant qu’il t’était impossible d’échapper? Ne sais-tu -pas que témérité n’est pas vaillance, et qu’on doit plus de respect aux -galères capitanes? - -Le patron allait répondre, quand l’amiral le quitta pour s’avancer à la -rencontre du vice-roi, qui entrait dans la galère avec quelques gens de -sa suite et des personnes de la ville. - -La chasse a-t-elle été bonne? demanda le vice-roi. - -Si bonne, répondit l’amiral, que Votre Excellence va la voir pendue tout -à l’heure au haut de cette vergue. - -Eh, pourquoi? répliqua le vice-roi. - -Parce que sans motif et contre tous les usages de la guerre, ils ont tué -deux de mes meilleurs soldats; aussi ai-je juré de faire pendre tous -ceux qui se trouveraient à bord du corsaire, principalement ce jeune -garçon, qui en est le patron. - -En même temps il le lui montrait, les mains déjà liées et n’attendant -plus que la mort. Le vice-roi jeta les yeux sur le prisonnier, et en eut -compassion. Sa beauté, sa jeunesse, un certain air de modestie, -semblaient demander grâce, et il résolut de le sauver. - -De quelle nation es-tu? lui demanda-t-il, Turc, More ou renégat? - -Je ne suis rien de tout cela, répondit-il en castillan. - -Qu’es-tu donc? - -Je suis femme et chrétienne. - -Femme et chrétienne! sous ce costume et en tel lieu! répliqua le -vice-roi: voilà qui est étrange et difficile à croire? - -Seigneurs, dit-elle, suspendez mon supplice et je vous raconterai mon -histoire; cela ne retardera guère votre vengeance. - -Tout le monde était touché des paroles de cette femme et de l’air dont -elle les prononçait; mais l’amiral, toujours irrité, lui dit avec -rudesse: Raconte ce que tu voudras, mais n’espère pas que je te pardonne -la mort de mes soldats. - -Seigneurs, dit-elle, je suis née de parents mores, parmi cette nation -plus imprudente que sage sur laquelle sont tombés depuis peu tant -d’infortunes. A l’époque de nos malheurs, deux de mes oncles -m’emmenèrent malgré moi en Barbarie. J’eus beau protester et dire que -j’étais chrétienne, comme je le suis en effet et du fond du cœur, je -ne fus pas écoutée; ni ceux qui étaient chargés de nous déporter, ni mes -oncles, ne voulurent me croire; ils m’entraînèrent malgré moi. Cependant -mes parents étaient chrétiens; et j’ai si bien sucé avec le lait la foi -catholique, que je ne crois pas avoir jamais témoigné, par mes paroles -ou mes actions, aucune inclination contraire. Quoique tenue fort à -l’étroit dans la maison de mon père, on savait que j’étais belle, et le -bruit de ma beauté m’attira les soins d’un jeune gentilhomme appelé don -Gaspar Gregorio, fils aîné d’un chevalier qui avait une habitation près -de notre village. Vous dire comment il me vit, les ruses qu’il employa -pour me parler, les marques qu’il me donna de sa passion, aussi bien que -vous peindre sa joie quand il lui fut permis de croire que je l’aimais, -cela serait trop long à raconter, surtout en présence de la corde fatale -qui me menace. Je dirai seulement que don Gaspar voulut m’accompagner -dans notre exil. Il se mêla parmi les Mores chassés d’autres provinces, -et comme il connaissait parfaitement leur langue, il se lia d’amitié -pendant le voyage avec les deux oncles qui m’emmenaient; car en homme -prudent, mon père, dès le premier édit qui exilait notre nation, avait -été nous préparer un asile en pays étranger. Avant son départ il avait -eu aussi la précaution d’enfouir dans un endroit dont j’avais seule -connaissance, beaucoup de pierres précieuses et de perles d’un grand -prix, m’ordonnant de n’y point toucher, si même on nous déportait avant -son retour. Je lui obéis, et je passai en Barbarie avec mes oncles et -d’autres parents. Nous nous réfugiâmes d’abord à Alger, mais mieux eût -valu nous réfugier dans l’enfer même, car le dey ayant su que j’étais -belle autant que riche, me fit comparaître devant lui. Il me demanda -quel était mon pays, quels bijoux et quel argent j’apportais. Je lui -déclarai le lieu de ma naissance, ajoutant que mon argent et mes bijoux -y étaient enfouis, mais qu’on pourrait les recouvrer, si j’allais les -chercher moi-même. Je parlais ainsi afin que son avarice lui fît -oublier ce que j’avais de beauté. - -Pendant qu’il me questionnait de la sorte, on vint lui dire que j’étais -accompagnée d’un des plus beaux jeunes hommes qu’on pût imaginer: je -compris aussitôt qu’il s’agissait de don Gaspar, qui, en effet, est -d’une beauté peu commune. Je me troublai à la pensée du péril que don -Gaspar allait courir chez cette nation barbare, où l’on fait encore plus -de cas de la beauté des hommes que de celle des femmes. Le dey ordonna -de le lui amener, pour savoir si ce qu’on en disait était vrai. Alors, -par une subite inspiration du ciel, je lui affirmai que c’était une -femme, et le suppliai de me permettre d’aller lui faire prendre les -habillements de son sexe, afin que sa beauté se fît voir dans tout son -jour, et qu’elle parût avec moins d’embarras devant lui. Il y consentit, -en ajoutant que le lendemain on aviserait à nous faire passer en Espagne -pour y aller chercher le trésor enfoui. Je courus révéler à don Gaspar -le péril qu’il courait, et l’ayant habillé en femme, je le menai dès le -soir même devant le dey, qui, ravi d’admiration, résolut de le garder -pour en faire présent au Grand Seigneur. Mais en attendant, de crainte -d’être tenté lui-même, il le mit sous la garde d’une dame more, des -premières de la ville. Je laisse aux amants et à ceux qui connaissent -les tourments de l’absence à juger des mortelles angoisses que nous -dûmes éprouver, ainsi éloignés l’un de l’autre. - -Par l’ordre du dey je partis le lendemain sur ce brigantin, accompagnée -de deux Turcs, ceux-là même qui ont tué vos soldats, et de ce renégat -espagnol (montrant celui qui l’avait fait connaître pour le patron), qui -est chrétien au fond de l’âme, et qui a plus d’envie de rester en -Espagne que de retourner en Barbarie; le reste de la chiourme se compose -de Mores. Contrairement à l’ordre qu’ils avaient reçu de nous débarquer, -le renégat et moi, au premier endroit où on pourrait aborder, ces deux -Turcs ont voulu d’abord courir la côte pour faire quelque prise, -craignant, s’ils nous mettaient à terre auparavant, que leur dessein ne -fût dévoilé, et, s’il y avait des galères dans ces parages qu’on ne vînt -nous attaquer. Bref, nous avons été découverts, et nous voilà maintenant -entre vos mains. Mais, hélas! don Gaspar est resté parmi ces barbares, -en habit de femme, et exposé à toutes sortes de périls. Pour moi, je ne -sais si je dois me plaindre de mon sort; car, après tant de traverses, -la vie m’est devenue insupportable, et je la perdrai sans regret: la -seule chose que je vous demande, seigneurs, c’est de m’accorder la grâce -de mourir en chrétienne, puisque je suis innocente des fautes que l’on -reproche à ceux de ma nation. - -En achevant de parler, la belle Morisque versa des larmes, et la pitié -en arracha à tous les assistants. Non moins attendri, le vice-roi -s’approcha d’elle sans rien dire et lui délia les mains. - -Pendant qu’elle racontait son histoire, un vieux pèlerin, qui était -entré avec les gens du vice-roi, avait tenu les yeux cloués sur la jeune -fille; dès qu’elle eut cessé de parler, il se précipita à ses genoux, et -les embrassant avec tendresse: O Anna Félix, ma chère enfant, -s’écria-t-il, ne reconnais-tu point Ricote, ton père, qui revenait pour -te chercher, car il ne peut vivre sans toi? - -A ce nom de Ricote, Sancho, encore tout pensif du mauvais tour que lui -avaient joué les rameurs, leva la tête, fixa le pèlerin et reconnut ce -Ricote dont il avait fait la rencontre le jour où il quitta son -gouvernement; aussitôt, regardant par deux ou trois fois la jeune -Morisque, il affirma que c’était bien la fille de son ami qui, depuis -qu’elle avait les mains libres, s’était jetée au cou de son père, et y -restait attachée, mêlant ses larmes aux siennes. - -Oui, seigneurs, dit Ricote en s’adressant à l’amiral et au vice-roi, -c’est là ma fille, à qui son nom semblait promettre un meilleur sort, -car elle s’appelle Anna Félix, et elle n’est pas moins célèbre par sa -beauté que par mes richesses. J’ai quitté mon pays, afin d’aller à -l’étranger chercher un asile; et après en avoir découvert un en -Allemagne, je suis revenu sous ce costume, pour emmener mon enfant et -déterrer les richesses que j’avais enfouies avant mon départ. Mais je ne -trouvai que mon trésor que je rapporte avec moi. Aujourd’hui enfin, -après bien des traverses, je rencontre, par un hasard merveilleux, cette -chère enfant, mon véritable trésor, que je préfère à tous les biens du -monde. Si son innocence, ses larmes et les miennes peuvent vous toucher, -ayez pitié de deux malheureux qui ne vous ont pas offensés et qui n’ont -jamais pris part aux mauvais desseins de leurs compatriotes justement -exilés. - -Oh! je reconnais bien Ricote, reprit Sancho, et je vous réponds qu’il -dit vrai quand il assure qu’Anna Félix est sa fille: quant à toutes ses -allées et venues, à ses bons ou à ses mauvais desseins, je ne m’en mêle -pas. - -Tous les assistants étaient émerveillés d’une si étrange aventure. Vos -larmes, dit l’amiral, m’empêchent d’accomplir mon serment; vivez, belle -Anna Félix, vivez autant d’années que vous en réserve le ciel, et que -ceux-là qui ont eu l’insolence de commettre un meurtre inutile en -portent seuls la peine. - -En même temps, il ordonna de pendre les deux Turcs; mais le vice-roi -demanda leur grâce avec de si vives instances, remontrant qu’il y avait -eu dans leur action moins de bravade que de folie, que l’amiral y -consentit, car il est difficile de se venger de sang-froid. - -On s’occupa aussitôt des moyens de tirer don Gaspar du péril où il -était; Ricote offrit pour sa délivrance deux mille ducats, qu’il -possédait en perles et en bijoux. De tous les expédients proposés, aucun -ne fut jugé meilleur que celui du renégat espagnol, qui s’offrit de -retourner à Alger, dans une petite barque montée par des rameurs -chrétiens, parce qu’il savait où il pourrait débarquer et qu’il -connaissait aussi la maison où était don Gaspar. L’amiral et le vice-roi -avaient quelque scrupule de se fier à un renégat; mais Anna Félix -répondit de lui, et Ricote offrit de payer la rançon de l’équipage, si -par hasard il venait à être capturé. Ce parti adopté, le vice-roi prit -congé de l’amiral, et don Antonio Moreno emmena avec lui Anna Félix et -son père, le vice-roi lui ayant recommandé d’en avoir le plus grand -soin, tant il était touché de la beauté de la jeune Morisque! - -CHAPITRE LXIV - -DE L’AVENTURE QUI CAUSA LE PLUS DE CHAGRIN A DON QUICHOTTE PARMI TOUTES -CELLES QUI LUI FUSSENT JAMAIS ARRIVÉES. - -La femme de don Antonio accueillit Anna Félix dans sa maison avec une -joie extrême et eut pour elle toutes sortes de prévenances, charmée -qu’elle était de sa beauté autant que de sa sagesse. Toute la ville -venait, comme à son de cloche, la voir et l’admirer. - -Don Quichotte assurait que le parti auquel on s’était arrêté pour -délivrer don Gaspar n’était pas le meilleur et qu’on aurait beaucoup -mieux fait de le passer lui-même, avec son cheval et ses armes, en -Barbarie, d’où il aurait tiré le jeune homme en dépit de tous les Mores, -comme avait fait don Galiferos pour son épouse Mélisandre. - -D’accord, seigneur, repartit Sancho; mais songez que lorsque don -Galiferos enleva sa femme, c’était en terre ferme, et qu’il la ramena en -France par la terre ferme; ici c’est tout autre chose: si vous parveniez -à délivrer ce don Gaspar, par où le ramèneriez-vous en Espagne, puisque -la mer est au milieu? - -Il y a remède à tout, excepté à la mort, répondit don Quichotte; pourvu -que le bâtiment puisse approcher de la côte, je me fais fort de -débarquer, quand bien même l’univers entier tenterait d’y mettre -obstacle. - -Cela ne coûte guère à dire, seigneur, repartit Sancho; mais du dit au -fait il y a grand trajet; pour ma part, je me fie au renégat, qui me -paraît habile et homme de bien. - -Au surplus, dit don Antonio, si le renégat ne réussit pas, on aura -recours à la valeur du grand don Quichotte, et on le passera en -Barbarie. - -Deux jours après, le renégat partit dans une barque légère, montée de -vigoureux rameurs. De son côté, l’amiral, après avoir prié le vice-roi -de lui donner des nouvelles d’Anna Félix, ainsi que de tout ce qui -serait fait pour la délivrance de don Gaspar, prit congé de lui, et fit -voile pour le Levant. - -Un matin que don Quichotte, armé de toutes pièces, car, ainsi qu’on l’a -dit maintes fois, _ses armes étaient sa parure, et ses délassements les -combats_, était sorti pour se promener sur la plage, il vit venir vers -lui un cavalier également armé de pied en cap, et portant un écu sur -lequel était peinte une lune resplendissante. Quand l’inconnu se fut -assez approché pour être entendu de notre héros, il lui dit d’une voix -haute et sonore: - -Insigne chevalier et jamais suffisamment loué, don Quichotte de la -Manche! je suis le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, dont les prouesses -inouïes t’auront sans doute appris le nom. Je viens pour me mesurer avec -toi, et mettre à l’épreuve la force de ton bras, dans l’unique but de te -faire reconnaître et confesser que ma dame, quelle qu’elle soit, est -incomparablement plus belle que ta Dulcinée du Toboso. Si tu confesses -cette vérité, tu éviteras, à toi la mort, et à moi la peine de te la -donner. Dans le cas où nous en viendrions aux mains, la seule chose que -j’exige de toi, si je suis vainqueur, c’est que déposant les armes, et -t’abstenant de chercher les aventures, tu te retires pendant une année -entière dans ton village, afin d’y vivre dans un repos non moins utile -au salut de ton âme qu’aux soins de ta fortune. Si, au contraire, je -suis vaincu, ma vie sera à ta discrétion; je t’abandonne mon cheval et -mes armes, et la renommée de mes hauts faits viendra s’ajouter à la -tienne. Choisis et réponds sur-le-champ, car je n’ai qu’un jour pour -expédier cette affaire. - -Don Quichotte resta étonné de l’arrogance du chevalier de la -Blanche-Lune et du sujet de son défi. Il répondit avec calme, mais d’un -ton sévère: Chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, vous dont les prouesses ne -sont point encore parvenues jusqu’à mon oreille, je fais serment que -jamais vous n’avez vu la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso; autrement, -vous n’eussiez point recherché ce combat, et vous eussiez avoué de -vous-même et sans crainte qu’il n’existe pas dans l’univers de beauté -comparable à la sienne. Sans donc prétendre que vous en avez menti, mais -me bornant à dire que vous vous abusez étrangement, j’accepte le défi -aux conditions que vous y avez mises, et je l’accepte sur-le-champ, afin -que ce jour décide entre vous et moi; n’exceptant de vos conditions -qu’une seule, celle d’accroître ma renommée du renom de vos prouesses. -Car ces prouesses, je les ignore, et quelles qu’elles soient, je me -contente des miennes. Prenez donc du champ ce que vous en voudrez -prendre, je ferai de même, et que la volonté du ciel s’accomplisse. - -De la ville, on avait aperçu le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, et déjà le -vice-roi était averti qu’on l’avait vu s’entretenir avec don Quichotte. -Aussitôt il prit le chemin de la plage, accompagné de don Antonio et de -plusieurs autres, et ils arrivèrent au moment où notre héros tournait -bride pour prendre du champ. Voyant les deux champions prêts à fondre -l’un sur l’autre, le vice-roi vint se placer au milieu de la lice, -s’informant du motif qui les portait à en venir si brusquement aux -mains. Le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune répondit qu’il s’agissait d’une -prééminence de beauté, répétant en peu de mots ce qui venait de se -passer. Sur ce, le vice-roi s’approcha de don Antonio, et lui demanda à -l’oreille s’il connaissait le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, et si ce -n’était pas là quelque mauvais tour qu’on voulût jouer à don Quichotte. -Don Antonio ayant répondu qu’il l’ignorait, le vice-roi resta quelque -temps indécis s’il permettrait aux combattants de passer outre. -Toutefois, pensant bien que c’était une plaisanterie, il s’écarta en -disant: Seigneurs chevaliers, s’il n’y a point ici de milieu entre -confesser ou mourir, si le seigneur don Quichotte est intraitable, et si -Votre Grâce, seigneur de la Blanche-Lune, n’en veut pas démordre, en -avant, et à la garde de Dieu! - -Le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune remercia le vice-roi en termes pleins de -courtoisie. Don Quichotte fit de même, se recommandant de tout son cœur -à Dieu et à sa dame Dulcinée, suivant sa coutume en pareilles -rencontres; il prit un peu plus de champ, voyant que son adversaire -faisait de même; puis, sans qu’aucune trompette en donnât le signal, ils -fondirent tout à coup l’un sur l’autre. Le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune -montait un coursier plus vif et plus vigoureux que Rossinante, si bien -qu’arrivé aux deux tiers de la carrière, il heurta don Quichotte avec -tant de force, sans se servir de la lance, dont il leva la pointe à -dessein, qu’il fit rouler homme et monture sur le sable. Aussitôt, se -précipitant vers le chevalier, et lui mettant le fer de sa lance à la -gorge: Vous êtes vaincu, seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il, et vous êtes -mort si vous ne confessez les conditions de notre combat. - -Étourdi et brisé de sa chute, don Quichotte répondit d’une voix creuse -et dolente comme si elle fût sortie du tombeau: Dulcinée du Toboso est -la plus belle personne du monde, et moi le plus malheureux des -chevaliers; mais il ne faut pas que mon malheur démente une vérité si -manifeste. Pousse ta lance, chevalier, et m’ôte la vie, puisque déjà tu -m’as ôté l’honneur. - -Non, non, répliqua le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, vive, vive dans tout -son éclat la réputation de beauté de madame Dulcinée du Toboso. Je -n’exige qu’une chose, c’est que le grand don Quichotte se retire pendant -toute une année dans son village, ainsi que nous en sommes convenus -avant d’en venir aux mains. - -Le vice-roi, don Antonio et ceux qui étaient présents entendirent ces -paroles, et la réponse faite par notre héros, que pourvu qu’on ne lui -demandât rien de contraire à la gloire de Dulcinée, il accomplirait tout -le reste en véritable chevalier. De quoi le vainqueur déclara se -contenter, puis tournant bride et saluant les spectateurs, il se dirigea -au petit galop vers la ville. Le vice-roi donna ordre à Antonio de le -suivre et de s’informer qui il était. - -On releva don Quichotte, et on lui découvrit le visage qu’on trouva -pâle, inanimé, inondé d’une sueur froide. Rossinante était dans un tel -état qu’il fut impossible de le remettre sur ses jambes. Sancho, triste -et accablé, ne savait que dire ni que faire; tout cela lui paraissait un -songe, un véritable enchantement. Il voyait son seigneur vaincu, rendu à -merci, et obligé de ne porter les armes d’un an entier, en même temps -que la gloire de ses exploits était à jamais ensevelie. De son côté à -lui, toutes ses espérances s’en allaient en fumée; enfin, il craignait -que Rossinante ne restât estropié pour le reste de ses jours, et son -maître disloqué, sinon pis encore. - -Finalement, avec une chaise à porteur, que le vice-roi fit venir, on -ramena notre héros à la ville, et lui-même regagna son palais, -très-impatient de savoir qui était le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune. - -CHAPITRE LXV - -OU L’ON FAIT CONNAITRE QUI ÉTAIT LE CHEVALIER DE LA BLANCHE-LUNE, ET OU -L’ON RACONTE LA DÉLIVRANCE DE DON GREGORIO, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES -ÉVÉNEMENTS. - -Don Antonio Moreno suivit le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, qu’une foule -d’enfants escortèrent jusqu’à la porte d’une hôtellerie située au centre -de la ville. Ainsi mis sur ses traces, il y entra presque aussitôt que -lui, et le trouva dans une salle basse en train de se faire désarmer par -son écuyer. Don Antonio le salua sans dire mot, attendant l’occasion -d’ouvrir l’entretien; mais le chevalier, voyant qu’il ne se disposait -pas à se retirer, lui dit: Seigneur, je vois ce qui vous amène, vous -voulez savoir qui je suis; et comme je n’ai nulle raison de le cacher, -je vais vous satisfaire pendant que mon écuyer achèvera de m’ôter mon -armure. Je m’appelle le bachelier Samson Carrasco, et j’habite le même -village que don Quichotte de la Manche. La folie de ce pauvre hidalgo, -qui fait compassion à tous ceux qui le connaissent, m’a ému de pitié -encore plus que tout autre. Persuadé que sa guérison dépend de son -repos, je me suis mis en tête de le ramener dans sa maison. Il y a -environ trois mois, j’endossai le harnais dans ce dessein, et, sous le -nom de chevalier des Miroirs, je me mis à la recherche de don Quichotte, -afin de le combattre et de le vaincre, sans toutefois le blesser, ayant -mis préalablement dans les conditions du combat que le vaincu resterait -à la merci du vainqueur. Mon intention était de lui imposer de ne pas -sortir de sa maison d’un an entier, persuadé que pendant ce temps on -parviendrait à le guérir. Mais la fortune en ordonna autrement; ce fut -lui qui me fit rudement vider les arçons. Don Quichotte continua sa -route, et je m’en retournai brisé de ma chute, qui avait été fort -dangereuse. Cependant je n’avais pas renoncé à mon entreprise, ainsi que -vous venez de le voir, et cette fois, c’est moi qui suis vainqueur. -Voilà, seigneur, sans aucune réticence, ce que vous désiriez savoir. Je -ne demande à Votre Grâce qu’une seule chose, c’est que don Quichotte -n’ait jamais connaissance de ce que je viens de vous dire, afin que mes -bonnes intentions ne soient pas perdues, et que le pauvre homme arrive à -recouvrer l’esprit, qu’il a d’ailleurs excellent lorsqu’il n’est point -troublé par les rêveries de son extravagante chevalerie. - -Ah! seigneur, repartit don Antonio, que Dieu vous pardonne le tort que -vous faites au monde entier en le privant du plus agréable fou qu’il -possède. Tout le profit qu’on peut tirer du bon sens de don Quichotte -compensera-t-il jamais le plaisir que nous procurent ses folies? Mais je -crains que votre peine soit inutile, car il est presque impossible de -rendre la raison à un homme qui l’a si complétement perdue. Quant à moi, -si ce n’était pécher contre la charité, je demanderais que don Quichotte -ne guérît point, puisque par là nous serons privés non-seulement de ses -aimables extravagances, mais encore de celles de son écuyer Sancho, dont -la moindre est capable de dérider la mélancolie même. Je me tairai -toutefois, afin de voir, ce dont je doute, si vos soins aboutiront à -quelque chose. - -Seigneur, repartit Carrasco, l’affaire est en bon train, et j’espère un -heureux succès. - -Après quelques compliments échangés de part et d’autre, don Antonio -quitta le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, qui, ayant fait lier ses armes, -les plaça sur un mulet, et, monté sur son cheval de bataille, prit le -chemin de son village. De son côté, don Antonio alla rendre compte de sa -mission au vice-roi, qui ne put s’empêcher de partager ses regrets, -prévoyant bien que la réclusion de notre héros allait priver le monde de -ses nouvelles folies. - -Don Quichotte resta six jours au lit, sombre, rêveur, et beaucoup plus -affligé de sa défaite que du mal qu’il ressentait. Sancho ne le quittait -pas d’un instant, et s’efforçait de le consoler: Allons, mon bon -maître, lui disait-il, relevez la tête, et tâchez de reprendre votre -gaieté: mieux vaut se réjouir que s’affliger; n’êtes-vous pas assez -heureux de ne point vous être brisé les côtes en tombant si lourdement; -ignorez-vous que là où se donnent les coups ils se reçoivent, et qu’il -n’y a pas toujours du lard où se trouvent des crochets pour le pendre? -Moquez-vous du médecin, puisque vous n’avez pas besoin de lui pour -guérir; retournons chez nous, sans chercher désormais les aventures à -travers des pays qui nous sont inconnus. Après tout, si vous êtes le -plus maltraité, c’est moi qui suis le plus perdant. Quoique j’aie laissé -avec le gouvernement l’envie d’être gouverneur, je n’ai pas renoncé à -devenir comte; cependant il faudra bien que je m’en passe, si vous -n’arrivez pas à devenir roi, comme cela est probable, en quittant vos -chevaleries, et alors toutes mes espérances s’en iront en fumée. - -Mon ami, répondit don Quichotte, il n’y a rien de désespéré. Ma retraite -ne doit durer qu’une année; au bout de ce temps je reprendrai l’exercice -des armes, et alors je ne manquerai pas de royaumes à conquérir, ni de -comtés à te donner. - -Dieu le veuille, répliqua Sancho: bonne espérance vaut toujours mieux -que mauvaise possession. - -Comme ils en étaient là, don Antonio entra avec toutes les marques d’une -grande allégresse: Bonne nouvelle, dit-il, seigneur don Quichotte, bonne -nouvelle! don Gaspar et le renégat sont au palais du vice-roi, et ils -vont venir ici dans un instant. - -Le visage de don Quichotte parut se dérider un peu. - -En vérité, seigneur, reprit-il, j’aurais préféré que le contraire -arrivât, afin de passer moi-même en Barbarie et d’avoir le plaisir de -délivrer, avec don Gaspar, tous les chrétiens esclaves de ces infidèles. -Mais, hélas! ajouta-t-il en soupirant: ne suis-je pas ce vaincu, ce -désarçonné, qui d’une année entière n’a le droit de porter les armes? De -quoi puis-je me vanter, moi qui suis plus propre à filer une quenouille -qu’à manier une épée. - -Laissons tout cela, seigneur, répliqua Sancho; vous me faites mourir -avec tous vos discours: voulez-vous donc vous enterrer tout vivant? vive -la poule, même avec sa pépie: on ne peut pas toujours vaincre; il faut -que chacun ait son tour! Ainsi va le monde. Tenez, il n’y a rien de sûr -avec toutes ces batailles; mais celui qui tombe aujourd’hui peut se -relever demain, à moins qu’il n’aime mieux garder le lit: je veux dire -s’il laisse abattre son courage à ce point qu’il ne lui en reste plus -pour de nouveaux combats. Levez-vous, mon cher maître, et allons -recevoir don Gaspar: au bruit que j’entends, il faut qu’il soit déjà -dans la maison. - -En effet, don Gaspar, après avoir salué le vice-roi, s’était rendu avec -le renégat chez don Antonio, impatient de revoir Anna Félix, et sans -prendre le temps de quitter l’habit d’esclave qu’il avait en partant -d’Alger; ce qui n’empêchait pas qu’il n’attirât les yeux de tout le -monde par sa bonne mine, car il était d’une beauté surprenante, et -pouvait avoir dix-sept à dix-huit ans. Ricote et Anna Félix allèrent le -recevoir, le père avec des larmes de joie et la fille avec une pudeur -charmante. Les deux amants ne s’embrassèrent point, car beaucoup d’amour -et peu de hardiesse vont de compagnie, et leurs yeux furent les seuls -interprètes de leurs chastes pensées. Le renégat raconta de quelle -manière il avait délivré don Gaspar; celui-ci raconta aussi les périls -qu’il avait courus parmi les femmes qui le gardaient, montrant dans son -récit une discrétion si charmante et si fort au-dessus de son âge, -qu’on ne lui trouva pas moins d’esprit que de grâce. Ricote récompensa -généreusement le renégat et ses rameurs. Le renégat rentra dans le giron -de l’Église, et de membre gangrené, il redevint sain et pur par la -pénitence. - -Deux jours après, le vice-roi et don Antonio s’occupèrent des moyens -d’empêcher qu’on n’inquiétât Ricote et Anna Félix, qu’ils désiraient -voir rester en Espagne, la fille étant si véritablement chrétienne et le -père si bien intentionné. Don Antonio s’offrit pour aller solliciter à -la cour, où d’autres affaires l’appelaient, disant qu’à force de -présents et avec le secours de ses amis, il espérait y réussir. Mais -Ricote répondit qu’il ne fallait rien espérer, parce que le comte de -Salazar, chargé par le roi d’achever l’expulsion des Mores, était, -quoique compatissant, un homme auprès de qui prières et présents étaient -inutiles, de sorte que, malgré toutes leurs ruses, il en avait déjà -purgé l’Espagne entière. - -Quoi qu’il en soit, répliqua don Antonio, quand je serai sur les lieux, -je n’épargnerai ni soin ni peine, et il en arrivera ce qu’il plaira à -Dieu. Don Gaspar viendra avec moi pour consoler ses parents qui sont -inquiets de son absence, et Anna Félix restera ici auprès de ma femme, -ou se retirera dans un couvent. Quant à Ricote, je suis assuré que -monseigneur le vice-roi ne lui refusera pas sa protection, jusqu’au -résultat de mes démarches. - -Le vice-roi approuva tout. Don Gaspar refusa d’abord de s’éloigner -d’Anna Félix; mais comme il désirait beaucoup revoir ses parents, et -qu’il était certain de retrouver sa maîtresse, il finit par consentir à -l’arrangement proposé. Le jour du départ arriva, et de la part des deux -amants, il y eut bien des larmes et bien des soupirs. - -Enfin, il fallut se séparer; Ricote offrit à don Gaspar mille écus, que -le jeune homme refusa malgré toutes ses instances, se bornant à -accepter de don Antonio l’argent dont il crut avoir besoin. - -Deux jours après, don Quichotte se sentant un peu rétabli, se mit aussi -en chemin, sans cuirasse et sans armes, vêtu d’un simple habit de -voyage, et suivi de Sancho à pied, qui conduisait le grison chargé de la -panoplie de son maître. - -CHAPITRE LXVI - -QUI TRAITE DE CE QUE VERRA CELUI QUI VOUDRA LE LIRE - -Au sortir de Barcelone, don Quichotte voulut revoir le lieu où il avait -été vaincu: C’est ici que fut Troie[125], dit-il tristement; c’est ici -que ma mauvaise étoile, et non ma lâcheté, m’a enlevé toute gloire; -c’est ici que la fortune m’a fait sentir son inconstance, éprouver ses -caprices; ici se sont obscurcies mes prouesses; ici tomba ma renommée -pour ne plus se relever. - - [125] Campos ubi Troja fuit... (Réminiscence de Virgile.) - -Seigneur, lui dit Sancho, il est d’un cœur généreux d’avoir autant de -résignation dans le malheur que de ressentir de joie dans la prospérité. -Voyez, moi, j’étais assurément fort joyeux d’être gouverneur; eh bien, -maintenant que je suis à pied, suis-je plus triste pour cela? J’ai -entendu dire que cette femelle qu’on appelle la Fortune est une créature -fantasque, toujours ivre, et aveugle par-dessus le marché, aussi ne -voit-elle point ce qu’elle fait, et ne sait-elle ni qui elle abat, ni -qui elle élève. - -Tu es bien philosophe, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, et tu parles -comme un docteur: je ne sais vraiment où tu as appris tout cela. Mais ce -que je puis te dire, c’est qu’il n’y a point de fortune en ce monde, et -que toutes les choses qui s’y passent, soit en bien, soit en mal, -n’arrivent jamais par hasard, mais sont l’effet d’une providence -particulière du ciel. De là vient qu’on a coutume de dire que chacun est -l’artisan de sa fortune. Moi, je l’avais été de la mienne, et c’est -parce que je n’y ai pas travaillé avec assez de prudence que je me vois -châtié de ma présomption. J’aurais dû penser que la débilité de -Rossinante le rendait incapable de soutenir le choc du puissant coursier -du chevalier de la Blanche-Lune; cependant j’acceptai le combat, et -quoique j’aie fait de mon mieux, j’eus la honte de me voir renversé dans -la poussière. Mais si j’ai perdu l’honneur, je dois avoir le courage -d’accomplir ma promesse. Quand j’étais chevalier errant, hardi, -valeureux, mon bras et mes œuvres étaient celles d’un homme de cœur; -aujourd’hui, descendu à la condition d’écuyer démonté, mon entière -soumission et ma loyauté feront voir que je suis homme de parole. Allons -faire chez nous notre année de noviciat, ami Sancho, et dans cette -réclusion forcée, nous puiserons une nouvelle vigueur pour reprendre -avec plus d’éclat l’exercice des armes. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, ce n’est point chose si agréable de cheminer -à pied, qu’elle donne envie de faire de longues étapes, et lorsque je -serai sur le dos du grison, nous marcherons aussi vite que vous voudrez. -Mais tant que mes jambes devront me porter, ne me pressez pas, s’il vous -plaît. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, attachons ici mes armes en -trophée, puis au-dessous et à l’entour nous graverons sur l’écorce des -arbres ce qu’il y avait au bas du trophée des armes de Roland: - - Que nul de les toucher ne soit si téméraire, - S’il ne veut de Roland affronter la colère. - -A merveille, seigneur, répondit Sancho; et n’était le besoin que nous -pourrions avoir de Rossinante, je serais d’avis qu’on le pendît -également. - -Non, repartit don Quichotte, il ne faut pendre ni les armes, ni -Rossinante, afin qu’on ne puisse pas dire: A bon serviteur mauvaise -récompense. - -Sans doute aussi, répliqua Sancho, à cause du proverbe qui dit qu’il ne -faut pas faire retomber sur le bât la faute de l’âne. Eh bien, puisque -c’est à Votre Grâce que revient le tort de cette aventure, châtiez-vous -vous-même, et ne vous en prenez point à vos armes qui sont déjà toutes -brisées, ni au malheureux Rossinante, qui n’en peut mais, et encore -moins à mes pauvres pieds, en les faisant cheminer plus que de raison. - -Cette journée et trois autres encore se passèrent en semblables -discours, sans que rien vînt entraver leur voyage. Le cinquième jour, à -l’entrée d’une bourgade, ils trouvèrent tous les habitants sur la place, -assemblés pour se divertir, car c’était la fête du pays. Comme don -Quichotte s’approchait d’eux, un laboureur éleva la voix et dit: Bon! -voilà justement notre affaire: ces seigneurs qui ne connaissent point -les parieurs jugeront notre différend. - -Très-volontiers, mes amis, répondit notre héros, pourvu que je parvienne -à bien comprendre. - -Mon bon seigneur, voici le cas, repartit le laboureur: un habitant de ce -village, si gros qu’il pèse près de deux cent quatre-vingts livres, a -défié à la course un de ses voisins, qui ne pèse pas la moitié autant -que lui, et ils doivent courir cent pas, à condition qu’ils porteront -chacun le même poids. Quand on demande à l’auteur du défi comment il -veut qu’on s’y prenne, il répond que son adversaire doit se charger de -cent cinquante livres de fer, et que par ce moyen ils pèseront autant -l’un que l’autre. - -Vous n’y êtes pas, dit Sancho devançant la réponse de son maître, et -c’est à moi, qui viens tout fraîchement d’être gouverneur, comme chacun -sait, à juger cette affaire. - -Juge, ami Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; aussi bien ne suis-je pas en -état de distinguer le blanc du noir, tant mon jugement est troublé et -obscurci. - -Eh bien, frères, continua Sancho, je vous dis donc, avec la permission -de mon maître, que ce que demande le défieur n’est pas juste. C’est -toujours au défié à choisir les armes; ici c’est le défieur qui les -choisit, et il en donne à son adversaire de si embarrassantes, que -celui-ci non-seulement ne saurait remporter la victoire, mais même se -remuer. Or, s’il est trop gros, qu’il se coupe cent cinquante livres de -chair par-ci par-là, à son choix: de cette manière les parties devenant -égales, personne n’aura lieu de se plaindre. - -Par ma foi, reprit un paysan, ce seigneur a parlé comme un bienheureux -et jugé comme un chanoine: mais le gros ne voudra jamais s’ôter une once -de chair, à plus forte raison cent cinquante livres. - -Le mieux est qu’ils ne courent point, dit un autre, afin que le maigre -n’ait point à crever sous le faix, ni le gros à se déchiqueter le corps. -Convertissons en vin la moitié de la gageure, et emmenons ces seigneurs -à la taverne: s’il en arrive mal, je le prends sur moi. - -Je vous suis fort obligé, seigneurs, répondit don Quichotte; mais je ne -puis m’arrêter un seul instant. De sombres pensées et de tristes -pressentiments me forcent d’être impoli et me font cheminer plus vite -que je ne voudrais. - -En parlant ainsi, il piqua Rossinante et passa outre, laissant les -villageois non moins étonnés de son étrange figure que de la sagacité de -son écuyer. - -Lorsqu’il les vit s’éloigner, un des laboureurs dit aux autres: Si le -valet a tant d’esprit, que doit être le maître! S’ils vont étudier à -Salamanque, je gage qu’ils deviendront en un tour de main alcades de -cour; car il n’est rien comme d’étudier et d’avoir un peu de chance, -pour, au moment où l’on y songe le moins, se voir verge à la main ou -mitre sur la tête. - -Cette nuit-là, le maître et le valet la passèrent à la belle étoile au -milieu des champs. Le matin, comme ils poursuivaient leur route, ils -virent venir à eux un messager à pied qui avait un bissac sur l’épaule, -et une espèce de bâton ferré à la main. Cet homme doubla le pas en -approchant de don Quichotte, et lui embrassant la cuisse: Seigneur, lui -dit-il, que monseigneur le duc aura de joie quand il apprendra que vous -retournez au château! Il y est encore avec madame la duchesse. - -Mon ami, je ne sais qui vous êtes; veuillez me le dire, reprit notre -chevalier. - -Moi, seigneur, répondit l’homme, je suis ce Tosilos, laquais de -monseigneur le duc, qui refusa de se mesurer avec Votre Grâce, au sujet -de la fille de la señora Rodriguez. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria don Quichotte, quoi, c’est vous que les -enchanteurs, mes ennemis, ont transformé en laquais, pour m’ôter la -gloire de ce combat! - -Je vous demande pardon, répliqua Tosilos, il n’y eut ni transformation -ni enchantement: j’étais laquais quand j’entrai dans la lice, et laquais -quand j’en sortis. Comme la fille me semblait jolie, j’ai préféré -l’épouser plutôt que de combattre. Mais il y eut bien à déchanter après -votre départ: monseigneur le duc m’a fait donner cent coups de bâton, -pour n’avoir pas exécuté ses ordres; la pauvre fille a été mise en -religion, et la señora Rodriguez s’en est retournée en Castille. Pour -l’instant, je vais à Barcelone porter un paquet de lettres à monseigneur -le vice-roi, de la part de mon maître. J’ai ici une gourde pleine de -vieux vin, ajouta-t-il; Votre Seigneurie veut-elle boire un coup? -quoique chaud, quelques bribes d’un fromage que j’ai encore là vous le -feront trouver bon. - -Je vous prends au mot, dit Sancho, car, moi, je ne fais point de façon -avec mes amis. Que Tosilos mette la nappe, et nous verrons si les -enchanteurs m’empêchent de lever le coude. - -En vérité, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, tu es bien le plus grand -glouton et le plus ignorant personnage qui soit dans le monde. Ne -vois-tu pas que ce courrier est enchanté, et que ce n’est là qu’un faux -Tosilos. Reste avec lui; farcis-toi la panse, je m’en irai au petit pas -en t’attendant. - -Tosilos sourit en regardant partir le chevalier, et ayant tiré de son -bissac la gourde et le fromage, il s’assit sur l’herbe avec Sancho. Tous -deux y restèrent jusqu’à ce que la gourde fût entièrement vide; -l’histoire dit même qu’ils finirent par lécher le paquet de lettres, -seulement parce qu’il sentait le fromage. - -Ton maître doit être un grand fou! dit Tosilos à Sancho. - -Comment! il doit? répondit Sancho: parbleu! il ne doit rien, il n’y a -point d’homme qui paye mieux ses dettes, surtout quand c’est en monnaie -de folies. Je m’en aperçois bien, et je le lui ai souvent dit à -lui-même; mais qu’y faire? maintenant qu’il est fou à lier, depuis le -jour où il a été vaincu par le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune! - -Tosilos le pria de lui conter cette aventure; Sancho répondit qu’il lui -donnerait contentement à la première rencontre et qu’il ne voulait pas -faire attendre son maître plus longtemps. Il se leva, secoua son -pourpoint et les miettes qui étaient tombées sur sa barbe; puis ayant -souhaité un bon voyage à Tosilos, il poussa le grison devant lui et -rejoignit don Quichotte, qui l’attendait à l’ombre, sous un arbre. - -CHAPITRE LXVII - -DE LA RÉSOLUTION QUE PRIT DON QUICHOTTE DE SE FAIRE BERGER TOUT LE TEMPS -QU’IL ÉTAIT OBLIGÉ DE NE POINT PORTER LES ARMES - -Si don Quichotte, avant sa rencontre avec le chevalier de la -Blanche-Lune, avait été en proie à de tristes pensées, c’était bien pis -depuis sa défaite. - -Il attendait, comme je l’ai dit, couché à l’ombre d’un arbre, et là -mille pénibles souvenirs, comme autant de moustiques, venaient -l’assaillir et le harceler: les uns avaient trait au désenchantement de -Dulcinée, les autres au genre de vie qu’il allait mener pendant son -repos forcé. - -Sancho s’étant mis à lui vanter la générosité du laquais Tosilos: - -Est-il possible, lui dit-il, que tu croies encore que ce soit là un -véritable laquais? Tu as donc oublié la malice de mes ennemis les -enchanteurs? Dulcinée transformée en paysanne, et le chevalier des -Miroirs devenu le bachelier Carrasco? Mais, dis-moi, as-tu demandé à ce -prétendu Tosilos des nouvelles d’Altisidore? A-t-elle pleuré mon -absence, ou a-t-elle banni loin d’elle les amoureuses pensées qui la -tourmentaient avec tant de violence moi présent? - -Par ma foi, seigneur, répondit Sancho, je ne songeais guère à ces -niaiseries: mais, pourquoi, je vous prie, vous occuper des pensées -d’autrui, et surtout des pensées amoureuses? - -Mon ami, dit don Quichotte, il y a une grande différence entre la -conduite qu’inspire l’amour, et celle qui est dictée par la -reconnaissance: un chevalier peut se montrer froid et insensible, mais -il ne doit jamais être ingrat. Altisidore m’aimait sans doute, -puisqu’elle m’a donné les mouchoirs de tête que tu sais; elle a pleuré -mon départ, m’a adressé des reproches et maudit devant tout le monde, en -dépit de toute pudeur; preuves certaines qu’elle m’adorait, car toujours -les dépits des amants éclatent en malédictions. Moi, je n’avais ni -trésors à lui offrir, ni espérance à lui donner: tout cela appartient à -Dulcinée, la souveraine de mon âme, Dulcinée, que tu outrages par tes -retardements à châtier ces chairs épaisses que je voudrais voir mangées -des loups, puisqu’elles aiment mieux se réserver pour les vers du -tombeau que de s’employer à la délivrance de cette pauvre dame. - -En vérité, seigneur, répondit Sancho, je ne puis me persuader que ces -coups de fouet dont vous parlez sans cesse aient rien de commun avec le -désenchantement de personne; c’est comme si on disait: La tête te fait -mal; eh bien, graisse-toi la cheville. Je jurerais bien que dans vos -livres de chevalerie vous n’avez jamais vu délivrer un enchanté à coups -de fouet. Mais enfin, pour vous faire plaisir, je me les donnerai -aussitôt que l’envie m’en prendra et que j’en trouverai l’occasion. - -Que Dieu t’entende, dit don Quichotte, et qu’il te fasse la grâce de -reconnaître bientôt l’obligation où tu es de soulager ma dame et -maîtresse, qui est aussi la tienne puisque tu es à moi. - -En discourant ainsi, ils arrivèrent à l’endroit où ils avaient été -culbutés et foulés sous les pieds des taureaux. Don Quichotte reconnut -la place et dit à son écuyer: Voici la prairie où nous rencontrâmes -naguère ces aimables bergers et ces charmantes bergères qui voulaient -renouveler l’Arcadie pastorale. Leur idée me semble aussi louable -qu’ingénieuse; et si tu veux m’en croire, ami Sancho, nous nous ferons -bergers à leur imitation, ne fût-ce que pendant le temps que j’ai promis -de ne pas porter les armes. J’achèterai quelques brebis et toutes les -choses nécessaires à la vie pastorale; puis, me faisant appeler le -Berger Quichottin, et toi le berger Pancinot, nous nous mettrons à errer -à travers les bois et les prés, chantant par ici, soupirant par là, -tantôt nous désaltérant au pur cristal des fontaines, tantôt aux eaux -limpides des ruisseaux. Les chênes nous donneront libéralement leurs -fruits savoureux; le tronc des liéges, un abri rustique; les saules, -leur ombre hospitalière; la rose, ses parfums; les prairies, leurs tapis -émaillés de mille couleurs; l’air, sa pure haleine; les étoiles, leur -douce lumière; le chant, du plaisir: l’Amour nous inspirera de tendres -pensées, et Apollon nous dictera des vers qui nous rendront fameux, -non-seulement dans l’âge présent, mais aussi dans les siècles à venir. - -Pardieu, seigneur, voilà une manière de vivre qui m’enchante, répondit -Sancho; il faut que le bachelier Samson Carrasco et maître Nicolas le -barbier n’y aient jamais pensé: je parie qu’ils seront ravis de se faire -bergers. Et que diriez-vous si le seigneur licencié faisait de même, lui -qui est bon compagnon et qui aime tant la joie? - -Ce que tu dis là est parfait, reprit don Quichotte; et si le bachelier -Samson veut être de la partie, comme il n’aura garde d’y manquer, il -pourra s’appeler le berger Sansonio ou le berger Carrascon; maître -Nicolas s’appellera Nicoloso, à l’imitation de l’ancien Boscan, qui -s’appelait Nemoroso; quant au seigneur curé, je ne sais trop quel nom -lui donner, si ce n’est un nom qui dérive du sien, le berger Curiambro, -par exemple. Nous pourrons donner à nos bergères les noms que bon nous -semblera, et comme celui de Dulcinée convient aussi bien à une bergère -qu’à une princesse, je n’ai que faire de me creuser la tête pour lui en -chercher un autre; toi, Sancho, tu feras porter à ta bergère tel nom que -tu voudras. - -Je n’ai pas envie, répondit Sancho, de lui en donner un autre que celui -de Thérésona, il ira bien avec sa taille ronde et avec le nom qu’elle -porte, puisqu’elle s’appelle Thérèse, outre qu’en la nommant dans mes -vers, on verra que je lui suis fidèle, et que je ne vais point moudre au -moulin d’autrui. Pour ce qui est du curé, il ne convient pas qu’il ait -de bergère, afin de donner le bon exemple, mais si le bachelier veut en -avoir une, à lui permis. - -_Bone Deus!_ s’écria don Quichotte, quelle vie nous allons mener, ami -Sancho! que de cornemuses vont résonner à nos oreilles! que de -tambourins, de violes et de guimbardes! et si avec cela nous pouvons -nous procurer des albogues[126], il ne nous manquera aucun des -instruments qui entrent dans la musique pastorale. - - [126] Espèces de cymbales. - -Qu’est-ce que cela, des albogues, seigneur? demanda Sancho; je n’en ai -jamais vu, ni même entendu parler de ma vie. - -Des albogues, répondit don Quichotte, sont des plaques de métal assez -semblables à des pieds de chandeliers, et qui, frappées l’une contre -l’autre, rendent un son peu agréable, peut-être, mais qui se marie fort -bien avec la cornemuse et le tambourin. Ce nom d’albogue est arabe, -comme tous ceux de notre langue qui commencent par _al_; par exemple, -_almoaça_, _almorzar_, _alhombra_, _alguazil_, _almaçen_ et autres -semblables. Notre langue n’a que trois mots qui finissent en _i_, -_borcegui_, _zaquizami_ et _maravedi_; car _alheli_ et _alfaqui_, autant -pour l’_al_, qui est au commencement que pour l’_i_ de la fin, sont -reconnus pour être d’origine arabe. Je dis ceci en passant, parce que le -nom d’albogue vient de me le rappeler. Au reste, ce qui nous aidera -surtout à pratiquer dans la perfection notre état de berger, c’est que -je me mêle un peu de poésie, comme tu sais, et que le bachelier Carrasco -est un poëte excellent: du curé, je n’ai rien à dire, mais je crois -qu’il en tient un peu. Quant à maître Nicolas, il n’en faut pas douter, -car tous les barbiers sont joueurs de guitare et faiseurs de couplets. -Moi, je gémirai de l’absence; toi, tu chanteras la fidélité; le berger -Carrascon fera l’amoureux dédaigné; le berger Curiambro, ce qui lui -plaira; et de la sorte tout ira à merveille. - -Seigneur, dit Sancho, j’ai tant de guignon, que je ne verrai jamais -arriver l’heure de commencer une si belle vie. Oh! que de jolies -cuillers de bois je vais faire, quand je serai berger! que de fromages à -la crème, que de houlettes, que de guirlandes je ferai pour moi et ma -bergère! Et si l’on ne dit pas que je suis savant, au moins dira-t-on -que je ne suis pas maladroit. Sanchette, ma fille, viendra nous apporter -notre dîner à la bergerie. Mais, j’y songe! elle n’est pas trop -déchirée, la petite, et il y a des bergers qui sont plus malins qu’on ne -croit. Diable, je ne voudrais pas qu’elle vînt chercher de la laine et -s’en retournât tondue; les amourettes et les méchants désirs se fourrent -partout, aussi bien aux champs qu’à la ville, aussi bien dans les -chaumières que dans les châteaux. Ainsi je ne veux pas que ma fille -vienne à la bergerie, elle restera à la maison; car en ôtant l’occasion, -on ôte le péché, et, comme on dit, si les yeux ne voient pas, le cœur -ne saute pas. - -Trêve, trêve de proverbes, Sancho, s’écria don Quichotte; en voilà assez -pour exprimer ta pensée, et je t’ai souvent répété de n’en pas être si -prodigue. Mais, avec toi, c’est prêcher dans le désert; ma mère me -châtie, je fouette la toupie. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, repartit Sancho, Votre Grâce est avec moi comme la -pelle avec le fourgon: vous dites que je lâche trop de proverbes, et -vous les enfilez deux à deux. - -Écoute, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, ceux que je place ont leur -à-propos; mais les tiens, tu les tires si fort par les cheveux, qu’on -dirait que tu les traînes. Je te l’ai répété souvent, les proverbes sont -autant de sentences tirées de l’expérience et des observations de nos -anciens sages; mais le proverbe qui vient à tort et à travers est plutôt -une sottise qu’une sentence. Au surplus, laissons cela: la nuit arrive, -éloignons-nous du chemin, et cherchons quelque gîte; nous verrons demain -ce que Dieu nous réserve. - -Ils gagnèrent un endroit écarté et soupèrent tard et mal, au grand -déplaisir de Sancho, à qui les jeûnes de la chevalerie errante faisaient -incessamment regretter l’abondance de la maison de don Diego, les noces -de Gamache et le logis de don Antonio. Mais enfin, considérant que la -nuit devait succéder au jour, et le jour à la nuit, il s’endormit pour -passer celle-là de son mieux. - -CHAPITRE LXVIII - -AVENTURE DE NUIT, QUI FUT PLUS SENSIBLE A SANCHO QU’A DON QUICHOTTE - -La nuit était obscure, quoique la lune fût au ciel, mais elle ne se -montrait pas dans un endroit d’où on pût l’apercevoir; car Diane va -quelquefois se promener aux antipodes, et laisse dans l’ombre nos -montagnes et nos vallées. Don Quichotte paya le tribut à la nature en -dormant le premier sommeil; mais il ne se permit pas le second, tout au -rebours de Sancho, qui avait coutume de dormir d’une seule traite, -depuis le soir jusqu’au matin, preuve d’une bonne constitution et de -fort peu de soucis. - -Ceux de don Quichotte, au contraire, le réveillèrent de bonne heure; -aussi, après avoir appelé plusieurs fois son écuyer, il lui dit: En -vérité, Sancho, je t’admire: tu parais aussi insensible que le marbre ou -le bronze; tu dors quand je veille, tu chantes quand je pleure; je tombe -d’inanition, faute de donner à la nature les aliments nécessaires, -pendant que tu es alourdi et haletant pour avoir trop mangé. Il est -pourtant d’un serviteur fidèle de prendre part aux déplaisirs de son -maître ou d’en paraître touché, ne fût-ce que par bienséance. Vois comme -la nuit est sereine, et quelle solitude règne autour de nous; tout cela -mérite bien qu’on se prive d’un peu de sommeil pour en profiter: -lève-toi donc, je t’en conjure: éloigne-toi un peu, et par pitié pour -Dulcinée donne-toi quatre ou cinq cents coups de fouet sur ceux que tu -es convenu de t’appliquer pour le désenchantement de cette pauvre dame; -agis de bonne grâce, je t’en supplie; je ne veux pas en venir aux mains -avec toi, comme l’autre jour; car, je le sais, tu as la poigne un peu -rude. Puis, quand l’affaire sera faite, nous passerons le reste de la -nuit à chanter, moi les maux de l’absence, et toi les douceurs de la -fidélité, commençant tous deux dès à présent cette vie que nous devons -mener dans notre village. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, je ne suis pas chartreux pour me lever ainsi -au milieu de mon sommeil et me donner la discipline. Par ma foi, voilà -qui est plaisant de croire qu’après cela nous chanterons toute la nuit: -pensez-vous qu’un homme qui a été bien étrillé ait grande envie de -chanter? Laissez-moi dormir, je vous prie, et ne me pressez point -davantage de me fouetter, autrement je fais serment de ne jamais battre -mon pourpoint, encore moins ma propre chair. - -O cœur endurci! s’écria don Quichotte, ô homme sans entrailles, ô -faveurs mal placées! est-ce là ma récompense de t’avoir fait gouverneur, -et de t’avoir mis en position de devenir au premier jour comte ou -marquis; ce qui ne peut manquer d’arriver aussitôt que j’aurai accompli -le temps de mon exil, car enfin, _post tenebras spero lucem_[127]. - - [127] Après les ténèbres, j’attends la lumière. - -Je ne comprends pas cela, repartit Sancho; mais ce que je comprends fort -bien, c’est que quand je dors je n’ai ni crainte ni espérance, ni peine -ni plaisir. Car, ma foi, béni soit celui qui a inventé le sommeil! -manteau qui couvre les soucis, mets qui chasse la faim, eau qui calme la -soif, feu qui garantit du froid, froid qui tempère la chaleur; en un -mot, monnaie universelle pour acheter tous les plaisirs du monde, -balance dans laquelle rois et bergers, savants et ignorants, ont tous le -même poids! C’est une bonne chose que le sommeil, seigneur, si ce n’est -qu’il ressemble à la mort; car d’un trépassé à un homme endormi, il n’y -a pas grande différence, excepté pourtant que l’on ronfle quelquefois, -tandis que l’autre ne souffle jamais mot. - -De ma vie je ne t’ai entendu parler avec autant d’élégance, dit don -Quichotte; et le proverbe a raison quand il dit: _Regarde non avec qui -tu nais, mais avec qui tu pais_. - -Eh bien, seigneur, repartit Sancho, est-ce moi maintenant qui enfile des -proverbes? Par ma foi, mon cher maître, ils sortent de votre bouche deux -par deux, avec cette différence, il est vrai, que ceux de Votre Grâce -viennent à propos, et les miens sans rime ni raison; mais, en fin de -compte, ce sont toujours des proverbes. - -Ils en étaient là quand ils entendirent un bruit sourd qui remplissait -toute la vallée. Don Quichotte se leva brusquement, et mit l’épée à la -main, mais Sancho se coula aussitôt sous son grison, se faisant un -rempart à droite et à gauche des armes de son maître et du bât de l’âne: -encore tremblait-il de tout son corps, quoiqu’il fût bien retranché. De -moment en moment le bruit augmentait; et plus il approchait de nos -aventuriers, plus il leur causait de frayeur, à l’un du moins, car pour -l’autre on connaît sa vaillance. Ce bruit venait de plus de six cents -pourceaux que des marchands conduisaient à la foire. Ils marchaient la -nuit afin de n’être point incommodés par la chaleur, et le grognement de -ces animaux était si fort, que don Quichotte et Sancho en avaient les -oreilles assourdies sans pouvoir deviner ce que ce pouvait être. Peu -soucieux de savoir si don Quichotte et Sancho se trouvaient sur leur -chemin et sans respect pour la chevalerie errante, les pourceaux leur -passèrent sur le corps, emportant les retranchements de Sancho, -confondant pêle-mêle le chevalier et l’écuyer, Rossinante et le grison, -le bât et les armes. - -Sancho se releva du mieux qu’il put, et demanda l’épée de son maître -pour apprendre à vivre à messieurs les pourceaux, car il avait enfin -reconnu ce que c’était. - -Laisse-les passer, ami, répondit tristement don Quichotte; cet affront -est la peine de mon péché, et il est juste qu’un chevalier vaincu soit -piqué par les moustiques, mangé par les renards, et foulé aux pieds par -les pourceaux. - -Je n’ai rien à répliquer à cela, seigneur, dit Sancho; mais est-il juste -que les écuyers des chevaliers vaincus soient tourmentés des moustiques, -mangés des poux, dévorés par la faim? Si nous étions, nous autres -écuyers, les enfants des chevaliers que nous servons, ou leurs proches -parents, je ne m’étonnerais pas que nous fussions châtiés pour leurs -fautes, même jusqu’à la quatrième génération. Mais qu’ont à démêler les -Panza avec les don Quichotte? Enfin, prenons courage, tâchons de dormir -le reste de la nuit: il fera jour demain, et nous verrons ce qui nous -attend. - -Dors, Sancho, dors, toi qui es né pour dormir, répondit notre héros: -moi, qui suis fait pour veiller, je vais songer à mes malheurs, et -tâcher de les soulager en chantant une romance que j’ai composée la nuit -dernière, et dont je ne t’ai rien dit. - -Par ma foi, reprit Sancho, les malheurs qui n’empêchent pas de faire des -chansons, ne doivent pas être bien grands. Au reste, seigneur, chantez -tant qu’il vous plaira; moi, je vais dormir de toutes mes forces. - -Là-dessus, prenant sur la terre autant d’espace qu’il voulut, il -s’endormit d’un profond sommeil. Don Quichotte, appuyé contre un hêtre, -ou peut-être contre un liége, car cid Hamet ne dit point quel arbre -c’était, chanta ces vers en soupirant: - - Amour! amour! lorsque je pense - Au terrible tourment que tu me fais souffrir, - Je ne songe plus qu’à mourir - Pour finir enfin ma souffrance. - - Mais au point de franchir le pas - Qui me doit délivrer des peines de la vie, - Un excès de plaisir dont mon âme est ravie - Me dérobe encore au trépas. - - Ainsi ne pouvant vivre et ne sachant mourir, - J’éprouve à tous moments des angoisses mortelles, - Et le sort n’a rien à m’offrir - Qu’une vie, une mort également cruelles[128]. - - [128] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Il accompagnait chaque vers de soupirs et de larmes, comme un homme -ulcéré du sentiment de sa défaite. - -Cependant le jour parut, et les rayons du soleil donnant dans les yeux -de Sancho, il commença à s’allonger, à se tourner d’un côté, puis d’un -autre, et parvint à s’éveiller tout à fait. En voyant le désordre -qu’avaient causé les pourceaux dans son équipage, il se mit à maudire le -troupeau et ceux qui le conduisaient. Bref, nos aventuriers reprirent -leurs montures, et continuèrent leur chemin. A la nuit tombante, ils -virent venir à leur rencontre huit ou dix hommes à cheval, suivis de -cinq ou six autres à pied. Don Quichotte sentit son cœur battre, et -Sancho le sien défaillir, car ces gens portaient des lances et des -boucliers, et semblaient en équipage de guerre. Sancho, dit notre héros -en se tournant vers son écuyer, s’il m’était permis de faire usage de -mes armes, et que ma parole ne me liât point les mains, cet escadron -entier ne me ferait pas peur. Il se pourrait cependant que ce fût tout -autre chose que ce que nous pensons. - -Il parlait encore lorsqu’ils furent rejoints par les cavaliers qui, -environnant don Quichotte sans dire mot, lui mirent la pointe de leurs -lances les uns sur la poitrine, les autres contre les reins, comme pour -le menacer de mort. Un des gens à pied, le doigt posé sur la bouche, -pour montrer qu’il fallait se taire, prit Rossinante par la bride, et le -conduisit hors du chemin; ses compagnons, entourant Sancho dans un -merveilleux silence, le firent marcher du même côté. Deux ou trois fois -il prit envie au pauvre chevalier de demander ce qu’on lui voulait, et -où on le conduisait: mais dès qu’il voulait desserrer les lèvres, ses -gardes, d’un œil menaçant et faisant briller leur lance, lui fermaient -la bouche. Sancho n’en était pas quitte à si bon marché: pour peu qu’il -fît mine de vouloir parler, on le piquait avec un aiguillon, lui et son -âne, comme si l’on eût appréhendé que le grison n’eût la même envie. La -nuit venue, on doubla le pas, et la frayeur augmenta dans le cœur de -nos deux prisonniers, quand ils entendirent ces paroles: Avancez, -Troglodites; silence, barbares; souffrez, anthropophages; cessez de vous -plaindre, Scythes; fermez les yeux, Polyphèmes meurtriers, tigres -dévorants, et autres noms semblables, dont on leur assourdissait les -oreilles. - -Voilà des noms qui ne sonnent rien de bon; disait Sancho en lui-même; il -souffle un mauvais vent! et tous les maux viennent à la fois, comme au -chien les coups de bâton. Plaise à Dieu que cette rencontre ne finisse -pas de même; mais elle commence trop mal pour avoir une bonne fin. - -Don Quichotte marchait tout interdit; il ne pouvait comprendre les -injures et les reproches dont on l’accablait; et malgré ses efforts pour -trouver une explication, il jugea seulement qu’il y avait beaucoup à -craindre et peu à espérer de cette aventure. Environ à une heure de la -nuit, ils arrivèrent à la porte d’un château que don Quichotte reconnut -pour être celui du duc, où il avait séjourné quelques jours auparavant. - -Eh! que signifie tout ceci? demanda-t-il alors: n’est-ce pas dans ces -lieux où j’ai rencontré naguère tant de courtoisie? Mais pour les -vaincus tout est amertume et déception, le bien se change en mal, et le -mal en pis. - -En entrant dans la principale cour du château, ce qu’ils aperçurent -augmenta leur étonnement, et redoubla leurs frayeurs, comme on le verra -dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE LXIX - -DE LA PLUS SURPRENANTE AVENTURE QUI SOIT ARRIVÉE A DON QUICHOTTE DANS -TOUT LE COURS DE CETTE GRANDE HISTOIRE - -Les cavaliers mirent pied à terre, puis enlevant don Quichotte et Sancho -de leur selle, ils les portèrent dans la cour du château. Cent torches -brûlaient à l’entour, et plus de cinq cents lampes qui donnaient une -lumière égale à celle du plus beau jour éclairaient les galeries. Au -milieu de la cour s’élevait un catafalque haut de sept à huit pieds, -couvert d’un immense dais de velours noir, autour duquel brûlaient une -centaine de cierges de cire blanche dans des chandeliers d’argent. Sur -le catafalque était étendu le corps d’une jeune fille, si belle, qu’elle -embellissait la mort même. Sa tête, posée sur un carreau de brocart, -était couronnée d’une guirlande de fleurs diverses; dans ses mains, -croisées sur sa poitrine, elle tenait une branche de palmier. A l’un des -côtés de la cour s’élevait un espèce de théâtre, sur lequel on voyait -deux personnages, couronne en tête et sceptre à la main, tels qu’on -représente Minos et Rhadamanthe. Au pied de l’estrade, il y avait deux -siéges vides: ce fut là que les gens qui avaient arrêté don Quichotte et -Sancho les menèrent et les firent asseoir, en leur recommandant le -silence d’un air farouche; mais il n’était pas besoin de menaces, la -terreur les avait rendus muets. - -Pendant que notre chevalier regardait tout cela avec stupéfaction, ne -sachant que penser, surtout en voyant que le corps déposé sur le -catafalque était celui de la belle Altisidore, deux personnages de -distinction, que nos aventuriers reconnurent pour le duc et la duchesse, -naguère leurs hôtes, montèrent sur le théâtre et vinrent s’asseoir sur -deux riches fauteuils, auprès des deux rois couronnés. Don Quichotte et -Sancho leur firent une profonde révérence, à laquelle le noble couple -répondit en inclinant légèrement la tête. - -Un officier de justice parut alors, et s’approchant de Sancho, il le -revêtit d’une robe de boucassin noir, bariolée de flammes peintes, lui -posa sur la tête une mitre pointue, semblable à celles que portent les -condamnés du saint-office, en lui déclarant à voix basse que s’il -desserrait les dents on lui mettrait un bâillon, si même on ne le -massacrait sur la place. Ainsi affublé, Sancho se regardant des pieds à -la tête, se voyait tout couvert de flammes, mais comme il ne se sentait -point brûler, il en prit son parti. Il ôta la mitre, et la voyant -couverte de diables, il la replaça sur sa tête, en se disant à lui-même: -Puisque ni les flammes ne me brûlent ni les diables ne m’emportent, il -n’y a pas à s’inquiéter. Don Quichotte, en regardant son écuyer, ne put, -malgré toute sa frayeur, s’empêcher de rire. - -Alors, au milieu du silence général, on entendit sortir de dessous le -catafalque un agréable concert de flûtes; puis tout d’un coup, près du -coussin sur lequel reposait le cadavre se montra un beau jeune homme -vêtu à la romaine, qui, accordant sa voix avec une harpe qu’il tenait, -chanta les stances suivantes: - - Pendant que l’amoureuse et triste Altisidore - Repose en son cercueil; - Pendant que nous voyons encore - Soupirer et gémir ses compagnes en deuil, - Je vais, ainsi qu’un autre Orphée, - Chanter son mérite en mes vers, - Et pour l’apprendre à l’univers, - En informer la Renommée. - - Je ne prétends seulement pas - Le publier pendant la vie, - Je veux même après le trépas - Que, libre de mon corps, mon esprit le publie; - Qu’on sache partout ses malheurs, - Que l’univers entier en pleure, - Et jusqu’en la sombre demeure, - Que Pluton et sa cour en répandent des pleurs[129]. - - [129] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Assez, dit un des deux rois; assez, chantre divin: ce serait à n’en -jamais finir que de vouloir célébrer la mort et les attraits de -l’incomparable Altisidore. Elle n’est pas morte, comme le pense le -vulgaire ignorant, car elle vit grâce à la renommée, mais elle vit et -elle revivra, grâce surtout aux tourments que Sancho Panza, ici présent, -va endurer pour la rendre à la lumière. Ainsi donc, ô Rhadamanthe! toi -qui siéges avec moi dans les sombres cavernes du destin, toi qui connais -ce qu’ordonnent ses immuables décrets, pour que cette aimable personne -revienne à la vie, déclare-le sur-le-champ, afin que nous ne soyons pas -privés plus longtemps du bonheur que doit nous procurer son retour. - -A peine Minos eut-il cessé de parler, que Rhadamanthe se leva et dit: -Allons, ministres de justice, grands et petits, forts et faibles, vous -tous qui êtes ici, accourez, et appliquez sur le visage de Sancho Panza -vingt-quatre croquignoles, faites-lui douze pincements aux bras, et aux -reins six piqûres d’épingles, car de cela dépend la résurrection -d’Altisidore. - -Mille Satans! s’écria Sancho, je suis aussi disposé à me laisser faire -qu’à devenir Turc. Mort de ma vie! qu’a de commun ma peau avec la -résurrection de cette demoiselle! Il paraît que l’appétit vient en -mangeant. Madame Dulcinée est enchantée, il faut que je la désenchante à -coups de fouet; celle-là meurt du mal que Dieu lui envoie et il faut que -je me laisse meurtrir le visage à coups de croquignoles, et percer le -corps comme un crible pour la rappeler à la vie! A d’autres, à d’autres, -s’il vous plaît: je suis un vieux renard, et je ne m’en laisse pas -conter de la sorte. - -Tu mourras, cria Rhadamanthe d’une voix formidable; tigre, adoucis-toi, -humilie-toi, superbe; souffre et tais-toi, puisqu’on ne te demande rien -d’impossible, et surtout n’essaye pas de pénétrer le secret de cette -affaire: tu seras souffleté, tu seras égratigné, tu gémiras sous les -poignantes piqûres des épingles. Sus donc, mes fidèles ministres, qu’on -exécute ma sentence, où je vais vous montrer si je sais me faire obéir. - -Aussitôt s’avancèrent six duègnes marchant à la file; quatre portaient -des lunettes; toutes avaient la main droite levée et découverte jusqu’au -poignet, afin qu’elle parût plus longue. En les apercevant, Sancho se -mit à mugir comme un taureau. - -Non! non! dit-il. Je me laisserai bien manier et pincer par qui l’on -voudra, mais par des duègnes, jamais: qu’on m’égratigne le visage comme -les chats égratignèrent celui de mon maître dans ce même château; qu’on -me perce le corps à coups de dague; qu’on me déchiquette les bras avec -des tenailles rouges, je le souffrirai, puisqu’il le faut: mais que les -duègnes me touchent, non, mille fois non; dussent tous les diables -m’emporter. - -Résigne-toi, mon enfant, dit don Quichotte; donne contentement à ces -seigneurs, et rends grâces au ciel de t’avoir octroyé une aussi grande -vertu que celle de désenchanter les enchantées, et de ressusciter les -morts. - -Les duègnes étaient déjà près de Sancho, lorsque devenu plus traitable, -ou plutôt acceptant ce qu’il ne pouvait empêcher, il commença à -s’arranger sur son siége et tendit le visage. Une première duègne lui -appliqua une vigoureuse croquignole sur la joue et lui fit ensuite une -grande révérence. - -Trêve de civilités, madame la duègne, dit Sancho, et à l’avenir rognez -un peu mieux vos ongles. - -Bref, les six duègnes lui en donnèrent autant avec les mêmes cérémonies, -et tous les gens de la maison lui pincèrent les bras. Mais les piqûres -d’épingles lui firent perdre toute patience: à la première il se leva de -son siége, et, saisissant une torche enflammée qui se trouvait près de -lui, il fondit sur ses bourreaux, en criant de toutes ses forces: Hors -d’ici, ministres de Satan! croyez-vous que je sois de bronze pour être -insensible à un pareil supplice? - -En ce moment, Altisidore, fatiguée sans doute d’être resté si longtemps -sur le dos, se tourna sur le côté; aussitôt tous les assistants de -s’écrier: Altisidore est vivante! Altisidore est vivante! - -Rhadamanthe invita Sancho à se calmer, puisque le résultat qu’on se -proposait était obtenu. - -Quand don Quichotte vit remuer Altisidore, il se jeta à deux genoux -devant Sancho et lui dit: O mon fils! voici l’instant de t’appliquer -quelques-uns de ces coups de fouet qu’on t’a ordonnés pour le -désenchantement de Dulcinée! voici l’instant où ta vertu est en train -d’opérer: ne perds pas une minute, je t’en conjure, pour travailler à la -guérison de ma maîtresse, qui est aussi la tienne. - -Savez-vous bien, seigneur, répondit Sancho, que soie sur soie n’est pas -propre à faire bonne doublure? Comment, ce n’est pas assez d’être -souffleté, pincé et égratigné, il faut encore que je me fouette? Tenez, -seigneur, qu’on m’attache au cou une meule de moulin, et qu’on me jette -dans un puits, si pour guérir les maux d’autrui je dois être toujours le -veau de la noce. Qu’on me laisse tranquille, ou j’envoie tout au diable. - -Pendant ce temps, Altisidore s’était dressé sur son séant, et l’on -entendait le son des hautbois et des musettes, mêlé à des voix qui -criaient: Vive Altisidore! vive Altisidore! Le duc et la duchesse, Minos -et Rhadamanthe se levèrent, et tous, y compris don Quichotte et Sancho, -s’avancèrent vers elle pour l’aider à descendre du catafalque. -Altisidore fit une profonde révérence au duc, à la duchesse et aux deux -rois, puis regardant notre héros de travers: Dieu te le pardonne, lui -dit-elle, insensible chevalier dont la cruauté m’a envoyée dans l’autre -monde où je suis restée, à ce qu’il me semble, un long siècle. Quant à -toi, ô le plus compatissant des écuyers! ajouta-t-elle en se tournant -vers Sancho, je te rends grâces de mon retour à la vie; reçois en -récompense d’un si grand service six de mes chemises dont tu pourras en -faire six autres pour ton usage; si elles ne sont pas en très-bon état, -au moins puis-je t’assurer qu’elles sont fort propres. - -Sancho, ayant ôté sa mitre, mit un genou en terre et lui baisa la main -en signe de reconnaissance. Le duc ordonna qu’on rendît à Sancho son -chaperon et son pourpoint, et qu’on lui ôtât la robe semée de flammes; -mais notre écuyer le supplia de permettre qu’il emportât chez lui la -robe et la mitre, disant qu’il voulait les conserver en souvenir d’une -aventure si étrange. La duchesse répondit qu’on les lui abandonnait -volontiers. - -Le duc fit débarrasser la cour de tout cet attirail; chacun se retira, -puis on conduisit nos deux aventuriers à leur ancien appartement. - -CHAPITRE LXX - -QUI TRAITE DE CHOSES FORT IMPORTANTES POUR L’INTELLIGENCE DE CETTE -HISTOIRE - -Sancho coucha cette nuit-là sur un lit de camp qu’on lui avait dressé -dans la chambre du chevalier; ce qu’il aurait voulu éviter, se doutant -bien que de questions en réponses et de réponses en questions, son -maître ne lui laisserait pas un moment de repos, et il eût de bon cœur -donné quelque chose pour coucher seul sous une hutte de berger plutôt -que dans ce riche appartement. - -En effet, le pauvre diable ne fut pas plus tôt au lit, que don Quichotte -l’interpella: Que te semble, ami Sancho, lui dit-il, de l’aventure de -cette nuit? Comprend-on la force et la violence d’un désespoir amoureux! -Car, enfin, tu as vu de tes propres yeux Altisidore tuée, non par une -arme meurtrière ni par l’action mortelle du poison, mais uniquement par -l’indifférence que je lui ai montrée. - -Qu’elle fût morte, à la bonne heure, répondit Sancho, mais au moins elle -aurait dû me laisser tranquille, moi qui de ma vie ne l’ai ni enflammée -ni dédaignée; qu’a de commun la guérison de cette Altisidore avec le -martyre de Sancho Panza? C’est maintenant que je reconnais qu’il y a des -enchanteurs et des enchantements dans ce monde: Dieu veuille m’en -délivrer, puisque je ne sais pas m’en garantir. Mais, de grâce, -seigneur, laissez-moi dormir, si vous ne voulez pas que je me jette par -la fenêtre. - -Dors, Sancho, dors, mon enfant, reprit don Quichotte, si toutefois tes -chiquenaudes et tes piqûres te le permettent. - -N’était l’affront de les avoir reçus de ces duègnes, je me moquerais -bien des pincements et des piqûres, répliqua Sancho. Mais encore une -fois, seigneur, laissez-moi dormir. - -Ainsi soit-il, dit don Quichotte, et que Dieu soit avec toi. - -Ils s’endormirent tous deux, et cid Hamed Ben-Engeli profite de ce répit -pour nous apprendre ce qui avait engagé le duc à imaginer la plaisante -cérémonie que nous venons de raconter. Carrasco, dit-il, conservait un -amer souvenir de la culbute que lui avait fait faire don Quichotte en le -désarçonnant comme chevalier des Miroirs; aussi était-il résolu à une -nouvelle tentative aussitôt qu’il en trouverait l’occasion. S’étant donc -informé près du page qui avait porté la lettre de la duchesse à Thérèse -Panza du lieu où se trouvait notre héros, il se procura un cheval et des -armes, et se mit en route avec un mulet chargé de son équipage que -conduisait un paysan qui lui servait d’écuyer. En arrivant chez le duc, -il sut le départ de don Quichotte, et le chemin qu’il avait pris dans le -dessein de se trouver aux joutes de Saragosse. Le duc raconta à Carrasco -les tours que l’on avait joués à notre chevalier, sans oublier le -désenchantement de Dulcinée, qui devait s’opérer aux dépens du pauvre -Sancho; il lui raconta aussi la malice de l’écuyer qui avait fait -accroire à son maître que Dulcinée était enchantée et transformée en -paysanne, mais comment la duchesse lui avait persuadé que c’était lui -qui se trompait. Tout cela fit beaucoup rire le bachelier, qui se remit -immédiatement à la recherche de notre héros, et promit au duc de lui -faire savoir l’issue de l’entreprise. Ne le trouvant pas à Saragosse, -Carrasco poussa plus avant, et le rencontra à Barcelone, où il eut sa -revanche, comme nous l’avons dit. Il revint tout conter au duc, regagna -promptement son village, où don Quichotte ne devait pas tarder de le -rejoindre. Voilà ce qui avait fourni au duc l’idée de cette -mystification, tant il se plaisait dans la compagnie de deux fous si -divertissants. - -Un grand nombre de ses gens, tant à pied qu’à cheval, se postèrent donc -aux environs du château et sur tous les chemins par où l’on pouvait -penser que passeraient nos aventuriers. On les rencontra, en effet, et -incontinent le duc en fut informé. Comme tout était déjà préparé, on -n’eut qu’à allumer les torches; Altisidore s’étendit sur le catafalque -avec l’appareil qu’on vient de décrire, et tout réussit admirablement. -Cid Hamet ajoute que pour lui il croit que les mystificateurs n’étaient -guère moins fous que les mystifiés, et qu’il ne saurait penser autre -chose du duc et de la duchesse, qui employaient ainsi leur esprit à se -jouer de deux pauvres cervelles. - -Le jour surprit don Quichotte et Sancho, l’un ronflant de toutes ses -forces, l’autre complétement absorbé dans ses rêveries ordinaires. - -Comme don Quichotte se disposait à se lever, car vaincu ou vainqueur il -fut toujours ennemi de la paresse, Altisidore, la tête ornée de la même -guirlande que la veille, vêtue d’une robe de satin blanc à fleurs d’or, -les cheveux épars sur les épaules, et s’appuyant sur un bâton d’ébène, -entra tout à coup dans la chambre du chevalier qui, troublé et confus, -s’enfonça sous sa couverture sans pouvoir articuler un seul mot. -Altisidore s’assit sur une chaise, à son chevet, et après un grand -soupir, elle lui dit à voix basse et d’un air tendre: Quand les dames de -qualité et les modestes jeunes filles foulent aux pieds la honte, et -permettent à leur langue de découvrir les secrets de leur cœur, c’est -qu’elles se trouvent réduites à une bien cruelle extrémité; eh bien, -moi, seigneur don Quichotte, je suis une de ces femmes, pressée par la -passion, vaincue par l’amour, et cependant chaste à ce point, que pour -cacher mon martyre, il m’en a coûté la vie. Il y a deux jours, -insensible chevalier, que la seule pensée de ton indifférence m’a mise -au tombeau, ou du moins fait juger morte par ceux qui m’entouraient; et -si, prenant pitié de mes peines, l’amour n’eût trouvé un remède dans le -martyre de ce bon écuyer, je restais à jamais dans l’autre monde. - -Par ma foi, dit Sancho, l’amour aurait bien pu faire à mon âne l’honneur -qu’il m’a fait, je lui en aurais su beaucoup de gré. Dieu veuille, -madame, vous envoyer à l’avenir un amant plus traitable que mon maître! -Mais, dites-moi, qu’avez-vous vu dans l’autre monde? et qu’est-ce que -c’est que cet enfer dont ceux qui meurent volontairement sont obligés de -prendre le chemin. - -A dire vrai, répondit Altisidore, je doute fort que je fusse morte tout -de bon, puisque je ne suis point entrée en enfer: car une fois dedans, -il m’aurait bien fallu y rester. Je suis allé seulement jusqu’à la -porte, et là j’ai trouvé une douzaine de démons en hauts-de-chausses et -en pourpoint, avec des collets à la wallonne, garnis de dentelle, qui -tous jouaient à la paume avec des raquettes de feu. Une chose me surprit -étrangement: c’est qu’en guise de balles ils se servaient de livres -enflés de vent et remplis de bourre. Mais ce qui m’étonna beaucoup -aussi, ce fut de voir que, contre l’ordinaire des joueurs, qui tantôt -sont tristes, tantôt sont joyeux, ceux-là grondaient toujours, -pestaient, et s’envoyaient mille malédictions. - -Il n’y a pas là de quoi s’étonner, dit Sancho; les diables, qu’ils -jouent ou qu’ils ne jouent pas, qu’ils gagnent ou qu’ils perdent, ne -peuvent jamais être contents. - -J’en demeure d’accord, répondit Altisidore; mais une chose qui me parut -encore plus étonnante, c’est que d’un seul coup de raquette ils -mettaient la balle dans un tel état, qu’elle ne pouvait plus servir, si -bien qu’ils firent voler en pièces tant de livres vieux et nouveaux, que -c’était merveille. Il y en eut un, entre autres, tout flambant neuf, qui -reçut un si rude coup que toutes les feuilles s’éparpillèrent. «Quel est -ce livre? demanda un des diables. C’est la seconde partie de don -Quichotte de la Manche, répondit son voisin; non pas son histoire -composée par cid Hamet, mais celle que nous a donné certain Aragonais -qu’on dit natif de Tordesillas. Emporte-la, dit le premier démon, et -jette-la au fond des abîmes; qu’elle ne paraisse jamais devant moi. -Est-elle donc si détestable? dit l’autre démon. Si détestable, répliqua -le premier, que si je voulais en faire une semblable, je n’en viendrais -jamais à bout.» Ils continuèrent à peloter avec d’autres livres; et moi, -pour avoir entendu seulement le nom de don Quichotte, que j’aime avec -tant d’ardeur, j’ai voulu retenir cette vision, et je ne l’oublierai -plus. - -Vision ce dut être, en effet, répliqua notre héros, car il n’y a point -un second moi-même dans le monde; cette histoire dont vous parlez passe -ici de main en main, mais elle ne s’arrête en aucune, et partout on la -repousse du pied. Pour moi, je ne suis nullement fâché d’apprendre que -je me promène, semblable à un corps fantastique, au milieu des ténèbres -de l’abîme et à la clarté du jour, n’ayant rien de commun avec le don -Quichotte dont parle cette histoire. Si elle est bonne et véridique, -elle aura des siècles de vie; si au contraire elle est fausse et -menteuse, de sa naissance à son enterrement le chemin ne sera pas long. - -Altisidore allait continuer ses doléances, quand don Quichotte la -prévint: je vous l’ai dit maintes fois, mademoiselle, j’éprouve un grand -déplaisir que vous ayez jeté les yeux sur moi, car je ne puis payer -votre affection qu’avec de la reconnaissance. Je suis né pour appartenir -à Dulcinée du Toboso; c’est à elle que le destin m’a réservé. S’imaginer -qu’une autre beauté puisse prendre dans mon cœur la place qu’elle -occupe, c’est rêver l’impossible. Ces quelques mots suffiront, j’en ai -l’espoir, pour vous désabuser et pour vous faire rentrer dans les bornes -de la modestie. - -Ame de mortier, double tigre, plus dur et plus têtu qu’un vilain quand -il se croit sûr d’avoir l’avantage, s’écria Altisidore, feignant une -grande colère, je ne sais qui m’empêche de t’arracher les yeux! Tu -t’imagines, peut-être, don nigaud, don vaincu, don roué de coups de -bâton, que je me suis laissée mourir d’amour pour ta maigre figure: non, -non, Altisidore n’est pas assez sotte pour cela. Tout ce que tu as vu -la nuit dernière n’était qu’une feinte. Je ne suis pas fille à me -désespérer pour un animal de ton espèce, et bien loin d’en mourir, je ne -voudrais pas qu’il m’en coûtât seulement une larme. - -Pardieu, je le crois volontiers, dit Sancho, tous ces morts d’amoureux -sont autant de plaisanteries; ils assurent toujours qu’ils vont se tuer, -mais du diable s’ils en font rien! - -En ce moment entra le musicien qui avait chanté les deux stances -précédemment rapportées. Que Votre Grâce, seigneur chevalier, dit-il en -faisant un profond salut à don Quichotte, veuille bien me compter au -nombre de ses plus fidèles serviteurs. Depuis longtemps j’ai pour vous -une grande affection et je vous ai voué une estime toute particulière, -tant à cause de vos nombreuses prouesses que de la gloire qu’elles vous -ont acquise. - -Que Votre Grâce, seigneur, daigne m’apprendre qui elle est, répondit don -Quichotte, afin que je proportionne mes remercîments à son mérite. - -Le musicien répondit qu’il était le panégyriste d’Altisidore, celui qui -avait chanté des vers à sa louange. - -Vous avez une bien belle voix, repartit don Quichotte, mais ce que vous -chantiez n’était guère à sa place: quel rapport peut-il y avoir entre -les stances de Garcilasso et la mort de cette demoiselle? - -Que cela ne vous étonne pas, seigneur, répliqua le musicien; il est de -mode parmi les poëtes à la douzaine de ce temps-ci, et même parmi les -plus habiles, d’écrire ce qui leur passe par la tête et de voler ce qui -leur convient. Cela n’empêche pas leurs ouvrages d’être bien accueillis, -et leurs plus grandes sottises de passer pour licences poétiques. - -Don Quichotte s’apprêtait à répondre, mais il en fut empêché par -l’arrivée du duc et de la duchesse. Alors une longue conversation -s’engagea, dans laquelle Sancho débita tant de drôleries et de malices, -que ses nobles hôtes ne cessaient d’admirer un si curieux mélange de -finesse et de simplicité. Notre héros supplia Leurs Excellences de lui -permettre de les quitter le jour même, disant qu’à un chevalier vaincu -tel que lui, il convenait mieux d’habiter une étable à pourceaux qu’un -palais de prince. Ses hôtes accédèrent de bonne grâce à sa demande. - -La duchesse lui ayant demandé s’il ne gardait pas rancune à Altisidore: -Madame, répondit-il, tout le mal de cette jeune fille prend sa source -dans l’oisiveté; une occupation honnête et soutenue en sera le remède. -Elle vient de me dire qu’en enfer on porte de la dentelle; je dois -supposer qu’elle connaît ce genre d’ouvrage; eh bien, que sa main ne -quitte pas les fuseaux, et elle finira par oublier celui qui a troublé -son repos. Tel est mon avis et mon conseil. - -C’est aussi le mien, ajouta Sancho; on n’a jamais vu mourir d’amour une -faiseuse de dentelle, et lorsque les filles sont occupées, elles songent -moins à l’amour qu’à leur ouvrage. J’en parle par expérience: car -lorsque je suis à piocher aux champs, j’oublie jusqu’à ma ménagère -elle-même, je veux dire ma Thérèse; et pourtant je l’aime comme la -prunelle de mes yeux. - -Fort bien, Sancho, répondit la duchesse. Désormais Altisidore tournera -le fuseau; d’ailleurs, elle s’y entend à merveille. - -Il n’en sera pas besoin, madame, répondit Altisidore; le seul souvenir -de l’ingratitude de ce malandrin vagabond me guérira; et avec la -permission de Votre Grandeur, je me retire pour ne pas voir davantage sa -maigre et désagréable figure. - -Cela me rappelle, reprit le duc, ce qu’on dit souvent: Qui s’emporte et -éclate en injures, est bien près de pardonner. - -Altisidore feignit de s’essuyer les yeux, et après avoir fait une grande -révérence elle sortit. - -Pauvre fille! dit Sancho, elle mérite bien ce qu’elle a; aussi pourquoi -va-t-elle s’adresser à une âme sèche comme un jonc? Mort de ma vie! si -elle s’était tournée de mon côté, elle aurait entendu chanter un autre -coq. - -La conversation terminée, Don Quichotte s’habilla, et, après avoir dîné -avec ses hôtes, il se mit en route. - -CHAPITRE LXXI - -OU SANCHO SE MET EN DEVOIR DE DÉSENCHANTER DULCINÉE - -Moitié triste, moitié joyeux, s’en allait le vaincu don Quichotte; -triste à cause de sa défaite, joyeux à cause de la vertu merveilleuse -qui s’était révélée dans son écuyer par la résurrection d’Altisidore; -quoiqu’à vrai dire il eût conçu quelque doute touchant la mort de -l’amoureuse demoiselle. Quant à Sancho, toute sa tristesse venait de ce -qu’Altisidore ne lui avait pas donné cette demi-douzaine de chemises -qu’il avait si bien gagnée. - -En vérité, seigneur, dit-il à son maître, il faut que je sois un bien -malheureux médecin: la plupart tuent leurs malades et n’en sont pas -moins grassement payés de leur peine, laquelle souvent ne consiste qu’à -signer quelque ordonnance qu’exécute l’apothicaire (et tant pis pour la -pauvre dupe); tandis que moi, à qui la santé d’autrui coûte des -croquignoles, des pincements, des coups de fouet, on ne me donne pas -seulement une obole. Je jure qu’à l’avenir, si on m’amène quelque -malade, il faudra d’abord me graisser la patte; le moine vit de ce qu’il -chante, et si Dieu m’accorde la vertu que je possède, c’est pour en -tirer pied ou aile. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, et Altisidore a eu tort de -ne pas tenir sa parole; car, bien que la vertu que tu possèdes ne t’ait -coûté aucune étude, ce que tu as souffert est pire qu’étudier. Quant à -moi, je puis t’assurer une chose, c’est que si tu voulais une -récompense pour les coups de fouet que tu as promis de t’appliquer afin -de désenchanter Dulcinée, je te la donnerais si bonne que tu aurais lieu -d’être satisfait. Je ne sais trop si la guérison suivrait le salaire, et -je ne voudrais pas contrarier l’effet du remède en le payant d’avance; -cependant faisons-en l’épreuve. Voyons, Sancho, combien exiges-tu pour -te fouetter sur l’heure; l’affaire finie, tu te payeras par tes mains -sur l’argent que tu as à moi. - -Ces paroles firent ouvrir les yeux et dresser les oreilles à Sancho, qui -à l’instant résolut d’en finir avec le désenchantement de Dulcinée. -Allons, seigneur, dit-il, il faut vous donner satisfaction: mon amour -pour ma femme et mes enfants me fait songer à leur avantage, bien que ce -soit aux dépens de ma peau. Or çà, combien m’accorderez-vous pour chaque -coup de fouet? - -Si la récompense devait égaler la nature et la grandeur du service, -répondit don Quichotte, le trésor de Venise et les mines du Potose ne -suffiraient pas; mais calcule d’après ce que tu portes dans ma bourse, -et mets toi-même le prix à chaque coup. - -Il y a, repartit Sancho, trois mille trois cents et tant de coups de -fouet; je m’en suis déjà donné cinq; que ceux-ci passent pour ce qui -excède les trois mille trois cents, et calculons sur le reste. A un -cuartillo la pièce, et je n’en rabattrais pas un maravédis, fût-ce pour -le pape, ce sont trois mille cuartillos, qui font quinze cents -demi-réaux, ou sept cent cinquante réaux; pour les trois cents autres, -je compte cent cinquante demi-réaux ou soixante-quinze réaux, lesquels -ajoutés aux sept cent cinquante, font en tout huit cent vingt cinq -réaux. Je retiendrai cette somme sur l’argent que j’ai à Votre Grâce, et -je rentrerai chez moi content, quoique bien fouetté; mais on ne prend -pas de truites sans se mouiller les chausses. - -O mon cher Sancho! s’écria don Quichotte, ô mon aimable Sancho! à quelle -reconnaissance, Dulcinée et moi, nous allons être tenus envers toi pour -le reste de tes jours. Si la pauvre dame se retrouve jamais dans son -premier état, sa disgrâce aura été un bonheur, et ma défaite un -véritable triomphe. Voyons, mon fils, quand veux-tu commencer? Afin de -te donner du courage, et que tu finisses plus vite, j’ajoute encore cent -réaux. - -Quand? répliqua Sancho; cette nuit même; seulement, faites en sorte que -nous couchions en rase campagne, et vous verrez si je sais m’étriller. - -Elle arriva enfin cette nuit que don Quichotte appelait avec tant -d’impatience. Il lui semblait que les roues du char d’Apollon s’étaient -brisées, et que le jour s’allongeait plus que de coutume, comme cela -arrive aux amoureux qui toujours voudraient voir marcher le temps selon -leurs désirs. Enfin, nos deux aventuriers entrèrent dans un bosquet -d’arbres touffus un peu éloignés du chemin; puis, ayant dessellé -Rossinante et débâté le grison, ils s’étendirent sur l’herbe et -soupèrent avec ce qui se trouvait dans le bissac. - -Lorsque Sancho eut bien mangé, il voulut tenir sa promesse: prenant donc -le licou et une sangle du bât de son âne, il s’éloigna d’une vingtaine -de pas, et s’établit au milieu de quelques hêtres. - -Mon enfant, lui dit son maître en le voyant partir d’un air si résolu, -je t’en conjure, prends garde de ne pas te mettre en pièces: fais qu’un -coup attende l’autre, ne te presse pas tellement d’arriver au but que -l’haleine vienne à te manquer au milieu de la carrière: en un mot, ne te -frappe pas à ce point que la vie t’échappe avant que la pénitence soit -achevée. Et afin que tu ne perdes pas la partie pour un coup de plus ou -de moins, je vais me tenir ici près, et les compter sur mon rosaire. -Courage, mon ami, que le ciel seconde tes bonnes intentions et les rende -efficaces. - -Un bon payeur ne craint point de donner des gages, dit Sancho, et je -m’en vais m’étriller de telle façon que, sans me tuer, il ne laissera -pas de m’en cuire, car je pense que c’est en cela que doit consister la -vertu du remède. - -Cela dit, Sancho se dépouille de la ceinture en haut, et se met en -devoir de se fouetter, tandis que don Quichotte comptait les coups. Il -s’en était à peine appliqué sept ou huit, qu’il commença à se dégoûter, -et trouvant la charge trop pesante pour le prix: Par ma foi, seigneur, -dit-il, j’en appelle comme d’abus, ces coups-là valent chacun un -demi-réal et non un cuartillo. - -Courage, ami Sancho, courage, reprit don Quichotte; qu’à cela ne tienne, -je double la somme. - -A la bonne heure, dit Sancho; à présent les coups de fouet vont tomber -comme grêle. - -Mais au lieu de s’en donner sur les épaules, le sournois se mit à -frapper contre les arbres, poussant de temps à autre de grands soupirs, -comme s’il eût été près de rendre l’âme. Don Quichotte, craignant que -son fidèle écuyer n’y laissât la vie et que son imprudence ne vînt à -tout perdre, lui cria: Arrête, mon ami, arrête! Comme tu y vas; le -remède me paraît un peu rude, il sera bon d’y revenir à deux fois; on -n’a pas pris Zamora en une heure[130]. Si j’ai bien compté, voilà plus -de mille coups que tu viens de te donner; c’est assez quant à présent: -l’âne, comme on dit, peut porter la charge, mais non la surcharge. - - [130] Ville du royaume de Léon qu’Arabes et chrétiens se disputèrent - longtemps. - -Non, non, seigneur, repartit Sancho, il ne sera jamais dit de moi: Gages -payés, bras cassés. Que Votre Grâce s’éloigne un peu, et je vais m’en -donner encore un mille. En deux temps, l’affaire sera terminée, il y -aura même bonne mesure. - -Puisque tu es en si bonne disposition, dit don Quichotte, fais à ta -fantaisie, je vais m’éloigner. - -Sancho reprit sa tâche, et avec une telle énergie que bientôt il n’y eut -plus autour de lui un seul arbre auquel il restât un lambeau d’écorce. -Enfin, poussant un grand cri et frappant de toute sa force un dernier -coup contre un hêtre: _Ici_, dit-il, _mourra Samson, et tous ceux qui -avec lui sont_. - -A ce coup terrible et à ce cri lamentable, don Quichotte accourut: A -Dieu ne plaise, mon fils, dit-il en lui arrachant l’instrument de son -supplice, à Dieu ne plaise que pour me faire plaisir il t’en coûte la -vie; elle est trop nécessaire à ta femme et à tes enfants; que Dulcinée -attende encore un peu; quant à moi, je m’entretiendrai d’espérance, -jusqu’à ce que tu aies repris de nouvelles forces. De cette manière, -tout le monde sera content. - -Puisque Votre Grâce l’exige, je le veux bien, répondit Sancho: -seulement, jetez-moi votre manteau sur les épaules; car je suis tout en -eau, et je pourrais me refroidir, comme cela arrive aux nouveaux -pénitents. - -Don Quichotte lui donna son manteau, et demeura en justaucorps. - -Notre compagnon dormit jusqu’au jour, après quoi tous deux se mirent en -route. Au bout d’environ trois heures de marche ils arrivèrent à une -hôtellerie que don Quichotte reconnut pour telle, et non pour un château -avec fossés et pont-levis, ainsi qu’il avait coutume de le faire; car -depuis sa défaite, il semblait que la raison lui fût revenue, comme on -va le voir désormais. On logea notre héros dans une salle basse où, -selon la mode des villages, il y avait en guise de rideaux deux vieilles -serges peintes: l’une représentait le rapt d’Hélène, quand Pâris, -violant l’hospitalité, l’enleva à Ménélas; sur l’autre était l’histoire -de Didon et d’Énée: la reine, montée sur une tour, agitait sa ceinture -pour rappeler l’infidèle amant qui fuyait à voiles déployées. Don -Quichotte remarqua qu’Hélène ne paraissait nullement fâchée de la -violence qu’on lui faisait, car elle riait sous cape. Didon, au -contraire, était toute éplorée; et le peintre, de crainte qu’on ne s’en -aperçût pas, avait sillonné ses joues de larmes aussi grosses que des -noisettes. - -Ces deux dames, dit notre héros, furent bien malheureuses de n’être pas -nées dans mon temps, et moi plus malheureux encore de n’être pas né dans -le leur: si j’avais rencontré ces galants-là, Troie n’aurait pas été -embrasée, ni Carthage détruite, car la seule mort de Pâris aurait -prévenu tous ces désastres. - -Je gagerais, dit Sancho, que d’ici à peu de temps on ne trouvera pas de -taverne, d’hôtellerie ou de boutique de barbier où l’on ne trouve en -peinture l’histoire de nos prouesses; mais du moins faudrait-il que ce -fût par un meilleur peintre que le barbouilleur qui a portraité ces -dames. - -Tu as raison, reprit don Quichotte; car ce peintre me rappelle celui -d’Ubeda[131], qui, lorsqu’on lui demandait ce qu’il peignait: Nous le -verrons tout à l’heure, répondait-il; et si c’était quelque chose qui -approchât d’un coq, il écrivait au-dessous: «Ceci est un coq,» afin -qu’on ne pût s’y tromper. - - [131] Cervantes a déjà raconté cette histoire dans un des premiers - chapitres de cette seconde partie, page 306. - -Je jurerais bien, dit Sancho, que l’Aragonais qui a composé notre -histoire n’en savait guère davantage; sa plume a marché au hasard, et il -en est résulté ce qu’il aura plu à Dieu. - -Il ressemble aussi beaucoup, ajouta don Quichotte, à ce poëte appelé -Mauléon, qu’on voyait il y a quelque temps à la cour: ce Mauléon se -vantait de répondre sur-le-champ à toutes sortes de questions, et -répondait tout de travers. Mais laissons cela; dis-moi, Sancho, dans le -cas où il te plairait d’achever cette nuit ta pénitence, veux-tu que ce -soit en rase campagne ou à couvert? - -Pardieu, seigneur, répondit Sancho, pour les coups que je songe à -m’appliquer, il importe peu où je me les donne; pourtant j’aimerais -mieux que ce fût dans un bois; j’aime beaucoup les arbres, et je crois -qu’ils me procurent du soulagement. - -Eh bien, mon ami, répliqua don Quichotte, afin que tu reprennes des -forces, nous réserverons cela pour notre village, où nous arriverons au -plus tard après-demain. - -Comme il vous plaira, seigneur, vous êtes le maître; mais si vous -vouliez m’en croire, j’expédierais la chose et je battrais le fer -pendant qu’il est chaud: il fait bon moudre quand la meule vient d’être -repiquée; lorsqu’on est en haleine, on marche mieux, et l’occasion -perdue ne se retrouve pas toujours; un tiens vaut mieux que deux tu -auras, et moineau dans la main que grue qui vole. - -Halte-là, interrompit don Quichotte; le voilà encore lancé dans les -proverbes. Que ne parles-tu simplement et sans raffiner, comme je te -l’ai recommandé tant de fois? tu verrais que tu t’en trouverais bien. - -Je ne sais quelle malédiction pèse sur moi, repartit Sancho; je ne puis -dire une raison sans y joindre un proverbe, ni dire un proverbe qui ne -me semble une raison. Cependant, je tâcherai de me corriger. Là finit -leur entretien. - -CHAPITRE LXXII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE ET SANCHO ARRIVÈRENT A LEUR VILLAGE - -Don Quichotte et Sancho passèrent tout le jour dans cette hôtellerie, -attendant la nuit, l’un pour achever sa pénitence, l’autre pour en voir -la fin, qui était aussi celle de ses désirs. Pendant ce temps, un -gentilhomme suivi de trois ou quatre domestiques vint y descendre, et -l’un de ces derniers dit en s’adressant à celui qui paraissait être son -maître: Votre Grâce, seigneur don Alvaro Tarfé, peut s’arrêter ici pour -faire la sieste; l’endroit me paraît convenable. - -A ce nom, don Quichotte regarda Sancho: Ne te souvient-il pas, lui -dit-il, quand je feuilletai cette seconde partie de mon histoire, que -j’y rencontrai ce nom de don Alvaro Tarfé? - -Cela peut être, répondit Sancho; laissons-le descendre de cheval, nous -le questionnerons ensuite. - -Le gentilhomme mit pied à terre, et l’hôtesse lui donna une chambre en -face de celle de don Quichotte, ornée pareillement de rideaux de serge -peinte. Après avoir revêtu un costume d’été, l’inconnu se rendit sous le -portail de l’auberge, qui était frais et spacieux, et y trouva notre -chevalier se promenant de long en large. Seigneur, lui dit-il, peut-on -savoir où se rend Votre Grâce? - -A un village près d’ici où je demeure, répondit don Quichotte; et Votre -Grâce, où va-t-elle? - -Moi, repartit le cavalier, je vais à Grenade, ma patrie. - -Excellent pays, dit don Quichotte. Mais, seigneur, quel est, je vous -prie, le nom de Votre Grâce? le cœur me dit que j’ai quelque intérêt à -le savoir. - -Je m’appelle don Alvaro Tarfé, répondit le cavalier. - -En ce cas, seigneur, dit notre héros, serait-ce vous dont il est parlé -dans la seconde partie de l’histoire de don Quichotte de la Manche, que -certain auteur a fait imprimer depuis peu? - -C’est moi-même, répondit le cavalier, et ce don Quichotte, qui est le -héros du livre, était fort de mes amis. C’est moi qui le tirai de chez -lui, ou qui du moins lui inspirai le dessein de venir aux joutes de -Saragosse où j’allais moi-même, et en vérité il m’a quelques -obligations, mais une surtout, c’est que je l’ai empêché d’avoir les -épaules flagellées par la main du bourreau à cause de ses insolences. - -Dites-moi, seigneur don Alvaro, continua notre chevalier, est-ce que -j’ai quelque ressemblance avec ce don Quichotte dont parle Votre Grâce? - -Non assurément, répondit le voyageur. - -Et ce don Quichotte, ajouta notre chevalier, avait-il un écuyer appelé -Sancho Panza? - -Oui, répondit don Alvaro, cet écuyer passait pour être fort plaisant, -mais je ne l’ai jamais entendu rien dire de bon. - -Oh! je le crois bien, dit Sancho; plaisanter d’une manière agréable -n’est pas donné à tout le monde. Ce Sancho dont vous parlez, seigneur, -doit être quelque grand vaurien; mais le véritable Sancho, c’est moi, et -je débite des plaisanteries comme s’il en pleuvait. Sinon faites-en -l’épreuve, que Votre Grâce me suive pendant toute une année, et à chaque -pas vous verrez qu’il m’en sort de la bouche en si grande abondance, que -je fais rire tous ceux qui m’écoutent, sans savoir le plus souvent ce -que je dis. Quant au véritable don Quichotte de la Manche, le fameux, le -vaillant, le sage, le père des orphelins, le défenseur des veuves, le -meurtrier des demoiselles, celui enfin qui a pour unique dame de ses -pensées la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, c’est mon maître que voilà -devant vous. Tout autre don Quichotte et tout autre Sancho Panza sont -autant de mensonges. - -Pardieu, mon ami, je le crois sans peine, répliqua don Alvaro, en quatre -paroles vous venez de dire plus de bonnes choses, que l’autre Sancho -dans tous ses longs bavardages. Il sentait bien plus le glouton que -l’homme d’esprit, et je commence à croire que les enchanteurs qui -persécutent le véritable don Quichotte, ont voulu me persécuter, moi -aussi, avec son méchant homonyme. En vérité je ne sais que penser: car -j’ai laissé, il y a peu de jours, ce dernier enfermé dans l’hôpital des -fous à Tolède, et j’en rencontre ici un autre qui, à la vérité, ne lui -ressemble en rien. - -Pour mon compte, reprit don Quichotte, je ne vous dirai pas que je suis -le bon, mais je puis au moins affirmer que je ne suis pas le mauvais, et -pour preuve, seigneur don Alvaro, apprenez que de ma vie je n’ai été à -Saragosse. C’est justement pour avoir entendu dire que le faux don -Quichotte s’était trouvé aux joutes de cette ville, que je n’ai pas -voulu y mettre le pied. Aussi, afin de donner un démenti à l’auteur, -j’ai gagné tout droit Barcelone, ville unique par son site et sa beauté, -mère de la courtoisie, refuge des étrangers, retraite des pauvres, -patrie des braves; le lieu de toute l’Europe où l’on peut le plus -aisément lier une amitié constante et sincère. Quoique les choses qui -m’y sont arrivées, loin d’être agréables, aient été pour la plupart, au -contraire, fâcheuses et déplaisantes, je n’en ai pas moins une joie -extrême de l’avoir vue, et cela me fait oublier tout le reste. Bref, -seigneur don Alvaro, je suis ce même don Quichotte dont la renommée -s’est occupée si souvent, et non ce misérable qui usurpe mon nom et se -fait honneur de mes idées. Maintenant j’ai une grâce à vous demander, et -cette grâce la voici: c’est que, par-devant l’alcade de ce village, vous -fassiez une déclaration valable et authentique, que jusqu’à cette heure -vous ne m’aviez jamais vu, et que je ne suis point le don Quichotte dont -il est parlé dans cette seconde partie imprimée depuis peu; enfin, que -Sancho Panza, mon écuyer, n’est point celui que Votre Grâce a connu. - -Très-volontiers, seigneur don Quichotte, répondit don Alvaro, et je vous -donnerai de bon cœur cette satisfaction, quoiqu’il soit assez -surprenant de voir en même temps deux don Quichotte et deux Sancho -Panza, qui se disent du même pays et sont si différents de visages, -d’actions et de manières. Je doute presque de ce que j’ai vu; et peu -s’en faut que je ne croie avoir fait un rêve. - -Sans doute que Votre Grâce est enchantée, tout comme madame Dulcinée, -dit Sancho. Et plût à Dieu qu’il ne fallût pour vous désenchanter que -m’appliquer trois autres mille coups de fouet, comme je me les suis -donnés pour elle; par ma foi, ce serait bientôt expédié, et il ne vous -en coûterait rien. - -Qu’est-ce que ces coups de fouet? demanda don Alvaro; je ne comprends -pas ce que vous voulez dire. - -Oh! seigneur, répondit Sancho, cela serait trop long à raconter; mais si -nous voyageons ensemble, je vous le dirai en chemin. - -L’heure du souper arriva, don Alvaro et don Quichotte se mirent à table. -Bientôt après l’alcade du lieu étant survenu, accompagné d’un greffier, -don Quichotte le requit de dresser acte de la déclaration que faisait le -seigneur don Alvaro Tarfé, déclaration dans laquelle il affirmait ne -point reconnaître don Quichotte de la Manche, ici présent, comme étant -celui dont il avait lu l’histoire imprimée sous le titre de seconde -partie de don Quichotte de la Manche, composée par un certain Avellaneda -de Tordesillas. L’alcade procéda judiciairement, et la déclaration fut -reçue dans les formes voulues; ce qui réjouit fort nos chercheurs -d’aventures, comme s’il eût été besoin d’un pareil acte pour faire -éclater la différence qu’il y avait entre les deux don Quichotte et les -deux Sancho, et qu’elle ne fût pas assez marquée par leurs actions et -leurs paroles. - -Don Alvaro et son nouvel ami échangèrent mille politesses et mille -offres de services; et notre chevalier déploya tant d’esprit, que le -gentilhomme finit par se croire réellement enchanté, puisqu’il avait vu -deux don Quichotte qui se ressemblaient si peu. Sur le soir, ils -partirent tous ensemble, et chemin faisant notre héros apprit à don -Alvaro l’issue de sa rencontre avec le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, -ainsi que l’enchantement de Dulcinée, sans oublier le remède enseigné -par Merlin. Bref, après s’être fait de nouveaux compliments et s’être -embrassés, ils se séparèrent. - -Don Quichotte passa encore cette nuit-là dans un bois, pour donner à -Sancho le loisir d’achever sa pénitence, ce que l’astucieux écuyer -accomplit aux dépens des arbres plus que de ses épaules, qu’il sut si -bien ménager que les coups de fouet n’auraient pu en faire envoler une -mouche qui s’y serait posée. Le confiant chevalier n’omit pas un seul -coup, et trouva qu’avec ceux de la nuit précédente, ils montaient à -trois mille vingt-neuf; il lui sembla même que le soleil s’était levé -plus tôt qu’à l’ordinaire, comme s’il eût été jaloux que la nuit fût -seule témoin de cet intéressant sacrifice. Nos aventuriers se remirent -en route dès qu’il fut jour, s’applaudissant derechef d’avoir tiré don -Alvaro de l’erreur où il était, et surtout d’avoir obtenu de lui une -déclaration en si bonne forme. - -Cette journée et la nuit suivante se passèrent sans qu’il leur arrivât -rien de remarquable, si ce n’est que Sancho compléta sa pénitence. Don -Quichotte en ressentit une telle joie, qu’il attendait avec impatience -le retour de la lumière, espérant d’un instant à l’autre rencontrer sa -dame désenchantée. Ils partirent, et tout le long de la route notre -héros n’apercevait point une femme qu’il ne courût aussitôt après elle, -pour s’assurer si ce n’était point Dulcinée du Toboso, tant il tenait -pour infaillibles les promesses de Merlin. - -Dans ces pensées et dans ces espérances, ils arrivèrent au haut d’une -colline d’où ils découvrirent un village[132]. A peine Sancho l’eut-il -reconnu qu’il se jeta à genoux en s’écriant avec transport: Ouvre les -yeux, patrie désirée, et vois revenir à toi ton fils Sancho, sinon bien -riche, au moins bien étrillé! Ouvre les bras, et reçois aussi ton fils -don Quichotte, lequel, s’il revient vaincu par un bras étranger, revient -vainqueur de lui-même, victoire qui est, à ce qu’il a dit souvent, la -plus grande qu’on puisse remporter. Quant à moi, j’apporte de l’argent, -car si j’ai été bien étrillé, je me suis bien tenu sur ma bête. - - [132] Voir la gravure page 289. - -Laisse là ces sottises, dit don Quichotte, et préparons-nous à entrer du -pied droit dans notre village, où, lâchant la bride à notre fantaisie, -nous disposerons tout pour la vie pastorale que nous devons mener. Cela -dit, ils descendirent la colline. - -CHAPITRE LXXIII - -DE CE QUE DON QUICHOTTE RENCONTRA, ET QU’IL IMPUTA A MAUVAIS PRÉSAGE - -A l’entrée du pays, dit cid Hamet, don Quichotte vit sur la place qui -sert à battre le grain deux petits garçons qui se querellaient; l’un -disait à l’autre: Tu as beau faire, Periquillo; tu ne la reverras de ta -vie. - -Sancho, dit notre chevalier, entends-tu ce que dit ce drôle: Tu ne la -reverras de ta vie! - -Qu’importe que ce petit garçon ait prononcé ces paroles? répondit -Sancho. - -Eh bien, répliqua don Quichotte, cela signifie que je ne reverrai pas -Dulcinée! - -Sancho allait riposter, mais il en fut empêché par la vue d’un lièvre -que des chasseurs poursuivaient avec leurs lévriers. La pauvre bête -effrayée vint se réfugier et se blottir entre les jambes du grison; -l’écuyer la saisit et la présenta à son maître, qui murmura entre ses -dents: _malum signum, malum signum_[133]. Un lièvre fuit, des lévriers -le poursuivent, et Dulcinée ne paraît point! - - [133] Mauvais présage, mauvais présage. - -Parbleu, vous êtes un homme étrange, dit Sancho: supposez que ce lièvre -est madame Dulcinée du Toboso, et que les lévriers qui le poursuivent -sont les scélérats d’enchanteurs qui l’ont changée en paysanne: elle -fuit, je la prends, je la mets entre les mains de Votre Grâce, qui la -serre contre son cœur et la caresse tout à son aise. Eh bien, quel -mauvais signe est-ce là? et quel mauvais présage peut-on en tirer? - -Sur ce, les deux petits garçons s’approchèrent pour voir le lièvre, et -Sancho leur ayant demandé le sujet de leur querelle, celui qui avait dit -à l’autre: Tu ne la reverras de ta vie, répondit, en montrant une cage à -grillons, qu’il avait pris cette cage à son compagnon et qu’il ne la lui -rendrait jamais. Sancho leur donna une pièce de monnaie pour la cage, et -la présentant à don Quichotte: Tenez, seigneur, lui dit-il, voilà le -charme détruit. Si j’ai bonne mémoire, il me souvient d’avoir entendu -notre curé dire qu’il n’est pas d’un chrétien et d’un homme de sens de -s’arrêter à ces enfantillages; et Votre Grâce ne m’assurait-elle pas -encore, ces jours passés, que ceux qui y font attention sont des -imbéciles? Allons, seigneur, rentrons chez nous; en voilà assez -là-dessus. - -Les chasseurs survinrent, réclamant leur lièvre, et don Quichotte le -leur rendit. - -Le chevalier, s’étant remis en marche, rencontra à l’entrée du pays le -curé et le bachelier Carrasco, qui se promenaient dans un petit pré en -causant. Nos deux amis accoururent les bras ouverts; et don Quichotte, -ayant mis pied à terre, les embrassa tendrement. - -Or, il faut savoir que Sancho avait placé sur son grison, par-dessus le -paquet des armes de son maître, la robe semée de flammes qu’on lui avait -donnée, et coiffé la tête de l’animal avec la mitre couverte de diables, -ce qui faisait le plus bizarre effet qui se puisse imaginer. Les petits -enfants du pays (cet âge a des yeux de lynx) s’en étant aperçus, -accouraient de tous côtés, se criant les uns aux autres: Holà! eh! venez -vite, venez voir l’âne de Sancho Panza, plus gentil qu’un prince, et le -cheval de don Quichotte, plus maigre encore que le jour de son départ. -Bref, entourés de ces polissons et accompagnés du curé et de Carrasco, -nos deux coureurs d’aventures entrèrent dans le village, et se rendirent -tout droit à la maison de don Quichotte, où ils trouvèrent sur le pas de -la porte la gouvernante et la nièce, déjà instruites de leur arrivée. - -On avait aussi raconté la nouvelle à Thérèse Panza, qui, les cheveux en -désordre et dans une toilette fort incomplète, conduisant par la main -Sanchette, sa fille, accourut au-devant de son mari. Mais en le voyant -beaucoup moins bien costumé que, dans son opinion, devait l’être un -gouverneur, elle lui dit: En quel état vous revois-je, mon cher mari? -Vous m’avez l’air de revenir à pied, traînant la patte, et l’on vous -prendrait plutôt pour un vaurien ingouvernable que pour un gouverneur. - -Tais-toi, Thérèse, répondit Sancho; souvent où il se trouve des -crochets il n’y a pas de lard. Allons à la maison; là je t’en conterai -de belles! J’apporte de l’argent, ce qui est l’essentiel; et de l’argent -gagné par mon industrie, sans avoir fait tort à personne. - -Apportez de l’argent, mon bon mari, repartit Thérèse; et peu m’importe -qu’il ait été gagné par ceci ou par cela; de quelque manière qu’il soit -venu, vous n’aurez pas introduit mode nouvelle dans le monde. - -Sanchette embrassa son père, en demandant s’il lui apportait quelque -chose; car elle l’attendait, disait-elle, comme on attend la pluie en -été. Puis, le prenant d’un côté par sa ceinture de cuir, tandis que de -l’autre Thérèse le tenait sous le bras (la petite tirant l’âne par le -licou), ils s’en furent à leur maison, laissant don Quichotte dans la -sienne, aux mains de sa gouvernante et de sa nièce, et en compagnie du -curé et du bachelier. - -Don Quichotte, s’étant enfermé avec ses deux amis, leur raconta -brièvement sa défaite, et l’engagement qu’il avait pris de rester chez -lui pendant une année, engagement que comme chevalier errant il voulait -remplir au pied de la lettre. Il ajouta qu’il avait songé à se faire -berger pendant ce temps-là, afin de se distraire dans la solitude et de -pouvoir y donner libre carrière à ses amoureuses pensées. Enfin, il les -supplia, si leurs occupations le leur permettaient, de vouloir bien être -ses compagnons. Je me propose, dit-il, d’acheter un troupeau de brebis -suffisant pour pouvoir nous dire bergers. Au reste, le plus difficile -est fait, car j’ai trouvé des noms qui vous iront à merveille. Le curé -lui ayant demandé quels étaient ces noms: Moi, reprit le chevalier, je -m’appellerai le berger Quichottin; vous, seigneur bachelier, le berger -Carrascon; vous, seigneur licencié, le berger Curiambro; et Sancho -Panza, le berger Pancinot. - -Les deux amis restèrent confondus de cette nouvelle folie; mais de -crainte que le pauvre homme ne leur échappât une troisième fois, et -surtout espérant que dans le délai d’une année on parviendrait à le -guérir, ils feignirent d’entrer dans son idée, applaudirent à son -projet, et promirent de l’accompagner. Il y a plus, ajouta Samson -Carrasco; étant, comme on le sait déjà, un de nos plus fameux poëtes, je -composerai à ma fantaisie des vers pastoraux ou héroïques, afin de -passer le temps. L’essentiel, c’est que nous ne laissions pas un arbre, -si dur soit-il, sans y graver les noms de nos bergères, suivant le -constant usage des bergers amoureux. - -A merveille, repartit don Quichotte. Mais moi, je n’ai pas besoin de -chercher; j’ai sous la main la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, gloire -de ces rivages, ornement de ces prairies, fleur de l’esprit et de la -grâce, finalement, personne si accomplie qu’aucune louange ne serait à -la hauteur de son mérite, quelque hyperbolique qu’elle fût. - -Cela est vrai, dit le curé. Nous autres, nous chercherons par ici -quelques bergerettes à notre convenance. - -Et si elles nous faisaient défaut, ajouta le bachelier, nous leur -donnerions les noms de ces bergères imprimées et gravées: les Philis, -les Amaryllis, les Dianes, les Bélizardes, les Galatées. Puisque les -livres en sont pleins et que les boutiques de libraires en regorgent, -nous pouvons bien nous en passer la fantaisie. Si ma dame, ou pour mieux -dire ma bergère, s’appelle Anne par hasard, je la célébrerai sous le nom -d’Anarda; si Françoise, je la nommerai Francine; Lucie, Lucinde, et -ainsi du reste. De cette manière, tout sera pour le mieux. Sancho -lui-même, s’il entre dans notre confrérie, pourra chanter sa Thérèse -sous le nom de Thérésine. - -Don Quichotte applaudit; et le curé, l’ayant comblé d’éloges pour une si -honorable résolution, s’offrit de nouveau à lui tenir compagnie tout le -temps que ne réclameraient pas les devoirs de son ministère. L’affaire -convenue, les deux amis prirent congé du chevalier, en l’engageant à -bien se soigner et à ne rien négliger de ce qui pourrait lui être -salutaire. - -Le sort voulut que la nièce et la gouvernante entendissent toute la -conversation; aussi, dès que don Quichotte fut seul, elles entrèrent -dans sa chambre. - -Quoi, mon oncle, dit la nièce: lorsque nous pensions que Votre Grâce -venait enfin se retirer dans sa maison pour y vivre tranquillement, -voilà que vous vous embarquez dans de nouvelles aventures et que vous -pensez à vous faire berger! Croyez-moi, la paille est trop mûre pour en -faire des chalumeaux. Et comment, ajouta la gouvernante, Votre Grâce -fera-t-elle pour passer les après-midi d’été, les nuits d’hiver à la -belle étoile et entendre les hurlements des loups? Non, non; c’est un -métier d’homme robuste, endurci, élevé à la peine dès le maillot. Mal -pour mal, mieux vaut encore être chevalier errant que berger. Tenez, -croyez-moi; suivez mon conseil, je vous le donne à jeun, et avec mes -cinquante ans: restez chez vous, occupez-vous de vos affaires, -confessez-vous une fois par semaine, venez en aide aux pauvres, et sur -mon âme, si mal vous en arrive... - -Silence, mes enfants, répondit don Quichotte; vous ne m’apprendrez pas -ce que j’ai à faire. Menez-moi au lit, car je ne me sens pas bien, et -sachez que, soit chevalier errant, soit berger errant, je ne cesserai de -veiller à ce que vous ne manquiez de rien, comme l’avenir vous -l’apprendra. - -Sur ce, les deux bonnes filles le conduisirent à son lit, ne songeant -qu’à le choyer de leur mieux. - -CHAPITRE LXXIV - -COMME QUOI DON QUICHOTTE TOMBA MALADE, DU TESTAMENT QU’IL FIT, ET DE SA -MORT - -Comme rien n’est éternel ici-bas, comme toute chose y va déclinant de -son origine à sa fin dernière, principalement la vie de l’homme, comme -enfin don Quichotte n’avait reçu du ciel aucun privilége particulier -pour prolonger le cours de la sienne, sa fin arriva au moment où il y -pensait le moins. Soit par suite de la mélancolie que lui causait le -sentiment de sa défaite, soit par la volonté du ciel qui en ordonnait -ainsi, il fut pris d’une fièvre obstinée, qui le retint au lit six -jours, pendant lesquels le visitèrent maintes fois ses amis le curé, le -bachelier et le barbier, sans que le fidèle Sancho quittât son chevet un -seul instant. Pensant que la honte d’avoir été vaincu et le chagrin de -ne pas voir s’accomplir la délivrance de Dulcinée le tenaient en cet -état, chacun d’eux cherchait à le distraire de son mieux. Allons, lui -disait le bachelier, prenez courage et levez-vous, afin de commencer -notre vie pastorale. J’ai composé tout exprès une églogue qui damera le -pion aux églogues mêmes de Sannazar, et j’ai acheté à un berger de -Quintanar deux fameux chiens de garde pour notre troupeau; l’un -s’appelle Barcino, l’autre Butron. - -Le seigneur Carrasco avait beau faire, rien ne pouvait tirer don -Quichotte de son abattement. On appela le médecin, qui lui tâta le -pouls, n’en fut pas fort satisfait, et dit qu’il fallait sans perdre de -temps songer à la santé de l’âme, celle du corps étant en danger. Notre -héros entendit cet arrêt d’un esprit calme et résigné; mais il n’en fut -pas de même de sa gouvernante, de sa nièce et de son écuyer, qui tous -trois se mirent à pleurer comme s’ils l’eussent vu déjà mort. L’avis du -médecin fut qu’il était miné par un chagrin secret. Don Quichotte, -voulant reposer un peu, demanda qu’on le laissât seul. On s’éloigna, et -il dormit d’une seule traite pendant plus de six heures, si bien que sa -gouvernante et sa nièce crurent qu’il allait passer durant son sommeil. -A la fin pourtant il s’éveilla en s’écriant: Béni soit le Dieu -tout-puissant qui m’a accordé un pareil bienfait! Oui! sa miséricorde -est infinie, et les péchés des hommes ne sauraient ni l’éloigner, ni -l’affaiblir. - -Frappée de ces paroles, qui lui parurent plus raisonnables que de -coutume: Que dites-vous, seigneur? demanda la nièce; que parlez-vous de -miséricordes et de péchés des hommes? - -Ma fille, répondit don Quichotte, ces miséricordes sont celles dont Dieu -vient à l’instant même de me combler; et je disais qu’il ne s’est pas -arrêté à mes péchés. Oui, je me sens l’esprit libre et dégagé des ombres -épaisses dont l’avait obscurci l’insipide et continuelle lecture des -exécrables livres de chevalerie: aujourd’hui j’en reconnais -l’extravagance et la fausseté; et je n’ai qu’un regret, c’est que -désabusé trop tard je n’ai plus le temps de lire d’autres livres qui -puissent éclairer mon âme. Je me sens près de ma fin, ma chère nièce, et -je voudrais en faire une d’où l’on conclût que ma vie n’a pas été si -mauvaise que je doive laisser après moi la réputation d’un fou. J’ai été -fou, j’en conviens; mais je ne voudrais pas que ma mort en fût la -preuve. Mon enfant, fais venir mes bons amis le curé, le bachelier -Samson Carrasco, et maître Nicolas le barbier; je désire me confesser et -faire mon testament. - -La nièce fut dispensée de ce soin, car ils entraient au même instant. -Félicitez-moi, mes bons amis, leur dit le pauvre hidalgo en les voyant, -félicitez-moi, je ne suis plus don Quichotte de la Manche, mais Alonzo -Quixano, que la douceur de ses mœurs fit surnommer le Bon. Je suis à -cette heure l’ennemi déclaré d’Amadis de Gaule et de toute sa postérité; -j’ai pris en aversion les profanes histoires de la chevalerie errante; -je reconnais le danger que leur lecture m’a fait courir; enfin, par la -miséricorde de Dieu, devenu sage à mes dépens, je les abhorre et les -déteste! - -Quand les trois amis l’entendirent parler de la sorte, ils s’imaginèrent -qu’il venait d’être atteint d’une nouvelle folie. - -Comment, seigneur, lui dit Samson Carrasco, maintenant que nous savons à -n’en pas douter que madame Dulcinée est désenchantée, vous nous la -donnez belle! Et quand nous sommes sur le point de nous faire bergers -pour passer la vie en chantant comme des princes, vous parlez de vous -faire ermite! De grâce! revenez à vous, et laissez là ces sornettes. - -Les sornettes qui m’ont occupé jusqu’à présent, reprit don Quichotte, -n’ont été que trop réelles, et à mon grand préjudice; puisse ma mort, -avec l’aide du ciel, les faire tourner à mon profit! Seigneurs, je sens -que je marche vers ma fin; ce n’est plus l’heure de plaisanter; j’ai -besoin d’un prêtre pour me confesser, et d’un notaire pour recevoir mon -testament. Dans une pareille situation l’homme ne doit point jouer avec -son âme. Je vous en supplie, laissez-moi avec le seigneur curé, qui -voudra bien écouter ma confession, et, pendant ce temps, qu’on aille -chercher le notaire. - -Ils se regardaient tous, étonnés d’un pareil langage; mais il fallut se -rendre, car pour eux un des signes certains que le malade se mourait -était ce retour à la raison; d’autant plus qu’à ses premiers discours il -en ajouta d’autres en termes si chrétiens, si bien suivis, que leurs -derniers doutes ayant disparu, ils reconnurent qu’il avait recouvré son -bon sens. - -Le curé fit retirer tout le monde, et resta seul avec le mourant, qu’il -confessa pendant que Carrasco allait chercher le notaire. Bientôt le -bachelier fut de retour, amenant avec lui Sancho; quand ce dernier, qui -avait appris le triste état de son maître, vit la gouvernante et la -nièce tout en larmes, il se mit à sangloter avec elles. - -La confession terminée, le curé sortit en disant: Oui, mes amis, Alonzo -Quixano est guéri de sa folie, mais il se meurt. Entrez, afin qu’il -fasse son testament. - -Ces paroles furent une nouvelle provocation aux yeux pleins de larmes de -la gouvernante, de la nièce et du fidèle Sancho Panza; elles les firent -pleurer et soupirer de plus belle; car, ainsi qu’on l’a déjà dit, don -Quichotte, tout le temps qu’il fut Alonzo Quixano le Bon, comme tout le -temps qu’il fut don Quichotte de la Manche, montra le meilleur naturel, -et son commerce fut des plus agréables, de sorte qu’il n’était pas -seulement aimé des gens de sa maison, mais de tous ceux qui le -connaissaient. - -Le notaire étant entré, écrivit le préambule du testament, dans lequel -don Quichotte recommandait son âme à Dieu, avec les pieuses formules en -usage; puis, passant aux legs, le mourant dicta ce qui suit: - -Item, ma volonté est qu’ayant eu avec Sancho Panza, lequel dans ma -folie, je fis mon écuyer, plusieurs difficultés en règlement de compte, -à propos de certaines sommes qu’il a à moi, on ne lui réclame rien; de -plus, s’il reste quelque chose quand il sera payé de ce que je lui dois, -que cet excédant, qui ne peut être considérable, lui soit laissé en -propre; et grand bien lui fasse. Et si, de même qu’étant fou, je lui fis -obtenir le gouvernement d’une île, je pouvais, maintenant que je suis en -possession de ma raison, lui donner celui d’un royaume, je le lui -donnerais: la simplicité de son caractère et la fidélité de ses services -ne méritant pas moins. - -Se tournant vers Sancho, il ajouta: Pardonne-moi, mon ami, de t’avoir -fourni l’occasion de paraître aussi fou que moi-même, en t’entraînant -dans l’erreur où je suis tombé relativement à l’existence des -chevaliers errants. - -Hélas! ne mourez pas, mon bon maître, répondit Sancho en sanglotant; -croyez-moi, vivez, vivez longtemps; la plus grande folie que puisse -faire un homme en cette vie, c’est de se faire mourir lui-même, en -s’abandonnant à la mélancolie. Allons, un peu de courage, levez-vous, et -gagnons les champs en costume de bergers, comme nous en sommes convenus; -peut-être derrière quelque buisson trouverons-nous madame Dulcinée -désenchantée, ce qui vous ravira. Que si Votre Grâce se meurt du chagrin -d’avoir été vaincue, rejetez-en sur moi toute la faute, et dites qu’on -vous a culbuté parce que j’avais mal sanglé Rossinante. Et puis -n’avez-vous pas vu dans vos livres qu’il arrive souvent aux chevaliers -de se culbuter les uns les autres, et que tel est vaincu aujourd’hui, -qui demain revient vainqueur? - -Rien de plus vrai, ajouta Samson Carrasco et à cet égard le bon Sancho a -raison. - -Doucement, mes amis, reprit don Quichotte, les oiseaux sont dénichés. -J’ai été fou, mais à cette heure, je viens de recouvrer la raison; j’ai -été don Quichotte de la Manche, et maintenant, je le répète, me voilà -redevenu Alonzo Quixano. Puissent mon repentir et ma sincérité me rendre -l’estime que Vos Grâces avaient pour moi. Que le seigneur notaire -continue: - -Item, je lègue tous mes biens meubles et immeubles à Antonia Quixana, ma -nièce ici présente, après qu’on aura prélevé, sur le plus clair de ma -succession, les sommes nécessaires au service des legs que je fais, en -commençant par les gages de ma gouvernante pour tout le temps qu’elle -m’a servi, et, de plus, vingt ducats pour un habillement. Je nomme pour -mes exécuteurs testamentaires le seigneur curé et le seigneur bachelier -Samson Carrasco, ici présents; - -Item, ma volonté est que si Antonia Quixana, ma nièce, veut se marier, -on s’assure d’abord, et cela par enquête judiciaire, que l’homme qu’elle -épouse ne sait pas même ce que c’est que les livres de chevalerie. Dans -le cas contraire, et si cependant ma nièce persiste à l’épouser, je veux -qu’elle perde tout ce que je lui lègue, et mes exécuteurs testamentaires -pourront employer la somme en œuvres pies, à leur volonté; - -Item, je supplie ces seigneurs, mes exécuteurs testamentaires, si de -fortune ils venaient à rencontrer l’auteur qui a composé, dit-on, une -idée intitulée: _Seconde partie des aventures de don Quichotte de la -Manche_, de le prier de ma part, avec toutes sortes d’instances, de me -pardonner l’occasion que je lui ai si involontairement donnée d’écrire -tant et de si énormes sottises; car je quitte cette vie avec un -véritable remords de lui en avoir fourni le prétexte. - -Son testament signé et scellé, notre héros fut pris d’une grande -défaillance, et s’étendit dans son lit. On s’empressa de lui porter -secours; mais pendant les trois jours qu’il vécut encore, il -s’évanouissait à chaque instant. La maison était sens dessus dessous; -néanmoins la nièce mangeait de bon appétit, la gouvernante portait des -santés; Sancho prenait ses ébats; tant l’espoir d’un prochain héritage -suffit pour adoucir dans le cœur du légataire le sentiment de regret -que devrait y laisser la perte du défunt. - -Enfin, don Quichotte expira après avoir reçu les sacrements, et prononcé -à plusieurs reprises les plus énergiques malédictions contre les livres -de chevalerie. Le notaire déclara n’avoir jamais vu dans les livres -qu’aucun chevalier errant fût mort dans son lit aussi paisiblement et -aussi chrétiennement que don Quichotte, lequel rendit l’âme, je veux -dire mourut, au milieu de la douleur et des larmes de tous ceux qui -l’entouraient. Le voyant expiré, le curé pria le notaire d’attester -comme quoi Alonzo Quixano le Bon, communément appelé don Quichotte de la -Manche, était passé de cette vie en l’autre, et décédé naturellement; -ajoutant que s’il lui demandait cette attestation c’était pour empêcher -que, contrairement à la vérité, un faux cid Hamet Ben-Engeli le -ressuscitât, et composât sur ses prouesses d’interminables histoires. - -Telle fut la fin de l’_ingénieux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche_, -dont cid Hamet ne voulut pas indiquer le pays natal, afin que toutes les -villes et tous les bourgs de la Manche se disputassent l’insigne honneur -de l’avoir vu naître et de le compter parmi leurs enfants, comme le -firent sept villes de la Grèce à propos d’Homère[134]. On ne dira rien -ici des pleurs de Sancho Panza, de la nièce et de la gouvernante, ni des -épitaphes, assez originales, composées pour la tombe de Don Quichotte. -Voici cependant celle qu’y inscrivit Samson Carrasco: - - «Ci-gît le redoutable hidalgo qui porta si loin la valeur, que la mort - ne put triompher de lui, même en le mettant au tombeau. - - «Il brava l’univers entier, dont il fut l’admiration et l’effroi, et - son bonheur fut de mourir sage après avoir vécu fou!» - - [134] En écrivant ces lignes, il semble que Cervantes ait eu le - pressentiment qu’un jour huit villes d’Espagne se disputeraient - l’honneur de l’avoir vu naître. - -Ici le très-sage cid Hamet dit à sa plume: - - «O ma petite plume, bien ou mal taillée, je ne sais, tu vas demeurer - suspendue à ce fil de laiton; là tu resteras des siècles, à moins que - de présomptueux historiens ne t’enlèvent de cette place pour te - profaner. S’ils l’osaient, crie leur: - - «Halte-là, félons, halte-là; que personne ne me touche; car cette - entreprise, bon roi, à moi seul était réservée[135]. - - «Pour moi seul, oui, pour moi seul naquit don Quichotte et moi pour - lui. Il sut agir et moi écrire. Nous ne faisons qu’un, en dépit du - pseudonyme écrivain qui osa, et qui peut-être oserait encore écrire - avec une lourde plume d’oie les prouesses de mon vaillant chevalier. - Mais ce n’est pas là un fardeau à sa taille, ni un thème pour son - esprit sec et froid. Si d’aventure tu parviens à le connaître, - conseille-lui de laisser reposer en paix les os fatigués et déjà - pourris de don Quichotte, et de ne pas essayer de le ressusciter, - contre les priviléges de la mort, en le tirant de la sépulture où il - gît étendu tout de son long, hors d’état de faire une sortie et une - troisième campagne[136]! Pour livrer au ridicule celles de tant de - chevaliers errants, il suffit des deux qu’il a faites, et qui ont si - franchement désopilé nationaux et étrangers. En agissant ainsi, tu - rempliras le devoir du chrétien, lequel doit toujours s’efforcer de - donner un bon conseil à un ennemi. Quant à moi, je serai heureux et - fier d’avoir retiré de mes écrits le fruit que j’en attendais; car mon - seul désir était de couvrir d’un ridicule justement mérité les fausses - et extravagantes histoires des livres de chevalerie, déjà frappés à - mort par celle de mon véritable don Quichotte, et qui bientôt sans - doute tomberont pour ne plus se relever. Adieu.» - - [135] Ce passage est la traduction de quatre vers d’un ancien - romancero. - - [136] A la fin de son livre, l’imitateur Avellaneda avait annoncé une - troisième partie. - -FIN DE DON QUICHOTTE - -VIE DE CERVANTES - -D’une fenêtre de son palais d’où l’on dominait le cours du Mançanarès, -un de ces mélancoliques souverains qui régnèrent sur l’Espagne pendant -plus d’un siècle, Philippe III, promenait ses regards sur la plaine -aride et désolée qui entoure Madrid. En ce moment un jeune homme, qu’à -son manteau rapiécé on reconnaissait aisément pour un de ces pauvres -étudiants si nombreux alors dans les grandes villes, suivait le bord du -fleuve un livre à la main. On le voyait à chaque pas interrompre sa -lecture, gesticuler, se frapper le front, puis laisser échapper de longs -éclats de rire. Philippe observait cette pantomime: Assurément cet homme -est fou, s’écria-t-il; ou bien il lit _Don Quichotte_. Un page, dépêché -tout exprès, revint bientôt confirmer ce que le roi avait soupçonné; en -effet, l’étudiant lisait _Don Quichotte_. - -L’auteur de ce livre immortel qui provoquait si fort l’hilarité de ses -contemporains, comme il excitera celle de bien d’autres générations, -Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, naquit le 9 octobre 1547 à Alcala de -Hénarès, petite ville des environs de Madrid. De même que pour Homère, -plusieurs villes[137] se disputèrent après sa mort l’honneur de l’avoir -vu naître; mais un registre baptistaire, récemment découvert dans -l’église de Sainte-Marie-Majeure, a mis fin à ces prétentions en -fournissant la preuve authentique que Alcala de Hénarès avait été son -berceau. Sa famille, originaire des Asturies, était venue s’établir en -Castille. Dès le treizième siècle, le nom de Cervantes figure parmi les -vainqueurs de Séville, alors que le saint roi Ferdinand chassait les -Mores de cette noble cité. Il y eut des Cervantes parmi les conquérants -du nouveau monde. Dans les premières années du quatorzième siècle, un -Cervantes était corrégidor d’Ossuna. Son fils, Rodrigo Cervantes, -épousa, vers 1540, une noble dame, doña Leonor Cortinas, qui lui donna -deux filles, Andrea et Luisa, puis deux fils, Rodrigo et Miguel. Ce -dernier est l’homme, aussi grand que malheureux, dont nous allons -esquisser la vie. - - [137] Ces villes sont Madrid, Séville, Tolède, Lucena, Esquivias, - Alcazar de San Juan, Consuegra et Alcala de Hénarès. - -On ne sait rien sur les premières années de Cervantes. Seulement, par -une allusion qu’il fait à son enfance[138], nous savons qu’une -instinctive curiosité et un vif désir de s’instruire lui faisaient -ramasser pour le lire jusqu’au moindre chiffon de papier. Il nous -apprend encore que son goût pour le théâtre se développa en voyant jouer -le fameux Lope de Rueda, acteur et poëte tout à la fois. On croit que le -jeune Cervantes fit ses premières études à Alcala, sa ville natale, et -qu’ensuite il fut envoyé à Salamanque, qui était alors la plus célèbre -université de l’Espagne. Il y resta deux ans et habita une rue qu’on -appelle encore la rue des Mores (_calle de los Moros_). - - [138] _Don Quichotte_, Ire partie, livre III, ch. IX. - -Plus tard, nous retrouvons Cervantes à Madrid chez l’humaniste Lopez de -Hoyos. Ce Lopez, chargé par l’_Ayuntamiento_ (municipalité) de Madrid de -la composition des allégories et devises en vers qui devaient orner le -catafalque de la reine Élisabeth de Valois dans la cérémonie des -funérailles qu’on lui préparait, se fait aider par quelques-uns de ses -élèves. Cervantes, qu’il appelle son disciple bien-aimé, figure au -premier rang. Aussi, dans la relation des obsèques de la reine, que -Lopez publia peu après, le mentionne-t-il avec éloge comme auteur d’une -épitaphe en forme de sonnet, et surtout d’une élégie où le jeune poëte -prenait la parole au nom de tous ses camarades. Encouragé par ce premier -succès, Cervantes composa un petit poëme pastoral appelé _Filena_, puis -quelques sonnets et romances qui ne sont pas venus jusqu’à nous. Tels -furent ses débuts dans la poésie. - -Sans une circonstance fortuite, Cervantes restait peut-être toute sa vie -voué au culte des Muses. Mais un drame mystérieux s’était accompli dans -le sombre palais de l’Escurial. L’héritier du trône, l’infant don -Carlos, fils de Philippe II, venait d’y mourir, précédant de deux mois -seulement dans la tombe la reine Élisabeth de Valois. Le pontife qui -occupait alors la chaire de Saint-Pierre, le pape Pie V, fit choix d’un -fils du duc d’Atri, le cardinal Aquaviva, pour l’envoyer en Espagne, en -qualité de légat extraordinaire, porter au roi ses compliments de -condoléance sur ce double événement. Mais Philippe avait impérieusement -défendu qu’on lui parlât jamais de son fils. Il accueillit -très-froidement le légat, qui ne tarda pas à recevoir ses passe-ports -avec ordre de quitter la Péninsule. Dans son court séjour à Madrid, ce -prince de l’Église voulut voir le jeune poëte qui s’était distingué par -cette touchante élégie sur la mort de la reine. Cervantes lui fut -présenté et eut le bonheur de lui plaire. Le cardinal désirait se -l’attacher en qualité de secrétaire ou de valet de chambre (_camarero_). -La tentation était grande pour un esprit aventureux comme celui de -Cervantes: il accepta avec empressement, et bientôt il fut en route pour -l’Italie. A cette époque, un jeune gentilhomme ne croyait pas déroger en -se mettant au service de la pourpre romaine, assuré qu’il était -d’obtenir quelque bonne prébende. - -A la suite de son puissant patron, Cervantes traversa la riche Huerta de -Valence; il put contempler l’imposante Barcelone, qu’il appelle _la -ville de la courtoisie, le rendez-vous des étrangers_, et pour laquelle -il conserva un enthousiasme qui ne s’est jamais affaibli. Les provinces -méridionales de la France, le Languedoc et la Provence surtout, le -frappèrent vivement, et quand, plus tard, Cervantes, revenu dans sa -patrie, publia le poëme de _Galatée_, on put voir par le charme et la -fraîcheur des descriptions combien les impressions du jeune voyageur -avaient été vives et profondes. - -Arrivé dans la ville éternelle, Cervantes en visita les musées, en -étudia les ruines, en admira les monuments; mais une fois sa curiosité -satisfaite, après quinze mois passés à Rome, ne se sentant aucune -vocation pour l’Église, il quitta l’antichambre du cardinal et courut -s’enrôler dans les troupes espagnoles. Ce fut dans la compagnie de don -Diego de Urbina qu’il fit sa première campagne et l’apprentissage de son -nouveau métier. Il avait alors vingt-deux ans. - -Le moment était propice. La grande querelle de l’Islamisme et de la -Croix venait de se rallumer. Une _ligue sainte_ unissait le pape, Venise -et l’Espagne. Sous les ordres de don Juan d’Autriche, le vainqueur des -Mores dans les monts Alpujarras, une puissante flotte avait pris la mer. -Longtemps cherchés sans succès, les Turcs furent enfin rencontrés par -les chrétiens au fond du golfe de Lépante (7 octobre 1571). L’action, -engagée au milieu du jour, se termina par une des plus signalées -victoires dont l’histoire fasse mention. La galère sur laquelle était -embarqué Cervantes, appelée _la Marquesa_, chargée d’attaquer _la -Capitane_ d’Alexandrie, s’en empara ainsi que du grand étendard -d’Égypte, et tua cinq cents hommes à l’ennemi. Quoique malade de la -fièvre, placé, sur ses vives instances, au poste le plus périlleux avec -douze soldats d’élite, Cervantes montra une grande intrépidité, et, -malgré deux coups d’arquebuse dans la poitrine et un troisième qui le -priva toute sa vie de l’usage de la main gauche, il ne voulut quitter -son poste qu’après la fuite des infidèles. Fier d’avoir pris part à -cette grande bataille qu’il appelle en maint endroit de ses écrits «la -plus glorieuse qu’aient vue les siècles passés et que verront les -siècles à venir,» il montra depuis lors avec un légitime orgueil les -cicatrices qu’il portait «comme autant d’étoiles faites pour guider les -autres au ciel de l’honneur.» - -Une expédition contre Tunis qui suivit de près, et à laquelle il prit -part avec son frère Rodrigo, lui fournit une nouvelle occasion de se -distinguer dans les rangs de cette célèbre infanterie espagnole -(_tercios_) qui, selon l’expression d’un historien, faisait trembler la -terre sous ses mousquets. - -L’hôpital de Messine le reçut brisé des suites de ces deux campagnes; il -y resta languissant près de neuf mois. Enfin, guéri de ses blessures, il -sollicita et obtint un congé. Muni des plus hautes attestations sur son -intelligence et sa valeur, Cervantes s’embarque dans la rade de Naples -sur la frégate _el Sol_, et plein d’espoir d’embrasser sa famille dont -il était séparé depuis sept ans, il fait voile vers l’Espagne en -compagnie de son frère Rodrigo, du général d’artillerie Carillo de -Quesada, gouverneur de la Goulette, et d’autres militaires qui -retournaient dans leur patrie. Mais le sort en ordonna autrement, et les -plus cruelles épreuves l’attendaient. Le 26 septembre 1575, le bâtiment -que montait Cervantes fut rencontré, à la hauteur des îles Baléares, par -une escadrille barbaresque aux ordres du farouche renégat arnaute -Dali-Mami. Le combat s’engage, et après une résistance désespérée la -frégate espagnole, forcée de se rendre, est conduite en triomphe dans le -port d’Alger. - -Dans la répartition du butin, Cervantes était tombé au pouvoir de -Dali-Mami. En dépouillant son prisonnier, cet homme non moins avare que -cruel, avait trouvé les lettres de recommandation données au brave -soldat: convaincu qu’il tenait entre ses mains un personnage important -dont il pouvait tirer une forte rançon, il commença par le faire charger -de chaînes et l’accabla des plus mauvais traitements. - -C’est alors que dut se manifester chez Cervantes cet héroïsme de la -patience, «cette seconde valeur de l’homme, dit Solis[139], peut-être -plus grande que la première.» Notre but n’est pas de raconter ici toutes -les phases de son séjour parmi les barbares. Des tentatives qu’il fit -pour briser ses fers, l’une échoua par la trahison d’un More auquel il -s’était confié, les autres par la grandeur des obstacles ou la -défaillance de quelques-uns de ses compagnons d’infortune. Lui-même nous -a fait le récit de ses cruelles angoisses dans la nouvelle du -CAPTIF[140]. Qu’il nous suffise de dire qu’après cinq ans du plus -horrible esclavage, menacé à tout instant de la mort et l’écartant -chaque fois à force de courage et de sang-froid, Cervantes, dont la -captivité, signalée par les incidents les plus romanesques, fournirait à -lui seul, dit un historien contemporain[141], la matière d’un volume, -fut racheté par les soins et l’intercession des Frères de la Merci, qui -s’imposèrent les plus grand sacrifices pour un tel prisonnier. Enfin, -devenu libre en octobre 1580, il quitta cette terre maudite et fit voile -pour l’Espagne, où, en abordant, il dut goûter l’une des plus grandes -joies qu’il soit donné à l’homme d’éprouver: «celle de recouvrer la -liberté et de revoir son pays.» Ainsi fut conservé au monde un des plus -nobles cœurs qui aient honoré l’humanité, et aux lettres le rare génie -auquel elles allaient devoir une éternelle illustration. - - [139] Historien et poëte espagnol. - - [140] _Don Quichotte_, Ire partie, ch. XXXIX, XL, XLI. - - [141] Le Père Haedo (_Historia de Argel_). - -Revenu dans cette patrie qu’il avait désespéré de revoir jamais, -Cervantes se trouvait sans ressources; son père était mort et sa mère -avait, pour aider à sa délivrance, engagé le peu de bien qui lui -restait. Il reprit donc le mousquet de soldat et fit avec son frère -Rodrigo la campagne des Açores, dont la soumission devait compléter -celle du Portugal, que le duc d’Albe venait de conquérir à son maître. - -Ici doit trouver place un incident qui joue un grand rôle dans la vie de -Cervantes. Pendant un séjour qu’il fit à Lisbonne, avant de s’embarquer -pour les Açores, son esprit vif et ingénieux lui avait ouvert l’accès de -plusieurs sociétés. Dans l’une d’elles, une noble dame s’éprit pour lui -d’une vive passion; il en eut une fille à laquelle il donna le nom -d’Isabel de Saavedra, et qu’il garda toujours avec lui, même après -s’être marié; car il n’eut point d’autre enfant. La campagne terminée, -ce nouvel essai de la profession des armes ne lui ayant valu aucune -récompense malgré ses blessures et ses glorieux services, il abandonna -la carrière militaire. - -L’amour devait le ramener au culte des Muses. Le roman de _Galatée_, -qu’il publia peu de temps après son mariage, fut composé sous -l’inspiration de ce tendre sentiment. Sans aucun doute Cervantes, caché -sous le nom d’Élicio, berger des rives du Tage, a voulu peindre ses -amours avec Galatée, bergère habitante des mêmes rivages. Il venait en -effet d’épouser une fille noble et pauvre de la petite ville -d’Esquivias, dona Catalina Palacios, moins pourvue d’argent que de -beauté, car on voit figurer dix poules[142] dans le détail de la faible -dot qu’elle apportait à son époux. Voilà donc Cervantes, chef d’une -famille qui se composait, avec sa mère, sa femme et sa fille naturelle, -de ses deux sœurs, Andrea et Luise. Il avait trente-sept ans. - - [142] Éloge de Cervantes par don Jose Mon de Fuentes. - -La poésie pastorale offrait peu de ressources; pressé par le besoin, -Cervantes revint aux premiers rêves de sa jeunesse, et prit le parti -d’aller s’établir à Madrid pour y demander des moyens de subsistance au -théâtre, qui, alors comme aujourd’hui, promettait plus de profit. Il -débuta par une comédie en six actes sur ses aventures (_el Trato de -Argel_), les Mœurs d’Alger. Dans cette pièce, il introduit sous son -propre nom de Saavedra un soldat, qui adresse au roi une harangue -véhémente pour l’engager à détruire ce nid de pirates. Cette pièce fut -suivie de plusieurs autres, parmi lesquelles on doit citer _Numancia_ -(la destruction de Numance). On applaudit dans _Numancia_ le tableau -des malheurs effroyables qu’entraîne un siége, et surtout le poignant -épisode dans lequel un enfant tombant d’inanition demande du pain à sa -mère. Cette pièce, palpitante d’exaltation patriotique, fut jouée à -Saragosse, pendant la dernière guerre de l’indépendance espagnole, et -n’a pas peu contribué sans doute à rendre la nouvelle Numance digne de -l’ancienne. «J’osai le premier dans _Numancia_, dit Cervantes, -personnifier les pensées secrètes de l’âme, en introduisant des êtres -moraux sur la scène, au grand applaudissement du public. Mes autres -pièces furent aussi représentées; mais tout leur succès, ajoute-t-il, -consista à parcourir leur carrière sans sifflets ni tapage, ni sans cet -accompagnement d’oranges et de concombres dont on a coutume de saluer -les auteurs tombés.» - -L’espoir qu’il avait fondé sur le théâtre n’avait pas tardé à -s’évanouir. Le fameux Lope de Véga y régnait alors sans rivaux. Il -avait, dit Cervantes lui-même, soumis la monarchie comique à ses lois, -et maître du public et des acteurs, il remplissait le monde de ses -comédies[143]. - - [143] Lope de Véga a composé plus de dix-huit cents pièces de théâtre. - -Banni du théâtre par cette prodigieuse fécondité, Cervantes fut -contraint d’accepter un autre métier moins digne de lui; mais il fallait -vivre, et avec sa nombreuse famille il n’y avait pas à hésiter. Un -certain Antonio Guevara, chargé de réunir à Séville des -approvisionnements pour cette immense _armada_, pour cette flotte -invincible qui devait envahir l’Angleterre et que détruisirent les -tempêtes, lui offre un modeste emploi de commissaire des vivres. -Cervantes accepte, et s’achemine aussitôt avec tous les siens vers la -capitale de l’Andalousie. On croit pourtant qu’à cette époque il avait -déjà perdu sa mère; quant à son frère Rodrigo, qui servait en Flandre, -sans doute il fut tué dans quelque obscure rencontre, car il ne reparaît -plus. - -Le séjour de Cervantes à Séville dura dix années consécutives, sauf -quelques excursions dans les environs et un seul voyage à Madrid. Il -connut à Séville le célèbre peintre Francisco Pacheco, maître et -beau-père du grand Velasquez, dont la maison était le rendez-vous des -beaux esprits; Cervantes la fréquentait assidûment. Il s’y lia d’amitié -avec le célèbre poëte lyrique Fernando de Herrera, et fit un sonnet sur -sa mort. Il devint également l’ami de Juan de Jaureguy, l’élégant -traducteur de l’_Aminte_ du Tasse. Jaureguy, qui cultivait aussi la -peinture, fit le portrait de son ami Cervantes. Ce fut pendant son -séjour à Séville que Cervantes composa presque toutes ses nouvelles: -car, au milieu de vulgaires occupations, il entretenait avec les lettres -un commerce secret. Ce fut encore à Séville, qu’à l’occasion de la mort -du roi Philippe II (13 septembre 1598), il composa ce fameux sonnet où -il raille avec tant de grâce la forfanterie des Andalous. La date de ce -sonnet est précieuse; elle sert à fixer le terme de son séjour à -Séville, qu’il quitta peu de temps après. Voici à quelle occasion. - -Une somme de 7,400 réaux, produit des comptes arriérés de son -commissariat, avait été remise par lui à un négociant de Séville, Simon -Freire de Lima, pour être envoyé à la _Contaduria_, trésorerie de -Madrid. Au lieu de remplir son mandat, Simon disparut, emportant -l’argent. La Contaduria fit saisir les biens du banquier; puis, comme en -même temps on avait conçu quelques doutes sur la parfaite régularité de -la gestion de Cervantes, ses livres furent vérifiés à l’improviste. -Trouvé en déficit d’une misérable somme de 2,400 réaux (600 francs), on -le mit en prison. Il réclama avec force, promettant de satisfaire dans -le délai de quelques jours; on le relâcha, mais il avait perdu son -emploi. - -Ici la biographie de Cervantes présente une grande lacune. Pendant cinq -années sa trace nous échappe, depuis 1598, où il quitte Séville, -jusqu’en 1603, où on le retrouve à Valadolid. On pense que durant cet -intervalle, devenu agent d’affaires pour le compte de particuliers et de -corporations, il vint s’établir dans quelque petite ville de la Manche. -La connaissance qu’il montre des localités et des mœurs de cette -province autorise cette conjecture et prouve qu’il y séjourna assez -longtemps. Ce fut sans doute dans une des fréquentes excursions qu’il -était obligé de faire dans l’intérêt de ses clients, qu’au bourg -d’Argamasilla de Alba, les habitants le jetèrent en prison, soit parce -qu’il réclamait les dîmes arriérées dues par eux au grand prieuré de -Saint-Juan soit parce qu’il enlevait à leurs irrigations les eaux de la -Guadiana, dont il avait besoin pour la préparation des salpêtres. On -montre encore aujourd’hui dans ce bourg une vieille masure appelée LA -CASA DE MEDRANO (_la maison de Medrano_), comme l’endroit où Cervantes -fut emprisonné. Il est certain qu’il y languit longtemps et dans un état -fort misérable. C’est de ce triste lieu que, dans une lettre dont on a -gardé le souvenir, Cervantes réclamait d’un de ses parents, Juan Barnabé -de Saavedra, bourgeois d’Alcazar, secours et protection; cette lettre -commençait ainsi: «De longs jours et des nuits sans sommeil me fatiguent -dans cette prison[144], ou pour mieux dire, caverne...» Et c’est là -pourtant que fut engendré ce glorieux fils de son intelligence (_hijo -del entendimiento_), et qu’il en écrivit les premières pages. Il -fallait, on doit en convenir, une singulière habitude de l’adversité et -une rare et noble liberté d’esprit pour faire d’un semblable cabinet de -travail le berceau d’un livre tel que _Don Quichotte_. - - [144] C’est pour cela qu’il commence _Don Quichotte_ par ces mots: - «Dans un village de la Manche dont je ne veux pas me rappeler le - nom...» - -En 1603, nous retrouvons Cervantes à Valladolid, où la cour avait pour -quelque temps établi sa résidence, et nous le voyons solliciteur à -cinquante-six ans. L’indolent Philippe III régnait, mais un orgueilleux -favori gouvernait à sa place. Cervantes s’arme de courage et, ses états -de services à la main, il se présente à l’audience du duc de Lerme, ce -puissant dispensateur des grâces, cet _Atlas_, comme il l’appelle, _du -poids de cette monarchie_. Là encore une déception l’attendait. -Accueilli froidement, il est bientôt éconduit avec hauteur. Désabusé une -fois de plus, mais non découragé, Cervantes reprit le chemin de sa -pauvre demeure, afin d’y achever le livre qu’il avait commencé en -prison, et qui allait l’immortaliser en le vengeant. - -Une si pénible situation devait lui faire hâter la publication du _Don -Quichotte_: aussi s’occupa-t-il activement d’en obtenir le privilége; -mais il fallait un Mécène, l’usage le voulait ainsi. Pour lui offrir la -dédicace de son livre, Cervantes avait jeté les yeux sur le dernier -descendant des ducs de Bejar, don Alonzo Lopez de Zuniga y Sotomayor. Au -premier mot de chevalerie errante, le grand seigneur refusa. Cervantes -lui demanda pour toute faveur de vouloir bien entendre la lecture d’un -seul chapitre; et tels furent la surprise et le charme de cette lecture, -qu’on alla ainsi jusqu’à la fin. Le duc accepta l’hommage, et la -première partie de _Don Quichotte_ parut (1605). - -Le succès fut prodigieux. Trente mille exemplaires[145], chose inouïe -pour le temps, furent imprimés et vendus dans l’espace de quelques -années; le Portugal, l’Italie, la France, les Pays-Bas lurent l’ouvrage -avec avidité, et la langue espagnole dut à Cervantes une popularité qui -lui a longtemps survécu. - - [145] _Treinta mil volumenes se han impreso de mi historia_; _Don - Quichotte_, IIe partie, ch. XVI. - -Nous n’entreprendrons pas, nos forces nous trahiraient, l’examen -approfondi de ce phénomène littéraire: quelques mots seulement, avant de -continuer ce récit, sur l’intention présumée du roman de _Don -Quichotte_. On a prétendu qu’en publiant ce livre, l’unique but de -Cervantes avait été de guérir ses contemporains de leur fol engouement -pour les livres de chevalerie; lui-même le laisse entendre à la fin de -sa préface. Certes la passion immodérée de son siècle pour ces fades et -insipides lectures appelait un redresseur, et sans aucun doute Cervantes -voulut l’être; mais ceci n’est que la surface des choses, et chemin -faisant il se proposa surtout un autre but. Après avoir protesté, au nom -de la raison et du goût, contre l’emphase ridicule et la fausse -grandeur, et donné à ses contemporains une leçon qu’ils méritaient, -Cervantes, selon nous, voulut aussi protester contre leur ingratitude et -se rendre enfin justice à lui-même. Ainsi que Molière cherchait à se -consoler des caprices d’une femme égoïste et coquette, en se peignant -sous les traits du _Misanthrope_, de même le soldat mutilé de Lépante, -l’héroïque captif d’Alger, l’auteur dédaigné de _Galatée_ et de -_Numancia_, éprouvait, lui aussi, le besoin de se mettre en scène, et, -pour unique représaille envers son siècle, de verser dans un ouvrage, -miroir et confident de ses vicissitudes, un peu de cette ironie exempte -d’amertume qui sied au génie méconnu. L’image d’un juste toujours bafoué -devait lui sourire, car c’était sa propre histoire. Il se fit donc le -héros de son livre, et, s’incarnant dans ce sublime _bâtonné_, si j’ose -m’exprimer ainsi, il forma de toutes ses déceptions, de toutes ses -misères, une œuvre pleine d’ironie et de tendresse, drame à la fois -railleur et sympathique, _comédie aux cent actes divers_, épopée -burlesque et grave tour à tour, l’une des plus grandes créations, mais à -coup sûr la plus originale que dans aucune langue ait produite l’esprit -humain. - -«Le style de l’ouvrage, dit M. de Sismondi, est d’une beauté inimitable; -il a la noblesse, la candeur des anciens romans de chevalerie, et en -même temps une vivacité de coloris, un charme d’expression, une harmonie -de périodes qu’aucun écrivain n’a égalée. Telle est la fameuse -allocution de don Quichotte aux chevriers sur l’âge d’or. Dans le -dialogue, le langage du héros est plein de grandeur, il a la pompe et la -tournure antiques; ses discours comme sa personne ne quittent jamais la -cuirasse et la lance.» Ajoutons qu’aucun livre ne respire un plus noble -héroïsme, une morale plus pure, une philosophie plus douce; et pour ce -qui est de l’utilité pratique, personne n’ignore que les proverbes de -Sancho Panza sont devenus les oracles mêmes du bon sens. - -La renommée allait redisant partout le nom de Cervantes; mais, comme -toujours, avec le succès vinrent les détracteurs et les ennemis. La -troupe des auteurs tombés et des médiocrités jalouses se leva contre -lui. On voulut enrôler le grand Lope de Véga dans cette ligue honteuse -en lui dénonçant la critique que Cervantes avait faite de son -théâtre[146]; riche et heureux, Lope de Véga eut le bon sens de rejeter -cette alliance, et daigna même avouer que Cervantes ne manquait _ni de -grâce ni de style_. Moins scrupuleux, un certain Aragonais, auteur de -quelques plates comédies, osa, sous le pseudonyme d’Avellaneda, publier -une suite de _Don Quichotte_, dans laquelle il s’empare de l’idée du -livre et du personnage principal. «Nous continuons cet ouvrage, dit-il -effrontément, avec les matériaux que Cervantes a employés pour le -commencer, en nous aidant de plusieurs relations fidèles qui sont -tombées sous sa main, je dis sa main, car lui-même avoue qu’il n’en a -qu’une...[147]» Ainsi, non content de voler Cervantes, ce plagiaire -impudent ajoutait l’insulte à l’ironie. - - [146] _Don Quichotte_, Ire partie, ch. XLVIII. - - [147] Cervantes lui-même nous apprend que, par suite de sa blessure à - la bataille de Lépante, il avait perdu le mouvement de la main gauche. - -«Cervantes, dit M. Mérimée, répondit à ses lâches adversaires par la -seconde partie du _Don Quichotte_, au moins égale, sinon supérieure à la -première. Dans la préface, il combat ses ennemis en homme d’esprit et de -bon ton; mais il est facile de voir que les injures de l’Aragonais lui -ont été sensibles, car il y revient à plusieurs reprises, et se donne -trop souvent la peine de confondre le misérable qu’il aurait dû -oublier.» - -Dans cette seconde partie, les facultés créatrices de l’auteur se -montrent avec encore plus d’éclat. Quelle variété d’incidents, quelle -prodigieuse fécondité d’invention! Avec quel art le héros est promené à -travers mille nouvelles et étranges aventures! Mais cette fois, du -moins, ses épaules n’ont rien à redouter, et les nombreux coups de -bâton, justement critiqués peut-être, ont fait place à une série de -mystifications dont un nouveau personnage, le bachelier Samson Carrasco, -sorte de Figaro sceptique et railleur, devient le pivot et le principal -instrument. Quant au bon Sancho Panza, qui a si grande envie d’être -gouverneur, qu’il se rassure, il aura satisfaction, et dans une royauté -de dix jours on l’entendra parler et juger comme Salomon. - -La première partie du _Don Quichotte_ avait été dédiée au duc de Bejar. -En échange de l’oubli dont il sauvait ce désœuvré de noble sang, ainsi -l’appelle M. Viardot, Cervantes avait espéré quelque appui: il n’en fut -rien, et on doit le croire, car depuis lors, Cervantes, le plus -reconnaissant des hommes, ne prononce plus ce nom. Il dédia la seconde -partie au comte de Lemos, vice-roi de Naples. Celui-ci, il est vrai, se -déclara son protecteur, mais d’une façon si mesquine, que la détresse de -Cervantes en fut médiocrement allégée[148], et pourtant on verra bientôt -quelles expressions de touchante gratitude il trouva dans son cœur pour -d’aussi maigres bienfaits. - -Trois ans avant la publication de la seconde partie de _Don Quichotte_, -Cervantes avait publié le recueil de ses nouvelles, composées pendant -son séjour à Séville. Ces nouvelles, au nombre de quinze, auraient -seules suffi à sa gloire; elles sont divisées en sérieuses (serias) et -badines (jocosas). Il les appella Nouvelles exemplaires _Novelas -ejemplares_, pour montrer qu’elles renferment toutes un utile et -agréable enseignement. On y reconnaît cet admirable talent de conteur -qui lui a valu de la part du célèbre auteur de _Don Juan_, Tirso de -Molina, le surnom de Boccace espagnol. Dans la préface de ses -Nouvelles, Cervantes nous a laissé de lui un portrait que nous donnons -ici; il avait 66 ans. - - [148] A cette époque, il fut judiciairement expulsé du logement qu’il - occupait à Madrid, rue du _Duc d’Albe_, au coin de San-Isidro; il se - réfugia dans un autre modeste réduit, rue _del Leon_, nº 20, au coin - de celle de _Francos_, où il mourut. - - PORTRAIT DE CERVANTES PAR LUI-MÊME. - - «Cher lecteur, - - «Celui que tu vois représenté ici avec un visage aquilin, les cheveux - châtains, le front lisse et découvert, les yeux vifs, le nez recourbé, - quoique bien proportionné, la barbe d’argent (il y a vingt ans qu’elle - était d’or), la moustache grande, la bouche petite, les dents peu - nombreuses, car il ne lui en reste que six, encore en fort mauvais - état, le corps entre les deux extrêmes, ni grand ni petit, le teint - assez animé, plutôt blanc que brun, un peu voûté des épaules et non - fort léger des pieds; cela, dis-je, est le portrait de l’auteur de la - _Galatée_, de _Don Quichotte de la Manche_, et d’autres œuvres qui - courent le monde à l’abandon, peut-être sans le nom de leur maître. On - l’appelle communément Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.» - -Peu de temps après la publication de ses Nouvelles, il fit aussi -paraître un petit poëme intitulé: _le Voyage au Parnasse_, dans lequel -on retrouve sa philosophie habituelle et son aimable enjouement. Dans -cet ouvrage, il se suppose à la cour d’Apollon, et en profile pour -passer en revue les rimeurs de son temps; presque toujours il les loue, -mais il est facile de voir que ces éloges sont ironiques; ce qu’il y a -de piquant dans l’ouvrage, ce sont les éloges qu’il s’adresse, lui, -d’ordinaire si modeste. Introduit devant Apollon, il le voit entouré des -poëtes ses rivaux qui lui forment une cour nombreuse; il cherche un -siége pour s’asseoir et ne peut en trouver. «Eh bien, dit le dieu, plie -ton manteau et assieds-toi dessus.--Hélas! Sire, répondis-je, faites -attention que je n’ai pas de manteau.--Ton mérite sera ton manteau, me -dit Apollon.--Je me tus, et je restai debout.» - -On le voit, pour être moins obscur, Cervantes n’en était pas plus riche, -et la pauvreté était toujours assise à son foyer. L’anecdote suivante en -est la preuve. Laissons parler le chapelain de l’archevêque de Tolède, -le licencié Francisco Marquez de Torres, qui fut chargé de faire la -censure de la seconde partie du _Don Quichotte_: - -«Le 25 février de cette année 1615, dit-il, monseigneur de Tolède ayant -été rendre visite à l’ambassadeur de France, plusieurs gentilshommes -français, après la réception, s’approchèrent de moi, s’informant avec -curiosité des ouvrages en vogue en ce moment. Je citai par hasard la -seconde partie du _Don Quichotte_ dont je faisais l’examen. A peine le -nom de Miguel Cervantes fut-il prononcé, que tous, après avoir chuchoté -à voix basse, se mirent à parler hautement de l’estime qu’on en faisait -en France. Leurs éloges furent tels, que je m’offris à les mener voir -l’auteur, offre qu’ils acceptèrent avec de grandes démonstrations de -joie. Chemin faisant ils me questionnèrent sur son âge, sa qualité, sa -fortune. Je fus obligé de leur répondre qu’il était ancien soldat, -gentilhomme et pauvre.--«Eh quoi! l’Espagne n’a pas fait riche un tel -homme? dit un d’entre eux; il n’est pas nourri aux frais du Trésor -public?--Si c’est la nécessité qui l’oblige à écrire, répondit son -compagnon, Dieu veuille qu’il n’ait jamais l’abondance; afin que restant -pauvre, il enrichisse par ses œuvres le monde entier.» - -Cet abandon systématique de la part de ses plus grands admirateurs eût -manqué à la destinée de Cervantes; mais sa fin approchait, et affecté -d’une hydropisie cruelle, déjà condamné par les médecins, la mort, selon -l’expression d’un de ses biographes[149], allait bientôt le dérober à -l’ingratitude des princes et à l’injustice des hommes. Son âme stoïque -la vit venir sans effroi, et elle le trouva tel qu’il s’était montré à -Lépante ou dans les fers du féroce Dali-Mami. - - [149] M. Dumas-Hinard. - -Au commencement du printemps de l’année 1616, Cervantes avait quitté -Madrid afin d’aller respirer à la campagne un air plus pur, et s’était -rendu à Esquivias dans la famille de sa femme; mais là, son mal empirant -tout à coup, il demanda à revenir parmi les siens et reprit le chemin de -sa maison, en compagnie de deux amis qui n’avaient pas voulu -l’abandonner un seul instant. Dans le prologue de _Persiles et -Sigismonde_, roman publié par sa veuve, en 1617, il parle presque -gaiement de sa maladie et de ses derniers jours. - -«Or, il advint, cher lecteur, que deux de mes amis et moi, sortant -d’Esquivias, nous entendîmes derrière nous quelqu’un qui trottait de -grande hâte, comme s’il voulait nous atteindre, ce qu’il prouva bientôt -en nous criant de ne pas aller si vite. Nous l’attendîmes; et voilà que -survint, monté sur une bourrique, un étudiant tout gris, car il était -habillé de gris des pieds à la tête. Arrivé auprès de nous, il s’écria: -Si j’en juge au train dont elles trottent, Vos Seigneuries s’en vont -prendre possession de quelque place ou de quelque prébende à la cour, où -sont maintenant Son Éminence de Tolède et Sa Majesté. En vérité, je ne -croyais pas que ma bête eût sa pareille pour voyager. Sur quoi répondit -un de mes amis: La faute est au cheval du seigneur Miguel Cervantes, qui -a le pas fort allongé. A peine l’étudiant eut-il entendu mon nom, qu’il -sauta à bas de sa monture; puis me saisissant le bras gauche, il -s’écria: Oui, oui, le voilà bien ce glorieux manchot, ce _fameux tout_, -ce joyeux écrivain, ce consolateur des Muses! Moi qui en si peu de mots -m’entendais louer si galamment, je crus qu’il y aurait peu de courtoisie -à ne pas lui répondre sur le même ton.--Seigneur, lui dis-je, vous vous -trompez, comme beaucoup d’autres honnêtes gens. Je suis Miguel -Cervantes, mais non le consolateur des Muses, et je ne mérite aucun des -noms aimables que Votre Seigneurie veut bien me donner. On vint à parler -de ma maladie, et le bon étudiant me désespéra en me disant: C’est une -hydropisie, et toute l’eau de la mer océane ne la guérirait pas, quand -même vous la boiriez goutte à goutte. Ah! seigneur Cervantes, que Votre -Grâce se règle sur le boire, sans oublier le manger, et elle se guérira -sans autre remède.--Oui, répondis-je, on m’a déjà dit cela bien des -fois; mais je ne puis renoncer à boire quand l’envie m’en prend; et il -me semble que je ne sois né pour faire autre chose. Je m’en vais tout -doucement, et aux éphémérides de mon pouls je sens que c’est dimanche -que je quitterai ce monde. Vous êtes venu bien mal à propos pour faire -ma connaissance, car il ne me reste guère de temps pour vous remercier -de l’intérêt que vous me portez. Nous en étions là quand nous arrivâmes -au pont de Tolède; je le passai, et lui entra par celui de Ségovie...» - -Le mal était sans remède, et bientôt Cervantes s’alita; le 18 avril, -après avoir reçu les sacrements, il dicta presque mourant la dédicace de -_Persiles et Sigismonde_ au comte de Lemos, qui revenait d’Italie -prendre la présidence du conseil: - - A DON PEDRO FERNANDEZ DE CASTRO - - COMTE DE LEMOS - - «Cette ancienne romance, qui fut célèbre dans son temps, et qui - commence par ces mots: _Le pied dans l’étrier_, me revient à la - mémoire, hélas! trop naturellement, en écrivant cette lettre; car je - puis la commencer à peu près dans les mêmes termes. - - «_Le pied dans l’étrier, en agonie mortelle, seigneur, je t’écris ce - billet[150]._ - - «Hier ils m’ont donné l’extrême-onction, et aujourd’hui je vous écris - ces lignes. Le temps est court: l’angoisse s’accroît, l’espérance - diminue, et avec tout cela je vis, parce que je veux vivre assez de - temps pour baiser les pieds de V. E., et peut-être que la joie de la - revoir en bonne santé de retour en Espagne me rendrait la vie. Mais - s’il est décrété que je doive mourir, que la volonté du ciel - s’accomplisse: du moins V. E. connaîtra mes vœux; qu’elle sache - qu’elle perd en moi un serviteur dévoué, qui aurait voulu lui prouver - son attachement, même au delà de la mort. - - «Sur quoi je prie Dieu de conserver V. E., ainsi qu’il le peut.» - - Madrid, 19 avril 1616. - - [150] Puesto ya el pie en el estribo - Con las ansias de la muerte - Gran señor, esta te escribo. - -Il expira le 23 avril 1616, âgé de 69 ans, et plein de cette résignation -chrétienne qu’il avait toujours professée. Ses obsèques furent sans -aucune pompe. Sa fille, Isabel de Saavedra, chassée par la pauvreté de -la maison paternelle, avait depuis quelque temps déjà prononcé ses vœux -et s’était retirée dans un couvent. Quant à lui, l’ingratitude et -l’abandon qu’il éprouva pendant sa vie devaient le suivre même après sa -mort, car on ignore où repose sa cendre; et dans sa patrie, qu’il dota -d’une gloire immortelle, c’est vainement qu’on chercherait son tombeau. diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/en.txt b/kalamine/www/corpus/en.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6ea15b1..0000000 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/en.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,39262 +0,0 @@ -Don Quixote -by Miguel de Cervantes - -Translated by John Ormsby - -TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE - -I: ABOUT THIS TRANSLATION - -It was with considerable reluctance that I abandoned in favour of the -present undertaking what had long been a favourite project: that of a -new edition of Shelton’s “Don Quixote,” which has now become a somewhat -scarce book. There are some—and I confess myself to be one—for whom -Shelton’s racy old version, with all its defects, has a charm that no -modern translation, however skilful or correct, could possess. Shelton -had the inestimable advantage of belonging to the same generation as -Cervantes; “Don Quixote” had to him a vitality that only a contemporary -could feel; it cost him no dramatic effort to see things as Cervantes -saw them; there is no anachronism in his language; he put the Spanish -of Cervantes into the English of Shakespeare. Shakespeare himself most -likely knew the book; he may have carried it home with him in his -saddle-bags to Stratford on one of his last journeys, and under the -mulberry tree at New Place joined hands with a kindred genius in its -pages. - -But it was soon made plain to me that to hope for even a moderate -popularity for Shelton was vain. His fine old crusted English would, no -doubt, be relished by a minority, but it would be only by a minority. -His warmest admirers must admit that he is not a satisfactory -representative of Cervantes. His translation of the First Part was very -hastily made and was never revised by him. It has all the freshness and -vigour, but also a full measure of the faults, of a hasty production. -It is often very literal—barbarously literal frequently—but just as -often very loose. He had evidently a good colloquial knowledge of -Spanish, but apparently not much more. It never seems to occur to him -that the same translation of a word will not suit in every case. - -It is often said that we have no satisfactory translation of “Don -Quixote.” To those who are familiar with the original, it savours of -truism or platitude to say so, for in truth there can be no thoroughly -satisfactory translation of “Don Quixote” into English or any other -language. It is not that the Spanish idioms are so utterly -unmanageable, or that the untranslatable words, numerous enough no -doubt, are so superabundant, but rather that the sententious terseness -to which the humour of the book owes its flavour is peculiar to -Spanish, and can at best be only distantly imitated in any other -tongue. - -The history of our English translations of “Don Quixote” is -instructive. Shelton’s, the first in any language, was made, -apparently, about 1608, but not published till 1612. This of course was -only the First Part. It has been asserted that the Second, published in -1620, is not the work of Shelton, but there is nothing to support the -assertion save the fact that it has less spirit, less of what we -generally understand by “go,” about it than the first, which would be -only natural if the first were the work of a young man writing -_currente calamo_, and the second that of a middle-aged man writing for -a bookseller. On the other hand, it is closer and more literal, the -style is the same, the very same translations, or mistranslations, -occur in it, and it is extremely unlikely that a new translator would, -by suppressing his name, have allowed Shelton to carry off the credit. - -In 1687 John Phillips, Milton’s nephew, produced a “Don Quixote” “made -English,” he says, “according to the humour of our modern language.” -His “Quixote” is not so much a translation as a travesty, and a -travesty that for coarseness, vulgarity, and buffoonery is almost -unexampled even in the literature of that day. - -Ned Ward’s “Life and Notable Adventures of Don Quixote, merrily -translated into Hudibrastic Verse” (1700), can scarcely be reckoned a -translation, but it serves to show the light in which “Don Quixote” was -regarded at the time. - -A further illustration may be found in the version published in 1712 by -Peter Motteux, who had then recently combined tea-dealing with -literature. It is described as “translated from the original by several -hands,” but if so all Spanish flavour has entirely evaporated under the -manipulation of the several hands. The flavour that it has, on the -other hand, is distinctly Franco-cockney. Anyone who compares it -carefully with the original will have little doubt that it is a -concoction from Shelton and the French of Filleau de Saint Martin, eked -out by borrowings from Phillips, whose mode of treatment it adopts. It -is, to be sure, more decent and decorous, but it treats “Don Quixote” -in the same fashion as a comic book that cannot be made too comic. - -To attempt to improve the humour of “Don Quixote” by an infusion of -cockney flippancy and facetiousness, as Motteux’s operators did, is not -merely an impertinence like larding a sirloin of prize beef, but an -absolute falsification of the spirit of the book, and it is a proof of -the uncritical way in which “Don Quixote” is generally read that this -worse than worthless translation—worthless as failing to represent, -worse than worthless as misrepresenting—should have been favoured as it -has been. - -It had the effect, however, of bringing out a translation undertaken -and executed in a very different spirit, that of Charles Jervas, the -portrait painter, and friend of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, and Gay. Jervas -has been allowed little credit for his work, indeed it may be said -none, for it is known to the world in general as Jarvis’s. It was not -published until after his death, and the printers gave the name -according to the current pronunciation of the day. It has been the most -freely used and the most freely abused of all the translations. It has -seen far more editions than any other, it is admitted on all hands to -be by far the most faithful, and yet nobody seems to have a good word -to say for it or for its author. Jervas no doubt prejudiced readers -against himself in his preface, where among many true words about -Shelton, Stevens, and Motteux, he rashly and unjustly charges Shelton -with having translated not from the Spanish, but from the Italian -version of Franciosini, which did not appear until ten years after -Shelton’s first volume. A suspicion of incompetence, too, seems to have -attached to him because he was by profession a painter and a mediocre -one (though he has given us the best portrait we have of Swift), and -this may have been strengthened by Pope’s remark that he “translated -‘Don Quixote’ without understanding Spanish.” He has been also charged -with borrowing from Shelton, whom he disparaged. It is true that in a -few difficult or obscure passages he has followed Shelton, and gone -astray with him; but for one case of this sort, there are fifty where -he is right and Shelton wrong. As for Pope’s dictum, anyone who -examines Jervas’s version carefully, side by side with the original, -will see that he was a sound Spanish scholar, incomparably a better one -than Shelton, except perhaps in mere colloquial Spanish. He was, in -fact, an honest, faithful, and painstaking translator, and he has left -a version which, whatever its shortcomings may be, is singularly free -from errors and mistranslations. - -The charge against it is that it is stiff, dry—“wooden” in a word,—and -no one can deny that there is a foundation for it. But it may be -pleaded for Jervas that a good deal of this rigidity is due to his -abhorrence of the light, flippant, jocose style of his predecessors. He -was one of the few, very few, translators that have shown any -apprehension of the unsmiling gravity which is the essence of Quixotic -humour; it seemed to him a crime to bring Cervantes forward smirking -and grinning at his own good things, and to this may be attributed in a -great measure the ascetic abstinence from everything savouring of -liveliness which is the characteristic of his translation. In most -modern editions, it should be observed, his style has been smoothed and -smartened, but without any reference to the original Spanish, so that -if he has been made to read more agreeably he has also been robbed of -his chief merit of fidelity. - -Smollett’s version, published in 1755, may be almost counted as one of -these. At any rate it is plain that in its construction Jervas’s -translation was very freely drawn upon, and very little or probably no -heed given to the original Spanish. - -The later translations may be dismissed in a few words. George Kelly’s, -which appeared in 1769, “printed for the Translator,” was an impudent -imposture, being nothing more than Motteux’s version with a few of the -words, here and there, artfully transposed; Charles Wilmot’s (1774) was -only an abridgment like Florian’s, but not so skilfully executed; and -the version published by Miss Smirke in 1818, to accompany her -brother’s plates, was merely a patchwork production made out of former -translations. On the latest, Mr. A. J. Duffield’s, it would be in every -sense of the word impertinent in me to offer an opinion here. I had not -even seen it when the present undertaking was proposed to me, and since -then I may say vidi tantum, having for obvious reasons resisted the -temptation which Mr. Duffield’s reputation and comely volumes hold out -to every lover of Cervantes. - -From the foregoing history of our translations of “Don Quixote,” it -will be seen that there are a good many people who, provided they get -the mere narrative with its full complement of facts, incidents, and -adventures served up to them in a form that amuses them, care very -little whether that form is the one in which Cervantes originally -shaped his ideas. On the other hand, it is clear that there are many -who desire to have not merely the story he tells, but the story as he -tells it, so far at least as differences of idiom and circumstances -permit, and who will give a preference to the conscientious translator, -even though he may have acquitted himself somewhat awkwardly. - -But after all there is no real antagonism between the two classes; -there is no reason why what pleases the one should not please the -other, or why a translator who makes it his aim to treat “Don Quixote” -with the respect due to a great classic, should not be as acceptable -even to the careless reader as the one who treats it as a famous old -jest-book. It is not a question of caviare to the general, or, if it -is, the fault rests with him who makes so. The method by which -Cervantes won the ear of the Spanish people ought, mutatis mutandis, to -be equally effective with the great majority of English readers. At any -rate, even if there are readers to whom it is a matter of indifference, -fidelity to the method is as much a part of the translator’s duty as -fidelity to the matter. If he can please all parties, so much the -better; but his first duty is to those who look to him for as faithful -a representation of his author as it is in his power to give them, -faithful to the letter so long as fidelity is practicable, faithful to -the spirit so far as he can make it. - -My purpose here is not to dogmatise on the rules of translation, but to -indicate those I have followed, or at least tried to the best of my -ability to follow, in the present instance. One which, it seems to me, -cannot be too rigidly followed in translating “Don Quixote,” is to -avoid everything that savours of affectation. The book itself is, -indeed, in one sense a protest against it, and no man abhorred it more -than Cervantes. For this reason, I think, any temptation to use -antiquated or obsolete language should be resisted. It is after all an -affectation, and one for which there is no warrant or excuse. Spanish -has probably undergone less change since the seventeenth century than -any language in Europe, and by far the greater and certainly the best -part of “Don Quixote” differs but little in language from the -colloquial Spanish of the present day. Except in the tales and Don -Quixote’s speeches, the translator who uses the simplest and plainest -everyday language will almost always be the one who approaches nearest -to the original. - -Seeing that the story of “Don Quixote” and all its characters and -incidents have now been for more than two centuries and a half familiar -as household words in English mouths, it seems to me that the old -familiar names and phrases should not be changed without good reason. -Of course a translator who holds that “Don Quixote” should receive the -treatment a great classic deserves, will feel himself bound by the -injunction laid upon the Morisco in Chap. IX not to omit or add -anything. - -II: ABOUT CERVANTES AND DON QUIXOTE - -Four generations had laughed over “Don Quixote” before it occurred to -anyone to ask, who and what manner of man was this Miguel de Cervantes -Saavedra whose name is on the title-page; and it was too late for a -satisfactory answer to the question when it was proposed to add a life -of the author to the London edition published at Lord Carteret’s -instance in 1738. All traces of the personality of Cervantes had by -that time disappeared. Any floating traditions that may once have -existed, transmitted from men who had known him, had long since died -out, and of other record there was none; for the sixteenth and -seventeenth centuries were incurious as to “the men of the time,” a -reproach against which the nineteenth has, at any rate, secured itself, -if it has produced no Shakespeare or Cervantes. All that Mayans y -Siscar, to whom the task was entrusted, or any of those who followed -him, Rios, Pellicer, or Navarrete, could do was to eke out the few -allusions Cervantes makes to himself in his various prefaces with such -pieces of documentary evidence bearing upon his life as they could -find. - -This, however, has been done by the last-named biographer to such good -purpose that he has superseded all predecessors. Thoroughness is the -chief characteristic of Navarrete’s work. Besides sifting, testing, and -methodising with rare patience and judgment what had been previously -brought to light, he left, as the saying is, no stone unturned under -which anything to illustrate his subject might possibly be found. -Navarrete has done all that industry and acumen could do, and it is no -fault of his if he has not given us what we want. What Hallam says of -Shakespeare may be applied to the almost parallel case of Cervantes: -“It is not the register of his baptism, or the draft of his will, or -the orthography of his name that we seek; no letter of his writing, no -record of his conversation, no character of him drawn ... by a -contemporary has been produced.” - -It is only natural, therefore, that the biographers of Cervantes, -forced to make brick without straw, should have recourse largely to -conjecture, and that conjecture should in some instances come by -degrees to take the place of established fact. All that I propose to do -here is to separate what is matter of fact from what is matter of -conjecture, and leave it to the reader’s judgment to decide whether the -data justify the inference or not. - -The men whose names by common consent stand in the front rank of -Spanish literature, Cervantes, Lope de Vega, Quevedo, Calderon, -Garcilaso de la Vega, the Mendozas, Gongora, were all men of ancient -families, and, curiously, all, except the last, of families that traced -their origin to the same mountain district in the North of Spain. The -family of Cervantes is commonly said to have been of Galician origin, -and unquestionably it was in possession of lands in Galicia at a very -early date; but I think the balance of the evidence tends to show that -the “solar,” the original site of the family, was at Cervatos in the -north-west corner of Old Castile, close to the junction of Castile, -Leon, and the Asturias. As it happens, there is a complete history of -the Cervantes family from the tenth century down to the seventeenth -extant under the title of “Illustrious Ancestry, Glorious Deeds, and -Noble Posterity of the Famous Nuno Alfonso, Alcaide of Toledo,” written -in 1648 by the industrious genealogist Rodrigo Mendez Silva, who -availed himself of a manuscript genealogy by Juan de Mena, the poet -laureate and historiographer of John II. - -The origin of the name Cervantes is curious. Nuno Alfonso was almost as -distinguished in the struggle against the Moors in the reign of Alfonso -VII as the Cid had been half a century before in that of Alfonso VI, -and was rewarded by divers grants of land in the neighbourhood of -Toledo. On one of his acquisitions, about two leagues from the city, he -built himself a castle which he called Cervatos, because “he was lord -of the solar of Cervatos in the Montana,” as the mountain region -extending from the Basque Provinces to Leon was always called. At his -death in battle in 1143, the castle passed by his will to his son -Alfonso Munio, who, as territorial or local surnames were then coming -into vogue in place of the simple patronymic, took the additional name -of Cervatos. His eldest son Pedro succeeded him in the possession of -the castle, and followed his example in adopting the name, an -assumption at which the younger son, Gonzalo, seems to have taken -umbrage. - -Everyone who has paid even a flying visit to Toledo will remember the -ruined castle that crowns the hill above the spot where the bridge of -Alcántara spans the gorge of the Tagus, and with its broken outline and -crumbling walls makes such an admirable pendant to the square solid -Alcazar towering over the city roofs on the opposite side. It was -built, or as some say restored, by Alfonso VI shortly after his -occupation of Toledo in 1085, and called by him San Servando after a -Spanish martyr, a name subsequently modified into San Servan (in which -form it appears in the “Poem of the Cid”), San Servantes, and San -Cervantes: with regard to which last the “Handbook for Spain” warns its -readers against the supposition that it has anything to do with the -author of “Don Quixote.” Ford, as all know who have taken him for a -companion and counsellor on the roads of Spain, is seldom wrong in -matters of literature or history. In this instance, however, he is in -error. It has everything to do with the author of “Don Quixote,” for it -is in fact these old walls that have given to Spain the name she is -proudest of to-day. Gonzalo, above mentioned, it may be readily -conceived, did not relish the appropriation by his brother of a name to -which he himself had an equal right, for though nominally taken from -the castle, it was in reality derived from the ancient territorial -possession of the family, and as a set-off, and to distinguish himself -(diferenciarse) from his brother, he took as a surname the name of the -castle on the bank of the Tagus, in the building of which, according to -a family tradition, his great-grandfather had a share. - -Both brothers founded families. The Cervantes branch had more tenacity; -it sent offshoots in various directions, Andalusia, Estremadura, -Galicia, and Portugal, and produced a goodly line of men distinguished -in the service of Church and State. Gonzalo himself, and apparently a -son of his, followed Ferdinand III in the great campaign of 1236-48 -that gave Cordova and Seville to Christian Spain and penned up the -Moors in the kingdom of Granada, and his descendants intermarried with -some of the noblest families of the Peninsula and numbered among them -soldiers, magistrates, and Church dignitaries, including at least two -cardinal-archbishops. - -Of the line that settled in Andalusia, Deigo de Cervantes, Commander of -the Order of Santiago, married Juana Avellaneda, daughter of Juan Arias -de Saavedra, and had several sons, of whom one was Gonzalo Gomez, -Corregidor of Jerez and ancestor of the Mexican and Columbian branches -of the family; and another, Juan, whose son Rodrigo married Doña Leonor -de Cortinas, and by her had four children, Rodrigo, Andrea, Luisa, and -Miguel, our author. - -The pedigree of Cervantes is not without its bearing on “Don Quixote.” -A man who could look back upon an ancestry of genuine knights-errant -extending from well-nigh the time of Pelayo to the siege of Granada was -likely to have a strong feeling on the subject of the sham chivalry of -the romances. It gives a point, too, to what he says in more than one -place about families that have once been great and have tapered away -until they have come to nothing, like a pyramid. It was the case of his -own. - -He was born at Alcalá de Henares and baptised in the church of Santa -Maria Mayor on the 9th of October, 1547. Of his boyhood and youth we -know nothing, unless it be from the glimpse he gives us in the preface -to his “Comedies” of himself as a boy looking on with delight while -Lope de Rueda and his company set up their rude plank stage in the -plaza and acted the rustic farces which he himself afterwards took as -the model of his interludes. This first glimpse, however, is a -significant one, for it shows the early development of that love of the -drama which exercised such an influence on his life and seems to have -grown stronger as he grew older, and of which this very preface, -written only a few months before his death, is such a striking proof. -He gives us to understand, too, that he was a great reader in his -youth; but of this no assurance was needed, for the First Part of “Don -Quixote” alone proves a vast amount of miscellaneous reading, romances -of chivalry, ballads, popular poetry, chronicles, for which he had no -time or opportunity except in the first twenty years of his life; and -his misquotations and mistakes in matters of detail are always, it may -be noticed, those of a man recalling the reading of his boyhood. - -Other things besides the drama were in their infancy when Cervantes was -a boy. The period of his boyhood was in every way a transition period -for Spain. The old chivalrous Spain had passed away. The new Spain was -the mightiest power the world had seen since the Roman Empire and it -had not yet been called upon to pay the price of its greatness. By the -policy of Ferdinand and Ximenez the sovereign had been made absolute, -and the Church and Inquisition adroitly adjusted to keep him so. The -nobles, who had always resisted absolutism as strenuously as they had -fought the Moors, had been divested of all political power, a like fate -had befallen the cities, the free constitutions of Castile and Aragon -had been swept away, and the only function that remained to the Cortés -was that of granting money at the King’s dictation. - -The transition extended to literature. Men who, like Garcilaso de la -Vega and Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, followed the Italian wars, had -brought back from Italy the products of the post-Renaissance -literature, which took root and flourished and even threatened to -extinguish the native growths. Damon and Thyrsis, Phyllis and Chloe had -been fairly naturalised in Spain, together with all the devices of -pastoral poetry for investing with an air of novelty the idea of a -dispairing shepherd and inflexible shepherdess. As a set-off against -this, the old historical and traditional ballads, and the true -pastorals, the songs and ballads of peasant life, were being collected -assiduously and printed in the cancioneros that succeeded one another -with increasing rapidity. But the most notable consequence, perhaps, of -the spread of printing was the flood of romances of chivalry that had -continued to pour from the press ever since Garci Ordoñez de Montalvo -had resuscitated “Amadis of Gaul” at the beginning of the century. - -For a youth fond of reading, solid or light, there could have been no -better spot in Spain than Alcalá de Henares in the middle of the -sixteenth century. It was then a busy, populous university town, -something more than the enterprising rival of Salamanca, and altogether -a very different place from the melancholy, silent, deserted Alcalá the -traveller sees now as he goes from Madrid to Saragossa. Theology and -medicine may have been the strong points of the university, but the -town itself seems to have inclined rather to the humanities and light -literature, and as a producer of books Alcalá was already beginning to -compete with the older presses of Toledo, Burgos, Salamanca and -Seville. - -A pendant to the picture Cervantes has given us of his first playgoings -might, no doubt, have been often seen in the streets of Alcalá at that -time; a bright, eager, tawny-haired boy peering into a book-shop where -the latest volumes lay open to tempt the public, wondering, it may be, -what that little book with the woodcut of the blind beggar and his boy, -that called itself “Vida de Lazarillo de Tormes, segunda impresion,” -could be about; or with eyes brimming over with merriment gazing at one -of those preposterous portraits of a knight-errant in outrageous -panoply and plumes with which the publishers of chivalry romances loved -to embellish the title-pages of their folios. If the boy was the father -of the man, the sense of the incongruous that was strong at fifty was -lively at ten, and some such reflections as these may have been the -true genesis of “Don Quixote.” - -For his more solid education, we are told, he went to Salamanca. But -why Rodrigo de Cervantes, who was very poor, should have sent his son -to a university a hundred and fifty miles away when he had one at his -own door, would be a puzzle, if we had any reason for supposing that he -did so. The only evidence is a vague statement by Professor Tomas -Gonzalez, that he once saw an old entry of the matriculation of a -Miguel de Cervantes. This does not appear to have been ever seen again; -but even if it had, and if the date corresponded, it would prove -nothing, as there were at least two other Miguels born about the middle -of the century; one of them, moreover, a Cervantes Saavedra, a cousin, -no doubt, who was a source of great embarrassment to the biographers. - -That he was a student neither at Salamanca nor at Alcalá is best proved -by his own works. No man drew more largely upon experience than he did, -and he has nowhere left a single reminiscence of student life—for the -“Tia Fingida,” if it be his, is not one—nothing, not even “a college -joke,” to show that he remembered days that most men remember best. All -that we know positively about his education is that Juan Lopez de -Hoyos, a professor of humanities and belles-lettres of some eminence, -calls him his “dear and beloved pupil.” This was in a little collection -of verses by different hands on the death of Isabel de Valois, second -queen of Philip II., published by the professor in 1569, to which -Cervantes contributed four pieces, including an elegy, and an epitaph -in the form of a sonnet. It is only by a rare chance that a “Lycidas” -finds its way into a volume of this sort, and Cervantes was no Milton. -His verses are no worse than such things usually are; so much, at -least, may be said for them. - -By the time the book appeared he had left Spain, and, as fate ordered -it, for twelve years, the most eventful ones of his life. Giulio, -afterwards Cardinal, Acquaviva had been sent at the end of 1568 to -Philip II. by the Pope on a mission, partly of condolence, partly -political, and on his return to Rome, which was somewhat brusquely -expedited by the King, he took Cervantes with him as his camarero -(chamberlain), the office he himself held in the Pope’s household. The -post would no doubt have led to advancement at the Papal Court had -Cervantes retained it, but in the summer of 1570 he resigned it and -enlisted as a private soldier in Captain Diego Urbina’s company, -belonging to Don Miguel de Moncada’s regiment, but at that time forming -a part of the command of Marc Antony Colonna. What impelled him to this -step we know not, whether it was distaste for the career before him, or -purely military enthusiasm. It may well have been the latter, for it -was a stirring time; the events, however, which led to the alliance -between Spain, Venice, and the Pope, against the common enemy, the -Porte, and to the victory of the combined fleets at Lepanto, belong -rather to the history of Europe than to the life of Cervantes. He was -one of those that sailed from Messina, in September 1571, under the -command of Don John of Austria; but on the morning of the 7th of -October, when the Turkish fleet was sighted, he was lying below ill -with fever. At the news that the enemy was in sight he rose, and, in -spite of the remonstrances of his comrades and superiors, insisted on -taking his post, saying he preferred death in the service of God and -the King to health. His galley, the _Marquesa_, was in the thick of the -fight, and before it was over he had received three gunshot wounds, two -in the breast and one in the left hand or arm. On the morning after the -battle, according to Navarrete, he had an interview with the -commander-in-chief, Don John, who was making a personal inspection of -the wounded, one result of which was an addition of three crowns to his -pay, and another, apparently, the friendship of his general. - -How severely Cervantes was wounded may be inferred from the fact, that -with youth, a vigorous frame, and as cheerful and buoyant a temperament -as ever invalid had, he was seven months in hospital at Messina before -he was discharged. He came out with his left hand permanently disabled; -he had lost the use of it, as Mercury told him in the “Viaje del -Parnaso” for the greater glory of the right. This, however, did not -absolutely unfit him for service, and in April 1572 he joined Manuel -Ponce de Leon’s company of Lope de Figueroa’s regiment, in which, it -seems probable, his brother Rodrigo was serving, and shared in the -operations of the next three years, including the capture of the -Goletta and Tunis. Taking advantage of the lull which followed the -recapture of these places by the Turks, he obtained leave to return to -Spain, and sailed from Naples in September 1575 on board the _Sun_ -galley, in company with his brother Rodrigo, Pedro Carrillo de Quesada, -late Governor of the Goletta, and some others, and furnished with -letters from Don John of Austria and the Duke of Sesa, the Viceroy of -Sicily, recommending him to the King for the command of a company, on -account of his services; a _dono infelice_ as events proved. On the -26th they fell in with a squadron of Algerine galleys, and after a -stout resistance were overpowered and carried into Algiers. - -By means of a ransomed fellow-captive the brothers contrived to inform -their family of their condition, and the poor people at Alcalá at once -strove to raise the ransom money, the father disposing of all he -possessed, and the two sisters giving up their marriage portions. But -Dali Mami had found on Cervantes the letters addressed to the King by -Don John and the Duke of Sesa, and, concluding that his prize must be a -person of great consequence, when the money came he refused it -scornfully as being altogether insufficient. The owner of Rodrigo, -however, was more easily satisfied; ransom was accepted in his case, -and it was arranged between the brothers that he should return to Spain -and procure a vessel in which he was to come back to Algiers and take -off Miguel and as many of their comrades as possible. This was not the -first attempt to escape that Cervantes had made. Soon after the -commencement of his captivity he induced several of his companions to -join him in trying to reach Oran, then a Spanish post, on foot; but -after the first day’s journey, the Moor who had agreed to act as their -guide deserted them, and they had no choice but to return. The second -attempt was more disastrous. In a garden outside the city on the -sea-shore, he constructed, with the help of the gardener, a Spaniard, a -hiding-place, to which he brought, one by one, fourteen of his -fellow-captives, keeping them there in secrecy for several months, and -supplying them with food through a renegade known as El Dorador, “the -Gilder.” How he, a captive himself, contrived to do all this, is one of -the mysteries of the story. Wild as the project may appear, it was very -nearly successful. The vessel procured by Rodrigo made its appearance -off the coast, and under cover of night was proceeding to take off the -refugees, when the crew were alarmed by a passing fishing boat, and -beat a hasty retreat. On renewing the attempt shortly afterwards, they, -or a portion of them at least, were taken prisoners, and just as the -poor fellows in the garden were exulting in the thought that in a few -moments more freedom would be within their grasp, they found themselves -surrounded by Turkish troops, horse and foot. The Dorador had revealed -the whole scheme to the Dey Hassan. - -When Cervantes saw what had befallen them, he charged his companions to -lay all the blame upon him, and as they were being bound he declared -aloud that the whole plot was of his contriving, and that nobody else -had any share in it. Brought before the Dey, he said the same. He was -threatened with impalement and with torture; and as cutting off ears -and noses were playful freaks with the Algerines, it may be conceived -what their tortures were like; but nothing could make him swerve from -his original statement that he and he alone was responsible. The upshot -was that the unhappy gardener was hanged by his master, and the -prisoners taken possession of by the Dey, who, however, afterwards -restored most of them to their masters, but kept Cervantes, paying Dali -Mami 500 crowns for him. He felt, no doubt, that a man of such -resource, energy, and daring, was too dangerous a piece of property to -be left in private hands; and he had him heavily ironed and lodged in -his own prison. If he thought that by these means he could break the -spirit or shake the resolution of his prisoner, he was soon undeceived, -for Cervantes contrived before long to despatch a letter to the -Governor of Oran, entreating him to send him someone that could be -trusted, to enable him and three other gentlemen, fellow-captives of -his, to make their escape; intending evidently to renew his first -attempt with a more trustworthy guide. Unfortunately the Moor who -carried the letter was stopped just outside Oran, and the letter being -found upon him, he was sent back to Algiers, where by the order of the -Dey he was promptly impaled as a warning to others, while Cervantes was -condemned to receive two thousand blows of the stick, a number which -most likely would have deprived the world of “Don Quixote,” had not -some persons, who they were we know not, interceded on his behalf. - -After this he seems to have been kept in still closer confinement than -before, for nearly two years passed before he made another attempt. -This time his plan was to purchase, by the aid of a Spanish renegade -and two Valencian merchants resident in Algiers, an armed vessel in -which he and about sixty of the leading captives were to make their -escape; but just as they were about to put it into execution one Doctor -Juan Blanco de Paz, an ecclesiastic and a compatriot, informed the Dey -of the plot. Cervantes by force of character, by his self-devotion, by -his untiring energy and his exertions to lighten the lot of his -companions in misery, had endeared himself to all, and become the -leading spirit in the captive colony, and, incredible as it may seem, -jealousy of his influence and the esteem in which he was held, moved -this man to compass his destruction by a cruel death. The merchants -finding that the Dey knew all, and fearing that Cervantes under torture -might make disclosures that would imperil their own lives, tried to -persuade him to slip away on board a vessel that was on the point of -sailing for Spain; but he told them they had nothing to fear, for no -tortures would make him compromise anybody, and he went at once and -gave himself up to the Dey. - -As before, the Dey tried to force him to name his accomplices. -Everything was made ready for his immediate execution; the halter was -put round his neck and his hands tied behind him, but all that could be -got from him was that he himself, with the help of four gentlemen who -had since left Algiers, had arranged the whole, and that the sixty who -were to accompany him were not to know anything of it until the last -moment. Finding he could make nothing of him, the Dey sent him back to -prison more heavily ironed than before. - -The poverty-stricken Cervantes family had been all this time trying -once more to raise the ransom money, and at last a sum of three hundred -ducats was got together and entrusted to the Redemptorist Father Juan -Gil, who was about to sail for Algiers. The Dey, however, demanded more -than double the sum offered, and as his term of office had expired and -he was about to sail for Constantinople, taking all his slaves with -him, the case of Cervantes was critical. He was already on board -heavily ironed, when the Dey at length agreed to reduce his demand by -one-half, and Father Gil by borrowing was able to make up the amount, -and on September 19, 1580, after a captivity of five years all but a -week, Cervantes was at last set free. Before long he discovered that -Blanco de Paz, who claimed to be an officer of the Inquisition, was now -concocting on false evidence a charge of misconduct to be brought -against him on his return to Spain. To checkmate him Cervantes drew up -a series of twenty-five questions, covering the whole period of his -captivity, upon which he requested Father Gil to take the depositions -of credible witnesses before a notary. Eleven witnesses taken from -among the principal captives in Algiers deposed to all the facts above -stated and to a great deal more besides. There is something touching in -the admiration, love, and gratitude we see struggling to find -expression in the formal language of the notary, as they testify one -after another to the good deeds of Cervantes, how he comforted and -helped the weak-hearted, how he kept up their drooping courage, how he -shared his poor purse with this deponent, and how “in him this deponent -found father and mother.” - -On his return to Spain he found his old regiment about to march for -Portugal to support Philip’s claim to the crown, and utterly penniless -now, had no choice but to rejoin it. He was in the expeditions to the -Azores in 1582 and the following year, and on the conclusion of the war -returned to Spain in the autumn of 1583, bringing with him the -manuscript of his pastoral romance, the “Galatea,” and probably also, -to judge by internal evidence, that of the first portion of “Persiles -and Sigismunda.” He also brought back with him, his biographers assert, -an infant daughter, the offspring of an amour, as some of them with -great circumstantiality inform us, with a Lisbon lady of noble birth, -whose name, however, as well as that of the street she lived in, they -omit to mention. The sole foundation for all this is that in 1605 there -certainly was living in the family of Cervantes a Doña Isabel de -Saavedra, who is described in an official document as his natural -daughter, and then twenty years of age. - -With his crippled left hand promotion in the army was hopeless, now -that Don John was dead and he had no one to press his claims and -services, and for a man drawing on to forty life in the ranks was a -dismal prospect; he had already a certain reputation as a poet; he made -up his mind, therefore, to cast his lot with literature, and for a -first venture committed his “Galatea” to the press. It was published, -as Salva y Mallen shows conclusively, at Alcalá, his own birth-place, -in 1585 and no doubt helped to make his name more widely known, but -certainly did not do him much good in any other way. - -While it was going through the press, he married Doña Catalina de -Palacios Salazar y Vozmediano, a lady of Esquivias near Madrid, and -apparently a friend of the family, who brought him a fortune which may -possibly have served to keep the wolf from the door, but if so, that -was all. The drama had by this time outgrown market-place stages and -strolling companies, and with his old love for it he naturally turned -to it for a congenial employment. In about three years he wrote twenty -or thirty plays, which he tells us were performed without any throwing -of cucumbers or other missiles, and ran their course without any -hisses, outcries, or disturbance. In other words, his plays were not -bad enough to be hissed off the stage, but not good enough to hold -their own upon it. Only two of them have been preserved, but as they -happen to be two of the seven or eight he mentions with complacency, we -may assume they are favourable specimens, and no one who reads the -“Numancia” and the “Trato de Argel” will feel any surprise that they -failed as acting dramas. Whatever merits they may have, whatever -occasional they may show, they are, as regards construction, incurably -clumsy. How completely they failed is manifest from the fact that with -all his sanguine temperament and indomitable perseverance he was unable -to maintain the struggle to gain a livelihood as a dramatist for more -than three years; nor was the rising popularity of Lope the cause, as -is often said, notwithstanding his own words to the contrary. When Lope -began to write for the stage is uncertain, but it was certainly after -Cervantes went to Seville. - -Among the “Nuevos Documentos” printed by Señor Asensio y Toledo is one -dated 1592, and curiously characteristic of Cervantes. It is an -agreement with one Rodrigo Osorio, a manager, who was to accept six -comedies at fifty ducats (about 6l.) apiece, not to be paid in any case -unless it appeared on representation that the said comedy was one of -the best that had ever been represented in Spain. The test does not -seem to have been ever applied; perhaps it was sufficiently apparent to -Rodrigo Osorio that the comedies were not among the best that had ever -been represented. Among the correspondence of Cervantes there might -have been found, no doubt, more than one letter like that we see in the -“Rake’s Progress,” “Sir, I have read your play, and it will not doo.” - -He was more successful in a literary contest at Saragossa in 1595 in -honour of the canonisation of St. Jacinto, when his composition won the -first prize, three silver spoons. The year before this he had been -appointed a collector of revenues for the kingdom of Granada. In order -to remit the money he had collected more conveniently to the treasury, -he entrusted it to a merchant, who failed and absconded; and as the -bankrupt’s assets were insufficient to cover the whole, he was sent to -prison at Seville in September 1597. The balance against him, however, -was a small one, about 26l., and on giving security for it he was -released at the end of the year. - -It was as he journeyed from town to town collecting the king’s taxes, -that he noted down those bits of inn and wayside life and character -that abound in the pages of “Don Quixote:” the Benedictine monks with -spectacles and sunshades, mounted on their tall mules; the strollers in -costume bound for the next village; the barber with his basin on his -head, on his way to bleed a patient; the recruit with his breeches in -his bundle, tramping along the road singing; the reapers gathered in -the venta gateway listening to “Felixmarte of Hircania” read out to -them; and those little Hogarthian touches that he so well knew how to -bring in, the ox-tail hanging up with the landlord’s comb stuck in it, -the wine-skins at the bed-head, and those notable examples of hostelry -art, Helen going off in high spirits on Paris’s arm, and Dido on the -tower dropping tears as big as walnuts. Nay, it may well be that on -those journeys into remote regions he came across now and then a -specimen of the pauper gentleman, with his lean hack and his greyhound -and his books of chivalry, dreaming away his life in happy ignorance -that the world had changed since his great-grandfather’s old helmet was -new. But it was in Seville that he found out his true vocation, though -he himself would not by any means have admitted it to be so. It was -there, in Triana, that he was first tempted to try his hand at drawing -from life, and first brought his humour into play in the exquisite -little sketch of “Rinconete y Cortadillo,” the germ, in more ways than -one, of “Don Quixote.” - -Where and when that was written, we cannot tell. After his imprisonment -all trace of Cervantes in his official capacity disappears, from which -it may be inferred that he was not reinstated. That he was still in -Seville in November 1598 appears from a satirical sonnet of his on the -elaborate catafalque erected to testify the grief of the city at the -death of Philip II, but from this up to 1603 we have no clue to his -movements. The words in the preface to the First Part of “Don Quixote” -are generally held to be conclusive that he conceived the idea of the -book, and wrote the beginning of it at least, in a prison, and that he -may have done so is extremely likely. - -There is a tradition that Cervantes read some portions of his work to a -select audience at the Duke of Bejar’s, which may have helped to make -the book known; but the obvious conclusion is that the First Part of -“Don Quixote” lay on his hands some time before he could find a -publisher bold enough to undertake a venture of so novel a character; -and so little faith in it had Francisco Robles of Madrid, to whom at -last he sold it, that he did not care to incur the expense of securing -the copyright for Aragon or Portugal, contenting himself with that for -Castile. The printing was finished in December, and the book came out -with the new year, 1605. It is often said that “Don Quixote” was at -first received coldly. The facts show just the contrary. No sooner was -it in the hands of the public than preparations were made to issue -pirated editions at Lisbon and Valencia, and to bring out a second -edition with the additional copyrights for Aragon and Portugal, which -he secured in February. - -No doubt it was received with something more than coldness by certain -sections of the community. Men of wit, taste, and discrimination among -the aristocracy gave it a hearty welcome, but the aristocracy in -general were not likely to relish a book that turned their favourite -reading into ridicule and laughed at so many of their favourite ideas. -The dramatists who gathered round Lope as their leader regarded -Cervantes as their common enemy, and it is plain that he was equally -obnoxious to the other clique, the culto poets who had Gongora for -their chief. Navarrete, who knew nothing of the letter above mentioned, -tries hard to show that the relations between Cervantes and Lope were -of a very friendly sort, as indeed they were until “Don Quixote” was -written. Cervantes, indeed, to the last generously and manfully -declared his admiration of Lope’s powers, his unfailing invention, and -his marvellous fertility; but in the preface of the First Part of “Don -Quixote” and in the verses of “Urganda the Unknown,” and one or two -other places, there are, if we read between the lines, sly hits at -Lope’s vanities and affectations that argue no personal good-will; and -Lope openly sneers at “Don Quixote” and Cervantes, and fourteen years -after his death gives him only a few lines of cold commonplace in the -“Laurel de Apolo,” that seem all the colder for the eulogies of a host -of nonentities whose names are found nowhere else. - -In 1601 Valladolid was made the seat of the Court, and at the beginning -of 1603 Cervantes had been summoned thither in connection with the -balance due by him to the Treasury, which was still outstanding. He -remained at Valladolid, apparently supporting himself by agencies and -scrivener’s work of some sort; probably drafting petitions and drawing -up statements of claims to be presented to the Council, and the like. -So, at least, we gather from the depositions taken on the occasion of -the death of a gentleman, the victim of a street brawl, who had been -carried into the house in which he lived. In these he himself is -described as a man who wrote and transacted business, and it appears -that his household then consisted of his wife, the natural daughter -Isabel de Saavedra already mentioned, his sister Andrea, now a widow, -her daughter Constanza, a mysterious Magdalena de Sotomayor calling -herself his sister, for whom his biographers cannot account, and a -servant-maid. - -Meanwhile “Don Quixote” had been growing in favour, and its author’s -name was now known beyond the Pyrenees. In 1607 an edition was printed -at Brussels. Robles, the Madrid publisher, found it necessary to meet -the demand by a third edition, the seventh in all, in 1608. The -popularity of the book in Italy was such that a Milan bookseller was -led to bring out an edition in 1610; and another was called for in -Brussels in 1611. It might naturally have been expected that, with such -proofs before him that he had hit the taste of the public, Cervantes -would have at once set about redeeming his rather vague promise of a -second volume. - -But, to all appearance, nothing was farther from his thoughts. He had -still by him one or two short tales of the same vintage as those he had -inserted in “Don Quixote” and instead of continuing the adventures of -Don Quixote, he set to work to write more of these “Novelas Exemplares” -as he afterwards called them, with a view to making a book of them. - -The novels were published in the summer of 1613, with a dedication to -the Conde de Lemos, the Maecenas of the day, and with one of those -chatty confidential prefaces Cervantes was so fond of. In this, eight -years and a half after the First Part of “Don Quixote” had appeared, we -get the first hint of a forthcoming Second Part. “You shall see -shortly,” he says, “the further exploits of Don Quixote and humours of -Sancho Panza.” His idea of “shortly” was a somewhat elastic one, for, -as we know by the date to Sancho’s letter, he had barely one-half of -the book completed that time twelvemonth. - -But more than poems, or pastorals, or novels, it was his dramatic -ambition that engrossed his thoughts. The same indomitable spirit that -kept him from despair in the bagnios of Algiers, and prompted him to -attempt the escape of himself and his comrades again and again, made -him persevere in spite of failure and discouragement in his efforts to -win the ear of the public as a dramatist. The temperament of Cervantes -was essentially sanguine. The portrait he draws in the preface to the -novels, with the aquiline features, chestnut hair, smooth untroubled -forehead, and bright cheerful eyes, is the very portrait of a sanguine -man. Nothing that the managers might say could persuade him that the -merits of his plays would not be recognised at last if they were only -given a fair chance. The old soldier of the Spanish Salamis was bent on -being the Aeschylus of Spain. He was to found a great national drama, -based on the true principles of art, that was to be the envy of all -nations; he was to drive from the stage the silly, childish plays, the -“mirrors of nonsense and models of folly” that were in vogue through -the cupidity of the managers and shortsightedness of the authors; he -was to correct and educate the public taste until it was ripe for -tragedies on the model of the Greek drama—like the “Numancia” for -instance—and comedies that would not only amuse but improve and -instruct. All this he was to do, could he once get a hearing: there was -the initial difficulty. - -He shows plainly enough, too, that “Don Quixote” and the demolition of -the chivalry romances was not the work that lay next his heart. He was, -indeed, as he says himself in his preface, more a stepfather than a -father to “Don Quixote.” Never was great work so neglected by its -author. That it was written carelessly, hastily, and by fits and -starts, was not always his fault, but it seems clear he never read what -he sent to the press. He knew how the printers had blundered, but he -never took the trouble to correct them when the third edition was in -progress, as a man who really cared for the child of his brain would -have done. He appears to have regarded the book as little more than a -mere libro de entretenimiento, an amusing book, a thing, as he says in -the “Viaje,” “to divert the melancholy moody heart at any time or -season.” No doubt he had an affection for his hero, and was very proud -of Sancho Panza. It would have been strange indeed if he had not been -proud of the most humorous creation in all fiction. He was proud, too, -of the popularity and success of the book, and beyond measure -delightful is the naivete with which he shows his pride in a dozen -passages in the Second Part. But it was not the success he coveted. In -all probability he would have given all the success of “Don Quixote,” -nay, would have seen every copy of “Don Quixote” burned in the Plaza -Mayor, for one such success as Lope de Vega was enjoying on an average -once a week. - -And so he went on, dawdling over “Don Quixote,” adding a chapter now -and again, and putting it aside to turn to “Persiles and -Sigismunda”—which, as we know, was to be the most entertaining book in -the language, and the rival of “Theagenes and Chariclea”—or finishing -off one of his darling comedies; and if Robles asked when “Don Quixote” -would be ready, the answer no doubt was: En breve—shortly, there was -time enough for that. At sixty-eight he was as full of life and hope -and plans for the future as a boy of eighteen. - -Nemesis was coming, however. He had got as far as Chapter LIX, which at -his leisurely pace he could hardly have reached before October or -November 1614, when there was put into his hand a small octave lately -printed at Tarragona, and calling itself “Second Volume of the -Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha: by the Licentiate Alonso -Fernandez de Avellaneda of Tordesillas.” The last half of Chapter LIX -and most of the following chapters of the Second Part give us some idea -of the effect produced upon him, and his irritation was not likely to -be lessened by the reflection that he had no one to blame but himself. -Had Avellaneda, in fact, been content with merely bringing out a -continuation to “Don Quixote,” Cervantes would have had no reasonable -grievance. His own intentions were expressed in the very vaguest -language at the end of the book; nay, in his last words, “forse altro -cantera con miglior plettro,” he seems actually to invite someone else -to continue the work, and he made no sign until eight years and a half -had gone by; by which time Avellaneda’s volume was no doubt written. - -In fact Cervantes had no case, or a very bad one, as far as the mere -continuation was concerned. But Avellaneda chose to write a preface to -it, full of such coarse personal abuse as only an ill-conditioned man -could pour out. He taunts Cervantes with being old, with having lost -his hand, with having been in prison, with being poor, with being -friendless, accuses him of envy of Lope’s success, of petulance and -querulousness, and so on; and it was in this that the sting lay. -Avellaneda’s reason for this personal attack is obvious enough. Whoever -he may have been, it is clear that he was one of the dramatists of -Lope’s school, for he has the impudence to charge Cervantes with -attacking him as well as Lope in his criticism on the drama. His -identification has exercised the best critics and baffled all the -ingenuity and research that has been brought to bear on it. Navarrete -and Ticknor both incline to the belief that Cervantes knew who he was; -but I must say I think the anger he shows suggests an invisible -assailant; it is like the irritation of a man stung by a mosquito in -the dark. Cervantes from certain solecisms of language pronounces him -to be an Aragonese, and Pellicer, an Aragonese himself, supports this -view and believes him, moreover, to have been an ecclesiastic, a -Dominican probably. - -Any merit Avellaneda has is reflected from Cervantes, and he is too -dull to reflect much. “Dull and dirty” will always be, I imagine, the -verdict of the vast majority of unprejudiced readers. He is, at best, a -poor plagiarist; all he can do is to follow slavishly the lead given -him by Cervantes; his only humour lies in making Don Quixote take inns -for castles and fancy himself some legendary or historical personage, -and Sancho mistake words, invert proverbs, and display his gluttony; -all through he shows a proclivity to coarseness and dirt, and he has -contrived to introduce two tales filthier than anything by the -sixteenth century novellieri and without their sprightliness. - -But whatever Avellaneda and his book may be, we must not forget the -debt we owe them. But for them, there can be no doubt, “Don Quixote” -would have come to us a mere torso instead of a complete work. Even if -Cervantes had finished the volume he had in hand, most assuredly he -would have left off with a promise of a Third Part, giving the further -adventures of Don Quixote and humours of Sancho Panza as shepherds. It -is plain that he had at one time an intention of dealing with the -pastoral romances as he had dealt with the books of chivalry, and but -for Avellaneda he would have tried to carry it out. But it is more -likely that, with his plans, and projects, and hopefulness, the volume -would have remained unfinished till his death, and that we should have -never made the acquaintance of the Duke and Duchess, or gone with -Sancho to Barataria. - -From the moment the book came into his hands he seems to have been -haunted by the fear that there might be more Avellanedas in the field, -and putting everything else aside, he set himself to finish off his -task and protect Don Quixote in the only way he could, by killing him. -The conclusion is no doubt a hasty and in some places clumsy piece of -work and the frequent repetition of the scolding administered to -Avellaneda becomes in the end rather wearisome; but it is, at any rate, -a conclusion and for that we must thank Avellaneda. - -The new volume was ready for the press in February, but was not printed -till the very end of 1615, and during the interval Cervantes put -together the comedies and interludes he had written within the last few -years, and, as he adds plaintively, found no demand for among the -managers, and published them with a preface, worth the book it -introduces tenfold, in which he gives an account of the early Spanish -stage, and of his own attempts as a dramatist. It is needless to say -they were put forward by Cervantes in all good faith and full -confidence in their merits. The reader, however, was not to suppose -they were his last word or final effort in the drama, for he had in -hand a comedy called “Engano a los ojos,” about which, if he mistook -not, there would be no question. - -Of this dramatic masterpiece the world has no opportunity of judging; -his health had been failing for some time, and he died, apparently of -dropsy, on the 23rd of April, 1616, the day on which England lost -Shakespeare, nominally at least, for the English calendar had not yet -been reformed. He died as he had lived, accepting his lot bravely and -cheerfully. - -Was it an unhappy life, that of Cervantes? His biographers all tell us -that it was; but I must say I doubt it. It was a hard life, a life of -poverty, of incessant struggle, of toil ill paid, of disappointment, -but Cervantes carried within himself the antidote to all these evils. -His was not one of those light natures that rise above adversity merely -by virtue of their own buoyancy; it was in the fortitude of a high -spirit that he was proof against it. It is impossible to conceive -Cervantes giving way to despondency or prostrated by dejection. As for -poverty, it was with him a thing to be laughed over, and the only sigh -he ever allows to escape him is when he says, “Happy he to whom Heaven -has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to -any but Heaven itself.” Add to all this his vital energy and mental -activity, his restless invention and his sanguine temperament, and -there will be reason enough to doubt whether his could have been a very -unhappy life. He who could take Cervantes’ distresses together with his -apparatus for enduring them would not make so bad a bargain, perhaps, -as far as happiness in life is concerned. - -Of his burial-place nothing is known except that he was buried, in -accordance with his will, in the neighbouring convent of Trinitarian -nuns, of which it is supposed his daughter, Isabel de Saavedra, was an -inmate, and that a few years afterwards the nuns removed to another -convent, carrying their dead with them. But whether the remains of -Cervantes were included in the removal or not no one knows, and the -clue to their resting-place is now lost beyond all hope. This furnishes -perhaps the least defensible of the items in the charge of neglect -brought against his contemporaries. In some of the others there is a -good deal of exaggeration. To listen to most of his biographers one -would suppose that all Spain was in league not only against the man but -against his memory, or at least that it was insensible to his merits, -and left him to live in misery and die of want. To talk of his hard -life and unworthy employments in Andalusia is absurd. What had he done -to distinguish him from thousands of other struggling men earning a -precarious livelihood? True, he was a gallant soldier, who had been -wounded and had undergone captivity and suffering in his country’s -cause, but there were hundreds of others in the same case. He had -written a mediocre specimen of an insipid class of romance, and some -plays which manifestly did not comply with the primary condition of -pleasing: were the playgoers to patronise plays that did not amuse -them, because the author was to produce “Don Quixote” twenty years -afterwards? - -The scramble for copies which, as we have seen, followed immediately on -the appearance of the book, does not look like general insensibility to -its merits. No doubt it was received coldly by some, but if a man -writes a book in ridicule of periwigs he must make his account with -being coldly received by the periwig wearers and hated by the whole -tribe of wigmakers. If Cervantes had the chivalry-romance readers, the -sentimentalists, the dramatists, and the poets of the period all -against him, it was because “Don Quixote” was what it was; and if the -general public did not come forward to make him comfortable for the -rest of his days, it is no more to be charged with neglect and -ingratitude than the English-speaking public that did not pay off -Scott’s liabilities. It did the best it could; it read his book and -liked it and bought it, and encouraged the bookseller to pay him well -for others. - -It has been also made a reproach to Spain that she has erected no -monument to the man she is proudest of; no monument, that is to say, of -him; for the bronze statue in the little garden of the Plaza de las -Cortés, a fair work of art no doubt, and unexceptionable had it been -set up to the local poet in the market-place of some provincial town, -is not worthy of Cervantes or of Madrid. But what need has Cervantes of -“such weak witness of his name;” or what could a monument do in his -case except testify to the self-glorification of those who had put it -up? Si monumentum quoeris, circumspice. The nearest bookseller’s shop -will show what bathos there would be in a monument to the author of -“Don Quixote.” - -Nine editions of the First Part of “Don Quixote” had already appeared -before Cervantes died, thirty thousand copies in all, according to his -own estimate, and a tenth was printed at Barcelona the year after his -death. So large a number naturally supplied the demand for some time, -but by 1634 it appears to have been exhausted; and from that time down -to the present day the stream of editions has continued to flow rapidly -and regularly. The translations show still more clearly in what request -the book has been from the very outset. In seven years from the -completion of the work it had been translated into the four leading -languages of Europe. Except the Bible, in fact, no book has been so -widely diffused as “Don Quixote.” The “Imitatio Christi” may have been -translated into as many different languages, and perhaps “Robinson -Crusoe” and the “Vicar of Wakefield” into nearly as many, but in -multiplicity of translations and editions “Don Quixote” leaves them all -far behind. - -Still more remarkable is the character of this wide diffusion. “Don -Quixote” has been thoroughly naturalised among people whose ideas about -knight-errantry, if they had any at all, were of the vaguest, who had -never seen or heard of a book of chivalry, who could not possibly feel -the humour of the burlesque or sympathise with the author’s purpose. -Another curious fact is that this, the most cosmopolitan book in the -world, is one of the most intensely national. “Manon Lescaut” is not -more thoroughly French, “Tom Jones” not more English, “Rob Roy” not -more Scotch, than “Don Quixote” is Spanish, in character, in ideas, in -sentiment, in local colour, in everything. What, then, is the secret of -this unparalleled popularity, increasing year by year for well-nigh -three centuries? One explanation, no doubt, is that of all the books in -the world, “Don Quixote” is the most catholic. There is something in it -for every sort of reader, young or old, sage or simple, high or low. As -Cervantes himself says with a touch of pride, “It is thumbed and read -and got by heart by people of all sorts; the children turn its leaves, -the young people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk -praise it.” - -But it would be idle to deny that the ingredient which, more than its -humour, or its wisdom, or the fertility of invention or knowledge of -human nature it displays, has insured its success with the multitude, -is the vein of farce that runs through it. It was the attack upon the -sheep, the battle with the wine-skins, Mambrino’s helmet, the balsam of -Fierabras, Don Quixote knocked over by the sails of the windmill, -Sancho tossed in the blanket, the mishaps and misadventures of master -and man, that were originally the great attraction, and perhaps are so -still to some extent with the majority of readers. It is plain that -“Don Quixote” was generally regarded at first, and indeed in Spain for -a long time, as little more than a queer droll book, full of laughable -incidents and absurd situations, very amusing, but not entitled to much -consideration or care. All the editions printed in Spain from 1637 to -1771, when the famous printer Ibarra took it up, were mere trade -editions, badly and carelessly printed on vile paper and got up in the -style of chap-books intended only for popular use, with, in most -instances, uncouth illustrations and clap-trap additions by the -publisher. - -To England belongs the credit of having been the first country to -recognise the right of “Don Quixote” to better treatment than this. The -London edition of 1738, commonly called Lord Carteret’s from having -been suggested by him, was not a mere _édition de luxe_. It produced -“Don Quixote” in becoming form as regards paper and type, and -embellished with plates which, if not particularly happy as -illustrations, were at least well intentioned and well executed, but it -also aimed at correctness of text, a matter to which nobody except the -editors of the Valencia and Brussels editions had given even a passing -thought; and for a first attempt it was fairly successful, for though -some of its emendations are inadmissible, a good many of them have been -adopted by all subsequent editors. - -The zeal of publishers, editors, and annotators brought about a -remarkable change of sentiment with regard to “Don Quixote.” A vast -number of its admirers began to grow ashamed of laughing over it. It -became almost a crime to treat it as a humorous book. The humour was -not entirely denied, but, according to the new view, it was rated as an -altogether secondary quality, a mere accessory, nothing more than the -stalking-horse under the presentation of which Cervantes shot his -philosophy or his satire, or whatever it was he meant to shoot; for on -this point opinions varied. All were agreed, however, that the object -he aimed at was not the books of chivalry. He said emphatically in the -preface to the First Part and in the last sentence of the Second, that -he had no other object in view than to discredit these books, and this, -to advanced criticism, made it clear that his object must have been -something else. - -One theory was that the book was a kind of allegory, setting forth the -eternal struggle between the ideal and the real, between the spirit of -poetry and the spirit of prose; and perhaps German philosophy never -evolved a more ungainly or unlikely camel out of the depths of its -inner consciousness. Something of the antagonism, no doubt, is to be -found in “Don Quixote,” because it is to be found everywhere in life, -and Cervantes drew from life. It is difficult to imagine a community in -which the never-ceasing game of cross-purposes between Sancho Panza and -Don Quixote would not be recognised as true to nature. In the stone -age, among the lake dwellers, among the cave men, there were Don -Quixotes and Sancho Panzas; there must have been the troglodyte who -never could see the facts before his eyes, and the troglodyte who could -see nothing else. But to suppose Cervantes deliberately setting himself -to expound any such idea in two stout quarto volumes is to suppose -something not only very unlike the age in which he lived, but -altogether unlike Cervantes himself, who would have been the first to -laugh at an attempt of the sort made by anyone else. - -The extraordinary influence of the romances of chivalry in his day is -quite enough to account for the genesis of the book. Some idea of the -prodigious development of this branch of literature in the sixteenth -century may be obtained from the scrutiny of Chapter VII, if the reader -bears in mind that only a portion of the romances belonging to by far -the largest group are enumerated. As to its effect upon the nation, -there is abundant evidence. From the time when the Amadises and -Palmerins began to grow popular down to the very end of the century, -there is a steady stream of invective, from men whose character and -position lend weight to their words, against the romances of chivalry -and the infatuation of their readers. Ridicule was the only besom to -sweep away that dust. - -That this was the task Cervantes set himself, and that he had ample -provocation to urge him to it, will be sufficiently clear to those who -look into the evidence; as it will be also that it was not chivalry -itself that he attacked and swept away. Of all the absurdities that, -thanks to poetry, will be repeated to the end of time, there is no -greater one than saying that “Cervantes smiled Spain’s chivalry away.” -In the first place there was no chivalry for him to smile away. Spain’s -chivalry had been dead for more than a century. Its work was done when -Granada fell, and as chivalry was essentially republican in its nature, -it could not live under the rule that Ferdinand substituted for the -free institutions of mediaeval Spain. What he did smile away was not -chivalry but a degrading mockery of it. - -The true nature of the “right arm” and the “bright array,” before -which, according to the poet, “the world gave ground,” and which -Cervantes’ single laugh demolished, may be gathered from the words of -one of his own countrymen, Don Felix Pacheco, as reported by Captain -George Carleton, in his “Military Memoirs from 1672 to 1713.” “Before -the appearance in the world of that labour of Cervantes,” he said, “it -was next to an impossibility for a man to walk the streets with any -delight or without danger. There were seen so many cavaliers prancing -and curvetting before the windows of their mistresses, that a stranger -would have imagined the whole nation to have been nothing less than a -race of knight-errants. But after the world became a little acquainted -with that notable history, the man that was seen in that once -celebrated drapery was pointed at as a Don Quixote, and found himself -the jest of high and low. And I verily believe that to this, and this -only, we owe that dampness and poverty of spirit which has run through -all our councils for a century past, so little agreeable to those -nobler actions of our famous ancestors.” - -To call “Don Quixote” a sad book, preaching a pessimist view of life, -argues a total misconception of its drift. It would be so if its moral -were that, in this world, true enthusiasm naturally leads to ridicule -and discomfiture. But it preaches nothing of the sort; its moral, so -far as it can be said to have one, is that the spurious enthusiasm that -is born of vanity and self-conceit, that is made an end in itself, not -a means to an end, that acts on mere impulse, regardless of -circumstances and consequences, is mischievous to its owner, and a very -considerable nuisance to the community at large. To those who cannot -distinguish between the one kind and the other, no doubt “Don Quixote” -is a sad book; no doubt to some minds it is very sad that a man who had -just uttered so beautiful a sentiment as that “it is a hard case to -make slaves of those whom God and Nature made free,” should be -ungratefully pelted by the scoundrels his crazy philanthropy had let -loose on society; but to others of a more judicial cast it will be a -matter of regret that reckless self-sufficient enthusiasm is not -oftener requited in some such way for all the mischief it does in the -world. - -A very slight examination of the structure of “Don Quixote” will -suffice to show that Cervantes had no deep design or elaborate plan in -his mind when he began the book. When he wrote those lines in which -“with a few strokes of a great master he sets before us the pauper -gentleman,” he had no idea of the goal to which his imagination was -leading him. There can be little doubt that all he contemplated was a -short tale to range with those he had already written, a tale setting -forth the ludicrous results that might be expected to follow the -attempt of a crazy gentleman to act the part of a knight-errant in -modern life. - -It is plain, for one thing, that Sancho Panza did not enter into the -original scheme, for had Cervantes thought of him he certainly would -not have omitted him in his hero’s outfit, which he obviously meant to -be complete. Him we owe to the landlord’s chance remark in Chapter III -that knights seldom travelled without squires. To try to think of a Don -Quixote without Sancho Panza is like trying to think of a one-bladed -pair of scissors. - -The story was written at first, like the others, without any division -and without the intervention of Cid Hamete Benengeli; and it seems not -unlikely that Cervantes had some intention of bringing Dulcinea, or -Aldonza Lorenzo, on the scene in person. It was probably the ransacking -of the Don’s library and the discussion on the books of chivalry that -first suggested it to him that his idea was capable of development. -What, if instead of a mere string of farcical misadventures, he were to -make his tale a burlesque of one of these books, caricaturing their -style, incidents, and spirit? - -In pursuance of this change of plan, he hastily and somewhat clumsily -divided what he had written into chapters on the model of “Amadis,” -invented the fable of a mysterious Arabic manuscript, and set up Cid -Hamete Benengeli in imitation of the almost invariable practice of the -chivalry-romance authors, who were fond of tracing their books to some -recondite source. In working out the new ideas, he soon found the value -of Sancho Panza. Indeed, the keynote, not only to Sancho’s part, but to -the whole book, is struck in the first words Sancho utters when he -announces his intention of taking his ass with him. “About the ass,” we -are told, “Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying whether he could call -to mind any knight-errant taking with him an esquire mounted on -ass-back; but no instance occurred to his memory.” We can see the whole -scene at a glance, the stolid unconsciousness of Sancho and the -perplexity of his master, upon whose perception the incongruity has -just forced itself. This is Sancho’s mission throughout the book; he is -an unconscious Mephistopheles, always unwittingly making mockery of his -master’s aspirations, always exposing the fallacy of his ideas by some -unintentional ad absurdum, always bringing him back to the world of -fact and commonplace by force of sheer stolidity. - -By the time Cervantes had got his volume of novels off his hands, and -summoned up resolution enough to set about the Second Part in earnest, -the case was very much altered. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had not -merely found favour, but had already become, what they have never since -ceased to be, veritable entities to the popular imagination. There was -no occasion for him now to interpolate extraneous matter; nay, his -readers told him plainly that what they wanted of him was more Don -Quixote and more Sancho Panza, and not novels, tales, or digressions. -To himself, too, his creations had become realities, and he had become -proud of them, especially of Sancho. He began the Second Part, -therefore, under very different conditions, and the difference makes -itself manifest at once. Even in translation the style will be seen to -be far easier, more flowing, more natural, and more like that of a man -sure of himself and of his audience. Don Quixote and Sancho undergo a -change also. In the First Part, Don Quixote has no character or -individuality whatever. He is nothing more than a crazy representative -of the sentiments of the chivalry romances. In all that he says and -does he is simply repeating the lesson he has learned from his books; -and therefore, it is absurd to speak of him in the gushing strain of -the sentimental critics when they dilate upon his nobleness, -disinterestedness, dauntless courage, and so forth. It was the business -of a knight-errant to right wrongs, redress injuries, and succour the -distressed, and this, as a matter of course, he makes his business when -he takes up the part; a knight-errant was bound to be intrepid, and so -he feels bound to cast fear aside. Of all Byron’s melodious nonsense -about Don Quixote, the most nonsensical statement is that “’tis his -virtue makes him mad!” The exact opposite is the truth; it is his -madness makes him virtuous. - -In the Second Part, Cervantes repeatedly reminds the reader, as if it -was a point upon which he was anxious there should be no mistake, that -his hero’s madness is strictly confined to delusions on the subject of -chivalry, and that on every other subject he is discreto, one, in fact, -whose faculty of discernment is in perfect order. The advantage of this -is that he is enabled to make use of Don Quixote as a mouthpiece for -his own reflections, and so, without seeming to digress, allow himself -the relief of digression when he requires it, as freely as in a -commonplace book. - -It is true the amount of individuality bestowed upon Don Quixote is not -very great. There are some natural touches of character about him, such -as his mixture of irascibility and placability, and his curious -affection for Sancho together with his impatience of the squire’s -loquacity and impertinence; but in the main, apart from his craze, he -is little more than a thoughtful, cultured gentleman, with instinctive -good taste and a great deal of shrewdness and originality of mind. - -As to Sancho, it is plain, from the concluding words of the preface to -the First Part, that he was a favourite with his creator even before he -had been taken into favour by the public. An inferior genius, taking -him in hand a second time, would very likely have tried to improve him -by making him more comical, clever, amiable, or virtuous. But Cervantes -was too true an artist to spoil his work in this way. Sancho, when he -reappears, is the old Sancho with the old familiar features; but with a -difference; they have been brought out more distinctly, but at the same -time with a careful avoidance of anything like caricature; the outline -has been filled in where filling in was necessary, and, vivified by a -few touches of a master’s hand, Sancho stands before us as he might in -a character portrait by Velazquez. He is a much more important and -prominent figure in the Second Part than in the First; indeed, it is -his matchless mendacity about Dulcinea that to a great extent supplies -the action of the story. - -His development in this respect is as remarkable as in any other. In -the First Part he displays a great natural gift of lying. His lies are -not of the highly imaginative sort that liars in fiction commonly -indulge in; like Falstaff’s, they resemble the father that begets them; -they are simple, homely, plump lies; plain working lies, in short. But -in the service of such a master as Don Quixote he develops rapidly, as -we see when he comes to palm off the three country wenches as Dulcinea -and her ladies in waiting. It is worth noticing how, flushed by his -success in this instance, he is tempted afterwards to try a flight -beyond his powers in his account of the journey on Clavileño. - -In the Second Part it is the spirit rather than the incidents of the -chivalry romances that is the subject of the burlesque. Enchantments of -the sort travestied in those of Dulcinea and the Trifaldi and the cave -of Montesinos play a leading part in the later and inferior romances, -and another distinguishing feature is caricatured in Don Quixote’s -blind adoration of Dulcinea. In the romances of chivalry love is either -a mere animalism or a fantastic idolatry. Only a coarse-minded man -would care to make merry with the former, but to one of Cervantes’ -humour the latter was naturally an attractive subject for ridicule. -Like everything else in these romances, it is a gross exaggeration of -the real sentiment of chivalry, but its peculiar extravagance is -probably due to the influence of those masters of hyperbole, the -Provencal poets. When a troubadour professed his readiness to obey his -lady in all things, he made it incumbent upon the next comer, if he -wished to avoid the imputation of tameness and commonplace, to declare -himself the slave of her will, which the next was compelled to cap by -some still stronger declaration; and so expressions of devotion went on -rising one above the other like biddings at an auction, and a -conventional language of gallantry and theory of love came into being -that in time permeated the literature of Southern Europe, and bore -fruit, in one direction in the transcendental worship of Beatrice and -Laura, and in another in the grotesque idolatry which found exponents -in writers like Feliciano de Silva. This is what Cervantes deals with -in Don Quixote’s passion for Dulcinea, and in no instance has he -carried out the burlesque more happily. By keeping Dulcinea in the -background, and making her a vague shadowy being of whose very -existence we are left in doubt, he invests Don Quixote’s worship of her -virtues and charms with an additional extravagance, and gives still -more point to the caricature of the sentiment and language of the -romances. - -One of the great merits of “Don Quixote,” and one of the qualities that -have secured its acceptance by all classes of readers and made it the -most cosmopolitan of books, is its simplicity. There are, of course, -points obvious enough to a Spanish seventeenth century audience which -do not immediately strike a reader now-a-days, and Cervantes often -takes it for granted that an allusion will be generally understood -which is only intelligible to a few. For example, on many of his -readers in Spain, and most of his readers out of it, the significance -of his choice of a country for his hero is completely lost. It would be -going too far to say that no one can thoroughly comprehend “Don -Quixote” without having seen La Mancha, but undoubtedly even a glimpse -of La Mancha will give an insight into the meaning of Cervantes such as -no commentator can give. Of all the regions of Spain it is the last -that would suggest the idea of romance. Of all the dull central plateau -of the Peninsula it is the dullest tract. There is something impressive -about the grim solitudes of Estremadura; and if the plains of Leon and -Old Castile are bald and dreary, they are studded with old cities -renowned in history and rich in relics of the past. But there is no -redeeming feature in the Manchegan landscape; it has all the sameness -of the desert without its dignity; the few towns and villages that -break its monotony are mean and commonplace, there is nothing venerable -about them, they have not even the picturesqueness of poverty; indeed, -Don Quixote’s own village, Argamasilla, has a sort of oppressive -respectability in the prim regularity of its streets and houses; -everything is ignoble; the very windmills are the ugliest and shabbiest -of the windmill kind. - -To anyone who knew the country well, the mere style and title of “Don -Quixote of La Mancha” gave the key to the author’s meaning at once. La -Mancha as the knight’s country and scene of his chivalries is of a -piece with the pasteboard helmet, the farm-labourer on ass-back for a -squire, knighthood conferred by a rascally ventero, convicts taken for -victims of oppression, and the rest of the incongruities between Don -Quixote’s world and the world he lived in, between things as he saw -them and things as they were. - -It is strange that this element of incongruity, underlying the whole -humour and purpose of the book, should have been so little heeded by -the majority of those who have undertaken to interpret “Don Quixote.” -It has been completely overlooked, for example, by the illustrators. To -be sure, the great majority of the artists who illustrated “Don -Quixote” knew nothing whatever of Spain. To them a venta conveyed no -idea but the abstract one of a roadside inn, and they could not -therefore do full justice to the humour of Don Quixote’s misconception -in taking it for a castle, or perceive the remoteness of all its -realities from his ideal. But even when better informed they seem to -have no apprehension of the full force of the discrepancy. Take, for -instance, Gustave Doré’s drawing of Don Quixote watching his armour in -the inn-yard. Whether or not the Venta de Quesada on the Seville road -is, as tradition maintains, the inn described in “Don Quixote,” beyond -all question it was just such an inn-yard as the one behind it that -Cervantes had in his mind’s eye, and it was on just such a rude stone -trough as that beside the primitive draw-well in the corner that he -meant Don Quixote to deposit his armour. Gustave Doré makes it an -elaborate fountain such as no arriero ever watered his mules at in the -corral of any venta in Spain, and thereby entirely misses the point -aimed at by Cervantes. It is the mean, prosaic, commonplace character -of all the surroundings and circumstances that gives a significance to -Don Quixote’s vigil and the ceremony that follows. - -Cervantes’ humour is for the most part of that broader and simpler -sort, the strength of which lies in the perception of the incongruous. -It is the incongruity of Sancho in all his ways, words, and works, with -the ideas and aims of his master, quite as much as the wonderful -vitality and truth to nature of the character, that makes him the most -humorous creation in the whole range of fiction. That unsmiling gravity -of which Cervantes was the first great master, “Cervantes’ serious -air,” which sits naturally on Swift alone, perhaps, of later -humourists, is essential to this kind of humour, and here again -Cervantes has suffered at the hands of his interpreters. Nothing, -unless indeed the coarse buffoonery of Phillips, could be more out of -place in an attempt to represent Cervantes, than a flippant, would-be -facetious style, like that of Motteux’s version for example, or the -sprightly, jaunty air, French translators sometimes adopt. It is the -grave matter-of-factness of the narrative, and the apparent -unconsciousness of the author that he is saying anything ludicrous, -anything but the merest commonplace, that give its peculiar flavour to -the humour of Cervantes. His, in fact, is the exact opposite of the -humour of Sterne and the self-conscious humourists. Even when Uncle -Toby is at his best, you are always aware of “the man Sterne” behind -him, watching you over his shoulder to see what effect he is producing. -Cervantes always leaves you alone with Don Quixote and Sancho. He and -Swift and the great humourists always keep themselves out of sight, or, -more properly speaking, never think about themselves at all, unlike our -latter-day school of humourists, who seem to have revived the old -horse-collar method, and try to raise a laugh by some grotesque -assumption of ignorance, imbecility, or bad taste. - -It is true that to do full justice to Spanish humour in any other -language is well-nigh an impossibility. There is a natural gravity and -a sonorous stateliness about Spanish, be it ever so colloquial, that -make an absurdity doubly absurd, and give plausibility to the most -preposterous statement. This is what makes Sancho Panza’s drollery the -despair of the conscientious translator. Sancho’s curt comments can -never fall flat, but they lose half their flavour when transferred from -their native Castilian into any other medium. But if foreigners have -failed to do justice to the humour of Cervantes, they are no worse than -his own countrymen. Indeed, were it not for the Spanish peasant’s -relish of “Don Quixote,” one might be tempted to think that the great -humourist was not looked upon as a humourist at all in his own country. - -The craze of Don Quixote seems, in some instances, to have communicated -itself to his critics, making them see things that are not in the book -and run full tilt at phantoms that have no existence save in their own -imaginations. Like a good many critics now-a-days, they forget that -screams are not criticism, and that it is only vulgar tastes that are -influenced by strings of superlatives, three-piled hyperboles, and -pompous epithets. But what strikes one as particularly strange is that -while they deal in extravagant eulogies, and ascribe all manner of -imaginary ideas and qualities to Cervantes, they show no perception of -the quality that ninety-nine out of a hundred of his readers would rate -highest in him, and hold to be the one that raises him above all -rivalry. - -To speak of “Don Quixote” as if it were merely a humorous book would be -a manifest misdescription. Cervantes at times makes it a kind of -commonplace book for occasional essays and criticisms, or for the -observations and reflections and gathered wisdom of a long and stirring -life. It is a mine of shrewd observation on mankind and human nature. -Among modern novels there may be, here and there, more elaborate -studies of character, but there is no book richer in individualised -character. What Coleridge said of Shakespeare in minimis is true of -Cervantes; he never, even for the most temporary purpose, puts forward -a lay figure. There is life and individuality in all his characters, -however little they may have to do, or however short a time they may be -before the reader. Samson Carrasco, the curate, Teresa Panza, -Altisidora, even the two students met on the road to the cave of -Montesinos, all live and move and have their being; and it is -characteristic of the broad humanity of Cervantes that there is not a -hateful one among them all. Even poor Maritornes, with her deplorable -morals, has a kind heart of her own and “some faint and distant -resemblance to a Christian about her;” and as for Sancho, though on -dissection we fail to find a lovable trait in him, unless it be a sort -of dog-like affection for his master, who is there that in his heart -does not love him? - -But it is, after all, the humour of “Don Quixote” that distinguishes it -from all other books of the romance kind. It is this that makes it, as -one of the most judicial-minded of modern critics calls it, “the best -novel in the world beyond all comparison.” It is its varied humour, -ranging from broad farce to comedy as subtle as Shakespeare’s or -Molière’s that has naturalised it in every country where there are -readers, and made it a classic in every language that has a literature. - -THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE - -Idle reader: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this -book, as it is the child of my brain, were the fairest, gayest, and -cleverest that could be imagined. But I could not counteract Nature’s -law that everything shall beget its like; and what, then, could this -sterile, illtilled wit of mine beget but the story of a dry, -shrivelled, whimsical offspring, full of thoughts of all sorts and such -as never came into any other imagination—just what might be begotten in -a prison, where every misery is lodged and every doleful sound makes -its dwelling? Tranquillity, a cheerful retreat, pleasant fields, bright -skies, murmuring brooks, peace of mind, these are the things that go -far to make even the most barren muses fertile, and bring into the -world births that fill it with wonder and delight. Sometimes when a -father has an ugly, loutish son, the love he bears him so blindfolds -his eyes that he does not see his defects, or, rather, takes them for -gifts and charms of mind and body, and talks of them to his friends as -wit and grace. I, however—for though I pass for the father, I am but -the stepfather to “Don Quixote”—have no desire to go with the current -of custom, or to implore thee, dearest reader, almost with tears in my -eyes, as others do, to pardon or excuse the defects thou wilt perceive -in this child of mine. Thou art neither its kinsman nor its friend, thy -soul is thine own and thy will as free as any man’s, whate’er he be, -thou art in thine own house and master of it as much as the king of his -taxes and thou knowest the common saying, “Under my cloak I kill the -king;” all which exempts and frees thee from every consideration and -obligation, and thou canst say what thou wilt of the story without fear -of being abused for any ill or rewarded for any good thou mayest say of -it. - -My wish would be simply to present it to thee plain and unadorned, -without any embellishment of preface or uncountable muster of customary -sonnets, epigrams, and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the -beginning of books. For I can tell thee, though composing it cost me -some labour, I found none greater than the making of this Preface thou -art now reading. Many times did I take up my pen to write it, and many -did I lay it down again, not knowing what to write. One of these times, -as I was pondering with the paper before me, a pen in my ear, my elbow -on the desk, and my cheek in my hand, thinking of what I should say, -there came in unexpectedly a certain lively, clever friend of mine, -who, seeing me so deep in thought, asked the reason; to which I, making -no mystery of it, answered that I was thinking of the Preface I had to -make for the story of “Don Quixote,” which so troubled me that I had a -mind not to make any at all, nor even publish the achievements of so -noble a knight. - -“For, how could you expect me not to feel uneasy about what that -ancient lawgiver they call the Public will say when it sees me, after -slumbering so many years in the silence of oblivion, coming out now -with all my years upon my back, and with a book as dry as a rush, -devoid of invention, meagre in style, poor in thoughts, wholly wanting -in learning and wisdom, without quotations in the margin or annotations -at the end, after the fashion of other books I see, which, though all -fables and profanity, are so full of maxims from Aristotle, and Plato, -and the whole herd of philosophers, that they fill the readers with -amazement and convince them that the authors are men of learning, -erudition, and eloquence. And then, when they quote the Holy -Scriptures!—anyone would say they are St. Thomases or other doctors of -the Church, observing as they do a decorum so ingenious that in one -sentence they describe a distracted lover and in the next deliver a -devout little sermon that it is a pleasure and a treat to hear and -read. Of all this there will be nothing in my book, for I have nothing -to quote in the margin or to note at the end, and still less do I know -what authors I follow in it, to place them at the beginning, as all do, -under the letters A, B, C, beginning with Aristotle and ending with -Xenophon, or Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one was a slanderer and the -other a painter. Also my book must do without sonnets at the beginning, -at least sonnets whose authors are dukes, marquises, counts, bishops, -ladies, or famous poets. Though if I were to ask two or three obliging -friends, I know they would give me them, and such as the productions of -those that have the highest reputation in our Spain could not equal. - -“In short, my friend,” I continued, “I am determined that Señor Don -Quixote shall remain buried in the archives of his own La Mancha until -Heaven provide someone to garnish him with all those things he stands -in need of; because I find myself, through my shallowness and want of -learning, unequal to supplying them, and because I am by nature shy and -careless about hunting for authors to say what I myself can say without -them. Hence the cogitation and abstraction you found me in, and reason -enough, what you have heard from me.” - -Hearing this, my friend, giving himself a slap on the forehead and -breaking into a hearty laugh, exclaimed, “Before God, Brother, now am I -disabused of an error in which I have been living all this long time I -have known you, all through which I have taken you to be shrewd and -sensible in all you do; but now I see you are as far from that as the -heaven is from the earth. It is possible that things of so little -moment and so easy to set right can occupy and perplex a ripe wit like -yours, fit to break through and crush far greater obstacles? By my -faith, this comes, not of any want of ability, but of too much -indolence and too little knowledge of life. Do you want to know if I am -telling the truth? Well, then, attend to me, and you will see how, in -the opening and shutting of an eye, I sweep away all your difficulties, -and supply all those deficiencies which you say check and discourage -you from bringing before the world the story of your famous Don -Quixote, the light and mirror of all knight-errantry.” - -“Say on,” said I, listening to his talk; “how do you propose to make up -for my diffidence, and reduce to order this chaos of perplexity I am -in?” - -To which he made answer, “Your first difficulty about the sonnets, -epigrams, or complimentary verses which you want for the beginning, and -which ought to be by persons of importance and rank, can be removed if -you yourself take a little trouble to make them; you can afterwards -baptise them, and put any name you like to them, fathering them on -Prester John of the Indies or the Emperor of Trebizond, who, to my -knowledge, were said to have been famous poets: and even if they were -not, and any pedants or bachelors should attack you and question the -fact, never care two maravedis for that, for even if they prove a lie -against you they cannot cut off the hand you wrote it with. - -“As to references in the margin to the books and authors from whom you -take the aphorisms and sayings you put into your story, it is only -contriving to fit in nicely any sentences or scraps of Latin you may -happen to have by heart, or at any rate that will not give you much -trouble to look up; so as, when you speak of freedom and captivity, to -insert - -_Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro;_ - -and then refer in the margin to Horace, or whoever said it; or, if you -allude to the power of death, to come in with— - -_Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, -Regumque turres._ - -“If it be friendship and the love God bids us bear to our enemy, go at -once to the Holy Scriptures, which you can do with a very small amount -of research, and quote no less than the words of God himself: _Ego -autem dico vobis: diligite inimicos vestros._ If you speak of evil -thoughts, turn to the Gospel: _De corde exeunt cogitationes malæ._ If -of the fickleness of friends, there is Cato, who will give you his -distich: - -_Donec eris felix multos numerabis amicos, -Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris._ - -“With these and such like bits of Latin they will take you for a -grammarian at all events, and that now-a-days is no small honour and -profit. - -“With regard to adding annotations at the end of the book, you may -safely do it in this way. If you mention any giant in your book -contrive that it shall be the giant Goliath, and with this alone, which -will cost you almost nothing, you have a grand note, for you can -put—_The giant Golias or Goliath was a Philistine whom the shepherd -David slew by a mighty stone-cast in the Terebinth valley, as is -related in the Book of Kings_—in the chapter where you find it written. - -“Next, to prove yourself a man of erudition in polite literature and -cosmography, manage that the river Tagus shall be named in your story, -and there you are at once with another famous annotation, setting -forth—_The river Tagus was so called after a King of Spain: it has its -source in such and such a place and falls into the ocean, kissing the -walls of the famous city of Lisbon, and it is a common belief that it -has golden sands_, etc. If you should have anything to do with robbers, -I will give you the story of Cacus, for I have it by heart; if with -loose women, there is the Bishop of Mondonedo, who will give you the -loan of Lamia, Laida, and Flora, any reference to whom will bring you -great credit; if with hard-hearted ones, Ovid will furnish you with -Medea; if with witches or enchantresses, Homer has Calypso, and Virgil -Circe; if with valiant captains, Julius Cæsar himself will lend you -himself in his own ‘Commentaries,’ and Plutarch will give you a -thousand Alexanders. If you should deal with love, with two ounces you -may know of Tuscan you can go to Leon the Hebrew, who will supply you -to your heart’s content; or if you should not care to go to foreign -countries you have at home Fonseca’s ‘Of the Love of God,’ in which is -condensed all that you or the most imaginative mind can want on the -subject. In short, all you have to do is to manage to quote these -names, or refer to these stories I have mentioned, and leave it to me -to insert the annotations and quotations, and I swear by all that’s -good to fill your margins and use up four sheets at the end of the -book. - -“Now let us come to those references to authors which other books have, -and you want for yours. The remedy for this is very simple: You have -only to look out for some book that quotes them all, from A to Z as you -say yourself, and then insert the very same alphabet in your book, and -though the imposition may be plain to see, because you have so little -need to borrow from them, that is no matter; there will probably be -some simple enough to believe that you have made use of them all in -this plain, artless story of yours. At any rate, if it answers no other -purpose, this long catalogue of authors will serve to give a surprising -look of authority to your book. Besides, no one will trouble himself to -verify whether you have followed them or whether you have not, being no -way concerned in it; especially as, if I mistake not, this book of -yours has no need of any one of those things you say it wants, for it -is, from beginning to end, an attack upon the books of chivalry, of -which Aristotle never dreamt, nor St. Basil said a word, nor Cicero had -any knowledge; nor do the niceties of truth nor the observations of -astrology come within the range of its fanciful vagaries; nor have -geometrical measurements or refutations of the arguments used in -rhetoric anything to do with it; nor does it mean to preach to anybody, -mixing up things human and divine, a sort of motley in which no -Christian understanding should dress itself. It has only to avail -itself of truth to nature in its composition, and the more perfect the -imitation the better the work will be. And as this piece of yours aims -at nothing more than to destroy the authority and influence which books -of chivalry have in the world and with the public, there is no need for -you to go a-begging for aphorisms from philosophers, precepts from Holy -Scripture, fables from poets, speeches from orators, or miracles from -saints; but merely to take care that your style and diction run -musically, pleasantly, and plainly, with clear, proper, and well-placed -words, setting forth your purpose to the best of your power, and -putting your ideas intelligibly, without confusion or obscurity. -Strive, too, that in reading your story the melancholy may be moved to -laughter, and the merry made merrier still; that the simple shall not -be wearied, that the judicious shall admire the invention, that the -grave shall not despise it, nor the wise fail to praise it. Finally, -keep your aim fixed on the destruction of that ill-founded edifice of -the books of chivalry, hated by some and praised by many more; for if -you succeed in this you will have achieved no small success.” - -In profound silence I listened to what my friend said, and his -observations made such an impression on me that, without attempting to -question them, I admitted their soundness, and out of them I determined -to make this Preface; wherein, gentle reader, thou wilt perceive my -friend’s good sense, my good fortune in finding such an adviser in such -a time of need, and what thou hast gained in receiving, without -addition or alteration, the story of the famous Don Quixote of La -Mancha, who is held by all the inhabitants of the district of the Campo -de Montiel to have been the chastest lover and the bravest knight that -has for many years been seen in that neighbourhood. I have no desire to -magnify the service I render thee in making thee acquainted with so -renowned and honoured a knight, but I do desire thy thanks for the -acquaintance thou wilt make with the famous Sancho Panza, his squire, -in whom, to my thinking, I have given thee condensed all the squirely -drolleries that are scattered through the swarm of the vain books of -chivalry. And so—may God give thee health, and not forget me. Vale. - -SOME COMMENDATORY VERSES - -URGANDA THE UNKNOWN - -To the book of Don Quixote of la Mancha - -If to be welcomed by the good, -O Book! thou make thy steady aim, -No empty chatterer will dare -To question or dispute thy claim. -But if perchance thou hast a mind -To win of idiots approbation, -Lost labour will be thy reward, -Though they’ll pretend appreciation. - -They say a goodly shade he finds -Who shelters ’neath a goodly tree; -And such a one thy kindly star -In Bejar bath provided thee: -A royal tree whose spreading boughs -A show of princely fruit display; -A tree that bears a noble Duke, -The Alexander of his day. - -Of a Manchegan gentleman -Thy purpose is to tell the story, -Relating how he lost his wits -O’er idle tales of love and glory, -Of “ladies, arms, and cavaliers:” -A new Orlando Furioso— -Innamorato, rather—who -Won Dulcinea del Toboso. - -Put no vain emblems on thy shield; -All figures—that is bragging play. -A modest dedication make, -And give no scoffer room to say, -“What! Álvaro de Luna here? -Or is it Hannibal again? -Or does King Francis at Madrid -Once more of destiny complain?” - -Since Heaven it hath not pleased on thee -Deep erudition to bestow, -Or black Latino’s gift of tongues, -No Latin let thy pages show. -Ape not philosophy or wit, -Lest one who cannot comprehend, -Make a wry face at thee and ask, -“Why offer flowers to me, my friend?” - -Be not a meddler; no affair -Of thine the life thy neighbours lead: -Be prudent; oft the random jest -Recoils upon the jester’s head. -Thy constant labour let it be -To earn thyself an honest name, -For fooleries preserved in print -Are perpetuity of shame. - -A further counsel bear in mind: -If that thy roof be made of glass, -It shows small wit to pick up stones -To pelt the people as they pass. -Win the attention of the wise, -And give the thinker food for thought; -Whoso indites frivolities, -Will but by simpletons be sought. - -AMADIS OF GAUL -To Don Quixote of la Mancha - -SONNET - -Thou that didst imitate that life of mine -When I in lonely sadness on the great -Rock Peña Pobre sat disconsolate, -In self-imposed penance there to pine; -Thou, whose sole beverage was the bitter brine -Of thine own tears, and who withouten plate -Of silver, copper, tin, in lowly state -Off the bare earth and on earth’s fruits didst dine; -Live thou, of thine eternal glory sure. -So long as on the round of the fourth sphere -The bright Apollo shall his coursers steer, -In thy renown thou shalt remain secure, -Thy country’s name in story shall endure, -And thy sage author stand without a peer. - -DON BELIANIS OF GREECE -To Don Quixote of la Mancha - -SONNET - -In slashing, hewing, cleaving, word and deed, -I was the foremost knight of chivalry, -Stout, bold, expert, as e’er the world did see; -Thousands from the oppressor’s wrong I freed; -Great were my feats, eternal fame their meed; -In love I proved my truth and loyalty; -The hugest giant was a dwarf for me; -Ever to knighthood’s laws gave I good heed. -My mastery the Fickle Goddess owned, -And even Chance, submitting to control, -Grasped by the forelock, yielded to my will. -Yet—though above yon horned moon enthroned -My fortune seems to sit—great Quixote, still -Envy of thy achievements fills my soul. - -THE LADY OF ORIANA -To Dulcinea del Toboso - -SONNET - -Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be! -It were a pleasant fancy to suppose so— -Could Miraflores change to El Toboso, -And London’s town to that which shelters thee! -Oh, could mine but acquire that livery -Of countless charms thy mind and body show so! -Or him, now famous grown—thou mad’st him grow so— -Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see! -Oh, could I be released from Amadis -By exercise of such coy chastity -As led thee gentle Quixote to dismiss! -Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy; -None would I envy, all would envy me, -And happiness be mine without alloy. - -GANDALIN, SQUIRE OF AMADIS OF GAUL, -To Sancho Panza, squire of Don Quixote - -SONNET - -All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she -Bound thee apprentice to the esquire trade, -Her care and tenderness of thee displayed, -Shaping thy course from misadventure free. -No longer now doth proud knight-errantry -Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade; -Of towering arrogance less count is made -Than of plain esquire-like simplicity. -I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name, -And those alforjas thou wast wont to stuff -With comforts that thy providence proclaim. -Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again! -To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain -Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff. - -FROM EL DONOSO, THE MOTLEY POET, - -On Sancho Panza and Rocinante - -ON SANCHO - -I am the esquire Sancho Pan— -Who served Don Quixote of La Man—; -But from his service I retreat—, -Resolved to pass my life discreet—; -For Villadiego, called the Si—, -Maintained that only in reti— -Was found the secret of well-be—, -According to the “Celesti—:” -A book divine, except for sin— -By speech too plain, in my opin— - -ON ROCINANTE - -I am that Rocinante fa—, -Great-grandson of great Babie—, -Who, all for being lean and bon—, -Had one Don Quixote for an own—; -But if I matched him well in weak—, -I never took short commons meek—, -But kept myself in corn by steal—, -A trick I learned from Lazaril—, -When with a piece of straw so neat— -The blind man of his wine he cheat—. - -ORLANDO FURIOSO -To Don Quixote of La Mancha - -SONNET - -If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none; -Among a thousand Peers thou art a peer; -Nor is there room for one when thou art near, -Unvanquished victor, great unconquered one! -Orlando, by Angelica undone, -Am I; o’er distant seas condemned to steer, -And to Fame’s altars as an offering bear -Valour respected by Oblivion. -I cannot be thy rival, for thy fame -And prowess rise above all rivalry, -Albeit both bereft of wits we go. -But, though the Scythian or the Moor to tame -Was not thy lot, still thou dost rival me: -Love binds us in a fellowship of woe. - -THE KNIGHT OF PHŒBUS - -To Don Quixote of La Mancha - -My sword was not to be compared with thine -Phœbus of Spain, marvel of courtesy, -Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine -That smote from east to west as lightnings fly. -I scorned all empire, and that monarchy -The rosy east held out did I resign -For one glance of Claridiana’s eye, -The bright Aurora for whose love I pine. -A miracle of constancy my love; -And banished by her ruthless cruelty, -This arm had might the rage of Hell to tame. -But, Gothic Quixote, happier thou dost prove, -For thou dost live in Dulcinea’s name, -And famous, honoured, wise, she lives in thee. - -FROM SOLISDAN -To Don Quixote of La Mancha - -SONNET - -Your fantasies, Sir Quixote, it is true, -That crazy brain of yours have quite upset, -But aught of base or mean hath never yet -Been charged by any in reproach to you. -Your deeds are open proof in all men’s view; -For you went forth injustice to abate, -And for your pains sore drubbings did you get -From many a rascally and ruffian crew. -If the fair Dulcinea, your heart’s queen, -Be unrelenting in her cruelty, -If still your woe be powerless to move her, -In such hard case your comfort let it be -That Sancho was a sorry go-between: -A booby he, hard-hearted she, and you no lover. - -DIALOGUE -Between Babieca and Rocinante - -SONNET - -B. “How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?” -R. “I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.” -B. “But what becomes of all the hay and corn?” -R. “My master gives me none; he’s much too mean.” -B. “Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween; -’Tis like an ass your master thus to scorn.” -R. He is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born; -Why, he’s in love; what’s plainer to be seen?” -B. “To be in love is folly?”—R. “No great sense.” -B. “You’re metaphysical.”—R. “From want of food.” -B. “Rail at the squire, then.”—R. “Why, what’s the good? -I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye, -But, squire or master, where’s the difference? -They’re both as sorry hacks as Rocinante.” - -p005.jpg (171K) - -Full Size - -DEDICATION OF PART I - -TO THE DUKE OF BEJAR, MARQUIS OF GIBRALEON, COUNT OF BENALCAZAR AND -BANARES, VICECOUNT OF THE PUEBLA DE ALCOCER, MASTER OF THE TOWNS OF -CAPILLA, CURIEL AND BURGUILLOS - -In belief of the good reception and honours that Your Excellency -bestows on all sort of books, as prince so inclined to favor good arts, -chiefly those who by their nobleness do not submit to the service and -bribery of the vulgar, I have determined bringing to light The -Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of la Mancha, in shelter of Your -Excellency’s glamorous name, to whom, with the obeisance I owe to such -grandeur, I pray to receive it agreeably under his protection, so that -in this shadow, though deprived of that precious ornament of elegance -and erudition that clothe the works composed in the houses of those who -know, it dares appear with assurance in the judgment of some who, -trespassing the bounds of their own ignorance, use to condemn with more -rigour and less justice the writings of others. It is my earnest hope -that Your Excellency’s good counsel in regard to my honourable purpose, -will not disdain the littleness of so humble a service. - -Miguel de Cervantes - -CHAPTER I. -WHICH TREATS OF THE CHARACTER AND PURSUITS OF THE FAMOUS GENTLEMAN DON -QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA - -In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call -to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a -lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound -for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most -nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so -extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest -of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to -match for holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his -best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece -under twenty, and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to -saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this -gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, -spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They -will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some -difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), -although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called -Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it -will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the -telling of it. - -You must know, then, that the above-named gentleman whenever he was at -leisure (which was mostly all the year round) gave himself up to -reading books of chivalry with such ardour and avidity that he almost -entirely neglected the pursuit of his field-sports, and even the -management of his property; and to such a pitch did his eagerness and -infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillageland to buy books of -chivalry to read, and brought home as many of them as he could get. But -of all there were none he liked so well as those of the famous -Feliciano de Silva’s composition, for their lucidity of style and -complicated conceits were as pearls in his sight, particularly when in -his reading he came upon courtships and cartels, where he often found -passages like “_the reason of the unreason with which my reason is -afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I murmur at your -beauty;” or again, “the high heavens, that of your divinity divinely -fortify you with the stars, render you deserving of the desert your -greatness deserves_.” Over conceits of this sort the poor gentleman -lost his wits, and used to lie awake striving to understand them and -worm the meaning out of them; what Aristotle himself could not have -made out or extracted had he come to life again for that special -purpose. He was not at all easy about the wounds which Don Belianis -gave and took, because it seemed to him that, great as were the -surgeons who had cured him, he must have had his face and body covered -all over with seams and scars. He commended, however, the author’s way -of ending his book with the promise of that interminable adventure, and -many a time was he tempted to take up his pen and finish it properly as -is there proposed, which no doubt he would have done, and made a -successful piece of work of it too, had not greater and more absorbing -thoughts prevented him. - -Many an argument did he have with the curate of his village (a learned -man, and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which had been the better -knight, Palmerin of England or Amadis of Gaul. Master Nicholas, the -village barber, however, used to say that neither of them came up to -the Knight of Phœbus, and that if there was any that could compare with -_him_ it was Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he had -a spirit that was equal to every occasion, and was no finikin knight, -nor lachrymose like his brother, while in the matter of valour he was -not a whit behind him. In short, he became so absorbed in his books -that he spent his nights from sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn -to dark, poring over them; and what with little sleep and much reading -his brains got so dry that he lost his wits. His fancy grew full of -what he used to read about in his books, enchantments, quarrels, -battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, agonies, and all sorts of -impossible nonsense; and it so possessed his mind that the whole fabric -of invention and fancy he read of was true, that to him no history in -the world had more reality in it. He used to say the Cid Ruy Diaz was a -very good knight, but that he was not to be compared with the Knight of -the Burning Sword who with one back-stroke cut in half two fierce and -monstrous giants. He thought more of Bernardo del Carpio because at -Roncesvalles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, availing himself -of the artifice of Hercules when he strangled Antæus the son of Terra -in his arms. He approved highly of the giant Morgante, because, -although of the giant breed which is always arrogant and -ill-conditioned, he alone was affable and well-bred. But above all he -admired Reinaldos of Montalban, especially when he saw him sallying -forth from his castle and robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the -seas he stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history says, was -entirely of gold. To have a bout of kicking at that traitor of a -Ganelon he would have given his housekeeper, and his niece into the -bargain. - -In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit upon the strangest notion -that ever madman in this world hit upon, and that was that he fancied -it was right and requisite, as well for the support of his own honour -as for the service of his country, that he should make a knight-errant -of himself, roaming the world over in full armour and on horseback in -quest of adventures, and putting in practice himself all that he had -read of as being the usual practices of knights-errant; righting every -kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger from which, in -the issue, he was to reap eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man -saw himself crowned by the might of his arm Emperor of Trebizond at -least; and so, led away by the intense enjoyment he found in these -pleasant fancies, he set himself forthwith to put his scheme into -execution. - -The first thing he did was to clean up some armour that had belonged to -his great-grandfather, and had been for ages lying forgotten in a -corner eaten with rust and covered with mildew. He scoured and polished -it as best he could, but he perceived one great defect in it, that it -had no closed helmet, nothing but a simple morion. This deficiency, -however, his ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind of half-helmet -of pasteboard which, fitted on to the morion, looked like a whole one. -It is true that, in order to see if it was strong and fit to stand a -cut, he drew his sword and gave it a couple of slashes, the first of -which undid in an instant what had taken him a week to do. The ease -with which he had knocked it to pieces disconcerted him somewhat, and -to guard against that danger he set to work again, fixing bars of iron -on the inside until he was satisfied with its strength; and then, not -caring to try any more experiments with it, he passed it and adopted it -as a helmet of the most perfect construction. - -He next proceeded to inspect his hack, which, with more quartos than a -real and more blemishes than the steed of Gonela, that “_tantum pellis -et ossa fuit_,” surpassed in his eyes the Bucephalus of Alexander or -the Babieca of the Cid. Four days were spent in thinking what name to -give him, because (as he said to himself) it was not right that a horse -belonging to a knight so famous, and one with such merits of his own, -should be without some distinctive name, and he strove to adapt it so -as to indicate what he had been before belonging to a knight-errant, -and what he then was; for it was only reasonable that, his master -taking a new character, he should take a new name, and that it should -be a distinguished and full-sounding one, befitting the new order and -calling he was about to follow. And so, after having composed, struck -out, rejected, added to, unmade, and remade a multitude of names out of -his memory and fancy, he decided upon calling him Rocinante, a name, to -his thinking, lofty, sonorous, and significant of his condition as a -hack before he became what he now was, the first and foremost of all -the hacks in the world. - -Having got a name for his horse so much to his taste, he was anxious to -get one for himself, and he was eight days more pondering over this -point, till at last he made up his mind to call himself “Don Quixote,” -whence, as has been already said, the authors of this veracious history -have inferred that his name must have been beyond a doubt Quixada, and -not Quesada as others would have it. Recollecting, however, that the -valiant Amadis was not content to call himself curtly Amadis and -nothing more, but added the name of his kingdom and country to make it -famous, and called himself Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, -resolved to add on the name of his, and to style himself Don Quixote of -La Mancha, whereby, he considered, he described accurately his origin -and country, and did honour to it in taking his surname from it. - -So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a helmet, -his hack christened, and he himself confirmed, he came to the -conclusion that nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady -to be in love with; for a knight-errant without love was like a tree -without leaves or fruit, or a body without a soul. As he said to -himself, “If, for my sins, or by my good fortune, I come across some -giant hereabouts, a common occurrence with knights-errant, and -overthrow him in one onslaught, or cleave him asunder to the waist, or, -in short, vanquish and subdue him, will it not be well to have someone -I may send him to as a present, that he may come in and fall on his -knees before my sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive voice say, ‘I -am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of Malindrania, -vanquished in single combat by the never sufficiently extolled knight -Don Quixote of La Mancha, who has commanded me to present myself before -your Grace, that your Highness dispose of me at your pleasure’?” Oh, -how our good gentleman enjoyed the delivery of this speech, especially -when he had thought of someone to call his Lady! There was, so the -story goes, in a village near his own a very good-looking farm-girl -with whom he had been at one time in love, though, so far as is known, -she never knew it nor gave a thought to the matter. Her name was -Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he thought fit to confer the title of -Lady of his Thoughts; and after some search for a name which should not -be out of harmony with her own, and should suggest and indicate that of -a princess and great lady, he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del -Toboso—she being of El Toboso—a name, to his mind, musical, uncommon, -and significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon himself -and the things belonging to him. - -CHAPTER II. -WHICH TREATS OF THE FIRST SALLY THE INGENIOUS DON QUIXOTE MADE FROM -HOME - -These preliminaries settled, he did not care to put off any longer the -execution of his design, urged on to it by the thought of all the world -was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he intended to right, -grievances to redress, injustices to repair, abuses to remove, and -duties to discharge. So, without giving notice of his intention to -anyone, and without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning -of the day (which was one of the hottest of the month of July) he -donned his suit of armour, mounted Rocinante with his patched-up helmet -on, braced his buckler, took his lance, and by the back door of the -yard sallied forth upon the plain in the highest contentment and -satisfaction at seeing with what ease he had made a beginning with his -grand purpose. But scarcely did he find himself upon the open plain, -when a terrible thought struck him, one all but enough to make him -abandon the enterprise at the very outset. It occurred to him that he -had not been dubbed a knight, and that according to the law of chivalry -he neither could nor ought to bear arms against any knight; and that -even if he had been, still he ought, as a novice knight, to wear white -armour, without a device upon the shield until by his prowess he had -earned one. These reflections made him waver in his purpose, but his -craze being stronger than any reasoning, he made up his mind to have -himself dubbed a knight by the first one he came across, following the -example of others in the same case, as he had read in the books that -brought him to this pass. As for white armour, he resolved, on the -first opportunity, to scour his until it was whiter than an ermine; and -so comforting himself he pursued his way, taking that which his horse -chose, for in this he believed lay the essence of adventures. - -Thus setting out, our new-fledged adventurer paced along, talking to -himself and saying, “Who knows but that in time to come, when the -veracious history of my famous deeds is made known, the sage who writes -it, when he has to set forth my first sally in the early morning, will -do it after this fashion? ‘Scarce had the rubicund Apollo spread o’er -the face of the broad spacious earth the golden threads of his bright -hair, scarce had the little birds of painted plumage attuned their -notes to hail with dulcet and mellifluous harmony the coming of the -rosy Dawn, that, deserting the soft couch of her jealous spouse, was -appearing to mortals at the gates and balconies of the Manchegan -horizon, when the renowned knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, quitting -the lazy down, mounted his celebrated steed Rocinante and began to -traverse the ancient and famous Campo de Montiel;’” which in fact he -was actually traversing. “Happy the age, happy the time,” he continued, -“in which shall be made known my deeds of fame, worthy to be moulded in -brass, carved in marble, limned in pictures, for a memorial for ever. -And thou, O sage magician, whoever thou art, to whom it shall fall to -be the chronicler of this wondrous history, forget not, I entreat thee, -my good Rocinante, the constant companion of my ways and wanderings.” -Presently he broke out again, as if he were love-stricken in earnest, -“O Princess Dulcinea, lady of this captive heart, a grievous wrong hast -thou done me to drive me forth with scorn, and with inexorable obduracy -banish me from the presence of thy beauty. O lady, deign to hold in -remembrance this heart, thy vassal, that thus in anguish pines for love -of thee.” - -So he went on stringing together these and other absurdities, all in -the style of those his books had taught him, imitating their language -as well as he could; and all the while he rode so slowly and the sun -mounted so rapidly and with such fervour that it was enough to melt his -brains if he had any. Nearly all day he travelled without anything -remarkable happening to him, at which he was in despair, for he was -anxious to encounter someone at once upon whom to try the might of his -strong arm. - -Writers there are who say the first adventure he met with was that of -Puerto Lapice; others say it was that of the windmills; but what I have -ascertained on this point, and what I have found written in the annals -of La Mancha, is that he was on the road all day, and towards nightfall -his hack and he found themselves dead tired and hungry, when, looking -all around to see if he could discover any castle or shepherd’s shanty -where he might refresh himself and relieve his sore wants, he perceived -not far out of his road an inn, which was as welcome as a star guiding -him to the portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption; and -quickening his pace he reached it just as night was setting in. At the -door were standing two young women, girls of the district as they call -them, on their way to Seville with some carriers who had chanced to -halt that night at the inn; and as, happen what might to our -adventurer, everything he saw or imagined seemed to him to be and to -happen after the fashion of what he read of, the moment he saw the inn -he pictured it to himself as a castle with its four turrets and -pinnacles of shining silver, not forgetting the drawbridge and moat and -all the belongings usually ascribed to castles of the sort. To this -inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, and at a short distance -from it he checked Rocinante, hoping that some dwarf would show himself -upon the battlements, and by sound of trumpet give notice that a knight -was approaching the castle. But seeing that they were slow about it, -and that Rocinante was in a hurry to reach the stable, he made for the -inn door, and perceived the two gay damsels who were standing there, -and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens or lovely ladies taking -their ease at the castle gate. - -At this moment it so happened that a swineherd who was going through -the stubbles collecting a drove of pigs (for, without any apology, that -is what they are called) gave a blast of his horn to bring them -together, and forthwith it seemed to Don Quixote to be what he was -expecting, the signal of some dwarf announcing his arrival; and so with -prodigious satisfaction he rode up to the inn and to the ladies, who, -seeing a man of this sort approaching in full armour and with lance and -buckler, were turning in dismay into the inn, when Don Quixote, -guessing their fear by their flight, raising his pasteboard visor, -disclosed his dry dusty visage, and with courteous bearing and gentle -voice addressed them, “Your ladyships need not fly or fear any -rudeness, for that it belongs not to the order of knighthood which I -profess to offer to anyone, much less to highborn maidens as your -appearance proclaims you to be.” The girls were looking at him and -straining their eyes to make out the features which the clumsy visor -obscured, but when they heard themselves called maidens, a thing so -much out of their line, they could not restrain their laughter, which -made Don Quixote wax indignant, and say, “Modesty becomes the fair, and -moreover laughter that has little cause is great silliness; this, -however, I say not to pain or anger you, for my desire is none other -than to serve you.” - -The incomprehensible language and the unpromising looks of our cavalier -only increased the ladies’ laughter, and that increased his irritation, -and matters might have gone farther if at that moment the landlord had -not come out, who, being a very fat man, was a very peaceful one. He, -seeing this grotesque figure clad in armour that did not match any more -than his saddle, bridle, lance, buckler, or corselet, was not at all -indisposed to join the damsels in their manifestations of amusement; -but, in truth, standing in awe of such a complicated armament, he -thought it best to speak him fairly, so he said, “Señor Caballero, if -your worship wants lodging, bating the bed (for there is not one in the -inn) there is plenty of everything else here.” Don Quixote, observing -the respectful bearing of the Alcaide of the fortress (for so innkeeper -and inn seemed in his eyes), made answer, “Sir Castellan, for me -anything will suffice, for - -‘My armour is my only wear, -My only rest the fray.’” - -The host fancied he called him Castellan because he took him for a -“worthy of Castile,” though he was in fact an Andalusian, and one from -the strand of San Lucar, as crafty a thief as Cacus and as full of -tricks as a student or a page. “In that case,” said he, - -“‘Your bed is on the flinty rock, -Your sleep to watch alway;’ - -and if so, you may dismount and safely reckon upon any quantity of -sleeplessness under this roof for a twelvemonth, not to say for a -single night.” So saying, he advanced to hold the stirrup for Don -Quixote, who got down with great difficulty and exertion (for he had -not broken his fast all day), and then charged the host to take great -care of his horse, as he was the best bit of flesh that ever ate bread -in this world. The landlord eyed him over but did not find him as good -as Don Quixote said, nor even half as good; and putting him up in the -stable, he returned to see what might be wanted by his guest, whom the -damsels, who had by this time made their peace with him, were now -relieving of his armour. They had taken off his breastplate and -backpiece, but they neither knew nor saw how to open his gorget or -remove his make-shift helmet, for he had fastened it with green -ribbons, which, as there was no untying the knots, required to be cut. -This, however, he would not by any means consent to, so he remained all -the evening with his helmet on, the drollest and oddest figure that can -be imagined; and while they were removing his armour, taking the -baggages who were about it for ladies of high degree belonging to the -castle, he said to them with great sprightliness: - -“Oh, never, surely, was there knight -So served by hand of dame, -As served was he, Don Quixote hight, -When from his town he came; -With maidens waiting on himself, -Princesses on his hack— - -—or Rocinante, for that, ladies mine, is my horse’s name, and Don -Quixote of La Mancha is my own; for though I had no intention of -declaring myself until my achievements in your service and honour had -made me known, the necessity of adapting that old ballad of Lancelot to -the present occasion has given you the knowledge of my name altogether -prematurely. A time, however, will come for your ladyships to command -and me to obey, and then the might of my arm will show my desire to -serve you.” - -The girls, who were not used to hearing rhetoric of this sort, had -nothing to say in reply; they only asked him if he wanted anything to -eat. “I would gladly eat a bit of something,” said Don Quixote, “for I -feel it would come very seasonably.” The day happened to be a Friday, -and in the whole inn there was nothing but some pieces of the fish they -call in Castile “abadejo,” in Andalusia “bacallao,” and in some places -“curadillo,” and in others “troutlet;” so they asked him if he thought -he could eat troutlet, for there was no other fish to give him. “If -there be troutlets enough,” said Don Quixote, “they will be the same -thing as a trout; for it is all one to me whether I am given eight -reals in small change or a piece of eight; moreover, it may be that -these troutlets are like veal, which is better than beef, or kid, which -is better than goat. But whatever it be let it come quickly, for the -burden and pressure of arms cannot be borne without support to the -inside.” They laid a table for him at the door of the inn for the sake -of the air, and the host brought him a portion of ill-soaked and worse -cooked stockfish, and a piece of bread as black and mouldy as his own -armour; but a laughable sight it was to see him eating, for having his -helmet on and the beaver up, he could not with his own hands put -anything into his mouth unless someone else placed it there, and this -service one of the ladies rendered him. But to give him anything to -drink was impossible, or would have been so had not the landlord bored -a reed, and putting one end in his mouth poured the wine into him -through the other; all which he bore with patience rather than sever -the ribbons of his helmet. - -While this was going on there came up to the inn a sowgelder, who, as -he approached, sounded his reed pipe four or five times, and thereby -completely convinced Don Quixote that he was in some famous castle, and -that they were regaling him with music, and that the stockfish was -trout, the bread the whitest, the wenches ladies, and the landlord the -castellan of the castle; and consequently he held that his enterprise -and sally had been to some purpose. But still it distressed him to -think he had not been dubbed a knight, for it was plain to him he could -not lawfully engage in any adventure without receiving the order of -knighthood. - -CHAPTER III. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE DROLL WAY IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE HAD HIMSELF -DUBBED A KNIGHT - -Harassed by this reflection, he made haste with his scanty pothouse -supper, and having finished it called the landlord, and shutting -himself into the stable with him, fell on his knees before him, saying, -“From this spot I rise not, valiant knight, until your courtesy grants -me the boon I seek, one that will redound to your praise and the -benefit of the human race.” The landlord, seeing his guest at his feet -and hearing a speech of this kind, stood staring at him in -bewilderment, not knowing what to do or say, and entreating him to -rise, but all to no purpose until he had agreed to grant the boon -demanded of him. “I looked for no less, my lord, from your High -Magnificence,” replied Don Quixote, “and I have to tell you that the -boon I have asked and your liberality has granted is that you shall dub -me knight to-morrow morning, and that to-night I shall watch my arms in -the chapel of this your castle; thus to-morrow, as I have said, will be -accomplished what I so much desire, enabling me lawfully to roam -through all the four quarters of the world seeking adventures on behalf -of those in distress, as is the duty of chivalry and of knights-errant -like myself, whose ambition is directed to such deeds.” - -The landlord, who, as has been mentioned, was something of a wag, and -had already some suspicion of his guest’s want of wits, was quite -convinced of it on hearing talk of this kind from him, and to make -sport for the night he determined to fall in with his humour. So he -told him he was quite right in pursuing the object he had in view, and -that such a motive was natural and becoming in cavaliers as -distinguished as he seemed and his gallant bearing showed him to be; -and that he himself in his younger days had followed the same -honourable calling, roaming in quest of adventures in various parts of -the world, among others the Curing-grounds of Malaga, the Isles of -Riaran, the Precinct of Seville, the Little Market of Segovia, the -Olivera of Valencia, the Rondilla of Granada, the Strand of San Lucar, -the Colt of Cordova, the Taverns of Toledo, and divers other quarters, -where he had proved the nimbleness of his feet and the lightness of his -fingers, doing many wrongs, cheating many widows, ruining maids and -swindling minors, and, in short, bringing himself under the notice of -almost every tribunal and court of justice in Spain; until at last he -had retired to this castle of his, where he was living upon his -property and upon that of others; and where he received all -knights-errant of whatever rank or condition they might be, all for the -great love he bore them and that they might share their substance with -him in return for his benevolence. He told him, moreover, that in this -castle of his there was no chapel in which he could watch his armour, -as it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt, but that in a case -of necessity it might, he knew, be watched anywhere, and he might watch -it that night in a courtyard of the castle, and in the morning, God -willing, the requisite ceremonies might be performed so as to have him -dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly dubbed that nobody could be more so. -He asked if he had any money with him, to which Don Quixote replied -that he had not a farthing, as in the histories of knights-errant he -had never read of any of them carrying any. On this point the landlord -told him he was mistaken; for, though not recorded in the histories, -because in the author’s opinion there was no need to mention anything -so obvious and necessary as money and clean shirts, it was not to be -supposed therefore that they did not carry them, and he might regard it -as certain and established that all knights-errant (about whom there -were so many full and unimpeachable books) carried well-furnished -purses in case of emergency, and likewise carried shirts and a little -box of ointment to cure the wounds they received. For in those plains -and deserts where they engaged in combat and came out wounded, it was -not always that there was someone to cure them, unless indeed they had -for a friend some sage magician to succour them at once by fetching -through the air upon a cloud some damsel or dwarf with a vial of water -of such virtue that by tasting one drop of it they were cured of their -hurts and wounds in an instant and left as sound as if they had not -received any damage whatever. But in case this should not occur, the -knights of old took care to see that their squires were provided with -money and other requisites, such as lint and ointments for healing -purposes; and when it happened that knights had no squires (which was -rarely and seldom the case) they themselves carried everything in -cunning saddle-bags that were hardly seen on the horse’s croup, as if -it were something else of more importance, because, unless for some -such reason, carrying saddle-bags was not very favourably regarded -among knights-errant. He therefore advised him (and, as his godson so -soon to be, he might even command him) never from that time forth to -travel without money and the usual requirements, and he would find the -advantage of them when he least expected it. - -Don Quixote promised to follow his advice scrupulously, and it was -arranged forthwith that he should watch his armour in a large yard at -one side of the inn; so, collecting it all together, Don Quixote placed -it on a trough that stood by the side of a well, and bracing his -buckler on his arm he grasped his lance and began with a stately air to -march up and down in front of the trough, and as he began his march -night began to fall. - -The landlord told all the people who were in the inn about the craze of -his guest, the watching of the armour, and the dubbing ceremony he -contemplated. Full of wonder at so strange a form of madness, they -flocked to see it from a distance, and observed with what composure he -sometimes paced up and down, or sometimes, leaning on his lance, gazed -on his armour without taking his eyes off it for ever so long; and as -the night closed in with a light from the moon so brilliant that it -might vie with his that lent it, everything the novice knight did was -plainly seen by all. - -Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn thought fit to water -his team, and it was necessary to remove Don Quixote’s armour as it lay -on the trough; but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud -voice, “O thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that comest to lay hands -on the armour of the most valorous errant that ever girt on sword, have -a care what thou dost; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down thy -life as the penalty of thy rashness.” The carrier gave no heed to these -words (and he would have done better to heed them if he had been -heedful of his health), but seizing it by the straps flung the armour -some distance from him. Seeing this, Don Quixote raised his eyes to -heaven, and fixing his thoughts, apparently, upon his lady Dulcinea, -exclaimed, “Aid me, lady mine, in this the first encounter that -presents itself to this breast which thou holdest in subjection; let -not thy favour and protection fail me in this first jeopardy;” and, -with these words and others to the same purpose, dropping his buckler -he lifted his lance with both hands and with it smote such a blow on -the carrier’s head that he stretched him on the ground, so stunned that -had he followed it up with a second there would have been no need of a -surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked up his armour and returned to -his beat with the same serenity as before. - -Shortly after this, another, not knowing what had happened (for the -carrier still lay senseless), came with the same object of giving water -to his mules, and was proceeding to remove the armour in order to clear -the trough, when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or imploring aid -from anyone, once more dropped his buckler and once more lifted his -lance, and without actually breaking the second carrier’s head into -pieces, made more than three of it, for he laid it open in four. At the -noise all the people of the inn ran to the spot, and among them the -landlord. Seeing this, Don Quixote braced his buckler on his arm, and -with his hand on his sword exclaimed, “O Lady of Beauty, strength and -support of my faint heart, it is time for thee to turn the eyes of thy -greatness on this thy captive knight on the brink of so mighty an -adventure.” By this he felt himself so inspired that he would not have -flinched if all the carriers in the world had assailed him. The -comrades of the wounded perceiving the plight they were in began from a -distance to shower stones on Don Quixote, who screened himself as best -he could with his buckler, not daring to quit the trough and leave his -armour unprotected. The landlord shouted to them to leave him alone, -for he had already told them that he was mad, and as a madman he would -not be accountable even if he killed them all. Still louder shouted Don -Quixote, calling them knaves and traitors, and the lord of the castle, -who allowed knights-errant to be treated in this fashion, a villain and -a low-born knight whom, had he received the order of knighthood, he -would call to account for his treachery. “But of you,” he cried, “base -and vile rabble, I make no account; fling, strike, come on, do all ye -can against me, ye shall see what the reward of your folly and -insolence will be.” This he uttered with so much spirit and boldness -that he filled his assailants with a terrible fear, and as much for -this reason as at the persuasion of the landlord they left off stoning -him, and he allowed them to carry off the wounded, and with the same -calmness and composure as before resumed the watch over his armour. - -But these freaks of his guest were not much to the liking of the -landlord, so he determined to cut matters short and confer upon him at -once the unlucky order of knighthood before any further misadventure -could occur; so, going up to him, he apologised for the rudeness which, -without his knowledge, had been offered to him by these low people, -who, however, had been well punished for their audacity. As he had -already told him, he said, there was no chapel in the castle, nor was -it needed for what remained to be done, for, as he understood the -ceremonial of the order, the whole point of being dubbed a knight lay -in the accolade and in the slap on the shoulder, and that could be -administered in the middle of a field; and that he had now done all -that was needful as to watching the armour, for all requirements were -satisfied by a watch of two hours only, while he had been more than -four about it. Don Quixote believed it all, and told him he stood there -ready to obey him, and to make an end of it with as much despatch as -possible; for, if he were again attacked, and felt himself to be dubbed -knight, he would not, he thought, leave a soul alive in the castle, -except such as out of respect he might spare at his bidding. - -Thus warned and menaced, the castellan forthwith brought out a book in -which he used to enter the straw and barley he served out to the -carriers, and, with a lad carrying a candle-end, and the two damsels -already mentioned, he returned to where Don Quixote stood, and bade him -kneel down. Then, reading from his account-book as if he were repeating -some devout prayer, in the middle of his delivery he raised his hand -and gave him a sturdy blow on the neck, and then, with his own sword, a -smart slap on the shoulder, all the while muttering between his teeth -as if he was saying his prayers. Having done this, he directed one of -the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with great -self-possession and gravity, and not a little was required to prevent a -burst of laughter at each stage of the ceremony; but what they had -already seen of the novice knight’s prowess kept their laughter within -bounds. On girding him with the sword the worthy lady said to him, “May -God make your worship a very fortunate knight, and grant you success in -battle.” Don Quixote asked her name in order that he might from that -time forward know to whom he was beholden for the favour he had -received, as he meant to confer upon her some portion of the honour he -acquired by the might of his arm. She answered with great humility that -she was called La Tolosa, and that she was the daughter of a cobbler of -Toledo who lived in the stalls of Sanchobienaya, and that wherever she -might be she would serve and esteem him as her lord. Don Quixote said -in reply that she would do him a favour if thenceforward she assumed -the “Don” and called herself Doña Tolosa. She promised she would, and -then the other buckled on his spur, and with her followed almost the -same conversation as with the lady of the sword. He asked her name, and -she said it was La Molinera, and that she was the daughter of a -respectable miller of Antequera; and of her likewise Don Quixote -requested that she would adopt the “Don” and call herself Doña -Molinera, making offers to her further services and favours. - -Having thus, with hot haste and speed, brought to a conclusion these -never-till-now-seen ceremonies, Don Quixote was on thorns until he saw -himself on horseback sallying forth in quest of adventures; and -saddling Rocinante at once he mounted, and embracing his host, as he -returned thanks for his kindness in knighting him, he addressed him in -language so extraordinary that it is impossible to convey an idea of it -or report it. The landlord, to get him out of the inn, replied with no -less rhetoric though with shorter words, and without calling upon him -to pay the reckoning let him go with a Godspeed. - -CHAPTER IV. -OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT THE INN - -Day was dawning when Don Quixote quitted the inn, so happy, so gay, so -exhilarated at finding himself now dubbed a knight, that his joy was -like to burst his horse-girths. However, recalling the advice of his -host as to the requisites he ought to carry with him, especially that -referring to money and shirts, he determined to go home and provide -himself with all, and also with a squire, for he reckoned upon securing -a farm-labourer, a neighbour of his, a poor man with a family, but very -well qualified for the office of squire to a knight. With this object -he turned his horse’s head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus -reminded of his old quarters, stepped out so briskly that he hardly -seemed to tread the earth. - -He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to -come feeble cries as of someone in distress, and the instant he heard -them he exclaimed, “Thanks be to heaven for the favour it accords me, -that it so soon offers me an opportunity of fulfilling the obligation I -have undertaken, and gathering the fruit of my ambition. These cries, -no doubt, come from some man or woman in want of help, and needing my -aid and protection;” and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction -whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into -the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and -stripped from the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, -from whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty -farmer was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with -scoldings and commands, repeating, “Your mouth shut and your eyes -open!” while the youth made answer, “I won’t do it again, master mine; -by God’s passion I won’t do it again, and I’ll take more care of the -flock another time.” - -Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an angry voice, -“Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you to assail one who cannot -defend himself; mount your steed and take your lance” (for there was a -lance leaning against the oak to which the mare was tied), “and I will -make you know that you are behaving as a coward.” The farmer, seeing -before him this figure in full armour brandishing a lance over his -head, gave himself up for dead, and made answer meekly, “Sir Knight, -this youth that I am chastising is my servant, employed by me to watch -a flock of sheep that I have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose -one every day, and when I punish him for his carelessness and knavery -he says I do it out of niggardliness, to escape paying him the wages I -owe him, and before God, and on my soul, he lies.” - -“Lies before me, base clown!” said Don Quixote. “By the sun that shines -on us I have a mind to run you through with this lance. Pay him at once -without another word; if not, by the God that rules us I will make an -end of you, and annihilate you on the spot; release him instantly.” - -The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of -whom Don Quixote asked how much his master owed him. - -He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. Don Quixote added it -up, found that it came to sixty-three reals, and told the farmer to pay -it down immediately, if he did not want to die for it. - -The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had -sworn (though he had not sworn any) it was not so much; for there were -to be taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had given -him, and a real for two blood-lettings when he was sick. - -“All that is very well,” said Don Quixote; “but let the shoes and the -blood-lettings stand as a setoff against the blows you have given him -without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid -for, you have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood -from him when he was sick, you have drawn it when he was sound; so on -that score he owes you nothing.” - -“The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres -come home with me, and I will pay him all, real by real.” - -“I go with him!” said the youth. “Nay, God forbid! No, señor, not for -the world; for once alone with me, he would ray me like a Saint -Bartholomew.” - -“He will do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “I have only to -command, and he will obey me; and as he has sworn to me by the order of -knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, and I guarantee the -payment.” - -“Consider what you are saying, señor,” said the youth; “this master of -mine is not a knight, nor has he received any order of knighthood; for -he is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar.” - -“That matters little,” replied Don Quixote; “there may be Haldudos -knights; moreover, everyone is the son of his works.” - -“That is true,” said Andres; “but this master of mine—of what works is -he the son, when he refuses me the wages of my sweat and labour?” - -“I do not refuse, brother Andres,” said the farmer, “be good enough to -come along with me, and I swear by all the orders of knighthood there -are in the world to pay you as I have agreed, real by real, and -perfumed.” - -“For the perfumery I excuse you,” said Don Quixote; “give it to him in -reals, and I shall be satisfied; and see that you do as you have sworn; -if not, by the same oath I swear to come back and hunt you out and -punish you; and I shall find you though you should lie closer than a -lizard. And if you desire to know who it is lays this command upon you, -that you be more firmly bound to obey it, know that I am the valorous -Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices; and so, -God be with you, and keep in mind what you have promised and sworn -under those penalties that have been already declared to you.” - -So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was soon out of reach. The -farmer followed him with his eyes, and when he saw that he had cleared -the wood and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy Andres, and -said, “Come here, my son, I want to pay you what I owe you, as that -undoer of wrongs has commanded me.” - -“My oath on it,” said Andres, “your worship will be well advised to -obey the command of that good knight—may he live a thousand years—for, -as he is a valiant and just judge, by Roque, if you do not pay me, he -will come back and do as he said.” - -“My oath on it, too,” said the farmer; “but as I have a strong -affection for you, I want to add to the debt in order to add to the -payment;” and seizing him by the arm, he tied him up again, and gave -him such a flogging that he left him for dead. - -“Now, Master Andres,” said the farmer, “call on the undoer of wrongs; -you will find he won’t undo that, though I am not sure that I have -quite done with you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive.” But at -last he untied him, and gave him leave to go look for his judge in -order to put the sentence pronounced into execution. - -Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing he would go to look -for the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha and tell him exactly what had -happened, and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; but for -all that, he went off weeping, while his master stood laughing. - -Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, and, thoroughly -satisfied with what had taken place, as he considered he had made a -very happy and noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the road -towards his village in perfect self-content, saying in a low voice, -“Well mayest thou this day call thyself fortunate above all on earth, O -Dulcinea del Toboso, fairest of the fair! since it has fallen to thy -lot to hold subject and submissive to thy full will and pleasure a -knight so renowned as is and will be Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as -all the world knows, yesterday received the order of knighthood, and -hath to-day righted the greatest wrong and grievance that ever -injustice conceived and cruelty perpetrated: who hath to-day plucked -the rod from the hand of yonder ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing -that tender child.” - -He now came to a road branching in four directions, and immediately he -was reminded of those cross-roads where knights-errant used to stop to -consider which road they should take. In imitation of them he halted -for a while, and after having deeply considered it, he gave Rocinante -his head, submitting his own will to that of his hack, who followed out -his first intention, which was to make straight for his own stable. -After he had gone about two miles Don Quixote perceived a large party -of people, who, as afterwards appeared, were some Toledo traders, on -their way to buy silk at Murcia. There were six of them coming along -under their sunshades, with four servants mounted, and three muleteers -on foot. Scarcely had Don Quixote descried them when the fancy -possessed him that this must be some new adventure; and to help him to -imitate as far as he could those passages he had read of in his books, -here seemed to come one made on purpose, which he resolved to attempt. -So with a lofty bearing and determination he fixed himself firmly in -his stirrups, got his lance ready, brought his buckler before his -breast, and planting himself in the middle of the road, stood waiting -the approach of these knights-errant, for such he now considered and -held them to be; and when they had come near enough to see and hear, he -exclaimed with a haughty gesture, “All the world stand, unless all the -world confess that in all the world there is no maiden fairer than the -Empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -The traders halted at the sound of this language and the sight of the -strange figure that uttered it, and from both figure and language at -once guessed the craze of their owner; they wished, however, to learn -quietly what was the object of this confession that was demanded of -them, and one of them, who was rather fond of a joke and was very -sharp-witted, said to him, “Sir Knight, we do not know who this good -lady is that you speak of; show her to us, for, if she be of such -beauty as you suggest, with all our hearts and without any pressure we -will confess the truth that is on your part required of us.” - -“If I were to show her to you,” replied Don Quixote, “what merit would -you have in confessing a truth so manifest? The essential point is that -without seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, and defend -it; else ye have to do with me in battle, ill-conditioned, arrogant -rabble that ye are; and come ye on, one by one as the order of -knighthood requires, or all together as is the custom and vile usage of -your breed, here do I bide and await you relying on the justice of the -cause I maintain.” - -“Sir Knight,” replied the trader, “I entreat your worship in the name -of this present company of princes, that, to save us from charging our -consciences with the confession of a thing we have never seen or heard -of, and one moreover so much to the prejudice of the Empresses and -Queens of the Alcarria and Estremadura, your worship will be pleased to -show us some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain -of wheat; for by the thread one gets at the ball, and in this way we -shall be satisfied and easy, and you will be content and pleased; nay, -I believe we are already so far agreed with you that even though her -portrait should show her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and -sulphur from the other, we would nevertheless, to gratify your worship, -say all in her favour that you desire.” - -“She distils nothing of the kind, vile rabble,” said Don Quixote, -burning with rage, “nothing of the kind, I say, only ambergris and -civet in cotton; nor is she one-eyed or humpbacked, but straighter than -a Guadarrama spindle: but ye must pay for the blasphemy ye have uttered -against beauty like that of my lady.” - -And so saying, he charged with levelled lance against the one who had -spoken, with such fury and fierceness that, if luck had not contrived -that Rocinante should stumble midway and come down, it would have gone -hard with the rash trader. Down went Rocinante, and over went his -master, rolling along the ground for some distance; and when he tried -to rise he was unable, so encumbered was he with lance, buckler, spurs, -helmet, and the weight of his old armour; and all the while he was -struggling to get up he kept saying, “Fly not, cowards and caitiffs! -stay, for not by my fault, but my horse’s, am I stretched here.” - -One of the muleteers in attendance, who could not have had much good -nature in him, hearing the poor prostrate man blustering in this style, -was unable to refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs; and coming -up to him he seized his lance, and having broken it in pieces, with one -of them he began so to belabour our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding -and in spite of his armour, he milled him like a measure of wheat. His -masters called out not to lay on so hard and to leave him alone, but -the muleteers blood was up, and he did not care to drop the game until -he had vented the rest of his wrath, and gathering up the remaining -fragments of the lance he finished with a discharge upon the unhappy -victim, who all through the storm of sticks that rained on him never -ceased threatening heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for such they -seemed to him. At last the muleteer was tired, and the traders -continued their journey, taking with them matter for talk about the -poor fellow who had been cudgelled. He when he found himself alone made -another effort to rise; but if he was unable when whole and sound, how -was he to rise after having been thrashed and well-nigh knocked to -pieces? And yet he esteemed himself fortunate, as it seemed to him that -this was a regular knight-errant’s mishap, and entirely, he considered, -the fault of his horse. However, battered in body as he was, to rise -was beyond his power. - -CHAPTER V. -IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE OF OUR KNIGHT’S MISHAP IS CONTINUED - -Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of -having recourse to his usual remedy, which was to think of some passage -in his books, and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and -the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the -mountainside, a story known by heart by the children, not forgotten by -the young men, and lauded and even believed by the old folk; and for -all that not a whit truer than the miracles of Mahomet. This seemed to -him to fit exactly the case in which he found himself, so, making a -show of severe suffering, he began to roll on the ground and with -feeble breath repeat the very words which the wounded knight of the -wood is said to have uttered: - -Where art thou, lady mine, that thou -My sorrow dost not rue? -Thou canst not know it, lady mine, -Or else thou art untrue. - -And so he went on with the ballad as far as the lines: - -O noble Marquis of Mantua, -My Uncle and liege lord! - -As chance would have it, when he had got to this line there happened to -come by a peasant from his own village, a neighbour of his, who had -been with a load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched -there, came up to him and asked him who he was and what was the matter -with him that he complained so dolefully. - -Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the Marquis of Mantua, -his uncle, so the only answer he made was to go on with his ballad, in -which he told the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the -Emperor’s son and his wife all exactly as the ballad sings it. - -The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of -the visor, already battered to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, -which was covered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he -recognised him and said, “Señor Quixada” (for so he appears to have -been called when he was in his senses and had not yet changed from a -quiet country gentleman into a knight-errant), “who has brought your -worship to this pass?” But to all questions the other only went on with -his ballad. - -Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate -and backpiece to see if he had any wound, but he could perceive no -blood nor any mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the -ground, and with no little difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which -seemed to him to be the easiest mount for him; and collecting the arms, -even to the splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and -leading him by the bridle and the ass by the halter he took the road -for the village, very sad to hear what absurd stuff Don Quixote was -talking. - -Nor was Don Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he could -not sit upright on the ass, and from time to time he sent up sighs to -heaven, so that once more he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. -And it could have been only the devil himself that put into his head -tales to match his own adventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he -bethought himself of the Moor Abindarraez, when the Alcaide of -Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took him prisoner and carried him away -to his castle; so that when the peasant again asked him how he was and -what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same words and phrases that -the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de Narvaez, just as he had read -the story in the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor where it is written, -applying it to his own case so aptly that the peasant went along -cursing his fate that he had to listen to such a lot of nonsense; from -which, however, he came to the conclusion that his neighbour was mad, -and so made all haste to reach the village to escape the wearisomeness -of this harangue of Don Quixote’s; who, at the end of it, said, “Señor -Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, your worship must know that this fair Xarifa I -have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea del Toboso, for whom I have -done, am doing, and will do the most famous deeds of chivalry that in -this world have been seen, are to be seen, or ever shall be seen.” - -To this the peasant answered, “Señor—sinner that I am!—cannot your -worship see that I am not Don Rodrigo de Narvaez nor the Marquis of -Mantua, but Pedro Alonso your neighbour, and that your worship is -neither Baldwin nor Abindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Señor -Quixada?” - -“I know who I am,” replied Don Quixote, “and I know that I may be not -only those I have named, but all the Twelve Peers of France and even -all the Nine Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have -done all together and each of them on his own account.” - -With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just -as night was beginning to fall, but the peasant waited until it was a -little later that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in -such a miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time -he entered the village and went to Don Quixote’s house, which he found -all in confusion, and there were the curate and the village barber, who -were great friends of Don Quixote, and his housekeeper was saying to -them in a loud voice, “What does your worship think can have befallen -my master, Señor Licentiate Pero Perez?” for so the curate was called; -“it is three days now since anything has been seen of him, or the hack, -or the buckler, lance, or armour. Miserable me! I am certain of it, and -it is as true as that I was born to die, that these accursed books of -chivalry he has, and has got into the way of reading so constantly, -have upset his reason; for now I remember having often heard him saying -to himself that he would turn knight-errant and go all over the world -in quest of adventures. To the devil and Barabbas with such books, that -have brought to ruin in this way the finest understanding there was in -all La Mancha!” - -The niece said the same, and, more: “You must know, Master -Nicholas”—for that was the name of the barber—“it was often my uncle’s -way to stay two days and nights together poring over these unholy books -of misventures, after which he would fling the book away and snatch up -his sword and fall to slashing the walls; and when he was tired out he -would say he had killed four giants like four towers; and the sweat -that flowed from him when he was weary he said was the blood of the -wounds he had received in battle; and then he would drink a great jug -of cold water and become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a -most precious potion which the sage Esquife, a great magician and -friend of his, had brought him. But I take all the blame upon myself -for never having told your worships of my uncle’s vagaries, that you -might put a stop to them before things had come to this pass, and burn -all these accursed books—for he has a great number—that richly deserve -to be burned like heretics.” - -“So say I too,” said the curate, “and by my faith to-morrow shall not -pass without public judgment upon them, and may they be condemned to -the flames lest they lead those that read to behave as my good friend -seems to have behaved.” - -All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was -the matter with his neighbour, so he began calling aloud, “Open, your -worships, to Señor Baldwin and to Señor the Marquis of Mantua, who -comes badly wounded, and to Señor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the -valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, the Alcaide of Antequera, brings captive.” - -At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their -friend, master, and uncle, who had not yet dismounted from the ass -because he could not, they ran to embrace him. - -“Hold!” said he, “for I am badly wounded through my horse’s fault; -carry me to bed, and if possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and -see to my wounds.” - -“See there! plague on it!” cried the housekeeper at this: “did not my -heart tell the truth as to which foot my master went lame of? To bed -with your worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here -without fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred -times more, on those books of chivalry that have brought your worship -to such a pass.” - -They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds -could find none, but he said they were all bruises from having had a -severe fall with his horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, -the biggest and the boldest to be found on earth. - -“So, so!” said the curate, “are there giants in the dance? By the sign -of the Cross I will burn them to-morrow before the day is over.” - -They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to all -was—give him something to eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was -what he needed most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant -at great length as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and -the nonsense he had talked when found and on the way home, all which -made the licentiate the more eager to do what he did the next day, -which was to summon his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with -him to Don Quixote’s house. - -CHAPTER VI. -OF THE DIVERTING AND IMPORTANT SCRUTINY WHICH THE CURATE AND THE BARBER -MADE IN THE LIBRARY OF OUR INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN - -He was still sleeping; so the curate asked the niece for the keys of -the room where the books, the authors of all the mischief, were, and -right willingly she gave them. They all went in, the housekeeper with -them, and found more than a hundred volumes of big books very well -bound, and some other small ones. The moment the housekeeper saw them -she turned about and ran out of the room, and came back immediately -with a saucer of holy water and a sprinkler, saying, “Here, your -worship, señor licentiate, sprinkle this room; don’t leave any magician -of the many there are in these books to bewitch us in revenge for our -design of banishing them from the world.” - -The simplicity of the housekeeper made the licentiate laugh, and he -directed the barber to give him the books one by one to see what they -were about, as there might be some to be found among them that did not -deserve the penalty of fire. - -“No,” said the niece, “there is no reason for showing mercy to any of -them; they have every one of them done mischief; better fling them out -of the window into the court and make a pile of them and set fire to -them; or else carry them into the yard, and there a bonfire can be made -without the smoke giving any annoyance.” The housekeeper said the same, -so eager were they both for the slaughter of those innocents, but the -curate would not agree to it without first reading at any rate the -titles. - -The first that Master Nicholas put into his hand was “The four books of -Amadis of Gaul.” “This seems a mysterious thing,” said the curate, -“for, as I have heard say, this was the first book of chivalry printed -in Spain, and from this all the others derive their birth and origin; -so it seems to me that we ought inexorably to condemn it to the flames -as the founder of so vile a sect.” - -“Nay, sir,” said the barber, “I too, have heard say that this is the -best of all the books of this kind that have been written, and so, as -something singular in its line, it ought to be pardoned.” - -“True,” said the curate; “and for that reason let its life be spared -for the present. Let us see that other which is next to it.” - -“It is,” said the barber, “the ‘Sergas de Esplandian,’ the lawful son -of Amadis of Gaul.” - -“Then verily,” said the curate, “the merit of the father must not be -put down to the account of the son. Take it, mistress housekeeper; open -the window and fling it into the yard and lay the foundation of the -pile for the bonfire we are to make.” - -The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and the worthy -“Esplandian” went flying into the yard to await with all patience the -fire that was in store for him. - -“Proceed,” said the curate. - -“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is ‘Amadis of Greece,’ and, -indeed, I believe all those on this side are of the same Amadis -lineage.” - -“Then to the yard with the whole of them,” said the curate; “for to -have the burning of Queen Pintiquiniestra, and the shepherd Darinel and -his eclogues, and the bedevilled and involved discourses of his author, -I would burn with them the father who begot me if he were going about -in the guise of a knight-errant.” - -“I am of the same mind,” said the barber. - -“And so am I,” added the niece. - -“In that case,” said the housekeeper, “here, into the yard with them!” - -They were handed to her, and as there were many of them, she spared -herself the staircase, and flung them down out of the window. - -“Who is that tub there?” said the curate. - -“This,” said the barber, “is ‘Don Olivante de Laura.’” - -“The author of that book,” said the curate, “was the same that wrote -‘The Garden of Flowers,’ and truly there is no deciding which of the -two books is the more truthful, or, to put it better, the less lying; -all I can say is, send this one into the yard for a swaggering fool.” - -“This that follows is ‘Florismarte of Hircania,’” said the barber. - -“Señor Florismarte here?” said the curate; “then by my faith he must -take up his quarters in the yard, in spite of his marvellous birth and -visionary adventures, for the stiffness and dryness of his style -deserve nothing else; into the yard with him and the other, mistress -housekeeper.” - -“With all my heart, señor,” said she, and executed the order with great -delight. - -“This,” said the barber, “is ‘The Knight Platir.’” - -“An old book that,” said the curate, “but I find no reason for clemency -in it; send it after the others without appeal;” which was done. - -Another book was opened, and they saw it was entitled, “The Knight of -the Cross.” - -“For the sake of the holy name this book has,” said the curate, “its -ignorance might be excused; but then, they say, ‘behind the cross -there’s the devil;’ to the fire with it.” - -Taking down another book, the barber said, “This is ‘The Mirror of -Chivalry.’” - -“I know his worship,” said the curate; “that is where Señor Reinaldos -of Montalvan figures with his friends and comrades, greater thieves -than Cacus, and the Twelve Peers of France with the veracious historian -Turpin; however, I am not for condemning them to more than perpetual -banishment, because, at any rate, they have some share in the invention -of the famous Matteo Boiardo, whence too the Christian poet Ludovico -Ariosto wove his web, to whom, if I find him here, and speaking any -language but his own, I shall show no respect whatever; but if he -speaks his own tongue I will put him upon my head.” - -“Well, I have him in Italian,” said the barber, “but I do not -understand him.” - -“Nor would it be well that you should understand him,” said the curate, -“and on that score we might have excused the Captain if he had not -brought him into Spain and turned him into Castilian. He robbed him of -a great deal of his natural force, and so do all those who try to turn -books written in verse into another language, for, with all the pains -they take and all the cleverness they show, they never can reach the -level of the originals as they were first produced. In short, I say -that this book, and all that may be found treating of those French -affairs, should be thrown into or deposited in some dry well, until -after more consideration it is settled what is to be done with them; -excepting always one ‘Bernardo del Carpio’ that is going about, and -another called ‘Roncesvalles;’ for these, if they come into my hands, -shall pass at once into those of the housekeeper, and from hers into -the fire without any reprieve.” - -To all this the barber gave his assent, and looked upon it as right and -proper, being persuaded that the curate was so staunch to the Faith and -loyal to the Truth that he would not for the world say anything opposed -to them. Opening another book he saw it was “Palmerin de Oliva,” and -beside it was another called “Palmerin of England,” seeing which the -licentiate said, “Let the Olive be made firewood of at once and burned -until no ashes even are left; and let that Palm of England be kept and -preserved as a thing that stands alone, and let such another case be -made for it as that which Alexander found among the spoils of Darius -and set aside for the safe keeping of the works of the poet Homer. This -book, gossip, is of authority for two reasons, first because it is very -good, and secondly because it is said to have been written by a wise -and witty king of Portugal. All the adventures at the Castle of -Miraguarda are excellent and of admirable contrivance, and the language -is polished and clear, studying and observing the style befitting the -speaker with propriety and judgment. So then, provided it seems good to -you, Master Nicholas, I say let this and ‘Amadis of Gaul’ be remitted -the penalty of fire, and as for all the rest, let them perish without -further question or query.” - -“Nay, gossip,” said the barber, “for this that I have here is the -famous ‘Don Belianis.’” - -“Well,” said the curate, “that and the second, third, and fourth parts -all stand in need of a little rhubarb to purge their excess of bile, -and they must be cleared of all that stuff about the Castle of Fame and -other greater affectations, to which end let them be allowed the -over-seas term, and, according as they mend, so shall mercy or justice -be meted out to them; and in the mean time, gossip, do you keep them in -your house and let no one read them.” - -“With all my heart,” said the barber; and not caring to tire himself -with reading more books of chivalry, he told the housekeeper to take -all the big ones and throw them into the yard. It was not said to one -dull or deaf, but to one who enjoyed burning them more than weaving the -broadest and finest web that could be; and seizing about eight at a -time, she flung them out of the window. - -In carrying so many together she let one fall at the feet of the -barber, who took it up, curious to know whose it was, and found it -said, “History of the Famous Knight, Tirante el Blanco.” - -“God bless me!” said the curate with a shout, “‘Tirante el Blanco’ -here! Hand it over, gossip, for in it I reckon I have found a treasury -of enjoyment and a mine of recreation. Here is Don Kyrieleison of -Montalvan, a valiant knight, and his brother Thomas of Montalvan, and -the knight Fonseca, with the battle the bold Tirante fought with the -mastiff, and the witticisms of the damsel Placerdemivida, and the loves -and wiles of the widow Reposada, and the empress in love with the -squire Hipolito—in truth, gossip, by right of its style it is the best -book in the world. Here knights eat and sleep, and die in their beds, -and make their wills before dying, and a great deal more of which there -is nothing in all the other books. Nevertheless, I say he who wrote it, -for deliberately composing such fooleries, deserves to be sent to the -galleys for life. Take it home with you and read it, and you will see -that what I have said is true.” - -“As you will,” said the barber; “but what are we to do with these -little books that are left?” - -“These must be, not chivalry, but poetry,” said the curate; and opening -one he saw it was the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor, and, supposing -all the others to be of the same sort, “these,” he said, “do not -deserve to be burned like the others, for they neither do nor can do -the mischief the books of chivalry have done, being books of -entertainment that can hurt no one.” - -“Ah, señor!” said the niece, “your worship had better order these to be -burned as well as the others; for it would be no wonder if, after being -cured of his chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a -fancy to turn shepherd and range the woods and fields singing and -piping; or, what would be still worse, to turn poet, which they say is -an incurable and infectious malady.” - -“The damsel is right,” said the curate, “and it will be well to put -this stumbling-block and temptation out of our friend’s way. To begin, -then, with the ‘Diana’ of Montemayor. I am of opinion it should not be -burned, but that it should be cleared of all that about the sage -Felicia and the magic water, and of almost all the longer pieces of -verse: let it keep, and welcome, its prose and the honour of being the -first of books of the kind.” - -“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is the ‘Diana,’ entitled the -‘Second Part, by the Salamancan,’ and this other has the same title, -and its author is Gil Polo.” - -“As for that of the Salamancan,” replied the curate, “let it go to -swell the number of the condemned in the yard, and let Gil Polo’s be -preserved as if it came from Apollo himself: but get on, gossip, and -make haste, for it is growing late.” - -“This book,” said the barber, opening another, “is the ten books of the -‘Fortune of Love,’ written by Antonio de Lofraso, a Sardinian poet.” - -“By the orders I have received,” said the curate, “since Apollo has -been Apollo, and the Muses have been Muses, and poets have been poets, -so droll and absurd a book as this has never been written, and in its -way it is the best and the most singular of all of this species that -have as yet appeared, and he who has not read it may be sure he has -never read what is delightful. Give it here, gossip, for I make more -account of having found it than if they had given me a cassock of -Florence stuff.” - -He put it aside with extreme satisfaction, and the barber went on, -“These that come next are ‘The Shepherd of Iberia,’ ‘Nymphs of -Henares,’ and ‘The Enlightenment of Jealousy.’” - -“Then all we have to do,” said the curate, “is to hand them over to the -secular arm of the housekeeper, and ask me not why, or we shall never -have done.” - -“This next is the ‘Pastor de Fílida.’” - -“No Pastor that,” said the curate, “but a highly polished courtier; let -it be preserved as a precious jewel.” - -“This large one here,” said the barber, “is called ‘The Treasury of -various Poems.’” - -“If there were not so many of them,” said the curate, “they would be -more relished: this book must be weeded and cleansed of certain -vulgarities which it has with its excellences; let it be preserved -because the author is a friend of mine, and out of respect for other -more heroic and loftier works that he has written.” - -“This,” continued the barber, “is the ‘Cancionero’ of Lopez de -Maldonado.” - -“The author of that book, too,” said the curate, “is a great friend of -mine, and his verses from his own mouth are the admiration of all who -hear them, for such is the sweetness of his voice that he enchants when -he chants them: it gives rather too much of its eclogues, but what is -good was never yet plentiful: let it be kept with those that have been -set apart. But what book is that next it?” - -“The ‘Galatea’ of Miguel de Cervantes,” said the barber. - -“That Cervantes has been for many years a great friend of mine, and to -my knowledge he has had more experience in reverses than in verses. His -book has some good invention in it, it presents us with something but -brings nothing to a conclusion: we must wait for the Second Part it -promises: perhaps with amendment it may succeed in winning the full -measure of grace that is now denied it; and in the mean time do you, -señor gossip, keep it shut up in your own quarters.” - -“Very good,” said the barber; “and here come three together, the -‘Araucana’ of Don Alonso de Ercilla, the ‘Austriada’ of Juan Rufo, -Justice of Cordova, and the ‘Montserrate’ of Christobal de Virués, the -Valencian poet.” - -“These three books,” said the curate, “are the best that have been -written in Castilian in heroic verse, and they may compare with the -most famous of Italy; let them be preserved as the richest treasures of -poetry that Spain possesses.” - -The curate was tired and would not look into any more books, and so he -decided that, “contents uncertified,” all the rest should be burned; -but just then the barber held open one, called “The Tears of Angelica.” - -“I should have shed tears myself,” said the curate when he heard the -title, “had I ordered that book to be burned, for its author was one of -the famous poets of the world, not to say of Spain, and was very happy -in the translation of some of Ovid’s fables.” - -CHAPTER VII. -OF THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA - -At this instant Don Quixote began shouting out, “Here, here, valiant -knights! here is need for you to put forth the might of your strong -arms, for they of the Court are gaining the mastery in the tourney!” -Called away by this noise and outcry, they proceeded no farther with -the scrutiny of the remaining books, and so it is thought that “The -Carolea,” “The Lion of Spain,” and “The Deeds of the Emperor,” written -by Don Luis de Ávila, went to the fire unseen and unheard; for no doubt -they were among those that remained, and perhaps if the curate had seen -them they would not have undergone so severe a sentence. - -When they reached Don Quixote he was already out of bed, and was still -shouting and raving, and slashing and cutting all round, as wide awake -as if he had never slept. - -They closed with him and by force got him back to bed, and when he had -become a little calm, addressing the curate, he said to him, “Of a -truth, Señor Archbishop Turpin, it is a great disgrace for us who call -ourselves the Twelve Peers, so carelessly to allow the knights of the -Court to gain the victory in this tourney, we the adventurers having -carried off the honour on the three former days.” - -“Hush, gossip,” said the curate; “please God, the luck may turn, and -what is lost to-day may be won to-morrow; for the present let your -worship have a care of your health, for it seems to me that you are -over-fatigued, if not badly wounded.” - -“Wounded no,” said Don Quixote, “but bruised and battered no doubt, for -that bastard Don Roland has cudgelled me with the trunk of an oak tree, -and all for envy, because he sees that I alone rival him in his -achievements. But I should not call myself Reinaldos of Montalvan did -he not pay me for it in spite of all his enchantments as soon as I rise -from this bed. For the present let them bring me something to eat, for -that, I feel, is what will be more to my purpose, and leave it to me to -avenge myself.” - -They did as he wished; they gave him something to eat, and once more he -fell asleep, leaving them marvelling at his madness. - -That night the housekeeper burned to ashes all the books that were in -the yard and in the whole house; and some must have been consumed that -deserved preservation in everlasting archives, but their fate and the -laziness of the examiner did not permit it, and so in them was verified -the proverb that the innocent suffer for the guilty. - -One of the remedies which the curate and the barber immediately applied -to their friend’s disorder was to wall up and plaster the room where -the books were, so that when he got up he should not find them -(possibly the cause being removed the effect might cease), and they -might say that a magician had carried them off, room and all; and this -was done with all despatch. Two days later Don Quixote got up, and the -first thing he did was to go and look at his books, and not finding the -room where he had left it, he wandered from side to side looking for -it. He came to the place where the door used to be, and tried it with -his hands, and turned and twisted his eyes in every direction without -saying a word; but after a good while he asked his housekeeper -whereabouts was the room that held his books. - -The housekeeper, who had been already well instructed in what she was -to answer, said, “What room or what nothing is it that your worship is -looking for? There are neither room nor books in this house now, for -the devil himself has carried all away.” - -“It was not the devil,” said the niece, “but a magician who came on a -cloud one night after the day your worship left this, and dismounting -from a serpent that he rode he entered the room, and what he did there -I know not, but after a little while he made off, flying through the -roof, and left the house full of smoke; and when we went to see what he -had done we saw neither book nor room: but we remember very well, the -housekeeper and I, that on leaving, the old villain said in a loud -voice that, for a private grudge he owed the owner of the books and the -room, he had done mischief in that house that would be discovered -by-and-by: he said too that his name was the Sage Muñaton.” - -“He must have said Friston,” said Don Quixote. - -“I don’t know whether he called himself Friston or Friton,” said the -housekeeper, “I only know that his name ended with ‘ton.’” - -“So it does,” said Don Quixote, “and he is a sage magician, a great -enemy of mine, who has a spite against me because he knows by his arts -and lore that in process of time I am to engage in single combat with a -knight whom he befriends and that I am to conquer, and he will be -unable to prevent it; and for this reason he endeavours to do me all -the ill turns that he can; but I promise him it will be hard for him to -oppose or avoid what is decreed by Heaven.” - -“Who doubts that?” said the niece; “but, uncle, who mixes you up in -these quarrels? Would it not be better to remain at peace in your own -house instead of roaming the world looking for better bread than ever -came of wheat, never reflecting that many go for wool and come back -shorn?” - -“Oh, niece of mine,” replied Don Quixote, “how much astray art thou in -thy reckoning: ere they shear me I shall have plucked away and stripped -off the beards of all who dare to touch only the tip of a hair of -mine.” - -The two were unwilling to make any further answer, as they saw that his -anger was kindling. - -In short, then, he remained at home fifteen days very quietly without -showing any signs of a desire to take up with his former delusions, and -during this time he held lively discussions with his two gossips, the -curate and the barber, on the point he maintained, that knights-errant -were what the world stood most in need of, and that in him was to be -accomplished the revival of knight-errantry. The curate sometimes -contradicted him, sometimes agreed with him, for if he had not observed -this precaution he would have been unable to bring him to reason. - -Meanwhile Don Quixote worked upon a farm labourer, a neighbour of his, -an honest man (if indeed that title can be given to him who is poor), -but with very little wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, -and with such persuasions and promises, that the poor clown made up his -mind to sally forth with him and serve him as esquire. Don Quixote, -among other things, told him he ought to be ready to go with him -gladly, because any moment an adventure might occur that might win an -island in the twinkling of an eye and leave him governor of it. On -these and the like promises Sancho Panza (for so the labourer was -called) left wife and children, and engaged himself as esquire to his -neighbour. - -Don Quixote next set about getting some money; and selling one thing -and pawning another, and making a bad bargain in every case, he got -together a fair sum. He provided himself with a buckler, which he -begged as a loan from a friend, and, restoring his battered helmet as -best he could, he warned his squire Sancho of the day and hour he meant -to set out, that he might provide himself with what he thought most -needful. Above all, he charged him to take alforjas with him. The other -said he would, and that he meant to take also a very good ass he had, -as he was not much given to going on foot. About the ass, Don Quixote -hesitated a little, trying whether he could call to mind any -knight-errant taking with him an esquire mounted on ass-back, but no -instance occurred to his memory. For all that, however, he determined -to take him, intending to furnish him with a more honourable mount when -a chance of it presented itself, by appropriating the horse of the -first discourteous knight he encountered. Himself he provided with -shirts and such other things as he could, according to the advice the -host had given him; all which being done, without taking leave, Sancho -Panza of his wife and children, or Don Quixote of his housekeeper and -niece, they sallied forth unseen by anybody from the village one night, -and made such good way in the course of it that by daylight they held -themselves safe from discovery, even should search be made for them. - -Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch, with his alforjas and bota, -and longing to see himself soon governor of the island his master had -promised him. Don Quixote decided upon taking the same route and road -he had taken on his first journey, that over the Campo de Montiel, -which he travelled with less discomfort than on the last occasion, for, -as it was early morning and the rays of the sun fell on them obliquely, -the heat did not distress them. - -And now said Sancho Panza to his master, “Your worship will take care, -Señor Knight-errant, not to forget about the island you have promised -me, for be it ever so big I’ll be equal to governing it.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must know, friend Sancho Panza, -that it was a practice very much in vogue with the knights-errant of -old to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they -won, and I am determined that there shall be no failure on my part in -so liberal a custom; on the contrary, I mean to improve upon it, for -they sometimes, and perhaps most frequently, waited until their squires -were old, and then when they had had enough of service and hard days -and worse nights, they gave them some title or other, of count, or at -the most marquis, of some valley or province more or less; but if thou -livest and I live, it may well be that before six days are over, I may -have won some kingdom that has others dependent upon it, which will be -just the thing to enable thee to be crowned king of one of them. Nor -needst thou count this wonderful, for things and chances fall to the -lot of such knights in ways so unexampled and unexpected that I might -easily give thee even more than I promise thee.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho Panza, “if I should become a king by one of -those miracles your worship speaks of, even Juana Gutierrez, my old -woman, would come to be queen and my children infantes.” - -“Well, who doubts it?” said Don Quixote. - -“I doubt it,” replied Sancho Panza, “because for my part I am persuaded -that though God should shower down kingdoms upon earth, not one of them -would fit the head of Mari Gutierrez. Let me tell you, señor, she is -not worth two maravedis for a queen; countess will fit her better, and -that only with God’s help.” - -“Leave it to God, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for he will give her -what suits her best; but do not undervalue thyself so much as to come -to be content with anything less than being governor of a province.” - -“I will not, señor,” answered Sancho, “specially as I have a man of -such quality for a master in your worship, who will know how to give me -all that will be suitable for me and that I can bear.” - -CHAPTER VIII. -OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE TERRIBLE -AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES -WORTHY TO BE FITLY RECORDED - -At this point they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that -there are on that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to -his squire, “Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could -have shaped our desires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, -where thirty or more monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I -mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin -to make our fortunes; for this is righteous warfare, and it is God’s -good service to sweep so evil a breed from off the face of the earth.” - -“What giants?” said Sancho Panza. - -“Those thou seest there,” answered his master, “with the long arms, and -some have them nearly two leagues long.” - -“Look, your worship,” said Sancho; “what we see there are not giants -but windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned -by the wind make the millstone go.” - -“It is easy to see,” replied Don Quixote, “that thou art not used to -this business of adventures; those are giants; and if thou art afraid, -away with thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage -them in fierce and unequal combat.” - -So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the -cries his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly -they were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, -was so positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of -Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them -shouting, “Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight -attacks you.” - -A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began to -move, seeing which Don Quixote exclaimed, “Though ye flourish more arms -than the giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me.” - -So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to his lady -Dulcinea, imploring her to support him in such a peril, with lance in -rest and covered by his buckler, he charged at Rocinante’s fullest -gallop and fell upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as -he drove his lance-point into the sail the wind whirled it round with -such force that it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse -and rider, who went rolling over on the plain, in a sorry condition. -Sancho hastened to his assistance as fast as his ass could go, and when -he came up found him unable to move, with such a shock had Rocinante -fallen with him. - -“God bless me!” said Sancho, “did I not tell your worship to mind what -you were about, for they were only windmills? and no one could have -made any mistake about it but one who had something of the same kind in -his head.” - -“Hush, friend Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “the fortunes of war more -than any other are liable to frequent fluctuations; and moreover I -think, and it is the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off -my study and books, has turned these giants into mills in order to rob -me of the glory of vanquishing them, such is the enmity he bears me; -but in the end his wicked arts will avail but little against my good -sword.” - -“God order it as he may,” said Sancho Panza, and helping him to rise -got him up again on Rocinante, whose shoulder was half out; and then, -discussing the late adventure, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice, -for there, said Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures in -abundance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. For all that, he -was much grieved at the loss of his lance, and saying so to his squire, -he added, “I remember having read how a Spanish knight, Diego Perez de -Vargas by name, having broken his sword in battle, tore from an oak a -ponderous bough or branch, and with it did such things that day, and -pounded so many Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, and he and -his descendants from that day forth were called Vargas y Machuca. I -mention this because from the first oak I see I mean to rend such -another branch, large and stout like that, with which I am determined -and resolved to do such deeds that thou mayest deem thyself very -fortunate in being found worthy to come and see them, and be an -eyewitness of things that will with difficulty be believed.” - -“Be that as God will,” said Sancho, “I believe it all as your worship -says it; but straighten yourself a little, for you seem all on one -side, may be from the shaking of the fall.” - -“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote, “and if I make no complaint of -the pain it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of -any wound, even though their bowels be coming out through it.” - -“If so,” said Sancho, “I have nothing to say; but God knows I would -rather your worship complained when anything ailed you. For my part, I -confess I must complain however small the ache may be; unless this rule -about not complaining extends to the squires of knights-errant also.” - -Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire’s simplicity, and he -assured him he might complain whenever and however he chose, just as he -liked, for, so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary in -the order of knighthood. - -Sancho bade him remember it was dinner-time, to which his master -answered that he wanted nothing himself just then, but that _he_ might -eat when he had a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself as -comfortably as he could on his beast, and taking out of the alforjas -what he had stowed away in them, he jogged along behind his master -munching deliberately, and from time to time taking a pull at the bota -with a relish that the thirstiest tapster in Malaga might have envied; -and while he went on in this way, gulping down draught after draught, -he never gave a thought to any of the promises his master had made him, -nor did he rate it as hardship but rather as recreation going in quest -of adventures, however dangerous they might be. Finally they passed the -night among some trees, from one of which Don Quixote plucked a dry -branch to serve him after a fashion as a lance, and fixed on it the -head he had removed from the broken one. All that night Don Quixote lay -awake thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in order to conform to what he had -read in his books, how many a night in the forests and deserts knights -used to lie sleepless supported by the memory of their mistresses. Not -so did Sancho Panza spend it, for having his stomach full of something -stronger than chicory water he made but one sleep of it, and, if his -master had not called him, neither the rays of the sun beating on his -face nor all the cheery notes of the birds welcoming the approach of -day would have had power to waken him. On getting up he tried the bota -and found it somewhat less full than the night before, which grieved -his heart because they did not seem to be on the way to remedy the -deficiency readily. Don Quixote did not care to break his fast, for, as -has been already said, he confined himself to savoury recollections for -nourishment. - -They returned to the road they had set out with, leading to Puerto -Lapice, and at three in the afternoon they came in sight of it. “Here, -brother Sancho Panza,” said Don Quixote when he saw it, “we may plunge -our hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures; but observe, -even shouldst thou see me in the greatest danger in the world, thou -must not put a hand to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed thou -perceivest that those who assail me are rabble or base folk; for in -that case thou mayest very properly aid me; but if they be knights it -is on no account permitted or allowed thee by the laws of knighthood to -help me until thou hast been dubbed a knight.” - -“Most certainly, señor,” replied Sancho, “your worship shall be fully -obeyed in this matter; all the more as of myself I am peaceful and no -friend to mixing in strife and quarrels: it is true that as regards the -defence of my own person I shall not give much heed to those laws, for -laws human and divine allow each one to defend himself against any -assailant whatever.” - -“That I grant,” said Don Quixote, “but in this matter of aiding me -against knights thou must put a restraint upon thy natural -impetuosity.” - -“I will do so, I promise you,” answered Sancho, “and will keep this -precept as carefully as Sunday.” - -While they were thus talking there appeared on the road two friars of -the order of St. Benedict, mounted on two dromedaries, for not less -tall were the two mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles -and carried sunshades; and behind them came a coach attended by four or -five persons on horseback and two muleteers on foot. In the coach there -was, as afterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to Seville, where -her husband was about to take passage for the Indies with an -appointment of high honour. The friars, though going the same road, -were not in her company; but the moment Don Quixote perceived them he -said to his squire, “Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the -most famous adventure that has ever been seen, for those black bodies -we see there must be, and doubtless are, magicians who are carrying off -some stolen princess in that coach, and with all my might I must undo -this wrong.” - -“This will be worse than the windmills,” said Sancho. “Look, señor; -those are friars of St. Benedict, and the coach plainly belongs to some -travellers: I tell you to mind well what you are about and don’t let -the devil mislead you.” - -“I have told thee already, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that on the -subject of adventures thou knowest little. What I say is the truth, as -thou shalt see presently.” - -So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the middle of the road -along which the friars were coming, and as soon as he thought they had -come near enough to hear what he said, he cried aloud, “Devilish and -unnatural beings, release instantly the highborn princesses whom you -are carrying off by force in this coach, else prepare to meet a speedy -death as the just punishment of your evil deeds.” - -The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the appearance of Don -Quixote as well as at his words, to which they replied, “Señor -Caballero, we are not devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. -Benedict following our road, nor do we know whether or not there are -any captive princesses coming in this coach.” - -“No soft words with me, for I know you, lying rabble,” said Don -Quixote, and without waiting for a reply he spurred Rocinante and with -levelled lance charged the first friar with such fury and -determination, that, if the friar had not flung himself off the mule, -he would have brought him to the ground against his will, and sore -wounded, if not killed outright. The second brother, seeing how his -comrade was treated, drove his heels into his castle of a mule and made -off across the country faster than the wind. - -Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, dismounting briskly -from his ass, rushed towards him and began to strip off his gown. At -that instant the friars muleteers came up and asked what he was -stripping him for. Sancho answered them that this fell to him lawfully -as spoil of the battle which his lord Don Quixote had won. The -muleteers, who had no idea of a joke and did not understand all this -about battles and spoils, seeing that Don Quixote was some distance off -talking to the travellers in the coach, fell upon Sancho, knocked him -down, and leaving hardly a hair in his beard, belaboured him with kicks -and left him stretched breathless and senseless on the ground; and -without any more delay helped the friar to mount, who, trembling, -terrified, and pale, as soon as he found himself in the saddle, spurred -after his companion, who was standing at a distance looking on, -watching the result of the onslaught; then, not caring to wait for the -end of the affair just begun, they pursued their journey making more -crosses than if they had the devil after them. - -Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the lady in the coach: -“Your beauty, lady mine,” said he, “may now dispose of your person as -may be most in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of your -ravishers lies prostrate on the ground through this strong arm of mine; -and lest you should be pining to know the name of your deliverer, know -that I am called Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant and -adventurer, and captive to the peerless and beautiful lady Dulcinea del -Toboso: and in return for the service you have received of me I ask no -more than that you should return to El Toboso, and on my behalf present -yourself before that lady and tell her what I have done to set you -free.” - -One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, was -listening to all Don Quixote was saying, and, perceiving that he would -not allow the coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to -El Toboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in bad -Castilian and worse Biscayan after his fashion, “Begone, caballero, and -ill go with thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach, -slayest thee as art here a Biscayan.” - -Don Quixote understood him quite well, and answered him very quietly, -“If thou wert a knight, as thou art none, I should have already -chastised thy folly and rashness, miserable creature.” To which the -Biscayan returned, “I no gentleman!—I swear to God thou liest as I am -Christian: if thou droppest lance and drawest sword, soon shalt thou -see thou art carrying water to the cat: Biscayan on land, hidalgo at -sea, hidalgo at the devil, and look, if thou sayest otherwise thou -liest.” - -“‘“You will see presently,” said Agrajes,’” replied Don Quixote; and -throwing his lance on the ground he drew his sword, braced his buckler -on his arm, and attacked the Biscayan, bent upon taking his life. - -The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though he wished to dismount -from his mule, in which, being one of those sorry ones let out for -hire, he had no confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword; it was -lucky for him, however, that he was near the coach, from which he was -able to snatch a cushion that served him for a shield; and they went at -one another as if they had been two mortal enemies. The others strove -to make peace between them, but could not, for the Biscayan declared in -his disjointed phrase that if they did not let him finish his battle he -would kill his mistress and everyone that strove to prevent him. The -lady in the coach, amazed and terrified at what she saw, ordered the -coachman to draw aside a little, and set herself to watch this severe -struggle, in the course of which the Biscayan smote Don Quixote a -mighty stroke on the shoulder over the top of his buckler, which, given -to one without armour, would have cleft him to the waist. Don Quixote, -feeling the weight of this prodigious blow, cried aloud, saying, “O -lady of my soul, Dulcinea, flower of beauty, come to the aid of this -your knight, who, in fulfilling his obligations to your beauty, finds -himself in this extreme peril.” To say this, to lift his sword, to -shelter himself well behind his buckler, and to assail the Biscayan was -the work of an instant, determined as he was to venture all upon a -single blow. The Biscayan, seeing him come on in this way, was -convinced of his courage by his spirited bearing, and resolved to -follow his example, so he waited for him keeping well under cover of -his cushion, being unable to execute any sort of manoeuvre with his -mule, which, dead tired and never meant for this kind of game, could -not stir a step. - -On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against the wary Biscayan, -with uplifted sword and a firm intention of splitting him in half, -while on his side the Biscayan waited for him sword in hand, and under -the protection of his cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting -in suspense the result of blows such as threatened to fall, and the -lady in the coach and the rest of her following were making a thousand -vows and offerings to all the images and shrines of Spain, that God -might deliver her squire and all of them from this great peril in which -they found themselves. But it spoils all, that at this point and crisis -the author of the history leaves this battle impending, giving as -excuse that he could find nothing more written about these achievements -of Don Quixote than what has been already set forth. It is true the -second author of this work was unwilling to believe that a history so -curious could have been allowed to fall under the sentence of oblivion, -or that the wits of La Mancha could have been so undiscerning as not to -preserve in their archives or registries some documents referring to -this famous knight; and this being his persuasion, he did not despair -of finding the conclusion of this pleasant history, which, heaven -favouring him, he did find in a way that shall be related in the Second -Part. - -CHAPTER IX. -IN WHICH IS CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE -GALLANT BISCAYAN AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN - -In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the -renowned Don Quixote with drawn swords uplifted, ready to deliver two -such furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they -would at least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and -laid them open like a pomegranate; and at this so critical point the -delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any -intimation from the author where what was missing was to be found. - -This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having -read such a small portion turned to vexation at the thought of the poor -chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it -seemed to me, was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to -me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good -a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of -writing his marvellous achievements; a thing that was never wanting to -any of those knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures; for -every one of them had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not -only recorded their deeds but described their most trifling thoughts -and follies, however secret they might be; and such a good knight could -not have been so unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like -him had in abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that -such a gallant tale had been left maimed and mutilated, and I laid the -blame on Time, the devourer and destroyer of all things, that had -either concealed or consumed it. - -On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there -had been found such modern ones as “The Enlightenment of Jealousy” and -the “Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares,” his story must likewise be -modern, and that though it might not be written, it might exist in the -memory of the people of his village and of those in the neighbourhood. -This reflection kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly -the whole life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote -of La Mancha, light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry, and the first -that in our age and in these so evil days devoted himself to the labour -and exercise of the arms of knight-errantry, righting wrongs, -succouring widows, and protecting damsels of that sort that used to -ride about, whip in hand, on their palfreys, with all their virginity -about them, from mountain to mountain and valley to valley—for, if it -were not for some ruffian, or boor with a hood and hatchet, or -monstrous giant, that forced them, there were in days of yore damsels -that at the end of eighty years, in all which time they had never slept -a day under a roof, went to their graves as much maids as the mothers -that bore them. I say, then, that in these and other respects our -gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and notable praise, nor -should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains spent in -searching for the conclusion of this delightful history; though I know -well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not helped me, the -world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure -that for a couple of hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it -attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way. - -One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some -pamphlets and old papers to a silk mercer, and, as I am fond of reading -even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent -of mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw -that it was in characters which I recognised as Arabic, and as I was -unable to read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to -see if there were any Spanish-speaking Morisco at hand to read them for -me; nor was there any great difficulty in finding such an interpreter, -for even had I sought one for an older and better language I should -have found him. In short, chance provided me with one, who when I told -him what I wanted and put the book into his hands, opened it in the -middle and after reading a little in it began to laugh. I asked him -what he was laughing at, and he replied that it was at something the -book had written in the margin by way of a note. I bade him tell it to -me; and he still laughing said, “In the margin, as I told you, this is -written: ‘_This Dulcinea del Toboso so often mentioned in this history, -had, they say, the best hand of any woman in all La Mancha for salting -pigs_.’” - -When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and -amazement, for it occurred to me at once that these pamphlets contained -the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the -beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he -told me it meant, “_History of Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cid -Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian_.” It required great caution to -hide the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and -snatching it from the silk mercer, I bought all the papers and -pamphlets from the boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits -about him and had known how eager I was for them, he might have safely -calculated on making more than six reals by the bargain. I withdrew at -once with the Morisco into the cloister of the cathedral, and begged -him to turn all these pamphlets that related to Don Quixote into the -Castilian tongue, without omitting or adding anything to them, offering -him whatever payment he pleased. He was satisfied with two arrobas of -raisins and two bushels of wheat, and promised to translate them -faithfully and with all despatch; but to make the matter easier, and -not to let such a precious find out of my hands, I took him to my -house, where in little more than a month and a half he translated the -whole just as it is set down here. - -In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan -was drawn to the very life, they planted in the same attitude as the -history describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his -buckler, the other by his cushion, and the Biscayan’s mule so true to -nature that it could be seen to be a hired one a bowshot off. The -Biscayan had an inscription under his feet which said, “_Don Sancho de -Azpeitia_,” which no doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of -Rocinante was another that said, “_Don Quixote_.” Rocinante was -marvellously portrayed, so long and thin, so lank and lean, with so -much backbone and so far gone in consumption, that he showed plainly -with what judgment and propriety the name of Rocinante had been -bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza holding the halter of his -ass, at whose feet was another label that said, “Sancho Zancas,” and -according to the picture, he must have had a big belly, a short body, -and long shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the names of Panza and -Zancas were given him, for by these two surnames the history several -times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be mentioned, -but they are all of slight importance and have nothing to do with the -true relation of the history; and no history can be bad so long as it -is true. - -If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its -truth, it can only be that its author was an Arab, as lying is a very -common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such -enemies of ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather -than additions made in the course of it. And this is my own opinion; -for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so -worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in -silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business -and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from -passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make -them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of -time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel -for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be -found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting -in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an -author and not the fault of the subject. To be brief, its Second Part, -according to the translation, began in this way: - -With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though -the two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threatening heaven, and -earth, and hell, with such resolution and determination did they bear -themselves. The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which -was delivered with such force and fury that had not the sword turned in -its course, that single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the -bitter struggle and to all the adventures of our knight; but that good -fortune which reserved him for greater things, turned aside the sword -of his adversary, so that although it smote him upon the left shoulder, -it did him no more harm than to strip all that side of its armour, -carrying away a great part of his helmet with half of his ear, all -which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving him in a sorry -plight. - -Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that -filled the heart of our Manchegan when he saw himself dealt with in -this fashion? All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised -himself in his stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both -hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury, smiting him full -over the cushion and over the head, that—even so good a shield proving -useless—as if a mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from -nose, mouth, and ears, reeling as if about to fall backwards from his -mule, as no doubt he would have done had he not flung his arms about -its neck; at the same time, however, he slipped his feet out of the -stirrups and then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking fright at -the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and with a few plunges -flung its master to the ground. Don Quixote stood looking on very -calmly, and, when he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great -briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his sword to his -eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut his head off. The Biscayan -was so bewildered that he was unable to answer a word, and it would -have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, had not the ladies -in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the combat in great -terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest -entreaties to grant them the great grace and favour of sparing their -squire’s life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and -dignity, “In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of -me; but it must be on one condition and understanding, which is that -this knight promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my -behalf present himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal -with him as shall be most pleasing to her.” - -The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote’s -demand or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that their squire -should do all that had been commanded. - -“Then, on the faith of that promise,” said Don Quixote, “I shall do him -no further harm, though he well deserves it of me.” - -CHAPTER X. -OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS -SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA - -Now by this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse for the handling of -the friars’ muleteers, and stood watching the battle of his master, Don -Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might be his will to -grant him the victory, and that he might thereby win some island to -make him governor of, as he had promised. Seeing, therefore, that the -struggle was now over, and that his master was returning to mount -Rocinante, he approached to hold the stirrup for him, and, before he -could mount, he went on his knees before him, and taking his hand, -kissed it saying, “May it please your worship, Señor Don Quixote, to -give me the government of that island which has been won in this hard -fight, for be it ever so big I feel myself in sufficient force to be -able to govern it as much and as well as anyone in the world who has -ever governed islands.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must take notice, brother Sancho, -that this adventure and those like it are not adventures of islands, -but of cross-roads, in which nothing is got except a broken head or an -ear the less: have patience, for adventures will present themselves -from which I may make you, not only a governor, but something more.” - -Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing his hand and the skirt -of his hauberk, helped him to mount Rocinante, and mounting his ass -himself, proceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, without -taking leave, or saying anything further to the ladies belonging to the -coach, turned into a wood that was hard by. Sancho followed him at his -ass’s best trot, but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing himself left -behind, he was forced to call to his master to wait for him. Don -Quixote did so, reining in Rocinante until his weary squire came up, -who on reaching him said, “It seems to me, señor, it would be prudent -in us to go and take refuge in some church, for, seeing how mauled he -with whom you fought has been left, it will be no wonder if they give -information of the affair to the Holy Brotherhood and arrest us, and, -faith, if they do, before we come out of gaol we shall have to sweat -for it.” - -“Peace,” said Don Quixote; “where hast thou ever seen or heard that a -knight-errant has been arraigned before a court of justice, however -many homicides he may have committed?” - -“I know nothing about omecils,” answered Sancho, “nor in my life have -had anything to do with one; I only know that the Holy Brotherhood -looks after those who fight in the fields, and in that other matter I -do not meddle.” - -“Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend,” said Don Quixote, -“for I will deliver thee out of the hands of the Chaldeans, much more -out of those of the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast thou -seen a more valiant knight than I in all the known world; hast thou -read in history of any who has or had higher mettle in attack, more -spirit in maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in -overthrowing?” - -“The truth is,” answered Sancho, “that I have never read any history, -for I can neither read nor write, but what I will venture to bet is -that a more daring master than your worship I have never served in all -the days of my life, and God grant that this daring be not paid for -where I have said; what I beg of your worship is to dress your wound, -for a great deal of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some -lint and a little white ointment in the alforjas.” - -“All that might be well dispensed with,” said Don Quixote, “if I had -remembered to make a vial of the balsam of Fierabras, for time and -medicine are saved by one single drop.” - -“What vial and what balsam is that?” said Sancho Panza. - -“It is a balsam,” answered Don Quixote, “the receipt of which I have in -my memory, with which one need have no fear of death, or dread dying of -any wound; and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast nothing -to do when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through -the middle of the body—as is wont to happen frequently—but neatly and -with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of the -body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which -remains in the saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly. -Then thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of the balsam I have -mentioned, and thou shalt see me become sounder than an apple.” - -“If that be so,” said Panza, “I renounce henceforth the government of -the promised island, and desire nothing more in payment of my many and -faithful services than that your worship give me the receipt of this -supreme liquor, for I am persuaded it will be worth more than two reals -an ounce anywhere, and I want no more to pass the rest of my life in -ease and honour; but it remains to be told if it costs much to make -it.” - -“With less than three reals, six quarts of it may be made,” said Don -Quixote. - -“Sinner that I am!” said Sancho, “then why does your worship put off -making it and teaching it to me?” - -“Peace, friend,” answered Don Quixote; “greater secrets I mean to teach -thee and greater favours to bestow upon thee; and for the present let -us see to the dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish.” - -Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the alforjas; but when Don -Quixote came to see his helmet shattered, he was like to lose his -senses, and clapping his hand upon his sword and raising his eyes to -heaven, he said, “I swear by the Creator of all things and the four -Gospels in their fullest extent, to do as the great Marquis of Mantua -did when he swore to avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin (and that -was not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor embrace his wife, and -other points which, though I cannot now call them to mind, I here grant -as expressed) until I take complete vengeance upon him who has -committed such an offence against me.” - -Hearing this, Sancho said to him, “Your worship should bear in mind, -Señor Don Quixote, that if the knight has done what was commanded him -in going to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he will -have done all that he was bound to do, and does not deserve further -punishment unless he commits some new offence.” - -“Thou hast said well and hit the point,” answered Don Quixote; and so I -recall the oath in so far as relates to taking fresh vengeance on him, -but I make and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until such -time as I take by force from some knight another helmet such as this -and as good; and think not, Sancho, that I am raising smoke with straw -in doing so, for I have one to imitate in the matter, since the very -same thing to a hair happened in the case of Mambrino’s helmet, which -cost Sacripante so dear.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “let your worship send all such oaths to the -devil, for they are very pernicious to salvation and prejudicial to the -conscience; just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall in -with no man armed with a helmet, what are we to do? Is the oath to be -observed in spite of all the inconvenience and discomfort it will be to -sleep in your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thousand -other mortifications contained in the oath of that old fool the Marquis -of Mantua, which your worship is now wanting to revive? Let your -worship observe that there are no men in armour travelling on any of -these roads, nothing but carriers and carters, who not only do not wear -helmets, but perhaps never heard tell of them all their lives.” - -“Thou art wrong there,” said Don Quixote, “for we shall not have been -above two hours among these cross-roads before we see more men in -armour than came to Albraca to win the fair Angelica.” - -“Enough,” said Sancho; “so be it then, and God grant us success, and -that the time for winning that island which is costing me so dear may -soon come, and then let me die.” - -“I have already told thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “not to give -thyself any uneasiness on that score; for if an island should fail, -there is the kingdom of Denmark, or of Sobradisa, which will fit thee -as a ring fits the finger, and all the more that, being on _terra -firma_, thou wilt all the better enjoy thyself. But let us leave that -to its own time; see if thou hast anything for us to eat in those -alforjas, because we must presently go in quest of some castle where we -may lodge to-night and make the balsam I told thee of, for I swear to -thee by God, this ear is giving me great pain.” - -“I have here an onion and a little cheese and a few scraps of bread,” -said Sancho, “but they are not victuals fit for a valiant knight like -your worship.” - -“How little thou knowest about it,” answered Don Quixote; “I would have -thee to know, Sancho, that it is the glory of knights-errant to go -without eating for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should -be of what comes first to hand; and this would have been clear to thee -hadst thou read as many histories as I have, for, though they are very -many, among them all I have found no mention made of knights-errant -eating, unless by accident or at some sumptuous banquets prepared for -them, and the rest of the time they passed in dalliance. And though it -is plain they could not do without eating and performing all the other -natural functions, because, in fact, they were men like ourselves, it -is plain too that, wandering as they did the most part of their lives -through woods and wilds and without a cook, their most usual fare would -be rustic viands such as those thou now offer me; so that, friend -Sancho, let not that distress thee which pleases me, and do not seek to -make a new world or pervert knight-errantry.” - -“Pardon me, your worship,” said Sancho, “for, as I cannot read or -write, as I said just now, I neither know nor comprehend the rules of -the profession of chivalry: henceforward I will stock the alforjas with -every kind of dry fruit for your worship, as you are a knight; and for -myself, as I am not one, I will furnish them with poultry and other -things more substantial.” - -“I do not say, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that it is imperative on -knights-errant not to eat anything else but the fruits thou speakest -of; only that their more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs -they found in the fields which they knew and I know too.” - -“A good thing it is,” answered Sancho, “to know those herbs, for to my -thinking it will be needful some day to put that knowledge into -practice.” - -And here taking out what he said he had brought, the pair made their -repast peaceably and sociably. But anxious to find quarters for the -night, they with all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare, -mounted at once, and made haste to reach some habitation before night -set in; but daylight and the hope of succeeding in their object failed -them close by the huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass -the night there, and it was as much to Sancho’s discontent not to have -reached a house, as it was to his master’s satisfaction to sleep under -the open heaven, for he fancied that each time this happened to him he -performed an act of ownership that helped to prove his chivalry. - -CHAPTER XI. -WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH CERTAIN GOATHERDS - -He was cordially welcomed by the goatherds, and Sancho, having as best -he could put up Rocinante and the ass, drew towards the fragrance that -came from some pieces of salted goat simmering in a pot on the fire; -and though he would have liked at once to try if they were ready to be -transferred from the pot to the stomach, he refrained from doing so as -the goatherds removed them from the fire, and laying sheepskins on the -ground, quickly spread their rude table, and with signs of hearty -good-will invited them both to share what they had. Round the skins six -of the men belonging to the fold seated themselves, having first with -rough politeness pressed Don Quixote to take a seat upon a trough which -they placed for him upside down. Don Quixote seated himself, and Sancho -remained standing to serve the cup, which was made of horn. Seeing him -standing, his master said to him: - -“That thou mayest see, Sancho, the good that knight-errantry contains -in itself, and how those who fill any office in it are on the high road -to be speedily honoured and esteemed by the world, I desire that thou -seat thyself here at my side and in the company of these worthy people, -and that thou be one with me who am thy master and natural lord, and -that thou eat from my plate and drink from whatever I drink from; for -the same may be said of knight-errantry as of love, that it levels -all.” - -“Great thanks,” said Sancho, “but I may tell your worship that provided -I have enough to eat, I can eat it as well, or better, standing, and by -myself, than seated alongside of an emperor. And indeed, if the truth -is to be told, what I eat in my corner without form or fuss has much -more relish for me, even though it be bread and onions, than the -turkeys of those other tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink -little, wipe my mouth every minute, and cannot sneeze or cough if I -want or do other things that are the privileges of liberty and -solitude. So, señor, as for these honours which your worship would put -upon me as a servant and follower of knight-errantry, exchange them for -other things which may be of more use and advantage to me; for these, -though I fully acknowledge them as received, I renounce from this -moment to the end of the world.” - -“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “thou must seat thyself, because him -who humbleth himself God exalteth;” and seizing him by the arm he -forced him to sit down beside himself. - -The goatherds did not understand this jargon about squires and -knights-errant, and all they did was to eat in silence and stare at -their guests, who with great elegance and appetite were stowing away -pieces as big as one’s fist. The course of meat finished, they spread -upon the sheepskins a great heap of parched acorns, and with them they -put down a half cheese harder than if it had been made of mortar. All -this while the horn was not idle, for it went round so constantly, now -full, now empty, like the bucket of a water-wheel, that it soon drained -one of the two wine-skins that were in sight. When Don Quixote had -quite appeased his appetite he took up a handful of the acorns, and -contemplating them attentively delivered himself somewhat in this -fashion: - -“Happy the age, happy the time, to which the ancients gave the name of -golden, not because in that fortunate age the gold so coveted in this -our iron one was gained without toil, but because they that lived in it -knew not the two words “_mine_” and “_thine_”! In that blessed age all -things were in common; to win the daily food no labour was required of -any save to stretch forth his hand and gather it from the sturdy oaks -that stood generously inviting him with their sweet ripe fruit. The -clear streams and running brooks yielded their savoury limpid waters in -noble abundance. The busy and sagacious bees fixed their republic in -the clefts of the rocks and hollows of the trees, offering without -usance the plenteous produce of their fragrant toil to every hand. The -mighty cork trees, unenforced save of their own courtesy, shed the -broad light bark that served at first to roof the houses supported by -rude stakes, a protection against the inclemency of heaven alone. Then -all was peace, all friendship, all concord; as yet the dull share of -the crooked plough had not dared to rend and pierce the tender bowels -of our first mother that without compulsion yielded from every portion -of her broad fertile bosom all that could satisfy, sustain, and delight -the children that then possessed her. Then was it that the innocent and -fair young shepherdess roamed from vale to vale and hill to hill, with -flowing locks, and no more garments than were needful modestly to cover -what modesty seeks and ever sought to hide. Nor were their ornaments -like those in use to-day, set off by Tyrian purple, and silk tortured -in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the green dock and ivy, -wherewith they went as bravely and becomingly decked as our Court dames -with all the rare and far-fetched artifices that idle curiosity has -taught them. Then the love-thoughts of the heart clothed themselves -simply and naturally as the heart conceived them, nor sought to commend -themselves by forced and rambling verbiage. Fraud, deceit, or malice -had then not yet mingled with truth and sincerity. Justice held her -ground, undisturbed and unassailed by the efforts of favour and of -interest, that now so much impair, pervert, and beset her. Arbitrary -law had not yet established itself in the mind of the judge, for then -there was no cause to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens and -modesty, as I have said, wandered at will alone and unattended, without -fear of insult from lawlessness or libertine assault, and if they were -undone it was of their own will and pleasure. But now in this hateful -age of ours not one is safe, not though some new labyrinth like that of -Crete conceal and surround her; even there the pestilence of gallantry -will make its way to them through chinks or on the air by the zeal of -its accursed importunity, and, despite of all seclusion, lead them to -ruin. In defence of these, as time advanced and wickedness increased, -the order of knights-errant was instituted, to defend maidens, to -protect widows and to succour the orphans and the needy. To this order -I belong, brother goatherds, to whom I return thanks for the -hospitality and kindly welcome ye offer me and my squire; for though by -natural law all living are bound to show favour to knights-errant, yet, -seeing that without knowing this obligation ye have welcomed and -feasted me, it is right that with all the good-will in my power I -should thank you for yours.” - -All this long harangue (which might very well have been spared) our -knight delivered because the acorns they gave him reminded him of the -golden age; and the whim seized him to address all this unnecessary -argument to the goatherds, who listened to him gaping in amazement -without saying a word in reply. Sancho likewise held his peace and ate -acorns, and paid repeated visits to the second wine-skin, which they -had hung up on a cork tree to keep the wine cool. - -Don Quixote was longer in talking than the supper in finishing, at the -end of which one of the goatherds said, “That your worship, señor -knight-errant, may say with more truth that we show you hospitality -with ready good-will, we will give you amusement and pleasure by making -one of our comrades sing: he will be here before long, and he is a very -intelligent youth and deep in love, and what is more he can read and -write and play on the rebeck to perfection.” - -The goatherd had hardly done speaking, when the notes of the rebeck -reached their ears; and shortly after, the player came up, a very -good-looking young man of about two-and-twenty. His comrades asked him -if he had supped, and on his replying that he had, he who had already -made the offer said to him: - -“In that case, Antonio, thou mayest as well do us the pleasure of -singing a little, that the gentleman, our guest, may see that even in -the mountains and woods there are musicians: we have told him of thy -accomplishments, and we want thee to show them and prove that we say -true; so, as thou livest, pray sit down and sing that ballad about thy -love that thy uncle the prebendary made thee, and that was so much -liked in the town.” - -“With all my heart,” said the young man, and without waiting for more -pressing he seated himself on the trunk of a felled oak, and tuning his -rebeck, presently began to sing to these words. - -ANTONIO’S BALLAD - -Thou dost love me well, Olalla; -Well I know it, even though -Love’s mute tongues, thine eyes, have never -By their glances told me so. - -For I know my love thou knowest, -Therefore thine to claim I dare: -Once it ceases to be secret, -Love need never feel despair. - -True it is, Olalla, sometimes -Thou hast all too plainly shown -That thy heart is brass in hardness, -And thy snowy bosom stone. - -Yet for all that, in thy coyness, -And thy fickle fits between, -Hope is there—at least the border -Of her garment may be seen. - -Lures to faith are they, those glimpses, -And to faith in thee I hold; -Kindness cannot make it stronger, -Coldness cannot make it cold. - -If it be that love is gentle, -In thy gentleness I see -Something holding out assurance -To the hope of winning thee. - -If it be that in devotion -Lies a power hearts to move, -That which every day I show thee, -Helpful to my suit should prove. - -Many a time thou must have noticed— -If to notice thou dost care— -How I go about on Monday -Dressed in all my Sunday wear. - -Love’s eyes love to look on brightness; -Love loves what is gaily drest; -Sunday, Monday, all I care is -Thou shouldst see me in my best. - -No account I make of dances, -Or of strains that pleased thee so, -Keeping thee awake from midnight -Till the cocks began to crow; - -Or of how I roundly swore it -That there’s none so fair as thou; -True it is, but as I said it, -By the girls I’m hated now. - -For Teresa of the hillside -At my praise of thee was sore; -Said, “You think you love an angel; -It’s a monkey you adore; - -“Caught by all her glittering trinkets, -And her borrowed braids of hair, -And a host of made-up beauties -That would Love himself ensnare.” - -’Twas a lie, and so I told her, -And her cousin at the word -Gave me his defiance for it; -And what followed thou hast heard. - -Mine is no high-flown affection, -Mine no passion _par amours_— -As they call it—what I offer -Is an honest love, and pure. - -Cunning cords the holy Church has, -Cords of softest silk they be; -Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear; -Mine will follow, thou wilt see. - -Else—and once for all I swear it -By the saint of most renown— -If I ever quit the mountains, -’Twill be in a friar’s gown. - -Here the goatherd brought his song to an end, and though Don Quixote -entreated him to sing more, Sancho had no mind that way, being more -inclined for sleep than for listening to songs; so said he to his -master, “Your worship will do well to settle at once where you mean to -pass the night, for the labour these good men are at all day does not -allow them to spend the night in singing.” - -“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “I perceive clearly -that those visits to the wine-skin demand compensation in sleep rather -than in music.” - -“It’s sweet to us all, blessed be God,” said Sancho. - -“I do not deny it,” replied Don Quixote; “but settle thyself where thou -wilt; those of my calling are more becomingly employed in watching than -in sleeping; still it would be as well if thou wert to dress this ear -for me again, for it is giving me more pain than it need.” - -Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, -told him not to be uneasy, as he would apply a remedy with which it -would be soon healed; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, of which -there was a great quantity there, he chewed them and mixed them with a -little salt, and applying them to the ear he secured them firmly with a -bandage, assuring him that no other treatment would be required, and so -it proved. - -CHAPTER XII. -OF WHAT A GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE - -Just then another young man, one of those who fetched their provisions -from the village, came up and said, “Do you know what is going on in -the village, comrades?” - -“How could we know it?” replied one of them. - -“Well, then, you must know,” continued the young man, “this morning -that famous student-shepherd called Chrysostom died, and it is rumoured -that he died of love for that devil of a village girl the daughter of -Guillermo the Rich, she that wanders about the wolds here in the dress -of a shepherdess.” - -“You mean Marcela?” said one. - -“Her I mean,” answered the goatherd; “and the best of it is, he has -directed in his will that he is to be buried in the fields like a Moor, -and at the foot of the rock where the Cork-tree spring is, because, as -the story goes (and they say he himself said so), that was the place -where he first saw her. And he has also left other directions which the -clergy of the village say should not and must not be obeyed because -they savour of paganism. To all which his great friend Ambrosio the -student, he who, like him, also went dressed as a shepherd, replies -that everything must be done without any omission according to the -directions left by Chrysostom, and about this the village is all in -commotion; however, report says that, after all, what Ambrosio and all -the shepherds his friends desire will be done, and to-morrow they are -coming to bury him with great ceremony where I said. I am sure it will -be something worth seeing; at least I will not fail to go and see it -even if I knew I should not return to the village to-morrow.” - -“We will do the same,” answered the goatherds, “and cast lots to see -who must stay to mind the goats of all.” - -“Thou sayest well, Pedro,” said one, “though there will be no need of -taking that trouble, for I will stay behind for all; and don’t suppose -it is virtue or want of curiosity in me; it is that the splinter that -ran into my foot the other day will not let me walk.” - -“For all that, we thank thee,” answered Pedro. - -Don Quixote asked Pedro to tell him who the dead man was and who the -shepherdess, to which Pedro replied that all he knew was that the dead -man was a wealthy gentleman belonging to a village in those mountains, -who had been a student at Salamanca for many years, at the end of which -he returned to his village with the reputation of being very learned -and deeply read. “Above all, they said, he was learned in the science -of the stars and of what went on yonder in the heavens and the sun and -the moon, for he told us of the cris of the sun and moon to exact -time.” - -“Eclipse it is called, friend, not cris, the darkening of those two -luminaries,” said Don Quixote; but Pedro, not troubling himself with -trifles, went on with his story, saying, “Also he foretold when the -year was going to be one of abundance or estility.” - -“Sterility, you mean,” said Don Quixote. - -“Sterility or estility,” answered Pedro, “it is all the same in the -end. And I can tell you that by this his father and friends who -believed him grew very rich because they did as he advised them, -bidding them ‘sow barley this year, not wheat; this year you may sow -pulse and not barley; the next there will be a full oil crop, and the -three following not a drop will be got.’” - -“That science is called astrology,” said Don Quixote. - -“I do not know what it is called,” replied Pedro, “but I know that he -knew all this and more besides. But, to make an end, not many months -had passed after he returned from Salamanca, when one day he appeared -dressed as a shepherd with his crook and sheepskin, having put off the -long gown he wore as a scholar; and at the same time his great friend, -Ambrosio by name, who had been his companion in his studies, took to -the shepherd’s dress with him. I forgot to say that Chrysostom, who is -dead, was a great man for writing verses, so much so that he made -carols for Christmas Eve, and plays for Corpus Christi, which the young -men of our village acted, and all said they were excellent. When the -villagers saw the two scholars so unexpectedly appearing in shepherd’s -dress, they were lost in wonder, and could not guess what had led them -to make so extraordinary a change. About this time the father of our -Chrysostom died, and he was left heir to a large amount of property in -chattels as well as in land, no small number of cattle and sheep, and a -large sum of money, of all of which the young man was left dissolute -owner, and indeed he was deserving of it all, for he was a very good -comrade, and kind-hearted, and a friend of worthy folk, and had a -countenance like a benediction. Presently it came to be known that he -had changed his dress with no other object than to wander about these -wastes after that shepherdess Marcela our lad mentioned a while ago, -with whom the deceased Chrysostom had fallen in love. And I must tell -you now, for it is well you should know it, who this girl is; perhaps, -and even without any perhaps, you will not have heard anything like it -all the days of your life, though you should live more years than -sarna.” - -“Say Sarra,” said Don Quixote, unable to endure the goatherd’s -confusion of words. - -“The sarna lives long enough,” answered Pedro; “and if, señor, you must -go finding fault with words at every step, we shall not make an end of -it this twelvemonth.” - -“Pardon me, friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, as there is such a -difference between sarna and Sarra, I told you of it; however, you have -answered very rightly, for sarna lives longer than Sarra: so continue -your story, and I will not object any more to anything.” - -“I say then, my dear sir,” said the goatherd, “that in our village -there was a farmer even richer than the father of Chrysostom, who was -named Guillermo, and upon whom God bestowed, over and above great -wealth, a daughter at whose birth her mother died, the most respected -woman there was in this neighbourhood; I fancy I can see her now with -that countenance which had the sun on one side and the moon on the -other; and moreover active, and kind to the poor, for which I trust -that at the present moment her soul is in bliss with God in the other -world. Her husband Guillermo died of grief at the death of so good a -wife, leaving his daughter Marcela, a child and rich, to the care of an -uncle of hers, a priest and prebendary in our village. The girl grew up -with such beauty that it reminded us of her mother’s, which was very -great, and yet it was thought that the daughter’s would exceed it; and -so when she reached the age of fourteen to fifteen years nobody beheld -her but blessed God that had made her so beautiful, and the greater -number were in love with her past redemption. Her uncle kept her in -great seclusion and retirement, but for all that the fame of her great -beauty spread so that, as well for it as for her great wealth, her -uncle was asked, solicited, and importuned, to give her in marriage not -only by those of our town but of those many leagues round, and by the -persons of highest quality in them. But he, being a good Christian man, -though he desired to give her in marriage at once, seeing her to be old -enough, was unwilling to do so without her consent, not that he had any -eye to the gain and profit which the custody of the girl’s property -brought him while he put off her marriage; and, faith, this was said in -praise of the good priest in more than one set in the town. For I would -have you know, Sir Errant, that in these little villages everything is -talked about and everything is carped at, and rest assured, as I am, -that the priest must be over and above good who forces his parishioners -to speak well of him, especially in villages.” - -“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote; “but go on, for the story is -very good, and you, good Pedro, tell it with very good grace.” - -“May that of the Lord not be wanting to me,” said Pedro; “that is the -one to have. To proceed; you must know that though the uncle put before -his niece and described to her the qualities of each one in particular -of the many who had asked her in marriage, begging her to marry and -make a choice according to her own taste, she never gave any other -answer than that she had no desire to marry just yet, and that being so -young she did not think herself fit to bear the burden of matrimony. At -these, to all appearance, reasonable excuses that she made, her uncle -ceased to urge her, and waited till she was somewhat more advanced in -age and could mate herself to her own liking. For, said he—and he said -quite right—parents are not to settle children in life against their -will. But when one least looked for it, lo and behold! one day the -demure Marcela makes her appearance turned shepherdess; and, in spite -of her uncle and all those of the town that strove to dissuade her, -took to going a-field with the other shepherd-lasses of the village, -and tending her own flock. And so, since she appeared in public, and -her beauty came to be seen openly, I could not well tell you how many -rich youths, gentlemen and peasants, have adopted the costume of -Chrysostom, and go about these fields making love to her. One of these, -as has been already said, was our deceased friend, of whom they say -that he did not love but adore her. But you must not suppose, because -Marcela chose a life of such liberty and independence, and of so little -or rather no retirement, that she has given any occasion, or even the -semblance of one, for disparagement of her purity and modesty; on the -contrary, such and so great is the vigilance with which she watches -over her honour, that of all those that court and woo her not one has -boasted, or can with truth boast, that she has given him any hope -however small of obtaining his desire. For although she does not avoid -or shun the society and conversation of the shepherds, and treats them -courteously and kindly, should any one of them come to declare his -intention to her, though it be one as proper and holy as that of -matrimony, she flings him from her like a catapult. And with this kind -of disposition she does more harm in this country than if the plague -had got into it, for her affability and her beauty draw on the hearts -of those that associate with her to love her and to court her, but her -scorn and her frankness bring them to the brink of despair; and so they -know not what to say save to proclaim her aloud cruel and hard-hearted, -and other names of the same sort which well describe the nature of her -character; and if you should remain here any time, señor, you would -hear these hills and valleys resounding with the laments of the -rejected ones who pursue her. Not far from this there is a spot where -there are a couple of dozen of tall beeches, and there is not one of -them but has carved and written on its smooth bark the name of Marcela, -and above some a crown carved on the same tree as though her lover -would say more plainly that Marcela wore and deserved that of all human -beauty. Here one shepherd is sighing, there another is lamenting; there -love songs are heard, here despairing elegies. One will pass all the -hours of the night seated at the foot of some oak or rock, and there, -without having closed his weeping eyes, the sun finds him in the -morning bemused and bereft of sense; and another without relief or -respite to his sighs, stretched on the burning sand in the full heat of -the sultry summer noontide, makes his appeal to the compassionate -heavens, and over one and the other, over these and all, the beautiful -Marcela triumphs free and careless. And all of us that know her are -waiting to see what her pride will come to, and who is to be the happy -man that will succeed in taming a nature so formidable and gaining -possession of a beauty so supreme. All that I have told you being such -well-established truth, I am persuaded that what they say of the cause -of Chrysostom’s death, as our lad told us, is the same. And so I advise -you, señor, fail not to be present to-morrow at his burial, which will -be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom had many friends, and it is not -half a league from this place to where he directed he should be -buried.” - -“I will make a point of it,” said Don Quixote, “and I thank you for the -pleasure you have given me by relating so interesting a tale.” - -“Oh,” said the goatherd, “I do not know even the half of what has -happened to the lovers of Marcela, but perhaps to-morrow we may fall in -with some shepherd on the road who can tell us; and now it will be well -for you to go and sleep under cover, for the night air may hurt your -wound, though with the remedy I have applied to you there is no fear of -an untoward result.” - -Sancho Panza, who was wishing the goatherd’s loquacity at the devil, on -his part begged his master to go into Pedro’s hut to sleep. He did so, -and passed all the rest of the night in thinking of his lady Dulcinea, -in imitation of the lovers of Marcela. Sancho Panza settled himself -between Rocinante and his ass, and slept, not like a lover who had been -discarded, but like a man who had been soundly kicked. - -CHAPTER XIII. -IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH OTHER -INCIDENTS - -But hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of the -east, when five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don Quixote and tell -him that if he was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial of -Chrysostom they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired -nothing better, rose and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, -which he did with all despatch, and with the same they all set out -forthwith. They had not gone a quarter of a league when at the meeting -of two paths they saw coming towards them some six shepherds dressed in -black sheepskins and with their heads crowned with garlands of cypress -and bitter oleander. Each of them carried a stout holly staff in his -hand, and along with them there came two men of quality on horseback in -handsome travelling dress, with three servants on foot accompanying -them. Courteous salutations were exchanged on meeting, and inquiring -one of the other which way each party was going, they learned that all -were bound for the scene of the burial, so they went on all together. - -One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, “It -seems to me, Señor Vivaldo, that we may reckon as well spent the delay -we shall incur in seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it -cannot but be judging by the strange things these shepherds have told -us, of both the dead shepherd and homicide shepherdess.” - -“So I think too,” replied Vivaldo, “and I would delay not to say a day, -but four, for the sake of seeing it.” - -Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela and -Chrysostom. The traveller answered that the same morning they had met -these shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful fashion they -had asked them the reason of their appearing in such a guise; which one -of them gave, describing the strange behaviour and beauty of a -shepherdess called Marcela, and the loves of many who courted her, -together with the death of that Chrysostom to whose burial they were -going. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had related to Don Quixote. - -This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who was -called Vivaldo asking Don Quixote what was the reason that led him to -go armed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixote -replied, “The pursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go -in any other fashion; easy life, enjoyment, and repose were invented -for soft courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms were invented and made -for those alone whom the world calls knights-errant, of whom I, though -unworthy, am the least of all.” - -The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better to -settle the point and discover what kind of madness his was, Vivaldo -proceeded to ask him what knights-errant meant. - -“Have not your worships,” replied Don Quixote, “read the annals and -histories of England, in which are recorded the famous deeds of King -Arthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, -with regard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received -all over that kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but -was changed by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he -is to return to reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which -reason it cannot be proved that from that time to this any Englishman -ever killed a raven? Well, then, in the time of this good king that -famous order of chivalry of the Knights of the Round Table was -instituted, and the amour of Don Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen -Guinevere occurred, precisely as is there related, the go-between and -confidante therein being the highly honourable dame Quintañona, whence -came that ballad so well known and widely spread in our Spain— - -O never surely was there knight -So served by hand of dame, -As served was he Sir Lancelot hight -When he from Britain came— - -with all the sweet and delectable course of his achievements in love -and war. Handed down from that time, then, this order of chivalry went -on extending and spreading itself over many and various parts of the -world; and in it, famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty -Amadis of Gaul with all his sons and descendants to the fifth -generation, and the valiant Felixmarte of Hircania, and the never -sufficiently praised Tirante el Blanco, and in our own days almost we -have seen and heard and talked with the invincible knight Don Belianis -of Greece. This, then, sirs, is to be a knight-errant, and what I have -spoken of is the order of his chivalry, of which, as I have already -said, I, though a sinner, have made profession, and what the aforesaid -knights professed that same do I profess, and so I go through these -solitudes and wilds seeking adventures, resolved in soul to oppose my -arm and person to the most perilous that fortune may offer me in aid of -the weak and needy.” - -By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves of -Don Quixote’s being out of his senses and of the form of madness that -overmastered him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all -felt on first becoming acquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a -person of great shrewdness and of a lively temperament, in order to -beguile the short journey which they said was required to reach the -mountain, the scene of the burial, sought to give him an opportunity of -going on with his absurdities. So he said to him, “It seems to me, -Señor Knight-errant, that your worship has made choice of one of the -most austere professions in the world, and I imagine even that of the -Carthusian monks is not so austere.” - -“As austere it may perhaps be,” replied our Don Quixote, “but so -necessary for the world I am very much inclined to doubt. For, if the -truth is to be told, the soldier who executes what his captain orders -does no less than the captain himself who gives the order. My meaning, -is, that churchmen in peace and quiet pray to Heaven for the welfare of -the world, but we soldiers and knights carry into effect what they pray -for, defending it with the might of our arms and the edge of our -swords, not under shelter but in the open air, a target for the -intolerable rays of the sun in summer and the piercing frosts of -winter. Thus are we God’s ministers on earth and the arms by which his -justice is done therein. And as the business of war and all that -relates and belongs to it cannot be conducted without exceeding great -sweat, toil, and exertion, it follows that those who make it their -profession have undoubtedly more labour than those who in tranquil -peace and quiet are engaged in praying to God to help the weak. I do -not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts, that the -knight-errant’s calling is as good as that of the monk in his cell; I -would merely infer from what I endure myself that it is beyond a doubt -a more laborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier and thirstier, a -wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason to doubt that -the knights-errant of yore endured much hardship in the course of their -lives. And if some of them by the might of their arms did rise to be -emperors, in faith it cost them dear in the matter of blood and sweat; -and if those who attained to that rank had not had magicians and sages -to help them they would have been completely baulked in their ambition -and disappointed in their hopes.” - -“That is my own opinion,” replied the traveller; “but one thing among -many others seems to me very wrong in knights-errant, and that is that -when they find themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilous -adventure in which there is manifest danger of losing their lives, they -never at the moment of engaging in it think of commending themselves to -God, as is the duty of every good Christian in like peril; instead of -which they commend themselves to their ladies with as much devotion as -if these were their gods, a thing which seems to me to savour somewhat -of heathenism.” - -“Sir,” answered Don Quixote, “that cannot be on any account omitted, -and the knight-errant would be disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is -usual and customary in knight-errantry that the knight-errant, who on -engaging in any great feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn -his eyes towards her softly and lovingly, as though with them -entreating her to favour and protect him in the hazardous venture he is -about to undertake, and even though no one hear him, he is bound to say -certain words between his teeth, commending himself to her with all his -heart, and of this we have innumerable instances in the histories. Nor -is it to be supposed from this that they are to omit commending -themselves to God, for there will be time and opportunity for doing so -while they are engaged in their task.” - -“For all that,” answered the traveller, “I feel some doubt still, -because often I have read how words will arise between two -knights-errant, and from one thing to another it comes about that their -anger kindles and they wheel their horses round and take a good stretch -of field, and then without any more ado at the top of their speed they -come to the charge, and in mid-career they are wont to commend -themselves to their ladies; and what commonly comes of the encounter is -that one falls over the haunches of his horse pierced through and -through by his antagonist’s lance, and as for the other, it is only by -holding on to the mane of his horse that he can help falling to the -ground; but I know not how the dead man had time to commend himself to -God in the course of such rapid work as this; it would have been better -if those words which he spent in commending himself to his lady in the -midst of his career had been devoted to his duty and obligation as a -Christian. Moreover, it is my belief that all knights-errant have not -ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not all in love.” - -“That is impossible,” said Don Quixote: “I say it is impossible that -there could be a knight-errant without a lady, because to such it is as -natural and proper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: most -certainly no history has been seen in which there is to be found a -knight-errant without an amour, and for the simple reason that without -one he would be held no legitimate knight but a bastard, and one who -had gained entrance into the stronghold of the said knighthood, not by -the door, but over the wall like a thief and a robber.” - -“Nevertheless,” said the traveller, “if I remember rightly, I think I -have read that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul, -never had any special lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet he -was not the less esteemed, and was a very stout and famous knight.” - -To which our Don Quixote made answer, “Sir, one solitary swallow does -not make summer; moreover, I know that knight was in secret very deeply -in love; besides which, that way of falling in love with all that took -his fancy was a natural propensity which he could not control. But, in -short, it is very manifest that he had one alone whom he made mistress -of his will, to whom he commended himself very frequently and very -secretly, for he prided himself on being a reticent knight.” - -“Then if it be essential that every knight-errant should be in love,” -said the traveller, “it may be fairly supposed that your worship is so, -as you are of the order; and if you do not pride yourself on being as -reticent as Don Galaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the -name of all this company and in my own, to inform us of the name, -country, rank, and beauty of your lady, for she will esteem herself -fortunate if all the world knows that she is loved and served by such a -knight as your worship seems to be.” - -At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, “I cannot say -positively whether my sweet enemy is pleased or not that the world -should know I serve her; I can only say in answer to what has been so -courteously asked of me, that her name is Dulcinea, her country El -Toboso, a village of La Mancha, her rank must be at least that of a -princess, since she is my queen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, -since all the impossible and fanciful attributes of beauty which the -poets apply to their ladies are verified in her; for her hairs are -gold, her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, her eyes -suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck -alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her fairness snow, and -what modesty conceals from sight such, I think and imagine, as rational -reflection can only extol, not compare.” - -“We should like to know her lineage, race, and ancestry,” said Vivaldo. - -To which Don Quixote replied, “She is not of the ancient Roman Curtii, -Caii, or Scipios, nor of the modern Colonnas or Orsini, nor of the -Moncadas or Requesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas or -Villanovas of Valencia; Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas, -Alagones, Urreas, Foces, or Gurreas of Aragon; Cerdas, Manriques, -Mendozas, or Guzmans of Castile; Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses of -Portugal; but she is of those of El Toboso of La Mancha, a lineage that -though modern, may furnish a source of gentle blood for the most -illustrious families of the ages that are to come, and this let none -dispute with me save on the condition that Zerbino placed at the foot -of the trophy of Orlando’s arms, saying, - -These let none move -Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.” - -“Although mine is of the Cachopins of Laredo,” said the traveller, “I -will not venture to compare it with that of El Toboso of La Mancha, -though, to tell the truth, no such surname has until now ever reached -my ears.” - -“What!” said Don Quixote, “has that never reached them?” - -The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to the -conversation of the pair, and even the very goatherds and shepherds -perceived how exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho -Panza alone thought that what his master said was the truth, knowing -who he was and having known him from his birth; and all that he felt -any difficulty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del -Toboso, because neither any such name nor any such princess had ever -come to his knowledge though he lived so close to El Toboso. They were -going along conversing in this way, when they saw descending a gap -between two high mountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in -sheepskins of black wool, and crowned with garlands which, as -afterwards appeared, were, some of them of yew, some of cypress. Six of -the number were carrying a bier covered with a great variety of flowers -and branches, on seeing which one of the goatherds said, “Those who -come there are the bearers of Chrysostom’s body, and the foot of that -mountain is the place where he ordered them to bury him.” They -therefore made haste to reach the spot, and did so by the time those -who came had laid the bier upon the ground, and four of them with sharp -pickaxes were digging a grave by the side of a hard rock. They greeted -each other courteously, and then Don Quixote and those who accompanied -him turned to examine the bier, and on it, covered with flowers, they -saw a dead body in the dress of a shepherd, to all appearance of one -thirty years of age, and showing even in death that in life he had been -of comely features and gallant bearing. Around him on the bier itself -were laid some books, and several papers open and folded; and those who -were looking on as well as those who were opening the grave and all the -others who were there preserved a strange silence, until one of those -who had borne the body said to another, “Observe carefully, Ambrosia if -this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxious that what -he directed in his will should be so strictly complied with.” - -“This is the place,” answered Ambrosia “for in it many a time did my -poor friend tell me the story of his hard fortune. Here it was, he told -me, that he saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, -and here, too, for the first time he declared to her his passion, as -honourable as it was devoted, and here it was that at last Marcela -ended by scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the tragedy of his -wretched life to a close; here, in memory of misfortunes so great, he -desired to be laid in the bowels of eternal oblivion.” Then turning to -Don Quixote and the travellers he went on to say, “That body, sirs, on -which you are looking with compassionate eyes, was the abode of a soul -on which Heaven bestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the body -of Chrysostom, who was unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy, -unapproached in gentle bearing, a phœnix in friendship, generous -without limit, grave without arrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in -short, first in all that constitutes goodness and second to none in all -that makes up misfortune. He loved deeply, he was hated; he adored, he -was scorned; he wooed a wild beast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued -the wind, he cried to the wilderness, he served ingratitude, and for -reward was made the prey of death in the mid-course of life, cut short -by a shepherdess whom he sought to immortalise in the memory of man, as -these papers which you see could fully prove, had he not commanded me -to consign them to the fire after having consigned his body to the -earth.” - -“You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their owner -himself,” said Vivaldo, “for it is neither right nor proper to do the -will of one who enjoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not have -been reasonable in Augustus Cæsar had he permitted the directions left -by the divine Mantuan in his will to be carried into effect. So that, -Señor Ambrosia while you consign your friend’s body to the earth, you -should not consign his writings to oblivion, for if he gave the order -in bitterness of heart, it is not right that you should irrationally -obey it. On the contrary, by granting life to those papers, let the -cruelty of Marcela live for ever, to serve as a warning in ages to come -to all men to shun and avoid falling into like danger; or I and all of -us who have come here know already the story of this your love-stricken -and heart-broken friend, and we know, too, your friendship, and the -cause of his death, and the directions he gave at the close of his -life; from which sad story may be gathered how great was the cruelty of -Marcela, the love of Chrysostom, and the loyalty of your friendship, -together with the end awaiting those who pursue rashly the path that -insane passion opens to their eyes. Last night we learned the death of -Chrysostom and that he was to be buried here, and out of curiosity and -pity we left our direct road and resolved to come and see with our eyes -that which when heard of had so moved our compassion, and in -consideration of that compassion and our desire to prove it if we might -by condolence, we beg of you, excellent Ambrosia, or at least I on my -own account entreat you, that instead of burning those papers you allow -me to carry away some of them.” - -And without waiting for the shepherd’s answer, he stretched out his -hand and took up some of those that were nearest to him; seeing which -Ambrosio said, “Out of courtesy, señor, I will grant your request as to -those you have taken, but it is idle to expect me to abstain from -burning the remainder.” - -Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one of -them at once, and saw that its title was “Lay of Despair.” - -Ambrosio hearing it said, “That is the last paper the unhappy man -wrote; and that you may see, señor, to what an end his misfortunes -brought him, read it so that you may be heard, for you will have time -enough for that while we are waiting for the grave to be dug.” - -“I will do so very willingly,” said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanders -were equally eager they gathered round him, and he, reading in a loud -voice, found that it ran as follows. - -CHAPTER XIV. -WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR - -THE LAY OF CHRYSOSTOM - -Since thou dost in thy cruelty desire -The ruthless rigour of thy tyranny -From tongue to tongue, from land to land proclaimed, -The very Hell will I constrain to lend -This stricken breast of mine deep notes of woe -To serve my need of fitting utterance. -And as I strive to body forth the tale -Of all I suffer, all that thou hast done, -Forth shall the dread voice roll, and bear along -Shreds from my vitals torn for greater pain. -Then listen, not to dulcet harmony, -But to a discord wrung by mad despair -Out of this bosom’s depths of bitterness, -To ease my heart and plant a sting in thine. - -The lion’s roar, the fierce wolf’s savage howl, -The horrid hissing of the scaly snake, -The awesome cries of monsters yet unnamed, -The crow’s ill-boding croak, the hollow moan -Of wild winds wrestling with the restless sea, -The wrathful bellow of the vanquished bull, -The plaintive sobbing of the widowed dove, -The envied owl’s sad note, the wail of woe -That rises from the dreary choir of Hell, -Commingled in one sound, confusing sense, -Let all these come to aid my soul’s complaint, -For pain like mine demands new modes of song. - -No echoes of that discord shall be heard -Where Father Tagus rolls, or on the banks -Of olive-bordered Betis; to the rocks -Or in deep caverns shall my plaint be told, -And by a lifeless tongue in living words; -Or in dark valleys or on lonely shores, -Where neither foot of man nor sunbeam falls; -Or in among the poison-breathing swarms -Of monsters nourished by the sluggish Nile. -For, though it be to solitudes remote -The hoarse vague echoes of my sorrows sound -Thy matchless cruelty, my dismal fate -Shall carry them to all the spacious world. - -Disdain hath power to kill, and patience dies -Slain by suspicion, be it false or true; -And deadly is the force of jealousy; -Long absence makes of life a dreary void; -No hope of happiness can give repose -To him that ever fears to be forgot; -And death, inevitable, waits in hall. -But I, by some strange miracle, live on -A prey to absence, jealousy, disdain; -Racked by suspicion as by certainty; -Forgotten, left to feed my flame alone. -And while I suffer thus, there comes no ray -Of hope to gladden me athwart the gloom; -Nor do I look for it in my despair; -But rather clinging to a cureless woe, -All hope do I abjure for evermore. - -Can there be hope where fear is? Were it well, -When far more certain are the grounds of fear? -Ought I to shut mine eyes to jealousy, -If through a thousand heart-wounds it appears? -Who would not give free access to distrust, -Seeing disdain unveiled, and—bitter change!— -All his suspicions turned to certainties, -And the fair truth transformed into a lie? -Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love, -Oh, Jealousy! put chains upon these hands, -And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain. -But, woe is me! triumphant over all, -My sufferings drown the memory of you. - -And now I die, and since there is no hope -Of happiness for me in life or death, -Still to my fantasy I’ll fondly cling. -I’ll say that he is wise who loveth well, -And that the soul most free is that most bound -In thraldom to the ancient tyrant Love. -I’ll say that she who is mine enemy -In that fair body hath as fair a mind, -And that her coldness is but my desert, -And that by virtue of the pain he sends -Love rules his kingdom with a gentle sway. -Thus, self-deluding, and in bondage sore, -And wearing out the wretched shred of life -To which I am reduced by her disdain, -I’ll give this soul and body to the winds, -All hopeless of a crown of bliss in store. - -Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause -That makes me quit the weary life I loathe, -As by this wounded bosom thou canst see -How willingly thy victim I become, -Let not my death, if haply worth a tear, -Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes; -I would not have thee expiate in aught -The crime of having made my heart thy prey; -But rather let thy laughter gaily ring -And prove my death to be thy festival. -Fool that I am to bid thee! well I know -Thy glory gains by my untimely end. - -And now it is the time; from Hell’s abyss -Come thirsting Tantalus, come Sisyphus -Heaving the cruel stone, come Tityus -With vulture, and with wheel Ixion come, -And come the sisters of the ceaseless toil; -And all into this breast transfer their pains, -And (if such tribute to despair be due) -Chant in their deepest tones a doleful dirge -Over a corse unworthy of a shroud. -Let the three-headed guardian of the gate, -And all the monstrous progeny of hell, -The doleful concert join: a lover dead -Methinks can have no fitter obsequies. - -Lay of despair, grieve not when thou art gone -Forth from this sorrowing heart: my misery -Brings fortune to the cause that gave thee birth; -Then banish sadness even in the tomb. - -The “Lay of Chrysostom” met with the approbation of the listeners, -though the reader said it did not seem to him to agree with what he had -heard of Marcela’s reserve and propriety, for Chrysostom complained in -it of jealousy, suspicion, and absence, all to the prejudice of the -good name and fame of Marcela; to which Ambrosio replied as one who -knew well his friend’s most secret thoughts, “Señor, to remove that -doubt I should tell you that when the unhappy man wrote this lay he was -away from Marcela, from whom he had voluntarily separated himself, to -try if absence would act with him as it is wont; and as everything -distresses and every fear haunts the banished lover, so imaginary -jealousies and suspicions, dreaded as if they were true, tormented -Chrysostom; and thus the truth of what report declares of the virtue of -Marcela remains unshaken, and with her envy itself should not and -cannot find any fault save that of being cruel, somewhat haughty, and -very scornful.” - -“That is true,” said Vivaldo; and as he was about to read another paper -of those he had preserved from the fire, he was stopped by a marvellous -vision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly presented itself to their -eyes; for on the summit of the rock where they were digging the grave -there appeared the shepherdess Marcela, so beautiful that her beauty -exceeded its reputation. Those who had never till then beheld her gazed -upon her in wonder and silence, and those who were accustomed to see -her were not less amazed than those who had never seen her before. But -the instant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, with manifest -indignation: - -“Art thou come, by chance, cruel basilisk of these mountains, to see if -in thy presence blood will flow from the wounds of this wretched being -thy cruelty has robbed of life; or is it to exult over the cruel work -of thy humours that thou art come; or like another pitiless Nero to -look down from that height upon the ruin of his Rome in embers; or in -thy arrogance to trample on this ill-fated corpse, as the ungrateful -daughter trampled on her father Tarquin’s? Tell us quickly for what -thou art come, or what it is thou wouldst have, for, as I know the -thoughts of Chrysostom never failed to obey thee in life, I will make -all these who call themselves his friends obey thee, though he be -dead.” - -“I come not, Ambrosia for any of the purposes thou hast named,” replied -Marcela, “but to defend myself and to prove how unreasonable are all -those who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom’s death; and -therefore I ask all of you that are here to give me your attention, for -it will not take much time or many words to bring the truth home to -persons of sense. Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, and so -much so that in spite of yourselves my beauty leads you to love me; and -for the love you show me you say, and even urge, that I am bound to -love you. By that natural understanding which God has given me I know -that everything beautiful attracts love, but I cannot see how, by -reason of being loved, that which is loved for its beauty is bound to -love that which loves it; besides, it may happen that the lover of that -which is beautiful may be ugly, and ugliness being detestable, it is -very absurd to say, “I love thee because thou art beautiful, thou must -love me though I be ugly.” But supposing the beauty equal on both -sides, it does not follow that the inclinations must be therefore -alike, for it is not every beauty that excites love, some but pleasing -the eye without winning the affection; and if every sort of beauty -excited love and won the heart, the will would wander vaguely to and -fro unable to make choice of any; for as there is an infinity of -beautiful objects there must be an infinity of inclinations, and true -love, I have heard it said, is indivisible, and must be voluntary and -not compelled. If this be so, as I believe it to be, why do you desire -me to bend my will by force, for no other reason but that you say you -love me? Nay—tell me—had Heaven made me ugly, as it has made me -beautiful, could I with justice complain of you for not loving me? -Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of -mine, for, be it what it may, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without -my asking or choosing it; and as the viper, though it kills with it, -does not deserve to be blamed for the poison it carries, as it is a -gift of nature, neither do I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for -beauty in a modest woman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; -the one does not burn, the other does not cut, those who do not come -too near. Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the mind, without -which the body, though it be so, has no right to pass for beautiful; -but if modesty is one of the virtues that specially lend a grace and -charm to mind and body, why should she who is loved for her beauty part -with it to gratify one who for his pleasure alone strives with all his -might and energy to rob her of it? I was born free, and that I might -live in freedom I chose the solitude of the fields; in the trees of the -mountains I find society, the clear waters of the brooks are my -mirrors, and to the trees and waters I make known my thoughts and -charms. I am a fire afar off, a sword laid aside. Those whom I have -inspired with love by letting them see me, I have by words undeceived, -and if their longings live on hope—and I have given none to Chrysostom -or to any other—it cannot justly be said that the death of any is my -doing, for it was rather his own obstinacy than my cruelty that killed -him; and if it be made a charge against me that his wishes were -honourable, and that therefore I was bound to yield to them, I answer -that when on this very spot where now his grave is made he declared to -me his purity of purpose, I told him that mine was to live in perpetual -solitude, and that the earth alone should enjoy the fruits of my -retirement and the spoils of my beauty; and if, after this open avowal, -he chose to persist against hope and steer against the wind, what -wonder is it that he should sink in the depths of his infatuation? If I -had encouraged him, I should be false; if I had gratified him, I should -have acted against my own better resolution and purpose. He was -persistent in spite of warning, he despaired without being hated. -Bethink you now if it be reasonable that his suffering should be laid -to my charge. Let him who has been deceived complain, let him give way -to despair whose encouraged hopes have proved vain, let him flatter -himself whom I shall entice, let him boast whom I shall receive; but -let not him call me cruel or homicide to whom I make no promise, upon -whom I practise no deception, whom I neither entice nor receive. It has -not been so far the will of Heaven that I should love by fate, and to -expect me to love by choice is idle. Let this general declaration serve -for each of my suitors on his own account, and let it be understood -from this time forth that if anyone dies for me it is not of jealousy -or misery he dies, for she who loves no one can give no cause for -jealousy to any, and candour is not to be confounded with scorn. Let -him who calls me wild beast and basilisk, leave me alone as something -noxious and evil; let him who calls me ungrateful, withhold his -service; who calls me wayward, seek not my acquaintance; who calls me -cruel, pursue me not; for this wild beast, this basilisk, this -ungrateful, cruel, wayward being has no kind of desire to seek, serve, -know, or follow them. If Chrysostom’s impatience and violent passion -killed him, why should my modest behaviour and circumspection be -blamed? If I preserve my purity in the society of the trees, why should -he who would have me preserve it among men, seek to rob me of it? I -have, as you know, wealth of my own, and I covet not that of others; my -taste is for freedom, and I have no relish for constraint; I neither -love nor hate anyone; I do not deceive this one or court that, or -trifle with one or play with another. The modest converse of the -shepherd girls of these hamlets and the care of my goats are my -recreations; my desires are bounded by these mountains, and if they -ever wander hence it is to contemplate the beauty of the heavens, steps -by which the soul travels to its primeval abode.” - -With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, she turned and -passed into the thickest part of a wood that was hard by, leaving all -who were there lost in admiration as much of her good sense as of her -beauty. Some—those wounded by the irresistible shafts launched by her -bright eyes—made as though they would follow her, heedless of the frank -declaration they had heard; seeing which, and deeming this a fitting -occasion for the exercise of his chivalry in aid of distressed damsels, -Don Quixote, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, exclaimed in a -loud and distinct voice: - -“Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare to follow the -beautiful Marcela, under pain of incurring my fierce indignation. She -has shown by clear and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault -is to be found with her for the death of Chrysostom, and also how far -she is from yielding to the wishes of any of her lovers, for which -reason, instead of being followed and persecuted, she should in justice -be honoured and esteemed by all the good people of the world, for she -shows that she is the only woman in it that holds to such a virtuous -resolution.” - -Whether it was because of the threats of Don Quixote, or because -Ambrosio told them to fulfil their duty to their good friend, none of -the shepherds moved or stirred from the spot until, having finished the -grave and burned Chrysostom’s papers, they laid his body in it, not -without many tears from those who stood by. They closed the grave with -a heavy stone until a slab was ready which Ambrosio said he meant to -have prepared, with an epitaph which was to be to this effect: - -Beneath the stone before your eyes -The body of a lover lies; -In life he was a shepherd swain, -In death a victim to disdain. -Ungrateful, cruel, coy, and fair, -Was she that drove him to despair, -And Love hath made her his ally -For spreading wide his tyranny. - -They then strewed upon the grave a profusion of flowers and branches, -and all expressing their condolence with his friend Ambrosio, took -their leave. Vivaldo and his companion did the same; and Don Quixote -bade farewell to his hosts and to the travellers, who pressed him to -come with them to Seville, as being such a convenient place for finding -adventures, for they presented themselves in every street and round -every corner oftener than anywhere else. Don Quixote thanked them for -their advice and for the disposition they showed to do him a favour, -and said that for the present he would not, and must not go to Seville -until he had cleared all these mountains of highwaymen and robbers, of -whom report said they were full. Seeing his good intention, the -travellers were unwilling to press him further, and once more bidding -him farewell, they left him and pursued their journey, in the course of -which they did not fail to discuss the story of Marcela and Chrysostom -as well as the madness of Don Quixote. He, on his part, resolved to go -in quest of the shepherdess Marcela, and make offer to her of all the -service he could render her; but things did not fall out with him as he -expected, according to what is related in the course of this veracious -history, of which the Second Part ends here. - -CHAPTER XV. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN -WITH WHEN HE FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS - -The sage Cid Hamete Benengeli relates that as soon as Don Quixote took -leave of his hosts and all who had been present at the burial of -Chrysostom, he and his squire passed into the same wood which they had -seen the shepherdess Marcela enter, and after having wandered for more -than two hours in all directions in search of her without finding her, -they came to a halt in a glade covered with tender grass, beside which -ran a pleasant cool stream that invited and compelled them to pass -there the hours of the noontide heat, which by this time was beginning -to come on oppressively. Don Quixote and Sancho dismounted, and turning -Rocinante and the ass loose to feed on the grass that was there in -abundance, they ransacked the alforjas, and without any ceremony very -peacefully and sociably master and man made their repast on what they -found in them. - -Sancho had not thought it worth while to hobble Rocinante, feeling -sure, from what he knew of his staidness and freedom from incontinence, -that all the mares in the Cordova pastures would not lead him into an -impropriety. Chance, however, and the devil, who is not always asleep, -so ordained it that feeding in this valley there was a drove of -Galician ponies belonging to certain Yanguesan carriers, whose way it -is to take their midday rest with their teams in places and spots where -grass and water abound; and that where Don Quixote chanced to be suited -the Yanguesans’ purpose very well. It so happened, then, that Rocinante -took a fancy to disport himself with their ladyships the ponies, and -abandoning his usual gait and demeanour as he scented them, he, without -asking leave of his master, got up a briskish little trot and hastened -to make known his wishes to them; they, however, it seemed, preferred -their pasture to him, and received him with their heels and teeth to -such effect that they soon broke his girths and left him naked without -a saddle to cover him; but what must have been worse to him was that -the carriers, seeing the violence he was offering to their mares, came -running up armed with stakes, and so belaboured him that they brought -him sorely battered to the ground. - -By this time Don Quixote and Sancho, who had witnessed the drubbing of -Rocinante, came up panting, and said Don Quixote to Sancho: - -“So far as I can see, friend Sancho, these are not knights but base -folk of low birth: I mention it because thou canst lawfully aid me in -taking due vengeance for the insult offered to Rocinante before our -eyes.” - -“What the devil vengeance can we take,” answered Sancho, “if they are -more than twenty, and we no more than two, or, indeed, perhaps not more -than one and a half?” - -“I count for a hundred,” replied Don Quixote, and without more words he -drew his sword and attacked the Yanguesans and excited and impelled by -the example of his master, Sancho did the same; and to begin with, Don -Quixote delivered a slash at one of them that laid open the leather -jerkin he wore, together with a great portion of his shoulder. The -Yanguesans, seeing themselves assaulted by only two men while they were -so many, betook themselves to their stakes, and driving the two into -the middle they began to lay on with great zeal and energy; in fact, at -the second blow they brought Sancho to the ground, and Don Quixote -fared the same way, all his skill and high mettle availing him nothing, -and fate willed it that he should fall at the feet of Rocinante, who -had not yet risen; whereby it may be seen how furiously stakes can -pound in angry boorish hands. - -Then, seeing the mischief they had done, the Yanguesans with all the -haste they could loaded their team and pursued their journey, leaving -the two adventurers a sorry sight and in sorrier mood. - -Sancho was the first to come to, and finding himself close to his -master he called to him in a weak and doleful voice, “Señor Don -Quixote, ah, Señor Don Quixote!” - -“What wouldst thou, brother Sancho?” answered Don Quixote in the same -feeble suffering tone as Sancho. - -“I would like, if it were possible,” answered Sancho Panza, “your -worship to give me a couple of sups of that potion of the fiery Blas, -if it be that you have any to hand there; perhaps it will serve for -broken bones as well as for wounds.” - -“If I only had it here, wretch that I am, what more should we want?” -said Don Quixote; “but I swear to thee, Sancho Panza, on the faith of a -knight-errant, ere two days are over, unless fortune orders otherwise, -I mean to have it in my possession, or my hand will have lost its -cunning.” - -“But in how many does your worship think we shall have the use of our -feet?” answered Sancho Panza. - -“For myself I must say I cannot guess how many,” said the battered -knight Don Quixote; “but I take all the blame upon myself, for I had no -business to put hand to sword against men who where not dubbed knights -like myself, and so I believe that in punishment for having -transgressed the laws of chivalry the God of battles has permitted this -chastisement to be administered to me; for which reason, brother -Sancho, it is well thou shouldst receive a hint on the matter which I -am now about to mention to thee, for it is of much importance to the -welfare of both of us. It is at when thou shalt see rabble of this sort -offering us insult thou art not to wait till I draw sword against them, -for I shall not do so at all; but do thou draw sword and chastise them -to thy heart’s content, and if any knights come to their aid and -defence I will take care to defend thee and assail them with all my -might; and thou hast already seen by a thousand signs and proofs what -the might of this strong arm of mine is equal to”—so uplifted had the -poor gentleman become through the victory over the stout Biscayan. - -But Sancho did not so fully approve of his master’s admonition as to -let it pass without saying in reply, “Señor, I am a man of peace, meek -and quiet, and I can put up with any affront because I have a wife and -children to support and bring up; so let it be likewise a hint to your -worship, as it cannot be a mandate, that on no account will I draw -sword either against clown or against knight, and that here before God -I forgive the insults that have been offered me, whether they have -been, are, or shall be offered me by high or low, rich or poor, noble -or commoner, not excepting any rank or condition whatsoever.” - -To all which his master said in reply, “I wish I had breath enough to -speak somewhat easily, and that the pain I feel on this side would -abate so as to let me explain to thee, Panza, the mistake thou makest. -Come now, sinner, suppose the wind of fortune, hitherto so adverse, -should turn in our favour, filling the sails of our desires so that -safely and without impediment we put into port in some one of those -islands I have promised thee, how would it be with thee if on winning -it I made thee lord of it? Why, thou wilt make it well-nigh impossible -through not being a knight nor having any desire to be one, nor -possessing the courage nor the will to avenge insults or defend thy -lordship; for thou must know that in newly conquered kingdoms and -provinces the minds of the inhabitants are never so quiet nor so well -disposed to the new lord that there is no fear of their making some -move to change matters once more, and try, as they say, what chance may -do for them; so it is essential that the new possessor should have good -sense to enable him to govern, and valour to attack and defend himself, -whatever may befall him.” - -“In what has now befallen us,” answered Sancho, “I’d have been well -pleased to have that good sense and that valour your worship speaks of, -but I swear on the faith of a poor man I am more fit for plasters than -for arguments. See if your worship can get up, and let us help -Rocinante, though he does not deserve it, for he was the main cause of -all this thrashing. I never thought it of Rocinante, for I took him to -be a virtuous person and as quiet as myself. After all, they say right -that it takes a long time to come to know people, and that there is -nothing sure in this life. Who would have said that, after such mighty -slashes as your worship gave that unlucky knight-errant, there was -coming, travelling post and at the very heels of them, such a great -storm of sticks as has fallen upon our shoulders?” - -“And yet thine, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “ought to be used to such -squalls; but mine, reared in soft cloth and fine linen, it is plain -they must feel more keenly the pain of this mishap, and if it were not -that I imagine—why do I say imagine?—know of a certainty that all these -annoyances are very necessary accompaniments of the calling of arms, I -would lay me down here to die of pure vexation.” - -To this the squire replied, “Señor, as these mishaps are what one reaps -of chivalry, tell me if they happen very often, or if they have their -own fixed times for coming to pass; because it seems to me that after -two harvests we shall be no good for the third, unless God in his -infinite mercy helps us.” - -“Know, friend Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “that the life of -knights-errant is subject to a thousand dangers and reverses, and -neither more nor less is it within immediate possibility for -knights-errant to become kings and emperors, as experience has shown in -the case of many different knights with whose histories I am thoroughly -acquainted; and I could tell thee now, if the pain would let me, of -some who simply by might of arm have risen to the high stations I have -mentioned; and those same, both before and after, experienced divers -misfortunes and miseries; for the valiant Amadis of Gaul found himself -in the power of his mortal enemy Arcalaus the magician, who, it is -positively asserted, holding him captive, gave him more than two -hundred lashes with the reins of his horse while tied to one of the -pillars of a court; and moreover there is a certain recondite author of -no small authority who says that the Knight of Phœbus, being caught in -a certain pitfall, which opened under his feet in a certain castle, on -falling found himself bound hand and foot in a deep pit underground, -where they administered to him one of those things they call clysters, -of sand and snow-water, that well-nigh finished him; and if he had not -been succoured in that sore extremity by a sage, a great friend of his, -it would have gone very hard with the poor knight; so I may well suffer -in company with such worthy folk, for greater were the indignities -which they had to suffer than those which we suffer. For I would have -thee know, Sancho, that wounds caused by any instruments which happen -by chance to be in hand inflict no indignity, and this is laid down in -the law of the duel in express words: if, for instance, the cobbler -strikes another with the last which he has in his hand, though it be in -fact a piece of wood, it cannot be said for that reason that he whom he -struck with it has been cudgelled. I say this lest thou shouldst -imagine that because we have been drubbed in this affray we have -therefore suffered any indignity; for the arms those men carried, with -which they pounded us, were nothing more than their stakes, and not one -of them, so far as I remember, carried rapier, sword, or dagger.” - -“They gave me no time to see that much,” answered Sancho, “for hardly -had I laid hand on my tizona when they signed the cross on my shoulders -with their sticks in such style that they took the sight out of my eyes -and the strength out of my feet, stretching me where I now lie, and -where thinking of whether all those stake-strokes were an indignity or -not gives me no uneasiness, which the pain of the blows does, for they -will remain as deeply impressed on my memory as on my shoulders.” - -“For all that let me tell thee, brother Panza,” said Don Quixote, “that -there is no recollection which time does not put an end to, and no pain -which death does not remove.” - -“And what greater misfortune can there be,” replied Panza, “than the -one that waits for time to put an end to it and death to remove it? If -our mishap were one of those that are cured with a couple of plasters, -it would not be so bad; but I am beginning to think that all the -plasters in a hospital almost won’t be enough to put us right.” - -“No more of that: pluck strength out of weakness, Sancho, as I mean to -do,” returned Don Quixote, “and let us see how Rocinante is, for it -seems to me that not the least share of this mishap has fallen to the -lot of the poor beast.” - -“There is nothing wonderful in that,” replied Sancho, “since he is a -knight-errant too; what I wonder at is that my beast should have come -off scot-free where we come out scotched.” - -“Fortune always leaves a door open in adversity in order to bring -relief to it,” said Don Quixote; “I say so because this little beast -may now supply the want of Rocinante, carrying me hence to some castle -where I may be cured of my wounds. And moreover I shall not hold it any -dishonour to be so mounted, for I remember having read how the good old -Silenus, the tutor and instructor of the gay god of laughter, when he -entered the city of the hundred gates, went very contentedly mounted on -a handsome ass.” - -“It may be true that he went mounted as your worship says,” answered -Sancho, “but there is a great difference between going mounted and -going slung like a sack of manure.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Wounds received in battle confer honour -instead of taking it away; and so, friend Panza, say no more, but, as I -told thee before, get up as well as thou canst and put me on top of thy -beast in whatever fashion pleases thee best, and let us go hence ere -night come on and surprise us in these wilds.” - -“And yet I have heard your worship say,” observed Panza, “that it is -very meet for knights-errant to sleep in wastes and deserts, and that -they esteem it very good fortune.” - -“That is,” said Don Quixote, “when they cannot help it, or when they -are in love; and so true is this that there have been knights who have -remained two years on rocks, in sunshine and shade and all the -inclemencies of heaven, without their ladies knowing anything of it; -and one of these was Amadis, when, under the name of Beltenebros, he -took up his abode on the Peña Pobre for—I know not if it was eight -years or eight months, for I am not very sure of the reckoning; at any -rate he stayed there doing penance for I know not what pique the -Princess Oriana had against him; but no more of this now, Sancho, and -make haste before a mishap like Rocinante’s befalls the ass.” - -“The very devil would be in it in that case,” said Sancho; and letting -off thirty “ohs,” and sixty sighs, and a hundred and twenty -maledictions and execrations on whomsoever it was that had brought him -there, he raised himself, stopping half-way bent like a Turkish bow -without power to bring himself upright, but with all his pains he -saddled his ass, who too had gone astray somewhat, yielding to the -excessive licence of the day; he next raised up Rocinante, and as for -him, had he possessed a tongue to complain with, most assuredly neither -Sancho nor his master would have been behind him. - -To be brief, Sancho fixed Don Quixote on the ass and secured Rocinante -with a leading rein, and taking the ass by the halter, he proceeded -more or less in the direction in which it seemed to him the high road -might be; and, as chance was conducting their affairs for them from -good to better, he had not gone a short league when the road came in -sight, and on it he perceived an inn, which to his annoyance and to the -delight of Don Quixote must needs be a castle. Sancho insisted that it -was an inn, and his master that it was not one, but a castle, and the -dispute lasted so long that before the point was settled they had time -to reach it, and into it Sancho entered with all his team without any -further controversy. - -CHAPTER XVI. -OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE TOOK TO -BE A CASTLE - -The innkeeper, seeing Don Quixote slung across the ass, asked Sancho -what was amiss with him. Sancho answered that it was nothing, only that -he had fallen down from a rock and had his ribs a little bruised. The -innkeeper had a wife whose disposition was not such as those of her -calling commonly have, for she was by nature kind-hearted and felt for -the sufferings of her neighbours, so she at once set about tending Don -Quixote, and made her young daughter, a very comely girl, help her in -taking care of her guest. There was besides in the inn, as servant, an -Asturian lass with a broad face, flat poll, and snub nose, blind of one -eye and not very sound in the other. The elegance of her shape, to be -sure, made up for all her defects; she did not measure seven palms from -head to foot, and her shoulders, which overweighted her somewhat, made -her contemplate the ground more than she liked. This graceful lass, -then, helped the young girl, and the two made up a very bad bed for Don -Quixote in a garret that showed evident signs of having formerly served -for many years as a straw-loft, in which there was also quartered a -carrier whose bed was placed a little beyond our Don Quixote’s, and, -though only made of the pack-saddles and cloths of his mules, had much -the advantage of it, as Don Quixote’s consisted simply of four rough -boards on two not very even trestles, a mattress, that for thinness -might have passed for a quilt, full of pellets which, were they not -seen through the rents to be wool, would to the touch have seemed -pebbles in hardness, two sheets made of buckler leather, and a coverlet -the threads of which anyone that chose might have counted without -missing one in the reckoning. - -On this accursed bed Don Quixote stretched himself, and the hostess and -her daughter soon covered him with plasters from top to toe, while -Maritornes—for that was the name of the Asturian—held the light for -them, and while plastering him, the hostess, observing how full of -wheals Don Quixote was in some places, remarked that this had more the -look of blows than of a fall. - -It was not blows, Sancho said, but that the rock had many points and -projections, and that each of them had left its mark. “Pray, señora,” -he added, “manage to save some tow, as there will be no want of someone -to use it, for my loins too are rather sore.” - -“Then you must have fallen too,” said the hostess. - -“I did not fall,” said Sancho Panza, “but from the shock I got at -seeing my master fall, my body aches so that I feel as if I had had a -thousand thwacks.” - -“That may well be,” said the young girl, “for it has many a time -happened to me to dream that I was falling down from a tower and never -coming to the ground, and when I awoke from the dream to find myself as -weak and shaken as if I had really fallen.” - -“There is the point, señora,” replied Sancho Panza, “that I without -dreaming at all, but being more awake than I am now, find myself with -scarcely less wheals than my master, Don Quixote.” - -“How is the gentleman called?” asked Maritornes the Asturian. - -“Don Quixote of La Mancha,” answered Sancho Panza, “and he is a -knight-adventurer, and one of the best and stoutest that have been seen -in the world this long time past.” - -“What is a knight-adventurer?” said the lass. - -“Are you so new in the world as not to know?” answered Sancho Panza. -“Well, then, you must know, sister, that a knight-adventurer is a thing -that in two words is seen drubbed and emperor, that is to-day the most -miserable and needy being in the world, and to-morrow will have two or -three crowns of kingdoms to give his squire.” - -“Then how is it,” said the hostess, “that belonging to so good a master -as this, you have not, to judge by appearances, even so much as a -county?” - -“It is too soon yet,” answered Sancho, “for we have only been a month -going in quest of adventures, and so far we have met with nothing that -can be called one, for it will happen that when one thing is looked for -another thing is found; however, if my master Don Quixote gets well of -this wound, or fall, and I am left none the worse of it, I would not -change my hopes for the best title in Spain.” - -To all this conversation Don Quixote was listening very attentively, -and sitting up in bed as well as he could, and taking the hostess by -the hand he said to her, “Believe me, fair lady, you may call yourself -fortunate in having in this castle of yours sheltered my person, which -is such that if I do not myself praise it, it is because of what is -commonly said, that self-praise debaseth; but my squire will inform you -who I am. I only tell you that I shall preserve for ever inscribed on -my memory the service you have rendered me in order to tender you my -gratitude while life shall last me; and would to Heaven love held me -not so enthralled and subject to its laws and to the eyes of that fair -ingrate whom I name between my teeth, but that those of this lovely -damsel might be the masters of my liberty.” - -The hostess, her daughter, and the worthy Maritornes listened in -bewilderment to the words of the knight-errant; for they understood -about as much of them as if he had been talking Greek, though they -could perceive they were all meant for expressions of good-will and -blandishments; and not being accustomed to this kind of language, they -stared at him and wondered to themselves, for he seemed to them a man -of a different sort from those they were used to, and thanking him in -pothouse phrase for his civility they left him, while the Asturian gave -her attention to Sancho, who needed it no less than his master. - -The carrier had made an arrangement with her for recreation that night, -and she had given him her word that when the guests were quiet and the -family asleep she would come in search of him and meet his wishes -unreservedly. And it is said of this good lass that she never made -promises of the kind without fulfilling them, even though she made them -in a forest and without any witness present, for she plumed herself -greatly on being a lady and held it no disgrace to be in such an -employment as servant in an inn, because, she said, misfortunes and -ill-luck had brought her to that position. The hard, narrow, wretched, -rickety bed of Don Quixote stood first in the middle of this star-lit -stable, and close beside it Sancho made his, which merely consisted of -a rush mat and a blanket that looked as if it was of threadbare canvas -rather than of wool. Next to these two beds was that of the carrier, -made up, as has been said, of the pack-saddles and all the trappings of -the two best mules he had, though there were twelve of them, sleek, -plump, and in prime condition, for he was one of the rich carriers of -Arévalo, according to the author of this history, who particularly -mentions this carrier because he knew him very well, and they even say -was in some degree a relation of his; besides which Cid Hamete -Benengeli was a historian of great research and accuracy in all things, -as is very evident since he would not pass over in silence those that -have been already mentioned, however trifling and insignificant they -might be, an example that might be followed by those grave historians -who relate transactions so curtly and briefly that we hardly get a -taste of them, all the substance of the work being left in the inkstand -from carelessness, perverseness, or ignorance. A thousand blessings on -the author of “Tablante de Ricamonte” and that of the other book in -which the deeds of the Conde Tomillas are recounted; with what -minuteness they describe everything! - -To proceed, then: after having paid a visit to his team and given them -their second feed, the carrier stretched himself on his pack-saddles -and lay waiting for his conscientious Maritornes. Sancho was by this -time plastered and had lain down, and though he strove to sleep the -pain of his ribs would not let him, while Don Quixote with the pain of -his had his eyes as wide open as a hare’s. - -The inn was all in silence, and in the whole of it there was no light -except that given by a lantern that hung burning in the middle of the -gateway. This strange stillness, and the thoughts, always present to -our knight’s mind, of the incidents described at every turn in the -books that were the cause of his misfortune, conjured up to his -imagination as extraordinary a delusion as can well be conceived, which -was that he fancied himself to have reached a famous castle (for, as -has been said, all the inns he lodged in were castles to his eyes), and -that the daughter of the innkeeper was daughter of the lord of the -castle, and that she, won by his high-bred bearing, had fallen in love -with him, and had promised to come to his bed for a while that night -without the knowledge of her parents; and holding all this fantasy that -he had constructed as solid fact, he began to feel uneasy and to -consider the perilous risk which his virtue was about to encounter, and -he resolved in his heart to commit no treason to his lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, even though the queen Guinevere herself and the dame Quintañona -should present themselves before him. - -While he was taken up with these vagaries, then, the time and the -hour—an unlucky one for him—arrived for the Asturian to come, who in -her smock, with bare feet and her hair gathered into a fustian coif, -with noiseless and cautious steps entered the chamber where the three -were quartered, in quest of the carrier; but scarcely had she gained -the door when Don Quixote perceived her, and sitting up in his bed in -spite of his plasters and the pain of his ribs, he stretched out his -arms to receive his beauteous damsel. The Asturian, who went all -doubled up and in silence with her hands before her feeling for her -lover, encountered the arms of Don Quixote, who grasped her tightly by -the wrist, and drawing her towards him, while she dared not utter a -word, made her sit down on the bed. He then felt her smock, and -although it was of sackcloth it appeared to him to be of the finest and -softest silk: on her wrists she wore some glass beads, but to him they -had the sheen of precious Orient pearls: her hair, which in some -measure resembled a horse’s mane, he rated as threads of the brightest -gold of Araby, whose refulgence dimmed the sun himself: her breath, -which no doubt smelt of yesterday’s stale salad, seemed to him to -diffuse a sweet aromatic fragrance from her mouth; and, in short, he -drew her portrait in his imagination with the same features and in the -same style as that which he had seen in his books of the other -princesses who, smitten by love, came with all the adornments that are -here set down, to see the sorely wounded knight; and so great was the -poor gentleman’s blindness that neither touch, nor smell, nor anything -else about the good lass that would have made any but a carrier vomit, -were enough to undeceive him; on the contrary, he was persuaded he had -the goddess of beauty in his arms, and holding her firmly in his grasp -he went on to say in low, tender voice: - -“Would that found myself, lovely and exalted lady, in a position to -repay such a favour as that which you, by the sight of your great -beauty, have granted me; but fortune, which is never weary of -persecuting the good, has chosen to place me upon this bed, where I lie -so bruised and broken that though my inclination would gladly comply -with yours it is impossible; besides, to this impossibility another yet -greater is to be added, which is the faith that I have pledged to the -peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole lady of my most secret thoughts; and -were it not that this stood in the way I should not be so insensible a -knight as to miss the happy opportunity which your great goodness has -offered me.” - -Maritornes was fretting and sweating at finding herself held so fast by -Don Quixote, and not understanding or heeding the words he addressed to -her, she strove without speaking to free herself. The worthy carrier, -whose unholy thoughts kept him awake, was aware of his doxy the moment -she entered the door, and was listening attentively to all Don Quixote -said; and jealous that the Asturian should have broken her word with -him for another, drew nearer to Don Quixote’s bed and stood still to -see what would come of this talk which he could not understand; but -when he perceived the wench struggling to get free and Don Quixote -striving to hold her, not relishing the joke he raised his arm and -delivered such a terrible cuff on the lank jaws of the amorous knight -that he bathed all his mouth in blood, and not content with this he -mounted on his ribs and with his feet tramped all over them at a pace -rather smarter than a trot. The bed which was somewhat crazy and not -very firm on its feet, unable to support the additional weight of the -carrier, came to the ground, and at the mighty crash of this the -innkeeper awoke and at once concluded that it must be some brawl of -Maritornes’, because after calling loudly to her he got no answer. With -this suspicion he got up, and lighting a lamp hastened to the quarter -where he had heard the disturbance. The wench, seeing that her master -was coming and knowing that his temper was terrible, frightened and -panic-stricken made for the bed of Sancho Panza, who still slept, and -crouching upon it made a ball of herself. - -The innkeeper came in exclaiming, “Where art thou, strumpet? Of course -this is some of thy work.” At this Sancho awoke, and feeling this mass -almost on top of him fancied he had the nightmare and began to -distribute fisticuffs all round, of which a certain share fell upon -Maritornes, who, irritated by the pain and flinging modesty aside, paid -back so many in return to Sancho that she woke him up in spite of -himself. He then, finding himself so handled, by whom he knew not, -raising himself up as well as he could, grappled with Maritornes, and -he and she between them began the bitterest and drollest scrimmage in -the world. The carrier, however, perceiving by the light of the -innkeeper candle how it fared with his ladylove, quitting Don Quixote, -ran to bring her the help she needed; and the innkeeper did the same -but with a different intention, for his was to chastise the lass, as he -believed that beyond a doubt she alone was the cause of all the -harmony. And so, as the saying is, cat to rat, rat to rope, rope to -stick, the carrier pounded Sancho, Sancho the lass, she him, and the -innkeeper her, and all worked away so briskly that they did not give -themselves a moment’s rest; and the best of it was that the innkeeper’s -lamp went out, and as they were left in the dark they all laid on one -upon the other in a mass so unmercifully that there was not a sound -spot left where a hand could light. - -It so happened that there was lodging that night in the inn a -caudrillero of what they call the Old Holy Brotherhood of Toledo, who, -also hearing the extraordinary noise of the conflict, seized his staff -and the tin case with his warrants, and made his way in the dark into -the room crying: “Hold! in the name of the Jurisdiction! Hold! in the -name of the Holy Brotherhood!” - -The first that he came upon was the pummelled Don Quixote, who lay -stretched senseless on his back upon his broken-down bed, and, his hand -falling on the beard as he felt about, he continued to cry, “Help for -the Jurisdiction!” but perceiving that he whom he had laid hold of did -not move or stir, he concluded that he was dead and that those in the -room were his murderers, and with this suspicion he raised his voice -still higher, calling out, “Shut the inn gate; see that no one goes -out; they have killed a man here!” This cry startled them all, and each -dropped the contest at the point at which the voice reached him. The -innkeeper retreated to his room, the carrier to his pack-saddles, the -lass to her crib; the unlucky Don Quixote and Sancho alone were unable -to move from where they were. The cuadrillero on this let go Don -Quixote’s beard, and went out to look for a light to search for and -apprehend the culprits; but not finding one, as the innkeeper had -purposely extinguished the lantern on retreating to his room, he was -compelled to have recourse to the hearth, where after much time and -trouble he lit another lamp. - -CHAPTER XVII. -IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON -QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO -HIS MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE - -By this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the same -tone of voice in which he had called to his squire the day before when -he lay stretched “in the vale of the stakes,” he began calling to him -now, “Sancho, my friend, art thou asleep? sleepest thou, friend -Sancho?” - -“How can I sleep, curses on it!” returned Sancho discontentedly and -bitterly, “when it is plain that all the devils have been at me this -night?” - -“Thou mayest well believe that,” answered Don Quixote, “because, either -I know little, or this castle is enchanted, for thou must know—but this -that I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret until -after my death.” - -“I swear it,” answered Sancho. - -“I say so,” continued Don Quixote, “because I hate taking away anyone’s -good name.” - -“I say,” replied Sancho, “that I swear to hold my tongue about it till -the end of your worship’s days, and God grant I may be able to let it -out to-morrow.” - -“Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou -wouldst see me dead so soon?” - -“It is not for that,” replied Sancho, “but because I hate keeping -things long, and I don’t want them to grow rotten with me from -over-keeping.” - -“At any rate,” said Don Quixote, “I have more confidence in thy -affection and good nature; and so I would have thee know that this -night there befell me one of the strangest adventures that I could -describe, and to relate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little -while ago the daughter of the lord of this castle came to me, and that -she is the most elegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the -wide world. What I could tell thee of the charms of her person! of her -lively wit! of other secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I owe -to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in -silence! I will only tell thee that, either fate being envious of so -great a boon placed in my hands by good fortune, or perhaps (and this -is more probable) this castle being, as I have already said, enchanted, -at the time when I was engaged in the sweetest and most amorous -discourse with her, there came, without my seeing or knowing whence it -came, a hand attached to some arm of some huge giant, that planted such -a cuff on my jaws that I have them all bathed in blood, and then -pummelled me in such a way that I am in a worse plight than yesterday -when the carriers, on account of Rocinante’s misbehaviour, inflicted on -us the injury thou knowest of; whence conjecture that there must be -some enchanted Moor guarding the treasure of this damsel’s beauty, and -that it is not for me.” - -“Not for me either,” said Sancho, “for more than four hundred Moors -have so thrashed me that the drubbing of the stakes was cakes and -fancy-bread to it. But tell me, señor, what do you call this excellent -and rare adventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your -worship was not so badly off, having in your arms that incomparable -beauty you spoke of; but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks -I think I had in all my life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! -for I am not a knight-errant and never expect to be one, and of all the -mishaps, the greater part falls to my share.” - -“Then thou hast been thrashed too?” said Don Quixote. - -“Didn’t I say so? worse luck to my line!” said Sancho. - -“Be not distressed, friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I will now make the -precious balsam with which we shall cure ourselves in the twinkling of -an eye.” - -By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and -came in to see the man that he thought had been killed; and as Sancho -caught sight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a -cloth on his head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding -countenance, he said to his master, “Señor, can it be that this is the -enchanted Moor coming back to give us more castigation if there be -anything still left in the ink-bottle?” - -“It cannot be the Moor,” answered Don Quixote, “for those under -enchantment do not let themselves be seen by anyone.” - -“If they don’t let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt,” -said Sancho; “if not, let my shoulders speak to the point.” - -“Mine could speak too,” said Don Quixote, “but that is not a sufficient -reason for believing that what we see is the enchanted Moor.” - -The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peaceful -conversation, stood amazed; though Don Quixote, to be sure, still lay -on his back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The -officer turned to him and said, “Well, how goes it, good man?” - -“I would speak more politely if I were you,” replied Don Quixote; “is -it the way of this country to address knights-errant in that style, you -booby?” - -The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such a -sorry-looking individual, lost his temper, and raising the lamp full of -oil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him -a badly broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and -Sancho Panza said, “That is certainly the enchanted Moor, Señor, and he -keeps the treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and -lamp-whacks.” - -“That is the truth,” answered Don Quixote, “and there is no use in -troubling oneself about these matters of enchantment or being angry or -vexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no -one on whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou -canst, and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me a -little oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, -for indeed I believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing -much blood from the wound that phantom gave me.” - -Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the -innkeeper in the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see -what had become of his enemy, he said to him, “Señor, whoever you are, -do us the favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, -and wine, for it is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on -earth, who lies on yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted -Moor that is in this inn.” - -When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out -of his senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inn -gate, and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. The -host furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to Don -Quixote, who, with his hand to his head, was bewailing the pain of the -blow of the lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a couple -of rather large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat -that flowed from him in his sufferings during the late storm. To be -brief, he took the materials, of which he made a compound, mixing them -all and boiling them a good while until it seemed to him they had come -to perfection. He then asked for some vial to pour it into, and as -there was not one in the inn, he decided on putting it into a tin -oil-bottle or flask of which the host made him a free gift; and over -the flask he repeated more than eighty paternosters and as many more -ave-marias, salves, and credos, accompanying each word with a cross by -way of benediction, at all which there were present Sancho, the -innkeeper, and the cuadrillero; for the carrier was now peacefully -engaged in attending to the comfort of his mules. - -This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on the -spot, of the virtue of this precious balsam, as he considered it, and -so he drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask and -remained in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had -he done drinking when he began to vomit in such a way that nothing was -left in his stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke -into a profuse sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and -leave him alone. They did so, and he lay sleeping more than three -hours, at the end of which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief -and so much ease from his bruises that he thought himself quite cured, -and verily believed he had hit upon the balsam of Fierabras; and that -with this remedy he might thenceforward, without any fear, face any -kind of destruction, battle, or combat, however perilous it might be. - -Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master as -miraculous, begged him to give him what was left in the pigskin, which -was no small quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with -both hands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped down and -drained off very little less than his master. But the fact is, that the -stomach of poor Sancho was of necessity not so delicate as that of his -master, and so, before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and -retchings, and such sweats and faintness, that verily and truly he -believed his last hour had come, and finding himself so racked and -tormented he cursed the balsam and the thief that had given it to him. - -Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, “It is my belief, Sancho, -that this mischief comes of thy not being dubbed a knight, for I am -persuaded this liquor cannot be good for those who are not so.” - -“If your worship knew that,” returned Sancho—“woe betide me and all my -kindred!—why did you let me taste it?” - -At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began to -discharge both ways at such a rate that the rush mat on which he had -thrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit for -nothing afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms and -convulsions that not only he himself but all present thought his end -had come. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the -end of which he was left, not like his master, but so weak and -exhausted that he could not stand. Don Quixote, however, who, as has -been said, felt himself relieved and well, was eager to take his -departure at once in quest of adventures, as it seemed to him that all -the time he loitered there was a fraud upon the world and those in it -who stood in need of his help and protection, all the more when he had -the security and confidence his balsam afforded him; and so, urged by -this impulse, he saddled Rocinante himself and put the pack-saddle on -his squire’s beast, whom likewise he helped to dress and mount the ass; -after which he mounted his horse and turning to a corner of the inn he -laid hold of a pike that stood there, to serve him by way of a lance. -All that were in the inn, who were more than twenty persons, stood -watching him; the innkeeper’s daughter was likewise observing him, and -he too never took his eyes off her, and from time to time fetched a -sigh that he seemed to pluck up from the depths of his bowels; but they -all thought it must be from the pain he felt in his ribs; at any rate -they who had seen him plastered the night before thought so. - -As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called to -the host and said in a very grave and measured voice, “Many and great -are the favours, Señor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of -yours, and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you -for them all the days of my life; if I can repay them in avenging you -of any arrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is -no other than to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to -chastise perfidy. Search your memory, and if you find anything of this -kind you need only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of -knighthood which I have received to procure you satisfaction and -reparation to the utmost of your desire.” - -The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, “Sir Knight, I do not -want your worship to avenge me of any wrong, because when any is done -me I can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want is -that you pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, -as well for the straw and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and -beds.” - -“Then this is an inn?” said Don Quixote. - -“And a very respectable one,” said the innkeeper. - -“I have been under a mistake all this time,” answered Don Quixote, “for -in truth I thought it was a castle, and not a bad one; but since it -appears that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now is -that you should excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of -knights-errant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to the present I have -read nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or -anything else in the inn where they might be; for any hospitality that -might be offered them is their due by law and right in return for the -insufferable toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by -day, in summer and in winter, on foot and on horseback, in hunger and -thirst, cold and heat, exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and -all the hardships of earth.” - -“I have little to do with that,” replied the innkeeper; “pay me what -you owe me, and let us have no more talk of chivalry, for all I care -about is to get my money.” - -“You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper,” said Don Quixote, and putting -spurs to Rocinante and bringing his pike to the slope he rode out of -the inn before anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance -without looking to see if his squire was following him. - -The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment -of Sancho, who said that as his master would not pay neither would he, -because, being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same rule and -reason held good for him as for his master with regard to not paying -anything in inns and hostelries. At this the innkeeper waxed very -wroth, and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he -would not like. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry -his master had received he would not pay a rap, though it cost him his -life; for the excellent and ancient usage of knights-errant was not -going to be violated by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet -to come into the world ever complain of him or reproach him with -breaking so just a privilege. - -The ill-luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among the -company in the inn there were four woolcarders from Segovia, three -needle-makers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair -of Seville, lively fellows, tender-hearted, fond of a joke, and -playful, who, almost as if instigated and moved by a common impulse, -made up to Sancho and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them -went in for the blanket of the host’s bed; but on flinging him into it -they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower than -what they required for their work, they decided upon going out into the -yard, which was bounded by the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the -middle of the blanket, they began to raise him high, making sport with -him as they would with a dog at Shrovetide. - -The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached -the ears of his master, who, halting to listen attentively, was -persuaded that some new adventure was coming, until he clearly -perceived that it was his squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he -came up to the inn with a laborious gallop, and finding it shut went -round it to see if he could find some way of getting in; but as soon as -he came to the wall of the yard, which was not very high, he discovered -the game that was being played with his squire. He saw him rising and -falling in the air with such grace and nimbleness that, had his rage -allowed him, it is my belief he would have laughed. He tried to climb -from his horse on to the top of the wall, but he was so bruised and -battered that he could not even dismount; and so from the back of his -horse he began to utter such maledictions and objurgations against -those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be impossible to write -down accurately: they, however, did not stay their laughter or their -work for this, nor did the flying Sancho cease his lamentations, -mingled now with threats, now with entreaties but all to little -purpose, or none at all, until from pure weariness they left off. They -then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of it they put his -jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeing him so -exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with a jug of water, and that it -might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, -and as he was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries of -his master exclaiming, “Sancho, my son, drink not water; drink it not, -my son, for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and -he held up the flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it thou -wilt certainly be restored.” - -At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still louder -voice said, “Can it be your worship has forgotten that I am not a -knight, or do you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left -after last night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and -leave me to myself!” and at one and the same instant he left off -talking and began drinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was -water he did not care to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch -him some wine, which she did with right good will, and paid for it with -her own money; for indeed they say of her that, though she was in that -line of life, there was some faint and distant resemblance to a -Christian about her. When Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels -into his ass, and the gate of the inn being thrown open he passed out -very well pleased at having paid nothing and carried his point, though -it had been at the expense of his usual sureties, his shoulders. It is -true that the innkeeper detained his alforjas in payment of what was -owing to him, but Sancho took his departure in such a flurry that he -never missed them. The innkeeper, as soon as he saw him off, wanted to -bar the gate close, but the blanketers would not agree to it, for they -were fellows who would not have cared two farthings for Don Quixote, -even had he been really one of the knights-errant of the Round Table. - -CHAPTER XVIII. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, -DON QUIXOTE, AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING - -Sancho reached his master so limp and faint that he could not urge on -his beast. When Don Quixote saw the state he was in he said, “I have -now come to the conclusion, good Sancho, that this castle or inn is -beyond a doubt enchanted, because those who have so atrociously -diverted themselves with thee, what can they be but phantoms or beings -of another world? and I hold this confirmed by having noticed that when -I was by the wall of the yard witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, -it was out of my power to mount upon it, nor could I even dismount from -Rocinante, because they no doubt had me enchanted; for I swear to thee -by the faith of what I am that if I had been able to climb up or -dismount, I would have avenged thee in such a way that those braggart -thieves would have remembered their freak for ever, even though in so -doing I knew that I contravened the laws of chivalry, which, as I have -often told thee, do not permit a knight to lay hands on him who is not -one, save in case of urgent and great necessity in defence of his own -life and person.” - -“I would have avenged myself too if I could,” said Sancho, “whether I -had been dubbed knight or not, but I could not; though for my part I am -persuaded those who amused themselves with me were not phantoms or -enchanted men, as your worship says, but men of flesh and bone like -ourselves; and they all had their names, for I heard them name them -when they were tossing me, and one was called Pedro Martinez, and -another Tenorio Hernandez, and the innkeeper, I heard, was called Juan -Palomeque the Left-handed; so that, señor, your not being able to leap -over the wall of the yard or dismount from your horse came of something -else besides enchantments; and what I make out clearly from all this -is, that these adventures we go seeking will in the end lead us into -such misadventures that we shall not know which is our right foot; and -that the best and wisest thing, according to my small wits, would be -for us to return home, now that it is harvest-time, and attend to our -business, and give over wandering from Zeca to Mecca and from pail to -bucket, as the saying is.” - -“How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; -“hold thy peace and have patience; the day will come when thou shalt -see with thine own eyes what an honourable thing it is to wander in the -pursuit of this calling; nay, tell me, what greater pleasure can there -be in the world, or what delight can equal that of winning a battle, -and triumphing over one’s enemy? None, beyond all doubt.” - -“Very likely,” answered Sancho, “though I do not know it; all I know is -that since we have been knights-errant, or since your worship has been -one (for I have no right to reckon myself one of so honourable a -number) we have never won any battle except the one with the Biscayan, -and even out of that your worship came with half an ear and half a -helmet the less; and from that till now it has been all cudgellings and -more cudgellings, cuffs and more cuffs, I getting the blanketing over -and above, and falling in with enchanted persons on whom I cannot -avenge myself so as to know what the delight, as your worship calls it, -of conquering an enemy is like.” - -“That is what vexes me, and what ought to vex thee, Sancho,” replied -Don Quixote; “but henceforward I will endeavour to have at hand some -sword made by such craft that no kind of enchantments can take effect -upon him who carries it, and it is even possible that fortune may -procure for me that which belonged to Amadis when he was called ‘The -Knight of the Burning Sword,’ which was one of the best swords that -ever knight in the world possessed, for, besides having the said -virtue, it cut like a razor, and there was no armour, however strong -and enchanted it might be, that could resist it.” - -“Such is my luck,” said Sancho, “that even if that happened and your -worship found some such sword, it would, like the balsam, turn out -serviceable and good for dubbed knights only, and as for the squires, -they might sup sorrow.” - -“Fear not that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote: “Heaven will deal better by -thee.” - -Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were going along, when, on the -road they were following, Don Quixote perceived approaching them a -large and thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to Sancho and -said: - -“This is the day, Sancho, on which will be seen the boon my fortune is -reserving for me; this, I say, is the day on which as much as on any -other shall be displayed the might of my arm, and on which I shall do -deeds that shall remain written in the book of fame for all ages to -come. Seest thou that cloud of dust which rises yonder? Well, then, all -that is churned up by a vast army composed of various and countless -nations that comes marching there.” - -“According to that there must be two,” said Sancho, “for on this -opposite side also there rises just such another cloud of dust.” - -Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was true, and rejoicing -exceedingly, he concluded that they were two armies about to engage and -encounter in the midst of that broad plain; for at all times and -seasons his fancy was full of the battles, enchantments, adventures, -crazy feats, loves, and defiances that are recorded in the books of -chivalry, and everything he said, thought, or did had reference to such -things. Now the cloud of dust he had seen was raised by two great -droves of sheep coming along the same road in opposite directions, -which, because of the dust, did not become visible until they drew -near, but Don Quixote asserted so positively that they were armies that -Sancho was led to believe it and say, “Well, and what are we to do, -señor?” - -“What?” said Don Quixote: “give aid and assistance to the weak and -those who need it; and thou must know, Sancho, that this which comes -opposite to us is conducted and led by the mighty emperor Alifanfaron, -lord of the great isle of Trapobana; this other that marches behind me -is that of his enemy the king of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare -Arm, for he always goes into battle with his right arm bare.” - -“But why are these two lords such enemies?” - -“They are at enmity,” replied Don Quixote, “because this Alifanfaron is -a furious pagan and is in love with the daughter of Pentapolin, who is -a very beautiful and moreover gracious lady, and a Christian, and her -father is unwilling to bestow her upon the pagan king unless he first -abandons the religion of his false prophet Mahomet, and adopts his -own.” - -“By my beard,” said Sancho, “but Pentapolin does quite right, and I -will help him as much as I can.” - -“In that thou wilt do what is thy duty, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for -to engage in battles of this sort it is not requisite to be a dubbed -knight.” - -“That I can well understand,” answered Sancho; “but where shall we put -this ass where we may be sure to find him after the fray is over? for I -believe it has not been the custom so far to go into battle on a beast -of this kind.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and what you had best do with him is -to leave him to take his chance whether he be lost or not, for the -horses we shall have when we come out victors will be so many that even -Rocinante will run a risk of being changed for another. But attend to -me and observe, for I wish to give thee some account of the chief -knights who accompany these two armies; and that thou mayest the better -see and mark, let us withdraw to that hillock which rises yonder, -whence both armies may be seen.” - -They did so, and placed themselves on a rising ground from which the -two droves that Don Quixote made armies of might have been plainly seen -if the clouds of dust they raised had not obscured them and blinded the -sight; nevertheless, seeing in his imagination what he did not see and -what did not exist, he began thus in a loud voice: - -“That knight whom thou seest yonder in yellow armour, who bears upon -his shield a lion crowned crouching at the feet of a damsel, is the -valiant Laurcalco, lord of the Silver Bridge; that one in armour with -flowers of gold, who bears on his shield three crowns argent on an -azure field, is the dreaded Micocolembo, grand duke of Quirocia; that -other of gigantic frame, on his right hand, is the ever dauntless -Brandabarbaran de Boliche, lord of the three Arabias, who for armour -wears that serpent skin, and has for shield a gate which, according to -tradition, is one of those of the temple that Samson brought to the -ground when by his death he revenged himself upon his enemies. But turn -thine eyes to the other side, and thou shalt see in front and in the -van of this other army the ever victorious and never vanquished Timonel -of Carcajona, prince of New Biscay, who comes in armour with arms -quartered azure, vert, white, and yellow, and bears on his shield a cat -or on a field tawny with a motto which says _Miau_, which is the -beginning of the name of his lady, who according to report is the -peerless Miaulina, daughter of the duke Alfeniquen of the Algarve; the -other, who burdens and presses the loins of that powerful charger and -bears arms white as snow and a shield blank and without any device, is -a novice knight, a Frenchman by birth, Pierres Papin by name, lord of -the baronies of Utrique; that other, who with iron-shod heels strikes -the flanks of that nimble parti-coloured zebra, and for arms bears -azure vair, is the mighty duke of Nerbia, Espartafilardo del Bosque, -who bears for device on his shield an asparagus plant with a motto in -Castilian that says, _‘Rastrea mi suerte’_.” And so he went on naming a -number of knights of one squadron or the other out of his imagination, -and to all he assigned off-hand their arms, colours, devices, and -mottoes, carried away by the illusions of his unheard-of craze; and -without a pause, he continued, “People of divers nations compose this -squadron in front; here are those that drink of the sweet waters of the -famous Xanthus, those that scour the woody Massilian plains, those that -sift the pure fine gold of Arabia Felix, those that enjoy the famed -cool banks of the crystal Thermodon, those that in many and various -ways divert the streams of the golden Pactolus, the Numidians, -faithless in their promises, the Persians renowned in archery, the -Parthians and the Medes that fight as they fly, the Arabs that ever -shift their dwellings, the Scythians as cruel as they are fair, the -Ethiopians with pierced lips, and an infinity of other nations whose -features I recognise and descry, though I cannot recall their names. In -this other squadron there come those that drink of the crystal streams -of the olive-bearing Betis, those that make smooth their countenances -with the water of the ever rich and golden Tagus, those that rejoice in -the fertilising flow of the divine Genil, those that roam the Tartesian -plains abounding in pasture, those that take their pleasure in the -Elysian meadows of Jerez, the rich Manchegans crowned with ruddy ears -of corn, the wearers of iron, old relics of the Gothic race, those that -bathe in the Pisuerga renowned for its gentle current, those that feed -their herds along the spreading pastures of the winding Guadiana famed -for its hidden course, those that tremble with the cold of the pineclad -Pyrenees or the dazzling snows of the lofty Apennine; in a word, as -many as all Europe includes and contains.” - -Good God! what a number of countries and nations he named! giving to -each its proper attributes with marvellous readiness; brimful and -saturated with what he had read in his lying books! Sancho Panza hung -upon his words without speaking, and from time to time turned to try if -he could see the knights and giants his master was describing, and as -he could not make out one of them he said to him: - -“Señor, devil take it if there’s a sign of any man you talk of, knight -or giant, in the whole thing; maybe it’s all enchantment, like the -phantoms last night.” - -“How canst thou say that!” answered Don Quixote; “dost thou not hear -the neighing of the steeds, the braying of the trumpets, the roll of -the drums?” - -“I hear nothing but a great bleating of ewes and sheep,” said Sancho; -which was true, for by this time the two flocks had come close. - -“The fear thou art in, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “prevents thee from -seeing or hearing correctly, for one of the effects of fear is to -derange the senses and make things appear different from what they are; -if thou art in such fear, withdraw to one side and leave me to myself, -for alone I suffice to bring victory to that side to which I shall give -my aid;” and so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and putting the -lance in rest, shot down the slope like a thunderbolt. Sancho shouted -after him, crying, “Come back, Señor Don Quixote; I vow to God they are -sheep and ewes you are charging! Come back! Unlucky the father that -begot me! what madness is this! Look, there is no giant, nor knight, -nor cats, nor arms, nor shields quartered or whole, nor vair azure or -bedevilled. What are you about? Sinner that I am before God!” But not -for all these entreaties did Don Quixote turn back; on the contrary he -went on shouting out, “Ho, knights, ye who follow and fight under the -banners of the valiant emperor Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, follow me -all; ye shall see how easily I shall give him his revenge over his -enemy Alifanfaron of the Trapobana.” - -So saying, he dashed into the midst of the squadron of ewes, and began -spearing them with as much spirit and intrepidity as if he were -transfixing mortal enemies in earnest. The shepherds and drovers -accompanying the flock shouted to him to desist; seeing it was no use, -they ungirt their slings and began to salute his ears with stones as -big as one’s fist. Don Quixote gave no heed to the stones, but, letting -drive right and left kept saying: - -“Where art thou, proud Alifanfaron? Come before me; I am a single -knight who would fain prove thy prowess hand to hand, and make thee -yield thy life a penalty for the wrong thou dost to the valiant -Pentapolin Garamanta.” Here came a sugar-plum from the brook that -struck him on the side and buried a couple of ribs in his body. Feeling -himself so smitten, he imagined himself slain or badly wounded for -certain, and recollecting his liquor he drew out his flask, and putting -it to his mouth began to pour the contents into his stomach; but ere he -had succeeded in swallowing what seemed to him enough, there came -another almond which struck him on the hand and on the flask so fairly -that it smashed it to pieces, knocking three or four teeth and grinders -out of his mouth in its course, and sorely crushing two fingers of his -hand. Such was the force of the first blow and of the second, that the -poor knight in spite of himself came down backwards off his horse. The -shepherds came up, and felt sure they had killed him; so in all haste -they collected their flock together, took up the dead beasts, of which -there were more than seven, and made off without waiting to ascertain -anything further. - -All this time Sancho stood on the hill watching the crazy feats his -master was performing, and tearing his beard and cursing the hour and -the occasion when fortune had made him acquainted with him. Seeing him, -then, brought to the ground, and that the shepherds had taken -themselves off, he ran to him and found him in very bad case, though -not unconscious; and said he: - -“Did I not tell you to come back, Señor Don Quixote; and that what you -were going to attack were not armies but droves of sheep?” - -“That’s how that thief of a sage, my enemy, can alter and falsify -things,” answered Don Quixote; “thou must know, Sancho, that it is a -very easy matter for those of his sort to make us believe what they -choose; and this malignant being who persecutes me, envious of the -glory he knew I was to win in this battle, has turned the squadrons of -the enemy into droves of sheep. At any rate, do this much, I beg of -thee, Sancho, to undeceive thyself, and see that what I say is true; -mount thy ass and follow them quietly, and thou shalt see that when -they have gone some little distance from this they will return to their -original shape and, ceasing to be sheep, become men in all respects as -I described them to thee at first. But go not just yet, for I want thy -help and assistance; come hither, and see how many of my teeth and -grinders are missing, for I feel as if there was not one left in my -mouth.” - -Sancho came so close that he almost put his eyes into his mouth; now -just at that moment the balsam had acted on the stomach of Don Quixote, -so, at the very instant when Sancho came to examine his mouth, he -discharged all its contents with more force than a musket, and full -into the beard of the compassionate squire. - -“Holy Mary!” cried Sancho, “what is this that has happened me? Clearly -this sinner is mortally wounded, as he vomits blood from the mouth;” -but considering the matter a little more closely he perceived by the -colour, taste, and smell, that it was not blood but the balsam from the -flask which he had seen him drink; and he was taken with such a -loathing that his stomach turned, and he vomited up his inside over his -very master, and both were left in a precious state. Sancho ran to his -ass to get something wherewith to clean himself, and relieve his -master, out of his alforjas; but not finding them, he well-nigh took -leave of his senses, and cursed himself anew, and in his heart resolved -to quit his master and return home, even though he forfeited the wages -of his service and all hopes of the promised island. - -Don Quixote now rose, and putting his left hand to his mouth to keep -his teeth from falling out altogether, with the other he laid hold of -the bridle of Rocinante, who had never stirred from his master’s -side—so loyal and well-behaved was he—and betook himself to where the -squire stood leaning over his ass with his hand to his cheek, like one -in deep dejection. Seeing him in this mood, looking so sad, Don Quixote -said to him: - -“Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than another, unless he -does more than another; all these tempests that fall upon us are signs -that fair weather is coming shortly, and that things will go well with -us, for it is impossible for good or evil to last for ever; and hence -it follows that the evil having lasted long, the good must be now nigh -at hand; so thou must not distress thyself at the misfortunes which -happen to me, since thou hast no share in them.” - -“How have I not?” replied Sancho; “was he whom they blanketed yesterday -perchance any other than my father’s son? and the alforjas that are -missing to-day with all my treasures, did they belong to any other but -myself?” - -“What! are the alforjas missing, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“Yes, they are missing,” answered Sancho. - -“In that case we have nothing to eat to-day,” replied Don Quixote. - -“It would be so,” answered Sancho, “if there were none of the herbs -your worship says you know in these meadows, those with which -knights-errant as unlucky as your worship are wont to supply such-like -shortcomings.” - -“For all that,” answered Don Quixote, “I would rather have just now a -quarter of bread, or a loaf and a couple of pilchards’ heads, than all -the herbs described by Dioscorides, even with Doctor Laguna’s notes. -Nevertheless, Sancho the Good, mount thy beast and come along with me, -for God, who provides for all things, will not fail us (more especially -when we are so active in his service as we are), since he fails not the -midges of the air, nor the grubs of the earth, nor the tadpoles of the -water, and is so merciful that he maketh his sun to rise on the good -and on the evil, and sendeth rain on the unjust and on the just.” - -“Your worship would make a better preacher than knight-errant,” said -Sancho. - -“Knights-errant knew and ought to know everything, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “for there were knights-errant in former times as well -qualified to deliver a sermon or discourse in the middle of an -encampment, as if they had graduated in the University of Paris; -whereby we may see that the lance has never blunted the pen, nor the -pen the lance.” - -“Well, be it as your worship says,” replied Sancho; “let us be off now -and find some place of shelter for the night, and God grant it may be -somewhere where there are no blankets, nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, -nor enchanted Moors; for if there are, may the devil take the whole -concern.” - -“Ask that of God, my son,” said Don Quixote; and do thou lead on where -thou wilt, for this time I leave our lodging to thy choice; but reach -me here thy hand, and feel with thy finger, and find out how many of my -teeth and grinders are missing from this right side of the upper jaw, -for it is there I feel the pain.” - -Sancho put in his fingers, and feeling about asked him, “How many -grinders used your worship have on this side?” - -“Four,” replied Don Quixote, “besides the back-tooth, all whole and -quite sound.” - -“Mind what you are saying, señor.” - -“I say four, if not five,” answered Don Quixote, “for never in my life -have I had tooth or grinder drawn, nor has any fallen out or been -destroyed by any decay or rheum.” - -“Well, then,” said Sancho, “in this lower side your worship has no more -than two grinders and a half, and in the upper neither a half nor any -at all, for it is all as smooth as the palm of my hand.” - -“Luckless that I am!” said Don Quixote, hearing the sad news his squire -gave him; “I had rather they despoiled me of an arm, so it were not the -sword-arm; for I tell thee, Sancho, a mouth without teeth is like a -mill without a millstone, and a tooth is much more to be prized than a -diamond; but we who profess the austere order of chivalry are liable to -all this. Mount, friend, and lead the way, and I will follow thee at -whatever pace thou wilt.” - -Sancho did as he bade him, and proceeded in the direction in which he -thought he might find refuge without quitting the high road, which was -there very much frequented. As they went along, then, at a slow -pace—for the pain in Don Quixote’s jaws kept him uneasy and -ill-disposed for speed—Sancho thought it well to amuse and divert him -by talk of some kind, and among the things he said to him was that -which will be told in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XIX. -OF THE SHREWD DISCOURSE WHICH SANCHO HELD WITH HIS MASTER, AND OF THE -ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL HIM WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH OTHER NOTABLE -OCCURRENCES - -“It seems to me, señor, that all these mishaps that have befallen us of -late have been without any doubt a punishment for the offence committed -by your worship against the order of chivalry in not keeping the oath -you made not to eat bread off a tablecloth or embrace the queen, and -all the rest of it that your worship swore to observe until you had -taken that helmet of Malandrino’s, or whatever the Moor is called, for -I do not very well remember.” - -“Thou art very right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but to tell the -truth, it had escaped my memory; and likewise thou mayest rely upon it -that the affair of the blanket happened to thee because of thy fault in -not reminding me of it in time; but I will make amends, for there are -ways of compounding for everything in the order of chivalry.” - -“Why! have I taken an oath of some sort, then?” said Sancho. - -“It makes no matter that thou hast not taken an oath,” said Don -Quixote; “suffice it that I see thou art not quite clear of complicity; -and whether or no, it will not be ill done to provide ourselves with a -remedy.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “mind that your worship does not forget -this as you did the oath; perhaps the phantoms may take it into their -heads to amuse themselves once more with me; or even with your worship -if they see you so obstinate.” - -While engaged in this and other talk, night overtook them on the road -before they had reached or discovered any place of shelter; and what -made it still worse was that they were dying of hunger, for with the -loss of the alforjas they had lost their entire larder and -commissariat; and to complete the misfortune they met with an adventure -which without any invention had really the appearance of one. It so -happened that the night closed in somewhat darkly, but for all that -they pushed on, Sancho feeling sure that as the road was the king’s -highway they might reasonably expect to find some inn within a league -or two. Going along, then, in this way, the night dark, the squire -hungry, the master sharp-set, they saw coming towards them on the road -they were travelling a great number of lights which looked exactly like -stars in motion. Sancho was taken aback at the sight of them, nor did -Don Quixote altogether relish them: the one pulled up his ass by the -halter, the other his hack by the bridle, and they stood still, -watching anxiously to see what all this would turn out to be, and found -that the lights were approaching them, and the nearer they came the -greater they seemed, at which spectacle Sancho began to shake like a -man dosed with mercury, and Don Quixote’s hair stood on end; he, -however, plucking up spirit a little, said: - -“This, no doubt, Sancho, will be a most mighty and perilous adventure, -in which it will be needful for me to put forth all my valour and -resolution.” - -“Unlucky me!” answered Sancho; “if this adventure happens to be one of -phantoms, as I am beginning to think it is, where shall I find the ribs -to bear it?” - -“Be they phantoms ever so much,” said Don Quixote, “I will not permit -them to touch a thread of thy garments; for if they played tricks with -thee the time before, it was because I was unable to leap the walls of -the yard; but now we are on a wide plain, where I shall be able to -wield my sword as I please.” - -“And if they enchant and cripple you as they did the last time,” said -Sancho, “what difference will it make being on the open plain or not?” - -“For all that,” replied Don Quixote, “I entreat thee, Sancho, to keep a -good heart, for experience will tell thee what mine is.” - -“I will, please God,” answered Sancho, and the two retiring to one side -of the road set themselves to observe closely what all these moving -lights might be; and very soon afterwards they made out some twenty -encamisados, all on horseback, with lighted torches in their hands, the -awe-inspiring aspect of whom completely extinguished the courage of -Sancho, who began to chatter with his teeth like one in the cold fit of -an ague; and his heart sank and his teeth chattered still more when -they perceived distinctly that behind them there came a litter covered -over with black and followed by six more mounted figures in mourning -down to the very feet of their mules—for they could perceive plainly -they were not horses by the easy pace at which they went. And as the -encamisados came along they muttered to themselves in a low plaintive -tone. This strange spectacle at such an hour and in such a solitary -place was quite enough to strike terror into Sancho’s heart, and even -into his master’s; and (save in Don Quixote’s case) did so, for all -Sancho’s resolution had now broken down. It was just the opposite with -his master, whose imagination immediately conjured up all this to him -vividly as one of the adventures of his books. - -He took it into his head that the litter was a bier on which was borne -some sorely wounded or slain knight, to avenge whom was a task reserved -for him alone; and without any further reasoning he laid his lance in -rest, fixed himself firmly in his saddle, and with gallant spirit and -bearing took up his position in the middle of the road where the -encamisados must of necessity pass; and as soon as he saw them near at -hand he raised his voice and said: - -“Halt, knights, or whosoever ye may be, and render me account of who ye -are, whence ye come, where ye go, what it is ye carry upon that bier, -for, to judge by appearances, either ye have done some wrong or some -wrong has been done to you, and it is fitting and necessary that I -should know, either that I may chastise you for the evil ye have done, -or else that I may avenge you for the injury that has been inflicted -upon you.” - -“We are in haste,” answered one of the encamisados, “and the inn is far -off, and we cannot stop to render you such an account as you demand;” -and spurring his mule he moved on. - -Don Quixote was mightily provoked by this answer, and seizing the mule -by the bridle he said, “Halt, and be more mannerly, and render an -account of what I have asked of you; else, take my defiance to combat, -all of you.” - -The mule was shy, and was so frightened at her bridle being seized that -rearing up she flung her rider to the ground over her haunches. An -attendant who was on foot, seeing the encamisado fall, began to abuse -Don Quixote, who now moved to anger, without any more ado, laying his -lance in rest charged one of the men in mourning and brought him badly -wounded to the ground, and as he wheeled round upon the others the -agility with which he attacked and routed them was a sight to see, for -it seemed just as if wings had that instant grown upon Rocinante, so -lightly and proudly did he bear himself. The encamisados were all timid -folk and unarmed, so they speedily made their escape from the fray and -set off at a run across the plain with their lighted torches, looking -exactly like maskers running on some gala or festival night. The -mourners, too, enveloped and swathed in their skirts and gowns, were -unable to bestir themselves, and so with entire safety to himself Don -Quixote belaboured them all and drove them off against their will, for -they all thought it was no man but a devil from hell come to carry away -the dead body they had in the litter. - -Sancho beheld all this in astonishment at the intrepidity of his lord, -and said to himself, “Clearly this master of mine is as bold and -valiant as he says he is.” - -A burning torch lay on the ground near the first man whom the mule had -thrown, by the light of which Don Quixote perceived him, and coming up -to him he presented the point of the lance to his face, calling on him -to yield himself prisoner, or else he would kill him; to which the -prostrate man replied, “I am prisoner enough as it is; I cannot stir, -for one of my legs is broken: I entreat you, if you be a Christian -gentleman, not to kill me, which will be committing grave sacrilege, -for I am a licentiate and I hold first orders.” - -“Then what the devil brought you here, being a churchman?” said Don -Quixote. - -“What, señor?” said the other. “My bad luck.” - -“Then still worse awaits you,” said Don Quixote, “if you do not satisfy -me as to all I asked you at first.” - -“You shall be soon satisfied,” said the licentiate; “you must know, -then, that though just now I said I was a licentiate, I am only a -bachelor, and my name is Alonzo Lopez; I am a native of Alcobendas, I -come from the city of Baeza with eleven others, priests, the same who -fled with the torches, and we are going to the city of Segovia -accompanying a dead body which is in that litter, and is that of a -gentleman who died in Baeza, where he was interred; and now, as I said, -we are taking his bones to their burial-place, which is in Segovia, -where he was born.” - -“And who killed him?” asked Don Quixote. - -“God, by means of a malignant fever that took him,” answered the -bachelor. - -“In that case,” said Don Quixote, “the Lord has relieved me of the task -of avenging his death had any other slain him; but, he who slew him -having slain him, there is nothing for it but to be silent, and shrug -one’s shoulders; I should do the same were he to slay myself; and I -would have your reverence know that I am a knight of La Mancha, Don -Quixote by name, and it is my business and calling to roam the world -righting wrongs and redressing injuries.” - -“I do not know how that about righting wrongs can be,” said the -bachelor, “for from straight you have made me crooked, leaving me with -a broken leg that will never see itself straight again all the days of -its life; and the injury you have redressed in my case has been to -leave me injured in such a way that I shall remain injured for ever; -and the height of misadventure it was to fall in with you who go in -search of adventures.” - -“Things do not all happen in the same way,” answered Don Quixote; “it -all came, Sir Bachelor Alonzo Lopez, of your going, as you did, by -night, dressed in those surplices, with lighted torches, praying, -covered with mourning, so that naturally you looked like something evil -and of the other world; and so I could not avoid doing my duty in -attacking you, and I should have attacked you even had I known -positively that you were the very devils of hell, for such I certainly -believed and took you to be.” - -“As my fate has so willed it,” said the bachelor, “I entreat you, sir -knight-errant, whose errand has been such an evil one for me, to help -me to get from under this mule that holds one of my legs caught between -the stirrup and the saddle.” - -“I would have talked on till to-morrow,” said Don Quixote; “how long -were you going to wait before telling me of your distress?” - -He at once called to Sancho, who, however, had no mind to come, as he -was just then engaged in unloading a sumpter mule, well laden with -provender, which these worthy gentlemen had brought with them. Sancho -made a bag of his coat, and, getting together as much as he could, and -as the bag would hold, he loaded his beast, and then hastened to obey -his master’s call, and helped him to remove the bachelor from under the -mule; then putting him on her back he gave him the torch, and Don -Quixote bade him follow the track of his companions, and beg pardon of -them on his part for the wrong which he could not help doing them. - -And said Sancho, “If by chance these gentlemen should want to know who -was the hero that served them so, your worship may tell them that he is -the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the -Rueful Countenance.” - -The bachelor then took his departure. - -I forgot to mention that before he did so he said to Don Quixote, -“Remember that you stand excommunicated for having laid violent hands -on a holy thing, _juxta illud, si quis, suadente diabolo_.” - -“I do not understand that Latin,” answered Don Quixote, “but I know -well I did not lay hands, only this pike; besides, I did not think I -was committing an assault upon priests or things of the Church, which, -like a Catholic and faithful Christian as I am, I respect and revere, -but upon phantoms and spectres of the other world; but even so, I -remember how it fared with Cid Ruy Diaz when he broke the chair of the -ambassador of that king before his Holiness the Pope, who -excommunicated him for the same; and yet the good Roderick of Vivar -bore himself that day like a very noble and valiant knight.” - -On hearing this the bachelor took his departure, as has been said, -without making any reply; and Don Quixote asked Sancho what had induced -him to call him the “Knight of the Rueful Countenance” more then than -at any other time. - -“I will tell you,” answered Sancho; “it was because I have been looking -at you for some time by the light of the torch held by that -unfortunate, and verily your worship has got of late the most -ill-favoured countenance I ever saw: it must be either owing to the -fatigue of this combat, or else to the want of teeth and grinders.” - -“It is not that,” replied Don Quixote, “but because the sage whose duty -it will be to write the history of my achievements must have thought it -proper that I should take some distinctive name as all knights of yore -did; one being ‘He of the Burning Sword,’ another ‘He of the Unicorn,’ -this one ‘He of the Damsels,’ that ‘He of the Phœnix,’ another ‘The -Knight of the Griffin,’ and another ‘He of the Death,’ and by these -names and designations they were known all the world round; and so I -say that the sage aforesaid must have put it into your mouth and mind -just now to call me ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance,’ as I intend -to call myself from this day forward; and that the said name may fit me -better, I mean, when the opportunity offers, to have a very rueful -countenance painted on my shield.” - -“There is no occasion, señor, for wasting time or money on making that -countenance,” said Sancho; “for all that need be done is for your -worship to show your own, face to face, to those who look at you, and -without anything more, either image or shield, they will call you ‘Him -of the Rueful Countenance’ and believe me I am telling you the truth, -for I assure you, señor (and in good part be it said), hunger and the -loss of your grinders have given you such an ill-favoured face that, as -I say, the rueful picture may be very well spared.” - -Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s pleasantry; nevertheless he resolved to -call himself by that name, and have his shield or buckler painted as he -had devised. - -Don Quixote would have looked to see whether the body in the litter -were bones or not, but Sancho would not have it, saying: - -“Señor, you have ended this perilous adventure more safely for yourself -than any of those I have seen: perhaps these people, though beaten and -routed, may bethink themselves that it is a single man that has beaten -them, and feeling sore and ashamed of it may take heart and come in -search of us and give us trouble enough. The ass is in proper trim, the -mountains are near at hand, hunger presses, we have nothing more to do -but make good our retreat, and, as the saying is, the dead to the grave -and the living to the loaf.” - -And driving his ass before him he begged his master to follow, who, -feeling that Sancho was right, did so without replying; and after -proceeding some little distance between two hills they found themselves -in a wide and retired valley, where they alighted, and Sancho unloaded -his beast, and stretched upon the green grass, with hunger for sauce, -they breakfasted, dined, lunched, and supped all at once, satisfying -their appetites with more than one store of cold meat which the dead -man’s clerical gentlemen (who seldom put themselves on short allowance) -had brought with them on their sumpter mule. But another piece of -ill-luck befell them, which Sancho held the worst of all, and that was -that they had no wine to drink, nor even water to moisten their lips; -and as thirst tormented them, Sancho, observing that the meadow where -they were was full of green and tender grass, said what will be told in -the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XX. -OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE -VALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER ACHIEVED -BY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE WORLD - -“It cannot be, señor, but that this grass is a proof that there must be -hard by some spring or brook to give it moisture, so it would be well -to move a little farther on, that we may find some place where we may -quench this terrible thirst that plagues us, which beyond a doubt is -more distressing than hunger.” - -The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he leading Rocinante by the -bridle and Sancho the ass by the halter, after he had packed away upon -him the remains of the supper, they advanced the meadow feeling their -way, for the darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything; -but they had not gone two hundred paces when a loud noise of water, as -if falling from great rocks, struck their ears. The sound cheered them -greatly; but halting to make out by listening from what quarter it came -they heard unseasonably another noise which spoiled the satisfaction -the sound of the water gave them, especially for Sancho, who was by -nature timid and faint-hearted. They heard, I say, strokes falling with -a measured beat, and a certain rattling of iron and chains that, -together with the furious din of the water, would have struck terror -into any heart but Don Quixote’s. The night was, as has been said, -dark, and they had happened to reach a spot in among some tall trees, -whose leaves stirred by a gentle breeze made a low ominous sound; so -that, what with the solitude, the place, the darkness, the noise of the -water, and the rustling of the leaves, everything inspired awe and -dread; more especially as they perceived that the strokes did not -cease, nor the wind lull, nor morning approach; to all which might be -added their ignorance as to where they were. - -But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid heart, leaped on Rocinante, -and bracing his buckler on his arm, brought his pike to the slope, and -said, “Friend Sancho, know that I by Heaven’s will have been born in -this our iron age to revive in it the age of gold, or the golden as it -is called; I am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and valiant -deeds are reserved; I am, I say again, he who is to revive the Knights -of the Round Table, the Twelve of France and the Nine Worthies; and he -who is to consign to oblivion the Platirs, the Tablantes, the Olivantes -and Tirantes, the Phœbuses and Belianises, with the whole herd of -famous knights-errant of days gone by, performing in these in which I -live such exploits, marvels, and feats of arms as shall obscure their -brightest deeds. Thou dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the -gloom of this night, its strange silence, the dull confused murmur of -those trees, the awful sound of that water in quest of which we came, -that seems as though it were precipitating and dashing itself down from -the lofty mountains of the Moon, and that incessant hammering that -wounds and pains our ears; which things all together and each of itself -are enough to instil fear, dread, and dismay into the breast of Mars -himself, much more into one not used to hazards and adventures of the -kind. Well, then, all this that I put before thee is but an incentive -and stimulant to my spirit, making my heart burst in my bosom through -eagerness to engage in this adventure, arduous as it promises to be; -therefore tighten Rocinante’s girths a little, and God be with thee; -wait for me here three days and no more, and if in that time I come not -back, thou canst return to our village, and thence, to do me a favour -and a service, thou wilt go to El Toboso, where thou shalt say to my -incomparable lady Dulcinea that her captive knight hath died in -attempting things that might make him worthy of being called hers.” - -When Sancho heard his master’s words he began to weep in the most -pathetic way, saying: - -“Señor, I know not why your worship wants to attempt this so dreadful -adventure; it is night now, no one sees us here, we can easily turn -about and take ourselves out of danger, even if we don’t drink for -three days to come; and as there is no one to see us, all the less will -there be anyone to set us down as cowards; besides, I have many a time -heard the curate of our village, whom your worship knows well, preach -that he who seeks danger perishes in it; so it is not right to tempt -God by trying so tremendous a feat from which there can be no escape -save by a miracle, and Heaven has performed enough of them for your -worship in delivering you from being blanketed as I was, and bringing -you out victorious and safe and sound from among all those enemies that -were with the dead man; and if all this does not move or soften that -hard heart, let this thought and reflection move it, that you will have -hardly quitted this spot when from pure fear I shall yield my soul up -to anyone that will take it. I left home and wife and children to come -and serve your worship, trusting to do better and not worse; but as -covetousness bursts the bag, it has rent my hopes asunder, for just as -I had them highest about getting that wretched unlucky island your -worship has so often promised me, I see that instead and in lieu of it -you mean to desert me now in a place so far from human reach: for God’s -sake, master mine, deal not so unjustly by me, and if your worship will -not entirely give up attempting this feat, at least put it off till -morning, for by what the lore I learned when I was a shepherd tells me -it cannot want three hours of dawn now, because the mouth of the Horn -is overhead and makes midnight in the line of the left arm.” - -“How canst thou see, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “where it makes that -line, or where this mouth or this occiput is that thou talkest of, when -the night is so dark that there is not a star to be seen in the whole -heaven?” - -“That’s true,” said Sancho, “but fear has sharp eyes, and sees things -underground, much more above in heavens; besides, there is good reason -to show that it now wants but little of day.” - -“Let it want what it may,” replied Don Quixote, “it shall not be said -of me now or at any time that tears or entreaties turned me aside from -doing what was in accordance with knightly usage; and so I beg of thee, -Sancho, to hold thy peace, for God, who has put it into my heart to -undertake now this so unexampled and terrible adventure, will take care -to watch over my safety and console thy sorrow; what thou hast to do is -to tighten Rocinante’s girths well, and wait here, for I shall come -back shortly, alive or dead.” - -Sancho perceiving it his master’s final resolve, and how little his -tears, counsels, and entreaties prevailed with him, determined to have -recourse to his own ingenuity and compel him, if he could, to wait till -daylight; and so, while tightening the girths of the horse, he quietly -and without being felt, with his ass’ halter tied both Rocinante’s -legs, so that when Don Quixote strove to go he was unable as the horse -could only move by jumps. Seeing the success of his trick, Sancho Panza -said: - -“See there, señor! Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, has so -ordered it that Rocinante cannot stir; and if you will be obstinate, -and spur and strike him, you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as -they say, against the pricks.” - -Don Quixote at this grew desperate, but the more he drove his heels -into the horse, the less he stirred him; and not having any suspicion -of the tying, he was fain to resign himself and wait till daybreak or -until Rocinante could move, firmly persuaded that all this came of -something other than Sancho’s ingenuity. So he said to him, “As it is -so, Sancho, and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content to wait till -dawn smiles upon us, even though I weep while it delays its coming.” - -“There is no need to weep,” answered Sancho, “for I will amuse your -worship by telling stories from this till daylight, unless indeed you -like to dismount and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass -after the fashion of knights-errant, so as to be fresher when day comes -and the moment arrives for attempting this extraordinary adventure you -are looking forward to.” - -“What art thou talking about dismounting or sleeping for?” said Don -Quixote. “Am I, thinkest thou, one of those knights that take their -rest in the presence of danger? Sleep thou who art born to sleep, or do -as thou wilt, for I will act as I think most consistent with my -character.” - -“Be not angry, master mine,” replied Sancho, “I did not mean to say -that;” and coming close to him he laid one hand on the pommel of the -saddle and the other on the cantle so that he held his master’s left -thigh in his embrace, not daring to separate a finger’s width from him; -so much afraid was he of the strokes which still resounded with a -regular beat. Don Quixote bade him tell some story to amuse him as he -had proposed, to which Sancho replied that he would if his dread of -what he heard would let him; “Still,” said he, “I will strive to tell a -story which, if I can manage to relate it, and nobody interferes with -the telling, is the best of stories, and let your worship give me your -attention, for here I begin. What was, was; and may the good that is to -come be for all, and the evil for him who goes to look for it—your -worship must know that the beginning the old folk used to put to their -tales was not just as each one pleased; it was a maxim of Cato -Zonzorino the Roman, that says ‘the evil for him that goes to look for -it,’ and it comes as pat to the purpose now as ring to finger, to show -that your worship should keep quiet and not go looking for evil in any -quarter, and that we should go back by some other road, since nobody -forces us to follow this in which so many terrors affright us.” - -“Go on with thy story, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and leave the choice -of our road to my care.” - -“I say then,” continued Sancho, “that in a village of Estremadura there -was a goat-shepherd—that is to say, one who tended goats—which shepherd -or goatherd, as my story goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope Ruiz -was in love with a shepherdess called Torralva, which shepherdess -called Torralva was the daughter of a rich grazier, and this rich -grazier—” - -“If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“repeating twice all thou hast to say, thou wilt not have done these -two days; go straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, or -else say nothing.” - -“Tales are always told in my country in the very way I am telling -this,” answered Sancho, “and I cannot tell it in any other, nor is it -right of your worship to ask me to make new customs.” - -“Tell it as thou wilt,” replied Don Quixote; “and as fate will have it -that I cannot help listening to thee, go on.” - -“And so, lord of my soul,” continued Sancho, as I have said, this -shepherd was in love with Torralva the shepherdess, who was a wild -buxom lass with something of the look of a man about her, for she had -little moustaches; I fancy I see her now.” - -“Then you knew her?” said Don Quixote. - -“I did not know her,” said Sancho, “but he who told me the story said -it was so true and certain that when I told it to another I might -safely declare and swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of -time, the devil, who never sleeps and puts everything in confusion, -contrived that the love the shepherd bore the shepherdess turned into -hatred and ill-will, and the reason, according to evil tongues, was -some little jealousy she caused him that crossed the line and -trespassed on forbidden ground; and so much did the shepherd hate her -from that time forward that, in order to escape from her, he determined -to quit the country and go where he should never set eyes on her again. -Torralva, when she found herself spurned by Lope, was immediately -smitten with love for him, though she had never loved him before.” - -“That is the natural way of women,” said Don Quixote, “to scorn the one -that loves them, and love the one that hates them: go on, Sancho.” - -“It came to pass,” said Sancho, “that the shepherd carried out his -intention, and driving his goats before him took his way across the -plains of Estremadura to pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal. -Torralva, who knew of it, went after him, and on foot and barefoot -followed him at a distance, with a pilgrim’s staff in her hand and a -scrip round her neck, in which she carried, it is said, a bit of -looking-glass and a piece of a comb and some little pot or other of -paint for her face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going to -trouble myself to prove it; all I say is, that the shepherd, they say, -came with his flock to cross over the river Guadiana, which was at that -time swollen and almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came -to there was neither ferry nor boat nor anyone to carry him or his -flock to the other side, at which he was much vexed, for he perceived -that Torralva was approaching and would give him great annoyance with -her tears and entreaties; however, he went looking about so closely -that he discovered a fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so small -that it could only hold one person and one goat; but for all that he -spoke to him and agreed with him to carry himself and his three hundred -goats across. The fisherman got into the boat and carried one goat -over; he came back and carried another over; he came back again, and -again brought over another—let your worship keep count of the goats the -fisherman is taking across, for if one escapes the memory there will be -an end of the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word of -it. To proceed, I must tell you the landing place on the other side was -miry and slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going -and coming; still he returned for another goat, and another, and -another.” - -“Take it for granted he brought them all across,” said Don Quixote, -“and don’t keep going and coming in this way, or thou wilt not make an -end of bringing them over this twelvemonth.” - -“How many have gone across so far?” said Sancho. - -“How the devil do I know?” replied Don Quixote. - -“There it is,” said Sancho, “what I told you, that you must keep a good -count; well then, by God, there is an end of the story, for there is no -going any farther.” - -“How can that be?” said Don Quixote; “is it so essential to the story -to know to a nicety the goats that have crossed over, that if there be -a mistake of one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?” - -“No, señor, not a bit,” replied Sancho; “for when I asked your worship -to tell me how many goats had crossed, and you answered you did not -know, at that very instant all I had to say passed away out of my -memory, and, faith, there was much virtue in it, and entertainment.” - -“So, then,” said Don Quixote, “the story has come to an end?” - -“As much as my mother has,” said Sancho. - -“In truth,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast told one of the rarest -stories, tales, or histories, that anyone in the world could have -imagined, and such a way of telling it and ending it was never seen nor -will be in a lifetime; though I expected nothing else from thy -excellent understanding. But I do not wonder, for perhaps those -ceaseless strokes may have confused thy wits.” - -“All that may be,” replied Sancho, “but I know that as to my story, all -that can be said is that it ends there where the mistake in the count -of the passage of the goats begins.” - -“Let it end where it will, well and good,” said Don Quixote, “and let -us see if Rocinante can go;” and again he spurred him, and again -Rocinante made jumps and remained where he was, so well tied was he. - -Just then, whether it was the cold of the morning that was now -approaching, or that he had eaten something laxative at supper, or that -it was only natural (as is most likely), Sancho felt a desire to do -what no one could do for him; but so great was the fear that had -penetrated his heart, he dared not separate himself from his master by -as much as the black of his nail; to escape doing what he wanted was, -however, also impossible; so what he did for peace’s sake was to remove -his right hand, which held the back of the saddle, and with it to untie -gently and silently the running string which alone held up his -breeches, so that on loosening it they at once fell down round his feet -like fetters; he then raised his shirt as well as he could and bared -his hind quarters, no slim ones. But, this accomplished, which he -fancied was all he had to do to get out of this terrible strait and -embarrassment, another still greater difficulty presented itself, for -it seemed to him impossible to relieve himself without making some -noise, and he ground his teeth and squeezed his shoulders together, -holding his breath as much as he could; but in spite of his precautions -he was unlucky enough after all to make a little noise, very different -from that which was causing him so much fear. - -Don Quixote, hearing it, said, “What noise is that, Sancho?” - -“I don’t know, señor,” said he; “it must be something new, for -adventures and misadventures never begin with a trifle.” Once more he -tried his luck, and succeeded so well, that without any further noise -or disturbance he found himself relieved of the burden that had given -him so much discomfort. But as Don Quixote’s sense of smell was as -acute as his hearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that -the fumes rose almost in a straight line, it could not be but that some -should reach his nose, and as soon as they did he came to its relief by -compressing it between his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, -“Sancho, it strikes me thou art in great fear.” - -“I am,” answered Sancho; “but how does your worship perceive it now -more than ever?” - -“Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not of -ambergris,” answered Don Quixote. - -“Very likely,” said Sancho, “but that’s not my fault, but your -worship’s, for leading me about at unseasonable hours and at such -unwonted paces.” - -“Then go back three or four, my friend,” said Don Quixote, all the time -with his fingers to his nose; “and for the future pay more attention to -thy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great -familiarity with thee that has bred this contempt.” - -“I’ll bet,” replied Sancho, “that your worship thinks I have done -something I ought not with my person.” - -“It makes it worse to stir it, friend Sancho,” returned Don Quixote. - -With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed the -night, till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was coming on apace, very -cautiously untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon as -Rocinante found himself free, though by nature he was not at all -mettlesome, he seemed to feel lively and began pawing—for as to -capering, begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote, -then, observing that Rocinante could move, took it as a good sign and a -signal that he should attempt the dread adventure. By this time day had -fully broken and everything showed distinctly, and Don Quixote saw that -he was among some tall trees, chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; -he perceived likewise that the sound of the strokes did not cease, but -could not discover what caused it, and so without any further delay he -let Rocinante feel the spur, and once more taking leave of Sancho, he -told him to wait for him there three days at most, as he had said -before, and if he should not have returned by that time, he might feel -sure it had been God’s will that he should end his days in that -perilous adventure. He again repeated the message and commission with -which he was to go on his behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and said he was -not to be uneasy as to the payment of his services, for before leaving -home he had made his will, in which he would find himself fully -recompensed in the matter of wages in due proportion to the time he had -served; but if God delivered him safe, sound, and unhurt out of that -danger, he might look upon the promised island as much more than -certain. Sancho began to weep afresh on again hearing the affecting -words of his good master, and resolved to stay with him until the final -issue and end of the business. From these tears and this honourable -resolve of Sancho Panza’s the author of this history infers that he -must have been of good birth and at least an old Christian; and the -feeling he displayed touched his but not so much as to make him show -any weakness; on the contrary, hiding what he felt as well as he could, -he began to move towards that quarter whence the sound of the water and -of the strokes seemed to come. - -Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, as his custom was, -his ass, his constant comrade in prosperity or adversity; and advancing -some distance through the shady chestnut trees they came upon a little -meadow at the foot of some high rocks, down which a mighty rush of -water flung itself. At the foot of the rocks were some rudely -constructed houses looking more like ruins than houses, from among -which came, they perceived, the din and clatter of blows, which still -continued without intermission. Rocinante took fright at the noise of -the water and of the blows, but quieting him Don Quixote advanced step -by step towards the houses, commending himself with all his heart to -his lady, imploring her support in that dread pass and enterprise, and -on the way commending himself to God, too, not to forget him. Sancho -who never quitted his side, stretched his neck as far as he could and -peered between the legs of Rocinante to see if he could now discover -what it was that caused him such fear and apprehension. They went it -might be a hundred paces farther, when on turning a corner the true -cause, beyond the possibility of any mistake, of that dread-sounding -and to them awe-inspiring noise that had kept them all the night in -such fear and perplexity, appeared plain and obvious; and it was (if, -reader, thou art not disgusted and disappointed) six fulling hammers -which by their alternate strokes made all the din. - -When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was struck dumb and rigid -from head to foot. Sancho glanced at him and saw him with his head bent -down upon his breast in manifest mortification; and Don Quixote glanced -at Sancho and saw him with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth full of -laughter, and evidently ready to explode with it, and in spite of his -vexation he could not help laughing at the sight of him; and when -Sancho saw his master begin he let go so heartily that he had to hold -his sides with both hands to keep himself from bursting with laughter. -Four times he stopped, and as many times did his laughter break out -afresh with the same violence as at first, whereat Don Quixote grew -furious, above all when he heard him say mockingly, “Thou must know, -friend Sancho, that of Heaven’s will I was born in this our iron age to -revive in it the golden or age of gold; I am he for whom are reserved -perils, mighty achievements, valiant deeds;” and here he went on -repeating the words that Don Quixote uttered the first time they heard -the awful strokes. - -Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into ridicule, -was so mortified and vexed that he lifted up his pike and smote him two -such blows that if, instead of catching them on his shoulders, he had -caught them on his head there would have been no wages to pay, unless -indeed to his heirs. Sancho seeing that he was getting an awkward -return in earnest for his jest, and fearing his master might carry it -still further, said to him very humbly, “Calm yourself, sir, for by God -I am only joking.” - -“Well, then, if you are joking I am not,” replied Don Quixote. “Look -here, my lively gentleman, if these, instead of being fulling hammers, -had been some perilous adventure, have I not, think you, shown the -courage required for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance, -being, as I am, a gentleman, bound to know and distinguish sounds and -tell whether they come from fulling mills or not; and that, when -perhaps, as is the case, I have never in my life seen any as you have, -low boor as you are, that have been born and bred among them? But turn -me these six hammers into six giants, and bring them to beard me, one -by one or all together, and if I do not knock them head over heels, -then make what mockery you like of me.” - -“No more of that, señor,” returned Sancho; “I own I went a little too -far with the joke. But tell me, your worship, now that peace is made -between us (and may God bring you out of all the adventures that may -befall you as safe and sound as he has brought you out of this one), -was it not a thing to laugh at, and is it not a good story, the great -fear we were in?—at least that I was in; for as to your worship I see -now that you neither know nor understand what either fear or dismay -is.” - -“I do not deny,” said Don Quixote, “that what happened to us may be -worth laughing at, but it is not worth making a story about, for it is -not everyone that is shrewd enough to hit the right point of a thing.” - -“At any rate,” said Sancho, “your worship knew how to hit the right -point with your pike, aiming at my head and hitting me on the -shoulders, thanks be to God and my own smartness in dodging it. But let -that pass; all will come out in the scouring; for I have heard say ‘he -loves thee well that makes thee weep;’ and moreover that it is the way -with great lords after any hard words they give a servant to give him a -pair of breeches; though I do not know what they give after blows, -unless it be that knights-errant after blows give islands, or kingdoms -on the mainland.” - -“It may be on the dice,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest will -come true; overlook the past, for thou art shrewd enough to know that -our first movements are not in our own control; and one thing for the -future bear in mind, that thou curb and restrain thy loquacity in my -company; for in all the books of chivalry that I have read, and they -are innumerable, I never met with a squire who talked so much to his -lord as thou dost to thine; and in fact I feel it to be a great fault -of thine and of mine: of thine, that thou hast so little respect for -me; of mine, that I do not make myself more respected. There was -Gandalin, the squire of Amadis of Gaul, that was Count of the Insula -Firme, and we read of him that he always addressed his lord with his -cap in his hand, his head bowed down and his body bent double, more -turquesco. And then, what shall we say of Gasabal, the squire of -Galaor, who was so silent that in order to indicate to us the greatness -of his marvellous taciturnity his name is only once mentioned in the -whole of that history, as long as it is truthful? From all I have said -thou wilt gather, Sancho, that there must be a difference between -master and man, between lord and lackey, between knight and squire: so -that from this day forward in our intercourse we must observe more -respect and take less liberties, for in whatever way I may be provoked -with you it will be bad for the pitcher. The favours and benefits that -I have promised you will come in due time, and if they do not your -wages at least will not be lost, as I have already told you.” - -“All that your worship says is very well,” said Sancho, “but I should -like to know (in case the time of favours should not come, and it might -be necessary to fall back upon wages) how much did the squire of a -knight-errant get in those days, and did they agree by the month, or by -the day like bricklayers?” - -“I do not believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that such squires were ever -on wages, but were dependent on favour; and if I have now mentioned -thine in the sealed will I have left at home, it was with a view to -what may happen; for as yet I know not how chivalry will turn out in -these wretched times of ours, and I do not wish my soul to suffer for -trifles in the other world; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that in -this there is no condition more hazardous than that of adventurers.” - -“That is true,” said Sancho, “since the mere noise of the hammers of a -fulling mill can disturb and disquiet the heart of such a valiant -errant adventurer as your worship; but you may be sure I will not open -my lips henceforward to make light of anything of your worship’s, but -only to honour you as my master and natural lord.” - -“By so doing,” replied Don Quixote, “shalt thou live long on the face -of the earth; for next to parents, masters are to be respected as -though they were parents.” - -CHAPTER XXI. -WHICH TREATS OF THE EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAMBRINO’S -HELMET, TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE -KNIGHT - -It now began to rain a little, and Sancho was for going into the -fulling mills, but Don Quixote had taken such an abhorrence to them on -account of the late joke that he would not enter them on any account; -so turning aside to right they came upon another road, different from -that which they had taken the night before. Shortly afterwards Don -Quixote perceived a man on horseback who wore on his head something -that shone like gold, and the moment he saw him he turned to Sancho and -said: - -“I think, Sancho, there is no proverb that is not true, all being -maxims drawn from experience itself, the mother of all the sciences, -especially that one that says, ‘Where one door shuts, another opens.’ I -say so because if last night fortune shut the door of the adventure we -were looking for against us, cheating us with the fulling mills, it now -opens wide another one for another better and more certain adventure, -and if I do not contrive to enter it, it will be my own fault, and I -cannot lay it to my ignorance of fulling mills, or the darkness of the -night. I say this because, if I mistake not, there comes towards us one -who wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino, concerning which I took -the oath thou rememberest.” - -“Mind what you say, your worship, and still more what you do,” said -Sancho, “for I don’t want any more fulling mills to finish off fulling -and knocking our senses out.” - -“The devil take thee, man,” said Don Quixote; “what has a helmet to do -with fulling mills?” - -“I don’t know,” replied Sancho, “but, faith, if I might speak as I -used, perhaps I could give such reasons that your worship would see you -were mistaken in what you say.” - -“How can I be mistaken in what I say, unbelieving traitor?” returned -Don Quixote; “tell me, seest thou not yonder knight coming towards us -on a dappled grey steed, who has upon his head a helmet of gold?” - -“What I see and make out,” answered Sancho, “is only a man on a grey -ass like my own, who has something that shines on his head.” - -“Well, that is the helmet of Mambrino,” said Don Quixote; “stand to one -side and leave me alone with him; thou shalt see how, without saying a -word, to save time, I shall bring this adventure to an issue and -possess myself of the helmet I have so longed for.” - -“I will take care to stand aside,” said Sancho; “but God grant, I say -once more, that it may be marjoram and not fulling mills.” - -“I have told thee, brother, on no account to mention those fulling -mills to me again,” said Don Quixote, “or I vow—and I say no more—I’ll -full the soul out of you.” - -Sancho held his peace in dread lest his master should carry out the vow -he had hurled like a bowl at him. - -The fact of the matter as regards the helmet, steed, and knight that -Don Quixote saw, was this. In that neighbourhood there were two -villages, one of them so small that it had neither apothecary’s shop -nor barber, which the other that was close to it had, so the barber of -the larger served the smaller, and in it there was a sick man who -required to be bled and another man who wanted to be shaved, and on -this errand the barber was going, carrying with him a brass basin; but -as luck would have it, as he was on the way it began to rain, and not -to spoil his hat, which probably was a new one, he put the basin on his -head, and being clean it glittered at half a league’s distance. He rode -upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was what made it seem to Don -Quixote to be a dapple-grey steed and a knight and a golden helmet; for -everything he saw he made to fall in with his crazy chivalry and -ill-errant notions; and when he saw the poor knight draw near, without -entering into any parley with him, at Rocinante’s top speed he bore -down upon him with the pike pointed low, fully determined to run him -through and through, and as he reached him, without checking the fury -of his charge, he cried to him: - -“Defend thyself, miserable being, or yield me of thine own accord that -which is so reasonably my due.” - -The barber, who without any expectation or apprehension of it saw this -apparition coming down upon him, had no other way of saving himself -from the stroke of the lance but to let himself fall off his ass; and -no sooner had he touched the ground than he sprang up more nimbly than -a deer and sped away across the plain faster than the wind. - -He left the basin on the ground, with which Don Quixote contented -himself, saying that the pagan had shown his discretion and imitated -the beaver, which finding itself pressed by the hunters bites and cuts -off with its teeth that for which, by its natural instinct, it knows it -is pursued. - -He told Sancho to pick up the helmet, and he taking it in his hands -said: - -“By God the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight if it is -worth a maravedis,” and handed it to his master, who immediately put it -on his head, turning it round, now this way, now that, in search of -fitment, and not finding it he said, “Clearly the pagan to whose -measure this famous head-piece was first forged must have had a very -large head; but the worst of it is half of it is wanting.” - -When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece he was unable to -restrain his laughter, but remembering his master’s wrath he checked -himself in the midst of it. - -“What art thou laughing at, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“I am laughing,” said he, “to think of the great head the pagan must -have had who owned this helmet, for it looks exactly like a regular -barber’s basin.” - -“Dost thou know what I suspect, Sancho?” said Don Quixote; “that this -wonderful piece of this enchanted helmet must by some strange accident -have come into the hands of someone who was unable to recognise or -realise its value, and who, not knowing what he did, and seeing it to -be of the purest gold, must have melted down one half for the sake of -what it might be worth, and of the other made this which is like a -barber’s basin as thou sayest; but be it as it may, to me who recognise -it, its transformation makes no difference, for I will set it to rights -at the first village where there is a blacksmith, and in such style -that that helmet the god of smithies forged for the god of battles -shall not surpass it or even come up to it; and in the meantime I will -wear it as well as I can, for something is better than nothing; all the -more as it will be quite enough to protect me from any chance blow of a -stone.” - -“That is,” said Sancho, “if it is not shot with a sling as they were in -the battle of the two armies, when they signed the cross on your -worship’s grinders and smashed the flask with that blessed draught that -made me vomit my bowels up.” - -“It does not grieve me much to have lost it,” said Don Quixote, “for -thou knowest, Sancho, that I have the receipt in my memory.” - -“So have I,” answered Sancho, “but if ever I make it, or try it again -as long as I live, may this be my last hour; moreover, I have no -intention of putting myself in the way of wanting it, for I mean, with -all my five senses, to keep myself from being wounded or from wounding -anyone: as to being blanketed again I say nothing, for it is hard to -prevent mishaps of that sort, and if they come there is nothing for it -but to squeeze our shoulders together, hold our breath, shut our eyes, -and let ourselves go where luck and the blanket may send us.” - -“Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho,” said Don Quixote on hearing this, -“for once an injury has been done thee thou never forgettest it: but -know that it is the part of noble and generous hearts not to attach -importance to trifles. What lame leg hast thou got by it, what broken -rib, what cracked head, that thou canst not forget that jest? For jest -and sport it was, properly regarded, and had I not seen it in that -light I would have returned and done more mischief in revenging thee -than the Greeks did for the rape of Helen, who, if she were alive now, -or if my Dulcinea had lived then, might depend upon it she would not be -so famous for her beauty as she is;” and here he heaved a sigh and sent -it aloft; and said Sancho, “Let it pass for a jest as it cannot be -revenged in earnest, but I know what sort of jest and earnest it was, -and I know it will never be rubbed out of my memory any more than off -my shoulders. But putting that aside, will your worship tell me what -are we to do with this dapple-grey steed that looks like a grey ass, -which that Martino that your worship overthrew has left deserted here? -for, from the way he took to his heels and bolted, he is not likely -ever to come back for it; and by my beard but the grey is a good one.” - -“I have never been in the habit,” said Don Quixote, “of taking spoil of -those whom I vanquish, nor is it the practice of chivalry to take away -their horses and leave them to go on foot, unless indeed it be that the -victor have lost his own in the combat, in which case it is lawful to -take that of the vanquished as a thing won in lawful war; therefore, -Sancho, leave this horse, or ass, or whatever thou wilt have it to be; -for when its owner sees us gone hence he will come back for it.” - -“God knows I should like to take it,” returned Sancho, “or at least to -change it for my own, which does not seem to me as good a one: verily -the laws of chivalry are strict, since they cannot be stretched to let -one ass be changed for another; I should like to know if I might at -least change trappings.” - -“On that head I am not quite certain,” answered Don Quixote, “and the -matter being doubtful, pending better information, I say thou mayest -change them, if so be thou hast urgent need of them.” - -“So urgent is it,” answered Sancho, “that if they were for my own -person I could not want them more;” and forthwith, fortified by this -licence, he effected the _mutatio capparum_, and rigged out his beast -to the ninety-nines and making quite another thing of it. This done, -they broke their fast on the remains of the spoils of war plundered -from the sumpter mule, and drank of the brook that flowed from the -fulling mills, without casting a look in that direction, in such -loathing did they hold them for the alarm they had caused them; and, -all anger and gloom removed, they mounted and, without taking any fixed -road (not to fix upon any being the proper thing for true -knights-errant), they set out, guided by Rocinante’s will, which -carried along with it that of his master, not to say that of the ass, -which always followed him wherever he led, lovingly and sociably; -nevertheless they returned to the high road, and pursued it at a -venture without any other aim. - -As they went along, then, in this way Sancho said to his master, -“Señor, would your worship give me leave to speak a little to you? For -since you laid that hard injunction of silence on me several things -have gone to rot in my stomach, and I have now just one on the tip of -my tongue that I don’t want to be spoiled.” - -“Say, on, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and be brief in thy discourse, -for there is no pleasure in one that is long.” - -“Well then, señor,” returned Sancho, “I say that for some days past I -have been considering how little is got or gained by going in search of -these adventures that your worship seeks in these wilds and -cross-roads, where, even if the most perilous are victoriously -achieved, there is no one to see or know of them, and so they must be -left untold for ever, to the loss of your worship’s object and the -credit they deserve; therefore it seems to me it would be better -(saving your worship’s better judgment) if we were to go and serve some -emperor or other great prince who may have some war on hand, in whose -service your worship may prove the worth of your person, your great -might, and greater understanding, on perceiving which the lord in whose -service we may be will perforce have to reward us, each according to -his merits; and there you will not be at a loss for someone to set down -your achievements in writing so as to preserve their memory for ever. -Of my own I say nothing, as they will not go beyond squirely limits, -though I make bold to say that, if it be the practice in chivalry to -write the achievements of squires, I think mine must not be left out.” - -“Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “but before -that point is reached it is requisite to roam the world, as it were on -probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name -and fame may be acquired, such that when he betakes himself to the -court of some great monarch the knight may be already known by his -deeds, and that the boys, the instant they see him enter the gate of -the city, may all follow him and surround him, crying, ‘This is the -Knight of the Sun’—or the Serpent, or any other title under which he -may have achieved great deeds. ‘This,’ they will say, ‘is he who -vanquished in single combat the gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength; -he who delivered the great Mameluke of Persia out of the long -enchantment under which he had been for almost nine hundred years.’ So -from one to another they will go proclaiming his achievements; and -presently at the tumult of the boys and the others the king of that -kingdom will appear at the windows of his royal palace, and as soon as -he beholds the knight, recognising him by his arms and the device on -his shield, he will as a matter of course say, ‘What ho! Forth all ye, -the knights of my court, to receive the flower of chivalry who cometh -hither!’ At which command all will issue forth, and he himself, -advancing half-way down the stairs, will embrace him closely, and -salute him, kissing him on the cheek, and will then lead him to the -queen’s chamber, where the knight will find her with the princess her -daughter, who will be one of the most beautiful and accomplished -damsels that could with the utmost pains be discovered anywhere in the -known world. Straightway it will come to pass that she will fix her -eyes upon the knight and he his upon her, and each will seem to the -other something more divine than human, and, without knowing how or why -they will be taken and entangled in the inextricable toils of love, and -sorely distressed in their hearts not to see any way of making their -pains and sufferings known by speech. Thence they will lead him, no -doubt, to some richly adorned chamber of the palace, where, having -removed his armour, they will bring him a rich mantle of scarlet -wherewith to robe himself, and if he looked noble in his armour he will -look still more so in a doublet. When night comes he will sup with the -king, queen, and princess; and all the time he will never take his eyes -off her, stealing stealthy glances, unnoticed by those present, and she -will do the same, and with equal cautiousness, being, as I have said, a -damsel of great discretion. The tables being removed, suddenly through -the door of the hall there will enter a hideous and diminutive dwarf -followed by a fair dame, between two giants, who comes with a certain -adventure, the work of an ancient sage; and he who shall achieve it -shall be deemed the best knight in the world. - -“The king will then command all those present to essay it, and none -will bring it to an end and conclusion save the stranger knight, to the -great enhancement of his fame, whereat the princess will be overjoyed -and will esteem herself happy and fortunate in having fixed and placed -her thoughts so high. And the best of it is that this king, or prince, -or whatever he is, is engaged in a very bitter war with another as -powerful as himself, and the stranger knight, after having been some -days at his court, requests leave from him to go and serve him in the -said war. The king will grant it very readily, and the knight will -courteously kiss his hands for the favour done to him; and that night -he will take leave of his lady the princess at the grating of the -chamber where she sleeps, which looks upon a garden, and at which he -has already many times conversed with her, the go-between and -confidante in the matter being a damsel much trusted by the princess. -He will sigh, she will swoon, the damsel will fetch water, much -distressed because morning approaches, and for the honour of her lady -he would not that they were discovered; at last the princess will come -to herself and will present her white hands through the grating to the -knight, who will kiss them a thousand and a thousand times, bathing -them with his tears. It will be arranged between them how they are to -inform each other of their good or evil fortunes, and the princess will -entreat him to make his absence as short as possible, which he will -promise to do with many oaths; once more he kisses her hands, and takes -his leave in such grief that he is well-nigh ready to die. He betakes -him thence to his chamber, flings himself on his bed, cannot sleep for -sorrow at parting, rises early in the morning, goes to take leave of -the king, queen, and princess, and, as he takes his leave of the pair, -it is told him that the princess is indisposed and cannot receive a -visit; the knight thinks it is from grief at his departure, his heart -is pierced, and he is hardly able to keep from showing his pain. The -confidante is present, observes all, goes to tell her mistress, who -listens with tears and says that one of her greatest distresses is not -knowing who this knight is, and whether he is of kingly lineage or not; -the damsel assures her that so much courtesy, gentleness, and gallantry -of bearing as her knight possesses could not exist in any save one who -was royal and illustrious; her anxiety is thus relieved, and she -strives to be of good cheer lest she should excite suspicion in her -parents, and at the end of two days she appears in public. Meanwhile -the knight has taken his departure; he fights in the war, conquers the -king’s enemy, wins many cities, triumphs in many battles, returns to -the court, sees his lady where he was wont to see her, and it is agreed -that he shall demand her in marriage of her parents as the reward of -his services; the king is unwilling to give her, as he knows not who he -is, but nevertheless, whether carried off or in whatever other way it -may be, the princess comes to be his bride, and her father comes to -regard it as very good fortune; for it so happens that this knight is -proved to be the son of a valiant king of some kingdom, I know not -what, for I fancy it is not likely to be on the map. The father dies, -the princess inherits, and in two words the knight becomes king. And -here comes in at once the bestowal of rewards upon his squire and all -who have aided him in rising to so exalted a rank. He marries his -squire to a damsel of the princess’s, who will be, no doubt, the one -who was confidante in their amour, and is daughter of a very great -duke.” - -“That’s what I want, and no mistake about it!” said Sancho. “That’s -what I’m waiting for; for all this, word for word, is in store for your -worship under the title of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” - -“Thou needst not doubt it, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “for in the -same manner, and by the same steps as I have described here, -knights-errant rise and have risen to be kings and emperors; all we -want now is to find out what king, Christian or pagan, is at war and -has a beautiful daughter; but there will be time enough to think of -that, for, as I have told thee, fame must be won in other quarters -before repairing to the court. There is another thing, too, that is -wanting; for supposing we find a king who is at war and has a beautiful -daughter, and that I have won incredible fame throughout the universe, -I know not how it can be made out that I am of royal lineage, or even -second cousin to an emperor; for the king will not be willing to give -me his daughter in marriage unless he is first thoroughly satisfied on -this point, however much my famous deeds may deserve it; so that by -this deficiency I fear I shall lose what my arm has fairly earned. True -it is I am a gentleman of known house, of estate and property, and -entitled to the five hundred sueldos mulet; and it may be that the sage -who shall write my history will so clear up my ancestry and pedigree -that I may find myself fifth or sixth in descent from a king; for I -would have thee know, Sancho, that there are two kinds of lineages in -the world; some there be tracing and deriving their descent from kings -and princes, whom time has reduced little by little until they end in a -point like a pyramid upside down; and others who spring from the common -herd and go on rising step by step until they come to be great lords; -so that the difference is that the one were what they no longer are, -and the others are what they formerly were not. And I may be of such -that after investigation my origin may prove great and famous, with -which the king, my father-in-law that is to be, ought to be satisfied; -and should he not be, the princess will so love me that even though she -well knew me to be the son of a water-carrier, she will take me for her -lord and husband in spite of her father; if not, then it comes to -seizing her and carrying her off where I please; for time or death will -put an end to the wrath of her parents.” - -“It comes to this, too,” said Sancho, “what some naughty people say, -‘Never ask as a favour what thou canst take by force;’ though it would -fit better to say, ‘A clear escape is better than good men’s prayers.’ -I say so because if my lord the king, your worship’s father-in-law, -will not condescend to give you my lady the princess, there is nothing -for it but, as your worship says, to seize her and transport her. But -the mischief is that until peace is made and you come into the peaceful -enjoyment of your kingdom, the poor squire is famishing as far as -rewards go, unless it be that the confidante damsel that is to be his -wife comes with the princess, and that with her he tides over his bad -luck until Heaven otherwise orders things; for his master, I suppose, -may as well give her to him at once for a lawful wife.” - -“Nobody can object to that,” said Don Quixote. - -“Then since that may be,” said Sancho, “there is nothing for it but to -commend ourselves to God, and let fortune take what course it will.” - -“God guide it according to my wishes and thy wants,” said Don Quixote, -“and mean be he who thinks himself mean.” - -“In God’s name let him be so,” said Sancho: “I am an old Christian, and -to fit me for a count that’s enough.” - -“And more than enough for thee,” said Don Quixote; “and even wert thou -not, it would make no difference, because I being the king can easily -give thee nobility without purchase or service rendered by thee, for -when I make thee a count, then thou art at once a gentleman; and they -may say what they will, but by my faith they will have to call thee -‘your lordship,’ whether they like it or not.” - -“Not a doubt of it; and I’ll know how to support the tittle,” said -Sancho. - -“Title thou shouldst say, not tittle,” said his master. - -“So be it,” answered Sancho. “I say I will know how to behave, for once -in my life I was beadle of a brotherhood, and the beadle’s gown sat so -well on me that all said I looked as if I was to be steward of the same -brotherhood. What will it be, then, when I put a duke’s robe on my -back, or dress myself in gold and pearls like a count? I believe -they’ll come a hundred leagues to see me.” - -“Thou wilt look well,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must shave thy beard -often, for thou hast it so thick and rough and unkempt, that if thou -dost not shave it every second day at least, they will see what thou -art at the distance of a musket shot.” - -“What more will it be,” said Sancho, “than having a barber, and keeping -him at wages in the house? and even if it be necessary, I will make him -go behind me like a nobleman’s equerry.” - -“Why, how dost thou know that noblemen have equerries behind them?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“I will tell you,” answered Sancho. “Years ago I was for a month at the -capital and there I saw taking the air a very small gentleman who they -said was a very great man, and a man following him on horseback in -every turn he took, just as if he was his tail. I asked why this man -did not join the other man, instead of always going behind him; they -answered me that he was his equerry, and that it was the custom with -nobles to have such persons behind them, and ever since then I know it, -for I have never forgotten it.” - -“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and in the same way thou mayest -carry thy barber with thee, for customs did not come into use all -together, nor were they all invented at once, and thou mayest be the -first count to have a barber to follow him; and, indeed, shaving one’s -beard is a greater trust than saddling one’s horse.” - -“Let the barber business be my look-out,” said Sancho; “and your -worship’s be it to strive to become a king, and make me a count.” - -“So it shall be,” answered Don Quixote, and raising his eyes he saw -what will be told in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XXII. -OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEVERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO -AGAINST THEIR WILL WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH TO GO - -Cid Hamete Benengeli, the Arab and Manchegan author, relates in this -most grave, high-sounding, minute, delightful, and original history -that after the discussion between the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha -and his squire Sancho Panza which is set down at the end of chapter -twenty-one, Don Quixote raised his eyes and saw coming along the road -he was following some dozen men on foot strung together by the neck, -like beads, on a great iron chain, and all with manacles on their -hands. With them there came also two men on horseback and two on foot; -those on horseback with wheel-lock muskets, those on foot with javelins -and swords, and as soon as Sancho saw them he said: - -“That is a chain of galley slaves, on the way to the galleys by force -of the king’s orders.” - -“How by force?” asked Don Quixote; “is it possible that the king uses -force against anyone?” - -“I do not say that,” answered Sancho, “but that these are people -condemned for their crimes to serve by force in the king’s galleys.” - -“In fact,” replied Don Quixote, “however it may be, these people are -going where they are taking them by force, and not of their own will.” - -“Just so,” said Sancho. - -“Then if so,” said Don Quixote, “here is a case for the exercise of my -office, to put down force and to succour and help the wretched.” - -“Recollect, your worship,” said Sancho, “Justice, which is the king -himself, is not using force or doing wrong to such persons, but -punishing them for their crimes.” - -The chain of galley slaves had by this time come up, and Don Quixote in -very courteous language asked those who were in custody of it to be -good enough to tell him the reason or reasons for which they were -conducting these people in this manner. One of the guards on horseback -answered that they were galley slaves belonging to his majesty, that -they were going to the galleys, and that was all that was to be said -and all he had any business to know. - -“Nevertheless,” replied Don Quixote, “I should like to know from each -of them separately the reason of his misfortune;” to this he added more -to the same effect to induce them to tell him what he wanted so civilly -that the other mounted guard said to him: - -“Though we have here the register and certificate of the sentence of -every one of these wretches, this is no time to take them out or read -them; come and ask themselves; they can tell if they choose, and they -will, for these fellows take a pleasure in doing and talking about -rascalities.” - -With this permission, which Don Quixote would have taken even had they -not granted it, he approached the chain and asked the first for what -offences he was now in such a sorry case. - -He made answer that it was for being a lover. - -“For that only?” replied Don Quixote; “why, if for being lovers they -send people to the galleys I might have been rowing in them long ago.” - -“The love is not the sort your worship is thinking of,” said the galley -slave; “mine was that I loved a washerwoman’s basket of clean linen so -well, and held it so close in my embrace, that if the arm of the law -had not forced it from me, I should never have let it go of my own will -to this moment; I was caught in the act, there was no occasion for -torture, the case was settled, they treated me to a hundred lashes on -the back, and three years of gurapas besides, and that was the end of -it.” - -“What are gurapas?” asked Don Quixote. - -“Gurapas are galleys,” answered the galley slave, who was a young man -of about four-and-twenty, and said he was a native of Piedrahita. - -Don Quixote asked the same question of the second, who made no reply, -so downcast and melancholy was he; but the first answered for him, and -said, “He, sir, goes as a canary, I mean as a musician and a singer.” - -“What!” said Don Quixote, “for being musicians and singers are people -sent to the galleys too?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered the galley slave, “for there is nothing worse than -singing under suffering.” - -“On the contrary, I have heard say,” said Don Quixote, “that he who -sings scares away his woes.” - -“Here it is the reverse,” said the galley slave; “for he who sings once -weeps all his life.” - -“I do not understand it,” said Don Quixote; but one of the guards said -to him, “Sir, to sing under suffering means with the _non sancta_ -fraternity to confess under torture; they put this sinner to the -torture and he confessed his crime, which was being a cuatrero, that is -a cattle-stealer, and on his confession they sentenced him to six years -in the galleys, besides two hundred lashes that he has already had on -the back; and he is always dejected and downcast because the other -thieves that were left behind and that march here ill-treat, and snub, -and jeer, and despise him for confessing and not having spirit enough -to say nay; for, say they, ‘nay’ has no more letters in it than ‘yea,’ -and a culprit is well off when life or death with him depends on his -own tongue and not on that of witnesses or evidence; and to my thinking -they are not very far out.” - -“And I think so too,” answered Don Quixote; then passing on to the -third he asked him what he had asked the others, and the man answered -very readily and unconcernedly, “I am going for five years to their -ladyships the gurapas for the want of ten ducats.” - -“I will give twenty with pleasure to get you out of that trouble,” said -Don Quixote. - -“That,” said the galley slave, “is like a man having money at sea when -he is dying of hunger and has no way of buying what he wants; I say so -because if at the right time I had had those twenty ducats that your -worship now offers me, I would have greased the notary’s pen and -freshened up the attorney’s wit with them, so that to-day I should be -in the middle of the plaza of the Zocodover at Toledo, and not on this -road coupled like a greyhound. But God is great; patience—there, that’s -enough of it.” - -Don Quixote passed on to the fourth, a man of venerable aspect with a -white beard falling below his breast, who on hearing himself asked the -reason of his being there began to weep without answering a word, but -the fifth acted as his tongue and said, “This worthy man is going to -the galleys for four years, after having gone the rounds in ceremony -and on horseback.” - -“That means,” said Sancho Panza, “as I take it, to have been exposed to -shame in public.” - -“Just so,” replied the galley slave, “and the offence for which they -gave him that punishment was having been an ear-broker, nay -body-broker; I mean, in short, that this gentleman goes as a pimp, and -for having besides a certain touch of the sorcerer about him.” - -“If that touch had not been thrown in,” said Don Quixote, “he would not -deserve, for mere pimping, to row in the galleys, but rather to command -and be admiral of them; for the office of pimp is no ordinary one, -being the office of persons of discretion, one very necessary in a -well-ordered state, and only to be exercised by persons of good birth; -nay, there ought to be an inspector and overseer of them, as in other -offices, and recognised number, as with the brokers on change; in this -way many of the evils would be avoided which are caused by this office -and calling being in the hands of stupid and ignorant people, such as -women more or less silly, and pages and jesters of little standing and -experience, who on the most urgent occasions, and when ingenuity of -contrivance is needed, let the crumbs freeze on the way to their -mouths, and know not which is their right hand. I should like to go -farther, and give reasons to show that it is advisable to choose those -who are to hold so necessary an office in the state, but this is not -the fit place for it; some day I will expound the matter to someone -able to see to and rectify it; all I say now is, that the additional -fact of his being a sorcerer has removed the sorrow it gave me to see -these white hairs and this venerable countenance in so painful a -position on account of his being a pimp; though I know well there are -no sorceries in the world that can move or compel the will as some -simple folk fancy, for our will is free, nor is there herb or charm -that can force it. All that certain silly women and quacks do is to -turn men mad with potions and poisons, pretending that they have power -to cause love, for, as I say, it is an impossibility to compel the -will.” - -“It is true,” said the good old man, “and indeed, sir, as far as the -charge of sorcery goes I was not guilty; as to that of being a pimp I -cannot deny it; but I never thought I was doing any harm by it, for my -only object was that all the world should enjoy itself and live in -peace and quiet, without quarrels or troubles; but my good intentions -were unavailing to save me from going where I never expect to come back -from, with this weight of years upon me and a urinary ailment that -never gives me a moment’s ease;” and again he fell to weeping as -before, and such compassion did Sancho feel for him that he took out a -real of four from his bosom and gave it to him in alms. - -Don Quixote went on and asked another what his crime was, and the man -answered with no less but rather much more sprightliness than the last -one. - -“I am here because I carried the joke too far with a couple of cousins -of mine, and with a couple of other cousins who were none of mine; in -short, I carried the joke so far with them all that it ended in such a -complicated increase of kindred that no accountant could make it clear: -it was all proved against me, I got no favour, I had no money, I was -near having my neck stretched, they sentenced me to the galleys for six -years, I accepted my fate, it is the punishment of my fault; I am a -young man; let life only last, and with that all will come right. If -you, sir, have anything wherewith to help the poor, God will repay it -to you in heaven, and we on earth will take care in our petitions to -him to pray for the life and health of your worship, that they may be -as long and as good as your amiable appearance deserves.” - -This one was in the dress of a student, and one of the guards said he -was a great talker and a very elegant Latin scholar. - -Behind all these there came a man of thirty, a very personable fellow, -except that when he looked, his eyes turned in a little one towards the -other. He was bound differently from the rest, for he had to his leg a -chain so long that it was wound all round his body, and two rings on -his neck, one attached to the chain, the other to what they call a -“keep-friend” or “friend’s foot,” from which hung two irons reaching to -his waist with two manacles fixed to them in which his hands were -secured by a big padlock, so that he could neither raise his hands to -his mouth nor lower his head to his hands. Don Quixote asked why this -man carried so many more chains than the others. The guard replied that -it was because he alone had committed more crimes than all the rest put -together, and was so daring and such a villain, that though they -marched him in that fashion they did not feel sure of him, but were in -dread of his making his escape. - -“What crimes can he have committed,” said Don Quixote, “if they have -not deserved a heavier punishment than being sent to the galleys?” - -“He goes for ten years,” replied the guard, “which is the same thing as -civil death, and all that need be said is that this good fellow is the -famous Gines de Pasamonte, otherwise called Ginesillo de Parapilla.” - -“Gently, señor commissary,” said the galley slave at this, “let us have -no fixing of names or surnames; my name is Gines, not Ginesillo, and my -family name is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say; let each one mind -his own business, and he will be doing enough.” - -“Speak with less impertinence, master thief of extra measure,” replied -the commissary, “if you don’t want me to make you hold your tongue in -spite of your teeth.” - -“It is easy to see,” returned the galley slave, “that man goes as God -pleases, but someone shall know some day whether I am called Ginesillo -de Parapilla or not.” - -“Don’t they call you so, you liar?” said the guard. - -“They do,” returned Gines, “but I will make them give over calling me -so, or I will be shaved, where, I only say behind my teeth. If you, -sir, have anything to give us, give it to us at once, and God speed -you, for you are becoming tiresome with all this inquisitiveness about -the lives of others; if you want to know about mine, let me tell you I -am Gines de Pasamonte, whose life is written by these fingers.” - -“He says true,” said the commissary, “for he has himself written his -story as grand as you please, and has left the book in the prison in -pawn for two hundred reals.” - -“And I mean to take it out of pawn,” said Gines, “though it were in for -two hundred ducats.” - -“Is it so good?” said Don Quixote. - -“So good is it,” replied Gines, “that a fig for ‘Lazarillo de Tormes,’ -and all of that kind that have been written, or shall be written -compared with it: all I will say about it is that it deals with facts, -and facts so neat and diverting that no lies could match them.” - -“And how is the book entitled?” asked Don Quixote. - -“The ‘Life of Gines de Pasamonte,’” replied the subject of it. - -“And is it finished?” asked Don Quixote. - -“How can it be finished,” said the other, “when my life is not yet -finished? All that is written is from my birth down to the point when -they sent me to the galleys this last time.” - -“Then you have been there before?” said Don Quixote. - -“In the service of God and the king I have been there for four years -before now, and I know by this time what the biscuit and courbash are -like,” replied Gines; “and it is no great grievance to me to go back to -them, for there I shall have time to finish my book; I have still many -things left to say, and in the galleys of Spain there is more than -enough leisure; though I do not want much for what I have to write, for -I have it by heart.” - -“You seem a clever fellow,” said Don Quixote. - -“And an unfortunate one,” replied Gines, “for misfortune always -persecutes good wit.” - -“It persecutes rogues,” said the commissary. - -“I told you already to go gently, master commissary,” said Pasamonte; -“their lordships yonder never gave you that staff to ill-treat us -wretches here, but to conduct and take us where his majesty orders you; -if not, by the life of-never mind—; it may be that some day the stains -made in the inn will come out in the scouring; let everyone hold his -tongue and behave well and speak better; and now let us march on, for -we have had quite enough of this entertainment.” - -The commissary lifted his staff to strike Pasamonte in return for his -threats, but Don Quixote came between them, and begged him not to -ill-use him, as it was not too much to allow one who had his hands tied -to have his tongue a trifle free; and turning to the whole chain of -them he said: - -“From all you have told me, dear brethren, make out clearly that though -they have punished you for your faults, the punishments you are about -to endure do not give you much pleasure, and that you go to them very -much against the grain and against your will, and that perhaps this -one’s want of courage under torture, that one’s want of money, the -other’s want of advocacy, and lastly the perverted judgment of the -judge may have been the cause of your ruin and of your failure to -obtain the justice you had on your side. All which presents itself now -to my mind, urging, persuading, and even compelling me to demonstrate -in your case the purpose for which Heaven sent me into the world and -caused me to make profession of the order of chivalry to which I -belong, and the vow I took therein to give aid to those in need and -under the oppression of the strong. But as I know that it is a mark of -prudence not to do by foul means what may be done by fair, I will ask -these gentlemen, the guards and commissary, to be so good as to release -you and let you go in peace, as there will be no lack of others to -serve the king under more favourable circumstances; for it seems to me -a hard case to make slaves of those whom God and nature have made free. -Moreover, sirs of the guard,” added Don Quixote, “these poor fellows -have done nothing to you; let each answer for his own sins yonder; -there is a God in Heaven who will not forget to punish the wicked or -reward the good; and it is not fitting that honest men should be the -instruments of punishment to others, they being therein no way -concerned. This request I make thus gently and quietly, that, if you -comply with it, I may have reason for thanking you; and, if you will -not voluntarily, this lance and sword together with the might of my arm -shall compel you to comply with it by force.” - -“Nice nonsense!” said the commissary; “a fine piece of pleasantry he -has come out with at last! He wants us to let the king’s prisoners go, -as if we had any authority to release them, or he to order us to do so! -Go your way, sir, and good luck to you; put that basin straight that -you’ve got on your head, and don’t go looking for three feet on a cat.” - -“’Tis you that are the cat, rat, and rascal,” replied Don Quixote, and -acting on the word he fell upon him so suddenly that without giving him -time to defend himself he brought him to the ground sorely wounded with -a lance-thrust; and lucky it was for him that it was the one that had -the musket. The other guards stood thunderstruck and amazed at this -unexpected event, but recovering presence of mind, those on horseback -seized their swords, and those on foot their javelins, and attacked Don -Quixote, who was waiting for them with great calmness; and no doubt it -would have gone badly with him if the galley slaves, seeing the chance -before them of liberating themselves, had not effected it by contriving -to break the chain on which they were strung. Such was the confusion, -that the guards, now rushing at the galley slaves who were breaking -loose, now to attack Don Quixote who was waiting for them, did nothing -at all that was of any use. Sancho, on his part, gave a helping hand to -release Gines de Pasamonte, who was the first to leap forth upon the -plain free and unfettered, and who, attacking the prostrate commissary, -took from him his sword and the musket, with which, aiming at one and -levelling at another, he, without ever discharging it, drove every one -of the guards off the field, for they took to flight, as well to escape -Pasamonte’s musket, as the showers of stones the now released galley -slaves were raining upon them. Sancho was greatly grieved at the -affair, because he anticipated that those who had fled would report the -matter to the Holy Brotherhood, who at the summons of the alarm-bell -would at once sally forth in quest of the offenders; and he said so to -his master, and entreated him to leave the place at once, and go into -hiding in the sierra that was close by. - -“That is all very well,” said Don Quixote, “but I know what must be -done now;” and calling together all the galley slaves, who were now -running riot, and had stripped the commissary to the skin, he collected -them round him to hear what he had to say, and addressed them as -follows: “To be grateful for benefits received is the part of persons -of good birth, and one of the sins most offensive to God is -ingratitude; I say so because, sirs, ye have already seen by manifest -proof the benefit ye have received of me; in return for which I desire, -and it is my good pleasure that, laden with that chain which I have -taken off your necks, ye at once set out and proceed to the city of El -Toboso, and there present yourselves before the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, and say to her that her knight, he of the Rueful Countenance, -sends to commend himself to her; and that ye recount to her in full -detail all the particulars of this notable adventure, up to the -recovery of your longed-for liberty; and this done ye may go where ye -will, and good fortune attend you.” - -Gines de Pasamonte made answer for all, saying, “That which you, sir, -our deliverer, demand of us, is of all impossibilities the most -impossible to comply with, because we cannot go together along the -roads, but only singly and separate, and each one his own way, -endeavouring to hide ourselves in the bowels of the earth to escape the -Holy Brotherhood, which, no doubt, will come out in search of us. What -your worship may do, and fairly do, is to change this service and -tribute as regards the lady Dulcinea del Toboso for a certain quantity -of ave-marias and credos which we will say for your worship’s -intention, and this is a condition that can be complied with by night -as by day, running or resting, in peace or in war; but to imagine that -we are going now to return to the flesh-pots of Egypt, I mean to take -up our chain and set out for El Toboso, is to imagine that it is now -night, though it is not yet ten in the morning, and to ask this of us -is like asking pears of the elm tree.” - -“Then by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote (now stirred to wrath), -“Don son of a bitch, Don Ginesillo de Paropillo, or whatever your name -is, you will have to go yourself alone, with your tail between your -legs and the whole chain on your back.” - -Pasamonte, who was anything but meek (being by this time thoroughly -convinced that Don Quixote was not quite right in his head as he had -committed such a vagary as to set them free), finding himself abused in -this fashion, gave the wink to his companions, and falling back they -began to shower stones on Don Quixote at such a rate that he was quite -unable to protect himself with his buckler, and poor Rocinante no more -heeded the spur than if he had been made of brass. Sancho planted -himself behind his ass, and with him sheltered himself from the -hailstorm that poured on both of them. Don Quixote was unable to shield -himself so well but that more pebbles than I could count struck him -full on the body with such force that they brought him to the ground; -and the instant he fell the student pounced upon him, snatched the -basin from his head, and with it struck three or four blows on his -shoulders, and as many more on the ground, knocking it almost to -pieces. They then stripped him of a jacket that he wore over his -armour, and they would have stripped off his stockings if his greaves -had not prevented them. From Sancho they took his coat, leaving him in -his shirt-sleeves; and dividing among themselves the remaining spoils -of the battle, they went each one his own way, more solicitous about -keeping clear of the Holy Brotherhood they dreaded, than about -burdening themselves with the chain, or going to present themselves -before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. The ass and Rocinante, Sancho and -Don Quixote, were all that were left upon the spot; the ass with -drooping head, serious, shaking his ears from time to time as if he -thought the storm of stones that assailed them was not yet over; -Rocinante stretched beside his master, for he too had been brought to -the ground by a stone; Sancho stripped, and trembling with fear of the -Holy Brotherhood; and Don Quixote fuming to find himself so served by -the very persons for whom he had done so much. - -CHAPTER XXIII. -OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE SIERRA MORENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF THE -RAREST ADVENTURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS HISTORY - -Seeing himself served in this way, Don Quixote said to his squire, “I -have always heard it said, Sancho, that to do good to boors is to throw -water into the sea. If I had believed thy words, I should have avoided -this trouble; but it is done now, it is only to have patience and take -warning for the future.” - -“Your worship will take warning as much as I am a Turk,” returned -Sancho; “but, as you say this mischief might have been avoided if you -had believed me, believe me now, and a still greater one will be -avoided; for I tell you chivalry is of no account with the Holy -Brotherhood, and they don’t care two maravedis for all the -knights-errant in the world; and I can tell you I fancy I hear their -arrows whistling past my ears this minute.” - -“Thou art a coward by nature, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but lest thou -shouldst say I am obstinate, and that I never do as thou dost advise, -this once I will take thy advice, and withdraw out of reach of that -fury thou so dreadest; but it must be on one condition, that never, in -life or in death, thou art to say to anyone that I retired or withdrew -from this danger out of fear, but only in compliance with thy -entreaties; for if thou sayest otherwise thou wilt lie therein, and -from this time to that, and from that to this, I give thee lie, and say -thou liest and wilt lie every time thou thinkest or sayest it; and -answer me not again; for at the mere thought that I am withdrawing or -retiring from any danger, above all from this, which does seem to carry -some little shadow of fear with it, I am ready to take my stand here -and await alone, not only that Holy Brotherhood you talk of and dread, -but the brothers of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the Seven -Maccabees, and Castor and Pollux, and all the brothers and brotherhoods -in the world.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “to retire is not to flee, and there is no -wisdom in waiting when danger outweighs hope, and it is the part of -wise men to preserve themselves to-day for to-morrow, and not risk all -in one day; and let me tell you, though I am a clown and a boor, I have -got some notion of what they call safe conduct; so repent not of having -taken my advice, but mount Rocinante if you can, and if not I will help -you; and follow me, for my mother-wit tells me we have more need of -legs than hands just now.” - -Don Quixote mounted without replying, and, Sancho leading the way on -his ass, they entered the side of the Sierra Morena, which was close -by, as it was Sancho’s design to cross it entirely and come out again -at El Viso or Almodóvar del Campo, and hide for some days among its -crags so as to escape the search of the Brotherhood should they come to -look for them. He was encouraged in this by perceiving that the stock -of provisions carried by the ass had come safe out of the fray with the -galley slaves, a circumstance that he regarded as a miracle, seeing how -they pillaged and ransacked. - -That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra Morena, where it -seemed prudent to Sancho to pass the night and even some days, at least -as many as the stores he carried might last, and so they encamped -between two rocks and among some cork trees; but fatal destiny, which, -according to the opinion of those who have not the light of the true -faith, directs, arranges, and settles everything in its own way, so -ordered it that Gines de Pasamonte, the famous knave and thief who by -the virtue and madness of Don Quixote had been released from the chain, -driven by fear of the Holy Brotherhood, which he had good reason to -dread, resolved to take hiding in the mountains; and his fate and fear -led him to the same spot to which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had been -led by theirs, just in time to recognise them and leave them to fall -asleep: and as the wicked are always ungrateful, and necessity leads to -evildoing, and immediate advantage overcomes all considerations of the -future, Gines, who was neither grateful nor well-principled, made up -his mind to steal Sancho Panza’s ass, not troubling himself about -Rocinante, as being a prize that was no good either to pledge or sell. -While Sancho slept he stole his ass, and before day dawned he was far -out of reach. - -Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to the earth but sadness -to Sancho Panza, for he found that his Dapple was missing, and seeing -himself bereft of him he began the saddest and most doleful lament in -the world, so loud that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and heard -him saying, “O son of my bowels, born in my very house, my children’s -plaything, my wife’s joy, the envy of my neighbours, relief of my -burdens, and lastly, half supporter of myself, for with the -six-and-twenty maravedis thou didst earn me daily I met half my -charges.” - -Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned the cause, consoled -Sancho with the best arguments he could, entreating him to be patient, -and promising to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of -five ass-colts that he had at home to be given to him. Sancho took -comfort at this, dried his tears, suppressed his sobs, and returned -thanks for the kindness shown him by Don Quixote. He on his part was -rejoiced to the heart on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him -to be just the place for the adventures he was in quest of. They -brought back to his memory the marvellous adventures that had befallen -knights-errant in like solitudes and wilds, and he went along -reflecting on these things, so absorbed and carried away by them that -he had no thought for anything else. - -Nor had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he was travelling in -a safe quarter) than to satisfy his appetite with such remains as were -left of the clerical spoils, and so he marched behind his master laden -with what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack and packing his -paunch, and so long as he could go that way, he would not have given a -farthing to meet with another adventure. - -While so engaged he raised his eyes and saw that his master had halted, -and was trying with the point of his pike to lift some bulky object -that lay upon the ground, on which he hastened to join him and help him -if it were needful, and reached him just as with the point of the pike -he was raising a saddle-pad with a valise attached to it, half or -rather wholly rotten and torn; but so heavy were they that Sancho had -to help to take them up, and his master directed him to see what the -valise contained. Sancho did so with great alacrity, and though the -valise was secured by a chain and padlock, from its torn and rotten -condition he was able to see its contents, which were four shirts of -fine holland, and other articles of linen no less curious than clean; -and in a handkerchief he found a good lot of gold crowns, and as soon -as he saw them he exclaimed: - -“Blessed be all Heaven for sending us an adventure that is good for -something!” - -Searching further he found a little memorandum book richly bound; this -Don Quixote asked of him, telling him to take the money and keep it for -himself. Sancho kissed his hands for the favour, and cleared the valise -of its linen, which he stowed away in the provision sack. Considering -the whole matter, Don Quixote observed: - -“It seems to me, Sancho—and it is impossible it can be otherwise—that -some strayed traveller must have crossed this sierra and been attacked -and slain by footpads, who brought him to this remote spot to bury -him.” - -“That cannot be,” answered Sancho, “because if they had been robbers -they would not have left this money.” - -“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and I cannot guess or explain what -this may mean; but stay; let us see if in this memorandum book there is -anything written by which we may be able to trace out or discover what -we want to know.” - -He opened it, and the first thing he found in it, written roughly but -in a very good hand, was a sonnet, and reading it aloud that Sancho -might hear it, he found that it ran as follows: - -SONNET - -Or Love is lacking in intelligence, -Or to the height of cruelty attains, -Or else it is my doom to suffer pains -Beyond the measure due to my offence. -But if Love be a God, it follows thence -That he knows all, and certain it remains -No God loves cruelty; then who ordains -This penance that enthrals while it torments? -It were a falsehood, Chloe, thee to name; -Such evil with such goodness cannot live; -And against Heaven I dare not charge the blame, -I only know it is my fate to die. -To him who knows not whence his malady -A miracle alone a cure can give. - -“There is nothing to be learned from that rhyme,” said Sancho, “unless -by that clue there’s in it, one may draw out the ball of the whole -matter.” - -“What clue is there?” said Don Quixote. - -“I thought your worship spoke of a clue in it,” said Sancho. - -“I only said Chloe,” replied Don Quixote; “and that no doubt, is the -name of the lady of whom the author of the sonnet complains; and, -faith, he must be a tolerable poet, or I know little of the craft.” - -“Then your worship understands rhyming too?” - -“And better than thou thinkest,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou shalt -see when thou carriest a letter written in verse from beginning to end -to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for I would have thee know, Sancho, -that all or most of the knights-errant in days of yore were great -troubadours and great musicians, for both of these accomplishments, or -more properly speaking gifts, are the peculiar property of -lovers-errant: true it is that the verses of the knights of old have -more spirit than neatness in them.” - -“Read more, your worship,” said Sancho, “and you will find something -that will enlighten us.” - -Don Quixote turned the page and said, “This is prose and seems to be a -letter.” - -“A correspondence letter, señor?” - -“From the beginning it seems to be a love letter,” replied Don Quixote. - -“Then let your worship read it aloud,” said Sancho, “for I am very fond -of love matters.” - -“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and reading it aloud as Sancho -had requested him, he found it ran thus: - -Thy false promise and my sure misfortune carry me to a place whence the -news of my death will reach thy ears before the words of my complaint. -Ungrateful one, thou hast rejected me for one more wealthy, but not -more worthy; but if virtue were esteemed wealth I should neither envy -the fortunes of others nor weep for misfortunes of my own. What thy -beauty raised up thy deeds have laid low; by it I believed thee to be -an angel, by them I know thou art a woman. Peace be with thee who hast -sent war to me, and Heaven grant that the deceit of thy husband be ever -hidden from thee, so that thou repent not of what thou hast done, and I -reap not a revenge I would not have. - -When he had finished the letter, Don Quixote said, “There is less to be -gathered from this than from the verses, except that he who wrote it is -some rejected lover;” and turning over nearly all the pages of the book -he found more verses and letters, some of which he could read, while -others he could not; but they were all made up of complaints, laments, -misgivings, desires and aversions, favours and rejections, some -rapturous, some doleful. While Don Quixote examined the book, Sancho -examined the valise, not leaving a corner in the whole of it or in the -pad that he did not search, peer into, and explore, or seam that he did -not rip, or tuft of wool that he did not pick to pieces, lest anything -should escape for want of care and pains; so keen was the covetousness -excited in him by the discovery of the crowns, which amounted to near a -hundred; and though he found no more booty, he held the blanket -flights, balsam vomits, stake benedictions, carriers’ fisticuffs, -missing alforjas, stolen coat, and all the hunger, thirst, and -weariness he had endured in the service of his good master, cheap at -the price; as he considered himself more than fully indemnified for all -by the payment he received in the gift of the treasure-trove. - -The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was still very anxious to find out -who the owner of the valise could be, conjecturing from the sonnet and -letter, from the money in gold, and from the fineness of the shirts, -that he must be some lover of distinction whom the scorn and cruelty of -his lady had driven to some desperate course; but as in that -uninhabited and rugged spot there was no one to be seen of whom he -could inquire, he saw nothing else for it but to push on, taking -whatever road Rocinante chose—which was where he could make his -way—firmly persuaded that among these wilds he could not fail to meet -some rare adventure. As he went along, then, occupied with these -thoughts, he perceived on the summit of a height that rose before their -eyes a man who went springing from rock to rock and from tussock to -tussock with marvellous agility. As well as he could make out he was -unclad, with a thick black beard, long tangled hair, and bare legs and -feet, his thighs were covered by breeches apparently of tawny velvet -but so ragged that they showed his skin in several places. - -He was bareheaded, and notwithstanding the swiftness with which he -passed as has been described, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance -observed and noted all these trifles, and though he made the attempt, -he was unable to follow him, for it was not granted to the feebleness -of Rocinante to make way over such rough ground, he being, moreover, -slow-paced and sluggish by nature. Don Quixote at once came to the -conclusion that this was the owner of the saddle-pad and of the valise, -and made up his mind to go in search of him, even though he should have -to wander a year in those mountains before he found him, and so he -directed Sancho to take a short cut over one side of the mountain, -while he himself went by the other, and perhaps by this means they -might light upon this man who had passed so quickly out of their sight. - -“I could not do that,” said Sancho, “for when I separate from your -worship fear at once lays hold of me, and assails me with all sorts of -panics and fancies; and let what I now say be a notice that from this -time forth I am not going to stir a finger’s width from your presence.” - -“It shall be so,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “and I am very -glad that thou art willing to rely on my courage, which will never fail -thee, even though the soul in thy body fail thee; so come on now behind -me slowly as well as thou canst, and make lanterns of thine eyes; let -us make the circuit of this ridge; perhaps we shall light upon this man -that we saw, who no doubt is no other than the owner of what we found.” - -To which Sancho made answer, “Far better would it be not to look for -him, for, if we find him, and he happens to be the owner of the money, -it is plain I must restore it; it would be better, therefore, that -without taking this needless trouble, I should keep possession of it -until in some other less meddlesome and officious way the real owner -may be discovered; and perhaps that will be when I shall have spent it, -and then the king will hold me harmless.” - -“Thou art wrong there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for now that we have -a suspicion who the owner is, and have him almost before us, we are -bound to seek him and make restitution; and if we do not see him, the -strong suspicion we have as to his being the owner makes us as guilty -as if he were so; and so, friend Sancho, let not our search for him -give thee any uneasiness, for if we find him it will relieve mine.” - -And so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and Sancho followed him on -foot and loaded, and after having partly made the circuit of the -mountain they found lying in a ravine, dead and half devoured by dogs -and pecked by jackdaws, a mule saddled and bridled, all which still -further strengthened their suspicion that he who had fled was the owner -of the mule and the saddle-pad. - -As they stood looking at it they heard a whistle like that of a -shepherd watching his flock, and suddenly on their left there appeared -a great number of goats and behind them on the summit of the mountain -the goatherd in charge of them, a man advanced in years. Don Quixote -called aloud to him and begged him to come down to where they stood. He -shouted in return, asking what had brought them to that spot, seldom or -never trodden except by the feet of goats, or of the wolves and other -wild beasts that roamed around. Sancho in return bade him come down, -and they would explain all to him. - -The goatherd descended, and reaching the place where Don Quixote stood, -he said, “I will wager you are looking at that hack mule that lies dead -in the hollow there, and, faith, it has been lying there now these six -months; tell me, have you come upon its master about here?” - -“We have come upon nobody,” answered Don Quixote, “nor on anything -except a saddle-pad and a little valise that we found not far from -this.” - -“I found it too,” said the goatherd, “but I would not lift it nor go -near it for fear of some ill-luck or being charged with theft, for the -devil is crafty, and things rise up under one’s feet to make one fall -without knowing why or wherefore.” - -“That’s exactly what I say,” said Sancho; “I found it too, and I would -not go within a stone’s throw of it; there I left it, and there it lies -just as it was, for I don’t want a dog with a bell.” - -“Tell me, good man,” said Don Quixote, “do you know who is the owner of -this property?” - -“All I can tell you,” said the goatherd, “is that about six months ago, -more or less, there arrived at a shepherd’s hut three leagues, perhaps, -away from this, a youth of well-bred appearance and manners, mounted on -that same mule which lies dead here, and with the same saddle-pad and -valise which you say you found and did not touch. He asked us what part -of this sierra was the most rugged and retired; we told him that it was -where we now are; and so in truth it is, for if you push on half a -league farther, perhaps you will not be able to find your way out; and -I am wondering how you have managed to come here, for there is no road -or path that leads to this spot. I say, then, that on hearing our -answer the youth turned about and made for the place we pointed out to -him, leaving us all charmed with his good looks, and wondering at his -question and the haste with which we saw him depart in the direction of -the sierra; and after that we saw him no more, until some days -afterwards he crossed the path of one of our shepherds, and without -saying a word to him, came up to him and gave him several cuffs and -kicks, and then turned to the ass with our provisions and took all the -bread and cheese it carried, and having done this made off back again -into the sierra with extraordinary swiftness. When some of us goatherds -learned this we went in search of him for about two days through the -most remote portion of this sierra, at the end of which we found him -lodged in the hollow of a large thick cork tree. He came out to meet us -with great gentleness, with his dress now torn and his face so -disfigured and burned by the sun, that we hardly recognised him but -that his clothes, though torn, convinced us, from the recollection we -had of them, that he was the person we were looking for. He saluted us -courteously, and in a few well-spoken words he told us not to wonder at -seeing him going about in this guise, as it was binding upon him in -order that he might work out a penance which for his many sins had been -imposed upon him. We asked him to tell us who he was, but we were never -able to find out from him: we begged of him too, when he was in want of -food, which he could not do without, to tell us where we should find -him, as we would bring it to him with all good-will and readiness; or -if this were not to his taste, at least to come and ask it of us and -not take it by force from the shepherds. He thanked us for the offer, -begged pardon for the late assault, and promised for the future to ask -it in God’s name without offering violence to anybody. As for fixed -abode, he said he had no other than that which chance offered wherever -night might overtake him; and his words ended in an outburst of weeping -so bitter that we who listened to him must have been very stones had we -not joined him in it, comparing what we saw of him the first time with -what we saw now; for, as I said, he was a graceful and gracious youth, -and in his courteous and polished language showed himself to be of good -birth and courtly breeding, and rustics as we were that listened to -him, even to our rusticity his gentle bearing sufficed to make it -plain. - -“But in the midst of his conversation he stopped and became silent, -keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground for some time, during which we -stood still waiting anxiously to see what would come of this -abstraction; and with no little pity, for from his behaviour, now -staring at the ground with fixed gaze and eyes wide open without moving -an eyelid, again closing them, compressing his lips and raising his -eyebrows, we could perceive plainly that a fit of madness of some kind -had come upon him; and before long he showed that what we imagined was -the truth, for he arose in a fury from the ground where he had thrown -himself, and attacked the first he found near him with such rage and -fierceness that if we had not dragged him off him, he would have beaten -or bitten him to death, all the while exclaiming, ‘Oh faithless -Fernando, here, here shalt thou pay the penalty of the wrong thou hast -done me; these hands shall tear out that heart of thine, abode and -dwelling of all iniquity, but of deceit and fraud above all; and to -these he added other words all in effect upbraiding this Fernando and -charging him with treachery and faithlessness. - -“We forced him to release his hold with no little difficulty, and -without another word he left us, and rushing off plunged in among these -brakes and brambles, so as to make it impossible for us to follow him; -from this we suppose that madness comes upon him from time to time, and -that someone called Fernando must have done him a wrong of a grievous -nature such as the condition to which it had brought him seemed to -show. All this has been since then confirmed on those occasions, and -they have been many, on which he has crossed our path, at one time to -beg the shepherds to give him some of the food they carry, at another -to take it from them by force; for when there is a fit of madness upon -him, even though the shepherds offer it freely, he will not accept it -but snatches it from them by dint of blows; but when he is in his -senses he begs it for the love of God, courteously and civilly, and -receives it with many thanks and not a few tears. And to tell you the -truth, sirs,” continued the goatherd, “it was yesterday that we -resolved, I and four of the lads, two of them our servants, and the -other two friends of mine, to go in search of him until we find him, -and when we do to take him, whether by force or of his own consent, to -the town of Almodóvar, which is eight leagues from this, and there -strive to cure him (if indeed his malady admits of a cure), or learn -when he is in his senses who he is, and if he has relatives to whom we -may give notice of his misfortune. This, sirs, is all I can say in -answer to what you have asked me; and be sure that the owner of the -articles you found is he whom you saw pass by with such nimbleness and -so naked.” - -For Don Quixote had already described how he had seen the man go -bounding along the mountainside, and he was now filled with amazement -at what he heard from the goatherd, and more eager than ever to -discover who the unhappy madman was; and in his heart he resolved, as -he had done before, to search for him all over the mountain, not -leaving a corner or cave unexamined until he had found him. But chance -arranged matters better than he expected or hoped, for at that very -moment, in a gorge on the mountain that opened where they stood, the -youth he wished to find made his appearance, coming along talking to -himself in a way that would have been unintelligible near at hand, much -more at a distance. His garb was what has been described, save that as -he drew near, Don Quixote perceived that a tattered doublet which he -wore was amber-tanned, from which he concluded that one who wore such -garments could not be of very low rank. - -Approaching them, the youth greeted them in a harsh and hoarse voice -but with great courtesy. Don Quixote returned his salutation with equal -politeness, and dismounting from Rocinante advanced with well-bred -bearing and grace to embrace him, and held him for some time close in -his arms as if he had known him for a long time. The other, whom we may -call the Ragged One of the Sorry Countenance, as Don Quixote was of the -Rueful, after submitting to the embrace pushed him back a little and, -placing his hands on Don Quixote’s shoulders, stood gazing at him as if -seeking to see whether he knew him, not less amazed, perhaps, at the -sight of the face, figure, and armour of Don Quixote than Don Quixote -was at the sight of him. To be brief, the first to speak after -embracing was the Ragged One, and he said what will be told farther on. - -CHAPTER XXIV. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIERRA MORENA - -The history relates that it was with the greatest attention Don Quixote -listened to the ragged knight of the Sierra, who began by saying: - -“Of a surety, señor, whoever you are, for I know you not, I thank you -for the proofs of kindness and courtesy you have shown me, and would I -were in a condition to requite with something more than good-will that -which you have displayed towards me in the cordial reception you have -given me; but my fate does not afford me any other means of returning -kindnesses done me save the hearty desire to repay them.” - -“Mine,” replied Don Quixote, “is to be of service to you, so much so -that I had resolved not to quit these mountains until I had found you, -and learned of you whether there is any kind of relief to be found for -that sorrow under which from the strangeness of your life you seem to -labour; and to search for you with all possible diligence, if search -had been necessary. And if your misfortune should prove to be one of -those that refuse admission to any sort of consolation, it was my -purpose to join you in lamenting and mourning over it, so far as I -could; for it is still some comfort in misfortune to find one who can -feel for it. And if my good intentions deserve to be acknowledged with -any kind of courtesy, I entreat you, señor, by that which I perceive -you possess in so high a degree, and likewise conjure you by whatever -you love or have loved best in life, to tell me who you are and the -cause that has brought you to live or die in these solitudes like a -brute beast, dwelling among them in a manner so foreign to your -condition as your garb and appearance show. And I swear,” added Don -Quixote, “by the order of knighthood which I have received, and by my -vocation of knight-errant, if you gratify me in this, to serve you with -all the zeal my calling demands of me, either in relieving your -misfortune if it admits of relief, or in joining you in lamenting it as -I promised to do.” - -The Knight of the Thicket, hearing him of the Rueful Countenance talk -in this strain, did nothing but stare at him, and stare at him again, -and again survey him from head to foot; and when he had thoroughly -examined him, he said to him: - -“If you have anything to give me to eat, for God’s sake give it me, and -after I have eaten I will do all you ask in acknowledgment of the -goodwill you have displayed towards me.” - -Sancho from his sack, and the goatherd from his pouch, furnished the -Ragged One with the means of appeasing his hunger, and what they gave -him he ate like a half-witted being, so hastily that he took no time -between mouthfuls, gorging rather than swallowing; and while he ate -neither he nor they who observed him uttered a word. As soon as he had -done he made signs to them to follow him, which they did, and he led -them to a green plot which lay a little farther off round the corner of -a rock. On reaching it he stretched himself upon the grass, and the -others did the same, all keeping silence, until the Ragged One, -settling himself in his place, said: - -“If it is your wish, sirs, that I should disclose in a few words the -surpassing extent of my misfortunes, you must promise not to break the -thread of my sad story with any question or other interruption, for the -instant you do so the tale I tell will come to an end.” - -These words of the Ragged One reminded Don Quixote of the tale his -squire had told him, when he failed to keep count of the goats that had -crossed the river and the story remained unfinished; but to return to -the Ragged One, he went on to say: - -“I give you this warning because I wish to pass briefly over the story -of my misfortunes, for recalling them to memory only serves to add -fresh ones, and the less you question me the sooner shall I make an end -of the recital, though I shall not omit to relate anything of -importance in order fully to satisfy your curiosity.” - -Don Quixote gave the promise for himself and the others, and with this -assurance he began as follows: - -“My name is Cardenio, my birthplace one of the best cities of this -Andalusia, my family noble, my parents rich, my misfortune so great -that my parents must have wept and my family grieved over it without -being able by their wealth to lighten it; for the gifts of fortune can -do little to relieve reverses sent by Heaven. In that same country -there was a heaven in which love had placed all the glory I could -desire; such was the beauty of Luscinda, a damsel as noble and as rich -as I, but of happier fortunes, and of less firmness than was due to so -worthy a passion as mine. This Luscinda I loved, worshipped, and adored -from my earliest and tenderest years, and she loved me in all the -innocence and sincerity of childhood. Our parents were aware of our -feelings, and were not sorry to perceive them, for they saw clearly -that as they ripened they must lead at last to a marriage between us, a -thing that seemed almost prearranged by the equality of our families -and wealth. We grew up, and with our growth grew the love between us, -so that the father of Luscinda felt bound for propriety’s sake to -refuse me admission to his house, in this perhaps imitating the parents -of that Thisbe so celebrated by the poets, and this refusal but added -love to love and flame to flame; for though they enforced silence upon -our tongues they could not impose it upon our pens, which can make -known the heart’s secrets to a loved one more freely than tongues; for -many a time the presence of the object of love shakes the firmest will -and strikes dumb the boldest tongue. Ah heavens! how many letters did I -write her, and how many dainty modest replies did I receive! how many -ditties and love-songs did I compose in which my heart declared and -made known its feelings, described its ardent longings, revelled in its -recollections and dallied with its desires! At length growing impatient -and feeling my heart languishing with longing to see her, I resolved to -put into execution and carry out what seemed to me the best mode of -winning my desired and merited reward, to ask her of her father for my -lawful wife, which I did. To this his answer was that he thanked me for -the disposition I showed to do honour to him and to regard myself as -honoured by the bestowal of his treasure; but that as my father was -alive it was his by right to make this demand, for if it were not in -accordance with his full will and pleasure, Luscinda was not to be -taken or given by stealth. I thanked him for his kindness, reflecting -that there was reason in what he said, and that my father would assent -to it as soon as I should tell him, and with that view I went the very -same instant to let him know what my desires were. When I entered the -room where he was I found him with an open letter in his hand, which, -before I could utter a word, he gave me, saying, ‘By this letter thou -wilt see, Cardenio, the disposition the Duke Ricardo has to serve -thee.’ This Duke Ricardo, as you, sirs, probably know already, is a -grandee of Spain who has his seat in the best part of this Andalusia. I -took and read the letter, which was couched in terms so flattering that -even I myself felt it would be wrong in my father not to comply with -the request the duke made in it, which was that he would send me -immediately to him, as he wished me to become the companion, not -servant, of his eldest son, and would take upon himself the charge of -placing me in a position corresponding to the esteem in which he held -me. On reading the letter my voice failed me, and still more when I -heard my father say, ‘Two days hence thou wilt depart, Cardenio, in -accordance with the duke’s wish, and give thanks to God who is opening -a road to thee by which thou mayest attain what I know thou dost -deserve; and to these words he added others of fatherly counsel. The -time for my departure arrived; I spoke one night to Luscinda, I told -her all that had occurred, as I did also to her father, entreating him -to allow some delay, and to defer the disposal of her hand until I -should see what the Duke Ricardo sought of me: he gave me the promise, -and she confirmed it with vows and swoonings unnumbered. Finally, I -presented myself to the duke, and was received and treated by him so -kindly that very soon envy began to do its work, the old servants -growing envious of me, and regarding the duke’s inclination to show me -favour as an injury to themselves. But the one to whom my arrival gave -the greatest pleasure was the duke’s second son, Fernando by name, a -gallant youth, of noble, generous, and amorous disposition, who very -soon made so intimate a friend of me that it was remarked by everybody; -for though the elder was attached to me, and showed me kindness, he did -not carry his affectionate treatment to the same length as Don -Fernando. It so happened, then, that as between friends no secret -remains unshared, and as the favour I enjoyed with Don Fernando had -grown into friendship, he made all his thoughts known to me, and in -particular a love affair which troubled his mind a little. He was -deeply in love with a peasant girl, a vassal of his father’s, the -daughter of wealthy parents, and herself so beautiful, modest, -discreet, and virtuous, that no one who knew her was able to decide in -which of these respects she was most highly gifted or most excelled. -The attractions of the fair peasant raised the passion of Don Fernando -to such a point that, in order to gain his object and overcome her -virtuous resolutions, he determined to pledge his word to her to become -her husband, for to attempt it in any other way was to attempt an -impossibility. Bound to him as I was by friendship, I strove by the -best arguments and the most forcible examples I could think of to -restrain and dissuade him from such a course; but perceiving I produced -no effect I resolved to make the Duke Ricardo, his father, acquainted -with the matter; but Don Fernando, being sharp-witted and shrewd, -foresaw and apprehended this, perceiving that by my duty as a good -servant I was bound not to keep concealed a thing so much opposed to -the honour of my lord the duke; and so, to mislead and deceive me, he -told me he could find no better way of effacing from his mind the -beauty that so enslaved him than by absenting himself for some months, -and that he wished the absence to be effected by our going, both of us, -to my father’s house under the pretence, which he would make to the -duke, of going to see and buy some fine horses that there were in my -city, which produces the best in the world. When I heard him say so, -even if his resolution had not been so good a one I should have hailed -it as one of the happiest that could be imagined, prompted by my -affection, seeing what a favourable chance and opportunity it offered -me of returning to see my Luscinda. With this thought and wish I -commended his idea and encouraged his design, advising him to put it -into execution as quickly as possible, as, in truth, absence produced -its effect in spite of the most deeply rooted feelings. But, as -afterwards appeared, when he said this to me he had already enjoyed the -peasant girl under the title of husband, and was waiting for an -opportunity of making it known with safety to himself, being in dread -of what his father the duke would do when he came to know of his folly. -It happened, then, that as with young men love is for the most part -nothing more than appetite, which, as its final object is enjoyment, -comes to an end on obtaining it, and that which seemed to be love takes -to flight, as it cannot pass the limit fixed by nature, which fixes no -limit to true love—what I mean is that after Don Fernando had enjoyed -this peasant girl his passion subsided and his eagerness cooled, and if -at first he feigned a wish to absent himself in order to cure his love, -he was now in reality anxious to go to avoid keeping his promise. - -“The duke gave him permission, and ordered me to accompany him; we -arrived at my city, and my father gave him the reception due to his -rank; I saw Luscinda without delay, and, though it had not been dead or -deadened, my love gathered fresh life. To my sorrow I told the story of -it to Don Fernando, for I thought that in virtue of the great -friendship he bore me I was bound to conceal nothing from him. I -extolled her beauty, her gaiety, her wit, so warmly, that my praises -excited in him a desire to see a damsel adorned by such attractions. To -my misfortune I yielded to it, showing her to him one night by the -light of a taper at a window where we used to talk to one another. As -she appeared to him in her dressing-gown, she drove all the beauties he -had seen until then out of his recollection; speech failed him, his -head turned, he was spell-bound, and in the end love-smitten, as you -will see in the course of the story of my misfortune; and to inflame -still further his passion, which he hid from me and revealed to Heaven -alone, it so happened that one day he found a note of hers entreating -me to demand her of her father in marriage, so delicate, so modest, and -so tender, that on reading it he told me that in Luscinda alone were -combined all the charms of beauty and understanding that were -distributed among all the other women in the world. It is true, and I -own it now, that though I knew what good cause Don Fernando had to -praise Luscinda, it gave me uneasiness to hear these praises from his -mouth, and I began to fear, and with reason to feel distrust of him, -for there was no moment when he was not ready to talk of Luscinda, and -he would start the subject himself even though he dragged it in -unseasonably, a circumstance that aroused in me a certain amount of -jealousy; not that I feared any change in the constancy or faith of -Luscinda; but still my fate led me to forebode what she assured me -against. Don Fernando contrived always to read the letters I sent to -Luscinda and her answers to me, under the pretence that he enjoyed the -wit and sense of both. It so happened, then, that Luscinda having -begged of me a book of chivalry to read, one that she was very fond of, -Amadis of Gaul—” - -Don Quixote no sooner heard a book of chivalry mentioned, than he said: - -“Had your worship told me at the beginning of your story that the Lady -Luscinda was fond of books of chivalry, no other laudation would have -been requisite to impress upon me the superiority of her understanding, -for it could not have been of the excellence you describe had a taste -for such delightful reading been wanting; so, as far as I am concerned, -you need waste no more words in describing her beauty, worth, and -intelligence; for, on merely hearing what her taste was, I declare her -to be the most beautiful and the most intelligent woman in the world; -and I wish your worship had, along with Amadis of Gaul, sent her the -worthy Don Rugel of Greece, for I know the Lady Luscinda would greatly -relish Daraida and Garaya, and the shrewd sayings of the shepherd -Darinel, and the admirable verses of his bucolics, sung and delivered -by him with such sprightliness, wit, and ease; but a time may come when -this omission can be remedied, and to rectify it nothing more is needed -than for your worship to be so good as to come with me to my village, -for there I can give you more than three hundred books which are the -delight of my soul and the entertainment of my life;—though it occurs -to me that I have not got one of them now, thanks to the spite of -wicked and envious enchanters;—but pardon me for having broken the -promise we made not to interrupt your discourse; for when I hear -chivalry or knights-errant mentioned, I can no more help talking about -them than the rays of the sun can help giving heat, or those of the -moon moisture; pardon me, therefore, and proceed, for that is more to -the purpose now.” - -While Don Quixote was saying this, Cardenio allowed his head to fall -upon his breast, and seemed plunged in deep thought; and though twice -Don Quixote bade him go on with his story, he neither looked up nor -uttered a word in reply; but after some time he raised his head and -said, “I cannot get rid of the idea, nor will anyone in the world -remove it, or make me think otherwise—and he would be a blockhead who -would hold or believe anything else than that that arrant knave Master -Elisabad made free with Queen Madasima.” - -“That is not true, by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote in high wrath, -turning upon him angrily, as his way was; “and it is a very great -slander, or rather villainy. Queen Madasima was a very illustrious -lady, and it is not to be supposed that so exalted a princess would -have made free with a quack; and whoever maintains the contrary lies -like a great scoundrel, and I will give him to know it, on foot or on -horseback, armed or unarmed, by night or by day, or as he likes best.” - -Cardenio was looking at him steadily, and his mad fit having now come -upon him, he had no disposition to go on with his story, nor would Don -Quixote have listened to it, so much had what he had heard about -Madasima disgusted him. Strange to say, he stood up for her as if she -were in earnest his veritable born lady; to such a pass had his unholy -books brought him. Cardenio, then, being, as I said, now mad, when he -heard himself given the lie, and called a scoundrel and other insulting -names, not relishing the jest, snatched up a stone that he found near -him, and with it delivered such a blow on Don Quixote’s breast that he -laid him on his back. Sancho Panza, seeing his master treated in this -fashion, attacked the madman with his closed fist; but the Ragged One -received him in such a way that with a blow of his fist he stretched -him at his feet, and then mounting upon him crushed his ribs to his own -satisfaction; the goatherd, who came to the rescue, shared the same -fate; and having beaten and pummelled them all he left them and quietly -withdrew to his hiding-place on the mountain. Sancho rose, and with the -rage he felt at finding himself so belaboured without deserving it, ran -to take vengeance on the goatherd, accusing him of not giving them -warning that this man was at times taken with a mad fit, for if they -had known it they would have been on their guard to protect themselves. -The goatherd replied that he had said so, and that if he had not heard -him, that was no fault of his. Sancho retorted, and the goatherd -rejoined, and the altercation ended in their seizing each other by the -beard, and exchanging such fisticuffs that if Don Quixote had not made -peace between them, they would have knocked one another to pieces. - -“Leave me alone, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance,” said Sancho, -grappling with the goatherd, “for of this fellow, who is a clown like -myself, and no dubbed knight, I can safely take satisfaction for the -affront he has offered me, fighting with him hand to hand like an -honest man.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “but I know that he is not to blame -for what has happened.” - -With this he pacified them, and again asked the goatherd if it would be -possible to find Cardenio, as he felt the greatest anxiety to know the -end of his story. The goatherd told him, as he had told him before, -that there was no knowing of a certainty where his lair was; but that -if he wandered about much in that neighbourhood he could not fail to -fall in with him either in or out of his senses. - -CHAPTER XXV. -WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THE STOUT KNIGHT OF -LA MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION OF THE PENANCE OF -BELTENEBROS - -Don Quixote took leave of the goatherd, and once more mounting -Rocinante bade Sancho follow him, which he having no ass, did very -discontentedly. They proceeded slowly, making their way into the most -rugged part of the mountain, Sancho all the while dying to have a talk -with his master, and longing for him to begin, so that there should be -no breach of the injunction laid upon him; but unable to keep silence -so long he said to him: - -“Señor Don Quixote, give me your worship’s blessing and dismissal, for -I’d like to go home at once to my wife and children with whom I can at -any rate talk and converse as much as I like; for to want me to go -through these solitudes day and night and not speak to you when I have -a mind is burying me alive. If luck would have it that animals spoke as -they did in the days of Guisopete, it would not be so bad, because I -could talk to Rocinante about whatever came into my head, and so put up -with my ill-fortune; but it is a hard case, and not to be borne with -patience, to go seeking adventures all one’s life and get nothing but -kicks and blanketings, brickbats and punches, and with all this to have -to sew up one’s mouth without daring to say what is in one’s heart, -just as if one were dumb.” - -“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “thou art dying to -have the interdict I placed upon thy tongue removed; consider it -removed, and say what thou wilt while we are wandering in these -mountains.” - -“So be it,” said Sancho; “let me speak now, for God knows what will -happen by-and-by; and to take advantage of the permit at once, I ask, -what made your worship stand up so for that Queen Majimasa, or whatever -her name is, or what did it matter whether that abbot was a friend of -hers or not? for if your worship had let that pass—and you were not a -judge in the matter—it is my belief the madman would have gone on with -his story, and the blow of the stone, and the kicks, and more than half -a dozen cuffs would have been escaped.” - -“In faith, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “if thou knewest as I do what -an honourable and illustrious lady Queen Madasima was, I know thou -wouldst say I had great patience that I did not break in pieces the -mouth that uttered such blasphemies, for a very great blasphemy it is -to say or imagine that a queen has made free with a surgeon. The truth -of the story is that that Master Elisabad whom the madman mentioned was -a man of great prudence and sound judgment, and served as governor and -physician to the queen, but to suppose that she was his mistress is -nonsense deserving very severe punishment; and as a proof that Cardenio -did not know what he was saying, remember when he said it he was out of -his wits.” - -“That is what I say,” said Sancho; “there was no occasion for minding -the words of a madman; for if good luck had not helped your worship, -and he had sent that stone at your head instead of at your breast, a -fine way we should have been in for standing up for my lady yonder, God -confound her! And then, would not Cardenio have gone free as a madman?” - -“Against men in their senses or against madmen,” said Don Quixote, -“every knight-errant is bound to stand up for the honour of women, -whoever they may be, much more for queens of such high degree and -dignity as Queen Madasima, for whom I have a particular regard on -account of her amiable qualities; for, besides being extremely -beautiful, she was very wise, and very patient under her misfortunes, -of which she had many; and the counsel and society of the Master -Elisabad were a great help and support to her in enduring her -afflictions with wisdom and resignation; hence the ignorant and -ill-disposed vulgar took occasion to say and think that she was his -mistress; and they lie, I say it once more, and will lie two hundred -times more, all who think and say so.” - -“I neither say nor think so,” said Sancho; “let them look to it; with -their bread let them eat it; they have rendered account to God whether -they misbehaved or not; I come from my vineyard, I know nothing; I am -not fond of prying into other men’s lives; he who buys and lies feels -it in his purse; moreover, naked was I born, naked I find myself, I -neither lose nor gain; but if they did, what is that to me? many think -there are flitches where there are no hooks; but who can put gates to -the open plain? moreover they said of God—” - -“God bless me,” said Don Quixote, “what a set of absurdities thou art -stringing together! What has what we are talking about got to do with -the proverbs thou art threading one after the other? for God’s sake -hold thy tongue, Sancho, and henceforward keep to prodding thy ass and -don’t meddle in what does not concern thee; and understand with all thy -five senses that everything I have done, am doing, or shall do, is well -founded on reason and in conformity with the rules of chivalry, for I -understand them better than all the world that profess them.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “is it a good rule of chivalry that we should -go astray through these mountains without path or road, looking for a -madman who when he is found will perhaps take a fancy to finish what he -began, not his story, but your worship’s head and my ribs, and end by -breaking them altogether for us?” - -“Peace, I say again, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for let me tell thee -it is not so much the desire of finding that madman that leads me into -these regions as that which I have of performing among them an -achievement wherewith I shall win eternal name and fame throughout the -known world; and it shall be such that I shall thereby set the seal on -all that can make a knight-errant perfect and famous.” - -“And is it very perilous, this achievement?” - -“No,” replied he of the Rueful Countenance; “though it may be in the -dice that we may throw deuce-ace instead of sixes; but all will depend -on thy diligence.” - -“On my diligence!” said Sancho. - -“Yes,” said Don Quixote, “for if thou dost return soon from the place -where I mean to send thee, my penance will be soon over, and my glory -will soon begin. But as it is not right to keep thee any longer in -suspense, waiting to see what comes of my words, I would have thee -know, Sancho, that the famous Amadis of Gaul was one of the most -perfect knights-errant—I am wrong to say he was one; he stood alone, -the first, the only one, the lord of all that were in the world in his -time. A fig for Don Belianis, and for all who say he equalled him in -any respect, for, my oath upon it, they are deceiving themselves! I -say, too, that when a painter desires to become famous in his art he -endeavours to copy the originals of the rarest painters that he knows; -and the same rule holds good for all the most important crafts and -callings that serve to adorn a state; thus must he who would be -esteemed prudent and patient imitate Ulysses, in whose person and -labours Homer presents to us a lively picture of prudence and patience; -as Virgil, too, shows us in the person of Æneas the virtue of a pious -son and the sagacity of a brave and skilful captain; not representing -or describing them as they were, but as they ought to be, so as to -leave the example of their virtues to posterity. In the same way Amadis -was the polestar, day-star, sun of valiant and devoted knights, whom -all we who fight under the banner of love and chivalry are bound to -imitate. This, then, being so, I consider, friend Sancho, that the -knight-errant who shall imitate him most closely will come nearest to -reaching the perfection of chivalry. Now one of the instances in which -this knight most conspicuously showed his prudence, worth, valour, -endurance, fortitude, and love, was when he withdrew, rejected by the -Lady Oriana, to do penance upon the Peña Pobre, changing his name into -that of Beltenebros, a name assuredly significant and appropriate to -the life which he had voluntarily adopted. So, as it is easier for me -to imitate him in this than in cleaving giants asunder, cutting off -serpents’ heads, slaying dragons, routing armies, destroying fleets, -and breaking enchantments, and as this place is so well suited for a -similar purpose, I must not allow the opportunity to escape which now -so conveniently offers me its forelock.” - -“What is it in reality,” said Sancho, “that your worship means to do in -such an out-of-the-way place as this?” - -“Have I not told thee,” answered Don Quixote, “that I mean to imitate -Amadis here, playing the victim of despair, the madman, the maniac, so -as at the same time to imitate the valiant Don Roland, when at the -fountain he had evidence of the fair Angelica having disgraced herself -with Medoro and through grief thereat went mad, and plucked up trees, -troubled the waters of the clear springs, slew destroyed flocks, burned -down huts, levelled houses, dragged mares after him, and perpetrated a -hundred thousand other outrages worthy of everlasting renown and -record? And though I have no intention of imitating Roland, or Orlando, -or Rotolando (for he went by all these names), step by step in all the -mad things he did, said, and thought, I will make a rough copy to the -best of my power of all that seems to me most essential; but perhaps I -shall content myself with the simple imitation of Amadis, who without -giving way to any mischievous madness but merely to tears and sorrow, -gained as much fame as the most famous.” - -“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that the knights who behaved in this -way had provocation and cause for those follies and penances; but what -cause has your worship for going mad? What lady has rejected you, or -what evidence have you found to prove that the lady Dulcinea del Toboso -has been trifling with Moor or Christian?” - -“There is the point,” replied Don Quixote, “and that is the beauty of -this business of mine; no thanks to a knight-errant for going mad when -he has cause; the thing is to turn crazy without any provocation, and -let my lady know, if I do this in the dry, what I would do in the -moist; moreover I have abundant cause in the long separation I have -endured from my lady till death, Dulcinea del Toboso; for as thou didst -hear that shepherd Ambrosio say the other day, in absence all ills are -felt and feared; and so, friend Sancho, waste no time in advising me -against so rare, so happy, and so unheard-of an imitation; mad I am, -and mad I must be until thou returnest with the answer to a letter that -I mean to send by thee to my lady Dulcinea; and if it be such as my -constancy deserves, my insanity and penance will come to an end; and if -it be to the opposite effect, I shall become mad in earnest, and, being -so, I shall suffer no more; thus in whatever way she may answer I shall -escape from the struggle and affliction in which thou wilt leave me, -enjoying in my senses the boon thou bearest me, or as a madman not -feeling the evil thou bringest me. But tell me, Sancho, hast thou got -Mambrino’s helmet safe? for I saw thee take it up from the ground when -that ungrateful wretch tried to break it in pieces but could not, by -which the fineness of its temper may be seen.” - -To which Sancho made answer, “By the living God, Sir Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, I cannot endure or bear with patience some of the -things that your worship says; and from them I begin to suspect that -all you tell me about chivalry, and winning kingdoms and empires, and -giving islands, and bestowing other rewards and dignities after the -custom of knights-errant, must be all made up of wind and lies, and all -pigments or figments, or whatever we may call them; for what would -anyone think that heard your worship calling a barber’s basin -Mambrino’s helmet without ever seeing the mistake all this time, but -that one who says and maintains such things must have his brains -addled? I have the basin in my sack all dinted, and I am taking it home -to have it mended, to trim my beard in it, if, by God’s grace, I am -allowed to see my wife and children some day or other.” - -“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “by him thou didst swear by just -now I swear thou hast the most limited understanding that any squire in -the world has or ever had. Is it possible that all this time thou hast -been going about with me thou hast never found out that all things -belonging to knights-errant seem to be illusions and nonsense and -ravings, and to go always by contraries? And not because it really is -so, but because there is always a swarm of enchanters in attendance -upon us that change and alter everything with us, and turn things as -they please, and according as they are disposed to aid or destroy us; -thus what seems to thee a barber’s basin seems to me Mambrino’s helmet, -and to another it will seem something else; and rare foresight it was -in the sage who is on my side to make what is really and truly -Mambrino’s helmet seem a basin to everybody, for, being held in such -estimation as it is, all the world would pursue me to rob me of it; but -when they see it is only a barber’s basin they do not take the trouble -to obtain it; as was plainly shown by him who tried to break it, and -left it on the ground without taking it, for, by my faith, had he known -it he would never have left it behind. Keep it safe, my friend, for -just now I have no need of it; indeed, I shall have to take off all -this armour and remain as naked as I was born, if I have a mind to -follow Roland rather than Amadis in my penance.” - -Thus talking they reached the foot of a high mountain which stood like -an isolated peak among the others that surrounded it. Past its base -there flowed a gentle brook, all around it spread a meadow so green and -luxuriant that it was a delight to the eyes to look upon it, and forest -trees in abundance, and shrubs and flowers, added to the charms of the -spot. Upon this place the Knight of the Rueful Countenance fixed his -choice for the performance of his penance, and as he beheld it -exclaimed in a loud voice as though he were out of his senses: - -“This is the place, oh, ye heavens, that I select and choose for -bewailing the misfortune in which ye yourselves have plunged me: this -is the spot where the overflowings of mine eyes shall swell the waters -of yon little brook, and my deep and endless sighs shall stir -unceasingly the leaves of these mountain trees, in testimony and token -of the pain my persecuted heart is suffering. Oh, ye rural deities, -whoever ye be that haunt this lone spot, give ear to the complaint of a -wretched lover whom long absence and brooding jealousy have driven to -bewail his fate among these wilds and complain of the hard heart of -that fair and ungrateful one, the end and limit of all human beauty! -Oh, ye wood nymphs and dryads, that dwell in the thickets of the -forest, so may the nimble wanton satyrs by whom ye are vainly wooed -never disturb your sweet repose, help me to lament my hard fate or at -least weary not at listening to it! Oh, Dulcinea del Toboso, day of my -night, glory of my pain, guide of my path, star of my fortune, so may -Heaven grant thee in full all thou seekest of it, bethink thee of the -place and condition to which absence from thee has brought me, and make -that return in kindness that is due to my fidelity! Oh, lonely trees, -that from this day forward shall bear me company in my solitude, give -me some sign by the gentle movement of your boughs that my presence is -not distasteful to you! Oh, thou, my squire, pleasant companion in my -prosperous and adverse fortunes, fix well in thy memory what thou shalt -see me do here, so that thou mayest relate and report it to the sole -cause of all,” and so saying he dismounted from Rocinante, and in an -instant relieved him of saddle and bridle, and giving him a slap on the -croup, said, “He gives thee freedom who is bereft of it himself, oh -steed as excellent in deed as thou art unfortunate in thy lot; begone -where thou wilt, for thou bearest written on thy forehead that neither -Astolfo’s hippogriff, nor the famed Frontino that cost Bradamante so -dear, could equal thee in speed.” - -Seeing this Sancho said, “Good luck to him who has saved us the trouble -of stripping the pack-saddle off Dapple! By my faith he would not have -gone without a slap on the croup and something said in his praise; -though if he were here I would not let anyone strip him, for there -would be no occasion, as he had nothing of the lover or victim of -despair about him, inasmuch as his master, which I was while it was -God’s pleasure, was nothing of the sort; and indeed, Sir Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, if my departure and your worship’s madness are to -come off in earnest, it will be as well to saddle Rocinante again in -order that he may supply the want of Dapple, because it will save me -time in going and returning: for if I go on foot I don’t know when I -shall get there or when I shall get back, as I am, in truth, a bad -walker.” - -“I declare, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “it shall be as thou wilt, -for thy plan does not seem to me a bad one, and three days hence thou -wilt depart, for I wish thee to observe in the meantime what I do and -say for her sake, that thou mayest be able to tell it.” - -“But what more have I to see besides what I have seen?” said Sancho. - -“Much thou knowest about it!” said Don Quixote. “I have now got to tear -up my garments, to scatter about my armour, knock my head against these -rocks, and more of the same sort of thing, which thou must witness.” - -“For the love of God,” said Sancho, “be careful, your worship, how you -give yourself those knocks on the head, for you may come across such a -rock, and in such a way, that the very first may put an end to the -whole contrivance of this penance; and I should think, if indeed knocks -on the head seem necessary to you, and this business cannot be done -without them, you might be content—as the whole thing is feigned, and -counterfeit, and in joke—you might be content, I say, with giving them -to yourself in the water, or against something soft, like cotton; and -leave it all to me; for I’ll tell my lady that your worship knocked -your head against a point of rock harder than a diamond.” - -“I thank thee for thy good intentions, friend Sancho,” answered Don -Quixote, “but I would have thee know that all these things I am doing -are not in joke, but very much in earnest, for anything else would be a -transgression of the ordinances of chivalry, which forbid us to tell -any lie whatever under the penalties due to apostasy; and to do one -thing instead of another is just the same as lying; so my knocks on the -head must be real, solid, and valid, without anything sophisticated or -fanciful about them, and it will be needful to leave me some lint to -dress my wounds, since fortune has compelled us to do without the -balsam we lost.” - -“It was worse losing the ass,” replied Sancho, “for with him lint and -all were lost; but I beg of your worship not to remind me again of that -accursed liquor, for my soul, not to say my stomach, turns at hearing -the very name of it; and I beg of you, too, to reckon as past the three -days you allowed me for seeing the mad things you do, for I take them -as seen already and pronounced upon, and I will tell wonderful stories -to my lady; so write the letter and send me off at once, for I long to -return and take your worship out of this purgatory where I am leaving -you.” - -“Purgatory dost thou call it, Sancho?” said Don Quixote, “rather call -it hell, or even worse if there be anything worse.” - -“For one who is in hell,” said Sancho, “_nulla est retentio_, as I have -heard say.” - -“I do not understand what _retentio_ means,” said Don Quixote. - -“_Retentio_,” answered Sancho, “means that whoever is in hell never -comes nor can come out of it, which will be the opposite case with your -worship or my legs will be idle, that is if I have spurs to enliven -Rocinante: let me once get to El Toboso and into the presence of my -lady Dulcinea, and I will tell her such things of the follies and -madnesses (for it is all one) that your worship has done and is still -doing, that I will manage to make her softer than a glove though I find -her harder than a cork tree; and with her sweet and honeyed answer I -will come back through the air like a witch, and take your worship out -of this purgatory that seems to be hell but is not, as there is hope of -getting out of it; which, as I have said, those in hell have not, and I -believe your worship will not say anything to the contrary.” - -“That is true,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “but how shall we -manage to write the letter?” - -“And the ass-colt order too,” added Sancho. - -“All shall be included,” said Don Quixote; “and as there is no paper, -it would be well done to write it on the leaves of trees, as the -ancients did, or on tablets of wax; though that would be as hard to -find just now as paper. But it has just occurred to me how it may be -conveniently and even more than conveniently written, and that is in -the notebook that belonged to Cardenio, and thou wilt take care to have -it copied on paper, in a good hand, at the first village thou comest to -where there is a schoolmaster, or if not, any sacristan will copy it; -but see thou give it not to any notary to copy, for they write a law -hand that Satan could not make out.” - -“But what is to be done about the signature?” said Sancho. - -“The letters of Amadis were never signed,” said Don Quixote. - -“That is all very well,” said Sancho, “but the order must needs be -signed, and if it is copied they will say the signature is false, and I -shall be left without ass-colts.” - -“The order shall go signed in the same book,” said Don Quixote, “and on -seeing it my niece will make no difficulty about obeying it; as to the -loveletter thou canst put by way of signature, ‘_Yours till death, the -Knight of the Rueful Countenance._’ And it will be no great matter if -it is in some other person’s hand, for as well as I recollect Dulcinea -can neither read nor write, nor in the whole course of her life has she -seen handwriting or letter of mine, for my love and hers have been -always platonic, not going beyond a modest look, and even that so -seldom that I can safely swear I have not seen her four times in all -these twelve years I have been loving her more than the light of these -eyes that the earth will one day devour; and perhaps even of those four -times she has not once perceived that I was looking at her: such is the -retirement and seclusion in which her father Lorenzo Corchuelo and her -mother Aldonza Nogales have brought her up.” - -“So, so!” said Sancho; “Lorenzo Corchuelo’s daughter is the lady -Dulcinea del Toboso, otherwise called Aldonza Lorenzo?” - -“She it is,” said Don Quixote, “and she it is that is worthy to be lady -of the whole universe.” - -“I know her well,” said Sancho, “and let me tell you she can fling a -crowbar as well as the lustiest lad in all the town. Giver of all good! -but she is a brave lass, and a right and stout one, and fit to be -helpmate to any knight-errant that is or is to be, who may make her his -lady: the whoreson wench, what sting she has and what a voice! I can -tell you one day she posted herself on the top of the belfry of the -village to call some labourers of theirs that were in a ploughed field -of her father’s, and though they were better than half a league off -they heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the tower; and -the best of her is that she is not a bit prudish, for she has plenty of -affability, and jokes with everybody, and has a grin and a jest for -everything. So, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I say you not -only may and ought to do mad freaks for her sake, but you have a good -right to give way to despair and hang yourself; and no one who knows of -it but will say you did well, though the devil should take you; and I -wish I were on my road already, simply to see her, for it is many a day -since I saw her, and she must be altered by this time, for going about -the fields always, and the sun and the air spoil women’s looks greatly. -But I must own the truth to your worship, Señor Don Quixote; until now -I have been under a great mistake, for I believed truly and honestly -that the lady Dulcinea must be some princess your worship was in love -with, or some person great enough to deserve the rich presents you have -sent her, such as the Biscayan and the galley slaves, and many more no -doubt, for your worship must have won many victories in the time when I -was not yet your squire. But all things considered, what good can it do -the lady Aldonza Lorenzo, I mean the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, to have -the vanquished your worship sends or will send coming to her and going -down on their knees before her? Because maybe when they came she’d be -hackling flax or threshing on the threshing floor, and they’d be -ashamed to see her, and she’d laugh, or resent the present.” - -“I have before now told thee many times, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“that thou art a mighty great chatterer, and that with a blunt wit thou -art always striving at sharpness; but to show thee what a fool thou art -and how rational I am, I would have thee listen to a short story. Thou -must know that a certain widow, fair, young, independent, and rich, and -above all free and easy, fell in love with a sturdy strapping young -lay-brother; his superior came to know of it, and one day said to the -worthy widow by way of brotherly remonstrance, ‘I am surprised, señora, -and not without good reason, that a woman of such high standing, so -fair, and so rich as you are, should have fallen in love with such a -mean, low, stupid fellow as So-and-so, when in this house there are so -many masters, graduates, and divinity students from among whom you -might choose as if they were a lot of pears, saying, ‘This one I’ll -take, that I won’t take;’ but she replied to him with great -sprightliness and candour, ‘My dear sir, you are very much mistaken, -and your ideas are very old-fashioned, if you think that I have made a -bad choice in So-and-so, fool as he seems; because for all I want with -him he knows as much and more philosophy than Aristotle.’ In the same -way, Sancho, for all I want with Dulcinea del Toboso she is just as -good as the most exalted princess on earth. It is not to be supposed -that all those poets who sang the praises of ladies under the fancy -names they give them, had any such mistresses. Thinkest thou that the -Amarillises, the Phillises, the Sylvias, the Dianas, the Galateas, the -Fílidas, and all the rest of them, that the books, the ballads, the -barber’s shops, the theatres are full of, were really and truly ladies -of flesh and blood, and mistresses of those that glorify and have -glorified them? Nothing of the kind; they only invent them for the most -part to furnish a subject for their verses, and that they may pass for -lovers, or for men valiant enough to be so; and so it suffices me to -think and believe that the good Aldonza Lorenzo is fair and virtuous; -and as to her pedigree it is very little matter, for no one will -examine into it for the purpose of conferring any order upon her, and -I, for my part, reckon her the most exalted princess in the world. For -thou shouldst know, Sancho, if thou dost not know, that two things -alone beyond all others are incentives to love, and these are great -beauty and a good name, and these two things are to be found in -Dulcinea in the highest degree, for in beauty no one equals her and in -good name few approach her; and to put the whole thing in a nutshell, I -persuade myself that all I say is as I say, neither more nor less, and -I picture her in my imagination as I would have her to be, as well in -beauty as in condition; Helen approaches her not nor does Lucretia come -up to her, nor any other of the famous women of times past, Greek, -Barbarian, or Latin; and let each say what he will, for if in this I am -taken to task by the ignorant, I shall not be censured by the -critical.” - -“I say that your worship is entirely right,” said Sancho, “and that I -am an ass. But I know not how the name of ass came into my mouth, for a -rope is not to be mentioned in the house of him who has been hanged; -but now for the letter, and then, God be with you, I am off.” - -Don Quixote took out the notebook, and, retiring to one side, very -deliberately began to write the letter, and when he had finished it he -called to Sancho, saying he wished to read it to him, so that he might -commit it to memory, in case of losing it on the road; for with evil -fortune like his anything might be apprehended. To which Sancho -replied, “Write it two or three times there in the book and give it to -me, and I will carry it very carefully, because to expect me to keep it -in my memory is all nonsense, for I have such a bad one that I often -forget my own name; but for all that repeat it to me, as I shall like -to hear it, for surely it will run as if it was in print.” - -“Listen,” said Don Quixote, “this is what it says: - -_“Don Quixote’s Letter to Dulcinea del Toboso_ - -“Sovereign and exalted Lady,—The pierced by the point of absence, the -wounded to the heart’s core, sends thee, sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, -the health that he himself enjoys not. If thy beauty despises me, if -thy worth is not for me, if thy scorn is my affliction, though I be -sufficiently long-suffering, hardly shall I endure this anxiety, which, -besides being oppressive, is protracted. My good squire Sancho will -relate to thee in full, fair ingrate, dear enemy, the condition to -which I am reduced on thy account: if it be thy pleasure to give me -relief, I am thine; if not, do as may be pleasing to thee; for by -ending my life I shall satisfy thy cruelty and my desire. - “Thine till death, - “The Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” - -“By the life of my father,” said Sancho, when he heard the letter, “it -is the loftiest thing I ever heard. Body of me! how your worship says -everything as you like in it! And how well you fit in ‘The Knight of -the Rueful Countenance’ into the signature. I declare your worship is -indeed the very devil, and there is nothing you don’t know.” - -“Everything is needed for the calling I follow,” said Don Quixote. - -“Now then,” said Sancho, “let your worship put the order for the three -ass-colts on the other side, and sign it very plainly, that they may -recognise it at first sight.” - -“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and as he had written it he read -it to this effect: - -“Mistress Niece,—By this first of ass-colts please pay to Sancho Panza, -my squire, three of the five I left at home in your charge: said three -ass-colts to be paid and delivered for the same number received here in -hand, which upon this and upon his receipt shall be duly paid. Done in -the heart of the Sierra Morena, the twenty-seventh of August of this -present year.” - -“That will do,” said Sancho; “now let your worship sign it.” - -“There is no need to sign it,” said Don Quixote, “but merely to put my -flourish, which is the same as a signature, and enough for three asses, -or even three hundred.” - -“I can trust your worship,” returned Sancho; “let me go and saddle -Rocinante, and be ready to give me your blessing, for I mean to go at -once without seeing the fooleries your worship is going to do; I’ll say -I saw you do so many that she will not want any more.” - -“At any rate, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I should like—and there is -reason for it—I should like thee, I say, to see me stripped to the skin -and performing a dozen or two of insanities, which I can get done in -less than half an hour; for having seen them with thine own eyes, thou -canst then safely swear to the rest that thou wouldst add; and I -promise thee thou wilt not tell of as many as I mean to perform.” - -“For the love of God, master mine,” said Sancho, “let me not see your -worship stripped, for it will sorely grieve me, and I shall not be able -to keep from tears, and my head aches so with all I shed last night for -Dapple, that I am not fit to begin any fresh weeping; but if it is your -worship’s pleasure that I should see some insanities, do them in your -clothes, short ones, and such as come readiest to hand; for I myself -want nothing of the sort, and, as I have said, it will be a saving of -time for my return, which will be with the news your worship desires -and deserves. If not, let the lady Dulcinea look to it; if she does not -answer reasonably, I swear as solemnly as I can that I will fetch a -fair answer out of her stomach with kicks and cuffs; for why should it -be borne that a knight-errant as famous as your worship should go mad -without rhyme or reason for a—? Her ladyship had best not drive me to -say it, for by God I will speak out and let off everything cheap, even -if it doesn’t sell: I am pretty good at that! she little knows me; -faith, if she knew me she’d be in awe of me.” - -“In faith, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to all appearance thou art no -sounder in thy wits than I.” - -“I am not so mad,” answered Sancho, “but I am more peppery; but apart -from all this, what has your worship to eat until I come back? Will you -sally out on the road like Cardenio to force it from the shepherds?” - -“Let not that anxiety trouble thee,” replied Don Quixote, “for even if -I had it I should not eat anything but the herbs and the fruits which -this meadow and these trees may yield me; the beauty of this business -of mine lies in not eating, and in performing other mortifications.” - -“Do you know what I am afraid of?” said Sancho upon this; “that I shall -not be able to find my way back to this spot where I am leaving you, it -is such an out-of-the-way place.” - -“Observe the landmarks well,” said Don Quixote, “for I will try not to -go far from this neighbourhood, and I will even take care to mount the -highest of these rocks to see if I can discover thee returning; -however, not to miss me and lose thyself, the best plan will be to cut -some branches of the broom that is so abundant about here, and as thou -goest to lay them at intervals until thou hast come out upon the plain; -these will serve thee, after the fashion of the clue in the labyrinth -of Theseus, as marks and signs for finding me on thy return.” - -“So I will,” said Sancho Panza, and having cut some, he asked his -master’s blessing, and not without many tears on both sides, took his -leave of him, and mounting Rocinante, of whom Don Quixote charged him -earnestly to have as much care as of his own person, he set out for the -plain, strewing at intervals the branches of broom as his master had -recommended him; and so he went his way, though Don Quixote still -entreated him to see him do were it only a couple of mad acts. He had -not gone a hundred paces, however, when he returned and said: - -“I must say, señor, your worship said quite right, that in order to be -able to swear without a weight on my conscience that I had seen you do -mad things, it would be well for me to see if it were only one; though -in your worship’s remaining here I have seen a very great one.” - -“Did I not tell thee so?” said Don Quixote. “Wait, Sancho, and I will -do them in the saying of a credo,” and pulling off his breeches in all -haste he stripped himself to his skin and his shirt, and then, without -more ado, he cut a couple of gambados in the air, and a couple of -somersaults, heels over head, making such a display that, not to see it -a second time, Sancho wheeled Rocinante round, and felt easy, and -satisfied in his mind that he could swear he had left his master mad; -and so we will leave him to follow his road until his return, which was -a quick one. - -CHAPTER XXVI. -IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHEREWITH DON QUIXOTE PLAYED THE -PART OF A LOVER IN THE SIERRA MORENA - -Returning to the proceedings of him of the Rueful Countenance when he -found himself alone, the history says that when Don Quixote had -completed the performance of the somersaults or capers, naked from the -waist down and clothed from the waist up, and saw that Sancho had gone -off without waiting to see any more crazy feats, he climbed up to the -top of a high rock, and there set himself to consider what he had -several times before considered without ever coming to any conclusion -on the point, namely whether it would be better and more to his purpose -to imitate the outrageous madness of Roland, or the melancholy madness -of Amadis; and communing with himself he said: - -“What wonder is it if Roland was so good a knight and so valiant as -everyone says he was, when, after all, he was enchanted, and nobody -could kill him save by thrusting a corking pin into the sole of his -foot, and he always wore shoes with seven iron soles? Though cunning -devices did not avail him against Bernardo del Carpio, who knew all -about them, and strangled him in his arms at Roncesvalles. But putting -the question of his valour aside, let us come to his losing his wits, -for certain it is that he did lose them in consequence of the proofs he -discovered at the fountain, and the intelligence the shepherd gave him -of Angelica having slept more than two siestas with Medoro, a little -curly-headed Moor, and page to Agramante. If he was persuaded that this -was true, and that his lady had wronged him, it is no wonder that he -should have gone mad; but I, how am I to imitate him in his madness, -unless I can imitate him in the cause of it? For my Dulcinea, I will -venture to swear, never saw a Moor in her life, as he is, in his proper -costume, and she is this day as the mother that bore her, and I should -plainly be doing her a wrong if, fancying anything else, I were to go -mad with the same kind of madness as Roland the Furious. On the other -hand, I see that Amadis of Gaul, without losing his senses and without -doing anything mad, acquired as a lover as much fame as the most -famous; for, according to his history, on finding himself rejected by -his lady Oriana, who had ordered him not to appear in her presence -until it should be her pleasure, all he did was to retire to the Peña -Pobre in company with a hermit, and there he took his fill of weeping -until Heaven sent him relief in the midst of his great grief and need. -And if this be true, as it is, why should I now take the trouble to -strip stark naked, or do mischief to these trees which have done me no -harm, or why am I to disturb the clear waters of these brooks which -will give me to drink whenever I have a mind? Long live the memory of -Amadis and let him be imitated so far as is possible by Don Quixote of -La Mancha, of whom it will be said, as was said of the other, that if -he did not achieve great things, he died in attempting them; and if I -am not repulsed or rejected by my Dulcinea, it is enough for me, as I -have said, to be absent from her. And so, now to business; come to my -memory ye deeds of Amadis, and show me how I am to begin to imitate -you. I know already that what he chiefly did was to pray and commend -himself to God; but what am I to do for a rosary, for I have not got -one?” - -And then it occurred to him how he might make one, and that was by -tearing a great strip off the tail of his shirt which hung down, and -making eleven knots on it, one bigger than the rest, and this served -him for a rosary all the time he was there, during which he repeated -countless ave-marias. But what distressed him greatly was not having -another hermit there to confess him and receive consolation from; and -so he solaced himself with pacing up and down the little meadow, and -writing and carving on the bark of the trees and on the fine sand a -multitude of verses all in harmony with his sadness, and some in praise -of Dulcinea; but, when he was found there afterwards, the only ones -completely legible that could be discovered were those that follow -here: - -Ye on the mountainside that grow, -Ye green things all, trees, shrubs, and bushes, -Are ye aweary of the woe -That this poor aching bosom crushes? -If it disturb you, and I owe -Some reparation, it may be a -Defence for me to let you know -Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, -And all for distant Dulcinea -Del Toboso. - -The lealest lover time can show, -Doomed for a lady-love to languish, -Among these solitudes doth go, -A prey to every kind of anguish. -Why Love should like a spiteful foe -Thus use him, he hath no idea, -But hogsheads full—this doth he know— -Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, -And all for distant Dulcinea -Del Toboso. - -Adventure-seeking doth he go -Up rugged heights, down rocky valleys, -But hill or dale, or high or low, -Mishap attendeth all his sallies: -Love still pursues him to and fro, -And plies his cruel scourge—ah me! a -Relentless fate, an endless woe; -Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, -And all for distant Dulcinea -Del Toboso. - -The addition of “Del Toboso” to Dulcinea’s name gave rise to no little -laughter among those who found the above lines, for they suspected Don -Quixote must have fancied that unless he added “del Toboso” when he -introduced the name of Dulcinea the verse would be unintelligible; -which was indeed the fact, as he himself afterwards admitted. He wrote -many more, but, as has been said, these three verses were all that -could be plainly and perfectly deciphered. In this way, and in sighing -and calling on the fauns and satyrs of the woods and the nymphs of the -streams, and Echo, moist and mournful, to answer, console, and hear -him, as well as in looking for herbs to sustain him, he passed his time -until Sancho’s return; and had that been delayed three weeks, as it was -three days, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance would have worn such -an altered countenance that the mother that bore him would not have -known him: and here it will be well to leave him, wrapped up in sighs -and verses, to relate how Sancho Panza fared on his mission. - -As for him, coming out upon the high road, he made for El Toboso, and -the next day reached the inn where the mishap of the blanket had -befallen him. As soon as he recognised it he felt as if he were once -more living through the air, and he could not bring himself to enter it -though it was an hour when he might well have done so, for it was -dinner-time, and he longed to taste something hot as it had been all -cold fare with him for many days past. This craving drove him to draw -near to the inn, still undecided whether to go in or not, and as he was -hesitating there came out two persons who at once recognised him, and -said one to the other: - -“Señor licentiate, is not he on the horse there Sancho Panza who, our -adventurer’s housekeeper told us, went off with her master as esquire?” - -“So it is,” said the licentiate, “and that is our friend Don Quixote’s -horse;” and if they knew him so well it was because they were the -curate and the barber of his own village, the same who had carried out -the scrutiny and sentence upon the books; and as soon as they -recognised Sancho Panza and Rocinante, being anxious to hear of Don -Quixote, they approached, and calling him by his name the curate said, -“Friend Sancho Panza, where is your master?” - -Sancho recognised them at once, and determined to keep secret the place -and circumstances where and under which he had left his master, so he -replied that his master was engaged in a certain quarter on a certain -matter of great importance to him which he could not disclose for the -eyes in his head. - -“Nay, nay,” said the barber, “if you don’t tell us where he is, Sancho -Panza, we will suspect as we suspect already, that you have murdered -and robbed him, for here you are mounted on his horse; in fact, you -must produce the master of the hack, or else take the consequences.” - -“There is no need of threats with me,” said Sancho, “for I am not a man -to rob or murder anybody; let his own fate, or God who made him, kill -each one; my master is engaged very much to his taste doing penance in -the midst of these mountains;” and then, offhand and without stopping, -he told them how he had left him, what adventures had befallen him, and -how he was carrying a letter to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, the -daughter of Lorenzo Corchuelo, with whom he was over head and ears in -love. They were both amazed at what Sancho Panza told them; for though -they were aware of Don Quixote’s madness and the nature of it, each -time they heard of it they were filled with fresh wonder. They then -asked Sancho Panza to show them the letter he was carrying to the lady -Dulcinea del Toboso. He said it was written in a notebook, and that his -master’s directions were that he should have it copied on paper at the -first village he came to. On this the curate said if he showed it to -him, he himself would make a fair copy of it. Sancho put his hand into -his bosom in search of the notebook but could not find it, nor, if he -had been searching until now, could he have found it, for Don Quixote -had kept it, and had never given it to him, nor had he himself thought -of asking for it. When Sancho discovered he could not find the book his -face grew deadly pale, and in great haste he again felt his body all -over, and seeing plainly it was not to be found, without more ado he -seized his beard with both hands and plucked away half of it, and then, -as quick as he could and without stopping, gave himself half a dozen -cuffs on the face and nose till they were bathed in blood. - -Seeing this, the curate and the barber asked him what had happened him -that he gave himself such rough treatment. - -“What should happen to me?” replied Sancho, “but to have lost from one -hand to the other, in a moment, three ass-colts, each of them like a -castle?” - -“How is that?” said the barber. - -“I have lost the notebook,” said Sancho, “that contained the letter to -Dulcinea, and an order signed by my master in which he directed his -niece to give me three ass-colts out of four or five he had at home;” -and he then told them about the loss of Dapple. - -The curate consoled him, telling him that when his master was found he -would get him to renew the order, and make a fresh draft on paper, as -was usual and customary; for those made in notebooks were never -accepted or honoured. - -Sancho comforted himself with this, and said if that were so the loss -of Dulcinea’s letter did not trouble him much, for he had it almost by -heart, and it could be taken down from him wherever and whenever they -liked. - -“Repeat it then, Sancho,” said the barber, “and we will write it down -afterwards.” - -Sancho Panza stopped to scratch his head to bring back the letter to -his memory, and balanced himself now on one foot, now the other, one -moment staring at the ground, the next at the sky, and after having -half gnawed off the end of a finger and kept them in suspense waiting -for him to begin, he said, after a long pause, “By God, señor -licentiate, devil a thing can I recollect of the letter; but it said at -the beginning, ‘Exalted and scrubbing Lady.’” - -“It cannot have said ‘scrubbing,’” said the barber, “but ‘superhuman’ -or ‘sovereign.’” - -“That is it,” said Sancho; “then, as well as I remember, it went on, -‘The wounded, and wanting of sleep, and the pierced, kisses your -worship’s hands, ungrateful and very unrecognised fair one; and it said -something or other about health and sickness that he was sending her; -and from that it went tailing off until it ended with ‘Yours till -death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’” - -It gave them no little amusement, both of them, to see what a good -memory Sancho had, and they complimented him greatly upon it, and -begged him to repeat the letter a couple of times more, so that they -too might get it by heart to write it out by-and-by. Sancho repeated it -three times, and as he did, uttered three thousand more absurdities; -then he told them more about his master but he never said a word about -the blanketing that had befallen himself in that inn, into which he -refused to enter. He told them, moreover, how his lord, if he brought -him a favourable answer from the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was to put -himself in the way of endeavouring to become an emperor, or at least a -monarch; for it had been so settled between them, and with his personal -worth and the might of his arm it was an easy matter to come to be one: -and how on becoming one his lord was to make a marriage for him (for he -would be a widower by that time, as a matter of course) and was to give -him as a wife one of the damsels of the empress, the heiress of some -rich and grand state on the mainland, having nothing to do with islands -of any sort, for he did not care for them now. All this Sancho -delivered with so much composure—wiping his nose from time to time—and -with so little common-sense that his two hearers were again filled with -wonder at the force of Don Quixote’s madness that could run away with -this poor man’s reason. They did not care to take the trouble of -disabusing him of his error, as they considered that since it did not -in any way hurt his conscience it would be better to leave him in it, -and they would have all the more amusement in listening to his -simplicities; and so they bade him pray to God for his lord’s health, -as it was a very likely and a very feasible thing for him in course of -time to come to be an emperor, as he said, or at least an archbishop or -some other dignitary of equal rank. - -To which Sancho made answer, “If fortune, sirs, should bring things -about in such a way that my master should have a mind, instead of being -an emperor, to be an archbishop, I should like to know what -archbishops-errant commonly give their squires?” - -“They commonly give them,” said the curate, some simple benefice or -cure, or some place as sacristan which brings them a good fixed income, -not counting the altar fees, which may be reckoned at as much more.” - -“But for that,” said Sancho, “the squire must be unmarried, and must -know, at any rate, how to help at mass, and if that be so, woe is me, -for I am married already and I don’t know the first letter of the A B -C. What will become of me if my master takes a fancy to be an -archbishop and not an emperor, as is usual and customary with -knights-errant?” - -“Be not uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the barber, “for we will entreat -your master, and advise him, even urging it upon him as a case of -conscience, to become an emperor and not an archbishop, because it will -be easier for him as he is more valiant than lettered.” - -“So I have thought,” said Sancho; “though I can tell you he is fit for -anything: what I mean to do for my part is to pray to our Lord to place -him where it may be best for him, and where he may be able to bestow -most favours upon me.” - -“You speak like a man of sense,” said the curate, “and you will be -acting like a good Christian; but what must now be done is to take -steps to coax your master out of that useless penance you say he is -performing; and we had best turn into this inn to consider what plan to -adopt, and also to dine, for it is now time.” - -Sancho said they might go in, but that he would wait there outside, and -that he would tell them afterwards the reason why he was unwilling, and -why it did not suit him to enter it; but he begged them to bring him -out something to eat, and to let it be hot, and also to bring barley -for Rocinante. They left him and went in, and presently the barber -brought him out something to eat. By-and-by, after they had between -them carefully thought over what they should do to carry out their -object, the curate hit upon an idea very well adapted to humour Don -Quixote, and effect their purpose; and his notion, which he explained -to the barber, was that he himself should assume the disguise of a -wandering damsel, while the other should try as best he could to pass -for a squire, and that they should thus proceed to where Don Quixote -was, and he, pretending to be an aggrieved and distressed damsel, -should ask a favour of him, which as a valiant knight-errant he could -not refuse to grant; and the favour he meant to ask him was that he -should accompany her whither she would conduct him, in order to redress -a wrong which a wicked knight had done her, while at the same time she -should entreat him not to require her to remove her mask, nor ask her -any question touching her circumstances until he had righted her with -the wicked knight. And he had no doubt that Don Quixote would comply -with any request made in these terms, and that in this way they might -remove him and take him to his own village, where they would endeavour -to find out if his extraordinary madness admitted of any kind of -remedy. - -CHAPTER XXVII. -OF HOW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED WITH THEIR SCHEME; TOGETHER -WITH OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT HISTORY - -The curate’s plan did not seem a bad one to the barber, but on the -contrary so good that they immediately set about putting it in -execution. They begged a petticoat and hood of the landlady, leaving -her in pledge a new cassock of the curate’s; and the barber made a -beard out of a grey-brown or red ox-tail in which the landlord used to -stick his comb. The landlady asked them what they wanted these things -for, and the curate told her in a few words about the madness of Don -Quixote, and how this disguise was intended to get him away from the -mountain where he then was. The landlord and landlady immediately came -to the conclusion that the madman was their guest, the balsam man and -master of the blanketed squire, and they told the curate all that had -passed between him and them, not omitting what Sancho had been so -silent about. Finally the landlady dressed up the curate in a style -that left nothing to be desired; she put on him a cloth petticoat with -black velvet stripes a palm broad, all slashed, and a bodice of green -velvet set off by a binding of white satin, which as well as the -petticoat must have been made in the time of king Wamba. The curate -would not let them hood him, but put on his head a little quilted linen -cap which he used for a night-cap, and bound his forehead with a strip -of black silk, while with another he made a mask with which he -concealed his beard and face very well. He then put on his hat, which -was broad enough to serve him for an umbrella, and enveloping himself -in his cloak seated himself woman-fashion on his mule, while the barber -mounted his with a beard down to the waist of mingled red and white, -for it was, as has been said, the tail of a clay-red ox. - -They took leave of all, and of the good Maritornes, who, sinner as she -was, promised to pray a rosary of prayers that God might grant them -success in such an arduous and Christian undertaking as that they had -in hand. But hardly had he sallied forth from the inn when it struck -the curate that he was doing wrong in rigging himself out in that -fashion, as it was an indecorous thing for a priest to dress himself -that way even though much might depend upon it; and saying so to the -barber he begged him to change dresses, as it was fitter he should be -the distressed damsel, while he himself would play the squire’s part, -which would be less derogatory to his dignity; otherwise he was -resolved to have nothing more to do with the matter, and let the devil -take Don Quixote. Just at this moment Sancho came up, and on seeing the -pair in such a costume he was unable to restrain his laughter; the -barber, however, agreed to do as the curate wished, and, altering their -plan, the curate went on to instruct him how to play his part and what -to say to Don Quixote to induce and compel him to come with them and -give up his fancy for the place he had chosen for his idle penance. The -barber told him he could manage it properly without any instruction, -and as he did not care to dress himself up until they were near where -Don Quixote was, he folded up the garments, and the curate adjusted his -beard, and they set out under the guidance of Sancho Panza, who went -along telling them of the encounter with the madman they met in the -Sierra, saying nothing, however, about the finding of the valise and -its contents; for with all his simplicity the lad was a trifle -covetous. - -The next day they reached the place where Sancho had laid the -broom-branches as marks to direct him to where he had left his master, -and recognising it he told them that here was the entrance, and that -they would do well to dress themselves, if that was required to deliver -his master; for they had already told him that going in this guise and -dressing in this way were of the highest importance in order to rescue -his master from the pernicious life he had adopted; and they charged -him strictly not to tell his master who they were, or that he knew -them, and should he ask, as ask he would, if he had given the letter to -Dulcinea, to say that he had, and that, as she did not know how to -read, she had given an answer by word of mouth, saying that she -commanded him, on pain of her displeasure, to come and see her at once; -and it was a very important matter for himself, because in this way and -with what they meant to say to him they felt sure of bringing him back -to a better mode of life and inducing him to take immediate steps to -become an emperor or monarch, for there was no fear of his becoming an -archbishop. All this Sancho listened to and fixed it well in his -memory, and thanked them heartily for intending to recommend his master -to be an emperor instead of an archbishop, for he felt sure that in the -way of bestowing rewards on their squires emperors could do more than -archbishops-errant. He said, too, that it would be as well for him to -go on before them to find him, and give him his lady’s answer; for that -perhaps might be enough to bring him away from the place without -putting them to all this trouble. They approved of what Sancho -proposed, and resolved to wait for him until he brought back word of -having found his master. - -Sancho pushed on into the glens of the Sierra, leaving them in one -through which there flowed a little gentle rivulet, and where the rocks -and trees afforded a cool and grateful shade. It was an August day with -all the heat of one, and the heat in those parts is intense, and the -hour was three in the afternoon, all which made the spot the more -inviting and tempted them to wait there for Sancho’s return, which they -did. They were reposing, then, in the shade, when a voice unaccompanied -by the notes of any instrument, but sweet and pleasing in its tone, -reached their ears, at which they were not a little astonished, as the -place did not seem to them likely quarters for one who sang so well; -for though it is often said that shepherds of rare voice are to be -found in the woods and fields, this is rather a flight of the poet’s -fancy than the truth. And still more surprised were they when they -perceived that what they heard sung were the verses not of rustic -shepherds, but of the polished wits of the city; and so it proved, for -the verses they heard were these: - -What makes my quest of happiness seem vain? -Disdain. -What bids me to abandon hope of ease? -Jealousies. -What holds my heart in anguish of suspense? -Absence. -If that be so, then for my grief -Where shall I turn to seek relief, -When hope on every side lies slain -By Absence, Jealousies, Disdain? - -What the prime cause of all my woe doth prove? -Love. -What at my glory ever looks askance? -Chance. -Whence is permission to afflict me given? -Heaven. -If that be so, I but await -The stroke of a resistless fate, -Since, working for my woe, these three, -Love, Chance and Heaven, in league I see. - -What must I do to find a remedy? -Die. -What is the lure for love when coy and strange? -Change. -What, if all fail, will cure the heart of sadness? -Madness. -If that be so, it is but folly -To seek a cure for melancholy: -Ask where it lies; the answer saith -In Change, in Madness, or in Death. - -The hour, the summer season, the solitary place, the voice and skill of -the singer, all contributed to the wonder and delight of the two -listeners, who remained still waiting to hear something more; finding, -however, that the silence continued some little time, they resolved to -go in search of the musician who sang with so fine a voice; but just as -they were about to do so they were checked by the same voice, which -once more fell upon their ears, singing this - -SONNET - -When heavenward, holy Friendship, thou didst go -Soaring to seek thy home beyond the sky, -And take thy seat among the saints on high, -It was thy will to leave on earth below -Thy semblance, and upon it to bestow -Thy veil, wherewith at times hypocrisy, -Parading in thy shape, deceives the eye, -And makes its vileness bright as virtue show. -Friendship, return to us, or force the cheat -That wears it now, thy livery to restore, -By aid whereof sincerity is slain. -If thou wilt not unmask thy counterfeit, -This earth will be the prey of strife once more, -As when primæval discord held its reign. - -The song ended with a deep sigh, and again the listeners remained -waiting attentively for the singer to resume; but perceiving that the -music had now turned to sobs and heart-rending moans they determined to -find out who the unhappy being could be whose voice was as rare as his -sighs were piteous, and they had not proceeded far when on turning the -corner of a rock they discovered a man of the same aspect and -appearance as Sancho had described to them when he told them the story -of Cardenio. He, showing no astonishment when he saw them, stood still -with his head bent down upon his breast like one in deep thought, -without raising his eyes to look at them after the first glance when -they suddenly came upon him. The curate, who was aware of his -misfortune and recognised him by the description, being a man of good -address, approached him and in a few sensible words entreated and urged -him to quit a life of such misery, lest he should end it there, which -would be the greatest of all misfortunes. Cardenio was then in his -right mind, free from any attack of that madness which so frequently -carried him away, and seeing them dressed in a fashion so unusual among -the frequenters of those wilds, could not help showing some surprise, -especially when he heard them speak of his case as if it were a -well-known matter (for the curate’s words gave him to understand as -much) so he replied to them thus: - -“I see plainly, sirs, whoever you may be, that Heaven, whose care it is -to succour the good, and even the wicked very often, here, in this -remote spot, cut off from human intercourse, sends me, though I deserve -it not, those who seek to draw me away from this to some better -retreat, showing me by many and forcible arguments how unreasonably I -act in leading the life I do; but as they know, that if I escape from -this evil I shall fall into another still greater, perhaps they will -set me down as a weak-minded man, or, what is worse, one devoid of -reason; nor would it be any wonder, for I myself can perceive that the -effect of the recollection of my misfortunes is so great and works so -powerfully to my ruin, that in spite of myself I become at times like a -stone, without feeling or consciousness; and I come to feel the truth -of it when they tell me and show me proofs of the things I have done -when the terrible fit overmasters me; and all I can do is bewail my lot -in vain, and idly curse my destiny, and plead for my madness by telling -how it was caused, to any that care to hear it; for no reasonable -beings on learning the cause will wonder at the effects; and if they -cannot help me at least they will not blame me, and the repugnance they -feel at my wild ways will turn into pity for my woes. If it be, sirs, -that you are here with the same design as others have come with, before -you proceed with your wise arguments, I entreat you to hear the story -of my countless misfortunes, for perhaps when you have heard it you -will spare yourselves the trouble you would take in offering -consolation to grief that is beyond the reach of it.” - -As they, both of them, desired nothing more than to hear from his own -lips the cause of his suffering, they entreated him to tell it, -promising not to do anything for his relief or comfort that he did not -wish; and thereupon the unhappy gentleman began his sad story in nearly -the same words and manner in which he had related it to Don Quixote and -the goatherd a few days before, when, through Master Elisabad, and Don -Quixote’s scrupulous observance of what was due to chivalry, the tale -was left unfinished, as this history has already recorded; but now -fortunately the mad fit kept off, allowed him to tell it to the end; -and so, coming to the incident of the note which Don Fernando had found -in the volume of “Amadis of Gaul,” Cardenio said that he remembered it -perfectly and that it was in these words: - -“_Luscinda to Cardenio._ - -“Every day I discover merits in you that oblige and compel me to hold -you in higher estimation; so if you desire to relieve me of this -obligation without cost to my honour, you may easily do so. I have a -father who knows you and loves me dearly, who without putting any -constraint on my inclination will grant what will be reasonable for you -to have, if it be that you value me as you say and as I believe you -do.” - -“By this letter I was induced, as I told you, to demand Luscinda for my -wife, and it was through it that Luscinda came to be regarded by Don -Fernando as one of the most discreet and prudent women of the day, and -this letter it was that suggested his design of ruining me before mine -could be carried into effect. I told Don Fernando that all Luscinda’s -father was waiting for was that mine should ask her of him, which I did -not dare to suggest to him, fearing that he would not consent to do so; -not because he did not know perfectly well the rank, goodness, virtue, -and beauty of Luscinda, and that she had qualities that would do honour -to any family in Spain, but because I was aware that he did not wish me -to marry so soon, before seeing what the Duke Ricardo would do for me. -In short, I told him I did not venture to mention it to my father, as -well on account of that difficulty, as of many others that discouraged -me though I knew not well what they were, only that it seemed to me -that what I desired was never to come to pass. To all this Don Fernando -answered that he would take it upon himself to speak to my father, and -persuade him to speak to Luscinda’s father. O, ambitious Marius! O, -cruel Catiline! O, wicked Sylla! O, perfidious Ganelon! O, treacherous -Vellido! O, vindictive Julian! O, covetous Judas! Traitor, cruel, -vindictive, and perfidious, wherein had this poor wretch failed in his -fidelity, who with such frankness showed thee the secrets and the joys -of his heart? What offence did I commit? What words did I utter, or -what counsels did I give that had not the furtherance of thy honour and -welfare for their aim? But, woe is me, wherefore do I complain? for -sure it is that when misfortunes spring from the stars, descending from -on high they fall upon us with such fury and violence that no power on -earth can check their course nor human device stay their coming. Who -could have thought that Don Fernando, a highborn gentleman, -intelligent, bound to me by gratitude for my services, one that could -win the object of his love wherever he might set his affections, could -have become so obdurate, as they say, as to rob me of my one ewe lamb -that was not even yet in my possession? But laying aside these useless -and unavailing reflections, let us take up the broken thread of my -unhappy story. - -“To proceed, then: Don Fernando finding my presence an obstacle to the -execution of his treacherous and wicked design, resolved to send me to -his elder brother under the pretext of asking money from him to pay for -six horses which, purposely, and with the sole object of sending me -away that he might the better carry out his infernal scheme, he had -purchased the very day he offered to speak to my father, and the price -of which he now desired me to fetch. Could I have anticipated this -treachery? Could I by any chance have suspected it? Nay; so far from -that, I offered with the greatest pleasure to go at once, in my -satisfaction at the good bargain that had been made. That night I spoke -with Luscinda, and told her what had been agreed upon with Don -Fernando, and how I had strong hopes of our fair and reasonable wishes -being realised. She, as unsuspicious as I was of the treachery of Don -Fernando, bade me try to return speedily, as she believed the -fulfilment of our desires would be delayed only so long as my father -put off speaking to hers. I know not why it was that on saying this to -me her eyes filled with tears, and there came a lump in her throat that -prevented her from uttering a word of many more that it seemed to me -she was striving to say to me. I was astonished at this unusual turn, -which I never before observed in her. for we always conversed, whenever -good fortune and my ingenuity gave us the chance, with the greatest -gaiety and cheerfulness, mingling tears, sighs, jealousies, doubts, or -fears with our words; it was all on my part a eulogy of my good fortune -that Heaven should have given her to me for my mistress; I glorified -her beauty, I extolled her worth and her understanding; and she paid me -back by praising in me what in her love for me she thought worthy of -praise; and besides we had a hundred thousand trifles and doings of our -neighbours and acquaintances to talk about, and the utmost extent of my -boldness was to take, almost by force, one of her fair white hands and -carry it to my lips, as well as the closeness of the low grating that -separated us allowed me. But the night before the unhappy day of my -departure she wept, she moaned, she sighed, and she withdrew leaving me -filled with perplexity and amazement, overwhelmed at the sight of such -strange and affecting signs of grief and sorrow in Luscinda; but not to -dash my hopes I ascribed it all to the depth of her love for me and the -pain that separation gives those who love tenderly. At last I took my -departure, sad and dejected, my heart filled with fancies and -suspicions, but not knowing well what it was I suspected or fancied; -plain omens pointing to the sad event and misfortune that was awaiting -me. - -“I reached the place whither I had been sent, gave the letter to Don -Fernando’s brother, and was kindly received but not promptly dismissed, -for he desired me to wait, very much against my will, eight days in -some place where the duke his father was not likely to see me, as his -brother wrote that the money was to be sent without his knowledge; all -of which was a scheme of the treacherous Don Fernando, for his brother -had no want of money to enable him to despatch me at once. - -“The command was one that exposed me to the temptation of disobeying -it, as it seemed to me impossible to endure life for so many days -separated from Luscinda, especially after leaving her in the sorrowful -mood I have described to you; nevertheless as a dutiful servant I -obeyed, though I felt it would be at the cost of my well-being. But -four days later there came a man in quest of me with a letter which he -gave me, and which by the address I perceived to be from Luscinda, as -the writing was hers. I opened it with fear and trepidation, persuaded -that it must be something serious that had impelled her to write to me -when at a distance, as she seldom did so when I was near. Before -reading it I asked the man who it was that had given it to him, and how -long he had been upon the road; he told me that as he happened to be -passing through one of the streets of the city at the hour of noon, a -very beautiful lady called to him from a window, and with tears in her -eyes said to him hurriedly, ‘Brother, if you are, as you seem to be, a -Christian, for the love of God I entreat you to have this letter -despatched without a moment’s delay to the place and person named in -the address, all which is well known, and by this you will render a -great service to our Lord; and that you may be at no inconvenience in -doing so take what is in this handkerchief;’ and said he, ‘with this -she threw me a handkerchief out of the window in which were tied up a -hundred reals and this gold ring which I bring here together with the -letter I have given you. And then without waiting for any answer she -left the window, though not before she saw me take the letter and the -handkerchief, and I had by signs let her know that I would do as she -bade me; and so, seeing myself so well paid for the trouble I would -have in bringing it to you, and knowing by the address that it was to -you it was sent (for, señor, I know you very well), and also unable to -resist that beautiful lady’s tears, I resolved to trust no one else, -but to come myself and give it to you, and in sixteen hours from the -time when it was given me I have made the journey, which, as you know, -is eighteen leagues.’ - -“All the while the good-natured improvised courier was telling me this, -I hung upon his words, my legs trembling under me so that I could -scarcely stand. However, I opened the letter and read these words: - -The promise Don Fernando gave you to urge your father to speak to mine, -he has fulfilled much more to his own satisfaction than to your -advantage. I have to tell you, señor, that he has demanded me for a -wife, and my father, led away by what he considers Don Fernando’s -superiority over you, has favoured his suit so cordially, that in two -days hence the betrothal is to take place with such secrecy and so -privately that the only witnesses are to be the Heavens above and a few -of the household. Picture to yourself the state I am in; judge if it be -urgent for you to come; the issue of the affair will show you whether I -love you or not. God grant this may come to your hand before mine shall -be forced to link itself with his who keeps so ill the faith that he -has pledged. - -“Such, in brief, were the words of the letter, words that made me set -out at once without waiting any longer for reply or money; for I now -saw clearly that it was not the purchase of horses but of his own -pleasure that had made Don Fernando send me to his brother. The -exasperation I felt against Don Fernando, joined with the fear of -losing the prize I had won by so many years of love and devotion, lent -me wings; so that almost flying I reached home the same day, by the -hour which served for speaking with Luscinda. I arrived unobserved, and -left the mule on which I had come at the house of the worthy man who -had brought me the letter, and fortune was pleased to be for once so -kind that I found Luscinda at the grating that was the witness of our -loves. She recognised me at once, and I her, but not as she ought to -have recognised me, or I her. But who is there in the world that can -boast of having fathomed or understood the wavering mind and unstable -nature of a woman? Of a truth no one. To proceed: as soon as Luscinda -saw me she said, ‘Cardenio, I am in my bridal dress, and the -treacherous Don Fernando and my covetous father are waiting for me in -the hall with the other witnesses, who shall be the witnesses of my -death before they witness my betrothal. Be not distressed, my friend, -but contrive to be present at this sacrifice, and if that cannot be -prevented by my words, I have a dagger concealed which will prevent -more deliberate violence, putting an end to my life and giving thee a -first proof of the love I have borne and bear thee.’ I replied to her -distractedly and hastily, in fear lest I should not have time to reply, -‘May thy words be verified by thy deeds, lady; and if thou hast a -dagger to save thy honour, I have a sword to defend thee or kill myself -if fortune be against us.’ - -“I think she could not have heard all these words, for I perceived that -they called her away in haste, as the bridegroom was waiting. Now the -night of my sorrow set in, the sun of my happiness went down, I felt my -eyes bereft of sight, my mind of reason. I could not enter the house, -nor was I capable of any movement; but reflecting how important it was -that I should be present at what might take place on the occasion, I -nerved myself as best I could and went in, for I well knew all the -entrances and outlets; and besides, with the confusion that in secret -pervaded the house no one took notice of me, so, without being seen, I -found an opportunity of placing myself in the recess formed by a window -of the hall itself, and concealed by the ends and borders of two -tapestries, from between which I could, without being seen, see all -that took place in the room. Who could describe the agitation of heart -I suffered as I stood there—the thoughts that came to me—the -reflections that passed through my mind? They were such as cannot be, -nor were it well they should be, told. Suffice it to say that the -bridegroom entered the hall in his usual dress, without ornament of any -kind; as groomsman he had with him a cousin of Luscinda’s and except -the servants of the house there was no one else in the chamber. Soon -afterwards Luscinda came out from an antechamber, attended by her -mother and two of her damsels, arrayed and adorned as became her rank -and beauty, and in full festival and ceremonial attire. My anxiety and -distraction did not allow me to observe or notice particularly what she -wore; I could only perceive the colours, which were crimson and white, -and the glitter of the gems and jewels on her head dress and apparel, -surpassed by the rare beauty of her lovely auburn hair that vying with -the precious stones and the light of the four torches that stood in the -hall shone with a brighter gleam than all. Oh memory, mortal foe of my -peace! why bring before me now the incomparable beauty of that adored -enemy of mine? Were it not better, cruel memory, to remind me and -recall what she then did, that stirred by a wrong so glaring I may -seek, if not vengeance now, at least to rid myself of life? Be not -weary, sirs, of listening to these digressions; my sorrow is not one of -those that can or should be told tersely and briefly, for to me each -incident seems to call for many words.” - -To this the curate replied that not only were they not weary of -listening to him, but that the details he mentioned interested them -greatly, being of a kind by no means to be omitted and deserving of the -same attention as the main story. - -“To proceed, then,” continued Cardenio: “all being assembled in the -hall, the priest of the parish came in and as he took the pair by the -hand to perform the requisite ceremony, at the words, ‘Will you, Señora -Luscinda, take Señor Don Fernando, here present, for your lawful -husband, as the holy Mother Church ordains?’ I thrust my head and neck -out from between the tapestries, and with eager ears and throbbing -heart set myself to listen to Luscinda’s answer, awaiting in her reply -the sentence of death or the grant of life. Oh, that I had but dared at -that moment to rush forward crying aloud, ‘Luscinda, Luscinda! have a -care what thou dost; remember what thou owest me; bethink thee thou art -mine and canst not be another’s; reflect that thy utterance of “Yes” -and the end of my life will come at the same instant. O, treacherous -Don Fernando! robber of my glory, death of my life! What seekest thou? -Remember that thou canst not as a Christian attain the object of thy -wishes, for Luscinda is my bride, and I am her husband!’ Fool that I -am! now that I am far away, and out of danger, I say I should have done -what I did not do: now that I have allowed my precious treasure to be -robbed from me, I curse the robber, on whom I might have taken -vengeance had I as much heart for it as I have for bewailing my fate; -in short, as I was then a coward and a fool, little wonder is it if I -am now dying shame-stricken, remorseful, and mad. - -“The priest stood waiting for the answer of Luscinda, who for a long -time withheld it; and just as I thought she was taking out the dagger -to save her honour, or struggling for words to make some declaration of -the truth on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and feeble voice, ‘I -will:’ Don Fernando said the same, and giving her the ring they stood -linked by a knot that could never be loosed. The bridegroom then -approached to embrace his bride; and she, pressing her hand upon her -heart, fell fainting in her mother’s arms. It only remains now for me -to tell you the state I was in when in that consent that I heard I saw -all my hopes mocked, the words and promises of Luscinda proved -falsehoods, and the recovery of the prize I had that instant lost -rendered impossible for ever. I stood stupefied, wholly abandoned, it -seemed, by Heaven, declared the enemy of the earth that bore me, the -air refusing me breath for my sighs, the water moisture for my tears; -it was only the fire that gathered strength so that my whole frame -glowed with rage and jealousy. They were all thrown into confusion by -Luscinda’s fainting, and as her mother was unlacing her to give her air -a sealed paper was discovered in her bosom which Don Fernando seized at -once and began to read by the light of one of the torches. As soon as -he had read it he seated himself in a chair, leaning his cheek on his -hand in the attitude of one deep in thought, without taking any part in -the efforts that were being made to recover his bride from her fainting -fit. - -“Seeing all the household in confusion, I ventured to come out -regardless whether I were seen or not, and determined, if I were, to do -some frenzied deed that would prove to all the world the righteous -indignation of my breast in the punishment of the treacherous Don -Fernando, and even in that of the fickle fainting traitress. But my -fate, doubtless reserving me for greater sorrows, if such there be, so -ordered it that just then I had enough and to spare of that reason -which has since been wanting to me; and so, without seeking to take -vengeance on my greatest enemies (which might have been easily taken, -as all thought of me was so far from their minds), I resolved to take -it upon myself, and on myself to inflict the pain they deserved, -perhaps with even greater severity than I should have dealt out to them -had I then slain them; for sudden pain is soon over, but that which is -protracted by tortures is ever slaying without ending life. In a word, -I quitted the house and reached that of the man with whom I had left my -mule; I made him saddle it for me, mounted without bidding him -farewell, and rode out of the city, like another Lot, not daring to -turn my head to look back upon it; and when I found myself alone in the -open country, screened by the darkness of the night, and tempted by the -stillness to give vent to my grief without apprehension or fear of -being heard or seen, then I broke silence and lifted up my voice in -maledictions upon Luscinda and Don Fernando, as if I could thus avenge -the wrong they had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, -thankless, but above all covetous, since the wealth of my enemy had -blinded the eyes of her affection, and turned it from me to transfer it -to one to whom fortune had been more generous and liberal. And yet, in -the midst of this outburst of execration and upbraiding, I found -excuses for her, saying it was no wonder that a young girl in the -seclusion of her parents’ house, trained and schooled to obey them -always, should have been ready to yield to their wishes when they -offered her for a husband a gentleman of such distinction, wealth, and -noble birth, that if she had refused to accept him she would have been -thought out of her senses, or to have set her affection elsewhere, a -suspicion injurious to her fair name and fame. But then again, I said, -had she declared I was her husband, they would have seen that in -choosing me she had not chosen so ill but that they might excuse her, -for before Don Fernando had made his offer, they themselves could not -have desired, if their desires had been ruled by reason, a more -eligible husband for their daughter than I was; and she, before taking -the last fatal step of giving her hand, might easily have said that I -had already given her mine, for I should have come forward to support -any assertion of hers to that effect. In short, I came to the -conclusion that feeble love, little reflection, great ambition, and a -craving for rank, had made her forget the words with which she had -deceived me, encouraged and supported by my firm hopes and honourable -passion. - -“Thus soliloquising and agitated, I journeyed onward for the remainder -of the night, and by daybreak I reached one of the passes of these -mountains, among which I wandered for three days more without taking -any path or road, until I came to some meadows lying on I know not -which side of the mountains, and there I inquired of some herdsmen in -what direction the most rugged part of the range lay. They told me that -it was in this quarter, and I at once directed my course hither, -intending to end my life here; but as I was making my way among these -crags, my mule dropped dead through fatigue and hunger, or, as I think -more likely, in order to have done with such a worthless burden as it -bore in me. I was left on foot, worn out, famishing, without anyone to -help me or any thought of seeking help: and so thus I lay stretched on -the ground, how long I know not, after which I rose up free from -hunger, and found beside me some goatherds, who no doubt were the -persons who had relieved me in my need, for they told me how they had -found me, and how I had been uttering ravings that showed plainly I had -lost my reason; and since then I am conscious that I am not always in -full possession of it, but at times so deranged and crazed that I do a -thousand mad things, tearing my clothes, crying aloud in these -solitudes, cursing my fate, and idly calling on the dear name of her -who is my enemy, and only seeking to end my life in lamentation; and -when I recover my senses I find myself so exhausted and weary that I -can scarcely move. Most commonly my dwelling is the hollow of a cork -tree large enough to shelter this miserable body; the herdsmen and -goatherds who frequent these mountains, moved by compassion, furnish me -with food, leaving it by the wayside or on the rocks, where they think -I may perhaps pass and find it; and so, even though I may be then out -of my senses, the wants of nature teach me what is required to sustain -me, and make me crave it and eager to take it. At other times, so they -tell me when they find me in a rational mood, I sally out upon the -road, and though they would gladly give it me, I snatch food by force -from the shepherds bringing it from the village to their huts. Thus do -pass the wretched life that remains to me, until it be Heaven’s will to -bring it to a close, or so to order my memory that I no longer -recollect the beauty and treachery of Luscinda, or the wrong done me by -Don Fernando; for if it will do this without depriving me of life, I -will turn my thoughts into some better channel; if not, I can only -implore it to have full mercy on my soul, for in myself I feel no power -or strength to release my body from this strait in which I have of my -own accord chosen to place it. - -“Such, sirs, is the dismal story of my misfortune: say if it be one -that can be told with less emotion than you have seen in me; and do not -trouble yourselves with urging or pressing upon me what reason suggests -as likely to serve for my relief, for it will avail me as much as the -medicine prescribed by a wise physician avails the sick man who will -not take it. I have no wish for health without Luscinda; and since it -is her pleasure to be another’s, when she is or should be mine, let it -be mine to be a prey to misery when I might have enjoyed happiness. She -by her fickleness strove to make my ruin irretrievable; I will strive -to gratify her wishes by seeking destruction; and it will show -generations to come that I alone was deprived of that of which all -others in misfortune have a superabundance, for to them the -impossibility of being consoled is itself a consolation, while to me it -is the cause of greater sorrows and sufferings, for I think that even -in death there will not be an end of them.” - -Here Cardenio brought to a close his long discourse and story, as full -of misfortune as it was of love; but just as the curate was going to -address some words of comfort to him, he was stopped by a voice that -reached his ear, saying in melancholy tones what will be told in the -Fourth Part of this narrative; for at this point the sage and sagacious -historian, Cid Hamete Benengeli, brought the Third to a conclusion. - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE -CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA - -Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don -Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his -having formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive -and restore to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of -knight-errantry, we now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light -entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of -the tales and episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less -pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history itself; which, -resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the -curate was going to offer consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted -by a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones: - -“O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret -grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If -the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe -is me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these -rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven, -than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for -counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!” - -All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as -it seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up -to look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they -discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in -the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to -see as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that -flowed past. They approached so silently that he did not perceive them, -being fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they -looked like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other -stones of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them -with surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods -or to follow the plough and the oxen as their owner’s dress suggested; -and so, finding they had not been noticed, the curate, who was in -front, made a sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind some -fragments of rock that lay there; which they did, observing closely -what the youth was about. He had on a loose double-skirted dark brown -jacket bound tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides -breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera; -and he had the gaiters turned up as far as the middle of the leg, which -verily seemed to be of pure alabaster. - -As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a -towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his -face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a -beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper: - -“As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being.” - -The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to -side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of -the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a -peasant was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of -them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio’s if they had not seen and known -Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda -could compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her -shoulders, but such was their length and abundance, concealed her all -round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form -was visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had -seemed like bits of crystal in the water, her hands looked like pieces -of driven snow among her locks; all which increased not only the -admiration of the three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she -was. With this object they resolved to show themselves, and at the stir -they made in getting upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head, -and parting her hair from before her eyes with both hands, she looked -to see who had made the noise, and the instant she perceived them she -started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her shoes or gather -up her hair, hastily snatched up a bundle as though of clothes that she -had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight; -but before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate -feet being unable to bear the roughness of the stones; seeing which, -the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first -said: - -“Stay, señora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only -desire to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so -heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it.” - -Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words. -They, however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on -to say: - -“What your dress would hide, señora, is made known to us by your hair; -a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your -beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like -these where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve -your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long -as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make -the sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention. -And so, señora, or señor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the -fears that our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with -your good or evil fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each -one of us, you will receive sympathy in your trouble.” - -While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if -spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a -word, just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has -never seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing -some further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke -silence and said: - -“Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me, -and the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not allow my tongue to -deal in falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further -pretence of what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out -of courtesy than for any other reason. This being so, I say I thank -you, sirs, for the offer you have made me, which places me under the -obligation of complying with the request you have made of me; though I -fear the account I shall give you of my misfortunes will excite in you -as much concern as compassion, for you will be unable to suggest -anything to remedy them or any consolation to alleviate them. However, -that my honour may not be left a matter of doubt in your minds, now -that you have discovered me to be a woman, and see that I am young, -alone, and in this dress, things that taken together or separately -would be enough to destroy any good name, I feel bound to tell what I -would willingly keep secret if I could.” - -All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without -any hesitation, with so much ease and in so sweet a voice that they -were not less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as -they again repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her -promise, she without further pressing, first modestly covering her feet -and gathering up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three -placed around her, and, after an effort to restrain some tears that -came to her eyes, in a clear and steady voice began her story thus: - -“In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title -which makes him one of those that are called Grandees of Spain. This -nobleman has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to -his good qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be -the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are -this lord’s vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had -conferred as much on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left -to desire, nor should I have had reason to fear trouble like that in -which I find myself now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of -theirs in not having been nobly born. It is true they are not so low -that they have any reason to be ashamed of their condition, but neither -are they so high as to remove from my mind the impression that my -mishap comes of their humble birth. They are, in short, peasants, plain -homely people, without any taint of disreputable blood, and, as the -saying is, old rusty Christians, but so rich that by their wealth and -free-handed way of life they are coming by degrees to be considered -gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though the wealth and -nobility they thought most of was having me for their daughter; and as -they have no other child to make their heir, and are affectionate -parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that ever parents -indulged. - -“I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their -old age, and the object in which, with submission to Heaven, all their -wishes centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew -their worth; and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of -their possessions. Through me they engaged or dismissed their servants; -through my hands passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and -reaped; the oil-mills, the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and -herds, the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my father has -or can have, I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress -with an assiduity on my part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot -well describe to you. The leisure hours left to me after I had given -the requisite orders to the head-shepherds, overseers, and other -labourers, I passed in such employments as are not only allowable but -necessary for young girls, those that the needle, embroidery cushion, -and spinning wheel usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted -them for a while, I found recreation in reading some devotional book or -playing the harp, for experience taught me that music soothes the -troubled mind and relieves weariness of spirit. Such was the life I led -in my parents’ house and if I have depicted it thus minutely, it is not -out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am rich, but that you may -see how, without any fault of mine, I have fallen from the happy -condition I have described, to the misery I am in at present. The truth -is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a retirement that might -compare with that of a monastery, and unseen as I thought by any except -the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass it was so early in -the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the women -of the household, and so thickly veiled and so shy, that my eyes -scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the -eyes of love, or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx’s -cannot rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity of Don -Fernando; for that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told -of.” - -The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio -changed colour and broke into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that -the curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad -fits which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but -Cardenio showed no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding the -peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she was. -She, however, without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing -her story, went on to say: - -“And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he -was smitten with a violent love for me, as the manner in which it -displayed itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my -woes, I will pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don -Fernando for declaring his passion for me. He bribed all the household, -he gave and offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was -like a holiday or a merry-making in our street; by night no one could -sleep for the music; the love letters that used to come to my hand, no -one knew how, were innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges, -containing more promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all -which not only did not soften me, but hardened my heart against him, as -if he had been my mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me -yield were done with the opposite intention. Not that the high-bred -bearing of Don Fernando was disagreeable to me, or that I found his -importunities wearisome; for it gave me a certain sort of satisfaction -to find myself so sought and prized by a gentleman of such distinction, -and I was not displeased at seeing my praises in his letters (for -however ugly we women may be, it seems to me it always pleases us to -hear ourselves called beautiful) but that my own sense of right was -opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of my parents, who -now very plainly perceived Don Fernando’s purpose, for he cared very -little if all the world knew it. They told me they trusted and confided -their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and bade -me consider the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which I -might conclude that his intentions, whatever he might say to the -contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage; -and if I were at all desirous of opposing an obstacle to his -unreasonable suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to -anyone I preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or -of any of those in the neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good -name, a match might be looked for in any quarter. This offer, and their -sound advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando -a word in reply that could hold out to him any hope of success, however -remote. - -“All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had -apparently the effect of increasing his wanton appetite—for that is the -name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to -be, you would not know of it now, because there would have been no -occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned that my parents were -contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of -obtaining possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors -to watch over me, and this intelligence or suspicion made him act as -you shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other -companion than a damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully -locked lest my honour should be imperilled through any carelessness, I -know not nor can conceive how it happened, but, with all this seclusion -and these precautions, and in the solitude and silence of my -retirement, I found him standing before me, a vision that so astounded -me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and my tongue of speech. I had no -power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did he give me time to utter one, -as he immediately approached me, and taking me in his arms (for, -overwhelmed as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help myself), he began -to make such professions to me that I know not how falsehood could have -had the power of dressing them up to seem so like truth; and the -traitor contrived that his tears should vouch for his words, and his -sighs for his sincerity. - -“I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases -such as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying -protestations true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears -to anything more than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of -bewilderment passed away, and I began in some degree to recover myself, -I said to him with more courage than I thought I could have possessed, -‘If, as I am now in your arms, señor, I were in the claws of a fierce -lion, and my deliverance could be procured by doing or saying anything -to the prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it -or say it, than it would be possible that what was should not have -been; so then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul -secured by virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will -see if you attempt to carry them into effect by force. I am your -vassal, but I am not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should -have any right to dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and low-born -peasant as I am, I have my self-respect as much as you, a lord and -gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, your wealth -will have no weight, your words will have no power to deceive me, nor -your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any of the things I -speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should -be mine, and mine should be bounded by his; and my honour being -preserved even though my inclinations were not would willingly yield -him what you, señor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you -should suppose that any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything -of me.’ ‘If that,’ said this disloyal gentleman, ‘be the only scruple -you feel, fairest Dorothea’ (for that is the name of this unhappy -being), ‘see here I give you my hand to be yours, and let Heaven, from -which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have here, be -witnesses of this pledge.’” - -When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh -agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but -he was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of -what he already all but knew, so he merely said: - -“What! is Dorothea your name, señora? I have heard of another of the -same name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed; -by-and-by I may tell you something that will astonish you as much as it -will excite your compassion.” - -Dorothea was struck by Cardenio’s words as well as by his strange and -miserable attire, and begged him if he knew anything concerning her to -tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was -courage to bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure -that none could reach her capable of increasing in any degree what she -endured already. - -“I would not let the occasion pass, señora,” replied Cardenio, “of -telling you what I think, if what I suspect were the truth, but so far -there has been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to -know it.” - -“Be it as it may,” replied Dorothea, “what happened in my story was -that Don Fernando, taking an image that stood in the chamber, placed it -as a witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and -extravagant oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though -before he had made an end of pledging himself I bade him consider well -what he was doing, and think of the anger his father would feel at -seeing him married to a peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him -not to let my beauty, such as it was, blind him, for that was not -enough to furnish an excuse for his transgression; and if in the love -he bore me he wished to do me any kindness, it would be to leave my lot -to follow its course at the level my condition required; for marriages -so unequal never brought happiness, nor did they continue long to -afford the enjoyment they began with. - -“All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I -cannot recollect; but it had no effect in inducing him to forego his -purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself -about difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I -argued the matter briefly in my own mind, saying to myself, ‘I shall -not be the first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty -station, nor will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more -likely, a blind attachment, has led to mate himself below his rank. -Then, since I am introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well -avail myself of the honour that chance offers me, for even though his -inclination for me should not outlast the attainment of his wishes, I -shall be, after all, his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him -by scorn, I can see that, fair means failing, he is in a mood to use -force, and I shall be left dishonoured and without any means of proving -my innocence to those who cannot know how innocently I have come to be -in this position; for what arguments would persuade my parents that -this gentleman entered my chamber without my consent?’ - -“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment; -but the oaths of Don Fernando, the witnesses he appealed to, the tears -he shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his high-bred grace, -which, accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have -conquered a heart even more free and coy than mine—these were the -things that more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to -my ruin. I called my waiting-maid to me, that there might be a witness -on earth besides those in Heaven, and again Don Fernando renewed and -repeated his oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to -the former ones, called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter -should he fail to keep his promise, shed more tears, redoubled his -sighs and pressed me closer in his arms, from which he had never -allowed me to escape; and so I was left by my maid, and ceased to be -one, and he became a traitor and a perjured man. - -“The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so -quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando wished, for when desire has -attained its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of -pleasure. I say so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and -by the adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the one who had admitted -him, gained the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he -told me, though not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he -came, that I might rest assured of his faith and of the sanctity and -sincerity of his oaths; and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring -off his finger and placed it upon mine. He then took his departure and -I was left, I know not whether sorrowful or happy; all I can say is, I -was left agitated and troubled in mind and almost bewildered by what -had taken place, and I had not the spirit, or else it did not occur to -me, to chide my maid for the treachery she had been guilty of in -concealing Don Fernando in my chamber; for as yet I was unable to make -up my mind whether what had befallen me was for good or evil. I told -Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he might see me on -other nights in the same way, until it should be his pleasure to let -the matter become known; but, except the following night, he came no -more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him in the -street or in church, while I wearied myself with watching for one; -although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out -hunting, a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and -dreary those days and hours were to me; I remember well how I began to -doubt as they went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don -Fernando; and I remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof -of her audacity that she had not heard before, and how I was forced to -put a constraint on my tears and on the expression of my countenance, -not to give my parents cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and -drive me to invent falsehoods in reply. But all this was suddenly -brought to an end, for the time came when all such considerations were -disregarded, and there was no further question of honour, when my -patience gave way and the secret of my heart became known abroad. The -reason was, that a few days later it was reported in the town that Don -Fernando had been married in a neighbouring city to a maiden of rare -beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position, though not -so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so brilliant a -match; it was said, too, that her name was Luscinda, and that at the -betrothal some strange things had happened.” - -Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his -shoulders, bit his lips, bent his brows, and before long two streams of -tears escaped from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her -story, but went on in these words: - -“This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck -with a chill, with such wrath and fury did my heart burn that I -scarcely restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying -aloud and proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was -the victim; but this transport of rage was for the time checked by a -resolution I formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to -assume this dress, which I got from a servant of my father’s, one of -the zagals, as they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the -whole of my misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the -city where I heard my enemy was. He, though he remonstrated with me for -my boldness, and condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent upon my -purpose, offered to bear me company, as he said, to the end of the -world. I at once packed up in a linen pillow-case a woman’s dress, and -some jewels and money to provide for emergencies, and in the silence of -the night, without letting my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth -from the house, accompanied by my servant and abundant anxieties, and -on foot set out for the city, but borne as it were on wings by my -eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent what I presumed to be already -done, at least to call upon Don Fernando to tell me with what -conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in two days and a -half, and on entering the city inquired for the house of Luscinda’s -parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply than I sought -to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred at -the betrothal of the daughter of the family, an affair of such -notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in -the street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando’s betrothal with -Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to be his bride by saying ‘Yes,’ -she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom -approaching to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found -a paper in her own handwriting, in which she said and declared that she -could not be Don Fernando’s bride, because she was already Cardenio’s, -who, according to the man’s account, was a gentleman of distinction of -the same city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it was only -in obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper -made it clear she meant to kill herself on the completion of the -betrothal, and gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all which -was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her -clothes. On seeing this, Don Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had -befooled, slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before she had -recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab her with the dagger that -had been found, and would have succeeded had not her parents and those -who were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, that Don -Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not recover from her -prostration until the next day, when she told her parents how she was -really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned besides -that Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the betrothal; -and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary to his expectation, he had -quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring the -wrong Luscinda had done him, and his intention of going where no one -should ever see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in the -city, and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that -Luscinda was missing from her father’s house and from the city, for she -was not to be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, who -knew not what steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my -hopes, and I was better pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to -find him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not yet -entirely shut upon relief in my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven -had put this impediment in the way of the second marriage, to lead him -to recognise his obligations under the former one, and reflect that as -a Christian he was bound to consider his soul above all human objects. -All this passed through my mind, and I strove to comfort myself without -comfort, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing that life -that I now abhor. - -“But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find -Don Fernando, I heard notice given by the public crier offering a great -reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my -age and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who -came with me had taken me away from my father’s house; a thing that cut -me to the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was -not enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with -whom I had fled, and that one so much beneath me and so unworthy of my -consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with -my servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to -me, and the same night, for fear of discovery, we entered the most -thickly wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one -evil calls up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the -beginning of one still greater, and so it proved in my case; for my -worthy servant, until then so faithful and trusty when he found me in -this lonely spot, moved more by his own villainy than by my beauty, -sought to take advantage of the opportunity which these solitudes -seemed to present him, and with little shame and less fear of God and -respect for me, began to make overtures to me; and finding that I -replied to the effrontery of his proposals with justly severe language, -he laid aside the entreaties which he had employed at first, and began -to use violence. - -“But just Heaven, that seldom fails to watch over and aid good -intentions, so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little -exertion I pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead -or alive I know not; and then, with greater speed than seemed possible -in my terror and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any -other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and -escaping my father and those despatched in search of me by his orders. -It is now I know not how many months since with this object I came -here, where I met a herdsman who engaged me as his servant at a place -in the heart of this Sierra, and all this time I have been serving him -as herd, striving to keep always afield to hide these locks which have -now unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and pains were -unavailing, for my master made the discovery that I was not a man, and -harboured the same base designs as my servant; and as fortune does not -always supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and I had no precipice -or ravine at hand down which to fling the master and cure his passion, -as I had in the servant’s case, I thought it a lesser evil to leave him -and again conceal myself among these crags, than make trial of my -strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once more I went into -hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears -implore Heaven to have pity on my misery, and grant me help and -strength to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes, leaving -no trace of an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished -matter for talk and scandal at home and abroad.” - -CHAPTER XXIX. -WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR -LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED UPON -HIMSELF - -“Such, sirs, is the true story of my sad adventures; judge for -yourselves now whether the sighs and lamentations you heard, and the -tears that flowed from my eyes, had not sufficient cause even if I had -indulged in them more freely; and if you consider the nature of my -misfortune you will see that consolation is idle, as there is no -possible remedy for it. All I ask of you is, what you may easily and -reasonably do, to show me where I may pass my life unharassed by the -fear and dread of discovery by those who are in search of me; for -though the great love my parents bear me makes me feel sure of being -kindly received by them, so great is my feeling of shame at the mere -thought that I cannot present myself before them as they expect, that I -had rather banish myself from their sight for ever than look them in -the face with the reflection that they beheld mine stripped of that -purity they had a right to expect in me.” - -With these words she became silent, and the colour that overspread her -face showed plainly the pain and shame she was suffering at heart. In -theirs the listeners felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes; -but as the curate was just about to offer her some consolation and -advice Cardenio forestalled him, saying, “So then, señora, you are the -fair Dorothea, the only daughter of the rich Clenardo?” Dorothea was -astonished at hearing her father’s name, and at the miserable -appearance of him who mentioned it, for it has been already said how -wretchedly clad Cardenio was; so she said to him: - -“And who may you be, brother, who seem to know my father’s name so -well? For so far, if I remember rightly, I have not mentioned it in the -whole story of my misfortunes.” - -“I am that unhappy being, señora,” replied Cardenio, “whom, as you have -said, Luscinda declared to be her husband; I am the unfortunate -Cardenio, whom the wrong-doing of him who has brought you to your -present condition has reduced to the state you see me in, bare, ragged, -bereft of all human comfort, and what is worse, of reason, for I only -possess it when Heaven is pleased for some short space to restore it to -me. I, Dorothea, am he who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fernando, -and waited to hear the ‘Yes’ uttered by which Luscinda owned herself -his betrothed: I am he who had not courage enough to see how her -fainting fit ended, or what came of the paper that was found in her -bosom, because my heart had not the fortitude to endure so many strokes -of ill-fortune at once; and so losing patience I quitted the house, and -leaving a letter with my host, which I entreated him to place in -Luscinda’s hands, I betook myself to these solitudes, resolved to end -here the life I hated as if it were my mortal enemy. But fate would not -rid me of it, contenting itself with robbing me of my reason, perhaps -to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in meeting you; for if -that which you have just told us be true, as I believe it to be, it may -be that Heaven has yet in store for both of us a happier termination to -our misfortunes than we look for; because seeing that Luscinda cannot -marry Don Fernando, being mine, as she has herself so openly declared, -and that Don Fernando cannot marry her as he is yours, we may -reasonably hope that Heaven will restore to us what is ours, as it is -still in existence and not yet alienated or destroyed. And as we have -this consolation springing from no very visionary hope or wild fancy, I -entreat you, señora, to form new resolutions in your better mind, as I -mean to do in mine, preparing yourself to look forward to happier -fortunes; for I swear to you by the faith of a gentleman and a -Christian not to desert you until I see you in possession of Don -Fernando, and if I cannot by words induce him to recognise his -obligation to you, in that case to avail myself of the right which my -rank as a gentleman gives me, and with just cause challenge him on -account of the injury he has done you, not regarding my own wrongs, -which I shall leave to Heaven to avenge, while I on earth devote myself -to yours.” - -Cardenio’s words completed the astonishment of Dorothea, and not -knowing how to return thanks for such an offer, she attempted to kiss -his feet; but Cardenio would not permit it, and the licentiate replied -for both, commended the sound reasoning of Cardenio, and lastly, -begged, advised, and urged them to come with him to his village, where -they might furnish themselves with what they needed, and take measures -to discover Don Fernando, or restore Dorothea to her parents, or do -what seemed to them most advisable. Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him, -and accepted the kind offer he made them; and the barber, who had been -listening to all attentively and in silence, on his part some kindly -words also, and with no less good-will than the curate offered his -services in any way that might be of use to them. He also explained to -them in a few words the object that had brought them there, and the -strange nature of Don Quixote’s madness, and how they were waiting for -his squire, who had gone in search of him. Like the recollection of a -dream, the quarrel he had had with Don Quixote came back to Cardenio’s -memory, and he described it to the others; but he was unable to say -what the dispute was about. - -At this moment they heard a shout, and recognised it as coming from -Sancho Panza, who, not finding them where he had left them, was calling -aloud to them. They went to meet him, and in answer to their inquiries -about Don Quixote, he told them how he had found him stripped to his -shirt, lank, yellow, half dead with hunger, and sighing for his lady -Dulcinea; and although he had told him that she commanded him to quit -that place and come to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had -answered that he was determined not to appear in the presence of her -beauty until he had done deeds to make him worthy of her favour; and if -this went on, Sancho said, he ran the risk of not becoming an emperor -as in duty bound, or even an archbishop, which was the least he could -be; for which reason they ought to consider what was to be done to get -him away from there. The licentiate in reply told him not to be uneasy, -for they would fetch him away in spite of himself. He then told -Cardenio and Dorothea what they had proposed to do to cure Don Quixote, -or at any rate take him home; upon which Dorothea said that she could -play the distressed damsel better than the barber; especially as she -had there the dress in which to do it to the life, and that they might -trust to her acting the part in every particular requisite for carrying -out their scheme, for she had read a great many books of chivalry, and -knew exactly the style in which afflicted damsels begged boons of -knights-errant. - -“In that case,” said the curate, “there is nothing more required than -to set about it at once, for beyond a doubt fortune is declaring itself -in our favour, since it has so unexpectedly begun to open a door for -your relief, and smoothed the way for us to our object.” - -Dorothea then took out of her pillow-case a complete petticoat of some -rich stuff, and a green mantle of some other fine material, and a -necklace and other ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an -instant she so arrayed herself that she looked like a great and rich -lady. All this, and more, she said, she had taken from home in case of -need, but that until then she had had no occasion to make use of it. -They were all highly delighted with her grace, air, and beauty, and -declared Don Fernando to be a man of very little taste when he rejected -such charms. But the one who admired her most was Sancho Panza, for it -seemed to him (what indeed was true) that in all the days of his life -he had never seen such a lovely creature; and he asked the curate with -great eagerness who this beautiful lady was, and what she wanted in -these out-of-the-way quarters. - -“This fair lady, brother Sancho,” replied the curate, “is no less a -personage than the heiress in the direct male line of the great kingdom -of Micomicon, who has come in search of your master to beg a boon of -him, which is that he redress a wrong or injury that a wicked giant has -done her; and from the fame as a good knight which your master has -acquired far and wide, this princess has come from Guinea to seek him.” - -“A lucky seeking and a lucky finding!” said Sancho Panza at this; -“especially if my master has the good fortune to redress that injury, -and right that wrong, and kill that son of a bitch of a giant your -worship speaks of; as kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, -he happens to be a phantom; for my master has no power at all against -phantoms. But one thing among others I would beg of you, señor -licentiate, which is, that, to prevent my master taking a fancy to be -an archbishop, for that is what I’m afraid of, your worship would -recommend him to marry this princess at once; for in this way he will -be disabled from taking archbishop’s orders, and will easily come into -his empire, and I to the end of my desires; I have been thinking over -the matter carefully, and by what I can make out I find it will not do -for me that my master should become an archbishop, because I am no good -for the Church, as I am married; and for me now, having as I have a -wife and children, to set about obtaining dispensations to enable me to -hold a place of profit under the Church, would be endless work; so -that, señor, it all turns on my master marrying this lady at once—for -as yet I do not know her grace, and so I cannot call her by her name.” - -“She is called the Princess Micomicona,” said the curate; “for as her -kingdom is Micomicon, it is clear that must be her name.” - -“There’s no doubt of that,” replied Sancho, “for I have known many to -take their name and title from the place where they were born and call -themselves Pedro of Alcalá, Juan of Úbeda, and Diego of Valladolid; and -it may be that over there in Guinea queens have the same way of taking -the names of their kingdoms.” - -“So it may,” said the curate; “and as for your master’s marrying, I -will do all in my power towards it:” with which Sancho was as much -pleased as the curate was amazed at his simplicity and at seeing what a -hold the absurdities of his master had taken of his fancy, for he had -evidently persuaded himself that he was going to be an emperor. - -By this time Dorothea had seated herself upon the curate’s mule, and -the barber had fitted the ox-tail beard to his face, and they now told -Sancho to conduct them to where Don Quixote was, warning him not to say -that he knew either the licentiate or the barber, as his master’s -becoming an emperor entirely depended on his not recognising them; -neither the curate nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with them; -Cardenio lest he should remind Don Quixote of the quarrel he had with -him, and the curate as there was no necessity for his presence just -yet, so they allowed the others to go on before them, while they -themselves followed slowly on foot. The curate did not forget to -instruct Dorothea how to act, but she said they might make their minds -easy, as everything would be done exactly as the books of chivalry -required and described. - -They had gone about three-quarters of a league when they discovered Don -Quixote in a wilderness of rocks, by this time clothed, but without his -armour; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was told by Sancho that -that was Don Quixote, she whipped her palfrey, the well-bearded barber -following her, and on coming up to him her squire sprang from his mule -and came forward to receive her in his arms, and she dismounting with -great ease of manner advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote; -and though he strove to raise her up, she without rising addressed him -in this fashion: - -“From this spot I will not rise, valiant and doughty knight, until your -goodness and courtesy grant me a boon, which will redound to the honour -and renown of your person and render a service to the most disconsolate -and afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might of your strong -arm corresponds to the repute of your immortal fame, you are bound to -aid the helpless being who, led by the savour of your renowned name, -hath come from far distant lands to seek your aid in her misfortunes.” - -“I will not answer a word, beauteous lady,” replied Don Quixote, “nor -will I listen to anything further concerning you, until you rise from -the earth.” - -“I will not rise, señor,” answered the afflicted damsel, “unless of -your courtesy the boon I ask is first granted me.” - -“I grant and accord it,” said Don Quixote, “provided without detriment -or prejudice to my king, my country, or her who holds the key of my -heart and freedom, it may be complied with.” - -“It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of any of them, my worthy -lord,” said the afflicted damsel; and here Sancho Panza drew close to -his master’s ear and said to him very softly, “Your worship may very -safely grant the boon she asks; it’s nothing at all; only to kill a big -giant; and she who asks it is the exalted Princess Micomicona, queen of -the great kingdom of Micomicon of Ethiopia.” - -“Let her be who she may,” replied Don Quixote, “I will do what is my -bounden duty, and what my conscience bids me, in conformity with what I -have professed;” and turning to the damsel he said, “Let your great -beauty rise, for I grant the boon which you would ask of me.” - -“Then what I ask,” said the damsel, “is that your magnanimous person -accompany me at once whither I will conduct you, and that you promise -not to engage in any other adventure or quest until you have avenged me -of a traitor who against all human and divine law, has usurped my -kingdom.” - -“I repeat that I grant it,” replied Don Quixote; “and so, lady, you may -from this day forth lay aside the melancholy that distresses you, and -let your failing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the help -of God and of my arm you will soon see yourself restored to your -kingdom, and seated upon the throne of your ancient and mighty realm, -notwithstanding and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and now -hands to the work, for in delay there is apt to be danger.” - -The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity to kiss his hands; -but Don Quixote, who was in all things a polished and courteous knight, -would by no means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her with -great courtesy and politeness, and ordered Sancho to look to -Rocinante’s girths, and to arm him without a moment’s delay. Sancho -took down the armour, which was hung up on a tree like a trophy, and -having seen to the girths armed his master in a trice, who as soon as -he found himself in his armour exclaimed: - -“Let us be gone in the name of God to bring aid to this great lady.” - -The barber was all this time on his knees at great pains to hide his -laughter and not let his beard fall, for had it fallen maybe their fine -scheme would have come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, and -the promptitude with which Don Quixote prepared to set out in -compliance with it, he rose and took his lady’s hand, and between them -they placed her upon the mule. Don Quixote then mounted Rocinante, and -the barber settled himself on his beast, Sancho being left to go on -foot, which made him feel anew the loss of his Dapple, finding the want -of him now. But he bore all with cheerfulness, being persuaded that his -master had now fairly started and was just on the point of becoming an -emperor; for he felt no doubt at all that he would marry this princess, -and be king of Micomicon at least. The only thing that troubled him was -the reflection that this kingdom was in the land of the blacks, and -that the people they would give him for vassals would be all black; but -for this he soon found a remedy in his fancy, and said he to himself, -“What is it to me if my vassals are blacks? What more have I to do than -make a cargo of them and carry them to Spain, where I can sell them and -get ready money for them, and with it buy some title or some office in -which to live at ease all the days of my life? Not unless you go to -sleep and haven’t the wit or skill to turn things to account and sell -three, six, or ten thousand vassals while you would be talking about -it! By God I will stir them up, big and little, or as best I can, and -let them be ever so black I’ll turn them into white or yellow. Come, -come, what a fool I am!” And so he jogged on, so occupied with his -thoughts and easy in his mind that he forgot all about the hardship of -travelling on foot. - -Cardenio and the curate were watching all this from among some bushes, -not knowing how to join company with the others; but the curate, who -was very fertile in devices, soon hit upon a way of effecting their -purpose, and with a pair of scissors he had in a case he quickly cut -off Cardenio’s beard, and putting on him a grey jerkin of his own he -gave him a black cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and doublet, -while Cardenio’s appearance was so different from what it had been that -he would not have known himself had he seen himself in a mirror. Having -effected this, although the others had gone on ahead while they were -disguising themselves, they easily came out on the high road before -them, for the brambles and awkward places they encountered did not -allow those on horseback to go as fast as those on foot. They then -posted themselves on the level ground at the outlet of the Sierra, and -as soon as Don Quixote and his companions emerged from it the curate -began to examine him very deliberately, as though he were striving to -recognise him, and after having stared at him for some time he hastened -towards him with open arms exclaiming, “A happy meeting with the mirror -of chivalry, my worthy compatriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower -and cream of high breeding, the protection and relief of the -distressed, the quintessence of knights-errant!” And so saying he -clasped in his arms the knee of Don Quixote’s left leg. He, astonished -at the stranger’s words and behaviour, looked at him attentively, and -at length recognised him, very much surprised to see him there, and -made great efforts to dismount. This, however, the curate would not -allow, on which Don Quixote said, “Permit me, señor licentiate, for it -is not fitting that I should be on horseback and so reverend a person -as your worship on foot.” - -“On no account will I allow it,” said the curate; “your mightiness must -remain on horseback, for it is on horseback you achieve the greatest -deeds and adventures that have been beheld in our age; as for me, an -unworthy priest, it will serve me well enough to mount on the haunches -of one of the mules of these gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if -they have no objection, and I will fancy I am mounted on the steed -Pegasus, or on the zebra or charger that bore the famous Moor, -Muzaraque, who to this day lies enchanted in the great hill of Zulema, -a little distance from the great Complutum.” - -“Nor even that will I consent to, señor licentiate,” answered Don -Quixote, “and I know it will be the good pleasure of my lady the -princess, out of love for me, to order her squire to give up the saddle -of his mule to your worship, and he can sit behind if the beast will -bear it.” - -“It will, I am sure,” said the princess, “and I am sure, too, that I -need not order my squire, for he is too courteous and considerate to -allow a Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted.” - -“That he is,” said the barber, and at once alighting, he offered his -saddle to the curate, who accepted it without much entreaty; but -unfortunately as the barber was mounting behind, the mule, being as it -happened a hired one, which is the same thing as saying -ill-conditioned, lifted its hind hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks in -the air, which would have made Master Nicholas wish his expedition in -quest of Don Quixote at the devil had they caught him on the breast or -head. As it was, they so took him by surprise that he came to the -ground, giving so little heed to his beard that it fell off, and all he -could do when he found himself without it was to cover his face hastily -with both his hands and moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don -Quixote when he saw all that bundle of beard detached, without jaws or -blood, from the face of the fallen squire, exclaimed: - -“By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it has knocked off and -plucked away the beard from his face as if it had been shaved off -designedly.” - -The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that threatened his scheme, -at once pounced upon the beard and hastened with it to where Master -Nicholas lay, still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his breast -had it on in an instant, muttering over him some words which he said -were a certain special charm for sticking on beards, as they would see; -and as soon as he had it fixed he left him, and the squire appeared -well bearded and whole as before, whereat Don Quixote was beyond -measure astonished, and begged the curate to teach him that charm when -he had an opportunity, as he was persuaded its virtue must extend -beyond the sticking on of beards, for it was clear that where the beard -had been stripped off the flesh must have remained torn and lacerated, -and when it could heal all that it must be good for more than beards. - -“And so it is,” said the curate, and he promised to teach it to him on -the first opportunity. They then agreed that for the present the curate -should mount, and that the three should ride by turns until they -reached the inn, which might be about six leagues from where they were. - -Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don Quixote, the princess, -and the curate, and three on foot, Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho -Panza, Don Quixote said to the damsel: - -“Let your highness, lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to -you;” but before she could answer the licentiate said: - -“Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct our course? Is it -perchance towards that of Micomicon? It must be, or else I know little -about kingdoms.” - -She, being ready on all points, understood that she was to answer -“Yes,” so she said “Yes, señor, my way lies towards that kingdom.” - -“In that case,” said the curate, “we must pass right through my -village, and there your worship will take the road to Cartagena, where -you will be able to embark, fortune favouring; and if the wind be fair -and the sea smooth and tranquil, in somewhat less than nine years you -may come in sight of the great lake Meona, I mean Meotides, which is -little more than a hundred days’ journey this side of your highness’s -kingdom.” - -“Your worship is mistaken, señor,” said she; “for it is not two years -since I set out from it, and though I never had good weather, -nevertheless I am here to behold what I so longed for, and that is my -lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose fame came to my ears as soon as I -set foot in Spain and impelled me to go in search of him, to commend -myself to his courtesy, and entrust the justice of my cause to the -might of his invincible arm.” - -“Enough; no more praise,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I hate all -flattery; and though this may not be so, still language of the kind is -offensive to my chaste ears. I will only say, señora, that whether it -has might or not, that which it may or may not have shall be devoted to -your service even to death; and now, leaving this to its proper season, -I would ask the señor licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought -him into these parts, alone, unattended, and so lightly clad that I am -filled with amazement.” - -“I will answer that briefly,” replied the curate; “you must know then, -Señor Don Quixote, that Master Nicholas, our friend and barber, and I -were going to Seville to receive some money that a relative of mine who -went to the Indies many years ago had sent me, and not such a small sum -but that it was over sixty thousand pieces of eight, full weight, which -is something; and passing by this place yesterday we were attacked by -four footpads, who stripped us even to our beards, and them they -stripped off so that the barber found it necessary to put on a false -one, and even this young man here”—pointing to Cardenio—“they -completely transformed. But the best of it is, the story goes in the -neighbourhood that those who attacked us belong to a number of galley -slaves who, they say, were set free almost on the very same spot by a -man of such valour that, in spite of the commissary and of the guards, -he released the whole of them; and beyond all doubt he must have been -out of his senses, or he must be as great a scoundrel as they, or some -man without heart or conscience to let the wolf loose among the sheep, -the fox among the hens, the fly among the honey. He has defrauded -justice, and opposed his king and lawful master, for he opposed his -just commands; he has, I say, robbed the galleys of their feet, stirred -up the Holy Brotherhood which for many years past has been quiet, and, -lastly, has done a deed by which his soul may be lost without any gain -to his body.” Sancho had told the curate and the barber of the -adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his glory, his master -had achieved, and hence the curate in alluding to it made the most of -it to see what would be said or done by Don Quixote; who changed colour -at every word, not daring to say that it was he who had been the -liberator of those worthy people. “These, then,” said the curate, “were -they who robbed us; and God in his mercy pardon him who would not let -them go to the punishment they deserved.” - -CHAPTER XXX. -WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER -MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING - -The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, “In faith, -then, señor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and it was -not for want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what -he was about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they -were all on the march there because they were special scoundrels.” - -“Blockhead!” said Don Quixote at this, “it is no business or concern of -knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in chains, -or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and -suffer as they do because of their faults or because of their -misfortunes. It only concerns them to aid them as persons in need of -help, having regard to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I -encountered a chaplet or string of miserable and unfortunate people, -and did for them what my sense of duty demands of me, and as for the -rest be that as it may; and whoever takes objection to it, saving the -sacred dignity of the señor licentiate and his honoured person, I say -he knows little about chivalry and lies like a whoreson villain, and -this I will give him to know to the fullest extent with my sword;” and -so saying he settled himself in his stirrups and pressed down his -morion; for the barber’s basin, which according to him was Mambrino’s -helmet, he carried hanging at the saddle-bow until he could repair the -damage done to it by the galley slaves. - -Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly -understood Don Quixote’s crazy turn, and that all except Sancho Panza -were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on -observing his irritation, “Sir Knight, remember the boon you have -promised me, and that in accordance with it you must not engage in any -other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the -licentiate had known that the galley slaves had been set free by that -unconquered arm he would have stopped his mouth thrice over, or even -bitten his tongue three times before he would have said a word that -tended towards disrespect of your worship.” - -“That I swear heartily,” said the curate, “and I would have even -plucked off a moustache.” - -“I will hold my peace, señora,” said Don Quixote, “and I will curb the -natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in peace -and quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this -consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do -so, what is the nature of your trouble, and how many, who, and what are -the persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am -to take vengeance on your behalf?” - -“That I will do with all my heart,” replied Dorothea, “if it will not -be wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes.” - -“It will not be wearisome, señora,” said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea -replied, “Well, if that be so, give me your attention.” As soon as she -said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to -hear what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for -herself; and Sancho did the same, for he was as much taken in by her as -his master; and she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, -and with the help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time to -think, began with great sprightliness of manner in this fashion. - -“First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is—” and here -she stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate had given -her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and -said, “It is no wonder, señora, that your highness should be confused -and embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes; for such -afflictions often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, -so that they do not even remember their own names, as is the case now -with your ladyship, who has forgotten that she is called the Princess -Micomicona, lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with -this cue your highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection -all you may wish to tell us.” - -“That is the truth,” said the damsel; “but I think from this on I shall -have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story safe -into port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio -the Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became -aware by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen Jaramilla, was -to die before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this -life, and I was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all -this, he declared, did not so much grieve or distress him as his -certain knowledge that a prodigious giant, the lord of a great island -close to our kingdom, Pandafilando of the Scowl by name—for it is -averred that, though his eyes are properly placed and straight, he -always looks askew as if he squinted, and this he does out of -malignity, to strike fear and terror into those he looks at—that he -knew, I say, that this giant on becoming aware of my orphan condition -would overrun my kingdom with a mighty force and strip me of all, not -leaving me even a small village to shelter me; but that I could avoid -all this ruin and misfortune if I were willing to marry him; however, -as far as he could see, he never expected that I would consent to a -marriage so unequal; and he said no more than the truth in this, for it -has never entered my mind to marry that giant, or any other, let him be -ever so great or enormous. My father said, too, that when he was dead, -and I saw Pandafilando about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait -and attempt to defend myself, for that would be destructive to me, but -that I should leave the kingdom entirely open to him if I wished to -avoid the death and total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, for -there would be no possibility of defending myself against the giant’s -devilish power; and that I should at once with some of my followers set -out for Spain, where I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a -certain knight-errant whose fame by that time would extend over the -whole kingdom, and who would be called, if I remember rightly, Don -Azote or Don Gigote.” - -“‘Don Quixote,’ he must have said, señora,” observed Sancho at this, -“otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” - -“That is it,” said Dorothea; “he said, moreover, that he would be tall -of stature and lank featured; and that on his right side under the left -shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with hairs like -bristles.” - -On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, “Here, Sancho my son, -bear a hand and help me to strip, for I want to see if I am the knight -that sage king foretold.” - -“What does your worship want to strip for?” said Dorothea. - -“To see if I have that mole your father spoke of,” answered Don -Quixote. - -“There is no occasion to strip,” said Sancho; “for I know your worship -has just such a mole on the middle of your backbone, which is the mark -of a strong man.” - -“That is enough,” said Dorothea, “for with friends we must not look too -closely into trifles; and whether it be on the shoulder or on the -backbone matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it where -it may, for it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father hit the -truth in every particular, and I have made a lucky hit in commending -myself to Don Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke of, as the -features of his countenance correspond with those assigned to this -knight by that wide fame he has acquired not only in Spain but in all -La Mancha; for I had scarcely landed at Osuna when I heard such -accounts of his achievements, that at once my heart told me he was the -very one I had come in search of.” - -“But how did you land at Osuna, señora,” asked Don Quixote, “when it is -not a seaport?” - -But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her, saying, -“The princess meant to say that after she had landed at Malaga the -first place where she heard of your worship was Osuna.” - -“That is what I meant to say,” said Dorothea. - -“And that would be only natural,” said the curate. “Will your majesty -please proceed?” - -“There is no more to add,” said Dorothea, “save that in finding Don -Quixote I have had such good fortune, that I already reckon and regard -myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his courtesy -and magnanimity he has granted me the boon of accompanying me -whithersoever I may conduct him, which will be only to bring him face -to face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him and -restore to me what has been unjustly usurped by him: for all this must -come to pass satisfactorily since my good father Tinacrio the Sapient -foretold it, who likewise left it declared in writing in Chaldee or -Greek characters (for I cannot read them), that if this predicted -knight, after having cut the giant’s throat, should be disposed to -marry me I was to offer myself at once without demur as his lawful -wife, and yield him possession of my kingdom together with my person.” - -“What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?” said Don Quixote at this. -“Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so? See how we have already got -a kingdom to govern and a queen to marry!” - -“On my oath it is so,” said Sancho; “and foul fortune to him who won’t -marry after slitting Señor Pandahilado’s windpipe! And then, how -illfavoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!” - -And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign of -extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the bridle of Dorothea’s -mule, and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging her to give -him her hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her as his queen -and mistress. Which of the bystanders could have helped laughing to see -the madness of the master and the simplicity of the servant? Dorothea -therefore gave her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in her -kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to permit her to recover and -enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks in words that set them all -laughing again. - -“This, sirs,” continued Dorothea, “is my story; it only remains to tell -you that of all the attendants I took with me from my kingdom I have -none left except this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned in a -great tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and I came -to land on a couple of planks as if by a miracle; and indeed the whole -course of my life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have observed; -and if I have been over minute in any respect or not as precise as I -ought, let it be accounted for by what the licentiate said at the -beginning of my tale, that constant and excessive troubles deprive the -sufferers of their memory.” - -“They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess,” said -Don Quixote, “however great and unexampled those which I shall endure -in your service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have -promised you, and I swear to go with you to the end of the world until -I find myself in the presence of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head -I trust by the aid of my arm to cut off with the edge of this—I will -not say good sword, thanks to Gines de Pasamonte who carried away -mine”—(this he said between his teeth, and then continued), “and when -it has been cut off and you have been put in peaceful possession of -your realm it shall be left to your own decision to dispose of your -person as may be most pleasing to you; for so long as my memory is -occupied, my will enslaved, and my understanding enthralled by her—I -say no more—it is impossible for me for a moment to contemplate -marriage, even with a Phœnix.” - -The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so -disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice he exclaimed with great -irritation: - -“By my oath, Señor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses; for -how can your worship possibly object to marrying such an exalted -princess as this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every -stone such a piece of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady Dulcinea -fairer, perchance? Not she; nor half as fair; and I will even go so far -as to say she does not come up to the shoe of this one here. A poor -chance I have of getting that county I am waiting for if your worship -goes looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. In the devil’s -name, marry, marry, and take this kingdom that comes to hand without -any trouble, and when you are king make me a marquis or governor of a -province, and for the rest let the devil take it all.” - -Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady -Dulcinea, could not endure it, and lifting his pike, without saying -anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks -that he brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea -cried out to him to spare him he would have no doubt taken his life on -the spot. - -“Do you think,” he said to him after a pause, “you scurvy clown, that -you are to be always interfering with me, and that you are to be always -offending and I always pardoning? Don’t fancy it, impious scoundrel, -for that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy tongue going -against the peerless Dulcinea. Know you not, lout, vagabond, beggar, -that were it not for the might that she infuses into my arm I should -not have strength enough to kill a flea? Say, scoffer with a viper’s -tongue, what think you has won this kingdom and cut off this giant’s -head and made you a marquis (for all this I count as already -accomplished and decided), but the might of Dulcinea, employing my arm -as the instrument of her achievements? She fights in me and conquers in -me, and I live and breathe in her, and owe my life and being to her. O -whoreson scoundrel, how ungrateful you are, you see yourself raised -from the dust of the earth to be a titled lord, and the return you make -for so great a benefit is to speak evil of her who has conferred it -upon you!” - -Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and -rising with some degree of nimbleness he ran to place himself behind -Dorothea’s palfrey, and from that position he said to his master: - -“Tell me, señor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great -princess, it is plain the kingdom will not be yours; and not being so, -how can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let -your worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her -here as if showered down from heaven, and afterwards you may go back to -my lady Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who kept -mistresses. As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if the -truth is to be told, I like them both; though I have never seen the -lady Dulcinea.” - -“How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote; -“hast thou not just now brought me a message from her?” - -“I mean,” said Sancho, “that I did not see her so much at my leisure -that I could take particular notice of her beauty, or of her charms -piecemeal; but taken in the lump I like her.” - -“Now I forgive thee,” said Don Quixote; “and do thou forgive me the -injury I have done thee; for our first impulses are not in our -control.” - -“That I see,” replied Sancho, “and with me the wish to speak is always -the first impulse, and I cannot help saying, once at any rate, what I -have on the tip of my tongue.” - -“For all that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “take heed of what thou -sayest, for the pitcher goes so often to the well—I need say no more to -thee.” - -“Well, well,” said Sancho, “God is in heaven, and sees all tricks, and -will judge who does most harm, I in not speaking right, or your worship -in not doing it.” - -“That is enough,” said Dorothea; “run, Sancho, and kiss your lord’s -hand and beg his pardon, and henceforward be more circumspect with your -praise and abuse; and say nothing in disparagement of that lady Toboso, -of whom I know nothing save that I am her servant; and put your trust -in God, for you will not fail to obtain some dignity so as to live like -a prince.” - -Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his master’s hand, which -Don Quixote with dignity presented to him, giving him his blessing as -soon as he had kissed it; he then bade him go on ahead a little, as he -had questions to ask him and matters of great importance to discuss -with him. Sancho obeyed, and when the two had gone some distance in -advance Don Quixote said to him, “Since thy return I have had no -opportunity or time to ask thee many particulars touching thy mission -and the answer thou hast brought back, and now that chance has granted -us the time and opportunity, deny me not the happiness thou canst give -me by such good news.” - -“Let your worship ask what you will,” answered Sancho, “for I shall -find a way out of all as I found a way in; but I implore you, señor, -not to be so revengeful in future.” - -“Why dost thou say that, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“I say it,” he returned, “because those blows just now were more -because of the quarrel the devil stirred up between us both the other -night, than for what I said against my lady Dulcinea, whom I love and -reverence as I would a relic—though there is nothing of that about -her—merely as something belonging to your worship.” - -“Say no more on that subject for thy life, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“for it is displeasing to me; I have already pardoned thee for that, -and thou knowest the common saying, ‘for a fresh sin a fresh penance.’” - -While this was going on they saw coming along the road they were -following a man mounted on an ass, who when he came close seemed to be -a gipsy; but Sancho Panza, whose eyes and heart were there wherever he -saw asses, no sooner beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de -Pasamonte; and by the thread of the gipsy he got at the ball, his ass, -for it was, in fact, Dapple that carried Pasamonte, who to escape -recognition and to sell the ass had disguised himself as a gipsy, being -able to speak the gipsy language, and many more, as well as if they -were his own. Sancho saw him and recognised him, and the instant he did -so he shouted to him, “Ginesillo, you thief, give up my treasure, -release my life, embarrass thyself not with my repose, quit my ass, -leave my delight, be off, rip, get thee gone, thief, and give up what -is not thine.” - -There was no necessity for so many words or objurgations, for at the -first one Gines jumped down, and at a like racing speed made off and -got clear of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and embracing him -he said, “How hast thou fared, my blessing, Dapple of my eyes, my -comrade?” all the while kissing him and caressing him as if he were a -human being. The ass held his peace, and let himself be kissed and -caressed by Sancho without answering a single word. They all came up -and congratulated him on having found Dapple, Don Quixote especially, -who told him that notwithstanding this he would not cancel the order -for the three ass-colts, for which Sancho thanked him. - -While the two had been going along conversing in this fashion, the -curate observed to Dorothea that she had shown great cleverness, as -well in the story itself as in its conciseness, and the resemblance it -bore to those of the books of chivalry. She said that she had many -times amused herself reading them; but that she did not know the -situation of the provinces or seaports, and so she had said at -haphazard that she had landed at Osuna. - -“So I saw,” said the curate, “and for that reason I made haste to say -what I did, by which it was all set right. But is it not a strange -thing to see how readily this unhappy gentleman believes all these -figments and lies, simply because they are in the style and manner of -the absurdities of his books?” - -“So it is,” said Cardenio; “and so uncommon and unexampled, that were -one to attempt to invent and concoct it in fiction, I doubt if there be -any wit keen enough to imagine it.” - -“But another strange thing about it,” said the curate, “is that, apart -from the silly things which this worthy gentleman says in connection -with his craze, when other subjects are dealt with, he can discuss them -in a perfectly rational manner, showing that his mind is quite clear -and composed; so that, provided his chivalry is not touched upon, no -one would take him to be anything but a man of thoroughly sound -understanding.” - -While they were holding this conversation Don Quixote continued his -with Sancho, saying: - -“Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to our quarrels, and tell -me now, dismissing anger and irritation, where, how, and when didst -thou find Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou say to her? -What did she answer? How did she look when she was reading my letter? -Who copied it out for thee? and everything in the matter that seems to -thee worth knowing, asking, and learning; neither adding nor falsifying -to give me pleasure, nor yet curtailing lest you should deprive me of -it.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, nobody copied out -the letter for me, for I carried no letter at all.” - -“It is as thou sayest,” said Don Quixote, “for the notebook in which I -wrote it I found in my own possession two days after thy departure, -which gave me very great vexation, as I knew not what thou wouldst do -on finding thyself without any letter; and I made sure thou wouldst -return from the place where thou didst first miss it.” - -“So I should have done,” said Sancho, “if I had not got it by heart -when your worship read it to me, so that I repeated it to a sacristan, -who copied it out for me from hearing it, so exactly that he said in -all the days of his life, though he had read many a letter of -excommunication, he had never seen or read so pretty a letter as that.” - -“And hast thou got it still in thy memory, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“No, señor,” replied Sancho, “for as soon as I had repeated it, seeing -there was no further use for it, I set about forgetting it; and if I -recollect any of it, it is that about ‘Scrubbing,’ I mean to say -‘Sovereign Lady,’ and the end ‘Yours till death, the Knight of the -Rueful Countenance;’ and between these two I put into it more than -three hundred ‘my souls’ and ‘my life’s’ and ‘my eyes.” - -CHAPTER XXXI. -OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA, HIS -SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS - -“All that is not unsatisfactory to me,” said Don Quixote. “Go on; thou -didst reach her; and what was that queen of beauty doing? Surely thou -didst find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some device in gold -thread for this her enslaved knight.” - -“I did not,” said Sancho, “but I found her winnowing two bushels of -wheat in the yard of her house.” - -“Then depend upon it,” said Don Quixote, “the grains of that wheat were -pearls when touched by her hands; and didst thou look, friend? was it -white wheat or brown?” - -“It was neither, but red,” said Sancho. - -“Then I promise thee,” said Don Quixote, “that, winnowed by her hands, -beyond a doubt the bread it made was of the whitest; but go on; when -thou gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on her -head? Did she perform any ceremony befitting it, or what did she do?” - -“When I went to give it to her,” replied Sancho, “she was hard at it -swaying from side to side with a lot of wheat she had in the sieve, and -she said to me, ‘Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that sack, for I -cannot read it until I have done sifting all this.” - -“Discreet lady!” said Don Quixote; “that was in order to read it at her -leisure and enjoy it; proceed, Sancho; while she was engaged in her -occupation what converse did she hold with thee? What did she ask about -me, and what answer didst thou give? Make haste; tell me all, and let -not an atom be left behind in the ink-bottle.” - -“She asked me nothing,” said Sancho; “but I told her how your worship -was left doing penance in her service, naked from the waist up, in -among these mountains like a savage, sleeping on the ground, not eating -bread off a tablecloth nor combing your beard, weeping and cursing your -fortune.” - -“In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong,” said Don Quixote; -“for rather do I bless it and shall bless it all the days of my life -for having made me worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as -Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -“And so lofty she is,” said Sancho, “that she overtops me by more than -a hand’s-breadth.” - -“What! Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “didst thou measure with her?” - -“I measured in this way,” said Sancho; “going to help her to put a sack -of wheat on the back of an ass, we came so close together that I could -see she stood more than a good palm over me.” - -“Well!” said Don Quixote, “and doth she not of a truth accompany and -adorn this greatness with a thousand million charms of mind! But one -thing thou wilt not deny, Sancho; when thou camest close to her didst -thou not perceive a Sabæan odour, an aromatic fragrance, a, I know not -what, delicious, that I cannot find a name for; I mean a redolence, an -exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some dainty glover?” - -“All I can say is,” said Sancho, “that I did perceive a little odour, -something goaty; it must have been that she was all in a sweat with -hard work.” - -“It could not be that,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must have been -suffering from cold in the head, or must have smelt thyself; for I know -well what would be the scent of that rose among thorns, that lily of -the field, that dissolved amber.” - -“Maybe so,” replied Sancho; “there often comes from myself that same -odour which then seemed to me to come from her grace the lady Dulcinea; -but that’s no wonder, for one devil is like another.” - -“Well then,” continued Don Quixote, “now she has done sifting the corn -and sent it to the mill; what did she do when she read the letter?” - -“As for the letter,” said Sancho, “she did not read it, for she said -she could neither read nor write; instead of that she tore it up into -small pieces, saying that she did not want to let anyone read it lest -her secrets should become known in the village, and that what I had -told her by word of mouth about the love your worship bore her, and the -extraordinary penance you were doing for her sake, was enough; and, to -make an end of it, she told me to tell your worship that she kissed -your hands, and that she had a greater desire to see you than to write -to you; and that therefore she entreated and commanded you, on sight of -this present, to come out of these thickets, and to have done with -carrying on absurdities, and to set out at once for El Toboso, unless -something else of greater importance should happen, for she had a great -desire to see your worship. She laughed greatly when I told her how -your worship was called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance; I asked -her if that Biscayan the other day had been there; and she told me he -had, and that he was an honest fellow; I asked her too about the galley -slaves, but she said she had not seen any as yet.” - -“So far all goes well,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me what jewel was -it that she gave thee on taking thy leave, in return for thy tidings of -me? For it is a usual and ancient custom with knights and ladies errant -to give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who bring tidings of their -ladies to the knights, or of their knights to the ladies, some rich -jewel as a guerdon for good news, and acknowledgment of the message.” - -“That is very likely,” said Sancho, “and a good custom it was, to my -mind; but that must have been in days gone by, for now it would seem to -be the custom only to give a piece of bread and cheese; because that -was what my lady Dulcinea gave me over the top of the yard-wall when I -took leave of her; and more by token it was sheep’s-milk cheese.” - -“She is generous in the extreme,” said Don Quixote, “and if she did not -give thee a jewel of gold, no doubt it must have been because she had -not one to hand there to give thee; but sleeves are good after Easter; -I shall see her and all shall be made right. But knowest thou what -amazes me, Sancho? It seems to me thou must have gone and come through -the air, for thou hast taken but little more than three days to go to -El Toboso and return, though it is more than thirty leagues from here -to there. From which I am inclined to think that the sage magician who -is my friend, and watches over my interests (for of necessity there is -and must be one, or else I should not be a right knight-errant), that -this same, I say, must have helped thee to travel without thy -knowledge; for some of these sages will catch up a knight-errant -sleeping in his bed, and without his knowing how or in what way it -happened, he wakes up the next day more than a thousand leagues away -from the place where he went to sleep. And if it were not for this, -knights-errant would not be able to give aid to one another in peril, -as they do at every turn. For a knight, maybe, is fighting in the -mountains of Armenia with some dragon, or fierce serpent, or another -knight, and gets the worst of the battle, and is at the point of death; -but when he least looks for it, there appears over against him on a -cloud, or chariot of fire, another knight, a friend of his, who just -before had been in England, and who takes his part, and delivers him -from death; and at night he finds himself in his own quarters supping -very much to his satisfaction; and yet from one place to the other will -have been two or three thousand leagues. And all this is done by the -craft and skill of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant -knights; so that, friend Sancho, I find no difficulty in believing that -thou mayest have gone from this place to El Toboso and returned in such -a short time, since, as I have said, some friendly sage must have -carried thee through the air without thee perceiving it.” - -“That must have been it,” said Sancho, “for indeed Rocinante went like -a gipsy’s ass with quicksilver in his ears.” - -“Quicksilver!” said Don Quixote, “aye and what is more, a legion of -devils, folk that can travel and make others travel without being -weary, exactly as the whim seizes them. But putting this aside, what -thinkest thou I ought to do about my lady’s command to go and see her? -For though I feel that I am bound to obey her mandate, I feel too that -I am debarred by the boon I have accorded to the princess that -accompanies us, and the law of chivalry compels me to have regard for -my word in preference to my inclination; on the one hand the desire to -see my lady pursues and harasses me, on the other my solemn promise and -the glory I shall win in this enterprise urge and call me; but what I -think I shall do is to travel with all speed and reach quickly the -place where this giant is, and on my arrival I shall cut off his head, -and establish the princess peacefully in her realm, and forthwith I -shall return to behold the light that lightens my senses, to whom I -shall make such excuses that she will be led to approve of my delay, -for she will see that it entirely tends to increase her glory and fame; -for all that I have won, am winning, or shall win by arms in this life, -comes to me of the favour she extends to me, and because I am hers.” - -“Ah! what a sad state your worship’s brains are in!” said Sancho. “Tell -me, señor, do you mean to travel all that way for nothing, and to let -slip and lose so rich and great a match as this where they give as a -portion a kingdom that in sober truth I have heard say is more than -twenty thousand leagues round about, and abounds with all things -necessary to support human life, and is bigger than Portugal and -Castile put together? Peace, for the love of God! Blush for what you -have said, and take my advice, and forgive me, and marry at once in the -first village where there is a curate; if not, here is our licentiate -who will do the business beautifully; remember, I am old enough to give -advice, and this I am giving comes pat to the purpose; for a sparrow in -the hand is better than a vulture on the wing, and he who has the good -to his hand and chooses the bad, that the good he complains of may not -come to him.” - -“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “If thou art advising me to -marry, in order that immediately on slaying the giant I may become -king, and be able to confer favours on thee, and give thee what I have -promised, let me tell thee I shall be able very easily to satisfy thy -desires without marrying; for before going into battle I will make it a -stipulation that, if I come out of it victorious, even I do not marry, -they shall give me a portion of the kingdom, that I may bestow it upon -whomsoever I choose, and when they give it to me upon whom wouldst thou -have me bestow it but upon thee?” - -“That is plain speaking,” said Sancho; “but let your worship take care -to choose it on the seacoast, so that if I don’t like the life, I may -be able to ship off my black vassals and deal with them as I have said; -don’t mind going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and kill this -giant and let us finish off this business; for by God it strikes me it -will be one of great honour and great profit.” - -“I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and I -will take thy advice as to accompanying the princess before going to -see Dulcinea; but I counsel thee not to say anything to anyone, or to -those who are with us, about what we have considered and discussed, for -as Dulcinea is so decorous that she does not wish her thoughts to be -known it is not right that I or anyone for me should disclose them.” - -“Well then, if that be so,” said Sancho, “how is it that your worship -makes all those you overcome by your arm go to present themselves -before my lady Dulcinea, this being the same thing as signing your name -to it that you love her and are her lover? And as those who go must -perforce kneel before her and say they come from your worship to submit -themselves to her, how can the thoughts of both of you be hid?” - -“O, how silly and simple thou art!” said Don Quixote; “seest thou not, -Sancho, that this tends to her greater exaltation? For thou must know -that according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a high honour -to a lady to have many knights-errant in her service, whose thoughts -never go beyond serving her for her own sake, and who look for no other -reward for their great and true devotion than that she should be -willing to accept them as her knights.” - -“It is with that kind of love,” said Sancho, “I have heard preachers -say we ought to love our Lord, for himself alone, without being moved -by the hope of glory or the fear of punishment; though for my part, I -would rather love and serve him for what he could do.” - -“The devil take thee for a clown!” said Don Quixote, “and what shrewd -things thou sayest at times! One would think thou hadst studied.” - -“In faith, then, I cannot even read.” - -Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait a while, as they wanted -to halt and drink at a little spring there was there. Don Quixote drew -up, not a little to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he was by this time -weary of telling so many lies, and in dread of his master catching him -tripping, for though he knew that Dulcinea was a peasant girl of El -Toboso, he had never seen her in all his life. Cardenio had now put on -the clothes which Dorothea was wearing when they found her, and though -they were not very good, they were far better than those he put off. -They dismounted together by the side of the spring, and with what the -curate had provided himself with at the inn they appeased, though not -very well, the keen appetite they all of them brought with them. - -While they were so employed there happened to come by a youth passing -on his way, who stopping to examine the party at the spring, the next -moment ran to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs, began to -weep freely, saying, “O, señor, do you not know me? Look at me well; I -am that lad Andres that your worship released from the oak-tree where I -was tied.” - -Don Quixote recognised him, and taking his hand he turned to those -present and said: “That your worships may see how important it is to -have knights-errant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by -tyrannical and wicked men in this world, I may tell you that some days -ago passing through a wood, I heard cries and piteous complaints as of -a person in pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled by my -bounden duty, to the quarter whence the plaintive accents seemed to me -to proceed, and I found tied to an oak this lad who now stands before -you, which in my heart I rejoice at, for his testimony will not permit -me to depart from the truth in any particular. He was, I say, tied to -an oak, naked from the waist up, and a clown, whom I afterwards found -to be his master, was scarifying him by lashes with the reins of his -mare. As soon as I saw him I asked the reason of so cruel a -flagellation. The boor replied that he was flogging him because he was -his servant and because of carelessness that proceeded rather from -dishonesty than stupidity; on which this boy said, ‘Señor, he flogs me -only because I ask for my wages.’ The master made I know not what -speeches and explanations, which, though I listened to them, I did not -accept. In short, I compelled the clown to unbind him, and to swear he -would take him with him, and pay him real by real, and perfumed into -the bargain. Is not all this true, Andres my son? Didst thou not mark -with what authority I commanded him, and with what humility he promised -to do all I enjoined, specified, and required of him? Answer without -hesitation; tell these gentlemen what took place, that they may see -that it is as great an advantage as I say to have knights-errant -abroad.” - -“All that your worship has said is quite true,” answered the lad; “but -the end of the business turned out just the opposite of what your -worship supposes.” - -“How! the opposite?” said Don Quixote; “did not the clown pay thee -then?” - -“Not only did he not pay me,” replied the lad, “but as soon as your -worship had passed out of the wood and we were alone, he tied me up -again to the same oak and gave me a fresh flogging, that left me like a -flayed Saint Bartholomew; and every stroke he gave me he followed up -with some jest or gibe about having made a fool of your worship, and -but for the pain I was suffering I should have laughed at the things he -said. In short he left me in such a condition that I have been until -now in a hospital getting cured of the injuries which that rascally -clown inflicted on me then; for all which your worship is to blame; for -if you had gone your own way and not come where there was no call for -you, nor meddled in other people’s affairs, my master would have been -content with giving me one or two dozen lashes, and would have then -loosed me and paid me what he owed me; but when your worship abused him -so out of measure, and gave him so many hard words, his anger was -kindled; and as he could not revenge himself on you, as soon as he saw -you had left him the storm burst upon me in such a way, that I feel as -if I should never be a man again.” - -“The mischief,” said Don Quixote, “lay in my going away; for I should -not have gone until I had seen thee paid; because I ought to have known -well by long experience that there is no clown who will keep his word -if he finds it will not suit him to keep it; but thou rememberest, -Andres, that I swore if he did not pay thee I would go and seek him, -and find him though he were to hide himself in the whale’s belly.” - -“That is true,” said Andres; “but it was of no use.” - -“Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not,” said Don Quixote; and -so saying, he got up hastily and bade Sancho bridle Rocinante, who was -browsing while they were eating. Dorothea asked him what he meant to -do. He replied that he meant to go in search of this clown and chastise -him for such iniquitous conduct, and see Andres paid to the last -maravedi, despite and in the teeth of all the clowns in the world. To -which she replied that he must remember that in accordance with his -promise he could not engage in any enterprise until he had concluded -hers; and that as he knew this better than anyone, he should restrain -his ardour until his return from her kingdom. - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and Andres must have patience until -my return as you say, señora; but I once more swear and promise not to -stop until I have seen him avenged and paid.” - -“I have no faith in those oaths,” said Andres; “I would rather have now -something to help me to get to Seville than all the revenges in the -world; if you have here anything to eat that I can take with me, give -it me, and God be with your worship and all knights-errant; and may -their errands turn out as well for themselves as they have for me.” - -Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread and another of cheese, -and giving them to the lad he said, “Here, take this, brother Andres, -for we have all of us a share in your misfortune.” - -“Why, what share have you got?” - -“This share of bread and cheese I am giving you,” answered Sancho; “and -God knows whether I shall feel the want of it myself or not; for I -would have you know, friend, that we squires to knights-errant have to -bear a great deal of hunger and hard fortune, and even other things -more easily felt than told.” - -Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody gave him -anything more, bent his head, and took hold of the road, as the saying -is. However, before leaving he said, “For the love of God, sir -knight-errant, if you ever meet me again, though you may see them -cutting me to pieces, give me no aid or succour, but leave me to my -misfortune, which will not be so great but that a greater will come to -me by being helped by your worship, on whom and all the knights-errant -that have ever been born God send his curse.” - -Don Quixote was getting up to chastise him, but he took to his heels at -such a pace that no one attempted to follow him; and mightily -chapfallen was Don Quixote at Andres’ story, and the others had to take -great care to restrain their laughter so as not to put him entirely out -of countenance. - -CHAPTER XXXII. -WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE’S PARTY AT THE INN - -Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without -any adventure worth mentioning they reached next day the inn, the -object of Sancho Panza’s fear and dread; but though he would have -rather not entered it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the -landlord, their daughter, and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and -Sancho coming, went out to welcome them with signs of hearty -satisfaction, which Don Quixote received with dignity and gravity, and -bade them make up a better bed for him than the last time: to which the -landlady replied that if he paid better than he did the last time she -would give him one fit for a prince. Don Quixote said he would, so they -made up a tolerable one for him in the same garret as before; and he -lay down at once, being sorely shaken and in want of sleep. - -No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the -barber, and seizing him by the beard, said: - -“By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; -you must give me back my tail, for it is a shame the way that thing of -my husband’s goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I -used to stick in my good tail.” - -But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the -licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further -occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and -appear in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to -this inn when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he -ask for the princess’s squire, they could tell him that she had sent -him on before her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she -was coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this -the barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the -same time they returned all the accessories they had borrowed to effect -Don Quixote’s deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with -astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure -of the shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready such fare as -there was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, -served them up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was -asleep, and they thought it best not to waken him, as sleeping would -now do him more good than eating. - -While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, -their daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the -strange craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; -and the landlady told them what had taken place between him and the -carrier; and then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she -saw he was not, she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which -they received with no little amusement. But on the curate observing -that it was the books of chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had -turned his brain, the landlord said: - -“I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is -no better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, -with other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of -plenty more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on -holidays, and there is always one among them who can read and who takes -up one of these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, -and stay listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow -young again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what -furious and terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the -longing to do the same, and I would like to be hearing about them night -and day.” - -“And I just as much,” said the landlady, “because I never have a quiet -moment in my house except when you are listening to someone reading; -for then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to -scold.” - -“That is true,” said Maritornes; “and, faith, I relish hearing these -things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they -describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the -orange trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead -with envy and fright; all this I say is as good as honey.” - -“And you, what do you think, young lady?” said the curate turning to -the landlord’s daughter. - -“I don’t know indeed, señor,” said she; “I listen too, and to tell the -truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not -the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights -utter when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they -sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them.” - -“Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?” -said Dorothea. - -“I don’t know what I should do,” said the girl; “I only know that there -are some of those ladies so cruel that they call their knights tigers -and lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don’t know what -sort of folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than -bestow a glance upon a worthy man they leave him to die or go mad. I -don’t know what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour’s -sake, why not marry them? That’s all they want.” - -“Hush, child,” said the landlady; “it seems to me thou knowest a great -deal about these things, and it is not fit for girls to know or talk so -much.” - -“As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him,” said the -girl. - -“Well then,” said the curate, “bring me these books, señor landlord, -for I should like to see them.” - -“With all my heart,” said he, and going into his own room he brought -out an old valise secured with a little chain, on opening which the -curate found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a -very good hand. The first that he opened he found to be “Don Cirongilio -of Thrace,” and the second “Don Felixmarte of Hircania,” and the other -the “History of the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with -the Life of Diego García de Paredes.” - -When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber -and said, “We want my friend’s housekeeper and niece here now.” - -“Nay,” said the barber, “I can do just as well to carry them to the -yard or to the hearth, and there is a very good fire there.” - -“What! your worship would burn my books!” said the landlord. - -“Only these two,” said the curate, “Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte.” - -“Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmatics that you want to burn -them?” said the landlord. - -“Schismatics you mean, friend,” said the barber, “not phlegmatics.” - -“That’s it,” said the landlord; “but if you want to burn any, let it be -that about the Great Captain and that Diego García; for I would rather -have a child of mine burnt than either of the others.” - -“Brother,” said the curate, “those two books are made up of lies, and -are full of folly and nonsense; but this of the Great Captain is a true -history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by -his many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of -the Great Captain, a famous and illustrious name, and deserved by him -alone; and this Diego García de Paredes was a distinguished knight of -the city of Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of -such bodily strength that with one finger he stopped a mill-wheel in -full motion; and posted with a two-handed sword at the foot of a bridge -he kept the whole of an immense army from passing over it, and achieved -such other exploits that if, instead of his relating them himself with -the modesty of a knight and of one writing his own history, some free -and unbiased writer had recorded them, they would have thrown into the -shade all the deeds of the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands.” - -“Tell that to my father,” said the landlord. “There’s a thing to be -astonished at! Stopping a mill-wheel! By God your worship should read -what I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single -backstroke he cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they -had been made of bean-pods like the little friars the children make; -and another time he attacked a very great and powerful army, in which -there were more than a million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed -from head to foot, and he routed them all as if they had been flocks of -sheep.” - -“And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was -so stout and bold; as may be seen in the book, where it is related that -as he was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst of the -water against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung -himself upon it and got astride of its scaly shoulders, and squeezed -its throat with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he -was throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the -bottom of the river, carrying with it the knight who would not let go -his hold; and when they got down there he found himself among palaces -and gardens so pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent -changed itself into an old ancient man, who told him such things as -were never heard. Hold your peace, señor; for if you were to hear this -you would go mad with delight. A couple of figs for your Great Captain -and your Diego García!” - -Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, “Our landlord is -almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote.” - -“I think so,” said Cardenio, “for, as he shows, he accepts it as a -certainty that everything those books relate took place exactly as it -is written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not -persuade him to the contrary.” - -“But consider, brother,” said the curate once more, “there never was -any Felixmarte of Hircania in the world, nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, -or any of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of -chivalry talk of; the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of -idle wits, devised by them for the purpose you describe of beguiling -the time, as your reapers do when they read; for I swear to you in all -seriousness there never were any such knights in the world, and no such -exploits or nonsense ever happened anywhere.” - -“Try that bone on another dog,” said the landlord; “as if I did not -know how many make five, and where my shoe pinches me; don’t think to -feed me with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your -worship to try and persuade me that everything these good books say is -nonsense and lies, and they printed by the license of the Lords of the -Royal Council, as if they were people who would allow such a lot of -lies to be printed all together, and so many battles and enchantments -that they take away one’s senses.” - -“I have told you, friend,” said the curate, “that this is done to -divert our idle thoughts; and as in well-ordered states games of chess, -fives, and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not -care, or are not obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind -are allowed to be printed, on the supposition that, what indeed is the -truth, there can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true -stories; and if it were permitted me now, and the present company -desired it, I could say something about the qualities books of chivalry -should possess to be good ones, that would be to the advantage and even -to the taste of some; but I hope the time will come when I can -communicate my ideas to someone who may be able to mend matters; and in -the meantime, señor landlord, believe what I have said, and take your -books, and make up your mind about their truth or falsehood, and much -good may they do you; and God grant you may not fall lame of the same -foot your guest Don Quixote halts on.” - -“No fear of that,” returned the landlord; “I shall not be so mad as to -make a knight-errant of myself; for I see well enough that things are -not now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous -knights roamed about the world.” - -Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and -he was very much troubled and cast down by what he heard said about -knights-errant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry -being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what -came of this journey of his master’s, and if it did not turn out as -happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back -to his wife and children and his ordinary labour. - -The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate -said to him, “Wait; I want to see what those papers are that are -written in such a good hand.” The landlord taking them out handed them -to him to read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets -of manuscript, with, in large letters at the beginning, the title of -“Novel of the Ill-advised Curiosity.” The curate read three or four -lines to himself, and said, “I must say the title of this novel does -not seem to me a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all.” To -which the landlord replied, “Then your reverence will do well to read -it, for I can tell you that some guests who have read it here have been -much pleased with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I -would not give it, meaning to return it to the person who forgot the -valise, books, and papers here, for maybe he will return here some time -or other; and though I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to -return them; for though I am an innkeeper, still I am a Christian.” - -“You are very right, friend,” said the curate; “but for all that, if -the novel pleases me you must let me copy it.” - -“With all my heart,” replied the host. - -While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to -read it, and forming the same opinion of it as the curate, he begged -him to read it so that they might all hear it. - -“I would read it,” said the curate, “if the time would not be better -spent in sleeping.” - -“It will be rest enough for me,” said Dorothea, “to while away the time -by listening to some tale, for my spirits are not yet tranquil enough -to let me sleep when it would be seasonable.” - -“Well then, in that case,” said the curate, “I will read it, if it were -only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain something pleasant.” - -Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho -too; seeing which, and considering that he would give pleasure to all, -and receive it himself, the curate said, “Well then, attend to me -everyone, for the novel begins thus.” - -CHAPTER XXXIII. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” - -In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called -Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of wealth and quality, Anselmo and -Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were -called by all that knew them “The Two Friends.” They were unmarried, -young, of the same age and of the same tastes, which was enough to -account for the reciprocal friendship between them. Anselmo, it is -true, was somewhat more inclined to seek pleasure in love than -Lothario, for whom the pleasures of the chase had more attraction; but -on occasion Anselmo would forego his own tastes to yield to those of -Lothario, and Lothario would surrender his to fall in with those of -Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept pace one with the -other with a concord so perfect that the best regulated clock could not -surpass it. - -Anselmo was deep in love with a high-born and beautiful maiden of the -same city, the daughter of parents so estimable, and so estimable -herself, that he resolved, with the approval of his friend Lothario, -without whom he did nothing, to ask her of them in marriage, and did -so, Lothario being the bearer of the demand, and conducting the -negotiation so much to the satisfaction of his friend that in a short -time he was in possession of the object of his desires, and Camilla so -happy in having won Anselmo for her husband, that she gave thanks -unceasingly to heaven and to Lothario, by whose means such good fortune -had fallen to her. The first few days, those of a wedding being usually -days of merry-making, Lothario frequented his friend Anselmo’s house as -he had been wont, striving to do honour to him and to the occasion, and -to gratify him in every way he could; but when the wedding days were -over and the succession of visits and congratulations had slackened, he -began purposely to leave off going to the house of Anselmo, for it -seemed to him, as it naturally would to all men of sense, that friends’ -houses ought not to be visited after marriage with the same frequency -as in their masters’ bachelor days: because, though true and genuine -friendship cannot and should not be in any way suspicious, still a -married man’s honour is a thing of such delicacy that it is held liable -to injury from brothers, much more from friends. Anselmo remarked the -cessation of Lothario’s visits, and complained of it to him, saying -that if he had known that marriage was to keep him from enjoying his -society as he used, he would have never married; and that, if by the -thorough harmony that subsisted between them while he was a bachelor -they had earned such a sweet name as that of “The Two Friends,” he -should not allow a title so rare and so delightful to be lost through a -needless anxiety to act circumspectly; and so he entreated him, if such -a phrase was allowable between them, to be once more master of his -house and to come in and go out as formerly, assuring him that his wife -Camilla had no other desire or inclination than that which he would -wish her to have, and that knowing how sincerely they loved one another -she was grieved to see such coldness in him. - -To all this and much more that Anselmo said to Lothario to persuade him -to come to his house as he had been in the habit of doing, Lothario -replied with so much prudence, sense, and judgment, that Anselmo was -satisfied of his friend’s good intentions, and it was agreed that on -two days in the week, and on holidays, Lothario should come to dine -with him; but though this arrangement was made between them Lothario -resolved to observe it no further than he considered to be in -accordance with the honour of his friend, whose good name was more to -him than his own. He said, and justly, that a married man upon whom -heaven had bestowed a beautiful wife should consider as carefully what -friends he brought to his house as what female friends his wife -associated with, for what cannot be done or arranged in the -market-place, in church, at public festivals or at stations -(opportunities that husbands cannot always deny their wives), may be -easily managed in the house of the female friend or relative in whom -most confidence is reposed. Lothario said, too, that every married man -should have some friend who would point out to him any negligence he -might be guilty of in his conduct, for it will sometimes happen that -owing to the deep affection the husband bears his wife either he does -not caution her, or, not to vex her, refrains from telling her to do or -not to do certain things, doing or avoiding which may be a matter of -honour or reproach to him; and errors of this kind he could easily -correct if warned by a friend. But where is such a friend to be found -as Lothario would have, so judicious, so loyal, and so true? - -Of a truth I know not; Lothario alone was such a one, for with the -utmost care and vigilance he watched over the honour of his friend, and -strove to diminish, cut down, and reduce the number of days for going -to his house according to their agreement, lest the visits of a young -man, wealthy, high-born, and with the attractions he was conscious of -possessing, at the house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla, should be -regarded with suspicion by the inquisitive and malicious eyes of the -idle public. For though his integrity and reputation might bridle -slanderous tongues, still he was unwilling to hazard either his own -good name or that of his friend; and for this reason most of the days -agreed upon he devoted to some other business which he pretended was -unavoidable; so that a great portion of the day was taken up with -complaints on one side and excuses on the other. It happened, however, -that on one occasion when the two were strolling together outside the -city, Anselmo addressed the following words to Lothario. - -“Thou mayest suppose, Lothario my friend, that I am unable to give -sufficient thanks for the favours God has rendered me in making me the -son of such parents as mine were, and bestowing upon me with no niggard -hand what are called the gifts of nature as well as those of fortune, -and above all for what he has done in giving me thee for a friend and -Camilla for a wife—two treasures that I value, if not as highly as I -ought, at least as highly as I am able. And yet, with all these good -things, which are commonly all that men need to enable them to live -happily, I am the most discontented and dissatisfied man in the whole -world; for, I know not how long since, I have been harassed and -oppressed by a desire so strange and so unusual, that I wonder at -myself and blame and chide myself when I am alone, and strive to stifle -it and hide it from my own thoughts, and with no better success than if -I were endeavouring deliberately to publish it to all the world; and -as, in short, it must come out, I would confide it to thy safe keeping, -feeling sure that by this means, and by thy readiness as a true friend -to afford me relief, I shall soon find myself freed from the distress -it causes me, and that thy care will give me happiness in the same -degree as my own folly has caused me misery.” - -The words of Anselmo struck Lothario with astonishment, unable as he -was to conjecture the purport of such a lengthy preamble; and though he -strove to imagine what desire it could be that so troubled his friend, -his conjectures were all far from the truth, and to relieve the anxiety -which this perplexity was causing him, he told him he was doing a -flagrant injustice to their great friendship in seeking circuitous -methods of confiding to him his most hidden thoughts, for he well knew -he might reckon upon his counsel in diverting them, or his help in -carrying them into effect. - -“That is the truth,” replied Anselmo, “and relying upon that I will -tell thee, friend Lothario, that the desire which harasses me is that -of knowing whether my wife Camilla is as good and as perfect as I think -her to be; and I cannot satisfy myself of the truth on this point -except by testing her in such a way that the trial may prove the purity -of her virtue as the fire proves that of gold; because I am persuaded, -my friend, that a woman is virtuous only in proportion as she is or is -not tempted; and that she alone is strong who does not yield to the -promises, gifts, tears, and importunities of earnest lovers; for what -thanks does a woman deserve for being good if no one urges her to be -bad, and what wonder is it that she is reserved and circumspect to whom -no opportunity is given of going wrong and who knows she has a husband -that will take her life the first time he detects her in an -impropriety? I do not therefore hold her who is virtuous through fear -or want of opportunity in the same estimation as her who comes out of -temptation and trial with a crown of victory; and so, for these reasons -and many others that I could give thee to justify and support the -opinion I hold, I am desirous that my wife Camilla should pass this -crisis, and be refined and tested by the fire of finding herself wooed -and by one worthy to set his affections upon her; and if she comes out, -as I know she will, victorious from this struggle, I shall look upon my -good fortune as unequalled, I shall be able to say that the cup of my -desire is full, and that the virtuous woman of whom the sage says ‘Who -shall find her?’ has fallen to my lot. And if the result be the -contrary of what I expect, in the satisfaction of knowing that I have -been right in my opinion, I shall bear without complaint the pain which -my so dearly bought experience will naturally cause me. And, as nothing -of all thou wilt urge in opposition to my wish will avail to keep me -from carrying it into effect, it is my desire, friend Lothario, that -thou shouldst consent to become the instrument for effecting this -purpose that I am bent upon, for I will afford thee opportunities to -that end, and nothing shall be wanting that I may think necessary for -the pursuit of a virtuous, honourable, modest and high-minded woman. -And among other reasons, I am induced to entrust this arduous task to -thee by the consideration that if Camilla be conquered by thee the -conquest will not be pushed to extremes, but only far enough to account -that accomplished which from a sense of honour will be left undone; -thus I shall not be wronged in anything more than intention, and my -wrong will remain buried in the integrity of thy silence, which I know -well will be as lasting as that of death in what concerns me. If, -therefore, thou wouldst have me enjoy what can be called life, thou -wilt at once engage in this love struggle, not lukewarmly nor -slothfully, but with the energy and zeal that my desire demands, and -with the loyalty our friendship assures me of.” - -Such were the words Anselmo addressed to Lothario, who listened to them -with such attention that, except to say what has been already -mentioned, he did not open his lips until the other had finished. Then -perceiving that he had no more to say, after regarding him for a while, -as one would regard something never before seen that excited wonder and -amazement, he said to him, “I cannot persuade myself, Anselmo my -friend, that what thou hast said to me is not in jest; if I thought -that thou wert speaking seriously I would not have allowed thee to go -so far; so as to put a stop to thy long harangue by not listening to -thee I verily suspect that either thou dost not know me, or I do not -know thee; but no, I know well thou art Anselmo, and thou knowest that -I am Lothario; the misfortune is, it seems to me, that thou art not the -Anselmo thou wert, and must have thought that I am not the Lothario I -should be; for the things that thou hast said to me are not those of -that Anselmo who was my friend, nor are those that thou demandest of me -what should be asked of the Lothario thou knowest. True friends will -prove their friends and make use of them, as a poet has said, _usque ad -aras;_ whereby he meant that they will not make use of their friendship -in things that are contrary to God’s will. If this, then, was a -heathen’s feeling about friendship, how much more should it be a -Christian’s, who knows that the divine must not be forfeited for the -sake of any human friendship? And if a friend should go so far as to -put aside his duty to Heaven to fulfil his duty to his friend, it -should not be in matters that are trifling or of little moment, but in -such as affect the friend’s life and honour. Now tell me, Anselmo, in -which of these two art thou imperilled, that I should hazard myself to -gratify thee, and do a thing so detestable as that thou seekest of me? -Neither forsooth; on the contrary, thou dost ask of me, so far as I -understand, to strive and labour to rob thee of honour and life, and to -rob myself of them at the same time; for if I take away thy honour it -is plain I take away thy life, as a man without honour is worse than -dead; and being the instrument, as thou wilt have it so, of so much -wrong to thee, shall not I, too, be left without honour, and -consequently without life? Listen to me, Anselmo my friend, and be not -impatient to answer me until I have said what occurs to me touching the -object of thy desire, for there will be time enough left for thee to -reply and for me to hear.” - -“Be it so,” said Anselmo, “say what thou wilt.” - -Lothario then went on to say, “It seems to me, Anselmo, that thine is -just now the temper of mind which is always that of the Moors, who can -never be brought to see the error of their creed by quotations from the -Holy Scriptures, or by reasons which depend upon the examination of the -understanding or are founded upon the articles of faith, but must have -examples that are palpable, easy, intelligible, capable of proof, not -admitting of doubt, with mathematical demonstrations that cannot be -denied, like, ‘_If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are -equal:_’ and if they do not understand this in words, and indeed they -do not, it has to be shown to them with the hands, and put before their -eyes, and even with all this no one succeeds in convincing them of the -truth of our holy religion. This same mode of proceeding I shall have -to adopt with thee, for the desire which has sprung up in thee is so -absurd and remote from everything that has a semblance of reason, that -I feel it would be a waste of time to employ it in reasoning with thy -simplicity, for at present I will call it by no other name; and I am -even tempted to leave thee in thy folly as a punishment for thy -pernicious desire; but the friendship I bear thee, which will not allow -me to desert thee in such manifest danger of destruction, keeps me from -dealing so harshly by thee. And that thou mayest clearly see this, say, -Anselmo, hast thou not told me that I must force my suit upon a modest -woman, decoy one that is virtuous, make overtures to one that is -pure-minded, pay court to one that is prudent? Yes, thou hast told me -so. Then, if thou knowest that thou hast a wife, modest, virtuous, -pure-minded and prudent, what is it that thou seekest? And if thou -believest that she will come forth victorious from all my attacks—as -doubtless she would—what higher titles than those she possesses now -dost thou think thou canst bestow upon her then, or in what will she be -better then than she is now? Either thou dost not hold her to be what -thou sayest, or thou knowest not what thou dost demand. If thou dost -not hold her to be what thou sayest, why dost thou seek to prove her -instead of treating her as guilty in the way that may seem best to -thee? but if she be as virtuous as thou believest, it is an -uncalled-for proceeding to make trial of truth itself, for, after -trial, it will but be in the same estimation as before. Thus, then, it -is conclusive that to attempt things from which harm rather than -advantage may come to us is the part of unreasoning and reckless minds, -more especially when they are things which we are not forced or -compelled to attempt, and which show from afar that it is plainly -madness to attempt them. - -“Difficulties are attempted either for the sake of God or for the sake -of the world, or for both; those undertaken for God’s sake are those -which the saints undertake when they attempt to live the lives of -angels in human bodies; those undertaken for the sake of the world are -those of the men who traverse such a vast expanse of water, such a -variety of climates, so many strange countries, to acquire what are -called the blessings of fortune; and those undertaken for the sake of -God and the world together are those of brave soldiers, who no sooner -do they see in the enemy’s wall a breach as wide as a cannon ball could -make, than, casting aside all fear, without hesitating, or heeding the -manifest peril that threatens them, borne onward by the desire of -defending their faith, their country, and their king, they fling -themselves dauntlessly into the midst of the thousand opposing deaths -that await them. Such are the things that men are wont to attempt, and -there is honour, glory, gain, in attempting them, however full of -difficulty and peril they may be; but that which thou sayest it is thy -wish to attempt and carry out will not win thee the glory of God nor -the blessings of fortune nor fame among men; for even if the issue be -as thou wouldst have it, thou wilt be no happier, richer, or more -honoured than thou art this moment; and if it be otherwise thou wilt be -reduced to misery greater than can be imagined, for then it will avail -thee nothing to reflect that no one is aware of the misfortune that has -befallen thee; it will suffice to torture and crush thee that thou -knowest it thyself. And in confirmation of the truth of what I say, let -me repeat to thee a stanza made by the famous poet Luigi Tansillo at -the end of the first part of his ‘Tears of Saint Peter,’ which says -thus: - -The anguish and the shame but greater grew - In Peter’s heart as morning slowly came; -No eye was there to see him, well he knew, - Yet he himself was to himself a shame; -Exposed to all men’s gaze, or screened from view, - A noble heart will feel the pang the same; -A prey to shame the sinning soul will be, -Though none but heaven and earth its shame can see. - -Thus by keeping it secret thou wilt not escape thy sorrow, but rather -thou wilt shed tears unceasingly, if not tears of the eyes, tears of -blood from the heart, like those shed by that simple doctor our poet -tells us of, that tried the test of the cup, which the wise Rinaldo, -better advised, refused to do; for though this may be a poetic fiction -it contains a moral lesson worthy of attention and study and imitation. -Moreover by what I am about to say to thee thou wilt be led to see the -great error thou wouldst commit. - -“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made thee master and -lawful owner of a diamond of the finest quality, with the excellence -and purity of which all the lapidaries that had seen it had been -satisfied, saying with one voice and common consent that in purity, -quality, and fineness, it was all that a stone of the kind could -possibly be, thou thyself too being of the same belief, as knowing -nothing to the contrary, would it be reasonable in thee to desire to -take that diamond and place it between an anvil and a hammer, and by -mere force of blows and strength of arm try if it were as hard and as -fine as they said? And if thou didst, and if the stone should resist so -silly a test, that would add nothing to its value or reputation; and if -it were broken, as it might be, would not all be lost? Undoubtedly it -would, leaving its owner to be rated as a fool in the opinion of all. -Consider, then, Anselmo my friend, that Camilla is a diamond of the -finest quality as well in thy estimation as in that of others, and that -it is contrary to reason to expose her to the risk of being broken; for -if she remains intact she cannot rise to a higher value than she now -possesses; and if she give way and be unable to resist, bethink thee -now how thou wilt be deprived of her, and with what good reason thou -wilt complain of thyself for having been the cause of her ruin and -thine own. Remember there is no jewel in the world so precious as a -chaste and virtuous woman, and that the whole honour of women consists -in reputation; and since thy wife’s is of that high excellence that -thou knowest, wherefore shouldst thou seek to call that truth in -question? Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect animal, and -that impediments are not to be placed in her way to make her trip and -fall, but that they should be removed, and her path left clear of all -obstacles, so that without hindrance she may run her course freely to -attain the desired perfection, which consists in being virtuous. -Naturalists tell us that the ermine is a little animal which has a fur -of purest white, and that when the hunters wish to take it, they make -use of this artifice. Having ascertained the places which it frequents -and passes, they stop the way to them with mud, and then rousing it, -drive it towards the spot, and as soon as the ermine comes to the mud -it halts, and allows itself to be taken captive rather than pass -through the mire, and spoil and sully its whiteness, which it values -more than life and liberty. The virtuous and chaste woman is an ermine, -and whiter and purer than snow is the virtue of modesty; and he who -wishes her not to lose it, but to keep and preserve it, must adopt a -course different from that employed with the ermine; he must not put -before her the mire of the gifts and attentions of persevering lovers, -because perhaps—and even without a perhaps—she may not have sufficient -virtue and natural strength in herself to pass through and tread under -foot these impediments; they must be removed, and the brightness of -virtue and the beauty of a fair fame must be put before her. A virtuous -woman, too, is like a mirror, of clear shining crystal, liable to be -tarnished and dimmed by every breath that touches it. She must be -treated as relics are; adored, not touched. She must be protected and -prized as one protects and prizes a fair garden full of roses and -flowers, the owner of which allows no one to trespass or pluck a -blossom; enough for others that from afar and through the iron grating -they may enjoy its fragrance and its beauty. Finally let me repeat to -thee some verses that come to my mind; I heard them in a modern comedy, -and it seems to me they bear upon the point we are discussing. A -prudent old man was giving advice to another, the father of a young -girl, to lock her up, watch over her and keep her in seclusion, and -among other arguments he used these: - -Woman is a thing of glass; - But her brittleness ’tis best - Not too curiously to test: -Who knows what may come to pass? - -Breaking is an easy matter, - And it’s folly to expose - What you cannot mend to blows; -What you can’t make whole to shatter. - -This, then, all may hold as true, - And the reason’s plain to see; - For if Danaës there be, -There are golden showers too. - -“All that I have said to thee so far, Anselmo, has had reference to -what concerns thee; now it is right that I should say something of what -regards myself; and if I be prolix, pardon me, for the labyrinth into -which thou hast entered and from which thou wouldst have me extricate -thee makes it necessary. - -“Thou dost reckon me thy friend, and thou wouldst rob me of honour, a -thing wholly inconsistent with friendship; and not only dost thou aim -at this, but thou wouldst have me rob thee of it also. That thou -wouldst rob me of it is clear, for when Camilla sees that I pay court -to her as thou requirest, she will certainly regard me as a man without -honour or right feeling, since I attempt and do a thing so much opposed -to what I owe to my own position and thy friendship. That thou wouldst -have me rob thee of it is beyond a doubt, for Camilla, seeing that I -press my suit upon her, will suppose that I have perceived in her -something light that has encouraged me to make known to her my base -desire; and if she holds herself dishonoured, her dishonour touches -thee as belonging to her; and hence arises what so commonly takes -place, that the husband of the adulterous woman, though he may not be -aware of or have given any cause for his wife’s failure in her duty, or -(being careless or negligent) have had it in his power to prevent his -dishonour, nevertheless is stigmatised by a vile and reproachful name, -and in a manner regarded with eyes of contempt instead of pity by all -who know of his wife’s guilt, though they see that he is unfortunate -not by his own fault, but by the lust of a vicious consort. But I will -tell thee why with good reason dishonour attaches to the husband of the -unchaste wife, though he know not that she is so, nor be to blame, nor -have done anything, or given any provocation to make her so; and be not -weary with listening to me, for it will be for thy good. - -“When God created our first parent in the earthly paradise, the Holy -Scripture says that he infused sleep into Adam and while he slept took -a rib from his left side of which he formed our mother Eve, and when -Adam awoke and beheld her he said, ‘This is flesh of my flesh, and bone -of my bone.’ And God said ‘For this shall a man leave his father and -his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh; and then was instituted -the divine sacrament of marriage, with such ties that death alone can -loose them. And such is the force and virtue of this miraculous -sacrament that it makes two different persons one and the same flesh; -and even more than this when the virtuous are married; for though they -have two souls they have but one will. And hence it follows that as the -flesh of the wife is one and the same with that of her husband the -stains that may come upon it, or the injuries it incurs fall upon the -husband’s flesh, though he, as has been said, may have given no cause -for them; for as the pain of the foot or any member of the body is felt -by the whole body, because all is one flesh, as the head feels the hurt -to the ankle without having caused it, so the husband, being one with -her, shares the dishonour of the wife; and as all worldly honour or -dishonour comes of flesh and blood, and the erring wife’s is of that -kind, the husband must needs bear his part of it and be held -dishonoured without knowing it. See, then, Anselmo, the peril thou art -encountering in seeking to disturb the peace of thy virtuous consort; -see for what an empty and ill-advised curiosity thou wouldst rouse up -passions that now repose in quiet in the breast of thy chaste wife; -reflect that what thou art staking all to win is little, and what thou -wilt lose so much that I leave it undescribed, not having the words to -express it. But if all I have said be not enough to turn thee from thy -vile purpose, thou must seek some other instrument for thy dishonour -and misfortune; for such I will not consent to be, though I lose thy -friendship, the greatest loss that I can conceive.” - -Having said this, the wise and virtuous Lothario was silent, and -Anselmo, troubled in mind and deep in thought, was unable for a while -to utter a word in reply; but at length he said, “I have listened, -Lothario my friend, attentively, as thou hast seen, to what thou hast -chosen to say to me, and in thy arguments, examples, and comparisons I -have seen that high intelligence thou dost possess, and the perfection -of true friendship thou hast reached; and likewise I see and confess -that if I am not guided by thy opinion, but follow my own, I am flying -from the good and pursuing the evil. This being so, thou must remember -that I am now labouring under that infirmity which women sometimes -suffer from, when the craving seizes them to eat clay, plaster, -charcoal, and things even worse, disgusting to look at, much more to -eat; so that it will be necessary to have recourse to some artifice to -cure me; and this can be easily effected if only thou wilt make a -beginning, even though it be in a lukewarm and make-believe fashion, to -pay court to Camilla, who will not be so yielding that her virtue will -give way at the first attack: with this mere attempt I shall rest -satisfied, and thou wilt have done what our friendship binds thee to -do, not only in giving me life, but in persuading me not to discard my -honour. And this thou art bound to do for one reason alone, that, -being, as I am, resolved to apply this test, it is not for thee to -permit me to reveal my weakness to another, and so imperil that honour -thou art striving to keep me from losing; and if thine may not stand as -high as it ought in the estimation of Camilla while thou art paying -court to her, that is of little or no importance, because ere long, on -finding in her that constancy which we expect, thou canst tell her the -plain truth as regards our stratagem, and so regain thy place in her -esteem; and as thou art venturing so little, and by the venture canst -afford me so much satisfaction, refuse not to undertake it, even if -further difficulties present themselves to thee; for, as I have said, -if thou wilt only make a beginning I will acknowledge the issue -decided.” - -Lothario seeing the fixed determination of Anselmo, and not knowing -what further examples to offer or arguments to urge in order to -dissuade him from it, and perceiving that he threatened to confide his -pernicious scheme to someone else, to avoid a greater evil resolved to -gratify him and do what he asked, intending to manage the business so -as to satisfy Anselmo without corrupting the mind of Camilla; so in -reply he told him not to communicate his purpose to any other, for he -would undertake the task himself, and would begin it as soon as he -pleased. Anselmo embraced him warmly and affectionately, and thanked -him for his offer as if he had bestowed some great favour upon him; and -it was agreed between them to set about it the next day, Anselmo -affording opportunity and time to Lothario to converse alone with -Camilla, and furnishing him with money and jewels to offer and present -to her. He suggested, too, that he should treat her to music, and write -verses in her praise, and if he was unwilling to take the trouble of -composing them, he offered to do it himself. Lothario agreed to all -with an intention very different from what Anselmo supposed, and with -this understanding they returned to Anselmo’s house, where they found -Camilla awaiting her husband anxiously and uneasily, for he was later -than usual in returning that day. Lothario repaired to his own house, -and Anselmo remained in his, as well satisfied as Lothario was troubled -in mind; for he could see no satisfactory way out of this ill-advised -business. That night, however, he thought of a plan by which he might -deceive Anselmo without any injury to Camilla. The next day he went to -dine with his friend, and was welcomed by Camilla, who received and -treated him with great cordiality, knowing the affection her husband -felt for him. When dinner was over and the cloth removed, Anselmo told -Lothario to stay there with Camilla while he attended to some pressing -business, as he would return in an hour and a half. Camilla begged him -not to go, and Lothario offered to accompany him, but nothing could -persuade Anselmo, who on the contrary pressed Lothario to remain -waiting for him as he had a matter of great importance to discuss with -him. At the same time he bade Camilla not to leave Lothario alone until -he came back. In short he contrived to put so good a face on the -reason, or the folly, of his absence that no one could have suspected -it was a pretence. - -Anselmo took his departure, and Camilla and Lothario were left alone at -the table, for the rest of the household had gone to dinner. Lothario -saw himself in the lists according to his friend’s wish, and facing an -enemy that could by her beauty alone vanquish a squadron of armed -knights; judge whether he had good reason to fear; but what he did was -to lean his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his cheek upon his hand, -and, asking Camilla’s pardon for his ill manners, he said he wished to -take a little sleep until Anselmo returned. Camilla in reply said he -could repose more at his ease in the reception-room than in his chair, -and begged of him to go in and sleep there; but Lothario declined, and -there he remained asleep until the return of Anselmo, who finding -Camilla in her own room, and Lothario asleep, imagined that he had -stayed away so long as to have afforded them time enough for -conversation and even for sleep, and was all impatience until Lothario -should wake up, that he might go out with him and question him as to -his success. Everything fell out as he wished; Lothario awoke, and the -two at once left the house, and Anselmo asked what he was anxious to -know, and Lothario in answer told him that he had not thought it -advisable to declare himself entirely the first time, and therefore had -only extolled the charms of Camilla, telling her that all the city -spoke of nothing else but her beauty and wit, for this seemed to him an -excellent way of beginning to gain her good-will and render her -disposed to listen to him with pleasure the next time, thus availing -himself of the device the devil has recourse to when he would deceive -one who is on the watch; for he being the angel of darkness transforms -himself into an angel of light, and, under cover of a fair seeming, -discloses himself at length, and effects his purpose if at the -beginning his wiles are not discovered. All this gave great -satisfaction to Anselmo, and he said he would afford the same -opportunity every day, but without leaving the house, for he would find -things to do at home so that Camilla should not detect the plot. - -Thus, then, several days went by, and Lothario, without uttering a word -to Camilla, reported to Anselmo that he had talked with her and that he -had never been able to draw from her the slightest indication of -consent to anything dishonourable, nor even a sign or shadow of hope; -on the contrary, he said she would inform her husband of it. - -“So far well,” said Anselmo; “Camilla has thus far resisted words; we -must now see how she will resist deeds. I will give you to-morrow two -thousand crowns in gold for you to offer or even present, and as many -more to buy jewels to lure her, for women are fond of being becomingly -attired and going gaily dressed, and all the more so if they are -beautiful, however chaste they may be; and if she resists this -temptation, I will rest satisfied and will give you no more trouble.” - -Lothario replied that now he had begun he would carry on the -undertaking to the end, though he perceived he was to come out of it -wearied and vanquished. The next day he received the four thousand -crowns, and with them four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what -to say by way of a new falsehood; but in the end he made up his mind to -tell him that Camilla stood as firm against gifts and promises as -against words, and that there was no use in taking any further trouble, -for the time was all spent to no purpose. - -But chance, directing things in a different manner, so ordered it that -Anselmo, having left Lothario and Camilla alone as on other occasions, -shut himself into a chamber and posted himself to watch and listen -through the keyhole to what passed between them, and perceived that for -more than half an hour Lothario did not utter a word to Camilla, nor -would utter a word though he were to be there for an age; and he came -to the conclusion that what his friend had told him about the replies -of Camilla was all invention and falsehood, and to ascertain if it were -so, he came out, and calling Lothario aside asked him what news he had -and in what humour Camilla was. Lothario replied that he was not -disposed to go on with the business, for she had answered him so -angrily and harshly that he had no heart to say anything more to her. - -“Ah, Lothario, Lothario,” said Anselmo, “how ill dost thou meet thy -obligations to me, and the great confidence I repose in thee! I have -been just now watching through this keyhole, and I have seen that thou -hast not said a word to Camilla, whence I conclude that on the former -occasions thou hast not spoken to her either, and if this be so, as no -doubt it is, why dost thou deceive me, or wherefore seekest thou by -craft to deprive me of the means I might find of attaining my desire?” - -Anselmo said no more, but he had said enough to cover Lothario with -shame and confusion, and he, feeling as it were his honour touched by -having been detected in a lie, swore to Anselmo that he would from that -moment devote himself to satisfying him without any deception, as he -would see if he had the curiosity to watch; though he need not take the -trouble, for the pains he would take to satisfy him would remove all -suspicions from his mind. Anselmo believed him, and to afford him an -opportunity more free and less liable to surprise, he resolved to -absent himself from his house for eight days, betaking himself to that -of a friend of his who lived in a village not far from the city; and, -the better to account for his departure to Camilla, he so arranged it -that the friend should send him a very pressing invitation. - -Unhappy, shortsighted Anselmo, what art thou doing, what art thou -plotting, what art thou devising? Bethink thee thou art working against -thyself, plotting thine own dishonour, devising thine own ruin. Thy -wife Camilla is virtuous, thou dost possess her in peace and quietness, -no one assails thy happiness, her thoughts wander not beyond the walls -of thy house, thou art her heaven on earth, the object of her wishes, -the fulfilment of her desires, the measure wherewith she measures her -will, making it conform in all things to thine and Heaven’s. If, then, -the mine of her honour, beauty, virtue, and modesty yields thee without -labour all the wealth it contains and thou canst wish for, why wilt -thou dig the earth in search of fresh veins, of new unknown treasure, -risking the collapse of all, since it but rests on the feeble props of -her weak nature? Bethink thee that from him who seeks impossibilities -that which is possible may with justice be withheld, as was better -expressed by a poet who said: - -’Tis mine to seek for life in death, - Health in disease seek I, -I seek in prison freedom’s breath, - In traitors loyalty. - -So Fate that ever scorns to grant - Or grace or boon to me, -Since what can never be I want, - Denies me what might be. - -The next day Anselmo took his departure for the village, leaving -instructions with Camilla that during his absence Lothario would come -to look after his house and to dine with her, and that she was to treat -him as she would himself. Camilla was distressed, as a discreet and -right-minded woman would be, at the orders her husband left her, and -bade him remember that it was not becoming that anyone should occupy -his seat at the table during his absence, and if he acted thus from not -feeling confidence that she would be able to manage his house, let him -try her this time, and he would find by experience that she was equal -to greater responsibilities. Anselmo replied that it was his pleasure -to have it so, and that she had only to submit and obey. Camilla said -she would do so, though against her will. - -Anselmo went, and the next day Lothario came to his house, where he was -received by Camilla with a friendly and modest welcome; but she never -suffered Lothario to see her alone, for she was always attended by her -men and women servants, especially by a handmaid of hers, Leonela by -name, to whom she was much attached (for they had been brought up -together from childhood in her father’s house), and whom she had kept -with her after her marriage with Anselmo. The first three days Lothario -did not speak to her, though he might have done so when they removed -the cloth and the servants retired to dine hastily; for such were -Camilla’s orders; nay more, Leonela had directions to dine earlier than -Camilla and never to leave her side. She, however, having her thoughts -fixed upon other things more to her taste, and wanting that time and -opportunity for her own pleasures, did not always obey her mistress’s -commands, but on the contrary left them alone, as if they had ordered -her to do so; but the modest bearing of Camilla, the calmness of her -countenance, the composure of her aspect were enough to bridle the -tongue of Lothario. But the influence which the many virtues of Camilla -exerted in imposing silence on Lothario’s tongue proved mischievous for -both of them, for if his tongue was silent his thoughts were busy, and -could dwell at leisure upon the perfections of Camilla’s goodness and -beauty one by one, charms enough to warm with love a marble statue, not -to say a heart of flesh. Lothario gazed upon her when he might have -been speaking to her, and thought how worthy of being loved she was; -and thus reflection began little by little to assail his allegiance to -Anselmo, and a thousand times he thought of withdrawing from the city -and going where Anselmo should never see him nor he see Camilla. But -already the delight he found in gazing on her interposed and held him -fast. He put a constraint upon himself, and struggled to repel and -repress the pleasure he found in contemplating Camilla; when alone he -blamed himself for his weakness, called himself a bad friend, nay a bad -Christian; then he argued the matter and compared himself with Anselmo; -always coming to the conclusion that the folly and rashness of Anselmo -had been worse than his faithlessness, and that if he could excuse his -intentions as easily before God as with man, he had no reason to fear -any punishment for his offence. - -In short the beauty and goodness of Camilla, joined with the -opportunity which the blind husband had placed in his hands, overthrew -the loyalty of Lothario; and giving heed to nothing save the object -towards which his inclinations led him, after Anselmo had been three -days absent, during which he had been carrying on a continual struggle -with his passion, he began to make love to Camilla with so much -vehemence and warmth of language that she was overwhelmed with -amazement, and could only rise from her place and retire to her room -without answering him a word. But the hope which always springs up with -love was not weakened in Lothario by this repelling demeanour; on the -contrary his passion for Camilla increased, and she discovering in him -what she had never expected, knew not what to do; and considering it -neither safe nor right to give him the chance or opportunity of -speaking to her again, she resolved to send, as she did that very -night, one of her servants with a letter to Anselmo, in which she -addressed the following words to him. - -CHAPTER XXXIV. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” - -“It is commonly said that an army looks ill without its general and a -castle without its castellan, and I say that a young married woman -looks still worse without her husband unless there are very good -reasons for it. I find myself so ill at ease without you, and so -incapable of enduring this separation, that unless you return quickly I -shall have to go for relief to my parents’ house, even if I leave yours -without a protector; for the one you left me, if indeed he deserved -that title, has, I think, more regard to his own pleasure than to what -concerns you: as you are possessed of discernment I need say no more to -you, nor indeed is it fitting I should say more.” - -Anselmo received this letter, and from it he gathered that Lothario had -already begun his task and that Camilla must have replied to him as he -would have wished; and delighted beyond measure at such intelligence he -sent word to her not to leave his house on any account, as he would -very shortly return. Camilla was astonished at Anselmo’s reply, which -placed her in greater perplexity than before, for she neither dared to -remain in her own house, nor yet to go to her parents’; for in -remaining her virtue was imperilled, and in going she was opposing her -husband’s commands. Finally she decided upon what was the worse course -for her, to remain, resolving not to fly from the presence of Lothario, -that she might not give food for gossip to her servants; and she now -began to regret having written as she had to her husband, fearing he -might imagine that Lothario had perceived in her some lightness which -had impelled him to lay aside the respect he owed her; but confident of -her rectitude she put her trust in God and in her own virtuous -intentions, with which she hoped to resist in silence all the -solicitations of Lothario, without saying anything to her husband so as -not to involve him in any quarrel or trouble; and she even began to -consider how to excuse Lothario to Anselmo when he should ask her what -it was that induced her to write that letter. With these resolutions, -more honourable than judicious or effectual, she remained the next day -listening to Lothario, who pressed his suit so strenuously that -Camilla’s firmness began to waver, and her virtue had enough to do to -come to the rescue of her eyes and keep them from showing signs of a -certain tender compassion which the tears and appeals of Lothario had -awakened in her bosom. Lothario observed all this, and it inflamed him -all the more. In short he felt that while Anselmo’s absence afforded -time and opportunity he must press the siege of the fortress, and so he -assailed her self-esteem with praises of her beauty, for there is -nothing that more quickly reduces and levels the castle towers of fair -women’s vanity than vanity itself upon the tongue of flattery. In fact -with the utmost assiduity he undermined the rock of her purity with -such engines that had Camilla been of brass she must have fallen. He -wept, he entreated, he promised, he flattered, he importuned, he -pretended with so much feeling and apparent sincerity, that he -overthrew the virtuous resolves of Camilla and won the triumph he least -expected and most longed for. Camilla yielded, Camilla fell; but what -wonder if the friendship of Lothario could not stand firm? A clear -proof to us that the passion of love is to be conquered only by flying -from it, and that no one should engage in a struggle with an enemy so -mighty; for divine strength is needed to overcome his human power. -Leonela alone knew of her mistress’s weakness, for the two false -friends and new lovers were unable to conceal it. Lothario did not care -to tell Camilla the object Anselmo had in view, nor that he had -afforded him the opportunity of attaining such a result, lest she -should undervalue his love and think that it was by chance and without -intending it and not of his own accord that he had made love to her. - -A few days later Anselmo returned to his house and did not perceive -what it had lost, that which he so lightly treated and so highly -prized. He went at once to see Lothario, and found him at home; they -embraced each other, and Anselmo asked for the tidings of his life or -his death. - -“The tidings I have to give thee, Anselmo my friend,” said Lothario, -“are that thou dost possess a wife that is worthy to be the pattern and -crown of all good wives. The words that I have addressed to her were -borne away on the wind, my promises have been despised, my presents -have been refused, such feigned tears as I shed have been turned into -open ridicule. In short, as Camilla is the essence of all beauty, so is -she the treasure-house where purity dwells, and gentleness and modesty -abide with all the virtues that can confer praise, honour, and -happiness upon a woman. Take back thy money, my friend; here it is, and -I have had no need to touch it, for the chastity of Camilla yields not -to things so base as gifts or promises. Be content, Anselmo, and -refrain from making further proof; and as thou hast passed dryshod -through the sea of those doubts and suspicions that are and may be -entertained of women, seek not to plunge again into the deep ocean of -new embarrassments, or with another pilot make trial of the goodness -and strength of the bark that Heaven has granted thee for thy passage -across the sea of this world; but reckon thyself now safe in port, moor -thyself with the anchor of sound reflection, and rest in peace until -thou art called upon to pay that debt which no nobility on earth can -escape paying.” - -Anselmo was completely satisfied by the words of Lothario, and believed -them as fully as if they had been spoken by an oracle; nevertheless he -begged of him not to relinquish the undertaking, were it but for the -sake of curiosity and amusement; though thenceforward he need not make -use of the same earnest endeavours as before; all he wished him to do -was to write some verses to her, praising her under the name of -Chloris, for he himself would give her to understand that he was in -love with a lady to whom he had given that name to enable him to sing -her praises with the decorum due to her modesty; and if Lothario were -unwilling to take the trouble of writing the verses he would compose -them himself. - -“That will not be necessary,” said Lothario, “for the muses are not -such enemies of mine but that they visit me now and then in the course -of the year. Do thou tell Camilla what thou hast proposed about a -pretended amour of mine; as for the verses I will make them, and if not -as good as the subject deserves, they shall be at least the best I can -produce.” An agreement to this effect was made between the friends, the -ill-advised one and the treacherous, and Anselmo returning to his house -asked Camilla the question she already wondered he had not asked -before—what it was that had caused her to write the letter she had sent -him. Camilla replied that it had seemed to her that Lothario looked at -her somewhat more freely than when he had been at home; but that now -she was undeceived and believed it to have been only her own -imagination, for Lothario now avoided seeing her, or being alone with -her. Anselmo told her she might be quite easy on the score of that -suspicion, for he knew that Lothario was in love with a damsel of rank -in the city whom he celebrated under the name of Chloris, and that even -if he were not, his fidelity and their great friendship left no room -for fear. Had not Camilla, however, been informed beforehand by -Lothario that this love for Chloris was a pretence, and that he himself -had told Anselmo of it in order to be able sometimes to give utterance -to the praises of Camilla herself, no doubt she would have fallen into -the despairing toils of jealousy; but being forewarned she received the -startling news without uneasiness. - -The next day as the three were at table Anselmo asked Lothario to -recite something of what he had composed for his mistress Chloris; for -as Camilla did not know her, he might safely say what he liked. - -“Even did she know her,” returned Lothario, “I would hide nothing, for -when a lover praises his lady’s beauty, and charges her with cruelty, -he casts no imputation upon her fair name; at any rate, all I can say -is that yesterday I made a sonnet on the ingratitude of this Chloris, -which goes thus: - -SONNET - -At midnight, in the silence, when the eyes -Of happier mortals balmy slumbers close, -The weary tale of my unnumbered woes -To Chloris and to Heaven is wont to rise. -And when the light of day returning dyes -The portals of the east with tints of rose, -With undiminished force my sorrow flows -In broken accents and in burning sighs. -And when the sun ascends his star-girt throne, -And on the earth pours down his midday beams, -Noon but renews my wailing and my tears; -And with the night again goes up my moan. -Yet ever in my agony it seems -To me that neither Heaven nor Chloris hears.” - -The sonnet pleased Camilla, and still more Anselmo, for he praised it -and said the lady was excessively cruel who made no return for -sincerity so manifest. On which Camilla said, “Then all that -love-smitten poets say is true?” - -“As poets they do not tell the truth,” replied Lothario; “but as lovers -they are not more defective in expression than they are truthful.” - -“There is no doubt of that,” observed Anselmo, anxious to support and -uphold Lothario’s ideas with Camilla, who was as regardless of his -design as she was deep in love with Lothario; and so taking delight in -anything that was his, and knowing that his thoughts and writings had -her for their object, and that she herself was the real Chloris, she -asked him to repeat some other sonnet or verses if he recollected any. - -“I do,” replied Lothario, “but I do not think it as good as the first -one, or, more correctly speaking, less bad; but you can easily judge, -for it is this. - -SONNET - -I know that I am doomed; death is to me -As certain as that thou, ungrateful fair, -Dead at thy feet shouldst see me lying, ere -My heart repented of its love for thee. -If buried in oblivion I should be, -Bereft of life, fame, favour, even there -It would be found that I thy image bear -Deep graven in my breast for all to see. -This like some holy relic do I prize -To save me from the fate my truth entails, -Truth that to thy hard heart its vigour owes. -Alas for him that under lowering skies, -In peril o’er a trackless ocean sails, -Where neither friendly port nor pole-star shows.” - -Anselmo praised this second sonnet too, as he had praised the first; -and so he went on adding link after link to the chain with which he was -binding himself and making his dishonour secure; for when Lothario was -doing most to dishonour him he told him he was most honoured; and thus -each step that Camilla descended towards the depths of her abasement, -she mounted, in his opinion, towards the summit of virtue and fair -fame. - -It so happened that finding herself on one occasion alone with her -maid, Camilla said to her, “I am ashamed to think, my dear Leonela, how -lightly I have valued myself that I did not compel Lothario to purchase -by at least some expenditure of time that full possession of me that I -so quickly yielded him of my own free will. I fear that he will think -ill of my pliancy or lightness, not considering the irresistible -influence he brought to bear upon me.” - -“Let not that trouble you, my lady,” said Leonela, “for it does not -take away the value of the thing given or make it the less precious to -give it quickly if it be really valuable and worthy of being prized; -nay, they are wont to say that he who gives quickly gives twice.” - -“They say also,” said Camilla, “that what costs little is valued less.” - -“That saying does not hold good in your case,” replied Leonela, “for -love, as I have heard say, sometimes flies and sometimes walks; with -this one it runs, with that it moves slowly; some it cools, others it -burns; some it wounds, others it slays; it begins the course of its -desires, and at the same moment completes and ends it; in the morning -it will lay siege to a fortress and by night will have taken it, for -there is no power that can resist it; so what are you in dread of, what -do you fear, when the same must have befallen Lothario, love having -chosen the absence of my lord as the instrument for subduing you? and -it was absolutely necessary to complete then what love had resolved -upon, without affording the time to let Anselmo return and by his -presence compel the work to be left unfinished; for love has no better -agent for carrying out his designs than opportunity; and of opportunity -he avails himself in all his feats, especially at the outset. All this -I know well myself, more by experience than by hearsay, and some day, -señora, I will enlighten you on the subject, for I am of your flesh and -blood too. Moreover, lady Camilla, you did not surrender yourself or -yield so quickly but that first you saw Lothario’s whole soul in his -eyes, in his sighs, in his words, his promises and his gifts, and by it -and his good qualities perceived how worthy he was of your love. This, -then, being the case, let not these scrupulous and prudish ideas -trouble your imagination, but be assured that Lothario prizes you as -you do him, and rest content and satisfied that as you are caught in -the noose of love it is one of worth and merit that has taken you, and -one that has not only the four S’s that they say true lovers ought to -have, but a complete alphabet; only listen to me and you will see how I -can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and thinking, Amiable, Brave, -Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honourable, Illustrious, -Loyal, Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the S’s -according to the saying, and then Tender, Veracious: X does not suit -him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous -for your honour.” - -Camilla laughed at her maid’s alphabet, and perceived her to be more -experienced in love affairs than she said, which she admitted, -confessing to Camilla that she had love passages with a young man of -good birth of the same city. Camilla was uneasy at this, dreading lest -it might prove the means of endangering her honour, and asked whether -her intrigue had gone beyond words, and she with little shame and much -effrontery said it had; for certain it is that ladies’ imprudences make -servants shameless, who, when they see their mistresses make a false -step, think nothing of going astray themselves, or of its being known. -All that Camilla could do was to entreat Leonela to say nothing about -her doings to him whom she called her lover, and to conduct her own -affairs secretly lest they should come to the knowledge of Anselmo or -of Lothario. Leonela said she would, but kept her word in such a way -that she confirmed Camilla’s apprehension of losing her reputation -through her means; for this abandoned and bold Leonela, as soon as she -perceived that her mistress’s demeanour was not what it was wont to be, -had the audacity to introduce her lover into the house, confident that -even if her mistress saw him she would not dare to expose him; for the -sins of mistresses entail this mischief among others; they make -themselves the slaves of their own servants, and are obliged to hide -their laxities and depravities; as was the case with Camilla, who -though she perceived, not once but many times, that Leonela was with -her lover in some room of the house, not only did not dare to chide -her, but afforded her opportunities for concealing him and removed all -difficulties, lest he should be seen by her husband. She was unable, -however, to prevent him from being seen on one occasion, as he sallied -forth at daybreak, by Lothario, who, not knowing who he was, at first -took him for a spectre; but, as soon as he saw him hasten away, -muffling his face with his cloak and concealing himself carefully and -cautiously, he rejected this foolish idea, and adopted another, which -would have been the ruin of all had not Camilla found a remedy. It did -not occur to Lothario that this man he had seen issuing at such an -untimely hour from Anselmo’s house could have entered it on Leonela’s -account, nor did he even remember there was such a person as Leonela; -all he thought was that as Camilla had been light and yielding with -him, so she had been with another; for this further penalty the erring -woman’s sin brings with it, that her honour is distrusted even by him -to whose overtures and persuasions she has yielded; and he believes her -to have surrendered more easily to others, and gives implicit credence -to every suspicion that comes into his mind. All Lothario’s good sense -seems to have failed him at this juncture; all his prudent maxims -escaped his memory; for without once reflecting rationally, and without -more ado, in his impatience and in the blindness of the jealous rage -that gnawed his heart, and dying to revenge himself upon Camilla, who -had done him no wrong, before Anselmo had risen he hastened to him and -said to him, “Know, Anselmo, that for several days past I have been -struggling with myself, striving to withhold from thee what it is no -longer possible or right that I should conceal from thee. Know that -Camilla’s fortress has surrendered and is ready to submit to my will; -and if I have been slow to reveal this fact to thee, it was in order to -see if it were some light caprice of hers, or if she sought to try me -and ascertain if the love I began to make to her with thy permission -was made with a serious intention. I thought, too, that she, if she -were what she ought to be, and what we both believed her, would have -ere this given thee information of my addresses; but seeing that she -delays, I believe the truth of the promise she has given me that the -next time thou art absent from the house she will grant me an interview -in the closet where thy jewels are kept (and it was true that Camilla -used to meet him there); but I do not wish thee to rush precipitately -to take vengeance, for the sin is as yet only committed in intention, -and Camilla’s may change perhaps between this and the appointed time, -and repentance spring up in its place. As hitherto thou hast always -followed my advice wholly or in part, follow and observe this that I -will give thee now, so that, without mistake, and with mature -deliberation, thou mayest satisfy thyself as to what may seem the best -course; pretend to absent thyself for two or three days as thou hast -been wont to do on other occasions, and contrive to hide thyself in the -closet; for the tapestries and other things there afford great -facilities for thy concealment, and then thou wilt see with thine own -eyes and I with mine what Camilla’s purpose may be. And if it be a -guilty one, which may be feared rather than expected, with silence, -prudence, and discretion thou canst thyself become the instrument of -punishment for the wrong done thee.” - -Anselmo was amazed, overwhelmed, and astounded at the words of -Lothario, which came upon him at a time when he least expected to hear -them, for he now looked upon Camilla as having triumphed over the -pretended attacks of Lothario, and was beginning to enjoy the glory of -her victory. He remained silent for a considerable time, looking on the -ground with fixed gaze, and at length said, “Thou hast behaved, -Lothario, as I expected of thy friendship: I will follow thy advice in -everything; do as thou wilt, and keep this secret as thou seest it -should be kept in circumstances so unlooked for.” - -Lothario gave him his word, but after leaving him he repented -altogether of what he had said to him, perceiving how foolishly he had -acted, as he might have revenged himself upon Camilla in some less -cruel and degrading way. He cursed his want of sense, condemned his -hasty resolution, and knew not what course to take to undo the mischief -or find some ready escape from it. At last he decided upon revealing -all to Camilla, and, as there was no want of opportunity for doing so, -he found her alone the same day; but she, as soon as she had the chance -of speaking to him, said, “Lothario my friend, I must tell thee I have -a sorrow in my heart which fills it so that it seems ready to burst; -and it will be a wonder if it does not; for the audacity of Leonela has -now reached such a pitch that every night she conceals a gallant of -hers in this house and remains with him till morning, at the expense of -my reputation; inasmuch as it is open to anyone to question it who may -see him quitting my house at such unseasonable hours; but what -distresses me is that I cannot punish or chide her, for her privity to -our intrigue bridles my mouth and keeps me silent about hers, while I -am dreading that some catastrophe will come of it.” - -As Camilla said this Lothario at first imagined it was some device to -delude him into the idea that the man he had seen going out was -Leonela’s lover and not hers; but when he saw how she wept and -suffered, and begged him to help her, he became convinced of the truth, -and the conviction completed his confusion and remorse; however, he -told Camilla not to distress herself, as he would take measures to put -a stop to the insolence of Leonela. At the same time he told her what, -driven by the fierce rage of jealousy, he had said to Anselmo, and how -he had arranged to hide himself in the closet that he might there see -plainly how little she preserved her fidelity to him; and he entreated -her pardon for this madness, and her advice as to how to repair it, and -escape safely from the intricate labyrinth in which his imprudence had -involved him. Camilla was struck with alarm at hearing what Lothario -said, and with much anger, and great good sense, she reproved him and -rebuked his base design and the foolish and mischievous resolution he -had made; but as woman has by nature a nimbler wit than man for good -and for evil, though it is apt to fail when she sets herself -deliberately to reason, Camilla on the spur of the moment thought of a -way to remedy what was to all appearance irremediable, and told -Lothario to contrive that the next day Anselmo should conceal himself -in the place he mentioned, for she hoped from his concealment to obtain -the means of their enjoying themselves for the future without any -apprehension; and without revealing her purpose to him entirely she -charged him to be careful, as soon as Anselmo was concealed, to come to -her when Leonela should call him, and to all she said to him to answer -as he would have answered had he not known that Anselmo was listening. -Lothario pressed her to explain her intention fully, so that he might -with more certainty and precaution take care to do what he saw to be -needful. - -“I tell you,” said Camilla, “there is nothing to take care of except to -answer me what I shall ask you;” for she did not wish to explain to him -beforehand what she meant to do, fearing lest he should be unwilling to -follow out an idea which seemed to her such a good one, and should try -or devise some other less practicable plan. - -Lothario then retired, and the next day Anselmo, under pretence of -going to his friend’s country house, took his departure, and then -returned to conceal himself, which he was able to do easily, as Camilla -and Leonela took care to give him the opportunity; and so he placed -himself in hiding in the state of agitation that it may be imagined he -would feel who expected to see the vitals of his honour laid bare -before his eyes, and found himself on the point of losing the supreme -blessing he thought he possessed in his beloved Camilla. Having made -sure of Anselmo’s being in his hiding-place, Camilla and Leonela -entered the closet, and the instant she set foot within it Camilla -said, with a deep sigh, “Ah! dear Leonela, would it not be better, -before I do what I am unwilling you should know lest you should seek to -prevent it, that you should take Anselmo’s dagger that I have asked of -you and with it pierce this vile heart of mine? But no; there is no -reason why I should suffer the punishment of another’s fault. I will -first know what it is that the bold licentious eyes of Lothario have -seen in me that could have encouraged him to reveal to me a design so -base as that which he has disclosed regardless of his friend and of my -honour. Go to the window, Leonela, and call him, for no doubt he is in -the street waiting to carry out his vile project; but mine, cruel it -may be, but honourable, shall be carried out first.” - -“Ah, señora,” said the crafty Leonela, who knew her part, “what is it -you want to do with this dagger? Can it be that you mean to take your -own life, or Lothario’s? for whichever you mean to do, it will lead to -the loss of your reputation and good name. It is better to dissemble -your wrong and not give this wicked man the chance of entering the -house now and finding us alone; consider, señora, we are weak women and -he is a man, and determined, and as he comes with such a base purpose, -blind and urged by passion, perhaps before you can put yours into -execution he may do what will be worse for you than taking your life. -Ill betide my master, Anselmo, for giving such authority in his house -to this shameless fellow! And supposing you kill him, señora, as I -suspect you mean to do, what shall we do with him when he is dead?” - -“What, my friend?” replied Camilla, “we shall leave him for Anselmo to -bury him; for in reason it will be to him a light labour to hide his -own infamy under ground. Summon him, make haste, for all the time I -delay in taking vengeance for my wrong seems to me an offence against -the loyalty I owe my husband.” - -Anselmo was listening to all this, and every word that Camilla uttered -made him change his mind; but when he heard that it was resolved to -kill Lothario his first impulse was to come out and show himself to -avert such a disaster; but in his anxiety to see the issue of a -resolution so bold and virtuous he restrained himself, intending to -come forth in time to prevent the deed. At this moment Camilla, -throwing herself upon a bed that was close by, swooned away, and -Leonela began to weep bitterly, exclaiming, “Woe is me! that I should -be fated to have dying here in my arms the flower of virtue upon earth, -the crown of true wives, the pattern of chastity!” with more to the -same effect, so that anyone who heard her would have taken her for the -most tender-hearted and faithful handmaid in the world, and her -mistress for another persecuted Penelope. - -Camilla was not long in recovering from her fainting fit and on coming -to herself she said, “Why do you not go, Leonela, to call hither that -friend, the falsest to his friend the sun ever shone upon or night -concealed? Away, run, haste, speed! lest the fire of my wrath burn -itself out with delay, and the righteous vengeance that I hope for melt -away in menaces and maledictions.” - -“I am just going to call him, señora,” said Leonela; “but you must -first give me that dagger, lest while I am gone you should by means of -it give cause to all who love you to weep all their lives.” - -“Go in peace, dear Leonela, I will not do so,” said Camilla, “for rash -and foolish as I may be, to your mind, in defending my honour, I am not -going to be so much so as that Lucretia who they say killed herself -without having done anything wrong, and without having first killed him -on whom the guilt of her misfortune lay. I shall die, if I am to die; -but it must be after full vengeance upon him who has brought me here to -weep over audacity that no fault of mine gave birth to.” - -Leonela required much pressing before she would go to summon Lothario, -but at last she went, and while awaiting her return Camilla continued, -as if speaking to herself, “Good God! would it not have been more -prudent to have repulsed Lothario, as I have done many a time before, -than to allow him, as I am now doing, to think me unchaste and vile, -even for the short time I must wait until I undeceive him? No doubt it -would have been better; but I should not be avenged, nor the honour of -my husband vindicated, should he find so clear and easy an escape from -the strait into which his depravity has led him. Let the traitor pay -with his life for the temerity of his wanton wishes, and let the world -know (if haply it shall ever come to know) that Camilla not only -preserved her allegiance to her husband, but avenged him of the man who -dared to wrong him. Still, I think it might be better to disclose this -to Anselmo. But then I have called his attention to it in the letter I -wrote to him in the country, and, if he did nothing to prevent the -mischief I there pointed out to him, I suppose it was that from pure -goodness of heart and trustfulness he would not and could not believe -that any thought against his honour could harbour in the breast of so -stanch a friend; nor indeed did I myself believe it for many days, nor -should I have ever believed it if his insolence had not gone so far as -to make it manifest by open presents, lavish promises, and ceaseless -tears. But why do I argue thus? Does a bold determination stand in need -of arguments? Surely not. Then traitors avaunt! Vengeance to my aid! -Let the false one come, approach, advance, die, yield up his life, and -then befall what may. Pure I came to him whom Heaven bestowed upon me, -pure I shall leave him; and at the worst bathed in my own chaste blood -and in the foul blood of the falsest friend that friendship ever saw in -the world;” and as she uttered these words she paced the room holding -the unsheathed dagger, with such irregular and disordered steps, and -such gestures that one would have supposed her to have lost her senses, -and taken her for some violent desperado instead of a delicate woman. - -Anselmo, hidden behind some tapestries where he had concealed himself, -beheld and was amazed at all, and already felt that what he had seen -and heard was a sufficient answer to even greater suspicions; and he -would have been now well pleased if the proof afforded by Lothario’s -coming were dispensed with, as he feared some sudden mishap; but as he -was on the point of showing himself and coming forth to embrace and -undeceive his wife he paused as he saw Leonela returning, leading -Lothario. Camilla when she saw him, drawing a long line in front of her -on the floor with the dagger, said to him, “Lothario, pay attention to -what I say to thee: if by any chance thou darest to cross this line -thou seest, or even approach it, the instant I see thee attempt it that -same instant will I pierce my bosom with this dagger that I hold in my -hand; and before thou answerest me a word desire thee to listen to a -few from me, and afterwards thou shalt reply as may please thee. First, -I desire thee to tell me, Lothario, if thou knowest my husband Anselmo, -and in what light thou regardest him; and secondly I desire to know if -thou knowest me too. Answer me this, without embarrassment or -reflecting deeply what thou wilt answer, for they are no riddles I put -to thee.” - -Lothario was not so dull but that from the first moment when Camilla -directed him to make Anselmo hide himself he understood what she -intended to do, and therefore he fell in with her idea so readily and -promptly that between them they made the imposture look more true than -truth; so he answered her thus: “I did not think, fair Camilla, that -thou wert calling me to ask questions so remote from the object with -which I come; but if it is to defer the promised reward thou art doing -so, thou mightst have put it off still longer, for the longing for -happiness gives the more distress the nearer comes the hope of gaining -it; but lest thou shouldst say that I do not answer thy questions, I -say that I know thy husband Anselmo, and that we have known each other -from our earliest years; I will not speak of what thou too knowest, of -our friendship, that I may not compel myself to testify against the -wrong that love, the mighty excuse for greater errors, makes me inflict -upon him. Thee I know and hold in the same estimation as he does, for -were it not so I had not for a lesser prize acted in opposition to what -I owe to my station and the holy laws of true friendship, now broken -and violated by me through that powerful enemy, love.” - -“If thou dost confess that,” returned Camilla, “mortal enemy of all -that rightly deserves to be loved, with what face dost thou dare to -come before one whom thou knowest to be the mirror wherein he is -reflected on whom thou shouldst look to see how unworthily thou -wrongest him? But, woe is me, I now comprehend what has made thee give -so little heed to what thou owest to thyself; it must have been some -freedom of mine, for I will not call it immodesty, as it did not -proceed from any deliberate intention, but from some heedlessness such -as women are guilty of through inadvertence when they think they have -no occasion for reserve. But tell me, traitor, when did I by word or -sign give a reply to thy prayers that could awaken in thee a shadow of -hope of attaining thy base wishes? When were not thy professions of -love sternly and scornfully rejected and rebuked? When were thy -frequent pledges and still more frequent gifts believed or accepted? -But as I am persuaded that no one can long persevere in the attempt to -win love unsustained by some hope, I am willing to attribute to myself -the blame of thy assurance, for no doubt some thoughtlessness of mine -has all this time fostered thy hopes; and therefore will I punish -myself and inflict upon myself the penalty thy guilt deserves. And that -thou mayest see that being so relentless to myself I cannot possibly be -otherwise to thee, I have summoned thee to be a witness of the -sacrifice I mean to offer to the injured honour of my honoured husband, -wronged by thee with all the assiduity thou wert capable of, and by me -too through want of caution in avoiding every occasion, if I have given -any, of encouraging and sanctioning thy base designs. Once more I say -the suspicion in my mind that some imprudence of mine has engendered -these lawless thoughts in thee, is what causes me most distress and -what I desire most to punish with my own hands, for were any other -instrument of punishment employed my error might become perhaps more -widely known; but before I do so, in my death I mean to inflict death, -and take with me one that will fully satisfy my longing for the revenge -I hope for and have; for I shall see, wheresoever it may be that I go, -the penalty awarded by inflexible, unswerving justice on him who has -placed me in a position so desperate.” - -As she uttered these words, with incredible energy and swiftness she -flew upon Lothario with the naked dagger, so manifestly bent on burying -it in his breast that he was almost uncertain whether these -demonstrations were real or feigned, for he was obliged to have -recourse to all his skill and strength to prevent her from striking -him; and with such reality did she act this strange farce and -mystification that, to give it a colour of truth, she determined to -stain it with her own blood; for perceiving, or pretending, that she -could not wound Lothario, she said, “Fate, it seems, will not grant my -just desire complete satisfaction, but it will not be able to keep me -from satisfying it partially at least;” and making an effort to free -the hand with the dagger which Lothario held in his grasp, she released -it, and directing the point to a place where it could not inflict a -deep wound, she plunged it into her left side high up close to the -shoulder, and then allowed herself to fall to the ground as if in a -faint. - -Leonela and Lothario stood amazed and astounded at the catastrophe, and -seeing Camilla stretched on the ground and bathed in her blood they -were still uncertain as to the true nature of the act. Lothario, -terrified and breathless, ran in haste to pluck out the dagger; but -when he saw how slight the wound was he was relieved of his fears and -once more admired the subtlety, coolness, and ready wit of the fair -Camilla; and the better to support the part he had to play he began to -utter profuse and doleful lamentations over her body as if she were -dead, invoking maledictions not only on himself but also on him who had -been the means of placing him in such a position: and knowing that his -friend Anselmo heard him he spoke in such a way as to make a listener -feel much more pity for him than for Camilla, even though he supposed -her dead. Leonela took her up in her arms and laid her on the bed, -entreating Lothario to go in quest of someone to attend to her wound in -secret, and at the same time asking his advice and opinion as to what -they should say to Anselmo about his lady’s wound if he should chance -to return before it was healed. He replied they might say what they -liked, for he was not in a state to give advice that would be of any -use; all he could tell her was to try and stanch the blood, as he was -going where he should never more be seen; and with every appearance of -deep grief and sorrow he left the house; but when he found himself -alone, and where there was nobody to see him, he crossed himself -unceasingly, lost in wonder at the adroitness of Camilla and the -consistent acting of Leonela. He reflected how convinced Anselmo would -be that he had a second Portia for a wife, and he looked forward -anxiously to meeting him in order to rejoice together over falsehood -and truth the most craftily veiled that could be imagined. - -Leonela, as he told her, stanched her lady’s blood, which was no more -than sufficed to support her deception; and washing the wound with a -little wine she bound it up to the best of her skill, talking all the -time she was tending her in a strain that, even if nothing else had -been said before, would have been enough to assure Anselmo that he had -in Camilla a model of purity. To Leonela’s words Camilla added her own, -calling herself cowardly and wanting in spirit, since she had not -enough at the time she had most need of it to rid herself of the life -she so much loathed. She asked her attendant’s advice as to whether or -not she ought to inform her beloved husband of all that had happened, -but the other bade her say nothing about it, as she would lay upon him -the obligation of taking vengeance on Lothario, which he could not do -but at great risk to himself; and it was the duty of a true wife not to -give her husband provocation to quarrel, but, on the contrary, to -remove it as far as possible from him. - -Camilla replied that she believed she was right and that she would -follow her advice, but at any rate it would be well to consider how she -was to explain the wound to Anselmo, for he could not help seeing it; -to which Leonela answered that she did not know how to tell a lie even -in jest. - -“How then can I know, my dear?” said Camilla, “for I should not dare to -forge or keep up a falsehood if my life depended on it. If we can think -of no escape from this difficulty, it will be better to tell him the -plain truth than that he should find us out in an untrue story.” - -“Be not uneasy, señora,” said Leonela; “between this and to-morrow I -will think of what we must say to him, and perhaps the wound being -where it is it can be hidden from his sight, and Heaven will be pleased -to aid us in a purpose so good and honourable. Compose yourself, -señora, and endeavour to calm your excitement lest my lord find you -agitated; and leave the rest to my care and God’s, who always supports -good intentions.” - -Anselmo had with the deepest attention listened to and seen played out -the tragedy of the death of his honour, which the performers acted with -such wonderfully effective truth that it seemed as if they had become -the realities of the parts they played. He longed for night and an -opportunity of escaping from the house to go and see his good friend -Lothario, and with him give vent to his joy over the precious pearl he -had gained in having established his wife’s purity. Both mistress and -maid took care to give him time and opportunity to get away, and taking -advantage of it he made his escape, and at once went in quest of -Lothario, and it would be impossible to describe how he embraced him -when he found him, and the things he said to him in the joy of his -heart, and the praises he bestowed upon Camilla; all which Lothario -listened to without being able to show any pleasure, for he could not -forget how deceived his friend was, and how dishonourably he had -wronged him; and though Anselmo could see that Lothario was not glad, -still he imagined it was only because he had left Camilla wounded and -had been himself the cause of it; and so among other things he told him -not to be distressed about Camilla’s accident, for, as they had agreed -to hide it from him, the wound was evidently trifling; and that being -so, he had no cause for fear, but should henceforward be of good cheer -and rejoice with him, seeing that by his means and adroitness he found -himself raised to the greatest height of happiness that he could have -ventured to hope for, and desired no better pastime than making verses -in praise of Camilla that would preserve her name for all time to come. -Lothario commended his purpose, and promised on his own part to aid him -in raising a monument so glorious. - -And so Anselmo was left the most charmingly hoodwinked man there could -be in the world. He himself, persuaded he was conducting the instrument -of his glory, led home by the hand of him who had been the utter -destruction of his good name; whom Camilla received with averted -countenance, though with smiles in her heart. The deception was carried -on for some time, until at the end of a few months Fortune turned her -wheel and the guilt which had been until then so skilfully concealed -was published abroad, and Anselmo paid with his life the penalty of his -ill-advised curiosity. - -CHAPTER XXXV. -WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS BATTLE DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH -CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE, AND BRINGS THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED -CURIOSITY” TO A CLOSE - -There remained but little more of the novel to be read, when Sancho -Panza burst forth in wild excitement from the garret where Don Quixote -was lying, shouting, “Run, sirs! quick; and help my master, who is in -the thick of the toughest and stiffest battle I ever laid eyes on. By -the living God he has given the giant, the enemy of my lady the -Princess Micomicona, such a slash that he has sliced his head clean off -as if it were a turnip.” - -“What are you talking about, brother?” said the curate, pausing as he -was about to read the remainder of the novel. “Are you in your senses, -Sancho? How the devil can it be as you say, when the giant is two -thousand leagues away?” - -Here they heard a loud noise in the chamber, and Don Quixote shouting -out, “Stand, thief, brigand, villain; now I have got thee, and thy -scimitar shall not avail thee!” And then it seemed as though he were -slashing vigorously at the wall. - -“Don’t stop to listen,” said Sancho, “but go in and part them or help -my master: though there is no need of that now, for no doubt the giant -is dead by this time and giving account to God of his past wicked life; -for I saw the blood flowing on the ground, and the head cut off and -fallen on one side, and it is as big as a large wine-skin.” - -“May I die,” said the landlord at this, “if Don Quixote or Don Devil -has not been slashing some of the skins of red wine that stand full at -his bed’s head, and the spilt wine must be what this good fellow takes -for blood;” and so saying he went into the room and the rest after him, -and there they found Don Quixote in the strangest costume in the world. -He was in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his -thighs completely and was six fingers shorter behind; his legs were -very long and lean, covered with hair, and anything but clean; on his -head he had a little greasy red cap that belonged to the host, round -his left arm he had rolled the blanket of the bed, to which Sancho, for -reasons best known to himself, owed a grudge, and in his right hand he -held his unsheathed sword, with which he was slashing about on all -sides, uttering exclamations as if he were actually fighting some -giant: and the best of it was his eyes were not open, for he was fast -asleep, and dreaming that he was doing battle with the giant. For his -imagination was so wrought upon by the adventure he was going to -accomplish, that it made him dream he had already reached the kingdom -of Micomicon, and was engaged in combat with his enemy; and believing -he was laying on the giant, he had given so many sword cuts to the -skins that the whole room was full of wine. On seeing this the landlord -was so enraged that he fell on Don Quixote, and with his clenched fist -began to pummel him in such a way, that if Cardenio and the curate had -not dragged him off, he would have brought the war of the giant to an -end. But in spite of all the poor gentleman never woke until the barber -brought a great pot of cold water from the well and flung it with one -dash all over his body, on which Don Quixote woke up, but not so -completely as to understand what was the matter. Dorothea, seeing how -short and slight his attire was, would not go in to witness the battle -between her champion and her opponent. As for Sancho, he went searching -all over the floor for the head of the giant, and not finding it he -said, “I see now that it’s all enchantment in this house; for the last -time, on this very spot where I am now, I got ever so many thumps -without knowing who gave them to me, or being able to see anybody; and -now this head is not to be seen anywhere about, though I saw it cut off -with my own eyes and the blood running from the body as if from a -fountain.” - -“What blood and fountains are you talking about, enemy of God and his -saints?” said the landlord. “Don’t you see, you thief, that the blood -and the fountain are only these skins here that have been stabbed and -the red wine swimming all over the room?—and I wish I saw the soul of -him that stabbed them swimming in hell.” - -“I know nothing about that,” said Sancho; “all I know is it will be my -bad luck that through not finding this head my county will melt away -like salt in water;”—for Sancho awake was worse than his master asleep, -so much had his master’s promises addled his wits. - -The landlord was beside himself at the coolness of the squire and the -mischievous doings of the master, and swore it should not be like the -last time when they went without paying; and that their privileges of -chivalry should not hold good this time to let one or other of them off -without paying, even to the cost of the plugs that would have to be put -to the damaged wine-skins. The curate was holding Don Quixote’s hands, -who, fancying he had now ended the adventure and was in the presence of -the Princess Micomicona, knelt before the curate and said, “Exalted and -beauteous lady, your highness may live from this day forth fearless of -any harm this base being could do you; and I too from this day forth am -released from the promise I gave you, since by the help of God on high -and by the favour of her by whom I live and breathe, I have fulfilled -it so successfully.” - -“Did not I say so?” said Sancho on hearing this. “You see I wasn’t -drunk; there you see my master has already salted the giant; there’s no -doubt about the bulls; my county is all right!” - -Who could have helped laughing at the absurdities of the pair, master -and man? And laugh they did, all except the landlord, who cursed -himself; but at length the barber, Cardenio, and the curate contrived -with no small trouble to get Don Quixote on the bed, and he fell asleep -with every appearance of excessive weariness. They left him to sleep, -and came out to the gate of the inn to console Sancho Panza on not -having found the head of the giant; but much more work had they to -appease the landlord, who was furious at the sudden death of his -wine-skins; and said the landlady half scolding, half crying, “At an -evil moment and in an unlucky hour he came into my house, this -knight-errant—would that I had never set eyes on him, for dear he has -cost me; the last time he went off with the overnight score against him -for supper, bed, straw, and barley, for himself and his squire and a -hack and an ass, saying he was a knight adventurer—God send unlucky -adventures to him and all the adventurers in the world—and therefore -not bound to pay anything, for it was so settled by the knight-errantry -tariff: and then, all because of him, came the other gentleman and -carried off my tail, and gives it back more than two cuartillos the -worse, all stripped of its hair, so that it is no use for my husband’s -purpose; and then, for a finishing touch to all, to burst my wine-skins -and spill my wine! I wish I saw his own blood spilt! But let him not -deceive himself, for, by the bones of my father and the shade of my -mother, they shall pay me down every quarts; or my name is not what it -is, and I am not my father’s daughter.” All this and more to the same -effect the landlady delivered with great irritation, and her good maid -Maritornes backed her up, while the daughter held her peace and smiled -from time to time. The curate smoothed matters by promising to make -good all losses to the best of his power, not only as regarded the -wine-skins but also the wine, and above all the depreciation of the -tail which they set such store by. Dorothea comforted Sancho, telling -him that she pledged herself, as soon as it should appear certain that -his master had decapitated the giant, and she found herself peacefully -established in her kingdom, to bestow upon him the best county there -was in it. With this Sancho consoled himself, and assured the princess -she might rely upon it that he had seen the head of the giant, and more -by token it had a beard that reached to the girdle, and that if it was -not to be seen now it was because everything that happened in that -house went by enchantment, as he himself had proved the last time he -had lodged there. Dorothea said she fully believed it, and that he need -not be uneasy, for all would go well and turn out as he wished. All -therefore being appeased, the curate was anxious to go on with the -novel, as he saw there was but little more left to read. Dorothea and -the others begged him to finish it, and he, as he was willing to please -them, and enjoyed reading it himself, continued the tale in these -words: - -The result was, that from the confidence Anselmo felt in Camilla’s -virtue, he lived happy and free from anxiety, and Camilla purposely -looked coldly on Lothario, that Anselmo might suppose her feelings -towards him to be the opposite of what they were; and the better to -support the position, Lothario begged to be excused from coming to the -house, as the displeasure with which Camilla regarded his presence was -plain to be seen. But the befooled Anselmo said he would on no account -allow such a thing, and so in a thousand ways he became the author of -his own dishonour, while he believed he was insuring his happiness. -Meanwhile the satisfaction with which Leonela saw herself empowered to -carry on her amour reached such a height that, regardless of everything -else, she followed her inclinations unrestrainedly, feeling confident -that her mistress would screen her, and even show her how to manage it -safely. At last one night Anselmo heard footsteps in Leonela’s room, -and on trying to enter to see who it was, he found that the door was -held against him, which made him all the more determined to open it; -and exerting his strength he forced it open, and entered the room in -time to see a man leaping through the window into the street. He ran -quickly to seize him or discover who he was, but he was unable to -effect either purpose, for Leonela flung her arms round him crying, “Be -calm, señor; do not give way to passion or follow him who has escaped -from this; he belongs to me, and in fact he is my husband.” - -Anselmo would not believe it, but blind with rage drew a dagger and -threatened to stab Leonela, bidding her tell the truth or he would kill -her. She, in her fear, not knowing what she was saying, exclaimed, “Do -not kill me, señor, for I can tell you things more important than any -you can imagine.” - -“Tell me then at once or thou diest,” said Anselmo. - -“It would be impossible for me now,” said Leonela, “I am so agitated: -leave me till to-morrow, and then you shall hear from me what will fill -you with astonishment; but rest assured that he who leaped through the -window is a young man of this city, who has given me his promise to -become my husband.” - -Anselmo was appeased with this, and was content to wait the time she -asked of him, for he never expected to hear anything against Camilla, -so satisfied and sure of her virtue was he; and so he quitted the room, -and left Leonela locked in, telling her she should not come out until -she had told him all she had to make known to him. He went at once to -see Camilla, and tell her, as he did, all that had passed between him -and her handmaid, and the promise she had given him to inform him -matters of serious importance. - -There is no need of saying whether Camilla was agitated or not, for so -great was her fear and dismay, that, making sure, as she had good -reason to do, that Leonela would tell Anselmo all she knew of her -faithlessness, she had not the courage to wait and see if her -suspicions were confirmed; and that same night, as soon as she thought -that Anselmo was asleep, she packed up the most valuable jewels she had -and some money, and without being observed by anybody escaped from the -house and betook herself to Lothario’s, to whom she related what had -occurred, imploring him to convey her to some place of safety or fly -with her where they might be safe from Anselmo. The state of perplexity -to which Camilla reduced Lothario was such that he was unable to utter -a word in reply, still less to decide upon what he should do. At length -he resolved to conduct her to a convent of which a sister of his was -prioress; Camilla agreed to this, and with the speed which the -circumstances demanded, Lothario took her to the convent and left her -there, and then himself quitted the city without letting anyone know of -his departure. - -As soon as daylight came Anselmo, without missing Camilla from his -side, rose eager to learn what Leonela had to tell him, and hastened to -the room where he had locked her in. He opened the door, entered, but -found no Leonela; all he found was some sheets knotted to the window, a -plain proof that she had let herself down from it and escaped. He -returned, uneasy, to tell Camilla, but not finding her in bed or -anywhere in the house he was lost in amazement. He asked the servants -of the house about her, but none of them could give him any -explanation. As he was going in search of Camilla it happened by chance -that he observed her boxes were lying open, and that the greater part -of her jewels were gone; and now he became fully aware of his disgrace, -and that Leonela was not the cause of his misfortune; and, just as he -was, without delaying to dress himself completely, he repaired, sad at -heart and dejected, to his friend Lothario to make known his sorrow to -him; but when he failed to find him and the servants reported that he -had been absent from his house all night and had taken with him all the -money he had, he felt as though he were losing his senses; and to make -all complete on returning to his own house he found it deserted and -empty, not one of all his servants, male or female, remaining in it. He -knew not what to think, or say, or do, and his reason seemed to be -deserting him little by little. He reviewed his position, and saw -himself in a moment left without wife, friend, or servants, abandoned, -he felt, by the heaven above him, and more than all robbed of his -honour, for in Camilla’s disappearance he saw his own ruin. After long -reflection he resolved at last to go to his friend’s village, where he -had been staying when he afforded opportunities for the contrivance of -this complication of misfortune. He locked the doors of his house, -mounted his horse, and with a broken spirit set out on his journey; but -he had hardly gone half-way when, harassed by his reflections, he had -to dismount and tie his horse to a tree, at the foot of which he threw -himself, giving vent to piteous heartrending sighs; and there he -remained till nearly nightfall, when he observed a man approaching on -horseback from the city, of whom, after saluting him, he asked what was -the news in Florence. - -The citizen replied, “The strangest that have been heard for many a -day; for it is reported abroad that Lothario, the great friend of the -wealthy Anselmo, who lived at San Giovanni, carried off last night -Camilla, the wife of Anselmo, who also has disappeared. All this has -been told by a maid-servant of Camilla’s, whom the governor found last -night lowering herself by a sheet from the windows of Anselmo’s house. -I know not indeed, precisely, how the affair came to pass; all I know -is that the whole city is wondering at the occurrence, for no one could -have expected a thing of the kind, seeing the great and intimate -friendship that existed between them, so great, they say, that they -were called ‘The Two Friends.’” - -“Is it known at all,” said Anselmo, “what road Lothario and Camilla -took?” - -“Not in the least,” said the citizen, “though the governor has been -very active in searching for them.” - -“God speed you, señor,” said Anselmo. - -“God be with you,” said the citizen and went his way. - -This disastrous intelligence almost robbed Anselmo not only of his -senses but of his life. He got up as well as he was able and reached -the house of his friend, who as yet knew nothing of his misfortune, but -seeing him come pale, worn, and haggard, perceived that he was -suffering some heavy affliction. Anselmo at once begged to be allowed -to retire to rest, and to be given writing materials. His wish was -complied with and he was left lying down and alone, for he desired -this, and even that the door should be locked. Finding himself alone he -so took to heart the thought of his misfortune that by the signs of -death he felt within him he knew well his life was drawing to a close, -and therefore he resolved to leave behind him a declaration of the -cause of his strange end. He began to write, but before he had put down -all he meant to say, his breath failed him and he yielded up his life, -a victim to the suffering which his ill-advised curiosity had entailed -upon him. The master of the house observing that it was now late and -that Anselmo did not call, determined to go in and ascertain if his -indisposition was increasing, and found him lying on his face, his body -partly in the bed, partly on the writing-table, on which he lay with -the written paper open and the pen still in his hand. Having first -called to him without receiving any answer, his host approached him, -and taking him by the hand, found that it was cold, and saw that he was -dead. Greatly surprised and distressed he summoned the household to -witness the sad fate which had befallen Anselmo; and then he read the -paper, the handwriting of which he recognised as his, and which -contained these words: - -“A foolish and ill-advised desire has robbed me of life. If the news of -my death should reach the ears of Camilla, let her know that I forgive -her, for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor ought I to have -required her to perform them; and since I have been the author of my -own dishonour, there is no reason why—” - -So far Anselmo had written, and thus it was plain that at this point, -before he could finish what he had to say, his life came to an end. The -next day his friend sent intelligence of his death to his relatives, -who had already ascertained his misfortune, as well as the convent -where Camilla lay almost on the point of accompanying her husband on -that inevitable journey, not on account of the tidings of his death, -but because of those she received of her lover’s departure. Although -she saw herself a widow, it is said she refused either to quit the -convent or take the veil, until, not long afterwards, intelligence -reached her that Lothario had been killed in a battle in which M. de -Lautrec had been recently engaged with the Great Captain Gonzalo -Fernandez de Cordova in the kingdom of Naples, whither her too late -repentant lover had repaired. On learning this Camilla took the veil, -and shortly afterwards died, worn out by grief and melancholy. This was -the end of all three, an end that came of a thoughtless beginning. - -“I like this novel,” said the curate; “but I cannot persuade myself of -its truth; and if it has been invented, the author’s invention is -faulty, for it is impossible to imagine any husband so foolish as to -try such a costly experiment as Anselmo’s. If it had been represented -as occurring between a gallant and his mistress it might pass; but -between husband and wife there is something of an impossibility about -it. As to the way in which the story is told, however, I have no fault -to find.” - -CHAPTER XXXVI. -WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN - -Just at that instant the landlord, who was standing at the gate of the -inn, exclaimed, “Here comes a fine troop of guests; if they stop here -we may say _gaudeamus_.” - -“What are they?” said Cardenio. - -“Four men,” said the landlord, “riding _à la jineta_, with lances and -bucklers, and all with black veils, and with them there is a woman in -white on a side-saddle, whose face is also veiled, and two attendants -on foot.” - -“Are they very near?” said the curate. - -“So near,” answered the landlord, “that here they come.” - -Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Cardenio retreated into Don -Quixote’s room, and they hardly had time to do so before the whole -party the host had described entered the inn, and the four that were on -horseback, who were of highbred appearance and bearing, dismounted, and -came forward to take down the woman who rode on the side-saddle, and -one of them taking her in his arms placed her in a chair that stood at -the entrance of the room where Cardenio had hidden himself. All this -time neither she nor they had removed their veils or spoken a word, -only on sitting down on the chair the woman gave a deep sigh and let -her arms fall like one that was ill and weak. The attendants on foot -then led the horses away to the stable. Observing this the curate, -curious to know who these people in such a dress and preserving such -silence were, went to where the servants were standing and put the -question to one of them, who answered him. - -“Faith, sir, I cannot tell you who they are, I only know they seem to -be people of distinction, particularly he who advanced to take the lady -you saw in his arms; and I say so because all the rest show him -respect, and nothing is done except what he directs and orders.” - -“And the lady, who is she?” asked the curate. - -“That I cannot tell you either,” said the servant, “for I have not seen -her face all the way: I have indeed heard her sigh many times and utter -such groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every time; but it -is no wonder if we do not know more than we have told you, as my -comrade and I have only been in their company two days, for having met -us on the road they begged and persuaded us to accompany them to -Andalusia, promising to pay us well.” - -“And have you heard any of them called by his name?” asked the curate. - -“No, indeed,” replied the servant; “they all preserve a marvellous -silence on the road, for not a sound is to be heard among them except -the poor lady’s sighs and sobs, which make us pity her; and we feel -sure that wherever it is she is going, it is against her will, and as -far as one can judge from her dress she is a nun or, what is more -likely, about to become one; and perhaps it is because taking the vows -is not of her own free will, that she is so unhappy as she seems to -be.” - -“That may well be,” said the curate, and leaving them he returned to -where Dorothea was, who, hearing the veiled lady sigh, moved by natural -compassion drew near to her and said, “What are you suffering from, -señora? If it be anything that women are accustomed and know how to -relieve, I offer you my services with all my heart.” - -To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and though Dorothea repeated -her offers more earnestly she still kept silence, until the gentleman -with the veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, -approached and said to Dorothea, “Do not give yourself the trouble, -señora, of making any offers to that woman, for it is her way to give -no thanks for anything that is done for her; and do not try to make her -answer unless you want to hear some lie from her lips.” - -“I have never told a lie,” was the immediate reply of her who had been -silent until now; “on the contrary, it is because I am so truthful and -so ignorant of lying devices that I am now in this miserable condition; -and this I call you yourself to witness, for it is my unstained truth -that has made you false and a liar.” - -Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, being quite close to -the speaker, for there was only the door of Don Quixote’s room between -them, and the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he cried, -“Good God! what is this I hear? What voice is this that has reached my -ears?” Startled at the voice the lady turned her head; and not seeing -the speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room; observing -which the gentleman held her back, preventing her from moving a step. -In her agitation and sudden movement the silk with which she had -covered her face fell off and disclosed a countenance of incomparable -and marvellous beauty, but pale and terrified; for she kept turning her -eyes, everywhere she could direct her gaze, with an eagerness that made -her look as if she had lost her senses, and so marked that it excited -the pity of Dorothea and all who beheld her, though they knew not what -caused it. The gentleman grasped her firmly by the shoulders, and being -so fully occupied with holding her back, he was unable to put a hand to -his veil which was falling off, as it did at length entirely, and -Dorothea, who was holding the lady in her arms, raising her eyes saw -that he who likewise held her was her husband, Don Fernando. The -instant she recognised him, with a prolonged plaintive cry drawn from -the depths of her heart, she fell backwards fainting, and but for the -barber being close by to catch her in his arms, she would have fallen -completely to the ground. The curate at once hastened to uncover her -face and throw water on it, and as he did so Don Fernando, for he it -was who held the other in his arms, recognised her and stood as if -death-stricken by the sight; not, however, relaxing his grasp of -Luscinda, for it was she that was struggling to release herself from -his hold, having recognised Cardenio by his voice, as he had recognised -her. Cardenio also heard Dorothea’s cry as she fell fainting, and -imagining that it came from his Luscinda burst forth in terror from the -room, and the first thing he saw was Don Fernando with Luscinda in his -arms. Don Fernando, too, knew Cardenio at once; and all three, -Luscinda, Cardenio, and Dorothea, stood in silent amazement scarcely -knowing what had happened to them. - -They gazed at one another without speaking, Dorothea at Don Fernando, -Don Fernando at Cardenio, Cardenio at Luscinda, and Luscinda at -Cardenio. The first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus addressed -Don Fernando: “Leave me, Señor Don Fernando, for the sake of what you -owe to yourself; if no other reason will induce you, leave me to cling -to the wall of which I am the ivy, to the support from which neither -your importunities, nor your threats, nor your promises, nor your gifts -have been able to detach me. See how Heaven, by ways strange and hidden -from our sight, has brought me face to face with my true husband; and -well you know by dear-bought experience that death alone will be able -to efface him from my memory. May this plain declaration, then, lead -you, as you can do nothing else, to turn your love into rage, your -affection into resentment, and so to take my life; for if I yield it up -in the presence of my beloved husband I count it well bestowed; it may -be by my death he will be convinced that I kept my faith to him to the -last moment of life.” - -Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had heard Luscinda’s words, -by means of which she divined who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando -did not yet release her or reply to her, summoning up her resolution as -well as she could she rose and knelt at his feet, and with a flood of -bright and touching tears addressed him thus: - -“If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou holdest eclipsed in thine -arms did not dazzle and rob thine eyes of sight thou wouldst have seen -by this time that she who kneels at thy feet is, so long as thou wilt -have it so, the unhappy and unfortunate Dorothea. I am that lowly -peasant girl whom thou in thy goodness or for thy pleasure wouldst -raise high enough to call herself thine; I am she who in the seclusion -of innocence led a contented life until at the voice of thy -importunity, and thy true and tender passion, as it seemed, she opened -the gates of her modesty and surrendered to thee the keys of her -liberty; a gift received by thee but thanklessly, as is clearly shown -by my forced retreat to the place where thou dost find me, and by thy -appearance under the circumstances in which I see thee. Nevertheless, I -would not have thee suppose that I have come here driven by my shame; -it is only grief and sorrow at seeing myself forgotten by thee that -have led me. It was thy will to make me thine, and thou didst so follow -thy will, that now, even though thou repentest, thou canst not help -being mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable affection I bear -thee may compensate for the beauty and noble birth for which thou -wouldst desert me. Thou canst not be the fair Luscinda’s because thou -art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Cardenio’s; and it will -be easier, remember, to bend thy will to love one who adores thee, than -to lead one to love thee who abhors thee now. Thou didst address -thyself to my simplicity, thou didst lay siege to my virtue, thou wert -not ignorant of my station, well dost thou know how I yielded wholly to -thy will; there is no ground or reason for thee to plead deception, and -if it be so, as it is, and if thou art a Christian as thou art a -gentleman, why dost thou by such subterfuges put off making me as happy -at last as thou didst at first? And if thou wilt not have me for what I -am, thy true and lawful wife, at least take and accept me as thy slave, -for so long as I am thine I will count myself happy and fortunate. Do -not by deserting me let my shame become the talk of the gossips in the -streets; make not the old age of my parents miserable; for the loyal -services they as faithful vassals have ever rendered thine are not -deserving of such a return; and if thou thinkest it will debase thy -blood to mingle it with mine, reflect that there is little or no -nobility in the world that has not travelled the same road, and that in -illustrious lineages it is not the woman’s blood that is of account; -and, moreover, that true nobility consists in virtue, and if thou art -wanting in that, refusing me what in justice thou owest me, then even I -have higher claims to nobility than thine. To make an end, señor, these -are my last words to thee: whether thou wilt, or wilt not, I am thy -wife; witness thy words, which must not and ought not to be false, if -thou dost pride thyself on that for want of which thou scornest me; -witness the pledge which thou didst give me, and witness Heaven, which -thou thyself didst call to witness the promise thou hadst made me; and -if all this fail, thy own conscience will not fail to lift up its -silent voice in the midst of all thy gaiety, and vindicate the truth of -what I say and mar thy highest pleasure and enjoyment.” - -All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered with such earnest -feeling and such tears that all present, even those who came with Don -Fernando, were constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando listened -to her without replying, until, ceasing to speak, she gave way to such -sobs and sighs that it must have been a heart of brass that was not -softened by the sight of so great sorrow. Luscinda stood regarding her -with no less compassion for her sufferings than admiration for her -intelligence and beauty, and would have gone to her to say some words -of comfort to her, but was prevented by Don Fernando’s grasp which held -her fast. He, overwhelmed with confusion and astonishment, after -regarding Dorothea for some moments with a fixed gaze, opened his arms, -and, releasing Luscinda, exclaimed: - -“Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou hast conquered, for it is -impossible to have the heart to deny the united force of so many -truths.” - -Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of falling to the ground -when Don Fernando released her, but Cardenio, who stood near, having -retreated behind Don Fernando to escape recognition, casting fear aside -and regardless of what might happen, ran forward to support her, and -said as he clasped her in his arms, “If Heaven in its compassion is -willing to let thee rest at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, -and fair, nowhere canst thou rest more safely than in these arms that -now receive thee, and received thee before when fortune permitted me to -call thee mine.” - -At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio, at first beginning to -recognise him by his voice and then satisfying herself by her eyes that -it was he, and hardly knowing what she did, and heedless of all -considerations of decorum, she flung her arms around his neck and -pressing her face close to his, said, “Yes, my dear lord, you are the -true master of this your slave, even though adverse fate interpose -again, and fresh dangers threaten this life that hangs on yours.” - -A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and those that stood around, -filled with surprise at an incident so unlooked for. Dorothea fancied -that Don Fernando changed colour and looked as though he meant to take -vengeance on Cardenio, for she observed him put his hand to his sword; -and the instant the idea struck her, with wonderful quickness she -clasped him round the knees, and kissing them and holding him so as to -prevent his moving, she said, while her tears continued to flow, “What -is it thou wouldst do, my only refuge, in this unforeseen event? Thou -hast thy wife at thy feet, and she whom thou wouldst have for thy wife -is in the arms of her husband: reflect whether it will be right for -thee, whether it will be possible for thee to undo what Heaven has -done, or whether it will be becoming in thee to seek to raise her to be -thy mate who in spite of every obstacle, and strong in her truth and -constancy, is before thine eyes, bathing with the tears of love the -face and bosom of her lawful husband. For God’s sake I entreat of thee, -for thine own I implore thee, let not this open manifestation rouse thy -anger; but rather so calm it as to allow these two lovers to live in -peace and quiet without any interference from thee so long as Heaven -permits them; and in so doing thou wilt prove the generosity of thy -lofty noble spirit, and the world shall see that with thee reason has -more influence than passion.” - -All the time Dorothea was speaking, Cardenio, though he held Luscinda -in his arms, never took his eyes off Don Fernando, determined, if he -saw him make any hostile movement, to try and defend himself and resist -as best he could all who might assail him, though it should cost him -his life. But now Don Fernando’s friends, as well as the curate and the -barber, who had been present all the while, not forgetting the worthy -Sancho Panza, ran forward and gathered round Don Fernando, entreating -him to have regard for the tears of Dorothea, and not suffer her -reasonable hopes to be disappointed, since, as they firmly believed, -what she said was but the truth; and bidding him observe that it was -not, as it might seem, by accident, but by a special disposition of -Providence that they had all met in a place where no one could have -expected a meeting. And the curate bade him remember that only death -could part Luscinda from Cardenio; that even if some sword were to -separate them they would think their death most happy; and that in a -case that admitted of no remedy his wisest course was, by conquering -and putting a constraint upon himself, to show a generous mind, and of -his own accord suffer these two to enjoy the happiness Heaven had -granted them. He bade him, too, turn his eyes upon the beauty of -Dorothea and he would see that few if any could equal much less excel -her; while to that beauty should be added her modesty and the -surpassing love she bore him. But besides all this, he reminded him -that if he prided himself on being a gentleman and a Christian, he -could not do otherwise than keep his plighted word; and that in doing -so he would obey God and meet the approval of all sensible people, who -know and recognised it to be the privilege of beauty, even in one of -humble birth, provided virtue accompany it, to be able to raise itself -to the level of any rank, without any slur upon him who places it upon -an equality with himself; and furthermore that when the potent sway of -passion asserts itself, so long as there be no mixture of sin in it, he -is not to be blamed who gives way to it. - -To be brief, they added to these such other forcible arguments that Don -Fernando’s manly heart, being after all nourished by noble blood, was -touched, and yielded to the truth which, even had he wished it, he -could not gainsay; and he showed his submission, and acceptance of the -good advice that had been offered to him, by stooping down and -embracing Dorothea, saying to her, “Rise, dear lady, it is not right -that what I hold in my heart should be kneeling at my feet; and if -until now I have shown no sign of what I own, it may have been by -Heaven’s decree in order that, seeing the constancy with which you love -me, I may learn to value you as you deserve. What I entreat of you is -that you reproach me not with my transgression and grievous -wrong-doing; for the same cause and force that drove me to make you -mine impelled me to struggle against being yours; and to prove this, -turn and look at the eyes of the now happy Luscinda, and you will see -in them an excuse for all my errors: and as she has found and gained -the object of her desires, and I have found in you what satisfies all -my wishes, may she live in peace and contentment as many happy years -with her Cardenio, as on my knees I pray Heaven to allow me to live -with my Dorothea;” and with these words he once more embraced her and -pressed his face to hers with so much tenderness that he had to take -great heed to keep his tears from completing the proof of his love and -repentance in the sight of all. Not so Luscinda, and Cardenio, and -almost all the others, for they shed so many tears, some in their own -happiness, some at that of the others, that one would have supposed a -heavy calamity had fallen upon them all. Even Sancho Panza was weeping; -though afterwards he said he only wept because he saw that Dorothea was -not as he fancied the queen Micomicona, of whom he expected such great -favours. Their wonder as well as their weeping lasted some time, and -then Cardenio and Luscinda went and fell on their knees before Don -Fernando, returning him thanks for the favour he had rendered them in -language so grateful that he knew not how to answer them, and raising -them up embraced them with every mark of affection and courtesy. - -He then asked Dorothea how she had managed to reach a place so far -removed from her own home, and she in a few fitting words told all that -she had previously related to Cardenio, with which Don Fernando and his -companions were so delighted that they wished the story had been -longer; so charmingly did Dorothea describe her misadventures. When she -had finished Don Fernando recounted what had befallen him in the city -after he had found in Luscinda’s bosom the paper in which she declared -that she was Cardenio’s wife, and never could be his. He said he meant -to kill her, and would have done so had he not been prevented by her -parents, and that he quitted the house full of rage and shame, and -resolved to avenge himself when a more convenient opportunity should -offer. The next day he learned that Luscinda had disappeared from her -father’s house, and that no one could tell whither she had gone. -Finally, at the end of some months he ascertained that she was in a -convent and meant to remain there all the rest of her life, if she were -not to share it with Cardenio; and as soon as he had learned this, -taking these three gentlemen as his companions, he arrived at the place -where she was, but avoided speaking to her, fearing that if it were -known he was there stricter precautions would be taken in the convent; -and watching a time when the porter’s lodge was open he left two to -guard the gate, and he and the other entered the convent in quest of -Luscinda, whom they found in the cloisters in conversation with one of -the nuns, and carrying her off without giving her time to resist, they -reached a place with her where they provided themselves with what they -required for taking her away; all which they were able to do in -complete safety, as the convent was in the country at a considerable -distance from the city. He added that when Luscinda found herself in -his power she lost all consciousness, and after returning to herself -did nothing but weep and sigh without speaking a word; and thus in -silence and tears they reached that inn, which for him was reaching -heaven where all the mischances of earth are over and at an end. - -CHAPTER XXXVII. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE STORY OF THE FAMOUS PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH -OTHER DROLL ADVENTURES - -To all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow at heart to see how -his hopes of dignity were fading away and vanishing in smoke, and how -the fair Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorothea, and the giant -into Don Fernando, while his master was sleeping tranquilly, totally -unconscious of all that had come to pass. Dorothea was unable to -persuade herself that her present happiness was not all a dream; -Cardenio was in a similar state of mind, and Luscinda’s thoughts ran in -the same direction. Don Fernando gave thanks to Heaven for the favour -shown to him and for having been rescued from the intricate labyrinth -in which he had been brought so near the destruction of his good name -and of his soul; and in short everybody in the inn was full of -contentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of such a complicated -and hopeless business. The curate as a sensible man made sound -reflections upon the whole affair, and congratulated each upon his good -fortune; but the one that was in the highest spirits and good humour -was the landlady, because of the promise Cardenio and the curate had -given her to pay for all the losses and damage she had sustained -through Don Quixote’s means. Sancho, as has been already said, was the -only one who was distressed, unhappy, and dejected; and so with a long -face he went in to his master, who had just awoke, and said to him: - -“Sir Rueful Countenance, your worship may as well sleep on as much as -you like, without troubling yourself about killing any giant or -restoring her kingdom to the princess; for that is all over and settled -now.” - -“I should think it was,” replied Don Quixote, “for I have had the most -prodigious and stupendous battle with the giant that I ever remember -having had all the days of my life; and with one back-stroke—swish!—I -brought his head tumbling to the ground, and so much blood gushed forth -from him that it ran in rivulets over the earth like water.” - -“Like red wine, your worship had better say,” replied Sancho; “for I -would have you know, if you don’t know it, that the dead giant is a -hacked wine-skin, and the blood four-and-twenty gallons of red wine -that it had in its belly, and the cut-off head is the bitch that bore -me; and the devil take it all.” - -“What art thou talking about, fool?” said Don Quixote; “art thou in thy -senses?” - -“Let your worship get up,” said Sancho, “and you will see the nice -business you have made of it, and what we have to pay; and you will see -the queen turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other things -that will astonish you, if you understand them.” - -“I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind,” returned Don -Quixote; “for if thou dost remember the last time we were here I told -thee that everything that happened here was a matter of enchantment, -and it would be no wonder if it were the same now.” - -“I could believe all that,” replied Sancho, “if my blanketing was the -same sort of thing also; only it wasn’t, but real and genuine; for I -saw the landlord, who is here to-day, holding one end of the blanket -and jerking me up to the skies very neatly and smartly, and with as -much laughter as strength; and when it comes to be a case of knowing -people, I hold for my part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is no -enchantment about it at all, but a great deal of bruising and bad -luck.” - -“Well, well, God will give a remedy,” said Don Quixote; “hand me my -clothes and let me go out, for I want to see these transformations and -things thou speakest of.” - -Sancho fetched him his clothes; and while he was dressing, the curate -gave Don Fernando and the others present an account of Don Quixote’s -madness and of the stratagem they had made use of to withdraw him from -that Pena Pobre where he fancied himself stationed because of his -lady’s scorn. He described to them also nearly all the adventures that -Sancho had mentioned, at which they marvelled and laughed not a little, -thinking it, as all did, the strangest form of madness a crazy -intellect could be capable of. But now, the curate said, that the lady -Dorothea’s good fortune prevented her from proceeding with their -purpose, it would be necessary to devise or discover some other way of -getting him home. - -Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they had begun, and suggested -that Luscinda would act and support Dorothea’s part sufficiently well. - -“No,” said Don Fernando, “that must not be, for I want Dorothea to -follow out this idea of hers; and if the worthy gentleman’s village is -not very far off, I shall be happy if I can do anything for his -relief.” - -“It is not more than two days’ journey from this,” said the curate. - -“Even if it were more,” said Don Fernando, “I would gladly travel so -far for the sake of doing so good a work.” - -At this moment Don Quixote came out in full panoply, with Mambrino’s -helmet, all dinted as it was, on his head, his buckler on his arm, and -leaning on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented filled -Don Fernando and the rest with amazement as they contemplated his lean -yellow face half a league long, his armour of all sorts, and the -solemnity of his deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what he -would say, and he, fixing his eyes on the fair Dorothea, addressed her -with great gravity and composure: - -“I am informed, fair lady, by my squire here that your greatness has -been annihilated and your being abolished, since, from a queen and lady -of high degree as you used to be, you have been turned into a private -maiden. If this has been done by the command of the magician king your -father, through fear that I should not afford you the aid you need and -are entitled to, I may tell you he did not know and does not know half -the mass, and was little versed in the annals of chivalry; for, if he -had read and gone through them as attentively and deliberately as I -have, he would have found at every turn that knights of less renown -than mine have accomplished things more difficult: it is no great -matter to kill a whelp of a giant, however arrogant he may be; for it -is not many hours since I myself was engaged with one, and—I will not -speak of it, that they may not say I am lying; time, however, that -reveals all, will tell the tale when we least expect it.” - -“You were engaged with a couple of wine-skins, and not a giant,” said -the landlord at this; but Don Fernando told him to hold his tongue and -on no account interrupt Don Quixote, who continued, “I say in -conclusion, high and disinherited lady, that if your father has brought -about this metamorphosis in your person for the reason I have -mentioned, you ought not to attach any importance to it; for there is -no peril on earth through which my sword will not force a way, and with -it, before many days are over, I will bring your enemy’s head to the -ground and place on yours the crown of your kingdom.” - -Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the reply of the princess, who -aware of Don Fernando’s determination to carry on the deception until -Don Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great ease of manner -and gravity made answer, “Whoever told you, valiant Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, that I had undergone any change or transformation -did not tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was yesterday. It is -true that certain strokes of good fortune, that have given me more than -I could have hoped for, have made some alteration in me; but I have not -therefore ceased to be what I was before, or to entertain the same -desire I have had all through of availing myself of the might of your -valiant and invincible arm. And so, señor, let your goodness reinstate -the father that begot me in your good opinion, and be assured that he -was a wise and prudent man, since by his craft he found out such a sure -and easy way of remedying my misfortune; for I believe, señor, that had -it not been for you I should never have lit upon the good fortune I now -possess; and in this I am saying what is perfectly true; as most of -these gentlemen who are present can fully testify. All that remains is -to set out on our journey to-morrow, for to-day we could not make much -way; and for the rest of the happy result I am looking forward to, I -trust to God and the valour of your heart.” - -So said the sprightly Dorothea, and on hearing her Don Quixote turned -to Sancho, and said to him, with an angry air, “I declare now, little -Sancho, thou art the greatest little villain in Spain. Say, thief and -vagabond, hast thou not just now told me that this princess had been -turned into a maiden called Dorothea, and that the head which I am -persuaded I cut off from a giant was the bitch that bore thee, and -other nonsense that put me in the greatest perplexity I have ever been -in all my life? I vow” (and here he looked to heaven and ground his -teeth) “I have a mind to play the mischief with thee, in a way that -will teach sense for the future to all lying squires of knights-errant -in the world.” - -“Let your worship be calm, señor,” returned Sancho, “for it may well be -that I have been mistaken as to the change of the lady princess -Micomicona; but as to the giant’s head, or at least as to the piercing -of the wine-skins, and the blood being red wine, I make no mistake, as -sure as there is a God; because the wounded skins are there at the head -of your worship’s bed, and the wine has made a lake of the room; if not -you will see when the eggs come to be fried; I mean when his worship -the landlord calls for all the damages: for the rest, I am heartily -glad that her ladyship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as -much as anyone.” - -“I tell thee again, Sancho, thou art a fool,” said Don Quixote; -“forgive me, and that will do.” - -“That will do,” said Don Fernando; “let us say no more about it; and as -her ladyship the princess proposes to set out to-morrow because it is -too late to-day, so be it, and we will pass the night in pleasant -conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany Señor Don Quixote; -for we wish to witness the valiant and unparalleled achievements he is -about to perform in the course of this mighty enterprise which he has -undertaken.” - -“It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you,” said Don Quixote; “and -I am much gratified by the favour that is bestowed upon me, and the -good opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify or it -shall cost me my life, or even more, if it can possibly cost me more.” - -Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness that passed -between Don Quixote and Don Fernando; but they were brought to an end -by a traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and who seemed from -his attire to be a Christian lately come from the country of the Moors, -for he was dressed in a short-skirted coat of blue cloth with -half-sleeves and without a collar; his breeches were also of blue -cloth, and his cap of the same colour, and he wore yellow buskins and -had a Moorish cutlass slung from a baldric across his breast. Behind -him, mounted upon an ass, there came a woman dressed in Moorish -fashion, with her face veiled and a scarf on her head, and wearing a -little brocaded cap, and a mantle that covered her from her shoulders -to her feet. The man was of a robust and well-proportioned frame, in -age a little over forty, rather swarthy in complexion, with long -moustaches and a full beard, and, in short, his appearance was such -that if he had been well dressed he would have been taken for a person -of quality and good birth. On entering he asked for a room, and when -they told him there was none in the inn he seemed distressed, and -approaching her who by her dress seemed to be a Moor, he took her down -from the saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, the landlady, her -daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, and to them entirely -new costume, gathered round her; and Dorothea, who was always kindly, -courteous, and quick-witted, perceiving that both she and the man who -had brought her were annoyed at not finding a room, said to her, “Do -not be put out, señora, by the discomfort and want of luxuries here, -for it is the way of road-side inns to be without them; still, if you -will be pleased to share our lodging with us (pointing to Luscinda) -perhaps you will have found worse accommodation in the course of your -journey.” - -To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to rise from her -seat, crossing her hands upon her bosom, bowing her head and bending -her body as a sign that she returned thanks. From her silence they -concluded that she must be a Moor and unable to speak a Christian -tongue. - -At this moment the captive came up, having been until now otherwise -engaged, and seeing that they all stood round his companion and that -she made no reply to what they addressed to her, he said, “Ladies, this -damsel hardly understands my language and can speak none but that of -her own country, for which reason she does not and cannot answer what -has been asked of her.” - -“Nothing has been asked of her,” returned Luscinda; “she has only been -offered our company for this evening and a share of the quarters we -occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as the circumstances -allow, with the good-will we are bound to show all strangers that stand -in need of it, especially if it be a woman to whom the service is -rendered.” - -“On her part and my own, señora,” replied the captive, “I kiss your -hands, and I esteem highly, as I ought, the favour you have offered, -which, on such an occasion and coming from persons of your appearance, -is, it is plain to see, a very great one.” - -“Tell me, señor,” said Dorothea, “is this lady a Christian or a Moor? -for her dress and her silence lead us to imagine that she is what we -could wish she was not.” - -“In dress and outwardly,” said he, “she is a Moor, but at heart she is -a thoroughly good Christian, for she has the greatest desire to become -one.” - -“Then she has not been baptised?” returned Luscinda. - -“There has been no opportunity for that,” replied the captive, “since -she left Algiers, her native country and home; and up to the present -she has not found herself in any such imminent danger of death as to -make it necessary to baptise her before she has been instructed in all -the ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains; but, please God, ere -long she shall be baptised with the solemnity befitting her which is -higher than her dress or mine indicates.” - -By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know who -the Moorish lady and the captive were, but no one liked to ask just -then, seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping them to rest -themselves than for questioning them about their lives. Dorothea took -the Moorish lady by the hand and leading her to a seat beside herself, -requested her to remove her veil. She looked at the captive as if to -ask him what they meant and what she was to do. He said to her in -Arabic that they asked her to take off her veil, and thereupon she -removed it and disclosed a countenance so lovely, that to Dorothea she -seemed more beautiful than Luscinda, and to Luscinda more beautiful -than Dorothea, and all the bystanders felt that if any beauty could -compare with theirs it was the Moorish lady’s, and there were even -those who were inclined to give it somewhat the preference. And as it -is the privilege and charm of beauty to win the heart and secure -good-will, all forthwith became eager to show kindness and attention to -the lovely Moor. - -Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he replied that -it was Lela Zoraida; but the instant she heard him, she guessed what -the Christian had asked, and said hastily, with some displeasure and -energy, “No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!” giving them to understand that -she was called “Maria” and not “Zoraida.” These words, and the touching -earnestness with which she uttered them, drew more than one tear from -some of the listeners, particularly the women, who are by nature -tender-hearted and compassionate. Luscinda embraced her affectionately, -saying, “Yes, yes, Maria, Maria,” to which the Moor replied, “Yes, yes, -Maria; Zoraida macange,” which means “not Zoraida.” - -Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those who accompanied -Don Fernando the landlord had taken care and pains to prepare for them -the best supper that was in his power. The hour therefore having -arrived they all took their seats at a long table like a refectory one, -for round or square table there was none in the inn, and the seat of -honour at the head of it, though he was for refusing it, they assigned -to Don Quixote, who desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by his -side, as he was her protector. Luscinda and Zoraida took their places -next her, opposite to them were Don Fernando and Cardenio, and next the -captive and the other gentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the -curate and the barber. And so they supped in high enjoyment, which was -increased when they observed Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved -by an impulse like that which made him deliver himself at such length -when he supped with the goatherds, begin to address them: - -“Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellous are the -things they see, who make profession of the order of knight-errantry. -Say, what being is there in this world, who entering the gate of this -castle at this moment, and seeing us as we are here, would suppose or -imagine us to be what we are? Who would say that this lady who is -beside me was the great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am -that Knight of the Rueful Countenance, trumpeted far and wide by the -mouth of Fame? Now, there can be no doubt that this art and calling -surpasses all those that mankind has invented, and is the more -deserving of being held in honour in proportion as it is the more -exposed to peril. Away with those who assert that letters have the -preeminence over arms; I will tell them, whosoever they may be, that -they know not what they say. For the reason which such persons commonly -assign, and upon which they chiefly rest, is, that the labours of the -mind are greater than those of the body, and that arms give employment -to the body alone; as if the calling were a porter’s trade, for which -nothing more is required than sturdy strength; or as if, in what we who -profess them call arms, there were not included acts of vigour for the -execution of which high intelligence is requisite; or as if the soul of -the warrior, when he has an army, or the defence of a city under his -care, did not exert itself as much by mind as by body. Nay; see whether -by bodily strength it be possible to learn or divine the intentions of -the enemy, his plans, stratagems, or obstacles, or to ward off -impending mischief; for all these are the work of the mind, and in them -the body has no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the -mind, as much as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that -of the man of letters or that of the warrior, has most to do; and this -will be seen by the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for that -purpose is the more estimable which has for its aim the nobler object. -The end and goal of letters—I am not speaking now of divine letters, -the aim of which is to raise and direct the soul to Heaven; for with an -end so infinite no other can be compared—I speak of human letters, the -end of which is to establish distributive justice, give to every man -that which is his, and see and take care that good laws are observed: -an end undoubtedly noble, lofty, and deserving of high praise, but not -such as should be given to that sought by arms, which have for their -end and object peace, the greatest boon that men can desire in this -life. The first good news the world and mankind received was that which -the angels announced on the night that was our day, when they sang in -the air, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of -good-will;’ and the salutation which the great Master of heaven and -earth taught his disciples and chosen followers when they entered any -house, was to say, ‘Peace be on this house;’ and many other times he -said to them, ‘My peace I give unto you, my peace I leave you, peace be -with you;’ a jewel and a precious gift given and left by such a hand: a -jewel without which there can be no happiness either on earth or in -heaven. This peace is the true end of war; and war is only another name -for arms. This, then, being admitted, that the end of war is peace, and -that so far it has the advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to -the bodily labours of the man of letters, and those of him who follows -the profession of arms, and see which are the greater.” - -Don Quixote delivered his discourse in such a manner and in such -correct language, that for the time being he made it impossible for any -of his hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, as they were -mostly gentlemen, to whom arms are an appurtenance by birth, they -listened to him with great pleasure as he continued: “Here, then, I say -is what the student has to undergo; first of all poverty: not that all -are poor, but to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I have -said that he endures poverty, I think nothing more need be said about -his hard fortune, for he who is poor has no share of the good things of -life. This poverty he suffers from in various ways, hunger, or cold, or -nakedness, or all together; but for all that it is not so extreme but -that he gets something to eat, though it may be at somewhat -unseasonable hours and from the leavings of the rich; for the greatest -misery of the student is what they themselves call ‘going out for -soup,’ and there is always some neighbour’s brazier or hearth for them, -which, if it does not warm, at least tempers the cold to them, and -lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a roof. I will not go -into other particulars, as for example want of shirts, and no -superabundance of shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging -themselves to surfeit in their voracity when good luck has treated them -to a banquet of some sort. By this road that I have described, rough -and hard, stumbling here, falling there, getting up again to fall -again, they reach the rank they desire, and that once attained, we have -seen many who have passed these Syrtes and Scyllas and Charybdises, as -if borne flying on the wings of favouring fortune; we have seen them, I -say, ruling and governing the world from a chair, their hunger turned -into satiety, their cold into comfort, their nakedness into fine -raiment, their sleep on a mat into repose in holland and damask, the -justly earned reward of their virtue; but, contrasted and compared with -what the warrior undergoes, all they have undergone falls far short of -it, as I am now about to show.” - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS AND -LETTERS - -Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: “As we began in the -student’s case with poverty and its accompaniments, let us see now if -the soldier is richer, and we shall find that in poverty itself there -is no one poorer; for he is dependent on his miserable pay, which comes -late or never, or else on what he can plunder, seriously imperilling -his life and conscience; and sometimes his nakedness will be so great -that a slashed doublet serves him for uniform and shirt, and in the -depth of winter he has to defend himself against the inclemency of the -weather in the open field with nothing better than the breath of his -mouth, which I need not say, coming from an empty place, must come out -cold, contrary to the laws of nature. To be sure he looks forward to -the approach of night to make up for all these discomforts on the bed -that awaits him, which, unless by some fault of his, never sins by -being over narrow, for he can easily measure out on the ground as he -likes, and roll himself about in it to his heart’s content without any -fear of the sheets slipping away from him. Then, after all this, -suppose the day and hour for taking his degree in his calling to have -come; suppose the day of battle to have arrived, when they invest him -with the doctor’s cap made of lint, to mend some bullet-hole, perhaps, -that has gone through his temples, or left him with a crippled arm or -leg. Or if this does not happen, and merciful Heaven watches over him -and keeps him safe and sound, it may be he will be in the same poverty -he was in before, and he must go through more engagements and more -battles, and come victorious out of all before he betters himself; but -miracles of that sort are seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if you have -ever reflected upon it, by how much do those who have gained by war -fall short of the number of those who have perished in it? No doubt you -will reply that there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot be -numbered, while the living who have been rewarded may be summed up with -three figures. All which is the reverse in the case of men of letters; -for by skirts, to say nothing of sleeves, they all find means of -support; so that though the soldier has more to endure, his reward is -much less. But against all this it may be urged that it is easier to -reward two thousand soldiers, for the former may be remunerated by -giving them places, which must perforce be conferred upon men of their -calling, while the latter can only be recompensed out of the very -property of the master they serve; but this impossibility only -strengthens my argument. - -“Putting this, however, aside, for it is a puzzling question for which -it is difficult to find a solution, let us return to the superiority of -arms over letters, a matter still undecided, so many are the arguments -put forward on each side; for besides those I have mentioned, letters -say that without them arms cannot maintain themselves, for war, too, -has its laws and is governed by them, and laws belong to the domain of -letters and men of letters. To this arms make answer that without them -laws cannot be maintained, for by arms states are defended, kingdoms -preserved, cities protected, roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; -and, in short, if it were not for them, states, kingdoms, monarchies, -cities, ways by sea and land would be exposed to the violence and -confusion which war brings with it, so long as it lasts and is free to -make use of its privileges and powers. And then it is plain that -whatever costs most is valued and deserves to be valued most. To attain -to eminence in letters costs a man time, watching, hunger, nakedness, -headaches, indigestions, and other things of the sort, some of which I -have already referred to. But for a man to come in the ordinary course -of things to be a good soldier costs him all the student suffers, and -in an incomparably higher degree, for at every step he runs the risk of -losing his life. For what dread of want or poverty that can reach or -harass the student can compare with what the soldier feels, who finds -himself beleaguered in some stronghold mounting guard in some ravelin -or cavalier, knows that the enemy is pushing a mine towards the post -where he is stationed, and cannot under any circumstances retire or fly -from the imminent danger that threatens him? All he can do is to inform -his captain of what is going on so that he may try to remedy it by a -counter-mine, and then stand his ground in fear and expectation of the -moment when he will fly up to the clouds without wings and descend into -the deep against his will. And if this seems a trifling risk, let us -see whether it is equalled or surpassed by the encounter of two galleys -stem to stem, in the midst of the open sea, locked and entangled one -with the other, when the soldier has no more standing room than two -feet of the plank of the spur; and yet, though he sees before him -threatening him as many ministers of death as there are cannon of the -foe pointed at him, not a lance length from his body, and sees too that -with the first heedless step he will go down to visit the profundities -of Neptune’s bosom, still with dauntless heart, urged on by honour that -nerves him, he makes himself a target for all that musketry, and -struggles to cross that narrow path to the enemy’s ship. And what is -still more marvellous, no sooner has one gone down into the depths he -will never rise from till the end of the world, than another takes his -place; and if he too falls into the sea that waits for him like an -enemy, another and another will succeed him without a moment’s pause -between their deaths: courage and daring the greatest that all the -chances of war can show. Happy the blest ages that knew not the dread -fury of those devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am -persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, -by which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life -of a gallant gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in -the height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave -hearts, there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one -who fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine, -which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life -of one who deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I reflect -on this, I am almost tempted to say that in my heart I repent of having -adopted this profession of knight-errant in so detestable an age as we -live in now; for though no peril can make me fear, still it gives me -some uneasiness to think that powder and lead may rob me of the -opportunity of making myself famous and renowned throughout the known -earth by the might of my arm and the edge of my sword. But Heaven’s -will be done; if I succeed in my attempt I shall be all the more -honoured, as I have faced greater dangers than the knights-errant of -yore exposed themselves to.” - -All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered while the others -supped, forgetting to raise a morsel to his lips, though Sancho more -than once told him to eat his supper, as he would have time enough -afterwards to say all he wanted. It excited fresh pity in those who had -heard him to see a man of apparently sound sense, and with rational -views on every subject he discussed, so hopelessly wanting in all, when -his wretched unlucky chivalry was in question. The curate told him he -was quite right in all he had said in favour of arms, and that he -himself, though a man of letters and a graduate, was of the same -opinion. - -They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, and while the -hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes were getting Don Quixote of La -Mancha’s garret ready, in which it was arranged that the women were to -be quartered by themselves for the night, Don Fernando begged the -captive to tell them the story of his life, for it could not fail to be -strange and interesting, to judge by the hints he had let fall on his -arrival in company with Zoraida. To this the captive replied that he -would very willingly yield to his request, only he feared his tale -would not give them as much pleasure as he wished; nevertheless, not to -be wanting in compliance, he would tell it. The curate and the others -thanked him and added their entreaties, and he finding himself so -pressed said there was no occasion ask, where a command had such -weight, and added, “If your worships will give me your attention you -will hear a true story which, perhaps, fictitious ones constructed with -ingenious and studied art cannot come up to.” These words made them -settle themselves in their places and preserve a deep silence, and he -seeing them waiting on his words in mute expectation, began thus in a -pleasant quiet voice. - -CHAPTER XXXIX. -WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE RELATES HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES - -My family had its origin in a village in the mountains of Leon, and -nature had been kinder and more generous to it than fortune; though in -the general poverty of those communities my father passed for being -even a rich man; and he would have been so in reality had he been as -clever in preserving his property as he was in spending it. This -tendency of his to be liberal and profuse he had acquired from having -been a soldier in his youth, for the soldier’s life is a school in -which the niggard becomes free-handed and the free-handed prodigal; and -if any soldiers are to be found who are misers, they are monsters of -rare occurrence. My father went beyond liberality and bordered on -prodigality, a disposition by no means advantageous to a married man -who has children to succeed to his name and position. My father had -three, all sons, and all of sufficient age to make choice of a -profession. Finding, then, that he was unable to resist his propensity, -he resolved to divest himself of the instrument and cause of his -prodigality and lavishness, to divest himself of wealth, without which -Alexander himself would have seemed parsimonious; and so calling us all -three aside one day into a room, he addressed us in words somewhat to -the following effect: - -“My sons, to assure you that I love you, no more need be known or said -than that you are my sons; and to encourage a suspicion that I do not -love you, no more is needed than the knowledge that I have no -self-control as far as preservation of your patrimony is concerned; -therefore, that you may for the future feel sure that I love you like a -father, and have no wish to ruin you like a stepfather, I propose to do -with you what I have for some time back meditated, and after mature -deliberation decided upon. You are now of an age to choose your line of -life or at least make choice of a calling that will bring you honour -and profit when you are older; and what I have resolved to do is to -divide my property into four parts; three I will give to you, to each -his portion without making any difference, and the other I will retain -to live upon and support myself for whatever remainder of life Heaven -may be pleased to grant me. But I wish each of you on taking possession -of the share that falls to him to follow one of the paths I shall -indicate. In this Spain of ours there is a proverb, to my mind very -true—as they all are, being short aphorisms drawn from long practical -experience—and the one I refer to says, ‘The church, or the sea, or the -king’s house;’ as much as to say, in plainer language, whoever wants to -flourish and become rich, let him follow the church, or go to sea, -adopting commerce as his calling, or go into the king’s service in his -household, for they say, ‘Better a king’s crumb than a lord’s favour.’ -I say so because it is my will and pleasure that one of you should -follow letters, another trade, and the third serve the king in the -wars, for it is a difficult matter to gain admission to his service in -his household, and if war does not bring much wealth it confers great -distinction and fame. Eight days hence I will give you your full shares -in money, without defrauding you of a farthing, as you will see in the -end. Now tell me if you are willing to follow out my idea and advice as -I have laid it before you.” - -Having called upon me as the eldest to answer, I, after urging him not -to strip himself of his property but to spend it all as he pleased, for -we were young men able to gain our living, consented to comply with his -wishes, and said that mine were to follow the profession of arms and -thereby serve God and my king. My second brother having made the same -proposal, decided upon going to the Indies, embarking the portion that -fell to him in trade. The youngest, and in my opinion the wisest, said -he would rather follow the church, or go to complete his studies at -Salamanca. As soon as we had come to an understanding, and made choice -of our professions, my father embraced us all, and in the short time he -mentioned carried into effect all he had promised; and when he had -given to each his share, which as well as I remember was three thousand -ducats apiece in cash (for an uncle of ours bought the estate and paid -for it down, not to let it go out of the family), we all three on the -same day took leave of our good father; and at the same time, as it -seemed to me inhuman to leave my father with such scanty means in his -old age, I induced him to take two of my three thousand ducats, as the -remainder would be enough to provide me with all a soldier needed. My -two brothers, moved by my example, gave him each a thousand ducats, so -that there was left for my father four thousand ducats in money, -besides three thousand, the value of the portion that fell to him which -he preferred to retain in land instead of selling it. Finally, as I -said, we took leave of him, and of our uncle whom I have mentioned, not -without sorrow and tears on both sides, they charging us to let them -know whenever an opportunity offered how we fared, whether well or ill. -We promised to do so, and when he had embraced us and given us his -blessing, one set out for Salamanca, the other for Seville, and I for -Alicante, where I had heard there was a Genoese vessel taking in a -cargo of wool for Genoa. - -It is now some twenty-two years since I left my father’s house, and all -that time, though I have written several letters, I have had no news -whatever of him or of my brothers; my own adventures during that period -I will now relate briefly. I embarked at Alicante, reached Genoa after -a prosperous voyage, and proceeded thence to Milan, where I provided -myself with arms and a few soldier’s accoutrements; thence it was my -intention to go and take service in Piedmont, but as I was already on -the road to Alessandria della Paglia, I learned that the great Duke of -Alva was on his way to Flanders. I changed my plans, joined him, served -under him in the campaigns he made, was present at the deaths of the -Counts Egmont and Horn, and was promoted to be ensign under a famous -captain of Guadalajara, Diego de Urbina by name. Some time after my -arrival in Flanders news came of the league that his Holiness Pope Pius -V. of happy memory, had made with Venice and Spain against the common -enemy, the Turk, who had just then with his fleet taken the famous -island of Cyprus, which belonged to the Venetians, a loss deplorable -and disastrous. It was known as a fact that the Most Serene Don John of -Austria, natural brother of our good king Don Philip, was coming as -commander-in-chief of the allied forces, and rumours were abroad of the -vast warlike preparations which were being made, all which stirred my -heart and filled me with a longing to take part in the campaign which -was expected; and though I had reason to believe, and almost certain -promises, that on the first opportunity that presented itself I should -be promoted to be captain, I preferred to leave all and betake myself, -as I did, to Italy; and it was my good fortune that Don John had just -arrived at Genoa, and was going on to Naples to join the Venetian -fleet, as he afterwards did at Messina. I may say, in short, that I -took part in that glorious expedition, promoted by this time to be a -captain of infantry, to which honourable charge my good luck rather -than my merits raised me; and that day—so fortunate for Christendom, -because then all the nations of the earth were disabused of the error -under which they lay in imagining the Turks to be invincible on sea—on -that day, I say, on which the Ottoman pride and arrogance were broken, -among all that were there made happy (for the Christians who died that -day were happier than those who remained alive and victorious) I alone -was miserable; for, instead of some naval crown that I might have -expected had it been in Roman times, on the night that followed that -famous day I found myself with fetters on my feet and manacles on my -hands. - -It happened in this way: El Uchali, the king of Algiers, a daring and -successful corsair, having attacked and taken the leading Maltese -galley (only three knights being left alive in it, and they badly -wounded), the chief galley of John Andrea, on board of which I and my -company were placed, came to its relief, and doing as was bound to do -in such a case, I leaped on board the enemy’s galley, which, sheering -off from that which had attacked it, prevented my men from following -me, and so I found myself alone in the midst of my enemies, who were in -such numbers that I was unable to resist; in short I was taken, covered -with wounds; El Uchali, as you know, sirs, made his escape with his -entire squadron, and I was left a prisoner in his power, the only sad -being among so many filled with joy, and the only captive among so many -free; for there were fifteen thousand Christians, all at the oar in the -Turkish fleet, that regained their longed-for liberty that day. - -They carried me to Constantinople, where the Grand Turk, Selim, made my -master general at sea for having done his duty in the battle and -carried off as evidence of his bravery the standard of the Order of -Malta. The following year, which was the year seventy-two, I found -myself at Navarino rowing in the leading galley with the three -lanterns. There I saw and observed how the opportunity of capturing the -whole Turkish fleet in harbour was lost; for all the marines and -janizzaries that belonged to it made sure that they were about to be -attacked inside the very harbour, and had their kits and pasamaques, or -shoes, ready to flee at once on shore without waiting to be assailed, -in so great fear did they stand of our fleet. But Heaven ordered it -otherwise, not for any fault or neglect of the general who commanded on -our side, but for the sins of Christendom, and because it was God’s -will and pleasure that we should always have instruments of punishment -to chastise us. As it was, El Uchali took refuge at Modon, which is an -island near Navarino, and landing forces fortified the mouth of the -harbour and waited quietly until Don John retired. On this expedition -was taken the galley called the Prize, whose captain was a son of the -famous corsair Barbarossa. It was taken by the chief Neapolitan galley -called the She-wolf, commanded by that thunderbolt of war, that father -of his men, that successful and unconquered captain Don Álvaro de -Bazan, Marquis of Santa Cruz; and I cannot help telling you what took -place at the capture of the Prize. - -The son of Barbarossa was so cruel, and treated his slaves so badly, -that, when those who were at the oars saw that the She-wolf galley was -bearing down upon them and gaining upon them, they all at once dropped -their oars and seized their captain who stood on the stage at the end -of the gangway shouting to them to row lustily; and passing him on from -bench to bench, from the poop to the prow, they so bit him that before -he had got much past the mast his soul had already got to hell; so -great, as I said, was the cruelty with which he treated them, and the -hatred with which they hated him. - -We returned to Constantinople, and the following year, seventy-three, -it became known that Don John had seized Tunis and taken the kingdom -from the Turks, and placed Muley Hamet in possession, putting an end to -the hopes which Muley Hamida, the cruelest and bravest Moor in the -world, entertained of returning to reign there. The Grand Turk took the -loss greatly to heart, and with the cunning which all his race possess, -he made peace with the Venetians (who were much more eager for it than -he was), and the following year, seventy-four, he attacked the Goletta -and the fort which Don John had left half built near Tunis. While all -these events were occurring, I was labouring at the oar without any -hope of freedom; at least I had no hope of obtaining it by ransom, for -I was firmly resolved not to write to my father telling him of my -misfortunes. At length the Goletta fell, and the fort fell, before -which places there were seventy-five thousand regular Turkish soldiers, -and more than four hundred thousand Moors and Arabs from all parts of -Africa, and in the train of all this great host such munitions and -engines of war, and so many pioneers that with their hands they might -have covered the Goletta and the fort with handfuls of earth. The first -to fall was the Goletta, until then reckoned impregnable, and it fell, -not by any fault of its defenders, who did all that they could and -should have done, but because experiment proved how easily -entrenchments could be made in the desert sand there; for water used to -be found at two palms depth, while the Turks found none at two yards; -and so by means of a quantity of sandbags they raised their works so -high that they commanded the walls of the fort, sweeping them as if -from a cavalier, so that no one was able to make a stand or maintain -the defence. - -It was a common opinion that our men should not have shut themselves up -in the Goletta, but should have waited in the open at the -landing-place; but those who say so talk at random and with little -knowledge of such matters; for if in the Goletta and in the fort there -were barely seven thousand soldiers, how could such a small number, -however resolute, sally out and hold their own against numbers like -those of the enemy? And how is it possible to help losing a stronghold -that is not relieved, above all when surrounded by a host of determined -enemies in their own country? But many thought, and I thought so too, -that it was special favour and mercy which Heaven showed to Spain in -permitting the destruction of that source and hiding place of mischief, -that devourer, sponge, and moth of countless money, fruitlessly wasted -there to no other purpose save preserving the memory of its capture by -the invincible Charles V.; as if to make that eternal, as it is and -will be, these stones were needed to support it. The fort also fell; -but the Turks had to win it inch by inch, for the soldiers who defended -it fought so gallantly and stoutly that the number of the enemy killed -in twenty-two general assaults exceeded twenty-five thousand. Of three -hundred that remained alive not one was taken unwounded, a clear and -manifest proof of their gallantry and resolution, and how sturdily they -had defended themselves and held their post. A small fort or tower -which was in the middle of the lagoon under the command of Don Juan -Zanoguera, a Valencian gentleman and a famous soldier, capitulated upon -terms. They took prisoner Don Pedro Puertocarrero, commandant of the -Goletta, who had done all in his power to defend his fortress, and took -the loss of it so much to heart that he died of grief on the way to -Constantinople, where they were carrying him a prisoner. They also took -the commandant of the fort, Gabrio Cerbellon by name, a Milanese -gentleman, a great engineer and a very brave soldier. In these two -fortresses perished many persons of note, among whom was Pagano Doria, -knight of the Order of St. John, a man of generous disposition, as was -shown by his extreme liberality to his brother, the famous John Andrea -Doria; and what made his death the more sad was that he was slain by -some Arabs to whom, seeing that the fort was now lost, he entrusted -himself, and who offered to conduct him in the disguise of a Moor to -Tabarca, a small fort or station on the coast held by the Genoese -employed in the coral fishery. These Arabs cut off his head and carried -it to the commander of the Turkish fleet, who proved on them the truth -of our Castilian proverb, that “though the treason may please, the -traitor is hated;” for they say he ordered those who brought him the -present to be hanged for not having brought him alive. - -Among the Christians who were taken in the fort was one named Don Pedro -de Aguilar, a native of some place, I know not what, in Andalusia, who -had been ensign in the fort, a soldier of great repute and rare -intelligence, who had in particular a special gift for what they call -poetry. I say so because his fate brought him to my galley and to my -bench, and made him a slave to the same master; and before we left the -port this gentleman composed two sonnets by way of epitaphs, one on the -Goletta and the other on the fort; indeed, I may as well repeat them, -for I have them by heart, and I think they will be liked rather than -disliked. - -The instant the captive mentioned the name of Don Pedro de Aguilar, Don -Fernando looked at his companions and they all three smiled; and when -he came to speak of the sonnets one of them said, “Before your worship -proceeds any further I entreat you to tell me what became of that Don -Pedro de Aguilar you have spoken of.” - -“All I know is,” replied the captive, “that after having been in -Constantinople two years, he escaped in the disguise of an Arnaut, in -company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his liberty or not I -cannot tell, though I fancy he did, because a year afterwards I saw the -Greek at Constantinople, though I was unable to ask him what the result -of the journey was.” - -“Well then, you are right,” returned the gentleman, “for that Don Pedro -is my brother, and he is now in our village in good health, rich, -married, and with three children.” - -“Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has shown him,” said the -captive; “for to my mind there is no happiness on earth to compare with -recovering lost liberty.” - -“And what is more,” said the gentleman, “I know the sonnets my brother -made.” - -“Then let your worship repeat them,” said the captive, “for you will -recite them better than I can.” - -“With all my heart,” said the gentleman; “that on the Goletta runs -thus.” - -CHAPTER XL. -IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED. - -SONNET - -“Blest souls, that, from this mortal husk set free, -In guerdon of brave deeds beatified, -Above this lowly orb of ours abide -Made heirs of heaven and immortality, -With noble rage and ardour glowing ye -Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied, -And with your own blood and the foeman’s dyed -The sandy soil and the encircling sea. -It was the ebbing life-blood first that failed -The weary arms; the stout hearts never quailed. -Though vanquished, yet ye earned the victor’s crown: -Though mourned, yet still triumphant was your fall -For there ye won, between the sword and wall, -In Heaven glory and on earth renown.” - -“That is it exactly, according to my recollection,” said the captive. - -“Well then, that on the fort,” said the gentleman, “if my memory serves -me, goes thus: - -SONNET - -“Up from this wasted soil, this shattered shell, -Whose walls and towers here in ruin lie, -Three thousand soldier souls took wing on high, -In the bright mansions of the blest to dwell. -The onslaught of the foeman to repel -By might of arm all vainly did they try, -And when at length ’twas left them but to die, -Wearied and few the last defenders fell. -And this same arid soil hath ever been -A haunt of countless mournful memories, -As well in our day as in days of yore. -But never yet to Heaven it sent, I ween, -From its hard bosom purer souls than these, -Or braver bodies on its surface bore.” - -The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the -tidings they gave him of his comrade, and continuing his tale, he went -on to say: - -The Goletta and the fort being thus in their hands, the Turks gave -orders to dismantle the Goletta—for the fort was reduced to such a -state that there was nothing left to level—and to do the work more -quickly and easily they mined it in three places; but nowhere were they -able to blow up the part which seemed to be the least strong, that is -to say, the old walls, while all that remained standing of the new -fortifications that the Fratin had made came to the ground with the -greatest ease. Finally the fleet returned victorious and triumphant to -Constantinople, and a few months later died my master, El Uchali, -otherwise Uchali Fartax, which means in Turkish “the scabby renegade;” -for that he was; it is the practice with the Turks to name people from -some defect or virtue they may possess; the reason being that there are -among them only four surnames belonging to families tracing their -descent from the Ottoman house, and the others, as I have said, take -their names and surnames either from bodily blemishes or moral -qualities. This “scabby one” rowed at the oar as a slave of the Grand -Signor’s for fourteen years, and when over thirty-four years of age, in -resentment at having been struck by a Turk while at the oar, turned -renegade and renounced his faith in order to be able to revenge -himself; and such was his valour that, without owing his advancement to -the base ways and means by which most favourites of the Grand Signor -rise to power, he came to be king of Algiers, and afterwards -general-on-sea, which is the third place of trust in the realm. He was -a Calabrian by birth, and a worthy man morally, and he treated his -slaves with great humanity. He had three thousand of them, and after -his death they were divided, as he directed by his will, between the -Grand Signor (who is heir of all who die and shares with the children -of the deceased) and his renegades. I fell to the lot of a Venetian -renegade who, when a cabin boy on board a ship, had been taken by -Uchali and was so much beloved by him that he became one of his most -favoured youths. He came to be the most cruel renegade I ever saw: his -name was Hassan Aga, and he grew very rich and became king of Algiers. -With him I went there from Constantinople, rather glad to be so near -Spain, not that I intended to write to anyone about my unhappy lot, but -to try if fortune would be kinder to me in Algiers than in -Constantinople, where I had attempted in a thousand ways to escape -without ever finding a favourable time or chance; but in Algiers I -resolved to seek for other means of effecting the purpose I cherished -so dearly; for the hope of obtaining my liberty never deserted me; and -when in my plots and schemes and attempts the result did not answer my -expectations, without giving way to despair I immediately began to look -out for or conjure up some new hope to support me, however faint or -feeble it might be. - -In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the -Turks a baño in which they confine the Christian captives, as well -those that are the king’s as those belonging to private individuals, -and also what they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to -say the slaves of the municipality, who serve the city in the public -works and other employments; but captives of this kind recover their -liberty with great difficulty, for, as they are public property and -have no particular master, there is no one with whom to treat for their -ransom, even though they may have the means. To these baños, as I have -said, some private individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing -their captives, especially when they are to be ransomed; because there -they can keep them in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. -The king’s captives also, that are on ransom, do not go out to work -with the rest of the crew, unless when their ransom is delayed; for -then, to make them write for it more pressingly, they compel them to -work and go for wood, which is no light labour. - -I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that -I was a captain, although I declared my scanty means and want of -fortune, nothing could dissuade them from including me among the -gentlemen and those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, -more as a mark of this than to keep me safe, and so I passed my life in -that baño with several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked -out as held to ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we -suffered from hunger and scanty clothing, nothing distressed us so much -as hearing and seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheard-of -cruelties my master inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged -a man, impaled one, cut off the ears of another; and all with so little -provocation, or so entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he -did it merely for the sake of doing it, and because he was by nature -murderously disposed towards the whole human race. The only one that -fared at all well with him was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra -by name, to whom he never gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be -given, or addressed a hard word, although he had done things that will -dwell in the memory of the people there for many a year, and all to -recover his liberty; and for the least of the many things he did we all -dreaded that he would be impaled, and he himself was in fear of it more -than once; and only that time does not allow, I could tell you now -something of what that soldier did, that would interest and astonish -you much more than the narration of my own tale. - -To go on with my story; the courtyard of our prison was overlooked by -the windows of the house belonging to a wealthy Moor of high position; -and these, as is usual in Moorish houses, were rather loopholes than -windows, and besides were covered with thick and close lattice-work. It -so happened, then, that as I was one day on the terrace of our prison -with three other comrades, trying, to pass away the time, how far we -could leap with our chains, we being alone, for all the other -Christians had gone out to work, I chanced to raise my eyes, and from -one of these little closed windows I saw a reed appear with a cloth -attached to the end of it, and it kept waving to and fro, and moving as -if making signs to us to come and take it. We watched it, and one of -those who were with me went and stood under the reed to see whether -they would let it drop, or what they would do, but as he did so the -reed was raised and moved from side to side, as if they meant to say -“no” by a shake of the head. The Christian came back, and it was again -lowered, making the same movements as before. Another of my comrades -went, and with him the same happened as with the first, and then the -third went forward, but with the same result as the first and second. -Seeing this I did not like not to try my luck, and as soon as I came -under the reed it was dropped and fell inside the baño at my feet. I -hastened to untie the cloth, in which I perceived a knot, and in this -were ten cianis, which are coins of base gold, current among the Moors, -and each worth ten reals of our money. - -It is needless to say I rejoiced over this godsend, and my joy was not -less than my wonder as I strove to imagine how this good fortune could -have come to us, but to me specially; for the evident unwillingness to -drop the reed for any but me showed that it was for me the favour was -intended. I took my welcome money, broke the reed, and returned to the -terrace, and looking up at the window, I saw a very white hand put out -that opened and shut very quickly. From this we gathered or fancied -that it must be some woman living in that house that had done us this -kindness, and to show that we were grateful for it, we made salaams -after the fashion of the Moors, bowing the head, bending the body, and -crossing the arms on the breast. Shortly afterwards at the same window -a small cross made of reeds was put out and immediately withdrawn. This -sign led us to believe that some Christian woman was a captive in the -house, and that it was she who had been so good to us; but the -whiteness of the hand and the bracelets we had perceived made us -dismiss that idea, though we thought it might be one of the Christian -renegades whom their masters very often take as lawful wives, and -gladly, for they prefer them to the women of their own nation. In all -our conjectures we were wide of the truth; so from that time forward -our sole occupation was watching and gazing at the window where the -cross had appeared to us, as if it were our pole-star; but at least -fifteen days passed without our seeing either it or the hand, or any -other sign and though meanwhile we endeavoured with the utmost pains to -ascertain who it was that lived in the house, and whether there were -any Christian renegade in it, nobody could ever tell us anything more -than that he who lived there was a rich Moor of high position, Hadji -Morato by name, formerly alcaide of La Pata, an office of high dignity -among them. But when we least thought it was going to rain any more -cianis from that quarter, we saw the reed suddenly appear with another -cloth tied in a larger knot attached to it, and this at a time when, as -on the former occasion, the baño was deserted and unoccupied. - -We made trial as before, each of the same three going forward before I -did; but the reed was delivered to none but me, and on my approach it -was let drop. I untied the knot and I found forty Spanish gold crowns -with a paper written in Arabic, and at the end of the writing there was -a large cross drawn. I kissed the cross, took the crowns and returned -to the terrace, and we all made our salaams; again the hand appeared, I -made signs that I would read the paper, and then the window was closed. -We were all puzzled, though filled with joy at what had taken place; -and as none of us understood Arabic, great was our curiosity to know -what the paper contained, and still greater the difficulty of finding -someone to read it. At last I resolved to confide in a renegade, a -native of Murcia, who professed a very great friendship for me, and had -given pledges that bound him to keep any secret I might entrust to him; -for it is the custom with some renegades, when they intend to return to -Christian territory, to carry about them certificates from captives of -mark testifying, in whatever form they can, that such and such a -renegade is a worthy man who has always shown kindness to Christians, -and is anxious to escape on the first opportunity that may present -itself. Some obtain these testimonials with good intentions, others put -them to a cunning use; for when they go to pillage on Christian -territory, if they chance to be cast away, or taken prisoners, they -produce their certificates and say that from these papers may be seen -the object they came for, which was to remain on Christian ground, and -that it was to this end they joined the Turks in their foray. In this -way they escape the consequences of the first outburst and make their -peace with the Church before it does them any harm, and then when they -have the chance they return to Barbary to become what they were before. -Others, however, there are who procure these papers and make use of -them honestly, and remain on Christian soil. This friend of mine, then, -was one of these renegades that I have described; he had certificates -from all our comrades, in which we testified in his favour as strongly -as we could; and if the Moors had found the papers they would have -burned him alive. - -I knew that he understood Arabic very well, and could not only speak -but also write it; but before I disclosed the whole matter to him, I -asked him to read for me this paper which I had found by accident in a -hole in my cell. He opened it and remained some time examining it and -muttering to himself as he translated it. I asked him if he understood -it, and he told me he did perfectly well, and that if I wished him to -tell me its meaning word for word, I must give him pen and ink that he -might do it more satisfactorily. We at once gave him what he required, -and he set about translating it bit by bit, and when he had done he -said: - -“All that is here in Spanish is what the Moorish paper contains, and -you must bear in mind that when it says ‘Lela Marien’ it means ‘Our -Lady the Virgin Mary.’” - -We read the paper and it ran thus: - -“When I was a child my father had a slave who taught me to pray the -Christian prayer in my own language, and told me many things about Lela -Marien. The Christian died, and I know that she did not go to the fire, -but to Allah, because since then I have seen her twice, and she told me -to go to the land of the Christians to see Lela Marien, who had great -love for me. I know not how to go. I have seen many Christians, but -except thyself none has seemed to me to be a gentleman. I am young and -beautiful, and have plenty of money to take with me. See if thou canst -contrive how we may go, and if thou wilt thou shalt be my husband -there, and if thou wilt not it will not distress me, for Lela Marien -will find me someone to marry me. I myself have written this: have a -care to whom thou givest it to read: trust no Moor, for they are all -perfidious. I am greatly troubled on this account, for I would not have -thee confide in anyone, because if my father knew it he would at once -fling me down a well and cover me with stones. I will put a thread to -the reed; tie the answer to it, and if thou hast no one to write for -thee in Arabic, tell it to me by signs, for Lela Marien will make me -understand thee. She and Allah and this cross, which I often kiss as -the captive bade me, protect thee.” - -Judge, sirs, whether we had reason for surprise and joy at the words of -this paper; and both one and the other were so great, that the renegade -perceived that the paper had not been found by chance, but had been in -reality addressed to someone of us, and he begged us, if what he -suspected were the truth, to trust him and tell him all, for he would -risk his life for our freedom; and so saying he took out from his -breast a metal crucifix, and with many tears swore by the God the image -represented, in whom, sinful and wicked as he was, he truly and -faithfully believed, to be loyal to us and keep secret whatever we -chose to reveal to him; for he thought and almost foresaw that by means -of her who had written that paper, he and all of us would obtain our -liberty, and he himself obtain the object he so much desired, his -restoration to the bosom of the Holy Mother Church, from which by his -own sin and ignorance he was now severed like a corrupt limb. The -renegade said this with so many tears and such signs of repentance, -that with one consent we all agreed to tell him the whole truth of the -matter, and so we gave him a full account of all, without hiding -anything from him. We pointed out to him the window at which the reed -appeared, and he by that means took note of the house, and resolved to -ascertain with particular care who lived in it. We agreed also that it -would be advisable to answer the Moorish lady’s letter, and the -renegade without a moment’s delay took down the words I dictated to -him, which were exactly what I shall tell you, for nothing of -importance that took place in this affair has escaped my memory, or -ever will while life lasts. This, then, was the answer returned to the -Moorish lady: - -“The true Allah protect thee, Lady, and that blessed Marien who is the -true mother of God, and who has put it into thy heart to go to the land -of the Christians, because she loves thee. Entreat her that she be -pleased to show thee how thou canst execute the command she gives thee, -for she will, such is her goodness. On my own part, and on that of all -these Christians who are with me, I promise to do all that we can for -thee, even to death. Fail not to write to me and inform me what thou -dost mean to do, and I will always answer thee; for the great Allah has -given us a Christian captive who can speak and write thy language well, -as thou mayest see by this paper; without fear, therefore, thou canst -inform us of all thou wouldst. As to what thou sayest, that if thou -dost reach the land of the Christians thou wilt be my wife, I give thee -my promise upon it as a good Christian; and know that the Christians -keep their promises better than the Moors. Allah and Marien his mother -watch over thee, my Lady.” - -The paper being written and folded I waited two days until the baño was -empty as before, and immediately repaired to the usual walk on the -terrace to see if there were any sign of the reed, which was not long -in making its appearance. As soon as I saw it, although I could not -distinguish who put it out, I showed the paper as a sign to attach the -thread, but it was already fixed to the reed, and to it I tied the -paper; and shortly afterwards our star once more made its appearance -with the white flag of peace, the little bundle. It was dropped, and I -picked it up, and found in the cloth, in gold and silver coins of all -sorts, more than fifty crowns, which fifty times more strengthened our -joy and doubled our hope of gaining our liberty. That very night our -renegade returned and said he had learned that the Moor we had been -told of lived in that house, that his name was Hadji Morato, that he -was enormously rich, that he had one only daughter the heiress of all -his wealth, and that it was the general opinion throughout the city -that she was the most beautiful woman in Barbary, and that several of -the viceroys who came there had sought her for a wife, but that she had -been always unwilling to marry; and he had learned, moreover, that she -had a Christian slave who was now dead; all which agreed with the -contents of the paper. We immediately took counsel with the renegade as -to what means would have to be adopted in order to carry off the -Moorish lady and bring us all to Christian territory; and in the end it -was agreed that for the present we should wait for a second -communication from Zoraida (for that was the name of her who now -desires to be called Maria), because we saw clearly that she and no one -else could find a way out of all these difficulties. When we had -decided upon this the renegade told us not to be uneasy, for he would -lose his life or restore us to liberty. For four days the baño was -filled with people, for which reason the reed delayed its appearance -for four days, but at the end of that time, when the baño was, as it -generally was, empty, it appeared with the cloth so bulky that it -promised a happy birth. Reed and cloth came down to me, and I found -another paper and a hundred crowns in gold, without any other coin. The -renegade was present, and in our cell we gave him the paper to read, -which was to this effect: - -“I cannot think of a plan, señor, for our going to Spain, nor has Lela -Marien shown me one, though I have asked her. All that can be done is -for me to give you plenty of money in gold from this window. With it -ransom yourself and your friends, and let one of you go to the land of -the Christians, and there buy a vessel and come back for the others; -and he will find me in my father’s garden, which is at the Babazon gate -near the seashore, where I shall be all this summer with my father and -my servants. You can carry me away from there by night without any -danger, and bring me to the vessel. And remember thou art to be my -husband, else I will pray to Marien to punish thee. If thou canst not -trust anyone to go for the vessel, ransom thyself and do thou go, for I -know thou wilt return more surely than any other, as thou art a -gentleman and a Christian. Endeavour to make thyself acquainted with -the garden; and when I see thee walking yonder I shall know that the -baño is empty and I will give thee abundance of money. Allah protect -thee, señor.” - -These were the words and contents of the second paper, and on hearing -them, each declared himself willing to be the ransomed one, and -promised to go and return with scrupulous good faith; and I too made -the same offer; but to all this the renegade objected, saying that he -would not on any account consent to one being set free before all went -together, as experience had taught him how ill those who have been set -free keep promises which they made in captivity; for captives of -distinction frequently had recourse to this plan, paying the ransom of -one who was to go to Valencia or Majorca with money to enable him to -arm a bark and return for the others who had ransomed him, but who -never came back; for recovered liberty and the dread of losing it again -efface from the memory all the obligations in the world. And to prove -the truth of what he said, he told us briefly what had happened to a -certain Christian gentleman almost at that very time, the strangest -case that had ever occurred even there, where astonishing and -marvellous things are happening every instant. In short, he ended by -saying that what could and ought to be done was to give the money -intended for the ransom of one of us Christians to him, so that he -might with it buy a vessel there in Algiers under the pretence of -becoming a merchant and trader at Tetuan and along the coast; and when -master of the vessel, it would be easy for him to hit on some way of -getting us all out of the baño and putting us on board; especially if -the Moorish lady gave, as she said, money enough to ransom all, because -once free it would be the easiest thing in the world for us to embark -even in open day; but the greatest difficulty was that the Moors do not -allow any renegade to buy or own any craft, unless it be a large vessel -for going on roving expeditions, because they are afraid that anyone -who buys a small vessel, especially if he be a Spaniard, only wants it -for the purpose of escaping to Christian territory. This however he -could get over by arranging with a Tagarin Moor to go shares with him -in the purchase of the vessel, and in the profit on the cargo; and -under cover of this he could become master of the vessel, in which case -he looked upon all the rest as accomplished. But though to me and my -comrades it had seemed a better plan to send to Majorca for the vessel, -as the Moorish lady suggested, we did not dare to oppose him, fearing -that if we did not do as he said he would denounce us, and place us in -danger of losing all our lives if he were to disclose our dealings with -Zoraida, for whose life we would have all given our own. We therefore -resolved to put ourselves in the hands of God and in the renegade’s; -and at the same time an answer was given to Zoraida, telling her that -we would do all she recommended, for she had given as good advice as if -Lela Marien had delivered it, and that it depended on her alone whether -we were to defer the business or put it in execution at once. I renewed -my promise to be her husband; and thus the next day that the baño -chanced to be empty she at different times gave us by means of the reed -and cloth two thousand gold crowns and a paper in which she said that -the next Juma, that is to say Friday, she was going to her father’s -garden, but that before she went she would give us more money; and if -it were not enough we were to let her know, as she would give us as -much as we asked, for her father had so much he would not miss it, and -besides she kept all the keys. - -We at once gave the renegade five hundred crowns to buy the vessel, and -with eight hundred I ransomed myself, giving the money to a Valencian -merchant who happened to be in Algiers at the time, and who had me -released on his word, pledging it that on the arrival of the first ship -from Valencia he would pay my ransom; for if he had given the money at -once it would have made the king suspect that my ransom money had been -for a long time in Algiers, and that the merchant had for his own -advantage kept it secret. In fact my master was so difficult to deal -with that I dared not on any account pay down the money at once. The -Thursday before the Friday on which the fair Zoraida was to go to the -garden she gave us a thousand crowns more, and warned us of her -departure, begging me, if I were ransomed, to find out her father’s -garden at once, and by all means to seek an opportunity of going there -to see her. I answered in a few words that I would do so, and that she -must remember to commend us to Lela Marien with all the prayers the -captive had taught her. This having been done, steps were taken to -ransom our three comrades, so as to enable them to quit the baño, and -lest, seeing me ransomed and themselves not, though the money was -forthcoming, they should make a disturbance about it and the devil -should prompt them to do something that might injure Zoraida; for -though their position might be sufficient to relieve me from this -apprehension, nevertheless I was unwilling to run any risk in the -matter; and so I had them ransomed in the same way as I was, handing -over all the money to the merchant so that he might with safety and -confidence give security; without, however, confiding our arrangement -and secret to him, which might have been dangerous. - -CHAPTER XLI. -IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE STILL CONTINUES HIS ADVENTURES - -Before fifteen days were over our renegade had already purchased an -excellent vessel with room for more than thirty persons; and to make -the transaction safe and lend a colour to it, he thought it well to -make, as he did, a voyage to a place called Shershel, twenty leagues -from Algiers on the Oran side, where there is an extensive trade in -dried figs. Two or three times he made this voyage in company with the -Tagarin already mentioned. The Moors of Aragon are called Tagarins in -Barbary, and those of Granada Mudéjares; but in the Kingdom of Fez they -call the Mudéjares Elches, and they are the people the king chiefly -employs in war. To proceed: every time he passed with his vessel he -anchored in a cove that was not two crossbow shots from the garden -where Zoraida was waiting; and there the renegade, together with the -two Moorish lads that rowed, used purposely to station himself, either -going through his prayers, or else practising as a part what he meant -to perform in earnest. And thus he would go to Zoraida’s garden and ask -for fruit, which her father gave him, not knowing him; but though, as -he afterwards told me, he sought to speak to Zoraida, and tell her who -he was, and that by my orders he was to take her to the land of the -Christians, so that she might feel satisfied and easy, he had never -been able to do so; for the Moorish women do not allow themselves to be -seen by any Moor or Turk, unless their husband or father bid them: with -Christian captives they permit freedom of intercourse and -communication, even more than might be considered proper. But for my -part I should have been sorry if he had spoken to her, for perhaps it -might have alarmed her to find her affairs talked of by renegades. But -God, who ordered it otherwise, afforded no opportunity for our -renegade’s well-meant purpose; and he, seeing how safely he could go to -Shershel and return, and anchor when and how and where he liked, and -that the Tagarin his partner had no will but his, and that, now I was -ransomed, all we wanted was to find some Christians to row, told me to -look out for any I should be willing to take with me, over and above -those who had been ransomed, and to engage them for the next Friday, -which he fixed upon for our departure. On this I spoke to twelve -Spaniards, all stout rowers, and such as could most easily leave the -city; but it was no easy matter to find so many just then, because -there were twenty ships out on a cruise and they had taken all the -rowers with them; and these would not have been found were it not that -their master remained at home that summer without going to sea in order -to finish a galliot that he had upon the stocks. To these men I said -nothing more than that the next Friday in the evening they were to come -out stealthily one by one and hang about Hadji Morato’s garden, waiting -for me there until I came. These directions I gave each one separately, -with orders that if they saw any other Christians there they were not -to say anything to them except that I had directed them to wait at that -spot. - -This preliminary having been settled, another still more necessary step -had to be taken, which was to let Zoraida know how matters stood that -she might be prepared and forewarned, so as not to be taken by surprise -if we were suddenly to seize upon her before she thought the -Christians’ vessel could have returned. I determined, therefore, to go -to the garden and try if I could speak to her; and the day before my -departure I went there under the pretence of gathering herbs. The first -person I met was her father, who addressed me in the language that all -over Barbary and even in Constantinople is the medium between captives -and Moors, and is neither Morisco nor Castilian, nor of any other -nation, but a mixture of all languages, by means of which we can all -understand one another. In this sort of language, I say, he asked me -what I wanted in his garden, and to whom I belonged. I replied that I -was a slave of the Arnaut Mami (for I knew as a certainty that he was a -very great friend of his), and that I wanted some herbs to make a -salad. He asked me then whether I were on ransom or not, and what my -master demanded for me. While these questions and answers were -proceeding, the fair Zoraida, who had already perceived me some time -before, came out of the house in the garden, and as Moorish women are -by no means particular about letting themselves be seen by Christians, -or, as I have said before, at all coy, she had no hesitation in coming -to where her father stood with me; moreover her father, seeing her -approaching slowly, called to her to come. It would be beyond my power -now to describe to you the great beauty, the high-bred air, the -brilliant attire of my beloved Zoraida as she presented herself before -my eyes. I will content myself with saying that more pearls hung from -her fair neck, her ears, and her hair than she had hairs on her head. -On her ankles, which as is customary were bare, she had carcajes (for -so bracelets or anklets are called in Morisco) of the purest gold, set -with so many diamonds that she told me afterwards her father valued -them at ten thousand doubloons, and those she had on her wrists were -worth as much more. The pearls were in profusion and very fine, for the -highest display and adornment of the Moorish women is decking -themselves with rich pearls and seed-pearls; and of these there are -therefore more among the Moors than among any other people. Zoraida’s -father had to the reputation of possessing a great number, and the -purest in all Algiers, and of possessing also more than two hundred -thousand Spanish crowns; and she, who is now mistress of me only, was -mistress of all this. Whether thus adorned she would have been -beautiful or not, and what she must have been in her prosperity, may be -imagined from the beauty remaining to her after so many hardships; for, -as everyone knows, the beauty of some women has its times and its -seasons, and is increased or diminished by chance causes; and naturally -the emotions of the mind will heighten or impair it, though indeed more -frequently they totally destroy it. In a word she presented herself -before me that day attired with the utmost splendour, and supremely -beautiful; at any rate, she seemed to me the most beautiful object I -had ever seen; and when, besides, I thought of all I owed to her I felt -as though I had before me some heavenly being come to earth to bring me -relief and happiness. - -As she approached her father told her in his own language that I was a -captive belonging to his friend the Arnaut Mami, and that I had come -for salad. - -She took up the conversation, and in that mixture of tongues I have -spoken of she asked me if I was a gentleman, and why I was not -ransomed. - -I answered that I was already ransomed, and that by the price it might -be seen what value my master set on me, as they had given one thousand -five hundred zoltanis for me; to which she replied, “Hadst thou been my -father’s, I can tell thee, I would not have let him part with thee for -twice as much, for you Christians always tell lies about yourselves and -make yourselves out poor to cheat the Moors.” - -“That may be, lady,” said I; “but indeed I dealt truthfully with my -master, as I do and mean to do with everybody in the world.” - -“And when dost thou go?” said Zoraida. - -“To-morrow, I think,” said I, “for there is a vessel here from France -which sails to-morrow, and I think I shall go in her.” - -“Would it not be better,” said Zoraida, “to wait for the arrival of -ships from Spain and go with them and not with the French who are not -your friends?” - -“No,” said I; “though if there were intelligence that a vessel were now -coming from Spain it is true I might, perhaps, wait for it; however, it -is more likely I shall depart to-morrow, for the longing I feel to -return to my country and to those I love is so great that it will not -allow me to wait for another opportunity, however more convenient, if -it be delayed.” - -“No doubt thou art married in thine own country,” said Zoraida, “and -for that reason thou art anxious to go and see thy wife.” - -“I am not married,” I replied, “but I have given my promise to marry on -my arrival there.” - -“And is the lady beautiful to whom thou hast given it?” said Zoraida. - -“So beautiful,” said I, “that, to describe her worthily and tell thee -the truth, she is very like thee.” - -At this her father laughed very heartily and said, “By Allah, -Christian, she must be very beautiful if she is like my daughter, who -is the most beautiful woman in all this kingdom: only look at her well -and thou wilt see I am telling the truth.” - -Zoraida’s father as the better linguist helped to interpret most of -these words and phrases, for though she spoke the bastard language, -that, as I have said, is employed there, she expressed her meaning more -by signs than by words. - -While we were still engaged in this conversation, a Moor came running -up, exclaiming that four Turks had leaped over the fence or wall of the -garden, and were gathering the fruit though it was not yet ripe. The -old man was alarmed and Zoraida too, for the Moors commonly, and, so to -speak, instinctively have a dread of the Turks, but particularly of the -soldiers, who are so insolent and domineering to the Moors who are -under their power that they treat them worse than if they were their -slaves. Her father said to Zoraida, “Daughter, retire into the house -and shut thyself in while I go and speak to these dogs; and thou, -Christian, pick thy herbs, and go in peace, and Allah bring thee safe -to thy own country.” - -I bowed, and he went away to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with -Zoraida, who made as if she were about to retire as her father bade -her; but the moment he was concealed by the trees of the garden, -turning to me with her eyes full of tears she said, “Tameji, cristiano, -tameji?” that is to say, “Art thou going, Christian, art thou going?” - -I made answer, “Yes, lady, but not without thee, come what may: be on -the watch for me on the next Juma, and be not alarmed when thou seest -us; for most surely we shall go to the land of the Christians.” - -This I said in such a way that she understood perfectly all that passed -between us, and throwing her arm round my neck she began with feeble -steps to move towards the house; but as fate would have it (and it -might have been very unfortunate if Heaven had not otherwise ordered -it), just as we were moving on in the manner and position I have -described, with her arm round my neck, her father, as he returned after -having sent away the Turks, saw how we were walking and we perceived -that he saw us; but Zoraida, ready and quickwitted, took care not to -remove her arm from my neck, but on the contrary drew closer to me and -laid her head on my breast, bending her knees a little and showing all -the signs and tokens of fainting, while I at the same time made it seem -as though I were supporting her against my will. Her father came -running up to where we were, and seeing his daughter in this state -asked what was the matter with her; she, however, giving no answer, he -said, “No doubt she has fainted in alarm at the entrance of those -dogs,” and taking her from mine he drew her to his own breast, while -she sighing, her eyes still wet with tears, said again, “Ameji, -cristiano, ameji”—“Go, Christian, go.” To this her father replied, -“There is no need, daughter, for the Christian to go, for he has done -thee no harm, and the Turks have now gone; feel no alarm, there is -nothing to hurt thee, for as I say, the Turks at my request have gone -back the way they came.” - -“It was they who terrified her, as thou hast said, señor,” said I to -her father; “but since she tells me to go, I have no wish to displease -her: peace be with thee, and with thy leave I will come back to this -garden for herbs if need be, for my master says there are nowhere -better herbs for salad than here.” - -“Come back for any thou hast need of,” replied Hadji Morato; “for my -daughter does not speak thus because she is displeased with thee or any -Christian: she only meant that the Turks should go, not thou; or that -it was time for thee to look for thy herbs.” - -With this I at once took my leave of both; and she, looking as though -her heart were breaking, retired with her father. While pretending to -look for herbs I made the round of the garden at my ease, and studied -carefully all the approaches and outlets, and the fastenings of the -house and everything that could be taken advantage of to make our task -easy. - -Having done so I went and gave an account of all that had taken place -to the renegade and my comrades, and looked forward with impatience to -the hour when, all fear at an end, I should find myself in possession -of the prize which fortune held out to me in the fair and lovely -Zoraida. The time passed at length, and the appointed day we so longed -for arrived; and, all following out the arrangement and plan which, -after careful consideration and many a long discussion, we had decided -upon, we succeeded as fully as we could have wished; for on the Friday -following the day upon which I spoke to Zoraida in the garden, the -renegade anchored his vessel at nightfall almost opposite the spot -where she was. The Christians who were to row were ready and in hiding -in different places round about, all waiting for me, anxious and -elated, and eager to attack the vessel they had before their eyes; for -they did not know the renegade’s plan, but expected that they were to -gain their liberty by force of arms and by killing the Moors who were -on board the vessel. As soon, then, as I and my comrades made our -appearance, all those that were in hiding seeing us came and joined us. -It was now the time when the city gates are shut, and there was no one -to be seen in all the space outside. When we were collected together we -debated whether it would be better first to go for Zoraida, or to make -prisoners of the Moorish rowers who rowed in the vessel; but while we -were still uncertain our renegade came up asking us what kept us, as it -was now the time, and all the Moors were off their guard and most of -them asleep. We told him why we hesitated, but he said it was of more -importance first to secure the vessel, which could be done with the -greatest ease and without any danger, and then we could go for Zoraida. -We all approved of what he said, and so without further delay, guided -by him we made for the vessel, and he leaping on board first, drew his -cutlass and said in Morisco, “Let no one stir from this if he does not -want it to cost him his life.” By this almost all the Christians were -on board, and the Moors, who were fainthearted, hearing their captain -speak in this way, were cowed, and without any one of them taking to -his arms (and indeed they had few or hardly any) they submitted without -saying a word to be bound by the Christians, who quickly secured them, -threatening them that if they raised any kind of outcry they would be -all put to the sword. This having been accomplished, and half of our -party being left to keep guard over them, the rest of us, again taking -the renegade as our guide, hastened towards Hadji Morato’s garden, and -as good luck would have it, on trying the gate it opened as easily as -if it had not been locked; and so, quite quietly and in silence, we -reached the house without being perceived by anybody. The lovely -Zoraida was watching for us at a window, and as soon as she perceived -that there were people there, she asked in a low voice if we were -“Nizarani,” as much as to say or ask if we were Christians. I answered -that we were, and begged her to come down. As soon as she recognised me -she did not delay an instant, but without answering a word came down -immediately, opened the door and presented herself before us all, so -beautiful and so richly attired that I cannot attempt to describe her. -The moment I saw her I took her hand and kissed it, and the renegade -and my two comrades did the same; and the rest, who knew nothing of the -circumstances, did as they saw us do, for it only seemed as if we were -returning thanks to her, and recognising her as the giver of our -liberty. The renegade asked her in the Morisco language if her father -was in the house. She replied that he was and that he was asleep. - -“Then it will be necessary to waken him and take him with us,” said the -renegade, “and everything of value in this fair mansion.” - -“Nay,” said she, “my father must not on any account be touched, and -there is nothing in the house except what I shall take, and that will -be quite enough to enrich and satisfy all of you; wait a little and you -shall see,” and so saying she went in, telling us she would return -immediately and bidding us keep quiet without making any noise. - -I asked the renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, -I declared that nothing should be done except in accordance with the -wishes of Zoraida, who now came back with a little trunk so full of -gold crowns that she could scarcely carry it. Unfortunately her father -awoke while this was going on, and hearing a noise in the garden, came -to the window, and at once perceiving that all those who were there -were Christians, raising a prodigiously loud outcry, he began to call -out in Arabic, “Christians, Christians! thieves, thieves!” by which -cries we were all thrown into the greatest fear and embarrassment; but -the renegade seeing the danger we were in and how important it was for -him to effect his purpose before we were heard, mounted with the utmost -quickness to where Hadji Morato was, and with him went some of our -party; I, however, did not dare to leave Zoraida, who had fallen almost -fainting in my arms. To be brief, those who had gone upstairs acted so -promptly that in an instant they came down, carrying Hadji Morato with -his hands bound and a napkin tied over his mouth, which prevented him -from uttering a word, warning him at the same time that to attempt to -speak would cost him his life. When his daughter caught sight of him -she covered her eyes so as not to see him, and her father was -horror-stricken, not knowing how willingly she had placed herself in -our hands. But it was now most essential for us to be on the move, and -carefully and quickly we regained the vessel, where those who had -remained on board were waiting for us in apprehension of some mishap -having befallen us. It was barely two hours after night set in when we -were all on board the vessel, where the cords were removed from the -hands of Zoraida’s father, and the napkin from his mouth; but the -renegade once more told him not to utter a word, or they would take his -life. He, when he saw his daughter there, began to sigh piteously, and -still more when he perceived that I held her closely embraced and that -she lay quiet without resisting or complaining, or showing any -reluctance; nevertheless he remained silent lest they should carry into -effect the repeated threats the renegade had addressed to him. - -Finding herself now on board, and that we were about to give way with -the oars, Zoraida, seeing her father there, and the other Moors bound, -bade the renegade ask me to do her the favour of releasing the Moors -and setting her father at liberty, for she would rather drown herself -in the sea than suffer a father that had loved her so dearly to be -carried away captive before her eyes and on her account. The renegade -repeated this to me, and I replied that I was very willing to do so; -but he replied that it was not advisable, because if they were left -there they would at once raise the country and stir up the city, and -lead to the despatch of swift cruisers in pursuit, and our being taken, -by sea or land, without any possibility of escape; and that all that -could be done was to set them free on the first Christian ground we -reached. On this point we all agreed; and Zoraida, to whom it was -explained, together with the reasons that prevented us from doing at -once what she desired, was satisfied likewise; and then in glad silence -and with cheerful alacrity each of our stout rowers took his oar, and -commending ourselves to God with all our hearts, we began to shape our -course for the island of Majorca, the nearest Christian land. Owing, -however, to the Tramontana rising a little, and the sea growing -somewhat rough, it was impossible for us to keep a straight course for -Majorca, and we were compelled to coast in the direction of Oran, not -without great uneasiness on our part lest we should be observed from -the town of Shershel, which lies on that coast, not more than sixty -miles from Algiers. Moreover we were afraid of meeting on that course -one of the galliots that usually come with goods from Tetuan; although -each of us for himself and all of us together felt confident that, if -we were to meet a merchant galliot, so that it were not a cruiser, not -only should we not be lost, but that we should take a vessel in which -we could more safely accomplish our voyage. As we pursued our course -Zoraida kept her head between my hands so as not to see her father, and -I felt that she was praying to Lela Marien to help us. - -We might have made about thirty miles when daybreak found us some three -musket-shots off the land, which seemed to us deserted, and without -anyone to see us. For all that, however, by hard rowing we put out a -little to sea, for it was now somewhat calmer, and having gained about -two leagues the word was given to row by batches, while we ate -something, for the vessel was well provided; but the rowers said it was -not a time to take any rest; let food be served out to those who were -not rowing, but they would not leave their oars on any account. This -was done, but now a stiff breeze began to blow, which obliged us to -leave off rowing and make sail at once and steer for Oran, as it was -impossible to make any other course. All this was done very promptly, -and under sail we ran more than eight miles an hour without any fear, -except that of coming across some vessel out on a roving expedition. We -gave the Moorish rowers some food, and the renegade comforted them by -telling them that they were not held as captives, as we should set them -free on the first opportunity. - -The same was said to Zoraida’s father, who replied, “Anything else, -Christian, I might hope for or think likely from your generosity and -good behaviour, but do not think me so simple as to imagine you will -give me my liberty; for you would have never exposed yourselves to the -danger of depriving me of it only to restore it to me so generously, -especially as you know who I am and the sum you may expect to receive -on restoring it; and if you will only name that, I here offer you all -you require for myself and for my unhappy daughter there; or else for -her alone, for she is the greatest and most precious part of my soul.” - -As he said this he began to weep so bitterly that he filled us all with -compassion and forced Zoraida to look at him, and when she saw him -weeping she was so moved that she rose from my feet and ran to throw -her arms round him, and pressing her face to his, they both gave way to -such an outburst of tears that several of us were constrained to keep -them company. - -But when her father saw her in full dress and with all her jewels about -her, he said to her in his own language, “What means this, my daughter? -Last night, before this terrible misfortune in which we are plunged -befell us, I saw thee in thy everyday and indoor garments; and now, -without having had time to attire thyself, and without my bringing thee -any joyful tidings to furnish an occasion for adorning and bedecking -thyself, I see thee arrayed in the finest attire it would be in my -power to give thee when fortune was most kind to us. Answer me this; -for it causes me greater anxiety and surprise than even this misfortune -itself.” - -The renegade interpreted to us what the Moor said to his daughter; she, -however, returned him no answer. But when he observed in one corner of -the vessel the little trunk in which she used to keep her jewels, which -he well knew he had left in Algiers and had not brought to the garden, -he was still more amazed, and asked her how that trunk had come into -our hands, and what there was in it. To which the renegade, without -waiting for Zoraida to reply, made answer, “Do not trouble thyself by -asking thy daughter Zoraida so many questions, señor, for the one -answer I will give thee will serve for all; I would have thee know that -she is a Christian, and that it is she who has been the file for our -chains and our deliverer from captivity. She is here of her own free -will, as glad, I imagine, to find herself in this position as he who -escapes from darkness into the light, from death to life, and from -suffering to glory.” - -“Daughter, is this true, what he says?” cried the Moor. - -“It is,” replied Zoraida. - -“That thou art in truth a Christian,” said the old man, “and that thou -hast given thy father into the power of his enemies?” - -To which Zoraida made answer, “A Christian I am, but it is not I who -have placed thee in this position, for it never was my wish to leave -thee or do thee harm, but only to do good to myself.” - -“And what good hast thou done thyself, daughter?” said he. - -“Ask thou that,” said she, “of Lela Marien, for she can tell thee -better than I.” - -The Moor had hardly heard these words when with marvellous quickness he -flung himself headforemost into the sea, where no doubt he would have -been drowned had not the long and full dress he wore held him up for a -little on the surface of the water. Zoraida cried aloud to us to save -him, and we all hastened to help, and seizing him by his robe we drew -him in half drowned and insensible, at which Zoraida was in such -distress that she wept over him as piteously and bitterly as though he -were already dead. We turned him upon his face and he voided a great -quantity of water, and at the end of two hours came to himself. -Meanwhile, the wind having changed we were compelled to head for the -land, and ply our oars to avoid being driven on shore; but it was our -good fortune to reach a creek that lies on one side of a small -promontory or cape, called by the Moors that of the “Cava rumia,” which -in our language means “the wicked Christian woman;” for it is a -tradition among them that La Cava, through whom Spain was lost, lies -buried at that spot; “cava” in their language meaning “wicked woman,” -and “rumia” “Christian;” moreover, they count it unlucky to anchor -there when necessity compels them, and they never do so otherwise. For -us, however, it was not the resting-place of the wicked woman but a -haven of safety for our relief, so much had the sea now got up. We -posted a look-out on shore, and never let the oars out of our hands, -and ate of the stores the renegade had laid in, imploring God and Our -Lady with all our hearts to help and protect us, that we might give a -happy ending to a beginning so prosperous. At the entreaty of Zoraida -orders were given to set on shore her father and the other Moors who -were still bound, for she could not endure, nor could her tender heart -bear to see her father in bonds and her fellow-countrymen prisoners -before her eyes. We promised her to do this at the moment of departure, -for as it was uninhabited we ran no risk in releasing them at that -place. - -Our prayers were not so far in vain as to be unheard by Heaven, for -after a while the wind changed in our favour, and made the sea calm, -inviting us once more to resume our voyage with a good heart. Seeing -this we unbound the Moors, and one by one put them on shore, at which -they were filled with amazement; but when we came to land Zoraida’s -father, who had now completely recovered his senses, he said: - -“Why is it, think ye, Christians, that this wicked woman is rejoiced at -your giving me my liberty? Think ye it is because of the affection she -bears me? Nay verily, it is only because of the hindrance my presence -offers to the execution of her base designs. And think not that it is -her belief that yours is better than ours that has led her to change -her religion; it is only because she knows that immodesty is more -freely practised in your country than in ours.” Then turning to -Zoraida, while I and another of the Christians held him fast by both -arms, lest he should do some mad act, he said to her, “Infamous girl, -misguided maiden, whither in thy blindness and madness art thou going -in the hands of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour -when I begot thee! Cursed the luxury and indulgence in which I reared -thee!” - -But seeing that he was not likely soon to cease I made haste to put him -on shore, and thence he continued his maledictions and lamentations -aloud; calling on Mohammed to pray to Allah to destroy us, to confound -us, to make an end of us; and when, in consequence of having made sail, -we could no longer hear what he said we could see what he did; how he -plucked out his beard and tore his hair and lay writhing on the ground. -But once he raised his voice to such a pitch that we were able to hear -what he said. “Come back, dear daughter, come back to shore; I forgive -thee all; let those men have the money, for it is theirs now, and come -back to comfort thy sorrowing father, who will yield up his life on -this barren strand if thou dost leave him.” - -All this Zoraida heard, and heard with sorrow and tears, and all she -could say in answer was, “Allah grant that Lela Marien, who has made me -become a Christian, give thee comfort in thy sorrow, my father. Allah -knows that I could not do otherwise than I have done, and that these -Christians owe nothing to my will; for even had I wished not to -accompany them, but remain at home, it would have been impossible for -me, so eagerly did my soul urge me on to the accomplishment of this -purpose, which I feel to be as righteous as to thee, dear father, it -seems wicked.” - -But neither could her father hear her nor we see him when she said -this; and so, while I consoled Zoraida, we turned our attention to our -voyage, in which a breeze from the right point so favoured us that we -made sure of finding ourselves off the coast of Spain on the morrow by -daybreak. But, as good seldom or never comes pure and unmixed, without -being attended or followed by some disturbing evil that gives a shock -to it, our fortune, or perhaps the curses which the Moor had hurled at -his daughter (for whatever kind of father they may come from these are -always to be dreaded), brought it about that when we were now in -mid-sea, and the night about three hours spent, as we were running with -all sail set and oars lashed, for the favouring breeze saved us the -trouble of using them, we saw by the light of the moon, which shone -brilliantly, a square-rigged vessel in full sail close to us, luffing -up and standing across our course, and so close that we had to strike -sail to avoid running foul of her, while they too put the helm hard up -to let us pass. They came to the side of the ship to ask who we were, -whither we were bound, and whence we came, but as they asked this in -French our renegade said, “Let no one answer, for no doubt these are -French corsairs who plunder all comers.” - -Acting on this warning no one answered a word, but after we had gone a -little ahead, and the vessel was now lying to leeward, suddenly they -fired two guns, and apparently both loaded with chain-shot, for with -one they cut our mast in half and brought down both it and the sail -into the sea, and the other, discharged at the same moment, sent a ball -into our vessel amidships, staving her in completely, but without doing -any further damage. We, however, finding ourselves sinking began to -shout for help and call upon those in the ship to pick us up as we were -beginning to fill. They then lay to, and lowering a skiff or boat, as -many as a dozen Frenchmen, well armed with match-locks, and their -matches burning, got into it and came alongside; and seeing how few we -were, and that our vessel was going down, they took us in, telling us -that this had come to us through our incivility in not giving them an -answer. Our renegade took the trunk containing Zoraida’s wealth and -dropped it into the sea without anyone perceiving what he did. In short -we went on board with the Frenchmen, who, after having ascertained all -they wanted to know about us, rifled us of everything we had, as if -they had been our bitterest enemies, and from Zoraida they took even -the anklets she wore on her feet; but the distress they caused her did -not distress me so much as the fear I was in that from robbing her of -her rich and precious jewels they would proceed to rob her of the most -precious jewel that she valued more than all. The desires, however, of -those people do not go beyond money, but of that their covetousness is -insatiable, and on this occasion it was carried to such a pitch that -they would have taken even the clothes we wore as captives if they had -been worth anything to them. It was the advice of some of them to throw -us all into the sea wrapped up in a sail; for their purpose was to -trade at some of the ports of Spain, giving themselves out as Bretons, -and if they brought us alive they would be punished as soon as the -robbery was discovered; but the captain (who was the one who had -plundered my beloved Zoraida) said he was satisfied with the prize he -had got, and that he would not touch at any Spanish port, but pass the -Straits of Gibraltar by night, or as best he could, and make for La -Rochelle, from which he had sailed. So they agreed by common consent to -give us the skiff belonging to their ship and all we required for the -short voyage that remained to us, and this they did the next day on -coming in sight of the Spanish coast, with which, and the joy we felt, -all our sufferings and miseries were as completely forgotten as if they -had never been endured by us, such is the delight of recovering lost -liberty. - -It may have been about mid-day when they placed us in the boat, giving -us two kegs of water and some biscuit; and the captain, moved by I know -not what compassion, as the lovely Zoraida was about to embark, gave -her some forty gold crowns, and would not permit his men to take from -her those same garments which she has on now. We got into the boat, -returning them thanks for their kindness to us, and showing ourselves -grateful rather than indignant. They stood out to sea, steering for the -straits; we, without looking to any compass save the land we had before -us, set ourselves to row with such energy that by sunset we were so -near that we might easily, we thought, land before the night was far -advanced. But as the moon did not show that night, and the sky was -clouded, and as we knew not whereabouts we were, it did not seem to us -a prudent thing to make for the shore, as several of us advised, saying -we ought to run ourselves ashore even if it were on rocks and far from -any habitation, for in this way we should be relieved from the -apprehensions we naturally felt of the prowling vessels of the Tetuan -corsairs, who leave Barbary at nightfall and are on the Spanish coast -by daybreak, where they commonly take some prize, and then go home to -sleep in their own houses. But of the conflicting counsels the one -which was adopted was that we should approach gradually, and land where -we could if the sea were calm enough to permit us. This was done, and a -little before midnight we drew near to the foot of a huge and lofty -mountain, not so close to the sea but that it left a narrow space on -which to land conveniently. We ran our boat up on the sand, and all -sprang out and kissed the ground, and with tears of joyful satisfaction -returned thanks to God our Lord for all his incomparable goodness to us -on our voyage. We took out of the boat the provisions it contained, and -drew it up on the shore, and then climbed a long way up the mountain, -for even there we could not feel easy in our hearts, or persuade -ourselves that it was Christian soil that was now under our feet. - -The dawn came, more slowly, I think, than we could have wished; we -completed the ascent in order to see if from the summit any habitation -or any shepherds’ huts could be discovered, but strain our eyes as we -might, neither dwelling, nor human being, nor path nor road could we -perceive. However, we determined to push on farther, as it could not -but be that ere long we must see someone who could tell us where we -were. But what distressed me most was to see Zoraida going on foot over -that rough ground; for though I once carried her on my shoulders, she -was more wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest; and so she -would never again allow me to undergo the exertion, and went on very -patiently and cheerfully, while I led her by the hand. We had gone -rather less than a quarter of a league when the sound of a little bell -fell on our ears, a clear proof that there were flocks hard by, and -looking about carefully to see if any were within view, we observed a -young shepherd tranquilly and unsuspiciously trimming a stick with his -knife at the foot of a cork tree. We called to him, and he, raising his -head, sprang nimbly to his feet, for, as we afterwards learned, the -first who presented themselves to his sight were the renegade and -Zoraida, and seeing them in Moorish dress he imagined that all the -Moors of Barbary were upon him; and plunging with marvellous swiftness -into the thicket in front of him, he began to raise a prodigious -outcry, exclaiming, “The Moors—the Moors have landed! To arms, to -arms!” We were all thrown into perplexity by these cries, not knowing -what to do; but reflecting that the shouts of the shepherd would raise -the country and that the mounted coast-guard would come at once to see -what was the matter, we agreed that the renegade must strip off his -Turkish garments and put on a captive’s jacket or coat which one of our -party gave him at once, though he himself was reduced to his shirt; and -so commending ourselves to God, we followed the same road which we saw -the shepherd take, expecting every moment that the coast-guard would be -down upon us. Nor did our expectation deceive us, for two hours had not -passed when, coming out of the brushwood into the open ground, we -perceived some fifty mounted men swiftly approaching us at a -hand-gallop. As soon as we saw them we stood still, waiting for them; -but as they came close and, instead of the Moors they were in quest of, -saw a set of poor Christians, they were taken aback, and one of them -asked if it could be we who were the cause of the shepherd having -raised the call to arms. I said “Yes,” and as I was about to explain to -him what had occurred, and whence we came and who we were, one of the -Christians of our party recognised the horseman who had put the -question to us, and before I could say anything more he exclaimed: - -“Thanks be to God, sirs, for bringing us to such good quarters; for, if -I do not deceive myself, the ground we stand on is that of Velez Malaga -unless, indeed, all my years of captivity have made me unable to -recollect that you, señor, who ask who we are, are Pedro de Bustamante, -my uncle.” - -The Christian captive had hardly uttered these words, when the horseman -threw himself off his horse, and ran to embrace the young man, crying: - -“Nephew of my soul and life! I recognise thee now; and long have I -mourned thee as dead, I, and my sister, thy mother, and all thy kin -that are still alive, and whom God has been pleased to preserve that -they may enjoy the happiness of seeing thee. We knew long since that -thou wert in Algiers, and from the appearance of thy garments and those -of all this company, I conclude that ye have had a miraculous -restoration to liberty.” - -“It is true,” replied the young man, “and by-and-by we will tell you -all.” - -As soon as the horsemen understood that we were Christian captives, -they dismounted from their horses, and each offered his to carry us to -the city of Velez Malaga, which was a league and a half distant. Some -of them went to bring the boat to the city, we having told them where -we had left it; others took us up behind them, and Zoraida was placed -on the horse of the young man’s uncle. The whole town came out to meet -us, for they had by this time heard of our arrival from one who had -gone on in advance. They were not astonished to see liberated captives -or captive Moors, for people on that coast are well used to see both -one and the other; but they were astonished at the beauty of Zoraida, -which was just then heightened, as well by the exertion of travelling -as by joy at finding herself on Christian soil, and relieved of all -fear of being lost; for this had brought such a glow upon her face, -that unless my affection for her were deceiving me, I would venture to -say that there was not a more beautiful creature in the world—at least, -that I had ever seen. We went straight to the church to return thanks -to God for the mercies we had received, and when Zoraida entered it she -said there were faces there like Lela Marien’s. We told her they were -her images; and as well as he could the renegade explained to her what -they meant, that she might adore them as if each of them were the very -same Lela Marien that had spoken to her; and she, having great -intelligence and a quick and clear instinct, understood at once all he -said to her about them. Thence they took us away and distributed us all -in different houses in the town; but as for the renegade, Zoraida, and -myself, the Christian who came with us brought us to the house of his -parents, who had a fair share of the gifts of fortune, and treated us -with as much kindness as they did their own son. - -We remained six days in Velez, at the end of which the renegade, having -informed himself of all that was requisite for him to do, set out for -the city of Granada to restore himself to the sacred bosom of the -Church through the medium of the Holy Inquisition. The other released -captives took their departures, each the way that seemed best to him, -and Zoraida and I were left alone, with nothing more than the crowns -which the courtesy of the Frenchman had bestowed upon Zoraida, out of -which I bought the beast on which she rides; and, I for the present -attending her as her father and squire and not as her husband, we are -now going to ascertain if my father is living, or if any of my brothers -has had better fortune than mine has been; though, as Heaven has made -me the companion of Zoraida, I think no other lot could be assigned to -me, however happy, that I would rather have. The patience with which -she endures the hardships that poverty brings with it, and the -eagerness she shows to become a Christian, are such that they fill me -with admiration, and bind me to serve her all my life; though the -happiness I feel in seeing myself hers, and her mine, is disturbed and -marred by not knowing whether I shall find any corner to shelter her in -my own country, or whether time and death may not have made such -changes in the fortunes and lives of my father and brothers, that I -shall hardly find anyone who knows me, if they are not alive. - -I have no more of my story to tell you, gentlemen; whether it be an -interesting or a curious one let your better judgments decide; all I -can say is I would gladly have told it to you more briefly; although my -fear of wearying you has made me leave out more than one circumstance. - -CHAPTER XLII. -WHICH TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF SEVERAL -OTHER THINGS WORTH KNOWING - -With these words the captive held his peace, and Don Fernando said to -him, “In truth, captain, the manner in which you have related this -remarkable adventure has been such as befitted the novelty and -strangeness of the matter. The whole story is curious and uncommon, and -abounds with incidents that fill the hearers with wonder and -astonishment; and so great is the pleasure we have found in listening -to it that we should be glad if it were to begin again, even though -to-morrow were to find us still occupied with the same tale.” And while -he said this Cardenio and the rest of them offered to be of service to -him in any way that lay in their power, and in words and language so -kindly and sincere that the captain was much gratified by their -good-will. In particular Don Fernando offered, if he would go back with -him, to get his brother the marquis to become godfather at the baptism -of Zoraida, and on his own part to provide him with the means of making -his appearance in his own country with the credit and comfort he was -entitled to. For all this the captive returned thanks very courteously, -although he would not accept any of their generous offers. - -By this time night closed in, and as it did, there came up to the inn a -coach attended by some men on horseback, who demanded accommodation; to -which the landlady replied that there was not a hand’s breadth of the -whole inn unoccupied. - -“Still, for all that,” said one of those who had entered on horseback, -“room must be found for his lordship the Judge here.” - -At this name the landlady was taken aback, and said, “Señor, the fact -is I have no beds; but if his lordship the Judge carries one with him, -as no doubt he does, let him come in and welcome; for my husband and I -will give up our room to accommodate his worship.” - -“Very good, so be it,” said the squire; but in the meantime a man had -got out of the coach whose dress indicated at a glance the office and -post he held, for the long robe with ruffled sleeves that he wore -showed that he was, as his servant said, a Judge of appeal. He led by -the hand a young girl in a travelling dress, apparently about sixteen -years of age, and of such a high-bred air, so beautiful and so -graceful, that all were filled with admiration when she made her -appearance, and but for having seen Dorothea, Luscinda, and Zoraida, -who were there in the inn, they would have fancied that a beauty like -that of this maiden’s would have been hard to find. Don Quixote was -present at the entrance of the Judge with the young lady, and as soon -as he saw him he said, “Your worship may with confidence enter and take -your ease in this castle; for though the accommodation be scanty and -poor, there are no quarters so cramped or inconvenient that they cannot -make room for arms and letters; above all if arms and letters have -beauty for a guide and leader, as letters represented by your worship -have in this fair maiden, to whom not only ought castles to throw -themselves open and yield themselves up, but rocks should rend -themselves asunder and mountains divide and bow themselves down to give -her a reception. Enter, your worship, I say, into this paradise, for -here you will find stars and suns to accompany the heaven your worship -brings with you, here you will find arms in their supreme excellence, -and beauty in its highest perfection.” - -The Judge was struck with amazement at the language of Don Quixote, -whom he scrutinized very carefully, no less astonished by his figure -than by his talk; and before he could find words to answer him he had a -fresh surprise, when he saw opposite to him Luscinda, Dorothea, and -Zoraida, who, having heard of the new guests and of the beauty of the -young lady, had come to see her and welcome her; Don Fernando, -Cardenio, and the curate, however, greeted him in a more intelligible -and polished style. In short, the Judge made his entrance in a state of -bewilderment, as well with what he saw as what he heard, and the fair -ladies of the inn gave the fair damsel a cordial welcome. On the whole -he could perceive that all who were there were people of quality; but -with the figure, countenance, and bearing of Don Quixote he was at his -wits’ end; and all civilities having been exchanged, and the -accommodation of the inn inquired into, it was settled, as it had been -before settled, that all the women should retire to the garret that has -been already mentioned, and that the men should remain outside as if to -guard them; the Judge, therefore, was very well pleased to allow his -daughter, for such the damsel was, to go with the ladies, which she did -very willingly; and with part of the host’s narrow bed and half of what -the Judge had brought with him, they made a more comfortable -arrangement for the night than they had expected. - -The captive, whose heart had leaped within him the instant he saw the -Judge, telling him somehow that this was his brother, asked one of the -servants who accompanied him what his name was, and whether he knew -from what part of the country he came. The servant replied that he was -called the Licentiate Juan Perez de Viedma, and that he had heard it -said he came from a village in the mountains of Leon. From this -statement, and what he himself had seen, he felt convinced that this -was his brother who had adopted letters by his father’s advice; and -excited and rejoiced, he called Don Fernando and Cardenio and the -curate aside, and told them how the matter stood, assuring them that -the judge was his brother. The servant had further informed him that he -was now going to the Indies with the appointment of Judge of the -Supreme Court of Mexico; and he had learned, likewise, that the young -lady was his daughter, whose mother had died in giving birth to her, -and that he was very rich in consequence of the dowry left to him with -the daughter. He asked their advice as to what means he should adopt to -make himself known, or to ascertain beforehand whether, when he had -made himself known, his brother, seeing him so poor, would be ashamed -of him, or would receive him with a warm heart. - -“Leave it to me to find out that,” said the curate; “though there is no -reason for supposing, señor captain, that you will not be kindly -received, because the worth and wisdom that your brother’s bearing -shows him to possess do not make it likely that he will prove haughty -or insensible, or that he will not know how to estimate the accidents -of fortune at their proper value.” - -“Still,” said the captain, “I would not make myself known abruptly, but -in some indirect way.” - -“I have told you already,” said the curate, “that I will manage it in a -way to satisfy us all.” - -By this time supper was ready, and they all took their seats at the -table, except the captive, and the ladies, who supped by themselves in -their own room. In the middle of supper the curate said: - -“I had a comrade of your worship’s name, Señor Judge, in -Constantinople, where I was a captive for several years, and that same -comrade was one of the stoutest soldiers and captains in the whole -Spanish infantry; but he had as large a share of misfortune as he had -of gallantry and courage.” - -“And how was the captain called, señor?” asked the Judge. - -“He was called Ruy Perez de Viedma,” replied the curate, “and he was -born in a village in the mountains of Leon; and he mentioned a -circumstance connected with his father and his brothers which, had it -not been told me by so truthful a man as he was, I should have set down -as one of those fables the old women tell over the fire in winter; for -he said his father had divided his property among his three sons and -had addressed words of advice to them sounder than any of Cato’s. But I -can say this much, that the choice he made of going to the wars was -attended with such success, that by his gallant conduct and courage, -and without any help save his own merit, he rose in a few years to be -captain of infantry, and to see himself on the high-road and in -position to be given the command of a corps before long; but Fortune -was against him, for where he might have expected her favour he lost -it, and with it his liberty, on that glorious day when so many -recovered theirs, at the battle of Lepanto. I lost mine at the Goletta, -and after a variety of adventures we found ourselves comrades at -Constantinople. Thence he went to Algiers, where he met with one of the -most extraordinary adventures that ever befell anyone in the world.” - -Here the curate went on to relate briefly his brother’s adventure with -Zoraida; to all which the Judge gave such an attentive hearing that he -never before had been so much of a hearer. The curate, however, only -went so far as to describe how the Frenchmen plundered those who were -in the boat, and the poverty and distress in which his comrade and the -fair Moor were left, of whom he said he had not been able to learn what -became of them, or whether they had reached Spain, or been carried to -France by the Frenchmen. - -The captain, standing a little to one side, was listening to all the -curate said, and watching every movement of his brother, who, as soon -as he perceived the curate had made an end of his story, gave a deep -sigh and said with his eyes full of tears, “Oh, señor, if you only knew -what news you have given me and how it comes home to me, making me show -how I feel it with these tears that spring from my eyes in spite of all -my worldly wisdom and self-restraint! That brave captain that you speak -of is my eldest brother, who, being of a bolder and loftier mind than -my other brother or myself, chose the honourable and worthy calling of -arms, which was one of the three careers our father proposed to us, as -your comrade mentioned in that fable you thought he was telling you. I -followed that of letters, in which God and my own exertions have raised -me to the position in which you see me. My second brother is in Peru, -so wealthy that with what he has sent to my father and to me he has -fully repaid the portion he took with him, and has even furnished my -father’s hands with the means of gratifying his natural generosity, -while I too have been enabled to pursue my studies in a more becoming -and creditable fashion, and so to attain my present standing. My father -is still alive, though dying with anxiety to hear of his eldest son, -and he prays God unceasingly that death may not close his eyes until he -has looked upon those of his son; but with regard to him what surprises -me is, that having so much common sense as he had, he should have -neglected to give any intelligence about himself, either in his -troubles and sufferings, or in his prosperity, for if his father or any -of us had known of his condition he need not have waited for that -miracle of the reed to obtain his ransom; but what now disquiets me is -the uncertainty whether those Frenchmen may have restored him to -liberty, or murdered him to hide the robbery. All this will make me -continue my journey, not with the satisfaction in which I began it, but -in the deepest melancholy and sadness. Oh dear brother! that I only -knew where thou art now, and I would hasten to seek thee out and -deliver thee from thy sufferings, though it were to cost me suffering -myself! Oh that I could bring news to our old father that thou art -alive, even wert thou in the deepest dungeon of Barbary; for his wealth -and my brother’s and mine would rescue thee thence! Oh beautiful and -generous Zoraida, that I could repay thy goodness to a brother! That I -could be present at the new birth of thy soul, and at thy bridal that -would give us all such happiness!” - -All this and more the Judge uttered with such deep emotion at the news -he had received of his brother that all who heard him shared in it, -showing their sympathy with his sorrow. The curate, seeing, then, how -well he had succeeded in carrying out his purpose and the captain’s -wishes, had no desire to keep them unhappy any longer, so he rose from -the table and going into the room where Zoraida was he took her by the -hand, Luscinda, Dorothea, and the Judge’s daughter following her. The -captain was waiting to see what the curate would do, when the latter, -taking him with the other hand, advanced with both of them to where the -Judge and the other gentlemen were and said, “Let your tears cease to -flow, Señor Judge, and the wish of your heart be gratified as fully as -you could desire, for you have before you your worthy brother and your -good sister-in-law. He whom you see here is the Captain Viedma, and -this is the fair Moor who has been so good to him. The Frenchmen I told -you of have reduced them to the state of poverty you see that you may -show the generosity of your kind heart.” - -The captain ran to embrace his brother, who placed both hands on his -breast so as to have a good look at him, holding him a little way off -but as soon as he had fully recognised him he clasped him in his arms -so closely, shedding such tears of heartfelt joy, that most of those -present could not but join in them. The words the brothers exchanged, -the emotion they showed can scarcely be imagined, I fancy, much less -put down in writing. They told each other in a few words the events of -their lives; they showed the true affection of brothers in all its -strength; then the judge embraced Zoraida, putting all he possessed at -her disposal; then he made his daughter embrace her, and the fair -Christian and the lovely Moor drew fresh tears from every eye. And -there was Don Quixote observing all these strange proceedings -attentively without uttering a word, and attributing the whole to -chimeras of knight-errantry. Then they agreed that the captain and -Zoraida should return with his brother to Seville, and send news to his -father of his having been delivered and found, so as to enable him to -come and be present at the marriage and baptism of Zoraida, for it was -impossible for the Judge to put off his journey, as he was informed -that in a month from that time the fleet was to sail from Seville for -New Spain, and to miss the passage would have been a great -inconvenience to him. In short, everybody was well pleased and glad at -the captive’s good fortune; and as now almost two-thirds of the night -were past, they resolved to retire to rest for the remainder of it. Don -Quixote offered to mount guard over the castle lest they should be -attacked by some giant or other malevolent scoundrel, covetous of the -great treasure of beauty the castle contained. Those who understood him -returned him thanks for this service, and they gave the Judge an -account of his extraordinary humour, with which he was not a little -amused. Sancho Panza alone was fuming at the lateness of the hour for -retiring to rest; and he of all was the one that made himself most -comfortable, as he stretched himself on the trappings of his ass, -which, as will be told farther on, cost him so dear. - -The ladies, then, having retired to their chamber, and the others -having disposed themselves with as little discomfort as they could, Don -Quixote sallied out of the inn to act as sentinel of the castle as he -had promised. It happened, however, that a little before the approach -of dawn a voice so musical and sweet reached the ears of the ladies -that it forced them all to listen attentively, but especially Dorothea, -who had been awake, and by whose side Doña Clara de Viedma, for so the -Judge’s daughter was called, lay sleeping. No one could imagine who it -was that sang so sweetly, and the voice was unaccompanied by any -instrument. At one moment it seemed to them as if the singer were in -the courtyard, at another in the stable; and as they were all -attention, wondering, Cardenio came to the door and said, “Listen, -whoever is not asleep, and you will hear a muleteer’s voice that -enchants as it chants.” - -“We are listening to it already, señor,” said Dorothea; on which -Cardenio went away; and Dorothea, giving all her attention to it, made -out the words of the song to be these: - -CHAPTER XLIII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER WITH -OTHER STRANGE THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN - -Ah me, Love’s mariner am I -On Love’s deep ocean sailing; -I know not where the haven lies, -I dare not hope to gain it. - -One solitary distant star -Is all I have to guide me, -A brighter orb than those of old -That Palinurus lighted. - -And vaguely drifting am I borne, -I know not where it leads me; -I fix my gaze on it alone, -Of all beside it heedless. - -But over-cautious prudery, -And coyness cold and cruel, -When most I need it, these, like clouds, -Its longed-for light refuse me. - -Bright star, goal of my yearning eyes -As thou above me beamest, -When thou shalt hide thee from my sight -I’ll know that death is near me. - -The singer had got so far when it struck Dorothea that it was not fair -to let Clara miss hearing such a sweet voice, so, shaking her from side -to side, she woke her, saying: - -“Forgive me, child, for waking thee, but I do so that thou mayest have -the pleasure of hearing the best voice thou hast ever heard, perhaps, -in all thy life.” - -Clara awoke quite drowsy, and not understanding at the moment what -Dorothea said, asked her what it was; she repeated what she had said, -and Clara became attentive at once; but she had hardly heard two lines, -as the singer continued, when a strange trembling seized her, as if she -were suffering from a severe attack of quartan ague, and throwing her -arms round Dorothea she said: - -“Ah, dear lady of my soul and life! why did you wake me? The greatest -kindness fortune could do me now would be to close my eyes and ears so -as neither to see or hear that unhappy musician.” - -“What art thou talking about, child?” said Dorothea. “Why, they say -this singer is a muleteer!” - -“Nay, he is the lord of many places,” replied Clara, “and that one in -my heart which he holds so firmly shall never be taken from him, unless -he be willing to surrender it.” - -Dorothea was amazed at the ardent language of the girl, for it seemed -to be far beyond such experience of life as her tender years gave any -promise of, so she said to her: - -“You speak in such a way that I cannot understand you, Señora Clara; -explain yourself more clearly, and tell me what is this you are saying -about hearts and places and this musician whose voice has so moved you? -But do not tell me anything now; I do not want to lose the pleasure I -get from listening to the singer by giving my attention to your -transports, for I perceive he is beginning to sing a new strain and a -new air.” - -“Let him, in Heaven’s name,” returned Clara; and not to hear him she -stopped both ears with her hands, at which Dorothea was again -surprised; but turning her attention to the song she found that it ran -in this fashion: - -Sweet Hope, my stay, -That onward to the goal of thy intent -Dost make thy way, -Heedless of hindrance or impediment, -Have thou no fear -If at each step thou findest death is near. - -No victory, -No joy of triumph doth the faint heart know; -Unblest is he -That a bold front to Fortune dares not show, -But soul and sense -In bondage yieldeth up to indolence. - -If Love his wares -Do dearly sell, his right must be contest; -What gold compares -With that whereon his stamp he hath imprest? -And all men know -What costeth little that we rate but low. - -Love resolute -Knows not the word “impossibility;” -And though my suit -Beset by endless obstacles I see, -Yet no despair -Shall hold me bound to earth while heaven is there. - -Here the voice ceased and Clara’s sobs began afresh, all which excited -Dorothea’s curiosity to know what could be the cause of singing so -sweet and weeping so bitter, so she again asked her what it was she was -going to say before. On this Clara, afraid that Luscinda might overhear -her, winding her arms tightly round Dorothea put her mouth so close to -her ear that she could speak without fear of being heard by anyone -else, and said: - -“This singer, dear señora, is the son of a gentleman of Aragon, lord of -two villages, who lives opposite my father’s house at Madrid; and -though my father had curtains to the windows of his house in winter, -and lattice-work in summer, in some way—I know not how—this gentleman, -who was pursuing his studies, saw me, whether in church or elsewhere, I -cannot tell, and, in fact, fell in love with me, and gave me to know it -from the windows of his house, with so many signs and tears that I was -forced to believe him, and even to love him, without knowing what it -was he wanted of me. One of the signs he used to make me was to link -one hand in the other, to show me he wished to marry me; and though I -should have been glad if that could be, being alone and motherless I -knew not whom to open my mind to, and so I left it as it was, showing -him no favour, except when my father, and his too, were from home, to -raise the curtain or the lattice a little and let him see me plainly, -at which he would show such delight that he seemed as if he were going -mad. Meanwhile the time for my father’s departure arrived, which he -became aware of, but not from me, for I had never been able to tell him -of it. He fell sick, of grief I believe, and so the day we were going -away I could not see him to take farewell of him, were it only with the -eyes. But after we had been two days on the road, on entering the -posada of a village a day’s journey from this, I saw him at the inn -door in the dress of a muleteer, and so well disguised, that if I did -not carry his image graven on my heart it would have been impossible -for me to recognise him. But I knew him, and I was surprised, and glad; -he watched me, unsuspected by my father, from whom he always hides -himself when he crosses my path on the road, or in the posadas where we -halt; and, as I know what he is, and reflect that for love of me he -makes this journey on foot in all this hardship, I am ready to die of -sorrow; and where he sets foot there I set my eyes. I know not with -what object he has come; or how he could have got away from his father, -who loves him beyond measure, having no other heir, and because he -deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him. And moreover, I can -tell you, all that he sings is out of his own head; for I have heard -them say he is a great scholar and poet; and what is more, every time I -see him or hear him sing I tremble all over, and am terrified lest my -father should recognise him and come to know of our loves. I have never -spoken a word to him in my life; and for all that I love him so that I -could not live without him. This, dear señora, is all I have to tell -you about the musician whose voice has delighted you so much; and from -it alone you might easily perceive he is no muleteer, but a lord of -hearts and towns, as I told you already.” - -“Say no more, Doña Clara,” said Dorothea at this, at the same time -kissing her a thousand times over, “say no more, I tell you, but wait -till day comes; when I trust in God to arrange this affair of yours so -that it may have the happy ending such an innocent beginning deserves.” - -“Ah, señora,” said Doña Clara, “what end can be hoped for when his -father is of such lofty position, and so wealthy, that he would think I -was not fit to be even a servant to his son, much less wife? And as to -marrying without the knowledge of my father, I would not do it for all -the world. I would not ask anything more than that this youth should go -back and leave me; perhaps with not seeing him, and the long distance -we shall have to travel, the pain I suffer now may become easier; -though I daresay the remedy I propose will do me very little good. I -don’t know how the devil this has come about, or how this love I have -for him got in; I such a young girl, and he such a mere boy; for I -verily believe we are both of an age, and I am not sixteen yet; for I -will be sixteen Michaelmas Day, next, my father says.” - -Dorothea could not help laughing to hear how like a child Doña Clara -spoke. “Let us go to sleep now, señora,” said she, “for the little of -the night that I fancy is left to us: God will soon send us daylight, -and we will set all to rights, or it will go hard with me.” - -With this they fell asleep, and deep silence reigned all through the -inn. The only persons not asleep were the landlady’s daughter and her -servant Maritornes, who, knowing the weak point of Don Quixote’s -humour, and that he was outside the inn mounting guard in armour and on -horseback, resolved, the pair of them, to play some trick upon him, or -at any rate to amuse themselves for a while by listening to his -nonsense. As it so happened there was not a window in the whole inn -that looked outwards except a hole in the wall of a straw-loft through -which they used to throw out the straw. At this hole the two -demi-damsels posted themselves, and observed Don Quixote on his horse, -leaning on his pike and from time to time sending forth such deep and -doleful sighs, that he seemed to pluck up his soul by the roots with -each of them; and they could hear him, too, saying in a soft, tender, -loving tone, “Oh my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, perfection of all beauty, -summit and crown of discretion, treasure house of grace, depositary of -virtue, and finally, ideal of all that is good, honourable, and -delectable in this world! What is thy grace doing now? Art thou, -perchance, mindful of thy enslaved knight who of his own free will hath -exposed himself to so great perils, and all to serve thee? Give me -tidings of her, oh luminary of the three faces! Perhaps at this moment, -envious of hers, thou art regarding her, either as she paces to and fro -some gallery of her sumptuous palaces, or leans over some balcony, -meditating how, whilst preserving her purity and greatness, she may -mitigate the tortures this wretched heart of mine endures for her sake, -what glory should recompense my sufferings, what repose my toil, and -lastly what death my life, and what reward my services? And thou, oh -sun, that art now doubtless harnessing thy steeds in haste to rise -betimes and come forth to see my lady; when thou seest her I entreat of -thee to salute her on my behalf: but have a care, when thou shalt see -her and salute her, that thou kiss not her face; for I shall be more -jealous of thee than thou wert of that light-footed ingrate that made -thee sweat and run so on the plains of Thessaly, or on the banks of the -Peneus (for I do not exactly recollect where it was thou didst run on -that occasion) in thy jealousy and love.” - -Don Quixote had got so far in his pathetic speech when the landlady’s -daughter began to signal to him, saying, “Señor, come over here, -please.” - -At these signals and voice Don Quixote turned his head and saw by the -light of the moon, which then was in its full splendour, that someone -was calling to him from the hole in the wall, which seemed to him to be -a window, and what is more, with a gilt grating, as rich castles, such -as he believed the inn to be, ought to have; and it immediately -suggested itself to his imagination that, as on the former occasion, -the fair damsel, the daughter of the lady of the castle, overcome by -love for him, was once more endeavouring to win his affections; and -with this idea, not to show himself discourteous, or ungrateful, he -turned Rocinante’s head and approached the hole, and as he perceived -the two wenches he said: - -“I pity you, beauteous lady, that you should have directed your -thoughts of love to a quarter from whence it is impossible that such a -return can be made to you as is due to your great merit and gentle -birth, for which you must not blame this unhappy knight-errant whom -love renders incapable of submission to any other than her whom, the -first moment his eyes beheld her, he made absolute mistress of his -soul. Forgive me, noble lady, and retire to your apartment, and do not, -by any further declaration of your passion, compel me to show myself -more ungrateful; and if, of the love you bear me, you should find that -there is anything else in my power wherein I can gratify you, provided -it be not love itself, demand it of me; for I swear to you by that -sweet absent enemy of mine to grant it this instant, though it be that -you require of me a lock of Medusa’s hair, which was all snakes, or -even the very beams of the sun shut up in a vial.” - -“My mistress wants nothing of that sort, sir knight,” said Maritornes -at this. - -“What then, discreet dame, is it that your mistress wants?” replied Don -Quixote. - -“Only one of your fair hands,” said Maritornes, “to enable her to vent -over it the great passion, passion which has brought her to this -loophole, so much to the risk of her honour; for if the lord her father -had heard her, the least slice he would cut off her would be her ear.” - -“I should like to see that tried,” said Don Quixote; “but he had better -beware of that, if he does not want to meet the most disastrous end -that ever father in the world met for having laid hands on the tender -limbs of a love-stricken daughter.” - -Maritornes felt sure that Don Quixote would present the hand she had -asked, and making up her mind what to do, she got down from the hole -and went into the stable, where she took the halter of Sancho Panza’s -ass, and in all haste returned to the hole, just as Don Quixote had -planted himself standing on Rocinante’s saddle in order to reach the -grated window where he supposed the lovelorn damsel to be; and giving -her his hand, he said, “Lady, take this hand, or rather this scourge of -the evil-doers of the earth; take, I say, this hand which no other hand -of woman has ever touched, not even hers who has complete possession of -my entire body. I present it to you, not that you may kiss it, but that -you may observe the contexture of the sinews, the close network of the -muscles, the breadth and capacity of the veins, whence you may infer -what must be the strength of the arm that has such a hand.” - -“That we shall see presently,” said Maritornes, and making a running -knot on the halter, she passed it over his wrist and coming down from -the hole tied the other end very firmly to the bolt of the door of the -straw-loft. - -Don Quixote, feeling the roughness of the rope on his wrist, exclaimed, -“Your grace seems to be grating rather than caressing my hand; treat it -not so harshly, for it is not to blame for the offence my resolution -has given you, nor is it just to wreak all your vengeance on so small a -part; remember that one who loves so well should not revenge herself so -cruelly.” - -But there was nobody now to listen to these words of Don Quixote’s, for -as soon as Maritornes had tied him she and the other made off, ready to -die with laughing, leaving him fastened in such a way that it was -impossible for him to release himself. - -He was, as has been said, standing on Rocinante, with his arm passed -through the hole and his wrist tied to the bolt of the door, and in -mighty fear and dread of being left hanging by the arm if Rocinante -were to stir one side or the other; so he did not dare to make the -least movement, although from the patience and imperturbable -disposition of Rocinante, he had good reason to expect that he would -stand without budging for a whole century. Finding himself fast, then, -and that the ladies had retired, he began to fancy that all this was -done by enchantment, as on the former occasion when in that same castle -that enchanted Moor of a carrier had belaboured him; and he cursed in -his heart his own want of sense and judgment in venturing to enter the -castle again, after having come off so badly the first time; it being a -settled point with knights-errant that when they have tried an -adventure, and have not succeeded in it, it is a sign that it is not -reserved for them but for others, and that therefore they need not try -it again. Nevertheless he pulled his arm to see if he could release -himself, but it had been made so fast that all his efforts were in -vain. It is true he pulled it gently lest Rocinante should move, but -try as he might to seat himself in the saddle, he had nothing for it -but to stand upright or pull his hand off. Then it was he wished for -the sword of Amadis, against which no enchantment whatever had any -power; then he cursed his ill fortune; then he magnified the loss the -world would sustain by his absence while he remained there enchanted, -for that he believed he was beyond all doubt; then he once more took to -thinking of his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his -worthy squire Sancho Panza, who, buried in sleep and stretched upon the -pack-saddle of his ass, was oblivious, at that moment, of the mother -that bore him; then he called upon the sages Lirgandeo and Alquife to -come to his aid; then he invoked his good friend Urganda to succour -him; and then, at last, morning found him in such a state of -desperation and perplexity that he was bellowing like a bull, for he -had no hope that day would bring any relief to his suffering, which he -believed would last for ever, inasmuch as he was enchanted; and of this -he was convinced by seeing that Rocinante never stirred, much or -little, and he felt persuaded that he and his horse were to remain in -this state, without eating or drinking or sleeping, until the malign -influence of the stars was overpast, or until some other more sage -enchanter should disenchant him. - -But he was very much deceived in this conclusion, for daylight had -hardly begun to appear when there came up to the inn four men on -horseback, well equipped and accoutred, with firelocks across their -saddle-bows. They called out and knocked loudly at the gate of the inn, -which was still shut; on seeing which, Don Quixote, even there where he -was, did not forget to act as sentinel, and said in a loud and -imperious tone, “Knights, or squires, or whatever ye be, ye have no -right to knock at the gates of this castle; for it is plain enough that -they who are within are either asleep, or else are not in the habit of -throwing open the fortress until the sun’s rays are spread over the -whole surface of the earth. Withdraw to a distance, and wait till it is -broad daylight, and then we shall see whether it will be proper or not -to open to you.” - -“What the devil fortress or castle is this,” said one, “to make us -stand on such ceremony? If you are the innkeeper bid them open to us; -we are travellers who only want to feed our horses and go on, for we -are in haste.” - -“Do you think, gentlemen, that I look like an innkeeper?” said Don -Quixote. - -“I don’t know what you look like,” replied the other; “but I know that -you are talking nonsense when you call this inn a castle.” - -“A castle it is,” returned Don Quixote, “nay, more, one of the best in -this whole province, and it has within it people who have had the -sceptre in the hand and the crown on the head.” - -“It would be better if it were the other way,” said the traveller, “the -sceptre on the head and the crown in the hand; but if so, maybe there -is within some company of players, with whom it is a common thing to -have those crowns and sceptres you speak of; for in such a small inn as -this, and where such silence is kept, I do not believe any people -entitled to crowns and sceptres can have taken up their quarters.” - -“You know but little of the world,” returned Don Quixote, “since you -are ignorant of what commonly occurs in knight-errantry.” - -But the comrades of the spokesman, growing weary of the dialogue with -Don Quixote, renewed their knocks with great vehemence, so much so that -the host, and not only he but everybody in the inn, awoke, and he got -up to ask who knocked. It happened at this moment that one of the -horses of the four who were seeking admittance went to smell Rocinante, -who melancholy, dejected, and with drooping ears stood motionless, -supporting his sorely stretched master; and as he was, after all, -flesh, though he looked as if he were made of wood, he could not help -giving way and in return smelling the one who had come to offer him -attentions. But he had hardly moved at all when Don Quixote lost his -footing; and slipping off the saddle, he would have come to the ground, -but for being suspended by the arm, which caused him such agony that he -believed either his wrist would be cut through or his arm torn off; and -he hung so near the ground that he could just touch it with his feet, -which was all the worse for him; for, finding how little was wanted to -enable him to plant his feet firmly, he struggled and stretched himself -as much as he could to gain a footing; just like those undergoing the -torture of the strappado, when they are fixed at “touch and no touch,” -who aggravate their own sufferings by their violent efforts to stretch -themselves, deceived by the hope which makes them fancy that with a -very little more they will reach the ground. - -CHAPTER XLIV. -IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN - -So loud, in fact, were the shouts of Don Quixote, that the landlord -opening the gate of the inn in all haste, came out in dismay, and ran -to see who was uttering such cries, and those who were outside joined -him. Maritornes, who had been by this time roused up by the same -outcry, suspecting what it was, ran to the loft and, without anyone -seeing her, untied the halter by which Don Quixote was suspended, and -down he came to the ground in the sight of the landlord and the -travellers, who approaching asked him what was the matter with him that -he shouted so. He without replying a word took the rope off his wrist, -and rising to his feet leaped upon Rocinante, braced his buckler on his -arm, put his lance in rest, and making a considerable circuit of the -plain came back at a half-gallop exclaiming: - -“Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with just cause, provided -my lady the Princess Micomicona grants me permission to do so, I give -him the lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat.” - -The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the words of Don Quixote; -but the landlord removed their surprise by telling them who he was, and -not to mind him as he was out of his senses. They then asked the -landlord if by any chance a youth of about fifteen years of age had -come to that inn, one dressed like a muleteer, and of such and such an -appearance, describing that of Doña Clara’s lover. The landlord replied -that there were so many people in the inn he had not noticed the person -they were inquiring for; but one of them observing the coach in which -the Judge had come, said, “He is here no doubt, for this is the coach -he is following: let one of us stay at the gate, and the rest go in to -look for him; or indeed it would be as well if one of us went round the -inn, lest he should escape over the wall of the yard.” “So be it,” said -another; and while two of them went in, one remained at the gate and -the other made the circuit of the inn; observing all which, the -landlord was unable to conjecture for what reason they were taking all -these precautions, though he understood they were looking for the youth -whose description they had given him. - -It was by this time broad daylight; and for that reason, as well as in -consequence of the noise Don Quixote had made, everybody was awake and -up, but particularly Doña Clara and Dorothea; for they had been able to -sleep but badly that night, the one from agitation at having her lover -so near her, the other from curiosity to see him. Don Quixote, when he -saw that not one of the four travellers took any notice of him or -replied to his challenge, was furious and ready to die with indignation -and wrath; and if he could have found in the ordinances of chivalry -that it was lawful for a knight-errant to undertake or engage in -another enterprise, when he had plighted his word and faith not to -involve himself in any until he had made an end of the one to which he -was pledged, he would have attacked the whole of them, and would have -made them return an answer in spite of themselves. But considering that -it would not become him, nor be right, to begin any new emprise until -he had established Micomicona in her kingdom, he was constrained to -hold his peace and wait quietly to see what would be the upshot of the -proceedings of those same travellers; one of whom found the youth they -were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, without a thought -of anyone coming in search of him, much less finding him. - -The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, “It becomes you well -indeed, Señor Don Luis, to be in the dress you wear, and well the bed -in which I find you agrees with the luxury in which your mother reared -you.” - -The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a while at him who held -him, but presently recognised him as one of his father’s servants, at -which he was so taken aback that for some time he could not find or -utter a word; while the servant went on to say, “There is nothing for -it now, Señor Don Luis, but to submit quietly and return home, unless -it is your wish that my lord, your father, should take his departure -for the other world, for nothing else can be the consequence of the -grief he is in at your absence.” - -“But how did my father know that I had gone this road and in this -dress?” said Don Luis. - -“It was a student to whom you confided your intentions,” answered the -servant, “that disclosed them, touched with pity at the distress he saw -your father suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four of his -servants in quest of you, and here we all are at your service, better -pleased than you can imagine that we shall return so soon and be able -to restore you to those eyes that so yearn for you.” - -“That shall be as I please, or as heaven orders,” returned Don Luis. - -“What can you please or heaven order,” said the other, “except to agree -to go back? Anything else is impossible.” - -All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at -whose side Don Luis lay, and rising, he went to report what had taken -place to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time -dressed themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth -as “Don,” and what words had passed, and how he wanted him to return to -his father, which the youth was unwilling to do. With this, and what -they already knew of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, -they all felt very anxious to know more particularly who he was, and -even to help him if it was attempted to employ force against him; so -they hastened to where he was still talking and arguing with his -servant. Dorothea at this instant came out of her room, followed by -Doña Clara all in a tremor; and calling Cardenio aside, she told him in -a few words the story of the musician and Doña Clara, and he at the -same time told her what had happened, how his father’s servants had -come in search of him; but in telling her so, he did not speak low -enough but that Doña Clara heard what he said, at which she was so much -agitated that had not Dorothea hastened to support her she would have -fallen to the ground. Cardenio then bade Dorothea return to her room, -as he would endeavour to make the whole matter right, and they did as -he desired. All the four who had come in quest of Don Luis had now come -into the inn and surrounded him, urging him to return and console his -father at once and without a moment’s delay. He replied that he could -not do so on any account until he had concluded some business in which -his life, honour, and heart were at stake. The servants pressed him, -saying that most certainly they would not return without him, and that -they would take him away whether he liked it or not. - -“You shall not do that,” replied Don Luis, “unless you take me dead; -though however you take me, it will be without life.” - -By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the -dispute, but particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the -Judge, the curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered -there was no necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer. -Cardenio being already acquainted with the young man’s story, asked the -men who wanted to take him away, what object they had in seeking to -carry off this youth against his will. - -“Our object,” said one of the four, “is to save the life of his father, -who is in danger of losing it through this gentleman’s disappearance.” - -Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, “There is no need to make my affairs -public here; I am free, and I will return if I please; and if not, none -of you shall compel me.” - -“Reason will compel your worship,” said the man, “and if it has no -power over you, it has power over us, to make us do what we came for, -and what it is our duty to do.” - -“Let us hear what the whole affair is about,” said the Judge at this; -but the man, who knew him as a neighbour of theirs, replied, “Do you -not know this gentleman, Señor Judge? He is the son of your neighbour, -who has run away from his father’s house in a dress so unbecoming his -rank, as your worship may perceive.” - -The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and -embracing him said, “What folly is this, Señor Don Luis, or what can -have been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this -way, and in this dress, which so ill becomes your condition?” - -Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a -word in reply to the Judge, who told the four servants not to be -uneasy, for all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don -Luis by the hand, he drew him aside and asked the reason of his having -come there. - -But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate -of the inn, the cause of which was that two of the guests who had -passed the night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it -was the four men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without -paying what they owed; but the landlord, who minded his own affairs -more than other people’s, caught them going out of the gate and -demanded his reckoning, abusing them for their dishonesty with such -language that he drove them to reply with their fists, and so they -began to lay on him in such a style that the poor man was forced to cry -out, and call for help. The landlady and her daughter could see no one -more free to give aid than Don Quixote, and to him the daughter said, -“Sir knight, by the virtue God has given you, help my poor father, for -two wicked men are beating him to a mummy.” - -To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied, -“Fair damsel, at the present moment your request is inopportune, for I -am debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought -to a happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that -which I can do for you is what I will now mention: run and tell your -father to stand his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no -account to allow himself to be vanquished, while I go and request -permission of the Princess Micomicona to enable me to succour him in -his distress; and if she grants it, rest assured I will relieve him -from it.” - -“Sinner that I am,” exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; “before you -have got your permission my master will be in the other world.” - -“Give me leave, señora, to obtain the permission I speak of,” returned -Don Quixote; “and if I get it, it will matter very little if he is in -the other world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same -world can do; or at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those -who shall have sent him there that you will be more than moderately -satisfied;” and without saying anything more he went and knelt before -Dorothea, requesting her Highness in knightly and errant phrase to be -pleased to grant him permission to aid and succour the castellan of -that castle, who now stood in grievous jeopardy. The princess granted -it graciously, and he at once, bracing his buckler on his arm and -drawing his sword, hastened to the inn-gate, where the two guests were -still handling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached the spot -he stopped short and stood still, though Maritornes and the landlady -asked him why he hesitated to help their master and husband. - -“I hesitate,” said Don Quixote, “because it is not lawful for me to -draw sword against persons of squirely condition; but call my squire -Sancho to me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and -business.” - -Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there was a very lively -exchange of fisticuffs and punches, to the sore damage of the landlord -and to the wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who -were furious when they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the -hard treatment their master, husband and father was undergoing. But let -us leave him there; for he will surely find someone to help him, and if -not, let him suffer and hold his tongue who attempts more than his -strength allows him to do; and let us go back fifty paces to see what -Don Luis said in reply to the Judge whom we left questioning him -privately as to his reasons for coming on foot and so meanly dressed. - -To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart -was troubled by some great sorrow, and shedding a flood of tears, made -answer: - -“Señor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when, -through heaven’s will and our being near neighbours, I first saw Doña -Clara, your daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the -mistress of my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no -impediment, this very day she shall become my wife. For her I left my -father’s house, and for her I assumed this disguise, to follow her -whithersoever she may go, as the arrow seeks its mark or the sailor the -pole-star. She knows nothing more of my passion than what she may have -learned from having sometimes seen from a distance that my eyes were -filled with tears. You know already, señor, the wealth and noble birth -of my parents, and that I am their sole heir; if this be a sufficient -inducement for you to venture to make me completely happy, accept me at -once as your son; for if my father, influenced by other objects of his -own, should disapprove of this happiness I have sought for myself, time -has more power to alter and change things, than human will.” - -With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after -hearing him, was astonished, perplexed, and surprised, as well at the -manner and intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of -his heart, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing -what course to take in a matter so sudden and unexpected. All the -answer, therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his mind easy for -the present, and arrange with his servants not to take him back that -day, so that there might be time to consider what was best for all -parties. Don Luis kissed his hands by force, nay, bathed them with his -tears, in a way that would have touched a heart of marble, not to say -that of the Judge, who, as a shrewd man, had already perceived how -advantageous the marriage would be to his daughter; though, were it -possible, he would have preferred that it should be brought about with -the consent of the father of Don Luis, who he knew looked for a title -for his son. - -The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by -persuasion and Don Quixote’s fair words more than by threats, they had -paid him what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting -for the end of the conversation with the Judge and their master’s -decision, when the devil, who never sleeps, contrived that the barber, -from whom Don Quixote had taken Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza the -trappings of his ass in exchange for those of his own, should at this -instant enter the inn; which said barber, as he led his ass to the -stable, observed Sancho Panza engaged in repairing something or other -belonging to the pack-saddle; and the moment he saw it he knew it, and -made bold to attack Sancho, exclaiming, “Ho, sir thief, I have caught -you! hand over my basin and my pack-saddle, and all my trappings that -you robbed me of.” - -Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse -poured upon him, seized the pack-saddle with one hand, and with the -other gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood. The -barber, however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made -in the pack-saddle; on the contrary, he raised such an outcry that -everyone in the inn came running to know what the noise and quarrel -meant. “Here, in the name of the king and justice!” he cried, “this -thief and highwayman wants to kill me for trying to recover my -property.” - -“You lie,” said Sancho, “I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my -master Don Quixote won these spoils.” - -Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his -squire’s stoutness, both offensive and defensive, and from that time -forth he reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub -him a knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling -sure that the order of chivalry would be fittingly bestowed upon him. - -In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said, -“Gentlemen, this pack-saddle is mine as surely as I owe God a death, -and I know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass -in the stable who will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not -fit him like a glove, call me a rascal; and what is more, the same day -I was robbed of this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, -never yet handselled, that would fetch a crown any day.” - -At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and -interposing between the two, and separating them, he placed the -pack-saddle on the ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was -established, and said, “Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly -the error under which this worthy squire lies when he calls a basin -which was, is, and shall be the helmet of Mambrino which I won from him -in fair war, and made myself master of by legitimate and lawful -possession. With the pack-saddle I do not concern myself; but I may -tell you on that head that my squire Sancho asked my permission to -strip off the caparison of this vanquished poltroon’s steed, and with -it adorn his own; I allowed him, and he took it; and as to its having -been changed from a caparison into a pack-saddle, I can give no -explanation except the usual one, that such transformations will take -place in adventures of chivalry. To confirm all which, run, Sancho my -son, and fetch hither the helmet which this good fellow calls a basin.” - -“Egad, master,” said Sancho, “if we have no other proof of our case -than what your worship puts forward, Mambrino’s helmet is just as much -a basin as this good fellow’s caparison is a pack-saddle.” - -“Do as I bid thee,” said Don Quixote; “it cannot be that everything in -this castle goes by enchantment.” - -Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him, -and when Don Quixote saw it, he took hold of it and said: - -“Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that -this is a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and I swear by the -order of chivalry I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I -took from him, without anything added to or taken from it.” - -“There is no doubt of that,” said Sancho, “for from the time my master -won it until now he has only fought one battle in it, when he let loose -those unlucky men in chains; and if it had not been for this -basin-helmet he would not have come off over well that time, for there -was plenty of stone-throwing in that affair.” - -CHAPTER XLV. -IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE -IS FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND -EARNEST - -“What do you think now, gentlemen,” said the barber, “of what these -gentles say, when they want to make out that this is a helmet?” - -“And whoever says the contrary,” said Don Quixote, “I will let him know -he lies if he is a knight, and if he is a squire that he lies again a -thousand times.” - -Our own barber, who was present at all this, and understood Don -Quixote’s humour so thoroughly, took it into his head to back up his -delusion and carry on the joke for the general amusement; so addressing -the other barber he said: - -“Señor barber, or whatever you are, you must know that I belong to your -profession too, and have had a licence to practise for more than twenty -years, and I know the implements of the barber craft, every one of -them, perfectly well; and I was likewise a soldier for some time in the -days of my youth, and I know also what a helmet is, and a morion, and a -headpiece with a visor, and other things pertaining to soldiering, I -meant to say to soldiers’ arms; and I say—saving better opinions and -always with submission to sounder judgments—that this piece we have now -before us, which this worthy gentleman has in his hands, not only is no -barber’s basin, but is as far from being one as white is from black, -and truth from falsehood; I say, moreover, that this, although it is a -helmet, is not a complete helmet.” - -“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote, “for half of it is wanting, that is -to say the beaver.” - -“It is quite true,” said the curate, who saw the object of his friend -the barber; and Cardenio, Don Fernando and his companions agreed with -him, and even the Judge, if his thoughts had not been so full of Don -Luis’s affair, would have helped to carry on the joke; but he was so -taken up with the serious matters he had on his mind that he paid -little or no attention to these facetious proceedings. - -“God bless me!” exclaimed their butt the barber at this; “is it -possible that such an honourable company can say that this is not a -basin but a helmet? Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole -university, however wise it might be! That will do; if this basin is a -helmet, why, then the pack-saddle must be a horse’s caparison, as this -gentleman has said.” - -“To me it looks like a pack-saddle,” said Don Quixote; “but I have -already said that with that question I do not concern myself.” - -“As to whether it be pack-saddle or caparison,” said the curate, “it is -only for Señor Don Quixote to say; for in these matters of chivalry all -these gentlemen and I bow to his authority.” - -“By God, gentlemen,” said Don Quixote, “so many strange things have -happened to me in this castle on the two occasions on which I have -sojourned in it, that I will not venture to assert anything positively -in reply to any question touching anything it contains; for it is my -belief that everything that goes on within it goes by enchantment. The -first time, an enchanted Moor that there is in it gave me sore trouble, -nor did Sancho fare well among certain followers of his; and last night -I was kept hanging by this arm for nearly two hours, without knowing -how or why I came by such a mishap. So that now, for me to come forward -to give an opinion in such a puzzling matter, would be to risk a rash -decision. As regards the assertion that this is a basin and not a -helmet I have already given an answer; but as to the question whether -this is a pack-saddle or a caparison I will not venture to give a -positive opinion, but will leave it to your worships’ better judgment. -Perhaps as you are not dubbed knights like myself, the enchantments of -this place have nothing to do with you, and your faculties are -unfettered, and you can see things in this castle as they really and -truly are, and not as they appear to me.” - -“There can be no question,” said Don Fernando on this, “but that Señor -Don Quixote has spoken very wisely, and that with us rests the decision -of this matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on, I will take -the votes of the gentlemen in secret, and declare the result clearly -and fully.” - -To those who were in on the secret of Don Quixote’s humour all this -afforded great amusement; but to those who knew nothing about it, it -seemed the greatest nonsense in the world, in particular to the four -servants of Don Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, and to three -other travellers who had by chance come to the inn, and had the -appearance of officers of the Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; -but the one who above all was at his wits’ end was the barber whose -basin, there before his very eyes, had been turned into Mambrino’s -helmet, and whose pack-saddle he had no doubt whatever was about to -become a rich caparison for a horse. All laughed to see Don Fernando -going from one to another collecting the votes, and whispering to them -to give him their private opinion whether the treasure over which there -had been so much fighting was a pack-saddle or a caparison; but after -he had taken the votes of those who knew Don Quixote, he said aloud, -“The fact is, my good fellow, that I am tired collecting such a number -of opinions, for I find that there is not one of whom I ask what I -desire to know, who does not tell me that it is absurd to say that this -is the pack-saddle of an ass, and not the caparison of a horse, nay, of -a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, for, in spite of you and your -ass, this is a caparison and no pack-saddle, and you have stated and -proved your case very badly.” - -“May I never share heaven,” said the poor barber, “if your worships are -not all mistaken; and may my soul appear before God as that appears to -me a pack-saddle and not a caparison; but, ‘laws go,’—I say no more; -and indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it be from sin.” - -The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the -absurdities of Don Quixote, who now observed: - -“There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to -him, and to whom God has given it, may St. Peter add his blessing.” - -But said one of the four servants, “Unless, indeed, this is a -deliberate joke, I cannot bring myself to believe that men so -intelligent as those present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare -and assert that this is not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as -I perceive that they do assert and declare it, I can only come to the -conclusion that there is some mystery in this persistence in what is so -opposed to the evidence of experience and truth itself; for I swear -by”—and here he rapped out a round oath—“all the people in the world -will not make me believe that this is not a barber’s basin and that a -jackass’s pack-saddle.” - -“It might easily be a she-ass’s,” observed the curate. - -“It is all the same,” said the servant; “that is not the point; but -whether it is or is not a pack-saddle, as your worships say.” - -On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of the Brotherhood, -who had been listening to the dispute and controversy, unable to -restrain his anger and impatience, exclaimed, “It is a pack-saddle as -sure as my father is my father, and whoever has said or will say -anything else must be drunk.” - -“You lie like a rascally clown,” returned Don Quixote; and lifting his -pike, which he had never let out of his hand, he delivered such a blow -at his head that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have -stretched him at full length. The pike was shivered in pieces against -the ground, and the rest of the officers, seeing their comrade -assaulted, raised a shout, calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood. -The landlord, who was of the fraternity, ran at once to fetch his staff -of office and his sword, and ranged himself on the side of his -comrades; the servants of Don Luis clustered round him, lest he should -escape from them in the confusion; the barber, seeing the house turned -upside down, once more laid hold of his pack-saddle and Sancho did the -same; Don Quixote drew his sword and charged the officers; Don Luis -cried out to his servants to leave him alone and go and help Don -Quixote, and Cardenio and Don Fernando, who were supporting him; the -curate was shouting at the top of his voice, the landlady was -screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes was weeping, Dorothea -was aghast, Luscinda terror-stricken, and Doña Clara in a faint. The -barber cudgelled Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; Don Luis gave -one of his servants, who ventured to catch him by the arm to keep him -from escaping, a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood; the Judge took -his part; Don Fernando had got one of the officers down and was -belabouring him heartily; the landlord raised his voice again calling -for help for the Holy Brotherhood; so that the whole inn was nothing -but cries, shouts, shrieks, confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, -sword-cuts, fisticuffs, cudgellings, kicks, and bloodshed; and in the -midst of all this chaos, complication, and general entanglement, Don -Quixote took it into his head that he had been plunged into the thick -of the discord of Agramante’s camp; and, in a voice that shook the inn -like thunder, he cried out: - -“Hold all, let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend to -me as they value their lives!” - -All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to say, “Did I not tell -you, sirs, that this castle was enchanted, and that a legion or so of -devils dwelt in it? In proof whereof I call upon you to behold with -your own eyes how the discord of Agramante’s camp has come hither, and -been transferred into the midst of us. See how they fight, there for -the sword, here for the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for -the helmet; we are all fighting, and all at cross purposes. Come then, -you, Señor Judge, and you, señor curate; let the one represent King -Agramante and the other King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by -God Almighty it is a sorry business that so many persons of quality as -we are should slay one another for such trifling cause.” The officers, -who did not understand Don Quixote’s mode of speaking, and found -themselves roughly handled by Don Fernando, Cardenio, and their -companions, were not to be appeased; the barber was, however, for both -his beard and his pack-saddle were the worse for the struggle; Sancho -like a good servant obeyed the slightest word of his master; while the -four servants of Don Luis kept quiet when they saw how little they -gained by not being so. The landlord alone insisted upon it that they -must punish the insolence of this madman, who at every turn raised a -disturbance in the inn; but at length the uproar was stilled for the -present; the pack-saddle remained a caparison till the day of judgment, -and the basin a helmet and the inn a castle in Don Quixote’s -imagination. - -All having been now pacified and made friends by the persuasion of the -Judge and the curate, the servants of Don Luis began again to urge him -to return with them at once; and while he was discussing the matter -with them, the Judge took counsel with Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the -curate as to what he ought to do in the case, telling them how it -stood, and what Don Luis had said to him. It was agreed at length that -Don Fernando should tell the servants of Don Luis who he was, and that -it was his desire that Don Luis should accompany him to Andalusia, -where he would receive from the marquis his brother the welcome his -quality entitled him to; for, otherwise, it was easy to see from the -determination of Don Luis that he would not return to his father at -present, though they tore him to pieces. On learning the rank of Don -Fernando and the resolution of Don Luis the four then settled it -between themselves that three of them should return to tell his father -how matters stood, and that the other should remain to wait upon Don -Luis, and not leave him until they came back for him, or his father’s -orders were known. Thus by the authority of Agramante and the wisdom of -King Sobrino all this complication of disputes was arranged; but the -enemy of concord and hater of peace, feeling himself slighted and made -a fool of, and seeing how little he had gained after having involved -them all in such an elaborate entanglement, resolved to try his hand -once more by stirring up fresh quarrels and disturbances. - -It came about in this wise: the officers were pacified on learning the -rank of those with whom they had been engaged, and withdrew from the -contest, considering that whatever the result might be they were likely -to get the worst of the battle; but one of them, the one who had been -thrashed and kicked by Don Fernando, recollected that among some -warrants he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he had one -against Don Quixote, whom the Holy Brotherhood had ordered to be -arrested for setting the galley slaves free, as Sancho had, with very -good reason, apprehended. Suspecting how it was, then, he wished to -satisfy himself as to whether Don Quixote’s features corresponded; and -taking a parchment out of his bosom he lit upon what he was in search -of, and setting himself to read it deliberately, for he was not a quick -reader, as he made out each word he fixed his eyes on Don Quixote, and -went on comparing the description in the warrant with his face, and -discovered that beyond all doubt he was the person described in it. As -soon as he had satisfied himself, folding up the parchment, he took the -warrant in his left hand and with his right seized Don Quixote by the -collar so tightly that he did not allow him to breathe, and shouted -aloud, “Help for the Holy Brotherhood! and that you may see I demand it -in earnest, read this warrant which says this highwayman is to be -arrested.” - -The curate took the warrant and saw that what the officer said was -true, and that it agreed with Don Quixote’s appearance, who, on his -part, when he found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, -worked up to the highest pitch of wrath, and all his joints cracking -with rage, with both hands seized the officer by the throat with all -his might, so that had he not been helped by his comrades he would have -yielded up his life ere Don Quixote released his hold. The landlord, -who had perforce to support his brother officers, ran at once to aid -them. The landlady, when she saw her husband engaged in a fresh -quarrel, lifted up her voice afresh, and its note was immediately -caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, calling upon heaven and all -present for help; and Sancho, seeing what was going on, exclaimed, “By -the Lord, it is quite true what my master says about the enchantments -of this castle, for it is impossible to live an hour in peace in it!” - -Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, and to their mutual -contentment made them relax the grip by which they held, the one the -coat collar, the other the throat of his adversary; for all this, -however, the officers did not cease to demand their prisoner and call -on them to help, and deliver him over bound into their power, as was -required for the service of the King and of the Holy Brotherhood, on -whose behalf they again demanded aid and assistance to effect the -capture of this robber and footpad of the highways. - -Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, and said very calmly, -“Come now, base, ill-born brood; call ye it highway robbery to give -freedom to those in bondage, to release the captives, to succour the -miserable, to raise up the fallen, to relieve the needy? Infamous -beings, who by your vile grovelling intellects deserve that heaven -should not make known to you the virtue that lies in knight-errantry, -or show you the sin and ignorance in which ye lie when ye refuse to -respect the shadow, not to say the presence, of any knight-errant! Come -now; band, not of officers, but of thieves; footpads with the licence -of the Holy Brotherhood; tell me who was the ignoramus who signed a -warrant of arrest against such a knight as I am? Who was he that did -not know that knights-errant are independent of all jurisdictions, that -their law is their sword, their charter their prowess, and their edicts -their will? Who, I say again, was the fool that knows not that there -are no letters patent of nobility that confer such privileges or -exemptions as a knight-errant acquires the day he is dubbed a knight, -and devotes himself to the arduous calling of chivalry? What -knight-errant ever paid poll-tax, duty, queen’s pin-money, king’s dues, -toll or ferry? What tailor ever took payment of him for making his -clothes? What castellan that received him in his castle ever made him -pay his shot? What king did not seat him at his table? What damsel was -not enamoured of him and did not yield herself up wholly to his will -and pleasure? And, lastly, what knight-errant has there been, is there, -or will there ever be in the world, not bold enough to give, -single-handed, four hundred cudgellings to four hundred officers of the -Holy Brotherhood if they come in his way?” - -CHAPTER XLVI. -OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY -BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON -QUIXOTE - -While Don Quixote was talking in this strain, the curate was -endeavouring to persuade the officers that he was out of his senses, as -they might perceive by his deeds and his words, and that they need not -press the matter any further, for even if they arrested him and carried -him off, they would have to release him by-and-by as a madman; to which -the holder of the warrant replied that he had nothing to do with -inquiring into Don Quixote’s madness, but only to execute his -superior’s orders, and that once taken they might let him go three -hundred times if they liked. - -“For all that,” said the curate, “you must not take him away this time, -nor will he, it is my opinion, let himself be taken away.” - -In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don Quixote did such mad -things, that the officers would have been more mad than he was if they -had not perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it best to -allow themselves to be pacified, and even to act as peacemakers between -the barber and Sancho Panza, who still continued their altercation with -much bitterness. In the end they, as officers of justice, settled the -question by arbitration in such a manner that both sides were, if not -perfectly contented, at least to some extent satisfied; for they -changed the pack-saddles, but not the girths or head-stalls; and as to -Mambrino’s helmet, the curate, under the rose and without Don Quixote’s -knowing it, paid eight reals for the basin, and the barber executed a -full receipt and engagement to make no further demand then or -thenceforth for evermore, amen. These two disputes, which were the most -important and gravest, being settled, it only remained for the servants -of Don Luis to consent that three of them should return while one was -left to accompany him whither Don Fernando desired to take him; and -good luck and better fortune, having already begun to solve -difficulties and remove obstructions in favour of the lovers and -warriors of the inn, were pleased to persevere and bring everything to -a happy issue; for the servants agreed to do as Don Luis wished; which -gave Doña Clara such happiness that no one could have looked into her -face just then without seeing the joy of her heart. Zoraida, though she -did not fully comprehend all she saw, was grave or gay without knowing -why, as she watched and studied the various countenances, but -particularly her Spaniard’s, whom she followed with her eyes and clung -to with her soul. The gift and compensation which the curate gave the -barber had not escaped the landlord’s notice, and he demanded Don -Quixote’s reckoning, together with the amount of the damage to his -wine-skins, and the loss of his wine, swearing that neither Rocinante -nor Sancho’s ass should leave the inn until he had been paid to the -very last farthing. The curate settled all amicably, and Don Fernando -paid; though the Judge had also very readily offered to pay the score; -and all became so peaceful and quiet that the inn no longer reminded -one of the discord of Agramante’s camp, as Don Quixote said, but of the -peace and tranquillity of the days of Octavianus: for all which it was -the universal opinion that their thanks were due to the great zeal and -eloquence of the curate, and to the unexampled generosity of Don -Fernando. - -Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, his squire’s as -well as his own, Don Quixote considered that it would be advisable to -continue the journey he had begun, and bring to a close that great -adventure for which he had been called and chosen; and with this high -resolve he went and knelt before Dorothea, who, however, would not -allow him to utter a word until he had risen; so to obey her he rose, -and said, “It is a common proverb, fair lady, that ‘diligence is the -mother of good fortune,’ and experience has often shown in important -affairs that the earnestness of the negotiator brings the doubtful case -to a successful termination; but in nothing does this truth show itself -more plainly than in war, where quickness and activity forestall the -devices of the enemy, and win the victory before the foe has time to -defend himself. All this I say, exalted and esteemed lady, because it -seems to me that for us to remain any longer in this castle now is -useless, and may be injurious to us in a way that we shall find out -some day; for who knows but that your enemy the giant may have learned -by means of secret and diligent spies that I am going to destroy him, -and if the opportunity be given him he may seize it to fortify himself -in some impregnable castle or stronghold, against which all my efforts -and the might of my indefatigable arm may avail but little? Therefore, -lady, let us, as I say, forestall his schemes by our activity, and let -us depart at once in quest of fair fortune; for your highness is only -kept from enjoying it as fully as you could desire by my delay in -encountering your adversary.” - -Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, calmly awaiting the reply -of the beauteous princess, who, with commanding dignity and in a style -adapted to Don Quixote’s own, replied to him in these words, “I give -you thanks, sir knight, for the eagerness you, like a good knight to -whom it is a natural obligation to succour the orphan and the needy, -display to afford me aid in my sore trouble; and heaven grant that your -wishes and mine may be realised, so that you may see that there are -women in this world capable of gratitude; as to my departure, let it be -forthwith, for I have no will but yours; dispose of me entirely in -accordance with your good pleasure; for she who has once entrusted to -you the defence of her person, and placed in your hands the recovery of -her dominions, must not think of offering opposition to that which your -wisdom may ordain.” - -“On, then, in God’s name,” said Don Quixote; “for, when a lady humbles -herself to me, I will not lose the opportunity of raising her up and -placing her on the throne of her ancestors. Let us depart at once, for -the common saying that in delay there is danger, lends spurs to my -eagerness to take the road; and as neither heaven has created nor hell -seen any that can daunt or intimidate me, saddle Rocinante, Sancho, and -get ready thy ass and the queen’s palfrey, and let us take leave of the -castellan and these gentlemen, and go hence this very instant.” - -Sancho, who was standing by all the time, said, shaking his head, “Ah! -master, master, there is more mischief in the village than one hears -of, begging all good bodies’ pardon.” - -“What mischief can there be in any village, or in all the cities of the -world, you booby, that can hurt my reputation?” said Don Quixote. - -“If your worship is angry,” replied Sancho, “I will hold my tongue and -leave unsaid what as a good squire I am bound to say, and what a good -servant should tell his master.” - -“Say what thou wilt,” returned Don Quixote, “provided thy words be not -meant to work upon my fears; for thou, if thou fearest, art behaving -like thyself; but I like myself, in not fearing.” - -“It is nothing of the sort, as I am a sinner before God,” said Sancho, -“but that I take it to be sure and certain that this lady, who calls -herself queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more so than my -mother; for, if she was what she says, she would not go rubbing noses -with one that is here every instant and behind every door.” - -Dorothea turned red at Sancho’s words, for the truth was that her -husband Don Fernando had now and then, when the others were not -looking, gathered from her lips some of the reward his love had earned, -and Sancho seeing this had considered that such freedom was more like a -courtesan than a queen of a great kingdom; she, however, being unable -or not caring to answer him, allowed him to proceed, and he continued, -“This I say, señor, because, if after we have travelled roads and -highways, and passed bad nights and worse days, one who is now enjoying -himself in this inn is to reap the fruit of our labours, there is no -need for me to be in a hurry to saddle Rocinante, put the pad on the -ass, or get ready the palfrey; for it will be better for us to stay -quiet, and let every jade mind her spinning, and let us go to dinner.” - -Good God, what was the indignation of Don Quixote when he heard the -audacious words of his squire! So great was it, that in a voice -inarticulate with rage, with a stammering tongue, and eyes that flashed -living fire, he exclaimed, “Rascally clown, boorish, insolent, and -ignorant, ill-spoken, foul-mouthed, impudent backbiter and slanderer! -Hast thou dared to utter such words in my presence and in that of these -illustrious ladies? Hast thou dared to harbour such gross and shameless -thoughts in thy muddled imagination? Begone from my presence, thou born -monster, storehouse of lies, hoard of untruths, garner of knaveries, -inventor of scandals, publisher of absurdities, enemy of the respect -due to royal personages! Begone, show thyself no more before me under -pain of my wrath;” and so saying he knitted his brows, puffed out his -cheeks, gazed around him, and stamped on the ground violently with his -right foot, showing in every way the rage that was pent up in his -heart; and at his words and furious gestures Sancho was so scared and -terrified that he would have been glad if the earth had opened that -instant and swallowed him, and his only thought was to turn round and -make his escape from the angry presence of his master. - -But the ready-witted Dorothea, who by this time so well understood Don -Quixote’s humour, said, to mollify his wrath, “Be not irritated at the -absurdities your good squire has uttered, Sir Knight of the Rueful -Countenance, for perhaps he did not utter them without cause, and from -his good sense and Christian conscience it is not likely that he would -bear false witness against anyone. We may therefore believe, without -any hesitation, that since, as you say, sir knight, everything in this -castle goes and is brought about by means of enchantment, Sancho, I -say, may possibly have seen, through this diabolical medium, what he -says he saw so much to the detriment of my modesty.” - -“I swear by God Omnipotent,” exclaimed Don Quixote at this, “your -highness has hit the point; and that some vile illusion must have come -before this sinner of a Sancho, that made him see what it would have -been impossible to see by any other means than enchantments; for I know -well enough, from the poor fellow’s goodness and harmlessness, that he -is incapable of bearing false witness against anybody.” - -“True, no doubt,” said Don Fernando, “for which reason, Señor Don -Quixote, you ought to forgive him and restore him to the bosom of your -favour, _sicut erat in principio_, before illusions of this sort had -taken away his senses.” - -Don Quixote said he was ready to pardon him, and the curate went for -Sancho, who came in very humbly, and falling on his knees begged for -the hand of his master, who having presented it to him and allowed him -to kiss it, gave him his blessing and said, “Now, Sancho my son, thou -wilt be convinced of the truth of what I have many a time told thee, -that everything in this castle is done by means of enchantment.” - -“So it is, I believe,” said Sancho, “except the affair of the blanket, -which came to pass in reality by ordinary means.” - -“Believe it not,” said Don Quixote, “for had it been so, I would have -avenged thee that instant, or even now; but neither then nor now could -I, nor have I seen anyone upon whom to avenge thy wrong.” - -They were all eager to know what the affair of the blanket was, and the -landlord gave them a minute account of Sancho’s flights, at which they -laughed not a little, and at which Sancho would have been no less out -of countenance had not his master once more assured him it was all -enchantment. For all that his simplicity never reached so high a pitch -that he could persuade himself it was not the plain and simple truth, -without any deception whatever about it, that he had been blanketed by -beings of flesh and blood, and not by visionary and imaginary phantoms, -as his master believed and protested. - -The illustrious company had now been two days in the inn; and as it -seemed to them time to depart, they devised a plan so that, without -giving Dorothea and Don Fernando the trouble of going back with Don -Quixote to his village under pretence of restoring Queen Micomicona, -the curate and the barber might carry him away with them as they -proposed, and the curate be able to take his madness in hand at home; -and in pursuance of their plan they arranged with the owner of an -oxcart who happened to be passing that way to carry him after this -fashion. They constructed a kind of cage with wooden bars, large enough -to hold Don Quixote comfortably; and then Don Fernando and his -companions, the servants of Don Luis, and the officers of the -Brotherhood, together with the landlord, by the directions and advice -of the curate, covered their faces and disguised themselves, some in -one way, some in another, so as to appear to Don Quixote quite -different from the persons he had seen in the castle. This done, in -profound silence they entered the room where he was asleep, taking his -rest after the past frays, and advancing to where he was sleeping -tranquilly, not dreaming of anything of the kind happening, they seized -him firmly and bound him fast hand and foot, so that, when he awoke -startled, he was unable to move, and could only marvel and wonder at -the strange figures he saw before him; upon which he at once gave way -to the idea which his crazed fancy invariably conjured up before him, -and took it into his head that all these shapes were phantoms of the -enchanted castle, and that he himself was unquestionably enchanted as -he could neither move nor help himself; precisely what the curate, the -concoctor of the scheme, expected would happen. Of all that were there -Sancho was the only one who was at once in his senses and in his own -proper character, and he, though he was within very little of sharing -his master’s infirmity, did not fail to perceive who all these -disguised figures were; but he did not dare to open his lips until he -saw what came of this assault and capture of his master; nor did the -latter utter a word, waiting to the upshot of his mishap; which was -that bringing in the cage, they shut him up in it and nailed the bars -so firmly that they could not be easily burst open. - -They then took him on their shoulders, and as they passed out of the -room an awful voice—as much so as the barber, not he of the pack-saddle -but the other, was able to make it—was heard to say, “O Knight of the -Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in which thou art placed -afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy -accomplishment of the adventure in which thy great heart has engaged -thee; the which shall be accomplished when the raging Manchegan lion -and the white Tobosan dove shall be linked together, having first -humbled their haughty necks to the gentle yoke of matrimony. And from -this marvellous union shall come forth to the light of the world brave -whelps that shall rival the ravening claws of their valiant father; and -this shall come to pass ere the pursuer of the flying nymph shall in -his swift natural course have twice visited the starry signs. And thou, -O most noble and obedient squire that ever bore sword at side, beard on -face, or nose to smell with, be not dismayed or grieved to see the -flower of knight-errantry carried away thus before thy very eyes; for -soon, if it so please the Framer of the universe, thou shalt see -thyself exalted to such a height that thou shalt not know thyself, and -the promises which thy good master has made thee shall not prove false; -and I assure thee, on the authority of the sage Mentironiana, that thy -wages shall be paid thee, as thou shalt see in due season. Follow then -the footsteps of the valiant enchanted knight, for it is expedient that -thou shouldst go to the destination assigned to both of you; and as it -is not permitted to me to say more, God be with thee; for I return to -that place I wot of;” and as he brought the prophecy to a close he -raised his voice to a high pitch, and then lowered it to such a soft -tone, that even those who knew it was all a joke were almost inclined -to take what they heard seriously. - -Don Quixote was comforted by the prophecy he heard, for he at once -comprehended its meaning perfectly, and perceived it was promised to -him that he should see himself united in holy and lawful matrimony with -his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose blessed womb should proceed -the whelps, his sons, to the eternal glory of La Mancha; and being -thoroughly and firmly persuaded of this, he lifted up his voice, and -with a deep sigh exclaimed, “Oh thou, whoever thou art, who hast -foretold me so much good, I implore of thee that on my part thou -entreat that sage enchanter who takes charge of my interests, that he -leave me not to perish in this captivity in which they are now carrying -me away, ere I see fulfilled promises so joyful and incomparable as -those which have been now made me; for, let this but come to pass, and -I shall glory in the pains of my prison, find comfort in these chains -wherewith they bind me, and regard this bed whereon they stretch me, -not as a hard battle-field, but as a soft and happy nuptial couch; and -touching the consolation of Sancho Panza, my squire, I rely upon his -goodness and rectitude that he will not desert me in good or evil -fortune; for if, by his ill luck or mine, it may not happen to be in my -power to give him the island I have promised, or any equivalent for it, -at least his wages shall not be lost; for in my will, which is already -made, I have declared the sum that shall be paid to him, measured, not -by his many faithful services, but by the means at my disposal.” - -Sancho bowed his head very respectfully and kissed both his hands, for, -being tied together, he could not kiss one; and then the apparitions -lifted the cage upon their shoulders and fixed it upon the ox-cart. - -CHAPTER XLVII. -OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED -AWAY ENCHANTED, TOGETHER WITH OTHER REMARKABLE INCIDENTS - -When Don Quixote saw himself caged and hoisted on the cart in this way, -he said, “Many grave histories of knights-errant have I read; but never -yet have I read, seen, or heard of their carrying off enchanted -knights-errant in this fashion, or at the slow pace that these lazy, -sluggish animals promise; for they always take them away through the -air with marvellous swiftness, enveloped in a dark thick cloud, or on a -chariot of fire, or it may be on some hippogriff or other beast of the -kind; but to carry me off like this on an ox-cart! By God, it puzzles -me! But perhaps the chivalry and enchantments of our day take a -different course from that of those in days gone by; and it may be, -too, that as I am a new knight in the world, and the first to revive -the already forgotten calling of knight-adventurers, they may have -newly invented other kinds of enchantments and other modes of carrying -off the enchanted. What thinkest thou of the matter, Sancho my son?” - -“I don’t know what to think,” answered Sancho, “not being as well read -as your worship in errant writings; but for all that I venture to say -and swear that these apparitions that are about us are not quite -catholic.” - -“Catholic!” said Don Quixote. “Father of me! how can they be Catholic -when they are all devils that have taken fantastic shapes to come and -do this, and bring me to this condition? And if thou wouldst prove it, -touch them, and feel them, and thou wilt find they have only bodies of -air, and no consistency except in appearance.” - -“By God, master,” returned Sancho, “I have touched them already; and -that devil, that goes about there so busily, has firm flesh, and -another property very different from what I have heard say devils have, -for by all accounts they all smell of brimstone and other bad smells; -but this one smells of amber half a league off.” Sancho was here -speaking of Don Fernando, who, like a gentleman of his rank, was very -likely perfumed as Sancho said. - -“Marvel not at that, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “for let me -tell thee devils are crafty; and even if they do carry odours about -with them, they themselves have no smell, because they are spirits; or, -if they have any smell, they cannot smell of anything sweet, but of -something foul and fetid; and the reason is that as they carry hell -with them wherever they go, and can get no ease whatever from their -torments, and as a sweet smell is a thing that gives pleasure and -enjoyment, it is impossible that they can smell sweet; if, then, this -devil thou speakest of seems to thee to smell of amber, either thou art -deceiving thyself, or he wants to deceive thee by making thee fancy he -is not a devil.” - -Such was the conversation that passed between master and man; and Don -Fernando and Cardenio, apprehensive of Sancho’s making a complete -discovery of their scheme, towards which he had already gone some way, -resolved to hasten their departure, and calling the landlord aside, -they directed him to saddle Rocinante and put the pack-saddle on -Sancho’s ass, which he did with great alacrity. In the meantime the -curate had made an arrangement with the officers that they should bear -them company as far as his village, he paying them so much a day. -Cardenio hung the buckler on one side of the bow of Rocinante’s saddle -and the basin on the other, and by signs commanded Sancho to mount his -ass and take Rocinante’s bridle, and at each side of the cart he placed -two officers with their muskets; but before the cart was put in motion, -out came the landlady and her daughter and Maritornes to bid Don -Quixote farewell, pretending to weep with grief at his misfortune; and -to them Don Quixote said: - -“Weep not, good ladies, for all these mishaps are the lot of those who -follow the profession I profess; and if these reverses did not befall -me I should not esteem myself a famous knight-errant; for such things -never happen to knights of little renown and fame, because nobody in -the world thinks about them; to valiant knights they do, for these are -envied for their virtue and valour by many princes and other knights -who compass the destruction of the worthy by base means. Nevertheless, -virtue is of herself so mighty, that, in spite of all the magic that -Zoroaster its first inventor knew, she will come victorious out of -every trial, and shed her light upon the earth as the sun does upon the -heavens. Forgive me, fair ladies, if, through inadvertence, I have in -aught offended you; for intentionally and wittingly I have never done -so to any; and pray to God that he deliver me from this captivity to -which some malevolent enchanter has consigned me; and should I find -myself released therefrom, the favours that ye have bestowed upon me in -this castle shall be held in memory by me, that I may acknowledge, -recognise, and requite them as they deserve.” - -While this was passing between the ladies of the castle and Don -Quixote, the curate and the barber bade farewell to Don Fernando and -his companions, to the captain, his brother, and the ladies, now all -made happy, and in particular to Dorothea and Luscinda. They all -embraced one another, and promised to let each other know how things -went with them, and Don Fernando directed the curate where to write to -him, to tell him what became of Don Quixote, assuring him that there -was nothing that could give him more pleasure than to hear of it, and -that he too, on his part, would send him word of everything he thought -he would like to know, about his marriage, Zoraida’s baptism, Don -Luis’s affair, and Luscinda’s return to her home. The curate promised -to comply with his request carefully, and they embraced once more, and -renewed their promises. - -The landlord approached the curate and handed him some papers, saying -he had discovered them in the lining of the valise in which the novel -of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been found, and that he might take -them all away with him as their owner had not since returned; for, as -he could not read, he did not want them himself. The curate thanked -him, and opening them he saw at the beginning of the manuscript the -words, “Novel of Rinconete and Cortadillo,” by which he perceived that -it was a novel, and as that of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been -good he concluded this would be so too, as they were both probably by -the same author; so he kept it, intending to read it when he had an -opportunity. He then mounted and his friend the barber did the same, -both masked, so as not to be recognised by Don Quixote, and set out -following in the rear of the cart. The order of march was this: first -went the cart with the owner leading it; at each side of it marched the -officers of the Brotherhood, as has been said, with their muskets; then -followed Sancho Panza on his ass, leading Rocinante by the bridle; and -behind all came the curate and the barber on their mighty mules, with -faces covered, as aforesaid, and a grave and serious air, measuring -their pace to suit the slow steps of the oxen. Don Quixote was seated -in the cage, with his hands tied and his feet stretched out, leaning -against the bars as silent and as patient as if he were a stone statue -and not a man of flesh. Thus slowly and silently they made, it might -be, two leagues, until they reached a valley which the carter thought a -convenient place for resting and feeding his oxen, and he said so to -the curate, but the barber was of opinion that they ought to push on a -little farther, as at the other side of a hill which appeared close by -he knew there was a valley that had more grass and much better than the -one where they proposed to halt; and his advice was taken and they -continued their journey. - -Just at that moment the curate, looking back, saw coming on behind them -six or seven mounted men, well found and equipped, who soon overtook -them, for they were travelling, not at the sluggish, deliberate pace of -oxen, but like men who rode canons’ mules, and in haste to take their -noontide rest as soon as possible at the inn which was in sight not a -league off. The quick travellers came up with the slow, and courteous -salutations were exchanged; and one of the new comers, who was, in -fact, a canon of Toledo and master of the others who accompanied him, -observing the regular order of the procession, the cart, the officers, -Sancho, Rocinante, the curate and the barber, and above all Don Quixote -caged and confined, could not help asking what was the meaning of -carrying the man in that fashion; though, from the badges of the -officers, he already concluded that he must be some desperate -highwayman or other malefactor whose punishment fell within the -jurisdiction of the Holy Brotherhood. One of the officers to whom he -had put the question, replied, “Let the gentleman himself tell you the -meaning of his going this way, señor, for we do not know.” - -Don Quixote overheard the conversation and said, “Haply, gentlemen, you -are versed and learned in matters of errant chivalry? Because if you -are I will tell you my misfortunes; if not, there is no good in my -giving myself the trouble of relating them;” but here the curate and -the barber, seeing that the travellers were engaged in conversation -with Don Quixote, came forward, in order to answer in such a way as to -save their stratagem from being discovered. - -The canon, replying to Don Quixote, said, “In truth, brother, I know -more about books of chivalry than I do about Villalpando’s elements of -logic; so if that be all, you may safely tell me what you please.” - -“In God’s name, then, señor,” replied Don Quixote; “if that be so, I -would have you know that I am held enchanted in this cage by the envy -and fraud of wicked enchanters; for virtue is more persecuted by the -wicked than loved by the good. I am a knight-errant, and not one of -those whose names Fame has never thought of immortalising in her -record, but of those who, in defiance and in spite of envy itself, and -all the magicians that Persia, or Brahmans that India, or Gymnosophists -that Ethiopia ever produced, will place their names in the temple of -immortality, to serve as examples and patterns for ages to come, -whereby knights-errant may see the footsteps in which they must tread -if they would attain the summit and crowning point of honour in arms.” - -“What Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha says,” observed the curate, “is -the truth; for he goes enchanted in this cart, not from any fault or -sins of his, but because of the malevolence of those to whom virtue is -odious and valour hateful. This, señor, is the Knight of the Rueful -Countenance, if you have ever heard him named, whose valiant -achievements and mighty deeds shall be written on lasting brass and -imperishable marble, notwithstanding all the efforts of envy to obscure -them and malice to hide them.” - -When the canon heard both the prisoner and the man who was at liberty -talk in such a strain he was ready to cross himself in his -astonishment, and could not make out what had befallen him; and all his -attendants were in the same state of amazement. - -At this point Sancho Panza, who had drawn near to hear the -conversation, said, in order to make everything plain, “Well, sirs, you -may like or dislike what I am going to say, but the fact of the matter -is, my master, Don Quixote, is just as much enchanted as my mother. He -is in his full senses, he eats and he drinks, and he has his calls like -other men and as he had yesterday, before they caged him. And if that’s -the case, what do they mean by wanting me to believe that he is -enchanted? For I have heard many a one say that enchanted people -neither eat, nor sleep, nor talk; and my master, if you don’t stop him, -will talk more than thirty lawyers.” Then turning to the curate he -exclaimed, “Ah, señor curate, señor curate! do you think I don’t know -you? Do you think I don’t guess and see the drift of these new -enchantments? Well then, I can tell you I know you, for all your face -is covered, and I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide -your tricks. After all, where envy reigns virtue cannot live, and where -there is niggardliness there can be no liberality. Ill betide the -devil! if it had not been for your worship my master would be married -to the Princess Micomicona this minute, and I should be a count at -least; for no less was to be expected, as well from the goodness of my -master, him of the Rueful Countenance, as from the greatness of my -services. But I see now how true it is what they say in these parts, -that the wheel of fortune turns faster than a mill-wheel, and that -those who were up yesterday are down to-day. I am sorry for my wife and -children, for when they might fairly and reasonably expect to see their -father return to them a governor or viceroy of some island or kingdom, -they will see him come back a horse-boy. I have said all this, señor -curate, only to urge your paternity to lay to your conscience your -ill-treatment of my master; and have a care that God does not call you -to account in another life for making a prisoner of him in this way, -and charge against you all the succours and good deeds that my lord Don -Quixote leaves undone while he is shut up. - -“Trim those lamps there!” exclaimed the barber at this; “so you are of -the same fraternity as your master, too, Sancho? By God, I begin to see -that you will have to keep him company in the cage, and be enchanted -like him for having caught some of his humour and chivalry. It was an -evil hour when you let yourself be got with child by his promises, and -that island you long so much for found its way into your head.” - -“I am not with child by anyone,” returned Sancho, “nor am I a man to -let myself be got with child, if it was by the King himself. Though I -am poor I am an old Christian, and I owe nothing to nobody, and if I -long for an island, other people long for worse. Each of us is the son -of his own works; and being a man I may come to be pope, not to say -governor of an island, especially as my master may win so many that he -will not know whom to give them to. Mind how you talk, master barber; -for shaving is not everything, and there is some difference between -Peter and Peter. I say this because we all know one another, and it -will not do to throw false dice with me; and as to the enchantment of -my master, God knows the truth; leave it as it is; it only makes it -worse to stir it.” - -The barber did not care to answer Sancho lest by his plain speaking he -should disclose what the curate and he himself were trying so hard to -conceal; and under the same apprehension the curate had asked the canon -to ride on a little in advance, so that he might tell him the mystery -of this man in the cage, and other things that would amuse him. The -canon agreed, and going on ahead with his servants, listened with -attention to the account of the character, life, madness, and ways of -Don Quixote, given him by the curate, who described to him briefly the -beginning and origin of his craze, and told him the whole story of his -adventures up to his being confined in the cage, together with the plan -they had of taking him home to try if by any means they could discover -a cure for his madness. The canon and his servants were surprised anew -when they heard Don Quixote’s strange story, and when it was finished -he said, “To tell the truth, señor curate, I for my part consider what -they call books of chivalry to be mischievous to the State; and though, -led by idle and false taste, I have read the beginnings of almost all -that have been printed, I never could manage to read any one of them -from beginning to end; for it seems to me they are all more or less the -same thing; and one has nothing more in it than another; this no more -than that. And in my opinion this sort of writing and composition is of -the same species as the fables they call the Milesian, nonsensical -tales that aim solely at giving amusement and not instruction, exactly -the opposite of the apologue fables which amuse and instruct at the -same time. And though it may be the chief object of such books to -amuse, I do not know how they can succeed, when they are so full of -such monstrous nonsense. For the enjoyment the mind feels must come -from the beauty and harmony which it perceives or contemplates in the -things that the eye or the imagination brings before it; and nothing -that has any ugliness or disproportion about it can give any pleasure. -What beauty, then, or what proportion of the parts to the whole, or of -the whole to the parts, can there be in a book or fable where a lad of -sixteen cuts down a giant as tall as a tower and makes two halves of -him as if he was an almond cake? And when they want to give us a -picture of a battle, after having told us that there are a million of -combatants on the side of the enemy, let the hero of the book be -opposed to them, and we have perforce to believe, whether we like it or -not, that the said knight wins the victory by the single might of his -strong arm. And then, what shall we say of the facility with which a -born queen or empress will give herself over into the arms of some -unknown wandering knight? What mind, that is not wholly barbarous and -uncultured, can find pleasure in reading of how a great tower full of -knights sails away across the sea like a ship with a fair wind, and -will be to-night in Lombardy and to-morrow morning in the land of -Prester John of the Indies, or some other that Ptolemy never described -nor Marco Polo saw? And if, in answer to this, I am told that the -authors of books of the kind write them as fiction, and therefore are -not bound to regard niceties of truth, I would reply that fiction is -all the better the more it looks like truth, and gives the more -pleasure the more probability and possibility there is about it. Plots -in fiction should be wedded to the understanding of the reader, and be -constructed in such a way that, reconciling impossibilities, smoothing -over difficulties, keeping the mind on the alert, they may surprise, -interest, divert, and entertain, so that wonder and delight joined may -keep pace one with the other; all which he will fail to effect who -shuns verisimilitude and truth to nature, wherein lies the perfection -of writing. I have never yet seen any book of chivalry that puts -together a connected plot complete in all its numbers, so that the -middle agrees with the beginning, and the end with the beginning and -middle; on the contrary, they construct them with such a multitude of -members that it seems as though they meant to produce a chimera or -monster rather than a well-proportioned figure. And besides all this -they are harsh in their style, incredible in their achievements, -licentious in their amours, uncouth in their courtly speeches, prolix -in their battles, silly in their arguments, absurd in their travels, -and, in short, wanting in everything like intelligent art; for which -reason they deserve to be banished from the Christian commonwealth as a -worthless breed.” - -The curate listened to him attentively and felt that he was a man of -sound understanding, and that there was good reason in what he said; so -he told him that, being of the same opinion himself, and bearing a -grudge to books of chivalry, he had burned all Don Quixote’s, which -were many; and gave him an account of the scrutiny he had made of them, -and of those he had condemned to the flames and those he had spared, -with which the canon was not a little amused, adding that though he had -said so much in condemnation of these books, still he found one good -thing in them, and that was the opportunity they afforded to a gifted -intellect for displaying itself; for they presented a wide and spacious -field over which the pen might range freely, describing shipwrecks, -tempests, combats, battles, portraying a valiant captain with all the -qualifications requisite to make one, showing him sagacious in -foreseeing the wiles of the enemy, eloquent in speech to encourage or -restrain his soldiers, ripe in counsel, rapid in resolve, as bold in -biding his time as in pressing the attack; now picturing some sad -tragic incident, now some joyful and unexpected event; here a beauteous -lady, virtuous, wise, and modest; there a Christian knight, brave and -gentle; here a lawless, barbarous braggart; there a courteous prince, -gallant and gracious; setting forth the devotion and loyalty of -vassals, the greatness and generosity of nobles. “Or again,” said he, -“the author may show himself to be an astronomer, or a skilled -cosmographer, or musician, or one versed in affairs of state, and -sometimes he will have a chance of coming forward as a magician if he -likes. He can set forth the craftiness of Ulysses, the piety of Æneas, -the valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the treachery of -Sinon, the friendship of Euryalus, the generosity of Alexander, the -boldness of Cæsar, the clemency and truth of Trajan, the fidelity of -Zopyrus, the wisdom of Cato, and in short all the faculties that serve -to make an illustrious man perfect, now uniting them in one individual, -again distributing them among many; and if this be done with charm of -style and ingenious invention, aiming at the truth as much as possible, -he will assuredly weave a web of bright and varied threads that, when -finished, will display such perfection and beauty that it will attain -the worthiest object any writing can seek, which, as I said before, is -to give instruction and pleasure combined; for the unrestricted range -of these books enables the author to show his powers, epic, lyric, -tragic, or comic, and all the moods the sweet and winning arts of poesy -and oratory are capable of; for the epic may be written in prose just -as well as in verse.” - -CHAPTER XLVIII. -IN WHICH THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH -OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF HIS WIT - -“It is as you say, señor canon,” said the curate; “and for that reason -those who have hitherto written books of the sort deserve all the more -censure for writing without paying any attention to good taste or the -rules of art, by which they might guide themselves and become as famous -in prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin poetry are in verse.” - -“I myself, at any rate,” said the canon, “was once tempted to write a -book of chivalry in which all the points I have mentioned were to be -observed; and if I must own the truth I have more than a hundred sheets -written; and to try if it came up to my own opinion of it, I showed -them to persons who were fond of this kind of reading, to learned and -intelligent men as well as to ignorant people who cared for nothing but -the pleasure of listening to nonsense, and from all I obtained -flattering approval; nevertheless I proceeded no farther with it, as -well because it seemed to me an occupation inconsistent with my -profession, as because I perceived that the fools are more numerous -than the wise; and, though it is better to be praised by the wise few -than applauded by the foolish many, I have no mind to submit myself to -the stupid judgment of the silly public, to whom the reading of such -books falls for the most part. - -“But what most of all made me hold my hand and even abandon all idea of -finishing it was an argument I put to myself taken from the plays that -are acted now-a-days, which was in this wise: if those that are now in -vogue, as well those that are pure invention as those founded on -history, are, all or most of them, downright nonsense and things that -have neither head nor tail, and yet the public listens to them with -delight, and regards and cries them up as perfection when they are so -far from it; and if the authors who write them, and the players who act -them, say that this is what they must be, for the public wants this and -will have nothing else; and that those that go by rule and work out a -plot according to the laws of art will only find some half-dozen -intelligent people to understand them, while all the rest remain blind -to the merit of their composition; and that for themselves it is better -to get bread from the many than praise from the few; then my book will -fare the same way, after I have burnt off my eyebrows in trying to -observe the principles I have spoken of, and I shall be ‘the tailor of -the corner.’ And though I have sometimes endeavoured to convince actors -that they are mistaken in this notion they have adopted, and that they -would attract more people, and get more credit, by producing plays in -accordance with the rules of art, than by absurd ones, they are so -thoroughly wedded to their own opinion that no argument or evidence can -wean them from it. - -“I remember saying one day to one of these obstinate fellows, ‘Tell me, -do you not recollect that a few years ago, there were three tragedies -acted in Spain, written by a famous poet of these kingdoms, which were -such that they filled all who heard them with admiration, delight, and -interest, the ignorant as well as the wise, the masses as well as the -higher orders, and brought in more money to the performers, these three -alone, than thirty of the best that have been since produced?’ - -“‘No doubt,’ replied the actor in question, ‘you mean the “Isabella,” -the “Phyllis,” and the “Alexandra.”’ - -“‘Those are the ones I mean,’ said I; ‘and see if they did not observe -the principles of art, and if, by observing them, they failed to show -their superiority and please all the world; so that the fault does not -lie with the public that insists upon nonsense, but with those who -don’t know how to produce something else. “The Ingratitude Revenged” -was not nonsense, nor was there any in “The Numantia,” nor any to be -found in “The Merchant Lover,” nor yet in “The Friendly Fair Foe,” nor -in some others that have been written by certain gifted poets, to their -own fame and renown, and to the profit of those that brought them out;’ -some further remarks I added to these, with which, I think, I left him -rather dumbfoundered, but not so satisfied or convinced that I could -disabuse him of his error.” - -“You have touched upon a subject, señor canon,” observed the curate -here, “that has awakened an old enmity I have against the plays in -vogue at the present day, quite as strong as that which I bear to the -books of chivalry; for while the drama, according to Tully, should be -the mirror of human life, the model of manners, and the image of the -truth, those which are presented now-a-days are mirrors of nonsense, -models of folly, and images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can -there be in connection with what we are now discussing than for an -infant to appear in swaddling clothes in the first scene of the first -act, and in the second a grown-up bearded man? Or what greater -absurdity can there be than putting before us an old man as a -swashbuckler, a young man as a poltroon, a lackey using fine language, -a page giving sage advice, a king plying as a porter, a princess who is -a kitchen-maid? And then what shall I say of their attention to the -time in which the action they represent may or can take place, save -that I have seen a play where the first act began in Europe, the second -in Asia, the third finished in Africa, and no doubt, had it been in -four acts, the fourth would have ended in America, and so it would have -been laid in all four quarters of the globe? And if truth to life is -the main thing the drama should keep in view, how is it possible for -any average understanding to be satisfied when the action is supposed -to pass in the time of King Pepin or Charlemagne, and the principal -personage in it they represent to be the Emperor Heraclius who entered -Jerusalem with the cross and won the Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey of -Bouillon, there being years innumerable between the one and the other? -or, if the play is based on fiction and historical facts are -introduced, or bits of what occurred to different people and at -different times mixed up with it, all, not only without any semblance -of probability, but with obvious errors that from every point of view -are inexcusable? And the worst of it is, there are ignorant people who -say that this is perfection, and that anything beyond this is affected -refinement. And then if we turn to sacred dramas—what miracles they -invent in them! What apocryphal, ill-devised incidents, attributing to -one saint the miracles of another! And even in secular plays they -venture to introduce miracles without any reason or object except that -they think some such miracle, or transformation as they call it, will -come in well to astonish stupid people and draw them to the play. All -this tends to the prejudice of the truth and the corruption of history, -nay more, to the reproach of the wits of Spain; for foreigners who -scrupulously observe the laws of the drama look upon us as barbarous -and ignorant, when they see the absurdity and nonsense of the plays we -produce. Nor will it be a sufficient excuse to say that the chief -object well-ordered governments have in view when they permit plays to -be performed in public is to entertain the people with some harmless -amusement occasionally, and keep it from those evil humours which -idleness is apt to engender; and that, as this may be attained by any -sort of play, good or bad, there is no need to lay down laws, or bind -those who write or act them to make them as they ought to be made, -since, as I say, the object sought for may be secured by any sort. To -this I would reply that the same end would be, beyond all comparison, -better attained by means of good plays than by those that are not so; -for after listening to an artistic and properly constructed play, the -hearer will come away enlivened by the jests, instructed by the serious -parts, full of admiration at the incidents, his wits sharpened by the -arguments, warned by the tricks, all the wiser for the examples, -inflamed against vice, and in love with virtue; for in all these ways a -good play will stimulate the mind of the hearer be he ever so boorish -or dull; and of all impossibilities the greatest is that a play endowed -with all these qualities will not entertain, satisfy, and please much -more than one wanting in them, like the greater number of those which -are commonly acted now-a-days. Nor are the poets who write them to be -blamed for this; for some there are among them who are perfectly well -aware of their faults, and know what they ought to do; but as plays -have become a salable commodity, they say, and with truth, that the -actors will not buy them unless they are after this fashion; and so the -poet tries to adapt himself to the requirements of the actor who is to -pay him for his work. And that this is the truth may be seen by the -countless plays that a most fertile wit of these kingdoms has written, -with so much brilliancy, so much grace and gaiety, such polished -versification, such choice language, such profound reflections, and in -a word, so rich in eloquence and elevation of style, that he has filled -the world with his fame; and yet, in consequence of his desire to suit -the taste of the actors, they have not all, as some of them have, come -as near perfection as they ought. Others write plays with such -heedlessness that, after they have been acted, the actors have to fly -and abscond, afraid of being punished, as they often have been, for -having acted something offensive to some king or other, or insulting to -some noble family. All which evils, and many more that I say nothing -of, would be removed if there were some intelligent and sensible person -at the capital to examine all plays before they were acted, not only -those produced in the capital itself, but all that were intended to be -acted in Spain; without whose approval, seal, and signature, no local -magistracy should allow any play to be acted. In that case actors would -take care to send their plays to the capital, and could act them in -safety, and those who write them would be more careful and take more -pains with their work, standing in awe of having to submit it to the -strict examination of one who understood the matter; and so good plays -would be produced and the objects they aim at happily attained; as well -the amusement of the people, as the credit of the wits of Spain, the -interest and safety of the actors, and the saving of trouble in -inflicting punishment on them. And if the same or some other person -were authorised to examine the newly written books of chivalry, no -doubt some would appear with all the perfections you have described, -enriching our language with the gracious and precious treasure of -eloquence, and driving the old books into obscurity before the light of -the new ones that would come out for the harmless entertainment, not -merely of the idle but of the very busiest; for the bow cannot be -always bent, nor can weak human nature exist without some lawful -amusement.” - -The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far with their -conversation, when the barber, coming forward, joined them, and said to -the curate, “This is the spot, señor licentiate, that I said was a good -one for fresh and plentiful pasture for the oxen, while we take our -noontide rest.” - -“And so it seems,” returned the curate, and he told the canon what he -proposed to do, on which he too made up his mind to halt with them, -attracted by the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes; -and to enjoy it as well as the conversation of the curate, to whom he -had begun to take a fancy, and also to learn more particulars about the -doings of Don Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to the -inn, which was not far distant, and fetch from it what eatables there -might be for the whole party, as he meant to rest for the afternoon -where he was; to which one of his servants replied that the sumpter -mule, which by this time ought to have reached the inn, carried -provisions enough to make it unnecessary to get anything from the inn -except barley. - -“In that case,” said the canon, “take all the beasts there, and bring -the sumpter mule back.” - -While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that he could speak to his -master without having the curate and the barber, of whom he had his -suspicions, present all the time, approached the cage in which Don -Quixote was placed, and said, “Señor, to ease my conscience I want to -tell you the state of the case as to your enchantment, and that is that -these two here, with their faces covered, are the curate of our village -and the barber; and I suspect they have hit upon this plan of carrying -you off in this fashion, out of pure envy because your worship -surpasses them in doing famous deeds; and if this be the truth it -follows that you are not enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a fool of. -And to prove this I want to ask you one thing; and if you answer me as -I believe you will answer, you will be able to lay your finger on the -trick, and you will see that you are not enchanted but gone wrong in -your wits.” - -“Ask what thou wilt, Sancho my son,” returned Don Quixote, “for I will -satisfy thee and answer all thou requirest. As to what thou sayest, -that these who accompany us yonder are the curate and the barber, our -neighbours and acquaintances, it is very possible that they may seem to -be those same persons; but that they are so in reality and in fact, -believe it not on any account; what thou art to believe and think is -that, if they look like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who -have enchanted me have taken this shape and likeness; for it is easy -for enchanters to take any form they please, and they may have taken -those of our friends in order to make thee think as thou dost, and lead -thee into a labyrinth of fancies from which thou wilt find no escape -though thou hadst the cord of Theseus; and they may also have done it -to make me uncertain in my mind, and unable to conjecture whence this -evil comes to me; for if on the one hand thou dost tell me that the -barber and curate of our village are here in company with us, and on -the other I find myself shut up in a cage, and know in my heart that no -power on earth that was not supernatural would have been able to shut -me in, what wouldst thou have me say or think, but that my enchantment -is of a sort that transcends all I have ever read of in all the -histories that deal with knights-errant that have been enchanted? So -thou mayest set thy mind at rest as to the idea that they are what thou -sayest, for they are as much so as I am a Turk. But touching thy desire -to ask me something, say on, and I will answer thee, though thou -shouldst ask questions from this till to-morrow morning.” - -“May Our Lady be good to me!” said Sancho, lifting up his voice; “and -is it possible that your worship is so thick of skull and so short of -brains that you cannot see that what I say is the simple truth, and -that malice has more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than -enchantment? But as it is so, I will prove plainly to you that you are -not enchanted. Now tell me, so may God deliver you from this -affliction, and so may you find yourself when you least expect it in -the arms of my lady Dulcinea—” - -“Leave off conjuring me,” said Don Quixote, “and ask what thou wouldst -know; I have already told thee I will answer with all possible -precision.” - -“That is what I want,” said Sancho; “and what I would know, and have -you tell me, without adding or leaving out anything, but telling the -whole truth as one expects it to be told, and as it is told, by all who -profess arms, as your worship professes them, under the title of -knights-errant—” - -“I tell thee I will not lie in any particular,” said Don Quixote; -“finish thy question; for in truth thou weariest me with all these -asseverations, requirements, and precautions, Sancho.” - -“Well, I rely on the goodness and truth of my master,” said Sancho; -“and so, because it bears upon what we are talking about, I would ask, -speaking with all reverence, whether since your worship has been shut -up and, as you think, enchanted in this cage, you have felt any desire -or inclination to go anywhere, as the saying is?” - -“I do not understand ‘going anywhere,’” said Don Quixote; “explain -thyself more clearly, Sancho, if thou wouldst have me give an answer to -the point.” - -“Is it possible,” said Sancho, “that your worship does not understand -‘going anywhere’? Why, the schoolboys know that from the time they were -babes. Well then, you must know I mean have you had any desire to do -what cannot be avoided?” - -“Ah! now I understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “yes, often, and -even this minute; get me out of this strait, or all will not go right.” - -CHAPTER XLIX. -WHICH TREATS OF THE SHREWD CONVERSATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH -HIS MASTER DON QUIXOTE - -“Aha, I have caught you,” said Sancho; “this is what in my heart and -soul I was longing to know. Come now, señor, can you deny what is -commonly said around us, when a person is out of humour, ‘I don’t know -what ails so-and-so, that he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor -gives a proper answer to any question; one would think he was -enchanted’? From which it is to be gathered that those who do not eat, -or drink, or sleep, or do any of the natural acts I am speaking of—that -such persons are enchanted; but not those that have the desire your -worship has, and drink when drink is given them, and eat when there is -anything to eat, and answer every question that is asked them.” - -“What thou sayest is true, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but I have -already told thee there are many sorts of enchantments, and it may be -that in the course of time they have been changed one for another, and -that now it may be the way with enchanted people to do all that I do, -though they did not do so before; so it is vain to argue or draw -inferences against the usage of the time. I know and feel that I am -enchanted, and that is enough to ease my conscience; for it would weigh -heavily on it if I thought that I was not enchanted, and that in a -faint-hearted and cowardly way I allowed myself to lie in this cage, -defrauding multitudes of the succour I might afford to those in need -and distress, who at this very moment may be in sore want of my aid and -protection.” - -“Still for all that,” replied Sancho, “I say that, for your greater and -fuller satisfaction, it would be well if your worship were to try to -get out of this prison (and I promise to do all in my power to help, -and even to take you out of it), and see if you could once more mount -your good Rocinante, who seems to be enchanted too, he is so melancholy -and dejected; and then we might try our chance in looking for -adventures again; and if we have no luck there will be time enough to -go back to the cage; in which, on the faith of a good and loyal squire, -I promise to shut myself up along with your worship, if so be you are -so unfortunate, or I so stupid, as not to be able to carry out my -plan.” - -“I am content to do as thou sayest, brother Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“and when thou seest an opportunity for effecting my release I will -obey thee absolutely; but thou wilt see, Sancho, how mistaken thou art -in thy conception of my misfortune.” - -The knight-errant and the ill-errant squire kept up their conversation -till they reached the place where the curate, the canon, and the -barber, who had already dismounted, were waiting for them. The carter -at once unyoked the oxen and left them to roam at large about the -pleasant green spot, the freshness of which seemed to invite, not -enchanted people like Don Quixote, but wide-awake, sensible folk like -his squire, who begged the curate to allow his master to leave the cage -for a little; for if they did not let him out, the prison might not be -as clean as the propriety of such a gentleman as his master required. -The curate understood him, and said he would very gladly comply with -his request, only that he feared his master, finding himself at -liberty, would take to his old courses and make off where nobody could -ever find him again. - -“I will answer for his not running away,” said Sancho. - -“And I also,” said the canon, “especially if he gives me his word as a -knight not to leave us without our consent.” - -Don Quixote, who was listening to all this, said, “I give it;—moreover -one who is enchanted as I am cannot do as he likes with himself; for he -who had enchanted him could prevent his moving from one place for three -ages, and if he attempted to escape would bring him back flying.”—And -that being so, they might as well release him, particularly as it would -be to the advantage of all; for, if they did not let him out, he -protested he would be unable to avoid offending their nostrils unless -they kept their distance. - -The canon took his hand, tied together as they both were, and on his -word and promise they unbound him, and rejoiced beyond measure he was -to find himself out of the cage. The first thing he did was to stretch -himself all over, and then he went to where Rocinante was standing and -giving him a couple of slaps on the haunches said, “I still trust in -God and in his blessed mother, O flower and mirror of steeds, that we -shall soon see ourselves, both of us, as we wish to be, thou with thy -master on thy back, and I mounted upon thee, following the calling for -which God sent me into the world.” And so saying, accompanied by -Sancho, he withdrew to a retired spot, from which he came back much -relieved and more eager than ever to put his squire’s scheme into -execution. - -The canon gazed at him, wondering at the extraordinary nature of his -madness, and that in all his remarks and replies he should show such -excellent sense, and only lose his stirrups, as has been already said, -when the subject of chivalry was broached. And so, moved by compassion, -he said to him, as they all sat on the green grass awaiting the arrival -of the provisions: - -“Is it possible, gentle sir, that the nauseous and idle reading of -books of chivalry can have had such an effect on your worship as to -upset your reason so that you fancy yourself enchanted, and the like, -all as far from the truth as falsehood itself is? How can there be any -human understanding that can persuade itself there ever was all that -infinity of Amadises in the world, or all that multitude of famous -knights, all those emperors of Trebizond, all those Felixmartes of -Hircania, all those palfreys, and damsels-errant, and serpents, and -monsters, and giants, and marvellous adventures, and enchantments of -every kind, and battles, and prodigious encounters, splendid costumes, -love-sick princesses, squires made counts, droll dwarfs, love letters, -billings and cooings, swashbuckler women, and, in a word, all that -nonsense the books of chivalry contain? For myself, I can only say that -when I read them, so long as I do not stop to think that they are all -lies and frivolity, they give me a certain amount of pleasure; but when -I come to consider what they are, I fling the very best of them at the -wall, and would fling it into the fire if there were one at hand, as -richly deserving such punishment as cheats and impostors out of the -range of ordinary toleration, and as founders of new sects and modes of -life, and teachers that lead the ignorant public to believe and accept -as truth all the folly they contain. And such is their audacity, they -even dare to unsettle the wits of gentlemen of birth and intelligence, -as is shown plainly by the way they have served your worship, when they -have brought you to such a pass that you have to be shut up in a cage -and carried on an ox-cart as one would carry a lion or a tiger from -place to place to make money by showing it. Come, Señor Don Quixote, -have some compassion for yourself, return to the bosom of common sense, -and make use of the liberal share of it that heaven has been pleased to -bestow upon you, employing your abundant gifts of mind in some other -reading that may serve to benefit your conscience and add to your -honour. And if, still led away by your natural bent, you desire to read -books of achievements and of chivalry, read the Book of Judges in the -Holy Scriptures, for there you will find grand reality, and deeds as -true as they are heroic. Lusitania had a Viriatus, Rome a Cæsar, -Carthage a Hannibal, Greece an Alexander, Castile a Count Fernan -Gonzalez, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo Fernandez, Estremadura a -Diego García de Paredes, Jerez a Garci Perez de Vargas, Toledo a -Garcilaso, Seville a Don Manuel de Leon, to read of whose valiant deeds -will entertain and instruct the loftiest minds and fill them with -delight and wonder. Here, Señor Don Quixote, will be reading worthy of -your sound understanding; from which you will rise learned in history, -in love with virtue, strengthened in goodness, improved in manners, -brave without rashness, prudent without cowardice; and all to the -honour of God, your own advantage and the glory of La Mancha, whence, I -am informed, your worship derives your birth.” - -Don Quixote listened with the greatest attention to the canon’s words, -and when he found he had finished, after regarding him for some time, -he replied to him: - -“It appears to me, gentle sir, that your worship’s discourse is -intended to persuade me that there never were any knights-errant in the -world, and that all the books of chivalry are false, lying, mischievous -and useless to the State, and that I have done wrong in reading them, -and worse in believing them, and still worse in imitating them, when I -undertook to follow the arduous calling of knight-errantry which they -set forth; for you deny that there ever were Amadises of Gaul or of -Greece, or any other of the knights of whom the books are full.” - -“It is all exactly as you state it,” said the canon; to which Don -Quixote returned, “You also went on to say that books of this kind had -done me much harm, inasmuch as they had upset my senses, and shut me up -in a cage, and that it would be better for me to reform and change my -studies, and read other truer books which would afford more pleasure -and instruction.” - -“Just so,” said the canon. - -“Well then,” returned Don Quixote, “to my mind it is you who are the -one that is out of his wits and enchanted, as you have ventured to -utter such blasphemies against a thing so universally acknowledged and -accepted as true that whoever denies it, as you do, deserves the same -punishment which you say you inflict on the books that irritate you -when you read them. For to try to persuade anybody that Amadis, and all -the other knights-adventurers with whom the books are filled, never -existed, would be like trying to persuade him that the sun does not -yield light, or ice cold, or earth nourishment. What wit in the world -can persuade another that the story of the Princess Floripes and Guy of -Burgundy is not true, or that of Fierabras and the bridge of Mantible, -which happened in the time of Charlemagne? For by all that is good it -is as true as that it is daylight now; and if it be a lie, it must be a -lie too that there was a Hector, or Achilles, or Trojan war, or Twelve -Peers of France, or Arthur of England, who still lives changed into a -raven, and is unceasingly looked for in his kingdom. One might just as -well try to make out that the history of Guarino Mezquino, or of the -quest of the Holy Grail, is false, or that the loves of Tristram and -the Queen Yseult are apocryphal, as well as those of Guinevere and -Lancelot, when there are persons who can almost remember having seen -the Dame Quintañona, who was the best cupbearer in Great Britain. And -so true is this, that I recollect a grandmother of mine on the father’s -side, whenever she saw any dame in a venerable hood, used to say to me, -‘Grandson, that one is like Dame Quintañona,’ from which I conclude -that she must have known her, or at least had managed to see some -portrait of her. Then who can deny that the story of Pierres and the -fair Magalona is true, when even to this day may be seen in the king’s -armoury the pin with which the valiant Pierres guided the wooden horse -he rode through the air, and it is a trifle bigger than the pole of a -cart? And alongside of the pin is Babieca’s saddle, and at Roncesvalles -there is Roland’s horn, as large as a large beam; whence we may infer -that there were Twelve Peers, and a Pierres, and a Cid, and other -knights like them, of the sort people commonly call adventurers. Or -perhaps I shall be told, too, that there was no such knight-errant as -the valiant Lusitanian Juan de Merlo, who went to Burgundy and in the -city of Arras fought with the famous lord of Charny, Mosen Pierres by -name, and afterwards in the city of Basle with Mosen Enrique de -Remesten, coming out of both encounters covered with fame and honour; -or adventures and challenges achieved and delivered, also in Burgundy, -by the valiant Spaniards Pedro Barba and Gutierre Quixada (of whose -family I come in the direct male line), when they vanquished the sons -of the Count of San Polo. I shall be told, too, that Don Fernando de -Guevara did not go in quest of adventures to Germany, where he engaged -in combat with Micer George, a knight of the house of the Duke of -Austria. I shall be told that the jousts of Suero de Quiñones, him of -the ‘Paso,’ and the emprise of Mosen Luis de Falces against the -Castilian knight, Don Gonzalo de Guzman, were mere mockeries; as well -as many other achievements of Christian knights of these and foreign -realms, which are so authentic and true, that, I repeat, he who denies -them must be totally wanting in reason and good sense.” - -The canon was amazed to hear the medley of truth and fiction Don -Quixote uttered, and to see how well acquainted he was with everything -relating or belonging to the achievements of his knight-errantry; so he -said in reply: - -“I cannot deny, Señor Don Quixote, that there is some truth in what you -say, especially as regards the Spanish knights-errant; and I am willing -to grant too that the Twelve Peers of France existed, but I am not -disposed to believe that they did all the things that the Archbishop -Turpin relates of them. For the truth of the matter is they were -knights chosen by the kings of France, and called ‘Peers’ because they -were all equal in worth, rank and prowess (at least if they were not -they ought to have been), and it was a kind of religious order like -those of Santiago and Calatrava in the present day, in which it is -assumed that those who take it are valiant knights of distinction and -good birth; and just as we say now a Knight of St. John, or of -Alcántara, they used to say then a Knight of the Twelve Peers, because -twelve equals were chosen for that military order. That there was a -Cid, as well as a Bernardo del Carpio, there can be no doubt; but that -they did the deeds people say they did, I hold to be very doubtful. In -that other matter of the pin of Count Pierres that you speak of, and -say is near Babieca’s saddle in the Armoury, I confess my sin; for I am -either so stupid or so short-sighted, that, though I have seen the -saddle, I have never been able to see the pin, in spite of it being as -big as your worship says it is.” - -“For all that it is there, without any manner of doubt,” said Don -Quixote; “and more by token they say it is inclosed in a sheath of -cowhide to keep it from rusting.” - -“All that may be,” replied the canon; “but, by the orders I have -received, I do not remember seeing it. However, granting it is there, -that is no reason why I am bound to believe the stories of all those -Amadises and of all that multitude of knights they tell us about, nor -is it reasonable that a man like your worship, so worthy, and with so -many good qualities, and endowed with such a good understanding, should -allow himself to be persuaded that such wild crazy things as are -written in those absurd books of chivalry are really true.” - -CHAPTER L. -OF THE SHREWD CONTROVERSY WHICH DON QUIXOTE AND THE CANON HELD, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS - -“A good joke, that!” returned Don Quixote. “Books that have been -printed with the king’s licence, and with the approbation of those to -whom they have been submitted, and read with universal delight, and -extolled by great and small, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, -gentle and simple, in a word by people of every sort, of whatever rank -or condition they may be—that these should be lies! And above all when -they carry such an appearance of truth with them; for they tell us the -father, mother, country, kindred, age, place, and the achievements, -step by step, and day by day, performed by such a knight or knights! -Hush, sir; utter not such blasphemy; trust me I am advising you now to -act as a sensible man should; only read them, and you will see the -pleasure you will derive from them. For, come, tell me, can there be -anything more delightful than to see, as it were, here now displayed -before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a host of snakes and -serpents and lizards, and ferocious and terrible creatures of all sorts -swimming about in it, while from the middle of the lake there comes a -plaintive voice saying: ‘Knight, whosoever thou art who beholdest this -dread lake, if thou wouldst win the prize that lies hidden beneath -these dusky waves, prove the valour of thy stout heart and cast thyself -into the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt not be -worthy to see the mighty wonders contained in the seven castles of the -seven Fays that lie beneath this black expanse;’ and then the knight, -almost ere the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to consider, -without pausing to reflect upon the danger to which he is exposing -himself, without even relieving himself of the weight of his massive -armour, commending himself to God and to his lady, plunges into the -midst of the boiling lake, and when he little looks for it, or knows -what his fate is to be, he finds himself among flowery meadows, with -which the Elysian fields are not to be compared. - -“The sky seems more transparent there, and the sun shines with a -strange brilliancy, and a delightful grove of green leafy trees -presents itself to the eyes and charms the sight with its verdure, -while the ear is soothed by the sweet untutored melody of the countless -birds of gay plumage that flit to and fro among the interlacing -branches. Here he sees a brook whose limpid waters, like liquid -crystal, ripple over fine sands and white pebbles that look like sifted -gold and purest pearls. There he perceives a cunningly wrought fountain -of many-coloured jasper and polished marble; here another of rustic -fashion where the little mussel-shells and the spiral white and yellow -mansions of the snail disposed in studious disorder, mingled with -fragments of glittering crystal and mock emeralds, make up a work of -varied aspect, where art, imitating nature, seems to have outdone it. - -“Suddenly there is presented to his sight a strong castle or gorgeous -palace with walls of massy gold, turrets of diamond and gates of -jacinth; in short, so marvellous is its structure that though the -materials of which it is built are nothing less than diamonds, -carbuncles, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, the workmanship is -still more rare. And after having seen all this, what can be more -charming than to see how a bevy of damsels comes forth from the gate of -the castle in gay and gorgeous attire, such that, were I to set myself -now to depict it as the histories describe it to us, I should never -have done; and then how she who seems to be the first among them all -takes the bold knight who plunged into the boiling lake by the hand, -and without addressing a word to him leads him into the rich palace or -castle, and strips him as naked as when his mother bore him, and bathes -him in lukewarm water, and anoints him all over with sweet-smelling -unguents, and clothes him in a shirt of the softest sendal, all scented -and perfumed, while another damsel comes and throws over his shoulders -a mantle which is said to be worth at the very least a city, and even -more? How charming it is, then, when they tell us how, after all this, -they lead him to another chamber where he finds the tables set out in -such style that he is filled with amazement and wonder; to see how they -pour out water for his hands distilled from amber and sweet-scented -flowers; how they seat him on an ivory chair; to see how the damsels -wait on him all in profound silence; how they bring him such a variety -of dainties so temptingly prepared that the appetite is at a loss which -to select; to hear the music that resounds while he is at table, by -whom or whence produced he knows not. And then when the repast is over -and the tables removed, for the knight to recline in the chair, picking -his teeth perhaps as usual, and a damsel, much lovelier than any of the -others, to enter unexpectedly by the chamber door, and herself by his -side, and begin to tell him what the castle is, and how she is held -enchanted there, and other things that amaze the knight and astonish -the readers who are perusing his history. - -“But I will not expatiate any further upon this, as it may be gathered -from it that whatever part of whatever history of a knight-errant one -reads, it will fill the reader, whoever he be, with delight and wonder; -and take my advice, sir, and, as I said before, read these books and -you will see how they will banish any melancholy you may feel and raise -your spirits should they be depressed. For myself I can say that since -I have been a knight-errant I have become valiant, polite, generous, -well-bred, magnanimous, courteous, dauntless, gentle, patient, and have -learned to bear hardships, imprisonments, and enchantments; and though -it be such a short time since I have seen myself shut up in a cage like -a madman, I hope by the might of my arm, if heaven aid me and fortune -thwart me not, to see myself king of some kingdom where I may be able -to show the gratitude and generosity that dwell in my heart; for by my -faith, señor, the poor man is incapacitated from showing the virtue of -generosity to anyone, though he may possess it in the highest degree; -and gratitude that consists of disposition only is a dead thing, just -as faith without works is dead. For this reason I should be glad were -fortune soon to offer me some opportunity of making myself an emperor, -so as to show my heart in doing good to my friends, particularly to -this poor Sancho Panza, my squire, who is the best fellow in the world; -and I would gladly give him a county I have promised him this ever so -long, only that I am afraid he has not the capacity to govern his -realm.” - -Sancho partly heard these last words of his master, and said to him, -“Strive hard you, Señor Don Quixote, to give me that county so often -promised by you and so long looked for by me, for I promise you there -will be no want of capacity in me to govern it; and even if there is, I -have heard say there are men in the world who farm seigniories, paying -so much a year, and they themselves taking charge of the government, -while the lord, with his legs stretched out, enjoys the revenue they -pay him, without troubling himself about anything else. That’s what -I’ll do, and not stand haggling over trifles, but wash my hands at once -of the whole business, and enjoy my rents like a duke, and let things -go their own way.” - -“That, brother Sancho,” said the canon, “only holds good as far as the -enjoyment of the revenue goes; but the lord of the seigniory must -attend to the administration of justice, and here capacity and sound -judgment come in, and above all a firm determination to find out the -truth; for if this be wanting in the beginning, the middle and the end -will always go wrong; and God as commonly aids the honest intentions of -the simple as he frustrates the evil designs of the crafty.” - -“I don’t understand those philosophies,” returned Sancho Panza; “all I -know is I would I had the county as soon as I shall know how to govern -it; for I have as much soul as another, and as much body as anyone, and -I shall be as much king of my realm as any other of his; and being so I -should do as I liked, and doing as I liked I should please myself, and -pleasing myself I should be content, and when one is content he has -nothing more to desire, and when one has nothing more to desire there -is an end of it; so let the county come, and God be with you, and let -us see one another, as one blind man said to the other.” - -“That is not bad philosophy thou art talking, Sancho,” said the canon; -“but for all that there is a good deal to be said on this matter of -counties.” - -To which Don Quixote returned, “I know not what more there is to be -said; I only guide myself by the example set me by the great Amadis of -Gaul, when he made his squire count of the Insula Firme; and so, -without any scruples of conscience, I can make a count of Sancho Panza, -for he is one of the best squires that ever knight-errant had.” - -The canon was astonished at the methodical nonsense (if nonsense be -capable of method) that Don Quixote uttered, at the way in which he had -described the adventure of the knight of the lake, at the impression -that the deliberate lies of the books he read had made upon him, and -lastly he marvelled at the simplicity of Sancho, who desired so eagerly -to obtain the county his master had promised him. - -By this time the canon’s servants, who had gone to the inn to fetch the -sumpter mule, had returned, and making a carpet and the green grass of -the meadow serve as a table, they seated themselves in the shade of -some trees and made their repast there, that the carter might not be -deprived of the advantage of the spot, as has been already said. As -they were eating they suddenly heard a loud noise and the sound of a -bell that seemed to come from among some brambles and thick bushes that -were close by, and the same instant they observed a beautiful goat, -spotted all over black, white, and brown, spring out of the thicket -with a goatherd after it, calling to it and uttering the usual cries to -make it stop or turn back to the fold. The fugitive goat, scared and -frightened, ran towards the company as if seeking their protection and -then stood still, and the goatherd coming up seized it by the horns and -began to talk to it as if it were possessed of reason and -understanding: “Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, Spotty; how have you -gone limping all this time? What wolves have frightened you, my -daughter? Won’t you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? But what -else can it be except that you are a she, and cannot keep quiet? A -plague on your humours and the humours of those you take after! Come -back, come back, my darling; and if you will not be so happy, at any -rate you will be safe in the fold or with your companions; for if you -who ought to keep and lead them, go wandering astray, what will become -of them?” - -The goatherd’s talk amused all who heard it, but especially the canon, -who said to him, “As you live, brother, take it easy, and be not in -such a hurry to drive this goat back to the fold; for, being a female, -as you say, she will follow her natural instinct in spite of all you -can do to prevent it. Take this morsel and drink a sup, and that will -soothe your irritation, and in the meantime the goat will rest -herself,” and so saying, he handed him the loins of a cold rabbit on a -fork. - -The goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and calmed himself, and -then said, “I should be sorry if your worships were to take me for a -simpleton for having spoken so seriously as I did to this animal; but -the truth is there is a certain mystery in the words I used. I am a -clown, but not so much of one but that I know how to behave to men and -to beasts.” - -“That I can well believe,” said the curate, “for I know already by -experience that the woods breed men of learning, and shepherds’ huts -harbour philosophers.” - -“At all events, señor,” returned the goatherd, “they shelter men of -experience; and that you may see the truth of this and grasp it, though -I may seem to put myself forward without being asked, I will, if it -will not tire you, gentlemen, and you will give me your attention for a -little, tell you a true story which will confirm this gentleman’s word -(and he pointed to the curate) as well as my own.” - -To this Don Quixote replied, “Seeing that this affair has a certain -colour of chivalry about it, I for my part, brother, will hear you most -gladly, and so will all these gentlemen, from the high intelligence -they possess and their love of curious novelties that interest, charm, -and entertain the mind, as I feel quite sure your story will do. So -begin, friend, for we are all prepared to listen.” - -“I draw my stakes,” said Sancho, “and will retreat with this pasty to -the brook there, where I mean to victual myself for three days; for I -have heard my lord, Don Quixote, say that a knight-errant’s squire -should eat until he can hold no more, whenever he has the chance, -because it often happens them to get by accident into a wood so thick -that they cannot find a way out of it for six days; and if the man is -not well filled or his alforjas well stored, there he may stay, as very -often he does, turned into a dried mummy.” - -“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go where thou -wilt and eat all thou canst, for I have had enough, and only want to -give my mind its refreshment, as I shall by listening to this good -fellow’s story.” - -“It is what we shall all do,” said the canon; and then begged the -goatherd to begin the promised tale. - -The goatherd gave the goat which he held by the horns a couple of slaps -on the back, saying, “Lie down here beside me, Spotty, for we have time -enough to return to our fold.” The goat seemed to understand him, for -as her master seated himself, she stretched herself quietly beside him -and looked up in his face to show him she was all attention to what he -was going to say, and then in these words he began his story. - -CHAPTER LI. -WHICH DEALS WITH WHAT THE GOATHERD TOLD THOSE WHO WERE CARRYING OFF DON -QUIXOTE - -Three leagues from this valley there is a village which, though small, -is one of the richest in all this neighbourhood, and in it there lived -a farmer, a very worthy man, and so much respected that, although to be -so is the natural consequence of being rich, he was even more respected -for his virtue than for the wealth he had acquired. But what made him -still more fortunate, as he said himself, was having a daughter of such -exceeding beauty, rare intelligence, gracefulness, and virtue, that -everyone who knew her and beheld her marvelled at the extraordinary -gifts with which heaven and nature had endowed her. As a child she was -beautiful, she continued to grow in beauty, and at the age of sixteen -she was most lovely. The fame of her beauty began to spread abroad -through all the villages around—but why do I say the villages around, -merely, when it spread to distant cities, and even made its way into -the halls of royalty and reached the ears of people of every class, who -came from all sides to see her as if to see something rare and curious, -or some wonder-working image? - -Her father watched over her and she watched over herself; for there are -no locks, or guards, or bolts that can protect a young girl better than -her own modesty. The wealth of the father and the beauty of the -daughter led many neighbours as well as strangers to seek her for a -wife; but he, as one might well be who had the disposal of so rich a -jewel, was perplexed and unable to make up his mind to which of her -countless suitors he should entrust her. I was one among the many who -felt a desire so natural, and, as her father knew who I was, and I was -of the same town, of pure blood, in the bloom of life, and very rich in -possessions, I had great hopes of success. There was another of the -same place and qualifications who also sought her, and this made her -father’s choice hang in the balance, for he felt that on either of us -his daughter would be well bestowed; so to escape from this state of -perplexity he resolved to refer the matter to Leandra (for that is the -name of the rich damsel who has reduced me to misery), reflecting that -as we were both equal it would be best to leave it to his dear daughter -to choose according to her inclination—a course that is worthy of -imitation by all fathers who wish to settle their children in life. I -do not mean that they ought to leave them to make a choice of what is -contemptible and bad, but that they should place before them what is -good and then allow them to make a good choice as they please. I do not -know which Leandra chose; I only know her father put us both off with -the tender age of his daughter and vague words that neither bound him -nor dismissed us. My rival is called Anselmo and I myself Eugenio—that -you may know the names of the personages that figure in this tragedy, -the end of which is still in suspense, though it is plain to see it -must be disastrous. - -About this time there arrived in our town one Vicente de la Roca, the -son of a poor peasant of the same town, the said Vicente having -returned from service as a soldier in Italy and divers other parts. A -captain who chanced to pass that way with his company had carried him -off from our village when he was a boy of about twelve years, and now -twelve years later the young man came back in a soldier’s uniform, -arrayed in a thousand colours, and all over glass trinkets and fine -steel chains. To-day he would appear in one gay dress, to-morrow in -another; but all flimsy and gaudy, of little substance and less worth. -The peasant folk, who are naturally malicious, and when they have -nothing to do can be malice itself, remarked all this, and took note of -his finery and jewellery, piece by piece, and discovered that he had -three suits of different colours, with garters and stockings to match; -but he made so many arrangements and combinations out of them, that if -they had not counted them, anyone would have sworn that he had made a -display of more than ten suits of clothes and twenty plumes. Do not -look upon all this that I am telling you about the clothes as uncalled -for or spun out, for they have a great deal to do with the story. He -used to seat himself on a bench under the great poplar in our plaza, -and there he would keep us all hanging open-mouthed on the stories he -told us of his exploits. There was no country on the face of the globe -he had not seen, nor battle he had not been engaged in; he had killed -more Moors than there are in Morocco and Tunis, and fought more single -combats, according to his own account, than Garcilaso, Diego García de -Paredes and a thousand others he named, and out of all he had come -victorious without losing a drop of blood. On the other hand he showed -marks of wounds, which, though they could not be made out, he said were -gunshot wounds received in divers encounters and actions. Lastly, with -monstrous impudence he used to say “you” to his equals and even those -who knew what he was, and declare that his arm was his father and his -deeds his pedigree, and that being a soldier he was as good as the king -himself. And to add to these swaggering ways he was a trifle of a -musician, and played the guitar with such a flourish that some said he -made it speak; nor did his accomplishments end here, for he was -something of a poet too, and on every trifle that happened in the town -he made a ballad a league long. - -This soldier, then, that I have described, this Vicente de la Roca, -this bravo, gallant, musician, poet, was often seen and watched by -Leandra from a window of her house which looked out on the plaza. The -glitter of his showy attire took her fancy, his ballads bewitched her -(for he gave away twenty copies of every one he made), the tales of his -exploits which he told about himself came to her ears; and in short, as -the devil no doubt had arranged it, she fell in love with him before -the presumption of making love to her had suggested itself to him; and -as in love-affairs none are more easily brought to an issue than those -which have the inclination of the lady for an ally, Leandra and Vicente -came to an understanding without any difficulty; and before any of her -numerous suitors had any suspicion of her design, she had already -carried it into effect, having left the house of her dearly beloved -father (for mother she had none), and disappeared from the village with -the soldier, who came more triumphantly out of this enterprise than out -of any of the large number he laid claim to. All the village and all -who heard of it were amazed at the affair; I was aghast, Anselmo -thunderstruck, her father full of grief, her relations indignant, the -authorities all in a ferment, the officers of the Brotherhood in arms. -They scoured the roads, they searched the woods and all quarters, and -at the end of three days they found the flighty Leandra in a mountain -cave, stript to her shift, and robbed of all the money and precious -jewels she had carried away from home with her. - -They brought her back to her unhappy father, and questioned her as to -her misfortune, and she confessed without pressure that Vicente de la -Roca had deceived her, and under promise of marrying her had induced -her to leave her father’s house, as he meant to take her to the richest -and most delightful city in the whole world, which was Naples; and that -she, ill-advised and deluded, had believed him, and robbed her father, -and handed over all to him the night she disappeared; and that he had -carried her away to a rugged mountain and shut her up in the cave where -they had found her. She said, moreover, that the soldier, without -robbing her of her honour, had taken from her everything she had, and -made off, leaving her in the cave, a thing that still further surprised -everybody. It was not easy for us to credit the young man’s continence, -but she asserted it with such earnestness that it helped to console her -distressed father, who thought nothing of what had been taken since the -jewel that once lost can never be recovered had been left to his -daughter. The same day that Leandra made her appearance her father -removed her from our sight and took her away to shut her up in a -convent in a town near this, in the hope that time may wear away some -of the disgrace she has incurred. Leandra’s youth furnished an excuse -for her fault, at least with those to whom it was of no consequence -whether she was good or bad; but those who knew her shrewdness and -intelligence did not attribute her misdemeanour to ignorance but to -wantonness and the natural disposition of women, which is for the most -part flighty and ill-regulated. - -Leandra withdrawn from sight, Anselmo’s eyes grew blind, or at any rate -found nothing to look at that gave them any pleasure, and mine were in -darkness without a ray of light to direct them to anything enjoyable -while Leandra was away. Our melancholy grew greater, our patience grew -less; we cursed the soldier’s finery and railed at the carelessness of -Leandra’s father. At last Anselmo and I agreed to leave the village and -come to this valley; and, he feeding a great flock of sheep of his own, -and I a large herd of goats of mine, we pass our life among the trees, -giving vent to our sorrows, together singing the fair Leandra’s -praises, or upbraiding her, or else sighing alone, and to heaven -pouring forth our complaints in solitude. Following our example, many -more of Leandra’s lovers have come to these rude mountains and adopted -our mode of life, and they are so numerous that one would fancy the -place had been turned into the pastoral Arcadia, so full is it of -shepherds and sheep-folds; nor is there a spot in it where the name of -the fair Leandra is not heard. Here one curses her and calls her -capricious, fickle, and immodest, there another condemns her as frail -and frivolous; this pardons and absolves her, that spurns and reviles -her; one extols her beauty, another assails her character, and in short -all abuse her, and all adore her, and to such a pitch has this general -infatuation gone that there are some who complain of her scorn without -ever having exchanged a word with her, and even some that bewail and -mourn the raging fever of jealousy, for which she never gave anyone -cause, for, as I have already said, her misconduct was known before her -passion. There is no nook among the rocks, no brookside, no shade -beneath the trees that is not haunted by some shepherd telling his woes -to the breezes; wherever there is an echo it repeats the name of -Leandra; the mountains ring with “Leandra,” “Leandra” murmur the -brooks, and Leandra keeps us all bewildered and bewitched, hoping -without hope and fearing without knowing what we fear. Of all this -silly set the one that shows the least and also the most sense is my -rival Anselmo, for having so many other things to complain of, he only -complains of separation, and to the accompaniment of a rebeck, which he -plays admirably, he sings his complaints in verses that show his -ingenuity. I follow another, easier, and to my mind wiser course, and -that is to rail at the frivolity of women, at their inconstancy, their -double dealing, their broken promises, their unkept pledges, and in -short the want of reflection they show in fixing their affections and -inclinations. This, sirs, was the reason of words and expressions I -made use of to this goat when I came up just now; for as she is a -female I have a contempt for her, though she is the best in all my -fold. This is the story I promised to tell you, and if I have been -tedious in telling it, I will not be slow to serve you; my hut is close -by, and I have fresh milk and dainty cheese there, as well as a variety -of toothsome fruit, no less pleasing to the eye than to the palate. - -CHAPTER LII. -OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH -THE RARE ADVENTURE OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE OF SWEAT -HE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION - -The goatherd’s tale gave great satisfaction to all the hearers, and the -canon especially enjoyed it, for he had remarked with particular -attention the manner in which it had been told, which was as unlike the -manner of a clownish goatherd as it was like that of a polished city -wit; and he observed that the curate had been quite right in saying -that the woods bred men of learning. They all offered their services to -Eugenio but he who showed himself most liberal in this way was Don -Quixote, who said to him, “Most assuredly, brother goatherd, if I found -myself in a position to attempt any adventure, I would, this very -instant, set out on your behalf, and would rescue Leandra from that -convent (where no doubt she is kept against her will), in spite of the -abbess and all who might try to prevent me, and would place her in your -hands to deal with her according to your will and pleasure, observing, -however, the laws of chivalry which lay down that no violence of any -kind is to be offered to any damsel. But I trust in God our Lord that -the might of one malignant enchanter may not prove so great but that -the power of another better disposed may prove superior to it, and then -I promise you my support and assistance, as I am bound to do by my -profession, which is none other than to give aid to the weak and -needy.” - -The goatherd eyed him, and noticing Don Quixote’s sorry appearance and -looks, he was filled with wonder, and asked the barber, who was next -him, “Señor, who is this man who makes such a figure and talks in such -a strain?” - -“Who should it be,” said the barber, “but the famous Don Quixote of La -Mancha, the undoer of injustice, the righter of wrongs, the protector -of damsels, the terror of giants, and the winner of battles?” - -“That,” said the goatherd, “sounds like what one reads in the books of -the knights-errant, who did all that you say this man does; though it -is my belief that either you are joking, or else this gentleman has -empty lodgings in his head.” - -“You are a great scoundrel,” said Don Quixote, “and it is you who are -empty and a fool. I am fuller than ever was the whoreson bitch that -bore you;” and passing from words to deeds, he caught up a loaf that -was near him and sent it full in the goatherd’s face, with such force -that he flattened his nose; but the goatherd, who did not understand -jokes, and found himself roughly handled in such good earnest, paying -no respect to carpet, tablecloth, or diners, sprang upon Don Quixote, -and seizing him by the throat with both hands would no doubt have -throttled him, had not Sancho Panza that instant come to the rescue, -and grasping him by the shoulders flung him down on the table, smashing -plates, breaking glasses, and upsetting and scattering everything on -it. Don Quixote, finding himself free, strove to get on top of the -goatherd, who, with his face covered with blood, and soundly kicked by -Sancho, was on all fours feeling about for one of the table-knives to -take a bloody revenge with. The canon and the curate, however, -prevented him, but the barber so contrived it that he got Don Quixote -under him, and rained down upon him such a shower of fisticuffs that -the poor knight’s face streamed with blood as freely as his own. The -canon and the curate were bursting with laughter, the officers were -capering with delight, and both the one and the other hissed them on as -they do dogs that are worrying one another in a fight. Sancho alone was -frantic, for he could not free himself from the grasp of one of the -canon’s servants, who kept him from going to his master’s assistance. - -At last, while they were all, with the exception of the two bruisers -who were mauling each other, in high glee and enjoyment, they heard a -trumpet sound a note so doleful that it made them all look in the -direction whence the sound seemed to come. But the one that was most -excited by hearing it was Don Quixote, who though sorely against his -will he was under the goatherd, and something more than pretty well -pummelled, said to him, “Brother devil (for it is impossible but that -thou must be one since thou hast had might and strength enough to -overcome mine), I ask thee to agree to a truce for but one hour for the -solemn note of yonder trumpet that falls on our ears seems to me to -summon me to some new adventure.” The goatherd, who was by this time -tired of pummelling and being pummelled, released him at once, and Don -Quixote rising to his feet and turning his eyes to the quarter where -the sound had been heard, suddenly saw coming down the slope of a hill -several men clad in white like penitents. - -The fact was that the clouds had that year withheld their moisture from -the earth, and in all the villages of the district they were organising -processions, rogations, and penances, imploring God to open the hands -of his mercy and send the rain; and to this end the people of a village -that was hard by were going in procession to a holy hermitage there was -on one side of that valley. Don Quixote when he saw the strange garb of -the penitents, without reflecting how often he had seen it before, took -it into his head that this was a case of adventure, and that it fell to -him alone as a knight-errant to engage in it; and he was all the more -confirmed in this notion, by the idea that an image draped in black -they had with them was some illustrious lady that these villains and -discourteous thieves were carrying off by force. As soon as this -occurred to him he ran with all speed to Rocinante who was grazing at -large, and taking the bridle and the buckler from the saddle-bow, he -had him bridled in an instant, and calling to Sancho for his sword he -mounted Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, and in a loud voice -exclaimed to those who stood by, “Now, noble company, ye shall see how -important it is that there should be knights in the world professing -the order of knight-errantry; now, I say, ye shall see, by the -deliverance of that worthy lady who is borne captive there, whether -knights-errant deserve to be held in estimation,” and so saying he -brought his legs to bear on Rocinante—for he had no spurs—and at a full -canter (for in all this veracious history we never read of Rocinante -fairly galloping) set off to encounter the penitents, though the -curate, the canon, and the barber ran to prevent him. But it was out of -their power, nor did he even stop for the shouts of Sancho calling -after him, “Where are you going, Señor Don Quixote? What devils have -possessed you to set you on against our Catholic faith? Plague take me! -mind, that is a procession of penitents, and the lady they are carrying -on that stand there is the blessed image of the immaculate Virgin. Take -care what you are doing, señor, for this time it may be safely said you -don’t know what you are about.” Sancho laboured in vain, for his master -was so bent on coming to quarters with these sheeted figures and -releasing the lady in black that he did not hear a word; and even had -he heard, he would not have turned back if the king had ordered him. He -came up with the procession and reined in Rocinante, who was already -anxious enough to slacken speed a little, and in a hoarse, excited -voice he exclaimed, “You who hide your faces, perhaps because you are -not good subjects, pay attention and listen to what I am about to say -to you.” The first to halt were those who were carrying the image, and -one of the four ecclesiastics who were chanting the Litany, struck by -the strange figure of Don Quixote, the leanness of Rocinante, and the -other ludicrous peculiarities he observed, said in reply to him, -“Brother, if you have anything to say to us say it quickly, for these -brethren are whipping themselves, and we cannot stop, nor is it -reasonable we should stop to hear anything, unless indeed it is short -enough to be said in two words.” - -“I will say it in one,” replied Don Quixote, “and it is this; that at -once, this very instant, ye release that fair lady whose tears and sad -aspect show plainly that ye are carrying her off against her will, and -that ye have committed some scandalous outrage against her; and I, who -was born into the world to redress all such like wrongs, will not -permit you to advance another step until you have restored to her the -liberty she pines for and deserves.” - -From these words all the hearers concluded that he must be a madman, -and began to laugh heartily, and their laughter acted like gunpowder on -Don Quixote’s fury, for drawing his sword without another word he made -a rush at the stand. One of those who supported it, leaving the burden -to his comrades, advanced to meet him, flourishing a forked stick that -he had for propping up the stand when resting, and with this he caught -a mighty cut Don Quixote made at him that severed it in two; but with -the portion that remained in his hand he dealt such a thwack on the -shoulder of Don Quixote’s sword arm (which the buckler could not -protect against the clownish assault) that poor Don Quixote came to the -ground in a sad plight. - -Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind puffing and blowing, -seeing him fall, cried out to his assailant not to strike him again, -for he was a poor enchanted knight, who had never harmed anyone all the -days of his life; but what checked the clown was, not Sancho’s -shouting, but seeing that Don Quixote did not stir hand or foot; and -so, fancying he had killed him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under -his girdle and took to his heels across the country like a deer. - -By this time all Don Quixote’s companions had come up to where he lay; -but the processionists seeing them come running, and with them the -officers of the Brotherhood with their crossbows, apprehended mischief, -and clustering round the image, raised their hoods, and grasped their -scourges, as the priests did their tapers, and awaited the attack, -resolved to defend themselves and even to take the offensive against -their assailants if they could. Fortune, however, arranged the matter -better than they expected, for all Sancho did was to fling himself on -his master’s body, raising over him the most doleful and laughable -lamentation that ever was heard, for he believed he was dead. The -curate was known to another curate who walked in the procession, and -their recognition of one another set at rest the apprehensions of both -parties; the first then told the other in two words who Don Quixote -was, and he and the whole troop of penitents went to see if the poor -gentleman was dead, and heard Sancho Panza saying, with tears in his -eyes, “Oh flower of chivalry, that with one blow of a stick hast ended -the course of thy well-spent life! Oh pride of thy race, honour and -glory of all La Mancha, nay, of all the world, that for want of thee -will be full of evil-doers, no longer in fear of punishment for their -misdeeds! Oh thou, generous above all the Alexanders, since for only -eight months of service thou hast given me the best island the sea -girds or surrounds! Humble with the proud, haughty with the humble, -encounterer of dangers, endurer of outrages, enamoured without reason, -imitator of the good, scourge of the wicked, enemy of the mean, in -short, knight-errant, which is all that can be said!” - -At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the -first word he said was, “He who lives separated from you, sweetest -Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend -Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to -press the saddle of Rocinante, as this shoulder is all knocked to -pieces.” - -“That I will do with all my heart, señor,” said Sancho; “and let us -return to our village with these gentlemen, who seek your good, and -there we will prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more -profitable and creditable to us.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote; “It will be wise to let -the malign influence of the stars which now prevails pass off.” - -The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely -in doing as he said; and so, highly amused at Sancho Panza’s -simplicities, they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The -procession once more formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; -the goatherd took his leave of the party; the officers of the -Brotherhood declined to go any farther, and the curate paid them what -was due to them; the canon begged the curate to let him know how Don -Quixote did, whether he was cured of his madness or still suffered from -it, and then begged leave to continue his journey; in short, they all -separated and went their ways, leaving to themselves the curate and the -barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the good Rocinante, who regarded -everything with as great resignation as his master. The carter yoked -his oxen and made Don Quixote comfortable on a truss of hay, and at his -usual deliberate pace took the road the curate directed, and at the end -of six days they reached Don Quixote’s village, and entered it about -the middle of the day, which it so happened was a Sunday, and the -people were all in the plaza, through which Don Quixote’s cart passed. -They all flocked to see what was in the cart, and when they recognised -their townsman they were filled with amazement, and a boy ran off to -bring the news to his housekeeper and his niece that their master and -uncle had come back all lean and yellow and stretched on a truss of hay -on an ox-cart. It was piteous to hear the cries the two good ladies -raised, how they beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions -on those accursed books of chivalry; all which was renewed when they -saw Don Quixote coming in at the gate. - -At the news of Don Quixote’s arrival Sancho Panza’s wife came running, -for she by this time knew that her husband had gone away with him as -his squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she asked him was if -the ass was well. Sancho replied that he was, better than his master -was. - -“Thanks be to God,” said she, “for being so good to me; but now tell -me, my friend, what have you made by your squirings? What gown have you -brought me back? What shoes for your children?” - -“I bring nothing of that sort, wife,” said Sancho; “though I bring -other things of more consequence and value.” - -“I am very glad of that,” returned his wife; “show me these things of -more value and consequence, my friend; for I want to see them to cheer -my heart that has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have -been away.” - -“I will show them to you at home, wife,” said Sancho; “be content for -the present; for if it please God that we should again go on our -travels in search of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or -governor of an island, and that not one of those everyday ones, but the -best that is to be had.” - -“Heaven grant it, husband,” said she, “for indeed we have need of it. -But tell me, what’s this about islands, for I don’t understand it?” - -“Honey is not for the mouth of the ass,” returned Sancho; “all in good -time thou shalt see, wife—nay, thou wilt be surprised to hear thyself -called ‘your ladyship’ by all thy vassals.” - -“What are you talking about, Sancho, with your ladyships, islands, and -vassals?” returned Teresa Panza—for so Sancho’s wife was called, though -they were not relations, for in La Mancha it is customary for wives to -take their husbands’ surnames. - -“Don’t be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa,” said Sancho; “it -is enough that I am telling you the truth, so shut your mouth. But I -may tell you this much by the way, that there is nothing in the world -more delightful than to be a person of consideration, squire to a -knight-errant, and a seeker of adventures. To be sure most of those one -finds do not end as pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred, -ninety-nine will turn out cross and contrary. I know it by experience, -for out of some I came blanketed, and out of others belaboured. Still, -for all that, it is a fine thing to be on the look-out for what may -happen, crossing mountains, searching woods, climbing rocks, visiting -castles, putting up at inns, all at free quarters, and devil take the -maravedi to pay.” - -While this conversation passed between Sancho Panza and his wife, Don -Quixote’s housekeeper and niece took him in and undressed him and laid -him in his old bed. He eyed them askance, and could not make out where -he was. The curate charged his niece to be very careful to make her -uncle comfortable and to keep a watch over him lest he should make his -escape from them again, telling her what they had been obliged to do to -bring him home. On this the pair once more lifted up their voices and -renewed their maledictions upon the books of chivalry, and implored -heaven to plunge the authors of such lies and nonsense into the midst -of the bottomless pit. They were, in short, kept in anxiety and dread -lest their uncle and master should give them the slip the moment he -found himself somewhat better, and as they feared so it fell out. - -But the author of this history, though he has devoted research and -industry to the discovery of the deeds achieved by Don Quixote in his -third sally, has been unable to obtain any information respecting them, -at any rate derived from authentic documents; tradition has merely -preserved in the memory of La Mancha the fact that Don Quixote, the -third time he sallied forth from his home, betook himself to Saragossa, -where he was present at some famous jousts which came off in that city, -and that he had adventures there worthy of his valour and high -intelligence. Of his end and death he could learn no particulars, nor -would he have ascertained it or known of it, if good fortune had not -produced an old physician for him who had in his possession a leaden -box, which, according to his account, had been discovered among the -crumbling foundations of an ancient hermitage that was being rebuilt; -in which box were found certain parchment manuscripts in Gothic -character, but in Castilian verse, containing many of his achievements, -and setting forth the beauty of Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the -fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the burial of Don Quixote himself, -together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies on his life and character; -but all that could be read and deciphered were those which the -trustworthy author of this new and unparalleled history here presents. -And the said author asks of those that shall read it nothing in return -for the vast toil which it has cost him in examining and searching the -Manchegan archives in order to bring it to light, save that they give -him the same credit that people of sense give to the books of chivalry -that pervade the world and are so popular; for with this he will -consider himself amply paid and fully satisfied, and will be encouraged -to seek out and produce other histories, if not as truthful, at least -equal in invention and not less entertaining. The first words written -on the parchment found in the leaden box were these: - -THE ACADEMICIANS OF ARGAMASILLA, -A VILLAGE OF LA MANCHA, -ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA, -HOC SCRIPSERUNT -MONICONGO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTE - -EPITAPH - -The scatterbrain that gave La Mancha more -Rich spoils than Jason’s; who a point so keen -Had to his wit, and happier far had been -If his wit’s weathercock a blunter bore; -The arm renowned far as Gaeta’s shore, -Cathay, and all the lands that lie between; -The muse discreet and terrible in mien -As ever wrote on brass in days of yore; -He who surpassed the Amadises all, -And who as naught the Galaors accounted, -Supported by his love and gallantry: -Who made the Belianises sing small, -And sought renown on Rocinante mounted; -Here, underneath this cold stone, doth he lie. - -PANIAGUADO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -IN LAUDEM DULCINEAE DEL TOBOSO - -SONNET - -She, whose full features may be here descried, -High-bosomed, with a bearing of disdain, -Is Dulcinea, she for whom in vain -The great Don Quixote of La Mancha sighed. -For her, Toboso’s queen, from side to side -He traversed the grim sierra, the champaign -Of Aranjuez, and Montiel’s famous plain: -On Rocinante oft a weary ride. -Malignant planets, cruel destiny, -Pursued them both, the fair Manchegan dame, -And the unconquered star of chivalry. -Nor youth nor beauty saved her from the claim -Of death; he paid love’s bitter penalty, -And left the marble to preserve his name. - -CAPRICHOSO, A MOST ACUTE ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -IN PRAISE OF ROCINANTE, STEED OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA - -SONNET - -On that proud throne of diamantine sheen, -Which the blood-reeking feet of Mars degrade, -The mad Manchegan’s banner now hath been -By him in all its bravery displayed. -There hath he hung his arms and trenchant blade -Wherewith, achieving deeds till now unseen, -He slays, lays low, cleaves, hews; but art hath made -A novel style for our new paladin. -If Amadis be the proud boast of Gaul, -If by his progeny the fame of Greece -Through all the regions of the earth be spread, -Great Quixote crowned in grim Bellona’s hall -To-day exalts La Mancha over these, -And above Greece or Gaul she holds her head. -Nor ends his glory here, for his good steed -Doth Brillador and Bayard far exceed; -As mettled steeds compared with Rocinante, -The reputation they have won is scanty. - -BURLADOR, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON SANCHO PANZA - -SONNET - -The worthy Sancho Panza here you see; -A great soul once was in that body small, -Nor was there squire upon this earthly ball -So plain and simple, or of guile so free. -Within an ace of being Count was he, -And would have been but for the spite and gall -Of this vile age, mean and illiberal, -That cannot even let a donkey be. -For mounted on an ass (excuse the word), -By Rocinante’s side this gentle squire -Was wont his wandering master to attend. -Delusive hopes that lure the common herd -With promises of ease, the heart’s desire, -In shadows, dreams, and smoke ye always end. - -CACHIDIABLO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTE - -EPITAPH - -The knight lies here below, -Ill-errant and bruised sore, -Whom Rocinante bore -In his wanderings to and fro. -By the side of the knight is laid -Stolid man Sancho too, -Than whom a squire more true -Was not in the esquire trade. - -TIQUITOC, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, -ON THE TOMB OF DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO - -EPITAPH - -Here Dulcinea lies. -Plump was she and robust: -Now she is ashes and dust: -The end of all flesh that dies. -A lady of high degree, -With the port of a lofty dame, -And the great Don Quixote’s flame, -And the pride of her village was she. - -These were all the verses that could be deciphered; the rest, the -writing being worm-eaten, were handed over to one of the Academicians -to make out their meaning conjecturally. We have been informed that at -the cost of many sleepless nights and much toil he has succeeded, and -that he means to publish them in hopes of Don Quixote’s third sally. - -_“Forse altro cantera con miglior plettro.”_ - -Volume II - -DEDICATION OF VOLUME II. - -TO THE COUNT OF LEMOS: - -These days past, when sending Your Excellency my plays, that had -appeared in print before being shown on the stage, I said, if I -remember well, that Don Quixote was putting on his spurs to go and -render homage to Your Excellency. Now I say that “with his spurs, he is -on his way.” Should he reach destination methinks I shall have rendered -some service to Your Excellency, as from many parts I am urged to send -him off, so as to dispel the loathing and disgust caused by another Don -Quixote who, under the name of Second Part, has run masquerading -through the whole world. And he who has shown the greatest longing for -him has been the great Emperor of China, who wrote me a letter in -Chinese a month ago and sent it by a special courier. He asked me, or -to be truthful, he begged me to send him Don Quixote, for he intended -to found a college where the Spanish tongue would be taught, and it was -his wish that the book to be read should be the History of Don Quixote. -He also added that I should go and be the rector of this college. I -asked the bearer if His Majesty had afforded a sum in aid of my travel -expenses. He answered, “No, not even in thought.” - -“Then, brother,” I replied, “you can return to your China, post haste -or at whatever haste you are bound to go, as I am not fit for so long a -travel and, besides being ill, I am very much without money, while -Emperor for Emperor and Monarch for Monarch, I have at Naples the great -Count of Lemos, who, without so many petty titles of colleges and -rectorships, sustains me, protects me and does me more favour than I -can wish for.” - -Thus I gave him his leave and I beg mine from you, offering Your -Excellency the “Trabajos de Persiles y Sigismunda,” a book I shall -finish within four months, Deo volente, and which will be either the -worst or the best that has been composed in our language, I mean of -those intended for entertainment; at which I repent of having called it -the worst, for, in the opinion of friends, it is bound to attain the -summit of possible quality. May Your Excellency return in such health -that is wished you; Persiles will be ready to kiss your hand and I your -feet, being as I am, Your Excellency’s most humble servant. - -From Madrid, this last day of October of the year one thousand six -hundred and fifteen. - -At the service of Your Excellency: - -MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA - -THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE - -God bless me, gentle (or it may be plebeian) reader, how eagerly must -thou be looking forward to this preface, expecting to find there -retaliation, scolding, and abuse against the author of the second Don -Quixote—I mean him who was, they say, begotten at Tordesillas and born -at Tarragona! Well then, the truth is, I am not going to give thee that -satisfaction; for, though injuries stir up anger in humbler breasts, in -mine the rule must admit of an exception. Thou wouldst have me call him -ass, fool, and malapert, but I have no such intention; let his offence -be his punishment, with his bread let him eat it, and there’s an end of -it. What I cannot help taking amiss is that he charges me with being -old and one-handed, as if it had been in my power to keep time from -passing over me, or as if the loss of my hand had been brought about in -some tavern, and not on the grandest occasion the past or present has -seen, or the future can hope to see. If my wounds have no beauty to the -beholder’s eye, they are, at least, honourable in the estimation of -those who know where they were received; for the soldier shows to -greater advantage dead in battle than alive in flight; and so strongly -is this my feeling, that if now it were proposed to perform an -impossibility for me, I would rather have had my share in that mighty -action, than be free from my wounds this minute without having been -present at it. Those the soldier shows on his face and breast are stars -that direct others to the heaven of honour and ambition of merited -praise; and moreover it is to be observed that it is not with grey -hairs that one writes, but with the understanding, and that commonly -improves with years. I take it amiss, too, that he calls me envious, -and explains to me, as if I were ignorant, what envy is; for really and -truly, of the two kinds there are, I only know that which is holy, -noble, and high-minded; and if that be so, as it is, I am not likely to -attack a priest, above all if, in addition, he holds the rank of -familiar of the Holy Office. And if he said what he did on account of -him on whose behalf it seems he spoke, he is entirely mistaken; for I -worship the genius of that person, and admire his works and his -unceasing and strenuous industry. After all, I am grateful to this -gentleman, the author, for saying that my novels are more satirical -than exemplary, but that they are good; for they could not be that -unless there was a little of everything in them. - -I suspect thou wilt say that I am taking a very humble line, and -keeping myself too much within the bounds of my moderation, from a -feeling that additional suffering should not be inflicted upon a -sufferer, and that what this gentleman has to endure must doubtless be -very great, as he does not dare to come out into the open field and -broad daylight, but hides his name and disguises his country as if he -had been guilty of some lese majesty. If perchance thou shouldst come -to know him, tell him from me that I do not hold myself aggrieved; for -I know well what the temptations of the devil are, and that one of the -greatest is putting it into a man’s head that he can write and print a -book by which he will get as much fame as money, and as much money as -fame; and to prove it I will beg of you, in your own sprightly, -pleasant way, to tell him this story. - -There was a madman in Seville who took to one of the drollest -absurdities and vagaries that ever madman in the world gave way to. It -was this: he made a tube of reed sharp at one end, and catching a dog -in the street, or wherever it might be, he with his foot held one of -its legs fast, and with his hand lifted up the other, and as best he -could fixed the tube where, by blowing, he made the dog as round as a -ball; then holding it in this position, he gave it a couple of slaps on -the belly, and let it go, saying to the bystanders (and there were -always plenty of them): “Do your worships think, now, that it is an -easy thing to blow up a dog?”—Does your worship think now, that it is -an easy thing to write a book? - -And if this story does not suit him, you may, dear reader, tell him -this one, which is likewise of a madman and a dog. - -In Cordova there was another madman, whose way it was to carry a piece -of marble slab or a stone, not of the lightest, on his head, and when -he came upon any unwary dog he used to draw close to him and let the -weight fall right on top of him; on which the dog in a rage, barking -and howling, would run three streets without stopping. It so happened, -however, that one of the dogs he discharged his load upon was a -cap-maker’s dog, of which his master was very fond. The stone came down -hitting it on the head, the dog raised a yell at the blow, the master -saw the affair and was wroth, and snatching up a measuring-yard rushed -out at the madman and did not leave a sound bone in his body, and at -every stroke he gave him he said, “You dog, you thief! my lurcher! -Don’t you see, you brute, that my dog is a lurcher?” and so, repeating -the word “lurcher” again and again, he sent the madman away beaten to a -jelly. The madman took the lesson to heart, and vanished, and for more -than a month never once showed himself in public; but after that he -came out again with his old trick and a heavier load than ever. He came -up to where there was a dog, and examining it very carefully without -venturing to let the stone fall, he said: “This is a lurcher; ware!” In -short, all the dogs he came across, be they mastiffs or terriers, he -said were lurchers; and he discharged no more stones. Maybe it will be -the same with this historian; that he will not venture another time to -discharge the weight of his wit in books, which, being bad, are harder -than stones. Tell him, too, that I do not care a farthing for the -threat he holds out to me of depriving me of my profit by means of his -book; for, to borrow from the famous interlude of “The Perendenga,” I -say in answer to him, “Long life to my lord the Veintiquatro, and -Christ be with us all.” Long life to the great Conde de Lemos, whose -Christian charity and well-known generosity support me against all the -strokes of my curst fortune; and long life to the supreme benevolence -of His Eminence of Toledo, Don Bernardo de Sandoval y Rojas; and what -matter if there be no printing-presses in the world, or if they print -more books against me than there are letters in the verses of Mingo -Revulgo! These two princes, unsought by any adulation or flattery of -mine, of their own goodness alone, have taken it upon them to show me -kindness and protect me, and in this I consider myself happier and -richer than if Fortune had raised me to her greatest height in the -ordinary way. The poor man may retain honour, but not the vicious; -poverty may cast a cloud over nobility, but cannot hide it altogether; -and as virtue of itself sheds a certain light, even though it be -through the straits and chinks of penury, it wins the esteem of lofty -and noble spirits, and in consequence their protection. Thou needst say -no more to him, nor will I say anything more to thee, save to tell thee -to bear in mind that this Second Part of “Don Quixote” which I offer -thee is cut by the same craftsman and from the same cloth as the First, -and that in it I present thee Don Quixote continued, and at length dead -and buried, so that no one may dare to bring forward any further -evidence against him, for that already produced is sufficient; and -suffice it, too, that some reputable person should have given an -account of all these shrewd lunacies of his without going into the -matter again; for abundance, even of good things, prevents them from -being valued; and scarcity, even in the case of what is bad, confers a -certain value. I was forgetting to tell thee that thou mayest expect -the “Persiles,” which I am now finishing, and also the Second Part of -“Galatea.” - -CHAPTER I. -OF THE INTERVIEW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE ABOUT -HIS MALADY - -Cide Hamete Benengeli, in the Second Part of this history, and third -sally of Don Quixote, says that the curate and the barber remained -nearly a month without seeing him, lest they should recall or bring -back to his recollection what had taken place. They did not, however, -omit to visit his niece and housekeeper, and charge them to be careful -to treat him with attention, and give him comforting things to eat, and -such as were good for the heart and the brain, whence, it was plain to -see, all his misfortune proceeded. The niece and housekeeper replied -that they did so, and meant to do so with all possible care and -assiduity, for they could perceive that their master was now and then -beginning to show signs of being in his right mind. This gave great -satisfaction to the curate and the barber, for they concluded they had -taken the right course in carrying him off enchanted on the ox-cart, as -has been described in the First Part of this great as well as accurate -history, in the last chapter thereof. So they resolved to pay him a -visit and test the improvement in his condition, although they thought -it almost impossible that there could be any; and they agreed not to -touch upon any point connected with knight-errantry so as not to run -the risk of reopening wounds which were still so tender. - -They came to see him consequently, and found him sitting up in bed in a -green baize waistcoat and a red Toledo cap, and so withered and dried -up that he looked as if he had been turned into a mummy. They were very -cordially received by him; they asked him after his health, and he -talked to them about himself very naturally and in very well-chosen -language. In the course of their conversation they fell to discussing -what they call State-craft and systems of government, correcting this -abuse and condemning that, reforming one practice and abolishing -another, each of the three setting up for a new legislator, a modern -Lycurgus, or a brand-new Solon; and so completely did they remodel the -State, that they seemed to have thrust it into a furnace and taken out -something quite different from what they had put in; and on all the -subjects they dealt with, Don Quixote spoke with such good sense that -the pair of examiners were fully convinced that he was quite recovered -and in his full senses. - -The niece and housekeeper were present at the conversation and could -not find words enough to express their thanks to God at seeing their -master so clear in his mind; the curate, however, changing his original -plan, which was to avoid touching upon matters of chivalry, resolved to -test Don Quixote’s recovery thoroughly, and see whether it were genuine -or not; and so, from one subject to another, he came at last to talk of -the news that had come from the capital, and, among other things, he -said it was considered certain that the Turk was coming down with a -powerful fleet, and that no one knew what his purpose was, or when the -great storm would burst; and that all Christendom was in apprehension -of this, which almost every year calls us to arms, and that his Majesty -had made provision for the security of the coasts of Naples and Sicily -and the island of Malta. - -To this Don Quixote replied, “His Majesty has acted like a prudent -warrior in providing for the safety of his realms in time, so that the -enemy may not find him unprepared; but if my advice were taken I would -recommend him to adopt a measure which at present, no doubt, his -Majesty is very far from thinking of.” - -The moment the curate heard this he said to himself, “God keep thee in -his hand, poor Don Quixote, for it seems to me thou art precipitating -thyself from the height of thy madness into the profound abyss of thy -simplicity.” - -But the barber, who had the same suspicion as the curate, asked Don -Quixote what would be his advice as to the measures that he said ought -to be adopted; for perhaps it might prove to be one that would have to -be added to the list of the many impertinent suggestions that people -were in the habit of offering to princes. - -“Mine, master shaver,” said Don Quixote, “will not be impertinent, but, -on the contrary, pertinent.” - -“I don’t mean that,” said the barber, “but that experience has shown -that all or most of the expedients which are proposed to his Majesty -are either impossible, or absurd, or injurious to the King and to the -kingdom.” - -“Mine, however,” replied Don Quixote, “is neither impossible nor -absurd, but the easiest, the most reasonable, the readiest and most -expeditious that could suggest itself to any projector’s mind.” - -“You take a long time to tell it, Señor Don Quixote,” said the curate. - -“I don’t choose to tell it here, now,” said Don Quixote, “and have it -reach the ears of the lords of the council to-morrow morning, and some -other carry off the thanks and rewards of my trouble.” - -“For my part,” said the barber, “I give my word here and before God -that I will not repeat what your worship says, to King, Rook or earthly -man—an oath I learned from the ballad of the curate, who, in the -prelude, told the king of the thief who had robbed him of the hundred -gold crowns and his pacing mule.” - -“I am not versed in stories,” said Don Quixote; “but I know the oath is -a good one, because I know the barber to be an honest fellow.” - -“Even if he were not,” said the curate, “I will go bail and answer for -him that in this matter he will be as silent as a dummy, under pain of -paying any penalty that may be pronounced.” - -“And who will be security for you, señor curate?” said Don Quixote. - -“My profession,” replied the curate, “which is to keep secrets.” - -“Ods body!” said Don Quixote at this, “what more has his Majesty to do -but to command, by public proclamation, all the knights-errant that are -scattered over Spain to assemble on a fixed day in the capital, for -even if no more than half a dozen come, there may be one among them who -alone will suffice to destroy the entire might of the Turk. Give me -your attention and follow me. Is it, pray, any new thing for a single -knight-errant to demolish an army of two hundred thousand men, as if -they all had but one throat or were made of sugar paste? Nay, tell me, -how many histories are there filled with these marvels? If only (in an -evil hour for me: I don’t speak for anyone else) the famous Don -Belianis were alive now, or anyone of the innumerable progeny of Amadis -of Gaul! If any these were alive to-day, and were to come face to face -with the Turk, by my faith, I would not give much for the Turk’s -chance. But God will have regard for his people, and will provide -someone, who, if not so valiant as the knights-errant of yore, at least -will not be inferior to them in spirit; but God knows what I mean, and -I say no more.” - -“Alas!” exclaimed the niece at this, “may I die if my master does not -want to turn knight-errant again;” to which Don Quixote replied, “A -knight-errant I shall die, and let the Turk come down or go up when he -likes, and in as strong force as he can, once more I say, God knows -what I mean.” But here the barber said, “I ask your worships to give me -leave to tell a short story of something that happened in Seville, -which comes so pat to the purpose just now that I should like greatly -to tell it.” Don Quixote gave him leave, and the rest prepared to -listen, and he began thus: - -“In the madhouse at Seville there was a man whom his relations had -placed there as being out of his mind. He was a graduate of Osuna in -canon law; but even if he had been of Salamanca, it was the opinion of -most people that he would have been mad all the same. This graduate, -after some years of confinement, took it into his head that he was sane -and in his full senses, and under this impression wrote to the -Archbishop, entreating him earnestly, and in very correct language, to -have him released from the misery in which he was living; for by God’s -mercy he had now recovered his lost reason, though his relations, in -order to enjoy his property, kept him there, and, in spite of the -truth, would make him out to be mad until his dying day. The -Archbishop, moved by repeated sensible, well-written letters, directed -one of his chaplains to make inquiry of the madhouse as to the truth of -the licentiate’s statements, and to have an interview with the madman -himself, and, if it should appear that he was in his senses, to take -him out and restore him to liberty. The chaplain did so, and the -governor assured him that the man was still mad, and that though he -often spoke like a highly intelligent person, he would in the end break -out into nonsense that in quantity and quality counterbalanced all the -sensible things he had said before, as might be easily tested by -talking to him. The chaplain resolved to try the experiment, and -obtaining access to the madman conversed with him for an hour or more, -during the whole of which time he never uttered a word that was -incoherent or absurd, but, on the contrary, spoke so rationally that -the chaplain was compelled to believe him to be sane. Among other -things, he said the governor was against him, not to lose the presents -his relations made him for reporting him still mad but with lucid -intervals; and that the worst foe he had in his misfortune was his -large property; for in order to enjoy it his enemies disparaged and -threw doubts upon the mercy our Lord had shown him in turning him from -a brute beast into a man. In short, he spoke in such a way that he cast -suspicion on the governor, and made his relations appear covetous and -heartless, and himself so rational that the chaplain determined to take -him away with him that the Archbishop might see him, and ascertain for -himself the truth of the matter. Yielding to this conviction, the -worthy chaplain begged the governor to have the clothes in which the -licentiate had entered the house given to him. The governor again bade -him beware of what he was doing, as the licentiate was beyond a doubt -still mad; but all his cautions and warnings were unavailing to -dissuade the chaplain from taking him away. The governor, seeing that -it was the order of the Archbishop, obeyed, and they dressed the -licentiate in his own clothes, which were new and decent. He, as soon -as he saw himself clothed like one in his senses, and divested of the -appearance of a madman, entreated the chaplain to permit him in charity -to go and take leave of his comrades the madmen. The chaplain said he -would go with him to see what madmen there were in the house; so they -went upstairs, and with them some of those who were present. -Approaching a cage in which there was a furious madman, though just at -that moment calm and quiet, the licentiate said to him, ‘Brother, think -if you have any commands for me, for I am going home, as God has been -pleased, in his infinite goodness and mercy, without any merit of mine, -to restore me my reason. I am now cured and in my senses, for with -God’s power nothing is impossible. Have strong hope and trust in him, -for as he has restored me to my original condition, so likewise he will -restore you if you trust in him. I will take care to send you some good -things to eat; and be sure you eat them; for I would have you know I am -convinced, as one who has gone through it, that all this madness of -ours comes of having the stomach empty and the brains full of wind. -Take courage! take courage! for despondency in misfortune breaks down -health and brings on death.’ - -“To all these words of the licentiate another madman in a cage opposite -that of the furious one was listening; and raising himself up from an -old mat on which he lay stark naked, he asked in a loud voice who it -was that was going away cured and in his senses. The licentiate -answered, ‘It is I, brother, who am going; I have now no need to remain -here any longer, for which I return infinite thanks to Heaven that has -had so great mercy upon me.’ - -“‘Mind what you are saying, licentiate; don’t let the devil deceive -you,’ replied the madman. ‘Keep quiet, stay where you are, and you will -save yourself the trouble of coming back.’ - -“‘I know I am cured,’ returned the licentiate, ‘and that I shall not -have to go stations again.’ - -“‘You cured!’ said the madman; ‘well, we shall see; God be with you; -but I swear to you by Jupiter, whose majesty I represent on earth, that -for this crime alone, which Seville is committing to-day in releasing -you from this house, and treating you as if you were in your senses, I -shall have to inflict such a punishment on it as will be remembered for -ages and ages, amen. Dost thou not know, thou miserable little -licentiate, that I can do it, being, as I say, Jupiter the Thunderer, -who hold in my hands the fiery bolts with which I am able and am wont -to threaten and lay waste the world? But in one way only will I punish -this ignorant town, and that is by not raining upon it, nor on any part -of its district or territory, for three whole years, to be reckoned -from the day and moment when this threat is pronounced. Thou free, thou -cured, thou in thy senses! and I mad, I disordered, I bound! I will as -soon think of sending rain as of hanging myself. - -“Those present stood listening to the words and exclamations of the -madman; but our licentiate, turning to the chaplain and seizing him by -the hands, said to him, ‘Be not uneasy, señor; attach no importance to -what this madman has said; for if he is Jupiter and will not send rain, -I, who am Neptune, the father and god of the waters, will rain as often -as it pleases me and may be needful.’ - -“The governor and the bystanders laughed, and at their laughter the -chaplain was half ashamed, and he replied, ‘For all that, Señor -Neptune, it will not do to vex Señor Jupiter; remain where you are, and -some other day, when there is a better opportunity and more time, we -will come back for you.’ So they stripped the licentiate, and he was -left where he was; and that’s the end of the story.” - -“So that’s the story, master barber,” said Don Quixote, “which came in -so pat to the purpose that you could not help telling it? Master -shaver, master shaver! how blind is he who cannot see through a sieve. -Is it possible that you do not know that comparisons of wit with wit, -valour with valour, beauty with beauty, birth with birth, are always -odious and unwelcome? I, master barber, am not Neptune, the god of the -waters, nor do I try to make anyone take me for an astute man, for I am -not one. My only endeavour is to convince the world of the mistake it -makes in not reviving in itself the happy time when the order of -knight-errantry was in the field. But our depraved age does not deserve -to enjoy such a blessing as those ages enjoyed when knights-errant took -upon their shoulders the defence of kingdoms, the protection of -damsels, the succour of orphans and minors, the chastisement of the -proud, and the recompense of the humble. With the knights of these -days, for the most part, it is the damask, brocade, and rich stuffs -they wear, that rustle as they go, not the chain mail of their armour; -no knight now-a-days sleeps in the open field exposed to the inclemency -of heaven, and in full panoply from head to foot; no one now takes a -nap, as they call it, without drawing his feet out of the stirrups, and -leaning upon his lance, as the knights-errant used to do; no one now, -issuing from the wood, penetrates yonder mountains, and then treads the -barren, lonely shore of the sea—mostly a tempestuous and stormy one—and -finding on the beach a little bark without oars, sail, mast, or -tackling of any kind, in the intrepidity of his heart flings himself -into it and commits himself to the wrathful billows of the deep sea, -that one moment lift him up to heaven and the next plunge him into the -depths; and opposing his breast to the irresistible gale, finds -himself, when he least expects it, three thousand leagues and more away -from the place where he embarked; and leaping ashore in a remote and -unknown land has adventures that deserve to be written, not on -parchment, but on brass. But now sloth triumphs over energy, indolence -over exertion, vice over virtue, arrogance over courage, and theory -over practice in arms, which flourished and shone only in the golden -ages and in knights-errant. For tell me, who was more virtuous and more -valiant than the famous Amadis of Gaul? Who more discreet than Palmerin -of England? Who more gracious and easy than Tirante el Blanco? Who more -courtly than Lisuarte of Greece? Who more slashed or slashing than Don -Belianis? Who more intrepid than Perion of Gaul? Who more ready to face -danger than Felixmarte of Hircania? Who more sincere than Esplandian? -Who more impetuous than Don Cirongilio of Thrace? Who more bold than -Rodamonte? Who more prudent than King Sobrino? Who more daring than -Reinaldos? Who more invincible than Roland? and who more gallant and -courteous than Ruggiero, from whom the dukes of Ferrara of the present -day are descended, according to Turpin in his ‘Cosmography.’ All these -knights, and many more that I could name, señor curate, were -knights-errant, the light and glory of chivalry. These, or such as -these, I would have to carry out my plan, and in that case his Majesty -would find himself well served and would save great expense, and the -Turk would be left tearing his beard. And so I will stay where I am, as -the chaplain does not take me away; and if Jupiter, as the barber has -told us, will not send rain, here am I, and I will rain when I please. -I say this that Master Basin may know that I understand him.” - -“Indeed, Señor Don Quixote,” said the barber, “I did not mean it in -that way, and, so help me God, my intention was good, and your worship -ought not to be vexed.” - -“As to whether I ought to be vexed or not,” returned Don Quixote, “I -myself am the best judge.” - -Hereupon the curate observed, “I have hardly said a word as yet; and I -would gladly be relieved of a doubt, arising from what Don Quixote has -said, that worries and works my conscience.” - -“The señor curate has leave for more than that,” returned Don Quixote, -“so he may declare his doubt, for it is not pleasant to have a doubt on -one’s conscience.” - -“Well then, with that permission,” said the curate, “I say my doubt is -that, all I can do, I cannot persuade myself that the whole pack of -knights-errant you, Señor Don Quixote, have mentioned, were really and -truly persons of flesh and blood, that ever lived in the world; on the -contrary, I suspect it to be all fiction, fable, and falsehood, and -dreams told by men awakened from sleep, or rather still half asleep.” - -“That is another mistake,” replied Don Quixote, “into which many have -fallen who do not believe that there ever were such knights in the -world, and I have often, with divers people and on divers occasions, -tried to expose this almost universal error to the light of truth. -Sometimes I have not been successful in my purpose, sometimes I have, -supporting it upon the shoulders of the truth; which truth is so clear -that I can almost say I have with my own eyes seen Amadis of Gaul, who -was a man of lofty stature, fair complexion, with a handsome though -black beard, of a countenance between gentle and stern in expression, -sparing of words, slow to anger, and quick to put it away from him; and -as I have depicted Amadis, so I could, I think, portray and describe -all the knights-errant that are in all the histories in the world; for -by the perception I have that they were what their histories describe, -and by the deeds they did and the dispositions they displayed, it is -possible, with the aid of sound philosophy, to deduce their features, -complexion, and stature.” - -“How big, in your worship’s opinion, may the giant Morgante have been, -Señor Don Quixote?” asked the barber. - -“With regard to giants,” replied Don Quixote, “opinions differ as to -whether there ever were any or not in the world; but the Holy -Scripture, which cannot err by a jot from the truth, shows us that -there were, when it gives us the history of that big Philistine, -Goliath, who was seven cubits and a half in height, which is a huge -size. Likewise, in the island of Sicily, there have been found -leg-bones and arm-bones so large that their size makes it plain that -their owners were giants, and as tall as great towers; geometry puts -this fact beyond a doubt. But, for all that, I cannot speak with -certainty as to the size of Morgante, though I suspect he cannot have -been very tall; and I am inclined to be of this opinion because I find -in the history in which his deeds are particularly mentioned, that he -frequently slept under a roof and as he found houses to contain him, it -is clear that his bulk could not have been anything excessive.” - -“That is true,” said the curate, and yielding to the enjoyment of -hearing such nonsense, he asked him what was his notion of the features -of Reinaldos of Montalban, and Don Roland and the rest of the Twelve -Peers of France, for they were all knights-errant. - -“As for Reinaldos,” replied Don Quixote, “I venture to say that he was -broad-faced, of ruddy complexion, with roguish and somewhat prominent -eyes, excessively punctilious and touchy, and given to the society of -thieves and scapegraces. With regard to Roland, or Rotolando, or -Orlando (for the histories call him by all these names), I am of -opinion, and hold, that he was of middle height, broad-shouldered, -rather bow-legged, swarthy-complexioned, red-bearded, with a hairy body -and a severe expression of countenance, a man of few words, but very -polite and well-bred.” - -“If Roland was not a more graceful person than your worship has -described,” said the curate, “it is no wonder that the fair Lady -Angelica rejected him and left him for the gaiety, liveliness, and -grace of that budding-bearded little Moor to whom she surrendered -herself; and she showed her sense in falling in love with the gentle -softness of Medoro rather than the roughness of Roland.” - -“That Angelica, señor curate,” returned Don Quixote, “was a giddy -damsel, flighty and somewhat wanton, and she left the world as full of -her vagaries as of the fame of her beauty. She treated with scorn a -thousand gentlemen, men of valour and wisdom, and took up with a -smooth-faced sprig of a page, without fortune or fame, except such -reputation for gratitude as the affection he bore his friend got for -him. The great poet who sang her beauty, the famous Ariosto, not caring -to sing her adventures after her contemptible surrender (which probably -were not over and above creditable), dropped her where he says: - -How she received the sceptre of Cathay, -Some bard of defter quill may sing some day; - -and this was no doubt a kind of prophecy, for poets are also called -_vates_, that is to say diviners; and its truth was made plain; for -since then a famous Andalusian poet has lamented and sung her tears, -and another famous and rare poet, a Castilian, has sung her beauty.” - -“Tell me, Señor Don Quixote,” said the barber here, “among all those -who praised her, has there been no poet to write a satire on this Lady -Angelica?” - -“I can well believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that if Sacripante or -Roland had been poets they would have given the damsel a trimming; for -it is naturally the way with poets who have been scorned and rejected -by their ladies, whether fictitious or not, in short by those whom they -select as the ladies of their thoughts, to avenge themselves in satires -and libels—a vengeance, to be sure, unworthy of generous hearts; but up -to the present I have not heard of any defamatory verse against the -Lady Angelica, who turned the world upside down.” - -“Strange,” said the curate; but at this moment they heard the -housekeeper and the niece, who had previously withdrawn from the -conversation, exclaiming aloud in the courtyard, and at the noise they -all ran out. - -CHAPTER II. -WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE ALTERCATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HAD WITH DON -QUIXOTE’S NIECE, AND HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER DROLL MATTERS - -The history relates that the outcry Don Quixote, the curate, and the -barber heard came from the niece and the housekeeper exclaiming to -Sancho, who was striving to force his way in to see Don Quixote while -they held the door against him, “What does the vagabond want in this -house? Be off to your own, brother, for it is you, and no one else, -that delude my master, and lead him astray, and take him tramping about -the country.” - -To which Sancho replied, “Devil’s own housekeeper! it is I who am -deluded, and led astray, and taken tramping about the country, and not -thy master! He has carried me all over the world, and you are mightily -mistaken. He enticed me away from home by a trick, promising me an -island, which I am still waiting for.” - -“May evil islands choke thee, thou detestable Sancho,” said the niece; -“What are islands? Is it something to eat, glutton and gormandiser that -thou art?” - -“It is not something to eat,” replied Sancho, “but something to govern -and rule, and better than four cities or four judgeships at court.” - -“For all that,” said the housekeeper, “you don’t enter here, you bag of -mischief and sack of knavery; go govern your house and dig your -seed-patch, and give over looking for islands or shylands.” - -The curate and the barber listened with great amusement to the words of -the three; but Don Quixote, uneasy lest Sancho should blab and blurt -out a whole heap of mischievous stupidities, and touch upon points that -might not be altogether to his credit, called to him and made the other -two hold their tongues and let him come in. Sancho entered, and the -curate and the barber took their leave of Don Quixote, of whose -recovery they despaired when they saw how wedded he was to his crazy -ideas, and how saturated with the nonsense of his unlucky chivalry; and -said the curate to the barber, “You will see, gossip, that when we are -least thinking of it, our gentleman will be off once more for another -flight.” - -“I have no doubt of it,” returned the barber; “but I do not wonder so -much at the madness of the knight as at the simplicity of the squire, -who has such a firm belief in all that about the island, that I suppose -all the exposures that could be imagined would not get it out of his -head.” - -“God help them,” said the curate; “and let us be on the look-out to see -what comes of all these absurdities of the knight and squire, for it -seems as if they had both been cast in the same mould, and the madness -of the master without the simplicity of the man would not be worth a -farthing.” - -“That is true,” said the barber, “and I should like very much to know -what the pair are talking about at this moment.” - -“I promise you,” said the curate, “the niece or the housekeeper will -tell us by-and-by, for they are not the ones to forget to listen.” - -Meanwhile Don Quixote shut himself up in his room with Sancho, and when -they were alone he said to him, “It grieves me greatly, Sancho, that -thou shouldst have said, and sayest, that I took thee out of thy -cottage, when thou knowest I did not remain in my house. We sallied -forth together, we took the road together, we wandered abroad together; -we have had the same fortune and the same luck; if they blanketed thee -once, they belaboured me a hundred times, and that is the only -advantage I have of thee.” - -“That was only reasonable,” replied Sancho, “for, by what your worship -says, misfortunes belong more properly to knights-errant than to their -squires.” - -“Thou art mistaken, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “according to the maxim -_quando caput dolet_, etc.” - -“I don’t understand any language but my own,” said Sancho. - -“I mean to say,” said Don Quixote, “that when the head suffers all the -members suffer; and so, being thy lord and master, I am thy head, and -thou a part of me as thou art my servant; and therefore any evil that -affects or shall affect me should give thee pain, and what affects thee -give pain to me.” - -“It should be so,” said Sancho; “but when I was blanketed as a member, -my head was on the other side of the wall, looking on while I was -flying through the air, and did not feel any pain whatever; and if the -members are obliged to feel the suffering of the head, it should be -obliged to feel their sufferings.” - -“Dost thou mean to say now, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that I did not -feel when they were blanketing thee? If thou dost, thou must not say so -or think so, for I felt more pain then in spirit than thou didst in -body. But let us put that aside for the present, for we shall have -opportunities enough for considering and settling the point; tell me, -Sancho my friend, what do they say about me in the village here? What -do the common people think of me? What do the hidalgos? What do the -caballeros? What do they say of my valour; of my achievements; of my -courtesy? How do they treat the task I have undertaken in reviving and -restoring to the world the now forgotten order of chivalry? In short, -Sancho, I would have thee tell me all that has come to thine ears on -this subject; and thou art to tell me, without adding anything to the -good or taking away anything from the bad; for it is the duty of loyal -vassals to tell the truth to their lords just as it is and in its -proper shape, not allowing flattery to add to it or any idle deference -to lessen it. And I would have thee know, Sancho, that if the naked -truth, undisguised by flattery, came to the ears of princes, times -would be different, and other ages would be reckoned iron ages more -than ours, which I hold to be the golden of these latter days. Profit -by this advice, Sancho, and report to me clearly and faithfully the -truth of what thou knowest touching what I have demanded of thee.” - -“That I will do with all my heart, master,” replied Sancho, “provided -your worship will not be vexed at what I say, as you wish me to say it -out in all its nakedness, without putting any more clothes on it than -it came to my knowledge in.” - -“I will not be vexed at all,” returned Don Quixote; “thou mayest speak -freely, Sancho, and without any beating about the bush.” - -“Well then,” said he, “first of all, I have to tell you that the common -people consider your worship a mighty great madman, and me no less a -fool. The hidalgos say that, not keeping within the bounds of your -quality of gentleman, you have assumed the ‘Don,’ and made a knight of -yourself at a jump, with four vine-stocks and a couple of acres of -land, and never a shirt to your back. The caballeros say they do not -want to have hidalgos setting up in opposition to them, particularly -squire hidalgos who polish their own shoes and darn their black -stockings with green silk.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “does not apply to me, for I always go well -dressed and never patched; ragged I may be, but ragged more from the -wear and tear of arms than of time.” - -“As to your worship’s valour, courtesy, accomplishments, and task, -there is a variety of opinions. Some say, ‘mad but droll;’ others, -‘valiant but unlucky;’ others, ‘courteous but meddling,’ and then they -go into such a number of things that they don’t leave a whole bone -either in your worship or in myself.” - -“Recollect, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that wherever virtue exists in -an eminent degree it is persecuted. Few or none of the famous men that -have lived escaped being calumniated by malice. Julius Cæsar, the -boldest, wisest, and bravest of captains, was charged with being -ambitious, and not particularly cleanly in his dress, or pure in his -morals. Of Alexander, whose deeds won him the name of Great, they say -that he was somewhat of a drunkard. Of Hercules, him of the many -labours, it is said that he was lewd and luxurious. Of Don Galaor, the -brother of Amadis of Gaul, it was whispered that he was -over-quarrelsome, and of his brother that he was lachrymose. So that, O -Sancho, amongst all these calumnies against good men, mine may be let -pass, since they are no more than thou hast said.” - -“That’s just where it is, body of my father!” - -“Is there more, then?” asked Don Quixote. - -“There’s the tail to be skinned yet,” said Sancho; “all so far is cakes -and fancy bread; but if your worship wants to know all about the -calumnies they bring against you, I will fetch you one this instant who -can tell you the whole of them without missing an atom; for last night -the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who has been studying at Salamanca, -came home after having been made a bachelor, and when I went to welcome -him, he told me that your worship’s history is already abroad in books, -with the title of THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA; and -he says they mention me in it by my own name of Sancho Panza, and the -lady Dulcinea del Toboso too, and divers things that happened to us -when we were alone; so that I crossed myself in my wonder how the -historian who wrote them down could have known them.” - -“I promise thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “the author of our history -will be some sage enchanter; for to such nothing that they choose to -write about is hidden.” - -“What!” said Sancho, “a sage and an enchanter! Why, the bachelor Samson -Carrasco (that is the name of him I spoke of) says the author of the -history is called Cide Hamete Berengena.” - -“That is a Moorish name,” said Don Quixote. - -“May be so,” replied Sancho; “for I have heard say that the Moors are -mostly great lovers of berengenas.” - -“Thou must have mistaken the surname of this ‘Cide’—which means in -Arabic ‘Lord’—Sancho,” observed Don Quixote. - -“Very likely,” replied Sancho, “but if your worship wishes me to fetch -the bachelor I will go for him in a twinkling.” - -“Thou wilt do me a great pleasure, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for -what thou hast told me has amazed me, and I shall not eat a morsel that -will agree with me until I have heard all about it.” - -“Then I am off for him,” said Sancho; and leaving his master he went in -quest of the bachelor, with whom he returned in a short time, and, all -three together, they had a very droll colloquy. - -CHAPTER III. -OF THE LAUGHABLE CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE, SANCHO -PANZA, AND THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO - -Don Quixote remained very deep in thought, waiting for the bachelor -Carrasco, from whom he was to hear how he himself had been put into a -book as Sancho said; and he could not persuade himself that any such -history could be in existence, for the blood of the enemies he had -slain was not yet dry on the blade of his sword, and now they wanted to -make out that his mighty achievements were going about in print. For -all that, he fancied some sage, either a friend or an enemy, might, by -the aid of magic, have given them to the press; if a friend, in order -to magnify and exalt them above the most famous ever achieved by any -knight-errant; if an enemy, to bring them to naught and degrade them -below the meanest ever recorded of any low squire, though as he said to -himself, the achievements of squires never were recorded. If, however, -it were the fact that such a history were in existence, it must -necessarily, being the story of a knight-errant, be grandiloquent, -lofty, imposing, grand and true. With this he comforted himself -somewhat, though it made him uncomfortable to think that the author was -a Moor, judging by the title of “Cide;” and that no truth was to be -looked for from Moors, as they are all impostors, cheats, and schemers. -He was afraid he might have dealt with his love affairs in some -indecorous fashion, that might tend to the discredit and prejudice of -the purity of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso; he would have had him set -forth the fidelity and respect he had always observed towards her, -spurning queens, empresses, and damsels of all sorts, and keeping in -check the impetuosity of his natural impulses. Absorbed and wrapped up -in these and divers other cogitations, he was found by Sancho and -Carrasco, whom Don Quixote received with great courtesy. - -The bachelor, though he was called Samson, was of no great bodily size, -but he was a very great wag; he was of a sallow complexion, but very -sharp-witted, somewhere about four-and-twenty years of age, with a -round face, a flat nose, and a large mouth, all indications of a -mischievous disposition and a love of fun and jokes; and of this he -gave a sample as soon as he saw Don Quixote, by falling on his knees -before him and saying, “Let me kiss your mightiness’s hand, Señor Don -Quixote of La Mancha, for, by the habit of St. Peter that I wear, -though I have no more than the first four orders, your worship is one -of the most famous knights-errant that have ever been, or will be, all -the world over. A blessing on Cide Hamete Benengeli, who has written -the history of your great deeds, and a double blessing on that -connoisseur who took the trouble of having it translated out of the -Arabic into our Castilian vulgar tongue for the universal entertainment -of the people!” - -Don Quixote made him rise, and said, “So, then, it is true that there -is a history of me, and that it was a Moor and a sage who wrote it?” - -“So true is it, señor,” said Samson, “that my belief is there are more -than twelve thousand volumes of the said history in print this very -day. Only ask Portugal, Barcelona, and Valencia, where they have been -printed, and moreover there is a report that it is being printed at -Antwerp, and I am persuaded there will not be a country or language in -which there will not be a translation of it.” - -“One of the things,” here observed Don Quixote, “that ought to give -most pleasure to a virtuous and eminent man is to find himself in his -lifetime in print and in type, familiar in people’s mouths with a good -name; I say with a good name, for if it be the opposite, then there is -no death to be compared to it.” - -“If it goes by good name and fame,” said the bachelor, “your worship -alone bears away the palm from all the knights-errant; for the Moor in -his own language, and the Christian in his, have taken care to set -before us your gallantry, your high courage in encountering dangers, -your fortitude in adversity, your patience under misfortunes as well as -wounds, the purity and continence of the platonic loves of your worship -and my lady Doña Dulcinea del Toboso—” - -“I never heard my lady Dulcinea called Doña,” observed Sancho here; -“nothing more than the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; so here already the -history is wrong.” - -“That is not an objection of any importance,” replied Carrasco. - -“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, señor bachelor, what -deeds of mine are they that are made most of in this history?” - -“On that point,” replied the bachelor, “opinions differ, as tastes do; -some swear by the adventure of the windmills that your worship took to -be Briareuses and giants; others by that of the fulling mills; one -cries up the description of the two armies that afterwards took the -appearance of two droves of sheep; another that of the dead body on its -way to be buried at Segovia; a third says the liberation of the galley -slaves is the best of all, and a fourth that nothing comes up to the -affair with the Benedictine giants, and the battle with the valiant -Biscayan.” - -“Tell me, señor bachelor,” said Sancho at this point, “does the -adventure with the Yanguesans come in, when our good Rocinante went -hankering after dainties?” - -“The sage has left nothing in the ink-bottle,” replied Samson; “he -tells all and sets down everything, even to the capers that worthy -Sancho cut in the blanket.” - -“I cut no capers in the blanket,” returned Sancho; “in the air I did, -and more of them than I liked.” - -“There is no human history in the world, I suppose,” said Don Quixote, -“that has not its ups and downs, but more than others such as deal with -chivalry, for they can never be entirely made up of prosperous -adventures.” - -“For all that,” replied the bachelor, “there are those who have read -the history who say they would have been glad if the author had left -out some of the countless cudgellings that were inflicted on Señor Don -Quixote in various encounters.” - -“That’s where the truth of the history comes in,” said Sancho. - -“At the same time they might fairly have passed them over in silence,” -observed Don Quixote; “for there is no need of recording events which -do not change or affect the truth of a history, if they tend to bring -the hero of it into contempt. Æneas was not in truth and earnest so -pious as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so wise as Homer describes -him.” - -“That is true,” said Samson; “but it is one thing to write as a poet, -another to write as a historian; the poet may describe or sing things, -not as they were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian has -to write them down, not as they ought to have been, but as they were, -without adding anything to the truth or taking anything from it.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “if this señor Moor goes in for telling the -truth, no doubt among my master’s drubbings mine are to be found; for -they never took the measure of his worship’s shoulders without doing -the same for my whole body; but I have no right to wonder at that, for, -as my master himself says, the members must share the pain of the -head.” - -“You are a sly dog, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “i’ faith, you have no -want of memory when you choose to remember.” - -“If I were to try to forget the thwacks they gave me,” said Sancho, “my -weals would not let me, for they are still fresh on my ribs.” - -“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t interrupt the bachelor, -whom I entreat to go on and tell all that is said about me in this -history.” - -“And about me,” said Sancho, “for they say, too, that I am one of the -principal presonages in it.” - -“Personages, not presonages, friend Sancho,” said Samson. - -“What! Another word-catcher!” said Sancho; “if that’s to be the way we -shall not make an end in a lifetime.” - -“May God shorten mine, Sancho,” returned the bachelor, “if you are not -the second person in the history, and there are even some who would -rather hear you talk than the cleverest in the whole book; though there -are some, too, who say you showed yourself over-credulous in believing -there was any possibility in the government of that island offered you -by Señor Don Quixote.” - -“There is still sunshine on the wall,” said Don Quixote; “and when -Sancho is somewhat more advanced in life, with the experience that -years bring, he will be fitter and better qualified for being a -governor than he is at present.” - -“By God, master,” said Sancho, “the island that I cannot govern with -the years I have, I’ll not be able to govern with the years of -Methuselah; the difficulty is that the said island keeps its distance -somewhere, I know not where; and not that there is any want of head in -me to govern it.” - -“Leave it to God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for all will be and -perhaps better than you think; no leaf on the tree stirs but by God’s -will.” - -“That is true,” said Samson; “and if it be God’s will, there will not -be any want of a thousand islands, much less one, for Sancho to -govern.” - -“I have seen governors in these parts,” said Sancho, “that are not to -be compared to my shoe-sole; and for all that they are called ‘your -lordship’ and served on silver.” - -“Those are not governors of islands,” observed Samson, “but of other -governments of an easier kind: those that govern islands must at least -know grammar.” - -“I could manage the gram well enough,” said Sancho; “but for the mar I -have neither leaning nor liking, for I don’t know what it is; but -leaving this matter of the government in God’s hands, to send me -wherever it may be most to his service, I may tell you, señor bachelor -Samson Carrasco, it has pleased me beyond measure that the author of -this history should have spoken of me in such a way that what is said -of me gives no offence; for, on the faith of a true squire, if he had -said anything about me that was at all unbecoming an old Christian, -such as I am, the deaf would have heard of it.” - -“That would be working miracles,” said Samson. - -“Miracles or no miracles,” said Sancho, “let everyone mind how he -speaks or writes about people, and not set down at random the first -thing that comes into his head.” - -“One of the faults they find with this history,” said the bachelor, “is -that its author inserted in it a novel called ‘The Ill-advised -Curiosity;’ not that it is bad or ill-told, but that it is out of place -and has nothing to do with the history of his worship Señor Don -Quixote.” - -“I will bet the son of a dog has mixed the cabbages and the baskets,” -said Sancho. - -“Then, I say,” said Don Quixote, “the author of my history was no sage, -but some ignorant chatterer, who, in a haphazard and heedless way, set -about writing it, let it turn out as it might, just as Orbaneja, the -painter of Úbeda, used to do, who, when they asked him what he was -painting, answered, ‘What it may turn out.’ Sometimes he would paint a -cock in such a fashion, and so unlike, that he had to write alongside -of it in Gothic letters, ‘This is a cock; and so it will be with my -history, which will require a commentary to make it intelligible.” - -“No fear of that,” returned Samson, “for it is so plain that there is -nothing in it to puzzle over; the children turn its leaves, the young -people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk praise it; in -a word, it is so thumbed, and read, and got by heart by people of all -sorts, that the instant they see any lean hack, they say, ‘There goes -Rocinante.’ And those that are most given to reading it are the pages, -for there is not a lord’s ante-chamber where there is not a ‘Don -Quixote’ to be found; one takes it up if another lays it down; this one -pounces upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said history is -the most delightful and least injurious entertainment that has been -hitherto seen, for there is not to be found in the whole of it even the -semblance of an immodest word, or a thought that is other than -Catholic.” - -“To write in any other way,” said Don Quixote, “would not be to write -truth, but falsehood, and historians who have recourse to falsehood -ought to be burned, like those who coin false money; and I know not -what could have led the author to have recourse to novels and -irrelevant stories, when he had so much to write about in mine; no -doubt he must have gone by the proverb ‘with straw or with hay, etc,’ -for by merely setting forth my thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty -purposes, my enterprises, he might have made a volume as large, or -larger than all the works of El Tostado would make up. In fact, the -conclusion I arrive at, señor bachelor, is, that to write histories, or -books of any kind, there is need of great judgment and a ripe -understanding. To give expression to humour, and write in a strain of -graceful pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses. The cleverest -character in comedy is the clown, for he who would make people take him -for a fool, must not be one. History is in a measure a sacred thing, -for it should be true, and where the truth is, there God is; but -notwithstanding this, there are some who write and fling books -broadcast on the world as if they were fritters.” - -“There is no book so bad but it has something good in it,” said the -bachelor. - -“No doubt of that,” replied Don Quixote; “but it often happens that -those who have acquired and attained a well-deserved reputation by -their writings, lose it entirely, or damage it in some degree, when -they give them to the press.” - -“The reason of that,” said Samson, “is, that as printed works are -examined leisurely, their faults are easily seen; and the greater the -fame of the writer, the more closely are they scrutinised. Men famous -for their genius, great poets, illustrious historians, are always, or -most commonly, envied by those who take a particular delight and -pleasure in criticising the writings of others, without having produced -any of their own.” - -“That is no wonder,” said Don Quixote; “for there are many divines who -are no good for the pulpit, but excellent in detecting the defects or -excesses of those who preach.” - -“All that is true, Señor Don Quixote,” said Carrasco; “but I wish such -fault-finders were more lenient and less exacting, and did not pay so -much attention to the spots on the bright sun of the work they grumble -at; for if _aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus_, they should remember how -long he remained awake to shed the light of his work with as little -shade as possible; and perhaps it may be that what they find fault with -may be moles, that sometimes heighten the beauty of the face that bears -them; and so I say very great is the risk to which he who prints a book -exposes himself, for of all impossibilities the greatest is to write -one that will satisfy and please all readers.” - -“That which treats of me must have pleased few,” said Don Quixote. - -“Quite the contrary,” said the bachelor; “for, as _stultorum infinitum -est numerus_, innumerable are those who have relished the said history; -but some have brought a charge against the author’s memory, inasmuch as -he forgot to say who the thief was who stole Sancho’s Dapple; for it is -not stated there, but only to be inferred from what is set down, that -he was stolen, and a little farther on we see Sancho mounted on the -same ass, without any reappearance of it. They say, too, that he forgot -to state what Sancho did with those hundred crowns that he found in the -valise in the Sierra Morena, as he never alludes to them again, and -there are many who would be glad to know what he did with them, or what -he spent them on, for it is one of the serious omissions of the work.” - -“Señor Samson, I am not in a humour now for going into accounts or -explanations,” said Sancho; “for there’s a sinking of the stomach come -over me, and unless I doctor it with a couple of sups of the old stuff -it will put me on the thorn of Santa Lucia. I have it at home, and my -old woman is waiting for me; after dinner I’ll come back, and will -answer you and all the world every question you may choose to ask, as -well about the loss of the ass as about the spending of the hundred -crowns;” and without another word or waiting for a reply he made off -home. - -Don Quixote begged and entreated the bachelor to stay and do penance -with him. The bachelor accepted the invitation and remained, a couple -of young pigeons were added to the ordinary fare, at dinner they talked -chivalry, Carrasco fell in with his host’s humour, the banquet came to -an end, they took their afternoon sleep, Sancho returned, and their -conversation was resumed. - -CHAPTER IV. -IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA GIVES A SATISFACTORY REPLY TO THE DOUBTS AND -QUESTIONS OF THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS -WORTH KNOWING AND TELLING - -Sancho came back to Don Quixote’s house, and returning to the late -subject of conversation, he said, “As to what Señor Samson said, that -he would like to know by whom, or how, or when my ass was stolen, I say -in reply that the same night we went into the Sierra Morena, flying -from the Holy Brotherhood after that unlucky adventure of the galley -slaves, and the other of the corpse that was going to Segovia, my -master and I ensconced ourselves in a thicket, and there, my master -leaning on his lance, and I seated on my Dapple, battered and weary -with the late frays we fell asleep as if it had been on four feather -mattresses; and I in particular slept so sound, that, whoever he was, -he was able to come and prop me up on four stakes, which he put under -the four corners of the pack-saddle in such a way that he left me -mounted on it, and took away Dapple from under me without my feeling -it.” - -“That is an easy matter,” said Don Quixote, “and it is no new -occurrence, for the same thing happened to Sacripante at the siege of -Albracca; the famous thief, Brunello, by the same contrivance, took his -horse from between his legs.” - -“Day came,” continued Sancho, “and the moment I stirred the stakes gave -way and I fell to the ground with a mighty come down; I looked about -for the ass, but could not see him; the tears rushed to my eyes and I -raised such a lamentation that, if the author of our history has not -put it in, he may depend upon it he has left out a good thing. Some -days after, I know not how many, travelling with her ladyship the -Princess Micomicona, I saw my ass, and mounted upon him, in the dress -of a gipsy, was that Gines de Pasamonte, the great rogue and rascal -that my master and I freed from the chain.” - -“That is not where the mistake is,” replied Samson; “it is, that before -the ass has turned up, the author speaks of Sancho as being mounted on -it.” - -“I don’t know what to say to that,” said Sancho, “unless that the -historian made a mistake, or perhaps it might be a blunder of the -printer’s.” - -“No doubt that’s it,” said Samson; “but what became of the hundred -crowns? Did they vanish?” - -To which Sancho answered, “I spent them for my own good, and my wife’s, -and my children’s, and it is they that have made my wife bear so -patiently all my wanderings on highways and byways, in the service of -my master, Don Quixote; for if after all this time I had come back to -the house without a rap and without the ass, it would have been a poor -look-out for me; and if anyone wants to know anything more about me, -here I am, ready to answer the king himself in person; and it is no -affair of anyone’s whether I took or did not take, whether I spent or -did not spend; for the whacks that were given me in these journeys were -to be paid for in money, even if they were valued at no more than four -maravedis apiece, another hundred crowns would not pay me for half of -them. Let each look to himself and not try to make out white black, and -black white; for each of us is as God made him, aye, and often worse.” - -“I will take care,” said Carrasco, “to impress upon the author of the -history that, if he prints it again, he must not forget what worthy -Sancho has said, for it will raise it a good span higher.” - -“Is there anything else to correct in the history, señor bachelor?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“No doubt there is,” replied he; “but not anything that will be of the -same importance as those I have mentioned.” - -“Does the author promise a second part at all?” said Don Quixote. - -“He does promise one,” replied Samson; “but he says he has not found -it, nor does he know who has got it; and we cannot say whether it will -appear or not; and so, on that head, as some say that no second part -has ever been good, and others that enough has been already written -about Don Quixote, it is thought there will be no second part; though -some, who are jovial rather than saturnine, say, ‘Let us have more -Quixotades, let Don Quixote charge and Sancho chatter, and no matter -what it may turn out, we shall be satisfied with that.’” - -“And what does the author mean to do?” said Don Quixote. - -“What?” replied Samson; “why, as soon as he has found the history which -he is now searching for with extraordinary diligence, he will at once -give it to the press, moved more by the profit that may accrue to him -from doing so than by any thought of praise.” - -Whereat Sancho observed, “The author looks for money and profit, does -he? It will be a wonder if he succeeds, for it will be only hurry, -hurry, with him, like the tailor on Easter Eve; and works done in a -hurry are never finished as perfectly as they ought to be. Let master -Moor, or whatever he is, pay attention to what he is doing, and I and -my master will give him as much grouting ready to his hand, in the way -of adventures and accidents of all sorts, as would make up not only one -second part, but a hundred. The good man fancies, no doubt, that we are -fast asleep in the straw here, but let him hold up our feet to be shod -and he will see which foot it is we go lame on. All I say is, that if -my master would take my advice, we would be now afield, redressing -outrages and righting wrongs, as is the use and custom of good -knights-errant.” - -Sancho had hardly uttered these words when the neighing of Rocinante -fell upon their ears, which neighing Don Quixote accepted as a happy -omen, and he resolved to make another sally in three or four days from -that time. Announcing his intention to the bachelor, he asked his -advice as to the quarter in which he ought to commence his expedition, -and the bachelor replied that in his opinion he ought to go to the -kingdom of Aragon, and the city of Saragossa, where there were to be -certain solemn joustings at the festival of St. George, at which he -might win renown above all the knights of Aragon, which would be -winning it above all the knights of the world. He commended his very -praiseworthy and gallant resolution, but admonished him to proceed with -greater caution in encountering dangers, because his life did not -belong to him, but to all those who had need of him to protect and aid -them in their misfortunes. - -“There’s where it is, what I abominate, Señor Samson,” said Sancho -here; “my master will attack a hundred armed men as a greedy boy would -half a dozen melons. Body of the world, señor bachelor! there is a time -to attack and a time to retreat, and it is not to be always ‘Santiago, -and close Spain!’ Moreover, I have heard it said (and I think by my -master himself, if I remember rightly) that the mean of valour lies -between the extremes of cowardice and rashness; and if that be so, I -don’t want him to fly without having good reason, or to attack when the -odds make it better not. But, above all things, I warn my master that -if he is to take me with him it must be on the condition that he is to -do all the fighting, and that I am not to be called upon to do anything -except what concerns keeping him clean and comfortable; in this I will -dance attendance on him readily; but to expect me to draw sword, even -against rascally churls of the hatchet and hood, is idle. I don’t set -up to be a fighting man, Señor Samson, but only the best and most loyal -squire that ever served knight-errant; and if my master Don Quixote, in -consideration of my many faithful services, is pleased to give me some -island of the many his worship says one may stumble on in these parts, -I will take it as a great favour; and if he does not give it to me, I -was born like everyone else, and a man must not live in dependence on -anyone except God; and what is more, my bread will taste as well, and -perhaps even better, without a government than if I were a governor; -and how do I know but that in these governments the devil may have -prepared some trip for me, to make me lose my footing and fall and -knock my grinders out? Sancho I was born and Sancho I mean to die. But -for all that, if heaven were to make me a fair offer of an island or -something else of the kind, without much trouble and without much risk, -I am not such a fool as to refuse it; for they say, too, ‘when they -offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; and ‘when good luck comes to -thee, take it in.’” - -“Brother Sancho,” said Carrasco, “you have spoken like a professor; -but, for all that, put your trust in God and in Señor Don Quixote, for -he will give you a kingdom, not to say an island.” - -“It is all the same, be it more or be it less,” replied Sancho; “though -I can tell Señor Carrasco that my master would not throw the kingdom he -might give me into a sack all in holes; for I have felt my own pulse -and I find myself sound enough to rule kingdoms and govern islands; and -I have before now told my master as much.” - -“Take care, Sancho,” said Samson; “honours change manners, and perhaps -when you find yourself a governor you won’t know the mother that bore -you.” - -“That may hold good of those that are born in the ditches,” said -Sancho, “not of those who have the fat of an old Christian four fingers -deep on their souls, as I have. Nay, only look at my disposition, is -that likely to show ingratitude to anyone?” - -“God grant it,” said Don Quixote; “we shall see when the government -comes; and I seem to see it already.” - -He then begged the bachelor, if he were a poet, to do him the favour of -composing some verses for him conveying the farewell he meant to take -of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and to see that a letter of her name -was placed at the beginning of each line, so that, at the end of the -verses, “Dulcinea del Toboso” might be read by putting together the -first letters. The bachelor replied that although he was not one of the -famous poets of Spain, who were, they said, only three and a half, he -would not fail to compose the required verses; though he saw a great -difficulty in the task, as the letters which made up the name were -seventeen; so, if he made four ballad stanzas of four lines each, there -would be a letter over, and if he made them of five, what they called -decimas or redondillas, there were three letters short; nevertheless he -would try to drop a letter as well as he could, so that the name -“Dulcinea del Toboso” might be got into four ballad stanzas. - -“It must be, by some means or other,” said Don Quixote, “for unless the -name stands there plain and manifest, no woman would believe the verses -were made for her.” - -They agreed upon this, and that the departure should take place in -three days from that time. Don Quixote charged the bachelor to keep it -a secret, especially from the curate and Master Nicholas, and from his -niece and the housekeeper, lest they should prevent the execution of -his praiseworthy and valiant purpose. Carrasco promised all, and then -took his leave, charging Don Quixote to inform him of his good or evil -fortunes whenever he had an opportunity; and thus they bade each other -farewell, and Sancho went away to make the necessary preparations for -their expedition. - -CHAPTER V. -OF THE SHREWD AND DROLL CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO PANZA -AND HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA, AND OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF BEING DULY -RECORDED - -The translator of this history, when he comes to write this fifth -chapter, says that he considers it apocryphal, because in it Sancho -Panza speaks in a style unlike that which might have been expected from -his limited intelligence, and says things so subtle that he does not -think it possible he could have conceived them; however, desirous of -doing what his task imposed upon him, he was unwilling to leave it -untranslated, and therefore he went on to say: - -Sancho came home in such glee and spirits that his wife noticed his -happiness a bowshot off, so much so that it made her ask him, “What -have you got, Sancho friend, that you are so glad?” - -To which he replied, “Wife, if it were God’s will, I should be very -glad not to be so well pleased as I show myself.” - -“I don’t understand you, husband,” said she, “and I don’t know what you -mean by saying you would be glad, if it were God’s will, not to be well -pleased; for, fool as I am, I don’t know how one can find pleasure in -not having it.” - -“Hark ye, Teresa,” replied Sancho, “I am glad because I have made up my -mind to go back to the service of my master Don Quixote, who means to -go out a third time to seek for adventures; and I am going with him -again, for my necessities will have it so, and also the hope that -cheers me with the thought that I may find another hundred crowns like -those we have spent; though it makes me sad to have to leave thee and -the children; and if God would be pleased to let me have my daily -bread, dry-shod and at home, without taking me out into the byways and -cross-roads—and he could do it at small cost by merely willing it—it is -clear my happiness would be more solid and lasting, for the happiness I -have is mingled with sorrow at leaving thee; so that I was right in -saying I would be glad, if it were God’s will, not to be well pleased.” - -“Look here, Sancho,” said Teresa; “ever since you joined on to a -knight-errant you talk in such a roundabout way that there is no -understanding you.” - -“It is enough that God understands me, wife,” replied Sancho; “for he -is the understander of all things; that will do; but mind, sister, you -must look to Dapple carefully for the next three days, so that he may -be fit to take arms; double his feed, and see to the pack-saddle and -other harness, for it is not to a wedding we are bound, but to go round -the world, and play at give and take with giants and dragons and -monsters, and hear hissings and roarings and bellowings and howlings; -and even all this would be lavender, if we had not to reckon with -Yanguesans and enchanted Moors.” - -“I know well enough, husband,” said Teresa, “that squires-errant don’t -eat their bread for nothing, and so I will be always praying to our -Lord to deliver you speedily from all that hard fortune.” - -“I can tell you, wife,” said Sancho, “if I did not expect to see myself -governor of an island before long, I would drop down dead on the spot.” - -“Nay, then, husband,” said Teresa; “let the hen live, though it be with -her pip, live, and let the devil take all the governments in the world; -you came out of your mother’s womb without a government, you have lived -until now without a government, and when it is God’s will you will go, -or be carried, to your grave without a government. How many there are -in the world who live without a government, and continue to live all -the same, and are reckoned in the number of the people. The best sauce -in the world is hunger, and as the poor are never without that, they -always eat with a relish. But mind, Sancho, if by good luck you should -find yourself with some government, don’t forget me and your children. -Remember that Sanchico is now full fifteen, and it is right he should -go to school, if his uncle the abbot has a mind to have him trained for -the Church. Consider, too, that your daughter Mari-Sancha will not die -of grief if we marry her; for I have my suspicions that she is as eager -to get a husband as you to get a government; and, after all, a daughter -looks better ill married than well whored.” - -“By my faith,” replied Sancho, “if God brings me to get any sort of a -government, I intend, wife, to make such a high match for Mari-Sancha -that there will be no approaching her without calling her ‘my lady.” - -“Nay, Sancho,” returned Teresa; “marry her to her equal, that is the -safest plan; for if you put her out of wooden clogs into high-heeled -shoes, out of her grey flannel petticoat into hoops and silk gowns, out -of the plain ‘Marica’ and ‘thou,’ into ‘Doña So-and-so’ and ‘my lady,’ -the girl won’t know where she is, and at every turn she will fall into -a thousand blunders that will show the thread of her coarse homespun -stuff.” - -“Tut, you fool,” said Sancho; “it will be only to practise it for two -or three years; and then dignity and decorum will fit her as easily as -a glove; and if not, what matter? Let her be ‘my lady,’ and never mind -what happens.” - -“Keep to your own station, Sancho,” replied Teresa; “don’t try to raise -yourself higher, and bear in mind the proverb that says, ‘wipe the nose -of your neigbbour’s son, and take him into your house.’ A fine thing it -would be, indeed, to marry our Maria to some great count or grand -gentleman, who, when the humour took him, would abuse her and call her -clown-bred and clodhopper’s daughter and spinning wench. I have not -been bringing up my daughter for that all this time, I can tell you, -husband. Do you bring home money, Sancho, and leave marrying her to my -care; there is Lope Tocho, Juan Tocho’s son, a stout, sturdy young -fellow that we know, and I can see he does not look sour at the girl; -and with him, one of our own sort, she will be well married, and we -shall have her always under our eyes, and be all one family, parents -and children, grandchildren and sons-in-law, and the peace and blessing -of God will dwell among us; so don’t you go marrying her in those -courts and grand palaces where they won’t know what to make of her, or -she what to make of herself.” - -“Why, you idiot and wife for Barabbas,” said Sancho, “what do you mean -by trying, without why or wherefore, to keep me from marrying my -daughter to one who will give me grandchildren that will be called -‘your lordship’? Look ye, Teresa, I have always heard my elders say -that he who does not know how to take advantage of luck when it comes -to him, has no right to complain if it gives him the go-by; and now -that it is knocking at our door, it will not do to shut it out; let us -go with the favouring breeze that blows upon us.” - -It is this sort of talk, and what Sancho says lower down, that made the -translator of the history say he considered this chapter apocryphal. - -“Don’t you see, you animal,” continued Sancho, “that it will be well -for me to drop into some profitable government that will lift us out of -the mire, and marry Mari-Sancha to whom I like; and you yourself will -find yourself called ‘Doña Teresa Panza,’ and sitting in church on a -fine carpet and cushions and draperies, in spite and in defiance of all -the born ladies of the town? No, stay as you are, growing neither -greater nor less, like a tapestry figure—Let us say no more about it, -for Sanchica shall be a countess, say what you will.” - -“Are you sure of all you say, husband?” replied Teresa. “Well, for all -that, I am afraid this rank of countess for my daughter will be her -ruin. You do as you like, make a duchess or a princess of her, but I -can tell you it will not be with my will and consent. I was always a -lover of equality, brother, and I can’t bear to see people give -themselves airs without any right. They called me Teresa at my baptism, -a plain, simple name, without any additions or tags or fringes of Dons -or Doñas; Cascajo was my father’s name, and as I am your wife, I am -called Teresa Panza, though by right I ought to be called Teresa -Cascajo; but ‘kings go where laws like,’ and I am content with this -name without having the ‘Don’ put on top of it to make it so heavy that -I cannot carry it; and I don’t want to make people talk about me when -they see me go dressed like a countess or governor’s wife; for they -will say at once, ‘See what airs the slut gives herself! Only yesterday -she was always spinning flax, and used to go to mass with the tail of -her petticoat over her head instead of a mantle, and there she goes -to-day in a hooped gown with her broaches and airs, as if we didn’t -know her!’ If God keeps me in my seven senses, or five, or whatever -number I have, I am not going to bring myself to such a pass; go you, -brother, and be a government or an island man, and swagger as much as -you like; for by the soul of my mother, neither my daughter nor I are -going to stir a step from our village; a respectable woman should have -a broken leg and keep at home; and to be busy at something is a -virtuous damsel’s holiday; be off to your adventures along with your -Don Quixote, and leave us to our misadventures, for God will mend them -for us according as we deserve it. I don’t know, I’m sure, who fixed -the ‘Don’ to him, what neither his father nor grandfather ever had.” - -“I declare thou hast a devil of some sort in thy body!” said Sancho. -“God help thee, what a lot of things thou hast strung together, one -after the other, without head or tail! What have Cascajo, and the -broaches and the proverbs and the airs, to do with what I say? Look -here, fool and dolt (for so I may call you, when you don’t understand -my words, and run away from good fortune), if I had said that my -daughter was to throw herself down from a tower, or go roaming the -world, as the Infanta Doña Urraca wanted to do, you would be right in -not giving way to my will; but if in an instant, in less than the -twinkling of an eye, I put the ‘Don’ and ‘my lady’ on her back, and -take her out of the stubble, and place her under a canopy, on a dais, -and on a couch, with more velvet cushions than all the Almohades of -Morocco ever had in their family, why won’t you consent and fall in -with my wishes?” - -“Do you know why, husband?” replied Teresa; “because of the proverb -that says ‘who covers thee, discovers thee.’ At the poor man people -only throw a hasty glance; on the rich man they fix their eyes; and if -the said rich man was once on a time poor, it is then there is the -sneering and the tattle and spite of backbiters; and in the streets -here they swarm as thick as bees.” - -“Look here, Teresa,” said Sancho, “and listen to what I am now going to -say to you; maybe you never heard it in all your life; and I do not -give my own notions, for what I am about to say are the opinions of his -reverence the preacher, who preached in this town last Lent, and who -said, if I remember rightly, that all things present that our eyes -behold, bring themselves before us, and remain and fix themselves on -our memory much better and more forcibly than things past.” - -These observations which Sancho makes here are the other ones on -account of which the translator says he regards this chapter as -apocryphal, inasmuch as they are beyond Sancho’s capacity. - -“Whence it arises,” he continued, “that when we see any person well -dressed and making a figure with rich garments and retinue of servants, -it seems to lead and impel us perforce to respect him, though memory -may at the same moment recall to us some lowly condition in which we -have seen him, but which, whether it may have been poverty or low -birth, being now a thing of the past, has no existence; while the only -thing that has any existence is what we see before us; and if this -person whom fortune has raised from his original lowly state (these -were the very words the padre used) to his present height of -prosperity, be well bred, generous, courteous to all, without seeking -to vie with those whose nobility is of ancient date, depend upon it, -Teresa, no one will remember what he was, and everyone will respect -what he is, except indeed the envious, from whom no fair fortune is -safe.” - -“I do not understand you, husband,” replied Teresa; “do as you like, -and don’t break my head with any more speechifying and rethoric; and if -you have revolved to do what you say—” - -“Resolved, you should say, woman,” said Sancho, “not revolved.” - -“Don’t set yourself to wrangle with me, husband,” said Teresa; “I speak -as God pleases, and don’t deal in out-of-the-way phrases; and I say if -you are bent upon having a government, take your son Sancho with you, -and teach him from this time on how to hold a government; for sons -ought to inherit and learn the trades of their fathers.” - -“As soon as I have the government,” said Sancho, “I will send for him -by post, and I will send thee money, of which I shall have no lack, for -there is never any want of people to lend it to governors when they -have not got it; and do thou dress him so as to hide what he is and -make him look what he is to be.” - -“You send the money,” said Teresa, “and I’ll dress him up for you as -fine as you please.” - -“Then we are agreed that our daughter is to be a countess,” said -Sancho. - -“The day that I see her a countess,” replied Teresa, “it will be the -same to me as if I was burying her; but once more I say do as you -please, for we women are born to this burden of being obedient to our -husbands, though they be dogs;” and with this she began to weep in -earnest, as if she already saw Sanchica dead and buried. - -Sancho consoled her by saying that though he must make her a countess, -he would put it off as long as possible. Here their conversation came -to an end, and Sancho went back to see Don Quixote, and make -arrangements for their departure. - -CHAPTER VI. -OF WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS NIECE AND HOUSEKEEPER; -ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTERS IN THE WHOLE HISTORY - -While Sancho Panza and his wife, Teresa Cascajo, held the above -irrelevant conversation, Don Quixote’s niece and housekeeper were not -idle, for by a thousand signs they began to perceive that their uncle -and master meant to give them the slip the third time, and once more -betake himself to his, for them, ill-errant chivalry. They strove by -all the means in their power to divert him from such an unlucky scheme; -but it was all preaching in the desert and hammering cold iron. -Nevertheless, among many other representations made to him, the -housekeeper said to him, “In truth, master, if you do not keep still -and stay quiet at home, and give over roaming mountains and valleys -like a troubled spirit, looking for what they say are called -adventures, but what I call misfortunes, I shall have to make complaint -to God and the king with loud supplication to send some remedy.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “What answer God will give to your -complaints, housekeeper, I know not, nor what his Majesty will answer -either; I only know that if I were king I should decline to answer the -numberless silly petitions they present every day; for one of the -greatest among the many troubles kings have is being obliged to listen -to all and answer all, and therefore I should be sorry that any affairs -of mine should worry him.” - -Whereupon the housekeeper said, “Tell us, señor, at his Majesty’s court -are there no knights?” - -“There are,” replied Don Quixote, “and plenty of them; and it is right -there should be, to set off the dignity of the prince, and for the -greater glory of the king’s majesty.” - -“Then might not your worship,” said she, “be one of those that, without -stirring a step, serve their king and lord in his court?” - -“Recollect, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “all knights cannot be -courtiers, nor can all courtiers be knights-errant, nor need they be. -There must be all sorts in the world; and though we may be all knights, -there is a great difference between one and another; for the courtiers, -without quitting their chambers, or the threshold of the court, range -the world over by looking at a map, without its costing them a -farthing, and without suffering heat or cold, hunger or thirst; but we, -the true knights-errant, measure the whole earth with our own feet, -exposed to the sun, to the cold, to the air, to the inclemencies of -heaven, by day and night, on foot and on horseback; nor do we only know -enemies in pictures, but in their own real shapes; and at all risks and -on all occasions we attack them, without any regard to childish points -or rules of single combat, whether one has or has not a shorter lance -or sword, whether one carries relics or any secret contrivance about -him, whether or not the sun is to be divided and portioned out, and -other niceties of the sort that are observed in set combats of man to -man, that you know nothing about, but I do. And you must know besides, -that the true knight-errant, though he may see ten giants, that not -only touch the clouds with their heads but pierce them, and that go, -each of them, on two tall towers by way of legs, and whose arms are -like the masts of mighty ships, and each eye like a great mill-wheel, -and glowing brighter than a glass furnace, must not on any account be -dismayed by them. On the contrary, he must attack and fall upon them -with a gallant bearing and a fearless heart, and, if possible, vanquish -and destroy them, even though they have for armour the shells of a -certain fish, that they say are harder than diamonds, and in place of -swords wield trenchant blades of Damascus steel, or clubs studded with -spikes also of steel, such as I have more than once seen. All this I -say, housekeeper, that you may see the difference there is between the -one sort of knight and the other; and it would be well if there were no -prince who did not set a higher value on this second, or more properly -speaking first, kind of knights-errant; for, as we read in their -histories, there have been some among them who have been the salvation, -not merely of one kingdom, but of many.” - -“Ah, señor,” here exclaimed the niece, “remember that all this you are -saying about knights-errant is fable and fiction; and their histories, -if indeed they were not burned, would deserve, each of them, to have a -sambenito put on it, or some mark by which it might be known as -infamous and a corrupter of good manners.” - -“By the God that gives me life,” said Don Quixote, “if thou wert not my -full niece, being daughter of my own sister, I would inflict a -chastisement upon thee for the blasphemy thou hast uttered that all the -world should ring with. What! can it be that a young hussy that hardly -knows how to handle a dozen lace-bobbins dares to wag her tongue and -criticise the histories of knights-errant? What would Señor Amadis say -if he heard of such a thing? He, however, no doubt would forgive thee, -for he was the most humble-minded and courteous knight of his time, and -moreover a great protector of damsels; but some there are that might -have heard thee, and it would not have been well for thee in that case; -for they are not all courteous or mannerly; some are ill-conditioned -scoundrels; nor is it everyone that calls himself a gentleman, that is -so in all respects; some are gold, others pinchbeck, and all look like -gentlemen, but not all can stand the touchstone of truth. There are men -of low rank who strain themselves to bursting to pass for gentlemen, -and high gentlemen who, one would fancy, were dying to pass for men of -low rank; the former raise themselves by their ambition or by their -virtues, the latter debase themselves by their lack of spirit or by -their vices; and one has need of experience and discernment to -distinguish these two kinds of gentlemen, so much alike in name and so -different in conduct.” - -“God bless me!” said the niece, “that you should know so much, -uncle—enough, if need be, to get up into a pulpit and go preach in the -streets—and yet that you should fall into a delusion so great and a -folly so manifest as to try to make yourself out vigorous when you are -old, strong when you are sickly, able to put straight what is crooked -when you yourself are bent by age, and, above all, a caballero when you -are not one; for though gentlefolk may be so, poor men are nothing of -the kind!” - -“There is a great deal of truth in what you say, niece,” returned Don -Quixote, “and I could tell you somewhat about birth that would astonish -you; but, not to mix up things human and divine, I refrain. Look you, -my dears, all the lineages in the world (attend to what I am saying) -can be reduced to four sorts, which are these: those that had humble -beginnings, and went on spreading and extending themselves until they -attained surpassing greatness; those that had great beginnings and -maintained them, and still maintain and uphold the greatness of their -origin; those, again, that from a great beginning have ended in a point -like a pyramid, having reduced and lessened their original greatness -till it has come to nought, like the point of a pyramid, which, -relatively to its base or foundation, is nothing; and then there are -those—and it is they that are the most numerous—that have had neither -an illustrious beginning nor a remarkable mid-course, and so will have -an end without a name, like an ordinary plebeian line. Of the first, -those that had an humble origin and rose to the greatness they still -preserve, the Ottoman house may serve as an example, which from an -humble and lowly shepherd, its founder, has reached the height at which -we now see it. For examples of the second sort of lineage, that began -with greatness and maintains it still without adding to it, there are -the many princes who have inherited the dignity, and maintain -themselves in their inheritance, without increasing or diminishing it, -keeping peacefully within the limits of their states. Of those that -began great and ended in a point, there are thousands of examples, for -all the Pharaohs and Ptolemies of Egypt, the Cæsars of Rome, and the -whole herd (if I may apply such a word to them) of countless princes, -monarchs, lords, Medes, Assyrians, Persians, Greeks, and barbarians, -all these lineages and lordships have ended in a point and come to -nothing, they themselves as well as their founders, for it would be -impossible now to find one of their descendants, and, even should we -find one, it would be in some lowly and humble condition. Of plebeian -lineages I have nothing to say, save that they merely serve to swell -the number of those that live, without any eminence to entitle them to -any fame or praise beyond this. From all I have said I would have you -gather, my poor innocents, that great is the confusion among lineages, -and that only those are seen to be great and illustrious that show -themselves so by the virtue, wealth, and generosity of their -possessors. I have said virtue, wealth, and generosity, because a great -man who is vicious will be a great example of vice, and a rich man who -is not generous will be merely a miserly beggar; for the possessor of -wealth is not made happy by possessing it, but by spending it, and not -by spending as he pleases, but by knowing how to spend it well. The -poor gentleman has no way of showing that he is a gentleman but by -virtue, by being affable, well-bred, courteous, gentle-mannered, and -kindly, not haughty, arrogant, or censorious, but above all by being -charitable; for by two maravedis given with a cheerful heart to the -poor, he will show himself as generous as he who distributes alms with -bell-ringing, and no one that perceives him to be endowed with the -virtues I have named, even though he know him not, will fail to -recognise and set him down as one of good blood; and it would be -strange were it not so; praise has ever been the reward of virtue, and -those who are virtuous cannot fail to receive commendation. There are -two roads, my daughters, by which men may reach wealth and honours; one -is that of letters, the other that of arms. I have more of arms than of -letters in my composition, and, judging by my inclination to arms, was -born under the influence of the planet Mars. I am, therefore, in a -measure constrained to follow that road, and by it I must travel in -spite of all the world, and it will be labour in vain for you to urge -me to resist what heaven wills, fate ordains, reason requires, and, -above all, my own inclination favours; for knowing as I do the -countless toils that are the accompaniments of knight-errantry, I know, -too, the infinite blessings that are attained by it; I know that the -path of virtue is very narrow, and the road of vice broad and spacious; -I know their ends and goals are different, for the broad and easy road -of vice ends in death, and the narrow and toilsome one of virtue in -life, and not transitory life, but in that which has no end; I know, as -our great Castilian poet says, that- - -It is by rugged paths like these they go -That scale the heights of immortality, -Unreached by those that falter here below.” - -“Woe is me!” exclaimed the niece, “my lord is a poet, too! He knows -everything, and he can do everything; I will bet, if he chose to turn -mason, he could make a house as easily as a cage.” - -“I can tell you, niece,” replied Don Quixote, “if these chivalrous -thoughts did not engage all my faculties, there would be nothing that I -could not do, nor any sort of knickknack that would not come from my -hands, particularly cages and tooth-picks.” - -At this moment there came a knocking at the door, and when they asked -who was there, Sancho Panza made answer that it was he. The instant the -housekeeper knew who it was, she ran to hide herself so as not to see -him; in such abhorrence did she hold him. The niece let him in, and his -master Don Quixote came forward to receive him with open arms, and the -pair shut themselves up in his room, where they had another -conversation not inferior to the previous one. - -CHAPTER VII. -OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER -VERY NOTABLE INCIDENTS - -The instant the housekeeper saw Sancho Panza shut himself in with her -master, she guessed what they were about; and suspecting that the -result of the consultation would be a resolve to undertake a third -sally, she seized her mantle, and in deep anxiety and distress, ran to -find the bachelor Samson Carrasco, as she thought that, being a -well-spoken man, and a new friend of her master’s, he might be able to -persuade him to give up any such crazy notion. She found him pacing the -patio of his house, and, perspiring and flurried, she fell at his feet -the moment she saw him. - -Carrasco, seeing how distressed and overcome she was, said to her, -“What is this, mistress housekeeper? What has happened to you? One -would think you heart-broken.” - -“Nothing, Señor Samson,” said she, “only that my master is breaking -out, plainly breaking out.” - -“Whereabouts is he breaking out, señora?” asked Samson; “has any part -of his body burst?” - -“He is only breaking out at the door of his madness,” she replied; “I -mean, dear señor bachelor, that he is going to break out again (and -this will be the third time) to hunt all over the world for what he -calls ventures, though I can’t make out why he gives them that name. -The first time he was brought back to us slung across the back of an -ass, and belaboured all over; and the second time he came in an -ox-cart, shut up in a cage, in which he persuaded himself he was -enchanted, and the poor creature was in such a state that the mother -that bore him would not have known him; lean, yellow, with his eyes -sunk deep in the cells of his skull; so that to bring him round again, -ever so little, cost me more than six hundred eggs, as God knows, and -all the world, and my hens too, that won’t let me tell a lie.” - -“That I can well believe,” replied the bachelor, “for they are so good -and so fat, and so well-bred, that they would not say one thing for -another, though they were to burst for it. In short then, mistress -housekeeper, that is all, and there is nothing the matter, except what -it is feared Don Quixote may do?” - -“No, señor,” said she. - -“Well then,” returned the bachelor, “don’t be uneasy, but go home in -peace; get me ready something hot for breakfast, and while you are on -the way say the prayer of Santa Apollonia, that is if you know it; for -I will come presently and you will see miracles.” - -“Woe is me,” cried the housekeeper, “is it the prayer of Santa -Apollonia you would have me say? That would do if it was the toothache -my master had; but it is in the brains, what he has got.” - -“I know what I am saying, mistress housekeeper; go, and don’t set -yourself to argue with me, for you know I am a bachelor of Salamanca, -and one can’t be more of a bachelor than that,” replied Carrasco; and -with this the housekeeper retired, and the bachelor went to look for -the curate, and arrange with him what will be told in its proper place. - -While Don Quixote and Sancho were shut up together, they had a -discussion which the history records with great precision and -scrupulous exactness. Sancho said to his master, “Señor, I have educed -my wife to let me go with your worship wherever you choose to take me.” - -“Induced, you should say, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “not educed.” - -“Once or twice, as well as I remember,” replied Sancho, “I have begged -of your worship not to mend my words, if so be as you understand what I -mean by them; and if you don’t understand them to say ‘Sancho,’ or -‘devil,’ ‘I don’t understand thee; and if I don’t make my meaning -plain, then you may correct me, for I am so focile—” - -“I don’t understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at once; “for I -know not what ‘I am so focile’ means.” - -“‘So focile’ means I am so much that way,” replied Sancho. - -“I understand thee still less now,” said Don Quixote. - -“Well, if you can’t understand me,” said Sancho, “I don’t know how to -put it; I know no more, God help me.” - -“Oh, now I have hit it,” said Don Quixote; “thou wouldst say thou art -so docile, tractable, and gentle that thou wilt take what I say to -thee, and submit to what I teach thee.” - -“I would bet,” said Sancho, “that from the very first you understood -me, and knew what I meant, but you wanted to put me out that you might -hear me make another couple of dozen blunders.” - -“May be so,” replied Don Quixote; “but to come to the point, what does -Teresa say?” - -“Teresa says,” replied Sancho, “that I should make sure with your -worship, and ‘let papers speak and beards be still,’ for ‘he who binds -does not wrangle,’ since one ‘take’ is better than two ‘I’ll give -thee’s;’ and I say a woman’s advice is no great thing, and he who won’t -take it is a fool.” - -“And so say I,” said Don Quixote; “continue, Sancho my friend; go on; -you talk pearls to-day.” - -“The fact is,” continued Sancho, “that, as your worship knows better -than I do, we are all of us liable to death, and to-day we are, and -to-morrow we are not, and the lamb goes as soon as the sheep, and -nobody can promise himself more hours of life in this world than God -may be pleased to give him; for death is deaf, and when it comes to -knock at our life’s door, it is always urgent, and neither prayers, nor -struggles, nor sceptres, nor mitres, can keep it back, as common talk -and report say, and as they tell us from the pulpits every day.” - -“All that is very true,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot make out what -thou art driving at.” - -“What I am driving at,” said Sancho, “is that your worship settle some -fixed wages for me, to be paid monthly while I am in your service, and -that the same be paid me out of your estate; for I don’t care to stand -on rewards which either come late, or ill, or never at all; God help me -with my own. In short, I would like to know what I am to get, be it -much or little; for the hen will lay on one egg, and many littles make -a much, and so long as one gains something there is nothing lost. To be -sure, if it should happen (what I neither believe nor expect) that your -worship were to give me that island you have promised me, I am not so -ungrateful nor so grasping but that I would be willing to have the -revenue of such island valued and stopped out of my wages in due -promotion.” - -“Sancho, my friend,” replied Don Quixote, “sometimes proportion may be -as good as promotion.” - -“I see,” said Sancho; “I’ll bet I ought to have said proportion, and -not promotion; but it is no matter, as your worship has understood me.” - -“And so well understood,” returned Don Quixote, “that I have seen into -the depths of thy thoughts, and know the mark thou art shooting at with -the countless shafts of thy proverbs. Look here, Sancho, I would -readily fix thy wages if I had ever found any instance in the histories -of the knights-errant to show or indicate, by the slightest hint, what -their squires used to get monthly or yearly; but I have read all or the -best part of their histories, and I cannot remember reading of any -knight-errant having assigned fixed wages to his squire; I only know -that they all served on reward, and that when they least expected it, -if good luck attended their masters, they found themselves recompensed -with an island or something equivalent to it, or at the least they were -left with a title and lordship. If with these hopes and additional -inducements you, Sancho, please to return to my service, well and good; -but to suppose that I am going to disturb or unhinge the ancient usage -of knight-errantry, is all nonsense. And so, my Sancho, get you back to -your house and explain my intentions to your Teresa, and if she likes -and you like to be on reward with me, _bene quidem;_ if not, we remain -friends; for if the pigeon-house does not lack food, it will not lack -pigeons; and bear in mind, my son, that a good hope is better than a -bad holding, and a good grievance better than a bad compensation. I -speak in this way, Sancho, to show you that I can shower down proverbs -just as well as yourself; and in short, I mean to say, and I do say, -that if you don’t like to come on reward with me, and run the same -chance that I run, God be with you and make a saint of you; for I shall -find plenty of squires more obedient and painstaking, and not so -thickheaded or talkative as you are.” - -When Sancho heard his master’s firm, resolute language, a cloud came -over the sky with him and the wings of his heart drooped, for he had -made sure that his master would not go without him for all the wealth -of the world; and as he stood there dumbfoundered and moody, Samson -Carrasco came in with the housekeeper and niece, who were anxious to -hear by what arguments he was about to dissuade their master from going -to seek adventures. The arch wag Samson came forward, and embracing him -as he had done before, said with a loud voice, “O flower of -knight-errantry! O shining light of arms! O honour and mirror of the -Spanish nation! may God Almighty in his infinite power grant that any -person or persons, who would impede or hinder thy third sally, may find -no way out of the labyrinth of their schemes, nor ever accomplish what -they most desire!” And then, turning to the housekeeper, he said, -“Mistress housekeeper may just as well give over saying the prayer of -Santa Apollonia, for I know it is the positive determination of the -spheres that Señor Don Quixote shall proceed to put into execution his -new and lofty designs; and I should lay a heavy burden on my conscience -did I not urge and persuade this knight not to keep the might of his -strong arm and the virtue of his valiant spirit any longer curbed and -checked, for by his inactivity he is defrauding the world of the -redress of wrongs, of the protection of orphans, of the honour of -virgins, of the aid of widows, and of the support of wives, and other -matters of this kind appertaining, belonging, proper and peculiar to -the order of knight-errantry. On, then, my lord Don Quixote, beautiful -and brave, let your worship and highness set out to-day rather than -to-morrow; and if anything be needed for the execution of your purpose, -here am I ready in person and purse to supply the want; and were it -requisite to attend your magnificence as squire, I should esteem it the -happiest good fortune.” - -At this, Don Quixote, turning to Sancho, said, “Did I not tell thee, -Sancho, there would be squires enough and to spare for me? See now who -offers to become one; no less than the illustrious bachelor Samson -Carrasco, the perpetual joy and delight of the courts of the Salamancan -schools, sound in body, discreet, patient under heat or cold, hunger or -thirst, with all the qualifications requisite to make a knight-errant’s -squire! But heaven forbid that, to gratify my own inclination, I should -shake or shatter this pillar of letters and vessel of the sciences, and -cut down this towering palm of the fair and liberal arts. Let this new -Samson remain in his own country, and, bringing honour to it, bring -honour at the same time on the grey heads of his venerable parents; for -I will be content with any squire that comes to hand, as Sancho does -not deign to accompany me.” - -“I do deign,” said Sancho, deeply moved and with tears in his eyes; “it -shall not be said of me, master mine,” he continued, “‘the bread eaten -and the company dispersed.’ Nay, I come of no ungrateful stock, for all -the world knows, but particularly my own town, who the Panzas from whom -I am descended were; and, what is more, I know and have learned, by -many good words and deeds, your worship’s desire to show me favour; and -if I have been bargaining more or less about my wages, it was only to -please my wife, who, when she sets herself to press a point, no hammer -drives the hoops of a cask as she drives one to do what she wants; but, -after all, a man must be a man, and a woman a woman; and as I am a man -anyhow, which I can’t deny, I will be one in my own house too, let who -will take it amiss; and so there’s nothing more to do but for your -worship to make your will with its codicil in such a way that it can’t -be provoked, and let us set out at once, to save Señor Samson’s soul -from suffering, as he says his conscience obliges him to persuade your -worship to sally out upon the world a third time; so I offer again to -serve your worship faithfully and loyally, as well and better than all -the squires that served knights-errant in times past or present.” - -The bachelor was filled with amazement when he heard Sancho’s -phraseology and style of talk, for though he had read the first part of -his master’s history he never thought that he could be so droll as he -was there described; but now, hearing him talk of a “will and codicil -that could not be provoked,” instead of “will and codicil that could -not be revoked,” he believed all he had read of him, and set him down -as one of the greatest simpletons of modern times; and he said to -himself that two such lunatics as master and man the world had never -seen. In fine, Don Quixote and Sancho embraced one another and made -friends, and by the advice and with the approval of the great Carrasco, -who was now their oracle, it was arranged that their departure should -take place three days thence, by which time they could have all that -was requisite for the journey ready, and procure a closed helmet, which -Don Quixote said he must by all means take. Samson offered him one, as -he knew a friend of his who had it would not refuse it to him, though -it was more dingy with rust and mildew than bright and clean like -burnished steel. - -The curses which both housekeeper and niece poured out on the bachelor -were past counting; they tore their hair, they clawed their faces, and -in the style of the hired mourners that were once in fashion, they -raised a lamentation over the departure of their master and uncle, as -if it had been his death. Samson’s intention in persuading him to sally -forth once more was to do what the history relates farther on; all by -the advice of the curate and barber, with whom he had previously -discussed the subject. Finally, then, during those three days, Don -Quixote and Sancho provided themselves with what they considered -necessary, and Sancho having pacified his wife, and Don Quixote his -niece and housekeeper, at nightfall, unseen by anyone except the -bachelor, who thought fit to accompany them half a league out of the -village, they set out for El Toboso, Don Quixote on his good Rocinante -and Sancho on his old Dapple, his alforjas furnished with certain -matters in the way of victuals, and his purse with money that Don -Quixote gave him to meet emergencies. Samson embraced him, and -entreated him to let him hear of his good or evil fortunes, so that he -might rejoice over the former or condole with him over the latter, as -the laws of friendship required. Don Quixote promised him he would do -so, and Samson returned to the village, and the other two took the road -for the great city of El Toboso. - -CHAPTER VIII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE ON HIS WAY TO SEE HIS LADY -DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO - -“Blessed be Allah the all-powerful!” says Hamete Benengeli on beginning -this eighth chapter; “blessed be Allah!” he repeats three times; and he -says he utters these thanksgivings at seeing that he has now got Don -Quixote and Sancho fairly afield, and that the readers of his -delightful history may reckon that the achievements and humours of Don -Quixote and his squire are now about to begin; and he urges them to -forget the former chivalries of the ingenious gentleman and to fix -their eyes on those that are to come, which now begin on the road to El -Toboso, as the others began on the plains of Montiel; nor is it much -that he asks in consideration of all he promises, and so he goes on to -say: - -Don Quixote and Sancho were left alone, and the moment Samson took his -departure, Rocinante began to neigh, and Dapple to sigh, which, by both -knight and squire, was accepted as a good sign and a very happy omen; -though, if the truth is to be told, the sighs and brays of Dapple were -louder than the neighings of the hack, from which Sancho inferred that -his good fortune was to exceed and overtop that of his master, -building, perhaps, upon some judicial astrology that he may have known, -though the history says nothing about it; all that can be said is, that -when he stumbled or fell, he was heard to say he wished he had not come -out, for by stumbling or falling there was nothing to be got but a -damaged shoe or a broken rib; and, fool as he was, he was not much -astray in this. - -Said Don Quixote, “Sancho, my friend, night is drawing on upon us as we -go, and more darkly than will allow us to reach El Toboso by daylight; -for there I am resolved to go before I engage in another adventure, and -there I shall obtain the blessing and generous permission of the -peerless Dulcinea, with which permission I expect and feel assured that -I shall conclude and bring to a happy termination every perilous -adventure; for nothing in life makes knights-errant more valorous than -finding themselves favoured by their ladies.” - -“So I believe,” replied Sancho; “but I think it will be difficult for -your worship to speak with her or see her, at any rate where you will -be able to receive her blessing; unless, indeed, she throws it over the -wall of the yard where I saw her the time before, when I took her the -letter that told of the follies and mad things your worship was doing -in the heart of Sierra Morena.” - -“Didst thou take that for a yard wall, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“where or at which thou sawest that never sufficiently extolled grace -and beauty? It must have been the gallery, corridor, or portico of some -rich and royal palace.” - -“It might have been all that,” returned Sancho, “but to me it looked -like a wall, unless I am short of memory.” - -“At all events, let us go there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for, so -that I see her, it is the same to me whether it be over a wall, or at a -window, or through the chink of a door, or the grate of a garden; for -any beam of the sun of her beauty that reaches my eyes will give light -to my reason and strength to my heart, so that I shall be unmatched and -unequalled in wisdom and valour.” - -“Well, to tell the truth, señor,” said Sancho, “when I saw that sun of -the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, it was not bright enough to throw out -beams at all; it must have been, that as her grace was sifting that -wheat I told you of, the thick dust she raised came before her face -like a cloud and dimmed it.” - -“What! dost thou still persist, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “in saying, -thinking, believing, and maintaining that my lady Dulcinea was sifting -wheat, that being an occupation and task entirely at variance with what -is and should be the employment of persons of distinction, who are -constituted and reserved for other avocations and pursuits that show -their rank a bowshot off? Thou hast forgotten, O Sancho, those lines of -our poet wherein he paints for us how, in their crystal abodes, those -four nymphs employed themselves who rose from their loved Tagus and -seated themselves in a verdant meadow to embroider those tissues which -the ingenious poet there describes to us, how they were worked and -woven with gold and silk and pearls; and something of this sort must -have been the employment of my lady when thou sawest her, only that the -spite which some wicked enchanter seems to have against everything of -mine changes all those things that give me pleasure, and turns them -into shapes unlike their own; and so I fear that in that history of my -achievements which they say is now in print, if haply its author was -some sage who is an enemy of mine, he will have put one thing for -another, mingling a thousand lies with one truth, and amusing himself -by relating transactions which have nothing to do with the sequence of -a true history. O envy, root of all countless evils, and cankerworm of -the virtues! All the vices, Sancho, bring some kind of pleasure with -them; but envy brings nothing but irritation, bitterness, and rage.” - -“So I say too,” replied Sancho; “and I suspect in that legend or -history of us that the bachelor Samson Carrasco told us he saw, my -honour goes dragged in the dirt, knocked about, up and down, sweeping -the streets, as they say. And yet, on the faith of an honest man, I -never spoke ill of any enchanter, and I am not so well off that I am to -be envied; to be sure, I am rather sly, and I have a certain spice of -the rogue in me; but all is covered by the great cloak of my -simplicity, always natural and never acted; and if I had no other merit -save that I believe, as I always do, firmly and truly in God, and all -the holy Roman Catholic Church holds and believes, and that I am a -mortal enemy of the Jews, the historians ought to have mercy on me and -treat me well in their writings. But let them say what they like; naked -was I born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain; nay, while I -see myself put into a book and passed on from hand to hand over the -world, I don’t care a fig, let them say what they like of me.” - -“That, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “reminds me of what happened to a -famous poet of our own day, who, having written a bitter satire against -all the courtesan ladies, did not insert or name in it a certain lady -of whom it was questionable whether she was one or not. She, seeing she -was not in the list of the poet, asked him what he had seen in her that -he did not include her in the number of the others, telling him he must -add to his satire and put her in the new part, or else look out for the -consequences. The poet did as she bade him, and left her without a -shred of reputation, and she was satisfied by getting fame though it -was infamy. In keeping with this is what they relate of that shepherd -who set fire to the famous temple of Diana, by repute one of the seven -wonders of the world, and burned it with the sole object of making his -name live in after ages; and, though it was forbidden to name him, or -mention his name by word of mouth or in writing, lest the object of his -ambition should be attained, nevertheless it became known that he was -called Erostratus. And something of the same sort is what happened in -the case of the great emperor Charles V. and a gentleman in Rome. The -emperor was anxious to see that famous temple of the Rotunda, called in -ancient times the temple ‘of all the gods,’ but now-a-days, by a better -nomenclature, ‘of all the saints,’ which is the best preserved building -of all those of pagan construction in Rome, and the one which best -sustains the reputation of mighty works and magnificence of its -founders. It is in the form of a half orange, of enormous dimensions, -and well lighted, though no light penetrates it save that which is -admitted by a window, or rather round skylight, at the top; and it was -from this that the emperor examined the building. A Roman gentleman -stood by his side and explained to him the skilful construction and -ingenuity of the vast fabric and its wonderful architecture, and when -they had left the skylight he said to the emperor, ‘A thousand times, -your Sacred Majesty, the impulse came upon me to seize your Majesty in -my arms and fling myself down from yonder skylight, so as to leave -behind me in the world a name that would last for ever.’ ‘I am thankful -to you for not carrying such an evil thought into effect,’ said the -emperor, ‘and I shall give you no opportunity in future of again -putting your loyalty to the test; and I therefore forbid you ever to -speak to me or to be where I am; and he followed up these words by -bestowing a liberal bounty upon him. My meaning is, Sancho, that the -desire of acquiring fame is a very powerful motive. What, thinkest -thou, was it that flung Horatius in full armour down from the bridge -into the depths of the Tiber? What burned the hand and arm of Mutius? -What impelled Curtius to plunge into the deep burning gulf that opened -in the midst of Rome? What, in opposition to all the omens that -declared against him, made Julius Cæsar cross the Rubicon? And to come -to more modern examples, what scuttled the ships, and left stranded and -cut off the gallant Spaniards under the command of the most courteous -Cortés in the New World? All these and a variety of other great -exploits are, were and will be, the work of fame that mortals desire as -a reward and a portion of the immortality their famous deeds deserve; -though we Catholic Christians and knights-errant look more to that -future glory that is everlasting in the ethereal regions of heaven than -to the vanity of the fame that is to be acquired in this present -transitory life; a fame that, however long it may last, must after all -end with the world itself, which has its own appointed end. So that, O -Sancho, in what we do we must not overpass the bounds which the -Christian religion we profess has assigned to us. We have to slay pride -in giants, envy by generosity and nobleness of heart, anger by calmness -of demeanour and equanimity, gluttony and sloth by the spareness of our -diet and the length of our vigils, lust and lewdness by the loyalty we -preserve to those whom we have made the mistresses of our thoughts, -indolence by traversing the world in all directions seeking -opportunities of making ourselves, besides Christians, famous knights. -Such, Sancho, are the means by which we reach those extremes of praise -that fair fame carries with it.” - -“All that your worship has said so far,” said Sancho, “I have -understood quite well; but still I would be glad if your worship would -dissolve a doubt for me, which has just this minute come into my mind.” - -“Solve, thou meanest, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “say on, in God’s -name, and I will answer as well as I can.” - -“Tell me, señor,” Sancho went on to say, “those Julys or Augusts, and -all those venturous knights that you say are now dead—where are they -now?” - -“The heathens,” replied Don Quixote, “are, no doubt, in hell; the -Christians, if they were good Christians, are either in purgatory or in -heaven.” - -“Very good,” said Sancho; “but now I want to know—the tombs where the -bodies of those great lords are, have they silver lamps before them, or -are the walls of their chapels ornamented with crutches, -winding-sheets, tresses of hair, legs and eyes in wax? Or what are they -ornamented with?” - -To which Don Quixote made answer: “The tombs of the heathens were -generally sumptuous temples; the ashes of Julius Cæsar’s body were -placed on the top of a stone pyramid of vast size, which they now call -in Rome Saint Peter’s needle. The emperor Hadrian had for a tomb a -castle as large as a good-sized village, which they called the _Moles -Adriani_, and is now the castle of St. Angelo in Rome. The queen -Artemisia buried her husband Mausolus in a tomb which was reckoned one -of the seven wonders of the world; but none of these tombs, or of the -many others of the heathens, were ornamented with winding-sheets or any -of those other offerings and tokens that show that they who are buried -there are saints.” - -“That’s the point I’m coming to,” said Sancho; “and now tell me, which -is the greater work, to bring a dead man to life or to kill a giant?” - -“The answer is easy,” replied Don Quixote; “it is a greater work to -bring to life a dead man.” - -“Now I have got you,” said Sancho; “in that case the fame of them who -bring the dead to life, who give sight to the blind, cure cripples, -restore health to the sick, and before whose tombs there are lamps -burning, and whose chapels are filled with devout folk on their knees -adoring their relics be a better fame in this life and in the other -than that which all the heathen emperors and knights-errant that have -ever been in the world have left or may leave behind them?” - -“That I grant, too,” said Don Quixote. - -“Then this fame, these favours, these privileges, or whatever you call -it,” said Sancho, “belong to the bodies and relics of the saints who, -with the approbation and permission of our holy mother Church, have -lamps, tapers, winding-sheets, crutches, pictures, eyes and legs, by -means of which they increase devotion and add to their own Christian -reputation. Kings carry the bodies or relics of saints on their -shoulders, and kiss bits of their bones, and enrich and adorn their -oratories and favourite altars with them.” - -“What wouldst thou have me infer from all thou hast said, Sancho?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“My meaning is,” said Sancho, “let us set about becoming saints, and we -shall obtain more quickly the fair fame we are striving after; for you -know, señor, yesterday or the day before yesterday (for it is so lately -one may say so) they canonised and beatified two little barefoot -friars, and it is now reckoned the greatest good luck to kiss or touch -the iron chains with which they girt and tortured their bodies, and -they are held in greater veneration, so it is said, than the sword of -Roland in the armoury of our lord the King, whom God preserve. So that, -señor, it is better to be an humble little friar of no matter what -order, than a valiant knight-errant; with God a couple of dozen of -penance lashings are of more avail than two thousand lance-thrusts, be -they given to giants, or monsters, or dragons.” - -“All that is true,” returned Don Quixote, “but we cannot all be friars, -and many are the ways by which God takes his own to heaven; chivalry is -a religion, there are sainted knights in glory.” - -“Yes,” said Sancho, “but I have heard say that there are more friars in -heaven than knights-errant.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “is because those in religious orders are -more numerous than knights.” - -“The errants are many,” said Sancho. - -“Many,” replied Don Quixote, “but few they who deserve the name of -knights.” - -With these, and other discussions of the same sort, they passed that -night and the following day, without anything worth mention happening -to them, whereat Don Quixote was not a little dejected; but at length -the next day, at daybreak, they descried the great city of El Toboso, -at the sight of which Don Quixote’s spirits rose and Sancho’s fell, for -he did not know Dulcinea’s house, nor in all his life had he ever seen -her, any more than his master; so that they were both uneasy, the one -to see her, the other at not having seen her, and Sancho was at a loss -to know what he was to do when his master sent him to El Toboso. In the -end, Don Quixote made up his mind to enter the city at nightfall, and -they waited until the time came among some oak trees that were near El -Toboso; and when the moment they had agreed upon arrived, they made -their entrance into the city, where something happened them that may -fairly be called something. - -CHAPTER IX. -WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT WILL BE SEEN THERE - -’Twas at the very midnight hour—more or less—when Don Quixote and -Sancho quitted the wood and entered El Toboso. The town was in deep -silence, for all the inhabitants were asleep, and stretched on the -broad of their backs, as the saying is. The night was darkish, though -Sancho would have been glad had it been quite dark, so as to find in -the darkness an excuse for his blundering. All over the place nothing -was to be heard except the barking of dogs, which deafened the ears of -Don Quixote and troubled the heart of Sancho. Now and then an ass -brayed, pigs grunted, cats mewed, and the various noises they made -seemed louder in the silence of the night; all which the enamoured -knight took to be of evil omen; nevertheless he said to Sancho, -“Sancho, my son, lead on to the palace of Dulcinea, it may be that we -shall find her awake.” - -“Body of the sun! what palace am I to lead to,” said Sancho, “when what -I saw her highness in was only a very little house?” - -“Most likely she had then withdrawn into some small apartment of her -palace,” said Don Quixote, “to amuse herself with damsels, as great -ladies and princesses are accustomed to do.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “if your worship will have it in spite of me that -the house of my lady Dulcinea is a palace, is this an hour, think you, -to find the door open; and will it be right for us to go knocking till -they hear us and open the door; making a disturbance and confusion all -through the household? Are we going, do you fancy, to the house of our -wenches, like gallants who come and knock and go in at any hour, -however late it may be?” - -“Let us first of all find out the palace for certain,” replied Don -Quixote, “and then I will tell thee, Sancho, what we had best do; but -look, Sancho, for either I see badly, or that dark mass that one sees -from here should be Dulcinea’s palace.” - -“Then let your worship lead the way,” said Sancho, “perhaps it may be -so; though I see it with my eyes and touch it with my hands, I’ll -believe it as much as I believe it is daylight now.” - -Don Quixote took the lead, and having gone a matter of two hundred -paces he came upon the mass that produced the shade, and found it was a -great tower, and then he perceived that the building in question was no -palace, but the chief church of the town, and said he, “It’s the church -we have lit upon, Sancho.” - -“So I see,” said Sancho, “and God grant we may not light upon our -graves; it is no good sign to find oneself wandering in a graveyard at -this time of night; and that, after my telling your worship, if I don’t -mistake, that the house of this lady will be in an alley without an -outlet.” - -“The curse of God on thee for a blockhead!” said Don Quixote; “where -hast thou ever heard of castles and royal palaces being built in alleys -without an outlet?” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “every country has a way of its own; perhaps -here in El Toboso it is the way to build palaces and grand buildings in -alleys; so I entreat your worship to let me search about among these -streets or alleys before me, and perhaps, in some corner or other, I -may stumble on this palace—and I wish I saw the dogs eating it for -leading us such a dance.” - -“Speak respectfully of what belongs to my lady, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “let us keep the feast in peace, and not throw the rope after -the bucket.” - -“I’ll hold my tongue,” said Sancho, “but how am I to take it patiently -when your worship wants me, with only once seeing the house of our -mistress, to know always, and find it in the middle of the night, when -your worship can’t find it, who must have seen it thousands of times?” - -“Thou wilt drive me to desperation, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Look -here, heretic, have I not told thee a thousand times that I have never -once in my life seen the peerless Dulcinea or crossed the threshold of -her palace, and that I am enamoured solely by hearsay and by the great -reputation she bears for beauty and discretion?” - -“I hear it now,” returned Sancho; “and I may tell you that if you have -not seen her, no more have I.” - -“That cannot be,” said Don Quixote, “for, at any rate, thou saidst, on -bringing back the answer to the letter I sent by thee, that thou sawest -her sifting wheat.” - -“Don’t mind that, señor,” said Sancho; “I must tell you that my seeing -her and the answer I brought you back were by hearsay too, for I can no -more tell who the lady Dulcinea is than I can hit the sky.” - -“Sancho, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “there are times for jests and -times when jests are out of place; if I tell thee that I have neither -seen nor spoken to the lady of my heart, it is no reason why thou -shouldst say thou hast not spoken to her or seen her, when the contrary -is the case, as thou well knowest.” - -While the two were engaged in this conversation, they perceived someone -with a pair of mules approaching the spot where they stood, and from -the noise the plough made, as it dragged along the ground, they guessed -him to be some labourer who had got up before daybreak to go to his -work, and so it proved to be. He came along singing the ballad that -says- - -Ill did ye fare, ye men of France, -In Roncesvalles chase- - -“May I die, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, when he heard him, “if any good -will come to us to-night! Dost thou not hear what that clown is -singing?” - -“I do,” said Sancho, “but what has Roncesvalles chase to do with what -we have in hand? He might just as well be singing the ballad of -Calainos, for any good or ill that can come to us in our business.” - -By this time the labourer had come up, and Don Quixote asked him, “Can -you tell me, worthy friend, and God speed you, whereabouts here is the -palace of the peerless princess Doña Dulcinea del Toboso?” - -“Señor,” replied the lad, “I am a stranger, and I have been only a few -days in the town, doing farm work for a rich farmer. In that house -opposite there live the curate of the village and the sacristan, and -both or either of them will be able to give your worship some account -of this lady princess, for they have a list of all the people of El -Toboso; though it is my belief there is not a princess living in the -whole of it; many ladies there are, of quality, and in her own house -each of them may be a princess.” - -“Well, then, she I am inquiring for will be one of these, my friend,” -said Don Quixote. - -“May be so,” replied the lad; “God be with you, for here comes the -daylight;” and without waiting for any more of his questions, he -whipped on his mules. - -Sancho, seeing his master downcast and somewhat dissatisfied, said to -him, “Señor, daylight will be here before long, and it will not do for -us to let the sun find us in the street; it will be better for us to -quit the city, and for your worship to hide in some forest in the -neighbourhood, and I will come back in the daytime, and I won’t leave a -nook or corner of the whole village that I won’t search for the house, -castle, or palace, of my lady, and it will be hard luck for me if I -don’t find it; and as soon as I have found it I will speak to her -grace, and tell her where and how your worship is waiting for her to -arrange some plan for you to see her without any damage to her honour -and reputation.” - -“Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast delivered a thousand sentences -condensed in the compass of a few words; I thank thee for the advice -thou hast given me, and take it most gladly. Come, my son, let us go -look for some place where I may hide, while thou dost return, as thou -sayest, to seek, and speak with my lady, from whose discretion and -courtesy I look for favours more than miraculous.” - -Sancho was in a fever to get his master out of the town, lest he should -discover the falsehood of the reply he had brought to him in the Sierra -Morena on behalf of Dulcinea; so he hastened their departure, which -they took at once, and two miles out of the village they found a forest -or thicket wherein Don Quixote ensconced himself, while Sancho returned -to the city to speak to Dulcinea, in which embassy things befell him -which demand fresh attention and a new chapter. - -CHAPTER X. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE CRAFTY DEVICE SANCHO ADOPTED TO ENCHANT THE LADY -DULCINEA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS AS LUDICROUS AS THEY ARE TRUE - -When the author of this great history comes to relate what is set down -in this chapter he says he would have preferred to pass it over in -silence, fearing it would not be believed, because here Don Quixote’s -madness reaches the confines of the greatest that can be conceived, and -even goes a couple of bowshots beyond the greatest. But after all, -though still under the same fear and apprehension, he has recorded it -without adding to the story or leaving out a particle of the truth, and -entirely disregarding the charges of falsehood that might be brought -against him; and he was right, for the truth may run fine but will not -break, and always rises above falsehood as oil above water; and so, -going on with his story, he says that as soon as Don Quixote had -ensconced himself in the forest, oak grove, or wood near El Toboso, he -bade Sancho return to the city, and not come into his presence again -without having first spoken on his behalf to his lady, and begged of -her that it might be her good pleasure to permit herself to be seen by -her enslaved knight, and deign to bestow her blessing upon him, so that -he might thereby hope for a happy issue in all his encounters and -difficult enterprises. Sancho undertook to execute the task according -to the instructions, and to bring back an answer as good as the one he -brought back before. - -“Go, my son,” said Don Quixote, “and be not dazed when thou findest -thyself exposed to the light of that sun of beauty thou art going to -seek. Happy thou, above all the squires in the world! Bear in mind, and -let it not escape thy memory, how she receives thee; if she changes -colour while thou art giving her my message; if she is agitated and -disturbed at hearing my name; if she cannot rest upon her cushion, -shouldst thou haply find her seated in the sumptuous state chamber -proper to her rank; and should she be standing, observe if she poises -herself now on one foot, now on the other; if she repeats two or three -times the reply she gives thee; if she passes from gentleness to -austerity, from asperity to tenderness; if she raises her hand to -smooth her hair though it be not disarranged. In short, my son, observe -all her actions and motions, for if thou wilt report them to me as they -were, I will gather what she hides in the recesses of her heart as -regards my love; for I would have thee know, Sancho, if thou knowest it -not, that with lovers the outward actions and motions they give way to -when their loves are in question are the faithful messengers that carry -the news of what is going on in the depths of their hearts. Go, my -friend, may better fortune than mine attend thee, and bring thee a -happier issue than that which I await in dread in this dreary -solitude.” - -“I will go and return quickly,” said Sancho; “cheer up that little -heart of yours, master mine, for at the present moment you seem to have -got one no bigger than a hazel nut; remember what they say, that a -stout heart breaks bad luck, and that where there are no fletches there -are no pegs; and moreover they say, the hare jumps up where it’s not -looked for. I say this because, if we could not find my lady’s palaces -or castles to-night, now that it is daylight I count upon finding them -when I least expect it, and once found, leave it to me to manage her.” - -“Verily, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou dost always bring in thy -proverbs happily, whatever we deal with; may God give me better luck in -what I am anxious about.” - -With this, Sancho wheeled about and gave Dapple the stick, and Don -Quixote remained behind, seated on his horse, resting in his stirrups -and leaning on the end of his lance, filled with sad and troubled -forebodings; and there we will leave him, and accompany Sancho, who -went off no less serious and troubled than he left his master; so much -so, that as soon as he had got out of the thicket, and looking round -saw that Don Quixote was not within sight, he dismounted from his ass, -and seating himself at the foot of a tree began to commune with -himself, saying, “Now, brother Sancho, let us know where your worship -is going. Are you going to look for some ass that has been lost? Not at -all. Then what are you going to look for? I am going to look for a -princess, that’s all; and in her for the sun of beauty and the whole -heaven at once. And where do you expect to find all this, Sancho? -Where? Why, in the great city of El Toboso. Well, and for whom are you -going to look for her? For the famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, -who rights wrongs, gives food to those who thirst and drink to the -hungry. That’s all very well, but do you know her house, Sancho? My -master says it will be some royal palace or grand castle. And have you -ever seen her by any chance? Neither I nor my master ever saw her. And -does it strike you that it would be just and right if the El Toboso -people, finding out that you were here with the intention of going to -tamper with their princesses and trouble their ladies, were to come and -cudgel your ribs, and not leave a whole bone in you? They would, -indeed, have very good reason, if they did not see that I am under -orders, and that ‘you are a messenger, my friend, no blame belongs to -you.’ Don’t you trust to that, Sancho, for the Manchegan folk are as -hot-tempered as they are honest, and won’t put up with liberties from -anybody. By the Lord, if they get scent of you, it will be worse for -you, I promise you. Be off, you scoundrel! Let the bolt fall. Why -should I go looking for three feet on a cat, to please another man; and -what is more, when looking for Dulcinea will be looking for Marica in -Ravena, or the bachelor in Salamanca? The devil, the devil and nobody -else, has mixed me up in this business!” - -Such was the soliloquy Sancho held with himself, and all the conclusion -he could come to was to say to himself again, “Well, there’s remedy for -everything except death, under whose yoke we have all to pass, whether -we like it or not, when life’s finished. I have seen by a thousand -signs that this master of mine is a madman fit to be tied, and for that -matter, I too, am not behind him; for I’m a greater fool than he is -when I follow him and serve him, if there’s any truth in the proverb -that says, ‘Tell me what company thou keepest, and I’ll tell thee what -thou art,’ or in that other, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with -whom thou art fed.’ Well then, if he be mad, as he is, and with a -madness that mostly takes one thing for another, and white for black, -and black for white, as was seen when he said the windmills were -giants, and the monks’ mules dromedaries, flocks of sheep armies of -enemies, and much more to the same tune, it will not be very hard to -make him believe that some country girl, the first I come across here, -is the lady Dulcinea; and if he does not believe it, I’ll swear it; and -if he should swear, I’ll swear again; and if he persists I’ll persist -still more, so as, come what may, to have my quoit always over the peg. -Maybe, by holding out in this way, I may put a stop to his sending me -on messages of this kind another time; or maybe he will think, as I -suspect he will, that one of those wicked enchanters, who he says have -a spite against him, has changed her form for the sake of doing him an -ill turn and injuring him.” - -With this reflection Sancho made his mind easy, counting the business -as good as settled, and stayed there till the afternoon so as to make -Don Quixote think he had time enough to go to El Toboso and return; and -things turned out so luckily for him that as he got up to mount Dapple, -he spied, coming from El Toboso towards the spot where he stood, three -peasant girls on three colts, or fillies—for the author does not make -the point clear, though it is more likely they were she-asses, the -usual mount with village girls; but as it is of no great consequence, -we need not stop to prove it. - -To be brief, the instant Sancho saw the peasant girls, he returned full -speed to seek his master, and found him sighing and uttering a thousand -passionate lamentations. When Don Quixote saw him he exclaimed, “What -news, Sancho, my friend? Am I to mark this day with a white stone or a -black?” - -“Your worship,” replied Sancho, “had better mark it with ruddle, like -the inscriptions on the walls of class rooms, that those who see it may -see it plain.” - -“Then thou bringest good news,” said Don Quixote. - -“So good,” replied Sancho, “that your worship has only to spur -Rocinante and get out into the open field to see the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, who, with two others, damsels of hers, is coming to see your -worship.” - -“Holy God! what art thou saying, Sancho, my friend?” exclaimed Don -Quixote. “Take care thou art not deceiving me, or seeking by false joy -to cheer my real sadness.” - -“What could I get by deceiving your worship,” returned Sancho, -“especially when it will so soon be shown whether I tell the truth or -not? Come, señor, push on, and you will see the princess our mistress -coming, robed and adorned—in fact, like what she is. Her damsels and -she are all one glow of gold, all bunches of pearls, all diamonds, all -rubies, all cloth of brocade of more than ten borders; with their hair -loose on their shoulders like so many sunbeams playing with the wind; -and moreover, they come mounted on three piebald cackneys, the finest -sight ever you saw.” - -“Hackneys, you mean, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. - -“There is not much difference between cackneys and hackneys,” said -Sancho; “but no matter what they come on, there they are, the finest -ladies one could wish for, especially my lady the princess Dulcinea, -who staggers one’s senses.” - -“Let us go, Sancho, my son,” said Don Quixote, “and in guerdon of this -news, as unexpected as it is good, I bestow upon thee the best spoil I -shall win in the first adventure I may have; or if that does not -satisfy thee, I promise thee the foals I shall have this year from my -three mares that thou knowest are in foal on our village common.” - -“I’ll take the foals,” said Sancho; “for it is not quite certain that -the spoils of the first adventure will be good ones.” - -By this time they had cleared the wood, and saw the three village -lasses close at hand. Don Quixote looked all along the road to El -Toboso, and as he could see nobody except the three peasant girls, he -was completely puzzled, and asked Sancho if it was outside the city he -had left them. - -“How outside the city?” returned Sancho. “Are your worship’s eyes in -the back of your head, that you can’t see that they are these who are -coming here, shining like the very sun at noonday?” - -“I see nothing, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but three country girls on -three jackasses.” - -“Now, may God deliver me from the devil!” said Sancho, “and can it be -that your worship takes three hackneys—or whatever they’re called—as -white as the driven snow, for jackasses? By the Lord, I could tear my -beard if that was the case!” - -“Well, I can only say, Sancho, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “that it -is as plain they are jackasses—or jennyasses—as that I am Don Quixote, -and thou Sancho Panza: at any rate, they seem to me to be so.” - -“Hush, señor,” said Sancho, “don’t talk that way, but open your eyes, -and come and pay your respects to the lady of your thoughts, who is -close upon us now;” and with these words he advanced to receive the -three village lasses, and dismounting from Dapple, caught hold of one -of the asses of the three country girls by the halter, and dropping on -both knees on the ground, he said, “Queen and princess and duchess of -beauty, may it please your haughtiness and greatness to receive into -your favour and good-will your captive knight who stands there turned -into marble stone, and quite stupefied and benumbed at finding himself -in your magnificent presence. I am Sancho Panza, his squire, and he the -vagabond knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called ‘The Knight -of the Rueful Countenance.’” - -Don Quixote had by this time placed himself on his knees beside Sancho, -and, with eyes starting out of his head and a puzzled gaze, was -regarding her whom Sancho called queen and lady; and as he could see -nothing in her except a village lass, and not a very well-favoured one, -for she was platter-faced and snub-nosed, he was perplexed and -bewildered, and did not venture to open his lips. The country girls, at -the same time, were astonished to see these two men, so different in -appearance, on their knees, preventing their companion from going on. -She, however, who had been stopped, breaking silence, said angrily and -testily, “Get out of the way, bad luck to you, and let us pass, for we -are in a hurry.” - -To which Sancho returned, “Oh, princess and universal lady of El -Toboso, is not your magnanimous heart softened by seeing the pillar and -prop of knight-errantry on his knees before your sublimated presence?” - -On hearing this, one of the others exclaimed, “Woa then! why, I’m -rubbing thee down, she-ass of my father-in-law! See how the lordlings -come to make game of the village girls now, as if we here could not -chaff as well as themselves. Go your own way, and let us go ours, and -it will be better for you.” - -“Get up, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this; “I see that fortune, ‘with -evil done to me unsated still,’ has taken possession of all the roads -by which any comfort may reach ‘this wretched soul’ that I carry in my -flesh. And thou, highest perfection of excellence that can be desired, -utmost limit of grace in human shape, sole relief of this afflicted -heart that adores thee, though the malign enchanter that persecutes me -has brought clouds and cataracts on my eyes, and to them, and them -only, transformed thy unparagoned beauty and changed thy features into -those of a poor peasant girl, if so be he has not at the same time -changed mine into those of some monster to render them loathsome in thy -sight, refuse not to look upon me with tenderness and love; seeing in -this submission that I make on my knees to thy transformed beauty the -humility with which my soul adores thee.” - -“Hey-day! My grandfather!” cried the girl, “much I care for your -love-making! Get out of the way and let us pass, and we’ll thank you.” - -Sancho stood aside and let her go, very well pleased to have got so -well out of the hobble he was in. The instant the village lass who had -done duty for Dulcinea found herself free, prodding her “cackney” with -a spike she had at the end of a stick, she set off at full speed across -the field. The she-ass, however, feeling the point more acutely than -usual, began cutting such capers, that it flung the lady Dulcinea to -the ground; seeing which, Don Quixote ran to raise her up, and Sancho -to fix and girth the pack-saddle, which also had slipped under the -ass’s belly. The pack-saddle being secured, as Don Quixote was about to -lift up his enchanted mistress in his arms and put her upon her beast, -the lady, getting up from the ground, saved him the trouble, for, going -back a little, she took a short run, and putting both hands on the -croup of the ass she dropped into the saddle more lightly than a -falcon, and sat astride like a man, whereat Sancho said, “Rogue! but -our lady is lighter than a lanner, and might teach the cleverest -Cordovan or Mexican how to mount; she cleared the back of the saddle in -one jump, and without spurs she is making the hackney go like a zebra; -and her damsels are no way behind her, for they all fly like the wind;” -which was the truth, for as soon as they saw Dulcinea mounted, they -pushed on after her, and sped away without looking back, for more than -half a league. - -Don Quixote followed them with his eyes, and when they were no longer -in sight, he turned to Sancho and said, “How now, Sancho? thou seest -how I am hated by enchanters! And see to what a length the malice and -spite they bear me go, when they seek to deprive me of the happiness it -would give me to see my lady in her own proper form. The fact is I was -born to be an example of misfortune, and the target and mark at which -the arrows of adversity are aimed and directed. Observe too, Sancho, -that these traitors were not content with changing and transforming my -Dulcinea, but they transformed and changed her into a shape as mean and -ill-favoured as that of the village girl yonder; and at the same time -they robbed her of that which is such a peculiar property of ladies of -distinction, that is to say, the sweet fragrance that comes of being -always among perfumes and flowers. For I must tell thee, Sancho, that -when I approached to put Dulcinea upon her hackney (as thou sayest it -was, though to me it appeared a she-ass), she gave me a whiff of raw -garlic that made my head reel, and poisoned my very heart.” - -“O scum of the earth!” cried Sancho at this, “O miserable, spiteful -enchanters! O that I could see you all strung by the gills, like -sardines on a twig! Ye know a great deal, ye can do a great deal, and -ye do a great deal more. It ought to have been enough for you, ye -scoundrels, to have changed the pearls of my lady’s eyes into oak -galls, and her hair of purest gold into the bristles of a red ox’s -tail, and in short, all her features from fair to foul, without -meddling with her smell; for by that we might somehow have found out -what was hidden underneath that ugly rind; though, to tell the truth, I -never perceived her ugliness, but only her beauty, which was raised to -the highest pitch of perfection by a mole she had on her right lip, -like a moustache, with seven or eight red hairs like threads of gold, -and more than a palm long.” - -“From the correspondence which exists between those of the face and -those of the body,” said Don Quixote, “Dulcinea must have another mole -resembling that on the thick of the thigh on that side on which she has -the one on her face; but hairs of the length thou hast mentioned are -very long for moles.” - -“Well, all I can say is there they were as plain as could be,” replied -Sancho. - -“I believe it, my friend,” returned Don Quixote; “for nature bestowed -nothing on Dulcinea that was not perfect and well-finished; and so, if -she had a hundred moles like the one thou hast described, in her they -would not be moles, but moons and shining stars. But tell me, Sancho, -that which seemed to me to be a pack-saddle as thou wert fixing it, was -it a flat-saddle or a side-saddle?” - -“It was neither,” replied Sancho, “but a jineta saddle, with a field -covering worth half a kingdom, so rich is it.” - -“And that I could not see all this, Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “once -more I say, and will say a thousand times, I am the most unfortunate of -men.” - -Sancho, the rogue, had enough to do to hide his laughter, at hearing -the simplicity of the master he had so nicely befooled. At length, -after a good deal more conversation had passed between them, they -remounted their beasts, and followed the road to Saragossa, which they -expected to reach in time to take part in a certain grand festival -which is held every year in that illustrious city; but before they got -there things happened to them, so many, so important, and so strange, -that they deserve to be recorded and read, as will be seen farther on. - -CHAPTER XI. -OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE CAR -OR CART OF “THE CORTES OF DEATH” - -Dejected beyond measure did Don Quixote pursue his journey, turning -over in his mind the cruel trick the enchanters had played him in -changing his lady Dulcinea into the vile shape of the village lass, nor -could he think of any way of restoring her to her original form; and -these reflections so absorbed him, that without being aware of it he -let go Rocinante’s bridle, and he, perceiving the liberty that was -granted him, stopped at every step to crop the fresh grass with which -the plain abounded. - -Sancho recalled him from his reverie. “Melancholy, señor,” said he, -“was made, not for beasts, but for men; but if men give way to it -overmuch they turn to beasts; control yourself, your worship; be -yourself again; gather up Rocinante’s reins; cheer up, rouse yourself -and show that gallant spirit that knights-errant ought to have. What -the devil is this? What weakness is this? Are we here or in France? The -devil fly away with all the Dulcineas in the world; for the well-being -of a single knight-errant is of more consequence than all the -enchantments and transformations on earth.” - -“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote in a weak and faint voice, “hush and -utter no blasphemies against that enchanted lady; for I alone am to -blame for her misfortune and hard fate; her calamity has come of the -hatred the wicked bear me.” - -“So say I,” returned Sancho; “his heart rend in twain, I trow, who saw -her once, to see her now.” - -“Thou mayest well say that, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou -sawest her in the full perfection of her beauty; for the enchantment -does not go so far as to pervert thy vision or hide her loveliness from -thee; against me alone and against my eyes is the strength of its venom -directed. Nevertheless, there is one thing which has occurred to me, -and that is that thou didst ill describe her beauty to me, for, as well -as I recollect, thou saidst that her eyes were pearls; but eyes that -are like pearls are rather the eyes of a sea-bream than of a lady, and -I am persuaded that Dulcinea’s must be green emeralds, full and soft, -with two rainbows for eyebrows; take away those pearls from her eyes -and transfer them to her teeth; for beyond a doubt, Sancho, thou hast -taken the one for the other, the eyes for the teeth.” - -“Very likely,” said Sancho; “for her beauty bewildered me as much as -her ugliness did your worship; but let us leave it all to God, who -alone knows what is to happen in this vale of tears, in this evil world -of ours, where there is hardly a thing to be found without some mixture -of wickedness, roguery, and rascality. But one thing, señor, troubles -me more than all the rest, and that is thinking what is to be done when -your worship conquers some giant, or some other knight, and orders him -to go and present himself before the beauty of the lady Dulcinea. Where -is this poor giant, or this poor wretch of a vanquished knight, to find -her? I think I can see them wandering all over El Toboso, looking like -noddies, and asking for my lady Dulcinea; and even if they meet her in -the middle of the street they won’t know her any more than they would -my father.” - -“Perhaps, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “the enchantment does not go -so far as to deprive conquered and presented giants and knights of the -power of recognising Dulcinea; we will try by experiment with one or -two of the first I vanquish and send to her, whether they see her or -not, by commanding them to return and give me an account of what -happened to them in this respect.” - -“I declare, I think what your worship has proposed is excellent,” said -Sancho; “and that by this plan we shall find out what we want to know; -and if it be that it is only from your worship she is hidden, the -misfortune will be more yours than hers; but so long as the lady -Dulcinea is well and happy, we on our part will make the best of it, -and get on as well as we can, seeking our adventures, and leaving Time -to take his own course; for he is the best physician for these and -greater ailments.” - -Don Quixote was about to reply to Sancho Panza, but he was prevented by -a cart crossing the road full of the most diverse and strange -personages and figures that could be imagined. He who led the mules and -acted as carter was a hideous demon; the cart was open to the sky, -without a tilt or cane roof, and the first figure that presented itself -to Don Quixote’s eyes was that of Death itself with a human face; next -to it was an angel with large painted wings, and at one side an -emperor, with a crown, to all appearance of gold, on his head. At the -feet of Death was the god called Cupid, without his bandage, but with -his bow, quiver, and arrows; there was also a knight in full armour, -except that he had no morion or helmet, but only a hat decked with -plumes of divers colours; and along with these there were others with a -variety of costumes and faces. All this, unexpectedly encountered, took -Don Quixote somewhat aback, and struck terror into the heart of Sancho; -but the next instant Don Quixote was glad of it, believing that some -new perilous adventure was presenting itself to him, and under this -impression, and with a spirit prepared to face any danger, he planted -himself in front of the cart, and in a loud and menacing tone, -exclaimed, “Carter, or coachman, or devil, or whatever thou art, tell -me at once who thou art, whither thou art going, and who these folk are -thou carriest in thy wagon, which looks more like Charon’s boat than an -ordinary cart.” - -To which the devil, stopping the cart, answered quietly, “Señor, we are -players of Angulo el Malo’s company; we have been acting the play of -‘The Cortés of Death’ this morning, which is the octave of Corpus -Christi, in a village behind that hill, and we have to act it this -afternoon in that village which you can see from this; and as it is so -near, and to save the trouble of undressing and dressing again, we go -in the costumes in which we perform. That lad there appears as Death, -that other as an angel, that woman, the manager’s wife, plays the -queen, this one the soldier, that the emperor, and I the devil; and I -am one of the principal characters of the play, for in this company I -take the leading parts. If you want to know anything more about us, ask -me and I will answer with the utmost exactitude, for as I am a devil I -am up to everything.” - -“By the faith of a knight-errant,” replied Don Quixote, “when I saw -this cart I fancied some great adventure was presenting itself to me; -but I declare one must touch with the hand what appears to the eye, if -illusions are to be avoided. God speed you, good people; keep your -festival, and remember, if you demand of me ought wherein I can render -you a service, I will do it gladly and willingly, for from a child I -was fond of the play, and in my youth a keen lover of the actor’s art.” - -While they were talking, fate so willed it that one of the company in a -mummers’ dress with a great number of bells, and armed with three blown -ox-bladders at the end of a stick, joined them, and this merry-andrew -approaching Don Quixote, began flourishing his stick and banging the -ground with the bladders and cutting capers with great jingling of the -bells, which untoward apparition so startled Rocinante that, in spite -of Don Quixote’s efforts to hold him in, taking the bit between his -teeth he set off across the plain with greater speed than the bones of -his anatomy ever gave any promise of. - -Sancho, who thought his master was in danger of being thrown, jumped -off Dapple, and ran in all haste to help him; but by the time he -reached him he was already on the ground, and beside him was Rocinante, -who had come down with his master, the usual end and upshot of -Rocinante’s vivacity and high spirits. But the moment Sancho quitted -his beast to go and help Don Quixote, the dancing devil with the -bladders jumped up on Dapple, and beating him with them, more by the -fright and the noise than by the pain of the blows, made him fly across -the fields towards the village where they were going to hold their -festival. Sancho witnessed Dapple’s career and his master’s fall, and -did not know which of the two cases of need he should attend to first; -but in the end, like a good squire and good servant, he let his love -for his master prevail over his affection for his ass; though every -time he saw the bladders rise in the air and come down on the hind -quarters of his Dapple he felt the pains and terrors of death, and he -would have rather had the blows fall on the apples of his own eyes than -on the least hair of his ass’s tail. In this trouble and perplexity he -came to where Don Quixote lay in a far sorrier plight than he liked, -and having helped him to mount Rocinante, he said to him, “Señor, the -devil has carried off my Dapple.” - -“What devil?” asked Don Quixote. - -“The one with the bladders,” said Sancho. - -“Then I will recover him,” said Don Quixote, “even if he be shut up -with him in the deepest and darkest dungeons of hell. Follow me, -Sancho, for the cart goes slowly, and with the mules of it I will make -good the loss of Dapple.” - -“You need not take the trouble, señor,” said Sancho; “keep cool, for as -I now see, the devil has let Dapple go and he is coming back to his old -quarters;” and so it turned out, for, having come down with Dapple, in -imitation of Don Quixote and Rocinante, the devil made off on foot to -the town, and the ass came back to his master. - -“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “it will be well to visit the -discourtesy of that devil upon some of those in the cart, even if it -were the emperor himself.” - -“Don’t think of it, your worship,” returned Sancho; “take my advice and -never meddle with actors, for they are a favoured class; I myself have -known an actor taken up for two murders, and yet come off scot-free; -remember that, as they are merry folk who give pleasure, everyone -favours and protects them, and helps and makes much of them, above all -when they are those of the royal companies and under patent, all or -most of whom in dress and appearance look like princes.” - -“Still, for all that,” said Don Quixote, “the player devil must not go -off boasting, even if the whole human race favours him.” - -So saying, he made for the cart, which was now very near the town, -shouting out as he went, “Stay! halt! ye merry, jovial crew! I want to -teach you how to treat asses and animals that serve the squires of -knights-errant for steeds.” - -So loud were the shouts of Don Quixote, that those in the cart heard -and understood them, and, guessing by the words what the speaker’s -intention was, Death in an instant jumped out of the cart, and the -emperor, the devil carter and the angel after him, nor did the queen or -the god Cupid stay behind; and all armed themselves with stones and -formed in line, prepared to receive Don Quixote on the points of their -pebbles. Don Quixote, when he saw them drawn up in such a gallant array -with uplifted arms ready for a mighty discharge of stones, checked -Rocinante and began to consider in what way he could attack them with -the least danger to himself. As he halted Sancho came up, and seeing -him disposed to attack this well-ordered squadron, said to him, “It -would be the height of madness to attempt such an enterprise; remember, -señor, that against sops from the brook, and plenty of them, there is -no defensive armour in the world, except to stow oneself away under a -brass bell; and besides, one should remember that it is rashness, and -not valour, for a single man to attack an army that has Death in it, -and where emperors fight in person, with angels, good and bad, to help -them; and if this reflection will not make you keep quiet, perhaps it -will to know for certain that among all these, though they look like -kings, princes, and emperors, there is not a single knight-errant.” - -“Now indeed thou hast hit the point, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “which -may and should turn me from the resolution I had already formed. I -cannot and must not draw sword, as I have many a time before told thee, -against anyone who is not a dubbed knight; it is for thee, Sancho, if -thou wilt, to take vengeance for the wrong done to thy Dapple; and I -will help thee from here by shouts and salutary counsels.” - -“There is no occasion to take vengeance on anyone, señor,” replied -Sancho; “for it is not the part of good Christians to revenge wrongs; -and besides, I will arrange it with my ass to leave his grievance to my -good-will and pleasure, and that is to live in peace as long as heaven -grants me life.” - -“Well,” said Don Quixote, “if that be thy determination, good Sancho, -sensible Sancho, Christian Sancho, honest Sancho, let us leave these -phantoms alone and turn to the pursuit of better and worthier -adventures; for, from what I see of this country, we cannot fail to -find plenty of marvellous ones in it.” - -He at once wheeled about, Sancho ran to take possession of his Dapple, -Death and his flying squadron returned to their cart and pursued their -journey, and thus the dread adventure of the cart of Death ended -happily, thanks to the advice Sancho gave his master; who had, the -following day, a fresh adventure, of no less thrilling interest than -the last, with an enamoured knight-errant. - -CHAPTER XII. -OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE WITH THE -BOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS - -The night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death, Don Quixote -and his squire passed under some tall shady trees, and Don Quixote at -Sancho’s persuasion ate a little from the store carried by Dapple, and -over their supper Sancho said to his master, “Señor, what a fool I -should have looked if I had chosen for my reward the spoils of the -first adventure your worship achieved, instead of the foals of the -three mares. After all, ‘a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture -on the wing.’” - -“At the same time, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “if thou hadst let me -attack them as I wanted, at the very least the emperor’s gold crown and -Cupid’s painted wings would have fallen to thee as spoils, for I should -have taken them by force and given them into thy hands.” - -“The sceptres and crowns of those play-actor emperors,” said Sancho, -“were never yet pure gold, but only brass foil or tin.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “for it would not be right that the -accessories of the drama should be real, instead of being mere fictions -and semblances, like the drama itself; towards which, Sancho—and, as a -necessary consequence, towards those who represent and produce it—I -would that thou wert favourably disposed, for they are all instruments -of great good to the State, placing before us at every step a mirror in -which we may see vividly displayed what goes on in human life; nor is -there any similitude that shows us more faithfully what we are and -ought to be than the play and the players. Come, tell me, hast thou not -seen a play acted in which kings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, -and divers other personages were introduced? One plays the villain, -another the knave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one the -sharp-witted fool, another the foolish lover; and when the play is -over, and they have put off the dresses they wore in it, all the actors -become equal.” - -“Yes, I have seen that,” said Sancho. - -“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “the same thing happens in the comedy -and life of this world, where some play emperors, others popes, and, in -short, all the characters that can be brought into a play; but when it -is over, that is to say when life ends, death strips them all of the -garments that distinguish one from the other, and all are equal in the -grave.” - -“A fine comparison!” said Sancho; “though not so new but that I have -heard it many and many a time, as well as that other one of the game of -chess; how, so long as the game lasts, each piece has its own -particular office, and when the game is finished they are all mixed, -jumbled up and shaken together, and stowed away in the bag, which is -much like ending life in the grave.” - -“Thou art growing less doltish and more shrewd every day, Sancho,” said -Don Quixote. - -“Ay,” said Sancho; “it must be that some of your worship’s shrewdness -sticks to me; land that, of itself, is barren and dry, will come to -yield good fruit if you dung it and till it; what I mean is that your -worship’s conversation has been the dung that has fallen on the barren -soil of my dry wit, and the time I have been in your service and -society has been the tillage; and with the help of this I hope to yield -fruit in abundance that will not fall away or slide from those paths of -good breeding that your worship has made in my parched understanding.” - -Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s affected phraseology, and perceived -that what he said about his improvement was true, for now and then he -spoke in a way that surprised him; though always, or mostly, when -Sancho tried to talk fine and attempted polite language, he wound up by -toppling over from the summit of his simplicity into the abyss of his -ignorance; and where he showed his culture and his memory to the -greatest advantage was in dragging in proverbs, no matter whether they -had any bearing or not upon the subject in hand, as may have been seen -already and will be noticed in the course of this history. - -In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the night, but -Sancho felt a desire to let down the curtains of his eyes, as he used -to say when he wanted to go to sleep; and stripping Dapple he left him -at liberty to graze his fill. He did not remove Rocinante’s saddle, as -his master’s express orders were, that so long as they were in the -field or not sleeping under a roof Rocinante was not to be stripped—the -ancient usage established and observed by knights-errant being to take -off the bridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but to remove the saddle -from the horse—never! Sancho acted accordingly, and gave him the same -liberty he had given Dapple, between whom and Rocinante there was a -friendship so unequalled and so strong, that it is handed down by -tradition from father to son, that the author of this veracious history -devoted some special chapters to it, which, in order to preserve the -propriety and decorum due to a history so heroic, he did not insert -therein; although at times he forgets this resolution of his and -describes how eagerly the two beasts would scratch one another when -they were together and how, when they were tired or full, Rocinante -would lay his neck across Dapple’s, stretching half a yard or more on -the other side, and the pair would stand thus, gazing thoughtfully on -the ground, for three days, or at least so long as they were left -alone, or hunger did not drive them to go and look for food. I may add -that they say the author left it on record that he likened their -friendship to that of Nisus and Euryalus, and Pylades and Orestes; and -if that be so, it may be perceived, to the admiration of mankind, how -firm the friendship must have been between these two peaceful animals, -shaming men, who preserve friendships with one another so badly. This -was why it was said- - -For friend no longer is there friend; -The reeds turn lances now. - -And someone else has sung— - -Friend to friend the bug, etc. - -and let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when he compared -the friendship of these animals to that of men; for men have received -many lessons from beasts, and learned many important things, as, for -example, the clyster from the stork, vomit and gratitude from the dog, -watchfulness from the crane, foresight from the ant, modesty from the -elephant, and loyalty from the horse. - -Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork tree, while Don -Quixote dozed at that of a sturdy oak; but a short time only had -elapsed when a noise he heard behind him awoke him, and rising up -startled, he listened and looked in the direction the noise came from, -and perceived two men on horseback, one of whom, letting himself drop -from the saddle, said to the other, “Dismount, my friend, and take the -bridles off the horses, for, so far as I can see, this place will -furnish grass for them, and the solitude and silence my love-sick -thoughts need of.” As he said this he stretched himself upon the -ground, and as he flung himself down, the armour in which he was clad -rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived that he must be a knight-errant; -and going over to Sancho, who was asleep, he shook him by the arm and -with no small difficulty brought him back to his senses, and said in a -low voice to him, “Brother Sancho, we have got an adventure.” - -“God send us a good one,” said Sancho; “and where may her ladyship the -adventure be?” - -“Where, Sancho?” replied Don Quixote; “turn thine eyes and look, and -thou wilt see stretched there a knight-errant, who, it strikes me, is -not over and above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horse and -throw himself on the ground with a certain air of dejection, and his -armour rattled as he fell.” - -“Well,” said Sancho, “how does your worship make out that to be an -adventure?” - -“I do not mean to say,” returned Don Quixote, “that it is a complete -adventure, but that it is the beginning of one, for it is in this way -adventures begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a lute or -guitar, and from the way he is spitting and clearing his chest he must -be getting ready to sing something.” - -“Faith, you are right,” said Sancho, “and no doubt he is some enamoured -knight.” - -“There is no knight-errant that is not,” said Don Quixote; “but let us -listen to him, for, if he sings, by that thread we shall extract the -ball of his thoughts; because out of the abundance of the heart the -mouth speaketh.” - -Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of the Grove’s -voice, which was neither very bad nor very good, stopped him, and -listening attentively the pair heard him sing this - -SONNET - -Your pleasure, prithee, lady mine, unfold; -Declare the terms that I am to obey; -My will to yours submissively I mould, -And from your law my feet shall never stray. -Would you I die, to silent grief a prey? -Then count me even now as dead and cold; -Would you I tell my woes in some new way? -Then shall my tale by Love itself be told. -The unison of opposites to prove, -Of the soft wax and diamond hard am I; -But still, obedient to the laws of love, -Here, hard or soft, I offer you my breast, -Whate’er you grave or stamp thereon shall rest -Indelible for all eternity. - -With an “Ah me!” that seemed to be drawn from the inmost recesses of -his heart, the Knight of the Grove brought his lay to an end, and -shortly afterwards exclaimed in a melancholy and piteous voice, “O -fairest and most ungrateful woman on earth! What! can it be, most -serene Casildea de Vandalia, that thou wilt suffer this thy captive -knight to waste away and perish in ceaseless wanderings and rude and -arduous toils? It is not enough that I have compelled all the knights -of Navarre, all the Leonese, all the Tartesians, all the Castilians, -and finally all the knights of La Mancha, to confess thee the most -beautiful in the world?” - -“Not so,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I am of La Mancha, and I have -never confessed anything of the sort, nor could I nor should I confess -a thing so much to the prejudice of my lady’s beauty; thou seest how -this knight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, perhaps he will tell -us more about himself.” - -“That he will,” returned Sancho, “for he seems in a mood to bewail -himself for a month at a stretch.” - -But this was not the case, for the Knight of the Grove, hearing voices -near him, instead of continuing his lamentation, stood up and exclaimed -in a distinct but courteous tone, “Who goes there? What are you? Do you -belong to the number of the happy or of the miserable?” - -“Of the miserable,” answered Don Quixote. - -“Then come to me,” said he of the Grove, “and rest assured that it is -to woe itself and affliction itself you come.” - -Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and courteous -manner, went over to him, and so did Sancho. - -The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, saying, “Sit down here, -sir knight; for, that you are one, and of those that profess -knight-errantry, it is to me a sufficient proof to have found you in -this place, where solitude and night, the natural couch and proper -retreat of knights-errant, keep you company.” To which Don made answer, -“A knight I am of the profession you mention, and though sorrows, -misfortunes, and calamities have made my heart their abode, the -compassion I feel for the misfortunes of others has not been thereby -banished from it. From what you have just now sung I gather that yours -spring from love, I mean from the love you bear that fair ingrate you -named in your lament.” - -In the meantime, they had seated themselves together on the hard ground -peaceably and sociably, just as if, as soon as day broke, they were not -going to break one another’s heads. - -“Are you, sir knight, in love perchance?” asked he of the Grove of Don -Quixote. - -“By mischance I am,” replied Don Quixote; “though the ills arising from -well-bestowed affections should be esteemed favours rather than -misfortunes.” - -“That is true,” returned he of the Grove, “if scorn did not unsettle -our reason and understanding, for if it be excessive it looks like -revenge.” - -“I was never scorned by my lady,” said Don Quixote. - -“Certainly not,” said Sancho, who stood close by, “for my lady is as a -lamb, and softer than a roll of butter.” - -“Is this your squire?” asked he of the Grove. - -“He is,” said Don Quixote. - -“I never yet saw a squire,” said he of the Grove, “who ventured to -speak when his master was speaking; at least, there is mine, who is as -big as his father, and it cannot be proved that he has ever opened his -lips when I am speaking.” - -“By my faith then,” said Sancho, “I have spoken, and am fit to speak, -in the presence of one as much, or even—but never mind—it only makes it -worse to stir it.” - -The squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to him, “Let us -two go where we can talk in squire style as much as we please, and -leave these gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the story of -their loves; and, depend upon it, daybreak will find them at it without -having made an end of it.” - -“So be it by all means,” said Sancho; “and I will tell your worship who -I am, that you may see whether I am to be reckoned among the number of -the most talkative squires.” - -With this the two squires withdrew to one side, and between them there -passed a conversation as droll as that which passed between their -masters was serious. - -CHAPTER XIII. -IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE, -TOGETHER WITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL, AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THAT PASSED -BETWEEN THE TWO SQUIRES - -The knights and the squires made two parties, these telling the story -of their lives, the others the story of their loves; but the history -relates first of all the conversation of the servants, and afterwards -takes up that of the masters; and it says that, withdrawing a little -from the others, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “A hard life it is we -lead and live, señor, we that are squires to knights-errant; verily, we -eat our bread in the sweat of our faces, which is one of the curses God -laid on our first parents.” - -“It may be said, too,” added Sancho, “that we eat it in the chill of -our bodies; for who gets more heat and cold than the miserable squires -of knight-errantry? Even so it would not be so bad if we had something -to eat, for woes are lighter if there’s bread; but sometimes we go a -day or two without breaking our fast, except with the wind that blows.” - -“All that,” said he of the Grove, “may be endured and put up with when -we have hopes of reward; for, unless the knight-errant he serves is -excessively unlucky, after a few turns the squire will at least find -himself rewarded with a fine government of some island or some fair -county.” - -“I,” said Sancho, “have already told my master that I shall be content -with the government of some island, and he is so noble and generous -that he has promised it to me ever so many times.” - -“I,” said he of the Grove, “shall be satisfied with a canonry for my -services, and my master has already assigned me one.” - -“Your master,” said Sancho, “no doubt is a knight in the Church line, -and can bestow rewards of that sort on his good squire; but mine is -only a layman; though I remember some clever, but, to my mind, -designing people, strove to persuade him to try and become an -archbishop. He, however, would not be anything but an emperor; but I -was trembling all the time lest he should take a fancy to go into the -Church, not finding myself fit to hold office in it; for I may tell -you, though I seem a man, I am no better than a beast for the Church.” - -“Well, then, you are wrong there,” said he of the Grove; “for those -island governments are not all satisfactory; some are awkward, some are -poor, some are dull, and, in short, the highest and choicest brings -with it a heavy burden of cares and troubles which the unhappy wight to -whose lot it has fallen bears upon his shoulders. Far better would it -be for us who have adopted this accursed service to go back to our own -houses, and there employ ourselves in pleasanter occupations—in hunting -or fishing, for instance; for what squire in the world is there so poor -as not to have a hack and a couple of greyhounds and a fishingrod to -amuse himself with in his own village?” - -“I am not in want of any of those things,” said Sancho; “to be sure I -have no hack, but I have an ass that is worth my master’s horse twice -over; God send me a bad Easter, and that the next one I am to see, if I -would swap, even if I got four bushels of barley to boot. You will -laugh at the value I put on my Dapple—for dapple is the colour of my -beast. As to greyhounds, I can’t want for them, for there are enough -and to spare in my town; and, moreover, there is more pleasure in sport -when it is at other people’s expense.” - -“In truth and earnest, sir squire,” said he of the Grove, “I have made -up my mind and determined to have done with these drunken vagaries of -these knights, and go back to my village, and bring up my children; for -I have three, like three Oriental pearls.” - -“I have two,” said Sancho, “that might be presented before the Pope -himself, especially a girl whom I am breeding up for a countess, please -God, though in spite of her mother.” - -“And how old is this lady that is being bred up for a countess?” asked -he of the Grove. - -“Fifteen, a couple of years more or less,” answered Sancho; “but she is -as tall as a lance, and as fresh as an April morning, and as strong as -a porter.” - -“Those are gifts to fit her to be not only a countess but a nymph of -the greenwood,” said he of the Grove; “whoreson strumpet! what pith the -rogue must have!” - -To which Sancho made answer, somewhat sulkily, “She’s no strumpet, nor -was her mother, nor will either of them be, please God, while I live; -speak more civilly; for one bred up among knights-errant, who are -courtesy itself, your words don’t seem to me to be very becoming.” - -“O how little you know about compliments, sir squire,” returned he of -the Grove. “What! don’t you know that when a horseman delivers a good -lance thrust at the bull in the plaza, or when anyone does anything -very well, the people are wont to say, ‘Ha, whoreson rip! how well he -has done it!’ and that what seems to be abuse in the expression is high -praise? Disown sons and daughters, señor, who don’t do what deserves -that compliments of this sort should be paid to their parents.” - -“I do disown them,” replied Sancho, “and in this way, and by the same -reasoning, you might call me and my children and my wife all the -strumpets in the world, for all they do and say is of a kind that in -the highest degree deserves the same praise; and to see them again I -pray God to deliver me from mortal sin, or, what comes to the same -thing, to deliver me from this perilous calling of squire into which I -have fallen a second time, decayed and beguiled by a purse with a -hundred ducats that I found one day in the heart of the Sierra Morena; -and the devil is always putting a bag full of doubloons before my eyes, -here, there, everywhere, until I fancy at every stop I am putting my -hand on it, and hugging it, and carrying it home with me, and making -investments, and getting interest, and living like a prince; and so -long as I think of this I make light of all the hardships I endure with -this simpleton of a master of mine, who, I well know, is more of a -madman than a knight.” - -“There’s why they say that ‘covetousness bursts the bag,’” said he of -the Grove; “but if you come to talk of that sort, there is not a -greater one in the world than my master, for he is one of those of whom -they say, ‘the cares of others kill the ass;’ for, in order that -another knight may recover the senses he has lost, he makes a madman of -himself and goes looking for what, when found, may, for all I know, fly -in his own face.” “And is he in love perchance?” asked Sancho. - -“He is,” said of the Grove, “with one Casildea de Vandalia, the rawest -and best roasted lady the whole world could produce; but that rawness -is not the only foot he limps on, for he has greater schemes rumbling -in his bowels, as will be seen before many hours are over.” - -“There’s no road so smooth but it has some hole or hindrance in it,” -said Sancho; “in other houses they cook beans, but in mine it’s by the -potful; madness will have more followers and hangers-on than sound -sense; but if there be any truth in the common saying, that to have -companions in trouble gives some relief, I may take consolation from -you, inasmuch as you serve a master as crazy as my own.” - -“Crazy but valiant,” replied he of the Grove, “and more roguish than -crazy or valiant.” - -“Mine is not that,” said Sancho; “I mean he has nothing of the rogue in -him; on the contrary, he has the soul of a pitcher; he has no thought -of doing harm to anyone, only good to all, nor has he any malice -whatever in him; a child might persuade him that it is night at -noonday; and for this simplicity I love him as the core of my heart, -and I can’t bring myself to leave him, let him do ever such foolish -things.” - -“For all that, brother and señor,” said he of the Grove, “if the blind -lead the blind, both are in danger of falling into the pit. It is -better for us to beat a quiet retreat and get back to our own quarters; -for those who seek adventures don’t always find good ones.” - -Sancho kept spitting from time to time, and his spittle seemed somewhat -ropy and dry, observing which the compassionate squire of the Grove -said, “It seems to me that with all this talk of ours our tongues are -sticking to the roofs of our mouths; but I have a pretty good loosener -hanging from the saddle-bow of my horse,” and getting up he came back -the next minute with a large bota of wine and a pasty half a yard -across; and this is no exaggeration, for it was made of a house rabbit -so big that Sancho, as he handled it, took it to be made of a goat, not -to say a kid, and looking at it he said, “And do you carry this with -you, señor?” - -“Why, what are you thinking about?” said the other; “do you take me for -some paltry squire? I carry a better larder on my horse’s croup than a -general takes with him when he goes on a march.” - -Sancho ate without requiring to be pressed, and in the dark bolted -mouthfuls like the knots on a tether, and said he, “You are a proper -trusty squire, one of the right sort, sumptuous and grand, as this -banquet shows, which, if it has not come here by magic art, at any rate -has the look of it; not like me, unlucky beggar, that have nothing more -in my alforjas than a scrap of cheese, so hard that one might brain a -giant with it, and, to keep it company, a few dozen carobs and as many -more filberts and walnuts; thanks to the austerity of my master, and -the idea he has and the rule he follows, that knights-errant must not -live or sustain themselves on anything except dried fruits and the -herbs of the field.” - -“By my faith, brother,” said he of the Grove, “my stomach is not made -for thistles, or wild pears, or roots of the woods; let our masters do -as they like, with their chivalry notions and laws, and eat what those -enjoin; I carry my prog-basket and this bota hanging to the saddle-bow, -whatever they may say; and it is such an object of worship with me, and -I love it so, that there is hardly a moment but I am kissing and -embracing it over and over again;” and so saying he thrust it into -Sancho’s hands, who raising it aloft pointed to his mouth, gazed at the -stars for a quarter of an hour; and when he had done drinking let his -head fall on one side, and giving a deep sigh, exclaimed, “Ah, whoreson -rogue, how catholic it is!” - -“There, you see,” said he of the Grove, hearing Sancho’s exclamation, -“how you have called this wine whoreson by way of praise.” - -“Well,” said Sancho, “I own it, and I grant it is no dishonour to call -anyone whoreson when it is to be understood as praise. But tell me, -señor, by what you love best, is this Ciudad Real wine?” - -“O rare wine-taster!” said he of the Grove; “nowhere else indeed does -it come from, and it has some years’ age too.” - -“Leave me alone for that,” said Sancho; “never fear but I’ll hit upon -the place it came from somehow. What would you say, sir squire, to my -having such a great natural instinct in judging wines that you have -only to let me smell one and I can tell positively its country, its -kind, its flavour and soundness, the changes it will undergo, and -everything that appertains to a wine? But it is no wonder, for I have -had in my family, on my father’s side, the two best wine-tasters that -have been known in La Mancha for many a long year, and to prove it I’ll -tell you now a thing that happened them. They gave the two of them some -wine out of a cask, to try, asking their opinion as to the condition, -quality, goodness or badness of the wine. One of them tried it with the -tip of his tongue, the other did no more than bring it to his nose. The -first said the wine had a flavour of iron, the second said it had a -stronger flavour of cordovan. The owner said the cask was clean, and -that nothing had been added to the wine from which it could have got a -flavour of either iron or leather. Nevertheless, these two great -wine-tasters held to what they had said. Time went by, the wine was -sold, and when they came to clean out the cask, they found in it a -small key hanging to a thong of cordovan; see now if one who comes of -the same stock has not a right to give his opinion in such like cases.” - -“Therefore, I say,” said he of the Grove, “let us give up going in -quest of adventures, and as we have loaves let us not go looking for -cakes, but return to our cribs, for God will find us there if it be his -will.” - -“Until my master reaches Saragossa,” said Sancho, “I’ll remain in his -service; after that we’ll see.” - -The end of it was that the two squires talked so much and drank so much -that sleep had to tie their tongues and moderate their thirst, for to -quench it was impossible; and so the pair of them fell asleep clinging -to the now nearly empty bota and with half-chewed morsels in their -mouths; and there we will leave them for the present, to relate what -passed between the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful -Countenance. - -CHAPTER XIV. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE - -Among the things that passed between Don Quixote and the Knight of the -Wood, the history tells us he of the Grove said to Don Quixote, “In -fine, sir knight, I would have you know that my destiny, or, more -properly speaking, my choice led me to fall in love with the peerless -Casildea de Vandalia. I call her peerless because she has no peer, -whether it be in bodily stature or in the supremacy of rank and beauty. -This same Casildea, then, that I speak of, requited my honourable -passion and gentle aspirations by compelling me, as his stepmother did -Hercules, to engage in many perils of various sorts, at the end of each -promising me that, with the end of the next, the object of my hopes -should be attained; but my labours have gone on increasing link by link -until they are past counting, nor do I know what will be the last one -that is to be the beginning of the accomplishment of my chaste desires. -On one occasion she bade me go and challenge the famous giantess of -Seville, La Giralda by name, who is as mighty and strong as if made of -brass, and though never stirring from one spot, is the most restless -and changeable woman in the world. I came, I saw, I conquered, and I -made her stay quiet and behave herself, for nothing but north winds -blew for more than a week. Another time I was ordered to lift those -ancient stones, the mighty bulls of Guisando, an enterprise that might -more fitly be entrusted to porters than to knights. Again, she bade me -fling myself into the cavern of Cabra—an unparalleled and awful -peril—and bring her a minute account of all that is concealed in those -gloomy depths. I stopped the motion of the Giralda, I lifted the bulls -of Guisando, I flung myself into the cavern and brought to light the -secrets of its abyss; and my hopes are as dead as dead can be, and her -scorn and her commands as lively as ever. To be brief, last of all she -has commanded me to go through all the provinces of Spain and compel -all the knights-errant wandering therein to confess that she surpasses -all women alive to-day in beauty, and that I am the most valiant and -the most deeply enamoured knight on earth; in support of which claim I -have already travelled over the greater part of Spain, and have there -vanquished several knights who have dared to contradict me; but what I -most plume and pride myself upon is having vanquished in single combat -that so famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, and made him confess -that my Casildea is more beautiful than his Dulcinea; and in this one -victory I hold myself to have conquered all the knights in the world; -for this Don Quixote that I speak of has vanquished them all, and I -having vanquished him, his glory, his fame, and his honour have passed -and are transferred to my person; for - -The more the vanquished hath of fair renown, -The greater glory gilds the victor’s crown. - -Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don Quixote are now set -down to my account and have become mine.” - -Don Quixote was amazed when he heard the Knight of the Grove, and was a -thousand times on the point of telling him he lied, and had the lie -direct already on the tip of his tongue; but he restrained himself as -well as he could, in order to force him to confess the lie with his own -lips; so he said to him quietly, “As to what you say, sir knight, about -having vanquished most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole -world, I say nothing; but that you have vanquished Don Quixote of La -Mancha I consider doubtful; it may have been some other that resembled -him, although there are few like him.” - -“How! not vanquished?” said he of the Grove; “by the heaven that is -above us I fought Don Quixote and overcame him and made him yield; and -he is a man of tall stature, gaunt features, long, lank limbs, with -hair turning grey, an aquiline nose rather hooked, and large black -drooping moustaches; he does battle under the name of ‘The -Countenance,’ and he has for squire a peasant called Sancho Panza; he -presses the loins and rules the reins of a famous steed called -Rocinante; and lastly, he has for the mistress of his will a certain -Dulcinea del Toboso, once upon a time called Aldonza Lorenzo, just as I -call mine Casildea de Vandalia because her name is Casilda and she is -of Andalusia. If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the truth -of what I say, here is my sword, that will compel incredulity itself to -give credence to it.” - -“Calm yourself, sir knight,” said Don Quixote, “and give ear to what I -am about to say to you. I would have you know that this Don Quixote you -speak of is the greatest friend I have in the world; so much so that I -may say I regard him in the same light as my own person; and from the -precise and clear indications you have given I cannot but think that he -must be the very one you have vanquished. On the other hand, I see with -my eyes and feel with my hands that it is impossible it can have been -the same; unless indeed it be that, as he has many enemies who are -enchanters, and one in particular who is always persecuting him, -someone of these may have taken his shape in order to allow himself to -be vanquished, so as to defraud him of the fame that his exalted -achievements as a knight have earned and acquired for him throughout -the known world. And in confirmation of this, I must tell you, too, -that it is but ten hours since these said enchanters his enemies -transformed the shape and person of the fair Dulcinea del Toboso into a -foul and mean village lass, and in the same way they must have -transformed Don Quixote; and if all this does not suffice to convince -you of the truth of what I say, here is Don Quixote himself, who will -maintain it by arms, on foot or on horseback or in any way you please.” - -And so saying he stood up and laid his hand on his sword, waiting to -see what the Knight of the Grove would do, who in an equally calm voice -said in reply, “Pledges don’t distress a good payer; he who has -succeeded in vanquishing you once when transformed, Sir Don Quixote, -may fairly hope to subdue you in your own proper shape; but as it is -not becoming for knights to perform their feats of arms in the dark, -like highwaymen and bullies, let us wait till daylight, that the sun -may behold our deeds; and the conditions of our combat shall be that -the vanquished shall be at the victor’s disposal, to do all that he may -enjoin, provided the injunction be such as shall be becoming a knight.” - -“I am more than satisfied with these conditions and terms,” replied Don -Quixote; and so saying, they betook themselves to where their squires -lay, and found them snoring, and in the same posture they were in when -sleep fell upon them. They roused them up, and bade them get the horses -ready, as at sunrise they were to engage in a bloody and arduous single -combat; at which intelligence Sancho was aghast and thunderstruck, -trembling for the safety of his master because of the mighty deeds he -had heard the squire of the Grove ascribe to his; but without a word -the two squires went in quest of their cattle; for by this time the -three horses and the ass had smelt one another out, and were all -together. - -On the way, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “You must know, brother, -that it is the custom with the fighting men of Andalusia, when they are -godfathers in any quarrel, not to stand idle with folded arms while -their godsons fight; I say so to remind you that while our masters are -fighting, we, too, have to fight, and knock one another to shivers.” - -“That custom, sir squire,” replied Sancho, “may hold good among those -bullies and fighting men you talk of, but certainly not among the -squires of knights-errant; at least, I have never heard my master speak -of any custom of the sort, and he knows all the laws of knight-errantry -by heart; but granting it true that there is an express law that -squires are to fight while their masters are fighting, I don’t mean to -obey it, but to pay the penalty that may be laid on peacefully minded -squires like myself; for I am sure it cannot be more than two pounds of -wax, and I would rather pay that, for I know it will cost me less than -the lint I shall be at the expense of to mend my head, which I look -upon as broken and split already; there’s another thing that makes it -impossible for me to fight, that I have no sword, for I never carried -one in my life.” - -“I know a good remedy for that,” said he of the Grove; “I have here two -linen bags of the same size; you shall take one, and I the other, and -we will fight at bag blows with equal arms.” - -“If that’s the way, so be it with all my heart,” said Sancho, “for that -sort of battle will serve to knock the dust out of us instead of -hurting us.” - -“That will not do,” said the other, “for we must put into the bags, to -keep the wind from blowing them away, half a dozen nice smooth pebbles, -all of the same weight; and in this way we shall be able to baste one -another without doing ourselves any harm or mischief.” - -“Body of my father!” said Sancho, “see what marten and sable, and pads -of carded cotton he is putting into the bags, that our heads may not be -broken and our bones beaten to jelly! But even if they are filled with -toss silk, I can tell you, señor, I am not going to fight; let our -masters fight, that’s their lookout, and let us drink and live; for -time will take care to ease us of our lives, without our going to look -for fillips so that they may be finished off before their proper time -comes and they drop from ripeness.” - -“Still,” returned he of the Grove, “we must fight, if it be only for -half an hour.” - -“By no means,” said Sancho; “I am not going to be so discourteous or so -ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be it ever so small, with one I have -eaten and drunk with; besides, who the devil could bring himself to -fight in cold blood, without anger or provocation?” - -“I can remedy that entirely,” said he of the Grove, “and in this way: -before we begin the battle, I will come up to your worship fair and -softly, and give you three or four buffets, with which I shall stretch -you at my feet and rouse your anger, though it were sleeping sounder -than a dormouse.” - -“To match that plan,” said Sancho, “I have another that is not a whit -behind it; I will take a cudgel, and before your worship comes near -enough to waken my anger I will send yours so sound to sleep with -whacks, that it won’t waken unless it be in the other world, where it -is known that I am not a man to let my face be handled by anyone; let -each look out for the arrow—though the surer way would be to let -everyone’s anger sleep, for nobody knows the heart of anyone, and a man -may come for wool and go back shorn; God gave his blessing to peace and -his curse to quarrels; if a hunted cat, surrounded and hard pressed, -turns into a lion, God knows what I, who am a man, may turn into; and -so from this time forth I warn you, sir squire, that all the harm and -mischief that may come of our quarrel will be put down to your -account.” - -“Very good,” said he of the Grove; “God will send the dawn and we shall -be all right.” - -And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees, -and with their varied and gladsome notes seemed to welcome and salute -the fresh morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her countenance -at the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her locks a -profusion of liquid pearls; in which dulcet moisture bathed, the -plants, too, seemed to shed and shower down a pearly spray, the willows -distilled sweet manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks babbled, the -woods rejoiced, and the meadows arrayed themselves in all their glory -at her coming. But hardly had the light of day made it possible to see -and distinguish things, when the first object that presented itself to -the eyes of Sancho Panza was the squire of the Grove’s nose, which was -so big that it almost overshadowed his whole body. It is, in fact, -stated, that it was of enormous size, hooked in the middle, covered -with warts, and of a mulberry colour like an egg-plant; it hung down -two fingers’ length below his mouth, and the size, the colour, the -warts, and the bend of it, made his face so hideous, that Sancho, as he -looked at him, began to tremble hand and foot like a child in -convulsions, and he vowed in his heart to let himself be given two -hundred buffets, sooner than be provoked to fight that monster. Don -Quixote examined his adversary, and found that he already had his -helmet on and visor lowered, so that he could not see his face; he -observed, however, that he was a sturdily built man, but not very tall -in stature. Over his armour he wore a surcoat or cassock of what seemed -to be the finest cloth of gold, all bespangled with glittering mirrors -like little moons, which gave him an extremely gallant and splendid -appearance; above his helmet fluttered a great quantity of plumes, -green, yellow, and white, and his lance, which was leaning against a -tree, was very long and stout, and had a steel point more than a palm -in length. - -Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and from what he saw -and observed he concluded that the said knight must be a man of great -strength, but he did not for all that give way to fear, like Sancho -Panza; on the contrary, with a composed and dauntless air, he said to -the Knight of the Mirrors, “If, sir knight, your great eagerness to -fight has not banished your courtesy, by it I would entreat you to -raise your visor a little, in order that I may see if the comeliness of -your countenance corresponds with that of your equipment.” - -“Whether you come victorious or vanquished out of this emprise, sir -knight,” replied he of the Mirrors, “you will have more than enough -time and leisure to see me; and if now I do not comply with your -request, it is because it seems to me I should do a serious wrong to -the fair Casildea de Vandalia in wasting time while I stopped to raise -my visor before compelling you to confess what you are already aware I -maintain.” - -“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “while we are mounting you can at least -tell me if I am that Don Quixote whom you said you vanquished.” - -“To that we answer you,” said he of the Mirrors, “that you are as like -the very knight I vanquished as one egg is like another, but as you say -enchanters persecute you, I will not venture to say positively whether -you are the said person or not.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “is enough to convince me that you are under -a deception; however, entirely to relieve you of it, let our horses be -brought, and in less time than it would take you to raise your visor, -if God, my lady, and my arm stand me in good stead, I shall see your -face, and you shall see that I am not the vanquished Don Quixote you -take me to be.” - -With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, and Don Quixote -wheeled Rocinante round in order to take a proper distance to charge -back upon his adversary, and he of the Mirrors did the same; but Don -Quixote had not moved away twenty paces when he heard himself called by -the other, and, each returning half-way, he of the Mirrors said to him, -“Remember, sir knight, that the terms of our combat are, that the -vanquished, as I said before, shall be at the victor’s disposal.” - -“I am aware of it already,” said Don Quixote; “provided what is -commanded and imposed upon the vanquished be things that do not -transgress the limits of chivalry.” - -“That is understood,” replied he of the Mirrors. - -At this moment the extraordinary nose of the squire presented itself to -Don Quixote’s view, and he was no less amazed than Sancho at the sight; -insomuch that he set him down as a monster of some kind, or a human -being of some new species or unearthly breed. Sancho, seeing his master -retiring to run his course, did not like to be left alone with the nosy -man, fearing that with one flap of that nose on his own the battle -would be all over for him and he would be left stretched on the ground, -either by the blow or with fright; so he ran after his master, holding -on to Rocinante’s stirrup-leather, and when it seemed to him time to -turn about, he said, “I implore of your worship, señor, before you turn -to charge, to help me up into this cork tree, from which I will be able -to witness the gallant encounter your worship is going to have with -this knight, more to my taste and better than from the ground.” - -“It seems to me rather, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst -mount a scaffold in order to see the bulls without danger.” - -“To tell the truth,” returned Sancho, “the monstrous nose of that -squire has filled me with fear and terror, and I dare not stay near -him.” - -“It is,” said Don Quixote, “such a one that were I not what I am it -would terrify me too; so, come, I will help thee up where thou wilt.” - -While Don Quixote waited for Sancho to mount into the cork tree he of -the Mirrors took as much ground as he considered requisite, and, -supposing Don Quixote to have done the same, without waiting for any -sound of trumpet or other signal to direct them, he wheeled his horse, -which was not more agile or better-looking than Rocinante, and at his -top speed, which was an easy trot, he proceeded to charge his enemy; -seeing him, however, engaged in putting Sancho up, he drew rein, and -halted in mid career, for which his horse was very grateful, as he was -already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that his foe was coming -down upon him flying, drove his spurs vigorously into Rocinante’s lean -flanks and made him scud along in such style that the history tells us -that on this occasion only was he known to make something like running, -for on all others it was a simple trot with him; and with this -unparalleled fury he bore down where he of the Mirrors stood digging -his spurs into his horse up to buttons, without being able to make him -stir a finger’s length from the spot where he had come to a standstill -in his course. At this lucky moment and crisis, Don Quixote came upon -his adversary, in trouble with his horse, and embarrassed with his -lance, which he either could not manage, or had no time to lay in rest. -Don Quixote, however, paid no attention to these difficulties, and in -perfect safety to himself and without any risk encountered him of the -Mirrors with such force that he brought him to the ground in spite of -himself over the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall that -he lay to all appearance dead, not stirring hand or foot. The instant -Sancho saw him fall he slid down from the cork tree, and made all haste -to where his master was, who, dismounting from Rocinante, went and -stood over him of the Mirrors, and unlacing his helmet to see if he was -dead, and to give him air if he should happen to be alive, he saw—who -can say what he saw, without filling all who hear it with astonishment, -wonder, and awe? He saw, the history says, the very countenance, the -very face, the very look, the very physiognomy, the very effigy, the -very image of the bachelor Samson Carrasco! As soon as he saw it he -called out in a loud voice, “Make haste here, Sancho, and behold what -thou art to see but not to believe; quick, my son, and learn what magic -can do, and wizards and enchanters are capable of.” - -Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance of the bachelor -Carrasco, he fell to crossing himself a thousand times, and blessing -himself as many more. All this time the prostrate knight showed no -signs of life, and Sancho said to Don Quixote, “It is my opinion, -señor, that in any case your worship should take and thrust your sword -into the mouth of this one here that looks like the bachelor Samson -Carrasco; perhaps in him you will kill one of your enemies, the -enchanters.” - -“Thy advice is not bad,” said Don Quixote, “for of enemies the fewer -the better;” and he was drawing his sword to carry into effect Sancho’s -counsel and suggestion, when the squire of the Mirrors came up, now -without the nose which had made him so hideous, and cried out in a loud -voice, “Mind what you are about, Señor Don Quixote; that is your -friend, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and I am -his squire.” - -“And the nose?” said Sancho, seeing him without the hideous feature he -had before; to which he replied, “I have it here in my pocket,” and -putting his hand into his right pocket, he pulled out a masquerade nose -of varnished pasteboard of the make already described; and Sancho, -examining him more and more closely, exclaimed aloud in a voice of -amazement, “Holy Mary be good to me! Isn’t it Tom Cecial, my neighbour -and gossip?” - -“Why, to be sure I am!” returned the now unnosed squire; “Tom Cecial I -am, gossip and friend Sancho Panza; and I’ll tell you presently the -means and tricks and falsehoods by which I have been brought here; but -in the meantime, beg and entreat of your master not to touch, maltreat, -wound, or slay the Knight of the Mirrors whom he has at his feet; -because, beyond all dispute, it is the rash and ill-advised bachelor -Samson Carrasco, our fellow townsman.” - -At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, and Don Quixote -perceiving it, held the naked point of his sword over his face, and -said to him, “You are a dead man, knight, unless you confess that the -peerless Dulcinea del Toboso excels your Casildea de Vandalia in -beauty; and in addition to this you must promise, if you should survive -this encounter and fall, to go to the city of El Toboso and present -yourself before her on my behalf, that she deal with you according to -her good pleasure; and if she leaves you free to do yours, you are in -like manner to return and seek me out (for the trail of my mighty deeds -will serve you as a guide to lead you to where I may be), and tell me -what may have passed between you and her—conditions which, in -accordance with what we stipulated before our combat, do not transgress -the just limits of knight-errantry.” - -“I confess,” said the fallen knight, “that the dirty tattered shoe of -the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is better than the ill-combed though clean -beard of Casildea; and I promise to go and to return from her presence -to yours, and to give you a full and particular account of all you -demand of me.” - -“You must also confess and believe,” added Don Quixote, “that the -knight you vanquished was not and could not be Don Quixote of La -Mancha, but someone else in his likeness, just as I confess and believe -that you, though you seem to be the bachelor Samson Carrasco, are not -so, but some other resembling him, whom my enemies have here put before -me in his shape, in order that I may restrain and moderate the -vehemence of my wrath, and make a gentle use of the glory of my -victory.” - -“I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you believe, hold, and -think it,” the crippled knight; “let me rise, I entreat you; if, -indeed, the shock of my fall will allow me, for it has left me in a -sorry plight enough.” - -Don Quixote helped him to rise, with the assistance of his squire Tom -Cecial; from whom Sancho never took his eyes, and to whom he put -questions, the replies to which furnished clear proof that he was -really and truly the Tom Cecial he said; but the impression made on -Sancho’s mind by what his master said about the enchanters having -changed the face of the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor -Samson Carrasco, would not permit him to believe what he saw with his -eyes. In fine, both master and man remained under the delusion; and, -down in the mouth, and out of luck, he of the Mirrors and his squire -parted from Don Quixote and Sancho, he meaning to go look for some -village where he could plaster and strap his ribs. Don Quixote and -Sancho resumed their journey to Saragossa, and on it the history leaves -them in order that it may tell who the Knight of the Mirrors and his -long-nosed squire were. - -CHAPTER XV. -WHEREIN IT IS TOLD AND KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS AND HIS -SQUIRE WERE - -Don Quixote went off satisfied, elated, and vain-glorious in the -highest degree at having won a victory over such a valiant knight as he -fancied him of the Mirrors to be, and one from whose knightly word he -expected to learn whether the enchantment of his lady still continued; -inasmuch as the said vanquished knight was bound, under the penalty of -ceasing to be one, to return and render him an account of what took -place between him and her. But Don Quixote was of one mind, he of the -Mirrors of another, for he just then had no thought of anything but -finding some village where he could plaster himself, as has been said -already. The history goes on to say, then, that when the bachelor -Samson Carrasco recommended Don Quixote to resume his knight-errantry -which he had laid aside, it was in consequence of having been -previously in conclave with the curate and the barber on the means to -be adopted to induce Don Quixote to stay at home in peace and quiet -without worrying himself with his ill-starred adventures; at which -consultation it was decided by the unanimous vote of all, and on the -special advice of Carrasco, that Don Quixote should be allowed to go, -as it seemed impossible to restrain him, and that Samson should sally -forth to meet him as a knight-errant, and do battle with him, for there -would be no difficulty about a cause, and vanquish him, that being -looked upon as an easy matter; and that it should be agreed and settled -that the vanquished was to be at the mercy of the victor. Then, Don -Quixote being vanquished, the bachelor knight was to command him to -return to his village and his house, and not quit it for two years, or -until he received further orders from him; all which it was clear Don -Quixote would unhesitatingly obey, rather than contravene or fail to -observe the laws of chivalry; and during the period of his seclusion he -might perhaps forget his folly, or there might be an opportunity of -discovering some ready remedy for his madness. Carrasco undertook the -task, and Tom Cecial, a gossip and neighbour of Sancho Panza’s, a -lively, feather-headed fellow, offered himself as his squire. Carrasco -armed himself in the fashion described, and Tom Cecial, that he might -not be known by his gossip when they met, fitted on over his own -natural nose the false masquerade one that has been mentioned; and so -they followed the same route Don Quixote took, and almost came up with -him in time to be present at the adventure of the cart of Death and -finally encountered them in the grove, where all that the sagacious -reader has been reading about took place; and had it not been for the -extraordinary fancies of Don Quixote, and his conviction that the -bachelor was not the bachelor, señor bachelor would have been -incapacitated for ever from taking his degree of licentiate, all -through not finding nests where he thought to find birds. - -Tom Cecial, seeing how ill they had succeeded, and what a sorry end -their expedition had come to, said to the bachelor, “Sure enough, Señor -Samson Carrasco, we are served right; it is easy enough to plan and set -about an enterprise, but it is often a difficult matter to come well -out of it. Don Quixote a madman, and we sane; he goes off laughing, -safe, and sound, and you are left sore and sorry! I’d like to know now -which is the madder, he who is so because he cannot help it, or he who -is so of his own choice?” - -To which Samson replied, “The difference between the two sorts of -madmen is, that he who is so will he nil he, will be one always, while -he who is so of his own accord can leave off being one whenever he -likes.” - -“In that case,” said Tom Cecial, “I was a madman of my own accord when -I volunteered to become your squire, and, of my own accord, I’ll leave -off being one and go home.” - -“That’s your affair,” returned Samson, “but to suppose that I am going -home until I have given Don Quixote a thrashing is absurd; and it is -not any wish that he may recover his senses that will make me hunt him -out now, but a wish for the sore pain I am in with my ribs won’t let me -entertain more charitable thoughts.” - -Thus discoursing, the pair proceeded until they reached a town where it -was their good luck to find a bone-setter, with whose help the -unfortunate Samson was cured. Tom Cecial left him and went home, while -he stayed behind meditating vengeance; and the history will return to -him again at the proper time, so as not to omit making merry with Don -Quixote now. - -CHAPTER XVI. -OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH A DISCREET GENTLEMAN OF LA MANCHA - -Don Quixote pursued his journey in the high spirits, satisfaction, and -self-complacency already described, fancying himself the most valorous -knight-errant of the age in the world because of his late victory. All -the adventures that could befall him from that time forth he regarded -as already done and brought to a happy issue; he made light of -enchantments and enchanters; he thought no more of the countless -drubbings that had been administered to him in the course of his -knight-errantry, nor of the volley of stones that had levelled half his -teeth, nor of the ingratitude of the galley slaves, nor of the audacity -of the Yanguesans and the shower of stakes that fell upon him; in -short, he said to himself that could he discover any means, mode, or -way of disenchanting his lady Dulcinea, he would not envy the highest -fortune that the most fortunate knight-errant of yore ever reached or -could reach. - -He was going along entirely absorbed in these fancies, when Sancho said -to him, “Isn’t it odd, señor, that I have still before my eyes that -monstrous enormous nose of my gossip, Tom Cecial?” - -“And dost thou, then, believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that the -Knight of the Mirrors was the bachelor Carrasco, and his squire Tom -Cecial thy gossip?” - -“I don’t know what to say to that,” replied Sancho; “all I know is that -the tokens he gave me about my own house, wife and children, nobody -else but himself could have given me; and the face, once the nose was -off, was the very face of Tom Cecial, as I have seen it many a time in -my town and next door to my own house; and the sound of the voice was -just the same.” - -“Let us reason the matter, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Come now, by -what process of thinking can it be supposed that the bachelor Samson -Carrasco would come as a knight-errant, in arms offensive and -defensive, to fight with me? Have I ever been by any chance his enemy? -Have I ever given him any occasion to owe me a grudge? Am I his rival, -or does he profess arms, that he should envy the fame I have acquired -in them?” - -“Well, but what are we to say, señor,” returned Sancho, “about that -knight, whoever he is, being so like the bachelor Carrasco, and his -squire so like my gossip, Tom Cecial? And if that be enchantment, as -your worship says, was there no other pair in the world for them to -take the likeness of?” - -“It is all,” said Don Quixote, “a scheme and plot of the malignant -magicians that persecute me, who, foreseeing that I was to be -victorious in the conflict, arranged that the vanquished knight should -display the countenance of my friend the bachelor, in order that the -friendship I bear him should interpose to stay the edge of my sword and -might of my arm, and temper the just wrath of my heart; so that he who -sought to take my life by fraud and falsehood should save his own. And -to prove it, thou knowest already, Sancho, by experience which cannot -lie or deceive, how easy it is for enchanters to change one countenance -into another, turning fair into foul, and foul into fair; for it is not -two days since thou sawest with thine own eyes the beauty and elegance -of the peerless Dulcinea in all its perfection and natural harmony, -while I saw her in the repulsive and mean form of a coarse country -wench, with cataracts in her eyes and a foul smell in her mouth; and -when the perverse enchanter ventured to effect so wicked a -transformation, it is no wonder if he effected that of Samson Carrasco -and thy gossip in order to snatch the glory of victory out of my grasp. -For all that, however, I console myself, because, after all, in -whatever shape he may have been, I have been victorious over my enemy.” - -“God knows what’s the truth of it all,” said Sancho; and knowing as he -did that the transformation of Dulcinea had been a device and -imposition of his own, his master’s illusions were not satisfactory to -him; but he did not like to reply lest he should say something that -might disclose his trickery. - -As they were engaged in this conversation they were overtaken by a man -who was following the same road behind them, mounted on a very handsome -flea-bitten mare, and dressed in a gaban of fine green cloth, with -tawny velvet facings, and a montera of the same velvet. The trappings -of the mare were of the field and jineta fashion, and of mulberry -colour and green. He carried a Moorish cutlass hanging from a broad -green and gold baldric; the buskins were of the same make as the -baldric; the spurs were not gilt, but lacquered green, and so brightly -polished that, matching as they did the rest of his apparel, they -looked better than if they had been of pure gold. - -When the traveller came up with them he saluted them courteously, and -spurring his mare was passing them without stopping, but Don Quixote -called out to him, “Gallant sir, if so be your worship is going our -road, and has no occasion for speed, it would be a pleasure to me if we -were to join company.” - -“In truth,” replied he on the mare, “I would not pass you so hastily -but for fear that horse might turn restive in the company of my mare.” - -“You may safely hold in your mare, señor,” said Sancho in reply to -this, “for our horse is the most virtuous and well-behaved horse in the -world; he never does anything wrong on such occasions, and the only -time he misbehaved, my master and I suffered for it sevenfold; I say -again your worship may pull up if you like; for if she was offered to -him between two plates the horse would not hanker after her.” - -The traveller drew rein, amazed at the trim and features of Don -Quixote, who rode without his helmet, which Sancho carried like a -valise in front of Dapple’s pack-saddle; and if the man in green -examined Don Quixote closely, still more closely did Don Quixote -examine the man in green, who struck him as being a man of -intelligence. In appearance he was about fifty years of age, with but -few grey hairs, an aquiline cast of features, and an expression between -grave and gay; and his dress and accoutrements showed him to be a man -of good condition. What he in green thought of Don Quixote of La Mancha -was that a man of that sort and shape he had never yet seen; he -marvelled at the length of his hair, his lofty stature, the lankness -and sallowness of his countenance, his armour, his bearing and his -gravity—a figure and picture such as had not been seen in those regions -for many a long day. - -Don Quixote saw very plainly the attention with which the traveller was -regarding him, and read his curiosity in his astonishment; and -courteous as he was and ready to please everybody, before the other -could ask him any question he anticipated him by saying, “The -appearance I present to your worship being so strange and so out of the -common, I should not be surprised if it filled you with wonder; but you -will cease to wonder when I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those -knights who, as people say, go seeking adventures. I have left my home, -I have mortgaged my estate, I have given up my comforts, and committed -myself to the arms of Fortune, to bear me whithersoever she may please. -My desire was to bring to life again knight-errantry, now dead, and for -some time past, stumbling here, falling there, now coming down -headlong, now raising myself up again, I have carried out a great -portion of my design, succouring widows, protecting maidens, and giving -aid to wives, orphans, and minors, the proper and natural duty of -knights-errant; and, therefore, because of my many valiant and -Christian achievements, I have been already found worthy to make my way -in print to well-nigh all, or most, of the nations of the earth. Thirty -thousand volumes of my history have been printed, and it is on the -high-road to be printed thirty thousand thousands of times, if heaven -does not put a stop to it. In short, to sum up all in a few words, or -in a single one, I may tell you I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, -otherwise called ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance;’ for though -self-praise is degrading, I must perforce sound my own sometimes, that -is to say, when there is no one at hand to do it for me. So that, -gentle sir, neither this horse, nor this lance, nor this shield, nor -this squire, nor all these arms put together, nor the sallowness of my -countenance, nor my gaunt leanness, will henceforth astonish you, now -that you know who I am and what profession I follow.” - -With these words Don Quixote held his peace, and, from the time he took -to answer, the man in green seemed to be at a loss for a reply; after a -long pause, however, he said to him, “You were right when you saw -curiosity in my amazement, sir knight; but you have not succeeded in -removing the astonishment I feel at seeing you; for although you say, -señor, that knowing who you are ought to remove it, it has not done so; -on the contrary, now that I know, I am left more amazed and astonished -than before. What! is it possible that there are knights-errant in the -world in these days, and histories of real chivalry printed? I cannot -realise the fact that there can be anyone on earth now-a-days who aids -widows, or protects maidens, or defends wives, or succours orphans; nor -should I believe it had I not seen it in your worship with my own eyes. -Blessed be heaven! for by means of this history of your noble and -genuine chivalrous deeds, which you say has been printed, the countless -stories of fictitious knights-errant with which the world is filled, so -much to the injury of morality and the prejudice and discredit of good -histories, will have been driven into oblivion.” - -“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote, “as -to whether the histories of the knights-errant are fiction or not.” - -“Why, is there anyone who doubts that those histories are false?” said -the man in green. - -“I doubt it,” said Don Quixote, “but never mind that just now; if our -journey lasts long enough, I trust in God I shall show your worship -that you do wrong in going with the stream of those who regard it as a -matter of certainty that they are not true.” - -From this last observation of Don Quixote’s, the traveller began to -have a suspicion that he was some crazy being, and was waiting for him -to confirm it by something further; but before they could turn to any -new subject Don Quixote begged him to tell him who he was, since he -himself had rendered account of his station and life. To this, he in -the green gaban replied “I, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, am a -gentleman by birth, native of the village where, please God, we are -going to dine to-day; I am more than fairly well off, and my name is -Don Diego de Miranda. I pass my life with my wife, children, and -friends; my pursuits are hunting and fishing, but I keep neither hawks -nor greyhounds, nothing but a tame partridge or a bold ferret or two; I -have six dozen or so of books, some in our mother tongue, some Latin, -some of them history, others devotional; those of chivalry have not as -yet crossed the threshold of my door; I am more given to turning over -the profane than the devotional, so long as they are books of honest -entertainment that charm by their style and attract and interest by the -invention they display, though of these there are very few in Spain. -Sometimes I dine with my neighbours and friends, and often invite them; -my entertainments are neat and well served without stint of anything. I -have no taste for tattle, nor do I allow tattling in my presence; I pry -not into my neighbours’ lives, nor have I lynx-eyes for what others do. -I hear mass every day; I share my substance with the poor, making no -display of good works, lest I let hypocrisy and vainglory, those -enemies that subtly take possession of the most watchful heart, find an -entrance into mine. I strive to make peace between those whom I know to -be at variance; I am the devoted servant of Our Lady, and my trust is -ever in the infinite mercy of God our Lord.” - -Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of the -gentleman’s life and occupation; and thinking it a good and a holy -life, and that he who led it ought to work miracles, he threw himself -off Dapple, and running in haste seized his right stirrup and kissed -his foot again and again with a devout heart and almost with tears. - -Seeing this the gentleman asked him, “What are you about, brother? What -are these kisses for?” - -“Let me kiss,” said Sancho, “for I think your worship is the first -saint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of my life.” - -“I am no saint,” replied the gentleman, “but a great sinner; but you -are, brother, for you must be a good fellow, as your simplicity shows.” - -Sancho went back and regained his pack-saddle, having extracted a laugh -from his master’s profound melancholy, and excited fresh amazement in -Don Diego. Don Quixote then asked him how many children he had, and -observed that one of the things wherein the ancient philosophers, who -were without the true knowledge of God, placed the _summum bonum_ was -in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, in having many friends, -and many and good children. - -“I, Señor Don Quixote,” answered the gentleman, “have one son, without -whom, perhaps, I should count myself happier than I am, not because he -is a bad son, but because he is not so good as I could wish. He is -eighteen years of age; he has been for six at Salamanca studying Latin -and Greek, and when I wished him to turn to the study of other sciences -I found him so wrapped up in that of poetry (if that can be called a -science) that there is no getting him to take kindly to the law, which -I wished him to study, or to theology, the queen of them all. I would -like him to be an honour to his family, as we live in days when our -kings liberally reward learning that is virtuous and worthy; for -learning without virtue is a pearl on a dunghill. He spends the whole -day in settling whether Homer expressed himself correctly or not in -such and such a line of the Iliad, whether Martial was indecent or not -in such and such an epigram, whether such and such lines of Virgil are -to be understood in this way or in that; in short, all his talk is of -the works of these poets, and those of Horace, Perseus, Juvenal, and -Tibullus; for of the moderns in our own language he makes no great -account; but with all his seeming indifference to Spanish poetry, just -now his thoughts are absorbed in making a gloss on four lines that have -been sent him from Salamanca, which I suspect are for some poetical -tournament.” - -To all this Don Quixote said in reply, “Children, señor, are portions -of their parents’ bowels, and therefore, be they good or bad, are to be -loved as we love the souls that give us life; it is for the parents to -guide them from infancy in the ways of virtue, propriety, and worthy -Christian conduct, so that when grown up they may be the staff of their -parents’ old age, and the glory of their posterity; and to force them -to study this or that science I do not think wise, though it may be no -harm to persuade them; and when there is no need to study for the sake -of _pane lucrando_, and it is the student’s good fortune that heaven -has given him parents who provide him with it, it would be my advice to -them to let him pursue whatever science they may see him most inclined -to; and though that of poetry is less useful than pleasurable, it is -not one of those that bring discredit upon the possessor. Poetry, -gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme -beauty, to array, bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other -maidens, who are all the rest of the sciences; and she must avail -herself of the help of all, and all derive their lustre from her. But -this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through the -streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the market-places, or in -the closets of palaces. She is the product of an Alchemy of such virtue -that he who is able to practise it, will turn her into pure gold of -inestimable worth. He that possesses her must keep her within bounds, -not permitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. -She must on no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be in -heroic poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies. -She must not be touched by the buffoons, nor by the ignorant vulgar, -incapable of comprehending or appreciating her hidden treasures. And do -not suppose, señor, that I apply the term vulgar here merely to -plebeians and the lower orders; for everyone who is ignorant, be he -lord or prince, may and should be included among the vulgar. He, then, -who shall embrace and cultivate poetry under the conditions I have -named, shall become famous, and his name honoured throughout all the -civilised nations of the earth. And with regard to what you say, señor, -of your son having no great opinion of Spanish poetry, I am inclined to -think that he is not quite right there, and for this reason: the great -poet Homer did not write in Latin, because he was a Greek, nor did -Virgil write in Greek, because he was a Latin; in short, all the -ancient poets wrote in the language they imbibed with their mother’s -milk, and never went in quest of foreign ones to express their sublime -conceptions; and that being so, the usage should in justice extend to -all nations, and the German poet should not be undervalued because he -writes in his own language, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscayan, -for writing in his. But your son, señor, I suspect, is not prejudiced -against Spanish poetry, but against those poets who are mere Spanish -verse writers, without any knowledge of other languages or sciences to -adorn and give life and vigour to their natural inspiration; and yet -even in this he may be wrong; for, according to a true belief, a poet -is born one; that is to say, the poet by nature comes forth a poet from -his mother’s womb; and following the bent that heaven has bestowed upon -him, without the aid of study or art, he produces things that show how -truly he spoke who said, ‘_Est Deus in nobis_,’ etc. At the same time, -I say that the poet by nature who calls in art to his aid will be a far -better poet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying upon his -knowledge of art alone. The reason is, that art does not surpass -nature, but only brings it to perfection; and thus, nature combined -with art, and art with nature, will produce a perfect poet. To bring my -argument to a close, I would say then, gentle sir, let your son go on -as his star leads him, for being so studious as he seems to be, and -having already successfully surmounted the first step of the sciences, -which is that of the languages, with their help he will by his own -exertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so well becomes -an independent gentleman, and adorns, honours, and distinguishes him, -as much as the mitre does the bishop, or the gown the learned -counsellor. If your son write satires reflecting on the honour of -others, chide and correct him, and tear them up; but if he compose -discourses in which he rebukes vice in general, in the style of Horace, -and with elegance like his, commend him; for it is legitimate for a -poet to write against envy and lash the envious in his verse, and the -other vices too, provided he does not single out individuals; there -are, however, poets who, for the sake of saying something spiteful, -would run the risk of being banished to the coast of Pontus. If the -poet be pure in his morals, he will be pure in his verses too; the pen -is the tongue of the mind, and as the thought engendered there, so will -be the things that it writes down. And when kings and princes observe -this marvellous science of poetry in wise, virtuous, and thoughtful -subjects, they honour, value, exalt them, and even crown them with the -leaves of that tree which the thunderbolt strikes not, as if to show -that they whose brows are honoured and adorned with such a crown are -not to be assailed by anyone.” - -He of the green gaban was filled with astonishment at Don Quixote’s -argument, so much so that he began to abandon the notion he had taken -up about his being crazy. But in the middle of the discourse, it being -not very much to his taste, Sancho had turned aside out of the road to -beg a little milk from some shepherds, who were milking their ewes hard -by; and just as the gentleman, highly pleased, was about to renew the -conversation, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cart covered -with royal flags coming along the road they were travelling; and -persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called aloud to -Sancho to come and bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing himself -called, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding Dapple vigorously, came up -to his master, to whom there fell a terrific and desperate adventure. - -CHAPTER XVII. -WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE FURTHEST AND HIGHEST POINT WHICH THE UNEXAMPLED -COURAGE OF DON QUIXOTE REACHED OR COULD REACH; TOGETHER WITH THE -HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS - -The history tells that when Don Quixote called out to Sancho to bring -him his helmet, Sancho was buying some curds the shepherds agreed to -sell him, and flurried by the great haste his master was in did not -know what to do with them or what to carry them in; so, not to lose -them, for he had already paid for them, he thought it best to throw -them into his master’s helmet, and acting on this bright idea he went -to see what his master wanted with him. He, as he approached, exclaimed -to him: - -“Give me that helmet, my friend, for either I know little of -adventures, or what I observe yonder is one that will, and does, call -upon me to arm myself.” - -He of the green gaban, on hearing this, looked in all directions, but -could perceive nothing, except a cart coming towards them with two or -three small flags, which led him to conclude it must be carrying -treasure of the King’s, and he said so to Don Quixote. He, however, -would not believe him, being always persuaded and convinced that all -that happened to him must be adventures and still more adventures; so -he replied to the gentleman, “He who is prepared has his battle half -fought; nothing is lost by my preparing myself, for I know by -experience that I have enemies, visible and invisible, and I know not -when, or where, or at what moment, or in what shapes they will attack -me;” and turning to Sancho, he called for his helmet; and Sancho, as he -had no time to take out the curds, had to give it just as it was. Don -Quixote took it, and without perceiving what was in it thrust it down -in hot haste upon his head; but as the curds were pressed and squeezed -the whey began to run all over his face and beard, whereat he was so -startled that he cried out to Sancho: - -“Sancho, what’s this? I think my head is softening, or my brains are -melting, or I am sweating from head to foot! If I am sweating it is not -indeed from fear. I am convinced beyond a doubt that the adventure -which is about to befall me is a terrible one. Give me something to -wipe myself with, if thou hast it, for this profuse sweat is blinding -me.” - -Sancho held his tongue, and gave him a cloth, and gave thanks to God at -the same time that his master had not found out what was the matter. -Don Quixote then wiped himself, and took off his helmet to see what it -was that made his head feel so cool, and seeing all that white mash -inside his helmet he put it to his nose, and as soon as he had smelt it -he exclaimed: - -“By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but it is curds thou hast -put here, thou treacherous, impudent, ill-mannered squire!” - -To which, with great composure and pretended innocence, Sancho replied, -“If they are curds let me have them, your worship, and I’ll eat them; -but let the devil eat them, for it must have been he who put them -there. I dare to dirty your helmet! You have guessed the offender -finely! Faith, sir, by the light God gives me, it seems I must have -enchanters too, that persecute me as a creature and limb of your -worship, and they must have put that nastiness there in order to -provoke your patience to anger, and make you baste my ribs as you are -wont to do. Well, this time, indeed, they have missed their aim, for I -trust to my master’s good sense to see that I have got no curds or -milk, or anything of the sort; and that if I had it is in my stomach I -would put it and not in the helmet.” - -“May be so,” said Don Quixote. All this the gentleman was observing, -and with astonishment, more especially when, after having wiped himself -clean, his head, face, beard, and helmet, Don Quixote put it on, and -settling himself firmly in his stirrups, easing his sword in the -scabbard, and grasping his lance, he cried, “Now, come who will, here -am I, ready to try conclusions with Satan himself in person!” - -By this time the cart with the flags had come up, unattended by anyone -except the carter on a mule, and a man sitting in front. Don Quixote -planted himself before it and said, “Whither are you going, brothers? -What cart is this? What have you got in it? What flags are those?” - -To this the carter replied, “The cart is mine; what is in it is a pair -of wild caged lions, which the governor of Oran is sending to court as -a present to his Majesty; and the flags are our lord the King’s, to -show that what is here is his property.” - -“And are the lions large?” asked Don Quixote. - -“So large,” replied the man who sat at the door of the cart, “that -larger, or as large, have never crossed from Africa to Spain; I am the -keeper, and I have brought over others, but never any like these. They -are male and female; the male is in that first cage and the female in -the one behind, and they are hungry now, for they have eaten nothing -to-day, so let your worship stand aside, for we must make haste to the -place where we are to feed them.” - -Hereupon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed, “Lion-whelps to me! -to me whelps of lions, and at such a time! Then, by God! those -gentlemen who send them here shall see if I am a man to be frightened -by lions. Get down, my good fellow, and as you are the keeper open the -cages, and turn me out those beasts, and in the midst of this plain I -will let them know who Don Quixote of La Mancha is, in spite and in the -teeth of the enchanters who send them to me.” - -“So, so,” said the gentleman to himself at this; “our worthy knight has -shown of what sort he is; the curds, no doubt, have softened his skull -and brought his brains to a head.” - -At this instant Sancho came up to him, saying, “Señor, for God’s sake -do something to keep my master, Don Quixote, from tackling these lions; -for if he does they’ll tear us all to pieces here.” - -“Is your master then so mad,” asked the gentleman, “that you believe -and are afraid he will engage such fierce animals?” - -“He is not mad,” said Sancho, “but he is venturesome.” - -“I will prevent it,” said the gentleman; and going over to Don Quixote, -who was insisting upon the keeper’s opening the cages, he said to him, -“Sir knight, knights-errant should attempt adventures which encourage -the hope of a successful issue, not those which entirely withhold it; -for valour that trenches upon temerity savours rather of madness than -of courage; moreover, these lions do not come to oppose you, nor do -they dream of such a thing; they are going as presents to his Majesty, -and it will not be right to stop them or delay their journey.” - -“Gentle sir,” replied Don Quixote, “you go and mind your tame partridge -and your bold ferret, and leave everyone to manage his own business; -this is mine, and I know whether these gentlemen the lions come to me -or not;” and then turning to the keeper he exclaimed, “By all that’s -good, sir scoundrel, if you don’t open the cages this very instant, -I’ll pin you to the cart with this lance.” - -The carter, seeing the determination of this apparition in armour, said -to him, “Please your worship, for charity’s sake, señor, let me unyoke -the mules and place myself in safety along with them before the lions -are turned out; for if they kill them on me I am ruined for life, for -all I possess is this cart and mules.” - -“O man of little faith,” replied Don Quixote, “get down and unyoke; you -will soon see that you are exerting yourself for nothing, and that you -might have spared yourself the trouble.” - -The carter got down and with all speed unyoked the mules, and the -keeper called out at the top of his voice, “I call all here to witness -that against my will and under compulsion I open the cages and let the -lions loose, and that I warn this gentleman that he will be accountable -for all the harm and mischief which these beasts may do, and for my -salary and dues as well. You, gentlemen, place yourselves in safety -before I open, for I know they will do me no harm.” - -Once more the gentleman strove to persuade Don Quixote not to do such a -mad thing, as it was tempting God to engage in such a piece of folly. -To this, Don Quixote replied that he knew what he was about. The -gentleman in return entreated him to reflect, for he knew he was under -a delusion. - -“Well, señor,” answered Don Quixote, “if you do not like to be a -spectator of this tragedy, as in your opinion it will be, spur your -flea-bitten mare, and place yourself in safety.” - -Hearing this, Sancho with tears in his eyes entreated him to give up an -enterprise compared with which the one of the windmills, and the awful -one of the fulling mills, and, in fact, all the feats he had attempted -in the whole course of his life, were cakes and fancy bread. “Look ye, -señor,” said Sancho, “there’s no enchantment here, nor anything of the -sort, for between the bars and chinks of the cage I have seen the paw -of a real lion, and judging by that I reckon the lion such a paw could -belong to must be bigger than a mountain.” - -“Fear at any rate,” replied Don Quixote, “will make him look bigger to -thee than half the world. Retire, Sancho, and leave me; and if I die -here thou knowest our old compact; thou wilt repair to Dulcinea—I say -no more.” To these he added some further words that banished all hope -of his giving up his insane project. He of the green gaban would have -offered resistance, but he found himself ill-matched as to arms, and -did not think it prudent to come to blows with a madman, for such Don -Quixote now showed himself to be in every respect; and the latter, -renewing his commands to the keeper and repeating his threats, gave -warning to the gentleman to spur his mare, Sancho his Dapple, and the -carter his mules, all striving to get away from the cart as far as they -could before the lions broke loose. Sancho was weeping over his -master’s death, for this time he firmly believed it was in store for -him from the claws of the lions; and he cursed his fate and called it -an unlucky hour when he thought of taking service with him again; but -with all his tears and lamentations he did not forget to thrash Dapple -so as to put a good space between himself and the cart. The keeper, -seeing that the fugitives were now some distance off, once more -entreated and warned him as before; but he replied that he heard him, -and that he need not trouble himself with any further warnings or -entreaties, as they would be fruitless, and bade him make haste. - -During the delay that occurred while the keeper was opening the first -cage, Don Quixote was considering whether it would not be well to do -battle on foot, instead of on horseback, and finally resolved to fight -on foot, fearing that Rocinante might take fright at the sight of the -lions; he therefore sprang off his horse, flung his lance aside, braced -his buckler on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with -marvellous intrepidity and resolute courage, to plant himself in front -of the cart, commending himself with all his heart to God and to his -lady Dulcinea. - -It is to be observed, that on coming to this passage, the author of -this veracious history breaks out into exclamations. “O doughty Don -Quixote! high-mettled past extolling! Mirror, wherein all the heroes of -the world may see themselves! Second modern Don Manuel de Leon, once -the glory and honour of Spanish knighthood! In what words shall I -describe this dread exploit, by what language shall I make it credible -to ages to come, what eulogies are there unmeet for thee, though they -be hyperboles piled on hyperboles! On foot, alone, undaunted, -high-souled, with but a simple sword, and that no trenchant blade of -the Perrillo brand, a shield, but no bright polished steel one, there -stoodst thou, biding and awaiting the two fiercest lions that Africa’s -forests ever bred! Thy own deeds be thy praise, valiant Manchegan, and -here I leave them as they stand, wanting the words wherewith to glorify -them!” - -Here the author’s outburst came to an end, and he proceeded to take up -the thread of his story, saying that the keeper, seeing that Don -Quixote had taken up his position, and that it was impossible for him -to avoid letting out the male without incurring the enmity of the fiery -and daring knight, flung open the doors of the first cage, containing, -as has been said, the lion, which was now seen to be of enormous size, -and grim and hideous mien. The first thing he did was to turn round in -the cage in which he lay, and protrude his claws, and stretch himself -thoroughly; he next opened his mouth, and yawned very leisurely, and -with near two palms’ length of tongue that he had thrust forth, he -licked the dust out of his eyes and washed his face; having done this, -he put his head out of the cage and looked all round with eyes like -glowing coals, a spectacle and demeanour to strike terror into temerity -itself. Don Quixote merely observed him steadily, longing for him to -leap from the cart and come to close quarters with him, when he hoped -to hew him in pieces. - -So far did his unparalleled madness go; but the noble lion, more -courteous than arrogant, not troubling himself about silly bravado, -after having looked all round, as has been said, turned about and -presented his hind-quarters to Don Quixote, and very coolly and -tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this, Don Quixote ordered -the keeper to take a stick to him and provoke him to make him come out. - -“That I won’t,” said the keeper; “for if I anger him, the first he’ll -tear in pieces will be myself. Be satisfied, sir knight, with what you -have done, which leaves nothing more to be said on the score of -courage, and do not seek to tempt fortune a second time. The lion has -the door open; he is free to come out or not to come out; but as he has -not come out so far, he will not come out to-day. Your worship’s great -courage has been fully manifested already; no brave champion, so it -strikes me, is bound to do more than challenge his enemy and wait for -him on the field; if his adversary does not come, on him lies the -disgrace, and he who waits for him carries off the crown of victory.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “close the door, my friend, and let -me have, in the best form thou canst, what thou hast seen me do, by way -of certificate; to wit, that thou didst open for the lion, that I -waited for him, that he did not come out, that I still waited for him, -and that still he did not come out, and lay down again. I am not bound -to do more; enchantments avaunt, and God uphold the right, the truth, -and true chivalry! Close the door as I bade thee, while I make signals -to the fugitives that have left us, that they may learn this exploit -from thy lips.” - -The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing on the point of his lance -the cloth he had wiped his face with after the deluge of curds, -proceeded to recall the others, who still continued to fly, looking -back at every step, all in a body, the gentleman bringing up the rear. -Sancho, however, happening to observe the signal of the white cloth, -exclaimed, “May I die, if my master has not overcome the wild beasts, -for he is calling to us.” - -They all stopped, and perceived that it was Don Quixote who was making -signals, and shaking off their fears to some extent, they approached -slowly until they were near enough to hear distinctly Don Quixote’s -voice calling to them. They returned at length to the cart, and as they -came up, Don Quixote said to the carter, “Put your mules to once more, -brother, and continue your journey; and do thou, Sancho, give him two -gold crowns for himself and the keeper, to compensate for the delay -they have incurred through me.” - -“That will I give with all my heart,” said Sancho; “but what has become -of the lions? Are they dead or alive?” - -The keeper, then, in full detail, and bit by bit, described the end of -the contest, exalting to the best of his power and ability the valour -of Don Quixote, at the sight of whom the lion quailed, and would not -and dared not come out of the cage, although he had held the door open -ever so long; and showing how, in consequence of his having represented -to the knight that it was tempting God to provoke the lion in order to -force him out, which he wished to have done, he very reluctantly, and -altogether against his will, had allowed the door to be closed. - -“What dost thou think of this, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “Are there -any enchantments that can prevail against true valour? The enchanters -may be able to rob me of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage -they cannot.” - -Sancho paid the crowns, the carter put to, the keeper kissed Don -Quixote’s hands for the bounty bestowed upon him, and promised to give -an account of the valiant exploit to the King himself, as soon as he -saw him at court. - -“Then,” said Don Quixote, “if his Majesty should happen to ask who -performed it, you must say THE KNIGHT OF THE LIONS; for it is my desire -that into this the name I have hitherto borne of Knight of the Rueful -Countenance be from this time forward changed, altered, transformed, -and turned; and in this I follow the ancient usage of knights-errant, -who changed their names when they pleased, or when it suited their -purpose.” - -The cart went its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and he of the green -gaban went theirs. All this time, Don Diego de Miranda had not spoken a -word, being entirely taken up with observing and noting all that Don -Quixote did and said, and the opinion he formed was that he was a man -of brains gone mad, and a madman on the verge of rationality. The first -part of his history had not yet reached him, for, had he read it, the -amazement with which his words and deeds filled him would have -vanished, as he would then have understood the nature of his madness; -but knowing nothing of it, he took him to be rational one moment, and -crazy the next, for what he said was sensible, elegant, and well -expressed, and what he did, absurd, rash, and foolish; and said he to -himself, “What could be madder than putting on a helmet full of curds, -and then persuading oneself that enchanters are softening one’s skull; -or what could be greater rashness and folly than wanting to fight lions -tooth and nail?” - -Don Quixote roused him from these reflections and this soliloquy by -saying, “No doubt, Señor Don Diego de Miranda, you set me down in your -mind as a fool and a madman, and it would be no wonder if you did, for -my deeds do not argue anything else. But for all that, I would have you -take notice that I am neither so mad nor so foolish as I must have -seemed to you. A gallant knight shows to advantage bringing his lance -to bear adroitly upon a fierce bull under the eyes of his sovereign, in -the midst of a spacious plaza; a knight shows to advantage arrayed in -glittering armour, pacing the lists before the ladies in some joyous -tournament, and all those knights show to advantage that entertain, -divert, and, if we may say so, honour the courts of their princes by -warlike exercises, or what resemble them; but to greater advantage than -all these does a knight-errant show when he traverses deserts, -solitudes, cross-roads, forests, and mountains, in quest of perilous -adventures, bent on bringing them to a happy and successful issue, all -to win a glorious and lasting renown. To greater advantage, I maintain, -does the knight-errant show bringing aid to some widow in some lonely -waste, than the court knight dallying with some city damsel. All -knights have their own special parts to play; let the courtier devote -himself to the ladies, let him add lustre to his sovereign’s court by -his liveries, let him entertain poor gentlemen with the sumptuous fare -of his table, let him arrange joustings, marshal tournaments, and prove -himself noble, generous, and magnificent, and above all a good -Christian, and so doing he will fulfil the duties that are especially -his; but let the knight-errant explore the corners of the earth and -penetrate the most intricate labyrinths, at each step let him attempt -impossibilities, on desolate heaths let him endure the burning rays of -the midsummer sun, and the bitter inclemency of the winter winds and -frosts; let no lions daunt him, no monsters terrify him, no dragons -make him quail; for to seek these, to attack those, and to vanquish -all, are in truth his main duties. I, then, as it has fallen to my lot -to be a member of knight-errantry, cannot avoid attempting all that to -me seems to come within the sphere of my duties; thus it was my bounden -duty to attack those lions that I just now attacked, although I knew it -to be the height of rashness; for I know well what valour is, that it -is a virtue that occupies a place between two vicious extremes, -cowardice and temerity; but it will be a lesser evil for him who is -valiant to rise till he reaches the point of rashness, than to sink -until he reaches the point of cowardice; for, as it is easier for the -prodigal than for the miser to become generous, so it is easier for a -rash man to prove truly valiant than for a coward to rise to true -valour; and believe me, Señor Don Diego, in attempting adventures it is -better to lose by a card too many than by a card too few; for to hear -it said, ‘such a knight is rash and daring,’ sounds better than ‘such a -knight is timid and cowardly.’” - -“I protest, Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Diego, “everything you have -said and done is proved correct by the test of reason itself; and I -believe, if the laws and ordinances of knight-errantry should be lost, -they might be found in your worship’s breast as in their own proper -depository and muniment-house; but let us make haste, and reach my -village, where you shall take rest after your late exertions; for if -they have not been of the body they have been of the spirit, and these -sometimes tend to produce bodily fatigue.” - -“I take the invitation as a great favour and honour, Señor Don Diego,” -replied Don Quixote; and pressing forward at a better pace than before, -at about two in the afternoon they reached the village and house of Don -Diego, or, as Don Quixote called him, “The Knight of the Green Gaban.” - -CHAPTER XVIII. -OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE OR HOUSE OF THE KNIGHT OF -THE GREEN GABAN, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS OUT OF THE COMMON - -Don Quixote found Don Diego de Miranda’s house built in village style, -with his arms in rough stone over the street door; in the patio was the -store-room, and at the entrance the cellar, with plenty of wine-jars -standing round, which, coming from El Toboso, brought back to his -memory his enchanted and transformed Dulcinea; and with a sigh, and not -thinking of what he was saying, or in whose presence he was, he -exclaimed- - -“O ye sweet treasures, to my sorrow found! -Once sweet and welcome when ’twas heaven’s good-will. - -“O ye Tobosan jars, how ye bring back to my memory the -sweet object of my bitter regrets!” - -The student poet, Don Diego’s son, who had come out with his mother to -receive him, heard this exclamation, and both mother and son were -filled with amazement at the extraordinary figure he presented; he, -however, dismounting from Rocinante, advanced with great politeness to -ask permission to kiss the lady’s hand, while Don Diego said, “Señora, -pray receive with your wonted kindness Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, -whom you see before you, a knight-errant, and the bravest and wisest in -the world.” - -The lady, whose name was Doña Christina, received him with every sign -of good-will and great courtesy, and Don Quixote placed himself at her -service with an abundance of well-chosen and polished phrases. Almost -the same civilities were exchanged between him and the student, who -listening to Don Quixote, took him to be a sensible, clear-headed -person. - -Here the author describes minutely everything belonging to Don Diego’s -mansion, putting before us in his picture the whole contents of a rich -gentleman-farmer’s house; but the translator of the history thought it -best to pass over these and other details of the same sort in silence, -as they are not in harmony with the main purpose of the story, the -strong point of which is truth rather than dull digressions. - -They led Don Quixote into a room, and Sancho removed his armour, -leaving him in loose Walloon breeches and chamois-leather doublet, all -stained with the rust of his armour; his collar was a falling one of -scholastic cut, without starch or lace, his buskins buff-coloured, and -his shoes polished. He wore his good sword, which hung in a baldric of -sea-wolf’s skin, for he had suffered for many years, they say, from an -ailment of the kidneys; and over all he threw a long cloak of good grey -cloth. But first of all, with five or six buckets of water (for as -regard the number of buckets there is some dispute), he washed his head -and face, and still the water remained whey-coloured, thanks to -Sancho’s greediness and purchase of those unlucky curds that turned his -master so white. Thus arrayed, and with an easy, sprightly, and gallant -air, Don Quixote passed out into another room, where the student was -waiting to entertain him while the table was being laid; for on the -arrival of so distinguished a guest, Doña Christina was anxious to show -that she knew how and was able to give a becoming reception to those -who came to her house. - -While Don Quixote was taking off his armour, Don Lorenzo (for so Don -Diego’s son was called) took the opportunity to say to his father, -“What are we to make of this gentleman you have brought home to us, -sir? For his name, his appearance, and your describing him as a -knight-errant have completely puzzled my mother and me.” - -“I don’t know what to say, my son,” replied. Don Diego; “all I can tell -thee is that I have seen him act the acts of the greatest madman in the -world, and heard him make observations so sensible that they efface and -undo all he does; do thou talk to him and feel the pulse of his wits, -and as thou art shrewd, form the most reasonable conclusion thou canst -as to his wisdom or folly; though, to tell the truth, I am more -inclined to take him to be mad than sane.” - -With this Don Lorenzo went away to entertain Don Quixote as has been -said, and in the course of the conversation that passed between them -Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, “Your father, Señor Don Diego de -Miranda, has told me of the rare abilities and subtle intellect you -possess, and, above all, that you are a great poet.” - -“A poet, it may be,” replied Don Lorenzo, “but a great one, by no -means. It is true that I am somewhat given to poetry and to reading -good poets, but not so much so as to justify the title of ‘great’ which -my father gives me.” - -“I do not dislike that modesty,” said Don Quixote; “for there is no -poet who is not conceited and does not think he is the best poet in the -world.” - -“There is no rule without an exception,” said Don Lorenzo; “there may -be some who are poets and yet do not think they are.” - -“Very few,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, what verses are those which -you have now in hand, and which your father tells me keep you somewhat -restless and absorbed? If it be some gloss, I know something about -glosses, and I should like to hear them; and if they are for a poetical -tournament, contrive to carry off the second prize; for the first -always goes by favour or personal standing, the second by simple -justice; and so the third comes to be the second, and the first, -reckoning in this way, will be third, in the same way as licentiate -degrees are conferred at the universities; but, for all that, the title -of first is a great distinction.” - -“So far,” said Don Lorenzo to himself, “I should not take you to be a -madman; but let us go on.” So he said to him, “Your worship has -apparently attended the schools; what sciences have you studied?” - -“That of knight-errantry,” said Don Quixote, “which is as good as that -of poetry, and even a finger or two above it.” - -“I do not know what science that is,” said Don Lorenzo, “and until now -I have never heard of it.” - -“It is a science,” said Don Quixote, “that comprehends in itself all or -most of the sciences in the world, for he who professes it must be a -jurist, and must know the rules of justice, distributive and equitable, -so as to give to each one what belongs to him and is due to him. He -must be a theologian, so as to be able to give a clear and distinctive -reason for the Christian faith he professes, wherever it may be asked -of him. He must be a physician, and above all a herbalist, so as in -wastes and solitudes to know the herbs that have the property of -healing wounds, for a knight-errant must not go looking for someone to -cure him at every step. He must be an astronomer, so as to know by the -stars how many hours of the night have passed, and what clime and -quarter of the world he is in. He must know mathematics, for at every -turn some occasion for them will present itself to him; and, putting it -aside that he must be adorned with all the virtues, cardinal and -theological, to come down to minor particulars, he must, I say, be able -to swim as well as Nicholas or Nicolao the Fish could, as the story -goes; he must know how to shoe a horse, and repair his saddle and -bridle; and, to return to higher matters, he must be faithful to God -and to his lady; he must be pure in thought, decorous in words, -generous in works, valiant in deeds, patient in suffering, -compassionate towards the needy, and, lastly, an upholder of the truth -though its defence should cost him his life. Of all these qualities, -great and small, is a true knight-errant made up; judge then, Señor Don -Lorenzo, whether it be a contemptible science which the knight who -studies and professes it has to learn, and whether it may not compare -with the very loftiest that are taught in the schools.” - -“If that be so,” replied Don Lorenzo, “this science, I protest, -surpasses all.” - -“How, if that be so?” said Don Quixote. - -“What I mean to say,” said Don Lorenzo, “is, that I doubt whether there -are now, or ever were, any knights-errant, and adorned with such -virtues.” - -“Many a time,” replied Don Quixote, “have I said what I now say once -more, that the majority of the world are of opinion that there never -were any knights-errant in it; and as it is my opinion that, unless -heaven by some miracle brings home to them the truth that there were -and are, all the pains one takes will be in vain (as experience has -often proved to me), I will not now stop to disabuse you of the error -you share with the multitude. All I shall do is to pray to heaven to -deliver you from it, and show you how beneficial and necessary -knights-errant were in days of yore, and how useful they would be in -these days were they but in vogue; but now, for the sins of the people, -sloth and indolence, gluttony and luxury are triumphant.” - -“Our guest has broken out on our hands,” said Don Lorenzo to himself at -this point; “but, for all that, he is a glorious madman, and I should -be a dull blockhead to doubt it.” - -Here, being summoned to dinner, they brought their colloquy to a close. -Don Diego asked his son what he had been able to make out as to the -wits of their guest. To which he replied, “All the doctors and clever -scribes in the world will not make sense of the scrawl of his madness; -he is a madman full of streaks, full of lucid intervals.” - -They went in to dinner, and the repast was such as Don Diego said on -the road he was in the habit of giving to his guests, neat, plentiful, -and tasty; but what pleased Don Quixote most was the marvellous silence -that reigned throughout the house, for it was like a Carthusian -monastery. - -When the cloth had been removed, grace said and their hands washed, Don -Quixote earnestly pressed Don Lorenzo to repeat to him his verses for -the poetical tournament, to which he replied, “Not to be like those -poets who, when they are asked to recite their verses, refuse, and when -they are not asked for them vomit them up, I will repeat my gloss, for -which I do not expect any prize, having composed it merely as an -exercise of ingenuity.” - -“A discerning friend of mine,” said Don Quixote, “was of opinion that -no one ought to waste labour in glossing verses; and the reason he gave -was that the gloss can never come up to the text, and that often or -most frequently it wanders away from the meaning and purpose aimed at -in the glossed lines; and besides, that the laws of the gloss were too -strict, as they did not allow interrogations, nor ‘said he,’ nor ‘I -say,’ nor turning verbs into nouns, or altering the construction, not -to speak of other restrictions and limitations that fetter -gloss-writers, as you no doubt know.” - -“Verily, Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Lorenzo, “I wish I could catch -your worship tripping at a stretch, but I cannot, for you slip through -my fingers like an eel.” - -“I don’t understand what you say, or mean by slipping,” said Don -Quixote. - -“I will explain myself another time,” said Don Lorenzo; “for the -present pray attend to the glossed verses and the gloss, which run -thus: - -Could ‘was’ become an ‘is’ for me, -Then would I ask no more than this; -Or could, for me, the time that is -Become the time that is to be!— - -GLOSS - -Dame Fortune once upon a day -To me was bountiful and kind; -But all things change; she changed her mind, -And what she gave she took away. -O Fortune, long I’ve sued to thee; -The gifts thou gavest me restore, -For, trust me, I would ask no more, -Could ‘was’ become an ‘is’ for me. - -No other prize I seek to gain, -No triumph, glory, or success, -Only the long-lost happiness, -The memory whereof is pain. -One taste, methinks, of bygone bliss -The heart-consuming fire might stay; -And, so it come without delay, -Then would I ask no more than this. - -I ask what cannot be, alas! -That time should ever be, and then -Come back to us, and be again, -No power on earth can bring to pass; -For fleet of foot is he, I wis, -And idly, therefore, do we pray -That what for aye hath left us may -Become for us the time that is. - -Perplexed, uncertain, to remain -’Twixt hope and fear, is death, not life; -’Twere better, sure, to end the strife, -And dying, seek release from pain. -And yet, thought were the best for me. -Anon the thought aside I fling, -And to the present fondly cling, -And dread the time that is to be.” - -When Don Lorenzo had finished reciting his gloss, Don Quixote stood up, -and in a loud voice, almost a shout, exclaimed as he grasped Don -Lorenzo’s right hand in his, “By the highest heavens, noble youth, but -you are the best poet on earth, and deserve to be crowned with laurel, -not by Cyprus or by Gaeta—as a certain poet, God forgive him, said—but -by the Academies of Athens, if they still flourished, and by those that -flourish now, Paris, Bologna, Salamanca. Heaven grant that the judges -who rob you of the first prize—that Phœbus may pierce them with his -arrows, and the Muses never cross the thresholds of their doors. Repeat -me some of your long-measure verses, señor, if you will be so good, for -I want thoroughly to feel the pulse of your rare genius.” - -Is there any need to say that Don Lorenzo enjoyed hearing himself -praised by Don Quixote, albeit he looked upon him as a madman? power of -flattery, how far-reaching art thou, and how wide are the bounds of thy -pleasant jurisdiction! Don Lorenzo gave a proof of it, for he complied -with Don Quixote’s request and entreaty, and repeated to him this -sonnet on the fable or story of Pyramus and Thisbe. - -SONNET - -The lovely maid, she pierces now the wall; -Heart-pierced by her young Pyramus doth lie; -And Love spreads wing from Cyprus isle to fly, -A chink to view so wondrous great and small. -There silence speaketh, for no voice at all -Can pass so strait a strait; but love will ply -Where to all other power ’twere vain to try; -For love will find a way whate’er befall. -Impatient of delay, with reckless pace -The rash maid wins the fatal spot where she -Sinks not in lover’s arms but death’s embrace. -So runs the strange tale, how the lovers twain -One sword, one sepulchre, one memory, -Slays, and entombs, and brings to life again. - -“Blessed be God,” said Don Quixote when he had heard Don Lorenzo’s -sonnet, “that among the hosts there are of irritable poets I have found -one consummate one, which, señor, the art of this sonnet proves to me -that you are!” - -For four days was Don Quixote most sumptuously entertained in Don -Diego’s house, at the end of which time he asked his permission to -depart, telling him he thanked him for the kindness and hospitality he -had received in his house, but that, as it did not become -knights-errant to give themselves up for long to idleness and luxury, -he was anxious to fulfill the duties of his calling in seeking -adventures, of which he was informed there was an abundance in that -neighbourhood, where he hoped to employ his time until the day came -round for the jousts at Saragossa, for that was his proper destination; -and that, first of all, he meant to enter the cave of Montesinos, of -which so many marvellous things were reported all through the country, -and at the same time to investigate and explore the origin and true -source of the seven lakes commonly called the lakes of Ruidera. - -Don Diego and his son commended his laudable resolution, and bade him -furnish himself with all he wanted from their house and belongings, as -they would most gladly be of service to him; which, indeed, his -personal worth and his honourable profession made incumbent upon them. - -The day of his departure came at length, as welcome to Don Quixote as -it was sad and sorrowful to Sancho Panza, who was very well satisfied -with the abundance of Don Diego’s house, and objected to return to the -starvation of the woods and wilds and the short-commons of his -ill-stocked alforjas; these, however, he filled and packed with what he -considered needful. On taking leave, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, -“I know not whether I have told you already, but if I have I tell you -once more, that if you wish to spare yourself fatigue and toil in -reaching the inaccessible summit of the temple of fame, you have -nothing to do but to turn aside out of the somewhat narrow path of -poetry and take the still narrower one of knight-errantry, wide enough, -however, to make you an emperor in the twinkling of an eye.” - -In this speech Don Quixote wound up the evidence of his madness, but -still better in what he added when he said, “God knows, I would gladly -take Don Lorenzo with me to teach him how to spare the humble, and -trample the proud under foot, virtues that are part and parcel of the -profession I belong to; but since his tender age does not allow of it, -nor his praiseworthy pursuits permit it, I will simply content myself -with impressing it upon your worship that you will become famous as a -poet if you are guided by the opinion of others rather than by your -own; because no fathers or mothers ever think their own children -ill-favoured, and this sort of deception prevails still more strongly -in the case of the children of the brain.” - -Both father and son were amazed afresh at the strange medley Don -Quixote talked, at one moment sense, at another nonsense, and at the -pertinacity and persistence he displayed in going through thick and -thin in quest of his unlucky adventures, which he made the end and aim -of his desires. There was a renewal of offers of service and -civilities, and then, with the gracious permission of the lady of the -castle, they took their departure, Don Quixote on Rocinante, and Sancho -on Dapple. - -CHAPTER XIX. -IN WHICH IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD, TOGETHER -WITH OTHER TRULY DROLL INCIDENTS - -Don Quixote had gone but a short distance beyond Don Diego’s village, -when he fell in with a couple of either priests or students, and a -couple of peasants, mounted on four beasts of the ass kind. One of the -students carried, wrapped up in a piece of green buckram by way of a -portmanteau, what seemed to be a little linen and a couple of pairs of -ribbed stockings; the other carried nothing but a pair of new -fencing-foils with buttons. The peasants carried divers articles that -showed they were on their way from some large town where they had -bought them, and were taking them home to their village; and both -students and peasants were struck with the same amazement that -everybody felt who saw Don Quixote for the first time, and were dying -to know who this man, so different from ordinary men, could be. Don -Quixote saluted them, and after ascertaining that their road was the -same as his, made them an offer of his company, and begged them to -slacken their pace, as their young asses travelled faster than his -horse; and then, to gratify them, he told them in a few words who he -was and the calling and profession he followed, which was that of a -knight-errant seeking adventures in all parts of the world. He informed -them that his own name was Don Quixote of La Mancha, and that he was -called, by way of surname, the Knight of the Lions. - -All this was Greek or gibberish to the peasants, but not so to the -students, who very soon perceived the crack in Don Quixote’s pate; for -all that, however, they regarded him with admiration and respect, and -one of them said to him, “If you, sir knight, have no fixed road, as it -is the way with those who seek adventures not to have any, let your -worship come with us; you will see one of the finest and richest -weddings that up to this day have ever been celebrated in La Mancha, or -for many a league round.” - -Don Quixote asked him if it was some prince’s, that he spoke of it in -this way. “Not at all,” said the student; “it is the wedding of a -farmer and a farmer’s daughter, he the richest in all this country, and -she the fairest mortal ever set eyes on. The display with which it is -to be attended will be something rare and out of the common, for it -will be celebrated in a meadow adjoining the town of the bride, who is -called, _par excellence_, Quiteria the fair, as the bridegroom is -called Camacho the rich. She is eighteen, and he twenty-two, and they -are fairly matched, though some knowing ones, who have all the -pedigrees in the world by heart, will have it that the family of the -fair Quiteria is better than Camacho’s; but no one minds that -now-a-days, for wealth can solder a great many flaws. At any rate, -Camacho is free-handed, and it is his fancy to screen the whole meadow -with boughs and cover it in overhead, so that the sun will have hard -work if he tries to get in to reach the grass that covers the soil. He -has provided dancers too, not only sword but also bell-dancers, for in -his own town there are those who ring the changes and jingle the bells -to perfection; of shoe-dancers I say nothing, for of them he has -engaged a host. But none of these things, nor of the many others I have -omitted to mention, will do more to make this a memorable wedding than -the part which I suspect the despairing Basilio will play in it. This -Basilio is a youth of the same village as Quiteria, and he lived in the -house next door to that of her parents, of which circumstance Love took -advantage to reproduce to the word the long-forgotten loves of Pyramus -and Thisbe; for Basilio loved Quiteria from his earliest years, and she -responded to his passion with countless modest proofs of affection, so -that the loves of the two children, Basilio and Quiteria, were the talk -and the amusement of the town. As they grew up, the father of Quiteria -made up his mind to refuse Basilio his wonted freedom of access to the -house, and to relieve himself of constant doubts and suspicions, he -arranged a match for his daughter with the rich Camacho, as he did not -approve of marrying her to Basilio, who had not so large a share of the -gifts of fortune as of nature; for if the truth be told ungrudgingly, -he is the most agile youth we know, a mighty thrower of the bar, a -first-rate wrestler, and a great ball-player; he runs like a deer, and -leaps better than a goat, bowls over the nine-pins as if by magic, -sings like a lark, plays the guitar so as to make it speak, and, above -all, handles a sword as well as the best.” - -“For that excellence alone,” said Don Quixote at this, “the youth -deserves to marry, not merely the fair Quiteria, but Queen Guinevere -herself, were she alive now, in spite of Launcelot and all who would -try to prevent it.” - -“Say that to my wife,” said Sancho, who had until now listened in -silence, “for she won’t hear of anything but each one marrying his -equal, holding with the proverb ‘each ewe to her like.’ What I would -like is that this good Basilio (for I am beginning to take a fancy to -him already) should marry this lady Quiteria; and a blessing and good -luck—I meant to say the opposite—on people who would prevent those who -love one another from marrying.” - -“If all those who love one another were to marry,” said Don Quixote, -“it would deprive parents of the right to choose, and marry their -children to the proper person and at the proper time; and if it was -left to daughters to choose husbands as they pleased, one would be for -choosing her father’s servant, and another, someone she has seen -passing in the street and fancies gallant and dashing, though he may be -a drunken bully; for love and fancy easily blind the eyes of the -judgment, so much wanted in choosing one’s way of life; and the -matrimonial choice is very liable to error, and it needs great caution -and the special favour of heaven to make it a good one. He who has to -make a long journey, will, if he is wise, look out for some trusty and -pleasant companion to accompany him before he sets out. Why, then, -should not he do the same who has to make the whole journey of life -down to the final halting-place of death, more especially when the -companion has to be his companion in bed, at board, and everywhere, as -the wife is to her husband? The companionship of one’s wife is no -article of merchandise, that, after it has been bought, may be -returned, or bartered, or changed; for it is an inseparable accident -that lasts as long as life lasts; it is a noose that, once you put it -round your neck, turns into a Gordian knot, which, if the scythe of -Death does not cut it, there is no untying. I could say a great deal -more on this subject, were I not prevented by the anxiety I feel to -know if the señor licentiate has anything more to tell about the story -of Basilio.” - -To this the student, bachelor, or, as Don Quixote called him, -licentiate, replied, “I have nothing whatever to say further, but that -from the moment Basilio learned that the fair Quiteria was to be -married to Camacho the rich, he has never been seen to smile, or heard -to utter rational word, and he always goes about moody and dejected, -talking to himself in a way that shows plainly he is out of his senses. -He eats little and sleeps little, and all he eats is fruit, and when he -sleeps, if he sleeps at all, it is in the field on the hard earth like -a brute beast. Sometimes he gazes at the sky, at other times he fixes -his eyes on the earth in such an abstracted way that he might be taken -for a clothed statue, with its drapery stirred by the wind. In short, -he shows such signs of a heart crushed by suffering, that all we who -know him believe that when to-morrow the fair Quiteria says ‘yes,’ it -will be his sentence of death.” - -“God will guide it better,” said Sancho, “for God who gives the wound -gives the salve; nobody knows what will happen; there are a good many -hours between this and to-morrow, and any one of them, or any moment, -the house may fall; I have seen the rain coming down and the sun -shining all at one time; many a one goes to bed in good health who -can’t stir the next day. And tell me, is there anyone who can boast of -having driven a nail into the wheel of fortune? No, faith; and between -a woman’s ‘yes’ and ‘no’ I wouldn’t venture to put the point of a pin, -for there would not be room for it; if you tell me Quiteria loves -Basilio heart and soul, then I’ll give him a bag of good luck; for -love, I have heard say, looks through spectacles that make copper seem -gold, poverty wealth, and bleary eyes pearls.” - -“What art thou driving at, Sancho? curses on thee!” said Don Quixote; -“for when thou takest to stringing proverbs and sayings together, no -one can understand thee but Judas himself, and I wish he had thee. Tell -me, thou animal, what dost thou know about nails or wheels, or anything -else?” - -“Oh, if you don’t understand me,” replied Sancho, “it is no wonder my -words are taken for nonsense; but no matter; I understand myself, and I -know I have not said anything very foolish in what I have said; only -your worship, señor, is always gravelling at everything I say, nay, -everything I do.” - -“Cavilling, not gravelling,” said Don Quixote, “thou prevaricator of -honest language, God confound thee!” - -“Don’t find fault with me, your worship,” returned Sancho, “for you -know I have not been bred up at court or trained at Salamanca, to know -whether I am adding or dropping a letter or so in my words. Why! God -bless me, it’s not fair to force a Sayago-man to speak like a Toledan; -maybe there are Toledans who do not hit it off when it comes to -polished talk.” - -“That is true,” said the licentiate, “for those who have been bred up -in the Tanneries and the Zocodover cannot talk like those who are -almost all day pacing the cathedral cloisters, and yet they are all -Toledans. Pure, correct, elegant and lucid language will be met with in -men of courtly breeding and discrimination, though they may have been -born in Majalahonda; I say of discrimination, because there are many -who are not so, and discrimination is the grammar of good language, if -it be accompanied by practice. I, sirs, for my sins have studied canon -law at Salamanca, and I rather pique myself on expressing my meaning in -clear, plain, and intelligible language.” - -“If you did not pique yourself more on your dexterity with those foils -you carry than on dexterity of tongue,” said the other student, “you -would have been head of the degrees, where you are now tail.” - -“Look here, bachelor Corchuelo,” returned the licentiate, “you have the -most mistaken idea in the world about skill with the sword, if you -think it useless.” - -“It is no idea on my part, but an established truth,” replied -Corchuelo; “and if you wish me to prove it to you by experiment, you -have swords there, and it is a good opportunity; I have a steady hand -and a strong arm, and these joined with my resolution, which is not -small, will make you confess that I am not mistaken. Dismount and put -in practice your positions and circles and angles and science, for I -hope to make you see stars at noonday with my rude raw swordsmanship, -in which, next to God, I place my trust that the man is yet to be born -who will make me turn my back, and that there is not one in the world I -will not compel to give ground.” - -“As to whether you turn your back or not, I do not concern myself,” -replied the master of fence; “though it might be that your grave would -be dug on the spot where you planted your foot the first time; I mean -that you would be stretched dead there for despising skill with the -sword.” - -“We shall soon see,” replied Corchuelo, and getting off his ass -briskly, he drew out furiously one of the swords the licentiate carried -on his beast. - -“It must not be that way,” said Don Quixote at this point; “I will be -the director of this fencing match, and judge of this often disputed -question;” and dismounting from Rocinante and grasping his lance, he -planted himself in the middle of the road, just as the licentiate, with -an easy, graceful bearing and step, advanced towards Corchuelo, who -came on against him, darting fire from his eyes, as the saying is. The -other two of the company, the peasants, without dismounting from their -asses, served as spectators of the mortal tragedy. The cuts, thrusts, -down strokes, back strokes and doubles, that Corchuelo delivered were -past counting, and came thicker than hops or hail. He attacked like an -angry lion, but he was met by a tap on the mouth from the button of the -licentiate’s sword that checked him in the midst of his furious onset, -and made him kiss it as if it were a relic, though not as devoutly as -relics are and ought to be kissed. The end of it was that the -licentiate reckoned up for him by thrusts every one of the buttons of -the short cassock he wore, tore the skirts into strips, like the tails -of a cuttlefish, knocked off his hat twice, and so completely tired him -out, that in vexation, anger, and rage, he took the sword by the hilt -and flung it away with such force, that one of the peasants that were -there, who was a notary, and who went for it, made an affidavit -afterwards that he sent it nearly three-quarters of a league, which -testimony will serve, and has served, to show and establish with all -certainty that strength is overcome by skill. - -Corchuelo sat down wearied, and Sancho approaching him said, “By my -faith, señor bachelor, if your worship takes my advice, you will never -challenge anyone to fence again, only to wrestle and throw the bar, for -you have the youth and strength for that; but as for these fencers as -they call them, I have heard say they can put the point of a sword -through the eye of a needle.” - -“I am satisfied with having tumbled off my donkey,” said Corchuelo, -“and with having had the truth I was so ignorant of proved to me by -experience;” and getting up he embraced the licentiate, and they were -better friends than ever; and not caring to wait for the notary who had -gone for the sword, as they saw he would be a long time about it, they -resolved to push on so as to reach the village of Quiteria, to which -they all belonged, in good time. - -During the remainder of the journey the licentiate held forth to them -on the excellences of the sword, with such conclusive arguments, and -such figures and mathematical proofs, that all were convinced of the -value of the science, and Corchuelo cured of his dogmatism. - -It grew dark; but before they reached the town it seemed to them all as -if there was a heaven full of countless glittering stars in front of -it. They heard, too, the pleasant mingled notes of a variety of -instruments, flutes, drums, psalteries, pipes, tabors, and timbrels, -and as they drew near they perceived that the trees of a leafy arcade -that had been constructed at the entrance of the town were filled with -lights unaffected by the wind, for the breeze at the time was so gentle -that it had not power to stir the leaves on the trees. The musicians -were the life of the wedding, wandering through the pleasant grounds in -separate bands, some dancing, others singing, others playing the -various instruments already mentioned. In short, it seemed as though -mirth and gaiety were frisking and gambolling all over the meadow. -Several other persons were engaged in erecting raised benches from -which people might conveniently see the plays and dances that were to -be performed the next day on the spot dedicated to the celebration of -the marriage of Camacho the rich and the obsequies of Basilio. Don -Quixote would not enter the village, although the peasant as well as -the bachelor pressed him; he excused himself, however, on the grounds, -amply sufficient in his opinion, that it was the custom of -knights-errant to sleep in the fields and woods in preference to towns, -even were it under gilded ceilings; and so turned aside a little out of -the road, very much against Sancho’s will, as the good quarters he had -enjoyed in the castle or house of Don Diego came back to his mind. - -CHAPTER XX. -WHEREIN AN ACCOUNT IS GIVEN OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO THE RICH, -TOGETHER WITH THE INCIDENT OF BASILIO THE POOR - -Scarce had the fair Aurora given bright Phœbus time to dry the liquid -pearls upon her golden locks with the heat of his fervent rays, when -Don Quixote, shaking off sloth from his limbs, sprang to his feet and -called to his squire Sancho, who was still snoring; seeing which Don -Quixote ere he roused him thus addressed him: “Happy thou, above all -the dwellers on the face of the earth, that, without envying or being -envied, sleepest with tranquil mind, and that neither enchanters -persecute nor enchantments affright. Sleep, I say, and will say a -hundred times, without any jealous thoughts of thy mistress to make -thee keep ceaseless vigils, or any cares as to how thou art to pay the -debts thou owest, or find to-morrow’s food for thyself and thy needy -little family, to interfere with thy repose. Ambition breaks not thy -rest, nor doth this world’s empty pomp disturb thee, for the utmost -reach of thy anxiety is to provide for thy ass, since upon my shoulders -thou hast laid the support of thyself, the counterpoise and burden that -nature and custom have imposed upon masters. The servant sleeps and the -master lies awake thinking how he is to feed him, advance him, and -reward him. The distress of seeing the sky turn brazen, and withhold -its needful moisture from the earth, is not felt by the servant but by -the master, who in time of scarcity and famine must support him who has -served him in times of plenty and abundance.” - -To all this Sancho made no reply because he was asleep, nor would he -have wakened up so soon as he did had not Don Quixote brought him to -his senses with the butt of his lance. He awoke at last, drowsy and -lazy, and casting his eyes about in every direction, observed, “There -comes, if I don’t mistake, from the quarter of that arcade a steam and -a smell a great deal more like fried rashers than galingale or thyme; a -wedding that begins with smells like that, by my faith, ought to be -plentiful and unstinting.” - -“Have done, thou glutton,” said Don Quixote; “come, let us go and -witness this bridal, and see what the rejected Basilio does.” - -“Let him do what he likes,” returned Sancho; “be he not poor, he would -marry Quiteria. To make a grand match for himself, and he without a -farthing; is there nothing else? Faith, señor, it’s my opinion the poor -man should be content with what he can get, and not go looking for -dainties in the bottom of the sea. I will bet my arm that Camacho could -bury Basilio in reals; and if that be so, as no doubt it is, what a -fool Quiteria would be to refuse the fine dresses and jewels Camacho -must have given her and will give her, and take Basilio’s bar-throwing -and sword-play. They won’t give a pint of wine at the tavern for a good -cast of the bar or a neat thrust of the sword. Talents and -accomplishments that can’t be turned into money, let Count Dirlos have -them; but when such gifts fall to one that has hard cash, I wish my -condition of life was as becoming as they are. On a good foundation you -can raise a good building, and the best foundation in the world is -money.” - -“For God’s sake, Sancho,” said Don Quixote here, “stop that harangue; -it is my belief, if thou wert allowed to continue all thou beginnest -every instant, thou wouldst have no time left for eating or sleeping; -for thou wouldst spend it all in talking.” - -“If your worship had a good memory,” replied Sancho, “you would -remember the articles of our agreement before we started from home this -last time; one of them was that I was to be let say all I liked, so -long as it was not against my neighbour or your worship’s authority; -and so far, it seems to me, I have not broken the said article.” - -“I remember no such article, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and even if it -were so, I desire you to hold your tongue and come along; for the -instruments we heard last night are already beginning to enliven the -valleys again, and no doubt the marriage will take place in the cool of -the morning, and not in the heat of the afternoon.” - -Sancho did as his master bade him, and putting the saddle on Rocinante -and the pack-saddle on Dapple, they both mounted and at a leisurely -pace entered the arcade. The first thing that presented itself to -Sancho’s eyes was a whole ox spitted on a whole elm tree, and in the -fire at which it was to be roasted there was burning a middling-sized -mountain of faggots, and six stewpots that stood round the blaze had -not been made in the ordinary mould of common pots, for they were six -half wine-jars, each fit to hold the contents of a slaughter-house; -they swallowed up whole sheep and hid them away in their insides -without showing any more sign of them than if they were pigeons. -Countless were the hares ready skinned and the plucked fowls that hung -on the trees for burial in the pots, numberless the wildfowl and game -of various sorts suspended from the branches that the air might keep -them cool. Sancho counted more than sixty wine skins of over six -gallons each, and all filled, as it proved afterwards, with generous -wines. There were, besides, piles of the whitest bread, like the heaps -of corn one sees on the threshing-floors. There was a wall made of -cheeses arranged like open brick-work, and two cauldrons full of oil, -bigger than those of a dyer’s shop, served for cooking fritters, which -when fried were taken out with two mighty shovels, and plunged into -another cauldron of prepared honey that stood close by. Of cooks and -cook-maids there were over fifty, all clean, brisk, and blithe. In the -capacious belly of the ox were a dozen soft little sucking-pigs, which, -sewn up there, served to give it tenderness and flavour. The spices of -different kinds did not seem to have been bought by the pound but by -the quarter, and all lay open to view in a great chest. In short, all -the preparations made for the wedding were in rustic style, but -abundant enough to feed an army. - -Sancho observed all, contemplated all, and everything won his heart. -The first to captivate and take his fancy were the pots, out of which -he would have very gladly helped himself to a moderate pipkinful; then -the wine skins secured his affections; and lastly, the produce of the -frying-pans, if, indeed, such imposing cauldrons may be called -frying-pans; and unable to control himself or bear it any longer, he -approached one of the busy cooks and civilly but hungrily begged -permission to soak a scrap of bread in one of the pots; to which the -cook made answer, “Brother, this is not a day on which hunger is to -have any sway, thanks to the rich Camacho; get down and look about for -a ladle and skim off a hen or two, and much good may they do you.” - -“I don’t see one,” said Sancho. - -“Wait a bit,” said the cook; “sinner that I am! how particular and -bashful you are!” and so saying, he seized a bucket and plunging it -into one of the half jars took up three hens and a couple of geese, and -said to Sancho, “Fall to, friend, and take the edge off your appetite -with these skimmings until dinner-time comes.” - -“I have nothing to put them in,” said Sancho. - -“Well then,” said the cook, “take spoon and all; for Camacho’s wealth -and happiness furnish everything.” - -While Sancho fared thus, Don Quixote was watching the entrance, at one -end of the arcade, of some twelve peasants, all in holiday and gala -dress, mounted on twelve beautiful mares with rich handsome field -trappings and a number of little bells attached to their petrals, who, -marshalled in regular order, ran not one but several courses over the -meadow, with jubilant shouts and cries of “Long live Camacho and -Quiteria! he as rich as she is fair; and she the fairest on earth!” - -Hearing this, Don Quixote said to himself, “It is easy to see these -folk have never seen my Dulcinea del Toboso; for if they had they would -be more moderate in their praises of this Quiteria of theirs.” - -Shortly after this, several bands of dancers of various sorts began to -enter the arcade at different points, and among them one of -sword-dancers composed of some four-and-twenty lads of gallant and -high-spirited mien, clad in the finest and whitest of linen, and with -handkerchiefs embroidered in various colours with fine silk; and one of -those on the mares asked an active youth who led them if any of the -dancers had been wounded. “As yet, thank God, no one has been wounded,” -said he, “we are all safe and sound;” and he at once began to execute -complicated figures with the rest of his comrades, with so many turns -and so great dexterity, that although Don Quixote was well used to see -dances of the same kind, he thought he had never seen any so good as -this. He also admired another that came in composed of fair young -maidens, none of whom seemed to be under fourteen or over eighteen -years of age, all clad in green stuff, with their locks partly braided, -partly flowing loose, but all of such bright gold as to vie with the -sunbeams, and over them they wore garlands of jessamine, roses, -amaranth, and honeysuckle. At their head were a venerable old man and -an ancient dame, more brisk and active, however, than might have been -expected from their years. The notes of a Zamora bagpipe accompanied -them, and with modesty in their countenances and in their eyes, and -lightness in their feet, they looked the best dancers in the world. - -Following these there came an artistic dance of the sort they call -“speaking dances.” It was composed of eight nymphs in two files, with -the god Cupid leading one and Interest the other, the former furnished -with wings, bow, quiver and arrows, the latter in a rich dress of gold -and silk of divers colours. The nymphs that followed Love bore their -names written on white parchment in large letters on their backs. -“Poetry” was the name of the first, “Wit” of the second, “Birth” of the -third, and “Valour” of the fourth. Those that followed Interest were -distinguished in the same way; the badge of the first announced -“Liberality,” that of the second “Largess,” the third “Treasure,” and -the fourth “Peaceful Possession.” In front of them all came a wooden -castle drawn by four wild men, all clad in ivy and hemp stained green, -and looking so natural that they nearly terrified Sancho. On the front -of the castle and on each of the four sides of its frame it bore the -inscription “Castle of Caution.” Four skillful tabor and flute players -accompanied them, and the dance having been opened, Cupid, after -executing two figures, raised his eyes and bent his bow against a -damsel who stood between the turrets of the castle, and thus addressed -her: - -I am the mighty God whose sway -Is potent over land and sea. -The heavens above us own me; nay, -The shades below acknowledge me. -I know not fear, I have my will, -Whate’er my whim or fancy be; -For me there’s no impossible, -I order, bind, forbid, set free. - -Having concluded the stanza he discharged an arrow at the top of the -castle, and went back to his place. Interest then came forward and went -through two more figures, and as soon as the tabors ceased, he said: - -But mightier than Love am I, -Though Love it be that leads me on, -Than mine no lineage is more high, -Or older, underneath the sun. -To use me rightly few know how, -To act without me fewer still, -For I am Interest, and I vow -For evermore to do thy will. - -Interest retired, and Poetry came forward, and when she had gone -through her figures like the others, fixing her eyes on the damsel of -the castle, she said: - -With many a fanciful conceit, -Fair Lady, winsome Poesy -Her soul, an offering at thy feet, -Presents in sonnets unto thee. -If thou my homage wilt not scorn, -Thy fortune, watched by envious eyes, -On wings of poesy upborne -Shall be exalted to the skies. - -Poetry withdrew, and on the side of Interest Liberality advanced, and -after having gone through her figures, said: - -To give, while shunning each extreme, -The sparing hand, the over-free, -Therein consists, so wise men deem, -The virtue Liberality. -But thee, fair lady, to enrich, -Myself a prodigal I’ll prove, -A vice not wholly shameful, which -May find its fair excuse in love. - -In the same manner all the characters of the two bands advanced and -retired, and each executed its figures, and delivered its verses, some -of them graceful, some burlesque, but Don Quixote’s memory (though he -had an excellent one) only carried away those that have been just -quoted. All then mingled together, forming chains and breaking off -again with graceful, unconstrained gaiety; and whenever Love passed in -front of the castle he shot his arrows up at it, while Interest broke -gilded pellets against it. At length, after they had danced a good -while, Interest drew out a great purse, made of the skin of a large -brindled cat and to all appearance full of money, and flung it at the -castle, and with the force of the blow the boards fell asunder and -tumbled down, leaving the damsel exposed and unprotected. Interest and -the characters of his band advanced, and throwing a great chain of gold -over her neck pretended to take her and lead her away captive, on -seeing which, Love and his supporters made as though they would release -her, the whole action being to the accompaniment of the tabors and in -the form of a regular dance. The wild men made peace between them, and -with great dexterity readjusted and fixed the boards of the castle, and -the damsel once more ensconced herself within; and with this the dance -wound up, to the great enjoyment of the beholders. - -Don Quixote asked one of the nymphs who it was that had composed and -arranged it. She replied that it was a beneficiary of the town who had -a nice taste in devising things of the sort. “I will lay a wager,” said -Don Quixote, “that the same bachelor or beneficiary is a greater friend -of Camacho’s than of Basilio’s, and that he is better at satire than at -vespers; he has introduced the accomplishments of Basilio and the -riches of Camacho very neatly into the dance.” Sancho Panza, who was -listening to all this, exclaimed, “The king is my cock; I stick to -Camacho.” “It is easy to see thou art a clown, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote, “and one of that sort that cry ‘Long life to the conqueror.’” - -“I don’t know of what sort I am,” returned Sancho, “but I know very -well I’ll never get such elegant skimmings off Basilio’s pots as these -I have got off Camacho’s;” and he showed him the bucketful of geese and -hens, and seizing one began to eat with great gaiety and appetite, -saying, “A fig for the accomplishments of Basilio! As much as thou hast -so much art thou worth, and as much as thou art worth so much hast -thou. As a grandmother of mine used to say, there are only two families -in the world, the Haves and the Haven’ts; and she stuck to the Haves; -and to this day, Señor Don Quixote, people would sooner feel the pulse -of ‘Have,’ than of ‘Know;’ an ass covered with gold looks better than a -horse with a pack-saddle. So once more I say I stick to Camacho, the -bountiful skimmings of whose pots are geese and hens, hares and -rabbits; but of Basilio’s, if any ever come to hand, or even to foot, -they’ll be only rinsings.” - -“Hast thou finished thy harangue, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “Of course -I have finished it,” replied Sancho, “because I see your worship takes -offence at it; but if it was not for that, there was work enough cut -out for three days.” - -“God grant I may see thee dumb before I die, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. - -“At the rate we are going,” said Sancho, “I’ll be chewing clay before -your worship dies; and then, maybe, I’ll be so dumb that I’ll not say a -word until the end of the world, or, at least, till the day of -judgment.” - -“Even should that happen, O Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thy silence -will never come up to all thou hast talked, art talking, and wilt talk -all thy life; moreover, it naturally stands to reason, that my death -will come before thine; so I never expect to see thee dumb, not even -when thou art drinking or sleeping, and that is the utmost I can say.” - -“In good faith, señor,” replied Sancho, “there’s no trusting that -fleshless one, I mean Death, who devours the lamb as soon as the sheep, -and, as I have heard our curate say, treads with equal foot upon the -lofty towers of kings and the lowly huts of the poor. That lady is more -mighty than dainty, she is in no way squeamish, she devours all and is -ready for all, and fills her alforjas with people of all sorts, ages, -and ranks. She is no reaper that sleeps out the noontide; at all times -she is reaping and cutting down, as well the dry grass as the green; -she never seems to chew, but bolts and swallows all that is put before -her, for she has a canine appetite that is never satisfied; and though -she has no belly, she shows she has a dropsy and is athirst to drink -the lives of all that live, as one would drink a jug of cold water.” - -“Say no more, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this; “don’t try to better -it, and risk a fall; for in truth what thou hast said about death in -thy rustic phrase is what a good preacher might have said. I tell thee, -Sancho, if thou hadst discretion equal to thy mother wit, thou mightst -take a pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching fine sermons.” -“He preaches well who lives well,” said Sancho, “and I know no more -theology than that.” - -“Nor needst thou,” said Don Quixote, “but I cannot conceive or make out -how it is that, the fear of God being the beginning of wisdom, thou, -who art more afraid of a lizard than of him, knowest so much.” - -“Pass judgment on your chivalries, señor,” returned Sancho, “and don’t -set yourself up to judge of other men’s fears or braveries, for I am as -good a fearer of God as my neighbours; but leave me to despatch these -skimmings, for all the rest is only idle talk that we shall be called -to account for in the other world;” and so saying, he began a fresh -attack on the bucket, with such a hearty appetite that he aroused Don -Quixote’s, who no doubt would have helped him had he not been prevented -by what must be told farther on. - -CHAPTER XXI. -IN WHICH CAMACHO’S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL -INCIDENTS - -While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the discussion set forth -the last chapter, they heard loud shouts and a great noise, which were -uttered and made by the men on the mares as they went at full gallop, -shouting, to receive the bride and bridegroom, who were approaching -with musical instruments and pageantry of all sorts around them, and -accompanied by the priest and the relatives of both, and all the most -distinguished people of the surrounding villages. When Sancho saw the -bride, he exclaimed, “By my faith, she is not dressed like a country -girl, but like some fine court lady; egad, as well as I can make out, -the patena she wears rich coral, and her green Cuenca stuff is -thirty-pile velvet; and then the white linen trimming—by my oath, but -it’s satin! Look at her hands—jet rings on them! May I never have luck -if they’re not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white -as a curdled milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one’s head! -Whoreson baggage, what hair she has! if it’s not a wig, I never saw -longer or fairer all the days of my life. See how bravely she bears -herself—and her shape! Wouldn’t you say she was like a walking palm -tree loaded with clusters of dates? for the trinkets she has hanging -from her hair and neck look just like them. I swear in my heart she is -a brave lass, and fit ‘to pass over the banks of Flanders.’” - -Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s boorish eulogies and thought that, -saving his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen a more beautiful -woman. The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat pale, which was, no doubt, -because of the bad night brides always pass dressing themselves out for -their wedding on the morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood -on one side of the meadow decked with carpets and boughs, where they -were to plight their troth, and from which they were to behold the -dances and plays; but at the moment of their arrival at the spot they -heard a loud outcry behind them, and a voice exclaiming, “Wait a -little, ye, as inconsiderate as ye are hasty!” At these words all -turned round, and perceived that the speaker was a man clad in what -seemed to be a loose black coat garnished with crimson patches like -flames. He was crowned (as was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy -cypress, and in his hand he held a long staff. As he approached he was -recognised by everyone as the gay Basilio, and all waited anxiously to -see what would come of his words, in dread of some catastrophe in -consequence of his appearance at such a moment. He came up at last -weary and breathless, and planting himself in front of the bridal pair, -drove his staff, which had a steel spike at the end, into the ground, -and, with a pale face and eyes fixed on Quiteria, he thus addressed her -in a hoarse, trembling voice: - -“Well dost thou know, ungrateful Quiteria, that according to the holy -law we acknowledge, so long as live thou canst take no husband; nor art -thou ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exertions -would improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe the respect -due to thy honour; but thou, casting behind thee all thou owest to my -true love, wouldst surrender what is mine to another whose wealth -serves to bring him not only good fortune but supreme happiness; and -now to complete it (not that I think he deserves it, but inasmuch as -heaven is pleased to bestow it upon him), I will, with my own hands, do -away with the obstacle that may interfere with it, and remove myself -from between you. Long live the rich Camacho! many a happy year may he -live with the ungrateful Quiteria! and let the poor Basilio die, -Basilio whose poverty clipped the wings of his happiness, and brought -him to the grave!” - -And so saying, he seized the staff he had driven into the ground, and -leaving one half of it fixed there, showed it to be a sheath that -concealed a tolerably long rapier; and, what may be called its hilt -being planted in the ground, he swiftly, coolly, and deliberately threw -himself upon it, and in an instant the bloody point and half the steel -blade appeared at his back, the unhappy man falling to the earth bathed -in his blood, and transfixed by his own weapon. - -His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his misery and -sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting from Rocinante, hastened to -support him, and took him in his arms, and found he had not yet ceased -to breathe. They were about to draw out the rapier, but the priest who -was standing by objected to its being withdrawn before he had confessed -him, as the instant of its withdrawal would be that of this death. -Basilio, however, reviving slightly, said in a weak voice, as though in -pain, “If thou wouldst consent, cruel Quiteria, to give me thy hand as -my bride in this last fatal moment, I might still hope that my rashness -would find pardon, as by its means I attained the bliss of being -thine.” - -Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his soul -rather than of the cravings of the body, and in all earnestness implore -God’s pardon for his sins and for his rash resolve; to which Basilio -replied that he was determined not to confess unless Quiteria first -gave him her hand in marriage, for that happiness would compose his -mind and give him courage to make his confession. - -Don Quixote hearing the wounded man’s entreaty, exclaimed aloud that -what Basilio asked was just and reasonable, and moreover a request that -might be easily complied with; and that it would be as much to Señor -Camacho’s honour to receive the lady Quiteria as the widow of the brave -Basilio as if he received her direct from her father. - -“In this case,” said he, “it will be only to say ‘yes,’ and no -consequences can follow the utterance of the word, for the nuptial -couch of this marriage must be the grave.” - -Camacho was listening to all this, perplexed and bewildered and not -knowing what to say or do; but so urgent were the entreaties of -Basilio’s friends, imploring him to allow Quiteria to give him her -hand, so that his soul, quitting this life in despair, should not be -lost, that they moved, nay, forced him, to say that if Quiteria were -willing to give it he was satisfied, as it was only putting off the -fulfillment of his wishes for a moment. At once all assailed Quiteria -and pressed her, some with prayers, and others with tears, and others -with persuasive arguments, to give her hand to poor Basilio; but she, -harder than marble and more unmoved than any statue, seemed unable or -unwilling to utter a word, nor would she have given any reply had not -the priest bade her decide quickly what she meant to do, as Basilio now -had his soul at his teeth, and there was no time for hesitation. - -On this the fair Quiteria, to all appearance distressed, grieved, and -repentant, advanced without a word to where Basilio lay, his eyes -already turned in his head, his breathing short and painful, murmuring -the name of Quiteria between his teeth, and apparently about to die -like a heathen and not like a Christian. Quiteria approached him, and -kneeling, demanded his hand by signs without speaking. Basilio opened -his eyes and gazing fixedly at her, said, “O Quiteria, why hast thou -turned compassionate at a moment when thy compassion will serve as a -dagger to rob me of life, for I have not now the strength left either -to bear the happiness thou givest me in accepting me as thine, or to -suppress the pain that is rapidly drawing the dread shadow of death -over my eyes? What I entreat of thee, O thou fatal star to me, is that -the hand thou demandest of me and wouldst give me, be not given out of -complaisance or to deceive me afresh, but that thou confess and declare -that without any constraint upon thy will thou givest it to me as to -thy lawful husband; for it is not meet that thou shouldst trifle with -me at such a moment as this, or have recourse to falsehoods with one -who has dealt so truly by thee.” - -While uttering these words he showed such weakness that the bystanders -expected each return of faintness would take his life with it. Then -Quiteria, overcome with modesty and shame, holding in her right hand -the hand of Basilio, said, “No force would bend my will; as freely, -therefore, as it is possible for me to do so, I give thee the hand of a -lawful wife, and take thine if thou givest it to me of thine own free -will, untroubled and unaffected by the calamity thy hasty act has -brought upon thee.” - -“Yes, I give it,” said Basilio, “not agitated or distracted, but with -unclouded reason that heaven is pleased to grant me, thus do I give -myself to be thy husband.” - -“And I give myself to be thy wife,” said Quiteria, “whether thou livest -many years, or they carry thee from my arms to the grave.” - -“For one so badly wounded,” observed Sancho at this point, “this young -man has a great deal to say; they should make him leave off billing and -cooing, and attend to his soul; for to my thinking he has it more on -his tongue than at his teeth.” - -Basilio and Quiteria having thus joined hands, the priest, deeply moved -and with tears in his eyes, pronounced the blessing upon them, and -implored heaven to grant an easy passage to the soul of the newly -wedded man, who, the instant he received the blessing, started nimbly -to his feet and with unparalleled effrontery pulled out the rapier that -had been sheathed in his body. All the bystanders were astounded, and -some, more simple than inquiring, began shouting, “A miracle, a -miracle!” But Basilio replied, “No miracle, no miracle; only a trick, a -trick!” The priest, perplexed and amazed, made haste to examine the -wound with both hands, and found that the blade had passed, not through -Basilio’s flesh and ribs, but through a hollow iron tube full of blood, -which he had adroitly fixed at the place, the blood, as was afterwards -ascertained, having been so prepared as not to congeal. In short, the -priest and Camacho and most of those present saw they were tricked and -made fools of. The bride showed no signs of displeasure at the -deception; on the contrary, hearing them say that the marriage, being -fraudulent, would not be valid, she said that she confirmed it afresh, -whence they all concluded that the affair had been planned by agreement -and understanding between the pair, whereat Camacho and his supporters -were so mortified that they proceeded to revenge themselves by -violence, and a great number of them drawing their swords attacked -Basilio, in whose protection as many more swords were in an instant -unsheathed, while Don Quixote taking the lead on horseback, with his -lance over his arm and well covered with his shield, made all give way -before him. Sancho, who never found any pleasure or enjoyment in such -doings, retreated to the wine-jars from which he had taken his -delectable skimmings, considering that, as a holy place, that spot -would be respected. - -“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Don Quixote in a loud voice; “we have no -right to take vengeance for wrongs that love may do to us: remember -love and war are the same thing, and as in war it is allowable and -common to make use of wiles and stratagems to overcome the enemy, so in -the contests and rivalries of love the tricks and devices employed to -attain the desired end are justifiable, provided they be not to the -discredit or dishonour of the loved object. Quiteria belonged to -Basilio and Basilio to Quiteria by the just and beneficent disposal of -heaven. Camacho is rich, and can purchase his pleasure when, where, and -as it pleases him. Basilio has but this ewe-lamb, and no one, however -powerful he may be, shall take her from him; these two whom God hath -joined man cannot separate; and he who attempts it must first pass the -point of this lance;” and so saying he brandished it so stoutly and -dexterously that he overawed all who did not know him. - -But so deep an impression had the rejection of Quiteria made on -Camacho’s mind that it banished her at once from his thoughts; and so -the counsels of the priest, who was a wise and kindly disposed man, -prevailed with him, and by their means he and his partisans were -pacified and tranquillised, and to prove it put up their swords again, -inveighing against the pliancy of Quiteria rather than the craftiness -of Basilio; Camacho maintaining that, if Quiteria as a maiden had such -a love for Basilio, she would have loved him too as a married woman, -and that he ought to thank heaven more for having taken her than for -having given her. - -Camacho and those of his following, therefore, being consoled and -pacified, those on Basilio’s side were appeased; and the rich Camacho, -to show that he felt no resentment for the trick, and did not care -about it, desired the festival to go on just as if he were married in -reality. Neither Basilio, however, nor his bride, nor their followers -would take any part in it, and they withdrew to Basilio’s village; for -the poor, if they are persons of virtue and good sense, have those who -follow, honour, and uphold them, just as the rich have those who -flatter and dance attendance on them. With them they carried Don -Quixote, regarding him as a man of worth and a stout one. Sancho alone -had a cloud on his soul, for he found himself debarred from waiting for -Camacho’s splendid feast and festival, which lasted until night; and -thus dragged away, he moodily followed his master, who accompanied -Basilio’s party, and left behind him the flesh-pots of Egypt; though in -his heart he took them with him, and their now nearly finished -skimmings that he carried in the bucket conjured up visions before his -eyes of the glory and abundance of the good cheer he was losing. And -so, vexed and dejected though not hungry, without dismounting from -Dapple he followed in the footsteps of Rocinante. - -CHAPTER XXII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE GRAND ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS IN THE -HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY -TERMINATION - -Many and great were the attentions shown to Don Quixote by the newly -married couple, who felt themselves under an obligation to him for -coming forward in defence of their cause; and they exalted his wisdom -to the same level with his courage, rating him as a Cid in arms, and a -Cicero in eloquence. Worthy Sancho enjoyed himself for three days at -the expense of the pair, from whom they learned that the sham wound was -not a scheme arranged with the fair Quiteria, but a device of -Basilio’s, who counted on exactly the result they had seen; he -confessed, it is true, that he had confided his idea to some of his -friends, so that at the proper time they might aid him in his purpose -and insure the success of the deception. - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “is not and ought not to be called deception -which aims at virtuous ends;” and the marriage of lovers he maintained -to be a most excellent end, reminding them, however, that love has no -greater enemy than hunger and constant want; for love is all gaiety, -enjoyment, and happiness, especially when the lover is in the -possession of the object of his love, and poverty and want are the -declared enemies of all these; which he said to urge Señor Basilio to -abandon the practice of those accomplishments he was skilled in, for -though they brought him fame, they brought him no money, and apply -himself to the acquisition of wealth by legitimate industry, which will -never fail those who are prudent and persevering. The poor man who is a -man of honour (if indeed a poor man can be a man of honour) has a jewel -when he has a fair wife, and if she is taken from him, his honour is -taken from him and slain. The fair woman who is a woman of honour, and -whose husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with the laurels and -crowns of victory and triumph. Beauty by itself attracts the desires of -all who behold it, and the royal eagles and birds of towering flight -stoop on it as on a dainty lure; but if beauty be accompanied by want -and penury, then the ravens and the kites and other birds of prey -assail it, and she who stands firm against such attacks well deserves -to be called the crown of her husband. “Remember, O prudent Basilio,” -added Don Quixote, “it was the opinion of a certain sage, I know not -whom, that there was not more than one good woman in the whole world; -and his advice was that each one should think and believe that this one -good woman was his own wife, and in this way he would live happy. I -myself am not married, nor, so far, has it ever entered my thoughts to -be so; nevertheless I would venture to give advice to anyone who might -ask it, as to the mode in which he should seek a wife such as he would -be content to marry. The first thing I would recommend him, would be to -look to good name rather than to wealth, for a good woman does not win -a good name merely by being good, but by letting it be seen that she is -so, and open looseness and freedom do much more damage to a woman’s -honour than secret depravity. If you take a good woman into your house -it will be an easy matter to keep her good, and even to make her still -better; but if you take a bad one you will find it hard work to mend -her, for it is no very easy matter to pass from one extreme to another. -I do not say it is impossible, but I look upon it as difficult.” - -Sancho, listening to all this, said to himself, “This master of mine, -when I say anything that has weight and substance, says I might take a -pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching fine sermons; but I -say of him that, when he begins stringing maxims together and giving -advice not only might he take a pulpit in hand, but two on each finger, -and go into the market-places to his heart’s content. Devil take you -for a knight-errant, what a lot of things you know! I used to think in -my heart that the only thing he knew was what belonged to his chivalry; -but there is nothing he won’t have a finger in.” - -Sancho muttered this somewhat aloud, and his master overheard him, and -asked, “What art thou muttering there, Sancho?” - -“I’m not saying anything or muttering anything,” said Sancho; “I was -only saying to myself that I wish I had heard what your worship has -said just now before I married; perhaps I’d say now, ‘The ox that’s -loose licks himself well.’” - -“Is thy Teresa so bad then, Sancho?” - -“She is not very bad,” replied Sancho; “but she is not very good; at -least she is not as good as I could wish.” - -“Thou dost wrong, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to speak ill of thy wife; -for after all she is the mother of thy children.” “We are quits,” -returned Sancho; “for she speaks ill of me whenever she takes it into -her head, especially when she is jealous; and Satan himself could not -put up with her then.” - -In fine, they remained three days with the newly married couple, by -whom they were entertained and treated like kings. Don Quixote begged -the fencing licentiate to find him a guide to show him the way to the -cave of Montesinos, as he had a great desire to enter it and see with -his own eyes if the wonderful tales that were told of it all over the -country were true. The licentiate said he would get him a cousin of his -own, a famous scholar, and one very much given to reading books of -chivalry, who would have great pleasure in conducting him to the mouth -of the very cave, and would show him the lakes of Ruidera, which were -likewise famous all over La Mancha, and even all over Spain; and he -assured him he would find him entertaining, for he was a youth who -could write books good enough to be printed and dedicated to princes. -The cousin arrived at last, leading an ass in foal, with a pack-saddle -covered with a parti-coloured carpet or sackcloth; Sancho saddled -Rocinante, got Dapple ready, and stocked his alforjas, along with which -went those of the cousin, likewise well filled; and so, commending -themselves to God and bidding farewell to all, they set out, taking the -road for the famous cave of Montesinos. - -On the way Don Quixote asked the cousin of what sort and character his -pursuits, avocations, and studies were, to which he replied that he was -by profession a humanist, and that his pursuits and studies were making -books for the press, all of great utility and no less entertainment to -the nation. One was called “The Book of Liveries,” in which he -described seven hundred and three liveries, with their colours, -mottoes, and ciphers, from which gentlemen of the court might pick and -choose any they fancied for festivals and revels, without having to go -a-begging for them from anyone, or puzzling their brains, as the saying -is, to have them appropriate to their objects and purposes; “for,” said -he, “I give the jealous, the rejected, the forgotten, the absent, what -will suit them, and fit them without fail. I have another book, too, -which I shall call ‘Metamorphoses, or the Spanish Ovid,’ one of rare -and original invention, for imitating Ovid in burlesque style, I show -in it who the Giralda of Seville and the Angel of the Magdalena were, -what the sewer of Vecinguerra at Cordova was, what the bulls of -Guisando, the Sierra Morena, the Leganitos and Lavapies fountains at -Madrid, not forgetting those of the Piojo, of the Cano Dorado, and of -the Priora; and all with their allegories, metaphors, and changes, so -that they are amusing, interesting, and instructive, all at once. -Another book I have which I call ‘The Supplement to Polydore Vergil,’ -which treats of the invention of things, and is a work of great -erudition and research, for I establish and elucidate elegantly some -things of great importance which Polydore omitted to mention. He forgot -to tell us who was the first man in the world that had a cold in his -head, and who was the first to try salivation for the French disease, -but I give it accurately set forth, and quote more than five-and-twenty -authors in proof of it, so you may perceive I have laboured to good -purpose and that the book will be of service to the whole world.” - -Sancho, who had been very attentive to the cousin’s words, said to him, -“Tell me, señor—and God give you luck in printing your books—can you -tell me (for of course you know, as you know everything) who was the -first man that scratched his head? For to my thinking it must have been -our father Adam.” - -“So it must,” replied the cousin; “for there is no doubt but Adam had a -head and hair; and being the first man in the world he would have -scratched himself sometimes.” - -“So I think,” said Sancho; “but now tell me, who was the first tumbler -in the world?” - -“Really, brother,” answered the cousin, “I could not at this moment say -positively without having investigated it; I will look it up when I go -back to where I have my books, and will satisfy you the next time we -meet, for this will not be the last time.” - -“Look here, señor,” said Sancho, “don’t give yourself any trouble about -it, for I have just this minute hit upon what I asked you. The first -tumbler in the world, you must know, was Lucifer, when they cast or -pitched him out of heaven; for he came tumbling into the bottomless -pit.” - -“You are right, friend,” said the cousin; and said Don Quixote, -“Sancho, that question and answer are not thine own; thou hast heard -them from someone else.” - -“Hold your peace, señor,” said Sancho; “faith, if I take to asking -questions and answering, I’ll go on from this till to-morrow morning. -Nay! to ask foolish things and answer nonsense I needn’t go looking for -help from my neighbours.” - -“Thou hast said more than thou art aware of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; -“for there are some who weary themselves out in learning and proving -things that, after they are known and proved, are not worth a farthing -to the understanding or memory.” - -In this and other pleasant conversation the day went by, and that night -they put up at a small hamlet whence it was not more than two leagues -to the cave of Montesinos, so the cousin told Don Quixote, adding, that -if he was bent upon entering it, it would be requisite for him to -provide himself with ropes, so that he might be tied and lowered into -its depths. Don Quixote said that even if it reached to the bottomless -pit he meant to see where it went to; so they bought about a hundred -fathoms of rope, and next day at two in the afternoon they arrived at -the cave, the mouth of which is spacious and wide, but full of thorn -and wild-fig bushes and brambles and briars, so thick and matted that -they completely close it up and cover it over. - -On coming within sight of it the cousin, Sancho, and Don Quixote -dismounted, and the first two immediately tied the latter very firmly -with the ropes, and as they were girding and swathing him Sancho said -to him, “Mind what you are about, master mine; don’t go burying -yourself alive, or putting yourself where you’ll be like a bottle put -to cool in a well; it’s no affair or business of your worship’s to -become the explorer of this, which must be worse than a Moorish -dungeon.” - -“Tie me and hold thy peace,” said Don Quixote, “for an emprise like -this, friend Sancho, was reserved for me;” and said the guide, “I beg -of you, Señor Don Quixote, to observe carefully and examine with a -hundred eyes everything that is within there; perhaps there may be some -things for me to put into my book of ‘Transformations.’” - -“The drum is in hands that will know how to beat it well enough,” said -Sancho Panza. - -When he had said this and finished the tying (which was not over the -armour but only over the doublet) Don Quixote observed, “It was -careless of us not to have provided ourselves with a small cattle-bell -to be tied on the rope close to me, the sound of which would show that -I was still descending and alive; but as that is out of the question -now, in God’s hand be it to guide me;” and forthwith he fell on his -knees and in a low voice offered up a prayer to heaven, imploring God -to aid him and grant him success in this to all appearance perilous and -untried adventure, and then exclaimed aloud, “O mistress of my actions -and movements, illustrious and peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, if so be -the prayers and supplications of this fortunate lover can reach thy -ears, by thy incomparable beauty I entreat thee to listen to them, for -they but ask thee not to refuse me thy favour and protection now that I -stand in such need of them. I am about to precipitate, to sink, to -plunge myself into the abyss that is here before me, only to let the -world know that while thou dost favour me there is no impossibility I -will not attempt and accomplish.” With these words he approached the -cavern, and perceived that it was impossible to let himself down or -effect an entrance except by sheer force or cleaving a passage; so -drawing his sword he began to demolish and cut away the brambles at the -mouth of the cave, at the noise of which a vast multitude of crows and -choughs flew out of it so thick and so fast that they knocked Don -Quixote down; and if he had been as much of a believer in augury as he -was a Catholic Christian he would have taken it as a bad omen and -declined to bury himself in such a place. He got up, however, and as -there came no more crows, or night-birds like the bats that flew out at -the same time with the crows, the cousin and Sancho giving him rope, he -lowered himself into the depths of the dread cavern; and as he entered -it Sancho sent his blessing after him, making a thousand crosses over -him and saying, “God, and the Peña de Francia, and the Trinity of Gaeta -guide thee, flower and cream of knights-errant. There thou goest, thou -dare-devil of the earth, heart of steel, arm of brass; once more, God -guide thee and send thee back safe, sound, and unhurt to the light of -this world thou art leaving to bury thyself in the darkness thou art -seeking there;” and the cousin offered up almost the same prayers and -supplications. - -Don Quixote kept calling to them to give him rope and more rope, and -they gave it out little by little, and by the time the calls, which -came out of the cave as out of a pipe, ceased to be heard they had let -down the hundred fathoms of rope. They were inclined to pull Don -Quixote up again, as they could give him no more rope; however, they -waited about half an hour, at the end of which time they began to -gather in the rope again with great ease and without feeling any -weight, which made them fancy Don Quixote was remaining below; and -persuaded that it was so, Sancho wept bitterly, and hauled away in -great haste in order to settle the question. When, however, they had -come to, as it seemed, rather more than eighty fathoms they felt a -weight, at which they were greatly delighted; and at last, at ten -fathoms more, they saw Don Quixote distinctly, and Sancho called out to -him, saying, “Welcome back, señor, for we had begun to think you were -going to stop there to found a family.” But Don Quixote answered not a -word, and drawing him out entirely they perceived he had his eyes shut -and every appearance of being fast asleep. - -They stretched him on the ground and untied him, but still he did not -awake; however, they rolled him back and forwards and shook and pulled -him about, so that after some time he came to himself, stretching -himself just as if he were waking up from a deep and sound sleep, and -looking about him he said, “God forgive you, friends; ye have taken me -away from the sweetest and most delightful existence and spectacle that -ever human being enjoyed or beheld. Now indeed do I know that all the -pleasures of this life pass away like a shadow and a dream, or fade -like the flower of the field. O ill-fated Montesinos! O sore-wounded -Durandarte! O unhappy Belerma! O tearful Guadiana, and ye O hapless -daughters of Ruidera who show in your waves the tears that flowed from -your beauteous eyes!” - -The cousin and Sancho Panza listened with deep attention to the words -of Don Quixote, who uttered them as though with immense pain he drew -them up from his very bowels. They begged of him to explain himself, -and tell them what he had seen in that hell down there. - -“Hell do you call it?” said Don Quixote; “call it by no such name, for -it does not deserve it, as ye shall soon see.” - -He then begged them to give him something to eat, as he was very -hungry. They spread the cousin’s sackcloth on the grass, and put the -stores of the alforjas into requisition, and all three sitting down -lovingly and sociably, they made a luncheon and a supper of it all in -one; and when the sackcloth was removed, Don Quixote of La Mancha said, -“Let no one rise, and attend to me, my sons, both of you.” - -CHAPTER XXIII. -OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THE INCOMPARABLE DON QUIXOTE SAID HE SAW IN THE -PROFOUND CAVE OF MONTESINOS, THE IMPOSSIBILITY AND MAGNITUDE OF WHICH -CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE DEEMED APOCRYPHAL - -It was about four in the afternoon when the sun, veiled in clouds, with -subdued light and tempered beams, enabled Don Quixote to relate, -without heat or inconvenience, what he had seen in the cave of -Montesinos to his two illustrious hearers, and he began as follows: - -“A matter of some twelve or fourteen times a man’s height down in this -pit, on the right-hand side, there is a recess or space, roomy enough -to contain a large cart with its mules. A little light reaches it -through some chinks or crevices, communicating with it and open to the -surface of the earth. This recess or space I perceived when I was -already growing weary and disgusted at finding myself hanging suspended -by the rope, travelling downwards into that dark region without any -certainty or knowledge of where I was going, so I resolved to enter it -and rest myself for a while. I called out, telling you not to let out -more rope until I bade you, but you cannot have heard me. I then -gathered in the rope you were sending me, and making a coil or pile of -it I seated myself upon it, ruminating and considering what I was to do -to lower myself to the bottom, having no one to hold me up; and as I -was thus deep in thought and perplexity, suddenly and without -provocation a profound sleep fell upon me, and when I least expected -it, I know not how, I awoke and found myself in the midst of the most -beautiful, delightful meadow that nature could produce or the most -lively human imagination conceive. I opened my eyes, I rubbed them, and -found I was not asleep but thoroughly awake. Nevertheless, I felt my -head and breast to satisfy myself whether it was I myself who was there -or some empty delusive phantom; but touch, feeling, the collected -thoughts that passed through my mind, all convinced me that I was the -same then and there that I am this moment. Next there presented itself -to my sight a stately royal palace or castle, with walls that seemed -built of clear transparent crystal; and through two great doors that -opened wide therein, I saw coming forth and advancing towards me a -venerable old man, clad in a long gown of mulberry-coloured serge that -trailed upon the ground. On his shoulders and breast he had a green -satin collegiate hood, and covering his head a black Milanese bonnet, -and his snow-white beard fell below his girdle. He carried no arms -whatever, nothing but a rosary of beads bigger than fair-sized -filberts, each tenth bead being like a moderate ostrich egg; his -bearing, his gait, his dignity and imposing presence held me spellbound -and wondering. He approached me, and the first thing he did was to -embrace me closely, and then he said to me, ‘For a long time now, O -valiant knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, we who are here enchanted in -these solitudes have been hoping to see thee, that thou mayest make -known to the world what is shut up and concealed in this deep cave, -called the cave of Montesinos, which thou hast entered, an achievement -reserved for thy invincible heart and stupendous courage alone to -attempt. Come with me, illustrious sir, and I will show thee the -marvels hidden within this transparent castle, whereof I am the alcaide -and perpetual warden; for I am Montesinos himself, from whom the cave -takes its name.’ - -“The instant he told me he was Montesinos, I asked him if the story -they told in the world above here was true, that he had taken out the -heart of his great friend Durandarte from his breast with a little -dagger, and carried it to the lady Belerma, as his friend when at the -point of death had commanded him. He said in reply that they spoke the -truth in every respect except as to the dagger, for it was not a -dagger, nor little, but a burnished poniard sharper than an awl.” - -“That poniard must have been made by Ramon de Hoces the Sevillian,” -said Sancho. - -“I do not know,” said Don Quixote; “it could not have been by that -poniard maker, however, because Ramon de Hoces was a man of yesterday, -and the affair of Roncesvalles, where this mishap occurred, was long -ago; but the question is of no great importance, nor does it affect or -make any alteration in the truth or substance of the story.” - -“That is true,” said the cousin; “continue, Señor Don Quixote, for I am -listening to you with the greatest pleasure in the world.” - -“And with no less do I tell the tale,” said Don Quixote; “and so, to -proceed—the venerable Montesinos led me into the palace of crystal, -where, in a lower chamber, strangely cool and entirely of alabaster, -was an elaborately wrought marble tomb, upon which I beheld, stretched -at full length, a knight, not of bronze, or marble, or jasper, as are -seen on other tombs, but of actual flesh and bone. His right hand -(which seemed to me somewhat hairy and sinewy, a sign of great strength -in its owner) lay on the side of his heart; but before I could put any -question to Montesinos, he, seeing me gazing at the tomb in amazement, -said to me, ‘This is my friend Durandarte, flower and mirror of the -true lovers and valiant knights of his time. He is held enchanted here, -as I myself and many others are, by that French enchanter Merlin, who, -they say, was the devil’s son; but my belief is, not that he was the -devil’s son, but that he knew, as the saying is, a point more than the -devil. How or why he enchanted us, no one knows, but time will tell, -and I suspect that time is not far off. What I marvel at is, that I -know it to be as sure as that it is now day, that Durandarte ended his -life in my arms, and that, after his death, I took out his heart with -my own hands; and indeed it must have weighed more than two pounds, -for, according to naturalists, he who has a large heart is more largely -endowed with valour than he who has a small one. Then, as this is the -case, and as the knight did really die, how comes it that he now moans -and sighs from time to time, as if he were still alive?’ - -“As he said this, the wretched Durandarte cried out in a loud voice: - -O cousin Montesinos! -’Twas my last request of thee, -When my soul hath left the body, -And that lying dead I be, -With thy poniard or thy dagger -Cut the heart from out my breast, -And bear it to Belerma. -This was my last request.” - -“On hearing which, the venerable Montesinos fell on his knees before -the unhappy knight, and with tearful eyes exclaimed, ‘Long since, Señor -Durandarte, my beloved cousin, long since have I done what you bade me -on that sad day when I lost you; I took out your heart as well as I -could, not leaving an atom of it in your breast, I wiped it with a lace -handkerchief, and I took the road to France with it, having first laid -you in the bosom of the earth with tears enough to wash and cleanse my -hands of the blood that covered them after wandering among your bowels; -and more by token, O cousin of my soul, at the first village I came to -after leaving Roncesvalles, I sprinkled a little salt upon your heart -to keep it sweet, and bring it, if not fresh, at least pickled, into -the presence of the lady Belerma, whom, together with you, myself, -Guadiana your squire, the duenna Ruidera and her seven daughters and -two nieces, and many more of your friends and acquaintances, the sage -Merlin has been keeping enchanted here these many years; and although -more than five hundred have gone by, not one of us has died; Ruidera -and her daughters and nieces alone are missing, and these, because of -the tears they shed, Merlin, out of the compassion he seems to have -felt for them, changed into so many lakes, which to this day in the -world of the living, and in the province of La Mancha, are called the -Lakes of Ruidera. The seven daughters belong to the kings of Spain and -the two nieces to the knights of a very holy order called the Order of -St. John. Guadiana your squire, likewise bewailing your fate, was -changed into a river of his own name, but when he came to the surface -and beheld the sun of another heaven, so great was his grief at finding -he was leaving you, that he plunged into the bowels of the earth; -however, as he cannot help following his natural course, he from time -to time comes forth and shows himself to the sun and the world. The -lakes aforesaid send him their waters, and with these, and others that -come to him, he makes a grand and imposing entrance into Portugal; but -for all that, go where he may, he shows his melancholy and sadness, and -takes no pride in breeding dainty choice fish, only coarse and -tasteless sorts, very different from those of the golden Tagus. All -this that I tell you now, O cousin mine, I have told you many times -before, and as you make no answer, I fear that either you believe me -not, or do not hear me, whereat I feel God knows what grief. I have now -news to give you, which, if it serves not to alleviate your sufferings, -will not in any wise increase them. Know that you have here before you -(open your eyes and you will see) that great knight of whom the sage -Merlin has prophesied such great things; that Don Quixote of La Mancha -I mean, who has again, and to better purpose than in past times, -revived in these days knight-errantry, long since forgotten, and by -whose intervention and aid it may be we shall be disenchanted; for -great deeds are reserved for great men.’ - -“‘And if that may not be,’ said the wretched Durandarte in a low and -feeble voice, ‘if that may not be, then, my cousin, I say “patience and -shuffle;”’ and turning over on his side, he relapsed into his former -silence without uttering another word. - -“And now there was heard a great outcry and lamentation, accompanied by -deep sighs and bitter sobs. I looked round, and through the crystal -wall I saw passing through another chamber a procession of two lines of -fair damsels all clad in mourning, and with white turbans of Turkish -fashion on their heads. Behind, in the rear of these, there came a -lady, for so from her dignity she seemed to be, also clad in black, -with a white veil so long and ample that it swept the ground. Her -turban was twice as large as the largest of any of the others; her -eyebrows met, her nose was rather flat, her mouth was large but with -ruddy lips, and her teeth, of which at times she allowed a glimpse, -were seen to be sparse and ill-set, though as white as peeled almonds. -She carried in her hands a fine cloth, and in it, as well as I could -make out, a heart that had been mummied, so parched and dried was it. -Montesinos told me that all those forming the procession were the -attendants of Durandarte and Belerma, who were enchanted there with -their master and mistress, and that the last, she who carried the heart -in the cloth, was the lady Belerma, who, with her damsels, four days in -the week went in procession singing, or rather weeping, dirges over the -body and miserable heart of his cousin; and that if she appeared to me -somewhat ill-favoured or not so beautiful as fame reported her, it was -because of the bad nights and worse days that she passed in that -enchantment, as I could see by the great dark circles round her eyes, -and her sickly complexion; ‘her sallowness, and the rings round her -eyes,’ said he, ‘are not caused by the periodical ailment usual with -women, for it is many months and even years since she has had any, but -by the grief her own heart suffers because of that which she holds in -her hand perpetually, and which recalls and brings back to her memory -the sad fate of her lost lover; were it not for this, hardly would the -great Dulcinea del Toboso, so celebrated in all these parts, and even -in the world, come up to her for beauty, grace, and gaiety.’ - -“‘Hold hard!’ said I at this, ‘tell your story as you ought, Señor Don -Montesinos, for you know very well that all comparisons are odious, and -there is no occasion to compare one person with another; the peerless -Dulcinea del Toboso is what she is, and the lady Doña Belerma is what -_she_ is and has been, and that’s enough.’ To which he made answer, -‘Forgive me, Señor Don Quixote; I own I was wrong and spoke unadvisedly -in saying that the lady Dulcinea could scarcely come up to the lady -Belerma; for it were enough for me to have learned, by what means I -know not, that you are her knight, to make me bite my tongue out before -I compared her to anything save heaven itself.’ After this apology -which the great Montesinos made me, my heart recovered itself from the -shock I had received in hearing my lady compared with Belerma.” - -“Still I wonder,” said Sancho, “that your worship did not get upon the -old fellow and bruise every bone of him with kicks, and pluck his beard -until you didn’t leave a hair in it.” - -“Nay, Sancho, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “it would not have been -right in me to do that, for we are all bound to pay respect to the -aged, even though they be not knights, but especially to those who are, -and who are enchanted; I only know I gave him as good as he brought in -the many other questions and answers we exchanged.” - -“I cannot understand, Señor Don Quixote,” remarked the cousin here, -“how it is that your worship, in such a short space of time as you have -been below there, could have seen so many things, and said and answered -so much.” - -“How long is it since I went down?” asked Don Quixote. - -“Little better than an hour,” replied Sancho. - -“That cannot be,” returned Don Quixote, “because night overtook me -while I was there, and day came, and it was night again and day again -three times; so that, by my reckoning, I have been three days in those -remote regions beyond our ken.” - -“My master must be right,” replied Sancho; “for as everything that has -happened to him is by enchantment, maybe what seems to us an hour would -seem three days and nights there.” - -“That’s it,” said Don Quixote. - -“And did your worship eat anything all that time, señor?” asked the -cousin. - -“I never touched a morsel,” answered Don Quixote, “nor did I feel -hunger, or think of it.” - -“And do the enchanted eat?” said the cousin. - -“They neither eat,” said Don Quixote; “nor are they subject to the -greater excrements, though it is thought that their nails, beards, and -hair grow.” - -“And do the enchanted sleep, now, señor?” asked Sancho. - -“Certainly not,” replied Don Quixote; “at least, during those three -days I was with them not one of them closed an eye, nor did I either.” - -“The proverb, ‘Tell me what company thou keepest and I’ll tell thee -what thou art,’ is to the point here,” said Sancho; “your worship keeps -company with enchanted people that are always fasting and watching; -what wonder is it, then, that you neither eat nor sleep while you are -with them? But forgive me, señor, if I say that of all this you have -told us now, may God take me—I was just going to say the devil—if I -believe a single particle.” - -“What!” said the cousin, “has Señor Don Quixote, then, been lying? Why, -even if he wished it he has not had time to imagine and put together -such a host of lies.” - -“I don’t believe my master lies,” said Sancho. - -“If not, what dost thou believe?” asked Don Quixote. - -“I believe,” replied Sancho, “that this Merlin, or those enchanters who -enchanted the whole crew your worship says you saw and discoursed with -down there, stuffed your imagination or your mind with all this -rigmarole you have been treating us to, and all that is still to come.” - -“All that might be, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but it is not so, -for everything that I have told you I saw with my own eyes, and touched -with my own hands. But what will you say when I tell you now how, among -the countless other marvellous things Montesinos showed me (of which at -leisure and at the proper time I will give thee an account in the -course of our journey, for they would not be all in place here), he -showed me three country girls who went skipping and capering like goats -over the pleasant fields there, and the instant I beheld them I knew -one to be the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, and the other two those -same country girls that were with her and that we spoke to on the road -from El Toboso! I asked Montesinos if he knew them, and he told me he -did not, but he thought they must be some enchanted ladies of -distinction, for it was only a few days before that they had made their -appearance in those meadows; but I was not to be surprised at that, -because there were a great many other ladies there of times past and -present, enchanted in various strange shapes, and among them he had -recognised Queen Guinevere and her dame Quintañona, she who poured out -the wine for Lancelot when he came from Britain.” - -When Sancho Panza heard his master say this he was ready to take leave -of his senses, or die with laughter; for, as he knew the real truth -about the pretended enchantment of Dulcinea, in which he himself had -been the enchanter and concocter of all the evidence, he made up his -mind at last that, beyond all doubt, his master was out of his wits and -stark mad, so he said to him, “It was an evil hour, a worse season, and -a sorrowful day, when your worship, dear master mine, went down to the -other world, and an unlucky moment when you met with Señor Montesinos, -who has sent you back to us like this. You were well enough here above -in your full senses, such as God had given you, delivering maxims and -giving advice at every turn, and not as you are now, talking the -greatest nonsense that can be imagined.” - -“As I know thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I heed not thy words.” - -“Nor I your worship’s,” said Sancho, “whether you beat me or kill me -for those I have spoken, and will speak if you don’t correct and mend -your own. But tell me, while we are still at peace, how or by what did -you recognise the lady our mistress; and if you spoke to her, what did -you say, and what did she answer?” - -“I recognised her,” said Don Quixote, “by her wearing the same garments -she wore when thou didst point her out to me. I spoke to her, but she -did not utter a word in reply; on the contrary, she turned her back on -me and took to flight, at such a pace that crossbow bolt could not have -overtaken her. I wished to follow her, and would have done so had not -Montesinos recommended me not to take the trouble as it would be -useless, particularly as the time was drawing near when it would be -necessary for me to quit the cavern. He told me, moreover, that in -course of time he would let me know how he and Belerma, and Durandarte, -and all who were there, were to be disenchanted. But of all I saw and -observed down there, what gave me most pain was, that while Montesinos -was speaking to me, one of the two companions of the hapless Dulcinea -approached me on one without my having seen her coming, and with tears -in her eyes said to me, in a low, agitated voice, ‘My lady Dulcinea del -Toboso kisses your worship’s hands, and entreats you to do her the -favour of letting her know how you are; and, being in great need, she -also entreats your worship as earnestly as she can to be so good as to -lend her half a dozen reals, or as much as you may have about you, on -this new dimity petticoat that I have here; and she promises to repay -them very speedily.’ I was amazed and taken aback by such a message, -and turning to Señor Montesinos I asked him, ‘Is it possible, Señor -Montesinos, that persons of distinction under enchantment can be in -need?’ To which he replied, ‘Believe me, Señor Don Quixote, that which -is called need is to be met with everywhere, and penetrates all -quarters and reaches everyone, and does not spare even the enchanted; -and as the lady Dulcinea del Toboso sends to beg those six reals, and -the pledge is to all appearance a good one, there is nothing for it but -to give them to her, for no doubt she must be in some great strait.’ ‘I -will take no pledge of her,’ I replied, ‘nor yet can I give her what -she asks, for all I have is four reals; which I gave (they were those -which thou, Sancho, gavest me the other day to bestow in alms upon the -poor I met along the road), and I said, ‘Tell your mistress, my dear, -that I am grieved to the heart because of her distresses, and wish I -was a Fucar to remedy them, and that I would have her know that I -cannot be, and ought not be, in health while deprived of the happiness -of seeing her and enjoying her discreet conversation, and that I -implore her as earnestly as I can, to allow herself to be seen and -addressed by this her captive servant and forlorn knight. Tell her, -too, that when she least expects it she will hear it announced that I -have made an oath and vow after the fashion of that which the Marquis -of Mantua made to avenge his nephew Baldwin, when he found him at the -point of death in the heart of the mountains, which was, not to eat -bread off a tablecloth, and other trifling matters which he added, -until he had avenged him; and I will make the same to take no rest, and -to roam the seven regions of the earth more thoroughly than the Infante -Don Pedro of Portugal ever roamed them, until I have disenchanted her.’ -‘All that and more, you owe my lady,’ the damsel’s answer to me, and -taking the four reals, instead of making me a curtsey she cut a caper, -springing two full yards into the air.” - -“O blessed God!” exclaimed Sancho aloud at this, “is it possible that -such things can be in the world, and that enchanters and enchantments -can have such power in it as to have changed my master’s right senses -into a craze so full of absurdity! O señor, señor, for God’s sake, -consider yourself, have a care for your honour, and give no credit to -this silly stuff that has left you scant and short of wits.” - -“Thou talkest in this way because thou lovest me, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “and not being experienced in the things of the world, -everything that has some difficulty about it seems to thee impossible; -but time will pass, as I said before, and I will tell thee some of the -things I saw down there which will make thee believe what I have -related now, the truth of which admits of neither reply nor question.” - -CHAPTER XXIV. -WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS THEY ARE -NECESSARY TO THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF THIS GREAT HISTORY - -He who translated this great history from the original written by its -first author, Cide Hamete Benengeli, says that on coming to the chapter -giving the adventures of the cave of Montesinos he found written on the -margin of it, in Hamete’s own hand, these exact words: - -“I cannot convince or persuade myself that everything that is written -in the preceding chapter could have precisely happened to the valiant -Don Quixote; and for this reason, that all the adventures that have -occurred up to the present have been possible and probable; but as for -this one of the cave, I see no way of accepting it as true, as it -passes all reasonable bounds. For me to believe that Don Quixote could -lie, he being the most truthful gentleman and the noblest knight of his -time, is impossible; he would not have told a lie though he were shot -to death with arrows. On the other hand, I reflect that he related and -told the story with all the circumstances detailed, and that he could -not in so short a space have fabricated such a vast complication of -absurdities; if, then, this adventure seems apocryphal, it is no fault -of mine; and so, without affirming its falsehood or its truth, I write -it down. Decide for thyself in thy wisdom, reader; for I am not bound, -nor is it in my power, to do more; though certain it is they say that -at the time of his death he retracted, and said he had invented it, -thinking it matched and tallied with the adventures he had read of in -his histories.” And then he goes on to say: - -The cousin was amazed as well at Sancho’s boldness as at the patience -of his master, and concluded that the good temper the latter displayed -arose from the happiness he felt at having seen his lady Dulcinea, even -enchanted as she was; because otherwise the words and language Sancho -had addressed to him deserved a thrashing; for indeed he seemed to him -to have been rather impudent to his master, to whom he now observed, -“I, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, look upon the time I have spent in -travelling with your worship as very well employed, for I have gained -four things in the course of it; the first is that I have made your -acquaintance, which I consider great good fortune; the second, that I -have learned what the cave of Montesinos contains, together with the -transformations of Guadiana and of the lakes of Ruidera; which will be -of use to me for the Spanish Ovid that I have in hand; the third, to -have discovered the antiquity of cards, that they were in use at least -in the time of Charlemagne, as may be inferred from the words you say -Durandarte uttered when, at the end of that long spell while Montesinos -was talking to him, he woke up and said, ‘Patience and shuffle.’ This -phrase and expression he could not have learned while he was enchanted, -but only before he had become so, in France, and in the time of the -aforesaid emperor Charlemagne. And this demonstration is just the thing -for me for that other book I am writing, the ‘Supplement to Polydore -Vergil on the Invention of Antiquities;’ for I believe he never thought -of inserting that of cards in his book, as I mean to do in mine, and it -will be a matter of great importance, particularly when I can cite so -grave and veracious an authority as Señor Durandarte. And the fourth -thing is, that I have ascertained the source of the river Guadiana, -heretofore unknown to mankind.” - -“You are right,” said Don Quixote; “but I should like to know, if by -God’s favour they grant you a licence to print those books of -yours—which I doubt—to whom do you mean to dedicate them?” - -“There are lords and grandees in Spain to whom they can be dedicated,” -said the cousin. - -“Not many,” said Don Quixote; “not that they are unworthy of it, but -because they do not care to accept books and incur the obligation of -making the return that seems due to the author’s labour and courtesy. -One prince I know who makes up for all the rest, and more—how much -more, if I ventured to say, perhaps I should stir up envy in many a -noble breast; but let this stand over for some more convenient time, -and let us go and look for some place to shelter ourselves in -to-night.” - -“Not far from this,” said the cousin, “there is a hermitage, where -there lives a hermit, who they say was a soldier, and who has the -reputation of being a good Christian and a very intelligent and -charitable man. Close to the hermitage he has a small house which he -built at his own cost, but though small it is large enough for the -reception of guests.” - -“Has this hermit any hens, do you think?” asked Sancho. - -“Few hermits are without them,” said Don Quixote; “for those we see -now-a-days are not like the hermits of the Egyptian deserts who were -clad in palm-leaves, and lived on the roots of the earth. But do not -think that by praising these I am disparaging the others; all I mean to -say is that the penances of those of the present day do not come up to -the asceticism and austerity of former times; but it does not follow -from this that they are not all worthy; at least I think them so; and -at the worst the hypocrite who pretends to be good does less harm than -the open sinner.” - -At this point they saw approaching the spot where they stood a man on -foot, proceeding at a rapid pace, and beating a mule loaded with lances -and halberds. When he came up to them, he saluted them and passed on -without stopping. Don Quixote called to him, “Stay, good fellow; you -seem to be making more haste than suits that mule.” - -“I cannot stop, señor,” answered the man; “for the arms you see I carry -here are to be used to-morrow, so I must not delay; God be with you. -But if you want to know what I am carrying them for, I mean to lodge -to-night at the inn that is beyond the hermitage, and if you be going -the same road you will find me there, and I will tell you some curious -things; once more God be with you;” and he urged on his mule at such a -pace that Don Quixote had no time to ask him what these curious things -were that he meant to tell them; and as he was somewhat inquisitive, -and always tortured by his anxiety to learn something new, he decided -to set out at once, and go and pass the night at the inn instead of -stopping at the hermitage, where the cousin would have had them halt. -Accordingly they mounted and all three took the direct road for the -inn, which they reached a little before nightfall. On the road the -cousin proposed they should go up to the hermitage to drink a sup. The -instant Sancho heard this he steered his Dapple towards it, and Don -Quixote and the cousin did the same; but it seems Sancho’s bad luck so -ordered it that the hermit was not at home, for so a sub-hermit they -found in the hermitage told them. They called for some of the best. She -replied that her master had none, but that if they liked cheap water -she would give it with great pleasure. - -“If I found any in water,” said Sancho, “there are wells along the road -where I could have had enough of it. Ah, Camacho’s wedding, and -plentiful house of Don Diego, how often do I miss you!” - -Leaving the hermitage, they pushed on towards the inn, and a little -farther they came upon a youth who was pacing along in front of them at -no great speed, so that they overtook him. He carried a sword over his -shoulder, and slung on it a budget or bundle of his clothes apparently, -probably his breeches or pantaloons, and his cloak and a shirt or two; -for he had on a short jacket of velvet with a gloss like satin on it in -places, and had his shirt out; his stockings were of silk, and his -shoes square-toed as they wear them at court. His age might have been -eighteen or nineteen; he was of a merry countenance, and to all -appearance of an active habit, and he went along singing seguidillas to -beguile the wearisomeness of the road. As they came up with him he was -just finishing one, which the cousin got by heart and they say ran -thus— - -I’m off to the wars -For the want of pence, -Oh, had I but money -I’d show more sense. - -The first to address him was Don Quixote, who said, “You travel very -airily, sir gallant; whither bound, may we ask, if it is your pleasure -to tell us?” - -To which the youth replied, “The heat and my poverty are the reason of -my travelling so airily, and it is to the wars that I am bound.” - -“How poverty?” asked Don Quixote; “the heat one can understand.” - -“Señor,” replied the youth, “in this bundle I carry velvet pantaloons -to match this jacket; if I wear them out on the road, I shall not be -able to make a decent appearance in them in the city, and I have not -the wherewithal to buy others; and so for this reason, as well as to -keep myself cool, I am making my way in this fashion to overtake some -companies of infantry that are not twelve leagues off, in which I shall -enlist, and there will be no want of baggage trains to travel with -after that to the place of embarkation, which they say will be -Carthagena; I would rather have the King for a master, and serve him in -the wars, than serve a court pauper.” - -“And did you get any bounty, now?” asked the cousin. - -“If I had been in the service of some grandee of Spain or personage of -distinction,” replied the youth, “I should have been safe to get it; -for that is the advantage of serving good masters, that out of the -servants’ hall men come to be ancients or captains, or get a good -pension. But I, to my misfortune, always served place-hunters and -adventurers, whose keep and wages were so miserable and scanty that -half went in paying for the starching of one’s collars; it would be a -miracle indeed if a page volunteer ever got anything like a reasonable -bounty.” - -“And tell me, for heaven’s sake,” asked Don Quixote, “is it possible, -my friend, that all the time you served you never got any livery?” - -“They gave me two,” replied the page; “but just as when one quits a -religious community before making profession, they strip him of the -dress of the order and give him back his own clothes, so did my masters -return me mine; for as soon as the business on which they came to court -was finished, they went home and took back the liveries they had given -merely for show.” - -“What spilorceria!—as an Italian would say,” said Don Quixote; “but for -all that, consider yourself happy in having left court with as worthy -an object as you have, for there is nothing on earth more honourable or -profitable than serving, first of all God, and then one’s king and -natural lord, particularly in the profession of arms, by which, if not -more wealth, at least more honour is to be won than by letters, as I -have said many a time; for though letters may have founded more great -houses than arms, still those founded by arms have I know not what -superiority over those founded by letters, and a certain splendour -belonging to them that distinguishes them above all. And bear in mind -what I am now about to say to you, for it will be of great use and -comfort to you in time of trouble; it is, not to let your mind dwell on -the adverse chances that may befall you; for the worst of all is death, -and if it be a good death, the best of all is to die. They asked Julius -Cæsar, the valiant Roman emperor, what was the best death. He answered, -that which is unexpected, which comes suddenly and unforeseen; and -though he answered like a pagan, and one without the knowledge of the -true God, yet, as far as sparing our feelings is concerned, he was -right; for suppose you are killed in the first engagement or skirmish, -whether by a cannon ball or blown up by mine, what matters it? It is -only dying, and all is over; and according to Terence, a soldier shows -better dead in battle, than alive and safe in flight; and the good -soldier wins fame in proportion as he is obedient to his captains and -those in command over him. And remember, my son, that it is better for -the soldier to smell of gunpowder than of civet, and that if old age -should come upon you in this honourable calling, though you may be -covered with wounds and crippled and lame, it will not come upon you -without honour, and that such as poverty cannot lessen; especially now -that provisions are being made for supporting and relieving old and -disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal with them after the -fashion of those who set free and get rid of their black slaves when -they are old and useless, and, turning them out of their houses under -the pretence of making them free, make them slaves to hunger, from -which they cannot expect to be released except by death. But for the -present I won’t say more than get ye up behind me on my horse as far as -the inn, and sup with me there, and to-morrow you shall pursue your -journey, and God give you as good speed as your intentions deserve.” - -The page did not accept the invitation to mount, though he did that to -supper at the inn; and here they say Sancho said to himself, “God be -with you for a master; is it possible that a man who can say things so -many and so good as he has said just now, can say that he saw the -impossible absurdities he reports about the cave of Montesinos? Well, -well, we shall see.” - -And now, just as night was falling, they reached the inn, and it was -not without satisfaction that Sancho perceived his master took it for a -real inn, and not for a castle as usual. The instant they entered Don -Quixote asked the landlord after the man with the lances and halberds, -and was told that he was in the stable seeing to his mule; which was -what Sancho and the cousin proceeded to do for their beasts, giving the -best manger and the best place in the stable to Rocinante. - -CHAPTER XXV. -WHEREIN IS SET DOWN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, AND THE DROLL ONE OF THE -PUPPET-SHOWMAN, TOGETHER WITH THE MEMORABLE DIVINATIONS OF THE DIVINING -APE - -Don Quixote’s bread would not bake, as the common saying is, until he -had heard and learned the curious things promised by the man who -carried the arms. He went to seek him where the innkeeper said he was -and having found him, bade him say now at any rate what he had to say -in answer to the question he had asked him on the road. “The tale of my -wonders must be taken more leisurely and not standing,” said the man; -“let me finish foddering my beast, good sir; and then I’ll tell you -things that will astonish you.” - -“Don’t wait for that,” said Don Quixote; “I’ll help you in everything,” -and so he did, sifting the barley for him and cleaning out the manger; -a degree of humility which made the other feel bound to tell him with a -good grace what he had asked; so seating himself on a bench, with Don -Quixote beside him, and the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza, and the -landlord, for a senate and an audience, he began his story in this way: - -“You must know that in a village four leagues and a half from this inn, -it so happened that one of the regidors, by the tricks and roguery of a -servant girl of his (it’s too long a tale to tell), lost an ass; and -though he did all he possibly could to find it, it was all to no -purpose. A fortnight might have gone by, so the story goes, since the -ass had been missing, when, as the regidor who had lost it was standing -in the plaza, another regidor of the same town said to him, ‘Pay me for -good news, gossip; your ass has turned up.’ ‘That I will, and well, -gossip,’ said the other; ‘but tell us, where has he turned up?’ ‘In the -forest,’ said the finder; ‘I saw him this morning without pack-saddle -or harness of any sort, and so lean that it went to one’s heart to see -him. I tried to drive him before me and bring him to you, but he is -already so wild and shy that when I went near him he made off into the -thickest part of the forest. If you have a mind that we two should go -back and look for him, let me put up this she-ass at my house and I’ll -be back at once.’ ‘You will be doing me a great kindness,’ said the -owner of the ass, ‘and I’ll try to pay it back in the same coin.’ It is -with all these circumstances, and in the very same way I am telling it -now, that those who know all about the matter tell the story. Well -then, the two regidors set off on foot, arm in arm, for the forest, and -coming to the place where they hoped to find the ass they could not -find him, nor was he to be seen anywhere about, search as they might. -Seeing, then, that there was no sign of him, the regidor who had seen -him said to the other, ‘Look here, gossip; a plan has occurred to me, -by which, beyond a doubt, we shall manage to discover the animal, even -if he is stowed away in the bowels of the earth, not to say the forest. -Here it is. I can bray to perfection, and if you can ever so little, -the thing’s as good as done.’ ‘Ever so little did you say, gossip?’ -said the other; ‘by God, I’ll not give in to anybody, not even to the -asses themselves.’ ‘We’ll soon see,’ said the second regidor, ‘for my -plan is that you should go one side of the forest, and I the other, so -as to go all round about it; and every now and then you will bray and I -will bray; and it cannot be but that the ass will hear us, and answer -us if he is in the forest.’ To which the owner of the ass replied, -‘It’s an excellent plan, I declare, gossip, and worthy of your great -genius;’ and the two separating as agreed, it so fell out that they -brayed almost at the same moment, and each, deceived by the braying of -the other, ran to look, fancying the ass had turned up at last. When -they came in sight of one another, said the loser, ‘Is it possible, -gossip, that it was not my ass that brayed?’ ‘No, it was I,’ said the -other. ‘Well then, I can tell you, gossip,’ said the ass’s owner, ‘that -between you and an ass there is not an atom of difference as far as -braying goes, for I never in all my life saw or heard anything more -natural.’ ‘Those praises and compliments belong to you more justly than -to me, gossip,’ said the inventor of the plan; ‘for, by the God that -made me, you might give a couple of brays odds to the best and most -finished brayer in the world; the tone you have got is deep, your voice -is well kept up as to time and pitch, and your finishing notes come -thick and fast; in fact, I own myself beaten, and yield the palm to -you, and give in to you in this rare accomplishment.’ ‘Well then,’ said -the owner, ‘I’ll set a higher value on myself for the future, and -consider that I know something, as I have an excellence of some sort; -for though I always thought I brayed well, I never supposed I came up -to the pitch of perfection you say.’ ‘And I say too,’ said the second, -‘that there are rare gifts going to loss in the world, and that they -are ill bestowed upon those who don’t know how to make use of them.’ -‘Ours,’ said the owner of the ass, ‘unless it is in cases like this we -have now in hand, cannot be of any service to us, and even in this God -grant they may be of some use.’ So saying they separated, and took to -their braying once more, but every instant they were deceiving one -another, and coming to meet one another again, until they arranged by -way of countersign, so as to know that it was they and not the ass, to -give two brays, one after the other. In this way, doubling the brays at -every step, they made the complete circuit of the forest, but the lost -ass never gave them an answer or even the sign of one. How could the -poor ill-starred brute have answered, when, in the thickest part of the -forest, they found him devoured by wolves? As soon as he saw him his -owner said, ‘I was wondering he did not answer, for if he wasn’t dead -he’d have brayed when he heard us, or he’d have been no ass; but for -the sake of having heard you bray to such perfection, gossip, I count -the trouble I have taken to look for him well bestowed, even though I -have found him dead.’ ‘It’s in a good hand, gossip,’ said the other; -‘if the abbot sings well, the acolyte is not much behind him.’ So they -returned disconsolate and hoarse to their village, where they told -their friends, neighbours, and acquaintances what had befallen them in -their search for the ass, each crying up the other’s perfection in -braying. The whole story came to be known and spread abroad through the -villages of the neighbourhood; and the devil, who never sleeps, with -his love for sowing dissensions and scattering discord everywhere, -blowing mischief about and making quarrels out of nothing, contrived to -make the people of the other towns fall to braying whenever they saw -anyone from our village, as if to throw the braying of our regidors in -our teeth. Then the boys took to it, which was the same thing for it as -getting into the hands and mouths of all the devils of hell; and -braying spread from one town to another in such a way that the men of -the braying town are as easy to be known as blacks are to be known from -whites, and the unlucky joke has gone so far that several times the -scoffed have come out in arms and in a body to do battle with the -scoffers, and neither king nor rook, fear nor shame, can mend matters. -To-morrow or the day after, I believe, the men of my town, that is, of -the braying town, are going to take the field against another village -two leagues away from ours, one of those that persecute us most; and -that we may turn out well prepared I have bought these lances and -halberds you have seen. These are the curious things I told you I had -to tell, and if you don’t think them so, I have got no others;” and -with this the worthy fellow brought his story to a close. - -Just at this moment there came in at the gate of the inn a man entirely -clad in chamois leather, hose, breeches, and doublet, who said in a -loud voice, “Señor host, have you room? Here’s the divining ape and the -show of the Release of Melisendra just coming.” - -“Ods body!” said the landlord, “why, it’s Master Pedro! We’re in for a -grand night!” I forgot to mention that the said Master Pedro had his -left eye and nearly half his cheek covered with a patch of green -taffety, showing that something ailed all that side. “Your worship is -welcome, Master Pedro,” continued the landlord; “but where are the ape -and the show, for I don’t see them?” “They are close at hand,” said he -in the chamois leather, “but I came on first to know if there was any -room.” “I’d make the Duke of Alva himself clear out to make room for -Master Pedro,” said the landlord; “bring in the ape and the show; -there’s company in the inn to-night that will pay to see that and the -cleverness of the ape.” “So be it by all means,” said the man with the -patch; “I’ll lower the price, and be well satisfied if I only pay my -expenses; and now I’ll go back and hurry on the cart with the ape and -the show;” and with this he went out of the inn. - -Don Quixote at once asked the landlord what this Master Pedro was, and -what was the show and what was the ape he had with him; which the -landlord replied, “This is a famous puppet-showman, who for some time -past has been going about this Mancha de Aragon, exhibiting a show of -the release of Melisendra by the famous Don Gaiferos, one of the best -and best-represented stories that have been seen in this part of the -kingdom for many a year; he has also with him an ape with the most -extraordinary gift ever seen in an ape or imagined in a human being; -for if you ask him anything, he listens attentively to the question, -and then jumps on his master’s shoulder, and pressing close to his ear -tells him the answer which Master Pedro then delivers. He says a great -deal more about things past than about things to come; and though he -does not always hit the truth in every case, most times he is not far -wrong, so that he makes us fancy he has got the devil in him. He gets -two reals for every question if the ape answers; I mean if his master -answers for him after he has whispered into his ear; and so it is -believed that this same Master Pedro is very rich. He is a ‘gallant -man’ as they say in Italy, and good company, and leads the finest life -in the world; talks more than six, drinks more than a dozen, and all by -his tongue, and his ape, and his show.” - -Master Pedro now came back, and in a cart followed the show and the -ape—a big one, without a tail and with buttocks as bare as felt, but -not vicious-looking. As soon as Don Quixote saw him, he asked him, “Can -you tell me, sir fortune-teller, what fish do we catch, and how will it -be with us? See, here are my two reals,” and he bade Sancho give them -to Master Pedro; but he answered for the ape and said, “Señor, this -animal does not give any answer or information touching things that are -to come; of things past he knows something, and more or less of things -present.” - -“Gad,” said Sancho, “I would not give a farthing to be told what’s past -with me, for who knows that better than I do myself? And to pay for -being told what I know would be mighty foolish. But as you know things -present, here are my two reals, and tell me, most excellent sir ape, -what is my wife Teresa Panza doing now, and what is she diverting -herself with?” - -Master Pedro refused to take the money, saying, “I will not receive -payment in advance or until the service has been first rendered;” and -then with his right hand he gave a couple of slaps on his left -shoulder, and with one spring the ape perched himself upon it, and -putting his mouth to his master’s ear began chattering his teeth -rapidly; and having kept this up as long as one would be saying a -credo, with another spring he brought himself to the ground, and the -same instant Master Pedro ran in great haste and fell upon his knees -before Don Quixote, and embracing his legs exclaimed, “These legs do I -embrace as I would embrace the two pillars of Hercules, O illustrious -reviver of knight-errantry, so long consigned to oblivion! O never yet -duly extolled knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, courage of the -faint-hearted, prop of the tottering, arm of the fallen, staff and -counsel of all who are unfortunate!” - -Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho astounded, the cousin staggered, -the page astonished, the man from the braying town agape, the landlord -in perplexity, and, in short, everyone amazed at the words of the -puppet-showman, who went on to say, “And thou, worthy Sancho Panza, the -best squire and squire to the best knight in the world! Be of good -cheer, for thy good wife Teresa is well, and she is at this moment -hackling a pound of flax; and more by token she has at her left hand a -jug with a broken spout that holds a good drop of wine, with which she -solaces herself at her work.” - -“That I can well believe,” said Sancho. “She is a lucky one, and if it -was not for her jealousy I would not change her for the giantess -Andandona, who by my master’s account was a very clever and worthy -woman; my Teresa is one of those that won’t let themselves want for -anything, though their heirs may have to pay for it.” - -“Now I declare,” said Don Quixote, “he who reads much and travels much -sees and knows a great deal. I say so because what amount of persuasion -could have persuaded me that there are apes in the world that can -divine as I have seen now with my own eyes? For I am that very Don -Quixote of La Mancha this worthy animal refers to, though he has gone -rather too far in my praise; but whatever I may be, I thank heaven that -it has endowed me with a tender and compassionate heart, always -disposed to do good to all and harm to none.” - -“If I had money,” said the page, “I would ask señor ape what will -happen to me in the peregrination I am making.” - -To this Master Pedro, who had by this time risen from Don Quixote’s -feet, replied, “I have already said that this little beast gives no -answer as to the future; but if he did, not having money would be of no -consequence, for to oblige Señor Don Quixote, here present, I would -give up all the profits in the world. And now, because I have promised -it, and to afford him pleasure, I will set up my show and offer -entertainment to all who are in the inn, without any charge whatever.” -As soon as he heard this, the landlord, delighted beyond measure, -pointed out a place where the show might be fixed, which was done at -once. - -Don Quixote was not very well satisfied with the divinations of the -ape, as he did not think it proper that an ape should divine anything, -either past or future; so while Master Pedro was arranging the show, he -retired with Sancho into a corner of the stable, where, without being -overheard by anyone, he said to him, “Look here, Sancho, I have been -seriously thinking over this ape’s extraordinary gift, and have come to -the conclusion that beyond doubt this Master Pedro, his master, has a -pact, tacit or express, with the devil.” - -“If the packet is express from the devil,” said Sancho, “it must be a -very dirty packet no doubt; but what good can it do Master Pedro to -have such packets?” - -“Thou dost not understand me, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “I only mean -he must have made some compact with the devil to infuse this power into -the ape, that he may get his living, and after he has grown rich he -will give him his soul, which is what the enemy of mankind wants; this -I am led to believe by observing that the ape only answers about things -past or present, and the devil’s knowledge extends no further; for the -future he knows only by guesswork, and that not always; for it is -reserved for God alone to know the times and the seasons, and for him -there is neither past nor future; all is present. This being as it is, -it is clear that this ape speaks by the spirit of the devil; and I am -astonished they have not denounced him to the Holy Office, and put him -to the question, and forced it out of him by whose virtue it is that he -divines; because it is certain this ape is not an astrologer; neither -his master nor he sets up, or knows how to set up, those figures they -call judiciary, which are now so common in Spain that there is not a -jade, or page, or old cobbler, that will not undertake to set up a -figure as readily as pick up a knave of cards from the ground, bringing -to nought the marvellous truth of the science by their lies and -ignorance. I know of a lady who asked one of these figure schemers -whether her little lap-dog would be in pup and would breed, and how -many and of what colour the little pups would be. To which señor -astrologer, after having set up his figure, made answer that the bitch -would be in pup, and would drop three pups, one green, another bright -red, and the third parti-coloured, provided she conceived between -eleven and twelve either of the day or night, and on a Monday or -Saturday; but as things turned out, two days after this the bitch died -of a surfeit, and señor planet-ruler had the credit all over the place -of being a most profound astrologer, as most of these planet-rulers -have.” - -“Still,” said Sancho, “I would be glad if your worship would make -Master Pedro ask his ape whether what happened your worship in the cave -of Montesinos is true; for, begging your worship’s pardon, I, for my -part, take it to have been all flam and lies, or at any rate something -you dreamt.” - -“That may be,” replied Don Quixote; “however, I will do what you -suggest; though I have my own scruples about it.” - -At this point Master Pedro came up in quest of Don Quixote, to tell him -the show was now ready and to come and see it, for it was worth seeing. -Don Quixote explained his wish, and begged him to ask his ape at once -to tell him whether certain things which had happened to him in the -cave of Montesinos were dreams or realities, for to him they appeared -to partake of both. Upon this Master Pedro, without answering, went -back to fetch the ape, and, having placed it in front of Don Quixote -and Sancho, said: “See here, señor ape, this gentleman wishes to know -whether certain things which happened to him in the cave called the -cave of Montesinos were false or true.” On his making the usual sign -the ape mounted on his left shoulder and seemed to whisper in his ear, -and Master Pedro said at once, “The ape says that the things you saw or -that happened to you in that cave are, part of them false, part true; -and that he only knows this and no more as regards this question; but -if your worship wishes to know more, on Friday next he will answer all -that may be asked him, for his virtue is at present exhausted, and will -not return to him till Friday, as he has said.” - -“Did I not say, señor,” said Sancho, “that I could not bring myself to -believe that all your worship said about the adventures in the cave was -true, or even the half of it?” - -“The course of events will tell, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “time, -that discloses all things, leaves nothing that it does not drag into -the light of day, though it be buried in the bosom of the earth. But -enough of that for the present; let us go and see Master Pedro’s show, -for I am sure there must be something novel in it.” - -“Something!” said Master Pedro; “this show of mine has sixty thousand -novel things in it; let me tell you, Señor Don Quixote, it is one of -the best-worth-seeing things in the world this day; but _operibus -credite et non verbis_, and now let’s get to work, for it is growing -late, and we have a great deal to do and to say and show.” - -Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed him and went to where the show was -already put up and uncovered, set all around with lighted wax tapers -which made it look splendid and bright. When they came to it Master -Pedro ensconced himself inside it, for it was he who had to work the -puppets, and a boy, a servant of his, posted himself outside to act as -showman and explain the mysteries of the exhibition, having a wand in -his hand to point to the figures as they came out. And so, all who were -in the inn being arranged in front of the show, some of them standing, -and Don Quixote, Sancho, the page, and cousin, accommodated with the -best places, the interpreter began to say what he will hear or see who -reads or hears the next chapter. - -CHAPTER XXVI. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE DROLL ADVENTURE OF THE PUPPET-SHOWMAN, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS IN TRUTH RIGHT GOOD - -All were silent, Tyrians and Trojans; I mean all who were watching the -show were hanging on the lips of the interpreter of its wonders, when -drums and trumpets were heard to sound inside it and cannon to go off. -The noise was soon over, and then the boy lifted up his voice and said, -“This true story which is here represented to your worships is taken -word for word from the French chronicles and from the Spanish ballads -that are in everybody’s mouth, and in the mouth of the boys about the -streets. Its subject is the release by Señor Don Gaiferos of his wife -Melisendra, when a captive in Spain at the hands of the Moors in the -city of Sansueña, for so they called then what is now called Saragossa; -and there you may see how Don Gaiferos is playing at the tables, just -as they sing it- - -At tables playing Don Gaiferos sits, -For Melisendra is forgotten now. - -And that personage who appears there with a crown on his head and a -sceptre in his hand is the Emperor Charlemagne, the supposed father of -Melisendra, who, angered to see his son-in-law’s inaction and -unconcern, comes in to chide him; and observe with what vehemence and -energy he chides him, so that you would fancy he was going to give him -half a dozen raps with his sceptre; and indeed there are authors who -say he did give them, and sound ones too; and after having said a great -deal to him about imperilling his honour by not effecting the release -of his wife, he said, so the tale runs, - -Enough I’ve said, see to it now. - -Observe, too, how the emperor turns away, and leaves Don Gaiferos -fuming; and you see now how in a burst of anger, he flings the table -and the board far from him and calls in haste for his armour, and asks -his cousin Don Roland for the loan of his sword, Durindana, and how Don -Roland refuses to lend it, offering him his company in the difficult -enterprise he is undertaking; but he, in his valour and anger, will not -accept it, and says that he alone will suffice to rescue his wife, even -though she were imprisoned deep in the centre of the earth, and with -this he retires to arm himself and set out on his journey at once. Now -let your worships turn your eyes to that tower that appears there, -which is supposed to be one of the towers of the alcazar of Saragossa, -now called the Aljaferia; that lady who appears on that balcony dressed -in Moorish fashion is the peerless Melisendra, for many a time she used -to gaze from thence upon the road to France, and seek consolation in -her captivity by thinking of Paris and her husband. Observe, too, a new -incident which now occurs, such as, perhaps, never was seen. Do you not -see that Moor, who silently and stealthily, with his finger on his lip, -approaches Melisendra from behind? Observe now how he prints a kiss -upon her lips, and what a hurry she is in to spit, and wipe them with -the white sleeve of her smock, and how she bewails herself, and tears -her fair hair as though it were to blame for the wrong. Observe, too, -that the stately Moor who is in that corridor is King Marsilio of -Sansueña, who, having seen the Moor’s insolence, at once orders him -(though his kinsman and a great favourite of his) to be seized and -given two hundred lashes, while carried through the streets of the city -according to custom, with criers going before him and officers of -justice behind; and here you see them come out to execute the sentence, -although the offence has been scarcely committed; for among the Moors -there are no indictments nor remands as with us.” - -Here Don Quixote called out, “Child, child, go straight on with your -story, and don’t run into curves and slants, for to establish a fact -clearly there is need of a great deal of proof and confirmation;” and -said Master Pedro from within, “Boy, stick to your text and do as the -gentleman bids you; it’s the best plan; keep to your plain song, and -don’t attempt harmonies, for they are apt to break down from being over -fine.” - -“I will,” said the boy, and he went on to say, “This figure that you -see here on horseback, covered with a Gascon cloak, is Don Gaiferos -himself, whom his wife, now avenged of the insult of the amorous Moor, -and taking her stand on the balcony of the tower with a calmer and more -tranquil countenance, has perceived without recognising him; and she -addresses her husband, supposing him to be some traveller, and holds -with him all that conversation and colloquy in the ballad that runs— - -If you, sir knight, to France are bound, -Oh! for Gaiferos ask— - -which I do not repeat here because prolixity begets disgust; suffice it -to observe how Don Gaiferos discovers himself, and that by her joyful -gestures Melisendra shows us she has recognised him; and what is more, -we now see she lowers herself from the balcony to place herself on the -haunches of her good husband’s horse. But ah! unhappy lady, the edge of -her petticoat has caught on one of the bars of the balcony and she is -left hanging in the air, unable to reach the ground. But you see how -compassionate heaven sends aid in our sorest need; Don Gaiferos -advances, and without minding whether the rich petticoat is torn or -not, he seizes her and by force brings her to the ground, and then with -one jerk places her on the haunches of his horse, astraddle like a man, -and bids her hold on tight and clasp her arms round his neck, crossing -them on his breast so as not to fall, for the lady Melisendra was not -used to that style of riding. You see, too, how the neighing of the -horse shows his satisfaction with the gallant and beautiful burden he -bears in his lord and lady. You see how they wheel round and quit the -city, and in joy and gladness take the road to Paris. Go in peace, O -peerless pair of true lovers! May you reach your longed-for fatherland -in safety, and may fortune interpose no impediment to your prosperous -journey; may the eyes of your friends and kinsmen behold you enjoying -in peace and tranquillity the remaining days of your life—and that they -may be as many as those of Nestor!” - -Here Master Pedro called out again and said, “Simplicity, boy! None of -your high flights; all affectation is bad.” - -The interpreter made no answer, but went on to say, “There was no want -of idle eyes, that see everything, to see Melisendra come down and -mount, and word was brought to King Marsilio, who at once gave orders -to sound the alarm; and see what a stir there is, and how the city is -drowned with the sound of the bells pealing in the towers of all the -mosques.” - -“Nay, nay,” said Don Quixote at this; “on that point of the bells -Master Pedro is very inaccurate, for bells are not in use among the -Moors; only kettledrums, and a kind of small trumpet somewhat like our -clarion; to ring bells this way in Sansueña is unquestionably a great -absurdity.” - -On hearing this, Master Pedro stopped ringing, and said, “Don’t look -into trifles, Señor Don Quixote, or want to have things up to a pitch -of perfection that is out of reach. Are there not almost every day a -thousand comedies represented all round us full of thousands of -inaccuracies and absurdities, and, for all that, they have a successful -run, and are listened to not only with applause, but with admiration -and all the rest of it? Go on, boy, and don’t mind; for so long as I -fill my pouch, no matter if I show as many inaccuracies as there are -motes in a sunbeam.” - -“True enough,” said Don Quixote; and the boy went on: “See what a -numerous and glittering crowd of horsemen issues from the city in -pursuit of the two faithful lovers, what a blowing of trumpets there -is, what sounding of horns, what beating of drums and tabors; I fear me -they will overtake them and bring them back tied to the tail of their -own horse, which would be a dreadful sight.” - -Don Quixote, however, seeing such a swarm of Moors and hearing such a -din, thought it would be right to aid the fugitives, and standing up he -exclaimed in a loud voice, “Never, while I live, will I permit foul -play to be practised in my presence on such a famous knight and -fearless lover as Don Gaiferos. Halt! ill-born rabble, follow him not -nor pursue him, or ye will have to reckon with me in battle!” and -suiting the action to the word, he drew his sword, and with one bound -placed himself close to the show, and with unexampled rapidity and fury -began to shower down blows on the puppet troop of Moors, knocking over -some, decapitating others, maiming this one and demolishing that; and -among many more he delivered one down stroke which, if Master Pedro had -not ducked, made himself small, and got out of the way, would have -sliced off his head as easily as if it had been made of almond-paste. -Master Pedro kept shouting, “Hold hard! Señor Don Quixote! can’t you -see they’re not real Moors you’re knocking down and killing and -destroying, but only little pasteboard figures! Look—sinner that I -am!—how you’re wrecking and ruining all that I’m worth!” But in spite -of this, Don Quixote did not leave off discharging a continuous rain of -cuts, slashes, downstrokes, and backstrokes, and at length, in less -than the space of two credos, he brought the whole show to the ground, -with all its fittings and figures shivered and knocked to pieces, King -Marsilio badly wounded, and the Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and -head split in two. The whole audience was thrown into confusion, the -ape fled to the roof of the inn, the cousin was frightened, and even -Sancho Panza himself was in mighty fear, for, as he swore after the -storm was over, he had never seen his master in such a furious passion. - -The complete destruction of the show being thus accomplished, Don -Quixote became a little calmer, said, “I wish I had here before me now -all those who do not or will not believe how useful knights-errant are -in the world; just think, if I had not been here present, what would -have become of the brave Don Gaiferos and the fair Melisendra! Depend -upon it, by this time those dogs would have overtaken them and -inflicted some outrage upon them. So, then, long live knight-errantry -beyond everything living on earth this day!” - -“Let it live, and welcome,” said Master Pedro at this in a feeble -voice, “and let me die, for I am so unfortunate that I can say with -King Don Rodrigo— - -Yesterday was I lord of Spain -To-day I’ve not a turret left -That I may call mine own. - -Not half an hour, nay, barely a minute ago, I saw myself lord of kings -and emperors, with my stables filled with countless horses, and my -trunks and bags with gay dresses unnumbered; and now I find myself -ruined and laid low, destitute and a beggar, and above all without my -ape, for, by my faith, my teeth will have to sweat for it before I have -him caught; and all through the reckless fury of sir knight here, who, -they say, protects the fatherless, and rights wrongs, and does other -charitable deeds; but whose generous intentions have been found wanting -in my case only, blessed and praised be the highest heavens! Verily, -knight of the rueful figure he must be to have disfigured mine.” - -Sancho Panza was touched by Master Pedro’s words, and said to him, -“Don’t weep and lament, Master Pedro; you break my heart; let me tell -you my master, Don Quixote, is so catholic and scrupulous a Christian -that, if he can make out that he has done you any wrong, he will own -it, and be willing to pay for it and make it good, and something over -and above.” - -“Only let Señor Don Quixote pay me for some part of the work he has -destroyed,” said Master Pedro, “and I would be content, and his worship -would ease his conscience, for he cannot be saved who keeps what is -another’s against the owner’s will, and makes no restitution.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but at present I am not aware that I -have got anything of yours, Master Pedro.” - -“What!” returned Master Pedro; “and these relics lying here on the bare -hard ground—what scattered and shattered them but the invincible -strength of that mighty arm? And whose were the bodies they belonged to -but mine? And what did I get my living by but by them?” - -“Now am I fully convinced,” said Don Quixote, “of what I had many a -time before believed; that the enchanters who persecute me do nothing -more than put figures like these before my eyes, and then change and -turn them into what they please. In truth and earnest, I assure you -gentlemen who now hear me, that to me everything that has taken place -here seemed to take place literally, that Melisendra was Melisendra, -Don Gaiferos Don Gaiferos, Marsilio Marsilio, and Charlemagne -Charlemagne. That was why my anger was roused; and to be faithful to my -calling as a knight-errant I sought to give aid and protection to those -who fled, and with this good intention I did what you have seen. If the -result has been the opposite of what I intended, it is no fault of -mine, but of those wicked beings that persecute me; but, for all that, -I am willing to condemn myself in costs for this error of mine, though -it did not proceed from malice; let Master Pedro see what he wants for -the spoiled figures, for I agree to pay it at once in good and current -money of Castile.” - -Master Pedro made him a bow, saying, “I expected no less of the rare -Christianity of the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, true helper and -protector of all destitute and needy vagabonds; master landlord here -and the great Sancho Panza shall be the arbitrators and appraisers -between your worship and me of what these dilapidated figures are worth -or may be worth.” - -The landlord and Sancho consented, and then Master Pedro picked up from -the ground King Marsilio of Saragossa with his head off, and said, -“Here you see how impossible it is to restore this king to his former -state, so I think, saving your better judgments, that for his death, -decease, and demise, four reals and a half may be given me.” - -“Proceed,” said Don Quixote. - -“Well then, for this cleavage from top to bottom,” continued Master -Pedro, taking up the split Emperor Charlemagne, “it would not be much -if I were to ask five reals and a quarter.” - -“It’s not little,” said Sancho. - -“Nor is it much,” said the landlord; “make it even, and say five -reals.” - -“Let him have the whole five and a quarter,” said Don Quixote; “for the -sum total of this notable disaster does not stand on a quarter more or -less; and make an end of it quickly, Master Pedro, for it’s getting on -to supper-time, and I have some hints of hunger.” - -“For this figure,” said Master Pedro, “that is without a nose, and -wants an eye, and is the fair Melisendra, I ask, and I am reasonable in -my charge, two reals and twelve maravedis.” - -“The very devil must be in it,” said Don Quixote, “if Melisendra and -her husband are not by this time at least on the French border, for the -horse they rode on seemed to me to fly rather than gallop; so you -needn’t try to sell me the cat for the hare, showing me here a noseless -Melisendra when she is now, may be, enjoying herself at her ease with -her husband in France. God help every one to his own, Master Pedro, and -let us all proceed fairly and honestly; and now go on.” - -Master Pedro, perceiving that Don Quixote was beginning to wander, and -return to his original fancy, was not disposed to let him escape, so he -said to him, “This cannot be Melisendra, but must be one of the damsels -that waited on her; so if I’m given sixty maravedis for her, I’ll be -content and sufficiently paid.” - -And so he went on, putting values on ever so many more smashed figures, -which, after the two arbitrators had adjusted them to the satisfaction -of both parties, came to forty reals and three-quarters; and over and -above this sum, which Sancho at once disbursed, Master Pedro asked for -two reals for his trouble in catching the ape. - -“Let him have them, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “not to catch the ape, -but to get drunk; and two hundred would I give this minute for the good -news, to anyone who could tell me positively, that the lady Doña -Melisandra and Señor Don Gaiferos were now in France and with their own -people.” - -“No one could tell us that better than my ape,” said Master Pedro; “but -there’s no devil that could catch him now; I suspect, however, that -affection and hunger will drive him to come looking for me to-night; -but to-morrow will soon be here and we shall see.” - -In short, the puppet-show storm passed off, and all supped in peace and -good fellowship at Don Quixote’s expense, for he was the height of -generosity. Before it was daylight the man with the lances and halberds -took his departure, and soon after daybreak the cousin and the page -came to bid Don Quixote farewell, the former returning home, the latter -resuming his journey, towards which, to help him, Don Quixote gave him -twelve reals. Master Pedro did not care to engage in any more palaver -with Don Quixote, whom he knew right well; so he rose before the sun, -and having got together the remains of his show and caught his ape, he -too went off to seek his adventures. The landlord, who did not know Don -Quixote, was as much astonished at his mad freaks as at his generosity. -To conclude, Sancho, by his master’s orders, paid him very liberally, -and taking leave of him they quitted the inn at about eight in the -morning and took to the road, where we will leave them to pursue their -journey, for this is necessary in order to allow certain other matters -to be set forth, which are required to clear up this famous history. - -CHAPTER XXVII. -WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN WHO MASTER PEDRO AND HIS APE WERE, TOGETHER WITH -THE MISHAP DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, WHICH HE DID NOT -CONCLUDE AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED OR AS HE HAD EXPECTED - -Cide Hamete, the chronicler of this great history, begins this chapter -with these words, “I swear as a Catholic Christian;” with regard to -which his translator says that Cide Hamete’s swearing as a Catholic -Christian, he being—as no doubt he was—a Moor, only meant that, just as -a Catholic Christian taking an oath swears, or ought to swear, what is -true, and tell the truth in what he avers, so he was telling the truth, -as much as if he swore as a Catholic Christian, in all he chose to -write about Quixote, especially in declaring who Master Pedro was and -what was the divining ape that astonished all the villages with his -divinations. He says, then, that he who has read the First Part of this -history will remember well enough the Gines de Pasamonte whom, with -other galley slaves, Don Quixote set free in the Sierra Morena: a -kindness for which he afterwards got poor thanks and worse payment from -that evil-minded, ill-conditioned set. This Gines de Pasamonte—Don -Ginesillo de Parapilla, Don Quixote called him—it was that stole Dapple -from Sancho Panza; which, because by the fault of the printers neither -the how nor the when was stated in the First Part, has been a puzzle to -a good many people, who attribute to the bad memory of the author what -was the error of the press. In fact, however, Gines stole him while -Sancho Panza was asleep on his back, adopting the plan and device that -Brunello had recourse to when he stole Sacripante’s horse from between -his legs at the siege of Albracca; and, as has been told, Sancho -afterwards recovered him. This Gines, then, afraid of being caught by -the officers of justice, who were looking for him to punish him for his -numberless rascalities and offences (which were so many and so great -that he himself wrote a big book giving an account of them), resolved -to shift his quarters into the kingdom of Aragon, and cover up his left -eye, and take up the trade of a puppet-showman; for this, as well as -juggling, he knew how to practise to perfection. From some released -Christians returning from Barbary, it so happened, he bought the ape, -which he taught to mount upon his shoulder on his making a certain -sign, and to whisper, or seem to do so, in his ear. Thus prepared, -before entering any village whither he was bound with his show and his -ape, he used to inform himself at the nearest village, or from the most -likely person he could find, as to what particular things had happened -there, and to whom; and bearing them well in mind, the first thing he -did was to exhibit his show, sometimes one story, sometimes another, -but all lively, amusing, and familiar. As soon as the exhibition was -over he brought forward the accomplishments of his ape, assuring the -public that he divined all the past and the present, but as to the -future he had no skill. For each question answered he asked two reals, -and for some he made a reduction, just as he happened to feel the pulse -of the questioners; and when now and then he came to houses where -things that he knew of had happened to the people living there, even if -they did not ask him a question, not caring to pay for it, he would -make the sign to the ape and then declare that it had said so and so, -which fitted the case exactly. In this way he acquired a prodigious -name and all ran after him; on other occasions, being very crafty, he -would answer in such a way that the answers suited the questions; and -as no one cross-questioned him or pressed him to tell how his ape -divined, he made fools of them all and filled his pouch. The instant he -entered the inn he knew Don Quixote and Sancho, and with that knowledge -it was easy for him to astonish them and all who were there; but it -would have cost him dear had Don Quixote brought down his hand a little -lower when he cut off King Marsilio’s head and destroyed all his -horsemen, as related in the preceeding chapter. - -So much for Master Pedro and his ape; and now to return to Don Quixote -of La Mancha. After he had left the inn he determined to visit, first -of all, the banks of the Ebro and that neighbourhood, before entering -the city of Saragossa, for the ample time there was still to spare -before the jousts left him enough for all. With this object in view he -followed the road and travelled along it for two days, without meeting -any adventure worth committing to writing until on the third day, as he -was ascending a hill, he heard a great noise of drums, trumpets, and -musket-shots. At first he imagined some regiment of soldiers was -passing that way, and to see them he spurred Rocinante and mounted the -hill. On reaching the top he saw at the foot of it over two hundred -men, as it seemed to him, armed with weapons of various sorts, lances, -crossbows, partisans, halberds, and pikes, and a few muskets and a -great many bucklers. He descended the slope and approached the band -near enough to see distinctly the flags, make out the colours and -distinguish the devices they bore, especially one on a standard or -ensign of white satin, on which there was painted in a very life-like -style an ass like a little sard, with its head up, its mouth open and -its tongue out, as if it were in the act and attitude of braying; and -round it were inscribed in large characters these two lines— - -They did not bray in vain, -Our alcaldes twain. - -From this device Don Quixote concluded that these people must be from -the braying town, and he said so to Sancho, explaining to him what was -written on the standard. At the same time be observed that the man who -had told them about the matter was wrong in saying that the two who -brayed were regidors, for according to the lines of the standard they -were alcaldes. To which Sancho replied, “Señor, there’s nothing to -stick at in that, for maybe the regidors who brayed then came to be -alcaldes of their town afterwards, and so they may go by both titles; -moreover, it has nothing to do with the truth of the story whether the -brayers were alcaldes or regidors, provided at any rate they did bray; -for an alcalde is just as likely to bray as a regidor.” They perceived, -in short, clearly that the town which had been twitted had turned out -to do battle with some other that had jeered it more than was fair or -neighbourly. - -Don Quixote proceeded to join them, not a little to Sancho’s -uneasiness, for he never relished mixing himself up in expeditions of -that sort. The members of the troop received him into the midst of -them, taking him to be someone who was on their side. Don Quixote, -putting up his visor, advanced with an easy bearing and demeanour to -the standard with the ass, and all the chief men of the army gathered -round him to look at him, staring at him with the usual amazement that -everybody felt on seeing him for the first time. Don Quixote, seeing -them examining him so attentively, and that none of them spoke to him -or put any question to him, determined to take advantage of their -silence; so, breaking his own, he lifted up his voice and said, “Worthy -sirs, I entreat you as earnestly as I can not to interrupt an argument -I wish to address to you, until you find it displeases or wearies you; -and if that come to pass, on the slightest hint you give me I will put -a seal upon my lips and a gag upon my tongue.” - -They all bade him say what he liked, for they would listen to him -willingly. - -With this permission Don Quixote went on to say, “I, sirs, am a -knight-errant whose calling is that of arms, and whose profession is to -protect those who require protection, and give help to such as stand in -need of it. Some days ago I became acquainted with your misfortune and -the cause which impels you to take up arms again and again to revenge -yourselves upon your enemies; and having many times thought over your -business in my mind, I find that, according to the laws of combat, you -are mistaken in holding yourselves insulted; for a private individual -cannot insult an entire community; unless it be by defying it -collectively as a traitor, because he cannot tell who in particular is -guilty of the treason for which he defies it. Of this we have an -example in Don Diego Ordoñez de Lara, who defied the whole town of -Zamora, because he did not know that Vellido Dolfos alone had committed -the treachery of slaying his king; and therefore he defied them all, -and the vengeance and the reply concerned all; though, to be sure, -Señor Don Diego went rather too far, indeed very much beyond the limits -of a defiance; for he had no occasion to defy the dead, or the waters, -or the fishes, or those yet unborn, and all the rest of it as set -forth; but let that pass, for when anger breaks out there’s no father, -governor, or bridle to check the tongue. The case being, then, that no -one person can insult a kingdom, province, city, state, or entire -community, it is clear there is no reason for going out to avenge the -defiance of such an insult, inasmuch as it is not one. A fine thing it -would be if the people of the clock town were to be at loggerheads -every moment with everyone who called them by that name,—or the -Cazoleros, Berengeneros, Ballenatos, Jaboneros, or the bearers of all -the other names and titles that are always in the mouth of the boys and -common people! It would be a nice business indeed if all these -illustrious cities were to take huff and revenge themselves and go -about perpetually making trombones of their swords in every petty -quarrel! No, no; God forbid! There are four things for which sensible -men and well-ordered States ought to take up arms, draw their swords, -and risk their persons, lives, and properties. The first is to defend -the Catholic faith; the second, to defend one’s life, which is in -accordance with natural and divine law; the third, in defence of one’s -honour, family, and property; the fourth, in the service of one’s king -in a just war; and if to these we choose to add a fifth (which may be -included in the second), in defence of one’s country. To these five, as -it were capital causes, there may be added some others that may be just -and reasonable, and make it a duty to take up arms; but to take them up -for trifles and things to laugh at and be amused by rather than -offended, looks as though he who did so was altogether wanting in -common sense. Moreover, to take an unjust revenge (and there cannot be -any just one) is directly opposed to the sacred law that we -acknowledge, wherein we are commanded to do good to our enemies and to -love them that hate us; a command which, though it seems somewhat -difficult to obey, is only so to those who have in them less of God -than of the world, and more of the flesh than of the spirit; for Jesus -Christ, God and true man, who never lied, and could not and cannot lie, -said, as our law-giver, that his yoke was easy and his burden light; he -would not, therefore, have laid any command upon us that it was -impossible to obey. Thus, sirs, you are bound to keep quiet by human -and divine law.” - -“The devil take me,” said Sancho to himself at this, “but this master -of mine is a theologian; or, if not, faith, he’s as like one as one egg -is like another.” - -Don Quixote stopped to take breath, and, observing that silence was -still preserved, had a mind to continue his discourse, and would have -done so had not Sancho interposed with his smartness; for he, seeing -his master pause, took the lead, saying, “My lord Don Quixote of La -Mancha, who once was called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, but -now is called the Knight of the Lions, is a gentleman of great -discretion who knows Latin and his mother tongue like a bachelor, and -in everything that he deals with or advises proceeds like a good -soldier, and has all the laws and ordinances of what they call combat -at his fingers’ ends; so you have nothing to do but to let yourselves -be guided by what he says, and on my head be it if it is wrong. Besides -which, you have been told that it is folly to take offence at merely -hearing a bray. I remember when I was a boy I brayed as often as I had -a fancy, without anyone hindering me, and so elegantly and naturally -that when I brayed all the asses in the town would bray; but I was none -the less for that the son of my parents who were greatly respected; and -though I was envied because of the gift by more than one of the high -and mighty ones of the town, I did not care two farthings for it; and -that you may see I am telling the truth, wait a bit and listen, for -this art, like swimming, once learnt is never forgotten;” and then, -taking hold of his nose, he began to bray so vigorously that all the -valleys around rang again. - -One of those, however, that stood near him, fancying he was mocking -them, lifted up a long staff he had in his hand and smote him such a -blow with it that Sancho dropped helpless to the ground. Don Quixote, -seeing him so roughly handled, attacked the man who had struck him -lance in hand, but so many thrust themselves between them that he could -not avenge him. Far from it, finding a shower of stones rained upon -him, and crossbows and muskets unnumbered levelled at him, he wheeled -Rocinante round and, as fast as his best gallop could take him, fled -from the midst of them, commending himself to God with all his heart to -deliver him out of this peril, in dread every step of some ball coming -in at his back and coming out at his breast, and every minute drawing -his breath to see whether it had gone from him. The members of the -band, however, were satisfied with seeing him take to flight, and did -not fire on him. They put up Sancho, scarcely restored to his senses, -on his ass, and let him go after his master; not that he was -sufficiently in his wits to guide the beast, but Dapple followed the -footsteps of Rocinante, from whom he could not remain a moment -separated. Don Quixote having got some way off looked back, and seeing -Sancho coming, waited for him, as he perceived that no one followed -him. The men of the troop stood their ground till night, and as the -enemy did not come out to battle, they returned to their town exulting; -and had they been aware of the ancient custom of the Greeks, they would -have erected a trophy on the spot. - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -OF MATTERS THAT BENENGELI SAYS HE WHO READS THEM WILL KNOW, IF HE READS -THEM WITH ATTENTION - -When the brave man flees, treachery is manifest and it is for wise men -to reserve themselves for better occasions. This proved to be the case -with Don Quixote, who, giving way before the fury of the townsfolk and -the hostile intentions of the angry troop, took to flight and, without -a thought of Sancho or the danger in which he was leaving him, -retreated to such a distance as he thought made him safe. Sancho, lying -across his ass, followed him, as has been said, and at length came up, -having by this time recovered his senses, and on joining him let -himself drop off Dapple at Rocinante’s feet, sore, bruised, and -belaboured. Don Quixote dismounted to examine his wounds, but finding -him whole from head to foot, he said to him, angrily enough, “In an -evil hour didst thou take to braying, Sancho! Where hast thou learned -that it is well done to mention the rope in the house of the man that -has been hanged? To the music of brays what harmonies couldst thou -expect to get but cudgels? Give thanks to God, Sancho, that they signed -the cross on thee just now with a stick, and did not mark thee _per -signum crucis_ with a cutlass.” - -“I’m not equal to answering,” said Sancho, “for I feel as if I was -speaking through my shoulders; let us mount and get away from this; -I’ll keep from braying, but not from saying that knights-errant fly and -leave their good squires to be pounded like privet, or made meal of at -the hands of their enemies.” - -“He does not fly who retires,” returned Don Quixote; “for I would have -thee know, Sancho, that the valour which is not based upon a foundation -of prudence is called rashness, and the exploits of the rash man are to -be attributed rather to good fortune than to courage; and so I own that -I retired, but not that I fled; and therein I have followed the example -of many valiant men who have reserved themselves for better times; the -histories are full of instances of this, but as it would not be any -good to thee or pleasure to me, I will not recount them to thee now.” - -Sancho was by this time mounted with the help of Don Quixote, who then -himself mounted Rocinante, and at a leisurely pace they proceeded to -take shelter in a grove which was in sight about a quarter of a league -off. Every now and then Sancho gave vent to deep sighs and dismal -groans, and on Don Quixote asking him what caused such acute suffering, -he replied that, from the end of his back-bone up to the nape of his -neck, he was so sore that it nearly drove him out of his senses. - -“The cause of that soreness,” said Don Quixote, “will be, no doubt, -that the staff wherewith they smote thee being a very long one, it -caught thee all down the back, where all the parts that are sore are -situated, and had it reached any further thou wouldst be sorer still.” - -“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship has relieved me of a great doubt, -and cleared up the point for me in elegant style! Body o’ me! is the -cause of my soreness such a mystery that there’s any need to tell me I -am sore everywhere the staff hit me? If it was my ankles that pained me -there might be something in going divining why they did, but it is not -much to divine that I’m sore where they thrashed me. By my faith, -master mine, the ills of others hang by a hair; every day I am -discovering more and more how little I have to hope for from keeping -company with your worship; for if this time you have allowed me to be -drubbed, the next time, or a hundred times more, we’ll have the -blanketings of the other day over again, and all the other pranks -which, if they have fallen on my shoulders now, will be thrown in my -teeth by-and-by. I would do a great deal better (if I was not an -ignorant brute that will never do any good all my life), I would do a -great deal better, I say, to go home to my wife and children and -support them and bring them up on what God may please to give me, -instead of following your worship along roads that lead nowhere and -paths that are none at all, with little to drink and less to eat. And -then when it comes to sleeping! Measure out seven feet on the earth, -brother squire, and if that’s not enough for you, take as many more, -for you may have it all your own way and stretch yourself to your -heart’s content. Oh that I could see burnt and turned to ashes the -first man that meddled with knight-errantry or at any rate the first -who chose to be squire to such fools as all the knights-errant of past -times must have been! Of those of the present day I say nothing, -because, as your worship is one of them, I respect them, and because I -know your worship knows a point more than the devil in all you say and -think.” - -“I would lay a good wager with you, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that -now that you are talking on without anyone to stop you, you don’t feel -a pain in your whole body. Talk away, my son, say whatever comes into -your head or mouth, for so long as you feel no pain, the irritation -your impertinences give me will be a pleasure to me; and if you are so -anxious to go home to your wife and children, God forbid that I should -prevent you; you have money of mine; see how long it is since we left -our village this third time, and how much you can and ought to earn -every month, and pay yourself out of your own hand.” - -“When I worked for Tom Carrasco, the father of the bachelor Samson -Carrasco that your worship knows,” replied Sancho, “I used to earn two -ducats a month besides my food; I can’t tell what I can earn with your -worship, though I know a knight-errant’s squire has harder times of it -than he who works for a farmer; for after all, we who work for farmers, -however much we toil all day, at the worst, at night, we have our olla -supper and sleep in a bed, which I have not slept in since I have been -in your worship’s service, if it wasn’t the short time we were in Don -Diego de Miranda’s house, and the feast I had with the skimmings I took -off Camacho’s pots, and what I ate, drank, and slept in Basilio’s -house; all the rest of the time I have been sleeping on the hard ground -under the open sky, exposed to what they call the inclemencies of -heaven, keeping life in me with scraps of cheese and crusts of bread, -and drinking water either from the brooks or from the springs we come -to on these by-paths we travel.” - -“I own, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest is true; how -much, thinkest thou, ought I to give thee over and above what Tom -Carrasco gave thee?” - -“I think,” said Sancho, “that if your worship was to add on two reals a -month I’d consider myself well paid; that is, as far as the wages of my -labour go; but to make up to me for your worship’s pledge and promise -to me to give me the government of an island, it would be fair to add -six reals more, making thirty in all.” - -“Very good,” said Don Quixote; “it is twenty-five days since we left -our village, so reckon up, Sancho, according to the wages you have made -out for yourself, and see how much I owe you in proportion, and pay -yourself, as I said before, out of your own hand.” - -“O body o’ me!” said Sancho, “but your worship is very much out in that -reckoning; for when it comes to the promise of the island we must count -from the day your worship promised it to me to this present hour we are -at now.” - -“Well, how long is it, Sancho, since I promised it to you?” said Don -Quixote. - -“If I remember rightly,” said Sancho, “it must be over twenty years, -three days more or less.” - -Don Quixote gave himself a great slap on the forehead and began to -laugh heartily, and said he, “Why, I have not been wandering, either in -the Sierra Morena or in the whole course of our sallies, but barely two -months, and thou sayest, Sancho, that it is twenty years since I -promised thee the island. I believe now thou wouldst have all the money -thou hast of mine go in thy wages. If so, and if that be thy pleasure, -I give it to thee now, once and for all, and much good may it do thee, -for so long as I see myself rid of such a good-for-nothing squire I’ll -be glad to be left a pauper without a rap. But tell me, thou perverter -of the squirely rules of knight-errantry, where hast thou ever seen or -read that any knight-errant’s squire made terms with his lord, ‘you -must give me so much a month for serving you’? Plunge, scoundrel, -rogue, monster—for such I take thee to be—plunge, I say, into the _mare -magnum_ of their histories; and if thou shalt find that any squire ever -said or thought what thou hast said now, I will let thee nail it on my -forehead, and give me, over and above, four sound slaps in the face. -Turn the rein, or the halter, of thy Dapple, and begone home; for one -single step further thou shalt not make in my company. O bread -thanklessly received! O promises ill-bestowed! O man more beast than -human being! Now, when I was about to raise thee to such a position, -that, in spite of thy wife, they would call thee ‘my lord,’ thou art -leaving me? Thou art going now when I had a firm and fixed intention of -making thee lord of the best island in the world? Well, as thou thyself -hast said before now, honey is not for the mouth of the ass. Ass thou -art, ass thou wilt be, and ass thou wilt end when the course of thy -life is run; for I know it will come to its close before thou dost -perceive or discern that thou art a beast.” - -Sancho regarded Don Quixote earnestly while he was giving him this -rating, and was so touched by remorse that the tears came to his eyes, -and in a piteous and broken voice he said to him, “Master mine, I -confess that, to be a complete ass, all I want is a tail; if your -worship will only fix one on to me, I’ll look on it as rightly placed, -and I’ll serve you as an ass all the remaining days of my life. Forgive -me and have pity on my folly, and remember I know but little, and, if I -talk much, it’s more from infirmity than malice; but he who sins and -mends commends himself to God.” - -“I should have been surprised, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “if thou -hadst not introduced some bit of a proverb into thy speech. Well, well, -I forgive thee, provided thou dost mend and not show thyself in future -so fond of thine own interest, but try to be of good cheer and take -heart, and encourage thyself to look forward to the fulfillment of my -promises, which, by being delayed, does not become impossible.” - -Sancho said he would do so, and keep up his heart as best he could. -They then entered the grove, and Don Quixote settled himself at the -foot of an elm, and Sancho at that of a beech, for trees of this kind -and others like them always have feet but no hands. Sancho passed the -night in pain, for with the evening dews the blow of the staff made -itself felt all the more. Don Quixote passed it in his never-failing -meditations; but, for all that, they had some winks of sleep, and with -the appearance of daylight they pursued their journey in quest of the -banks of the famous Ebro, where that befell them which will be told in -the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XXIX. -OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK - -By stages as already described or left undescribed, two days after -quitting the grove Don Quixote and Sancho reached the river Ebro, and -the sight of it was a great delight to Don Quixote as he contemplated -and gazed upon the charms of its banks, the clearness of its stream, -the gentleness of its current and the abundance of its crystal waters; -and the pleasant view revived a thousand tender thoughts in his mind. -Above all, he dwelt upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos; -for though Master Pedro’s ape had told him that of those things part -was true, part false, he clung more to their truth than to their -falsehood, the very reverse of Sancho, who held them all to be -downright lies. - -As they were thus proceeding, then, they discovered a small boat, -without oars or any other gear, that lay at the water’s edge tied to -the stem of a tree growing on the bank. Don Quixote looked all round, -and seeing nobody, at once, without more ado, dismounted from Rocinante -and bade Sancho get down from Dapple and tie both beasts securely to -the trunk of a poplar or willow that stood there. Sancho asked him the -reason of this sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made answer, -“Thou must know, Sancho, that this bark is plainly, and without the -possibility of any alternative, calling and inviting me to enter it, -and in it go to give aid to some knight or other person of distinction -in need of it, who is no doubt in some sore strait; for this is the way -of the books of chivalry and of the enchanters who figure and speak in -them. When a knight is involved in some difficulty from which he cannot -be delivered save by the hand of another knight, though they may be at -a distance of two or three thousand leagues or more one from the other, -they either take him up on a cloud, or they provide a bark for him to -get into, and in less than the twinkling of an eye they carry him where -they will and where his help is required; and so, Sancho, this bark is -placed here for the same purpose; this is as true as that it is now -day, and ere this one passes tie Dapple and Rocinante together, and -then in God’s hand be it to guide us; for I would not hold back from -embarking, though barefooted friars were to beg me.” - -“As that’s the case,” said Sancho, “and your worship chooses to give in -to these—I don’t know if I may call them absurdities—at every turn, -there’s nothing for it but to obey and bow the head, bearing in mind -the proverb, ‘Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with -him;’ but for all that, for the sake of easing my conscience, I warn -your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but -belongs to some of the fishermen of the river, for they catch the best -shad in the world here.” - -As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the care and -protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his heart. Don -Quixote bade him not be uneasy about deserting the animals, “for he who -would carry themselves over such longinquous roads and regions would -take care to feed them.” - -“I don’t understand that logiquous,” said Sancho, “nor have I ever -heard the word all the days of my life.” - -“Longinquous,” replied Don Quixote, “means far off; but it is no wonder -thou dost not understand it, for thou art not bound to know Latin, like -some who pretend to know it and don’t.” - -“Now they are tied,” said Sancho; “what are we to do next?” - -“What?” said Don Quixote, “cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean, -embark and cut the moorings by which the bark is held;” and the bark -began to drift away slowly from the bank. But when Sancho saw himself -somewhere about two yards out in the river, he began to tremble and -give himself up for lost; but nothing distressed him more than hearing -Dapple bray and seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he -to his master, “Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and -Rocinante is trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear friends, -peace be with you, and may this madness that is taking us away from -you, turned into sober sense, bring us back to you.” And with this he -fell weeping so bitterly, that Don Quixote said to him, sharply and -angrily, “What art thou afraid of, cowardly creature? What art thou -weeping at, heart of butter-paste? Who pursues or molests thee, thou -soul of a tame mouse? What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very -heart of abundance? Art thou, perchance, tramping barefoot over the -Riphaean mountains, instead of being seated on a bench like an archduke -on the tranquil stream of this pleasant river, from which in a short -space we shall come out upon the broad sea? But we must have already -emerged and gone seven hundred or eight hundred leagues; and if I had -here an astrolabe to take the altitude of the pole, I could tell thee -how many we have travelled, though either I know little, or we have -already crossed or shall shortly cross the equinoctial line which parts -the two opposite poles midway.” - -“And when we come to that line your worship speaks of,” said Sancho, -“how far shall we have gone?” - -“Very far,” said Don Quixote, “for of the three hundred and sixty -degrees that this terraqueous globe contains, as computed by Ptolemy, -the greatest cosmographer known, we shall have travelled one-half when -we come to the line I spoke of.” - -“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship gives me a nice authority for what -you say, putrid Dolly something transmogrified, or whatever it is.” - -Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho put upon “computed,” -and the name of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and said he, “Thou must know, -Sancho, that with the Spaniards and those who embark at Cadiz for the -East Indies, one of the signs they have to show them when they have -passed the equinoctial line I told thee of, is, that the lice die upon -everybody on board the ship, and not a single one is left, or to be -found in the whole vessel if they gave its weight in gold for it; so, -Sancho, thou mayest as well pass thy hand down thy thigh, and if thou -comest upon anything alive we shall be no longer in doubt; if not, then -we have crossed.” - -“I don’t believe a bit of it,” said Sancho; “still, I’ll do as your -worship bids me; though I don’t know what need there is for trying -these experiments, for I can see with my own eyes that we have not -moved five yards away from the bank, or shifted two yards from where -the animals stand, for there are Rocinante and Dapple in the very same -place where we left them; and watching a point, as I do now, I swear by -all that’s good, we are not stirring or moving at the pace of an ant.” - -“Try the test I told thee of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t -mind any other, for thou knowest nothing about colures, lines, -parallels, zodiacs, ecliptics, poles, solstices, equinoxes, planets, -signs, bearings, the measures of which the celestial and terrestrial -spheres are composed; if thou wert acquainted with all these things, or -any portion of them, thou wouldst see clearly how many parallels we -have cut, what signs we have seen, and what constellations we have left -behind and are now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel and -hunt, for I am certain thou art cleaner than a sheet of smooth white -paper.” - -Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down to the -hollow of his left knee, he looked up at his master and said, “Either -the test is a false one, or we have not come to where your worship -says, nor within many leagues of it.” - -“Why, how so?” asked Don Quixote; “hast thou come upon aught?” - -“Ay, and aughts,” replied Sancho; and shaking his fingers he washed his -whole hand in the river along which the boat was quietly gliding in -midstream, not moved by any occult intelligence or invisible enchanter, -but simply by the current, just there smooth and gentle. - -They now came in sight of some large water mills that stood in the -middle of the river, and the instant Don Quixote saw them he cried out, -“Seest thou there, my friend? there stands the castle or fortress, -where there is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or ill-used queen, or -infanta, or princess, in whose aid I am brought hither.” - -“What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship talking -about, señor?” said Sancho; “don’t you see that those are mills that -stand in the river to grind corn?” - -“Hold thy peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “though they look like -mills they are not so; I have already told thee that enchantments -transform things and change their proper shapes; I do not mean to say -they really change them from one form into another, but that it seems -as though they did, as experience proved in the transformation of -Dulcinea, sole refuge of my hopes.” - -By this time, the boat, having reached the middle of the stream, began -to move less slowly than hitherto. The millers belonging to the mills, -when they saw the boat coming down the river, and on the point of being -sucked in by the draught of the wheels, ran out in haste, several of -them, with long poles to stop it, and being all mealy, with faces and -garments covered with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. They -raised loud shouts, crying, “Devils of men, where are you going to? Are -you mad? Do you want to drown yourselves, or dash yourselves to pieces -among these wheels?” - -“Did I not tell thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this, “that we had -reached the place where I am to show what the might of my arm can do? -See what ruffians and villains come out against me; see what monsters -oppose me; see what hideous countenances come to frighten us! You shall -soon see, scoundrels!” And then standing up in the boat he began in a -loud voice to hurl threats at the millers, exclaiming, “Ill-conditioned -and worse-counselled rabble, restore to liberty and freedom the person -ye hold in durance in this your fortress or prison, high or low or of -whatever rank or quality he be, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, -otherwise called the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by the disposition -of heaven above, it is reserved to give a happy issue to this -adventure;” and so saying he drew his sword and began making passes in -the air at the millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this -nonsense, strove to stop the boat, which was now getting into the -rushing channel of the wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees devoutly -appealing to heaven to deliver him from such imminent peril; which it -did by the activity and quickness of the millers, who, pushing against -the boat with their poles, stopped it, not, however, without upsetting -and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho into the water; and lucky it was -for Don Quixote that he could swim like a goose, though the weight of -his armour carried him twice to the bottom; and had it not been for the -millers, who plunged in and hoisted them both out, it would have been -Troy town with the pair of them. As soon as, more drenched than -thirsty, they were landed, Sancho went down on his knees and with -clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven, prayed a long and fervent -prayer to God to deliver him evermore from the rash projects and -attempts of his master. The fishermen, the owners of the boat, which -the mill-wheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and seeing it -smashed they proceeded to strip Sancho and to demand payment for it -from Don Quixote; but he with great calmness, just as if nothing had -happened him, told the millers and fishermen that he would pay for the -bark most cheerfully, on condition that they delivered up to him, free -and unhurt, the person or persons that were in durance in that castle -of theirs. - -“What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman? Art thou for -carrying off the people who come to grind corn in these mills?” - -“That’s enough,” said Don Quixote to himself, “it would be preaching in -the desert to attempt by entreaties to induce this rabble to do any -virtuous action. In this adventure two mighty enchanters must have -encountered one another, and one frustrates what the other attempts; -one provided the bark for me, and the other upset me; God help us, this -world is all machinations and schemes at cross purposes one with the -other. I can do no more.” And then turning towards the mills he said -aloud, “Friends, whoe’er ye be that are immured in that prison, forgive -me that, to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from your -misery; this adventure is doubtless reserved and destined for some -other knight.” - -So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the -boat, which Sancho handed to them very much against the grain, saying, -“With a couple more bark businesses like this we shall have sunk our -whole capital.” - -The fishermen and the millers stood staring in amazement at the two -figures, so very different to all appearance from ordinary men, and -were wholly unable to make out the drift of the observations and -questions Don Quixote addressed to them; and coming to the conclusion -that they were madmen, they left them and betook themselves, the -millers to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote -and Sancho returned to their beasts, and to their life of beasts, and -so ended the adventure of the enchanted bark. - -CHAPTER XXX. -OF DON QUIXOTE’S ADVENTURE WITH A FAIR HUNTRESS - -They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humour enough, knight -and squire, Sancho particularly, for with him what touched the stock of -money touched his heart, and when any was taken from him he felt as if -he was robbed of the apples of his eyes. In fine, without exchanging a -word, they mounted and quitted the famous river, Don Quixote absorbed -in thoughts of his love, Sancho in thinking of his advancement, which -just then, it seemed to him, he was very far from securing; for, fool -as he was, he saw clearly enough that his master’s acts were all or -most of them utterly senseless; and he began to cast about for an -opportunity of retiring from his service and going home some day, -without entering into any explanations or taking any farewell of him. -Fortune, however, ordered matters after a fashion very much the -opposite of what he contemplated. - -It so happened that the next day towards sunset, on coming out of a -wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow, and at the far end -of it observed some people, and as he drew nearer saw that it was a -hawking party. Coming closer, he distinguished among them a lady of -graceful mien, on a pure white palfrey or hackney caparisoned with -green trappings and a silver-mounted side-saddle. The lady was also in -green, and so richly and splendidly dressed that splendour itself -seemed personified in her. On her left hand she bore a hawk, a proof to -Don Quixote’s mind that she must be some great lady and the mistress of -the whole hunting party, which was the fact; so he said to Sancho, “Run -Sancho, my son, and say to that lady on the palfrey with the hawk that -I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her exalted beauty, and -if her excellence will grant me leave I will go and kiss them in person -and place myself at her service for aught that may be in my power and -her highness may command; and mind, Sancho, how thou speakest, and take -care not to thrust in any of thy proverbs into thy message.” - -“You’ve got a likely one here to thrust any in!” said Sancho; “leave me -alone for that! Why, this is not the first time in my life I have -carried messages to high and exalted ladies.” - -“Except that thou didst carry to the lady Dulcinea,” said Don Quixote, -“I know not that thou hast carried any other, at least in my service.” - -“That is true,” replied Sancho; “but pledges don’t distress a good -payer, and in a house where there’s plenty supper is soon cooked; I -mean there’s no need of telling or warning me about anything; for I’m -ready for everything and know a little of everything.” - -“That I believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go and good luck to thee, -and God speed thee.” - -Sancho went off at top speed, forcing Dapple out of his regular pace, -and came to where the fair huntress was standing, and dismounting knelt -before her and said, “Fair lady, that knight that you see there, the -Knight of the Lions by name, is my master, and I am a squire of his, -and at home they call me Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions, -who was called not long since the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, -sends by me to say may it please your highness to give him leave that, -with your permission, approbation, and consent, he may come and carry -out his wishes, which are, as he says and I believe, to serve your -exalted loftiness and beauty; and if you give it, your ladyship will do -a thing which will redound to your honour, and he will receive a most -distinguished favour and happiness.” - -“You have indeed, squire,” said the lady, “delivered your message with -all the formalities such messages require; rise up, for it is not right -that the squire of a knight so great as he of the Rueful Countenance, -of whom we have heard a great deal here, should remain on his knees; -rise, my friend, and bid your master welcome to the services of myself -and the duke my husband, in a country house we have here.” - -Sancho got up, charmed as much by the beauty of the good lady as by her -high-bred air and her courtesy, but, above all, by what she had said -about having heard of his master, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance; -for if she did not call him Knight of the Lions it was no doubt because -he had so lately taken the name. “Tell me, brother squire,” asked the -duchess (whose title, however, is not known), “this master of yours, is -he not one of whom there is a history extant in print, called ‘The -Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha,’ who has for the lady of -his heart a certain Dulcinea del Toboso?” - -“He is the same, señora,” replied Sancho; “and that squire of his who -figures, or ought to figure, in the said history under the name of -Sancho Panza, is myself, unless they have changed me in the cradle, I -mean in the press.” - -“I am rejoiced at all this,” said the duchess; “go, brother Panza, and -tell your master that he is welcome to my estate, and that nothing -could happen to me that could give me greater pleasure.” - -Sancho returned to his master mightily pleased with this gratifying -answer, and told him all the great lady had said to him, lauding to the -skies, in his rustic phrase, her rare beauty, her graceful gaiety, and -her courtesy. Don Quixote drew himself up briskly in his saddle, fixed -himself in his stirrups, settled his visor, gave Rocinante the spur, -and with an easy bearing advanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, -who, having sent to summon the duke her husband, told him while Don -Quixote was approaching all about the message; and as both of them had -read the First Part of this history, and from it were aware of Don -Quixote’s crazy turn, they awaited him with the greatest delight and -anxiety to make his acquaintance, meaning to fall in with his humour -and agree with everything he said, and, so long as he stayed with them, -to treat him as a knight-errant, with all the ceremonies usual in the -books of chivalry they had read, for they themselves were very fond of -them. - -Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he seemed about -to dismount Sancho made haste to go and hold his stirrup for him; but -in getting down off Dapple he was so unlucky as to hitch his foot in -one of the ropes of the pack-saddle in such a way that he was unable to -free it, and was left hanging by it with his face and breast on the -ground. Don Quixote, who was not used to dismount without having the -stirrup held, fancying that Sancho had by this time come to hold it for -him, threw himself off with a lurch and brought Rocinante’s saddle -after him, which was no doubt badly girthed, and saddle and he both -came to the ground; not without discomfiture to him and abundant curses -muttered between his teeth against the unlucky Sancho, who had his foot -still in the shackles. The duke ordered his huntsmen to go to the help -of knight and squire, and they raised Don Quixote, sorely shaken by his -fall; and he, limping, advanced as best he could to kneel before the -noble pair. This, however, the duke would by no means permit; on the -contrary, dismounting from his horse, he went and embraced Don Quixote, -saying, “I am grieved, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that your -first experience on my ground should have been such an unfortunate one -as we have seen; but the carelessness of squires is often the cause of -worse accidents.” - -“That which has happened me in meeting you, mighty prince,” replied Don -Quixote, “cannot be unfortunate, even if my fall had not stopped short -of the depths of the bottomless pit, for the glory of having seen you -would have lifted me up and delivered me from it. My squire, God’s -curse upon him, is better at unloosing his tongue in talking -impertinence than in tightening the girths of a saddle to keep it -steady; but however I may be, fallen or raised up, on foot or on -horseback, I shall always be at your service and that of my lady the -duchess, your worthy consort, worthy queen of beauty and paramount -princess of courtesy.” - -“Gently, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha,” said the duke; “where my lady -Doña Dulcinea del Toboso is, it is not right that other beauties should -be praised.” - -Sancho, by this time released from his entanglement, was standing by, -and before his master could answer he said, “There is no denying, and -it must be maintained, that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very -beautiful; but the hare jumps up where one least expects it; and I have -heard say that what we call nature is like a potter that makes vessels -of clay, and he who makes one fair vessel can as well make two, or -three, or a hundred; I say so because, by my faith, my lady the duchess -is in no way behind my mistress the lady Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said, “Your highness may conceive -that never had knight-errant in this world a more talkative or a -droller squire than I have, and he will prove the truth of what I say, -if your highness is pleased to accept of my services for a few days.” - -To which the duchess made answer, “that worthy Sancho is droll I -consider a very good thing, because it is a sign that he is shrewd; for -drollery and sprightliness, Señor Don Quixote, as you very well know, -do not take up their abode with dull wits; and as good Sancho is droll -and sprightly I here set him down as shrewd.” - -“And talkative,” added Don Quixote. - -“So much the better,” said the duke, “for many droll things cannot be -said in few words; but not to lose time in talking, come, great Knight -of the Rueful Countenance—” - -“Of the Lions, your highness must say,” said Sancho, “for there is no -Rueful Countenance nor any such character now.” - -“He of the Lions be it,” continued the duke; “I say, let Sir Knight of -the Lions come to a castle of mine close by, where he shall be given -that reception which is due to so exalted a personage, and which the -duchess and I are wont to give to all knights-errant who come there.” - -By this time Sancho had fixed and girthed Rocinante’s saddle, and Don -Quixote having got on his back and the duke mounted a fine horse, they -placed the duchess in the middle and set out for the castle. The -duchess desired Sancho to come to her side, for she found infinite -enjoyment in listening to his shrewd remarks. Sancho required no -pressing, but pushed himself in between them and the duke, who thought -it rare good fortune to receive such a knight-errant and such a homely -squire in their castle. - -CHAPTER XXXI.br/> WHICH TREATS OF MANY AND GREAT MATTERS - -Supreme was the satisfaction that Sancho felt at seeing himself, as it -seemed, an established favourite with the duchess, for he looked -forward to finding in her castle what he had found in Don Diego’s house -and in Basilio’s; he was always fond of good living, and always seized -by the forelock any opportunity of feasting himself whenever it -presented itself. The history informs us, then, that before they -reached the country house or castle, the duke went on in advance and -instructed all his servants how they were to treat Don Quixote; and so -the instant he came up to the castle gates with the duchess, two -lackeys or equerries, clad in what they call morning gowns of fine -crimson satin reaching to their feet, hastened out, and catching Don -Quixote in their arms before he saw or heard them, said to him, “Your -highness should go and take my lady the duchess off her horse.” - -Don Quixote obeyed, and great bandying of compliments followed between -the two over the matter; but in the end the duchess’s determination -carried the day, and she refused to get down or dismount from her -palfrey except in the arms of the duke, saying she did not consider -herself worthy to impose so unnecessary a burden on so great a knight. -At length the duke came out to take her down, and as they entered a -spacious court two fair damsels came forward and threw over Don -Quixote’s shoulders a large mantle of the finest scarlet cloth, and at -the same instant all the galleries of the court were lined with the -men-servants and women-servants of the household, crying, “Welcome, -flower and cream of knight-errantry!” while all or most of them flung -pellets filled with scented water over Don Quixote and the duke and -duchess; at all which Don Quixote was greatly astonished, and this was -the first time that he thoroughly felt and believed himself to be a -knight-errant in reality and not merely in fancy, now that he saw -himself treated in the same way as he had read of such knights being -treated in days of yore. - -Sancho, deserting Dapple, hung on to the duchess and entered the -castle, but feeling some twinges of conscience at having left the ass -alone, he approached a respectable duenna who had come out with the -rest to receive the duchess, and in a low voice he said to her, “Señora -Gonzalez, or however your grace may be called—” - -“I am called Doña Rodriguez de Grijalba,” replied the duenna; “what is -your will, brother?” To which Sancho made answer, “I should be glad if -your worship would do me the favour to go out to the castle gate, where -you will find a grey ass of mine; make them, if you please, put him in -the stable, or put him there yourself, for the poor little beast is -rather easily frightened, and cannot bear being alone at all.” - -“If the master is as wise as the man,” said the duenna, “we have got a -fine bargain. Be off with you, brother, and bad luck to you and him who -brought you here; go, look after your ass, for we, the duennas of this -house, are not used to work of that sort.” - -“Well then, in troth,” returned Sancho, “I have heard my master, who is -the very treasure-finder of stories, telling the story of Lancelot when -he came from Britain, say that ladies waited upon him and duennas upon -his hack; and, if it comes to my ass, I wouldn’t change him for Señor -Lancelot’s hack.” - -“If you are a jester, brother,” said the duenna, “keep your drolleries -for some place where they’ll pass muster and be paid for; for you’ll -get nothing from me but a fig.” - -“At any rate, it will be a very ripe one,” said Sancho, “for you won’t -lose the trick in years by a point too little.” - -“Son of a bitch,” said the duenna, all aglow with anger, “whether I’m -old or not, it’s with God I have to reckon, not with you, you -garlic-stuffed scoundrel!” and she said it so loud, that the duchess -heard it, and turning round and seeing the duenna in such a state of -excitement, and her eyes flaming so, asked whom she was wrangling with. - -“With this good fellow here,” said the duenna, “who has particularly -requested me to go and put an ass of his that is at the castle gate -into the stable, holding it up to me as an example that they did the -same I don’t know where—that some ladies waited on one Lancelot, and -duennas on his hack; and what is more, to wind up with, he called me -old.” - -“That,” said the duchess, “I should have considered the greatest -affront that could be offered me;” and addressing Sancho, she said to -him, “You must know, friend Sancho, that Doña Rodriguez is very -youthful, and that she wears that hood more for authority and custom’s -sake than because of her years.” - -“May all the rest of mine be unlucky,” said Sancho, “if I meant it that -way; I only spoke because the affection I have for my ass is so great, -and I thought I could not commend him to a more kind-hearted person -than the lady Doña Rodriguez.” - -Don Quixote, who was listening, said to him, “Is this proper -conversation for the place, Sancho?” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “every one must mention what he wants wherever -he may be; I thought of Dapple here, and I spoke of him here; if I had -thought of him in the stable I would have spoken there.” - -On which the duke observed, “Sancho is quite right, and there is no -reason at all to find fault with him; Dapple shall be fed to his -heart’s content, and Sancho may rest easy, for he shall be treated like -himself.” - -While this conversation, amusing to all except Don Quixote, was -proceeding, they ascended the staircase and ushered Don Quixote into a -chamber hung with rich cloth of gold and brocade; six damsels relieved -him of his armour and waited on him like pages, all of them prepared -and instructed by the duke and duchess as to what they were to do, and -how they were to treat Don Quixote, so that he might see and believe -they were treating him like a knight-errant. When his armour was -removed, there stood Don Quixote in his tight-fitting breeches and -chamois doublet, lean, lanky, and long, with cheeks that seemed to be -kissing each other inside; such a figure, that if the damsels waiting -on him had not taken care to check their merriment (which was one of -the particular directions their master and mistress had given them), -they would have burst with laughter. They asked him to let himself be -stripped that they might put a shirt on him, but he would not on any -account, saying that modesty became knights-errant just as much as -valour. However, he said they might give the shirt to Sancho; and -shutting himself in with him in a room where there was a sumptuous bed, -he undressed and put on the shirt; and then, finding himself alone with -Sancho, he said to him, “Tell me, thou new-fledged buffoon and old -booby, dost thou think it right to offend and insult a duenna so -deserving of reverence and respect as that one just now? Was that a -time to bethink thee of thy Dapple, or are these noble personages -likely to let the beasts fare badly when they treat their owners in -such elegant style? For God’s sake, Sancho, restrain thyself, and don’t -show the thread so as to let them see what a coarse, boorish texture -thou art of. Remember, sinner that thou art, the master is the more -esteemed the more respectable and well-bred his servants are; and that -one of the greatest advantages that princes have over other men is that -they have servants as good as themselves to wait on them. Dost thou not -see—shortsighted being that thou art, and unlucky mortal that I -am!—that if they perceive thee to be a coarse clown or a dull -blockhead, they will suspect me to be some impostor or swindler? Nay, -nay, Sancho friend, keep clear, oh, keep clear of these -stumbling-blocks; for he who falls into the way of being a chatterbox -and droll, drops into a wretched buffoon the first time he trips; -bridle thy tongue, consider and weigh thy words before they escape thy -mouth, and bear in mind we are now in quarters whence, by God’s help, -and the strength of my arm, we shall come forth mightily advanced in -fame and fortune.” - -Sancho promised him with much earnestness to keep his mouth shut, and -to bite off his tongue before he uttered a word that was not altogether -to the purpose and well considered, and told him he might make his mind -easy on that point, for it should never be discovered through him what -they were. - -Don Quixote dressed himself, put on his baldric with his sword, threw -the scarlet mantle over his shoulders, placed on his head a montera of -green satin that the damsels had given him, and thus arrayed passed out -into the large room, where he found the damsels drawn up in double -file, the same number on each side, all with the appliances for washing -the hands, which they presented to him with profuse obeisances and -ceremonies. Then came twelve pages, together with the seneschal, to -lead him to dinner, as his hosts were already waiting for him. They -placed him in the midst of them, and with much pomp and stateliness -they conducted him into another room, where there was a sumptuous table -laid with but four covers. The duchess and the duke came out to the -door of the room to receive him, and with them a grave ecclesiastic, -one of those who rule noblemen’s houses; one of those who, not being -born magnates themselves, never know how to teach those who are how to -behave as such; one of those who would have the greatness of great folk -measured by their own narrowness of mind; one of those who, when they -try to introduce economy into the household they rule, lead it into -meanness. One of this sort, I say, must have been the grave churchman -who came out with the duke and duchess to receive Don Quixote. - -A vast number of polite speeches were exchanged, and at length, taking -Don Quixote between them, they proceeded to sit down to table. The duke -pressed Don Quixote to take the head of the table, and, though he -refused, the entreaties of the duke were so urgent that he had to -accept it. - -The ecclesiastic took his seat opposite to him, and the duke and -duchess those at the sides. All this time Sancho stood by, gaping with -amazement at the honour he saw shown to his master by these illustrious -persons; and observing all the ceremonious pressing that had passed -between the duke and Don Quixote to induce him to take his seat at the -head of the table, he said, “If your worship will give me leave I will -tell you a story of what happened in my village about this matter of -seats.” - -The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, making sure that he -was about to say something foolish. Sancho glanced at him, and guessing -his thoughts, said, “Don’t be afraid of my going astray, señor, or -saying anything that won’t be pat to the purpose; I haven’t forgotten -the advice your worship gave me just now about talking much or little, -well or ill.” - -“I have no recollection of anything, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “say -what thou wilt, only say it quickly.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “what I am going to say is so true that my -master Don Quixote, who is here present, will keep me from lying.” - -“Lie as much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“for I am not going to stop thee, but consider what thou art going to -say.” - -“I have so considered and reconsidered,” said Sancho, “that the -bell-ringer’s in a safe berth; as will be seen by what follows.” - -“It would be well,” said Don Quixote, “if your highnesses would order -them to turn out this idiot, for he will talk a heap of nonsense.” - -“By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away from me for a -moment,” said the duchess; “I am very fond of him, for I know he is -very discreet.” - -“Discreet be the days of your holiness,” said Sancho, “for the good -opinion you have of my wit, though there’s none in me; but the story I -want to tell is this. There was an invitation given by a gentleman of -my town, a very rich one, and one of quality, for he was one of the -Alamos of Medina del Campo, and married to Doña Mencia de Quiñones, the -daughter of Don Alonso de Marañon, Knight of the Order of Santiago, -that was drowned at the Herradura—him there was that quarrel about -years ago in our village, that my master Don Quixote was mixed up in, -to the best of my belief, that Tomasillo the scapegrace, the son of -Balbastro the smith, was wounded in.—Isn’t all this true, master mine? -As you live, say so, that these gentlefolk may not take me for some -lying chatterer.” - -“So far,” said the ecclesiastic, “I take you to be more a chatterer -than a liar; but I don’t know what I shall take you for by-and-by.” - -“Thou citest so many witnesses and proofs, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“that I have no choice but to say thou must be telling the truth; go -on, and cut the story short, for thou art taking the way not to make an -end for two days to come.” - -“He is not to cut it short,” said the duchess; “on the contrary, for my -gratification, he is to tell it as he knows it, though he should not -finish it these six days; and if he took so many they would be to me -the pleasantest I ever spent.” - -“Well then, sirs, I say,” continued Sancho, “that this same gentleman, -whom I know as well as I do my own hands, for it’s not a bowshot from -my house to his, invited a poor but respectable labourer—” - -“Get on, brother,” said the churchman; “at the rate you are going you -will not stop with your story short of the next world.” - -“I’ll stop less than half-way, please God,” said Sancho; “and so I say -this labourer, coming to the house of the gentleman I spoke of that -invited him—rest his soul, he is now dead; and more by token he died -the death of an angel, so they say; for I was not there, for just at -that time I had gone to reap at Tembleque—” - -“As you live, my son,” said the churchman, “make haste back from -Tembleque, and finish your story without burying the gentleman, unless -you want to make more funerals.” - -“Well then, it so happened,” said Sancho, “that as the pair of them -were going to sit down to table—and I think I can see them now plainer -than ever—” - -Great was the enjoyment the duke and duchess derived from the -irritation the worthy churchman showed at the long-winded, halting way -Sancho had of telling his story, while Don Quixote was chafing with -rage and vexation. - -“So, as I was saying,” continued Sancho, “as the pair of them were -going to sit down to table, as I said, the labourer insisted upon the -gentleman’s taking the head of the table, and the gentleman insisted -upon the labourer’s taking it, as his orders should be obeyed in his -house; but the labourer, who plumed himself on his politeness and good -breeding, would not on any account, until the gentleman, out of -patience, putting his hands on his shoulders, compelled him by force to -sit down, saying, ‘Sit down, you stupid lout, for wherever I sit will -be the head to you; and that’s the story, and, troth, I think it hasn’t -been brought in amiss here.” - -Don Quixote turned all colours, which, on his sunburnt face, mottled it -till it looked like jasper. The duke and duchess suppressed their -laughter so as not altogether to mortify Don Quixote, for they saw -through Sancho’s impertinence; and to change the conversation, and keep -Sancho from uttering more absurdities, the duchess asked Don Quixote -what news he had of the lady Dulcinea, and if he had sent her any -presents of giants or miscreants lately, for he could not but have -vanquished a good many. - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Señora, my misfortunes, though they had -a beginning, will never have an end. I have vanquished giants and I -have sent her caitiffs and miscreants; but where are they to find her -if she is enchanted and turned into the most ill-favoured peasant wench -that can be imagined?” - -“I don’t know,” said Sancho Panza; “to me she seems the fairest -creature in the world; at any rate, in nimbleness and jumping she won’t -give in to a tumbler; by my faith, señora duchess, she leaps from the -ground on to the back of an ass like a cat.” - -“Have you seen her enchanted, Sancho?” asked the duke. - -“What, seen her!” said Sancho; “why, who the devil was it but myself -that first thought of the enchantment business? She is as much -enchanted as my father.” - -The ecclesiastic, when he heard them talking of giants and caitiffs and -enchantments, began to suspect that this must be Don Quixote of La -Mancha, whose story the duke was always reading; and he had himself -often reproved him for it, telling him it was foolish to read such -fooleries; and becoming convinced that his suspicion was correct, -addressing the duke, he said very angrily to him, “Señor, your -excellence will have to give account to God for what this good man -does. This Don Quixote, or Don Simpleton, or whatever his name is, -cannot, I imagine, be such a blockhead as your excellence would have -him, holding out encouragement to him to go on with his vagaries and -follies.” Then turning to address Don Quixote he said, “And you, -num-skull, who put it into your head that you are a knight-errant, and -vanquish giants and capture miscreants? Go your ways in a good hour, -and in a good hour be it said to you. Go home and bring up your -children if you have any, and attend to your business, and give over -going wandering about the world, gaping and making a laughing-stock of -yourself to all who know you and all who don’t. Where, in heaven’s -name, have you discovered that there are or ever were knights-errant? -Where are there giants in Spain or miscreants in La Mancha, or -enchanted Dulcineas, or all the rest of the silly things they tell -about you?” - -Don Quixote listened attentively to the reverend gentleman’s words, and -as soon as he perceived he had done speaking, regardless of the -presence of the duke and duchess, he sprang to his feet with angry -looks and an agitated countenance, and said—But the reply deserves a -chapter to itself. - -CHAPTER XXXII. -OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH OTHER INCIDENTS, GRAVE -AND DROLL - -Don Quixote, then, having risen to his feet, trembling from head to -foot like a man dosed with mercury, said in a hurried, agitated voice, -“The place I am in, the presence in which I stand, and the respect I -have and always have had for the profession to which your worship -belongs, hold and bind the hands of my just indignation; and as well -for these reasons as because I know, as everyone knows, that a -gownsman’s weapon is the same as a woman’s, the tongue, I will with -mine engage in equal combat with your worship, from whom one might have -expected good advice instead of foul abuse. Pious, well-meant reproof -requires a different demeanour and arguments of another sort; at any -rate, to have reproved me in public, and so roughly, exceeds the bounds -of proper reproof, for that comes better with gentleness than with -rudeness; and it is not seemly to call the sinner roundly blockhead and -booby, without knowing anything of the sin that is reproved. Come, tell -me, for which of the stupidities you have observed in me do you condemn -and abuse me, and bid me go home and look after my house and wife and -children, without knowing whether I have any? Is nothing more needed -than to get a footing, by hook or by crook, in other people’s houses to -rule over the masters (and that, perhaps, after having been brought up -in all the straitness of some seminary, and without having ever seen -more of the world than may lie within twenty or thirty leagues round), -to fit one to lay down the law rashly for chivalry, and pass judgment -on knights-errant? Is it, haply, an idle occupation, or is the time -ill-spent that is spent in roaming the world in quest, not of its -enjoyments, but of those arduous toils whereby the good mount upwards -to the abodes of everlasting life? If gentlemen, great lords, nobles, -men of high birth, were to rate me as a fool I should take it as an -irreparable insult; but I care not a farthing if clerks who have never -entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry should think me foolish. -Knight I am, and knight I will die, if such be the pleasure of the Most -High. Some take the broad road of overweening ambition; others that of -mean and servile flattery; others that of deceitful hypocrisy, and some -that of true religion; but I, led by my star, follow the narrow path of -knight-errantry, and in pursuit of that calling I despise wealth, but -not honour. I have redressed injuries, righted wrongs, punished -insolences, vanquished giants, and crushed monsters; I am in love, for -no other reason than that it is incumbent on knights-errant to be so; -but though I am, I am no carnal-minded lover, but one of the chaste, -platonic sort. My intentions are always directed to worthy ends, to do -good to all and evil to none; and if he who means this, does this, and -makes this his practice deserves to be called a fool, it is for your -highnesses to say, O most excellent duke and duchess.” - -“Good, by God!” cried Sancho; “say no more in your own defence, master -mine, for there’s nothing more in the world to be said, thought, or -insisted on; and besides, when this gentleman denies, as he has, that -there are or ever have been any knights-errant in the world, is it any -wonder if he knows nothing of what he has been talking about?” - -“Perhaps, brother,” said the ecclesiastic, “you are that Sancho Panza -that is mentioned, to whom your master has promised an island?” - -“Yes, I am,” said Sancho, “and what’s more, I am one who deserves it as -much as anyone; I am one of the sort—‘Attach thyself to the good, and -thou wilt be one of them,’ and of those, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, -but with whom thou art fed,’ and of those, ‘Who leans against a good -tree, a good shade covers him;’ I have leant upon a good master, and I -have been for months going about with him, and please God I shall be -just such another; long life to him and long life to me, for neither -will he be in any want of empires to rule, or I of islands to govern.” - -“No, Sancho my friend, certainly not,” said the duke, “for in the name -of Señor Don Quixote I confer upon you the government of one of no -small importance that I have at my disposal.” - -“Go down on thy knees, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and kiss the feet of -his excellence for the favour he has bestowed upon thee.” - -Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up from table -completely out of temper, exclaiming, “By the gown I wear, I am almost -inclined to say that your excellence is as great a fool as these -sinners. No wonder they are mad, when people who are in their senses -sanction their madness! I leave your excellence with them, for so long -as they are in the house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the -trouble of reproving what I cannot remedy;” and without uttering -another word, or eating another morsel, he went off, the entreaties of -the duke and duchess being entirely unavailing to stop him; not that -the duke said much to him, for he could not, because of the laughter -his uncalled-for anger provoked. - -When he had done laughing, he said to Don Quixote, “You have replied on -your own behalf so stoutly, Sir Knight of the Lions, that there is no -occasion to seek further satisfaction for this, which, though it may -look like an offence, is not so at all, for, as women can give no -offence, no more can ecclesiastics, as you very well know.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and the reason is, that he who is -not liable to offence cannot give offence to anyone. Women, children, -and ecclesiastics, as they cannot defend themselves, though they may -receive offence cannot be insulted, because between the offence and the -insult there is, as your excellence very well knows, this difference: -the insult comes from one who is capable of offering it, and does so, -and maintains it; the offence may come from any quarter without -carrying insult. To take an example: a man is standing unsuspectingly -in the street and ten others come up armed and beat him; he draws his -sword and quits himself like a man, but the number of his antagonists -makes it impossible for him to effect his purpose and avenge himself; -this man suffers an offence but not an insult. Another example will -make the same thing plain: a man is standing with his back turned, -another comes up and strikes him, and after striking him takes to -flight, without waiting an instant, and the other pursues him but does -not overtake him; he who received the blow received an offence, but not -an insult, because an insult must be maintained. If he who struck him, -though he did so sneakingly and treacherously, had drawn his sword and -stood and faced him, then he who had been struck would have received -offence and insult at the same time; offence because he was struck -treacherously, insult because he who struck him maintained what he had -done, standing his ground without taking to flight. And so, according -to the laws of the accursed duel, I may have received offence, but not -insult, for neither women nor children can maintain it, nor can they -wound, nor have they any way of standing their ground, and it is just -the same with those connected with religion; for these three sorts of -persons are without arms offensive or defensive, and so, though -naturally they are bound to defend themselves, they have no right to -offend anybody; and though I said just now I might have received -offence, I say now certainly not, for he who cannot receive an insult -can still less give one; for which reasons I ought not to feel, nor do -I feel, aggrieved at what that good man said to me; I only wish he had -stayed a little longer, that I might have shown him the mistake he -makes in supposing and maintaining that there are not and never have -been any knights-errant in the world; had Amadis or any of his -countless descendants heard him say as much, I am sure it would not -have gone well with his worship.” - -“I will take my oath of that,” said Sancho; “they would have given him -a slash that would have slit him down from top to toe like a -pomegranate or a ripe melon; they were likely fellows to put up with -jokes of that sort! By my faith, I’m certain if Reinaldos of Montalvan -had heard the little man’s words he would have given him such a spank -on the mouth that he wouldn’t have spoken for the next three years; ay, -let him tackle them, and he’ll see how he’ll get out of their hands!” - -The duchess, as she listened to Sancho, was ready to die with laughter, -and in her own mind she set him down as droller and madder than his -master; and there were a good many just then who were of the same -opinion. - -Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end, and as the -cloth was removed four damsels came in, one of them with a silver -basin, another with a jug also of silver, a third with two fine white -towels on her shoulder, and the fourth with her arms bared to the -elbows, and in her white hands (for white they certainly were) a round -ball of Naples soap. The one with the basin approached, and with arch -composure and impudence, thrust it under Don Quixote’s chin, who, -wondering at such a ceremony, said never a word, supposing it to be the -custom of that country to wash beards instead of hands; he therefore -stretched his out as far as he could, and at the same instant the jug -began to pour and the damsel with the soap rubbed his beard briskly, -raising snow-flakes, for the soap lather was no less white, not only -over the beard, but all over the face, and over the eyes of the -submissive knight, so that they were perforce obliged to keep shut. The -duke and duchess, who had not known anything about this, waited to see -what came of this strange washing. The barber damsel, when she had him -a hand’s breadth deep in lather, pretended that there was no more -water, and bade the one with the jug go and fetch some, while Señor Don -Quixote waited. She did so, and Don Quixote was left the strangest and -most ludicrous figure that could be imagined. All those present, and -there were a good many, were watching him, and as they saw him there -with half a yard of neck, and that uncommonly brown, his eyes shut, and -his beard full of soap, it was a great wonder, and only by great -discretion, that they were able to restrain their laughter. The -damsels, the concocters of the joke, kept their eyes down, not daring -to look at their master and mistress; and as for them, laughter and -anger struggled within them, and they knew not what to do, whether to -punish the audacity of the girls, or to reward them for the amusement -they had received from seeing Don Quixote in such a plight. - -At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made an end of -washing Don Quixote, and the one who carried the towels very -deliberately wiped him and dried him; and all four together making him -a profound obeisance and curtsey, they were about to go, when the duke, -lest Don Quixote should see through the joke, called out to the one -with the basin saying, “Come and wash me, and take care that there is -water enough.” The girl, sharp-witted and prompt, came and placed the -basin for the duke as she had done for Don Quixote, and they soon had -him well soaped and washed, and having wiped him dry they made their -obeisance and retired. It appeared afterwards that the duke had sworn -that if they had not washed him as they had Don Quixote he would have -punished them for their impudence, which they adroitly atoned for by -soaping him as well. - -Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very attentively, and said -to himself, “God bless me, if it were only the custom in this country -to wash squires’ beards too as well as knights’. For by God and upon my -soul I want it badly; and if they gave me a scrape of the razor besides -I’d take it as a still greater kindness.” - -“What are you saying to yourself, Sancho?” asked the duchess. - -“I was saying, señora,” he replied, “that in the courts of other -princes, when the cloth is taken away, I have always heard say they -give water for the hands, but not lye for the beard; and that shows it -is good to live long that you may see much; to be sure, they say too -that he who lives a long life must undergo much evil, though to undergo -a washing of that sort is pleasure rather than pain.” - -“Don’t be uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the duchess; “I will take care -that my damsels wash you, and even put you in the tub if necessary.” - -“I’ll be content with the beard,” said Sancho, “at any rate for the -present; and as for the future, God has decreed what is to be.” - -“Attend to worthy Sancho’s request, seneschal,” said the duchess, “and -do exactly what he wishes.” - -The seneschal replied that Señor Sancho should be obeyed in everything; -and with that he went away to dinner and took Sancho along with him, -while the duke and duchess and Don Quixote remained at table discussing -a great variety of things, but all bearing on the calling of arms and -knight-errantry. - -The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a retentive -memory, to describe and portray to her the beauty and features of the -lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for, judging by what fame trumpeted abroad of -her beauty, she felt sure she must be the fairest creature in the -world, nay, in all La Mancha. - -Don Quixote sighed on hearing the duchess’s request, and said, “If I -could pluck out my heart, and lay it on a plate on this table here -before your highness’s eyes, it would spare my tongue the pain of -telling what can hardly be thought of, for in it your excellence would -see her portrayed in full. But why should I attempt to depict and -describe in detail, and feature by feature, the beauty of the peerless -Dulcinea, the burden being one worthy of other shoulders than mine, an -enterprise wherein the pencils of Parrhasius, Timantes, and Apelles, -and the graver of Lysippus ought to be employed, to paint it in -pictures and carve it in marble and bronze, and Ciceronian and -Demosthenian eloquence to sound its praises?” - -“What does Demosthenian mean, Señor Don Quixote?” said the duchess; “it -is a word I never heard in all my life.” - -“Demosthenian eloquence,” said Don Quixote, “means the eloquence of -Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means that of Cicero, who were the two most -eloquent orators in the world.” - -“True,” said the duke; “you must have lost your wits to ask such a -question. Nevertheless, Señor Don Quixote would greatly gratify us if -he would depict her to us; for never fear, even in an outline or sketch -she will be something to make the fairest envious.” - -“I would do so certainly,” said Don Quixote, “had she not been blurred -to my mind’s eye by the misfortune that fell upon her a short time -since, one of such a nature that I am more ready to weep over it than -to describe it. For your highnesses must know that, going a few days -back to kiss her hands and receive her benediction, approbation, and -permission for this third sally, I found her altogether a different -being from the one I sought; I found her enchanted and changed from a -princess into a peasant, from fair to foul, from an angel into a devil, -from fragrant to pestiferous, from refined to clownish, from a -dignified lady into a jumping tomboy, and, in a word, from Dulcinea del -Toboso into a coarse Sayago wench.” - -“God bless me!” said the duke aloud at this, “who can have done the -world such an injury? Who can have robbed it of the beauty that -gladdened it, of the grace and gaiety that charmed it, of the modesty -that shed a lustre upon it?” - -“Who?” replied Don Quixote; “who could it be but some malignant -enchanter of the many that persecute me out of envy—that accursed race -born into the world to obscure and bring to naught the achievements of -the good, and glorify and exalt the deeds of the wicked? Enchanters -have persecuted me, enchanters persecute me still, and enchanters will -continue to persecute me until they have sunk me and my lofty chivalry -in the deep abyss of oblivion; and they injure and wound me where they -know I feel it most. For to deprive a knight-errant of his lady is to -deprive him of the eyes he sees with, of the sun that gives him light, -of the food whereby he lives. Many a time before have I said it, and I -say it now once more, a knight-errant without a lady is like a tree -without leaves, a building without a foundation, or a shadow without -the body that causes it.” - -“There is no denying it,” said the duchess; “but still, if we are to -believe the history of Don Quixote that has come out here lately with -general applause, it is to be inferred from it, if I mistake not, that -you never saw the lady Dulcinea, and that the said lady is nothing in -the world but an imaginary lady, one that you yourself begot and gave -birth to in your brain, and adorned with whatever charms and -perfections you chose.” - -“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote; “God -knows whether there be any Dulcinea or not in the world, or whether she -is imaginary or not imaginary; these are things the proof of which must -not be pushed to extreme lengths. I have not begotten nor given birth -to my lady, though I behold her as she needs must be, a lady who -contains in herself all the qualities to make her famous throughout the -world, beautiful without blemish, dignified without haughtiness, tender -and yet modest, gracious from courtesy and courteous from good -breeding, and lastly, of exalted lineage, because beauty shines forth -and excels with a higher degree of perfection upon good blood than in -the fair of lowly birth.” - -“That is true,” said the duke; “but Señor Don Quixote will give me -leave to say what I am constrained to say by the story of his exploits -that I have read, from which it is to be inferred that, granting there -is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, or out of it, and that she is in the -highest degree beautiful as you have described her to us, as regards -the loftiness of her lineage she is not on a par with the Orianas, -Alastrajareas, Madasimas, or others of that sort, with whom, as you -well know, the histories abound.” - -“To that I may reply,” said Don Quixote, “that Dulcinea is the daughter -of her own works, and that virtues rectify blood, and that lowly virtue -is more to be regarded and esteemed than exalted vice. Dulcinea, -besides, has that within her that may raise her to be a crowned and -sceptred queen; for the merit of a fair and virtuous woman is capable -of performing greater miracles; and virtually, though not formally, she -has in herself higher fortunes.” - -“I protest, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that in all you say, -you go most cautiously and lead in hand, as the saying is; henceforth I -will believe myself, and I will take care that everyone in my house -believes, even my lord the duke if needs be, that there is a Dulcinea -in El Toboso, and that she is living to-day, and that she is beautiful -and nobly born and deserves to have such a knight as Señor Don Quixote -in her service, and that is the highest praise that it is in my power -to give her or that I can think of. But I cannot help entertaining a -doubt, and having a certain grudge against Sancho Panza; the doubt is -this, that the aforesaid history declares that the said Sancho Panza, -when he carried a letter on your worship’s behalf to the said lady -Dulcinea, found her sifting a sack of wheat; and more by token it says -it was red wheat; a thing which makes me doubt the loftiness of her -lineage.” - -To this Don Quixote made answer, “Señora, your highness must know that -everything or almost everything that happens me transcends the ordinary -limits of what happens to other knights-errant; whether it be that it -is directed by the inscrutable will of destiny, or by the malice of -some jealous enchanter. Now it is an established fact that all or most -famous knights-errant have some special gift, one that of being proof -against enchantment, another that of being made of such invulnerable -flesh that he cannot be wounded, as was the famous Roland, one of the -twelve peers of France, of whom it is related that he could not be -wounded except in the sole of his left foot, and that it must be with -the point of a stout pin and not with any other sort of weapon -whatever; and so, when Bernardo del Carpio slew him at Roncesvalles, -finding that he could not wound him with steel, he lifted him up from -the ground in his arms and strangled him, calling to mind seasonably -the death which Hercules inflicted on Antæus, the fierce giant that -they say was the son of Terra. I would infer from what I have mentioned -that perhaps I may have some gift of this kind, not that of being -invulnerable, because experience has many times proved to me that I am -of tender flesh and not at all impenetrable; nor that of being proof -against enchantment, for I have already seen myself thrust into a cage, -in which all the world would not have been able to confine me except by -force of enchantments. But as I delivered myself from that one, I am -inclined to believe that there is no other that can hurt me; and so, -these enchanters, seeing that they cannot exert their vile craft -against my person, revenge themselves on what I love most, and seek to -rob me of life by maltreating that of Dulcinea in whom I live; and -therefore I am convinced that when my squire carried my message to her, -they changed her into a common peasant girl, engaged in such a mean -occupation as sifting wheat; I have already said, however, that that -wheat was not red wheat, nor wheat at all, but grains of orient pearl. -And as a proof of all this, I must tell your highnesses that, coming to -El Toboso a short time back, I was altogether unable to discover the -palace of Dulcinea; and that the next day, though Sancho, my squire, -saw her in her own proper shape, which is the fairest in the world, to -me she appeared to be a coarse, ill-favoured farm-wench, and by no -means a well-spoken one, she who is propriety itself. And so, as I am -not and, so far as one can judge, cannot be enchanted, she it is that -is enchanted, that is smitten, that is altered, changed, and -transformed; in her have my enemies revenged themselves upon me, and -for her shall I live in ceaseless tears, until I see her in her -pristine state. I have mentioned this lest anybody should mind what -Sancho said about Dulcinea’s winnowing or sifting; for, as they changed -her to me, it is no wonder if they changed her to him. Dulcinea is -illustrious and well-born, and of one of the gentle families of El -Toboso, which are many, ancient, and good. Therein, most assuredly, not -small is the share of the peerless Dulcinea, through whom her town will -be famous and celebrated in ages to come, as Troy was through Helen, -and Spain through La Cava, though with a better title and tradition. -For another thing; I would have your graces understand that Sancho -Panza is one of the drollest squires that ever served knight-errant; -sometimes there is a simplicity about him so acute that it is an -amusement to try and make out whether he is simple or sharp; he has -mischievous tricks that stamp him rogue, and blundering ways that prove -him a booby; he doubts everything and believes everything; when I fancy -he is on the point of coming down headlong from sheer stupidity, he -comes out with something shrewd that sends him up to the skies. After -all, I would not exchange him for another squire, though I were given a -city to boot, and therefore I am in doubt whether it will be well to -send him to the government your highness has bestowed upon him; though -I perceive in him a certain aptitude for the work of governing, so -that, with a little trimming of his understanding, he would manage any -government as easily as the king does his taxes; and moreover, we know -already ample experience that it does not require much cleverness or -much learning to be a governor, for there are a hundred round about us -that scarcely know how to read, and govern like gerfalcons. The main -point is that they should have good intentions and be desirous of doing -right in all things, for they will never be at a loss for persons to -advise and direct them in what they have to do, like those -knight-governors who, being no lawyers, pronounce sentences with the -aid of an assessor. My advice to him will be to take no bribe and -surrender no right, and I have some other little matters in reserve, -that shall be produced in due season for Sancho’s benefit and the -advantage of the island he is to govern.” - -The duke, duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this point in their -conversation, when they heard voices and a great hubbub in the palace, -and Sancho burst abruptly into the room all glowing with anger, with a -straining-cloth by way of a bib, and followed by several servants, or, -more properly speaking, kitchen-boys and other underlings, one of whom -carried a small trough full of water, that from its colour and impurity -was plainly dishwater. The one with the trough pursued him and followed -him everywhere he went, endeavouring with the utmost persistence to -thrust it under his chin, while another kitchen-boy seemed anxious to -wash his beard. - -“What is all this, brothers?” asked the duchess. “What is it? What do -you want to do to this good man? Do you forget he is a governor-elect?” - -To which the barber kitchen-boy replied, “The gentleman will not let -himself be washed as is customary, and as my lord and the señor his -master have been.” - -“Yes, I will,” said Sancho, in a great rage; “but I’d like it to be -with cleaner towels, clearer lye, and not such dirty hands; for there’s -not so much difference between me and my master that he should be -washed with angels’ water and I with devil’s lye. The customs of -countries and princes’ palaces are only good so long as they give no -annoyance; but the way of washing they have here is worse than doing -penance. I have a clean beard, and I don’t require to be refreshed in -that fashion, and whoever comes to wash me or touch a hair of my head, -I mean to say my beard, with all due respect be it said, I’ll give him -a punch that will leave my fist sunk in his skull; for cirimonies and -soapings of this sort are more like jokes than the polite attentions of -one’s host.” - -The duchess was ready to die with laughter when she saw Sancho’s rage -and heard his words; but it was no pleasure to Don Quixote to see him -in such a sorry trim, with the dingy towel about him, and the -hangers-on of the kitchen all round him; so making a low bow to the -duke and duchess, as if to ask their permission to speak, he addressed -the rout in a dignified tone: “Holloa, gentlemen! you let that youth -alone, and go back to where you came from, or anywhere else if you -like; my squire is as clean as any other person, and those troughs are -as bad as narrow thin-necked jars to him; take my advice and leave him -alone, for neither he nor I understand joking.” - -Sancho took the word out of his mouth and went on, “Nay, let them come -and try their jokes on the country bumpkin, for it’s about as likely -I’ll stand them as that it’s now midnight! Let them bring me a comb -here, or what they please, and curry this beard of mine, and if they -get anything out of it that offends against cleanliness, let them clip -me to the skin.” - -Upon this, the duchess, laughing all the while, said, “Sancho Panza is -right, and always will be in all he says; he is clean, and, as he says -himself, he does not require to be washed; and if our ways do not -please him, he is free to choose. Besides, you promoters of cleanliness -have been excessively careless and thoughtless, I don’t know if I ought -not to say audacious, to bring troughs and wooden utensils and kitchen -dishclouts, instead of basins and jugs of pure gold and towels of -holland, to such a person and such a beard; but, after all, you are -ill-conditioned and ill-bred, and spiteful as you are, you cannot help -showing the grudge you have against the squires of knights-errant.” - -The impudent servitors, and even the seneschal who came with them, took -the duchess to be speaking in earnest, so they removed the -straining-cloth from Sancho’s neck, and with something like shame and -confusion of face went off all of them and left him; whereupon he, -seeing himself safe out of that extreme danger, as it seemed to him, -ran and fell on his knees before the duchess, saying, “From great -ladies great favours may be looked for; this which your grace has done -me to-day cannot be requited with less than wishing I was dubbed a -knight-errant, to devote myself all the days of my life to the service -of so exalted a lady. I am a labouring man, my name is Sancho Panza, I -am married, I have children, and I am serving as a squire; if in any -one of these ways I can serve your highness, I will not be longer in -obeying than your grace in commanding.” - -“It is easy to see, Sancho,” replied the duchess, “that you have -learned to be polite in the school of politeness itself; I mean to say -it is easy to see that you have been nursed in the bosom of Señor Don -Quixote, who is, of course, the cream of good breeding and flower of -ceremony—or cirimony, as you would say yourself. Fair be the fortunes -of such a master and such a servant, the one the cynosure of -knight-errantry, the other the star of squirely fidelity! Rise, Sancho, -my friend; I will repay your courtesy by taking care that my lord the -duke makes good to you the promised gift of the government as soon as -possible.” - -With this, the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote retired to -take his midday sleep; but the duchess begged Sancho, unless he had a -very great desire to go to sleep, to come and spend the afternoon with -her and her damsels in a very cool chamber. Sancho replied that, though -he certainly had the habit of sleeping four or five hours in the heat -of the day in summer, to serve her excellence he would try with all his -might not to sleep even one that day, and that he would come in -obedience to her command, and with that he went off. The duke gave -fresh orders with respect to treating Don Quixote as a knight-errant, -without departing even in smallest particular from the style in which, -as the stories tell us, they used to treat the knights of old. - -CHAPTER XXXIII. -OF THE DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND HER DAMSELS HELD WITH -SANCHO PANZA, WELL WORTH READING AND NOTING - -The history records that Sancho did not sleep that afternoon, but in -order to keep his word came, before he had well done dinner, to visit -the duchess, who, finding enjoyment in listening to him, made him sit -down beside her on a low seat, though Sancho, out of pure good -breeding, wanted not to sit down; the duchess, however, told him he was -to sit down as governor and talk as squire, as in both respects he was -worthy of even the chair of the Cid Ruy Diaz the Campeador. Sancho -shrugged his shoulders, obeyed, and sat down, and all the duchess’s -damsels and duennas gathered round him, waiting in profound silence to -hear what he would say. It was the duchess, however, who spoke first, -saying: - -“Now that we are alone, and that there is nobody here to overhear us, I -should be glad if the señor governor would relieve me of certain doubts -I have, rising out of the history of the great Don Quixote that is now -in print. One is: inasmuch as worthy Sancho never saw Dulcinea, I mean -the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, nor took Don Quixote’s letter to her, for -it was left in the memorandum book in the Sierra Morena, how did he -dare to invent the answer and all that about finding her sifting wheat, -the whole story being a deception and falsehood, and so much to the -prejudice of the peerless Dulcinea’s good name, a thing that is not at -all becoming the character and fidelity of a good squire?” - -At these words, Sancho, without uttering one in reply, got up from his -chair, and with noiseless steps, with his body bent and his finger on -his lips, went all round the room lifting up the hangings; and this -done, he came back to his seat and said, “Now, señora, that I have seen -that there is no one except the bystanders listening to us on the sly, -I will answer what you have asked me, and all you may ask me, without -fear or dread. And the first thing I have got to say is, that for my -own part I hold my master Don Quixote to be stark mad, though sometimes -he says things that, to my mind, and indeed everybody’s that listens to -him, are so wise, and run in such a straight furrow, that Satan himself -could not have said them better; but for all that, really, and beyond -all question, it’s my firm belief he is cracked. Well, then, as this is -clear to my mind, I can venture to make him believe things that have -neither head nor tail, like that affair of the answer to the letter, -and that other of six or eight days ago, which is not yet in history, -that is to say, the affair of the enchantment of my lady Dulcinea; for -I made him believe she is enchanted, though there’s no more truth in it -than over the hills of Úbeda.” - -The duchess begged him to tell her about the enchantment or deception, -so Sancho told the whole story exactly as it had happened, and his -hearers were not a little amused by it; and then resuming, the duchess -said, “In consequence of what worthy Sancho has told me, a doubt starts -up in my mind, and there comes a kind of whisper to my ear that says, -‘If Don Quixote be mad, crazy, and cracked, and Sancho Panza his squire -knows it, and, notwithstanding, serves and follows him, and goes -trusting to his empty promises, there can be no doubt he must be still -madder and sillier than his master; and that being so, it will be cast -in your teeth, señora duchess, if you give the said Sancho an island to -govern; for how will he who does not know how to govern himself know -how to govern others?’” - -“By God, señora,” said Sancho, “but that doubt comes timely; but your -grace may say it out, and speak plainly, or as you like; for I know -what you say is true, and if I were wise I should have left my master -long ago; but this was my fate, this was my bad luck; I can’t help it, -I must follow him; we’re from the same village, I’ve eaten his bread, -I’m fond of him, I’m grateful, he gave me his ass-colts, and above all -I’m faithful; so it’s quite impossible for anything to separate us, -except the pickaxe and shovel. And if your highness does not like to -give me the government you promised, God made me without it, and maybe -your not giving it to me will be all the better for my conscience, for -fool as I am I know the proverb ‘to her hurt the ant got wings,’ and it -may be that Sancho the squire will get to heaven sooner than Sancho the -governor. ‘They make as good bread here as in France,’ and ‘by night -all cats are grey,’ and ‘a hard case enough his, who hasn’t broken his -fast at two in the afternoon,’ and ‘there’s no stomach a hand’s breadth -bigger than another,’ and the same can be filled ‘with straw or hay,’ -as the saying is, and ‘the little birds of the field have God for their -purveyor and caterer,’ and ‘four yards of Cuenca frieze keep one warmer -than four of Segovia broad-cloth,’ and ‘when we quit this world and are -put underground the prince travels by as narrow a path as the -journeyman,’ and ‘the Pope’s body does not take up more feet of earth -than the sacristan’s,’ for all that the one is higher than the other; -for when we go to our graves we all pack ourselves up and make -ourselves small, or rather they pack us up and make us small in spite -of us, and then—good night to us. And I say once more, if your ladyship -does not like to give me the island because I’m a fool, like a wise man -I will take care to give myself no trouble about it; I have heard say -that ‘behind the cross there’s the devil,’ and that ‘all that glitters -is not gold,’ and that from among the oxen, and the ploughs, and the -yokes, Wamba the husbandman was taken to be made King of Spain, and -from among brocades, and pleasures, and riches, Roderick was taken to -be devoured by adders, if the verses of the old ballads don’t lie.” - -“To be sure they don’t lie!” exclaimed Doña Rodriguez, the duenna, who -was one of the listeners. “Why, there’s a ballad that says they put -King Rodrigo alive into a tomb full of toads, and adders, and lizards, -and that two days afterwards the king, in a plaintive, feeble voice, -cried out from within the tomb- - -They gnaw me now, they gnaw me now, -There where I most did sin. - -And according to that the gentleman has good reason to say he would -rather be a labouring man than a king, if vermin are to eat him.” - -The duchess could not help laughing at the simplicity of her duenna, or -wondering at the language and proverbs of Sancho, to whom she said, -“Worthy Sancho knows very well that when once a knight has made a -promise he strives to keep it, though it should cost him his life. My -lord and husband the duke, though not one of the errant sort, is none -the less a knight for that reason, and will keep his word about the -promised island, in spite of the envy and malice of the world. Let -Sancho be of good cheer; for when he least expects it he will find -himself seated on the throne of his island and seat of dignity, and -will take possession of his government that he may discard it for -another of three-bordered brocade. The charge I give him is to be -careful how he governs his vassals, bearing in mind that they are all -loyal and well-born.” - -“As to governing them well,” said Sancho, “there’s no need of charging -me to do that, for I’m kind-hearted by nature, and full of compassion -for the poor; there’s no stealing the loaf from him who kneads and -bakes;’ and by my faith it won’t do to throw false dice with me; I am -an old dog, and I know all about ‘tus, tus;’ I can be wide-awake if -need be, and I don’t let clouds come before my eyes, for I know where -the shoe pinches me; I say so, because with me the good will have -support and protection, and the bad neither footing nor access. And it -seems to me that, in governments, to make a beginning is everything; -and maybe, after having been governor a fortnight, I’ll take kindly to -the work and know more about it than the field labour I have been -brought up to.” - -“You are right, Sancho,” said the duchess, “for no one is born ready -taught, and the bishops are made out of men and not out of stones. But -to return to the subject we were discussing just now, the enchantment -of the lady Dulcinea, I look upon it as certain, and something more -than evident, that Sancho’s idea of practising a deception upon his -master, making him believe that the peasant girl was Dulcinea and that -if he did not recognise her it must be because she was enchanted, was -all a device of one of the enchanters that persecute Don Quixote. For -in truth and earnest, I know from good authority that the coarse -country wench who jumped up on the ass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, -and that worthy Sancho, though he fancies himself the deceiver, is the -one that is deceived; and that there is no more reason to doubt the -truth of this, than of anything else we never saw. Señor Sancho Panza -must know that we too have enchanters here that are well disposed to -us, and tell us what goes on in the world, plainly and distinctly, -without subterfuge or deception; and believe me, Sancho, that agile -country lass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, who is as much enchanted -as the mother that bore her; and when we least expect it, we shall see -her in her own proper form, and then Sancho will be disabused of the -error he is under at present.” - -“All that’s very possible,” said Sancho Panza; “and now I’m willing to -believe what my master says about what he saw in the cave of -Montesinos, where he says he saw the lady Dulcinea del Toboso in the -very same dress and apparel that I said I had seen her in when I -enchanted her all to please myself. It must be all exactly the other -way, as your ladyship says; because it is impossible to suppose that -out of my poor wit such a cunning trick could be concocted in a moment, -nor do I think my master is so mad that by my weak and feeble -persuasion he could be made to believe a thing so out of all reason. -But, señora, your excellence must not therefore think me ill-disposed, -for a dolt like me is not bound to see into the thoughts and plots of -those vile enchanters. I invented all that to escape my master’s -scolding, and not with any intention of hurting him; and if it has -turned out differently, there is a God in heaven who judges our -hearts.” - -“That is true,” said the duchess; “but tell me, Sancho, what is this -you say about the cave of Montesinos, for I should like to know.” - -Sancho upon this related to her, word for word, what has been said -already touching that adventure, and having heard it the duchess said, -“From this occurrence it may be inferred that, as the great Don Quixote -says he saw there the same country wench Sancho saw on the way from El -Toboso, it is, no doubt, Dulcinea, and that there are some very active -and exceedingly busy enchanters about.” - -“So I say,” said Sancho, “and if my lady Dulcinea is enchanted, so much -the worse for her, and I’m not going to pick a quarrel with my master’s -enemies, who seem to be many and spiteful. The truth is that the one I -saw was a country wench, and I set her down to be a country wench; and -if that was Dulcinea it must not be laid at my door, nor should I be -called to answer for it or take the consequences. But they must go -nagging at me at every step—‘Sancho said it, Sancho did it, Sancho -here, Sancho there,’ as if Sancho was nobody at all, and not that same -Sancho Panza that’s now going all over the world in books, so Samson -Carrasco told me, and he’s at any rate one that’s a bachelor of -Salamanca; and people of that sort can’t lie, except when the whim -seizes them or they have some very good reason for it. So there’s no -occasion for anybody to quarrel with me; and then I have a good -character, and, as I have heard my master say, ‘a good name is better -than great riches;’ let them only stick me into this government and -they’ll see wonders, for one who has been a good squire will be a good -governor.” - -“All worthy Sancho’s observations,” said the duchess, “are Catonian -sentences, or at any rate out of the very heart of Michael Verino -himself, who _florentibus occidit annis_. In fact, to speak in his own -style, ‘under a bad cloak there’s often a good drinker.’” - -“Indeed, señora,” said Sancho, “I never yet drank out of wickedness; -from thirst I have very likely, for I have nothing of the hypocrite in -me; I drink when I’m inclined, or, if I’m not inclined, when they offer -it to me, so as not to look either strait-laced or ill-bred; for when a -friend drinks one’s health what heart can be so hard as not to return -it? But if I put on my shoes I don’t dirty them; besides, squires to -knights-errant mostly drink water, for they are always wandering among -woods, forests and meadows, mountains and crags, without a drop of wine -to be had if they gave their eyes for it.” - -“So I believe,” said the duchess; “and now let Sancho go and take his -sleep, and we will talk by-and-by at greater length, and settle how he -may soon go and stick himself into the government, as he says.” - -Sancho once more kissed the duchess’s hand, and entreated her to let -good care be taken of his Dapple, for he was the light of his eyes. - -“What is Dapple?” said the duchess. - -“My ass,” said Sancho, “which, not to mention him by that name, I’m -accustomed to call Dapple; I begged this lady duenna here to take care -of him when I came into the castle, and she got as angry as if I had -said she was ugly or old, though it ought to be more natural and proper -for duennas to feed asses than to ornament chambers. God bless me! what -a spite a gentleman of my village had against these ladies!” - -“He must have been some clown,” said Doña Rodriguez the duenna; “for if -he had been a gentleman and well-born he would have exalted them higher -than the horns of the moon.” - -“That will do,” said the duchess; “no more of this; hush, Doña -Rodriguez, and let Señor Panza rest easy and leave the treatment of -Dapple in my charge, for as he is a treasure of Sancho’s, I’ll put him -on the apple of my eye.” - -“It will be enough for him to be in the stable,” said Sancho, “for -neither he nor I are worthy to rest a moment in the apple of your -highness’s eye, and I’d as soon stab myself as consent to it; for -though my master says that in civilities it is better to lose by a card -too many than a card too few, when it comes to civilities to asses we -must mind what we are about and keep within due bounds.” - -“Take him to your government, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and there you -will be able to make as much of him as you like, and even release him -from work and pension him off.” - -“Don’t think, señora duchess, that you have said anything absurd,” said -Sancho; “I have seen more than two asses go to governments, and for me -to take mine with me would be nothing new.” - -Sancho’s words made the duchess laugh again and gave her fresh -amusement, and dismissing him to sleep she went away to tell the duke -the conversation she had had with him, and between them they plotted -and arranged to play a joke upon Don Quixote that was to be a rare one -and entirely in knight-errantry style, and in that same style they -practised several upon him, so much in keeping and so clever that they -form the best adventures this great history contains. - -CHAPTER XXXIV. -WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY WERE TO DISENCHANT -THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES -IN THIS BOOK - -Great was the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the conversation of -Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more bent than ever upon the plan -they had of practising some jokes upon them that should have the look -and appearance of adventures, they took as their basis of action what -Don Quixote had already told them about the cave of Montesinos, in -order to play him a famous one. But what the duchess marvelled at above -all was that Sancho’s simplicity could be so great as to make him -believe as absolute truth that Dulcinea had been enchanted, when it was -he himself who had been the enchanter and trickster in the business. -Having, therefore, instructed their servants in everything they were to -do, six days afterwards they took him out to hunt, with as great a -retinue of huntsmen and beaters as a crowned king. - -They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another -of the finest green cloth; but Don Quixote declined to put his on, -saying that he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could -not carry wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they -gave him, meaning to sell it at the first opportunity. - -The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, and Sancho -arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple (for he would not give him -up though they offered him a horse), he placed himself in the midst of -the troop of huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don -Quixote, in pure courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her palfrey, -though the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a -wood that lay between two high mountains, where, after occupying -various posts, ambushes, and paths, and distributing the party in -different positions, the hunt began with great noise, shouting, and -hallooing, so that, between the baying of the hounds and the blowing of -the horns, they could not hear one another. The duchess dismounted, and -with a sharp boar-spear in her hand posted herself where she knew the -wild boars were in the habit of passing. The duke and Don Quixote -likewise dismounted and placed themselves one at each side of her. -Sancho took up a position in the rear of all without dismounting from -Dapple, whom he dared not desert lest some mischief should befall him. -Scarcely had they taken their stand in a line with several of their -servants, when they saw a huge boar, closely pressed by the hounds and -followed by the huntsmen, making towards them, grinding his teeth and -tusks, and scattering foam from his mouth. As soon as he saw him Don -Quixote, bracing his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced -to meet him; the duke with boar-spear did the same; but the duchess -would have gone in front of them all had not the duke prevented her. -Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of the mighty beast, took -to his heels as hard as he could and strove in vain to mount a tall -oak. As he was clinging to a branch, however, half-way up in his -struggle to reach the top, the bough, such was his ill-luck and hard -fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a broken limb of the oak, he -hung suspended in the air unable to reach the ground. Finding himself -in this position, and that the green coat was beginning to tear, and -reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he might be able to -get at him, he began to utter such cries, and call for help so -earnestly, that all who heard him and did not see him felt sure he must -be in the teeth of some wild beast. In the end the tusked boar fell -pierced by the blades of the many spears they held in front of him; and -Don Quixote, turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them -that it was he, saw him hanging from the oak head downwards, with -Dapple, who did not forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and -Cide Hamete observes that he seldom saw Sancho Panza without seeing -Dapple, or Dapple without seeing Sancho Panza; such was their -attachment and loyalty one to the other. Don Quixote went over and -unhooked Sancho, who, as soon as he found himself on the ground, looked -at the rent in his huntingcoat and was grieved to the heart, for he -thought he had got a patrimonial estate in that suit. - -Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and -having covered it with sprigs of rosemary and branches of myrtle, they -bore it away as the spoils of victory to some large field-tents which -had been pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables -laid and dinner served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it was -easy to see the rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. -Sancho, as he showed the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, -observed, “If we had been hunting hares, or after small birds, my coat -would have been safe from being in the plight it’s in; I don’t know -what pleasure one can find in lying in wait for an animal that may take -your life with his tusk if he gets at you. I recollect having heard an -old ballad sung that says, - -By bears be thou devoured, as erst -Was famous Favila.” - -“That,” said Don Quixote, “was a Gothic king, who, going a-hunting, was -devoured by a bear.” - -“Just so,” said Sancho; “and I would not have kings and princes expose -themselves to such dangers for the sake of a pleasure which, to my -mind, ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has -done no harm whatever.” - -“Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there,” said the duke; “for -hunting is more suitable and requisite for kings and princes than for -anybody else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles, -and crafty devices for overcoming the enemy in safety; in it extreme -cold and intolerable heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are -despised, the bodily powers are invigorated, the limbs of him who -engages in it are made supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which -may be followed without injury to anyone and with enjoyment to many; -and the best of it is, it is not for everybody, as field-sports of -other sorts are, except hawking, which also is only for kings and great -lords. Reconsider your opinion therefore, Sancho, and when you are -governor take to hunting, and you will find the good of it.” - -“Nay,” said Sancho, “the good governor should have a broken leg and -keep at home;” it would be a nice thing if, after people had been at -the trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to -be away in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on -badly in that fashion. By my faith, señor, hunting and amusements are -more fit for idlers than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself -with is playing all fours at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and -holidays; for these huntings don’t suit my condition or agree with my -conscience.” - -“God grant it may turn out so,” said the duke; “because it’s a long -step from saying to doing.” - -“Be that as it may,” said Sancho, “‘pledges don’t distress a good -payer,’ and ‘he whom God helps does better than he who gets up early,’ -and ‘it’s the tripes that carry the feet and not the feet the tripes;’ -I mean to say that if God gives me help and I do my duty honestly, no -doubt I’ll govern better than a gerfalcon. Nay, let them only put a -finger in my mouth, and they’ll see whether I can bite or not.” - -“The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!” -exclaimed Don Quixote; “when will the day come—as I have often said to -thee—when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark -without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he -will grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand -proverbs, dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose -as—may God grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to -them!” - -“Sancho Panza’s proverbs,” said the duchess, “though more in number -than the Greek Commander’s, are not therefore less to be esteemed for -the conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me -more pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more -seasonably introduced.” - -In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into -the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and -hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly -or tranquilly as might have been expected at the season, for it was -then midsummer; but bringing with it a kind of haze that greatly aided -the project of the duke and duchess; and thus, as night began to fall, -and a little after twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four -sides seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all -sides, a vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were -heard, as if several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood. -The blaze of the fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost -blinded the eyes and deafened the ears of those that stood by, and -indeed of all who were in the wood. Then there were heard repeated -lelilies after the fashion of the Moors when they rush to battle; -trumpets and clarions brayed, drums beat, fifes played, so unceasingly -and so fast that he could not have had any senses who did not lose them -with the confused din of so many instruments. The duke was astounded, -the duchess amazed, Don Quixote wondering, Sancho Panza trembling, and -indeed, even they who were aware of the cause were frightened. In their -fear, silence fell upon them, and a postillion, in the guise of a -demon, passed in front of them, blowing, in lieu of a bugle, a huge -hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse note. - -“Ho there! brother courier,” cried the duke, “who are you? Where are -you going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the -wood?” - -To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, “I am the -devil; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming -this way are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal -car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enchantment, -together with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to give instructions to -Don Quixote as to how, she the said lady, may be disenchanted.” - -“If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance indicates,” -said the duke, “you would have known the said knight Don Quixote of La -Mancha, for you have him here before you.” - -“By God and upon my conscience,” said the devil, “I never observed it, -for my mind is occupied with so many different things that I was -forgetting the main thing I came about.” - -“This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian,” said -Sancho; “for if he wasn’t he wouldn’t swear by God and his conscience; -I feel sure now there must be good souls even in hell itself.” - -Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote and said, -“The unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends me to thee, the -Knight of the Lions (would that I saw thee in their claws), bidding me -tell thee to wait for him wherever I may find thee, as he brings with -him her whom they call Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what -is needful in order to disenchant her; and as I came for no more I need -stay no longer; demons of my sort be with thee, and good angels with -these gentles;” and so saying he blew his huge horn, turned about and -went off without waiting for a reply from anyone. - -They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote; -Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they would have it that -Dulcinea was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure -whether what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or -not; and as he was deep in these cogitations the duke said to him, “Do -you mean to wait, Señor Don Quixote?” - -“Why not?” replied he; “here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all -hell should come to attack me.” - -“Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last, -I’ll wait here as much as in Flanders,” said Sancho. - -Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit -through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations from the earth, that -look like shooting-stars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a -frightful noise, too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the -ox-carts usually have, by the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they -say, the bears and wolves are put to flight, if there happen to be any -where they are passing. In addition to all this commotion, there came a -further disturbance to increase the tumult, for now it seemed as if in -truth, on all four sides of the wood, four encounters or battles were -going on at the same time; in one quarter resounded the dull noise of a -terrible cannonade, in another numberless muskets were being -discharged, the shouts of the combatants sounded almost close at hand, -and farther away the Moorish lelilies were raised again and again. In a -word, the bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the drums, the -cannon, the musketry, and above all the tremendous noise of the carts, -all made up together a din so confused and terrific that Don Quixote -had need to summon up all his courage to brave it; but Sancho’s gave -way, and he fell fainting on the skirt of the duchess’s robe, who let -him lie there and promptly bade them throw water in his face. This was -done, and he came to himself by the time that one of the carts with the -creaking wheels reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding oxen -all covered with black housings; on each horn they had fixed a large -lighted wax taper, and on the top of the cart was constructed a raised -seat, on which sat a venerable old man with a beard whiter than the -very snow, and so long that it fell below his waist; he was dressed in -a long robe of black buckram; for as the cart was thickly set with a -multitude of candles it was easy to make out everything that was on it. -Leading it were two hideous demons, also clad in buckram, with -countenances so frightful that Sancho, having once seen them, shut his -eyes so as not to see them again. As soon as the cart came opposite the -spot the old man rose from his lofty seat, and standing up said in a -loud voice, “I am the sage Lirgandeo,” and without another word the -cart then passed on. Behind it came another of the same form, with -another aged man enthroned, who, stopping the cart, said in a voice no -less solemn than that of the first, “I am the sage Alquife, the great -friend of Urganda the Unknown,” and passed on. Then another cart came -by at the same pace, but the occupant of the throne was not old like -the others, but a man stalwart and robust, and of a forbidding -countenance, who as he came up said in a voice far hoarser and more -devilish, “I am the enchanter Archelaus, the mortal enemy of Amadis of -Gaul and all his kindred,” and then passed on. Having gone a short -distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of their -wheels ceased, and soon after they heard another, not noise, but sound -of sweet, harmonious music, of which Sancho was very glad, taking it to -be a good sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not stir a -step, or for a single instant, “Señora, where there’s music there can’t -be mischief.” - -“Nor where there are lights and it is bright,” said the duchess; to -which Sancho replied, “Fire gives light, and it’s bright where there -are bonfires, as we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may -burn us; but music is a sign of mirth and merrymaking.” - -“That remains to be seen,” said Don Quixote, who was listening to all -that passed; and he was right, as is shown in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER XXXV. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING THE -DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS - -They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music, -what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six grey mules with white -linen housings, on each of which was mounted a penitent, robed also in -white, with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice -or, perhaps, three times as large as the former ones, and in front and -on the sides stood twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all -with lighted tapers, a spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder; and -on a raised throne was seated a nymph draped in a multitude of -silver-tissue veils with an embroidery of countless gold spangles -glittering all over them, that made her appear, if not richly, at least -brilliantly, apparelled. She had her face covered with thin transparent -sendal, the texture of which did not prevent the fair features of a -maiden from being distinguished, while the numerous lights made it -possible to judge of her beauty and of her years, which seemed to be -not less than seventeen but not to have yet reached twenty. Beside her -was a figure in a robe of state, as they call it, reaching to the feet, -while the head was covered with a black veil. But the instant the car -was opposite the duke and duchess and Don Quixote the music of the -clarions ceased, and then that of the lutes and harps on the car, and -the figure in the robe rose up, and flinging it apart and removing the -veil from its face, disclosed to their eyes the shape of Death itself, -fleshless and hideous, at which sight Don Quixote felt uneasy, Sancho -frightened, and the duke and duchess displayed a certain trepidation. -Having risen to its feet, this living death, in a sleepy voice and with -a tongue hardly awake, held forth as follows: - -I am that Merlin who the legends say -The devil had for father, and the lie -Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time. -Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore -Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye -I view the efforts of the age to hide -The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights, -Who are, and ever have been, dear to me. -Enchanters and magicians and their kind - -Are mostly hard of heart; not so am I; -For mine is tender, soft, compassionate, -And its delight is doing good to all. -In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis, -Where, tracing mystic lines and characters, -My soul abideth now, there came to me -The sorrow-laden plaint of her, the fair, -The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso. -I knew of her enchantment and her fate, -From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed -And touched with pity, first I turned the leaves -Of countless volumes of my devilish craft, -And then, in this grim grisly skeleton -Myself encasing, hither have I come -To show where lies the fitting remedy -To give relief in such a piteous case. -O thou, the pride and pink of all that I wear - -The adamantine steel! O shining light, -O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all -Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down, -Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms! -To thee, great hero who all praise transcends, -La Mancha’s lustre and Iberia’s star, -Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say— -For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso -Her pristine form and beauty to regain, -’Tis needful that thy esquire Sancho shall, -On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven, -Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay, -And that they smart and sting and hurt him well. -Thus have the authors of her woe resolved. -And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come. - -“By all that’s good,” exclaimed Sancho at this, “I’ll just as soon give -myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to say three thousand, -lashes. The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don’t see what my -backside has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Señor Merlin has -not found out some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, she may go to her grave enchanted.” - -“But I’ll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic,” said Don Quixote, -“and tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth, -and give you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand -six hundred lashes, and so well laid on that they won’t be got rid of -if you try three thousand three hundred times; don’t answer me a word -or I’ll tear your soul out.” - -On hearing this Merlin said, “That will not do, for the lashes worthy -Sancho has to receive must be given of his own free will and not by -force, and at whatever time he pleases, for there is no fixed limit -assigned to him; but it is permitted him, if he likes to commute by -half the pain of this whipping, to let them be given by the hand of -another, though it may be somewhat weighty.” - -“Not a hand, my own or anybody else’s, weighty or weighable, shall -touch me,” said Sancho. “Was it I that gave birth to the lady Dulcinea -del Toboso, that my backside is to pay for the sins of her eyes? My -master, indeed, that’s a part of her—for, he’s always calling her ‘my -life’ and ‘my soul,’ and his stay and prop—may and ought to whip -himself for her and take all the trouble required for her -disenchantment. But for me to whip myself! Abernuncio!” - -As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver that was at the -side of Merlin’s ghost stood up, and removing the thin veil from her -face disclosed one that seemed to all something more than exceedingly -beautiful; and with a masculine freedom from embarrassment and in a -voice not very like a lady’s, addressing Sancho directly, said, “Thou -wretched squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with bowels -of flint and pebbles; if, thou impudent thief, they bade thee throw -thyself down from some lofty tower; if, enemy of mankind, they asked -thee to swallow a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three of adders; -if they wanted thee to slay thy wife and children with a sharp -murderous scimitar, it would be no wonder for thee to show thyself -stubborn and squeamish. But to make a piece of work about three -thousand three hundred lashes, what every poor little charity-boy gets -every month—it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate -bowels of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the course -of time. Turn, O miserable, hard-hearted animal, turn, I say, those -timorous owl’s eyes upon these of mine that are compared to radiant -stars, and thou wilt see them weeping trickling streams and rills, and -tracing furrows, tracks, and paths over the fair fields of my cheeks. -Let it move thee, crafty, ill-conditioned monster, to see my blooming -youth—still in its teens, for I am not yet twenty—wasting and withering -away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench; and if I do not appear -in that shape now, it is a special favour Señor Merlin here has granted -me, to the sole end that my beauty may soften thee; for the tears of -beauty in distress turn rocks into cotton and tigers into ewes. Lay on -to that hide of thine, thou great untamed brute, rouse up thy lusty -vigour that only urges thee to eat and eat, and set free the softness -of my flesh, the gentleness of my nature, and the fairness of my face. -And if thou wilt not relent or come to reason for me, do so for the -sake of that poor knight thou hast beside thee; thy master I mean, -whose soul I can this moment see, how he has it stuck in his throat not -ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting for thy inflexible or -yielding reply to make its escape by his mouth or go back again into -his stomach.” - -Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he -said, “By God, señor, Dulcinea says true, I have my soul stuck here in -my throat like the nut of a crossbow.” - -“What say you to this, Sancho?” said the duchess. - -“I say, señora,” returned Sancho, “what I said before; as for the -lashes, abernuncio!” - -“Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do,” said the duke. - -“Let me alone, your highness,” said Sancho. “I’m not in a humour now to -look into niceties or a letter more or less, for these lashes that are -to be given me, or I’m to give myself, have so upset me, that I don’t -know what I’m saying or doing. But I’d like to know of this lady, my -lady Dulcinea del Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking -favours. She comes to ask me to score my flesh with lashes, and she -calls me soul of a pitcher, and great untamed brute, and a string of -foul names that the devil is welcome to. Is my flesh brass? or is it -anything to me whether she is enchanted or not? Does she bring with her -a basket of fair linen, shirts, kerchiefs, socks—not that I wear any—to -coax me? No, nothing but one piece of abuse after another, though she -knows the proverb they have here that ‘an ass loaded with gold goes -lightly up a mountain,’ and that ‘gifts break rocks,’ and ‘praying to -God and plying the hammer,’ and that ‘one “take” is better than two -“I’ll give thee’s.”’ Then there’s my master, who ought to stroke me -down and pet me to make me turn wool and carded cotton; he says if he -gets hold of me he’ll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of -lashes on me. These tender-hearted gentry should consider that it’s not -merely a squire, but a governor they are asking to whip himself; just -as if it was ‘drink with cherries.’ Let them learn, plague take them, -the right way to ask, and beg, and behave themselves; for all times are -not alike, nor are people always in good humour. I’m now ready to burst -with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and they come to ask me to -whip myself of my own free will, I having as little fancy for it as for -turning cacique.” - -“Well then, the fact is, friend Sancho,” said the duke, “that unless -you become softer than a ripe fig, you shall not get hold of the -government. It would be a nice thing for me to send my islanders a -cruel governor with flinty bowels, who won’t yield to the tears of -afflicted damsels or to the prayers of wise, magisterial, ancient -enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho, either you must be whipped by -yourself, or they must whip you, or you shan’t be governor.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “won’t two days’ grace be given me in which to -consider what is best for me?” - -“No, certainly not,” said Merlin; “here, this minute, and on the spot, -the matter must be settled; either Dulcinea will return to the cave of -Montesinos and to her former condition of peasant wench, or else in her -present form shall be carried to the Elysian fields, where she will -remain waiting until the number of stripes is completed.” - -“Now then, Sancho!” said the duchess, “show courage, and gratitude for -your master Don Quixote’s bread that you have eaten; we are all bound -to oblige and please him for his benevolent disposition and lofty -chivalry. Consent to this whipping, my son; to the devil with the -devil, and leave fear to milksops, for ‘a stout heart breaks bad luck,’ -as you very well know.” - -To this Sancho replied with an irrelevant remark, which, addressing -Merlin, he made to him, “Will your worship tell me, Señor Merlin—when -that courier devil came up he gave my master a message from Señor -Montesinos, charging him to wait for him here, as he was coming to -arrange how the lady Doña Dulcinea del Toboso was to be disenchanted; -but up to the present we have not seen Montesinos, nor anything like -him.” - -To which Merlin made answer, “The devil, Sancho, is a blockhead and a -great scoundrel; I sent him to look for your master, but not with a -message from Montesinos but from myself; for Montesinos is in his cave -expecting, or more properly speaking, waiting for his disenchantment; -for there’s the tail to be skinned yet for him; if he owes you -anything, or you have any business to transact with him, I’ll bring him -to you and put him where you choose; but for the present make up your -mind to consent to this penance, and believe me it will be very good -for you, for soul as well for body—for your soul because of the charity -with which you perform it, for your body because I know that you are of -a sanguine habit and it will do you no harm to draw a little blood.” - -“There are a great many doctors in the world; even the enchanters are -doctors,” said Sancho; “however, as everybody tells me the same -thing—though I can’t see it myself—I say I am willing to give myself -the three thousand three hundred lashes, provided I am to lay them on -whenever I like, without any fixing of days or times; and I’ll try and -get out of debt as quickly as I can, that the world may enjoy the -beauty of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; as it seems, contrary to what I -thought, that she is beautiful after all. It must be a condition, too, -that I am not to be bound to draw blood with the scourge, and that if -any of the lashes happen to be fly-flappers they are to count. Item, -that, in case I should make any mistake in the reckoning, Señor Merlin, -as he knows everything, is to keep count, and let me know how many are -still wanting or over the number.” - -“There will be no need to let you know of any over,” said Merlin, -“because, when you reach the full number, the lady Dulcinea will at -once, and that very instant, be disenchanted, and will come in her -gratitude to seek out the worthy Sancho, and thank him, and even reward -him for the good work. So you have no cause to be uneasy about stripes -too many or too few; heaven forbid I should cheat anyone of even a hair -of his head.” - -“Well then, in God’s hands be it,” said Sancho; “in the hard case I’m -in I give in; I say I accept the penance on the conditions laid down.” - -The instant Sancho uttered these last words the music of the clarions -struck up once more, and again a host of muskets were discharged, and -Don Quixote hung on Sancho’s neck kissing him again and again on the -forehead and cheeks. The duchess and the duke expressed the greatest -satisfaction, the car began to move on, and as it passed the fair -Dulcinea bowed to the duke and duchess and made a low curtsey to -Sancho. - -And now bright smiling dawn came on apace; the flowers of the field, -revived, raised up their heads, and the crystal waters of the brooks, -murmuring over the grey and white pebbles, hastened to pay their -tribute to the expectant rivers; the glad earth, the unclouded sky, the -fresh breeze, the clear light, each and all showed that the day that -came treading on the skirts of morning would be calm and bright. The -duke and duchess, pleased with their hunt and at having carried out -their plans so cleverly and successfully, returned to their castle -resolved to follow up their joke; for to them there was no reality that -could afford them more amusement. - -CHAPTER XXXVI. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE -DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER -WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA - -The duke had a majordomo of a very facetious and sportive turn, and he -it was that played the part of Merlin, made all the arrangements for -the late adventure, composed the verses, and got a page to represent -Dulcinea; and now, with the assistance of his master and mistress, he -got up another of the drollest and strangest contrivances that can be -imagined. - -The duchess asked Sancho the next day if he had made a beginning with -his penance task which he had to perform for the disenchantment of -Dulcinea. He said he had, and had given himself five lashes overnight. - -The duchess asked him what he had given them with. - -He said with his hand. - -“That,” said the duchess, “is more like giving oneself slaps than -lashes; I am sure the sage Merlin will not be satisfied with such -tenderness; worthy Sancho must make a scourge with claws, or a -cat-o’-nine tails, that will make itself felt; for it’s with blood that -letters enter, and the release of so great a lady as Dulcinea will not -be granted so cheaply, or at such a paltry price; and remember, Sancho, -that works of charity done in a lukewarm and half-hearted way are -without merit and of no avail.” - -To which Sancho replied, “If your ladyship will give me a proper -scourge or cord, I’ll lay on with it, provided it does not hurt too -much; for you must know, boor as I am, my flesh is more cotton than -hemp, and it won’t do for me to destroy myself for the good of anybody -else.” - -“So be it by all means,” said the duchess; “to-morrow I’ll give you a -scourge that will be just the thing for you, and will accommodate -itself to the tenderness of your flesh, as if it was its own sister.” - -Then said Sancho, “Your highness must know, dear lady of my soul, that -I have a letter written to my wife, Teresa Panza, giving her an account -of all that has happened me since I left her; I have it here in my -bosom, and there’s nothing wanting but to put the address to it; I’d be -glad if your discretion would read it, for I think it runs in the -governor style; I mean the way governors ought to write.” - -“And who dictated it?” asked the duchess. - -“Who should have dictated but myself, sinner as I am?” said Sancho. - -“And did you write it yourself?” said the duchess. - -“That I didn’t,” said Sancho; “for I can neither read nor write, though -I can sign my name.” - -“Let us see it,” said the duchess, “for never fear but you display in -it the quality and quantity of your wit.” - -Sancho drew out an open letter from his bosom, and the duchess, taking -it, found it ran in this fashion: - -SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA - -If I was well whipped I went mounted like a gentleman; if I have got a -good government it is at the cost of a good whipping. Thou wilt not -understand this just now, my Teresa; by-and-by thou wilt know what it -means. I may tell thee, Teresa, I mean thee to go in a coach, for that -is a matter of importance, because every other way of going is going on -all-fours. Thou art a governor’s wife; take care that nobody speaks -evil of thee behind thy back. I send thee here a green hunting suit -that my lady the duchess gave me; alter it so as to make a petticoat -and bodice for our daughter. Don Quixote, my master, if I am to believe -what I hear in these parts, is a madman of some sense, and a droll -blockhead, and I am in no way behind him. We have been in the cave of -Montesinos, and the sage Merlin has laid hold of me for the -disenchantment of Dulcinea del Toboso, her that is called Aldonza -Lorenzo over there. With three thousand three hundred lashes, less -five, that I’m to give myself, she will be left as entirely -disenchanted as the mother that bore her. Say nothing of this to -anyone; for, make thy affairs public, and some will say they are white -and others will say they are black. I shall leave this in a few days -for my government, to which I am going with a mighty great desire to -make money, for they tell me all new governors set out with the same -desire; I will feel the pulse of it and will let thee know if thou art -to come and live with me or not. Dapple is well and sends many -remembrances to thee; I am not going to leave him behind though they -took me away to be Grand Turk. My lady the duchess kisses thy hands a -thousand times; do thou make a return with two thousand, for as my -master says, nothing costs less or is cheaper than civility. God has -not been pleased to provide another valise for me with another hundred -crowns, like the one the other day; but never mind, my Teresa, the -bell-ringer is in safe quarters, and all will come out in the scouring -of the government; only it troubles me greatly what they tell me—that -once I have tasted it I will eat my hands off after it; and if that is -so it will not come very cheap to me; though to be sure the maimed have -a benefice of their own in the alms they beg for; so that one way or -another thou wilt be rich and in luck. God give it to thee as he can, -and keep me to serve thee. From this castle, the 20th of July, 1614. - -Thy husband, the governor, -SANCHO PANZA - -When she had done reading the letter the duchess said to Sancho, “On -two points the worthy governor goes rather astray; one is in saying or -hinting that this government has been bestowed upon him for the lashes -that he is to give himself, when he knows (and he cannot deny it) that -when my lord the duke promised it to him nobody ever dreamt of such a -thing as lashes; the other is that he shows himself here to be very -covetous; and I would not have him a money-seeker, for ‘covetousness -bursts the bag,’ and the covetous governor does ungoverned justice.” - -“I don’t mean it that way, señora,” said Sancho; “and if you think the -letter doesn’t run as it ought to do, it’s only to tear it up and make -another; and maybe it will be a worse one if it is left to my -gumption.” - -“No, no,” said the duchess, “this one will do, and I wish the duke to -see it.” - -With this they betook themselves to a garden where they were to dine, -and the duchess showed Sancho’s letter to the duke, who was highly -delighted with it. They dined, and after the cloth had been removed and -they had amused themselves for a while with Sancho’s rich conversation, -the melancholy sound of a fife and harsh discordant drum made itself -heard. All seemed somewhat put out by this dull, confused, martial -harmony, especially Don Quixote, who could not keep his seat from pure -disquietude; as to Sancho, it is needless to say that fear drove him to -his usual refuge, the side or the skirts of the duchess; and indeed and -in truth the sound they heard was a most doleful and melancholy one. -While they were still in uncertainty they saw advancing towards them -through the garden two men clad in mourning robes so long and flowing -that they trailed upon the ground. As they marched they beat two great -drums which were likewise draped in black, and beside them came the -fife player, black and sombre like the others. Following these came a -personage of gigantic stature enveloped rather than clad in a gown of -the deepest black, the skirt of which was of prodigious dimensions. -Over the gown, girdling or crossing his figure, he had a broad baldric -which was also black, and from which hung a huge scimitar with a black -scabbard and furniture. He had his face covered with a transparent -black veil, through which might be descried a very long beard as white -as snow. He came on keeping step to the sound of the drums with great -gravity and dignity; and, in short, his stature, his gait, the -sombreness of his appearance and his following might well have struck -with astonishment, as they did, all who beheld him without knowing who -he was. With this measured pace and in this guise he advanced to kneel -before the duke, who, with the others, awaited him standing. The duke, -however, would not on any account allow him to speak until he had -risen. The prodigious scarecrow obeyed, and standing up, removed the -veil from his face and disclosed the most enormous, the longest, the -whitest and the thickest beard that human eyes had ever beheld until -that moment, and then fetching up a grave, sonorous voice from the -depths of his broad, capacious chest, and fixing his eyes on the duke, -he said: - -“Most high and mighty señor, my name is Trifaldin of the White Beard; I -am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Distressed -Duenna, on whose behalf I bear a message to your highness, which is -that your magnificence will be pleased to grant her leave and -permission to come and tell you her trouble, which is one of the -strangest and most wonderful that the mind most familiar with trouble -in the world could have imagined; but first she desires to know if the -valiant and never vanquished knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, is in -this your castle, for she has come in quest of him on foot and without -breaking her fast from the kingdom of Kandy to your realms here; a -thing which may and ought to be regarded as a miracle or set down to -enchantment; she is even now at the gate of this fortress or plaisance, -and only waits for your permission to enter. I have spoken.” And with -that he coughed, and stroked down his beard with both his hands, and -stood very tranquilly waiting for the response of the duke, which was -to this effect: “Many days ago, worthy squire Trifaldin of the White -Beard, we heard of the misfortune of my lady the Countess Trifaldi, -whom the enchanters have caused to be called the Distressed Duenna. Bid -her enter, O stupendous squire, and tell her that the valiant knight -Don Quixote of La Mancha is here, and from his generous disposition she -may safely promise herself every protection and assistance; and you may -tell her, too, that if my aid be necessary it will not be withheld, for -I am bound to give it to her by my quality of knight, which involves -the protection of women of all sorts, especially widowed, wronged, and -distressed dames, such as her ladyship seems to be.” - -On hearing this Trifaldin bent the knee to the ground, and making a -sign to the fifer and drummers to strike up, he turned and marched out -of the garden to the same notes and at the same pace as when he -entered, leaving them all amazed at his bearing and solemnity. Turning -to Don Quixote, the duke said, “After all, renowned knight, the mists -of malice and ignorance are unable to hide or obscure the light of -valour and virtue. I say so, because your excellence has been barely -six days in this castle, and already the unhappy and the afflicted come -in quest of you from lands far distant and remote, and not in coaches -or on dromedaries, but on foot and fasting, confident that in that -mighty arm they will find a cure for their sorrows and troubles; thanks -to your great achievements, which are circulated all over the known -earth.” - -“I wish, señor duke,” replied Don Quixote, “that blessed ecclesiastic, -who at table the other day showed such ill-will and bitter spite -against knights-errant, were here now to see with his own eyes whether -knights of the sort are needed in the world; he would at any rate learn -by experience that those suffering any extraordinary affliction or -sorrow, in extreme cases and unusual misfortunes do not go to look for -a remedy to the houses of jurists or village sacristans, or to the -knight who has never attempted to pass the bounds of his own town, or -to the indolent courtier who only seeks for news to repeat and talk of, -instead of striving to do deeds and exploits for others to relate and -record. Relief in distress, help in need, protection for damsels, -consolation for widows, are to be found in no sort of persons better -than in knights-errant; and I give unceasing thanks to heaven that I am -one, and regard any misfortune or suffering that may befall me in the -pursuit of so honourable a calling as endured to good purpose. Let this -duenna come and ask what she will, for I will effect her relief by the -might of my arm and the dauntless resolution of my bold heart.” - -CHAPTER XXXVII. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DUENNA - -The duke and duchess were extremely glad to see how readily Don Quixote -fell in with their scheme; but at this moment Sancho observed, “I hope -this señora duenna won’t be putting any difficulties in the way of the -promise of my government; for I have heard a Toledo apothecary, who -talked like a goldfinch, say that where duennas were mixed up nothing -good could happen. God bless me, how he hated them, that same -apothecary! And so what I’m thinking is, if all duennas, of whatever -sort or condition they may be, are plagues and busybodies, what must -they be that are distressed, like this Countess Three-skirts or -Three-tails!—for in my country skirts or tails, tails or skirts, it’s -all one.” - -“Hush, friend Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “since this lady duenna comes -in quest of me from such a distant land she cannot be one of those the -apothecary meant; moreover this is a countess, and when countesses -serve as duennas it is in the service of queens and empresses, for in -their own houses they are mistresses paramount and have other duennas -to wait on them.” - -To this Doña Rodriguez, who was present, made answer, “My lady the -duchess has duennas in her service that might be countesses if it was -the will of fortune; ‘but laws go as kings like;’ let nobody speak ill -of duennas, above all of ancient maiden ones; for though I am not one -myself, I know and am aware of the advantage a maiden duenna has over -one that is a widow; but ‘he who clipped us has kept the scissors.’” - -“For all that,” said Sancho, “there’s so much to be clipped about -duennas, so my barber said, that ‘it will be better not to stir the -rice even though it sticks.’” - -“These squires,” returned Doña Rodriguez, “are always our enemies; and -as they are the haunting spirits of the antechambers and watch us at -every step, whenever they are not saying their prayers (and that’s -often enough) they spend their time in tattling about us, digging up -our bones and burying our good name. But I can tell these walking -blocks that we will live in spite of them, and in great houses too, -though we die of hunger and cover our flesh, be it delicate or not, -with widow’s weeds, as one covers or hides a dunghill on a procession -day. By my faith, if it were permitted me and time allowed, I could -prove, not only to those here present, but to all the world, that there -is no virtue that is not to be found in a duenna.” - -“I have no doubt,” said the duchess, “that my good Doña Rodriguez is -right, and very much so; but she had better bide her time for fighting -her own battle and that of the rest of the duennas, so as to crush the -calumny of that vile apothecary, and root out the prejudice in the -great Sancho Panza’s mind.” - -To which Sancho replied, “Ever since I have sniffed the governorship I -have got rid of the humours of a squire, and I don’t care a wild fig -for all the duennas in the world.” - -They would have carried on this duenna dispute further had they not -heard the notes of the fife and drums once more, from which they -concluded that the Distressed Duenna was making her entrance. The -duchess asked the duke if it would be proper to go out to receive her, -as she was a countess and a person of rank. - -“In respect of her being a countess,” said Sancho, before the duke -could reply, “I am for your highnesses going out to receive her; but in -respect of her being a duenna, it is my opinion you should not stir a -step.” - -“Who bade thee meddle in this, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. - -“Who, señor?” said Sancho; “I meddle for I have a right to meddle, as a -squire who has learned the rules of courtesy in the school of your -worship, the most courteous and best-bred knight in the whole world of -courtliness; and in these things, as I have heard your worship say, as -much is lost by a card too many as by a card too few, and to one who -has his ears open, few words.” - -“Sancho is right,” said the duke; “we’ll see what the countess is like, -and by that measure the courtesy that is due to her.” - -And now the drums and fife made their entrance as before; and here the -author brought this short chapter to an end and began the next, -following up the same adventure, which is one of the most notable in -the history. - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -WHEREIN IS TOLD THE DISTRESSED DUENNA’S TALE OF HER MISFORTUNES - -Following the melancholy musicians there filed into the garden as many -as twelve duennas, in two lines, all dressed in ample mourning robes -apparently of milled serge, with hoods of fine white gauze so long that -they allowed only the border of the robe to be seen. Behind them came -the Countess Trifaldi, the squire Trifaldin of the White Beard leading -her by the hand, clad in the finest unnapped black baize, such that, -had it a nap, every tuft would have shown as big as a Martos chickpea; -the tail, or skirt, or whatever it might be called, ended in three -points which were borne up by the hands of three pages, likewise -dressed in mourning, forming an elegant geometrical figure with the -three acute angles made by the three points, from which all who saw the -peaked skirt concluded that it must be because of it the countess was -called Trifaldi, as though it were Countess of the Three Skirts; and -Benengeli says it was so, and that by her right name she was called the -Countess Lobuna, because wolves bred in great numbers in her country; -and if, instead of wolves, they had been foxes, she would have been -called the Countess Zorruna, as it was the custom in those parts for -lords to take distinctive titles from the thing or things most abundant -in their dominions; this countess, however, in honour of the new -fashion of her skirt, dropped Lobuna and took up Trifaldi. - -The twelve duennas and the lady came on at procession pace, their faces -being covered with black veils, not transparent ones like Trifaldin’s, -but so close that they allowed nothing to be seen through them. As soon -as the band of duennas was fully in sight, the duke, the duchess, and -Don Quixote stood up, as well as all who were watching the slow-moving -procession. The twelve duennas halted and formed a lane, along which -the Distressed One advanced, Trifaldin still holding her hand. On -seeing this the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote went some twelve -paces forward to meet her. She then, kneeling on the ground, said in a -voice hoarse and rough, rather than fine and delicate, “May it please -your highnesses not to offer such courtesies to this your servant, I -should say to this your handmaid, for I am in such distress that I -shall never be able to make a proper return, because my strange and -unparalleled misfortune has carried off my wits, and I know not -whither; but it must be a long way off, for the more I look for them -the less I find them.” - -“He would be wanting in wits, señora countess,” said the duke, “who did -not perceive your worth by your person, for at a glance it may be seen -it deserves all the cream of courtesy and flower of polite usage;” and -raising her up by the hand he led her to a seat beside the duchess, who -likewise received her with great urbanity. Don Quixote remained silent, -while Sancho was dying to see the features of Trifaldi and one or two -of her many duennas; but there was no possibility of it until they -themselves displayed them of their own accord and free will. - -All kept still, waiting to see who would break silence, which the -Distressed Duenna did in these words: “I am confident, most mighty -lord, most fair lady, and most discreet company, that my most miserable -misery will be accorded a reception no less dispassionate than generous -and condolent in your most valiant bosoms, for it is one that is enough -to melt marble, soften diamonds, and mollify the steel of the most -hardened hearts in the world; but ere it is proclaimed to your hearing, -not to say your ears, I would fain be enlightened whether there be -present in this society, circle, or company, that knight -immaculatissimus, Don Quixote de la Manchissima, and his squirissimus -Panza.” - -“The Panza is here,” said Sancho, before anyone could reply, “and Don -Quixotissimus too; and so, most distressedest Duenissima, you may say -what you willissimus, for we are all readissimus to do you any -servissimus.” - -On this Don Quixote rose, and addressing the Distressed Duenna, said, -“If your sorrows, afflicted lady, can indulge in any hope of relief -from the valour or might of any knight-errant, here are mine, which, -feeble and limited though they be, shall be entirely devoted to your -service. I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose calling it is to give aid -to the needy of all sorts; and that being so, it is not necessary for -you, señora, to make any appeal to benevolence, or deal in preambles, -only to tell your woes plainly and straightforwardly: for you have -hearers that will know how, if not to remedy them, to sympathise with -them.” - -On hearing this, the Distressed Duenna made as though she would throw -herself at Don Quixote’s feet, and actually did fall before them and -said, as she strove to embrace them, “Before these feet and legs I cast -myself, O unconquered knight, as before, what they are, the foundations -and pillars of knight-errantry; these feet I desire to kiss, for upon -their steps hangs and depends the sole remedy for my misfortune, O -valorous errant, whose veritable achievements leave behind and eclipse -the fabulous ones of the Amadises, Esplandians, and Belianises!” Then -turning from Don Quixote to Sancho Panza, and grasping his hands, she -said, “O thou, most loyal squire that ever served knight-errant in this -present age or ages past, whose goodness is more extensive than the -beard of Trifaldin my companion here of present, well mayest thou boast -thyself that, in serving the great Don Quixote, thou art serving, -summed up in one, the whole host of knights that have ever borne arms -in the world. I conjure thee, by what thou owest to thy most loyal -goodness, that thou wilt become my kind intercessor with thy master, -that he speedily give aid to this most humble and most unfortunate -countess.” - -To this Sancho made answer, “As to my goodness, señora, being as long -and as great as your squire’s beard, it matters very little to me; may -I have my soul well bearded and moustached when it comes to quit this -life, that’s the point; about beards here below I care little or -nothing; but without all these blandishments and prayers, I will beg my -master (for I know he loves me, and, besides, he has need of me just -now for a certain business) to help and aid your worship as far as he -can; unpack your woes and lay them before us, and leave us to deal with -them, for we’ll be all of one mind.” - -The duke and duchess, as it was they who had made the experiment of -this adventure, were ready to burst with laughter at all this, and -between themselves they commended the clever acting of the Trifaldi, -who, returning to her seat, said, “Queen Doña Maguncia reigned over the -famous kingdom of Kandy, which lies between the great Trapobana and the -Southern Sea, two leagues beyond Cape Comorin. She was the widow of -King Archipiela, her lord and husband, and of their marriage they had -issue the Princess Antonomasia, heiress of the kingdom; which Princess -Antonomasia was reared and brought up under my care and direction, I -being the oldest and highest in rank of her mother’s duennas. Time -passed, and the young Antonomasia reached the age of fourteen, and such -a perfection of beauty, that nature could not raise it higher. Then, it -must not be supposed her intelligence was childish; she was as -intelligent as she was fair, and she was fairer than all the world; and -is so still, unless the envious fates and hard-hearted sisters three -have cut for her the thread of life. But that they have not, for Heaven -will not suffer so great a wrong to Earth, as it would be to pluck -unripe the grapes of the fairest vineyard on its surface. Of this -beauty, to which my poor feeble tongue has failed to do justice, -countless princes, not only of that country, but of others, were -enamoured, and among them a private gentleman, who was at the court, -dared to raise his thoughts to the heaven of so great beauty, trusting -to his youth, his gallant bearing, his numerous accomplishments and -graces, and his quickness and readiness of wit; for I may tell your -highnesses, if I am not wearying you, that he played the guitar so as -to make it speak, and he was, besides, a poet and a great dancer, and -he could make birdcages so well, that by making them alone he might -have gained a livelihood, had he found himself reduced to utter -poverty; and gifts and graces of this kind are enough to bring down a -mountain, not to say a tender young girl. But all his gallantry, wit, -and gaiety, all his graces and accomplishments, would have been of -little or no avail towards gaining the fortress of my pupil, had not -the impudent thief taken the precaution of gaining me over first. -First, the villain and heartless vagabond sought to win my good-will -and purchase my compliance, so as to get me, like a treacherous warder, -to deliver up to him the keys of the fortress I had in charge. In a -word, he gained an influence over my mind, and overcame my resolutions -with I know not what trinkets and jewels he gave me; but it was some -verses I heard him singing one night from a grating that opened on the -street where he lived, that, more than anything else, made me give way -and led to my fall; and if I remember rightly they ran thus: - -From that sweet enemy of mine -My bleeding heart hath had its wound; -And to increase the pain I’m bound -To suffer and to make no sign. - -The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as syrup; and -afterwards, I may say ever since then, looking at the misfortune into -which I have fallen, I have thought that poets, as Plato advised, ought -to be banished from all well-ordered States; at least the amatory ones, -for they write verses, not like those of ‘The Marquis of Mantua,’ that -delight and draw tears from the women and children, but sharp-pointed -conceits that pierce the heart like soft thorns, and like the lightning -strike it, leaving the raiment uninjured. Another time he sang: - -Come Death, so subtly veiled that I -Thy coming know not, how or when, -Lest it should give me life again -To find how sweet it is to die. - -—and other verses and burdens of the same sort, such as enchant when -sung and fascinate when written. And then, when they condescend to -compose a sort of verse that was at that time in vogue in Kandy, which -they call seguidillas! Then it is that hearts leap and laughter breaks -forth, and the body grows restless and all the senses turn quicksilver. -And so I say, sirs, that these troubadours richly deserve to be -banished to the isles of the lizards. Though it is not they that are in -fault, but the simpletons that extol them, and the fools that believe -in them; and had I been the faithful duenna I should have been, his -stale conceits would have never moved me, nor should I have been taken -in by such phrases as ‘in death I live,’ ‘in ice I burn,’ ‘in flames I -shiver,’ ‘hopeless I hope,’ ‘I go and stay,’ and paradoxes of that sort -which their writings are full of. And then when they promise the Phœnix -of Arabia, the crown of Ariadne, the horses of the Sun, the pearls of -the South, the gold of Tibar, and the balsam of Panchaia! Then it is -they give a loose to their pens, for it costs them little to make -promises they have no intention or power of fulfilling. But where am I -wandering to? Woe is me, unfortunate being! What madness or folly leads -me to speak of the faults of others, when there is so much to be said -about my own? Again, woe is me, hapless that I am! it was not verses -that conquered me, but my own simplicity; it was not music made me -yield, but my own imprudence; my own great ignorance and little caution -opened the way and cleared the path for Don Clavijo’s advances, for -that was the name of the gentleman I have referred to; and so, with my -help as go-between, he found his way many a time into the chamber of -the deceived Antonomasia (deceived not by him but by me) under the -title of a lawful husband; for, sinner though I was, would not have -allowed him to approach the edge of her shoe-sole without being her -husband. No, no, not that; marriage must come first in any business of -this sort that I take in hand. But there was one hitch in this case, -which was that of inequality of rank, Don Clavijo being a private -gentleman, and the Princess Antonomasia, as I said, heiress to the -kingdom. The entanglement remained for some time a secret, kept hidden -by my cunning precautions, until I perceived that a certain expansion -of waist in Antonomasia must before long disclose it, the dread of -which made us all there take counsel together, and it was agreed that -before the mischief came to light, Don Clavijo should demand -Antonomasia as his wife before the Vicar, in virtue of an agreement to -marry him made by the princess, and drafted by my wit in such binding -terms that the might of Samson could not have broken it. The necessary -steps were taken; the Vicar saw the agreement, and took the lady’s -confession; she confessed everything in full, and he ordered her into -the custody of a very worthy alguacil of the court.” - -“Are there alguacils of the court in Kandy, too,” said Sancho at this, -“and poets, and seguidillas? I swear I think the world is the same all -over! But make haste, Señora Trifaldi; for it is late, and I am dying -to know the end of this long story.” - -“I will,” replied the countess. - -CHAPTER XXXIX. -IN WHICH THE TRIFALDI CONTINUES HER MARVELLOUS AND MEMORABLE STORY - -By every word that Sancho uttered, the duchess was as much delighted as -Don Quixote was driven to desperation. He bade him hold his tongue, and -the Distressed One went on to say: “At length, after much questioning -and answering, as the princess held to her story, without changing or -varying her previous declaration, the Vicar gave his decision in favour -of Don Clavijo, and she was delivered over to him as his lawful wife; -which the Queen Doña Maguncia, the Princess Antonomasia’s mother, so -took to heart, that within the space of three days we buried her.” - -“She died, no doubt,” said Sancho. - -“Of course,” said Trifaldin; “they don’t bury living people in Kandy, -only the dead.” - -“Señor Squire,” said Sancho, “a man in a swoon has been known to be -buried before now, in the belief that he was dead; and it struck me -that Queen Maguncia ought to have swooned rather than died; because -with life a great many things come right, and the princess’s folly was -not so great that she need feel it so keenly. If the lady had married -some page of hers, or some other servant of the house, as many another -has done, so I have heard say, then the mischief would have been past -curing. But to marry such an elegant accomplished gentleman as has been -just now described to us—indeed, indeed, though it was a folly, it was -not such a great one as you think; for according to the rules of my -master here—and he won’t allow me to lie—as of men of letters bishops -are made, so of gentlemen knights, specially if they be errant, kings -and emperors may be made.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for with a knight-errant, -if he has but two fingers’ breadth of good fortune, it is on the cards -to become the mightiest lord on earth. But let señora the Distressed -One proceed; for I suspect she has got yet to tell us the bitter part -of this so far sweet story.” - -“The bitter is indeed to come,” said the countess; “and such bitter -that colocynth is sweet and oleander toothsome in comparison. The -queen, then, being dead, and not in a swoon, we buried her; and hardly -had we covered her with earth, hardly had we said our last farewells, -when, _quis talia fando temperet a lachrymis?_ over the queen’s grave -there appeared, mounted upon a wooden horse, the giant Malambruno, -Maguncia’s first cousin, who besides being cruel is an enchanter; and -he, to revenge the death of his cousin, punish the audacity of Don -Clavijo, and in wrath at the contumacy of Antonomasia, left them both -enchanted by his art on the grave itself; she being changed into an ape -of brass, and he into a horrible crocodile of some unknown metal; while -between the two there stands a pillar, also of metal, with certain -characters in the Syriac language inscribed upon it, which, being -translated into Kandian, and now into Castilian, contain the following -sentence: ‘These two rash lovers shall not recover their former shape -until the valiant Manchegan comes to do battle with me in single -combat; for the Fates reserve this unexampled adventure for his mighty -valour alone.’ This done, he drew from its sheath a huge broad -scimitar, and seizing me by the hair he made as though he meant to cut -my throat and shear my head clean off. I was terror-stricken, my voice -stuck in my throat, and I was in the deepest distress; nevertheless I -summoned up my strength as well as I could, and in a trembling and -piteous voice I addressed such words to him as induced him to stay the -infliction of a punishment so severe. He then caused all the duennas of -the palace, those that are here present, to be brought before him; and -after having dwelt upon the enormity of our offence, and denounced -duennas, their characters, their evil ways and worse intrigues, laying -to the charge of all what I alone was guilty of, he said he would not -visit us with capital punishment, but with others of a slow nature -which would be in effect civil death for ever; and the very instant he -ceased speaking we all felt the pores of our faces opening, and -pricking us, as if with the points of needles. We at once put our hands -up to our faces and found ourselves in the state you now see.” - -Here the Distressed One and the other duennas raised the veils with -which they were covered, and disclosed countenances all bristling with -beards, some red, some black, some white, and some grizzled, at which -spectacle the duke and duchess made a show of being filled with wonder. -Don Quixote and Sancho were overwhelmed with amazement, and the -bystanders lost in astonishment, while the Trifaldi went on to say: -“Thus did that malevolent villain Malambruno punish us, covering the -tenderness and softness of our faces with these rough bristles! Would -to heaven that he had swept off our heads with his enormous scimitar -instead of obscuring the light of our countenances with these -wool-combings that cover us! For if we look into the matter, sirs (and -what I am now going to say I would say with eyes flowing like -fountains, only that the thought of our misfortune and the oceans they -have already wept, keep them as dry as barley spears, and so I say it -without tears), where, I ask, can a duenna with a beard go to? What -father or mother will feel pity for her? Who will help her? For, if -even when she has a smooth skin, and a face tortured by a thousand -kinds of washes and cosmetics, she can hardly get anybody to love her, -what will she do when she shows a countenance turned into a thicket? Oh -duennas, companions mine! it was an unlucky moment when we were born -and an ill-starred hour when our fathers begot us!” And as she said -this she showed signs of being about to faint. - -CHAPTER XL. -OF MATTERS RELATING AND BELONGING TO THIS ADVENTURE AND TO THIS -MEMORABLE HISTORY - -Verily and truly all those who find pleasure in histories like this -ought show their gratitude to Cide Hamete, its original author, for the -scrupulous care he has taken to set before us all its minute -particulars, not leaving anything, however trifling it may be, that he -does not make clear and plain. He portrays the thoughts, he reveals the -fancies, he answers implied questions, clears up doubts, sets -objections at rest, and, in a word, makes plain the smallest points the -most inquisitive can desire to know. O renowned author! O happy Don -Quixote! O famous famous droll Sancho! All and each, may ye live -countless ages for the delight and amusement of the dwellers on earth! - -The history goes on to say that when Sancho saw the Distressed One -faint he exclaimed: “I swear by the faith of an honest man and the -shades of all my ancestors the Panzas, that never I did see or hear of, -nor has my master related or conceived in his mind, such an adventure -as this. A thousand devils—not to curse thee—take thee, Malambruno, for -an enchanter and a giant! Couldst thou find no other sort of punishment -for these sinners but bearding them? Would it not have been better—it -would have been better for them—to have taken off half their noses from -the middle upwards, even though they’d have snuffled when they spoke, -than to have put beards on them? I’ll bet they have not the means of -paying anybody to shave them.” - -“That is the truth, señor,” said one of the twelve; “we have not the -money to get ourselves shaved, and so we have, some of us, taken to -using sticking-plasters by way of an economical remedy, for by applying -them to our faces and plucking them off with a jerk we are left as bare -and smooth as the bottom of a stone mortar. There are, to be sure, -women in Kandy that go about from house to house to remove down, and -trim eyebrows, and make cosmetics for the use of the women, but we, the -duennas of my lady, would never let them in, for most of them have a -flavour of agents that have ceased to be principals; and if we are not -relieved by Señor Don Quixote we shall be carried to our graves with -beards.” - -“I will pluck out my own in the land of the Moors,” said Don Quixote, -“if I don’t cure yours.” - -At this instant the Trifaldi recovered from her swoon and said, “The -chink of that promise, valiant knight, reached my ears in the midst of -my swoon, and has been the means of reviving me and bringing back my -senses; and so once more I implore you, illustrious errant, indomitable -sir, to let your gracious promises be turned into deeds.” - -“There shall be no delay on my part,” said Don Quixote. “Bethink you, -señora, of what I must do, for my heart is most eager to serve you.” - -“The fact is,” replied the Distressed One, “it is five thousand -leagues, a couple more or less, from this to the kingdom of Kandy, if -you go by land; but if you go through the air and in a straight line, -it is three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven. You must know, too, -that Malambruno told me that, whenever fate provided the knight our -deliverer, he himself would send him a steed far better and with less -tricks than a post-horse; for he will be that same wooden horse on -which the valiant Pierres carried off the fair Magalona; which said -horse is guided by a peg he has in his forehead that serves for a -bridle, and flies through the air with such rapidity that you would -fancy the very devils were carrying him. This horse, according to -ancient tradition, was made by Merlin. He lent him to Pierres, who was -a friend of his, and who made long journeys with him, and, as has been -said, carried off the fair Magalona, bearing her through the air on its -haunches and making all who beheld them from the earth gape with -astonishment; and he never lent him save to those whom he loved or -those who paid him well; and since the great Pierres we know of no one -having mounted him until now. From him Malambruno stole him by his -magic art, and he has him now in his possession, and makes use of him -in his journeys which he constantly makes through different parts of -the world; he is here to-day, to-morrow in France, and the next day in -Potosi; and the best of it is the said horse neither eats nor sleeps -nor wears out shoes, and goes at an ambling pace through the air -without wings, so that he whom he has mounted upon him can carry a cup -full of water in his hand without spilling a drop, so smoothly and -easily does he go, for which reason the fair Magalona enjoyed riding -him greatly.” - -“For going smoothly and easily,” said Sancho at this, “give me my -Dapple, though he can’t go through the air; but on the ground I’ll back -him against all the amblers in the world.” - -They all laughed, and the Distressed One continued: “And this same -horse, if so be that Malambruno is disposed to put an end to our -sufferings, will be here before us ere the night shall have advanced -half an hour; for he announced to me that the sign he would give me -whereby I might know that I had found the knight I was in quest of, -would be to send me the horse wherever he might be, speedily and -promptly.” - -“And how many is there room for on this horse?” asked Sancho. - -“Two,” said the Distressed One, “one in the saddle, and the other on -the croup; and generally these two are knight and squire, when there is -no damsel that’s being carried off.” - -“I’d like to know, Señora Distressed One,” said Sancho, “what is the -name of this horse?” - -“His name,” said the Distressed One, “is not the same as Bellerophon’s -horse that was called Pegasus, or Alexander the Great’s, called -Bucephalus, or Orlando Furioso’s, the name of which was Brigliador, nor -yet Bayard, the horse of Reinaldos of Montalvan, nor Frontino like -Ruggiero’s, nor Bootes or Peritoa, as they say the horses of the sun -were called, nor is he called Orelia, like the horse on which the -unfortunate Rodrigo, the last king of the Goths, rode to the battle -where he lost his life and his kingdom.” - -“I’ll bet,” said Sancho, “that as they have given him none of these -famous names of well-known horses, no more have they given him the name -of my master’s Rocinante, which for being apt surpasses all that have -been mentioned.” - -“That is true,” said the bearded countess, “still it fits him very -well, for he is called Clavileño the Swift, which name is in accordance -with his being made of wood, with the peg he has in his forehead, and -with the swift pace at which he travels; and so, as far as name goes, -he may compare with the famous Rocinante.” - -“I have nothing to say against his name,” said Sancho; “but with what -sort of bridle or halter is he managed?” - -“I have said already,” said the Trifaldi, “that it is with a peg, by -turning which to one side or the other the knight who rides him makes -him go as he pleases, either through the upper air, or skimming and -almost sweeping the earth, or else in that middle course that is sought -and followed in all well-regulated proceedings.” - -“I’d like to see him,” said Sancho; “but to fancy I’m going to mount -him, either in the saddle or on the croup, is to ask pears of the elm -tree. A good joke indeed! I can hardly keep my seat upon Dapple, and on -a pack-saddle softer than silk itself, and here they’d have me hold on -upon haunches of plank without pad or cushion of any sort! Gad, I have -no notion of bruising myself to get rid of anyone’s beard; let each one -shave himself as best he can; I’m not going to accompany my master on -any such long journey; besides, I can’t give any help to the shaving of -these beards as I can to the disenchantment of my lady Dulcinea.” - -“Yes, you can, my friend,” replied the Trifaldi; “and so much, that -without you, so I understand, we shall be able to do nothing.” - -“In the king’s name!” exclaimed Sancho, “what have squires got to do -with the adventures of their masters? Are they to have the fame of such -as they go through, and we the labour? Body o’ me! if the historians -would only say, ‘Such and such a knight finished such and such an -adventure, but with the help of so and so, his squire, without which it -would have been impossible for him to accomplish it;’ but they write -curtly, “Don Paralipomenon of the Three Stars accomplished the -adventure of the six monsters;’ without mentioning such a person as his -squire, who was there all the time, just as if there was no such being. -Once more, sirs, I say my master may go alone, and much good may it do -him; and I’ll stay here in the company of my lady the duchess; and -maybe when he comes back, he will find the lady Dulcinea’s affair ever -so much advanced; for I mean in leisure hours, and at idle moments, to -give myself a spell of whipping without so much as a hair to cover me.” - -“For all that you must go if it be necessary, my good Sancho,” said the -duchess, “for they are worthy folk who ask you; and the faces of these -ladies must not remain overgrown in this way because of your idle -fears; that would be a hard case indeed.” - -“In the king’s name, once more!” said Sancho; “If this charitable work -were to be done for the sake of damsels in confinement or -charity-girls, a man might expose himself to some hardships; but to -bear it for the sake of stripping beards off duennas! Devil take it! -I’d sooner see them all bearded, from the highest to the lowest, and -from the most prudish to the most affected.” - -“You are very hard on duennas, Sancho my friend,” said the duchess; -“you incline very much to the opinion of the Toledo apothecary. But -indeed you are wrong; there are duennas in my house that may serve as -patterns of duennas; and here is my Doña Rodriguez, who will not allow -me to say otherwise.” - -“Your excellence may say it if you like,” said the Rodriguez; “for God -knows the truth of everything; and whether we duennas are good or bad, -bearded or smooth, we are our mothers’ daughters like other women; and -as God sent us into the world, he knows why he did, and on his mercy I -rely, and not on anybody’s beard.” - -“Well, Señora Rodriguez, Señora Trifaldi, and present company,” said -Don Quixote, “I trust in Heaven that it will look with kindly eyes upon -your troubles, for Sancho will do as I bid him. Only let Clavileño come -and let me find myself face to face with Malambruno, and I am certain -no razor will shave you more easily than my sword shall shave -Malambruno’s head off his shoulders; for ‘God bears with the wicked, -but not for ever.” - -“Ah!” exclaimed the Distressed One at this, “may all the stars of the -celestial regions look down upon your greatness with benign eyes, -valiant knight, and shed every prosperity and valour upon your heart, -that it may be the shield and safeguard of the abused and downtrodden -race of duennas, detested by apothecaries, sneered at by squires, and -made game of by pages. Ill betide the jade that in the flower of her -youth would not sooner become a nun than a duenna! Unfortunate beings -that we are, we duennas! Though we may be descended in the direct male -line from Hector of Troy himself, our mistresses never fail to address -us as ‘you’ if they think it makes queens of them. O giant Malambruno, -though thou art an enchanter, thou art true to thy promises. Send us -now the peerless Clavileño, that our misfortune may be brought to an -end; for if the hot weather sets in and these beards of ours are still -there, alas for our lot!” - -The Trifaldi said this in such a pathetic way that she drew tears from -the eyes of all and even Sancho’s filled up; and he resolved in his -heart to accompany his master to the uttermost ends of the earth, if so -be the removal of the wool from those venerable countenances depended -upon it. - -CHAPTER XLI. -OF THE ARRIVAL OF CLAVILEÑO AND THE END OF THIS PROTRACTED ADVENTURE - -And now night came, and with it the appointed time for the arrival of -the famous horse Clavileño, the non-appearance of which was already -beginning to make Don Quixote uneasy, for it struck him that, as -Malambruno was so long about sending it, either he himself was not the -knight for whom the adventure was reserved, or else Malambruno did not -dare to meet him in single combat. But lo! suddenly there came into the -garden four wild-men all clad in green ivy bearing on their shoulders a -great wooden horse. They placed it on its feet on the ground, and one -of the wild-men said, “Let the knight who has heart for it mount this -machine.” - -Here Sancho exclaimed, “I don’t mount, for neither have I the heart nor -am I a knight.” - -“And let the squire, if he has one,” continued the wild-man, “take his -seat on the croup, and let him trust the valiant Malambruno; for by no -sword save his, nor by the malice of any other, shall he be assailed. -It is but to turn this peg the horse has in his neck, and he will bear -them through the air to where Malambruno awaits them; but lest the vast -elevation of their course should make them giddy, their eyes must be -covered until the horse neighs, which will be the sign of their having -completed their journey.” - -With these words, leaving Clavileño behind them, they retired with easy -dignity the way they came. As soon as the Distressed One saw the horse, -almost in tears she exclaimed to Don Quixote, “Valiant knight, the -promise of Malambruno has proved trustworthy; the horse has come, our -beards are growing, and by every hair in them all of us implore thee to -shave and shear us, as it is only mounting him with thy squire and -making a happy beginning with your new journey.” - -“That I will, Señora Countess Trifaldi,” said Don Quixote, “most gladly -and with right goodwill, without stopping to take a cushion or put on -my spurs, so as not to lose time, such is my desire to see you and all -these duennas shaved clean.” - -“That I won’t,” said Sancho, “with good-will or bad-will, or any way at -all; and if this shaving can’t be done without my mounting on the -croup, my master had better look out for another squire to go with him, -and these ladies for some other way of making their faces smooth; I’m -no witch to have a taste for travelling through the air. What would my -islanders say when they heard their governor was going, strolling about -on the winds? And another thing, as it is three thousand and odd -leagues from this to Kandy, if the horse tires, or the giant takes -huff, we’ll be half a dozen years getting back, and there won’t be isle -or island in the world that will know me: and so, as it is a common -saying ‘in delay there’s danger,’ and ‘when they offer thee a heifer -run with a halter,’ these ladies’ beards must excuse me; ‘Saint Peter -is very well in Rome;’ I mean I am very well in this house where so -much is made of me, and I hope for such a good thing from the master as -to see myself a governor.” - -“Friend Sancho,” said the duke at this, “the island that I have -promised you is not a moving one, or one that will run away; it has -roots so deeply buried in the bowels of the earth that it will be no -easy matter to pluck it up or shift it from where it is; you know as -well as I do that there is no sort of office of any importance that is -not obtained by a bribe of some kind, great or small; well then, that -which I look to receive for this government is that you go with your -master Don Quixote, and bring this memorable adventure to a conclusion; -and whether you return on Clavileño as quickly as his speed seems to -promise, or adverse fortune brings you back on foot travelling as a -pilgrim from hostel to hostel and from inn to inn, you will always find -your island on your return where you left it, and your islanders with -the same eagerness they have always had to receive you as their -governor, and my good-will will remain the same; doubt not the truth of -this, Señor Sancho, for that would be grievously wronging my -disposition to serve you.” - -“Say no more, señor,” said Sancho; “I am a poor squire and not equal to -carrying so much courtesy; let my master mount; bandage my eyes and -commit me to God’s care, and tell me if I may commend myself to our -Lord or call upon the angels to protect me when we go towering up -there.” - -To this the Trifaldi made answer, “Sancho, you may freely commend -yourself to God or whom you will; for Malambruno though an enchanter is -a Christian, and works his enchantments with great circumspection, -taking very good care not to fall out with anyone.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “God and the most holy Trinity of Gaeta give -me help!” - -“Since the memorable adventure of the fulling mills,” said Don Quixote, -“I have never seen Sancho in such a fright as now; were I as -superstitious as others his abject fear would cause me some little -trepidation of spirit. But come here, Sancho, for with the leave of -these gentles I would say a word or two to thee in private;” and -drawing Sancho aside among the trees of the garden and seizing both his -hands he said, “Thou seest, brother Sancho, the long journey we have -before us, and God knows when we shall return, or what leisure or -opportunities this business will allow us; I wish thee therefore to -retire now to thy chamber, as though thou wert going to fetch something -required for the road, and in a trice give thyself if it be only five -hundred lashes on account of the three thousand three hundred to which -thou art bound; it will be all to the good, and to make a beginning -with a thing is to have it half finished.” - -“By God,” said Sancho, “but your worship must be out of your senses! -This is like the common saying, ‘You see me with child, and you want me -a virgin.’ Just as I’m about to go sitting on a bare board, your -worship would have me score my backside! Indeed, your worship is not -reasonable. Let us be off to shave these duennas; and on our return I -promise on my word to make such haste to wipe off all that’s due as -will satisfy your worship; I can’t say more.” - -“Well, I will comfort myself with that promise, my good Sancho,” -replied Don Quixote, “and I believe thou wilt keep it; for indeed -though stupid thou art veracious.” - -“I’m not voracious,” said Sancho, “only peckish; but even if I was a -little, still I’d keep my word.” - -With this they went back to mount Clavileño, and as they were about to -do so Don Quixote said, “Cover thine eyes, Sancho, and mount; for one -who sends for us from lands so far distant cannot mean to deceive us -for the sake of the paltry glory to be derived from deceiving persons -who trust in him; though all should turn out the contrary of what I -hope, no malice will be able to dim the glory of having undertaken this -exploit.” - -“Let us be off, señor,” said Sancho, “for I have taken the beards and -tears of these ladies deeply to heart, and I shan’t eat a bit to relish -it until I have seen them restored to their former smoothness. Mount, -your worship, and blindfold yourself, for if I am to go on the croup, -it is plain the rider in the saddle must mount first.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote, and, taking a handkerchief out of his -pocket, he begged the Distressed One to bandage his eyes very -carefully; but after having them bandaged he uncovered them again, -saying, “If my memory does not deceive me, I have read in Virgil of the -Palladium of Troy, a wooden horse the Greeks offered to the goddess -Pallas, which was big with armed knights, who were afterwards the -destruction of Troy; so it would be as well to see, first of all, what -Clavileño has in his stomach.” - -“There is no occasion,” said the Distressed One; “I will be bail for -him, and I know that Malambruno has nothing tricky or treacherous about -him; you may mount without any fear, Señor Don Quixote; on my head be -it if any harm befalls you.” - -Don Quixote thought that to say anything further with regard to his -safety would be putting his courage in an unfavourable light; and so, -without more words, he mounted Clavileño, and tried the peg, which -turned easily; and as he had no stirrups and his legs hung down, he -looked like nothing so much as a figure in some Roman triumph painted -or embroidered on a Flemish tapestry. - -Much against the grain, and very slowly, Sancho proceeded to mount, -and, after settling himself as well as he could on the croup, found it -rather hard, and not at all soft, and asked the duke if it would be -possible to oblige him with a pad of some kind, or a cushion; even if -it were off the couch of his lady the duchess, or the bed of one of the -pages; as the haunches of that horse were more like marble than wood. -On this the Trifaldi observed that Clavileño would not bear any kind of -harness or trappings, and that his best plan would be to sit sideways -like a woman, as in that way he would not feel the hardness so much. - -Sancho did so, and, bidding them farewell, allowed his eyes to be -bandaged, but immediately afterwards uncovered them again, and looking -tenderly and tearfully on those in the garden, bade them help him in -his present strait with plenty of Paternosters and Ave Marias, that God -might provide someone to say as many for them, whenever they found -themselves in a similar emergency. - -At this Don Quixote exclaimed, “Art thou on the gallows, thief, or at -thy last moment, to use pitiful entreaties of that sort? Cowardly, -spiritless creature, art thou not in the very place the fair Magalona -occupied, and from which she descended, not into the grave, but to -become Queen of France; unless the histories lie? And I who am here -beside thee, may I not put myself on a par with the valiant Pierres, -who pressed this very spot that I now press? Cover thine eyes, cover -thine eyes, abject animal, and let not thy fear escape thy lips, at -least in my presence.” - -“Blindfold me,” said Sancho; “as you won’t let me commend myself or be -commended to God, is it any wonder if I am afraid there is a region of -devils about here that will carry us off to Peralvillo?” - -They were then blindfolded, and Don Quixote, finding himself settled to -his satisfaction, felt for the peg, and the instant he placed his -fingers on it, all the duennas and all who stood by lifted up their -voices exclaiming, “God guide thee, valiant knight! God be with thee, -intrepid squire! Now, now ye go cleaving the air more swiftly than an -arrow! Now ye begin to amaze and astonish all who are gazing at you -from the earth! Take care not to wobble about, valiant Sancho! Mind -thou fall not, for thy fall will be worse than that rash youth’s who -tried to steer the chariot of his father the Sun!” - -As Sancho heard the voices, clinging tightly to his master and winding -his arms round him, he said, “Señor, how do they make out we are going -up so high, if their voices reach us here and they seem to be speaking -quite close to us?” - -“Don’t mind that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for as affairs of this -sort, and flights like this are out of the common course of things, you -can see and hear as much as you like a thousand leagues off; but don’t -squeeze me so tight or thou wilt upset me; and really I know not what -thou hast to be uneasy or frightened at, for I can safely swear I never -mounted a smoother-going steed all the days of my life; one would fancy -we never stirred from one place. Banish fear, my friend, for indeed -everything is going as it ought, and we have the wind astern.” - -“That’s true,” said Sancho, “for such a strong wind comes against me on -this side, that it seems as if people were blowing on me with a -thousand pair of bellows;” which was the case; they were puffing at him -with a great pair of bellows; for the whole adventure was so well -planned by the duke, the duchess, and their majordomo, that nothing was -omitted to make it perfectly successful. - -Don Quixote now, feeling the blast, said, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho, we -must have already reached the second region of the air, where the hail -and snow are generated; the thunder, the lightning, and the -thunderbolts are engendered in the third region, and if we go on -ascending at this rate, we shall shortly plunge into the region of -fire, and I know not how to regulate this peg, so as not to mount up -where we shall be burned.” - -And now they began to warm their faces, from a distance, with tow that -could be easily set on fire and extinguished again, fixed on the end of -a cane. On feeling the heat Sancho said, “May I die if we are not -already in that fire place, or very near it, for a good part of my -beard has been singed, and I have a mind, señor, to uncover and see -whereabouts we are.” - -“Do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “remember the true story of -the licentiate Torralva that the devils carried flying through the air -riding on a stick with his eyes shut; who in twelve hours reached Rome -and dismounted at Torre di Nona, which is a street of the city, and saw -the whole sack and storming and the death of Bourbon, and was back in -Madrid the next morning, where he gave an account of all he had seen; -and he said moreover that as he was going through the air, the devil -bade him open his eyes, and he did so, and saw himself so near the body -of the moon, so it seemed to him, that he could have laid hold of it -with his hand, and that he did not dare to look at the earth lest he -should be seized with giddiness. So that, Sancho, it will not do for us -to uncover ourselves, for he who has us in charge will be responsible -for us; and perhaps we are gaining an altitude and mounting up to -enable us to descend at one swoop on the kingdom of Kandy, as the saker -or falcon does on the heron, so as to seize it however high it may -soar; and though it seems to us not half an hour since we left the -garden, believe me we must have travelled a great distance.” - -“I don’t know how that may be,” said Sancho; “all I know is that if the -Señora Magallanes or Magalona was satisfied with this croup, she could -not have been very tender of flesh.” - -The duke, the duchess, and all in the garden were listening to the -conversation of the two heroes, and were beyond measure amused by it; -and now, desirous of putting a finishing touch to this rare and -well-contrived adventure, they applied a light to Clavileño’s tail with -some tow, and the horse, being full of squibs and crackers, immediately -blew up with a prodigious noise, and brought Don Quixote and Sancho -Panza to the ground half singed. By this time the bearded band of -duennas, the Trifaldi and all, had vanished from the garden, and those -that remained lay stretched on the ground as if in a swoon. Don Quixote -and Sancho got up rather shaken, and, looking about them, were filled -with amazement at finding themselves in the same garden from which they -had started, and seeing such a number of people stretched on the -ground; and their astonishment was increased when at one side of the -garden they perceived a tall lance planted in the ground, and hanging -from it by two cords of green silk a smooth white parchment on which -there was the following inscription in large gold letters: “The -illustrious knight Don Quixote of La Mancha has, by merely attempting -it, finished and concluded the adventure of the Countess Trifaldi, -otherwise called the Distressed Duenna; Malambruno is now satisfied on -every point, the chins of the duennas are now smooth and clean, and -King Don Clavijo and Queen Antonomasia in their original form; and when -the squirely flagellation shall have been completed, the white dove -shall find herself delivered from the pestiferous gerfalcons that -persecute her, and in the arms of her beloved mate; for such is the -decree of the sage Merlin, arch-enchanter of enchanters.” - -As soon as Don Quixote had read the inscription on the parchment he -perceived clearly that it referred to the disenchantment of Dulcinea, -and returning hearty thanks to heaven that he had with so little danger -achieved so grand an exploit as to restore to their former complexion -the countenances of those venerable duennas, he advanced towards the -duke and duchess, who had not yet come to themselves, and taking the -duke by the hand he said, “Be of good cheer, worthy sir, be of good -cheer; it’s nothing at all; the adventure is now over and without any -harm done, as the inscription fixed on this post shows plainly.” - -The duke came to himself slowly and like one recovering consciousness -after a heavy sleep, and the duchess and all who had fallen prostrate -about the garden did the same, with such demonstrations of wonder and -amazement that they would have almost persuaded one that what they -pretended so adroitly in jest had happened to them in reality. The duke -read the placard with half-shut eyes, and then ran to embrace Don -Quixote with open arms, declaring him to be the best knight that had -ever been seen in any age. Sancho kept looking about for the Distressed -One, to see what her face was like without the beard, and if she was as -fair as her elegant person promised; but they told him that, the -instant Clavileño descended flaming through the air and came to the -ground, the whole band of duennas with the Trifaldi vanished, and that -they were already shaved and without a stump left. - -The duchess asked Sancho how he had fared on that long journey, to -which Sancho replied, “I felt, señora, that we were flying through the -region of fire, as my master told me, and I wanted to uncover my eyes -for a bit; but my master, when I asked leave to uncover myself, would -not let me; but as I have a little bit of curiosity about me, and a -desire to know what is forbidden and kept from me, quietly and without -anyone seeing me I drew aside the handkerchief covering my eyes ever so -little, close to my nose, and from underneath looked towards the earth, -and it seemed to me that it was altogether no bigger than a grain of -mustard seed, and that the men walking on it were little bigger than -hazel nuts; so you may see how high we must have got to then.” - -To this the duchess said, “Sancho, my friend, mind what you are saying; -it seems you could not have seen the earth, but only the men walking on -it; for if the earth looked to you like a grain of mustard seed, and -each man like a hazel nut, one man alone would have covered the whole -earth.” - -“That is true,” said Sancho, “but for all that I got a glimpse of a bit -of one side of it, and saw it all.” - -“Take care, Sancho,” said the duchess, “with a bit of one side one does -not see the whole of what one looks at.” - -“I don’t understand that way of looking at things,” said Sancho; “I -only know that your ladyship will do well to bear in mind that as we -were flying by enchantment so I might have seen the whole earth and all -the men by enchantment whatever way I looked; and if you won’t believe -this, no more will you believe that, uncovering myself nearly to the -eyebrows, I saw myself so close to the sky that there was not a palm -and a half between me and it; and by everything that I can swear by, -señora, it is mighty great! And it so happened we came by where the -seven goats are, and by God and upon my soul, as in my youth I was a -goatherd in my own country, as soon as I saw them I felt a longing to -be among them for a little, and if I had not given way to it I think -I’d have burst. So I come and take, and what do I do? without saying -anything to anybody, not even to my master, softly and quietly I got -down from Clavileño and amused myself with the goats—which are like -violets, like flowers—for nigh three-quarters of an hour; and Clavileño -never stirred or moved from one spot.” - -“And while the good Sancho was amusing himself with the goats,” said -the duke, “how did Señor Don Quixote amuse himself?” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “As all these things and such like -occurrences are out of the ordinary course of nature, it is no wonder -that Sancho says what he does; for my own part I can only say that I -did not uncover my eyes either above or below, nor did I see sky or -earth or sea or shore. It is true I felt that I was passing through the -region of the air, and even that I touched that of fire; but that we -passed farther I cannot believe; for the region of fire being between -the heaven of the moon and the last region of the air, we could not -have reached that heaven where the seven goats Sancho speaks of are -without being burned; and as we were not burned, either Sancho is lying -or Sancho is dreaming.” - -“I am neither lying nor dreaming,” said Sancho; “only ask me the tokens -of those same goats, and you’ll see by that whether I’m telling the -truth or not.” - -“Tell us them then, Sancho,” said the duchess. - -“Two of them,” said Sancho, “are green, two blood-red, two blue, and -one a mixture of all colours.” - -“An odd sort of goat, that,” said the duke; “in this earthly region of -ours we have no such colours; I mean goats of such colours.” - -“That’s very plain,” said Sancho; “of course there must be a difference -between the goats of heaven and the goats of the earth.” - -“Tell me, Sancho,” said the duke, “did you see any he-goat among those -goats?” - -“No, señor,” said Sancho; “but I have heard say that none ever passed -the horns of the moon.” - -They did not care to ask him anything more about his journey, for they -saw he was in the vein to go rambling all over the heavens giving an -account of everything that went on there, without having ever stirred -from the garden. Such, in short, was the end of the adventure of the -Distressed Duenna, which gave the duke and duchess laughing matter not -only for the time being, but for all their lives, and Sancho something -to talk about for ages, if he lived so long; but Don Quixote, coming -close to his ear, said to him, “Sancho, as you would have us believe -what you saw in heaven, I require you to believe me as to what I saw in -the cave of Montesinos; I say no more.” - -CHAPTER XLII. -OF THE COUNSELS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA BEFORE HE SET OUT -TO GOVERN THE ISLAND, TOGETHER WITH OTHER WELL-CONSIDERED MATTERS - -The duke and duchess were so well pleased with the successful and droll -result of the adventure of the Distressed One, that they resolved to -carry on the joke, seeing what a fit subject they had to deal with for -making it all pass for reality. So having laid their plans and given -instructions to their servants and vassals how to behave to Sancho in -his government of the promised island, the next day, that following -Clavileño’s flight, the duke told Sancho to prepare and get ready to go -and be governor, for his islanders were already looking out for him as -for the showers of May. - -Sancho made him an obeisance, and said, “Ever since I came down from -heaven, and from the top of it beheld the earth, and saw how little it -is, the great desire I had to be a governor has been partly cooled in -me; for what is there grand in being ruler on a grain of mustard seed, -or what dignity or authority in governing half a dozen men about as big -as hazel nuts; for, so far as I could see, there were no more on the -whole earth? If your lordship would be so good as to give me ever so -small a bit of heaven, were it no more than half a league, I’d rather -have it than the best island in the world.” - -“Recollect, Sancho,” said the duke, “I cannot give a bit of heaven, no -not so much as the breadth of my nail, to anyone; rewards and favours -of that sort are reserved for God alone. What I can give I give you, -and that is a real, genuine island, compact, well proportioned, and -uncommonly fertile and fruitful, where, if you know how to use your -opportunities, you may, with the help of the world’s riches, gain those -of heaven.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “let the island come; and I’ll try and be -such a governor, that in spite of scoundrels I’ll go to heaven; and -it’s not from any craving to quit my own humble condition or better -myself, but from the desire I have to try what it tastes like to be a -governor.” - -“If you once make trial of it, Sancho,” said the duke, “you’ll eat your -fingers off after the government, so sweet a thing is it to command and -be obeyed. Depend upon it when your master comes to be emperor (as he -will beyond a doubt from the course his affairs are taking), it will be -no easy matter to wrest the dignity from him, and he will be sore and -sorry at heart to have been so long without becoming one.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “it is my belief it’s a good thing to be in -command, if it’s only over a drove of cattle.” - -“May I be buried with you, Sancho,” said the duke, “but you know -everything; I hope you will make as good a governor as your sagacity -promises; and that is all I have to say; and now remember to-morrow is -the day you must set out for the government of the island, and this -evening they will provide you with the proper attire for you to wear, -and all things requisite for your departure.” - -“Let them dress me as they like,” said Sancho; “however I’m dressed -I’ll be Sancho Panza.” - -“That’s true,” said the duke; “but one’s dress must be suited to the -office or rank one holds; for it would not do for a jurist to dress -like a soldier, or a soldier like a priest. You, Sancho, shall go -partly as a lawyer, partly as a captain, for, in the island I am giving -you, arms are needed as much as letters, and letters as much as arms.” - -“Of letters I know but little,” said Sancho, “for I don’t even know the -A B C; but it is enough for me to have the Christus in my memory to be -a good governor. As for arms, I’ll handle those they give me till I -drop, and then, God be my help!” - -“With so good a memory,” said the duke, “Sancho cannot go wrong in -anything.” - -Here Don Quixote joined them; and learning what passed, and how soon -Sancho was to go to his government, he with the duke’s permission took -him by the hand, and retired to his room with him for the purpose of -giving him advice as to how he was to demean himself in his office. As -soon as they had entered the chamber he closed the door after him, and -almost by force made Sancho sit down beside him, and in a quiet tone -thus addressed him: “I give infinite thanks to heaven, friend Sancho, -that, before I have met with any good luck, fortune has come forward to -meet thee. I who counted upon my good fortune to discharge the -recompense of thy services, find myself still waiting for advancement, -while thou, before the time, and contrary to all reasonable -expectation, seest thyself blessed in the fulfillment of thy desires. -Some will bribe, beg, solicit, rise early, entreat, persist, without -attaining the object of their suit; while another comes, and without -knowing why or wherefore, finds himself invested with the place or -office so many have sued for; and here it is that the common saying, -‘There is good luck as well as bad luck in suits,’ applies. Thou, who, -to my thinking, art beyond all doubt a dullard, without early rising or -night watching or taking any trouble, with the mere breath of -knight-errantry that has breathed upon thee, seest thyself without more -ado governor of an island, as though it were a mere matter of course. -This I say, Sancho, that thou attribute not the favour thou hast -received to thine own merits, but give thanks to heaven that disposes -matters beneficently, and secondly thanks to the great power the -profession of knight-errantry contains in itself. With a heart, then, -inclined to believe what I have said to thee, attend, my son, to thy -Cato here who would counsel thee and be thy polestar and guide to -direct and pilot thee to a safe haven out of this stormy sea wherein -thou art about to ingulf thyself; for offices and great trusts are -nothing else but a mighty gulf of troubles. - -“First of all, my son, thou must fear God, for in the fear of him is -wisdom, and being wise thou canst not err in aught. - -“Secondly, thou must keep in view what thou art, striving to know -thyself, the most difficult thing to know that the mind can imagine. If -thou knowest thyself, it will follow thou wilt not puff thyself up like -the frog that strove to make himself as large as the ox; if thou dost, -the recollection of having kept pigs in thine own country will serve as -the ugly feet for the wheel of thy folly.” - -“That’s the truth,” said Sancho; “but that was when I was a boy; -afterwards when I was something more of a man it was geese I kept, not -pigs. But to my thinking that has nothing to do with it; for all who -are governors don’t come of a kingly stock.” - -“True,” said Don Quixote, “and for that reason those who are not of -noble origin should take care that the dignity of the office they hold -be accompanied by a gentle suavity, which wisely managed will save them -from the sneers of malice that no station escapes. - -“Glory in thy humble birth, Sancho, and be not ashamed of saying thou -art peasant-born; for when it is seen thou art not ashamed no one will -set himself to put thee to the blush; and pride thyself rather upon -being one of lowly virtue than a lofty sinner. Countless are they who, -born of mean parentage, have risen to the highest dignities, pontifical -and imperial, and of the truth of this I could give thee instances -enough to weary thee. - -“Remember, Sancho, if thou make virtue thy aim, and take a pride in -doing virtuous actions, thou wilt have no cause to envy those who have -princely and lordly ones, for blood is an inheritance, but virtue an -acquisition, and virtue has in itself alone a worth that blood does not -possess. - -“This being so, if perchance anyone of thy kinsfolk should come to see -thee when thou art in thine island, thou art not to repel or slight -him, but on the contrary to welcome him, entertain him, and make much -of him; for in so doing thou wilt be approved of heaven (which is not -pleased that any should despise what it hath made), and wilt comply -with the laws of well-ordered nature. - -“If thou carriest thy wife with thee (and it is not well for those that -administer governments to be long without their wives), teach and -instruct her, and strive to smooth down her natural roughness; for all -that may be gained by a wise governor may be lost and wasted by a -boorish stupid wife. - -“If perchance thou art left a widower—a thing which may happen—and in -virtue of thy office seekest a consort of higher degree, choose not one -to serve thee for a hook, or for a fishing-rod, or for the hood of thy -‘won’t have it;’ for verily, I tell thee, for all the judge’s wife -receives, the husband will be held accountable at the general calling -to account; where he will have repay in death fourfold, items that in -life he regarded as naught. - -“Never go by arbitrary law, which is so much favoured by ignorant men -who plume themselves on cleverness. - -“Let the tears of the poor man find with thee more compassion, but not -more justice, than the pleadings of the rich. - -“Strive to lay bare the truth, as well amid the promises and presents -of the rich man, as amid the sobs and entreaties of the poor. - -“When equity may and should be brought into play, press not the utmost -rigour of the law against the guilty; for the reputation of the stern -judge stands not higher than that of the compassionate. - -“If perchance thou permittest the staff of justice to swerve, let it be -not by the weight of a gift, but by that of mercy. - -“If it should happen to thee to give judgment in the cause of one who -is thine enemy, turn thy thoughts away from thy injury and fix them on -the justice of the case. - -“Let not thine own passion blind thee in another man’s cause; for the -errors thou wilt thus commit will be most frequently irremediable; or -if not, only to be remedied at the expense of thy good name and even of -thy fortune. - -“If any handsome woman come to seek justice of thee, turn away thine -eyes from her tears and thine ears from her lamentations, and consider -deliberately the merits of her demand, if thou wouldst not have thy -reason swept away by her weeping, and thy rectitude by her sighs. - -“Abuse not by word him whom thou hast to punish in deed, for the pain -of punishment is enough for the unfortunate without the addition of -thine objurgations. - -“Bear in mind that the culprit who comes under thy jurisdiction is but -a miserable man subject to all the propensities of our depraved nature, -and so far as may be in thy power show thyself lenient and forbearing; -for though the attributes of God are all equal, to our eyes that of -mercy is brighter and loftier than that of justice. - -“If thou followest these precepts and rules, Sancho, thy days will be -long, thy fame eternal, thy reward abundant, thy felicity unutterable; -thou wilt marry thy children as thou wouldst; they and thy -grandchildren will bear titles; thou wilt live in peace and concord -with all men; and, when life draws to a close, death will come to thee -in calm and ripe old age, and the light and loving hands of thy -great-grandchildren will close thine eyes. - -“What I have thus far addressed to thee are instructions for the -adornment of thy mind; listen now to those which tend to that of the -body.” - -CHAPTER XLIII. -OF THE SECOND SET OF COUNSELS DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA - -Who, hearing the foregoing discourse of Don Quixote, would not have set -him down for a person of great good sense and greater rectitude of -purpose? But, as has been frequently observed in the course of this -great history, he only talked nonsense when he touched on chivalry, and -in discussing all other subjects showed that he had a clear and -unbiassed understanding; so that at every turn his acts gave the lie to -his intellect, and his intellect to his acts; but in the case of these -second counsels that he gave Sancho, he showed himself to have a lively -turn of humour, and displayed conspicuously his wisdom, and also his -folly. - -Sancho listened to him with the deepest attention, and endeavoured to -fix his counsels in his memory, like one who meant to follow them and -by their means bring the full promise of his government to a happy -issue. Don Quixote, then, went on to say: - -“With regard to the mode in which thou shouldst govern thy person and -thy house, Sancho, the first charge I have to give thee is to be clean, -and to cut thy nails, not letting them grow as some do, whose ignorance -makes them fancy that long nails are an ornament to their hands, as if -those excrescences they neglect to cut were nails, and not the talons -of a lizard-catching kestrel—a filthy and unnatural abuse. - -“Go not ungirt and loose, Sancho; for disordered attire is a sign of an -unstable mind, unless indeed the slovenliness and slackness is to be -set down to craft, as was the common opinion in the case of Julius -Cæsar. - -“Ascertain cautiously what thy office may be worth; and if it will -allow thee to give liveries to thy servants, give them respectable and -serviceable, rather than showy and gay ones, and divide them between -thy servants and the poor; that is to say, if thou canst clothe six -pages, clothe three and three poor men, and thus thou wilt have pages -for heaven and pages for earth; the vainglorious never think of this -new mode of giving liveries. - -“Eat not garlic nor onions, lest they find out thy boorish origin by -the smell; walk slowly and speak deliberately, but not in such a way as -to make it seem thou art listening to thyself, for all affectation is -bad. - -“Dine sparingly and sup more sparingly still; for the health of the -whole body is forged in the workshop of the stomach. - -“Be temperate in drinking, bearing in mind that wine in excess keeps -neither secrets nor promises. - -“Take care, Sancho, not to chew on both sides, and not to eruct in -anybody’s presence.” - -“Eruct!” said Sancho; “I don’t know what that means.” - -“To eruct, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “means to belch, and that is one -of the filthiest words in the Spanish language, though a very -expressive one; and therefore nice folk have had recourse to the Latin, -and instead of belch say eruct, and instead of belches say eructations; -and if some do not understand these terms it matters little, for custom -will bring them into use in the course of time, so that they will be -readily understood; this is the way a language is enriched; custom and -the public are all-powerful there.” - -“In truth, señor,” said Sancho, “one of the counsels and cautions I -mean to bear in mind shall be this, not to belch, for I’m constantly -doing it.” - -“Eruct, Sancho, not belch,” said Don Quixote. - -“Eruct, I shall say henceforth, and I swear not to forget it,” said -Sancho. - -“Likewise, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou must not mingle such a -quantity of proverbs in thy discourse as thou dost; for though proverbs -are short maxims, thou dost drag them in so often by the head and -shoulders that they savour more of nonsense than of maxims.” - -“God alone can cure that,” said Sancho; “for I have more proverbs in me -than a book, and when I speak they come so thick together into my mouth -that they fall to fighting among themselves to get out; that’s why my -tongue lets fly the first that come, though they may not be pat to the -purpose. But I’ll take care henceforward to use such as befit the -dignity of my office; for ‘in a house where there’s plenty, supper is -soon cooked,’ and ‘he who binds does not wrangle,’ and ‘the -bell-ringer’s in a safe berth,’ and ‘giving and keeping require -brains.’” - -“That’s it, Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “pack, tack, string proverbs -together; nobody is hindering thee! ‘My mother beats me, and I go on -with my tricks.’ I am bidding thee avoid proverbs, and here in a second -thou hast shot out a whole litany of them, which have as much to do -with what we are talking about as ‘over the hills of Úbeda.’ Mind, -Sancho, I do not say that a proverb aptly brought in is objectionable; -but to pile up and string together proverbs at random makes -conversation dull and vulgar. - -“When thou ridest on horseback, do not go lolling with thy body on the -back of the saddle, nor carry thy legs stiff or sticking out from the -horse’s belly, nor yet sit so loosely that one would suppose thou wert -on Dapple; for the seat on a horse makes gentlemen of some and grooms -of others. - -“Be moderate in thy sleep; for he who does not rise early does not get -the benefit of the day; and remember, Sancho, diligence is the mother -of good fortune, and indolence, its opposite, never yet attained the -object of an honest ambition. - -“The last counsel I will give thee now, though it does not tend to -bodily improvement, I would have thee carry carefully in thy memory, -for I believe it will be no less useful to thee than those I have given -thee already, and it is this—never engage in a dispute about families, -at least in the way of comparing them one with another; for necessarily -one of those compared will be better than the other, and thou wilt be -hated by the one thou hast disparaged, and get nothing in any shape -from the one thou hast exalted. - -“Thy attire shall be hose of full length, a long jerkin, and a cloak a -trifle longer; loose breeches by no means, for they are becoming -neither for gentlemen nor for governors. - -“For the present, Sancho, this is all that has occurred to me to advise -thee; as time goes by and occasions arise my instructions shall follow, -if thou take care to let me know how thou art circumstanced.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “I see well enough that all these things your -worship has said to me are good, holy, and profitable; but what use -will they be to me if I don’t remember one of them? To be sure that -about not letting my nails grow, and marrying again if I have the -chance, will not slip out of my head; but all that other hash, muddle, -and jumble—I don’t and can’t recollect any more of it than of last -year’s clouds; so it must be given me in writing; for though I can’t -either read or write, I’ll give it to my confessor, to drive it into me -and remind me of it whenever it is necessary.” - -“Ah, sinner that I am!” said Don Quixote, “how bad it looks in -governors not to know how to read or write; for let me tell thee, -Sancho, when a man knows not how to read, or is left-handed, it argues -one of two things; either that he was the son of exceedingly mean and -lowly parents, or that he himself was so incorrigible and -ill-conditioned that neither good company nor good teaching could make -any impression on him. It is a great defect that thou labourest under, -and therefore I would have thee learn at any rate to sign thy name.” “I -can sign my name well enough,” said Sancho, “for when I was steward of -the brotherhood in my village I learned to make certain letters, like -the marks on bales of goods, which they told me made out my name. -Besides I can pretend my right hand is disabled and make someone else -sign for me, for ‘there’s a remedy for everything except death;’ and as -I shall be in command and hold the staff, I can do as I like; moreover, -‘he who has the alcalde for his father-,’ and I’ll be governor, and -that’s higher than alcalde. Only come and see! Let them make light of -me and abuse me; ‘they’ll come for wool and go back shorn;’ ‘whom God -loves, his house is known to Him;’ ‘the silly sayings of the rich pass -for saws in the world;’ and as I’ll be rich, being a governor, and at -the same time generous, as I mean to be, no fault will be seen in me. -‘Only make yourself honey and the flies will suck you;’ ‘as much as -thou hast so much art thou worth,’ as my grandmother used to say; and -‘thou canst have no revenge of a man of substance.’” - -“Oh, God’s curse upon thee, Sancho!” here exclaimed Don Quixote; “sixty -thousand devils fly away with thee and thy proverbs! For the last hour -thou hast been stringing them together and inflicting the pangs of -torture on me with every one of them. Those proverbs will bring thee to -the gallows one day, I promise thee; thy subjects will take the -government from thee, or there will be revolts among them. Tell me, -where dost thou pick them up, thou booby? How dost thou apply them, -thou blockhead? For with me, to utter one and make it apply properly, I -have to sweat and labour as if I were digging.” - -“By God, master mine,” said Sancho, “your worship is making a fuss -about very little. Why the devil should you be vexed if I make use of -what is my own? And I have got nothing else, nor any other stock in -trade except proverbs and more proverbs; and here are three just this -instant come into my head, pat to the purpose and like pears in a -basket; but I won’t repeat them, for ‘sage silence is called Sancho.’” - -“That, Sancho, thou art not,” said Don Quixote; “for not only art thou -not sage silence, but thou art pestilent prate and perversity; still I -would like to know what three proverbs have just now come into thy -memory, for I have been turning over mine own—and it is a good one—and -none occurs to me.” - -“What can be better,” said Sancho, “than ‘never put thy thumbs between -two back teeth;’ and ‘to “_get out of my house_” and “_what do you want -with my wife?_” there is no answer;’ and ‘whether the pitcher hits the -stove, or the stove the pitcher, it’s a bad business for the pitcher;’ -all which fit to a hair? For no one should quarrel with his governor, -or him in authority over him, because he will come off the worst, as he -does who puts his finger between two back and if they are not back -teeth it makes no difference, so long as they are teeth; and to -whatever the governor may say there’s no answer, any more than to ‘get -out of my house’ and ‘what do you want with my wife?’ and then, as for -that about the stone and the pitcher, a blind man could see that. So -that he ‘who sees the mote in another’s eye had need to see the beam in -his own,’ that it be not said of himself, ‘the dead woman was -frightened at the one with her throat cut;’ and your worship knows well -that ‘the fool knows more in his own house than the wise man in -another’s.’” - -“Nay, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “the fool knows nothing, either in his -own house or in anybody else’s, for no wise structure of any sort can -stand on a foundation of folly; but let us say no more about it, -Sancho, for if thou governest badly, thine will be the fault and mine -the shame; but I comfort myself with having done my duty in advising -thee as earnestly and as wisely as I could; and thus I am released from -my obligations and my promise. God guide thee, Sancho, and govern thee -in thy government, and deliver me from the misgiving I have that thou -wilt turn the whole island upside down, a thing I might easily prevent -by explaining to the duke what thou art and telling him that all that -fat little person of thine is nothing else but a sack full of proverbs -and sauciness.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho, “if your worship thinks I’m not fit for this -government, I give it up on the spot; for the mere black of the nail of -my soul is dearer to me than my whole body; and I can live just as -well, simple Sancho, on bread and onions, as governor, on partridges -and capons; and what’s more, while we’re asleep we’re all equal, great -and small, rich and poor. But if your worship looks into it, you will -see it was your worship alone that put me on to this business of -governing; for I know no more about the government of islands than a -buzzard; and if there’s any reason to think that because of my being a -governor the devil will get hold of me, I’d rather go Sancho to heaven -than governor to hell.” - -“By God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for those last words thou hast -uttered alone, I consider thou deservest to be governor of a thousand -islands. Thou hast good natural instincts, without which no knowledge -is worth anything; commend thyself to God, and try not to swerve in the -pursuit of thy main object; I mean, always make it thy aim and fixed -purpose to do right in all matters that come before thee, for heaven -always helps good intentions; and now let us go to dinner, for I think -my lord and lady are waiting for us.” - -CHAPTER XLIV. -HOW SANCHO PANZA WAS CONDUCTED TO HIS GOVERNMENT, AND OF THE STRANGE -ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE - -It is stated, they say, in the true original of this history, that when -Cide Hamete came to write this chapter, his interpreter did not -translate it as he wrote it—that is, as a kind of complaint the Moor -made against himself for having taken in hand a story so dry and of so -little variety as this of Don Quixote, for he found himself forced to -speak perpetually of him and Sancho, without venturing to indulge in -digressions and episodes more serious and more interesting. He said, -too, that to go on, mind, hand, pen always restricted to writing upon -one single subject, and speaking through the mouths of a few -characters, was intolerable drudgery, the result of which was never -equal to the author’s labour, and that to avoid this he had in the -First Part availed himself of the device of novels, like “The -Ill-advised Curiosity,” and “The Captive Captain,” which stand, as it -were, apart from the story; the others are given there being incidents -which occurred to Don Quixote himself and could not be omitted. He also -thought, he says, that many, engrossed by the interest attaching to the -exploits of Don Quixote, would take none in the novels, and pass them -over hastily or impatiently without noticing the elegance and art of -their composition, which would be very manifest were they published by -themselves and not as mere adjuncts to the crazes of Don Quixote or the -simplicities of Sancho. Therefore in this Second Part he thought it -best not to insert novels, either separate or interwoven, but only -episodes, something like them, arising out of the circumstances the -facts present; and even these sparingly, and with no more words than -suffice to make them plain; and as he confines and restricts himself to -the narrow limits of the narrative, though he has ability; capacity, -and brains enough to deal with the whole universe, he requests that his -labours may not be despised, and that credit be given him, not alone -for what he writes, but for what he has refrained from writing. - -And so he goes on with his story, saying that the day Don Quixote gave -the counsels to Sancho, the same afternoon after dinner he handed them -to him in writing so that he might get someone to read them to him. -They had scarcely, however, been given to him when he let them drop, -and they fell into the hands of the duke, who showed them to the -duchess and they were both amazed afresh at the madness and wit of Don -Quixote. To carry on the joke, then, the same evening they despatched -Sancho with a large following to the village that was to serve him for -an island. It happened that the person who had him in charge was a -majordomo of the duke’s, a man of great discretion and humour—and there -can be no humour without discretion—and the same who played the part of -the Countess Trifaldi in the comical way that has been already -described; and thus qualified, and instructed by his master and -mistress as to how to deal with Sancho, he carried out their scheme -admirably. Now it came to pass that as soon as Sancho saw this -majordomo he seemed in his features to recognise those of the Trifaldi, -and turning to his master, he said to him, “Señor, either the devil -will carry me off, here on this spot, righteous and believing, or your -worship will own to me that the face of this majordomo of the duke’s -here is the very face of the Distressed One.” - -Don Quixote regarded the majordomo attentively, and having done so, -said to Sancho, “There is no reason why the devil should carry thee -off, Sancho, either righteous or believing—and what thou meanest by -that I know not; the face of the Distressed One is that of the -majordomo, but for all that the majordomo is not the Distressed One; -for his being so would involve a mighty contradiction; but this is not -the time for going into questions of the sort, which would be involving -ourselves in an inextricable labyrinth. Believe me, my friend, we must -pray earnestly to our Lord that he deliver us both from wicked wizards -and enchanters.” - -“It is no joke, señor,” said Sancho, “for before this I heard him -speak, and it seemed exactly as if the voice of the Trifaldi was -sounding in my ears. Well, I’ll hold my peace; but I’ll take care to be -on the look-out henceforth for any sign that may be seen to confirm or -do away with this suspicion.” - -“Thou wilt do well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and thou wilt let me -know all thou discoverest, and all that befalls thee in thy -government.” - -Sancho at last set out attended by a great number of people. He was -dressed in the garb of a lawyer, with a gaban of tawny watered camlet -over all and a montera cap of the same material, and mounted a la -gineta upon a mule. Behind him, in accordance with the duke’s orders, -followed Dapple with brand new ass-trappings and ornaments of silk, and -from time to time Sancho turned round to look at his ass, so well -pleased to have him with him that he would not have changed places with -the emperor of Germany. On taking leave he kissed the hands of the duke -and duchess and got his master’s blessing, which Don Quixote gave him -with tears, and he received blubbering. - -Let worthy Sancho go in peace, and good luck to him, Gentle Reader; and -look out for two bushels of laughter, which the account of how he -behaved himself in office will give thee. In the meantime turn thy -attention to what happened his master the same night, and if thou dost -not laugh thereat, at any rate thou wilt stretch thy mouth with a grin; -for Don Quixote’s adventures must be honoured either with wonder or -with laughter. - -It is recorded, then, that as soon as Sancho had gone, Don Quixote felt -his loneliness, and had it been possible for him to revoke the mandate -and take away the government from him he would have done so. The -duchess observed his dejection and asked him why he was melancholy; -because, she said, if it was for the loss of Sancho, there were -squires, duennas, and damsels in her house who would wait upon him to -his full satisfaction. - -“The truth is, señora,” replied Don Quixote, “that I do feel the loss -of Sancho; but that is not the main cause of my looking sad; and of all -the offers your excellence makes me, I accept only the good-will with -which they are made, and as to the remainder I entreat of your -excellence to permit and allow me alone to wait upon myself in my -chamber.” - -“Indeed, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that must not be; four -of my damsels, as beautiful as flowers, shall wait upon you.” - -“To me,” said Don Quixote, “they will not be flowers, but thorns to -pierce my heart. They, or anything like them, shall as soon enter my -chamber as fly. If your highness wishes to gratify me still further, -though I deserve it not, permit me to please myself, and wait upon -myself in my own room; for I place a barrier between my inclinations -and my virtue, and I do not wish to break this rule through the -generosity your highness is disposed to display towards me; and, in -short, I will sleep in my clothes, sooner than allow anyone to undress -me.” - -“Say no more, Señor Don Quixote, say no more,” said the duchess; “I -assure you I will give orders that not even a fly, not to say a damsel, -shall enter your room. I am not the one to undermine the propriety of -Señor Don Quixote, for it strikes me that among his many virtues the -one that is pre-eminent is that of modesty. Your worship may undress -and dress in private and in your own way, as you please and when you -please, for there will be no one to hinder you; and in your chamber you -will find all the utensils requisite to supply the wants of one who -sleeps with his door locked, to the end that no natural needs compel -you to open it. May the great Dulcinea del Toboso live a thousand -years, and may her fame extend all over the surface of the globe, for -she deserves to be loved by a knight so valiant and so virtuous; and -may kind heaven infuse zeal into the heart of our governor Sancho Panza -to finish off his discipline speedily, so that the world may once more -enjoy the beauty of so grand a lady.” - -To which Don Quixote replied, “Your highness has spoken like what you -are; from the mouth of a noble lady nothing bad can come; and Dulcinea -will be more fortunate, and better known to the world by the praise of -your highness than by all the eulogies the greatest orators on earth -could bestow upon her.” - -“Well, well, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, it is nearly -supper-time, and the duke is probably waiting; come let us go to -supper, and retire to rest early, for the journey you made yesterday -from Kandy was not such a short one but that it must have caused you -some fatigue.” - -“I feel none, señora,” said Don Quixote, “for I would go so far as to -swear to your excellence that in all my life I never mounted a quieter -beast, or a pleasanter paced one, than Clavileño; and I don’t know what -could have induced Malambruno to discard a steed so swift and so -gentle, and burn it so recklessly as he did.” - -“Probably,” said the duchess, “repenting of the evil he had done to the -Trifaldi and company, and others, and the crimes he must have committed -as a wizard and enchanter, he resolved to make away with all the -instruments of his craft; and so burned Clavileño as the chief one, and -that which mainly kept him restless, wandering from land to land; and -by its ashes and the trophy of the placard the valour of the great Don -Quixote of La Mancha is established for ever.” - -Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess; and having supped, -retired to his chamber alone, refusing to allow anyone to enter with -him to wait on him, such was his fear of encountering temptations that -might lead or drive him to forget his chaste fidelity to his lady -Dulcinea; for he had always present to his mind the virtue of Amadis, -that flower and mirror of knights-errant. He locked the door behind -him, and by the light of two wax candles undressed himself, but as he -was taking off his stockings—O disaster unworthy of such a -personage!—there came a burst, not of sighs, or anything belying his -delicacy or good breeding, but of some two dozen stitches in one of his -stockings, that made it look like a window-lattice. The worthy -gentleman was beyond measure distressed, and at that moment he would -have given an ounce of silver to have had half a drachm of green silk -there; I say green silk, because the stockings were green. - -Here Cide Hamete exclaimed as he was writing, “O poverty, poverty! I -know not what could have possessed the great Cordovan poet to call thee -‘holy gift ungratefully received.’ Although a Moor, I know well enough -from the intercourse I have had with Christians that holiness consists -in charity, humility, faith, obedience, and poverty; but for all that, -I say he must have a great deal of godliness who can find any -satisfaction in being poor; unless, indeed, it be the kind of poverty -one of their greatest saints refers to, saying, ‘possess all things as -though ye possessed them not;’ which is what they call poverty in -spirit. But thou, that other poverty—for it is of thee I am speaking -now—why dost thou love to fall out with gentlemen and men of good birth -more than with other people? Why dost thou compel them to smear the -cracks in their shoes, and to have the buttons of their coats, one -silk, another hair, and another glass? Why must their ruffs be always -crinkled like endive leaves, and not crimped with a crimping iron?” -(From this we may perceive the antiquity of starch and crimped ruffs.) -Then he goes on: “Poor gentleman of good family! always cockering up -his honour, dining miserably and in secret, and making a hypocrite of -the toothpick with which he sallies out into the street after eating -nothing to oblige him to use it! Poor fellow, I say, with his nervous -honour, fancying they perceive a league off the patch on his shoe, the -sweat-stains on his hat, the shabbiness of his cloak, and the hunger of -his stomach!” - -All this was brought home to Don Quixote by the bursting of his -stitches; however, he comforted himself on perceiving that Sancho had -left behind a pair of travelling boots, which he resolved to wear the -next day. At last he went to bed, out of spirits and heavy at heart, as -much because he missed Sancho as because of the irreparable disaster to -his stockings, the stitches of which he would have even taken up with -silk of another colour, which is one of the greatest signs of poverty a -gentleman can show in the course of his never-failing embarrassments. -He put out the candles; but the night was warm and he could not sleep; -he rose from his bed and opened slightly a grated window that looked -out on a beautiful garden, and as he did so he perceived and heard -people walking and talking in the garden. He set himself to listen -attentively, and those below raised their voices so that he could hear -these words: - -“Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that ever since this -stranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld him, I cannot sing but -only weep; besides my lady is a light rather than a heavy sleeper, and -I would not for all the wealth of the world that she found us here; and -even if she were asleep and did not waken, my singing would be in vain, -if this strange Æneas, who has come into my neighbourhood to flout me, -sleeps on and wakens not to hear it.” - -“Heed not that, dear Altisidora,” replied a voice; “the duchess is no -doubt asleep, and everybody in the house save the lord of thy heart and -disturber of thy soul; for just now I perceived him open the grated -window of his chamber, so he must be awake; sing, my poor sufferer, in -a low sweet tone to the accompaniment of thy harp; and even if the -duchess hears us we can lay the blame on the heat of the night.” - -“That is not the point, Emerencia,” replied Altisidora, “it is that I -would not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and that I should -be thought a light and wanton maiden by those who know not the mighty -power of love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks than a -sore in the heart;” and here a harp softly touched made itself heard. -As he listened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless -amazement, for immediately the countless adventures like this, with -windows, gratings, gardens, serenades, lovemakings, and languishings, -that he had read of in his trashy books of chivalry, came to his mind. -He at once concluded that some damsel of the duchess’s was in love with -him, and that her modesty forced her to keep her passion secret. He -trembled lest he should fall, and made an inward resolution not to -yield; and commending himself with all his might and soul to his lady -Dulcinea he made up his mind to listen to the music; and to let them -know he was there he gave a pretended sneeze, at which the damsels were -not a little delighted, for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should -hear them. So having tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand -across the strings, began this ballad: - -O thou that art above in bed, -Between the holland sheets, -A-lying there from night till morn, -With outstretched legs asleep; - -O thou, most valiant knight of all -The famed Manchegan breed, -Of purity and virtue more -Than gold of Araby; - -Give ear unto a suffering maid, -Well-grown but evil-starr’d, -For those two suns of thine have lit -A fire within her heart. - -Adventures seeking thou dost rove, -To others bringing woe; -Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm -To heal them dost withhold! - -Say, valiant youth, and so may God -Thy enterprises speed, -Didst thou the light mid Libya’s sands -Or Jaca’s rocks first see? - -Did scaly serpents give thee suck? -Who nursed thee when a babe? -Wert cradled in the forest rude, -Or gloomy mountain cave? - -O Dulcinea may be proud, -That plump and lusty maid; -For she alone hath had the power -A tiger fierce to tame. - -And she for this shall famous be -From Tagus to Jarama, -From Manzanares to Genil, -From Duero to Arlanza. - -Fain would I change with her, and give -A petticoat to boot, -The best and bravest that I have, -All trimmed with gold galloon. - -O for to be the happy fair -Thy mighty arms enfold, -Or even sit beside thy bed -And scratch thy dusty poll! - -I rave,—to favours such as these -Unworthy to aspire; -Thy feet to tickle were enough -For one so mean as I. - -What caps, what slippers silver-laced, -Would I on thee bestow! -What damask breeches make for thee; -What fine long holland cloaks! - -And I would give thee pearls that should -As big as oak-galls show; -So matchless big that each might well -Be called the great “Alone.” - -Manchegan Nero, look not down -From thy Tarpeian Rock -Upon this burning heart, nor add -The fuel of thy wrath. - -A virgin soft and young am I, -Not yet fifteen years old; -(I’m only three months past fourteen, -I swear upon my soul). -I hobble not nor do I limp, -All blemish I’m without, -And as I walk my lily locks -Are trailing on the ground. - -And though my nose be rather flat, -And though my mouth be wide, -My teeth like topazes exalt -My beauty to the sky. - -Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, -That is if thou dost hear; -And I am moulded in a form -Somewhat below the mean. - -These charms, and many more, are thine, -Spoils to thy spear and bow all; -A damsel of this house am I, -By name Altisidora. - -Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while the -warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh he -said to himself, “O that I should be such an unlucky knight that no -damsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me! O that the -peerless Dulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her -enjoy my incomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye -queens? Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses? Why ye pursue her, ye -virgins of from fourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy being to -triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow -upon her in surrendering my heart and yielding up my soul to her. Ye -love-smitten host, know that to Dulcinea only I am dough and -sugar-paste, flint to all others; for her I am honey, for you aloes. -For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise, virtuous, graceful, and -high-bred, and all others are ill-favoured, foolish, light, and -low-born. Nature sent me into the world to be hers and no other’s; -Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake they belaboured me -in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way to despair, but I must -be Dulcinea’s, boiled or roast, pure, courteous, and chaste, in spite -of all the magic-working powers on earth.” And with that he shut the -window with a bang, and, as much out of temper and out of sorts as if -some great misfortune had befallen him, stretched himself on his bed, -where we will leave him for the present, as the great Sancho Panza, who -is about to set up his famous government, now demands our attention. - -CHAPTER XLV. -OF HOW THE GREAT SANCHO PANZA TOOK POSSESSION OF HIS ISLAND, AND OF HOW -HE MADE A BEGINNING IN GOVERNING - -O perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the world, eye of -heaven, sweet stimulator of the water-coolers! Thimbraeus here, Phœbus -there, now archer, now physician, father of poetry, inventor of music; -thou that always risest and, notwithstanding appearances, never -settest! To thee, O Sun, by whose aid man begetteth man, to thee I -appeal to help me and lighten the darkness of my wit that I may be able -to proceed with scrupulous exactitude in giving an account of the great -Sancho Panza’s government; for without thee I feel myself weak, feeble, -and uncertain. - -To come to the point, then—Sancho with all his attendants arrived at a -village of some thousand inhabitants, and one of the largest the duke -possessed. They informed him that it was called the island of -Barataria, either because the name of the village was Baratario, or -because of the joke by way of which the government had been conferred -upon him. On reaching the gates of the town, which was a walled one, -the municipality came forth to meet him, the bells rang out a peal, and -the inhabitants showed every sign of general satisfaction; and with -great pomp they conducted him to the principal church to give thanks to -God, and then with burlesque ceremonies they presented him with the -keys of the town, and acknowledged him as perpetual governor of the -island of Barataria. The costume, the beard, and the fat squat figure -of the new governor astonished all those who were not in on the secret, -and even all who were, and they were not a few. Finally, leading him -out of the church they carried him to the judgment seat and seated him -on it, and the duke’s majordomo said to him, “It is an ancient custom -in this island, señor governor, that he who comes to take possession of -this famous island is bound to answer a question which shall be put to -him, and which must be a somewhat knotty and difficult one; and by his -answer the people take the measure of their new governor’s wit, and -hail with joy or deplore his arrival accordingly.” - -While the majordomo was making this speech Sancho was gazing at several -large letters inscribed on the wall opposite his seat, and as he could -not read he asked what that was that was painted on the wall. The -answer was, “Señor, there is written and recorded the day on which your -lordship took possession of this island, and the inscription says, -‘This day, the so-and-so of such-and-such a month and year, Señor Don -Sancho Panza took possession of this island; many years may he enjoy -it.’” - -“And whom do they call Don Sancho Panza?” asked Sancho. - -“Your lordship,” replied the majordomo; “for no other Panza but the one -who is now seated in that chair has ever entered this island.” - -“Well then, let me tell you, brother,” said Sancho, “I haven’t got the -‘Don,’ nor has anyone of my family ever had it; my name is plain Sancho -Panza, and Sancho was my father’s name, and Sancho was my grandfather’s -and they were all Panzas, without any Dons or Doñas tacked on; I -suspect that in this island there are more Dons than stones; but never -mind; God knows what I mean, and maybe if my government lasts four days -I’ll weed out these Dons that no doubt are as great a nuisance as the -midges, they’re so plenty. Let the majordomo go on with his question, -and I’ll give the best answer I can, whether the people deplore or -not.” - -At this instant there came into court two old men, one carrying a cane -by way of a walking-stick, and the one who had no stick said, “Señor, -some time ago I lent this good man ten gold-crowns in gold to gratify -him and do him a service, on the condition that he was to return them -to me whenever I should ask for them. A long time passed before I asked -for them, for I would not put him to any greater straits to return them -than he was in when I lent them to him; but thinking he was growing -careless about payment I asked for them once and several times; and not -only will he not give them back, but he denies that he owes them, and -says I never lent him any such crowns; or if I did, that he repaid -them; and I have no witnesses either of the loan, or the payment, for -he never paid me; I want your worship to put him to his oath, and if he -swears he returned them to me I forgive him the debt here and before -God.” - -“What say you to this, good old man, you with the stick?” said Sancho. - -To which the old man replied, “I admit, señor, that he lent them to me; -but let your worship lower your staff, and as he leaves it to my oath, -I’ll swear that I gave them back, and paid him really and truly.” - -The governor lowered the staff, and as he did so the old man who had -the stick handed it to the other old man to hold for him while he -swore, as if he found it in his way; and then laid his hand on the -cross of the staff, saying that it was true the ten crowns that were -demanded of him had been lent him; but that he had with his own hand -given them back into the hand of the other, and that he, not -recollecting it, was always asking for them. - -Seeing this the great governor asked the creditor what answer he had to -make to what his opponent said. He said that no doubt his debtor had -told the truth, for he believed him to be an honest man and a good -Christian, and he himself must have forgotten when and how he had given -him back the crowns; and that from that time forth he would make no -further demand upon him. - -The debtor took his stick again, and bowing his head left the court. -Observing this, and how, without another word, he made off, and -observing too the resignation of the plaintiff, Sancho buried his head -in his bosom and remained for a short space in deep thought, with the -forefinger of his right hand on his brow and nose; then he raised his -head and bade them call back the old man with the stick, for he had -already taken his departure. They brought him back, and as soon as -Sancho saw him he said, “Honest man, give me that stick, for I want -it.” - -“Willingly,” said the old man; “here it is señor,” and he put it into -his hand. - -Sancho took it and, handing it to the other old man, said to him, “Go, -and God be with you; for now you are paid.” - -“I, señor!” returned the old man; “why, is this cane worth ten -gold-crowns?” - -“Yes,” said the governor, “or if not I am the greatest dolt in the -world; now you will see whether I have got the headpiece to govern a -whole kingdom;” and he ordered the cane to be broken in two, there, in -the presence of all. It was done, and in the middle of it they found -ten gold-crowns. All were filled with amazement, and looked upon their -governor as another Solomon. They asked him how he had come to the -conclusion that the ten crowns were in the cane; he replied, that -observing how the old man who swore gave the stick to his opponent -while he was taking the oath, and swore that he had really and truly -given him the crowns, and how as soon as he had done swearing he asked -for the stick again, it came into his head that the sum demanded must -be inside it; and from this he said it might be seen that God sometimes -guides those who govern in their judgments, even though they may be -fools; besides he had himself heard the curate of his village mention -just such another case, and he had so good a memory, that if it was not -that he forgot everything he wished to remember, there would not be -such a memory in all the island. To conclude, the old men went off, one -crestfallen, and the other in high contentment, all who were present -were astonished, and he who was recording the words, deeds, and -movements of Sancho could not make up his mind whether he was to look -upon him and set him down as a fool or as a man of sense. - -As soon as this case was disposed of, there came into court a woman -holding on with a tight grip to a man dressed like a well-to-do cattle -dealer, and she came forward making a great outcry and exclaiming, -“Justice, señor governor, justice! and if I don’t get it on earth I’ll -go look for it in heaven. Señor governor of my soul, this wicked man -caught me in the middle of the fields here and used my body as if it -was an ill-washed rag, and, woe is me! got from me what I had kept -these three-and-twenty years and more, defending it against Moors and -Christians, natives and strangers; and I always as hard as an oak, and -keeping myself as pure as a salamander in the fire, or wool among the -brambles, for this good fellow to come now with clean hands to handle -me!” - -“It remains to be proved whether this gallant has clean hands or not,” -said Sancho; and turning to the man he asked him what he had to say in -answer to the woman’s charge. - -He all in confusion made answer, “Sirs, I am a poor pig dealer, and -this morning I left the village to sell (saving your presence) four -pigs, and between dues and cribbings they got out of me little less -than the worth of them. As I was returning to my village I fell in on -the road with this good dame, and the devil who makes a coil and a mess -out of everything, yoked us together. I paid her fairly, but she not -contented laid hold of me and never let go until she brought me here; -she says I forced her, but she lies by the oath I swear or am ready to -swear; and this is the whole truth and every particle of it.” - -The governor on this asked him if he had any money in silver about him; -he said he had about twenty ducats in a leather purse in his bosom. The -governor bade him take it out and hand it to the complainant; he obeyed -trembling; the woman took it, and making a thousand salaams to all and -praying to God for the long life and health of the señor governor who -had such regard for distressed orphans and virgins, she hurried out of -court with the purse grasped in both her hands, first looking, however, -to see if the money it contained was silver. - -As soon as she was gone Sancho said to the cattle dealer, whose tears -were already starting and whose eyes and heart were following his -purse, “Good fellow, go after that woman and take the purse from her, -by force even, and come back with it here;” and he did not say it to -one who was a fool or deaf, for the man was off like a flash of -lightning, and ran to do as he was bid. - -All the bystanders waited anxiously to see the end of the case, and -presently both man and woman came back at even closer grips than -before, she with her petticoat up and the purse in the lap of it, and -he struggling hard to take it from her, but all to no purpose, so stout -was the woman’s defence, she all the while crying out, “Justice from -God and the world! see here, señor governor, the shamelessness and -boldness of this villain, who in the middle of the town, in the middle -of the street, wanted to take from me the purse your worship bade him -give me.” - -“And did he take it?” asked the governor. - -“Take it!” said the woman; “I’d let my life be taken from me sooner -than the purse. A pretty child I’d be! It’s another sort of cat they -must throw in my face, and not that poor scurvy knave. Pincers and -hammers, mallets and chisels would not get it out of my grip; no, nor -lions’ claws; the soul from out of my body first!” - -“She is right,” said the man; “I own myself beaten and powerless; I -confess I haven’t the strength to take it from her;” and he let go his -hold of her. - -Upon this the governor said to the woman, “Let me see that purse, my -worthy and sturdy friend.” She handed it to him at once, and the -governor returned it to the man, and said to the unforced mistress of -force, “Sister, if you had shown as much, or only half as much, spirit -and vigour in defending your body as you have shown in defending that -purse, the strength of Hercules could not have forced you. Be off, and -God speed you, and bad luck to you, and don’t show your face in all -this island, or within six leagues of it on any side, under pain of two -hundred lashes; be off at once, I say, you shameless, cheating shrew.” - -The woman was cowed and went off disconsolately, hanging her head; and -the governor said to the man, “Honest man, go home with your money, and -God speed you; and for the future, if you don’t want to lose it, see -that you don’t take it into your head to yoke with anybody.” The man -thanked him as clumsily as he could and went his way, and the -bystanders were again filled with admiration at their new governor’s -judgments and sentences. - -Next, two men, one apparently a farm labourer, and the other a tailor, -for he had a pair of shears in his hand, presented themselves before -him, and the tailor said, “Señor governor, this labourer and I come -before your worship by reason of this honest man coming to my shop -yesterday (for saving everybody’s presence I’m a passed tailor, God be -thanked), and putting a piece of cloth into my hands and asking me, -‘Señor, will there be enough in this cloth to make me a cap?’ Measuring -the cloth I said there would. He probably suspected—as I supposed, and -I supposed right—that I wanted to steal some of the cloth, led to think -so by his own roguery and the bad opinion people have of tailors; and -he told me to see if there would be enough for two. I guessed what he -would be at, and I said ‘yes.’ He, still following up his original -unworthy notion, went on adding cap after cap, and I ‘yes’ after ‘yes,’ -until we got as far as five. He has just this moment come for them; I -gave them to him, but he won’t pay me for the making; on the contrary, -he calls upon me to pay him, or else return his cloth.” - -“Is all this true, brother?” said Sancho. - -“Yes,” replied the man; “but will your worship make him show the five -caps he has made me?” - -“With all my heart,” said the tailor; and drawing his hand from under -his cloak he showed five caps stuck upon the five fingers of it, and -said, “there are the caps this good man asks for; and by God and upon -my conscience I haven’t a scrap of cloth left, and I’ll let the work be -examined by the inspectors of the trade.” - -All present laughed at the number of caps and the novelty of the suit; -Sancho set himself to think for a moment, and then said, “It seems to -me that in this case it is not necessary to deliver long-winded -arguments, but only to give off-hand the judgment of an honest man; and -so my decision is that the tailor lose the making and the labourer the -cloth, and that the caps go to the prisoners in the gaol, and let there -be no more about it.” - -If the previous decision about the cattle dealer’s purse excited the -admiration of the bystanders, this provoked their laughter; however, -the governor’s orders were after all executed. All this, having been -taken down by his chronicler, was at once despatched to the duke, who -was looking out for it with great eagerness; and here let us leave the -good Sancho; for his master, sorely troubled in mind by Altisidora’s -music, has pressing claims upon us now. - -CHAPTER XLVI. -OF THE TERRIBLE BELL AND CAT FRIGHT THAT DON QUIXOTE GOT IN THE COURSE -OF THE ENAMOURED ALTISIDORA’S WOOING - -We left Don Quixote wrapped up in the reflections which the music of -the enamourned maid Altisidora had given rise to. He went to bed with -them, and just like fleas they would not let him sleep or get a -moment’s rest, and the broken stitches of his stockings helped them. -But as Time is fleet and no obstacle can stay his course, he came -riding on the hours, and morning very soon arrived. Seeing which Don -Quixote quitted the soft down, and, nowise slothful, dressed himself in -his chamois suit and put on his travelling boots to hide the disaster -to his stockings. He threw over him his scarlet mantle, put on his head -a montera of green velvet trimmed with silver edging, flung across his -shoulder the baldric with his good trenchant sword, took up a large -rosary that he always carried with him, and with great solemnity and -precision of gait proceeded to the antechamber where the duke and -duchess were already dressed and waiting for him. But as he passed -through a gallery, Altisidora and the other damsel, her friend, were -lying in wait for him, and the instant Altisidora saw him she pretended -to faint, while her friend caught her in her lap, and began hastily -unlacing the bosom of her dress. - -Don Quixote observed it, and approaching them said, “I know very well -what this seizure arises from.” - -“I know not from what,” replied the friend, “for Altisidora is the -healthiest damsel in all this house, and I have never heard her -complain all the time I have known her. A plague on all the -knights-errant in the world, if they be all ungrateful! Go away, Señor -Don Quixote; for this poor child will not come to herself again so long -as you are here.” - -To which Don Quixote returned, “Do me the favour, señora, to let a lute -be placed in my chamber to-night; and I will comfort this poor maiden -to the best of my power; for in the early stages of love a prompt -disillusion is an approved remedy;” and with this he retired, so as not -to be remarked by any who might see him there. - -He had scarcely withdrawn when Altisidora, recovering from her swoon, -said to her companion, “The lute must be left, for no doubt Don Quixote -intends to give us some music; and being his it will not be bad.” - -They went at once to inform the duchess of what was going on, and of -the lute Don Quixote asked for, and she, delighted beyond measure, -plotted with the duke and her two damsels to play him a trick that -should be amusing but harmless; and in high glee they waited for night, -which came quickly as the day had come; and as for the day, the duke -and duchess spent it in charming conversation with Don Quixote. - -When eleven o’clock came, Don Quixote found a guitar in his chamber; he -tried it, opened the window, and perceived that some persons were -walking in the garden; and having passed his fingers over the frets of -the guitar and tuned it as well as he could, he spat and cleared his -chest, and then with a voice a little hoarse but full-toned, he sang -the following ballad, which he had himself that day composed: - -Mighty Love the hearts of maidens -Doth unsettle and perplex, -And the instrument he uses -Most of all is idleness. - -Sewing, stitching, any labour, -Having always work to do, -To the poison Love instilleth -Is the antidote most sure. - -And to proper-minded maidens -Who desire the matron’s name -Modesty’s a marriage portion, -Modesty their highest praise. - -Men of prudence and discretion, -Courtiers gay and gallant knights, -With the wanton damsels dally, -But the modest take to wife. -There are passions, transient, fleeting, -Loves in hostelries declar’d, -Sunrise loves, with sunset ended, -When the guest hath gone his way. - -Love that springs up swift and sudden, -Here to-day, to-morrow flown, -Passes, leaves no trace behind it, -Leaves no image on the soul. - -Painting that is laid on painting -Maketh no display or show; -Where one beauty’s in possession -There no other can take hold. - -Dulcinea del Toboso -Painted on my heart I wear; -Never from its tablets, never, -Can her image be eras’d. - -The quality of all in lovers -Most esteemed is constancy; -’Tis by this that love works wonders, -This exalts them to the skies. - -Don Quixote had got so far with his song, to which the duke, the -duchess, Altisidora, and nearly the whole household of the castle were -listening, when all of a sudden from a gallery above that was exactly -over his window they let down a cord with more than a hundred bells -attached to it, and immediately after that discharged a great sack full -of cats, which also had bells of smaller size tied to their tails. Such -was the din of the bells and the squalling of the cats, that though the -duke and duchess were the contrivers of the joke they were startled by -it, while Don Quixote stood paralysed with fear; and as luck would have -it, two or three of the cats made their way in through the grating of -his chamber, and flying from one side to the other, made it seem as if -there was a legion of devils at large in it. They extinguished the -candles that were burning in the room, and rushed about seeking some -way of escape; the cord with the large bells never ceased rising and -falling; and most of the people of the castle, not knowing what was -really the matter, were at their wits’ end with astonishment. Don -Quixote sprang to his feet, and drawing his sword, began making passes -at the grating, shouting out, “Avaunt, malignant enchanters! avaunt, ye -witchcraft-working rabble! I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, against whom -your evil machinations avail not nor have any power.” And turning upon -the cats that were running about the room, he made several cuts at -them. They dashed at the grating and escaped by it, save one that, -finding itself hard pressed by the slashes of Don Quixote’s sword, flew -at his face and held on to his nose tooth and nail, with the pain of -which he began to shout his loudest. The duke and duchess hearing this, -and guessing what it was, ran with all haste to his room, and as the -poor gentleman was striving with all his might to detach the cat from -his face, they opened the door with a master-key and went in with -lights and witnessed the unequal combat. The duke ran forward to part -the combatants, but Don Quixote cried out aloud, “Let no one take him -from me; leave me hand to hand with this demon, this wizard, this -enchanter; I will teach him, I myself, who Don Quixote of La Mancha -is.” The cat, however, never minding these threats, snarled and held -on; but at last the duke pulled it off and flung it out of the window. -Don Quixote was left with a face as full of holes as a sieve and a nose -not in very good condition, and greatly vexed that they did not let him -finish the battle he had been so stoutly fighting with that villain of -an enchanter. They sent for some oil of John’s wort, and Altisidora -herself with her own fair hands bandaged all the wounded parts; and as -she did so she said to him in a low voice. “All these mishaps have -befallen thee, hardhearted knight, for the sin of thy insensibility and -obstinacy; and God grant thy squire Sancho may forget to whip himself, -so that that dearly beloved Dulcinea of thine may never be released -from her enchantment, that thou mayest never come to her bed, at least -while I who adore thee am alive.” - -To all this Don Quixote made no answer except to heave deep sighs, and -then stretched himself on his bed, thanking the duke and duchess for -their kindness, not because he stood in any fear of that bell-ringing -rabble of enchanters in cat shape, but because he recognised their good -intentions in coming to his rescue. The duke and duchess left him to -repose and withdrew greatly grieved at the unfortunate result of the -joke; as they never thought the adventure would have fallen so heavy on -Don Quixote or cost him so dear, for it cost him five days of -confinement to his bed, during which he had another adventure, -pleasanter than the late one, which his chronicler will not relate just -now in order that he may turn his attention to Sancho Panza, who was -proceeding with great diligence and drollery in his government. - -CHAPTER XLVII. -WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ACCOUNT OF HOW SANCHO PANZA CONDUCTED HIMSELF -IN HIS GOVERNMENT - -The history says that from the justice court they carried Sancho to a -sumptuous palace, where in a spacious chamber there was a table laid -out with royal magnificence. The clarions sounded as Sancho entered the -room, and four pages came forward to present him with water for his -hands, which Sancho received with great dignity. The music ceased, and -Sancho seated himself at the head of the table, for there was only that -seat placed, and no more than one cover laid. A personage, who it -appeared afterwards was a physician, placed himself standing by his -side with a whalebone wand in his hand. They then lifted up a fine -white cloth covering fruit and a great variety of dishes of different -sorts; one who looked like a student said grace, and a page put a laced -bib on Sancho, while another who played the part of head carver placed -a dish of fruit before him. But hardly had he tasted a morsel when the -man with the wand touched the plate with it, and they took it away from -before him with the utmost celerity. The carver, however, brought him -another dish, and Sancho proceeded to try it; but before he could get -at it, not to say taste it, already the wand had touched it and a page -had carried it off with the same promptitude as the fruit. Sancho -seeing this was puzzled, and looking from one to another asked if this -dinner was to be eaten after the fashion of a jugglery trick. - -To this he with the wand replied, “It is not to be eaten, señor -governor, except as is usual and customary in other islands where there -are governors. I, señor, am a physician, and I am paid a salary in this -island to serve its governors as such, and I have a much greater regard -for their health than for my own, studying day and night and making -myself acquainted with the governor’s constitution, in order to be able -to cure him when he falls sick. The chief thing I have to do is to -attend at his dinners and suppers and allow him to eat what appears to -me to be fit for him, and keep from him what I think will do him harm -and be injurious to his stomach; and therefore I ordered that plate of -fruit to be removed as being too moist, and that other dish I ordered -to be removed as being too hot and containing many spices that -stimulate thirst; for he who drinks much kills and consumes the radical -moisture wherein life consists.” - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “that dish of roast partridges there that -seems so savoury will not do me any harm.” - -To this the physician replied, “Of those my lord the governor shall not -eat so long as I live.” - -“Why so?” said Sancho. - -“Because,” replied the doctor, “our master Hippocrates, the polestar -and beacon of medicine, says in one of his aphorisms _omnis saturatio -mala, perdicis autem pessima_, which means ‘all repletion is bad, but -that of partridge is the worst of all.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “let señor doctor see among the dishes -that are on the table what will do me most good and least harm, and let -me eat it, without tapping it with his stick; for by the life of the -governor, and so may God suffer me to enjoy it, but I’m dying of -hunger; and in spite of the doctor and all he may say, to deny me food -is the way to take my life instead of prolonging it.” - -“Your worship is right, señor governor,” said the physician; “and -therefore your worship, I consider, should not eat of those stewed -rabbits there, because it is a furry kind of food; if that veal were -not roasted and served with pickles, you might try it; but it is out of -the question.” - -“That big dish that is smoking farther off,” said Sancho, “seems to me -to be an olla podrida, and out of the diversity of things in such -ollas, I can’t fail to light upon something tasty and good for me.” - -“_Absit_,” said the doctor; “far from us be any such base thought! -There is nothing in the world less nourishing than an olla podrida; to -canons, or rectors of colleges, or peasants’ weddings with your ollas -podridas, but let us have none of them on the tables of governors, -where everything that is present should be delicate and refined; and -the reason is, that always, everywhere and by everybody, simple -medicines are more esteemed than compound ones, for we cannot go wrong -in those that are simple, while in the compound we may, by merely -altering the quantity of the things composing them. But what I am of -opinion the governor should eat now in order to preserve and fortify -his health is a hundred or so of wafer cakes and a few thin slices of -conserve of quinces, which will settle his stomach and help his -digestion.” - -Sancho on hearing this threw himself back in his chair and surveyed the -doctor steadily, and in a solemn tone asked him what his name was and -where he had studied. - -He replied, “My name, señor governor, is Doctor Pedro Recio de Aguero I -am a native of a place called Tirteafuera which lies between Caracuel -and Almodóvar del Campo, on the right-hand side, and I have the degree -of doctor from the university of Osuna.” - -To which Sancho, glowing all over with rage, returned, “Then let Doctor -Pedro Recio de Malaguero, native of Tirteafuera, a place that’s on the -right-hand side as we go from Caracuel to Almodóvar del Campo, graduate -of Osuna, get out of my presence at once; or I swear by the sun I’ll -take a cudgel, and by dint of blows, beginning with him, I’ll not leave -a doctor in the whole island; at least of those I know to be ignorant; -for as to learned, wise, sensible physicians, them I will reverence and -honour as divine persons. Once more I say let Pedro Recio get out of -this or I’ll take this chair I am sitting on and break it over his -head. And if they call me to account for it, I’ll clear myself by -saying I served God in killing a bad doctor—a general executioner. And -now give me something to eat, or else take your government; for a trade -that does not feed its master is not worth two beans.” - -The doctor was dismayed when he saw the governor in such a passion, and -he would have made a Tirteafuera out of the room but that the same -instant a post-horn sounded in the street; and the carver putting his -head out of the window turned round and said, “It’s a courier from my -lord the duke, no doubt with some despatch of importance.” - -The courier came in all sweating and flurried, and taking a paper from -his bosom, placed it in the governor’s hands. Sancho handed it to the -majordomo and bade him read the superscription, which ran thus: - -_To Don Sancho Panza, Governor of the Island of Barataria, into his own -hands or those of his secretary._ - -Sancho when he heard this said, “Which of you is my secretary?” “I am, -señor,” said one of those present, “for I can read and write, and am a -Biscayan.” “With that addition,” said Sancho, “you might be secretary -to the emperor himself; open this paper and see what it says.” The -new-born secretary obeyed, and having read the contents said the matter -was one to be discussed in private. Sancho ordered the chamber to be -cleared, the majordomo and the carver only remaining; so the doctor and -the others withdrew, and then the secretary read the letter, which was -as follows: - -It has come to my knowledge, Señor Don Sancho Panza, that certain -enemies of mine and of the island are about to make a furious attack -upon it some night, I know not when. It behoves you to be on the alert -and keep watch, that they surprise you not. I also know by trustworthy -spies that four persons have entered the town in disguise in order to -take your life, because they stand in dread of your great capacity; -keep your eyes open and take heed who approaches you to address you, -and eat nothing that is presented to you. I will take care to send you -aid if you find yourself in difficulty, but in all things you will act -as may be expected of your judgment. From this place, the Sixteenth of -August, at four in the morning. - -Your friend, -THE DUKE - -Sancho was astonished, and those who stood by made believe to be so -too, and turning to the majordomo he said to him, “What we have got to -do first, and it must be done at once, is to put Doctor Recio in the -lock-up; for if anyone wants to kill me it is he, and by a slow death -and the worst of all, which is hunger.” - -“Likewise,” said the carver, “it is my opinion your worship should not -eat anything that is on this table, for the whole was a present from -some nuns; and as they say, ‘behind the cross there’s the devil.’” - -“I don’t deny it,” said Sancho; “so for the present give me a piece of -bread and four pounds or so of grapes; no poison can come in them; for -the fact is I can’t go on without eating; and if we are to be prepared -for these battles that are threatening us we must be well provisioned; -for it is the tripes that carry the heart and not the heart the tripes. -And you, secretary, answer my lord the duke and tell him that all his -commands shall be obeyed to the letter, as he directs; and say from me -to my lady the duchess that I kiss her hands, and that I beg of her not -to forget to send my letter and bundle to my wife Teresa Panza by a -messenger; and I will take it as a great favour and will not fail to -serve her in all that may lie within my power; and as you are about it -you may enclose a kiss of the hand to my master Don Quixote that he may -see I am grateful bread; and as a good secretary and a good Biscayan -you may add whatever you like and whatever will come in best; and now -take away this cloth and give me something to eat, and I’ll be ready to -meet all the spies and assassins and enchanters that may come against -me or my island.” - -At this instant a page entered saying, “Here is a farmer on business, -who wants to speak to your lordship on a matter of great importance, he -says.” - -“It’s very odd,” said Sancho, “the ways of these men on business; is it -possible they can be such fools as not to see that an hour like this is -no hour for coming on business? We who govern and we who are judges—are -we not men of flesh and blood, and are we not to be allowed the time -required for taking rest, unless they’d have us made of marble? By God -and on my conscience, if the government remains in my hands (which I -have a notion it won’t), I’ll bring more than one man on business to -order. However, tell this good man to come in; but take care first of -all that he is not some spy or one of my assassins.” - -“No, my lord,” said the page, “for he looks like a simple fellow, and -either I know very little or he is as good as good bread.” - -“There is nothing to be afraid of,” said the majordomo, “for we are all -here.” - -“Would it be possible, carver,” said Sancho, “now that Doctor Pedro -Recio is not here, to let me eat something solid and substantial, if it -were even a piece of bread and an onion?” - -“To-night at supper,” said the carver, “the shortcomings of the dinner -shall be made good, and your lordship shall be fully contented.” - -“God grant it,” said Sancho. - -The farmer now came in, a well-favoured man that one might see a -thousand leagues off was an honest fellow and a good soul. The first -thing he said was, “Which is the lord governor here?” - -“Which should it be,” said the secretary, “but he who is seated in the -chair?” - -“Then I humble myself before him,” said the farmer; and going on his -knees he asked for his hand, to kiss it. Sancho refused it, and bade -him stand up and say what he wanted. The farmer obeyed, and then said, -“I am a farmer, señor, a native of Miguelturra, a village two leagues -from Ciudad Real.” - -“Another Tirteafuera!” said Sancho; “say on, brother; I know -Miguelturra very well I can tell you, for it’s not very far from my own -town.” - -“The case is this, señor,” continued the farmer, “that by God’s mercy I -am married with the leave and licence of the holy Roman Catholic -Church; I have two sons, students, and the younger is studying to -become bachelor, and the elder to be licentiate; I am a widower, for my -wife died, or more properly speaking, a bad doctor killed her on my -hands, giving her a purge when she was with child; and if it had -pleased God that the child had been born, and was a boy, I would have -put him to study for doctor, that he might not envy his brothers the -bachelor and the licentiate.” - -“So that if your wife had not died, or had not been killed, you would -not now be a widower,” said Sancho. - -“No, señor, certainly not,” said the farmer. - -“We’ve got that much settled,” said Sancho; “get on, brother, for it’s -more bed-time than business-time.” - -“Well then,” said the farmer, “this son of mine who is going to be a -bachelor, fell in love in the said town with a damsel called Clara -Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino, a very rich farmer; and this -name of Perlerines does not come to them by ancestry or descent, but -because all the family are paralytics, and for a better name they call -them Perlerines; though to tell the truth the damsel is as fair as an -Oriental pearl, and like a flower of the field, if you look at her on -the right side; on the left not so much, for on that side she wants an -eye that she lost by small-pox; and though her face is thickly and -deeply pitted, those who love her say they are not pits that are there, -but the graves where the hearts of her lovers are buried. She is so -cleanly that not to soil her face she carries her nose turned up, as -they say, so that one would fancy it was running away from her mouth; -and with all this she looks extremely well, for she has a wide mouth; -and but for wanting ten or a dozen teeth and grinders she might compare -and compete with the comeliest. Of her lips I say nothing, for they are -so fine and thin that, if lips might be reeled, one might make a skein -of them; but being of a different colour from ordinary lips they are -wonderful, for they are mottled, blue, green, and purple—let my lord -the governor pardon me for painting so minutely the charms of her who -some time or other will be my daughter; for I love her, and I don’t -find her amiss.” - -“Paint what you will,” said Sancho; “I enjoy your painting, and if I -had dined there could be no dessert more to my taste than your -portrait.” - -“That I have still to furnish,” said the farmer; “but a time will come -when we may be able if we are not now; and I can tell you, señor, if I -could paint her gracefulness and her tall figure, it would astonish -you; but that is impossible because she is bent double with her knees -up to her mouth; but for all that it is easy to see that if she could -stand up she’d knock her head against the ceiling; and she would have -given her hand to my bachelor ere this, only that she can’t stretch it -out, for it’s contracted; but still one can see its elegance and fine -make by its long furrowed nails.” - -“That will do, brother,” said Sancho; “consider you have painted her -from head to foot; what is it you want now? Come to the point without -all this beating about the bush, and all these scraps and additions.” - -“I want your worship, señor,” said the farmer, “to do me the favour of -giving me a letter of recommendation to the girl’s father, begging him -to be so good as to let this marriage take place, as we are not -ill-matched either in the gifts of fortune or of nature; for to tell -the truth, señor governor, my son is possessed of a devil, and there is -not a day but the evil spirits torment him three or four times; and -from having once fallen into the fire, he has his face puckered up like -a piece of parchment, and his eyes watery and always running; but he -has the disposition of an angel, and if it was not for belabouring and -pummelling himself he’d be a saint.” - -“Is there anything else you want, good man?” said Sancho. - -“There’s another thing I’d like,” said the farmer, “but I’m afraid to -mention it; however, out it must; for after all I can’t let it be -rotting in my breast, come what may. I mean, señor, that I’d like your -worship to give me three hundred or six hundred ducats as a help to my -bachelor’s portion, to help him in setting up house; for they must, in -short, live by themselves, without being subject to the interferences -of their fathers-in-law.” - -“Just see if there’s anything else you’d like,” said Sancho, “and don’t -hold back from mentioning it out of bashfulness or modesty.” - -“No, indeed there is not,” said the farmer. - -The moment he said this the governor started to his feet, and seizing -the chair he had been sitting on exclaimed, “By all that’s good, you -ill-bred, boorish Don Bumpkin, if you don’t get out of this at once and -hide yourself from my sight, I’ll lay your head open with this chair. -You whoreson rascal, you devil’s own painter, and is it at this hour -you come to ask me for six hundred ducats! How should I have them, you -stinking brute? And why should I give them to you if I had them, you -knave and blockhead? What have I to do with Miguelturra or the whole -family of the Perlerines? Get out I say, or by the life of my lord the -duke I’ll do as I said. You’re not from Miguelturra, but some knave -sent here from hell to tempt me. Why, you villain, I have not yet had -the government half a day, and you want me to have six hundred ducats -already!” - -The carver made signs to the farmer to leave the room, which he did -with his head down, and to all appearance in terror lest the governor -should carry his threats into effect, for the rogue knew very well how -to play his part. - -But let us leave Sancho in his wrath, and peace be with them all; and -let us return to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face bandaged and -doctored after the cat wounds, of which he was not cured for eight -days; and on one of these there befell him what Cide Hamete promises to -relate with that exactitude and truth with which he is wont to set -forth everything connected with this great history, however minute it -may be. - -CHAPTER XLVIII. -OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH DOÑA RODRIGUEZ, THE DUCHESS’S DUENNA, -TOGETHER WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY OF RECORD AND ETERNAL -REMEMBRANCE - -Exceedingly moody and dejected was the sorely wounded Don Quixote, with -his face bandaged and marked, not by the hand of God, but by the claws -of a cat, mishaps incidental to knight-errantry. - -Six days he remained without appearing in public, and one night as he -lay awake thinking of his misfortunes and of Altisidora’s pursuit of -him, he perceived that someone was opening the door of his room with a -key, and he at once made up his mind that the enamoured damsel was -coming to make an assault upon his chastity and put him in danger of -failing in the fidelity he owed to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso. “No,” -said he, firmly persuaded of the truth of his idea (and he said it loud -enough to be heard), “the greatest beauty upon earth shall not avail to -make me renounce my adoration of her whom I bear stamped and graved in -the core of my heart and the secret depths of my bowels; be thou, lady -mine, transformed into a clumsy country wench, or into a nymph of -golden Tagus weaving a web of silk and gold, let Merlin or Montesinos -hold thee captive where they will; where’er thou art, thou art mine, -and where’er I am, must be thine.” The very instant he had uttered -these words, the door opened. He stood up on the bed wrapped from head -to foot in a yellow satin coverlet, with a cap on his head, and his -face and his moustaches tied up, his face because of the scratches, and -his moustaches to keep them from drooping and falling down, in which -trim he looked the most extraordinary scarecrow that could be -conceived. He kept his eyes fixed on the door, and just as he was -expecting to see the love-smitten and unhappy Altisidora make her -appearance, he saw coming in a most venerable duenna, in a long -white-bordered veil that covered and enveloped her from head to foot. -Between the fingers of her left hand she held a short lighted candle, -while with her right she shaded it to keep the light from her eyes, -which were covered by spectacles of great size, and she advanced with -noiseless steps, treading very softly. - -Don Quixote kept an eye upon her from his watchtower, and observing her -costume and noting her silence, he concluded that it must be some witch -or sorceress that was coming in such a guise to work him some mischief, -and he began crossing himself at a great rate. The spectre still -advanced, and on reaching the middle of the room, looked up and saw the -energy with which Don Quixote was crossing himself; and if he was -scared by seeing such a figure as hers, she was terrified at the sight -of his; for the moment she saw his tall yellow form with the coverlet -and the bandages that disfigured him, she gave a loud scream, and -exclaiming, “Jesus! what’s this I see?” let fall the candle in her -fright, and then finding herself in the dark, turned about to make off, -but stumbling on her skirts in her consternation, she measured her -length with a mighty fall. - -Don Quixote in his trepidation began saying, “I conjure thee, phantom, -or whatever thou art, tell me what thou art and what thou wouldst with -me. If thou art a soul in torment, say so, and all that my powers can -do I will do for thee; for I am a Catholic Christian and love to do -good to all the world, and to this end I have embraced the order of -knight-errantry to which I belong, the province of which extends to -doing good even to souls in purgatory.” - -The unfortunate duenna hearing herself thus conjured, by her own fear -guessed Don Quixote’s and in a low plaintive voice answered, “Señor Don -Quixote—if so be you are indeed Don Quixote—I am no phantom or spectre -or soul in purgatory, as you seem to think, but Doña Rodriguez, duenna -of honour to my lady the duchess, and I come to you with one of those -grievances your worship is wont to redress.” - -“Tell me, Señora Doña Rodriguez,” said Don Quixote, “do you perchance -come to transact any go-between business? Because I must tell you I am -not available for anybody’s purpose, thanks to the peerless beauty of -my lady Dulcinea del Toboso. In short, Señora Doña Rodriguez, if you -will leave out and put aside all love messages, you may go and light -your candle and come back, and we will discuss all the commands you -have for me and whatever you wish, saving only, as I said, all -seductive communications.” - -“I carry nobody’s messages, señor,” said the duenna; “little you know -me. Nay, I’m not far enough advanced in years to take to any such -childish tricks. God be praised I have a soul in my body still, and all -my teeth and grinders in my mouth, except one or two that the colds, so -common in this Aragon country, have robbed me of. But wait a little, -while I go and light my candle, and I will return immediately and lay -my sorrows before you as before one who relieves those of all the -world;” and without staying for an answer she quitted the room and left -Don Quixote tranquilly meditating while he waited for her. A thousand -thoughts at once suggested themselves to him on the subject of this new -adventure, and it struck him as being ill done and worse advised in him -to expose himself to the danger of breaking his plighted faith to his -lady; and said he to himself, “Who knows but that the devil, being wily -and cunning, may be trying now to entrap me with a duenna, having -failed with empresses, queens, duchesses, marchionesses, and -countesses? Many a time have I heard it said by many a man of sense -that he will sooner offer you a flat-nosed wench than a roman-nosed -one; and who knows but this privacy, this opportunity, this silence, -may awaken my sleeping desires, and lead me in these my latter years to -fall where I have never tripped? In cases of this sort it is better to -flee than to await the battle. But I must be out of my senses to think -and utter such nonsense; for it is impossible that a long, white-hooded -spectacled duenna could stir up or excite a wanton thought in the most -graceless bosom in the world. Is there a duenna on earth that has fair -flesh? Is there a duenna in the world that escapes being ill-tempered, -wrinkled, and prudish? Avaunt, then, ye duenna crew, undelightful to -all mankind. Oh, but that lady did well who, they say, had at the end -of her reception room a couple of figures of duennas with spectacles -and lace-cushions, as if at work, and those statues served quite as -well to give an air of propriety to the room as if they had been real -duennas.” - -So saying he leaped off the bed, intending to close the door and not -allow Señora Rodriguez to enter; but as he went to shut it Señora -Rodriguez returned with a wax candle lighted, and having a closer view -of Don Quixote, with the coverlet round him, and his bandages and -night-cap, she was alarmed afresh, and retreating a couple of paces, -exclaimed, “Am I safe, sir knight? for I don’t look upon it as a sign -of very great virtue that your worship should have got up out of bed.” - -“I may well ask the same, señora,” said Don Quixote; “and I do ask -whether I shall be safe from being assailed and forced?” - -“Of whom and against whom do you demand that security, sir knight?” -said the duenna. - -“Of you and against you I ask it,” said Don Quixote; “for I am not -marble, nor are you brass, nor is it now ten o’clock in the morning, -but midnight, or a trifle past it I fancy, and we are in a room more -secluded and retired than the cave could have been where the -treacherous and daring Æneas enjoyed the fair soft-hearted Dido. But -give me your hand, señora; I require no better protection than my own -continence, and my own sense of propriety; as well as that which is -inspired by that venerable head-dress;” and so saying he kissed her -right hand and took it in his own, she yielding it to him with equal -ceremoniousness. And here Cide Hamete inserts a parenthesis in which he -says that to have seen the pair marching from the door to the bed, -linked hand in hand in this way, he would have given the best of the -two tunics he had. - -Don Quixote finally got into bed, and Doña Rodriguez took her seat on a -chair at some little distance from his couch, without taking off her -spectacles or putting aside the candle. Don Quixote wrapped the -bedclothes round him and covered himself up completely, leaving nothing -but his face visible, and as soon as they had both regained their -composure he broke silence, saying, “Now, Señora Doña Rodriguez, you -may unbosom yourself and out with everything you have in your sorrowful -heart and afflicted bowels; and by me you shall be listened to with -chaste ears, and aided by compassionate exertions.” - -“I believe it,” replied the duenna; “from your worship’s gentle and -winning presence only such a Christian answer could be expected. The -fact is, then, Señor Don Quixote, that though you see me seated in this -chair, here in the middle of the kingdom of Aragon, and in the attire -of a despised outcast duenna, I am from the Asturias of Oviedo, and of -a family with which many of the best of the province are connected by -blood; but my untoward fate and the improvidence of my parents, who, I -know not how, were unseasonably reduced to poverty, brought me to the -court of Madrid, where as a provision and to avoid greater misfortunes, -my parents placed me as seamstress in the service of a lady of quality, -and I would have you know that for hemming and sewing I have never been -surpassed by any all my life. My parents left me in service and -returned to their own country, and a few years later went, no doubt, to -heaven, for they were excellent good Catholic Christians. I was left an -orphan with nothing but the miserable wages and trifling presents that -are given to servants of my sort in palaces; but about this time, -without any encouragement on my part, one of the esquires of the -household fell in love with me, a man somewhat advanced in years, -full-bearded and personable, and above all as good a gentleman as the -king himself, for he came of a mountain stock. We did not carry on our -loves with such secrecy but that they came to the knowledge of my lady, -and she, not to have any fuss about it, had us married with the full -sanction of the holy mother Roman Catholic Church, of which marriage a -daughter was born to put an end to my good fortune, if I had any; not -that I died in childbirth, for I passed through it safely and in due -season, but because shortly afterwards my husband died of a certain -shock he received, and had I time to tell you of it I know your worship -would be surprised;” and here she began to weep bitterly and said, -“Pardon me, Señor Don Quixote, if I am unable to control myself, for -every time I think of my unfortunate husband my eyes fill up with -tears. God bless me, with what an air of dignity he used to carry my -lady behind him on a stout mule as black as jet! for in those days they -did not use coaches or chairs, as they say they do now, and ladies rode -behind their squires. This much at least I cannot help telling you, -that you may observe the good breeding and punctiliousness of my worthy -husband. As he was turning into the Calle de Santiago in Madrid, which -is rather narrow, one of the alcaldes of the Court, with two alguacils -before him, was coming out of it, and as soon as my good squire saw him -he wheeled his mule about and made as if he would turn and accompany -him. My lady, who was riding behind him, said to him in a low voice, -‘What are you about, you sneak, don’t you see that I am here?’ The -alcalde like a polite man pulled up his horse and said to him, -‘Proceed, señor, for it is I, rather, who ought to accompany my lady -Doña Casilda’—for that was my mistress’s name. Still my husband, cap in -hand, persisted in trying to accompany the alcalde, and seeing this my -lady, filled with rage and vexation, pulled out a big pin, or, I rather -think, a bodkin, out of her needle-case and drove it into his back with -such force that my husband gave a loud yell, and writhing fell to the -ground with his lady. Her two lacqueys ran to rise her up, and the -alcalde and the alguacils did the same; the Guadalajara gate was all in -commotion—I mean the idlers congregated there; my mistress came back on -foot, and my husband hurried away to a barber’s shop protesting that he -was run right through the guts. The courtesy of my husband was noised -abroad to such an extent, that the boys gave him no peace in the -street; and on this account, and because he was somewhat shortsighted, -my lady dismissed him; and it was chagrin at this I am convinced beyond -a doubt that brought on his death. I was left a helpless widow, with a -daughter on my hands growing up in beauty like the sea-foam; at length, -however, as I had the character of being an excellent needlewoman, my -lady the duchess, then lately married to my lord the duke, offered to -take me with her to this kingdom of Aragon, and my daughter also, and -here as time went by my daughter grew up and with her all the graces in -the world; she sings like a lark, dances quick as thought, foots it -like a gipsy, reads and writes like a schoolmaster, and does sums like -a miser; of her neatness I say nothing, for the running water is not -purer, and her age is now, if my memory serves me, sixteen years five -months and three days, one more or less. To come to the point, the son -of a very rich farmer, living in a village of my lord the duke’s not -very far from here, fell in love with this girl of mine; and in short, -how I know not, they came together, and under the promise of marrying -her he made a fool of my daughter, and will not keep his word. And -though my lord the duke is aware of it (for I have complained to him, -not once but many and many a time, and entreated him to order the -farmer to marry my daughter), he turns a deaf ear and will scarcely -listen to me; the reason being that as the deceiver’s father is so -rich, and lends him money, and is constantly going security for his -debts, he does not like to offend or annoy him in any way. Now, señor, -I want your worship to take it upon yourself to redress this wrong -either by entreaty or by arms; for by what all the world says you came -into it to redress grievances and right wrongs and help the -unfortunate. Let your worship put before you the unprotected condition -of my daughter, her youth, and all the perfections I have said she -possesses; and before God and on my conscience, out of all the damsels -my lady has, there is not one that comes up to the sole of her shoe, -and the one they call Altisidora, and look upon as the boldest and -gayest of them, put in comparison with my daughter, does not come -within two leagues of her. For I would have you know, señor, all is not -gold that glitters, and that same little Altisidora has more -forwardness than good looks, and more impudence than modesty; besides -being not very sound, for she has such a disagreeable breath that one -cannot bear to be near her for a moment; and even my lady the -duchess—but I’ll hold my tongue, for they say that walls have ears.” - -“For heaven’s sake, Doña Rodriguez, what ails my lady the duchess?” -asked Don Quixote. - -“Adjured in that way,” replied the duenna, “I cannot help answering the -question and telling the whole truth. Señor Don Quixote, have you -observed the comeliness of my lady the duchess, that smooth complexion -of hers like a burnished polished sword, those two cheeks of milk and -carmine, that gay lively step with which she treads or rather seems to -spurn the earth, so that one would fancy she went radiating health -wherever she passed? Well then, let me tell you she may thank, first of -all God, for this, and next, two issues that she has, one in each leg, -by which all the evil humours, of which the doctors say she is full, -are discharged.” - -“Blessed Virgin!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “and is it possible that my -lady the duchess has drains of that sort? I would not have believed it -if the barefoot friars had told it me; but as the lady Doña Rodriguez -says so, it must be so. But surely such issues, and in such places, do -not discharge humours, but liquid amber. Verily, I do believe now that -this practice of opening issues is a very important matter for the -health.” - -Don Quixote had hardly said this, when the chamber door flew open with -a loud bang, and with the start the noise gave her Doña Rodriguez let -the candle fall from her hand, and the room was left as dark as a -wolf’s mouth, as the saying is. Suddenly the poor duenna felt two hands -seize her by the throat, so tightly that she could not croak, while -someone else, without uttering a word, very briskly hoisted up her -petticoats, and with what seemed to be a slipper began to lay on so -heartily that anyone would have felt pity for her; but although Don -Quixote felt it he never stirred from his bed, but lay quiet and -silent, nay apprehensive that his turn for a drubbing might be coming. -Nor was the apprehension an idle one; for leaving the duenna (who did -not dare to cry out) well basted, the silent executioners fell upon Don -Quixote, and stripping him of the sheet and the coverlet, they pinched -him so fast and so hard that he was driven to defend himself with his -fists, and all this in marvellous silence. The battle lasted nearly -half an hour, and then the phantoms fled; Doña Rodriguez gathered up -her skirts, and bemoaning her fate went out without saying a word to -Don Quixote, and he, sorely pinched, puzzled, and dejected, remained -alone, and there we will leave him, wondering who could have been the -perverse enchanter who had reduced him to such a state; but that shall -be told in due season, for Sancho claims our attention, and the -methodical arrangement of the story demands it. - -CHAPTER XLIX. -OF WHAT HAPPENED SANCHO IN MAKING THE ROUND OF HIS ISLAND - -We left the great governor angered and irritated by that -portrait-painting rogue of a farmer who, instructed the majordomo, as -the majordomo was by the duke, tried to practise upon him; he however, -fool, boor, and clown as he was, held his own against them all, saying -to those round him and to Doctor Pedro Recio, who as soon as the -private business of the duke’s letter was disposed of had returned to -the room, “Now I see plainly enough that judges and governors ought to -be and must be made of brass not to feel the importunities of the -applicants that at all times and all seasons insist on being heard, and -having their business despatched, and their own affairs and no others -attended to, come what may; and if the poor judge does not hear them -and settle the matter—either because he cannot or because that is not -the time set apart for hearing them—forthwith they abuse him, and run -him down, and gnaw at his bones, and even pick holes in his pedigree. -You silly, stupid applicant, don’t be in a hurry; wait for the proper -time and season for doing business; don’t come at dinner-hour, or at -bed-time; for judges are only flesh and blood, and must give to Nature -what she naturally demands of them; all except myself, for in my case I -give her nothing to eat, thanks to Señor Doctor Pedro Recio Tirteafuera -here, who would have me die of hunger, and declares that death to be -life; and the same sort of life may God give him and all his kind—I -mean the bad doctors; for the good ones deserve palms and laurels.” - -All who knew Sancho Panza were astonished to hear him speak so -elegantly, and did not know what to attribute it to unless it were that -office and grave responsibility either smarten or stupefy men’s wits. -At last Doctor Pedro Recio Agilers of Tirteafuera promised to let him -have supper that night though it might be in contravention of all the -aphorisms of Hippocrates. With this the governor was satisfied and -looked forward to the approach of night and supper-time with great -anxiety; and though time, to his mind, stood still and made no -progress, nevertheless the hour he so longed for came, and they gave -him a beef salad with onions and some boiled calves’ feet rather far -gone. At this he fell to with greater relish than if they had given him -francolins from Milan, pheasants from Rome, veal from Sorrento, -partridges from Moron, or geese from Lavajos, and turning to the doctor -at supper he said to him, “Look here, señor doctor, for the future -don’t trouble yourself about giving me dainty things or choice dishes -to eat, for it will be only taking my stomach off its hinges; it is -accustomed to goat, cow, bacon, hung beef, turnips and onions; and if -by any chance it is given these palace dishes, it receives them -squeamishly, and sometimes with loathing. What the head-carver had best -do is to serve me with what they call ollas podridas (and the rottener -they are the better they smell); and he can put whatever he likes into -them, so long as it is good to eat, and I’ll be obliged to him, and -will requite him some day. But let nobody play pranks on me, for either -we are or we are not; let us live and eat in peace and good-fellowship, -for when God sends the dawn, he sends it for all. I mean to govern this -island without giving up a right or taking a bribe; let everyone keep -his eye open, and look out for the arrow; for I can tell them ‘the -devil’s in Cantillana,’ and if they drive me to it they’ll see -something that will astonish them. Nay! make yourself honey and the -flies eat you.” - -“Of a truth, señor governor,” said the carver, “your worship is in the -right of it in everything you have said; and I promise you in the name -of all the inhabitants of this island that they will serve your worship -with all zeal, affection, and good-will, for the mild kind of -government you have given a sample of to begin with, leaves them no -ground for doing or thinking anything to your worship’s disadvantage.” - -“That I believe,” said Sancho; “and they would be great fools if they -did or thought otherwise; once more I say, see to my feeding and my -Dapple’s for that is the great point and what is most to the purpose; -and when the hour comes let us go the rounds, for it is my intention to -purge this island of all manner of uncleanness and of all idle -good-for-nothing vagabonds; for I would have you know that lazy idlers -are the same thing in a State as the drones in a hive, that eat up the -honey the industrious bees make. I mean to protect the husbandman, to -preserve to the gentleman his privileges, to reward the virtuous, and -above all to respect religion and honour its ministers. What say you to -that, my friends? Is there anything in what I say, or am I talking to -no purpose?” - -“There is so much in what your worship says, señor governor,” said the -majordomo, “that I am filled with wonder when I see a man like your -worship, entirely without learning (for I believe you have none at -all), say such things, and so full of sound maxims and sage remarks, -very different from what was expected of your worship’s intelligence by -those who sent us or by us who came here. Every day we see something -new in this world; jokes become realities, and the jokers find the -tables turned upon them.” - -Night came, and with the permission of Doctor Pedro Recio, the governor -had supper. They then got ready to go the rounds, and he started with -the majordomo, the secretary, the head-carver, the chronicler charged -with recording his deeds, and alguacils and notaries enough to form a -fair-sized squadron. In the midst marched Sancho with his staff, as -fine a sight as one could wish to see, and but a few streets of the -town had been traversed when they heard a noise as of a clashing of -swords. They hastened to the spot, and found that the combatants were -but two, who seeing the authorities approaching stood still, and one of -them exclaimed, “Help, in the name of God and the king! Are men to be -allowed to rob in the middle of this town, and rush out and attack -people in the very streets?” - -“Be calm, my good man,” said Sancho, “and tell me what the cause of -this quarrel is; for I am the governor.” - -Said the other combatant, “Señor governor, I will tell you in a very -few words. Your worship must know that this gentleman has just now won -more than a thousand reals in that gambling house opposite, and God -knows how. I was there, and gave more than one doubtful point in his -favour, very much against what my conscience told me. He made off with -his winnings, and when I made sure he was going to give me a crown or -so at least by way of a present, as it is usual and customary to give -men of quality of my sort who stand by to see fair or foul play, and -back up swindles, and prevent quarrels, he pocketed his money and left -the house. Indignant at this I followed him, and speaking to him fairly -and civilly asked him to give me if it were only eight reals, for he -knows I am an honest man and that I have neither profession nor -property, for my parents never brought me up to any or left me any; but -the rogue, who is a greater thief than Cacus and a greater sharper than -Andradilla, would not give me more than four reals; so your worship may -see how little shame and conscience he has. But by my faith if you had -not come up I’d have made him disgorge his winnings, and he’d have -learned what the range of the steel-yard was.” - -“What say you to this?” asked Sancho. The other replied that all his -antagonist said was true, and that he did not choose to give him more -than four reals because he very often gave him money; and that those -who expected presents ought to be civil and take what is given them -with a cheerful countenance, and not make any claim against winners -unless they know them for certain to be sharpers and their winnings to -be unfairly won; and that there could be no better proof that he -himself was an honest man than his having refused to give anything; for -sharpers always pay tribute to lookers-on who know them. - -“That is true,” said the majordomo; “let your worship consider what is -to be done with these men.” - -“What is to be done,” said Sancho, “is this; you, the winner, be you -good, bad, or indifferent, give this assailant of yours a hundred reals -at once, and you must disburse thirty more for the poor prisoners; and -you who have neither profession nor property, and hang about the island -in idleness, take these hundred reals now, and some time of the day -to-morrow quit the island under sentence of banishment for ten years, -and under pain of completing it in another life if you violate the -sentence, for I’ll hang you on a gibbet, or at least the hangman will -by my orders; not a word from either of you, or I’ll make him feel my -hand.” - -The one paid down the money and the other took it, and the latter -quitted the island, while the other went home; and then the governor -said, “Either I am not good for much, or I’ll get rid of these gambling -houses, for it strikes me they are very mischievous.” - -“This one at least,” said one of the notaries, “your worship will not -be able to get rid of, for a great man owns it, and what he loses every -year is beyond all comparison more than what he makes by the cards. On -the minor gambling houses your worship may exercise your power, and it -is they that do most harm and shelter the most barefaced practices; for -in the houses of lords and gentlemen of quality the notorious sharpers -dare not attempt to play their tricks; and as the vice of gambling has -become common, it is better that men should play in houses of repute -than in some tradesman’s, where they catch an unlucky fellow in the -small hours of the morning and skin him alive.” - -“I know already, notary, that there is a good deal to be said on that -point,” said Sancho. - -And now a tipstaff came up with a young man in his grasp, and said, -“Señor governor, this youth was coming towards us, and as soon as he -saw the officers of justice he turned about and ran like a deer, a sure -proof that he must be some evil-doer; I ran after him, and had it not -been that he stumbled and fell, I should never have caught him.” - -“What did you run for, fellow?” said Sancho. - -To which the young man replied, “Señor, it was to avoid answering all -the questions officers of justice put.” - -“What are you by trade?” - -“A weaver.” - -“And what do you weave?” - -“Lance heads, with your worship’s good leave.” - -“You’re facetious with me! You plume yourself on being a wag? Very -good; and where were you going just now?” - -“To take the air, señor.” - -“And where does one take the air in this island?” - -“Where it blows.” - -“Good! your answers are very much to the point; you are a smart youth; -but take notice that I am the air, and that I blow upon you a-stern, -and send you to gaol. Ho there! lay hold of him and take him off; I’ll -make him sleep there to-night without air.” - -“By God,” said the young man, “your worship will make me sleep in gaol -just as soon as make me king.” - -“Why shan’t I make thee sleep in gaol?” said Sancho. “Have I not the -power to arrest thee and release thee whenever I like?” - -“All the power your worship has,” said the young man, “won’t be able to -make me sleep in gaol.” - -“How? not able!” said Sancho; “take him away at once where he’ll see -his mistake with his own eyes, even if the gaoler is willing to exert -his interested generosity on his behalf; for I’ll lay a penalty of two -thousand ducats on him if he allows him to stir a step from the -prison.” - -“That’s ridiculous,” said the young man; “the fact is, all the men on -earth will not make me sleep in prison.” - -“Tell me, you devil,” said Sancho, “have you got any angel that will -deliver you, and take off the irons I am going to order them to put -upon you?” - -“Now, señor governor,” said the young man in a sprightly manner, “let -us be reasonable and come to the point. Granted your worship may order -me to be taken to prison, and to have irons and chains put on me, and -to be shut up in a cell, and may lay heavy penalties on the gaoler if -he lets me out, and that he obeys your orders; still, if I don’t choose -to sleep, and choose to remain awake all night without closing an eye, -will your worship with all your power be able to make me sleep if I -don’t choose?” - -“No, truly,” said the secretary, “and the fellow has made his point.” - -“So then,” said Sancho, “it would be entirely of your own choice you -would keep from sleeping; not in opposition to my will?” - -“No, señor,” said the youth, “certainly not.” - -“Well then, go, and God be with you,” said Sancho; “be off home to -sleep, and God give you sound sleep, for I don’t want to rob you of it; -but for the future, let me advise you don’t joke with the authorities, -because you may come across someone who will bring down the joke on -your own skull.” - -The young man went his way, and the governor continued his round, and -shortly afterwards two tipstaffs came up with a man in custody, and -said, “Señor governor, this person, who seems to be a man, is not so, -but a woman, and not an ill-favoured one, in man’s clothes.” They -raised two or three lanterns to her face, and by their light they -distinguished the features of a woman to all appearance of the age of -sixteen or a little more, with her hair gathered into a gold and green -silk net, and fair as a thousand pearls. They scanned her from head to -foot, and observed that she had on red silk stockings with garters of -white taffety bordered with gold and pearl; her breeches were of green -and gold stuff, and under an open jacket or jerkin of the same she wore -a doublet of the finest white and gold cloth; her shoes were white and -such as men wear; she carried no sword at her belt, but only a richly -ornamented dagger, and on her fingers she had several handsome rings. -In short, the girl seemed fair to look at in the eyes of all, and none -of those who beheld her knew her, the people of the town said they -could not imagine who she was, and those who were in on the secret of -the jokes that were to be practised upon Sancho were the ones who were -most surprised, for this incident or discovery had not been arranged by -them; and they watched anxiously to see how the affair would end. - -Sancho was fascinated by the girl’s beauty, and he asked her who she -was, where she was going, and what had induced her to dress herself in -that garb. She with her eyes fixed on the ground answered in modest -confusion, “I cannot tell you, señor, before so many people what it is -of such consequence to me to have kept secret; one thing I wish to be -known, that I am no thief or evildoer, but only an unhappy maiden whom -the power of jealousy has led to break through the respect that is due -to modesty.” - -Hearing this the majordomo said to Sancho, “Make the people stand back, -señor governor, that this lady may say what she wishes with less -embarrassment.” - -Sancho gave the order, and all except the majordomo, the head-carver, -and the secretary fell back. Finding herself then in the presence of no -more, the damsel went on to say, “I am the daughter, sirs, of Pedro -Perez Mazorca, the wool-farmer of this town, who is in the habit of -coming very often to my father’s house.” - -“That won’t do, señora,” said the majordomo; “for I know Pedro Perez -very well, and I know he has no child at all, either son or daughter; -and besides, though you say he is your father, you add then that he -comes very often to your father’s house.” - -“I had already noticed that,” said Sancho. - -“I am confused just now, sirs,” said the damsel, “and I don’t know what -I am saying; but the truth is that I am the daughter of Diego de la -Llana, whom you must all know.” - -“Ay, that will do,” said the majordomo; “for I know Diego de la Llana, -and know that he is a gentleman of position and a rich man, and that he -has a son and a daughter, and that since he was left a widower nobody -in all this town can speak of having seen his daughter’s face; for he -keeps her so closely shut up that he does not give even the sun a -chance of seeing her; and for all that report says she is extremely -beautiful.” - -“It is true,” said the damsel, “and I am that daughter; whether report -lies or not as to my beauty, you, sirs, will have decided by this time, -as you have seen me;” and with this she began to weep bitterly. - -On seeing this the secretary leant over to the head-carver’s ear, and -said to him in a low voice, “Something serious has no doubt happened -this poor maiden, that she goes wandering from home in such a dress and -at such an hour, and one of her rank too.” “There can be no doubt about -it,” returned the carver, “and moreover her tears confirm your -suspicion.” Sancho gave her the best comfort he could, and entreated -her to tell them without any fear what had happened her, as they would -all earnestly and by every means in their power endeavour to relieve -her. - -“The fact is, sirs,” said she, “that my father has kept me shut up -these ten years, for so long is it since the earth received my mother. -Mass is said at home in a sumptuous chapel, and all this time I have -seen but the sun in the heaven by day, and the moon and the stars by -night; nor do I know what streets are like, or plazas, or churches, or -even men, except my father and a brother I have, and Pedro Perez the -wool-farmer; whom, because he came frequently to our house, I took it -into my head to call my father, to avoid naming my own. This seclusion -and the restrictions laid upon my going out, were it only to church, -have been keeping me unhappy for many a day and month past; I longed to -see the world, or at least the town where I was born, and it did not -seem to me that this wish was inconsistent with the respect maidens of -good quality should have for themselves. When I heard them talking of -bull-fights taking place, and of javelin games, and of acting plays, I -asked my brother, who is a year younger than myself, to tell me what -sort of things these were, and many more that I had never seen; he -explained them to me as well as he could, but the only effect was to -kindle in me a still stronger desire to see them. At last, to cut short -the story of my ruin, I begged and entreated my brother—O that I had -never made such an entreaty—” And once more she gave way to a burst of -weeping. - -“Proceed, señora,” said the majordomo, “and finish your story of what -has happened to you, for your words and tears are keeping us all in -suspense.” - -“I have but little more to say, though many a tear to shed,” said the -damsel; “for ill-placed desires can only be paid for in some such way.” - -The maiden’s beauty had made a deep impression on the head-carver’s -heart, and he again raised his lantern for another look at her, and -thought they were not tears she was shedding, but seed-pearl or dew of -the meadow, nay, he exalted them still higher, and made Oriental pearls -of them, and fervently hoped her misfortune might not be so great a one -as her tears and sobs seemed to indicate. The governor was losing -patience at the length of time the girl was taking to tell her story, -and told her not to keep them waiting any longer; for it was late, and -there still remained a good deal of the town to be gone over. - -She, with broken sobs and half-suppressed sighs, went on to say, “My -misfortune, my misadventure, is simply this, that I entreated my -brother to dress me up as a man in a suit of his clothes, and take me -some night, when our father was asleep, to see the whole town; he, -overcome by my entreaties, consented, and dressing me in this suit and -himself in clothes of mine that fitted him as if made for him (for he -has not a hair on his chin, and might pass for a very beautiful young -girl), to-night, about an hour ago, more or less, we left the house, -and guided by our youthful and foolish impulse we made the circuit of -the whole town, and then, as we were about to return home, we saw a -great troop of people coming, and my brother said to me, ‘Sister, this -must be the round, stir your feet and put wings to them, and follow me -as fast as you can, lest they recognise us, for that would be a bad -business for us;’ and so saying he turned about and began, I cannot say -to run but to fly; in less than six paces I fell from fright, and then -the officer of justice came up and carried me before your worships, -where I find myself put to shame before all these people as whimsical -and vicious.” - -“So then, señora,” said Sancho, “no other mishap has befallen you, nor -was it jealousy that made you leave home, as you said at the beginning -of your story?” - -“Nothing has happened me,” said she, “nor was it jealousy that brought -me out, but merely a longing to see the world, which did not go beyond -seeing the streets of this town.” - -The appearance of the tipstaffs with her brother in custody, whom one -of them had overtaken as he ran away from his sister, now fully -confirmed the truth of what the damsel said. He had nothing on but a -rich petticoat and a short blue damask cloak with fine gold lace, and -his head was uncovered and adorned only with its own hair, which looked -like rings of gold, so bright and curly was it. The governor, the -majordomo, and the carver went aside with him, and, unheard by his -sister, asked him how he came to be in that dress, and he with no less -shame and embarrassment told exactly the same story as his sister, to -the great delight of the enamoured carver; the governor, however, said -to them, “In truth, young lady and gentleman, this has been a very -childish affair, and to explain your folly and rashness there was no -necessity for all this delay and all these tears and sighs; for if you -had said we are so-and-so, and we escaped from our father’s house in -this way in order to ramble about, out of mere curiosity and with no -other object, there would have been an end of the matter, and none of -these little sobs and tears and all the rest of it.” - -“That is true,” said the damsel, “but you see the confusion I was in -was so great it did not let me behave as I ought.” - -“No harm has been done,” said Sancho; “come, we will leave you at your -father’s house; perhaps they will not have missed you; and another time -don’t be so childish or eager to see the world; for a respectable -damsel should have a broken leg and keep at home; and the woman and the -hen by gadding about are soon lost; and she who is eager to see is also -eager to be seen; I say no more.” - -The youth thanked the governor for his kind offer to take them home, -and they directed their steps towards the house, which was not far off. -On reaching it the youth threw a pebble up at a grating, and -immediately a woman-servant who was waiting for them came down and -opened the door to them, and they went in, leaving the party marvelling -as much at their grace and beauty as at the fancy they had for seeing -the world by night and without quitting the village; which, however, -they set down to their youth. - -The head-carver was left with a heart pierced through and through, and -he made up his mind on the spot to demand the damsel in marriage of her -father on the morrow, making sure she would not be refused him as he -was a servant of the duke’s; and even to Sancho ideas and schemes of -marrying the youth to his daughter Sanchica suggested themselves, and -he resolved to open the negotiation at the proper season, persuading -himself that no husband could be refused to a governor’s daughter. And -so the night’s round came to an end, and a couple of days later the -government, whereby all his plans were overthrown and swept away, as -will be seen farther on. - -CHAPTER L. -WHEREIN IS SET FORTH WHO THE ENCHANTERS AND EXECUTIONERS WERE WHO -FLOGGED THE DUENNA AND PINCHED DON QUIXOTE, AND ALSO WHAT BEFELL THE -PAGE WHO CARRIED THE LETTER TO TERESA PANZA, SANCHO PANZA’S WIFE - -Cide Hamete, the painstaking investigator of the minute points of this -veracious history, says that when Doña Rodriguez left her own room to -go to Don Quixote’s, another duenna who slept with her observed her, -and as all duennas are fond of prying, listening, and sniffing, she -followed her so silently that the good Rodriguez never perceived it; -and as soon as the duenna saw her enter Don Quixote’s room, not to fail -in a duenna’s invariable practice of tattling, she hurried off that -instant to report to the duchess how Doña Rodriguez was closeted with -Don Quixote. The duchess told the duke, and asked him to let her and -Altisidora go and see what the said duenna wanted with Don Quixote. The -duke gave them leave, and the pair cautiously and quietly crept to the -door of the room and posted themselves so close to it that they could -hear all that was said inside. But when the duchess heard how the -Rodriguez had made public the Aranjuez of her issues she could not -restrain herself, nor Altisidora either; and so, filled with rage and -thirsting for vengeance, they burst into the room and tormented Don -Quixote and flogged the duenna in the manner already described; for -indignities offered to their charms and self-esteem mightily provoke -the anger of women and make them eager for revenge. The duchess told -the duke what had happened, and he was much amused by it; and she, in -pursuance of her design of making merry and diverting herself with Don -Quixote, despatched the page who had played the part of Dulcinea in the -negotiations for her disenchantment (which Sancho Panza in the cares of -government had forgotten all about) to Teresa Panza his wife with her -husband’s letter and another from herself, and also a great string of -fine coral beads as a present. - -Now the history says this page was very sharp and quick-witted; and -eager to serve his lord and lady he set off very willingly for Sancho’s -village. Before he entered it he observed a number of women washing in -a brook, and asked them if they could tell him whether there lived -there a woman of the name of Teresa Panza, wife of one Sancho Panza, -squire to a knight called Don Quixote of La Mancha. At the question a -young girl who was washing stood up and said, “Teresa Panza is my -mother, and that Sancho is my father, and that knight is our master.” - -“Well then, miss,” said the page, “come and show me where your mother -is, for I bring her a letter and a present from your father.” - -“That I will with all my heart, señor,” said the girl, who seemed to be -about fourteen, more or less; and leaving the clothes she was washing -to one of her companions, and without putting anything on her head or -feet, for she was bare-legged and had her hair hanging about her, away -she skipped in front of the page’s horse, saying, “Come, your worship, -our house is at the entrance of the town, and my mother is there, -sorrowful enough at not having had any news of my father this ever so -long.” - -“Well,” said the page, “I am bringing her such good news that she will -have reason to thank God.” - -And then, skipping, running, and capering, the girl reached the town, -but before going into the house she called out at the door, “Come out, -mother Teresa, come out, come out; here’s a gentleman with letters and -other things from my good father.” At these words her mother Teresa -Panza came out spinning a bundle of flax, in a grey petticoat (so short -was it one would have fancied “they to her shame had cut it short”), a -grey bodice of the same stuff, and a smock. She was not very old, -though plainly past forty, strong, healthy, vigorous, and sun-dried; -and seeing her daughter and the page on horseback, she exclaimed, -“What’s this, child? What gentleman is this?” - -“A servant of my lady, Doña Teresa Panza,” replied the page; and -suiting the action to the word he flung himself off his horse, and with -great humility advanced to kneel before the lady Teresa, saying, “Let -me kiss your hand, Señora Doña Teresa, as the lawful and only wife of -Señor Don Sancho Panza, rightful governor of the island of Barataria.” - -“Ah, señor, get up, do that,” said Teresa; “for I’m not a bit of a -court lady, but only a poor country woman, the daughter of a -clodcrusher, and the wife of a squire-errant and not of any governor at -all.” - -“You are,” said the page, “the most worthy wife of a most arch-worthy -governor; and as a proof of what I say accept this letter and this -present;” and at the same time he took out of his pocket a string of -coral beads with gold clasps, and placed it on her neck, and said, -“This letter is from his lordship the governor, and the other as well -as these coral beads from my lady the duchess, who sends me to your -worship.” - -Teresa stood lost in astonishment, and her daughter just as much, and -the girl said, “May I die but our master Don Quixote’s at the bottom of -this; he must have given father the government or county he so often -promised him.” - -“That is the truth,” said the page; “for it is through Señor Don -Quixote that Señor Sancho is now governor of the island of Barataria, -as will be seen by this letter.” - -“Will your worship read it to me, noble sir?” said Teresa; “for though -I can spin I can’t read, not a scrap.” - -“Nor I either,” said Sanchica; “but wait a bit, and I’ll go and fetch -someone who can read it, either the curate himself or the bachelor -Samson Carrasco, and they’ll come gladly to hear any news of my -father.” - -“There is no need to fetch anybody,” said the page; “for though I can’t -spin I can read, and I’ll read it;” and so he read it through, but as -it has been already given it is not inserted here; and then he took out -the other one from the duchess, which ran as follows: - -Friend Teresa,—Your husband Sancho’s good qualities, of heart as well -as of head, induced and compelled me to request my husband the duke to -give him the government of one of his many islands. I am told he -governs like a gerfalcon, of which I am very glad, and my lord the -duke, of course, also; and I am very thankful to heaven that I have not -made a mistake in choosing him for that same government; for I would -have Señora Teresa know that a good governor is hard to find in this -world and may God make me as good as Sancho’s way of governing. -Herewith I send you, my dear, a string of coral beads with gold clasps; -I wish they were Oriental pearls; but “he who gives thee a bone does -not wish to see thee dead;” a time will come when we shall become -acquainted and meet one another, but God knows the future. Commend me -to your daughter Sanchica, and tell her from me to hold herself in -readiness, for I mean to make a high match for her when she least -expects it. They tell me there are big acorns in your village; send me -a couple of dozen or so, and I shall value them greatly as coming from -your hand; and write to me at length to assure me of your health and -well-being; and if there be anything you stand in need of, it is but to -open your mouth, and that shall be the measure; and so God keep you. - -From this place. -Your loving friend, -THE DUCHESS. - -“Ah, what a good, plain, lowly lady!” said Teresa when she heard the -letter; “that I may be buried with ladies of that sort, and not the -gentlewomen we have in this town, that fancy because they are -gentlewomen the wind must not touch them, and go to church with as much -airs as if they were queens, no less, and seem to think they are -disgraced if they look at a farmer’s wife! And see here how this good -lady, for all she’s a duchess, calls me ‘friend,’ and treats me as if I -was her equal—and equal may I see her with the tallest church-tower in -La Mancha! And as for the acorns, señor, I’ll send her ladyship a peck -and such big ones that one might come to see them as a show and a -wonder. And now, Sanchica, see that the gentleman is comfortable; put -up his horse, and get some eggs out of the stable, and cut plenty of -bacon, and let’s give him his dinner like a prince; for the good news -he has brought, and his own bonny face deserve it all; and meanwhile -I’ll run out and give the neighbours the news of our good luck, and -father curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, who are and always have -been such friends of thy father’s.” - -“That I will, mother,” said Sanchica; “but mind, you must give me half -of that string; for I don’t think my lady the duchess could have been -so stupid as to send it all to you.” - -“It is all for thee, my child,” said Teresa; “but let me wear it round -my neck for a few days; for verily it seems to make my heart glad.” - -“You will be glad too,” said the page, “when you see the bundle there -is in this portmanteau, for it is a suit of the finest cloth, that the -governor only wore one day out hunting and now sends, all for Señora -Sanchica.” - -“May he live a thousand years,” said Sanchica, “and the bearer as many, -nay two thousand, if needful.” - -With this Teresa hurried out of the house with the letters, and with -the string of beads round her neck, and went along thrumming the -letters as if they were a tambourine, and by chance coming across the -curate and Samson Carrasco she began capering and saying, “None of us -poor now, faith! We’ve got a little government! Ay, let the finest fine -lady tackle me, and I’ll give her a setting down!” - -“What’s all this, Teresa Panza,” said they; “what madness is this, and -what papers are those?” - -“The madness is only this,” said she, “that these are the letters of -duchesses and governors, and these I have on my neck are fine coral -beads, with ave-marias and paternosters of beaten gold, and I am a -governess.” - -“God help us,” said the curate, “we don’t understand you, Teresa, or -know what you are talking about.” - -“There, you may see it yourselves,” said Teresa, and she handed them -the letters. - -The curate read them out for Samson Carrasco to hear, and Samson and he -regarded one another with looks of astonishment at what they had read, -and the bachelor asked who had brought the letters. Teresa in reply -bade them come with her to her house and they would see the messenger, -a most elegant youth, who had brought another present which was worth -as much more. The curate took the coral beads from her neck and -examined them again and again, and having satisfied himself as to their -fineness he fell to wondering afresh, and said, “By the gown I wear I -don’t know what to say or think of these letters and presents; on the -one hand I can see and feel the fineness of these coral beads, and on -the other I read how a duchess sends to beg for a couple of dozen of -acorns.” - -“Square that if you can,” said Carrasco; “well, let’s go and see the -messenger, and from him we’ll learn something about this mystery that -has turned up.” - -They did so, and Teresa returned with them. They found the page sifting -a little barley for his horse, and Sanchica cutting a rasher of bacon -to be paved with eggs for his dinner. His looks and his handsome -apparel pleased them both greatly; and after they had saluted him -courteously, and he them, Samson begged him to give them his news, as -well of Don Quixote as of Sancho Panza, for, he said, though they had -read the letters from Sancho and her ladyship the duchess, they were -still puzzled and could not make out what was meant by Sancho’s -government, and above all of an island, when all or most of those in -the Mediterranean belonged to his Majesty. - -To this the page replied, “As to Señor Sancho Panza’s being a governor -there is no doubt whatever; but whether it is an island or not that he -governs, with that I have nothing to do; suffice it that it is a town -of more than a thousand inhabitants; with regard to the acorns I may -tell you my lady the duchess is so unpretending and unassuming that, -not to speak of sending to beg for acorns from a peasant woman, she has -been known to send to ask for the loan of a comb from one of her -neighbours; for I would have your worships know that the ladies of -Aragon, though they are just as illustrious, are not so punctilious and -haughty as the Castilian ladies; they treat people with greater -familiarity.” - -In the middle of this conversation Sanchica came in with her skirt full -of eggs, and said she to the page, “Tell me, señor, does my father wear -trunk-hose since he has been governor?” - -“I have not noticed,” said the page; “but no doubt he wears them.” - -“Ah! my God!” said Sanchica, “what a sight it must be to see my father -in tights! Isn’t it odd that ever since I was born I have had a longing -to see my father in trunk-hose?” - -“As things go you will see that if you live,” said the page; “by God he -is in the way to take the road with a sunshade if the government only -lasts him two months more.” - -The curate and the bachelor could see plainly enough that the page -spoke in a waggish vein; but the fineness of the coral beads, and the -hunting suit that Sancho sent (for Teresa had already shown it to them) -did away with the impression; and they could not help laughing at -Sanchica’s wish, and still more when Teresa said, “Señor curate, look -about if there’s anybody here going to Madrid or Toledo, to buy me a -hooped petticoat, a proper fashionable one of the best quality; for -indeed and indeed I must do honour to my husband’s government as well -as I can; nay, if I am put to it and have to, I’ll go to Court and set -a coach like all the world; for she who has a governor for her husband -may very well have one and keep one.” - -“And why not, mother!” said Sanchica; “would to God it were to-day -instead of to-morrow, even though they were to say when they saw me -seated in the coach with my mother, ‘See that rubbish, that -garlic-stuffed fellow’s daughter, how she goes stretched at her ease in -a coach as if she was a she-pope!’ But let them tramp through the mud, -and let me go in my coach with my feet off the ground. Bad luck to -backbiters all over the world; ‘let me go warm and the people may -laugh.’ Do I say right, mother?” - -“To be sure you do, my child,” said Teresa; “and all this good luck, -and even more, my good Sancho foretold me; and thou wilt see, my -daughter, he won’t stop till he has made me a countess; for to make a -beginning is everything in luck; and as I have heard thy good father -say many a time (for besides being thy father he’s the father of -proverbs too), ‘When they offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; when -they offer thee a government, take it; when they would give thee a -county, seize it; when they say, “Here, here!” to thee with something -good, swallow it.’ Oh no! go to sleep, and don’t answer the strokes of -good fortune and the lucky chances that are knocking at the door of -your house!” - -“And what do I care,” added Sanchica, “whether anybody says when he -sees me holding my head up, ‘The dog saw himself in hempen breeches,’ -and the rest of it?” - -Hearing this the curate said, “I do believe that all this family of the -Panzas are born with a sackful of proverbs in their insides, every one -of them; I never saw one of them that does not pour them out at all -times and on all occasions.” - -“That is true,” said the page, “for Señor Governor Sancho utters them -at every turn; and though a great many of them are not to the purpose, -still they amuse one, and my lady the duchess and the duke praise them -highly.” - -“Then you still maintain that all this about Sancho’s government is -true, señor,” said the bachelor, “and that there actually is a duchess -who sends him presents and writes to him? Because we, although we have -handled the present and read the letters, don’t believe it and suspect -it to be something in the line of our fellow-townsman Don Quixote, who -fancies that everything is done by enchantment; and for this reason I -am almost ready to say that I’d like to touch and feel your worship to -see whether you are a mere ambassador of the imagination or a man of -flesh and blood.” - -“All I know, sirs,” replied the page, “is that I am a real ambassador, -and that Señor Sancho Panza is governor as a matter of fact, and that -my lord and lady the duke and duchess can give, and have given him this -same government, and that I have heard it said Sancho Panza bears -himself very stoutly therein; whether there be any enchantment in all -this or not, it is for your worships to settle between you; for that’s -all I know by the oath I swear, and that is by the life of my parents -whom I have still alive, and love dearly.” - -“It may be so,” said the bachelor; “but _dubitat Augustinus_.” - -“Doubt who will,” said the page; “what I have told you is the truth, -and that will always rise above falsehood as oil above water; if not -_operibus credite, et non verbis_. Let one of you come with me, and he -will see with his eyes what he does not believe with his ears.” - -“It’s for me to make that trip,” said Sanchica; “take me with you, -señor, behind you on your horse; for I’ll go with all my heart to see -my father.” - -“Governors’ daughters,” said the page, “must not travel along the roads -alone, but accompanied by coaches and litters and a great number of -attendants.” - -“By God,” said Sanchica, “I can go just as well mounted on a she-ass as -in a coach; what a dainty lass you must take me for!” - -“Hush, girl,” said Teresa; “you don’t know what you’re talking about; -the gentleman is quite right, for ‘as the time so the behaviour;’ when -it was Sancho it was ‘Sancha;’ when it is governor it’s ‘señora;’ I -don’t know if I’m right.” - -“Señora Teresa says more than she is aware of,” said the page; “and now -give me something to eat and let me go at once, for I mean to return -this evening.” - -“Come and do penance with me,” said the curate at this; “for Señora -Teresa has more will than means to serve so worthy a guest.” - -The page refused, but had to consent at last for his own sake; and the -curate took him home with him very gladly, in order to have an -opportunity of questioning him at leisure about Don Quixote and his -doings. The bachelor offered to write the letters in reply for Teresa; -but she did not care to let him mix himself up in her affairs, for she -thought him somewhat given to joking; and so she gave a cake and a -couple of eggs to a young acolyte who was a penman, and he wrote for -her two letters, one for her husband and the other for the duchess, -dictated out of her own head, which are not the worst inserted in this -great history, as will be seen farther on. - -CHAPTER LI. -OF THE PROGRESS OF SANCHO’S GOVERNMENT, AND OTHER SUCH ENTERTAINING -MATTERS - -Day came after the night of the governor’s round; a night which the -head-carver passed without sleeping, so were his thoughts of the face -and air and beauty of the disguised damsel, while the majordomo spent -what was left of it in writing an account to his lord and lady of all -Sancho said and did, being as much amazed at his sayings as at his -doings, for there was a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in all his -words and deeds. The señor governor got up, and by Doctor Pedro Recio’s -directions they made him break his fast on a little conserve and four -sups of cold water, which Sancho would have readily exchanged for a -piece of bread and a bunch of grapes; but seeing there was no help for -it, he submitted with no little sorrow of heart and discomfort of -stomach; Pedro Recio having persuaded him that light and delicate diet -enlivened the wits, and that was what was most essential for persons -placed in command and in responsible situations, where they have to -employ not only the bodily powers but those of the mind also. - -By means of this sophistry Sancho was made to endure hunger, and hunger -so keen that in his heart he cursed the government, and even him who -had given it to him; however, with his hunger and his conserve he -undertook to deliver judgments that day, and the first thing that came -before him was a question that was submitted to him by a stranger, in -the presence of the majordomo and the other attendants, and it was in -these words: “Señor, a large river separated two districts of one and -the same lordship—will your worship please to pay attention, for the -case is an important and a rather knotty one? Well then, on this river -there was a bridge, and at one end of it a gallows, and a sort of -tribunal, where four judges commonly sat to administer the law which -the lord of river, bridge and the lordship had enacted, and which was -to this effect, ‘If anyone crosses by this bridge from one side to the -other he shall declare on oath where he is going to and with what -object; and if he swears truly, he shall be allowed to pass, but if -falsely, he shall be put to death for it by hanging on the gallows -erected there, without any remission.’ Though the law and its severe -penalty were known, many persons crossed, but in their declarations it -was easy to see at once they were telling the truth, and the judges let -them pass free. It happened, however, that one man, when they came to -take his declaration, swore and said that by the oath he took he was -going to die upon that gallows that stood there, and nothing else. The -judges held a consultation over the oath, and they said, ‘If we let -this man pass free he has sworn falsely, and by the law he ought to -die; but if we hang him, as he swore he was going to die on that -gallows, and therefore swore the truth, by the same law he ought to go -free.’ It is asked of your worship, señor governor, what are the judges -to do with this man? For they are still in doubt and perplexity; and -having heard of your worship’s acute and exalted intellect, they have -sent me to entreat your worship on their behalf to give your opinion on -this very intricate and puzzling case.” - -To this Sancho made answer, “Indeed those gentlemen the judges that -send you to me might have spared themselves the trouble, for I have -more of the obtuse than the acute in me; but repeat the case over -again, so that I may understand it, and then perhaps I may be able to -hit the point.” - -The querist repeated again and again what he had said before, and then -Sancho said, “It seems to me I can set the matter right in a moment, -and in this way; the man swears that he is going to die upon the -gallows; but if he dies upon it, he has sworn the truth, and by the law -enacted deserves to go free and pass over the bridge; but if they don’t -hang him, then he has sworn falsely, and by the same law deserves to be -hanged.” - -“It is as the señor governor says,” said the messenger; “and as regards -a complete comprehension of the case, there is nothing left to desire -or hesitate about.” - -“Well then I say,” said Sancho, “that of this man they should let pass -the part that has sworn truly, and hang the part that has lied; and in -this way the conditions of the passage will be fully complied with.” - -“But then, señor governor,” replied the querist, “the man will have to -be divided into two parts; and if he is divided of course he will die; -and so none of the requirements of the law will be carried out, and it -is absolutely necessary to comply with it.” - -“Look here, my good sir,” said Sancho; “either I’m a numskull or else -there is the same reason for this passenger dying as for his living and -passing over the bridge; for if the truth saves him the falsehood -equally condemns him; and that being the case it is my opinion you -should say to the gentlemen who sent you to me that as the arguments -for condemning him and for absolving him are exactly balanced, they -should let him pass freely, as it is always more praiseworthy to do -good than to do evil; this I would give signed with my name if I knew -how to sign; and what I have said in this case is not out of my own -head, but one of the many precepts my master Don Quixote gave me the -night before I left to become governor of this island, that came into -my mind, and it was this, that when there was any doubt about the -justice of a case I should lean to mercy; and it is God’s will that I -should recollect it now, for it fits this case as if it was made for -it.” - -“That is true,” said the majordomo; “and I maintain that Lycurgus -himself, who gave laws to the Lacedemonians, could not have pronounced -a better decision than the great Panza has given; let the morning’s -audience close with this, and I will see that the señor governor has -dinner entirely to his liking.” - -“That’s all I ask for—fair play,” said Sancho; “give me my dinner, and -then let it rain cases and questions on me, and I’ll despatch them in a -twinkling.” - -The majordomo kept his word, for he felt it against his conscience to -kill so wise a governor by hunger; particularly as he intended to have -done with him that same night, playing off the last joke he was -commissioned to practise upon him. - -It came to pass, then, that after he had dined that day, in opposition -to the rules and aphorisms of Doctor Tirteafuera, as they were taking -away the cloth there came a courier with a letter from Don Quixote for -the governor. Sancho ordered the secretary to read it to himself, and -if there was nothing in it that demanded secrecy to read it aloud. The -secretary did so, and after he had skimmed the contents he said, “It -may well be read aloud, for what Señor Don Quixote writes to your -worship deserves to be printed or written in letters of gold, and it is -as follows.” - -DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA’S LETTER TO SANCHO PANZA, GOVERNOR OF THE -ISLAND OF BARATARIA. - -When I was expecting to hear of thy stupidities and blunders, friend -Sancho, I have received intelligence of thy displays of good sense, for -which I give special thanks to heaven that can raise the poor from the -dunghill and of fools to make wise men. They tell me thou dost govern -as if thou wert a man, and art a man as if thou wert a beast, so great -is the humility wherewith thou dost comport thyself. But I would have -thee bear in mind, Sancho, that very often it is fitting and necessary -for the authority of office to resist the humility of the heart; for -the seemly array of one who is invested with grave duties should be -such as they require and not measured by what his own humble tastes may -lead him to prefer. Dress well; a stick dressed up does not look like a -stick; I do not say thou shouldst wear trinkets or fine raiment, or -that being a judge thou shouldst dress like a soldier, but that thou -shouldst array thyself in the apparel thy office requires, and that at -the same time it be neat and handsome. To win the good-will of the -people thou governest there are two things, among others, that thou -must do; one is to be civil to all (this, however, I told thee before), -and the other to take care that food be abundant, for there is nothing -that vexes the heart of the poor more than hunger and high prices. Make -not many proclamations; but those thou makest take care that they be -good ones, and above all that they be observed and carried out; for -proclamations that are not observed are the same as if they did not -exist; nay, they encourage the idea that the prince who had the wisdom -and authority to make them had not the power to enforce them; and laws -that threaten and are not enforced come to be like the log, the king of -the frogs, that frightened them at first, but that in time they -despised and mounted upon. Be a father to virtue and a stepfather to -vice. Be not always strict, nor yet always lenient, but observe a mean -between these two extremes, for in that is the aim of wisdom. Visit the -gaols, the slaughter-houses, and the market-places; for the presence of -the governor is of great importance in such places; it comforts the -prisoners who are in hopes of a speedy release, it is the bugbear of -the butchers who have then to give just weight, and it is the terror of -the market-women for the same reason. Let it not be seen that thou art -(even if perchance thou art, which I do not believe) covetous, a -follower of women, or a glutton; for when the people and those that -have dealings with thee become aware of thy special weakness they will -bring their batteries to bear upon thee in that quarter, till they have -brought thee down to the depths of perdition. Consider and reconsider, -con and con over again the advices and the instructions I gave thee -before thy departure hence to thy government, and thou wilt see that in -them, if thou dost follow them, thou hast a help at hand that will -lighten for thee the troubles and difficulties that beset governors at -every step. Write to thy lord and lady and show thyself grateful to -them, for ingratitude is the daughter of pride, and one of the greatest -sins we know of; and he who is grateful to those who have been good to -him shows that he will be so to God also who has bestowed and still -bestows so many blessings upon him. - My lady the duchess sent off a messenger with thy suit and another - present to thy wife Teresa Panza; we expect the answer every - moment. I have been a little indisposed through a certain - scratching I came in for, not very much to the benefit of my nose; - but it was nothing; for if there are enchanters who maltreat me, - there are also some who defend me. Let me know if the majordomo who - is with thee had any share in the Trifaldi performance, as thou - didst suspect; and keep me informed of everything that happens - thee, as the distance is so short; all the more as I am thinking of - giving over very shortly this idle life I am now leading, for I was - not born for it. A thing has occurred to me which I am inclined to - think will put me out of favour with the duke and duchess; but - though I am sorry for it I do not care, for after all I must obey - my calling rather than their pleasure, in accordance with the - common saying, _amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas_. I quote - this Latin to thee because I conclude that since thou hast been a - governor thou wilt have learned it. Adieu; God keep thee from being - an object of pity to anyone. - -Thy friend, -DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA. - -Sancho listened to the letter with great attention, and it was praised -and considered wise by all who heard it; he then rose up from table, -and calling his secretary shut himself in with him in his own room, and -without putting it off any longer set about answering his master Don -Quixote at once; and he bade the secretary write down what he told him -without adding or suppressing anything, which he did, and the answer -was to the following effect. - -SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA. - -The pressure of business is so great upon me that I have no time to -scratch my head or even to cut my nails; and I have them so long—God -send a remedy for it. I say this, master of my soul, that you may not -be surprised if I have not until now sent you word of how I fare, well -or ill, in this government, in which I am suffering more hunger than -when we two were wandering through the woods and wastes. - My lord the duke wrote to me the other day to warn me that certain - spies had got into this island to kill me; but up to the present I - have not found out any except a certain doctor who receives a - salary in this town for killing all the governors that come here; - he is called Doctor Pedro Recio, and is from Tirteafuera; so you - see what a name he has to make me dread dying under his hands. This - doctor says of himself that he does not cure diseases when there - are any, but prevents them coming, and the medicines he uses are - diet and more diet until he brings one down to bare bones; as if - leanness was not worse than fever. - In short he is killing me with hunger, and I am dying myself of - vexation; for when I thought I was coming to this government to get - my meat hot and my drink cool, and take my ease between holland - sheets on feather beds, I find I have come to do penance as if I - was a hermit; and as I don’t do it willingly I suspect that in the - end the devil will carry me off. - So far I have not handled any dues or taken any bribes, and I don’t - know what to think of it; for here they tell me that the governors - that come to this island, before entering it have plenty of money - either given to them or lent to them by the people of the town, and - that this is the usual custom not only here but with all who enter - upon governments. - Last night going the rounds I came upon a fair damsel in man’s - clothes, and a brother of hers dressed as a woman; my head-carver - has fallen in love with the girl, and has in his own mind chosen - her for a wife, so he says, and I have chosen the youth for a - son-in-law; to-day we are going to explain our intentions to the - father of the pair, who is one Diego de la Llana, a gentleman and - an old Christian as much as you please. - I have visited the market-places, as your worship advises me, and - yesterday I found a stall-keeper selling new hazel nuts and proved - her to have mixed a bushel of old empty rotten nuts with a bushel - of new; I confiscated the whole for the children of the - charity-school, who will know how to distinguish them well enough, - and I sentenced her not to come into the market-place for a - fortnight; they told me I did bravely. I can tell your worship it - is commonly said in this town that there are no people worse than - the market-women, for they are all barefaced, unconscionable, and - impudent, and I can well believe it from what I have seen of them - in other towns. - I am very glad my lady the duchess has written to my wife Teresa - Panza and sent her the present your worship speaks of; and I will - strive to show myself grateful when the time comes; kiss her hands - for me, and tell her I say she has not thrown it into a sack with a - hole in it, as she will see in the end. I should not like your - worship to have any difference with my lord and lady; for if you - fall out with them it is plain it must do me harm; and as you give - me advice to be grateful it will not do for your worship not to be - so yourself to those who have shown you such kindness, and by whom - you have been treated so hospitably in their castle. - That about the scratching I don’t understand; but I suppose it must - be one of the ill-turns the wicked enchanters are always doing your - worship; when we meet I shall know all about it. I wish I could - send your worship something; but I don’t know what to send, unless - it be some very curious clyster pipes, to work with bladders, that - they make in this island; but if the office remains with me I’ll - find out something to send, one way or another. If my wife Teresa - Panza writes to me, pay the postage and send me the letter, for I - have a very great desire to hear how my house and wife and children - are going on. And so, may God deliver your worship from evil-minded - enchanters, and bring me well and peacefully out of this - government, which I doubt, for I expect to take leave of it and my - life together, from the way Doctor Pedro Recio treats me. - -Your worship’s servant -SANCHO PANZA THE GOVERNOR. - -The secretary sealed the letter, and immediately dismissed the courier; -and those who were carrying on the joke against Sancho putting their -heads together arranged how he was to be dismissed from the government. -Sancho spent the afternoon in drawing up certain ordinances relating to -the good government of what he fancied the island; and he ordained that -there were to be no provision hucksters in the State, and that men -might import wine into it from any place they pleased, provided they -declared the quarter it came from, so that a price might be put upon it -according to its quality, reputation, and the estimation it was held -in; and he that watered his wine, or changed the name, was to forfeit -his life for it. He reduced the prices of all manner of shoes, boots, -and stockings, but of shoes in particular, as they seemed to him to run -extravagantly high. He established a fixed rate for servants’ wages, -which were becoming recklessly exorbitant. He laid extremely heavy -penalties upon those who sang lewd or loose songs either by day or -night. He decreed that no blind man should sing of any miracle in -verse, unless he could produce authentic evidence that it was true, for -it was his opinion that most of those the blind men sing are trumped -up, to the detriment of the true ones. He established and created an -alguacil of the poor, not to harass them, but to examine them and see -whether they really were so; for many a sturdy thief or drunkard goes -about under cover of a make-believe crippled limb or a sham sore. In a -word, he made so many good rules that to this day they are preserved -there, and are called _The constitutions of the great governor Sancho -Panza_. - -CHAPTER LII. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND DISTRESSED OR AFFLICTED -DUENNA, OTHERWISE CALLED DOÑA RODRIGUEZ - -Cide Hamete relates that Don Quixote being now cured of his scratches -felt that the life he was leading in the castle was entirely -inconsistent with the order of chivalry he professed, so he determined -to ask the duke and duchess to permit him to take his departure for -Saragossa, as the time of the festival was now drawing near, and he -hoped to win there the suit of armour which is the prize at festivals -of the sort. But one day at table with the duke and duchess, just as he -was about to carry his resolution into effect and ask for their -permission, lo and behold suddenly there came in through the door of -the great hall two women, as they afterwards proved to be, draped in -mourning from head to foot, one of whom approaching Don Quixote flung -herself at full length at his feet, pressing her lips to them, and -uttering moans so sad, so deep, and so doleful that she put all who -heard and saw her into a state of perplexity; and though the duke and -duchess supposed it must be some joke their servants were playing off -upon Don Quixote, still the earnest way the woman sighed and moaned and -wept puzzled them and made them feel uncertain, until Don Quixote, -touched with compassion, raised her up and made her unveil herself and -remove the mantle from her tearful face. She complied and disclosed -what no one could have ever anticipated, for she disclosed the -countenance of Doña Rodriguez, the duenna of the house; the other -female in mourning being her daughter, who had been made a fool of by -the rich farmer’s son. All who knew her were filled with astonishment, -and the duke and duchess more than any; for though they thought her a -simpleton and a weak creature, they did not think her capable of crazy -pranks. Doña Rodriguez, at length, turning to her master and mistress -said to them, “Will your excellences be pleased to permit me to speak -to this gentleman for a moment, for it is requisite I should do so in -order to get successfully out of the business in which the boldness of -an evil-minded clown has involved me?” - -The duke said that for his part he gave her leave, and that she might -speak with Señor Don Quixote as much as she liked. - -She then, turning to Don Quixote and addressing herself to him said, -“Some days since, valiant knight, I gave you an account of the -injustice and treachery of a wicked farmer to my dearly beloved -daughter, the unhappy damsel here before you, and you promised me to -take her part and right the wrong that has been done her; but now it -has come to my hearing that you are about to depart from this castle in -quest of such fair adventures as God may vouchsafe to you; therefore, -before you take the road, I would that you challenge this froward -rustic, and compel him to marry my daughter in fulfillment of the -promise he gave her to become her husband before he seduced her; for to -expect that my lord the duke will do me justice is to ask pears from -the elm tree, for the reason I stated privately to your worship; and so -may our Lord grant you good health and forsake us not.” - -To these words Don Quixote replied very gravely and solemnly, “Worthy -duenna, check your tears, or rather dry them, and spare your sighs, for -I take it upon myself to obtain redress for your daughter, for whom it -would have been better not to have been so ready to believe lovers’ -promises, which are for the most part quickly made and very slowly -performed; and so, with my lord the duke’s leave, I will at once go in -quest of this inhuman youth, and will find him out and challenge him -and slay him, if so be he refuses to keep his promised word; for the -chief object of my profession is to spare the humble and chastise the -proud; I mean, to help the distressed and destroy the oppressors.” - -“There is no necessity,” said the duke, “for your worship to take the -trouble of seeking out the rustic of whom this worthy duenna complains, -nor is there any necessity, either, for asking my leave to challenge -him; for I admit him duly challenged, and will take care that he is -informed of the challenge, and accepts it, and comes to answer it in -person to this castle of mine, where I shall afford to both a fair -field, observing all the conditions which are usually and properly -observed in such trials, and observing too justice to both sides, as -all princes who offer a free field to combatants within the limits of -their lordships are bound to do.” - -“Then with that assurance and your highness’s good leave,” said Don -Quixote, “I hereby for this once waive my privilege of gentle blood, -and come down and put myself on a level with the lowly birth of the -wrong-doer, making myself equal with him and enabling him to enter into -combat with me; and so, I challenge and defy him, though absent, on the -plea of his malfeasance in breaking faith with this poor damsel, who -was a maiden and now by his misdeed is none; and say that he shall -fulfill the promise he gave her to become her lawful husband, or else -stake his life upon the question.” - -And then plucking off a glove he threw it down in the middle of the -hall, and the duke picked it up, saying, as he had said before, that he -accepted the challenge in the name of his vassal, and fixed six days -thence as the time, the courtyard of the castle as the place, and for -arms the customary ones of knights, lance and shield and full armour, -with all the other accessories, without trickery, guile, or charms of -any sort, and examined and passed by the judges of the field. “But -first of all,” he said, “it is requisite that this worthy duenna and -unworthy damsel should place their claim for justice in the hands of -Don Quixote; for otherwise nothing can be done, nor can the said -challenge be brought to a lawful issue.” - -“I do so place it,” replied the duenna. - -“And I too,” added her daughter, all in tears and covered with shame -and confusion. - -This declaration having been made, and the duke having settled in his -own mind what he would do in the matter, the ladies in black withdrew, -and the duchess gave orders that for the future they were not to be -treated as servants of hers, but as lady adventurers who came to her -house to demand justice; so they gave them a room to themselves and -waited on them as they would on strangers, to the consternation of the -other women-servants, who did not know where the folly and imprudence -of Doña Rodriguez and her unlucky daughter would stop. - -And now, to complete the enjoyment of the feast and bring the dinner to -a satisfactory end, lo and behold the page who had carried the letters -and presents to Teresa Panza, the wife of the governor Sancho, entered -the hall; and the duke and duchess were very well pleased to see him, -being anxious to know the result of his journey; but when they asked -him the page said in reply that he could not give it before so many -people or in a few words, and begged their excellences to be pleased to -let it wait for a private opportunity, and in the meantime amuse -themselves with these letters; and taking out the letters he placed -them in the duchess’s hand. One bore by way of address, _Letter for my -lady the Duchess So-and-so, of I don’t know where; and the other To my -husband Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria, whom God -prosper longer than me_. The duchess’s bread would not bake, as the -saying is, until she had read her letter; and having looked over it -herself and seen that it might be read aloud for the duke and all -present to hear, she read out as follows. - -TERESA PANZA’S LETTER TO THE DUCHESS. - -The letter your highness wrote me, my lady, gave me great pleasure, for -indeed I found it very welcome. The string of coral beads is very fine, -and my husband’s hunting suit does not fall short of it. All this -village is very much pleased that your ladyship has made a governor of -my good man Sancho; though nobody will believe it, particularly the -curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, and the bachelor Samson -Carrasco; but I don’t care for that, for so long as it is true, as it -is, they may all say what they like; though, to tell the truth, if the -coral beads and the suit had not come I would not have believed it -either; for in this village everybody thinks my husband a numskull, and -except for governing a flock of goats, they cannot fancy what sort of -government he can be fit for. God grant it, and direct him according as -he sees his children stand in need of it. I am resolved with your -worship’s leave, lady of my soul, to make the most of this fair day, -and go to Court to stretch myself at ease in a coach, and make all -those I have envying me already burst their eyes out; so I beg your -excellence to order my husband to send me a small trifle of money, and -to let it be something to speak of, because one’s expenses are heavy at -the Court; for a loaf costs a real, and meat thirty maravedis a pound, -which is beyond everything; and if he does not want me to go let him -tell me in time, for my feet are on the fidgets to be off; and my -friends and neighbours tell me that if my daughter and I make a figure -and a brave show at Court, my husband will come to be known far more by -me than I by him, for of course plenty of people will ask, “Who are -those ladies in that coach?” and some servant of mine will answer, “The -wife and daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the island of -Barataria;” and in this way Sancho will become known, and I’ll be -thought well of, and “to Rome for everything.” I am as vexed as vexed -can be that they have gathered no acorns this year in our village; for -all that I send your highness about half a peck that I went to the wood -to gather and pick out one by one myself, and I could find no bigger -ones; I wish they were as big as ostrich eggs. - Let not your high mightiness forget to write to me; and I will take - care to answer, and let you know how I am, and whatever news there - may be in this place, where I remain, praying our Lord to have your - highness in his keeping and not to forget me. - Sancha my daughter, and my son, kiss your worship’s hands. - She who would rather see your ladyship than write to you, - -Your servant, -TERESA PANZA. - -All were greatly amused by Teresa Panza’s letter, but particularly the -duke and duchess; and the duchess asked Don Quixote’s opinion whether -they might open the letter that had come for the governor, which she -suspected must be very good. Don Quixote said that to gratify them he -would open it, and did so, and found that it ran as follows. - -TERESA PANZA’S LETTER TO HER HUSBAND SANCHO PANZA. - -I got thy letter, Sancho of my soul, and I promise thee and swear as a -Catholic Christian that I was within two fingers’ breadth of going mad -I was so happy. I can tell thee, brother, when I came to hear that thou -wert a governor I thought I should have dropped dead with pure joy; and -thou knowest they say sudden joy kills as well as great sorrow; and as -for Sanchica thy daughter, she leaked from sheer happiness. I had -before me the suit thou didst send me, and the coral beads my lady the -duchess sent me round my neck, and the letters in my hands, and there -was the bearer of them standing by, and in spite of all this I verily -believed and thought that what I saw and handled was all a dream; for -who could have thought that a goatherd would come to be a governor of -islands? Thou knowest, my friend, what my mother used to say, that one -must live long to see much; I say it because I expect to see more if I -live longer; for I don’t expect to stop until I see thee a farmer of -taxes or a collector of revenue, which are offices where, though the -devil carries off those who make a bad use of them, still they make and -handle money. My lady the duchess will tell thee the desire I have to -go to the Court; consider the matter and let me know thy pleasure; I -will try to do honour to thee by going in a coach. - Neither the curate, nor the barber, nor the bachelor, nor even the - sacristan, can believe that thou art a governor, and they say the - whole thing is a delusion or an enchantment affair, like everything - belonging to thy master Don Quixote; and Samson says he must go in - search of thee and drive the government out of thy head and the - madness out of Don Quixote’s skull; I only laugh, and look at my - string of beads, and plan out the dress I am going to make for our - daughter out of thy suit. I sent some acorns to my lady the - duchess; I wish they had been gold. Send me some strings of pearls - if they are in fashion in that island. Here is the news of the - village; La Berrueca has married her daughter to a good-for-nothing - painter, who came here to paint anything that might turn up. The - council gave him an order to paint his Majesty’s arms over the door - of the town-hall; he asked two ducats, which they paid him in - advance; he worked for eight days, and at the end of them had - nothing painted, and then said he had no turn for painting such - trifling things; he returned the money, and for all that has - married on the pretence of being a good workman; to be sure he has - now laid aside his paint-brush and taken a spade in hand, and goes - to the field like a gentleman. Pedro Lobo’s son has received the - first orders and tonsure, with the intention of becoming a priest. - Minguilla, Mingo Silvato’s granddaughter, found it out, and has - gone to law with him on the score of having given her promise of - marriage. Evil tongues say she is with child by him, but he denies - it stoutly. There are no olives this year, and there is not a drop - of vinegar to be had in the whole village. A company of soldiers - passed through here; when they left they took away with them three - of the girls of the village; I will not tell thee who they are; - perhaps they will come back, and they will be sure to find those - who will take them for wives with all their blemishes, good or bad. - Sanchica is making bonelace; she earns eight maravedis a day clear, - which she puts into a moneybox as a help towards house furnishing; - but now that she is a governor’s daughter thou wilt give her a - portion without her working for it. The fountain in the plaza has - run dry. A flash of lightning struck the gibbet, and I wish they - all lit there. I look for an answer to this, and to know thy mind - about my going to the Court; and so, God keep thee longer than me, - or as long, for I would not leave thee in this world without me. - -Thy wife, -TERESA PANZA. - -The letters were applauded, laughed over, relished, and admired; and -then, as if to put the seal to the business, the courier arrived, -bringing the one Sancho sent to Don Quixote, and this, too, was read -out, and it raised some doubts as to the governor’s simplicity. The -duchess withdrew to hear from the page about his adventures in Sancho’s -village, which he narrated at full length without leaving a single -circumstance unmentioned. He gave her the acorns, and also a cheese -which Teresa had given him as being particularly good and superior to -those of Tronchon. The duchess received it with greatest delight, in -which we will leave her, to describe the end of the government of the -great Sancho Panza, flower and mirror of all governors of islands. - -CHAPTER LIII. -OF THE TROUBLOUS END AND TERMINATION SANCHO PANZA’S GOVERNMENT CAME TO - -To fancy that in this life anything belonging to it will remain for -ever in the same state is an idle fancy; on the contrary, in it -everything seems to go in a circle, I mean round and round. The spring -succeeds the summer, the summer the fall, the fall the autumn, the -autumn the winter, and the winter the spring, and so time rolls with -never-ceasing wheel. Man’s life alone, swifter than time, speeds onward -to its end without any hope of renewal, save it be in that other life -which is endless and boundless. Thus saith Cide Hamete the Mahometan -philosopher; for there are many that by the light of nature alone, -without the light of faith, have a comprehension of the fleeting nature -and instability of this present life and the endless duration of that -eternal life we hope for; but our author is here speaking of the -rapidity with which Sancho’s government came to an end, melted away, -disappeared, vanished as it were in smoke and shadow. For as he lay in -bed on the night of the seventh day of his government, sated, not with -bread and wine, but with delivering judgments and giving opinions and -making laws and proclamations, just as sleep, in spite of hunger, was -beginning to close his eyelids, he heard such a noise of bell-ringing -and shouting that one would have fancied the whole island was going to -the bottom. He sat up in bed and remained listening intently to try if -he could make out what could be the cause of so great an uproar; not -only, however, was he unable to discover what it was, but as countless -drums and trumpets now helped to swell the din of the bells and shouts, -he was more puzzled than ever, and filled with fear and terror; and -getting up he put on a pair of slippers because of the dampness of the -floor, and without throwing a dressing gown or anything of the kind -over him he rushed out of the door of his room, just in time to see -approaching along a corridor a band of more than twenty persons with -lighted torches and naked swords in their hands, all shouting out, “To -arms, to arms, señor governor, to arms! The enemy is in the island in -countless numbers, and we are lost unless your skill and valour come to -our support.” - -Keeping up this noise, tumult, and uproar, they came to where Sancho -stood dazed and bewildered by what he saw and heard, and as they -approached one of them called out to him, “Arm at once, your lordship, -if you would not have yourself destroyed and the whole island lost.” - -“What have I to do with arming?” said Sancho. “What do I know about -arms or supports? Better leave all that to my master Don Quixote, who -will settle it and make all safe in a trice; for I, sinner that I am, -God help me, don’t understand these scuffles.” - -“Ah, señor governor,” said another, “what slackness of mettle this is! -Arm yourself; here are arms for you, offensive and defensive; come out -to the plaza and be our leader and captain; it falls upon you by right, -for you are our governor.” - -“Arm me then, in God’s name,” said Sancho, and they at once produced -two large shields they had come provided with, and placed them upon him -over his shirt, without letting him put on anything else, one shield in -front and the other behind, and passing his arms through openings they -had made, they bound him tight with ropes, so that there he was walled -and boarded up as straight as a spindle and unable to bend his knees or -stir a single step. In his hand they placed a lance, on which he leant -to keep himself from falling, and as soon as they had him thus fixed -they bade him march forward and lead them on and give them all courage; -for with him for their guide and lamp and morning star, they were sure -to bring their business to a successful issue. - -“How am I to march, unlucky being that I am?” said Sancho, “when I -can’t stir my knee-caps, for these boards I have bound so tight to my -body won’t let me. What you must do is carry me in your arms, and lay -me across or set me upright in some postern, and I’ll hold it either -with this lance or with my body.” - -“On, señor governor!” cried another, “it is fear more than the boards -that keeps you from moving; make haste, stir yourself, for there is no -time to lose; the enemy is increasing in numbers, the shouts grow -louder, and the danger is pressing.” - -Urged by these exhortations and reproaches the poor governor made an -attempt to advance, but fell to the ground with such a crash that he -fancied he had broken himself all to pieces. There he lay like a -tortoise enclosed in its shell, or a side of bacon between two -kneading-troughs, or a boat bottom up on the beach; nor did the gang of -jokers feel any compassion for him when they saw him down; so far from -that, extinguishing their torches they began to shout afresh and to -renew the calls to arms with such energy, trampling on poor Sancho, and -slashing at him over the shield with their swords in such a way that, -if he had not gathered himself together and made himself small and -drawn in his head between the shields, it would have fared badly with -the poor governor, as, squeezed into that narrow compass, he lay, -sweating and sweating again, and commending himself with all his heart -to God to deliver him from his present peril. Some stumbled over him, -others fell upon him, and one there was who took up a position on top -of him for some time, and from thence as if from a watchtower issued -orders to the troops, shouting out, “Here, our side! Here the enemy is -thickest! Hold the breach there! Shut that gate! Barricade those -ladders! Here with your stink-pots of pitch and resin, and kettles of -boiling oil! Block the streets with feather beds!” In short, in his -ardour he mentioned every little thing, and every implement and engine -of war by means of which an assault upon a city is warded off, while -the bruised and battered Sancho, who heard and suffered all, was saying -to himself, “O if it would only please the Lord to let the island be -lost at once, and I could see myself either dead or out of this -torture!” Heaven heard his prayer, and when he least expected it he -heard voices exclaiming, “Victory, victory! The enemy retreats beaten! -Come, señor governor, get up, and come and enjoy the victory, and -divide the spoils that have been won from the foe by the might of that -invincible arm.” - -“Lift me up,” said the wretched Sancho in a woebegone voice. They -helped him to rise, and as soon as he was on his feet said, “The enemy -I have beaten you may nail to my forehead; I don’t want to divide the -spoils of the foe, I only beg and entreat some friend, if I have one, -to give me a sup of wine, for I’m parched with thirst, and wipe me dry, -for I’m turning to water.” - -They rubbed him down, fetched him wine and unbound the shields, and he -seated himself upon his bed, and with fear, agitation, and fatigue he -fainted away. Those who had been concerned in the joke were now sorry -they had pushed it so far; however, the anxiety his fainting away had -caused them was relieved by his returning to himself. He asked what -o’clock it was; they told him it was just daybreak. He said no more, -and in silence began to dress himself, while all watched him, waiting -to see what the haste with which he was putting on his clothes meant. - -He got himself dressed at last, and then, slowly, for he was sorely -bruised and could not go fast, he proceeded to the stable, followed by -all who were present, and going up to Dapple embraced him and gave him -a loving kiss on the forehead, and said to him, not without tears in -his eyes, “Come along, comrade and friend and partner of my toils and -sorrows; when I was with you and had no cares to trouble me except -mending your harness and feeding your little carcass, happy were my -hours, my days, and my years; but since I left you, and mounted the -towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thousand troubles, -and four thousand anxieties have entered into my soul;” and all the -while he was speaking in this strain he was fixing the pack-saddle on -the ass, without a word from anyone. Then having Dapple saddled, he, -with great pain and difficulty, got up on him, and addressing himself -to the majordomo, the secretary, the head-carver, and Pedro Recio the -doctor and several others who stood by, he said, “Make way, gentlemen, -and let me go back to my old freedom; let me go look for my past life, -and raise myself up from this present death. I was not born to be a -governor or protect islands or cities from the enemies that choose to -attack them. Ploughing and digging, vinedressing and pruning, are more -in my way than defending provinces or kingdoms. Saint Peter is very -well at Rome; I mean each of us is best following the trade he was born -to. A reaping-hook fits my hand better than a governor’s sceptre; I’d -rather have my fill of gazpacho than be subject to the misery of a -meddling doctor who kills me with hunger, and I’d rather lie in summer -under the shade of an oak, and in winter wrap myself in a double -sheepskin jacket in freedom, than go to bed between holland sheets and -dress in sables under the restraint of a government. God be with your -worships, and tell my lord the duke that ‘naked I was born, naked I -find myself, I neither lose nor gain;’ I mean that without a farthing I -came into this government, and without a farthing I go out of it, very -different from the way governors commonly leave other islands. Stand -aside and let me go; I have to plaster myself, for I believe every one -of my ribs is crushed, thanks to the enemies that have been trampling -over me to-night.” - -“That is unnecessary, señor governor,” said Doctor Recio, “for I will -give your worship a draught against falls and bruises that will soon -make you as sound and strong as ever; and as for your diet I promise -your worship to behave better, and let you eat plentifully of whatever -you like.” - -“You spoke late,” said Sancho. “I’d as soon turn Turk as stay any -longer. Those jokes won’t pass a second time. By God I’d as soon remain -in this government, or take another, even if it was offered me between -two plates, as fly to heaven without wings. I am of the breed of the -Panzas, and they are every one of them obstinate, and if they once say -‘odds,’ odds it must be, no matter if it is evens, in spite of all the -world. Here in this stable I leave the ant’s wings that lifted me up -into the air for the swifts and other birds to eat me, and let’s take -to level ground and our feet once more; and if they’re not shod in -pinked shoes of cordovan, they won’t want for rough sandals of hemp; -‘every ewe to her like,’ ‘and let no one stretch his leg beyond the -length of the sheet;’ and now let me pass, for it’s growing late with -me.” - -To this the majordomo said, “Señor governor, we would let your worship -go with all our hearts, though it sorely grieves us to lose you, for -your wit and Christian conduct naturally make us regret you; but it is -well known that every governor, before he leaves the place where he has -been governing, is bound first of all to render an account. Let your -worship do so for the ten days you have held the government, and then -you may go and the peace of God go with you.” - -“No one can demand it of me,” said Sancho, “but he whom my lord the -duke shall appoint; I am going to meet him, and to him I will render an -exact one; besides, when I go forth naked as I do, there is no other -proof needed to show that I have governed like an angel.” - -“By God the great Sancho is right,” said Doctor Recio, “and we should -let him go, for the duke will be beyond measure glad to see him.” - -They all agreed to this, and allowed him to go, first offering to bear -him company and furnish him with all he wanted for his own comfort or -for the journey. Sancho said he did not want anything more than a -little barley for Dapple, and half a cheese and half a loaf for -himself; for the distance being so short there was no occasion for any -better or bulkier provant. They all embraced him, and he with tears -embraced all of them, and left them filled with admiration not only at -his remarks but at his firm and sensible resolution. - -CHAPTER LIV. -WHICH DEALS WITH MATTERS RELATING TO THIS HISTORY AND NO OTHER - -The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don Quixote had, for -the reason already mentioned, given their vassal, should be proceeded -with; and as the young man was in Flanders, whither he had fled to -escape having Doña Rodriguez for a mother-in-law, they arranged to -substitute for him a Gascon lacquey, named Tosilos, first of all -carefully instructing him in all he had to do. Two days later the duke -told Don Quixote that in four days from that time his opponent would -present himself on the field of battle armed as a knight, and would -maintain that the damsel lied by half a beard, nay a whole beard, if -she affirmed that he had given her a promise of marriage. Don Quixote -was greatly pleased at the news, and promised himself to do wonders in -the lists, and reckoned it rare good fortune that an opportunity should -have offered for letting his noble hosts see what the might of his -strong arm was capable of; and so in high spirits and satisfaction he -awaited the expiration of the four days, which measured by his -impatience seemed spinning themselves out into four hundred ages. Let -us leave them to pass as we do other things, and go and bear Sancho -company, as mounted on Dapple, half glad, half sad, he paced along on -his road to join his master, in whose society he was happier than in -being governor of all the islands in the world. Well then, it so -happened that before he had gone a great way from the island of his -government (and whether it was island, city, town, or village that he -governed he never troubled himself to inquire) he saw coming along the -road he was travelling six pilgrims with staves, foreigners of that -sort that beg for alms singing; who as they drew near arranged -themselves in a line and lifting up their voices all together began to -sing in their own language something that Sancho could not understand, -with the exception of one word which sounded plainly “alms,” from which -he gathered that it was alms they asked for in their song; and being, -as Cide Hamete says, remarkably charitable, he took out of his alforjas -the half loaf and half cheese he had been provided with, and gave them -to them, explaining to them by signs that he had nothing else to give -them. They received them very gladly, but exclaimed, “Geld! Geld!” - -“I don’t understand what you want of me, good people,” said Sancho. - -On this one of them took a purse out of his bosom and showed it to -Sancho, by which he comprehended they were asking for money, and -putting his thumb to his throat and spreading his hand upwards he gave -them to understand that he had not the sign of a coin about him, and -urging Dapple forward he broke through them. But as he was passing, one -of them who had been examining him very closely rushed towards him, and -flinging his arms round him exclaimed in a loud voice and good Spanish, -“God bless me! What’s this I see? Is it possible that I hold in my arms -my dear friend, my good neighbour Sancho Panza? But there’s no doubt -about it, for I’m not asleep, nor am I drunk just now.” - -Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and find -himself embraced by a foreign pilgrim, and after regarding him steadily -without speaking he was still unable to recognise him; but the pilgrim -perceiving his perplexity cried, “What! and is it possible, Sancho -Panza, that thou dost not know thy neighbour Ricote, the Morisco -shopkeeper of thy village?” - -Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to recall his -features, and at last recognised him perfectly, and without getting off -the ass threw his arms round his neck saying, “Who the devil could have -known thee, Ricote, in this mummer’s dress thou art in? Tell me, who -has frenchified thee, and how dost thou dare to return to Spain, where -if they catch thee and recognise thee it will go hard enough with -thee?” - -“If thou dost not betray me, Sancho,” said the pilgrim, “I am safe; for -in this dress no one will recognise me; but let us turn aside out of -the road into that grove there where my comrades are going to eat and -rest, and thou shalt eat with them there, for they are very good -fellows; I’ll have time enough to tell thee then all that has happened -me since I left our village in obedience to his Majesty’s edict that -threatened such severities against the unfortunate people of my nation, -as thou hast heard.” - -Sancho complied, and Ricote having spoken to the other pilgrims they -withdrew to the grove they saw, turning a considerable distance out of -the road. They threw down their staves, took off their pilgrim’s cloaks -and remained in their under-clothing; they were all good-looking young -fellows, except Ricote, who was a man somewhat advanced in years. They -carried alforjas all of them, and all apparently well filled, at least -with things provocative of thirst, such as would summon it from two -leagues off. They stretched themselves on the ground, and making a -tablecloth of the grass they spread upon it bread, salt, knives, -walnut, scraps of cheese, and well-picked ham-bones which if they were -past gnawing were not past sucking. They also put down a black dainty -called, they say, caviar, and made of the eggs of fish, a great -thirst-wakener. Nor was there any lack of olives, dry, it is true, and -without any seasoning, but for all that toothsome and pleasant. But -what made the best show in the field of the banquet was half a dozen -botas of wine, for each of them produced his own from his alforjas; -even the good Ricote, who from a Morisco had transformed himself into a -German or Dutchman, took out his, which in size might have vied with -the five others. They then began to eat with very great relish and very -leisurely, making the most of each morsel—very small ones of -everything—they took up on the point of the knife; and then all at the -same moment raised their arms and botas aloft, the mouths placed in -their mouths, and all eyes fixed on heaven just as if they were taking -aim at it; and in this attitude they remained ever so long, wagging -their heads from side to side as if in acknowledgment of the pleasure -they were enjoying while they decanted the bowels of the bottles into -their own stomachs. - -Sancho beheld all, “and nothing gave him pain;” so far from that, -acting on the proverb he knew so well, “when thou art at Rome do as -thou seest,” he asked Ricote for his bota and took aim like the rest of -them, and with not less enjoyment. Four times did the botas bear being -uplifted, but the fifth it was all in vain, for they were drier and -more sapless than a rush by that time, which made the jollity that had -been kept up so far begin to flag. - -Every now and then someone of them would grasp Sancho’s right hand in -his own saying, “Español y Tudesqui tuto uno: bon compaño;” and Sancho -would answer, “Bon compaño, jur a Di!” and then go off into a fit of -laughter that lasted an hour, without a thought for the moment of -anything that had befallen him in his government; for cares have very -little sway over us while we are eating and drinking. At length, the -wine having come to an end with them, drowsiness began to come over -them, and they dropped asleep on their very table and tablecloth. -Ricote and Sancho alone remained awake, for they had eaten more and -drunk less, and Ricote drawing Sancho aside, they seated themselves at -the foot of a beech, leaving the pilgrims buried in sweet sleep; and -without once falling into his own Morisco tongue Ricote spoke as -follows in pure Castilian: - -“Thou knowest well, neighbour and friend Sancho Panza, how the -proclamation or edict his Majesty commanded to be issued against those -of my nation filled us all with terror and dismay; me at least it did, -insomuch that I think before the time granted us for quitting Spain was -out, the full force of the penalty had already fallen upon me and upon -my children. I decided, then, and I think wisely (just like one who -knows that at a certain date the house he lives in will be taken from -him, and looks out beforehand for another to change into), I decided, I -say, to leave the town myself, alone and without my family, and go to -seek out some place to remove them to comfortably and not in the -hurried way in which the others took their departure; for I saw very -plainly, and so did all the older men among us, that the proclamations -were not mere threats, as some said, but positive enactments which -would be enforced at the appointed time; and what made me believe this -was what I knew of the base and extravagant designs which our people -harboured, designs of such a nature that I think it was a divine -inspiration that moved his Majesty to carry out a resolution so -spirited; not that we were all guilty, for some there were true and -steadfast Christians; but they were so few that they could make no head -against those who were not; and it was not prudent to cherish a viper -in the bosom by having enemies in the house. In short it was with just -cause that we were visited with the penalty of banishment, a mild and -lenient one in the eyes of some, but to us the most terrible that could -be inflicted upon us. Wherever we are we weep for Spain; for after all -we were born there and it is our natural fatherland. Nowhere do we find -the reception our unhappy condition needs; and in Barbary and all the -parts of Africa where we counted upon being received, succoured, and -welcomed, it is there they insult and ill-treat us most. We knew not -our good fortune until we lost it; and such is the longing we almost -all of us have to return to Spain, that most of those who like myself -know the language, and there are many who do, come back to it and leave -their wives and children forsaken yonder, so great is their love for -it; and now I know by experience the meaning of the saying, sweet is -the love of one’s country. - -“I left our village, as I said, and went to France, but though they -gave us a kind reception there I was anxious to see all I could. I -crossed into Italy, and reached Germany, and there it seemed to me we -might live with more freedom, as the inhabitants do not pay any -attention to trifling points; everyone lives as he likes, for in most -parts they enjoy liberty of conscience. I took a house in a town near -Augsburg, and then joined these pilgrims, who are in the habit of -coming to Spain in great numbers every year to visit the shrines there, -which they look upon as their Indies and a sure and certain source of -gain. They travel nearly all over it, and there is no town out of which -they do not go full up of meat and drink, as the saying is, and with a -real, at least, in money, and they come off at the end of their travels -with more than a hundred crowns saved, which, changed into gold, they -smuggle out of the kingdom either in the hollow of their staves or in -the patches of their pilgrim’s cloaks or by some device of their own, -and carry to their own country in spite of the guards at the posts and -passes where they are searched. Now my purpose is, Sancho, to carry -away the treasure that I left buried, which, as it is outside the town, -I shall be able to do without risk, and to write, or cross over from -Valencia, to my daughter and wife, who I know are at Algiers, and find -some means of bringing them to some French port and thence to Germany, -there to await what it may be God’s will to do with us; for, after all, -Sancho, I know well that Ricota my daughter and Francisca Ricota my -wife are Catholic Christians, and though I am not so much so, still I -am more of a Christian than a Moor, and it is always my prayer to God -that he will open the eyes of my understanding and show me how I am to -serve him; but what amazes me and I cannot understand is why my wife -and daughter should have gone to Barbary rather than to France, where -they could live as Christians.” - -To this Sancho replied, “Remember, Ricote, that may not have been open -to them, for Juan Tiopieyo thy wife’s brother took them, and being a -true Moor he went where he could go most easily; and another thing I -can tell thee, it is my belief thou art going in vain to look for what -thou hast left buried, for we heard they took from thy brother-in-law -and thy wife a great quantity of pearls and money in gold which they -brought to be passed.” - -“That may be,” said Ricote; “but I know they did not touch my hoard, -for I did not tell them where it was, for fear of accidents; and so, if -thou wilt come with me, Sancho, and help me to take it away and conceal -it, I will give thee two hundred crowns wherewith thou mayest relieve -thy necessities, and, as thou knowest, I know they are many.” - -“I would do it,” said Sancho; “but I am not at all covetous, for I gave -up an office this morning in which, if I was, I might have made the -walls of my house of gold and dined off silver plates before six months -were over; and so for this reason, and because I feel I would be guilty -of treason to my king if I helped his enemies, I would not go with thee -if instead of promising me two hundred crowns thou wert to give me four -hundred here in hand.” - -“And what office is this thou hast given up, Sancho?” asked Ricote. - -“I have given up being governor of an island,” said Sancho, “and such a -one, faith, as you won’t find the like of easily.” - -“And where is this island?” said Ricote. - -“Where?” said Sancho; “two leagues from here, and it is called the -island of Barataria.” - -“Nonsense! Sancho,” said Ricote; “islands are away out in the sea; -there are no islands on the mainland.” - -“What? No islands!” said Sancho; “I tell thee, friend Ricote, I left it -this morning, and yesterday I was governing there as I pleased like a -sagittarius; but for all that I gave it up, for it seemed to me a -dangerous office, a governor’s.” - -“And what hast thou gained by the government?” asked Ricote. - -“I have gained,” said Sancho, “the knowledge that I am no good for -governing, unless it is a drove of cattle, and that the riches that are -to be got by these governments are got at the cost of one’s rest and -sleep, ay and even one’s food; for in islands the governors must eat -little, especially if they have doctors to look after their health.” - -“I don’t understand thee, Sancho,” said Ricote; “but it seems to me all -nonsense thou art talking. Who would give thee islands to govern? Is -there any scarcity in the world of cleverer men than thou art for -governors? Hold thy peace, Sancho, and come back to thy senses, and -consider whether thou wilt come with me as I said to help me to take -away treasure I left buried (for indeed it may be called a treasure, it -is so large), and I will give thee wherewithal to keep thee, as I told -thee.” - -“And I have told thee already, Ricote, that I will not,” said Sancho; -“let it content thee that by me thou shalt not be betrayed, and go thy -way in God’s name and let me go mine; for I know that well-gotten gain -may be lost, but ill-gotten gain is lost, itself and its owner -likewise.” - -“I will not press thee, Sancho,” said Ricote; “but tell me, wert thou -in our village when my wife and daughter and brother-in-law left it?” - -“I was so,” said Sancho; “and I can tell thee thy daughter left it -looking so lovely that all the village turned out to see her, and -everybody said she was the fairest creature in the world. She wept as -she went, and embraced all her friends and acquaintances and those who -came out to see her, and she begged them all to commend her to God and -Our Lady his mother, and this in such a touching way that it made me -weep myself, though I’m not much given to tears commonly; and, faith, -many a one would have liked to hide her, or go out and carry her off on -the road; but the fear of going against the king’s command kept them -back. The one who showed himself most moved was Don Pedro Gregorio, the -rich young heir thou knowest of, and they say he was deep in love with -her; and since she left he has not been seen in our village again, and -we all suspect he has gone after her to steal her away, but so far -nothing has been heard of it.” - -“I always had a suspicion that gentleman had a passion for my -daughter,” said Ricote; “but as I felt sure of my Ricota’s virtue it -gave me no uneasiness to know that he loved her; for thou must have -heard it said, Sancho, that the Morisco women seldom or never engage in -amours with the old Christians; and my daughter, who I fancy thought -more of being a Christian than of lovemaking, would not trouble herself -about the attentions of this heir.” - -“God grant it,” said Sancho, “for it would be a bad business for both -of them; but now let me be off, friend Ricote, for I want to reach -where my master Don Quixote is to-night.” - -“God be with thee, brother Sancho,” said Ricote; “my comrades are -beginning to stir, and it is time, too, for us to continue our -journey;” and then they both embraced, and Sancho mounted Dapple, and -Ricote leant upon his staff, and so they parted. - -CHAPTER LV. -OF WHAT BEFELL SANCHO ON THE ROAD, AND OTHER THINGS THAT CANNOT BE -SURPASSED - -The length of time he delayed with Ricote prevented Sancho from -reaching the duke’s castle that day, though he was within half a league -of it when night, somewhat dark and cloudy, overtook him. This, -however, as it was summer time, did not give him much uneasiness, and -he turned aside out of the road intending to wait for morning; but his -ill luck and hard fate so willed it that as he was searching about for -a place to make himself as comfortable as possible, he and Dapple fell -into a deep dark hole that lay among some very old buildings. As he -fell he commended himself with all his heart to God, fancying he was -not going to stop until he reached the depths of the bottomless pit; -but it did not turn out so, for at little more than thrice a man’s -height Dapple touched bottom, and he found himself sitting on him -without having received any hurt or damage whatever. He felt himself -all over and held his breath to try whether he was quite sound or had a -hole made in him anywhere, and finding himself all right and whole and -in perfect health he was profuse in his thanks to God our Lord for the -mercy that had been shown him, for he made sure he had been broken into -a thousand pieces. He also felt along the sides of the pit with his -hands to see if it were possible to get out of it without help, but he -found they were quite smooth and afforded no hold anywhere, at which he -was greatly distressed, especially when he heard how pathetically and -dolefully Dapple was bemoaning himself, and no wonder he complained, -nor was it from ill-temper, for in truth he was not in a very good -case. “Alas,” said Sancho, “what unexpected accidents happen at every -step to those who live in this miserable world! Who would have said -that one who saw himself yesterday sitting on a throne, governor of an -island, giving orders to his servants and his vassals, would see -himself to-day buried in a pit without a soul to help him, or servant -or vassal to come to his relief? Here must we perish with hunger, my -ass and myself, if indeed we don’t die first, he of his bruises and -injuries, and I of grief and sorrow. At any rate I’ll not be as lucky -as my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, when he went down into the cave -of that enchanted Montesinos, where he found people to make more of him -than if he had been in his own house; for it seems he came in for a -table laid out and a bed ready made. There he saw fair and pleasant -visions, but here I’ll see, I imagine, toads and adders. Unlucky wretch -that I am, what an end my follies and fancies have come to! They’ll -take up my bones out of this, when it is heaven’s will that I’m found, -picked clean, white and polished, and my good Dapple’s with them, and -by that, perhaps, it will be found out who we are, at least by such as -have heard that Sancho Panza never separated from his ass, nor his ass -from Sancho Panza. Unlucky wretches, I say again, that our hard fate -should not let us die in our own country and among our own people, -where if there was no help for our misfortune, at any rate there would -be someone to grieve for it and to close our eyes as we passed away! O -comrade and friend, how ill have I repaid thy faithful services! -Forgive me, and entreat Fortune, as well as thou canst, to deliver us -out of this miserable strait we are both in; and I promise to put a -crown of laurel on thy head, and make thee look like a poet laureate, -and give thee double feeds.” - -In this strain did Sancho bewail himself, and his ass listened to him, -but answered him never a word, such was the distress and anguish the -poor beast found himself in. At length, after a night spent in bitter -moanings and lamentations, day came, and by its light Sancho perceived -that it was wholly impossible to escape out of that pit without help, -and he fell to bemoaning his fate and uttering loud shouts to find out -if there was anyone within hearing; but all his shouting was only -crying in the wilderness, for there was not a soul anywhere in the -neighbourhood to hear him, and then at last he gave himself up for -dead. Dapple was lying on his back, and Sancho helped him to his feet, -which he was scarcely able to keep; and then taking a piece of bread -out of his alforjas which had shared their fortunes in the fall, he -gave it to the ass, to whom it was not unwelcome, saying to him as if -he understood him, “With bread all sorrows are less.” - -And now he perceived on one side of the pit a hole large enough to -admit a person if he stooped and squeezed himself into a small compass. -Sancho made for it, and entered it by creeping, and found it wide and -spacious on the inside, which he was able to see as a ray of sunlight -that penetrated what might be called the roof showed it all plainly. He -observed too that it opened and widened out into another spacious -cavity; seeing which he made his way back to where the ass was, and -with a stone began to pick away the clay from the hole until in a short -time he had made room for the beast to pass easily, and this -accomplished, taking him by the halter, he proceeded to traverse the -cavern to see if there was any outlet at the other end. He advanced, -sometimes in the dark, sometimes without light, but never without fear; -“God Almighty help me!” said he to himself; “this that is a -misadventure to me would make a good adventure for my master Don -Quixote. He would have been sure to take these depths and dungeons for -flowery gardens or the palaces of Galiana, and would have counted upon -issuing out of this darkness and imprisonment into some blooming -meadow; but I, unlucky that I am, hopeless and spiritless, expect at -every step another pit deeper than the first to open under my feet and -swallow me up for good; ‘welcome evil, if thou comest alone.’” - -In this way and with these reflections he seemed to himself to have -travelled rather more than half a league, when at last he perceived a -dim light that looked like daylight and found its way in on one side, -showing that this road, which appeared to him the road to the other -world, led to some opening. - -Here Cide Hamete leaves him, and returns to Don Quixote, who in high -spirits and satisfaction was looking forward to the day fixed for the -battle he was to fight with him who had robbed Doña Rodriguez’s -daughter of her honour, for whom he hoped to obtain satisfaction for -the wrong and injury shamefully done to her. It came to pass, then, -that having sallied forth one morning to practise and exercise himself -in what he would have to do in the encounter he expected to find -himself engaged in the next day, as he was putting Rocinante through -his paces or pressing him to the charge, he brought his feet so close -to a pit that but for reining him in tightly it would have been -impossible for him to avoid falling into it. He pulled him up, however, -without a fall, and coming a little closer examined the hole without -dismounting; but as he was looking at it he heard loud cries proceeding -from it, and by listening attentively was able to make out that he who -uttered them was saying, “Ho, above there! is there any Christian that -hears me, or any charitable gentleman that will take pity on a sinner -buried alive, on an unfortunate disgoverned governor?” - -It struck Don Quixote that it was the voice of Sancho Panza he heard, -whereat he was taken aback and amazed, and raising his own voice as -much as he could, he cried out, “Who is below there? Who is that -complaining?” - -“Who should be here, or who should complain,” was the answer, “but the -forlorn Sancho Panza, for his sins and for his ill-luck governor of the -island of Barataria, squire that was to the famous knight Don Quixote -of La Mancha?” - -When Don Quixote heard this his amazement was redoubled and his -perturbation grew greater than ever, for it suggested itself to his -mind that Sancho must be dead, and that his soul was in torment down -there; and carried away by this idea he exclaimed, “I conjure thee by -everything that as a Catholic Christian I can conjure thee by, tell me -who thou art; and if thou art a soul in torment, tell me what thou -wouldst have me do for thee; for as my profession is to give aid and -succour to those that need it in this world, it will also extend to -aiding and succouring the distressed of the other, who cannot help -themselves.” - -“In that case,” answered the voice, “your worship who speaks to me must -be my master Don Quixote of La Mancha; nay, from the tone of the voice -it is plain it can be nobody else.” - -“Don Quixote I am,” replied Don Quixote, “he whose profession it is to -aid and succour the living and the dead in their necessities; wherefore -tell me who thou art, for thou art keeping me in suspense; because, if -thou art my squire Sancho Panza, and art dead, since the devils have -not carried thee off, and thou art by God’s mercy in purgatory, our -holy mother the Roman Catholic Church has intercessory means sufficient -to release thee from the pains thou art in; and I for my part will -plead with her to that end, so far as my substance will go; without -further delay, therefore, declare thyself, and tell me who thou art.” - -“By all that’s good,” was the answer, “and by the birth of whomsoever -your worship chooses, I swear, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, that I -am your squire Sancho Panza, and that I have never died all my life; -but that, having given up my government for reasons that would require -more time to explain, I fell last night into this pit where I am now, -and Dapple is witness and won’t let me lie, for more by token he is -here with me.” - -Nor was this all; one would have fancied the ass understood what Sancho -said, because that moment he began to bray so loudly that the whole -cave rang again. - -“Famous testimony!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “I know that bray as well as -if I was its mother, and thy voice too, my Sancho. Wait while I go to -the duke’s castle, which is close by, and I will bring someone to take -thee out of this pit into which thy sins no doubt have brought thee.” - -“Go, your worship,” said Sancho, “and come back quick for God’s sake; -for I cannot bear being buried alive any longer, and I’m dying of -fear.” - -Don Quixote left him, and hastened to the castle to tell the duke and -duchess what had happened Sancho, and they were not a little astonished -at it; they could easily understand his having fallen, from the -confirmatory circumstance of the cave which had been in existence there -from time immemorial; but they could not imagine how he had quitted the -government without their receiving any intimation of his coming. To be -brief, they fetched ropes and tackle, as the saying is, and by dint of -many hands and much labour they drew up Dapple and Sancho Panza out of -the darkness into the light of day. A student who saw him remarked, -“That’s the way all bad governors should come out of their governments, -as this sinner comes out of the depths of the pit, dead with hunger, -pale, and I suppose without a farthing.” - -Sancho overheard him and said, “It is eight or ten days, brother -growler, since I entered upon the government of the island they gave -me, and all that time I never had a bellyful of victuals, no not for an -hour; doctors persecuted me and enemies crushed my bones; nor had I any -opportunity of taking bribes or levying taxes; and if that be the case, -as it is, I don’t deserve, I think, to come out in this fashion; but -‘man proposes and God disposes;’ and God knows what is best, and what -suits each one best; and ‘as the occasion, so the behaviour;’ and ‘let -nobody say “I won’t drink of this water;”’ and ‘where one thinks there -are flitches, there are no pegs;’ God knows my meaning and that’s -enough; I say no more, though I could.” - -“Be not angry or annoyed at what thou hearest, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote, “or there will never be an end of it; keep a safe conscience -and let them say what they like; for trying to stop slanderers’ tongues -is like trying to put gates to the open plain. If a governor comes out -of his government rich, they say he has been a thief; and if he comes -out poor, that he has been a noodle and a blockhead.” - -“They’ll be pretty sure this time,” said Sancho, “to set me down for a -fool rather than a thief.” - -Thus talking, and surrounded by boys and a crowd of people, they -reached the castle, where in one of the corridors the duke and duchess -stood waiting for them; but Sancho would not go up to see the duke -until he had first put up Dapple in the stable, for he said he had -passed a very bad night in his last quarters; then he went upstairs to -see his lord and lady, and kneeling before them he said, “Because it -was your highnesses’ pleasure, not because of any desert of my own, I -went to govern your island of Barataria, which ‘I entered naked, and -naked I find myself; I neither lose nor gain.’ Whether I have governed -well or ill, I have had witnesses who will say what they think fit. I -have answered questions, I have decided causes, and always dying of -hunger, for Doctor Pedro Recio of Tirteafuera, the island and governor -doctor, would have it so. Enemies attacked us by night and put us in a -great quandary, but the people of the island say they came off safe and -victorious by the might of my arm; and may God give them as much health -as there’s truth in what they say. In short, during that time I have -weighed the cares and responsibilities governing brings with it, and by -my reckoning I find my shoulders can’t bear them, nor are they a load -for my loins or arrows for my quiver; and so, before the government -threw me over I preferred to throw the government over; and yesterday -morning I left the island as I found it, with the same streets, houses, -and roofs it had when I entered it. I asked no loan of anybody, nor did -I try to fill my pocket; and though I meant to make some useful laws, I -made hardly any, as I was afraid they would not be kept; for in that -case it comes to the same thing to make them or not to make them. I -quitted the island, as I said, without any escort except my ass; I fell -into a pit, I pushed on through it, until this morning by the light of -the sun I saw an outlet, but not so easy a one but that, had not heaven -sent me my master Don Quixote, I’d have stayed there till the end of -the world. So now my lord and lady duke and duchess, here is your -governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has held the -government has come by the knowledge that he would not give anything to -be governor, not to say of an island, but of the whole world; and that -point being settled, kissing your worships’ feet, and imitating the -game of the boys when they say, ‘leap thou, and give me one,’ I take a -leap out of the government and pass into the service of my master Don -Quixote; for after all, though in it I eat my bread in fear and -trembling, at any rate I take my fill; and for my part, so long as I’m -full, it’s all alike to me whether it’s with carrots or with -partridges.” - -Here Sancho brought his long speech to an end, Don Quixote having been -the whole time in dread of his uttering a host of absurdities; and when -he found him leave off with so few, he thanked heaven in his heart. The -duke embraced Sancho and told him he was heartily sorry he had given up -the government so soon, but that he would see that he was provided with -some other post on his estate less onerous and more profitable. The -duchess also embraced him, and gave orders that he should be taken good -care of, as it was plain to see he had been badly treated and worse -bruised. - -CHAPTER LVI.br/> OF THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE THAT TOOK -PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA AND THE LACQUEY TOSILOS IN -DEFENCE OF THE DAUGHTER OF DOÑA RODRIGUEZ - -The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that had been -played upon Sancho Panza in giving him the government; especially as -their majordomo returned the same day, and gave them a minute account -of almost every word and deed that Sancho uttered or did during the -time; and to wind up with, eloquently described to them the attack upon -the island and Sancho’s fright and departure, with which they were not -a little amused. After this the history goes on to say that the day -fixed for the battle arrived, and that the duke, after having -repeatedly instructed his lacquey Tosilos how to deal with Don Quixote -so as to vanquish him without killing or wounding him, gave orders to -have the heads removed from the lances, telling Don Quixote that -Christian charity, on which he plumed himself, could not suffer the -battle to be fought with so much risk and danger to life; and that he -must be content with the offer of a battlefield on his territory -(though that was against the decree of the holy Council, which -prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not push such an arduous -venture to its extreme limits. Don Quixote bade his excellence arrange -all matters connected with the affair as he pleased, as on his part he -would obey him in everything. The dread day, then, having arrived, and -the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be erected facing the court -of the castle for the judges of the field and the appellant duennas, -mother and daughter, vast crowds flocked from all the villages and -hamlets of the neighbourhood to see the novel spectacle of the battle; -nobody, dead or alive, in those parts having ever seen or heard of such -a one. - -The first person to enter the field and the lists was the master of the -ceremonies, who surveyed and paced the whole ground to see that there -was nothing unfair and nothing concealed to make the combatants stumble -or fall; then the duennas entered and seated themselves, enveloped in -mantles covering their eyes, nay even their bosoms, and displaying no -slight emotion as Don Quixote appeared in the lists. Shortly -afterwards, accompanied by several trumpets and mounted on a powerful -steed that threatened to crush the whole place, the great lacquey -Tosilos made his appearance on one side of the courtyard with his visor -down and stiffly cased in a suit of stout shining armour. The horse was -a manifest Frieslander, broad-backed and flea-bitten, and with half a -hundred of wool hanging to each of his fetlocks. The gallant combatant -came well primed by his master the duke as to how he was to bear -himself against the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha; being warned that -he must on no account slay him, but strive to shirk the first encounter -so as to avoid the risk of killing him, as he was sure to do if he met -him full tilt. He crossed the courtyard at a walk, and coming to where -the duennas were placed stopped to look at her who demanded him for a -husband; the marshal of the field summoned Don Quixote, who had already -presented himself in the courtyard, and standing by the side of Tosilos -he addressed the duennas, and asked them if they consented that Don -Quixote of La Mancha should do battle for their right. They said they -did, and that whatever he should do in that behalf they declared -rightly done, final and valid. By this time the duke and duchess had -taken their places in a gallery commanding the enclosure, which was -filled to overflowing with a multitude of people eager to see this -perilous and unparalleled encounter. The conditions of the combat were -that if Don Quixote proved the victor his antagonist was to marry the -daughter of Doña Rodriguez; but if he should be vanquished his opponent -was released from the promise that was claimed against him and from all -obligations to give satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies -apportioned the sun to them, and stationed them, each on the spot where -he was to stand. The drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the -air, the earth trembled under foot, the hearts of the gazing crowd were -full of anxiety, some hoping for a happy issue, some apprehensive of an -untoward ending to the affair, and lastly, Don Quixote, commending -himself with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea del -Toboso, stood waiting for them to give the necessary signal for the -onset. Our lacquey, however, was thinking of something very different; -he only thought of what I am now going to mention. - -It seems that as he stood contemplating his enemy she struck him as the -most beautiful woman he had ever seen all his life; and the little -blind boy whom in our streets they commonly call Love had no mind to -let slip the chance of triumphing over a lacquey heart, and adding it -to the list of his trophies; and so, stealing gently upon him unseen, -he drove a dart two yards long into the poor lacquey’s left side and -pierced his heart through and through; which he was able to do quite at -his ease, for Love is invisible, and comes in and goes out as he likes, -without anyone calling him to account for what he does. Well then, when -they gave the signal for the onset our lacquey was in an ecstasy, -musing upon the beauty of her whom he had already made mistress of his -liberty, and so he paid no attention to the sound of the trumpet, -unlike Don Quixote, who was off the instant he heard it, and, at the -highest speed Rocinante was capable of, set out to meet his enemy, his -good squire Sancho shouting lustily as he saw him start, “God guide -thee, cream and flower of knights-errant! God give thee the victory, -for thou hast the right on thy side!” But though Tosilos saw Don -Quixote coming at him he never stirred a step from the spot where he -was posted; and instead of doing so called loudly to the marshal of the -field, to whom when he came up to see what he wanted he said, “Señor, -is not this battle to decide whether I marry or do not marry that -lady?” “Just so,” was the answer. “Well then,” said the lacquey, “I -feel qualms of conscience, and I should lay a heavy burden upon it if I -were to proceed any further with the combat; I therefore declare that I -yield myself vanquished, and that I am willing to marry the lady at -once.” - -The marshal of the field was lost in astonishment at the words of -Tosilos; and as he was one of those who were privy to the arrangement -of the affair he knew not what to say in reply. Don Quixote pulled up -in mid career when he saw that his enemy was not coming on to the -attack. The duke could not make out the reason why the battle did not -go on; but the marshal of the field hastened to him to let him know -what Tosilos said, and he was amazed and extremely angry at it. In the -meantime Tosilos advanced to where Doña Rodriguez sat and said in a -loud voice, “Señora, I am willing to marry your daughter, and I have no -wish to obtain by strife and fighting what I can obtain in peace and -without any risk to my life.” - -The valiant Don Quixote heard him, and said, “As that is the case I am -released and absolved from my promise; let them marry by all means, and -as ‘God our Lord has given her, may Saint Peter add his blessing.’” - -The duke had now descended to the courtyard of the castle, and going up -to Tosilos he said to him, “Is it true, sir knight, that you yield -yourself vanquished, and that moved by scruples of conscience you wish -to marry this damsel?” - -“It is, señor,” replied Tosilos. - -“And he does well,” said Sancho, “for what thou hast to give to the -mouse, give to the cat, and it will save thee all trouble.” - -Tosilos meanwhile was trying to unlace his helmet, and he begged them -to come to his help at once, as his power of breathing was failing him, -and he could not remain so long shut up in that confined space. They -removed it in all haste, and his lacquey features were revealed to -public gaze. At this sight Doña Rodriguez and her daughter raised a -mighty outcry, exclaiming, “This is a trick! This is a trick! They have -put Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, upon us in place of the real -husband. The justice of God and the king against such trickery, not to -say roguery!” - -“Do not distress yourselves, ladies,” said Don Quixote; “for this is no -trickery or roguery; or if it is, it is not the duke who is at the -bottom of it, but those wicked enchanters who persecute me, and who, -jealous of my reaping the glory of this victory, have turned your -husband’s features into those of this person, who you say is a lacquey -of the duke’s; take my advice, and notwithstanding the malice of my -enemies marry him, for beyond a doubt he is the one you wish for a -husband.” - -When the duke heard this all his anger was near vanishing in a fit of -laughter, and he said, “The things that happen to Señor Don Quixote are -so extraordinary that I am ready to believe this lacquey of mine is not -one; but let us adopt this plan and device; let us put off the marriage -for, say, a fortnight, and let us keep this person about whom we are -uncertain in close confinement, and perhaps in the course of that time -he may return to his original shape; for the spite which the enchanters -entertain against Señor Don Quixote cannot last so long, especially as -it is of so little advantage to them to practise these deceptions and -transformations.” - -“Oh, señor,” said Sancho, “those scoundrels are well used to changing -whatever concerns my master from one thing into another. A knight that -he overcame some time back, called the Knight of the Mirrors, they -turned into the shape of the bachelor Samson Carrasco of our town and a -great friend of ours; and my lady Dulcinea del Toboso they have turned -into a common country wench; so I suspect this lacquey will have to -live and die a lacquey all the days of his life.” - -Here the Rodriguez’s daughter exclaimed, “Let him be who he may, this -man that claims me for a wife; I am thankful to him for the same, for I -had rather be the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated mistress of -a gentleman; though he who played me false is nothing of the kind.” - -To be brief, all the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos -being shut up until it was seen how his transformation turned out. All -hailed Don Quixote as victor, but the greater number were vexed and -disappointed at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously -waiting for had not battered one another to pieces, just as the boys -are disappointed when the man they are waiting to see hanged does not -come out, because the prosecution or the court has pardoned him. The -people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote returned to the castle, they -locked up Tosilos, Doña Rodriguez and her daughter remained perfectly -contented when they saw that any way the affair must end in marriage, -and Tosilos wanted nothing else. - -CHAPTER LVII. -WHICH TREATS OF HOW DON QUIXOTE TOOK LEAVE OF THE DUKE, AND OF WHAT -FOLLOWED WITH THE WITTY AND IMPUDENT ALTISIDORA, ONE OF THE DUCHESS’S -DAMSELS - -Don Quixote now felt it right to quit a life of such idleness as he was -leading in the castle; for he fancied that he was making himself sorely -missed by suffering himself to remain shut up and inactive amid the -countless luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished upon him as a -knight, and he felt too that he would have to render a strict account -to heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one day he asked the -duke and duchess to grant him permission to take his departure. They -gave it, showing at the same time that they were very sorry he was -leaving them. - -The duchess gave his wife’s letters to Sancho Panza, who shed tears -over them, saying, “Who would have thought that such grand hopes as the -news of my government bred in my wife Teresa Panza’s breast would end -in my going back now to the vagabond adventures of my master Don -Quixote of La Mancha? Still I’m glad to see my Teresa behaved as she -ought in sending the acorns, for if she had not sent them I’d have been -sorry, and she’d have shown herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me -that they can’t call that present a bribe; for I had got the government -already when she sent them, and it’s but reasonable that those who have -had a good turn done them should show their gratitude, if it’s only -with a trifle. After all I went into the government naked, and I come -out of it naked; so I can say with a safe conscience—and that’s no -small matter—‘naked I was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor -gain.’” - -Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don -Quixote, who had the night before taken leave of the duke and duchess, -coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in the -courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were -watching him from the corridors, and the duke and duchess, too, came -out to see him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas, -valise, and proven supremely happy because the duke’s majordomo, the -same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi, had given him a little -purse with two hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary expenses of -the road, but of this Don Quixote knew nothing as yet. While all were, -as has been said, observing him, suddenly from among the duennas and -handmaidens the impudent and witty Altisidora lifted up her voice and -said in pathetic tones: - -Give ear, cruel knight; -Draw rein; where’s the need -Of spurring the flanks -Of that ill-broken steed? -From what art thou flying? -No dragon I am, -Not even a sheep, -But a tender young lamb. -Thou hast jilted a maiden -As fair to behold -As nymph of Diana -Or Venus of old. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -In thy claws, ruthless robber, -Thou bearest away -The heart of a meek -Loving maid for thy prey, -Three kerchiefs thou stealest, -And garters a pair, -From legs than the whitest -Of marble more fair; -And the sighs that pursue thee -Would burn to the ground -Two thousand Troy Towns, -If so many were found. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -May no bowels of mercy -To Sancho be granted, -And thy Dulcinea -Be left still enchanted, -May thy falsehood to me -Find its punishment in her, -For in my land the just -Often pays for the sinner. -May thy grandest adventures -Discomfitures prove, -May thy joys be all dreams, -And forgotten thy love. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -May thy name be abhorred -For thy conduct to ladies, -From London to England, -From Seville to Cadiz; -May thy cards be unlucky, -Thy hands contain ne’er a -King, seven, or ace -When thou playest primera; -When thy corns are cut -May it be to the quick; -When thy grinders are drawn -May the roots of them stick. -Bireno, Æneas, what worse shall I call thee? -Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee! - -All the while the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself in the above -strain Don Quixote stood staring at her; and without uttering a word in -reply to her he turned round to Sancho and said, “Sancho my friend, I -conjure thee by the life of thy forefathers tell me the truth; say, -hast thou by any chance taken the three kerchiefs and the garters this -love-sick maid speaks of?” - -To this Sancho made answer, “The three kerchiefs I have; but the -garters, as much as ‘over the hills of Úbeda.’” - -The duchess was amazed at Altisidora’s assurance; she knew that she was -bold, lively, and impudent, but not so much so as to venture to make -free in this fashion; and not being prepared for the joke, her -astonishment was all the greater. The duke had a mind to keep up the -sport, so he said, “It does not seem to me well done in you, sir -knight, that after having received the hospitality that has been -offered you in this very castle, you should have ventured to carry off -even three kerchiefs, not to say my handmaid’s garters. It shows a bad -heart and does not tally with your reputation. Restore her garters, or -else I defy you to mortal combat, for I am not afraid of rascally -enchanters changing or altering my features as they changed his who -encountered you into those of my lacquey, Tosilos.” - -“God forbid,” said Don Quixote, “that I should draw my sword against -your illustrious person from which I have received such great favours. -The kerchiefs I will restore, as Sancho says he has them; as to the -garters that is impossible, for I have not got them, neither has he; -and if your handmaiden here will look in her hiding-places, depend upon -it she will find them. I have never been a thief, my lord duke, nor do -I mean to be so long as I live, if God cease not to have me in his -keeping. This damsel by her own confession speaks as one in love, for -which I am not to blame, and therefore need not ask pardon, either of -her or of your excellence, whom I entreat to have a better opinion of -me, and once more to give me leave to pursue my journey.” - -“And may God so prosper it, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that -we may always hear good news of your exploits; God speed you; for the -longer you stay, the more you inflame the hearts of the damsels who -behold you; and as for this one of mine, I will so chastise her that -she will not transgress again, either with her eyes or with her words.” - -“One word and no more, O valiant Don Quixote, I ask you to hear,” said -Altisidora, “and that is that I beg your pardon about the theft of the -garters; for by God and upon my soul I have got them on, and I have -fallen into the same blunder as he did who went looking for his ass -being all the while mounted on it.” - -“Didn’t I say so?” said Sancho. “I’m a likely one to hide thefts! Why -if I wanted to deal in them, opportunities came ready enough to me in -my government.” - -Don Quixote bowed his head, and saluted the duke and duchess and all -the bystanders, and wheeling Rocinante round, Sancho following him on -Dapple, he rode out of the castle, shaping his course for Saragossa. - -CHAPTER LVIII. -WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUMBERS -THAT THEY GAVE ONE ANOTHER NO BREATHING-TIME - -When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved from -the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh spirits -to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to Sancho, he -said, “Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven -has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the -sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may -and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the -greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I say this, Sancho, -because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance we have enjoyed in -this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those dainty banquets and -snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were undergoing the straits of -hunger, because I did not enjoy them with the same freedom as if they -had been mine own; for the sense of being under an obligation to return -benefits and favours received is a restraint that checks the -independence of the spirit. Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece -of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to any but heaven -itself!” - -“For all your worship says,” said Sancho, “it is not becoming that -there should be no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that -the duke’s majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next -my heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance -calls; for we shan’t always find castles where they’ll entertain us; -now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they’ll cudgel us.” - -In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were pursuing -their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than half a -league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers stretched -upon their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating their dinner. -They had beside them what seemed to be white sheets concealing some -objects under them, standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at -intervals. Don Quixote approached the diners, and, saluting them -courteously first, he asked them what it was those cloths covered. -“Señor,” answered one of the party, “under these cloths are some images -carved in relief intended for a retablo we are putting up in our -village; we carry them covered up that they may not be soiled, and on -our shoulders that they may not be broken.” - -“With your good leave,” said Don Quixote, “I should like to see them; -for images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine ones.” - -“I should think they were!” said the other; “let the money they cost -speak for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them that -does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your worship may -judge; wait a moment, and you shall see with your own eyes;” and -getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the first image, which -proved to be one of Saint George on horseback with a serpent writhing -at his feet and the lance thrust down its throat with all that -fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole group was one blaze of -gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don Quixote said, “That knight was -one of the best knights-errant the army of heaven ever owned; he was -called Don Saint George, and he was moreover a defender of maidens. Let -us see this next one.” - -The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin on his -horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don Quixote saw -it he said, “This knight too was one of the Christian adventurers, but -I believe he was generous rather than valiant, as thou mayest perceive, -Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with the beggar and giving him half -of it; no doubt it was winter at the time, for otherwise he would have -given him the whole of it, so charitable was he.” - -“It was not that, most likely,” said Sancho, “but that he held with the -proverb that says, ‘For giving and keeping there’s need of brains.’” - -Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth, -underneath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the Spains -seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on Moors -and treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed, -“Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This one is -called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest saints and -knights the world ever had or heaven has now.” - -They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint Paul -falling from his horse, with all the details that are usually given in -representations of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it, rendered in -such lifelike style that one would have said Christ was speaking and -Paul answering, “This,” he said, “was in his time the greatest enemy -that the Church of God our Lord had, and the greatest champion it will -ever have; a knight-errant in life, a steadfast saint in death, an -untiring labourer in the Lord’s vineyard, a teacher of the Gentiles, -whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master was Jesus -Christ himself.” - -There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up -again, and said to those who had brought them, “I take it as a happy -omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights -were of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms; -only there is this difference between them and me, that they were -saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight -with human ones. They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven suffereth -violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by dint of my -sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released from -hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a mind restored to itself I -might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at present.” - -“May God hear and sin be deaf,” said Sancho to this. - -The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the words -of Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of what he -meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images on their -backs, and bidding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their journey. - -Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master’s knowledge, as -much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was -no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers’ ends and -fixed in his memory, and he said to him, “In truth, master mine, if -this that has happened to us to-day is to be called an adventure, it -has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen us in -the whole course of our travels; we have come out of it unbelaboured -and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have we smitten the -earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing; blessed be God -that he has let me see such a thing with my own eyes!” - -“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but remember all times -are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these things the -vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any natural -reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy -accidents merely. One of these believers in omens will get up of a -morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed -Saint Francis, and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and -go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his table, and gloom -is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give warning of -coming misfortunes by means of such trivial things as these. The wise -man and the Christian should not trifle with what it may please heaven -to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he leaped on shore; his -soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he, clasping the soil with his -arms, exclaimed, ‘Thou canst not escape me, Africa, for I hold thee -tight between my arms.’ Thus, Sancho, meeting those images has been to -me a most happy occurrence.” - -“I can well believe it,” said Sancho; “but I wish your worship would -tell me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about to -give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say -‘Santiago and close Spain!’ Is Spain, then, open, so that it is needful -to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?” - -“Thou art very simple, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “God, look you, gave -that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint and -protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had with -the Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their -defender in all their battles; and in these he has been many a time -seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering -the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give -thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish histories.” - -Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, “I marvel, señor, -at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess’s handmaid; he whom they -call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they say he is a -little blind urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more properly speaking -sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it ever so small, hits it and -pierces it through and through with his arrows. I have heard it said -too that the arrows of Love are blunted and robbed of their points by -maidenly modesty and reserve; but with this Altisidora it seems they -are sharpened rather than blunted.” - -“Bear in mind, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that love is influenced by -no consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the -same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings and -the humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire possession of -a heart, the first thing it does is to banish fear and shame from it; -and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion, which excited in -my mind embarrassment rather than commiseration.” - -“Notable cruelty!” exclaimed Sancho; “unheard-of ingratitude! I can -only say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers would -have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a heart of -marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I can’t -imagine what it is that this damsel saw in your worship that could have -conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold -bearing, what sprightly grace, what comeliness of feature, which of -these things by itself, or what all together, could have made her fall -in love with you? For indeed and in truth many a time I stop to look at -your worship from the sole of your foot to the topmost hair of your -head, and I see more to frighten one than to make one fall in love; -moreover I have heard say that beauty is the first and main thing that -excites love, and as your worship has none at all, I don’t know what -the poor creature fell in love with.” - -“Recollect, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “there are two sorts of -beauty, one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind -displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in honourable -conduct, in generosity, in good breeding; and all these qualities are -possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is this sort of -beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction, love is apt to -spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho, perceive clearly enough -that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know I am not hideous; -and it is enough for an honest man not to be a monster to be an object -of love, if only he possesses the endowments of mind I have mentioned.” - -While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a -wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting -anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of -green cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to conceive -what it could be, he said to Sancho, “Sancho, it strikes me this affair -of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures imaginable. -May I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not trying to -entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of revenge for my -obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them that if these -nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the hardest diamonds, -or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of blacksmiths enmeshed -Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as if they were made of -rushes or cotton threads.” But just as he was about to press forward -and break through all, suddenly from among some trees two shepherdesses -of surpassing beauty presented themselves to his sight—or at least -damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that their jerkins and sayas -were of fine brocade; that is to say, the sayas were rich farthingales -of gold embroidered tabby. Their hair, that in its golden brightness -vied with the beams of the sun itself, fell loose upon their shoulders -and was crowned with garlands twined with green laurel and red -everlasting; and their years to all appearance were not under fifteen -nor above eighteen. - -Such was the spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated -Don Quixote, made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held -all four in a strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was -the first to speak and said to Don Quixote, “Hold, sir knight, and do -not break these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, -but only for our amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have -been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a -village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of -quality and rich gentlefolk, it was agreed upon by a number of friends -and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters, neighbours, -friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot, which is one of the -pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, setting up a new pastoral -Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing ourselves as shepherdesses -and the youths as shepherds. We have prepared two eclogues, one by the -famous poet Garcilasso, the other by the most excellent Camoens, in its -own Portuguese tongue, but we have not as yet acted them. Yesterday was -the first day of our coming here; we have a few of what they say are -called field-tents pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample -brook that fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these -nets in the trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by -the noise we make may fly into them. If you please to be our guest, -señor, you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now -neither care nor sorrow shall enter.” - -She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, “Of a -truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing -in the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck than -I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment, -and thank you for the kindness of your invitation; and if I can serve -you, you may command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my -profession is none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to -serve persons of all conditions, but especially persons of quality such -as your appearance indicates; and if, instead of taking up, as they -probably do, but a small space, these nets took up the whole surface of -the globe, I would seek out new worlds through which to pass, so as not -to break them; and that ye may give some degree of credence to this -exaggerated language of mine, know that it is no less than Don Quixote -of La Mancha that makes this declaration to you, if indeed it be that -such a name has reached your ears.” - -“Ah! friend of my soul,” instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess, -“what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this gentleman we -have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and -the most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world, -unless a history of his achievements that has been printed and I have -read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this -good fellow who is with him is one Sancho Panza his squire, whose -drolleries none can equal.” - -“That’s true,” said Sancho; “I am that same droll and squire you speak -of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same -that’s in the history and that they talk about.” - -“Oh, my friend,” said the other, “let us entreat him to stay; for it -will give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard -just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries -of the other; and what is more, of him they say that he is the most -constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and that his lady is -one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is -awarded.” - -“And justly awarded,” said Don Quixote, “unless, indeed, your -unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the -trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my -profession do not allow me to take rest under any circumstances.” - -At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a -brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd costume, -and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their -companion was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other -Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from having read their -history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged that he -would accompany him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and -comply. And now the game was started, and the nets were filled with a -variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into the danger they -were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily attired as -shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and were at once -informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat they were not a -little delighted, as they knew of him already through his history. They -repaired to the tents, where they found tables laid out, and choicely, -plentifully, and neatly furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person -of distinction, giving him the place of honour, and all observed him, -and were full of astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being -removed, Don Quixote with great composure lifted up his voice and said: - -“One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is—some will say -pride—but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell is -full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have -endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason; -and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done me by -other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be not -enough I make them known publicly; for he who declares and makes known -the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it were in his -power, and for the most part those who receive are the inferiors of -those who give. Thus, God is superior to all because he is the supreme -giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an infinite distance of -being a full return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some degree -makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming. I therefore, grateful for -the favour that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a -return in the same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of -my power, offer what I can and what I have to offer in my own way; and -so I declare that for two full days I will maintain in the middle of -this highway leading to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as -shepherdesses, who are here present, are the fairest and most courteous -maidens in the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, -sole mistress of my thoughts, be it said without offence to those who -hear me, ladies and gentlemen.” - -On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention, -cried out in a loud voice, “Is it possible there is anyone in the world -who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman? -Say, gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise -or learned, who could say what my master has said; or is there -knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of valour, that -could offer what my master has offered now?” - -Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with -anger said to him, “Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in the -whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match, -and I know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked -thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a wise man or -a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if -he be unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer into execution; for with -the right that I have on my side thou mayest reckon as vanquished all -who shall venture to question it;” and in a great rage, and showing his -anger plainly, he rose from his seat, leaving the company lost in -wonder, and making them feel doubtful whether they ought to regard him -as a madman or a rational being. In the end, though they sought to -dissuade him from involving himself in such a challenge, assuring him -they admitted his gratitude as fully established, and needed no fresh -proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit, as those related in the -history of his exploits were sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in -his resolve; and mounted on Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm -and grasping his lance, he posted himself in the middle of a high road -that was not far from the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, -together with all the members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see -what would be the upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary -proposal. - -Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the -middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this effect: “Ho -ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on -horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next -two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant, is posted -here to maintain by arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the -nymphs that dwell in these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth, -putting aside the lady of my heart, Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let -him who is of the opposite opinion come on, for here I await him.” - -Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any -adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better to -better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the -road a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their -hands, all riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner had -those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about and -withdrew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if they -stayed some harm might come to them; but Don Quixote with intrepid -heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself with -Rocinante’s hind-quarters. The troop of lancers came up, and one of -them who was in advance began shouting to Don Quixote, “Get out of the -way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to pieces!” - -“Rabble!” returned Don Quixote, “I care nothing for bulls, be they the -fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once, scoundrels, that -what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat.” - -The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the -way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame -bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were -taking them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the -next day, passed over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and -Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the -ground. Sancho was left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured -and Rocinante in no very sound condition. - -They all got up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste, -stumbling here and falling there, started off running after the drove, -shouting out, “Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits -you, and he is not of the temper or opinion of those who say, ‘For a -flying enemy make a bridge of silver.’” The retreating party in their -haste, however, did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more -than last year’s clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and -more enraged than avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho, -Rocinante and Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man -mounted once more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock -or imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they -continued their journey. - -CHAPTER LIX. -WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE THING, WHICH MAY BE REGARDED AS AN -ADVENTURE, THAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE - -A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved -Don Quixote and Sancho of the dust and fatigue due to the unpolite -behaviour of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned Dapple -and Rocinante loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn pair, -master and man, seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to the larder of -his alforjas and took out of them what he called the prog; Don Quixote -rinsed his mouth and bathed his face, by which cooling process his -flagging energies were revived. Out of pure vexation he remained -without eating, and out of pure politeness Sancho did not venture to -touch a morsel of what was before him, but waited for his master to act -as taster. Seeing, however, that, absorbed in thought, he was -forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth, he said never a word, and -trampling every sort of good breeding under foot, began to stow away in -his paunch the bread and cheese that came to his hand. - -“Eat, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “support life, which is of -more consequence to thee than to me, and leave me to die under the pain -of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born, Sancho, to -live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the truth of what I -say, look at me, printed in histories, famed in arms, courteous in -behaviour, honoured by princes, courted by maidens; and after all, when -I looked forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns, won and earned by my -valiant deeds, I have this morning seen myself trampled on, kicked, and -crushed by the feet of unclean and filthy animals. This thought blunts -my teeth, paralyses my jaws, cramps my hands, and robs me of all -appetite for food; so much so that I have a mind to let myself die of -hunger, the cruelest death of all deaths.” - -“So then,” said Sancho, munching hard all the time, “your worship does -not agree with the proverb that says, ‘Let Martha die, but let her die -with a full belly.’ I, at any rate, have no mind to kill myself; so far -from that, I mean to do as the cobbler does, who stretches the leather -with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as he wants. I’ll stretch -out my life by eating until it reaches the end heaven has fixed for it; -and let me tell you, señor, there’s no greater folly than to think of -dying of despair as your worship does; take my advice, and after eating -lie down and sleep a bit on this green grass-mattress, and you will see -that when you awake you’ll feel something better.” - -Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho’s -reasoning was more like a philosopher’s than a blockhead’s, and said -he, “Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my -ease of mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so -great; and it is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in -accordance with thy advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air, to -give thyself three or four hundred lashes with Rocinante’s reins, on -account of the three thousand and odd thou art to give thyself for the -disenchantment of Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the poor lady -should be left enchanted through thy carelessness and negligence.” - -“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Sancho; “let us -both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will happen. -Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in cold blood -is a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an ill-nourished -and worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have patience, and when she is -least expecting it, she will see me made a riddle of with whipping, and -‘until death it’s all life;’ I mean that I have still life in me, and -the desire to make good what I have promised.” - -Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal, and -then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable friends -and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and to feed -unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was -furnished. They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed -their journey, pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight, -apparently a league off. I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it -so, contrary to his usual practice of calling all inns castles. They -reached it, and asked the landlord if they could put up there. He said -yes, with as much comfort and as good fare as they could find in -Saragossa. They dismounted, and Sancho stowed away his larder in a room -of which the landlord gave him the key. He took the beasts to the -stable, fed them, and came back to see what orders Don Quixote, who was -seated on a bench at the door, had for him, giving special thanks to -heaven that this inn had not been taken for a castle by his master. -Supper-time came, and they repaired to their room, and Sancho asked the -landlord what he had to give them for supper. To this the landlord -replied that his mouth should be the measure; he had only to ask what -he would; for that inn was provided with the birds of the air and the -fowls of the earth and the fish of the sea. - -“There’s no need of all that,” said Sancho; “if they’ll roast us a -couple of chickens we’ll be satisfied, for my master is delicate and -eats little, and I’m not over and above gluttonous.” - -The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had stolen them. - -“Well then,” said Sancho, “let señor landlord tell them to roast a -pullet, so that it is a tender one.” - -“Pullet! My father!” said the landlord; “indeed and in truth it’s only -yesterday I sent over fifty to the city to sell; but saving pullets ask -what you will.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “you will not be without veal or kid.” - -“Just now,” said the landlord, “there’s none in the house, for it’s all -finished; but next week there will be enough and to spare.” - -“Much good that does us,” said Sancho; “I’ll lay a bet that all these -short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of bacon and eggs.” - -“By God,” said the landlord, “my guest’s wits must be precious dull; I -tell him I have neither pullets nor hens, and he wants me to have eggs! -Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don’t ask for hens again.” - -“Body o’ me!” said Sancho, “let’s settle the matter; say at once what -you have got, and let us have no more words about it.” - -“In truth and earnest, señor guest,” said the landlord, “all I have is -a couple of cow-heels like calves’ feet, or a couple of calves’ feet -like cowheels; they are boiled with chick-peas, onions, and bacon, and -at this moment they are crying ‘Come eat me, come eat me.” - -“I mark them for mine on the spot,” said Sancho; “let nobody touch -them; I’ll pay better for them than anyone else, for I could not wish -for anything more to my taste; and I don’t care a pin whether they are -feet or heels.” - -“Nobody shall touch them,” said the landlord; “for the other guests I -have, being persons of high quality, bring their own cook and caterer -and larder with them.” - -“If you come to people of quality,” said Sancho, “there’s nobody more -so than my master; but the calling he follows does not allow of larders -or store-rooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a meadow, and -fill ourselves with acorns or medlars.” - -Here ended Sancho’s conversation with the landlord, Sancho not caring -to carry it any farther by answering him; for he had already asked him -what calling or what profession it was his master was of. - -Supper-time having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his room, -the landlord brought in the stew-pan just as it was, and he sat himself -down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another room, which was -next to Don Quixote’s, with nothing but a thin partition to separate -it, he overheard these words, “As you live, Señor Don Jeronimo, while -they are bringing supper, let us read another chapter of the Second -Part of ‘Don Quixote of La Mancha.’” - -The instant Don Quixote heard his own name he started to his feet and -listened with open ears to catch what they said about him, and heard -the Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, “Why would you -have us read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible for -anyone who has read the First Part of the history of ‘Don Quixote of La -Mancha’ to take any pleasure in reading this Second Part?” - -“For all that,” said he who was addressed as Don Juan, “we shall do -well to read it, for there is no book so bad but it has something good -in it. What displeases me most in it is that it represents Don Quixote -as now cured of his love for Dulcinea del Toboso.” - -On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted up -his voice and said, “Whoever he may be who says that Don Quixote of La -Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will teach -him with equal arms that what he says is very far from the truth; for -neither can the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso be forgotten, nor can -forgetfulness have a place in Don Quixote; his motto is constancy, and -his profession to maintain the same with his life and never wrong it.” - -“Who is this that answers us?” said they in the next room. - -“Who should it be,” said Sancho, “but Don Quixote of La Mancha himself, -who will make good all he has said and all he will say; for pledges -don’t trouble a good payer.” - -Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such they -seemed to be, entered the room, and one of them, throwing his arms -round Don Quixote’s neck, said to him, “Your appearance cannot leave -any question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify your -appearance; unquestionably, señor, you are the real Don Quixote of La -Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knight-errantry, despite and in -defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring to naught -your achievements, as the author of this book which I here present to -you has done;” and with this he put a book which his companion carried -into the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and without replying began -to run his eye over it; but he presently returned it saying, “In the -little I have seen I have discovered three things in this author that -deserve to be censured. The first is some words that I have read in the -preface; the next that the language is Aragonese, for sometimes he -writes without articles; and the third, which above all stamps him as -ignorant, is that he goes wrong and departs from the truth in the most -important part of the history, for here he says that my squire Sancho -Panza’s wife is called Mari Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of -the sort, but Teresa Panza; and when a man errs on such an important -point as this there is good reason to fear that he is in error on every -other point in the history.” - -“A nice sort of historian, indeed!” exclaimed Sancho at this; “he must -know a deal about our affairs when he calls my wife Teresa Panza, Mari -Gutierrez; take the book again, señor, and see if I am in it and if he -has changed my name.” - -“From your talk, friend,” said Don Jeronimo, “no doubt you are Sancho -Panza, Señor Don Quixote’s squire.” - -“Yes, I am,” said Sancho; “and I’m proud of it.” - -“Faith, then,” said the gentleman, “this new author does not handle you -with the decency that displays itself in your person; he makes you out -a heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll, and a very -different being from the Sancho described in the First Part of your -master’s history.” - -“God forgive him,” said Sancho; “he might have left me in my corner -without troubling his head about me; ‘let him who knows how ring the -bells; ‘Saint Peter is very well in Rome.’” - -The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and have -supper with them, as they knew very well there was nothing in that inn -fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always polite, yielded to -their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed behind with the stew. -and invested with plenary delegated authority seated himself at the -head of the table, and the landlord sat down with him, for he was no -less fond of cow-heel and calves’ feet than Sancho was. - -While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady -Dulcinea del Toboso, was she married, had she been brought to bed, or -was she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving her -modesty and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender passion of -Señor Don Quixote? - -To this he replied, “Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more -firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse unsatisfactory as before, and -her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;” and then he -proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the enchantment -of Dulcinea, and of what had happened him in the cave of Montesinos, -together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for her -disenchantment, namely the scourging of Sancho. - -Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from -hearing Don Quixote recount the strange incidents of his history; and -if they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by the -elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they regarded -him as a man of wit and sense, and on the other he seemed to them a -maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds -whereabouts between wisdom and folly they ought to place him. - -Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X -condition, repaired to the room where his master was, and as he came in -said, “May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships have -got has any mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton -(according to what your worships say) I wish he may not call me -drunkard too.” - -“But he does,” said Don Jeronimo; “I cannot remember, however, in what -way, though I know his words are offensive, and what is more, lying, as -I can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho before me.” - -“Believe me,” said Sancho, “the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this -history must be different persons from those that appear in the one -Cide Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant, -wise, and true in love, and I simple, droll, and neither glutton nor -drunkard.” - -“I believe it,” said Don Juan; “and were it possible, an order should -be issued that no one should have the presumption to deal with anything -relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide Hamete; just as -Alexander commanded that no one should presume to paint his portrait -save Apelles.” - -“Let him who will paint me,” said Don Quixote; “but let him not abuse -me; for patience will often break down when they heap insults upon it.” - -“None can be offered to Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Juan, “that he -himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not ward it off with the -shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong.” - -A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this -sort, and though Don Juan wished Don Quixote to read more of the book -to see what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon, saying -that he treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly; and, if by -any chance it should come to its author’s ears that he had it in his -hand, he did not want him to flatter himself with the idea that he had -read it; for our thoughts, and still more our eyes, should keep -themselves aloof from what is obscene and filthy. - -They asked him whither he meant to direct his steps. He replied, to -Saragossa, to take part in the harness jousts which were held in that -city every year. Don Juan told him that the new history described how -Don Quixote, let him be who he might, took part there in a tilting at -the ring, utterly devoid of invention, poor in mottoes, very poor in -costume, though rich in sillinesses. - -“For that very reason,” said Don Quixote, “I will not set foot in -Saragossa; and by that means I shall expose to the world the lie of -this new history writer, and people will see that I am not the Don -Quixote he speaks of.” - -“You will do quite right,” said Don Jeronimo; “and there are other -jousts at Barcelona in which Señor Don Quixote may display his -prowess.” - -“That is what I mean to do,” said Don Quixote; “and as it is now time, -I pray your worships to give me leave to retire to bed, and to place -and retain me among the number of your greatest friends and servants.” - -“And me too,” said Sancho; “maybe I’ll be good for something.” - -With this they exchanged farewells, and Don Quixote and Sancho retired -to their room, leaving Don Juan and Don Jeronimo amazed to see the -medley he made of his good sense and his craziness; and they felt -thoroughly convinced that these, and not those their Aragonese author -described, were the genuine Don Quixote and Sancho. Don Quixote rose -betimes, and bade adieu to his hosts by knocking at the partition of -the other room. Sancho paid the landlord magnificently, and recommended -him either to say less about the providing of his inn or to keep it -better provided. - -CHAPTER LX. -OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE ON HIS WAY TO BARCELONA - -It was a fresh morning giving promise of a cool day as Don Quixote -quitted the inn, first of all taking care to ascertain the most direct -road to Barcelona without touching upon Saragossa; so anxious was he to -make out this new historian, who they said abused him so, to be a liar. -Well, as it fell out, nothing worthy of being recorded happened him for -six days, at the end of which, having turned aside out of the road, he -was overtaken by night in a thicket of oak or cork trees; for on this -point Cide Hamete is not as precise as he usually is on other matters. - -Master and man dismounted from their beasts, and as soon as they had -settled themselves at the foot of the trees, Sancho, who had had a good -noontide meal that day, let himself, without more ado, pass the gates -of sleep. But Don Quixote, whom his thoughts, far more than hunger, -kept awake, could not close an eye, and roamed in fancy to and fro -through all sorts of places. At one moment it seemed to him that he was -in the cave of Montesinos and saw Dulcinea, transformed into a country -wench, skipping and mounting upon her she-ass; again that the words of -the sage Merlin were sounding in his ears, setting forth the conditions -to be observed and the exertions to be made for the disenchantment of -Dulcinea. He lost all patience when he considered the laziness and want -of charity of his squire Sancho; for to the best of his belief he had -only given himself five lashes, a number paltry and disproportioned to -the vast number required. At this thought he felt such vexation and -anger that he reasoned the matter thus: “If Alexander the Great cut the -Gordian knot, saying, ‘To cut comes to the same thing as to untie,’ and -yet did not fail to become lord paramount of all Asia, neither more nor -less could happen now in Dulcinea’s disenchantment if I scourge Sancho -against his will; for, if it is the condition of the remedy that Sancho -shall receive three thousand and odd lashes, what does it matter to me -whether he inflicts them himself, or someone else inflicts them, when -the essential point is that he receives them, let them come from -whatever quarter they may?” - -With this idea he went over to Sancho, having first taken Rocinante’s -reins and arranged them so as to be able to flog him with them, and -began to untie the points (the common belief is he had but one in -front) by which his breeches were held up; but the instant he -approached him Sancho woke up in his full senses and cried out, “What -is this? Who is touching me and untrussing me?” - -“It is I,” said Don Quixote, “and I come to make good thy shortcomings -and relieve my own distresses; I come to whip thee, Sancho, and wipe -off some portion of the debt thou hast undertaken. Dulcinea is -perishing, thou art living on regardless, I am dying of hope deferred; -therefore untruss thyself with a good will, for mine it is, here, in -this retired spot, to give thee at least two thousand lashes.” - -“Not a bit of it,” said Sancho; “let your worship keep quiet, or else -by the living God the deaf shall hear us; the lashes I pledged myself -to must be voluntary and not forced upon me, and just now I have no -fancy to whip myself; it is enough if I give you my word to flog and -flap myself when I have a mind.” - -“It will not do to leave it to thy courtesy, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, -“for thou art hard of heart and, though a clown, tender of flesh;” and -at the same time he strove and struggled to untie him. - -Seeing this Sancho got up, and grappling with his master he gripped him -with all his might in his arms, giving him a trip with the heel -stretched him on the ground on his back, and pressing his right knee on -his chest held his hands in his own so that he could neither move nor -breathe. - -“How now, traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote. “Dost thou revolt against -thy master and natural lord? Dost thou rise against him who gives thee -his bread?” - -“I neither put down king, nor set up king,” said Sancho; “I only stand -up for myself who am my own lord; if your worship promises me to be -quiet, and not to offer to whip me now, I’ll let you go free and -unhindered; if not— - -Traitor and Doña Sancha’s foe, -Thou diest on the spot.” - -Don Quixote gave his promise, and swore by the life of his thoughts not -to touch so much as a hair of his garments, and to leave him entirely -free and to his own discretion to whip himself whenever he pleased. - -Sancho rose and removed some distance from the spot, but as he was -about to place himself leaning against another tree he felt something -touch his head, and putting up his hands encountered somebody’s two -feet with shoes and stockings on them. He trembled with fear and made -for another tree, where the very same thing happened to him, and he -fell a-shouting, calling upon Don Quixote to come and protect him. Don -Quixote did so, and asked him what had happened to him, and what he was -afraid of. Sancho replied that all the trees were full of men’s feet -and legs. Don Quixote felt them, and guessed at once what it was, and -said to Sancho, “Thou hast nothing to be afraid of, for these feet and -legs that thou feelest but canst not see belong no doubt to some -outlaws and freebooters that have been hanged on these trees; for the -authorities in these parts are wont to hang them up by twenties and -thirties when they catch them; whereby I conjecture that I must be near -Barcelona;” and it was, in fact, as he supposed; with the first light -they looked up and saw that the fruit hanging on those trees were -freebooters’ bodies. - -And now day dawned; and if the dead freebooters had scared them, their -hearts were no less troubled by upwards of forty living ones, who all -of a sudden surrounded them, and in the Catalan tongue bade them stand -and wait until their captain came up. Don Quixote was on foot with his -horse unbridled and his lance leaning against a tree, and in short -completely defenceless; he thought it best therefore to fold his arms -and bow his head and reserve himself for a more favourable occasion and -opportunity. The robbers made haste to search Dapple, and did not leave -him a single thing of all he carried in the alforjas and in the valise; -and lucky it was for Sancho that the duke’s crowns and those he brought -from home were in a girdle that he wore round him; but for all that -these good folk would have stripped him, and even looked to see what he -had hidden between the skin and flesh, but for the arrival at that -moment of their captain, who was about thirty-four years of age -apparently, strongly built, above the middle height, of stern aspect -and swarthy complexion. He was mounted upon a powerful horse, and had -on a coat of mail, with four of the pistols they call petronels in that -country at his waist. He saw that his squires (for so they call those -who follow that trade) were about to rifle Sancho Panza, but he ordered -them to desist and was at once obeyed, so the girdle escaped. He -wondered to see the lance leaning against the tree, the shield on the -ground, and Don Quixote in armour and dejected, with the saddest and -most melancholy face that sadness itself could produce; and going up to -him he said, “Be not so cast down, good man, for you have not fallen -into the hands of any inhuman Busiris, but into Roque Guinart’s, which -are more merciful than cruel.” - -“The cause of my dejection,” returned Don Quixote, “is not that I have -fallen into thy hands, O valiant Roque, whose fame is bounded by no -limits on earth, but that my carelessness should have been so great -that thy soldiers should have caught me unbridled, when it is my duty, -according to the rule of knight-errantry which I profess, to be always -on the alert and at all times my own sentinel; for let me tell thee, -great Roque, had they found me on my horse, with my lance and shield, -it would not have been very easy for them to reduce me to submission, -for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, he who hath filled the whole world -with his achievements.” - -Roque Guinart at once perceived that Don Quixote’s weakness was more -akin to madness than to swagger; and though he had sometimes heard him -spoken of, he never regarded the things attributed to him as true, nor -could he persuade himself that such a humour could become dominant in -the heart of man; he was extremely glad, therefore, to meet him and -test at close quarters what he had heard of him at a distance; so he -said to him, “Despair not, valiant knight, nor regard as an untoward -fate the position in which thou findest thyself; it may be that by -these slips thy crooked fortune will make itself straight; for heaven -by strange circuitous ways, mysterious and incomprehensible to man, -raises up the fallen and makes rich the poor.” - -Don Quixote was about to thank him, when they heard behind them a noise -as of a troop of horses; there was, however, but one, riding on which -at a furious pace came a youth, apparently about twenty years of age, -clad in green damask edged with gold and breeches and a loose frock, -with a hat looped up in the Walloon fashion, tight-fitting polished -boots, gilt spurs, dagger and sword, and in his hand a musketoon, and a -pair of pistols at his waist. - -Roque turned round at the noise and perceived this comely figure, which -drawing near thus addressed him, “I came in quest of thee, valiant -Roque, to find in thee if not a remedy at least relief in my -misfortune; and not to keep thee in suspense, for I see thou dost not -recognise me, I will tell thee who I am; I am Claudia Jeronima, the -daughter of Simon Forte, thy good friend, and special enemy of Clauquel -Torrellas, who is thine also as being of the faction opposed to thee. -Thou knowest that this Torrellas has a son who is called, or at least -was not two hours since, Don Vicente Torrellas. Well, to cut short the -tale of my misfortune, I will tell thee in a few words what this youth -has brought upon me. He saw me, he paid court to me, I listened to him, -and, unknown to my father, I loved him; for there is no woman, however -secluded she may live or close she may be kept, who will not have -opportunities and to spare for following her headlong impulses. In a -word, he pledged himself to be mine, and I promised to be his, without -carrying matters any further. Yesterday I learned that, forgetful of -his pledge to me, he was about to marry another, and that he was to go -this morning to plight his troth, intelligence which overwhelmed and -exasperated me; my father not being at home I was able to adopt this -costume you see, and urging my horse to speed I overtook Don Vicente -about a league from this, and without waiting to utter reproaches or -hear excuses I fired this musket at him, and these two pistols besides, -and to the best of my belief I must have lodged more than two bullets -in his body, opening doors to let my honour go free, enveloped in his -blood. I left him there in the hands of his servants, who did not dare -and were not able to interfere in his defence, and I come to seek from -thee a safe-conduct into France, where I have relatives with whom I can -live; and also to implore thee to protect my father, so that Don -Vicente’s numerous kinsmen may not venture to wreak their lawless -vengeance upon him.” - -Roque, filled with admiration at the gallant bearing, high spirit, -comely figure, and adventure of the fair Claudia, said to her, “Come, -señora, let us go and see if thy enemy is dead; and then we will -consider what will be best for thee.” Don Quixote, who had been -listening to what Claudia said and Roque Guinart said in reply to her, -exclaimed, “Nobody need trouble himself with the defence of this lady, -for I take it upon myself. Give me my horse and arms, and wait for me -here; I will go in quest of this knight, and dead or alive I will make -him keep his word plighted to so great beauty.” - -“Nobody need have any doubt about that,” said Sancho, “for my master -has a very happy knack of matchmaking; it’s not many days since he -forced another man to marry, who in the same way backed out of his -promise to another maiden; and if it had not been for his persecutors -the enchanters changing the man’s proper shape into a lacquey’s the -said maiden would not be one this minute.” - -Roque, who was paying more attention to the fair Claudia’s adventure -than to the words of master or man, did not hear them; and ordering his -squires to restore to Sancho everything they had stripped Dapple of, he -directed them to return to the place where they had been quartered -during the night, and then set off with Claudia at full speed in search -of the wounded or slain Don Vicente. They reached the spot where -Claudia met him, but found nothing there save freshly spilt blood; -looking all round, however, they descried some people on the slope of a -hill above them, and concluded, as indeed it proved to be, that it was -Don Vicente, whom either dead or alive his servants were removing to -attend to his wounds or to bury him. They made haste to overtake them, -which, as the party moved slowly, they were able to do with ease. They -found Don Vicente in the arms of his servants, whom he was entreating -in a broken feeble voice to leave him there to die, as the pain of his -wounds would not suffer him to go any farther. Claudia and Roque threw -themselves off their horses and advanced towards him; the servants were -overawed by the appearance of Roque, and Claudia was moved by the sight -of Don Vicente, and going up to him half tenderly half sternly, she -seized his hand and said to him, “Hadst thou given me this according to -our compact thou hadst never come to this pass.” - -The wounded gentleman opened his all but closed eyes, and recognising -Claudia said, “I see clearly, fair and mistaken lady, that it is thou -that hast slain me, a punishment not merited or deserved by my feelings -towards thee, for never did I mean to, nor could I, wrong thee in -thought or deed.” - -“It is not true, then,” said Claudia, “that thou wert going this -morning to marry Leonora the daughter of the rich Balvastro?” - -“Assuredly not,” replied Don Vicente; “my cruel fortune must have -carried those tidings to thee to drive thee in thy jealousy to take my -life; and to assure thyself of this, press my hands and take me for thy -husband if thou wilt; I have no better satisfaction to offer thee for -the wrong thou fanciest thou hast received from me.” - -Claudia wrung his hands, and her own heart was so wrung that she lay -fainting on the bleeding breast of Don Vicente, whom a death spasm -seized the same instant. Roque was in perplexity and knew not what to -do; the servants ran to fetch water to sprinkle their faces, and -brought some and bathed them with it. Claudia recovered from her -fainting fit, but not so Don Vicente from the paroxysm that had -overtaken him, for his life had come to an end. On perceiving this, -Claudia, when she had convinced herself that her beloved husband was no -more, rent the air with her sighs and made the heavens ring with her -lamentations; she tore her hair and scattered it to the winds, she beat -her face with her hands and showed all the signs of grief and sorrow -that could be conceived to come from an afflicted heart. “Cruel, -reckless woman!” she cried, “how easily wert thou moved to carry out a -thought so wicked! O furious force of jealousy, to what desperate -lengths dost thou lead those that give thee lodging in their bosoms! O -husband, whose unhappy fate in being mine hath borne thee from the -marriage bed to the grave!” - -So vehement and so piteous were the lamentations of Claudia that they -drew tears from Roque’s eyes, unused as they were to shed them on any -occasion. The servants wept, Claudia swooned away again and again, and -the whole place seemed a field of sorrow and an abode of misfortune. In -the end Roque Guinart directed Don Vicente’s servants to carry his body -to his father’s village, which was close by, for burial. Claudia told -him she meant to go to a monastery of which an aunt of hers was abbess, -where she intended to pass her life with a better and everlasting -spouse. He applauded her pious resolution, and offered to accompany her -whithersoever she wished, and to protect her father against the kinsmen -of Don Vicente and all the world, should they seek to injure him. -Claudia would not on any account allow him to accompany her; and -thanking him for his offers as well as she could, took leave of him in -tears. The servants of Don Vicente carried away his body, and Roque -returned to his comrades, and so ended the love of Claudia Jeronima; -but what wonder, when it was the insuperable and cruel might of -jealousy that wove the web of her sad story? - -Roque Guinart found his squires at the place to which he had ordered -them, and Don Quixote on Rocinante in the midst of them delivering a -harangue to them in which he urged them to give up a mode of life so -full of peril, as well to the soul as to the body; but as most of them -were Gascons, rough lawless fellows, his speech did not make much -impression on them. Roque on coming up asked Sancho if his men had -returned and restored to him the treasures and jewels they had stripped -off Dapple. Sancho said they had, but that three kerchiefs that were -worth three cities were missing. - -“What are you talking about, man?” said one of the bystanders; “I have -got them, and they are not worth three reals.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but my squire values them at the -rate he says, as having been given me by the person who gave them.” - -Roque Guinart ordered them to be restored at once; and making his men -fall in in line he directed all the clothing, jewellery, and money that -they had taken since the last distribution to be produced; and making a -hasty valuation, and reducing what could not be divided into money, he -made shares for the whole band so equitably and carefully, that in no -case did he exceed or fall short of strict distributive justice. - -When this had been done, and all left satisfied, Roque observed to Don -Quixote, “If this scrupulous exactness were not observed with these -fellows there would be no living with them.” - -Upon this Sancho remarked, “From what I have seen here, justice is such -a good thing that there is no doing without it, even among the thieves -themselves.” - -One of the squires heard this, and raising the butt-end of his -harquebuss would no doubt have broken Sancho’s head with it had not -Roque Guinart called out to him to hold his hand. Sancho was frightened -out of his wits, and vowed not to open his lips so long as he was in -the company of these people. - -At this instant one or two of those squires who were posted as -sentinels on the roads, to watch who came along them and report what -passed to their chief, came up and said, “Señor, there is a great troop -of people not far off coming along the road to Barcelona.” - -To which Roque replied, “Hast thou made out whether they are of the -sort that are after us, or of the sort we are after?” - -“The sort we are after,” said the squire. - -“Well then, away with you all,” said Roque, “and bring them here to me -at once without letting one of them escape.” - -They obeyed, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and Roque, left by themselves, -waited to see what the squires brought, and while they were waiting -Roque said to Don Quixote, “It must seem a strange sort of life to -Señor Don Quixote, this of ours, strange adventures, strange incidents, -and all full of danger; and I do not wonder that it should seem so, for -in truth I must own there is no mode of life more restless or anxious -than ours. What led me into it was a certain thirst for vengeance, -which is strong enough to disturb the quietest hearts. I am by nature -tender-hearted and kindly, but, as I said, the desire to revenge myself -for a wrong that was done me so overturns all my better impulses that I -keep on in this way of life in spite of what conscience tells me; and -as one depth calls to another, and one sin to another sin, revenges -have linked themselves together, and I have taken upon myself not only -my own but those of others: it pleases God, however, that, though I see -myself in this maze of entanglements, I do not lose all hope of -escaping from it and reaching a safe port.” - -Don Quixote was amazed to hear Roque utter such excellent and just -sentiments, for he did not think that among those who followed such -trades as robbing, murdering, and waylaying, there could be anyone -capable of a virtuous thought, and he said in reply, “Señor Roque, the -beginning of health lies in knowing the disease and in the sick man’s -willingness to take the medicines which the physician prescribes; you -are sick, you know what ails you, and heaven, or more properly speaking -God, who is our physician, will administer medicines that will cure -you, and cure gradually, and not of a sudden or by a miracle; besides, -sinners of discernment are nearer amendment than those who are fools; -and as your worship has shown good sense in your remarks, all you have -to do is to keep up a good heart and trust that the weakness of your -conscience will be strengthened. And if you have any desire to shorten -the journey and put yourself easily in the way of salvation, come with -me, and I will show you how to become a knight-errant, a calling -wherein so many hardships and mishaps are encountered that if they be -taken as penances they will lodge you in heaven in a trice.” - -Roque laughed at Don Quixote’s exhortation, and changing the -conversation he related the tragic affair of Claudia Jeronima, at which -Sancho was extremely grieved; for he had not found the young woman’s -beauty, boldness, and spirit at all amiss. - -And now the squires despatched to make the prize came up, bringing with -them two gentlemen on horseback, two pilgrims on foot, and a coach full -of women with some six servants on foot and on horseback in attendance -on them, and a couple of muleteers whom the gentlemen had with them. -The squires made a ring round them, both victors and vanquished -maintaining profound silence, waiting for the great Roque Guinart to -speak. He asked the gentlemen who they were, whither they were going, -and what money they carried with them; “Señor,” replied one of them, -“we are two captains of Spanish infantry; our companies are at Naples, -and we are on our way to embark in four galleys which they say are at -Barcelona under orders for Sicily; and we have about two or three -hundred crowns, with which we are, according to our notions, rich and -contented, for a soldier’s poverty does not allow a more extensive -hoard.” - -Roque asked the pilgrims the same questions he had put to the captains, -and was answered that they were going to take ship for Rome, and that -between them they might have about sixty reals. He asked also who was -in the coach, whither they were bound and what money they had, and one -of the men on horseback replied, “The persons in the coach are my lady -Doña Guiomar de Quiñones, wife of the regent of the Vicaria at Naples, -her little daughter, a handmaid and a duenna; we six servants are in -attendance upon her, and the money amounts to six hundred crowns.” - -“So then,” said Roque Guinart, “we have got here nine hundred crowns -and sixty reals; my soldiers must number some sixty; see how much there -falls to each, for I am a bad arithmetician.” As soon as the robbers -heard this they raised a shout of “Long life to Roque Guinart, in spite -of the lladres that seek his ruin!” - -The captains showed plainly the concern they felt, the regent’s lady -was downcast, and the pilgrims did not at all enjoy seeing their -property confiscated. Roque kept them in suspense in this way for a -while; but he had no desire to prolong their distress, which might be -seen a bowshot off, and turning to the captains he said, “Sirs, will -your worships be pleased of your courtesy to lend me sixty crowns, and -her ladyship the regent’s wife eighty, to satisfy this band that -follows me, for ‘it is by his singing the abbot gets his dinner;’ and -then you may at once proceed on your journey, free and unhindered, with -a safe-conduct which I shall give you, so that if you come across any -other bands of mine that I have scattered in these parts, they may do -you no harm; for I have no intention of doing injury to soldiers, or to -any woman, especially one of quality.” - -Profuse and hearty were the expressions of gratitude with which the -captains thanked Roque for his courtesy and generosity; for such they -regarded his leaving them their own money. Señora Doña Guiomar de -Quiñones wanted to throw herself out of the coach to kiss the feet and -hands of the great Roque, but he would not suffer it on any account; so -far from that, he begged her pardon for the wrong he had done her under -pressure of the inexorable necessities of his unfortunate calling. The -regent’s lady ordered one of her servants to give the eighty crowns -that had been assessed as her share at once, for the captains had -already paid down their sixty. The pilgrims were about to give up the -whole of their little hoard, but Roque bade them keep quiet, and -turning to his men he said, “Of these crowns two fall to each man and -twenty remain over; let ten be given to these pilgrims, and the other -ten to this worthy squire that he may be able to speak favourably of -this adventure;” and then having writing materials, with which he -always went provided, brought to him, he gave them in writing a -safe-conduct to the leaders of his bands; and bidding them farewell let -them go free and filled with admiration at his magnanimity, his -generous disposition, and his unusual conduct, and inclined to regard -him as an Alexander the Great rather than a notorious robber. - -One of the squires observed in his mixture of Gascon and Catalan, “This -captain of ours would make a better friar than highwayman; if he wants -to be so generous another time, let it be with his own property and not -ours.” - -The unlucky wight did not speak so low but that Roque overheard him, -and drawing his sword almost split his head in two, saying, “That is -the way I punish impudent saucy fellows.” They were all taken aback, -and not one of them dared to utter a word, such deference did they pay -him. Roque then withdrew to one side and wrote a letter to a friend of -his at Barcelona, telling him that the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, -the knight-errant of whom there was so much talk, was with him, and -was, he assured him, the drollest and wisest man in the world; and that -in four days from that date, that is to say, on Saint John the -Baptist’s Day, he was going to deposit him in full armour mounted on -his horse Rocinante, together with his squire Sancho on an ass, in the -middle of the strand of the city; and bidding him give notice of this -to his friends the Niarros, that they might divert themselves with him. -He wished, he said, his enemies the Cadells could be deprived of this -pleasure; but that was impossible, because the crazes and shrewd -sayings of Don Quixote and the humours of his squire Sancho Panza could -not help giving general pleasure to all the world. He despatched the -letter by one of his squires, who, exchanging the costume of a -highwayman for that of a peasant, made his way into Barcelona and gave -it to the person to whom it was directed. - -CHAPTER LXI. -OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE ON ENTERING BARCELONA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER -MATTERS THAT PARTAKE OF THE TRUE RATHER THAN OF THE INGENIOUS - -Don Quixote passed three days and three nights with Roque, and had he -passed three hundred years he would have found enough to observe and -wonder at in his mode of life. At daybreak they were in one spot, at -dinner-time in another; sometimes they fled without knowing from whom, -at other times they lay in wait, not knowing for what. They slept -standing, breaking their slumbers to shift from place to place. There -was nothing but sending out spies and scouts, posting sentinels and -blowing the matches of harquebusses, though they carried but few, for -almost all used flintlocks. Roque passed his nights in some place or -other apart from his men, that they might not know where he was, for -the many proclamations the viceroy of Barcelona had issued against his -life kept him in fear and uneasiness, and he did not venture to trust -anyone, afraid that even his own men would kill him or deliver him up -to the authorities; of a truth, a weary miserable life! At length, by -unfrequented roads, short cuts, and secret paths, Roque, Don Quixote, -and Sancho, together with six squires, set out for Barcelona. They -reached the strand on Saint John’s Eve during the night; and Roque, -after embracing Don Quixote and Sancho (to whom he presented the ten -crowns he had promised but had not until then given), left them with -many expressions of good-will on both sides. - -Roque went back, while Don Quixote remained on horseback, just as he -was, waiting for day, and it was not long before the countenance of the -fair Aurora began to show itself at the balconies of the east, -gladdening the grass and flowers, if not the ear, though to gladden -that too there came at the same moment a sound of clarions and drums, -and a din of bells, and a tramp, tramp, and cries of “Clear the way -there!” of some runners, that seemed to issue from the city. - -The dawn made way for the sun that with a face broader than a buckler -began to rise slowly above the low line of the horizon; Don Quixote and -Sancho gazed all round them; they beheld the sea, a sight until then -unseen by them; it struck them as exceedingly spacious and broad, much -more so than the lakes of Ruidera which they had seen in La Mancha. -They saw the galleys along the beach, which, lowering their awnings, -displayed themselves decked with streamers and pennons that trembled in -the breeze and kissed and swept the water, while on board the bugles, -trumpets, and clarions were sounding and filling the air far and near -with melodious warlike notes. Then they began to move and execute a -kind of skirmish upon the calm water, while a vast number of horsemen -on fine horses and in showy liveries, issuing from the city, engaged on -their side in a somewhat similar movement. The soldiers on board the -galleys kept up a ceaseless fire, which they on the walls and forts of -the city returned, and the heavy cannon rent the air with the -tremendous noise they made, to which the gangway guns of the galleys -replied. The bright sea, the smiling earth, the clear air—though at -times darkened by the smoke of the guns—all seemed to fill the whole -multitude with unexpected delight. Sancho could not make out how it was -that those great masses that moved over the sea had so many feet. - -And now the horsemen in livery came galloping up with shouts and -outlandish cries and cheers to where Don Quixote stood amazed and -wondering; and one of them, he to whom Roque had sent word, addressing -him exclaimed, “Welcome to our city, mirror, beacon, star and cynosure -of all knight-errantry in its widest extent! Welcome, I say, valiant -Don Quixote of La Mancha; not the false, the fictitious, the -apocryphal, that these latter days have offered us in lying histories, -but the true, the legitimate, the real one that Cide Hamete Benengeli, -flower of historians, has described to us!” - -Don Quixote made no answer, nor did the horsemen wait for one, but -wheeling again with all their followers, they began curvetting round -Don Quixote, who, turning to Sancho, said, “These gentlemen have -plainly recognised us; I will wager they have read our history, and -even that newly printed one by the Aragonese.” - -The cavalier who had addressed Don Quixote again approached him and -said, “Come with us, Señor Don Quixote, for we are all of us your -servants and great friends of Roque Guinart’s;” to which Don Quixote -returned, “If courtesy breeds courtesy, yours, sir knight, is daughter -or very nearly akin to the great Roque’s; carry me where you please; I -will have no will but yours, especially if you deign to employ it in -your service.” - -The cavalier replied with words no less polite, and then, all closing -in around him, they set out with him for the city, to the music of the -clarions and the drums. As they were entering it, the wicked one, who -is the author of all mischief, and the boys who are wickeder than the -wicked one, contrived that a couple of these audacious irrepressible -urchins should force their way through the crowd, and lifting up, one -of them Dapple’s tail and the other Rocinante’s, insert a bunch of -furze under each. The poor beasts felt the strange spurs and added to -their anguish by pressing their tails tight, so much so that, cutting a -multitude of capers, they flung their masters to the ground. Don -Quixote, covered with shame and out of countenance, ran to pluck the -plume from his poor jade’s tail, while Sancho did the same for Dapple. -His conductors tried to punish the audacity of the boys, but there was -no possibility of doing so, for they hid themselves among the hundreds -of others that were following them. Don Quixote and Sancho mounted once -more, and with the same music and acclamations reached their -conductor’s house, which was large and stately, that of a rich -gentleman, in short; and there for the present we will leave them, for -such is Cide Hamete’s pleasure. - -CHAPTER LXII. -WHICH DEALS WITH THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED HEAD, TOGETHER WITH -OTHER TRIVIAL MATTERS WHICH CANNOT BE LEFT UNTOLD - -Don Quixote’s host was one Don Antonio Moreno by name, a gentleman of -wealth and intelligence, and very fond of diverting himself in any fair -and good-natured way; and having Don Quixote in his house he set about -devising modes of making him exhibit his mad points in some harmless -fashion; for jests that give pain are no jests, and no sport is worth -anything if it hurts another. The first thing he did was to make Don -Quixote take off his armour, and lead him, in that tight chamois suit -we have already described and depicted more than once, out on a balcony -overhanging one of the chief streets of the city, in full view of the -crowd and of the boys, who gazed at him as they would at a monkey. The -cavaliers in livery careered before him again as though it were for him -alone, and not to enliven the festival of the day, that they wore it, -and Sancho was in high delight, for it seemed to him that, how he knew -not, he had fallen upon another Camacho’s wedding, another house like -Don Diego de Miranda’s, another castle like the duke’s. Some of Don -Antonio’s friends dined with him that day, and all showed honour to Don -Quixote and treated him as a knight-errant, and he becoming puffed up -and exalted in consequence could not contain himself for satisfaction. -Such were the drolleries of Sancho that all the servants of the house, -and all who heard him, were kept hanging upon his lips. While at table -Don Antonio said to him, “We hear, worthy Sancho, that you are so fond -of manjar blanco and forced-meat balls, that if you have any left, you -keep them in your bosom for the next day.” - -“No, señor, that’s not true,” said Sancho, “for I am more cleanly than -greedy, and my master Don Quixote here knows well that we two are used -to live for a week on a handful of acorns or nuts. To be sure, if it so -happens that they offer me a heifer, I run with a halter; I mean, I eat -what I’m given, and make use of opportunities as I find them; but -whoever says that I’m an out-of-the-way eater or not cleanly, let me -tell him that he is wrong; and I’d put it in a different way if I did -not respect the honourable beards that are at the table.” - -“Indeed,” said Don Quixote, “Sancho’s moderation and cleanliness in -eating might be inscribed and graved on plates of brass, to be kept in -eternal remembrance in ages to come. It is true that when he is hungry -there is a certain appearance of voracity about him, for he eats at a -great pace and chews with both jaws; but cleanliness he is always -mindful of; and when he was governor he learned how to eat daintily, so -much so that he eats grapes, and even pomegranate pips, with a fork.” - -“What!” said Don Antonio, “has Sancho been a governor?” - -“Ay,” said Sancho, “and of an island called Barataria. I governed it to -perfection for ten days; and lost my rest all the time; and learned to -look down upon all the governments in the world; I got out of it by -taking to flight, and fell into a pit where I gave myself up for dead, -and out of which I escaped alive by a miracle.” - -Don Quixote then gave them a minute account of the whole affair of -Sancho’s government, with which he greatly amused his hearers. - -On the cloth being removed Don Antonio, taking Don Quixote by the hand, -passed with him into a distant room in which there was nothing in the -way of furniture except a table, apparently of jasper, resting on a -pedestal of the same, upon which was set up, after the fashion of the -busts of the Roman emperors, a head which seemed to be of bronze. Don -Antonio traversed the whole apartment with Don Quixote and walked round -the table several times, and then said, “Now, Señor Don Quixote, that I -am satisfied that no one is listening to us, and that the door is shut, -I will tell you of one of the rarest adventures, or more properly -speaking strange things, that can be imagined, on condition that you -will keep what I say to you in the remotest recesses of secrecy.” - -“I swear it,” said Don Quixote, “and for greater security I will put a -flag-stone over it; for I would have you know, Señor Don Antonio” (he -had by this time learned his name), “that you are addressing one who, -though he has ears to hear, has no tongue to speak; so that you may -safely transfer whatever you have in your bosom into mine, and rely -upon it that you have consigned it to the depths of silence.” - -“In reliance upon that promise,” said Don Antonio, “I will astonish you -with what you shall see and hear, and relieve myself of some of the -vexation it gives me to have no one to whom I can confide my secrets, -for they are not of a sort to be entrusted to everybody.” - -Don Quixote was puzzled, wondering what could be the object of such -precautions; whereupon Don Antonio taking his hand passed it over the -bronze head and the whole table and the pedestal of jasper on which it -stood, and then said, “This head, Señor Don Quixote, has been made and -fabricated by one of the greatest magicians and wizards the world ever -saw, a Pole, I believe, by birth, and a pupil of the famous Escotillo -of whom such marvellous stories are told. He was here in my house, and -for a consideration of a thousand crowns that I gave him he constructed -this head, which has the property and virtue of answering whatever -questions are put to its ear. He observed the points of the compass, he -traced figures, he studied the stars, he watched favourable moments, -and at length brought it to the perfection we shall see to-morrow, for -on Fridays it is mute, and this being Friday we must wait till the next -day. In the interval your worship may consider what you would like to -ask it; and I know by experience that in all its answers it tells the -truth.” - -Don Quixote was amazed at the virtue and property of the head, and was -inclined to disbelieve Don Antonio; but seeing what a short time he had -to wait to test the matter, he did not choose to say anything except -that he thanked him for having revealed to him so mighty a secret. They -then quitted the room, Don Antonio locked the door, and they repaired -to the chamber where the rest of the gentlemen were assembled. In the -meantime Sancho had recounted to them several of the adventures and -accidents that had happened his master. - -That afternoon they took Don Quixote out for a stroll, not in his -armour but in street costume, with a surcoat of tawny cloth upon him, -that at that season would have made ice itself sweat. Orders were left -with the servants to entertain Sancho so as not to let him leave the -house. Don Quixote was mounted, not on Rocinante, but upon a tall mule -of easy pace and handsomely caparisoned. They put the surcoat on him, -and on the back, without his perceiving it, they stitched a parchment -on which they wrote in large letters, “This is Don Quixote of La -Mancha.” As they set out upon their excursion the placard attracted the -eyes of all who chanced to see him, and as they read out, “This is Don -Quixote of La Mancha,” Don Quixote was amazed to see how many people -gazed at him, called him by his name, and recognised him, and turning -to Don Antonio, who rode at his side, he observed to him, “Great are -the privileges knight-errantry involves, for it makes him who professes -it known and famous in every region of the earth; see, Don Antonio, -even the very boys of this city know me without ever having seen me.” - -“True, Señor Don Quixote,” returned Don Antonio; “for as fire cannot be -hidden or kept secret, virtue cannot escape being recognised; and that -which is attained by the profession of arms shines distinguished above -all others.” - -It came to pass, however, that as Don Quixote was proceeding amid the -acclamations that have been described, a Castilian, reading the -inscription on his back, cried out in a loud voice, “The devil take -thee for a Don Quixote of La Mancha! What! art thou here, and not dead -of the countless drubbings that have fallen on thy ribs? Thou art mad; -and if thou wert so by thyself, and kept thyself within thy madness, it -would not be so bad; but thou hast the gift of making fools and -blockheads of all who have anything to do with thee or say to thee. -Why, look at these gentlemen bearing thee company! Get thee home, -blockhead, and see after thy affairs, and thy wife and children, and -give over these fooleries that are sapping thy brains and skimming away -thy wits.” - -“Go your own way, brother,” said Don Antonio, “and don’t offer advice -to those who don’t ask you for it. Señor Don Quixote is in his full -senses, and we who bear him company are not fools; virtue is to be -honoured wherever it may be found; go, and bad luck to you, and don’t -meddle where you are not wanted.” - -“By God, your worship is right,” replied the Castilian; “for to advise -this good man is to kick against the pricks; still for all that it -fills me with pity that the sound wit they say the blockhead has in -everything should dribble away by the channel of his knight-errantry; -but may the bad luck your worship talks of follow me and all my -descendants, if, from this day forth, though I should live longer than -Methuselah, I ever give advice to anybody even if he asks me for it.” - -The advice-giver took himself off, and they continued their stroll; but -so great was the press of the boys and people to read the placard, that -Don Antonio was forced to remove it as if he were taking off something -else. - -Night came and they went home, and there was a ladies’ dancing party, -for Don Antonio’s wife, a lady of rank and gaiety, beauty and wit, had -invited some friends of hers to come and do honour to her guest and -amuse themselves with his strange delusions. Several of them came, they -supped sumptuously, the dance began at about ten o’clock. Among the -ladies were two of a mischievous and frolicsome turn, and, though -perfectly modest, somewhat free in playing tricks for harmless -diversion’s sake. These two were so indefatigable in taking Don Quixote -out to dance that they tired him down, not only in body but in spirit. -It was a sight to see the figure Don Quixote made, long, lank, lean, -and yellow, his garments clinging tight to him, ungainly, and above all -anything but agile. - -The gay ladies made secret love to him, and he on his part secretly -repelled them, but finding himself hard pressed by their blandishments -he lifted up his voice and exclaimed, “_Fugite, partes adversæ!_ Leave -me in peace, unwelcome overtures; avaunt, with your desires, ladies, -for she who is queen of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, suffers -none but hers to lead me captive and subdue me;” and so saying he sat -down on the floor in the middle of the room, tired out and broken down -by all this exertion in the dance. - -Don Antonio directed him to be taken up bodily and carried to bed, and -the first that laid hold of him was Sancho, saying as he did so, “In an -evil hour you took to dancing, master mine; do you fancy all mighty men -of valour are dancers, and all knights-errant given to capering? If you -do, I can tell you you are mistaken; there’s many a man would rather -undertake to kill a giant than cut a caper. If it had been the -shoe-fling you were at I could take your place, for I can do the -shoe-fling like a gerfalcon; but I’m no good at dancing.” - -With these and other observations Sancho set the whole ball-room -laughing, and then put his master to bed, covering him up well so that -he might sweat out any chill caught after his dancing. - -The next day Don Antonio thought he might as well make trial of the -enchanted head, and with Don Quixote, Sancho, and two others, friends -of his, besides the two ladies that had tired out Don Quixote at the -ball, who had remained for the night with Don Antonio’s wife, he locked -himself up in the chamber where the head was. He explained to them the -property it possessed and entrusted the secret to them, telling them -that now for the first time he was going to try the virtue of the -enchanted head; but except Don Antonio’s two friends no one else was -privy to the mystery of the enchantment, and if Don Antonio had not -first revealed it to them they would have been inevitably reduced to -the same state of amazement as the rest, so artfully and skilfully was -it contrived. - -The first to approach the ear of the head was Don Antonio himself, and -in a low voice but not so low as not to be audible to all, he said to -it, “Head, tell me by the virtue that lies in thee what am I at this -moment thinking of?” - -The head, without any movement of the lips, answered in a clear and -distinct voice, so as to be heard by all, “I cannot judge of thoughts.” - -All were thunderstruck at this, and all the more so as they saw that -there was nobody anywhere near the table or in the whole room that -could have answered. “How many of us are here?” asked Don Antonio once -more; and it was answered him in the same way softly, “Thou and thy -wife, with two friends of thine and two of hers, and a famous knight -called Don Quixote of La Mancha, and a squire of his, Sancho Panza by -name.” - -Now there was fresh astonishment; now everyone’s hair was standing on -end with awe; and Don Antonio retiring from the head exclaimed, “This -suffices to show me that I have not been deceived by him who sold thee -to me, O sage head, talking head, answering head, wonderful head! Let -someone else go and put what question he likes to it.” - -And as women are commonly impulsive and inquisitive, the first to come -forward was one of the two friends of Don Antonio’s wife, and her -question was, “Tell me, Head, what shall I do to be very beautiful?” -and the answer she got was, “Be very modest.” - -“I question thee no further,” said the fair querist. - -Her companion then came up and said, “I should like to know, Head, -whether my husband loves me or not;” the answer given to her was, -“Think how he uses thee, and thou mayest guess;” and the married lady -went off saying, “That answer did not need a question; for of course -the treatment one receives shows the disposition of him from whom it is -received.” - -Then one of Don Antonio’s two friends advanced and asked it, “Who am -I?” “Thou knowest,” was the answer. “That is not what I ask thee,” said -the gentleman, “but to tell me if thou knowest me.” “Yes, I know thee, -thou art Don Pedro Noriz,” was the reply. - -“I do not seek to know more,” said the gentleman, “for this is enough -to convince me, O Head, that thou knowest everything;” and as he -retired the other friend came forward and asked it, “Tell me, Head, -what are the wishes of my eldest son?” - -“I have said already,” was the answer, “that I cannot judge of wishes; -however, I can tell thee the wish of thy son is to bury thee.” - -“That’s ‘what I see with my eyes I point out with my finger,’” said the -gentleman, “so I ask no more.” - -Don Antonio’s wife came up and said, “I know not what to ask thee, -Head; I would only seek to know of thee if I shall have many years of -enjoyment of my good husband;” and the answer she received was, “Thou -shalt, for his vigour and his temperate habits promise many years of -life, which by their intemperance others so often cut short.” - -Then Don Quixote came forward and said, “Tell me, thou that answerest, -was that which I describe as having happened to me in the cave of -Montesinos the truth or a dream? Will Sancho’s whipping be accomplished -without fail? Will the disenchantment of Dulcinea be brought about?” - -“As to the question of the cave,” was the reply, “there is much to be -said; there is something of both in it. Sancho’s whipping will proceed -leisurely. The disenchantment of Dulcinea will attain its due -consummation.” - -“I seek to know no more,” said Don Quixote; “let me but see Dulcinea -disenchanted, and I will consider that all the good fortune I could -wish for has come upon me all at once.” - -The last questioner was Sancho, and his questions were, “Head, shall I -by any chance have another government? Shall I ever escape from the -hard life of a squire? Shall I get back to see my wife and children?” -To which the answer came, “Thou shalt govern in thy house; and if thou -returnest to it thou shalt see thy wife and children; and on ceasing to -serve thou shalt cease to be a squire.” - -“Good, by God!” said Sancho Panza; “I could have told myself that; the -prophet Perogrullo could have said no more.” - -“What answer wouldst thou have, beast?” said Don Quixote; “is it not -enough that the replies this head has given suit the questions put to -it?” - -“Yes, it is enough,” said Sancho; “but I should have liked it to have -made itself plainer and told me more.” - -The questions and answers came to an end here, but not the wonder with -which all were filled, except Don Antonio’s two friends who were in the -secret. This Cide Hamete Benengeli thought fit to reveal at once, not -to keep the world in suspense, fancying that the head had some strange -magical mystery in it. He says, therefore, that on the model of another -head, the work of an image maker, which he had seen at Madrid, Don -Antonio made this one at home for his own amusement and to astonish -ignorant people; and its mechanism was as follows. The table was of -wood painted and varnished to imitate jasper, and the pedestal on which -it stood was of the same material, with four eagles’ claws projecting -from it to support the weight more steadily. The head, which resembled -a bust or figure of a Roman emperor, and was coloured like bronze, was -hollow throughout, as was the table, into which it was fitted so -exactly that no trace of the joining was visible. The pedestal of the -table was also hollow and communicated with the throat and neck of the -head, and the whole was in communication with another room underneath -the chamber in which the head stood. Through the entire cavity in the -pedestal, table, throat and neck of the bust or figure, there passed a -tube of tin carefully adjusted and concealed from sight. In the room -below corresponding to the one above was placed the person who was to -answer, with his mouth to the tube, and the voice, as in an -ear-trumpet, passed from above downwards, and from below upwards, the -words coming clearly and distinctly; it was impossible, thus, to detect -the trick. A nephew of Don Antonio’s, a smart sharp-witted student, was -the answerer, and as he had been told beforehand by his uncle who the -persons were that would come with him that day into the chamber where -the head was, it was an easy matter for him to answer the first -question at once and correctly; the others he answered by guess-work, -and, being clever, cleverly. Cide Hamete adds that this marvellous -contrivance stood for some ten or twelve days; but that, as it became -noised abroad through the city that he had in his house an enchanted -head that answered all who asked questions of it, Don Antonio, fearing -it might come to the ears of the watchful sentinels of our faith, -explained the matter to the inquisitors, who commanded him to break it -up and have done with it, lest the ignorant vulgar should be -scandalised. By Don Quixote, however, and by Sancho the head was still -held to be an enchanted one, and capable of answering questions, though -more to Don Quixote’s satisfaction than Sancho’s. - -The gentlemen of the city, to gratify Don Antonio and also to do the -honours to Don Quixote, and give him an opportunity of displaying his -folly, made arrangements for a tilting at the ring in six days from -that time, which, however, for reason that will be mentioned hereafter, -did not take place. - -Don Quixote took a fancy to stroll about the city quietly and on foot, -for he feared that if he went on horseback the boys would follow him; -so he and Sancho and two servants that Don Antonio gave him set out for -a walk. Thus it came to pass that going along one of the streets Don -Quixote lifted up his eyes and saw written in very large letters over a -door, “Books printed here,” at which he was vastly pleased, for until -then he had never seen a printing office, and he was curious to know -what it was like. He entered with all his following, and saw them -drawing sheets in one place, correcting in another, setting up type -here, revising there; in short all the work that is to be seen in great -printing offices. He went up to one case and asked what they were about -there; the workmen told him, he watched them with wonder, and passed -on. He approached one man, among others, and asked him what he was -doing. The workman replied, “Señor, this gentleman here” (pointing to a -man of prepossessing appearance and a certain gravity of look) “has -translated an Italian book into our Spanish tongue, and I am setting it -up in type for the press.” - -“What is the title of the book?” asked Don Quixote; to which the author -replied, “Señor, in Italian the book is called _Le Bagatelle_.” - -“And what does _Le Bagatelle_ import in our Spanish?” asked Don -Quixote. - -“_Le Bagatelle_,” said the author, “is as though we should say in -Spanish _Los Juguetes;_ but though the book is humble in name it has -good solid matter in it.” - -“I,” said Don Quixote, “have some little smattering of Italian, and I -plume myself on singing some of Ariosto’s stanzas; but tell me, señor—I -do not say this to test your ability, but merely out of curiosity—have -you ever met with the word _pignatta_ in your book?” - -“Yes, often,” said the author. - -“And how do you render that in Spanish?” - -“How should I render it,” returned the author, “but by _olla_?” - -“Body o’ me,” exclaimed Don Quixote, “what a proficient you are in the -Italian language! I would lay a good wager that where they say in -Italian _piace_ you say in Spanish _place_, and where they say _piu_ -you say _mas_, and you translate _sù_ by _arriba_ and _giù_ by -_abajo_.” - -“I translate them so of course,” said the author, “for those are their -proper equivalents.” - -“I would venture to swear,” said Don Quixote, “that your worship is not -known in the world, which always begrudges their reward to rare wits -and praiseworthy labours. What talents lie wasted there! What genius -thrust away into corners! What worth left neglected! Still it seems to -me that translation from one language into another, if it be not from -the queens of languages, the Greek and the Latin, is like looking at -Flemish tapestries on the wrong side; for though the figures are -visible, they are full of threads that make them indistinct, and they -do not show with the smoothness and brightness of the right side; and -translation from easy languages argues neither ingenuity nor command of -words, any more than transcribing or copying out one document from -another. But I do not mean by this to draw the inference that no credit -is to be allowed for the work of translating, for a man may employ -himself in ways worse and less profitable to himself. This estimate -does not include two famous translators, Doctor Cristóbal de Figueroa, -in his _Pastor Fido_, and Don Juan de Jáuregui, in his _Aminta_, -wherein by their felicity they leave it in doubt which is the -translation and which the original. But tell me, are you printing this -book at your own risk, or have you sold the copyright to some -bookseller?” - -“I print at my own risk,” said the author, “and I expect to make a -thousand ducats at least by this first edition, which is to be of two -thousand copies that will go off in a twinkling at six reals apiece.” - -“A fine calculation you are making!” said Don Quixote; “it is plain you -don’t know the ins and outs of the printers, and how they play into one -another’s hands. I promise you when you find yourself saddled with two -thousand copies you will feel so sore that it will astonish you, -particularly if the book is a little out of the common and not in any -way highly spiced.” - -“What!” said the author, “would your worship, then, have me give it to -a bookseller who will give three maravedis for the copyright and think -he is doing me a favour? I do not print my books to win fame in the -world, for I am known in it already by my works; I want to make money, -without which reputation is not worth a rap.” - -“God send your worship good luck,” said Don Quixote; and he moved on to -another case, where he saw them correcting a sheet of a book with the -title of “Light of the Soul;” noticing it he observed, “Books like -this, though there are many of the kind, are the ones that deserve to -be printed, for many are the sinners in these days, and lights -unnumbered are needed for all that are in darkness.” - -He passed on, and saw they were also correcting another book, and when -he asked its title they told him it was called, “The Second Part of the -Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha,” by one of Tordesillas. - -“I have heard of this book already,” said Don Quixote, “and verily and -on my conscience I thought it had been by this time burned to ashes as -a meddlesome intruder; but its Martinmas will come to it as it does to -every pig; for fictions have the more merit and charm about them the -more nearly they approach the truth or what looks like it; and true -stories, the truer they are the better they are;” and so saying he -walked out of the printing office with a certain amount of displeasure -in his looks. That same day Don Antonio arranged to take him to see the -galleys that lay at the beach, whereat Sancho was in high delight, as -he had never seen any all his life. Don Antonio sent word to the -commandant of the galleys that he intended to bring his guest, the -famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, of whom the commandant and all the -citizens had already heard, that afternoon to see them; and what -happened on board of them will be told in the next chapter. - -CHAPTER LXIII. -OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE -GALLEYS, AND THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF THE FAIR MORISCO - -Profound were Don Quixote’s reflections on the reply of the enchanted -head, not one of them, however, hitting on the secret of the trick, but -all concentrated on the promise, which he regarded as a certainty, of -Dulcinea’s disenchantment. This he turned over in his mind again and -again with great satisfaction, fully persuaded that he would shortly -see its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, though, as has been said, he -hated being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving orders and -finding himself obeyed once more; this is the misfortune that being in -authority, even in jest, brings with it. - -To resume; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno and his two -friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The -commandant had been already made aware of his good fortune in seeing -two such famous persons as Don Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they -came to the shore all the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions -rang out. A skiff covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson -velvet was immediately lowered into the water, and as Don Quixote -stepped on board of it, the leading galley fired her gangway gun, and -the other galleys did the same; and as he mounted the starboard ladder -the whole crew saluted him (as is the custom when a personage of -distinction comes on board a galley) by exclaiming “Hu, hu, hu,” three -times. The general, for so we shall call him, a Valencian gentleman of -rank, gave him his hand and embraced him, saying, “I shall mark this -day with a white stone as one of the happiest I can expect to enjoy in -my lifetime, since I have seen Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, pattern -and image wherein we see contained and condensed all that is worthy in -knight-errantry.” - -Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception, -replied to him in words no less courteous. All then proceeded to the -poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on the -bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all -hands to strip, which they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a -number of men stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more -when he saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him as -if all the devils were at work at it; but all this was cakes and fancy -bread to what I am going to tell now. Sancho was seated on the -captain’s stage, close to the aftermost rower on the right-hand side. -He, previously instructed in what he was to do, laid hold of Sancho, -hoisting him up in his arms, and the whole crew, who were standing -ready, beginning on the right, proceeded to pass him on, whirling him -along from hand to hand and from bench to bench with such rapidity that -it took the sight out of poor Sancho’s eyes, and he made quite sure -that the devils themselves were flying away with him; nor did they -leave off with him until they had sent him back along the left side and -deposited him on the poop; and the poor fellow was left bruised and -breathless and all in a sweat, and unable to comprehend what it was -that had happened to him. - -Don Quixote when he saw Sancho’s flight without wings asked the general -if this was a usual ceremony with those who came on board the galleys -for the first time; for, if so, as he had no intention of adopting them -as a profession, he had no mind to perform such feats of agility, and -if anyone offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to -God he would kick his soul out; and as he said this he stood up and -clapped his hand upon his sword. At this instant they struck the awning -and lowered the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho thought heaven -was coming off its hinges and going to fall on his head, and full of -terror he ducked it and buried it between his knees; nor were Don -Quixote’s knees altogether under control, for he too shook a little, -squeezed his shoulders together and lost colour. The crew then hoisted -the yard with the same rapidity and clatter as when they lowered it, -all the while keeping silence as though they had neither voice nor -breath. The boatswain gave the signal to weigh anchor, and leaping upon -the middle of the gangway began to lay on to the shoulders of the crew -with his courbash or whip, and to haul out gradually to sea. - -When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) -moving all together, he said to himself, “It’s these that are the real -chanted things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those -wretches have done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes -along there whistling dare to whip so many? I declare this is hell, or -at least purgatory!” - -Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going -on, said to him, “Ah, Sancho my friend, how quickly and cheaply might -you finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to -the waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and -sufferings of so many you would not feel your own much; and moreover -perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid on -with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give -yourself at last.” - -The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was -Dulcinea’s disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed, “Monjui signals -that there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west.” - -On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, “Now then, -my sons, don’t let her give us the slip! It must be some Algerine -corsair brigantine that the watchtower signals to us.” The three others -immediately came alongside the chief galley to receive their orders. -The general ordered two to put out to sea while he with the other kept -in shore, so that in this way the vessel could not escape them. The -crews plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed -to fly. The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles -sighted a vessel which, so far as they could make out, they judged to -be one of fourteen or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As soon as the -vessel discovered the galleys she went about with the object and in the -hope of making her escape by her speed; but the attempt failed, for the -chief galley was one of the fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her -so rapidly that they on board the brigantine saw clearly there was no -possibility of escaping, and the rais therefore would have had them -drop their oars and give themselves up so as not to provoke the captain -in command of our galleys to anger. But chance, directing things -otherwise, so ordered it that just as the chief galley came close -enough for those on board the vessel to hear the shouts from her -calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that is to say two Turks, -both drunken, that with a dozen more were on board the brigantine, -discharged their muskets, killing two of the soldiers that lined the -sides of our vessel. Seeing this the general swore he would not leave -one of those he found on board the vessel alive, but as he bore down -furiously upon her she slipped away from him underneath the oars. The -galley shot a good way ahead; those on board the vessel saw their case -was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they made sail, -and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer off; but their -activity did not do them as much good as their rashness did them harm, -for the galley coming up with them in a little more than half a mile -threw her oars over them and took the whole of them alive. The other -two galleys now joined company and all four returned with the prize to -the beach, where a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see -what they brought back. The general anchored close in, and perceived -that the viceroy of the city was on the shore. He ordered the skiff to -push off to fetch him, and the yard to be lowered for the purpose of -hanging forthwith the rais and the rest of the men taken on board the -vessel, about six-and-thirty in number, all smart fellows and most of -them Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, -and was answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards -proved to be a Spanish renegade), “This young man, señor that you see -here is our rais,” and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most -gallant-looking youths that could be imagined. He did not seem to be -twenty years of age. - -“Tell me, dog,” said the general, “what led thee to kill my soldiers, -when thou sawest it was impossible for thee to escape? Is that the way -to behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not -valour? Faint prospects of success should make men bold, but not rash.” - -The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at that moment -listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the viceroy, who was now -coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and -some of the people. - -“You have had a good chase, señor general,” said the viceroy. - -“Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this -yard,” replied the general. - -“How so?” returned the viceroy. - -“Because,” said the general, “against all law, reason, and usages of -war they have killed on my hands two of the best soldiers on board -these galleys, and I have sworn to hang every man that I have taken, -but above all this youth who is the rais of the brigantine,” and he -pointed to him as he stood with his hands already bound and the rope -round his neck, ready for death. - -The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so well-favoured, so -graceful, and so submissive, he felt a desire to spare his life, the -comeliness of the youth furnishing him at once with a letter of -recommendation. He therefore questioned him, saying, “Tell me, rais, -art thou Turk, Moor, or renegade?” - -To which the youth replied, also in Spanish, “I am neither Turk, nor -Moor, nor renegade.” - -“What art thou, then?” said the viceroy. - -“A Christian woman,” replied the youth. - -“A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such circumstances! It -is more marvellous than credible,” said the viceroy. - -“Suspend the execution of the sentence,” said the youth; “your -vengeance will not lose much by waiting while I tell you the story of -my life.” - -What heart could be so hard as not to be softened by these words, at -any rate so far as to listen to what the unhappy youth had to say? The -general bade him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his -flagrant offence. With this permission the youth began in these words. - -“Born of Morisco parents, I am of that nation, more unhappy than wise, -upon which of late a sea of woes has poured down. In the course of our -misfortune I was carried to Barbary by two uncles of mine, for it was -in vain that I declared I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not a -mere pretended one, or outwardly, but a true Catholic Christian. It -availed me nothing with those charged with our sad expatriation to -protest this, nor would my uncles believe it; on the contrary, they -treated it as an untruth and a subterfuge set up to enable me to remain -behind in the land of my birth; and so, more by force than of my own -will, they took me with them. I had a Christian mother, and a father -who was a man of sound sense and a Christian too; I imbibed the -Catholic faith with my mother’s milk, I was well brought up, and -neither in word nor in deed did I, I think, show any sign of being a -Morisco. To accompany these virtues, for such I hold them, my beauty, -if I possess any, grew with my growth; and great as was the seclusion -in which I lived it was not so great but that a young gentleman, Don -Gaspar Gregorio by name, eldest son of a gentleman who is lord of a -village near ours, contrived to find opportunities of seeing me. How he -saw me, how we met, how his heart was lost to me, and mine not kept -from him, would take too long to tell, especially at a moment when I am -in dread of the cruel cord that threatens me interposing between tongue -and throat; I will only say, therefore, that Don Gregorio chose to -accompany me in our banishment. He joined company with the Moriscoes -who were going forth from other villages, for he knew their language -very well, and on the voyage he struck up a friendship with my two -uncles who were carrying me with them; for my father, like a wise and -far-sighted man, as soon as he heard the first edict for our expulsion, -quitted the village and departed in quest of some refuge for us abroad. -He left hidden and buried, at a spot of which I alone have knowledge, a -large quantity of pearls and precious stones of great value, together -with a sum of money in gold cruzadoes and doubloons. He charged me on -no account to touch the treasure, if by any chance they expelled us -before his return. I obeyed him, and with my uncles, as I have said, -and others of our kindred and neighbours, passed over to Barbary, and -the place where we took up our abode was Algiers, much the same as if -we had taken it up in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and -report told him of my wealth, which was in some degree fortunate for -me. He summoned me before him, and asked me what part of Spain I came -from, and what money and jewels I had. I mentioned the place, and told -him the jewels and money were buried there; but that they might easily -be recovered if I myself went back for them. All this I told him, in -dread lest my beauty and not his own covetousness should influence him. -While he was engaged in conversation with me, they brought him word -that in company with me was one of the handsomest and most graceful -youths that could be imagined. I knew at once that they were speaking -of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose comeliness surpasses the most highly -vaunted beauty. I was troubled when I thought of the danger he was in, -for among those barbarous Turks a fair youth is more esteemed than a -woman, be she ever so beautiful. The king immediately ordered him to be -brought before him that he might see him, and asked me if what they -said about the youth was true. I then, almost as if inspired by heaven, -told him it was, but that I would have him to know it was not a man, -but a woman like myself, and I entreated him to allow me to go and -dress her in the attire proper to her, so that her beauty might be seen -to perfection, and that she might present herself before him with less -embarrassment. He bade me go by all means, and said that the next day -we should discuss the plan to be adopted for my return to Spain to -carry away the hidden treasure. I saw Don Gaspar, I told him the danger -he was in if he let it be seen he was a man, I dressed him as a Moorish -woman, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king, who was -charmed when he saw him, and resolved to keep the damsel and make a -present of her to the Grand Signor; and to avoid the risk she might run -among the women of his seraglio, and distrustful of himself, he -commanded her to be placed in the house of some Moorish ladies of rank -who would protect and attend to her; and thither he was taken at once. -What we both suffered (for I cannot deny that I love him) may be left -to the imagination of those who are separated if they love one another -dearly. The king then arranged that I should return to Spain in this -brigantine, and that two Turks, those who killed your soldiers, should -accompany me. There also came with me this Spanish renegade”—and here -she pointed to him who had first spoken—“whom I know to be secretly a -Christian, and to be more desirous of being left in Spain than of -returning to Barbary. The rest of the crew of the brigantine are Moors -and Turks, who merely serve as rowers. The two Turks, greedy and -insolent, instead of obeying the orders we had to land me and this -renegade in Christian dress (with which we came provided) on the first -Spanish ground we came to, chose to run along the coast and make some -prize if they could, fearing that if they put us ashore first, we -might, in case of some accident befalling us, make it known that the -brigantine was at sea, and thus, if there happened to be any galleys on -the coast, they might be taken. We sighted this shore last night, and -knowing nothing of these galleys, we were discovered, and the result -was what you have seen. To sum up, there is Don Gregorio in woman’s -dress, among women, in imminent danger of his life; and here am I, with -hands bound, in expectation, or rather in dread, of losing my life, of -which I am already weary. Here, sirs, ends my sad story, as true as it -is unhappy; all I ask of you is to allow me to die like a Christian, -for, as I have already said, I am not to be charged with the offence of -which those of my nation are guilty;” and she stood silent, her eyes -filled with moving tears, accompanied by plenty from the bystanders. -The viceroy, touched with compassion, went up to her without speaking -and untied the cord that bound the hands of the Moorish girl. - -But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story, -an elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the galley at the same -time as the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed upon her; and the instant she -ceased speaking he threw himself at her feet, and embracing them said -in a voice broken by sobs and sighs, “O Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter, -I am thy father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live -without thee, my soul that thou art!” - -At these words of his, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head, -which he had been holding down, brooding over his unlucky excursion; -and looking at the pilgrim he recognised in him that same Ricote he met -the day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his -daughter. She being now unbound embraced her father, mingling her tears -with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy said, “This, -sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her adventures than in her name. -She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote, celebrated as much for her own -beauty as for my wealth. I quitted my native land in search of some -shelter or refuge for us abroad, and having found one in Germany I -returned in this pilgrim’s dress, in the company of some other German -pilgrims, to seek my daughter and take up a large quantity of treasure -I had left buried. My daughter I did not find, the treasure I found and -have with me; and now, in this strange roundabout way you have seen, I -find the treasure that more than all makes me rich, my beloved -daughter. If our innocence and her tears and mine can with strict -justice open the door to clemency, extend it to us, for we never had -any intention of injuring you, nor do we sympathise with the aims of -our people, who have been justly banished.” - -“I know Ricote well,” said Sancho at this, “and I know too that what he -says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; but as to those other -particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions, -I say nothing.” - -While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence the general -said, “At any rate your tears will not allow me to keep my oath; live, -fair Ana Felix, all the years that heaven has allotted you; but these -rash insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have -committed;” and with that he gave orders to have the two Turks who had -killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yard-arm. The viceroy, -however, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour -savoured rather of madness than of bravado. The general yielded to the -viceroy’s request, for revenge is not easily taken in cold blood. They -then tried to devise some scheme for rescuing Don Gaspar Gregorio from -the danger in which he had been left. Ricote offered for that object -more than two thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems; they -proposed several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the -renegade already mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small -vessel of about six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew -where, how, and when he could and should land, nor was he ignorant of -the house in which Don Gaspar was staying. The general and the viceroy -had some hesitation about placing confidence in the renegade and -entrusting him with the Christians who were to row, but Ana Felix said -she could answer for him, and her father offered to go and pay the -ransom of the Christians if by any chance they should not be -forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the viceroy landed, and Don -Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and her father home with him, the -viceroy charging him to give them the best reception and welcome in his -power, while on his own part he offered all that house contained for -their entertainment; so great was the good-will and kindliness the -beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart. - -CHAPTER LXIV. -TREATING OF THE ADVENTURE WHICH GAVE DON QUIXOTE MORE UNHAPPINESS THAN -ALL THAT HAD HITHERTO BEFALLEN HIM - -The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was extremely -happy to see Ana Felix in her house. She welcomed her with great -kindness, charmed as well by her beauty as by her intelligence; for in -both respects the fair Morisco was richly endowed, and all the people -of the city flocked to see her as though they had been summoned by the -ringing of the bells. - -Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the plan adopted for releasing Don -Gregorio was not a good one, for its risks were greater than its -advantages, and that it would be better to land himself with his arms -and horse in Barbary; for he would carry him off in spite of the whole -Moorish host, as Don Gaiferos carried off his wife Melisendra. - -“Remember, your worship,” observed Sancho on hearing him say so, “Señor -Don Gaiferos carried off his wife from the mainland, and took her to -France by land; but in this case, if by chance we carry off Don -Gregorio, we have no way of bringing him to Spain, for there’s the sea -between.” - -“There’s a remedy for everything except death,” said Don Quixote; “if -they bring the vessel close to the shore we shall be able to get on -board though all the world strive to prevent us.” - -“Your worship hits it off mighty well and mighty easy,” said Sancho; -“but ‘it’s a long step from saying to doing;’ and I hold to the -renegade, for he seems to me an honest good-hearted fellow.” - -Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove successful, -the expedient of the great Don Quixote’s expedition to Barbary should -be adopted. Two days afterwards the renegade put to sea in a light -vessel of six oars a-side manned by a stout crew, and two days later -the galleys made sail eastward, the general having begged the viceroy -to let him know all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana -Felix, and the viceroy promised to do as he requested. - -One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the beach, -arrayed in full armour (for, as he often said, that was “his only gear, -his only rest the fray,” and he never was without it for a moment), he -saw coming towards him a knight, also in full armour, with a shining -moon painted on his shield, who, on approaching sufficiently near to be -heard, said in a loud voice, addressing himself to Don Quixote, -“Illustrious knight, and never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La -Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, whose unheard-of -achievements will perhaps have recalled him to thy memory. I come to do -battle with thee and prove the might of thy arm, to the end that I make -thee acknowledge and confess that my lady, let her be who she may, is -incomparably fairer than thy Dulcinea del Toboso. If thou dost -acknowledge this fairly and openly, thou shalt escape death and save me -the trouble of inflicting it upon thee; if thou fightest and I vanquish -thee, I demand no other satisfaction than that, laying aside arms and -abstaining from going in quest of adventures, thou withdraw and betake -thyself to thine own village for the space of a year, and live there -without putting hand to sword, in peace and quiet and beneficial -repose, the same being needful for the increase of thy substance and -the salvation of thy soul; and if thou dost vanquish me, my head shall -be at thy disposal, my arms and horse thy spoils, and the renown of my -deeds transferred and added to thine. Consider which will be thy best -course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is all the time I -have for the despatch of this business.” - -Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the Knight of the -White Moon’s arrogance, as at his reason for delivering the defiance, -and with calm dignity he answered him, “Knight of the White Moon, of -whose achievements I have never heard until now, I will venture to -swear you have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea; for had you seen -her I know you would have taken care not to venture yourself upon this -issue, because the sight would have removed all doubt from your mind -that there ever has been or can be a beauty to be compared with hers; -and so, not saying you lie, but merely that you are not correct in what -you state, I accept your challenge, with the conditions you have -proposed, and at once, that the day you have fixed may not expire; and -from your conditions I except only that of the renown of your -achievements being transferred to me, for I know not of what sort they -are nor what they may amount to; I am satisfied with my own, such as -they be. Take, therefore, the side of the field you choose, and I will -do the same; and to whom God shall give it may Saint Peter add his -blessing.” - -The Knight of the White Moon had been seen from the city, and it was -told the viceroy how he was in conversation with Don Quixote. The -viceroy, fancying it must be some fresh adventure got up by Don Antonio -Moreno or some other gentleman of the city, hurried out at once to the -beach accompanied by Don Antonio and several other gentlemen, just as -Don Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take up the -necessary distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that the pair of them -were evidently preparing to come to the charge, put himself between -them, asking them what it was that led them to engage in combat all of -a sudden in this way. The Knight of the White Moon replied that it was -a question of precedence of beauty; and briefly told him what he had -said to Don Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed upon -on both sides had been accepted. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio, -and asked in a low voice did he know who the Knight of the White Moon -was, or was it some joke they were playing on Don Quixote. Don Antonio -replied that he neither knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in -joke or in earnest. This answer left the viceroy in a state of -perplexity, not knowing whether he ought to let the combat go on or -not; but unable to persuade himself that it was anything but a joke he -fell back, saying, “If there be no other way out of it, gallant -knights, except to confess or die, and Don Quixote is inflexible, and -your worship of the White Moon still more so, in God’s hand be it, and -fall on.” - -He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and well-chosen -words for the permission he gave them, and so did Don Quixote, who -then, commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his -Dulcinea, as was his custom on the eve of any combat that awaited him, -proceeded to take a little more distance, as he saw his antagonist was -doing the same; then, without blast of trumpet or other warlike -instrument to give them the signal to charge, both at the same instant -wheeled their horses; and he of the White Moon, being the swifter, met -Don Quixote after having traversed two-thirds of the course, and there -encountered him with such violence that, without touching him with his -lance (for he held it high, to all appearance purposely), he hurled Don -Quixote and Rocinante to the earth, a perilous fall. He sprang upon him -at once, and placing the lance over his visor said to him, “You are -vanquished, sir knight, nay dead unless you admit the conditions of our -defiance.” - -Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, without raising his visor said in a -weak feeble voice as if he were speaking out of a tomb, “Dulcinea del -Toboso is the fairest woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate -knight on earth; it is not fitting that this truth should suffer by my -feebleness; drive your lance home, sir knight, and take my life, since -you have taken away my honour.” - -“That will I not, in sooth,” said he of the White Moon; “live the fame -of the lady Dulcinea’s beauty undimmed as ever; all I require is that -the great Don Quixote retire to his own home for a year, or for so long -a time as shall by me be enjoined upon him, as we agreed before -engaging in this combat.” - -The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others who were present heard all -this, and heard too how Don Quixote replied that so long as nothing in -prejudice of Dulcinea was demanded of him, he would observe all the -rest like a true and loyal knight. The engagement given, he of the -White Moon wheeled about, and making obeisance to the viceroy with a -movement of the head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The -viceroy bade Don Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or other -find out who he was. They raised Don Quixote up and uncovered his face, -and found him pale and bathed with sweat. - -Rocinante from the mere hard measure he had received lay unable to stir -for the present. Sancho, wholly dejected and woebegone, knew not what -to say or do. He fancied that all was a dream, that the whole business -was a piece of enchantment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not -to take up arms for a year. He saw the light of the glory of his -achievements obscured; the hopes of the promises lately made him swept -away like smoke before the wind; Rocinante, he feared, was crippled for -life, and his master’s bones out of joint; for if he were only shaken -out of his madness it would be no small luck. In the end they carried -him into the city in a hand-chair which the viceroy sent for, and -thither the viceroy himself returned, eager to ascertain who this -Knight of the White Moon was who had left Don Quixote in such a sad -plight. - -CHAPTER LXV. -WHEREIN IS MADE KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE MOON WAS; LIKEWISE -DON GREGORIO’S RELEASE, AND OTHER EVENTS - -Don Antonio Moreno followed the Knight of the White Moon, and a number -of boys followed him too, nay pursued him, until they had him fairly -housed in a hostel in the heart of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make -his acquaintance, entered also; a squire came out to meet him and -remove his armour, and he shut himself into a lower room, still -attended by Don Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found -out who he was. He of the White Moon, seeing then that the gentleman -would not leave him, said, “I know very well, señor, what you have come -for; it is to find out who I am; and as there is no reason why I should -conceal it from you, while my servant here is taking off my armour I -will tell you the true state of the case, without leaving out anything. -You must know, señor, that I am called the bachelor Samson Carrasco. I -am of the same village as Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose craze and -folly make all of us who know him feel pity for him, and I am one of -those who have felt it most; and persuaded that his chance of recovery -lay in quiet and keeping at home and in his own house, I hit upon a -device for keeping him there. Three months ago, therefore, I went out -to meet him as a knight-errant, under the assumed name of the Knight of -the Mirrors, intending to engage him in combat and overcome him without -hurting him, making it the condition of our combat that the vanquished -should be at the disposal of the victor. What I meant to demand of him -(for I regarded him as vanquished already) was that he should return to -his own village, and not leave it for a whole year, by which time he -might be cured. But fate ordered it otherwise, for he vanquished me and -unhorsed me, and so my plan failed. He went his way, and I came back -conquered, covered with shame, and sorely bruised by my fall, which was -a particularly dangerous one. But this did not quench my desire to meet -him again and overcome him, as you have seen to-day. And as he is so -scrupulous in his observance of the laws of knight-errantry, he will, -no doubt, in order to keep his word, obey the injunction I have laid -upon him. This, señor, is how the matter stands, and I have nothing -more to tell you. I implore of you not to betray me, or tell Don -Quixote who I am; so that my honest endeavours may be successful, and -that a man of excellent wits—were he only rid of the fooleries of -chivalry—may get them back again.” - -“O señor,” said Don Antonio, “may God forgive you the wrong you have -done the whole world in trying to bring the most amusing madman in it -back to his senses. Do you not see, señor, that the gain by Don -Quixote’s sanity can never equal the enjoyment his crazes give? But my -belief is that all the señor bachelor’s pains will be of no avail to -bring a man so hopelessly cracked to his senses again; and if it were -not uncharitable, I would say may Don Quixote never be cured, for by -his recovery we lose not only his own drolleries, but his squire Sancho -Panza’s too, any one of which is enough to turn melancholy itself into -merriment. However, I’ll hold my peace and say nothing to him, and -we’ll see whether I am right in my suspicion that Señor Carrasco’s -efforts will be fruitless.” - -The bachelor replied that at all events the affair promised well, and -he hoped for a happy result from it; and putting his services at Don -Antonio’s commands he took his leave of him; and having had his armour -packed at once upon a mule, he rode away from the city the same day on -the horse he rode to battle, and returned to his own country without -meeting any adventure calling for record in this veracious history. - -Don Antonio reported to the viceroy what Carrasco told him, and the -viceroy was not very well pleased to hear it, for with Don Quixote’s -retirement there was an end to the amusement of all who knew anything -of his mad doings. - -Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy, moody and -out of sorts, brooding over the unhappy event of his defeat. Sancho -strove to comfort him, and among other things he said to him, “Hold up -your head, señor, and be of good cheer if you can, and give thanks to -heaven that if you have had a tumble to the ground you have not come -off with a broken rib; and, as you know that ‘where they give they -take,’ and that ‘there are not always fletches where there are pegs,’ a -fig for the doctor, for there’s no need of him to cure this ailment. -Let us go home, and give over going about in search of adventures in -strange lands and places; rightly looked at, it is I that am the -greater loser, though it is your worship that has had the worse usage. -With the government I gave up all wish to be a governor again, but I -did not give up all longing to be a count; and that will never come to -pass if your worship gives up becoming a king by renouncing the calling -of chivalry; and so my hopes are going to turn into smoke.” - -“Peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou seest my suspension and -retirement is not to exceed a year; I shall soon return to my honoured -calling, and I shall not be at a loss for a kingdom to win and a county -to bestow on thee.” - -“May God hear it and sin be deaf,” said Sancho; “I have always heard -say that ‘a good hope is better than a bad holding.” - -As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely pleased and -exclaiming, “Reward me for my good news, Señor Don Quixote! Don -Gregorio and the renegade who went for him have come ashore—ashore do I -say? They are by this time in the viceroy’s house, and will be here -immediately.” - -Don Quixote cheered up a little and said, “Of a truth I am almost ready -to say I should have been glad had it turned out just the other way, -for it would have obliged me to cross over to Barbary, where by the -might of my arm I should have restored to liberty, not only Don -Gregorio, but all the Christian captives there are in Barbary. But what -am I saying, miserable being that I am? Am I not he that has been -conquered? Am I not he that has been overthrown? Am I not he who must -not take up arms for a year? Then what am I making professions for; -what am I bragging about; when it is fitter for me to handle the -distaff than the sword?” - -“No more of that, señor,” said Sancho; “‘let the hen live, even though -it be with her pip;’ ‘to-day for thee and to-morrow for me;’ in these -affairs of encounters and whacks one must not mind them, for he that -falls to-day may get up to-morrow; unless indeed he chooses to lie in -bed, I mean gives way to weakness and does not pluck up fresh spirit -for fresh battles; let your worship get up now to receive Don Gregorio; -for the household seems to be in a bustle, and no doubt he has come by -this time;” and so it proved, for as soon as Don Gregorio and the -renegade had given the viceroy an account of the voyage out and home, -Don Gregorio, eager to see Ana Felix, came with the renegade to Don -Antonio’s house. When they carried him away from Algiers he was in -woman’s dress; on board the vessel, however, he exchanged it for that -of a captive who escaped with him; but in whatever dress he might be he -looked like one to be loved and served and esteemed, for he was -surpassingly well-favoured, and to judge by appearances some seventeen -or eighteen years of age. Ricote and his daughter came out to welcome -him, the father with tears, the daughter with bashfulness. They did not -embrace each other, for where there is deep love there will never be -overmuch boldness. Seen side by side, the comeliness of Don Gregorio -and the beauty of Ana Felix were the admiration of all who were -present. It was silence that spoke for the lovers at that moment, and -their eyes were the tongues that declared their pure and happy -feelings. The renegade explained the measures and means he had adopted -to rescue Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio at no great length, but in a -few words, in which he showed that his intelligence was in advance of -his years, described the peril and embarrassment he found himself in -among the women with whom he had sojourned. To conclude, Ricote -liberally recompensed and rewarded as well the renegade as the men who -had rowed; and the renegade effected his readmission into the body of -the Church and was reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb became by -penance and repentance a clean and sound one. - -Two days later the viceroy discussed with Don Antonio the steps they -should take to enable Ana Felix and her father to stay in Spain, for it -seemed to them there could be no objection to a daughter who was so -good a Christian and a father to all appearance so well disposed -remaining there. Don Antonio offered to arrange the matter at the -capital, whither he was compelled to go on some other business, hinting -that many a difficult affair was settled there with the help of favour -and bribes. - -“Nay,” said Ricote, who was present during the conversation, “it will -not do to rely upon favour or bribes, because with the great Don -Bernardino de Velasco, Conde de Salazar, to whom his Majesty has -entrusted our expulsion, neither entreaties nor promises, bribes nor -appeals to compassion, are of any use; for though it is true he mingles -mercy with justice, still, seeing that the whole body of our nation is -tainted and corrupt, he applies to it the cautery that burns rather -than the salve that soothes; and thus, by prudence, sagacity, care and -the fear he inspires, he has borne on his mighty shoulders the weight -of this great policy and carried it into effect, all our schemes and -plots, importunities and wiles, being ineffectual to blind his Argus -eyes, ever on the watch lest one of us should remain behind in -concealment, and like a hidden root come in course of time to sprout -and bear poisonous fruit in Spain, now cleansed, and relieved of the -fear in which our vast numbers kept it. Heroic resolve of the great -Philip the Third, and unparalleled wisdom to have entrusted it to the -said Don Bernardino de Velasco!” - -“At any rate,” said Don Antonio, “when I am there I will make all -possible efforts, and let heaven do as pleases it best; Don Gregorio -will come with me to relieve the anxiety which his parents must be -suffering on account of his absence; Ana Felix will remain in my house -with my wife, or in a monastery; and I know the viceroy will be glad -that the worthy Ricote should stay with him until we see what terms I -can make.” - -The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed; but Don Gregorio on -learning what had passed declared he could not and would not on any -account leave Ana Felix; however, as it was his purpose to go and see -his parents and devise some way of returning for her, he fell in with -the proposed arrangement. Ana Felix remained with Don Antonio’s wife, -and Ricote in the viceroy’s house. - -The day for Don Antonio’s departure came; and two days later that for -Don Quixote’s and Sancho’s, for Don Quixote’s fall did not suffer him -to take the road sooner. There were tears and sighs, swoonings and -sobs, at the parting between Don Gregorio and Ana Felix. Ricote offered -Don Gregorio a thousand crowns if he would have them, but he would not -take any save five which Don Antonio lent him and he promised to repay -at the capital. So the two of them took their departure, and Don -Quixote and Sancho afterwards, as has been already said, Don Quixote -without his armour and in travelling gear, and Sancho on foot, Dapple -being loaded with the armour. - -CHAPTER LXVI. -WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HE WHO READS WILL SEE, OR WHAT HE WHO HAS IT READ -TO HIM WILL HEAR - -As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he -had fallen. “Here Troy was,” said he; “here my ill-luck, not my -cowardice, robbed me of all the glory I had won; here Fortune made me -the victim of her caprices; here the lustre of my achievements was -dimmed; here, in a word, fell my happiness never to rise again.” - -“Señor,” said Sancho on hearing this, “it is the part of brave hearts -to be patient in adversity just as much as to be glad in prosperity; I -judge by myself, for, if when I was a governor I was glad, now that I -am a squire and on foot I am not sad; and I have heard say that she -whom commonly they call Fortune is a drunken whimsical jade, and, what -is more, blind, and therefore neither sees what she does, nor knows -whom she casts down or whom she sets up.” - -“Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou -speakest very sensibly; I know not who taught thee. But I can tell thee -there is no such thing as Fortune in the world, nor does anything which -takes place there, be it good or bad, come about by chance, but by the -special preordination of heaven; and hence the common saying that ‘each -of us is the maker of his own Fortune.’ I have been that of mine; but -not with the proper amount of prudence, and my self-confidence has -therefore made me pay dearly; for I ought to have reflected that -Rocinante’s feeble strength could not resist the mighty bulk of the -Knight of the White Moon’s horse. In a word, I ventured it, I did my -best, I was overthrown, but though I lost my honour I did not lose nor -can I lose the virtue of keeping my word. When I was a knight-errant, -daring and valiant, I supported my achievements by hand and deed, and -now that I am a humble squire I will support my words by keeping the -promise I have given. Forward then, Sancho my friend, let us go to keep -the year of the novitiate in our own country, and in that seclusion we -shall pick up fresh strength to return to the by me never-forgotten -calling of arms.” - -“Señor,” returned Sancho, “travelling on foot is not such a pleasant -thing that it makes me feel disposed or tempted to make long marches. -Let us leave this armour hung up on some tree, instead of someone that -has been hanged; and then with me on Dapple’s back and my feet off the -ground we will arrange the stages as your worship pleases to measure -them out; but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make -long ones, is to suppose nonsense.” - -“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “let my armour be hung up -for a trophy, and under it or round it we will carve on the trees what -was inscribed on the trophy of Roland’s armour- - -These let none move -Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.” - -“That’s the very thing,” said Sancho; “and if it was not that we should -feel the want of Rocinante on the road, it would be as well to leave -him hung up too.” - -“And yet, I had rather not have either him or the armour hung up,” said -Don Quixote, “that it may not be said, ‘for good service a bad -return.’” - -“Your worship is right,” said Sancho; “for, as sensible people hold, -‘the fault of the ass must not be laid on the pack-saddle;’ and, as in -this affair the fault is your worship’s, punish yourself and don’t let -your anger break out against the already battered and bloody armour, or -the meekness of Rocinante, or the tenderness of my feet, trying to make -them travel more than is reasonable.” - -In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as did the four -succeeding ones, without anything occurring to interrupt their journey, -but on the fifth as they entered a village they found a great number of -people at the door of an inn enjoying themselves, as it was a holiday. -Upon Don Quixote’s approach a peasant called out, “One of these two -gentlemen who come here, and who don’t know the parties, will tell us -what we ought to do about our wager.” - -“That I will, certainly,” said Don Quixote, “and according to the -rights of the case, if I can manage to understand it.” - -“Well, here it is, worthy sir,” said the peasant; “a man of this -village who is so fat that he weighs twenty stone challenged another, a -neighbour of his, who does not weigh more than nine, to run a race. The -agreement was that they were to run a distance of a hundred paces with -equal weights; and when the challenger was asked how the weights were -to be equalised he said that the other, as he weighed nine stone, -should put eleven in iron on his back, and that in this way the twenty -stone of the thin man would equal the twenty stone of the fat one.” - -“Not at all,” exclaimed Sancho at once, before Don Quixote could -answer; “it’s for me, that only a few days ago left off being a -governor and a judge, as all the world knows, to settle these doubtful -questions and give an opinion in disputes of all sorts.” - -“Answer in God’s name, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I am -not fit to give crumbs to a cat, my wits are so confused and upset.” - -With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood clustered -round him, waiting with open mouths for the decision to come from his, -“Brothers, what the fat man requires is not in reason, nor has it a -shadow of justice in it; because, if it be true, as they say, that the -challenged may choose the weapons, the other has no right to choose -such as will prevent and keep him from winning. My decision, therefore, -is that the fat challenger prune, peel, thin, trim and correct himself, -and take eleven stone of his flesh off his body, here or there, as he -pleases, and as suits him best; and being in this way reduced to nine -stone weight, he will make himself equal and even with nine stone of -his opponent, and they will be able to run on equal terms.” - -“By all that’s good,” said one of the peasants as he heard Sancho’s -decision, “but the gentleman has spoken like a saint, and given -judgment like a canon! But I’ll be bound the fat man won’t part with an -ounce of his flesh, not to say eleven stone.” - -“The best plan will be for them not to run,” said another, “so that -neither the thin man break down under the weight, nor the fat one strip -himself of his flesh; let half the wager be spent in wine, and let’s -take these gentlemen to the tavern where there’s the best, and ‘over me -be the cloak when it rains.” - -“I thank you, sirs,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot stop for an -instant, for sad thoughts and unhappy circumstances force me to seem -discourteous and to travel apace;” and spurring Rocinante he pushed on, -leaving them wondering at what they had seen and heard, at his own -strange figure and at the shrewdness of his servant, for such they took -Sancho to be; and another of them observed, “If the servant is so -clever, what must the master be? I’ll bet, if they are going to -Salamanca to study, they’ll come to be alcaldes of the Court in a -trice; for it’s a mere joke—only to read and read, and have interest -and good luck; and before a man knows where he is he finds himself with -a staff in his hand or a mitre on his head.” - -That night master and man passed out in the fields in the open air, and -the next day as they were pursuing their journey they saw coming -towards them a man on foot with alforjas at the neck and a javelin or -spiked staff in his hand, the very cut of a foot courier; who, as soon -as he came close to Don Quixote, increased his pace and half running -came up to him, and embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no -higher, exclaimed with evident pleasure, “O Señor Don Quixote of La -Mancha, what happiness it will be to the heart of my lord the duke when -he knows your worship is coming back to his castle, for he is still -there with my lady the duchess!” - -“I do not recognise you, friend,” said Don Quixote, “nor do I know who -you are, unless you tell me.” - -“I am Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, Señor Don Quixote,” replied -the courier; “he who refused to fight your worship about marrying the -daughter of Doña Rodriguez.” - -“God bless me!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “is it possible that you are the -one whom mine enemies the enchanters changed into the lacquey you speak -of in order to rob me of the honour of that battle?” - -“Nonsense, good sir!” said the messenger; “there was no enchantment or -transformation at all; I entered the lists just as much lacquey Tosilos -as I came out of them lacquey Tosilos. I thought to marry without -fighting, for the girl had taken my fancy; but my scheme had a very -different result, for as soon as your worship had left the castle my -lord the duke had a hundred strokes of the stick given me for having -acted contrary to the orders he gave me before engaging in the combat; -and the end of the whole affair is that the girl has become a nun, and -Doña Rodriguez has gone back to Castile, and I am now on my way to -Barcelona with a packet of letters for the viceroy which my master is -sending him. If your worship would like a drop, sound though warm, I -have a gourd here full of the best, and some scraps of Tronchon cheese -that will serve as a provocative and wakener of your thirst if so be it -is asleep.” - -“I take the offer,” said Sancho; “no more compliments about it; pour -out, good Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters in the Indies.” - -“Thou art indeed the greatest glutton in the world, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote, “and the greatest booby on earth, not to be able to see that -this courier is enchanted and this Tosilos a sham one; stop with him -and take thy fill; I will go on slowly and wait for thee to come up -with me.” - -The lacquey laughed, unsheathed his gourd, unwalletted his scraps, and -taking out a small loaf of bread he and Sancho seated themselves on the -green grass, and in peace and good fellowship finished off the contents -of the alforjas down to the bottom, so resolutely that they licked the -wrapper of the letters, merely because it smelt of cheese. - -Said Tosilos to Sancho, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend, this master -of thine ought to be a madman.” - -“Ought!” said Sancho; “he owes no man anything; he pays for everything, -particularly when the coin is madness. I see it plain enough, and I -tell him so plain enough; but what’s the use? especially now that it is -all over with him, for here he is beaten by the Knight of the White -Moon.” - -Tosilos begged him to explain what had happened him, but Sancho replied -that it would not be good manners to leave his master waiting for him; -and that some other day if they met there would be time enough for -that; and then getting up, after shaking his doublet and brushing the -crumbs out of his beard, he drove Dapple on before him, and bidding -adieu to Tosilos left him and rejoined his master, who was waiting for -him under the shade of a tree. - -CHAPTER LXVII. -OF THE RESOLUTION DON QUIXOTE FORMED TO TURN SHEPHERD AND TAKE TO A -LIFE IN THE FIELDS WHILE THE YEAR FOR WHICH HE HAD GIVEN HIS WORD WAS -RUNNING ITS COURSE; WITH OTHER EVENTS TRULY DELECTABLE AND HAPPY - -If a multitude of reflections used to harass Don Quixote before he had -been overthrown, a great many more harassed him since his fall. He was -under the shade of a tree, as has been said, and there, like flies on -honey, thoughts came crowding upon him and stinging him. Some of them -turned upon the disenchantment of Dulcinea, others upon the life he was -about to lead in his enforced retirement. Sancho came up and spoke in -high praise of the generous disposition of the lacquey Tosilos. - -“Is it possible, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou dost still think -that he yonder is a real lacquey? Apparently it has escaped thy memory -that thou hast seen Dulcinea turned and transformed into a peasant -wench, and the Knight of the Mirrors into the bachelor Carrasco; all -the work of the enchanters that persecute me. But tell me now, didst -thou ask this Tosilos, as thou callest him, what has become of -Altisidora, did she weep over my absence, or has she already consigned -to oblivion the love thoughts that used to afflict her when I was -present?” - -“The thoughts that I had,” said Sancho, “were not such as to leave time -for asking fool’s questions. Body o’ me, señor! is your worship in a -condition now to inquire into other people’s thoughts, above all love -thoughts?” - -“Look ye, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “there is a great difference -between what is done out of love and what is done out of gratitude. A -knight may very possibly be proof against love; but it is impossible, -strictly speaking, for him to be ungrateful. Altisidora, to all -appearance, loved me truly; she gave me the three kerchiefs thou -knowest of; she wept at my departure, she cursed me, she abused me, -casting shame to the winds she bewailed herself in public; all signs -that she adored me; for the wrath of lovers always ends in curses. I -had no hopes to give her, nor treasures to offer her, for mine are -given to Dulcinea, and the treasures of knights-errant are like those -of the fairies,’ illusory and deceptive; all I can give her is the -place in my memory I keep for her, without prejudice, however, to that -which I hold devoted to Dulcinea, whom thou art wronging by thy -remissness in whipping thyself and scourging that flesh—would that I -saw it eaten by wolves—which would rather keep itself for the worms -than for the relief of that poor lady.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, I cannot persuade -myself that the whipping of my backside has anything to do with the -disenchantment of the enchanted; it is like saying, ‘If your head aches -rub ointment on your knees;’ at any rate I’ll make bold to swear that -in all the histories dealing with knight-errantry that your worship has -read you have never come across anybody disenchanted by whipping; but -whether or no I’ll whip myself when I have a fancy for it, and the -opportunity serves for scourging myself comfortably.” - -“God grant it,” said Don Quixote; “and heaven give thee grace to take -it to heart and own the obligation thou art under to help my lady, who -is thine also, inasmuch as thou art mine.” - -As they pursued their journey talking in this way they came to the very -same spot where they had been trampled on by the bulls. Don Quixote -recognised it, and said he to Sancho, “This is the meadow where we came -upon those gay shepherdesses and gallant shepherds who were trying to -revive and imitate the pastoral Arcadia there, an idea as novel as it -was happy, in emulation whereof, if so be thou dost approve of it, -Sancho, I would have ourselves turn shepherds, at any rate for the time -I have to live in retirement. I will buy some ewes and everything else -requisite for the pastoral calling; and, I under the name of the -shepherd Quixotize and thou as the shepherd Panzino, we will roam the -woods and groves and meadows singing songs here, lamenting in elegies -there, drinking of the crystal waters of the springs or limpid brooks -or flowing rivers. The oaks will yield us their sweet fruit with -bountiful hand, the trunks of the hard cork trees a seat, the willows -shade, the roses perfume, the widespread meadows carpets tinted with a -thousand dyes; the clear pure air will give us breath, the moon and -stars lighten the darkness of the night for us, song shall be our -delight, lamenting our joy, Apollo will supply us with verses, and love -with conceits whereby we shall make ourselves famed for ever, not only -in this but in ages to come.” - -“Egad,” said Sancho, “but that sort of life squares, nay corners, with -my notions; and what is more the bachelor Samson Carrasco and Master -Nicholas the barber won’t have well seen it before they’ll want to -follow it and turn shepherds along with us; and God grant it may not -come into the curate’s head to join the sheepfold too, he’s so jovial -and fond of enjoying himself.” - -“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and the -bachelor Samson Carrasco, if he enters the pastoral fraternity, as no -doubt he will, may call himself the shepherd Samsonino, or perhaps the -shepherd Carrascon; Nicholas the barber may call himself Niculoso, as -old Boscan formerly was called Nemoroso; as for the curate I don’t know -what name we can fit to him unless it be something derived from his -title, and we call him the shepherd Curiambro. For the shepherdesses -whose lovers we shall be, we can pick names as we would pears; and as -my lady’s name does just as well for a shepherdess’s as for a -princess’s, I need not trouble myself to look for one that will suit -her better; to thine, Sancho, thou canst give what name thou wilt.” - -“I don’t mean to give her any but Teresona,” said Sancho, “which will -go well with her stoutness and with her own right name, as she is -called Teresa; and then when I sing her praises in my verses I’ll show -how chaste my passion is, for I’m not going to look ‘for better bread -than ever came from wheat’ in other men’s houses. It won’t do for the -curate to have a shepherdess, for the sake of good example; and if the -bachelor chooses to have one, that is his look-out.” - -“God bless me, Sancho my friend!” said Don Quixote, “what a life we -shall lead! What hautboys and Zamora bagpipes we shall hear, what -tabors, timbrels, and rebecks! And then if among all these different -sorts of music that of the albogues is heard, almost all the pastoral -instruments will be there.” - -“What are albogues?” asked Sancho, “for I never in my life heard tell -of them or saw them.” - -“Albogues,” said Don Quixote, “are brass plates like candlesticks that -struck against one another on the hollow side make a noise which, if -not very pleasing or harmonious, is not disagreeable and accords very -well with the rude notes of the bagpipe and tabor. The word albogue is -Morisco, as are all those in our Spanish tongue that begin with _al;_ -for example, _almohaza, almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, -almacen, alcancia_, and others of the same sort, of which there are not -many more; our language has only three that are Morisco and end in _i_, -which are _borceguí, zaquizamí_, and _maravedí. Alhelí_ and _alfaquí_ -are seen to be Arabic, as well by the _al_ at the beginning as by the -_í_ they end with. I mention this incidentally, the chance allusion to -albogues having reminded me of it; and it will be of great assistance -to us in the perfect practice of this calling that I am something of a -poet, as thou knowest, and that besides the bachelor Samson Carrasco is -an accomplished one. Of the curate I say nothing; but I will wager he -has some spice of the poet in him, and no doubt Master Nicholas too, -for all barbers, or most of them, are guitar players and stringers of -verses. I will bewail my separation; thou shalt glorify thyself as a -constant lover; the shepherd Carrascon will figure as a rejected one, -and the curate Curiambro as whatever may please him best; and so all -will go as gaily as heart could wish.” - -To this Sancho made answer, “I am so unlucky, señor, that I’m afraid -the day will never come when I’ll see myself at such a calling. O what -neat spoons I’ll make when I’m a shepherd! What messes, creams, -garlands, pastoral odds and ends! And if they don’t get me a name for -wisdom, they’ll not fail to get me one for ingenuity. My daughter -Sanchica will bring us our dinner to the pasture. But stay—she’s -good-looking, and shepherds there are with more mischief than -simplicity in them; I would not have her ‘come for wool and go back -shorn;’ love-making and lawless desires are just as common in the -fields as in the cities, and in shepherds’ shanties as in royal -palaces; ‘do away with the cause, you do away with the sin;’ ‘if eyes -don’t see hearts don’t break’ and ‘better a clear escape than good -men’s prayers.’” - -“A truce to thy proverbs, Sancho,” exclaimed Don Quixote; “any one of -those thou hast uttered would suffice to explain thy meaning; many a -time have I recommended thee not to be so lavish with proverbs and to -exercise some moderation in delivering them; but it seems to me it is -only ‘preaching in the desert;’ ‘my mother beats me and I go on with my -tricks.” - -“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that your worship is like the common -saying, ‘Said the frying-pan to the kettle, Get away, blackbreech.’ You -chide me for uttering proverbs, and you string them in couples -yourself.” - -“Observe, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “I bring in proverbs to the -purpose, and when I quote them they fit like a ring to the finger; thou -bringest them in by the head and shoulders, in such a way that thou -dost drag them in, rather than introduce them; if I am not mistaken, I -have told thee already that proverbs are short maxims drawn from the -experience and observation of our wise men of old; but the proverb that -is not to the purpose is a piece of nonsense and not a maxim. But -enough of this; as nightfall is drawing on let us retire some little -distance from the high road to pass the night; what is in store for us -to-morrow God knoweth.” - -They turned aside, and supped late and poorly, very much against -Sancho’s will, who turned over in his mind the hardships attendant upon -knight-errantry in woods and forests, even though at times plenty -presented itself in castles and houses, as at Don Diego de Miranda’s, -at the wedding of Camacho the Rich, and at Don Antonio Moreno’s; he -reflected, however, that it could not be always day, nor always night; -and so that night he passed in sleeping, and his master in waking. - -CHAPTER LXVIII. -OF THE BRISTLY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE - -The night was somewhat dark, for though there was a moon in the sky it -was not in a quarter where she could be seen; for sometimes the lady -Diana goes on a stroll to the antipodes, and leaves the mountains all -black and the valleys in darkness. Don Quixote obeyed nature so far as -to sleep his first sleep, but did not give way to the second, very -different from Sancho, who never had any second, because with him sleep -lasted from night till morning, wherein he showed what a sound -constitution and few cares he had. Don Quixote’s cares kept him -restless, so much so that he awoke Sancho and said to him, “I am -amazed, Sancho, at the unconcern of thy temperament. I believe thou art -made of marble or hard brass, incapable of any emotion or feeling -whatever. I lie awake while thou sleepest, I weep while thou singest, I -am faint with fasting while thou art sluggish and torpid from pure -repletion. It is the duty of good servants to share the sufferings and -feel the sorrows of their masters, if it be only for the sake of -appearances. See the calmness of the night, the solitude of the spot, -inviting us to break our slumbers by a vigil of some sort. Rise as thou -livest, and retire a little distance, and with a good heart and -cheerful courage give thyself three or four hundred lashes on account -of Dulcinea’s disenchantment score; and this I entreat of thee, making -it a request, for I have no desire to come to grips with thee a second -time, as I know thou hast a heavy hand. As soon as thou hast laid them -on we will pass the rest of the night, I singing my separation, thou -thy constancy, making a beginning at once with the pastoral life we are -to follow at our village.” - -“Señor,” replied Sancho, “I’m no monk to get up out of the middle of my -sleep and scourge myself, nor does it seem to me that one can pass from -one extreme of the pain of whipping to the other of music. Will your -worship let me sleep, and not worry me about whipping myself? or you’ll -make me swear never to touch a hair of my doublet, not to say my -flesh.” - -“O hard heart!” said Don Quixote, “O pitiless squire! O bread -ill-bestowed and favours ill-acknowledged, both those I have done thee -and those I mean to do thee! Through me hast thou seen thyself a -governor, and through me thou seest thyself in immediate expectation of -being a count, or obtaining some other equivalent title, for I—_post -tenebras spero lucem_.” - -“I don’t know what that is,” said Sancho; “all I know is that so long -as I am asleep I have neither fear nor hope, trouble nor glory; and -good luck betide him that invented sleep, the cloak that covers over -all a man’s thoughts, the food that removes hunger, the drink that -drives away thirst, the fire that warms the cold, the cold that tempers -the heat, and, to wind up with, the universal coin wherewith everything -is bought, the weight and balance that makes the shepherd equal with -the king and the fool with the wise man. Sleep, I have heard say, has -only one fault, that it is like death; for between a sleeping man and a -dead man there is very little difference.” - -“Never have I heard thee speak so elegantly as now, Sancho,” said Don -Quixote; “and here I begin to see the truth of the proverb thou dost -sometimes quote, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art -fed.’” - -“Ha, by my life, master mine,” said Sancho, “it’s not I that am -stringing proverbs now, for they drop in pairs from your worship’s -mouth faster than from mine; only there is this difference between mine -and yours, that yours are well-timed and mine are untimely; but anyhow, -they are all proverbs.” - -At this point they became aware of a harsh indistinct noise that seemed -to spread through all the valleys around. Don Quixote stood up and laid -his hand upon his sword, and Sancho ensconced himself under Dapple and -put the bundle of armour on one side of him and the ass’s pack-saddle -on the other, in fear and trembling as great as Don Quixote’s -perturbation. Each instant the noise increased and came nearer to the -two terrified men, or at least to one, for as to the other, his courage -is known to all. The fact of the matter was that some men were taking -above six hundred pigs to sell at a fair, and were on their way with -them at that hour, and so great was the noise they made and their -grunting and blowing, that they deafened the ears of Don Quixote and -Sancho Panza, and they could not make out what it was. The wide-spread -grunting drove came on in a surging mass, and without showing any -respect for Don Quixote’s dignity or Sancho’s, passed right over the -pair of them, demolishing Sancho’s entrenchments, and not only -upsetting Don Quixote but sweeping Rocinante off his feet into the -bargain; and what with the trampling and the grunting, and the pace at -which the unclean beasts went, pack-saddle, armour, Dapple and -Rocinante were left scattered on the ground and Sancho and Don Quixote -at their wits’ end. - -Sancho got up as well as he could and begged his master to give him his -sword, saying he wanted to kill half a dozen of those dirty unmannerly -pigs, for he had by this time found out that that was what they were. - -“Let them be, my friend,” said Don Quixote; “this insult is the penalty -of my sin; and it is the righteous chastisement of heaven that jackals -should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs trample -him under foot.” - -“I suppose it is the chastisement of heaven, too,” said Sancho, “that -flies should prick the squires of vanquished knights, and lice eat -them, and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the -knights we serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder -if the penalty of their misdeeds overtook us, even to the fourth -generation. But what have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, -well, let’s lie down again and sleep out what little of the night -there’s left, and God will send us dawn and we shall be all right.” - -“Sleep thou, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for thou wast born to -sleep as I was born to watch; and during the time it now wants of dawn -I will give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a -little madrigal which, unknown to thee, I composed in my head last -night.” - -“I should think,” said Sancho, “that the thoughts that allow one to -make verses cannot be of great consequence; let your worship string -verses as much as you like and I’ll sleep as much as I can;” and -forthwith, taking the space of ground he required, he muffled himself -up and fell into a sound sleep, undisturbed by bond, debt, or trouble -of any sort. Don Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a -cork tree—for Cide Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it -was—sang in this strain to the accompaniment of his own sighs: - -When in my mind -I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty, -To death I flee, -In hope therein the end of all to find. - -But drawing near -That welcome haven in my sea of woe, -Such joy I know, -That life revives, and still I linger here. - -Thus life doth slay, -And death again to life restoreth me; -Strange destiny, -That deals with life and death as with a play! - -He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just -like one whose heart was pierced with grief at his defeat and his -separation from Dulcinea. - -And now daylight came, and the sun smote Sancho on the eyes with his -beams. He awoke, roused himself up, shook himself and stretched his -lazy limbs, and seeing the havoc the pigs had made with his stores he -cursed the drove, and more besides. Then the pair resumed their -journey, and as evening closed in they saw coming towards them some ten -men on horseback and four or five on foot. Don Quixote’s heart beat -quick and Sancho’s quailed with fear, for the persons approaching them -carried lances and bucklers, and were in very warlike guise. Don -Quixote turned to Sancho and said, “If I could make use of my weapons, -and my promise had not tied my hands, I would count this host that -comes against us but cakes and fancy bread; but perhaps it may prove -something different from what we apprehend.” The men on horseback now -came up, and raising their lances surrounded Don Quixote in silence, -and pointed them at his back and breast, menacing him with death. One -of those on foot, putting his finger to his lips as a sign to him to be -silent, seized Rocinante’s bridle and drew him out of the road, and the -others driving Sancho and Dapple before them, and all maintaining a -strange silence, followed in the steps of the one who led Don Quixote. -The latter two or three times attempted to ask where they were taking -him to and what they wanted, but the instant he began to open his lips -they threatened to close them with the points of their lances; and -Sancho fared the same way, for the moment he seemed about to speak one -of those on foot punched him with a goad, and Dapple likewise, as if he -too wanted to talk. Night set in, they quickened their pace, and the -fears of the two prisoners grew greater, especially as they heard -themselves assailed with—“Get on, ye Troglodytes;” “Silence, ye -barbarians;” “March, ye cannibals;” “No murmuring, ye Scythians;” -“Don’t open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes, ye blood-thirsty -lions,” and suchlike names with which their captors harassed the ears -of the wretched master and man. Sancho went along saying to himself, -“We, tortolites, barbers, animals! I don’t like those names at all; -‘it’s in a bad wind our corn is being winnowed;’ ‘misfortune comes upon -us all at once like sticks on a dog,’ and God grant it may be no worse -than them that this unlucky adventure has in store for us.” - -Don Quixote rode completely dazed, unable with the aid of all his wits -to make out what could be the meaning of these abusive names they -called them, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that there -was no good to be hoped for and much evil to be feared. And now, about -an hour after midnight, they reached a castle which Don Quixote saw at -once was the duke’s, where they had been but a short time before. “God -bless me!” said he, as he recognised the mansion, “what does this mean? -It is all courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the -vanquished good turns into evil, and evil into worse.” - -They entered the chief court of the castle and found it prepared and -fitted up in a style that added to their amazement and doubled their -fears, as will be seen in the following chapter. - -CHAPTER LXIX. -OF THE STRANGEST AND MOST EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON -QUIXOTE IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF THIS GREAT HISTORY - -The horsemen dismounted, and, together with the men on foot, without a -moment’s delay taking up Sancho and Don Quixote bodily, they carried -them into the court, all round which near a hundred torches fixed in -sockets were burning, besides above five hundred lamps in the -corridors, so that in spite of the night, which was somewhat dark, the -want of daylight could not be perceived. In the middle of the court was -a catafalque, raised about two yards above the ground and covered -completely by an immense canopy of black velvet, and on the steps all -round it white wax tapers burned in more than a hundred silver -candlesticks. Upon the catafalque was seen the dead body of a damsel so -lovely that by her beauty she made death itself look beautiful. She lay -with her head resting upon a cushion of brocade and crowned with a -garland of sweet-smelling flowers of divers sorts, her hands crossed -upon her bosom, and between them a branch of yellow palm of victory. On -one side of the court was erected a stage, where upon two chairs were -seated two persons who from having crowns on their heads and sceptres -in their hands appeared to be kings of some sort, whether real or mock -ones. By the side of this stage, which was reached by steps, were two -other chairs on which the men carrying the prisoners seated Don Quixote -and Sancho, all in silence, and by signs giving them to understand that -they too were to be silent; which, however, they would have been -without any signs, for their amazement at all they saw held them -tongue-tied. And now two persons of distinction, who were at once -recognised by Don Quixote as his hosts the duke and duchess, ascended -the stage attended by a numerous suite, and seated themselves on two -gorgeous chairs close to the two kings, as they seemed to be. Who would -not have been amazed at this? Nor was this all, for Don Quixote had -perceived that the dead body on the catafalque was that of the fair -Altisidora. As the duke and duchess mounted the stage Don Quixote and -Sancho rose and made them a profound obeisance, which they returned by -bowing their heads slightly. At this moment an official crossed over, -and approaching Sancho threw over him a robe of black buckram painted -all over with flames of fire, and taking off his cap put upon his head -a mitre such as those undergoing the sentence of the Holy Office wear; -and whispered in his ear that he must not open his lips, or they would -put a gag upon him, or take his life. Sancho surveyed himself from head -to foot and saw himself all ablaze with flames; but as they did not -burn him, he did not care two farthings for them. He took off the mitre -and seeing it painted with devils he put it on again, saying to -himself, “Well, so far those don’t burn me nor do these carry me off.” -Don Quixote surveyed him too, and though fear had got the better of his -faculties, he could not help smiling to see the figure Sancho -presented. And now from underneath the catafalque, so it seemed, there -rose a low sweet sound of flutes, which, coming unbroken by human voice -(for there silence itself kept silence), had a soft and languishing -effect. Then, beside the pillow of what seemed to be the dead body, -suddenly appeared a fair youth in a Roman habit, who, to the -accompaniment of a harp which he himself played, sang in a sweet and -clear voice these two stanzas: - -While fair Altisidora, who the sport -Of cold Don Quixote’s cruelty hath been, -Returns to life, and in this magic court -The dames in sables come to grace the scene, -And while her matrons all in seemly sort -My lady robes in baize and bombazine, -Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing -With defter quill than touched the Thracian string. - -But not in life alone, methinks, to me -Belongs the office; Lady, when my tongue -Is cold in death, believe me, unto thee -My voice shall raise its tributary song. -My soul, from this strait prison-house set free, -As o’er the Stygian lake it floats along, -Thy praises singing still shall hold its way, -And make the waters of oblivion stay. - -At this point one of the two that looked like kings exclaimed, “Enough, -enough, divine singer! It would be an endless task to put before us now -the death and the charms of the peerless Altisidora, not dead as the -ignorant world imagines, but living in the voice of fame and in the -penance which Sancho Panza, here present, has to undergo to restore her -to the long-lost light. Do thou, therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who sittest -in judgment with me in the murky caverns of Dis, as thou knowest all -that the inscrutable fates have decreed touching the resuscitation of -this damsel, announce and declare it at once, that the happiness we -look forward to from her restoration be no longer deferred.” - -No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of Rhadamanthus said this, than -Rhadamanthus rising up said: - -“Ho, officials of this house, high and low, great and small, make haste -hither one and all, and print on Sancho’s face four-and-twenty smacks, -and give him twelve pinches and six pin thrusts in the back and arms; -for upon this ceremony depends the restoration of Altisidora.” - -On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out, “By all that’s -good, I’ll as soon let my face be smacked or handled as turn Moor. Body -o’ me! What has handling my face got to do with the resurrection of -this damsel? ‘The old woman took kindly to the blits; they enchant -Dulcinea, and whip me in order to disenchant her; Altisidora dies of -ailments God was pleased to send her, and to bring her to life again -they must give me four-and-twenty smacks, and prick holes in my body -with pins, and raise weals on my arms with pinches! Try those jokes on -a brother-in-law; ‘I’m an old dog, and “tus, tus” is no use with me.’” - -“Thou shalt die,” said Rhadamanthus in a loud voice; “relent, thou -tiger; humble thyself, proud Nimrod; suffer and he silent, for no -impossibilities are asked of thee; it is not for thee to inquire into -the difficulties in this matter; smacked thou must be, pricked thou -shalt see thyself, and with pinches thou must be made to howl. Ho, I -say, officials, obey my orders; or by the word of an honest man, ye -shall see what ye were born for.” - -At this some six duennas, advancing across the court, made their -appearance in procession, one after the other, four of them with -spectacles, and all with their right hands uplifted, showing four -fingers of wrist to make their hands look longer, as is the fashion -now-a-days. No sooner had Sancho caught sight of them than, bellowing -like a bull, he exclaimed, “I might let myself be handled by all the -world; but allow duennas to touch me—not a bit of it! Scratch my face, -as my master was served in this very castle; run me through the body -with burnished daggers; pinch my arms with red-hot pincers; I’ll bear -all in patience to serve these gentlefolk; but I won’t let duennas -touch me, though the devil should carry me off!” - -Here Don Quixote, too, broke silence, saying to Sancho, “Have patience, -my son, and gratify these noble persons, and give all thanks to heaven -that it has infused such virtue into thy person, that by its sufferings -thou canst disenchant the enchanted and restore to life the dead.” - -The duennas were now close to Sancho, and he, having become more -tractable and reasonable, settling himself well in his chair presented -his face and beard to the first, who delivered him a smack very stoutly -laid on, and then made him a low curtsey. - -“Less politeness and less paint, señora duenna,” said Sancho; “by God -your hands smell of vinegar-wash.” - -In line, all the duennas smacked him and several others of the -household pinched him; but what he could not stand was being pricked by -the pins; and so, apparently out of patience, he started up out of his -chair, and seizing a lighted torch that stood near him fell upon the -duennas and the whole set of his tormentors, exclaiming, “Begone, ye -ministers of hell; I’m not made of brass not to feel such -out-of-the-way tortures.” - -At this instant Altisidora, who probably was tired of having been so -long lying on her back, turned on her side; seeing which the bystanders -cried out almost with one voice, “Altisidora is alive! Altisidora -lives!” - -Rhadamanthus bade Sancho put away his wrath, as the object they had in -view was now attained. When Don Quixote saw Altisidora move, he went on -his knees to Sancho saying to him, “Now is the time, son of my bowels, -not to call thee my squire, for thee to give thyself some of those -lashes thou art bound to lay on for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. -Now, I say, is the time when the virtue that is in thee is ripe, and -endowed with efficacy to work the good that is looked for from thee.” - -To which Sancho made answer, “That’s trick upon trick, I think, and not -honey upon pancakes; a nice thing it would be for a whipping to come -now, on the top of pinches, smacks, and pin-proddings! You had better -take a big stone and tie it round my neck, and pitch me into a well; I -should not mind it much, if I’m to be always made the cow of the -wedding for the cure of other people’s ailments. Leave me alone; or -else by God I’ll fling the whole thing to the dogs, let come what may.” - -Altisidora had by this time sat up on the catafalque, and as she did so -the clarions sounded, accompanied by the flutes, and the voices of all -present exclaiming, “Long life to Altisidora! long life to Altisidora!” -The duke and duchess and the kings Minos and Rhadamanthus stood up, and -all, together with Don Quixote and Sancho, advanced to receive her and -take her down from the catafalque; and she, making as though she were -recovering from a swoon, bowed her head to the duke and duchess and to -the kings, and looking sideways at Don Quixote, said to him, “God -forgive thee, insensible knight, for through thy cruelty I have been, -to me it seems, more than a thousand years in the other world; and to -thee, the most compassionate upon earth, I render thanks for the life I -am now in possession of. From this day forth, friend Sancho, count as -thine six smocks of mine which I bestow upon thee, to make as many -shirts for thyself, and if they are not all quite whole, at any rate -they are all clean.” - -Sancho kissed her hands in gratitude, kneeling, and with the mitre in -his hand. The duke bade them take it from him, and give him back his -cap and doublet and remove the flaming robe. Sancho begged the duke to -let them leave him the robe and mitre; as he wanted to take them home -for a token and memento of that unexampled adventure. The duchess said -they must leave them with him; for he knew already what a great friend -of his she was. The duke then gave orders that the court should be -cleared, and that all should retire to their chambers, and that Don -Quixote and Sancho should be conducted to their old quarters. - -CHAPTER LXX. -WHICH FOLLOWS SIXTY-NINE AND DEALS WITH MATTERS INDISPENSABLE FOR THE -CLEAR COMPREHENSION OF THIS HISTORY - -Sancho slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with Don Quixote, -a thing he would have gladly excused if he could for he knew very well -that with questions and answers his master would not let him sleep, and -he was in no humour for talking much, as he still felt the pain of his -late martyrdom, which interfered with his freedom of speech; and it -would have been more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in -that luxurious chamber in company. And so well founded did his -apprehension prove, and so correct was his anticipation, that scarcely -had his master got into bed when he said, “What dost thou think of -to-night’s adventure, Sancho? Great and mighty is the power of -cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thine own eyes hast seen Altisidora -slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword, nor by any warlike weapon, nor -by deadly poisons, but by the thought of the sternness and scorn with -which I have always treated her.” - -“She might have died and welcome,” said Sancho, “when she pleased and -how she pleased; and she might have left me alone, for I never made her -fall in love or scorned her. I don’t know nor can I imagine how the -recovery of Altisidora, a damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as -I have said before, anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Panza. -Now I begin to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and -enchanted people in the world; and may God deliver me from them, since -I can’t deliver myself; and so I beg of your worship to let me sleep -and not ask me any more questions, unless you want me to throw myself -out of the window.” - -“Sleep, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “if the pinprodding and -pinches thou hast received and the smacks administered to thee will let -thee.” - -“No pain came up to the insult of the smacks,” said Sancho, “for the -simple reason that it was duennas, confound them, that gave them to me; -but once more I entreat your worship to let me sleep, for sleep is -relief from misery to those who are miserable when awake.” - -“Be it so, and God be with thee,” said Don Quixote. - -They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, the author of this -great history, took this opportunity to record and relate what it was -that induced the duke and duchess to get up the elaborate plot that has -been described. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, he says, not forgetting -how he as the Knight of the Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown -by Don Quixote, which defeat and overthrow upset all his plans, -resolved to try his hand again, hoping for better luck than he had -before; and so, having learned where Don Quixote was from the page who -brought the letter and present to Sancho’s wife, Teresa Panza, he got -himself new armour and another horse, and put a white moon upon his -shield, and to carry his arms he had a mule led by a peasant, not by -Tom Cecial his former squire for fear he should be recognised by Sancho -or Don Quixote. He came to the duke’s castle, and the duke informed him -of the road and route Don Quixote had taken with the intention of being -present at the jousts at Saragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he -had practised upon him, and of the device for the disenchantment of -Dulcinea at the expense of Sancho’s backside; and finally he gave him -an account of the trick Sancho had played upon his master, making him -believe that Dulcinea was enchanted and turned into a country wench; -and of how the duchess, his wife, had persuaded Sancho that it was he -himself who was deceived, inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted; at -which the bachelor laughed not a little, and marvelled as well at the -sharpness and simplicity of Sancho as at the length to which Don -Quixote’s madness went. The duke begged of him if he found him (whether -he overcame him or not) to return that way and let him know the result. -This the bachelor did; he set out in quest of Don Quixote, and not -finding him at Saragossa, he went on, and how he fared has been already -told. He returned to the duke’s castle and told him all, what the -conditions of the combat were, and how Don Quixote was now, like a -loyal knight-errant, returning to keep his promise of retiring to his -village for a year, by which time, said the bachelor, he might perhaps -be cured of his madness; for that was the object that had led him to -adopt these disguises, as it was a sad thing for a gentleman of such -good parts as Don Quixote to be a madman. And so he took his leave of -the duke, and went home to his village to wait there for Don Quixote, -who was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized the opportunity of -practising this mystification upon him; so much did he enjoy everything -connected with Sancho and Don Quixote. He had the roads about the -castle far and near, everywhere he thought Don Quixote was likely to -pass on his return, occupied by large numbers of his servants on foot -and on horseback, who were to bring him to the castle, by fair means or -foul, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to the duke, -who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon as he heard of -his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the court to be lit and -Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque with all the pomp and -ceremony that has been described, the whole affair being so well -arranged and acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide -Hamete says, moreover, that for his part he considers the concocters of -the joke as crazy as the victims of it, and that the duke and duchess -were not two fingers’ breadth removed from being something like fools -themselves when they took such pains to make game of a pair of fools. - -As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awake -occupied with his desultory thoughts, when daylight came to them -bringing with it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a -delight to Don Quixote, victor or vanquished. Altisidora, come back -from death to life as Don Quixote fancied, following up the freak of -her lord and lady, entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she -had worn on the catafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered -with gold flowers, her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and -leaning upon a staff of fine black ebony. Don Quixote, disconcerted and -in confusion at her appearance, huddled himself up and well-nigh -covered himself altogether with the sheets and counterpane of the bed, -tongue-tied, and unable to offer her any civility. Altisidora seated -herself on a chair at the head of the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said -to him in a feeble, soft voice, “When women of rank and modest maidens -trample honour under foot, and give a loose to the tongue that breaks -through every impediment, publishing abroad the inmost secrets of their -hearts, they are reduced to sore extremities. Such a one am I, Señor -Don Quixote of La Mancha, crushed, conquered, love-smitten, but yet -patient under suffering and virtuous, and so much so that my heart -broke with grief and I lost my life. For the last two days I have been -dead, slain by the thought of the cruelty with which thou hast treated -me, obdurate knight, - -O harder thou than marble to my plaint; - -or at least believed to be dead by all who saw me; and had it not been -that Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest upon the sufferings -of this good squire, there I should have remained in the other world.” - -“Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings of my ass, -and I should have been obliged to him,” said Sancho. “But tell me, -señora—and may heaven send you a tenderer lover than my master—what did -you see in the other world? What goes on in hell? For of course that’s -where one who dies in despair is bound for.” - -“To tell you the truth,” said Altisidora, “I cannot have died outright, -for I did not go into hell; had I gone in, it is very certain I should -never have come out again, do what I might. The truth is, I came to the -gate, where some dozen or so of devils were playing tennis, all in -breeches and doublets, with falling collars trimmed with Flemish -bonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, with -four fingers’ breadth of the arms exposed to make their hands look -longer; in their hands they held rackets of fire; but what amazed me -still more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish, served -them for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing; this, however, -did not astonish me so much as to observe that, although with players -it is usual for the winners to be glad and the losers sorry, there in -that game all were growling, all were snarling, and all were cursing -one another.” “That’s no wonder,” said Sancho; “for devils, whether -playing or not, can never be content, win or lose.” - -“Very likely,” said Altisidora; “but there is another thing that -surprises me too, I mean surprised me then, and that was that no ball -outlasted the first throw or was of any use a second time; and it was -wonderful the constant succession there was of books, new and old. To -one of them, a brand-new, well-bound one, they gave such a stroke that -they knocked the guts out of it and scattered the leaves about. ‘Look -what book that is,’ said one devil to another, and the other replied, -‘It is the “Second Part of the History of Don Quixote of La Mancha,” -not by Cide Hamete, the original author, but by an Aragonese who by his -own account is of Tordesillas.’ ‘Out of this with it,’ said the first, -‘and into the depths of hell with it out of my sight.’ ‘Is it so bad?’ -said the other. ‘So bad is it,’ said the first, ‘that if I had set -myself deliberately to make a worse, I could not have done it.’ They -then went on with their game, knocking other books about; and I, having -heard them mention the name of Don Quixote whom I love and adore so, -took care to retain this vision in my memory.” - -“A vision it must have been, no doubt,” said Don Quixote, “for there is -no other I in the world; this history has been going about here for -some time from hand to hand, but it does not stay long in any, for -everybody gives it a taste of his foot. I am not disturbed by hearing -that I am wandering in a fantastic shape in the darkness of the pit or -in the daylight above, for I am not the one that history treats of. If -it should be good, faithful, and true, it will have ages of life; but -if it should be bad, from its birth to its burial will not be a very -long journey.” - -Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against Don Quixote, -when he said to her, “I have several times told you, señora that it -grieves me you should have set your affections upon me, as from mine -they can only receive gratitude, but no return. I was born to belong to -Dulcinea del Toboso, and the fates, if there are any, dedicated me to -her; and to suppose that any other beauty can take the place she -occupies in my heart is to suppose an impossibility. This frank -declaration should suffice to make you retire within the bounds of your -modesty, for no one can bind himself to do impossibilities.” - -Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agitation, -exclaimed, “God’s life! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar, stone of a -date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favour when he -has his mind made up, if I fall upon you I’ll tear your eyes out! Do -you fancy, Don Vanquished, Don Cudgelled, that I died for your sake? -All that you have seen to-night has been make-believe; I’m not the -woman to let the black of my nail suffer for such a camel, much less -die!” - -“That I can well believe,” said Sancho; “for all that about lovers -pining to death is absurd; they may talk of it, but as for doing -it—Judas may believe that!” - -While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung -the two stanzas given above came in, and making a profound obeisance to -Don Quixote said, “Will your worship, sir knight, reckon and retain me -in the number of your most faithful servants, for I have long been a -great admirer of yours, as well because of your fame as because of your -achievements?” “Will your worship tell me who you are,” replied Don -Quixote, “so that my courtesy may be answerable to your deserts?” The -young man replied that he was the musician and songster of the night -before. “Of a truth,” said Don Quixote, “your worship has a most -excellent voice; but what you sang did not seem to me very much to the -purpose; for what have Garcilasso’s stanzas to do with the death of -this lady?” - -“Don’t be surprised at that,” returned the musician; “for with the -callow poets of our day the way is for every one to write as he pleases -and pilfer where he chooses, whether it be germane to the matter or -not, and now-a-days there is no piece of silliness they can sing or -write that is not set down to poetic licence.” - -Don Quixote was about to reply, but was prevented by the duke and -duchess, who came in to see him, and with them there followed a long -and delightful conversation, in the course of which Sancho said so many -droll and saucy things that he left the duke and duchess wondering not -only at his simplicity but at his sharpness. Don Quixote begged their -permission to take his departure that same day, inasmuch as for a -vanquished knight like himself it was fitter he should live in a -pig-sty than in a royal palace. They gave it very readily, and the -duchess asked him if Altisidora was in his good graces. - -He replied, “Señora, let me tell your ladyship that this damsel’s -ailment comes entirely of idleness, and the cure for it is honest and -constant employment. She herself has told me that lace is worn in hell; -and as she must know how to make it, let it never be out of her hands; -for when she is occupied in shifting the bobbins to and fro, the image -or images of what she loves will not shift to and fro in her thoughts; -this is the truth, this is my opinion, and this is my advice.” - -“And mine,” added Sancho; “for I never in all my life saw a lace-maker -that died for love; when damsels are at work their minds are more set -on finishing their tasks than on thinking of their loves. I speak from -my own experience; for when I’m digging I never think of my old woman; -I mean my Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my own eyelids.” “You -say well, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and I will take care that my -Altisidora employs herself henceforward in needlework of some sort; for -she is extremely expert at it.” “There is no occasion to have recourse -to that remedy, señora,” said Altisidora; “for the mere thought of the -cruelty with which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice to -blot him out of my memory without any other device; with your -highness’s leave I will retire, not to have before my eyes, I won’t say -his rueful countenance, but his abominable, ugly looks.” “That reminds -me of the common saying, that ‘he that rails is ready to forgive,’” -said the duke. - -Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief, -made an obeisance to her master and mistress and quitted the room. - -“Ill luck betide thee, poor damsel,” said Sancho, “ill luck betide -thee! Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush and a heart as -hard as oak; had it been me, i’faith ‘another cock would have crowed to -thee.’” - -So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed himself and -dined with the duke and duchess, and set out the same evening. - -CHAPTER LXXI. -OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO ON THE WAY TO -THEIR VILLAGE - -The vanquished and afflicted Don Quixote went along very downcast in -one respect and very happy in another. His sadness arose from his -defeat, and his satisfaction from the thought of the virtue that lay in -Sancho, as had been proved by the resurrection of Altisidora; though it -was with difficulty he could persuade himself that the love-smitten -damsel had been really dead. Sancho went along anything but cheerful, -for it grieved him that Altisidora had not kept her promise of giving -him the smocks; and turning this over in his mind he said to his -master, “Surely, señor, I’m the most unlucky doctor in the world; -there’s many a physician that, after killing the sick man he had to -cure, requires to be paid for his work, though it is only signing a bit -of a list of medicines, that the apothecary and not he makes up, and, -there, his labour is over; but with me though to cure somebody else -costs me drops of blood, smacks, pinches, pinproddings, and whippings, -nobody gives me a farthing. Well, I swear by all that’s good if they -put another patient into my hands, they’ll have to grease them for me -before I cure him; for, as they say, ‘it’s by his singing the abbot -gets his dinner,’ and I’m not going to believe that heaven has bestowed -upon me the virtue I have, that I should be dealing it out to others -all for nothing.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “and Altisidora -has behaved very badly in not giving thee the smocks she promised; and -although that virtue of thine is _gratis data_—as it has cost thee no -study whatever, any more than such study as thy personal sufferings may -be—I can say for myself that if thou wouldst have payment for the -lashes on account of the disenchant of Dulcinea, I would have given it -to thee freely ere this. I am not sure, however, whether payment will -comport with the cure, and I would not have the reward interfere with -the medicine. I think there will be nothing lost by trying it; consider -how much thou wouldst have, Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay -thyself down with thine own hand, as thou hast money of mine.” - -At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a palm’s breadth -wide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced in whipping himself, and -said he to his master, “Very well then, señor, I’ll hold myself in -readiness to gratify your worship’s wishes if I’m to profit by it; for -the love of my wife and children forces me to seem grasping. Let your -worship say how much you will pay me for each lash I give myself.” - -“If Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “I were to requite thee as the -importance and nature of the cure deserves, the treasures of Venice, -the mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See what thou -hast of mine, and put a price on each lash.” - -“Of them,” said Sancho, “there are three thousand three hundred and -odd; of these I have given myself five, the rest remain; let the five -go for the odd ones, and let us take the three thousand three hundred, -which at a quarter real apiece (for I will not take less though the -whole world should bid me) make three thousand three hundred quarter -reals; the three thousand are one thousand five hundred half reals, -which make seven hundred and fifty reals; and the three hundred make a -hundred and fifty half reals, which come to seventy-five reals, which -added to the seven hundred and fifty make eight hundred and twenty-five -reals in all. These I will stop out of what I have belonging to your -worship, and I’ll return home rich and content, though well whipped, -for ‘there’s no taking trout’—but I say no more.” - -“O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “how we shall be -bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives that -heaven may grant us! If she returns to her lost shape (and it cannot be -but that she will) her misfortune will have been good fortune, and my -defeat a most happy triumph. But look here, Sancho; when wilt thou -begin the scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, I will -give thee a hundred reals over and above.” - -“When?” said Sancho; “this night without fail. Let your worship order -it so that we pass it out of doors and in the open air, and I’ll -scarify myself.” - -Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety in the -world, came at last, though it seemed to him that the wheels of -Apollo’s car had broken down, and that the day was drawing itself out -longer than usual, just as is the case with lovers, who never make the -reckoning of their desires agree with time. They made their way at -length in among some pleasant trees that stood a little distance from -the road, and there vacating Rocinante’s saddle and Dapple’s -pack-saddle, they stretched themselves on the green grass and made -their supper off Sancho’s stores, and he making a powerful and flexible -whip out of Dapple’s halter and headstall retreated about twenty paces -from his master among some beech trees. Don Quixote seeing him march -off with such resolution and spirit, said to him, “Take care, my -friend, not to cut thyself to pieces; allow the lashes to wait for one -another, and do not be in so great a hurry as to run thyself out of -breath midway; I mean, do not lay on so strenuously as to make thy life -fail thee before thou hast reached the desired number; and that thou -mayest not lose by a card too much or too little, I will station myself -apart and count on my rosary here the lashes thou givest thyself. May -heaven help thee as thy good intention deserves.” - -“‘Pledges don’t distress a good payer,’” said Sancho; “I mean to lay on -in such a way as without killing myself to hurt myself, for in that, no -doubt, lies the essence of this miracle.” - -He then stripped himself from the waist upwards, and snatching up the -rope he began to lay on and Don Quixote to count the lashes. He might -have given himself six or eight when he began to think the joke no -trifle, and its price very low; and holding his hand for a moment, he -told his master that he cried off on the score of a blind bargain, for -each of those lashes ought to be paid for at the rate of half a real -instead of a quarter. - -“Go on, Sancho my friend, and be not disheartened,” said Don Quixote; -“for I double the stakes as to price.” - -“In that case,” said Sancho, “in God’s hand be it, and let it rain -lashes.” But the rogue no longer laid them on his shoulders, but laid -on to the trees, with such groans every now and then, that one would -have thought at each of them his soul was being plucked up by the -roots. Don Quixote, touched to the heart, and fearing he might make an -end of himself, and that through Sancho’s imprudence he might miss his -own object, said to him, “As thou livest, my friend, let the matter -rest where it is, for the remedy seems to me a very rough one, and it -will be well to have patience; ‘Zamora was not won in an hour.’ If I -have not reckoned wrong thou hast given thyself over a thousand lashes; -that is enough for the present; ‘for the ass,’ to put it in homely -phrase, ‘bears the load, but not the overload.’” - -“No, no, señor,” replied Sancho; “it shall never be said of me, ‘The -money paid, the arms broken;’ go back a little further, your worship, -and let me give myself at any rate a thousand lashes more; for in a -couple of bouts like this we shall have finished off the lot, and there -will be even cloth to spare.” - -“As thou art in such a willing mood,” said Don Quixote, “may heaven aid -thee; lay on and I’ll retire.” - -Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that he soon had -the bark stripped off several trees, such was the severity with which -he whipped himself; and one time, raising his voice, and giving a beech -a tremendous lash, he cried out, “Here dies Samson, and all with him!” - -At the sound of his piteous cry and of the stroke of the cruel lash, -Don Quixote ran to him at once, and seizing the twisted halter that -served him for a courbash, said to him, “Heaven forbid, Sancho my -friend, that to please me thou shouldst lose thy life, which is needed -for the support of thy wife and children; let Dulcinea wait for a -better opportunity, and I will content myself with a hope soon to be -realised, and have patience until thou hast gained fresh strength so as -to finish off this business to the satisfaction of everybody.” - -“As your worship will have it so, señor,” said Sancho, “so be it; but -throw your cloak over my shoulders, for I’m sweating and I don’t want -to take cold; it’s a risk that novice disciplinants run.” - -Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho, who slept -until the sun woke him; they then resumed their journey, which for the -time being they brought to an end at a village that lay three leagues -farther on. They dismounted at a hostelry which Don Quixote recognised -as such and did not take to be a castle with moat, turrets, portcullis, -and drawbridge; for ever since he had been vanquished he talked more -rationally about everything, as will be shown presently. They quartered -him in a room on the ground floor, where in place of leather hangings -there were pieces of painted serge such as they commonly use in -villages. On one of them was painted by some very poor hand the Rape of -Helen, when the bold guest carried her off from Menelaus, and on the -other was the story of Dido and Æneas, she on a high tower, as though -she were making signals with a half sheet to her fugitive guest who was -out at sea flying in a frigate or brigantine. He noticed in the two -stories that Helen did not go very reluctantly, for she was laughing -slyly and roguishly; but the fair Dido was shown dropping tears the -size of walnuts from her eyes. Don Quixote as he looked at them -observed, “Those two ladies were very unfortunate not to have been born -in this age, and I unfortunate above all men not to have been born in -theirs. Had I fallen in with those gentlemen, Troy would not have been -burned or Carthage destroyed, for it would have been only for me to -slay Paris, and all these misfortunes would have been avoided.” - -“I’ll lay a bet,” said Sancho, “that before long there won’t be a -tavern, roadside inn, hostelry, or barber’s shop where the story of our -doings won’t be painted up; but I’d like it painted by the hand of a -better painter than painted these.” - -“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for this painter is like -Orbaneja, a painter there was at Úbeda, who when they asked him what he -was painting, used to say, ‘Whatever it may turn out; and if he chanced -to paint a cock he would write under it, ‘This is a cock,’ for fear -they might think it was a fox. The painter or writer, for it’s all the -same, who published the history of this new Don Quixote that has come -out, must have been one of this sort I think, Sancho, for he painted or -wrote ‘whatever it might turn out;’ or perhaps he is like a poet called -Mauleon that was about the Court some years ago, who used to answer at -haphazard whatever he was asked, and on one asking him what _Deum de -Deo_ meant, he replied _Dé donde diere_. But, putting this aside, tell -me, Sancho, hast thou a mind to have another turn at thyself to-night, -and wouldst thou rather have it indoors or in the open air?” - -“Egad, señor,” said Sancho, “for what I’m going to give myself, it -comes all the same to me whether it is in a house or in the fields; -still I’d like it to be among trees; for I think they are company for -me and help me to bear my pain wonderfully.” - -“And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, to -enable thee to recover strength, we must keep it for our own village; -for at the latest we shall get there the day after to-morrow.” - -Sancho said he might do as he pleased; but that for his own part he -would like to finish off the business quickly before his blood cooled -and while he had an appetite, because “in delay there is apt to be -danger” very often, and “praying to God and plying the hammer,” and -“one take was better than two I’ll give thee’s,” and “a sparrow in the -hand than a vulture on the wing.” - -“For God’s sake, Sancho, no more proverbs!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “it -seems to me thou art becoming _sicut erat_ again; speak in a plain, -simple, straight-forward way, as I have often told thee, and thou wilt -find the good of it.” - -“I don’t know what bad luck it is of mine,” said Sancho, “but I can’t -utter a word without a proverb that is not as good as an argument to my -mind; however, I mean to mend if I can;” and so for the present the -conversation ended. - -CHAPTER LXXII. -OF HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO REACHED THEIR VILLAGE - -All that day Don Quixote and Sancho remained in the village and inn -waiting for night, the one to finish off his task of scourging in the -open country, the other to see it accomplished, for therein lay the -accomplishment of his wishes. Meanwhile there arrived at the hostelry a -traveller on horseback with three or four servants, one of whom said to -him who appeared to be the master, “Here, Señor Don Álvaro Tarfe, your -worship may take your siesta to-day; the quarters seem clean and cool.” - -When he heard this Don Quixote said to Sancho, “Look here, Sancho; on -turning over the leaves of that book of the Second Part of my history I -think I came casually upon this name of Don Álvaro Tarfe.” - -“Very likely,” said Sancho; “we had better let him dismount, and -by-and-by we can ask about it.” - -The gentleman dismounted, and the landlady gave him a room on the -ground floor opposite Don Quixote’s and adorned with painted serge -hangings of the same sort. The newly arrived gentleman put on a summer -coat, and coming out to the gateway of the hostelry, which was wide and -cool, addressing Don Quixote, who was pacing up and down there, he -asked, “In what direction is your worship bound, gentle sir?” - -“To a village near this which is my own village,” replied Don Quixote; -“and your worship, where are you bound for?” - -“I am going to Granada, señor,” said the gentleman, “to my own -country.” - -“And a goodly country,” said Don Quixote; “but will your worship do me -the favour of telling me your name, for it strikes me it is of more -importance to me to know it than I can tell you.” - -“My name is Don Álvaro Tarfe,” replied the traveller. - -To which Don Quixote returned, “I have no doubt whatever that your -worship is that Don Álvaro Tarfe who appears in print in the Second -Part of the history of Don Quixote of La Mancha, lately printed and -published by a new author.” - -“I am the same,” replied the gentleman; “and that same Don Quixote, the -principal personage in the said history, was a very great friend of -mine, and it was I who took him away from home, or at least induced him -to come to some jousts that were to be held at Saragossa, whither I was -going myself; indeed, I showed him many kindnesses, and saved him from -having his shoulders touched up by the executioner because of his -extreme rashness.” - -“Tell me, Señor Don Álvaro,” said Don Quixote, “am I at all like that -Don Quixote you talk of?” - -“No indeed,” replied the traveller, “not a bit.” - -“And that Don Quixote—” said our one, “had he with him a squire called -Sancho Panza?” - -“He had,” said Don Álvaro; “but though he had the name of being very -droll, I never heard him say anything that had any drollery in it.” - -“That I can well believe,” said Sancho at this, “for to come out with -drolleries is not in everybody’s line; and that Sancho your worship -speaks of, gentle sir, must be some great scoundrel, dunderhead, and -thief, all in one; for I am the real Sancho Panza, and I have more -drolleries than if it rained them; let your worship only try; come -along with me for a year or so, and you will find they fall from me at -every turn, and so rich and so plentiful that though mostly I don’t -know what I am saying I make everybody that hears me laugh. And the -real Don Quixote of La Mancha, the famous, the valiant, the wise, the -lover, the righter of wrongs, the guardian of minors and orphans, the -protector of widows, the killer of damsels, he who has for his sole -mistress the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, is this gentleman before -you, my master; all other Don Quixotes and all other Sancho Panzas are -dreams and mockeries.” - -“By God I believe it,” said Don Álvaro; “for you have uttered more -drolleries, my friend, in the few words you have spoken than the other -Sancho Panza in all I ever heard from him, and they were not a few. He -was more greedy than well-spoken, and more dull than droll; and I am -convinced that the enchanters who persecute Don Quixote the Good have -been trying to persecute me with Don Quixote the Bad. But I don’t know -what to say, for I am ready to swear I left him shut up in the Casa del -Nuncio at Toledo, and here another Don Quixote turns up, though a very -different one from mine.” - -“I don’t know whether I am good,” said Don Quixote, “but I can safely -say I am not ‘the Bad;’ and to prove it, let me tell you, Señor Don -Álvaro Tarfe, I have never in my life been in Saragossa; so far from -that, when it was told me that this imaginary Don Quixote had been -present at the jousts in that city, I declined to enter it, in order to -drag his falsehood before the face of the world; and so I went on -straight to Barcelona, the treasure-house of courtesy, haven of -strangers, asylum of the poor, home of the valiant, champion of the -wronged, pleasant exchange of firm friendships, and city unrivalled in -site and beauty. And though the adventures that befell me there are not -by any means matters of enjoyment, but rather of regret, I do not -regret them, simply because I have seen it. In a word, Señor Don Álvaro -Tarfe, I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, the one that fame speaks of, and -not the unlucky one that has attempted to usurp my name and deck -himself out in my ideas. I entreat your worship by your devoir as a -gentleman to be so good as to make a declaration before the alcalde of -this village that you never in all your life saw me until now, and that -neither am I the Don Quixote in print in the Second Part, nor this -Sancho Panza, my squire, the one your worship knew.” - -“That I will do most willingly,” replied Don Álvaro; “though it amazes -me to find two Don Quixotes and two Sancho Panzas at once, as much -alike in name as they differ in demeanour; and again I say and declare -that what I saw I cannot have seen, and that what happened me cannot -have happened.” - -“No doubt your worship is enchanted, like my lady Dulcinea del Toboso,” -said Sancho; “and would to heaven your disenchantment rested on my -giving myself another three thousand and odd lashes like what I’m -giving myself for her, for I’d lay them on without looking for -anything.” - -“I don’t understand that about the lashes,” said Don Álvaro. Sancho -replied that it was a long story to tell, but he would tell him if they -happened to be going the same road. - -By this dinner-time arrived, and Don Quixote and Don Álvaro dined -together. The alcalde of the village came by chance into the inn -together with a notary, and Don Quixote laid a petition before him, -showing that it was requisite for his rights that Don Álvaro Tarfe, the -gentleman there present, should make a declaration before him that he -did not know Don Quixote of La Mancha, also there present, and that he -was not the one that was in print in a history entitled “Second Part of -Don Quixote of La Mancha, by one Avellaneda of Tordesillas.” The -alcalde finally put it in legal form, and the declaration was made with -all the formalities required in such cases, at which Don Quixote and -Sancho were in high delight, as if a declaration of the sort was of any -great importance to them, and as if their words and deeds did not -plainly show the difference between the two Don Quixotes and the two -Sanchos. Many civilities and offers of service were exchanged by Don -Álvaro and Don Quixote, in the course of which the great Manchegan -displayed such good taste that he disabused Don Álvaro of the error he -was under; and he, on his part, felt convinced he must have been -enchanted, now that he had been brought in contact with two such -opposite Don Quixotes. - -Evening came, they set out from the village, and after about half a -league two roads branched off, one leading to Don Quixote’s village, -the other the road Don Álvaro was to follow. In this short interval Don -Quixote told him of his unfortunate defeat, and of Dulcinea’s -enchantment and the remedy, all which threw Don Álvaro into fresh -amazement, and embracing Don Quixote and Sancho, he went his way, and -Don Quixote went his. That night he passed among trees again in order -to give Sancho an opportunity of working out his penance, which he did -in the same fashion as the night before, at the expense of the bark of -the beech trees much more than of his back, of which he took such good -care that the lashes would not have knocked off a fly had there been -one there. The duped Don Quixote did not miss a single stroke of the -count, and he found that together with those of the night before they -made up three thousand and twenty-nine. The sun apparently had got up -early to witness the sacrifice, and with his light they resumed their -journey, discussing the deception practised on Don Álvaro, and saying -how well done it was to have taken his declaration before a magistrate -in such an unimpeachable form. That day and night they travelled on, -nor did anything worth mention happen to them, unless it was that in -the course of the night Sancho finished off his task, whereat Don -Quixote was beyond measure joyful. He watched for daylight, to see if -along the road he should fall in with his already disenchanted lady -Dulcinea; and as he pursued his journey there was no woman he met that -he did not go up to, to see if she was Dulcinea del Toboso, as he held -it absolutely certain that Merlin’s promises could not lie. Full of -these thoughts and anxieties, they ascended a rising ground wherefrom -they descried their own village, at the sight of which Sancho fell on -his knees exclaiming, “Open thine eyes, longed-for home, and see how -thy son Sancho Panza comes back to thee, if not very rich, very well -whipped! Open thine arms and receive, too, thy son Don Quixote, who, if -he comes vanquished by the arm of another, comes victor over himself, -which, as he himself has told me, is the greatest victory anyone can -desire. I’m bringing back money, for if I was well whipped, I went -mounted like a gentleman.” - -“Have done with these fooleries,” said Don Quixote; “let us push on -straight and get to our own place, where we will give free range to our -fancies, and settle our plans for our future pastoral life.” - -With this they descended the slope and directed their steps to their -village. - -CHAPTER LXXIII. -OF THE OMENS DON QUIXOTE HAD AS HE ENTERED HIS OWN VILLAGE, AND OTHER -INCIDENTS THAT EMBELLISH AND GIVE A COLOUR TO THIS GREAT HISTORY - -At the entrance of the village, so says Cide Hamete, Don Quixote saw -two boys quarrelling on the village threshing-floor, one of whom said -to the other, “Take it easy, Periquillo; thou shalt never see it again -as long as thou livest.” - -Don Quixote heard this, and said he to Sancho, “Dost thou not mark, -friend, what that boy said, ‘Thou shalt never see it again as long as -thou livest’?” - -“Well,” said Sancho, “what does it matter if the boy said so?” - -“What!” said Don Quixote, “dost thou not see that, applied to the -object of my desires, the words mean that I am never to see Dulcinea -more?” - -Sancho was about to answer, when his attention was diverted by seeing a -hare come flying across the plain pursued by several greyhounds and -sportsmen. In its terror it ran to take shelter and hide itself under -Dapple. Sancho caught it alive and presented it to Don Quixote, who was -saying, “_Malum signum, malum signum!_ a hare flies, greyhounds chase -it, Dulcinea appears not.” - -“Your worship’s a strange man,” said Sancho; “let’s take it for granted -that this hare is Dulcinea, and these greyhounds chasing it the -malignant enchanters who turned her into a country wench; she flies, -and I catch her and put her into your worship’s hands, and you hold her -in your arms and cherish her; what bad sign is that, or what ill omen -is there to be found here?” - -The two boys who had been quarrelling came over to look at the hare, -and Sancho asked one of them what their quarrel was about. He was -answered by the one who had said, “Thou shalt never see it again as -long as thou livest,” that he had taken a cage full of crickets from -the other boy, and did not mean to give it back to him as long as he -lived. Sancho took out four cuartos from his pocket and gave them to -the boy for the cage, which he placed in Don Quixote’s hands, saying, -“There, señor! there are the omens broken and destroyed, and they have -no more to do with our affairs, to my thinking, fool as I am, than with -last year’s clouds; and if I remember rightly I have heard the curate -of our village say that it does not become Christians or sensible -people to give any heed to these silly things; and even you yourself -said the same to me some time ago, telling me that all Christians who -minded omens were fools; but there’s no need of making words about it; -let us push on and go into our village.” - -The sportsmen came up and asked for their hare, which Don Quixote gave -them. They then went on, and upon the green at the entrance of the town -they came upon the curate and the bachelor Samson Carrasco busy with -their breviaries. It should be mentioned that Sancho had thrown, by way -of a sumpter-cloth, over Dapple and over the bundle of armour, the -buckram robe painted with flames which they had put upon him at the -duke’s castle the night Altisidora came back to life. He had also fixed -the mitre on Dapple’s head, the oddest transformation and decoration -that ever ass in the world underwent. They were at once recognised by -both the curate and the bachelor, who came towards them with open arms. -Don Quixote dismounted and received them with a close embrace; and the -boys, who are lynxes that nothing escapes, spied out the ass’s mitre -and came running to see it, calling out to one another, “Come here, -boys, and see Sancho Panza’s ass figged out finer than Mingo, and Don -Quixote’s beast leaner than ever.” - -So at length, with the boys capering round them, and accompanied by the -curate and the bachelor, they made their entrance into the town, and -proceeded to Don Quixote’s house, at the door of which they found his -housekeeper and niece, whom the news of his arrival had already -reached. It had been brought to Teresa Panza, Sancho’s wife, as well, -and she with her hair all loose and half naked, dragging Sanchica her -daughter by the hand, ran out to meet her husband; but seeing him -coming in by no means as good case as she thought a governor ought to -be, she said to him, “How is it you come this way, husband? It seems to -me you come tramping and footsore, and looking more like a disorderly -vagabond than a governor.” - -“Hold your tongue, Teresa,” said Sancho; “often ‘where there are pegs -there are no flitches;’ let’s go into the house and there you’ll hear -strange things. I bring money, and that’s the main thing, got by my own -industry without wronging anybody.” - -“You bring the money, my good husband,” said Teresa, “and no matter -whether it was got this way or that; for, however you may have got it, -you’ll not have brought any new practice into the world.” - -Sanchica embraced her father and asked him if he brought her anything, -for she had been looking out for him as for the showers of May; and she -taking hold of him by the girdle on one side, and his wife by the hand, -while the daughter led Dapple, they made for their house, leaving Don -Quixote in his, in the hands of his niece and housekeeper, and in the -company of the curate and the bachelor. - -Don Quixote at once, without any regard to time or season, withdrew in -private with the bachelor and the curate, and in a few words told them -of his defeat, and of the engagement he was under not to quit his -village for a year, which he meant to keep to the letter without -departing a hair’s breadth from it, as became a knight-errant bound by -scrupulous good faith and the laws of knight-errantry; and of how he -thought of turning shepherd for that year, and taking his diversion in -the solitude of the fields, where he could with perfect freedom give -range to his thoughts of love while he followed the virtuous pastoral -calling; and he besought them, if they had not a great deal to do and -were not prevented by more important business, to consent to be his -companions, for he would buy sheep enough to qualify them for -shepherds; and the most important point of the whole affair, he could -tell them, was settled, for he had given them names that would fit them -to a T. The curate asked what they were. Don Quixote replied that he -himself was to be called the shepherd Quixotize and the bachelor the -shepherd Carrascon, and the curate the shepherd Curambro, and Sancho -Panza the shepherd Pancino. - -Both were astounded at Don Quixote’s new craze; however, lest he should -once more make off out of the village from them in pursuit of his -chivalry, they trusting that in the course of the year he might be -cured, fell in with his new project, applauded his crazy idea as a -bright one, and offered to share the life with him. “And what’s more,” -said Samson Carrasco, “I am, as all the world knows, a very famous -poet, and I’ll be always making verses, pastoral, or courtly, or as it -may come into my head, to pass away our time in those secluded regions -where we shall be roaming. But what is most needful, sirs, is that each -of us should choose the name of the shepherdess he means to glorify in -his verses, and that we should not leave a tree, be it ever so hard, -without writing up and carving her name on it, as is the habit and -custom of love-smitten shepherds.” - -“That’s the very thing,” said Don Quixote; “though I am relieved from -looking for the name of an imaginary shepherdess, for there’s the -peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the glory of these brooksides, the -ornament of these meadows, the mainstay of beauty, the cream of all the -graces, and, in a word, the being to whom all praise is appropriate, be -it ever so hyperbolical.” - -“Very true,” said the curate; “but we the others must look about for -accommodating shepherdesses that will answer our purpose one way or -another.” - -“And,” added Samson Carrasco, “if they fail us, we can call them by the -names of the ones in print that the world is filled with, Fílidas, -Amarilises, Dianas, Fleridas, Galateas, Belisardas; for as they sell -them in the market-places we may fairly buy them and make them our own. -If my lady, or I should say my shepherdess, happens to be called Ana, -I’ll sing her praises under the name of Anarda, and if Francisca, I’ll -call her Francenia, and if Lucia, Lucinda, for it all comes to the same -thing; and Sancho Panza, if he joins this fraternity, may glorify his -wife Teresa Panza as Teresaina.” - -Don Quixote laughed at the adaptation of the name, and the curate -bestowed vast praise upon the worthy and honourable resolution he had -made, and again offered to bear him company all the time that he could -spare from his imperative duties. And so they took their leave of him, -recommending and beseeching him to take care of his health and treat -himself to a suitable diet. - -It so happened his niece and the housekeeper overheard all the three of -them said; and as soon as they were gone they both of them came in to -Don Quixote, and said the niece, “What’s this, uncle? Now that we were -thinking you had come back to stay at home and lead a quiet respectable -life there, are you going to get into fresh entanglements, and turn -‘young shepherd, thou that comest here, young shepherd going there?’ -Nay! indeed ‘the straw is too hard now to make pipes of.’” - -“And,” added the housekeeper, “will your worship be able to bear, out -in the fields, the heats of summer, and the chills of winter, and the -howling of the wolves? Not you; for that’s a life and a business for -hardy men, bred and seasoned to such work almost from the time they -were in swaddling-clothes. Why, to make choice of evils, it’s better to -be a knight-errant than a shepherd! Look here, señor; take my -advice—and I’m not giving it to you full of bread and wine, but -fasting, and with fifty years upon my head—stay at home, look after -your affairs, go often to confession, be good to the poor, and upon my -soul be it if any evil comes to you.” - -“Hold your peace, my daughters,” said Don Quixote; “I know very well -what my duty is; help me to bed, for I don’t feel very well; and rest -assured that, knight-errant now or wandering shepherd to be, I shall -never fail to have a care for your interests, as you will see in the -end.” And the good wenches (for that they undoubtedly were), the -housekeeper and niece, helped him to bed, where they gave him something -to eat and made him as comfortable as possible. - -CHAPTER LXXIV. -OF HOW DON QUIXOTE FELL SICK, AND OF THE WILL HE MADE, AND HOW HE DIED - -As nothing that is man’s can last for ever, but all tends ever -downwards from its beginning to its end, and above all man’s life, and -as Don Quixote’s enjoyed no special dispensation from heaven to stay -its course, its end and close came when he least looked for it. -For—whether it was of the dejection the thought of his defeat produced, -or of heaven’s will that so ordered it—a fever settled upon him and -kept him in his bed for six days, during which he was often visited by -his friends the curate, the bachelor, and the barber, while his good -squire Sancho Panza never quitted his bedside. They, persuaded that it -was grief at finding himself vanquished, and the object of his heart, -the liberation and disenchantment of Dulcinea, unattained, that kept -him in this state, strove by all the means in their power to cheer him -up; the bachelor bidding him take heart and get up to begin his -pastoral life, for which he himself, he said, had already composed an -eclogue that would take the shine out of all Sannazaro had ever -written, and had bought with his own money two famous dogs to guard the -flock, one called Barcino and the other Butron, which a herdsman of -Quintanar had sold him. - -But for all this Don Quixote could not shake off his sadness. His -friends called in the doctor, who felt his pulse and was not very well -satisfied with it, and said that in any case it would be well for him -to attend to the health of his soul, as that of his body was in a bad -way. Don Quixote heard this calmly; but not so his housekeeper, his -niece, and his squire, who fell weeping bitterly, as if they had him -lying dead before them. The doctor’s opinion was that melancholy and -depression were bringing him to his end. Don Quixote begged them to -leave him to himself, as he had a wish to sleep a little. They obeyed, -and he slept at one stretch, as the saying is, more than six hours, so -that the housekeeper and niece thought he was going to sleep for ever. -But at the end of that time he woke up, and in a loud voice exclaimed, -“Blessed be Almighty God, who has shown me such goodness. In truth his -mercies are boundless, and the sins of men can neither limit them nor -keep them back!” - -The niece listened with attention to her uncle’s words, and they struck -her as more coherent than what usually fell from him, at least during -his illness, so she asked, “What are you saying, señor? Has anything -strange occurred? What mercies or what sins of men are you talking of?” - -“The mercies, niece,” said Don Quixote, “are those that God has this -moment shown me, and with him, as I said, my sins are no impediment to -them. My reason is now free and clear, rid of the dark shadows of -ignorance that my unhappy constant study of those detestable books of -chivalry cast over it. Now I see through their absurdities and -deceptions, and it only grieves me that this destruction of my -illusions has come so late that it leaves me no time to make some -amends by reading other books that might be a light to my soul. Niece, -I feel myself at the point of death, and I would fain meet it in such a -way as to show that my life has not been so ill that I should leave -behind me the name of a madman; for though I have been one, I would not -that the fact should be made plainer at my death. Call in to me, my -dear, my good friends the curate, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, and -Master Nicholas the barber, for I wish to confess and make my will.” -But his niece was saved the trouble by the entrance of the three. The -instant Don Quixote saw them he exclaimed, “Good news for you, good -sirs, that I am no longer Don Quixote of La Mancha, but Alonso Quixano, -whose way of life won for him the name of Good. Now am I the enemy of -Amadis of Gaul and of the whole countless troop of his descendants; -odious to me now are all the profane stories of knight-errantry; now I -perceive my folly, and the peril into which reading them brought me; -now, by God’s mercy schooled into my right senses, I loathe them.” - -When the three heard him speak in this way, they had no doubt whatever -that some new craze had taken possession of him; and said Samson, -“What? Señor Don Quixote! Now that we have intelligence of the lady -Dulcinea being disenchanted, are you taking this line; now, just as we -are on the point of becoming shepherds, to pass our lives singing, like -princes, are you thinking of turning hermit? Hush, for heaven’s sake, -be rational and let’s have no more nonsense.” - -“All that nonsense,” said Don Quixote, “that until now has been a -reality to my hurt, my death will, with heaven’s help, turn to my good. -I feel, sirs, that I am rapidly drawing near death; a truce to jesting; -let me have a confessor to confess me, and a notary to make my will; -for in extremities like this, man must not trifle with his soul; and -while the curate is confessing me let someone, I beg, go for the -notary.” - -They looked at one another, wondering at Don Quixote’s words; but, -though uncertain, they were inclined to believe him, and one of the -signs by which they came to the conclusion he was dying was this so -sudden and complete return to his senses after having been mad; for to -the words already quoted he added much more, so well expressed, so -devout, and so rational, as to banish all doubt and convince them that -he was sound of mind. The curate turned them all out, and left alone -with him confessed him. The bachelor went for the notary and returned -shortly afterwards with him and with Sancho, who, having already -learned from the bachelor the condition his master was in, and finding -the housekeeper and niece weeping, began to blubber and shed tears. - -The confession over, the curate came out saying, “Alonso Quixano the -Good is indeed dying, and is indeed in his right mind; we may now go in -to him while he makes his will.” - -This news gave a tremendous impulse to the brimming eyes of the -housekeeper, niece, and Sancho Panza his good squire, making the tears -burst from their eyes and a host of sighs from their hearts; for of a -truth, as has been said more than once, whether as plain Alonso Quixano -the Good, or as Don Quixote of La Mancha, Don Quixote was always of a -gentle disposition and kindly in all his ways, and hence he was -beloved, not only by those of his own house, but by all who knew him. - -The notary came in with the rest, and as soon as the preamble of the -will had been set out and Don Quixote had commended his soul to God -with all the devout formalities that are usual, coming to the bequests, -he said, “Item, it is my will that, touching certain moneys in the -hands of Sancho Panza (whom in my madness I made my squire), inasmuch -as between him and me there have been certain accounts and debits and -credits, no claim be made against him, nor any account demanded of him -in respect of them; but that if anything remain over and above, after -he has paid himself what I owe him, the balance, which will be but -little, shall be his, and much good may it do him; and if, as when I -was mad I had a share in giving him the government of an island, so, -now that I am in my senses, I could give him that of a kingdom, it -should be his, for the simplicity of his character and the fidelity of -his conduct deserve it.” And then, turning to Sancho, he said, “Forgive -me, my friend, that I led thee to seem as mad as myself, making thee -fall into the same error I myself fell into, that there were and still -are knights-errant in the world.” - -“Ah!” said Sancho weeping, “don’t die, master, but take my advice and -live many years; for the foolishest thing a man can do in this life is -to let himself die without rhyme or reason, without anybody killing -him, or any hands but melancholy’s making an end of him. Come, don’t be -lazy, but get up from your bed and let us take to the fields in -shepherd’s trim as we agreed. Perhaps behind some bush we shall find -the lady Dulcinea disenchanted, as fine as fine can be. If it be that -you are dying of vexation at having been vanquished, lay the blame on -me, and say you were overthrown because I had girthed Rocinante badly; -besides you must have seen in your books of chivalry that it is a -common thing for knights to upset one another, and for him who is -conquered to-day to be conqueror to-morrow.” - -“Very true,” said Samson, “and good Sancho Panza’s view of these cases -is quite right.” - -“Sirs, not so fast,” said Don Quixote, “‘in last year’s nests there are -no birds this year.’ I was mad, now I am in my senses; I was Don -Quixote of La Mancha, I am now, as I said, Alonso Quixano the Good; and -may my repentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you used to -have for me; and now let Master Notary proceed. - -“Item, I leave all my property absolutely to Antonia Quixana my niece, -here present, after all has been deducted from the most available -portion of it that may be required to satisfy the bequests I have made. -And the first disbursement I desire to be made is the payment of the -wages I owe for the time my housekeeper has served me, with twenty -ducats, over and above, for a gown. The curate and the bachelor Samson -Carrasco, now present, I appoint my executors. - -“Item, it is my wish that if Antonia Quixana, my niece, desires to -marry, she shall marry a man of whom it shall be first of all -ascertained by information taken that he does not know what books of -chivalry are; and if it should be proved that he does, and if, in spite -of this, my niece insists upon marrying him, and does marry him, then -that she shall forfeit the whole of what I have left her, which my -executors shall devote to works of charity as they please. - -“Item, I entreat the aforesaid gentlemen my executors, that, if any -happy chance should lead them to discover the author who is said to -have written a history now going about under the title of ‘Second Part -of the Achievements of Don Quixote of La Mancha,’ they beg of him on my -behalf as earnestly as they can to forgive me for having been, without -intending it, the cause of his writing so many and such monstrous -absurdities as he has written in it; for I am leaving the world with a -feeling of compunction at having provoked him to write them.” - -With this he closed his will, and a faintness coming over him he -stretched himself out at full length on the bed. All were in a flutter -and made haste to relieve him, and during the three days he lived after -that on which he made his will he fainted away very often. The house -was all in confusion; but still the niece ate and the housekeeper drank -and Sancho Panza enjoyed himself; for inheriting property wipes out or -softens down in the heir the feeling of grief the dead man might be -expected to leave behind him. - -At last Don Quixote’s end came, after he had received all the -sacraments, and had in full and forcible terms expressed his -detestation of books of chivalry. The notary was there at the time, and -he said that in no book of chivalry had he ever read of any -knight-errant dying in his bed so calmly and so like a Christian as Don -Quixote, who amid the tears and lamentations of all present yielded up -his spirit, that is to say died. On perceiving it the curate begged the -notary to bear witness that Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called -Don Quixote of La Mancha, had passed away from this present life, and -died naturally; and said he desired this testimony in order to remove -the possibility of any other author save Cide Hamete Benengeli bringing -him to life again falsely and making interminable stories out of his -achievements. - -Such was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village -Cide Hamete would not indicate precisely, in order to leave all the -towns and villages of La Mancha to contend among themselves for the -right to adopt him and claim him as a son, as the seven cities of -Greece contended for Homer. The lamentations of Sancho and the niece -and housekeeper are omitted here, as well as the new epitaphs upon his -tomb; Samson Carrasco, however, put the following lines: - -A doughty gentleman lies here; -A stranger all his life to fear; -Nor in his death could Death prevail, -In that last hour, to make him quail. - -He for the world but little cared; -And at his feats the world was scared; -A crazy man his life he passed, -But in his senses died at last. - -And said most sage Cide Hamete to his pen, “Rest here, hung up by this -brass wire, upon this shelf, O my pen, whether of skilful make or -clumsy cut I know not; here shalt thou remain long ages hence, unless -presumptuous or malignant story-tellers take thee down to profane thee. -But ere they touch thee warn them, and, as best thou canst, say to -them: - -Hold off! ye weaklings; hold your hands! -Adventure it let none, -For this emprise, my lord the king, -Was meant for me alone. - -For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was his to act, -mine to write; we two together make but one, notwithstanding and in -spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer who has ventured or would -venture with his great, coarse, ill-trimmed ostrich quill to write the -achievements of my valiant knight;—no burden for his shoulders, nor -subject for his frozen wit: whom, if perchance thou shouldst come to -know him, thou shalt warn to leave at rest where they lie the weary -mouldering bones of Don Quixote, and not to attempt to carry him off, -in opposition to all the privileges of death, to Old Castile, making -him rise from the grave where in reality and truth he lies stretched at -full length, powerless to make any third expedition or new sally; for -the two that he has already made, so much to the enjoyment and approval -of everybody to whom they have become known, in this as well as in -foreign countries, are quite sufficient for the purpose of turning into -ridicule the whole of those made by the whole set of the -knights-errant; and so doing shalt thou discharge thy Christian -calling, giving good counsel to one that bears ill-will to thee. And I -shall remain satisfied, and proud to have been the first who has ever -enjoyed the fruit of his writings as fully as he could desire; for my -desire has been no other than to deliver over to the detestation of -mankind the false and foolish tales of the books of chivalry, which, -thanks to that of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and -doubtless doomed to fall for ever. Farewell.” diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/fr.txt b/kalamine/www/corpus/fr.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 819acb6..0000000 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/fr.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,35611 +0,0 @@ -L’ingénieux chevalier Don Quichotte de la Manche -Auteur: Michel Cervantes -Traducteur: Charles Furne - -PRÉFACE - -En te présentant ce livre enfant de mon esprit, ai-je besoin de te -jurer, ami lecteur, que je voudrais qu’il fût le plus beau, le plus -ingénieux, le plus parfait de tous les livres? Mais, hélas! je n’ai pu -me soustraire à cette loi de la nature qui veut que chaque être engendre -son semblable. Or, que pouvait engendrer un esprit stérile et mal -cultivé tel que le mien, sinon un sujet bizarre, fantasque, rabougri et -plein de pensées étranges qui ne sont jamais venues à personne? De plus, -j’écris dans une prison, et un pareil séjour, siége de toute -incommodité, demeure de tout bruit sinistre, est peu favorable à la -composition d’un ouvrage, tandis qu’un doux loisir, une paisible -retraite, l’aménité des champs, la sérénité des cieux, le murmure des -eaux, la tranquillité de l’âme, rendraient fécondes les Muses les plus -stériles. - -Je sais que la tendresse fascine souvent les yeux d’un père, au point de -lui faire prendre pour des grâces les imperfections de son enfant; c’est -pourquoi je m’empresse de te déclarer que don Quichotte n’est pas le -mien; il n’est que mon fils adoptif. Aussi je ne viens pas, les larmes -aux yeux, suivant l’usage, implorer humblement pour lui ton indulgence; -libre de ton opinion, maître absolu de ta volonté comme le roi l’est de -ses gabelles, juge-le selon ta fantaisie; tu sais du reste notre -proverbe: Sous mon manteau, je tue le roi[1]. Te voilà donc bien averti -et dispensé envers moi de toute espèce de ménagements; le bien ou le mal -que tu diras de mon ouvrage ne te vaudra de ma part pas plus d’inimitié -que de reconnaissance. - - [1] Debajo de mi manto, el rey mato. - -J’aurais voulu te l’offrir sans ce complément obligé qu’on nomme -préface, et sans cet interminable catalogue de sonnets et d’éloges qu’on -a l’habitude[2] de placer en tête de tous les livres; car bien que -celui-ci m’ait donné quelque peine à composer, ce qui m’a coûté le plus, -je dois en convenir, cher lecteur, c’est la préface que tu lis en ce -moment; bien des fois j’ai pris, quitté, repris la plume, sans savoir -par où commencer. - - [2] Cette coutume, alors générale, était surtout très-suivie en - Espagne. - -J’étais encore dans un de ces moments d’impuissance, mon papier devant -moi, la plume à l’oreille, le coude sur la table et la joue dans la -main, quand je fus surpris par un de mes amis, homme d’esprit et de bon -conseil, lequel voulut savoir la cause de ma profonde rêverie. Je lui -confessai que le sujet de ma préoccupation était la préface de mon -histoire de don Quichotte, et qu’elle me coûtait tant d’efforts, que -j’étais sur le point de renoncer à mettre en lumière les exploits du -noble chevalier. - -Et pourtant, ajoutais-je, comment se risquer à publier un livre sans -préface? Que dira de moi ce sévère censeur qu’on nomme le public, -censeur que j’ai négligé depuis si longtemps, quand il me verra -reparaître vieux et cassé[3], avec un ouvrage maigre d’invention, pauvre -de style, dépourvu d’érudition, et, ce qui est pis encore, sans -annotations en marges et sans commentaires, tandis que nos ouvrages -modernes sont tellement farcis de sentences d’Aristote, de Platon et de -toute la troupe des philosophes, que, dans son enthousiasme, le lecteur -ne manque jamais de porter aux nues ces ouvrages comme des modèles de -profonde érudition? Et qu’est-ce, bon Dieu, quand leurs auteurs en -arrivent à citer la sainte Écriture! Oh! alors, on les prendrait pour -quelque saint Thomas, ou autre fameux docteur de l’Église; en effet, ils -ont tant de délicatesse et de goût, qu’ils se soucient fort peu de -placer après le portrait d’un libertin dépravé un petit sermon chrétien, -si joli, mais si joli, que c’est plaisir de le lire et de l’entendre. -Vous voyez bien que mon ouvrage va manquer de tout cela, que je n’ai -point de notes ni de commentaires à la fin de mon livre, qu’ignorant les -auteurs que j’aurais pu suivre, il me sera impossible d’en donner, comme -tous mes confrères, une table alphabétique commençant par Aristote et -finissant par Xénophon, ou par Zoïle et Zeuxis, quoique celui-ci soit un -peintre et l’autre un critique plein de fiel. - - [3] Cervantes avait cinquante-sept ans lorsqu’il publia la première - partie du _Don Quichotte_. - -Mais ce n’est pas tout; mon livre manquera encore de ces sonnets -remplis d’éloges pour l’auteur, dont princes, ducs, évêques, grandes -dames et poëtes célèbres, font ordinairement les frais (quoique, avec -des amis comme les miens, il m’eût été facile de m’en pourvoir et des -meilleurs); aussi tant d’obstacles à surmonter m’ont-ils fait prendre la -résolution de laisser le seigneur don Quichotte enseveli au fond des -archives de la Manche, plutôt que de le mettre au jour dénué de ces -ornements indispensables qu’un maladroit de mon espèce désespère de -pouvoir jamais lui procurer. C’était là le sujet de la rêverie et de -l’indécision où vous m’avez surpris. - -A ces paroles, mon ami partit d’un grand éclat de rire. Par ma foi, -dit-il, vous venez de me tirer d’une erreur où j’étais depuis longtemps: -je vous avais toujours cru homme habile et de bons sens, mais je viens -de m’apercevoir qu’il y a aussi loin de vous à cet homme-là que de la -terre au ciel. Comment de semblables bagatelles, et si faciles à -obtenir, ont-elles pu vous arrêter un seul instant, accoutumé que vous -êtes à aborder et à vaincre des difficultés bien autrement sérieuses? En -vérité, je gagerais que ce n’est pas insuffisance de votre part, mais -simplement paresse ou défaut de réflexion. M’accordez-vous quelque -confiance? Eh bien, écoutez-moi, et vous allez voir de quelle façon je -saurai aplanir les obstacles qui vous empêchent de publier l’histoire de -votre fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, miroir et fleur de la -chevalerie errante. - -Dieu soit loué! m’écriai-je; mais comment parviendrez-vous à combler ce -vide et à débrouiller ce chaos? - -Ce qui vous embarrasse le plus, répliqua mon ami, c’est l’absence de -sonnets et d’éloges dus à la plume d’illustres personnages pour placer -en tête de votre livre? Eh bien, qui vous empêche de les composer -vous-même et de les baptiser du nom qu’il vous plaira de leur donner? -Attribuez-les au prêtre Jean des Indes[4], ou à L’empereur de -Trébizonde: vous savez qu’ils passent pour d’excellents écrivains. Si, -par hasard, des pédants s’avisent de contester et de critiquer pour -semblable peccadille, souciez-vous-en comme d’un maravédis; allez, -allez, quand même le mensonge serait avéré, on ne coupera pas la main -qui en sera coupable. Pour ce qui est des citations marginales, faites -venir à propos quelques dictons latins, ceux que vous savez par cœur ou -qui ne vous donneront pas grand’peine à trouver. Par exemple, avez-vous -à parler de l’esclavage et de la liberté? qui vous empêche de mettre - - Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro. - -Traitez-vous de la mort? citez sur-le-champ: - - Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas - Regumque turres.... - - [4] Personnage proverbial, comme l’est encore le juif errant. - -S’il est question de l’amour que Dieu commande d’avoir pour son ennemi, -l’Écriture sainte ne nous dit-elle pas: _Ego autem dico vobis, diligite -inimicos vestros_? S’il s’agit de mauvaises pensées, recourez à -l’Évangile: _De corde exeunt cogitationes malæ_. Pour l’instabilité de -l’amitié, Caton vous prêtera son distique: - - Donec eris felix, multos numerabis amicos; - Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris[5]. - - [5] C’est à tort que Cervantes attribue ces vers à Caton; ils sont - d’Ovide. - -Avec ces bribes de latin amenées à propos, vous passerez pour un érudit, -et par le temps qui court, cela vaut honneur et profit. - -Quant aux notes et commentaires qui devront compléter votre livre, voici -comment vous pourrez procéder en toute sûreté. Vous faut-il un géant? -prenez-moi Goliath, et avec lui vous avez un commentaire tout fait; vous -direz: Le géant Golias ou Goliath était un Philistin que le berger David -tua d’un coup de fronde dans la vallée de Térébinthe, ainsi qu’il est -écrit au _Livre des Rois_, chapitre..... Voulez-vous faire une excursion -dans le domaine des sciences, en géographie, par exemple? eh bien, -arrangez-vous pour parler du Tage, et vous avez là une magnifique -période! Dites: Le fleuve du Tage fut ainsi nommé par un ancien roi des -Espagnes, parce qu’il prend sa source en tel endroit, et qu’il a son -embouchure dans l’Océan, où il se jette après avoir baigné les murs de -la célèbre et opulente ville de Lisbonne, il passe pour rouler un sable -d’or, etc., etc. Voulez-vous parler de brigands? je vous recommande -l’histoire de Cacus. Vous faut-il des courtisanes? l’évêque de -Mondonedo[6] vous fournira des Samies, des Laïs, des Flores. S’agit-il -de démons femelles? Ovide vous offre sa Médée. Sont-ce des magiciennes -ou enchanteresses? vous avez Calypso dans Homère et Circé dans Virgile. -En fait de grands capitaines, Jules César se peint lui-même dans ses -_Commentaires_, et Plutarque vous fournira mille Alexandre. Enfin si -vous avez à traiter de l’amour, avec deux onces de langue italienne, -Léon Hébreu[7] vous donnera pleine mesure; et s’il vous répugne de -recourir à l’étranger, nous avons en Espagne le Traité de Fonseca sur -l’Amour de Dieu, dans lequel se trouve développé tout ce que l’homme le -plus exigeant peut désirer en semblable matière. Chargez-vous seulement -d’indiquer les sources où vous puiserez, et laissez-moi le soin des -notes et des commentaires; je me charge de remplir vos marges, et de -barbouiller quatre feuilles de remarques par-dessus le marché. - - [6] Don Antonio de Guevara, auteur de la notable histoire des _Trois - Amoureuses_. - - [7] Rabbin, portugais qui a écrit les _Dialogues d’amour_. - -Mais, il me semble, en vérité, que votre ouvrage n’a aucun besoin de ce -que vous dites lui manquer, puisqu’en fin de compte vous n’avez voulu -faire qu’une satire des livres de chevalerie, qu’Aristote n’a pas -connus, dont Cicéron n’a pas eu la moindre idée, et dont saint Basile ne -dit mot. Ces fantastiques inventions n’ont rien à démêler avec les -réalités de l’histoire, ni avec les calculs de la géométrie, les règles -et les arguments de la rhétorique. Vous n’avez pas sans doute la -prétention de convertir les gens, comme veulent le faire tant de vos -confrères qui mêlent le sacré et le profane, mélange coupable et -indécent que doit sévèrement réprouver tout esprit vraiment chrétien! -Bien exprimer ce que vous avez à dire, voilà votre but; ainsi, plus -l’imitation sera fidèle, plus votre ouvrage approchera de la perfection. -Si donc vous n’en voulez qu’aux livres de chevalerie, pourquoi emprunter -des sentences aux philosophes, des citations à la sainte Écriture, des -fables aux poëtes, des discours aux rhéteurs, des miracles aux saints? -Faites seulement que votre phrase soit harmonieuse et votre récit -intéressant; que votre langage, clair et précis, rende votre intention -sans obscurité ni équivoque; tâchez surtout qu’en vous lisant, le -mélancolique ne puisse s’empêcher de rire, que l’ignorant s’instruise, -que le connaisseur admire, que le sage se croie tenu de vous louer. -Surtout visez constamment à détruire cette ridicule faveur qu’ont -usurpée auprès de tant de gens les livres de chevalerie; et, par ma foi, -si vous en venez à bout, vous n’aurez pas accompli une mince besogne. - -J’avais écouté dans un grand silence ce que disait mon ami; ses raisons -frappèrent tellement mon esprit que, sans répliquer, je les tins, à -l’instant même, pour excellentes, et je résolus d’en faire cette -préface, dans laquelle tu reconnaîtras, cher lecteur, le grand sens d’un -tel conseiller, et ma bonne fortune qui me l’avait envoyé si à propos. -Tu y trouveras aussi ton compte, puisque, sans autre préliminaire, tu -vas passer à l’histoire naïve et sincère de ce don Quichotte de la -Manche, regardé par les habitants de la plaine de Montiel comme le plus -chaste des amants et le plus vaillant des chevaliers. Mais je ne -voudrais pas trop exagérer le service que tu me dois pour t’avoir fait -connaître un héros si recommandable; je demande seulement que tu me -saches quelque gré de te présenter son illustre écuyer Sancho Panza, -dans la personne duquel tu trouveras, je l’espère, rassemblées toutes -les grâces _écuyéresques_ éparses dans la foule vaine et insipide des -livres de chevalerie. - -Sur ce, que Dieu te conserve, cher lecteur, sans m’oublier cependant. - -UN MOT SUR CETTE NOUVELLE TRADUCTION - -Comme Homère, comme Virgile, Dante, Shakespeare, Cervantes, a eu un -grand nombre de traducteurs; et cependant après tant d’essais, le -chef-d’œuvre de cet immortel écrivain _Don Quichotte_, en un mot, est -encore et restera toujours à traduire. - -Notre admiration pour Cervantes et pour la chevaleresque patrie qui l’a -vu naître nous a depuis longtemps inspiré le désir et fait prendre la -résolution de tenter cette périlleuse aventure. Aussi, pour nous y -préparer, avons-nous lu et relu l’inimitable roman de _Gil Blas_, ce -modèle accompli de l’art du conteur. - -Dans les lettres, obscur ouvrier de la onzième heure, nous n’avons pas -la prétention d’avoir atteint le but que tant d’autres, avant nous, ont -poursuivi avec constance et quelquefois avec bonheur; mais dans la -mesure de nos forces, et par une version fidèle que nous nous sommes -efforcé de rendre agréable, nous avons cherché à augmenter le nombre des -admirateurs d’un des plus beaux génies dont s’honore l’humanité. - -C’est le résultat de cette tentative que nous soumettons au public. - - CH. FURNE. - -L’INGÉNIEUX CHEVALIER DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - -PREMIÈRE PARTIE - -LIVRE PREMIER--CHAPITRE PREMIER - -QUI TRAITE DE LA QUALITÉ ET DES HABITUDES DE L’INGÉNIEUX DON QUICHOTTE - -Dans un petit bourg de la Manche, dont je ne veux pas me rappeler le -nom[8], vivait naguère un de ces hidalgos qui ont lance au râtelier, -rondache antique, vieux cheval et lévrier de chasse.--Une _olla_[9], -bien plus souvent de bœuf[10] que de mouton, un _saupiquet_[11] le -soir, le vendredi des lentilles, des abatis de bétail le samedi, et le -dimanche quelques pigeonneaux outre l’ordinaire, emportaient les trois -quarts de son revenu; le reste payait son justaucorps de panne de soie, -avec chausses et mules de velours pour les jours de fête, car d’habitude -notre hidalgo se contentait d’un surtout de la bonne laine du pays. Une -gouvernante qui avait passé quarante ans, une nièce qui n’en avait pas -vingt, et un valet qui savait travailler aux champs, étriller un cheval -et manier la serpette, composaient toute sa maison. Son âge frisait la -cinquantaine; il était de complexion robuste, maigre de visage, sec de -corps, fort matinal et grand chasseur. Parmi les historiens, -quelques-uns ont dit qu’il s’appelait Quisada ou Quesada, d’autres le -nomment Quixana. Au reste cela importe peu, pourvu que notre récit ne -s’écarte en aucun point de l’exacte vérité. - - [8] Argamasilla de Alba; on y montre encore une antique maison où la - tradition locale place la prison de Cervantes. - - [9] _Olla_, pot-au-feu. - - [10] En Espagne, le bœuf est moins estimé que le mouton. - - [11] _Salpicon_, saupiquet, émincé de viande avec une sauce qui excite - l’appétit. - -Or, il faut savoir que dans ses moments de loisir, c’est-à-dire à peu -près toute l’année, notre hidalgo s’adonnait à la lecture des livres de -chevalerie avec tant d’assiduité et de plaisir, qu’il avait fini par en -oublier l’exercice de la chasse et l’administration de son bien. Son -engouement en vint même à ce point, qu’il vendit plusieurs pièces de -bonne terre pour acquérir ces sortes d’ouvrages; aussi en amassa-t-il un -si grand nombre qu’il en emplit sa maison. - -Mais, parmi ces livres, aucun n’était plus de son goût que ceux du -célèbre Feliciano de Silva[12]. Les faux brillants de sa prose le -ravissaient, et ses propos quintessenciés lui semblaient autant de -perles; il admirait ses cartels de défis, et surtout ses tirades -galantes où se trouvaient ces mots: _La raison de la déraison que vous -faites à ma raison, affaiblit tellement ma raison, que ce n’est pas sans -raison que je me plains de votre beauté_; et cet autre passage vraiment -incomparable: _Les hauts cieux qui de votre divinité divinement par le -secours des étoiles vous fortifient et vous font méritante des mérites -que mérite votre grandeur_. - - [12] Feliciano de Silva, auteur de la _Chronique des très-vaillants - Chevaliers_. - -Le jugement de notre pauvre hidalgo se perdait au milieu de toutes ces -belles phrases; il se donnait la torture pour les approfondir et leur -arracher un sens des entrailles, ce que n’aurait pu faire le grand -Aristote lui-même, fût-il ressuscité exprès pour cela. Il s’accommodait -mal des innombrables blessures que faisait ou recevait don Belianis; -car, malgré toute la science des chirurgiens qui l’ont guéri, un si -intrépide batailleur, disait-il, doit avoir le corps couvert de -cicatrices, et le visage, de balafres. Mais il n’en louait pas moins -dans l’auteur l’ingénieuse façon dont il termine son livre par la -promesse d’une inénarrable aventure. Plus d’une fois il fut tenté de -prendre la plume afin de l’achever, ce qu’il eût fait sans doute et même -avec succès, si depuis longtemps déjà il n’eût roulé dans sa tête de -plus importantes pensées. Souvent il disputait avec le curé de son -village, homme docte qui avait étudié à Siguenza[13], sur la question de -savoir lequel était meilleur chevalier, de Palmerin d’Angleterre, ou -d’Amadis de Gaule. Le barbier du village, maître Nicolas, prétendait que -personne n’allait à la taille du chevalier Phébus, et que si quelqu’un -pouvait lui être comparé, c’était le seul don Galaor, parce qu’avec des -qualités qui le rendaient propre à tout, ce Galaor n’était point un -dameret, un langoureux comme son frère Amadis, à qui d’ailleurs il ne le -cédait en rien quant à la vaillance. - - [13] Siguenza est dit ironiquement. - -Bref, notre hidalgo se passionna tellement pour sa lecture, qu’il y -passait les nuits du soir au matin, et les jours du matin au soir, si -bien qu’à force de toujours lire et de ne plus dormir, son cerveau se -dessécha, et qu’il finit par perdre l’esprit. L’imagination remplie de -tout ce fatras, il ne rêvait qu’enchantements, querelles, défis, -combats, blessures, déclarations galantes, tourments amoureux et autres -extravagances semblables; et ces rêveries saugrenues s’étaient si bien -logées dans sa tête, que pour lui il n’existait pas au monde d’histoires -plus certaines et plus authentiques. - -Il disait que le cid Ruy-Dias avait été certes un bon chevalier, mais -qu’il était loin de valoir le chevalier de l’Ardente-Épée, qui, d’un -seul revers avait pourfendu deux féroces et monstrueux géants. Bernard -de Carpio lui semblait l’emporter encore, parce que, à Ronceveaux, -s’aidant fort à propos de l’artifice d’Hercule lorsqu’il étouffa entre -ses bras Antée, fils de la Terre, il avait su mettre à mort Roland -l’enchanté. Il vantait beaucoup aussi le géant Morgan, qui, seul de -cette race orgueilleuse et farouche, s’était toujours montré plein de -courtoisie. Mais son héros par excellence, c’était Renaud de Montauban, -surtout quand il le voyait sortir de son château pour détrousser les -passants, ou, franchissant le détroit, courir en Barbarie dérober cette -idole de Mahomet qui était d’or massif, à ce que raconte l’histoire. -Quant à ce traître de Ganelon, afin de pouvoir lui administrer cent -coups de pieds dans les côtes, il aurait de bon cœur donné sa -gouvernante et même sa nièce par-dessus le marché. - -Enfin, la raison l’ayant abandonné sans retour, il en vint à former le -plus bizarre projet dont jamais fou se soit avisé. Il se persuada qu’il -était convenable et même nécessaire, tant pour le service de son pays -que pour sa propre gloire, de se faire chevalier errant et de s’en aller -de par le monde, avec son cheval et ses armes, chercher les aventures, -défendre les opprimés, redresser les torts, et affronter de tels dangers -que s’il en sortait à son honneur, sa renommée ne pouvait manquer d’être -immortelle. Le pauvre rêveur se voyait déjà couronné par la force de son -bras, et, pour le moins en possession de l’empire de Trébizonde. - -Plein de ces agréables pensées, et emporté par le singulier plaisir -qu’il y trouvait, il ne songea plus qu’à passer du désir à l’action. -Son premier soin fut de déterrer les pièces d’une vieille armure, qui, -depuis longtemps couverte de moisissure et rongée par la rouille, gisait -oubliée dans un coin de sa maison. Il les nettoya et les rajusta de son -mieux, mais grand fut son chagrin quand au lieu du heaume complet il -s’aperçut qu’il ne restait plus que le morion. Son industrie y suppléa, -et avec du carton il parvint à fabriquer une espèce de demi-salade, qui, -emboîtée avec le morion, avait toute l’apparence d’une salade entière. -Aussitôt, pour la mettre à l’épreuve, il tira son épée et lui en -déchargea deux coups dont le premier détruisit l’ouvrage d’une semaine. -Cette fragilité lui déplut fort: afin de s’assurer contre un tel péril -il se mit à refaire son armet, et cette fois il ajouta en dedans de -légères bandes de fer. Satisfait de sa solidité, mais peu empressé de -risquer une seconde expérience, il le tint désormais pour un casque de -la plus fine trempe. - -Cela fait, notre hidalgo alla visiter sa monture; et quoique la pauvre -bête eût plus de tares que de membres, et fût de plus chétive apparence -que le cheval de Gonèle[14] CUI TANTUM PELLIS ET OSSA FUIT, il lui -sembla que ni le Bucéphale d’Alexandre, ni le Babieça du Cid, ne -pouvaient lui être comparés. Il passa quatre jours entiers à chercher -quel nom il lui donnerait, disant qu’il n’était pas convenable que le -cheval d’un si fameux chevalier, et de plus si excellent par lui-même, -entrât en campagne sans avoir un nom qui le distinguât tout d’abord. -Aussi se creusait-il l’esprit pour lui en composer un qui exprimât ce -que le coursier avait été jadis et ce qu’il allait devenir: le maître -changeant d’état, le cheval, selon lui, devait changer de nom et -désormais en porter un conforme à la nouvelle profession qu’il -embrassait. Après beaucoup de noms pris, quittés, rognés, allongés, -faits et défaits, il s’arrêta à celui de ROSSINANTE[15], qui lui parut -tout à la fois sonore, retentissant, significatif, et bien digne, en -effet, de la première de toutes les rosses du monde. - - [14] Bouffon du duc de Ferrare au quinzième siècle, dont le cheval - n’avait que la peau et les os. - - [15] ROCIN-ANTES, _Rosse auparavant_. - -Une fois ce nom trouvé pour son cheval, il voulut s’en donner un à -lui-même, et il y consacra encore huit jours, au bout desquels il se -décida enfin à s’appeler DON QUICHOTTE, ce qui a fait penser aux auteurs -de cette véridique histoire que son nom était Quixada et non Quesada, -comme d’autres l’ont prétendu. Mais, venant à se souvenir que le -valeureux Amadis ne s’était pas appelé Amadis tout court, et que pour -rendre à jamais célèbre le nom de son pays, il l’avait ajouté au sien, -en se faisant appeler Amadis de Gaule, notre hidalgo, jaloux de -l’imiter, voulut de même s’appeler don Quichotte de la Manche, persuadé -qu’il illustrait sa patrie en la faisant participer à la gloire qu’il -allait acquérir. - -Après avoir fourbi ses armes, fait avec un morion une salade entière, -donné un nom retentissant à son cheval, et en avoir choisi un tout aussi -noble pour lui-même, il se tint pour assuré qu’il ne manquait plus rien, -sinon une dame à aimer, parce qu’un chevalier sans amour est un arbre -sans feuilles et sans fruits, un corps sans âme. En effet, que pour la -punition de mes péchés, se disait-il, ou plutôt grâce à ma bonne étoile, -je vienne à me trouver face à face avec un géant, comme cela arrive sans -cesse aux chevaliers errants, que je le désarçonne au premier choc et le -pourfende par le milieu du corps, ou seulement le réduise à merci, -n’est-il pas bien d’avoir une dame à qui je puisse l’envoyer en présent, -afin qu’arrivé devant ma douce souveraine, il lui dise en l’abordant, -d’une voix humble et soumise: «Madame, je suis le géant Caraculiambro, -seigneur de l’île de Malindrania, qu’a vaincu en combat singulier votre -esclave, l’invincible et jamais assez célébré don Quichotte de la -Manche. C’est par son ordre que je viens me mettre à vos genoux devant -Votre Grâce, afin qu’elle dispose de moi selon son bon plaisir.» - -Oh! combien notre hidalgo fut heureux d’avoir inventé ce beau discours, -et surtout d’avoir trouvé celle qu’il allait faire maîtresse de son -cœur, instituer dame de ses pensées! C’était, à ce que l’on croit, la -fille d’un laboureur des environs, jeune paysanne de bonne mine, dont il -était devenu amoureux sans que la belle s’en doutât un seul instant. -Elle s’appelait Aldonza Lorenzo. Après lui avoir longtemps cherché un -nom qui, sans trop s’écarter de celui qu’elle portait, annonçât -cependant la grande dame et la princesse, il finit par l’appeler -DULCINÉE DU TOBOSO, parce qu’elle était native d’un village appelé le -Toboso, nom, à son avis, noble, harmonieux, et non moins éclatant que -ceux qu’il avait choisis pour son cheval et pour lui-même. - -CHAPITRE II - -QUI TRAITE DE LA PREMIÈRE SORTIE QUE FIT L’INGÉNIEUX DON QUICHOTTE - -Ces préliminaires accomplis, notre hidalgo ne voulut pas différer plus -longtemps de mettre à exécution son projet, se croyant déjà responsable -de tous les maux que son inaction laissait peser sur la terre, torts à -redresser, dettes à satisfaire, injures à punir, outrages à venger. -Ainsi sans se confier à âme qui vive, et sans être vu de personne, un -matin avant le jour (c’était un des plus chauds du mois de juillet), il -s’arme de pied en cap, enfourche Rossinante, et, lance au poing, -rondache au bras, visière baissée, il s’élance dans la campagne, par la -fausse porte de sa basse-cour, ravi de voir avec quelle facilité il -venait de donner carrière à son noble désir. Mais à peine fut-il en -chemin, qu’assailli d’une fâcheuse pensée, peu s’en fallut qu’il -n’abandonnât l’entreprise. Il se rappela tout à coup que n’étant point -armé chevalier, les lois de cette profession lui défendaient d’entrer -en lice avec aucun chevalier; et que le fût-il, il n’avait droit, comme -novice, de porter que des armes blanches, c’est-à-dire sans devise sur -l’écu, jusqu’à ce qu’il en eût conquis une par sa valeur. Ce scrupule le -tourmentait; mais, sa folie l’emportant sur toute considération, il -résolut de se faire armer chevalier par le premier qu’il rencontrerait, -comme il avait lu dans ses livres que cela s’était souvent pratiqué. -Quant à ses armes, il se promettait de les fourbir si bien, tout en -tenant la campagne, qu’elles deviendraient plus blanches que l’hermine. -S’étant donc mis l’esprit en repos, il poursuivit son chemin, -s’abandonnant à la discrétion de son cheval, et persuadé qu’en cela -consistait l’essence des aventures. - -Dans ce moment survint l’hôtelier (p. 11).] - -Pendant qu’il cheminait enseveli dans ses pensées, notre chercheur -d’aventures se parlait à lui-même. Lorsque dans les siècles à venir sera -publié l’histoire de mes glorieux exploits, se disait-il, nul doute que -le sage qui tiendra la plume, venant à raconter cette première sortie -que je fais si matin, ne s’exprime de la sorte: A peine le blond Phébus -commençait à déployer sur la spacieuse face de la terre les tresses -dorées de sa belle chevelure, à peine les petits oiseaux, nuancés de -mille couleurs, saluaient des harpes de leurs langues, dans une douce et -mielleuse harmonie, l’Aurore au teint rose quittant la couche de son -vieil époux pour venir éclairer l’horizon castillan, que le fameux -chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, désertant la plume paresseuse, -monta sur son fidèle Rossinante, et prit sa route à travers l’antique et -célèbre plaine de Montiel. C’était là qu’il se trouvait en ce moment. -Heureux âge, ajoutait-il, siècle fortuné qui verra produire au grand -jour mes incomparables prouesses, dignes d’être éternisées par le -bronze et le marbre, retracées par le pinceau, afin d’être données en -exemples aux races futures! Et toi, sage enchanteur, assez heureux pour -être le chroniqueur de cette merveilleuse histoire, n’oublie pas, je -t’en conjure, mon bon Rossinante, ce cher compagnon de mes pénibles -travaux. - -Puis tout à coup, comme dans un transport amoureux: O Dulcinée! -s’écriait-il, souveraine de ce cœur esclave, à quelle épreuve vous le -soumettez en me bannissant avec la rigoureuse défense de reparaître -devant votre beauté! Du moins qu’il vous souvienne des tourments -qu’endure pour vous ce cœur votre sujet! A ces rêveries il en ajoutait -cent autres non moins extraordinaires, sans s’apercevoir que le soleil, -déjà bien haut sur l’horizon, lui dardait tellement sur la tête, qu’il -n’en fallait pas davantage pour fondre sa cervelle, s’il lui en était -resté quelque peu. - -Notre héros chemina ainsi tout le jour sans qu’il lui arrivât rien qui -mérite d’être raconté; ce qui le désespérait, tant il lui tardait de -trouver une épreuve digne de son courage. Quelques-uns prétendent que sa -première aventure fut celle du _puerto Lapice_[16]; d’autres, celle des -moulins à vent; mais tout ce que j’ai pu découvrir à ce sujet dans les -annales de la Manche, c’est qu’après avoir marché jusqu’au coucher du -soleil, son cheval et lui, demi-morts de faim, étaient si fatigués, -qu’ils pouvaient à peine se soutenir. En regardant de tous côtés s’il ne -découvrirait pas quelque abri où il pût se reposer, il aperçut, non loin -du chemin qu’il suivait, une auberge isolée, laquelle brilla à ses yeux -comme une étoile qui allait le conduire au port du salut. Pressant le -pas de son cheval, il y arriva comme le jour finissait. - - [16] En Espagne, on appelle _puerto_, port, un col ou passage dans les - montagnes. - -Sur la porte en ce moment prenaient leurs ébats deux de ces donzelles -dont on a coutume de dire qu’elles sont de bonne volonté; ces filles -allaient à Séville avec des muletiers qui s’étaient arrêtés là pour y -passer la nuit. Comme notre aventurier voyait partout ce qu’il avait lu -dans ses livres, il n’eut pas plus tôt aperçu cette misérable -hôtellerie, qu’il la prit pour un château avec ses quatre tourelles, ses -chapiteaux d’argent bruni reluisant au soleil, ses fossés, son -pont-levis, enfin tous les accessoires qui accompagnent ces sortes de -descriptions. A peu de distance il s’arrêta, et, retenant la bride de -son cheval, il attendit qu’un nain vînt se montrer aux créneaux pour -annoncer à son de trompe l’arrivée d’un chevalier; mais comme rien ne -paraissait, et que Rossinante avait hâte de gagner l’écurie, don -Quichotte avança de quelques pas et aperçut alors les deux filles en -question, qui lui parurent deux nobles damoiselles folâtrant devant la -porte du château. Un porcher qui passait en ce moment se mit à souffler -dans une corne pour rassembler son troupeau: persuadé qu’on venait de -donner le signal de sa venue, notre héros s’approcha tout à fait de ces -femmes, qui, à l’aspect imprévu d’un homme armé jusqu’aux dents, -rentrèrent précipitamment dans la maison. Devinant le motif de leur -frayeur, don Quichotte leva sa visière, et découvrant à moitié son sec -et poudreux visage, il leur dit d’un ton calme et doux: Timides vierges, -ne fuyez point, et ne redoutez de ma part aucune offense; la chevalerie, -dont je fais profession, m’interdit d’offenser personne, et surtout de -nobles damoiselles telles que vous paraissez. - -Ces femmes le regardaient avec étonnement et cherchaient de tous leurs -yeux son visage sous la mauvaise visière qui le couvrait; mais quand -elles s’entendirent appeler damoiselles, elles ne purent s’empêcher -d’éclater de rire. - -La modestie sied à la beauté, reprit don Quichotte d’un ton sévère, et -le rire qui procède de cause futile est une inconvenance. Si je vous -parle ainsi, ne croyez pas que ce soit pour vous affliger, ni pour -troubler la belle humeur où je vous vois, car la mienne n’est autre que -de vous servir. - -Ce langage et cette bizarre figure ne faisaient que redoubler les éclats -de leur gaieté; et cela sans doute eût mal tourné, si dans ce moment ne -fût survenu l’hôtelier, homme d’un énorme embonpoint, et par conséquent -très-pacifique. A l’aspect de cet étrange personnage tout couvert -d’armes dépareillées, il fut bien près de partager l’hilarité des deux -donzelles; mais, en voyant cet attirail de guerre, se ravisant, il dit à -l’inconnu: Seigneur chevalier, si Votre Grâce a besoin d’un gîte, sauf -le lit toutefois, car il ne m’en reste pas un seul, elle trouvera chez -moi tout à profusion. - -Aux avances courtoises du gouverneur du château (tels lui paraissaient -l’hôtellerie et l’hôtelier) don Quichotte répondit: Seigneur châtelain, -peu de chose me suffit; LES ARMES SONT MA PARURE, _et mes délassements -les combats_[17]. - - [17] Mis arreos son las armas, - Mi descanso el pelear. (_Romancero._) - -A ce nom de châtelain (_castellano_[18]), l’hôtelier crut que notre -aventurier le prenait pour un Castillan, lui qui était un franc -Andalous, et même de la plage de San Lucar, aussi voleur que Cacus, -aussi goguenard qu’un écolier ou qu’un page: En ce cas, lui dit-il, _la -couche de Votre Seigneurie doit être un dur rocher et son sommeil une -veille continuelle_[19]. S’il en est ainsi, vous pouvez mettre pied à -terre, sûr de trouver ici mille occasions pour une de passer -non-seulement la nuit, mais toute l’année sans dormir. En disant cela il -courut tenir l’étrier à don Quichotte, qui descendit de cheval avec -beaucoup de peine et d’efforts, comme un homme accablé du poids de ses -armes et qui depuis douze heures était encore à jeun. - - [18] Il y a ici un jeu de mots: en espagnol, _castellano_ veut dire - Castillan et châtelain. - - [19] Mi cama las duras peñas, - Mi dormir siempre velar. (_Romancero._) - -Le premier soin de notre héros fut de recommander sa monture, affirmant -que de toutes les bêtes qui dans le monde portaient selle, c’était -certainement la meilleure. En examinant Rossinante, l’hôtelier put se -convaincre qu’il en fallait rabattre plus de moitié; toutefois il le -conduisit à l’écurie, et revenant aussitôt près de son hôte, il le -trouva réconcilié avec les deux donzelles, qui s’empressaient à le -débarrasser de son armure. Elles lui avaient bien ôté la cuirasse et le -corselet; mais quand il fallut déboîter le gorgerin et enlever la -malheureuse salade, attachée par des rubans verts, il devint impossible -de défaire les nœuds sans les couper; aussi don Quichotte ne voulut -jamais y consentir, aimant mieux passer toute la nuit avec sa salade en -tête, ce qui lui faisait la plus plaisante figure qu’on pût imaginer. - -Pendant cette cérémonie, prenant toujours celles qui le désarmaient pour -de nobles damoiselles et les maîtresses de ce château, notre héros leur -débitait d’un air galant ces vers d’un vieux romancero: - - Vit-on jamais un chevalier, - Plus en faveur auprès des belles? - Don Quichotte est servi par elles, - Dames ont soin de son coursier. - -Rossinante est son nom, mesdames, et don Quichotte de la Manche celui de -votre serviteur, qui avait fait serment de ne point se découvrir avant -d’avoir accompli quelque grande prouesse. Le besoin d’ajuster la romance -de Lancelot à la situation où je me trouve fait que vous savez mon nom -plus tôt que je ne l’aurais voulu; mais viendra le temps, j’espère, où -Vos Gracieuses Seigneuries me donneront leurs ordres, où je serai -heureux de leur obéir et de mettre à leur service la valeur de mon bras. - -Peu accoutumées à de semblables discours, ces femmes ouvraient de grands -yeux et ne répondaient rien; à la fin pourtant, elles lui demandèrent -s’il voulait manger quelque chose. - -Volontiers, répondit don Quichotte; et, quoi que ce puisse être, tout -viendra fort à propos. - -Par malheur, c’était un vendredi, et il n’y avait dans toute -l’hôtellerie que les restes d’un poisson séché qu’on appelle en -Espagne, selon la province, morue, merluche ou truitelle. Elles le -prièrent de vouloir bien s’en contenter, puisque c’était la seule chose -qu’on pût lui offrir. - -Pourvu qu’il y ait un certain nombre de ces truitelles, répliqua don -Quichotte, cela équivaudra à une truite; car, me donner la monnaie d’une -pièce de huit réaux, ou la pièce entière, peu importe. D’autant qu’il en -est peut-être de la truitelle comme du veau, qui est plus tendre que le -bœuf, ou bien encore du chevreau, qui est plus délicat que le bouc. -Mais, quoi que ce soit, je le répète, qu’on l’apporte au plus vite; car, -pour supporter la fatigue et le poids des armes, il faut réconforter -l’estomac. - -Pour qu’il dînât au frais, une table fut dressée devant la porte de -l’hôtellerie, et l’hôtelier lui apporta un morceau de poisson mal -dessalé et plus mal cuit, avec un pain moisi plus noir que ses armes. -C’était un plaisant spectacle de le voir ainsi attablé, la tête emboîtée -dans son morion, visière et mentonnière en avant. Comme il avait peine à -se servir de ses mains pour porter les morceaux à sa bouche, une de ces -dames fut obligée de lui rendre ce service. Quant à le faire boire, ce -fut bien autre chose, et on n’y serait jamais parvenu, si l’hôtelier ne -se fût avisé de percer de part en part un long roseau et de lui en -introduire entre les dents un des bouts. Mais notre héros endurait tout -patiemment, plutôt que de laisser couper les rubans de son armet. Sur -ces entrefaites, un châtreur de porcs, qui rentrait à l’hôtellerie, -s’étant mis à siffler cinq ou six fois, cet incident acheva de lui -persuader qu’il était dans un fameux château, et qu’on lui faisait de la -musique pendant le repas. Alors la merluche fut pour lui de la truite, -le pain noir du pain blanc, les donzelles de grandes dames, l’hôtelier -le seigneur châtelain. Aussi était-il ravi de la résolution qu’il avait -prise, et du gracieux résultat de sa première sortie. Une seule chose -cependant le chagrinait au fond de l’âme: c’était de n’être point encore -armé chevalier, parce qu’en cet état, disait-il, on ne pouvait -légitimement entreprendre aucune aventure. - -CHAPITRE III - -OU L’ON RACONTE DE QUELLE PLAISANTE MANIÈRE DON QUICHOTTE FUT ARMÉ -CHEVALIER - -Tourmenté de cette pensée, il abrége son maigre repas, puis, se levant -brusquement, il appelle l’hôtelier, l’emmène dans l’écurie, et, après en -avoir fermé la porte, il se jette à deux genoux devant lui en disant: Je -ne me relèverai pas d’où je suis, illustre chevalier, que Votre -Seigneurie ne m’ait octroyé l’insigne faveur que j’ai à lui demander, -laquelle ne tournera pas moins à votre gloire qu’à l’avantage du genre -humain. - -En le voyant dans cette posture suppliante tenir un si étrange discours, -l’hôtelier le regardait tout ébahi, et s’opiniâtrait à le relever; mais -il n’y parvint qu’en promettant de faire ce qu’il désirait. - -Je n’attendais pas moins de votre courtoisie, seigneur, dit don -Quichotte. Le don que je vous demande et que vous promettez de -m’octroyer si obligeamment, c’est demain, à la pointe du jour, de -m’armer chevalier; mais au préalable, afin de me préparer à recevoir cet -illustre caractère que je souhaite avec ardeur, permettez-moi de faire -cette nuit la veille des armes dans la chapelle de votre château, après -quoi il me sera permis de chercher les aventures par toute la terre, -secourant les opprimés, châtiant les méchants, selon le vœu de la -chevalerie, et comme doit le faire tout chevalier errant que sa vocation -appelle à remplir une si noble tâche. - -L’hôtelier, rusé compère (on l’a vu déjà), et qui avait quelque soupçon -du jugement fêlé de son hôte, acheva de s’en convaincre en entendant un -semblable discours; aussi, pour s’apprêter de quoi rire, il voulut lui -donner satisfaction. Il lui dit qu’une pareille résolution montrait -qu’il était homme sage et de grand sens; qu’elle était d’ailleurs -naturelle aux hidalgos d’aussi haute volée qu’il paraissait être et que -l’annonçaient ses gaillardes manières; que lui-même, dans sa jeunesse, -s’était voué à cet honorable exercice; qu’il avait visité, en quête -d’aventures, plusieurs parties du monde, ne laissant dans les faubourgs -de Séville et de Malaga, dans les marchés de Ségovie, dans l’oliverie de -Valence, près des remparts de Grenade, sur la plage de San Lucar, et -dans les moindres cabarets de Tolède[20], aucun endroit où il eût -négligé d’exercer la légèreté de ses pieds ou la subtilité de ses mains, -causant une foule de torts, cajolant les veuves, débauchant les jeunes -filles, dupant nombre d’orphelins, finalement faisant connaissance avec -presque tous les tribunaux d’Espagne, ou peu s’en faut; après quoi, -ajouta-t-il, je suis venu me retirer dans ce château, où, vivant de mon -bien et de celui des autres, je m’empresse d’accueillir tous les -chevaliers errants, de quelque condition et qualité qu’ils soient, -seulement pour l’estime que je leur porte, et pourvu qu’ils partagent -avec moi leurs finances en retour de mes généreuses intentions. Notre -compère assura qu’il n’avait pas chez lui de chapelle pour faire la -veille des armes, parce qu’on l’avait abattue à seule fin d’en rebâtir -une toute neuve; mais qu’il était certain qu’en cas de nécessité, cette -veille pouvait avoir lieu où bon semblait, qu’en conséquence il -engageait son hôte à la faire dans la cour du château, où, dès la petite -pointe du jour, et avec l’aide de Dieu, s’achèverait la cérémonie -usitée; si bien que, dans quelques heures, il pourrait se vanter d’être -armé chevalier, autant qu’on pût l’être au monde. Notre homme finit en -lui demandant s’il portait de l’argent. - - [20] L’hôtelier donne ici la nomenclature des divers endroits - fréquentés par les vagabonds et les voleurs. - -Pas un maravédis, répondit don Quichotte, et dans aucune histoire je -n’ai lu qu’un chevalier errant en ai porté. - -Vous vous abusez étrangement, répliqua l’hôtelier: et soyez sûr que si -les historiens sont muets sur ce point, c’est qu’ils ont regardé comme -superflu de recommander une chose aussi simple que celle de porter avec -soi de l’argent et des chemises blanches. Tenez donc pour certain et -avéré que les chevaliers errants dont parlent les livres avaient à tout -événement la bourse bien garnie, et de plus une petite boîte d’onguent -pour les blessures. En effet, comment croire que ces chevaliers, exposés -à des combats incessants, au milieu des plaines et des déserts, eussent -là tout à point quelqu’un pour les panser; à moins cependant qu’un -enchanteur n’accourût à leur secours, amenant à travers les airs, sur un -nuage, quelque dame ou nain porteur d’une fiole d’eau d’une vertu telle, -qu’avec deux simples gouttes sur le bout de la langue ils se trouvaient -tout aussi dispos qu’auparavant: mais, à défaut de ces puissants amis, -croyez-le bien, ces chevaliers veillaient avec grand soin à ce que leurs -écuyers fussent pourvus d’argent, de charpie et d’onguent; et si par -hasard ils n’avaient point d’écuyer, cas fort rare, ils portaient -eux-mêmes tout cela dans une petite besace, sur la croupe de leur -cheval; car, cette circonstance exceptée, l’usage de porter besace était -peu suivi des chevaliers errants. C’est pourquoi, ajouta notre compère, -je vous donne le conseil et même au besoin l’ordre, comme à celui qui va -être mon filleul d’armes, de ne plus désormais vous mettre en route sans -argent; et soyez persuadé que, dans plus d’une occasion, vous aurez à -vous applaudir de cette prévoyance. - -Don Quichotte promit de suivre ce conseil, et, sans plus tarder, se -prépara à faire la veille des armes dans une basse-cour dépendante de -l’hôtellerie. Il rassembla toutes les pièces de son armure, les posa sur -une auge qui était près du puits; après quoi, la rondache au bras et la -lance au poing, il se mit à passer et à repasser devant l’abreuvoir, -d’un air calme et fier tout ensemble. Les gens de l’hôtellerie avaient -été mis au fait de la folie de cet inconnu, de ce qu’il appelait la -veille des armes, et de son violent désir d’être armé chevalier. Curieux -d’un spectacle si étrange, ils vinrent se placer à quelque distance, et -chacun put l’observer tout à son aise, tantôt se promenant d’un pas lent -et mesuré, tantôt s’appuyant sur sa lance et les yeux attachés sur son -armure. Quoique la nuit fût close, la lune répandait une clarté si vive, -qu’on distinguait aisément jusqu’aux moindres gestes de notre héros. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un des muletiers qui étaient logés dans -l’hôtellerie voulut faire boire ses bêtes; mais pour cela il fallait -enlever les armes de dessus l’abreuvoir. Don Quichotte, qui en le voyant -venir avait deviné son dessein, lui cria d’une voix fière: O toi, -imprudent chevalier qui oses approcher des armes d’un des plus vaillants -parmi ceux qui ont jamais ceint l’épée, prends garde à ce que tu vas -faire, et crains de toucher à cette armure, si tu ne veux laisser ici la -vie pour prix de ta témérité! Le muletier, sans s’inquiéter de ces -menaces (mieux eût valu pour sa santé qu’il en fît cas!), prit l’armure -par les courroies et la jeta loin de lui. - -Plus prompt que l’éclair, notre héros lève les yeux au ciel, et -invoquant Dulcinée: Ma dame, dit-il à demi-voix, secourez-moi en ce -premier affront qu’essuie ce cœur, votre vassal; que votre faveur me -soit en aide en ce premier péril! Aussitôt, jetant sa rondache, il -saisit sa lance à deux mains, et en décharge un tel coup sur la tête du -muletier, qu’il l’étend à ses pieds dans un état si piteux qu’un second -l’eût à jamais dispensé d’appeler un chirurgien. Cela fait, il ramasse -son armure, la replace sur l’abreuvoir, et recommence sa promenade avec -autant de calme que s’il ne fût rien arrivé. - -Peu après, un autre muletier ignorant ce qui venait de se passer, voulut -aussi faire boire ses mules; mais comme il allait toucher aux armes pour -débarrasser l’abreuvoir, don Quichotte, sans prononcer une parole, et -cette fois sans demander la faveur d’aucune dame, lève de nouveau sa -lance, en assène trois ou quatre coups sur la tête de l’audacieux, et la -lui ouvre en trois ou quatre endroits. Aux cris du blessé, tous les gens -de l’hôtellerie accoururent; mais notre héros, reprenant sa rondache et -saisissant son épée: Dame de beauté, s’écrie-t-il, aide et réconfort de -mon cœur, voici l’instant de tourner les yeux de Ta Grandeur vers le -chevalier, ton esclave, que menace une terrible aventure! Après cette -invocation, il se sentit tant de force et de courage, que tous les -muletiers du monde n’auraient pu le faire reculer d’un seul pas. - -Les camarades des blessés, les voyant en cet état, se mirent à faire -pleuvoir une grêle de pierres sur don Quichotte, qui s’en garantissait -de son mieux avec sa rondache, restant fièrement près de l’auge, à la -garde de ses armes. L’hôtelier criait à tue-tête qu’on laissât -tranquille ce diable d’homme; qu’il avait assez dit que c’était un fou, -et que, comme tel, il en sortirait quitte, eût-il assommé tous les -muletiers d’Espagne. Notre héros vociférait encore plus fort que lui, -les appelant lâches, mécréants, et traitant de félon le seigneur du -château, puisqu’il souffrait qu’on maltraitât de la sorte les chevaliers -errants. Si j’avais reçu l’ordre de chevalerie, disait-il, je lui -prouverais bien vite qu’il n’est qu’un traître! Quant à vous, impure et -vile canaille, approchez, approchez tous ensemble, et vous verrez quel -châtiment recevra votre insolence. Enfin il montra tant de résolution, -que les assaillants cessèrent de lui jeter des pierres. Don Quichotte, -laissant emporter les blessés, reprit la veille des armes avec le même -calme et la même gravité qu’auparavant. - -L’hôtelier, qui commençait à trouver peu divertissantes les folies de -son hôte, résolut pour y mettre un terme de lui conférer au plus vite ce -malencontreux ordre de chevalerie. Après s’être excusé de l’insolence de -quelques malappris, bien châtiés du reste, il jura que tout s’était -passé à son insu; il lui répéta qu’il n’avait point de chapelle dans son -château, mais que cela n’était pas absolument nécessaire, le point -essentiel pour être armé chevalier consistant, d’après sa parfaite -connaissance du cérémonial, en deux coups d’épée, le premier sur la -nuque, le second sur l’épaule, et affirmant de plus que cela pouvait -s’accomplir n’importe où, fût-ce au milieu des champs. Quant à la veille -des armes, ajouta-t-il, vous êtes en règle, car deux heures suffisent, -et vous en avez passé plus de quatre. Don Quichotte se laissa facilement -persuader, déclarant au seigneur châtelain qu’il était prêt à lui obéir, -mais qu’il le priait d’achever promptement la cérémonie, parce qu’une -fois armé chevalier, disait-il, si l’on vient derechef m’attaquer, je ne -laisserai personne en vie dans ce château, hormis pourtant ceux que mon -noble parrain m’ordonnera d’épargner. - -Très-peu rassuré par ces paroles, l’hôtelier courut chercher le livre où -il inscrivait d’habitude la paille et l’orge qu’il donnait aux -muletiers; puis, accompagné des deux donzelles en question et d’un -petit garçon portant un bout de chandelle, il revient trouver don -Quichotte, auquel il ordonne de se mettre à genoux; après quoi, les yeux -fixés sur le livre, comme s’il eût débité quelque dévote oraison, il -prend l’épée de notre héros, lui en donne un coup sur la nuque, un autre -sur l’épaule, puis invite une de ces dames à lui ceindre l’épée, ce dont -elle s’acquitta avec beaucoup d’aisance et de modestie, mais toujours -sur le point d’éclater de rire, si ce qui venait d’arriver n’eût tenu en -bride sa gaieté. Dieu fasse de Votre Grâce un heureux chevalier, lui -dit-elle, et vous accorde bonne chance dans les combats! - -Don Quichotte lui demanda son nom, voulant savoir à quelle noble dame il -demeurait obligé d’une si grande faveur. Elle répondit qu’elle -s’appelait la Tolosa, que son père était fripier à Tolède, dans les -échoppes de Sancho Benaya, et qu’en tout temps, en tout lieu et à toute -heure, elle serait sa très-humble servante. Notre héros la pria, pour -l’amour de lui, de prendre à l’avenir le _don_, et de s’appeler dona -Tolosa, ce qu’elle promit de faire. L’autre lui ayant chaussé l’éperon, -il lui demanda également son nom: elle répondit qu’elle s’appelait la -Molinera, et qu’elle était fille d’un honnête meunier d’Antequerra. -Ayant obtenu d’elle pareille promesse de prendre le _don_, et de -s’appeler à l’avenir dona Molinera, il lui réitéra ses remercîments et -ses offres de service. - -Cette cérémonie terminée à la hâte, don Quichotte, qui aurait voulu être -déjà en quête d’aventures, s’empressa de seller Rossinante, puis, venant -à cheval embrasser l’hôtelier, il le remercia de l’avoir armé chevalier, -et cela avec des expressions de gratitude si étranges, qu’il faut -renoncer à vouloir les rapporter fidèlement. Pour le voir partir au plus -vite, notre compère lui rendit, en quelques mots, la monnaie de ses -compliments, et, sans rien réclamer pour sa dépense, le laissa aller à -la grâce de Dieu. - -CHAPITRE IV - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A NOTRE CHEVALIER QUAND IL FUT SORTI DE L’HOTELLERIE - -L’aube blanchissait à l’horizon quand don Quichotte quitta l’hôtellerie -si joyeux, si ravi de se voir enfin armé chevalier, que dans ses -transports il faisait craquer les sangles de sa selle. Toutefois venant -à se rappeler le conseil de l’hôtelier au sujet des choses dont il -devait absolument se pourvoir, il résolut de s’en retourner chez lui, -afin de se munir d’argent et de chemises, et surtout pour se procurer un -écuyer, emploi auquel il destinait un laboureur, son voisin, pauvre -diable chargé d’enfants, mais, selon lui, très-convenable à l’office -d’écuyer dans la chevalerie errante. Il prit donc le chemin de son -village; et, comme si Rossinante eût deviné l’intention de son maître, -il se mit à trotter si prestement, que ses pieds semblaient ne pas -toucher la terre. - -Notre héros marchait depuis peu de temps, lorsqu’il crut entendre à sa -droite une voix plaintive sortant de l’épaisseur d’un bois. A peine en -fut-il certain, qu’il s’écria: Grâces soient rendues au ciel qui -m’envoie sitôt l’occasion d’exercer le devoir de ma profession et de -cueillir les premiers fruits de mes généreux desseins. Ces plaintes -viennent sans doute d’un infortuné qui a besoin de secours; et aussitôt -tournant bride vers l’endroit d’où les cris lui semblaient partir, il y -pousse Rossinante. - -Il n’avait pas fait vingt pas dans le bois, qu’il vit une jument -attachée à un chêne, et à un autre chêne également attaché un jeune -garçon d’environ quinze ans, nu jusqu’à la ceinture. C’était de lui que -venaient les cris, et certes il ne les poussait pas sans sujet. Un -paysan vigoureux et de haute taille le fustigeait avec une ceinture de -cuir, accompagnant chaque coup du même refrain: Yeux ouverts et bouche -close! lui disait-il. Pardon, seigneur, pardon, pour l’amour de Dieu! -criait le pauvre garçon, j’aurai désormais plus de soin du troupeau. - -Don Quichotte s’écria d’une voix courroucée: Il est mal de s’attaquer à -qui ne peut se défendre (p. 17).] - -A cette vue, don Quichotte s’écria d’une voix courroucée: Discourtois -chevalier, il est mal de s’attaquer à qui ne peut se défendre; montez à -cheval, prenez votre lance (il y en avait une appuyée contre l’arbre -auquel la jument était attachée[21]), et je saurai vous montrer qu’il -n’appartient qu’à un lâche d’agir de la sorte. - - [21] Il était d’usage alors, chez les paysans espagnols, d’être armé - de la lance, comme aujourd’hui de porter l’escopette. - -Sous la menace de ce fantôme armé qui lui tenait sa lance contre la -poitrine, le paysan répondit d’un ton patelin: Seigneur, ce mien valet -garde un troupeau de brebis que j’ai près d’ici; mais il est si -négligent, que chaque jour il en manque quelques-unes; et comme je -châtie sa paresse, ou plutôt sa friponnerie, il dit que c’est par -avarice et pour ne pas lui payer ses gages. Sur mon Dieu et sur mon âme -il en a menti! - -Un démenti en ma présence, misérable vilain! repartit don Quichotte; par -le soleil qui nous éclaire, je suis tenté de te passer cette lance au -travers du corps. Qu’on délie cet enfant et qu’on le paye, sinon, j’en -prends Dieu à témoin, je t’anéantis sur l’heure. - -Le paysan, baissant la tête sans répliquer, détacha le jeune garçon, à -qui don Quichotte demanda combien il lui était dû: - -Neuf mois, à sept réaux chacun, répondit-il. - -Notre héros ayant compté, trouva que cela faisait soixante-trois réaux, -qu’il ordonna au laboureur de payer sur-le-champ, s’il tenait à la vie. -Tout tremblant, cet homme répondit que dans le mauvais pas où il se -trouvait, il craignait de jurer faux, mais qu’il ne devait pas autant; -qu’en tout cas il fallait en rabattre le prix de trois paires de -souliers, et de deux saignées faites à son valet malade. - -Eh bien, répliqua don Quichotte, cela compensera les coups que vous lui -avez donnés sans raison. S’il a usé le cuir de vos souliers, vous avez -déchiré la peau de son corps; si le barbier lui a tiré du sang pendant -sa maladie, vous lui en avez tiré en bonne santé; ainsi vous êtes -quittes, l’un vaudra pour l’autre. - -Le malheur est que je n’ai pas d’argent sur moi, dit le paysan; mais -qu’André vienne à la maison, je le payerai jusqu’au dernier réal. - -M’en aller avec lui! Dieu m’en préserve! s’écria le berger. S’il me -tenait seul, il m’écorcherait comme un saint Barthélemi. - -Non, non, répliqua don Quichotte, il n’en fera rien; qu’il me le jure -seulement par l’ordre de chevalerie qu’il a reçu, il est libre, et je -réponds du payement. - -Seigneur, que Votre Grâce fasse attention à ce qu’elle dit, reprit le -jeune garçon; mon maître n’est point chevalier, et n’a jamais reçu aucun -ordre de chevalerie: c’est Jean Haldudo le riche, qui demeure près de -Quintanar. - -Qu’importe? dit don Quichotte; il peut y avoir des Haldudos chevaliers; -d’ailleurs ce sont les bonnes actions qui anoblissent, et chacun est -fils de ses œuvres. - -Cela est vrai, répondit André, mais de quelles œuvres est-il fils, lui -qui me refuse un salaire gagné à la sueur de mon corps? - -Vous avez tort, André, mon ami, répliqua le paysan, et, s’il vous plaît -de venir avec moi, je fais serment, par tous les ordres de chevalerie -qu’il y a dans le monde, de vous payer ce que je vous dois, comme je -l’ai promis, et même en réaux tout neufs. - -Pour neufs, je t’en dispense, reprit notre chevalier; paye-le, cela me -suffit; mais songe à ce que tu viens de jurer d’accomplir, sinon je jure -à mon tour que je saurai te retrouver, fusses-tu aussi prompt à te -cacher qu’un lézard; afin que tu saches à qui tu as affaire, apprends -que je suis le valeureux don Quichotte de la Manche, celui qui redresse -les torts et répare les injustices. Adieu, qu’il te souvienne de ta -parole, ou je tiendrai la mienne. En achevant ces mots, il piqua -Rossinante, et s’éloigna. - -Le paysan le suivit quelque temps des yeux, puis, quand il l’eut perdu -de vue dans l’épaisseur du bois, il retourna au berger: Viens, mon fils, -lui dit-il, viens que je m’acquitte envers toi comme ce redresseur de -torts me l’a commandé. - -Si vous ne faites, répondit André, ce qu’a ordonné ce bon chevalier (à -qui Dieu donne heureuse et longue vie pour sa valeur et sa justice!), je -jure d’aller le chercher en quelque endroit qu’il puisse être et de -l’amener pour vous châtier, selon qu’il l’a promis. - -Très-bien, reprit le paysan, et pour te montrer combien je t’aime, je -veux accroître la dette, afin d’augmenter le payement; puis, saisissant -André par le bras, il le rattacha au même chêne, et lui donna tant de -coups qu’il le laissa pour mort. Appelle, appelle le redresseur de -torts, lui disait-il, tu verras qu’il ne redressera pas celui-ci, -quoiqu’il ne soit qu’à moitié fait; car je ne sais qui me retient, pour -te faire dire vrai, que je ne t’écorche tout vif. A la fin, il le -détacha: Maintenant va chercher ton juge, ajouta-t-il, qu’il vienne -exécuter sa sentence; tu auras toujours cela par provision. - -André s’en fut tout en larmes, jurant de se mettre en quête du seigneur -don Quichotte jusqu’à ce qu’il l’eût rencontré, et menaçant le paysan de -le lui faire payer avec usure. Mais, en attendant, le pauvre diable -s’éloignait à demi-écorché, tandis que son maître riait à gorge -déployée. - -Enchanté de l’aventure, et d’un si agréable début dans la carrière -chevaleresque, notre héros poursuivait son chemin: Tu peux t’estimer -heureuse entre toutes les femmes, disait-il à demi-voix, ô belle -par-dessus toutes les belles, belle Dulcinée du Toboso! d’avoir pour -humble esclave un aussi valeureux chevalier que don Quichotte de la -Manche, lequel, comme chacun sait, est armé chevalier d’hier seulement, -et a déjà redressé la plus grande énormité qu’ait pu inventer -l’injustice et commettre la cruauté, en arrachant des mains de cet -impitoyable bourreau le fouet dont il déchirait un faible enfant. En -disant cela, il arrivait à un chemin qui se partageait en quatre, et -tout aussitôt il lui vint à l’esprit que les chevaliers errants -s’arrêtaient en pareils lieux, pour délibérer sur la route qu’ils -devaient suivre. Afin de ne faillir en rien à les imiter, il s’arrêta; -mais, après avoir bien réfléchi, il lâcha la bride à Rossinante, qui, se -sentant libre, suivit son inclination naturelle, et prit le chemin de -son écurie. - -Notre chevalier avait fait environ deux milles quand il vit venir à lui -une grande troupe de gens: c’était, comme on l’a su depuis, des -marchands de Tolède qui allaient acheter de la soie à Murcie. Ils -étaient six, tous bien montés, portant chacun un parasol, et accompagnés -de quatre valets à cheval et d’autres à pied conduisant les mules. A -peine don Quichotte les a-t-il aperçus, qu’il s’imagine rencontrer une -nouvelle aventure; aussitôt, pour imiter les passes d’armes qu’il avait -vues dans ses livres, il saisit l’occasion d’en faire une à laquelle il -songeait depuis longtemps. Se dressant sur ses étriers d’un air fier, il -serre sa lance, se couvre de son écu, se campe au beau milieu du chemin, -et attend ceux qu’il prenait pour des chevaliers errants. Puis d’aussi -loin qu’ils peuvent le voir et l’entendre, il leur crie d’une voix -arrogante: Qu’aucun de vous ne prétende passer outre, à moins de -confesser que sur toute la surface de la terre il n’y a pas une seule -dame qui égale en beauté l’impératrice de la Manche, la sans pareille -Dulcinée du Toboso! - -Les marchands s’arrêtèrent pour considérer cet étrange personnage, et, à -la figure non moins qu’aux paroles, ils reconnurent bientôt à qui ils -avaient affaire. Mais, voulant savoir où les mènerait l’aveu qu’on leur -demandait, l’un d’eux, qui était très-goguenard, répondit: Seigneur -chevalier, nous ne connaissons pas cette noble dame dont vous parlez; -faites-nous-la voir: et si sa beauté est aussi merveilleuse que vous le -dites, nous confesserons de bon cœur et sans contrainte ce que vous -désirez. - -Et si je vous la faisais voir, répliqua don Quichotte, quel mérite -auriez-vous à reconnaître une vérité si manifeste? L’essentiel, c’est -que, sans l’avoir vue, vous soyez prêts à le confesser, à l’affirmer, et -même à le soutenir les armes à la main; sinon, gens orgueilleux et -superbes, je vous défie, soit que vous veniez l’un après l’autre, comme -le veulent les règles de la chevalerie, soit que vous veniez tous -ensemble, comme c’est la vile habitude des gens de votre espèce. Je vous -attends avec la confiance d’un homme qui a le bon droit de son côté. - -Seigneur chevalier, répondit le marchand, au nom de tout ce que nous -sommes de princes ici, et pour l’acquit de notre conscience, laquelle -nous défend d’affirmer une chose que nous ignorons, chose qui d’ailleurs -serait au détriment des autres impératrices et reines de l’Estramadure -et de la banlieue de Tolède, je supplie Votre Grâce de nous faire voir -le moindre petit portrait de cette dame; ne fût-il pas plus grand que -l’ongle, par l’échantillon on juge de la pièce; du moins notre esprit -sera en repos, et nous pourrons vous donner satisfaction. Nous sommes -déjà si prévenus en sa faveur, que, lors même que son portrait la -montrerait borgne d’un œil et distillant de l’autre du vermillon et du -soufre, nous dirons à sa louange tout ce qu’il vous plaira. - -Il n’en distille rien, canaille infâme! s’écria don Quichotte enflammé -de colère, il n’en distille rien de ce que vous osez dire, mais bien du -musc et de l’ambre; elle n’est ni borgne ni bossue: elle est plus droite -qu’un fuseau de Guadarrama; aussi vous allez me payer le blasphème que -vous venez de proférer. En même temps, il court la lance basse sur celui -qui avait porté la parole, et cela avec une telle furie que si -Rossinante n’eût bronché au milieu de sa course, le railleur s’en serait -fort mal trouvé. - -Rossinante s’abattit, et s’en fut au loin rouler avec son maître, qui -s’efforça plusieurs fois de se relever, sans pouvoir en venir à bout, -tant l’embarrassaient son écu, sa lance et le poids de son armure. Mais -pendant ces vains efforts, sa langue n’était pas en repos: Ne fuyez pas, -lâches! criait-il; ne fuyez pas, vils esclaves! c’est par la faute de -mon cheval, et non par la mienne, que je suis étendu sur le chemin. - -Un muletier de la suite des marchands, qui n’avait pas l’humeur -endurante, ne put supporter tant de bravades. Il court sur notre héros, -lui arrache sa lance qu’il met en pièces, et avec le meilleur tronçon il -l’accable de tant de coups que, malgré sa cuirasse, il le broyait comme -du blé sous la meule. On avait beau lui crier de s’arrêter, le jeu lui -plaisait tellement qu’il ne pouvait se résoudre à le quitter. Après -avoir brisé le premier morceau de la lance, il eut recours aux autres, -et il acheva de les user sur le malheureux chevalier, qui, pendant cette -grêle de coups ne cessait d’invoquer le ciel et la terre, et de menacer -les scélérats qui le traitaient si outrageusement. Enfin le muletier se -lassa et les marchands poursuivirent leur chemin avec un ample sujet de -conversation. - -Quand don Quichotte se vit seul, il fit de nouveaux efforts pour se -relever; mais s’il n’avait pu y parvenir bien portant, comment l’eût-il -fait moulu et presque disloqué? Néanmoins il se consolait d’une disgrâce -familière, selon lui, aux chevaliers errants, et qu’il attribuait, -d’ailleurs, tout entière à la faute de son cheval. - -CHAPITRE V - -OU SE CONTINUE LE RÉCIT DE LA DISGRACE DE NOTRE CHEVALIER - -Convaincu qu’il lui était impossible de se mouvoir, don Quichotte prit -le parti de recourir à son remède ordinaire, qui consistait à se -rappeler quelques passages de ses livres, et tout aussitôt sa folie lui -remit en mémoire l’aventure du marquis de Mantoue et de Baudouin, quand -Charlot abandonna celui-ci, blessé dans la montagne; histoire connue de -tout le monde et non moins authentique que les miracles de Mahomet. -Cette aventure lui paraissant tout à fait appropriée à sa situation, il -commença à se rouler par terre comme un homme désespéré, répétant d’une -voix dolente ce que l’auteur met dans la bouche du chevalier blessé: - - Où donc es-tu, dame de mes pensées, que mes maux te touchent si peu? - Ou tu les ignores, ou tu es fausse et déloyale. - -Comme il continuait la romance jusqu’à ces vers: - - O noble marquis de Mantoue, - Mon oncle et mon seigneur, - -le hasard amena du même côté un laboureur de son village, qui revenait -de porter une charge de blé au moulin. Voyant un homme étendu sur le -chemin, il lui demanda qui il était et quel mal il ressentait pour se -plaindre si tristement. Don Quichotte, se croyant Baudouin, et prenant -le laboureur pour le marquis de Mantoue, se met, pour toute réponse, à -lui raconter ses disgrâces et les amours de sa femme avec le fils de -l’empereur, comme on le voit dans la romance. Le laboureur, étonné -d’entendre tant d’extravagances, le débarrassa de sa visière, qui était -toute brisée, et, ayant lavé ce visage plein de poussière, le reconnut. -Hé! bon Dieu, seigneur Quixada, s’écria-t-il (tel devait être son nom -quand il était en son bon sens et qu’il n’était pas encore devenu, -d’hidalgo paisible, chevalier errant), qui a mis Votre Grâce en cet -état? - -Au lieu de répondre à la question, notre chevalier continuait sa -romance. Voyant qu’il n’en pouvait tirer autre chose, le laboureur lui -ôta le plastron et le corselet afin de visiter ses blessures; mais ne -trouvant aucune trace de sang, il se mit à le relever de terre non sans -peine, et le plaça sur son âne pour le mener plus doucement. Ramassant -ensuite les armes et jusqu’aux éclats de la lance, il attacha le tout -sur le dos de Rossinante qu’il prit par la bride, puis il poussa l’âne -devant lui, et marcha ainsi vers son village, écoutant, sans y rien -comprendre, les folies que débitait don Quichotte. - -Toujours préoccupé de ses rêveries, notre héros était de plus en si -mauvais état qu’il ne pouvait se tenir sur le pacifique animal; aussi, -de temps en temps, poussait-il de grands soupirs. Le laboureur lui -demanda de nouveau quel mal il ressentait; mais on eût dit que le diable -prenait plaisir à réveiller dans la mémoire du chevalier ce qui avait -quelque rapport à son aventure. Oubliant Baudouin, il vint à se rappeler -tout à coup le Maure Abendarraez, quand le gouverneur d’Antequerra, -Rodrigue de Narvaez, l’emmène prisonnier; de sorte qu’il se mit à -débiter mot pour mot ce que l’Abencerrage répond à don Rodrigue dans la -_Diane de Montemayor_, et en s’appliquant si bien tout ce fatras, qu’il -était difficile d’entasser plus d’extravagances. Convaincu que son -voisin était tout à fait fou, le laboureur pressa le pas afin d’abréger -l’ennui que lui causait cette interminable harangue. - -Seigneur don Rodrigue de Narvaez, poursuivait don Quichotte, il faut que -vous sachiez que cette belle Karifa, dont je vous parle, est -présentement la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, pour qui j’ai fait, je -fais et je ferai les plus fameux exploits de chevalerie qu’on ai vus, -qu’on voie et même qu’on puisse voir dans les siècles à venir. - -Je ne suis pas Rodrigue de Narvaez ni le marquis de Mantoue, répondait -le laboureur, mais Pierre Alonzo, votre voisin; et vous n’êtes ni -Baudouin ni le Maure Abendarraez, mais un honnête hidalgo, le seigneur -Quixada. - -Je sais qui je suis, répliquait don Quichotte, et je sais de plus que je -puis être non-seulement ceux que j’ai dits, mais encore tout à la fois -les douze pairs de France et les neuf preux, puisque leurs grandes -actions réunies ne sauraient égaler les miennes. - -Ces propos et autres semblables les menèrent jusqu’à leur village, où -ils arrivèrent comme le jour finissait. Le laboureur, qui ne voulait pas -qu’on vît notre hidalgo en si piteux état, attendit que la nuit fût -venue pour le conduire à sa maison, où tout était en grand trouble de -son absence. - -Ses bons amis, le curé et le barbier, s’y trouvaient en ce moment, et la -gouvernante leur disait: Eh bien, seigneur licencié Pero Pérez (c’était -le nom du curé), que pensez-vous de notre maître? Il y a six jours -entiers que nous n’avons vu ni lui ni son cheval, et il faut qu’il ait -emporté son écu, sa lance et ses armes, car nous ne les trouvons pas. -Oui, aussi vrai que je suis née pour mourir, ce sont ces maudits livres -de chevalerie, sa seule et continuelle lecture, qui lui auront brouillé -la cervelle. Je lui ai entendu dire bien des fois qu’il voulait se faire -chevalier errant, et s’en aller de par le monde en quête d’aventures; -puissent Satan et Barabbas emporter les livres qui ont troublé la -meilleure tête qui se soit vue dans toute la Manche! - -La nièce en disait plus encore: Sachez, maître Nicolas (c’était le nom -du barbier), sachez qu’il arrivait souvent à mon oncle de passer -plusieurs jours et plusieurs nuits sans quitter ces maudites lectures; -après quoi, tout hors de lui, il jetait le livre, tirait son épée et -s’escrimait à grands coups contre les murailles; puis, quand il n’en -pouvait plus, il se vantait d’avoir tué quatre géants plus hauts que des -tours, et soutenait que la sueur dont ruisselait son corps était le sang -des blessures qu’il avait reçues dans le combat. Là-dessus il buvait un -grand pot d’eau froide, disant que c’était un précieux breuvage apporté -par un enchanteur de ses amis. Hélas! je me taisais, de peur qu’on ne -pensât que mon oncle avait perdu l’esprit, et c’est moi qui suis la -cause de son malheur pour ne pas avoir parlé plus tôt, car vous y auriez -porté remède, et tous ces maudits livres seraient brûlés depuis -longtemps comme autant d’hérétiques. - -C’est vrai, dit le curé; et le jour de demain ne se passera pas sans -qu’il en soit fait bonne justice: ils ont perdu le meilleur de mes amis; -mais je fais serment qu’à l’avenir ils ne feront de mal à personne. - -Tout cela était dit si haut que don Quichotte et le laboureur, qui -entraient en ce moment, l’entendirent; aussi ce dernier ne doutant plus -de la maladie de son voisin, se mit à crier à tue-tête: Ouvrez au -marquis de Mantoue et au seigneur Baudouin, qui revient grièvement -blessé; ouvrez au seigneur maure Abendarraez, que le vaillant Rodrigue -de Narvaez, gouverneur d’Antequerra, amène prisonnier! - -On s’empressa d’ouvrir la porte; le curé et le barbier, reconnaissant -leur ami, la nièce son oncle, et la gouvernante son maître, accoururent -pour l’embrasser. - -Arrêtez, dit froidement don Quichotte, qui n’avait pu encore descendre -de son âne; je ne suis blessé que par la faute de mon cheval. Qu’on me -porte au lit, et s’il se peut, qu’on fasse venir la sage Urgande pour me -panser. - -Eh bien! s’écria la gouvernante, n’avais-je pas deviné de quel pied -clochait notre maître? Entrez, seigneur, entrez, et laissez là votre -Urgande; nous vous guérirons bien sans elle. Maudits soient les chiens -de livres qui vous ont mis en ce bel état! - -On porta notre chevalier dans son lit; et comme on cherchait ses -blessures sans en trouver aucune: Je ne suis pas blessé, leur dit-il; je -ne suis que meurtri, parce que mon cheval s’est abattu sous moi tandis -que j’étais aux prises avec dix géants, les plus monstrueux et les plus -farouches qui puissent jamais se rencontrer. - -Bon, dit le curé, voilà les géants en danse. Par mon saint patron! il -n’en restera pas un seul demain avant la nuit. - -Ils adressèrent mille questions à don Quichotte, mais à toutes il ne -faisait qu’une seule réponse: c’était qu’on lui donnât à manger et qu’on -le laissât dormir, deux choses dont il avait grand besoin. On s’empressa -de le satisfaire. Le curé s’informa ensuite de quelle manière le -laboureur l’avait rencontré. Celui-ci raconta tout, sans oublier aucune -des extravagances de notre héros, soit lorsqu’il l’avait trouvé étendu -sur le chemin, soit pendant qu’il le ramenait sur son âne. - -Le lendemain, le curé n’en fut que plus empressé à mettre son projet à -exécution; il fit appeler maître Nicolas, et tous deux se rendirent à la -maison de don Quichotte. - -CHAPITRE VI - -DE LA GRANDE ET AGRÉABLE ENQUÊTE QUE FIRENT LE CURÉ ET LE BARBIER DANS -LA BIBLIOTHÈQUE DE NOTRE CHEVALIER - -Notre héros dormait encore quand le curé et le barbier vinrent demander -à sa nièce la clef de la chambre où étaient les livres, source de tout -le mal. Elle la leur donna de bon cœur, et ils entrèrent accompagnés de -la gouvernante. Là se trouvaient plus de cent gros volumes, tous bien -reliés, et un certain nombre en petit format. A peine la gouvernante les -eut-elle aperçus, que, sortant brusquement, et rapportant bientôt après -un vase rempli d’eau bénite: Tenez, seigneur licencié, dit-elle au curé, -arrosez partout cette chambre, de peur que les maudits enchanteurs, dont -ces livres sont pleins, ne viennent nous ensorceler, pour nous punir de -vouloir les chasser de ce monde. - -Le curé sourit en disant au barbier de lui donner les livres les uns -après les autres, pour savoir de quoi ils traitaient, parce qu’il -pouvait s’en trouver qui ne méritassent pas la peine du feu. - -Non, non, dit la nièce, n’en épargnez aucun; tous ils ont fait du mal. -Il faut les jeter par la fenêtre et les amonceler au milieu de la cour, -afin de les brûler d’un seul coup, ou plutôt les porter dans la -basse-cour, et dresser là un bûcher pour n’être pas incommodé par la -fumée. - -La gouvernante fut de cet avis; mais le curé voulut connaître au moins -le titre des livres. - -Le premier que lui passa maître Nicolas était _Amadis de Gaule_. - -Oh! oh! s’écria le curé, on prétend que c’est le premier livre de -chevalerie imprimé en notre Espagne, et qu’il a servi de modèle à tous -les autres; je conclus à ce qu’il soit condamné au feu, comme chef d’une -si détestable secte. - -Grâce pour lui, reprit le barbier; car bien des gens assurent que c’est -le meilleur livre que nous ayons en ce genre. Comme modèle, du moins, il -mérite qu’on lui pardonne. - -Pour l’heure, dit le curé, on lui fait grâce. Voyons ce qui suit. - -Ce sont, reprit le barbier, _les Prouesses d’Esplandian_, fils légitime -d’Amadis de Gaule. - -Le fils n’approche pas du père, dit le curé; tenez, dame gouvernante, -ouvrez cette fenêtre, et jetez-le dans la cour: il servira de fond au -bûcher que nous allons dresser. - -La gouvernante s’empressa d’obéir, et _Esplandian_ s’en alla dans la -cour attendre le supplice qu’il méritait. - -Passons, continua le curé. - -Voici _Amadis de Grèce_, dit maître Nicolas, et je crois que tous ceux -de cette rangée sont de la même famille. - -Qu’ils prennent le chemin de la cour, reprit le curé; car, plutôt que -d’épargner la reine _Pintiquiniestre_ et le berger _Danirel_, avec tous -leurs propos quintessenciés, je crois que je brûlerais avec eux mon -propre père, s’il se présentait sous la figure d’un chevalier errant. - -C’est mon avis, dit le barbier. - -C’est aussi le mien, ajouta la nièce. - -Puisqu’il en est ainsi, dit la gouvernante, qu’ils aillent trouver leurs -compagnons! Et, sans prendre la peine de descendre, elle les jeta -pêle-mêle par la fenêtre. - -Quel est ce gros volume? demanda le curé. - -_Don Olivantes de Laura_, répondit maître Nicolas. - -Il est du même auteur que le _Jardin de Flore_, reprit le curé, mais je -ne saurais dire lequel des deux est le moins menteur; dans tous les cas, -celui-ci s’en ira dans la cour à cause des extravagances dont il -regorge. - -Cet autre est _Florismars d’Hircanie_, dit le barbier. - -Quoi! le seigneur Florismars est ici? s’écria le curé; eh bien, qu’il se -dépêche de suivre les autres, en dépit de son étrange naissance et de -ses incroyables aventures. La rudesse et la pauvreté de son style ne -méritent pas un meilleur traitement. - -Voici _le Chevalier Platir_, dit maître Nicolas. - -C’est un vieux livre fort insipide, reprit le curé, et qui ne contient -rien qui lui mérite d’être épargné: à la cour! dame gouvernante, et -qu’il n’en soit plus question! - -On ouvrit un autre livre; il avait pour titre: _le Chevalier de la -Croix_. Un nom si saint devrait lui faire trouver grâce, dit le curé; -mais n’oublions pas le proverbe: Derrière la croix se tient le diable. -Qu’il aille au feu! - -Voici _le Miroir de la Chevalerie_, dit le barbier. - -Ah! ah! j’ai l’honneur de le connaître, reprit le curé. Nous avons là -Renaud de Montauban avec ses bons amis et compagnons, tous plus voleurs -que Cacus, et les douze pairs de France, et le véridique historien -Turpin. Si vous m’en croyez, nous ne les condamnerons qu’à un -bannissement perpétuel, par ce motif qu’ils ont inspiré Matéo Boyardo, -que le célèbre Arioste n’a pas dédaigné d’imiter[22]. Quant à ce -dernier, si je le rencontre ici parlant une autre langue que la sienne, -qu’il ne s’attende à aucune pitié; mais s’il parle son idiome natal, -accueillons-le avec toutes sortes d’égards. - - [22] Boyardo est auteur de _Roland amoureux_, et l’Arioste de _Roland - furieux_. - -Moi, je l’ai en italien, dit le barbier, mais je ne l’entends point. - -Plût à Dieu, reprit le curé, que ne l’eût pas entendu davantage certain -capitaine[23] qui, pour introduire l’Arioste en Espagne, a pris la peine -de l’habiller en castillan, car il lui a ôté bien de son prix. Il en -sera de même de toutes les traductions d’ouvrages en vers; jamais on ne -peut conserver les grâces de l’original, quelque talent qu’on y apporte. -Pour celui-ci et tous ceux qui parlent des choses de France, je suis -d’avis qu’on les garde en lieu sûr; nous verrons plus à loisir ce qu’il -faudra en faire. J’en excepte pourtant un certain _Bernard de Carpio_ -qui doit se trouver par ici, et un autre appelé _Roncevaux_; car, s’ils -tombent sous ma main, ils passeront bientôt par celles de la -gouvernante. - - [23] Ce capitaine est don Geronimo Ximenez de Urrea, qui avait fait - une détestable traduction du _Roland furieux_. - -De tout cela, maître Nicolas demeura d’accord sur la foi du curé, qu’il -connaissait homme de bien et si grand ami de la vérité, que pour tous -les trésors du monde il n’aurait pas voulu la trahir. Il ouvrit deux -autres livres: l’un était _Palmerin d’Olive_, et l’autre _Palmerin -d’Angleterre_. - -Qu’on brûle cette olive, dit le curé, et qu’on en jette les cendres au -vent; mais conservons cette palme d’Angleterre comme un ouvrage unique, -et donnons-lui une cassette non moins précieuse que celle trouvée par -Alexandre dans les dépouilles de Darius, et qu’il destina à renfermer -les œuvres d’Homère. Ce livre, seigneur compère, est doublement -recommandable: d’abord il est excellent en lui-même, de plus il passe -pour être l’œuvre d’un roi de Portugal, savant autant qu’ingénieux. -Toutes les aventures du château de Miraguarda sont fort bien imaginées -et pleines d’art; le style est aisé et pur; l’auteur s’est attaché à -respecter les convenances, et a pris soin de conserver les caractères: -ainsi donc, maître Nicolas, sauf votre avis, que ce livre et l’_Amadis -de Gaule_ soient exemptés du feu. Quant aux autres, qu’ils périssent à -l’instant même. - -Elle jeta les livres pêle-mêle par la fenêtre (p. 24).] - -Arrêtez, arrêtez, s’écria le barbier, voici le fameux _Don Belianis_. - -_Don Belianis!_ reprit le curé; ses seconde, troisième et quatrième -parties auraient grand besoin d’un peu de rhubarbe pour purger la bile -qui agite l’auteur; cependant, en retranchant son _Château de la -Renommée_ et tant d’autres impertinences, on peut lui donner quelque -répit, et, selon qu’il se sera corrigé, on lui fera justice. Mais, en -attendant, gardez-le chez vous, compère, et ne souffrez pas que personne -le lise. Puis, sans prolonger l’examen, il dit à la gouvernante de -prendre les autres grands volumes, et de les jeter dans la cour. - -Celle-ci, qui aurait brûlé tous les livres du monde, ne se le fit pas -dire deux fois, et elle en saisit un grand nombre pour les jeter par la -fenêtre; mais elle en avait tant pris à la fois, qu’il en tomba un aux -pieds du barbier qui voulut voir ce que c’était; en l’ouvrant, il lut au -titre: _Histoire du fameux Tirant-le-Blanc_. - -Comment! s’écria le curé, vous avez là _Tirant-le-Blanc_? Donnez-le -vite, seigneur compère, car c’est un trésor d’allégresse et une source -de divertissement! C’est là qu’on rencontre le chevalier _Kyrie Eleison -de Montalban_ et _Thomas de Montalban_, son frère, avec le chevalier de -_Fonseca_; le combat du valeureux _Detriant_ contre le dogue; les -finesses de la demoiselle _Plaisir de ma vie_; les amours et les ruses -de la _veuve Tranquille_, et l’impératrice amoureuse de son écuyer. -C’est pour le style le meilleur livre du monde: les chevaliers y -mangent, y dorment, y meurent dans leur lit après avoir fait leur -testament, et mille autres choses qui ne se rencontrent guère dans les -livres de cette espèce; et pourtant celui qui l’a composé aurait bien -mérité, pour avoir dit volontairement tant de sottises, qu’on l’envoyât -ramer aux galères le reste de ses jours. Emportez ce livre chez vous, -lisez-le, et vous verrez si tout ce que j’en dis n’est pas vrai. - -Vous serez obéi, dit le barbier; mais que ferons-nous de tous ces petits -volumes qui restent? - -Ceux-ci, répondit le curé, ne doivent pas être des livres de chevalerie, -mais de poésie; et le premier qu’il ouvrit était _la Diane de -Montemayor_. Ils ne méritent pas le feu, ajouta-t-il, parce qu’ils ne -produiront jamais les désordres qu’ont causés les livres de chevalerie; -ils ne s’écartent point des règles du bon sens, et personne ne court -risque de perdre l’esprit en les lisant. - -Ah! seigneur licencié! s’écria la nièce, vous pouvez bien les envoyer -avec les autres; car si mon oncle vient à guérir de sa fièvre de -chevalerie errante, il est capable en lisant ces maudits livres de -vouloir se faire berger, et de se mettre à courir les bois et les prés, -chantant et jouant du flageolet, ou, ce qui serait pis encore, de se -faire poëte: maladie contagieuse et surtout, dit-on, incurable. - -Cette fille a raison, dit le curé; il est bon d’ôter à notre ami une -occasion de rechute. Commençons donc par la _Diane de Montemayor_. Je ne -suis pourtant pas d’avis qu’on la jette au feu; car en se contentant de -supprimer ce qui traite de la sage Félicie et de l’eau enchantée, -c’est-à-dire presque tous les vers, on peut lui laisser, à cause de sa -prose, l’honneur d’être le premier entre ces sortes d’ouvrages. - -Voici _la Diane_, appelée la seconde, du Salmentin, dit le barbier; puis -une autre dont l’auteur est Gilles Pol. - -Que celle du Salmentin augmente le nombre des condamnés, reprit le curé; -mais gardons _la Diane_ de Gilles Pol, comme si Apollon lui-même en -était l’auteur. Passons outre, seigneur compère, ajouta-t-il, et -dépêchons, car il se fait tard. - -Voici les dix livres de _la Fortune d’amour_, composés par Antoine de -l’Ofrase, poëte de Sardaigne, dit le barbier. - -Par les ordres que j’ai reçus! reprit le curé, depuis qu’on parle -d’Apollon et des Muses, en un mot depuis qu’il y a des poëtes, il n’a -point été composé un plus agréable ouvrage que celui-ci, et quiconque ne -l’a point lu peut dire qu’il n’a jamais rien lu d’amusant. -Donnez-le-moi, seigneur compère; aussi bien je le préfère à une soutane -du meilleur taffetas de Florence. - -Ceux qui suivent, continua le barbier, sont _le Berger d’Ibérie_, _les -Nymphes d’Hénarès_ et _le Remède à la jalousie_. - -Livrez tout cela à la gouvernante, dit le curé; et qu’on ne m’en demande -pas la raison, car nous n’aurions jamais fini. - -Et _le Berger de Philida_? dit le barbier. - -Oh! ce n’est point un berger, reprit le curé, mais un sage et ingénieux -courtisan qu’il faut garder comme une relique. - -Et ce gros volume, intitulé _Trésor des poésies diverses_? dit maître -Nicolas. - -S’il y en avait moins, répondit le curé, elles n’en vaudraient que -mieux. Toutefois, en retranchant de ce livre quelques pauvretés mêlées à -de fort belles choses, on peut le conserver; les autres ouvrages de -l’auteur doivent faire épargner celui-ci. - -_Le Chansonnier de Lopez de Maldonado!_ Qu’est cela? dit le barbier en -ouvrant un volume. - -Je connais l’auteur, reprit le curé; ses vers sont admirables dans sa -bouche, car il a une voix pleine de charme. Il est un peu étendu dans -ses églogues, mais une bonne chose n’est jamais trop longue. Il faut le -mettre avec les réservés. Et celui qui est là tout auprès, comment -s’appelle-t-il? - -C’est _la Galatée de Michel Cervantes_, répondit maître Nicolas. - -Il y a longtemps que ce Cervantes est de mes amis, reprit le curé, et -l’on sait qu’il est encore plus célèbre par ses malheurs que par ses -vers. Son livre ne manque pas d’invention, mais il propose et ne conclut -pas. Attendons la seconde partie qu’il promet[24]; peut-être y -réussira-t-il mieux et méritera-t-il l’indulgence qu’on refuse à la -première. - - [24] Cervantes renouvela peu de jours avant sa mort, dans la préface - de _Persiles et Sigismonde_, la promesse de donner cette seconde - partie de la _Galatée_. Elle ne fut point trouvée parmi ses écrits. - -Que sont ces trois volumes? demanda le barbier. _L’Araucana, de don -Alonzo de Hercilla_, _l’Austriada de Juan Rufo, jurat de Cordoue_, et -_le Montserrat de Christoval de Viruez_, poëte valencien. - -Ces trois ouvrages, répondit le curé, renferment les meilleurs vers -héroïques qu’on ait composés en espagnol, et ils peuvent aller de pair -avec les plus fameux de l’Italie. Gardons-les soigneusement, comme des -monuments précieux de l’excellence de nos poëtes. - -Le curé, se lassant enfin d’examiner tant de livres, conclut -définitivement, sans pousser plus loin l’examen, qu’on jetât tout le -reste au feu. Mais le barbier lui en présenta un qu’il venait d’ouvrir, -et qui avait pour titre _les Larmes d’Angélique_. - -Ce serait à moi d’en verser, dit le curé, si cet ouvrage avait été brûlé -par mon ordre, car l’auteur est un des plus célèbres poëtes, -non-seulement d’Espagne, mais encore du monde entier, et il a -particulièrement réussi dans la traduction de plusieurs fables d’Ovide. - -CHAPITRE VII - -DE LA SECONDE SORTIE DE NOTRE BON CHEVALIER DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - -Ils en étaient là, quand tout à coup don Quichotte se mit à jeter de -grands cris: A moi, à moi, valeureux chevaliers! disait-il. C’est ici -qu’il faut montrer la force de vos bras, sinon les gens de la cour vont -remporter le prix du tournoi. Afin d’accourir au bruit, on abandonna -l’inventaire des livres; aussi faut-il croire que si _la Carolea_ et -_Léon d’Espagne_ s’en allèrent au feu avec _les Gestes de l’Empereur_, -composés par Louis d’Avila, c’est qu’ils se trouvèrent à la merci de la -gouvernante et de la nièce, mais à coup sûr ils eussent éprouvé un sort -moins sévère si le curé eût encore été là. - -En arrivant auprès de don Quichotte, on le trouva debout, continuant à -vociférer, frappant à droite et à gauche, d’estoc et de taille, aussi -éveillé que s’il n’eût jamais dormi. On le prit à bras-le-corps, et, bon -gré, mal gré, on le reporta dans son lit. Quand il se fut un peu calmé: -Archevêque Turpin, dit-il en s’adressant au curé, avouez que c’est une -grande honte pour des chevaliers errants tels que nous, de se laisser -enlever le prix du tournoi par les gens de la cour, lorsque pendant les -trois jours précédents l’avantage nous était resté! - -Patience, reprit le curé; la chance tournera, s’il plaît à Dieu; ce -qu’on perd aujourd’hui peut se regagner demain. Pour le moment, ne -songeons qu’à votre santé; vous devez être bien fatigué, si même vous -n’êtes grièvement blessé. - -Blessé, non, dit don Quichotte, mais brisé et meurtri autant qu’on -puisse l’être; car ce bâtard de Roland m’a roué de coups avec le tronc -d’un chêne, et cela parce que seul je tiens tête à ses fanfaronnades. Je -perdrai mon nom de Renaud de Montauban, ou, dès que je pourrai sortir du -lit, il me le payera cher, en dépit de tous les enchantements qui le -protégent. Pour l’instant, ajouta-t-il, qu’on me donne à manger, rien ne -saurait venir plus à propos; quant à ma vengeance, qu’on m’en laisse le -soin. - -On lui apporta ce qu’il demandait, après quoi il se rendormit, laissant -tout le monde stupéfait d’une si étrange folie. Cette nuit même, la -gouvernante s’empressa de brûler les livres qu’on avait jetés dans la -cour, et ceux qui restaient encore dans la maison: aussi, tels -souffrirent la peine du feu qui méritaient un meilleur sort; mais leur -mauvaise étoile ne le voulut pas, et pour eux se vérifia le proverbe que -souvent le juste paye pour le pécheur. - -Un des remèdes imaginés par le curé et le barbier contre la maladie de -leur ami fut de faire murer la porte du cabinet des livres, afin qu’il -ne la trouvât plus quand il se lèverait; espérant ainsi qu’en ôtant la -cause du mal l’effet disparaîtrait également, et que dans tous les cas -on dirait qu’un enchanteur avait emporté le cabinet et les livres: ce -qui fut exécuté avec beaucoup de diligence. - -Deux jours après, don Quichotte se leva, et son premier soin fut d’aller -visiter sa bibliothèque; ne la trouvant plus où il l’avait laissée, il -se mit à chercher de tous côtés, passant et repassant où jadis avait été -la porte, tâtant avec les mains, regardant partout sans dire mot et sans -y rien comprendre. A la fin pourtant, il demanda de quel côté était le -cabinet de ses livres. - -De quel cabinet parle Votre Grâce, répondit la gouvernante, et que -cherchez-vous là où il n’y a rien? Il n’existe plus ici ni cabinet ni -livres, le diable a tout emporté. - -Ce n’est pas le diable, dit la nièce; c’est un enchanteur, qui, aussitôt -après le départ de notre maître, est venu pendant la nuit, monté sur un -dragon, a mis pied à terre, et est entré dans son cabinet, où je ne sais -ce qui se passa; mais au bout de quelque temps, nous le vîmes sortir par -la toiture, laissant la maison toute pleine de fumée; puis, quand nous -voulûmes voir ce qu’il avait fait, il n’y avait plus ni cabinet, ni -livres. Seulement, nous nous souvenons fort bien, la gouvernante et moi: -que ce mécréant nous cria d’en haut, en s’envolant, que c’était par -inimitié pour le maître des livres qu’il avait fait le dégât dont on -s’apercevrait plus tard. Il dit aussi qu’il s’appelait Mugnaton. - -Dites Freston et non Mugnaton, reprit don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais si c’est Freton ou Friton, répliqua la nièce, mais je sais -que son nom finissait en _on_. - -Cela est vrai, ajouta don Quichotte; ce Freston est un savant enchanteur -qui a pour moi une aversion mortelle, parce que son art lui a révélé -qu’un jour je dois me rencontrer en combat singulier avec un jeune -chevalier qu’il protége; et comme il sait que j’en sortirai vainqueur, -quoi qu’il fasse, il ne cesse, en attendant, de me causer tous les -déplaisirs imaginables; mais je l’avertis qu’il s’abuse et qu’on ne peut -rien contre ce que le ciel a ordonné. - -Et qui en doute? dit la nièce. Mais, mon cher oncle, pourquoi vous -engager dans toutes ces querelles? Ne vaudrait-il pas mieux rester -paisible dans votre maison, au lieu de courir le monde cherchant de -meilleur pain que celui de froment? Sans compter que bien des gens, -croyant aller querir de la laine, s’en reviennent tondus. - -Vous êtes loin de compte, ma mie, repartit don Quichotte; avant que -l’on me tonde, j’aurai arraché la barbe à quiconque osera toucher la -pointe d’un seul de mes cheveux. - -Les deux femmes s’abstinrent de répliquer, voyant bien que sa tête -commençait à s’échauffer. Quinze jours se passèrent ainsi, pendant -lesquels notre chevalier resta dans sa maison, sans laisser soupçonner -qu’il pensât à de nouvelles folies. Chaque soir, avec ses deux compères, -le curé et le barbier, il avait de fort divertissants entretiens, ne -cessant d’affirmer que la chose dont le monde avait le plus pressant -besoin, c’était de chevaliers errants et que cet ordre illustre -revivrait dans sa personne. Quelquefois le curé le contredisait, mais le -plus souvent il faisait semblant de se rendre, seul moyen de ne pas -l’irriter. - -En même temps don Quichotte sollicitait en cachette un paysan, son -voisin, homme de bien (s’il est permis de qualifier ainsi celui qui est -pauvre), mais qui n’avait assurément guère de plomb dans la cervelle. -Notre hidalgo lui disait qu’il avait tout à gagner en le suivant, parce -qu’en échange du fumier et de la paille qu’il lui faisait quitter, il -pouvait se présenter telle aventure qui, en un tour de main, lui -vaudrait le gouvernement d’une île. Par ces promesses, et d’autres tout -aussi certaines, Sancho Panza, c’était le nom du laboureur, se laissa si -bien gagner, qu’il résolut de planter là femme et enfants, pour suivre -notre chevalier en qualité d’écuyer. - -Assuré d’une pièce si nécessaire, don Quichotte ne songea plus qu’à -ramasser de l’argent; et, vendant une chose, engageant l’autre, enfin -perdant sur tous ses marchés, il parvint à réunir une somme raisonnable. -Il se pourvut aussi d’une rondache, qu’il emprunta d’un de ses amis; -puis ayant raccommodé sa salade du mieux qu’il put, il avisa son écuyer -du jour et de l’heure où il voulait se mettre en route, pour que de son -côté il se munit de ce qui leur serait nécessaire. Il lui recommanda -surtout d’emporter un bissac. Sancho répondit qu’il n’y manquerait pas, -ajoutant qu’étant mauvais marcheur, il avait envie d’emmener son âne, -lequel était de bonne force. Le mot âne surprit don Quichotte, qui -chercha à se rappeler si l’on avait vu quelque écuyer monter de la -sorte; aucun ne lui vint en mémoire; cependant il y consentit, comptant -bien donner au sien une plus honorable monture dès sa première rencontre -avec quelque chevalier discourtois. - -Il se pourvut encore de chemises et des autres choses indispensables, -suivant le conseil que lui avait donné l’hôtelier. - -Tout étant préparé en silence, un beau soir Sancho, sans dire adieu à sa -femme et à ses enfants, et don Quichotte, sans prendre congé de sa nièce -ni de sa gouvernante, s’échappèrent de leur village et marchèrent toute -la nuit avec tant de hâte, qu’au point du jour ils se tinrent pour -assurés de ne pouvoir être atteints quand même on se fût mis à leur -poursuite. Assis sur son âne avec son bissac et sa gourde, Sancho se -prélassait comme un patriarche, déjà impatient d’être gouverneur de -l’île que son maître lui avait promise. Don Quichotte prit la même route -qu’il avait suivie lors de sa première excursion, c’est-à-dire à travers -la plaine de Montiel, où, cette fois, il cheminait avec moins -d’incommodité, parce qu’il était grand matin, et que les rayons du -soleil, frappant de côté, ne le gênaient point encore. - -Ils marchaient depuis quelque temps, lorsque Sancho, qui ne pouvait -rester longtemps muet, dit à son maître: Seigneur, que Votre Grâce se -souvienne de l’île qu’elle m’a promise; je me fais fort de la bien -gouverner, si grande qu’elle puisse être. - -Ami Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, apprends que de tout temps ce fut un -usage consacré parmi les chevaliers errants de donner à leurs écuyers le -gouvernement des îles et des royaumes dont ils faisaient la conquête; -aussi, loin de vouloir déroger à cette louable coutume, je prétends -faire mieux encore. Souvent ces chevaliers attendaient pour récompenser -leurs écuyers, que ceux-ci, las de passer de mauvais jours et de plus -mauvaises nuits fussent vieux et incapables de service; alors ils leur -donnaient quelque modeste province avec le titre de marquis ou de comte: -eh bien, moi, j’espère qu’avant six jours, si Dieu me prête vie, j’aurai -su conquérir un si vaste royaume, que beaucoup d’autres en dépendront, -ce qui viendra fort à propos pour te faire couronner roi de l’un des -meilleurs. Ne pense pas qu’il y ait là rien de bien extraordinaire; tous -les jours pareilles fortunes arrivent aux chevaliers errants, et souvent -même par des moyens si imprévus qu’il me sera facile de te donner -beaucoup plus que je ne te promets. - -A ce compte-là, dit Sancho, si j’allais devenir roi par un de ces -miracles que sait faire Votre Grâce, Juana Guttierez, ma femme, serait -donc reine, et nos enfants, infants? - -Sans aucun doute, répondit don Quichotte. - -J’en doute un peu, moi, répliqua Sancho; car quand bien même Dieu -ferait pleuvoir des couronnes, m’est avis qu’il ne s’en trouverait pas -une qui puisse s’ajuster à la tête de ma femme; par ma foi, elle ne -vaudrait pas un maravédis pour être reine; passe pour comtesse, et -encore, avec l’aide de Dieu! - -Eh bien, laisse-lui ce soin, dit don Quichotte; il te donnera ce qui te -conviendra le mieux; seulement prends patience, et par modestie ne va -pas te contenter à moins d’un bon gouvernement de province. - -Non vraiment, répondit Sancho, surtout ayant en Votre Grâce un si -puissant maître, qui saura me donner ce qui ira à ma taille et ce que -mes épaules pourront porter. - -CHAPITRE VIII - -DU BEAU SUCCÈS QU’EUT LE VALEUREUX DON QUICHOTTE DANS L’ÉPOUVANTABLE ET -INOUIE AVENTURE DES MOULINS A VENT - -En ce moment ils découvrirent au loin dans la campagne trente ou -quarante moulins à vent. A cette vue, don Quichotte s’écria: La fortune -conduit nos affaires beaucoup mieux que nous ne pouvions l’espérer. -Aperçois-tu, Sancho, cette troupe de formidables géants? Eh bien, je -prétends les combattre et leur ôter la vie. Enrichissons-nous de leurs -dépouilles; cela est de bonne guerre, et c’est grandement servir Dieu -que balayer pareille engeance de la surface de la terre. - -Quels géants? demanda Sancho. - -Ceux que tu vois là-bas avec leurs grands bras, répondit son maître; -plusieurs les ont de presque deux lieues de long. - -Prenez garde, seigneur, dit Sancho; ce que voit là-bas Votre Grâce ne -sont pas des géants, mais des moulins à vent, et ce qui paraît leurs -bras, ce sont les ailes qui, poussées par le vent, font aller la meule. - -Tu n’es guère expert en fait d’aventures, répliqua don Quichotte: ce -sont des géants, te dis-je. Si tu as peur, éloigne-toi et va te mettre -en oraison quelque part pendant que je leur livrerai un inégal mais -terrible combat. - -Aussitôt il donne de l’éperon à Rossinante, et quoique Sancho ne cessât -de jurer que c’étaient des moulins à vent, et non des géants, notre -héros n’entendait pas la voix de son écuyer. Plus même il approchait des -moulins, moins il se désabusait. Ne fuyez pas, criait-il à se fendre la -tête, ne fuyez pas, lâches et viles créatures; c’est un seul chevalier -qui entreprend de vous combattre. Un peu de vent s’étant levé au même -instant, les ailes commencèrent à tourner. Vous avez beau faire, -disait-il en redoublant ses cris, quand vous remueriez plus de bras que -n’en avait le géant Briarée, vous me le payerez tout à l’heure. Puis se -recommandant à sa dame Dulcinée, et la priant de le secourir dans un si -grand péril, il se précipite, couvert de son écu et la lance en arrêt, -contre le plus proche des moulins. Mais comme il en perçait l’aile d’un -grand coup, le vent la fit tourner avec tant de violence qu’elle mit la -lance en pièces, emportant cheval et cavalier, qui s’en allèrent rouler -dans la poussière. - -Sancho accourait au grand trot de son âne, et en arrivant il trouva que -son maître était hors d’état de se remuer, tant la chute avait été -lourde. Miséricorde, s’écria-t-il; n’avais-je pas dit à Votre Grâce de -prendre garde à ce qu’elle allait faire; que c’étaient là des moulins à -vent? Pour s’y tromper, il faut en avoir d’autres dans la tête. - -Tais-toi, dit don Quichotte, de tous les métiers celui de la guerre est -le plus sujet aux caprices du sort, ce ne sont que vicissitudes -continuelles. Faut-il dire ce que je pense (de cela, j’en suis certain), -eh bien, ce maudit Freston, celui-là même qui a enlevé mon cabinet et -mes livres, vient de changer ces géants en moulins, afin de m’ôter la -gloire de les vaincre, tant la haine qu’il me porte est implacable; mais -viendra un temps où son art cédera à la force de mon épée. - -Dieu le veuille, reprit Sancho en aidant son maître à remonter sur -Rossinante, dont l’épaule était à demi déboîtée. - -Tout en devisant sur ce qui venait d’arriver, nos deux aventuriers -prirent le chemin du _Puerto-Lapice_, parce qu’il était impossible, -affirmait don Quichotte, que sur une route aussi fréquentée on ne -rencontrât pas beaucoup d’aventures. Seulement il regrettait sa lance, -et le témoignant à son écuyer: J’ai lu quelque part, dit-il, qu’un -chevalier espagnol nommé Diego Perez de Vargas, ayant rompu sa lance -dans un combat, arracha d’un chêne une forte branche avec laquelle il -assomma un si grand nombre de Mores, que le surnom d’assommeur lui en -resta, et que ses descendants l’ont ajouté à leur nom de Vargas. Je te -dis cela, Sancho, parce que je me propose d’arracher du premier chêne -que nous rencontrerons une branche en tout semblable, avec laquelle -j’accomplirai de tels exploits, que tu te trouveras heureux d’en être le -témoin, et de voir de tes yeux des prouesses si merveilleuses qu’un jour -on aura peine à les croire. - -Ainsi soit-il, répondit Sancho: je le crois, puisque vous le dites. Mais -redressez-vous un peu, car Votre Grâce se tient tout de travers: sans -doute elle se ressent encore de sa chute? - -Cela est vrai, reprit don Quichotte, et si je ne me plains pas, c’est -qu’il est interdit aux chevaliers errants de se plaindre, lors même -qu’ils auraient le ventre ouvert et que leurs entrailles en sortiraient. - -S’il doit en être ainsi, je n’ai rien à répliquer, dit Sancho; pourtant -j’aimerais bien mieux entendre se plaindre Votre Grâce lorsqu’elle -ressent quelque mal; quant à moi, je ne saurais me refuser ce -soulagement, et à la première égratignure vous m’entendrez crier comme -un désespéré, à moins que la plainte ne soit également interdite aux -écuyers des chevaliers errants. - -Don Quichotte sourit de la simplicité de son écuyer, et lui déclara -qu’il pouvait se plaindre quand et comme il lui plairait, n’ayant -jamais lu dans les lois de la chevalerie rien qui s’y opposât. - -Sancho fit remarquer que l’heure du dîner était venue. Mange à ta -fantaisie, dit don Quichotte; pour moi je n’en sens pas le besoin. - -Usant de la permission, Sancho s’arrangea du mieux qu’il put sur son -âne, tira ses provisions du bissac, et se mit à manger tout en cheminant -derrière son maître. Presque à chaque pas, il s’arrêtait pour donner une -embrassade à son outre, et il le faisait de si bon cœur qu’il aurait -réjoui le plus achalandé cabaretier de la province de Malaga. Ce -passe-temps délectable lui faisait oublier les promesses de son -seigneur, et considérer pour agréable occupation la recherche des -aventures. - -Le soir ils s’arrêtèrent sous un massif d’arbres. Don Quichotte arracha -de l’un d’eux une branche assez forte pour lui servir de lance, puis y -ajusta le fer de celle qui s’était brisée entre ses mains, il passa la -nuit entière sans fermer l’œil, ne cessant de penser à sa Dulcinée, -afin de se conformer à ce qu’il avait vu dans ses livres sur -l’obligation imposée aux chevaliers errants de veiller sans cesse -occupés du souvenir de leurs dames. Quant à Sancho, qui avait le ventre -plein, il dormit jusqu’au matin, et les rayons du soleil qui lui -donnaient dans le visage, non plus que le chant des oiseaux qui -saluaient joyeusement la venue du jour, ne l’auraient réveillé si son -maître ne l’eût appelé cinq ou six fois. En ouvrant les yeux, son -premier soin fut de faire une caresse à son outre, qu’il s’affligea de -trouver moins rebondie que la veille, car il ne se voyait guère sur le -chemin de la remplir de si tôt. Pour don Quichotte, il refusa toute -nourriture, préférant, comme on l’a dit, se repaître de ses amoureuses -pensées. - -Ils reprirent le chemin du Puerto-Lapice, dont, vers trois heures de -l’après-midi, ils aperçurent l’entrée: Ami Sancho, s’écria aussitôt don -Quichotte, c’est ici que nous allons pouvoir plonger nos bras jusqu’aux -coudes dans ce qu’on appelle les aventures. Écoute-moi bien, et n’oublie -pas ce que je vais te dire: quand même tu me verrais dans le plus grand -péril, garde-toi de jamais tirer l’épée, à moins de reconnaître, à n’en -pas douter, que nous avons affaire à des gens de rien, à de la basse et -vile engeance; oh! dans ce cas, tu peux me secourir: mais si j’étais aux -prises avec des chevaliers, les lois de la chevalerie t’interdisent -formellement de venir à mon aide, tant que tu n’auras pas été toi-même -armé chevalier. - -Il aperçut deux moines qui portaient des parasols et des lunettes de -voyage (p. 34).] - -Votre Grâce sera bien obéie en cela, répondit Sancho, d’autant plus que -je suis pacifique de ma nature et très-ennemi des querelles. Seulement, -pour ce qui est de défendre ma personne, lorsqu’on viendra l’attaquer, -permettez que je laisse de côté vos recommandations chevaleresques, car -les commandements de Dieu et de l’Église n’ont rien, je pense, de -contraire à cela. - -D’accord, reprit don Quichotte; mais si nous avions à combattre des -chevaliers, songe à tenir en bride ta bravoure naturelle. - -Oh! je n’y manquerai point, dit Sancho, et je vous promets d’observer -ce commandement aussi exactement que celui de chômer le dimanche. - -Pendant cet entretien, deux moines de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît, montés -sur des dromadaires (du moins leurs mules en avaient la taille) parurent -sur la route. Ils portaient des parasols et des lunettes de voyage. A -peu de distance, derrière eux, venait un carrosse escorté par quatre ou -cinq cavaliers et suivi de deux valets à pied. Dans ce carrosse, on l’a -su depuis, voyageait une dame biscaïenne qui allait retrouver son mari à -Séville, d’où il devait passer dans les Indes avec un emploi -considérable. - -A peine don Quichotte a-t-il aperçu les moines, qui n’étaient pas de -cette compagnie, bien qu’ils suivissent le même chemin: Ou je me trompe -fort, dit-il à son écuyer, ou nous tenons la plus fameuse aventure qui -se soit jamais rencontrée. Ces noirs fantômes que j’aperçois là-bas -doivent être et sont sans nul doute des enchanteurs qui ont enlevé -quelque princesse et l’emmènent par force dans cet équipage; il faut, à -tout prix, que j’empêche cette violence. - -Ceci m’a bien la mine d’être encore pis que les moulins à vent, dit -Sancho en branlant la tête. Seigneur, que Votre Grâce y fasse attention, -ces fantômes sont des moines de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît, et certainement -le carrosse appartient à ces gens qui voyagent: prenez garde à ce que -vous allez faire, et que le diable ne vous tente pas. - -Je t’ai déjà dit, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu n’entendais rien -aux aventures; tu vas voir dans un instant si ce que j’avance n’est pas -l’exacte vérité. - -Aussitôt, prenant les devants, il va se camper au milieu du chemin, -puis, quand les moines sont assez près pour l’entendre, il leur crie -d’une voix tonnante: Gens diaboliques et excommuniés, mettez sur l’heure -en liberté les hautes princesses que vous emmenez dans ce carrosse, -sinon préparez-vous à recevoir la mort en juste punition de vos méfaits. - -Les deux moines retinrent leurs mules, non moins étonnés de l’étrange -figure de don Quichotte que de son discours: Seigneur chevalier, -répondirent-ils, nous ne sommes point des gens diaboliques ni des -excommuniés; nous sommes des religieux de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît qui -suivons paisiblement notre chemin: s’il y a dans ce carrosse des -personnes à qui on fait violence, nous l’ignorons. - -Je ne me paye pas de belles paroles, repartit don Quichotte, et je vous -connais, canaille déloyale. Puis, sans attendre de réponse, il fond, la -lance basse, sur un des religieux, et cela avec une telle furie, que si -le bon père ne se fût promptement laissé glisser de sa mule, il aurait -été dangereusement blessé, ou peut-être tué du coup. L’autre moine, -voyant de quelle manière on traitait son compagnon, donna de l’éperon à -sa monture et gagna la plaine, plus rapide que le vent. - -Aussitôt, sautant prestement de son âne, Sancho se jeta sur le moine -étendu par terre, et il commençait à le dépouiller quand accoururent les -valets des religieux, qui lui demandèrent pourquoi il lui enlevait ses -vêtements. Parce que, répondit Sancho, c’est le fruit légitime de la -bataille que mon maître vient de gagner. - -Peu satisfaits de la réponse, voyant d’ailleurs que don Quichotte -s’était éloigné pour aller parler aux gens du carrosse, les deux valets -se ruèrent sur Sancho, le renversèrent sur la place, et l’y laissèrent à -demi mort de coups. Le religieux ne perdit pas un moment pour remonter -sur sa mule, et il accourut tremblant auprès de son compagnon, qui -l’attendait assez loin de là, regardant ce que deviendrait cette -aventure; puis tous deux poursuivirent leur chemin, faisant plus de -signes de croix que s’ils avaient eu le diable à leurs trousses. - -Pendant ce temps, don Quichotte se tenait à la portière du carrosse, et -il haranguait la dame biscaïenne, qu’il avait abordée par ces paroles: - -Madame, votre beauté est libre, elle peut faire maintenant ce qu’il lui -plaira; car ce bras redoutable vient de châtier l’audace de ses -ravisseurs. Afin que vous ne soyez point en peine du nom de votre -libérateur, sachez que je m’appelle don Quichotte de la Manche, que je -suis chevalier errant, et esclave de la sans pareille Dulcinée du -Toboso. En récompense du service qu’elle a reçu de moi, je ne demande à -Votre Grâce qu’une seule chose: c’est de vous rendre au Toboso, de vous -présenter de ma part devant cette dame, et de lui apprendre ce que je -viens de faire pour votre liberté. - -Parmi les gens de l’escorte se trouvait un cavalier biscaïen qui -écoutait attentivement notre héros. Irrité de le voir s’opposer au -départ du carrosse, à moins qu’il ne prît le chemin du Toboso, il -s’approche, et, empoignant la lance de don Quichotte, il l’apostrophe -ainsi en mauvais castillan ou en biscaïen, ce qui est pis encore: -Va-t’en, chevalier, et mal ailles-tu; car, par le Dieu qui m’a créé, si -toi ne laisses partir le carrosse, moi te tue, aussi vrai que je suis -Biscaïen. - -Don Quichotte qui l’avait compris, répondit sans s’émouvoir: Si tu étais -chevalier, aussi bien que tu ne l’es pas, j’aurais déjà châtié ton -insolence. - -Moi pas chevalier! répliqua le Biscaïen; moi jure Dieu, jamais chrétien -n’avoir plus menti. Si toi laisses ta lance, et tires ton épée, moi fera -voir à toi comme ton _chat à l’eau vite s’en va_. Hidalgo par mer, -hidalgo par le diable, et toi mentir si dire autre chose. - -C’est ce que nous allons voir, repartit don Quichotte, puis, jetant sa -lance, il tire son épée, embrasse son écu, et il fond sur le Biscaïen, -impatient de lui ôter la vie. - -Celui-ci eût bien voulu descendre de sa mule, mauvaise bête de louage, -sur laquelle il ne pouvait compter; mais à peine eut-il le temps de -tirer son épée, et bien lui prit de se trouver assez près du carrosse -pour saisir un coussin et s’en faire un bouclier. En voyant les deux -champions courir l’un sur l’autre comme de mortels ennemis, les -assistants essayèrent de s’interposer; tout fut inutile; car le Biscaïen -jurait que si on tentait de l’arrêter, il tuerait plutôt sa maîtresse et -les personnes de sa suite. Effrayée de ces menaces, la dame, toute -tremblante, fit signe au cocher de s’éloigner, puis, arrivée à quelque -distance, elle s’arrêta pour regarder le combat. - -En abordant son adversaire, l’impétueux Biscaïen lui déchargea un tel -coup sur l’épaule, que si l’épée n’eût rencontré la rondache, il le -fendait jusqu’à la ceinture. - -Dame de mon âme! s’écria don Quichotte à ce coup qui lui parut la chute -d’une montagne; Dulcinée! fleur de beauté, daignez secourir votre -chevalier, qui pour vous obéir se trouve en cette extrémité. - -Prononcer ces mots, serrer son épée, se couvrir de son écu, fondre sur -son ennemi, tout cela fut l’affaire d’un instant. Le Biscaïen, en le -voyant venir avec tant d’impétuosité, l’attendait de pied ferme, couvert -de son coussin, d’autant plus que sa mule, harassée de fatigue et mal -dressée à ce manége, ne pouvait bouger. Ainsi don Quichotte courait -l’épée haute contre le Biscaïen, cherchant à le pourfendre, et le -Biscaïen l’attendait, abrité derrière son coussin. Les spectateurs -étaient dans l’anxiété des coups épouvantables dont nos deux combattants -se menaçaient, et la dame du carrosse faisait des vœux à tous les -saints du paradis pour obtenir que Dieu protégeât son écuyer, et la -délivrât du péril où elle se trouvait. - -Malheureusement, l’auteur de l’histoire la laisse en cet endroit -pendante et inachevée, donnant pour excuse qu’il ne sait rien de plus -sur les exploits de don Quichotte. Mais le continuateur, ne pouvant se -résoudre à penser qu’un récit aussi curieux se fût ainsi arrêté à -moitié chemin, et que les beaux esprits de la Manche eussent négligé -d’en conserver la suite, ne désespéra pas de la retrouver. En effet, le -ciel aidant, il réussit dans sa recherche de la manière qui sera exposée -dans le livre suivant. - -LIVRE II[25]--CHAPITRE IX - -OU SE CONCLUT ET SE TERMINE L’ÉPOUVANTABLE COMBAT DU BRAVE BISCAIEN ET -DU MANCHOIS - -Dans la première partie de cette histoire, nous avons laissé l’ardent -Biscaïen et le valeureux don Quichotte, les bras levés, les épées nues, -et en posture de se décharger de tels coups, que s’ils fussent tombés -sans rencontrer de résistance, nos deux champions ne se seraient rien -moins que pourfendus de haut en bas et ouverts comme une grenade; mais -en cet endroit, je l’ai dit, le récit était resté pendant et inachevé, -sans que l’auteur fît connaître où l’on trouverait de quoi le -poursuivre. J’éprouvai d’abord un violent dépit, car le plaisir que -m’avait causé le commencement d’un conte si délectable se tournait en -grande amertume, quand je vins à songer quel faible espoir me restait -d’en retrouver la fin. Toutefois il me paraissait impossible qu’un héros -si fameux manquât d’un historien pour raconter ses incomparables -prouesses, lorsque chacun de ses devanciers en avait compté plusieurs, -non-seulement de leurs faits et gestes, mais même de leurs moindres -pensées. Ne pouvant donc supposer qu’un chevalier de cette importance -fût dépourvu de ce qu’un _Platir_ et ses pareils avaient eu de reste, je -persistai à croire qu’une semblable histoire n’était point demeurée -ainsi à moitié chemin, et que le temps seul, qui détruit tout, l’avait -dévorée ou la tenait quelque part ensevelie. De plus, je me disais: -Puisque dans la Bibliothèque de notre chevalier il y avait des livres -modernes, tels que _le Remède à la jalousie_, _les Nymphes_, _le Berger -de Hénarès_, elle ne doit pas être fort ancienne, et si elle n’a pas été -écrite, on doit au moins la retrouver dans la mémoire des gens de son -village et des pays circonvoisins. - - [25] Cervantes divisa la première partie de _Don Quichotte_ en quatre - livres fort inégaux. Dans la seconde partie, il abandonna cette - division pour s’en tenir à celle des chapitres. - -Tourmenté de cette pensée, je nourrissais toujours un vif désir de -connaître en son entier la vie et les merveilleux exploits de notre -héros, cette éclatante lumière de la Manche, le premier qu’on ait vu -dans ces temps calamiteux se vouer au grand exercice de la chevalerie -errante, redressant les torts, secourant les veuves, protégeant les -damoiselles, pauvres filles qui s’en allaient par monts et par vaux sur -leurs palefrois, portant la charge et l’embarras de leur virginité avec -si peu de souci, qu’à moins de violence de la part de quelque chevalier -félon, de quelque vilain armé en guerre, de quelque géant farouche, -elles descendaient au tombeau aussi vierges que leurs mères. Je dis donc -qu’à cet égard et à beaucoup d’autres, notre brave don Quichotte est -digne d’éternelles louanges, et qu’à moi-même on ne saurait en refuser -quelques-unes pour le zèle que j’ai mis à rechercher la fin d’une si -agréable histoire. Mais toute ma peine eût été inutile, et la postérité -eût été privée de ce trésor, si le hasard ne l’avait fait tomber entre -mes mains de la manière que je vais dire. - -Me promenant un jour à Tolède, dans la rue d’Alcana, je vis un jeune -garçon qui vendait de vieilles paperasses à un marchand de soieries. Or, -curieux comme je le suis, à ce point de ramasser pour les lire les -moindres chiffons de papier, je pris des mains de l’enfant un des -cahiers qu’il tenait; voyant qu’il était en caractères arabes que je ne -connais point, je cherchai des yeux quelque Morisque[26] pour me les -expliquer, et je n’eus pas de peine à trouver ce secours dans un lieu -où il y a des interprètes pour une langue beaucoup plus sainte et plus -ancienne[27]. Le hasard m’en amena un à qui je mis le cahier entre les -mains; mais à peine en avait-il parcouru quelques lignes qu’il se prit à -rire. Je lui en demandai la cause. C’est une annotation que je trouve -ici à la marge, répondit-il; et continuant à rire, il lut ces paroles: -_Cette Dulcinée du Toboso, dont il est si souvent parlé dans la présente -histoire, eut, dit-on, pour saler les pourceaux, meilleure main -qu’aucune femme de la Manche_. - - [26] On appelait _Morisques_ les descendants des Arabes et des Mores - restés en Espagne, après la prise de Grenade, et convertis violemment - au christianisme. - - [27] Cervantes veut parler de l’hébreu, et faire entendre qu’il y - avait des juifs à Tolède. - -Au nom de Dulcinée du Toboso, m’imaginant que ces vieux cahiers -contenaient peut-être l’histoire de don Quichotte, je pressai le -Morisque de lire le titre du livre; il y trouva ces mots: _Histoire de -don Quichotte de la Manche, écrite par cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, historien -arabe_. En l’entendant, j’éprouvai une telle joie que j’eus beaucoup de -peine à la dissimuler; et rassemblant tous les papiers, j’en fis marché -avec le jeune garçon, qui me donna pour un demi-réal ce qu’il m’aurait -vendu vingt fois autant s’il eût pu lire dans mon esprit. Je m’éloignai -aussitôt avec mon Morisque par le cloître de la cathédrale, et lui -proposai de traduire ces cahiers en castillan sans y ajouter ni en -retrancher la moindre chose, moyennant la récompense qu’il voudrait. Il -se contenta de deux arrobes de raisins et de quatre boisseaux de -froment, me promettant de faire en peu de temps cette traduction aussi -fidèlement que possible; mais pour rendre l’affaire plus facile, et ne -pas me dessaisir de mon trésor, j’emmenai le Morisque chez moi, où en -moins de six semaines la version fut faite, telle que je la donne ici. - -Dans le premier cahier se trouvait représentée la bataille de don -Quichotte avec le Biscaïen, tous deux dans la posture où nous les avons -laissés, le bras levé, l’épée nue, l’un couvert de sa rondache, l’autre -abrité par son coussin. La mule du Biscaïen était d’une si grande -vérité, qu’à portée d’arquebuse on l’aurait facilement reconnue pour une -mule de louage: à ses pieds on lisait _don Sancho de Aspetia_, ce qui -était sans doute le nom du Biscaïen. Aux pieds de Rossinante on lisait -celui de _don Quichotte_. Rossinante est admirablement peint, long, -roide, maigre, l’épine du dos si tranchante, et l’oreille si basse, -qu’on jugeait tout d’abord que jamais cheval au monde n’avait mieux -mérité d’être appelé ainsi. Tout auprès, Sancho Panza tenait par le -licou son âne, au pied duquel était écrit _Sancho Zanças_. Il était -représenté avec la panse large, la taille courte, les jambes cagneuses, -et c’est sans doute pour ce motif que l’histoire lui donne -indifféremment le nom de Panza ou de Zanças. - -Il y avait encore d’autres détails, mais de peu d’importance, et qui -n’ajoutent rien à l’intelligence de ce récit. Si quelque chose pouvait -faire douter de sa sincérité, c’est que l’auteur est Arabe, et que tous -les gens de cette race sont enclins au mensonge; mais, d’autre part, ils -sont tellement nos ennemis, que celui-ci aura plutôt retranché -qu’ajouté. En effet, lorsqu’il devait, selon moi, le plus longuement -s’étendre sur les exploits de notre chevalier, il les a, au contraire, -malicieusement amoindris ou même passés sous silence: procédé indigne -d’un historien, qui doit toujours se montrer fidèle, exempt de passion -et d’intérêt, sans que jamais la crainte, l’affection ou l’inimitié le -fassent dévier de la vérité, mère de l’histoire, dépôt des actions -humaines, puisque c’est là qu’on rencontre de vrais tableaux du passé, -des exemples pour le présent et des enseignements pour l’avenir. -J’espère cependant que l’on trouvera dans ce récit tout ce que l’on peut -désirer, ou que s’il y manque quelque chose, ce sera la faute du -traducteur et non celle du sujet. - -La seconde partie commençait ainsi: - -A l’air terrible et résolu des deux fiers combattants, avec leur -tranchantes épées levées, on eût dit qu’ils menaçaient le ciel et la -terre. Celui qui porta le premier coup fut l’ardent Biscaïen, et cela -avec tant de force et de furie, que si le fer n’eût tourné dans sa main, -ce seul coup aurait terminé cet épouvantable combat et mis fin à toutes -les aventures de notre chevalier; mais le sort, qui le réservait pour -d’autres exploits, fit tourner l’épée du Biscaïen de telle sorte que, -tombant à plat sur l’épaule gauche, elle ne fit d’autre mal que de -désarmer tout ce côté-là, emportant chemin faisant un bon morceau de la -salade et la moitié de l’oreille de notre héros. - -Qui pourrait, grand Dieu! peindre la rage dont fut transporté don -Quichotte quand il se sentit atteint! Se hissant sur ses étriers, et -serrant de plus belle son épée avec ses deux mains, il en déchargea un -si terrible coup sur la tête de son ennemi, que, malgré la protection du -coussin, le pauvre diable commença à jeter le sang par le nez, la bouche -et les oreilles, prêt à tomber, ce qui certes fût arrivé s’il n’eût à -l’instant embrassé le cou de sa bête, mais bientôt ses bras se -détachèrent, ses pieds lâchèrent les étriers, et la mule épouvantée, ne -sentant plus le frein, prit sa course à travers champs, après avoir -désarçonné son cavalier qui tomba privé de sentiment. - -Don Quichotte ne vit pas plus tôt son ennemi par terre, que, sautant -prestement de cheval, il courut lui présenter la pointe de l’épée entre -les deux yeux, lui criant de se rendre, sinon qu’il lui couperait la -tête. Le malheureux Biscaïen était incapable d’articuler un seul mot, -et, dans sa fureur, don Quichotte ne l’aurait pas épargné, si la dame du -carrosse, qui, à demi morte de peur, attendait au loin l’issue du -combat, n’était accourue lui demander, avec les plus vives instances, la -vie de son écuyer. - -Je vous l’accorde, belle dame, répondit gravement notre héros, mais à -une condition: c’est que ce chevalier me donnera sa parole d’aller au -Toboso, et de se présenter de ma part devant la sans pareille Dulcinée, -afin qu’elle dispose de lui selon son bon plaisir. - -Sans rien comprendre à ce discours, ni s’informer quelle était cette -Dulcinée, la dame promit pour son écuyer tout ce qu’exigeait don -Quichotte. - -Qu’il vive donc sur la foi de votre parole, reprit notre héros, et qu’à -cause de vous il jouisse d’une grâce dont son arrogance le rendait -indigne. - -CHAPITRE X - -DU GRACIEUX ENTRETIEN QU’EUT DON QUICHOTTE AVEC SANCHO PANZA SON ÉCUYER - -Quoique moulu des rudes gourmades que lui avaient administrées les -valets des bénédictins, Sancho s’était depuis quelque temps déjà remis -sur ses pieds, et tout en suivant d’un œil attentif le combat où était -engagé son seigneur, il priait Dieu de lui accorder la victoire, afin -qu’il y gagnât quelque île et l’en fit gouverneur, comme il le lui avait -promis. Voyant enfin le combat terminé, et son maître prêt à remonter à -cheval, il courut lui tenir l’étrier; mais d’abord il se jeta à genoux -et lui baisa la main en disant: Que Votre Grâce daigne me donner l’île -qu’elle vient de gagner; car je me sens en état de la bien gouverner, si -grande qu’elle puisse être. - -Ami Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, ce ne sont pas là des aventures -d’îles, ce sont de simples rencontres de grands chemins, dont on ne peut -guère attendre d’autre profit que de se faire casser la tête ou emporter -une oreille. Prends patience, il s’offrira, pour m’acquitter de ma -promesse, assez d’autres occasions, où je pourrai te donner un bon -gouvernement, si ce n’est quelque chose de mieux encore. - -Sancho se confondit en remercîments, et après avoir baisé de nouveau la -main de son maître et le pan de sa cotte de mailles, il l’aida à -remonter à cheval, puis enfourcha son âne, et se mit à suivre son -seigneur, lequel, s’éloignant rapidement sans prendre congé de la dame -du carrosse, entra dans un bois qui se trouvait près de là. - -Sancho le suivait de tout le trot de sa bête, mais Rossinante détalait -si lestement, qu’il fut obligé de crier à son maître de l’attendre. Don -Quichotte retint la bride à sa monture, jusqu’à ce que son écuyer l’eût -rejoint. Il serait prudent, ce me semble, dit Sancho en arrivant, de -nous réfugier dans quelque église, car celui que vous venez de combattre -est en bien piteux état; on pourrait en donner avis à la -Sainte-Hermandad[28], qui viendrait nous questionner à ce sujet, et une -fois entre ses mains, il se passerait du temps avant de nous en tirer. - - [28] La _Sainte-Hermandad_ était un corps spécialement chargé de la - poursuite des malfaiteurs. - -Tu ne sais ce que tu dis, repartit don Quichotte; où donc as-tu vu ou lu -qu’un chevalier errant ait été traduit en justice, quelque nombre -d’homicides qu’il ait commis? - -Je n’entends rien à vos homicides, répondit Sancho, et je ne me souviens -pas d’en avoir jamais vu; mais je sais que ceux qui se battent au milieu -des champs ont affaire à la Sainte-Hermandad, et c’est là ce que je -voudrais éviter. - -Ne t’en mets point en peine, reprit don Quichotte; je t’arracherais des -mains des Philistins, à plus forte raison de celles de la -Sainte-Hermandad. Maintenant, réponds avec franchise, crois-tu que sur -toute la surface de la terre il y ait un chevalier aussi vaillant que je -le suis? As-tu jamais vu ou lu dans quelque histoire qu’un chevalier ait -montré autant que moi d’intrépidité dans l’attaque, de résolution dans -la défense, plus d’adresse à porter les coups, et de promptitude à -culbuter l’ennemi? - -La vérité est que je n’ai jamais rien vu ni lu de semblable, répondit -Sancho, car je ne sais ni lire ni écrire; mais ce dont je puis faire -serment, c’est que de ma vie je n’ai servi un maître aussi hardi que -Votre Grâce, et Dieu veuille que cette hardiesse ne nous mène pas là où -je m’imagine. Pour l’heure pansons votre oreille, car il en sort -beaucoup de sang; heureusement, j’ai de la charpie et de l’onguent dans -mon bissac. - -Nous nous passerions bien de tout cela, dit don Quichotte, si j’avais -songé à faire une fiole de ce merveilleux baume de Fier-à-Bras[29], et -combien une seule goutte de cette précieuse liqueur nous épargnerait de -temps et de remèdes? - - [29] C’était, dit l’histoire de Charlemagne, un géant qui guérissait - ses blessures en buvant d’un baume qu’il portait dans deux petits - barils gagnés à la conquête de Jérusalem. - -Quelle fiole et quel baume? demanda Sancho. - -C’est un baume dont j’ai la recette en ma mémoire, répondit don -Quichotte; avec lui on se moque des blessures, et on nargue la mort. -Aussi, quand après l’avoir composé, je l’aurai remis entre tes mains, si -dans un combat je viens à être pourfendu d’un revers d’épée par le -milieu du corps, comme cela nous arrive presque tous les jours, il te -suffira de ramasser la moitié qui sera tombée à terre, puis, avant que -le sang soit figé, de la rapprocher de l’autre moitié restée sur la -selle, en ayant soin de les bien remboîter; après quoi, rien qu’avec -deux gouttes de ce baume, tu me reverras aussi sain qu’une pomme. - -S’il en est ainsi, repartit Sancho, je renonce dès aujourd’hui au -gouvernement que vous m’avez promis, et pour récompense de mes services -je ne demande que la recette de ce baume. Il vaudra bien partout deux ou -trois réaux l’once; en voilà assez pour passer ma vie honorablement et -en repos. Mais dites-moi, seigneur, ce baume coûte-t-il beaucoup à -composer? - -Pour trois réaux on peut en faire plus de six pintes, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Grand Dieu! s’écria Sancho, que ne me l’enseignez-vous sur l’heure, et -que n’en faisons-nous de suite plusieurs poinçons? - -Patience, ami Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, je te réserve bien d’autres -secrets, et de bien plus grandes récompenses. Pour l’instant pansons mon -oreille; elle me fait plus de mal que je ne voudrais. - -Sancho tira l’onguent et la charpie du bissac; mais quand don Quichotte, -en ôtant sa salade, la vit toute brisée, peu s’en fallut qu’il ne perdît -le reste de son jugement. Portant la main sur son épée, et levant les -yeux au ciel il s’écria: Par le créateur de toutes choses, et sur les -quatre Évangiles, je fais le serment que fit le grand marquis de -Mantoue, lorsqu’il jura de venger la mort de son neveu Baudouin, -c’est-à-dire de ne point manger pain sur nappe, de ne point approcher -femme, et de renoncer encore à une foule d’autres choses (lesquelles, -bien que je ne m’en souvienne pas, je tiens pour comprises dans mon -serment), jusqu’à ce que j’aie tiré une vengeance éclatante de celui qui -m’a fait un tel outrage. - -Que Votre Grâce, dit Sancho, veuille bien faire attention que si ce -chevalier vaincu exécute l’ordre que vous lui avez donné d’aller se -mettre à genoux devant madame Dulcinée, il est quitte, et qu’à moins -d’une nouvelle offense, vous n’avez rien à lui demander. - -Tu parles sagement, reprit don Quichotte, et j’annule mon serment quant -à la vengeance; mais je le confirme et le renouvelle quant à la vie que -j’ai juré de mener jusqu’au jour où j’aurai enlevé de vive force à -n’importe quel chevalier une salade en tout semblable à celle que j’ai -perdue. Et ne t’imagine pas, ami, que je parle à la légère; j’ai un -exemple à suivre en ceci: la même chose arriva pour l’armet de Mambrin, -qui coûta si cher à Sacripant. - -Donnez tous ces serments au diable, dit Sancho; ils nuisent à la santé -et chargent la conscience; car, enfin, que ferons-nous si de longtemps -nous ne rencontrons un homme coiffé d’une salade? Tiendrez-vous votre -serment en dépit des incommodités qui peuvent en résulter, comme, par -exemple, de coucher tout habillé, de ne point dormir en lieu couvert, et -tant d’autres pénitences que s’imposait ce vieux fou de marquis de -Mantoue? Songez, je vous prie, seigneur, qu’il ne passe point de gens -armés par ces chemins-ci, que l’on n’y rencontre guère que des -charretiers et des conducteurs de mules. Ces gens-là ne portent point de -salades, et ils n’en ont jamais peut-être entendu prononcer le nom. - -Je fais le serment que fit le grand marquis de Mantoue (p. 40).] - -Tu te trompes, ami, repartit don Quichotte, et nous ne serons pas restés -ici deux heures, que nous y verrons se présenter plus de gens en armes -qu’il n’en vint jadis devant la forteresse d’Albraque, pour la conquête -de la belle Angélique. - -Ainsi soit-il, reprit Sancho. Dieu veuille que tout aille bien, et -qu’arrive au plus tôt le moment de gagner cette île qui me coûte si -cher, dussé-je en mourir de joie! - -Je t’ai déjà dit de ne point te mettre en peine, répliqua don Quichotte; -car en admettant que l’île vienne à manquer, n’avons-nous pas le royaume -de Danimarque et celui de Sobradise[30], qui t’iront comme une bague au -doigt? étant en terre ferme, ils doivent te convenir encore mieux. Mais -laissons cela; à présent, regarde dans le bissac si tu as quelque chose -à manger, puis nous irons à la recherche d’un château où nous puissions -passer la nuit et préparer le baume dont je t’ai parlé; car l’oreille me -fait souffrir cruellement. - - [30] Royaumes extraordinaires cités dans _Amadis de Gaule_. - -J’ai bien ici un oignon et un morceau de fromage avec deux ou trois -bribes de pain, répondit Sancho: mais ce ne sont pas là des mets à -l’usage d’un chevalier vaillant tel que vous. - -Que tu me connais mal! reprit don Quichotte. Apprends, ami Sancho, que -la gloire des chevaliers errants est de passer des mois entiers sans -manger, et, quand ils se décident à prendre quelque nourriture, de se -contenter de ce qui leur tombe sous la main. Tu n’en douterais pas si tu -avais lu autant d’histoires que moi, et dans aucune je n’ai vu que les -chevaliers errants mangeassent, si ce n’est par hasard, ou dans quelque -somptueux festin donné en leur honneur; car le plus souvent ils vivaient -de l’air du temps. Cependant, comme ils étaient hommes et qu’ils ne -pouvaient se passer tout à fait d’aliments, il faut croire que, -constamment au milieu des forêts et des déserts, et toujours sans -cuisinier, leurs repas habituels étaient des mets rustiques comme ceux -que tu m’offres en ce moment. Cela me suffit, ami Sancho; cesse donc de -t’affliger, et surtout n’essaye pas de transformer le monde, ni de -changer les antiques coutumes de la chevalerie errante. - -Il faut me pardonner, répliqua Sancho, si ne sachant ni lire ni écrire -(je l’ai déjà dit à Votre Grâce), j’ignore les règles de la chevalerie; -mais, à l’avenir, le bissac sera fourni de fruits secs pour vous, qui -êtes chevalier; et comme je n’ai pas cet honneur, j’aurai soin de le -garnir pour moi de quelque chose de plus nourrissant. - -Je n’ai pas dit, répliqua don Quichotte, que les chevaliers errants -devaient ne manger que des fruits, j’ai dit qu’ils en faisaient leur -nourriture habituelle; ils y joignaient encore quelques herbes des -champs, qu’ils savaient fort bien reconnaître et que je saurai -distinguer également. - -C’est une grande vertu que de connaître ces herbes, repartit Sancho, et -si je ne m’abuse, nous aurons plus d’une occasion de mettre cette -connaissance à profit. Pour l’instant, voici ce que Dieu nous envoie, -ajouta-t-il; et tirant les vivres du bissac, tous deux se mirent à -manger d’un égal appétit. - -Ils eurent bientôt achevé leur frugal repas, et reprirent leurs montures -afin d’atteindre une habitation avant la chute du jour; mais le soleil -venant à leur manquer, et, avec lui, l’espérance de trouver ce qu’ils -cherchaient, il s’arrêtèrent auprès de quelques huttes de chevriers pour -y passer la nuit. Autant Sancho s’affligeait de n’être pas à l’abri dans -quelque bon village, autant don Quichotte fut heureux de dormir à la -belle étoile, se figurant que tout ce qui lui arrivait de la sorte -prouvait une fois de plus sa vocation de chevalier errant. - -CHAPITRE XI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LES CHEVRIERS - -Don Quichotte reçut des chevriers un bon accueil, et Sancho ayant -accommodé du mieux qu’il put Rossinante et son âne, se dirigea en toute -hâte vers l’odeur qu’exhalaient certains morceaux de chèvre qui -cuisaient dans une marmite devant le feu. Notre écuyer eût bien voulu -s’assurer s’ils étaient cuits assez à point pour les faire passer de la -marmite dans son estomac, mais les chevriers ne lui en laissèrent pas le -temps; car, les ayant retirés du feu, ils dressèrent leur table -rustique, tout en invitant de bon cœur les deux étrangers à partager -leurs provisions; puis étendant sur le sol quelques peaux de mouton, ils -s’assirent au nombre de six, après avoir offert à don Quichotte, en -guise de siége, une auge de bois qu’ils retournèrent. - -Notre héros prit place au milieu d’eux; quant à Sancho, il se plaça -debout derrière son maître, prêt à lui verser à boire dans une coupe qui -n’était pas de cristal, mais de corne. En le voyant rester debout: Ami, -lui dit don Quichotte, afin que tu connaisses toute l’excellence de la -chevalerie errante, et que tu saches combien ceux qui en font -profession, n’importe à quel degré, ont droit d’être estimés et honorés -dans le monde, je veux qu’ici, en compagnie de ces braves gens, tu -prennes place à mon côté, pour ne faire qu’un avec moi, qui suis ton -seigneur et ton maître, et que mangeant au même plat, buvant dans ma -coupe, on puisse dire de la chevalerie errante ce qu’on dit de l’amour: -qu’elle nous fait tous égaux. - -Grand merci, répondit Sancho; mais je le dis à Votre Grâce, pourvu que -j’aie de quoi manger, je préfère être seul et debout, qu’assis à côté -d’un empereur. Je savoure bien mieux, dans un coin tout à mon aise, ce -qu’on me donne, ne fût-ce qu’un oignon sur du pain, que les fines -poulardes de ces tables où il faut mâcher lentement, boire à petits -coups, s’essuyer la bouche à chaque morceau, sans oser tousser ni -éternuer, quelque envie qu’on en ait, ni enfin prendre ces autres -licences qu’autorisent la solitude et la liberté. Ainsi donc, -monseigneur, ces honneurs que Votre Grâce veut m’accorder comme à son -écuyer, je suis prêt à les convertir en choses qui me soient de plus de -profit, car ces honneurs dont je vous suis bien reconnaissant, j’y -renonce à jamais. - -Fais ce que je t’ordonne, repartit don Quichotte: Dieu élève celui qui -s’humilie. Et prenant Sancho par le bras, il le fit asseoir à son côté. - -Les chevriers ne comprenaient rien à tout cela, et continuaient de -manger en silence, regardant leurs hôtes, qui, d’un grand appétit, -avalaient des morceaux gros comme le poing. Après les viandes, on -servit des glands doux avec une moitié de fromage plus dur que du -ciment. Pendant ce temps, la corne à boire ne cessait d’aller et de -venir à la ronde, tantôt pleine, tantôt vide, comme les pots de la roue -à chapelet[31], si bien que des deux outres qui étaient là, l’une fut -entièrement mise à sec. - - [31] Roue garnie de seaux à bascule, qui puisent l’eau et la versent - dans un réservoir. - -Quand don Quichotte eut satisfait son appétit, il prit dans sa main une -poignée de glands, puis après les avoir quelque temps considérés en -silence: Heureux siècle, s’écria-t-il, âge fortuné, auquel nos ancêtres -donnèrent le nom d’âge d’or, non pas que ce métal, si estimé dans notre -siècle de fer, se recueillît sans peine à cette époque privilégiée, mais -parce que ceux qui vivaient alors ignoraient ces deux funestes mots de -TIEN et de MIEN. En ce saint âge, toutes choses étaient communes. Afin -de se procurer l’ordinaire soutien de la vie, on n’avait qu’à étendre la -main pour cueillir aux branches des robustes chênes les fruits savoureux -qui se présentaient libéralement à tous. Les claires fontaines et les -fleuves rapides offraient en abondance leurs eaux limpides et -délicieuses. Dans le creux des arbres et dans les fentes des rochers, -les diligentes abeilles établissaient sans crainte leur république, -abandonnant au premier venu l’agréable produit de leur doux labeur. -Alors les liéges vigoureux se dépouillaient eux-mêmes, et leurs larges -écorces suffisaient à couvrir les cabanes élevées sur des poteaux -rustiques. Partout régnaient la concorde, la paix, l’amitié. Le soc aigu -de la pesante charrue ne s’était pas encore enhardi à ouvrir les -entrailles de notre première mère, dont le sein fertile satisfaisait -sans effort à la nourriture et aux plaisirs de ses enfants. Alors les -belles et naïves bergères couraient de vallée en vallée, de colline en -colline, la tête nue, les cheveux tressés, sans autre vêtement que celui -que la pudeur exige: ni la soie façonnée de mille manières, ni la -pourpre de Tyr, ne composaient leurs simples atours; des plantes mêlées -au lierre leur suffisaient, et elles se croyaient mieux parées de ces -ornements naturels que ne le sont nos grandes dames avec les inventions -merveilleuses que leur enseigne l’oisive curiosité. Alors les tendres -mouvements du cœur se montraient simplement, sans chercher, pour -s’exprimer, d’artificieuses paroles. Alors, la fraude, le mensonge -n’altéraient point la franchise et la vérité; la justice régnait seule, -sans crainte d’être égarée par la faveur et l’intérêt qui l’assiégent -aujourd’hui, car la loi du bon plaisir ne s’était pas encore emparée de -l’esprit du juge, et il n’y avait personne qui jugeât ni qui fût jugé. -Les jeunes filles, je le répète, allaient en tous lieux seules et -maîtresses d’elles-mêmes, sans avoir à craindre les propos effrontés ou -les desseins criminels. Quand elles cédaient, c’était à leur seul -penchant et de leur libre volonté; tandis qu’aujourd’hui, dans ce siècle -détestable, aucune n’est en sûreté, fût-elle cachée dans un nouveau -labyrinthe de Crète; partout pénètrent les soins empressés d’une -galanterie maudite, qui les fait succomber malgré leur retenue. C’est -pour remédier à tous ces maux que, dans la suite des temps, la -corruption croissant avec eux, fut institué l’ordre des Chevaliers -errants, défenseurs des vierges, protecteurs des veuves, appuis des -orphelins et des malheureux. J’exerce cette noble profession, mes bons -amis, et c’est à un chevalier errant et à son écuyer que vous avez fait -le gracieux accueil dont je vous remercie de tout mon cœur; et, bien -qu’en vertu de la simple loi naturelle chacun soit tenu de vous imiter, -comme vous l’avez fait sans me connaître, il est juste que je vous en -témoigne ma reconnaissance. - -Cette interminable harangue, dont il aurait fort bien pu se dispenser, -don Quichotte ne l’avait débitée que parce qu’en lui rappelant l’âge -d’or, les glands avaient fourni à sa fantaisie l’occasion de s’adresser -aux chevriers qui, sans répondre un mot, restaient tout ébahis à -l’écouter. Sancho gardait aussi le silence, mais il en profitait pour -avaler force glands et faire de fréquentes visites à la seconde outre -qu’on avait suspendue à un arbre pour tenir le vin frais. - -Le souper avait duré moins longtemps que le discours; dès qu’il fut -terminé, un des chevriers dit à don Quichotte: Seigneur chevalier -errant, afin que Votre Grâce puisse dire avec encore plus de raison que -nous l’avons régalée de notre mieux, nous voulons lui procurer un -nouveau plaisir, en faisant chanter un de nos camarades qui ne peut -tarder à arriver. C’est un jeune berger amoureux et plein d’esprit, qui -sait lire et écrire, et qui de plus est musicien, car il joue de la -viole à ravir. - -A peine le chevrier achevait-il ces mots qu’on entendit le son d’une -viole, et bientôt parut un jeune garçon âgé d’environ vingt-deux ans et -de fort bonne mine. Ses compagnons lui demandèrent s’il avait soupé; il -répondit que oui. En ce cas, Antonio, dit l’un d’eux, tu nous feras le -plaisir de chanter quelque chose, afin que ce seigneur, notre hôte, -sache que dans nos montagnes on trouve aussi des gens qui savent la -musique. Comme nous lui avons vanté tes talents, et que nous ne -voudrions point passer pour menteurs, dis-nous la romance de tes amours, -que ton oncle le bénéficier a mise en vers, et qui a tant plu à tout le -village. - -Volontiers, répondit Antonio; et sans se faire prier, il s’assit sur le -tronc d’un chêne, puis, après avoir accordé sa viole, il chanta la -romance qui suit: - - Olalla! je sais que tu m’aime, - Sans que la bouche me l’ait dit: - Tes beaux yeux sont muets de même; - Mais tu m’aimes, et je sais que cela seul suffit. - - On dit que d’un amour connu - Il faut toujours bien espérer, - Le souffrir c’est en être ému, - Et soi-même à la fin on se laisse attirer. - - Aussi, de ton indifférence - Au lieu de me montrer chagrin, - Je sens naître quelque espérance, - Et vois briller l’amour à travers tes dédains. - - C’est pourquoi mon cœur s’encourage, - Et j’en suis pour l’heure à tel point, - Que te trouvant tendre ou sauvage, - Mon amour ne peut croître, et ne s’affaiblit point. - - Si l’amour est, comme je pense, - Et, comme on dit, une vertu, - Le mien me donne l’espérance - Que mon zèle à la fin ne sera pas perdu. - - Olalla! crois, si je te presse, - Que c’est avec un bon dessein, - Et ne veux t’avoir pour maîtresse - Que lorsqu’avec mon cœur tu recevras ma main. - - L’Église a des liens de soie, - Et son joug est doux et léger; - Tu verras avec quelle joie - Je courrai m’y soumettre en t’y voyant ranger. - - Mais si je n’apprends de ta bouche - Que tu consens à mon dessein, - Je mourrai dans ce lieu farouche: - Je le jure, ou dans peu je serai capucin[32]. - - [32] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Le chevrier avait à peine cessé de chanter, que don Quichotte insistait -pour qu’il continuât, mais Sancho, qui avait grande envie de dormir, s’y -opposa en disant qu’il était temps de songer à s’arranger un gîte pour -la nuit, et que ces braves gens, qui travaillaient tout le jour, ne -pouvaient passer la nuit à chanter. - -Je t’entends, dit don Quichotte; j’oubliais qu’une tête alourdie par les -vapeurs du vin a plus besoin de sommeil que de musique. - -Dieu soit loué, chacun en a pris sa part, répliqua Sancho. - -D’accord, reprit don Quichotte: arrange-toi donc à ta fantaisie; quant à -ceux de ma profession, il leur sied mieux de veiller que de dormir; -seulement il faudrait panser mon oreille, car elle me fait souffrir -grandement. - -Sancho se disposait à obéir, quand un des bergers dit à notre chevalier -de ne pas se mettre en peine; il alla chercher quelques feuilles de -romarin; puis, après les avoir mâchées et mêlées avec du sel, il les lui -appliqua sur l’oreille, l’assurant qu’il n’avait que faire d’un autre -remède; ce qui réussit en effet. - -CHAPITRE XII - -DE CE QUE RACONTA UN BERGER A CEUX QUI ÉTAIENT AVEC DON QUICHOTTE - -Sur ces entrefaites arriva un autre chevrier de ceux qui apportaient les -provisions du village. Amis, dit-il, savez-vous ce qui se passe? - -Et comment le saurions-nous? répondit l’un d’eux. - -Apprenez, dit le paysan, que ce berger si galant, que cet étudiant qui -avait nom Chrysostome, vient de mourir ce matin même, et que chacun se -dit tout bas qu’il est mort d’amour pour la fille de Guillaume le Riche, -pour cette endiablée de Marcelle qu’on voit sans cesse rôder dans les -environs en habit de bergère. - -Pour Marcelle? demanda un des chevriers. - -Pour elle-même, répondit le paysan; mais ce qui étonne tout le monde, -c’est que, par son testament, Chrysostome ordonne qu’on l’enterre, ainsi -qu’un mécréant, au milieu de la campagne et précisément au pied de la -fontaine du Liége, parce que c’est là, dit-il, qu’il avait vu Marcelle -pour la première fois. Il a encore ordonné bien d’autres choses, mais -nos anciens disent qu’on n’en fera rien. Le grand ami de Chrysostome, -Ambrosio, répond qu’il faut exécuter de point en point ses intentions. -Le village est en grande rumeur à ce sujet. Mais on assure que tout se -fera ainsi que le veulent Ambrosio et les bergers ses amis. Demain, on -vient en grande pompe enterrer le pauvre Chrysostome à l’endroit que je -vous ai dit. Voilà qui sera beau à voir; aussi ne manquerai-je pas d’y -aller, si je ne suis pas obligé de retourner au village. - -Nous irons tous, s’écrièrent les chevriers, mais après avoir tiré au -sort à qui restera pour garder les chèvres. - -N’en ayez nul souci, reprit l’un d’eux, je resterai pour tous, et ne -m’en sachez aucun gré, car l’épine que je me suis enfoncée dans le pied -l’autre jour m’empêche de faire un pas. - -Nous ne t’en sommes pas moins obligés, repartit Pedro. - -Là-dessus don Quichotte pria Pedro de lui dire quelle était cette -bergère et quel était ce berger dont on venait d’annoncer la mort. Pedro -répondit que tout ce qu’il savait, c’est que le défunt était fils d’un -hidalgo fort riche, qui habitait ces montagnes; et qu’après avoir -longtemps étudié à Salamanque, il était revenu dans son pays natal avec -une grande réputation de science. On assure, ajouta le chevrier, qu’il -savait surtout ce que font là-haut non-seulement les étoiles, mais -encore le soleil et la lune, dont il ne manquait jamais d’annoncer les -_ellipses_ à point nommé. - -Mon ami, dit don Quichotte, c’est éclipse et non ellipse, qu’on appelle -l’obscurcissement momentané de ces deux corps célestes. - -Il devinait aussi, continua Pedro, quand l’année devait être abondante -ou _estérile_. - -Vous voulez dire stérile, observa notre chevalier. - -Peu importe repartit Pedro; ce que je puis assurer c’est que parents ou -amis quand ils suivaient ses conseils, devenaient riches en peu de -temps. Tantôt il disait: Semez de l’orge cette année et non du froment; -une autre fois: Semez des pois et non de l’orge; l’année qui vient -donnera beaucoup d’huile et les trois suivantes n’en fourniront pas une -goutte; ce qui ne manquait jamais d’arriver. - -Cette science s’appelle astrologie, dit don Quichotte. - -Je l’ignore, répliqua Pedro, mais lui il savait tout cela et bien -d’autres choses encore. Bref, quelques mois après son retour de -Salamanque, un beau matin nous le vîmes tout à coup quitter le manteau -d’étudiant pour prendre l’habit de berger, avec sayon et houlette, et -accompagné de son ami Ambrosio dans le même costume. J’oubliais de vous -dire que le défunt était un grand faiseur de chansons, au point que les -noëls de la Nativité de Notre-Seigneur et les actes de la Fête-Dieu que -représentent nos jeunes garçons étaient de sa composition. Quand on vit -ces deux amis habillés en bergers, tout le village fut bien surpris, et -personne ne pouvait en deviner la cause. Déjà, à cette époque le père de -Chrysostome était mort, lui laissant une grande fortune en bonnes terres -et en beaux et bons écus, sans compter de nombreux troupeaux. De tout -cela le jeune homme resta le maître absolu, et en vérité il le méritait, -car c’était un bon compagnon, charitable et ami des braves gens. Plus -tard, on apprit qu’en prenant ce costume, le pauvre garçon n’avait eu -d’autre but que de courir après cette bergère Marcelle, dont il était -devenu éperdument amoureux. Maintenant il faut vous dire quelle est -cette créature: car jamais vous n’avez entendu et jamais vous -n’entendrez raconter rien de semblable dans tout le cours de votre vie, -dussiez-vous vivre plus d’années que la vieille Sarna. - -Dites Sara[33] et non Sarna, reprit don Quichotte, qui ne pouvait -souffrir ces altérations de mots. - - [33] Femme d’Abraham. - -Sarna ou Sara, c’est tout un, répondit le chevrier; et si vous vous -mettez à éplucher mes paroles, nous n’aurons pas fini d’ici à l’an -prochain. - -Pardon, mon ami, reprit don Quichotte, entre Sarna et Sara il y a une -grande différence; mais continuez votre récit. - -Je dis donc, poursuivit Pedro, qu’il y avait dans notre village un -laboureur nommé Guillaume, à qui le ciel, avec beaucoup d’autres -richesses, donna une fille dont la mère mourut en la mettant au monde. -Il me semble encore la voir, la digne femme, avec sa mine -resplendissante comme un soleil, et de plus, si charitable et si -laborieuse, qu’elle ne peut manquer de jouir là-haut de la vue de Dieu. -Son mari Guillaume la suivit de près, laissant sa fille Marcelle, riche -et en bas âge, sous la tutelle d’un oncle, prêtre et bénéficier dans ce -pays. En grandissant, l’enfant faisait souvenir de sa mère, qu’elle -annonçait devoir encore surpasser en beauté. A peine eut-elle atteint -ses quinze ans, qu’en la voyant chacun bénissait le ciel de l’avoir -faite si belle; aussi la plupart en devenaient fous d’amour. Son oncle -l’élevait avec beaucoup de soin et dans une retraite sévère; néanmoins -le bruit de sa beauté se répandit de telle sorte, que soit pour elle, -soit pour sa richesse, les meilleurs partis de la contrée ne cessaient -d’importuner et de solliciter son tuteur afin de l’avoir pour femme. Dès -qu’il la vit en âge d’être mariée, le bon prêtre y eût consenti -volontiers, mais il ne voulait rien faire sans son aveu. N’allez pas -croire pour cela qu’il entendît profiter de son bien, dont il avait -l’administration; à cet égard, tout le village n’a cessé de lui rendre -justice; car il faut que vous le sachiez, seigneur chevalier, dans nos -veillées, chacun critique et approuve selon sa fantaisie, et il doit -être cent fois bon celui qui oblige ses paroissiens à dire du bien de -lui. - -C’est vrai, dit don Quichotte; mais continuez, ami Pedro, votre histoire -m’intéresse, et vous la contez de fort bonne grâce. - -Que celle de Dieu ne me manque jamais, reprit le chevrier, c’est le plus -important. Vous saurez donc, continua-t-il, que l’oncle avait beau -proposer à sa nièce chacun des partis qui se présentaient, faisant -valoir leurs qualités, et l’engageant à choisir parmi eux un mari selon -son goût, la jeune fille ne répondait jamais rien, sinon qu’elle voulait -rester libre, et qu’elle se trouvait trop jeune pour porter le fardeau -du ménage. Avec de pareilles excuses, son oncle cessait de la presser, -attendant qu’elle ait pris un peu plus d’âge, et espérant qu’à la fin -elle se déciderait. Les parents, disait-il, ne doivent pas engager leurs -enfants contre leur volonté. - -Mais voilà qu’un jour, sans que personne s’y attendit, la dédaigneuse -Marcelle se fait bergère, et que, malgré son oncle et tous les habitants -du pays qui cherchaient à l’en dissuader, elle s’en va aux champs avec -les autres filles, pour garder son troupeau. Dès qu’on la vit et que sa -beauté parut au grand jour, je ne saurais vous dire combien de jeunes -gens riches, hidalgos ou laboureurs, prirent le costume de berger afin -de suivre ses pas. - -Un d’entre eux était le pauvre Chrysostome, comme vous le savez déjà, -duquel on disait qu’il ne l’aimait pas, mais qu’il l’adorait. Et qu’on -ne pense pas que, pour avoir adopté cette manière d’être si étrange, -Marcelle ait jamais donné lieu au moindre soupçon; loin de là, elle est -si sévère, que de tous ses prétendants aucun ne peut se flatter d’avoir -obtenu la moindre espérance de faire agréer ses soins; car bien qu’elle -ne fuie personne, et qu’elle traite tout le monde avec bienveillance, -dès qu’un berger se hasarde à lui déclarer son intention, quelque juste -et sainte qu’elle soit, il est renvoyé si loin qu’il n’y revient plus. -Mais, hélas! avec cette façon d’agir, elle cause plus de ravages en ce -pays que n’en ferait la peste; car sa beauté et sa douceur attirent les -cœurs que son indifférence et ses dédains réduisent bientôt au -désespoir. Aussi ne cesse-t-on de l’appeler ingrate, cruelle, et si vous -restiez quelques jours parmi nous, seigneur, vous entendriez ces -montagnes et ces vallées retentir des plaintes et des gémissements de -ceux qu’elle rebute. - -Près d’ici sont plus de vingt hêtres qui portent gravé sur leur écorce -le nom de Marcelle; au-dessus on voit presque toujours une couronne, -pour montrer qu’elle est la reine de beauté. Ici soupire un berger, là -un autre se lamente, plus loin l’on entend des chansons d’amour, -ailleurs des plaintes désespérées. L’un passe la nuit au pied d’un -chêne, ou sur le haut d’une roche, et le jour le retrouve absorbé dans -ses pensées sans qu’il ait fermé ses paupières humides; un autre reste -à l’ardeur du soleil, étendu sur le sable brûlant, demandant au ciel la -fin de son martyre. En voyant l’insensible bergère jouir des maux -qu’elle a causés, chacun se demande à quoi aboutira cette conduite -altière, et quel mortel pourra dompter ce cœur farouche. Comme ce que -je viens de vous raconter est l’exacte vérité, nous croyons tous que la -mort de Chrysostome n’a pas eu d’autre motif. C’est pourquoi, seigneur -chevalier, vous ferez bien de vous trouver à son enterrement; cela sera -curieux à voir, car nombreux étaient ses amis, et d’ici à l’endroit -qu’il a désigné pour son tombeau à peine s’il y a une demi-lieue. - -Je n’y manquerai pas, dit don Quichotte, et vous remercie du plaisir que -m’a fait votre récit. - -Il y a encore beaucoup d’autres aventures arrivées aux amants de -Marcelle, reprit le chevrier; mais demain nous rencontrerons sans doute -en chemin quelque berger qui nous les racontera. Quant à présent vous -ferez bien d’aller vous reposer dans un endroit couvert, parce que le -serein est contraire à votre blessure, quoiqu’il n’y ait aucun danger -après le remède qu’on y a mis. - -Sancho, qui avait donné mille fois au diable le chevrier et son récit, -pressa son maître d’entrer dans la cabane de Pedro. Don Quichotte y -consentit quoique à regret, mais ce fut pour donner le reste de la nuit -au souvenir de sa Dulcinée, à l’imitation des amants de Marcelle. Quant -à Sancho, il s’arrangea sur la litière, entre son âne et Rossinante, et -y dormit non comme un amant rebuté, mais comme un homme qui a le dos -roué de coups. - -CHAPITRE XIII - -OU SE TERMINE L’HISTOIRE DE LA BERGÈRE MARCELLE AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS - -L’aurore commençait à paraître aux balcons de l’Orient quand les -chevriers se levèrent et vinrent réveiller don Quichotte, en lui -demandant s’il était toujours dans l’intention de se rendre à -l’enterrement de Chrysostome, ajoutant qu’ils lui feraient compagnie. -Notre chevalier, qui ne demandait pas mieux, ordonna à son écuyer de -seller Rossinante, et de tenir son âne prêt. Sancho obéit avec -empressement, et toute la troupe se mit en chemin. - -Ils n’eurent pas fait un quart de lieue, qu’à la croisière d’un sentier -ils rencontrèrent six bergers vêtus de peaux noires, la tête couronnée -de cyprès et de laurier-rose; tous tenaient à la main un bâton de houx. -Après eux venaient deux gentilshommes à cheval, suivis de trois valets à -pied. En s’abordant les deux troupes se saluèrent avec courtoisie, et -voyant qu’ils se dirigeaient vers le même endroit, ils se mirent à -cheminer de compagnie. - -Un des cavaliers, s’adressant à son compagnon, lui dit: Seigneur -Vivaldo, je crois que nous n’aurons pas à regretter le retard que va -nous occasionner cette cérémonie; car elle doit être fort intéressante, -d’après les choses étranges que ces bergers racontent aussi bien du -berger défunt que de la bergère homicide. - -Je le crois comme vous, reprit Vivaldo, et je retarderais mon voyage, -non d’un jour, mais de quatre, pour en être témoin. - -Don Quichotte leur ayant demandé ce qu’ils savaient de Chrysostome et de -Marcelle, l’autre cavalier répondit que, rencontrant les bergers dans un -si lugubre équipage, ils avaient voulu en connaître la cause; et que -l’un d’eux leur avait raconté l’histoire de cette bergère appelée -Marcelle, aussi belle que bizarre, les amours de ses nombreux -prétendants, et la mort de ce Chrysostome à l’enterrement duquel ils se -rendaient. Bref, il répéta à don Quichotte tout ce que Pedro lui avait -appris. - -A cet entretien en succéda bientôt un autre. Celui des cavaliers qui -avait nom Vivaldo demanda à notre chevalier pourquoi, en pleine paix et -dans un pays si tranquille, il voyageait si bien armé. - -La profession que j’exerce et les vœux que j’ai faits, répondit don -Quichotte, ne me permettent pas d’aller autrement: le loisir et la -mollesse sont le partage des courtisans, mais les armes, les fatigues et -les veilles reviennent de droit à ceux que le monde appelle chevaliers -errants, et parmi lesquels j’ai l’honneur d’être compté, quoique indigne -et le moindre de tous. - -En l’entendant parler de la sorte, chacun le tint pour fou; mais afin de -mieux s’en assurer encore, et de savoir quelle était cette folie d’une -espèce si nouvelle, Vivaldo lui demanda ce qu’il entendait par -chevaliers errants. - -Vos Grâces, répondit don Quichotte, connaissent sans doute ces -chroniques d’Angleterre qui parlent si souvent des exploits de cet -Arthur, que nous autres Castillans appelons Artus, et dont une antique -tradition, acceptée de toute la Grande-Bretagne, rapporte qu’il ne -mourut pas, mais fut changé en corbeau par l’art des enchanteurs (ce qui -fait qu’aucun Anglais depuis n’a tué de corbeau); qu’un jour cet Arthur -reprendra sa couronne et son sceptre? Eh bien, c’est au temps de ce bon -roi que fut institué le fameux ordre des chevaliers de la Table ronde, -et qu’eurent lieu les amours de Lancelot du Lac et de la reine Genièvre, -qui avait pour confidente cette respectable duègne Quintagnone. Nous -avons sur ce sujet une romance populaire dans notre Espagne: - - Onc chevalier ne fut sur terre - De dame si bien accueilli, - Que Lancelot s’en vit servi - Quand il revenait d’Angleterre. - -Depuis lors, cet ordre de chevalerie s’est étendu et développé par toute -la terre, et l’on a vu s’y rendre célèbres par leurs hauts faits Amadis -de Gaule et ses descendants jusqu’à la cinquième génération, le vaillant -Félix-Mars d’Hircanie, ce fameux Tirant le Blanc, et enfin l’invincible -don Bélianis de Grèce, qui s’est fait connaître presque de nos jours. -Voilà, seigneurs, ce qu’on appelle les chevaliers errants et la -chevalerie errante; ordre dans lequel, quoique pécheur, j’ai fait -profession, comme je vous l’ai dit, et dont je m’efforce de pratiquer -les devoirs à l’exemple de mes illustres modèles des temps passés. Cela -doit vous expliquer pourquoi je parcours ces déserts, cherchant les -aventures avec la ferme résolution d’affronter même la plus périlleuse, -dès qu’il s’agira de secourir l’innocence et le malheur. - -Ce discours acheva de convaincre les voyageurs de la folie de notre -héros, et de la nature de son égarement. Vivaldo, dont l’humeur était -enjouée, désirant égayer le reste du chemin, voulut lui fournir -l’occasion de poursuivre ses extravagants propos. Seigneur chevalier, -lui dit-il, Votre Grâce me paraît avoir fait profession dans un des -ordres les plus rigoureux qu’il y ait en ce monde; je crois même que la -règle des chartreux n’est pas aussi austère. - -Aussi austère, cela est possible, répondit don Quichotte, mais aussi -utile à l’humanité, c’est ce que je suis à deux doigts de mettre en -doute; car, pour dire mon sentiment, ces pieux solitaires dont vous -parlez, semblables à des soldats qui exécutent les ordres de leur -capitaine, n’ont rien autre chose à faire qu’à prier Dieu -tranquillement, lui demandant les biens de la terre. Nous, au contraire, -à la fois soldats et chevaliers, pendant qu’ils prient, nous agissons, -et ce bien qu’ils se contentent d’appeler de leurs vœux, nous -l’accomplissons par la valeur de nos bras et le tranchant de nos épées, -non point à l’abri des injures du temps, mais à ciel ouvert et en butte -aux dévorants rayons du soleil d’été ou aux glaces hérissées de l’hiver. -Nous sommes donc les ministres de Dieu sur la terre, les instruments de -sa volonté et de sa justice. Or, les choses de la guerre et toutes -celles qui en dépendent ne pouvant s’exécuter qu’à force de travail, de -sueur et de sang, quiconque suit la carrière des armes accomplit, sans -contredit, une œuvre plus grande et plus laborieuse que celui qui, -exempt de tout souci et de tout danger, se borne à prier Dieu pour les -faibles et les malheureux. Je ne prétends pas dire que l’état de -chevalier errant soit aussi saint que celui de moine cloîtré; je veux -seulement inférer des fatigues et des privations que j’endure, que ma -profession est plus pénible, plus remplie de misères, enfin, qu’on y est -plus exposé à la faim, à la soif, à la nudité, à la vermine. Nos -illustres modèles des siècles passés ont enduré toutes ces souffrances, -et si parmi eux quelques-uns se sont élevés jusqu’au trône, certes il -leur en a coûté assez de sueur et de sang. Encore, pour y arriver, -ont-ils eu souvent besoin d’être protégés par des enchanteurs, sans quoi -ils auraient été frustrés de leurs travaux et déçus dans leurs -espérances. - -D’accord, répliqua le voyageur; mais une chose qui, parmi beaucoup -d’autres m’a toujours choqué chez les chevaliers errants, c’est qu’au -moment d’affronter une périlleuse entreprise, on ne les voit point -avoir recours à Dieu, ainsi que tout bon chrétien doit le faire en -pareil cas, mais seulement s’adresser à leur maîtresse comme à leur -unique divinité: selon moi, cela sent quelque peu le païen. - -Seigneur, répondit don Quichotte, il n’y a pas moyen de s’en dispenser, -et le chevalier qui agirait autrement se mettrait dans son tort. C’est -un usage consacré, que tout chevalier errant, sur le point d’accomplir -quelque grand fait d’armes, tourne amoureusement les yeux vers sa dame, -pour la prier de lui être en aide dans le péril où il va se jeter; et -alors même qu’elle ne peut l’entendre, il est tenu de murmurer entre ses -dents quelques mots par lesquels il se recommande à elle de tout son -cœur: de cela nous avons nombre d’exemples dans les histoires. Mais il -ne faut pas en conclure que les chevaliers s’abstiennent de penser à -Dieu; il y a temps pour tout, et ils peuvent s’en acquitter pendant le -combat. - -Il me reste encore un doute, répliqua Vivaldo, souvent on a vu deux -chevaliers errants, discourant ensemble, en venir tout à coup à -s’échauffer à tel point que, tournant leurs chevaux pour prendre du -champ, ils revenaient ensuite à bride abattue l’un sur l’autre, ayant à -peine eu le temps de penser à leurs dames. Au milieu de la course, l’un -était renversé de cheval, percé de part en part, tandis que l’autre eût -roulé dans la poussière s’il ne se fût retenu à la crinière de son -coursier. Or, j’ai peine à comprendre comment, dans une affaire si tôt -expédiée le mort trouvait le temps de penser à Dieu. N’eût-il pas mieux -valu que ce chevalier lui eût adressé les prières qu’il adressait à sa -dame? Il eût satisfait ainsi à son devoir de chrétien, et ne fût mort -redevable qu’envers sa maîtresse: inconvénient peu grave, à mon avis, -car je doute que tous les chevaliers errants aient eu des dames à qui se -recommander; sans compter qu’il pouvait s’en trouver qui ne fussent -point amoureux. - -Cela est impossible, repartit vivement don Quichotte: être amoureux leur -est aussi naturel qu’au ciel d’avoir des étoiles. C’est proprement -l’essence du chevalier; c’est là ce qui le constitue. Trouvez-moi une -seule histoire qui dise le contraire. Au reste, si par hasard il s’était -trouvé un chevalier errant sans dame, on ne l’eût pas tenu pour -légitime, mais pour bâtard, et l’on aurait dit de lui qu’il était entré -dans la forteresse de l’ordre non par la grande porte, mais par-dessus -les murs, comme un brigand et un voleur. - -Je crois me rappeler, dit Vivaldo, que don Galaor, frère du valeureux -Amadis, n’eut jamais de dame attitrée qu’il pût invoquer dans les -combats; cependant il n’en fut pas moins regardé comme un très-fameux -chevalier. - -Une hirondelle ne fait pas le printemps, repartit don Quichotte; -d’ailleurs je sais de bonne part que ce chevalier aimait en secret. S’il -en contait à toutes celles qu’il trouvait à son gré, c’était par une -faiblesse dont il n’avait pu se rendre maître, mais toujours sans -préjudice de la dame qu’on sait pertinemment avoir été la reine de ses -pensées, et à laquelle il se recommandait souvent, et en secret, car il -se piquait d’une parfaite discrétion. - -Puisqu’il est de l’essence de tout chevalier errant d’être amoureux, -reprit Vivaldo, Votre Grâce n’aura sans doute pas dérogé à la règle de -sa noble profession; et à moins qu’elle ne se pique d’autant de -discrétion que don Galaor, je la supplie de nous apprendre le nom et la -qualité de sa dame, et de nous en faire le portrait. Elle sera flattée, -j’en suis certain, que l’univers entier sache qu’elle est aimée et -servie par un chevalier tel que vous. - -J’ignore, répondit don Quichotte en poussant un grand soupir, si cette -douce ennemie trouvera bon qu’on sache que je suis son esclave; -cependant, pour satisfaire à ce que vous me demandez avec tant -d’instance, je puis dire qu’elle se nomme Dulcinée; que sa patrie est un -village de la Manche appelé le Toboso, et qu’elle est au moins -princesse, étant dame souveraine de mes pensées. Ses charmes sont -surhumains, et tout ce que les poëtes ont imaginé de chimérique et -d’impossible pour vanter leurs maîtresses se trouve vrai chez elle au -pied de la lettre. Ses cheveux sont des tresses d’or, ses sourcils des -arcs-en-ciel, ses yeux deux soleils, ses joues des roses, ses lèvres du -corail, ses dents des perles, son cou de l’albâtre, son sein du marbre, -et ses mains de l’ivoire: par ce qu’on voit, on devine aisément que ce -que la pudeur cache aux regards doit être sans prix et n’admet pas de -comparaison. - -Pourrions-nous savoir quelle est sa famille, sa race et sa généalogie? -demanda Vivaldo. - -Elle ne descend pas des Curtius, des Caïus ou des Scipions de l’ancienne -Rome, des Colonna ou des Orsini de la Rome moderne, continua don -Quichotte; elle n’appartient ni aux Moncades, ni aux Requesans de -Catalogne; elle ne compte point parmi ses ancêtres les Palafox, les -Luna, les Urreas d’Aragon; les Cerdas, les Manriques, les Mandoces ou -les Gusmans de Castille; les Alencastres ou les Menezes de Portugal; -elle est tout simplement de la famille des Toboso de la Manche; race -nouvelle, il est vrai, mais destinée, je n’en fais aucun doute, à -devenir la souche des plus illustres familles des siècles à venir. Et à -cela je ne souffrirai point de réplique, si ce n’est aux conditions que -Zerbin écrivit au-dessous des armes de Roland: - - Que nul de les toucher ne soit si téméraire, - S’il ne veut de Roland affronter la colère. - -Pour moi, dit Vivaldo, bien que ma famille appartienne aux Cachopins[34] -de Laredo, je suis loin de vouloir la comparer à celle des Toboso de la -Manche, quoique à vrai dire ce soit la première fois que j’en entends -parler. - - [34] On donnait alors le nom de _Cachopin_ à l’Espagnol qui émigrait - aux grandes Indes, par pauvreté ou vagabondage. - -J’en suis extrêmement surpris, repartit don Quichotte. - -Les voyageurs écoutaient attentivement cette conversation, si bien que, -jusqu’aux chevriers, tous demeurèrent convaincus que notre chevalier -avait des chambres vides dans la cervelle. Le seul Sancho acceptait -comme oracle ce que disait son maître, par ce qu’il connaissait sa -sincérité et qu’il ne l’avait pas perdu de vue depuis l’enfance; il lui -restait pourtant quelque doute sur cette Dulcinée, car, bien qu’il fût -voisin du Toboso, jamais il n’avait entendu prononcer le nom de cette -princesse. - -Comme ils allaient ainsi discourant, ils aperçurent dans un chemin creux -entre deux montagnes, une vingtaine de bergers vêtus de pelisses noires, -et couronnés de guirlandes, qu’on reconnut être, les unes d’if, les -autres de cyprès; six d’entre eux portaient un brancard couvert de -rameaux et de fleurs. Dès qu’ils parurent: Voici, dit un des chevriers, -ceux qui portent le corps de Chrysostome, et c’est au pied de cette -montagne qu’il a voulu qu’on l’enterrât. - -A ces mots on hâta le pas, et la troupe arriva au moment où les porteurs -ayant déposé le brancard, quatre d’entre eux commençaient à creuser une -fosse au pied d’une roche. On s’aborda de part et d’autre avec -courtoisie; puis les saluts échangés, don Quichotte et ceux qui -l’accompagnaient se mirent à considérer le brancard sur lequel était un -cadavre revêtu d’un habit de berger et tout couvert de fleurs. Il -paraissait avoir trente ans. Malgré sa pâleur, on jugeait aisément qu’il -avait été beau et de bonne mine. Autour de lui sur le brancard étaient -placés quelques livres et divers manuscrits, les uns pliés, les autres -ouverts. - -Tous les assistants gardaient un profond silence, qu’un de ceux qui -avaient apporté le corps rompit en ces termes: Toi qui veux qu’on -exécute de point en point les volontés de Chrysostome, dis-nous, -Ambrosio, si c’est bien là l’endroit qu’il a désigné. - -Oui, c’est bien là, répondit Ambrosio, et mon malheureux ami m’y a cent -fois conté sa déplorable histoire. C’est là qu’il vit pour la première -fois cette farouche ennemie du genre humain; c’est là qu’il lui fit la -première déclaration d’un amour aussi délicat que passionné; c’est là -que l’impitoyable Marcelle acheva de le désespérer par son indifférence -et par ses dédains, et qu’elle l’obligea de terminer tragiquement ses -jours; c’est là enfin qu’en mémoire de tant d’infortunes, il a voulu -qu’on le déposât dans le sein d’un éternel oubli. - -S’adressant ensuite à don Quichotte et aux voyageurs, il continua ainsi: -Seigneurs, ce corps que vous regardez avec tant de pitié renfermait, il -y a peu de jours encore, une âme ornée des dons les plus précieux; ce -corps est celui de Chrysostome qui eut un esprit incomparable, une -loyauté sans pareille, une tendresse à toute épreuve. Il fut libéral -sans vanité, modeste sans affectation, aimable et enjoué sans -trivialité; en un mot, il fut le premier entre les bons et sans égal -parmi les infortunés. Il aima, et fut dédaigné; il adora, et fut haï; il -tenta, mais inutilement, d’adoucir un tyran farouche; il gémit, il -pleura devant un marbre sourd et insensible; ses cris se perdirent dans -les airs, le vent emporta ses soupirs, se joua de ses plaintes; et pour -avoir trop aimé une ingrate, il devint au printemps de ses jours la -proie de la mort, victime des cruautés d’une bergère qu’il voulait, par -ses vers, faire vivre éternellement dans la mémoire des hommes. Ces -papiers prouveraient au besoin ce que j’avance, s’il ne m’avait ordonné -de les livrer aux flammes en même temps que je rendrais son corps à la -terre. - -Vous seriez plus cruel encore que lui en agissant ainsi, dit Vivaldo; il -n’est ni juste ni raisonnable d’observer si religieusement ce qui est -contraire à la raison. Le monde entier aurait désapprouvé Auguste -laissant exécuter les suprêmes volontés du divin chantre de Mantoue. -Rendez donc à votre ami, seigneur Ambrosio, ce dernier service, de -sauver ses ouvrages de l’oubli, et n’accomplissez pas trop absolument ce -que son désespoir a ordonné. Conservez ces papiers, témoignages d’une -cruelle indifférence, afin que dans les temps à venir ils servent -d’avertissement à ceux qui s’exposent à tomber dans de semblables -abîmes. Nous tous, ici présents, qui connaissons l’histoire de votre ami -et la cause de son trépas, nous savons votre affection pour lui, ce -qu’il a exigé de vous en mourant, et par ce récit lamentable nous avons -compris la cruauté de Marcelle et l’amour du berger, et quelle triste -fin se préparent ceux qui ne craignent pas de se livrer aveuglément aux -entraînements de l’amour. Hier, en apprenant sa mort, et votre dessein -de l’enterrer en ce lieu, la compassion, plus que la curiosité, nous a -détournés de notre chemin, afin d’être témoins des devoirs qu’on lui -rend, et de montrer que les cœurs honnêtes s’intéressent toujours aux -malheurs d’autrui. Ainsi, nous vous prions, sage Ambrosio, ou du moins, -pour ma part, je vous supplie de renoncer à livrer ces manuscrits aux -flammes, et de me permettre d’en emporter quelques-uns. - -Sans attendre la réponse, Vivaldo étendit la main, et prit les feuilles -qui se trouvaient à sa portée. - -Que ceux-là vous restent, j’y consens, répondit Ambrosio; mais pour les -autres, laissez-moi, je vous prie, accomplir la dernière volonté de mon -ami. - -Vivaldo, impatient de savoir ce que contenaient ces papiers, en ouvrit -un qui avait pour titre: _Chant de désespoir_. - -Ce sont, dit Ambrosio, les derniers vers qu’écrivit l’infortuné; et afin -qu’on sache en quel état l’avaient réduit ses souffrances, lisez, -seigneur, de manière à être entendu; vous en aurez le temps avant qu’on -ait achevé de creuser son tombeau. - -Volontiers, dit Vivaldo. L’assemblée s’étant rangée en cercle autour de -lui, il lut ce qui suit d’une voix haute et sonore. - -CHAPITRE XIV - -OU SONT RAPPORTÉS LES VERS DÉSESPÉRÉS DU BERGER DÉFUNT ET AUTRES CHOSES -NON ATTENDUES - - CHANT DE CHRYSOSTOME - - Cruelle! faut-il donc que ma langue publie - Ce que m’a fait souffrir ton injuste rigueur! - Pour peindre mes tourments, je veux d’une furie - Emprunter aujourd’hui la rage et la fureur. - - Eh bien, oui, je le veux; la douleur qui me presse - M’anime d’elle-même à faire cet effort: - Ce poison trop gardé me dévore sans cesse, - Je souffre mille morts pour une seule mort. - - Sortez de vos forêts, monstres les plus sauvages, - Venez mêler vos cris à mes gémissements; - Ours, tigres, prêtez-moi vos effrayants langages; - Fiers lions, j’ai besoin de vos rugissements. - - Ne me refusez pas le bruit de vos orages, - Vents, préparez ici l’excès de vos fureurs: - Tonnerres, tous vos feux; tempêtes, vos ravages; - Mer, toute ta colère; enfer, tous tes malheurs. - - O toi, sombre tyran de l’amoureux empire, - Ressentiment jaloux, viens armer ma fureur; - Mais que ton souvenir m’accable et me déchire, - Et, pour finir mes maux, augmente ma douleur! - - Mourons enfin, mourons; il n’est plus de remède. - Qui vécut malheureux, doit l’être dans la mort. - Destin, je m’abandonne et renonce à ton aide; - Rends le sort qui m’attend égal au dernier sort! - - Venez, il en est temps, sortez des noirs abîmes: - Tantale, à tout jamais de la soif tourmenté; - Sisyphe infortuné, à qui d’horribles crimes - Font souffrir un tourment pour toi seul inventé; - - Fils de Japet, qui sers de pâture incessante - A l’avide vautour, sans pouvoir l’assouvir; - Ixion enchaîné sur une roue ardente, - Noires sœurs, qui filez nos jours pour les finir; - - Amenez avec vous l’implacable Cerbère, - J’invite tout l’enfer à ce funeste jour: - Ses feux, ses hurlements sont la pompe ordinaire - Qui doit suivre au cercueil un martyr de l’amour[35]. - - [35] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Tous les assistants applaudirent aux vers de Chrysostome; Vivaldo seul -trouva que ces soupçons dont ils étaient pleins s’accordaient mal avec -ce qu’il avait entendu raconter de la vertu de Marcelle. Ambrosio, qui -avait connu jusqu’aux plus secrètes pensées de son ami, répliqua -aussitôt: Je dois dire, seigneur, pour faire cesser votre doute, que -lorsque Chrysostome composa ces vers, il s’était éloigné de Marcelle, -afin d’éprouver si l’absence produirait sur lui l’effet ordinaire; et -comme il n’est pas de soupçon qui n’assiége et ne poursuive un amant -loin de ce qu’il aime, l’infortuné souffrait tous les tourments d’une -jalousie imaginaire; mais ses plaintes et ses reproches ne sauraient -porter atteinte à la vertu de Marcelle, vertu telle, qu’à la dureté -près, et sauf une fierté qui va jusqu’à l’orgueil, l’envie elle-même ne -peut lui reprocher aucune faiblesse. - -Vivaldo resta satisfait de la réponse d’Ambrosio; il s’apprêtait à lire -un autre feuillet, mais il fut empêché par une vision merveilleuse, car -on ne saurait donner un autre nom à l’objet qui s’offrit tout à coup à -leurs yeux? C’était Marcelle elle-même, qui, plus belle encore que la -renommée ne la publiait, apparaissait sur le haut de la roche au pied de -laquelle on creusait la sépulture. Ceux qui ne l’avaient jamais vue -restèrent muets d’admiration, et ceux qui la connaissaient déjà -subissaient le même charme que la première fois. A peine Ambrosio -l’eut-il aperçue, qu’il lui cria avec indignation: Que viens-tu chercher -ici, monstre de cruauté, basilic dont les regards lancent le poison? -Viens-tu voir si les blessures de l’infortuné que ta cruauté met au -tombeau se rouvriront en ta présence? Viens-tu insulter à ses malheurs -et te glorifier des funestes résultats de tes dédains? Dis-nous au moins -ce qui t’amène et ce que tu attends de nous; car sachant combien toutes -les pensées de Chrysostome te furent soumises pendant sa vie, je ferai -en sorte, maintenant qu’il n’est plus, que tu trouves la même -obéissance parmi ceux qu’il appelait ses amis. - -Vous me jugez mal, répondit la bergère; je ne viens que pour me -défendre, et prouver combien sont injustes ceux qui m’accusent de leurs -tourments et m’imputent la mort de Chrysostome. Veuillez donc, -seigneurs, et vous aussi, bergers, m’écouter quelques instants; peu de -temps et de paroles suffiront pour me justifier. - -Le ciel, dites-vous, m’a faite si belle qu’on ne saurait me voir sans -m’aimer, et parce que ma vue inspire de l’amour, vous croyez que je dois -en ressentir moi-même! Je reconnais bien, grâce à l’intelligence que -Dieu m’a donnée, que ce qui est beau est aimable; mais parce qu’on aime -ce qui est beau, faut-il en conclure que ce qui est beau soit à son tour -forcé d’aimer; car celui qui aime peut être laid et partant, n’exciter -que l’aversion. Mais quand bien même la beauté serait égale de part et -d’autre, ne faudrait-il pas que la sympathie le fût aussi, puisque -toutes les beautés n’inspirent pas de l’amour, et que telle a souvent -charmé les yeux sans parvenir à soumettre la volonté. En effet, si la -seule beauté charmait tous les cœurs, que verrait-on ici-bas, sinon une -confusion étrange de désirs errants et vagabonds qui changeraient sans -cesse d’objet? Ainsi puisque l’amour, comme je le crois, doit être libre -et sans contrainte, pourquoi vouloir que j’aime quand je n’éprouve aucun -penchant? D’ailleurs, si j’ai de la beauté, n’est-ce pas de la pure -grâce du ciel que je la tiens, sans en rien devoir aux hommes? Et si -elle produit de fâcheux effets, suis-je plus coupable que la vipère ne -l’est du venin que lui a donné la nature? La beauté, chez la femme -honnête et vertueuse, est comme le feu dévorant ou l’épée immobile; -l’une ne blesse, l’autre ne brûle que ceux qui s’en approchent de trop -près. - -Je suis née libre, et c’est pour vivre en liberté que j’ai choisi la -solitude; les bois et les ruisseaux sont les seuls confidents de mes -pensées et de mes charmes. Ceux que ma vue a rendus amoureux, je les ai -désabusés par mes paroles; après cela s’ils nourrissent de vains désirs -et de trompeuses espérances, ne doit-on pas avouer que c’est leur -obstination qui les tue, et non ma cruauté? Vous dites que les -intentions de Chrysostome étaient pures et que j’ai eu tort de le -repousser! Mais dès qu’il me les eut fait connaître, ne lui ai-je pas -déclaré, à cette même place où vous creusez son tombeau, mon dessein de -vivre seule, sans jamais m’engager à personne, et ma résolution de -rendre à la nature tout ce qu’elle m’a donné? Après cet aveu sincère, -s’il a voulu s’embarquer sans espoir, faut-il s’étonner qu’il ait fait -naufrage? Suis-je la cause de son malheur? Que celui-là que j’ai abusé -m’accuse, j’y consens; que ceux que j’ai trahis m’accablent de -reproches: mais a-t-on le droit de m’appeler trompeuse, quand je n’ai -rien promis à qui que ce soit? Jusqu’ici le ciel n’a pas voulu que -j’aimasse; et que j’aime volontairement, il est inutile d’y compter. Que -cette déclaration serve d’avertissement à ceux qui formeraient quelque -dessein sur moi; après cela s’ils ont le sort de Chrysostome, qu’on n’en -accuse ni mon indifférence ni mes dédains. Qui n’aime point ne saurait -donner de jalousie, et un refus loyal et sincère n’a jamais passé pour -de la haine ou du mépris. - -Celui qui m’appelle basilic peut me fuir comme un monstre haïssable; -ceux qui me traitent d’ingrate, de cruelle, peuvent renoncer à suivre -mes pas: je ne me mettrai point en peine de les rappeler. Qu’on cesse -donc de troubler mon repos et de vouloir que je hasarde parmi les hommes -la tranquillité dont je jouis, et que je m’imagine ne pouvoir y trouver -jamais. Je ne veux rien, je n’ai besoin de rien, si ce n’est de la -compagnie des bergères de ces bois, qui, avec le soin de mon troupeau, -m’occupent agréablement. En un mot, mes désirs ne s’étendent pas au delà -de ces montagnes; et si mes pensées vont plus loin, ce n’est que pour -admirer la beauté du ciel et me rappeler que c’est le lieu d’où je suis -venue et où je dois retourner. - -En achevant ces mots, la bergère disparut par le chemin le plus escarpé -de la montagne, laissant tous ceux qui l’écoutaient non moins -émerveillés de sa sagesse et de son esprit que de sa beauté. Plusieurs -de ceux qu’avaient blessés les charmes de ses yeux, loin d’être retenus -par le discours qu’ils venaient d’entendre, firent mine de la suivre; -don Quichotte s’en aperçut, et voyant là une nouvelle occasion d’exercer -sa profession de chevalier protecteur des dames: - -Que personne, s’écria-t-il en portant la main sur la garde de son épée, -ne soit assez hardi pour suivre la belle Marcelle, sous peine d’encourir -mon indignation. Elle a prouvé, par des raisons sans réplique, qu’elle -est tout à fait innocente de la mort de Chrysostome, et elle a fait voir -tout son éloignement pour engager sa liberté. Qu’on la laisse en repos, -et qu’elle soit à l’avenir respectée de toutes les âmes honnêtes, -puisque elle seule peut-être au monde agit avec des intentions si -pures. - -Soit à cause des menaces de don Quichotte, soit parce qu’Ambrosio pria -les bergers d’achever de rendre les derniers devoirs à son ami, personne -ne s’éloigna avant que les écrits de Chrysostome fussent livrés aux -flammes et son corps rendu à la terre, ce qui eut lieu au milieu des -larmes de tous les assistants. On couvrit la fosse d’un éclat de roche, -en attendant une tombe de marbre qu’avait commandée Ambrosio, et qui -devait porter cette épitaphe: - - Ci-gît le corps glacé d’un malheureux amant, - Que tuèrent l’amour, le dédain et la haine; - Une ingrate bergère a fait toute sa peine, - Et payé tous ses soins d’un rigoureux tourment. - - Ici de ses malheurs il vit naître la source, - Il commença d’aimer et de le dire ici; - Il apprit sa disgrâce en cet endroit aussi; - Il a voulu de même y terminer sa course. - - Passant, évite le danger; - Si la bergère vit, même sort te regarde; - On ne peut valoir plus que valait le berger. - Adieu! passant! prends-y bien garde[36]. - - [36] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -La sépulture fut ensuite couverte de branchages et de fleurs, et tous -les bergers s’éloignèrent après avoir témoigné à Ambrosio la part qu’ils -prenaient à son affliction. Vivaldo et son compagnon en firent autant de -leur côté. Don Quichotte prit congé de ses hôtes et des voyageurs. -Vivaldo le sollicita instamment de l’accompagner à Séville, l’assurant -qu’il n’y avait pas au monde de lieu plus fécond en aventures, à tel -point qu’on pouvait dire qu’elles y naissaient sous les pas à chaque -coin de rue; mais notre héros s’excusa en disant que cela lui était -impossible avant d’avoir purgé ces montagnes des brigands dont on les -disait infestées. Le voyant en si bonne résolution, les voyageurs ne -voulurent pas l’en détourner, et poursuivirent leur chemin. - -Dès qu’ils furent partis, don Quichotte se mit en tête de suivre la -bergère Marcelle, et d’aller lui offrir ses services. Mais les choses -arrivèrent tout autrement qu’il ne l’imaginait, comme on le verra dans -la suite de cette histoire. - -LIVRE III--CHAPITRE XV - -OU L’ON RACONTE LA DÉSAGRÉABLE AVENTURE QU’ÉPROUVA DON QUICHOTTE EN -RENCONTRANT DES MULETIERS YANGOIS - -Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli raconte qu’ayant pris congé de ses hôtes et de ceux -qui s’étaient trouvés à l’enterrement de Chrysostome, don Quichotte et -son écuyer s’enfoncèrent dans le bois où ils avaient vu disparaître la -bergère Marcelle; mais après l’y avoir cherchée vainement pendant plus -de deux heures, ils arrivèrent dans un pré tapissé d’une herbe fraîche -et arrosé par un limpide ruisseau, si bien que conviés par la beauté du -lieu, ils se déterminèrent à y passer les heures de la sieste: mettant -donc pied à terre, et laissant Rossinante et l’âne paître en liberté, -maître et valet délièrent le bissac, puis sans cérémonie mangèrent -ensemble ce qui s’y trouva. - -Sancho n’avait pas songé à mettre des entraves à Rossinante, le -connaissant si chaste et si paisible, que toutes les juments des -prairies de Cordoue ne lui auraient pas donné la moindre tentation. Mais -le sort, ou plutôt le diable qui ne dort jamais, voulut que dans ce -vallon se trouvât en même temps une troupe de cavales galiciennes, qui -appartenaient à des muletiers Yangois dont la coutume est de s’arrêter, -pendant la chaleur du jour, dans les lieux où ils rencontrent de l’herbe -et de l’eau fraîche. - -Or, il arriva que Rossinante n’eut pas plus tôt flairé les cavales, qu’à -l’encontre de sa retenue habituelle il lui prit envie d’aller les -trouver. Sans demander permission à son maître, il se dirige de leur -côté au petit trot pour leur faire partager son amoureuse ardeur: mais -les cavales, qui ne demandaient qu’à paître, le reçurent avec les pieds -et les dents, de telle sorte qu’en peu d’instants elles lui rompirent -les sangles de la selle, et le mirent à nu avec force contusions. Pour -surcroît d’infortune, les muletiers, qui de loin avaient aperçu -l’attentat de Rossinante, accoururent avec leurs bâtons ferrés, et lui -en donnèrent tant de coups qu’ils l’eurent bientôt jeté à terre dans un -piteux état. - -Voyant de quelle manière on étrillait Rossinante, don Quichotte et son -écuyer accoururent. A ce que je vois, ami, lui dit notre héros d’une -voix haletante, ces gens-là ne sont pas des chevaliers, mais de la basse -et vile canaille; tu peux donc en toute sûreté de conscience m’aider à -tirer vengeance de l’outrage qu’ils m’ont fait en s’attaquant à mon -cheval. - -Eh! quelle vengeance voulez-vous en tirer, seigneur? répondit Sancho; -ils sont vingt, et nous ne sommes que deux, ou plutôt même un et demi. - -Moi, j’en vaux cent, répliqua don Quichotte; et sans plus de discours, -il met l’épée à la main, et fond sur les muletiers. Sancho en fit -autant, animé par l’exemple de son maître. - -Du premier coup qu’il porta, notre chevalier fendit le pourpoint de cuir -à celui qui se rencontra sous sa main, et lui emporta un morceau de -l’épaule. Il allait continuer, quand les muletiers, honteux de se voir -ainsi malmenés par deux hommes seuls, s’armèrent de leurs pieux, et, -entourant nos aventuriers, se mirent à travailler sur eux avec une -merveilleuse diligence. Comme ils y allaient de bon cœur, l’affaire fut -bientôt expédiée. Dès la seconde décharge que Sancho reçut à la ronde, -il alla mordre la poussière; et rien ne servit à don Quichotte d’avoir -de l’adresse et du courage, il n’en fut pas quitte à meilleur marché: -son mauvais sort voulut même qu’il allât tomber aux pieds de Rossinante, -qui n’avait pu se relever. Exemple frappant de la fureur avec laquelle -officie le bâton dans des mains grossières et courroucées. Voyant la -méchante besogne qu’ils avaient faite, les muletiers rassemblèrent -promptement leurs bêtes, et poursuivirent leur chemin. - -Le premier qui se reconnut après l’orage, ce fut Sancho, lequel, se -traînant auprès de son maître, lui dit d’une voix faible et dolente: -Seigneur! aïe! aïe! seigneur! - -Que me veux-tu, ami Sancho? répondit don Quichotte d’un ton non moins -lamentable. - -N’y aurait-il pas moyen, dit Sancho, d’avaler deux gorgées de ce baume -de Fier-à-Bras, si par hasard Votre Grâce en a sous la main? Peut-être -sera-t-il aussi bon pour le brisement des os que pour d’autres -blessures. - -Hélas! ami, répondit don Quichotte, si j’en avais, que nous -manquerait-il? mais, foi de chevalier errant, je jure qu’avant deux -jours ce baume sera en mon pouvoir, ou j’aurai perdu l’usage de mes -mains. - -Deux jours! repartit Sancho; et dans combien Votre Grâce croit-elle donc -que nous pourrons seulement remuer les pieds? - -La vérité est, reprit le moulu chevalier, que je ne saurais en dire le -nombre, vu l’état où je me sens; mais aussi, Je dois l’avouer, toute la -faute en est à moi, qui vais mettre l’épée à la main contre des gens qui -ne sont pas armés chevaliers. Oui, je n’en fais aucun doute, c’est pour -avoir oublié les lois de la chevalerie que le Dieu des batailles a -permis que je reçusse ce châtiment. C’est pourquoi, ami Sancho, je dois -t’avertir d’une chose qui importe beaucoup à notre intérêt commun: -Quand, à l’avenir, de semblables canailles nous feront quelque insulte, -n’attends pas que je tire l’épée contre eux; dorénavant, je ne m’en -mêlerai en aucune façon; cela te regarde, châtie ces marauds comme tu -l’entendras. Mais si par hasard des chevaliers accourent à leur aide, -oh! alors, je saurai bien les repousser! Tu connais la force de ce bras, -tu en as vu des preuves assez nombreuses. Par ces paroles notre héros -faisait allusion à sa victoire sur le Biscaïen. - -L’avis ne fut pas tellement du goût de Sancho qu’il n’y trouvât quelque -chose à redire. Seigneur, reprit-il, je n’aime point les querelles, et -je sais, Dieu merci, pardonner une injure, car j’ai une femme à nourrir -et des enfants à élever. Votre Grâce peut donc tenir pour certain que -jamais je ne tirerai l’épée ni contre vilain ni contre chevalier, et que -d’ici au jugement dernier je pardonne les offenses qu’on m’a faites ou -qu’on me fera, qu’elles me soient venues, qu’elles me viennent ou -doivent me venir de riche ou de pauvre, de noble ou de roturier. - -Si j’étais assuré, répondit don Quichotte, que l’haleine ne me manquât -point, et que la douleur de mes côtes me laissât parler à mon aise, je -te ferais bientôt comprendre que tu ne sais pas ce que tu dis! Or çà, -réponds-moi, pécheur impénitent! Si le vent de la fortune, qui jusqu’ici -nous a été contraire, vient enfin à tourner en notre faveur, et -qu’enflant les voiles de nos désirs elle nous fasse prendre terre dans -une de ces îles dont je t’ai parlé, que feras-tu, si après l’avoir -conquise je t’en donne le gouvernement? Pourras-tu t’en acquitter -dignement, n’étant pas chevalier, et ne te souciant point de l’être, -n’ayant ni ressentiment pour venger tes injures, ni courage pour -défendre ton État? Ignores-tu que dans tous les pays nouvellement -conquis, les naturels ont l’esprit remuant et ne s’accoutument qu’avec -peine à une domination étrangère; que jamais ils ne sont si bien soumis -à leur nouveau maître, qu’ils n’éprouvent tous les jours la tentation de -recouvrer leur liberté? Crois-tu qu’avec des esprits si mal disposés, tu -n’auras pas besoin d’un bon jugement pour te conduire, de résolution -pour attaquer et de courage pour te défendre, en mille occasions qui -peuvent se présenter? - -Il m’eût été bon, repartit Sancho, d’avoir ce jugement et ce courage que -vous dites, dans l’aventure qui vient de nous arriver; mais pour -l’heure, je l’avoue, j’ai plus besoin d’emplâtres que de sermons. -Voyons, essayez un peu de vous lever pour m’aider à mettre Rossinante -sur ses jambes, quoiqu’il ne le mérite guère; car c’est lui qui a causé -tout le mal. Vraiment, je ne me serais pas attendu à cela; je le -croyais chaste et paisible, et j’aurais répondu de lui comme de moi. On -a bien raison de dire qu’il faut du temps avant de connaître les gens et -que rien n’est assuré dans cette vie. Hélas! qui aurait pu supposer, -après avoir vu Votre Grâce faire tant de merveilles contre ce malheureux -chevalier errant de l’autre jour, qu’une telle avalanche de coups de -bâton fondrait sitôt sur nos épaules. - -Encore les tiennes doivent être faites à de semblables orages, dit don -Quichotte; mais les miennes, accoutumées à reposer dans la fine toile de -Hollande, elles s’en ressentiront longtemps. Si je ne pensais, que -dis-je? s’il n’était même certain que tous ces désagréments sont -inséparables de la profession des armes, je me laisserais mourir ici de -honte et de dépit. - -Puisque de pareilles disgrâces sont les revenus de la chevalerie, -répliqua Sancho, dites-moi, je vous prie, seigneur, arrivent-elles tout -le long de l’année, ou, seulement à époque fixe, comme les moissons? car -après deux récoltes comme celle-ci, je ne pense pas que nous soyons en -état d’en faire une troisième, à moins que le bon Dieu ne vienne à notre -aide. - -Apprends, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que pour être exposés à mille -accidents fâcheux, les chevaliers errants n’en sont pas moins chaque -jour et à toute heure en passe de devenir rois ou empereurs; et sans la -douleur que je ressens, je te raconterais l’histoire de plusieurs -d’entre eux qui, par la valeur de leurs bras, se sont élevés jusqu’au -trône, quoiqu’ils n’aient pas été pour cela à l’abri des revers, car -plusieurs sont tombés ensuite dans d’étranges disgrâces. Ainsi le grand -Amadis de Gaule sévit un jour au pouvoir de l’enchanteur Archalaüs, son -plus mortel ennemi, et l’on tient pour avéré que ce perfide nécromant, -après l’avoir attaché à une colonne dans la cour de son château, lui -donna de sa propre main deux cents coups d’étrivières avec les rênes de -son cheval. Nous savons, par un auteur peu connu mais très-digne de foi, -que le chevalier Phébus, ayant été pris traîtreusement dans une trappe -qui s’enfonça sous ses pieds, fut jeté garrotté au fond d’un cachot, et -que là on lui administra un de ces lavements composés d’eau de neige et -de sable, qui le mit à deux doigts de la mort; et sans un grand -enchanteur de ses amis qui vint le secourir dans ce pressant péril, c’en -était fait du pauvre chevalier! Nous pouvons donc, ami Sancho, passer -par les mêmes épreuves que ces nobles personnages, car ils endurèrent -des affronts encore plus grands que ceux qui viennent de nous arriver. -Tu sauras d’ailleurs que toute blessure, faite avec le premier -instrument que le hasard met sous la main, n’a rien de déshonorant; et -cela est écrit en termes exprès dans la loi sur le duel: «Si le -cordonnier en frappe un autre avec la forme qu’il tient à la main, elle -a beau être de bois, on ne dira pas pour cela que le bâtonné a reçu des -coups de bâton.» Ce que j’en dis, c’est afin que tu ne croies pas que, -pour avoir été roués de coups dans cette rencontre, nous ayons essuyé -aucun outrage; car, à bien prendre, les armes dont se servaient ces -hommes n’étaient pas tant des bâtons que des pieux, sans lesquels ils ne -vont jamais, et pas un d’entre eux n’avait, ce me semble, dague, épée ou -poignard. - -Ils ne m’ont point donné le temps d’y regarder de si près, reprit -Sancho; à peine eus-je mis au vent ma _tisonne_[37], qu’avec leurs -gourdins ils me chatouillèrent si bien les épaules, que les yeux et les -jambes me manquant à la fois, je tombai tout de mon long à l’endroit où -je suis encore. Et pour dire la vérité ce qui me fâche ce n’est pas la -pensée que ces coups de pieux soient un affront, mais bien la douleur -qu’ils me causent et que je ne saurais ôter de ma mémoire, non plus que -de dessus mes épaules. - - [37] _Tizona_: c’était le nom de l’épée du Cid. - -Il n’est point de ressentiment que le temps n’efface, ni de douleur que -la mort ne guérisse, dit don Quichotte. - -Grand merci, répliqua Sancho; et qu’y a-t-il de pis qu’un mal auquel le -temps seul peut remédier et dont on ne guérit que par la mort? Passe -encore si notre mésaventure était de celles qu’on soulage avec une ou -deux couples d’emplâtres; mais à peine si tout l’onguent d’un hôpital -suffirait pour nous remettre sur nos pieds. - -Laisse là ces vains discours, dit don Quichotte, et fais face à la -mauvaise fortune. Voyons un peu comment se porte Rossinante, car le -pauvre animal a eu, je crois, sa bonne part de l’orage. - -Et pourquoi en serait-il exempt? reprit Sancho, est-il moins chevalier -errant que les autres? Ce qui m’étonne, c’est de voir que mon âne en -soit sorti sans qu’il lui en coûte seulement un poil, tandis qu’à nous -trois il ne nous reste pas une côte entière. - -Dans les plus grandes disgrâces, la fortune laisse toujours une porte -ouverte pour en sortir, dit don Quichotte; et à défaut de Rossinante, -ton grison servira pour me tirer d’ici et me porter dans quelque château -où je puisse me faire panser de mes blessures. Je n’ai point, je te -l’avoue, de répugnance pour une telle monture, car je me souviens -d’avoir lu que le père nourricier du dieu Bacchus, le vieux Silène, -chevauchait fort doucement sur un bel âne, quand il fit son entrée dans -la ville aux cent portes. - -Cela serait bon, répondit Sancho, si vous pouviez vous tenir comme lui; -mais il y a une grande différence entre un homme à cheval et un homme -couché en travers comme un sac de farine, car je ne pense pas qu’il soit -possible à Votre Grâce d’aller autrement. - -Je t’ai déjà dit que les blessures qui résultent des combats n’ont rien -de déshonorant, reprit don Quichotte. Au reste, en voilà assez sur ce -sujet; essaye seulement de te lever et place-moi comme tu pourras sur -ton âne, puis tirons-nous d’ici avant que la nuit vienne nous -surprendre. - -Il me semble avoir entendu souvent dire à Votre Grâce, répliqua Sancho, -que la coutume des chevaliers errants est de dormir à la belle étoile, -et que passer la nuit au milieu des champs est pour eux une agréable -aventure. - -Ils en usent ainsi quand ils ne peuvent faire autrement, repartit don -Quichotte, ou bien quand ils sont amoureux; et cela est si vrai, qu’on a -vu tel chevalier passer deux ans entiers sur une roche, exposé à toutes -les intempéries des saisons, sans que sa maîtresse en eût la moindre -connaissance. Amadis fut de ce nombre, quand il prit le nom de -Beau-Ténébreux, et se retira sur la Roche-Pauvre, où il passa huit ans -ou huit mois, je ne me le rappelle pas au juste, le compte m’en est -échappé. Quoi qu’il en soit, il est constant qu’il y demeura fort -longtemps faisant pénitence pour je ne sais plus quel dédain de son -Oriane. Mais laissons cela et dépêchons, de peur qu’une nouvelle -disgrâce n’arrive à Rossinante. - -Il faudrait avoir bien mauvaise chance, répliqua Sancho; puis, poussant -trente hélas! soixante soupirs entremêlés de ouf! et de aïe! et -proférant plus de cent malédictions contre ceux qui l’avaient amené là, -il fit tant qu’à la fin il se mit sur ses pieds, demeurant toutefois à -moitié chemin, courbé comme un arc, sans pouvoir achever de se -redresser. Dans cette étrange posture, il lui fallut rattraper le grison -qui profitant des libertés de cette journée, s’était écarté au loin, et -se donnait à cœur joie du bien d’autrui. Son âne sellé, Sancho releva -Rossinante, lequel, s’il avait eu une langue pour se plaindre, aurait -tenu tête au maître et au valet. Enfin, après bien des efforts, Sancho -parvint à placer don Quichotte en travers sur le bât; puis ayant attaché -Rossinante à la queue de sa bête, il la prit par le licou et se dirigea -du côté qu’il crut être le grand chemin. - -Au bout d’une heure de marche, la fortune, de plus en plus favorable, -leur fit découvrir une hôtellerie, que don Quichotte ne manqua pas de -prendre pour un château. L’écuyer soutenait que c’était une hôtellerie, -mais le maître s’obstinait à dire que c’était un château; et la querelle -durait encore quand ils arrivèrent devant la porte, que Sancho franchit -avec la caravane, sans plus d’informations. - -CHAPITRE XVI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A NOTRE CHEVALIER DANS L’HOTELLERIE QU’IL PRENAIT POUR -UN CHATEAU - -En voyant cet homme placé en travers sur un âne, l’hôtelier demanda quel -mal il ressentait; Sancho répondit que ce n’était rien, mais qu’ayant -roulé du haut d’une roche, il avait les côtes tant soit peu meurtries. -Au rebours des gens de sa profession, la femme de cet hôtelier était -charitable et s’apitoyait volontiers sur les maux du prochain; aussi -s’empressa-t-elle d’accourir pour panser notre héros, secondée dans cet -office par sa fille, jeune personne avenante et de fort bonne mine. - -Dans la même hôtellerie il y avait une servante asturienne, à la face -large, au chignon plat, au nez camus, laquelle de plus était borgne et -n’avait pas l’autre œil en très-bon état. Il est vrai de dire que chez -elle l’élégance de la taille suppléait à ce manque d’agrément, car la -pauvre fille n’avait pas sept palmes des pieds à la tête, et ses épaules -surchargeaient si fort le reste de son corps qu’elle avait bien de la -peine à regarder en l’air. Cette gentille créature accourut aider la -fille de la maison et toutes deux dressèrent à don Quichotte un méchant -lit dans un galetas qui, selon les apparences, n’avait servi depuis -longues années que de grenier à paille. - -Dans ce même réduit couchait un muletier, lequel s’était fait un lit -avec les bâts et les couvertures de ses mulets; mais tel qu’il était, ce -lit valait cent fois celui de notre héros, dont la couche se composait -de planches mal rabotées et placées sur quatre pieds inégaux, d’un -matelas fort mince, hérissé de bourrelets si durs qu’on les eût pris -pour des cailloux, enfin de deux draps plutôt de cuir que de laine. Ce -fut sur ce grabat que l’on étendit don Quichotte, et aussitôt l’hôtesse -et sa fille vinrent l’oindre d’onguent des pieds à la tête, à la lueur -d’une lampe que tenait la gentille Maritorne: c’est ainsi que s’appelait -l’Asturienne. - -En le voyant meurtri en tant d’endroits, l’hôtesse ne put s’empêcher de -dire que cela ressemblait beaucoup plus à des coups qu’à une chute. - -Ce ne sont pourtant pas des coups, dit Sancho; mais la maudite roche -avait tant de pointes, que chacune a fait sa meurtrissure. Que Votre -Grâce veuille bien garder quelques étoupes, ajouta-t-il; je sais qui -vous en saura gré, car les reins me cuisent quelque peu. - -Êtes-vous donc aussi tombé? demanda l’hôtesse. - -Non pas, répondit Sancho; mais quand j’ai vu tomber mon maître, j’ai -éprouvé un si grand saisissement par tout le corps, qu’il me semble -avoir reçu mille coups de bâton. - -Cela se comprend, dit la jeune fille; j’ai souvent rêvé que je tombais -du haut d’une tour, sans jamais arriver jusqu’à terre, et quand j’étais -réveillée, je me sentais rompue comme si je fusse tombée tout de bon. - -Justement, reprit Sancho: la seule différence c’est que sans rêver, et -plus éveillé que je ne le suis à cette heure, je ne me trouve pourtant -pas moins meurtri que mon maître. - -Comment s’appelle votre maître? demanda Maritorne. - -Don Quichotte de la Manche, chevalier errant, et l’un des plus valeureux -qu’on ait vu depuis longtemps, répondit Sancho. - -Chevalier errant? s’écria l’Asturienne; qu’est-ce que cela? - -Vous êtes bien neuve dans ce monde! reprit Sancho; apprenez, ma fille, -qu’un chevalier errant est quelque chose qui se voit toujours à la -veille d’être empereur ou roué de coups de bâton; aujourd’hui la plus -malheureuse et la plus affamée des créatures, demain ayant trois ou -quatre royaumes à donner à son écuyer. - -D’où vient donc, repartit l’hôtesse, qu’étant écuyer d’un si grand -seigneur, vous n’avez pas au moins quelque comté? - -Il n’y a pas de temps perdu, répondit Sancho; depuis un mois que nous -cherchons les aventures, nous n’en avons pas encore trouvé de cette -espèce-là; outre que bien souvent en cherchant une chose, on en -rencontre une autre. Mais que mon maître guérisse de sa chute, que je ne -reste pas estropié de la mienne, et je ne troquerais point mes -espérances contre la meilleure seigneurie d’Espagne. - -De son lit, don Quichotte écoutait attentivement cet entretien; à la -fin, se levant du mieux qu’il put sur son séant, il prit courtoisement -la main de l’hôtesse et lui dit: Belle et noble dame, vous pouvez vous -féliciter de l’heureuse circonstance qui vous a fait me recueillir dans -ce château. Si je n’en dis pas davantage, c’est qu’il ne sied jamais de -se louer soi-même; mais mon fidèle écuyer vous apprendra qui je suis. Je -conserverai toute ma vie, croyez-le bien, le souvenir de vos bons -offices, et je ne laisserai échapper aucune occasion de vous en -témoigner ma reconnaissance. Plût au ciel, ajouta-t-il, en regardant -tendrement la fille de l’hôtesse, que l’amour ne m’eût pas assujetti à -ses lois, et fait l’esclave d’une ingrate dont en ce moment même je -murmure le nom, car les yeux de cette belle demoiselle eussent triomphé -de ma liberté! - -A ce discours qu’elles ne comprenaient pas plus que si on leur eût parlé -grec, l’hôtesse, sa fille et Maritorne tombaient des nues; elles se -doutaient bien que c’étaient des galanteries et des offres de service, -mais, peu habituées à ce langage, toutes trois se regardaient avec -étonnement, et prenaient notre héros pour un homme d’une espèce -particulière. Après l’avoir remercié de sa politesse, elles se -retirèrent, et Maritorne alla panser Sancho, qui n’en avait pas moins -besoin que son maître. - -Or, il faut savoir que le muletier et l’Asturienne avaient comploté -cette nuit-là même de prendre leurs ébats ensemble. La compatissante -créature avait donné parole à son galant qu’aussitôt les hôtes retirés -et ses maîtres endormis, elle viendrait se mettre à son entière -disposition, et l’on raconte de cette excellente fille qu’elle ne donna -jamais semblable parole sans la tenir, car elle se piquait d’avoir du -sang d’hidalgo dans les veines, et ne croyait pas avoir dérogé pour être -devenue servante d’auberge. La mauvaise fortune de ses parents, -disait-elle, l’avait réduite à cette extrémité. - -Dans cet étrange appartement dont la toiture laissait voir les étoiles, -le premier lit qu’on rencontrait en entrant c’était le dur, étroit, -chétif et traître lit de don Quichotte. Tout auprès, sur une natte de -jonc, Sancho avait fait le sien avec une couverture qui paraissait -plutôt de crin que de laine. Un peu plus loin se trouvait celui du -muletier, composé, comme je l’ai dit, des bâts et des couvertures de ses -mulets, au nombre de douze, tous fort gras et bien entretenus; car -c’était un des plus riches muletiers d’Arevalo, à ce que raconte -l’auteur de cette histoire, lequel parle dudit muletier comme l’ayant -intimement connu: on ajoute même qu’ils étaient un peu parents. Or, il -faut convenir que cid Hamet Ben-Engeli est un historien bien -consciencieux, puisqu’il rapporte des choses de si minime importance: -exemple à proposer surtout à ces historiens qui dans leurs récits -laissent au fond de leur encrier, par ignorance ou par malice, le plus -substantiel de l’ouvrage. - -Je dis donc que le muletier, après avoir visité ses bêtes et leur avoir -donné la seconde ration d’orge, s’étendit sur ses harnais, attendant -avec impatience la ponctuelle Maritorne. Bien graissé, couvert -d’emplâtres, Sancho s’était couché: mais quoiqu’il fît tous ses efforts -pour dormir, la douleur de ses côtes l’en empêchait; quant à don -Quichotte, tenu éveillé par la même cause, il avait les yeux ouverts -comme un lièvre. - -Un profond silence régnait dans l’hôtellerie, où il ne restait en ce -moment d’autre lumière que celle d’une lampe qui brûlait suspendue sous -la grande porte. Ce silence, joint aux pensées bizarres qu’entretenaient -chez notre héros, les livres de chevalerie, causes de ses continuelles -disgrâces, fit naître dans son esprit l’une des plus étranges folies -dont on puisse concevoir l’idée. Il se persuada être dans un fameux -château (il n’y avait point d’hôtellerie à laquelle il ne fît cet -honneur), et que la fille de l’hôtelier, qui par conséquent était celle -du seigneur châtelain, subjuguée par sa bonne grâce, s’était éprise -d’amour pour lui, et avait résolu de venir, cette nuit même, en cachette -de ses parents, le visiter dans son alcôve. Tourmenté de cette chimère, -il était fort préoccupé du péril imminent auquel sa constance allait se -trouver exposée; mais il se promit au fond du cœur de rester fidèle à -sa chère Dulcinée, lors même que la reine Genièvre, suivie de sa duègne -Quintagnone, viendrait pour le séduire. - -Il se complaisait dans ces rêveries, lorsque arriva l’heure, pour lui -fatale, où devait venir l’Asturienne qui, fidèle à sa parole, en -chemise, pieds nus, et les cheveux ramassés sous une coiffe de serge, -entra à pas de loup, en quête du muletier. A peine eut-elle franchi la -porte que don Quichotte, toujours l’oreille au guet, l’entendit; -aussitôt se mettant sur son séant, malgré ses emplâtres et la douleur -de ses reins, il tendit les bras pour la recevoir. Toute ramassée et -retenant son haleine, l’Asturienne portait les mains en avant, cherchant -à tâtons son bien-aimé; mais en dépit de toutes ses précautions, elle -alla donner dans les bras de don Quichotte qui, la saisissant par le -poignet et la tirant à lui, sans qu’elle osât souffler mot, la fit -asseoir sur son lit. Sa chemise, qui était de la toile à sacs, ne -désabusa point notre chevalier; les bracelets en boules de verre qu’elle -portait lui parurent de précieuses perles d’Orient; ses cheveux, qu’on -eût pris pour du crin, lui semblèrent des tresses d’or fin d’Arabie, -dont l’éclat faisait pâlir celui du soleil; enfin, comparant à un -agréable mélange des parfums les plus exquis cette haleine qui sentait -l’ail mariné de la veille, il se représenta l’Asturienne comme une de -ces nobles damoiselles qu’il avait vues dans ses livres, allant visiter -à la dérobée leurs amants blessés. En un mot, tel était l’aveuglement du -pauvre chevalier que, n’étant détrompé ni par le toucher, ni par -l’haleine, ni par certaines autres particularités qui distinguaient la -pauvre fille, lesquelles auraient fait vomir les entrailles à tout autre -qu’à un muletier, il s’imagina tenir entre ses bras la reine des amours. -Éperdu, et pressant Maritorne au point de l’étouffer, il lui dit à demi -voix: Que n’est-il en mon pouvoir, noble dame, de reconnaître l’insigne -faveur dont m’honore votre merveilleuse beauté! Mais la fortune, qui ne -se lasse jamais de persécuter les gens de bien, m’a jeté dans ce lit si -moulu, si brisé que, ma volonté fût-elle d’accord avec la vôtre, il me -serait impossible de correspondre à votre désir. A cette impuissance -s’en ajoute une plus grande encore, c’est la foi que j’ai jurée à la -sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, l’unique dame de mes plus secrètes -pensées; car si cet obstacle insurmontable ne venait à la traverse, je -ne serais certes point un chevalier assez niais pour laisser s’évanouir -l’occasion fortunée que m’offrent vos bontés. - -Pendant ce beau discours, Maritorne, au supplice de se voir entre les -bras de don Quichotte, faisait sans souffler mot tous ses efforts pour -s’en dégager. De son côté, l’impatient muletier, que ses amoureux désirs -tenaient en éveil, avait entendu entrer sa belle. Prêtant l’oreille, il -la soupçonne d’abord de chercher à le trahir; transporté de jalousie, il -s’approche pour écouter. Mais quand il voit la fidèle Asturienne se -débattre entre les mains de don Quichotte, qui s’efforçait de la -retenir, le jeu lui déplut fort: levant le bras de toute sa hauteur, il -décharge un si terrible coup de poing sur les étroites mâchoires de -l’amoureux chevalier, qu’il lui met la bouche tout en sang. Ben-Engeli -ajoute même qu’il lui sauta sur le corps, et que, d’un pas qui -approchait du galop, il le lui parcourut trois ou quatre fois d’un bout -à l’autre. - -Le lit, qui était de trop faible complexion pour porter cette surcharge, -s’abîme sous le poids; L’hôtelier s’éveille au bruit; aussitôt -pressentant quelque escapade de l’Asturienne, qu’il avait appelée cinq -ou six fois à tue-tête sans obtenir de réponse, il se lève et allume sa -lampe pour aller voir d’où vient ce tapage. En entendant la voix de son -maître, dont elle connaissait l’humeur brutale, Maritorne toute -tremblante court se cacher dans le lit de Sancho, qui dormait, et se -blottit auprès de lui. - -Où est-tu, carogne? s’écrie l’hôtelier en entrant; à coup sûr, ce sont -là de tes tours. - -Sous ce fardeau qui l’étouffait, Sancho s’éveille à demi, croyant avoir -le cauchemar, et se met à distribuer au hasard de grands coups de poing, -qui la plupart tombèrent sur l’Asturienne, laquelle perdant la retenue -avec la patience, ne songe plus qu’à prendre sa revanche, et rend à -Sancho tant de coups qu’elle achève de l’éveiller. Furieux de se sentir -traité de la sorte, sans savoir pourquoi, Sancho se redresse sur son lit -du mieux qu’il peut, et saisissant Maritorne à bras-le-corps, ils -commencent entre eux la plus plaisante escarmouche qu’il soit possible -d’imaginer. - -A la lueur de lampe, le muletier, voyant le péril où se trouvait sa -dame, laisse don Quichotte pour voler à son aide; l’hôtelier y court -aussi, mais dans une intention bien différente, car c’était pour châtier -la servante, qu’il accusait du vacarme; et de même qu’on a coutume de -dire _le chien au chat, le chat au rat_, le muletier tapait sur Sancho, -Sancho sur Maritorne, Maritorne sur Sancho, l’hôtelier sur Maritorne; le -tout si dru et si menu, qu’ils semblaient craindre que le temps ne leur -manquât. Pour compléter l’aventure, la lampe s’éteignit; alors ce ne fut -plus qu’une mêlée confuse, d’où pas un des combattants ne se retira avec -sa chemise entière ni sans quelque partie du corps exempte de -meurtrissures. - -Or, par hasard un archer de l’ancienne confrérie de Tolède logeait cette -nuit dans l’hôtellerie. En entendant tout ce vacarme, il prend sa verge -noire ainsi que la boîte de fer-blanc qui contenait ses titres, et se -dirigeant vers le lieu du combat: Arrêtez! s’écrie-t-il, arrêtez! -respect à la justice, respect à la Sainte-Hermandad. - -Le premier qu’il rencontra sous sa main fut le moulu don Quichotte, qui -gisait étendu au milieu des débris de son lit, la bouche béante et privé -de sentiment; l’archer l’ayant saisi à tâtons par la barbe, crie de plus -belle: Main-forte à la justice! Mais, s’apercevant que celui qu’il -tenait ne donnait aucun signe de vie, il ne douta point qu’il ne fût -mort, et que ceux qui étaient là ne fussent ses meurtriers; ce qui le -fit crier encore plus fort: Qu’on ferme la porte, afin que personne ne -s’échappe! on vient de tuer un homme ici. - -Ce cri dispersa les combattants, et chacun alors laissa la bataille où -elle en était. L’hôtelier se retira dans sa chambre, le muletier sur ses -harnais, et Maritorne dans son taudis. Pour don Quichotte et Sancho, qui -ne pouvaient se remuer, ils restèrent à la même place, et l’archer lâcha -la barbe de notre chevalier, pour aller chercher de la lumière et -revenir s’assurer des coupables. Mais en se retirant, l’hôtelier avait -éteint la lampe qui brûlait sous la grande porte, si bien que l’archer -dut avoir recours à la cheminée, où il se trouvait si peu de feu, qu’il -souffla plus d’une heure avant de parvenir à le rallumer. - -CHAPITRE XVII - -OU SE CONTINUENT LES TRAVAUX INNOMBRABLES DU VAILLANT DON QUICHOTTE ET -DE SON ÉCUYER DANS LA MALHEUREUSE HOTELLERIE, PRISE A TORT POUR UN -CHATEAU - -Avec cet accent plaintif et de cette voix lamentable dont son écuyer -l’avait appelé la veille après leur rencontre avec les muletiers -Yangois, don Quichotte, revenu enfin de son évanouissement, l’appela à -son tour, en lui disant: Ami Sancho, dors-tu? Dors-tu, ami Sancho? - -Hé! comment voulez-vous que je dorme, répondit Sancho, outré de fureur -et de dépit, quand tous les démons de l’enfer ont été cette nuit -déchaînés après moi? - -Est-il possible? s’écria don Quichotte. Par ma foi, je n’y comprends -rien, ou ce château est enchanté. Écoute bien ce que je vais te dire... -mais avant tout jure-moi de ne révéler ce secret qu’après ma mort. - -Je le jure, répondit Sancho. - -J’exige ce serment, reprit don Quichotte, parce que je ne voudrais pour -rien au monde nuire à l’honneur de personne. - -Je vous dis que je jure de n’en ouvrir la bouche qu’après la fin de vos -jours, répliqua Sancho, et Dieu veuille que ce puisse être dès demain! - -Te suis-je donc tant à charge, dit don Quichotte, que tu souhaites me -voir si tôt mort? - -Oh! non, reprit Sancho; mais c’est que je n’aime pas à garder trop -longtemps les secrets, et je craindrais que celui-là ne vînt à me -pourrir dans le corps. - -Que ce soit pour une raison ou pour une autre, continua don Quichotte, -je me confie à ton affection et à ta loyauté. Eh bien! apprends donc -que cette nuit il m’est arrivé une surprenante aventure et dont certes -je pourrais tirer quelque vanité; mais, pour te la raconter brièvement, -tu sauras qu’il y a peu d’instants la fille du seigneur de ce château -est venue me trouver ici même, et que c’est bien la plus accorte et la -plus séduisante damoiselle qu’il soit possible de rencontrer sur une -grande partie de la terre. Je ne te parlerai pas des charmes de sa -personne et des grâces de son esprit, ni de tant d’autres attraits -cachés auxquels je ne veux pas même penser, afin de garder plus sûrement -la foi que j’ai promise à Dulcinée du Toboso; qu’il me suffise de te -dire que le ciel, envieux sans doute du merveilleux bonheur que -m’envoyait la fortune, ou plutôt, ce qui est plus certain, parce que ce -château est enchanté, a permis, au moment où j’étais avec cette dame -dans l’entretien le plus tendre et le plus passionné, qu’une main que je -ne voyais point et qui venait de je ne sais où, mais à coup sûr une main -attachée au bras de quelque énorme géant, m’assénât un si grand coup sur -les mâchoires, qu’il m’a mis tout en sang; après quoi, profitant de ma -faiblesse, le géant m’a moulu à ce point que je suis encore pis que je -n’étais hier quand les muletiers s’en prirent à nous, tu dois t’en -souvenir, de l’incontinence de Rossinante: d’où je conclus que ce trésor -de beauté est confié à la garde de quelque More enchanté, et qu’il n’est -pas réservé pour moi. - -Ni pour moi non plus, s’écria Sancho, car plus de quatre cents Mores -m’ont tanné la peau de telle sorte que les coups de pieux ne firent en -comparaison que me chatouiller. Mais Votre Grâce songe-t-elle bien à -l’état où nous sommes, pour trouver cette aventure si délectable? Vous -qui avez eu l’avantage de tenir entre vos bras cette merveilleuse -beauté, cela peut vous consoler; mais moi, qu’y ai-je gagné, si ce n’est -les plus rudes gourmades que je recevrai en toute ma vie? Malheur à moi -et à la mère qui m’a mis au monde! Je ne suis point chevalier errant, -je n’espère pas le devenir jamais, et dans les mauvaises rencontres -j’attrape toujours la plus grosse part. - -Comment! on t’a gourmé aussi? demanda don Quichotte. - -Malédiction sur toute ma race! répliqua Sancho; qu’est-ce donc que je -viens de vous dire? - -Ne fais pas attention à cela, ami, reprit don Quichotte, je vais -composer tout à l’heure le précieux baume de Fier-à-Bras, qui nous -guérira en un clin d’œil. - -Ils en étaient là quand l’archer, ayant pu enfin rallumer la lampe, -rentra dans la chambre. Sancho, qui le premier l’aperçut, en chemise, un -linge roulé autour de la tête, avec une face d’hérétique, demanda à son -maître si ce n’était point là le More enchanté qui venait s’assurer s’il -leur restait encore quelque côte à briser. - -Ce ne peut être le More, répondit don Quichotte, car les enchantés ne se -laissent voir de personne. - -Par ma foi, s’ils ne se laissent pas voir, ils se font bien sentir, -répliqua Sancho; on peut en demander des nouvelles à mes épaules. - -Crois-tu donc que les miennes ne sachent qu’en dire? ajouta don -Quichotte; cependant l’indice n’est pas suffisant pour conclure que -celui que nous voyons soit le More enchanté. - -L’archer, en s’approchant, resta fort surpris de voir des gens -s’entretenir si paisiblement; et comme notre héros était encore étendu -tout de son long, immobile, la bouche en l’air, il lui dit: Eh bien! -comment vous va, bon homme? - -Je parlerais plus courtoisement si j’étais à votre place, repartit don -Quichotte; est-il d’usage dans ce pays de parler ainsi aux chevaliers -errants, rustre que vous êtes? - -L’archer, qui était peu endurant, ne put souffrir cette apostrophe d’un -homme de si triste mine; il lança de toute sa force la lampe à la tête -du malheureux chevalier, et, ne doutant pas qu’il ne la lui eût -fracassée, il se déroba incontinent, à la faveur des ténèbres. - -Hé bien, dit Sancho, il n’y a plus moyen d’en douter; voilà justement le -More; il garde le trésor de beauté pour les autres, et, pour nous, les -gourmades et les coups de chandelier. - -Cette fois, j’en conviens, cela peut être, reprit don Quichotte; mais, -crois-moi, il n’y a qu’à se moquer de tous ces enchantements, au lieu de -s’en irriter; comme ce sont toutes choses fantastiques et invisibles, -nous chercherions en vain à qui nous en prendre, jamais nous n’en -aurions raison. Lève-toi, si tu peux, et va prier le gouverneur de ce -château de te faire donner un peu d’huile, de vin, de sel et de romarin, -afin que je compose mon baume; car, entre nous soit dit, au sang qui -coule de la blessure que ce fantôme m’a faite, je ne crois pas pouvoir -m’en passer plus longtemps. - -Sancho se leva, non sans pousser quelques gémissements, et s’en fut à -tâtons chercher l’hôtelier. Ayant rencontré l’archer, qui écoutait près -de la porte, un peu en peine des suites de sa brutalité: Seigneur, lui -dit-il, qui que vous soyez, faites-nous, je vous en supplie, la charité -de nous donner un peu de romarin, d’huile, de vin et de sel, car nous en -avons grand besoin pour panser l’un des meilleurs chevaliers errants -qu’il y ait sur toute la terre, lequel gît dans son lit grièvement -blessé par le More enchanté qui habite ce château. - -En l’entendant parler de la sorte, l’archer prit Sancho pour un homme -dont le cerveau n’était pas en bon état; toutefois il appela l’hôtelier -afin de lui dire ce que cet homme demandait; et, comme le jour -commençait à poindre, il ouvrit la porte de l’hôtellerie. - -L’hôtelier donna à Sancho ce qu’il désirait. Celui-ci, ayant porté le -tout à son maître, le trouva la tête dans ses mains, se plaignant du -coup de lampe, lequel heureusement ne lui avait fait d’autre mal que -deux bosses assez grosses; car ce qu’il prenait pour du sang était tout -simplement l’huile, qui lui coulait le long du visage. Don Quichotte -versa dans une marmite ce que Sancho venait de lui apporter, fit -bouillir le tout, et lorsque la composition lui parut à point, il -demanda une bouteille; mais comme il n’y en avait point dans la maison, -il dut se contenter d’une burette de fer-blanc qui servait à mettre -l’huile, et dont l’hôtelier lui fit présent. Ensuite il récita sur la -burette plus de cent _Pater Noster_, autant d’_Ave Maria_, de _Salve_ et -de _Credo_, accompagnant chaque parole d’un signe de croix en manière de -bénédiction. Sancho Panza, l’archer et l’hôtelier assistaient à cette -cérémonie; car le muletier était en train de panser ses bêtes, sans -avoir l’air d’avoir pris la moindre part aux aventures de la nuit. - -Le baume achevé, don Quichotte voulut sur-le-champ en faire l’épreuve, -et sans s’amuser à l’appliquer sur ses blessures, il en avala en forme -de potion la valeur d’une demi-pinte, qui n’avait pu entrer dans la -burette. Mais à peine avait-il achevé de boire, qu’il se mit à vomir -avec une telle abondance que rien ne lui resta dans l’estomac; et ces -efforts prolongés lui ayant causé une forte sueur, il demanda qu’on le -couvrît, puis qu’on le laissât reposer. Il dormit en effet trois grandes -heures, au bout desquelles il se sentit si bien soulagé, qu’il ne douta -plus d’avoir réussi à composer le précieux baume de Fier-à-Bras, et que, -possesseur d’un tel remède, il ne fût en état d’entreprendre les plus -périlleuses aventures. - -Sancho, qui tenait à miracle la guérison de son maître, demanda comme -une grâce la permission de boire ce qui restait dans la marmite; don -Quichotte le lui abandonna. Aussitôt notre écuyer saisissant, de la -meilleure foi du monde, la marmite à deux mains, s’en introduisit dans -le corps une bonne partie, c’est-à-dire presque autant qu’en avait pris -son maître. Il faut croire qu’il avait l’estomac plus délicat; car, -avant que le remède eût produit son effet, le pauvre diable fut pris de -nausées si violentes et de coliques si atroces, qu’il croyait à chaque -instant toucher à sa dernière heure; aussi, dans ses cruelles -souffrances, ne cessait-il de maudire le baume et le traître qui le lui -avait donné. - -Sancho, lui dit gravement son maître, ou je me trompe fort, ou ton mal -provient de ce que tu n’es pas armé chevalier, car je tiens pour certain -que ce baume ne convient qu’à ceux qui le sont. - -Malédiction sur moi et sur toute ma race! répliqua Sancho; si Votre -Grâce savait cela, pourquoi m’y avoir seulement laissé goûter? - -En ce moment, le breuvage opéra, et le pauvre écuyer se remit à vomir -avec si peu de relâche et une telle abondance, que la natte de jonc sur -laquelle il était couché et la couverture de toile à sacs qui le -couvrait furent mises à tout jamais hors de service. Ces vomissements -étaient accompagnés de tant et de si violents efforts, que les -assistants crurent qu’il y laisserait la vie. Enfin, au bout d’une heure -que dura cette bourrasque, au lieu de se sentir soulagé, il se trouva si -faible et si abattu, qu’à peine il pouvait respirer. - -Don Quichotte, qui, comme je l’ai dit, se sentait tout dispos, ne voulut -pas différer plus longtemps à se remettre à la recherche de nouvelles -aventures. Il se croyait responsable de chaque minute de retard; et, -confiant désormais dans la vertu de son baume, il ne respirait que -dangers et comptait pour rien les plus terribles blessures. Dans son -impatience, il alla lui-même seller Rossinante, mit le bât sur l’âne, et -son écuyer sur le bât, après l’avoir aidé à s’habiller; puis, -enfourchant son cheval, il se saisit d’une demi-pique qu’il trouva sous -sa main et qui était d’une force suffisante pour lui servir de lance. -Tous les gens de la maison le regardaient avec étonnement, mais la fille -de l’hôtelier l’observait plus curieusement que les autres, car elle -n’avait jamais rien vu de semblable. Notre chevalier avait aussi les -yeux attachés sur elle, et de temps à autre poussait un grand soupir, -qu’il tirait du fond de ses entrailles, mais dont lui seul savait la -cause, car l’hôtesse et Maritorne, qui l’avaient si bien graissé la -veille au soir, imputaient toutes deux ces soupirs à la douleur que lui -causaient ses blessures. - -Dès que le maître et l’écuyer furent en selle, don Quichotte appela -l’hôtelier, et lui dit d’une voix grave et solennelle: Seigneur -châtelain, grandes et nombreuses sont les courtoisies que j’ai reçues -dans ce château; ne puis-je les reconnaître en tirant pour vous -vengeance de quelque outrage? Vous savez que ma profession est de -secourir les faibles, de punir les félons et de châtier les traîtres. -Consultez vos souvenirs, et si vous avez à vous plaindre de quelqu’un, -parlez: je jure, par l’ordre de chevalerie que j’ai reçu, que vous aurez -bientôt satisfaction. - -Seigneur cavalier, répliqua non moins gravement l’hôtelier, je n’ai pas -besoin, Dieu merci, que vous me vengiez de personne; et lorsqu’on -m’offense, je sais fort bien me venger moi-même. Tout ce que je désire, -c’est que vous me payiez la dépense que vous avez faite, ainsi que la -paille et l’orge que vos bêtes ont mangées. On ne sort pas ainsi de chez -moi. - -Comment! dit don Quichotte, c’est donc ici une hôtellerie? - -Oui sans doute, et des meilleures, répliqua l’hôtelier. - -J’ai été étrangement abusé jusqu’à cette heure, continua notre héros; -car je la prenais pour un château, et même pour un château de grande -importance; mais puisque c’est une hôtellerie, il faut que vous -m’excusiez pour le moment de rester votre débiteur. Aussi bien il m’est -interdit de contrevenir à la règle des chevaliers errants, desquels je -sais de science certaine, sans avoir jusqu’ici lu le contraire, qu’ils -n’ont jamais rien payé dans les hôtelleries. En effet, la raison, -d’accord avec la coutume, veut qu’on les reçoive partout gratuitement, -en compensation des fatigues inouïes qu’ils endurent pour aller à la -recherche des aventures, la nuit, le jour, l’hiver, l’été, à pied et à -cheval, supportant la faim, la soif, le froid et le chaud, exposés enfin -à toutes les incommodités qui peuvent se rencontrer sur la terre. - -Sornettes que tout cela! dit l’hôtelier; payez-moi ce que vous me devez; -je ne donne pas ainsi mon bien. - -Vous êtes un insolent et un mauvais gargotier, répliqua don Quichotte; -en même temps brandissant sa demi-pique, et éperonnant Rossinante, il -sortit de l’hôtellerie avant qu’on pût l’en empêcher, puis gagna du -champ sans regarder si son écuyer le suivait. - -L’hôtelier, voyant qu’il n’y avait rien à espérer de ce côté, vint -réclamer la dépense à Sancho, lequel répondit qu’il ne payerait pas plus -que son maître, parce que, étant écuyer de chevalier errant, il devait -jouir du même privilége. L’hôtelier eut beau se mettre en colère et le -menacer, s’il refusait, de se payer de ses propres mains de façon qu’il -s’en souviendrait longtemps; Sancho jura, par l’ordre de la chevalerie -qu’avait reçu son maître, que, dût-il lui en coûter la vie, il ne -donnerait pas un maravédis, ne voulant pas que les écuyers à venir -pussent reprocher à sa mémoire qu’un si beau privilége se fût perdu par -sa faute. - -La mauvaise étoile de Sancho voulut que, parmi les gens qui étaient là, -se trouvassent quatre drapiers de Ségovie, trois merciers de Cordoue et -deux marchands forains de Séville, tous bons compagnons, malins et -goguenards, lesquels, poussés d’un même esprit, s’approchèrent de notre -écuyer, et le descendirent de son âne, pendant qu’un d’entre eux allait -chercher une couverture. Ils y jetèrent le pauvre Sancho, et voyant que -le dessous de la porte n’était pas assez élevé pour leur dessein, ils -passèrent dans la basse-cour, qui n’avait d’autre toit que le ciel. -Chacun alors prenant un coin de la couverture, ils se mirent à faire -sauter et ressauter Sancho dans les airs, se jouant de lui comme les -étudiants le font d’un chien pendant le carnaval. - -Les cris affreux que jetait le malheureux berné arrivèrent jusqu’aux -oreilles de son maître, qui crut d’abord que le ciel l’appelait à -quelque nouvelle aventure; mais reconnaissant que ces hurlements -venaient de son écuyer, il poussa de toute la vitesse de Rossinante vers -l’hôtellerie, qu’il trouva fermée. Comme il faisait le tour pour en -trouver l’entrée, les murs de la cour, qui n’étaient pas fort élevés, -lui laissèrent voir Sancho montant et descendant à travers les airs avec -tant de grâce et de souplesse, que, sans la colère où il était, notre -chevalier n’aurait pu s’empêcher d’en rire. Mais le jeu ne lui plaisant -pas, il essaya plusieurs fois de grimper sur son cheval afin d’enjamber -la muraille, et il y serait parvenu s’il n’eût été si moulu qu’il ne put -même venir à bout de mettre pied à terre. Il fut donc réduit à dire -force injures aux berneurs, à leur jeter force défis, pendant que ces -impitoyables railleurs continuaient leur besogne et n’en riaient que -plus fort. Enfin le malheureux Sancho, tantôt priant, tantôt menaçant, -n’eut de répit que lorsque les berneurs, après s’être relayés deux ou -trois fois, l’abandonnèrent de lassitude, et, l’enveloppant dans sa -casaque, le remirent charitablement où ils l’avaient pris, c’est-à-dire -sur son âne. - -La compatissante Maritorne, qui n’avait pu voir sans chagrin le cruel -traitement qu’on faisait subir à Sancho, lui apporta un pot d’eau -fraîche, qu’elle venait de tirer du puits; mais comme il le portait à sa -bouche, il fut arrêté par la voix de son maître qui lui cria de l’autre -côté de la muraille: Mon fils Sancho, ne bois point; ne bois point, mon -enfant, ou tu es mort: n’ai-je pas ici le divin baume qui va te remettre -dans un instant? Et en même temps il lui montrait la burette de -fer-blanc. - -Mais Sancho, tournant la tête et le regardant de travers, répondit: -Votre Grâce a-t-elle déjà oublié que je ne suis pas armé chevalier, ou -veut-elle que j’achève de vomir les entrailles qui me restent? De par -tous les diables, gardez votre breuvage, et laissez-moi tranquille. - -Il porta le pot à ses lèvres; mais s’apercevant à la première gorgée que -c’était de l’eau, il pria Maritorne de lui donner un peu de vin, ce que -fit de bon cœur cette excellente fille, qui le paya même de son argent, -car, on l’a déjà vu, elle possédait un grand fond de charité chrétienne. - -Dès qu’il eut achevé de boire, Sancho donna du talon à son âne, et -faisant ouvrir à deux battants la porte de l’hôtellerie, il sortit -enchanté de n’avoir rien payé, si ce n’est toutefois aux dépens de ses -épaules, ses cautions ordinaires. Son bissac, qu’il avait oublié dans -son trouble, était de plus resté pour les gages. Dès qu’il le vit -dehors, l’hôtelier voulut barricader la porte; mais les berneurs l’en -empêchèrent, car ils ne craignaient guère notre chevalier, quand même il -aurait été chevalier de la Table ronde. - -CHAPITRE XVIII - -OU L’ON RACONTE L’ENTRETIEN QUE DON QUICHOTTE ET SANCHO PANZA EURENT -ENSEMBLE, AVEC D’AUTRES AVENTURES DIGNES D’ÊTRE RAPPORTÉES - -Sancho rejoignit son maître; mais il était si las, si épuisé, qu’il -avait à peine la force de talonner son âne. - -En le voyant dans cet état: Pour le coup, mon fils, lui dit don -Quichotte, j’achève de croire que ce château ou hôtellerie, si tu veux, -est enchanté; car, je te le demande, que pouvaient être ceux qui se sont -joués de toi si cruellement, sinon des fantômes et des gens de l’autre -monde? Ce qui me confirme dans cette pensée, c’est que pendant que je -considérais ce triste spectacle par-dessus la muraille de la cour, il -n’a jamais été en mon pouvoir de la franchir, ni même de descendre de -cheval. Aussi je n’en fais aucun doute: ces mécréants me tenaient -enchanté, et certes ils ont bien fait de prendre cette précaution, car -je les aurais châtiés de telle sorte, qu’ils n’auraient de longtemps -perdu le souvenir de leur méchant tour; m’eût-il fallu pour cela -contrevenir aux lois de la chevalerie, lesquelles, comme je te l’ai -souvent répété, défendent à un chevalier de tirer l’épée contre ceux qui -ne le sont pas, si ce n’est pour sa défense personnelle, et dans le cas -d’extrême nécessité. - -Chevalier ou non, je me serais bien vengé moi-même si j’avais pu, -répondit Sancho; mais cela n’a point dépendu de moi. Et pourtant je -ferais bien le serment que les traîtres qui se sont divertis à mes -dépens n’étaient point des fantômes ou des enchantés, comme le prétend -Votre Grâce, mais bien des hommes en chair et en os, tels que nous; il -n’y a pas moyen d’en douter, puisque je les entendais s’appeler l’un -l’autre pendant qu’ils me faisaient voltiger, et que chacun d’eux avait -son nom. L’un s’appelait Pedro Martinez, l’autre Tenorio Fernando, et -l’hôtelier, Juan Palomèque le Gaucher. Ainsi donc, seigneur, si Votre -Grâce n’a pu enjamber la muraille, ni mettre pied à terre, cela vient -d’autre chose que d’un enchantement. Quant à moi, ce que je vois de plus -clair en tout ceci, c’est qu’à force d’aller chercher les aventures, -nous en trouverons une qui ne nous laissera plus distinguer notre pied -droit d’avec notre pied gauche. Or, ce qu’il y aurait de mieux à faire, -selon mon petit entendement, ce serait de reprendre le chemin de notre -village, maintenant que la moisson approche, et de nous occuper de nos -affaires, au lieu d’aller, comme on dit, tombant tous les jours de -fièvre en chaud mal. - -Ah! mon pauvre Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu es ignorant en fait -de chevalerie! Prends patience: un jour viendra où ta propre expérience -te fera voir quelle grande et noble chose est l’exercice de cette -profession. Dis-moi, je te prie, y a-t-il plaisir au monde qui égale -celui de vaincre dans un combat, et de triompher de son ennemi? Aucun, -assurément. - -Cela peut bien être, répondit Sancho, quoique je n’en sache rien. Tout -ce que je sais, c’est que depuis que nous sommes chevaliers errants, -vous du moins, car pour moi je suis indigne de compter dans une si -honorable confrérie, nous n’avons jamais gagné de bataille, si ce n’est -contre le Biscaïen; et comment Votre Grâce en sortit-elle? Avec perte de -la moitié d’une oreille et sa salade fracassée! Depuis lors tout a été -pour nous coups de poing et coups de bâton. Seulement moi, j’ai eu -l’avantage d’être berné par-dessus le marché, et cela par des gens -enchantés, dont je ne puis me venger, afin de savourer ce plaisir que -Votre Grâce dit se trouver dans la vengeance. - -C’est la peine que je ressens, répondit don Quichotte, et ce doit être -aussi la tienne; mais rassure-toi, car je prétends avant peu avoir une -épée si artistement forgée, que celui qui la portera sera à l’abri de -toute espèce d’enchantement; il pourrait même arriver que ma bonne -étoile me mît entre les mains celle qu’avait Amadis, quand il s’appelait -le chevalier de l’Ardente-Épée. C’était assurément la meilleure lame qui -fût au monde, puisque, outre la vertu dont je viens de parler, elle -possédait celle de couper comme un rasoir, et il n’était point d’armure -si forte et si enchantée qu’elle ne brisât comme verre. - -Je suis si chanceux, repartit Sancho, que quand bien même Votre Grâce -aurait une épée comme celle dont vous parlez, cette épée n’aura, comme -le baume, de vertu que pour ceux qui sont armés chevaliers; et tout -tombera sur le pauvre écuyer. - -Bannis cette crainte, dit don Quichotte; le ciel te sera plus favorable -à l’avenir. - -Nos chercheurs d’aventures allaient ainsi devisant, quand ils aperçurent -au loin une poussière épaisse que le vent chassait de leur côté; se -tournant aussitôt vers son écuyer: Ami Sancho, s’écria notre héros, -voici le jour où l’on va voir ce que me réserve la fortune; voici le -jour, te dis-je, où doit se montrer plus que jamais la force de mon -bras, et où je vais accomplir des exploits dignes d’être écrits dans les -annales de la renommée, pour l’instruction des siècles à venir. Vois-tu -là-bas ce tourbillon de poussière? Eh bien, il s’élève de dessous les -pas d’une armée innombrable, composée de toutes les nations du monde. - -A ce compte-là, dit Sancho, il doit y avoir deux armées, car de ce côté -voici un autre tourbillon. - -Don Quichotte se retourna, et voyant que Sancho disait vrai, il sentit -une joie inexprimable, croyant fermement (il ne croyait jamais d’autre -façon) que c’étaient deux grandes armées prêtes à se livrer bataille; -car le bon hidalgo avait l’imagination tellement remplie de combats, de -défis et d’enchantements, qu’il ne pensait, ne disait et ne faisait -rien qui ne tendît de ce côté. Deux troupeaux de moutons qui venaient de -deux directions opposées soulevaient cette poussière, et elle était si -épaisse, qu’on n’en pouvait reconnaître la cause à moins d’en être tout -proche. Mais don Quichotte affirmait avec tant d’assurance que c’étaient -des gens de guerre, que Sancho finit par le croire. Eh bien, seigneur, -qu’allons-nous faire ici? lui dit-il. - -Ce que nous allons faire? répondit don Quichotte; nous allons secourir -les faibles et les malheureux. Mais d’abord, afin que tu connaisses ceux -qui sont près d’en venir aux mains, je dois te dire que cette armée que -tu vois à gauche est commandée par le grand empereur Alifanfaron, -seigneur de l’île Taprobane; et que celle qui est à droite a pour chef -son ennemi, le roi des Garamantes, Pentapolin au _Bras-Retroussé_. On -l’appelle ainsi, parce qu’il combat toujours le bras droit nu jusqu’à -l’épaule. - -Et pourquoi ces deux princes se font-ils la guerre? demanda Sancho. - -Ils se font la guerre, répondit don Quichotte, parce que Alifanfaron est -devenu amoureux de la fille de Pentapolin, très-belle et très-accorte -dame, mais chrétienne avant tout: et comme Alifanfaron est païen, -Pentapolin ne veut pas la lui donner pour femme, qu’il n’ait renoncé à -son faux prophète Mahomet et embrassé le christianisme. - -Par ma barbe, reprit Sancho, Pentapolin a raison, et je l’aiderai de bon -cœur en tout ce que je pourrai. - -Tu ne feras que ton devoir, répliqua don Quichotte; aussi bien, en ces -sortes d’occasions, il n’est point nécessaire d’être armé chevalier. - -Tant mieux, repartit Sancho. Mais où mettrai-je mon âne, pour être -assuré de le retrouver après la bataille? car je n’ai guère envie de m’y -risquer sur une pareille monture. - -Tu peux, dit don Quichotte, le laisser aller à l’aventure; d’ailleurs, -vînt-il à se perdre, nous aurons après la victoire tant de chevaux à -choisir, que Rossinante lui-même court risque d’être remplacé. Mais -d’abord, écoute-moi: avant qu’elles se choquent, je veux t’apprendre -quels sont les principaux chefs de ces deux armées. Gagnons cette petite -éminence, afin que tu puisses les découvrir plus aisément. - -En même temps, ils gravirent une hauteur, d’où, si la poussière ne les -eût empêchés, ils auraient pu voir que c’étaient deux troupeaux de -moutons que notre chevalier prenait pour deux armées; mais comme don -Quichotte voyait toujours les choses telles que les lui peignait sa -folle imagination, il commença d’une voix éclatante à parler ainsi: - -Vois-tu là-bas ce chevalier aux armes dorées, qui porte sur son écu un -lion couronné, étendu aux pieds d’une jeune damoiselle? eh bien, c’est -le valeureux Laurcalco, seigneur du Pont-d’Argent. Cet autre, qui a des -armes à fleur d’or et qui porte trois couronnes d’argent en champ -d’azur, c’est le redoutable Micolambo, grand-duc de Quirochie. A sa -droite, avec cette taille de géant, c’est l’intrépide Brandabarbaran de -Boliche, seigneur des trois Arabies: il a pour cuirasse une peau de -serpent, et pour écu une des portes qu’on prétend avoir appartenu au -temple renversé par Samson, quand il se vengea des Philistins aux dépens -de sa propre vie. Maintenant tourne les yeux de ce côté, et tu pourras -voir, à la tête de cette autre armée, l’invincible Timonel de -Carcassonne, prince de la nouvelle Biscaye: il porte des armes -écartelées d’azur, de sinople, d’argent et d’or, et sur son écu un chat -d’or en champ de pourpre, avec ces trois lettres M. I. U., qui forment -la première syllabe du nom de sa maîtresse, l’incomparable fille du duc -Alphénique des Algarves. Ce cavalier intrépide, qui fait plier les reins -à cette jument sauvage, et dont les armes sont blanches comme neige, -l’écu de même et sans devise, c’est un jeune chevalier français appelé -Pierre Papin, seigneur des baronnies d’Utrique. Cet autre aux armes -bleues, qui presse les flancs de ce zèbre rapide, c’est le puissant duc -de Nervie, Espartafilando du Bocage; il a dans son écu un champ semé -d’asperges, avec cette devise: _Rastrea mi suerte_[38]. - - [38] En voie de fortune. Mot à mot: Chercher mon sort à la piste. - -Notre héros nomma encore une foule d’autres chevaliers qu’il s’imaginait -voir dans ces prétendues armées, donnant à chacun d’eux, sans hésiter un -seul instant, les armes, couleurs et devises que lui fournissait son -inépuisable folie, et sans s’arrêter il poursuivit: - -Ces escadrons qui se déploient en face de nous sont composés d’une -multitude de nations diverses; voici d’abord ceux qui boivent les douces -eaux du Xanthe fameux; viennent ensuite les montagnards qui foulent les -champs Massiliens; plus loin ceux qui criblent la fine poudre d’or de -l’Heureuse Arabie; là ceux qui jouissent des fraîches rives du limpide -Thermodon et ceux qui épuisent par mille saignées le Pactole au sable -doré; les Numides à la foi équivoque; les Perses, sans pareils à tirer -l’arc; les Mèdes et les Parthes, habiles à combattre en fuyant; les -Arabes, aux tentes voyageuses; les Scythes farouches et cruels; les -Éthiopiens, aux lèvres percées; enfin une multitude d’autres nations -dont je connais les visages, mais dont je n’ai pas retenu les noms. Dans -cette autre armée, tu dois voir ceux qui s’abreuvent au limpide cristal -du Bétis, dont les bords sont couverts d’oliviers; ceux qui se baignent -dans les ondes dorées du Tage; ceux qui jouissent des eaux fertilisantes -du divin Xénil; ceux qui foulent les champs Tartésiens aux gras -pâturages; les heureux habitants des délicieuses prairies de Xérès; les -riches Manchègues, couronnés de jaunes épis; les descendants des anciens -Goths tout couverts de fer; ceux qui font paître leurs troupeaux dans -les riches pâturages de la tournoyante Guadiana; ceux qui habitent au -pied des froides montagnes des Pyrénées ou dans les neiges de -l’Apennin; en un mot toutes les nations que l’Europe renferme dans sa -vaste étendue. - -Qui pourrait dire tous les peuples que dénombra notre héros, donnant à -chacun d’eux, avec une merveilleuse facilité, les attributs les plus -précis, rempli qu’il était de ses rêveries habituelles! Quant à Sancho, -il était si abasourdi qu’il ne soufflait mot; seulement, les yeux grands -ouverts, il tournait de temps en temps la tête pour voir s’il -parviendrait à découvrir ces chevaliers et ces géants. Mais, ne voyant -rien paraître: - -Par ma foi, s’écria-t-il, je me donne au diable, si j’aperçois un seul -des chevaliers ou des géants que Votre Grâce vient de nommer. Tout cela -doit être enchantement, comme les fantômes d’hier au soir. - -Comment peux-tu parler ainsi? repartit don Quichotte; n’entends-tu pas -le hennissement des chevaux, le son des trompettes, le roulement des -tambours? - -Je n’entends que des bêlements d’agneaux et de brebis, répliqua Sancho. -Ce qui était vrai, car les deux troupeaux étaient tout proche. - -La peur te fait voir et entendre tout de travers, dit don Quichotte; -car, on le sait, un des effets de cette triste passion est de troubler -les sens et de montrer les choses autrement qu’elles ne sont. Eh bien, -si le courage te manque, tiens-toi à l’écart, et laisse-moi faire; seul, -je suffis pour porter la victoire où je porterai mon appui. En même -temps il donne de l’éperon à Rossinante, et, la lance en arrêt, se -précipite dans la plaine avec la rapidité de la foudre. - -Arrêtez, seigneur, arrêtez, lui criait Sancho; le ciel m’est témoin que -ce sont des moutons et des brebis que vous allez attaquer. Par l’âme de -mon père, quelle folie vous possède? Considérez, je vous prie, qu’il n’y -a ici ni chevaliers, ni géants, ni écus, ni armures, ni champs -d’asperges, ni aucune autre de ces choses dont vous parlez. - -Ces cris n’arrêtaient pas don Quichotte, au contraire il vociférait de -plus belle: Courage, courage, disait-il, chevaliers qui combattez sous -la bannière du valeureux Pentapolin au _Bras-Retroussé_! suivez-moi, et -vous verrez que je l’aurai bientôt vengé du traître Alifanfaron de -Taprobane. - -En parlant ainsi il se jette au milieu du troupeau de brebis, et il se -met à larder de tous côtés, avec autant d’ardeur et de rage que s’il -avait eu affaire à ses plus mortels ennemis. - -Les bergers qui conduisaient le troupeau crièrent d’abord à notre héros -de s’arrêter, demandant ce que lui avaient fait ces pauvres bêtes. Mais -bientôt las de crier inutilement, ils dénouèrent leurs frondes, et -commencèrent à saluer notre chevalier d’une grêle de cailloux plus gros -que le poing, avec tant de diligence qu’un coup n’attendait pas l’autre. -Quant à lui, sans daigner se garantir, il courait çà et là en répétant à -haute voix: Où donc es-tu, superbe Alifanfaron? approche, approche; je -t’attends seul ici, pour te faire éprouver la force de mon bras et te -punir de la peine que tu causes au valeureux Pentapolin. - -De tant de pierres qui volaient autour de l’intrépide chevalier, une -enfin l’atteignit et lui renfonça deux côtes dans le corps. A la -violence du coup il se crut mort, ou du moins grièvement blessé; -aussitôt se rappelant son baume, il porte la burette à sa bouche, et se -met à boire la précieuse liqueur. Mais avant qu’il en eût avalé quelques -gorgées, un autre caillou vient fracasser la burette dans sa main, -chemin faisant lui écrase deux doigts, puis lui emporte trois ou quatre -dents. Ces deux coups étaient si violents, que notre chevalier en fut -jeté à terre, où il demeura étendu. Les pâtres, croyant l’avoir tué, -rassemblèrent leurs bêtes à la hâte, puis chargeant sur leurs épaules -les brebis mortes, au nombre de sept ou huit, sans oublier les blessées, -ils s’éloignèrent en diligence. - -Pendant ce temps, Sancho était resté sur la colline, d’où il contemplait -les folies de son maître, et s’arrachait la barbe à pleines mains, -maudissant mille fois le jour et l’heure où sa mauvaise fortune le lui -avait fait connaître. Quand il le vit par terre et les bergers hors de -portée, il descendit de la colline, s’approcha de lui, et le trouvant -dans un piteux état, quoiqu’il n’eût pas perdu le sentiment. - -Eh bien, seigneur, lui dit-il, n’avais-je pas averti Votre Grâce qu’elle -allait attaquer, non pas des armées, mais des troupeaux de moutons? - -C’est ainsi, reprit don Quichotte, que ce brigand d’enchanteur, mon -ennemi, transforme tout à sa fantaisie; car, mon fils, rien n’est aussi -facile pour ces gens-là. Jaloux de la gloire que j’allais acquérir, ce -perfide nécromant aura changé les escadrons de chevaliers en troupeaux -de moutons. Au reste, veux-tu me faire plaisir et te désabuser une bonne -fois, eh bien, monte sur ton âne, et suis de loin ce prétendu bétail: je -gage qu’avant d’avoir fait cent pas ils auront repris leur première -forme, et alors tu verras ces moutons redevenir des hommes droits et -bien faits, comme je les ai dépeints. Attends un peu cependant, j’ai -besoin de tes services; approche et regarde dans ma bouche combien il me -manque de dents; je crois, en vérité, qu’il ne m’en reste pas une seule. - -Sancho s’approcha, et comme en regardant de si près il avait presque les -yeux dans le gosier de son maître, le baume acheva d’opérer dans -l’estomac de don Quichotte qui, avec la même impétuosité qu’aurait pu -faire un coup d’arquebuse, lança tout ce qu’il avait dans le corps aux -yeux et sur la barbe du compatissant écuyer. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria Sancho, que vient-il de m’arriver là? Sans doute -mon seigneur est blessé à mort, puisqu’il vomit le sang par la bouche. - -Mais quand il eut regardé de plus près, il reconnut à la couleur, à -l’odeur et à la saveur, que ce n’était pas du sang, mais bien le baume -qu’il lui avait vu boire. Alors il fut pris d’une telle nausée que, sans -avoir le temps de tourner la tête, il lança à son tour au nez de son -maître ce que lui-même il avait dans les entrailles, et tous deux se -trouvèrent dans le plus plaisant état qu’il soit possible d’imaginer. -Sancho courut vers son âne pour prendre de quoi s’essuyer le visage et -panser son seigneur; mais ne trouvant point le bissac oublié dans -l’hôtellerie, il faillit en perdre l’esprit. Alors il se donna de -nouveau mille malédictions, et résolut dans son cœur de planter là -notre héros et de s’en retourner chez lui, sans nul souci de la -récompense de ses services ni du gouvernement de l’île. - -Après de pénibles efforts, don Quichotte réussit enfin à se lever, et -mettant la main gauche sur sa bouche, pour appuyer le reste de ses -dents, il prit de l’autre main la bride du fidèle Rossinante, qui -n’avait pas bougé, tant il était d’un bon naturel, et s’en fut trouver -Sancho. En le voyant courbé en deux sur son âne, la tête dans ses mains, -comme un homme enseveli dans une profonde tristesse: Ami Panza, lui -dit-il, apprends qu’un homme n’est pas plus qu’un autre, s’il ne fait -davantage. Ces orages dont nous sommes assaillis ne sont-ils pas des -signes évidents que le temps va devenir serein, et nos affaires -meilleures? Ignores-tu que le bien comme le mal a son terme? d’où il -suit que le mal ayant beaucoup duré, le bien doit être proche. Cesse -donc de t’affliger des disgrâces qui m’arrivent, d’autant plus que tu -n’en souffres pas. - -Comment! repartit Sancho; est-ce que celui qu’on berna hier était un -autre que le fils de mon père? et le bissac que l’on m’a pris, avec -tout ce qu’il y avait dedans, n’était peut-être pas à moi? - -Quoi! tu as perdu le bissac? s’écria don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais s’il est perdu, répondit Sancho, mais je ne le trouve pas où -j’ai coutume de le mettre. - -Nous voilà donc réduits à jeûner aujourd’hui? dit notre héros. - -Assurément, répondit l’écuyer, surtout si ces prés manquent de ces -herbes que vous connaissez, et qui peuvent au besoin servir de -nourriture aux pauvres chevaliers errants. - -Pour te dire la vérité, continua don Quichotte, j’aimerais mieux, à -cette heure, un quartier de pain bis avec deux têtes de sardines, que -toutes les plantes que décrit Dioscoride, même aidé des commentaires du -fameux docteur Laguna[39]. Allons, mon fils Sancho, monte sur ton âne et -suis-moi; Dieu, qui pourvoit à toutes choses, ne nous abandonnera pas, -voyant surtout notre application à le servir dans ce pénible exercice; -car il n’oublie ni les moucherons de l’air, ni les vermisseaux de la -terre, ni les insectes de l’eau, et il est si miséricordieux qu’il fait -luire son soleil sur le juste et sur l’injuste, et répand sa rosée aussi -bien sur les méchants que sur les bons. - - [39] André Laguna, né à Ségovie, médecin de l’empereur Charles-Quint, - traducteur et commentateur de Dioscoride. - -En vérité, seigneur, répondit Sancho, vous étiez plutôt fait pour être -prédicateur que chevalier errant. - -Les chevaliers errants savent tout et doivent tout savoir, dit don -Quichotte; on a vu jadis tel d’entre eux s’arrêter au beau milieu d’un -chemin, pour faire un sermon ou un discours, comme s’il eût pris ses -licences à l’Université de Paris; tant il est vrai que jamais l’épée -n’émoussa la plume ni la plume l’épée. - -Qu’il en soit comme le veut Votre Grâce, reprit Sancho. Maintenant -allons chercher un gîte pour la nuit, et plaise à Dieu que ce soit dans -un lieu où il n’y ait ni berneurs, ni fantômes, ni Mores enchantés, car, -si j’en rencontre encore, je dis serviteur à la chevalerie et j’envoie -ma part à tous les diables. - -Prie Dieu qu’il nous guide, mon fils, dit don Quichotte, et prends le -chemin que tu voudras; je te laisse pour cette fois le soin de notre -logement. Mais d’abord, donne-moi ta main, et tâte avec ton doigt -combien il me manque de dents à la mâchoire d’en haut, du côté droit, -car c’est là qu’est mon mal. - -Sancho lui mit le doigt dans la bouche; et après l’avoir soigneusement -examinée: Combien de dents Votre Grâce était-elle dans l’habitude -d’avoir de ce côté? demanda-t-il. - -Quatre, sans compter l’œillère, et toutes bien saines, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Prenez garde à ce que vous dites, observa Sancho. - -Je dis quatre, si même il n’y en avait cinq, reprit don Quichotte, car -jusqu’à cette heure on ne m’en a arraché aucune, et je n’en ai jamais -perdu, ni par carie, ni par fluxion. - -Eh bien, ici en bas, repartit Sancho, Votre Grâce n’a plus que deux -dents et demie, et pas même la moitié d’une en haut; tout est ras comme -la main. - -Malheureux que je suis! s’écria notre héros à cette triste nouvelle; -j’aimerais mieux qu’ils m’eussent coupé un bras, pourvu que ce ne fût -pas celui de l’épée; car tu sauras, mon fils, qu’une bouche sans dents -est comme un moulin sans meule, et qu’une dent est plus précieuse qu’un -diamant. Mais qu’y faire? puisque c’est là notre partage, à nous qui -suivons les lois austères de la chevalerie errante. Marche, ami, et -conduis-nous, j’irai le train que tu voudras. - -Sancho fit ce que disait son maître, et s’achemina du côté où il -comptait plus sûrement trouver un gîte, sans s’écarter du grand chemin, -fort suivi en cet endroit. Comme ils allaient à petits pas, parce que -don Quichotte éprouvait une vive douleur que le mouvement du cheval -augmentait encore, Sancho voulut l’entretenir afin d’endormir son mal; -et, entre autres choses, il lui dit ce qu’on verra dans le chapitre -suivant. - -CHAPITRE XIX - -DU SAGE ET SPIRITUEL ENTRETIEN QUE SANCHO EUT AVEC SON MAITRE, DE LA -RENCONTRE QU’ILS FIRENT D’UN CORPS MORT, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS -FAMEUX - -Je crains bien, seigneur, que toutes ces mésaventures qui nous sont -arrivées depuis quelques jours ne soient la punition du péché que Votre -Grâce a commis contre l’ordre de sa chevalerie, en oubliant le serment -que vous aviez fait de ne point manger pain sur nappe, de ne point -folâtrer avec la reine, enfin tout ce que vous aviez juré d’accomplir -tant que vous n’auriez pas enlevé l’armet de ce Malandrin, ou comme se -nomme le More, car je ne me rappelle pas très-bien son nom. - -Tu as raison, répondit don Quichotte; à dire vrai, cela m’était sorti de -la mémoire; et sois certain que c’est pour avoir manqué de m’en faire -ressouvenir que tu as été berné si cruellement. Mais je réparerai ma -faute, car dans l’ordre de la chevalerie il y a accommodement pour tout -péché. - -Est-ce que par hasard j’ai juré quelque chose, moi? répliqua Sancho. - -Peu importe que tu n’aies pas juré, dit don Quichotte; il suffit que tu -ne sois pas complétement à l’abri du reproche de complicité: en tout cas -il sera bon de nous occuper à y chercher remède. - -S’il en est ainsi, reprit Sancho, n’allez pas oublier votre serment -comme la première fois; je tremble qu’il ne prenne encore envie aux -fantômes de se divertir à mes dépens, et peut-être bien à ceux de Votre -Grâce, s’ils la trouvent en rechute. - -Pendant cette conversation, la nuit vint les surprendre au milieu du -chemin, sans qu’ils eussent trouvé où se mettre à couvert, et le pis de -l’affaire, c’est qu’ils mouraient de faim, car en perdant le bissac ils -avaient perdu leurs provisions. Pour comble de disgrâce, il leur arriva -une nouvelle aventure, ou du moins quelque chose qui y ressemblait -terriblement. Malgré l’obscurité de la nuit, ils allaient toujours -devant eux, parce que Sancho s’imaginait qu’étant sur le grand chemin -ils avaient tout au plus une ou deux lieues à faire pour trouver une -hôtellerie. - -Ils marchaient dans cette espérance, l’écuyer mourant de faim, et le -maître ayant grande envie de manger, lorsqu’ils aperçurent à quelque -distance plusieurs lumières qui paraissaient autant d’étoiles mouvantes. -A cette vue, Sancho faillit s’évanouir; don Quichotte lui-même éprouva -de l’émotion. L’un tira le licou de son âne, l’autre retint la bride de -son cheval, et, tous deux s’arrêtant pour considérer ce que ce pouvait -être, ils reconnurent que ces lumières venaient droit à eux, et que plus -elles approchaient, plus elles grandissaient. La peur de Sancho -redoubla, et les cheveux en dressèrent sur la tête de don Quichotte qui, -s’affermissant sur ses étriers, lui dit: Ami Sancho, voici sans doute -une grande et périlleuse aventure, où je pourrai déployer tout mon -courage et toute ma force. - -Malheureux que je suis! repartit Sancho; si c’est encore une aventure de -fantômes, comme elle en a bien la mine, où trouverai-je des côtes pour y -suffire? - -Fantômes tant qu’ils voudront, dit don Quichotte, je te réponds qu’il ne -t’en coûtera pas un seul poil de ton pourpoint; si l’autre fois ils -t’ont joué un mauvais tour, c’est que je ne pus escalader cette maudite -muraille; mais à présent que nous sommes en rase campagne, j’aurai la -liberté de jouer de l’épée. - -Et s’ils vous enchantent encore, comme ils l’ont déjà fait, reprit -Sancho, à quoi servira que vous ayez ou non le champ libre? - -Prends courage, dit don Quichotte, et tu vas me voir à l’épreuve. - -Eh bien, oui, j’en aurai du courage, si Dieu le veut, répondit Sancho. - -Et tous deux se portant à l’écart, pour considérer de nouveau ce que -pouvaient être ces lumières qui s’avançaient, ils aperçurent bientôt un -grand nombre d’hommes vêtus de blanc. - -Cette vision abattit le courage de Sancho, à qui les dents commencèrent -à claquer comme s’il eût eu la fièvre. Mais elles lui claquèrent de plus -belle quand il vit distinctement venir droit à eux une vingtaine -d’hommes à cheval, enchemisés dans des robes blanches, tous portant une -torche à la main, et paraissant marmotter quelque chose d’une voix basse -et plaintive. Derrière ces hommes venait une litière de deuil, suivie de -six cavaliers couverts de noir jusqu’aux pieds de leurs mules. Cette -étrange apparition, à une pareille heure et dans un lieu si désert, en -aurait épouvanté bien d’autres que Sancho, dont aussi la valeur fit -naufrage en cette occasion; mais le contraire advint pour don Quichotte, -à qui sa folle imagination représenta sur-le-champ que c’était là une -des aventures de ses livres. Se figurant que la litière renfermait -quelque chevalier mort ou blessé, dont la vengeance était réservée à lui -seul, il se campe au milieu du chemin par où cette troupe allait passer, -s’affermit sur ses étriers, met la lance en arrêt, et crie d’une voix -terrible: Qui que vous soyez, halte-là; dites-moi qui vous êtes, d’où -vous venez, où vous allez, et ce que vous portez sur ce brancard? Selon -toute apparence, vous avez reçu quelque outrage, ou vous-mêmes en avez -fait à quelqu’un. Ainsi donc, il faut que je le sache, ou pour vous -punir ou pour vous venger. - -Nous sommes pressés, répondit un des cavaliers, l’hôtellerie est encore -loin, et nous n’avons pas le temps de vous rendre les comptes que vous -demandez. En disant cela, il piqua sa mule et passa outre. - -Arrêtez, insolent, lui cria don Quichotte, en saisissant les rênes de la -mule; soyez plus poli et répondez sur-le-champ, sinon préparez-vous au -combat. - -La bête était ombrageuse; se sentant prise au mors, elle se cabra, et se -renversa sur son maître fort rudement. Ne pouvant faire autre chose, un -valet qui était à pied se mit à dire mille injures à don Quichotte, -lequel déjà enflammé de colère fondit la lance basse sur un des -cavaliers vêtus de deuil, et l’étendit par terre en fort mauvais état. -De celui-ci il passe à un autre, et c’était merveille de voir la vigueur -et la promptitude dont il allait, de sorte qu’en ce moment on eût dit -que Rossinante avait des ailes, tant il était fier et léger. - -Ces gens étaient peu courageux et sans armes; ils prirent bientôt -l’épouvante, et s’enfuyant à travers champs avec leurs torches -enflammées, on les eût pris pour des masques courant dans une nuit de -carnaval. Les hommes aux manteaux noirs n’étaient pas moins troublés, et -de plus embarrassés de leurs longs vêtements; aussi don Quichotte, -frappant à son aise, demeura maître du champ de bataille, la troupe -épouvantée le prenant pour le diable qui venait leur enlever le corps -enfermé dans la litière. Sancho admirait l’intrépidité de son seigneur, -et en le regardant faire il se disait dans sa barbe: Il faut pourtant -bien que ce mien maître-là soit aussi brave et aussi vaillant qu’il le -prétend. - -Cependant, à la lueur d’une torche qui brûlait encore, don Quichotte -apercevant le cavalier qui était resté gisant sous sa mule, courut lui -mettre la pointe de sa lance contre la poitrine, lui criant de se -rendre. Je ne suis que trop rendu, répondit l’homme à terre, puisque je -ne saurais bouger, et que je crois avoir une jambe cassée. Si vous êtes -chrétien et gentilhomme, je vous supplie de ne pas me tuer; aussi bien, -vous commettriez un sacrilége, car je suis licencié, et j’ai reçu les -premiers ordres. - -Et qui diable, étant homme d’église, vous amène ici? demanda don -Quichotte. - -Ma mauvaise fortune, répondit-il. - -Elle pourrait s’aggraver encore, si vous ne répondez sur l’heure à -toutes mes questions, répliqua notre héros. - -Rien n’est plus facile, seigneur, reprit le licencié; il me suffira de -vous dire que je m’appelle Alonzo Lopès, que je suis natif d’Alcovendas, -et que je viens de Baeça avec onze autres ecclésiastiques, ceux que vous -venez de mettre en fuite; nous accompagnons le corps d’un gentilhomme -mort depuis quelque temps à Baeça, et qui a voulu être enterré à -Ségovie, lieu de sa naissance. - -Et qui l’a tué, ce gentilhomme? demanda don Quichotte. - -Dieu, par une fièvre maligne qu’il lui a envoyée, répondit le licencié. - -En ce cas, répliqua notre chevalier, le seigneur m’a déchargé du soin de -venger sa mort, comme j’aurais dû le faire si quelque autre lui eût ôté -la vie. Mais puisque c’est Dieu, il n’y a qu’à se taire et à plier les -épaules, comme je ferai moi-même quand mon heure sera venue. Maintenant, -seigneur licencié, apprenez que je suis un chevalier de la Manche, connu -sous le nom de don Quichotte, et que ma profession est d’aller par le -monde, redressant les torts et réparant les injustices. - -Je ne sais comment vous redressez les torts, reprit le licencié; mais de -droit que j’étais, vous m’avez mis en un bien triste état, avec une -jambe rompue, que je ne verrai peut-être jamais redressée. L’injustice -que vous avez réparée à mon égard a été de m’en faire une irréparable, -et si vous cherchez les aventures, moi j’ai rencontré la plus fâcheuse, -en me trouvant sur votre chemin. - -Toutes choses n’ont pas même succès, dit don Quichotte; le mal est venu -de ce que vous et vos compagnons cheminez la nuit avec ces longs -manteaux de deuil, ces surplis, ces torches enflammées, marmottant je ne -sais quoi entre les dents, et tels enfin que vous semblez gens de -l’autre monde. Vous voyez donc que je n’ai pu m’empêcher de remplir mon -devoir, et je l’aurais fait quand bien même vous auriez été autant de -diables, comme je l’ai cru d’abord. - -Puisque mon malheur l’a voulu ainsi, repartit le licencié, il faut s’en -consoler; je vous supplie seulement, seigneur chevalier errant, de -m’aider à me dégager de dessous cette mule: j’ai une jambe prise entre -l’étrier et la selle. - -Que ne le disiez-vous plus tôt! reprit don Quichotte; autrement nous -aurions conversé jusqu’à demain. - -Il cria à Sancho de venir; mais celui-ci n’avait garde de se hâter, -occupé qu’il était à dévaliser un mulet chargé de vivres que menaient -avec eux ces bons prêtres; il fallut attendre qu’il eût fait de sa -casaque une espèce de sac et l’eût chargée sur son âne après l’avoir -farcie de tout ce qu’il put y faire entrer. Il courut ensuite à son -maître, qu’il aida à dégager le licencié de dessous sa mule et à -remettre en selle. Don Quichotte rendit sa torche à cet homme, et lui -permit de rejoindre ses compagnons, en le priant de leur faire ses -excuses pour le traitement qu’il leur avait infligé, mais qu’il n’avait -pu ni dû s’empêcher de leur faire subir. - -Seigneur, lui dit Sancho en le voyant prêt à s’éloigner, si vos -compagnons demandent quel est ce vaillant chevalier qui les a mis en -fuite, vous leur direz que c’est le fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, -autrement appelé le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -Quand le licencié fut parti, don Quichotte demanda à Sancho pourquoi il -l’avait appelé le chevalier de la Triste-Figure plutôt à cette heure -qu’à toute autre. - -C’est qu’en vous regardant à la lueur de la torche que tenait ce pauvre -diable, répondit Sancho, j’ai trouvé à Votre Grâce une physionomie si -singulière, que je n’ai jamais rien vu de semblable; il faut que cela -vous vienne de la fatigue du combat ou de la perte de vos dents. - -Tu n’y es pas, dit don Quichotte. Crois plutôt que le sage qui doit un -jour écrire l’histoire de mes exploits aura trouvé bon que j’aie un -surnom comme tous les chevaliers mes prédécesseurs. L’un s’appelait le -chevalier de l’Ardente-Épée, un autre le chevalier de la Licorne, -celui-ci des Damoiselles, celui-là du Phénix, un autre du Griffon, un -autre de la Mort, et ils étaient connus sous ces noms-là par toute la -terre. Je pense donc que ce sage t’aura mis dans la pensée et sur le -bout de la langue le surnom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure; je veux le -porter désormais, et, pour cela, je suis décidé à faire peindre sur mon -écu quelque figure extraordinaire. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, reprit Sancho, Votre Grâce peut se dispenser de -faire peindre cette figure-là, il suffira de vous montrer: vos longs -jeûnes et le mauvais état de vos mâchoires vous font une mine si -étrange, qu’il n’y a peinture qui puisse en approcher, et ceux qui vous -verront ne manqueront pas de vous donner, sans autre image et sans nul -écu, le nom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -Don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher de sourire de la saillie de son écuyer; -mais il n’en résolut pas moins de prendre le surnom qu’il lui avait -donné, et de se faire peindre sur son écu à la première occasion. -Sais-tu bien, Sancho, lui dit-il, que je crains de me voir excommunié -pour avoir porté la main sur une chose sainte, suivant ce texte: _Si -quis, suadente diabolo_..... Et pourtant, à vrai dire, je ne l’ai pas -touchée de la main, mais seulement de la lance; outre que je ne croyais -pas que ce fussent là des prêtres, ni rien qui appartînt à l’Église, que -j’honore et respecte, comme chrétien catholique, mais des fantômes et -des habitants de l’autre monde. Au surplus, il s’en faut de beaucoup que -mon cas soit aussi grave que celui du cid Ruy Dias, qui fut excommunié -par le pape en personne pour avoir osé briser, en présence de Sa -Sainteté, le fauteuil d’un ambassadeur; ce qui n’empêcha pas Rodrigue de -Vivar d’être tenu pour loyal et vaillant chevalier. - -Le licencié s’étant éloigné comme je l’ai dit, sans souffler mot, don -Quichotte voulut savoir si ce qui était dans la litière était bien le -corps du gentilhomme, ou seulement son squelette; mais Sancho ne voulut -jamais y consentir: Seigneur, lui dit-il, Votre Grâce a mis fin à cette -aventure à moins de frais qu’aucune de celles que nous avons rencontrées -jusqu’ici. Si ces gens viennent à s’apercevoir que c’est un seul homme -qui les a mis en fuite, ils peuvent revenir sur leurs pas et nous causer -bien des soucis. Mon âne est en bon état, la montagne est proche, la -faim nous talonne, qu’avons-nous de mieux à faire sinon de nous retirer -doucement? Que le mort, comme on dit, s’en aille à la sépulture, et le -vivant à la pâture. - -Là-dessus, poussant son âne devant lui, il pria son maître de le suivre, -ce que celui-ci fit sans répliquer, voyant bien que Sancho avait raison. - -Après avoir cheminé quelque temps entre deux coteaux qu’ils -distinguaient à peine, ils arrivèrent dans un vallon spacieux et -découvert, où don Quichotte mit pied à terre. Là, assis sur l’herbe -fraîche, et sans autre assaisonnement que leur appétit, ils déjeunèrent, -dînèrent et soupèrent tout à la fois avec les provisions que Sancho -avait trouvées en abondance dans les paniers des ecclésiastiques, -lesquels, on le sait, sont rarement gens à s’oublier. Mais une disgrâce -que Sancho trouva la pire de toutes, c’est qu’ils mouraient de soif, et -qu’ils n’avaient pas même une goutte d’eau pour se désaltérer. Aussi -notre écuyer, sentant que le pré autour d’eux était couvert d’une herbe -fraîche et humide, dit à son maître ce qu’on va rapporter dans le -chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XX - -DE LA PLUS ÉTONNANTE AVENTURE QU’AIT JAMAIS RENCONTRÉE AUCUN CHEVALIER -ERRANT, ET DE LAQUELLE DON QUICHOTTE VINT A BOUT A PEU DE FRAIS - -L’herbe sur laquelle nous sommes assis, dit Sancho, me paraît si fraîche -et si drue, qu’il doit y avoir ici près quelque ruisseau; aussi je crois -qu’en cherchant un peu, nous trouverons de quoi apaiser cette soif qui -nous tourmente, et qui me semble plus cruelle encore que la faim. - -Don Quichotte fut de cet avis; prenant Rossinante par la bride, et -Sancho son âne par le licou, après lui avoir mis sur le dos les restes -du souper, ils commencèrent à marcher en tâtonnant, parce que -l’obscurité était si grande qu’ils ne pouvaient rien distinguer. Ils -n’eurent pas fait deux cents pas, qu’ils entendirent un grand bruit, -pareil à celui d’une cascade qui tomberait du haut d’un rocher. Ce bruit -leur causa d’abord bien de la joie; mais en écoutant de quel côté il -pouvait venir, ils entendirent un autre bruit qui leur parut beaucoup -moins agréable que le premier, surtout à Sancho, naturellement très -poltron. C’étaient de grands coups sourds frappés en cadence avec un -cliquetis de ferrailles et de chaînes qui, joint au bruit affreux du -torrent, aurait terrifié tout autre que notre héros. - -La nuit, comme je l’ai dit, était fort obscure, et le hasard les avait -conduits sous de grands arbres, dont un vent frais agitait les feuilles -et les branches; si bien que l’obscurité, le bruit de l’eau, le murmure -du feuillage, et ces grands coups qui ne cessaient de retentir, tout -cela semblait fait pour inspirer la terreur, d’autant plus qu’ils ne -savaient pas où ils étaient et que le jour tardait à paraître. Mais, -loin de s’épouvanter, l’intrépide don Quichotte sauta sur Rossinante, et -embrassant son écu: Ami Sancho, lui dit-il, apprends que le ciel m’a -fait naître en ce maudit siècle de fer pour ramener l’âge d’or; à moi -sont réservées les grandes actions et les périlleuses aventures; c’est -moi, je te le répète, qui dois faire oublier les chevaliers de la Table -ronde, les douze pairs de France, les neuf preux, les Olivantes, les -Belianis, les Platir, les Phébus, et tous les chevaliers errants des -temps passés. Remarque, cher et fidèle écuyer, les ténèbres de cette -nuit et son profond silence; écoute le bruit sourd et confus de ces -arbres, l’effroyable vacarme de cette eau qui semble tomber des -montagnes de la Lune, et ces coups redoublés qui déchirent nos oreilles: -une seule de ces choses suffirait pour étonner le dieu Mars lui-même. Eh -bien, tout cela n’est qu’un aiguillon pour mon courage, et déjà le cœur -me bondit dans la poitrine du désir d’affronter cette aventure, toute -périlleuse qu’elle s’annonce. Serre donc un peu les sangles à -Rossinante, et reste en la garde de Dieu. Tu m’attendras ici pendant -trois jours, au bout desquels, si tu ne me vois pas revenir, tu pourras -t’en retourner à notre village; après quoi tu te rendras au Toboso afin -de dire à la sans pareille Dulcinée que le chevalier son esclave a péri -pour avoir voulu entreprendre des choses qui pussent le rendre digne -d’elle. - -En entendant son maître parler de la sorte, Sancho se mit à pleurer: -Seigneur, lui dit-il, pourquoi Votre Grâce veut-elle s’engager dans une -si périlleuse aventure? Il est nuit noire, on ne nous voit point: nous -pouvons donc quitter le chemin et éviter ce danger. Comme personne ne -sera témoin de notre retraite, personne ne pourra nous accuser de -poltronnerie. J’ai souvent entendu dire à notre curé, que vous -connaissez bien: «Celui qui cherche le péril, y périra»; ainsi -gardez-vous de tenter Dieu en vous jetant dans une aventure dont un -miracle pourrait seul nous tirer. Ne vous suffit-il pas que le ciel vous -ait garanti d’être berné comme moi, et qu’il vous ait donné pleine -victoire sur les gens qui accompagnaient ce défunt? Mais si tout cela ne -peut toucher votre cœur, que du moins il s’attendrisse en pensant qu’à -peine m’aurez-vous abandonné, la peur livrera mon âme à qui voudra la -prendre. J’ai quitté mon pays, j’ai laissé ma femme et mes enfants pour -suivre Votre Grâce, espérant y gagner et non y perdre; mais, comme on -dit, convoitise rompt le sac; elle a détruit mes espérances, car c’est -au moment où j’allais mettre la main sur cette île que vous m’avez -promise tant de fois, que vous voulez m’abandonner dans un lieu si -éloigné du commerce des hommes. Pour l’amour de Dieu, mon cher maître, -n’ayez pas cette cruauté, et si vous voulez absolument entreprendre -cette maudite aventure, attendez jusqu’au matin. D’après ce que j’ai -appris étant berger, il n’y a guère plus de trois heures d’ici à l’aube; -en effet, la bouche de la Petite Ourse[40] dépasse la tête de la croix, -et elle marque minuit à la ligne du bras gauche. - - [40] Les bergers espagnols appellent la constellation de la Petite - Ourse _la bocina_ (le clairon). - -Comment vois-tu cela? dit don Quichotte; la nuit est si obscure qu’on -n’aperçoit pas une seule étoile dans tout le ciel. - -C’est vrai, répondit Sancho; mais la peur a de bons yeux, et d’ailleurs -il est facile de connaître qu’il n’y a pas loin d’ici au jour. - -Qu’il vienne tôt ou qu’il vienne tard, reprit don Quichotte, il ne sera -pas dit que des prières et des larmes m’auront empêché de faire mon -devoir de chevalier. Ainsi, Sancho, toutes tes paroles sont inutiles. Le -ciel, qui m’a mis au cœur le dessein d’affronter cette formidable -aventure, saura m’en tirer, ou prendra soin de toi après ma mort. Sangle -Rossinante, et attends-moi; je te promets de revenir bientôt, mort ou -vif. - -Sancho, voyant l’inébranlable résolution de son maître, et que ses -prières et ses larmes n’y pouvaient rien, prit le parti d’user d’adresse -afin de l’obliger malgré lui d’attendre le jour; pour cela, avant de -serrer les sangles à Rossinante, il lui lia, sans faire semblant de -rien, les jambes de derrière avec le licou de son âne, de façon que -lorsque don Quichotte voulut partir, son cheval, au lieu d’aller en -avant, ne faisait que sauter. Eh bien, seigneur, lui dit Sancho -satisfait du succès de sa ruse, vous voyez que le ciel est de mon côté, -il ne veut pas que Rossinante bouge d’ici. Si vous vous obstinez à -tourmenter cette pauvre bête, elle ne fera que regimber contre -l’aiguillon, et mettre la fortune en mauvaise humeur. - -Don Quichotte enrageait; mais voyant que plus il piquait Rossinante, -moins il le faisait avancer, il prit le parti d’attendre le jour ou le -bon vouloir de son cheval, sans qu’un seul instant il lui vînt à -l’esprit que ce pût être là un tour de son écuyer. Puisque Rossinante ne -veut pas bouger de place, dit-il, il faut bien me résigner à attendre -l’aube, quelque regret que j’en aie. - -Et qu’y a-t-il de si fâcheux? reprit Sancho; pendant ce temps, je ferai -des contes à Votre Grâce, et je m’engage à lui en fournir jusqu’au jour, -à moins qu’elle n’aime mieux mettre pied à terre, et dormir sur le -gazon, à la manière des chevaliers errants. Demain vous en serez plus -reposé, et mieux en état d’entreprendre cette aventure qui vous attend. - -Moi, dormir! moi, mettre pied à terre! s’écria don Quichotte; suis-je -donc un de ces chevaliers qui reposent quand il s’agit de combattre? -Dors, dors, toi qui es né pour dormir, ou fais ce que tu voudras: pour -moi, je connais mon devoir. - -Ne vous fâchez point, mon cher seigneur, reprit Sancho; je dis cela sans -mauvaise intention; puis s’approchant, il mit une main sur le devant de -la selle de son maître, porta l’autre sur l’arçon de derrière, en sorte -qu’il lui embrassait la cuisse gauche et s’y tenait cramponné, tant lui -causaient de peur ces grands coups qui ne discontinuaient pas. - -Fais-moi quelque conte, lui dit don Quichotte, pour me distraire en -attendant. - -Je le ferais de bon cœur, répondit Sancho, si ce bruit ne m’ôtait la -parole. Cependant je vais tâcher de vous conter une histoire, la -meilleure peut-être que vous ayez jamais entendue, si je la puis -retrouver, et qu’on me la laisse conter en liberté. Or, écoutez bien; je -vais commencer. - -Un jour il y avait ce qu’il y avait, que le bien qui vient soit pour -tout le monde, et le mal pour qui va le chercher. Remarquez, je vous -prie, seigneur, que les anciens ne commençaient pas leurs contes au -hasard comme nous le faisons aujourd’hui. Ce que je viens de vous dire -est une sentence de Caton, le censureur romain, qui dit que le mal est -pour celui qui va le chercher: cela vient fort à propos pour avertir -Votre Grâce de se tenir tranquille, et de ne pas aller chercher le mal, -mais au contraire de prendre une autre route, puisque personne ne nous -force de suivre celle-ci, où l’on dirait que tous les diables nous -attendent. - -Poursuis ton conte, repartit don Quichotte, et laisse-moi le choix du -chemin que nous devons prendre. - -Je dis donc, reprit Sancho, qu’en un certain endroit de l’Estramadure il -y avait un berger chevrier, c’est-à-dire qui gardait des chèvres, -lequel berger ou chevrier, dit le conte, s’appelait Lopez Ruys, et ce -berger Lopez Ruys était amoureux d’une bergère nommée la Toralva, -laquelle bergère nommée la Toralva était fille d’un riche pasteur qui -avait un grand troupeau, lequel riche pasteur, qui avait un grand -troupeau..... - -Si tu t’y prends de cette façon, interrompit don Quichotte, et que tu -répètes toujours deux fois la même chose, tu ne finiras de longtemps; -conte ton histoire en homme d’esprit, sinon je te dispense d’achever. - -Toutes les nouvelles se content ainsi en nos veillées, reprit Sancho, et -je ne sais point conter d’une autre façon; trouvez bon, s’il vous plaît, -que je n’invente pas de nouvelles coutumes. - -Conte donc à ta fantaisie, dit don Quichotte, puisque mon mauvais sort -veut que je sois forcé de t’écouter. - -Eh bien, vous saurez, mon cher maître, continua Sancho, que ce berger -était amoureux, comme je l’ai dit, de la bergère Toralva, créature -joufflue et rebondie, fort difficile à gouverner et qui tenait un peu de -l’homme, car elle avait de la barbe au menton, si bien que je crois la -voir encore. - -Tu l’as donc connue? demanda don Quichotte. - -Point du tout, répondit Sancho; mais celui de qui je tiens le conte m’a -dit qu’il en était si certain, que lorsque je le ferais à d’autres je -pouvais jurer hardiment que je l’avais vue. Or donc, les jours allant et -venant, le diable, qui ne dort point et qui se fourre partout, fit si -bien que l’amour du berger pour la bergère se changea en haine, et la -cause en fut, disaient les mauvaises langues, une bonne quantité de -petites jalousies que lui donnait la Toralva, et qui passaient la -plaisanterie. Depuis lors, la haine du berger en vint à ce point qu’il -ne pouvait plus souffrir la bergère; aussi, pour ne pas la voir, il lui -prit fantaisie de s’en aller si loin qu’il n’en entendît jamais parler. -Mais dès qu’elle se vit dédaignée de Lopez Ruys, la Toralva se mit tout -à coup à l’aimer et cent fois plus que celui-ci n’avait jamais fait. - -Voilà bien le naturel des femmes, interrompit don Quichotte; elles -dédaignent qui les aime, et elles aiment qui les dédaigne. Continue. - -Il arriva donc, reprit Sancho, que le berger partit, poussant ses -chèvres devant lui, et s’acheminant par les plaines de l’Estramadure, -droit vers le royaume de Portugal. La Toralva, ayant appris cela, se mit -à sa poursuite. Elle le suivait de loin, pieds nus, un bourdon à la -main, et portant à son cou un petit sac, où il y avait, à ce qu’on -prétend, un morceau de miroir, la moitié d’un peigne, avec une petite -boîte de fard pour le visage. Mais il y avait ce qu’il y avait, peu -importe quant à présent. - -Finalement, le berger arriva avec ses chèvres sur le bord du Guadiana, à -l’endroit où le fleuve sortait presque de son lit. Du côté où il était, -il n’y avait ni barque, ni batelier, ni personne pour le passer lui et -son troupeau, ce dont il mourait d’angoisse, parce qu’il sentait la -Toralva sur ses talons, et qu’elle l’aurait fait enrager avec ses -prières et ses larmes. En regardant de tous côtés, il aperçut un pêcheur -qui avait un tout petit bateau, mais si petit qu’il ne pouvait contenir -qu’un homme et une chèvre. Comme il n’y avait pas à balancer, il fait -marché avec lui pour le passer ainsi que ses trois cents chèvres. Le -pêcheur amène le bateau, et passe une chèvre; il revient et en passe une -autre; il revient encore et en passe une troisième. Que Votre Grâce -veuille bien faire attention au nombre de chèvres qu’il passait sur -l’autre rive; car s’il vous en échappe une seule, je ne réponds de rien, -et mon histoire s’arrêtera tout net. Or, la rive, de ce côté, était -glissante et escarpée, ce qui faisait que le pêcheur mettait beaucoup de -temps à chaque voyage. Avec tout cela, il allait toujours, passait une -chèvre, puis une autre, et une autre encore. - -Que ne dis-tu qu’il les passa toutes, interrompit don Quichotte, sans le -faire aller et venir de la sorte! tu n’auras pas achevé demain de -passer tes chèvres. - -Combien Votre Grâce croit-elle qu’il y en a de passées à cette heure? -demanda Sancho. - -Et qui diable le saurait? répondit don Quichotte: penses-tu que j’y aie -pris garde? - -Eh bien, voilà ce que j’avais prévu, reprit Sancho; vous n’avez pas -voulu compter, et voilà mon conte fini; il n’y a plus moyen de -continuer. - -Est-il donc si nécessaire, dit don Quichotte, de savoir le compte des -chèvres qui sont passées, que s’il en manque une tu ne puisses continuer -ton récit? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit Sancho; et du moment que je vous ai demandé -combien il y avait de chèvres passées, et que vous avez répondu que vous -n’en saviez rien, dès ce moment j’ai oublié tout ce qui me restait à -dire, et par ma foi, c’est grand dommage, car c’était le meilleur. - -Ton histoire est donc finie? dit don Quichotte. - -Aussi finie que la vie de ma mère, reprit Sancho. - -En vérité, Sancho, continua notre chevalier, voilà bien le plus étrange -conte, et la plus bizarre manière de raconter qu’il soit possible -d’imaginer. Mais qu’attendre de ton esprit? ce vacarme continuel t’aura -sans doute brouillé la cervelle? - -Cela se pourrait, répondit Sancho; mais quant au conte, je sais qu’il -finit toujours là où manque le compte des chèvres. - -Qu’il finisse où il pourra, dit don Quichotte; voyons maintenant si mon -cheval voudra marcher; et il se mit à repiquer Rossinante qui se remit à -faire des sauts, mais sans bouger de place, tant il était bien attaché. - -En ce moment, soit que la fraîcheur du matin commençât à se faire -sentir, soit que Sancho eût mangé la veille quelque chose de laxatif, -soit plutôt que la nature opérât toute seule, notre écuyer se sentit -pressé d’un fardeau dont il était malaisé qu’un autre le soulageât; mais -le pauvre diable avait si grand’peur, qu’il n’osait s’éloigner tant soit -peu. Il lui fallait pourtant apporter remède à un mal que chaque minute -de retard rendait plus incommode; aussi, pour tout concilier, il retira -doucement la main droite dont il tenait l’arçon de la selle de son -maître, et se mettant à son aise du mieux qu’il put, il détacha -l’aiguillette qui retenait ses chausses, lesquelles tombant sur ses -talons lui restèrent aux pieds comme des entraves; ensuite il releva sa -chemise, et mit à l’air les deux moitiés d’un objet qui n’était pas de -mince encolure. Cela fait, il crut avoir achevé le plus difficile; mais -quand il voulut essayer le reste, serrant les dents, pliant les épaules -et retenant son haleine, il ne put s’empêcher de produire certain bruit -dont le son était fort différent de celui qui les importunait depuis si -longtemps. - -Qu’est-ce que j’entends? demanda brusquement don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais, seigneur, répondit Sancho. Vous verrez que ce sera quelque -nouvelle diablerie, car les aventures ne commencent jamais pour peu. - -Notre héros s’en étant heureusement tenu là, Sancho fit une nouvelle -tentative, qui cette fois eut un succès tel que sans avoir causé le -moindre bruit il se trouva délivré du plus lourd fardeau qu’il eût porté -de sa vie. Mais comme don Quichotte n’avait pas le sens de l’odorat -moins délicat que celui de l’ouïe, et que d’ailleurs Sancho était à son -côté, certaines vapeurs montant presque en ligne droite ne manquèrent -pas de lui révéler ce qui se passait. A peine en fut-il frappé, que se -serrant le nez avec les doigts: Sancho, lui dit-il, il me semble que tu -as grand’peur. - -Cela se peut, répondit Sancho, et pourquoi Votre Grâce s’en -aperçoit-elle plutôt à cette heure qu’auparavant. - -C’est, reprit notre chevalier, que tu ne sentais pas si fort, et ce -n’est pas l’ambre que tu sens. - -Peut-être bien, dit Sancho, mais ce n’est pas ma faute; aussi pourquoi -me tenir à pareille heure dans un lieu comme celui-ci? - -Éloigne-toi de trois ou quatre pas, reprit don Quichotte, et désormais -fais attention à ta personne et à ce que tu dois à la mienne; je vois -bien que la trop grande familiarité dont j’use avec toi est cause de ce -manque de respect. - -Je gagerais, répliqua Sancho, que Votre Grâce s’imagine que j’ai fait -quelque chose qui ne doit pas se faire. - -Assez, assez, repartit don Quichotte; il n’est pas bon d’appuyer -là-dessus. - -Ce fut en ces entretiens et autres semblables que notre chevalier et son -écuyer passèrent la nuit. Dès que ce dernier vit le jour prêt à poindre, -il releva ses chausses, et délia doucement les jambes de Rossinante, -qui, se sentant libre, se mit à frapper plusieurs fois la terre des -pieds de devant; quant à des courbettes, c’était pour lui fruit défendu. -Son maître, le voyant en état de marcher, en conçut le présage qu’il -était temps de commencer cette grande aventure. - -Le jour achevait de paraître, et alors les objets pouvant se distinguer, -don Quichotte vit qu’il était dans un bois de châtaigniers, mais -toujours sans pouvoir deviner d’où venait ce bruit qui ne cessait point. -Sans plus tarder, il résolut d’en aller reconnaître la cause; et faisant -sentir l’éperon à Rossinante pour achever de l’éveiller, il dit encore -une fois adieu à son écuyer, en lui réitérant l’ordre de l’attendre -pendant trois jours, et, s’il tardait davantage, de tenir pour certain -qu’il avait perdu la vie en affrontant ce terrible danger, il lui répéta -ce qu’il devait aller dire de sa part à sa dame Dulcinée; enfin il -ajouta que pour ce qui était du payement de ses gages, il ne s’en mît -point en peine, parce qu’avant de partir de sa maison il y avait pourvu -par son testament. Mais, continua-t-il, s’il plaît à Dieu que je sorte -sain et sauf de cette périlleuse affaire et que les enchanteurs ne s’en -mêlent point, sois bien assuré, mon enfant, que le moins que tu puisses -espérer, c’est l’île que je t’ai promise. - -A ce discours, Sancho se mit à pleurer, jurant à son maître qu’il était -prêt à le suivre dans cette maudite aventure, dût-il n’en jamais -revenir. Ces pleurs et cette honorable résolution, qui montrent que -Sancho était bien né et tout au moins vieux chrétien, dit l’auteur de -cette histoire, attendrirent si fort don Quichotte, que pour ne pas -laisser paraître de faiblesse, il marcha sur-le-champ du côté où -l’appelait le bruit de ces grands coups; et Sancho le suivit à pied, -tirant par le licou son âne; éternel compagnon de sa mauvaise fortune. - -Après avoir marché quelque temps, ils arrivèrent dans un pré bordé de -rochers, du haut desquels tombait le torrent qu’ils avaient d’abord -entendu. Au pied de ces rochers se trouvaient quelques mauvaises -cabanes, plutôt semblables à des masures qu’à des habitations, et là ils -commencèrent à reconnaître d’où venaient ces coups qui ne -discontinuaient point. Tant de bruit, et si proche, parut troubler -Rossinante; mais notre chevalier, le flattant de la main et de la voix, -s’approcha peu à peu des masures, se recommandant de toute son âme à sa -dame Dulcinée, la suppliant de lui être en aide et priant Dieu de ne -point l’oublier. Quant à Sancho, il n’avait garde de s’éloigner de son -maître, et, le cou tendu, il regardait entre les jambes de Rossinante, -s’efforçant de découvrir ce qui lui causait tant de peur. A peine -eurent-ils fait encore cent pas, qu’ayant dépassé une pointe de rocher, -ils virent enfin d’où venait tout ce tintamarre qui les tenait dans de -si étranges alarmes. Que cette découverte, lecteur, ne te cause ni -regret ni dépit: c’était tout simplement six marteaux à foulon, qui -n’avaient pas cessé de battre depuis la veille. - -A cette vue, don Quichotte resta muet. Sancho le regarda, et le vit la -tête baissée sur la poitrine comme un homme confus et consterné. Don -Quichotte à son tour regarda Sancho, et, lui voyant les deux joues -enflées comme un homme qui crève d’envie de rire, il ne put, malgré son -désappointement, s’empêcher de commencer lui-même: de sorte que -l’écuyer, ravi que son maître eût donné le signal, laissa partir sa -gaieté, et cela d’une façon si démesurée, qu’il fut obligé de se serrer -les côtes avec les poings pour n’en pas suffoquer. Quatre fois il -s’arrêta, et quatre fois il recommença avec la même force; mais, ce qui -acheva de faire perdre patience à don Quichotte, ce fut lorsque Sancho -alla se planter devant lui, et en le contrefaisant d’un air goguenard, -lui dit: «Apprends, ami Sancho, que le ciel m’a fait naître pour ramener -l’âge d’or dans ce maudit siècle de fer: à moi sont réservées les -grandes actions et les périlleuses aventures.....» et il allait -continuer de plus belle, quand notre chevalier, trop en colère pour -souffrir que son écuyer plaisantât si librement, lève sa lance, et lui -en applique sur les épaules deux coups tels que s’ils lui fussent aussi -bien tombés sur la tête, il se trouvait dispensé de payer ses gages, si -ce n’est à ses héritiers. - -Sancho, voyant le mauvais succès de ses plaisanteries et craignant que -son maître ne recommençât, lui dit avec une contenance humble et d’un -ton tout contrit: Votre Grâce veut-elle donc me tuer? ne voit-elle pas -que je plaisante? - -C’est parce que vous raillez que je ne raille pas, moi, reprit don -Quichotte. Répondez, mauvais plaisant; si cette aventure avait été -véritable aussi bien qu’elle ne l’était pas, n’ai-je pas montré tout le -courage nécessaire pour l’entreprendre et la mener à fin? Suis-je -obligé, moi qui suis chevalier, de connaître tous les sons que -j’entends, et de distinguer s’ils viennent ou non de marteaux à foulon, -surtout si je n’ai jamais vu de ces marteaux? c’est votre affaire à -vous, misérable vilain qui êtes né au milieu de ces sortes de choses: -Supposons un seul instant que ces six marteaux soient autant de géants, -donnez-les-moi à combattre l’un après l’autre, ou tous ensemble, peu -m’importe; oh! alors, si je ne vous les livre pieds et poings liés, -raillez tant qu’il vous plaira. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, je confesse que j’ai eu tort, je le sens -bien; mais, dites-moi, maintenant que nous sommes quittes et que la paix -est faite entre nous (Dieu puisse vous tirer sain et sauf de toutes les -aventures comme il vous a tiré de celle-ci!), n’y a-t-il pas de quoi -faire un bon conte de la frayeur que nous avons eue? moi, du moins; car, -je le sais, la peur n’est pas de votre connaissance. - -Je conviens, dit don Quichotte, que dans ce qui vient de nous arriver il -y a quelque chose de plaisant, et qui prête à rire; cependant il me -semble peu sage d’en parler, tout le monde ne sachant pas prendre les -choses comme il faut, ni en faire bon usage. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, reprit Sancho, on ne dira pas cela de Votre Grâce. -Peste! Vous savez joliment prendre la lance et vous en servir comme il -faut excepté pourtant lorsque, visant à la tête, vous donnez sur les -épaules; car si je n’eusse fait un mouvement de côté, j’en tenais de la -bonne façon. Au reste, n’en parlons plus: tout s’en ira à la première -lessive; d’ailleurs, qui aime bien châtie bien, sans compter qu’un bon -maître, quand il a dit une injure à son valet, ne manque jamais de lui -donner des chausses. J’ignore ce qu’il donne après des coups de gaule; -mais je pense que les chevaliers errants donnent au moins à leurs -écuyers des îles ou quelques royaumes en terre ferme. - -La chance pourrait finir par si bien tourner, reprit don Quichotte, que -ce que tu viens de dire ne tardât pas à se réaliser. En attendant, -pardonne-moi le passé: tu sais que l’homme n’est pas maître de son -premier mouvement. Cependant, afin que tu ne t’émancipes plus à -l’avenir, je dois t’apprendre une chose; c’est que, dans tous les livres -de chevalerie que j’ai lus, et certes ils sont en assez bon nombre, je -n’ai jamais trouvé d’écuyer qui osât parler devant son maître aussi -librement que tu le fais; et, en cela, nous avons tort tous deux, toi, -de n’avoir pas assez de respect pour moi, et moi, de ne pas me faire -assez respecter. L’écuyer d’Amadis, Gandalin, qui devint comte de l’île -Ferme, ne parlait jamais à son seigneur que le bonnet à la main, la tête -baissée, et le corps incliné, _more turquesco_, à la manière des Turcs. -Mais que dirons-nous de cet écuyer de don Galaor, Gasabal, lequel fut si -discret que, pour instruire la postérité de son merveilleux silence, -l’auteur ne le nomme qu’une seule fois dans cette longue et véridique -histoire. Ce que je viens de dire, Sancho, c’est afin de te faire sentir -la distance qui doit exister entre le maître et le serviteur. Ainsi, -vivons désormais dans une plus grande réserve, et sans prendre, comme on -dit, trop de corde; car, enfin, de quelque manière que je me fâche, ce -sera toujours tant pis pour la cruche. Les récompenses que je t’ai -promises arriveront en leur temps; et fallût-il s’en passer, les gages -au moins ne manqueront pas. - -Tout ce que vous dites, seigneur, est très-bien dit, répliqua Sancho; -mais, si par hasard le temps des récompenses n’arrivait point et qu’on -dût s’en tenir aux gages, apprenez-moi, je vous prie, ce que gagnait un -écuyer de chevalier errant: faisait-il marché au mois, ou à la journée? - -Jamais on n’a vu ces sortes d’écuyers être à gages, mais à merci, -répondit don Quichotte. Si je t’ai assigné des gages dans mon testament, -c’est qu’on ne sait pas ce qui peut arriver; et comme dans les temps -calamiteux où nous vivons, tu parviendrais peut-être difficilement à -prouver ma chevalerie, je n’ai pas voulu que pour si peu de chose mon -âme fût en peine dans l’autre monde. Nous avons assez d’autres travaux -ici-bas, mon pauvre ami, car tu sauras qu’il n’y a guère de métier plus -scabreux que celui de chercheur d’aventures. - -Je le crois, reprit Sancho, puisqu’il a suffi du bruit de quelques -marteaux à foulon pour troubler l’âme d’un errant aussi valeureux que -l’est Votre Grâce; aussi soyez bien certain qu’à l’avenir je ne rirai -plus quand il s’agira de vos affaires, et que maintenant je n’ouvrirai -la bouche que pour vous honorer comme mon maître et mon véritable -seigneur. - -C’est le moyen que tu vives longuement sur la terre, dit don Quichotte, -car après les pères et les mères, ce qu’on doit respecter le plus ce -sont les maîtres, car ils en tiennent lieu. - -CHAPITRE XXI - -QUI TRAITE DE LA CONQUÊTE DE L’ARMET DE MAMBRIN, ET D’AUTRES CHOSES -ARRIVÉES A NOTRE INVINCIBLE CHEVALIER - -En ce moment, il commença à tomber un peu de pluie. Sancho eût bien -voulu se mettre à couvert dans les moulins à foulon, mais don -Quichotte, depuis le tour qu’ils lui avaient joué, les avait pris en si -grande aversion, que jamais il ne voulut consentir à y mettre le pied. -Changeant donc de chemin, il en trouva bientôt à droite un semblable à -celui qu’ils avaient parcouru le jour précédent. - -A peu de distance don Quichotte aperçut un cavalier qui portait sur sa -tête un objet brillant comme de l’or. Aussitôt se tournant vers Sancho: -Ami, lui dit-il, sais-tu bien qu’il n’y a rien de si vrai que les -proverbes? ce sont autant de maximes tirées de l’expérience même. Mais -cela est surtout vrai du proverbe qui dit: Quand se ferme une porte, une -autre s’ouvre. En effet, si la fortune nous ferma hier soir la porte de -l’aventure que nous cherchions, en nous abusant avec ces maudits -marteaux, voilà maintenant qu’elle nous ouvre à deux battants la porte -d’une aventure meilleure et plus certaine. Si je ne parviens pas à en -trouver l’entrée, ce sera ma faute; car ici il n’y a ni vacarme inconnu -qui m’en impose, ni obscurité que j’en puisse accuser. Je dis cela parce -que, sans aucun doute, je vois venir droit à nous un homme qui porte -sur sa tête cet armet de Mambrin à propos duquel j’ai fait le serment -que tu dois te rappeler. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, prenez garde à ce que vous dites, et plus -encore à ce que vous allez faire. Ne serait-ce point ici d’autres -marteaux à foulon, qui achèveraient de nous fouler et de nous marteler -le bon sens? - -Maudits soient tes marteaux! dit don Quichotte; quel rapport ont-ils -avec un armet? - -Je n’en sais rien, reprit Sancho; mais si j’osais parler comme j’en -avais l’habitude, peut-être convaincrais-je Votre Grâce qu’elle pourrait -bien se tromper. - -Et comment puis-je me tromper, traître méticuleux? dit don Quichotte: ne -vois-tu pas venir droit à nous, monté sur un cheval gris pommelé, ce -chevalier qui porte sur sa tête un armet d’or? - -Ce que je vois et revois, reprit Sancho, c’est un homme monté sur un âne -gris brun, et qui a sur la tête je ne sais quoi de luisant. - -Eh bien, ce je ne sais quoi, c’est l’armet de Mambrin, répliqua don -Quichotte. Range-toi de côté et me laisse seul: tu vas voir comment, en -un tour de main, je mettrai fin à cette aventure et resterai maître de -ce précieux armet. - -Me mettre à l’écart n’est pas chose difficile, répliqua Sancho; mais, -encore une fois, Dieu veuille que ce ne soit pas une nouvelle espèce de -marteaux à foulon. - -Mon ami, repartit vivement don Quichotte, je vous ai déjà dit que je ne -voulais plus entendre parler de marteaux ni de foulons, et je jure -par... que si désormais vous m’en rompez la tête, je vous foulerai l’âme -dans le corps, de façon qu’il vous en souviendra. - -Sancho se tut tout court, craignant que son maître n’accomplît le -serment qu’il venait de prononcer avec une énergie singulière. - -Or voici ce qu’étaient cet armet, ce cheval et ce chevalier -qu’apercevait don Quichotte. Dans les environs il y avait deux villages, -dont l’un était si petit qu’il ne s’y trouvait point de barbier; aussi -le barbier du grand village, qui se mêlait un peu de chirurgie, servait -pour tous les deux. Dans le plus petit de ces villages, un homme ayant -eu besoin d’une saignée et un autre de se faire faire la barbe, le -barbier s’y acheminait à cette intention. Se trouvant surpris par la -pluie, il avait mis son plat à barbe sur sa tête pour garantir son -chapeau; et comme le bassin était de cuivre tout battant neuf, on le -voyait reluire d’une demi-lieue. Cet homme montait un bel âne gris, -ainsi que l’avait fort bien remarqué Sancho; mais tout cela pour don -Quichotte était un chevalier monté sur un cheval gris pommelé, avec un -armet d’or sur sa tête, car il accommodait tout à sa fantaisie -chevaleresque. Il courut donc sur le barbier bride abattue et la lance -basse, résolu de le percer de part en part. Quand il fut sur le point de -l’atteindre: Défends-toi, lui cria-t-il, chétive créature, ou rends-moi -de bonne grâce ce qui m’appartient. - -En voyant fondre si brusquement sur lui cette espèce de fantôme, le -barbier ne trouva d’autre moyen d’esquiver la rencontre que de se -laisser glisser à terre, où il ne fut pas plus tôt que, se relevant -prestement, il gagna la plaine avec plus de vitesse qu’un daim, sans nul -souci de son âne ni du bassin. - -C’était tout ce que désirait don Quichotte, qui se retourna vers son -écuyer et lui dit en souriant: Ami, le païen n’est pas bête; il imite le -castor auquel son instinct apprend à échapper aux chasseurs en se -coupant ce qui les anime à sa poursuite: ramasse cet armet. - -Par mon âme, le bassin n’est pas mauvais, dit Sancho en soupesant le -prétendu casque; il vaut une piastre comme un maravédis. Puis il le -tendit à son maître, qui voulut incontinent le mettre sur sa tête; et -comme, en le tournant de tous côtés pour trouver l’enchâssure, il n’en -pouvait venir à bout: Celui pour qui cet armet fut forgé, dit notre -héros, devait avoir une bien grosse tête; le pis, c’est qu’il en manque -la moitié. - -Quand il entendit donner le nom d’armet à un plat à barbe, Sancho ne put -s’empêcher de rire; mais, se rappelant les menaces de son maître, il -s’arrêta à moitié chemin. - -De quoi ris-tu, Sancho? lui demanda don Quichotte. - -Je ris, répondit l’écuyer, de la grosse tête que devait avoir le premier -possesseur de cet armet, qui ressemble si parfaitement à un bassin de -barbier. - -Sais-tu ce que je pense? reprit don Quichotte. Cet armet sera sans doute -tombé entre les mains de quelque ignorant, incapable d’en apprécier la -valeur; comme c’est de l’or le plus pur, il en aura fondu la moitié pour -en faire argent, puis avec le reste il a composé ceci, qui, en effet, -ressemble assez, comme tu le dis, à un bassin de barbier. Mais que -m’importe à moi qui en connais le prix? Au premier village où nous -rencontrerons une forge, je le ferai remettre en état, et j’affirme -qu’alors il ne le cédera pas même à ce fameux casque que Vulcain fourbit -un jour pour le dieu de la guerre. En attendant je le porterai tel qu’il -est: il vaudra toujours mieux que rien, et dans tous les cas il sera bon -contre les coups de pierre. - -Oui, dit Sancho, pourvu qu’elles ne soient pas lancées avec une fronde, -comme dans cette bataille entre les deux armées, quand on vous rabota si -bien les mâchoires et qu’on mit en pièces la burette où vous portiez ce -breuvage qui faillit me faire vomir les entrailles. - -C’est un malheur facile à réparer, reprit don Quichotte, puisque j’en ai -la recette en ma mémoire. - -Moi aussi, répondit Sancho; mais s’il m’arrive jamais de composer ce -maudit breuvage et encore moins d’en goûter, que ma dernière heure soit -venue. D’ailleurs, je me promets de fuir toutes les occasions d’en avoir -besoin: car désormais je suis bien résolu d’employer mes cinq sens à -m’éviter d’être blessé; comme aussi je renonce de bon cœur à blesser -personne. Pour ce qui est d’être berné encore une fois, je n’oserais en -jurer; ce sont des accidents qu’on ne peut guère prévenir, et quand ils -arrivent, ce qu’il y a de mieux à faire, c’est de plier les épaules, de -retenir son souffle, et de se laisser aller les yeux fermés où le sort -et la couverture vous envoient. - -Tu es un mauvais chrétien, Sancho, dit don Quichotte; jamais tu -n’oublies une injure; apprends qu’il est d’un cœur noble et généreux de -mépriser de semblables bagatelles. Car enfin, de quel pied boites-tu, et -quelle côte t’a-t-on brisée, pour te rappeler cette plaisanterie avec -tant d’amertume? Après tout, ce ne fut qu’un passe-temps; si je ne -l’avais ainsi considéré moi-même, je serais retourné sur mes pas, et -j’en aurais tiré une vengeance encore plus éclatante que les Grecs n’en -tirèrent de l’enlèvement de leur Hélène, qui, ajouta-t-il avec un long -soupir, n’aurait pas eu cette grande réputation de beauté, si elle fût -venue en ce temps-ci, ou que ma Dulcinée eût vécu dans le sien. - -Eh bien, dit Sancho, que l’affaire passe pour une plaisanterie, puisque -après tout il n’y a pas moyen de s’en venger; quant à moi, je sais fort -bien à quoi m’en tenir, et je m’en souviendrai tant que j’aurai des -épaules. Mais laissons cela; maintenant, seigneur, dites-moi, je vous -prie, qu’allons-nous faire de ce cheval gris pommelé, qui m’a tout l’air -d’un âne gris brun, et qu’a laissé sans maître ce pauvre diable que vous -avez renversé? Car à la manière dont il a pris la clef des champs, je -crois qu’il n’a guère envie de revenir le chercher, et par ma barbe le -grison n’est pas mauvais. - -Il n’est pas dans mes habitudes de dépouiller les vaincus, répondit don -Quichotte, et les règles de la chevalerie interdisent de les laisser -aller à pied, à moins toutefois que le vainqueur n’ait perdu son cheval -dans le combat, auquel cas il peut prendre le cheval du vaincu, comme -conquis de bonne guerre. Ainsi donc, Sancho, laisse là ce cheval ou cet -âne, comme tu voudras l’appeler; son maître ne manquera pas de venir le -reprendre dès que nous nous serons éloignés. - -Je voudrais bien pourtant emmener cette bête, reprit Sancho, ou du moins -la troquer contre la mienne, qui ne me paraît pas à moitié si bonne. -Peste! que les règles de la chevalerie sont étroites, si elles ne -permettent pas seulement de troquer un âne contre un âne! Au moins il ne -doit pas m’être défendu de troquer le harnais. - -Le cas est douteux, dit don Quichotte; cependant, jusqu’à plus ample -information, je pense que tu peux faire l’échange, pourvu seulement que -tu en aies un pressant besoin. - -Aussi pressant que si c’était pour moi-même, répondit Sancho. - -Là-dessus, usant de la permission de son maître, Sancho opéra l’échange -du harnais, _mutatio capparum_, comme on dit, ajustant celui du barbier -sur son âne, qui lui en parut une fois plus beau, et meilleur de moitié. - -Cela fait, ils déjeunèrent des restes de leur souper, et burent de l’eau -du ruisseau qui venait des moulins à foulon, sans que jamais don -Quichotte pût se résoudre à regarder de ce côté, tant il conservait -rancune de ce qui lui était arrivé. Après un léger repas, ils -remontèrent sur leurs bêtes, et sans s’inquiéter du chemin, ils se -laissèrent guider par Rossinante, que l’âne suivait toujours de la -meilleure amitié du monde. Puis ils gagnèrent insensiblement la grande -route, qu’ils suivirent à l’aventure, n’ayant pour le moment aucun -dessein arrêté. - -Tout en cheminant, Sancho dit à son maître: - -Seigneur, Votre Grâce veut-elle bien me permettre de causer tant soit -peu avec elle? car, depuis qu’elle me l’a défendu, quatre ou cinq bonnes -choses m’ont pourri dans l’estomac, et j’en ai présentement une sur le -bout de la langue à laquelle je souhaiterais une meilleure fin. - -Parle, mais sois bref, répondit don Quichotte; les longs discours sont -ennuyeux. - -Eh bien, seigneur, continua Sancho, après avoir considéré la vie que -nous menons, je dis que toutes ces aventures de grands chemins et de -forêts sont fort peu de chose, car, si périlleuses qu’elles soient, -elles ne sont vues ni sues de personne, et j’ajoute que vos bonnes -intentions et vos vaillants exploits sont autant de bien perdu, dont il -ne nous reste ni honneur ni profit. Il me semble donc, sauf meilleur -avis de Votre Grâce, qu’il serait prudent de nous mettre au service de -quelque empereur, ou de quelque autre grand prince qui eût avec ses -voisins une guerre, dans laquelle vous pourriez faire briller votre -valeur et votre excellent jugement; car enfin au bout de quelque temps -il faudrait bien de toute nécessité qu’on nous récompensât, vous et moi, -chacun selon notre mérite, s’entend; sans compter que maints -chroniqueurs prendraient soin d’écrire les prouesses de Votre Grâce, -afin d’en perpétuer la mémoire. Pour ce qui est des miennes, je n’en -parle pas, sachant qu’il ne faut pas les mesurer à la même aune: -quoique, en fin de compte, si c’est l’usage d’écrire les prouesses des -écuyers errants, je ne vois pas pourquoi il ne serait pas fait mention -de moi comme de tout autre. - -Tu n’as pas mal parlé, dit don Quichotte. Mais avant d’en arriver là il -faut d’abord faire ses preuves, chercher les aventures; parce qu’alors -le chevalier étant connu par toute la terre, s’il vient à se présenter à -la cour de quelque grand monarque, à peine aura-t-il franchi les portes -de la ville, aussitôt les petits garçons de l’endroit se précipiteront -sur ses pas en criant: Voici venir le chevalier du Soleil, ou du -Serpent, ou de tout autre emblème sous lequel il sera connu pour avoir -accompli des prouesses incomparables. C’est lui, dira-t-on, qui a -vaincu, en combat singulier, le géant Brocambruno l’indomptable, c’est -lui qui a délivré le grand Mameluk de Perse du long enchantement où il -était retenu depuis près de neuf cents ans. Si bien qu’au bruit des -hauts faits du chevalier, le roi ne pourra se dispenser de paraître aux -balcons de son palais, et reconnaissant tout d’abord le nouveau venu à -ses armes, ou à la devise de son écu, il ordonnera aux gens de sa cour -d’aller recevoir la fleur de la chevalerie. C’est alors à qui -s’empressera d’obéir, et le roi lui-même voudra descendre la moitié des -degrés pour serrer plus tôt entre ses bras l’illustre inconnu, en lui -donnant au visage le baiser de paix; puis le prenant par la main, il le -conduira aux appartements de la reine, où se trouvera l’infante sa -fille, qui doit être la plus accomplie et la plus belle personne du -monde. - -Or voici ce qu’étaient cet armet, ce cheval et ce chevalier (p. 94).] - -Une fois l’infante et le chevalier en présence, l’infante jettera les -yeux sur le chevalier et le chevalier sur l’infante, et ils se -paraîtront l’un à l’autre une chose divine plutôt qu’humaine; alors, -sans savoir pourquoi ni comment, ils se trouveront subitement embrasés -d’amour et n’ayant qu’une seule inquiétude, celle de savoir par quels -moyens ils pourront se découvrir leurs peines. Le chevalier sera conduit -ensuite dans un des plus beaux appartements du palais, où, après l’avoir -débarrassé de ses armes, on lui présentera un manteau d’écarlate, tout -couvert d’une riche broderie; et s’il avait bonne mine sous son armure, -juge de ce qu’il paraîtra en habit de courtisan. La nuit venue, il -soupera avec le roi, la reine et l’infante. Pendant le repas, et sans -qu’on s’en aperçoive, il ne quittera pas des yeux la jeune princesse; -elle aussi le regardera à la dérobée, sans faire semblant de rien, parce -que c’est, comme je te l’ai déjà dit, une personne pleine d’esprit et de -sens. Le repas achevé, on verra entrer tout à coup dans la salle du -festin un hideux petit nain, suivi d’une très-belle dame accompagnée de -deux géants, laquelle dame proposera une aventure imaginée par un ancien -sage, et si difficile à accomplir que celui qui en viendra à bout sera -tenu pour le meilleur chevalier de la terre. Aussitôt le roi voudra que -les chevaliers de sa cour en fassent l’épreuve; mais fussent-ils cent -fois plus nombreux, tous y perdront leur peine, et seul le nouveau venu -pourra la mettre à fin, au grand accroissement de sa gloire, et au grand -contentement de l’infante, qui s’estimera trop heureuse d’avoir mis ses -pensées en si haut lieu. - -Le bon de l’affaire, c’est que ce roi ou prince est engagé dans une -grande guerre contre un de ses voisins. Après quelques jours passés dans -son palais, le chevalier lui demande la permission de le servir dans -ladite guerre; le roi la lui accorde de bonne grâce, et le chevalier lui -baise courtoisement la main, pour le remercier de la faveur qui lui est -octroyée. Cette même nuit il prend congé de l’infante, à la fenêtre -grillée de ce jardin où il lui a déjà parlé plusieurs fois, grâce à la -complaisance d’une demoiselle, médiatrice de leurs amours, à qui la -princesse confie tous ses secrets. Le chevalier soupire, l’infante -s’évanouit; la confidente s’empresse de lui jeter de l’eau au visage, et -redoute de voir venir le jour, car elle serait au désespoir que -l’honneur de sa maîtresse reçût la moindre atteinte. - -Bref, l’infante reprend connaissance, et présente, aux travers des -barreaux ses blanches mains au chevalier, qui les couvre de baisers et -les baigne de larmes. Ils se concertent ensuite sur la manière dont ils -pourront se donner des nouvelles l’un de l’autre; l’infante supplie le -chevalier d’être absent le moins longtemps possible; ce qu’il ne manque -pas de lui promettre avec mille serments. Il lui baise encore une fois -les mains, et s’attendrit de telle sorte, en lui faisant ses adieux, -qu’il est sur le point d’en mourir. Il se retire ensuite dans sa chambre -et se jette sur son lit, mais il lui est impossible de fermer l’œil; -aussi, dès la pointe du jour est-il debout, afin d’aller prendre congé -du roi et de la reine. Il demande à saluer l’infante, mais la jeune -princesse lui fait répondre qu’étant indisposée elle ne peut recevoir de -visite; et comme il ne doute pas que son départ n’en soit la véritable -cause, il en est si touché qu’il est tout près de laisser éclater -ouvertement son affliction. - -La demoiselle confidente, à laquelle rien n’a échappé, va sur l’heure en -rendre compte à sa maîtresse, qu’elle trouve toute en larmes, parce que -son plus grand chagrin, dit-elle, est de ne pas savoir quel est ce -chevalier, s’il est ou non de sang royal. Mais comme on lui affirme -qu’on ne saurait unir tant de courtoisie à tant de vaillance, à moins -d’être de race souveraine, cela console un peu la malheureuse princesse, -qui, pour ne donner aucun soupçon au roi et à la reine, consent au bout -de quelques jours à reparaître en public. - -Cependant le chevalier est parti; il combat, il défait les ennemis du -roi, prend je ne sais combien de villes, et gagne autant de batailles; -après quoi il revient à la cour, et reparaît devant sa maîtresse, -couvert de gloire; il la revoit à la fenêtre que tu sais, et là ils -arrêtent ensemble que, pour récompense de ses services, il la demandera -en mariage à son père. Le roi refuse d’abord, parce qu’il ignore quelle -est la naissance du chevalier; mais l’infante, soit par un enlèvement, -soit de toute autre manière, n’en devient pas moins son épouse, et le -père finit par tenir cette union à grand honneur, car bientôt on -découvre que son gendre est le fils d’un grand roi, de je ne sais plus -quel pays: on ne le trouve même pas, je crois, sur la carte. - -Peu après, le père meurt: l’infante devient son héritière; voilà le -chevalier roi. C’est alors qu’il songe à récompenser son écuyer et tous -ceux qui ont contribué à sa haute fortune; aussi commence-t-il par -marier ledit écuyer avec une demoiselle de l’infante, celle sans doute -qui fut la confidente de leurs amours, et qui se trouve être la fille -d’un des principaux personnages du royaume. - -Voilà justement ce que je demande, s’écria Sancho, et vogue la galère! -Par ma foi, seigneur, tout arrivera au pied de la lettre, pourvu que -Votre Grâce conserve ce surnom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -N’en doute point, mon fils, répliqua don Quichotte; voilà le chemin que -suivaient les chevaliers errants, et c’est par là qu’un si grand nombre -sont devenus rois ou empereurs. Il ne nous reste donc plus qu’à chercher -un roi chrétien ou païen qui soit en guerre avec son voisin, et qui ait -une belle fille. Mais nous avons le temps d’y penser, car, comme je te -l’ai dit, avant de se présenter à la cour, il faut se faire un fonds de -renommée, afin d’y être connu en arrivant. Entre nous cependant, une -chose m’inquiète, et à laquelle je ne vois pas de remède, c’est, lorsque -j’aurai trouvé ce roi et cette infante et acquis une renommée -incroyable, comment il pourra se faire que je sois de race royale, ou -pour le moins bâtard de quelque empereur; car, malgré tous mes exploits, -le roi ne consentira jamais sans cette condition à me donner sa fille, -de sorte qu’il est à craindre que pour si peu, je ne vienne à perdre ce -que la valeur de mon bras m’aura mérité. Pour gentilhomme, je le suis de -vieille race et bien connue pour telle; j’espère même que le sage qui -doit écrire mon histoire finira par débrouiller si bien ma généalogie, -que je me trouverai tout à coup arrière-petit-fils de roi. - -A propos de cela, Sancho, je dois t’apprendre qu’il y a deux sortes de -races parmi les hommes. Les uns ont pour aïeux des rois et des princes; -mais peu à peu le temps et la mauvaise fortune les ont fait déchoir, et -ils finissent en pointe comme les pyramides; les autres, au contraire, -quoique sortis de gens de basse extraction, n’ont cessé de prospérer -jusqu’à devenir de très-grands seigneurs: de sorte que la seule -différence entre eux, c’est que les uns ont été et ne sont plus, et les -autres sont ce qu’ils n’étaient pas. Aussi, je ne vois pas pourquoi, en -étudiant l’histoire de ma race, on ne parviendrait pas à découvrir que -je suis le sommet d’une de ces pyramides à base auguste, c’est-à-dire le -dernier rejeton de quelque empereur, ce qui alors devra décider le roi, -mon futur beau-père, à m’agréer sans scrupule pour gendre. Dans tous les -cas, l’infante m’aimera si éperdument qu’en dépit de sa famille elle me -voudra pour époux, mon père eût-il été un portefaix: alors j’enlève la -princesse et l’emmène où bon me semblera, jusqu’à ce que le temps ou la -mort aient apaisé le courroux de ses parents. - -Par ma foi, vous avez raison, reprit Sancho; il n’est tel que de se -nantir soi-même; et, comme disent certains vauriens, à quoi bon demander -de gré ce qu’on peut prendre de force? Mieux vaut saut de haies que -prières de bonnes âmes; je veux dire que si le roi votre beau-père ne -consent pas à vous donner sa fille, ce sera fort bien fait à Votre Grâce -de l’enlever et de la transporter en lieu sûr. Tout le mal que j’y -trouve, c’est qu’avant que la paix soit faite entre le beau-père et le -gendre, et que vous jouissiez paisiblement du royaume, le pauvre écuyer, -dans l’attente des récompenses, fonds sur lequel il ne trouverait -peut-être pas à emprunter dix réaux, court risque de n’avoir rien à -mettre sous la dent, à moins que la demoiselle confidente qui doit -devenir sa femme, ne plie bagage en même temps que l’infante et qu’il ne -se console avec elle jusqu’à ce que le ciel en ordonne autrement; car je -pense qu’alors son maître peut bien la lui donner pour légitime épouse. - -Et qui l’en empêcherait? repartit don Quichotte. - -S’il en est ainsi, dit Sancho, nous n’avons plus qu’à nous recommander à -Dieu, et à laisser courir le sort là où il lui plaira de nous mener. - -Dieu veuille, ajouta don Quichotte, que tout arrive comme nous -l’entendons l’un et l’autre; que celui qui s’estime peu, se donne pour -ce qu’il vaudra. - -Ainsi soit-il, reprit Sancho; parbleu, je suis vieux chrétien, et cela -doit suffire pour être comte. - -Et quand tu ne le serais pas, dit don Quichotte, cela ne fait rien à -l’affaire; car, dès que je serai roi, j’aurai parfaitement le pouvoir de -t’anoblir sans que tu achètes la noblesse; une fois comte, te voilà -gentilhomme, et alors, bon gré, mal gré, il faudra bien qu’on te traite -de Seigneurie. - -Et pourquoi non? répliqua Sancho; est-ce que je n’en vaux pas un autre? -par ma foi, on pourrait bien s’y tromper. J’ai déjà eu l’honneur d’être -bedeau d’une confrérie, et chacun disait qu’avec ma belle prestance et -ma bonne mine sous la robe de bedeau, je méritais d’être marguillier. -Que sera-ce donc lorsque j’aurai un manteau ducal sur les épaules ou que -je serai tout cousu d’or et de perles, comme un comte étranger? Je veux -qu’on vienne me voir de cent lieues. - -Certes, tu auras fort bon air, dit don Quichotte: seulement il faudra -que tu te fasses souvent couper la barbe; car tu l’as si épaisse et si -crasseuse, qu’à moins d’y passer le rasoir tous les deux jours, on -reconnaîtra qui tu es à une portée d’arquebuse. - -Et bien, qu’à cela ne tienne, reprit Sancho; je prendrai un barbier à -gages, afin de l’avoir à la maison, et, dans l’occasion, je le ferai -marcher derrière moi comme l’écuyer d’un grand seigneur. - -Comment sais-tu que les grands seigneurs mènent derrière eux leurs -écuyers? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je vais vous le dire, répondit Sancho. Il y a quelques années je passai -environ un mois dans la capitale, et là je vis à la promenade un petit -homme[41], qu’on disait être un grand seigneur, suivi d’un homme à -cheval, qui s’arrêtait quand le seigneur s’arrêtait, marchait quand il -marchait, ni plus ni moins que s’il eût été son ombre. Je demandai -pourquoi celui-ci ne rejoignait pas l’autre, et allait toujours derrière -lui; on me répondit que c’était son écuyer, et que les grands avaient -l’habitude de se faire suivre ainsi. Je m’en souviens et je veux en user -de même quand mon tour sera venu. - - [41] Cervantes fait allusion au duc d’Ossuna, dont on disait qu’il - n’avait de petit que la taille. - -Par ma foi, tu as raison, dit don Quichotte; et tu feras fort bien de -mener ton barbier à ta suite: toutes les modes n’ont pas été inventées -d’un seul coup, et tu seras le premier comte qui aura mis celle-là en -usage. D’ailleurs, l’office de barbier est bien au-dessus de celui -d’écuyer. - -Pour ce qui est du barbier, reposez-vous-en sur moi, reprit Sancho; que -Votre Grâce songe seulement à devenir roi, et à me faire comte. - -Sois tranquille, dit don Quichotte, qui, levant les yeux, aperçut ce que -nous dirons dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE DONNA LA LIBERTÉ A UNE QUANTITÉ DE MALHEUREUX -QU’ON MENAIT, MALGRÉ EUX, OU ILS NE VOULAIENT PAS ALLER - -Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, auteur de cette grave, douce, pompeuse, humble et -ingénieuse histoire, raconte qu’après la longue et admirable -conversation que nous venons de rapporter, don Quichotte, levant les -yeux, vit venir sur le chemin qu’il suivait une douzaine d’hommes à pied -ayant des menottes aux bras et enfilés comme les grains d’un chapelet -par une longue chaîne, qui les prenait tous par le cou. Ils étaient -accompagnés de deux hommes à cheval, et de deux à pied, les premiers -portant des arquebuses à rouet, et les seconds des piques et des épées. - -Voilà, dit Sancho en apercevant cette caravane, la chaîne des forçats -qu’on mène servir le roi sur les galères. - -Des forçats? s’écria don Quichotte; est-il possible que le roi fasse -violence à quelqu’un? - -Je ne dis pas cela, reprit Sancho; je dis que ce sont des gens qu’on a -condamnés pour leurs crimes à servir le roi sur les galères. - -En définitive, reprit don Quichotte, ces gens sont contraints, et ne -vont pas là de leur plein gré. - -Oh! pour cela je vous en réponds, repartit Sancho. - -Eh bien, dit don Quichotte, cela me regarde, moi dont la profession est -d’empêcher les violences et de secourir les malheureux. - -Faites attention, seigneur, continua Sancho, que la justice et le roi ne -font aucune violence à de semblables gens, et qu’ils n’ont que ce qu’ils -méritent. - -En ce moment la bande passa si près de don Quichotte, qu’il pria les -gardes, avec beaucoup de politesse, de vouloir bien lui apprendre pour -quel sujet ces pauvres diables marchaient ainsi enchaînés. - -Ce sont des forçats qui vont servir sur les galères du roi, répondit un -des cavaliers; je ne sais rien de plus, et je ne crois pas qu’il soit -nécessaire que vous en sachiez davantage. - -Vous m’obligeriez beaucoup, reprit don Quichotte, en me laissant -apprendre de chacun d’eux en particulier la cause de sa disgrâce. - -Il accompagna sa prière de tant de civilités, que l’autre cavalier lui -dit: Nous avons bien ici les sentences de ces misérables, mais il serait -trop long de les lire, et cela ne vaut pas la peine de défaire nos -valises: questionnez-les vous-même, ils vous satisferont, s’ils en ont -envie, car ces honnêtes gens ne se font pas plus prier pour raconter -leurs prouesses que pour les faire. - -Avec cette permission, qu’il aurait prise de lui-même si on la lui avait -refusée, don Quichotte s’approcha de la chaîne, et demanda à celui qui -marchait en tête pour quel péché il allait de cette triste façon. - -C’est pour avoir été amoureux, répondit-il. - -Quoi! rien que pour cela? s’écria notre chevalier. Si on envoie les -amoureux aux galères, il y a longtemps que je devrais ramer. - -Mes amours n’étaient pas de ceux que suppose Votre Grâce, reprit le -forçat, j’aimais si fort une corbeille remplie de linge blanc, et je la -tenais embrassée si étroitement que, sans la justice qui s’en mêla, elle -serait encore entre mes bras. Pris sur le fait, on n’eut pas recours à -la question: je fus condamné, après avoir eu les épaules chatouillées -d’une centaine de coups de fouet; mais quand j’aurai, pendant trois ans, -fauché le grand pré, j’en serai quitte. - -Qu’entendez-vous par faucher le grand pré? demanda don Quichotte. - -C’est ramer aux galères, répondit le forçat, qui était un jeune homme -d’environ vingt-quatre ans, natif de Piedrahita. - -Don Quichotte fit la même question au suivant, qui ne répondit pas un -seul mot, tant il était triste et mélancolique; son camarade lui en -épargna la peine en disant: - -Celui-là est un serin de Canarie; il va aux galères pour avoir trop -chanté. - -Comment! on envoie aussi les musiciens aux galères? dit don Quichotte. - -Oui, seigneur, répondit le forçat, parce qu’il n’y a rien de plus -dangereux que de chanter dans le tourment. - -J’avais toujours entendu dire: Qui chante, son mal enchante, repartit -notre chevalier. - -C’est tout au rebours ici, répliqua le forçat: qui chante une fois, -pleure toute sa vie. - -Par ma foi, je n’y comprends rien, dit don Quichotte. - -Pour ces gens de bien, interrompit un des gardes, chanter dans le -tourment, signifie confesser à la torture. On a donné la question à ce -drôle; il a fait l’aveu de son crime, qui était d’avoir volé des -bestiaux; et, pour avoir confessé, ou chanté, comme ils disent, il a été -condamné à six ans de galères, outre deux cents coups de fouet qui lui -ont été comptés sur-le-champ. Si vous le voyez triste et confus, c’est -que ses camarades le bafouent et le maltraitent pour n’avoir pas eu le -courage de souffrir et de nier: car, entre eux, ils prétendent qu’il n’y -a pas plus de lettres dans un _non_ que dans un _oui_, et qu’un accusé -est bien heureux de tenir son absolution au bout de sa langue, quand il -n’y a pas de témoin contre lui. Franchement, je trouve qu’ils n’ont pas -tout à fait tort. - -C’est aussi mon avis, dit don Quichotte; et, passant au troisième, il -lui adressa la même question. - -Celui-ci, sans se faire tirer l’oreille, répondit d’un ton dégagé: - -Moi je m’en vais pour cinq ans aux galères, faute de dix ducats. - -J’en donnerai vingt de bon cœur pour vous en dispenser, dit don -Quichotte. - -Il est un peu trop tard, repartit le forçat; cela ressemble fort à celui -qui a sa bourse pleine au milieu de la mer, et qui meurt de faim faute -de pouvoir acheter ce dont il a besoin. Si j’avais eu en prison les -vingt ducats que vous m’offrez en ce moment, pour graisser la patte du -greffier, et pour aviver la langue de mon avocat, je serais à l’heure -qu’il est à me promener au beau milieu de la place de Zocodover à -Tolède, et non sur ce chemin, mené en laisse comme un lévrier. Mais, -patience! chaque chose a son temps. - -Le quatrième était un vieillard de vénérable aspect, avec une longue -barbe blanche qui lui descendait sur la poitrine. Il se mit à pleurer -quand don Quichotte lui demanda ce qui l’avait amené là, et celui qui -suivait répondit à sa place: Cet honnête barbon va servir le roi sur mer -pendant quatre ans, après avoir été promené en triomphe par les rues, -vêtu magnifiquement. - -Cela s’appelle, je crois, faire amende honorable, dit Sancho. - -Justement, répondit le forçat, et c’est pour avoir été courtier -d’oreille et même du corps tout entier; c’est-à-dire que ce gentilhomme -est ici en qualité de Mercure galant, et aussi pour quelques petits -grains de sorcellerie. - -De ces grains-là, je n’ai rien à dire, reprit don Quichotte; mais s’il -n’avait été que messager d’amour, il ne mériterait pas d’aller aux -galères, si ce n’est pour être fait général. L’emploi de messager -d’amour n’est pas ce qu’on imagine, et pour le bien remplir il faut être -habile et prudent. Dans un État bien réglé, c’est un office qui ne -devrait être confié qu’à des personnes de choix. Il serait bon, pour ces -sortes de charges, de créer des contrôleurs et examinateurs comme il y -en a pour les autres; ceux qui les exercent devraient être fixés à un -certain nombre, et prêter serment: par là on éviterait beaucoup de -désordres provenant de ce que trop de gens se mêlent du métier, gens -sans intelligence, pour la plupart, sottes servantes, laquais et jeunes -pages, qui dans les circonstances difficiles ne savent plus reconnaître -leur main droite d’avec leur main gauche, et laissent geler leur soupe -dans le trajet de l’assiette à la bouche. Si j’en avais le temps, je -voudrais donner mes raisons du soin qu’il convient d’apporter dans le -choix des gens destinés à un emploi de cette importance; mais ce n’est -pas ici le lieu. Quelque jour j’en parlerai à ceux qui peuvent y -pourvoir. Aujourd’hui je dirai seulement que ma peine à la vue de ce -vieillard, avec ses cheveux blancs et son vénérable visage, si durement -traité pour quelques messages d’amour, a quelque peu cessé quand vous -avez ajouté qu’il se mêlait aussi de sorcellerie, quoiqu’à dire vrai, je -sache bien qu’il n’y a ni charmes ni sortiléges au monde qui puissent -influencer la volonté, comme le pensent beaucoup d’esprits crédules. -Nous avons tous pleinement notre libre arbitre, contre lequel plantes -et enchantements ne peuvent rien. Ce que font quelques femmelettes par -simplicité, quelques fripons par fourberie, ce sont des breuvages, des -mixtures, au moyen desquels ils rendent les hommes fous en leur faisant -accroire qu’ils ont le secret de les rendre amoureux, tandis qu’il est, -je le répète, impossible de contraindre la volonté. - -Cela est vrai, dit le vieillard, et pour ce qui est de la sorcellerie, -seigneur, je n’ai rien à me reprocher. Quant aux messages galants, j’en -conviens; mais je ne croyais pas qu’il y eût le moindre mal à cela, je -voulais seulement que chacun fût heureux. Hélas! ma bonne intention -n’aura servi qu’à m’envoyer dans un lieu d’où je pense ne plus revenir, -chargé d’ans comme je suis, et souffrant d’une rétention d’urine qui ne -me laisse pas un moment de repos. - -A ces mots le pauvre homme se remit à pleurer de plus belle, et Sancho -en eut tant de compassion, qu’il tira de sa poche une pièce de quatre -réaux et la lui donna. - -Passant à un autre, don Quichotte lui demanda quel était son crime. Le -forçat répondit d’un ton non moins dégagé que ses camarades. - -Je m’en vais aux galères pour avoir trop folâtré avec deux de mes -cousines germaines, et même avec deux autres cousines qui n’étaient pas -les miennes. Bref, nous avons joué ensemble aux jeux innocents, et il -s’en est suivi un accroissement de famille tellement embrouillé que le -plus habile généalogiste aurait peine à s’y reconnaître. J’ai été -convaincu par preuves et témoignages. Les protections me manquant, -l’argent aussi, je me suis vu sur le point de mourir d’un mal de gorge; -cependant je n’ai été condamné qu’à six ans de galères: aussi n’en ai-je -point appelé, crainte de pis. J’ai mérité ma peine; mais je me sens -jeune, la vie est longue, et avec le temps on vient à bout de tout. -Maintenant, seigneur, si Votre Grâce veut secourir les pauvres gens, -qu’elle le fasse promptement. Dieu la récompensera dans le ciel, et -nous le prierons ici-bas pour qu’il vous donne santé aussi bonne et vie -aussi longue que vous le méritez. - -Ce dernier portait un habit d’étudiant, et un des gardes dit que c’était -un beau parleur qui savait son latin. - -Derrière tous ceux-là venait un homme d’environ trente ans, bien fait et -de bonne mine, si ce n’est qu’il louchait d’un œil; il était autrement -attaché que les autres, car il portait au pied une chaîne si longue -qu’elle lui entourait tout le corps, puis deux anneaux de fer au cou, -l’un rivé à la chaîne, et l’autre de ceux qu’on appelle PIED D’AMI, d’où -descendaient deux branches allant jusqu’à la ceinture, et aboutissant à -deux menottes qui lui serraient si bien les bras, qu’il ne pouvait -porter les mains à sa bouche, ni baisser la tête jusqu’à ses mains. Don -Quichotte demanda pourquoi celui-là était plus maltraité que les autres. - -Parce qu’à lui seul il est plus criminel que tous les autres ensemble, -répondit le garde; il est si hardi et si rusé, que même en cet état nous -craignons qu’il ne nous échappe. - -Quel crime a-t-il donc commis, s’il n’a point mérité la mort? dit don -Quichotte. - -Il est condamné aux galères pour dix ans, reprit le commissaire, ce qui -équivaut à la mort civile. Au reste, il vous suffira de savoir que cet -honnête homme est le fameux Ginez de Passamont, autrement appelé -Ginesille de Parapilla. - -Doucement, s’il vous plaît, seigneur commissaire, interrompit le forçat, -et n’épiloguons point sur nos noms et surnoms; je m’appelle Ginez et non -pas Ginesille; Passamont est mon nom de famille, et point du tout -Parapilla, comme il vous plaît de m’appeler. Que chacun à la ronde -s’examine, et, quand on aura fait le tour, ce ne sera pas temps perdu. - -Tais-toi, maître larron, dit le commissaire. - -L’homme va comme il plaît à Dieu, repartit Passamont; mais un jour on -saura si je m’appelle ou non Ginesille de Parapilla. - -N’est-ce pas ainsi qu’on t’appelle, imposteur? dit le garde. - -C’est vrai, répondit Ginez; mais je ferai en sorte qu’on ne me donne -plus ce nom, ou je m’arracherai la barbe jusqu’au dernier poil. Seigneur -chevalier, dit-il en s’adressant à don Quichotte, si vous voulez nous -donner quelque chose, faites-le promptement, et allez-vous-en en la -garde de Dieu, car tant de questions sur la vie du prochain commencent à -nous ennuyer; s’il vous plaît de connaître la mienne, sachez que je suis -Ginez de Passamont, dont l’histoire est écrite par les cinq doigts de -cette main. - -Il dit vrai, ajouta le commissaire; lui-même a écrit son histoire, et -l’on dit même que c’est un morceau fort curieux; mais il a laissé le -livre en gage dans la prison pour deux cents réaux. - -J’espère bien le retirer, reprit Passamont, fût-il engagé pour deux -cents ducats. - -Est-il donc si parfait? demanda don Quichotte. - -Si parfait, répondit Passamont, qu’il fera la barbe à Lazarille de -Tormes, et à tous les livres de cette espèce, écrits ou à écrire. Tout -ce que je puis vous dire, c’est qu’il contient des vérités si utiles et -si agréables, qu’il n’y a fables qui les vaillent. - -Et quel titre porte votre livre? poursuivit don Quichotte. - -_Vie de Ginez de Passamont_, répondit le forçat. - -Est-il achevé? dit notre héros. - -Achevé, répliqua Ginez, autant qu’il peut l’être jusqu’à cette heure où -je n’ai pas achevé de vivre. Il commence du jour où je suis né, et -s’arrête à cette nouvelle fois que je vais aux galères. - -Vous y avez donc été déjà? demanda don Quichotte. - -J’y ai passé quatre ans pour le service de Dieu et du roi, répondit -Ginez; et je connais le goût du biscuit et du nerf de bœuf. Au reste, -cela ne me fâche pas autant qu’on le croit d’y retourner, parce que là -du moins je pourrai achever mon livre, et que j’ai encore une foule de -bonnes choses à dire. Dans les galères d’Espagne, on a beaucoup de -loisir, et il ne m’en faudra guère, car ce qui me reste à ajouter, je le -sais par cœur. - -Tu as de l’esprit, dit don Quichotte. - -Et du malheur, repartit Ginez; car le malheur poursuit toujours -l’esprit. - -Il poursuit les scélérats, interrompit le commissaire. - -Je vous ai déjà dit, seigneur commissaire, de parler plus doux, répliqua -Passamont; messeigneurs nos juges ne vous ont pas mis en main cette -verge noire pour maltraiter les pauvres gens qui sont ici, mais pour les -conduire où le roi a besoin d’eux. Sinon et par la vie de... Mais -suffit; que chacun se taise, vive bien et parle mieux encore... -Poursuivons notre chemin, car voilà assez de fadaises comme cela. - -A ces mots, le commissaire leva sa baguette sur Passamont, pour lui -donner la réponse à ses menaces; mais don Quichotte, se jetant -au-devant, le pria de ne pas le maltraiter. - -Encore est-il juste, dit-il, que celui qui a les bras si bien liés ait -au moins la langue un peu libre. Puis, se tournant vers les forçats: Mes -frères, ajouta-t-il, de ce que je viens d’entendre il résulte clairement -pour moi que bien qu’on vous ait punis pour vos fautes, la peine que -vous allez subir est fort peu de votre goût, et que vous allez aux -galères tout à fait contre votre gré. Or, comme le peu de courage que -l’un a montré à la question, le manque d’argent chez l’autre, et surtout -l’erreur et la passion des juges, qui vont si vite en besogne, ont pu -vous mettre dans le triste état où je vous vois, je pense que c’est ici -le cas de montrer pourquoi le ciel m’a fait naître, et m’a inspiré le -noble dessein d’embrasser cette profession de chevalier errant dans -laquelle j’ai fait vœu de secourir les malheureux et de protéger les -petits contre l’oppression des grands. Mais comme aussi dans ce qu’on -veut obtenir la sagesse conseille de recourir à la persuasion plutôt -qu’à la violence, je prie le seigneur commissaire et vos gardiens de -vous ôter vos fers et de vous laisser aller en paix: assez d’autres se -trouveront pour servir le roi quand l’occasion s’en présentera, et -c’est, à vrai dire, une chose monstrueuse de rendre esclaves des hommes -que Dieu et la nature ont créés libres. D’ailleurs, continua-t-il en -s’adressant au commissaire et aux gardes, ces gens-là ne vous ont fait -aucune offense; eh bien, que chacun reste avec son péché, et puisqu’il y -a un Dieu là-haut qui prend soin de châtier les méchants quand ils ne -veulent pas se corriger, il n’est pas bien que des gens d’honneur se -fassent les bourreaux des autres hommes. Je vous demande cela avec calme -et douceur, afin que, si vous me l’accordez, j’aie à vous en remercier: -autrement, cette lance et cette épée, secondant la vigueur de mon bras -sauront bien l’obtenir par la force. - -Admirable conclusion! repartit le commissaire; par ma foi, voilà qui est -plaisant: nous demander la liberté des forçats du roi; comme si nous -avions le pouvoir de les délivrer, ou que vous eussiez celui de nous y -contraindre! Seigneur, continuez votre route, et redressez un peu le -bassin que vous portez sur la tête, sans vous inquiéter de savoir si -notre chat n’a que trois pattes. - -C’est vous, qui êtes le rat, le chat, et le goujat! s’écria don -Quichotte; en même temps il s’élança avec tant de furie sur le -commissaire, qu’avant de s’être mis en défense, celui-ci fut renversé -par terre dangereusement blessé d’un coup de lance. - -Surpris d’une attaque si inattendue, les autres gardes ne tardèrent pas -à se remettre, et tous alors, les uns avec leurs épées, les autres avec -leurs piques, commencèrent à attaquer notre héros, qui s’en serait fort -mal trouvé si les forçats, voyant une belle occasion de reprendre la -clef des champs, n’eussent cherché à en profiter pour rompre leurs -chaînes. La confusion devint si grande, que, tantôt courant aux forçats -qui se déliaient, tantôt ripostant à don Quichotte qui ne leur donnait -point de trêve, les gardes ne firent rien qui vaille. De son côté, -Sancho s’empressa d’aider Ginez de Passamont à rompre sa chaîne, lequel -ne fut pas plutôt libre qu’il fondit sur le commissaire, lui arracha son -arquebuse, et tour à tour visant l’un, visant l’autre, sans tirer -jamais, sut montrer tant d’audace et de résolution, que, ses compagnons -le secondant à coups de pierres, les gardes prirent la fuite et -abandonnèrent le champ de bataille. - -Sancho s’affligea fort de ce bel exploit, se doutant bien que ceux qui -se sauvaient à toutes jambes allaient prévenir la Sainte-Hermandad, et -chercher main-forte, afin de se mettre à la poursuite des coupables. -Dans cette appréhension, il conjura son maître de s’éloigner au plus -vite du grand chemin et de se réfugier dans la sierra qui était proche. - -C’est fort bien, reprit don Quichotte; mais, pour l’heure, je sais, moi, -ce qu’il convient de faire avant tout. A sa voix, les forçats, qui -couraient pêle-mêle, et qui venaient de dépouiller le commissaire -jusqu’à la peau, s’approchèrent pour savoir ce que voulait notre héros; -Des hommes bien nés comme vous l’êtes, leur dit-il, doivent se montrer -reconnaissants des services qu’ils ont reçus; et de tous les vices -l’ingratitude, vous le savez, est celui que Dieu punit le plus -sévèrement. Aussi, d’après ce que je viens de faire pour vous, persuadé -que je n’ai pas obligé des ingrats, je ne demande en retour qu’une seule -chose: c’est que, chargés de cette même chaîne dont je vous ai délivrés, -vous vous mettiez immédiatement en chemin pour la cité du Toboso. Là, -vous présentant devant madame Dulcinée, vous lui direz que son esclave, -le chevalier de la Triste-Figure lui envoie ses compliments, et vous lui -raconterez mot pour mot ce que je viens de faire pour votre délivrance. -Cela fait, allez où il vous plaira. - -A ce discours, Ginez de Passamont, prenant la parole, répondit au nom de -ses camarades: Seigneur chevalier notre libérateur, ce que désire Votre -Grâce est impossible, et nous n’oserions nous montrer ensemble le long -des grands chemins; il faut, au contraire, nous séparer au plus vite, -afin de ne plus retomber entre les mains de la Sainte-Hermandad, qui, -sans aucun doute, va envoyer à notre poursuite. Ce que doit faire Votre -Grâce, et ce qui me paraît juste qu’elle fasse, c’est de commuer le -tribut que nous devons à madame Dulcinée du Toboso en une certaine -quantité d’_Ave Maria_ et de _Credo_, que nous dirons à son intention. -Voilà du moins une pénitence que nous pourrons accomplir facilement, de -nuit comme de jour, en marche ou au repos. Mais penser que de gaieté de -cœur nous allions retourner aux marmites d’Égypte, c’est-à-dire -reprendre notre chaîne, autant vouloir qu’il soit jour en pleine nuit. -Nous demander semblable folie, c’est demander des poires à l’ormeau. - -Eh bien, don fils de gueuse, don Ginez ou Ginesille de Paropillo, car -peu m’importe comment on t’appelle, s’écria don Quichotte enflammé de -colère, je jure Dieu que seul de tes compagnons tu iras chargé de la -chaîne que je t’ai ôtée, et de tout le bagage que tu avais sur ton noble -corps. - -Peu endurant de sa nature, Passamont, qui n’en était plus à s’apercevoir -que notre héros avait la cervelle endommagée d’après ce qu’il venait de -faire, se voyant traité si cavalièrement, fit un signe à ses compagnons. -Ceux-ci, s’éloignant aussitôt, se mirent à faire pleuvoir sur don -Quichotte une telle grêle de pierres qu’il ne pouvait suffire à les -parer avec sa rondache. Quant au pauvre Rossinante, il se souciait -aussi peu de l’éperon que s’il eût été de bronze. Sancho s’abrita -derrière son âne, et par ce moyen évita la tempête; mais son maître ne -put si bien s’en garantir qu’il ne reçût à travers les reins je ne sais -combien de cailloux qui le jetèrent par terre. L’étudiant fondit sur -lui, et lui arrachant le bassin qu’il portait sur la tête, il lui en -donna plusieurs coups sur les épaules; après quoi frappant cinq ou six -fois le prétendu armet contre le sol, il le mit en pièces. Les forçats -enlevèrent au chevalier une casaque qu’il portait par-dessus ses armes, -et ils lui auraient ôté jusqu’à ses chausses, si ses genouillères ne les -en eussent empêchés. Pour ne pas laisser l’ouvrage imparfait, ils -débarrassèrent Sancho de son manteau, et le laissèrent en justaucorps, -après quoi ils partagèrent entre eux les dépouilles du combat; puis -chacun tira de son côté, plus curieux d’éviter la Sainte-Hermandad que -de faire connaissance avec la princesse du Toboso. - -L’âne, Rossinante, Sancho et don Quichotte, demeurèrent seuls sur le -champ de bataille: l’âne, la tête baissée, et secouant de temps en temps -les oreilles, comme si la pluie de cailloux durait encore; Rossinante, -étendu près de son maître; Sancho en manches de chemise, et tremblant à -la seule pensée de la Sainte-Hermandad; don Quichotte enfin, l’âme -navrée d’avoir été mis en ce piteux état par ceux-là même à qui il -venait de rendre un si grand service. - -CHAPITRE XXIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA AU FAMEUX DON QUICHOTTE DANS LA SIERRA MORENA, ET DE -L’UNE DES PLUS RARES AVENTURES QUE MENTIONNE CETTE VÉRIDIQUE HISTOIRE - -En se voyant traité si indignement, don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher de -dire à son écuyer: Sancho, j’ai toujours entendu dire que faire du bien -aux méchants, c’était porter de l’eau à la mer; si je t’avais écouté, -j’aurais évité cette mésaventure: mais enfin ce qui est fait est fait; -prenons patience, et que l’expérience nous profite pour l’avenir. - -Vous profiterez de l’expérience comme je deviendrai Turc, répondit -Sancho; vous dites que si vous m’eussiez cru, vous pouviez éviter cette -mésaventure; eh bien, croyez-moi à cette heure, et vous en éviterez une -plus grande encore; car, en un mot comme en mille, je vous avertis que -la Sainte-Hermandad se moque de toutes vos chevaleries, et qu’elle ne -fait pas plus de cas de tous les chevaliers errants du monde que d’un -maravédis. Tenez, il me semble que j’entends déjà ses flèches me siffler -aux oreilles[42]. - - [42] La Sainte-Hermandad faisait tuer à coups de flèches les criminels - qu’elle condamnait, et laissait leurs cadavres exposés au gibet. - -Tu es un grand poltron, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; cependant, afin -que tu ne dises pas que je suis un entêté et que je ne fais jamais ce -que tu me conseilles, je veux cette fois suivre ton avis, et m’éloigner -de ce danger que tu redoutes si fort; mais à une condition, c’est que, -ou mort ou vivant, tu ne diras jamais que je me suis esquivé par -crainte, mais seulement pour céder à ta prière et te faire plaisir. Si -tu dis le contraire, tu auras menti; et aujourd’hui comme alors, alors -comme aujourd’hui, je te donne un démenti, et dis que tu mens, et -mentiras toutes les fois que tu diras ou penseras pareille chose. Pas un -mot, je te prie; car la seule idée que je tourne le dos à un péril, -quelque grand qu’il puisse être, me donne envie de demeurer ici, et d’y -attendre de pied ferme, non-seulement la Sainte-Hermandad, mais encore -les douze tribus d’Israël, les sept frères Machabées, Castor et Pollux, -et tous les frères et confréries du monde. - -Se retirer n’est pas fuir, dit Sancho; et attendre n’est pas sagesse, -quand le péril dépasse l’espérance et les forces. Un homme sage doit se -conserver aujourd’hui pour demain, sans aventurer tout en un jour. -Sachez que tout rustre et vilain que je suis, j’ai pourtant quelque idée -de ce qu’on appelle se bien gouverner. Ne vous repentez donc point de -suivre mon conseil: tâchez seulement de monter sur Rossinante, sinon je -vous aiderai, et suivez-moi, car quelque chose me dit qu’à cette heure, -nous avons plus besoin de nos pieds que de nos mains. - -Don Quichotte remonta à cheval sans dire mot, et Sancho prenant les -devants sur son âne, ils entrèrent dans la sierra qui se trouvait -proche. L’intention de l’écuyer était de traverser toute cette chaîne de -montagnes, et d’aller déboucher au Viso ou bien à Almodovar del Campo, -après s’être cachés quelques jours dans ces solitudes pour échapper à la -Sainte-Hermandad, dans le cas où elle se mettrait à leur poursuite. Ce -qui le fortifiait dans ce dessein, c’était de voir que le sac aux -provisions que portait le grison avait échappé aux mains des forçats, -chose qui tenait du miracle, tant ces honnêtes gens avaient bien fureté -et enlevé tout ce qui était à leur convenance. - -Nos deux voyageurs arrivèrent cette nuit même au milieu de la _Sierra -Morena_ ou montagne Noire, et dans l’endroit le plus désert. Sancho -conseilla à son maître d’y faire halte pendant quelques jours, -c’est-à-dire tant que dureraient leurs provisions. Ils commencèrent par -s’établir entre deux roches, au milieu de quelques grands liéges. Mais -la fortune, qui, selon l’opinion de ceux que n’éclaire pas la vraie foi, -ordonne et règle toutes choses à sa fantaisie, voulut que Ginez de -Passamont, ce forçat que la générosité et la folie de notre chevalier -avaient tiré de la chaîne, fuyant de son côté la Sainte-Hermandad qu’il -redoutait avec juste raison, eût la pensée de venir chercher un asile -dans ces montagnes, et qu’il s’arrêtât précisément au même endroit où -étaient don Quichotte et Sancho. Il ne les eut pas plus tôt reconnus à -leurs discours, qu’il les laissa s’endormir paisiblement; et, comme les -méchants sont ingrats, et que la nécessité n’a pas de loi, Ginez, qui ne -brillait pas par la reconnaissance, résolut, pendant leur sommeil, de -dérober l’âne de Sancho, préférablement à Rossinante, qui lui parut de -mince ressource, soit pour le mettre en gage, soit pour le vendre. Et -avant le jour, l’insigne vaurien, monté sur le grison, était déjà trop -loin pour qu’on pût le rattraper. - -Quand l’aurore avec sa face riante vint réjouir et embellir la terre, ce -fut pour attrister le pauvre Sancho. Dès qu’il s’aperçut de la -disparition de son âne, il se mit à pousser les plus tristes -lamentations, tellement que ses sanglots réveillèrent don Quichotte qui -l’entendit pleurer en disant: O fils de mes entrailles, né dans ma -propre maison, jouet de mes enfants, délices de ma femme, envie de mes -voisins, compagnon de mes travaux, et finalement nourricier de la moitié -de ma personne, puisque, avec les quelques maravédis que tu gagnais par -jour, je subvenais à la moitié de ma dépense! - -Don Quichotte, devinant le sujet de la douleur de Sancho, entreprit de -le consoler par les meilleurs raisonnements qu’il put trouver sur les -disgrâces de cette vie; mais il n’y parvint réellement qu’après avoir -promis de lui donner une lettre de change de trois ânons, à prendre sur -cinq qu’il avait laissés dans son écurie. Aussitôt Sancho arrêta ses -soupirs, calma ses sanglots, sécha ses larmes, et remercia son seigneur -de la faveur qu’il lui accordait. - -En pénétrant dans ces montagnes qui lui promettaient les aventures qu’il -cherchait sans relâche, notre héros avait senti son cœur bondir de -joie. Il repassait dans sa mémoire les merveilleux événements qui -étaient arrivés aux chevaliers errants en de semblables lieux, et ces -pensées le transportaient et l’absorbaient à tel point, qu’il en -oubliait le monde entier. Quant à Sancho, depuis qu’il croyait cheminer -en lieu sûr, il ne songeait plus qu’à restaurer son estomac avec les -restes du butin enlevé aux prêtres du convoi. Chargé de ce qu’aurait dû -porter le grison, il cheminait à petits pas, tirant du sac à chaque -instant de quoi remplir son ventre, sans nul souci des aventures, et -n’en imaginant point de plus heureuse que celle-là. - -En ce moment il leva les yeux, et, voyant son maître s’arrêter, il -accourut pour en savoir la cause. En approchant, il reconnut que don -Quichotte remuait avec le bout de sa lance un coussin et une valise -attachés ensemble, tous deux en lambeaux et à demi pourris, mais si -pesants qu’il fallut que Sancho aidât à les soulever. Son maître lui -ayant dit d’examiner ce que ce pouvait être, il s’empressa d’obéir, et -quoique la valise fût fermée, il put facilement voir par les trous ce -qu’elle contenait. Il en tira quatre chemises de toile de Hollande -très-fine, d’autres hardes aussi propres qu’élégantes, et enfin une -certaine quantité d’écus d’or renfermés dans un mouchoir. - -A cette vue, il s’écria: Béni soit le ciel, qui enfin nous envoie une si -heureuse aventure. En poursuivant l’examen, il trouva un livre de -souvenirs richement relié. - -Je retiens cela, dit don Quichotte; quant à l’argent, tu peux le -prendre. - -Grand merci, seigneur, répondit Sancho en lui baisant les mains; et il -mit les hardes et l’argent dans son bissac. - -Il faut, dit don Quichotte, que quelque voyageur se soit égaré dans ces -montagnes, où des voleurs l’auront assassiné et seront venus l’enterrer -en cet endroit. - -Vous n’y êtes pas, seigneur, répondit Sancho: si c’étaient des voleurs, -ils auraient pris l’argent. - -Tu as raison, dit don Quichotte, et je ne devine pas ce que cela peut -être. Mais, attends; dans ce livre se trouve sans doute quelque -écriture qui nous apprendra ce que nous cherchons. - -En même temps, notre héros l’ouvrit, et il y trouva le brouillon d’un -sonnet qu’il lut à haute voix, afin que Sancho l’entendît: - - Comme Amour est sans yeux, il est sans connaissance; - Oui, c’est un dieu bizarre et plein de cruauté, - Qui condamne au hasard et sans nulle équité; - Ou le mal que je souffre excède sa sentence. - - Mais si l’Amour est dieu, c’est une conséquence, - Qu’il voit tout, connaît tout, et c’est impiété - D’accuser de rigueur une divinité: - D’où viennent donc mes maux, et qui fait ma souffrance? - - Philis, ce n’est pas vous; un si noble sujet - Ne peut jamais causer un aussi triste effet; - Et ce n’est pas du ciel que mon malheur procède. - - Je vois qu’il faut mourir dans ce trouble confus. - Comment guérir de maux qui nous sont inconnus? - Un miracle peut seul en donner le remède. - -Cette chanson-là ne nous apprend rien, dit Sancho, à moins que par ce -fil dont elle parle nous ne tenions le peloton de toute l’aventure. - -De quel fil parles-tu? demanda don Quichotte. - -Il me semble que Votre Grâce a parlé de fil, répondit Sancho. - -J’ai parlé de Philis, reprit don Quichotte; et ce nom doit être celui de -la dame dont se plaint l’auteur de ce sonnet. Certes, le poëte n’est pas -des moindres, ou je n’entends rien au métier. - -Comment! dit Sancho, est-ce que Votre Grâce se connaît aussi à composer -des vers? - -Mieux que tu ne penses, répondit don Quichotte, et bientôt tu le verras -quand je t’aurai donné une lettre toute en vers pour porter à Dulcinée -du Toboso. Apprends, Sancho, que les chevaliers errants du temps passé -étaient, la plupart du moins, poëtes et musiciens; car ces talents, ou -pour mieux dire, ces dons du ciel, sont le lot ordinaire des amoureux -errants. Malgré cela, il faut convenir que dans leurs poésies les -anciens chevaliers ont plus de vigueur que de délicatesse. - -Lisez toujours, seigneur, dit Sancho, peut-être trouverons-nous ce que -nous cherchons. - -Don Quichotte tourna le feuillet: Ceci est de la prose, dit-il, et -ressemble à une lettre. - -A une lettre missive? demanda Sancho. - -Par ma foi, le début ferait croire à une lettre d’amour, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Eh bien, que Votre Grâce ait la bonté de lire tout haut; j’aime -infiniment ces sortes de lettres et tout ce qui est dans ce genre. - -Volontiers, dit don Quichotte; et il lut ce qui suit: - - «La fausseté de tes promesses et la certitude de mon malheur me - conduisent en un lieu d’où tu apprendras plus tôt la nouvelle de ma - mort que l’expression de mes plaintes. Tu m’as trahi, ingrate, pour un - plus riche, mais non pour un meilleur que moi; car si la vertu était - estimée à l’égal de la richesse, je n’envierais pas le bonheur - d’autrui, et je ne pleurerais pas mon propre malheur. Ce qu’a fait - naître ta beauté, ton inconstance l’a détruit: par l’une tu me parus - un ange, mais l’autre m’a prouvé que tu n’étais qu’une femme. Adieu. - Vis en paix, toi qui me fais une guerre si cruelle. Fasse le ciel que - la perfidie de ton époux ne te soit jamais connue, afin que, venant à - te repentir de ta trahison, je ne sois point forcé de venger nos - déplaisirs communs sur un homme que tu es désormais tenue de - respecter.» - -Voilà qui nous en apprend encore moins que les vers, dit don Quichotte, -si ce n’est pourtant que celui qui a écrit cette lettre est un amant -trahi; et continuant de feuilleter le livre de poche, il trouva qu’il ne -contenait que des plaintes, des reproches, des lamentations, puis des -dédains et des faveurs, les unes exhalées avec enthousiasme, les autres -amèrement déplorés. - -Pendant que don Quichotte feuilletait le livre de poche, Sancho -revisitait la valise, sans y laisser non plus que dans le coussin, un -repli qu’il ne fouillât, une couture qu’il ne rompit, un flocon de laine -qu’il ne triât soigneusement, tant il était en goût, depuis la -découverte des écus d’or, dont il avait trouvé plus d’une centaine. -Cette récompense de toutes ses mésaventures lui parut satisfaisante, et -à ce prix il en eût voulu autant tous les mois. - -Notre chevalier avait grande envie de connaître le maître de la valise, -conjecturant par le sonnet et la lettre, par la quantité d’écus d’or et -la finesse du linge, qu’elle devait appartenir à un amoureux de bonne -maison, réduit au désespoir par les cruautés de sa dame. Mais, comme -dans ces lieux déserts il n’apercevait personne de qui il pût recueillir -quelque information, il se décida à passer outre, se laissant aller au -gré de Rossinante, qui marchait tant bien que mal à travers ces roches -hérissées de ronces et d’épines. - -Tandis qu’il cheminait ainsi, espérant toujours qu’en cet endroit âpre -et sauvage viendrait enfin s’offrir à lui quelque aventure -extraordinaire, il aperçut tout à coup, au sommet d’une montagne, un -homme courant avec une légèreté surprenante de rocher en rocher. Il crut -reconnaître que cet homme était presque sans vêtements, qu’il avait la -tête nue, les cheveux en désordre, la barbe noire et touffue, les pieds -sans chaussure, et qu’il portait un pourpoint qui semblait de velours -jaune, mais tellement en lambeaux, que la chair paraissait en plusieurs -endroits. Bien que cet homme eût passé avec la rapidité de l’éclair, -tout cela fut remarqué par don Quichotte, qui fit ses efforts pour le -suivre; mais il n’était pas donné aux faibles jarrets du flegmatique -Rossinante de courir sur un terrain aussi accidenté. S’imaginant que ce -devait être le maître de la valise, notre héros résolut de se mettre à -sa recherche, dût-il, pour l’atteindre, errer une année entière dans ces -solitudes. Il ordonna à Sancho de parcourir un côté de la montagne, -pendant que lui-même irait du côté opposé. - -Cela m’est impossible, répondit Sancho, car dès que je quitte tant soit -peu Votre Grâce, la peur s’empare de moi et vient m’assaillir avec -toutes sortes de visions. Aussi soyez assuré que dorénavant je ne -m’éloignerai pas de vous, fût-ce d’un demi-pied. - -J’y consens, dit don Quichotte, et je suis bien aise de voir la -confiance que tu as en ma valeur: sois certain qu’elle ne te faillira -pas, quand même l’âme viendrait à te manquer au corps. Suis-moi donc pas -à pas, les yeux grands ouverts; nous ferons le tour de cette montagne, -et peut-être rencontrerons-nous le maître de cette valise, car c’est lui -sans doute que nous avons vu passer si rapidement. - -Ne serait-il pas mieux de ne le point chercher? reprit Sancho; si nous -le trouvons, et que l’argent soit à lui, il est clair que je suis obligé -de le restituer. Vous le voyez, cette recherche ne peut être d’aucune -utilité, et mieux vaut posséder cet argent de bonne foi, jusqu’à ce que -le hasard nous en fasse découvrir le véritable propriétaire. Oh! alors, -si l’argent est parti, le roi m’en fera quitte. - -Tu te trompes en cela, Sancho, dit don Quichotte; dès qu’un seul instant -nous pouvons supposer que cet homme est le maître de cet argent, notre -devoir est de le chercher sans relâche pour lui faire restitution; car -la seule présomption qu’il peut l’être équivaut pour nous à la certitude -qu’il l’est réellement et nous en fait responsables. Ainsi donc, que -cette recherche ne te donne point de chagrin; quant à moi, il me semble -que je serai déchargé d’un grand fardeau si je peux réussir à rencontrer -cet inconnu. - -En disant cela il piqua Rossinante, et Sancho le suivit à pied, toujours -portant la charge de l’âne, grâce à Ginez de Passamont. - -Après avoir longtemps fouillé toute la montagne, ils arrivèrent au bord -d’un ruisseau, où ils rencontrèrent le cadavre d’une mule ayant encore -sa selle et sa bride et à demi mangée des corbeaux et des loups. Cela -les confirma dans l’idée que l’homme qui fuyait était le maître de la -valise et de la mule. Pendant qu’ils la considéraient, un coup de -sifflet pareil à celui d’un berger qui rassemble son troupeau se fit -entendre; aussitôt ils aperçurent sur la gauche une grande quantité de -chèvres, et plus loin un vieux pâtre qui les gardait. Don Quichotte -élevant la voix pria cet homme de descendre, lequel tout surpris leur -demanda comment ils avaient pu pénétrer dans un endroit si sauvage, -connu seulement des chèvres et des loups. - -Descendez, lui cria Sancho; nous vous en rendrons compte. - -Le chevrier descendit. Je gage, seigneur, dit-il en arrivant auprès de -don Quichotte, que vous regardiez cette mule étendue dans le ravin. Il y -a, sans mentir, six mois qu’elle est à la même place; mais, dites-moi, -n’avez-vous point rencontré son maître? - -Nous n’avons rien rencontré, répondit don Quichotte, si ce n’est un -coussin et une petite valise à quelques pas d’ici. - -Je l’ai trouvée aussi, dit le chevrier, et, comme vous, je me suis bien -gardé d’y toucher; je n’ai pas seulement voulu en approcher, de peur de -quelque surprise, et peut-être de me voir accuser de larcin; car le -diable est subtil, et souvent il met sur notre chemin des choses qui -nous font broncher sans savoir ni pourquoi ni comment. - -Voilà justement ce que je disais, repartit Sancho; moi aussi j’ai trouvé -la valise, sans vouloir en approcher d’un jet de pierre. Je l’ai laissée -là-bas, qu’elle y demeure; je n’aime pas à attacher des grelots aux -chiens. - -Savez-vous, bonhomme, quel est le maître de ces objets? reprit don -Quichotte en s’adressant au chevrier. - -Tout ce que je sais, répondit celui-ci, c’est qu’il y a environ six -mois, un jeune homme de belle taille et de bonne façon, monté sur la -même mule que vous voyez, mais qui alors était en vie, avec le coussin -et la valise que vous dites avoir trouvés et n’avoir point touchés, -arriva à des huttes qui sont à trois lieues d’ici, demandant quel était -l’endroit le plus désert de ces montagnes. Nous lui répondîmes que -c’était celui où nous sommes en ce moment; cela est si vrai qu’en -s’avançant à une demi-lieue plus loin, on aurait bien de la peine à en -sortir; aussi suis-je étonné de voir que vous ayez pu pénétrer -jusqu’ici, car il n’y a ni chemin ni sentier qui y conduise. Ce jeune -homme n’eut pas plus tôt entendu notre réponse, qu’il tourna bride et -prit la direction que nous lui avions indiquée, nous laissant tout -surpris de l’empressement qu’il mettait à s’enfoncer dans ce désert. -Depuis, personne ne l’avait revu, quand un jour il rencontra un de nos -pâtres, sur lequel il se jeta comme un furieux en l’accablant de coups; -courant ensuite aux provisions qui étaient là sur un âne, il s’empara du -pain et du fromage qui s’y trouvaient, puis disparut plus agile qu’un -daim. Quand nous apprîmes cette aventure, nous nous mîmes, quelques -chevriers et moi, à le chercher; et après avoir fouillé longtemps les -endroits les plus épais, nous le trouvâmes, enfin, caché dans le tronc -d’un gros liége. - -Il s’avança vers nous avec douceur, mais le visage si altéré et si brûlé -du soleil, que sans ses habits, qui déjà étaient en lambeaux, nous -aurions eu de la peine à le reconnaître. Il nous salua courtoisement; -et, en quelques mots bien tournés, il nous dit de ne pas nous étonner de -le voir agir de la sorte, qu’il fallait que cela fût ainsi pour -accomplir une pénitence qu’on lui avait imposée. Nous le priâmes de nous -dire qui il était, mais il s’y refusa obstinément. Nous lui demandâmes -d’indiquer l’endroit où nous pourrions le retrouver afin de lui donner, -quand il en aurait besoin, la nourriture dont il ne pouvait se passer, -l’assurant que ce serait de bon cœur; ou que, tout au moins, il vînt la -demander sans la prendre de force. Il nous remercia, s’excusa de ses -violences passées, nous promettant de demander à l’avenir, pour l’amour -de Dieu et sans violenter personne, ce qui lui serait nécessaire. Quant -à son habitation, il n’avait point de retraite fixe, il s’arrêtait, -dit-il, là où la nuit le surprenait. - -Après ces demandes et ces réponses, il se mit à pleurer si amèrement -qu’il eût fallu être de bronze pour ne pas en avoir pitié, nous autres -surtout qui le trouvions dans un état si différent de celui où nous -l’avions vu pour la première fois; car, je vous l’ai dit, c’était un -beau jeune homme, de fort bonne mine, qui avait de l’esprit, et -paraissait plein de sens; et tout cela réuni nous fit croire qu’il était -de bonne maison et richement élevé. Tout à coup, au milieu de la -conversation, le voilà qui s’arrête, devient muet, et demeure longtemps -les yeux cloués en terre, pendant que nous étions là étonnés, inquiets -attendant à quoi aboutirait cette extase, non sans éprouver beaucoup de -compassion d’un si triste état. En le voyant ouvrir de grands yeux sans -remuer les paupières, puis les fermer en serrant les lèvres et fronçant -les sourcils, nous reconnûmes sans peine qu’il était sujet à des accès -de folie. Nous ne tardâmes pas à en avoir la preuve, car après s’être -roulé par terre, il se releva brusquement et tout aussitôt se précipita -sur l’un de nous avec une telle furie, que si nous ne l’eussions arraché -de ses mains, il le tuait à coups de poings et à coups de dents; en le -frappant il lui disait: Ah! traître don Fernand, c’est ici que tu me -payeras l’outrage que tu m’as fait: c’est ici que mes mains -t’arracheront ce lâche cœur qui recèle toutes les méchancetés du monde. -Il ajoutait encore mille autres injures, qui toutes tendaient à -reprocher à ce Fernand son parjure et sa trahison. Après quoi il -s’enfonça dans la montagne, courant avec une telle vitesse à travers les -buissons et sur ces rochers, qu’il nous fut impossible de le suivre. - -Cela nous a fait penser que sa folie le prenait par intervalles, et -qu’un homme, appelé don Fernand, lui avait causé un déplaisir si grand -qu’il en avait perdu la raison. Notre soupçon s’est confirmé quand nous -l’avons vu venir tantôt demander avec douceur à manger aux bergers, -tantôt prendre leurs provisions par force, selon qu’il est ou non dans -son bon sens. Aussi, poursuivit le chevrier, deux bergers de mes amis, -leurs valets et moi, nous avons résolu de chercher ce pauvre jeune homme -jusqu’à ce que nous l’ayons trouvé, pour l’amener de gré ou de force, à -Almodovar qui est à huit lieues d’ici, et le faire traiter s’il y a -remède à son mal, ou tout au moins apprendre qui il est, afin qu’on -puisse informer ses parents de son malheur. Voilà tout ce que je puis -répondre aux questions que vous m’avez faites; mais soyez certains que -celui que vous avez vu courir si rapidement, et presque nu, est le -véritable maître de la mule et de la valise que vous avez trouvées sur -votre chemin. - -Émerveillé du récit que le chevrier venait de lui faire, don Quichotte -n’en eut que plus d’envie de savoir quel était cet homme si cruellement -traité par le sort, et qu’il trouvait si fort à plaindre. Il s’affermit -donc dans la résolution de le chercher par toute la montagne, se -promettant de ne pas laisser un recoin sans le visiter. Mais la fortune -en ordonna mieux qu’il n’espérait, car au même instant, dans une -embrasure de rocher, le jeune homme parut, s’avançant vers eux, et -marmottant tout bas des paroles qu’ils ne pouvaient entendre. Son -vêtement était tel que nous l’avons dépeint; seulement, don Quichotte -reconnut, en s’approchant, que le pourpoint qu’il portait était parfumé -d’ambre, ce qui le confirma dans l’idée qu’il devait être de haute -condition. En les abordant, le jeune homme les salua d’une voix rauque -et brusque, quoique avec courtoisie. Notre héros lui rendit son salut, -et descendant de cheval s’avança avec empressement pour l’embrasser; -mais l’inconnu, après s’être laissé donner l’accolade, s’écartant un peu -et posant ses deux mains sur les épaules de don Quichotte, se mit à le -considérer de la tête aux pieds, comme s’il eût cherché à le -reconnaître, non moins surpris de la figure, de la taille et de l’armure -du chevalier, que celui-ci ne l’était de le voir lui-même en cet état. -Enfin le premier des deux qui parla fut l’inconnu, et il dit ce qu’on -verra dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXIV - -OU SE CONTINUE L’AVENTURE DE LA SIERRA MORENA - -L’histoire rapporte que don Quichotte écoutait avec une extrême -attention l’inconnu de la montagne, lequel, poursuivant l’entretien, lui -dit: Qui que vous soyez, seigneur, je vous rends grâces de la courtoisie -dont vous faites preuve envers moi, et je voudrais être en état de vous -témoigner autrement que par des paroles la reconnaissance que m’inspire -un si bon accueil; mais ma mauvaise fortune ne s’accorde pas avec mon -cœur, et pour reconnaître tant de bontés, il ne me reste que des désirs -impuissants. - -Les miens, répondit don Quichotte, sont tellement de vous servir, que -j’avais résolu de ne point quitter ces solitudes jusqu’à ce que je vous -eusse découvert, afin d’apprendre de votre bouche s’il y a quelque -remède aux déplaisirs qui vous font mener une si triste existence, et -afin de chercher à y mettre un terme à quelque prix que ce soit, fût-ce -au péril de ma propre vie. Dans le cas où vos malheurs seraient de ceux -qui ne souffrent pas de consolation, je venais du moins pour vous aider -à les supporter, en les partageant, et mêler mes larmes aux vôtres; car -c’est un adoucissement à nos disgrâces que de trouver des gens qui s’y -montrent sensibles. Si ma bonne intention vous paraît mériter quelque -retour, je vous supplie, par la courtoisie dont je vous vois rempli, je -vous conjure par ce que vous avez de plus cher, de me dire qui vous -êtes, et quel motif vous a fait choisir une existence si triste, si -sauvage et si différente de celle que vous devriez mener. Par l’ordre de -chevalerie que j’ai reçu quoique indigne, et par la profession que j’en -fais, je jure, si vous me montrez cette confiance, de vous rendre tous -les services qui seront en mon pouvoir, soit en apportant du remède à -vos malheurs, soit, comme je vous l’ai promis, en m’unissant à vous pour -les pleurer. - -En entendant parler de la sorte le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, -l’inconnu de la montagne se mit à le considérer de la tête aux pieds. -Après l’avoir longtemps envisagé en silence, il lui dit: Si l’on a -quelque nourriture à me donner, pour l’amour de Dieu qu’on me la donne, -après quoi je ferai ce que vous souhaitez de moi. Aussitôt Sancho tira -de son bissac, et le chevrier de sa panetière, de quoi apaiser la faim -du malheureux, qui se mit à manger comme un insensé, et avec tant de -précipitation, qu’un morceau n’attendait pas l’autre, et qu’il dévorait -plutôt qu’il ne mangeait. Après avoir apaisé sa faim, il se leva, et -faisant signe à don Quichotte et aux deux autres de le suivre, il les -conduisit au détour d’un rocher, dans une prairie qui était près de là. - -Quand on y fut arrivé, il s’assit sur l’herbe et chacun en fit autant; -puis s’étant placé à son gré, il commença ainsi: Si vous voulez que je -raconte en peu de mots l’histoire de mes malheurs, il faut me promettre -avant tout de ne pas m’interrompre, parce qu’une seule parole prononcée -mettrait fin à mon récit. (Ce préambule rappela à don Quichotte certaine -nuit où, faute par lui d’avoir noté avec exactitude le nombre des -chèvres qui passaient la rivière, Sancho ne put achever son conte.) Si -je prends cette précaution, ajouta l’inconnu, c’est afin de ne pas -m’arrêter trop longtemps sur mes disgrâces: les rappeler à ma mémoire ne -fait que les accroître, et toute question en allongerait le récit; du -reste, pour satisfaire complétement votre curiosité, je n’omettrai rien -d’important. - -Don Quichotte promit au nom de tous grande attention et silence absolu, -après quoi l’inconnu commença en ces termes: - -Je m’appelle Cardenio; mon pays est une des principales villes -d’Andalousie, ma race est noble, ma famille est riche; mais si grands -sont mes malheurs, que les richesses de mes parents n’y sauraient -apporter remède, car les dons de la fortune sont impuissants contre les -chagrins que le ciel nous envoie. Dans la même ville a pris naissance -une jeune fille d’une beauté incomparable, appelée Luscinde, noble, -riche autant que moi, mais moins constante que ne méritait l’honnêteté -de mes sentiments. Dès mes plus tendres années, j’aimai Luscinde, et -Luscinde m’aima avec cette sincérité qui accompagne toujours un âge -innocent. Nos parents connaissaient nos intentions, et ne s’y opposaient -point, parce qu’ils n’en redoutaient rien de fâcheux: l’égalité des -biens et de la naissance les aurait fait aisément consentir à notre -union. Cependant l’amour crût avec les années, et le père de Luscinde, -semblable à celui de cette Thisbé si célèbre chez les poëtes, croyant -ne pouvoir souffrir plus longtemps avec bienséance notre familiarité -habituelle, me fit interdire l’entrée de sa maison. Cette défense ne -servit qu’à irriter notre amour. On enchaîna notre langue, mais on ne -put arrêter nos plumes; et comme nous avions des voies sûres et aisées -pour nous écrire, nous le faisions à toute heure. Maintes fois j’envoyai -à Luscinde des chansons et de ces vers amoureux qu’inventent les amants -pour adoucir leurs peines. De son côté, Luscinde prenait tous les moyens -de me faire connaître la tendresse de ses sentiments. Nous soulagions -ainsi nos déplaisirs, et nous entretenions une passion violente. Enfin, -ne pouvant résister plus longtemps à l’envie de revoir Luscinde, je -résolus de la demander en mariage, et pour ne pas perdre un temps -précieux, je m’adressai moi-même à son père. Il me répondit qu’il était -sensible au désir que je montrais d’entrer dans sa famille, mais que -c’était à mon père à faire cette démarche, parce que si mon dessein -avait été formé sans son consentement, ou qu’il refusât de l’approuver, -Luscinde n’était pas faite pour être épousée clandestinement. Je le -remerciai de ses bonnes intentions en l’assurant que mon père viendrait -lui-même faire la demande. Aussitôt j’allai le trouver pour lui -découvrir mon dessein, et le prier de m’y aider s’il l’approuvait. - -Quand j’entrai dans sa chambre, il tenait à la main une lettre qu’il me -présenta avant que j’eusse ouvert la bouche. Vois, Cardenio, me dit-il, -l’honneur que le duc Ricardo veut te faire. Ce duc, vous le savez sans -doute, est un grand d’Espagne, dont les terres sont dans le meilleur -canton de l’Andalousie. Je lus la lettre, et la trouvai si obligeante, -que je crus, comme mon père, ne pas devoir refuser l’honneur qu’on nous -faisait à tous deux. Le duc priait mon père de me faire partir sans -délai, désirant me placer auprès de son fils aîné, non pas à titre de -serviteur, mais de compagnon; il se chargeait, disait-il, de me faire -un sort qui répondît à la bonne opinion qu’il avait de moi. Après avoir -lu, je restai muet, et je pensai perdre l’esprit quand mon père ajouta: -il faut que tu te tiennes prêt à partir, d’ici à deux jours; Cardenio, -rends grâces à Dieu de ce qu’il t’ouvre une carrière où tu trouveras -honneur et profit. Il joignit à ces paroles les conseils d’un père -prudent et sage. - -La nuit qui précéda mon départ, je vis ma chère Luscinde, et lui appris -ce qui se passait. La veille, j’avais pris congé de son père, en le -suppliant de me conserver la bonne volonté qu’il m’avait témoignée, et -de différer de pourvoir sa fille jusqu’à mon retour. Il me le promit, et -Luscinde et moi nous nous séparâmes avec toute la douleur que peuvent -éprouver des amants tendres et passionnés. Après mille serments -réciproques, je partis, et bientôt j’arrivai chez le duc, qui me reçut -avec tant de marques de bienveillance que l’envie ne tarda pas à -s’éveiller, surtout parmi les anciens serviteurs de la maison, il leur -semblait que les marques d’intérêt qu’on m’accordait étaient à leur -détriment. Le seul qui parût satisfait de ma venue fut le second fils -du duc, appelé don Fernand, jeune homme aimable, gai, libéral et -amoureux. Il me prit bientôt en telle amitié, que tout le monde en était -jaloux, et comme entre amis il n’y a point de secrets, il me confiait -tous les siens, à ce point qu’il ne tarda pas à me mettre dans la -confidence d’une intrigue amoureuse qui l’occupait entièrement. - -Il aimait avec passion la fille d’un riche laboureur, vassal du duc son -père, jeune paysanne si belle, si spirituelle et si sage, qu’elle -faisait l’admiration de tous ceux qui la connaissaient. Tant de -perfections avaient tellement charmé l’esprit de don Fernand, que, -voyant l’impossibilité d’en faire sa maîtresse, il résolut d’en faire sa -femme. Touché de l’amitié qu’il me montrait, je crus devoir le détourner -de ce dessein, m’appuyant des raisons que je pus trouver; mais après -avoir reconnu l’inutilité de mes efforts, je pris la résolution d’en -avertir le duc. L’honneur m’imposait de lui révéler un projet si -contraire à la grandeur de sa maison. Don Fernand s’en douta, et il ne -songea qu’à me détourner de ma résolution en me faisant croire qu’il -n’en serait pas besoin. Pour le guérir de sa passion, il m’assura que le -meilleur moyen était de s’éloigner pendant quelque temps de celle qui en -était l’objet, et afin de motiver mon absence, ajouta-t-il, je dirai à -mon père que tous deux nous avons formé le projet de nous rendre dans -votre ville natale pour acheter des chevaux; c’est là en effet qu’on -trouve les plus renommés. Le désir de revoir Luscinde me fit approuver -son plan; je croyais que l’absence le guérirait, et je le pressai -d’exécuter ce projet. Mais, comme je l’ai su depuis, don Fernand n’avait -pensé à s’éloigner qu’après avoir abusé de la fille du laboureur, sous -le faux nom d’époux, et afin d’éviter le premier courroux de son père -quand il apprendrait sa faute. - -Or, comme chez la plupart des jeunes gens, l’amour n’est qu’un goût -passager, dont le plaisir est le but et qui s’éteint par la possession, -don Fernand n’eut pas plus tôt obtenu les faveurs de sa maîtresse qu’il -sentit son affection diminuer; ce grand feu s’éteignit, ses désirs se -refroidirent; et s’il avait d’abord feint de vouloir s’éloigner, il le -désirait véritablement alors. Le duc lui en accorda la permission, et -m’ordonna de l’accompagner. Nous vînmes donc chez mon père, où don -Fernand fut reçu comme une personne de sa qualité devait l’être par des -gens de la nôtre. Quant à moi, je courus chez Luscinde, qui m’accueillit -comme un amant qui lui était cher et dont elle connaissait la constance. -Après quelques jours passés à fêter don Fernand, je crus devoir à son -amitié la même confiance qu’il m’avait témoignée, et pour mon malheur -j’allai lui faire confidence de mon amour. Je lui vantai la beauté de -Luscinde, sa sagesse, son esprit; ce portrait lui inspira le désir de -connaître une personne ornée de si brillantes qualités; aussi, pour -satisfaire son impatience, un soir je la lui fis voir à une fenêtre -basse de sa maison, où nous nous entretenions souvent. Elle lui parut si -séduisante, qu’en un instant il oublia toutes les beautés qu’il avait -connues jusque-là. Il resta muet, absorbé, insensible; en un mot, il -devint épris d’amour au point que vous le verrez dans la suite. Pour -l’enflammer encore davantage, le hasard fit tomber entre ses mains un -billet de Luscinde, par lequel elle me pressait de faire parler à son -père et de hâter notre mariage; mais cela avec une si touchante pudeur -que don Fernand s’écria qu’en elle seule étaient réunis les charmes de -l’esprit et du corps qu’on trouve répartis entre les autres femmes. Ces -louanges, toutes méritées qu’elles étaient, me devinrent suspectes dans -sa bouche; je commençai à me cacher de lui; mais autant je prenais soin -de ne pas prononcer le nom de Luscinde, autant il se plaisait à m’en -entretenir. Sans cesse il m’en parlait, et il avait l’art de ramener sur -elle notre conversation. Cela me donnait de la jalousie, non que je -craignisse rien de Luscinde, dont je connaissais la constance et la -loyauté, mais j’appréhendais tout de ma mauvaise étoile, car les amants -sont rarement sans inquiétude. Sous prétexte que l’ingénieuse expression -de notre tendresse mutuelle l’intéressait vivement, don Fernand -cherchait toujours à voir les lettres que j’écrivais à Luscinde et les -réponses qu’elle y faisait. - -Un jour il arriva que Luscinde m’ayant demandé un livre de chevalerie -qu’elle affectionnait, l’Amadis de Gaule... - -A peine don Quichotte eut-il entendu prononcer le mot de livre de -chevalerie, qu’il s’écria: - -Si, en commençant son histoire, Votre Grâce m’eût dit que cette belle -demoiselle aimait autant les livres de chevalerie, cela m’aurait suffi -pour me faire apprécier l’élévation de son esprit, qui certes ne serait -pas aussi distingué que vous l’avez dépeint, si elle eût manqué de goût -pour une si savoureuse lecture. Il ne me faut donc point d’autre preuve -qu’elle est belle, spirituelle et d’un mérite accompli; et, puisqu’elle -a cette inclination, je la tiens pour la plus belle et la plus -spirituelle personne du monde. J’aurais voulu seulement, seigneur, -qu’avec Amadis de Gaule vous eussiez mis entre ses mains cet excellent -don Roger de Grèce; car l’aimable Luscinde aurait sans doute fort goûté -Daraïde et Garaya, le discret berger Darinel, et les vers de ses -admirables bucoliques, qu’il chantait avec tant d’esprit et -d’enjouement. Mais il sera facile de réparer cet oubli, et quand vous -voudrez bien me faire l’honneur de me rendre visite, je vous montrerai -plus de trois cents ouvrages qui font mes délices, quoique je croie me -rappeler en ce moment qu’il ne m’en reste plus un seul, grâce à la -malice et à l’envie des enchanteurs. Excusez-moi, je vous prie, si, -contre ma promesse, je vous ai interrompu; car dès qu’on parle devant -moi de chevalerie et de chevaliers, il n’est pas plus en mon pouvoir de -me taire qu’aux rayons du soleil de cesser de répandre de la chaleur, et -à ceux de la lune de l’humidité. Maintenant, poursuivez votre récit. - -Pendant ce discours, Cardenio avait laissé tomber sa tête sur sa -poitrine, comme un homme absorbé dans une profonde rêverie; et quoique -don Quichotte l’eût prié deux ou trois fois de continuer son histoire, -il ne répondait rien. Enfin, après un long silence, il releva la tête en -disant: Il y a une chose que je ne puis m’ôter de la pensée, et personne -n’en viendrait à bout, à moins d’être un maraud et un coquin, c’est que -cet insigne bélître d’Élisabad[43] vivait en concubinage avec la reine -Madasime. - - [43] Chirurgien d’Amadis de Gaule. - -Oh! pour cela, non, non, de par tous les diables!... s’écria don -Quichotte, enflammé de colère, c’est une calomnie au premier chef. La -reine Madasime fut une excellente et vertueuse dame, et il n’y a pas -d’apparence qu’une si grande princesse se soit oubliée à ce point avec -un guérisseur de hernies. Quiconque le dit ment impudemment, et je le -lui prouverai à pied et à cheval, armé ou désarmé, de jour et de nuit, -enfin de telle manière qu’il lui conviendra. - -Cardenio le regardait fixement en silence, et n’était pas plus en état -de poursuivre son récit, que don Quichotte de l’entendre, tant notre -héros avait ressenti l’affront qu’on venait de faire en sa présence à la -reine Madasime. Chose étrange! il prenait la défense de cette dame comme -si elle eût été sa véritable et légitime souveraine, tellement ses -maudits livres lui avaient troublé la cervelle. - -Cardenio, qui était redevenu fou, s’entendant traiter de menteur -impudent, prit mal la plaisanterie, et ramassant un caillou qui se -trouvait à ses pieds, le lança si rudement contre la poitrine de notre -héros, qu’il l’étendit par terre. Sancho Panza voulut s’élancer pour -venger son maître; mais Cardenio le reçut de telle façon, que d’un seul -coup il l’envoya par terre, puis, lui sautant sur le ventre, il le foula -tout à son aise et ne le lâcha point qu’il ne s’en fût rassasié. Le -chevrier voulut aller au secours de Sancho, il n’en fut pas quitte à -meilleur marché. Enfin, après les avoir bien frottés et moulus l’un -après l’autre, Cardenio les laissa et regagna à pas lents le chemin de -la montagne. - -Furieux d’avoir été ainsi maltraité, Sancho s’en prit au chevrier, en -lui disant qu’il aurait dû les prévenir que cet homme était sujet à des -accès de fureur, parce que, s’ils l’avaient su, ils se seraient tenus -sur leurs gardes. Le chevrier répondit qu’il les avait avertis, et que -s’ils ne l’avaient pas entendu, ce n’était pas sa faute. Sancho -repartit, le chevrier répliqua, et de reparties en répliques, de -répliques en reparties, ils en vinrent à se prendre par la barbe et à se -donner de telles gourmades que si don Quichotte ne les eût séparés, ils -se seraient mis en pièces. Sancho était en goût, et criait à son maître: -Laissez-moi faire, seigneur chevalier de la Triste-Figure; celui-ci -n’est pas armé chevalier, ce n’est qu’un paysan comme moi, je puis -combattre avec lui à armes égales et me venger du tort qu’il m’a causé. - -Cela est vrai, dit don Quichotte, mais il est innocent de ce qui nous -est arrivé. - -Étant parvenu à les séparer, notre héros demanda au chevrier s’il ne -serait pas possible de retrouver Cardenio, parce qu’il mourait d’envie -de savoir la fin de son histoire. Le chevrier répondit, comme il avait -déjà fait, qu’il ne connaissait point sa retraite; mais qu’en parcourant -avec soin les alentours, on le retrouverait sûrement, ou dans son bon -sens ou dans sa folie. - -CHAPITRE XXV - -DES CHOSES ÉTRANGES QUI ARRIVÈRENT AU VAILLANT CHEVALIER DE LA MANCHE -DANS LA SIERRA MORENA, ET DE LA PÉNITENCE QU’IL FIT A L’IMITATION DU -BEAU TÉNÉBREUX - -Ayant dit adieu au chevrier, don Quichotte remonta sur Rossinante, et -ordonna à Sancho de le suivre, ce que celui-ci fit de très-mauvaise -grâce, forcé qu’il était d’aller à pied. Ils pénétrèrent peu à peu dans -la partie la plus âpre de la montagne. Sancho mourait d’envie de parler; -mais pour ne pas contrevenir à l’ordre de son maître, il aurait désiré -qu’il commençât l’entretien. Enfin, ne pouvant supporter un plus long -silence, et don Quichotte continuant à se taire: Seigneur, lui dit-il, -je supplie Votre Grâce de me donner sa bénédiction et mon congé; je -veux, sans plus tarder, aller retrouver ma femme et mes enfants, avec -qui je pourrai au moins converser tout à mon aise; car vous suivre par -ces solitudes, jour et nuit, sans dire un seul mot, autant vaudrait -m’enterrer tout vivant. Encore si les bêtes parlaient, comme au temps -d’Ésope, le mal serait moins grand, je m’entretiendrais avec mon âne[44] -de ce qui me passerait par la tête, et je prendrais mon mal en patience; -mais être sans cesse en quête d’aventures, ne rencontrer que des coups -de poing, des pluies de pierres, des sauts de couverture, et, pour tout -dédommagement, avoir la bouche cousue, comme si on était né muet, par ma -foi, c’est une tâche qui est au-dessus de mes forces. - - [44] Inadvertance de l’auteur, car Sancho a perdu son âne et ne l’a - pas encore retrouvé. - -Je t’entends, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte; tu ne saurais tenir -longtemps ta langue captive. Eh bien, je lui rends la liberté, mais -seulement pour le temps que nous serons dans ces solitudes: parle donc à -ta fantaisie. - -A la bonne heure, reprit Sancho; et pourvu que je parle aujourd’hui, -Dieu sait ce qui arrivera demain. Aussi, pour profiter de la permission, -je demanderai à Votre Grâce pourquoi elle s’est avisée de prendre si -chaudement le parti de cette reine Marcassine, ou n’importe comme elle -s’appelle, car je ne m’en soucie guère, et que vous importait que cet -Abad fût ou non son bon ami? Si vous aviez laissé passer cela, qui ne -vous touche en rien, le fou aurait achevé son histoire, vous vous seriez -épargné le coup de pierre, et je n’aurais pas la toile du ventre -rompue. - -Si tu savais, comme moi, reprit don Quichotte, quelle grande et noble et -dame était la reine Madasime, je suis certain que tu dirais que j’ai -encore montré trop de patience en n’arrachant pas la langue insolente -qui a osé proférer un pareil blasphème; car, je t’en fais juge, n’est-ce -pas un exécrable blasphème de prétendre qu’une reine a fait l’amour avec -un chirurgien? La vérité est que cet Élisabad, dont a parlé le fou, fut -un homme prudent et de bon conseil, qui servait autant de gouverneur que -de médecin à la reine; mais soutenir qu’elle était sa maîtresse, c’est -une insolence digne du plus sévère châtiment. Au reste, afin que tu sois -bien convaincu que Cardenio ne savait ce qu’il disait, tu n’as qu’à te -rappeler qu’il était déjà retombé dans un de ses accès de folie. - -Justement, voilà où je vous attendais, s’écria Sancho; à quoi bon se -mettre en peine des discours d’un fou! et si ce caillou, au lieu de vous -frapper dans l’estomac, vous avait donné par la tête, nous serions dans -un bel état pour avoir pris la défense de cette grande dame, que Dieu a -mise en pourriture. - -Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, contre les fous et contre les sages, -tout chevalier errant est tenu de défendre l’honneur des dames, quelles -qu’elles puissent être; à plus forte raison l’honneur des hautes et -nobles princesses, comme l’était la reine Madasime, pour qui j’ai une -vénération particulière, à cause de sa vertu et de toutes ses admirables -qualités; car, outre qu’elle était fort belle, elle montra beaucoup de -patience et de résignation dans les malheurs dont elle fut accablée. -C’est alors que les sages conseils d’Élisabad l’aidèrent à supporter ses -déplaisirs, et c’est aussi de là que des gens ignorants et -malintentionnés ont pris occasion de dire qu’ils vivaient familièrement -ensemble. Mais encore une fois ils ont menti, et ils mentiront deux -cents autres fois, tous ceux qui le diront ou seulement en auront la -pensée. - -Je ne le dis ni ne le pense, repartit Sancho: que ceux qui le pensent en -soient seuls responsables; s’ils ont ou non couché ensemble, c’est à -Dieu qu’ils en ont rendu compte. Moi je viens de mes vignes, et je ne -sais rien de rien; je ne fourre point mon nez où je n’ai que faire; qui -achète et vend, en sa bourse le sent; nu je suis né, nu je me trouve; je -ne perds ni ne gagne; et que m’importe, à moi, qu’ils aient été bons -amis! Bien des gens croient qu’il y a du lard, là où il n’y a pas -seulement de crochets pour le pendre; qui peut mettre des portes aux -champs? N’a-t-on pas glosé de Dieu lui-même? - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria don Quichotte; eh! combien enfiles-tu là de -sottises? Explique-moi, je te prie, quels rapports ont tous ces -impertinents proverbes avec ce que je viens de dire? Va, va, occupe-toi -désormais de talonner ton âne, sans te mêler de ce qui ne te regarde -pas. Mais surtout, tâche de bien imprimer dans ta cervelle que ce -qu’avec l’aide de mes cinq sens j’ai fait, je fais et je ferai, est -toujours selon la droite raison, et parfaitement conforme aux lois de la -chevalerie, que j’entends mieux qu’aucun des chevaliers qui en ont -jamais fait profession. - -Mais, seigneur, est-ce une loi de la chevalerie, reprit Sancho, de -courir ainsi perdus au milieu de ces montagnes, où il n’y a ni chemin ni -sentier, cherchant un fou auquel, dès que nous l’aurons trouvé, il -prendra fantaisie d’achever de nous briser, à vous la tête, et à moi les -côtes? - -Encore une fois, laissons cela, repartit don Quichotte; apprends que mon -dessein n’est pas seulement de retrouver ce pauvre fou, mais d’accomplir -en ces lieux mêmes une prouesse qui doit éterniser mon nom parmi les -hommes, et laissera bien loin derrière moi tous les chevaliers errants -passés et à venir. - -Est-elle bien périlleuse, cette prouesse? demanda Sancho. - -Non, répondit don Quichotte. Cependant la chose pourrait tourner de -telle sorte, que nous rencontrions malheur au lieu de chance. Au reste, -tout dépendra de ta diligence. - -De ma diligence? dit Sancho. - -Oui, mon ami, reprit don Quichotte, parce que si tu reviens promptement -d’où j’ai dessein de t’envoyer, plus tôt ma peine sera finie, et plus -tôt ma gloire commencera. Mais comme il n’est pas juste que je te tienne -davantage en suspens, je veux que tu saches, ô Sancho, que le fameux -Amadis de Gaule fut un des plus parfaits chevaliers errants qui se -soient vus dans le monde; que dis-je? le plus parfait, il fut le seul, -l’unique, ou tout au moins le premier. J’en suis fâché pour ceux qui -oseraient se comparer à lui, ils se tromperaient étrangement; il n’y en -a pas un qui soit digne seulement d’être son écuyer. Lorsqu’un peintre -veut s’illustrer dans son art, il s’attache à imiter les meilleurs -originaux, et prend pour modèles les ouvrages des plus excellents -maîtres; eh bien, la même règle s’applique à tous les arts et à toutes -les sciences qui font l’ornement des sociétés. Ainsi, celui qui veut -acquérir la réputation d’homme prudent et sage doit imiter Ulysse, -qu’Homère nous représente comme le type de la sagesse et de la prudence; -dans la personne d’Énée, Virgile nous montre également la piété d’un -fils envers son père, et la sagacité d’un vaillant capitaine: et tous -deux ont peint ces héros, non pas peut-être tels qu’ils furent, mais -tels qu’ils devaient être, afin de laisser aux siècles à venir un modèle -achevé de leurs vertus. D’où il suit qu’Amadis de Gaule ayant été le -pôle, l’étoile, le soleil des vaillants et amoureux chevaliers, c’est -lui que nous devons imiter, nous tous qui sommes engagés sous les -bannières de l’amour et de la chevalerie. Je conclus donc, ami Sancho, -que le chevalier errant qui l’imitera le mieux, approchera le plus de -la perfection. Or, la circonstance dans laquelle le grand Amadis fit -surtout éclater sa sagesse, sa valeur, sa patience et son amour, fut -celle où, dédaigné de sa dame Oriane, il se retira sur la Roche Pauvre -pour y faire pénitence, changeant son nom en celui de Beau Ténébreux, -nom significatif et tout à fait en rapport avec le genre de vie qu’il -s’était imposé. Mais, comme il m’est plus facile de l’imiter en sa -pénitence que de pourfendre, comme lui, des géants farouches, de -détruire des armées, de disperser des flottes, de défaire des -enchantements, et que de plus ces lieux sauvages sont admirablement -convenables pour mon dessein, je ne veux pas laisser échapper, sans la -saisir, l’occasion qui m’offre si à propos une mèche de ses cheveux. - -Mais enfin, demanda Sancho, qu’est-ce donc que Votre Grâce prétend faire -dans un lieu si désert? - -Ne t’ai-je pas dit, reprit don Quichotte, que mon intention est -non-seulement d’imiter Amadis dans son désespoir amoureux et sa folie -mélancolique, mais aussi le valeureux Roland, alors que s’offrit à lui -sur l’écorce d’un hêtre l’irrécusable indice qu’Angélique s’était -oubliée avec le jeune Médor; ce qui lui donna tant de chagrin qu’il en -devint fou, qu’il arracha les arbres, troubla l’eau des fontaines, tua -les bergers, dispersa leurs troupeaux, incendia leurs chaumières, traîna -sa jument, et fit cent mille autres extravagances dignes d’une éternelle -mémoire? Et quoique je ne sois pas résolu d’imiter Roland, Orland ou -Rotoland (car il portait ces trois noms) dans toutes ses folies, -j’ébaucherai de mon mieux les plus essentielles; peut-être bien me -contenterai-je tout simplement d’imiter Amadis, qui, sans faire des -choses aussi éclatantes, sut acquérir par ses lamentations amoureuses -autant de gloire que personne. - -Seigneur, dit Sancho, il me semble que ces chevaliers avaient leurs -raisons pour accomplir toutes ces folies et toutes ces pénitences; mais -quel motif a Votre Grâce pour devenir fou? Quelle dame vous a rebuté, et -quels indices peuvent vous faire penser que madame Dulcinée du Toboso a -folâtré avec More ou chrétien? - -Eh bien, Sancho, continua don Quichotte, voilà justement le fin de mon -affaire: le beau mérite qu’un chevalier errant devienne fou lorsqu’il a -de bonnes raisons pour cela; l’ingénieux, le piquant, c’est de devenir -fou sans sujet, et de faire dire à sa dame: Si mon chevalier fait de -telles choses à froid, que ferait-il donc à chaud? en un mot, de lui -montrer de quoi on est capable dans l’occasion, puisqu’on agit de la -sorte sans que rien vous y oblige. D’ailleurs, n’ai-je pas un motif -suffisant dans la longue absence qui me sépare de la sans pareille -Dulcinée? N’as-tu pas entendu dire au berger Ambrosio que l’absence fait -craindre et ressentir tous les maux? Cesse donc, Sancho, de me détourner -d’une si rare et si heureuse imitation. Fou je suis, et fou je veux -demeurer, jusqu’à ce que tu sois de retour avec la réponse à une lettre -que tu iras porter de ma part à madame Dulcinée: si je la trouve digne -de ma fidélité, je cesse à l’instant même d’être fou et de faire -pénitence; mais si elle n’est pas telle que je l’espère, oh! alors, je -resterai fou définitivement, parce qu’en cet état je ne sentirai rien: -de sorte que, quoi que me réponde ma dame, je me tirerai toujours -heureusement d’affaire, jouissant comme sage du bien que j’espère de ton -retour, ou, comme fou, ne sentant pas le mal que tu m’auras apporté. -Mais dis-moi, as-tu bien précieusement gardé l’armet de Mambrin? Je t’ai -vu le ramasser après que cet ingrat eut fait tous ses efforts pour le -mettre en pièces, sans pouvoir en venir à bout, tant il est de bonne -trempe. - -Vive Dieu! reprit Sancho, je ne saurais endurer patiemment certaines -choses que dit Votre Grâce; en vérité, cela ferait croire que ce que -vous racontez des chevaliers errants, de ces royaumes dont ils font la -conquête, de ces îles qu’ils donnent pour récompense à leurs écuyers, -que toutes ces belles choses enfin sont des contes à dormir debout. -Comment sans cesse entendre répéter qu’un plat à barbe est l’armet de -Mambrin, sans penser que celui qui soutient cela a perdu le jugement? -J’ai dans mon bissac le bassin tout aplati, et je l’emporte chez moi -pour le redresser et me faire la barbe, si Dieu m’accorde jamais la -grâce de me retrouver avec ma femme et mes enfants. - -Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, par le nom du Dieu vivant que tu viens de -jurer, je jure à mon tour que sur toute la surface de la terre on n’a -pas encore vu d’écuyer d’un plus médiocre entendement. Depuis le temps -que je t’ai pris à mon service, est-il possible que tu sois encore à -t’apercevoir qu’avec les chevaliers errants tout semble chimères, -folies, extravagances, non pas parce que cela est ainsi, mais parce -qu’il se rencontre partout sur leur passage des enchanteurs, qui -changent, bouleversent et dénaturent les objets selon qu’ils ont envie -de nuire ou de favoriser? Ce qui te paraît à toi un bassin de barbier -est pour moi l’armet de Mambrin, et paraîtra tout autre chose à un -troisième. En cela j’admire la sage prévoyance de l’enchanteur qui me -protége, d’avoir fait que chacun prenne pour un bassin de barbier cet -armet, car étant une des plus précieuses choses du monde, et -naturellement la plus enviée, sa possession ne m’aurait pas laissé un -moment de repos, et il m’aurait fallu soutenir mille combats pour le -défendre; tandis que, sous cette vile apparence, personne ne s’en -soucie, comme cet étourdi l’a fait voir en essayant de le rompre, sans -daigner même l’emporter. Garde-le, ami Sancho, je n’en ai pas besoin -pour l’heure; au contraire, je veux me désarmer entièrement et me mettre -nu comme lorsque je sortis du ventre de ma mère, si toutefois je trouve -qu’il soit plus à propos d’imiter la pénitence de Roland que celle -d’Amadis. - -En devisant ainsi, ils arrivèrent au pied d’une roche très-haute et -comme taillée à pic. Sur son flanc un ruisseau limpide courait en -serpentant arroser une verte prairie. Quantité d’arbres sauvages, de -plantes et de fleurs des champs entouraient cette douce retraite. Ce -lieu plut beaucoup au chevalier de la Triste-Figure, qui, le prenant -pour théâtre de sa pénitence, en prit possession en ces termes: - -Cruelle! voici l’endroit que j’adopte et que je choisis pour pleurer -l’infortune où tu m’as fait descendre! oui, je veux que mes larmes -grossissent les eaux de ce ruisseau, que mes soupirs incessants agitent -les feuilles et les branches de ces arbres, en signe et témoignage de -l’affliction qui déchire mon cœur outragé. O vous! divinités champêtres -qui faites séjour en ce désert, écoutez les plaintes d’un malheureux -amant, qu’une longue absence et une jalousie imaginaire ont amené dans -ces lieux, afin de pleurer son triste sort, et gémir à son aise des -rigueurs d’une ingrate en qui le ciel a rassemblé toutes les perfections -de l’humaine beauté! O Dulcinée du Toboso! soleil de mes jours, lune de -mes nuits, étoile polaire de ma destinée! prends pitié du triste état où -m’a réduit ton absence, et daigne répondre par un heureux dénoûment à la -constance de ma foi! Arbres, désormais compagnons de ma solitude, faites -connaître par le doux bruissement de votre feuillage que ma présence ne -vous déplaît pas. Et toi, cher écuyer, fidèle compagnon de mes nombreux -travaux, regarde bien ce que je vais faire, afin de le raconter -fidèlement à celle qui en est l’unique cause. - -En achevant ces mots, il mit pied à terre, ôta la selle et la bride à -Rossinante, et lui frappant doucement sur la croupe avec la paume de la -main, il dit en soupirant: - -Celui qui a perdu la liberté te la donne, ô coursier aussi excellent par -tes œuvres que malheureux par ton sort! Va, prends le chemin que tu -voudras, car tu portes écrit sur le front que jamais l’hippogriffe -d’Astolphe, ni le renommé Frontin, qui coûta si cher à Bradamante, -n’ont égalé ta légèreté et ta vigueur. - -Maudit, et mille fois maudit, s’écria Sancho, soit celui qui me prive du -soin de débâter mon âne. Par ma foi, les caresses et les compliments ne -lui manqueraient pas à cette heure. Et pourtant quand il serait ici, le -pauvre grison, à quoi servirait de lui ôter le bât? Qu’a-t-il à voir aux -folies des amoureux et des désespérés, puisque son maître, et ce maître -c’est moi, n’a jamais été ni l’un ni l’autre? Mais dites-moi, seigneur, -si mon départ et votre folie sont choses sérieuses, ne serait-il pas à -propos de seller Rossinante, afin de remplacer mon âne? ce sera toujours -du temps de gagné; tandis que s’il me faut aller à pied, je ne sais trop -quand j’arriverai, ni quand je serai de retour, car je suis mauvais -marcheur. - -Fais comme tu voudras, répondit don Quichotte; d’autant que ton idée ne -me semble pas mauvaise. Au reste, tu partiras dans trois jours; je te -retiens jusque-là, afin que tu puisses voir ce que j’accomplirai pour ma -dame, et que tu puisses lui en faire un fidèle récit. - -Et que puis-je voir de plus? dit Sancho. - -Vraiment, tu n’y es pas encore, repartit don Quichotte: ne faut-il pas -que je déchire mes habits, que je disperse mes armes, que je me jette la -tête en bas sur ces rochers, et fasse mille autres choses qui te -raviront d’admiration? - -Pour l’amour de Dieu, reprit Sancho, que Votre Grâce prenne bien garde à -la manière dont elle fera ses culbutes, car vous pourriez donner de la -tête en tel endroit que dès le premier coup l’échafaudage de votre -pénitence serait renversé. Si cependant ces culbutes sont -indispensables, je suis d’avis, puisque tout cela n’est que feinte et -imitation, que vous vous contentiez de les faire dans l’eau ou sur -quelque chose de mou comme du coton; après quoi laissez-moi le soin du -reste, je saurai bien dire à madame Dulcinée que vous avez fait ces -culbutes sur des roches plus dures que le diamant. - -Je te suis reconnaissant de ta bonne intention, dit don Quichotte; mais -apprends que tout ceci, loin d’être une feinte, est une affaire -très-sérieuse. D’ailleurs, agir autrement serait manquer aux lois de la -chevalerie, qui nous défendent de mentir sous peine d’indignité; or -faire ou dire une chose pour une autre c’est mentir; il faut donc que -mes culbutes soient réelles, franches, loyales, exemptes de toutes -supercherie. Il sera bon néanmoins que tu me laisses de la charpie pour -panser mes blessures, puisque notre mauvais sort a voulu que nous -perdions le baume. - -Ç’a été bien pis de perdre l’âne, puisqu’il portait la charpie et le -baume, repartit Sancho; quant à ce maudit breuvage, je prie Votre Grâce -de ne m’en parler jamais; rien que d’en entendre prononcer le nom me met -l’âme à l’envers, et à plus forte raison l’estomac. Je vous prie aussi -de considérer comme achevés les trois jours que vous m’avez donnés pour -voir vos folies; je les tiens pour vues et revues, et j’en dirai des -merveilles à madame Dulcinée. Veuillez écrire la lettre et m’expédier -promptement; car je voudrais être déjà de retour pour vous tirer du -purgatoire où je vous laisse. - -Purgatoire! reprit don Quichotte; dis enfer, et pis encore, s’il y a -quelque chose de pire au monde. - -A qui est en enfer NULLA EST RETENTIO, à ce que j’ai entendu dire, -répliqua Sancho. - -Qu’entends-tu par RETENTIO? demanda don Quichotte. - -J’entends par RETENTIO, qu’une fois en enfer on n’en peut plus sortir, -répondit Sancho; ce qui n’arrivera pas à Votre Grâce, ou je ne saurais -plus jouer des talons pour hâter Rossinante. Plantez-moi une bonne fois -devant madame Dulcinée, et je lui ferai un tel récit des folies que vous -avez faites pour elle et de celles qui vous restent encore à faire, que -je la rendrai aussi souple qu’un gant, fût-elle plus dure qu’un tronc de -liége. Puis, avec sa réponse douce comme miel, je reviendrai comme les -sorciers, à travers les airs, vous tirer de votre purgatoire, qui semble -enfer, mais qui ne l’est pas, puisqu’il y a espérance d’en sortir, -tandis qu’on ne sort jamais de l’enfer, quand une fois on y a mis le -pied; ce qui est aussi, je crois, l’avis de Votre Grâce. - -C’est la vérité, dit don Quichotte; mais comment ferons-nous pour écrire -ma lettre? - -Et aussi la lettre de change des trois ânons? ajouta Sancho. - -Sois tranquille, je ne l’oublierai pas, reprit don Quichotte; et puisque -le papier manque, il me faudra l’écrire à la manière des anciens, sur -des feuilles d’arbres ou des tablettes de cire. Mais je m’en souviens, -j’ai le livre de poche de Cardenio, qui sera très-bon pour cela. -Seulement tu auras soin de faire transcrire ma lettre sur une feuille de -papier dans le premier village où tu trouveras un maître d’école; sinon -tu en chargeras le sacristain de la paroisse; mais garde-toi de -t’adresser à un homme de loi, car alors le diable même ne viendrait pas -à bout de la déchiffrer. - -Et la signature? demanda Sancho. - -Jamais Amadis ne signait ses lettres, répondit don Quichotte. - -Bon pour cela, dit Sancho; mais la lettre de change doit forcément être -signée: si elle n’est que transcrite, ils diront que le seing est faux, -et adieu mes ânons. - -La lettre de change sera dans le livre de poche, reprit don Quichotte, -et je la signerai; lorsque ma nièce verra mon nom, elle ne fera point -difficulté d’y faire honneur. Quant à la lettre d’amour, tu auras soin -de mettre pour signature: _A vous jusqu’à la mort, le chevalier de la -Triste-Figure_. Peu importe qu’elle soit d’une main étrangère, car, si -je m’en souviens bien, Dulcinée ne sait ni lire ni écrire, et de sa vie -n’a vu lettre de ma main. En effet, nos amours ont toujours été -platoniques, et n’ont jamais passé les bornes d’une honnête œillade; -encore ç’a été si rarement, que depuis douze ans qu’elle m’est plus -chère que la prunelle de mes yeux, qu’un jour mangeront les vers du -tombeau, je ne l’ai pas vue quatre fois; peut-être même ne s’est-elle -jamais aperçue que je la regardasse, tant Laurent Corchuelo, son père, -et Aldonça Nogalès, sa mère, la veillaient de près et la tenaient -resserrée. - -Comment! s’écria Sancho, la fille de Laurent Corchuelo et d’Aldonça -Nogalès est madame Dulcinée du Toboso? - -Elle-même, répondit don Quichotte, et qui mérite de régner sur tout -l’univers. - -Oh! je la connais bien, dit Sancho, et je sais qu’elle lance une barre -aussi rudement que le plus vigoureux garçon du village. Par ma foi, elle -peut prêter le collet à tout chevalier errant qui la prendra pour -maîtresse. Peste! qu’elle est droite et bien faite! et la bonne voix -qu’elle a! Un jour qu’elle était montée au haut du clocher de notre -village, elle se mit à appeler les valets de son père qui travaillaient -à plus de demi-lieue; eh bien, ils l’entendirent aussi distinctement que -s’ils eussent été au pied de la tour. Ce qu’elle a de bon, c’est qu’elle -n’est point dédaigneuse: elle joue avec tout le monde, et folâtre à tout -propos. Maintenant j’en conviens, seigneur chevalier de la -Triste-Figure, vous pouvez faire pour elle autant de folies qu’il vous -plaira, vous pouvez vous désespérer et même vous pendre; personne ne -dira que vous avez eu tort, le diable vous eût-il emporté. Aldonça -Lorenço! bon Dieu, je grille d’être en chemin pour la revoir. Elle doit -être bien changée, car aller tous les jours aux champs et en plein -soleil, cela gâte vite le teint des femmes. - -Seigneur don Quichotte, continua Sancho, je dois vous confesser une -chose. J’étais resté jusqu’ici dans une grande erreur; j’avais toujours -cru que madame Dulcinée était une haute princesse, ou quelque grande -dame méritant les présents que vous lui avez envoyés, comme ce Biscaïen, -ces forçats, et tant d’autres non moins nombreux que les victoires -remportées par vous avant que je fusse votre écuyer; mais en vérité que -doit penser madame Aldonça Lorenço, je veux dire madame Dulcinée du -Toboso, en voyant s’agenouiller devant elle les vaincus que lui envoie -Votre Grâce? Ne pourrait-il pas arriver qu’en ce moment elle fût occupée -à peigner du chanvre ou à battre du grain, et qu’à cette vue tous ces -gens-là se missent en colère, tandis qu’elle-même se moquerait de votre -présent? - -Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, je t’ai dit bien des fois que tu étais un -grand bavard, et qu’avec ton esprit lourd et obtus, tu avais tort de -vouloir badiner et de faire des pointes. Mais, pour te prouver que je -suis encore plus sage que tu n’es sot, je veux que tu écoutes cette -petite histoire. Apprends donc qu’une veuve, jeune, belle, riche, et -surtout fort amie de la joie, s’amouracha un jour d’un frère lai, bon -compagnon et de large encolure. En l’apprenant, le frère de la dame vint -la trouver pour lui en dire son avis: «Comment, madame, une femme aussi -noble, aussi belle et aussi riche que l’est Votre Grâce, peut-elle -s’amouracher d’un homme de si bas étage et de si médiocre intelligence, -tandis que dans la même maison il y a tant de docteurs et de savants -théologiens, parmi lesquels elle peut choisir comme au milieu d’un cent -de poires?--Vous n’y entendez rien, mon cher frère, répondit la dame, si -vous pensez que j’ai fait un mauvais choix; car pour ce que je veux en -faire, il sait autant et plus de philosophie qu’Aristote.» De la même -manière, Sancho, tu sauras que pour ce que je veux faire de Dulcinée du -Toboso, elle est autant mon fait que la plus grande princesse de la -terre. Crois-tu que les Philis, les Galatées, les Dianes et les -Amaryllis, qu’on voit dans les livres et sur le théâtre, aient été des -créatures en chair et en os, et les maîtresses de ceux qui les ont -célébrées? Non, en vérité: la plupart des poëtes les imaginent pour -s’exercer l’esprit et faire croire qu’ils sont amoureux ou capables de -grandes passions. Il me suffit donc qu’Aldonça Lorenço soit belle et -sage: quant à sa naissance, peu m’importe; on n’en est pas à faire une -enquête pour lui conférer l’habit de chanoinesse, et je me persuade, -moi, qu’elle est la plus grande princesse du monde. Apprends, Sancho, si -tu ne le sais pas, que les choses qui nous excitent le plus à aimer sont -la sagesse et la beauté; or, ces deux choses se trouvent réunies au -degré le plus éminent chez Dulcinée, car en beauté personne ne l’égale, -et en bonne renommée peu lui sont comparables. En un mot, je m’en suis -fait une idée telle, que ni les Hélènes, ni les Lucrèces, ni toutes les -héroïnes des temps passés, grecques, latines ou barbares, n’en ont -jamais approché. Qu’on dise ce qu’on voudra; si les sots ne m’approuvent -pas, les gens sensés ne manqueront pas d’être de mon sentiment. - -Seigneur, reprit Sancho, vous avez raison en tout et partout, et je ne -suis qu’un âne. Mais pourquoi, diable, ce mot-là me vient-il à la -bouche? on ne devrait jamais parler de corde dans la maison d’un pendu. -Maintenant il ne reste plus qu’à écrire vos lettres, et je décampe -aussitôt. - -Don Quichotte prit le livre de poche, et s’étant mis un peu à l’écart, -il commença à écrire avec un grand sang-froid. Sa lettre achevée, il -appela son écuyer pour la lui lire, parce que, lui dit-il, je crains -qu’elle ne se perde en chemin, et que j’ai tout à redouter de ta -mauvaise étoile. - -Votre Grâce ferait mieux de l’écrire deux ou trois fois dans le livre de -poche, reprit Sancho; c’est folie de penser que je puisse la loger dans -ma mémoire; car je l’ai si mauvaise, que j’oublie quelquefois jusqu’à -mon propre nom. Cependant, lisez-la-moi; je m’imagine qu’elle est faite -comme au moule, et je serai bien aise de l’entendre. - -Écoute, dit don Quichotte. - - LETTRE DE DON QUICHOTTE A DULCINÉE DU TOBOSO. - - «Haute et souveraine Dame, - - «Le piqué jusqu’au vif de la pointe aiguë de l’absence, le blessé dans - l’intime région du cœur, dulcissime Dulcinée du Toboso, vous souhaite - la santé dont il ne jouit pas. Si votre beauté continue à me - dédaigner, si vos mérites ne finissent par s’expliquer en ma faveur, - si enfin vos rigueurs persévèrent, il me sera impossible, quoique - accoutumé à la souffrance, de résister à tant de maux, parce que la - force du mal sera plus forte que ma force. Mon fidèle écuyer Sancho - vous rendra un compte exact, belle ingrate et trop aimable ennemie, de - l’état où je suis à votre intention. S’il plaît à Votre Grâce de me - secourir, vous ferez acte de justice, et sauverez un bien qui vous - appartient: sinon faites ce qu’il vous plaira; car, en achevant de - vivre, j’aurai satisfait à votre cruauté et à mes désirs. - - «Celui qui est à vous jusqu’à la mort. - - «Le chevalier de la TRISTE-FIGURE.» - -Par ma barbe, s’écria Sancho, voilà la meilleure lettre que j’aie -entendue de ma vie! Peste, comme Votre Grâce dit bien ce qu’elle veut -dire, et comme vous avez enchâssé là le chevalier de la Triste-Figure! -En vérité, vous êtes le diable en personne, et il n’y a rien que vous ne -sachiez. - -Dans la profession que j’exerce, il faut tout savoir, dit don Quichotte. - -Or çà, reprit Sancho, écrivez donc de l’autre côté la lettre de change -des ânons, et signez lisiblement, afin qu’on sache que c’est votre -écriture. - -Volontiers, dit don Quichotte. Après l’avoir écrite, il lut ce qui -suit: - - «Ma nièce, vous payerez, par cette première de change, trois ânons des - cinq que j’ai laissés dans mon écurie, à Sancho Panza, mon écuyer, - valeur reçue de lui. Je vous en tiendrai compte sur le vu de la - présente, quittancée dudit Sancho. Fait au fond de la Sierra Morena, - le 26 août de la présente année.» - -Très-bien, s’écria Sancho; Votre Grâce n’a plus qu’à signer. - -C’est inutile, répondit don Quichotte, je me contenterai de la parapher, -et cela suffirait pour trois cents ânes. - -Je m’en rapporte à vous, dit Sancho; maintenant je vais seller -Rossinante; préparez-vous à me donner votre bénédiction, car je veux -partir à l’instant même, sans voir les extravagances que vous avez à -faire; je dirai à madame Dulcinée que je vous en ai vu faire à bouche -que veux-tu. - -Il faut au moins, et cela est nécessaire, reprit don Quichotte, que tu -me voies nu, sans autre vêtement que la peau, faire une ou deux -douzaines de folies, afin que les ayant vues, tu puisses jurer en toute -sûreté de conscience de celles que tu croiras devoir y ajouter, et sois -certain que tu n’en diras pas la moitié. - -En ce cas, seigneur, dépêchez-vous, repartit Sancho; mais, pour l’amour -de Dieu, que je ne voie point la peau de Votre Grâce, cela me ferait -trop de chagrin, et je ne pourrais m’empêcher de pleurer. J’ai tant -pleuré cette nuit mon grison, que je ne suis pas en état de recommencer. -S’il faut absolument que je vous voie faire quelques-unes de ces folies, -faites-les tout habillé, et des premières qui vous viendront à l’esprit; -car je vous l’ai déjà dit, c’est autant de pris sur mon voyage, et je -tarderai d’autant à rapporter la réponse que mérite Votre Grâce. Par ma -foi, que madame Dulcinée se tienne bien et réponde comme elle le doit, -car autrement je fais vœu solennel de lui tirer la réponse de l’estomac -à beaux soufflets comptants et à grands coups de pied dans le ventre. -Peut-on souffrir qu’un chevalier errant, fameux comme vous l’êtes, -devienne fou, sans rime ni raison, pour une...? Qu’elle ne me le fasse -pas dire deux fois, la bonne dame, ou bien je lâche ma langue, et je lui -crache son fait à la figure. Oui-da, elle a bien rencontré son homme; je -ne suis pas si facile qu’elle s’imagine; elle me connaît mal, et -très-mal; si elle me connaissait, elle saurait que je ne me mouche pas -du pied. - -En vérité, Sancho, tu n’es guère plus sage que moi, dit don Quichotte. - -Je ne suis pas aussi fou, répliqua Sancho, mais je suis plus colère. -Enfin, laissons cela. Dites-moi, je vous prie, jusqu’à ce que je sois de -retour de quoi vivra Votre Grâce? Ira-t-elle par les chemins dérober -comme Cardenio le pain des pauvres bergers? - -Ne prends de cela aucun souci, répondit don Quichotte; quand même -j’aurais de tout en abondance, je suis résolu à ne me nourrir que des -herbes de cette prairie et des fruits de ces arbres. Le fin de mon -affaire consiste même à ne pas manger du tout, et à souffrir bien -d’autres austérités. - -A propos, seigneur, dit Sancho, savez-vous que j’ai grand’peur, lorsque -je reviendrai, de ne point retrouver l’endroit où je vous laisse, tant -il est écarté? - -Remarque-le bien, reprit don Quichotte; quant à moi, je ne m’éloignerai -pas d’ici, et de temps en temps je monterai sur la plus haute de ces -roches, afin que tu puisses me voir ou que je t’aperçoive à ton retour. -Mais, pour plus grande sûreté, tu n’as qu’à couper des branches de -genêt, et à les répandre de six pas en six pas, jusqu’à ce que tu sois -dans la plaine; cela te servira à me retrouver; Thésée ne fit pas autre -chose, quand à l’aide d’un fil il entreprit de se guider dans le -labyrinthe de Crète. - -Sancho s’empressa d’obéir, et, après avoir coupé sa charge de genêts, il -vint demander la bénédiction de son seigneur, prit congé de lui et monta -en pleurant sur Rossinante. - -Sancho, lui dit don Quichotte, je te recommande mon bon cheval; aies-en -soin comme de ma propre personne. - -Là-dessus, l’écuyer se mit en chemin, semant les branches de genêt comme -don Quichotte le lui avait conseillé. Il n’était pas encore bien -éloigné, que revenant sur ses pas: Seigneur, lui dit-il, Votre Grâce -avait raison quand elle voulait me rendre témoin de quelques-unes de ses -folies, afin que je puisse jurer en repos de conscience que je vous en -ai vu faire, sans compter que l’idée de votre pénitence n’est pas une -des moindres. - -Ne te l’avais-je pas dit? répondit don Quichotte. Eh bien, attends un -peu; en moins d’un _Credo_ ce sera fait. - -Se mettant à tirer ses chausses, il fut bientôt en pan de chemise; puis, -sans autre façon, se donnant du talon au derrière, il fit deux cabrioles -et deux culbutes, les pieds en haut, la tête en bas, et mettant à -découvert de telles choses, que pour ne pas les voir deux fois Sancho -s’empressa de tourner bride, satisfait de pouvoir jurer que son maître -était parfaitement fou. - -Nous le laisserons suivre son chemin jusqu’au retour, qui ne fut pas -long. - -CHAPITRE XXVI - -OU SE CONTINUENT LES RAFFINEMENTS D’AMOUR DU GALANT CHEVALIER DE LA -MANCHE DANS LA SIERRA MORENA - -En revenant à conter ce que fit le chevalier de la Triste-Figure quand -il se vit seul, l’histoire dit: A peine don Quichotte eut achevé ses -sauts et ses culbutes, nu de la ceinture en bas et vêtu de la ceinture -en haut, voyant Sancho parti sans en attendre la fin, qu’il gravit -jusqu’à la cime d’une roche élevée, et là se mit à réfléchir sur un -sujet qui maintes fois avait occupé sa pensée sans qu’il eût encore pu -prendre à cet égard aucune résolution: c’était de savoir lequel serait -préférable et lui conviendrait mieux d’imiter Roland dans sa démence -amoureuse, ou bien Amadis dans ses folies mélancoliques; et se parlant à -lui-même, il disait: Que Roland ait été aussi vaillant chevalier qu’on -le prétend; qu’y a-t-il à cela de merveilleux? il était enchanté, et on -ne pouvait lui ôter la vie, si ce n’est en lui enfonçant une épingle -noire sous la plante du pied. Or, il avait, pour le préserver en cet -endroit, six semelles de fer: et pourtant tout cela ne lui servit de -rien, puisque Bernard de Carpio devina la ruse et l’étouffa entre ses -bras, dans la gorge de Roncevaux. Mais laissons à part sa vaillance, et -venons à sa folie; car il est certain qu’il perdit la raison, quand les -arbres de la fontaine lui eurent dévoilé le fatal indice, et quand le -pasteur lui eut assuré qu’Angélique avait fait deux fois la sieste avec -Médor, ce jeune More à la blonde chevelure. Et certes, après que sa dame -lui eut joué ce vilain tour, il n’avait pas grand mérite à devenir fou. -Mais pour l’imiter dans sa folie, il faudrait avoir le même motif. Or, -je jurerais bien que ma Dulcinée n’a jamais vu de More, même en -peinture, et qu’elle est encore telle que sa mère l’a mise au monde: ce -serait donc lui faire une injure gratuite et manifeste que de devenir -fou du même genre de folie que Roland. - -D’un autre côté, je vois qu’Amadis de Gaule, sans perdre la raison ni -faire d’extravagances, acquit en amour autant et plus de renommée que -personne. Se voyant dédaigné de sa dame Oriane, qui lui avait défendu de -paraître en sa présence jusqu’à ce qu’elle le rappelât, il ne fit rien -de plus, dit son histoire, que de se retirer en compagnie d’un ermite, -sur la roche Pauvre, où il versa tant de larmes que le ciel le prit en -pitié et lui envoya du secours au plus fort de son âpre pénitence. Et -cela étant, comme cela est, pourquoi me déshabiller entièrement, -pourquoi m’en prendre à ces pauvres arbres qui ne m’ont fait aucun mal, -et troubler l’eau de ces ruisseaux qui doivent me désaltérer quand -l’envie m’en prendra? Ainsi donc, vive Amadis! et qu’il soit imité de -son mieux par don Quichotte de la Manche, duquel on dira ce qu’on a dit -d’un autre: que s’il ne fit pas de grandes choses, il périt du moins -pour les avoir entreprises. D’ailleurs, si je ne suis ni dédaigné, ni -outragé par ma Dulcinée, ne suffit-il pas que je sois loin de sa vue? -Courage, mettons la main à l’œuvre; revenez dans ma mémoire, -immortelles actions d’Amadis, et faites-moi connaître par où je dois -commencer. Si je m’en souviens, la prière était son passe-temps -principal; eh bien, faisons de même, imitons-le en tout et pour tout, -puisque je suis l’Amadis de mon siècle, comme il fut celui du sien. - -Là-dessus notre chevalier prit, pour lui servir de chapelet, de grosses -pommes de liége qu’il enfila et dont il se fit un rosaire. Seulement, il -était contrarié de ne pas avoir sous la main un ermite pour le confesser -et lui offrir des consolations; aussi passait-il le temps, soit à se -promener dans la prairie, soit à tracer sur l’écorce des arbres, ou même -sur le sable du chemin, une foule de vers, tous en rapport avec sa -tristesse, tous à la louange de Dulcinée. - - Beaux arbres qui portez vos têtes jusqu’aux cieux, - Et recueillez chez vous cent familles errantes; - Vous que mille couleurs font briller à nos yeux, - Aimables fleurs, herbes et plantes, - Si mon séjour pour vous n’est point trop ennuyeux, - Écoutez d’un amant les plaintes incessantes. - - Ne vous lassez point d’écouter; - Je suis venu vers vous tout exprès pour chanter - De mes maux sans pareils l’horrible destinée. - Vous aurez en revanche abondamment de l’eau; - Car don Quichotte ici va pleurer comme un veau, - De l’absence de Dulcinée - Du Toboso. - - Voici le lieu choisi par un fidèle amant: - Des plus loyaux amants le plus parfait modèle, - Qui pour souffrir tout seul un horrible tourment, - Se cache aux yeux de sa belle, - Et la fuit sans savoir ni pourquoi ni comment, - Si ce n’est qu’il est fou par un excès de zèle. - - L’amour, ce petit dieu matois, - Le brûle à petit feu par-dessous son harnois, - Et le fait enrager comme une âme damnée: - Ne sachant plus que faire en ce cruel dépit, - Don Quichotte éperdu pleure à remplir un muid, - De l’absence de Dulcinée - Du Toboso. - - Pendant que pour la gloire il fait un grand effort, - A travers les rochers cherchant des aventures - Il maudit mille fois son déplorable sort, - Ne trouvant que des pierres dures, - Des ronces, des buissons qui le piquent bien fort, - Et sans lui faire honneur lui font mille blessures. - - L’amour le frappe à tour de bras, - Non pas de son bandeau, car il ne flatte pas: - Mais d’une corde d’arc qui n’est pas étrennée, - Il ébranle sa tête, il trouble son cerveau, - Et don Quichotte alors de larmes verse un seau, - De l’absence de Dulcinée - Du Toboso[45]. - - [45] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Ces vers ne réjouirent pas médiocrement ceux qui les lurent; le refrain -_du Toboso_ leur parut surtout fort plaisant, car ils pensèrent que don -Quichotte, en les composant, s’était imaginé qu’on ne les comprendrait -pas si après le nom de Dulcinée il négligeait d’ajouter celui du Toboso; -ce qui était vrai, et ce qu’il a avoué depuis. Il écrivit encore -beaucoup d’autres vers, comme on l’a dit, mais ces stances furent les -seules qu’on parvint à déchiffrer. - -Telle était dans sa solitude l’occupation de notre amoureux chevalier: -tantôt il soupirait, tantôt il invoquait la plaintive Écho, les faunes -et les sylvains de ces bois, les nymphes de ces fontaines, les conjurant -de lui répondre et de le consoler; tantôt enfin il cherchait des herbes -pour se nourrir, attendant avec impatience le retour de son écuyer. Si -au lieu d’être absent trois jours, Sancho eût tardé plus longtemps, il -trouvait le chevalier de la Triste-Figure tellement défiguré, que la -mère qui le mit au monde aurait eu peine à le reconnaître. Mais laissons -notre héros soupirer tout à son aise, pour nous occuper de Sancho et de -son ambassade. - -A la sortie de la montagne, l’écuyer avait pris le chemin du Toboso, et -le jour suivant il atteignit l’hôtellerie où il avait eu le malheur -d’être berné. A cette vue, un frisson lui parcourut tout le corps, et -s’imaginant déjà voltiger par les airs, il était tenté de passer outre, -quoique ce fût l’heure du dîner et qu’il n’eût rien mangé depuis -longtemps. Pressé par le besoin, il avança jusqu’à la porte de la -maison. Pendant qu’il délibérait avec lui-même, deux hommes en sortirent -qui crurent le reconnaître, et dont l’un dit à l’autre: Seigneur -licencié, n’est-ce pas là ce Sancho Panza que la gouvernante de notre -voisin nous a dit avoir suivi son maître en guise d’écuyer? - -C’est lui-même, reprit le curé, et voilà le cheval de don Quichotte. - -C’était, en effet, le curé et le barbier de son village, les mêmes qui -avaient fait le procès et l’auto-da-fé des livres de chevalerie. - -Quand ils furent certains de ne pas se tromper, ils s’approchèrent; et -le curé appelant Sancho par son nom, lui demanda où il avait laissé son -maître. Sancho, qui les reconnut, se promit tout d’abord de taire le -lieu et l’état dans lequel il l’avait quitté. Mon maître, répondit-il, -est en un certain endroit occupé en une certaine affaire de grande -importance, que je ne dirai pas quand il s’agirait de ma vie. - -Ami Sancho, reprit le barbier, on ne se débarrasse pas de nous si -aisément, et si vous ne déclarez sur-le-champ où vous avez laissé le -seigneur don Quichotte, nous penserons que vous l’avez tué pour lui -voler son cheval. Ainsi, dites-nous où il est, ou bien préparez-vous à -venir en prison. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, il ne faut pas tant de menaces: je ne suis -point un homme qui tue, ni qui vole; je suis chrétien. Mon maître est au -beau milieu de ces montagnes où il fait pénitence tant qu’il peut: et -sur-le-champ il leur conta, sans prendre haleine, en quel état il -l’avait laissé, les aventures qui leur étaient arrivées, ajoutant qu’il -portait une lettre à madame Dulcinée du Toboso, la fille de Laurent -Corchuelo, dont son maître était éperdument amoureux. - -Le curé et le barbier restèrent tout ébahis de ce que leur contait -Sancho; et bien qu’ils connussent la folie de don Quichotte, leur -étonnement redoublait en apprenant que chaque jour il y ajoutait de -nouvelles extravagances. Ils demandèrent à voir la lettre qu’il écrivait -à madame Dulcinée; Sancho répondit qu’elle était dans le livre de -poche, et qu’il avait ordre de la faire copier au premier village qu’il -rencontrerait. Le curé lui proposa de la transcrire lui-même; sur ce -Sancho mit la main dans son sein pour en tirer le livre de poche; mais -il n’avait garde de l’y trouver, car il avait oublié de le prendre, et, -sans y penser, don Quichotte l’avait retenu. Quand notre écuyer vit que -le livre n’était pas où il croyait l’avoir mis, il fut pris d’une sueur -froide, et devint pâle comme la mort. Trois ou quatre fois il se tâta -par tout le corps, fouilla ses habits, regarda cent autres fois autour -de lui, mais voyant enfin que ses recherches étaient inutiles, il porta -les deux mains à sa barbe, et s’en arracha la moitié; puis, tout d’un -trait, il se donna sur le nez et sur les mâchoires cinq ou six coups de -poing avec une telle vigueur qu’il se mit le visage tout en sang. - -Le curé et le barbier, qui n’avaient pu être assez prompts pour -l’arrêter, lui demandèrent pour quel motif il se traitait d’une si rude -façon. - -C’est parce que je viens de perdre en un instant trois ânons, dont le -moindre valait une métairie, répondit Sancho. - -Que dites-vous là? reprit le barbier. - -J’ai perdu, repartit Sancho, le livre de poche où était la lettre pour -madame Dulcinée et une lettre de change, signée de mon maître, par -laquelle il mande à sa nièce de me donner trois ânons, de quatre ou cinq -qu’elle a entre les mains. - -Il raconta ensuite la perte de son grison, et, là-dessus, il voulut -recommencer à se châtier; mais le curé le calma, en l’assurant qu’il lui -ferait donner par son maître une autre lettre de change, et cette fois -sur papier convenable, parce que celles qu’on écrivait sur Un livre de -poche n’étaient pas dans la forme voulue. - -En ce cas, répondit Sancho, je regrette peu la lettre de madame -Dulcinée; d’ailleurs, je la sais par cœur, et je pourrai la faire -transcrire quand il me plaira. - -Eh bien, dites-nous-la, reprit le barbier, après quoi nous la -transcrirons. - -Sancho s’arrêta tout court; il se gratta la tête pour se rappeler les -termes de la lettre, se tenant tantôt sur un pied, tantôt sur un autre, -regardant le ciel, puis la terre; enfin, après s’être rongé la moitié -d’un ongle: Je veux mourir sur l’heure, dit-il, si le diable ne s’en -mêle pas; je ne saurais me souvenir de cette chienne de lettre, sinon -qu’il y avait au commencement: Haute et souterraine dame. - -Vous voulez dire souveraine, et non pas souterraine? reprit le barbier. - -Oui, oui, c’est cela, cria Sancho; attendez donc, il me semble qu’il y -avait ensuite: le maltraité, le privé de sommeil, le blessé baise les -mains de Votre Grâce, ingrate et insensible belle. Je ne sais ce qu’il -disait, de santé et de maladie, qu’il lui envoyait; tant il y a qu’il -discourait encore quelque peu, et puis finissait par _à vous jusqu’à la -mort, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure_. - -La fidèle mémoire de Sancho divertit beaucoup le curé et le barbier: ils -lui en firent compliment, et le prièrent de recommencer la lettre trois -ou quatre fois, afin de l’apprendre eux-mêmes par cœur. Sancho la -répéta donc quatre autres fois, et quatre autres fois répéta quatre -mille impertinences. Ensuite il se mit à conter les aventures de son -maître; mais il ne souffla mot de son bernement dans l’hôtellerie. Il -ajouta que s’il venait à rapporter une réponse favorable de madame -Dulcinée, son maître devait se mettre en campagne pour tâcher de devenir -empereur: chose d’ailleurs très-facile, tant étaient grandes la force de -son bras et sa vaillance incomparable; qu’aussitôt monté sur le trône, -il le marierait, lui Sancho, car alors il ne pouvait manquer d’être -veuf, avec une demoiselle de l’impératrice, héritière d’un grand État en -terre ferme, mais sans aucune île, parce qu’il ne s’en souciait plus. - -Sancho débitait tout cela avec tant d’assurance, que le curé et le -barbier en étaient encore à comprendre comment la folie de don Quichotte -avait pu être assez contagieuse pour brouiller en si peu de temps la -cervelle de son écuyer. Ils ne cherchèrent point à le désabuser, parce -qu’en cela sa conscience ne courait aucun danger, et que, tant qu’il -serait plein de ces ridicules espérances, il ne songerait pas à mal -faire, sans compter qu’ils étaient bien aises de se divertir à ses -dépens. Le curé lui recommanda de prier Dieu pour la santé de son -seigneur, ajoutant qu’avec le temps ce n’était pas une grande affaire -pour lui que de devenir empereur, ou pour le moins archevêque, ou -dignitaire d’un ordre équivalent. - -Mais si les affaires tournaient de telle sorte que mon seigneur ne -voulût plus se faire empereur, et qu’il se mît en tête de devenir -archevêque, dites-moi, je vous prie, demanda Sancho, ce que les -archevêques errants donnent à leurs écuyers. - -Ils ont l’habitude de leur donner, répondit le curé, un office de -sacristain, ou souvent même une cure qui leur procure un beau revenu, -sans compter le casuel, qui ne vaut pas moins. - -Mais pour cela, dit Sancho, il faudrait que l’écuyer ne fût pas marié, -et qu’il sût servir la messe. S’il en est ainsi, me voilà dans de beaux -draps: malheureux que je suis j’ai une femme et des enfants, et je ne -sais pas la première lettre de l’A, B, C. Que deviendrai-je, bon Dieu, -s’il prend fantaisie à mon maître de se faire archevêque? - -Rassurez-vous, ami Sancho, reprit le barbier, nous lui parlerons, et le -seigneur licencié lui ordonnera, sous peine de péché, de se faire plutôt -empereur qu’archevêque; chose pour lui très-facile, car il a plus de -valeur que de science. - -C’est aussi ce qu’il me semble, repartit Sancho, quoiqu’à vrai dire, je -ne croie pas qu’il y ait au monde rien qu’il ne sache. Pour moi, je -m’en vais prier Dieu de lui envoyer ce qui lui conviendra le mieux et -lui fournira le moyen de me donner de plus grandes récompenses. - -Vous parlez en homme sage, dit le curé, et vous agirez en bon chrétien. -Mais ce qui importe à présent, c’est de tirer votre maître de cette -sauvage et inutile pénitence, qui ne lui produira aucun fruit; et pour y -penser à loisir, aussi bien que pour dîner, car il en est temps, entrons -dans l’hôtellerie. - -Entrez, vous autres, dit Sancho; pour moi j’attendrai ici, et je vous -dirai tantôt pourquoi; qu’on m’envoie seulement quelque chose à manger, -de chaud bien entendu, avec de l’orge pour Rossinante. - -Les deux amis entrèrent, et peu après le barbier vint lui apporter ce -qu’il demandait. - -Ils se concertèrent ensuite sur les moyens de faire réussir leur projet: -le curé proposa un plan qui lui semblait infaillible, et tout à fait -conforme au caractère de don Quichotte: J’ai pensé, dit-il au barbier, à -prendre le costume de princesse, pendant que vous vous habillerez de -votre mieux en écuyer. Nous irons trouver don Quichotte, et feignant -d’être une grande dame affligée qui a besoin de secours, je lui -demanderai de m’octroyer un don, qu’en sa qualité de chevalier errant il -ne pourra me refuser: ce don sera de venir avec moi, pour me venger -d’une injure que m’a faite un chevalier discourtois et félon; -j’ajouterai comme grâce insigne de ne point exiger que je lève mon voile -jusqu’à ce qu’il m’ait fait rendre justice. En nous y prenant de la -sorte, je ne doute pas que don Quichotte ne fasse tout ce qu’on voudra: -nous le tirerons ainsi du lieu où il est, nous le ramènerons chez lui, -et là nous verrons à loisir s’il n’y a point quelque remède à sa folie. - -CHAPITRE XXVII - -COMMENT LE CURÉ ET LE BARBIER VINRENT A BOUT DE LEUR DESSEIN, AVEC -D’AUTRES CHOSES DIGNES D’ÊTRE RACONTÉES - -D’accord sur le mérite de l’invention, tous deux se mirent à l’œuvre -aussitôt. Ils empruntèrent à l’hôtesse une jupe de femme et des coiffes -dont le curé s’affubla, laissant pour gage une soutane toute neuve; -quant au barbier, il se fit une grande barbe avec une queue de vache -dont l’hôtelier se servait pour nettoyer son peigne. L’hôtesse demanda -quel était leur projet; le curé lui ayant appris en peu de mots la folie -de don Quichotte, et la nécessité de ce déguisement pour le tirer de la -montagne, elle devina aisément que ce fou était l’homme au baume et le -maître de l’écuyer berné: aussi s’empressa-t-elle de raconter ce qui -s’était passé dans sa maison, sans oublier ce que Sancho mettait tant de -soins à tenir secret. - -Bref, l’hôtesse accoutra le curé de la façon la plus divertissante. Elle -lui fit revêtir une jupe de drap chamarrée de bandes noires d’une palme -de large, et toute tailladée, comme on en portait au temps du roi Wamba. -Pour coiffure, le curé se contenta d’un petit bonnet en toile piquée, -qui lui servait la nuit; puis il se serra le front avec une jarretière -de taffetas noir, et fit de l’autre une espèce de masque dont il se -couvrit la barbe et le visage. Par-dessus le tout il enfonça son -chapeau, qui pouvait lui tenir lieu de parasol; puis se couvrant de son -manteau, il monta sur sa mule à la manière des femmes. Affublé de sa -barbe de queue de vache, qui lui descendait jusqu’à la ceinture, le -barbier enfourcha aussi sa mule, et dans cet équipage ils prirent congé -de tout le monde, sans oublier la bonne Maritorne, laquelle, quoique -pécheresse, promit de réciter un rosaire pour le succès d’une entreprise -si chrétienne. - -A peine avaient-ils fait cinquante pas, qu’il vint un scrupule au curé. -Réfléchissant que c’était chose inconvenante pour un prêtre de se -déguiser en femme, bien que ce fût à bonne intention, il dit au barbier: -Compère, changeons de costume; mieux vaut que vous soyez la dame et moi -l’écuyer, j’en profanerai moins mon caractère; et dût le diable emporter -don Quichotte, je suis résolu, sans avoir fait cet échange, à ne pas -aller plus avant. - -Sancho arriva sur ces entrefaites, et ne put s’empêcher de rire en les -voyant travestis de la sorte. Le barbier fit ce que voulait le curé, qui -s’empressa d’instruire son compère de ce qu’il devait dire à notre héros -pour lui faire abandonner sa pénitence. Maître Nicolas l’assura qu’il -saurait bien s’acquitter de son rôle; mais il ne voulut point s’habiller -pour le moment. Le curé ajusta sa grande barbe, et tous deux se remirent -en route sous la conduite de Sancho, qui leur conta chemin faisant tout -ce qui était arrivé à son maître et à lui avec un fou qu’ils avaient -rencontré dans la montagne, sans parler toutefois de la valise et des -écus d’or; car tout simple qu’il était, notre homme ne manquait pas de -finesse. - -Le jour suivant, on arriva à l’endroit où commençaient les branches de -genêt. Sancho leur dit que c’était là l’entrée de la montagne, et qu’ils -eussent à s’habiller, s’ils croyaient que leur déguisement pût être de -quelque utilité; car ils lui avaient fait part de leur dessein, en lui -recommandant de ne pas les découvrir. Lorsque votre maître, avaient-ils -dit, demandera, comme cela est certain, si vous avez remis sa lettre à -Dulcinée, donnez-lui cette assurance, mais ayez soin d’ajouter que sa -dame, ne sachant ni lire ni écrire, lui ordonne de vive voix, sous peine -d’encourir sa disgrâce et même sa malédiction, de se rendre sur-le-champ -auprès d’elle, et que c’est son plus vif désir. Avec cette réponse que -nous appuierons de notre côté, nous sommes assurés de le faire changer -de résolution, et de le décider à se mettre en chemin pour devenir roi -ou empereur, car alors il n’y aura plus à craindre qu’il pense à se -faire archevêque. - -Sancho les remercia de leur bonne intention. Il sera bien, ajouta-t-il, -que j’aille d’abord trouver mon maître pour lui donner la réponse de sa -dame; peut-être aura-t-elle la vertu de le tirer de là, sans que vous -preniez tant de peine. - -L’avis fut approuvé; et après qu’ils lui eurent promis d’attendre son -retour, Sancho prit le chemin de la montagne, laissant nos deux -compagnons dans un étroit défilé au bord d’un petit ruisseau, où -quelques arbres et de hautes roches formaient un ombrage d’autant plus -agréable, qu’au mois d’août, et vers trois heures après midi, la chaleur -est excessive en ces lieux. - -Le curé et le barbier se reposaient paisiblement à l’ombre, quand tout à -coup leurs oreilles furent frappées des accents d’une voix qui, sans -être accompagnée d’aucun instrument, leur parut très-belle et -très-suave. Ils ne furent pas peu surpris d’entendre chanter de la sorte -dans un lieu si sauvage; car, bien qu’on ait coutume de dire qu’au -milieu des champs et des forêts se rencontrent les plus belles voix du -monde, personne n’ignore que ce sont là plutôt des fictions que des -vérités. Leur étonnement redoubla donc lorsqu’ils entendirent -distinctement ces vers qui n’avaient rien de rustique: - - Je vois d’où vient enfin le trouble de mes sens; - L’absence, le dédain, une âpre jalousie - Empoisonnent ma vie, - Et font tous les maux que je sens. - Dans ces tourments affreux quelle est mon espérance? - Il n’est point de remède à des maux si cuisants, - Et les efforts les plus puissants - Succombent à leur violence. - - C’est toi, cruel Amour, qui causes mes douleurs! - C’est toi, rigoureux sort, dont l’aveugle caprice - Me fait tant d’injustice; - Ciel! tu consens à mes douleurs. - Il faut mourir enfin dans un état si triste, - Le ciel, le sort, l’Amour, l’ont ainsi résolu; - Ils ont un empire absolu, - Et c’est en vain qu’on leur résiste. - - Rien ne peut adoucir la rigueur de mon sort: - A moins d’être insensible au mal qui me possède, - Il n’est point de remède - Que le changement ou la mort, - Mais mourir ou changer, et perdre ce qu’on aime, - Ou se rendre insensible en perdant la raison, - Peut-il s’appeler guérison, - Et n’est-ce pas un mal extrême? - -L’heure, la solitude, le charme des vers et de la voix, tout cela réuni -causait à nos deux amis un plaisir mêlé d’étonnement. Ils attendirent -quelque temps; mais, n’entendant plus rien, ils se levaient pour aller à -la recherche de celui qui chantait si bien, quand la même voix se fit -entendre de nouveau: - - Pure et sainte amitié, rare présent des dieux, - Qui, lasse des mortels et de leur inconstance, - Ne nous laissant de toi qu’une vaine apparence, - As quitté ce séjour pour retourner aux cieux; - - De là quand il te plaît, tu répands à nos yeux, - De tes charmes si doux l’adorable abondance, - Mais une fausse image, avec ta ressemblance, - Sous le voile menteur désole tous ces lieux. - - Descends pour quelque temps, amitié sainte et pure; - Viens confondre ici-bas la fourbe et l’imposture, - Qui, sous ton sacré nom abusent les mortels; - - Découvre à nos regards l’éclat de ton visage; - Remets, avec la paix, la franchise en usage, - Et dissipant l’erreur, renverse ses autels[46]. - - [46] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Le chant fut terminé par un profond soupir. - -Non moins touchés par la compassion qu’excités par la curiosité, le curé -et le barbier voulurent savoir quelle était cette personne si affligée. -A peine eurent-ils fait quelques pas, qu’au détour d’un rocher ils -découvrirent un homme qui, en les voyant, s’arrêta tout à coup, laissant -tomber sa tête sur sa poitrine, comme en proie à une rêverie profonde. -Le curé était plein de charité; aussi se doutant, aux détails donnés par -l’écuyer de don Quichotte, que c’était là Cardenio, il s’approcha de lui -avec des paroles obligeantes, le priant en termes pressants de quitter -un lieu si sauvage et une vie si misérable, dans laquelle il courait le -risque de perdre son âme, ce qui est le plus grand de tous les malheurs. -Cardenio, libre en ce moment des accès furieux dont il était souvent -possédé, voyant deux hommes tout autrement vêtus que ceux qu’il avait -coutume de rencontrer dans ces montagnes lui parler comme s’ils -l’eussent connu, commença par les considérer avec attention et leur dit -enfin: Qui que vous soyez, seigneurs, je vois bien que le ciel, dans le -soin qu’il prend de secourir les bons et quelquefois les méchants, vous -a envoyés vers moi, sans que j’aie mérité une telle faveur, pour me -tirer de cette affreuse solitude et m’obliger de retourner parmi les -hommes; mais comme vous ignorez, ce que je sais, moi, qu’en sortant du -mal présent je cours risque de tomber dans un pire, vous me regardez -sans doute comme un être dépourvu d’intelligence et privé de jugement. -Hélas! il ne serait pas surprenant qu’il en fût ainsi, car je sens -moi-même que le souvenir de mes malheurs me trouble souvent au point -d’égarer ma raison, surtout quand on me rappelle ce que j’ai fait -pendant ces tristes accès, et qu’on m’en donne des preuves que je ne -puis récuser. Alors j’éclate en plaintes inutiles, je maudis mon étoile; -et pour faire excuser ma folie, j’en raconte la cause à qui veut -m’entendre. Il me semble que cela me soulage, persuadé que ceux qui -m’écoutent me trouvent plus malheureux que coupable, et que la -compassion que je leur inspire leur fait oublier mes extravagances. Si -vous venez ici avec la même intention que d’autres y sont déjà venus, je -vous supplie, avant de continuer vos charitables conseils, d’écouter le -récit de mes tristes aventures; peut-être, après les avoir entendues, -jugerez-vous qu’avec tant de sujets de m’affliger, et ne pouvant trouver -de consolations parmi les hommes, j’ai raison de m’en éloigner. - -Curieux d’apprendre de sa bouche la cause de ses disgrâces, le curé et -le barbier le prièrent instamment de la leur raconter, l’assurant qu’ils -n’avaient d’autre dessein que de lui procurer quelque soulagement, s’il -était en leur pouvoir de le faire. - -Cardenio commença donc son récit presque dans les mêmes termes qu’il -l’avait déjà fait à don Quichotte, récit qui s’était trouvé interrompu, -à propos de la reine Madasime et de maître Élisabad, par la trop grande -susceptibilité de notre héros sur le chapitre de la chevalerie; mais -cette fois, il en fut autrement, et Cardenio eut tout le loisir de -poursuivre jusqu’à la fin. Arrivé au billet que don Fernand avait trouvé -dans un volume d’Amadis de Gaule, il dit se le rappeler et qu’il était -ainsi conçu: - - LUSCINDE A CARDENIO. - - «Je découvre chaque jour en vous de nouveaux sujets de vous estimer; - si donc vous voulez que j’acquitte ma dette, sans que ce soit aux - dépens de mon honneur, il vous sera facile de réussir. J’ai un père - qui vous connaît, et qui m’aime assez pour ne pas s’opposer à mes - desseins quand il en reconnaîtra l’honnêteté. C’est à vous de faire - voir que vous m’estimez autant que vous le dites et que je le crois.» - -Ce billet, qui m’engageait à demander la main de Luscinde, donna si -bonne opinion de son esprit et de sa sagesse à don Fernand, que dès -lors il conçut le projet de renverser mes espérances. J’eus l’imprudence -de confier à ce dangereux ami la réponse du père de Luscinde, réponse -par laquelle il me disait vouloir connaître les sentiments du mien, et -que ce fût lui qui fît la demande. Redoutant un refus de mon père, je -n’osais lui en parler, non dans la crainte qu’il ne trouvât pas en -Luscinde assez de vertu et de beauté pour faire honneur à la meilleure -maison d’Espagne, mais parce que je pensais qu’il ne consentirait pas à -mon mariage avant de savoir ce que le duc avait l’intention de faire -pour moi. A tout cela, don Fernand me répondit qu’il se chargerait de -parler à mon père, et d’obtenir de lui qu’il s’en ouvrît au père de -Luscinde. - -Lorsque je te découvrais avec tant d’abandon les secrets de mon cœur, -cruel et déloyal ami, comment pouvais-tu songer à trahir ma confiance? -Mais, hélas! à quoi sert de se plaindre? Lorsque le ciel a résolu la -perte d’un homme, est-il possible de la conjurer, et toute la prudence -humaine n’est-elle pas inutile? Qui aurait jamais cru que don Fernand, -qui par sa naissance et son mérite pouvait prétendre aux plus grands -partis du royaume, qui me témoignait tant d’amitié et m’était redevable -de quelques services, nourrissait le dessein de m’enlever le seul bien -qui pût faire le bonheur de ma vie, et que même je ne possédais pas -encore? - -Don Fernand, qui voyait dans ma présence un obstacle à ses projets, -pensa à se débarrasser de moi adroitement. Le jour même où il se -chargeait de parler à mon père, il fit, dans le but de m’éloigner, achat -de six chevaux, et me pria d’aller demander à son frère aîné l’argent -pour les payer. Je n’avais garde de redouter une trahison; je le croyais -plein d’honneur, et j’étais de trop bonne foi pour soupçonner un homme -que j’aimais. Aussi dès qu’il m’eut dit ce qu’il souhaitait, je lui -proposai de partir à l’instant. J’allai le soir même prendre congé de -Luscinde, et lui confiai ce que don Fernand m’avait promis de faire -pour moi; elle me répondit de revenir au plus vite, ne doutant pas que -dès que mon père aurait parlé au sien, nos souhaits ne fussent -accomplis. Je ne sais quel pressentiment lui vint tout à coup, mais elle -fondit en larmes, et se trouva si émue qu’elle ne pouvait articuler une -parole. Quant à moi je demeurai plein de tristesse, ne comprenant point -la cause de sa douleur, que j’attribuais à sa tendresse et au déplaisir -qu’allait lui causer mon absence. Enfin je partis l’âme remplie de -crainte et d’émotion, indices trop certains du coup qui m’était réservé. -Je remis la lettre de don Fernand à son frère, qui me fit mille -caresses, et m’engagea à attendre huit jours, parce que don Fernand le -priait de lui envoyer de l’argent à l’insu de leur père. Mais ce n’était -qu’un artifice pour retarder mon départ; car le frère de Fernand ne -manquait pas d’argent, et il ne tenait qu’à lui de me congédier sur -l’heure. Plusieurs fois, je fus sur le point de repartir, ne pouvant -vivre éloigné de Luscinde, surtout en l’état plein d’alarmes où je -l’avais laissée. Je demeurai pourtant, car la crainte de contrarier mon -père, et de faire une action que je ne pourrais excuser raisonnablement, -l’emporta sur mon impatience. - -J’étais absent depuis quatre jours, lorsque tout à coup un homme -m’apporte une lettre, que je reconnais aussitôt être de Luscinde. -Surpris qu’elle m’envoyât un exprès, j’ouvre la lettre en tremblant: -mais avant d’y jeter les yeux, je demandai au porteur qui la lui avait -remise, et combien de temps il était resté en chemin. Il me répondit -qu’en passant par hasard dans la rue, vers l’heure de midi, une jeune -femme toute en pleurs l’avait appelé par une fenêtre, et lui avait dit -avec beaucoup de précipitation: Mon ami, si vous êtes chrétien, comme -vous le paraissez, je vous supplie, au nom de Dieu, de partir sans délai -et de porter cette lettre à son adresse; en reconnaissance de ce -service, voilà ce que je vous donne. En même temps, ajouta-t-il, elle me -jeta un mouchoir où je trouvai cent réaux avec une bague d’or et cette -lettre; quand je l’eus assurée par signes que j’exécuterais fidèlement -ce qu’elle m’ordonnait, sa fenêtre se referma. Me trouvant si bien payé -par avance, voyant d’ailleurs que la lettre s’adressait à vous, que je -connais, Dieu merci, et plus touché encore des larmes de cette belle -dame que de tout le reste, je n’ai voulu m’en fier à personne, et en -seize heures je viens de faire dix-huit grandes lieues. Pendant que cet -homme me donnait ces détails, j’étais, comme on dit, pendu à ses lèvres, -et les jambes me tremblaient si fort que j’avais peine à me soutenir. -Enfin j’ouvris la lettre de Luscinde, et voici à peu près ce qu’elle -contenait: - - AUTRE LETTRE DE LUSCINDE A CARDENIO. - - «Don Fernand s’est acquitté de la parole qu’il vous avait donnée de - faire parler à mon père; mais il a fait pour lui ce qu’il avait promis - de faire pour vous: il me demande lui-même en mariage, et mon père, - séduit par les avantages qu’il attend de cette alliance, y a si bien - consenti, que dans deux jours don Fernand doit me donner sa main, mais - si secrètement, que notre mariage n’aura d’autres témoins que Dieu et - quelques personnes de notre maison. Jugez de l’état où je suis par - celui où vous devez être, et venez promptement si vous pouvez. La - suite fera voir si je vous aime. Dieu veuille que cette lettre tombe - entre vos mains, avant que je sois obligée de m’unir à un homme qui - sait si mal garder la foi promise. Adieu.» - -Je n’eus pas achevé de lire cette lettre, poursuivit Cardenio, que je -partis, voyant trop tard la fourberie de don Fernand, qui n’avait -cherché à m’éloigner que pour profiter de mon absence. L’indignation et -l’amour me donnaient des ailes; j’arrivai le lendemain à la ville, juste -à l’heure favorable pour entretenir Luscinde. Un heureux hasard voulut -que je la trouvasse à cette fenêtre basse, si longtemps témoin de nos -amours. Notre entrevue eut quelque chose d’embarrassé, et Luscinde ne me -témoigna pas l’empressement que j’attendais. Hélas! quelqu’un peut-il se -vanter de connaître les confuses pensées d’une femme, et d’avoir jamais -su pénétrer les secrets de son cœur? Cardenio, me dit-elle, tu me vois -avec mes habillements de noce, car on m’attend pour achever la -cérémonie; mais mon père, le traître don Fernand et les autres, seront -plutôt témoins de ma mort que de mon mariage. Ne te trouble point, cher -Cardenio, tâche seulement de te trouver présent à ce sacrifice; et sois -certain que, si mes paroles ne peuvent l’empêcher, un poignard est là -qui saura du moins me soustraire à toute violence, et qui, en m’ôtant la -vie, mettra le sceau à l’amour que je t’ai voué. Faites, Madame, lui -dis-je avec précipitation, faites que vos actions justifient vos -paroles. Quant à moi, si mon épée ne peut vous défendre, je la tournerai -contre moi-même, plutôt que de vous survivre. Je ne sais si Luscinde -m’entendit, car on vint la chercher en grande hâte, en disant qu’on -n’attendait plus qu’elle. Je demeurai en proie à une tristesse et à un -accablement que je ne saurais exprimer; ma raison était éteinte et mes -yeux ne voyaient plus. Dans cet état, devenu presque insensible, je -n’avais pas la force de me mouvoir, ni de trouver l’entrée de la maison -de Luscinde. - -Enfin, ayant repris mes sens, et comprenant combien ma présence lui -était nécessaire dans une circonstance si critique, je me glissai à la -faveur du bruit, et, sans avoir été aperçu, je me cachai derrière une -tapisserie, dans l’embrasure d’une fenêtre, d’où je pouvais voir -aisément ce qui allait se passer. Comment peindre l’émotion qui -m’agitait, les pensées qui m’assaillirent, les résolutions que je -formai! Je vis d’abord don Fernand entrer dans la salle, vêtu comme à -l’ordinaire, accompagné seulement d’un parent de Luscinde; les autres -témoins étaient des gens de la maison. Bientôt après, Luscinde sortit -d’un cabinet de toilette, accompagnée de sa mère et suivie de deux -femmes qui la servaient; elle était vêtue et parée comme doit l’être une -personne de sa condition. Le trouble où j’étais m’empêcha de remarquer -les détails de son habillement, qui me parut d’une étoffe rose et -blanche, avec beaucoup de perles et de pierreries; mais rien n’égalait -l’éclat de sa beauté, dont elle était bien plus parée que de tout le -reste. O souvenir cruel, ennemi de mon repos, pourquoi me représentes-tu -si fidèlement l’incomparable beauté de Luscinde! ne devrais-tu pas -plutôt me cacher ce que je vis s’accomplir? Seigneur, pardonnez-moi ces -plaintes; je n’en suis point le maître, et ma douleur est si vive que je -me fais violence pour ne pas m’arrêter à chaque parole. - -Après quelques instants de repos, Cardenio poursuivit de la sorte: - -Quand tout le monde fut réuni dans la salle, on fit entrer un prêtre, -qui, prenant par la main chacun des fiancés, demanda à Luscinde si elle -recevait don Fernand pour époux. En ce moment j’avançai la tête hors de -la tapisserie, et, tout troublé que j’étais, j’écoutai cependant ce que -Luscinde allait dire, attendant sa réponse comme l’arrêt de ma vie ou de -ma mort. Hélas! qui est-ce qui m’empêcha de me montrer en ce moment? -Pourquoi ne me suis-je pas écrié: Luscinde, Luscinde, tu as ma foi, et -j’ai la tienne; tu ne peux te parjurer sans commettre un crime, et sans -me donner la mort. Et toi, perfide don Fernand, qui oses violer toutes -les lois divines et humaines pour me ravir un bien qui m’appartient, -crois-tu pouvoir troubler impunément le repos de ma vie? crois-tu qu’il -y ait quelque considération capable d’étouffer mon ressentiment, quand -il s’agit de mon honneur et de mon amour! Malheureux! c’est à présent -que je sais ce que j’aurais dû faire! Mais pourquoi te plaindre d’un -ennemi dont tu pouvais te venger? Maudis, maudis plutôt ton faible -cœur, et meurs comme un homme sans courage, puisque tu n’as pas su -prendre une résolution, ou que tu as été assez lâche pour ne pas -l’accomplir. Le prêtre attendait toujours la réponse de Luscinde, et -lorsque j’espérais qu’elle allait tirer son poignard pour sortir -d’embarras, ou qu’elle se dégagerait par quelque subterfuge qui me -serait favorable, je l’entendis prononcer d’une voix faible: _Oui, je le -reçois_. Fernand, ayant fait le même serment, lui donna l’anneau -nuptial: et ils demeurèrent unis pour jamais. Fernand s’approcha pour -embrasser son épouse, mais elle, posant la main sur son cœur, tomba -évanouie entre les bras de sa mère. - -Il me reste à dire ce qui se passa en moi à cette heure fatale où je -voyais la fausseté des promesses de Luscinde, et où une seule parole -venait de me ravir à jamais l’unique bien qui me fît aimer la vie! Je -restai privé de sentiment; il me sembla que j’étais devenu l’objet de la -colère du ciel, et qu’il m’abandonnait à la cruauté de ma destinée. Le -trouble et la confusion s’emparèrent de mon esprit. Mais bientôt la -violence de la douleur étouffant en moi les soupirs et les larmes, je -fus saisi d’un désespoir violent et transporté de jalousie et de -vengeance. L’évanouissement de Luscinde troubla toute l’assemblée, et sa -mère l’ayant délacée pour la faire respirer, on trouva dans son sein un -papier cacheté, dont s’empara vivement don Fernand; mais après l’avoir -lu, sans songer si sa femme avait besoin de secours, il se jeta dans un -fauteuil comme un homme qui vient d’apprendre quelque chose de fâcheux. -Pour moi, au milieu de la confusion, je sortis lentement sans -m’inquiéter d’être aperçu, et, dans tous les cas, résolu à faire un tel -éclat en châtiant le traître, qu’on apprendrait en même temps et sa -perfidie et ma vengeance. Mon étoile, qui me réserve sans doute pour de -plus grands malheurs, me conserva alors un reste de jugement qui m’a -tout à fait manqué depuis. Je m’éloignai sans tirer vengeance de mes -ennemis, qu’il m’eût été facile de surprendre, et je ne pensai qu’à -tourner contre moi-même le châtiment qu’ils avaient si justement mérité. - -Enfin je m’échappai de cette maison, et je me rendis chez l’homme où -j’avais laissé ma mule. Je la fis seller et sortis aussitôt de la ville. -Arrivé à quelque distance dans la campagne, seul alors au milieu des -ténèbres, j’éclatai en malédictions contre don Fernand, comme si -j’obtenais par là quelque soulagement. Je m’emportai aussi contre -Luscinde, comme si elle eût pu entendre mes reproches: cent fois je -l’appelai ingrate et parjure; je l’accusai de manquer de foi à l’amant -qui l’avait toujours fidèlement servie, et, pour un intérêt vil et bas, -de me préférer un homme qu’elle connaissait à peine. Mais, au milieu de -ces emportements et de ma fureur, un reste d’amour me faisait l’excuser. -Je me disais qu’élevée dans un grand respect pour son père, et -naturellement douce et timide, elle n’avait peut-être cédé qu’à la -contrainte; qu’en refusant, contre la volonté de ses parents, un -gentilhomme si noble, si riche et si bien fait de sa personne, elle -avait craint de donner une mauvaise opinion de sa conduite, et des -soupçons désavantageux à sa réputation. Mais aussi, m’écriai-je, -pourquoi n’avoir pas déclaré les serments qui nous liaient? Ne -pouvait-elle légitimement s’excuser de recevoir la main de don Fernand? -Qui l’a empêchée de se déclarer pour moi? Suis-je donc tant à dédaigner? -Sans ce perfide, ses parents ne me l’auraient pas refusée. Mais hélas! -je restai convaincu que peu d’amour et beaucoup d’ambition lui avaient -fait oublier les promesses dont elle avait jusque-là bercé mon sincère -et fidèle espoir. - -Je marchai toute la nuit dans ces angoisses, et le matin je me trouvai à -l’entrée de ces montagnes, où j’errai à l’aventure pendant trois jours, -au bout desquels je demandai à quelques chevriers qui vinrent à moi, -quel était l’endroit le plus désert. Ils m’enseignèrent celui-ci, et je -m’y acheminai, résolu d’y achever ma triste vie. En arrivant au pied de -ces rochers, ma mule tomba morte de fatigue et de faim: moi-même j’étais -sans force, et tellement abattu que je ne pouvais plus me soutenir. Je -restai ainsi je ne sais combien de temps étendu par terre, et quand je -me relevai, j’étais entouré de bergers qui m’avaient sans doute secouru, -quoique je ne m’en ressouvinsse pas. Ils me racontèrent qu’ils m’avaient -trouvé dans un bien triste état, et disant tant d’extravagances, qu’ils -crurent que j’avais perdu l’esprit. J’ai reconnu moi-même depuis lors -que je n’ai pas toujours le jugement libre et sain; car je me laisse -souvent aller à des folies dont je ne suis pas maître, déchirant mes -habits, maudissant ma mauvaise fortune, et répétant sans cesse le nom de -Luscinde, sans autre dessein que d’expirer en la nommant; puis, quand je -reviens à moi, je me sens brisé de fatigue comme à la suite d’un violent -effort. Je me retire d’ordinaire dans un liége creux, qui me sert de -demeure. Les chevriers de ces montagnes ont pitié de moi; ils déposent -quelque nourriture dans les endroits où ils pensent que je pourrai la -rencontrer; car, quoique j’aie presque perdu le jugement, la nature me -fait sentir ses besoins, et l’instinct m’apprend à les satisfaire. Quand -ces braves gens me reprochent de leur enlever quelquefois leurs -provisions et de les maltraiter quoiqu’ils me donnent de bon cœur ce -que je demande, j’en suis extrêmement affligé et je leur promets d’en -user mieux à l’avenir. - -Voilà, seigneurs, de quelle manière je passe ma misérable vie, en -attendant que le ciel en dispose, ou que, touché de pitié, il me fasse -perdre le souvenir de la beauté de Luscinde et de la perfidie de don -Fernand. Si cela m’arrive avant que je meure, j’espère que le trouble de -mon esprit se dissipera. En attendant, je prie le ciel de me regarder -avec compassion, car, je le comprends, cette manière de vivre ne peut -que lui déplaire et l’irriter; mais je n’ai pas le courage de prendre -une bonne résolution: mes disgrâces m’accablent et surmontent mes -forces; ma raison s’est si fort affaiblie, que, bien loin de n’être -d’aucun secours, elle m’entretient dans ces sentiments tout contraires. -Dites maintenant si vous avez jamais connu sort plus déplorable, si ma -douleur n’est pas bien légitime, et si l’on peut avec plus de sujet -témoigner moins d’affliction. Ne perdez donc point votre temps à me -donner des conseils; ils seraient inutiles. Je ne veux pas vivre sans -Luscinde; il faut que je meure, puisqu’elle m’abandonne. En me préférant -don Fernand, elle a fait voir qu’elle en voulait à ma vie; eh bien, je -veux la lui sacrifier, et jusqu’au dernier soupir exécuter ce qu’elle a -voulu. - -Cardenio s’arrêta; et comme le curé se préparait à le consoler, il en -fut tout à coup empêché par des plaintes qui attirèrent leur attention. -Dans le quatrième livre, nous verrons de quoi il s’agit; car cid Hamet -Ben-Engeli écrit ceci: Fin du livre troisième. - -LIVRE IV--CHAPITRE XXVIII - -DE LA NOUVELLE ET AGRÉABLE AVENTURE QUI ARRIVA AU CURÉ ET AU BARBIER -DANS LA SIERRA MORENA - -Heureux, trois fois heureux fut le siècle où vint au monde l’intrépide -chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, puisqu’en lui mettant au cœur le -généreux dessein de ressusciter l’ordre déjà plus qu’à demi éteint de la -chevalerie errante, il est cause que, dans notre âge très-pauvre en -joyeuses distractions, nous jouissons non-seulement de la délectable -lecture de sa véridique histoire, mais encore des contes et épisodes -qu’elle renferme, et qui n’ont pas moins de charme que l’histoire -elle-même. - -En reprenant le fil peigné, retors et dévidé du récit, celle-ci raconte -qu’au moment où le curé se disposait à consoler de son mieux Cardenio, -il en fut empêché par une voix plaintive qui s’exprimait ainsi: - -O mon Dieu! serait-il possible que j’eusse enfin trouvé un lieu qui pût -servir de tombeau à ce corps misérable, dont la charge m’est devenue si -pesante? Que je serais heureuse de rencontrer dans la solitude de ces -montagnes le repos qu’on ne trouve point parmi les hommes, afin de -pouvoir me plaindre en liberté des malheurs qui m’accablent! Ciel, -écoute mes plaintes, c’est à toi que je m’adresse: les hommes sont -faibles et trompeurs, toi seul peux me soutenir et m’inspirer ce que je -dois faire. - -Ces paroles furent entendues par le curé et par ceux qui -l’accompagnaient, et tous se levèrent aussitôt pour aller savoir qui se -plaignait si tristement. A peine eurent-ils fait vingt pas, qu’au détour -d’une roche, au pied d’un frêne, ils découvrirent un jeune homme vêtu en -paysan, dont on ne pouvait voir le visage parce qu’il l’inclinait en -lavant ses pieds dans un ruisseau. Ils s’étaient approchés avec tant de -précaution, que le jeune garçon ne les entendit point, et ils eurent -tout le loisir de remarquer qu’il avait les pieds si blancs, qu’on les -eût dit des morceaux de cristal mêlés aux cailloux du ruisseau. Tant de -beauté les surprit dans un homme grossièrement vêtu, et, leur curiosité -redoublant, ils se cachèrent derrière quelques quartiers de roche, d’où, -l’observant avec soin, ils virent qu’il portait un mantelet gris brun -serré par une ceinture de toile blanche, et sur la tête un petit bonnet -ou _montera_[47] de même couleur que le mantelet. Après qu’il se fut -lavé les pieds, le jeune garçon prit sous sa montera un mouchoir pour -les essuyer, et alors ce mouvement laissa voir un visage si beau, que -Cardenio ne put s’empêcher de dire au curé: Puisque ce n’est point -Luscinde, ce ne peut être une créature humaine; c’est quelque ange du -ciel. - - [47] _Montera_, espèce de casquette sans visière que portent les - paysans espagnols. - -En ce moment le jeune homme ayant ôté sa montera pour secouer sa -chevelure, déroula des cheveux blonds si beaux, qu’Apollon en eût été -jaloux. Ils reconnurent alors que celui qu’ils avaient pris pour un -paysan était une femme délicate et des plus belles. Cardenio lui-même -avoua qu’après Luscinde il n’avait jamais rien vu de comparable. En -démêlant les beaux cheveux dont les tresses épaisses la couvraient tout -entière, à ce point que de tout son corps on n’apercevait que les pieds, -la jeune fille laissa voir des bras si bien faits, et des mains si -blanches qu’elles semblaient des flocons de neige, et que l’admiration -et la curiosité de ceux qui l’épiaient s’en augmentant, ils se levèrent -afin de la voir de plus près, et apprendre qui elle était. Au bruit -qu’ils firent, la jeune fille tourna la tête, en écartant les cheveux -qui lui couvraient le visage; mais à peine eut-elle aperçu ces trois -hommes, que, sans songer à rassembler sa chevelure, et oubliant qu’elle -avait les pieds nus, elle saisit un petit paquet de hardes, et se mit à -fuir à toutes jambes. Mais ses pieds tendres et délicats ne purent -supporter longtemps la dureté des cailloux, elle tomba, et ceux qu’elle -fuyait étant accourus à son secours, le curé lui cria: - -Arrêtez, Madame; ne craignez rien, qui que vous soyez; nous n’avons -d’autre intention que de vous servir. En même temps il s’approcha d’elle -et la prit par la main; la voyant étonnée et confuse, il continua de la -sorte: - -Vos cheveux, Madame, nous ont découvert ce que vos vêtements nous -cachaient: preuves certaines qu’un motif impérieux a pu seul vous forcer -à prendre un déguisement si indigne de vous, et vous conduire au fond de -cette solitude où nous sommes heureux de vous rencontrer, sinon pour -faire cesser vos malheurs, au moins pour vous offrir des consolations. -Il n’est point de chagrins si violents que la raison et le temps ne -parviennent à adoucir. Si donc vous n’avez pas renoncé à la consolation -et aux conseils des humains, je vous supplie de nous apprendre le sujet -de vos peines, et d’être persuadée que nous vous le demandons moins par -curiosité que dans le dessein de les adoucir en les partageant. - -Pendant que le curé parlait ainsi, la belle inconnue le regardait, -interdite et comme frappée d’un charme, semblable en ce moment à -l’ignorant villageois auquel on montre à l’improviste des choses qu’il -n’a jamais vues; enfin le curé lui ayant laissé le temps de se remettre, -elle laissa échapper un profond soupir et rompit le silence en ces -termes: - -Puisque la solitude de ces montagnes n’a pu me cacher, et que mes -cheveux m’ont trahi, il serait désormais inutile de feindre avec vous, -en niant une chose dont vous ne pouvez plus douter; et puisque vous -désirez entendre le récit de mes malheurs, j’aurais mauvaise grâce de -vous le refuser après les offres obligeantes que vous me faites. -Toutefois, je crains bien de vous causer moins de plaisir que de -compassion, parce que mon infortune est si grande, que vous ne trouverez -ni remède pour la guérir, ni consolation pour en adoucir l’amertume. -Aussi ne révélerai-je qu’avec peine des secrets que j’avais résolu -d’ensevelir avec moi dans le tombeau, car je ne puis les raconter sans -me couvrir de confusion; mais trouvée seule et sous des habits d’homme, -dans un lieu si écarté, j’aime mieux vous les révéler que de laisser le -moindre doute sur mes desseins et ma conduite. - -Cette charmante fille, ayant parlé de la sorte, s’éloigna un peu pour -achever de s’habiller; puis, s’étant rapprochée, elle s’assit sur -l’herbe, et après s’être fait violence quelque temps pour retenir ses -larmes, elle commença ainsi: - -Je suis née dans une ville de l’Andalousie, dont un duc porte le nom, ce -qui lui donne le titre de grand d’Espagne. Mon père, un de ses vassaux, -n’est pas d’une condition très-relevée; mais il est riche, et si les -biens de la nature eussent égalé chez lui ceux de la fortune, il -n’aurait pu rien désirer au delà, et moi-même je serais moins à plaindre -aujourd’hui; car je ne doute point que mes malheurs ne viennent de celui -qu’ont mes parents de n’être point d’illustre origine. Ils ne sont -pourtant pas d’une extraction si basse qu’elle doive les faire rougir: -ils sont laboureurs de père en fils, d’une race pure et sans mélange; -ce sont de vieux chrétiens, et leur ancienneté, jointe à leurs grands -biens et à leur manière de vivre, les élève beaucoup au-dessus des gens -de leur profession, et les place presque au rang des plus nobles. Comme -je suis leur unique enfant, ils m’ont toujours tendrement chérie; et ils -se trouvaient encore plus heureux de m’avoir pour fille que de toute -leur opulence. De même que j’étais maîtresse de leur cœur, je l’étais -aussi de leur bien; tout passait par mes mains dans notre maison, les -affaires du dehors comme celles du dedans; et comme ma circonspection et -mon zèle égalaient leur confiance, nous avions vécu jusque-là heureux et -en repos. Après les soins du ménage, le reste de mon temps était -consacré aux occupations ordinaires des jeunes filles, telles que le -travail à l’aiguille, le tambour à broder, et bien souvent le rouet; -quand je quittais ces travaux, c’était pour faire quelque lecture utile, -ou jouer de quelque instrument, ayant reconnu que la musique met le -calme dans l’âme et repose l’esprit fatigué. Telle était la vie que je -menais dans la maison paternelle. Si je vous la raconte avec ces -détails, ce n’est pas par vanité, mais pour vous apprendre que ce n’est -pas ma faute si je suis tombée de cette heureuse existence dans la -déplorable situation où vous me voyez aujourd’hui. Pendant que ma vie se -passait ainsi dans une espèce de retraite comparable à celle des -couvents, ne voyant d’autres gens que ceux de notre maison, ne sortant -jamais que pour aller à l’église, toujours de grand matin et en -compagnie de ma mère, le bruit de ma beauté commença à se répandre, et -l’amour vint me troubler dans ma solitude. Un jour à mon insu, le second -fils de ce duc dont je vous ai parlé, nommé don Fernand, me vit... - -A ce nom de Fernand, Cardenio changea de couleur, et laissa paraître une -si grande agitation, que le curé et le barbier, qui avaient les yeux sur -lui, craignirent qu’il n’entrât dans un de ces accès de fureur dont ils -avaient appris qu’il était souvent atteint. Heureusement qu’il n’en fut -rien: seulement il se mit à considérer fixement la belle inconnue, -attachant sur elle ses regards, et cherchant à la reconnaître; mais, -sans faire attention aux mouvements convulsifs de Cardenio, elle -continua son récit. - -Ses yeux ne m’eurent pas plutôt aperçue, comme il l’avoua depuis, qu’il -ressentit cette passion violente dont il donna bientôt des preuves. Pour -achever promptement l’histoire de mes malheurs, et ne point perdre de -temps en détails inutiles, je passe sous silence les ruses qu’employa -don Fernand pour me révéler son amour: il gagna les gens de notre -maison; il fit mille offres de services à mon père, l’assurant de sa -faveur en toutes choses. Chaque jour ce n’étaient que divertissements -sous mes fenêtres, et la nuit s’y passait en concerts de voix et -d’instruments. Il me fit remettre, par des moyens que j’ignore encore, -un nombre infini de billets pleins de promesses et de tendres -sentiments. Cependant tout cela ne faisait que m’irriter, bien loin de -me plaire et de m’attendrir, et dès lors je regardai don Fernand comme -un ennemi mortel. Ce n’est pas qu’il me parût aimable, et que je ne -sentisse quelque plaisir à me voir recherchée d’un homme de cette -condition; de pareils soins plaisent toujours aux femmes, et la plus -farouche trouve dans son cœur un peu de complaisance pour ceux qui lui -disent qu’elle est belle; mais la disproportion de fortune était trop -grande pour me permettre des espérances raisonnables, et ses soins trop -éclatants pour ne pas m’offenser. Les conseils de mes parents, qui -avaient deviné don Fernand, achevèrent de détruire tout ce qui pouvait -me flatter dans sa recherche. Un jour mon père, me voyant plus inquiète -que de coutume, me déclara que le seul moyen de faire cesser ses -poursuites et de mettre un obstacle insurmontable à ses prétentions, -c’était de prendre un époux, que je n’avais qu’à choisir, dans la ville -ou dans notre voisinage, un parti à mon gré, et qu’il ferait tout ce -que je pouvais attendre de son affection. - -Je le remerciai de sa bonté, et répondis que n’ayant encore jamais pensé -au mariage, j’allais songer à éloigner don Fernand, d’une autre manière, -sans enchaîner pour cela ma liberté. Je résolus dès lors de l’éviter -avec tant de soin, qu’il ne trouvât plus moyen de me parler. Une manière -de vivre si réservée ne fit que l’exciter dans son mauvais dessein, je -dis mauvais dessein, parce que, s’il avait été honnête, je ne serais pas -dans le triste état où vous me voyez. Mais quand don Fernand apprit que -mes parents cherchaient à m’établir, afin de lui ôter l’espoir de me -posséder, ou que j’eusse plus de gardiens pour me défendre, il résolut -d’entreprendre ce que je vais vous raconter. - -Une nuit que j’étais dans ma chambre, avec la fille qui me servait, ma -porte bien fermée pour être en sûreté contre la violence d’un homme que -je savais capable de tout oser, il se dressa subitement devant moi. Sa -vue me troubla à tel point que, perdant l’usage de mes sens, je ne pus -articuler un seul mot pour appeler du secours. Profitant de ma faiblesse -et de mon étonnement, don Fernand me prit entre ses bras, me parla avec -tant d’artifice, et me montra tant de tendresse, que je n’osais appeler -quand je m’en serais senti la force. Les soupirs du perfide donnaient du -crédit à ses paroles, et ses larmes semblaient justifier son intention; -j’étais jeune et sans expérience dans une matière où les plus habiles -sont trompées. Ses mensonges me parurent des vérités, et touchée de ses -soupirs et de ses larmes, je sentais quelques mouvements de compassion. -Cependant, revenue de ma première surprise, et commençant à me -reconnaître, je lui dis avec indignation: - -Seigneur, si en même temps que vous m’offrez votre amitié, et que vous -m’en donnez des marques si étranges, vous me permettiez de choisir entre -cette amitié et le poison, estimant beaucoup plus l’honneur que la vie, -je n’aurais pas de peine à sacrifier l’une à l’autre. Je suis votre -vassale, et non votre esclave; et je m’estime autant, moi fille obscure -d’un laboureur, que vous, gentilhomme et cavalier. Ne croyez donc pas -m’éblouir par vos richesses, ni me tenter par l’éclat de vos grandeurs. -C’est à mon père à disposer de ma volonté, et je ne me rendrai jamais -qu’à celui qu’il m’aura choisi pour époux. Si donc, vous m’estimez comme -vous le dites, abandonnez un dessein qui m’offense et ne peut jamais -réussir. Pour que je jouisse paisiblement de la vie, laissez-moi -l’honneur, qui en est inséparable; et puisque vous ne pouvez être mon -époux, ne prétendez pas à un amour que je ne puis donner à aucun autre. - -S’il ne faut que cela pour te satisfaire, répondit le déloyal cavalier, -je suis trop heureux que ton amour soit à ce prix. Je t’offre ma main, -charmante Dorothée (c’est le nom de l’infortunée qui vous parle), et -pour témoins de mon serment je prends le ciel, à qui rien n’est caché, -et cette image de la Vierge qui est devant nous. - -Le nom de Dorothée fit encore une fois tressaillir Cardenio, et le -confirma dans l’opinion qu’il avait eue dès le commencement du récit; -mais pour ne pas l’interrompre, et savoir quelle en sera la fin, il se -contenta de dire: Quoi! Madame, Dorothée est votre nom? J’ai entendu -parler d’une personne qui le portait, et dont les malheurs vont de pair -avec les vôtres. Continuez, je vous prie; bientôt je vous apprendrai des -choses qui ne vous causeront pas moins d’étonnement que de pitié. - -Dorothée s’arrêta pour regarder Cardenio et l’étrange dénûment où il -était: Si vous savez quelque chose qui me regarde, je vous conjure, lui -dit-elle, de me l’apprendre à l’instant: j’ai assez de courage pour -supporter les coups que me réserve la fortune; mon malheur présent me -rend insensible à ceux que je pourrais redouter encore. - -Je vous aurais déjà dit ce que je pense, Madame, répondit Cardenio, si -j’étais bien certain de ce que je suppose; mais jusqu’à cette heure, il -ne vous importe en rien de le connaître, et il sera toujours temps de -vous en instruire. - -Dorothée continua en ces termes: - -Après ces assurances, don Fernand me présenta la main, et m’ayant donné -sa foi, il me la confirma par des paroles pressantes, et avec des -serments extraordinaires; mais, avant de souffrir qu’il se liât, je le -conjurai de ne point se laisser aveugler par la passion, et par un peu -de beauté qui ne suffirait point à l’excuser. Ne causez pas, lui dis-je, -à votre père le déplaisir et la honte de vous voir épouser une personne -si fort au-dessous de votre condition; et, par emportement, ne prenez -pas un parti dont vous pourriez vous repentir, et qui me rendrait -malheureuse. A ces raisons, j’en ajoutai beaucoup d’autres, qui toutes -furent inutiles. Don Fernand s’engagea en amant passionné qui sacrifie -tout à son amour, ou plutôt en fourbe qui se soucie peu de tenir ses -promesses. Le voyant si opiniâtre dans sa résolution, je pensai -sérieusement à la conduite que je devais tenir. Je me représentai que -je n’étais pas la première que le mariage eût élevée à des grandeurs -inespérées, et à qui la beauté eût tenu lieu de naissance et de mérite. -L’occasion était belle, et je crus devoir profiter de la faveur que -m’envoyait la fortune. Quand elle m’offre un époux qui m’assure d’un -attachement éternel, pourquoi, me disais-je, m’en faire un ennemi par -des mépris injustes? Je me représentai de plus que don Fernand était à -ménager; que s’offrant surtout avec de si grands avantages, un refus -pourrait l’irriter; et que sa passion le portant peut-être à la -violence, il se croirait dégagé d’une parole que je n’aurais pas voulu -recevoir, et qu’ainsi je demeurerais sans honneur et sans excuse. Toutes -ces réflexions commençaient à m’ébranler; les serments de don Fernand, -ses soupirs et ses larmes, les témoins sacrés qu’il invoquait; en un -mot, son air, sa bonne mine, et l’amour que je croyais voir en toutes -ses actions, achevèrent de me perdre. J’appelai la fille qui me servait, -pour qu’elle entendît les serments de don Fernand; il prit encore une -fois devant elle le ciel à témoin, appela sur sa tête toutes sortes de -malédictions si jamais il violait sa promesse; il m’attendrit par de -nouveaux soupirs et de nouvelles larmes; et cette fille s’étant retirée, -le perfide, abusant de ma faiblesse, acheva la trahison qu’il avait -méditée. - -Quand le jour qui succéda à cette nuit fatale fut sur le point de -paraître, don Fernand, sous prétexte de ménager ma réputation, montra -beaucoup d’empressement à s’éloigner. Il me dit avec froideur de me -reposer sur son honneur et sur sa foi; et pour gage, il tira un riche -diamant de son doigt et le mit au mien. Il s’en fut; la servante qui -l’avait introduit dans ma chambre, à ce qu’elle m’avoua depuis, lui -ouvrit la porte de la rue, et je demeurai si confuse de tout ce qui -venait de m’arriver, que je ne saurais dire si j’en éprouvais de la joie -ou de la tristesse. J’étais tellement hors de moi, que je ne songeais -pas à reprocher à cette fille sa trahison, ne pouvant encore bien juger -si elle m’était nuisible ou favorable. J’avais dit à don Fernand, avant -qu’il s’éloignât, que puisque j’étais à lui, il pouvait se servir de la -même voie pour me revoir, jusqu’à ce qu’il trouvât à propos de déclarer -l’honneur qu’il m’avait fait. Il revint la nuit suivante; mais depuis -lors, je ne l’ai pas revu une seule fois, ni dans la rue, ni à l’église, -pendant un mois entier que je me suis fatiguée à le chercher, quoique je -susse bien qu’il était dans le voisinage et qu’il allât tous les jours à -la chasse. - -Cet abandon que je regardais comme le dernier des malheurs, faillit -m’accabler entièrement. Ce fut alors que je compris les conséquences de -l’audace de ma servante, et combien il est dangereux de se fier aux -serments. J’éclatai en imprécations contre don Fernand, sans soulager ma -douleur. Il fallut cependant me faire violence pour cacher mon -ressentiment, dans la crainte que mon père et ma mère ne me pressassent -de leur en dire le sujet. Mais bientôt il n’y eut plus moyen de feindre, -et je perdis toute patience en apprenant que don Fernand s’était marié -dans une ville voisine, avec une belle et noble personne appelée -Luscinde. - -En entendant prononcer le nom de Luscinde, vous eussiez vu Cardenio -plier les épaules, froncer le sourcil, se mordre les lèvres, et bientôt -après deux ruisseaux de larmes inonder son visage. Dorothée, cependant, -ne laissa pas de continuer son récit. - -A cette triste nouvelle, l’indignation et le désespoir s’emparèrent de -mon esprit, et, dans le premier transport, je voulais publier partout la -perfidie de don Fernand, sans m’inquiéter si en même temps je -n’affichais pas ma honte. Peut-être un reste de raison calma-t-il tous -ces mouvements, mais je ne les ressentis plus après le dessein que je -formai sur l’heure même. Je découvris le sujet de ma douleur à un jeune -berger qui servait chez mon père, et, lui ayant emprunté un de ses -vêtements, je le priai de m’accompagner jusqu’à la ville où je savais -qu’était don Fernand. Le berger fit tout ce qu’il put pour m’en -détourner; mais, voyant ma résolution inébranlable, il consentit à me -suivre. Ayant donc pris un habit de femme, quelques bagues et de -l’argent que je lui donnai à porter pour m’en servir au besoin, nous -nous mîmes en chemin la nuit suivante, à l’insu de tout le monde. Hélas! -je ne savais pas trop ce que j’allais faire; car que pouvais-je espérer -en voyant le perfide, si ce n’est la triste satisfaction de lui adresser -des reproches inutiles? - -J’arrivai en deux jours et demi au terme de mon voyage. En entrant dans -la ville je m’informai sans délai de la demeure des parents de Luscinde; -le premier que j’interrogeais m’en apprit beaucoup plus que je ne -voulais en savoir. Il me raconta dans tous ses détails le mariage de don -Fernand et de Luscinde; il me dit qu’au milieu de la cérémonie, Luscinde -était tombée évanouie en prononçant le oui fatal, et que son époux, -ayant desserré sa robe pour l’aider à respirer, y avait trouvé cachée -une lettre écrite de sa main, dans laquelle elle déclarait ne pouvoir -être sa femme, parce qu’un gentilhomme nommé Cardenio avait déjà reçu sa -foi, et qu’elle n’avait feint de consentir à ce mariage que pour ne pas -désobéir à son père. Dans cette lettre, elle annonçait le dessein de se -tuer; dessein que confirmait un poignard trouvé sur elle, ce qu’au reste -don Fernand, furieux de se voir ainsi trompé, aurait fait lui-même, si -ceux qui étaient présents ne l’en eussent empêché. Cet homme ajouta -enfin qu’il avait quitté aussitôt la maison de Luscinde, laquelle -n’était revenue de son évanouissement que le lendemain, déclarant de -nouveau avoir depuis longtemps engagé sa foi à Cardenio. Il m’apprit -aussi que ce Cardenio s’était trouvé présent au mariage, et qu’il -s’était éloigné, désespéré, après avoir laissé une lettre dans laquelle, -maudissant l’infidélité de sa maîtresse, il déclarait la fuir pour -toujours. Cela était de notoriété publique et faisait le sujet de -toutes les conversations. - -Mais ce fut bien autre chose quand on apprit la fuite de Luscinde de la -maison paternelle et le désespoir de ses parents, qui ne savaient ce -qu’elle était devenue. Pour moi, je trouvai quelque consolation dans ce -qu’on venait de m’apprendre; je me disais que le ciel n’avait sans doute -renversé les injustes desseins de don Fernand que pour le faire rentrer -en lui-même; et qu’enfin, puisque son mariage avec Luscinde ne s’était -pas accompli, je pouvais un jour voir le mien se réaliser. Je tâchai de -me persuader ce que je souhaitais, me forgeant de vaines espérances d’un -bonheur à venir, pour ne pas me laisser accabler entièrement, et pour -prolonger une vie qui m’est désormais insupportable. - -Pendant que j’errais dans la ville, sans savoir à quoi me résoudre, -j’entendis annoncer la promesse d’une grande récompense pour celui qui -indiquerait ce que j’étais devenue. On me désignait par mon âge et par -l’habit que je portais. J’appris en même temps qu’on accusait le berger -qui était venu avec moi de m’avoir enlevée de chez mon père; ce qui me -causa un déplaisir presque égal à l’infidélité de don Fernand, car je -voyais ma réputation absolument perdue, et pour un sujet indigne et bas. -Je sortis de la ville avec mon guide, et le même soir nous arrivâmes -ici, au milieu de ces montagnes. Mais, vous le savez, un malheur en -appelle un autre; et la fin d’une infortune est le commencement d’une -plus grande. Je ne fus pas plus tôt dans ce lieu écarté, que le berger -en qui j’avais mis toute ma confiance, tenté sans doute par l’occasion -plutôt que par ma beauté, osa me parler d’amour. Voyant que je ne -répondais qu’avec mépris, il résolut d’employer la violence pour -accomplir son infâme dessein. Mais le ciel et mon courage ne -m’abandonnèrent pas en cette circonstance. Aveuglé par ses désirs, ce -misérable ne s’aperçut pas qu’il était sur le bord d’un précipice; je -l’y poussai sans peine, puis courant de toute ma force, je pénétrai -bien avant dans ces déserts, pour dérouter les recherches. Le lendemain, -je rencontrai un paysan qui me prit à son service en qualité de berger -et m’emmena au milieu de ces montagnes. Je suis restée chez lui bien des -mois, allant chaque jour travailler aux champs, et ayant grand soin de -ne pas me laisser reconnaître; mais, malgré tout, il a fini par -découvrir ce que je suis; si bien que m’ayant, à son tour, témoigné de -mauvais desseins, et la fortune ne m’offrant pas les mêmes moyens de m’y -soustraire, j’ai quitté sa maison il y a deux jours, et suis venue -chercher un asile dans ces solitudes, pour prier le ciel en repos, et -tâcher de l’émouvoir par mes soupirs et mes larmes, ou tout au moins -pour finir ici ma misérable vie, et y ensevelir le secret de mes -douleurs. - -CHAPITRE XXIX - -QUI TRAITE DU GRACIEUX ARTIFICE QU’ON EMPLOYA POUR TIRER NOTRE AMOUREUX -CHEVALIER DE LA RUDE PÉNITENCE QU’IL ACCOMPLISSAIT - -Telle est, seigneurs, l’histoire de mes tristes aventures; jugez -maintenant si ma douleur est légitime, et si une infortunée dont les -maux sont sans remède est en état de recevoir des consolations. La seule -chose que je vous demande et qu’il vous sera facile de m’accorder, c’est -de m’apprendre où je pourrai passer le reste de ma vie à l’abri de la -recherche de mes parents: non pas que je craigne qu’ils m’aient rien -retiré de leur affection, et qu’ils ne me reçoivent pas avec l’amitié -qu’ils m’ont toujours témoignée; mais quand je pense qu’ils ne doivent -croire à mon innocence que sur ma parole, je ne puis me résoudre à -affronter leur présence. - -Dorothée se tut, et la rougeur qui couvrit son beau visage, ses yeux -baissés et humides, montrèrent clairement son inquiétude et tous les -sentiments qui agitaient son cœur. - -Ceux qui venaient d’entendre l’histoire de la jeune fille étaient -charmés de son esprit et de sa grâce; et ils éprouvaient d’autant plus -de compassion pour ses malheurs, qu’ils les trouvaient aussi surprenants -qu’immérités. Le curé voulait lui donner des consolations et des avis, -mais Cardenio le prévint. - ---Quoi! madame, s’écria-t-il, vous êtes la fille unique du riche -Clenardo? - -Dorothée ne fut pas peu surprise d’entendre le nom de son père, en -voyant la chétive apparence de celui qui parlait (on se rappelle comment -était vêtu Cardenio). Qui êtes-vous, lui dit-elle, vous qui savez le nom -de mon père? car si je ne me trompe, je ne l’ai pas nommé une seule fois -dans le cours du récit que je viens de faire. - -Je suis, répondit Cardenio, cet infortuné qui reçut la foi de Luscinde, -celui qu’elle a dit être son époux, et que la trahison de don Fernand a -réduit au triste état que vous voyez, abandonné à la douleur, privé de -toute consolation, et, pour comble de maux, n’ayant l’usage de sa raison -que pendant les courts intervalles qu’il plaît au ciel de lui laisser. -C’est moi qui fut le triste témoin du mariage de don Fernand, et qui -déjà, plein de trouble et de terreur, finis par m’abandonner au -désespoir quand je crus que Luscinde avait prononcé le oui fatal. Sans -attendre la fin de son évanouissement, éperdu, hors de moi, je quittai -sa maison après avoir donné à un de mes gens une lettre avec ordre de la -remettre à Luscinde, et je suis venu dans ces déserts vouer à la douleur -une vie dont tous les moments étaient pour moi autant de supplices. Mais -Dieu n’a pas voulu me l’ôter, me réservant sans doute pour le bonheur -que j’ai de vous rencontrer ici. Consolez-vous belle Dorothée, le ciel -est de notre côté; ayez confiance dans sa bonté et sa protection, et -après ce qu’il a fait en votre faveur, ce serait l’offenser que de ne pas -espérer un meilleur sort. Il vous rendra don Fernand, qui ne peut être à -Luscinde; et il me rendra Luscinde, qui ne peut être qu’à moi. Quand mes -intérêts ne seraient pas d’accord avec les vôtres, ma sympathie pour -vos malheurs est telle qu’il n’est rien que je ne fasse pour y mettre un -terme; je jure de ne prendre aucun repos que don Fernand ne vous ait -rendu justice, et même de l’y forcer au péril de ma vie, si la raison et -la générosité ne l’y peuvent amener. - -Dorothée était si émue, qu’elle ne savait comment remercier Cardenio; et -le regardant déjà comme son protecteur, elle allait se jeter à ses -pieds, mais il l’en empêcha. Le curé, prenant la parole pour tous deux, -loua Cardenio de sa généreuse résolution, et consola si bien Dorothée -qu’il la fit consentir à venir se remettre un peu de tant de fatigues -dans sa maison, où ils aviseraient tous ensemble au moyen de retrouver -don Fernand. Le barbier, qui jusque-là avait écouté en silence, s’offrit -avec empressement à faire tout ce qui dépendrait de lui; il leur apprit -ensuite le dessein qui les avait conduits, lui et le curé, dans ces -montagnes, et l’étrange folie de don Quichotte, dont ils attendaient -l’écuyer, lequel n’avait guère moins besoin de traitement que son -maître. Cardenio se ressouvint alors du démêlé qu’il avait eu avec -notre héros, mais seulement comme d’un songe, et en le racontant il n’en -put dire le sujet. - -En ce moment des cris se firent entendre, et ils reconnurent la voix de -Sancho, qui, ne les trouvant point à l’endroit où ils les avait laissés, -les appelait à tue-tête. Tous allèrent au-devant de lui, et comme le -curé lui demandait avec empressement des nouvelles de don Quichotte, -Sancho répondit comment il l’avait trouvé en chemise, pâle, jaune, -mourant de faim, mais soupirant toujours pour sa dame Dulcinée. Je lui -ai bien dit, ajouta-t-il, qu’elle lui ordonnait de quitter ce désert -pour se rendre au Toboso, où elle l’attend avec impatience; mais il m’a -répondu qu’il est résolu à ne point paraître devant sa beauté, jusqu’à -ce qu’il ait fait des prouesses dignes de cette faveur. En vérité, -seigneurs, si cela dure plus longtemps, mon maître court grand risque de -ne jamais devenir empereur, comme il s’y est engagé, ni même archevêque, -ce qui est le moins qu’il puisse faire. Au nom du ciel, voyez donc -promptement ce qu’il y aurait à faire pour le tirer de là. - -Rassurez-vous, Sancho, dit le curé, nous l’en tirerons malgré lui; et se -tournant vers Cardenio et Dorothée, il leur raconta ce qu’ils avaient -imaginé pour la guérison de don Quichotte, ou tout au moins pour -l’obliger de retourner dans sa maison. - -Dorothée, à qui ses nouvelles espérances rendaient déjà un peu de -gaieté, s’offrit à remplir le rôle de la damoiselle affligée, disant -qu’elle s’en acquitterait mieux que le barbier, parce qu’elle avait -justement emporté un costume de grande dame; qu’au reste il n’était pas -besoin de l’instruire pour représenter ce personnage, parce qu’ayant lu -beaucoup de livres de chevalerie elle en connaissait le style, et savait -de quelle manière les damoiselles infortunées imploraient la protection -des chevaliers errants. - -A la bonne heure, madame, dit le curé; il ne s’agit plus que de se -mettre à l’œuvre. - -Dorothée ouvrit son paquet et en tira une jupe de très-belle étoffe et -un riche mantelet de brocart vert avec un tour de perles et d’autres -ajustements; quand elle s’en fut parée, elle leur parut à tous si belle, -qu’ils ne se lassaient pas de l’admirer, et plaignaient don Fernand -d’avoir dédaigné une si charmante personne. Mais celui qui trouvait -Dorothée le plus à son goût, c’était Sancho Panza; il n’avait pas assez -d’yeux pour la regarder, et il était devant elle comme en extase. - -Quelle est donc cette belle dame? demanda-t-il; et que vient-elle -chercher au milieu de ces montagnes? - -Cette belle dame, ami Sancho, répondit le curé, c’est tout simplement -l’héritière en ligne directe du grand royaume de Micomicon. Elle vient -prier votre maître de la venger d’une injure que lui a faite un géant -déloyal; et au bruit que fait dans toute la Guinée la valeur du fameux -don Quichotte, cette princesse n’a pas craint d’entreprendre ce long -voyage pour venir le chercher. - -Par ma foi! s’écria Sancho transporté, voilà une heureuse quête et une -heureuse trouvaille, surtout si mon maître est assez chanceux pour -venger cette injure et assommer ce damné géant que vient de dire Votre -Grâce. Oh! certes, il l’assommera s’il le rencontre; à moins pourtant -que ce soit un fantôme, car sur ces gens-là mon maître est sans pouvoir. -Seigneur licencié, lui dit-il, j’ai, entre autres choses, une grâce à -vous demander: pour qu’il ne prenne pas fantaisie à mon maître de se -faire archevêque, car c’est là toute ma crainte, conseillez-lui, je vous -en conjure, de se marier promptement avec cette princesse, afin que -n’étant plus en état de recevoir les ordres, il soit forcé de devenir -empereur. Franchement, j’ai bien réfléchi là-dessus, et, tout compte -fait, je trouve qu’il n’est pas bon pour moi qu’il soit archevêque, -parce que je ne vaux rien pour être d’église, et que d’ailleurs ayant -femme et enfants, il me faudrait songer à prendre des dispenses, afin -de toucher les revenus d’une prébende, ce qui me donnerait beaucoup trop -d’embarras. Le mieux est donc que mon seigneur se marie tout de suite -avec cette grande dame que je ne puis pas nommer parce que j’ignore son -nom. - -Elle s’appelle la princesse Micomicona, dit le curé; car son royaume -étant celui de Micomicon, elle doit se nommer ainsi. - -En effet, reprit Sancho: j’ai vu nombre de gens qui prennent le nom du -lieu de leur naissance, comme Pedro d’Alcala, Juan d’Ubeda, Diego de -Valladolid; il doit en être de même en Guinée. - -Sans aucun doute, Sancho, répondit le curé, et pour ce qui est du -mariage de votre maître, croyez que j’y pousserai de tout mon pouvoir. - -Sancho demeura fort satisfait de la promesse du curé, et le curé encore -plus étonné de la simplicité de Sancho, en voyant à quel point les -contagieuses folies du maître avaient pris racine dans le cerveau du -serviteur. - -Pendant cet entretien, Dorothée étant montée sur la mule du curé, et le -barbier ayant ajusté sa fausse barbe, tous dirent à Sancho de les -conduire où se trouvait don Quichotte; lui recommandant de ne pas -laisser soupçonner qu’il les connût, parce que, si le chevalier venait à -s’en douter seulement, l’occasion de le faire empereur serait perdue à -jamais. Cardenio ne voulut point les accompagner, dans la crainte que -don Quichotte ne vînt à se rappeler le démêlé qu’ils avaient eu -ensemble; et le curé, ne croyant pas sa présence nécessaire, demeura -également, après avoir donné quelques instructions à Dorothée, qui le -pria de s’en reposer sur elle, l’assurant qu’elle suivrait exactement ce -que lui avaient appris les livres de chevalerie. - -La princesse Micomicona et ses deux compagnons se mirent donc en chemin. -Ils eurent à peine fait trois quarts de lieue, qu’ils découvrirent au -milieu d’un groupe de roches amoncelées don Quichotte, déjà habillé, -mais sans armure. Sitôt que Dorothée l’aperçut et que Sancho lui eut -appris que c’était là notre héros, elle hâta son palefroi, suivi de son -écuyer barbu. Aussitôt celui-ci sauta à bas de sa mule, prit entre ses -bras sa maîtresse, qui ayant mis pied à terre avec beaucoup d’aisance, -alla se jeter aux genoux de don Quichotte; notre héros fit tous ses -efforts pour la relever, mais elle, sans vouloir y consentir, lui parla -de la sorte: - -Je ne me relèverai point, invincible chevalier, que votre courtoisie ne -m’ait octroyé un don, lequel ne tournera pas moins à la gloire de votre -magnanime personne qu’à l’avantage de la plus outragée damoiselle que -jamais ait éclairée le soleil. S’il est vrai que votre valeur et la -force de votre bras répondent à ce qu’en publie la renommée, vous êtes -tenu, par les lois de l’honneur et par la profession que vous exercez, -de secourir une infortunée qui, sur le bruit de vos exploits et à la -trace de votre nom célèbre, vient des extrémités de la terre chercher un -remède à ses malheurs. - -Je suis bien résolu, belle et noble dame, dit don Quichotte, à ne point -entendre et à ne point répondre une seule parole que vous ne vous soyez -relevée. - -Et moi, je ne me relèverai point d’où je suis, illustre chevalier, -reprit la dolente damoiselle, que vous ne m’ayez octroyé le don que -j’implore de votre courtoisie. - -Je vous l’octroie, Madame, dit don Quichotte, mais à une condition: -c’est qu’il ne s’y trouvera rien de contraire au service de mon roi ou -de mon pays, ni aux intérêts de celle qui tient mon cœur et ma liberté -enchaînés. - -Ce ne sera ni au préjudice ni contre l’honneur de ceux ou de celle que -vous venez de nommer, répondit Dorothée. - -Comme elle allait continuer, Sancho s’approcha de son maître, et lui dit -à l’oreille: Par ma foi, seigneur, vous pouvez bien accorder à cette -dame ce qu’elle vous demande; en vérité, ce n’est qu’une bagatelle: il -s’agit tout simplement d’assommer un géant, et celle qui vous en prie -est la princesse Micomicona, reine du grand royaume de Micomicon, en -Éthiopie. - -Qu’elle soit ce qu’il plaira à Dieu, répondit don Quichotte; je ferai ce -que me dicteront ma conscience et les lois de ma profession. Puis se -tournant vers Dorothée: Que Votre Beauté veuille bien se lever, Madame, -lui dit-il, je vous octroie le don qu’il vous plaira de me demander. - -Eh bien, chevalier sans pareil, reprit Dorothée, le don que j’implore de -votre valeureuse personne, c’est qu’elle me suive sans retard où il me -plaira de la mener, et qu’elle me promette de ne s’engager dans aucune -autre aventure jusqu’à ce qu’elle m’ait vengé d’un traître qui, contre -toutes les lois divines et humaines, a usurpé mon royaume. - -Ce don, très-haute dame, je répète que je vous l’octroie, répondit don -Quichotte; désormais prenez courage et chassez la tristesse qui vous -accable: j’espère, avec l’aide de Dieu et la force de mon bras, vous -rétablir avant peu dans la possession de vos États, en dépit de tous -ceux qui prétendraient s’y opposer. Or, mettons promptement la main à -l’œuvre; les bonnes actions ne doivent jamais être différées, et c’est -dans le retardement qu’est le péril. - -Dorothée fit tous ses efforts pour baiser les mains de don Quichotte, -qui ne voulut jamais y consentir. Au contraire, il la fit relever, -l’embrassa respectueusement, après quoi il dit à Sancho de bien sangler -Rossinante et de lui donner ses armes. L’écuyer détacha d’un arbre -l’armure de son maître, qui y était suspendue comme un trophée. Quand -notre héros l’eut endossée: Maintenant, dit-il, allons, avec l’aide de -Dieu, porter secours à cette grande princesse, et employons la valeur et -la force que le ciel nous a données, à la faire triompher de ses -ennemis. - -Le barbier, qui, pendant cette cérémonie, était resté à genoux, faisait -tous ses efforts pour ne pas éclater de rire ni laisser tomber sa -barbe, dans la crainte de tout gâter; quand il vit le don octroyé et -avec quel empressement notre héros se disposait à partir, il se releva, -et, prenant la princesse d’une main tandis que don Quichotte la prenait -de l’autre, tous deux la mirent sur sa mule. Le chevalier enfourcha -Rossinante, le barbier sa monture, et ils se mirent en chemin. - -Le pauvre Sancho les suivait à pied, et la fatigue qu’il en éprouvait -lui rappelait à chaque pas la perte de son grison. Il prenait toutefois -son mal en patience, voyant son maître en chemin de se faire empereur; -car il ne doutait point qu’il ne se mariât avec cette princesse, et -qu’il ne devînt bientôt souverain de Micomicon. Une seule chose -troublait le plaisir qu’il ressentait, c’était de penser que ce royaume -étant dans le pays des nègres, les gens que son maître lui donnerait à -gouverner seraient Mores; mais il trouva sur-le-champ remède à cet -inconvénient. Eh! qu’importe, se disait-il, que mes vassaux soient -Mores? Je les ferai charrier en Espagne, où je les vendrai fort bien, et -j’en tirerai du bon argent comptant, dont je pourrai acheter quelque -office, afin de vivre sans souci le reste de mes jours. Me croit-on donc -si maladroit, que je ne sache tirer parti des choses? faut-il tant de -philosophie pour vendre vingt ou trente mille esclaves? Oh! par ma foi, -je saurai bien en venir à bout; et je les rendrai blancs ou tout au -moins jaunes, seraient-ils plus noirs que le diable. Plein de ces -agréables pensées, Sancho cheminait si content, qu’il en oubliait le -désagrément d’aller à pied. - -Toute cette étrange scène, le curé et Cardenio la regardaient depuis -longtemps à travers les broussailles, fort en peine de savoir comment -ils pourraient se réunir au reste de la troupe; mais le curé, grand -trameur d’expédients, en trouva un tout à point: avec des ciseaux qu’il -portait dans un étui, il coupa la barbe à Cardenio, et lui fit prendre -sa soutane et son manteau noir, se réservant seulement le pourpoint et -les chausses. Sous ce nouveau costume, Cardenio était si changé, qu’il -ne se serait pas reconnu lui-même. Cela fait, ils gagnèrent le grand -chemin, où ils arrivèrent encore avant notre chevalier et sa suite, tant -les mules avaient de peine à marcher dans ces sentiers difficiles. Dès -que le curé aperçut venir don Quichotte suivi de ses compagnons, il -courut à lui les bras ouverts, et le regardant fixement comme un homme -qu’on cherche à reconnaître, il s’écria: Qu’il soit le bien venu, le -bien trouvé, mon cher compatriote don Quichotte de la Manche, fleur de -la galanterie, rempart des affligés, quintessence des chevaliers -errants. En parlant ainsi, il tenait embrassée la jambe gauche de notre -héros, qui, tout stupéfait d’une rencontre si imprévue, voulut mettre -pied à terre quand il l’eut enfin reconnu; mais le curé l’en empêcha. - -Il n’est pas convenable, lui disait don Quichotte, que je sois à cheval -pendant que Votre Révérence est à pied. - -Je n’y consentirai jamais, reprit le curé; que Votre Grâce reste à -cheval, où elle a fait tant de merveilles! c’est assez pour moi de -prendre la croupe d’une de ces mules, si ces gentilshommes veulent bien -le permettre; et j’aime mieux être en votre compagnie de cette façon, -que de me voir monté sur le célèbre cheval Pégase, ou sur la jument -sauvage de ce fameux More Muzarrache, qui aujourd’hui encore est -enchanté dans la caverne de Zulema, auprès de la grande ville de -Compluto. - -Vous avez raison, seigneur licencié, dit don Quichotte, et je ne m’en -étais pas avisé. J’espère que madame la princesse voudra bien, pour -l’amour de moi, ordonner à son écuyer de vous donner la selle de sa -mule, et de se contenter de la croupe, si tant est que la bête soit -accoutumée à porter double fardeau. - -Assurément, répondit Dorothée, et mon écuyer n’attendra pas mes ordres -pour cela; il a trop de courtoisie pour souffrir que le seigneur -licencié aille à pied. - -Assurément, dit le barbier; et sautant à bas de sa mule, il présenta la -selle au curé, qui l’accepta sans se faire prier. - -Par malheur la mule était de louage, c’est-à-dire quinteuse et mutine. -Quand le barbier voulut monter en croupe, elle leva brusquement le train -de derrière, et, détachant quatre ou cinq ruades, elle donna une telle -secousse à notre homme, qu’il roula par terre fort rudement; et comme -dans cette chute la barbe de maître Nicolas vint à se détacher, il ne -trouva rien de mieux à faire que de porter vivement les deux mains à son -visage, en criant de toutes ses forces que la maudite bête lui avait -cassé la mâchoire. - -En apercevant ce gros paquet de poils sans chair ni sang répandu: Quel -miracle! s’écria don Quichotte, la mule vient de lui enlever la barbe du -menton comme aurait fait un revers d’épée! - -Le curé, voyant son invention en grand danger d’être découverte, se hâta -de ramasser la barbe; et courant à maître Nicolas, qui continuait à -pousser des cris, il lui prit la tête, et l’appuyant contre sa poitrine, -il lui rajusta la barbe en un clin d’œil, en marmottant quelques -paroles qu’il dit être un charme propre à faire reprendre les barbes, -comme on l’allait voir; en effet, il s’éloigna, et l’écuyer parut aussi -barbu qu’auparavant. Don Quichotte, tout émerveillé de la guérison, pria -le curé de lui enseigner le charme quand il en aurait le loisir, ne -doutant point que sa vertu ne s’étendît beaucoup plus loin, puisqu’il -était impossible que les barbes fussent enlevées de la sorte sans que la -chair fût emportée du même coup, et que cependant il n’y paraissait -plus. Le désordre ainsi réparé, on convint que le curé monterait seul -sur la mule jusqu’à ce qu’on fût arrivé à l’hôtellerie, distante encore -de deux lieues. - -Le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, la princesse Micomicona et le curé -étant donc à cheval, tandis que Cardenio, le barbier et Sancho les -suivaient à pied, don Quichotte dit à la princesse: Que Votre Grandeur -nous conduise maintenant où il lui plaira, nous la suivrons jusqu’au -bout du monde. - -Le curé, prenant la parole avant qu’elle eût ouvert la bouche: Madame, -lui dit-il, vers quel royaume Votre Grâce veut-elle diriger ses pas? -N’est-ce pas vers celui de Micomicon? - -Dorothée comprit très-bien ce qu’il fallait répondre: C’est justement -là, reprit-elle aussitôt. - -En ce cas, Madame, dit le curé, il nous faudra passer au beau milieu de -mon village; vous prendrez ensuite la route de Carthagène; là vous -pourrez vous embarquer; et si vous avez un bon vent, en un peu moins de -neuf années vous serez rendus aux Palus-Méotides, d’où il n’y a pas plus -de cent journées de marche jusqu’au royaume de Votre Altesse. - -Votre Grâce, seigneur, me semble se tromper, répondit Dorothée; j’en -suis partie il n’y a pas deux ans, sans avoir jamais eu le vent bien -favorable, et cependant depuis quelque temps déjà je suis en Espagne, où -je n’ai pas plus tôt eu mis le pied, que le nom du fameux don Quichotte -est venu frapper mon oreille; et j’en ai entendu raconter des choses si -grandes, si merveilleuses, que quand même ce n’eût pas été ma première -pensée, j’aurais pris soudain la résolution de confier mes intérêts à la -valeur de son bras invincible. - -Assez, assez, madame, s’écria don Quichotte, mettez, je vous en supplie, -un terme à vos louanges: je suis ennemi de la flatterie, et quoique vous -me rendiez peut-être justice, je ne saurais entendre sans rougir un -discours si obligeant et des louanges si excessives. Tout ce que je -puis dire, c’est que, vaillant ou non, je suis prêt à verser pour votre -service jusqu’à la dernière goutte de mon sang, et le temps vous le -prouvera. Maintenant trouvez bon que j’apprenne du seigneur licencié ce -qui l’amène seul ici, à pied, et vêtu tellement à la légère, que je ne -sais que penser. - -Pour vous satisfaire en peu de mots, seigneur don Quichotte, répondit le -curé, il faut que vous sachiez que maître Nicolas et moi nous allions à -Séville pour y toucher de l’argent qu’un de mes parents m’envoie des -Indes, et la somme n’est pas si peu considérable qu’elle n’atteigne pour -le moins six mille écus. En passant près d’ici, nous avons été attaqués -par des voleurs, qui nous ont tout enlevé, même la barbe, si bien que -maître Nicolas est contraint d’en porter une postiche. Ils ont aussi -laissé nu comme la main ce jeune homme que vous voyez (il montrait -Cardenio). Mais le plus curieux de l’affaire, c’est que ces brigands -sont des forçats à qui un vaillant chevalier a, dit-on, donné la clef -des champs, malgré la résistance de leurs gardiens. Il faut, en vérité, -que ce chevalier soit un bien grand fou, ou qu’il ne vaille guère mieux -que les scélérats qu’il a mis en liberté, puisqu’il ne se fait aucun -scrupule de livrer les brebis à la fureur des loups; puisqu’il viole le -respect dû au roi et à la justice, et se fait le protecteur des ennemis -de la sûreté publique; puisqu’il prive les galères de ceux qui les font -mouvoir, et remet sur le pied la Sainte-Hermandad, qui se reposait -depuis longues années; puisque, enfin, il expose légèrement sa liberté -et sa vie, et renonce avec impiété au salut de son âme. - -Sancho avait conté l’histoire des forçats au curé, qui parlait ainsi -pour voir ce que dirait don Quichotte, lequel changeait de couleur à -chaque parole, et n’osait s’avouer le libérateur de ces misérables. - -Voilà, ajouta le curé, les honnêtes gens qui nous ont mis dans cet état: -que Dieu leur pardonne, et à celui qui a empêché qu’ils ne reçussent le -juste châtiment de leurs crimes. - -CHAPITRE XXX - -QUI TRAITE DE LA FINESSE D’ESPRIT QUE MONTRA LA BELLE DOROTHÉE, AINSI -QUE D’AUTRES CHOSES NON MOINS DIVERTISSANTES - -Le curé n’avait pas fini de parler que Sancho s’écria: Savez-vous, -seigneur licencié, qui a fait ce bel exploit? eh bien, c’est mon maître! -Et pourtant je n’avais cessé de lui dire de prendre garde à ce qu’il -allait faire, et de lui répéter que c’était péché de rendre libres des -coquins qu’on envoyait aux galères en punition de leurs méfaits. - -Traître, repartit don Quichotte; est-ce aux chevaliers errants à -s’enquérir si les malheureux et les opprimés qu’ils rencontrent sur leur -chemin sont ainsi traités pour leurs fautes, ou si on leur fait -injustice? Ils ne doivent considérer que leur misère, sans s’informer de -leurs actions. Je rencontre une troupe de pauvres diables, enfilés comme -les grains d’un chapelet, et je fais, pour les secourir, ce que -m’ordonne le serment de la noble profession que j’exerce. Qu’a-t-on à -dire à cela? Quiconque le trouve mauvais, n’a qu’à me le témoigner, et à -tout autre qu’au seigneur licencié, dont j’honore et respecte le -caractère, je ferai voir qu’il ne sait pas un mot de la chevalerie -errante; et je suis prêt à le lui prouver l’épée à la main, à pied et à -cheval, ou de toute autre manière. - -En disant cela, notre héros s’affermit sur ses étriers, et enfonça son -morion; car depuis le jour où les forçats l’avaient si fort maltraité, -l’armet de Mambrin était resté pendu à l’arçon de sa selle. - -Dorothée ne manquait pas de malice; connaissant la folie de don -Quichotte, et sachant d’ailleurs que tout le monde s’en moquait, hormis -Sancho Panza, elle voulut prendre sa part du divertissement: - -Seigneur chevalier, lui dit-elle, que Votre Grâce se souvienne du -serment qu’elle a fait de n’entreprendre aucune aventure, si pressante -qu’elle puisse être, avant de m’avoir rétablie dans mes États. -Calmez-vous, je vous prie, et croyez que si le seigneur licencié eût pu -se douter un seul instant que les forçats devaient leur délivrance à -votre bras invincible, il se serait mille fois coupé la langue plutôt -que de rien dire qui vous déplût. - -Je prends Dieu à témoin, ajouta le curé, que j’aurais préféré m’arracher -la moustache poil à poil. - -Il suffit, madame, reprit don Quichotte; je réprimerai ma juste colère, -et je jure de nouveau de ne rien entreprendre que je n’aie réalisé la -promesse que vous avez reçue de moi. En attendant, veuillez nous -apprendre l’histoire de vos malheurs, si toutefois vous n’avez pas de -secrètes raisons pour les cacher: car enfin, il faut que je sache de qui -je dois vous venger, et de quel nombre d’ennemis j’aurai à tirer pour -vous une éclatante et complète satisfaction. - -Volontiers, répondit Dorothée; mais je crains bien de vous ennuyer par -ce triste récit. - -Non, non, madame, repartit don Quichotte. - -En ce cas, dit Dorothée, que Vos Grâces me prêtent attention. - -Aussitôt, Cardenio et le barbier s’approchèrent pour entendre ce qu’elle -allait raconter; Sancho, non moins abusé que son maître sur le compte de -la princesse, s’approcha aussi; Dorothée s’affermit sur sa mule pour -parler plus commodément; puis après avoir toussé et pris les précautions -d’un orateur au début, elle commença de la sorte: - -Seigneur, vous saurez d’abord que je m’appelle... Elle s’arrêta quelques -instants, parce qu’elle ne se ressouvenait plus du nom que lui avait -donné le curé; celui-ci, qui vit son embarras, vint à son aide et lui -dit: Il n’est pas surprenant, madame, que Votre Grandeur hésite en -commençant le récit de ses malheurs; c’est l’effet ordinaire des -longues disgrâces de troubler la mémoire, et celles de la princesse -Micomicona ne doivent pas être médiocres, puisqu’elle a traversé tant de -terres et de mers pour y chercher remède. - -J’avoue, reprit Dorothée, qu’il s’est tout à coup présenté à ma mémoire -des souvenirs si cruels, que je n’ai plus su ce que je disais; mais me -voilà remise, et j’espère maintenant mener à bon port ma véridique -histoire. - -Je vous dirai donc, seigneurs, que je suis l’héritière légitime du grand -royaume de Micomicon. Le roi, mon père, qui se nommait Tinacrio le Sage, -était très-versé dans la science qu’on appelle magie; cette science lui -fit découvrir que ma mère, la reine Xaramilla, devait mourir la -première, et que lui-même la suivant de près au tombeau, je resterais -orpheline. Cela, toutefois, affligeait moins mon père que la triste -certitude où il était que le souverain d’une grande île située sur les -confins de mon royaume, effroyable géant appelé Pandafilando de la Vue -Sombre, ainsi surnommé parce qu’il regarde toujours de travers comme -s’il était louche, ce qu’il ne fait que par malice et pour effrayer tout -le monde; que cet effroyable géant, dis-je, me sachant orpheline, devait -un jour à la tête d’une armée formidable envahir mes États et m’en -dépouiller entièrement, sans me laisser un seul village où je pusse -trouver asile; mais que je pourrais éviter cette disgrâce en consentant -à l’épouser. Aussi mon père, qui savait bien que jamais je ne pourrais -m’y résoudre, me conseilla, lorsque je verrais Pandafilando prêt à -envahir ma frontière, de ne point essayer de me défendre, parce que ce -serait ma perte, mais, au contraire, de lui abandonner mon royaume, afin -de sauver ma vie et empêcher la ruine de mes loyaux et fidèles sujets; -et il ajouta qu’en choisissant quelques-uns d’entre eux pour -m’accompagner, je devais passer incontinent en Espagne, où j’étais -certaine de trouver un protecteur dans la personne d’un fameux chevalier -errant, connu par toute la terre pour sa force et son courage, et qui -se nommait, si je m’en souviens bien, don Chicot, ou don Gigot... - -Don Quichotte, madame, s’écria Sancho; don Quichotte, autrement appelé -le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -C’est cela, dit Dorothée. Mon père ajouta que mon protecteur devait être -de haute stature, maigre de visage, sec de corps, et, de plus, avoir -sous l’épaule gauche, ou près de là, un signe de couleur brune, tout -couvert de poil en manière de soie de sanglier. - -Approche ici, mon fils Sancho, dit notre héros à son écuyer; aide-moi à -me déshabiller promptement, que je sache si je suis le chevalier -qu’annonce la prophétie de ce sage roi. - -Que voulez-vous faire, seigneur? demanda Dorothée. - -Je veux savoir, madame, répondit don Quichotte, si j’ai sur moi ce signe -dont votre père a fait mention. - -Il ne faut point vous déshabiller pour cela, reprit Sancho; je sais que -Votre Grâce a justement au milieu du dos un signe tout semblable, et -l’on assure que c’est une preuve de force. - -Il suffit, dit Dorothée; entre amis on n’y regarde pas de si près, et -peu importe que le signe soit à droite ou à gauche, puisque après tout -c’est la même chair. Je le vois bien, mon père a touché juste en tout ce -qu’il a dit; quant à moi, j’ai encore mieux rencontré, en m’adressant au -seigneur don Quichotte, dont la taille et le visage sont si conformes à -la prophétie paternelle, et dont la renommée est si grande, -non-seulement en Espagne, mais encore dans toute la Manche, qu’à peine -débarquée à Ossuna, j’ai entendu faire un tel récit de ses prouesses, -qu’aussitôt mon cœur m’a dit que c’était bien le chevalier que je -cherchais. - -Mais comment peut-il se faire, madame, observa don Quichotte, que vous -ayez débarqué à Ossuna où il n’y a point de port? - -La princesse, répondit le curé, a voulu dire qu’après avoir débarqué à -Malaga, le premier endroit où elle apprit de vos nouvelles fut Ossuna. - -C’est ainsi que je l’entendais, seigneur, dit Dorothée. - -Maintenant, reprit le curé, Votre Altesse peut poursuivre quand il lui -plaira. - -Je n’ai rien à dire de plus, continua Dorothée, si ce n’est que ç’a été -pour moi une si haute fortune de rencontrer le seigneur don Quichotte, -que je me regarde comme déjà rétablie sur le trône de mes pères, -puisqu’il a eu l’extrême courtoisie de m’accorder sa protection, et de -s’engager à me suivre partout où il me plaira de le mener; et certes ce -sera contre le traître Pandafilando, dont il me vengera, je l’espère, en -lui arrachant, avec la vie, le royaume dont il m’a si injustement -dépouillée. J’oubliais de vous dire que le roi mon père m’a laissé un -écrit en caractères grecs ou arabes, que je ne connais point, mais par -lequel il m’ordonne de consentir à épouser le chevalier mon libérateur, -si, après m’avoir rétablie dans mes États, il me demande en mariage, et -de le mettre sur-le-champ en possession de mon royaume et de ma -personne. - -Hé bien, que t’en semble, ami Sancho? dit don Quichotte; vois-tu ce qui -se passe? Ne te l’avais-je pas dit? Avons-nous des royaumes à notre -disposition, et des filles de roi à épouser? - -Par ma foi, il y a assez longtemps que nous les cherchons, reprit -Sancho, et nargue du bâtard qui après avoir ouvert le gosier à ce -Grand-fil-en-dos, n’épouserait pas incontinent madame la princesse! -Peste! elle est assez jolie pour cela, et je voudrais que toutes les -puces de mon lit lui ressemblassent! Là-dessus, se donnant du talon au -derrière, le crédule écuyer fit deux sauts en l’air en signe de grande -allégresse; puis s’allant mettre à genoux devant Dorothée, il lui -demanda sa main à baiser afin de lui prouver que désormais il la -regardait comme sa légitime souveraine. - -Il eût fallu être aussi peu sage que le maître et le valet pour ne pas -rire de la folie de l’un et de la simplicité de l’autre. Dorothée donna -à Sancho sa main à baiser, lui promettant de le faire grand seigneur dès -qu’elle serait rétablie dans ses États, et Sancho l’en remercia par un -compliment si extravagant, que chacun se mit à rire de plus belle. - -Voilà, reprit Dorothée, la fidèle histoire de mes malheurs; je n’ai rien -à y ajouter, si ce n’est que de tous ceux de mes sujets qui m’ont -accompagnée il ne m’est resté que ce bon écuyer barbu, les autres ayant -péri dans une grande tempête en vue du port; ce fidèle compagnon et moi, -nous avons seuls échappé par un de ces miracles qui font croire que le -ciel nous réserve pour quelque grande aventure. - -Elle est toute trouvée, madame, dit don Quichotte: je confirme le don -que je vous ai octroyé; et je jure encore une fois de vous suivre -jusqu’au bout du monde, et de ne prendre aucun repos que je n’aie -rencontré votre cruel ennemi, dont je prétends, avec le secours du ciel -et par la force de mon bras, trancher la tête superbe, fût-il aussi -vaillant que le dieu Mars. Mais après vous avoir remise en possession de -votre royaume, je vous laisserai la libre disposition de votre personne, -car tant que mon cœur et ma volonté seront assujettis aux lois de -celle... Je m’arrête en songeant qu’il m’est impossible de penser à me -marier, fût-ce avec le phénix. - -Sancho se trouva si choqué des dernières paroles de son maître, qu’il -s’écria plein de courroux: Je jure Dieu et je jure diable, seigneur don -Quichotte, que Votre Grâce n’a pas le sens commun! comment se peut-il -que vous hésitiez à épouser une si grande princesse que celle-là? -Croyez-vous donc que de semblables fortunes viendront se présenter à -tout bout de champ? Est-ce que par hasard madame Dulcinée vous -semblerait plus belle? Par ma foi, il s’en faut de plus de moitié -qu’elle soit digne de lui dénouer les cordons de ses souliers! C’est -bien par ce chemin-là que j’attraperai le comté que vous m’avez promis -tant de fois, et que j’attends encore. Mariez-vous! mariez-vous! -prenez-moi ce royaume qui vous tombe dans la main; puis quand vous serez -roi, faites-moi marquis ou gouverneur, et que Satan emporte le reste. - -En entendant de tels blasphèmes contre sa Dulcinée, don Quichotte, sans -dire gare, leva sa lance, et en déchargea sur les reins de l’indiscret -écuyer deux coups tels, qu’il le jeta par terre, et sans Dorothée, qui -lui criait de s’arrêter, il l’aurait tué sur la place. Quand il se fut -un peu calmé: Pensez-vous, rustre mal appris, lui dit-il, que notre -unique occupation à tous deux soit, vous de faire toujours des sottises -et moi de vous les pardonner sans cesse? N’y comptez pas, misérable -excommunié, car tu dois l’être pour avoir osé mal parler de la sans -pareille Dulcinée. Ignorez-vous, vaurien, maraud, bélître, que sans la -valeur qu’elle prête à mon bras, je suis incapable de venir à bout d’un -enfant? Dites-moi un peu, langue de vipère, qui a conquis ce royaume, -qui a coupé la tête à ce géant, qui vous a fait marquis ou gouverneur, -car je tiens tout cela pour accompli, si ce n’est Dulcinée elle-même, -qui s’est servie de mon bras pour exécuter ces grandes choses? Sachez -que c’est elle qui combat en moi et qui remporte toutes mes victoires, -comme moi je vis et je respire en elle! Il faut que vous soyez bien -ingrat! A l’instant même où l’on vous tire de la poussière pour vous -élever au rang des plus grands seigneurs, vous ne craignez pas de dire -du mal de ceux qui vous comblent d’honneurs et de richesses. - -Tout maltraité qu’il était, Sancho entendait fort bien ce que disait son -maître; mais pour y répondre il voulait être en lieu de sûreté. Se -levant de son mieux, il alla d’abord se réfugier derrière le palefroi de -Dorothée et de là apostrophant don Quichotte: Or çà, seigneur, lui -dit-il, si Votre Grâce est très-décidée à ne point épouser madame la -princesse, son royaume ne sera pas à votre disposition; eh bien, cela -étant, quelle récompense aurez-vous à me donner? Voilà ce dont je me -plains. Mariez-vous avec cette reine, pendant que vous l’avez là comme -tombée du ciel; ce sera toujours autant de pris, après quoi vous pourrez -retourner à votre Dulcinée; car il me semble qu’il doit s’être trouvé -dans le monde des rois qui, outre leur femme, ont eu des maîtresses. -Quant à leur beauté, je ne m’en mêle pas; à vrai dire, cependant, je les -trouve fort belles l’une et l’autre, quoique je n’aie jamais vu madame -Dulcinée. - -Comment, traître, tu ne l’as jamais vue! reprit don Quichotte; ne -viens-tu pas de m’apporter un message de sa part? - -Je veux dire que je ne l’ai pas assez vue pour remarquer toute sa -beauté, repartit Sancho; mais en bloc je l’ai trouvée fort belle. - -Je te pardonne, reprit don Quichotte; pardonne-moi aussi le déplaisir -que je t’ai causé; l’homme n’est pas toujours maître de son premier -mouvement. - -Je le sens bien, repartit Sancho; et l’envie de parler est en moi un -premier mouvement auquel je ne puis résister: il faut toujours que je -dise au moins une fois ce qui me vient sur le bout de la langue. - -D’accord, dit don Quichotte; mais prends garde à l’avenir de quelle -manière tu parleras; tant va la cruche à l’eau..... Je ne t’en dis pas -davantage..... - -Dieu est dans le ciel qui voit les tricheries, répliqua Sancho; eh bien, -il jugera qui de nous deux l’offense le plus, ou moi en parlant tout de -travers, ou Votre Seigneurie en n’agissant pas mieux. - -C’est assez, dit Dorothée; Sancho, allez baiser la main de votre -seigneur, demandez-lui pardon, et soyez plus circonspect à l’avenir. -Surtout ne parlez jamais mal de cette dame du Toboso, que je ne connais -point, mais que je serais heureuse de servir, puisque le grand don -Quichotte la vénère: ayez confiance en Dieu, et vous ne manquerez point -de récompense. - -Sancho s’en alla tête baissée demander la main à son maître, qui la lui -donna avec beaucoup de gravité; après quoi, don Quichotte le prenant à -part lui dit de le suivre, parce qu’il avait des questions de haute -importance à lui adresser. - -Tous deux prirent les devants; et quand ils furent assez éloignés: Ami -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, depuis ton retour, je n’ai pas trouvé -occasion de t’entretenir touchant ton ambassade; mais à présent que nous -sommes seuls, dis-moi exactement ce qui s’est passé, et raconte-moi -toutes les particularités que j’ai besoin de savoir. - -Que Votre Grâce demande ce qu’il lui plaira, répondit Sancho, tout -sortira de ma bouche comme cela est entré par mon oreille; seulement, à -l’avenir ne soyez pas si vindicatif. - -Pourquoi dis-tu cela? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je dis cela, répondit Sancho, parce que ces coups de bâton de tout à -l’heure me viennent de la querelle que vous m’avez faite à propos des -forçats, et non de ce que j’ai dit contre madame Dulcinée, que j’honore -et révère comme une relique, encore qu’elle ne serait pas bonne à en -faire, mais parce que c’est un bien qui est à Votre Grâce. - -Laisse là ton discours, il me chagrine, repartit don Quichotte; je t’ai -pardonné tout à l’heure, mais tu connais le proverbe: A péché nouveau, -nouvelle pénitence. - -Comme ils en étaient là, ils virent venir à eux, assis sur un âne, un -homme qu’ils prirent d’abord pour un Bohémien. Sancho, qui depuis la -perte de son grison n’en apercevait pas un seul que le cœur ne lui -bondît, n’eut pas plus tôt aperçu celui qui le montait, qu’il reconnut -Ginez de Passamont, comme c’était lui en effet. Le drôle avait pris le -costume des Bohémiens, dont il possédait parfaitement la langue, et pour -vendre l’âne il l’avait aussi déguisé. Mais bon sang ne peut mentir, et -du même coup Sancho reconnut la monture et le cavalier, à qui il cria: -Ah! voleur de Ginésille, rends-moi mon bien, rends-moi mon lit de repos; -rends-moi mon âne, tout mon plaisir et toute ma joie; décampe, brigand; -rends-moi ce qui m’appartient. - -Peu de paroles suffisent à qui comprend à demi-mot; dès le premier, -Ginez sauta à terre et disparut en un clin d’œil. Sancho courut à son -âne, et l’embrassant avec tendresse: Comment t’es-tu porté, mon fils, -lui dit-il, mon cher compagnon, mon fidèle ami? et il le baisait, le -choyait comme quelqu’un qu’on aime tendrement. A cela l’âne ne répondait -rien, et se laissait caresser sans bouger. Toute la compagnie étant -survenue, chacun félicita Sancho d’avoir retrouvé son grison; et don -Quichotte, pour récompenser un si bon naturel, confirma la promesse -qu’il avait faite de lui donner trois ânons. - -Pendant que notre chevalier et son écuyer s’étaient écartés pour -s’entretenir, le curé complimentait Dorothée: Madame, lui dit-il, -l’histoire que vous avez composée est vraiment fort ingénieuse; j’admire -avec quelle facilité vous avez employé les termes de chevalerie, et -combien vous avez su dire de choses en peu de paroles. - -J’ai assez feuilleté les romans pour en connaître le style, répondit -Dorothée; mais la géographie m’est moins familière, et j’ai été dire -assez mal à propos que j’avais débarqué à Ossuna. - -Cela n’a rien gâté, madame, répliqua le curé, et le petit correctif que -j’y ai apporté a tout remis en place. Mais n’admirez-vous pas la -crédulité de ce pauvre gentilhomme, qui accueille si facilement tous -ces mensonges, par cela seulement qu’ils ressemblent aux extravagances -des romans de chevalerie? - -Je crois, dit Cardenio, qu’on ne saurait forger de fables si -déraisonnables et si éloignées de la vérité, qu’il n’y ajoutât foi. - -Ce qu’il y a de plus étonnant, continua le curé, c’est qu’à part le -chapitre de la chevalerie, il n’y a point de sujet sur lequel il ne -montre un jugement sain et un goût délicat; en sorte que, pourvu qu’on -ne touche point à la corde sensible, il n’y a personne qui ne le juge -homme d’esprit fin et de droite raison. - -CHAPITRE XXXI - -DU PLAISANT DIALOGUE QUI EUT LIEU ENTRE DON QUICHOTTE ET SANCHO, SON -ÉCUYER, AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS - -Tandis que Dorothée et le curé s’entretenaient de la sorte, don -Quichotte reprenait la conversation interrompue par Ginez. Ami Sancho, -faisons la paix, lui dit-il, jetons au vent le souvenir de nos -querelles, et raconte-moi maintenant sans garder dépit ni rancune, où, -quand et comment tu as trouvé Dulcinée. Que faisait-elle? que lui as-tu -dit? que t’a-t-elle répondu? quelle mine fit-elle à la lecture de ma -lettre? qui te l’avait transcrite? enfin raconte-moi tout, sans rien -retrancher ni rien ajouter dans le dessein de m’être agréable; car il -m’importe de savoir exactement ce qui s’est passé. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, s’il faut dire la vérité, personne ne m’a -transcrit de lettre, car je n’en ai point emporté. - -En effet, dit don Quichotte, deux jours après ton départ je trouvai le -livre de poche, ce qui me mit fort en peine; j’avais toujours cru que tu -reviendrais le chercher. - -Je l’aurais fait aussi, si je n’eusse pas su la lettre par cœur, reprit -Sancho; mais l’ayant apprise pendant que vous me la lisiez, je la -répétai mot pour mot à un sacristain qui me la transcrivit, et il la -trouva si bonne, qu’il jura n’en avoir jamais rencontré de semblable en -toute sa vie, bien qu’il eût vu force billets d’enterrement. - -La sais-tu encore? dit don Quichotte. - -Non, seigneur, répondit Sancho; quand une fois je la vis écrite, je me -mis à l’oublier, si quelque chose m’en est resté dans la mémoire, c’est -le commencement, _la souterraine_, je veux dire _la souveraine dame_, et -la fin, _à vous jusqu’à la mort, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure_; -entre tout cela j’avais mis plus de trois cents âmes, beaux yeux et -m’amours. - -Tout va bien jusqu’ici, dit don Quichotte; poursuivons. Que faisait cet -astre de beauté quand tu parus en sa présence? A coup sûr tu l’auras -trouvé enfilant un collier de perles, ou brodant quelque riche écharpe -pour le chevalier son esclave? - -Je l’ai trouvé vannant deux setiers de blé dans sa basse-cour, répondit -Sancho. - -Hé bien, dit don Quichotte, sois assuré que, touché par ses belles -mains, chaque grain de blé se convertissait en diamant; et si tu y as -fait attention, ce blé devait être du pur froment, bien lourd et bien -brun? - -Ce n’était que du seigle blond, répondit Sancho. - -Vanné par ses mains, ce seigle aura fait le plus beau et le meilleur -pain du monde! dit don Quichotte;... mais passons outre. Quand tu lui -rendis ma lettre, elle dut certainement la couvrir de baisers et -témoigner une grande joie? Que fit-elle, enfin? - -Quand je lui présentai votre lettre, répondit Sancho, son van était -plein, et elle le remuait de la bonne façon, si bien qu’elle me dit: -Ami, mettez cette lettre sur ce sac, je ne puis la lire que je n’aie -achevé de vanner tout ce qui est là. - -Charmante discrétion, dit don Quichotte; sans doute elle voulait être -seule pour lire ma lettre et la savourer à loisir. Pendant qu’elle -dépêchait sa besogne, quelles questions te faisait-elle? Que lui -répondis-tu? Achève, ne me cache rien, et satisfais mon impatience. - -Elle ne me demanda rien reprit Sancho; mais moi, je lui appris de quelle -manière je vous avais laissé dans ces montagnes, faisant pénitence à son -service, nu de la ceinture en bas comme un vrai sauvage, dormant sur la -terre, ne mangeant pain sur nappe, ne vous peignant jamais la barbe, -pleurant comme un veau, et maudissant votre fortune. - -Tu as mal fait de dire que je maudissais ma fortune, dit don Quichotte, -parce qu’au contraire je la bénis, et je la bénirai tous les jours de ma -vie, pour m’avoir rendu digne d’aimer une aussi grande dame que Dulcinée -du Toboso. - -Oh! par ma foi, elle est très-grande, repartit Sancho: elle a au moins -un demi-pied de plus que moi. - -Hé quoi! demanda don Quichotte, t’es-tu donc mesuré avec elle, pour en -parler ainsi? - -Je me suis mesuré avec elle en lui aidant à mettre un sac de blé sur son -âne, répondit Sancho: nous nous trouvâmes alors si près l’un de l’autre, -que je vis bien qu’elle était plus haute que moi de toute la tête. - -N’est-il pas vrai, dit don Quichotte, que cette noble taille est -accompagnée d’un million de grâces, tant de l’esprit que du corps? Au -moins tu conviendras d’une chose: en approchant d’elle, tu dus sentir -une merveilleuse odeur, un agréable composé des plus excellents parfums, -un je ne sais quoi qu’on ne saurait exprimer, une vapeur délicieuse, une -exhalaison qui t’embaumait, comme si tu avais été dans la boutique du -plus élégant parfumeur? - -Tout ce que je puis vous dire, répondit Sancho, c’est que je sentis une -certaine odeur qui approchait de celle du bouc; mais sans doute elle -avait chaud, car elle suait à grosses gouttes. - -Tu te trompes, dit don Quichotte: c’est que tu étais enrhumé du cerveau -ou que tu sentais toi-même. Je sais, Dieu merci, ce que doit sentir -cette rose épanouie, ce lis des champs, cet ambre dissous. - -A cela je n’ai rien à répondre, repartit Sancho; bien souvent il sort de -moi l’odeur que je sentais; mais en ce moment je me figurai qu’elle -sortait de la Seigneurie de madame Dulcinée: au reste, il n’y a là rien -d’étonnant; un diable ressemble à l’autre. - -Eh bien, maintenant qu’elle a fini de cribler son froment, et qu’elle -l’a envoyé au moulin, que fit-elle en lisant ma lettre? demanda don -Quichotte. - -Votre lettre, elle ne la lut point, répondit Sancho, ne sachant, -m’a-t-elle dit, ni lire ni écrire; au contraire, elle la déchira en -mille morceaux, ajoutant que personne ne devait connaître ses secrets; -qu’il suffisait de ce que je lui avais raconté de vive voix, touchant -l’amour que vous lui portez, et la pénitence que vous faisiez à son -intention. Finalement, elle me commanda de dire à Votre Grâce qu’elle -lui baise bien les deux mains, et qu’elle a plus d’envie de vous voir -que de vous écrire; qu’ainsi elle vous supplie et vous ordonne -humblement, aussitôt la présente reçue, de sortir de ces rochers sans -faire plus de folies, et de prendre sur-le-champ le chemin du Toboso, à -moins qu’une affaire plus importante ne vous en empêche, car elle brûle -de vous revoir. Elle faillit mourir de rire quand je lui contai que vous -aviez pris le surnom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure. Je lui demandai -si le Biscaïen était venu la trouver; elle me répondit que oui, et -m’assura que c’était un fort galant homme. Quant aux forçats, elle me -dit n’en avoir encore vu aucun. - -Maintenant, dis-moi, continua don Quichotte, quand tu pris congé d’elle, -quel bijou te remit-on de sa part pour les bonnes nouvelles que tu lui -portais de son chevalier? car entre les chevaliers errants et leurs -dames, il est d’usage de donner quelque riche bague aux écuyers en -récompense de leurs messages. - -J’en approuve fort la coutume, répondit Sancho; mais cela sans doute ne -se pratiquait qu’au temps passé: à présent on se contente de leur donner -un morceau de pain et de fromage; voilà du moins tout ce que madame -Dulcinée m’a jeté par-dessus le mur de la basse-cour, quand je m’en -allai; à telles enseignes que c’était du fromage de brebis. - -Oh! elle est extrêmement libérale, reprit don Quichotte; et si elle ne -t’a pas fait don de quelque diamant, c’est qu’elle n’en avait pas sur -elle en ce moment; mais je la verrai, et tout s’arrangera. Sais-tu, -Sancho, ce qui m’étonne? c’est qu’il semble, en vérité, que tu aies -voyagé par les airs; à peine as-tu mis trois jours pour aller et revenir -d’ici au Toboso, et pourtant il y a trente bonnes lieues; aussi cela me -fait penser que le sage enchanteur qui prend soin de mes affaires et qui -est mon ami, car je dois en avoir un, sous peine de ne pas être un -véritable chevalier errant, t’aura aidé dans ta course, sans que tu t’en -sois aperçu. En effet, il y a de ces enchanteurs qui prennent tout -endormi dans son lit un chevalier, lequel, sans qu’il s’en doute, se -trouve le lendemain à deux ou trois mille lieues de l’endroit où il -était la veille; et c’est là ce qui explique comment les chevaliers -peuvent se porter secours les uns aux autres, comme ils le font à toute -heure. Ainsi, l’un d’eux est dans les montagnes d’Arménie, à combattre -quelque andriague, ou n’importe quel monstre qui le met en danger de -perdre la vie; eh bien, au moment où il y pense le moins, il voit -arriver sur un nuage, ou dans un char de feu, un de ses amis qu’il -croyait en Angleterre, et qui vient le tirer du péril où il allait -succomber; puis le soir, ce même chevalier se retrouve chez lui frais et -dispos, assis à table et soupant fort à son aise, comme s’il revenait de -la promenade. Tout cela, ami Sancho, se fait par la science et l’adresse -de ces sages enchanteurs qui veillent sur nous. Ne t’étonne donc plus -d’avoir mis si peu de temps dans ton voyage; tu auras sans doute été -mené de la sorte. - -Je le croirais volontiers, répondit Sancho, car Rossinante détalait -comme l’âne d’un Bohême; on eut dit qu’il avait du vif-argent par tout -le corps[48]. - - [48] Allusion à l’usage des Bohémiens qui versaient du vif-argent dans - les oreilles d’une mule pour lui donner une allure plus vive. - -Du vif-argent! repartit don Quichotte; c’était plutôt une légion de ces -démons qui nous font cheminer tant qu’ils veulent, sans ressentir -eux-mêmes la moindre fatigue. Mais revenons à nos affaires. Dis-moi, -Sancho, que faut-il que je fasse, touchant l’ordre que me donne Dulcinée -d’aller la trouver? car, quoique je sois obligé de lui obéir -ponctuellement, et que ce soit mon plus vif désir, j’ai des engagements -avec la princesse; les lois de la chevalerie m’ordonnent de tenir ma -parole et de préférer le devoir à mon plaisir. D’une part, j’éprouve un -ardent désir de revoir ma dame, de l’autre, ma parole engagée et la -gloire me retiennent; cela réuni m’embarrasse extrêmement. Mais je crois -avoir trouvé le moyen de tout concilier: sans perdre de temps, je vais -me mettre à la recherche de ce géant; en arrivant, je lui coupe la tête, -je rétablis la princesse sur son trône et lui rends ses États; cela -fait, je repars à l’instant, et reviens trouver cet astre qui illumine -mes sens et à qui je donnerai des excuses si légitimes, qu’elle me saura -gré de mon retardement, voyant qu’il tourne au profit de sa gloire et de -sa renommée, car toute celle que j’ai déjà acquise, toute celle que -j’acquiers chaque jour, et que j’acquerrai à l’avenir, me vient de -l’honneur insigne que j’ai d’être son esclave. - -Aïe! aïe! c’est toujours la même note, reprit Sancho. Comment, seigneur, -vous voudriez faire tout ce chemin-là pour rien, et laisser perdre -l’occasion d’un mariage qui vous apporte un royaume; mais un royaume -qui, à ce que j’ai entendu dire, a plus de vingt mille lieues de tour, -qui regorge de toutes les choses nécessaires à la vie, et qui est à lui -tout seul plus grand que la Castille et le Portugal réunis! En vérité, -vous devriez mourir de honte des choses que vous dites. Croyez-moi, -épousez la princesse au premier village où il y aura un curé; sinon -voici le seigneur licencié qui en fera l’office à merveille. Je suis -déjà assez vieux pour donner des conseils, et celui que je vous donne, -un autre le prendrait sans se faire prier. Votre Grâce ignore-t-elle que -passereau dans la main vaut mieux que grue qui vole; et que lorsqu’on -vous présente l’anneau, il faut tendre le doigt? - -Je vois bien, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que si tu me conseilles si -fort de me marier, c’est pour que je sois bientôt roi afin de te donner -les récompenses que je t’ai promises. Mais apprends que sans cela j’ai -un sûr moyen de te satisfaire; c’est de mettre dans mes conditions, -avant d’entrer au combat, que si j’en sors vainqueur, on me donnera une -partie du royaume, pour en disposer comme il me plaira; et quand j’en -serai maître, à qui penses-tu que j’en fasse don, si ce n’est à toi? - -A la bonne heure, répondit Sancho; mais surtout que Votre Grâce n’oublie -pas de choisir le côté qui avoisine la mer, afin que si le pays ne me -plaît pas, je puisse embarquer mes vassaux nègres, et en faire ce que je -me disais tantôt. Ainsi, pour l’heure, laissez là madame Dulcinée, afin -de courir assommer ce géant, et achevons promptement cette affaire; je -ne saurais m’ôter de la tête qu’elle sera honorable et de grand profit. - -Je te promets, Sancho, de suivre ton conseil, dit don Quichotte, et de -ne pas chercher à revoir Dulcinée avant d’avoir rétabli la princesse -dans ses États. En attendant, ne parle pas de la conversation que nous -venons d’avoir ensemble, car Dulcinée est si réservée qu’elle n’aime pas -qu’on sache ses secrets, et il serait peu convenable que ce fût moi qui -les eusse découverts. - -S’il en est ainsi, reprit Sancho, à quoi pense Votre Grâce en lui -envoyant tous ceux qu’elle a vaincus? n’est-ce pas leur déclarer que -vous êtes son amoureux, et est-ce bien garder le secret pour vous et -pour elle, que de forcer les gens d’aller se jeter à ses genoux? - -Que tu es simple! dit don Quichotte; ne vois-tu pas que tout cela tourne -à sa gloire? ne sais-tu pas qu’en matière de chevalerie, il est -grandement avantageux à une dame de tenir sous sa loi plusieurs -chevaliers errants, sans que pour cela ils prétendent à d’autres -récompenses de leurs services que l’honneur de les lui offrir, et -qu’elle daigne les avouer pour ses chevaliers? - -C’est de cette façon, disent les prédicateurs, qu’il faut aimer Dieu, -reprit Sancho, pour lui seulement, et sans y être poussé par l’espérance -du paradis ou par la crainte de l’enfer; quant à moi, je serais content -de l’aimer n’importe pour quelle raison. - -Diable soit du vilain, dit don Quichotte; il a parfois des reparties -surprenantes, et on croirait vraiment qu’il a étudié à l’université de -Salamanque. - -Eh bien, je ne connais pas seulement l’A, B, C, répondit Sancho. - -Ils en étaient là quand maître Nicolas leur cria d’attendre un peu, -parce que la princesse voulait se rafraîchir à une source qui se -trouvait sur le bord du chemin. Don Quichotte s’arrêta, au grand -contentement de Sancho, qui, las de tant mentir, craignait enfin d’être -pris sur le fait; car, bien qu’il sût que Dulcinée était fille d’un -laboureur du Toboso, il ne l’avait vue de sa vie. On mit donc pied à -terre auprès de la fontaine, et on fit un léger repas avec ce que le -curé avait apporté de l’hôtellerie. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un jeune garçon vint à passer sur le chemin. Il -s’arrêta d’abord pour regarder ces gens qui mangeaient, et après les -avoir considérés avec attention, il accourut auprès de notre chevalier -et embrassant ses genoux en pleurant: Hélas! seigneur, lui dit-il, ne me -reconnaissez-vous pas? ne vous souvient-il plus de cet André que vous -trouvâtes attaché à un chêne? - -Don Quichotte le reconnut sur ces paroles, et le prenant par la main, il -le présenta à la compagnie en disant: Seigneurs, afin que Vos Grâces -voient de quelle importance et de quelle utilité sont les chevaliers -errants, et comment ils portent remède aux désordres qui ont lieu dans -le monde, il faut que vous sachiez qu’il y a quelque temps, passant -auprès d’un bois, j’entendis des cris et des gémissements. J’y courus -aussitôt pour satisfaire à mon inclination naturelle et au devoir de ma -profession. Je trouvai ce garçon dans un état déplorable, et je suis -ravi que lui-même puisse en rendre témoignage. Il était attaché à un -chêne, nu de la ceinture en haut, tandis qu’un brutal et vigoureux -paysan le déchirait à grands coups d’étrivières. Je demandai à cet homme -pourquoi il le traitait avec tant de cruauté; le rustre me répondit que -c’était son valet, et qu’il le châtiait pour des négligences qui -sentaient, disait-il, encore plus le larron que le paresseux. C’est -parce que je réclame mes gages, criait le jeune garçon. Son maître -voulut me donner quelques excuses, dont je ne fus pas satisfait. Bref, -j’ordonnai au paysan de le détacher, en lui faisant promettre d’emmener -le pauvre diable, et de le payer jusqu’au dernier maravédis. Cela -n’est-il pas vrai, André, mon ami? Te souviens-tu avec quelle autorité -je gourmandai ton maître, et avec quelle humilité il me promit -d’accomplir ce que je lui ordonnais? Réponds sans te troubler, afin que -ces seigneurs sachent de quelle utilité est dans ce monde la chevalerie -errante. - -Tout ce qu’a dit Votre Seigneurie est vrai, répondit André; mais -l’affaire alla tout au rebours de ce que vous pensez. - -Comment! répliqua don Quichotte, ton maître ne t’a-t-il pas payé sur -l’heure? - -Non-seulement il ne m’a pas payé, répondit André, mais dès que vous -eûtes traversé le bois et que nous fûmes seuls, il me rattacha au même -chêne, et me donna un si grand nombre de coups que je ressemblais à un -chat écorché. Il les assaisonna même de tant de railleries en parlant de -Votre Grâce, que j’aurais ri de bon cœur, si ç’avait été un autre que -moi qui eût reçu les coups. Enfin il me mit dans un tel état, que depuis -je suis resté à l’hôpital, où j’ai eu bien de la peine à me rétablir. -Ainsi, c’est à vous que je dois tout cela, seigneur chevalier errant: -car si, au lieu de fourrer votre nez où vous n’aviez que faire, vous -eussiez passé votre chemin, j’en aurais été quitte pour une douzaine de -coups, et mon maître m’eût payé ce qu’il me devait. Mais vous allâtes -lui dire tant d’injures qu’il en devint furieux, et que, ne pouvant se -venger sur vous, c’est sur moi que le nuage a crevé; aussi je crains -bien de ne devenir homme de ma vie. - -Tout le mal est que je m’éloignai trop vite, dit don Quichotte: je -n’aurais point dû partir qu’il ne t’eût payé entièrement; car les -paysans ne sont guère sujets à tenir parole, à moins qu’ils n’y trouvent -leur compte. Mais tu dois te rappeler, mon bon André, que je fis -serment, s’il manquait à te satisfaire, que je saurais le retrouver, -fût-il caché dans les entrailles de la terre. - -C’est vrai, reprit André; mais à quoi cela sert-il? - -Tu verras tout à l’heure si cela sert à quelque chose, repartit don -Quichotte; et se levant brusquement, il ordonna à Sancho de seller -Rossinante qui, pendant que la compagnie dînait, paissait de son côté. - -Dorothée demanda à don Quichotte ce qu’il prétendait faire: Partir à -l’instant, dit-il, pour aller châtier ce vilain, et lui faire payer -jusqu’au dernier maravédis ce qu’il doit à ce pauvre garçon, en dépit de -tous les vilains qui voudraient s’y opposer. - -Seigneur, reprit Dorothée, après la promesse que m’a faite Votre Grâce, -vous ne pouvez entreprendre aucune aventure que vous n’ayez achevé la -mienne; suspendez votre courroux, je vous prie, jusqu’à ce que vous -m’ayez rétabli dans mes États. - -Cela est juste, madame, répondit don Quichotte, et il faut de toute -nécessité qu’André prenne patience; encore une fois je jure de ne -prendre aucun repos avant que je ne l’aie vengé et qu’il ne soit -entièrement satisfait. - -Je me fie à vos serments, comme ils le méritent, dit André, mais -j’aimerais mieux avoir de quoi me rendre à Séville, que toutes ces -vengeances que vous me promettez. Seigneur, continua-t-il, faites-moi -donner un morceau de pain avec quelques réaux pour mon voyage, et que -Dieu vous conserve, ainsi que tous les chevaliers errants du monde. -Puissent-ils être aussi chanceux pour eux qu’ils l’ont été pour moi. - -Sancho tira de son bissac un quartier de pain et un morceau de fromage, -et le donnant à André: Tenez, frère, lui dit-il, il est juste que chacun -ait sa part de votre mésaventure. - -Et quelle part en avez-vous? repartit André. - -Ce pain et ce fromage que je vous donne, répondit Sancho, Dieu sait -s’ils ne me feront pas faute; car, apprenez-le, mon ami, nous autres -écuyers de chevaliers errants, nous sommes toujours à la veille de -mourir de faim et de soif, sans compter beaucoup d’autres désagréments -qui se sentent mieux qu’ils ne se disent. - -André prit le pain et le fromage; et voyant que personne ne se disposait -à lui donner autre chose, il baissa la tête et tourna le dos à la -compagnie. Mais avant de partir, s’adressant à don Quichotte: Pour -l’amour de Dieu, seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il, une autre fois ne vous -mêlez point de me secourir; et quand même vous me verriez mettre en -pièces, laissez-moi avec ma mauvaise fortune; elle ne saurait être pire -que celle que m’attirerait Votre Seigneurie, que Dieu confonde ainsi que -tous les chevaliers errants qui pourront venir d’ici au jugement -dernier. - -Don Quichotte se levait pour châtier André; mais le drôle se mit à -détaler si lestement, qu’il eût été difficile de le rejoindre, et pour -n’avoir pas la honte de tenter une chose inutile, force fut à notre -chevalier de rester sur place; mais il était tellement courroucé que, -dans la crainte de l’irriter davantage, personne n’osa rire, bien que -tous en eussent grande envie. - -CHAPITRE XXXII - -QUI TRAITE DE CE QUI ARRIVA DANS L’HOTELLERIE A DON QUICHOTTE ET A SA -COMPAGNIE - -Le repas terminé on remit la selle aux montures; et sans qu’il survînt -aucun événement digne d’être raconté, toute la troupe arriva le -lendemain à cette hôtellerie, la terreur de Sancho Panza. L’hôtelier, sa -femme, sa fille et Maritorne, qui reconnurent de loin don Quichotte et -son écuyer, s’avancèrent à leur rencontre avec de joyeuses -démonstrations. Notre héros les reçut d’un air grave, et leur dit de lui -préparer un meilleur lit que la première fois; l’hôtesse répondit que, -pourvu qu’il payât mieux, il aurait une couche de prince. Sur sa -promesse, on lui dressa un lit dans le même galetas qu’il avait déjà -occupé, et il alla se coucher aussitôt, car il n’avait pas le corps en -meilleur état que l’esprit. - -Dès que l’hôtesse eut fermé la porte, elle courut au barbier, et lui -sautant au visage: Par ma foi, dit-elle, vous ne vous ferez pas plus -longtemps une barbe avec ma queue de vache, il est bien temps qu’elle me -revienne; depuis qu’elle vous sert de barbe, mon mari ne sait plus où -accrocher son peigne. L’hôtesse avait beau faire, maître Nicolas ne -voulait pas lâcher prise; mais le curé lui fit observer que son -déguisement était inutile, et qu’il pouvait se montrer sous sa forme -ordinaire. Vous direz à don Quichotte, ajouta-t-il, qu’après avoir été -dépouillé par les forçats, vous êtes venu vous réfugier ici; et s’il -demande où est l’écuyer de la princesse, vous répondrez que par son -ordre il a pris les devants pour aller annoncer à ses sujets qu’elle -arrive accompagnée de leur commun libérateur. Là-dessus, le barbier -rendit sa barbe d’emprunt, ainsi que les autres hardes qu’on lui avait -prêtées. - -Tous les gens de l’hôtellerie ne furent pas moins émerveillés de la -beauté de Dorothée que de la bonne mine de Cardenio. Le curé fit -préparer à manger; et stimulé par l’espoir d’être bien payé, l’hôtelier -leur servit un assez bon repas. Pendant ce temps, don Quichotte -continuait à dormir, et tout le monde fut d’avis de ne point l’éveiller, -la table lui étant à cette heure beaucoup moins nécessaire que le lit. -Le repas fini, on s’entretint devant l’hôtelier, sa femme, sa fille et -Maritorne, de l’étrange folie de don Quichotte, et de l’état où on -l’avait trouvé faisant pénitence dans la montagne. L’hôtesse profita de -la circonstance pour raconter l’aventure de notre héros avec le -muletier; et comme Sancho était absent pour le moment, elle y ajouta -celle du bernement, ce qui divertit fort l’auditoire. - -Comme le curé accusait de tout cela les livres de chevalerie: Je n’y -comprends rien, dit l’hôtelier; car, sur ma foi, je ne connais pas de -plus agréable lecture au monde. Au milieu d’un tas de paperasses, j’ai -là-haut deux ou trois de ces ouvrages qui m’ont souvent réjoui le cœur, -ainsi qu’à bien d’autres. Quand vient le temps de la moisson, quantité -de moissonneurs se rassemblent ici les jours de fête: l’un d’entre eux -prend un de ces livres, on s’assoit en demi-cercle, et alors nous -restons tous à écouter le lecteur avec tant de plaisir, que cela nous -ôte des milliers de cheveux blancs. Quant à moi, lorsque j’entends -raconter ces grands coups d’épée, il me prend envie de courir les -aventures, et je passerais les jours et les nuits à en écouter le récit. - -Moi aussi, dit l’hôtesse, et je n’ai de bons moments que ceux-là; en -pareil cas, on est si occupé à prêter l’oreille, qu’on oublie tout, même -de gronder les gens. - -C’est vrai, ajouta Maritorne, j’ai de même un grand plaisir à entendre -ces jolies histoires, surtout quand il est question de dames qui se -promènent sous des orangers, au bras de leurs chevaliers, pendant que -leurs duègnes font le guet en enrageant; cela doit être doux comme -miel. - -Et vous, que vous en semble? dit le curé en s’adressant à la fille de -l’hôtesse. - -Seigneur, je ne sais, répondit la jeune fille; mais j’écoute comme les -autres. Seulement, ces grands coups d’épée qui plaisent tant à mon père -m’intéressent bien moins que les lamentations poussées par ces -chevaliers quand ils sont loin de leurs dames, et souvent ils me font -pleurer de compassion. - -Ainsi donc, vous ne laisseriez pas ces chevaliers se lamenter de la -sorte? reprit Dorothée. - -Je ne sais ce que je ferais, répondit la jeune fille; mais je trouve ces -dames bien cruelles, et je dis que leurs chevaliers ont raison de les -appeler panthères, tigresses, et de leur donner mille autres vilains -noms. En vérité, il faut être de marbre pour laisser ainsi mourir, ou -tout au moins devenir fou, un honnête homme, plutôt que de le regarder. -Je ne comprends rien à toutes ces façons-là. Si c’est par sagesse, eh -bien, pourquoi ces dames n’épousent-elles pas ces chevaliers, puisqu’ils -ne demandent pas mieux? - -Taisez-vous, repartit l’hôtesse; il paraît que vous en savez long -là-dessus; il ne convient pas à une petite fille de tant babiller. - -On m’interroge, il faut bien que je réponde, répliqua la jeune fille. - -En voilà assez sur ce sujet, reprit le curé. Montrez-moi un peu ces -livres, dit-il en se tournant vers l’hôtelier; je serais bien aise de -les voir. - -Très-volontiers, répondit celui-ci; et bientôt après il rentra portant -une vieille malle fermée d’un cadenas, d’où il tira trois gros volumes -et quelques manuscrits. - -Le curé prit les livres, et le premier qu’il ouvrit fut _don Girongilio -de Thrace_; le second, _don Félix-Mars d’Hircanie_; et le dernier, -_l’histoire du fameux capitaine Gonzalve de Cordoue_, avec la _Vie de -don Diego Garcia de Paredès_. Après avoir vu le titre des deux premiers -ouvrages, le curé se tourna vers le barbier en lui disant: Compère, il -manque ici la nièce et la gouvernante de notre ami. - -Nous n’en avons pas besoin, répondit le barbier; je saurai aussi bien -qu’elles les jeter par la fenêtre; et, sans aller plus loin, il y a bon -feu dans la cheminée. - -Comment! s’écria l’hôtelier, vous parlez de brûler mes livres? - -Seulement ces deux-ci, répondit le curé, _don Girongilio de Thrace_ et -_Félix-Mars d’Hircanie_. - -Est-ce que mes livres sont hérétiques ou flegmatiques, pour les jeter au -feu? dit l’hôtelier. - -Vous voulez dire schismatiques? reprit le curé en souriant. - -Comme il vous plaira, repartit l’hôtelier; mais si vous avez tant -d’envie d’en brûler quelques-uns, je vous livre de bon cœur le grand -capitaine et ce don Diego; quant aux deux autres, je laisserais plutôt -brûler ma femme et mes enfants. - -Frère, reprit le curé, vos préférés sont des contes remplis de sottises -et de rêveries, tandis que l’autre est l’histoire véritable de ce -Gonzalve de Cordoue qui pour ses vaillants exploits mérita le surnom de -grand capitaine. Quant à don Diego Garcia de Paredès, ce n’était qu’un -simple chevalier natif de la ville de Truxillo en Estramadure, mais si -vaillant soldat, et d’une force si prodigieuse, que du doigt il arrêtait -une meule de moulin dans sa plus grande furie. On raconte de lui qu’un -jour, s’étant placé au milieu d’un pont avec une épée à deux mains, il -en défendit le passage contre une armée entière; et il a fait tant -d’autres choses dignes d’admiration, que si au lieu d’avoir été -racontées par lui-même avec trop de modestie, de pareilles prouesses -eussent été écrites par quelque biographe, elles auraient fait oublier -les Hector, les Achille et les Roland. - -Arrêter une meule de moulin! eh bien, qu’y a-t-il d’étonnant à cela? -repartit l’hôtelier. Que direz-vous donc de ce Félix-Mars d’Hircanie, -qui, d’un revers d’épée, pourfendait cinq géants comme il aurait pu -faire de cinq raves; et qui, une autre fois, attaquant seul une armée de -plus d’un million de soldats armés de pied en cap, vous la mit en -déroute comme si ce n’eût été qu’un troupeau de moutons? Parlez-moi -encore du brave don Girongilio de Thrace, lequel naviguant sur je ne -sais plus quel fleuve, en vit sortir tout à coup un dragon de feu, lui -sauta sur le corps et le serra si fortement à la gorge, que le dragon, -ne pouvant plus respirer, n’eut d’autre ressource que de replonger, -entraînant avec lui le chevalier, qui ne voulut jamais lâcher prise. -Mais le plus surprenant de l’affaire, c’est qu’arrivés au fond de l’eau, -tous deux se trouvèrent dans un admirable palais où il y avait les plus -beaux jardins du monde; et que là le dragon se transforma en un -vénérable vieillard, qui raconta au chevalier des choses si -extraordinaires, que c’était ravissant de les entendre. Allez, allez, -seigneur, vous deviendriez fou de plaisir, si vous lisiez cette -histoire; aussi, par ma foi, deux figues[49] pour le grand capitaine et -votre don Diego Garcia de Paredès! - - [49] Allusion à un proverbe italien. - -Dorothée, se tournant alors vers Cardenio: Que pensez-vous de tout ceci? -lui dit-elle à demi-voix: il s’en faut de peu, ce me semble, que notre -hôtelier ne soit le second tome de don Quichotte. - -Il est en bon chemin, répondit Cardenio, et je suis d’avis qu’on lui -donne ses licences; car, à la manière dont il parle, il n’y a pas un mot -dans les romans qu’il ne soutienne article de foi, et je défierais qui -que ce soit de le désabuser. - -Sachez donc, frère, continua le curé, que votre don Girongilio de Thrace -et votre Félix-Mars d’Hircanie n’ont jamais existé. Ignorez-vous que ce -sont autant de fables inventées à plaisir? Détrompez-vous une fois pour -toutes, et apprenez qu’il n’y a rien de vrai dans ce qu’on raconte des -chevaliers errants. - -A d’autres, à d’autres, s’écria l’hôtelier; croyez-vous que je ne sache -pas où le soulier me blesse, et combien j’ai de doigts dans la main? Oh! -je ne suis plus au maillot, pour qu’on me fasse avaler de la bouillie, -et il faudra vous lever de grand matin avant de me faire accroire que -des livres imprimés avec licence et approbation de messeigneurs du -conseil royal ne contiennent que des mensonges et des rêveries: comme si -ces seigneurs étaient gens à permettre qu’on imprimât des faussetés -capables de faire perdre l’esprit à ceux qui les liraient! - -Mon ami, reprit le curé, je vous ai déjà dit que tout cela n’est fait -que pour amuser les oisifs: et de même que dans les États bien réglés on -tolère certains jeux, tels que la paume, les échecs, le billard, pour le -divertissement de ceux qui ne peuvent, ne veulent, ou ne doivent pas -travailler, de même on permet d’imprimer et de débiter ces sortes de -livres, parce qu’il ne vient dans la pensée de personne qu’il se trouve -quelqu’un assez simple pour s’imaginer que ce sont là de véritables -histoires. Si j’en avais le temps, et que l’auditoire y consentît, je -m’étendrais sur ce sujet; je voudrais montrer de quelle façon les romans -doivent être composés pour être bons, et mes observations ne -manqueraient peut-être ni d’utilité, ni d’agrément; mais un jour viendra -où je pourrais m’en entendre avec ceux qui doivent y mettre ordre. En -attendant, croyez ce que je viens de vous dire, tâchez d’en profiter, et -Dieu veuille que vous ne clochiez pas du même pied que le seigneur don -Quichotte! - -Oh! pour cela, non, repartit l’hôtelier: je ne serai jamais assez fou -pour me faire chevalier errant; d’ailleurs je vois bien qu’il n’en est -plus aujourd’hui comme au temps passé, lorsque ces fameux chevaliers -s’en allaient, dit-on, chevauchant par le monde. - -Sancho, qui rentrait à cet endroit de la conversation, fut fort étonné -d’entendre dire que les chevaliers errants n’étaient plus de mode, et -que les livres de chevalerie étaient autant de faussetés. Il en devint -tout pensif; il se promit à lui-même d’attendre le résultat du voyage de -son maître, et, dans le cas où il ne réussirait pas comme il l’espérait, -de le planter là, et de s’en aller retrouver sa femme et ses enfants. - -L’hôtelier emportait sa malle et ses livres pour les remettre en place; -mais le curé l’arrêta en lui disant qu’il désirait voir quels étaient -ces papiers écrits d’une si belle main. L’hôtelier les tira du coffre, -et les donnant au curé, celui-ci trouva qu’ils formaient plusieurs -feuillets manuscrits portant ce titre: _Nouvelle du Curieux malavisé_. -Il en lut tout bas quelques lignes, sans lever les yeux, puis il dit à -la compagnie: J’avoue que ceci me tente et me donne envie de lire le -reste. - -Je n’en suis pas surpris, dit l’hôtelier: quelques-uns de mes hôtes en -ont été satisfaits, et tous me l’ont demandé; si je n’ai jamais voulu -m’en défaire, c’est que le maître de cette malle pourra repasser quelque -jour, et je veux la lui rendre telle qu’il l’a laissée. Ce ne sera -pourtant pas sans regret que je verrai partir ces livres: mais enfin -ils ne sont pas à moi, et tout hôtelier que je suis, je ne laisse pas -d’avoir ma conscience à garder. - -Permettez-moi au moins d’en prendre une copie, dit le curé. - -Volontiers, répondit l’hôtelier. - -Pendant ce discours, Cardenio avait à son tour parcouru quelques lignes: -Cela me paraît intéressant, dit-il au curé, et si vous voulez prendre la -peine de lire tout haut, je crois que chacun sera bien aise de vous -entendre. - -N’est-il pas plutôt l’heure de se coucher que de lire? dit le curé. - -J’écouterai avec plaisir, reprit Dorothée, et une agréable distraction -me remettra l’esprit. - -Puisque vous le voulez, madame, reprit le curé, voyons ce que c’est, et -si nous en serons tous aussi contents. - -Le barbier et Sancho, témoignant la même curiosité, chacun prit sa -place, et le curé commença ce qu’on va lire dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXXIII - -OU L’ON RACONTE L’AVENTURE DU CURIEUX MALAVISÉ - -A Florence, riche et fameuse ville d’Italie, dans la province qu’on -appelle Toscane, vivaient deux nobles cavaliers, Anselme et Lothaire; -tous deux unis par les liens d’une amitié si étroite, qu’on ne les -appelait que Les deux amis. Jeunes et presque du même âge, ils avaient -les mêmes inclinations, si ce n’est qu’Anselme était plus galant et -Lothaire plus grand chasseur; mais ils s’aimaient par-dessus tout, et -leurs volontés marchaient si parfaitement d’accord, que deux horloges -bien réglées n’offraient pas la même harmonie. - -Anselme devint éperdument amoureux d’une belle et noble personne de la -même ville, fille de parents recommandables, et si digne d’estime -elle-même qu’il résolut, après avoir pris conseil de son ami, sans -lequel il ne faisait rien, de la demander en mariage. Lothaire s’en -chargea, et s’y prit d’une façon si habile qu’en peu de temps Anselme se -vit en possession de l’objet de ses désirs. De son côté, Camille, -c’était le nom de la jeune fille, se trouva tellement satisfaite d’avoir -Anselme pour époux, que chaque jour elle rendait grâces au ciel, ainsi -qu’à Lothaire, par l’entremise duquel lui était venu tant de bonheur. - -Lothaire continua comme d’habitude de fréquenter la maison de son ami, -tant que durèrent les réjouissances des noces; il aida même à en faire -les honneurs, mais dès que les félicitations et les visites se furent -calmées, il crut devoir ralentir les siennes, parce que cette grande -familiarité qu’il avait avec Anselme ne lui semblait plus convenable -depuis son mariage. L’honneur d’un mari, disait-il, est chose si -délicate, qu’il peut être blessé par les frères, à plus forte raison par -les amis. - -Tout amoureux qu’il était, Anselme s’aperçut du refroidissement de -Lothaire. Il lui en fit les plaintes les plus vives, disant que jamais -il n’aurait pensé au mariage s’il eût prévu que cela dût les éloigner -l’un de l’autre; que la femme qu’il avait épousée n’était que comme un -tiers dans leur amitié; qu’une circonspection exagérée ne devait pas -leur faire perdre ces doux surnoms des DEUX AMIS, qui leur avait été si -cher; il ajouta que Camille n’éprouvait pas moins de déplaisir que lui -de son éloignement, et qu’heureuse de l’union qu’elle avait formée, sa -plus grande joie était de voir souvent celui qui y avait le plus -contribué; enfin il mit tout en œuvre pour engager Lothaire à venir -chez lui comme par le passé, lui déclarant ne pouvoir être heureux qu’à -ce prix. - -Lothaire lui répondit avec tant de réserve et de prudence, qu’Anselme -demeura charmé de sa discrétion; et pour concilier la bienséance avec -l’amitié, ils convinrent entre eux que Lothaire viendrait manger chez -Anselme deux fois la semaine, ainsi que les jours de fête. Lothaire le -promit. Toutefois il continua à n’y aller qu’autant qu’il crut pouvoir -le faire sans compromettre la réputation de son ami, qui ne lui était -pas moins chère que la sienne. Il répétait souvent que ceux qui ont de -belles femmes ne sauraient les surveiller de trop près, quelque assurés -qu’ils soient de leur vertu, le monde ne manquant jamais de donner une -fâcheuse interprétation aux actions les plus innocentes. Par de -semblables discours, il tâchait de faire trouver bon à Anselme qu’il le -fréquentât moins qu’à l’ordinaire, et il ne le voyait en effet que -très-rarement. - -On trouvera, je le pense, peu d’exemples d’une aussi sincère affection; -je ne crois même pas qu’il se soit jamais rencontré un second Lothaire, -un ami jaloux de l’honneur de son ami, au point de se priver de le voir -dans la crainte qu’on interprétât mal ses visites, et cela dans un âge -où l’on réfléchit peu, où le plaisir tient lieu de tout. Aussi Anselme -ne voyait point ce fidèle ami, qu’il ne lui fît des reproches sur cette -conduite si réservée; et chaque fois Lothaire lui donnait de si bonnes -raisons, qu’il parvenait toujours à l’apaiser. - -Un jour qu’ils se promenaient ensemble hors de la ville, Anselme, lui -prenant la main, parla en ces termes: Pourrais-tu croire, mon cher -Lothaire, après les grâces dont le ciel m’a comblé en me donnant de -grands biens, de la naissance, et, ce que j’estime chaque jour -davantage, Camille et ton amitié, pourrais-tu croire que je désire -encore quelque chose et n’éprouve guère moins de souci qu’un homme privé -de tous ces biens? Depuis quelque temps, te l’avouerai-je, une idée -bizarre m’obsède sans relâche; c’est, j’en conviens, une fantaisie -extravagante: je m’en étonne moi-même et m’en fais à toute heure des -reproches; mais ne pouvant plus contenir ce secret, je m’en ouvre à toi, -dans l’espoir que par tes soins je me verrai délivré des angoisses qu’il -me cause, et que ta sollicitude saura me rendre le calme que j’ai perdu -par ma folie. - -En écoutant ce long préambule, Lothaire se creusait l’esprit pour -deviner ce que pouvait être cet étrange désir dont son ami paraissait -obsédé. Aussi, afin de le tirer promptement de peine, il lui dit qu’il -faisait tort à leur amitié en prenant tant de détours pour lui confier -ses plus secrètes pensées, puisqu’il avait dû se promettre de trouver en -lui des conseils pour les diriger, ou des ressources pour les accomplir. - -Tu as raison, répondit Anselme; aussi, dans cette confiance, je -t’apprendrai, mon cher Lothaire, que le désir qui m’obsède, c’est de -savoir si Camille, mon épouse, m’est aussi fidèle que je l’ai cru -jusqu’ici. Or, afin de m’en bien assurer, je veux la mettre à la plus -haute épreuve. La vertu chez les femmes est, selon moi, comme ces -monnaies qui ont tout l’éclat de l’or, mais que l’épreuve du feu peut -seule faire connaître. Ce grand mot de vertu, qui souvent couvre de -grandes faiblesses, ne doit s’appliquer qu’à celles qui ne sont séduites -ni par les présents ni par les promesses, qu’à celles que la -persévérance et les larmes d’un amant n’ont jamais émues. Qu’y a-t-il -d’étonnant qu’une femme reste sage quand elle n’a pas assez de liberté -pour mal faire, ou qu’elle n’est sollicitée par personne? Aussi je fais -peu de cas d’une vertu qui n’est fondée que sur la crainte ou sur -l’absence d’occasions, et j’estime celle-là seule que rien n’éblouit et -qui résiste à toutes les attaques. Eh bien, je veux savoir si la vertu -de Camille est de cette trempe, et l’éprouver par tout ce qui est -capable de séduire. L’épreuve est dangereuse, je le sens; mais je ne -puis goûter de repos tant que je ne serai pas complétement rassuré de -ce côté. Si, comme je l’espère, Camille sort victorieuse de la lutte, je -suis le plus heureux des hommes; si, au contraire, elle succombe, -j’aurai du moins l’avantage de ne m’être point trompé dans l’opinion que -j’ai des femmes, et de n’avoir pas été la dupe d’une confiance qui en -abuse tant d’autres. Ne cherche point à me détourner d’un dessein qui -doit te paraître ridicule, tes efforts seraient vains; prépare-toi -seulement à me rendre ce service. Fais en sorte de persuader à Camille -que tu es amoureux d’elle, et n’épargne rien pour t’en faire aimer. -Songe que tu ne saurais me donner une plus grande preuve de ton amitié, -et commence dès aujourd’hui, je t’en conjure. - -Atterré d’une semblable confidence, Lothaire écoutait son ami sans -desserrer les lèvres; il le regardait fixement, plein d’anxiété et -d’effroi; enfin, après une longue pause, il lui dit: - -Anselme, faut-il prendre au sérieux ce que je viens d’entendre? Crois-tu -que si je ne l’eusse regardé comme une plaisanterie je ne t’aurai pas -interrompu au premier mot? Je ne te connais plus, Anselme, ou tu ne me -connais plus moi-même; car, si tu avais réfléchi un seul instant, je ne -pense pas que tu m’eusses voulu charger d’un pareil emploi. On a raison -de recourir à ses amis en toute circonstance; mais leur demander des -choses qui choquent l’honnêteté et dont on ne peut attendre aucun bien, -c’est leur faire injure. Tu veux que je feigne d’être amoureux de ta -femme, et qu’à force de soins et d’hommages je tâche de la séduire et de -m’en faire aimer? Mais si tu es assuré de sa vertu, que te faut-il de -plus, et qu’est-ce que mes soins ajouteront à son mérite? Si tu ne crois -pas Camille plus sage que les autres femmes, résigne-toi sans chercher à -l’éprouver, et, dans la mauvaise opinion que tu as de ce sexe en -général, jouis paisiblement d’un doute qui est pour toi un avantage. -L’honneur d’une femme, mon cher Anselme, consiste avant tout dans la -bonne opinion qu’on a d’elle: c’est un miroir que le moindre souffle -ternit, une fleur délicate qui se flétrit pour peu qu’on la touche. Je -vais te citer, à ce sujet, quelques vers qui me reviennent à la mémoire -et qui sont tout à fait applicables au sujet qui nous occupe; c’est un -vieillard qui conseille à un père de veiller de près sur sa fille, de -l’enfermer au besoin, et de ne s’en fier qu’à lui-même. - - Les femmes sont comme le verre: - Il ne faut jamais éprouver - S’il briserait ou non, en le jetant par terre; - Car on ne sait pas bien ce qui peut arriver. - - Mais comme il briserait, selon toute apparence, - Il faut être bien fou pour vouloir hasarder - Une semblable expérience - Sur un corps qu’on ne peut souder! - - Ceci sur la raison se fonde, - Et c’est l’opinion de tout le monde encor: - Que tant que l’on verra des Danaés au monde, - On y verra pleuvoir de l’or[50]. - - [50] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Après avoir parlé dans ton intérêt, continua Lothaire, permets, Anselme, -que je parle dans le mien. Tu me regardes, dis-tu, comme ton véritable -ami, et cependant tu veux m’ôter l’honneur, ou tu veux que je te l’ôte à -toi-même. Que pourra penser Camille quand je lui parlerai d’amour, si ce -n’est que je suis un traître, qui viole sans scrupule les droits sacrés -de l’amitié? Ne devra-t-elle pas s’offenser d’une hardiesse qui semblera -lui dire que j’ai reconnu quelque chose de peu estimable dans sa -conduite? Si je la trouve faible, faudra-t-il que je te trahisse? Si je -cesse ma poursuite, quelle ne sera pas son aversion pour celui qui ne -voulait que se jouer de sa crédulité? Si je donne pour excuse les -instances que tu me fais, que pensera-t-elle d’un homme qui se charge -d’une pareille mission, et quel ne sera pas son mépris pour celui qui -l’a imposée? Comment éviterai-je les reproches des honnêtes gens, après -avoir troublé, par une fatale complaisance, le repos de toute une -famille? Enfin ne deviendrons-nous pas, l’un et l’autre, la risée de -ceux qui vantaient notre amitié? Crois-moi, cher Anselme, reste dans une -confiance qui doit te rendre heureux et songe que tu compromets ton -repos par un projet bien téméraire; car si l’événement ne répondait pas -à ton attente, tu en serais mortellement affligé, quoi que tu dises, et -tu ne ferais plus que traîner une vie misérable qui me jetterait -moi-même dans le désespoir. Bref, pour t’ôter l’espoir de me convaincre, -je te déclare que ta prière m’offense, et que je ne te rendrai jamais le -dangereux service que tu exiges de moi, quand même ce refus devrait me -faire perdre ton affection, ce qui est la perte la plus sensible que je -puisse faire. - -Ce discours causa une telle confusion à Anselme, qu’il resta longtemps -sans prononcer un seul mot; mais se remettant peu à peu: Mon cher -Lothaire, lui dit-il, je t’ai écouté avec attention, avec plaisir même; -tes paroles montrent tout ce que tu possèdes de discrétion et de -prudence, et ton refus fait preuve de ta sincère amitié. Oui j’avoue que -j’exige une chose déraisonnable, et qu’en repoussant tes conseils je -fuis le bien et cours après le mal. Hélas! Lothaire, celui dont je -souffre s’irrite chaque jour davantage. Je t’ai longtemps caché ma -faiblesse, espérant la surmonter; mais je n’ai pu m’en rendre maître, et -c’est ce déplorable état qui m’oblige à chercher du secours. Ne -m’abandonne pas, cher ami; ne t’irrite point contre un insensé: -traite-moi plutôt comme ces malades chez qui le goût s’est dépravé, et -qui ne savent ce qu’ils veulent. Commence, je t’en supplie, à éprouver -Camille: elle n’est pas assez faible pour se rendre à une première -attaque, et peut-être qu’alors cette simple épreuve de sa vertu et de -ton amitié me suffira, sans qu’il soit besoin d’insister davantage. -Réfléchis que j’en suis arrivé à ce point de ne pouvoir guérir seul, et -que si tu me forces à recourir à un autre, je publie moi-même mon -extravagance et perds cet honneur que tu veux me conserver. Quant au -tien, que tu redoutes de voir compromis dans l’opinion de Camille par -tes sollicitations, rassure-toi; et s’il faut lui découvrir notre -intelligence, je suis certain qu’elle ne prendra tout cela que comme un -badinage. Tu as donc bien peu de chose à faire pour me donner -satisfaction; car si après un premier effort tu éprouves de la -résistance, je suis content de Camille et de toi, et nous sommes en -repos pour jamais. - -Voyant l’obstination d’Anselme, Lothaire accepta cet étrange rôle, se -promettant de le remplir si adroitement, que, sans blesser Camille il -trouverait le moyen de satisfaire son ami: il serait imprudent, lui -dit-il, de vous confier à un autre; je me charge de l’entreprise, et mon -amitié ne saurait vous refuser plus longtemps. Anselme le serra -tendrement dans ses bras, le remerciant comme s’il lui eût accordé une -insigne faveur, et il exigea que dès le jour suivant commençât -l’exécution de ce beau dessein. Il promit à Lothaire de lui fournir le -moyen d’entretenir Camille tête à tête; il arrêta le plan des sérénades -qu’il voulait que son ami donnât à sa femme, s’offrant de composer -lui-même les vers à sa louange si Lothaire ne voulait pas s’en donner la -peine, et il ajouta qu’il lui mettrait entre les mains de l’argent et -des bijoux pour les offrir quand il le jugerait à propos. Lothaire -consentit à tout pour contenter un homme si déraisonnable, et ils -retournèrent près de Camille, qui était déjà inquiète de voir son mari -rentrer plus tard que de coutume. Après quelques propos indifférents, -Lothaire laissa Anselme plein de joie de la promesse qu’il lui avait -faite, mais se retira fort contrarié de s’être chargé d’une si -extravagante affaire. - -Ayant passé la nuit à songer comment il s’en tirerait, Lothaire alla, -dès le lendemain, dîner chez Anselme, et Camille, comme à l’ordinaire, -lui fit très-bon visage, sachant qu’en cela elle complaisait à son mari. -Le repas achevé, Anselme prétexta une affaire pour quelques heures, -priant Lothaire de tenir, pendant son absence, compagnie à sa femme. -Celui-ci voulait l’accompagner, et Camille le retenir; mais toutes leurs -instances furent inutiles; car, après avoir engagé son ami à l’attendre, -parce que, disait-il, il avait à son retour quelque chose d’important à -lui communiquer, Anselme sortit et les laissa seuls. Lothaire se vit -alors dans la situation la plus redoutable; aussi, ne sachant que faire -pour conjurer le péril où il se trouvait, il feignit d’être accablé par -le sommeil, et, après quelques excuses adressées à Camille, il se laissa -aller sur un fauteuil, où il fit semblant de dormir. Anselme revint -bientôt après; retrouvant encore Camille dans sa chambre, et Lothaire -endormi, il pensa, malgré tout, que son ami avait parlé, et il attendit -son réveil pour sortir avec lui et l’interroger. - -Lothaire lui dit qu’il avait jugé inconvenant de se découvrir dès la -première entrevue; qu’il s’était contenté de parler à Camille de sa -beauté, et de lui dire que partout on s’entretenait de l’heureux choix -d’Anselme, ne doutant point qu’en s’insinuant ainsi dans son esprit, il -ne la disposât à l’écouter une autre fois. Ce commencement satisfit le -malheureux époux, qui promit à son ami de lui ménager souvent semblable -occasion. - -Plusieurs jours se passèrent ainsi sans que Lothaire adressât une seule -parole à Camille; chaque fois cependant il assurait Anselme qu’il -devenait plus pressant, mais qu’il avait beau faire, chaque fois ses -avances étaient repoussées et qu’elle l’avait même menacé de tout -révéler à son époux s’il ne chassait pas ces mauvaises pensées. Mais -Anselme n’était pas homme à en rester là. Camille a résisté à des -paroles, dit-il; eh bien, voyons si elle aura la force de tenir contre -quelque chose de plus réel: je te remettrai demain deux mille écus d’or -que tu lui offriras en cadeau, et deux mille autres pour acheter des -pierreries; il n’y a rien que les femmes, même les plus chastes, aiment -autant que la parure; si Camille résiste à cette séduction, je -n’exigerai rien de plus. Puisque j’ai commencé, dit Lothaire, je -poursuivrai l’épreuve; mais sois bien assuré que tous mes efforts seront -vains. - -Le jour suivant, Anselme mit les quatre mille écus d’or entre les mains -de son ami, qu’il jetait ainsi dans de nouveaux embarras. Toutefois -Lothaire se promit de continuer à lui dire que la vertu de Camille était -inébranlable; que ses présents ne l’avaient pas plus émue que ses -discours, et qu’il craignait d’attirer sa haine à force de persécutions. -Mais le sort, qui menait les choses d’une autre façon, voulut qu’Anselme -ayant un jour laissé comme d’habitude Lothaire seul avec sa femme, -s’enferma dans une chambre voisine, d’où il pouvait par le trou de la -serrure s’assurer de ce qui se passait. Or, après les avoir observés -pendant près d’une heure, il reconnut que pendant tout ce temps Lothaire -n’avait pas ouvert la bouche une seule fois; ce qui lui fit penser que -les réponses de Camille étaient supposées. Pour s’en assurer il entra -dans la chambre, et ayant pris Lothaire à part, il lui demanda quelles -nouvelles il avait à lui donner et de quelle humeur s’était montrée -Camille. Lothaire répondit qu’il voulait en rester là, parce qu’elle -venait de le traiter avec tant de dureté et d’aigreur, qu’il ne se -sentait plus le courage de lui adresser désormais la parole. Ah! -Lothaire! Lothaire! reprit Anselme, est-ce donc là ce que tu m’avais -promis, et ce que je devais attendre de ton amitié? J’ai fort bien vu -que tu n’as pas parlé à Camille, et je ne doute point que tu ne m’aies -trompé en tout ce que tu m’as dit jusqu’ici. Pourquoi vouloir m’ôter par -la ruse les moyens de satisfaire mon désir? - -Piqué d’être pris en flagrant délit de mensonge, Lothaire ne songea qu’à -apaiser son ami au lieu de chercher à le guérir, et il lui promit -d’employer à l’avenir tous ses soins pour lui donner satisfaction. -Anselme le crut, et pour lui laisser le champ libre, il résolut d’aller -passer huit jours à la campagne, où il prit soin de se faire inviter par -un de ses amis, afin d’avoir auprès de Camille un prétexte de -s’éloigner. - -Malheureux et imprudent Anselme! que fais-tu? Ne vois-tu pas que tu -travailles contre toi-même, que tu trames ton déshonneur, que tu -prépares ta perte? Ton épouse est vertueuse: tu la possèdes en paix, -personne ne te cause d’alarmes; ses pensées et ses désirs n’ont jamais -franchi le seuil de ta maison; tu es son ciel sur la terre, -l’accomplissement de ses joies, la mesure sur laquelle se règle sa -volonté; eh bien, comme si tout cela ne pouvait contenter un mortel, tu -te tortures à chercher ce qui ne peut se rencontrer ici-bas. - -Dès le lendemain Anselme partit pour la campagne, après avoir prévenu -Camille que Lothaire viendrait dîner avec elle, qu’il veillerait à tout -en son absence, enfin lui enjoignant de le traiter comme lui-même. Cet -ordre contraria Camille non moins que le départ de son mari: aussi -témoigna-t-elle modestement qu’elle s’y soumettait avec peine; que la -bienséance s’opposait à ce que Lothaire vînt si familièrement pendant -son absence: Si vous doutez que je sois capable de conduire seule les -affaires de la maison, ajouta-t-elle, veuillez en faire l’expérience, et -vous vous convaincrez que je ne manque ni d’ordre ni de surveillance. -Anselme répliqua avec autorité qu’il le voulait ainsi, et partit -sur-le-champ. - -Lothaire revint donc le lendemain s’installer chez Camille, dont il -reçut un honnête et affectueux accueil; mais pour ne pas se trouver en -tête à tête avec lui, l’épouse d’Anselme eut soin d’avoir toujours dans -sa chambre quelqu’un de ses domestiques, principalement une fille -appelée Léonelle, qu’elle aimait beaucoup. Les trois premiers jours, -Lothaire ne lui adressa pas un seul mot, quoiqu’il lui fût aisé de -parler tandis que les gens de la maison prenaient leur repas. Il est -vrai que Camille avait ordonné à Léonelle de dîner toujours de bonne -heure, afin d’être à ses côtés; mais cette fille, qui avait bien -d’autres affaires en tête, ne se souciait guère des ordres de sa -maîtresse, et la laissait souvent seule. Toutefois Lothaire ne profita -pas de l’occasion, soit qu’il voulût encore abuser son ami, soit qu’il -ne pût se résoudre à se jouer de Camille, qui le traitait avec tant de -douceur et de bonté, et dont le maintien était si modeste et si grave, -qu’il ne pouvait la regarder qu’avec respect. - -Mais cette retenue de Lothaire et le silence qu’il gardait eurent à la -fin un effet opposé à son intention, car si la langue se taisait, -l’imagination n’était pas en repos. Croyant d’abord ne regarder Camille -qu’avec indifférence, peu à peu il commença à la contempler avec -admiration, et bientôt avec tant de plaisir qu’il ne pouvait plus en -détacher ses yeux. Enfin, l’amour grandissait insensiblement et avait -déjà fait bien des progrès quand lui-même s’en aperçut. Que ne se dit-il -point lorsqu’il vint à se reconnaître et à s’interroger, et quels -combats ne se livrèrent pas dans son cœur cet amour naissant et la -sincère amitié qu’il portait à Anselme! Il se repentit mille fois de sa -fatale complaisance, et il était à tout moment tenté de prendre la -fuite; mais chaque fois le plaisir de voir Camille le retenait, et il -n’avait pas la force de s’éloigner. Lutte inutile! la beauté, la -modestie, les rares qualités de cette femme, et sans doute aussi le -destin qui voulait châtier l’imprudent Anselme, finirent par triompher -de la loyauté de Lothaire. Il crut qu’une résistance de plusieurs jours, -mêlée de perpétuels combats, suffisait pour le dégager des devoirs de -l’amitié; et ne trouvant d’autre issue que celle d’aimer la plus aimable -personne du monde, il franchit ce dernier pas et découvrit à Camille la -violence de sa passion. A cette révélation inattendue, l’épouse -d’Anselme resta confondue; elle se leva de la place qu’elle occupait, et -rentra dans sa chambre sans répondre un seul mot. Mais ce froid dédain -ne rebuta point Lothaire, qui l’en estima davantage; et l’estime -augmentant encore l’amour, il résolut de poursuivre son dessein. -Cependant Camille, après avoir réfléchi au parti qu’elle devait prendre, -jugea que le meilleur était de ne plus donner occasion à Lothaire de -l’entretenir, et, dès le soir même, elle envoya un de ses gens à -Anselme, avec un billet ainsi conçu: - -CHAPITRE XXXIV - -OU SE CONTINUE LA NOUVELLE DU CURIEUX MALAVISÉ - - «De même qu’on a coutume de dire qu’une armée n’est pas bien sans son - général, ou un château sans son châtelain, de même une femme mariée - est pis encore sans son mari, lorsque aucune affaire importante ne les - sépare. Je me trouve si mal loin de vous, et je supporte si - impatiemment votre absence, que, si vous ne revenez promptement, je me - verrai contrainte de me retirer dans la maison de mon père, dût la - vôtre rester sans gardien: aussi bien, celui que vous m’avez laissé, - si vous lui donnez ce titre, me paraît plus occupé de son plaisir que - de vos intérêts. Je ne vous dis rien de plus, et même il ne convient - pas que j’en dise davantage.» - -Anselme s’applaudit en recevant ce billet; il vit que Lothaire lui avait -tenu parole, et que Camille avait fait son devoir; ravi d’un si heureux -commencement, il répondit à sa femme de ne pas songer à s’éloigner, et -qu’il serait bientôt de retour. - -Camille fut fort étonnée de cette réponse, qui la jetait dans de -nouveaux embarras. Elle n’osait ni rester dans sa maison, ni se retirer -chez ses parents. Dans le premier cas, elle voyait sa vertu en péril; -dans le second, elle désobéissait aux ordres de son mari. Livrée à cette -incertitude, elle prit le plus mauvais parti, celui de rester et de ne -point fuir la présence de Lothaire de peur de donner à ses gens matière -à causer. Déjà même elle se repentait d’avoir écrit à son époux, -craignant qu’il ne la soupçonnât d’avoir donné à Lothaire quelque sujet -de lui manquer de respect; mais, confiante en sa vertu, elle se mit sous -la garde de Dieu et de sa ferme intention, espérant triompher par le -silence de tout ce que pourrait lui dire l’ami d’Anselme. - -Dans une résolution si prudente en apparence, et en réalité si -périlleuse, Camille écouta le jour suivant les galants propos de -Lothaire, qui, trouvant l’occasion favorable, sut employer un langage si -tendre et des expressions si passionnées que la fermeté de Camille -commençant à s’ébranler, elle eut bien de la peine à empêcher ses yeux -de découvrir ce qui se passait dans son cœur. Ce combat intérieur, -soigneusement observé par Lothaire, redoubla ses espérances; persuadé -dès lors que le cœur de Camille n’était pas de bronze, il n’oublia rien -de ce qui pouvait la toucher; il pria, supplia, pleura, adula, enfin il -montra tant d’ardeur et de sincérité, qu’à la fin il conquit ce qu’il -désirait le plus et espérait le moins. Nouvel exemple de la puissance de -l’amour, qu’on ne peut vaincre que par la fuite; car pour lui résister, -il faudrait des forces surhumaines. - -Léonelle connut seule la faute de sa maîtresse. Quant à Lothaire, il se -garda bien de découvrir à Camille l’étrange fantaisie de son époux, et -d’avouer que c’était de lui qu’il avait tenu les moyens d’y réussir; il -aurait craint qu’elle ne prît son amour pour une feinte dont elle avait -été dupe, et que, venant à se repentir de sa faiblesse, elle ne le -détestât plus encore qu’elle n’était disposée à l’aimer. - -Après plusieurs jours d’absence, Anselme revint. Plein d’impatience, il -court chez son ami pour lui demander des nouvelles de sa vie ou de sa -mort. Anselme, lui dit Lothaire en l’embrassant, tu peux te vanter -d’avoir une épouse incomparable, et que toutes les femmes devraient se -proposer comme le modèle et l’ornement de leur sexe. Mes paroles se sont -perdues dans les airs; elle s’est moquée de mes larmes, et mes offres -n’ont fait que l’irriter. En un mot, Camille n’a pas moins de sagesse -que de beauté, et tu es le plus heureux des hommes. Tiens, cher ami, -voilà ton argent et tes bijoux; je n’ai point eu besoin d’y toucher. -Camille m’a fait voir qu’elle a le cœur trop noble pour céder à des -moyens si bas. Tu dois être satisfait maintenant; jouis donc de ton -bonheur, sans le compromettre davantage; c’est le sage conseil que te -donne mon amitié, et le seul fruit que je veuille tirer du service que -je t’ai rendu. - -A ce discours qu’il écoutait comme les paroles d’un oracle, on ne -saurait exprimer la joie d’Anselme. Il pria Lothaire de continuer ses -galanteries, ne fût-ce que comme passe-temps; ajoutant qu’il pouvait à -l’avenir s’épargner une partie des soins qu’il avait pris jusque-là, -mais sans les discontinuer tout à fait; et comme son ami faisait -facilement des vers, il le conjura d’en composer pour Camille, sous le -nom de Chloris. Je feindrai, lui dit-il, de les croire adressés à une -personne dont tu seras amoureux. Lothaire, pour qui ses complaisances -n’étaient plus une gêne, promit tout ce qu’on lui demandait. - -De retour dans sa maison, Anselme s’était empressé de demander à sa -femme ce qui l’avait obligée de lui écrire. Je m’étais figuré, -répondit-elle, qu’en votre absence Lothaire me regardait avec d’autres -yeux que lorsque vous étiez présent; mais j’ai bientôt reconnu que ce -n’était qu’une chimère; il me semble même que depuis ce moment il évite -de me voir et de rester seul avec moi. Anselme la rassura en lui disant -qu’elle n’avait rien à craindre de son ami, parce qu’il le savait -violemment épris d’une jeune personne pour qui il faisait souvent des -vers sous le nom de Chloris, et que, quand bien même son cœur serait -libre, il était assuré de sa loyauté. Cette feinte Chloris ne donna -point de jalousie à Camille, que Lothaire avait prévenue afin de lui -ôter tout ombrage et de pouvoir faire des vers pour elle sous un nom -supposé. - -Quelques jours après, tous trois étant réunis à table, Anselme pria, -vers la fin du repas, son ami de leur réciter quelques-unes des poésies -qu’il avait composées pour la personne objet de ses soins, ajoutant -qu’il ne devait point s’en faire scrupule, puisque Camille ne la -connaissait pas. Et quand elle la connaîtrait? reprit Lothaire, un amant -fait-il injure à celle qu’il aime lorsqu’il se plaint de sa rigueur en -même temps qu’il loue sa beauté. Quoi qu’il en soit, voici un sonnet que -j’ai fait il n’y a pas longtemps: - - SONNET - - Pendant qu’un doux sommeil dans l’ombre et le silence - Délasse les mortels de leurs rudes travaux, - Des rigueurs de Chloris je sens la violence, - Et j’implore le ciel sans trouver de repos. - - Quand l’aube reparaît, ma plainte recommence, - Et je ressens alors mille tourments nouveaux; - Je passe tout le jour dans la même souffrance, - Espérant vainement la fin de tant de maux. - - La nuit revient encor, et ma plainte est la même; - Tout est dans le repos, et mon mal est extrême, - Comme si j’étais né seulement pour souffrir. - - Qu’est-ce donc que j’attends de ma persévérance, - Si le ciel et Chloris m’ôtent toute espérance? - Mais n’est-ce pas assez d’aimer et de mourir? - -Le sonnet plut à Camille; quant à Anselme, il le trouva admirable. Il -faut, dit-il, que cette dame soit bien cruelle pour ne pas se laisser -toucher par un amour si sincère et si passionné? Est-ce que tous les -amants disent vrai dans leurs vers? demanda Camille. Non pas comme -poëtes, mais comme amoureux, ils sont bien au-dessous de la vérité, -répondit Lothaire. Cela ne fait pas le moindre doute, reprit Anselme, -toujours pour appuyer les sentiments de son ami et les faire valoir -auprès de sa femme. Camille, qui savait que ces vers s’adressaient à -elle seule et qu’elle était la véritable Chloris, demanda à Lothaire -s’il savait quelque autre sonnet, de le réciter. En voici un, répondit -celui-ci, dont je n’ai guère meilleure opinion que du premier; mais vous -en jugerez. - - AUTRE SONNET - - Je sens venir la mort, elle est inévitable! - La douleur qui me presse achève son effort; - Et moi-même après tout, j’aime bien mieux mon sort - Que de cesser d’aimer ce que je trouve aimable. - - A quoi bon essayer un remède haïssable, - Qui pour ma guérison ne peut être assez fort? - Mais, bravant les rigueurs, les mépris et la mort, - Faisons voir à Chloris un amant véritable. - - Ah! qu’on est imprudent de courir au hasard, - Sans connaître de port, sans pilote et sans art, - Une mer inconnue, et sujette à l’orage! - - Mais pourquoi murmurer? s’il faut mourir un jour, - Il est beau de mourir par les mains de l’Amour; - Et mourir pour Chloris est un heureux naufrage[51]. - - [51] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Anselme trouva ce sonnet non moins bon que le premier, et ne le loua pas -moins. Ainsi continuant à se tromper lui-même, il ajoutait chaque jour à -son malheur; car plus Lothaire le déshonorait, plus il vantait sa loyale -amitié, et plus Camille devenait coupable, plus, dans l’opinion de son -époux, elle atteignait le faîte de la vertu et de la bonne renommée. - -Un jour cependant que Camille se trouvait seule avec sa camériste: Que -je m’en veux, lui dit-elle, de m’être si tôt laissé persuader! Je crains -bien que Lothaire un jour ne vienne à me mépriser, quand il se -souviendra de ma faiblesse et du peu que lui a coûté ma possession. -Rassurez-vous, madame, répondit Léonelle; ce n’est pas ainsi que se -mesurent les affections, et pour être accordées promptement, les faveurs -ne perdent point de leur prix; loin de là: n’a-t-on pas coutume de dire -que donner vite c’est donner deux fois? Oui, repartit Camille, mais on -dit aussi que ce qui coûte peu s’estime de même. Cela ne vous regarde -pas, madame, reprit la rusée Léonelle, et vous ne vous êtes pas rendue -si promptement que vous n’ayez pu voir toute l’âme de Lothaire dans ses -yeux, dans ses serments, et reconnaître combien ses qualités le rendent -digne d’être aimé. Pourquoi donc vous mettre dans l’esprit toutes ces -chimères? Vivez plutôt contente et satisfaite de ce qu’étant tombée dans -l’amoureuse chaîne, celui qui l’a serrée mérite votre estime. Au reste, -ajouta-t-elle, j’ai remarqué une chose, car je suis de chair aussi et -j’ai du sang jeune dans les veines, c’est que l’amour ne se gouverne -pas comme on le veut, au contraire, c’est lui qui nous mène à sa -fantaisie. - -Camille sourit des propos de sa suivante, ne doutant pas, d’après ces -dernières paroles, qu’elle ne fût plus savante en amour qu’elle ne le -paraissait. Cette fille lui en fournit bientôt la preuve en avouant -franchement qu’un jeune gentilhomme de la ville la courtisait. -Extrêmement troublée d’une confidence si inattendue, Camille voulut -savoir s’il y avait entre eux autre chose que des promesses; mais -Léonelle lui déclara effrontément que les choses ne pouvaient aller plus -loin. Dans l’embarras où se trouvait l’épouse d’Anselme, elle conjura sa -suivante de ne rien dire à son amant de ce qu’elle savait, et d’avoir -soin d’agir de façon que ni Anselme ni Lothaire ne pussent en avoir -connaissance. Léonelle le promit; mais sa conduite fit bientôt voir -combien Camille avait eu raison de la craindre. En effet, assurée du -silence de sa maîtresse, cette fille fut bientôt assez hardie pour faire -venir son amant dans la maison, et jusque sous les yeux de Camille, qui, -désormais réduite à tout souffrir, était contrainte de servir sa -passion, et souvent l’aidait à cacher ce jeune homme. - -Toutes ces précautions n’empêchèrent pas qu’un matin à la pointe du -jour, Lothaire n’aperçût sortir l’amant de Léonelle. Il en fut d’abord -si étonné qu’il le prit pour un fantôme; mais en le voyant s’éloigner à -grand pas, le visage dans son manteau, il comprit que c’était un homme -qui ne voulait pas être reconnu. Aussitôt, sans que Léonelle vînt à se -présenter à sa pensée, il s’imagina que ce devait être un rival aussi -bien traité que lui-même. Transporté de fureur, il court chez Anselme: -Apprends, lui dit-il en entrant, apprends que depuis longtemps déjà je -me fais violence pour ne pas te découvrir un secret qu’il faut enfin que -tu saches; mais mon amitié pour toi l’emporte, et je ne puis dissimuler -davantage: Camille s’est enfin rendue, Anselme, et est prête à faire ce -qu’il me plaira. Si j’ai tardé à t’en avertir, c’est parce que je -n’étais pas certain si ce que je prenais chez ta femme pour un caprice -n’était point au contraire une ruse pour m’éprouver. Je m’attendais -chaque jour que tu viendrais me dire qu’elle t’a tout révélé; comme elle -n’en a rien fait, je ne doute plus qu’elle n’ait envie de me tenir -parole et de me procurer la liberté de l’entretenir seule la première -fois que tu iras à la campagne. Ce secret que je te confie ne doit pas -te causer d’emportement; car, après tout, Camille ne t’a point encore -offensé, et elle peut revenir d’une faiblesse que tu crois si naturelle -aux femmes. Jusqu’ici tu t’es bien trouvé de mes conseils, écoute celui -que je vais te donner. Feins de t’absenter pour quelques jours, et -trouve moyen de te cacher dans la chambre de Camille; si son intention -est coupable, comme je le crains, alors tu pourras venger sûrement et -sans bruit ton honneur outragé. - -Qui pourrait exprimer ce que devint le pauvre Anselme à une confidence -si imprévue? Il demeura immobile, les yeux baissés vers la terre, comme -un homme privé de sentiment. A la fin, regardant tristement Lothaire: -Vous avez fait, reprit-il, ce que j’attendais de votre amitié; dites -maintenant comment il faut que j’agisse, je m’abandonne entièrement à -vos conseils. Lothaire, ne sachant que lui répondre, l’embrassa et -sortit brusquement. Mais à peine l’eut-il quitté, qu’il commença à se -repentir d’avoir compromis si inconsidérément Camille, dont il eût pu -tirer vengeance avec moins de honte et de péril pour elle. Mais ne -pouvant plus revenir sur sa démarche, il résolut au moins de l’en -avertir; et comme il pouvait lui parler à toute heure, il voulut le -faire à l’instant même. - -Anselme était déjà sorti de chez lui quand Lothaire y entra. Ah! mon -cher Lothaire, lui dit Camille en le voyant, j’ai au fond du cœur une -chose qui me cause bien du tourment, et dont les suites me font -trembler! Ma suivante, Léonelle, a un amant, et son effronterie en est -venue à ce point de l’introduire toutes les nuits dans sa chambre, où -il reste jusqu’au jour. Jugez à quoi elle m’expose, et ce qu’on pourra -penser en voyant sortir de ma maison un homme à pareille heure? Mais ce -qui m’afflige le plus, c’est d’être forcée de dissimuler, parce qu’en -voulant châtier cette fille de son impudence, je puis provoquer un éclat -qui me serait funeste. Cependant, je suis perdue si cela ne change pas: -songez, songez à y mettre ordre, je vous en conjure. - -Aux premières paroles de Camille, Lothaire crut que c’était un artifice -de sa part; mais en la voyant toute en larmes, il ne douta plus qu’elle -ne dît vrai, ce qui accrut son repentir et sa confusion. Il lui apprit -que ce n’était pas là le plus grand de leurs malheurs; et, lui demandant -cent fois pardon de ses soupçons, il avoua ce que les transports d’une -flamme jalouse l’avaient poussé à dire à Anselme, ajoutant qu’il l’avait -fait résoudre à se cacher pour voir par ses propres yeux de quelle -loyauté était payée sa tendresse. - -Épouvantée de cet aveu de Lothaire, Camille lui reprocha d’abord avec -emportement, puis avec douceur, sa mauvaise pensée et la résolution qui -l’avait suivie; mais comme la femme a l’esprit plus prompt que l’homme -pour le bien de même que pour le mal, esprit qui lui échappe quand elle -veut réfléchir mûrement, elle trouva sur-le-champ le moyen de réparer -l’imprudence de son amant. Elle lui dit de faire en sorte qu’Anselme se -cachât le lendemain à l’endroit convenu, parce que, d’après le plan qui -lui venait à l’esprit, elle espérait tirer de cette épreuve une facilité -nouvelle pour se voir tous deux encore plus librement. Lothaire eut beau -la presser, elle refusa de s’expliquer davantage. Ne manquez pas, lui -dit-elle, de venir dès que je vous ferai appeler, et répondez comme si -vous ne saviez pas être écouté d’Anselme. Là-dessus, Lothaire s’éloigna. - -Le lendemain, Anselme monta à cheval, sous prétexte d’aller à la -campagne, chez un de ses amis: mais revenant aussitôt sur ses pas, il -alla se cacher dans le cabinet attenant à la chambre de sa femme, où il -put s’embusquer tout à son aise sans être troublé par Camille ni par -Léonelle, qui lui en donnèrent le loisir. Après l’avoir laissé quelque -temps livré aux angoisses que doit éprouver un homme qui va s’assurer -par ses propres yeux de la perte de son honneur, la maîtresse et sa -suivante entrèrent dans la chambre. - -A peine Camille y eut-elle mis le pied: Hélas! chère amie, dit-elle à sa -suivante en poussant un grand soupir et en brandissant une épée, -peut-être ferai-je mieux de me percer le cœur à l’instant même, que -d’exécuter la résolution que j’ai formée; mais d’abord je veux savoir -quelle imprudence de ma part a pu inspirer à Lothaire l’audace de -m’avouer un aussi coupable désir que celui qu’il n’a pas eu honte de me -témoigner, au mépris de mon honneur et de son amitié pour Anselme. Ouvre -cette fenêtre et donne-lui le signal; car sans doute il attend dans la -rue, espérant bientôt satisfaire sa perverse intention; mais il s’abuse -le traître, et je lui ferai voir combien la mienne est cruelle autant -qu’honorable. Hé! madame, à quoi bon cette épée? reprit la rusée -Léonelle. Ne voyez-vous pas qu’en vous tuant, ou en tuant Lothaire, cela -tournera toujours contre vous-même? Allez! il vaut mieux dissimuler -l’outrage que vous a fait ce méchant homme, et ne point le laisser -entrer maintenant que nous sommes seules: car, aveuglé par sa passion, -il serait capable, avant que vous ayez pu vous venger, de se porter à -quelque violence plus déplorable encore que s’il vous ôtait la vie. Et -puis, quand vous l’aurez tué, car je ne doute pas que ce ne soit votre -dessein, qu’en ferez-vous? Qu’Anselme en fasse ce qu’il voudra, répondit -Camille; pour moi, il me semble que chaque minute de retard me rend plus -coupable, et que je suis d’autant moins fidèle à mon mari que je diffère -plus longtemps à venger son honneur et le mien. - -Tout cela, Anselme l’entendait caché derrière une tapisserie, et à -chaque parole de Camille il formait autant de différentes pensées. En la -voyant si résolue à tuer Lothaire, il fut sur le point de se découvrir -pour sauver son ami; mais curieux de voir jusqu’où pouvait aller la -détermination de sa femme, il résolut de ne paraître qu’en temps -opportun. En ce moment, Camille parut atteinte d’une forte pâmoison; -aussitôt Léonelle de se lamenter amèrement: Malheureuse! s’écria-t-elle -en portant sa maîtresse sur un lit qui se trouvait là, suis-je donc -destinée à voir mourir entre mes bras cette fleur de chasteté, cet -exemple de vertu! avec bien d’autres exclamations qui auraient donné à -penser qu’elle était la plus affligée des servantes, et sa maîtresse une -autre Pénélope. Mais bientôt Camille, feignant de reprendre ses sens: -Pourquoi n’appelles-tu pas le traître? dit-elle à sa suivante; cours, -vole, hâte-toi, de peur que le feu de la colère qui m’embrase ne vienne -à s’éteindre, et que mon ressentiment ne se dissipe en vaines paroles! -J’y cours, répondit Léonelle; mais avant tout, madame, donnez-moi cette -épée. Ne crains rien, reprit Camille; oui, je veux mourir, et je -mourrai, mais seulement après que le sang de Lothaire m’aura fait raison -de son outrage. - -La suivante semblait ne pouvoir se résoudre à quitter sa maîtresse, et -elle ne sortit qu’après se l’être fait répéter plusieurs fois. Quand -Camille se vit seule, elle commença à marcher à grand pas, puis à -diverses reprises elle se jeta sur son lit avec les signes d’une -violente agitation. Il n’y a plus à balancer, disait-elle; il faut qu’il -périsse, il me coûte trop de larmes; il le payera de sa vie, et il ne se -vantera pas d’avoir impunément tenté la vertu de Camille. En parlant -ainsi, elle parcourait l’appartement l’épée à la main, les yeux pleins -de fureur, et laissant échapper des paroles empreintes d’un tel -désespoir, que de femme délicate, elle semblait changée en bravache -désespéré. Anselme était dans un ravissement inexprimable; aussi -craignant pour son ami la fureur de sa femme, ou quelque funeste -résolution de celle-ci contre elle-même, il allait se montrer, quand -Léonelle revint tenant Lothaire par la main. - -Aussitôt que Camille l’aperçut, elle traça par terre une longue raie -avec l’épée qu’elle tenait à la main: Arrête, lui dit-elle; ne va pas -plus avant, car si tu oses dépasser cette limite, sous tes yeux je me -perce le cœur avec cette épée. Connais-tu Anselme, et me connais-tu, -Lothaire? réponds sans détour. Celui-ci, qui avait soupçonné le dessein -de sa maîtresse, n’éprouva aucune surprise, et accommodant sa réponse à -son intention, répondit: Je ne croyais pas, madame, que vous me fissiez -appeler pour me parler de la sorte; j’avais meilleure opinion de mon -bonheur; et puisque vous n’étiez pas disposée à tenir la parole que vous -m’avez donnée, au moins vous auriez dû m’en avertir, sans me tendre un -piége qui fait tort à votre foi et à la grandeur de mon affection. -Maintenant, s’il faut vous répondre, oui, je connais Anselme, et tous -deux nous nous connaissons dès l’enfance; et si j’ai laissé paraître -des sentiments qui semblent trahir notre amitié, il faut s’en prendre à -l’amour et à vous, belle Camille, dont les charmes ont détruit mon -repos. - -Si c’est là ce que tu confesses, perfide et lâche ami, reprit Camille, -de quel front oses-tu te présenter devant moi, après une déclaration qui -ne m’offense pas moins que lui? Que pensais-tu donc, quand tu vins me -déclarer ta passion? T’avait-on dit qu’il fût si aisé de me toucher? -Mais je crois deviner à présent ce qui peut t’avoir enhardi: j’aurai -sans doute manqué de réserve, j’aurai négligé quelque bienséance, ou -souffert des familiarités que tu auras mal interprétées. Ai-je rien fait -cependant qui pût flatter ton espérance? m’as-tu trouvée sensible aux -présents, et m’as-tu jamais parlé de tes désirs sans que je les aie -rejetés avec mépris! Hélas! mon seul tort est de ne t’avoir pas repoussé -assez sévèrement; c’est mon indulgence qui t’a encouragé; aussi quand je -n’aurai d’autres reproches à me faire que la sotte prudence qui m’a -empêchée d’en instruire Anselme, afin de ne pas rompre votre amitié et -dans l’espoir que tu éprouverais du repentir, je suis assez coupable, et -je veux m’en punir; mais avant il faut que je t’arrache la vie, et que -je satisfasse ma vengeance. - -A ces mots, Camille se précipita sur Lothaire, feignant si bien de -vouloir le percer, que celui-ci ne savait plus qu’en penser, tant il lui -fallut employer de force et d’adresse pour se garantir. Elle jouait le -désespoir avec des couleurs si vraies, qu’il était impossible de ne pas -y être trompé. Enfin voyant qu’elle ne pouvait atteindre Lothaire, ou -plutôt feignant de ne pouvoir accomplir sa menace: Eh bien! tu vivras, -s’écria-t-elle, puisque je n’ai pas assez de force pour te donner la -mort; mais du moins tu ne m’empêcheras pas de me punir moi-même; et -s’arrachant des bras de son amant qui s’efforçait de la contenir, elle -se frappa de l’épée au-dessus du sein gauche, près de l’épaule, puis se -laissa tomber comme évanouie. - -Lothaire et Léonelle, frappés de surprise, accoururent pour la relever; -mais en voyant une si légère blessure, ils se regardèrent tous deux, -étonnés des merveilleux artifices de cette femme. Lothaire simula un -profond chagrin, et se donna mille malédictions, ne les épargnant pas -non plus à l’auteur de la catastrophe, qu’il savait aposté près de là. -Léonelle prit sa maîtresse entre ses bras, et, l’ayant déposée sur le -lit, pria Lothaire d’aller chercher en secret quelqu’un pour la panser, -lui demandant conseil sur ce qu’il fallait dire à Anselme s’il revenait -avant qu’elle fût guérie. Faites ce que vous voudrez, répondit Lothaire; -je suis si peu en état de donner des conseils, que je ne sais moi-même -quel parti prendre. Arrêtez au moins le sang qui s’échappe de sa -blessure; quant à moi, je vais chercher un lieu écarté afin d’y vivre -loin de tous les regards; et il sortit en donnant les marques du plus -violent désespoir. - -Léonelle étancha sans peine la blessure de Camille, blessure si légère -qu’il n’en avait coulé que le sang nécessaire pour appuyer sa feinte; et -tout en pansant sa maîtresse, elle tenait de tels discours, que le -malheureux époux ne doutait point que sa femme ne fût une seconde -Porcie, une nouvelle Lucrèce. Pendant ce temps, Camille maudissait -l’impuissance qui avait trahi son bras, et paraissait inconsolable de -survivre, tout en demandant à Léonelle si elle lui conseillait de -révéler à Anselme ce qui venait de se passer. N’en faites rien, madame, -répondait celle-ci: il ne manquerait pas de se porter à des violences -contre Lothaire; une honnête femme ne doit jamais compromettre un mari -qu’elle aime. Je suivrai ton conseil, répondit Camille; mais, pourtant, -il faut bien trouver quelque chose à lui dire quand il verra ma -blessure. Madame, repartit Léonelle, je ne saurais mentir, même en -plaisantant. Ni moi non plus, y allât-il de la vie, reprit Camille; je -ne vois donc rien de mieux que d’avouer ce qui en est. Quittez ce souci, -dit Léonelle; j’y songerai, et peut-être alors votre blessure sera si -bien fermée qu’il n’y paraîtra plus. Tâchez de vous remettre de cette -cruelle émotion, vous en serez plus tôt guérie. Si votre époux arrive -auparavant, vous ne mentirez point en lui disant qu’étant indisposée, -vous avez besoin de repos. - -Pendant que ces deux hypocrites se jouaient ainsi de la crédulité -d’Anselme, qui n’avait pas perdu une seule de leurs paroles, le -malheureux époux s’applaudissait dans son cœur, et attendait avec -impatience le moment d’aller remercier ce fidèle ami. Camille et -Léonelle, qui n’étaient pas au bout de leurs ruses, lui en laissèrent la -liberté. Sans perdre de temps, il alla trouver Lothaire, qui s’attendait -à cette visite. En entrant, il se jeta à son cou, lui fit tant de -remercîments, et dit tant de choses à la louange de sa femme, dont il ne -parlait qu’avec transport, que Lothaire tout confus et la conscience -bourrelée, ne savait que répondre et n’avait pas le courage de lui -témoigner la moindre joie. Anselme s’aperçut bien de la tristesse de son -ami; mais, l’attribuant à la blessure de Camille, dont il se disait seul -la cause, il se mit à le consoler, l’assurant que c’était peu de chose -puisqu’elle était convenue de n’en pas parler. Il ajouta que loin de -s’affliger, il devait plutôt se réjouir avec lui, puisque grâce à son -entremise et à son adresse, il se voyait parvenu à la plus haute -félicité dont il eût pu concevoir le désir; que, désormais il n’y avait -qu’à composer des vers à la louange de Camille, pour éterniser son nom -dans les siècles à venir. Lothaire répondit qu’il trouvait cela juste, -et s’offrit de l’aider pour sa part à élever ce glorieux monument. - -Anselme resta donc le mari le mieux trompé qu’on pût rencontrer dans le -monde; conduisant chaque jour par la main, dans sa maison, l’homme qu’il -croyait l’instrument de sa gloire, et qui l’était de son déshonneur, il -reprochait à sa femme de le recevoir avec un visage courroucé, tandis -qu’au contraire, elle l’accueillait avec une âme riante et gracieuse. -Cette tromperie dura encore quelque temps, jusqu’à ce que la fortune, -reprenant son rôle, la fit éclater aux yeux de tout le monde, et que la -fatale curiosité d’Anselme, après lui avoir coûté l’honneur, lui coûta -la vie. - -CHAPITRE XXXV - -QUI TRAITE DE L’EFFROYABLE BATAILLE QUE LIVRA DON QUICHOTTE A DES OUTRES -DE VIN ROUGE, ET OU SE TERMINE LA NOUVELLE DU CURIEUX MALAVISÉ - -Quelques pages de la nouvelle restaient à lire, lorsque tout à coup, -sortant effaré du galetas où couchait don Quichotte, Sancho se mit à -crier à pleine gorge: Au secours, seigneurs! au secours! accourez à -l’aide de mon maître, qui est engagé dans la plus terrible et la plus -sanglante bataille que j’aie jamais vue. Vive Dieu! du premier coup -qu’il a porté à l’ennemi de madame la princesse de Micomicon, il lui a -fait tomber la tête à bas des épaules, comme si ce n’eût été qu’un -navet. - -Que dites-vous là, Sancho? reprit le curé; avez-vous perdu l’esprit? -C’est chose impossible, puisque le géant est à plus de deux mille lieues -d’ici. - -En ce moment un grand bruit se fit entendre, et au milieu du tapage on -distinguait la voix de don Quichotte, qui criait: Arrête, brigand! -félon! malandrin! Je te tiens cette fois, et ton cimeterre ne te sauvera -pas! Le tout accompagné de coups d’épée qui retentissaient contre la -muraille. - -A quoi songez-vous, seigneurs? disait toujours Sancho; venez donc -séparer les combattants! quoique, à vrai dire, je pense qu’il n’en soit -guère besoin, car à cette heure le géant doit être allé rendre compte à -Dieu de sa vie passée; puisque j’ai vu son sang couler comme une -fontaine, et sa tête coupée rouler dans un coin, grosse, sur ma foi, -comme un muid. - -Que je meure, s’écria l’hôtelier, si ce don Quichotte ou don Diable n’a -pas donné quelques coups d’estoc à des outres de vin rouge qui sont -rangées dans sa chambre le long du mur; c’est le vin qui en sort que cet -homme aura pris pour du sang. - -Il courut aussitôt, suivi de tous ceux qui étaient là, sur le prétendu -champ de bataille, où ils trouvèrent don Quichotte dans le plus étrange -accoutrement. Sa chemise était si courte par devant, qu’elle lui -dépassait à peine la moitié des cuisses, et il s’en fallait d’un -demi-pied qu’elle fût aussi longue par derrière; ses jambes longues, -sèches, velues, étaient d’une propreté plus que douteuse; il portait sur -la tête un bonnet de couleur rouge, fort gras, qui avait longtemps servi -à l’hôtelier; autour de son bras gauche était roulée cette couverture à -laquelle Sancho gardait une si profonde rancune, et de la main droite, -brandissant son épée, il frappait à tort et à travers, en proférant des -menaces. Le plus surprenant, c’est qu’il avait les yeux fermés, car il -dormait; mais, l’imagination frappée de l’aventure qu’il allait -entreprendre, il avait fait en dormant le voyage de Micomicon, et il -croyait se mesurer avec son ennemi. Par malheur, ses coups étaient -tombés sur des outres suspendues contre la muraille, en sorte que la -chambre était inondée de vin. - -Quand l’hôtelier vit tout ce dégât, il entra dans une telle fureur, que, -s’élançant sur don Quichotte les poings fermés, il aurait promptement -mis fin à sa bataille contre le géant, si Cardenio et le curé ne le lui -eussent arraché des mains. Malgré cette grêle de coups, le pauvre -chevalier ne se réveillait pas; il fallut que le barbier courût chercher -un seau d’eau froide pour le lui jeter sur le corps, ce qui finit par -l’éveiller, mais non assez toutefois pour le faire s’apercevoir de -l’état où il était. Dorothée qui survint en ce moment, s’en retourna sur -ses pas, à l’aspect de son défenseur si légèrement vêtu, et n’en voulut -pas voir davantage. - -Quant à Sancho, il allait cherchant dans tous les coins la tête du -géant; et comme il ne la trouvait pas: Je savais bien, dit-il, que dans -cette maudite maison tout se faisait par enchantement; cela est si vrai -que dans le même endroit où je suis, j’ai reçu, il n’y a pas longtemps, -force coups de pied et de poing, sans jamais pouvoir deviner d’où ils -venaient; maintenant le diable ne veut pas que je retrouve cette tête, -quand de mes deux yeux je l’ai vu couper, et le sang ruisseler comme une -fontaine. - -De quel sang et de quelle fontaine parles-tu, ennemi de Dieu et des -saints? reprit l’hôtelier, ne vois-tu pas que cette fontaine ce sont mes -outres que ton maître a percées comme un crible, et ce sang, mon vin -dont cette chambre est inondée? Puissé-je voir nager en enfer l’âme de -celui qui m’a fait tout ce dégât! - -Ce ne sont pas là mes affaires, repartit Sancho; tout ce que je sais, -c’est que faute de retrouver cette tête, mon gouvernement vient, hélas! -de se fondre, comme du sel dans l’eau. - -L’hôtelier se désespérait du sang-froid de l’écuyer, après le dégât que -venait de lui causer le maître; il jurait que cela ne se passerait pas -cette fois-ci comme la première, et que malgré les priviléges de leur -chevalerie, ils lui payeraient jusqu’au dernier maravédis les outres et -le vin. Le curé tenait par les bras don Quichotte, lequel, croyant avoir -achevé l’aventure et se trouver en présence de la princesse de -Micomicon, se jeta à ses pieds en disant: Madame, Votre Grandeur est -maintenant en sûreté; vous n’avez plus à craindre le tyran qui vous -persécutait; quant à moi, je suis quitte de ma parole, puisque avec le -secours du ciel, et la faveur de celle pour qui je vis et je respire, -j’en suis venu à bout si heureusement. - -Eh bien, seigneurs, dit Sancho, direz-vous encore que je suis ivre? -voyez si mon maître n’est pas venu à bout du géant; plus de doute, mon -gouvernement est sauvé. - -Chacun des assistants riait à gorge déployée du maître et du valet, -excepté l’hôtelier qui les donnait à tous les diables. A la fin, -pourtant, le curé, Cardenio et le barbier parvinrent, non sans peine, à -remettre don Quichotte dans son lit, où on le laissa dormir, et tous -trois retournèrent sous le portail de l’hôtellerie consoler Sancho de ce -qu’il n’avait pu trouver la tête du géant. Mais ils furent impuissants à -calmer l’hôtelier, désespéré de la mort subite de ses outres; l’hôtesse, -surtout, jetait les hauts cris et s’arrachait les cheveux. Malédiction, -s’écriait-elle, ce diable errant n’est entré dans ma maison que pour me -ruiner: une fois, déjà, il m’a emporté sa dépense, celle de son chien -d’écuyer, d’un cheval et d’un âne, sous prétexte qu’ils sont chevaliers -errants, et qu’il est écrit dans leurs maudits grimoires qu’ils ne -doivent jamais rien débourser. Dieu les damne, et que leur ordre soit -anéanti dès demain! Mort de ma vie! il n’en sera pas cette fois quitte à -si bon marché; il me payera, ou je perdrai le nom de mon père. Que le -diable emporte tous les chevaliers errants! grommelait de son côté -Maritorne. Quant à la fille de l’hôtelier, elle souriait et ne disait -mot. - -Le curé calma cette tempête, en promettant de payer tout le dégât, -c’est-à-dire les outres et le vin, sans oublier l’usure de la queue de -vache, dont l’hôtesse faisait grand bruit. Dorothée consola Sancho, en -lui disant que puisque son maître avait abattu la tête du géant, elle -lui donnerait la meilleure seigneurie de son royaume dès qu’elle y -serait rétablie. Sancho jura de nouveau avoir vu tomber cette tête, à -telles enseignes, qu’elle avait une barbe qui descendait jusqu’à la -ceinture. Si on ne la retrouve pas, ajouta-t-il, c’est que dans cette -maison rien n’arrive que par enchantement, comme je l’ai déjà éprouvé -une première fois. Dorothée lui dit de ne pas s’affliger, et que tout -s’arrangerait à son entière satisfaction. - -La paix rétablie, le curé proposa d’achever l’histoire du Curieux -malavisé; et tous étant de son avis, il continua ainsi: - -Désormais assuré de la vertu de sa femme, Anselme se croyait le plus -heureux des hommes. Quant à Camille, elle continuait de faire, avec -intention, mauvais visage à Lothaire, et tous deux entretenaient le -malheureux époux dans une erreur dont il ne pouvait plus revenir; car -persuadé qu’il ne manquait à son bonheur que de voir son ami et sa femme -en parfaite intelligence, il s’efforçait chaque jour de les réunir, leur -fournissant ainsi mille moyens de le tromper. - -Pendant ce temps, Léonelle, emportée par le plaisir, et autorisée par -l’exemple de sa maîtresse, qui était forcée de fermer les yeux sur ces -déportements, ne gardait plus aucune mesure. Une nuit, enfin, il arriva -qu’Anselme entendit du bruit dans la chambre de cette fille; il voulut y -pénétrer pour savoir ce que c’était; sentant la porte résister, il sut -s’en rendre maître, et, en entrant, il aperçut un homme qui se laissait -glisser par la fenêtre. Il s’efforça de l’arrêter; mais il ne put y -parvenir, parce que Léonelle se jeta au-devant de lui, le suppliant de -ne point faire de bruit, lui jurant que cela ne regardait qu’elle seule, -et que celui qui fuyait était un jeune homme de la ville qui avait -promis de l’épouser. Anselme, plein de fureur, la menaça d’un poignard -qu’il tenait à la main. Parle à l’instant, lui dit-il, ou je te tue. Il -m’est impossible de le faire en ce moment, tant je suis troublée, -répondit Léonelle en embrassant ses genoux: mais attendez jusqu’à -demain, et je vous apprendrai des choses dont vous ne serez pas peu -étonné. Anselme lui accorda le temps qu’elle demandait, et, après -l’avoir enfermée dans sa chambre, il alla retrouver Camille pour lui -dire ce qui venait de se passer. - -Pensant avec raison que ces choses importantes la concernaient, Camille -fut saisie d’une telle frayeur, que sans vouloir attendre la -confirmation de ses soupçons, aussitôt Anselme endormi, elle prit tout -ce qu’elle avait de pierreries et d’argent, et courut chez Lothaire, -pour lui demander de la mettre en lieu de sûreté. La vue de sa maîtresse -jeta Lothaire dans un si grand trouble, qu’il ne sut que répondre et -encore moins quel parti prendre. Cependant l’affaire ne pouvant souffrir -de retard, et Camille le pressant d’agir, il la conduisit dans un -couvent, et la laissa entre les mains de sa sœur, qui en était abbesse; -puis, montant à cheval, il sortit de la ville sans avertir personne. - -Le jour venu, Anselme, plein d’impatience, entra dans la chambre de -Léonelle, qu’il croyait encore au lit; mais il ne la trouva point, parce -qu’elle s’était laissé glisser la nuit au moyen de draps noués ensemble, -et qui pendaient encore à la fenêtre. Il retourna aussitôt vers Camille, -et sa surprise fut au comble de ne la rencontrer nulle part, sans -qu’aucun de ses gens pût dire ce qu’elle était devenue. En la cherchant -avec anxiété, il entra dans un cabinet où il y avait un coffre resté -tout grand ouvert. Il s’aperçut alors qu’on en avait enlevé quantité de -pierreries; à cette vue, ses soupçons redoublèrent, et se rappelant ce -que lui avait dit Léonelle, il ne douta plus qu’il n’y eût chez lui -quelque désordre dont cette fille n’était pas l’unique cause. Éperdu, -et sans achever de s’habiller, il courut chez Lothaire, pour lui -raconter sa disgrâce; mais quand on lui eut appris qu’il n’y était -point, et que cette nuit-là même il était monté à cheval après avoir -pris tout l’argent dont il pouvait disposer, il ne sut plus que penser, -et peu s’en fallut qu’il ne perdît l’esprit. - -En effet que pouvait supposer un homme qui, après s’être cru au comble -du bonheur, se voyait en un instant sans femme, sans ami, et par-dessus -tout, il faut le dire, déshonoré? Ne sachant plus que devenir, il ferma -les portes de sa maison, et sortit à cheval pour aller trouver cet ami -qui habitait à la campagne, et chez lequel il avait passé le temps -employé à la machination de son infortune; mais il n’eut pas fait la -moitié du chemin, qu’à bout de forces, et accablé de mille pensées -désespérantes, il mit pied à terre et se laissa tomber au pied d’un -arbre en poussant de plaintifs et douloureux soupirs; il y resta jusqu’à -la chute du jour. - -Il était presque nuit, quand passa un cavalier qui venait de la ville. -Anselme lui ayant demandé quelles nouvelles il y avait à Florence: Les -plus étranges qu’on y ait depuis longtemps entendues, répondit le -cavalier. On dit publiquement que Lothaire, ce grand ami d’Anselme, qui -demeure auprès de Saint-Jean, lui a enlevé sa femme la nuit dernière, et -que tous deux ont disparu. C’est du moins ce qu’a raconté une suivante -de Camille, que le guet a arrêtée comme elle se laissait glisser par la -fenêtre dans la rue. Je ne saurais vous dire précisément comment cela -s’est passé; mais on ne parle d’autre chose, et tout le monde en est -dans un extrême étonnement, parce que l’amitié de Lothaire et d’Anselme -était si étroite et si connue, qu’on ne les appelait que les deux amis. -Et sait-on quel chemin ont pris les fugitifs? reprit Anselme. Je -l’ignore, répondit le cavalier; on dit seulement que le gouverneur les -fait rechercher avec beaucoup de soin. Allez avec Dieu, seigneur, dit -Anselme. Demeurez avec lui, reprit le cavalier; et il continua son -chemin. - -Ces tristes nouvelles achevèrent non-seulement de troubler la raison du -malheureux Anselme, mais de l’abattre entièrement; enfin il se leva, et, -remontant à cheval non sans peine, il alla descendre chez cet ami, qui -ignorait son malheur. Celui-ci en le voyant devina qu’il lui était -arrivé quelque chose de terrible. Anselme le pria de lui faire préparer -un lit, de lui donner de quoi écrire, et de le laisser seul; mais dès -qu’il fut en face de lui-même, la pensée de son infortune se présenta si -vivement à son esprit et l’accabla de telle sorte, que jugeant, aux -angoisses mortelles qui brisaient son cœur, que la vie allait lui -échapper, il voulut du moins faire connaître l’étrange cause de sa mort. -Il commença donc à écrire, mais le souffle lui manqua avant qu’il pût -achever; et le maître de la maison étant entré dans la chambre pour -savoir s’il avait besoin de secours, le trouva sans mouvement, le corps -à demi penché sur la table, la plume encore à la main, et posée sur un -papier ouvert sur lequel on lisait ces mots: - - «Une fatale curiosité me coûte l’honneur et la vie. Si la nouvelle de - ma mort parvient à Camille, qu’elle sache que je lui pardonne; elle - n’était pas tenue de faire un miracle, je n’en devais pas exiger - d’elle; et puisque je suis seul artisan de mon malheur, il n’est pas - juste que...» - -Ici la main s’était arrêtée, et il fallait croire qu’en cet endroit la -douleur d’Anselme avait mis fin à sa vie. Le lendemain, son ami prévint -la famille, qui savait déjà cette triste aventure. Quant à Camille, -enfermée dans un couvent, elle était inconsolable, non de la mort de son -mari, mais de la perte de son amant. Elle ne voulut, dit-on, prendre de -parti qu’après avoir appris la mort de Lothaire, qui fut tué dans une -bataille livrée près de Naples à Gonsalve de Cordoue par M. de Lautrec. -Cette nouvelle la décida à prononcer ses vœux, et depuis elle traîna -une vie languissante, qui s’éteignit peu de temps après. Ainsi tous -trois moururent victimes d’une déplorable curiosité. - -Cette nouvelle me paraît intéressante, dit le curé, mais je ne saurais -me persuader qu’elle soit véritable. Si elle est d’invention, elle part -d’un esprit peu sensé; car il n’est guère vraisemblable qu’un mari soit -assez fou pour tenter pareille épreuve: d’un amant cela pourrait à peine -se concevoir, mais d’un ami je le tiens pour impossible. - -CHAPITRE XXXVI - -QUI TRAITE D’AUTRES INTÉRESSANTES AVENTURES ARRIVÉES DANS L’HOTELLERIE - -Vive Dieu! s’écria l’hôtelier, qui était en ce moment sur le seuil de sa -maison; voici venir une belle troupe de voyageurs; s’ils arrêtent ici, -nous chanterons un fameux alléluia. - -Quels sont ces voyageurs? demanda Cardenio. - -Ce sont quatre cavaliers, masqués de noir, avec l’écu et la lance, -répondit l’hôtelier; il y a au milieu d’eux une dame vêtue de blanc, -assise sur une selle en fauteuil; elle a le visage couvert, et elle est -suivie de deux valets à pied. - -Sont-ils bien près d’ici? demanda le curé. - -Si près que les voilà arrivés, répondit l’hôtelier. - -A ces paroles Dorothée se couvrit le visage, et Cardenio courut -s’enfermer dans la chambre de don Quichotte, pendant que les cavaliers, -mettant pied à terre, s’empressaient de descendre la dame, que l’un -d’eux prit entre ses bras et déposa sur une chaise qui se trouvait à -l’entrée de la chambre où venait d’entrer Cardenio. Jusque-là personne -de la troupe n’avait quitté son masque ni prononcé une parole. La dame -seule, en s’asseyant, poussa un grand soupir, laissant tomber ses bras -comme une personne malade et défaillante. Les valets de pied ayant mené -les chevaux à l’écurie, le curé, dont ce déguisement et ce silence -piquaient la curiosité, alla les trouver, et demanda à l’un d’eux qui -étaient ses maîtres. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, je serais fort en peine de vous le dire, répondit -cet homme; il faut pourtant que ce soient des gens de qualité, surtout -celui qui a descendu de cheval la dame que vous avez vue, car les autres -lui montrent beaucoup de respect et se contentent d’exécuter ses ordres. -Voilà tout ce que j’en sais. - -Et quelle est cette dame? reprit le curé. - -Je ne suis pas plus savant sur cela que sur le reste, repartit le valet, -car pendant tout le chemin je n’ai vu qu’une seule fois son visage; mais -en revanche je l’ai entendue bien souvent soupirer et se plaindre: à -chaque instant on dirait qu’elle va rendre l’âme. Au reste, il ne faut -pas s’étonner si je ne puis vous en dire plus long: depuis deux jours -seulement, mon camarade et moi nous avons rencontré ces cavaliers en -chemin, et ils nous ont engagés à les suivre en Andalousie, avec -promesse de nous récompenser largement. - -Vous savez au moins leurs noms? demanda le curé. - -Pas davantage, répondit le valet; ils voyagent sans mot dire, et on les -prendrait pour des chartreux. Depuis que nous sommes à leurs ordres, -nous n’avons entendu que les soupirs et les plaintes de cette pauvre -dame, qu’on emmène, si je ne me trompe, contre son gré. Autant que je -puis en juger par son habit, elle est religieuse, ou va bientôt le -devenir; et c’est sans doute parce qu’elle n’a pas de goût pour le -couvent qu’elle est si mélancolique. - -Cela se pourrait, dit le curé. Là-dessus il revint trouver Dorothée, -qui, ayant aussi entendu les soupirs de la dame voilée, s’était -empressée de lui offrir ses soins. Comme celle-ci ne répondait rien, le -cavalier masqué qui l’avait descendue de cheval s’approcha de Dorothée -et lui dit: Ne perdez point votre temps, madame, à faire des offres de -service à cette femme; elle est habituée à ne tenir aucun compte de ce -qu’on fait pour elle; et ne la forcez point de parler, si vous ne voulez -entendre sortir de sa bouche quelque mensonge. - -Je n’ai jamais menti, repartit fièrement la dame affligée, et c’est pour -avoir été trop sincère que je suis dans la triste position où l’on me -voit; je n’en veux d’autre témoin que vous-même, car c’est par trop de -franchise de ma part que vous êtes devenu faux et menteur. - -Quels accents! s’écria Cardenio, qui de la chambre où il était entendit -distinctement ces paroles. - -Au cri de Cardenio, la dame voulut s’élancer; mais le cavalier masqué -qui ne l’avait pas quittée un seul instant l’en empêcha. Dans le -mouvement qu’elle fit, son voile tomba, et laissa voir, malgré sa -pâleur, une beauté incomparable. Occupé à la retenir, le cavalier dont -nous venons de parler laissa aussi tomber son masque, et, Dorothée ayant -levé les yeux, reconnut don Fernand; elle poussa un grand cri et tomba -évanouie entre les mains du barbier, qui se trouvait à ses côtés. Le -curé accourut et écarta son voile afin de lui jeter de l’eau au visage; -alors don Fernand, car c’était lui, reconnut Dorothée et resta comme -frappé de mort. Malgré son trouble, il continuait à retenir Luscinde, -qui faisait tous ses efforts pour lui échapper, depuis qu’elle avait -entendu Cardenio. Celui-ci, de son côté, ayant deviné Luscinde au son de -sa voix, s’élança hors de la chambre, et le premier objet qui frappa sa -vue, ce fut don Fernand, lequel ne fut pas moins saisi en voyant -Cardenio. Tous quatre étaient muets d’étonnement, et pouvaient à peine -comprendre ce qui venait de se passer. Après qu’ils se furent pendant -quelque temps regardés en silence, Luscinde, prenant la parole, dit à -don Fernand: - -Seigneur, il est temps de cesser une violence aussi injuste; laissez-moi -retourner au chêne dont je suis le lierre, à celui dont vos promesses ni -vos menaces n’ont pu me séparer. Voyez par quels chemins étranges et -pour nous inconnus le ciel m’a ramenée devant celui qui a ma foi. Mille -épreuves pénibles vous ont déjà prouvé que la mort seule aurait le -pouvoir de l’effacer de mon souvenir; aujourd’hui désabusé par ma -constance, changez, s’il le faut, votre amour en haine, votre -bienveillance en fureur, ôtez-moi la vie; la mort me sera douce aux yeux -de mon époux bien-aimé. - -Dorothée, revenue peu à peu de son évanouissement, devinant à ces -paroles que la dame qui parlait était Luscinde, et voyant que don -Fernand la retenait toujours sans répondre un seul mot, alla se jeter à -ses genoux, et lui dit, en fondant en larmes: - -O mon seigneur, si les rayons de ce soleil que tu tiens embrassé ne -t’ont point encore ôté la lumière des yeux, tu auras bientôt reconnu que -celle qui tombe à tes pieds est, tant qu’il te plaira qu’elle le soit, -la triste et malheureuse Dorothée. Oui je suis cette humble paysanne, -que, soit bonté, soit caprice, tu as voulu élever assez haut pour oser -se dire à toi; je suis cette jeune fille si heureuse dans la maison de -son père, et qui, contente de sa condition, n’avait connu encore aucun -désir quand tu vins troubler son innocence et son repos, et que tu lui -fis ressentir les premiers tourments de l’amour. Tu dois te rappeler, -seigneur, que tes promesses et tes présents furent inutiles, et que, -pour m’entretenir quelques instants, il te fallut recourir à la ruse. -Que n’as-tu pas fait pour me persuader de ton amour? Cependant, à quel -prix es-tu venu à bout de ma résistance? Je ne me défends pas d’avoir -été touchée par tes soupirs et par tes larmes, et d’avoir ressenti pour -toi de la tendresse; mais, tu le sais, je ne me rendis qu’à l’honneur -d’être ta femme, et sur la foi que tu m’en donnas après avoir pris le -ciel à témoin par des serments solennels. Trahiras-tu, seigneur, à la -fois tant d’amour et de constance? Et si tu ne peux être à Luscinde -puisque tu es à moi, et que Luscinde ne saurait t’appartenir puisqu’elle -est à Cardenio, rends-les l’un à l’autre; et rends-moi don Fernand, sur -lequel j’ai des droits si légitimes. - -Ces paroles, Dorothée les prononça d’un ton si touchant et en versant -tant de larmes, que chacun en fut attendri. Don Fernand l’écouta d’abord -sans répondre un mot; mais la voyant affligée au point d’en mourir de -douleur, il se sentit tellement ému, que, rendant la liberté à Luscinde, -il tendit les bras à Dorothée, en s’écriant: Tu as vaincu, belle -Dorothée. - -Encore mal remise de son évanouissement, Luscinde, que don Fernand -venait de quitter sans qu’elle s’y attendît, fut bien près de défaillir; -mais Cardenio, rapide comme l’éclair, s’empressa de la soutenir, en lui -disant: Noble et loyale Luscinde, puisque le ciel permet enfin qu’on -vous laisse en repos, vous ne sauriez trouver un plus sûr asile qu’entre -les bras d’un homme qui vous a si tendrement aimée toute sa vie. - -A ces mots, Luscinde tourna la tête, et achevant de reconnaître -Cardenio, elle se jeta à son cou. Quoi! c’est vous, cher Cardenio! lui -dit-elle; suis-je assez heureuse pour revoir, en dépit du destin -contraire, la seule personne que j’aime au monde? - -Les marques de tendresse prodiguées par Luscinde à Cardenio firent une -telle impression sur don Fernand, que Dorothée, dont les yeux ne le -quittaient pas, le voyant changer de couleur et prêt à mettre l’épée à -la main, se jeta au-devant de lui, et embrassant ses genoux: Seigneur, -qu’allez-vous faire? lui dit-elle: votre femme est devant vos yeux, vous -venez de la reconnaître à l’instant même, et pourtant vous songez à -troubler des personnes que l’amour unit depuis longtemps. Quels sont vos -droits pour y mettre obstacle? Pourquoi vous offenser des témoignages -d’amitié qu’ils se donnent? Sachez, seigneur, combien j’ai souffert; ne -me causez pas, je vous en conjure, de nouveaux chagrins; et si mon amour -et mes larmes ne peuvent vous toucher, rappelez votre raison, songez à -vos serments, et conformez-vous à la volonté du ciel. - -Pendant que Dorothée parlait ainsi, Cardenio tenant Luscinde embrassée, -ne quittait pas des yeux son rival, afin de ne point se laisser -surprendre; mais ceux qui accompagnaient don Fernand étant accourus, le -curé se joignit à eux, et tous, y compris Sancho Panza, se jetèrent à -ses pieds, le suppliant d’avoir pitié des larmes de Dorothée, puisqu’il -lui avait fait l’honneur de la reconnaître pour sa femme. Considérez, -seigneur, disait le curé, que ce n’est point le hasard, comme pourraient -le faire croire les apparences, mais une intention particulière de la -Providence, qui vous a tous réunis d’une façon si imprévue; croyez que -la mort seule peut enlever Luscinde à Cardenio, et que dût-on les -séparer avec le tranchant d’une épée, la mort qui les frapperait du même -coup leur semblerait douce. Dans les cas désespérés, ce n’est pas -faiblesse que de céder à la raison. D’ailleurs la charmante Dorothée ne -possède-t-elle pas tous les avantages qu’on peut souhaiter dans une -femme? Elle est vertueuse, elle vous aime; vous lui avez donné votre -foi, et vous avez reçu la sienne: qu’attendez-vous pour lui rendre -justice? - -Persuadé par ces raisons auxquelles chacun ajouta la sienne, don Fernand -qui, malgré tout, avait l’âme généreuse, s’attendrit, et pour le -prouver: Levez-vous, madame, dit-il à Dorothée: je ne puis voir à mes -pieds celle que je porte en mon cœur, et qui me prouve tant de -constance et tant d’amour; oubliez mon injustice et les chagrins que je -vous ai causés: la beauté de Luscinde doit me servir d’excuse. Qu’elle -vive tranquille et satisfaite pendant longues années avec son Cardenio, -je prierai le ciel à genoux qu’il m’en accorde autant avec ma Dorothée. - -En disant cela, don Fernand l’embrassait avec de telles expressions de -tendresse, qu’il eut bien de la peine à retenir ses larmes. Cardenio, -Luscinde et tous ceux qui étaient présents furent si sensibles à la joie -de ces amants, qu’ils ne purent s’empêcher d’en répandre. Sancho -lui-même pleura de tout son cœur; mais il avoua depuis que c’était du -regret de voir que Dorothée n’étant plus reine de Micomicon, il se -trouvait frustré des faveurs qu’il en attendait. - -Luscinde et Cardenio remercièrent don Fernand de la noblesse de ses -procédés, et en termes si touchants que, ne sachant comment répondre, il -les embrassa avec effusion. Il demanda ensuite à Dorothée par quel -hasard elle se trouvait dans un pays si éloigné du sien. Dorothée lui -raconta les mêmes choses qu’au curé et à Cardenio, et charma tout le -monde par le récit de son histoire. - -Don Fernand raconta, à son tour, ce qui s’était passé dans la maison de -Luscinde, le jour de la cérémonie nuptiale, quand le billet par lequel -elle déclarait avoir donné sa foi à Cardenio fut trouvé dans son sein. -Je voulus la tuer, dit-il, et je l’aurais fait si ses parents ne -m’eussent retenu. Enfin je quittai la maison plein de fureur, et ne -respirant que la vengeance. Le lendemain, j’appris la fuite de Luscinde, -sans que personne pût m’indiquer le lieu de sa retraite. Mais quelque -temps après, ayant appris qu’elle s’était retirée dans un couvent, -décidée à y passer le reste de ses jours, je me fis accompagner de trois -cavaliers, puis ayant épié le moment où la porte était ouverte, je -parvins à l’enlever sans lui laisser le temps de se reconnaître; ce qui -ne fut pas difficile, puisque ce couvent était dans la campagne et loin -de toute habitation. Il ajouta que lorsque Luscinde se vit entre ses -bras, elle s’était d’abord évanouie; mais qu’ayant repris ses sens, elle -n’avait cessé de gémir sans vouloir prononcer un seul mot, et qu’en cet -état ils l’avaient amenée jusqu’à cette hôtellerie, où le ciel réservait -une si heureuse fin à toutes leurs aventures. - -CHAPITRE XXXVII - -OU SE POURSUIT L’HISTOIRE DE LA PRINCESSE DE MICOMICON, AVEC D’AUTRES -PLAISANTES AVENTURES - -Témoin de tout cela, le pauvre Sancho avait l’âme navrée de voir ses -espérances s’en aller en fumée depuis que la princesse de Micomicon -était redevenue Dorothée, et le géant Pandafilando don Fernand, pendant -que son maître dormait comme un bienheureux sans s’inquiéter de ce qui -se passait. - -Dorothée se trouvait si satisfaite de son changement de fortune, qu’elle -croyait rêver encore; Cardenio et Luscinde ne pouvaient comprendre cette -fin si prompte de leurs malheurs, et don Fernand rendait grâces au ciel -de lui avoir fourni le moyen de sortir de ce labyrinthe inextricable où -son honneur et son salut couraient tant de risques; finalement, tous -ceux qui étaient dans l’hôtellerie faisaient éclater leur joie de -l’heureux dénoûment qu’avaient eu des affaires si désespérées. Le curé, -en homme d’esprit, arrangeait toute chose à merveille, et félicitait -chacun d’eux en particulier d’être la cause d’un bonheur dont ils -jouissaient tous. Mais la plus contente était l’hôtesse, à qui Cardenio -et le curé avaient promis de payer le dégât qu’avait fait notre -chevalier. - -Le seul Sancho était triste et affligé, comme on l’a déjà dit; aussi -entrant d’un air tout piteux dans la chambre de son maître, qui venait -de se réveiller: Seigneur Triste-Figure, lui dit-il, Votre Grâce peut -dormir tant qu’il lui plaira, sans se mettre en peine de rétablir la -princesse dans ses États, ni de tuer aucun géant; l’affaire est faite et -conclue. - -Je le crois bien, dit don Quichotte, puisque je viens de livrer à ce -mécréant le plus formidable combat que j’aurai à soutenir de ma vie, et -que d’un seul revers d’épée je lui ai tranché la tête. Aussi je t’assure -que son sang coulait comme une nappe d’eau qui tomberait du haut d’une -montagne. - -Dites plutôt comme un torrent de vin rouge, reprit Sancho; car Votre -Grâce saura, si elle ne le sait pas encore, que le géant mort est tout -simplement une outre crevée, et le sang répandu, six mesures de vin -rouge qu’elle avait dans le ventre; quant à la tête coupée, autant en -emporte le vent, et que le reste s’en aille à tous les diables. - -Que dis-tu là, fou? repartit don Quichotte; as-tu perdu l’esprit? - -Levez-vous, seigneur, répondit Sancho, et venez voir le bel exploit que -vous avez fait, et la besogne que nous aurons à payer; sans compter qu’à -cette heure la princesse de Micomicon est métamorphosée en une simple -dame, qui s’appelle Dorothée, et bien d’autres aventures qui ne vous -étonneront pas moins si vous y comprenez quelque chose. - -Rien de cela ne peut m’étonner, répliqua don Quichotte; car, s’il t’en -souvient, la première fois que nous vînmes ici, ne t’ai-je pas dit que -tout y était magie et enchantement? Pourquoi en serait-il autrement -aujourd’hui? - -Je pourrais vous croire, répondit Sancho, si mon bernement avait été de -la même espèce; mais il ne fut que trop véritable, et je remarquai fort -bien que notre hôtelier, le même qui est là, tenait un des coins de la -couverture, à telles enseignes que le traître, en riant de toutes ses -forces, me poussait encore plus vigoureusement que les autres. Or, -lorsqu’on reconnaît les gens, il n’y a point d’enchantement, je soutiens -que c’est seulement une mauvaise aventure. - -Allons, dit don Quichotte, Dieu saura y remédier. En attendant, aide-moi -à m’habiller, que je me lève et que j’aille voir toutes ces -transformations dont tu parles. - -Pendant que don Quichotte s’habillait, le curé apprenait à don Fernand -et à ses compagnons quel homme était notre héros, et la ruse qu’il avait -fallu employer pour le tirer de la Roche-Pauvre, où il se croyait exilé -par les dédains de sa dame. Il leur raconta la plupart des aventures que -Sancho lui avait apprises, ce qui les divertit beaucoup, et leur parut -la plus étrange espèce de folie qui se pût imaginer. Le curé ajouta que -l’heureuse métamorphose de la princesse, ne permettant plus de mener à -bout leur dessein, il fallait inventer un nouveau stratagème pour -ramener don Quichotte dans sa maison. Cardenio insista pour ne rien -déranger à leur projet, disant que Luscinde prendrait la place de -Dorothée. Non, non, s’écria don Fernand, Dorothée achèvera ce qu’elle a -entrepris. Je serai bien aise de contribuer à la guérison de ce pauvre -gentilhomme, puisque nous ne sommes pas loin de chez lui. - -Don Fernand parlait encore, quand soudain parut don Quichotte armé de -pied en cap, l’armet de Mambrin tout bossué sur la tête, la rondache au -bras, la lance à la main. Cette étrange apparition frappa de surprise -don Fernand et les cavaliers venus avec lui. Tous regardaient avec -étonnement ce visage d’une demi-lieue de long, jaune et sec, cette -contenance calme et fière, enfin le bizarre assemblage de ses armes, et -ils attendaient en silence qu’il prît la parole. Après quelques instants -de silence, don Quichotte, d’un air grave, et d’une voix lente et -solennelle, les yeux fixés sur Dorothée, s’exprima de la sorte: - -Belle et noble dame, je viens d’apprendre par mon écuyer que votre -grandeur s’est évanouie, puisque de reine que vous étiez, vous êtes -redevenue une simple damoiselle. Si cela s’est fait par l’ordre du grand -enchanteur, le roi votre père, dans la crainte que je ne parvinsse pas à -vous donner l’assistance convenable, je n’ai rien à dire, si ce n’est -qu’il s’est trompé lourdement, et qu’il connaît bien peu les traditions -de la chevalerie; car s’il les eût lues et relues aussi souvent et avec -autant d’attention que je l’ai fait, il aurait vu à chaque page que des -chevaliers d’un renom moindre, sans vanité, que le mien, ont mis fin à -des entreprises incomparablement plus difficiles. Ce n’est pas -merveille, je vous assure, de venir à bout d’un géant, quelles que -soient sa force et sa taille, et il n’y a pas longtemps que je me suis -mesuré avec un de ces fiers-à-bras; aussi je me tairai, de peur d’être -accusé de forfanterie; mais le temps, qui ne laisse rien dans l’ombre, -parlera pour moi, et au moment où l’on y pensera le moins. - -Vous vous êtes escrimé contre des outres pleines de vin, et non pas -contre un géant, s’écria l’hôtelier, à qui don Fernand imposa silence -aussitôt. - -J’ajoute, très-haute et déshéritée princesse, poursuivit don Quichotte, -que si c’est pour un pareil motif que le roi votre père a opéré cette -métamorphose en votre personne, vous ne devez lui accorder aucune -créance, car il n’y a point de danger sur la terre dont je ne puisse -triompher à l’aide de cette épée; et c’est par elle que, mettant à vos -pieds la tête de votre redoutable ennemi, je vous rétablirai dans peu -sur le trône de vos ancêtres. - -Don Quichotte se tut pour attendre la réponse de la princesse; et -Dorothée, sachant qu’elle faisait plaisir à don Fernand en continuant la -ruse jusqu’à ce qu’on eût ramené don Quichotte dans son pays, répondit -avec gravité: Vaillant chevalier de la Triste-Figure, celui qui vous a -dit que je suis transformée est dans l’erreur. Il est survenu, j’en -conviens, un agréable changement dans ma fortune; mais cela ne m’empêche -pas d’être aujourd’hui ce que j’étais hier, et d’avoir toujours le même -désir d’employer la force invincible de votre bras pour remonter sur le -trône de mes ancêtres. Ne doutez donc point, seigneur, que mon père -n’ait été un homme aussi prudent qu’avisé, puisque sa science lui a -révélé un moyen si facile et si sûr de remédier à mes malheurs. En -effet, le bonheur de votre rencontre a été pour moi d’un tel prix, que -sans elle je ne me serais jamais vue dans l’heureux état où je me -trouve; ceux qui m’entendent sont, je pense, de mon sentiment. Ce qui me -reste à faire, c’est de nous mettre en route dès demain; aujourd’hui il -serait trop tard. Quant à l’issue de l’entreprise, je l’abandonne à -Dieu, et m’en remets à votre courage. - -A peine Dorothée eut-elle achevé de parler, que don Quichotte, -apostrophant Sancho d’un ton courroucé: Petit Sancho, lui dit-il, tu es -bien le plus insigne vaurien qu’il y ait dans toute l’Espagne. Dis-moi -un peu, scélérat, ne viens-tu pas de m’assurer à l’instant que la -princesse n’était plus qu’une simple damoiselle, du nom de Dorothée, et -la tête du géant une plaisanterie, avec cent autres extravagances qui -m’ont jeté dans la plus horrible confusion où je me sois trouvé de ma -vie. Par le Dieu vivant, s’écria-t-il en grinçant des dents, si je ne me -retenais, j’exercerais sur ta personne un tel ravage, que tu servirais -d’exemple à tous les écuyers fallacieux et retors qui auront jamais -l’honneur de suivre des chevaliers errants. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, que Votre Grâce ne se mette point en colère; -il peut se faire que je me sois trompé quant à la transformation de -madame la princesse; mais pour ce qui est des outres percées, et du vin -au lieu de sang, oh! par ma foi! je ne me trompe pas. Les outres, toutes -criblées de coups, sont encore au chevet de votre lit, et le vin forme -un lac dans votre chambre; vous le verrez bien tout à l’heure, quand il -faudra faire frire les œufs, c’est-à-dire quand on vous demandera le -payement du dégât que vous avez fait. Au surplus, si madame la princesse -est restée ce qu’elle était, je m’en réjouis de toute mon âme, d’autant -mieux que j’y trouve aussi mon compte. - -En ce cas, Sancho, répliqua don Quichotte, je dis que tu n’es qu’un -imbécile; pardonne-moi, et n’en parlons plus. - -Très-bien, s’écria don Fernand; et puisque madame veut qu’on remette le -voyage à demain, parce qu’il est tard, il faut ne songer qu’à passer la -nuit agréablement en attendant le jour. Nous accompagnerons ensuite le -seigneur don Quichotte pour être témoins des merveilleuses prouesses -qu’il doit accomplir. - -C’est moi qui aurai l’honneur de vous accompagner, reprit notre héros; -je suis extrêmement reconnaissant envers la compagnie de la bonne -opinion qu’elle a de moi, et je tâcherai de ne pas la démériter, dût-il -m’en coûter la vie, et plus encore, s’il est possible. - -Il se faisait un long échange d’offres de services entre don Quichotte -et don Fernand, quand ils furent interrompus par l’arrivée d’un voyageur -dont le costume annonçait un chrétien nouvellement revenu du pays des -Mores, vêtu qu’il était d’une casaque de drap bleu fort courte et sans -collet, avec des demi-manches, des hauts-de-chausses de toile bleue, et -le bonnet de même couleur. Il portait un cimeterre à sa ceinture. Une -femme vêtue à la moresque, le visage couvert d’un voile, sous lequel on -apercevait un petit bonnet de brocart d’or, et habillée d’une longue -robe qui lui venait jusqu’aux pieds, le suivait assise sur un âne. Le -captif paraissait avoir quarante ans; il était d’une taille robuste et -bien prise, brun de visage, portait de grandes moustaches, et l’on -jugeait à sa démarche qu’il devait être de noble condition. En entrant -dans l’hôtellerie, il demanda une chambre, et parut fort contrarié quand -on lui répondit qu’il n’en restait point. Cependant il prit la Moresque -entre ses bras, et la descendit de sa monture. Luscinde, Dorothée et les -femmes de la maison, attirées par la nouveauté d’un costume qu’elles ne -connaissaient pas, s’approchèrent de l’étrangère; après l’avoir bien -considérée, Dorothée, qui avait remarqué son déplaisir, lui dit: Il ne -faut point vous étonner, Madame, de ne pas trouver ici toutes les -commodités désirables, c’est l’ordinaire des hôtelleries; mais si vous -consentez à partager notre logement, dit-elle en montrant Luscinde, -peut-être avouerez-vous n’avoir point rencontré dans le cours de votre -voyage un meilleur gîte que celui-ci, et où l’on vous ait fait un -meilleur accueil. L’étrangère ne répondit rien; mais croisant ses bras -sur sa poitrine, elle baissa la tête pour témoigner qu’elle se sentait -obligée; son silence ainsi que sa manière de saluer firent penser -qu’elle était musulmane et qu’elle n’entendait pas l’espagnol. - -Mesdames, répondit le captif, cette jeune femme ne comprend pas la -langue espagnole et ne parle que la sienne; c’est pourquoi elle ne -répond pas à vos questions. - -Nous ne lui adressons point de questions, reprit Luscinde; nous lui -offrons seulement notre compagnie pour cette nuit, et nos services -autant qu’il dépend de nous et que le lieu le permet. - -Je vous rends grâces, mesdames, et pour elle et pour moi, dit le captif; -et je suis d’autant plus touché de vos offres de service, que je vois -qu’elles sont faites par des personnes de qualité. - -Cette dame est-elle chrétienne ou musulmane? demanda Dorothée, car son -habit et son silence nous font croire qu’elle n’est pas de notre -religion. - -Elle est née musulmane, répondit le captif; mais au fond de l’âme elle -est chrétienne et ne souhaite rien tant que de le devenir. - -Est-elle baptisée? demanda Luscinde. - -Nous n’en avons pas encore trouvé l’occasion, depuis qu’elle est partie -d’Alger, sa patrie, répondit le captif, et nous n’avons pas voulu -qu’elle le fût avant d’être bien instruite dans notre sainte religion; -mais s’il plaît à Dieu, elle recevra bientôt le baptême avec toute la -solennité que mérite sa qualité, qui est plus relevée que ne l’annoncent -son costume et le mien. - -Ces paroles donnaient à ceux qui les avaient entendues un vif désir de -savoir qui étaient ces voyageurs; mais personne n’osa le laisser -paraître, parce qu’on voyait qu’ils avaient besoin de repos. Dorothée -prit la Moresque par la main, et l’ayant fait asseoir, la pria de lever -son voile. L’étrangère regarda le captif comme pour lui demander ce -qu’on souhaitait d’elle, et quand il lui eut fait comprendre en arabe -que ces dames la priaient de lever son voile, elle fit voir tant -d’attraits, que Dorothée la trouva plus belle que Luscinde, et Luscinde -plus belle que Dorothée; et comme le privilége de la beauté est de -s’attirer la sympathie générale, ce fut à qui s’empresserait auprès de -l’étrangère, et à qui lui ferait le plus d’avances. Don Fernand ayant -exprimé le désir d’apprendre son nom, le captif répondit qu’elle -s’appelait Lela Zoraïde; mais elle, qui avait deviné l’intention du -jeune seigneur, s’écria aussitôt: _No, no, Zoraïda! Maria! Maria!_ -voulant dire qu’elle s’appelait Marie, et non pas Zoraïde. Ces paroles, -le ton dont elle les avait prononcées, émurent vivement tous ceux qui -étaient présents, et particulièrement les dames, qui, naturellement -tendres, sont plus accessibles aux émotions. Luscinde l’embrassa avec -effusion, en disant: _Oui, oui, Marie! Marie!_ A quoi la Moresque -répondit avec empressement: _Si, si, Maria! Zoraïda macangé!_ -c’est-à-dire plus de Zoraïde. - -Cependant la nuit approchait, et sur l’ordre de don Fernand l’hôtelier -avait mis tous ses soins à préparer le souper. L’heure venue, chacun -prit place à une longue table, étroite comme celle d’un réfectoire. On -donna le haut bout à don Quichotte, qui d’abord déclina cet honneur, et -ne consentit à s’asseoir qu’à une condition, c’est que la princesse de -Micomicon prendrait place à son côté, puisqu’elle était sous sa garde. -Luscinde et Zoraïde s’assirent ensuite, et en face d’elles don Fernand -et Cardenio; plus bas le captif et les autres cavaliers, puis, -immédiatement après les dames, le curé et le barbier. - -Le repas fut très-gai, parce que la compagnie était agréable et que tous -avaient sujet d’être contents. Mais ce qui augmenta la bonne humeur, ce -fut quand ils virent que don Quichotte s’apprêtait à parler, animé du -même esprit qui lui avait fait adresser naguère sa harangue aux -chevriers. En vérité, messeigneurs, dit notre héros, il faut convenir -que ceux qui ont l’avantage d’avoir fait profession dans l’ordre de la -chevalerie errante sont souvent témoins de bien grandes et bien -merveilleuses choses! Dites-moi, je vous prie, quel être vivant y a-t-il -au monde qui, entrant à cette heure dans ce château, et nous voyant -attablés de la sorte, pût croire ce que nous sommes en réalité? Qui -pourrait jamais s’imaginer que cette dame, assise à ma droite, est la -grande reine que nous connaissons tous, et que je suis ce chevalier de -la Triste-Figure dont ne cesse de s’occuper la renommée? Comment donc ne -pas avouer que cette noble profession surpasse de beaucoup toutes celles -que les hommes ont imaginées? et n’est-elle pas d’autant plus digne -d’estime qu’elle expose ceux qui l’exercent à de plus grands dangers? -Qu’on ne vienne donc point soutenir devant moi que les lettres -l’emportent sur les armes, ou je répondrai à celui-là, quel qu’il soit, -qu’il ne sait ce qu’il dit. - -La raison que bien des gens donnent de la prééminence des lettres sur -les armes, et sur laquelle ils se fondent, c’est que les travaux de -l’intelligence surpassent de beaucoup ceux du corps, parce que, selon -eux, le corps fonctionne seul dans la profession des armes: comme si -cette profession était un métier de portefaix, qui n’exigeât que de -bonnes épaules, et qu’il ne fallût point un grand discernement pour bien -employer cette force; comme si le général qui commande une armée en -campagne et qui défend une place assiégée, n’avait pas encore plus -besoin de vigueur d’esprit que de force de corps! Est-ce par hasard avec -la force du corps qu’on devine les desseins de l’ennemi, qu’on imagine -des ruses pour les opposer aux siennes et des stratagèmes pour ruiner -ses entreprises? Ne sont-ce pas là toutes choses du ressort de -l’intelligence, et où le corps n’a rien à voir? Maintenant, s’il est -vrai que les armes exigent comme les lettres l’emploi de l’intelligence, -puisqu’il n’en faut pas moins à l’homme de guerre qu’à l’homme de -lettres, voyons le but que chacun d’eux se propose, et nous arriverons à -conclure que celui-là est le plus à estimer qui se propose une plus -noble fin. - -La fin et le but des lettres (je ne parle pas des lettres divines, dont -la mission est de conduire et d’acheminer les âmes au ciel; car à une -telle fin nulle autre ne peut se comparer); je parle des lettres -humaines, qui ont pour but la justice distributive, le maintien et -l’exécution des lois. Cette fin est assurément noble, généreuse et digne -d’éloges, mais pas autant, toutefois, que celle des armes, lesquelles -ont pour objet et pour but la paix, c’est-à-dire le plus grand des biens -que les hommes puissent désirer en cette vie. Quelles furent, je vous le -demande, les premières paroles prononcées par les anges dans cette nuit -féconde qui est devenue pour nous la source de la lumière? _Gloire à -Dieu dans les hauteurs célestes, paix sur la terre aux hommes de bonne -volonté._ Quel était le salut bienveillant que le divin maître du ciel -et de la terre recommandait à ses disciples, quand ils entraient dans -quelque lieu: _La paix soit dans cette maison_. Maintes fois il leur a -dit: _Je vous donne ma paix, je vous laisse la paix_, comme le joyau le -plus précieux que pût donner et laisser une telle main, et sans lequel -il ne saurait exister de bonheur ici-bas. Or, la paix est la fin que se -propose la guerre, et qui dit la guerre dit les armes. Une fois cette -vérité admise, que la paix est la fin que se propose la guerre, et qu’en -cela elle l’emporte sur les lettres, venons-en à comparer les travaux du -lettré avec ceux du soldat, et voyons quels sont les plus pénibles. - -Don Quichotte poursuivait son discours avec tant de méthode et -d’éloquence, qu’aucun de ses auditeurs ne songeait à sa folie; au -contraire, comme ils étaient la plupart adonnés à la profession des -armes, ils l’écoutaient avec autant de plaisir que d’attention. - -Je dis donc, continua-t-il, que les travaux et les souffrances de -l’étudiant, du lettré, sont ceux que je vais énumérer. D’abord et -par-dessus tout la pauvreté; non pas que tous les étudiants soient -pauvres, mais pour prendre leur condition dans ce qu’elle a de pire, et -parce que la pauvreté est selon moi un des plus grands maux qu’on puisse -endurer en cette vie; car qui dit pauvre, dit exposé à la faim, au -froid, à la nudité, et souvent à ces trois choses à la fois. Eh bien, -l’étudiant n’est-il jamais si pauvre, qu’il ne puisse se procurer -quelque chose à mettre sous la dent? ne rencontre-t-il pas le plus -souvent quelque _brasero_, quelque cheminée hospitalière, où il peut, -sinon se réchauffer tout à fait, au moins se dégourdir les doigts, et, -quand la nuit est venue, ne trouve-t-il pas toujours un toit où se -reposer? Je passe sous silence la pénurie de leur chaussure, -l’insuffisance de leur garde-robe, et ce goût qu’ils ont pour -s’empiffrer jusqu’à la gorge, quand un heureux hasard leur fait trouver -place à quelque festin. Mais c’est par ce chemin, âpre et difficile, -j’en conviens, que beaucoup parmi eux bronchant par ici, tombant par là, -se relevant d’un côté pour retomber de l’autre, beaucoup, dis-je, sont -arrivés au but qu’ils ambitionnaient, et nous en avons vu qui, après -avoir traversé toutes ces misères, paraissant comme emportés par le vent -favorable de la fortune, se sont trouvés tout à coup appelés à gouverner -l’État, ayant changé leur faim en satiété, leur nudité en habits -somptueux, et leur natte de jonc en lit de damas, prix justement mérité -de leur savoir et de leur vertu. Mais si l’on met leurs travaux en -regard de ceux du soldat, et que l’on compare l’un à l’autre, combien le -lettré reste en arrière! C’est ce que je vais facilement démontrer. - -CHAPITRE XXXVIII - -OU SE CONTINUE LE CURIEUX DISCOURS QUE FIT DON QUICHOTTE SUR LES LETTRES -ET SUR LES ARMES - -Don Quichotte, après avoir repris haleine pendant quelques instants, -continua ainsi: Nous avons parlé de toutes les misères et de la pauvreté -du lettré; voyons maintenant si le soldat est plus riche. Eh bien, il -nous faudra convenir que nul au monde n’est plus pauvre que ce dernier, -car c’est la pauvreté même. En effet, il doit se contenter de sa -misérable solde, qui vient toujours tard, quelquefois même jamais; -alors, si manquant du nécessaire, il se hasarde à dérober quelque chose, -il le fait souvent au péril de sa vie, et toujours au notable détriment -de son âme. Vous le verrez passer tout un hiver avec un méchant -justaucorps tailladé, qui lui sert à la fois d’uniforme et de chemise, -n’ayant pour se défendre contre l’inclémence du ciel que le souffle de -sa bouche, lequel sortant d’un endroit vide et affamé, doit -nécessairement être froid. Maintenant vienne la nuit, pour qu’il puisse -prendre un peu de repos; par ma foi, tant pis pour lui si le lit qui -l’attend pèche par défaut de largeur, car il peut mesurer sur la terre -autant de pieds qu’il voudra, pour s’y tourner et retourner tout à son -aise, sans crainte de déranger ses draps. Arrive enfin le jour et -l’heure de gagner les degrés de sa profession, c’est-à-dire un jour de -bataille; en guise de bonnet de docteur, on lui appliquera sur la tête -une compresse de charpie pour panser la blessure d’une balle qui lui -aura labouré la tempe, ou le laissera estropié d’une jambe ou d’un bras. -Mais supposons qu’il s’en soit tiré heureusement, et que le ciel, en sa -miséricorde, l’ait conservé sain et sauf, en revient-il plus riche qu’il -n’était auparavant? ne doit-il pas se trouver encore à un grand nombre -de combats, et en sortir toujours vainqueur, avant d’arriver à quelque -chose? sortes de miracles qui ne se voient que fort rarement. Aussi, -combien peu de gens font fortune à l’armée, en comparaison de ceux qui -périssent! le nombre des morts est incalculable, et les survivants n’en -font pas la millième partie. Pour le lettré, c’est tout le contraire: -car, de manière ou d’autre, avec le pan de sa robe, sans compter les -manches, il trouve toujours de quoi vivre; et pourtant, bien que les -travaux du soldat soient incomparablement plus pénibles que ceux du -lettré, il a beaucoup moins de récompenses à espérer, et elles sont -toujours de moindre importance. - -Mais, dira-t-on, il est plus aisé de récompenser le petit nombre des -lettrés que cette foule de gens qui suivent la profession des armes, -parce qu’on s’acquitte envers les premiers en leur conférant des offices -qui reviennent de droit à ceux de leur profession, tandis que les -seconds ne peuvent être rémunérés qu’aux dépens du seigneur qu’ils -servent: ce qui ne fait que confirmer ce que j’ai déjà avancé. Mais -laissons là ce labyrinthe de difficile issue, et revenons à la -prééminence des armes sur les lettres. - -On dit, pour les lettres, que sans elles les armes ne pourraient -subsister, à cause des lois auxquelles la guerre est soumise, et parce -que ces lois étant du domaine des lettrés, ils en sont les interprètes -et les dispensateurs. A cela je réponds que sans les armes, au -contraire, les lois ne pourraient pas se maintenir, parce que c’est avec -les armes que les États se défendent, que les royaumes se conservent, -que les villes se gardent, que les chemins deviennent sûrs, que les mers -sont purgées de pirates; que sans les armes enfin, les royaumes, les -cités, en un mot la terre et la mer, seraient perpétuellement en butte à -la plus horrible confusion. Or, si c’est un fait reconnu, que plus une -chose coûte cher à acquérir, plus elle s’estime et doit être estimée, je -demanderai ce qu’il en coûte pour devenir éminent dans les lettres? Du -temps, des veilles, de l’application d’esprit, faire souvent mauvaise -chère, être mal vêtu, et d’autres choses dont je crois avoir déjà parlé. -Mais, pour devenir bon soldat, il faut endurer tout cela, et bien -d’autres misères presque sans relâche, sans compter le risque de la vie -à toute heure. - -Quelle souffrance peut endurer le lettré qui approche de celle qu’endure -un soldat dans une ville assiégée par l’ennemi? Seul en sentinelle sur -un rempart, le soldat entend creuser une mine sous ses pieds; eh bien, -osera-t-il jamais s’éloigner du péril qui le menace? Tout au plus s’il -lui est permis de faire donner à son capitaine avis de ce qui se passe, -afin qu’on puisse remédier au danger; mais en attendant il doit demeurer -ferme à son poste, jusqu’à ce que l’explosion le lance dans les airs, ou -l’ensevelisse sous les décombres. Voyez maintenant ces deux galères -s’abordant par leurs proues, se cramponnant l’une à l’autre au milieu du -vaste Océan. Pour champ de bataille, le soldat n’a qu’un étroit espace -sur les planches de l’éperon: tout ce qu’il a devant lui sont autant de -ministres de la mort; ce ne sont que mousquets, lances et coutelas; il -sert de but aux grenades, aux pots à feu, et chaque canon est braqué -contre lui à quatre pas de distance. Dans une situation si terrible, -pressé de toutes parts et cerné par la mer, quand le moindre faux pas -peut l’envoyer visiter la profondeur de l’empire de Neptune, son seul -espoir est dans sa force et son courage. Aussi, intrépide et emporté par -l’honneur, il affronte tous ces périls, surmonte tous ces obstacles, et -se fait jour à travers tous ces mousquets et ces piques pour se -précipiter dans l’autre vaisseau, où tout lui est ennemi, tout lui est -danger. A peine le soldat est-il emporté par le boulet, qu’un autre le -remplace; celui-là est englouti par la mer, un autre lui succède, puis -un autre encore, sans qu’aucun de ceux qui survivent s’effraye de la -mort de ses compagnons; ce qui est une marque extraordinaire de courage -et de merveilleuse intrépidité. Heureux les temps qui ne connaissaient -point ces abominables instruments de guerre, dont je tiens l’inventeur -pour damné au fond de l’enfer, où il reçoit, j’en suis certain, le -salaire de sa diabolique invention! Grâce à lui, le plus valeureux -chevalier peut tomber sans vengeance sous les coups éloignés du lâche! -grâce à lui, une balle égarée, tirée peut-être par tel qui s’est enfui, -épouvanté du feu de sa maudite machine, arrête en un instant les -exploits d’un héros qui méritait de vivre longues années! Aussi, -m’arrive-t-il souvent de regretter au fond de l’âme d’avoir embrassé, -dans ce siècle détestable, la profession de chevalier errant; car bien -qu’aucun péril ne me fasse sourciller, il m’est pénible de savoir qu’il -suffit d’un peu de poudre et de plomb pour paralyser ma vaillance et -m’empêcher de faire connaître sur toute la surface de la terre la force -de mon bras. Mais après tout, que la volonté du ciel s’accomplisse, -puisque si j’atteins le but que je me suis proposé, je serai d’autant -plus digne d’estime, que j’aurai affronté de plus grands périls que n’en -affrontèrent les chevaliers des siècles passés. - -Pendant que don Quichotte prononçait ce long discours au lieu de prendre -part au repas, bien que Sancho l’eût averti plusieurs fois de manger, -lui disant qu’il pourrait ensuite parler à son aise, ceux qui -l’écoutaient trouvaient un nouveau sujet de le plaindre de ce qu’après -avoir montré tant de jugement sur diverses matières, il venait de le -perdre à propos de sa maudite chevalerie. Le curé applaudit à la -préférence que notre héros donnait aux armes sur les lettres, ajoutant -que tout intéressé qu’il était dans la question, en sa qualité de -docteur, il se sentait entraîné vers son sentiment. - -On acheva de souper; et pendant que l’hôtesse et Maritorne préparaient, -pour les dames, la chambre de don Quichotte, don Fernand pria le captif -de conter l’histoire de sa vie, ajoutant que toute la compagnie l’en -priait instamment, la rencontre de Zoraïde leur faisant penser qu’il -devait s’y trouver des aventures fort intéressantes. Le captif répondit -qu’il ne savait point résister à ce qu’on lui demandait de si bonne -grâce, mais qu’il craignait que sa manière de raconter ne leur donnât -pas autant de satisfaction qu’ils s’en promettaient. A la fin, se -voyant sollicité par tout le monde: Seigneurs, dit-il, que Vos Grâces me -prêtent attention, et je vais leur faire une relation véridique, qui ne -le cède en rien aux fables les mieux inventées. Chacun étant ainsi -préparé à l’écouter, il commença en ces termes: - -CHAPITRE XXXIX - -OU LE CAPTIF RACONTE SA VIE ET SES AVENTURES - -Je suis né dans un village des montagnes de Léon, de parents plus -favorisés des biens de la nature que de ceux de la fortune. Toutefois, -dans un pays où les gens sont misérables, mon père ne laissait pas -d’avoir la réputation d’être riche; et il l’aurait été en effet s’il eût -mis autant de soin à conserver son patrimoine qu’il mettait -d’empressement à le dissiper. Il avait contracté cette manière de vivre -à la guerre, ayant passé sa jeunesse dans cette admirable école, qui -fait d’un avare un libéral, et d’un libéral un prodigue, et où celui qui -épargne est à bon droit regardé comme un monstre indigne de la noble -profession des armes. Mon père, voyant qu’il ne pouvait résister à son -humeur trop disposée à la dépense et aux largesses, résolut de se -dépouiller de son bien. Il nous fit appeler, mes deux frères et moi, et -nous tint à peu près ce discours: - -Mes chers enfants, vous donner ce nom, c’est dire assez que je vous -aime; mais comme ce n’est pas en fournir la preuve que de dissiper un -bien qui doit vous revenir un jour, j’ai résolu d’accomplir une chose à -laquelle je pense depuis longtemps, et que j’ai mûrement préparée. Vous -êtes tous les trois en âge de vous établir, ou du moins de choisir une -profession qui vous procure dans l’avenir honneur et profit. Eh bien, -mon désir est de vous y aider; c’est pourquoi j’ai fait de mon bien -quatre portions égales; je vous en abandonne trois, me réservant la -dernière pour vivre le reste des jours qu’il plaira au ciel de -m’accorder; seulement, après avoir reçu sa part, je désire que chacun de -vous choisisse une des carrières que je vais vous indiquer. - -Il y a dans notre Espagne un vieux dicton plein de bon sens, comme ils -le sont tous d’ailleurs, étant appuyés sur une longue et sage -expérience; voici ce dicton: _L’Église, la mer ou la maison du roi_; -c’est-à-dire que celui qui veut prospérer et devenir riche, doit entrer -dans l’Église, ou trafiquer sur mer, ou s’attacher à la cour. Je -voudrais donc, mes chers enfants, que l’un de vous s’adonnât à l’étude -des lettres, un autre au commerce, et qu’enfin le troisième servît le -roi dans ses armées, car il est aujourd’hui fort difficile d’entrer dans -sa maison; et quoique le métier des armes n’enrichisse guère ceux qui -l’exercent, on y obtient du moins de la considération et de la gloire. -D’ici à huit jours vos parts seront prêtes, et je vous les donnerai en -argent comptant, sans vous faire tort d’un maravédis, comme il vous sera -aisé de le reconnaître. Dites maintenant quel est votre sentiment, et si -vous êtes disposés à suivre mon conseil. - -Mon père m’ayant ordonné de répondre le premier, comme étant l’aîné, je -le priai instamment de ne point se priver de son bien, lui disant qu’il -pouvait en faire tel usage qu’il lui plairait; que nous étions assez -jeunes pour en acquérir; j’ajoutai que du reste je lui obéirais, et que -mon désir était de suivre la profession des armes. Mon second frère -demanda à partir pour les Indes; le plus jeune, et je crois le mieux -avisé, dit qu’il souhaitait entrer dans l’Église, et aller à Salamanque -achever ses études. Après nous avoir entendus, notre père nous embrassa -tendrement; et dans le délai qu’il avait fixé, il remit à chacun de nous -sa part en argent, c’est-à-dire, si je m’en souviens bien, trois mille -ducats, un de nos oncles ayant acheté notre domaine afin qu’il ne sortît -point de la famille. - -Tout étant prêt pour notre départ, le même jour nous quittâmes tous -trois notre père; mais moi qui regrettais de le laisser avec si peu de -bien dans un âge si avancé, je l’obligeai, à force de prières, à -reprendre deux mille ducats sur ma part, lui faisant observer que le -reste était plus que suffisant pour un soldat. Mes frères, à mon -exemple, lui laissèrent chacun aussi mille ducats, outre ce qu’il -s’était réservé en fonds de terre. Nous prîmes ensuite congé de mon père -et de mon oncle, qui nous prodiguèrent toutes les marques de leur -affection, nous recommandant avec instance de leur donner souvent de nos -nouvelles. Nous le promîmes, et après avoir reçu leur baiser d’adieu et -leur bénédiction, l’un de nous prit le chemin de Salamanque, un autre -celui de Séville; quant à moi, je me dirigeai vers Alicante, où se -trouvait un bâtiment de commerce génois qui allait faire voile pour -l’Italie, et sur lequel je m’embarquai. Il peut y avoir vingt-deux ans -que j’ai quitté la maison de mon père; et pendant ce long intervalle, -bien que j’aie écrit plusieurs fois, je n’ai reçu aucune nouvelle ni de -lui ni de mes frères. - -Notre bâtiment arriva heureusement à Gênes; de là je me rendis à Milan, -où j’achetai des armes et un équipement de soldat, afin d’aller -m’enrôler dans les troupes piémontaises; mais, sur le chemin -d’Alexandrie, j’appris que le duc d’Albe passait en Flandre. Cette -nouvelle me fit changer de résolution, et j’allai prendre du service -sous ce grand capitaine. Je le suivis dans toutes les batailles qu’il -livra; je me trouvai à la mort des comtes de Horn et d’Egmont, et je -devins enseigne dans la compagnie de don Diego d’Urbina. J’étais en -Flandre depuis quelque temps, quand le bruit courut que le pape, -l’Espagne et la république de Venise s’étaient ligués contre le Turc, -qui venait d’enlever Chypre aux Vénitiens; que don Juan d’Autriche, -frère naturel de notre roi Philippe II, était général de la ligue, et -qu’on faisait de grands préparatifs pour cette guerre. Cette nouvelle me -donna un vif désir d’assister à la brillante campagne qui allait -s’ouvrir; et quoique je fusse presque certain d’avoir une compagnie à la -première occasion, je préférai renoncer à cette espérance, et revenir en -Italie. - -Ma bonne étoile voulut que j’arrivasse à Gênes en même temps que don -Juan d’Autriche y entrait avec sa flotte pour cingler ensuite vers -Naples, où il devait se réunir à celle de Venise, jonction qui eut lieu -plus tard à Messine. Bref, devenu capitaine d’infanterie, honorable -emploi que je dus à mon bonheur plutôt qu’à mon mérite, je me trouvai à -cette grande et mémorable journée de Lépante, qui désabusa la chrétienté -de l’opinion où l’on était alors que les Turcs étaient invincibles sur -mer. - -En ce jour où fut brisé l’orgueil ottoman, parmi tant d’heureux qu’il -fit, seul je fus malheureux. Au lieu de recevoir après la bataille, -comme au temps de Rome, une couronne navale, je me vis, la nuit -suivante, avec des fers aux pieds et des menottes aux mains. Voici -comment m’était arrivée cette cruelle disgrâce: Uchali, roi d’Alger et -hardi corsaire, ayant pris à l’abordage la galère capitane de Malte, où -il n’était resté que trois chevaliers tout couverts de blessures, le -bâtiment aux ordres de Jean-André Doria, sur lequel je servais avec ma -compagnie, s’avança pour le secourir; je sautai le premier à bord de la -galère; mais celle-ci s’étant éloignée avant qu’aucun de mes compagnons -pût me suivre, les Turcs me firent prisonnier après m’avoir blessé -grièvement. Uchali, comme vous le savez, ayant réussi à s’échapper avec -toute son escadre, je restai en son pouvoir, et dans la même journée qui -rendait la liberté à quinze mille chrétiens enchaînés sur les galères -turques, je devins esclave des barbares. - -Emmené à Constantinople, où mon maître fut fait général de la mer, en -récompense de sa belle conduite et pour avoir pris l’étendard de l’ordre -de Malte, je me trouvai à Navarin l’année suivante, ramant sur la -capitane appelée les _Trois-Fanaux_. Là, je pus remarquer comme quoi on -laissa échapper l’occasion de détruire toute la flotte turque pendant -qu’elle était à l’ancre, car les janissaires qui la montaient, ne -doutant point qu’on ne vînt les attaquer, se tenaient déjà prêts à -gagner la terre, sans vouloir attendre l’issue du combat, tant ils -étaient épouvantés depuis l’affaire de Lépante. Mais le ciel en ordonna -autrement; et il ne faut en accuser ni la conduite, ni la négligence du -général qui commandait les nôtres. En effet, Uchali se retira à Modon, -île voisine de Navarin; là, ayant mis ses troupes à terre, il fortifia -l’entrée du port, et y resta jusqu’à ce que don Juan se fût éloigné. - -Ce fut dans cette campagne que notre bâtiment, appelé la _Louve_, monté -par ce foudre de guerre, ce père des soldats, cet heureux et invincible -don Alvar de Bazan, marquis de Sainte-Croix, s’empara d’une galère que -commandait un des fils du fameux Barberousse. Vous serez sans doute bien -aise d’apprendre comment eut lieu ce fait de guerre. Ce fils de -Barberousse traitait ses esclaves avec tant de cruauté, et en était -tellement haï, que ceux qui ramaient sur sa galère, se voyant près -d’être atteints par la _Louve_, qui les poursuivait vivement, laissèrent -en même temps tomber leurs rames, et, saisissant leur chef, qui criait -du gaillard d’arrière de ramer avec plus de vigueur, le firent passer de -banc en banc, de la poupe à la proue et en lui donnant tant de coups de -dents, qu’avant qu’il eût atteint le grand mât son âme était dans les -enfers. - -De retour à Constantinople, nous y apprîmes que notre général don Juan -d’Autriche, après avoir emporté d’assaut Tunis, l’avait donné à -Muley-Hamet, ôtant ainsi l’espérance d’y rentrer à Muley-Hamida, le More -le plus vaillant mais le plus cruel qui fût jamais. Le Grand Turc -ressentit vivement cette perte; aussi avec la sagacité qui caractérise -la race ottomane, il s’empressa de conclure la paix avec les Vénitiens, -qui la souhaitaient non moins ardemment; puis, l’année suivante, il -ordonna de mettre le siége devant la Goulette et devant le fort que don -Juan avait commencé à faire élever auprès de Tunis. - -Pendant ces événements, j’étais toujours à la chaîne, sans aucun espoir -de recouvrer ma liberté, du moins par rançon, car je ne voulais pas -donner connaissance à mon père de ma triste situation. Bientôt on sut -que la Goulette avait capitulé, puis le fort, assiégés qu’ils étaient -par soixante mille Turcs réguliers, et par plus de quatre cent mille -Mores et Arabes accourus de tous les points de l’Afrique. La Goulette, -réputée jusqu’alors imprenable, succomba la première malgré son -opiniâtre résistance. On a prétendu que ç’avait été une grande faute de -s’y enfermer au lieu d’empêcher la descente des ennemis; mais ceux qui -parlent ainsi font voir qu’ils n’ont guère l’expérience de la guerre. -Comment sept mille hommes, tout au plus, qu’il y avait dans la Goulette -et dans le fort, auraient-ils pu se partager pour garder ces deux -places, et tenir en même temps la campagne contre une armée si -nombreuse? et d’ailleurs où est la place, si forte soit-elle, qui ne -finisse par capituler si elle n’est point secourue à temps, surtout -quand elle est attaquée par une foule immense et opiniâtre, qui combat -dans son pays? - -Pour moi, je pense avec beaucoup d’autres que la chute de la Goulette -fut un bonheur pour l’Espagne; car ce n’était qu’un repaire de bandits, -qui coûtait beaucoup à entretenir et à défendre sans servir à rien qu’à -perpétuer la mémoire de Charles-Quint, comme si ce grand prince avait -besoin de cette masse de pierres pour éterniser son nom. Quant au fort, -il coûta cher aux Turcs, qui perdirent plus de vingt-cinq mille hommes -en vingt-deux assauts, où les assiégés firent une si opiniâtre -résistance et déployèrent une si grande valeur, que des treize cents qui -restèrent aucun n’était sans blessures. - -Un petit fort, construit au milieu du lac, et où s’était enfermé, avec -une poignée d’hommes, don Juan Zanoguera, brave capitaine valencien, fut -contraint de capituler. Il en fut de même du commandant de la Goulette, -don Pedro Puerto-Carrero, qui, après s’être distingué par la défense de -cette place, mourut de chagrin sur la route de Constantinople, où on le -conduisait. Gabriel Cerbellon, excellent ingénieur milanais et -très-vaillant soldat, resta aussi prisonnier. Enfin, il périt dans ces -deux siéges un grand nombre de gens de marque, parmi lesquels il faut -citer Pagano Doria, chevalier de l’ordre de Saint-Jean, homme généreux -comme le montra l’extrême libéralité dont il usa envers son frère, le -fameux Jean-André Doria. Ce qui rendit sa mort encore plus déplorable, -c’est que, voyant le fort perdu sans ressource, il crut pouvoir se -confier à des Arabes qui s’étaient offerts à le conduire sous un habit -moresque à Tabarca, petit port pour la pêche du corail que possèdent les -Génois, sur ce rivage. Mais ces Arabes lui coupèrent la tête, et la -portèrent au chef de la flotte turque; celui-ci les récompensa suivant -le proverbe castillan: _La trahison plaît, mais non le traître_; car -il les fit pendre tous pour ne pas lui avoir amené Doria vivant. - -Parmi les prisonniers se trouvait aussi un certain don Pedro d’Aguilar, -de je ne sais plus quel endroit de l’Andalousie; c’était un homme d’une -grande bravoure, qui avait été enseigne dans le fort: militaire -distingué; il possédait de plus un goût singulier pour la poésie; il fut -mis sur la même galère que moi, et devint esclave du même maître. Avant -de partir, il composa, pour servir d’épitaphe à la Goulette et au fort, -deux sonnets que je vais vous réciter, si je m’en souviens; je suis -certain qu’ils vous feront plaisir. - -En entendant prononcer le nom de Pedro d’Aguilar, don Fernand regarda -ses compagnons, et tous trois se mirent à sourire. Comme le captif -allait continuer: - -Avant de passer outre, lui dit un des cavaliers, veuillez m’instruire de -ce qu’est devenu ce Pedro d’Aguilar. - -Tout ce que je sais, répondit le captif, c’est qu’après deux ans -d’esclavage à Constantinople il s’enfuit un jour en habit d’Arnaute avec -un espion grec: j’ignore s’il parvint à recouvrer la liberté; mais un -an plus tard, je vis le Grec à Constantinople, sans jamais trouver -l’occasion de lui demander des nouvelles de leur évasion. - -Je puis vous en donner, repartit le cavalier; ce don Pedro est mon -frère; il est maintenant dans son pays en bonne santé, richement marié, -et il a trois enfants. - -Dieu soit loué! dit le captif; car, selon moi, le plus grand des biens, -c’est de recouvrer la liberté. - -J’ai retenu aussi les sonnets que fit mon frère, reprit le cavalier. - -Vous me ferez plaisir de nous les réciter, répondit le captif, et vous -vous en acquitterez mieux que moi. - -Volontiers, dit le cavalier. Voici celui de la Goulette: - -CHAPITRE XL - -OU SE CONTINUE L’HISTOIRE DU CAPTIF - - SONNET - - Esprits qui, dégagés des entraves du corps, - Jouissez maintenant de cette paix profonde - Que jamais les mortels ne goûtent dans le monde, - Ce digne et juste prix de vos nobles efforts, - - Vous avez su montrer par d’illustres transports - Qu’un zèle ardent et saint rend la valeur féconde, - Lorsque de votre sang teignant à peine l’onde, - Vous fîtes des vainqueurs des montagnes de morts. - - Vous manquâtes de vie et non pas de courage, - Et vos corps épuisés après tant de carnage, - Tombèrent invaincus, les armes à la main. - - O valeur immortelle! une seule journée - Te fait vivre ici-bas à jamais couronnée, - Et le maître du ciel te couronne en son sein. - -Je me le rappelle bien, dit le captif. - -Quant à celui qui fut fait pour le fort, si j’ai bonne mémoire, il était -ainsi conçu, reprit le cavalier: - - Tous ces murs écroulés dans ces plaines stériles, - Sont le noble théâtre où trois mille soldats, - Pour renaître bientôt en des lieux plus paisibles, - Souffrirent par le fer un illustre trépas. - - Après avoir rendu leurs remparts inutiles, - Ces cruels ennemis ne les vainquirent pas; - Mais leurs corps épuisés, languissants et débiles, - Cédèrent sous l’effort d’un million de bras. - - C’est là ce lieu fatal où, depuis tant d’années, - Par les sévères lois des saintes destinées, - On moissonne en mourant la gloire et les lauriers. - - Mais jamais cette terre, en prodiges féconde, - N’a nourri pour le ciel, ou fait voir dans le monde, - Ni de plus saints martyrs, ni de plus grands guerriers[52]. - - [52] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Les sonnets ne furent pas trouvés mauvais, et le captif, après s’être -réjoui des bonnes nouvelles qu’on lui donnait de son ancien compagnon -d’infortune, continua son histoire: Les Turcs firent démanteler la -Goulette, et pour en venir plus promptement à bout, ils la minèrent de -trois côtés; mais jamais ils ne purent parvenir à renverser les vieilles -murailles, qui semblaient les plus faciles à détruire; tout ce qui -restait de la nouvelle fortification tomba au contraire en un instant. -Quant au fort, il était dans un tel état, qu’il ne fut pas besoin de le -ruiner davantage. Bref, l’armée retourna triomphante à Constantinople, -où Uchali mourut peu de temps après. On l’avait surnommé FARTAX, ce qui -en langue turque veut dire TEIGNEUX, car il l’était effectivement. Les -Turcs ont coutume de donner aux gens des sobriquets tirés de leurs -qualités ou de leurs défauts: comme ils ne possèdent que quatre noms, -ceux des quatre familles de la race ottomane, ils sont obligés pour se -distinguer entre eux d’emprunter des désignations provenant soit de -quelque qualité morale soit de quelque défaut corporel. - -Cet Uchali avait commencé par être forçat sur les galères du Grand -Seigneur, dont il resta l’esclave pendant quatorze années. A -trente-quatre ans, il se fit renégat pour devenir libre et se venger -d’un Turc qui lui avait donné un soufflet. Dans la première rencontre, -il se distingua tellement par sa valeur, que, sans passer par les -emplois subalternes, ce dont les favoris même du Grand Seigneur ne sont -pas exempts, il devint dey d’Alger, puis général de la mer, ce qui est -la troisième charge de l’empire. Il était Calabrais de nation, et, à sa -religion près, homme de bien et assez humain pour ses esclaves, dont le -nombre s’élevait à plus de trois mille. Uchali mort, ses esclaves furent -partagés entre le Grand Seigneur, qui d’ordinaire hérite de ses sujets, -et les renégats attachés à sa personne. Quant à moi, j’échus en partage -à un renégat vénitien, qui avait été mousse sur un navire tombé au -pouvoir d’Uchali, lequel conçut pour lui une si grande affection qu’il -en avait fait un de ses plus chers confidents. Il s’appelait Azanaga. -Devenu extrêmement riche, il fut fait plus tard dey d’Alger. Mais -c’était un des hommes les plus cruels qu’on ait jamais vus. - -Conduit dans cette ville avec mes compagnons d’esclavage, j’eus une -grande joie de me sentir rapproché de l’Espagne, persuadé que je -trouverais à Alger, plutôt qu’à Constantinople, quelque moyen de -recouvrer ma liberté; car je ne perdais point l’espérance, et quand ce -que j’avais projeté ne réussissait pas, je cherchais à m’en consoler en -rêvant à d’autres moyens. Je passais ainsi ma vie, dans une prison que -les Turcs appellent _bagne_, où ils renferment tous leurs esclaves, ceux -qui appartiennent au dey, ceux des particuliers, et ceux appelés -esclaves de l’_almacen_, comme on dirait en Espagne de l’_ayuntamiento_; -ils sont tous employés aux travaux publics. Ces derniers ont bien de la -peine à recouvrer leur liberté, parce qu’étant à tout le monde, et -n’appartenant à aucun maître, ils ne savent à qui s’adresser pour -traiter de leur rançon. Quant aux esclaves dits _de rachat_, on les -place dans ces bagnes jusqu’à ce que leur rançon soit venue. Là ils ne -sont employés à aucun travail, si ce n’est quand l’argent se fait trop -attendre; car alors on les envoie au bois avec les autres, travail -extrêmement pénible. Dès qu’on sut que j’étais capitaine, ce fut -inutilement que je me fis pauvre: je fus regardé comme un homme -considérable, et on me mit au nombre des esclaves de rachat, avec une -chaîne qui faisait voir que je traitais de ma liberté plutôt qu’elle -n’était une marque de servitude. - -Je demeurai ainsi quelque temps dans ce bagne, avec d’autres esclaves -qui n’étaient pas retenus plus étroitement que moi; et bien que nous -fussions souvent pressés par la faim, et que nous subissions une foule -d’autres misères, rien ne nous affligeait tant que les cruautés -qu’Azanaga exerçait à toute heure sur nos malheureux compagnons. Il ne -se passait pas de jour qu’il ne fît pendre ou empaler quelques-uns -d’entre eux; le moindre supplice consistait à leur couper les oreilles, -et pour des motifs si légers, qu’au dire même des Turcs il n’agissait -ainsi qu’afin de satisfaire son instinct cruel et sanguinaire. - -Un soldat espagnol, nommé Saavedra, trouva seul le moyen et eut le -courage de braver cette humeur barbare. Quoique, pour recouvrer sa -liberté, il eût fait des tentatives si prodigieuses que les Turcs en -parlent encore aujourd’hui, et que, chaque jour, nous fussions dans la -crainte de le voir empalé, que lui-même enfin le craignît plus d’une -fois, jamais son maître ne le fit battre ni jamais il ne lui adressa le -moindre reproche. Si j’en avais le temps, je vous raconterais de ce -Saavedra des choses qui vous intéresseraient beaucoup plus que mes -propres aventures; mais, je le répète, cela m’entraînerait trop loin. - -Sur la cour de notre prison donnaient les fenêtres de l’habitation d’un -riche More; selon l’usage du pays, ce sont plutôt des lucarnes que des -fenêtres, encore sont-elles protégées par des jalousies épaisses et -serrées. Un jour que j’étais monté sur une terrasse où, pour tuer le -temps, je m’exerçais à sauter avec trois de mes compagnons, les autres -ayant été envoyés au travail, je vis tout à coup sortir d’une de ces -lucarnes un mouchoir attaché au bout d’une canne de jonc. Au mouvement -de cette canne, qui semblait être un appel, un de mes compagnons -s’avança pour la prendre; mais on la retira sur-le-champ. Celui-ci à -peine éloigné, la canne reparut aussitôt; un autre voulut recommencer -l’épreuve, mais ce fut en vain; le troisième ne fut pas plus heureux. -Enfin je voulus éprouver la fortune à mon tour, et dès que je fus sous -la fenêtre, la canne tomba à mes pieds. Je m’empressai de dénouer le -mouchoir, et j’y trouvai dix petites pièces valant environ dix de nos -réaux. Vous jugez de ma joie en recevant ce secours dans la détresse où -nous étions, joie d’autant plus grande que le bienfait s’adressait à moi -seul. - -Je revins sur la terrasse, et regardant du côté de la fenêtre, j’aperçus -une main très-blanche qui la fermait; ce qui me fit penser que nous -devions à une femme cette libéralité. Nous la remerciâmes à la manière -des Turcs, en inclinant la tête et le corps, et en croisant les bras sur -la poitrine. Au bout de quelque temps, nous vîmes paraître à la même -lucarne une petite croix de roseau qu’on retira aussitôt. Cela nous -donna à croire que c’était une esclave chrétienne qui nous voulait du -bien; néanmoins, d’après la blancheur du bras, et aussi d’après le -bracelet que nous avions distingué, nous pensâmes que c’était plutôt une -chrétienne renégate que son maître avait épousée, les Mores préférant -ces femmes à celles de leur propre pays; mais nous nous trompions dans -nos diverses conjectures, comme vous le verrez par la suite. - -Depuis ce moment, nous avions sans cesse les yeux attachés sur la -fenêtre d’où nous avions reçu une si agréable assistance. Quinze jours -se passèrent sans qu’on l’ouvrît, et, malgré les peines que nous nous -donnâmes pour savoir s’il se trouvait dans cette maison quelque -chrétienne renégate, nous ne pûmes rien découvrir, si ce n’est que la -maison appartenait à Agimorato, homme considérable, ancien caïd du fort -de Bata, emploi des plus importants chez les Mores. - -Un jour que nous étions encore tous les quatre seuls dans le bagne, -nous aperçûmes de nouveau la canne et le mouchoir: nous répétâmes la -même épreuve, et toujours avec le même résultat; la canne ne se rendit -qu’à moi, et je trouvai dans le mouchoir quarante écus d’or d’Espagne, -avec une lettre écrite en arabe et une grande croix au bas. Je baisai la -croix, je pris les écus, et nous retournâmes sur la terrasse pour faire -notre remercîment ordinaire. Lorsque j’eus fait connaître par signe que -je lirais le papier, la main disparut et la fenêtre se referma. - -Cette bonne fortune, dans le triste état où nous étions, nous donna une -joie extrême et de grandes espérances; mais aucun de nous n’entendait -l’arabe, et nous étions fort embarrassés de savoir le contenu de la -lettre, craignant, en nous adressant mal, de compromettre notre -bienfaitrice avec nous. Enfin le désir de savoir pourquoi on m’avait -choisi plutôt que mes compagnons, m’engagea à me confier à un renégat de -Murcie qui me témoignait de l’amitié. Je m’ouvris à cet homme après -avoir pris toutes les précautions possibles pour l’engager au secret, -c’est-à-dire en lui donnant une attestation qu’il avait toujours servi -et assisté les chrétiens, et que son dessein était de s’enfuir dès qu’il -en trouverait l’occasion; les renégats se munissent de ces certificats -par précaution. Je vous dirai à ce sujet que les uns en usent de bonne -foi, mais que d’autres agissent seulement par ruse. Lorsqu’ils vont -faire la course en mer, si par hasard ils tombent entre les mains des -chrétiens, ils se tirent d’affaire au moyen de ces certificats qui -tendent à prouver que leur intention était de retourner dans leur pays. -Ils évitent ainsi la mort en feignant de se réconcilier avec la religion -chrétienne, et sous le voile d’une abjuration simulée, ils vivent en -liberté sans qu’on les inquiète; mais le plus souvent, à la première -occasion favorable, ils repassent en Barbarie. - -Le renégat auquel je m’étais confié avait une attestation semblable de -tous mes compagnons d’infortune; et si les Mores l’avaient soupçonné, il -aurait été brûlé vif. Après avoir pris mes précautions avec lui, et -sachant qu’il parlait l’arabe, je le priai, sans m’expliquer davantage, -de me lire ce billet que je disais avoir trouvé dans un coin de ma -prison. Il l’ouvrit, l’examina quelque temps, et après l’avoir lu deux -ou trois fois, il me pria, si je voulais en avoir l’explication, de lui -procurer de l’encre et du papier; ce que je fis. L’ayant traduit -sur-le-champ: voici me dit-il, ce que signifie cet écrit, sans qu’il y -manque un seul mot; je vous avertis seulement que _Lela Marien_ veut -dire vierge Marie, et _Allah_, Dieu. - -Tel était le contenu de cette lettre, qui ne sortira jamais de ma -mémoire: - - «Lorsque j’étais enfant, une femme, esclave de mon père, m’apprit en - notre langue la prière des chrétiens, et me dit plusieurs choses de - _Lela Marien_. Cette esclave mourut, et je sais qu’elle n’alla point - dans le feu éternel, mais avec Dieu; car, depuis qu’elle est morte, je - l’ai revue deux fois, et toujours elle m’a recommandé d’aller chez - les chrétiens voir _Lela Marien_, qui m’aime beaucoup. De cette - fenêtre, j’ai aperçu bien des chrétiens; mais je dois l’avouer, toi - seul parmi eux m’a paru gentilhomme. Je suis jeune et assez belle, et - j’ai beaucoup d’argent que j’emporterai avec moi: vois si tu veux - entreprendre de m’emmener. Il ne tiendra qu’à toi que je sois ta - femme; si tu ne le veux pas, je n’en suis point en peine, parce que - _Lela Marien_ saura me donner un mari. Comme c’est moi qui ai écrit - cette lettre, je voudrais pouvoir t’avertir de ne te fier à aucun - More, parce qu’ils sont tous traîtres. Aussi cela me cause beaucoup - d’inquiétude; car si mon père vient à en avoir connaissance, je suis - perdue. Il y a au bout de la canne un fil auquel tu attacheras ta - réponse; si tu ne trouves personne qui sache écrire en arabe, - explique-moi par signes ce que tu auras à me dire. _Lela Marien_ me le - fera comprendre. Je te recommande à Dieu et à elle, et encore à cette - croix que je baise souvent, comme l’esclave m’a recommandé de le - faire.» - -Il serait difficile, continua le captif, de vous exprimer combien cette -lettre nous causa de joie et d’admiration. Le renégat, qui ne pouvait se -persuader qu’elle eût été trouvée par hasard, mais qui croyait au -contraire qu’elle s’adressait à l’un de nous, nous pria de lui dire la -vérité, et de nous fier entièrement à lui, résolu qu’il était de -hasarder sa vie pour notre liberté. En parlant ainsi, il tira de son -sein un petit crucifix, et, versant des larmes abondantes, il jura, par -le Dieu dont il montrait l’image et en qui il croyait de tout son cœur -malgré son infidélité, de garder un secret inviolable; ajoutant qu’il -voyait bien que nous pouvions tous recouvrer la liberté par le secours -de celle qui nous écrivait, et qu’ainsi il aurait la consolation de -rentrer dans le sein du christianisme, dont il s’était malheureusement -séparé. Cet homme manifestait un tel repentir, que nous n’hésitâmes plus -à lui découvrir la vérité, et même à lui montrer la fenêtre d’où nous -était venu tant de bonheur. Il promit d’employer toute son adresse pour -savoir qui habitait cette maison; puis il écrivit en arabe ma réponse à -la lettre. - -En voici les propres termes, je les ai très-bien retenus, comme tout ce -qui m’est arrivé dans mon esclavage: - - «Le véritable _Allah_ vous conserve, madame, et la bienheureuse _Lela - Marien_, la mère de notre Sauveur, qui vous a mis au cœur le désir - d’aller chez les chrétiens parce qu’elle vous aime! Priez-la qu’il lui - plaise de conduire le dessein qu’elle vous a inspiré; elle est si - bonne qu’elle ne vous repoussera pas. Je vous promets de ma part, et - au nom de mes compagnons, de faire, au risque de la vie, tout ce qui - dépendra de nous pour votre service. Ne craignez point de m’écrire, et - donnez-moi avis de tout ce que vous aurez résolu: j’aurai soin de vous - faire réponse. Nous avons ici un esclave chrétien qui sait écrire en - arabe, comme vous le verrez par cette lettre. Quant à l’offre que vous - me faites d’être ma femme quand nous serons chez les chrétiens, je la - reçois de grand cœur et avec une joie extrême; et dès à présent je - vous donne ma parole d’être votre mari: vous savez que les chrétiens - tiennent mieux leurs promesses que les Mores. Le véritable _Allah_ et - _Lela Marien_ vous conservent!» - -Ce billet écrit et fermé, j’attendis deux jours que le bagne fût vide -pour retourner, comme à l’ordinaire, sur la terrasse. Je n’y fus pas -longtemps sans voir la canne, et j’y attachai ma réponse. Elle reparut -peu après, et cette fois le mouchoir tomba à mes pieds avec plus de -cinquante écus d’or, ce qui redoubla notre allégresse et nos espérances. -La nuit suivante le renégat vint nous apprendre que cette maison était -celle d’Agimorato, un des plus riches Mores d’Alger, qui n’avait, -disait-on, pour héritière qu’une seule fille, et la plus belle personne -de toute la Barbarie. Cette fille, ajouta-t-il, avait eu pour esclave -une chrétienne morte depuis peu: ce qui s’accordait avec ce qu’elle -avait écrit. Nous nous consultâmes avec le renégat sur les moyens -d’emmener la belle Moresque et de revenir tous en pays chrétiens; mais -avant de rien conclure, nous résolûmes d’attendre encore une fois des -nouvelles de Zoraïde (ainsi s’appelle celle qui souhaite si ardemment -d’être nommée Marie). Le renégat nous voyant déterminés à fuir, nous dit -de le laisser agir seul, qu’il réussirait ou qu’il y perdrait la vie. Le -bagne étant resté pendant quatre jours plein de monde, nous fûmes tout -ce temps sans voir reparaître la canne: mais le cinquième jour, comme -nous étions seuls, elle se montra de nouveau avec un mouchoir beaucoup -plus lourd que les deux précédents: on l’abaissa comme à l’ordinaire, -pour moi seulement, et je trouvai cent écus d’or, avec une lettre que -nous allâmes faire lire au renégat. Voici ce qu’elle contenait: - - «Je ne sais comment nous ferons pour gagner l’Espagne; _Lela Marien_ - ne me l’a point dit, quoique je l’en ai bien priée. Tout ce que je - puis faire, c’est de te donner beaucoup d’or, dont tu te rachèteras - ainsi que tes compagnons, et l’un d’eux ira chez les chrétiens acheter - une barque, avec laquelle il reviendra chercher les autres. Quant à - moi, tu sauras que je vais passer le printemps avec mon père et nos - esclaves dans un jardin au bord de la mer, près de la porte Babazoun; - là, tu pourras venir me prendre une nuit, et me conduire à la barque - sans rien craindre. Mais souviens-toi, chrétien, que tu m’as promis - d’être mon mari; si tu manques à ta parole, je prierai _Lela Marien_ - de te punir. Si tu ne veux te confier à personne pour acheter la - barque, vas-y toi-même: car je ne doute pas que tu ne reviennes, - puisque tu es gentilhomme et chrétien. Fais aussi en sorte de savoir - où est notre jardin. En attendant que tout soit prêt, promène-toi dans - la cour du bagne quand il sera vide, et je te donnerai autant d’or que - tu en voudras. Allah te garde, chrétien!» - -Après la lecture de cette lettre, chacun s’offrit pour aller acheter la -barque. Mais le renégat jura qu’aucun de nous ne sortirait de captivité -sans être suivi de ses compagnons, sachant, dit-il, par expérience, -qu’on ne garde pas très-scrupuleusement les paroles données dans les -fers, et que déjà plusieurs fois des esclaves riches qui en avaient -racheté d’autres pour les envoyer à Majorque ou à Valence fréter un -esquif, avaient été trompés dans leur attente; aucun n’avait reparu, la -liberté étant un si grand bien que la crainte de la perdre encore -effaçait souvent dans les cœurs tout sentiment de reconnaissance. -Donnez-moi, ajouta-t-il, l’argent que vous destinez à la rançon de l’un -de vous, j’achèterai une barque à Alger même, en disant que mon -intention est de trafiquer à Tétouan et sur les côtes; après quoi, sans -éveiller les soupçons, je me mettrai en mesure de nous sauver tous. Cela -sera d’autant plus facile, que si la Moresque vous donne autant d’argent -qu’elle l’a promis, vous pourrez facilement vous racheter, et même vous -embarquer en plein jour. Je ne vois à cela qu’une difficulté, -continua-t-il, c’est que les Mores ne permettent pas aux renégats -d’avoir de grands bâtiments pour faire la course, parce qu’ils savent, -surtout quand c’est un Espagnol, qu’il n’achète un navire que pour -s’enfuir. Il faudrait donc m’associer avec un More de Tanger pour -l’achat de la barque et la vente des marchandises; plus tard je saurai -bien m’en rendre maître, et alors j’achèverai le reste. - -Tout en pensant, mes compagnons et moi, qu’il était beaucoup plus sûr -d’envoyer acheter une barque à Majorque, comme nous le mandait Zoraïde, -nous n’osâmes point contredire le renégat, dans la crainte de l’irriter, -et qu’en allant révéler notre intelligence avec la jeune fille, il ne -compromît une existence qui nous était bien plus chère que la nôtre. -Nous mîmes donc le tout entre les mains de Dieu, et pour témoigner une -confiance entière au renégat, je le priai d’écrire à Zoraïde que nous -suivrions son conseil, car il semblait que _Lela Marien_ l’eût -inspirée; je réitérai ma parole d’être son mari, lui disant que -désormais cela ne dépendait plus que d’elle. - -Le lendemain, le bagne se trouvant vide, Zoraïde nous donna en plusieurs -fois mille écus d’or, nous prévenant en même temps que le vendredi -suivant elle quitterait la ville; qu’avant de partir elle nous -fournirait autant d’argent que nous pourrions en souhaiter, puisqu’elle -était maîtresse absolue des richesses de son père. Je remis aussitôt -cinq cents écus au renégat pour acheter une barque, et j’en déposais -huit cents autres entre les mains d’un marchand valencien, qui me -racheta sur sa parole, et sous promesse de faire compter l’argent par le -premier vaisseau qui arriverait de Valence. Il ne voulut pas payer ma -rançon sur-le-champ, dans la crainte qu’on ne le soupçonnât d’avoir -cette somme depuis longtemps; car Azanaga était un homme rusé, dont il -fallait toujours se défier. Le jeudi suivant, Zoraïde nous donna encore -mille écus d’or, en nous prévenant qu’elle se rendrait le lendemain au -jardin de son père; elle me recommandait de me faire indiquer sa -demeure, dès que je serais racheté, et de mettre tout en œuvre pour -arriver à lui parler. Je traitai de la rançon de mes compagnons, afin -qu’ils eussent aussi la liberté de sortir du bagne, parce que, me voyant -seul libre, tandis que je possédais les moyens de les racheter tous -trois, j’aurais craint que le désespoir ne les poussât à quelque -résolution fatale à Zoraïde. Je les connaissais assez pour me fier à -eux; mais parmi tant de maux qui accompagnent l’esclavage, on conserve -difficilement la mémoire des bienfaits, et de longues souffrances -rendent un homme capable de tout; en un mot, je ne voulais rien -commettre au hasard sans une nécessité absolue. Je consignai donc entre -les mains du marchand l’argent nécessaire pour nous cautionner tous, -mais je ne lui découvris rien de notre dessein. - -CHAPITRE XLI - -OU LE CAPTIF TERMINE SON HISTOIRE - -Quinze jours à peine s’étaient écoulés, que le renégat avait acheté une -barque pouvant contenir trente personnes. Pour prévenir tout soupçon et -mieux cacher son dessein, il fit d’abord seul un voyage à Sargel, port -distant de vingt lieues d’Alger, du côté d’Oran, où il se fait un grand -commerce de figues sèches. Il y retourna encore deux ou trois fois avec -le More qu’il s’était associé. Dans chacun de ses voyages, il avait -soin, en passant, de jeter l’ancre dans une petite cale située à une -portée de mousquet du jardin d’Agimorato. Là il s’exerçait avec ses -rameurs à faire la _zala_, qui est un exercice de mer, et à essayer, -comme en jouant, ce qu’il voulait bientôt exécuter en réalité. Il allait -même au jardin de Zoraïde demander du fruit, qu’Agimorato lui donnait -volontiers quoiqu’il ne le connût point. Son intention, m’a-t-il dit -depuis, était de parler à Zoraïde, et de lui apprendre que c’était de -lui que j’avais fait choix pour l’enlever et l’emmener en Espagne; mais -il n’en put trouver l’occasion, les femmes du pays ne se laissant voir -ni aux Mores ni aux Turcs. Quant aux esclaves chrétiens, c’est autre -chose, et elles ne les accueillent même que trop librement. J’aurais -beaucoup regretté que le renégat eût parlé à Zoraïde, qui sans doute -aurait pris l’alarme en voyant son secret confié à la langue d’un -renégat; mais Dieu ordonna les choses d’une autre façon. - -Quand le renégat vit qu’il lui était facile d’aller et de venir le long -des côtes, de mouiller où bon lui semblait, que le More, son associé, se -fiait entièrement à lui, et que je m’étais racheté, il me déclara qu’il -n’y avait plus qu’à chercher des rameurs, et à choisir promptement ceux -d’entre mes compagnons que je voulais emmener, afin qu’ils fussent prêts -le vendredi suivant, jour fixé par lui pour notre départ. Je m’assurai -de douze Espagnols bons rameurs, parmi ceux qui pouvaient le plus -librement sortir de la ville. Ce fut hasard d’en trouver un si grand -nombre, dans un moment où il y avait à la mer plus de vingt galères, sur -lesquelles ils étaient presque tous embarqués. Heureusement leur maître -n’allait point en course en ce moment, occupé qu’il était d’un navire -alors en construction sur les chantiers. Je ne recommandai rien autre -chose à mes Espagnols, sinon le vendredi suivant de sortir le soir l’un -après l’autre, et d’aller m’attendre auprès du jardin d’Agimorato, les -avertissant, si d’autres chrétiens se trouvaient là, de leur dire que je -leur en avais donné l’ordre. Restait encore à prévenir Zoraïde de se -tenir prête et de ne point s’effrayer en se voyant enlever avant d’être -instruite que nous avions une barque. - -En conséquence, je résolus donc de faire tous mes efforts pour lui -parler, et deux jours avant notre départ j’allai dans son jardin sous -prétexte de cueillir des herbes. La première personne que j’y rencontrai -fut son père, lequel me demanda en _langue franque_, langage usité dans -toute la Barbarie, ce que je voulais et à qui j’appartenais. Je répondis -qu’étant esclave d’Arnaute Mami, et sachant que mon maître était de ses -meilleurs amis, je venais cueillir de la salade. Il me demanda si -j’avais traité de ma rançon, et combien mon maître exigeait. Pendant ces -questions et ces réponses, la belle Zoraïde, qui m’avait aperçu, entra -dans le jardin; et, comme je l’ai déjà dit, les femmes mores se montrant -volontiers aux chrétiens, elle vint trouver son père, qui, en -l’apercevant, l’avait appelée lui-même. - -Vous peindre mon émotion en la voyant s’approcher est impossible: elle -me parut si séduisante que j’en fus ébloui, et quand je vins à comparer -cette merveilleuse beauté et sa riche parure avec le misérable état où -j’étais, je ne pouvais m’imaginer que ce fût moi qu’elle choisissait -pour son mari, et qu’elle voulût suivre ma fortune. Elle portait sur la -poitrine, aux oreilles, et dans sa coiffure, une très-grande quantité de -perles, et les plus belles que j’aie vues de ma vie; ses pieds, nus à la -manière du pays, entraient dans des espèces de brodequins d’or; ses bras -étaient ornés de bracelets en diamants qui valaient plus de vingt mille -ducats; sans compter les perles qui ne valaient pas moins que le reste. -Comme les perles sont la principale parure des Moresques, elles en ont -plus que les femmes d’aucune autre nation. Le père de Zoraïde passait -pour posséder les plus belles perles de tout le pays, et en outre plus -de deux cent mille écus d’or d’Espagne, dont il lui laissait la libre -disposition. Jugez, seigneurs, par les restes de beauté que Zoraïde a -conservés après tant de souffrances, ce qu’elle était avec une parure si -éclatante et un cœur libre d’inquiétude. Pour moi, je la trouvai plus -belle encore qu’elle n’était richement parée; et, le cœur plein de -reconnaissance, je la regardais comme une divinité descendue du ciel -pour me charmer et me sauver tout ensemble. - -Dès qu’elle nous eut rejoint, son père lui dit dans son langage que -j’étais un esclave d’Arnaute Mami, et que je venais chercher de la -salade; se tournant alors de mon côté, elle me demanda dans cette langue -dont je vous ai déjà parlé, pourquoi je ne me rachetais point. Madame, -je me suis racheté, lui dis-je, et mon maître m’estimait assez pour -mettre ma liberté au prix de quinze cents sultanins. En vérité, repartit -Zoraïde, si tu avais appartenu à mon père, je n’aurais pas consenti -qu’il t’eût laissé partir pour deux fois autant; car, vous autres -chrétiens, vous mentez en tout ce que vous dites, et vous vous faites -pauvres pour nous tromper. Peut-être bien y en a-t-il qui ne s’en font -pas scrupule, répondis-je; mais j’ai traité de bonne foi avec mon -maître, et je traiterai toujours de même avec qui que ce soit au monde. -Et quand t’en vas-tu? demanda Zoraïde. Je pense que ce sera demain, -madame, répondis-je; il y a au port un vaisseau français prêt à mettre à -la voile, et je veux profiter de l’occasion. Et ne serait-il pas mieux, -dit Zoraïde, d’attendre un vaisseau espagnol plutôt que de t’en aller -avec des Français, qui sont ennemis de ta nation? Madame, répondis-je, -quoiqu’il puisse arriver bientôt, dit-on, un navire d’Espagne, j’ai si -grande envie de revoir ma famille et mon pays, que je ne puis me -résoudre à retarder mon départ. Tu es sans doute marié, dit Zoraïde, et -tu souhaites de revoir ta femme? Je ne le suis pas, madame, mais j’ai -donné ma parole de l’être aussitôt que je serai dans mon pays. Et celle -à qui tu as donné ta parole est-elle belle? demanda Zoraïde. Elle est si -belle, répondis-je, que pour en donner une idée, je dois dire qu’elle -vous ressemble. Cette réponse fit sourire Agimorato: Par Allah, -chrétien, me dit-il, tu n’es pas à plaindre si ta maîtresse ressemble à -ma fille, qui n’a point sa pareille dans tout Alger; regarde-la bien, et -vois si je dis vrai. Le père de Zoraïde nous servait comme d’interprète -dans cette conversation; car, pour elle, quoiqu’elle entendît assez bien -la _langue franque_, elle s’expliquait beaucoup plus par signes -qu’autrement. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un More, ayant aperçu quatre Turcs franchissant les -murailles du jardin pour cueillir du fruit, vint, en courant, donner -l’alarme. Agimorato se troubla, car les Mores redoutent extrêmement les -Turcs, et surtout les soldats, qui les traitent avec beaucoup -d’insolence. Rentre dans la maison, ma fille, dit Agimorato, et restes-y -jusqu’à ce que j’aie parlé à ces chiens. Toi, chrétien, ajouta-t-il, -prends de la salade autant que tu voudras, et que Dieu te conduise en -santé dans ton pays. Je m’inclinai, en signe de remercîment, et -Agimorato s’en fut au-devant de ces Turcs, me laissant seul avec -Zoraïde, qui fit alors semblant de se conformer à l’ordre de son père. -Mais dès qu’elle le vit assez éloigné, elle revint sur ses pas, et me -dit les yeux pleins de larmes: _Amexi, christiano, amexi?_ ce qui veut -dire: Tu t’en vas donc, chrétien, tu t’en vas? Oui, madame, répondis-je; -mais je ne m’en irai point sans vous. Tout est prêt pour vendredi; -comptez sur moi: je vous donne ma parole de vous emmener chez les -chrétiens. J’avais dit ce peu de mots de manière à me faire comprendre; -alors, appuyant sa main sur mon épaule, elle se dirigea d’un pas -tremblant vers la maison. - -Tandis que nous marchions ainsi, nous aperçûmes Agimorato qui revenait. -Pensant bien qu’il nous avait vus dans cette attitude, je tremblais pour -ma chère Zoraïde; mais elle au lieu de retirer sa main, elle s’approcha -encore plus de moi, et, appuyant sa tête contre ma poitrine, se laissa -aller comme une personne défaillante, pendant que de mon côté je -feignais de la soutenir. En voyant sa fille en cet état, Agimorato lui -demanda ce qu’elle avait; et n’obtenant pas de réponse: Sans doute, -dit-il, ma fille s’est évanouie de la frayeur que ces chiens lui ont -faite, et il la prit entre ses bras. Zoraïde poussa un grand soupir, en -me disant les yeux pleins de larmes: Va-t’en, chrétien, va-t’en. Mais -pourquoi veux-tu qu’il s’en aille, ma fille? dit Agimorato; il ne t’a -point fait de mal, et les Turcs se sont retirés. Ne crains rien, il n’y -a personne ici qui veuille te causer du déplaisir. Ces Turcs, dis-je à -Agimorato, l’ont sans doute épouvantée, et puisqu’elle veut que je m’en -aille, il n’est pas juste que je l’importune: avec votre permission, -ajoutai-je, je reviendrai ici quelquefois pour chercher de la salade, -parce que mon maître n’en trouve pas de pareille ailleurs. Tant que tu -voudras, répondit Agimorato; ce que vient de dire ma fille ne regarde ni -toi ni aucun des chrétiens; elle désirait seulement que les Turcs s’en -allassent; mais comme elle était un peu troublée, elle s’est méprise, ou -peut-être a-t-elle voulu t’avertir qu’il est temps de cueillir tes -herbes. - -Ayant pris congé d’Agimorato et de sa fille, qui, en se retirant, me -montra qu’elle se faisait une violence extrême, je visitai le jardin -tout à mon aise; j’en étudiai les diverses issues, en un mot tout ce qui -pouvait favoriser notre entreprise, et j’allai en donner connaissance au -renégat et à mes compagnons. - -Enfin le temps s’écoula et amena pour nous le jour tant désiré. A -l’entrée de la nuit le renégat vint jeter l’ancre en face du jardin -d’Agimorato. Mes rameurs, déjà cachés en plusieurs endroits des -environs, m’attendaient avec inquiétude, parce que n’étant point -instruits de notre dessein et ne sachant pas que le renégat fût de nos -amis, il ne s’agissait plus, disaient-ils, que d’attaquer la barque, -d’égorger les Mores qui la montaient pour s’en rendre maîtres, et de -fuir. Quand j’arrivai avec mes compagnons, nos Espagnols me reconnurent, -et vinrent se joindre à nous. Par bonheur les portes de la ville étaient -déjà fermées, et il ne paraissait plus personne de ce côté-là. Une fois -réunis, nous délibérâmes sur ce qui était préférable, ou de commencer -par enlever Zoraïde, ou de nous assurer des Mores. Mais le renégat, qui -survint pendant cette délibération, nous dit qu’il était temps de mettre -la main à l’œuvre; que ces Mores étant la plupart endormis, et ne se -tenant point sur leurs gardes, il fallait s’en rendre maîtres avant -d’aller chercher Zoraïde. Se dirigeant aussitôt vers la barque, il sauta -le premier à bord, le cimeterre à la main: Que pas un ne bouge, s’il -veut conserver la vie! s’écria-t-il en langue arabe. Ces hommes, qui -manquaient de résolution, surpris des paroles du patron, ne firent -seulement pas mine de saisir leurs armes, dont ils étaient d’ailleurs -très-mal pourvus. On les mit sans peine à la chaîne, les menaçant de la -mort au moindre cri. Une partie des nôtres resta pour les garder. Puis, -le renégat servant de guide au reste de notre troupe, nous courûmes au -jardin, et, ayant ouvert la porte, nous approchâmes de la maison sans -être vus de personne. - -Zoraïde nous attendait à sa fenêtre. Quand elle nous vit approcher, elle -demanda à voix basse si nous étions _Nazarani_, ce qui veut dire -chrétiens; je lui répondis affirmativement, et qu’elle n’avait qu’à -descendre. Ayant reconnu ma voix, elle n’hésita pas un seul instant, et, -descendant en toute hâte, elle se montra à nos yeux si belle, si -richement parée, que je ne pourrais en donner l’idée. Je pris sa main, -que je baisai; le renégat et mes compagnons en firent autant pour la -remercier de la liberté qu’elle nous procurait. Le renégat lui demanda -où était son père; elle répondit qu’il dormait. Il faut l’éveiller, -répliqua-t-il, et l’emmener avec nous. Non, non, dit Zoraïde, qu’on ne -touche point à mon père: j’emporte avec moi tout ce que j’ai pu réunir, -et il y en a assez pour vous rendre tous riches. Elle rentra chez elle -en disant qu’elle reviendrait bientôt. En effet, nous ne tardâmes pas à -la revoir portant un coffre rempli d’écus d’or, et si lourd qu’elle -fléchissait sous le poids. - -La fatalité voulut qu’en cet instant Agimorato s’éveillât. Le bruit -qu’il entendit lui fit ouvrir la fenêtre, et, à la vue des chrétiens, il -se mit à pousser des cris. Dans ce péril, le renégat, sentant combien -les moments étaient précieux avant qu’on pût venir au secours, s’élança -dans la chambre d’Agimorato avec quelques-uns de nos compagnons, pendant -que je restai auprès de Zoraïde, tombée presque évanouie entre mes bras. -Bref, ils firent si bien, qu’au bout de quelques minutes ils accoururent -nous rejoindre, emmenant avec eux le More, les mains liées et un -mouchoir sur la bouche. - -Nous les dirigeâmes tous deux vers la barque, où nos gens nous -attendaient dans une horrible anxiété. Il était environ deux heures de -la nuit quand nous y entrâmes. On ôta à Agimorato le mouchoir et les -liens, en le menaçant de le tuer s’il jetait un seul cri. Tournant les -yeux sur sa fille qu’il ne savait pas encore s’être livrée elle-même, -il fut étrangement surpris de voir que je la tenais embrassée, et -qu’elle le souffrait sans résistance; il poussa un soupir, et -s’apprêtait à lui faire d’amers reproches, quand les injonctions du -renégat lui imposèrent silence. - -Dès que l’on commença à ramer, Zoraïde me fit prier par le renégat de -rendre la liberté aux prisonniers, menaçant de se jeter à la mer plutôt -que de souffrir qu’on emmenât captif un père qui l’aimait si tendrement, -et pour qui elle avait une affection non moins vive. J’y consentis -d’abord; mais le renégat m’ayant représenté combien il était dangereux -de délivrer des gens qui ne seraient pas plus tôt libres qu’ils -compromettraient notre entreprise, nous tombâmes tous d’accord de ne les -relâcher que sur le sol chrétien. Aussi, après nous être recommandés à -Dieu, nous naviguâmes gaiement, à l’aide de nos bons rameurs, faisant -route vers les îles Baléares, terre chrétienne la plus proche. Mais tout -à coup le vent du nord s’éleva, et, la mer grossissant à chaque instant, -il devint impossible de conserver cette direction: nous fûmes contraints -de tourner la proue vers Oran, non sans appréhension d’être découverts -ou de rencontrer quelques bâtiments faisant la course. Pendant ce temps, -Zoraïde tenait sa tête entre ses mains pour ne pas voir son père, et -j’entendais qu’elle priait _Lela Marien_ de venir à notre secours. - -Nous avions fait trente milles environ, quand le jour, qui commençait à -poindre, nous laissa voir la terre à trois portées de mousquet. Nous -gagnâmes la haute mer, devenue moins agitée; puis lorsque nous fûmes à -deux lieues du rivage, nous dîmes à nos Espagnols de ramer plus -lentement, afin de prendre un peu de nourriture. Ils répondirent qu’ils -mangeraient sans quitter les rames, parce que le moment de se reposer -n’était pas venu. Un fort coup de vent nous ayant alors assaillis à -l’improviste, nous fûmes obligés de hisser la voile et de cingler de -nouveau sur Oran. On donna à manger aux Mores, que le renégat consolait -en leur affirmant qu’ils n’étaient point esclaves, et que bientôt ils -seraient libres. - -Il tint le même langage au père de Zoraïde; mais le vieillard répondit: -Chrétiens, après vous être exposés à tant de périls pour me ravir la -liberté, pensez-vous que je sois assez simple pour croire que vous ayez -l’intention de me la rendre si libéralement et si vite, surtout me -connaissant, et sachant de quel prix je puis la payer? Si vous voulez la -mettre à prix, je vous offre tout ce que vous demanderez pour moi et -pour ma pauvre fille, ou seulement pour elle, qui m’est plus chère que -la vie. - -En achevant ces mots, il se mit à verser des larmes amères. Zoraïde, qui -s’était tournée vers son père, en voyant son affliction, l’embrassa -tendrement, et ils pleurèrent tous deux avec de telles expressions de -tendresse et de douleur, que la plupart d’entre nous sentirent leurs -yeux se mouiller de larmes. - -Mais lorsque Agimorato vint à s’apercevoir que sa fille était parée et -aussi couverte de pierreries que dans un jour de fête: Qu’est-ce que -ceci? lui dit-il. Hier, avant notre malheur, tu portais tes vêtements -ordinaires, et aujourd’hui que nous avons sujet d’être dans la dernière -affliction, te voilà parée de ce que tu as de plus précieux, comme au -temps de ma prospérité? Réponds à cela, je te prie, car j’en suis encore -étonné plus que de l’infortune qui nous accable. - -Zoraïde ne répondait rien, quand tout à coup son père, découvrant dans -un coin de la barque sa cassette de pierreries, lui demanda, frappé -d’une nouvelle surprise, comment ce coffre se trouvait entre nos mains. - -Seigneur, lui dit le renégat, n’obligez point votre fille à s’expliquer -là-dessus; je vais tout vous apprendre en peu de mots: Zoraïde est -chrétienne; elle a été la lime de nos chaînes, et c’est elle qui nous -rend la liberté; elle vient avec nous de son plein gré, heureuse surtout -d’avoir embrassé une religion aussi pleine de vérités que la vôtre l’est -de mensonges. Cela est-il vrai, ma fille? dit le More. Oui, mon père, -répondit Zoraïde. Tu es chrétienne! s’écria Agimorato; c’est donc toi -qui as mis ton père au pouvoir de ses ennemis? Je suis chrétienne, il -est vrai, répliqua Zoraïde; mais je ne vous ai point mis dans l’état où -vous êtes; jamais je n’ai pensé à vous livrer, ni à vous causer le -moindre déplaisir; j’ai seulement voulu chercher un bien que je ne -pouvais trouver parmi les Mores. Et quel est ce bien, ma fille? dit le -vieillard. Demandez-le à Lela Marien, répondit Zoraïde; elle vous -l’apprendra mieux que moi. - -Agimorato n’eut pas plutôt entendu cette réponse, que sans dire un mot -il se précipita dans la mer, et il y eut certainement trouvé la mort -sans les longs vêtements qu’il portait. Aux cris de Zoraïde, on s’élança -et l’on parvint à remettre le vieillard dans la barque à demi-mort et -privé de sentiment. Pénétrée de douleur, Zoraïde embrassait avec -désespoir le corps de son père; mais grâce à nos soins, au bout de -quelques heures il reprit connaissance. - -Bientôt le vent changea; alors nous fûmes forcés de nous diriger vers la -terre, craignant sans cesse d’y être jetés, et tâchant de nous en -garantir à force de rames. Mais notre bonne étoile nous fit aborder à -une cale voisine d’un petit cap ou promontoire que les Mores appellent -la _Cava rumia_[53], ce qui en leur langue veut dire la _mauvaise femme -chrétienne_, parce que la tradition raconte que Florinde, cette fameuse -fille du comte Julien, qui fut la cause de la perte de l’Espagne, y est -enterrée. Ils regardent comme un mauvais présage d’être obligé de se -réfugier dans cet endroit, et ils ne le font jamais que par nécessité: -mais ce fut pour nous un port assuré contre la tempête qui nous -menaçait. Nous plaçâmes des sentinelles à terre, et, sans abandonner les -rames, nous prîmes un peu de nourriture, priant Dieu de mener à bonne -fin une entreprise si bien commencée. - - [53] Le mot _cava_, signifie mauvaise, et _rumia_ veut dire - chrétienne. - -Pour céder aux supplications de Zoraïde, on se prépara à mettre à terre -son père et les autres Mores prisonniers. En effet, le ciel ayant exaucé -nos prières, et la mer étant devenue plus tranquille, nous déliâmes les -Mores, et contre leur espérance nous les déposâmes sur le rivage. Mais -quand on voulut faire descendre le père de Zoraïde: Chrétiens, nous -dit-il, pourquoi pensez-vous que cette méchante créature souhaite de me -voir en liberté? croyez-vous qu’un sentiment d’amour et de pitié -l’engage à ne pas me rendre le témoin de ses mauvais desseins? -Croyez-vous qu’elle ait changé de religion dans l’espoir que la vôtre -soit meilleure que la sienne? Non, non, c’est parce qu’elle sait que les -femmes sont plus libres chez vous que chez les Mores. Infâme, -ajouta-t-il en se tournant vers elle, pendant que nous le tenions à -bras-le-corps pour prévenir quelque emportement, fille dénaturée, que -cherches-tu? où vas-tu, aveugle? ne vois-tu point que tu te jettes -entre les bras de nos plus dangereux ennemis? Va, misérable! je me -repens de t’avoir donné la vie. Que l’heure en soit maudite à jamais! à -jamais maudits soient les soins que j’ai pris de ton enfance! - -Voyant que ces imprécations ne tarissaient pas, je fis promptement -déposer sur le rivage Agimorato; mais à peine y fut-il qu’il les -recommença avec une fureur croissante, priant Allah de nous engloutir -dans les flots; puis, quand il crut que ses paroles ne pouvaient presque -plus arriver jusqu’à nous, la barque commençant à s’éloigner, il -s’arracha les cheveux et la barbe, et se roula par terre avec de si -grandes marques de désespoir, que nous redoutions quelque funeste -événement. - -Mais bientôt nous l’entendîmes crier de toutes ses forces: Reviens, ma -chère fille, reviens! je te pardonne; laisse à tes ravisseurs ces -richesses, et viens consoler un père qui t’aime et qui va mourir dans ce -désert où tu l’abandonnes. Zoraïde pleurait à chaudes larmes sans -pouvoir articuler une parole; à la fin, faisant un suprême effort: Mon -père, lui dit-elle, je prie Lela Malien, qui m’a faite chrétienne, de -vous donner de la consolation. Allah m’est témoin que je n’ai pu -m’empêcher de faire ce que j’ai fait; les chrétiens ne m’y ont nullement -forcée; mais je n’ai pu résister à Lela Marien. Zoraïde parlait encore, -quand son père disparut à nos yeux. - -Délivrés de cette inquiétude, nous voulûmes profiter d’une brise qui -nous faisait espérer d’atteindre le lendemain les côtes d’Espagne. Par -malheur, notre joie fut de courte durée; peut-être aussi les -malédictions d’Agimorato produisirent-elles leur effet, car vers trois -heures de la nuit, voguant à pleines voiles et les rames au repos, nous -aperçûmes tout à coup, à la clarté de la lune, un vaisseau rond qui -venait par notre travers, et déjà si rapproché que nous eûmes beaucoup -de peine à éviter sa rencontre. Il nous héla, demandant qui nous étions, -d’où nous venions, et où nous allions. A ces questions faites en -français, le renégat ne voulut pas qu’on répondît, assurant, disait-il, -que c’étaient des corsaires français qui pillaient indifféremment amis -et ennemis. Nous pensions déjà en être quittes pour la peur, quand nous -reçûmes deux boulets ramés, dont l’un coupa en deux notre grand mât, qui -tomba dans la mer avec la voile, et dont l’autre donna dans les flancs -de la barque, et la perça de part en part, sans pourtant blesser -personne. En nous sentant couler, nous demandâmes du secours aux gens du -vaisseau, leur criant de venir nous prendre, parce que nous périssions. -Ils diminuèrent de voiles, et, mettant la chaloupe à la mer, ils vinrent -au nombre de douze, mousquet et mèche allumée; lorsqu’ils eurent reconnu -que la barque enfonçait, ils nous prirent avec eux, tout en nous -reprochant de nous être attiré ce traitement par notre incivilité. - -A peine fûmes-nous montés à leur bord, qu’après s’être informés de ce -qu’ils voulaient savoir, ils se mirent à nous traiter en ennemis: nous -dépouillant du peu que nous possédions, car la cassette où étaient les -pierreries, avait été jetée à la mer par le renégat sans que personne -s’en fût aperçu. Ils ôtèrent aussi à Zoraïde les bracelets qu’elle avait -aux pieds et aux mains; et plus d’une fois je craignis qu’ils ne -passassent à des violences plus graves; mais heureusement ces gens-là, -tout grossiers qu’ils sont, n’en veulent qu’au butin, dont ils sont si -avides, qu’ils nous auraient enlevé jusqu’à nos habits d’esclaves s’ils -avaient pu s’en servir. Un moment ils délibérèrent entre eux s’ils ne -nous jetteraient point à la mer, enveloppés dans une voile, parce -qu’ayant dessein, disaient-ils, de trafiquer dans quelques ports de -l’Espagne, sous pavillon anglais, ils craignaient que nous ne -donnassions avis de leurs brigandages. Beaucoup furent de cette opinion; -mais le capitaine, à qui la dépouille de ma chère Zoraïde était tombée -en partage, déclara qu’il était content de sa prise, et qu’il ne -songeait plus qu’à repasser le détroit de Gibraltar, pour regagner, -sans s’arrêter, le port de la Rochelle, d’où il était parti. S’étant mis -d’accord sur ce point, le jour suivant ils nous donnèrent leur chaloupe -avec le peu de vivres qu’il fallait pour le reste de notre voyage, car -nous étions déjà proche des terres d’Espagne, dont la vue nous causa -tant de joie que nous en oubliâmes toutes nos disgrâces. - -Il était midi environ quand nous descendîmes dans la chaloupe, avec deux -barils d’eau et un peu de biscuit. Touché de je ne sais quelle pitié -pour Zoraïde, le capitaine, en nous quittant, lui remit quarante écus -d’or, et de plus défendit à ses compagnons de la dépouiller de ses -habits, qui sont ceux qu’elle porte encore aujourd’hui. Nous prîmes -congé de ces hommes, en les remerciant et en leur témoignant moins de -déplaisir que de reconnaissance; et pendant qu’ils continuaient leur -route, nous voguâmes en hâte vers la terre, que nous avions en vue, et -dont nous approchâmes tellement au coucher du soleil, que nous aurions -pu aborder avant la nuit. Mais comme le temps était couvert, et que nous -ne connaissions point le pays, nous n’osâmes débarquer, malgré l’avis de -plusieurs d’entre nous, qui disaient, non sans raison, qu’il valait -mieux donner contre un rocher, loin de toute habitation, plutôt que de -s’exposer à la rencontre des corsaires de Tétouan, qui toutes les nuits -infestent ces parages. - -De ces avis opposés il s’en forma un troisième, ce fut d’approcher peu à -peu de la côte, et de descendre dès que l’état de la mer le permettrait. -On continua donc à ramer, et vers minuit nous arrivâmes près d’une haute -montagne; tous alors nous descendîmes sur le sable, et aussitôt chacun -de nous embrassa la terre avec des larmes de joie, rendant grâce à Dieu -de la protection qu’il nous avait accordée. On ôta les provisions de la -chaloupe, après l’avoir tirée sur le rivage; puis nous nous dirigeâmes -vers la montagne, ne pouvant croire encore que nous fussions chez des -chrétiens et en lieu de sûreté. Le jour venu, il fallut atteindre le -sommet pour découvrir de là quelque village, ou quelque cabane de -pêcheur; mais ne voyant ni habitation, ni chemin, ni même le moindre -sentier, si loin que nous pussions porter la vue, nous nous mîmes en -chemin, soutenus par l’espoir de rencontrer quelqu’un qui nous apprît où -nous étions. - -Après avoir fait environ un quart de lieue, le son d’une petite -clochette nous fit penser qu’il y avait non loin de là quelque troupeau, -et en même temps nous vîmes assis au pied d’un liége un berger qui, dans -le plus grand calme, taillait un bâton avec son couteau. Nous -l’appelâmes; il se leva, tourna la tête, et, à ce que nous avons su -depuis, ayant aperçu le renégat et Zoraïde vêtus en Mores, il s’enfuit -avec une vitesse incroyable, en criant: Aux armes! aux armes! et croyant -avoir tous les Mores d’Afrique à ses trousses. Cela nous mit un peu en -peine; aussi, prévoyant que tout le canton allait prendre l’alarme, et -ne manquerait pas de venir nous reconnaître, nous fîmes prendre au -renégat, la casaque d’un des nôtres, au lieu de sa veste; puis, nous -recommandant à Dieu, nous suivîmes la trace du berger, toujours dans -l’appréhension de voir d’un moment à l’autre la cavalerie de la côte -fondre sur nous. Au bout de deux heures, la chose arriva comme nous -l’avions pensé. - -A peine étions-nous entrés dans la plaine, à la sortie d’une vaste -lande, que nous aperçûmes une cinquantaine de cavaliers qui venaient au -grand trot à notre rencontre. Nous fîmes halte pour les attendre; mais -quand ils furent arrivés, et qu’au lieu de Mores qu’ils cherchaient, ils -virent une petite troupe de chrétiens misérables et en désordre, ils -s’arrêtèrent tout surpris et nous demandèrent si ce n’était point nous -qui avions causé l’alarme. Je répondis que oui, et je me préparais à en -dire davantage, lorsqu’un de mes compagnons, reconnaissant le cavalier -qui parlait, m’interrompit en s’écriant: Dieu soit loué, qui nous a si -bien adressés! car, si je ne me trompe, nous sommes dans la province de -Velez-Malaga; et vous, seigneur, si ma captivité ne m’a point fait -perdre la mémoire, vous êtes Pedro Bustamente, mon cher oncle. - -A ce nom, le cavalier sauta à bas de son cheval, et courut embrasser le -jeune homme: Oui, c’est moi, mon cher neveu, lui dit-il; oui, c’est bien -toi, mon enfant, que j’ai cru mort et pleuré tant de fois; ta mère et -toute ta famille auront bien de la joie de ton retour: nous avions enfin -appris que tu étais à Alger, et à tes vêtements comme à ceux de tes -compagnons, je comprends que vous vous êtes sauvés par quelque voie -extraordinaire. Cela est vrai, répondit le captif, et Dieu aidant, nous -vous en ferons le récit. - -Dès qu’ils surent que nous étions des chrétiens esclaves, les cavaliers -mirent pied à terre, et chacun offrit sa monture pour nous conduire à -Velez-Malaga, qui était distant d’une lieue et demie. Quelques-uns -d’entre eux se chargèrent d’aller prendre la barque pour la porter à la -ville; les autres nous prirent en croupe de leurs chevaux; et Bustamente -fit monter Zoraïde avec lui sur le sien. En cet équipage nous fûmes -accueillis avec joie par tous les habitants, qui, déjà prévenus, -venaient au-devant de nous. Ils s’étonnaient peu de voir des esclaves et -des Mores esclaves, parce que ceux qui habitent ces côtes sont -accoutumés à semblables rencontres. Quant à Zoraïde, la fatigue du -chemin et la joie de se voir parmi les chrétiens, donnaient des couleurs -si vives et tant d’éclat à sa beauté, que, je puis le dire sans -flatterie, elle excitait l’admiration générale. Tout le peuple nous -accompagna à l’église, pour aller rendre grâces à Dieu. Nous n’y fûmes -pas plus tôt entrés, que Zoraïde s’écria: Voilà des visages qui -ressemblent à celui de Lela Marien. Nous lui dîmes que c’étaient ses -images, et le renégat lui expliqua de son mieux pourquoi elles étaient -là, afin qu’elle leur rendît le même hommage que les chrétiens. - -L’esprit vif de Zoraïde lui fit comprendre aisément les paroles du -renégat, et dans sa dévotion naïve elle montra à sa manière une si -véritable piété que tous ceux qui la regardaient pleuraient de joie. En -sortant de l’église, on nous donna des logements, et mon compagnon, ce -neveu de Bustamente, nous emmena, le renégat, Zoraïde et moi, dans la -maison de son père, qui nous reçut avec la même affection qu’il -témoignait à son propre fils. Après avoir passé environ six jours à -Velez-Malaga, et avoir fait toutes les démarches nécessaires à sa -sûreté, le renégat se rendit à Grenade afin de rentrer, par le moyen de -la Sainte-Inquisition, dans le giron de l’Église, et chacun de nos -compagnons prit le parti qui lui plut. Zoraïde et moi nous restâmes -seuls avec le secours qu’elle tenait de la libéralité du corsaire -français, dont j’employai une partie à acheter cette monture afin de lui -épargner de la fatigue. - -Maintenant, lui servant toujours de protecteur et d’écuyer, nous allons -savoir si mon père est encore vivant, et si l’un de mes frères a -rencontré un meilleur sort que le mien, quoique après tout je n’aie pas -lieu de m’en plaindre, puisqu’il me vaut l’affection de Zoraïde, dont la -beauté et la vertu sont pour moi d’un plus haut prix que tous les -trésors du monde. Mais je voudrais pouvoir la dédommager de tout ce -qu’elle a perdu, et qu’elle n’eût pas lieu de se repentir d’avoir -abandonné tant de richesses, et un père qui l’aimait si tendrement, pour -accompagner un malheureux. Rien de plus admirable que la patience dont -elle a fait preuve dans toutes les fatigues que nous avons souffertes et -de tous les accidents qui nous sont arrivés, si ce n’est le désir ardent -qu’elle a de se voir chrétienne. Aussi, quand je ne serais point son -obligé autant que je le suis, sa seule vertu m’inspirerait toute -l’estime et l’attachement que je lui dois par reconnaissance, et -m’engagerait à la servir et à l’honorer toute ma vie. Mais le bonheur -que j’éprouve d’être à elle est troublé par l’inquiétude de savoir si je -pourrai trouver dans mon pays quelque abri pour la retirer, mon père -étant mort sans doute, et mes frères occupant, je le crains, des emplois -qui les tiennent éloignés du lieu de leur naissance, sans compter que la -fortune ne les aura peut-être pas mieux traités que moi-même. - -Seigneurs, telle est mon histoire. J’aurais désiré vous la raconter -aussi agréablement qu’elle est pleine d’étranges aventures; mais je n’ai -point l’art de faire valoir les choses, et dans un pays où j’ai été -obligé d’apprendre une autre langue, j’ai presque oublié la mienne. -Aussi je crains bien de vous avoir ennuyés par la longueur de ce récit; -cependant il n’a pas dépendu de moi de le faire plus court, et j’en ai -même retranché plusieurs circonstances. - -CHAPITRE XLII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA DE NOUVEAU DANS L’HOTELLERIE, ET DE PLUSIEURS AUTRES -CHOSES DIGNES D’ÊTRE CONNUES - -Après ces dernières paroles, le captif se tut. En vérité, seigneur -capitaine, lui dit don Fernand, la manière dont vous avez raconté votre -histoire égale l’intérêt et le charme de l’histoire elle-même; tout y -est curieux, extraordinaire, et plein des plus merveilleux incidents; -dût le jour de demain nous retrouver occupés à vous écouter, nous -serions aises de l’entendre encore une fois. Cardenio et les autres -convives lui firent les mêmes compliments, mêlés d’offres si -obligeantes, que le captif ne pouvait suffire à exprimer sa -reconnaissance, et il remerciait Dieu d’avoir trouvé tant d’amis dans sa -mauvaise fortune. Don Fernand ajouta que s’il voulait l’accompagner, il -prierait le marquis, son frère, d’être parrain de Zoraïde, et que pour -lui, il se chargeait de le mettre en mesure de rentrer dans son pays -avec toute la considération due à son mérite. Le captif les remercia -courtoisement, et se défendit de bonne grâce d’accepter ces offres -généreuses. - -Cependant le jour baissait, et quand la nuit fut venue, un carrosse -s’arrêta devant la porte de l’hôtellerie, escorté de quelques cavaliers -qui demandèrent à loger. On leur répondit qu’il n’y avait pas un pied -carré de libre dans toute la maison. Pardieu, dit un des cavaliers qui -avait déjà pied à terre, il y aura bien toujours place pour monseigneur -l’auditeur. A ce nom, l’hôtesse se troubla: Seigneur, reprit-elle, je -veux dire que nous n’avons point de lits vacants; mais si monseigneur -fait porter le sien, comme je n’en doute pas, nous lui abandonnerons -volontiers notre chambre pour que Sa Grâce s’y établisse. A la bonne -heure, dit l’écuyer. - -En même temps descendait du carrosse un homme de bonne mine, dont le -costume indiquait la dignité. Sa longue robe à manches tailladées -faisait assez connaître qu’il était auditeur, comme l’avait annoncé son -valet. Il tenait par la main une jeune demoiselle d’environ quinze à -seize ans, en habit de voyage, mais si fraîche, si jolie et de si bon -air, que tous ceux qui étaient dans l’hôtellerie la trouvèrent non moins -belle que Dorothée, Luscinde et Zoraïde. Don Quichotte, qui se trouvait -présent, ne put s’empêcher, en le voyant s’avancer, de lui adresser ces -paroles: Seigneur, lui dit-il, que Votre Grâce entre avec assurance dans -ce château, et y demeure tant qu’il lui plaira. Tout étroit qu’il est et -assez mal pourvu des choses nécessaires, il peut suffire à n’importe -quel homme de guerre ou de lettres, surtout quand il se présente, ainsi -que Votre Grâce, accompagné d’une si charmante personne, devant qui -non-seulement les portes des châteaux doivent s’ouvrir, mais les rochers -se dissoudre, et les montagnes s’abaisser. Que Votre Grâce entre donc -dans ce paradis, elle y trouvera des soleils et des étoiles dignes de -faire compagnie à l’astre éblouissant qu’elle conduit par la main: je -veux dire les armes à leur poste, et la beauté dans toute son -excellence. - -Tout interdit de cette harangue, l’auditeur se mit à considérer notre -héros de la tête aux pieds, non moins étonné de sa figure que de ses -paroles. Pendant que Luscinde et Dorothée entendant l’hôtesse vanter la -beauté de la jeune voyageuse, s’avançaient avec empressement pour la -recevoir, Don Fernand, Cardenio et le curé vinrent se joindre à elles; -et tous accablèrent l’auditeur de tant de civilités, qu’il avait à peine -le temps de se reconnaître; aussi, tout surpris de ce qu’il venait de -voir et d’entendre en si peu de temps, il entra dans l’hôtellerie, -faisant de grandes révérences à droite et à gauche sans savoir que -répondre. Il ne doutait pas qu’il n’eût affaire à des gens de qualité; -mais le visage, le costume et les manières de don Quichotte le -déroutaient. Enfin, après force compliments de part et d’autre, on -arrêta que les dames coucheraient toutes dans la même chambre, et que -les hommes se tiendraient au dehors, comme leurs protecteurs et leurs -gardiens; l’auditeur consentit à tout et s’accommoda du lit de -l’hôtelier joint à celui qu’il faisait porter. - -Quant au captif, dès le premier regard jeté sur l’auditeur, il avait -ressenti de secrets mouvements qui lui disaient que cet inconnu était -son frère; mais dans la joie que lui donnait cette rencontre, ne voulant -pas s’en rapporter à son pressentiment, il demanda à l’un des écuyers le -nom de son maître. L’écuyer répondit qu’il s’appelait Juan Perez de -Viedma; et qu’il le croyait originaire des montagnes de Léon. Cette -réponse acheva de confirmer le captif dans son opinion, il prit à part -don Fernand, Cardenio et le curé, et les assura que le voyageur était -certainement ce frère qui avait voulu se livrer à l’étude; que ses gens -venaient de lui apprendre qu’il était auditeur dans les Indes, en -l’audience du Mexique, et que la jeune demoiselle était sa fille, dont -la mère était morte en la mettant au monde. Là-dessus il leur demanda -conseil sur la manière dont il pourrait se faire reconnaître, et s’il ne -devait pas d’abord s’assurer de l’accueil qui lui était réservé, parce -que, dans le dénûment où il se trouvait, l’auditeur aurait peut-être -quelque honte de l’avouer pour son frère. - -Seigneur, laissez-moi tenter cette épreuve, dit le curé; j’ai bonne -opinion du succès, et à sa physionomie je vois d’avance qu’il n’a pas ce -sot orgueil qui fait mépriser les gens que la fortune persécute. - -Je ne voudrais pourtant pas me présenter brusquement, reprit le captif; -il serait préférable, ce me semble, de le pressentir et de le préparer -adroitement à me revoir. - -Encore une fois, répliqua le curé, si vous voulez vous en rapporter à -moi, je ne doute point que vous n’ayez satisfaction, et vous me ferez -plaisir en me procurant cette occasion de vous rendre service. - -Le souper étant servi, l’auditeur se mit à table; don Fernand, ses -compagnons, le curé et Cardenio vinrent lui tenir compagnie, quoiqu’ils -eussent déjà pris leur repas du soir; les dames, de leur côté, restèrent -avec la jeune fille, qui alla souper dans l’autre chambre, où le captif -entra sous prétexte de servir d’interprète à Zoraïde. - -Le curé, s’adressant à l’auditeur, pendant qu’il mangeait: Seigneur, lui -dit-il, étant jadis esclave à Constantinople, j’ai eu un compagnon de ma -mauvaise fortune du même nom que Votre Grâce; c’était un brave homme, et -un des meilleurs officiers de l’infanterie espagnole; mais le pauvre -diable éprouva autant de traverses qu’il avait de mérite. - -Et comment s’appelait cet officier? demanda l’auditeur. - -Ruiz Perez de Viedma, répondit le curé, et il était des montagnes de -Léon. Un jour, il me raconta une particularité assez étrange de lui et -de ses deux frères: son père, me disait-il, craignant, par suite d’une -humeur trop libérale, de dissiper son bien, le partagea entre ses trois -enfants, en y ajoutant des conseils qui faisaient voir qu’il était homme -de sens. Mon compagnon avait choisi la carrière des armes; il s’y -distingua si bien par sa valeur, qu’en peu de temps on lui donna une -compagnie d’infanterie, et il était en passe de devenir mestre de camp, -quand le sort voulut qu’il perdît cet espoir avec la liberté dans cette -grande journée de Lépante, où tant d’esclaves la recouvrèrent; pour moi, -je fus fait prisonnier à la Goulette, et, après divers événements, nous -nous trouvâmes à Constantinople appartenir à un même maître. De là il -fut conduit à Alger, où il lui arriva des aventures qui semblent tenir -du prodige. Le curé termina par le récit succinct de l’histoire du -captif et de Zoraïde, récit que l’auditeur écoutait avec une attention -extrême, jusqu’au moment où les Français, après s’être emparés de la -barque et avoir dépouillé les malheureux Espagnols, laissèrent Zoraïde -et son compagnon dans le plus grand dénûment. Depuis ce jour, -ajouta-t-il, on n’a pas eu de leurs nouvelles, et j’ignore s’ils sont -arrivés en Espagne, ou si les corsaires les ont emmenés en France. - -Le captif ne perdait pas une des paroles du curé, et observait avec une -égale attention tous les mouvements de l’auditeur. Celui-ci poussa un -grand soupir, et les yeux pleins de larmes: Ah! seigneur, dit-il au -curé, si vous saviez combien votre récit me touche! Ce brave soldat dont -vous parlez est mon frère aîné, qui, plein d’une généreuse résolution, -embrassa la carrière des armes; moi j’ai préféré celle des lettres, où -Dieu, mes travaux et mes veilles m’ont fait parvenir à la dignité -d’auditeur. Quant à notre frère cadet, il habite le Pérou, où il s’est -enrichi. L’argent qu’il nous a envoyé surpasse de beaucoup la somme -qu’il avait reçue en partage, et elle a mis notre père à même de -satisfaire cette libéralité qui lui est naturelle. Cet excellent homme -vit encore, et tous les jours il prie Dieu de ne point le retirer de ce -monde qu’il n’ait eu la consolation d’embrasser l’aîné de ses enfants, -dont il n’a pas reçu la moindre nouvelle depuis son départ. On a -vraiment peine à comprendre qu’un homme tel que mon frère soit resté -aussi longtemps sans informer de sa situation un père qui l’aime et sans -témoigner quelque sollicitude pour sa famille. Si nous eussions été -instruits de sa disgrâce, il n’aurait pas, à coup sûr, eu besoin de -cette canne merveilleuse qui lui rendit la liberté. Mais je crains bien -qu’il ne l’ait reperdue avec ces corsaires. Et qui sait si ces -misérables ne se seront pas défaits de lui pour mieux cacher leurs -brigandages? Hélas! cette pensée va troubler tout l’agrément que je me -promettais de mon voyage, et je ne saurais plus goûter de véritable -joie. Ah! mon pauvre frère, si je pouvais savoir où vous êtes en ce -moment, je n’épargnerais rien pour adoucir votre misère, et je suis -assuré que notre père donnerait tout pour vous délivrer. O Zoraïde! -aussi libérale que belle, qui pourra jamais vous récompenser dignement? -Que j’aurais de plaisir à voir la fin de vos malheurs, et, par un -mariage tant désiré, de contribuer à faire deux heureux! L’auditeur -prononça ces paroles avec une telle expression de douleur et de -tendresse, que tous ceux qui l’entendaient en furent touchés. - -Le curé, voyant que son dessein avait si bien réussi, ne voulut pas -différer plus longtemps: il se leva de table, et allant prendre d’une -main Zoraïde, que suivirent Dorothée, Luscinde et Claire, il saisit en -passant de l’autre main celle du captif: Essuyez vos larmes, seigneur, -dit-il à l’auditeur en revenant vers lui; vous avez devant vous ce cher -frère et cette aimable belle-sœur que vous souhaitez si ardemment de -voir: voilà le capitaine Viedma, et voici la belle More à qui il est -redevable de si grands services; en voyant le misérable état où ces -Français les ont réduits, vous serez heureux de donner un libre cours à -votre générosité. - -Le captif courut aussitôt vers son frère, qui, l’ayant considéré quelque -temps et achevant de le reconnaître, se jeta dans ses bras, et tous deux -étroitement attachés l’un à l’autre, ils versèrent tant de larmes -qu’aucun des assistants ne put retenir les siennes. Il serait impossible -de répéter tout ce que se dirent les deux frères: qu’on se figure ce que -de braves gens qui s’aiment peuvent éprouver dans un pareil moment! Ils -se racontèrent succinctement leurs aventures, et à chaque parole ils se -prodiguaient les plus précieuses marques d’une vive amitié. Tantôt -l’auditeur quittait son frère pour embrasser Zoraïde, à qui il faisait -mille offres obligeantes, tantôt il retournait embrasser son frère; la -fille de l’auditeur et la belle More ne pouvaient non plus se séparer, -et par les témoignages de tendresse qu’ils se donnaient les uns aux -autres, ils firent de nouveau couler les larmes de tous les yeux. - -Quant à don Quichotte, il regardait tout cela sans dire mot, et -l’attribuait en lui-même aux prodiges de la chevalerie errante. Les deux -frères, après s’être embrassés de nouveau, adressèrent quelques excuses -à la compagnie, qui leur exprima combien elle prenait part à leur joie. -Les compliments étant épuisés de part et d’autre, l’auditeur voulut que -le captif l’accompagnât à Séville, pendant qu’on donnerait avis de son -retour à leur père, afin que le vieillard pût s’y rendre pour assister -au baptême et aux noces de Zoraïde, lui-même devant continuer son -voyage, afin de ne pas laisser échapper l’occasion d’un bâtiment prêt à -mettre à la voile pour les Indes. Tout le monde partageait la joie du -captif, et ne cessait point de le lui témoigner; mais comme il était -fort tard, chacun se décida à aller dormir le reste de la nuit. - -Don Quichotte s’offrit à faire la garde du château, afin d’empêcher -qu’un géant ou quelqu’autre brigand de cette espèce, jaloux des trésors -de beautés qu’il renfermait, ne vînt à s’y introduire par surprise. Ceux -qui le connaissaient le remercièrent de son offre et ils apprirent à -l’auditeur la bizarre manie du chevalier de la Triste-Figure, ce qui le -divertit beaucoup. Le seul Sancho se désespérait au milieu de la joie -générale, en voyant qu’on tardait à se mettre au lit; lorsqu’il en eut -enfin reçu la permission de son maître, il alla s’étendre sur le bât de -son âne, qui va lui coûter bien cher, comme nous le verrons tout à -l’heure. Les dames retirées dans leur chambre, et les hommes arrangés de -leur mieux, don Quichotte sortit de l’hôtellerie pour aller se mettre en -sentinelle et faire, comme il l’avait offert, la garde du château. - -Or, au moment où l’aube commençait à poindre, les dames entendirent tout -à coup une voix douce et mélodieuse: d’abord elles écoutèrent avec -grande attention, surtout Dorothée, qui s’était éveillée depuis quelque -temps, tandis que Claire Viedma, la fille de l’auditeur, dormait à ses -côtés. Cette voix n’était accompagnée d’aucun instrument, et tantôt il -leur semblait que c’était dans la cour qu’on chantait, tantôt dans un -autre endroit. Comme elles étaient dans ce doute et toujours fort -attentives, Cardenio s’approcha de la porte de leur chambre: Mesdames, -dit-il à demi-voix, si vous ne dormez point, écoutez un jeune muletier -qui chante à merveille. - -Nous l’écoutions, et avec beaucoup de plaisir, répondit Dorothée; puis -voyant que la voix recommençait, elle prêta de nouveau l’oreille, et -entendit les couplets suivants: - -CHAPITRE XLIII - -OU L’ON RACONTE L’INTÉRESSANTE HISTOIRE DU GARÇON MULETIER, AVEC -D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS EXTRAORDINAIRES ARRIVÉS DANS L’HOTELLERIE - - Je suis un nautonnier d’amour, - Voguant sur cette mer si fertile en orages; - Sans connaître de port où se termine un jour - Ma course et mes voyages. - - J’ai pour guide un astre brillant, - Dont je suis en tous lieux l’éclatante lumière; - le soleil n’en voit point de plus étincelant - En toute sa carrière. - - Mais comme j’ignore son cours, - Je navigue au hasard, incertain de ma course, - Attentif seulement à l’observer toujours, - Et sans autre ressource. - - Trop souvent le jaloux destin, - Sous le voile fâcheux de quelque retenue, - Me fait sans guide errer du soir jusqu’au matin - Le cachant à ma vue. - - Bel astre si doux à mes yeux! - Ne cache plus le phare utile à mon voyage: - Si tu cesses de luire, en ces funestes lieux - Je vais faire naufrage. - -En cet endroit de la chanson, Dorothée voulut faire partager à Claire le -plaisir qu’elle éprouvait: elle la poussa deux ou trois fois, et étant -parvenue à l’éveiller: Pardonnez-moi, ma belle enfant, lui dit-elle, si -j’interromps votre sommeil, mais c’est pour vous faire entendre la plus -agréable voix qui soit au monde. - -Claire ouvrit les yeux à demi, sans comprendre d’abord ce que lui disait -Dorothée; mais après se l’être fait répéter, elle se mit aussi à -écouter. A peine eut-elle entendu la voix, qu’il lui prit un tremblement -dans tous les membres comme si elle avait eu la fièvre. Ah! madame, -dit-elle en se jetant dans les bras de sa compagne, pourquoi m’avez-vous -réveillée? La plus grande faveur que pouvait à cette heure m’accorder la -fortune, c’était de me tenir les oreilles fermées pour ne pas entendre -ce pauvre musicien. - -Ma chère enfant, dit Dorothée, apprenez que celui qui chante n’est qu’un -garçon muletier. - -Ce n’est pas un garçon muletier, reprit Claire, c’est un seigneur de -terre et d’âmes, et si bien seigneur de la mienne, que s’il ne veut pas -de lui-même y renoncer, il la conservera éternellement. - -Dorothée, surprise de ce discours, qu’elle n’attendait pas d’une fille -de cet âge, lui répondit: Expliquez-vous, ma belle, et apprenez-moi quel -est ce musicien qui vous cause tant d’inquiétude. Mais il me semble -qu’il recommence à chanter; il mérite bien qu’on l’écoute, vous -répondrez ensuite à mes questions. - -Oui, dit Claire en se bouchant les oreilles avec ses deux mains pour ne -pas entendre. La voix reprit ainsi: - - Mon cœur, ne perds point l’espérance, - Persévérons jusques au bout; - L’amour est le maître de tout; - On devient plus heureux lorsque moins on y pense. - - Et le triomphe et la victoire - Suivent un généreux effort; - Il faut toujours tenter le sort, - Mais pour les paresseux il n’est aucune gloire. - - L’amour vend bien cher ses caresses; - Pourrait-on les acheter moins? - Qu’est-ce que du temps et des soins? - Un moment de bonheur vaut toutes les richesses[54]. - - [54] Ces vers et les précédents sont empruntés à la traduction de - Filleau de Saint-Martin. - -Ici, la voix cessa, et la fille de l’auditeur poussa de nouveaux -soupirs. Dorothée, dont la curiosité s’augmentait, la pria de remplir sa -promesse. Claire, approchant sa bouche de l’oreille de Dorothée pour ne -pas être entendue de Luscinde qui était dans l’autre lit: Celui qui -chante, lui dit-elle, est le fils d’un grand seigneur d’Aragon, qui a sa -maison à Madrid, vis-à-vis celle de mon père. Je ne sais vraiment où ce -jeune gentilhomme a pu me voir, si ce fut à l’église ou ailleurs, car -nos fenêtres étaient toujours soigneusement fermées: quoi qu’il en -soit, il devint amoureux de moi, et il me l’exprimait souvent par une -des fenêtres de sa maison qui ouvrait sur les nôtres, et où je le voyais -verser tant de larmes qu’il me faisait pitié. Je m’accoutumai à sa vue, -et je me mis à l’aimer sans savoir ce qu’il me demandait. Entre autres -signes, je le voyais toujours joindre ses deux mains pour me faire -comprendre qu’il désirait se marier avec moi. J’aurais été bien aise -qu’il en fût ainsi; mais, hélas! seule et sans mère, je ne savais -comment lui faire connaître mes sentiments. Je le laissai donc -continuer, sans lui accorder aucune faveur, si ce n’est pourtant quand -mon père n’était pas au logis, celle de hausser un moment la jalousie, -afin qu’il pût me voir, ce dont le pauvre garçon avait tant de joie, -qu’on eût dit qu’il en perdait l’esprit. - -Enfin l’époque de notre départ approchait. J’ignore comment il en fut -instruit, car je ne pus trouver moyen de l’en prévenir; j’appris alors -qu’il en était tombé malade de chagrin, et, ce moment venu, il me fut -impossible de lui dire adieu. Mais au bout de deux jours de route, comme -nous entrions dans une hôtellerie qui est à une journée d’ici, voilà que -je l’aperçois sur la porte en habit de muletier, et si bien déguisé, que -je ne l’aurais pas reconnu si je ne l’avais toujours présent à la -pensée. Je fus fort étonnée de cette rencontre; et j’en ressentis bien -de la joie. Quant à lui, il a les yeux sans cesse attachés sur moi, -excepté devant mon père, dont il se cache avec beaucoup de soin. Comme -je sais qui il est, et que c’est par amour pour moi qu’il a fait la -route à pied avec tant de fatigue, j’en ai beaucoup de chagrin, et -partout où il met les pieds, je le suis des yeux. J’ignore quelles sont -ses intentions, ni comment il a pu s’échapper de chez son père, qui -l’aime tendrement, car il n’a que lui pour héritier, et aussi parce -qu’il est fort aimable, comme en jugera sans doute Votre Grâce. On dit -qu’il a beaucoup d’esprit, qu’il compose tout ce qu’il chante, qu’il -fait très-bien les vers. Aussi, chaque fois que je le vois et -l’entends, je tremble que mon père ne vienne à le reconnaître. De ma vie -je ne lui ai adressé la parole, et pourtant je l’aime à tel point qu’il -me serait désormais impossible de vivre sans lui. Voilà, ma chère dame, -tout ce que je puis vous dire de ce musicien dont les accents vous ont -charmée; vous voyez, d’après cela, que ce n’est pas un garçon muletier, -mais le fils d’un grand seigneur. - -Calmez-vous, ma chère enfant, reprit Dorothée en l’embrassant; tout ira -bien, et j’espère que des sentiments si raisonnables auront une heureuse -fin. - -Hélas! madame, dit Claire, quelle fin dois-je espérer! Son père est un -seigneur si noble et si riche, qu’il m’estimera toujours trop au-dessous -de son fils; et quand à me marier à l’insu du mien, je ne le ferais pas -pour tous les trésors du monde. Je voudrais seulement que ce pauvre -enfant s’en retournât; peut-être alors que ne le voyant plus, et près de -faire moi-même avec mon père un si long voyage, je serai soulagée du mal -dont je souffre, quoique je ne pense pas que cela puisse servir à -grand’chose. Je ne sais, vraiment, quel démon nous a mis ces idées-là -dans la tête, puisque nous sommes tous deux si jeunes, que je le crois à -peine âgé de seize ans, tandis que j’en aurai treize seulement dans -quelques mois, à ce que m’a dit mon père. - -Dorothée ne put s’empêcher de sourire de l’ingénuité de l’aimable -Claire: Mon enfant, lui dit-elle, dormons le reste de la nuit; le jour -viendra, et il faut espérer que Dieu aura soin de toutes choses. - -Elles se rendormirent après cet entretien, et dans l’hôtellerie régna le -plus profond silence: il n’y avait d’éveillée que la fille de l’hôtelier -et Maritorne, qui, toutes deux connaissant la folie de don Quichotte, -résolurent de lui jouer quelque bon tour, pendant que notre chevalier, -armé de pied en cap et monté sur Rossinante, ne songeait qu’à faire une -garde exacte. - -Or, il faut savoir qu’il n’y avait dans toute la maison d’autre fenêtre -donnant sur les champs, qu’une simple lucarne pratiquée dans la -muraille, et par laquelle on jetait la paille pour les mules et les -chevaux. Ce fut à cette lucarne que vinrent se poster les deux -donzelles, et c’est de là qu’elles aperçurent don Quichotte à cheval, -languissamment appuyé sur sa lance et poussant par intervalles de -profonds et lamentables soupirs, comme s’il eût été prêt de rendre -l’âme. O Dulcinée du Toboso! disait-il d’une voix tendre et amoureuse; -type suprême de la beauté, idéal de l’esprit, sommet de la raison, -archives des grâces, dépôt des vertus, et finalement abrégé de tout ce -qu’il y a dans le monde de bon, d’utile et de délectable, que fait Ta -Seigneurie en ce moment? Ta pensée s’occupe-t-elle par aventure du -chevalier, ton esclave qui, dans le seul dessein de te plaire, s’est -exposé volontairement à tant de périls? Oh! donne-moi de ses nouvelles, -astre aux trois visages, qui, peut-être envieux du sien, te livres au -plaisir de la regarder, soit qu’elle se promène dans quelque galerie -d’un de ses magnifiques palais, soit qu’appuyée sur un balcon doré, elle -rêve aux moyens de faire rentrer le calme dans mon âme agitée; -c’est-à-dire de me rappeler d’une triste mort à une délicieuse vie, et, -sans péril pour sa réputation, de récompenser mon amour et mes services. -Et toi, Soleil, qui sans doute ne te hâtes d’atteler tes coursiers -qu’afin de venir admirer plus tôt celle que j’adore, salue-la, je t’en -prie, de ma part; mais garde-toi de lui donner un baiser, car j’en -serais encore plus jaloux que tu ne le fus de cette nymphe ingrate et -légère qui te fit tant courir dans les plaines de la Thessalie ou sur -les rives du Pénée: je ne me rappelle pas bien où ton amour et ta -jalousie t’entraînèrent en cette circonstance. - -Notre héros en était là de son pathétique monologue, quand il fut -interrompu par la fille de l’hôtelier, qui, faisant signe avec la main, -lui dit, en l’appelant à voix basse: Mon bon seigneur, approchez quelque -peu, je vous prie. A cette voix, l’amoureux chevalier tourna la tête, et -reconnaissant, à la clarté de la lune, qu’on l’appelait par cette -lucarne, qu’il transformait en une fenêtre à treillis d’or, ainsi qu’il -en voyait à tous les châteaux dont il avait l’imagination remplie, il se -mit dans l’esprit, comme la première fois, que la fille du seigneur -châtelain, éprise de son mérite et cédant à la passion, le sollicitait -de nouveau d’apaiser son martyre. Aussi, plein de cette chimère, et pour -ne pas paraître discourtois, il tourna la bride à Rossinante, et -s’approcha: Que je vous plains, madame, lui dit-il en soupirant, que je -vous plains d’avoir pris pour but de vos amoureuses pensées un -malheureux chevalier errant, qui ne s’appartient plus, et que l’amour -tient ailleurs enchaîné. Ne m’en voulez pas, aimable demoiselle; -retirez-vous dans votre appartement, je vous en conjure, et à force de -faveurs ne me rendez point encore plus ingrat. Mais si, à l’exception de -mon cœur, il se trouve en moi quelque chose qui puisse payer l’amour -que vous me témoignez, demandez-le hardiment: je jure par les yeux de la -belle et douce ennemie dont je suis l’esclave, de vous l’accorder sur -l’heure, quand bien même vous exigeriez une tresse des cheveux de -Méduse, qui étaient autant d’effroyables couleuvres, ou les rayons du -Soleil lui-même enfermés dans une fiole. - -Ma maîtresse n’a pas besoin de tout cela, seigneur chevalier, répondit -Maritorne. - -De quoi votre maîtresse a-t-elle besoin, duègne sage et discrète? -demanda don Quichotte. - -Seulement d’une de vos belles mains, répondit Maritorne, afin de calmer -un feu dont l’ardeur l’a conduite à cette lucarne en l’absence d’un père -qui, sur le moindre soupçon, hacherait sa fille si menu que l’oreille -resterait la plus grosse partie de toute sa personne. - -Qu’il s’en garde bien, repartit don Quichotte, s’il ne veut avoir la -plus terrible fin que père ait jamais eue pour avoir porté une main -insolente sur les membres délicats de son amoureuse fille. - -Après un pareil serment, Maritorne ne douta point que don Quichotte ne -donnât sa main. Aussi pour exécuter son projet, elle courut à l’écurie -chercher le licou de l’âne de Sancho, et revint bientôt après juste au -moment où le chevalier venait de se mettre debout sur sa selle, pour -atteindre jusqu’à la fenêtre grillée où il apercevait la passionnée -demoiselle: Voilà, lui dit-il en se haussant, voilà cette main que vous -demandez, madame, ou plutôt ce fléau des méchants qui troublent la terre -par leurs forfaits, cette main que personne n’a jamais touchée, pas même -celle à qui j’appartiens corps et âme; prenez-la cette main, je vous la -donne non pour la couvrir de baisers, mais simplement pour vous faire -admirer l’admirable contexture de ses nerfs, le puissant assemblage de -ses muscles, et la grosseur peu commune de ses veines; jugez, d’après -cela, quelle est la force du bras auquel appartient une telle main. - -Nous le verrons dans un instant, dit Maritorne, qui ayant fait un nœud -coulant à l’un des bouts du licou, le jeta au poignet de don Quichotte, -puis s’empressa d’attacher l’autre bout au verrou de la porte. - -Le chevalier, sentant la rudesse du lien qui lui retenait le bras, ne -savait que penser: Ma belle demoiselle, lui dit-il avec douceur, il me -semble que Votre Grâce m’égratigne la main au lieu de la caresser, -épargnez-la, de grâce; elle n’a aucune part au tourment que vous -endurez; il n’est pas juste que vous vengiez sur une petite partie de -moi-même la grandeur de votre dépit: quand on aime bien, on ne traite -pas les gens avec cette rigueur. - -Il avait beau se plaindre, personne ne l’écoutait, car dès que Maritorne -l’eut lié de telle sorte qu’il ne pouvait plus se détacher, nos deux -donzelles s’étaient retirées en pouffant de rire. Le pauvre chevalier -resta donc debout sur son cheval, le bras engagé dans la lucarne, -fortement retenu par le poignet, et mourant de peur que Rossinante, en -se détournant tant soit peu, ne l’abandonnât à ce supplice d’un nouveau -genre. Dans cette inquiétude il n’osait remuer; et retenant son haleine, -il craignait de faire un mouvement qui impatientât son cheval, car il ne -doutait pas que de lui-même le paisible quadrupède ne fût capable de -rester là un siècle entier. Au bout de quelque temps néanmoins, le -silence de ces dames commença à lui faire penser qu’il était le jouet -d’un enchantement, comme lorsqu’il fut roué de coups dans ce même -château par le More enchanté, et il se reprochait déjà l’imprudence -qu’il avait eue de s’y exposer une seconde fois, après avoir été si -maltraité la première. J’aurais dû me rappeler, se disait-il en -lui-même, que lorsqu’un chevalier tente une aventure sans pouvoir en -venir à bout, c’est une preuve qu’elle est réservée à un autre; et il -est dispensé dans ce cas de l’entreprendre de nouveau. Cependant il -tirait son bras, avec beaucoup de ménagement toutefois, de crainte de -faire bouger Rossinante, mais tous ses efforts ne faisaient que -resserrer le lien, de sorte qu’il se trouvait dans cette cruelle -alternative, ou de se tenir sur la pointe des pieds, ou de s’arracher -le poignet pour parvenir à se remettre en selle. Oh! comme en cet -instant il eût voulu posséder cette tranchante épée d’Amadis, qui -détruisait toutes sortes d’enchantements! que de fois il maudit son -étoile, qui privait la terre du secours de son bras tant qu’il resterait -enchanté! Que de fois il invoqua sa bien-aimée Dulcinée du Toboso! que -de fois il appela son fidèle écuyer Sancho Panza, qui, étendu sur le bât -de son âne, et enseveli dans un profond sommeil, oubliait que lui-même -fût de ce monde! - -Finalement, l’aube du jour le surprit, mais si confondu, si désespéré, -qu’il mugissait comme un taureau, et malgré tout si bien persuadé de son -enchantement, que confirmait encore l’incroyable immobilité de -Rossinante, qu’il ne douta plus que son cheval et lui ne dussent rester -plusieurs siècles sans boire, ni manger, ni dormir, jusqu’à ce que le -charme fût rompu, ou qu’un plus savant enchanteur vînt le délivrer. - -Il en était là, lorsque quatre cavaliers bien équipés et portant -l’escopette à l’arçon de leurs selles, vinrent frapper à la porte de -l’hôtellerie. Don Quichotte, pour remplir malgré tout le devoir d’une -vigilante sentinelle, leur cria d’une voix haute: Chevaliers ou écuyers, -ou qui que vous soyez, cessez de frapper à la porte de ce château: ne -voyez-vous pas qu’à cette heure ceux qui l’habitent reposent encore? On -n’ouvre les forteresses qu’après le lever du soleil. Retirez-vous, et -attendez qu’il soit jour; nous verrons alors s’il convient ou non de -vous ouvrir. - -Quelle diable de forteresse y a-t-il ici, pour nous obliger à toutes ces -cérémonies? dit l’un des cavaliers; si vous êtes l’hôtelier, faites-nous -ouvrir promptement, car nous sommes pressés, et nous ne voulons que -faire donner l’orge à nos montures, puis continuer notre chemin. - -Est-ce que j’ai la mine d’un hôtelier? repartit don Quichotte. - -Je ne sais de qui vous avez la mine, répondit le cavalier; mais il faut -rêver pour appeler cette hôtellerie un château. - -C’en est un pourtant, et des plus fameux de tout le royaume, répliqua -don Quichotte; il a pour hôtes en ce moment tels personnages qui se sont -vus le sceptre à la main et la couronne sur la tête. - -C’est sans doute une troupe de ces comédiens qu’on voit sur le théâtre, -répondit le cavalier; car il n’y a guère d’apparence qu’il y ait -d’autres gens dans une pareille hôtellerie. - -Vous connaissez peu les choses de la vie, repartit don Quichotte, -puisque vous ignorez encore les miracles qui ont lieu chaque jour dans -la chevalerie errante. - -Ennuyés de ce long dialogue, les cavaliers recommencèrent à frapper de -telle sorte, qu’ils finirent par éveiller tout le monde. Or, il arriva -qu’en ce moment la jument d’un d’entre eux s’en vint flairer Rossinante, -qui, immobile et l’oreille basse, continuait à soutenir le corps allongé -de son maître. Rossinante, qui était de chair, quoiqu’il parût de bois, -voulut à son tour s’approcher de la jument qui lui faisait des avances; -mais à peine eût-il bougé tant soit peu, que, glissant de sa selle, les -deux pieds de don Quichotte perdirent à la fois leur appui, et le pauvre -homme serait tombé lourdement s’il n’avait été fortement attaché par le -bras. Il éprouva une telle angoisse, qu’il crut qu’on lui arrachait le -poignet. Allongé par le poids de son corps, il touchait presque à terre, -ce qui lui fut un surcroît de douleur, car, sentant combien peu il s’en -fallait que ses pieds ne portassent, il s’allongeait de lui-même encore -plus, comme font les malheureux soumis au supplice de l’estrapade, et -augmentait ainsi son tourment. - -CHAPITRE XLIV - -OU SE POURSUIVENT LES ÉVÉNEMENTS INOUIS DE L’HOTELLERIE - -Aux cris épouvantables que poussait don Quichotte, l’hôtelier -s’empressa d’ouvrir la porte, pendant que de son côté Maritorne, -éveillée par le bruit et en devinant sans peine la cause, se glissait -dans le grenier afin de détacher le licou et de rendre la liberté au -chevalier, qui roula par terre en présence des voyageurs. Ils lui -demandèrent pour quel sujet il criait si fort; mais, sans leur répondre, -notre héros se relève promptement, saute sur Rossinante, embrasse son -écu, met la lance en arrêt, et, prenant du champ, revient au petit galop -en disant: Quiconque prétend que j’ai été justement enchanté ment comme -un imposteur; je lui en donne le démenti! et pourvu que madame la -princesse de Micomicon m’en accorde la permission, je le défie et -l’appelle en combat singulier. - -Ces paroles surprirent grandement les nouveaux venus qui, ayant su -l’humeur bizarre du chevalier, ne s’y arrêtèrent pas davantage et -demandèrent à l’hôtelier s’il n’y avait point chez lui un jeune homme -d’environ quinze ans, vêtu en muletier; en un mot, ils donnèrent le -signalement complet de l’amant de la belle Claire. - -Il y a tant de gens de toute sorte dans ma maison, répondit l’hôtelier, -que je n’ai pas pris garde à celui dont vous parlez. - -Mais un des cavaliers, reconnaissant le cocher qui avait amené -l’auditeur, s’écria que le jeune homme était sans doute là: Qu’un de -nous, ajouta-t-il, se tienne à la porte et fasse sentinelle, pendant que -les autres le chercheront; il serait bon aussi de veiller autour de -l’hôtellerie, de peur que le fugitif ne s’échappe par-dessus les murs. -Ce qui fut fait. - -Le jour étant venu, chacun pensa à se lever, surtout Dorothée et la -jeune Claire, qui n’avaient pu dormir, l’une troublée de savoir son -amant si près d’elle, et l’autre brûlant d’envie de le connaître. Don -Quichotte étouffait de rage, en voyant qu’aucun des voyageurs ne faisait -attention à lui, et s’il n’eût craint de manquer aux lois de la -chevalerie, il les aurait assaillis tous à la fois, pour les contraindre -de répondre à son défi. Mais tenu comme il l’était de n’entreprendre -aucune aventure avant d’avoir rétabli la princesse de Micomicon sur le -trône, il se résigna et regarda faire les voyageurs. - -L’un d’eux ayant enfin trouvé le jeune garçon qu’ils cherchaient, -endormi tranquillement auprès d’un muletier, le saisit par le bras et -lui dit en l’éveillant: Par ma foi, seigneur don Luis, je vous trouve -dans un bel équipage, et ce lit répond bien aux délicatesses dans -lesquelles vous avez été élevé! - -Notre amoureux, encore tout assoupi, se frotta les yeux, et ayant -envisagé celui qui le tenait, reconnut un des valets de son père, ce -dont il fut si surpris qu’il fut longtemps sans pouvoir articuler une -parole. - -Seigneur don Luis, continua le valet, vous n’avez qu’un seul parti à -prendre. Retournez chez votre père, si vous ne voulez être bientôt privé -de lui; car il n’y a guère autre chose à attendre de l’état où l’a mis -votre fuite. - -Hé! comment mon père a-t-il su que j’avais pris ce chemin et ce -déguisement? répondit don Luis. - -En voyant son affliction, un étudiant à qui vous aviez confié votre -dessein lui a tout découvert, et il nous a envoyés à votre poursuite, -ces trois cavaliers et moi. Nous serons heureux de pouvoir bientôt vous -remettre entre les bras d’un père qui vous aime tant. - -Oh! il n’en sera que ce que je voudrai, répondit don Luis. - -Le muletier auprès de qui don Luis avait passé la nuit, ayant entendu -cette conversation, en alla donner avis à don Fernand et aux autres, qui -étaient déjà sur pied; il leur dit que le valet appelait le jeune homme -seigneur, et qu’on voulait l’emmener malgré lui. Ces paroles leur -donnèrent à tous l’envie de le connaître et de lui prêter secours au cas -où l’on voudrait lui faire quelque violence; ils coururent donc à -l’écurie, où ils le trouvèrent se débattant contre le valet. Dorothée -qui, en sortant de sa chambre, avait rencontré Cardenio, lui conta en -peu de mots l’histoire de Claire et du musicien inconnu, et Cardenio, de -son côté, lui apprit ce qui se passait entre don Luis et les gens de son -père. Mais il ne le fit pas si secrètement que Claire, qui suivait -Dorothée, ne l’entendît. Elle en fut si émue, qu’elle faillit -s’évanouir. Heureusement Dorothée la soutint et l’emmena dans sa -chambre, après que Cardenio l’eût assurée qu’il allait faire tous ses -efforts pour arranger tout cela. - -Cependant les quatre cavaliers venus à la recherche de don Luis ne le -quittaient pas; ils tâchaient de lui persuader de partir sur-le-champ -pour aller consoler son père; et comme il refusait avec emportement, -ayant, disait-il, à terminer une affaire qui intéressait son honneur, sa -vie, et même son salut, ils le pressaient de façon à ne lui laisser -aucun doute sur la résolution où ils étaient de l’emmener à quelque prix -que ce fût. Tous ceux qui étaient dans l’hôtellerie étaient accourus au -bruit, Cardenio, don Fernand et ses cavaliers, l’auditeur, le curé, -maître Nicolas et don Quichotte lui-même, auquel il avait semblé -inutile de faire plus longtemps la garde du château. Cardenio, qui -connaissait déjà l’histoire du garçon muletier, demanda à ceux qui -voulaient l’entraîner par force, quel motif ils avaient d’emmener ce -jeune homme, puisqu’il s’y refusait obstinément. - -Notre motif, répondirent-ils, c’est de rendre la vie au père de ce -gentilhomme, que son absence réduit au désespoir. - -Ce sont mes affaires et non les vôtres, répliqua don Luis; je -retournerai s’il me plaît, et pas un de vous ne saurait m’y forcer. - -La raison vous y forcera, répondit un des valets, et si elle ne peut -rien sur vous, nous ferons notre devoir. - -Sachons un peu ce qu’il y a au fond de tout cela, dit l’auditeur. - -Ce valet reconnut l’auditeur. Est-ce que Votre Grâce, Seigneur, lui -dit-il en le saluant, ne se rappelle pas ce jeune gentilhomme? C’est le -fils de votre voisin; il s’est échappé de chez son père sous un costume -qui ne ferait guère soupçonner qui il est. - -Frappé de ces paroles, l’auditeur le considéra quelque temps, et, -s’étant rappelé ses traits, il lui dit en l’embrassant: Hé! quel -enfantillage est-ce là, seigneur don Luis? Quel motif si puissant a pu -vous faire prendre un déguisement si indigne de vous? mais voyant le -jeune garçon les yeux pleins de larmes, il dit aux valets de s’éloigner; -et l’ayant pris à part, il lui demanda ce que cela signifiait. - -Pendant que l’auditeur interrogeait don Luis, on entendit de grands cris -à la porte de l’hôtellerie. Deux hommes qui y avaient passé la nuit, -voyant tous les gens de la maison occupés, voulurent déguerpir sans -payer: mais l’hôtelier, plus attentif à ses affaires qu’à celles -d’autrui, les arrêta au passage, leur réclamant la dépense avec un tel -surcroît d’injures qu’il les excita à lui répondre à coups de poing, et -en effet, ils le gourmaient de telle sorte, qu’il fut contraint -d’appeler au secours. L’hôtesse et sa fille accoururent; mais comme -elles n’y pouvaient rien, la fille de l’hôtesse, qui avait vu en passant -don Quichotte les bras croisés et au repos, revint sur ses pas et lui -dit: Seigneur chevalier, par la vertu que Dieu vous a donnée, venez, je -vous en supplie, venez secourir mon père, que deux méchants hommes -battent comme plâtre. - -Très-belle demoiselle, répondit don Quichotte avec le plus grand -sang-froid, votre requête ne saurait pour l’heure être accueillie, car -j’ai donné ma parole de n’entreprendre aucune aventure avant d’en avoir -achevé une à laquelle je me suis engagé. Mais voici ce que je peux faire -pour votre service: courez dire au seigneur votre père de soutenir de -son mieux le combat où il est engagé, sans se laisser vaincre; j’irai -pendant ce temps demander à la princesse de Micomicon la liberté de le -secourir; si elle me l’octroie, soyez convaincue que je saurai le tirer -d’affaire. - -Pécheresse que je suis! s’écria Maritorne qui était présente, avant que -Votre Seigneurie ait la permission qu’elle vient de dire, notre maître -sera dans l’autre monde! - -Trouvez bon, madame, que j’aille la réclamer, repartit don Quichotte, et -quand une fois je l’aurai obtenue, peu importe que le seigneur châtelain -soit ou non dans l’autre monde; je saurai l’en arracher en dépit de tous -ceux qui voudraient s’y opposer, ou du moins je tirerai de ceux qui l’y -auront envoyé une vengeance si éclatante que vous aurez lieu d’être -satisfaite. - -Cela dit, il va se jeter à genoux devant Dorothée, la suppliant, avec -les expressions les plus choisies de la chevalerie errante, de lui -permettre de secourir le seigneur du château, qui se trouvait dans un -pressant péril. La princesse y consent; alors notre valeureux chevalier, -mettant l’épée à la main et embrassant son écu, se dirige vers la porte -de l’hôtellerie, où le combat continuait au grand désavantage de -l’hôtelier. Mais tout à coup il s’arrête et demeure immobile, quoique -l’hôtesse et Maritorne le harcelassent en lui demandant ce qui -l’empêchait de secourir leur maître. - -Ce qui m’en empêche, répondit don Quichotte, c’est qu’il ne m’est pas -permis de tirer l’épée contre de pareilles gens; appelez mon écuyer -Sancho Panza, c’est à lui que revient de droit le châtiment de ceux qui -ne sont pas armés chevaliers. - -Voilà ce qui se passait à la porte de l’hôtellerie, où les gourmades -tombaient dru comme grêle sur la tête de l’hôtelier, pendant que -Maritorne, l’hôtesse et sa fille enrageaient de la froideur de don -Quichotte et lui reprochaient sa poltronnerie. Mais quittons-les un -moment, et allons savoir ce que don Luis répondait aux questions de -l’auditeur, au sujet de sa fuite et de son déguisement. - -Le jeune homme pressait les mains du père de la belle Claire et versait -des larmes abondantes. Seigneur, lui disait-il, je ne saurais confesser -autre chose, sinon qu’après avoir vu mademoiselle votre fille, lorsque -vous êtes venu habiter dans notre voisinage, j’en devins éperdument -amoureux; et si vous consentez à ce que j’aie l’honneur d’être votre -fils, dès aujourd’hui même elle sera ma femme: c’est pour elle que j’ai -quitté sous ce déguisement la maison de mon père, et je suis résolu à la -suivre partout. Elle ne sait pas combien je l’aime, à moins pourtant -qu’elle ne l’ait deviné à mes larmes, car je n’ai jamais eu le bonheur -de lui parler. Vous savez qui je suis, quel est le bien de mon père, -vous savez aussi qu’il n’a pas d’autre héritier que moi. D’après cela si -vous me jugez digne de votre alliance, rendez-moi heureux promptement, -je vous en supplie, en m’acceptant pour votre fils, et je vous jure de -vous servir toute ma vie avec tout le respect et toute l’affection -imaginables. Si, par hasard, mon père refusait d’y consentir, j’espère -que le temps et l’excellence de mon choix le feront changer d’idée. - -L’amoureux jeune homme se tut; l’auditeur demeura non moins surpris -d’une confidence si imprévue, qu’indécis sur le parti qu’il devait -prendre. Il engagea d’abord don Luis à se calmer, et lui dit que pourvu -qu’il obtînt des gens de son père de ne pas le forcer à les suivre, il -allait aviser au moyen de faire ce qui conviendrait le mieux. - -L’hôtelier avait fait la paix avec ses deux hôtes, que les conseils de -don Quichotte, encore plus que ses menaces, avaient décidés à payer leur -dépense, et les valets de don Luis attendaient le résultat de -l’entretien de leur jeune maître avec l’auditeur, quand le diable, qui -ne dort jamais, amena dans l’hôtellerie le barbier à qui don Quichotte -avait enlevé l’armet de Mambrin, et Sancho Panza le harnais de son âne. -En conduisant sa bête à l’écurie, cet homme reconnut Sancho qui -accommodait son grison: Ah! larron, lui dit-il en le prenant au collet, -je te tiens à la fin; tu vas me rendre mon bassin, mon bât et tout -l’équipage que tu m’as volé. Se voyant attaqué à l’improviste, et -s’entendant dire des injures, Sancho saisit d’une main l’objet de la -dispute, et de l’autre appliqua un si grand coup de poing à son -agresseur, qu’il lui mit la mâchoire en sang; néanmoins le barbier ne -lâchait point prise, et il se mit à pousser de tels cris, que tout le -monde accourut. Justice! au nom du roi! justice! criait-il; ce -détrousseur de passants veut m’assassiner parce que je reprends mon -bien. - -Tu en as menti par la gorge! répliquait Sancho; je ne suis point un -détrousseur de passants, et c’est de bonne guerre que mon maître a -conquis ces dépouilles. - -Témoin de la valeur de son écuyer, don Quichotte jouissait de voir avec -quelle vigueur Sancho savait attaquer et se défendre; aussi dès ce -moment il le tint pour homme de cœur, et il résolut de l’armer -chevalier à la première occasion qui viendrait à se présenter, ne -doutant point que l’ordre n’en retirât un très-grand lustre. Pendant ce -temps, le pauvre barbier continuait à s’escrimer de son mieux. De même -que ma vie est à Dieu, disait-il, ce bât est à moi, et je le reconnais -comme si je l’avais mis au monde! d’ailleurs mon âne est là qui pourra -me démentir: qu’on le lui essaye, et si ce bât ne lui va pas comme un -gant, je consens à passer pour un infâme. Mais ce n’est pas tout, le -même jour qu’ils me l’ont pris, ils m’ont aussi enlevé un plat à barbe -de cuivre tout battant neuf, qui m’avait coûté un bel et bon écu. - -En entendant ces paroles, don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher d’intervenir; -il sépara les combattants, déposa le bât par terre, afin qu’il fût vu de -tout le monde, et dit: Seigneurs, Vos Grâces vont reconnaître -manifestement l’erreur de ce bon écuyer, qui appelle un plat à barbe ce -qui est, fut et ne cessera jamais d’être l’armet de Mambrin; or, cet -armet, je le lui ai enlevé en combat singulier, j’en suis donc maître de -la façon la plus légitime. Quant au bât, je ne m’en mêle point: tout ce -que je puis dire à ce sujet, c’est qu’après le combat mon écuyer me -demanda la permission de prendre le harnais du cheval de ce poltron, -pour remplacer le sien. Expliquer comment ce harnais s’est métamorphosé -en bât, je ne saurais en donner d’autre raison, sinon que ces sortes de -transformations se voient chaque jour dans la chevalerie errante; et -pour preuve de ce que j’avance, ajouta-t-il, cours, Sancho, mon enfant, -va chercher l’armet que ce brave homme appelle un bassin de barbier. - -Si nous n’avons pas d’autre preuve, répliqua Sancho, nous voilà dans de -beaux draps: aussi plat à barbe est l’armet de Mambrin, que la selle de -cet homme est bât. - -Fais ce que je t’ordonne, repartit don Quichotte; peut-être que ce qui -arrive dans ce château ne se fera pas toujours par voie d’enchantement. - -Sancho alla chercher le bassin et l’apporta. Voyez maintenant, -seigneurs, dit don Quichotte en le présentant à l’assemblée, voyez s’il -est possible de soutenir que ce ne soit pas là un armet? Je jure, par -l’ordre de chevalerie dont je fais profession, que cet armet est tel que -je l’ai pris, sans y avoir rien ajouté, rien retranché. - -Il n’y a pas le moindre doute, ajouta Sancho, et depuis que mon maître -l’a conquis, il n’a livré qu’une seule bataille, celle où il délivra ces -misérables forçats; et bien lui en prit, car ce plat à barbe ou armet, -comme on voudra l’appeler, lui a garanti la tête de nombreux coups de -pierre en cette diabolique rencontre. - -Eh bien! messeigneurs, dit le barbier, que vous semble de gens qui -affirment que ceci n’est point un plat à barbe, mais un armet? - -CHAPITRE XLV - -OU L’ON ACHÈVE DE VÉRIFIER LES DOUTES SUR L’ARMET DE MAMBRIN ET SUR LE -BAT DE L’ANE, AVEC D’AUTRES AVENTURES AUSSI VÉRITABLES - -A qui osera soutenir le contraire, repartit don Quichotte, je dirai -qu’il ment, s’il est chevalier, et s’il n’est qu’écuyer, qu’il a menti -et rementi mille fois. - -Pour divertir la compagnie, maître Nicolas voulut appuyer la folie de -don Quichotte, et s’adressant à son confrère: Seigneur barbier, lui -dit-il, sachez que nous sommes, vous et moi, du même métier: il y a plus -de vingt ans que j’ai mes lettres de maîtrise, et je connais fort bien -tous les instruments de barberie, depuis le plus grand jusqu’au plus -petit. Sachez de plus qu’ayant été soldat dans ma jeunesse je connais -parfaitement ce que c’est qu’un armet, un morion, une salade, en un mot -toutes les choses de la guerre. Ainsi donc, sauf meilleur avis, je dis -que cette pièce qui est entre les mains du seigneur chevalier est si -éloignée d’être un plat à barbe, qu’il n’existe pas une plus grande -différence entre le blanc et le noir; je dis et redis que c’est un -armet; seulement il n’est pas entier. - -Assurément, répliqua don Quichotte, car il en manque la moitié, à savoir -la mentonnière. - -Tout le monde est d’accord là-dessus! ajouta le curé, qui avait saisi -l’intention de maître Nicolas. - -Cardenio, don Fernand et ses amis affirmèrent la même chose. L’auditeur -aurait volontiers dit comme eux, si l’affaire de don Luis ne lui eût -donné à réfléchir; mais il la trouvait assez grave pour ne pas se mêler -à toutes ces plaisanteries. - -Dieu me soit en aide! s’écriait le malheureux barbier; comment tant -d’honnêtes gentilshommes peuvent-ils prendre un plat à barbe pour un -armet? En vérité, il y a là de quoi confondre toute une université; si -ce plat à barbe est un armet, alors ce bât doit être aussi une selle de -cheval, comme le prétend ce seigneur. - -Quant à cet objet, il me semble bât, reprit notre chevalier; mais je -vous ai déjà dit que je ne me mêle point de cela. - -Selle ou bât, dit le curé, c’est à vous, seigneur don Quichotte, qu’il -appartient de résoudre cette question, car, en matière de chevalerie, -tout le monde ici vous cède la palme, et nous nous en rapportons à votre -jugement. - -Vos Grâces me font trop d’honneur, répliqua notre héros; mais il m’est -arrivé des aventures si étranges, les deux fois que je suis venu loger -dans ce château, que je n’ose plus me prononcer sur ce qu’il renferme: -car tout s’y fait, je pense, par voie d’enchantement. La première fois, -je fus très-tourmenté par le More enchanté qui est ici, et Sancho n’eut -guère à se louer des gens de sa suite. Hier au soir, la date est toute -fraîche, je me suis trouvé suspendu par le bras, et je suis resté en cet -état pendant près de deux heures, sans pouvoir m’expliquer d’où me -venait cette disgrâce. Après cela, donner mon avis sur des choses si -confuses, serait témérité de ma part. J’ai dit mon sentiment pour ce qui -est de l’armet; mais décider si c’est là un bât d’âne ou une selle de -cheval, cela vous regarde, seigneurs. Peut-être que, n’étant pas armés -chevaliers, les enchantements n’auront point de prise sur vous; -peut-être aussi jugerez-vous plus sainement de ce qui se passe ici, les -objets vous paraissant autres qu’ils ne me paraissent à moi-même. - -Le seigneur don Quichotte a raison, reprit don Fernand; c’est à nous de -régler ce différend; et pour y procéder avec ordre et dans les formes, -je vais prendre l’opinion de chacun en particulier: la majorité -décidera. - -Pour qui connaissait l’humeur du chevalier, tout cela était fort -divertissant; mais pour ceux qui n’étaient pas dans le secret, c’était -de la dernière extravagance, notamment pour les gens de don Luis, don -Luis lui-même, et trois nouveaux venus qu’à leur mine on prit pour des -archers, ce qu’ils étaient en effet. Le barbier enrageait de voir son -plat à barbe devenir un armet, et il ne doutait pas que le bât de son -âne ne se transformât en selle de cheval. Tous riaient en voyant don -Fernand consulter sérieusement l’assemblée, et dans les mêmes formes que -s’il se fût agi d’une affaire de grande importance. Enfin, après avoir -recueilli les voix, don Fernand dit au barbier: Bon homme, je suis las -de répéter tant de fois la même question, et d’entendre toujours -répondre qu’il est inutile de s’enquérir si c’est là un bât d’âne, quand -il est de la dernière évidence que c’est une selle de cheval et même -d’un cheval de race: prenez donc patience, car en dépit de votre âne et -de vous, c’est une selle et non un bât. Vous avez mal plaidé, et encore -moins fourni de preuves. - -Que je perde ma place en paradis, s’écria le pauvre barbier, si vous ne -rêvez, tous tant que vous êtes; et puisse mon âme paraître devant Dieu, -comme cela me paraît un bât! mais les lois vont... Je n’en dis pas -davantage; et certes je ne suis pas ivre, car je n’ai encore bu ni mangé -d’aujourd’hui. - -On ne s’amusait pas moins des naïvetés du barbier que des extravagances -de don Quichotte, qui conclut en disant: Ce qu’il y a de mieux à faire, -c’est que chacun ici reprenne son bien. Et comme on dit: ce que Dieu t’a -donné, que saint Pierre le bénisse. - -Mais si la chose en fût restée là, le diable n’y aurait pas trouvé son -compte; un des valets de don Luis voulut aussi donner son avis. Si ce -n’est pas une plaisanterie, dit-il, comment tant de gens d’esprit -peuvent-ils prendre ainsi martre pour renard? Assurément ce n’est pas -sans intention que l’on conteste une chose si évidente; quant à moi, je -défie qui que ce soit de m’empêcher de croire que cela est un plat à -barbe, et ceci un bât d’âne. - -Ne jurez pas, dit le curé; ce pourrait être celui d’une ânesse. - -Comme vous voudrez, repartit le valet; mais enfin, c’est toujours un -bât. - -Un des archers qui venaient d’entrer voulut aussi se mêler de la -contestation. Parbleu! dit-il, voilà qui est plaisant! ceci est un bât -comme mon père est un homme, et quiconque soutient le contraire doit -être aviné comme un grain de raisin. - -Tu en as menti, maraud! répliqua don Quichotte; et levant sa lance, -qu’il ne quittait jamais, il lui en déchargea un tel coup sur la tête, -que si l’archer ne se fût un peu écarté, il l’étendait tout de son long. -La lance se brisa, et les autres archers, voyant maltraiter leur -compagnon, commencèrent à faire grand bruit, demandant main-forte pour -la Sainte-Hermandad. Là-dessus l’hôtelier, qui était de cette noble -confrérie, courut chercher sa verge et son épée, et revint se ranger du -côté des archers; les gens de don Luis entourèrent leur jeune maître -pour qu’il ne pût s’échapper à la faveur du tumulte; le pauvre barbier, -qu’on avait si fort mystifié, voyant toute l’hôtellerie en confusion, -voulut en profiter pour reprendre son bât, et Sancho en fit autant. - -Don Quichotte mit l’épée à la main, et attaqua vigoureusement les -archers; don Luis, voyant la bataille engagée, se démenait au milieu de -ses gens, leur criant de le laisser aller, et de courir au secours de -don Quichotte, de don Fernand et de Cardenio, qui s’étaient mis de la -partie; le curé haranguait de toute la force de ses poumons; l’hôtesse -jetait les hauts cris, sa fille était toute en larmes, Maritorne hors -d’elle-même; Dorothée et Luscinde épouvantées, la jeune Claire évanouie; -le barbier gourmait Sancho, et Sancho rouait de coups le barbier; d’un -autre côté, don Luis, qui ne songeait qu’à s’échapper, se sentant saisi -par un des valets de son père, lui appliqua un si vigoureux coup de -bâton, qu’il lui fit lâcher prise; don Fernand tenait sous lui un archer -et le foulait aux pieds, Cardenio frappait à tort et à travers, pendant -que l’hôtelier ne cessait d’invoquer la Sainte-Hermandad: si bien que -dans toute la maison ce n’était que cris, sanglots, hurlements, coups de -poings, coups de pied, coups de bâton, coups d’épée et effusion de sang. - -Tout à coup, au milieu de ce chaos, l’idée la plus bizarre vient -traverser l’imagination de don Quichotte; il se croit transporté dans le -camp d’Agramant, et, s’imaginant être au plus fort de la mêlée, il crie -d’une voix à ébranler les murs: Que tout le monde s’arrête! qu’on -remette l’épée au fourreau! et que chacun m’écoute s’il veut conserver -la vie! Tous s’arrêtèrent à la voix de notre héros, qui continua en ces -termes: Ne vous ai-je pas déjà dit, seigneurs, que ce château est -enchanté, et qu’une légion de diables y fait sa demeure? voyez plutôt de -vos propres yeux si la discorde du camp d’Agramant ne s’est pas glissée -parmi nous: voyez, vous dis-je; ici l’on combat pour l’épée, là pour le -cheval, d’un autre côté pour l’aigle blanc, ailleurs pour un armet; -enfin nous en sommes tous venus aux mains sans nous entendre, et sans -distinguer amis ni ennemis. De grâce, seigneur auditeur, et vous, -seigneur licencié, soyez, l’un le roi Agramant, l’autre le roi Sobrin, -et tâchez de nous mettre d’accord; car, par le Dieu tout-puissant, il -est vraiment honteux que tant de gens de qualité s’entre-tuent pour de -si misérables motifs. - -Les archers, qui ne comprenaient rien aux rêveries de don Quichotte et -que Cardenio, don Fernand et ses compagnons avaient rudement étrillés, -ne voulaient point cesser le combat; le pauvre barbier, au contraire, ne -demandait pas mieux, car son bât était rompu, et à peine lui restait-il -un poil de la barbe; quant à Sancho, il s’était arrêté à la voix de son -maître, et reprenait haleine en s’essuyant le visage; seul, l’hôtelier -ne pouvait se contenir et s’obstinait à vouloir châtier ce fou, qui -mettait sans cesse le trouble dans sa maison. A la fin pourtant les -querelles s’apaisèrent, ou du moins il y eut suspension d’armes: le bât -demeura selle, le plat à barbe armet, et l’hôtellerie resta château dans -l’imagination de don Quichotte. - -Les soins de l’auditeur et du curé ayant rétabli la paix, et tous étant -redevenus amis, ou à peu près, les gens de don Luis le pressèrent de -partir sans délai pour aller retrouver son père; et pendant qu’il -discutait avec eux, l’auditeur, prenant à part don Fernand, Cardenio et -le curé, leur apprit ce que lui avait révélé ce jeune homme, demandant -leur avis sur le parti qu’il fallait prendre. Il fut décidé d’un commun -accord que don Fernand se ferait connaître aux gens de don Luis, leur -déclarant qu’il voulait l’emmener en Andalousie, où le marquis son frère -l’accueillerait de la manière la plus distinguée, puisque ce jeune homme -refusait absolument de retourner à Madrid. Cédant à la volonté de leur -jeune maître, les valets convinrent que trois d’entre eux iraient donner -avis au père de ce qui se passait, et que le dernier resterait auprès -du fils en attendant des nouvelles. - -C’est ainsi que, par l’autorité du roi d’Agramant et par la prudence du -roi Sobrin, fut apaisée cette effroyable tempête, et que fut étouffé cet -immense foyer de divisions et de querelles. Mais quand le démon, ennemi -de la concorde et de la paix, se vit arracher le fruit qu’il espérait de -si grands germes de discorde, il résolut de susciter de nouveaux -troubles. - -Or, voici ce qui arriva: les archers, voyant que leurs adversaires -étaient des gens de qualité, avec qui il n’y avait à gagner que des -coups, se retirèrent doucement de la mêlée. Mais l’un d’entre eux, celui -qui avait été si malmené par don Fernand, s’étant ressouvenu que parmi -divers mandats dont il était porteur, il y en avait un contre un certain -don Quichotte, que la Sainte-Hermandad ordonnait d’arrêter pour avoir -mis en liberté des forçats qu’on menait aux galères, voulut s’assurer si -par hasard le signalement de ce don Quichotte s’appliquait à l’homme -qu’il avait devant les yeux: il tira donc un parchemin de sa poche, et -le lisant assez mal, car il était fort peu lettré, il se mit à comparer -chaque phrase du signalement avec le visage de notre chevalier. -Reconnaissant enfin que c’était bien là le personnage en question, il -prend son parchemin de la main gauche, saisit au collet notre héros de -la main droite, et cela avec une telle force, qu’il lui coupait la -respiration: Main-forte, seigneurs, s’écriait-il, main-forte à la -Sainte-Hermandad! et afin que personne n’en doute, voilà le mandat qui -m’ordonne d’arrêter ce détrousseur de grands chemins. Le curé prit le -mandat, et vit que l’archer disait vrai; mais lorsque don Quichotte -s’entendit traiter de détrousseur de grands chemins, il entra dans une -si effroyable colère, que les os de son corps en craquaient; et, -saisissant à son tour l’archer à la gorge, il l’aurait étranglé plutôt -que de lâcher prise, si on n’était venu au secours. L’hôtelier accourut, -obligé qu’il y était par le devoir de sa charge. En voyant de nouveau -son mari fourré dans cette mêlée, l’hôtesse se mit à crier de plus -belle, pendant que sa fille et Maritorne, renchérissant sur le tout, -imploraient en hurlant le secours du ciel et de ceux qui se trouvaient -là. - -Vive Dieu! s’écria Sancho; mon maître a bien raison de dire que ce -château est enchanté; tous les diables de l’enfer y sont déchaînés, et -il n’y a pas moyen d’y vivre une heure en repos. - -On sépara l’archer et don Quichotte, au grand soulagement de tous les -deux, car ils s’étranglaient réciproquement. Cependant les archers -continuaient à réclamer leur prisonnier, priant qu’on les aidât à le -lier et qu’on le remît entre leurs mains, et disant qu’il y allait du -service du roi et de la Sainte-Hermandad, au nom de laquelle ils -demandaient secours et protection, afin de s’assurer de cet insigne -brigand, de ce détrousseur de passants. - -A tout cela don Quichotte souriait dédaigneusement, et avec un calme -admirable, il se contenta de leur répondre: Approchez ici, hommes mal -nés, canaille mal apprise! Quoi! rendre la liberté à des hommes -enchaînés, secourir des malheureux, prendre la défense des opprimés, -vous appelez cela détrousser les passants! Ah! race infâme, race -indigne, par la bassesse de votre intelligence, que le ciel vous révèle -jamais la moindre parcelle de cette vertu que renferme en soi la -chevalerie errante, ni qu’il vous tire de l’erreur où vous croupissez, -en refusant d’honorer la présence, que dis-je? l’ombre du moindre -chevalier errant! Venez ici, archers, ou plutôt voleurs de grands -chemins avec licence de la Sainte-Hermandad; dites-moi un peu quel est -l’étourdi qui a osé signer un mandat contre un chevalier tel que moi? -quel est l’ignorant qui en est à savoir que les chevaliers errants ne -sont pas gibier de justice, qu’ils ne reconnaissent au monde ni -tribunaux, ni juges, qu’ils n’ont d’autres lois que leur épée, et que -leur seule volonté remplace pour eux édits, arrêts et ordonnances? Quel -est le sot, continua-t-il, qui ne sait pas encore qu’aucunes lettres de -noblesse ne confèrent autant de priviléges et d’immunités qu’en acquiert -un chevalier errant, dès le jour où il se voue à ce pénible et honorable -exercice? quel chevalier errant a jamais payé taille, impôts, gabelle? -quel tailleur leur a jamais demandé la façon d’un habit? quel châtelain -leur a jamais refusé l’entrée de son château? quel roi ne les a fait -asseoir à sa table? quelle dame n’a été charmée de leur mérite, et ne -s’est mise à leur entière discrétion? Enfin quel chevalier errant -vit-on, voit-on ou verra-t-on jamais dans le monde, qui n’ait assez de -force et de courage pour donner à lui seul quatre cents coups de bâton à -quatre cents marauds d’archers qui oseraient lui tenir tête? - -CHAPITRE XLVI - -DE LA GRANDE COLÈRE DE DON QUICHOTTE, ET D’AUTRES CHOSES ADMIRABLES - -Pendant cette harangue, le curé cherchait à faire entendre aux archers -comme quoi notre chevalier ne jouissait pas de son bon sens, ainsi -qu’ils pouvaient en juger eux-mêmes par ses actions et ses paroles, -ajoutant qu’il était inutile d’aller plus avant, car ils ne l’auraient -pas plus tôt pris et emmené, qu’on le relâcherait comme fou. - -Le porteur du mandat répondait qu’il n’était pas juge de la folie du -personnage; qu’il devait d’abord exécuter son ordre, qu’ensuite on -pourrait relâcher le prisonnier sans qu’il s’en mît en peine. - -Vous ne l’emmènerez pourtant pas de cette fois, dit le curé; car je vois -bien qu’il n’est pas d’humeur à y consentir. Enfin le curé parla si -bien, et don Quichotte fit tant d’extravagances, que les archers eussent -été plus fous que lui s’ils n’eussent reconnu qu’il avait perdu -l’esprit. Ils prirent donc le parti de s’apaiser, et se portèrent même -médiateurs entre le barbier et Sancho, qui se regardaient toujours de -travers et mouraient d’envie de recommencer. Comme membres de la -justice, ils arrangèrent l’affaire à la satisfaction des deux parties; -quant à l’armet de Mambrin, le curé donna huit réaux au barbier sans que -don Quichotte s’en aperçût, et sur la promesse qu’il ne serait exercé -aucune poursuite. - -Ces deux importantes querelles apaisées, il ne restait plus qu’à forcer -les gens de don Luis à s’en retourner, à l’exception d’un seul qui -suivrait le jeune garçon là où don Fernand avait dessein de l’emmener. -Après avoir commencé à se déclarer en faveur des amants et des braves, -la fortune voulut achever son ouvrage: les valets de don Luis firent -tout ce qu’il exigea, et la belle Claire eut tant de joie de voir rester -son amant, qu’elle en parut mille fois plus belle. Quant à Zoraïde, qui -ne comprenait pas bien ce qu’elle voyait, elle s’attristait ou se -réjouissait selon qu’elle voyait les autres être gais ou tristes, -réglant ses sentiments sur ceux de son Espagnol, qu’elle ne quittait pas -des yeux un seul instant. L’hôtelier, qui s’était aperçu du présent que -le curé avait fait au barbier, voulut se faire apaiser de la même -manière, et se mit aussi à réclamer l’écot de don Quichotte, plus le -prix de ses outres et de son vin, jurant qu’il ne laisserait sortir ni -Rossinante, ni Sancho, ni l’âne, avant d’être payé jusqu’au dernier -maravédis. Le curé régla le compte, et don Fernand en paya le montant, -quoique l’auditeur eût offert sa bourse. Ainsi, pour la seconde fois, la -paix fut conclue, et, selon l’expression de notre chevalier, au lieu de -la discorde du camp d’Agramant, on vit régner le calme et la douceur de -l’empire d’Auguste. Tout le monde convint que cet heureux résultat était -dû à l’éloquence du curé et à la libéralité de don Fernand. - -Se voyant débarrassé de toutes ces querelles, tant des siennes que de -celles de son écuyer, don Quichotte crut qu’il était temps de continuer -son voyage, et de songer à poursuivre la grande aventure qu’il s’était -chargé de mener à fin. Dans cette intention, il alla se jeter aux genoux -de Dorothée, qui d’abord ne voulut point l’écouter; aussi, pour lui -obéir, il se releva et dit: C’est un adage bien connu, très-haute et -très-illustre princesse, que la diligence est mère du succès, et -l’expérience a prouvé maintes fois que l’activité du plaideur vient à -bout d’un procès douteux; mais cette vérité n’éclate nulle part mieux -qu’à la guerre, où la vigilance et la célérité à prévenir les desseins -de l’ennemi nous en font souvent triompher avant qu’il se soit mis sur -la défensive. Je vous dis ceci, très-excellente dame, parce qu’il me -semble que notre séjour dans ce château est non-seulement désormais -inutile, mais qu’il pourrait même nous devenir funeste. Qui sait si -Pandafilando n’aura point appris par des avis secrets que je suis sur le -point de l’aller détruire, et si, se prévalant du temps que nous -perdons, il ne sera point fortifié dans quelque château, contre lequel -toute ma force et toute mon adresse seront impuissantes? Prévenons donc -ses desseins par notre diligence, et partons à l’instant même, car -l’accomplissement des souhaits de Votre Grâce n’est éloigné que de la -distance qui me sépare encore de son ennemi. - -Après ces paroles, don Quichotte se tut, et attendit gravement la -réponse de la princesse, qui, avec une contenance étudiée et un langage -accommodé à l’humeur de notre héros, lui répondit en ces termes: - -Seigneur, je vous sais gré du désir ardent que vous faites paraître de -soulager mes peines; c’est agir en véritable chevalier; plaise au ciel -que vos vœux et les miens s’accomplissent, afin que je puisse être à -même de vous prouver que toutes les femmes ne sont pas ingrates. Partons -sur-le-champ si tel est votre désir, je n’ai de volonté que la vôtre; -disposez de moi: celle qui a mis entre vos mains ses intérêts et la -défense de sa personne a hautement manifesté l’opinion qu’elle a de -votre prudence, et témoigné qu’elle s’abandonne aveuglément à votre -conduite. - -A la garde de Dieu! reprit don Quichotte; puisqu’une si grande princesse -daigne s’abaisser devant moi, je ne veux point perdre l’occasion de la -relever et de la rétablir sur son trône; partons sur-le-champ. Sancho, -selle Rossinante, prépare ta monture et le palefroi de la reine; prenons -congé du châtelain et de tous ces chevaliers, et quittons ces lieux au -plus vite. - -Seigneur, seigneur, répondit Sancho en branlant la tête, va le hameau -plus mal que n’imagine le bedeau, soit dit sans offenser personne. - -Traître, repartit don Quichotte, quel mal peut-il y avoir en aucun -hameau, ni en aucune ville du monde, qui soit à mon désavantage? - -Si Votre Grâce se met en colère, reprit Sancho, je me tairai; alors vous -ne saurez point ce que je me crois obligé de vous révéler et ce que tout -bon serviteur doit dire à son maître. - -Dis ce que tu voudras, répliqua don Quichotte, pourvu que tes paroles -n’aient pas pour but de m’intimider: si la peur te possède, songe à t’en -guérir; quant à moi, je ne veux la connaître que sur le visage de mes -ennemis. - -Il ne s’agit point de cela, ni de rien qui en approche, répondit Sancho; -mais il est une chose que je ne saurais cacher plus longtemps à Votre -Grâce, c’est que cette grande dame qui se prétend reine du royaume de -Micomicon ne l’est pas plus que ma défunte mère; si elle l’était, elle -n’irait pas, dès qu’elle se croit seule, et à chaque coin de mur, se -becqueter avec quelqu’un de la compagnie. - -Ces paroles firent rougir Dorothée, parce qu’à dire vrai don Fernand -l’embrassait souvent à la dérobée; et Sancho, qui s’en était aperçu, -trouvait que ce procédé sentait plutôt la courtisane que la princesse: -de sorte que la jeune fille, un peu confuse, ne sut que répondre. Ce qui -m’oblige à vous dire cela, mon cher maître, c’est que, si après avoir -vous et moi bien chevauché, passé de mauvaises nuits et de pires -journées, il faut qu’un fanfaron de taverne vienne jouir du fruit de nos -travaux, je n’ai pas besoin de me presser de seller Rossinante et le -palefroi de la reine, ni vous de battre les buissons pour qu’un autre en -prenne les oiseaux. En pareil cas, mieux vaut rester tranquille, et que -chaque femelle file sa quenouille. - -Qui m’aidera à peindre l’effroyable colère de don Quichotte, quand il -entendit les inconvenantes paroles de son écuyer? Elle fut telle que, -les yeux hors de la tête, et bégayant de rage, il s’écria: Scélérat, -téméraire et impudent blasphémateur! comment as-tu l’effronterie de -parler ainsi en ma présence, et devant ces illustres dames! comment -oses-tu former dans ton imagination des pensées si détestables! Fuis -loin de moi, cloaque de mensonges, réceptacle de fourberies, arsenal de -malice, publicateur d’extravagances scandaleuses, perfide ennemi de -l’honneur et du respect qu’on doit aux personnes royales! fuis, ne -parais jamais en ma présence, si tu ne veux pas que je t’anéantisse -après t’avoir fait souffrir tout ce que la fureur peut inventer. En -parlant ainsi, il fronçait les sourcils, il s’enflait les narines et les -joues, portait de tous côtés des regards menaçants, et frappait du pied -à grands coups sur le sol, signes évidents de l’épouvantable colère qui -faisait bouillonner ses entrailles. - -En entendant ces terribles invectives, devant ces gestes furieux et -menaçants, Sancho demeura si atterré, que Ben-Engeli ne craint pas de -dire que le pauvre écuyer eût voulu de bon cœur que la terre se fût -entr’ouverte pour l’engloutir; aussi, dans l’impuissance de répondre, -il tourna les talons, et s’en fut loin de la présence de son maître. -Mais la spirituelle Dorothée, qui connaissait l’humeur de don Quichotte, -lui dit pour l’adoucir: Seigneur chevalier, ne vous irritez point des -impertinences de votre bon écuyer; peut-être ne les a-t-il pas proférées -sans raison, car on ne peut soupçonner sa conscience chrétienne d’avoir -sciemment porté un faux témoignage. Il faut donc croire, et même cela -est certain, que, dans ce château, toutes choses arrivant par -enchantement, Sancho aura vu par cette voie diabolique ce qu’il dit -avoir vu d’offensant contre mon honneur. - -Par le Dieu tout-puissant, créateur de l’univers, s’écria don Quichotte, -Votre Grandeur a touché juste: quelque mauvaise vision a troublé ce -misérable pécheur, et lui aura fait voir par enchantement, ce qu’il -vient de dire; car je connais assez sa simplicité et son innocence pour -être persuadé que de sa vie il ne voudrait faire de tort à qui que ce -soit. - -Sans aucun doute, ajouta don Fernand; et votre Seigneurie doit lui -pardonner et le rappeler au giron de ses bonnes grâces, comme avant que -ces visions lui eussent brouillé la cervelle. - -Je lui pardonne, dit don Quichotte; et aussitôt le curé alla chercher -Sancho, qui vint humblement se prosterner aux pieds de son maître, en -lui demandant sa main à baiser. - -Don Quichotte la donna. A présent, mon fils Sancho, lui dit-il, tu ne -douteras plus de ce que je t’ai dit tant de fois, que tout ici n’arrive -que par voie d’enchantement. - -Je n’en doute plus, et j’en jurerai quand on voudra, répondit Sancho, -car je vois que je parle moi-même par enchantement. Toutefois, il faut -en excepter mon bernement, qui fut véritable, et dont le diable ne se -mêla point, si ce n’est pour en suggérer l’idée. - -N’en crois rien, répliqua don Quichotte: s’il en était ainsi, je -t’aurais vengé alors, et je te vengerai à cette heure; mais ni à cette -heure, ni alors, je n’ai pu trouver sur qui venger ton outrage. - -On voulut savoir ce que c’était que ce bernement, et l’hôtelier conta de -point en point de quelle manière on s’était diverti de Sancho, ce qui -fit beaucoup rire l’auditoire; aussi, pendant ce récit, l’écuyer -aurait-il cent fois éclaté de colère, si son maître ne l’eût assuré de -nouveau que tout cela n’était qu’enchantement. Néanmoins la simplicité -de Sancho n’alla jamais jusqu’à croire que ce fût une fiction; au -contraire, il persista à penser que c’était une malice bien et dûment -exécutée par des hommes en chair et en os. - -Il y avait deux jours que tant d’illustres personnages se trouvaient -réunis dans l’hôtellerie. Jugeant qu’il était temps de partir, ils -pensèrent aux moyens de ramener don Quichotte en sa maison, où le curé -et maître Nicolas pourraient travailler plus aisément à remonter cette -imagination détraquée, sans donner à don Fernand et à Dorothée la peine -de faire le voyage, comme on l’avait arrêté d’abord, sous prétexte de -rétablir la princesse de Micomicon dans ses États. Ils imaginèrent de -faire marché avec le conducteur d’une charrette à bœufs, qui passait là -par hasard, pour emmener notre chevalier de la manière que je vais -raconter. - -Avec de grands bâtons entrelacés, on construisit une espèce de cage, -assez vaste pour qu’un homme y pût tenir passablement à l’aise; après -quoi don Fernand et ses compagnons, les gens de don Luis, les archers et -l’hôtelier, ayant pris divers déguisements d’après l’avis du curé qui -conduisait l’affaire, entrèrent en silence dans la chambre de don -Quichotte. Plongé dans le sommeil, notre héros était loin de s’attendre -à une pareille aventure. On lui lia les pieds et les mains si -étroitement, que lorsqu’il s’éveilla il ne put faire autre chose que -s’étonner de l’état où il se trouvait et de l’étrangeté des figures qui -l’environnaient. Il ne manqua pas de croire tout aussitôt ce que son -extravagante imagination lui représentait sans cesse, c’est-à-dire que -c’étaient des fantômes habitants de ce château enchanté, et qu’il était -enchanté, puisqu’il ne pouvait se défendre ni même se remuer. Tout -réussit précisément comme l’avait prévu le curé inventeur de ce -stratagème. - -De tous les assistants, le seul Sancho était avec sa figure ordinaire, -et peut-être aussi le seul dans son bon sens. Quoiqu’il fût bien près de -partager la maladie de son maître, il ne laissa pas de reconnaître ces -personnages travestis; mais dans son abasourdissement, il n’osa point -ouvrir la bouche avant d’avoir vu où aboutirait cette séquestration de -son seigneur, lequel, muet comme un poisson, attendait le dénoûment de -tout cela. Le dénoûment fut qu’on apporta la cage près de son lit et -qu’on le mit dedans. Après en avoir cloué les ais de telle façon qu’il -eût fallu de puissants efforts pour les rompre, les fantômes le -chargèrent sur leurs épaules; et au sortir de la chambre, on entendit -une voix éclatante (c’était celle de maître Nicolas) prononcer ces -paroles: - -O noble et vaillant chevalier de la Triste-Figure! N’éprouve aucun -déconfort de la captivité que tu subis en ce moment; il doit en être -ainsi pour que l’aventure où t’a engagé la grandeur de ton courage soit -plus tôt achevée. On en verra la fin, quand le terrible lion de la -Manche et la blanche colombe du Toboso reposeront dans le même nid, -après avoir humilié leurs fronts superbes sous le joug d’un doux hyménée -d’où sortiront un jour de vaillants lionceaux qui porteront leurs -griffes errantes sur les traces de leur inimitable père. Et toi, ô le -plus discret et le plus obéissant écuyer qui ait jamais ceint l’épée et -porté barbe au menton, ne te laisse pas troubler en voyant ainsi enlever -sous tes yeux la fleur de la chevalerie errante. Bientôt, toi-même, s’il -plaît au grand régulateur des mondes, tu te verras élevé à une telle -hauteur que tu ne pourras plus te reconnaître; ainsi seront accomplies -les promesses de ton bon seigneur. Je viens encore te dire, au nom de la -sage Mentironiane, que tes travaux ne demeureront pas sans récompense, -et que tu verras en son temps s’abattre sur toi une fertile rosée de -gages et de salaires. Va, divin écuyer, va sur les traces de ce -valeureux et enchanté chevalier, car il t’est commandé de le suivre -jusqu’au terme fixé par votre commune destinée; et comme il ne m’est pas -permis de t’en dire davantage, je te fais mes adieux, et m’en retourne -où seul je sais. - -A la fin de la prédiction, le barbier renforça sa voix, puis la baissa -peu à peu avec une inflexion si touchante, que ceux même qui savaient la -supercherie furent sur le point de prendre au sérieux ce qu’ils venaient -d’entendre. - -Don Quichotte se sentit consolé par les promesses de l’oracle, car il en -démêla le sens et la portée et comprit fort bien qu’on lui faisait -espérer de se voir un jour uni par les liens sacrés d’un légitime -mariage avec sa chère Dulcinée du Toboso, dont le sein fécond mettrait -au monde les lionceaux, ses fils, pour l’éternelle gloire de la Manche. -Ajoutant donc à ces promesses une foi égale à celle qu’il avait pour les -livres de chevalerie, il répondit en poussant un grand soupir: - -O toi, qui que tu sois, qui m’annonces de si heureux événements, conjure -de ma part, je t’en supplie, le sage enchanteur qui prend soin de mes -affaires de ne pas me laisser mourir dans cette prison où l’on m’emmène, -avant d’avoir vu l’entier accomplissement des incomparables promesses -que tu m’annonces. Pourvu qu’elles viennent à se réaliser, je ferai -gloire des peines de ma captivité; et loin de regarder comme un rude -champ de bataille le lit étroit et dur sur lequel je suis étendu en ce -moment, je le tiendrai pour une molle et délicieuse couche nuptiale. -Quant à la consolation que doit m’offrir la compagnie de Sancho Panza, -mon écuyer, j’ai trop de confiance dans sa loyauté et son affection pour -craindre qu’il m’abandonne en la bonne ou en la mauvaise fortune; et -s’il arrivait, par la faute de son étoile ou de la mienne, que je ne -pusse lui donner l’île que je lui ai promise ou quelque chose -d’équivalent, il est du moins assuré de ses gages, car j’ai eu soin de -déclarer par mon testament le dédommagement que je lui destine, -dédommagement, il est vrai, fort au-dessous de ses services et de mes -bonnes intentions à son égard, mais enfin le seul que me permettent mes -faibles moyens. - -A ces mots, Sancho Panza, tout attendri, fit un profond salut et baisa -les deux mains de son maître, car lui en baiser une seulement n’était -pas possible, puisqu’elles étaient attachées ensemble; aussitôt les -fantômes, enlevant la cage, la placèrent sur la charrette. - -CHAPITRE XLVII - -QUI CONTIENT DIVERSES CHOSES - -Lorsque don Quichotte se vit hissé sur la charrette: Certes, dit-il, -j’ai lu bien des histoires de chevaliers errants, mais de ma vie je -n’ai lu, ni vu, ni entendu dire, qu’on emmenât de la sorte les -chevaliers enchantés, surtout avec la lenteur particulière à ces lourds -et paresseux animaux. En effet, c’est toujours par les airs, et avec une -rapidité excessive qu’on a coutume de les enlever, soit enfermés dans un -épais nuage, soit sur un char de feu, soit enfin montés sur quelque -hippogriffe; mais être emmené dans une charrette traînée par des bœufs, -vive Dieu! j’en mourrai de honte. Après tout, peut-être, les enchanteurs -de nos jours procèdent-ils autrement que ceux des temps passés. -Peut-être aussi étant nouveau chevalier dans le monde, et le premier qui -ait ressuscité l’exercice oublié de la chevalerie errante, aura-t-on -inventé, pour moi, de nouveaux genres d’enchantements et de nouvelles -manières de faire voyager les enchantés. Dis-moi, que t’en semble, ami -Sancho? - -Je ne sais trop, seigneur, ce qu’il m’en semble, répondit Sancho, car je -n’ai pas autant lu que Votre Grâce dans les écritures errantes, mais -pourtant j’oserais affirmer que ces visions qui nous entourent ne sont -pas très-catholiques. - -Catholiques! s’écria don Quichotte; hé, bon Dieu! comment seraient-elles -catholiques, puisque ce sont autant de démons qui ont pris des figures -fantastiques pour venir me mettre en cet état? Si tu veux t’en assurer -par toi-même, touche-les, mon ami, et tu verras que ce sont de purs -esprits qui n’ont d’un corps solide que l’apparence. - -Pardieu, seigneur, repartit Sancho, je les ai déjà assez maniés, à -telles enseignes que le diable qui se donne là tant de peine est bien en -chair et en os, et je ne pense pas que cet autre se nourrisse de vent. -Il a de plus une propriété très-différente de celle qu’on attribue aux -démons, qui est de sentir toujours le soufre, car lui, il sent l’ambre à -une demi-lieue de distance. - -Sancho désignait par là don Fernand, qui, en qualité de grand seigneur, -portait toujours sur lui des parfums. - -Ne t’en étonne point, ami Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, les diables en -savent plus long que tu ne penses; et bien qu’ils portent avec eux des -odeurs, ils ne peuvent rien sentir, étant de purs esprits; ou s’ils -sentent quelque chose, ce ne peut être qu’une odeur fétide et -détestable. La raison en est simple, quelque part qu’ils aillent, ils -traînent après eux leur enfer; et comme la bonne odeur est une chose qui -réjouit les sens, il est impossible qu’ils sentent jamais bon. Quand -donc tu t’imagines que ce démon sent l’ambre, ou tu te trompes, ou il -veut te tromper, afin de t’empêcher de reconnaître qui il est. - -Pendant cet entretien du maître et du valet, don Fernand et Cardenio, -craignant que don Quichotte ne vînt à découvrir la supercherie, -décidèrent, afin de prévenir ce contre-temps, de partir sur l’heure; en -conséquence, ils ordonnèrent à l’hôtelier de seller Rossinante et de -bâter le grison, en même temps que le curé faisait prix avec les archers -pour accompagner jusqu’à son village le chevalier enchanté. Cardenio -attacha le plat à barbe et la rondache à l’arçon de la selle de -Rossinante, puis le donna à mener à Sancho, qu’il fit monter sur son -âne, et prendre les devants, pendant que deux archers, armés de leurs -arquebuses, marchaient de chaque côté de la charrette. Mais avant que -les bœufs commençassent à tirer, l’hôtesse sortit du logis avec sa -fille et Maritorne, pour prendre congé de don Quichotte, dont elles -feignaient de pleurer amèrement la disgrâce. - -Ne pleurez point, mes excellentes dames, leur dit notre héros; ces -malheurs sont attachés à la profession que j’exerce, et sans eux je ne -me croirais pas un véritable chevalier errant, car rien de semblable -n’arrive aux chevaliers de peu de renom, qu’on laisse toujours dans -l’obscurité où ils s’ensevelissent d’eux-mêmes. Ces malheurs, n’en -doutez pas, sont le lot des plus renommés, de ceux enfin dont la -vaillance et la vertu excitent la jalousie des chevaliers leurs -confrères qui, désespérant de pouvoir égaler leur mérite, trament -lâchement leur ruine; mais la vérité est d’elle-même si puissante, qu’en -dépit de la magie inventée par Zoroastre, elle sortira victorieuse de -tous ces périls, surmontera tous ces obstacles, et répandra dans le -monde un éclat non moins vif que celui dont le soleil illumine les -cieux. Pardonnez-moi, mes bonnes dames, si je vous ai causé quelque -déplaisir: croyez bien que ce fut malgré moi, car volontairement et en -connaissance de cause jamais je n’offenserai personne. Priez Dieu qu’il -me tire de cette prison où me retient quelque malintentionné enchanteur: -et si un jour je deviens libre, je veux rappeler à ma mémoire, où elles -sont du reste profondément gravées, les courtoisies que j’ai reçues dans -votre château, pour vous en témoigner ma gratitude par toutes sortes de -bons offices. - -Pendant que notre chevalier faisait ses adieux aux dames du château, le -curé et le barbier prenaient congé de don Fernand et de ses compagnons, -ainsi que du captif, de l’auditeur et des autres dames, principalement -de Dorothée et de Luscinde. Tous s’embrassèrent en se promettant de se -donner de leurs nouvelles. Don Fernand indiqua au curé une voie sûre -pour l’informer de ce que deviendrait don Quichotte, affirmant qu’il ne -saurait lui faire un plus grand plaisir; de son côté, il s’engagea à lui -mander tout ce qu’il croyait pouvoir l’intéresser, tel que son mariage -avec Dorothée, la solennité du baptême de Zoraïde, le succès des amours -de don Luis et de la belle Claire. Les compliments terminés, on -s’embrassa de nouveau, en se réitérant les offres de service. - -Sur le point de se séparer, l’hôtelier s’approcha du curé et lui remit -quelques papiers qu’il avait trouvés dans la même valise où était -l’histoire du Curieux malavisé, désirant, disait-il, lui en faire -présent, puisqu’il n’avait point de nouvelles du maître de cette -valise. Le curé le remercia, et prenant le manuscrit, il lut au titre: -_Histoire de Rinconette et de Cortadillo_[55]. Puisqu’elle est du même -auteur, pensa-t-il, cette histoire ne doit pas être moins intéressante -que celle du Curieux malavisé. - - [55] Cette nouvelle est de Cervantes lui-même. Elle fut publiée, pour - la première fois, dans le recueil de ses nouvelles, 1613. Elles - étaient divisées en (_jocosas_) badines et (_serias_) sérieuses. - -Là-dessus, le cortége se mit en route dans l’ordre suivant: d’abord, le -char à bœufs, accompagné, comme je l’ai déjà dit, par deux archers -marchant de chaque côté armés de leurs arquebuses; Sancho suivait, monté -sur son âne et tirant Rossinante par la bride; puis enfin le curé et le -barbier, sur leurs mules et le masque sur le visage pour n’être pas -reconnus. Cette illustre troupe marchait d’un pas grave et majestueux, -s’accommodant à la lenteur de l’attelage. Quant à don Quichotte, il -était assis, appuyé contre les barreaux de sa cage, les mains attachées -et les jambes étendues, immobile et silencieux comme une statue de -pierre. On fit dans cet ordre environ deux lieues, jusqu’à ce qu’on fût -arrivé dans un vallon où le conducteur demanda à faire paître ses -bœufs; après en avoir parlé au curé, le barbier conseilla d’aller un -peu plus loin, parce que derrière un coteau qu’ils voyaient devant eux -se trouvait, disait-il, une vallée où il y avait beaucoup plus d’herbe, -et de la meilleure. - -Ils continuèrent donc leur chemin, mais le curé ayant tourné la tête, -vit venir six ou sept hommes, montés sur de puissantes mules, qui les -eurent bientôt rejoints, car ils allaient le train de gens pressés -d’arriver à l’hôtellerie, encore éloignée d’une bonne lieue, pour y -passer la grande chaleur du jour. Ils se saluèrent les uns les autres, -et un des voyageurs, qui était chanoine de Tolède et paraissait chef de -la troupe, voyant cette procession si bien ordonnée et un homme renfermé -dans une cage, ne put s’empêcher de demander ce que cela signifiait et -pourquoi on menait ainsi ce malheureux, pensant bien toutefois, à la vue -des archers, que c’était quelque fameux brigand dont le châtiment -appartenait à la Sainte-Hermandad. - -L’archer à qui le chanoine avait adressé la parole répondit: Seigneur, -c’est à ce gentilhomme à vous apprendre lui-même pourquoi on le conduit -de la sorte, car nous n’en savons rien. - -Don Quichotte avait tout entendu: Est-ce que par hasard, dit-il, Vos -Grâces seraient instruites et versées dans ce qu’on appelle la -chevalerie errante? En ce cas, je ne ferai pas de difficultés pour vous -apprendre mes infortunes; sinon, il est inutile que je me fatigue à vous -les raconter. - -Frère, répondit le chanoine, je connais bien mieux les livres de -chevalerie que les éléments de logique du docteur Villalpando[56]; ainsi -vous pouvez en toute assurance me confier ce qu’il vous plaira. - - [56] Gaspard de Villalpando est l’auteur d’un livre scolastique fort - estimé de son temps. - -Eh bien, seigneur chevalier, répliqua don Quichotte, apprenez que je -suis retenu dans cette cage par la malice et la jalousie des -enchanteurs, car la vertu est toujours plus vivement persécutée par les -méchants qu’elle n’est soutenue par les gens de bien. Je suis chevalier -errant, non de ceux que la renommée ne connaît point, ou dont elle -dédaigne de s’occuper, mais de ces chevaliers dont, en dépit de l’envie, -en dépit de tous les mages de la Perse, de tous les brahmanes de l’Inde -et de tous les gymnosophistes de l’Éthiopie, elle prend soin de graver -le nom et les exploits dans le temple de l’immortalité, pour servir, -dans les siècles à venir, de modèle et d’exemple aux chevaliers errants -qui voudront arriver jusqu’au faîte de la gloire des armes. - -Le curé, qui s’était approché avec le barbier, ajouta: Le seigneur don -Quichotte a raison; il est enchanté sur cette charrette, non par sa -faute et pour ses péchés, mais par la surprise et l’injuste violence de -ceux à qui sa valeur et sa vertu donnent de l’ombrage. Vous avez devant -vous ce chevalier de la Triste-Figure dont vous aurez sans doute entendu -parler et de qui les actions héroïques et les exploits inouïs seront à -jamais gravés sur le marbre et le bronze, quelque effort que fassent -l’envie pour en ternir l’éclat, et la malice pour les ensevelir dans -l’oubli. - -Lorsque le chanoine entendit celui qui était libre tenir même langage -que le prisonnier, il fut sur le point de se signer de surprise, ainsi -que ceux qui l’accompagnaient. En ce moment, Sancho Panza, qui s’était -approché afin d’entendre la conversation, voulut tout raccommoder, et -prit la parole: - -Par ma foi, seigneurs, dit-il, qu’on me sache gré ou non de ce que je -vais dire, peu m’importe, puisque ma conscience m’oblige à parler. La -vérité est que monseigneur don Quichotte n’est pas plus enchanté que ma -défunte mère: il jouit de son bon sens, il boit, il mange, et il fait -ses nécessités comme les autres hommes, enfin tout comme avant d’être -mis dans cette cage. Cela étant, pourquoi donc veut-on me faire accroire -qu’il est enchanté? comme si je ne savais pas que les enchantés ne -mangent, ni ne dorment, ni ne parlent; tandis que si une fois mon maître -s’y met, je gage qu’il va jaser plus que trente procureurs. Puis, -regardant le curé, il ajouta: Est-ce que Votre Grâce s’imagine que je ne -devine pas où tendent tous ces enchantements? Vous avez beau cacher -votre visage, seigneur licencié, je vous connais comme je connais mon -âne. Au diable soit la rencontre! si Votre Révérence ne s’était mise à -la traverse, mon maître serait déjà marié avec l’infante de Micomicon, -et moi j’allais obtenir un comté ou une seigneurie, ce qui est la -moindre récompense que je puisse espérer de la générosité de monseigneur -de la Triste-Figure, et de la fidélité de mes services. Je vois à -présent combien est vrai ce qu’on dit dans mon pays: «La roue de la -fortune va plus vite que celle d’un moulin, et ceux qui étaient hier sur -le pinacle sont aujourd’hui dans la poussière.» J’en suis fâché -seulement pour ma femme et mes enfants, qui me verront revenir comme un -simple palefrenier, au lieu de me voir arriver gouverneur ou vice-roi de -quelque île. En attendant, seigneur licencié, prenez garde que Dieu ne -vous demande compte, dans ce monde ou dans l’autre, du tour que l’on -joue à mon maître, et de tout le bien qu’on l’empêche de faire en lui -ôtant les moyens de secourir les affligés, les veuves et les orphelins, -et de châtier les brigands. - -Allons! nous y voilà, repartit le barbier: comment Sancho, vous êtes -aussi de la confrérie de votre maître? Vive Dieu! il me prend envie de -vous enchanter, et de vous mettre en cage avec lui comme membre de la -même chevalerie. A la malheure, vous vous êtes laissé engrosser de ses -promesses, et fourrer dans la cervelle cette île que vous convoitez si -fort. - -Je ne suis gros de personne, repartit Sancho, et je ne suis point homme -à me laisser engrosser, fût-ce par un prince. Quoique pauvre, je suis un -vieux chrétien, et je ne dois rien à personne; si je convoite des îles, -les autres convoitent bien autre chose, et chacun est fils de ses -œuvres. Après tout, puisque, étant homme, je pourrais devenir pape, -pourquoi pas gouverneur d’îles, si mon maître en peut conquérir tant -qu’il ne sache qu’en faire? Prenez garde à ce que vous dites, seigneur -barbier: ce n’est pas tout que de faire des barbes, il faut savoir faire -la différence de Pierre à Pierre. Je dis cela parce que nous nous -connaissons, et que ce n’est pas à moi qu’il faut donner de faux dés. -Quant à l’enchantement de mon maître, Dieu sait ce qui en est. Mais -restons-en là, aller plus loin nous ferait trouver pire. - -Le barbier ne voulut pas répliquer, de crainte que Sancho, en parlant -davantage, ne découvrît ce que lui et le curé avaient tant d’envie de -cacher. Pour conjurer ce danger le curé avait pris les devants avec le -chanoine et ses gens, à qui il dévoilait le mystère de cet homme encagé; -il les informa de la condition du chevalier, de sa vie et de ses mœurs, -racontant succinctement le commencement et la cause de ses rêveries -extravagantes, et la suite de ses aventures, jusqu’à celle de la cage, -enfin le dessein qu’ils avaient de le ramener chez lui, pour essayer si -sa folie était susceptible de guérison. - -Le chanoine et ses gens écoutaient tout surpris l’histoire de don -Quichotte; quand le curé l’eut achevée: Seigneur, lui dit le chanoine, -les livres de chevalerie sont, suivant moi, non-seulement inutiles, mais -encore très-préjudiciables à un État; et quoique j’aie commencé la -lecture de presque tous ceux qui sont imprimés, je n’ai jamais pu me -résoudre à en achever un seul, car tous se ressemblent, et il n’y a pas -plus à apprendre dans l’un que dans l’autre. Ces sortes de compositions -rentrent beaucoup dans le genre des anciennes fables milésiennes, contes -bouffons, extravagants, lesquels avaient pour unique objet d’amuser et -non d’instruire, au rebours des apologues, dont le but est de divertir -et d’enseigner tout ensemble. Si réjouir l’esprit est le but qu’on s’est -proposé dans les livres de chevalerie, il faut convenir qu’ils sont loin -d’y atteindre, car ils ne sont remplis que d’événements -invraisemblables, comme si leurs auteurs ignoraient que le mérite d’une -composition résultant toujours de la beauté de l’ensemble et de -l’harmonie des parties, la difformité et le désordre ne sauraient jamais -plaire. - -En effet, quelle proportion de l’ensemble avec les parties et des -parties avec l’ensemble peut-on trouver dans une composition où un -damoiseau de quinze ans pourfend d’un seul revers un géant d’une taille -énorme, comme s’il s’agissait d’un peu de fumée? Comment croire qu’un -chevalier triomphe seul, par la force de son bras, d’un million -d’ennemis, et sans qu’il lui en coûte une goutte de sang? Que dire de la -facilité avec laquelle une reine, ou l’héritière de quelque grand -empire, confie ses intérêts au premier chevalier errant qu’elle -rencontre? Quel est l’esprit assez stupide et d’assez mauvais goût pour -se complaire à entendre raconter qu’une grande tour remplie de -chevaliers vogue légèrement sur la mer comme le vaisseau le plus léger -pourrait le faire par un bon vent; que le soir cette tour arrive en -Lombardie, et le lendemain, à la pointe du jour, sur les terres du -Prêtre-Jean des Indes, ou en d’autres royaumes que jamais Ptolémée ou -Marco Polo n’ont décrits? - -On dit que les auteurs de ces ouvrages, les donnant comme de pure -invention, dédaignent la vraisemblance; parbleu! voilà une étrange -raison. Pour que la fiction puisse plaire, ne doit-elle pas approcher un -peu de la vérité, et n’est-ce pas une règle du bon sens que, pour être -divertissantes, les aventures ne doivent pas sembler impossibles? il -conviendrait, selon moi, que les ouvrages d’imagination fussent composés -de manière à ne pas choquer le sens commun, et qu’après avoir tenu -l’esprit en suspens, ils en vinssent à l’émouvoir, à le ravir, et à lui -causer autant de plaisir que d’admiration; ce qui est toute la -perfection d’un livre. Eh bien, quel livre de chevalerie a-t-on jamais -vu dont tous les membres formassent un corps entier, c’est-à-dire dont -le milieu répondît au commencement, et la fin au commencement et au -milieu? Loin de là, les auteurs les composent de tant de membres -dépareillés, qu’on dirait qu’ils se sont plutôt proposés de peindre un -monstre ou une chimère qu’une figure avec ses proportions naturelles. -Outre cela, leur style est rude et grossier, les prouesses qu’ils -racontent sont incroyables, leurs aventures d’amour blessent la pudeur; -ils sont prolixes dans la description des batailles, ignorants en -géographie, et extravagants dans les voyages; finalement dépourvus de -tact, d’art, d’invention, et dignes d’être chassés de tous les États -comme gens inutiles et dangereux. - -Le curé avait attentivement écouté le chanoine, et le trouvait homme de -sens. Il dit qu’il partageait son opinion, et que, par une aversion -particulière qu’il avait toujours eue pour les livres de chevalerie, il -avait fait brûler le plus grand nombre de ceux que possédait don -Quichotte. Il raconta de quelle façon il avait instruit leur procès, -ceux qu’il avait condamnés au feu, ceux auxquels il avait fait grâce, -enfin ce qu’avait pensé le chevalier de la perte de sa bibliothèque. Ce -récit divertit beaucoup le chanoine et ceux qui l’accompagnaient. - -Néanmoins, seigneur, reprit le chanoine, quelque mal que je pense de ces -livres, ils ont, selon moi, un bon côté, et ce côté le voici: c’est -l’occasion qu’ils offrent à l’intelligence de s’exercer et de se -déployer à l’aise; en effet, la plume peut y courir librement, soit pour -décrire des tempêtes, des naufrages, des rencontres, des batailles, soit -pour peindre un grand capitaine avec toutes les qualités qui doivent le -distinguer, telles que la vigilance à prévenir l’ennemi, l’éloquence à -persuader les soldats, la prudence dans le conseil. Tantôt l’auteur -peindra une lamentable histoire, tantôt quelque joyeux événement; là, il -représentera une femme belle et vertueuse; ici, un cavalier vaillant et -libéral: d’un côté, un barbare insolent et téméraire; de l’autre, un -prince sage et modéré, sans cesse occupé du bien de ses sujets, et -toujours prêt à récompenser le zèle et la fidélité de ses serviteurs. Il -prêtera successivement à ses héros l’adresse et l’éloquence d’Ulysse, la -piété d’Énée, la vaillance d’Achille, la prudence de César, la clémence -d’Auguste, la bonne foi de Trajan, la sagesse de Caton, enfin toutes les -grandes qualités qui peuvent rendre un homme illustre. Si avec cela, -l’ouvrage est écrit d’un style pur, facile et agréable; si, au mérite de -l’invention, l’auteur joint l’art de conserver la vraisemblance dans les -événements, il aura tissu sa toile de fils précieux et variés, et -composé un tableau qui ne manquera pas de plaire et d’instruire, ce qui -est la fin qu’on doit se proposer en prenant la plume. - -CHAPITRE XLVIII - -SUITE DU DISCOURS DU CHANOINE SUR LE SUJET DES LIVRES DE CHEVALERIE - -Votre Grâce a raison, dit le curé, et ceux qui composent ces sortes -d’ouvrages sont d’autant plus à blâmer, qu’ils négligent les règles que -vous venez de poser, règles dont l’observation a rendu si célèbres les -deux princes de la poésie grecque et latine. - -J’ai quelquefois été tenté, reprit le chanoine, de composer un livre de -chevalerie d’après ces mêmes règles, et j’en avais déjà écrit une -centaine de pages. Pour éprouver si cet essai méritait quelque estime, -je l’ai montré à des personnes qui, quoique gens d’esprit et de science, -aiment passionnément ces sortes d’ouvrages, et à des ignorants qui n’ont -de goûts que pour les folies; eh bien, chez les uns comme chez les -autres, j’ai trouvé une agréable approbation. Néanmoins j’y ai renoncé, -parce que d’abord cela ne me semblait guère convenir à ma profession, et -qu’ensuite les gens ignorants sont beaucoup plus nombreux que les gens -éclairés; et, quoiqu’on puisse se consoler d’être sifflé par le grand -nombre des sots, quand on a l’estime de quelques sages, je n’ai pas -voulu me soumettre au jugement de cet aveugle et impertinent vulgaire, -à qui s’adressent principalement de semblables livres. - -Mais ce qui m’ôta surtout la pensée de le terminer, ce fut un -raisonnement que je me fis à propos des comédies qu’on représente -aujourd’hui. Si ces comédies, me disais-je, aussi bien celles -d’invention que celles empruntées à l’histoire, sont, de l’aveu de tous, -des ouvrages ridicules, sans nulle délicatesse, et entièrement contre -les règles, si pourtant le vulgaire ne cesse d’y applaudir, si les -auteurs qui les composent et les acteurs qui les représentent prétendent -qu’elles doivent être ainsi composées, parce que le public les veut -ainsi, tandis que les pièces où l’on respecte les règles de l’art n’ont -pour approbateurs que quelques hommes de goût, la même chose arrivera à -mon livre; et quand je me serai brûlé les sourcils à force de travail, -je resterai comme ce _tailleur de Campillo_, qui fournissait gratis le -fil et la façon. - -Souvent j’ai entrepris de faire comprendre à ces auteurs qu’ils -faisaient fausse route, qu’ils obtiendraient plus de gloire et de profit -en composant des pièces régulières; mais je les ai trouvés si entichés -de leur méthode, qu’il n’y a raisons ni évidence qui puisse les y faire -renoncer. M’adressant un jour à un de ces opiniâtres: Seigneur, lui -disais-je, ne vous souvient-il point qu’il y a quelques années on -représenta trois comédies d’un poëte espagnol qui obtinrent -l’approbation générale; et que les comédiens y gagnèrent plus qu’ils -n’ont gagné depuis avec trente autres des meilleurs qu’on ait composées? -Je m’en souviens, répondit-il, vous voulez assurément parler de la -_Isabella_, de la _Philis_ et de la _Alexandra_[57]? Justement, -répliquai-je. Hé bien, ces pièces ne sont-elles pas selon les règles? et -pourtant elles ont enlevé tous les suffrages. La faute n’en est donc pas -au vulgaire, qu’on laisse se plaire à voir représenter des inepties, -mais à ceux qui ne savent lui servir autre chose. Il n’y a rien de tel -dans l’_Ingratitude vengée_[58], dans la _Numancia_, dans le _Marchand -amoureux_, et encore moins dans l’_Ennemi favorable_, ni dans beaucoup -d’autres pièces qui ont fait la réputation de leurs auteurs, et enrichi -les comédiens qui les ont représentées. J’ajoutai encore bien des -raisons qui confondirent mon homme, mais sans le faire changer -d’opinion. - - [57] Ces trois pièces sont de Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola. - - [58] L’_Ingratitude vengée_ est de Lope de Vega; _Numancia_, de - Cervantes lui-même; le _Marchand amoureux_, de Gaspard de Aguilar, et - l’_Ennemi favorable_, de Francisco Tarraga. - -Seigneur chanoine, répondit le curé, vous venez de toucher là un sujet -qui a réveillé dans mon esprit une aversion que j’ai toujours eue pour -les comédies de notre temps, aversion au moins égale à celle que -j’éprouve pour les livres de chevalerie. Lorsque la comédie, suivant -Cicéron, devrait être l’image de la vie humaine, l’exemple des bonnes -mœurs et le miroir de la vérité, pourquoi, de nos jours, la comédie -n’est-elle que miroir d’extravagances, exemple de sottises, image -d’impudicités? Car quelle plus grande extravagance que de montrer un -enfant qui, dans la première scène, est au berceau, et dans la seconde a -déjà barbe au menton? Quoi de plus ridicule que de nous peindre un -vieillard bravache, un homme poltron dans toute la force de l’âge, un -laquais orateur, un page conseiller, un roi crocheteur, une princesse -laveuse de vaisselle? Que dire de cette confusion des temps et des lieux -dans les pièces qu’on représente! N’ai-je pas vu une comédie où le -premier acte se passait en Europe, le second en Asie, et le troisième en -Afrique! En vérité, je gage que si l’ouvrage avait eu plus de trois -actes, l’Amérique aurait eu aussi sa part. Si la vraisemblance doit être -observée dans une pièce de théâtre, comment peut-on admettre que dans -celle dont l’action est présentée comme contemporaine de Pépin ou de -Charlemagne, le principal personnage soit l’empereur Héraclius, que -l’on fait s’emparer de la terre sainte et entrer dans Jérusalem avec la -croix? exploit qui fut l’œuvre de Godefroy de Bouillon, séparé du héros -byzantin par un si grand nombre d’années! - -Si nous arrivons aux sujets sacrés, que de faux miracles, que de faits -apocryphes! Ne va-t-on pas même jusqu’à introduire le surnaturel dans -les sujets purement profanes? Tel en est presque toujours aujourd’hui le -dénoûment, et cela sans autre motif que celui-ci: le vulgaire se laisse -facilement toucher par ces scènes extraordinaires et en aime la -représentation; ce qui est un oubli complet de la vérité, et la honte -des écrivains espagnols, que les étrangers, observateurs fidèles des -règles du théâtre, regardent comme des barbares dépourvus de goût et de -sens. C’est un grand tort de prétendre que les spectacles publics étant -faits pour amuser le peuple et le détourner des vices qu’engendre -l’oisiveté, on obtient ce résultat par une mauvaise comédie aussi bien -que par une bonne, et qu’il est fort inutile de s’assujettir à des -règles qui fatiguent l’esprit et consument le temps; car bien -certainement le spectateur serait plus satisfait d’une pièce à la fois -régulière et embellie de tous les ornements de l’art, une action bien -représentée ne manquant jamais d’intéresser le spectateur, et d’émouvoir -l’esprit même le plus grossier. - -Après tout, peut-être ne faut-il pas s’en prendre tout à fait aux -auteurs des défauts de leurs ouvrages: la plupart les connaissent, et -certains parmi eux ne manquent ni d’intelligence ni de goût, mais ils ne -travaillent pas pour la gloire, et les pièces de théâtre sont devenues -une marchandise que les comédiens refuseraient si elles n’étaient pas -conçues selon leur fantaisie: si bien que l’auteur est forcé de -s’accommoder à la volonté de celui qui doit payer son ouvrage, et de le -livrer tel qu’on lui a commandé. N’avons-nous pas vu un des plus beaux -et des plus rares esprits de ce royaume[59], pour complaire aux -comédiens, négliger de mettre la dernière main à ses ouvrages et de les -rendre excellents, comme il pouvait le faire? D’autres, enfin, n’ont-ils -pas écrit avec si peu de mesure, qu’après une seule représentation de -leurs pièces, on a vu les acteurs obligés de s’enfuir, dans la crainte -d’être châtiés pour avoir parlé contre la conduite du prince, ou contre -l’honneur de sa maison? On obvierait, il me semble, à ces inconvénients, -si, choisissant un homme d’autorité et d’intelligence, on lui donnait la -charge d’examiner ces sortes d’ouvrages, et de n’en permettre -l’impression et le débit qu’après avoir été revêtus de son approbation. -Ce serait un remède contre la licence qui règne au théâtre: la crainte -d’un examen sévère forcerait les auteurs à montrer plus de retenue; on -ne verrait que de bons ouvrages, écrits avec la perfection dont vous -venez de nous tracer les règles; enfin le public aurait là un -passe-temps utile et agréable, car l’arc ne peut toujours être tendu, et -l’humaine faiblesse a besoin de se reposer dans d’honnêtes récréations. - - [59] Lope de Vega. Il a composé près de dix-huit cents pièces de - théâtre. - -La conversation en était là, quand le barbier s’approcha et dit au curé: -Seigneur, voici l’endroit où j’ai pensé que nous pourrions plus -commodément faire la sieste, et où les bœufs trouveront une herbe -fraîche et abondante. - -C’est aussi ce qu’il me semble, répondit le curé; et il demanda au -chanoine quels étaient ses projets. - -Le chanoine répondit qu’il serait bien aise de rester avec eux pour -jouir de la beauté du vallon qui s’offrait à leur vue, pour profiter de -la conversation du curé, qui l’intéressait vivement, enfin pour -apprendre plus en détail l’histoire et les prouesses de don Quichotte. -Afin de pouvoir se reposer en cet endroit l’après-dînée, il commanda à -un de ses gens d’aller à l’hôtellerie voisine chercher de quoi manger; -et comme on lui répondit que le mulet de bagage, bien pourvu de vivres, -devait être arrivé, il se contenta d’envoyer son équipage à -l’hôtellerie, ordonnant d’amener le mulet porteur des provisions. - -Pendant que cet ordre s’exécutait, Sancho, voyant qu’il pouvait enfin -parler à son maître sans la continuelle présence du curé et du barbier, -s’approcha de la cage et lui dit: Seigneur, pour la décharge de ma -conscience, je veux vous dire ce qui se passe au sujet de votre -enchantement. Ces deux hommes qui vous accompagnent avec le masque sur -le visage sont le curé de notre paroisse et maître Nicolas, le barbier -de notre endroit. Je pense qu’ils ne vous emmènent de la sorte que par -jalousie, et parce que vos exploits leur donnent de l’ombrage; j’en -conclus donc que vous n’êtes pas plus enchanté que mon âne, mais tout -simplement joué et mystifié. Je n’en veux pour preuve que la réponse à -une question que je vais vous adresser: si elle est telle qu’elle doit -être et qu’elle sera, j’en suis certain, je vous ferai toucher du doigt -la ruse, et alors vous avouerez qu’au lieu d’être enchanté, vous n’avez -que la cervelle à l’envers. - -Demande ce que tu voudras, mon fils, répondit don Quichotte, je te -donnerai satisfaction. Quant à l’opinion que tu as que ces deux hommes -qui vont et viennent autour de nous sont le curé et le barbier de notre -village, il peut se faire qu’ils te paraissent tels; mais qu’ils le -soient effectivement, n’en crois rien, je te prie. S’ils te semblent ce -que tu dis, sois sûr que les enchanteurs, auxquels il est facile de se -transformer à volonté, ont pris leur ressemblance, afin de t’abuser et -de te jeter dans un labyrinthe de doutes et d’incertitudes dont tu ne -sortirais pas quand tu aurais en main le fil de Thésée, et aussi pour me -troubler l’esprit, afin que je ne puisse pas deviner qui me joue ce -mauvais tour. Car, enfin, d’un côté tu me dis que ce sont là le curé et -le barbier de notre village; d’un autre côté, je me vois enfermé dans -une cage, pendant que je suis certain qu’aucune puissance humaine ne -serait capable de m’y retenir; que dois-je en conclure, si ce n’est que -mon enchantement est bien plus fort et d’une tout autre espèce que ceux -que j’ai lus dans toutes les histoires de chevaliers errants qui ont -subi le même sort que moi? Ainsi donc, cesse de croire que ces gens-là -sont ce que tu dis, car ils le sont tout comme je suis turc. Maintenant -adresse-moi telle question que tu voudras; je consens à répondre jusqu’à -demain. - -Par Notre-Dame; s’écria Sancho, faut-il que vous ayez la tête assez dure -pour en être encore à reconnaître que le diable se mêle bien moins de -vos affaires que les hommes! Or çà, je m’en vais vous prouver clair -comme le jour que vous n’êtes point enchanté: dites-moi, je vous prie, -seigneur... que Dieu vous délivre du tourment où vous êtes, et -puissiez-vous tomber dans les bras de madame Dulcinée, au moment où vous -y penserez le moins... - -Cesse tes exorcismes, mon fils, reprit don Quichotte: ne t’ai-je pas dit -que je répondrai ponctuellement à tes questions? - -Voilà justement ce que je demande, répliqua Sancho: or çà, dites-moi, -sans rien ajouter ni rien retrancher, mais franchement et avec vérité, -comme doivent parler tous ceux qui font profession des armes en qualité -de chevaliers errants... - -Je te répète que je ne mentirai en rien, reprit don Quichotte; mais pour -l’amour de Dieu, finis-en, tu me fais mourir d’impatience avec tes -préambules. - -Je n’en voulais pas davantage, dit Sancho; et je me crois assuré de la -bonté et de la franchise de mon maître. Dès lors, comme cela vient fort -à propos, je lui ferai une question: voyons, répondez, seigneur, depuis -que Votre Grâce est enchantée dans cette cage, a-t-elle eu par hasard -envie de faire, comme on dit, le petit ou le gros? - -Mon ami, je ne te comprends pas, dit don Quichotte; explique-toi mieux, -si tu veux que je réponde d’une manière nette et précise. - -Vous ne comprenez pas ce que signifie le petit et le gros! repartit -Sancho: vous moquez-vous de moi? mais c’est la première chose qu’on -apprend à l’école. Je demande si vous n’avez point eu envie de faire ce -que personne ne peut faire à votre place? - -Ah! si, vraiment! je comprends, répondit don Quichotte, et plus d’une -fois; même à l’heure où je te parle, je me sens bien pressé; mets-y -ordre promptement, je te prie; je crains qu’il ne soit déjà trop tard. - -CHAPITRE XLIX - -DE L’EXCELLENTE CONVERSATION DE DON QUICHOTTE ET DE SANCHO PANZA. - -Par ma foi, vous êtes pris, s’écria Sancho, et voilà où je voulais en -venir. Or çà, monseigneur: nierez-vous quand on voit une personne -abattue et languissante, qu’on n’ait l’habitude de se dire: Qu’est-ce -qu’a un tel? il ne mange, ne boit, ni ne dort, et ne sait jamais ce -qu’on lui demande; on dirait qu’il est enchanté? Il faut donc conclure -de là que ceux qui ne boivent, ne mangent, ni ne dorment, et ne font -point leurs fonctions naturelles, sont enchantés; mais non pas ceux qui -ont l’envie qui vous presse à cette heure, qui boivent quand ils ont -soif, mangent quand ils ont faim, et répondent à propos. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, répliqua don Quichotte; mais ne t’ai-je pas dit -aussi qu’il y avait plusieurs sortes d’enchantements, que peut-être la -forme en a changé par la succession des temps, et qu’aujourd’hui c’est -un usage établi que les enchantés fassent tout ce que je fais? Cela -étant, il n’y a rien à objecter; d’ailleurs, je sais et je tiens pour -certain que je suis enchanté, ce qui suffit pour mettre ma conscience en -repos: car si j’en doutais un seul instant, je me ferais scrupule de -demeurer ainsi enseveli dans une lâche oisiveté, pendant que le monde -est rempli d’infortunés qui sans doute ont besoin de mon secours et de -ma protection. - -Eh bien, repartit Sancho, que n’essayez-vous, pour en être plus certain, -de sortir de prison, ce à quoi je vous aiderai, puis de tâcher de monter -sur Rossinante, qui me paraît aussi enchanté que vous, tant il est -triste et mélancolique, et de nous mettre encore une fois à la recherche -des aventures? Si cela ne réussit point, nous avons tout le temps de -revenir à la cage, où je promets et je jure, foi de bon et loyal écuyer, -de m’enfermer avec Votre Grâce, s’il arrive que vous soyez assez -malheureux et moi assez imbécile pour ne pouvoir venir à bout de ce que -je viens de dire. - -Je consens à tout, mon ami, répondit don Quichotte, et dès que tu verras -l’occasion favorable, tu n’as qu’à mettre la main à l’œuvre; je ferai -tout ce que tu voudras, et me laisserai conduire: mais tu verras, mon -pauvre Sancho, combien est fausse l’opinion que tu te formes de tout -ceci. - -Le chevalier errant et le fidèle écuyer s’entretinrent de la sorte -jusqu’à ce qu’ils fussent arrivés à l’endroit où le curé, le chanoine et -le barbier avaient mis pied à terre en les attendant. Les bœufs furent -dételés pour les laisser paître en liberté, et Sancho pria le curé de -permettre que son maître sortît un moment de la cage, parce qu’autrement -elle courait grand risque de ne pas rester aussi propre que l’exigeait -la dignité et la décence d’un chevalier tel que lui. Le curé comprit -Sancho, et répondit qu’il y consentirait de bon cœur, sans la crainte -où il était que don Quichotte, une fois libre, ne vînt à faire des -siennes, et qu’il ne s’en allât si loin qu’on ne le revît plus. - -Je réponds de lui, reprit Sancho. - -Et moi aussi, ajouta le chanoine, pourvu qu’il nous donne sa foi de -chevalier qu’il ne s’éloignera pas sans notre consentement. - -J’en fais le serment, dit don Quichotte. D’ailleurs, ajouta-t-il, -l’enchanté n’a pas la liberté de faire sa volonté, puisque l’enchanteur -peut empêcher qu’il ne bouge de trois siècles entiers; et que s’il -s’enfuyait, il peut le faire revenir plus vite que le vent: ainsi, -seigneurs, relâchez-moi sans crainte; car franchement la chose presse, -et je ne réponds de rien. - -Sur sa parole, le chanoine le prit par la main et le tira de sa cage, ce -dont le pauvre homme ressentit une joie extrême. La première chose qu’il -fit fut de se détirer deux ou trois fois tout le corps; puis -s’approchant de Rossinante: Miroir et fleur des coursiers errants, -dit-il en lui donnant deux petits coups sur la croupe, j’espère toujours -que, grâce à Dieu et à sa sainte Mère, nous nous reverrons bientôt dans -l’état que nous souhaitons l’un et l’autre; toi sous ton cher maître, et -moi sur tes reins vigoureux, exerçant ensemble la profession pour -laquelle Dieu nous a mis en ce monde. - -Après avoir ainsi parlé, notre chevalier se retira à l’écart avec -Sancho, et revint peu après, fort soulagé, et très-impatient de voir -l’effet des promesses de son écuyer. - -Le chanoine ne pouvait se lasser de considérer notre héros: il observait -jusqu’à ses moindres mouvements, étonné de cette étrange folie qui lui -laissait l’esprit libre sur toutes sortes de sujets, et l’altérait si -fort quand il s’agissait de chevalerie. Le malheur de ce pauvre -gentilhomme lui fit compassion, et il voulut essayer de le guérir par le -raisonnement. Toute la compagnie s’étant donc assise sur l’herbe, en -attendant les provisions, il parla ainsi à don Quichotte: - -Est-il possible, seigneur, que cette fade et impertinente lecture des -romans de chevalerie ait troublé votre esprit au point de vous persuader -que vous êtes enchanté? comment peut-il se trouver au monde un homme -assez simple pour s’imaginer que ces Amadis, ces empereurs de -Trébizonde, ces Félix Mars d’Icarnie, tous ces monstres et tous ces -géants, ces enchantements, ces querelles, ces défis, ces combats, en un -mot tout ce fatras d’extravagances dont parlent les livres de chevalerie -aient jamais existé? Pour moi, je l’avoue, quand je les lis sans faire -réflexion qu’ils sont pleins de mensonges, ils ne laissent pas de me -donner quelque plaisir; mais lorsque je viens à ne les plus considérer -que comme un tissu de fables sans vraisemblance, je les jetterais de bon -cœur au feu, comme des impostures qui abusent de la crédulité publique, -et portent le trouble et le désordre dans les meilleurs esprits, tels -enfin que le vôtre, au point qu’on est obligé de vous mettre en cage, et -de vous conduire dans un char à bœufs, comme un lion ou un tigre -promené de ville en ville. - -Allons, seigneur don Quichotte, rappelez votre raison et servez-vous de -ce discernement admirable que le ciel vous a donné, afin de choisir des -lectures plus profitables à votre esprit; et si, après tout, par -inclination naturelle, vous éprouvez un grand plaisir à lire les -exploits guerriers et les actions prodigieuses, adressez-vous à -l’histoire, et là vous trouverez des miracles de valeur qui -non-seulement ne le cèderont en rien à la fable, mais qui surpassent -encore tout ce que l’imagination peut enfanter. Si vous voulez des -grands hommes, la Grèce n’a-t-elle pas son Alexandre, Rome son César, -Carthage son Annibal, la Lusitanie son Viriate? N’avons-nous pas, dans -la Castille, Fernando Gonzalès, le Cid dans Valence, don Diego Garcia de -Paredès dans l’Estramadure, don Garcy Perès de Vargas dans Xerès, don -Garcilasso dans Tolède, et don Manuel Ponce de Léon dans Séville, tous -modèles d’une vertu héroïque, dont les prouesses intéressent le lecteur, -et lui donnent de grands exemples à suivre? Voilà, seigneur don -Quichotte, une lecture digne d’occuper votre esprit; là vous apprendrez -le métier de la guerre, et comment doit se conduire un grand capitaine; -là, enfin, vous verrez des prodiges de valeur, qui, tout en restant dans -les limites de la vérité, surpassent de beaucoup les actions ordinaires. - -Don Quichotte écoutait avec une extrême attention le discours du -chanoine; après l’avoir considéré quelque temps en silence, il répondit: -Si je ne me trompe, seigneur, cette longue harangue tend à me persuader -qu’il n’a jamais existé de chevaliers errants; que les livres de -chevalerie sont faux, menteurs, inutiles et pernicieux à l’État; que -j’ai mal fait de les lire, fort mal fait d’y ajouter foi, et plus mal -fait encore de les prendre pour modèles dans la profession que j’exerce; -en un mot, qu’il n’y a jamais eu d’Amadis de Gaule, ni de Roger de -Grèce, ni cette foule de chevaliers dont nous possédons les histoires. - -C’est la pure vérité, répondit le chanoine. - -Vous avez ajouté, continua don Quichotte, que ces livres m’ont porté un -grand préjudice, puisqu’ils m’ont troublé le jugement, et qu’ils sont -cause qu’on m’a mis dans cette cage; enfin vous m’avez conseillé de -changer de lecture et de choisir des livres sérieux, qui soient en même -temps utiles et agréables. - -Tout cela est vrai au pied de la lettre, répondit le chanoine. - -Eh bien, reprit don Quichotte, toute réflexion faite, je trouve que -c’est vous qui êtes enchanté et sans jugement, puisque vous osez -proférer de pareils blasphèmes contre une chose si généralement reçue, -et tellement admise pour véritable, que celui qui la nie, comme le fait -Votre Grâce, mérite le même châtiment que vous infligez à ces livres -dont la lecture vous révolte; car enfin prétendre qu’il n’y a jamais eu -d’Amadis ni aucun de ces chevaliers errants dont les livres font -mention, autant vaut soutenir que le soleil n’éclaire point, ou que la -terre n’est pas ronde. - -Ainsi, selon vous, ce serait autant de faussetés, poursuivit notre -héros, que l’histoire de l’infante Floride avec Guy de Bourgogne, et -cette aventure de Fier-à-Bras au pont de Mantible, aventure qui se passa -du temps de Charlemagne. Mais si vous traitez cela de mensonges, il doit -en être de même d’Hector, d’Achille, de la guerre de Troie, des douze -pairs de France, de cet Artus, roi d’Angleterre, qui existe encore -aujourd’hui sous la forme d’un corbeau, et qu’à toute heure on s’attend -à voir reparaître dans son royaume. Que ne dites-vous que l’histoire de -Guérin Mesquin et de la dame de Saint-Grial, que les amours de don -Tristan et de la reine Iseult sont fausses également; que celles de la -belle Geneviève et de Lancelot sont apocryphes, quand il y a des gens -qui se souviennent presque d’avoir vu la duègne Quintagnonne, qui eut le -don de se connaître en vins mieux que le meilleur gourmet de la -Grande-Bretagne. Ainsi, moi qui vous parle, je crois entendre encore mon -aïeule, du côté paternel, me dire quand elle rencontrait une de ces -vénérables matrones à long voile: Vois-tu, mon fils, en voici une qui -ressemble à la duègne Quintagnonne; d’où j’infère qu’elle devait la -connaître, ou qu’elle avait pour le moins vu son portrait. Il faudrait -donc contester aussi l’histoire de Pierre de Provence et de la belle -Maguelonne, lorsqu’on voit encore aujourd’hui dans le musée royal -militaire la cheville de bois que montait ce chevalier, laquelle -cheville, plus grosse qu’un timon de charrette, est auprès de la selle -de Babieça, le cheval du Cid. De tout cela donc, je dois conclure, qu’il -y a eu douze pairs de France, un Pierre de Provence, un Cid, et d’autres -chevaliers de même espèce, enfin de ceux dont on dit communément qu’ils -vont aux aventures. - -Voudrait-on soutenir encore que Juan de Merlo, ce vaillant Portugais, -n’était pas chevalier errant, qu’il ne se battit pas en Bourgogne contre -le fameux Pierre seigneur de Chargny, et plus tard à Bâle avec Henry de -Ramestan, et qu’il ne remporta pas l’honneur de ces deux rencontres? Il -ne manquerait plus que de traiter de contes en l’air les aventures de -Pedro Barba, et celles de Guttierès Quixada (duquel je descends en -droite ligne par les mâles), qui se signalèrent par la défaite des fils -du comte de Saint-Pol. Ce sont sans doute aussi des fables que ces -fameuses joutes de Suero de Quinones, ce célèbre défi du pas de -l’Orbigo, celui de Luis de Falces contre don Gonzalès de Gusman, -chevalier castillan, et mille autres glorieux faits d’armes des -chevaliers chrétiens, à travers le monde, tous si véritables et si -authentiques, que, je ne crains pas de le répéter, il faut avoir perdu -la raison pour en douter un seul instant. - -Le chanoine était de plus en plus étonné de voir ce mélange confus que -faisait notre héros de la fable et de l’histoire, et de l’admirable -connaissance qu’avait cet homme de tout ce qui a été écrit touchant la -chevalerie errante. - -Je ne puis nier, seigneur don Quichotte, répliqua-t-il, qu’il n’y ait -quelque chose de vrai dans ce que vous venez de dire, et -particulièrement dans ce qui concerne les chevaliers errants d’Espagne; -je vous accorde aussi qu’il y a eu douze pairs de France, mais je ne -saurais ajouter foi à tout ce qu’en a écrit le bon archevêque Turpin. Il -est vrai que des chevaliers choisis par les rois de France reçurent le -nom de pairs, parce qu’ils avaient tous le même rang et qu’ils étaient -égaux en naissance et en valeur: c’était un ordre à peu près comme -l’ordre de Saint-Jacques ou celui de Calatrava en Espagne, dont chacun -des membres est réputé vaillant et d’illustre origine, et de même que -nous disons chevalier de Saint-Jean ou d’Alcantara, on disait alors un -des douze pairs, parce qu’ils n’étaient que douze. Pour ce qui est de -l’existence du Cid, je n’en doute pas plus que de celle de Bernard de -Carpio; mais qu’ils aient fait tout ce qu’on en raconte, c’est autre -chose. Quant à la cheville du cheval de Pierre de Provence, que vous -dites se trouver à côté de la selle de Babieça dans le musée royal, je -confesse à cet égard mon ignorance ou la faiblesse de ma vue, car je -n’ai jamais remarqué cette cheville, ce qui me surprend, d’après le -volume que vous dites, quoique j’aie bien vu la selle. - -Elle y est pourtant, répliqua don Quichotte, et la preuve, c’est qu’on -l’a mise dans un fourreau de cuir pour la conserver. - -D’accord, repartit le chanoine, mais je ne me souviens pas de l’avoir -vue; d’ailleurs, quand je vous accorderais qu’elle y fût, cela ne -suffirait pas pour me faire ajouter foi aux histoires de tous ces Amadis -et de ce nombre infini de chevaliers. C’est vraiment chose étonnante, -qu’un galant homme tel que vous, doué d’un si bon entendement, ait pu -prendre toutes ces extravagances pour autant de vérités incontestables. - -CHAPITRE L - -DE L’AGRÉABLE DISPUTE DU CHANOINE ET DE DON QUICHOTTE - -Sur ma foi! voilà qui est plaisant! s’écria don Quichotte; comment des -livres imprimés avec privilége du roi et approbation des examinateurs, -accueillis de tout le monde, des gens de qualité et du peuple, des -savants et des ignorants, comment de tels livres ne seraient que -rêveries et mensonges, quand la vérité y est partout si claire et si -nue, et toutes les circonstances si bien précisées, qu’on y trouve le -lieu de naissance et l’âge des chevaliers, les noms de leurs pères et -mères, leurs exploits, les lieux où ils les ont accomplis; et tout cela -de point en point, jour par jour, avec la plus scrupuleuse exactitude! -Pour l’amour de Dieu, seigneur, n’ouvrez jamais la bouche, plutôt que de -prononcer un tel blasphème, et, croyez que je vous conseille en ami: -sinon, lisez ces livres; et vous verrez quel plaisir vous en donnera la -lecture. Dites-moi un peu, je vous prie, n’auriez-vous pas un bonheur -extrême, à l’instant où je vous parle, s’il s’offrait soudain devant -vous un lac de poix bouillante, rempli de serpents, de lézards et de -couleuvres, et que, du milieu de ses ondes épaisses et fumantes, une -voix lamentable s’élevât, en vous disant: - -«O toi, chevalier, qui que tu sois, qui es à regarder ce lac -épouvantable, si tu veux posséder le trésor caché sous ses eaux, eh -bien, montre la grandeur de ton courage en te plongeant au milieu de ces -ondes enflammées; autrement tu es indigne de contempler les -incomparables merveilles qu’enferment les sept châteaux des sept fées, -qui gisent sous sa noire épaisseur!» - -A peine la voix a-t-elle cessé de se faire entendre, que le chevalier, -sans considérer le péril auquel il s’expose, se recommande à Dieu et à -sa dame, s’élance dans ce lac bouillonnant, puis quand on le croit -perdu, et que lui-même ne sait plus ce qu’il va devenir; le voilà qui se -retrouve dans une merveilleuse campagne, à laquelle les Champs-Élysées -eux-mêmes n’ont rien de comparable. Là, le ciel lui semble plus pur et -plus serein, et le soleil brille d’une lumière nouvelle; bientôt une -agréable forêt se présente à sa vue, et pendant qu’une foule d’arbres -différents et toujours verts réjouit ses yeux, un nombre infini de -petits oiseaux nuancés de mille couleurs voltigent de branches en -branches, et charment son oreille par leur doux gazouillement; sans -compter que non loin de là, un ruisseau roule en serpentant des flots -argentés sur un sable d’or. Le chevalier aperçoit ensuite une élégante -fontaine formée de jaspe aux mille couleurs et de marbre poli; plus loin -il en voit une autre, disposée d’une façon rustique, où les fins -coquillages de la moule et les tortueuses maisons de l’escargot, rangés -dans un aimable désordre et mêlés de brillants morceaux de cristal, -forment un ouvrage varié, où l’art imitant la nature, rivalise avec elle -et semble même la vaincre cette fois. - -Soudain le chevalier voit s’élever un palais, dont les murailles sont -d’or massif, les créneaux de diamants, les portes de hyacinthes et -finalement d’une si admirable architecture que les rubis, les -escarboucles, les perles et les émeraudes en composent la moindre -matière. Tout à coup par une des portes du château sort une foule de -jeunes damoiselles, dans un costume si riche et si galant, que je n’en -finirais jamais si j’entreprenais de vous le dépeindre. Celle qui -paraît être la maîtresse de ce lieu enchanteur prend alors par la main -le preux aventurier, et, sans lui adresser une seule parole, elle le -conduit dans ce riche palais, où après l’avoir fait déshabiller par ses -compagnes, il est plongé dans un bain d’eaux délicieuses, où on le -frotte de diverses essences; au sortir du bain, on lui passe une chemise -de lin toute parfumée; après quoi on lui jette sur les épaules un -magnifique manteau dont le prix égale pour le moins une ville entière, -si ce n’est même davantage. - -Mais ce n’est pas tout: on l’introduit dans une salle dont l’ameublement -surpasse tout ce qu’on peut imaginer; là, le chevalier trouve la table -toute dressée; on lui donne à laver ses mains dans un bassin d’or -ciselé, enrichi de diamants, avec une eau toute distillée d’ambre et de -fleurs les plus odorantes; puis on le fait asseoir dans une chaise -d’ivoire, et alors les damoiselles le servent à l’envi en observant un -profond silence. Que dire du nombre et de la délicatesse des mets qui -lui sont présentés? comment exprimer l’excellence de la musique qu’on -lui donne pendant le repas, sans qu’il voie ni ceux qui chantent, ni -ceux qui jouent des instruments? Le festin achevé, pendant que, -mollement enfoncé dans son fauteuil, le chevalier est peut-être à se -curer les dents, entre à l’improviste une damoiselle incomparablement -plus belle que toutes les autres; elle va s’asseoir auprès de lui, lui -dit ce que c’est que ce château, lui apprend qu’elle y est enchantée, et -lui raconte mille autres choses qui ravissent le chevalier et causeront -l’admiration de tous ceux qui liront cette histoire. Mais il est inutile -de m’étendre davantage sur ce sujet; en voilà plus qu’il n’en faut, ce -me semble, pour prouver qu’on ne saurait rencontrer un tableau plus -délicieux. Croyez-moi, seigneur, lisez ces livres, et vous verrez comme -ils savent insensiblement charmer la mélancolie et faire naître la joie -dans le cœur; je dirai plus: si, par hasard vous aviez un mauvais -naturel, ils sont capables de le corriger, et de vous inspirer de -meilleures inclinations. - -Pour moi, depuis que je suis chevalier errant, je puis dire que je me -sens plein de vaillance, affable, complaisant, généreux, hardi, patient, -infatigable; enfin prêt à supporter avec un surcroît de vigueur d’esprit -et de corps les rudes travaux, la captivité et les enchantements. Tout -enfermé que je suis à cette heure dans une cage comme un fou, je ne -désespère pas de me voir, sous très-peu de jours, par la force de mon -bras et la faveur du ciel, souverain de quelque grand empire, ce qui me -permettra de faire éclater la libéralité et la reconnaissance que je -porte au fond de mon cœur. Mais en eût-il le plus vif désir, le pauvre -n’a pas le pouvoir d’être libéral, car la gratitude, qui ne gît que dans -le désir est une vertu morte, comme la foi sans les œuvres: voilà -pourquoi je voudrais que la fortune m’offrît bientôt l’occasion de me -faire empereur, afin de pouvoir faire éclater mes bons sentiments en -enrichissant mes amis, à commencer par ce fidèle écuyer ici présent, qui -est le meilleur des hommes. Je serais fort aise de lui donner un comté, -que du reste je lui promets depuis longtemps, quoique, à vrai dire, je -me défie un peu de sa capacité pour le bien gouverner. - -Seigneur, repartit Sancho, travaillez seulement à me donner ce comté, -que vous me faites tant attendre: et je le gouvernerai bien, je vous en -réponds. D’ailleurs, si je n’en puis venir à bout, j’ai entendu dire -qu’il y a des gens qui prennent à ferme les terres des seigneurs et les -font valoir à leur place, tandis que les maîtres se donnent du bon temps -et mangent gaiement leur revenu. Par ma foi, j’en ferais bien autant, et -cela ne me paraît pas si difficile. Oh! que je ne m’amuserai point à -marchander! je vous mettrai prestement le fermier en fonctions, et je -mangerai mes rentes comme un prince: après cela, qu’on en fasse des -choux ou des raves, du diable si je m’en soucie! - -Ce ne sont pas là de mauvaises philosophies, comme vous le prétendez, -Sancho, répliqua le chanoine; mais il y a bien quelque chose à dire au -sujet de ce comté. - -Je n’entends rien à vos philosophies, répondit Sancho; qu’on commence -par me donner ce comté, et je saurai bien le gouverner. J’ai autant -d’âme qu’un autre et autant de corps que celui qui en a le plus, -j’espère donc être aussi roi dans mon État que chacun l’est dans le -sien: cela étant, je ferai ce que je voudrai, et faisant ce que je -voudrai, je ferai à ma fantaisie; faisant à ma fantaisie, je serai -content, et quand je serai content, je n’aurai plus rien à désirer; et -quand je n’aurai plus rien à désirer, que diable me faudra-t-il de plus? -Ainsi donc, que le comté vienne, et adieu jusqu’au revoir, comme se -disent les aveugles. - -Compère Sancho, quant au revenu, dit le chanoine, cela se peut; mais -quant à l’administration de la justice, c’est autre chose: c’est là que -le seigneur doit appliquer tous ses soins; c’est là qu’il montre -l’excellence de son jugement, et surtout son désir de bien faire, désir -qui doit être le principe de ses moindres actions. Car de même que Dieu -aide et récompense les bonnes intentions, de même il renverse les -mauvais desseins. - -Je ne sais pas ce qu’il y a à dire au sujet du comté que j’ai promis à -Sancho, dit don Quichotte; mais je me guide sur l’exemple du grand -Amadis, lequel fit son écuyer comte de l’île Ferme; je puis donc sans -scrupule donner un comté à Sancho Panza, qui est assurément un des -meilleurs écuyers qu’ait jamais eu chevalier errant. - -Le chanoine était confondu des extravagances que débitait don Quichotte: -il admirait cette présence d’esprit avec laquelle il venait d’improviser -l’aventure du chevalier du Lac, et cette vive impression que les -rêveries contenues dans les romans avaient faite dans son imagination. -Il n’était guère moins étonné de la simplicité de Sancho, qui demandait -un comté avec tant d’empressement, et qui croyait que son maître pouvait -le lui donner comme on donne une simple métairie. Pendant qu’il -réfléchissait là-dessus, ses gens revinrent avec le mulet de bagages, et -ayant jeté un tapis sur l’herbe à l’ombre de quelques arbres, on se mit -à manger. - -A peine avaient-ils commencé, qu’ils entendirent le son d’une clochette, -et en même temps ils virent sortir des buissons qui étaient là une -chèvre noire et blanche, mouchetée de taches fauves; derrière elle -courait un berger qui la flattait en son langage pour la faire arrêter -ou retourner au troupeau. La fugitive s’en vint tout effarouchée se -jeter, comme dans un asile, au milieu des personnes qui mangeaient, et -s’y arrêta; alors le chevrier la prenant par les cornes, se mit à lui -dire, comme si elle eût été capable de raison: Ah çà, montagnarde -mouchetée, comme vous fuyez! Qu’avez-vous donc, la belle? Qu’est-ce qui -vous fait peur? me le direz-vous, ma fille? A moins qu’en votre qualité -de femelle il vous soit impossible de rester en repos? Revenez, ma mie, -revenez; vous serez plus en sûreté dans la bergerie, ou parmi vos -compagnes. Vous qui devez les conduire, que deviendront-elles, si vous -vous égarez de la sorte? - -Ces paroles intéressèrent le chanoine, qui pria le berger de ne point se -presser de remmener sa chèvre. Mon ami, lui dit-il, étant femelle comme -vous dites, il faut la laisser suivre sa volonté: vous auriez beau -vouloir l’en empêcher, elle n’écoutera jamais que sa fantaisie. Prenez -ce morceau, mon camarade, ajouta-t-il, et buvez un coup pour vous -remettre, pendant que votre chèvre se reposera. - -On lui donna une cuisse de lapin froid, qu’il accepta sans façon, et -après avoir bu un coup à la santé de la compagnie: Seigneurs, dit-il, -pour m’avoir entendu parler ainsi à cette bête, ne croyez pas que je -sois un imbécile. Ce que je viens de dire ne vous paraît pas -très-raisonnable; mais tout rustre que je suis, je sais comment il faut -parler aux hommes et aux bêtes. - -Je n’en fais aucun doute, dit le curé; car je sais par expérience qu’on -trouve des poëtes dans les montagnes, et que souvent les cabanes -abritent des philosophes. - -Seigneurs, répliqua le chevrier, il ne laisse pas de s’y trouver -quelquefois des gens qui sont devenus sages à leurs dépens, et si je ne -craignais de vous ennuyer, je vous conterais une petite histoire pour -confirmer ce que le seigneur licencié vient de dire. - -Mon ami, reprit don Quichotte, prenant la parole au nom de la compagnie -entière, comme ce que vous avez à nous conter me paraît avoir quelque -semblant d’aventure de chevalerie, je vous écouterai de bon cœur; tous -ceux qui sont ici feront de même, j’en suis certain, car ils aiment les -choses curieuses: vous n’avez donc qu’à commencer, nous vous donnerons -toute notre attention. - -Pour moi, je suis votre serviteur, dit Sancho: ventre affamé n’a pas -d’oreilles. Avec votre permission, je m’en vais au bord de ce ruisseau -m’en donner avec ce pâté et me farcir la panse pour trois jours. Aussi -bien ai-je entendu dire à mon maître que l’écuyer d’un chevalier errant -ne doit jamais perdre l’occasion de se garnir l’estomac, quand il la -trouve, car il n’a ensuite que trop de loisir pour digérer. En effet, il -lui arrive souvent de s’égarer dans une forêt dont on ne trouverait pas -le bout en six jours; si donc le pauvre diable n’a pas pris ses -précautions, et n’a rien dans son bissac, il demeure là comme une momie. -D’ailleurs, cela nous est arrivé plus d’une fois. - -Tu as peut-être raison, Sancho, dit don Quichotte; va où tu voudras et -mange à ton aise. Pour moi, j’ai pris ce qu’il me faut, et je n’ai plus -besoin que de donner un peu de nourriture à mon esprit, comme je vais le -faire en écoutant l’histoire du chevrier. - -Allons, dit le chanoine, il peut commencer quand il voudra; il me semble -que nous sommes prêts. - -Le chevrier frappa deux petits coups sur le dos de sa chèvre, en lui -disant: Couche-toi auprès de moi, mouchetée, nous avons plus de loisir -qu’il ne nous en faut pour retourner au troupeau. On eût dit que la -chèvre comprenait les paroles de son maître, car elle s’étendit près de -lui; puis le regardant fixement au visage, elle semblait attendre qu’il -commençât, ce qu’il fit en ces termes: - -CHAPITRE LI - -CONTENANT CE QUE RACONTE LE CHEVRIER - -A trois lieues de ce vallon, dans un hameau qui, malgré son peu -d’étendue, n’en est pas moins un des plus riches du pays, demeurait un -laboureur aimé et estimé de ses voisins, mais bien plus encore pour sa -vertu que pour sa richesse. Ce laboureur se trouvait si heureux d’avoir -une fille belle et sage, qu’il en faisait sa plus grande joie, ne -comptant pour rien, au prix de cet enfant, tout ce qu’il possédait. A -peine eut-elle atteint seize ans, la renommée de ses charmes se répandit -tellement, que non-seulement des villages d’alentour, mais même des plus -éloignés, on venait la voir, ainsi qu’une image de sainte opérant des -miracles. Le père la gardait ni plus ni moins qu’un trésor, mais elle se -gardait encore mieux elle-même, et vivait dans une extrême retenue. -Aussi quantité de gens, attirés par le bien du père, par la beauté de la -jeune fille, et surtout par la bonne réputation dont ils jouissaient -tous deux, se déclarèrent les serviteurs de la belle, et embarrassèrent -fort le bon homme, en la lui demandant en mariage. - -Parmi ce grand nombre de prétendants, j’étais un de ceux qui avaient le -plus sujet d’espérer: fort connu du père, et habitant le même village, -il savait que je sortais de gens sans reproche; il connaissait mon bien -et mon âge, et autour de moi on disait que je ne manquais pas d’esprit. -Tout cela parlait en ma faveur; mais un certain Anselme, garçon de -l’endroit, estimé de tout le monde, et qui avait même dessein que moi, -tenait en suspens l’esprit du père; de sorte que ce brave homme, jugeant -que nous pourrions l’un ou l’autre être le fait de sa Leandra (c’est le -nom de la jeune fille) se remit entièrement à elle du choix qu’elle -ferait entre nous deux, ne voulant pas contraindre son inclination en -choisissant lui-même. J’ignore quelle fut la réponse de Leandra; mais -dès ce moment son père nous ajourna toujours avec adresse, sous prétexte -du peu d’âge de sa fille, sans s’engager et sans nous rebuter. - -Vers cette époque, on vit tout à coup arriver dans le village un certain -Vincent de la Roca, fils d’un pauvre laboureur, notre voisin. Ce Vincent -revenait d’Italie et d’autres contrées lointaines où il avait, -disait-il, fait la guerre. Un capitaine d’infanterie, qui passait dans -le pays avec sa compagnie, l’avait enrôlé à l’âge de douze ans, et au -bout de douze autres années, nous vîmes reparaître ce Vincent avec un -habit de soldat, bariolé de mille couleurs, et tout couvert de -verroteries et de chaînettes d’acier. Chaque jour il changeait de -costume: aujourd’hui une parure, demain une autre, le tout de peu de -poids et surtout de peu de valeur. Comme on est malicieux dans nos -campagnes, et que souvent on n’a rien de mieux à faire, on s’amusait à -regarder ces braveries, et de compte fait on finit par trouver qu’il -n’avait que trois habits d’étoffes différentes, tant bons que mauvais, -avec les hauts-de-chausses et les jarretières, mais qu’il savait si bien -les ajuster, et de tant de façons, qu’on eût juré qu’il en avait plus de -dix paires, avec autant de panaches. Ne vous étonnez pas, seigneurs, si -je fais mention de ces bagatelles; la suite vous apprendra qu’elles -jouent un grand rôle dans cette histoire. - -D’ordinaire, notre soldat s’asseyait sur un banc de pierre qui est sous -le grand peuplier de la place du village; là il faisait le récit de ses -aventures, et vantait sans cesse ses prouesses. Il n’existait point de -lieu au monde qu’il ne connût, ni de bataille où il n’eût assisté: il -avait tué plus de Mores qu’il n’y en a dans le Maroc et dans Tunis. -Gante, Luna, don Diego Garcia de Paredès, et mille autres qu’il nommait, -n’avaient pas paru aussi souvent que lui sur le pré, et il s’était -toujours tiré avec avantage de ces différentes affaires, sans qu’il lui -en coûtât une seule goutte de sang. Après avoir raconté ses exploits, il -nous montrait des cicatrices imperceptibles, prétendant qu’elles -venaient d’autant d’arquebusades reçues dans différentes batailles. -Bref, pour achever son portrait, il était si arrogant qu’il traitait -sans façon non-seulement ses égaux, mais ceux mêmes qui l’avaient connu -jadis, disant que son bras était son père, ses actions sa race, et -qu’étant soldat, il ne le cédait dans le monde à qui que ce fût. Ce -fanfaron, qui est quelque peu musicien, se mêlait aussi de racler une -guitare, qu’il disait avoir reçue en présent d’une duchesse: il obtenait -de la sorte l’admiration des niais, et amusait les habitants du village. - -Mais là ne se bornaient pas les perfections de ce drôle: il était poëte, -et sur le moindre incident arrivé dans le pays, il composait une romance -de trois ou quatre pages d’écriture. Or, ce soldat que je viens de dire, -ce Vincent de la Roca, ce brave, ce galant, fut vu de Leandra par une -fenêtre de la maison de son père qui donne sur la place; la belle le -remarqua; l’oripeau de ses habits l’éblouit; elle fut charmée de ses -romances, dont il donnait libéralement des copies, et le récit de ses -prétendues prouesses lui ayant tourné la tête, le diable aussi s’en -mêlant, elle devint éperdument amoureuse de cet homme avant même qu’il -eût osé lui parler d’amour. Or comme, en pareille matière, on dit que la -chose est en bon train lorsque le galant est regardé d’un bon œil, -bientôt la Roca et Leandra s’aimèrent, et ils étaient d’intelligence -avant qu’aucun de nous s’en fût aperçu. Aussi n’eurent-ils pas de peine -à faire ce qu’ils avaient résolu. Un beau matin Leandra s’enfuit de la -maison de son père, qui l’aimait tendrement, pour suivre un homme -qu’elle ne connaissait pas; et Vincent de la Roca sortit plus triomphant -de cette entreprise que de toutes celles dont il se vantait. - -L’événement surprit tout le monde; le père fut accablé de douleur; -Anselme, ainsi que moi, nous faillîmes mourir de désespoir. - -Furieux de l’outrage, les parents eurent recours à la justice; -incontinent les archers se mirent en campagne, on battit les chemins, on -fouilla les bois; enfin, au bout de trois jours, Leandra fut retrouvée -dans la montagne au fond d’une caverne, presque sans vêtements et -n’ayant plus ni l’argent, ni les pierreries qu’elle avait emportés. La -pauvre créature fut ramenée à son père; on lui demanda la cause de son -malheur; elle confessa que Vincent de la Roca l’avait trompée; que sous -promesse d’être son mari, il lui avait persuadé de l’accompagner à -Naples, où il prétendait avoir de très-hautes connaissances; elle ajouta -que ce misérable, abusant de son inexpérience et de sa faiblesse, après -lui avoir fait emporter le plus possible d’argent et de bijoux, l’avait -menée dans la montagne, et enfermée dans cette caverne, dans l’état où -on la trouvait, sans lui demander autre chose, ni lui avoir fait aucune -violence. - -Croire à la continence du jeune homme était chose difficile; mais -Leandra l’affirma de tant de manières, que, sur la parole de sa fille, -le pauvre père se consola, et rendit grâces à Dieu de l’avoir si -miraculeusement préservée. Le même jour, il la fit disparaître à tous -les regards, et alla l’enfermer dans un couvent des environs, en -attendant que le temps eût effacé la honte dont la couvrait son -imprudence. La jeunesse de Leandra servit d’excuse à sa légèreté, au -moins auprès des gens qui ne prenaient pas d’intérêt à elle: mais ceux -qui la connaissaient n’attribuèrent point sa faute à son ignorance, ils -en accusèrent plutôt le naturel des femmes, qui sont pour la plupart -volages et inconsidérées. Depuis lors, Anselme est en proie à une -mélancolie dont rien ne peut le guérir. Pour moi, qui l’aimais tant, et -qui l’aime peut-être encore, je ne connais plus de joie ici-bas, et la -vie m’est devenue insupportable. Je ne vous dis point toutes les -malédictions que nous avons données au soldat; combien de fois nous -avons déploré l’imprévoyance du père, qui a si mal gardé sa fille, et -combien nous lui avons adressé de reproches à elle-même, en un mot tous -ces regrets inutiles auxquels se livrent les amants désespérés. - -Aussi, depuis la fuite de Leandra, Anselme et moi, tous deux -inconsolables, nous sommes-nous retirés dans cette vallée, où nous -menons paître deux grands troupeaux, passant notre vie au milieu de ces -arbres, tantôt soupirant chacun de notre côté, tantôt chantant ensemble, -soit des vers pour célébrer la belle Leandra, soit des invectives -contre elle. A notre exemple, bien d’autres de ses amants sont venus -habiter ces montagnes, où ils mènent une vie aussi déraisonnable que la -nôtre; et le nombre des bergers et des troupeaux est tel, qu’il semble -que ce soit ici l’Arcadie pastorale, dont vous avez sans doute entendu -parler. Les lieux d’alentour retentissent sans cesse du nom de Leandra: -un berger l’appelle fantasque et légère; un autre la traite de facile et -d’imprudente; d’autres tout à la fois l’accusent et la plaignent; -ceux-ci ne parlent que de sa beauté, et regrettent son absence; ceux-là -lui reprochent les maux qu’ils endurent. Tous la maudissent et tous -l’adorent; et leur folie est si grande, que les uns se plaignent de ses -mépris sans jamais l’avoir vue, tandis que d’autres meurent de jalousie -avec aussi peu de raison; car, ainsi que je l’ai déjà dit, je ne la -crois coupable que de l’imprudence qu’elle-même a confessée. Quoi qu’il -en soit, on ne voit sur ces rochers, au bord des ruisseaux et au pied -des arbres, qu’amants désolés, poussant mille plaintes, et prenant le -ciel et la terre à témoin de leur martyre: les échos ne se lassent pas -de répéter le nom de Leandra; les montagnes en retentissent, l’écorce -des arbres en est couverte, et l’on dirait que les ruisseaux le -murmurent. On n’entend, la nuit, le jour, que le nom de Leandra, et -cette Leandra qui ne pense guère à nous, nous enchante et nous poursuit -sans cesse; tous enfin nous sommes en proie à l’espérance et à la -crainte, sans savoir ce que nous devons craindre ou ce que nous devons -espérer. - -Parmi ces pauvres insensés, le plus raisonnable et à la fois le plus -fou, c’est Anselme, mon rival, qui, avec tant de sujets de se lamenter, -ne gémit que de la seule absence de Leandra, et au son d’un violon dont -il joue admirablement, exprime sa douleur en cadence, chantant des vers -de sa façon, qui prouvent combien il a d’esprit. Quant à moi, je suis un -chemin plus facile et plus sage, à mon avis: je passe mon temps à me -plaindre de la légèreté des femmes, de leur inconstance, de la fausseté -de leurs promesses, et de l’inconséquence empreinte dans presque toutes -leurs actions. - -Voilà, seigneurs, l’explication des paroles que vous m’avez entendu -adresser à cette chèvre quand j’approchai de vous; car, en sa qualité de -femelle, je l’estime peu, quoiqu’elle soit la meilleure de mon troupeau. - -Mon histoire, seigneurs, vous a peu divertis, j’en suis certain; mais si -vous voulez prendre la peine de venir jusqu’à ma cabane, qui est près -d’ici, je tâcherai de réparer l’ennui que je vous ai causé, par un petit -rafraîchissement de fromage et de lait, mêlé à quelques fruits de la -saison, qui, j’espère, ne vous sera pas désagréable. - -CHAPITRE LII - -DU DÉMÊLÉ DE DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LE CHEVRIER, ET DE LA RARE AVENTURE DES -PÉNITENTS, QUE LE CHEVALIER ACHEVA A LA SUEUR DE SON CORPS - -L’histoire fut trouvée intéressante, et le chanoine, à qui elle avait -beaucoup plu, vanta le récit du chevrier, en lui disant que loin -d’avoir rien de grossier et de rustique, il avait parlé en homme délicat -et de bons sens, et que le seigneur licencié avait eu grandement raison -de dire qu’on rencontrait parfois dans les montagnes des gens qui ont de -l’esprit. Chacun lui fit son compliment; mais don Quichotte renchérit -sur tous les autres. - -Frère, lui dit-il, je jure que s’il m’était permis d’entreprendre -aujourd’hui quelque aventure, je me mettrais à l’instant même en chemin -pour vous en procurer une heureuse: oui, j’irais arracher la belle -Leandra de son couvent, où sans doute on la retient contre sa volonté; -et en dépit de l’abbesse, en dépit de tous les moines passés, présents -et à venir, je la remettrais entre vos mains pour que vous puissiez en -disposer selon votre gré, en observant toutefois les lois de la -chevalerie errante, qui défendent de causer aux dames le moindre -déplaisir. Mais j’ai l’espoir, Dieu aidant, que le pouvoir d’un -enchanteur plein de malice ne prévaudra pas toujours contre celui d’un -autre enchanteur mieux intentionné; et alors je vous promets mon -concours et mon appui, comme l’exige ma profession, qui n’est autre que -de secourir les opprimés et les malheureux. - -Jusque-là le chevrier n’avait pas fait attention à don Quichotte; il se -mit alors à le regarder de la tête aux pieds, et, en le voyant de si -pauvre pelage et de si pauvre carrure, il se tourna vers le barbier, -assis près de lui: Seigneur, lui dit-il, quel est donc cet homme qui a -une mine si étrange et qui parle d’une si singulière façon? - -Et qui ce peut-il être, répondit le barbier, sinon le fameux don -Quichotte de la Manche, le redresseur de torts, le réparateur -d’injustices, le protecteur des dames, la terreur des géants, le -vainqueur invincible dans toutes les batailles. - -Voilà, reprit le chevrier, qui ressemble fort à ce qu’on lit dans les -livres des chevaliers errants, qui étaient tout ce que vous dites; mais -pour moi, je crois que vous vous moquez, ou plutôt que ce gentilhomme a -des cases vides dans la cervelle. - -Insolent, s’écria don Quichotte, c’est vous qui manquez de cervelle, à -moi seul j’en ai cent fois plus que la double carogne qui vous a mis au -monde! - -En disant cela il prit un pain sur la table, et le jeta à la tête du -chevrier avec tant de force, qu’il lui cassa presque le nez et les -dents. Cet homme n’entendait point raillerie; sans nul souci de la nappe -ni des viandes, ni de ceux qui les entouraient, il sauta brusquement sur -don Quichotte, et lui portant les mains à la gorge, il l’aurait -étranglé, si Sancho, le saisissant lui-même par les épaules, ne l’eût -renversé sur le pré pêle-mêle avec les débris du festin. - -Don Quichotte, aussitôt qu’il se vit libre, se rejeta sur le chevrier, -tandis que celui-ci, se trouvant deux hommes sur les bras, le visage -sanglant et le corps tout brisé des coups que lui portait Sancho, -cherchait à tâtons un couteau pour en percer son ennemi; mais, par -prudence, le chanoine et le curé s’étaient emparés de toutes les armes -offensives. Le barbier, naturellement charitable, eut pitié du pauvre -diable, et parvint à mettre sous lui don Quichotte, sur lequel le -chevrier, devenu maître d’agir, fit pleuvoir tant de coups pour se -venger du sang qu’il avait perdu, par celui qu’il tira du nez de son -adversaire, qu’on eût dit qu’ils portaient chacun un masque, tant ils -étaient défigurés. Le curé et le chanoine étouffaient de rire; les -archers trépignaient de joie; et tous ils les animaient l’un contre -l’autre en les agaçant comme on fait aux chiens qui se battent. Sancho -seul se désespérait en se sentant retenu par un des valets du chanoine, -qui l’empêchait de secourir son maître. - -Pendant qu’ils étaient ainsi occupés, les spectateurs à rire, les -combattants à se déchirer, on entendit tout à coup le son d’une -trompette, mais si triste et si lugubre, qu’il attira l’attention -générale. Le plus ému fut don Quichotte, qui, toujours sous le chevrier, -et plus que moulu des coups qu’il en recevait, fit néanmoins céder le -sentiment de la vengeance à l’instinct de la curiosité. Frère diable, -dit-il à son adversaire, car tu ne peux être autre chose, ayant assez de -valeur et de force pour triompher de moi, faisons trêve, je te prie, -pour une heure seulement: il me semble que le son lamentable de cette -trompette m’appelle à quelque nouvelle aventure. - -Le chevrier, non moins las de gourmer que d’être gourmé, le lâcha -aussitôt. Don Quichotte s’étant relevé s’essuya le visage, tourna la -tête du côté d’où venait le bruit, et aperçut plusieurs hommes vêtus de -blanc, semblables à des pénitents ou à des fantômes, qui descendaient la -pente d’un coteau. Or, il faut savoir que cette année-là le ciel avait -refusé sa rosée à la terre, et que dans toute la contrée on faisait des -prières pour obtenir de la pluie; c’est pourquoi les habitants d’un -village voisin venaient en procession à un saint ermitage construit sur -le penchant de la montagne. - -A la vue de l’étrange habillement des pénitents, don Quichotte, sans se -rappeler qu’il en avait cent fois rencontré dans sa vie, se figure que -c’était quelque aventure réservée pour lui comme au seul chevalier -errant de la troupe. Une statue couverte de deuil que portaient ces gens -le confirma dans cette illusion; il s’imagina que c’était quelque -princesse emmenée de force par des brigands félons et discourtois. Dans -cette pensée, il court promptement à Rossinante qui paissait, le bride, -saute en selle; puis, son écuyer lui ayant donné ses armes, il embrasse -son écu, et, s’adressant à ceux qui l’entouraient, il s’écrie: C’est -maintenant, illustre compagnie, que vous allez reconnaître combien -importe au monde l’existence des gens voués à l’exercice de la -chevalerie errante; c’est maintenant que vous allez voir par mes actions -et par la liberté rendue à cette dame captive, quelle estime on doit -faire des chevaliers errants. - -Aussitôt, à défaut d’éperons, il serre les flancs de Rossinante, et s’en -va au grand trot donner au milieu des pénitents, malgré les efforts du -curé et du chanoine pour le retenir, et sans s’inquiéter des hurlements -de Sancho, qui criait de toutes ses forces: Où courez-vous, seigneur don -Quichotte? quel diable vous tient au corps pour aller ainsi contre la -foi catholique? Ne voyez-vous pas que c’est une procession de pénitents, -et que la dame qu’ils portent sur ce brancard est l’image de la Vierge? -Seigneur, seigneur, prenez garde à ce que vous allez faire. Mort de ma -vie! c’est maintenant qu’il faut dire que vous avez perdu la raison. - -Sancho s’épuisait en vain, car son maître était trop pressé de délivrer -la dame en deuil pour écouter une seule parole; et l’eût-il entendu, il -n’aurait pas tourné bride, même sur l’ordre du roi. Lorsqu’il fut à -vingt pas de la procession, le chevalier retint sa monture, qui déjà ne -demandait pas mieux, puis cria d’une voix rauque et tremblante: Arrêtez, -misérables, qui vous masquez sans doute à cause de vos méfaits; arrêtez -et écoutez ce que je veux vous dire. - -Les porteurs de l’image obéirent les premiers. Un des prêtres qui -chantaient des litanies, voyant l’étrange mine de don Quichotte, la -maigreur de Rossinante, et tout ce qu’il y avait de ridicule dans le -chevalier répliqua: Frère, si vous avez à nous dire quelque chose, -parlez vite, car ces pauvres gens ont les épaules rompues, et nous -n’avons pas le loisir d’entendre de longs discours. - -Je n’ai qu’une parole à dire, repartit don Quichotte: rendez sur l’heure -la liberté à cette noble dame, dont la contenance triste et l’air -affligé font assez connaître que vous lui avez fait quelque outrage, et -que vous l’emmenez contre son gré; quant à moi, qui ne suis venu en ce -monde que pour redresser de semblables torts, je ne puis vous laisser -faire un pas de plus. - -Il n’en fallut pas davantage pour apprendre à ces gens que don Quichotte -était fou, et ils ne purent s’empêcher de rire. Malheureusement, c’était -mettre le feu aux étoupes. Se voyant bafoué, notre héros tire son épée, -et court furieux vers la sainte image. Aussitôt un des porteurs, -laissant toute la charge à ses compagnons, se jette au-devant du -chevalier, et lui oppose une des fourches qui servaient à soutenir le -brancard pendant le repos. Du premier choc, elle se rompit, mais du -tronçon qui restait il porta un si rude coup à notre héros sur l’épaule -droite, que l’écu n’arrivant pas assez à temps pour la couvrir, ou -n’étant pas assez fort pour amortir la violence du choc, don Quichotte -roula à terre, les bras étendus, et comme inanimé. Sancho, qui suivait, -arrive tout essoufflé; à la vue de son maître en ce piteux état, il crie -au paysan d’arrêter, en lui jurant que c’est un pauvre chevalier -enchanté, lequel, en toute sa vie, n’avait jamais fait de mal à -personne. - -Les cris de Sancho eussent été inutiles si le paysan, voyant son -adversaire immobile, n’eût cru l’avoir tué; retroussant donc son surplis -pour courir plus à l’aise, il détala comme s’il avait eu la -Sainte-Hermandad à ses trousses. Témoins de ce qui se passait, les -compagnons de don Quichotte accoururent pleins de colère, et les gens de -la procession, remarquant parmi eux des archers armés d’arquebuses, -jugèrent prudent de se tenir sur leurs gardes. En un clin d’œil ils se -rangèrent autour de l’image, et relevant leurs voiles, les pénitents -armés de leurs disciplines, les clercs armés de leurs chandeliers, ils -attendirent de pied ferme, résolus à se bien défendre. Toutefois la -fortune en ordonna mieux qu’ils n’osaient l’espérer, et se rendit -favorable aux deux partis. Pendant que Sancho, couché sur le corps de -son maître, poussait les plus tristes et les plus plaisantes -lamentations du monde, le curé fut reconnu par celui de la procession, -ce qui calma les esprits; et le premier ayant appris à son confrère ce -qu’était le chevalier, tous deux ils se hâtèrent d’aller, suivis des -pénitents et de toute l’assistance, pour voir si le pauvre gentilhomme -était mort. En arrivant, ils trouvèrent Sancho qui, les larmes aux yeux, -exprimait sa douleur en ces termes: - -O fleur de la chevalerie: qui d’un seul coup de bâton as vu terminer le -cours d’une vie si bien employée! ô honneur de ta race, gloire et -merveille de la Manche, merveille du monde entier, que la mort laisse -orphelin et exposé à la rage des scélérats qui vont le mettre sens -dessus dessous, parce qu’il n’y aura plus personne pour châtier leurs -brigandages! ô toi, dont la libéralité surpasse celle de tous les -Alexandre, puisque, pour huit mois de service seulement, tu m’avais -donné la meilleure île de la terre! ô toi, humble avec les superbes et -arrogant avec les humbles; affronteur de périls, endureur d’outrages, -amoureux sans sujet, imitateur des bons, fléau des méchants et ennemi de -toute malice; en un mot, chevalier errant, ce qui est tout ce qu’on peut -dire de plus! - -Aux cris et aux gémissements de Sancho, don Quichotte ouvrit les yeux, -et la première parole qu’il prononça fut celle-ci: Celui qui vit loin de -vous, sans pareille Dulcinée, ne peut jamais être que misérable. Ami -Sancho, ajouta-t-il, aide-moi à me remettre sur le char enchanté, car je -ne suis plus en état de me tenir sur Rossinante, j’ai l’épaule toute -brisée. - -Bien volontiers, mon cher maître, répondit l’écuyer. Allons, retournons -à notre village en compagnie de ces seigneurs qui ne veulent que votre -bien; et là nous songerons à faire une nouvelle excursion qui nous -procure plus de gloire et plus de profit. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, repartit son maître; il est prudent de laisser -passer cette maligne influence des astres qui nous poursuit en ce -moment. - -Le chanoine, le curé, et maître Nicolas, approuvèrent vivement cette -résolution; et plus étonnés que jamais des simplicités de Sancho, ils se -hâtèrent de replacer don Quichotte sur la charrette. La procession se -reforma, et se remit en chemin, le chevrier se retira après avoir salué -la compagnie; les deux archers, se voyant désormais inutiles, firent de -même, non sans avoir d’abord été largement récompensés par le curé. De -son côté, le chanoine ayant embrassé son confrère, le pria instamment de -lui donner des nouvelles de ce qui arriverait à notre héros, et -poursuivit son chemin. Bref, la troupe se sépara, et il ne resta plus -que le curé, le barbier, don Quichotte et Sancho, sans compter -l’illustre Rossinante, qui en tout ceci n’avait pas témoigné moins de -patience que son maître. Le bouvier attela ses bœufs, accommoda le -chevalier sur une botte de foin, et suivit avec son flegme accoutumé la -route qu’on lui indiqua. - -Au bout de six jours ils arrivèrent au village du pauvre Hidalgo, où -entrant en plein midi et un jour de dimanche, ils trouvèrent la -population assemblée sur la place; aussi ne manqua-t-il pas de curieux -qui tous reconnurent leur concitoyen. - -Pendant qu’on entoure le chariot, que chacun à l’envi demande à don -Quichotte de ses nouvelles, et à ceux qui l’accompagnent pourquoi on le -menait dans cet équipage, un petit garçon court avertir la nièce et la -gouvernante que leur maître arrivait dans une charrette traînée par des -bœufs, couché sur une botte de foin, mais si maigre et si décharné, -qu’il ressemblait à un squelette. - -Aussi ce fut pitié d’ouïr les cris que jetèrent ces pauvres femmes, de -voir les soufflets dont elles se plombèrent le visage, d’entendre les -malédictions qu’elles donnèrent à ces maudits livres de chevalerie, -quand elles virent notre héros franchir le seuil de sa maison en plus -mauvais état encore qu’on ne le leur avait annoncé. - -A la nouvelle du retour de nos deux aventuriers, Thérèse Panza qui avait -fini par savoir que Sancho accompagnait don Quichotte en qualité -d’écuyer, vint des premières pour lui faire son compliment, et -rencontrant son mari: Eh bien, mon ami, lui dit-elle, comment se porte -notre âne? - -Il se porte mieux que son maître, répondit Sancho. - -Dieu soit loué, dit Thérèse. Mais conte-moi donc tout de suite ce que tu -as gagné dans ton écuyerie: où sont les jupes que tu m’apportes? où sont -les souliers pour nos enfants? - -Je n’apporte rien de tout cela, femme, répondit Sancho; mais j’apporte -d’autres choses qui sont de bien plus haute importance. - -Quel plaisir tu me fais, reprit Thérèse: Oh! montre-les-moi ces choses -de haute importance, mon ami; j’ai grande envie de les voir pour réjouir -un peu mon pauvre cœur, qui a été triste tout le temps de ton absence. - -Je te les montrerai demain, femme, repartit Sancho, prends patience, et -sois assurée que, s’il plaît à Dieu, mon maître et moi nous irons encore -une fois chercher les aventures, et qu’alors tu me verras bientôt comte -ou gouverneur d’une île, je dis d’une île en terre ferme, et des -meilleures qui puissent se rencontrer. - -Dieu le veuille! ajouta Thérèse, car nous en avons grand besoin; mais -qu’est-ce que cela, des îles? Je n’y entends rien. - -Le miel n’est pas fait pour la bouche de l’âne, répondit Sancho; tu -sauras cela en son temps, femme, et alors tu t’émerveilleras de -t’entendre appeler Seigneurie par tes vassaux. - -Que parles-tu de seigneurie et de vassaux, repartit Juana Panza. (C’est -ainsi que s’appelait la femme de Sancho, non qu’ils fussent parents, -comme le fait observer Ben-Engeli, mais parce que c’est la coutume de la -Manche, que la femme prenne le nom de son mari.) - -Tu as tout le temps d’apprendre cela, Juana, répliqua Sancho: le jour -dure plus d’une heure; il suffit que je dise la vérité. Sache, en -attendant, qu’il n’y a pas de plus grand plaisir au monde que d’être -l’honnête écuyer d’un chevalier errant en quête d’aventures, quoique -celles qu’on rencontre n’aboutissent pas toujours comme on le voudrait, -et que sur cent il s’en trouve au moins quatre-vingt-dix-neuf de -travers. Je le sais par expérience, femme; j’en ai tâté, Dieu merci, et -tu peux m’en croire sur parole: il y en a d’où je me suis tiré berné; -d’autres, d’où je suis sorti roué de coups de bâton; et pourtant, malgré -cela, c’est une chose très-agréable que d’aller chercher fortune, -gravissant les montagnes, traversant les forêts, visitant les châteaux -et logeant dans les hôtelleries sans jamais payer son écot, quelque -chère qu’on y fasse. - -Pendant ce dialogue de Sancho et de sa femme, la nièce et la gouvernante -déshabillaient et étendaient dans son antique lit à ramages don -Quichotte qui les regardait tour à tour avec des yeux hagards, sans -parvenir à les reconnaître ni à se reconnaître lui-même. Le curé -recommanda à la nièce d’avoir grand soin de son oncle, et de veiller à -ce qu’il ne vînt point à leur échapper encore une fois. Mais quand il -se mit à raconter le mal qu’on avait eu à le ramener dans sa maison, les -deux femmes se remirent à crier de plus belle, et fulminèrent de nouveau -mille malédictions contre les livres de chevalerie; elles se laissèrent -même aller à un tel degré d’emportement, qu’elles conjuraient le ciel de -plonger dans le fond des abîmes les auteurs de tant d’impostures et -d’extravagances. A la fin pourtant elles se calmèrent et ne songèrent -plus qu’à soigner attentivement leur seigneur, au milieu des transes -continuelles que leur causait la crainte de le reperdre aussitôt qu’il -serait en meilleure santé; ce qui, malgré tout, ne tarda guère à -arriver. - -Mais quelques soins qu’ait pris l’auteur de cette histoire pour -rechercher la suite des exploits de don Quichotte, il n’a pu en obtenir -une connaissance exacte, du moins par des écrits authentiques. La seule -tradition qui se soit conservée dans la mémoire des peuples de la -Manche, c’est que notre chevalier fit une troisième sortie, que cette -fois il se rendit à Saragosse, et qu’il y figura dans un célèbre -tournoi, où il accomplit des prouesses dignes de sa valeur et de -l’excellence de son jugement. L’auteur n’a pu recueillir rien de plus -concernant ses aventures ni la fin de sa vie, et jamais il n’en aurait -su davantage, si par bonheur il n’eût fait la rencontre d’un vieux -médecin, possesseur d’une caisse de plomb, trouvée, disait-il, sous les -fondations d’un ancien ermitage, et dans laquelle on découvrit un -parchemin où des vers espagnols en lettres gothiques retraçaient -plusieurs des exploits de don Quichotte, et célébraient la beauté de -Dulcinée du Toboso, la vigueur de Rossinante et la fidélité de Sancho -Panza. - -Le scrupuleux historien de ces incroyables aventures rapporte ici tout -ce qu’il a pu en apprendre, et pour récompense de la peine qu’il s’est -donnée en feuilletant toutes les archives de la Manche, il ne demande -qu’une chose au lecteur: c’est d’ajouter foi à son récit, autant que les -honnêtes gens en accordent aux livres de chevalerie, si fort en crédit -par le monde. Tel est son unique désir, et cela suffira pour -l’encourager à s’imposer de nouveaux labeurs et à poursuivre ses -investigations touchant la véritable suite de cette histoire, ou tout au -moins à écrire des aventures aussi divertissantes. - -Les premières paroles qui étaient écrites sur le parchemin trouvé dans -la caisse de plomb, étaient celles-ci: - - LES ACADÉMICIENS DE L’ARGAMASILLA - VILLAGE DE LA MANCHE - _HOC SCRIPSERUNT_ - SUR LA VIE ET LA MORT - DU VAILLANT DON QUICHOTTE - DE LA MANCHE - - LE MONICONGO[60], ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA, - DANS LE TOMBEAU DE DON QUICHOTTE - - ÉPITAPHE - - La tête brûlée qui para la Manche - De plus de dépouilles que Jason de Crète; - Le jugement qui eut la girouette pointue, - Là où elle aurait dû être plate; - - Le bras que sa force a tant allongé, - Puisqu’il atteignit du Catay à Gaëte, - La Muse la plus affreuse et la plus discrète, - Qui grava jamais des vers sur l’airain: - - Celui qui laissa en arrière les Amadis, - Et fit très-peu de cas des Galaors, - S’appuyant sur son amour et sur sa bravoure: - - Celui qui fit taire les Bélianes: - Celui qui erra çà et là sur Rossinante, - Gît ici sous cette pierre froide. - - [60] Mot composé de _mono_, singe, et de _congo_, c’est-à-dire singe - du Congo, marmot, gros singe. - - LE PANIAQUADO[62], ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - IN LAUDEM DULCINEÆ DU TOBOSO - - SONNET - - Celle que vous voyez au visage joufflu, - A la forte poitrine et au maintien altier, - C’est Dulcinée, reine du Toboso, - Dont le grand don Quichotte fut l’adorateur. - - Il foula, pour elle, à pied et fatigué, - L’un et l’autre flanc de la grande montagne Noire - Et les fameux champs de Montiel, - Jusqu’à la plaine verdoyante d’Aranjuez. - - Par la faute de Rossinante, ô étoile adverse! - Cette dame manchoise et cet invincible - Chevalier errant, dans leurs jeunes années, - - Elle cessa en mourant d’être belle, - Et lui, bien qu’il reste écrit sur le marbre, - Il ne put échapper à l’amour et aux tromperies. - - [62] Ce mot a différentes acceptions, telles que _commensal - compagnon_, _partisan déclaré_, etc. - - LE CAPRICIEUX TRÈS-DISCRET ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - A LA LOUANGE DE ROSSINANTE, - CHEVAL DE DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - - SONNET - - Sur le superbe tronc diamanté, - Que Mars foule de ses pieds sanglants, - Le Manchois frénétique fait flotter son étendard - Avec un courage extraordinaire. - - Il suspend les armes et le fin acier - Avec lequel il détruit, il ravage, il fend, il taille: - Nouvelles prouesses; mais l’art invente - Un nouveau style pour le nouveau paladin. - - Et si la Gaule se glorifie de son Amadis, - Dont les braves descendants firent triompher - Mille fois la Grèce en propageant sa renommée; - - Aujourd’hui le temple où Bellone règne, - Couronne don Quichotte, et la Manche se glorifie - Plus de lui que la Grèce et la Gaule. - - L’oubli ne souillera jamais ses gloires, - Car Rossinante même excède en gaillardise - Brilladore et Bayard. - - DU FACÉTIEUX ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - A SANCHO PANÇA - - SONNET - - Voici Sancho Pança, petit de corps, - Mais d’un grand courage. Miracle étrange! - Je vous jure et certifie qu’il fut l’écuyer le plus simple - Et sans artifice qu’il y eût au monde. - - Il tint à un rien qu’il ne fût comte, - Et il l’aurait certes été si les insolences et les injures - De ce siècle mesquin qui ne pardonne, pas même - A un âne, ne se fussent conjurées pour sa ruine. - - C’est sur lui[63] (pardon de le nommer) - Que marchait ce paisible écuyer, derrière le paisible - Cheval Rossinante, et derrière son maître. - - O vaines espérances du monde! - Vous passez en promettant le repos, - A la fin vous devenez une ombre, de la fumée ou un rêve. - - [63] L’âne. - - LE CACHIDIABLO[64], ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA - SUR LE TOMBEAU DE DON QUICHOTTE - - ÉPITAPHE - - Ci-gît le chevalier - Bien moulu et mal errant - Que porta Rossinante - Par maint et maint sentier. - - Sancho Pança le Nigaud - Repose aussi près de lui; - Ce fut l’écuyer le plus fidèle - Parmi tous les écuyers. - - [64] Nom d’un fameux renégat. - - DU TIQUETOC, ACADÉMICIEN DE L’ARGAMASILLA, SUR LE TOMBEAU - DE DULCINÉE DU TOBOSO - - ÉPITAPHE - - Ici repose Dulcinée, - Que, bien que fraîche et dodue, - A été changée en poussière et en cendre - Par la mort épouvantable et vilaine. - - Elle naquit de bonne race, - Et eut un certain air de dame; - Elle fut la flamme du grand Quichotte - Et la gloire de son hameau. - - Voici les seuls vers que l’on put lire; l’écriture des autres était - tellement vermoulue, qu’on les remit à un académicien pour qu’il les - défrichât par conjectures. On a appris qu’il est parvenu à le faire à - force de veilles et d’assiduité et qu’il a l’intention de les publier - dans l’espoir de la troisième sortie de don Quichotte. - - LOS ACADÉMICOS DE LA ARGAMASILLA - LUGAR DE LA MANCHA - _HOC SCRIPSERUNT_ - EN VIDA Y MUERTE - DEL VALEROSO DON QUIJOTE - DE LA MANCHA - - EL MONICONGO, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, - A LA SEPULTURA DE DON QUIJOTE - - EPITAFIO - - El calvatrueno[61] que adornó la Mancha - De mas despojos que Jason de Creta; - El juicio que tuvo la veleta, - Aguda, donde fuera mejor ancha; - - El brazo que su fuerza tanto ensancha, - Que llegó del Catay hasta Gaeta, - La Musa mas horrenda y mas discreta, - Que grabó versos en broncinea plancha: - - El que á cola dejó los Amadises, - Y en muy poquito á Galaores tuvo, - Estribando en su amor y bizarría: - - El que hizo callar los Belianises: - Aquel que en Rocinante errando anduvo, - Yace debajo desta losa fria. - - [61] Se dice del que tiene la cabeza atronada, y es vocinglero y - alocado. - - DEL PANIAGUADO, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, - IN LAUDEM DULCINEÆ DEL TOBOSO - - SONETO - - Esta que veis de rostro amondongado, - Alta de pechos y ademan brioso, - Es Dulcinea, Reyna del Toboso, - De quien fué el gran Quijote aficionado. - - Pisó por ella el uno y otro lado - De la gran Sierra Negra, y el famoso - Campo de Montiel, hasta el herboso - Llano de Aranjuez, á pie y cansado: - - Culpa de Rocinante. ¡O dura estrella! - Que esta Manchega dama, y este invito - Andante caballero, en tiernos años, - - Ella dejó muriendo de ser bella, - Y él, aunque queda en mármoles escrito, - No pudo huir de amor, iras y engaños. - - DEL CAPRICHOSO, DISCRETISIMO ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA - EN LOOR DE ROCINANTE - CABALLO DE DON QUIJOTE DE LA MANCHA - - SONETO - - En el soberbio tronco diamantino, - Que con sangrientas plantas huella Marte, - Frenético el Manchego su estandarte - Tremola con esfuerzo peregrino. - - Cuelga las armas y el acero fino, - Con que destroza, asuela, raja y parte: - Nuevas proezas; pero inventa el arte. - Un nuevo estilo al nuevo Paladino. - - Y si de su Amadis se precia Gaula, - Por cuyos bravos descendientes Grecia - Triunfó mil veces, y su fama ensancha, - - Hoy á Quijote le corona el aula - Dó Belona preside, y dél se precia - Mas que Grecia ni Gaula, la alta Mancha. - - Nunca sus glorias el olvido mancha, - Pues hasta Rocinante, en ser gallardo, - Excede á Brilladoro y á Bayardo. - - DEL BURLADOR, ACADÉMICO ARGAMASILLESCO, - A SANCHO PANZA - - SONETO - - Sancho Panza es aqueste en cuerpo chico; - Pero grande en valor. ¡Milagro extraño! - Escudero el mas simple y sin engaño, - Que tuvo el mundo, os juro y certifico. - - De ser Conde no estuvo en un tantico, - Si no se conjuraran en su daño - Insolencias y agravios del tacaño - Siglo, que aun no perdonan á un borrico. - - Sobre él anduvo (con perdon se miente) - Este manso escudero, tras el manso - Caballo Rocinante y tras su dueño. - - ¡O vanas esperanzas de la gente, - Como pasais con prometer descanso, - Y al fin parais en sombra, en humo, en sueño! - - DEL CACHIDIABLO, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, - EN LA SEPULTURA DE DON QUIJOTE - - EPITAFIO - - Aquí yace el Caballero - Bien molido y mal andante, - A quien llevó Rocinante - Por uno y otro sendero. - - Sancho Panza el majadero - Yace también junto á él, - Escudero el mas fiel, - Que vió el trato de escudero. - - DEL TIQUETOC, ACADÉMICO DE LA ARGAMASILLA, EN LA - SEPULTURA DE DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO - - EPITAFIO - - Reposa aquí Dulcinea, - Y aunque de carnes rolliza, - La volvió en polvo y ceniza - La muerte espantable y fea. - - Fué de castiza ralea, - Y tuvo asomos de dama, - Del gran Quijote fué llama, - Y fué gloria de su aldea. - -Estos fueron los versos que se pudieron leer: los demás, por estar -carcomida la letra, se entregaron á un Académico, para que por -conjeturas, los declarase. Tiénese noticia que lo ha hecho á costa de -muchas vigilias y mucho trabajo, y que tiene intencion de sacallos á -luz, con esperenza de la tercera salida de don Quijote. - - _Forse altro canterà con miglior plettro._ - -FIN DE LA PREMIÈRE PARTIE - -PRÉFACE - -Vive Dieu! avec quelle impatience, ami lecteur, illustre ou plébéien, -peu importe, tu dois attendre cette préface, croyant sans doute y -trouver des personnalités, des représailles, des injures, contre -l’auteur du second _don Quichotte_: je veux parler de celui qui fut, -dit-on, engendré à Tordesillas, et naquit à Tarragone[65]. Eh bien, je -t’en demande pardon, mais il ne m’est pas possible de te donner cette -satisfaction, car si d’habitude l’injustice et l’outrage éveillent la -colère dans les plus humbles cœurs, cette règle rencontre une exception -dans le mien. Voudrais-tu que j’allasse jeter au nez de cet homme qu’il -n’est qu’un impertinent, un sot, un âne? Eh bien, je n’en n’ai pas même -la pensée; qu’il reste avec son péché, qu’il le mange avec son pain, et -grand bien lui fasse. - - [65] C’est l’écrivain caché sous le nom du licencié Alonzo Fernandez - de Avellaneda, natif de Tordesillas, et dont le livre fut imprimé à - Tarragone. - -Mais ce que je ne puis me résoudre à passer sous silence et à couvrir -simplement de mon mépris, c’est de m’entendre appeler par lui vieux et -manchot, comme s’il avait été en mon pouvoir d’arrêter la marche du -temps et de faire qu’il ne s’écoulât pas pour moi, et comme si ma main -brisée l’avait été dans quelque dispute de taverne, et non dans la plus -éclatante rencontre[66] qu’aient vue les siècles passés et présents et -que puissent voir les siècles à venir. - - [66] La bataille de Lépante, livrée le 5 octobre 1571. - -Si ma blessure ne brille pas aux yeux, elle est, du moins, appréciée par -ceux qui savent où elle fut reçue, car mourir en combattant sied mieux -au soldat, qu’être libre dans la fuite; et je préfère avoir assisté -jadis à cette prodigieuse affaire que de me voir aujourd’hui exempt de -blessures sans y avoir pris part. Les cicatrices que le soldat porte sur -la poitrine et au visage sont autant d’étoiles qui nous guident dans le -sentier de l’honneur vers le désir des nobles louanges. D’ailleurs -est-ce avec les cheveux blancs qu’on écrit? N’est-ce pas plutôt avec -l’entendement, lequel a coutume de se fortifier par les années? - -Autre chose encore m’a causé du chagrin: cet homme m’appelle envieux et -il se donne la peine de m’expliquer, comme si je l’ignorais, ce que -c’est que l’envie; eh bien, qu’il le sache, des deux sortes d’envie que -l’on connaît, je n’éprouve que celle qui est sainte, noble, bien -intentionnée. Comment donc oser supposer que j’aille m’attaquer à un -prêtre, surtout quand ce prêtre ajoute à ce respectable caractère le -titre de familier du saint-office[67]? Je le déclare ici, mon adversaire -se trompe; car de celui qu’il prétend que j’ai voulu désigner, j’adore -le génie, j’admire les travaux et je respecte le labeur incessant et -honorable. Quant à mes _Nouvelles_, que cet aristarque trouve plus -satiriques qu’exemplaires; eh bien, qu’importe? pourvu qu’elles soient -bonnes, et elles ne pourraient l’être s’il ne s’y trouvait un peu de -tout. - - [67] Allusion à Lope de Vega, qui était en effet prêtre et familier du - Saint-Office. - -Tu vas dire sans doute, ami lecteur, que je me montre peu exigeant, mais -il ne faut pas accroître les chagrins d’un homme déjà si affligé, et -ceux de ce seigneur doivent être grands puisqu’il dissimule sa patrie et -déguise son nom, comme s’il se sentait coupable du crime de -lèse-majesté. Si donc par aventure tu viens à le connaître, dis-lui de -ma part que je ne me tiens nullement pour offensé, que je connais fort -bien les piéges du démon, et qu’un des plus dangereux qu’il puisse -tendre à un homme, c’est de lui mettre dans la cervelle qu’il est -capable de composer un livre qui lui procurera autant de renommée que -d’argent et autant d’argent que de renommée. A l’appui de ce que -j’avance, conte-lui avec ton esprit et ta bonne grâce accoutumée la -petite histoire que voici: - -«Il y avait à Séville un fou qui donna dans la plus plaisante folie dont -fou se soit jamais avisé. Il prit un jonc qu’il tailla en pointe par un -bout, et quand il rencontrait un chien, il lui mettait un pied sur la -patte de derrière, lui levait l’autre patte avec la main, après quoi lui -introduisant son tuyau dans certain endroit, il soufflait par l’autre -bout, et rendait bientôt l’animal rond comme une boule. Quand il l’avait -mis en cet état, il lui donnait deux tapes sur le ventre et le lâchait -en disant à ceux qui étaient là toujours en grand nombre: «Vos Grâces -pensent-elles que ce soit chose si facile que d’enfler un chien?» Eh -bien, à mon tour, je demanderai: Pensez-vous que ce soit un petit -travail de faire un livre? - -Si ce conte, ami lecteur, ne lui convient pas, dis-lui cet autre, qui -est encore un conte de fou et de chien: «Il y avait à Cordoue un fou qui -avait coutume de porter sur sa tête un morceau de dalle en marbre ou en -pierre, non des plus légers; quand il apercevait un chien, il s’en -approchait avec précaution et laissait la dalle tomber d’aplomb sur le -pauvre animal. Roulant d’abord sous le coup, le chien ne tardait pas à -se sauver en jetant des hurlements à ne pas s’arrêter au bout de trois -rues. Or, il arriva qu’un jour il s’en prit au chien d’un mercier, que -son maître aimait beaucoup. L’animal poussa des cris perçants. Le -mercier, furieux, saisit une aune, tomba sur le fou et le bâtonna -rondement, en lui disant à chaque coup: «Chien de voleur, ne vois-tu pas -que mon chien est un lévrier?» Et après lui avoir répété le mot de -lévrier plus de cent fois, il le renvoya moulu comme plâtre. -L’avertissement fit son effet, et le fou fut tout un mois sans se -montrer. A la fin cependant, il reparut avec une dalle bien plus pesante -que la première, mais quand il rencontrait un chien, il s’arrêtait tout -court en disant: «Oh! oh! celui-ci est un lévrier.» Depuis lors, tous -les chiens qu’il trouvait sur son chemin, fussent-ils dogues ou roquets, -étaient pour lui autant de lévriers, et il ne lâchait plus sa pierre. -Peut-être en arrivera-t-il de même à cet homme; il n’osera plus lâcher -en livres le poids de son esprit, lequel, il faut en convenir, est plus -lourd que le marbre. - -Quant à la menace qu’il me fait de m’enlever tout profit avec son -ouvrage, dis-lui, ami lecteur, que je m’en moque comme d’un maravédis et -que je lui réponds: «Vive pour moi le comte de Lémos, et Dieu pour -tous!» Oui, vive le grand comte de Lémos, dont la libéralité bien connue -m’abrite contre la mauvaise fortune, et vive la suprême charité de -l’archevêque de Tolède[68]! Ces deux princes, par leur seule bonté d’âme -et sans que je les aie sollicités par aucune espèce d’éloges, ont pris à -leur charge le soin de venir généreusement à mon aide, et en cela je me -tiens pour plus honoré et plus riche que si la fortune, par une voie -ordinaire, m’eût comblé de ses faveurs. L’honneur, je le sens, peut -rester au pauvre, mais non au pervers; la pauvreté peut couvrir d’un -nuage la noblesse, mais non l’obscurcir entièrement. Pourvu que la vertu -jette quelque lumière, fût-ce par les fissures de la détresse, elle -finit toujours par être estimée des grands et nobles esprits. - - [68] Don Bernardo Sandoval y Rojas. - -Ne lui dis rien de plus, ami lecteur; quant à moi, je me contenterai de -te faire remarquer que cette seconde partie de _Don Quichotte_, dont je -te fais hommage, est taillée sur le même patron, et qu’elle est de même -étoffe que la première. Dans cette seconde partie, je te donne mon -chevalier conduit jusqu’au terme de sa vie, et finalement mort et -enterré, afin que personne ne puisse en douter désormais. C’est assez -qu’un honnête homme ait rendu compte de ses aimables folies, sans que -d’autres prétendent encore y mettre la main. L’abondance des choses, -même bonnes, en diminue le prix, tandis que la rareté des mauvaises les -fait apprécier en ce point... - -J’oubliais de te dire que tu auras bientôt _Persiles_, que je suis en -train d’achever, ainsi que la seconde partie de _Galatée_. - -L’INGÉNIEUX CHEVALIER DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE - -DEUXIÈME PARTIE - -CHAPITRE PREMIER - -DE CE QUI SE PASSA ENTRE LE CURÉ ET LE BARBIER AVEC DON QUICHOTTE AU -SUJET DE SA MALADIE - -Dans la seconde partie de cette histoire, qui contient la troisième -sortie de don Quichotte, Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli raconte que le curé et le -Barbier restèrent plus d’un mois sans chercher à le voir, pour ne pas -lui rappeler par leur présence le souvenir des choses passées. Ils ne -laissaient pas néanmoins de visiter souvent sa nièce et sa gouvernante, -leur recommandant chaque fois d’avoir grand soin de leur maître, et de -lui donner une nourriture bonne pour l’estomac et surtout pour le -cerveau, d’où venait, à n’en pas douter, tout son mal. Ces femmes -répondaient qu’elles n’auraient garde d’y manquer, d’autant plus que, -par moment, leur seigneur paraissait avoir recouvré tout son bon sens. -Cette nouvelle causa bien de la joie à nos deux amis, qui s’applaudirent -d’autant plus d’avoir employé, pour le ramener chez lui, le stratagème -que nous avons raconté dans les chapitres qui terminent la première -partie de cette grande et véridique histoire. Toutefois, comme ils -tenaient cette guérison pour impossible, ils résolurent de s’en assurer -par eux-mêmes, et après s’être promis de ne pas toucher la corde de la -chevalerie, dans la crainte de découdre les points d’une blessure si -fraîchement fermée[69], ils se rendirent chez don Quichotte, qu’ils -trouvèrent dans sa chambre, assis sur son lit, en camisole de serge -verte, et coiffé d’un bonnet de laine rouge de Tolède, mais tellement -sec et décharné, qu’il ressemblait à une momie. Ils furent très-bien -reçus de notre chevalier, qui répondit à leurs questions sur sa santé -avec beaucoup de justesse et en termes choisis. - - [69] Il était alors d’usage en chirurgie de coudre les blessures. - -Peu à peu la conversation s’engagea, et après avoir causé d’abord de -choses indifférentes, on en vint à entamer le chapitre des affaires -publiques et des formes de gouvernement. Celui-ci changeait une coutume, -celui-là corrigeait un abus; bref, chacun de nos trois amis devint, -séance tenante, un nouveau Lycurgue, un moderne Solon, et ils -remanièrent si bien l’État, qu’il semblait qu’après l’avoir mis à la -forge, ils l’en avaient retiré entièrement remis à neuf. Sur ces divers -sujets, don Quichotte montra tant de tact et d’à-propos, que les deux -visiteurs ne doutèrent plus qu’il n’eût recouvré tout son bon sens. -Présentes à l’entretien, la nièce et la gouvernante versaient des larmes -de joie et ne cessaient de rendre grâces à Dieu en voyant leur maître -montrer une telle lucidité d’esprit. Mais le curé, revenant sur sa -première intention, qui était de ne point parler chevalerie, voulut -compléter l’épreuve, afin de s’assurer si cette guérison était réelle ou -seulement apparente. De propos en propos, il se mit à conter quelques -nouvelles récemment venues de la cour: On tient pour assuré, dit-il, que -le Turc fait de grands préparatifs de guerre, et qu’il se dispose à -descendre le Bosphore avec une immense flotte; seulement, on ne sait pas -sur quels rivages ira fondre une si formidable tempête; il ajouta que la -chrétienté en était fort alarmée, et qu’à tout événement Sa Majesté -faisait pourvoir à la sûreté du royaume de Naples, des côtes de la -Sicile et de l’île de Malte. - -Sa Majesté agit en prudent capitaine, dit don Quichotte, lorsqu’elle met -ses vastes États sur la défensive, afin que l’ennemi ne les prenne pas -au dépourvu. Mais si elle me faisait l’honneur de me demander mon avis, -je lui conseillerais une mesure à laquelle elle est, j’en suis certain, -bien éloignée de penser à cette heure. - -A peine le curé eut-il entendu ces paroles, qu’il se dit en lui-même: -Dieu te soit en aide, pauvre don Quichotte; car, si je ne me trompe, te -voilà retombé au plus profond de ta démence. - -Le barbier, qui avait eu la même pensée, demanda quelle était cette -importante mesure, craignant, disait-il, que ce ne fût un de ces -impertinents avis qu’on ne se fait pas faute de donner aux princes. - -Maître râpeur de barbes, repartit don Quichotte, mon avis n’a rien -d’impertinent; il est, au contraire, tout à fait pertinent. - -D’accord, répliqua le barbier; cependant l’expérience a prouvé que ces -sortes d’expédients sont presque toujours impraticables ou ridicules, -quelquefois même contraires à l’intérêt du roi et de l’État. - -Soit; mais le mien, reprit don Quichotte, n’est ni impraticable ni -ridicule: loin de là, c’est le plus simple et le plus convenable qui -puisse se présenter à l’esprit d’un donneur de conseil. - -Votre Grâce tarde bien à nous l’apprendre, dit le curé. - -Je ne suis pas fort empressé de le faire connaître, répondit don -Quichotte, de peur qu’en arrivant aux oreilles de messeigneurs du -conseil, l’honneur de l’invention ne soit aussitôt enlevé. - -Quant à moi, reprit le barbier, je jure devant Dieu et devant les hommes -de n’en parler ni à roi, ni _à Roch_, ni à âme qui vive, comme il est -dit dans cette romance du curé[70], où l’on avise le roi de ce voleur -qui lui avait escamoté cent doublons et sa mule qui allait si bien -l’amble. - - [70] Allusion à quelque romance populaire de l’époque, aujourd’hui - inconnue. - -Je ne connais pas cette histoire, dit don Quichotte, mais je tiens le -serment pour bon, sachant le seigneur barbier homme de bien. - -Et quand cela ne serait pas, reprit le curé, je me porte fort pour lui, -et je réponds qu’il n’en parlera pas plus que s’il était né muet. - -Et vous, seigneur curé, demanda don Quichotte, quelle sera votre -caution? - -Mon caractère, répliqua le curé, car il me fait un devoir de garder les -secrets. - -Eh bien donc, s’écria don Quichotte, j’affirme que si le roi faisait -publier à son de trompe que tous les chevaliers qui errent par l’Espagne -sont tenus de se rendre à sa cour, à jour nommé, ne s’en présentât-il -qu’une demi-douzaine, tel parmi eux, j’en suis certain, pourrait se -rencontrer qui viendrait à bout de la puissance du Turc. Que Vos Grâces -veuillent bien me prêter attention et suivre mon raisonnement. Est-ce -qu’on n’a pas vu maintes fois un chevalier défaire à lui seul une armée -de deux cent mille hommes, comme si tous ensemble ils n’avaient eu -qu’une tête à couper? Vive Dieu! si le fameux don Bélianis, ou même un -simple rejeton des Amadis de Gaule était encore vivant, et que le Turc -se trouvât face à face avec lui, par ma foi, je ne parierais pas pour le -Turc. Mais patience, Dieu aura pitié de son peuple, et saura lui envoyer -quelque chevalier moins illustre peut-être que ceux des temps passés, -qui pourtant ne leur sera point inférieur en vaillance. Je n’en dis pas -davantage, Dieu m’entend. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria la nièce, que je meure si mon oncle n’a pas envie -de se faire encore une fois chevalier errant! - -Oui, oui, repartit don Quichotte, chevalier errant je suis, et chevalier -errant je mourrai; que le Turc monte ou descende quand il voudra, et -déploie toute sa puissance! je le répète, Dieu m’entend. - -Sur ce le barbier prit la parole: Que Vos Grâces, dit-il, me permettent -de leur raconter une petite histoire; elle vient ici fort à propos. - -Comme il vous plaira, reprit don Quichotte; nous sommes prêts à vous -donner audience. - -Le barbier continua de la sorte: A Séville, dans l’hôpital des fous, il -y avait un homme que ses parents firent enfermer comme ayant perdu la -raison. Cet homme avait pris ses licences à l’université d’Ossuna; mais -quand même il les eût prises à celle de Salamanque, il n’en serait pas -moins, disait-on, devenu fou. Après plusieurs années de réclusion, le -pauvre diable se croyant guéri, écrivit à l’archevêque une lettre pleine -de bon sens, dans laquelle il le suppliait de le tirer de sa misérable -vie, puisque Dieu, dans sa miséricorde, lui avait fait la grâce de lui -rendre la raison. Il prétendait que ses parents, pour jouir de son bien, -continuaient à le tenir enfermé, et voulaient, en dépit de la vérité, le -faire passer pour fou jusqu’à sa mort. Convaincu du bon sens de cet -homme par les lettres qu’il ne cessait d’en recevoir, l’archevêque -chargea un de ses chapelains de s’informer auprès du directeur de -l’hôpital si tout ce que lui écrivait le licencié était exact, enfin de -l’interroger lui-même, l’autorisant, si l’examen était favorable, à le -faire mettre en liberté. - -Le chapelain vint trouver le directeur de l’hôpital, et lui demanda ce -qu’il pensait de l’état mental du licencié. Le directeur répondit qu’il -le tenait pour aussi fou que jamais; qu’à la vérité il parlait -quelquefois en homme de bon sens, mais qu’en fin de compte il retombait -toujours dans ses premières extravagances, comme le chapelain pouvait -d’ailleurs s’en assurer par lui-même. Celui-ci témoigna le désir de -tenter l’expérience. On le mena à la chambre du licencié, avec lequel il -s’entretint plus d’une heure sans que pendant tout ce temps cet homme -donnât le moindre signe de folie; loin de là, ses discours furent si -pleins d’à-propos et de bon sens, que le chapelain ne put s’empêcher de -le regarder comme entièrement guéri. - -Entre autres choses, le pauvre diable se plaignit de la connivence du -directeur de l’hôpital, qui, pour plaire à sa famille et ne pas perdre -les cadeaux qu’il en recevait, affirmait qu’il était toujours fou, -quoiqu’il eût souvent de bons moments. Il ajoutait que, dans son -malheur, son plus grand ennemi, c’était sa fortune; car pour en jouir, -disait-il, mes parents portent un jugement qu’ils savent faux, -puisqu’ils ne veulent pas reconnaître la grâce que Dieu m’a faite en me -rappelant de l’état de brute à l’état d’homme. Bref, il parla de telle -sorte, qu’il réussit à rendre le directeur suspect, et à faire passer -ses parents pour cupides et dénaturés, si bien que le chapelain résolut -de l’emmener, pour rendre l’archevêque lui-même témoin d’une guérison -dont il n’était plus permis de douter. Le directeur fit tous ses efforts -pour dissuader le chapelain, lui disant d’y prendre garde; que cet homme -n’avait jamais cessé d’être fou, et qu’il aurait le déplaisir de s’être -trompé sur son compte; mais quand on lui eut montré la lettre de -l’archevêque, il ordonna de rendre au licencié ses anciens vêtements, et -le laissa entre les mains du chapelain. - -A peine dépouillé de sa casaque de fou, notre homme voulut aller prendre -congé de ses anciens compagnons. Il en demanda avec instance la -permission au chapelain, qui désira même l’accompagner dans cette -visite; quelques-uns de ceux qui étaient là se joignirent à lui. En -passant devant la loge d’un fou furieux qui par hasard était calme en ce -moment: Adieu, frère, lui dit le licencié; voyez si vous n’avez pas -quelque chose à me demander, car je vais retourner chez moi, puisque -Dieu dans sa bonté infinie et sans que je le méritasse, m’a fait la -grâce de me rendre la raison. J’espère qu’il fera de même pour vous; -aussi priez-le bien et ne manquez jamais de confiance; en attendant, -j’aurai soin de vous envoyer quelques bons morceaux, car je sais, par ma -propre expérience, que la folie ne vient le plus souvent que du vide de -l’estomac et du cerveau. Prenez donc courage, et ne vous laissez point -abattre; dans les disgrâces qui nous arrivent, le découragement détruit -la santé et ne fait qu’avancer la mort. - -En entendant ce discours, un autre fou renfermé dans une loge qui -faisait face à celle du fou furieux, se redressa tout à coup d’une -vieille natte de jonc sur laquelle il était couché, et demanda en criant -à tue-tête quel était ce camarade qui s’en allait si sain de corps et -d’esprit? - -C’est moi, frère, répondit le licencié; je n’ai plus besoin de rester -dans cette maison après la grâce que Dieu m’a faite. - -Prends garde à ce que tu dis, licencié mon ami, repartit cet homme, et -que le diable ne t’abuse pas. Crois-moi, reste avec nous, afin de -t’épargner l’allée et le retour. - -Je sais que je suis guéri, reprit le licencié, et je ne pense pas avoir -jamais à recommencer mes stations. - -Toi, guéri, continua le fou; à la bonne heure, et que Dieu te conduise; -mais par le nom de Jupiter, dont je représente ici-bas la majesté -souveraine, je jure que pour ce seul péché, que Séville vient de -commettre en te rendant la liberté, je la frapperai d’un tel châtiment, -que le souvenir s’en perpétuera dans les siècles des siècles. _Amen._ Ne -sais-tu pas, pauvre petit licencié sans cervelle, que j’en ai le -pouvoir, puisque je suis Jupiter Tonnant, et que je tiens dans mes mains -les foudres destructeurs qui peuvent en un instant réduire toute la -terre en cendres? Mais non, je n’infligerai qu’une simple correction à -cette ville ignorante et stupide; je me contenterai de la priver de -l’eau du ciel, ainsi que tous ses habitants, pendant trois années -entières et consécutives, à compter du jour où la menace vient d’en être -prononcée. Ah! tu es libre, tu es dans ton bon sens, et moi je suis fou -et en prison! De par mon tonnerre, je leur enverrai de la pluie, tout -comme je songe à me pendre. - -Chacun écoutait ces propos avec étonnement, quand le licencié se tourna -vivement vers le chapelain et lui prenant les deux mains: Que Votre -Grâce, mon cher seigneur, lui dit-il, ne se mette point en peine des -menaces que ce fou vient de débiter; car s’il est Jupiter, le dieu de la -foudre, je suis Neptune, le dieu des eaux, et je ferai pleuvoir quand il -en sera besoin. - -Très-bien, très-bien, repartit le chapelain; mais en attendant, il ne -faut pas irriter Jupiter, seigneur Neptune. Rentrez dans votre loge, -nous reviendrons vous chercher une autre fois. - -Chacun se mit à rire en voyant la confusion du chapelain. Quant au -licencié, on lui remit sa casaque, on le renferma de nouveau, et le -conte est fini. - -C’était donc là, reprit don Quichotte, ce conte venu si à point qu’on ne -pouvait se dispenser de nous le servir. Ah! maître raseur, maître -raseur, bien aveugle est celui qui ne voit pas à travers la toile du -tamis! Votre Grâce en est-elle encore à ignorer que ces comparaisons -d’esprit à esprit, de courage à courage, de beauté à beauté, de famille -à famille, sont toujours odieuses et mal reçues? Seigneur barbier, je ne -suis pas Neptune, le dieu des eaux, et je m’inquiète fort peu de passer -pour un homme d’esprit, surtout ne l’étant pas; mais, quoi qu’il en -soit, je n’en continuerai pas moins jusqu’à mon dernier jour à signaler -au monde l’énorme faute que l’on commet en négligeant de rétablir -l’ancienne chevalerie errante. Hélas! je ne le vois que trop, notre âge -dépravé ne mérite pas de jouir du bonheur ineffable dont ont joui les -siècles passés, alors que les chevaliers errants prenaient en main la -défense des royaumes, la protection des jeunes filles, des veuves et des -orphelins. Maintenant, les chevaliers abandonnent la cuirasse et la -cotte de mailles, pour revêtir la veste de brocard et de soie. Où -sont-ils ceux qui, armés de pied en cap, à cheval et appuyés sur leur -lance, s’ingéniaient à tromper le sommeil, la faim, la soif, et les -besoins les plus impérieux de la nature? Où est le chevalier de notre -temps qui, après une longue course à travers les montagnes et les -forêts, arrivant au bord de la mer, où il ne trouve qu’un frêle esquif, -s’y jette hardiment, malgré les vagues furieuses qui tantôt le lancent -au ciel, tantôt le précipitent au fond des abîmes; puis le lendemain, à -trois mille lieues de là, abordant une terre inconnue, y accomplit des -prouesses si extraordinaires, qu’elles méritent d’être gravées sur le -bronze? A présent, la mollesse et l’oisiveté sont vertus à la mode, et -la véritable valeur qui fut jadis le partage des chevaliers errants -n’est plus de saison. Où rencontrer aujourd’hui un chevalier aussi -vaillant qu’Amadis? aussi courtois que Palmerin d’Olive? aussi galant -que Lisvart de Grèce? plus blessant et plus blessé que don Bélianis? -aussi brave que Rodomont? aussi prudent que le roi Sobrin? aussi -entreprenant que Renaud? aussi invincible que Roland? aussi séduisant -que Roger, de qui, en droite ligne, descendent les ducs de Ferrare, -d’après Turpin dans sa _Cosmographie_. - -Tous ces chevaliers et tant d’autres que je pourrais citer, ont été -l’honneur de la chevalerie errante; c’est d’eux et de leurs pareils que -je conseillerais au roi de se servir, s’il veut être bien servi et à bon -marché, et voir le Turc s’arracher la barbe à pleines mains. Mais avec -tout cela, il faut que je reste dans ma loge, puisqu’on refuse de m’en -tirer; et si Jupiter, comme a dit le barbier, ne veut pas qu’il pleuve, -je suis ici, moi, pour faire pleuvoir quand il m’en prendra fantaisie. -Ceci soit dit afin que le seigneur Plat-à-Barbe sache que je l’ai -compris. - -Seigneur don Quichotte, répondit le barbier, Votre Grâce aurait tort de -se fâcher; Dieu m’est témoin que je n’ai pas eu dessein de vous -déplaire. - -Si je dois me fâcher ou non, c’est à moi de le savoir, reprit don -Quichotte. - -Seigneurs, interrompit le curé, qui jusqu’alors avait écouté sans rien -dire, je voudrais éclaircir un doute qui me pèse, et que vient de faire -naître en moi le discours du seigneur don Quichotte. - -Parlez sans crainte, répondit notre chevalier, et mettez votre -conscience en repos. - -Eh bien, dit le curé, je dois avouer qu’il m’est impossible de croire -que tous ces chevaliers errants dont Votre Grâce vient de parler, aient -été des hommes en chair et en os; pour moi, tout cela n’est que -fictions, rêveries et contes faits à plaisir. - -Voilà une erreur, répondit don Quichotte, dans laquelle sont tombés -nombre de gens. J’ai souvent cherché à faire luire la lumière de la -vérité sur cette illusion devenue presque générale: quelquefois je n’ai -pu réussir; mais presque toujours j’en suis venu à bout, et j’ai eu le -bonheur de rencontrer des personnes qui se sont rendues à la force de -cette vérité pour moi si manifeste, que je pourrais dire avoir vu de mes -yeux Amadis de Gaule. Oui, c’était un homme de haute taille, au teint -vif et blanc; il avait la barbe noire et bien plantée, le regard fier et -doux; il n’était pas grand parleur, se mettait rarement en colère, et -n’y restait pas longtemps. Non moins aisément que j’ai dépeint Amadis, -je pourrais vous faire le portrait de tous les chevaliers errants; car -sur l’idée qu’en donnent leurs histoires, il est facile de dire quel -était leur air, quelle était leur stature et la couleur de leur teint. - -S’il en est ainsi, seigneur, dit le barbier, apprenez-nous quelle taille -avait le géant Morgan? - -Qu’il ait existé des géants ou qu’il n’en ait pas existé, répondit don -Quichotte, les opinions sont partagées à ce sujet. Cependant la sainte -Écriture, qui ne peut induire en erreur, nous apprend qu’il y en a eu, -par ce qu’elle raconte de ce Goliath qui avait sept coudées et plus de -hauteur. On a trouvé en Sicile des ossements de jambes et de bras dont -la longueur prouve qu’ils appartenaient à des géants aussi hauts que des -tours. Toutefois je ne saurais affirmer que le géant Morgan ait été -d’une très-grande taille; je ne le pense pas, et en voici la raison: son -histoire dit qu’il dormait souvent à couvert; or, puisqu’il trouvait des -habitations capables de le recevoir, il ne devait pas être d’une -grandeur démesurée. - -C’est juste, dit le curé, qui, prenant plaisir à entendre notre héros -débiter de telles extravagances, lui demanda à son tour ce qu’il pensait -de Roland, de Renaud et des douze pairs de France, tous anciens -chevaliers errants? - -De Renaud, répondit don Quichotte, je dirai qu’il devait avoir la face -large, le teint vermeil, les yeux à fleur de tête et pleins de feu; il -était extrêmement chatouilleux et emporté, et se plaisait à protéger les -malandrins et gens de cette espèce. Quant à Roland, Rotoland ou Orland -(l’histoire lui donne ces trois noms), je crois pouvoir affirmer qu’il -était de moyenne taille, large des épaules, un peu cagneux des genoux; -il avait le teint brun, la barbe rude et rousse, le corps velu, la -parole brève et le regard menaçant; du reste, courtois, affable et bien -élevé. - -Par ma foi, si Roland ressemblait au portrait que vient d’en faire Votre -Grâce, dit le barbier, je ne m’étonne plus que la belle Angélique lui -ait de beaucoup préféré ce petit More à poil follet à qui elle livra ses -charmes. - -Cette Angélique, reprit don Quichotte, était une créature fantasque et -légère, une coureuse, qui a rempli le monde du bruit de ses fredaines. -Sacrifiant sa réputation à son plaisir, elle a dédaigné mille nobles -personnages, mille chevaliers pleins d’esprit et de bravoure, pour un -petit page au menton cotonneux, sans naissance et sans fortune, et dont -tout le renom fut l’attachement qu’il montra pour son vieux maître[71]. -Aussi, le chantre de sa beauté, le grand Arioste, cesse-t-il d’en parler -après cette faiblesse impardonnable, et pour ne plus s’occuper d’elle, -il termine brusquement son histoire par ces vers: - - Peut-être à l’avenir une meilleure lyre, - Dira comme elle obtint du grand Catay l’empire. - - [71] Médor fut laissé pour mort sur la place, en allant relever le - cadavre de son maître. (ARIOSTE, chant XXIII.) - -Ces vers furent une prophétie, car les poëtes s’appellent _vates_, -c’est-à-dire devins, et la prédiction s’accomplit si bien, que depuis -lors ce fut un poëte andaloux qui chanta les larmes d’Angélique, et un -poëte castillan qui chanta sa beauté. - -Parmi tant de poëtes qui l’ont célébrée, dit maître Nicolas, il doit -s’en être trouvé au moins un pour lui dire son fait. - -Si Sacripant ou Roland eussent été poëtes, reprit don Quichotte, -j’incline à croire qu’ils auraient joliment savonné la tête à cette -écervelée; car c’est l’ordinaire des amants rebutés de se venger par -des satires et des libelles: vengeance, après tout, indigne d’un cœur -généreux. Mais jusqu’à ce jour, je n’ai pas connaissance d’un seul vers -injurieux contre cette Angélique qui a bouleversé le monde. - -C’est miracle! dit le curé; et tout à coup on entendit la nièce et la -gouvernante, qui depuis quelque temps déjà s’étaient retirées, jeter les -hauts cris; aussitôt nos trois amis se levèrent et coururent au bruit. - -CHAPITRE II - -QUI TRAITE DE LA GRANDE QUERELLE QU’EUT SANCHO PANZA AVEC LA NIÈCE ET LA -GOUVERNANTE, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES PLAISANTS ÉVÉNEMENTS - -L’histoire raconte que les auteurs de tout ce tapage étaient Sancho, -lequel voulait entrer pour voir son seigneur, et la nièce et la -gouvernante qui s’y opposaient de toutes leurs forces. - -Que veut ce vagabond, ce fainéant? demandait la gouvernante. Retournez -chez vous, mon ami, vous n’avez que faire céans; c’est vous qui -débauchez et pervertissez notre maître, et l’emmenez courir les grands -chemins. - -Gouvernante de Satan, répondait Sancho, vous vous trompez de plus de -moitié; le débauché, le perverti et l’emmené par les chemins, c’est moi -et non pas votre maître. C’est lui qui m’a tiré de ma maison en -m’enjôlant avec des tricheries et en me promettant une île que j’attends -encore. - -Que veut-il dire avec ses îles? répliquait la gouvernante. Est-ce par -hasard quelque chose de bon à manger, glouton que tu es? - -Non pas à manger, reprenait Sancho, mais à gouverner, et meilleur que -quatre villes et une province entière. - -Tu n’entreras pas ici, tonneau de malices, sac de méchancetés, -continuait la gouvernante: va gouverner ta maison et labourer ton coin -de terre, et laisse-là tes gouvernements. - -Le curé et le barbier riaient de bon cœur de ce plaisant dialogue; mais -don Quichotte craignant que Sancho ne lâchât sa langue et n’en vînt à -débiter, selon sa coutume quelques malicieuses simplicités, fit taire les -deux femmes, et ordonna qu’on le laissât entrer. Sancho entra. Aussitôt -le curé et le barbier prirent congé de leur ami, désespérant de sa -guérison, puisqu’il se montrait entiché plus que jamais de sa maudite -chevalerie. - -Vous verrez, compère, dit le curé en sortant, qu’au moment où nous y -penserons le moins, notre hidalgo reprendra sa volée. - -Oh! cela est certain, reprit le barbier; mais ce qui m’étonne, c’est -moins la folie du maître que la simplicité de l’écuyer: il s’est si bien -fourré cette île dans la cervelle, que rien au monde ne pourrait l’en -faire sortir. - -Dieu leur soit en aide, dit le curé; quant à nous, guettons-les bien -afin de voir où aboutira cette mise en commun d’extravagances; car on -dirait qu’ils ont été créés l’un pour l’autre, et que les folies du -maître vaudraient moins sans celles du valet. - -C’est vrai, ajouta le barbier; mais je voudrais bien savoir ce qu’ils -vont comploter ensemble. - -Soyez tranquille, répliqua le curé, la nièce et la gouvernante ne nous -laisseront rien ignorer; elles ne sont pas femmes à en perdre leur part. - -Pendant cet entretien, don Quichotte et son écuyer s’étaient renfermés. -Quand ils se virent seuls: Sancho, dit don Quichotte, je suis très-peiné -d’apprendre que tu ailles répétant partout que je t’ai enlevé de ta -chaumière, quand tu sais que je ne suis pas resté dans ma maison. Partis -ensemble, nous avons fait tous deux même chemin et éprouvé même fortune: -si une fois on t’a berné, cent fois j’ai reçu des coups de bâton: c’est -le seul avantage que j’ai sur toi. - -C’était bien juste, répondit Sancho; puisque, d’après le dire de Votre -Grâce, les mésaventures sont plutôt le fait des chevaliers errants que -de leurs écuyers. - -Tu te trompes, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, témoins ces vers: _Quando -caput dolet_... - -Je n’entends point d’autre langue que la mienne, dit Sancho. - -Je veux dire, répliqua don Quichotte, que quand la tête souffre, -souffrent tous les membres. Ainsi, moi, ton maître, je suis la tête du -corps dont tu fais partie, étant mon serviteur; par conséquent, le mal -que j’éprouve, tu dois le ressentir, et moi le tien. - -Cela devrait être, repartit Sancho; mais pendant qu’on me bernait, moi, -pauvre membre, ma tête était derrière la muraille de la cour, et elle me -regardait voltiger dans les airs, sans éprouver la moindre douleur; si -les membres sont obligés de ressentir le mal de la tête, il me semble -que la tête devrait à son tour prendre part à leur mal. - -Crois-tu, reprit don Quichotte, que je ne souffrais pas pendant qu’on te -bernait? Ne le dis, ni ne le pense, mon ami, et sois bien persuadé que -je souffrais plus dans mon esprit que toi dans tout ton corps. Mais -laissons cela, nous en reparlerons à loisir. Maintenant, ami Sancho, -réponds-moi franchement, je te prie; que dit-on de moi dans le pays? -comment en parlent les paysans, les hidalgos, les chevaliers? quelle -opinion a-t-on de ma courtoisie, de ma valeur, de mes exploits? que -pense-t-on du dessein que j’ai formé de rétablir dans son antique lustre -l’ordre oublié de la chevalerie errante? Bref, répète-moi, sans -flatterie, ce qui est arrivé à tes oreilles, sans rien ajouter, sans -rien retrancher; car le devoir d’un serviteur fidèle est de dire à son -seigneur la vérité telle qu’elle est, sans qu’aucune considération la -lui fasse exagérer ou diminuer. Tu sauras, Sancho, que si la vérité se -présentait toujours devant les princes nue et dépouillée des ornements -de la flatterie, notre siècle serait un âge d’or, ce qu’il est déjà, à -ce que j’entends dire chaque jour, comparé aux siècles qui nous ont -précédés. Mets à profit cet avis, et réponds sans déguisement à ma -question. - -Volontiers, répondit Sancho, mais à condition que Votre Grâce ne se -fâchera pas si je lui redis les choses telles qu’elles sont venues à mes -oreilles. - -Je t’assure que je ne me fâcherai nullement, dit don Quichotte; parle -librement et sans détour. - -Eh bien, seigneur, reprit Sancho, vous saurez que tout le monde nous -tient, vous, pour le plus grand des fous, et moi, pour le dernier des -imbéciles. Les hidalgos disent que Votre Grâce n’avait pas le droit de -s’arroger le _don_, et de se faire d’emblée chevalier, avec quatre pieds -de vigne, deux journaux de terre, un fossé par devant et un par -derrière. Quant aux chevaliers, ils sont fort peu satisfaits que les -hidalgos se mêlent à eux, principalement ceux qui sont tout au plus bons -pour être écuyers, qui noircissent leurs chaussures avec de la suie, et -raccommodent leurs bas noirs avec de la soie verte. - -Cela ne me regarde pas, dit don Quichotte; je suis toujours -très-convenablement vêtu, et je ne porte jamais d’habits rapiécés; -déchirés, c’est possible, et encore plutôt par le frottement des armes -que par l’action du temps. - -Quant à votre valeur, votre courtoisie, vos exploits et vos projets, -continua Sancho, les opinions sont partagées; les uns disent: C’est un -fou, mais il est plaisant; les autres: Il est vaillant, mais peu -chanceux; d’autres: Il est courtois, mais extravagant; et pour ne rien -vous cacher, ils en débitent tant sur votre compte, que, par ma foi, ils -ne laissent rien à y ajouter. - -Tu le vois, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, plus la vertu est éminente, plus -elle est exposée à la calomnie. Peu de grands hommes y ont échappé: -Jules César, ce sage et vaillant capitaine a passé pour un ambitieux; on -lui a même reproché de n’avoir ni grande propreté dans ses habits, ni -grande pureté dans ses mœurs. On a accusé d’ivrognerie Alexandre, ce -héros auquel tant de belles actions ont mérité le surnom de Grand. -Hercule, après avoir consumé sa vie en d’incroyables travaux, a fini par -passer pour un homme voluptueux et efféminé. On a dit du frère d’Amadis, -don Galaor, que c’était un brouillon, un querelleur, et d’Amadis -lui-même, qu’il pleurait comme une femme. Aussi, mon pauvre Sancho, je -ne me mets nullement en peine des traits de l’envie, et pourvu que ce -soit là tout, je m’en console avec ces héros, qui ont fait l’admiration -de l’univers. - -Oh! répliqua Sancho, on ne s’arrête pas en si beau chemin. - -Qu’y a-t-il donc encore? demanda don Quichotte. - -Il reste la queue à écorcher, répondit Sancho: jusqu’ici ce n’était que -miel, mais si vous voulez savoir le reste, je vais vous amener un homme -qui vous donnera contentement. Le fils de Bartholomé Carrasco est -arrivé hier soir de Salamanque, où il s’est fait recevoir bachelier; et -comme j’allais le voir pour me réjouir avec lui, il m’a raconté que -l’histoire de Votre Grâce est déjà mise en livre sous le titre de -l’_Ingénieux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche_; il dit de plus que -j’y suis tout du long avec mon propre nom de Sancho Panza, et qu’on y a -même fourré madame Dulcinée du Toboso, sans compter bien d’autres choses -qui se sont passées entre vous et moi, tellement que j’ai fait mille -signes de croix, ne sachant comment ce diable d’auteur a pu les -apprendre. - -Il faut assurément, dit don Quichotte, que ce soit un enchanteur qui ait -écrit cette histoire, car ces gens-là devinent tout. - -Parbleu, si c’est un enchanteur, je le crois bien, reprit Sancho, -puisque le bachelier Samson Carrasco dit qu’il s’appelle Cid Hamet -Berengena. - -C’est un nom moresque, dit don Quichotte. - -Cela se pourrait, répondit Sancho, d’autant plus que j’ai ouï dire que -les Mores aiment beaucoup les aubergines[72]. - - [72] Sancho change le nom de Ben-Engeli en Berengena, qui veut dire - aubergine, espèce de légume fort commun dans le royaume de Valence. - -Il faut que tu te trompes quant au mot de cid, dit don Quichotte, car ce -mot signifie seigneur. - -Je n’en sais rien, répondit Sancho; mais si vous voulez que j’amène ici -le bachelier, je l’irai querir à vol d’oiseau. - -Tu me feras plaisir, mon enfant, dit don Quichotte; ce que tu viens de -m’apprendre m’a mis la puce à l’oreille, et je ne mangerai morceau qui -me profite jusqu’à ce que je sois exactement informé de tout. - -Sancho s’en fut. Peu après il revint avec le bachelier, et il y eut -entre eux trois la plaisante conversation que l’on verra dans le -chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE III - -DU RISIBLE ENTRETIEN QU’EURENT ENSEMBLE DON QUICHOTTE SANCHO PANZA ET LE -BACHELIER SAMSON CARRASCO - -En attendant le bachelier Samson Carrasco, don Quichotte resta tout -pensif; il ne pouvait se persuader que l’histoire de ses prouesses fût -déjà publiée, quand son épée fumait encore du sang de ses ennemis. Il en -vint alors à s’imaginer qu’un enchanteur, ami ou ennemi, les avait, par -son art, écrites et livrées à l’impression: ami, pour les grandir et les -élever au-dessus de celles des plus illustres chevaliers; ennemi, pour -les ravaler et les mettre au-dessous des moindres exploits du plus mince -écuyer. Cependant, se disait-il à lui-même, jamais, s’il m’en souvient, -exploits d’écuyer ne furent écrits! et s’il est vrai que mon histoire -existe, étant celle d’un chevalier errant, elle doit être noble, fière, -pompeuse et véridique. Cette réflexion le consola; mais venant à songer -que l’auteur était More, comme l’indiquait ce nom de cid, et que de -pareilles gens on ne doit attendre rien de vrai, puisqu’ils sont tous -menteurs et faussaires, cela lui fit craindre que cet écrivain n’eût -parlé de ses amours avec madame Dulcinée du Toboso d’une manière peu -décente et qui entachât l’honneur de la souveraine de son cœur. Il -espérait au moins qu’en parlant de lui, l’auteur avait eu soin d’exalter -cette admirable constance envers sa dame, qui lui fit refuser tant -d’impératrices et de reines, pour ne point porter d’atteinte, même -légère, à la fidélité qu’il lui devait. Ce fut plongé dans ces pensées -que le trouvèrent Sancho Panza et Samson Carrasco, et il sortit comme -d’un assoupissement pour recevoir le bachelier, à qui il fit beaucoup de -civilités. - -Bien qu’il s’appelât Samson, ce Carrasco était un petit homme, âgé -d’environ vingt-quatre ans, maigre et pâle, de beaucoup d’esprit et -très-railleur: il avait le visage rond, le nez camard et la bouche -grande, signes caractéristiques des gens qui ne se font pas scrupule de -se divertir aux dépens d’autrui. En entrant chez don Quichotte, il se -jeta à genoux en lui demandant sa main à baiser: Seigneur, lui dit-il, -par les licences que j’ai reçues, vous êtes bien le plus fameux -chevalier errant qui ait jamais été et qui sera jamais dans tout -l’univers. Soit mille fois loué Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli du soin qu’il a -pris d’écrire l’histoire de vos merveilleuses prouesses! et cent mille -fois loué soit celui qui l’a fidèlement traduit de l’arabe en castillan -et qui par là nous fait jouir d’une si agréable lecture! - -Il est donc vrai, dit don Quichotte en le relevant, que l’on a écrit mon -histoire, et qu’un More en est l’auteur? - -Cela est si vrai, seigneur, repartit Carrasco, qu’à cette heure on en a -imprimé, je crois, plus de douze mille exemplaires tant à Lisbonne qu’à -Barcelone et à Valence; on dit même qu’on a commencé de l’imprimer à -Anvers, et je ne doute point qu’un jour on ne l’imprime partout, et -qu’on ne la traduise dans toutes les langues. - -Une des choses qui peuvent donner le plus de satisfaction à un homme -éminent et vertueux, dit don Quichotte, c’est de se savoir en bon renom -dans le monde, imprimé et gravé de son vivant. - -Oh! pour le bon renom, repartit le bachelier, Votre Grâce l’emporte de -cent piques sur tous les chevaliers errants, car l’auteur more dans sa -langue, et le chrétien dans la sienne, ont pris à tâche de peindre votre -caractère avec tous les ornements qui pouvaient lui donner de l’éclat: -l’intrépidité dans le péril, la patience dans les adversités, le courage -à supporter les blessures, enfin la chasteté de vos amours platoniques -avec madame dona Dulcinée du Toboso. - -Ah! ah! interrompit Sancho, je n’avais pas encore entendu donner le -_don_ à madame Dulcinée du Toboso, on l’appelait seulement madame -Dulcinée, voilà déjà une faute dans l’histoire. - -C’est une objection sans importance, répondit le bachelier. - -Certainement, ajouta don Quichotte. Mais, dites-moi, je vous prie, -seigneur bachelier, quels sont ceux de mes exploits que l’on vante le -plus dans cette histoire? - -Les goûts diffèrent à ce sujet, répondit Carrasco, et les opinions sont -partagées. Ceux-ci raffolent de l’aventure des moulins à vent, que Votre -Grâce prit pour des géants; ceux-là de l’aventure des moulins à foulon; -quelques-uns préfèrent celle des deux armées qui se trouvèrent être deux -troupeaux de moutons; il y en a qui sont pour l’histoire du mort qu’on -menait à Ségovie; d’autres pour celle des forçats; beaucoup enfin -prétendent que votre bataille contre le valeureux Biscayen l’emporte sur -tout le reste. - -Dites-moi, je vous prie, seigneur bachelier, demanda Sancho, parle-t-on -dans cette histoire de l’aventure des muletiers Yangois, quant il prit -fantaisie à Rossinante de faire le galant? - -Il n’y manque rien, répondit le bachelier: l’auteur n’a rien laissé au -fond de son écritoire, il a tout relaté, tout bien circonstancié, -jusqu’aux cabrioles que le bon Sancho fit dans la couverture. - -Je ne fis pas de cabrioles dans la couverture, répliqua Sancho; mais -dans l’air, et beaucoup plus que je n’aurais voulu. - -Il n’y a point d’histoire, ajouta don Quichotte, qui n’ait ses hauts et -ses bas, surtout les histoires qui traitent de chevalerie, car elles ne -sont pas toujours remplies d’événements heureux. - -En effet, repartit Carrasco, parmi ceux qui ont lu celle-ci, beaucoup -disent que l’auteur aurait bien dû omettre quelques-uns de ces nombreux -coups de bâton que le seigneur don Quichotte a reçus en diverses -rencontres. - -Ils sont pourtant bien réels, dit Sancho. - -On aurait mieux fait de les passer sous silence, reprit don Quichotte: à -quoi bon rapporter des choses inutiles à l’intelligence du récit, et qui -sont faites pour déconsidérer le héros qui en est l’objet? Croit-on -qu’Énée ait été aussi pieux que le dépeint Virgile, et Ulysse aussi -prudent que le fait Homère? - -En effet, répliqua Carrasco, autre chose est d’écrire comme poëte ou -d’écrire comme historien; le poëte peut raconter les événements non tels -qu’ils furent, mais tels qu’ils devraient être; tandis que l’historien -doit toujours les rapporter comme ils sont, sans rien y ajouter, ni rien -retrancher. - -Pardieu, si ce seigneur more est un historien véridique, dit Sancho, -sans doute qu’en parlant des coups de bâton de mon maître, il aura fait -mention des miens; car jamais on n’a pris à Sa Grâce la mesure des -épaules, qu’en même temps on ne m’ait pris celle de tout le corps. Mais -il ne faut pas s’en étonner, si, comme le dit monseigneur, du mal de la -tête les membres doivent souffrir. - -Sancho, vous êtes un mauvais plaisant, reprit don Quichotte, et vous ne -manquez pas de mémoire, quand cela vous convient. - -Comment pourrais-je oublier les coups de bâton, repartit Sancho, quand -les meurtrissures sont encore toutes fraîches sur mes côtes? - -Taisez-vous, dit don Quichotte, et n’interrompez pas le seigneur -bachelier, que je prie de passer outre, et de m’apprendre ce qu’on -raconte de moi dans l’histoire en question. - -Et de moi aussi, ajouta Sancho, car on prétend que j’en suis un des -principaux parsonnages. - -Dites personnages, et non parsonnages, interrompit Carrasco. - -Allons! voilà un autre éplucheur de paroles, s’écria Sancho; si cela -continue, nous ne finirons de la vie. - -Que Dieu cesse de veiller sur la mienne, Sancho, reprit le bachelier, si -vous n’êtes pas le second personnage de cette histoire; il y a des gens -qui préfèrent vous entendre parler que d’entendre le plus huppé du -livre; mais on trouve que vous avez été bien crédule en prenant pour -argent comptant cette île que le seigneur don Quichotte devait vous -donner à gouverner. - -Il y a encore du soleil derrière la montagne, dit don Quichotte; à -mesure que Sancho avancera en âge, il deviendra, avec l’expérience des -années, plus capable d’être gouverneur qu’il ne l’est à présent. - -Par ma foi, reprit Sancho, l’île que je ne saurais pas gouverner à l’âge -que j’ai, je n’en viendrais pas à bout, quand même j’aurais l’âge de -Mathusalem: le mal est que l’île se cache, et qu’on ne sait où la -trouver, mais ce n’est pas la cervelle qui manque pour cela. - -Il faut s’en rapporter à Dieu là-dessus, reprit don Quichotte, et tout -ira peut-être mieux qu’on ne pense; il ne tombe pas une feuille de -l’arbre sans sa volonté. - -Cela est vrai, reprit Carrasco, et si Dieu le veut, Sancho aura plutôt -cent îles à gouverner qu’une seule. - -Moi, j’ai vu par ici, dit Sancho, des gouverneurs qui ne me vont pas à -la cheville; cependant on les traite de Seigneurie, et ils mangent dans -des plats d’argent. - -Ce ne sont pas des gouverneurs d’îles, mais d’autres gouvernements plus -à la main, reprit Carrasco; car ceux qui ont la prétention de gouverner -des îles doivent au moins savoir la grammaire. - -Je n’entends rien à toutes vos balivernes, répliqua Sancho; au reste, -Dieu saura m’envoyer là où je pourrai mieux le servir. Seigneur -bachelier, l’auteur de cette histoire a bien fait, en parlant de moi, de -prendre garde à ce qu’il disait; autrement je jure que j’aurais crié à -me faire entendre des sourds. - -Par ma foi, on aurait crié au miracle, repartit Samson. - -Miracle ou non, répliqua Sancho, que chacun fasse attention à la manière -dont il parle des personnes, et qu’il ne mette pas à tort et à travers -tout ce qui lui passe par la cervelle. - -Un des défauts de cette histoire, continua le bachelier, c’est que -l’auteur y a inséré une nouvelle intitulée: _le Curieux malavisé_; non -que cette nouvelle soit ennuyeuse ou mal écrite, mais parce qu’elle n’a -aucun rapport avec les aventures du seigneur don Quichotte. - -Je gage que, dans cette histoire, ce fils de chien aura tout fourré -pêle-mêle comme dans une valise, dit Sancho. - -S’il en est ainsi, reprit don Quichotte, cet historien n’est pas un sage -enchanteur, mais quelque bavard ignorant; il aura sans doute écrit sans -jugement et au hasard, comme peignait ce peintre d’Ubeda qui, lorsqu’on -lui demandait ce qu’il allait faire, répondait: Ce qui se rencontrera. -Une fois, il peignit un coq si ressemblant, qu’on fut obligé d’écrire au -bas: Ceci est un coq. Je crains bien qu’il n’en soit de même de mon -histoire, et qu’elle n’ait grand besoin de commentaire. - -Oh! pour cela, non, répondit Carrasco; elle est si claire, qu’aucune -difficulté n’y embarrasse, et que tout le monde la comprend. Les enfants -la feuillettent, les jeunes gens la dévorent, les hommes en sont épris, -les vieillards la vantent. Finalement, elle est lue et relue par tant de -gens, qu’à peine voit-on passer un cheval étique, aussitôt chacun de -s’écrier: Voilà Rossinante. Mais ceux qui raffolent le plus de cette -lecture, ce sont les pages: il n’y a pas d’antichambre de grand seigneur -où l’on ne trouve un DON QUICHOTTE; dès que l’un l’a quitté, l’autre -s’en empare; et tous voudraient l’avoir à la fois. Enfin, ce livre est -bien le plus agréable et le plus innocent passe-temps que l’on ait -encore vu, car on n’y rencontre pas un seul mot qui éveille une pensée -déshonnête ou qui prête à une interprétation qui ne soit parfaitement -orthodoxe. - -Celui qui écrirait autrement mériterait d’être brûlé vif comme -faux-monnayeur, reprit don Quichotte. Mais je ne sais vraiment pourquoi -l’auteur s’est avisé d’aller mettre dans cette histoire des aventures -épisodiques et qui n’ont nul rapport au sujet, alors que les miennes lui -fournissaient une si ample matière? Rien qu’avec mes pensées, mes -soupirs, mes larmes, mes chastes désirs et mes hardies entreprises, -n’avait-il pas de quoi remplir plusieurs volumes? Je conclus de tout -ceci, seigneur bachelier, que pour composer un livre il faut posséder un -jugement solide et un mûr entendement; il n’appartient qu’aux grands -esprits de plaisanter avec grâce, de dire des choses piquantes et -ingénieuses. Dans la comédie, vous le savez, le rôle le plus difficile à -peindre, c’est celui du niais; car il ne faut pas être simple pour -savoir le paraître à propos. Je ne dis rien de l’histoire, chose sacrée, -qui doit toujours être conforme à la vérité; et cependant on voit des -gens qui composent et débitent des livres à la douzaine, comme si -c’étaient des beignets. - -Il n’y a livre si médiocre qui ne contienne quelque chose de bon, dit le -bachelier. - -Sans doute, repartit don Quichotte: mais on a vu souvent des écrits -vantés tant qu’il restent en portefeuille, être réduits à rien dès -qu’ils sont livrés à l’impression. - -La raison en est simple, dit Carrasco; un ouvrage imprimé s’examine à -loisir, on est à même d’en saisir tous les défauts, et plus la -réputation de l’auteur est grande, plus on les relève avec soin. Nos -grands poëtes, nos historiens célèbres, ont toujours eu pour envieux -cette foule de gens qui n’ayant jamais rien produit, se font un malin -plaisir de juger sévèrement les ouvrages d’autrui. - -Il ne faut pas s’en étonner, reprit don Quichotte; nous avons quantité -de théologiens qui figureraient très-mal en chaire, quoiqu’ils jugent -admirablement des sermons. - -D’accord, répliqua le bachelier, mais au moins ces rigides censeurs -devraient être plus indulgents, et considérer que _si aliquando bonus -dormitat Homerus_[73], il a dû se tenir longtemps éveillé pour imprimer -à la lumière de son œuvre le moins d’ombre possible; il se pourrait -même que ces prétendus défauts dont ils sont choqués fussent comme ces -signes qui relèvent la beauté de certains visages. Aussi, je dis que -celui qui publie un livre s’expose à une bien grande épreuve, car, quoi -qu’il fasse, il ne pourra jamais plaire à tout le monde. - - [73] Si le bon Homère dort quelquefois. - -D’après cela, dit don Quichotte, je crois que mon histoire n’aura pas -satisfait beaucoup de gens. - -Au contraire, repartit le bachelier; comme _stultorum infinitus est -numerus_[74], infini est le nombre de ceux à qui a plu cette histoire. -On reproche seulement à l’auteur de manquer de mémoire, parce qu’il -oublie de faire connaître le voleur qui déroba l’âne de Sancho; en -effet, il dit que le grison fut volé, et quelques pages plus loin on -revoit Sancho sur son âne, sans qu’on sache comment il l’a retrouvé. On -lui reproche encore d’avoir oublié de nous apprendre ce que Sancho fit -des cent écus qu’il trouva dans certaine valise; car il n’en est plus -question, et l’on serait bien aise de savoir ce qu’ils sont devenus. - - [74] Infini est le nombre des fous. - -Seigneur bachelier, répondit Sancho, je ne suis guère, à l’heure qu’il -est, en état de vous répondre sur tant de points; je viens d’être pris -d’une faiblesse d’estomac que je vais m’empresser de guérir avec deux -bonnes rasades. Ma ménagère m’attend, et dès que j’aurai fini, je -reviendrai vous satisfaire sur l’âne, sur les cent écus, sur tout ce que -vous voudrez; et il partit sans attendre de réponse. - -Don Quichotte retint Carrasco à dîner; on ajouta deux pigeons à -l’ordinaire, ils prirent place à table, et le bachelier se mettant à -l’unisson de son hôte, on ne parla que de chevalerie. Après le repas, -ils firent la sieste, et quand Sancho revint on reprit la conversation. - -CHAPITRE IV - -OU SANCHO PANZA RÉPOND AUX QUESTIONS ET ÉCLAIRCIT LES DOUTES DU -BACHELIER SAMSON CARRASCO, AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS DIGNES D’ÊTRE -RACONTÉS - -Vous voulez savoir, seigneur bachelier, dit Sancho, reprenant la -conversation précédente, quand, comment et par qui mon âne fut volé. Eh -bien, je m’en vais vous le dire. La nuit où, redoutant la -Sainte-Hermandad, nous gagnâmes, mon seigneur et moi, la sierra Morena, -après cette maudite aventure des forçats et la rencontre du défunt qu’on -menait à Ségovie, nous nous enfonçâmes dans l’épaisseur d’un bois, et -là, lui à cheval, et appuyé sur sa lance, et moi planté sur mon grison, -tous deux moulus de nos derniers combats, nous nous endormîmes comme sur -de bons lits de plume. Pour mon compte, mon sommeil fut si profond, que -qui voulut eut tout le temps de mettre quatre pieux aux quatre coins du -bât pour le soutenir, puis de tirer mon âne d’entre mes jambes sans que -je m’en aperçusse. - -L’aventure n’est pas nouvelle, dit don Quichotte; pareille chose est -arrivée à Sacripan, lorsqu’au siége d’Albraque ce larron de Brunel lui -déroba son cheval. - -Le jour vint, continua Sancho, et au premier mouvement que je fis en -m’éveillant, les quatre pieux manquant à la fois, je tombai à terre fort -lourdement. Je cherchai mon âne, et je ne le vis plus. Aussitôt mes yeux -se remplirent de larmes, et je me livrai à une lamentation telle que si -l’auteur de notre histoire n’en a rien dit, il peut se vanter d’avoir -oublié un excellent morceau. A quelque temps de là, comme je suivais -madame la princesse Micomicona, je reconnus sur le dos de mon âne, en -habit de bohémien, ce vaurien de Ginez de Passamont que mon maître avait -délivré de sa chaîne. - -Ce n’est pas en cela qu’est l’erreur, dit Carrasco, mais en ce qu’avant -d’avoir retrouvé l’âne, l’auteur dit que Sancho était monté sur ce même -grison. - -Je n’ai rien à répondre à cela, reprit Sancho, sinon que l’historien -s’est trompé ou que c’est une faute de l’imprimeur. - -C’est assez probable; mais qu’avez-vous fait des cent écus? demanda -Carrasco. - -Je les ai défaits, répondit Sancho; je les ai dépensés pour l’utilité de -ma personne, pour celle de ma femme et de mes enfants. Ils sont cause -que ma Thérèse a pris en patience toutes mes courses à la suite du -Seigneur don Quichotte; car si, après ma longue absence, j’étais revenu -sans âne et sans argent, je n’en aurais pas été quitte à bon marché! -Maintenant veut-on en savoir plus long? Me voici prêt à répondre au roi -même en personne. Et qu’on ne se mette point à éplucher ce que j’ai -rapporté, ce que j’ai dépensé; car si tous les coups de bâton que j’ai -reçus dans le cours de ces voyages m’étaient comptés seulement quatre -maravédis la pièce, mille réaux ne suffiraient pas pour m’en payer la -moitié. Seigneur bachelier, que chacun s’examine, sans se mêler de -critiquer les autres. - -J’aurai soin, reprit Carrasco, d’avertir l’auteur de l’histoire de ne -point oublier, s’il la réimprime, ce que le bon Sancho vient de dire; -cela devra rehausser le prix d’une nouvelle édition. - -Y a-t-il encore autre chose à corriger? demanda don Quichotte. - -Sans doute, répondit Carrasco, mais aucune correction n’aura -l’importance de celle-ci. - -Et l’auteur promet-il par hasard une seconde partie? poursuivit don -Quichotte. - -Oui, certes, répondit Carrasco, mais il dit qu’il ne l’a pas encore -trouvée et qu’il ne sait où la prendre; de sorte qu’on ignore si jamais -elle paraîtra. Ainsi, pour cette raison d’abord, puis à cause de la -prévention que le public a toujours eue pour les secondes parties, on -craint bien que l’auteur n’en reste là; et pourtant on ne cesse de -demander des Aventures de don Quichotte. Que don Quichotte agisse et que -Sancho Panza parle, entend-on répéter à tout propos, nous sommes -contents. - -Et à quoi se décide l’auteur? demanda notre chevalier. - -A quoi? répondit Carrasco, à chercher cette histoire avec un soin -extrême, et quand il l’aura trouvée, à la livrer sans retard à -l’impression, plutôt en vue du profit que de l’honneur qu’il peut en -tirer. - -Ah! l’auteur ne pense qu’à l’argent! s’écria Sancho; par ma foi, ce sera -merveille s’il réussit. Il m’a bien la mine de faire comme ces tailleurs -qui, la veille de Pâques, cousent à grands points pour expédier la -besogne, mais du diable s’il y a morceau qui tienne. Dites de ma part à -ce seigneur more de prendre un peu de patience; car mon maître et moi -nous lui fournirons bientôt tant d’aventures, qu’il pourra publier -non-seulement une seconde partie, mais dix autres encore. Le bon homme -pense peut-être que nous ne songeons qu’à dormir; eh bien, qu’il vienne -nous tenir le pied à la forge, et il verra duquel nous sommes -chatouilleux. Tenez, seigneur bachelier, si mon maître voulait suivre -mon conseil, nous serions déjà en campagne, redressant les torts, -réparant les injustices, vengeant les outrages, comme c’est le devoir -des chevaliers errants. - -A peine Sancho achevait de parler, qu’on entendit hennir Rossinante; don -Quichotte, voyant là un favorable augure, résolut de faire sous peu de -jours une nouvelle sortie. Il s’ouvrit de son projet à Samson Carrasco, -et lui demanda son avis sur le chemin qu’il devait prendre. - -Si vous m’en croyez, répondit le bachelier, vous vous dirigerez du côté -de Saragosse, où dans peu, pour la Saint-Georges, doivent avoir lieu des -joutes solennelles; là il y aura de la gloire à acquérir, car, en -l’emportant sur les chevaliers aragonais, vous pourrez vous vanter de -l’emporter sur tous les chevaliers du monde. Carrasco loua sa généreuse -résolution, tout en lui conseillant d’affronter désormais le péril avec -moins de témérité, parce que sa vie ne lui appartenait pas, mais à ceux -qui avaient besoin du secours de son bras. - -Voilà justement ce qui me fait donner au diable, dit Sancho; mon maître -se précipite sur cent hommes armés, comme un enfant gourmand tombe sur -une douzaine de poires. Mort de ma vie! il y a temps pour attaquer, et -temps pour faire retraite; on ne peut pas toujours crier _Saint -Jacques!_ et _Ferme Espagne!_ d’autant plus que j’ai entendu dire bien -des fois, et, si j’ai bonne mémoire, c’est à monseigneur lui-même, -qu’entre la témérité et la poltronnerie, il y place pour le vrai -courage. On ne doit donc pas fuir sans motif, ni attaquer hors de -propos. Au surplus, je l’avertis que s’il m’emmène avec lui, ce sera à -condition qu’il se chargera seul de toutes les batailles, et que je -n’aurai à m’occuper que de sa nourriture et de ses vêtements; oh! pour -cela, il ne me trouvera pas en défaut; mais espérer que je mette l’épée -à la main, fût-ce même contre des muletiers, par ma foi, je suis bien -son serviteur. - -Seigneur bachelier, jamais je n’ai songé à passer pour un Roland, mais -pour le meilleur et le plus loyal écuyer qui ait servi chevalier errant. -Après cela, si, en récompense de mes bons services, monseigneur don -Quichotte veut m’accorder une de ces îles qu’il doit conquérir, à la -bonne heure! je lui en aurai grande obligation. S’il ne me la donne pas, -eh bien, il faudra s’en consoler; l’homme ne doit pas vivre sur la -parole d’autrui, mais sur celle de Dieu. Et puis, gouverné ou -gouvernant, le pain que je mangerai me semblera-t-il meilleur? Que -sais-je même, si, en fin de compte, le diable ne me prépare pas dans ces -gouvernements quelque croc-en-jambe pour me faire tomber et casser la -mâchoire? Sancho je suis né, et Sancho je pense mourir. Pourtant, si, -sans risques ni soucis, le ciel m’envoyait une île ou quelque chose de -semblable, je ne suis pas si sot que d’en faire fi. Quand on te donne la -génisse, dit le proverbe, jette-lui la corde au cou et mène-la dans ta -maison. - -Ami Sancho, vous venez de parler comme un livre, reprit le bachelier; -prenez patience; tout vient à point pour qui sait attendre, et le -seigneur don Quichotte vous donnera non-seulement une île, mais un -royaume. - -Va pour le plus comme pour le moins, repartit Sancho. Soyez certain, -seigneur bachelier, que si mon maître me donne un royaume, il n’aura pas -lieu de s’en repentir; je me suis bien tâté là-dessus, et me sens de -force à gouverner île ou royaume. - -Prenez garde, Sancho, dit le bachelier; les honneurs changent les -mœurs, et il se pourrait qu’une fois gouverneur, vous en vinssiez à -méconnaître la mère qui vous a mis au monde. - -Cela serait bon pour ces petites gens nés sous la feuille d’un chou, -répliqua Sancho; mais ceux qui, comme moi, ont sur l’âme quatre doigts -de graisse de vieux chrétien! oh! ne craignez rien, tout le monde sera -content. - -Dieu le veuille ainsi, ajouta don Quichotte. Au reste, nous ne tarderons -pas à voir Sancho à l’œuvre; car, si je ne me trompe, l’île est bien -près de venir, je crois déjà la voir d’ici. - -Cela dit, notre héros pria le bachelier, en sa qualité de poëte de -vouloir bien lui composer quelques vers pour prendre congé de madame -Dulcinée du Toboso. Je voudrais, lui dit-il, que chaque vers commençât -par une lettre de son nom, de manière que les premières lettres de -chacun d’eux formassent par leur réunion le nom de Dulcinée du Toboso. - -Bien que je ne sois pas un des poëtes fameux que possède l’Espagne, -puisqu’on n’en compte que trois et demi, j’essayerai de vous donner -satisfaction, repartit le bachelier. - -Surtout, répliqua don Quichotte, faites de façon à ne pas laisser croire -que ces vers aient pu être composés pour une autre dame que pour -Dulcinée du Toboso. - -Ils tombèrent d’accord sur ce point et fixèrent le départ à huit jours -de là. Don Quichotte recommanda au bachelier le secret, surtout à -l’égard du curé, de maître Nicolas, de sa nièce et de sa gouvernante, -afin qu’ils ne vinssent pas se jeter en travers de sa louable -résolution. Carrasco le promit et prit congé de notre héros, le priant -de l’aviser, quand il en aurait l’occasion, de sa bonne ou de sa -mauvaise fortune. Sur cela ils se séparèrent, et Sancho alla faire ses -dispositions pour leur nouvelle campagne. - -CHAPITRE V - -DU SPIRITUEL, PROFOND ET GRACIEUX ENTRETIEN DE SANCHO ET DE SA FEMME, -AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS DIGNES D’HEUREUSE SOUVENANCE - -En arrivant à écrire ce cinquième chapitre, le traducteur de cette -histoire avertit qu’il le tient pour apocryphe, parce que Sancho y parle -un langage qui semble surpasser son intelligence bornée, et qu’il y dit -des choses si subtiles qu’elles ne sauraient venir de son propre fonds; -toutefois, il ajoute qu’il n’a pas voulu manquer de le traduire, comme -c’était son devoir, puis il continue de la sorte: - -Sancho revenait chez lui si joyeux, si content, que sa femme, qui avait -aperçu son allégresse à la distance d’un trait d’arbalète, lui demanda -avec empressement: Qu’avez-vous donc, mon ami, que vous paraissez si -joyeux? - -Femme, répondit Sancho, je le serais bien davantage, si je n’étais pas -si content. - -Je ne vous comprends pas, mon ami. Vous dites que vous seriez plus -joyeux si vous n’étiez pas si content; encore que je sois bien sotte, je -ne crois pas qu’on puisse regretter d’être content. - -Apprends, Thérèse, répondit Sancho, que si je suis joyeux, c’est parce -que j’ai résolu de repartir avec mon maître don Quichotte, qui s’en va -pour la troisième fois chercher les aventures; apprends de plus que si -je m’en vais avec lui, c’est d’abord par nécessité, et ensuite dans -l’espoir de trouver cent autres écus comme ceux que nous avons déjà -dépensés; car si Dieu m’avait accordé de vivre à l’aise dans ma maison, -ce qui lui était facile, puisqu’il n’avait qu’à le vouloir, ma joie -serait bien plus grande encore, car je n’aurais pas le déplaisir de te -quitter ainsi que mes enfants! N’ai-je donc pas raison de dire que je -serais plus content si je n’étais pas si joyeux? - -En vérité, dit Thérèse, il n’y a plus moyen de vous entendre depuis que -vous êtes dans vos chevaleries. - -Dieu m’entend, femme, répliqua Sancho; et comme il est l’entendeur de -toutes choses, cela me suffit. Aie seulement soin du grison pendant ces -trois jours-ci, afin qu’il soit en bon état; double-lui sa ration, -regarde s’il ne manque rien aux harnais, car ce n’est pas à la noce que -nous allons, mais bien faire le tour du monde, nous prendre de querelle -avec des géants, des andriaques, des vampires; et tout cela encore ne -serait que pain bénit, si l’on ne rencontrait pas des muletiers yangois -et des Mores enchantés. - -Je me doute bien, répliqua Thérèse, que les écuyers errants ne mangent -pas gratis le pain de leur maître; aussi je prierai Dieu qu’il vous -garantisse des mauvaises aventures. - -Vois-tu, femme, dit Sancho, si je n’espérais devenir bientôt gouverneur -d’une île, je me laisserais tomber mort à l’instant même. - -Que dites-vous là, Sancho? reprit Thérèse, vive, vive la poule, même -avec sa pépie! Vivez donc, et que les gouvernements s’en aillent à tous -les diables. Vous êtes sorti sans gouvernement du ventre de votre mère, -et sans gouvernement vous avez vécu jusqu’à cette heure; il faudra bien -trouver moyen de s’en passer; que de gens vivent sans cela, et qui n’en -sont pas moins gens de bien! Tenez, la meilleure sauce du monde c’est la -faim, et comme elle ne manque jamais aux pauvres, ils mangent toujours -avec appétit. Mais pourtant, mon ami, si vous veniez à attraper un -gouvernement, tâchez de ne pas oublier votre femme et vos enfants. Votre -fils Sancho a bientôt quinze ans, et il est temps de l’envoyer à -l’école, si tant est que son oncle le bénéficier le destine toujours à -l’Église; quant à Sanchette, votre fille, je ne pense pas qu’un mari lui -fasse peur; et si je ne me trompe, elle n’a pas moins d’envie d’être -mariée que vous d’être gouverneur; après tout, mieux vaut fille mal -mariée que bien amourachée. - -Écoute, femme, repartit Sancho, je t’assure que si je deviens -gouverneur, je marierai notre fille en si haut lieu, qu’on ne -l’approchera pas à moins de la traiter de Seigneurie. - -Oh! pour cela, non, non, s’il vous plaît, répliqua Thérèse, croyez-moi, -mariez-la avec votre égal, c’est le plus sage parti; mais si vous la -faites passer des sabots aux escarpins et de la jaquette de laine au -vertugadin de velours; si d’une Sanchette qu’on tutoie, vous en faites -une dona Maria, qu’on traitera de Seigneurie, la pauvre enfant ne s’y -reconnaîtra plus, et fera voir à chaque instant qu’elle n’est qu’une -grossière paysanne. - -Tais-toi, sotte, repartit Sancho, tout cela n’est que l’affaire de deux -ou trois ans, après quoi tu verras si elle ne fait pas comme les autres! -Qu’elle soit Seigneurie d’abord, après nous verrons. - -Mesurez-vous avec votre état, Sancho, reprit Thérèse, sans chercher à -vous élever plus haut que lui. Ce serait, par ma foi, une belle affaire -de marier notre Sanchette avec quelque gentillâtre, qui, lorsqu’il lui -en prendrait fantaisie, l’appellerait fille de manant pioche-terre et de -dame tourne-fuseau. Non, non, mon ami, ce n’est pas pour cela que je -l’ai élevée; tâchez seulement d’apporter de l’argent; et quant à la -marier, fiez-vous-en à moi. Nous avons ici tout près le fils de Juan -Tocho, notre voisin, Lope Tocho, garçon frais et gaillard, que nous -connaissons depuis longtemps; je sais qu’il ne regarde pas la petite -d’un mauvais œil, il est notre égal, et avec lui elle sera bien -mariée. Nous les aurons tous les deux sous nos yeux; père, mère, enfants -et petits-enfants, nous vivrons tous ensemble, et la bénédiction de Dieu -sera sur nous. Mais n’allez pas me la marier dans vos grands palais, où -on ne l’entendrait pas plus qu’elle ne s’entendrait elle-même. - -Viens çà, bête opiniâtre, femme de Barabbas, répliqua Sancho; pourquoi -veux-tu m’empêcher, sans rime ni raison, de marier ma fille avec un -homme qui me donnerait des grands seigneurs pour héritiers? Écoute, -Thérèse, j’ai toujours entendu dire à mon grand-père que celui qui ne -sait pas saisir le bonheur quand il vient ne doit pas se plaindre quand -il s’en va; ainsi, à cette heure, qu’il frappe à notre porte, nous -serions bien sots de la lui fermer au nez. Laissons-nous donc emporter -par le vent favorable de la fortune, puisqu’il souffle dans nos voiles! -(C’est à cause de cette façon de parler, et aussi pour ce que Sancho va -dire plus bas, que le traducteur de cette histoire tient le présent -chapitre pour apocryphe.) Lorsque j’aurai attrapé quelque bon -gouvernement qui nous tire de la misère, et que j’aurai marié ma fille -selon mon goût, tu verras alors comme on t’appellera dona Teresa Panza, -gros comme le poing, et comment à l’église tu t’assoiras sur des tapis -et des carreaux de velours, en dépit de toutes les femmes d’hidalgos du -pays? Veux-tu donc rester toujours dans le même état, sans jamais -croître ni décroître, comme une figure de tapisserie? Mais en voilà -assez là-dessus. Quoi que tu dises, notre fille sera comtesse. - -Prenez garde à ce que vous dites, mon ami, répondit Thérèse, j’ai bien -peur que tout cela ne soit un jour la perdition de votre fille. -Faites-en ce que vous voudrez, mais pour comtesse, jamais je n’y -donnerai mon consentement. Voyez-vous, Sancho, j’ai toujours aimé -l’égalité, et je ne saurais endurer la morgue et la suffisance; on m’a -nommée, au baptême, Thérèse tout court; mon père s’appelait Cascayo, et -moi je m’appelle Thérèse Panza, parce que je suis votre femme, car je -devrais m’appeler Thérèse Cascayo; mais là où sont les rois, là vont les -lois; tant il y a que je suis contente de mon nom, et ne veux pas qu’on -le grossisse, de peur qu’il ne pèse trop et ne fasse jaser les gens. -Vraiment ils se gêneraient bien pour dire: Voyez donc comme elle fait la -renchérie, cette gardeuse de cochons! Hier encore elle filait de -l’étoupe et allait à la messe avec le pan de sa robe en guise de mante, -et aujourd’hui madame se promène avec une robe de soie et porte un -vertugadin. Si Dieu me conserve mes cinq ou six sens, enfin le nombre -que j’en ai, je jure bien de ne pas leur donner cette satisfaction. Pour -vous, mon ami, soyez gouverneur, président, tout ce qu’il vous plaira; -mais quand à votre fille et à moi, nous ne ferons jamais un pas hors de -notre village, ou je n’aurai pas voix au chapitre. Femme de bon renom a -la jambe cassée et reste à la maison, et fille honnête de travailler se -fait fête. Allez-vous-en courir à vos aventures avec votre seigneur don -Quichotte, et laissez-nous tranquilles; en vérité, je ne sais où il a -pris le _don_ celui-là, car ni son père ni son grand-père ne l’ont -jamais porté! - -En vérité, femme, répliqua Sancho, il faut que tu aies un démon familier -dans le corps; où vas-tu prendre toutes les sottises que tu viens de -débiter? Qu’est-ce que tes Cascayo, tes vertugadins et tes présidents -ont à voir avec ce que j’ai dit? Viens çà, stupide ignorante; car j’ai -bien le droit de t’appeler ainsi, puisque tu n’entends pas raison, et -que tu fuis ton bonheur. Si je te disais qu’il faut que ma fille se -jette du haut d’une tour en bas, ou s’en aille courir le monde, comme -l’infante _dona Urraca_[75], tu pourrais te fâcher: mais si en trois -pas et un saut je fais tant qu’on la nomme madame, si je la tire du -chaume pour la faire asseoir sous un dais, et sur plus de coussins de -velours qu’il n’y a d’Almohades au Maroc, pourquoi ne veux-tu pas être -de mon avis? - - [75] L’infante dona Urraca n’ayant rien reçu dans le partage des biens - de la couronne que fit le roi de Castille, Ferdinand Ier, entre ses - trois fils, prit le bourdon de pèlerin, et menaça son père de quitter - l’Espagne. Elle obtint alors la ville de Zamora. - -Pourquoi? répondit Thérèse; c’est à cause du proverbe qui dit: Qui te -couvre, te découvre. On ne jette les yeux qu’en passant sur les pauvres, -mais on les arrête sur les riches; quand le riche a été pauvre, on ne -fait que murmurer et en médire, et le pis est que lorsqu’on a commencé, -on ne finit plus; car il y a dans les rues des médisants par tas, comme -des essaims d’abeilles. - -Ma pauvre Thérèse, répliqua Sancho, je m’en vais te dire des choses que -tu n’as peut-être jamais entendues en toute ta vie, et certes elles ne -sont pas de mon cru, car ce sont les propres paroles du prédicateur qui -prêchait le carême dernier dans notre village. Il disait, si j’ai bonne -mémoire, que les choses qu’on a tous les jours devant les yeux entrent -dans la tête, et s’impriment mieux dans la mémoire que les choses -passées. (Ce discours que va tenir Sancho est tellement au-dessus de sa -portée d’esprit habituelle, que c’est le second motif pour lequel le -traducteur croit que le présent chapitre n’est pas authentique.) Ainsi, -lorsque nous voyons un homme paré de beaux habits et entouré de nombreux -valets, nous lui portons involontairement du respect, quoique nous nous -rappelions de l’avoir jadis vu pauvre, parce qu’il ne l’est plus, et que -nous ne pensons qu’à ce qu’il est devenu: l’état où on le voit fait -oublier l’état où on l’a vu. Pourquoi donc, celui que le sort favorise, -s’il est bon et libéral, serait-il moins aimé et estimé que ceux qui -sont de noble race, puisqu’il vit comme s’il l’était, et qu’il mérite de -l’être; il n’y a que les envieux qui se rappellent son passé pour lui en -faire reproche. - -Je ne comprends rien à tout cela, reprit Thérèse; faites ce que vous -voudrez, mon ami, et ne me rompez plus la tête si vous êtes si révolu de -faire ce que vous dites... - -Il faut dire résolu, femme, et non pas révolu, observa Sancho. - -Ne nous amusons point à disputer, répliqua Thérèse, je parle comme il -plaît à Dieu, et cela me suffit. Je veux dire que si vous vous -opiniâtrez à être gouverneur, il faudra emmener avec vous votre fils -Sancho, pour lui apprendre à tenir un gouvernement; car les fils doivent -apprendre de bonne heure le métier de leurs pères. - -Quand je serai dans le gouvernement, répondit Sancho, j’enverrai -chercher le petit par la poste, et en même temps je t’enverrai de -l’argent; je n’en manquerai pas alors, car il n’y a personne qui n’en -prête aux gouverneurs; seulement, fais en sorte que son habit ne laisse -pas voir ce qu’il est, mais ce qu’il doit paraître. - -Commencez par envoyer l’argent, ajouta Thérèse, et je vous l’habillerai -comme un chérubin. - -Or çà, femme, dit Sancho, sommes-nous d’accord que notre fille sera -comtesse? - -Le jour où elle sera comtesse, s’écria Thérèse, je préférerais la voir à -cent pieds sous terre. Mais encore une fois, faites comme vous -l’entendrez: car, vous autres hommes, vous êtes les maîtres, et les -femmes ne sont que vos servantes. - -Là-dessus la pauvre Thérèse se mit à pleurer, comme si l’on eût porté sa -fille en terre. Mais Sancho l’apaisa en l’assurant qu’il attendrait le -plus tard possible pour la faire comtesse, et il alla trouver don -Quichotte pour procéder aux préparatifs du départ. - -CHAPITRE VI - -QUI TRAITE DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC SA NIÈCE ET SA -GOUVERNANTE, ET L’UN DES PLUS IMPORTANTS CHAPITRES DE CETTE HISTOIRE - -Pendant que Sancho Panza et sa femme Thérèse Cascayo avaient ensemble -l’étonnante conversation que nous venons de rapporter, la nièce et la -gouvernante de don Quichotte étaient dans une grande anxiété, car à -mille signes divers elles voyaient bien que leur oncle et seigneur se -préparait à leur échapper une troisième fois pour retourner à sa maudite -chevalerie; aussi, par tous les moyens possibles, tâchaient-elles de -l’en détourner, mais c’était prêcher dans le désert et battre le fer à -froid. - -Enfin après y avoir dépensé toute son éloquence, la gouvernante ne put -s’empêcher de lui dire: En vérité, monseigneur, si Votre Grâce a résolu -de quitter encore une fois sa maison pour s’en aller courir par monts et -par vaux, comme une âme en peine, cherchant ce que vous appelez des -aventures, et ce qu’il faudrait plutôt appeler mauvaises rencontres, je -jure que j’irai m’en plaindre à Dieu et au roi. - -J’ignore, ma mie, repartit don Quichotte, ce que Dieu répondra à vos -plaintes, non plus que ce que dira le roi; mais ce que je sais, c’est -qu’à sa place, je me dispenserais de recevoir toutes ces impertinentes -requêtes qu’on lui fait parvenir chaque jour. Un des plus grands ennuis -de la royauté, parmi beaucoup d’autres, c’est, à mon avis, d’être forcé -d’écouter tout et de répondre à tout; aussi ne voudrais-je pas que mes -affaires causassent au roi le moindre souci. - -Dites-moi, seigneur, demanda la gouvernante, est-ce que dans la cour du -roi il n’y a pas des chevaliers? - -Il y en a un grand nombre, répondit don Quichotte, car ces chevaliers -sont le soutien du trône, et leur présence augmente l’éclat de la -majesté royale. - -Eh bien, reprit la nièce, pourquoi ne seriez-vous pas un de ces heureux -chevaliers qui, sans tourner les talons à tout propos, servent -tranquillement, dans sa cour, leur roi et seigneur? - -Ma mie, répliqua don Quichotte, tous les chevaliers ne peuvent pas être -courtisans, ni tous les courtisans être chevaliers; il faut de tout dans -le monde, et quoique les uns et les autres portent le même nom, il -existe cependant entre eux une grande différence. En effet, sans quitter -la cour, sans dépenser un maravédis, et sans éprouver la moindre -fatigue, il suffit aux courtisans, pour voyager par toute la terre, de -regarder simplement la carte. Mais nous, chevaliers errants, c’est -exposés au brûlant soleil de l’été et au froid glacé de l’hiver, que -nous parcourons incessamment la surface entière du globe; ce n’est pas -en peinture que nous connaissons l’ennemi, c’est armés et à chaque -instant que nous l’affrontons, sans consulter cette loi du duel qui veut -que la longueur des épées soit égale de part et d’autre; sans savoir si -notre adversaire n’a pas sur lui quelque talisman qui lui assure -l’avantage; sans penser, avant d’en venir aux mains, à partager le -soleil; et tant d’autres cérémonies en usage dans les combats -singuliers. Sachez, ma chère nièce, qu’un véritable chevalier errant, -loin de s’épouvanter de la rencontre de dix géants, leurs têtes -dépassassent-elles les nuages, leurs jambes fussent-elles plus grosses -que des tours, leurs bras plus longs que des mâts de navires, leurs yeux -plus grands que des roues de moulins et plus ardents qu’un four de -vitrier; sachez, dis-je, que loin d’éprouver la moindre crainte, ce -chevalier doit, avec une contenance dégagée et un cœur intrépide, -attaquer ces géants, s’efforcer de les vaincre, de les tailler en -pièces: et cela, quand bien même ils auraient pour armure les écailles -d’un certain poisson qu’on dit plus dures que le diamant, et pour épées, -des cimeterres de Damas ou des massues à pointes d’acier, comme j’en ai -vu très-souvent. Je vous dis cela afin que vous fassiez la différence de -tel chevalier à tel autre chevalier; il serait bon que les princes -sussent faire aussi cette différence, afin d’apprécier un peu mieux le -mérite et l’importance de ceux qu’on appelle chevaliers errants, car il -s’est rencontré tel parmi eux qui a été le salut de tout un royaume. - -Que dites-vous là, mon bon seigneur? repartit la nièce; considérez donc -que tout ce qu’on dit des chevaliers errants n’est que fable et -mensonge; par ma foi, leurs histoires mériteraient un _san benito_[76], -comme corruptrices des bonnes mœurs. - - [76] C’était la coiffure des condamnés du Saint-Office. - -Par le Dieu vivant qui nous éclaire! s’écria don Quichotte, si tu -n’étais ma nièce, la fille de ma propre sœur, je t’infligerais, pour le -blasphème que tu viens de prononcer, un tel châtiment, que tout -l’univers en parlerait. Est-il possible qu’une petite morveuse qui sait -à peine tourner le fuseau, ait l’audace de parler ainsi des chevaliers -errants! qu’aurait dit le grand Amadis s’il t’avait entendue tenir un -semblable langage? Tiens... il aurait eu pitié de toi, car c’était le -plus courtois des chevaliers et le plus grand protecteur des jeunes -filles. Mais tel autre te l’aurait fait payer cher; car ils n’avaient -pas tous la même modération, et pour s’appeler chevaliers, ils ne se -ressemblaient pas en toutes choses. Si les uns sont d’or pur, les autres -sont d’alliage. Les premiers s’élèvent par leur mérite et leur courage, -les seconds s’abaissent par leur mollesse et leurs vices. Il faut, je -t’assure, beaucoup de discernement et d’expérience pour distinguer ces -deux espèces de chevaliers, si semblables par le nom, mais si différents -par la conduite. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria la nièce; en vérité, mon cher oncle, vous -pourriez monter en chaire et devenir prédicateur; et pourtant vous êtes -aveugle à ce point de vous croire encore un jeune homme, tout vieux que -vous êtes, et surtout de vous dire chevalier, ne l’étant pas? car bien -que les hidalgos puissent le devenir, ce n’est pas quand ils sont -pauvres. - -En ceci tu as raison, ma chère nièce, répondit don Quichotte, et je -pourrais, sur ce chapitre de la naissance, t’apprendre des choses qui -t’étonneraient; mais pour ne pas mêler le divin au terrestre, je m’en -abstiens. Écoutez seulement ceci, l’une et l’autre, et faites-en votre -profit. On peut réduire à quatre toutes les races ou familles qu’il y a -dans le monde: les unes, parties d’un humble commencement, se sont -progressivement élevées jusqu’à la puissance souveraine; d’autres, -illustres dès l’origine, se maintiennent encore aujourd’hui dans le même -éclat; il en est dont la grandeur peut se comparer à celle des -pyramides: ayant eu d’abord une base large et puissante, elles ont fini -peu à peu en pointe imperceptible; la dernière, enfin, et la plus -nombreuse, est toujours restée dans l’obscurité, et continuera d’y -demeurer, c’est le menu peuple. - -De ces races parties d’humbles commencements, je pourrais citer en -exemple la maison ottomane, qui a eu pour point de départ un simple -pâtre, et s’est élevée successivement au faîte de la grandeur où nous la -voyons aujourd’hui. Nombre de princes qui règnent par droit de -succession et qui ont su conserver en paix leurs États, sont la preuve -des secondes; pour les troisièmes, qui ont fini en pointe ainsi que les -pyramides, nous avons les Pharaons et les Ptolémées d’Égypte, les -Césars de Rome, et cette multitude de princes, assyriens, mèdes, grecs -ou barbares, dont il ne reste plus que le nom. Quant aux familles -plébéiennes, je n’ai rien à en dire, si ce n’est qu’elles servent à -augmenter le nombre des vivants, sans mériter aucune mention dans -l’histoire. - -Par tout ce que je viens de dire, mes enfants, je veux vous faire -conclure qu’il y a des différences considérables entre les races, et que -celle-là seule est grande et illustre, qui se distingue par la vertu, la -richesse et la libéralité de ses membres; je dis la vertu, la richesse -et la libéralité, parce qu’un grand seigneur sans vertu n’est qu’un -grand vicieux; et le riche sans libéralité, qu’un mendiant avare. Ce ne -sont pas les richesses qui font le bonheur, c’est l’usage qu’on en fait. -Le chevalier pauvre a un sûr moyen de prouver qu’il est un véritable -chevalier; ce moyen, c’est de se montrer loyal, obligeant, sans orgueil, -et surtout charitable, car avec deux maravédis seulement qu’il donnera -d’un cœur joyeux, il ne sera pas moins libéral que celui qui fait -l’aumône à son de cloches. En le voyant orné de ces vertus, chacun, même -en sachant sa détresse, le jugera de noble race, et ce serait miracle -qu’il en fût autrement; car l’estime publique a toujours récompensé la -vertu. - -Deux chemins, mes chères filles, peuvent conduire aux richesses et aux -honneurs; ces deux chemins ce sont les lettres et les armes. Il faut -croire que la planète de Mars dominait quand je vins au monde, puisque -les armes sont plus de mon goût; aussi je me vois contraint d’obéir à -leur influence, et de suivre le penchant de ma nature. Oui, c’est en -vain que l’on voudrait me persuader de résister à la volonté du ciel, -d’aller contre ma destinée, et avant tout contre mon désir. Je connais -les rudes travaux imposés à la chevalerie errante, mais je sais aussi -combien on y rencontre de sérieux avantages; je n’ignore pas que le -sentier de la vertu est rude et étroit, et le chemin du vice large et -facile; mais je sais aussi que ces deux voies aboutissent à des -résultats bien différents: le chemin du vice, avec tous ses charmes, -nous conduit à la mort; tandis que le sentier de la vertu, tout pénible -qu’il est, nous conduit à la vie, non à une vie périssable, mais à une -vie qui n’a point de fin; et, comme dit notre grand poëte castillan[77]: - - Par ce sentier étroit, si rude et si pénible, - On arrive à la fin au séjour éternel; - Le chercher autrement, c’est tenter l’impossible - Et renoncer au ciel. - - [77] Garcilaso de la Vega. - -Miséricorde! s’écria la nièce, quoi! mon oncle est poëte aussi? il -connaît tout, il sait tout; je gage, s’il l’eût entrepris, qu’il -pourrait bâtir une maison. - -Ma pauvre enfant, repartit don Quichotte, je t’assure que si l’exercice -de la chevalerie errante ne m’absorbait tout entier, il n’est rien au -monde dont je ne puisse venir à bout. - -En ce moment, on entendit frapper à la porte. Sancho ayant fait -connaître que c’était lui, la gouvernante se cacha aussitôt pour ne pas -le voir, car elle le haïssait mortellement; la nièce alla lui ouvrir; -don Quichotte courut au-devant de son écuyer, l’embrassa, se renferma -avec lui dans sa chambre, où ils eurent ensemble une conversation qui ne -le cède en rien à celle qui vient d’avoir lieu. - -CHAPITRE VII - -DE CE QUI SE PASSA ENTRE DON QUICHOTTE ET SON ÉCUYER, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES -ÉVÉNEMENTS ON NE PEUT PLUS DIGNES DE MÉMOIRE - -Dès que la gouvernante vit Sancho s’enfermer avec son seigneur, elle -devina leur dessein; aussi, se doutant bien que de cette entrevue allait -naître la résolution d’une troisième sortie, elle prit sa mante, et, -pleine de trouble et de chagrin, elle courut trouver le bachelier -Samson Carrasco, pensant que, comme nouvel ami de son maître, et doué -d’une parole facile, il pourrait mieux que personne le dissuader de son -impertinente résolution. Quand elle entra, le bachelier se promenait -dans la cour de sa maison; aussitôt qu’elle l’aperçut, elle se laissa -tomber à ses pieds haletante et désolée. - -Qu’avez-vous, dame gouvernante? demanda Carrasco; qu’est-il donc arrivé? -On dirait que vous allez rendre l’âme. - -Rien, rien, seigneur bachelier, répondit-elle, sinon que mon maître s’en -va; bien certainement il s’en va. - -Et par où s’en va votre maître? demanda Carrasco; s’est-il ouvert -quelque partie du corps? - -Non, seigneur, répondit-elle; il s’en va par la porte de sa folie; je -veux dire, seigneur bachelier de mon âme, qu’il va faire une nouvelle -sortie, et ce sera la troisième, afin d’aller courir encore une fois le -monde à la recherche de ce qu’il appelle d’heureuses aventures, quoique -je ne sache guère comment il peut les nommer ainsi. La première fois, on -nous le ramena couché en travers sur un âne, et roué de coups de bâton; -la seconde, nous le vîmes revenir sur une charrette traînée par des -bœufs, enfermé dans une cage où il se prétendait enchanté, et dans un -état tel que la mère qui l’a mis au monde aurait eu peine à le -reconnaître. Il était jaune comme un parchemin, et il avait les yeux -tellement enfoncés dans le fin fond de la cervelle, que pour le remettre -sur pied, il m’en a coûté plus de cent douzaines d’œufs, comme Dieu le -sait, et comme le diraient mes pauvres poules si elles pouvaient parler. - -Il n’est pas besoin de témoin pour cela, reprit Carrasco; on sait que -pour tout au monde vous ne voudriez pas altérer la vérité. Ainsi donc, -dame gouvernante, il ne s’est passé rien autre chose, et vous n’avez à -cette heure d’autre souci que celui de voir le seigneur don Quichotte -prendre encore une fois la clef des champs? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit-elle. - -Eh bien, ne vous mettez point en peine, repartit le bachelier, retournez -chez vous, et préparez-moi quelque chose de chaud pour déjeuner. Vous -direz seulement, chemin faisant, l’oraison de sainte Apolline; je vous -suis de près et vous verrez merveilles. - -L’oraison de sainte Apolline! _Jésus! Maria!_ s’écria la gouvernante; -ce serait bon si mon maître avait mal aux dents; mais, ce qui est malade -chez lui, c’est la cervelle. - -Allez, dame gouvernante, allez, repartit Carrasco; faites ce que je vous -dis sans répliquer; car, ne l’oubliez pas, je suis bachelier, et qui -plus est de par l’université de Salamanque. - -Là-dessus, la gouvernante se retira, et le bachelier alla trouver le -curé pour comploter avec lui ce qu’on verra plus tard. - -Pendant ce temps, don Quichotte et Sancho avaient ensemble une longue -conversation, dont l’histoire nous a conservé la relation véridique. - -Seigneur, disait Sancho, j’ai fait si bien que ma femme est réluite à me -laisser aller encore une fois avec Votre Grâce, partout où il lui plaira -de m’emmener. - -C’est réduite qu’il faut dire, et non réluite, reprit don Quichotte. - -Je vous ai déjà prié, seigneur, répondit Sancho, de ne pas me reprendre -sur les mots, lorsque vous comprenez ce que je veux dire; quand vous ne -me comprenez pas, dites: Sancho, je ne te comprends pas. Si après cela -je m’explique mal, alors vous pourrez me reprendre; car je n’ai pas un -esprit de contravention et je ne demande pas mieux qu’on m’induise? - -Du diable si je te comprends, repartit don Quichotte; que veux-tu dire -avec ton _esprit de contravention_, et ton je veux bien qu’on -_m’induise_? - -Un esprit de contravention, répliqua Sancho, cela veux dire un esprit -qui est... tout... attendez... tout je ne sais comment, qui n’aime point -à être... vous me comprenez bien. - -Je te comprends encore moins, dit don Quichotte. - -Par ma foi, si vous ne me comprenez pas, je ne sais plus comment parler, -reprit Sancho: nous n’avons donc qu’à en rester là. - -Ah! si vraiment, je devine, repartit don Quichotte: tu veux dire que tu -n’as pas un esprit de contradiction, et que tu es bien aise qu’on -t’instruise. - -Je gagerais ma vie, reprit Sancho, que vous m’avez compris du premier -coup; mais vous prenez plaisir à me faire trébucher à tout bout de -champ. - -Ce n’était pas mon intention, observa don Quichotte; mais enfin que dit -Thérèse? - -Thérèse dit qu’il faut que je prenne mes sûretés avec Votre Grâce, que -quand l’homme se tait le papier parle; que qui prend bien ses mesures ne -se trompe point: qu’un tiens vaut mieux que deux tu l’auras; et moi -j’ajoute qu’un conseil de femme n’est pas grand’chose, mais que celui -qui ne l’écoute pas est un fou. - -C’est aussi mon avis, dit don Quichotte; continue, Sancho, tu parles -aujourd’hui comme un livre. - -Je dis donc, poursuivit Sancho, et Votre Grâce le sait mieux que moi, je -dis donc que nous sommes tous mortels, que l’agneau meurt comme la -brebis, et que nul ne peut en cette vie se promettre une heure au delà -de celle que Dieu a jugé bon de lui accorder; car la mort est sourde, et -lorsqu’elle frappe à notre porte, c’est toujours à grand’hâte, et alors -prières, couronnes, sceptres, mitres n’y peuvent rien, comme disent les -prédicateurs. - -Tout cela est vrai, mais où veux-tu en venir? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je veux en venir, répondit Sancho, à ce que Votre Grâce m’alloue des -gages fixes, c’est-à-dire, tant par mois, tout le temps que j’aurai -l’honneur de la servir, et que ces gages me soient payés sur ses biens. -J’aime mieux cela que d’être à merci, parce que les récompenses -viennent trop tard ou même jamais, tandis qu’avec des gages, je sais au -moins à quoi m’en tenir. Peu ou beaucoup, on est bien aise de savoir ce -que l’on gagne; et qui gagne, ne perd point. Malgré cela, s’il arrivait, -ce que je ne crois ni n’espère plus, que Votre Grâce vînt à me donner -l’île qu’elle m’a promise, je ne suis pas si ingrat ni si exigeant, que -je ne consente volontiers à rabattre mes gages sur le montant des -revenus de l’île. - -A bon chat bon rat, ami Sancho, dit don Quichotte. - -Je gage, repartit Sancho, que Votre Grâce a voulu dire qu’un rat est -aussi bon qu’un chat; mais qu’importe! puisque vous m’avez compris. - -Si bien compris, continua don Quichotte, que j’ai pénétré le fond de ta -pensée, et deviné le but où visent les innombrables flèches de tes -proverbes. Écoute, Sancho, si dans une seule histoire j’avais pu trouver -le plus léger indice de ce que les chevaliers errants donnaient par mois -à leurs écuyers, je ne ferais aucune difficulté de condescendre à ton -désir; mais je t’affirme qu’après les avoir toutes lues et relues, je -n’y ai jamais rencontré rien de semblable. Tout ce que je sais, c’est -que les écuyers servaient à merci; seulement à l’heure où ils y -pensaient le moins; et si la chance tournait en faveur de leurs maîtres, -ils étaient gratifiés de quelque île, ou tout au moins ils attrapaient -un titre ou une seigneurie. Si dans cette espérance, mon ami, vous -voulez rester à mon service, à la bonne heure; sinon je vous baise les -mains; car, croyez-le bien, je n’irai pas pour vos beaux yeux changer -les antiques coutumes de la chevalerie errante. Vous n’avez donc qu’à -retourner chez vous, et consulter votre Thérèse: si elle trouve bon que -vous me serviez dans l’attente des récompenses, ainsi soit-il; si elle -ne le veut pas, ni vous non plus, _bene quidem_, nous n’en serons pas -moins bons amis. Tant que le grain ne manquera pas au colombier, le -colombier ne manquera point de pigeons. Cependant, je vous avertis que -bonne espérance vaut mieux que mauvaise possession, et bonne -revendication mieux que mauvais payement. Vous voyez, Sancho, que les -proverbes ne me coûtent pas plus qu’à un autre. Je vous parle -franchement, si vous n’avez pas envie de me suivre à merci, Dieu vous -bénisse et vous sanctifie! quant à moi, je saurai trouver des écuyers -plus obéissants, plus empressés, et surtout moins bavards que vous. - -Devant une si ferme décision de son maître, Sancho sentit son cœur -défaillir et ses yeux se couvrir d’un nuage; car il s’était persuadé que -pour tous les trésors du monde don Quichotte ne partirait pas sans lui. -Il en était encore tout interdit, lorsque Samson Carrasco survint avec -la nièce et la gouvernante, qui le suivaient, empressées de savoir -comment le bachelier parviendrait à détourner leur seigneur de se lancer -encore une fois à la recherche des aventures. A peine le bachelier -fut-il entré, qu’embrassant les genoux de notre héros: O fleur de la -chevalerie errante, s’écria-t-il, lumière resplendissante des armes, -honneur et miroir de la vaillante nation espagnole! plaise au Dieu -tout-puissant que ceux qui voudraient s’opposer à la généreuse -résolution que tu as formée de faire une troisième sortie, ne sachent -plus comment sortir du labyrinthe de leurs folles pensées, et ne voient -jamais s’accomplir leurs souhaits les plus ardents! - -Il est inutile de réciter plus longtemps l’oraison de sainte Apolline, -dit-il à la gouvernante; je sais que le ciel, dans ses décrets -immuables, a décidé que le seigneur don Quichotte retournerait au grand -exercice de la chevalerie errante; je chargerais donc gravement ma -conscience si je ne conseillais, que dis-je, si je n’intimais à ce -chevalier de faire éclater de nouveau la bonté de son imperturbable -cœur et la force de son valeureux bras, qu’il ne peut laisser plus -longtemps dans l’inaction, sans tromper l’attente des malheureux, sans -faire tort aux orphelins et aux veuves, sans exposer l’honneur des -femmes et des filles, dont il est le rempart et l’appui, sans -contrevenir à toutes les lois de cet ordre incomparable que Dieu -enflamma de son souffle tout-puissant pour la sûreté du genre humain. -Courage donc, seigneur don Quichotte! courage! commençons aujourd’hui -plutôt que demain; et si quelque chose vous manque pour l’exécution de -vos grands desseins, je suis prêt à vous y aider en personne; je -tiendrai non-seulement à honneur d’être écuyer de Votre Grâce, mais j’en -recevrai encore le titre comme la première et la plus glorieuse fortune -du monde. - -Eh bien, que t’avais-je dit, reprit Don Quichotte en se tournant vers -Sancho; crois-tu maintenant que je manquerai d’écuyer? vois-tu qui -s’offre à m’en servir! sais-tu que c’est l’étonnant bachelier Samson -Carrasco, le joyeux boute-en-train de l’université de Salamanque? -Considère comme il est sain de corps et d’esprit, bien fait de sa -personne, et dans la vigueur de l’âge; celui-là sait souffrir le chaud -et le froid, la faim et la soif, et, ce qui vaut mieux, il sait se -taire; enfin c’est un homme qui possède au plus haut degré toutes les -qualités requises chez l’écuyer d’un chevalier errant. A Dieu ne plaise -cependant que pour mon intérêt particulier, j’expose ainsi le vase de la -science, la colonne des lettres, et la palme des beaux-arts! Que le -nouveau Samson reste dans sa patrie dont il est l’honneur et la défense; -ne privons pas son vieux père de l’appui de sa vieillesse; et puisque -Sancho ne veut pas venir avec moi... j’aime mieux me contenter du -premier écuyer venu. - -Si fait, si fait, je veux y aller, reprit Sancho tout attendri et les -yeux pleins de larmes: il ne sera pas dit que j’aurai faussé compagnie à -un homme après avoir mangé son pain. Je ne suis point, Dieu merci, d’une -race ingrate, et, dans notre village, tout le monde connaît ceux dont je -suis sorti; et puis, je vois à vos actes et plus encore à vos paroles, -que vous avez envie de me faire du bien. Si je vous ai demandé des -gages, c’était pour complaire à ma femme; car dès qu’elle s’est mis une -chose dans la tête, il n’y a pas de maillet qui serre autant les cercles -d’une cuve, qu’elle vous serre le bouton pour en venir à ses fins. Mais, -après tout, il faut que l’homme soit homme, et puisque je le suis, je le -serai dans ma maison comme ailleurs, quand on devrait en enrager. Il n’y -a donc plus qu’une chose à faire, c’est que Votre Grâce rédige son -testament et son concile, de telle façon qu’il ne se puisse rétorquer; -après quoi mettons-nous en chemin, afin que l’âme du seigneur bachelier -ne pâtisse pas davantage, car il a dit que sa conscience le pressait de -pousser Votre Grâce à faire une troisième sortie. Quant à moi, mon cher -maître, je suis prêt à vous suivre jusqu’au bout du monde; et je vous -servirai aussi fidèlement, et même mieux qu’aucun des écuyers qui ont -jamais servi les chevaliers errants passés, présents et à venir. - -Le bachelier ne fut pas médiocrement étonné du discours de Sancho, car -bien qu’il connût la première partie de l’histoire de don Quichotte, il -ne croyait pas son écuyer aussi plaisant que l’auteur le fait; mais en -lui entendant dire un testament et un concile qui ne se puisse -rétorquer, au lieu d’un testament et d’un codicille qui ne se puisse -révoquer, il crut aisément tout ce qu’il avait lu sur son compte, et il -se dit en lui-même qu’après le maître il n’y avait guère de plus grand -fou au monde que le serviteur. - -Finalement, don Quichotte et Sancho s’embrassèrent, meilleurs amis que -jamais; puis, sur l’avis du grand Samson Carrasco, qui était devenu son -oracle, notre chevalier arrêta de partir sous trois jours, pendant -lesquels il aurait le loisir de se munir des choses nécessaires pour le -voyage et de se procurer une salade à visière, décidé qu’il était à en -porter désormais une de la sorte. Carrasco s’offrit à lui procurer celle -que possédait un de ses amis, l’assurant qu’elle était de bonne trempe, -et qu’il suffirait de la dérouiller. - -La nièce et la gouvernante, qui attendaient tout autre chose des -conseils du bachelier, lui donnèrent mille malédictions: elles -s’arrachèrent les cheveux et s’égratignèrent le visage, criant et -hurlant, comme si la troisième sortie de don Quichotte eût été un -présage de sa mort. Le projet de Carrasco, en lui conseillant de se -mettre encore une fois en campagne, était de faire ce qu’on verra dans -la suite de cette histoire. - -Enfin, pourvus de tout ce qui leur parut nécessaire, Sancho ayant apaisé -sa femme, et don Quichotte sa nièce et sa gouvernante, un beau soir, -sans témoins, hormis le bachelier, qui voulut les accompagner à -demi-lieue, nos deux chercheurs d’aventures prirent le chemin du Toboso, -don Quichotte sur Rossinante, et Sancho sur son ancien grison, le bissac -bien bourré de provisions de bouche et la bourse garnie d’argent. -Carrasco prit congé du chevalier, après l’avoir supplié de lui donner -avis de sa bonne ou de sa mauvaise fortune, afin de se réjouir de l’une -ou de s’attrister de l’autre, comme le voulait leur amitié. Ils -s’embrassèrent; le bachelier reprit le chemin de son village, et don -Quichotte continua le sien vers la grande cité du Toboso. - -CHAPITRE VIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE ET A SANCHO EN ALLANT VOIR DULCINÉE - -Béni soit le Tout-Puissant Allah! s’écrie cid Hamed-Ben-Engeli au -commencement de ce chapitre, Allah soit béni! répète-t-il par trois -fois! ajoutant que s’il lui adresse ses bénédictions, c’est parce -qu’enfin don Quichotte et Sancho sont en campagne, et que désormais vont -recommencer les exploits du maître et les facéties de l’écuyer. Il -invite en même temps le lecteur à oublier les prouesses passées de notre -héros, pour accorder toute son attention à celles qu’il va raconter et -qui commencent sur le chemin du Toboso, comme les premières ont commencé -dans la plaine de Montiel; et en vérité ce qu’il demande est peu de -chose en comparaison de ce qu’il promet. Après quoi il continue de la -sorte: - -A peine don Quichotte et Sancho venaient-ils de quitter Samson Carrasco, -que Rossinante se mit à hennir et le grison à braire; ce que le maître -et l’écuyer tinrent à bon signe et regardèrent comme un heureux présage. -Toutefois, s’il faut dire la vérité, les soupirs et les braiments de -l’âne furent plus prolongés et plus forts que les hennissements du -cheval, d’où Sancho conclut que son bonheur devait surpasser celui de -son maître, se fondant sur je ne sais quelle astrologie judiciaire dont -il avait sans doute connaissance, quoique l’histoire n’en parle pas. -Seulement on lui avait entendu dire que lorsqu’il trébuchait ou tombait, -il eût voulu n’être pas sorti de sa maison, parce que trébucher et -tomber signifiait, selon lui, souliers rompus, ou côtes brisées; et par -ma foi, tout simple qu’il était, il faut convenir qu’il avait raison. - -Ami Sancho, dit don Quichotte, plus nous marchons, plus la nuit avance, -et bientôt elle sera si obscure, que nous ne pourrons apercevoir le -Toboso; et pourtant c’est là que j’ai résolu de me rendre avant -d’entreprendre aucune aventure. Là je demanderai à la sans pareille -Dulcinée son agrément et sa bénédiction, et dès qu’elle m’aura accordé -l’un et l’autre, j’espère et je suis même assuré de mener à bonne fin -toute périlleuse prouesse, car rien n’exalte et ne fortifie le cœur -d’un chevalier errant comme de se savoir protégé par sa dame. - -Je le crois aussi, répondit Sancho; mais il me semble qu’il sera bien -difficile à Votre Grâce de lui parler et de recevoir sa bénédiction, à -moins cependant qu’elle ne vous la jette par-dessus le mur de la -basse-cour où je la vis la première fois quand je lui portai votre -lettre avec le détail des extravagances que vous faisiez pour elle au -fond de la Sierra-Morena. - -Un mur de basse-cour! s’écria don Quichotte. Quoi! c’est là que tu -t’imagines avoir vu cet astre de beauté! Tu te trompes grandement, mon -ami; ce ne pouvait être que sur quelque balcon doré ou sous le riche -vestibule de quelque somptueux palais. - -C’est possible, répondit Sancho; mais à moi, si je m’en souviens bien, -cela m’a semblé le mur d’une basse-cour. - -Quoi qu’il en soit, allons-y, reprit don Quichotte, et pourvu que je -voie Dulcinée, peu m’importe que ce soit par-dessus le mur d’une -basse-cour ou à travers la grille d’un jardin, car de quelque endroit -que m’arrive le moindre rayon de sa beauté, il éclairera mon entendement -et fortifiera mon cœur de telle sorte que je deviendrai sans égal pour -l’esprit et pour la vaillance. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, dit Sancho, quand je vis ce soleil de madame -Dulcinée, il n’était pas assez brillant pour jeter aucun rayon. Mais -cela vient sans doute de ce qu’étant à cribler le grain que je vous ai -dit, la poussière épaisse qui en sortait élevait devant elle un nuage -qui m’empêchait de la voir. - -Est-il possible, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu persistes encore à -croire et à soutenir que Dulcinée criblait du grain, quand tu sais -combien une semblable occupation est indigne d’une personne de son -mérite et de sa qualité! As-tu donc oublié ces vers dans lesquels notre -grand poëte[78] dépeint les ouvrages délicats dont s’occupaient, au fond -de leur palais de cristal, ces nymphes qui, sortant des profondeurs du -Tage, allaient souvent s’asseoir dans une verte prairie pour travailler -à de riches étoffes toutes de perles, d’or et de soie? Eh bien, telle -devait être l’occupation de Dulcinée quand tu la vis, à moins cependant -que quelque maudit enchanteur, par une de ces transformations qu’ils ont -toujours à leurs ordres, ne t’ait donné le change et jeté dans l’erreur. -Aussi je crains bien que l’histoire de mes prouesses (qui circule -imprimée, dit-on), si elle a pour auteur un de ces mécréants, contienne -fort peu de vérités mêlées à beaucoup de mensonges. O envie! source de -tous les maux, ver rongeur de toutes les vertus! Les autres vices, -Sancho, ont encore, malgré leur laideur, je ne sais quel charme, mais -l’envie ne traîne après elle que désordres, ressentiments et fureurs! - - [78] Garcilaso de la Vega. - -Voilà justement ce que je pense, dit Sancho: aussi je gage que dans ce -livre, dont a parlé le bachelier Carrasco, je suis arrangé de la bonne -façon, et que mon honneur y va roulant de çà, de là, battant les murs -comme une voiture disloquée; et pourtant, je le jure par l’âme des -Panza, je n’ai de ma vie médit d’aucun enchanteur, et je ne suis pas -assez riche pour faire des jaloux. Ce qu’on peut me reprocher, c’est -d’avoir un petit grain de coquinerie et de dire trop souvent ce qui me -vient au bout de la langue; mais, après tout, je suis plus simple que -méchant, et quand je n’aurais pour moi que de croire sincèrement et -fermement à tout ce que croit et enseigne la sainte Église catholique -romaine, et d’être, comme je le suis, ennemi mortel des Juifs, les -historiens devraient m’en tenir compte et m’épargner dans leurs écrits. -Au reste, puisque je n’y peux rien, et que me voilà mis en livre, qu’ils -disent ce qu’ils voudront; je m’en soucie comme d’une figue, et je ne -donnerais pas un maravédis pour les en empêcher. - -Ce que tu viens de dire, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, me rappelle -l’histoire d’un poëte de notre temps, qui, dans une satire contre les -dames galantes de la cour, avait négligé à dessein d’en nommer une sur -le compte de laquelle il n’osait pas se prononcer. Furieuse de l’oubli, -la dame courut chez le poëte, le sommant de réparer l’omission et le -menaçant, en cas de refus, de lui faire un mauvais parti. Le poëte -s’empressa de lui donner satisfaction, et l’arrangea de telle sorte que -mille langues de duègnes n’eussent pas mieux fait. A ce propos vient -encore l’histoire de ce berger qui, dans le seul but d’immortaliser son -nom, incendia une des sept merveilles du monde, le fameux temple de -Diane à Éphèse: aussi malgré tout ce qu’on put faire pour empêcher d’en -parler, nous ne savons pas moins qu’il s’appelait Érostrate. - -On peut encore citer à ce sujet ce qui arriva à notre grand empereur -Charles-Quint. En passant à Rome, ce prince voulut visiter le Panthéon -d’Agrippa, ce fameux temple de tous les dieux, qu’on a depuis appelé -temple de tous les saints: c’est l’édifice le mieux conservé de -l’ancienne Rome, celui qui donne la plus haute idée de la magnificence -de ses fondateurs; il est d’une admirable architecture, et quoiqu’il ne -reçoive le jour que par une large ouverture placée au sommet du -monument, il est aussi bien éclairé que s’il était ouvert de tous côtés. -L’illustre visiteur considérait de là l’édifice, pendant qu’un -gentilhomme romain, qui l’accompagnait, lui faisait remarquer les -détails de ce chef-d’œuvre d’architecture. Lorsque l’empereur se fut -retiré: «Sire, lui dit ce gentilhomme, il faut que j’avoue à Votre -Majesté une pensée bizarre qui vient de me traverser l’esprit: pendant -qu’elle était au bord de ce trou, il m’a pris plusieurs fois envie de la -saisir à bras-le-corps et de me jeter du haut en bas avec elle, afin de -rendre, par sa mort, mon nom immortel!--Je vous sais gré de n’avoir pas -mis à exécution cette mauvaise pensée, reprit Charles-Quint; et pour ne -plus vous exposer à semblable tentation, je vous défends de jamais vous -trouver dans le même lieu que moi.» Après quoi il le congédia en lui -accordant une grande faveur. - -Ceci te montre, Sancho, combien est vif, chez les hommes, le désir de -faire parler de soi. Quel motif, à ton sens, avait Horatius Coclès pour -se jeter dans le Tibre, chargé du poids de ses armes? Qui pouvait -inspirer à Mutius, surnommé depuis Scævola, un mépris de la douleur -assez grand pour lui faire tenir la main étendue sur un brasier ardent, -jusqu’à ce qu’elle fût presque consumée? Qui poussa Curtius à se -précipiter dans cet abîme de feu qui s’était ouvert tout à coup au -milieu de Rome? Pourquoi Jules César passa-t-il le Rubicon après tant de -présages sinistres? De nos jours, enfin, pourquoi les vaillants -Espagnols, que guidait le grand Cortez à la conquête du nouveau monde, -coulèrent-ils eux-mêmes leurs vaisseaux, s’ôtant ainsi tout moyen de -retraite? - -Eh bien, Sancho, c’est la soif de la renommée qui a produit tous ces -exploits; c’est pour elle qu’on affronte les plus grands périls et la -mort même, comme si dans la résolution que l’on fait paraître on -jouissait par avance de l’immortalité. Mais nous, chrétiens catholiques -et chevaliers errants, nous devons travailler plutôt pour la gloire -éternelle dont on jouit dans le ciel, que pour une vaine renommée qui -doit finir avec cette vie périssable. Ainsi donc, Sancho, que nos -actions soient toujours conformes aux règles de cette religion que nous -avons le bonheur de connaître et de professer. En tuant des géants, -proposons-nous de terrasser l’orgueil, combattons l’envie par la -générosité et la grandeur d’âme, opposons à la colère le calme et le -sang-froid, à la gourmandise la sobriété, à l’incontinence et à la -luxure la fidélité due à la dame de nos pensées; triomphons de la -paresse en parcourant les quatre parties du monde et en recherchant sans -cesse toutes les occasions qui peuvent nous rendre non-seulement bons -chrétiens, mais encore fameux chevaliers. Voilà, Sancho, les degrés par -lesquels on peut et on doit atteindre au faîte glorieux d’une bonne -renommée. - -Seigneur, dit Sancho, j’ai bien compris ce que vient de dire Votre -Grâce: je désire seulement que vous me débarrassiez d’un doute qui -m’arrive à l’esprit. - -Qu’est-ce, mon fils, reprit don Quichotte; dis ce que tu voudras, et je -te répondrai de mon mieux. - -Ces Césars, ces Jules, tous ces chevaliers dont vous venez de parler et -qui sont morts, où sont-ils maintenant? demanda Sancho. - -Sans aucun doute, les païens sont en enfer, répondit don Quichotte; les -chrétiens, s’ils ont bien vécu, sont dans le purgatoire ou dans le ciel. - -Voilà qui est bien, continua Sancho; mais, dites-moi, les tombeaux où -reposent les corps de ces gros seigneurs ont-ils à leurs portes des -lampes d’argent sans cesse allumées, et les murailles de leurs chapelles -sont-elles ornées de béquilles, de suaires, de têtes, de jambes et de -bras en cire: Si ce n’est de tout cela, de quoi sont-elles ornées, je -vous prie? - -Les tombeaux des païens, répondit don Quichotte, ont été, pour la -plupart des monuments fastueux. Les cendres de Jules César furent mises -sous une pyramide en pierre d’une grandeur démesurée, qu’on appelle, à -Rome, l’aiguille de Saint-Pierre, un tombeau grand comme un village, -qu’on appelait alors _Moles Adriani_, et qui est aujourd’hui le château -Saint-Ange, a servi de sépulture à l’empereur Adrien; la reine Artémise -a fait placer le corps de son époux Mausole dans un tombeau si vaste et -d’un travail si exquis, qu’on l’a mis au rang des sept merveilles du -monde; mais tous ces somptueux monuments n’ont jamais été ornés de -suaires ou d’offrandes pouvant faire penser que ceux qu’ils renferment -soient devenus des saints. - -Très-bien, répliqua Sancho, maintenant que choisirait Votre Grâce de -tuer un géant ou de ressusciter un mort? - -La réponse est facile, dit don Quichotte; je préférerais ressusciter un -mort. - -Par ma foi, je vous tiens! s’écria Sancho: vous convenez que la renommée -de ceux qui ressuscitent les morts, qui rendent la vue aux aveugles, qui -font marcher les boiteux, et qui ont sans cesse la foule agenouillée -devant leurs reliques, est plus grande dans ce monde et dans l’autre que -celle de tous les empereurs idolâtres et de tous les chevaliers errants -ayant jamais existé? - -J’en demeure d’accord, dit don Quichotte. - -Eh bien, reprit Sancho, puisque les saints ont seuls le privilége -d’avoir des chapelles toujours remplies de lampes allumées, de jambes et -de bras en cire; que les évêques et les rois portent leurs reliques sur -leurs épaules, qu’ils en décorent leurs oratoires, et en enrichissent -leurs autels... - -Achève, dit don Quichotte; que veux-tu conclure de là? - -Je conclus, continua Sancho, que nous ferions mieux de nous adonner à -être saints, pour atteindre plus tôt cette bonne renommée que nous -cherchons, et qui nous fuira peut-être encore longtemps. Tenez: -avant-hier, on canonisa deux carmes déchaux; eh bien, vous ne sauriez -imaginer la foule qu’il y avait pour baiser les chaînes qu’ils -portaient autour de leur corps. Sur ma foi, on paraissait les priser -bien plus que cette fameuse épée de Roland qui est dans le magasin des -armes du roi, notre maître, que Dieu garde! Vous voyez donc, seigneur, -qu’il vaut mieux être un simple moine, n’importe de quel ordre, que le -plus vaillant chevalier errant du monde. Douze coups de discipline -appliqués à propos sont plus agréables à Dieu que mille coups de lance -qui tombent sur des géants, des vampires ou autres monstres de cette -espèce. - -J’en conviens, mon ami, dit don Quichotte; mais nous ne pouvons pas tous -être moines et Dieu a plusieurs voies pour acheminer ses élus au ciel. -La chevalerie est un ordre religieux, et il y a des saints chevaliers -dans le paradis. - -D’accord, reprit Sancho; mais on dit qu’il s’y trouve encore plus de -moines. - -C’est vrai, répondit don Quichotte, car le nombre des religieux est plus -grand que celui des chevaliers errants. - -Il y a pourtant bien des gens qui errent, dit Sancho. - -Beaucoup, reprit don Quichotte, mais peu qui méritent le nom de -chevaliers. - -Ce fut dans cet entretien et autres semblables, que nos aventuriers -passèrent la nuit et le jour suivant, sans qu’il leur arrivât rien qui -mérite d’être raconté, ce qui chagrinait fort don Quichotte. Enfin, le -second jour, ils découvrirent la grande cité du Toboso, et notre -chevalier ne l’eût pas plus tôt aperçue qu’il ressentit une joie -incroyable. Sancho, au contraire, devint mélancolique et rêveur, parce -qu’il ne connaissait pas la maison de Dulcinée, et que pas plus que son -seigneur, il n’avait vu la dame; de sorte que tous deux, l’un pour la -voir, l’autre pour ne pas l’avoir vue, ils étaient inquiets et agités. -Bref, notre chevalier résolut de n’entrer dans la ville qu’à la nuit -close; en attendant l’heure, ils se tinrent cachés dans un bouquet de -chênes qui est proche du Toboso, et la nuit venue ils entrèrent dans la -grande cité, où il leur arriva des choses qui peuvent être qualifiées -ainsi. - -CHAPITRE IX - -OU L’ON RACONTE CE QU’ON Y VERRA - -Il était minuit ou à peu près, quand don Quichotte et Sancho quittèrent -le petit bois pour entrer dans le Toboso. Un profond silence régnait -dans tout le village, car à cette heure les habitants dormaient, comme -on dit, à jambe étendue. La nuit était d’une clarté douteuse, et Sancho -aurait bien voulu qu’elle fût tout à fait noire, afin que cette -obscurité vînt en aide à son ignorance. Partout ce n’était qu’aboiements -de chiens, qui assourdissaient don Quichotte et troublaient l’âme de son -écuyer. De temps en temps un âne se mettait à braire, des cochons -grognaient, des chats miaulaient, et ces bruits divers produisaient un -vacarme qu’augmentait encore le silence de la nuit. Tout cela parut de -mauvais augure à l’amoureux chevalier; cependant il dit à Sancho: Mon -fils, conduis-nous au palais de Dulcinée; peut-être la trouverons-nous -encore éveillée. - -A quel diable de palais voulez-vous que je vous conduise, répondit -Sancho; celui où j’ai vu Sa Grandeur n’était qu’une toute petite maison -des moins apparentes du village. - -Sans doute, répondit don Quichotte, elle s’était retirée dans quelque -modeste pavillon de son alcazar, pour se divertir en liberté avec ses -femmes, comme c’est la coutume des grandes princesses. - -Puisque Votre Grâce veut à toute force que la maison de madame Dulcinée -soit un alcazar, répliqua Sancho, dites-moi, je vous prie, est-ce bien -l’heure d’en trouver la porte ouverte? est-il convenable d’y aller -frapper à tour de bras, au risque de mettre sur pied tout le monde? -Allons-nous par hasard chez nos donzelles, semblables à ces galants -protecteurs qui entrent et sortent à toute heure de nuit? - -Commençons par trouver l’alcazar, dit don Quichotte; après je te dirai -ce qu’il faut faire. Mais, ou je n’y vois goutte, ou cette masse qu’on -aperçoit là-bas et qui projette une si grande ombre doit être le palais -de Dulcinée? - -Eh bien, seigneur, conduisez-moi, répondit Sancho; peut-être bien est-ce -cela; mais quand même je le verrais de mes yeux et le toucherais de mes -mains, j’y croirais comme je crois qu’il fait jour à présent. - -Don Quichotte prit les devants, et après avoir fait environ deux cents -pas, il s’arrêta au pied de la masse qui projetait la grande ombre. En -voyant une haute tour, il reconnut que cet édifice n’était pas un -palais, mais l’église paroissiale du village. Nous avons rencontré -l’église, dit-il à son écuyer. - -Je le vois bien, répondit Sancho, et Dieu veuille que nous n’ayons pas -rencontré notre sépulture, car c’est mauvais signe de courir les -cimetières à pareille heure, surtout, si je m’en souviens, quand j’ai -dit à Votre Grâce que la maison de sa dame est dans un cul-de-sac. - -Maudit sois-tu de Dieu, s’écria don Quichotte; où et par qui as-tu -jamais entendu dire que les maisons royales étaient bâties dans de -pareils endroits? - -Seigneur, répliqua Sancho, chaque pays a sa coutume, et peut-être que -celle du Toboso est de placer dans les culs-de-sac les palais et les -grands édifices; je supplie Votre Grâce de me laisser chercher autour -d’ici, et sans doute je trouverai dans quelque coin cet alcazar que je -voudrais voir mangé des chiens, tant il nous fait donner au diable. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, parle avec plus de respect de ce qui concerne -ma dame; passons la fête en paix et ne jetons pas le manche après la -cognée. - -Je tiendrai ma langue, Seigneur, répondit Sancho, mais comment Votre -Grâce veut-elle que je reconnaisse la maison de notre maîtresse, que je -n’ai vu qu’une seule fois dans ma vie, et surtout quand il fait noir -comme dans un four, tandis que vous, qui devez l’avoir vue plus de cent -fois, vous ne pouvez la retrouver. - -Tu me ferais perdre l’esprit! reprit don Quichotte. Viens çà, hérétique. -Ne t’ai-je pas dit mille et mille fois que de ma vie je n’ai vu la sans -pareille Dulcinée; que je n’ai jamais franchi le seuil de son palais; -qu’enfin je n’en suis amoureux que sur ouï-dire et d’après cette grande -réputation qu’elle a d’être la plus belle et la plus sage princesse de -la terre! - -Je l’apprends à cette heure, répondit Sancho, et je dis que puisque -Votre Grâce ne l’a pas vue, par ma foi, je ne l’ai pas vue davantage. - -Cela ne peut être, répliqua don Quichotte, puisque tu m’as dit l’avoir -trouvée criblant du blé, quand tu me rapportas sa réponse à la lettre -que tu lui avais remise de ma part. - -Ne vous y fiez pas, seigneur, répondit Sancho; car, sachez-le, ma visite -et la réponse que je vous rapportai sont aussi sur ouï-dire; je connais -madame Dulcinée tout comme je puis donner un coup de poing dans la lune. - -Sancho, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, il y a temps pour plaisanter et -temps où la plaisanterie ne serait pas de saison. Parce que je dis -n’avoir jamais vu la dame de mes pensées, il ne t’est pas permis à toi -d’en dire autant, surtout quand tu sais que c’est le contraire qui est -la vérité. - -Ils en étaient là de leur entretien, lorsqu’ils virent venir à eux un -homme qui poussait deux mules devant lui. Au bruit que faisait la -charrue que traînaient ces mules, nos aventuriers jugèrent que ce devait -être quelque laboureur levé avant le jour pour aller aux champs; ce qui -était vrai. Tout en cheminant, ce rustre chantait ce refrain d’une -vieille romance: - - On vous fit bonne chasse, - Français, à Roncevaux[79]. - - [79] Mala la hovistes, Franceses, - La caza de Roncesvalles; etc., etc. (_Cancionero._) - -Que je meure, dit don Quichotte, s’il nous arrive rien de bon cette -nuit; entends-tu ce que chante ce drôle? - -Je l’entends fort bien, répondit Sancho, mais qu’est-ce que cela fait à -notre affaire, la chasse de Roncevaux? - -Le laboureur les ayant rejoints: Ami, lui dit don Quichotte, Dieu vous -donne sa bénédiction. Pourriez-vous m’indiquer où est le palais de la -sans pareille princesse dona Dulcinée du Toboso? - -Seigneur, répondit le laboureur, je ne suis pas d’ici, et il y a peu de -temps que je sers un riche fermier de ce village; mais, dans cette -maison, là en face, demeurent le curé et le sacristain; l’un ou l’autre -pourra vous donner des nouvelles de cette princesse, parce qu’ils ont la -liste de tous les habitants du Toboso; quoique, à vrai dire, je ne pense -pas qu’il y ait dans ce pays aucune princesse, mais seulement des dames -de qualité qui peut-être sont princesses dans leurs maisons. - -Eh bien, c’est parmi elles que doit se trouver celle que je cherche, dit -don Quichotte. - -Cela se pourrait, répondit le laboureur: le jour vient, adieu; et -touchant ses mules, il s’éloigna. - -Voyant son maître indécis et mécontent de la réponse, Sancho lui dit: -Seigneur, voici venir le jour, et il me semble qu’il ne serait pas -prudent que le soleil nous trouvât dans la rue. Si vous m’en croyez, -nous sortirons de la ville, et nous irons nous embusquer dans quelques -bois près d’ici; quand le jour sera venu, je reviendrai chercher de -porte en porte le palais de votre maîtresse; et, par ma foi, il faudra -que je sois bien malheureux si je ne parviens pas à le déterrer; puis, -quand je l’aurai trouvé, je parlerai à Sa Grâce et je lui demanderai -humblement où et comment vous pourrez la voir sans dommage pour sa -réputation et son honneur. - -Bien parlé, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, ces quelques mots valent un -millier de proverbes, et je veux suivre ton conseil. Allons, mon fils, -allons chercher un endroit propre à m’embusquer en t’attendant; après -quoi tu iras trouver cette reine de la beauté, dont la discrétion et la -courtoisie me font espérer mille faveurs miraculeuses. - -Sancho brûlait d’impatience d’emmener son maître, tant il craignait de -voir découvrir sa fraude au sujet de cette réponse qu’il lui avait -rapportée dans la Sierra-Morena, de la part de Dulcinée; il se mit donc -à marcher le premier, et au bout d’une demi-lieue, ayant rencontré un -petit bois, don Quichotte s’y cacha pendant que son écuyer alla faire -cette ambassade dans laquelle il lui arriva des événements qui méritent -un redoublement d’attention. - -CHAPITRE X - -OU L’ON RACONTE LE STRATAGÈME QU’EMPLOYA SANCHO POUR ENCHANTER DULCINÉE -AVEC D’AUTRES ÉVÉNEMENTS NON MOINS PLAISANTS QUE VÉRITABLES - -En arrivant à raconter les événements que renferme le présent chapitre, -l’auteur de cette grande histoire dit qu’il fut tenté de les passer sous -silence, dans la crainte qu’on ne voulût pas y ajouter foi, parce qu’ici -les folies de don Quichotte touchèrent la dernière limite qu’il soit -possible d’atteindre et allèrent même à deux portées d’arquebuse au -delà. Il se décida pourtant à les écrire comme le chevalier les avait -faites, sans rien ajouter, sans rien retrancher, dût-il être accusé -d’avoir menti; et en cela il eut raison, car la vérité, si ténue qu’elle -soit, ne se brise jamais, et nage toujours au-dessus du mensonge, comme -l’huile nage au-dessus de l’eau. - -Continuant donc son récit, l’historien dit qu’à peine entré dans le -petit bois qui est près du Toboso, don Quichotte ordonna à Sancho de -retourner à la ville, et de ne pas reparaître devant lui sans avoir -parlé à sa dame, pour la supplier de daigner admettre en sa présence son -captif chevalier, dont le souhait le plus ardent était d’obtenir et de -recevoir sa bénédiction, afin qu’il pût se promettre de sortir -heureusement de toutes les entreprises qu’il allait affronter désormais. -Sancho promit d’exécuter ponctuellement les ordres de son maître, et de -lui rapporter une réponse non moins bonne que la première fois. - -Va, mon fils, lui dit don Quichotte, va, mais songe à ne point te -troubler quand tu approcheras de ce soleil de beauté à la recherche -duquel je t’envoie, ô le plus fortuné des écuyers du monde! Lorsque tu -seras admis en son auguste présence, aies bien soin de graver dans ta -mémoire de quelle façon elle te recevra; observe si elle se trouble -quand tu lui exposeras l’objet de ton ambassade, si elle rougit en -entendant prononcer mon nom. Si tu la trouves assise sur les moelleux -coussins de la riche estrade où doit te recevoir une femme de sa -condition, remarque bien si elle s’agite, si elle a de la peine à rester -en place. Dans le cas où elle serait debout, observe si elle se pose -tantôt sur un pied, tantôt sur l’autre; si elle hésite dans sa réponse, -si elle la change de douce en aigre, et d’aigre en amoureuse; si enfin, -pour cacher son embarras, elle porte la main à sa chevelure, faisant -semblant de l’arranger, bien qu’elle ne soit pas en désordre. Bref, mon -fils, examine avec soin tous ses gestes, tous ses mouvements, afin de -m’en faire un fidèle récit. Car tu sauras, Sancho, si tu ne le sais pas -encore, qu’en amour les mouvements extérieurs trahissent les secrets -sentiments de l’âme. Pars, ami, sois guidé par un meilleur sort que le -mien, et ramené par un meilleur succès que celui dans l’attente duquel -je vais rester en l’amère solitude où tu me laisses. - -J’irai et je reviendrai promptement, répondit Sancho; mais, seigneur, -remettez-vous, de grâce, et laissez dilater un peu ce petit cœur, qui -ne doit pas être en ce moment plus gros qu’une noisette; rappelez-vous -ce qu’on a coutume de dire: Bon courage vient à bout de mauvaise -fortune, et à l’heure où l’on s’y attend le moins, saute le lièvre. Si -je n’ai pu trouver, cette nuit, le palais de madame Dulcinée, maintenant -qu’il fait jour je saurai bien le reconnaître, et quand je l’aurai -trouvé, laissez-moi faire. - -Sur ce, Sancho tourna le dos et bâtonna son grison, tandis que don -Quichotte restait à cheval, languissamment appuyé sur sa lance, l’esprit -livré à de tristes et confuses pensées. Nous le laisserons dans cette -attitude pour suivre l’écuyer, qui s’éloignait non moins pensif et -préoccupé que son maître. - -Quand Sancho fut hors du bois, il tourna la tête; n’apercevant plus don -Quichotte, il mit pied à terre, puis s’asseyant au pied d’un arbre, il -commença de la sorte à se parler à lui-même: Maintenant, frère Sancho, -dites-moi un peu où va Votre Grâce? Allez-vous à la recherche de quelque -âne que vous avez perdu?--Pas le moins du monde.--Eh bien, qu’allez-vous -donc chercher?--Je vais tout simplement chercher une princesse qui, à -elle seule, est plus belle que le soleil et tous les astres -ensemble.--Et où pensez-vous trouver cette princesse?--Où? Dans la -grande cité du Toboso.--Fort bien. Et de quelle part l’allez-vous -chercher?--De la part du fameux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, -celui qui redresse les torts, qui donne à manger à ceux qui ont soif, et -à boire à ceux qui ont faim.--Très-bien. Connaissez-vous la demeure de -cette dame?--Pas du tout; seulement mon maître m’a dit que c’était un -magnifique palais, un superbe alcazar.--L’avez-vous vue quelquefois, -cette dame?--Ni mon maître ni moi ne l’avons jamais vue.--Et si les gens -du Toboso savaient que vous venez dans l’intention d’enlever leurs -princesses et de débaucher leurs femmes, croyez-vous, ami Sancho, qu’ils -auraient tort de vous frotter les épaules à grands coups de -bâton?--C’est juste; mais s’ils considèrent que je ne suis -qu’ambassadeur, et que je ne viens que pour le compte d’autrui, je ne -pense pas qu’ils se permettent d’en user si librement.--Ne vous y fiez -pas, Sancho; les gens de la Manche n’entendent point raillerie. Vive -Dieu! s’ils vous dépistent, vous n’avez qu’à bien vous tenir, ou à jouer -des jambes au plus vite.--En ce cas, qu’est-ce donc que je viens -chercher? Par ma foi, je l’ignore moi-même, et j’en donne ma langue aux -chiens; d’ailleurs, chercher madame Dulcinée dans le Toboso, n’est-ce -pas chercher le bachelier dans Salamanque? Malédiction! c’est le diable -en personne qui m’a fourré dans cette affaire. - -Telles étaient les réflexions que faisait Sancho, et la conclusion qu’il -en tira fut de se raviser sur-le-champ. Pardieu, se dit-il, il y a -remède à tout, si ce n’est à la mort, à laquelle nous devons tribut à -la fin de la vie. Mon maître est fou à lier, comme je m’en suis maintes -fois aperçu; et franchement je ne suis guère en reste avec lui, puisque -je l’accompagne et le sers; car, selon le proverbe, dis-moi qui tu -hantes, et je te dirai qui tu es. Or, mon maître étant fou, et d’une -folie qui lui fait prendre le blanc pour le noir et le noir pour le -blanc, des moulins à vent pour des géants, des mules pour des -dromadaires, des troupeaux de moutons pour des armées, et cent autres -choses de la même force, il ne me sera pas difficile de lui faire -accroire que la première paysanne qui me tombera sous la main est madame -Dulcinée. S’il s’y refuse, j’en jurerai; s’il soutient le contraire, -j’en jurerai encore plus fort; s’il tient bon, je n’en démordrai pas; de -cette façon, j’aurai toujours manche pour moi, quoi qu’il arrive. -Peut-être ainsi le dégoûterai-je de me charger de pareils messages, en -voyant le peu d’avantage qu’il en tire; ou plutôt s’en prendra-t-il à -quelque enchanteur qui, pour lui faire pièce, aura changé la figure de -sa dame. - -De cette manière, Sancho se mit l’esprit en repos et regarda l’affaire -comme arrangée. Il resta sous son arbre jusqu’au soir, afin de mieux -tromper son maître sur l’aller et le retour, et son bonheur fut tel, que -lorsqu’il se leva pour remonter sur son grison, il aperçut venir, sur le -chemin du Toboso, trois paysannes montées sur trois ânes ou trois -ânesses (l’auteur se tait sur ce point), mais il faut croire que -c’étaient des bourriques, monture ordinaire des femmes de la campagne. -Bref, dès que Sancho vit ces trois donzelles, il revint au petit trot -chercher don Quichotte, qu’il retrouva dans la même attitude où il -l’avait laissé, continuant à se lamenter et à soupirer amoureusement. - -Eh bien, qu’y a-t-il, ami? lui dit son maître, dois-je marquer cette -journée avec une pierre blanche ou avec une pierre noire? - -Il faut la marquer avec une pierre rouge, répondit Sancho; comme ces -écriteaux qu’on veut qui soient vus de loin. - -Tu m’apportes donc de bonnes nouvelles, mon fils? demanda don Quichotte. - -Si bonnes, répondit Sancho, que vous n’avez qu’à éperonner Rossinante, -pour aller au-devant de madame Dulcinée, qui vient avec deux de ses -femmes rendre visite à Votre Grâce. - -Sainte Vierge! dis-tu vrai? s’écria don Quichotte; ne m’abuse point, mon -ami, et ne cherche pas à me donner de fausses joies pour charmer mes -ennuis. - -Et que gagnerais-je à vous tromper, répliqua Sancho, quand vous êtes à -deux doigts de savoir ce qu’il en est? Avancez seulement de quelques -pas, et vous verrez venir votre maîtresse parée comme une châsse. Elle -et ses femmes ne sont que colliers de perles, rivières de diamants, -étoffes d’argent et d’or, si bien que je ne sais comment elles peuvent -porter tout cela; leurs cheveux tombent sur leurs épaules à grosses -boucles, et on dirait les rayons du soleil agités par le vent; enfin, -dans un moment, vous allez les voir toutes les trois, montées sur des -caquenées grasses à lard, et qui valent leur pesant d’or. - -C’est haquenées qu’il faut dire, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; si -Dulcinée t’entendait parler de la sorte, elle ne nous prendrait pas pour -ce que nous sommes. - -La distance de caquenées à haquenées n’est pas bien grande, répliqua -Sancho; mais qu’elles soient montées sur ce qu’elles voudront, je n’ai -jamais vu de dames plus élégantes, et surtout madame Dulcinée. - -Allons, reprit don Quichotte, pour étrennes d’une nouvelle si heureuse -et si peu attendue, je t’abandonne le butin de notre prochaine aventure; -ou, si tu l’aimes mieux, les poulains de mes trois juments, qui, tu le -sais, sont près de mettre bas. - -Je m’en tiens aux poulains, repartit Sancho, car il n’est pas sûr que le -butin de votre prochaine aventure soit bon à garder. - -Ainsi discourant ils sortirent du bois; aussitôt don Quichotte jeta les -yeux sur toute la longueur du chemin du Toboso; mais n’apercevant que -trois paysannes, il commença à se troubler, et demanda à son écuyer s’il -avait laissé ces dames hors de la ville. - -Hors de la ville? répondit Sancho. Votre Grâce a-t-elle les yeux -derrière la tête? ne voyez-vous point ces trois dames qui viennent à -nous, resplendissantes comme le soleil en plein midi? - -Je ne vois que trois paysannes montées sur trois ânes, dit don -Quichotte. - -Dieu me soit en aide! repartit Sancho; se peut-il que vous preniez pour -trois ânes trois haquenées plus blanches que la neige! Par ma foi, on -dirait que vous n’y voyez goutte, ou que vous êtes encore enchanté. - -En vérité, Sancho, reprit notre chevalier, c’est toi qui n’y vois -goutte: ce sont des ânes ou des ânesses, aussi sûr que je suis don -Quichotte et que tu es Sancho Panza; du moins il me le semble ainsi. - -Allons, allons, seigneur, vous vous moquez, repartit Sancho: -frottez-vous les yeux, et venez faire la révérence à la dame de vos -pensées que voilà tout près de vous. - -En même temps, il alla à la rencontre des paysannes, et sautant à bas de -son grison, il arrêta un des ânes par le licou, puis, se jetant à deux -genoux: - -O sublime princesse! s’écria-t-il, reine et duchesse de la beauté, que -Votre Grandeur ait la bonté d’admettre en grâce et d’accueillir avec -faveur ce pauvre chevalier, votre esclave, qui est là froid comme le -marbre, tant il est troublé et haletant de se voir en votre magnifique -présence! Je suis Sancho Panza, son écuyer, pour vous servir, et lui, -c’est le vagabond chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, autrement appelé -le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -Pendant cette harangue, l’amoureux chevalier s’était jeté à genoux -auprès de Sancho et ouvrait de grands yeux; mais ne voyant dans celle -que son écuyer traitait de reine et de princesse qu’une grossière -paysanne au visage boursouflé et au nez camard, il demeura si stupéfait -qu’il ne pouvait desserrer les lèvres. Les paysannes n’étaient pas moins -étonnées à la vue de ces deux hommes si différents l’un de l’autre, tous -deux à genoux et leur barrant le chemin; aussi celle que Sancho avait -arrêtée, prenant la parole: Gare, seigneurs, gare, dit-elle, passez -votre chemin et laissez-nous, nous sommes pressées. - -O grande princesse! répondit Sancho, ô dame universelle du Toboso! -comment votre cœur magnanime ne s’amollit-il point, en voyant prosterné -devant votre sublime présence la colonne et l’arc-boutant de la -chevalerie errante? - -Oui-da, oui-da, reprit une des paysannes: voyez un peu ces hidalgos qui -viennent se gausser des filles du village; comme si nous n’étions pas -faites comme les autres! Passez, passez, celles-là sont prises; -laissez-nous continuer notre chemin. - -Lève-toi, Sancho, lève-toi, dit tristement don Quichotte; je vois bien -que le sort n’est point encore rassasié de mon malheur, et qu’il a fermé -tous les chemins par où pouvait arriver quelque joie à cette âme chétive -que je porte en ma chair. Et toi, dernier terme de la beauté humaine, -résumé accompli de toutes les perfections, unique soutien de ce cœur -affligé qui t’adore, puisque le maudit enchanteur qui me poursuit a jeté -sur mes yeux une effroyable cataracte, et que pour moi et non pour -d’autres il cache ton incomparable beauté sous les traits d’une -grossière paysanne, ne laisse pas, je t’en supplie, de me regarder avec -amour, à moins toutefois qu’il ne m’ait donné aussi l’aspect de quelque -vampire, pour me rendre horrible à tes yeux! Tu vois, adorable -princesse, tu vois quelle est ma soumission et mon zèle, et que, malgré -l’artifice de mes ennemis, mon cœur ne laisse pas de t’offrir les -hommages qui te sont dus. - -Ah! par ma foi, repartit la paysanne, je suis bien bonne d’écouter vos -cajoleries! Laissez-nous passer, seigneurs, nous n’avons pas de temps à -perdre. - -Sancho s’empressa de se relever et de lui faire place, ravi dans son -cœur d’être parvenu si heureusement à sortir d’embarras. - -A peine la prétendue Dulcinée se vit-elle libre, qu’avec le clou qui -était fixé au bout de son bâton elle piqua son âne, et se mit à le faire -courir de toute sa force à travers le pré. Mais pressé par l’aiguillon -plus qu’à l’ordinaire, le baudet allait par sauts et par bonds, lâchant -force ruades, et il fit tant qu’à la fin il jeta madame Dulcinée par -terre. Aussitôt, l’amoureux chevalier courut pour la relever, tandis que -Sancho ramenait le bât qui avait tourné sous le ventre de la bête. Le -bât replacé et sanglé, don Quichotte voulut prendre sa dame entre ses -bras pour la porter sur l’âne, mais la belle, se relevant prestement, -fit trois pas en arrière pour prendre son élan, posa les mains sur la -croupe de sa monture, et d’un saut se trouva à califourchon sur le bât. - -Vive Dieu! s’écria Sancho, notre maîtresse est plus légère qu’un daim, -et elle rendrait des points à tous les écuyers de Cordoue et du Mexique! -D’un seul bond elle a passé par-dessus l’arçon de sa selle. Voyez comme -elle fait courir sa haquenée sans éperons. Par ma foi! ses femmes ne -sont point en reste, tout cela court comme le vent. - -Sancho disait vrai, car toutes trois galopaient à qui mieux mieux, sans -tourner la tête, et elles coururent ainsi plus d’une demi-lieue. - -Don Quichotte les suivit des yeux pendant quelque temps, et lorsqu’il -cessa de les apercevoir: Vois, Sancho, lui dit-il, jusqu’où va la haine -des enchanteurs, et de quel détestable artifice ils se servent pour me -priver du bonheur que j’aurais eu à contempler Dulcinée! Fut-il jamais -homme plus malheureux que moi, et ne suis-je pas le type du malheur -même? Les traîtres! non contents de la transformer en une grossière -paysanne, et de me la montrer sous une figure indigne de sa qualité et -de son mérite, ils lui ont encore ôté ce qui distingue les grandes -princesses, dont l’haleine respire toujours un si doux parfum; car -lorsque je me suis approchée de Dulcinée pour la remettre sur sa -haquenée, comme tu l’appelles, quoique j’aie constamment pris sa monture -pour une ânesse, elle m’a lancé, te l’avouerai-je, une odeur d’oignon -cru qui m’a soulevé le cœur. - -Canailles! misérables et pervers enchanteurs! cria Sancho, n’aurai-je -jamais le plaisir de vous voir tous enfilés par la même broche, et -griller comme des sardines! Ne devait-il pas vous suffire, infâmes -coquins! brigands maudits! d’avoir changé les perles des yeux de notre -maîtresse en des yeux de chèvre, ses cheveux d’or pur en queue de vache -rousse, et finalement d’avoir gâté toute sa personne, sans pervertir -encore son odeur? Par là du moins nous aurions pu nous faire quelque -idée de ce qui était caché sous cette grossière écorce; bien qu’à vrai -dire, je ne me sois point aperçu de sa laideur, et qu’au contraire je -n’aie vu que sa beauté, à telles enseignes qu’elle a sur la lèvre droite -un gros signe, en manière de moustache, d’où sortent sept ou huit poils -roux de deux doigts de long, qu’on prendrait pour autant de filets d’or. - -D’après les rapports que les signes du visage ont avec ceux du corps, -reprit don Quichotte, Dulcinée doit en avoir un du même côté sur le plat -de la cuisse; mais ces poils que tu viens de dire, Sancho, sont bien -grands pour un signe, et cela n’est point ordinaire. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, repartit Sancho, ils font là merveille. - -Oh! j’en suis persuadé, dit don Quichotte, car la nature n’a rien mis en -Dulcinée qui ne soit l’idéal de la perfection; et ces signes dont tu -parles ne sont pas en elle des défauts, ce sont plutôt des étoiles -resplendissantes et lumineuses. Mais dis-moi, ce qui m’a semblé un bât, -était-ce une selle plate ou une selle en fauteuil? - -C’était une selle à la genette[80] avec une housse si riche, mais si -riche, qu’elle vaut la moitié d’un royaume, répondit Sancho. - - [80] Selle arabe, avec deux montants, un par devant et un par - derrière. - -Et je n’ai rien vu de tout cela? reprit don Quichotte: ah! je ne -cesserai de le répéter, je suis le plus malheureux des hommes. - -Le sournois d’écuyer avait bien de la peine à s’empêcher de rire en -voyant l’extravagance et la crédulité de son maître, et il se -réjouissait tout bas de l’avoir trompé si adroitement. Finalement, nos -deux aventuriers remontèrent sur leurs bêtes, et prirent le chemin de -Saragosse, où ils comptaient être encore assez à temps pour se trouver à -une fête solennelle qui a lieu tous les ans dans cette ville: mais il -leur arriva tant de choses et de si surprenantes, qu’elles méritent -d’être racontées comme on le verra ci-après. - -CHAPITRE XI - -DE L’ÉTRANGE AVENTURE DU CHAR DES CORTÈS DE LA MORT - -Don Quichotte suivait son chemin tout pensif et tout préoccupé du -mauvais tour que lui avaient joué les enchanteurs en transformant sa -dame en une grossière paysanne, ce qui malheureusement lui paraissait -sans remède. Ces pensées l’absorbaient tellement que, sans y faire -attention, il lâcha la bride à Rossinante, lequel, se sentant libre, -s’arrêtait à chaque pas pour paître l’herbe fraîche qui croissait -abondamment dans cet endroit. - -Seigneur, lui dit Sancho en le voyant ainsi, la tristesse, j’en -conviens, n’a pas été faite pour les bêtes, mais pour l’homme; et -pourtant, quand l’homme s’y abandonne, il devient une bête. Allons, -allons! remettez-vous, relevez la bride à Rossinante, et faites voir ce -que vous êtes: un véritable chevalier errant. Morbleu! pourquoi vous -décourager de la sorte? Que Satan emporte toutes les Dulcinées qu’il y a -dans ce monde, plutôt que j’aie la douleur de voir un seul chevalier -errant succomber à la maladie! - -Tais-toi, répondit don Quichotte, et ne profère point de blasphème -contre Dulcinée; c’est moi qui suis la seule cause de sa disgrâce: elle -ne serait pas telle qu’elle m’est apparue si les enchanteurs ne -portaient envie à ma gloire et à mes plaisirs. - -C’est aussi mon avis, reprit Sancho; en vérité le cœur se fend quand on -pense à ce qu’elle était jadis et à ce qu’elle est maintenant. - -Ah! tu peux bien le dire, toi qui l’as vue dans tout l’éclat de sa -beauté, car le charme dirigé contre moi ne troublait point ta vue. Il me -semble pourtant, Sancho, que tu as mal dépeint la beauté de ma dame en -disant qu’elle avait des yeux de perles: des yeux de perles sont des -yeux de poisson plutôt que des yeux de femme. Les yeux de Dulcinée ne -peuvent être que deux vertes émeraudes, avec deux arcs-en-ciel pour -sourcils. Mon ami, réserve les perles pour les dents et non pour les -yeux; tu auras sans doute fait confusion. - -Cela peut être, répondit Sancho, car j’ai été aussi troublé de sa beauté -que vous avez pu l’être de sa laideur. Mais recommandons le tout à Dieu, -qui seul sait ce qui doit arriver dans cette vallée de larmes, dans ce -méchant monde où il n’y a rien qui soit exempt de malice ou de -fourberie. Une seule chose m’inquiète, c’est de savoir comment on s’y -prendra quand, après avoir vaincu quelque géant ou quelque chevalier, -Votre Grâce lui ordonnera d’aller se présenter devant madame Dulcinée. -Où le pauvre diable la trouvera-t-il? Il me semble le voir d’ici se -promener dans les rues du Toboso, le nez en l’air, la bouche béante, et -cherchant madame Dulcinée, qui passera cent fois devant lui sans qu’il -la reconnaisse. - -L’enchantement ne s’étendra peut-être pas jusqu’aux géants ou aux -chevaliers vaincus, répondit don Quichotte. Au reste, nous en ferons -l’expérience sur les deux ou trois premiers auxquels nous aurons -affaire, en leur ordonnant de venir me rendre compte de ce qu’ils auront -éprouvé à ce sujet. - -Votre idée me paraît excellente, repartit Sancho. Une fois certain que -la beauté de notre maîtresse n’est voilée que pour vous seul, il faudra -en prendre votre parti; le malheur sera pour vous et non pour elle; et -puis du moment que madame Dulcinée se porte bien, pourquoi nous -attrister? En attendant, poussons notre fortune du mieux que nous -pourrons en cherchant les aventures; le temps arrangera le reste, car il -est le meilleur médecin du monde, et il n’y a pas de maladie qu’il ne -guérisse. - -Don Quichotte allait répliquer, quand tout à coup, au détour du chemin, -parut un chariot chargé de divers personnages et des plus étranges -figures qu’on puisse imaginer. Celui qui faisait l’office de cocher -était un horrible démon, et comme le chariot était découvert, on voyait -aisément ceux qui étaient dedans. Après le cocher, la première figure -qui s’offrit aux yeux de don Quichotte fut celle de la Mort sous un -visage humain. Tout près d’elle se tenait un ange avec de grandes ailes -de différentes couleurs; à sa droite était un empereur avec une couronne -qui paraissait d’or; aux pieds de la Mort, on voyait assis le dieu -Cupidon, avec son carquois, son arc et ses flèches, mais sans bandeau -sur les yeux; enfin, un chevalier armé de toutes pièces, si ce n’est -qu’au lieu de casque il portait un chapeau orné de plumes de diverses -couleurs, complétait la troupe. - -Ce spectacle inattendu troubla quelque peu notre chevalier, et jeta -l’effroi dans l’âme de Sancho; mais une prompte joie succéda à la -surprise dans l’esprit de don Quichotte, qui ne douta point que ce ne -fût quelque périlleuse aventure. Dans cette pensée, et avec un courage -prêt à tout braver, il se campe au-devant de l’équipage, et d’une voix -fière et menaçante: Cocher ou diable, s’écrie-t-il, il faut que tu me -dises à l’instant qui tu es, où tu vas, et quelles gens tu mènes dans ce -chariot, qui a plutôt l’air de la barque à Caron que d’une charrette -ordinaire. - -Seigneur, répondit le diable d’une voix mielleuse et en retenant les -rênes, nous sommes acteurs de la troupe d’Angulo le Mauvais. Ce matin, -octave de la Fête-Dieu, nous venons de représenter derrière cette -colline que vous voyez là-bas, la tragédie des _Cortès de la Mort_, et -nous devons la jouer encore ce soir dans le village qui est devant nous: -comme c’était tout proche, nous n’avons pas voulu quitter nos habits, -afin de n’avoir pas la peine de les reprendre. Ce jeune homme que vous -voyez représente la Mort; cet autre un ange; cette dame, qui est la -femme de l’auteur de la pièce, fait la reine; en voilà un qui remplit un -rôle d’empereur, cet autre celui de soldat; quant à moi je suis le -diable pour vous servir et un des principaux acteurs, car j’ouvre la -scène. Si vous avez d’autres questions à me faire, parlez, seigneur, -parlez, je répondrai à tout ponctuellement, étant le diable, il n’y a -rien que je ne sache. - -Foi de chevalier errant, répondit don Quichotte, dès que j’ai vu votre -chariot, j’aurais juré que c’était une grande aventure qui s’offrait à -moi; je vois bien qu’il ne faut pas se fier aux apparences, si l’on ne -veut être trompé. - -Allez, mes amis, allez en paix célébrer votre fête, et si je puis vous -être utile à quelque chose, croyez que je suis à vous de bien bon cœur: -j’ai été toute ma vie grand amateur du théâtre, et dès ma tendre -jeunesse je ne rêvais que comédie. - -Comme ils en étaient là, le sort voulut qu’un des acteurs de la troupe, -qui était resté en arrière, les rejoignît. Ce dernier était habillé en -fou de cour, avec quantité de grelots autour du corps, et il portait au -bout d’un bâton trois vessies gonflées. En approchant de don Quichotte, -ce grotesque personnage se mit à s’escrimer avec son bâton, frappant la -terre avec ses vessies, et sautant de droite et de gauche pour faire -résonner ses grelots. Cette fantastique vision épouvanta tellement -Rossinante, que, malgré les efforts de son maître pour le calmer, il -prit le mors aux dents et se mit à courir à travers champs avec une -vitesse qu’on était loin d’attendre de lui. A cette vue Sancho sauta à -bas de son âne pour aller secourir son seigneur, mais quand il arriva, -cheval et cavalier étaient étendus sur la poussière, conclusion -ordinaire des prouesses de Rossinante. - -Or, à peine Sancho eut-il lâché sa monture, que le fou sauta dessus, et, -la fouettant à grands coups de vessies, il la fit courir vers le village -où la fête allait avoir lieu. Entre la chute de son maître et la fuite -de son âne, Sancho se trouvait dans une cruelle perplexité; mais, en -fidèle écuyer, l’amour de son seigneur l’emporta, et malgré la pluie de -coups qu’il voyait tomber sur la croupe du baudet, et qu’il eut préféré -cent fois recevoir sur la prunelle de ses propres yeux, il accourut -auprès de don Quichotte qu’il trouva en fort mauvais état. Tout en -l’aidant à remonter sur Rossinante: Seigneur, lui dit-il, le diable -emporte l’âne. - -Quel diable? demanda don Quichotte. - -Le diable aux vessies, répondit Sancho. - -Sois tranquille, reprit notre héros, je te le ferai rendre, allât-il se -cacher au fond des enfers. Suis-moi; le chariot marche lentement; et -avec les mules qui le traînent je couvrirai, sois-en certain, la perte -de ton grison. - -Plus n’est besoin de s’en occuper! s’écria Sancho: le diable l’a lâché, -et le voilà qui revient, le pauvre enfant! - -Sancho disait vrai; le diable et le grison avaient culbuté à l’instar de -don Quichotte et de Rossinante, et pendant que l’un gagnait le village, -l’autre venait retrouver son maître. - -Malgré tout, dit don Quichotte, il serait bon de châtier l’insolence de -ce démon sur un des hommes du chariot, fût-ce sur l’empereur lui-même. - -Otez-vous cela de l’esprit, Seigneur, repartit Sancho; il n’y a rien à -gagner avec les comédiens, ces gens-là ont des amis partout. J’ai connu -autrefois un comédien poursuivi pour deux meurtres; eh bien, il s’en est -tiré sans qu’il lui en coûtât un cheveu de la tête. Comme ce sont des -gens de plaisir, tout le monde les protége et les aime, ceux-ci surtout -qui se prétendent de la troupe royale. - -Il ne sera pas dit, répliqua don Quichotte, que ce mauvais histrion -m’aura échappé, dût le genre humain tout entier le prendre sous sa -protection! Et il se mit à courir après le chariot, en criant: Arrêtez, -baladins! arrêtez, mauvais bouffons! je veux vous apprendre à respecter -à l’avenir les bêtes qui servent de monture aux écuyers des chevaliers -errants. - -Don Quichotte criait si fort que les comédiens l’entendirent. Jugeant de -son intention par ses paroles, la Mort saute à terre, avec le diable, -suivi de l’empereur et de l’ange; il n’y eut pas jusqu’au dieu Cupidon -qui ne voulût être de la partie: alors tous se chargent de pierres, et, -se retranchant derrière leur voiture, ils attendent l’assaillant, -résolus à se défendre. En les voyant si bien armés et faire bonne -contenance, notre héros retint la bride à Rossinante, et se mit à -réfléchir de quelle manière il attaquerait ce bataillon avec le moins de -danger. Pendant qu’il délibérait sur ce qu’il avait à faire, Sancho -arriva, et trouvant son maître prêt à en venir aux mains: - -Seigneur, lui dit-il, voici une aventure qui ne me paraît nullement -bonne à entreprendre. Considérez que contre des amandes de ruisseaux il -n’existe pas d’armes défensives, à moins de se blottir sous une cloche -de bronze? Considérez aussi qu’il y a plus de témérité que de courage à -vouloir attaquer seul une armée où les empereurs combattent en personne, -et qui est soutenue par les bons et les mauvais anges, sans compter la -Mort, qui est à leur tête? Et puis, remarquez, je vous prie, mon cher -maître, que parmi tous ces gens-là il n’y a pas un seul chevalier -errant. - -Tu as touché juste, interrompit don Quichotte, et voilà de quoi me faire -changer de résolution: je ne puis ni ne dois tirer l’épée contre -n’importe quelles gens s’ils ne sont armés chevaliers; ainsi donc, -Sancho, cela te regarde; c’est à toi de tirer vengeance de l’outrage -fait à ton grison. Je me tiendrai ici pour te donner mes conseils et -t’animer au combat. - -Seigneur, il n’y a pas là de quoi tirer vengeance de personne, repartit -Sancho, et un bon chrétien doit savoir oublier les offenses; d’ailleurs, -je m’arrangerai avec mon âne, et comme il n’est pas moins pacifique que -son maître, je suis certain qu’une mesure d’avoine sera bien plus de son -goût. - -Si c’est là ton avis, bon et pacifique Sancho, répliqua don Quichotte, -laissons-là ces fantômes et allons chercher de meilleures aventures; car -ce pays-ci m’a tout l’air d’en fournir un bon nombre et des plus -surprenantes. - -En parlant ainsi, il tourna bride, suivi de son écuyer. De son côté, la -Mort et ses compagnons remontèrent sur le chariot et continuèrent leur -voyage. Telle fut, grâce aux sages conseils de Sancho Panza, l’heureuse -fin de la terrible aventure du char de la Mort. Le jour suivant, notre -héros eut une autre aventure avec un chevalier amoureux et errant, -laquelle mérite, à elle seule, un nouveau chapitre. - -CHAPITRE XII - -DE L’ÉTRANGE AVENTURE QUI ARRIVA AU VALEUREUX DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LE -GRAND CHEVALIER DES MIROIRS - -La nuit qui suivit le jour de la rencontre du char de la Mort, don -Quichotte et son écuyer la passèrent sous un bouquet de grands arbres où -ils soupèrent avec les provisions que portait le grison. Pendant qu’ils -mangeaient, Sancho dit à son maître: Avouez, Seigneur, que j’aurais eu -grand tort de choisir pour étrennes le butin de votre dernière aventure -plutôt que les poulains des trois juments: Par ma foi, mieux vaut -moineau en cage que grue qui vole! - -Cela se peut, répondit don Quichotte, mais pourtant si tu m’avais laissé -attaquer et combattre comme je le voulais, tu n’aurais certes pas eu -lieu de te plaindre, car à cette heure, tu serais en possession de la -couronne d’or de l’empereur et des ailes peintes de ce Cupidon: je les -lui aurais arrachées pour les remettre entre tes mains. - -Bah! reprit Sancho, jamais sceptres ni couronnes des empereurs de -comédie n’ont été d’or, mais bien de cuivre ou de fer-blanc. - -Cela est vrai, reprit don Quichotte; en effet, il ne conviendrait pas -que les hochets de la comédie fussent de fine matière; ils doivent être -comme elle une sorte de fiction, une simple apparence. A propos de -comédie, j’entends, Sancho, que tu sois bien disposé pour le théâtre, -ainsi que pour ceux qui composent les pièces et ceux qui les -représentent, parce que ce sont des gens fort utiles dans un État, car, -en nous offrant chaque jour un miroir fidèle où se reflète la vie -humaine, ils nous montrent ce que nous sommes et ce que nous devrions -être. Tu as sans doute vu représenter des comédies dans lesquelles il y -avait des rois, des prêtres, des chevaliers, des dames et autres -personnages divers? L’un fait le fanfaron, l’autre le fourbe, celui-là -le soldat, celui-ci l’amoureux; puis, quand la pièce est terminée, -chacun quitte son costume, et, dans la coulisse tout se donne la main. - -Oui, vraiment, j’ai vu de ces comédies-là, répondit Sancho. - -Eh bien, reprit don Quichotte, il en est de même dans la comédie de ce -monde: les uns sont empereurs, les autres papes; finalement autant de -personnages différents que sur le théâtre. Puis quand arrive la fin de -la pièce, c’est-à-dire quand vient la mort qui leur fait quitter les -oripeaux qui les distinguaient, tous redeviennent égaux dans la -sépulture. - -Voilà une comparaison que j’ai entendu faire bien souvent et qui -ressemble comme deux gouttes d’eau au jeu des échecs, dit Sancho: tant -que le jeu dure, chaque pièce représente un personnage; mais une fois le -jeu fini, elles sont toutes jetées pêle-mêle dans une boîte, comme dans -un tombeau. - -Il me semble, reprit don Quichotte, que tu deviens chaque jour moins -simple et plus avisé. - -Pardieu, répliqua Sancho, en me frottant tous les jours contre Votre -Grâce, il faut bien qu’il m’en reste quelque chose. Bien aride serait le -terrain qui ne rapporterait rien, quand on le cultive et qu’on le fume: -je veux dire, seigneur, que la conversation de Votre Grâce a été -l’engrais répandu sur la terre sèche de mon esprit, et le temps passé à -votre service la culture moyennant laquelle j’espère rapporter des -moissons dignes du bon labourage que vous avez fait dans mon stérile -entendement. - -Le chevalier ne put s’empêcher de sourire des expressions recherchées -dont Sancho appuyait son raisonnement; il lui sembla qu’il en savait -plus long qu’à l’ordinaire, et il en était tout surpris. En effet, -depuis quelque temps, Sancho parlait de façon à étonner son maître; -seulement, quand il voulait par trop faire le beau parleur, comme un -candidat au concours, il trébuchait lourdement. Ce qui lui allait le -mieux, c’était de débiter des proverbes, qu’ils vinssent à tort ou à -raison, comme on l’a vu souvent et comme on le verra encore dans la -suite de cette histoire. - -Nos aventuriers passèrent une partie de la nuit en de semblables -entretiens, jusqu’à ce qu’il prit envie à Sancho de laisser tomber les -rideaux de ses yeux: c’était sa manière de s’exprimer lorsqu’il voulait -dormir. Il ôta le bât et le licou au grison, et le laissa paître en -liberté. Quant à Rossinante, il se contenta de lui retirer la bride, -parce que don Quichotte lui avait expressément défendu d’enlever la -selle tant qu’ils seraient en campagne, suivant la coutume si prudemment -établie et si fidèlement observée par les chevaliers errants. - -D’après la même tradition, l’amitié de ces deux pacifiques animaux fut -si intime, que l’auteur de ce récit lui avait consacré plusieurs -chapitres; il les supprima depuis par bienséance et pour garder la -dignité qui convient à une si héroïque histoire. Parfois, néanmoins, il -oublie sa résolution, et se complaît à nous représenter les deux amis se -grattant l’un l’autre; puis, quand ils étaient fatigués de cet exercice, -Rossinante croisant sur le cou du grison un cou qui le dépassait d’une -demi-aune; et tous deux les yeux fichés en terre demeuraient ainsi des -jours entiers, à moins qu’on ne les tirât de leur immobilité, ou que la -faim ne les talonnât. L’auteur n’avait pas craint de comparer leur -amitié à celle de Nisus et Euryale, ou bien encore à celle d’Oreste et -Pylade, ce qui fait voir la haute opinion qu’il en avait conçue; -peut-être aussi voulait-il par là montrer aux hommes combien ils ont -tort de trahir l’amitié, quand les bêtes la pratiquent si fidèlement. -C’est pourquoi l’on a dit: il n’y a pas d’ami pour l’ami, et les roseaux -se changent en lance. Et qu’on n’aille pas blâmer cette comparaison de -l’amitié des bêtes avec celle des hommes: n’avons-nous pas appris du -chien la fidélité, de la fourmi la prévoyance, de l’éléphant la pudeur, -et du cheval la loyauté! - -Nos aventuriers reposaient depuis peu de temps, Sancho sous un liége et -don Quichotte sous un robuste chêne, lorsque notre héros fut réveillé -par un bruit qui se fit derrière sa tête; se levant en sursaut pour -s’assurer d’où ce bruit provenait, il crut entendre deux cavaliers, dont -l’un, se laissant glisser de sa selle, disait à l’autre: - -Ami, mets pied à terre, et ôte la bride à nos chevaux; ils doivent -trouver ici de l’herbe fraîche, comme j’y trouverai moi-même le silence -et la solitude propres à entretenir mes amoureuses pensées. - -Dire ce peu de mots et s’étendre à terre fut l’affaire d’un instant. -Mais en se couchant l’inconnu fit résonner les armes dont il était -couvert. A cet indice, don Quichotte reconnut un chevalier; s’approchant -de Sancho, et le secouant par le bras pour l’éveiller: Ami, lui dit-il à -voix basse, nous tenons une aventure. - -Dieu veuille nous l’envoyer bonne, répondit Sancho encore à moitié -endormi; mais, dites-moi, seigneur, où est-elle Sa Grâce madame -l’aventure? - -Où elle est, répliqua don Quichotte: regarde de ce côté, et tu y verras -étendu un chevalier qui, si je ne me trompe, a quelque grand sujet de -déplaisir, car il s’est laissé tomber à terre si lourdement, que ses -armes en ont résonné. - -Eh bien, où voyez-vous que ce soit une aventure? dit Sancho. - -Je ne prétends pas que ce soit absolument une aventure, repartit don -Quichotte, je dis que c’est un commencement d’aventure, car elles -débutent toujours ainsi. Au reste, écoutons; il me semble que ce -chevalier accorde un luth ou une guitare, et à la manière dont il tousse -pour se nettoyer le gosier, il doit se préparer à chanter. - -Par ma foi, vous avez raison, dit Sancho, il faut que ce soit un -chevalier amoureux. - -Crois-tu donc qu’il y en ait d’autres? reprit don Quichotte; apprends, -mon ami, qu’il n’y a point de chevalier qui ne soit amoureux. -Écoutons-le; sa plainte nous apprendra sans doute son secret, car -l’abondance du cœur fait parler la langue. - -Sancho allait répliquer, quand l’inconnu se mit à chanter ce qui suit: - - Eh bien, il faut, madame, il faut vous satisfaire, - Et ne plus vous parler d’amour, - Mon tourment a beau croître et grandir chaque jour, - Ce cœur, trop amoureux, sait souffrir et se taire; - Mais quand pour vos beaux yeux je consens à mourir, - Pardonnez à l’amour s’il m’échappe un soupir. - -L’inconnu poussa un profond soupir, et bientôt il s’écria d’une voix -dolente et plaintive: O la plus belle, mais la plus ingrate de toutes -les femmes, sérénissime Cassildée de Vandalie! comment peux-tu consentir -à laisser errer par le monde et consumer sa vie en d’âpres et pénibles -travaux le chevalier ton esclave? Ne suffit-il pas que ma valeur et mon -bras aient fait confesser à tous les chevaliers de la Navarre, à tous -les chevaliers de Léon, d’Andalousie, de Castille, et enfin à tous les -chevaliers de la Manche que tu es la plus belle personne du monde? - -Oh! pour cela non, repartit don Quichotte, car je suis de la Manche, et -je n’ai jamais confessé ni ne confesserai de ma vie une chose si -contraire et si préjudiciable à la beauté de Dulcinée. Sancho, ce -chevalier divague; mais écoutons encore, peut-être va-t-il se faire -mieux connaître. - -Sans aucun doute, répliqua Sancho; car il me paraît prendre le chemin de -se lamenter un mois durant. - -Toutefois, il n’en fut pas ainsi: l’inconnu ayant cru entendre qu’on -parlait à ses côtés, se leva et dit d’une voix sonore: Qui va là? qui -êtes-vous? Êtes-vous du nombre des heureux, ou de celui des affligés? - -Je suis du nombre des affligés, répondit don Quichotte. - -Dans ce cas, approchez, reprit l’inconnu; vous trouverez ici la -tristesse et l’affliction en personne. - -Don Quichotte s’approcha, s’y voyant invité avec tant de courtoisie, et -l’inconnu le prenant par le bras: - -Asseyez-vous, seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il; car pour deviner que vous -l’êtes, il me suffit de vous avoir rencontré dans cet endroit, où vous -font compagnie la solitude et le serein, gîte naturel et couche -ordinaire des chevaliers errants. - -Je suis chevalier, en effet, répondit don Quichotte, et de la profession -que vous dites; accablé moi-même par le souvenir de mes disgrâces, je ne -laisse pas d’avoir le cœur sensible aux malheurs d’autrui; et je -compatis d’autant plus aux vôtres, seigneur, que par vos plaintes j’ai -compris qu’ils doivent avoir leur source dans votre amour pour l’ingrate -que vous venez de nommer. - -Pendant qu’ils s’entretenaient de la sorte, tous deux étaient assis sur -le gazon, l’un à côté de l’autre, et aussi tranquilles que s’ils -n’eussent pas dû se couper la gorge au lever de l’aurore. - -Seigneur chevalier, seriez-vous par bonheur amoureux? demanda l’inconnu. - -Pour mon malheur, je le suis, répondit notre héros, quoique, après tout, -les souffrances qui résultent du choix d’un trop noble sujet puissent -plutôt passer pour des biens que pour des maux. - -Oui, reprit l’inconnu, si les dédains d’une ingrate n’en venaient pas à -troubler notre raison, et à nous exciter à la vengeance. - -Pour moi, repartit don Quichotte, je n’ai jamais éprouvé le dédain de ma -dame. - -Non, par ma foi, interrompit Sancho; notre maîtresse est tendre comme la -rosée, et plus douce qu’un mouton. - -Est-ce là votre écuyer? demanda l’inconnu du bocage à don Quichotte. - -C’est mon écuyer, répondit notre héros. - -En vérité, répliqua l’inconnu, il est le premier que j’aie entendu -parler si librement en présence de son maître; j’ai là le mien, qui n’a -jamais été assez hardi pour desserrer les dents, quand il est devant -moi. - -Eh bien, moi, s’écria Sancho, j’ai parlé et je parlerai devant le... et -même plus... mais laissons cela. - -En ce moment, l’autre écuyer tira Sancho par le bras, et lui dit à -l’oreille: Frère, cherchons quelque endroit où nous puissions parler à -notre aise, et laissons ici nos maîtres s’entretenir de leurs amours; -car le jour les surprendra qu’ils n’auront pas encore fini. - -Volontiers, repartit Sancho; je serais bien aise d’apprendre à Votre -Grâce qui je suis, et de vous montrer si c’est à moi qu’on peut -reprocher d’être un bavard. - -Tous deux s’en furent à l’écart, et il s’établit entre eux une -conversation pour le moins aussi plaisante que celle de leurs maîtres -fut sérieuse. - -CHAPITRE XIII - -OU SE POURSUIT L’AVENTURE DU CHEVALIER DU BOCAGE AVEC LE PIQUANT -DIALOGUE QU’EURENT ENSEMBLE LES ÉCUYERS - -Ainsi séparés, d’un côté étaient les chevaliers, de l’autre les écuyers, -ceux-ci se racontant leurs vies, ceux-là se confiant leurs amours; mais -l’histoire s’occupe d’abord de la conversation des valets, et rapporte -que l’écuyer du Bocage dit à Sancho: - -Il faut convenir, frère, qu’il y a peu d’existences aussi rudes que -celles des écuyers errants, et c’est bien à eux que peut s’appliquer la -malédiction dont Dieu frappa notre premier père, quand il lui dit: «Tu -mangeras ton pain à la sueur de ton front.» - -Et à la froidure de ton corps, ajouta Sancho, car qui souffre plus de -l’intempérie des saisons qu’un écuyer dans la chevalerie errante? Encore -s’il avait toujours de quoi manger, le mal serait moins grand: avec du -pain on nargue le chagrin; mais il se passe des jours entiers où nous -n’avons rien à mettre sous la dent, si ce n’est pourtant l’air que nous -respirons. - -Quand on a l’espoir d’être récompensé quelque jour, tout cela peut se -prendre en patience, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage; car il faut qu’un -chevalier errant soit bien peu chanceux s’il n’a pas une fois en sa vie -une île ou un comté à donner à son écuyer. - -J’ai souvent dit à mon maître qu’avec une île je me tiendrais pour -satisfait, répliqua Sancho, et il est si noble et si libéral qu’il me -l’a promise bien des fois. - -Je n’ai pas de si hautes prétentions, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage, et -avec un canonicat dont mon maître m’a déjà pourvu je me trouverai -amplement récompensé de mes services. - -Votre maître, demanda Sancho, est donc chevalier ecclésiastique, -puisqu’il peut donner un canonicat à son écuyer? Quant au mien, il est -simple laïque; et pourtant, je me rappelle que des gens d’esprit et de -sens, dans des intentions suspectes, à mon avis, lui conseillaient de -devenir archevêque. Par bonheur, il ne voulut jamais être qu’empereur; -mais je tremblais qu’il ne lui prît fantaisie de se faire d’église; car, -entre nous, tout dégourdi que je paraisse, vous saurez que je ne suis -qu’une bête pour gérer un bénéfice. - -Ne vous y trompez pas, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage, les gouvernements -d’îles ne sont pas si aisés à conduire que vous pourriez le supposer, et -souvent on n’y trouve pas même de l’eau à boire. Il y en a de fort -pauvres, d’autres sont très-mélancoliques; et les meilleurs sont des -charges fort pesantes que se mettent sur les épaules certains -gouverneurs; aussi à toute heure en voit-on qui ploient sous le faix. -Tenez, plutôt que d’exercer une profession comme la nôtre, on ferait -mieux de s’en aller chez soi pour y passer le temps à des exercices plus -paisibles, tels que la chasse ou la pêche; car quel est l’écuyer, si -pauvre soit-il, qui n’a pas quelque méchant cheval et une couple de -lévriers, ou tout au moins une ligne à pêcher, pour se divertir dans son -village? - -A l’exception du cheval, je possède tout cela, répondit Sancho; mais -j’ai un âne qui, sans le flatter, vaut deux fois le cheval de mon -maître; aussi je me garderais bien de le troquer, me donnât-t-il quatre -boisseaux d’avoine en retour. Sur ma foi, vous ne sauriez croire ce que -vaut mon grison, je dis grison, parce que c’est sa couleur; quant aux -lévriers, du diable si j’en manquais, car il y en a de reste dans notre -village, et la chasse est d’autant plus agréable qu’on la fait aux -dépens d’autrui. - -Seigneur, dit l’écuyer du Bocage, il faut que je vous avoue une chose: -c’est que j’ai résolu de laisser là cette ridicule chevalerie et de me -retirer chez moi, afin d’y vivre en paix et d’élever mes enfants; j’en -ai trois, Dieu merci, qui sont beaux comme des anges. - -Moi, repartit Sancho, j’en ai deux qu’on pourrait présenter au pape en -personne, surtout une jeune créature que j’élève pour être comtesse, -s’il plaît à Dieu, quoique un peu en dépit de sa mère. - -Eh! quel âge a cette demoiselle que vous élevez pour être comtesse? -demanda l’écuyer du Bocage. - -Environ quinze ans et demi, plus ou moins, répondit Sancho; elle est -grande comme une perche, fraîche comme une matinée d’avril, et forte -comme un portefaix. - -Peste! s’écria l’écuyer du Bocage, voilà bien des qualités: il y a là de -quoi faire non-seulement une comtesse, mais encore une nymphe du vert -bosquet. Oh! la gueuse, la fille de gueuse, elle m’a la mine de porter -joliment son bois! - -Ma fille n’est point une gueuse, repartit Sancho avec humeur, ni sa mère -non plus; et il n’en entrera jamais à la maison tant que je vivrai. -Seigneur écuyer, parlons plus sagement: pour un homme nourri parmi les -chevaliers errants, qui sont la courtoisie même, vos propos sont -très-malsonnants. - -Oh! que vous vous connaissez mal en fait de louanges! répliqua l’écuyer -du Bocage. N’avez-vous donc jamais entendu, lorsque dans un combat de -taureaux le toréador vient de faire un beau coup, chacun s’écrier: Oh! -le gueux, le fils de gueuse, comme il s’en est bien tiré! Vous voyez -donc que ce n’est pas une injure, mais une sorte de louange. Allez, -seigneur, reniez plutôt vos enfants s’ils ne font rien pour mériter de -pareils éloges. - -A ce compte-là vous pourriez leur jeter toute une gueuserie sur le -corps, repartit Sancho; mais j’espère qu’ils ne me causeront point ce -chagrin, car ils ne font et ne disent rien qui mérite de pareils -compliments: aussi je voudrais déjà les revoir, tant je les aime, et -tous les jours je prie Dieu qu’il me tire de ce dangereux métier -d’écuyer, où je me suis fourré encore une fois dans l’espoir de trouver -une bourse de cent ducats, comme je l’ai déjà fait dans la -Sierra-Morena. Depuis lors, le diable me met à toute heure devant les -yeux un sac de doublons; il me semble en ce moment que je le vois, que -je me jette dessus, que je le tiens entre mes bras, que je l’emporte -dans ma maison, que j’en achète des terres, et que je vis comme un -prince. Aussi chaque fois que je pense à cela, je compte pour rien -toutes les fatigues que j’endure à la suite de mon maître, qui, je le -vois bien, tient plus du fou que du chevalier. - -C’est pour cela qu’on dit convoitise rompt le sac, reprit l’écuyer du -Bocage; et, s’il faut parler de nos maîtres, je ne crois pas qu’il y ait -au monde un plus grand fou que le mien; il est de ceux dont on dit: Des -soucis d’autrui, l’âne dépérit. Ainsi, pour rétablir en son bon sens un -chevalier qui est devenu fou, il est devenu fou lui-même, et il va -chercher sans difficulté une chose telle, que s’il la trouvait, il -pourrait bien s’en mordre les doigts. - -Serait-il par hasard amoureux, votre maître? dit Sancho. - -Justement, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage, il est amoureux d’une certaine -Cassildée de Vandalie, qui est la plus cruelle créature et la plus -difficile à gouverner qu’on puisse rencontrer dans le monde. Mais ce -n’est point cela qui occupe mon maître en ce moment: il a bien d’autres -projets en tête, comme il le fera voir avant peu. - -Il n’est chemin si uni qui n’ait quelques pierres à faire broncher, -reprit Sancho; si l’on fait cuire des fèves chez les autres, chez nous -c’est à pleine marmite, et la folie a toujours plus de commensaux que la -raison. Mais si, comme je l’ai entendu dire souvent, les malheureux se -consolent entre eux, je pourrai me consoler avec Votre Grâce, puisque -vous servez un maître aussi fou que le mien. - -Fou, oui, mais vaillant, dit l’écuyer du Bocage, et plus matois encore -que vaillant et que fou. - -Oh! ce n’est point ainsi qu’est mon maître, reprit Sancho: il n’y a pas -chez lui la moindre malice; au contraire, il a un cœur de pigeon, et il -est incapable de faire du mal à une fourmi; de plus, il est si naïf, -qu’un enfant lui ferait accroire qu’il est nuit en plein jour. Eh bien, -c’est une simplicité qui fait que je l’aime comme la prunelle de mes -yeux, et que je ne puis me résoudre à le quitter malgré toutes ses -extravagances. - -Mais, en fin de compte, dit l’écuyer du Bocage, quand un aveugle en -conduit un autre, il y a danger pour les deux. Je pense donc que le -meilleur et le plus sûr serait de battre en retraite et de regagner nos -gîtes; car ceux qui cherchent les aventures ne les trouvent pas toujours -comme ils les voudraient. - -En cet endroit de la conversation, l’écuyer du Bocage s’apercevant que -Sancho crachait souvent et avec peine, lui dit: Seigneur, il me semble -qu’à force de parler nous nous sommes desséché le gosier et la langue; -il n’y aurait pas grand mal de nous les rafraîchir, et, contre de tels -accidents, mon cheval porte à l’arçon de ma selle un remède qui n’est -pas à dédaigner. Attendez-moi un moment. - -Cela dit, il se leva, et revint bientôt après portant une grande outre -pleine de vin, et un pâté si long, que Sancho crut qu’il contenait non -pas un chevreau, mais un bouc. - -Comment, seigneur! dit Sancho en le débarrassant du pâté, ce sont là vos -provisions? - -Et qu’attendiez-vous donc? répondit l’écuyer du Bocage: me preniez-vous -pour un écuyer au pain et à l’eau? Je ne me mets jamais en chemin sans -avoir semblable valise en croupe. - -Ils s’assirent à terre; et Sancho, sans se faire prier, se mit à manger -d’un si grand appétit, que, grâce à l’obscurité, il avalait des morceaux -gros comme le poing. - -Seigneur, dit-il, à en juger par les provisions que vous portez, si vous -n’êtes point ici par enchantement, au moins le croirait-on; vous êtes -bien le plus magnifique et le plus généreux écuyer que j’aie rencontré -de ma vie; en vérité, vous méritez d’être celui d’un roi. Tandis que -moi, pauvre diable, je n’ai dans mon bissac qu’un morceau de fromage si -dur, si dur, qu’on pourrait en casser la tête à un géant: puis quelques -oignons et deux ou trois douzaines de noisettes qui lui font compagnie, -grâce à la détresse de mon maître, et à la conviction où il est que les -chevaliers errants doivent se contenter de quelques fruits secs et des -herbes des champs. - -Mon estomac n’est point accoutumé aux oignons et aux racines sauvages, -répliqua l’écuyer du Bocage; que nos maîtres vivent tant qu’ils voudront -selon les règles de leur étroite chevalerie; moi, je porte toujours des -viandes froides, et de plus cette outre pendue à l’arçon de ma selle: -c’est ma fidèle compagne, et je l’aime si tendrement que je lui donne à -chaque instant mille embrassades et mille baisers. - -En disant cela, il passa l’outre à Sancho, qui, l’ayant aussitôt portée -à sa bouche, se mit à regarder les étoiles pendant un bon quart d’heure. -Quand il eut achevé d’étancher sa soif, il laissa tomber sa tête sur son -épaule, et jetant un profond soupir, il s’écria: Oh! le fils de gueuse! -comme il est catholique et comme il se laisse avaler! - -Ah! pour le coup, je vous y prends, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage: comment -venez-vous d’appeler ce vin? - -Je conviens, répondit Sancho, ce n’est pas une injure que d’appeler -quelqu’un fils de gueuse, quand c’est avec intention de le louer. Mais, -dites-moi, seigneur, par le salut de votre âme, n’est-ce pas là du vin -de Ciudad-Réal? - -Par ma foi, vous êtes un fin gourmet, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage; vous -l’avez deviné, il n’est pas d’un autre cru, et il est vieux de plusieurs -années. - -Oh! j’ai le nez bon, repartit Sancho; et pour se connaître en vin, je -défie qui que ce soit: rien qu’au flair je vous dirai d’où il vient, -quel est son âge, s’il est de garde; enfin toutes ses bonnes ou -mauvaises qualités. Et il ne faut pas s’étonner de cela: dans ma -famille, du côté de mon père, nous avons eu les deux plus fameux -gourmets qui se soient jamais vus dans toute la Manche. Ce que je vais -vous conter en est la preuve. Un jour on les appela pour avoir leur avis -sur du vin qui était dans une cuve. L’un en mit sur le bout de sa -langue, l’autre l’approcha de son nez; le premier prétendit que le vin -sentait le fer, le second assura qu’il sentait le cuir; le maître du vin -jura qu’il était franc, et qu’on n’y avait rien mis qui pût lui donner -aucune odeur: mais nos deux gourmets ne voulurent pas en démordre. A -quelque temps de là, le vin se vendit, et quand on eut nettoyé la cuve, -on trouva, au fond, une petite clef attachée à une aiguillette de cuir. -Maintenant, seigneur, dites-moi si un homme qui sort d’une telle race -peut donner son avis en semblable matière? - -Assurément, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage, mais à quoi cela vous sert-il -dans le métier que vous faites? Croyez-moi, laissons la chevalerie et -les aventures pour ce qu’elles valent, et puisque nous avons du pain -chez nous, n’allons pas chercher des tourtes là où il n’y a peut-être -pas de farine. - -J’ai résolu d’accompagner mon maître jusqu’à Saragosse, repartit Sancho; -mais après, serviteur! et je verrai le parti qu’il me faudra prendre. - -Finalement, tant parlèrent et tant burent nos deux écuyers, que le -sommeil seul fut capable de mettre fin à leurs propos et à leurs -rasades. Aussi, tous deux, tenant embrassée l’outre à peu près vide, et -ayant encore les morceaux mâchés dans la bouche, ils s’endormirent sur -la place. Nous les y laisserons, pour conter ce qui se passa entre le -chevalier du Bocage et le chevalier de la Triste-Figure. - -CHAPITRE XIV - -OU SE POURSUIT L’AVENTURE DU CHEVALIER DU BOCAGE - -Parmi beaucoup de propos qu’échangèrent don Quichotte et le chevalier du -Bocage, l’histoire raconte que celui-ci dit à l’autre: Enfin, Seigneur, -vous saurez que ma destinée, ou plutôt mon libre choix, m’a rendu -amoureux de la sans pareille Cassildée de Vandalie; je dis sans -pareille, parce qu’elle n’a point d’égale pour l’élégance de la taille, -ni pour la perfection de la beauté; eh bien, quoique j’aie pu faire, -cette Cassildée, dont je vous parle, n’a su récompenser mes honnêtes -pensées et mes chastes désirs qu’en m’exposant sans cesse comme la -marâtre d’Hercule à une foule de périlleux travaux, me flattant de -l’espérance toujours déçue de me récompenser à la fin de chaque -aventure. - -Une fois, le croiriez-vous, elle m’a commandé d’aller combattre en champ -clos cette fameuse géante de Séville, appelée la Giralda[81], qui, tout -naturellement offre la résistance et la force du bronze, et qui, sans -jamais bouger de place, est la plus volage et la plus changeante femme -de la terre. Je vins, je la vis, je la vainquis, et je la tins immobile, -aidé d’un vent du nord qui souffla toute une semaine. Une autre fois, -Cassildée m’ordonna d’aller prendre et soupeser les formidables -taureaux de Guisando[82], entreprise plus digne d’un portefaix que d’un -chevalier. Ce n’est pas tout, elle a voulu que je me précipitasse tout -vivant dans les profondeurs de Cabra pour lui rapporter une relation -exacte de ce que renferme cet obscur abîme, entreprise téméraire, -inouïe, et dont on ne peut sortir que par miracle. Eh bien, j’arrêtai la -Giralda, je soupesai les taureaux de Guisando, je révélai le secret des -abîmes de Cabra, sans que Cassildée cessât de se montrer ingrate et -dédaigneuse. Enfin, pour dernière épreuve, elle m’a ordonné de parcourir -toutes les provinces d’Espagne, afin de faire confesser à tous les -chevaliers errants que je viendrais à rencontrer, qu’elle seule mérite -le sceptre de la beauté, et que je suis le plus vaillant et le plus -amoureux des chevaliers. J’ai obéi, et dans plusieurs rencontres, j’ai -vaincu bon nombre de chevaliers assez hardis pour me contredire. Mais, -je dois l’avouer, l’exploit dont je suis le plus fier, c’est d’avoir -vaincu en combat singulier, le fameux, l’illustre chevalier don -Quichotte de la Manche, et de lui avoir fait confesser que ma Cassildée -de Vandalie est incomparablement plus belle que sa Dulcinée du Toboso: -victoire à jamais glorieuse pour moi, et dans laquelle je puis me vanter -d’avoir triomphé de tous les chevaliers errants du monde, puisque le -fameux, l’illustre don Quichotte dont je vous parle les a tous vaincus. - - [81] La Giralda, grande statue de bronze qui sert de girouette à la - haute tour arabe de la cathédrale de Séville. - - [82] Les taureaux de Guisando sont quatre énormes blocs de pierre qui - ont la forme de taureaux; ils sont dans la province d’Avila. - -Don Quichotte eut besoin de toute sa courtoisie pour ne pas donner sur -le champ un démenti au chevalier du Bocage; la formule consacrée _tu en -as menti_ lui vint même au bout de la langue: il se contint toutefois, -certain de lui faire confesser plus tard son erreur de sa propre bouche. - -Seigneur, lui dit-il avec calme, que Votre Grâce ait triomphé de la -plupart des chevaliers errants d’Espagne et même du monde entier, à cela -je n’ai rien à répondre; mais que vous ayez vaincu don Quichotte de la -Manche, vous me permettrez d’en douter; il se pourrait que ce fût -quelqu’un qui lui ressemblât, quoiqu’à vrai dire il y ait bien peu de -gens qui lui ressemblent. - -Non, non répliqua le chevalier du Bocage, c’est bien don Quichotte de la -Manche que j’ai combattu, que j’ai vaincu, que j’ai fait rendre à merci. -C’est un homme de haute taille, maigre de visage, qui a les membres -longs et grêles, les cheveux grisonnants, le nez aquilin et même un peu -crochu, les moustaches grandes, noires et tombantes; il combat sous le -nom de chevalier de la Triste-Figure, et mène pour écuyer un paysan -nommé Sancho Panza; il presse le flanc et dirige le frein d’un fameux -coursier appelé Rossinante; enfin il a pour dame de ses pensées une -certaine Dulcinée du Toboso, appelée jadis Aldonça Lorenzo, comme la -mienne que j’appelle Cassildée de Vandalie, parce qu’elle a nom Cassilda -et qu’elle est Andalouse: maintenant si tout cela ne suffit pas pour -prouver ce que j’avance, j’ai là une épée qui saura mettre les -incrédules à la raison. - -Doucement, seigneur chevalier, reprit don Quichotte; ne vous emportez -pas, et écoutez ce que je vais vous dire. Apprenez que ce don Quichotte -est le meilleur ami que j’aie au monde, et que sa réputation ne m’est -pas moins chère que la mienne. Aux indices que vous m’en donnez, je dois -croire que c’est lui-même que vous avez vaincu; cependant, je vois avec -les yeux et je touche avec les mains que cela est de toute -impossibilité, et je ne trouve aucune explication à ce que vous -affirmez, si ce n’est que des enchanteurs, surtout un, qui est son -ennemi particulier, aura pris sa ressemblance et se sera laissé vaincre -tout exprès pour lui enlever la gloire que ses exploits lui ont si -justement acquise par toute la terre; et pour preuve de cela, je dois -vous apprendre qu’il y a deux jours à peine, ces mécréants ont -transformé la belle Dulcinée du Toboso en une horrible paysanne. Ils -auront sans doute aussi transformé don Quichotte. Si, après cela, il -vous reste encore quelque incertitude, voici devant vous don Quichotte -en personne qui maintiendra ce qu’il avance les armes à la main, soit à -pied, soit à cheval, enfin de telle manière qui vous conviendra. - -En même temps, don Quichotte se leva brusquement, et portant la main sur -la garde de son épée, il attendit la décision du chevalier du Bocage, -qui lui répondit froidement: - -Un bon payeur ne craint pas de donner des gages, seigneur chevalier; -celui qui une première fois a su vous vaincre transformé peut espérer -vous vaincre de nouveau sous votre forme véritable. Mais comme il n’est -pas convenable que les chevaliers errants accomplissent leurs exploits -dans les ténèbres, ainsi que des vauriens et des brigands, attendons le -lever du soleil, et alors nous verrons à qui des deux Mars sera -favorable; toutefois, seigneur, sous cette condition, que le vaincu -restera à la discrétion du vainqueur, et sera obligé de faire ce qu’il -lui ordonnera, pourvu que ce soit selon les règles de la chevalerie. - -Cela dit, ils se rapprochèrent de leurs écuyers, qu’ils trouvèrent -dormant et ronflant dans la même posture où ils avaient été surpris par -le sommeil; ils les réveillèrent en leur ordonnant de tenir leurs -chevaux prêts et en bon état, parce qu’au lever du soleil allait se -livrer un combat sanglant et formidable. - -Atterré de cette nouvelle, Sancho tremblait déjà pour les jours de son -maître, après les prouesses qu’il avait entendu raconter du chevalier du -Bocage par son écuyer. Tous deux néanmoins se mirent en devoir d’obéir, -et s’en furent chercher leur troupeau; car, après s’être flairés, les -trois chevaux et l’âne paissaient ensemble. - -Chemin faisant, l’écuyer du Bocage dit à Sancho: Vous saurez, frère, que -la coutume des écuyers d’Andalousie n’est pas de rester les bras croisés -quand leurs maîtres se battent; ainsi nous n’avons qu’à nous préparer à -jouer des couteaux. - -Cette coutume peut être celle des bravaches dont vous parlez, répondit -Sancho; mais que ce soit la coutume des chevaliers errants, je ne le -pense pas; au moins n’ai-je jamais entendu dire rien de semblable à mon -maître, lui qui sait par cœur tous les règlements de la chevalerie. -D’ailleurs, s’il y a obligation pour les écuyers de se battre quand -s’escriment leurs seigneurs, il doit y avoir une peine pour les -contrevenants; eh bien, je préfère payer l’amende; elle n’excédera -point, j’en suis sûr, la valeur de deux livres de cire[83]; aussi, -j’aime mieux payer les cierges que de recevoir quelque mauvais coup et -de me ruiner en emplâtres; il y a plus, c’est que je n’ai point d’épée, -et que je n’en ai porté de ma vie. - - [83] C’était l’amende à laquelle on condamnait les membres d’une - confrérie absents le jour d’une réunion - -Qu’à cela ne tienne, repartit l’écuyer du Bocage; j’ai là deux sacs de -toile de la même grandeur: Votre Grâce en prendra un, moi l’autre, et -de la sorte nous combattrons à armes égales. - -Très-bien, dit Sancho: d’autant que ces armes seront plus propres à ôter -la poussière de nos habits qu’à nous faire du mal. - -Comment l’entendez-vous? répliqua l’écuyer du Bocage: nous mettrons dans -chaque sac, afin que le vent ne les emporte pas, une douzaine de jolis -cailloux bien polis, bien ronds, et après cela nous pourrons nous battre -tout à notre aise. - -Une douzaine de cailloux! quelle ouate! repartit Sancho; si vous avez la -tête de bronze, la mienne est de chair et d’os: mais, je vous le dis et -le redis, n’y aurait-il dans les sacs que des cocons de soie, je ne me -sens pas d’humeur à guerroyer: laissons nos maîtres combattre tant -qu’ils voudront, s’ils en ont envie; quant à nous, buvons et mangeons, -par ma foi, c’est le plus court et le plus sûr; le temps se chargera -bien assez du soin de nous ôter la vie, sans travailler à la raccourcir -nous-mêmes avant qu’elle soit à terme et tombe de maturité. - -Vous avez beau dire, répliqua l’écuyer du Bocage, nous nous battrons au -moins une demi-heure. - -Non, non, répondit Sancho, pas même une minute: je suis trop courtois -pour chercher querelle à un homme avec qui je viens de boire et de -manger; et puis, diable! qui peut songer à se battre sans être en -colère? - -A cela je sais un remède, dit l’écuyer du Bocage: avant de commencer le -combat je m’approcherai tout doucement de Votre Grâce, et avec cinq ou -six coups de poing par les mâchoires et autant de coups de pied dans le -ventre, je suis assuré de réveiller votre colère, fût-elle plus endormie -qu’une marmotte. - -Et moi j’en sais un autre qui ne lui cède en rien, reprit Sancho: je -prendrai un bon gourdin, et avant que vous ayez réveillé ma colère, -j’endormirai si bien la vôtre, qu’elle ne pourra se réveiller que dans -l’autre monde. Oh! je ne suis pas homme à me laisser manier de la -sorte; tenez, le meilleur est de laisser dormir chacun notre colère. Il -ne faut point, comme on dit, réveiller le chat qui dort, et tel souvent -va chercher de la laine qui revient tondu. Dieu a béni la paix et maudit -les querelles; faisons de même: aussi bien, si un chat enfermé se change -en lion, en quoi suis-je capable de me changer, moi qui suis un homme? - -C’est bien, dit l’écuyer du Bocage; le jour ne tardera pas à paraître, -et nous verrons ce qu’il faudra faire. - -Déjà l’on entendait gazouiller dans le feuillage une foule de petits -oiseaux, saluant de leurs cris joyeux la venue de la blanche aurore, qui -commençait à se montrer sur les balcons de l’Orient. De sa chevelure -dorée ruisselait un nombre infini de perles liquides, et les plantes, -baignées de cette suave liqueur, paraissaient elles-mêmes répandre des -gouttes de diamant; les saules distillaient une manne savoureuse, les -fontaines semblaient rire, les ruisseaux murmurer, les bois prenaient un -air de fête et les prairies se paraient de fleurs. - -Aussitôt que le jour parut, le premier objet qui s’offrit aux regards de -Sancho fut le nez de l’écuyer du Bocage, nez si grand, si énorme, qu’il -faisait ombre sur son corps. En effet, l’histoire raconte que ce nez -était d’une longueur démesurée, bossu au milieu, tout couvert de -verrues, d’une couleur violacée comme celle des mûres, et qu’il -descendait deux doigts plus bas que la bouche. Cette hideuse vision -épouvanta si fort le pauvre Sancho, et il fut saisi d’un tel tremblement -que, tout bas, il se vouait à tous les saints d’Espagne, afin d’être -délivré de ce fantôme, bien résolu d’en recevoir cent gourmades plutôt -que de laisser éveiller sa propre colère pour combattre ce vampire. - -Don Quichotte regarda aussi son adversaire; mais celui-ci avait déjà le -casque en tête et la visière baissée, de sorte qu’il ne put le voir au -visage; seulement il remarqua que c’était un homme fort et robuste, -quoique de moyenne taille; par-dessus ses armes il portait une casaque -qui paraissait de brocart d’or; on y voyait éclater quantité de petites -lunes ou miroirs d’argent, et ce riche costume lui prêtait beaucoup -d’élégance et de grâce; son casque était surmonté de plumes jaunes, -vertes et blanches; sa lance, appuyée contre un arbre, était grosse et -longue, et terminée par une pointe d’acier d’une palme de long. De tout -cela, don Quichotte conclut que l’inconnu devait être d’une force peu -commune; mais loin de s’en étonner, il s’avança vers lui d’un air -dégagé: Seigneur, lui dit-il, si l’ardeur qui vous porte au combat -n’altère point votre courtoisie, je vous prie de lever un moment votre -visière, afin que je puisse voir si votre bonne mine répond à la vigueur -qu’annonce votre noble taille. - -Vainqueur ou vaincu, répondit le chevalier des Miroirs, vous aurez tout -le temps de m’examiner après le combat; je ne puis accéder à votre -demande, car il me semble que je fais tort à la beauté de ma Cassildée -et à ma gloire, en reculant d’une seule minute l’aveu que je dois vous -arracher. - -Au moins, répliqua notre héros, vous pouvez me dire, avant que nous -montions à cheval, si je suis ce don Quichotte que vous prétendez avoir -vaincu. - -A cela, je répondrai qu’on ne peut pas avoir plus de ressemblance, dit -le chevalier des Miroirs: mais, après ce que vous m’avez dit de la -persécution des enchanteurs, je n’oserais jurer que vous soyez le même. - -Il suffit, reprit don Quichotte; qu’on amène nos chevaux, et je vous -tirerai d’erreur en moins de temps que vous n’en auriez mis à lever -votre visière; si Dieu, ma dame et mon bras, ne me font pas défaut, je -verrai votre visage, et vous me direz alors si je suis ce don Quichotte -qui se laisse vaincre si aisément. - -Ils montèrent à cheval sans discourir davantage, et tournèrent leurs -chevaux pour prendre du champ; mais à peine s’étaient-ils éloignés -d’une vingtaine de pas, que le chevalier des Miroirs appela don -Quichotte. - -Seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il en se rapprochant, vous savez les -conditions de notre combat; le vaincu sera à la disposition du -vainqueur. - -Je le sais, répondit don Quichotte; mais à la condition aussi que le -vainqueur n’imposera rien de contraire aux lois de la chevalerie. - -Cela est de toute justice, repartit le chevalier des Miroirs. - -En ce moment, l’étrange nez de l’écuyer du Bocage vint frapper les -regards de don Quichotte, qui n’en fut pas moins surpris que Sancho; il -crut même voir une sorte de monstre, un homme de race nouvelle, -jusqu’alors inconnu sur la terre. Sancho, voyant partir son maître pour -prendre du champ, ne voulut pas rester seul avec cet effroyable nez; -s’accrochant à une des courroies de la selle de Rossinante, il courut -derrière don Quichotte, et dès qu’il le vit prêt à tourner bride, il lui -dit à l’oreille: Seigneur, je vous supplie de m’aider à grimper sur ce -chêne, afin que je puisse voir plus à mon aise votre combat avec ce -chevalier. - -N’est-ce point plutôt, dit don Quichotte, que tu veux monter sur les -banquettes pour voir sans danger courir les taureaux? - -S’il faut dire la vérité, repartit Sancho, l’effroyable nez de cet homme -me fait peur, et je n’ai pas le courage de rester seul avec lui. - -Il est tel, en effet, reprit don Quichotte, que si je n’étais pas ce que -je suis, il me ferait trembler moi-même. Viens çà, que je t’aide à -accomplir ton dessein. - -Pendant que don Quichotte secondait les efforts de Sancho, le chevalier -des Miroirs prenait le champ qu’il jugeait nécessaire; et pensant que -son adversaire avait fait de même, il tourna bride pour venir à sa -rencontre de toute la vitesse de son cheval, c’est-à-dire au petit trot, -car son coursier ne valait guère mieux que Rossinante. Mais en voyant -don Quichotte occupé à prêter secours à Sancho, il s’arrêta au milieu de -la carrière, à la grande satisfaction de sa monture, qui ne pouvait déjà -plus remuer. Notre héros, qui croyait au contraire que son adversaire -allait tomber sur lui comme la foudre, enfonça vigoureusement l’éperon -dans les flancs de Rossinante, et le fit détaler de telle sorte, que -l’histoire rapporte qu’il prit enfin le galop, ce qui ne lui était -jamais arrivé. Ainsi emporté, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure s’élança -sur celui des Miroirs, qui ne cessait de talonner son cheval sans -pouvoir le faire avancer; et le choc fut si violent, qu’il lui fit vider -les arçons et le coucha par terre privé de connaissance. - -Sancho, se laissant glisser de son arbre, vint en toute hâte rejoindre -son maître, qui déjà s’était précipité sur le vaincu, et lui détachait -les courroies de son armet, pour voir s’il était mort, ou pour lui -donner de l’air, si par hasard il était encore vivant. Il reconnut... -(comment le dire sans frapper d’étonnement et d’épouvante ceux qui -liront ce récit?...) il reconnut, dit l’histoire, le visage, la figure, -l’aspect, l’effigie, enfin toute l’apparence du bachelier Samson -Carrasco. A cette vue, il appela Sancho à grands cris: Accours, mon -fils, lui dit-il, accours, viens voir ce que tu ne pourras jamais -croire, même après l’avoir vu; regarde quel est le pouvoir de la magie, -la malice des enchanteurs et la force des enchantements. - -L’écuyer s’approcha, et reconnaissant Samson Carrasco, il se signa plus -de mille fois. Mais comme le chevalier vaincu ne donnait pas signe de -vie: Seigneur, dit-il à son maître, plantez-moi, à tout hasard, votre -épée deux ou trois fois dans la gorge de cet homme qui ressemble si -fort au bachelier; peut-être tuerez-vous en lui un de vos ennemis les -enchanteurs. - -Tu as raison, repartit don Quichotte; aussi bien, plus de morts, moins -d’ennemis. Et déjà il tirait son épée quand l’écuyer du chevalier des -Miroirs, qui n’avait plus ce nez qui le rendait si effroyable, accourut -en criant de toutes ses forces: Arrêtez, seigneur, arrêtez, prenez garde -à ce que vous allez faire, cet homme étendu à vos pieds est le bachelier -Samson Carrasco, votre bon ami, et moi qui vous parle, je lui servais -d’écuyer. - -A d’autres, répliqua Sancho; qu’est devenu le nez? - -Le voici, répondit l’écuyer du Bocage; et il tira de sa poche un nez de -carton vernissé, tel qu’il a été dépeint. - -Sainte-Vierge! s’écria Sancho en regardant l’homme qui le lui montrait, -n’est-ce pas là Thomas Cécial, mon voisin et mon compère? - -C’est lui-même, ami Sancho, répondit Thomas, c’est votre voisin, et qui -vous dira tout à l’heure par suite de quelle intrigue il se trouve ici. -Mais priez d’abord votre maître de ne point faire de mal à ce chevalier -qu’il tient sous ses pieds, et qui n’est autre que le pauvre et -imprudent Samson Carrasco. - -En cet instant, le chevalier des Miroirs revint à lui, et au premier -signe de vie qu’il donna, don Quichotte lui présentant l’épée à la -gorge: Vous êtes mort, chevalier, lui dit-il, si vous ne confessez que -la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso l’emporte en beauté sur votre -Cassildée de Vandalie. Vous allez promettre en outre, dans le cas où -vous survivriez à ce combat et à cette chute, de vous rendre à la ville -du Toboso, et de vous présenter devant madame, pour qu’elle dispose de -vous selon son bon plaisir. Si elle vous laisse libre, vous reviendrez -me chercher à la trace de mes exploits, afin de me rendre compte de ce -qui se sera passé entre elle et vous, conditions qui, ainsi que nous en -sommes convenus avant le combat, ne sortent pas des règles de la -chevalerie. - -Oui, je le confesse, répondit le pauvre Carrasco, mieux vaut cent fois -le soulier sale et déchiré de madame Dulcinée du Toboso, que les mules -brodées d’or de Cassildée de Vandalie; je promets d’aller au Toboso me -présenter devant votre dame, et de revenir ensuite vous rendre un compte -exact et détaillé de ce que vous demandez. - -Il faut encore confesser, continua don Quichotte, que le chevalier que -vous avez vaincu n’était ni ne pouvait être don Quichotte de la Manche, -mais seulement quelqu’un qui lui ressemblait: comme aussi, de mon côté, -je reconnais que vous n’êtes point le bachelier Samson Carrasco, mais -quelque autre qui lui ressemble, et à qui les enchanteurs mes ennemis -ont donné le même visage et la même forme, afin de modérer les -mouvements impétueux de ma colère, et me faire user avec clémence de la -victoire. - -J’avoue tout cela et le confesse selon votre désir, dit Carrasco; -laissez-moi seulement me remettre debout, je suis fort incommodé de ma -chute. - -Don Quichotte l’aida à se relever, secondé par Thomas Cécial, que Sancho -ne quittait pas des yeux, lui faisant mille questions pour s’assurer si -c’était bien lui qu’il voyait, car il ne pouvait y croire, tant la -rencontre lui semblait surprenante, et tant l’opinion de son maître sur -le pouvoir des enchanteurs s’était fortement imprimé dans son esprit. - -Finalement, maître et valet restèrent dans cette erreur, et le chevalier -des Miroirs s’éloigna, suivi de son écuyer, afin d’aller se faire guérir -les côtes. Un moment après, don Quichotte reprit sa route vers -Saragosse, où il faut le laisser aller pour dire quels étaient le -chevalier des Miroirs et l’écuyer au grand nez. - -CHAPITRE XV - -QUELS ÉTAIENT LE CHEVALIER DES MIROIRS ET L’ÉCUYER AU GRAND NEZ - -Don Quichotte s’en allait tout ravi, tout glorieux, tout fier de la -victoire remportée sur un aussi vaillant adversaire que le chevalier des -Miroirs; confiant dans la parole que ce chevalier lui avait si -solennellement donnée, il comptait apprendre bientôt des nouvelles de -Dulcinée, et surtout si son enchantement durait toujours. Mais si le -vainqueur pensait une chose, le vaincu en pensait une autre; car ce -dernier ne songeait, comme on l’a dit, qu’à se faire guérir promptement -les côtes pour être en état d’exécuter son nouveau dessein. - -Or, voici ce que rapporte l’histoire: lorsque Samson Carrasco conseilla -à don Quichotte de retourner à la recherche des aventures, ce ne fut -qu’après en avoir conféré avec le curé et le barbier. Sur sa proposition -particulière, l’avis unanime fut qu’on laisserait partir notre héros, -puisque le retenir était chose impossible; que quelques jours après, -Carrasco partirait à sa rencontre, en équipage de chevalier errant, -chercherait à le provoquer et à le vaincre, ayant auparavant mis dans -les conditions du combat que le vaincu serait à la discrétion du -vainqueur; qu’alors il lui ordonnerait de retourner dans sa maison, et -de n’en pas sortir sans sa permission avant l’expiration de deux années: -ce que don Quichotte ne manquerait pas d’accomplir religieusement, pour -ne pas contrevenir aux lois de la chevalerie, et qu’alors peut-être il -oublierait ses extravagances, ou du moins qu’on aurait le loisir d’y -apporter remède. Samson s’était chargé de bon cœur de l’entreprise; -Thomas Cécial, compère et voisin de Sancho, et de plus bon compagnon, -s’était offert à lui servir d’écuyer. - -Carrasco s’équipa donc comme nous venons de le voir, et prit le nom de -chevalier des Miroirs. Pour n’être pas reconnu de Sancho, Thomas Cécial -s’étant mis un faux nez, tous deux suivirent don Quichotte à la trace, -et de si près, qu’ils faillirent assister à l’aventure du char de la -Mort; mais ils le rejoignirent seulement dans le bois où eut lieu le -combat que nous venons de raconter; et n’eût été la cervelle détraquée -de don Quichotte, qui se figura que le vaincu n’était point Carrasco, -notre bachelier demeurait à tout jamais hors d’état de prendre ses -licences de docteur. - -Thomas Cécial, voyant le mauvais succès de leur voyage, et le pauvre -Carrasco en si piteux état: Par ma foi, seigneur bachelier, lui dit-il, -nous n’avons que ce que nous méritons; entreprendre une aventure n’est -pas chose difficile, mais la mener à bonne fin est tout différent. Don -Quichotte est un fou, et nous nous croyons sages; cependant il s’en va -sain et content, et nous nous en retournons tous deux tristes, et de -plus vous bien frotté. Dites-moi, je vous prie, quel est le plus fou, ou -de celui qui l’est parce qu’il ne peut s’en empêcher, ou de celui qui le -devient par l’effet de sa volonté? La différence entre ces deux espèces -de fous est que celui qui l’est sans le vouloir, le sera toujours, -tandis que celui qui l’est par sa volonté, cessera de l’être quand il -lui plaira. Ainsi donc, si j’ai consenti à être fou en vous servant -d’écuyer, je veux, pour ne l’être pas davantage, reprendre le chemin de -ma maison. - -Comme il vous conviendra, dit le bachelier: mais si vous croyez que je -rentrerai chez moi avant d’avoir roué de coups don Quichotte, vous vous -trompez étrangement. Ce qui m’anime à cette heure, ce n’est pas le désir -de lui rendre la raison, mais bien le désir de tirer une éclatante -vengeance de l’effroyable douleur que je ressens dans les côtes. - -Tout en parlant ainsi, ils atteignirent un village où, par bonheur, il y -avait un chirurgien; Samson se mit entre ses mains, et Thomas Cécial -reprit le chemin de sa maison. Pendant que le bachelier se fait panser -et songe à sa vengeance, allons retrouver don Quichotte, et voyons s’il -ne nous donnera point de nouveaux sujets de divertissement. - -CHAPITRE XVI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC UN CHEVALIER DE LA MANCHE - -Dans cette satisfaction, ce ravissement et cet orgueil qu’on vient de -dire, notre héros poursuit son chemin, se croyant désormais le plus -vaillant chevalier du monde, car cette dernière victoire lui semblait le -présage assuré de toutes les autres; il tenait pour achevées et menées à -bonne fin les aventures qui pourraient lui arriver désormais; et -narguant enchanteurs et enchantements, il ne se souvenait plus des -nombreux coups de bâton qu’il avait reçus dans le cours de ses -expéditions chevaleresques, ni de cette pluie de pierres qui lui cassa -la moitié des dents, ni de l’ingratitude des forçats, ni de l’insolence -des muletiers yangois. Enfin, se disait-il en lui-même, si je parviens à -découvrir quelque moyen de désenchanter Dulcinée, je n’aurai rien à -envier au plus fortuné de tous les chevaliers errants des siècles -passés. - -Il était plongé dans ces agréables rêveries, lorsque Sancho lui dit: - -Seigneur, n’est-il pas singulier que j’aie toujours devant les yeux cet -effroyable nez de mon compère Cécial? - -Est-ce que par hasard tu t’imagines que le chevalier des Miroirs était -le bachelier Samson Carrasco, et son écuyer Thomas Cécial? repartit don -Quichotte. - -Je ne sais que dire à cela, répondit Sancho, mais tout ce que je sais, -c’est qu’un autre que Cécial ne pouvait savoir ce que celui-là m’a conté -de ma maison, de ma femme et de mes enfants; et puis, quand il n’a plus -ce grand nez, c’est bien le visage de Cécial, c’est aussi le même son de -voix; en un mot, il est tel que je l’ai connu toute ma vie. Je ne puis -m’y tromper, puisque nous demeurons porte à porte et que chaque jour -nous sommes ensemble. - -D’accord, répliqua don Quichotte; mais raisonnons un peu. Comment -peux-tu supposer que le bachelier Samson Carrasco vienne en équipage de -chevalier errant, avec armes offensives et défensives, pour me -combattre? Suis-je son ennemi, lui ai-je jamais donné le moindre sujet -d’être le mien? Peut-il me regarder comme son rival? Enfin exerce-t-il -la profession des armes, pour porter envie à la gloire que je m’y suis -acquise? - -Mais enfin, seigneur, reprit Sancho, que penser de la ressemblance de ce -chevalier avec Samson Carrasco, et de celle de son écuyer avec mon -compère Cécial? Si c’est enchantement, comme le dit Votre Grâce, n’y -a-t-il pas dans le monde d’autres individus dont ils auraient pu prendre -la figure? - -Tout cela n’est qu’artifice et stratagème de mes ennemis les -enchanteurs, dit don Quichotte. Prévoyant que je sortirais vainqueur de -ce combat, ils ont, par prudence, changé le visage de mon adversaire en -celui du bachelier Samson Carrasco, afin que l’amitié qu’ils savent que -je lui porte, arrêtant ma juste fureur, me fît épargner la vie de celui -qui attaquait si déloyalement la mienne. Te faut-il d’autre preuve de la -malice et du pouvoir de ces mécréants, que celle que nous avons eue tout -récemment dans la transformation de Dulcinée? Ne m’as-tu pas dit -toi-même que tu la voyais dans toute sa beauté naturelle, avec tous les -charmes que lui a si largement départis la nature, tandis que moi, objet -de l’aversion de ces misérables, elle m’apparaissait sous la figure -d’une paysanne laide et difforme, avec des yeux chassieux et une haleine -empestée! Qu’y a-t-il donc d’étonnant à ce que l’enchanteur pervers, qui -a osé faire une si détestable transformation, ait également opéré celle -de Samson Carrasco et de ton compère, pour me priver de la gloire du -triomphe? Cependant, j’ai lieu de me consoler, puisque mon bras a été -plus fort que toute sa magie, et qu’en dépit de la puissance d’un art -détestable, mon courage m’a rendu vainqueur. - -Dieu sait la vérité de toutes choses, reprit Sancho peu satisfait des -raisonnements de son maître; mais il ne voulait pas le contredire, dans -la crainte de découvrir sa supercherie à propos de l’enchantement de -Dulcinée. - -Ils en étaient là de leur entretien, quand ils furent rejoints par un -cavalier monté sur une belle jument gris pommelé. Ce cavalier portait un -caban de drap vert, avec une bordure de velours fauve, et sur la tête -une _montera_ de même étoffe; un cimeterre moresque, soutenu par un -baudrier vert et or, pendait à sa ceinture. Ses bottines étaient du même -travail que le baudrier, et ses éperons également vernis de vert d’un -bruni si luisant, que par leur harmonie avec le reste du costume, ils -faisaient meilleur effet que s’ils eussent été d’or pur. Le gentilhomme -les salua poliment en passant près d’eux; puis, donnant de l’éperon à sa -monture, il allait poursuivre sa route, quand don Quichotte lui dit: -Seigneur, si Votre Grâce suit le même chemin que nous et si rien ne la -presse, je serais flatté de cheminer avec elle. - -Seigneur, j’avais même intention, répondit le voyageur; mais j’ai craint -que votre cheval ne s’emportât à cause de ma jument. - -Oh! pour cela ne craignez rien, repartit Sancho; notre cheval est le -plus honnête et le mieux appris qui soit au monde; ce n’est pas un -animal à faire des escapades, et pour une fois en toute sa vie qu’il -s’est émancipé, nous l’avons payé cher, mon maître et moi. Ne craignez -rien, je le répète; votre jument est en sûreté, car ils seraient dix ans -côte à côte, qu’il ne prendrait pas à notre cheval la moindre envie de -folâtrer. - -Le gentilhomme ralentit sa monture et se mit à considérer, non sans -étonnement, la figure de notre héros, qui marchait tête nue, Sancho -portant le casque de son maître pendu à l’arçon du bât de son âne. Mais -si le cavalier regardait attentivement don Quichotte, don Quichotte -regardait le cavalier avec une curiosité plus grande encore, le jugeant -homme d’importance. Son âge paraissait être d’environ cinquante ans, il -avait les cheveux grisonnants, le nez aquilin, le regard grave et doux; -enfin sa tenue et ses manières annonçaient beaucoup de distinction. - -Quant à l’inconnu, le jugement qu’il porta de notre chevalier fut que -c’était quelque personnage extraordinaire, et il ne se souvenait pas -d’avoir jamais vu quelqu’un équipé de la sorte. Sa longue taille, la -maigreur de son visage, ces armes dépareillées et cette singulière -tournure sur ce cheval efflanqué, tout enfin lui paraissait si étrange, -qu’il ne se lassait point de le regarder. Don Quichotte s’aperçut de la -surprise qu’éprouvait le gentilhomme, et lisant dans ses yeux l’envie -qu’il avait d’en savoir davantage, il voulut le prévenir par un effet de -sa courtoisie habituelle. - -Je comprends, seigneur, lui dit-il, que vous soyez surpris de voir en -moi un air et des manières si différentes de celles des autres hommes; -mais votre étonnement cessera, quand vous saurez que je suis chevalier -errant, de ceux dont on dit communément qu’ils vont à la recherche des -aventures. Oui, j’ai quitté mon pays, j’ai engagé mon bien, j’ai renoncé -à tous les plaisirs, et je me suis jeté dans les bras de la fortune, -pour qu’elle m’emmenât où bon lui semblerait. Mon dessein a été de -ressusciter la défunte chevalerie errante, et depuis longtemps déjà, -bronchant ici, tombant là, me relevant plus loin, j’ai en grande partie -réalisé mon désir, car j’ai secouru les veuves, protégé les jeunes -filles, défendu les droits des femmes mariées, des orphelins, et de tous -les affligés, labeur ordinaire des chevaliers errants. Aussi, par bon -nombre de vaillantes et chrétiennes prouesses, ai-je mérité de parcourir -en lettres moulées presque tous les pays du globe. Trente mille volumes -de mon histoire sont déjà imprimés, et elle pourra bientôt se répandre -encore davantage, si Dieu n’y met ordre. Bref, pour tout dire en peu de -mots, et même en un seul, je suis don Quichotte de la Manche, autrement -dit, le chevalier de la Triste-Figure; et quoiqu’il soit peu convenable -de publier ses propres louanges, je suis parfois obligé de le faire, -quand personne ne se rencontre pour m’en épargner le soin et la peine. -Ainsi donc, seigneur, ni cet écu, ni cette lance, ni cet écuyer, ni ce -cheval, ni la couleur de mon visage, ni la maigreur de mon corps, ne -doivent vous étonner, puisque vous savez qui je suis et la profession -que j’exerce. - -Don Quichotte se tut, et l’homme au caban vert, après avoir tardé -quelque temps à lui répondre, dit enfin: Seigneur chevalier, au moment -de notre rencontre, vous aviez lu ma curiosité sur mon visage; mais ce -que vous venez de dire est loin de l’avoir fait cesser. Est-il possible -qu’il existe aujourd’hui des chevaliers errants, et qu’on ait imprimé -des histoires de véritable chevalerie? Par ma foi, seigneur, j’aurais -eu peine à me persuader qu’il y eût encore de ces défenseurs des dames, -de ces protecteurs des veuves et des orphelins, si mes yeux ne m’en -faisaient voir en votre personne un témoignage assuré. Béni soit le ciel -qui a permis que l’histoire de vos grands et véridiques exploits, que -vous dites imprimée, soit venue faire oublier les innombrables prouesses -de ces chevaliers errants imaginaires, dont le monde était plein, au -grand détriment des histoires véritables. - -Il y a beaucoup à dire sur la question de savoir si les histoires des -chevaliers errants sont imaginaires ou ne le sont pas, répondit don -Quichotte. - -Comment! reprit le voyageur, se trouverait-il quelqu’un qui doutât de la -fausseté de ces histoires? - -Moi j’en doute, répliqua don Quichotte. Mais laissons cela; j’espère, si -nous voyageons quelque temps ensemble, vous tirer de l’erreur dans -laquelle vous a entraîné le torrent de l’opinion. - -Ces dernières paroles, le ton dont elles avaient été prononcées, firent -penser au voyageur que notre héros devait être quelque cerveau fêlé, et -il l’observait soigneusement pour saisir un nouvel indice qui vînt -confirmer ses premiers soupçons. - -Mais avant d’aborder un autre sujet d’entretien, don Quichotte le pria -de lui dire à son tour qui il était. - -Seigneur chevalier, répondit le voyageur, je m’appelle don Diego de -Miranda; je suis un hidalgo, natif d’un bourg voisin, où nous irons -souper ce soir, s’il plaît à Dieu. Possesseur d’une fortune raisonnable, -je passe doucement ma vie entre ma femme et mon fils. Mes exercices -ordinaires sont la chasse et la pêche; mais je n’entretiens ni faucons -ni lévriers: je me contente d’un chien courant ou d’un hardi furet. Ma -bibliothèque se compose d’une soixantaine de volumes, tant latins -qu’espagnols, quelques-uns d’histoire, d’autres de dévotion; quant aux -livres de chevalerie, jamais ils n’ont passé le seuil de ma maison. Je -préfère à tous les autres les livres profanes, pourvu qu’ils aient du -style et de l’invention; et de ceux-là il y en a fort peu dans notre -Espagne. Mes voisins et moi nous vivons en parfaite intelligence, et -souvent nous mangeons les uns chez les autres; nos repas sont abondants -sans superfluité. Je ne glose jamais sur la conduite d’autrui, et ne -souffre pas que la médisance se donne carrière devant moi. Je ne fouille -la vie et n’épie les actions de personne. J’entends la messe chaque -jour; je donne aux pauvres une partie de mon bien, sans faire parade de -bonnes œuvres, afin de ne pas ouvrir dans mon âme accès à l’hypocrisie -ou à la vanité, ennemis qui, si l’on n’y prend garde, ne tardent pas à -s’emparer du cœur le plus humble. Je m’efforce d’apaiser autour de moi -les querelles; je suis dévot à la mère de notre Sauveur, et j’ai -confiance dans la miséricorde de Dieu. - -Sancho avait écouté avec la plus grande attention cet exposé de la vie -et des occupations du gentilhomme au caban vert; aussi, persuadé qu’un -homme qui vivait de la sorte devait être un saint et faire des miracles, -il saute à bas de son âne, va saisir l’étrier du voyageur, puis d’un -cœur dévot et les larmes aux yeux, il lui baise le pied à plusieurs -reprises. - -Que faites-vous là, mon ami? s’écria le gentilhomme; qu’avez-vous à me -baiser ainsi les pieds? - -Laissez-moi faire, seigneur, répondit Sancho; j’ai toujours honoré les -saints, mais votre Grâce est le premier saint à cheval que j’aie vu en -toute ma vie. - -Je ne suis pas un saint, répliqua le gentilhomme, mais un grand pécheur; -c’est plutôt vous, mon frère, qui méritez le titre de saint, par -l’humilité que vous faites paraître. - -Satisfait de ce qu’il venait de faire, Sancho, sans rien répondre, -remonta sur son grison. - -Don Quichotte, qui malgré sa mélancolie n’avait pu s’empêcher de rire de -la naïveté de son écuyer, prit la parole, et demanda au seigneur don -Diego s’il avait beaucoup d’enfants, ajoutant que la chose dans laquelle -les anciens philosophes, qui pourtant manquèrent de la connaissance du -vrai Dieu, avaient placé le souverain bien, c’était, outre les avantages -de la nature et de la fortune, de posséder beaucoup d’amis et d’avoir -des enfants bons et nombreux. - -Seigneur, répondit don Diego, je n’ai qu’un fils, mais il est tel que -peut-être sans lui je serais plus complétement heureux que je ne suis; -non que ses inclinations soient mauvaises, mais enfin parce qu’il n’a -pas celles que j’aurais souhaité qu’il eût. Il a environ dix-huit ans; -les six dernières années il les a passées à Salamanque à apprendre les -langues grecque et latine; mais quand j’ai voulu l’appliquer à d’autres -sciences, je l’ai trouvé si entêté de poésie (si toutefois la poésie -peut s’appeler une science), qu’il m’a été impossible de le faire mordre -à l’étude du droit, ni à la première de toutes les sciences, la -théologie. J’aurais voulu qu’il étudiât pour devenir l’honneur de sa -race, puisque nous avons le bonheur de vivre dans un temps où les rois -savent si bien récompenser le mérite vertueux[84]; mais il préfère -passer ses journées à discuter sur un passage d’Homère, ou sur la -manière d’interpréter tel ou tel vers de Virgile. Enfin il ne quitte pas -un seul instant ces auteurs, non plus qu’Horace, Perse, Juvénal et -Tibulle, car des poëtes modernes il fait fort peu de cas; et cependant, -malgré son dédain pour notre poésie espagnole, il est complétement -absorbé, à l’heure qu’il est, par la composition d’une glose sur quatre -vers qu’on lui a envoyés de Salamanque, et qui sont, je crois, le sujet -d’une joute littéraire. - - [84] Ce passage, sous la plume de Cervantes, pauvre et oublié, est une - bien innocente ironie. - -Seigneur, répondit don Quichotte, nos enfants sont une portion de nos -entrailles, et nous devons les aimer tels qu’ils sont, comme nous -aimons ceux qui nous ont donné la vie. C’est aux parents à les diriger -dès l’enfance dans le sentier de la vertu par une éducation sage et -chrétienne, afin que, devenus hommes, ils soient l’appui de leur -vieillesse et l’honneur de leur postérité. Quant à étudier telle ou -telle science, je ne suis pas d’avis de les contraindre; il vaut mieux y -employer la persuasion; après quoi, surtout s’ils n’ont pas besoin -d’étudier de _pane lucrando_, on fera bien de laisser se développer leur -inclination naturelle. Quoique la poésie offre plus d’agrément que -d’utilité, c’est un art qui ne peut manquer d’honorer celui qui le -cultive. La poésie, seigneur, est à mon sens comme une belle fille dont -les autres sciences forment la couronne; elle doit se servir de toutes, -et toutes doivent se rehausser par elle. Mais cette aimable vierge ne -doit pas s’émanciper en honteuses satires ou en sonnets libertins; noble -interprète, c’est à des poëmes héroïques, à des tragédies intéressantes, -à des comédies ingénieuses, qu’elle prêtera ses accents et sa voix. -Celui donc qui s’occupera de poésie dans les conditions que je viens de -poser rendra son nom célèbre chez toutes les nations policées. - -Quant à ce que vous dites, seigneur, que votre fils fait peu de cas de -notre poésie espagnole, je trouve qu’il a tort; et voici ma raison: -puisque le grand Homère, l’harmonieux et tendre Virgile, en un mot tous -les poëtes anciens ont écrit dans leur langue maternelle, et n’ont point -cherché des idiomes étrangers pour exprimer leurs hautes conceptions, -pourquoi condamner le poëte allemand parce qu’il écrit dans sa langue, -ou le castillan, et même le biscayen parce qu’il écrit dans la sienne? -La conclusion de tout ceci, seigneur, est que vous laissiez votre fils -suivre son inclination; laborieux comme il doit l’être, puisqu’il a -franchi heureusement le premier échelon des sciences, je veux dire la -connaissance des langues anciennes, il parviendra de lui-même au faite -des lettres humaines, ce qui sied non moins à un gentilhomme que la -mitre aux évêques, ou la toge aux jurisconsultes. Réprimandez votre fils -s’il compose des satires qui puissent nuire à la réputation d’autrui; -mais s’il s’occupe, à la manière d’Horace, de satires morales, où il -gourmande le vice en général, surtout avec autant d’élégance que l’a -fait son devancier, oh! alors, ne lui épargnez pas les éloges. On a vu -certains poëtes, qui, pour le stérile plaisir de dire une méchanceté, -n’ont pas craint de se faire exiler dans les îles du Pont[85]. Mais si -le poëte est réservé dans ses mœurs, il le sera dans ses vers. La plume -est l’interprète de l’âme; ce que l’une pense, l’autre l’exprime. Aussi -quand les princes rencontrent, chez des hommes sages et vertueux, cette -merveilleuse science de la poésie, ils s’empressent de l’honorer, de -l’enrichir et de la couronner des feuilles de cet arbre que la foudre ne -frappe jamais, pour montrer qu’on doit respecter ceux dont le front est -paré de telles couronnes. - - [85] Allusion à l’exil d’Ovide. - -L’homme au caban vert ne savait que penser du langage de don Quichotte, -et il commençait à revenir de l’opinion peu favorable qu’il avait -d’abord conçue de son jugement. Vers le milieu de ce discours, qui -n’était pas fort de son goût, Sancho s’était écarté du chemin pour -demander un peu de lait à des bergers occupés près de là à traire des -brebis. Le gentilhomme s’apprêtait à répondre, enchanté de l’esprit et -du bon sens de notre héros, lorsque celui-ci, levant les yeux, vit venir -sur le chemin qu’il suivait un char surmonté de bannières aux armes -royales. S’imaginant que c’était quelque nouvelle aventure, il appela -Sancho à grands cris pour qu’il lui apportât sa salade. Quittant -aussitôt les bergers, et talonnant le grison de toutes ses forces, -l’écuyer accourut auprès de son maître, auquel, en effet, il va arriver -la plus insensée et la plus épouvantable aventure. - -CHAPITRE XVII - -DE LA PLUS GRANDE PREUVE DE COURAGE QU’AIT JAMAIS DONNÉE DON QUICHOTTE -ET DE L’HEUREUSE FIN DE L’AVENTURE DES LIONS - -L’histoire raconte que Sancho était en train d’acheter de petits -fromages aux bergers lorsque don Quichotte l’appela. Pressé d’obéir et -ne sachant comment emporter ces fromages qu’il ne pouvait se résoudre à -perdre après les avoir payés, notre écuyer imagina de les jeter dans le -casque de son seigneur; puis il accourut en toute hâte pour savoir ce -qu’il voulait. - -Donne, ami, donne-moi ma salade, lui dit don Quichotte; car je suis peu -expert en fait d’aventures, ou celle que j’aperçois m’oblige dès à -présent à prendre les armes. - -En entendant ces paroles, l’homme au caban vert jeta les yeux de tous -côtés et ne découvrit rien autre chose qu’un chariot surmonté de deux ou -trois petites banderoles, qui venait à leur rencontre; d’où il conclut -que ce chariot portait l’argent du trésor royal. Il fit part de cette -pensée à don Quichotte; mais notre héros, qui n’était pas homme à se -détromper aisément, et croyait toujours voir arriver aventure sur -aventure, lui répondit: Seigneur, un homme découvert est à demi vaincu; -je ne risque rien en me tenant sur mes gardes, car je sais par -expérience que je ne manque pas d’ennemis visibles et invisibles, -toujours prêts à me surprendre. En parlant ainsi, il prit le casque et -le mit sur sa tête, avant que son écuyer eût eu le temps d’en ôter les -fromages; mais le petit lait commença à dégoutter de tous côtés sur ses -yeux et sur sa barbe. - -Qu’est-ce ceci, Sancho? s’écria don Quichotte: on dirait que mon crâne -se ramollit, et que ma cervelle se fond; en effet, je sue des pieds à la -tête; ce n’est pas de peur assurément. Oui, j’en ai le pressentiment, -j’ai devant moi une terrible aventure; donne-moi de quoi m’essuyer, -ajouta-t-il, je suis aveuglé par la sueur. - -Sancho lui donna un mouchoir, sans dire mot, remerciant Dieu de ce que -son maître ne devinait point ce que c’était. Don Quichotte s’essuya le -visage, et ayant ôté son casque pour s’essuyer aussi la tête, et savoir -ce qui la rafraîchissait à contre-temps, il vit cette bouillie blanche, -qu’il porta aussitôt à son nez: Par la vie de la sans pareille Dulcinée, -s’écria-t-il, traître, malappris et impertinent écuyer, tu as mis des -fromages dans mon casque. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho sans s’émouvoir et avec une dissimulation -parfaite, si ce sont des fromages, donnez-les moi, je les mangerai bien. -Mais non: que le diable les mange, lui qui les a fourrés là. Me -croyez-vous assez hardi pour salir l’armet de Votre Grâce? Par ma foi, -vous avez joliment trouvé le coupable. Tout ce que je vois, c’est qu’il -y a des enchanteurs qui me persécutent aussi bien que vous; et pourquoi -y échapperais-je, étant membre de Votre Grâce? Vous verrez que ce sont -eux qui auront placé là ces immondices, pour exciter votre colère, et me -faire, suivant l’usage, moudre les côtes; mais, cette fois, ils auront -craché en l’air, car j’ai affaire à un bon maître, qui connaît toute -leur malice, et qui sait que si ce sont là des fromages, j’aurais mieux -aimé les mettre dans mon estomac. - -Tout cela est possible, reprit don Quichotte, mais finissons. - -L’homme au caban vert les regardait tout étonné; et son étonnement fut -au comble lorsqu’il vit don Quichotte, après s’être essuyé le visage et -la barbe, enfoncer de nouveau son casque sur sa tête, s’affermir sur ses -étriers, dégainer à demi son épée et empoigner sa lance en disant: -Maintenant advienne que pourra, me voilà prêt et résolu à en venir aux -mains avec Satan lui-même. - -Sur ces entrefaites, arriva le char aux banderoles, où il n’y avait -d’autres gens que le gardien assis sur le devant, et le conducteur monté -sur une des mules. Don Quichotte leur barra le passage. Où allez-vous, -amis, leur dit-il, quel est ce chariot? qu’y a-t-il dedans, et que -signifient ces banderoles! - -Seigneur, répondit le gardien, ce chariot est à moi, et dans ces deux -cages il y a deux lions, que le gouverneur d’Oran envoie au roi notre -maître. Au reste, pour preuve de ce que j’avance, voilà les armoiries -royales. - -Les lions sont-ils grands? demanda don Quichotte. - -Oui, vraiment, ils sont grands, répondit le gardien, et si grands qu’il -n’en est point encore venu de semblables d’Afrique en Espagne; c’est moi -qui en suis le gardien, ajouta-t-il, j’en ai conduit beaucoup en ma vie, -mais jamais qui approchent de ceux-là. Dans cette première cage est le -lion, et dans l’autre la lionne; à cette heure ils ont grand’faim, car -d’aujourd’hui ils n’ont encore pris aucune nourriture. Ainsi, seigneur, -veuillez nous laisser continuer notre chemin jusqu’à l’endroit où nous -pourrons leur donner à manger. - -Le conducteur allait passer outre; mais don Quichotte lui dit en -souriant: A moi des lions! des lions à moi! eh bien, je veux montrer à -ceux qui me les envoient si je suis homme à m’épouvanter pour des lions. -Ami, mets pied à terre, et, puisque tu es leur gardien, ouvre ces cages -et fais-les sortir. Je veux au milieu de cette campagne, en dépit et à -la barbe des enchanteurs, leur faire connaître quel est don Quichotte de -la Manche. - -Oh! pour le coup, il n’en faut plus douter, dit en lui-même l’homme au -caban vert, notre chevalier vient de se découvrir, ces fromages lui -auront sans doute amolli la cervelle. - -Seigneur, au nom de Dieu, lui dit Sancho en s’approchant tout -tremblant, empêchez que mon maître n’ait querelle avec ces lions; car -s’il les attaque, ils vont nous mettre en pièces. - -Croyez-vous donc votre maître assez fou pour vouloir en venir aux mains -avec des bêtes féroces? reprit le gentilhomme. - -Il n’est pas fou, dit Sancho; mais c’est un homme qui ne craint rien. - -Allez, allez, reprit le gentilhomme, je réponds de lui; et s’approchant -de don Quichotte, qui pressait toujours le gardien d’ouvrir les cages: -Seigneur, lui dit-il, les chevaliers errants ne doivent entreprendre que -des aventures dont ils puissent venir à bout, mais non celles dont le -succès est impossible; autrement leur courage n’est que brutalité -farouche qui tient plus de la folie que de la véritable vaillance. -D’ailleurs, ces lions ne viennent pas contre vous, c’est un présent que -l’on envoie au roi; il serait malséant de les retenir et de retarder -leur voyage. - -A chacun son métier, mon gentilhomme, répondit brusquement don -Quichotte; mêlez-vous de vos perdrix et de vos filets: ceci me regarde, -et c’est à moi de savoir si les lions viennent ou non contre moi; puis -se tournant vivement vers le gardien: Maraud, lui dit-il, ouvre ces -cages, ou je te cloue à l’instant même contre ton chariot avec ma lance. - -Par charité, seigneur, s’écria le conducteur, permettez que je dételle -mes mules, afin de m’enfuir avec elles avant qu’on ouvre aux lions; car -s’ils se jettent sur ces pauvres bêtes, me voilà ruiné pour le reste de -mes jours, et, je le jure devant Dieu, je n’ai d’autre bien que ces -mules et ce chariot. - -Homme de peu de foi, ajoute don Quichotte, descends, dételle, fais ce -que tu voudras, mais tu vas voir que c’était une peine que tu aurais pu -t’épargner. - -Le muletier ne se le fit point répéter; il sauta par terre et détela ses -mules en toute hâte pendant que le gardien criait: Je vous prends à -témoin vous tous ici présents, que c’est contre ma volonté et par force -que j’ouvre les cages et que je lâche ces lions; je proteste contre ce -seigneur de tout le mal qui peut en arriver, comme aussi de la perte de -mon salaire. Hâtez-vous de vous mettre en sûreté; quant à moi, je suis -bien sûr que les lions ne me feront aucun mal. - -Le gentilhomme voulut encore une fois détourner don Quichotte d’un si -étrange dessein, en lui représentant que c’était tenter Dieu que de -s’exposer à un pareil danger; mais notre héros répondit qu’il n’avait -pas besoin de conseils. - -Prenez-y garde, reprit l’homme au caban vert; bien certainement vous -vous trompez. - -Seigneur, répliqua don Quichotte, si vous croyez qu’il y ait tant de -danger, vous n’avez qu’à jouer de l’éperon. - -Sancho, voyant que le gentilhomme n’y pouvait rien, voulut à son tour -dissuader son maître, et, les larmes aux yeux, il le supplia de ne point -entreprendre cette aventure, disant que celle des moulins à vent et -celle des marteaux à foulon n’étaient en comparaison que jeux d’enfants. -Seigneur, faites attention, lui disait-il, qu’il n’y a point ici -d’enchantement: j’ai vu une des pattes du lion à travers les barreaux de -sa cage, et, par ma foi, à en juger par les ongles, il doit être plus -gros qu’un éléphant. - -Bientôt la peur te le fera voir plus gros qu’une montagne, repartit don -Quichotte; retire-toi, mon pauvre Sancho, et laisse-moi seul, tu perds -ton temps, aussi bien que les autres. S’il m’arrive malheur, qu’il te -souvienne de ce dont nous sommes convenus: tu iras trouver Dulcinée de -ma part, et, je ne t’en dis pas davantage. Il ajouta encore quelques -paroles qui montraient que rien n’était capable de le faire reculer. - -Le gentilhomme tenta un dernier effort; mais voyant que tout était -inutile, et se trouvant d’ailleurs hors d’état de mettre à la raison ce -fou qui n’entendait point raillerie, et qui était d’ailleurs bien armé, -il prit le parti de s’éloigner avec Sancho et le muletier, qui -pressèrent vigoureusement leurs montures, pendant que don Quichotte -continuait à menacer le gardien des lions. Le pauvre Sancho était -accablé de douleur, pleurant déjà la mort de son maître; il maudissait -son étoile et l’heure où il s’était attaché à son service; mais tout en -regrettant la perte de son temps et de ses récompenses, il talonnait le -grison de toutes ses forces pour s’enfuir au plus vite. - -Quand le gardien vit nos gens assez éloignés, il pria de nouveau don -Quichotte de ne point le contraindre d’ouvrir à des animaux si -dangereux, et voulut encore une fois lui remontrer la grandeur du péril; -mais notre chevalier ne fit que sourire, lui disant seulement de se -hâter. Pendant que le gardien ouvrait avec lenteur une des cages, don -Quichotte se demanda en lui-même s’il ne ferait pas mieux de combattre à -pied; considérant, en effet, que Rossinante pourrait s’épouvanter à -l’aspect du lion, il saute à bas de son cheval, jette sa lance, embrasse -son écu, tire son épée, et va intrépidement se camper devant le chariot, -se recommandant d’abord à Dieu, puis à sa dame Dulcinée. - -Or, vous saurez qu’arrivé en cet endroit, l’auteur de cette véridique -histoire s’écrie, transporté d’admiration: O vaillant! ô intrépide don -Quichotte de la Manche! Miroir où peuvent venir se contempler tous les -vaillants du monde! O nouveau Ponce de Léon, honneur et gloire des -chevaliers espagnols[86]! quelles paroles employer pour raconter cette -prouesse surhumaine, afin de la rendre vraisemblable aux âges futurs! où -trouver des louanges qui ne soient toujours au-dessous de la grandeur -de ton courage! Toi seul, à pied, couvert d’une mauvaise rondache, armé -d’une simple épée et non d’une de ces fines lames de Tolède marquées au -petit chien[87], tu provoques et tu attends les deux plus formidables -lions qu’aient produits les déserts africains. Que tes exploits parlent -seuls à ta louange, héros incomparable, valeureux Manchois. Quant à moi, -je m’arrête, car les expressions me manquent pour te louer dignement. - - [86] On raconte que pendant la dernière guerre de Grenade, les Rois - catholiques ayant reçu d’un émir africain un présent de plusieurs - lions, des dames de la cour regardaient du haut d’un balcon ces - animaux dans leur enceinte. L’une d’elles, que _servait_ le célèbre - don Manuel Ponce, laissa tomber son gant exprès ou par mégarde. - Aussitôt don Manuel s’élança dans l’enceinte l’épée à la main, et - releva le gant de sa maîtresse. C’est à cette occasion que la reine - Isabelle l’appela don Manuel Ponce de _Léon_, nom que ses descendants - ont conservé depuis; et c’est aussi pour cela que Cervantes appelle - don Quichotte _nouveau Ponce de Léon_. - - [87] Célèbres épées qui se fabriquaient à Tolède et qui avaient pour - marque un petit chien. - -Après cette invocation, l’auteur continue son récit. - -Quand le gardien des lions vit qu’il lui était impossible de résister -sans s’attirer la colère de notre héros, il ouvrit à deux battants la -première cage où se trouvait le lion mâle, lequel parut d’une grandeur -démesurée. La première chose que fit l’animal fut de se retourner -plusieurs fois, puis de s’étendre tout de son long, en allongeant ses -pattes et faisant jouer ses griffes; il ouvrit ensuite une gueule -immense, bâilla lentement et tirant deux pieds de langue, il s’en -frotta les yeux et s’en lava la face. Cela fait, il avança la tête hors -de sa cage, et regarda de tous côtés avec deux yeux rouges comme du -sang. Ce spectacle, capable d’effrayer la témérité en personne, don -Quichotte se contentait de l’observer attentivement, impatient d’en -venir aux mains avec son terrible adversaire et comptant bien le mettre -en pièces. Mais le lion, plus courtois qu’arrogant, tourna le dos sans -faire attention à toutes ces bravades, se mit à regarder de tous côtés, -puis alla se recoucher au fond de sa cage avec le plus grand sang-froid. -En voyant cela, notre chevalier ordonna impérieusement au gardien de -harceler le lion à coups de bâton, pour le faire sortir à quelque prix -que ce fût. - -Oh! pour cela je n’en ferai rien, dit le gardien; car si on l’excite, le -premier qui sera mis en pièces, ce sera moi. Votre Grâce, seigneur -chevalier, n’a-t-elle pas assez montré sa vaillance sans vouloir tenter -une seconde fois la fortune? Le lion a eu la porte ouverte; s’il n’est -pas sorti, c’est qu’il ne sortira pas de tout le jour. Personne n’est -tenu à plus qu’à défier son ennemi et à l’attendre en rase campagne. Si -le provoqué ne vient pas, tant pis pour lui: le combattant exact au -rendez-vous est sans contredit le victorieux. - -Par ma foi, tu as raison, répondit don Quichotte; donne-moi une -attestation en bonne forme de ce qui vient de se passer, c’est-à-dire, -que tu as ouvert au lion, que je l’ai attendu, et qu’il n’est point -sorti; que je l’ai attendu une seconde fois, qu’il a de nouveau refusé -de sortir, et qu’il est allé se coucher. Je ne dois rien de plus: -arrière les enchanteurs et les enchantements, et vive la véritable -chevalerie! Ferme la cage, pendant que je vais rappeler nos fuyards, -afin qu’ils apprennent la vérité de ta propre bouche. - -Le gardien ne se le fit pas dire deux fois, et don Quichotte, attachant -au bout de sa lance le mouchoir avec lequel il avait essuyé les -fromages, l’éleva dans l’air pour faire signe aux fuyards de revenir. -Sancho courait toujours avec les autres; mais comme il tournait de temps -en temps la tête, il aperçut le signal: Que je sois pendu, dit-il, si -mon maître n’a pas vaincu ces bêtes féroces, car le voilà qui nous -appelle! - -Tous trois s’arrêtèrent, reconnaissant que c’était bien don Quichotte -qui leur faisait signe; ils commencèrent à se rassurer, et se -rapprochant peu à peu, ils entendirent bientôt la voix de notre héros, -auprès duquel ils ne tardèrent pas à arriver. - -Camarade, dit don Quichotte au muletier, attelle tes mules, et continue -ton chemin; et toi, Sancho, donne deux écus d’or à cet homme, pour le -temps que je lui ai fait perdre. - -De bon cœur, répondit Sancho en les tirant de sa bourse; mais que sont -devenus les lions? ajouta-t-il: sont-ils morts ou vivants? - -Alors le gardien se mit à raconter longuement comment l’action s’était -passée, exagérant à dessein l’intrépidité de notre héros, et attribuant -la poltronnerie du lion à la frayeur qu’il lui avait causée. - -Eh bien! que t’en semble, ami Sancho? dit don Quichotte, crois-tu qu’il -y ait des enchantements au-dessus de la véritable vaillance? Les -enchanteurs pourraient peut-être me dérober la victoire, mais diminuer -mon courage, je les en défie. - -Sancho donna les deux écus, le muletier attela ses bêtes, le gardien -baisa les mains du chevalier en signe de reconnaissance, et promit de -raconter ce merveilleux exploit au roi lui-même, quand il serait arrivé -à la cour. - -Si par hasard, ajouta don Quichotte, Sa Majesté désire connaître celui -qui en est l’auteur, vous lui direz que c’est le chevalier des Lions, -car désormais je veux porter ce nom au lieu de celui de chevalier de la -Triste-Figure, et en cela je ne fais que suivre l’antique coutume des -chevaliers errants, qui changeaient de nom à leur fantaisie. - -Sur ce, le chariot se remit en marche, puis don Quichotte, Sancho et le -gentilhomme au caban vert, continuèrent leur chemin. - -Pendant tout ce temps, don Diego n’avait pas dit une seule parole, -occupé qu’il était à observer notre chevalier, qui lui paraissait tantôt -le plus sage des fous, tantôt le plus fou des sages. N’ayant pas lu la -première partie de son histoire, il ne pouvait comprendre quelle était -cette folie d’une si étrange espèce. Quelle plus grande extravagance, se -disait-il en lui-même que de mettre sur sa tête un casque plein de -fromages, et d’aller s’imaginer que les enchanteurs vous ramollissent la -cervelle? Quelle témérité peut se comparer à celle d’un homme qui veut -lutter seul contre des lions? - -Don Quichotte vint le tirer de ses réflexions en lui disant: Je -gagerais, seigneur, que Votre Grâce me regarde comme un être privé de -raison; et à dire vrai, je ne serais point étonné qu’il en fût ainsi, -car mes actions ne rendent pas d’autre témoignage; toutefois je vous -prie de suspendre votre jugement, et de croire que je ne suis pas aussi -fou que je le parais. Tel chevalier se distingue sous les yeux de son -roi, en donnant un beau coup de lance à un taureau farouche; tel autre -couvert d’une brillante armure paraît dans la lice aux yeux des dames; -et tous deux, à des titres divers sont admirés, fêtés, applaudis. Mais -combien est plus digne d’estime le chevalier errant qui parcourt les -forêts et les montagnes, recherchant les aventures les plus périlleuses -pour les mener à bonne fin, et cela dans la seule intention d’acquérir -une renommée glorieuse et durable? N’aurait-il qu’une fois le bonheur de -protéger dans quelque lieu désert une pauvre veuve, combien il l’emporte -sur le chevalier qui courtise la jeune fille au sein des cités! - -Au surplus, chacun a sa fonction: que le chevalier de cour serve les -dames, qu’il rehausse par le luxe de ses livrées l’éclat de la suite des -princes, qu’il reçoive à sa table les gentilshommes pauvres, qu’il porte -un défi dans une joute, qu’il soit tenant dans un tournoi; s’il se -montre libéral, magnifique, et surtout bon chrétien, il aura fait tout -ce que son rang lui impose. Mais le chevalier errant, oh! pour celui-là, -c’est autre chose: son devoir est de sans cesse parcourir tous les coins -du globe, de pénétrer dans les labyrinthes les plus inextricables, de -tenter à chaque pas l’impossible, de braver les brûlants rayons du -soleil d’été, aussi bien que les glaces hérissées de l’hiver, de -regarder les lions sans effroi, les vampires sans épouvante, les -andriagues sans terreur; car chercher les uns, attaquer les autres, les -vaincre tous, voilà ses principaux et véritables exercices. Comme membre -de la chevalerie errante, il m’est imposé d’entreprendre tout ce qui -tient au devoir de ma profession; ainsi donc j’ai dû aujourd’hui -attaquer ces lions, quoique je susse à n’en pas douter que c’était une -extrême témérité. Je n’ignore pas que la véritable vaillance est un -juste milieu placé entre la couardise et la témérité; mais mieux vaut ce -dernier excès que d’être accusé de poltronnerie; et de même qu’il est -plus facile au prodigue qu’à l’avare de se montrer libéral, de même il -est plus aisé au téméraire de rester dans les bornes du vrai courage, -qu’au lâche de s’y élever. Pour ce qui est de tenter les aventures, -croyez-moi, seigneur, mieux vaut se perdre pour le plus que pour le -moins, et cela résonne plus agréablement à l’oreille, quand on s’entend -dire: Ce chevalier est audacieux et téméraire, que si l’on disait: Il -est timide et poltron. - -Je le reconnais, seigneur don Quichotte, reprit don Diego; tout ce que -dit et fait Votre Grâce est marqué au cachet de la droite raison, et je -suis certain que si les lois de la chevalerie venaient à se perdre, -elles se retrouveraient dans votre cœur, comme dans leur dernier asile. -Cependant il se fait tard; doublons le pas, je vous prie, afin d’arriver -d’assez bonne heure chez moi, où je serai heureux de profiter de tout le -temps que vous voudrez bien y demeurer. - -Je tiens l’invitation à grand honneur, répondit don Quichotte. - -En même temps, ils pressèrent leurs chevaux, et sur les deux heures de -l’après-midi, ils arrivèrent à la maison de l’homme au caban vert. - -CHAPITRE XVIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE DANS LA MAISON DE DON DIEGO - -En entrant dans la maison de don Diego, qu’il trouva belle et surtout -spacieuse, comme elles le sont toutes à la campagne, avec armes -sculptées au-dessus de la porte, don Quichotte aperçut plusieurs grandes -cruches de terre propres à garder le vin, rangées en cercle dans la -cour, près du cellier; ces cruches, qui se fabriquent au Toboso, lui -rappelèrent sa dame enchantée. Aussitôt il se prit à soupirer, et sans -faire attention à ceux qui l’entouraient, il s’écria: O chers trésors -rencontrés pour mon malheur! chers et joyeux tant que Dieu l’a permis! -cruches tobosines, qui me rappelez de si amers chagrins! - -Ces exclamations furent entendues de l’étudiant-poëte, fils de don -Diego, qui était venu le recevoir accompagné de sa mère; la mère et le -fils restèrent interdits en voyant l’étrange figure de notre héros. -Quant à celui-ci, il s’avança vers la dame en réclamant la faveur de lui -baiser la main. - -Madame, dit don Diego à sa femme, je vous présente et vous prie de -recevoir avec votre bonne grâce accoutumée le seigneur don Quichotte, le -chevalier errant le plus discret, le plus spirituel et le plus vaillant -qui soit au monde. - -Dona Christina, c’était le nom de la dame, reçut son hôte avec de -grandes démonstrations de politesse et d’estime auxquelles celui-ci -répondit avec sa courtoisie accoutumée. Il en fut de même de l’étudiant -qui, en l’entendant, le tint pour un homme d’un esprit fin et délicat. - -Ici l’auteur décrit dans tous ses détails la maison de don Diego, qui -était celle d’un riche campagnard. Mais le traducteur laisse de côté ces -minuties, comme inutiles à l’objet principal de l’histoire, qui n’a que -faire de froides digressions. - -Notre héros fut conduit dans une salle basse où, s’étant fait désarmer -par Sancho, il resta en chausses à la wallonne et en pourpoint de -chamois tout souillé de la crasse de ses vieilles armes. Il portait un -collet de simple toile à la façon des étudiants. Ses bottines étaient -jaunes et ses souliers enduits de cire. Il passa sur l’épaule sa bonne -épée, qui pendait à un baudrier de peau de loup marin, et qu’il ne -ceignait pas autour de son corps, parce que, dit-on, il avait souffert -des reins pendant longues années. Puis il jeta sur son dos un petit -manteau de drap brun. Mais, avant toute chose, il s’était lavé la tête -et le visage dans cinq ou six aiguiérées d’eau (on n’est pas d’accord -sur le nombre), encore la dernière resta-t-elle couleur de petit lait, -grâce à la gourmandise de Sancho et à ces maudits fromages qui avaient -si bien barbouillé son maître. - -Le désordre de son costume ainsi réparé, don Quichotte, d’un air libre -et dégagé, entra dans une autre pièce où l’étudiant l’attendait pour lui -tenir compagnie jusqu’à ce que la table fût servie, car pour honorer un -tel hôte dona Christina n’avait rien épargné. - -Pendant que don Quichotte quittait son armure, don Lorenzo, ainsi -s’appelait l’étudiant, avait eu le temps de dire à son père: Quel est -cet hidalgo que nous amène Votre Grâce? Nous sommes étrangement surpris, -ma mère et moi, de sa figure, de son nom, et surtout de ce titre de -chevalier errant que vous lui avez donné. - -En vérité, je ne sais qu’en penser, répondit don Diego; tout ce que je -puis dire, c’est qu’il parle comme un sage et qu’il agit comme un fou. -Au reste, entretiens-le toi-même, et tu m’en diras ton avis. - -Sur ce, don Lorenzo alla, comme il a été dit, tenir compagnie à don -Quichotte, et dans la conversation qu’ils eurent ensemble, notre héros -lui dit entre autres choses: Le seigneur don Diego, votre père, m’a -parlé de l’esprit ingénieux que possède Votre Grâce; il m’a entretenu -particulièrement de votre talent pour la poésie, il a même ajouté que -vous étiez un grand poëte. - -Poëte, c’est possible, répondit le jeune homme; pour grand, je ne m’en -flatte pas. La vérité est que j’ai du goût pour la poésie et que j’aime -à lire les bons auteurs; mais pour être qualifié de grand poëte, comme -l’a fait mon père, cela ne suffit pas. - -Cette modestie est de bon augure, répliqua don Quichotte, car qui dit -poëte, dit présomptueux, et le moindre se croit toujours le premier. - -Il n’y a point de règle sans exception, répondit Lorenzo, et tel peut se -rencontrer qui soit poëte sans s’en douter. - -Peu sont dans ce cas, repartit don Quichotte; mais dites-moi, je vous -prie, quels sont les vers que vous avez maintenant sur le métier et qui -vous tiennent préoccupé et soucieux? Si c’est par hasard quelque glose, -je m’entends assez dans ce genre de composition, et je serai charmé de -connaître votre ouvrage. S’il s’agit d’autre chose, d’une joute -littéraire, par exemple, je souhaite à Votre Grâce, d’obtenir plutôt le -second prix que le premier, car le premier prix se donne toujours à la -faveur ou à la qualité de la personne, tandis que le second ne s’accorde -qu’au mérite; de manière que le troisième prix devient le second, et que -le premier à ce compte, n’est plus que le troisième, à la façon des -licences qui s’obtiennent dans les universités. Malgré tout, cela -n’empêche pas le premier prix d’être une très-honorable distinction. - -Jusqu’à présent, dit à part lui Lorenzo, je ne puis le prendre pour un -fou. Il me semble, continua-t-il que Votre Grâce a fréquenté les -universités: quelles sciences y a-t-elle principalement étudiées? - -Celle de la chevalerie errante, répondit don Quichotte, qui est aussi -élevée que celle de la poésie, et la dépasse même de deux doigts, à -quelque point qu’on puisse y exceller. - -J’ignore quelle est cette science, répliqua Lorenzo, et jusqu’à présent -je n’en avais pas entendu parler. - -C’est une science qui renferme toutes les autres, reprit don Quichotte. -En effet, celui qui la professe doit être jurisconsulte, et savoir les -lois de la justice distributive et commutative, pour rendre à chacun ce -qui lui appartient. Il doit être théologien, afin de pouvoir, en toute -circonstance, donner les raisons de sa foi. Il doit être médecin et -connaître les simples qui ont la vertu de guérir, car au milieu des -montagnes et des déserts, le chevalier errant ne trouve guère de -chirurgien pour panser ses blessures. S’il n’est pas instruit de -l’astronomie et qu’il ignore le cours des astres, comment pourra-t-il -savoir la nuit quelle heure il est, sous quel climat, dans quelle partie -du monde il se trouve? Il doit connaître les mathématiques, car à chaque -pas le calcul lui est nécessaire; et laissant de côté, comme chose -convenue, qu’il doit être orné de toutes les vertus théologales et -cardinales, je dirai, pour descendre à des bagatelles, qu’il lui faut -savoir monter un cheval, le ferrer au besoin, raccommoder une selle et -une bride, nager comme un poisson, danser, faire des armes, enfin tout -ce qui constitue le cavalier accompli; remontant ensuite aux choses d’en -haut, je dirai qu’il doit être fidèle à Dieu et à sa dame, chaste dans -ses pensées, discret dans ses discours, généreux, vaillant, charitable -envers les malheureux; finalement, le constant et ferme champion de la -vérité en tous temps et en tous lieux, aux dépens même de sa vie. Telles -sont les qualités, grandes et petites, qui constituent le véritable -chevalier errant; jugez maintenant, seigneur Lorenzo, quelle science est -la chevalerie errante, et si parmi celles qu’on enseigne dans les -gymnases et les écoles, aucune est capable d’en approcher. - -S’il en est ainsi, répondit Lorenzo, cette science assurément l’emporte -sur toutes les autres. - -En doutez-vous? repartit don Quichotte. - -Je veux dire, répliqua Lorenzo, que j’ai de la peine à croire qu’il y -ait jamais eu, et encore moins qu’il y ait aujourd’hui dans le monde des -chevaliers si accomplis. - -Voilà justement, dit don Quichotte, comment parlent la plupart des -hommes; je vois bien que si le ciel ne fait un miracle tout exprès pour -leur prouver clair comme le jour qu’il a existé des chevaliers errants, -et qu’il en existe encore à cette heure, c’est vouloir se casser la tête -que de prétendre le leur démontrer. Seigneur, je ne chercherai point en -ce moment à vous tirer d’une ignorance que Votre Grâce partage avec tant -d’autres; tout ce que je puis faire, c’est de prier Dieu qu’il vous -éclaire, et vous fasse comprendre combien ces chevaliers furent -nécessaires dans les siècles passés, et combien ils seraient utiles dans -le siècle présent; mais aujourd’hui triomphent, pour nos péchés, la -paresse, l’oisiveté, la gourmandise et la mollesse. - -Notre hôte vient de se trahir, dit tout bas Lorenzo, qui ne cessait de -l’observer avec beaucoup d’attention; malgré tout, c’est un fou -remarquable, et j’aurais grand tort de ne pas être de son avis. - -En ce moment, on les appela pour dîner, et don Diego, prenant son fils à -part, lui demanda ce qu’il pensait de notre chevalier. - -Je pense, seigneur, répondit le jeune homme, que tous les médecins du -monde ne viendraient pas à bout de le guérir, car il est fou sans -remède; mais tel qu’il est, il a, sur ma foi, de fort bons moments. - -On se mit à table, et l’on fit bonne chère. Ce qui enchanta le plus don -Quichotte pendant le repas, ce fut le merveilleux silence qu’on -observait dans toute la maison, qu’il comparait en lui-même à un couvent -de chartreux. - -Sitôt qu’on eût desservi, récité les grâces et jeté de l’eau sur les -mains, don Quichotte pria instamment Lorenzo de lui montrer les vers -dont il lui avait parlé. - -Seigneur, répondit l’étudiant, pour ne point ressembler à ces poëtes qui -refusent de montrer leurs ouvrages quand on les en prie, et les jettent -à la tête des gens quand on ne les leur demande pas, je vais vous lire -ma glose dont je n’attends aucun prix, et que j’ai composée seulement -dans le but de m’exercer l’imagination. - -Un de mes amis, qui est homme de sens et d’esprit, reprit don Quichotte, -me disait un jour qu’il n’était pas d’avis qu’on se fatiguât à composer -une glose, parce que c’était, selon lui, un travail ingrat, et dont les -règles sont fort étroites; en effet, jamais glose ne peut égaler le -thème; la plupart du temps, elle s’éloigne du sujet qu’elle est destinée -à développer, enfin elle présente une foule d’entraves qui gênent un -auteur et qu’on ne rencontre que dans ce genre de poésie, comme doit le -savoir Votre Grâce. - -En vérité, seigneur, répondit Lorenzo, vous m’apprenez là bien des -choses qu’on ignore généralement; j’espérais trouver Votre Grâce en -défaut, mais vous m’échappez toujours au moment où je crois le mieux -vous tenir. - -Je n’entends point ce que vous voulez dire par ces mots, que je vous -échappe, repartit don Quichotte. - -Je m’expliquerai mieux plus tard, répliqua l’étudiant; pour l’heure -voyons ma glose. Voici le texte qu’on m’a envoyé: - - Si mon bonheur passé pouvait encor renaître, - Sans me faire espérer un douteux avenir, - Ou que dès aujourd’hui l’avenir pût paraître, - Et que je susse enfin si mon mal doit finir....[88] - - [88] Ces vers et les suivants sont empruntés à la traduction de - Filleau de Saint-Martin. - -Et voici la glose que j’ai faite: - - Tout change, hélas! et rien ici-bas n’est durable; - Dans les plus grands plaisirs il n’est rien d’arrêté; - Le sort à mes désirs autrefois favorable - Par un nouveau caprice enfin m’a tout ôté. - Fortune, en ma faveur, poursuis ton inconstance; - Je n’ai que trop souffert, fais cesser ma souffrance, - Et laisse-toi fléchir à l’ardeur de mes vœux; - Je ne désire rien qu’un bien dont je fus maître; - Et malgré tant de maux je serais trop heureux - Si mon bonheur passé pouvait encor renaître. - - Je ne demande point la pompe et l’ornement, - Ce superbe appareil, où la richesse éclate; - La gloire qui des rois fait tout l’empressement - N’est point ce qui me touche, et n’a rien qui me flatte; - Sans orgueil, sans envie, et sans ambition, - Mon cœur avait borné toute sa passion - A goûter mon bonheur dans une paix tranquille; - Mais que m’en reste-t-il, qu’un triste souvenir? - Rends-moi ce bien, Fortune, à qui tout est facile, - Et sans me faire attendre un douteux avenir. - - Mais il faut que mes maux me rendent bien sensible, - Pour nourrir si longtemps des désirs superflus; - Je souhaite, et je tente une chose impossible; - Hélas! le temps passé ne se rappelle plus. - Le temps, qui fuit sans cesse, incessamment s’efface; - Il ne laisse après lui qu’une invisible trace; - C’est en vain qu’on le cherche, en vain qu’on le poursuit; - Cessons donc d’espérer ce qui ne saurait être, - Ou qu’on pût retenir le passé qui nous fuit, - Ou que dès aujourd’hui l’avenir pût paraître. - - Que le sort m’a réduit dans un état fâcheux! - A toute heure agité d’espérance et de crainte; - Et si quelque moment j’espère un bien douteux, - La crainte au même instant me donne quelque atteinte. - Ah! terminons enfin le cours de mes ennuis, - Mourons, c’est un bien sûr en l’état où je suis - Mourons; mais perdre tout, renonçant à la vie, - Le dur remède, hélas! ne saurais-je obtenir, - Perdant l’espoir du bien, d’en perdre aussi l’envie, - Ou que je susse enfin si mon mal doit finir? - -A peine Lorenzo eut achevé de lire, que don Quichotte se levant -vivement, et lui saisissant les deux mains; Vive Dieu! s’écria-t-il avec -transport, vous êtes bien le meilleur poëte que j’aie rencontré de ma -vie: et certes, vous auriez bien mérité d’être couronné de lauriers par -les académies d’Athènes, si elles existaient encore, comme vous méritez -de l’être aujourd’hui par celles de Paris, de Bologne et de Salamanque. -Qu’Apollon perce de ses flèches les juges assez ignorants pour vous -refuser le premier prix, et que jamais les Muses ne franchissent le -seuil de leurs demeures. Récitez-moi, je vous supplie, Seigneur, -quelques vers de grande mesure, car je désire connaître à fond votre -admirable génie. - -Est-il besoin de dire que Lorenzo fut enchanté de s’entendre louer par -don Quichotte, bien qu’il le tînt pour fou! O puissance de la flatterie! -que tu es grande, et combien loin s’étendent les lois de ton séduisant -empire! Notre jeune étudiant confirma cette vérité, en s’empressant de -réciter à don Quichotte un sonnet sur la mort de Pyrame et Thisbé, qui -lui valut encore de la part de notre héros les plus hyperboliques -compliments. - -Enfin, après quatre jours passés dans la maison de don Diego, don -Quichotte lui demanda la permission de prendre congé: Je suis -très-reconnaissant de votre bon accueil, lui dit-il; mais il sied mal -aux chevaliers errants de s’oublier au sein de l’oisiveté; je dois -poursuivre le devoir de ma profession, et chercher les aventures dont je -sais que le pays abonde, en attendant l’époque des joutes de Saragosse, -qui sont le principal but de mon voyage. Mon intention est de commencer -par la caverne de Montésinos, dont on raconte tant de merveilles, et de -rechercher la source de ces lacs, au nombre de sept, vulgairement -appelés les lagunes de Ruidera. - -Don Diego et son fils louèrent sa noble résolution, et se mirent à son -service pour tout ce qui était en leur pouvoir et dont il pourrait avoir -besoin. - -Enfin arriva le jour du départ, aussi beau pour don Quichotte que triste -pour Sancho, qui, du sein de l’abondance où il nageait, se voyait forcé -de retourner aux aventures et d’en revenir aux maigres provisions de son -bissac. En attendant, il le remplit tout comble de ce qui lui parut -nécessaire. - -En prenant congé de ses hôtes, don Quichotte s’adressa à Lorenzo: -Seigneur, je ne sais si j’ai dit à Votre Grâce, mais en tous cas je le -lui répète, que si elle veut arriver sûrement au temple de Mémoire, il -lui faut quitter le sentier déjà fort étroit de la poésie pour prendre -le sentier plus étroit encore de la chevalerie errante; cela suffit pour -devenir empereur en un tour de main. - -Par ces propos, don Quichotte acheva de vider le procès de sa folie, et -surtout quand il ajouta: Dieu sait si j’aurais eu du plaisir à emmener -avec moi le seigneur Lorenzo, pour lui enseigner les vertus inhérentes à -la profession que j’exerce, et lui montrer de quelle manière on épargne -les humbles et on abat les superbes. Mais comme il est trop jeune pour -cela, et qu’il a d’ailleurs d’autres occupations, je me bornerai à lui -donner un conseil: c’est que pour devenir un poëte célèbre, il fera bien -de se guider plutôt sur l’opinion d’autrui que sur la sienne propre; car -s’il n’y a pas d’enfants disgracieux aux yeux de leur père et mère, pour -les enfants de notre intelligence, c’est bien une autre affaire. - -Don Diego et son fils ne cessaient de s’étonner des propos tantôt -sensés, tantôt extravagants de notre chevalier, et surtout de son -incurable manie de se lancer incessamment à la recherche des aventures. -On réitéra de part et d’autre les politesses et les offres de service, -après quoi, avec la gracieuse permission de la dame du château, don -Quichotte et Sancho s’éloignèrent, l’un sur Rossinante et l’autre sur -son grison. - -CHAPITRE XIX - -DE L’AVENTURE DU BERGER AMOUREUX, ET DE PLUSIEURS AUTRES CHOSES - -Don Quichotte n’était qu’à peu de distance du village de don Diego, -quand il fut rejoint par quatre hommes, dont deux étaient des laboureurs -et les deux autres paraissaient des étudiants, tous montés sur des ânes. -L’un des étudiants portait en guise de porte-manteau un petit paquet -composé de quelques hardes et de deux paires de bas en bure noire; tout -le bagage de son compagnon consistait en deux fleurets mouchetés; quant -aux laboureurs, leurs bêtes étaient chargées de différentes provisions -qu’ils venaient sans doute d’acheter à quelque ville voisine. - -Étudiants et laboureurs éprouvèrent la même surprise que causait don -Quichotte à quiconque le voyait pour la première fois, et tous ils -mouraient d’envie de savoir quel était cet homme dont le pareil ne -s’était jamais présenté à leurs yeux. Notre héros les salua, et -lorsqu’il eut appris qu’ils suivaient la même direction, il leur -témoigna le désir de faire route ensemble, en les priant de ralentir le -pas, parce que leurs bêtes marchaient plus vite que son cheval. Par -courtoisie, il leur dit sa qualité et sa profession; à savoir, qu’il -était chevalier errant, et qu’il allait cherchant les aventures par -toute la terre, il ajouta qu’il s’appelait don Quichotte de la Manche, -surnommé le chevalier des Lions. Pour les laboureurs, c’était parler -grec, mais il n’en fut pas de même des étudiants, qui comprirent -aussitôt que cet inconnu avait des chambres vides dans la cervelle. -Néanmoins ils le regardaient avec un étonnement mêlé de respect, et l’un -d’eux lui dit: Seigneur chevalier, si, comme tous ceux qui cherchent les -aventures, Votre Grâce n’a point de chemin arrêté, venez avec nous, et -vous verrez assurément une des noces les plus belles et les plus -magnifiques dont on ait eu, depuis longtemps, le spectacle dans toute la -Manche. - -De la façon dont vous parlez, il faut que ce soient les noces de quelque -prince, répondit don Quichotte. - -Point du tout, répliqua l’étudiant, ce sont les noces d’un laboureur, -mais le plus riche du pays, et d’une paysanne, la plus belle fille qui -se puisse voir. Ces noces doivent se faire dans un pré, voisin du -village de la fiancée. Elle s’appelle Quitterie la belle; le fiancé se -nomme Gamache le riche; c’est un garçon d’environ vingt-deux ans; la -fiancée en compte à peine dix-huit; en un mot, ils sont faits l’un pour -l’autre, quoique certains disent que la race de Quitterie est plus -ancienne que celle de Gamache; mais il ne faut pas s’arrêter à cela, et -dans la richesse il y a de quoi boucher bien des trous. Ce Gamache, qui -est libéral, ne veut rien épargner pour rendre la fête célèbre; il a -fait couvrir le pré avec des branches d’arbres, afin que le soleil ne -puisse y pénétrer: là auront lieu toutes sortes de divertissements, jeu -de paume, jeu de barre, luttes, danse avec les castagnettes et le -tambour de basque, car son village est rempli de gens qui savent le -faire résonner, sans compter la _Zapateta_[89], qu’on y exécute dans la -perfection. Mais de toutes ces belles choses et de bien d’autres encore -que je passe sous silence, aucune, j’imagine, ne vaudra le spectacle que -nous donnera le désespéré Basile. - - [89] _Zapateta_, danse aux souliers. Le danseur frappe par intervalle - son soulier avec la paume de sa main. - -Et quel est ce Basile? demanda don Quichotte. - -Basile, répondit l’étudiant, est un berger du même village que -Quitterie, et dont la maison touche presque à la sienne: tous deux ils -se sont aimés dès l’enfance. Lorsqu’ils commencèrent à devenir grands, -le père de Quitterie, qui ne trouvait pas Basile assez riche pour sa -fille, commença par lui refuser l’entrée de sa maison: et pour lui ôter -toute espérance, il résolut de la marier avec Gamache. Ce Gamache a -beaucoup plus de bien que Basile; mais, à vrai dire, il ne l’égale pas -dans le reste, car Basile est le garçon le mieux fait et le plus adroit, -toujours le premier à la course et à la lutte; personne ne lance mieux -une barre, et n’est si adroit à la paume; il pince de la guitare au -point de la faire parler; il chante comme une alouette, saute comme un -daim; mais surtout il manie l’épée comme un maître d’escrime. - -Pour ce seul talent, dit don Quichotte, ce garçon méritait d’épouser, -non-seulement la belle Quitterie, mais la reine Genièvre elle-même, si -elle vivait encore, en dépit de Lancelot et de tous ceux qui voudraient -s’y opposer. - -Allez donc dire cela à ma femme, interrompit Sancho, qui n’avait fait -jusque-là qu’écouter et se taire; elle qui veut qu’on ne se marie -qu’avec son égal, chaque brebis avec sa pareille. Ce que je demande, -moi, c’est que ce brave Basile, car je commence à l’aimer, se marie avec -cette dame Quitterie; maudits soient dans ce monde et dans l’autre ceux -qui empêchent les gens de se marier à leur goût! - -Si tous ceux qui s’aiment pouvaient se marier ainsi, repartit don -Quichotte, que deviendraient le pouvoir et l’autorité des pères? Il -serait beau vraiment que les enfants eussent la liberté de choisir -suivant leur caprice! Si le choix d’un mari était laissé à la volonté -des filles, telle épouserait le valet de son père, ou le premier venu -qu’elle trouverait à sa fantaisie, quand même ce serait un débauché et -un spadassin; car l’amour est aveugle, et, quand il nous possède, on n’a -plus assez de raison pour faire un bon choix. Ainsi tu vois, mon pauvre -Sancho, qu’il n’y a point de circonstance dans la vie où l’on ait plus -grand besoin de jugement que lorsqu’il s’agit de contracter mariage: une -femme légitime n’est pas une marchandise dont on puisse se défaire à sa -volonté; c’est une compagne inséparable qu’on s’associe au lit, à la -table, en tout et partout; c’est un lien qu’on ne peut rompre, à moins -qu’il ne soit tranché par le ciseau des Parques. Je pourrais en dire -beaucoup plus sur ce sujet, mais j’ai hâte de savoir si le seigneur -licencié n’a point autre chose à nous apprendre touchant ce Basile. - -Il ne me reste qu’une chose à dire, répondit l’étudiant, c’est que du -jour où Basile a su que la belle Quitterie épousait Gamache le riche, on -ne l’a plus vu rire, on ne lui a plus entendu tenir un propos sensé. Il -marche triste, la tête basse, se parlant à lui-même; il mange peu et ne -dort pas davantage; s’il mange, ce sont des fruits, et s’il dort, c’est -comme une brute, sur la terre nue. De temps en temps on le voit lever -les yeux au ciel, puis tout à coup les attacher fixement sur le sol, -comme s’il était en extase, et de telle sorte qu’il semble métamorphosé -en statue; enfin, le pauvre garçon est dans un tel état, que ceux qui le -connaissent ne doutent pas qu’à peine Quitterie aura prononcé le oui -fatal, il ne rende le dernier soupir. - -Dieu y mettra ordre, reprit Sancho: quand il envoie le mal, il envoie le -remède; personne ne sait ce qui doit arriver! d’ici à demain il y a bien -des heures, et dans un instant la maison peut tomber. Combien de fois -ai-je vu pleuvoir et faire soleil tout ensemble! tel se couche bien -portant, qui s’éveille roide mort le lendemain; quelqu’un pourrait-il se -vanter d’avoir attaché un clou à la roue de fortune? sans compter -qu’entre le oui et le non d’une femme, je ne voudrais pas mettre la -pointe d’une aiguille, elle n’y tiendrait pas. Faites seulement que -Quitterie ait de la bonne volonté pour Basile, et je prédis qu’il lui -reste encore de fameuses chances; car, à ce que j’ai entendu dire, -l’amour regarde avec des yeux qui font passer le cuivre pour de l’or et -des noyaux pour des perles. - -Où t’arrêteras-tu, maudit Sancho? interrompit don Quichotte; quand une -fois tu commences à enfiler des proverbes, personne ne peut te suivre, -si ce n’est le diable en personne, et puisse-t-il t’emporter! Dis-moi, -animal, sais-tu ce que c’est que la roue de fortune, pour te mêler d’en -dire ton sentiment? - -Si l’on ne m’entend pas, répondit Sancho, il n’est pas étonnant que mes -sentences passent pour des sottises; mais qu’importe! je m’entends -moi-même, et je suis sûr de n’avoir pas dit trop de bêtises; mais Votre -Grâce prend toujours plaisir à pontrôler mes paroles. - -Dis donc contrôler, prévaricateur du beau langage, reprit don Quichotte, -ou que Dieu te rende muet pour le reste de tes jours. - -Que Votre Grâce ne se fâche point contre moi, répondit Sancho; vous -savez bien que je n’ai pas été élevé à la cour, et que je n’ai pas -étudié à Salamanque, pour savoir si je manque quand je parle. Vive Dieu! -le paysan de Sayago ne peut pas parler comme le citadin de Tolède: sans -compter qu’il y a beaucoup de gens à Tolède qui parlent comme il plaît à -Dieu. - -C’est vrai, reprit un des étudiants; ceux qui sont élevés dans les -tanneries ou dans les boutiques du Zocodover ne parlent pas aussi bien -que ceux qui passent tout le jour à se promener dans le cloître de la -cathédrale: cependant ils sont tous de Tolède. L’élégance du langage ne -se trouve guère que parmi les courtisans, et encore parmi les plus -délicats. Quant à moi, seigneurs, j’ai, pour mes péchés, étudié quelque -temps à Salamanque, et je me pique de m’exprimer en termes choisis. - -Si vous ne vous piquiez pas de jouer encore mieux de ces fleurets que de -la langue, dit l’autre étudiant, vous auriez tenu la tête du concours, -au lieu d’en avoir la queue. - -Bachelier, répliqua le licencié, vous vous trompez grandement quand vous -croyez que savoir manier l’épée soit chose inutile. - -Pour moi ce n’est pas une opinion, repartit Corchuelo (c’était le nom du -bachelier), c’est une vérité démontrée; au reste, s’il vous plaît d’en -faire l’expérience, l’occasion est belle: vous avez là deux épées, et je -possède en force et en courage plus qu’il n’en faut pour vous prouver -que j’ai raison. Descendez seulement de votre monture, mettez en usage -toutes les ruses de la salle, et si, avec la seule adresse que m’a -donnée la nature, je ne vous fais voir des étoiles en plein midi, je -veux recevoir des étrivières: tel que je suis, voyez-vous, je défie qui -que ce soit de me faire reculer d’un pas, et il n’est personne à qui je -ne puisse faire perdre terre. - -Pour ce qui est de ne point reculer, je le crois, répondit le licencié; -mais il pourrait se faire que là où vous auriez cloué le pied on creusât -votre sépulture: je veux dire que, faute d’avoir appris le métier, il -pourrait vous en coûter la vie. - -C’est ce que nous allons voir, repartit Corchuelo; et, sautant à bas de -son âne, il saisit avec furie un des fleurets que portait le licencié. - -Ah! vraiment, cela ne peut se passer ainsi, dit don Quichotte; il faut -procéder avec méthode, et je veux être le juge d’une question tant de -fois débattue et qui n’est point encore décidée. - -Aussitôt il descendit de cheval, et prenant sa lance, il se campa au -milieu du chemin, pendant que le licencié, d’un air dégagé et en -mesurant ses pas, s’avançait contre Corchuelo, qui courait sur lui plein -de fureur, et, comme on dit, jetant le feu par les yeux. Les deux -paysans et Sancho s’écartèrent un peu, sans descendre de leurs ânes, et -furent ainsi spectateurs du combat qui commença à l’instant. Les bottes -d’estoc et de taille que portait Corchuelo ne pouvaient se compter; il -attaquait en lion, et un coup n’attendait pas l’autre; mais le licencié, -sans s’émouvoir, parait toutes ses attaques, et lui faisait souvent -baiser la pointe de son fleuret comme si c’eût été une relique, quoique -avec moins de dévotion. Bref, le licencié lui coupa l’un après l’autre -tous les boutons de sa soutanelle, et la mit en lambeaux, sans jamais -être touché; il lui abattit deux fois son chapeau, et le fatigua de -telle sorte, que, de dépit et de rage, Corchuelo jeta son fleuret, qui -alla tomber à plus de cinquante pas, comme en témoigna par écrit un des -laboureurs, greffier de son état, qui était allé le ramasser; ce qui fit -voir par preuve authentique, comment la force est vaincue par l’adresse. - -Corchuelo s’était assis tout essoufflé: Par ma foi, seigneur bachelier, -lui dit Sancho, si vous m’en croyez, dorénavant vous ne défierez -personne à l’escrime, mais plutôt à jeter la barre, ou à lutter, car -vous avez la force nécessaire pour cela. Quant à ces bretteurs, -croyez-moi, il ne faut pas s’y frotter: je me suis laissé dire qu’ils -mettraient la pointe de leur épée dans le trou d’une aiguille. - -J’en conviens, reprit Corchuelo, et ne regrette pas l’expérience qui m’a -fait revenir de mon erreur. - -En même temps il embrassa le licencié, et ils restèrent meilleurs amis -que jamais. - -Les voyageurs se remirent en marche, hâtant leurs montures pour arriver -de bonne heure au village de Quitterie, d’où ils étaient tous. Chemin -faisant, le licencié leur expliqua l’excellence de l’escrime, et il en -prouva les avantages par tant de figures et de démonstrations -mathématiques, que chacun resta persuadé de l’utilité de cet art; -Corchuelo encore plus que les autres. - -La nuit venue, et comme ils étaient sur le point d’arriver, ils crurent -voir en avant du village un ciel resplendissant d’innombrables étoiles; -bientôt après ils entendirent un bruit confus, mais agréable, de divers -instruments, flûtes, hautbois, fifres et tambours de basque. En -approchant ils virent qu’on avait suspendu aux arbres une infinité de -lampions, dont l’effet était d’autant plus agréable qu’il ne faisait pas -le moindre vent. Les joueurs d’instruments qu’on rencontrait de tous -côtés par bandes, les uns dansant, les autres jouant de leurs cornemuses -ou de leurs flageolets, réjouissaient toute l’assemblée. Enfin, ce pré -semblait le séjour de la joie et des plaisirs: en divers endroits il y -avait des gens occupés à dresser des échafauds pour placer beaucoup de -monde durant la fête qui devait avoir lieu le lendemain, jour fixé pour -la solennité des noces du riche Gamache, et, suivant les apparences, -pour les funérailles du pauvre Basile. - -Don Quichotte ne voulut pas pénétrer dans le village, quelques instances -que lui fissent ses compagnons de route, alléguant l’antique coutume des -chevaliers errants, qui aimaient mieux dormir à la belle étoile que sous -les lambris dorés. Il se détourna donc un peu du chemin, quoi que pût -dire son écuyer, qui regrettait de tout son cœur la maison du seigneur -don Diego. - -CHAPITRE XX - -DES NOCES DE GAMACHE, ET DE CE QU’Y FIT BASILE - -A peine les rayons du brûlant Phébus achevaient de sécher les perles -liquides des cheveux de la pâle Aurore, que don Quichotte, secouant ses -membres engourdis, se leva et appela son écuyer qui dormait encore; mais -en l’entendant ronfler de toutes ses forces, il s’arrêta pour lui -adresser ces paroles: - -O toi, bienheureux entre tous les mortels, puisque, sans exciter ni -ressentir l’envie, tu dors dans le repos de ton esprit, aussi libre des -persécutions des enchanteurs que peu troublé des enchantements; dors, te -dirai-je mille fois, dors, toi qui ne connus jamais les cuisants soucis -d’une flamme jalouse, les pénibles insomnies du débiteur qui ne peut -s’acquitter, ni la sollicitude quotidienne de fournir à ta subsistance -et à celle de ta pauvre famille; dors, toi dont le repos n’est pas -troublé par l’ambition, et dont la vaine pompe du monde n’excite pas les -désirs, lesquels se bornent au soin de ton âne, celui de ta personne -étant remis à ma charge, compensation légitime qu’imposent au seigneur -la nature et la coutume. Le valet dort, pendant que veille le seigneur, -songeant au moyen de le nourrir et de lui assurer un juste salaire: un -ciel de bronze a beau refuser à la terre la rosée dont elle a besoin, ce -soin ne regarde pas le serviteur, il revient tout entier au maître, qui -doit, dans la stérilité, nourrir celui qui l’a servi dans l’abondance. - -A tout cela Sancho ne répondait mot, car il dormait, et certes il ne se -serait pas réveillé de longtemps si don Quichotte ne l’eût poussé deux -ou trois fois avec le bois de sa lance. Enfin il ouvrit les yeux, et -encore à moitié endormi, il promena ses regards à droite et à gauche. Du -côté de cette ramée, dit-il, vient, si je ne me trompe, une odeur de -jambon rôti qui vaut bien celle du thym et du serpolet. Sur mon âme, -des noces qui s’annoncent par de tels parfums promettent d’être -abondantes et libérales. - -Paix! glouton, dit don Quichotte; lève-toi, et allons voir ces noces qui -te préoccupent si fort, pour savoir ce que fera le pauvre Basile. - -Par ma foi! qu’il fasse ce qu’il voudra, répondit Sancho. Puisqu’il est -pauvre, pourquoi veut-il épouser Quitterie? Quand on n’a pas le sou -vaillant, pourquoi vouloir se marier dans les nuages? En vérité, -seigneur, le pauvre, selon moi, devrait se contenter de ce qu’il trouve, -sans chercher des perles dans les vignes. Je gagerais bien ma tête que -Gamache pourrait enterrer Basile sous ses réaux; cela étant, pourquoi -Quitterie irait-elle renoncer aux parures et aux joyaux que Gamache lui -a donnés, et lui donnera encore, pour un tireur de barre ou de fleuret -comme Basile. Ce n’est pas sur un coup de barre ou un coup d’épée qu’on -trouve à la taverne un verre de vin. Foin des talents qui ne rapportent -rien; quand ils se rencontrent avec les écus, oh! c’est différent. Sur -un bon fondement on peut bâtir une bonne maison; et en fait de -fondement, il n’y a rien de tel que l’argent. - -Au nom de Dieu! Sancho, dit don Quichotte; mets fin à ta harangue! quand -une fois tu as commencé à parler, je crois, si l’on ne t’arrêtait, que -tu ne songerais plus à manger ni à dormir. - -Si Votre Grâce avait bonne mémoire, répliqua Sancho, elle se -souviendrait qu’avant notre dernière sortie, nous sommes convenus qu’il -me serait permis de parler tant que je voudrais, pourvu que ce ne soit -pas contre le prochain ou contre votre autorité. Jusqu’à présent, vous -n’avez rien à me reprocher. - -Je ne m’en souviens pas, répondit don Quichotte, et quand cela serait -vrai, je veux que tu te taises et que tu me suives. J’entends déjà le -son des instruments qui retentissent de toutes parts; sans doute que le -mariage aura lieu de bon matin, pour éviter la chaleur du jour. - -Sancho obéit et sella promptement Rossinante, puis, ayant mis le bât -sur le grison, le maître et l’écuyer montèrent sur leurs bêtes et se -dirigèrent au petit pas du côté de la ramée. - -La première chose qui s’offrit aux regards de Sancho, ce fut un bœuf -entier, auquel un ormeau servait de broche. Une montagne de gros bois -composait le foyer où l’on allait le faire rôtir; alentour bouillaient -six grandes marmites, ou plutôt six cuves capables d’engloutir plusieurs -moutons tout entiers; une multitude de chapons, d’oisons et de poules, -étaient déjà préparés pour être ensevelis dans les marmites, et toutes -sortes d’oiseaux, de gibier de basse-cour et autres pendaient en foule à -des arbres où on les avait mis la veille pour les mortifier. Sancho -compta plus de soixante outres pleines de vin, qui contenaient chacune -pour le moins cinquante pintes. On voyait là des monceaux de pain blanc, -comme on voit les tas de moëllons près des carrières; les fromages -empilés ressemblaient à un mur de briques. Tout auprès, deux chaudières -pleines d’huile et plus grandes que celles des teinturiers, servaient à -faire des beignets et la pâtisserie, pendant qu’on prenait le sucre à -pleines mains dans une caisse qui en était remplie. Il y avait plus de -cinquante cuisiniers ou cuisinières, tous la joie peinte sur le visage, -et travaillant avec diligence. Dans le large ventre du bœuf on avait -cousu une douzaine de cochons de lait pour l’attendrir et lui donner du -goût. Quant aux épiceries de toutes sortes, elles n’étaient point là en -cornets de papier, mais par quintaux et à plein coffre. Finalement, les -préparatifs de la noce, quoique rustiques, étaient très-abondants, et il -y avait de quoi nourrir une armée entière. - -Sancho regardait chaque chose avec de grands yeux; il prenait tout en -amitié, et était enchanté de ce spectacle. Les marmites le tentèrent les -premières, et il eût de bon cœur pris le soin de les écumer. Plus loin, -il se sentit attendri par la vue des outres de vin; puis les gâteaux et -l’odeur des beignets le captivèrent tout à fait; enfin, n’y pouvant plus -tenir, il aborda un des cuisiniers et avec la politesse d’un estomac -affamé, il le pria de permettre qu’il trempât une croûte de pain dans -une de ces marmites. - -Frère, répondit le cuisinier, ce jour-ci n’est pas un jour de jeûne, -grâce à la libéralité du riche Gamache; mettez pied à terre, et cherchez -s’il n’y a point là quelque cuiller à pot pour écumer une ou deux -poules, et grand bien vous fasse! personne ne s’avisera de vous le -reprocher. - -Je ne vois point de cuiller, dit Sancho en soupirant. - -Parbleu! répondit le cuisinier, vous voilà embarrassé pour bien peu de -chose; et prenant une casserole, il la plongea dans une marmite d’où il -tira d’un seul coup trois poules et deux oies: Tenez, ami, dit-il à -Sancho, déjeunez de cette écume en attendant l’heure du dîner. - -Grand merci, mais je ne sais où mettre cela, dit Sancho. - -Emportez la casserole et ce qu’elle contient, repartit le cuisinier; -Gamache est trop riche et trop heureux aujourd’hui pour y regarder de si -près. - -Pendant que Sancho mettait ainsi le temps à profit, don Quichotte -regardait entrer douze jeunes garçons en habits de fête, et montés sur -de belles juments couvertes de riches harnais avec quantité de grelots -autour du poitrail. Ils s’élancèrent dans le pré, maniant leurs montures -avec beaucoup d’adresse, et criant tous ensemble. Vive Quitterie et -Gamache, lui aussi riche qu’elle est belle, et elle la plus belle du -monde! On voit bien, dit don Quichotte en lui-même, que ces gens-là ne -connaissent pas ma Dulcinée, car s’ils l’avaient vue, ils seraient un -peu plus sobres de louanges pour leur Quitterie. Un moment après, on vit -déboucher sur plusieurs points de la ramée une troupe de danseurs que -précédaient vingt-quatre jeunes bergers de bonne mine, vêtus de toile -blanche et fine, ayant sur la tête des mouchoirs de soie de différentes -couleurs, avec des couronnes de laurier et de chêne, et tous l’épée à -la main. Sitôt qu’ils parurent, un de ceux qui étaient à cheval demanda -à celui qui les conduisait, jeune homme élégant et bien pris, si aucun -des danseurs n’était blessé. - -Aucun jusqu’à cette heure, répondit celui-ci; nous sommes, Dieu merci, -tous bien portants et prêts à faire merveille; et aussitôt il se mêla -avec ses compagnons, qui s’escrimèrent les uns contre les autres en -cadence et avec tant d’adresse, que don Quichotte, tout habitué qu’il -était à ces sortes de spectacles, avoua qu’il n’en avait jamais vu de -comparable. Notre héros ne fut pas moins charmé de l’entrée d’une autre -troupe: c’étaient de belles jeunes filles âgées de quinze à seize ans au -plus, vêtues d’une étoffe verte; partie de leurs cheveux était attachée -avec des rubans, et le reste épars et traînant presque jusqu’à terre; -elles portaient sur la tête des guirlandes de jasmin, de roses et de -chèvrefeuille. Cette troupe, sous la conduite d’un vénérable vieillard -et d’une imposante matrone, tous deux plus dispos que ne l’annonçait -leur grand âge, exécuta une danse moresque au son de la cornemuse et -avec tant de légèreté et d’élégance, qu’elle enleva tous les suffrages. - -Après cela on vit exécuter une autre danse fort ingénieusement composée, -de celles qu’on appelle _parlantes_[90]. C’était une troupe de huit -nymphes partagées en deux files, l’une conduite par l’Amour, avec ses -ailes, son carquois, son arc et ses flèches; et l’autre par l’Intérêt, -couvert d’une riche étoffe d’or et de soie. Les nymphes qui suivaient -l’Amour avaient sur les épaules un morceau de taffetas blanc pour les -distinguer: la Poésie était la première; la Sagesse, la seconde; la -Noblesse, la troisième, et la Vaillance, la quatrième. Celles qui -marchaient sous la conduite de l’Intérêt avaient des marques -différentes: l’une s’appelait la Libéralité; l’autre, la Largesse; -celle-ci, la Richesse, et celle-là, la Possession pacifique. Devant -cette troupe, une espèce de château était traîné par quatre sauvages -vêtus de toile verte, tous couverts de lierre, et porteurs de si -horribles masques, que Sancho ne put les voir sans en être effrayé. Sur -la façade du château et sur les trois autres côtés, on lisait: _Château -de la Prudence_. - - [90] Les danses parlantes, pantomimes mêlées de danses et de - récitatifs. - -L’Amour ouvrit la danse au son de deux tambours et de deux flûtes; après -avoir fait quelques pas, il leva les yeux, saisit une flèche et fit mine -de vouloir tirer sur une jeune fille qui était venue se placer entre les -créneaux du château, mais à laquelle il adressa d’abord ces paroles: - - Je suis le souverain de la terre et de l’onde, - Et tout cède à ma voix: - Je ne me borne pas à l’empire du monde, - Le ciel et les enfers reconnaissent mes lois; - C’est en vain qu’on résiste, et jusqu’à l’impossible, - J’en sais venir à bout; - Et portant en tous lieux un pouvoir invincible, - La gloire et les lauriers m’accompagnent partout. - -En finissant, l’Amour décocha une flèche par-dessus le château, et -regagna sa place. L’Intérêt s’avança à son tour, dansa aussi deux pas, -puis regardant la jeune fille, il récita ces vers: - - J’ai plus de pouvoir que l’Amour, - Quelque vanité qu’il en fasse; - Rien n’est plus noble que ma race, - Dont l’auteur est père du jour. - C’est moi qui fais la paix, c’est moi qui fais la guerre; - C’est moi qui meus tout ici-bas: - Mais pendant que je règne en tyran sur la terre, - Je veux suivre en captif et ton char et tes pas. - -L’Intérêt se retira, et la Poésie ayant pris sa place, récita les vers -suivants, les yeux élevés du côté du château, comme l’avaient fait les -deux personnages précédents: - - C’est moi qui des vertus conserve la mémoire, - Moi qui les sauve de l’oubli; - Et le nom des héros serait enseveli, - Si mes soins et mes vers ne consacraient leur gloire. - Je viens, au bruit de ta beauté, - Te rendre un légitime hommage, - Et par un immortel ouvrage - Apprendre à l’univers quelle est la vanité - De t’en disputer l’avantage. - -La Poésie étant retournée à sa place, la Libéralité quitta la troupe de -l’Intérêt, et vint dire à son tour: - - C’est mon humeur et mon plaisir - De donner avec abondance, - Et sans attendre qu’on y pense - Je préviens même le désir; - Mais enfin je me lasse - De donner au hasard, et donner tant de fois: - Il est temps de faire un beau choix - Qui relève l’éclat des trésors que j’amasse: - Je vous les offre tous, et ne voudrais pour grâce - Que recevoir vos lois[91]. - - [91] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -De la même façon entrèrent et sortirent tous les personnages des deux -troupes, chacun récitant des vers après avoir fait son entrée. Les uns -étaient bons, les autres mauvais, et don Quichotte, qui avait une -excellente mémoire, retint seulement ceux que je viens de citer. -Ensuite tous les personnages se mêlèrent, formant tour à tour ou rompant -la chaîne, et se séparant à la fin de chaque cadence avec beaucoup -d’aisance et de grâce. Toutes les fois que l’Amour passait devant le -château, il lançait ses flèches par-dessus, tandis que l’Intérêt brisait -contre ses murs des boules dorées. Finalement, quand ils eurent -longtemps dansé, l’Intérêt tira une grande bourse qui paraissait pleine -d’argent, et l’ayant lancée contre le château, les planches qui le -formaient tombèrent, laissant à découvert et sans défense cette belle -fille qui avait paru entre les créneaux. L’Intérêt s’approcha aussitôt -avec sa suite, et lui jeta au cou une chaîne d’or, comme pour la faire -prisonnière; mais l’Amour accourut avec les siens pour la défendre. - -Quand on eut bien disputé de part et d’autre, toujours au son des -tambours, et avec des mouvements appropriés à la cadence et au sujet, -les sauvages les séparèrent, et rajustèrent en un instant les planches -du château, où la jeune fille s’enferma comme auparavant. C’est ainsi -que le ballet finit aux applaudissements de tous les spectateurs. - -Don Quichotte demanda qui avait composé cette petite fête; on lui -répondit que c’était un bénéficier de village, qui avait beaucoup de -talent pour ces sortes d’inventions. - -Je gagerais, dit le chevalier, qu’il est plus ami de Gamache que de -Basile, et qu’il s’entend mieux à cela qu’à réciter son bréviaire: sa -pièce est fort bonne, et il y fait valoir adroitement la richesse de -Gamache et les talents de Basile. - -Ma foi, dit Sancho, qui écoutait, le roi est mon coq, et je suis pour -Gamache. - -On voit bien, reprit don Quichotte, que tu es un vilain, et de ceux qui -toujours disent: Vive le plus fort! - -Je ne sais trop desquels je suis, répliqua Sancho, mais je sais que je -ne tirerai jamais de la marmite de Basile l’écume que j’ai tirée de -celle de Gamache. En même temps il montrait les poules et les oies dont -il se remit à manger avec grand appétit, en disant: Nargue des talents -de Basile! Autant tu as, autant tu vaux; autant tu vaux, autant tu as. -Il n’y a que deux familles au monde, disait ma grand’mère: avoir ou -n’avoir pas, et elle se sentait beaucoup de penchant pour avoir. -Aujourd’hui, mon seigneur et maître, on aime mieux l’argent que la -science, et un âne chargé d’or a meilleure mine qu’un cheval couvert de -panaches. Encore une fois, je suis pour Gamache, dont la marmite est -farcie d’oies et de poules, tandis que celle de Basile ne me donnerait, -je le crains bien, que de l’eau claire. - -Auras-tu bientôt fini? dit don Quichotte. - -Voilà qui est fait, seigneur, répondit Sancho, car je vois que cela vous -fâche: autrement, j’avais de la besogne taillée pour huit jours. - -Que Dieu m’accorde la grâce de ne pas mourir avant de t’avoir vu devenir -muet, dit don Quichotte. - -Au train dont nous allons, repartit Sancho, j’ai peur de vous en donner -le plaisir un de ces jours: il ne faut pour cela que tomber entre les -mains des muletiers Yangois, ou marcher toute une semaine à travers les -forêts, sans trouver quoi que ce soit à mettre sous la dent; alors vous -me verrez si bien muet, que je ne dirai pas une seule parole d’ici au -jugement dernier. - -Et quand cela serait, reprit don Quichotte, jamais ton silence n’égalera -ton bavardage. D’ailleurs, selon l’ordre de la nature, je dois mourir -avant toi; aussi je désespère de jamais te voir muet, non pas même en -buvant, ou en dormant, ce qui est tout ce que je peux dire de plus. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, repartit Sancho, il n’y a point à se fier à cette -maudite camarde, je veux dire à la Mort: car elle mange l’agneau tout -comme le mouton; et j’ai entendu notre curé dire qu’elle frappait -également les palais des rois et les cabanes des chevriers[92]. Elle a -beaucoup de pouvoir, cette dame, mais pas un brin de courtoisie: car -elle s’en prend à tout, mange de tout, et remplit sa besace de gens de -tout âge et de toute condition. Oh! ce n’est point là un moissonneur qui -fasse la sieste; elle a les yeux sans cesse ouverts, elle coupe l’herbe -verte comme la sèche, aussi bien la nuit que le jour. Par ma foi, on -peut dire non pas qu’elle mange, mais bien plutôt qu’elle dévore et -engloutit tout ce qui se trouve sur son chemin, car elle a une faim -qu’on ne peut rassasier; et quoiqu’elle n’ait point de ventre, on la -dirait hydropique, tant elle a soif de boire la vie de tous les hommes, -comme on boit une jarre d’eau fraîche. - - [92] Pallida mors æquo, etc. (HORACE.) - -Assez, assez, s’écria don Quichotte, tu ne t’en es pas mal tiré avec ton -éloquence rustique: ne va pas plus loin, mon ami, dans la crainte de -tomber; par ma foi, si tu avais autant de science et d’étude que tu as -d’esprit naturel et de jugement, tu pourrais monter en chaire et devenir -un excellent prédicateur. - -Qui vit bien prêche bien, repartit Sancho, je n’en sais point davantage. - -Tu n’as pas besoin d’en savoir davantage, dit don Quichotte; cependant -je ne puis comprendre que, le commencement de la sagesse étant la -crainte de Dieu, toi qui crains moins Dieu qu’un lézard, tu en saches si -long. - -Seigneur, reprit Sancho, que Votre Grâce soit juge de sa chevalerie, et -non de la peur ou du courage des autres, puisque notre curé dit qu’il -faut examiner ses actions et non celles d’autrui. Après tout, -laissez-moi dire un mot à cette écume, car tous ces discours ne sont que -paroles oiseuses, dont il nous faudra rendre compte au jour du jugement. - -Sans plus discourir, il donna un nouvel assaut à la casserole, et avec -tant de vigueur, qu’il réveilla l’appétit de son maître; lequel lui -aurait tenu compagnie s’il n’en eût été empêché par ce qu’il faudra -remettre au chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXI - -SUITE DES NOCES DE GAMACHE, ET DES CHOSES ÉTRANGES QUI Y ARRIVÈRENT - -Don Quichotte et Sancho achevaient la conversation que nous venons de -rapporter, quand il se fit un grand bruit de voix; ce bruit venait des -cavaliers qui venaient au-devant des nouveaux époux. En effet, ceux-ci -s’avançaient au milieu de toutes sortes d’instruments, avec le curé, -leurs familles, et suivis de la plus brillante compagnie des villages -circonvoisins, tous en habit de fête. - -Dès que la fiancée parut; Peste! s’écria Sancho, ce n’est point là une -paysanne; par ma foi, on dirait plutôt une princesse: quelle belle -guirlande de corail elle vous a autour du cou! et cette robe d’un -velours à trente poils, avec bordures de satin! Mais voyez donc ses -mains: que je meure si elles ne sont pas d’émail; et ces belles bagues -d’or avec des perles blanches comme du lait; il n’y en a pas une qui ne -vaille pour le moins un œil de la tête. Tudieu! quels cheveux! s’ils ne -sont pas faux, je n’en ai vu de ma vie d’aussi longs ni d’aussi blonds. -Que dites-vous de sa taille et de sa tournure? A la voir ainsi couverte -de joyaux de la tête aux pieds, on la prendrait pour un palmier chargé -de dattes. En vérité, voilà une maîtresse fille et qui pourrait passer -sur les bancs de Flandre[93]. - - [93] Passage dangereux qui borde la côte des Pays-Bas. On disait - proverbialement pour faire l’éloge de quelqu’un, qu’il pouvait passer - sur les bancs de Flandre. - -Don Quichotte souriait des éloges de Sancho, et il convenait en lui-même -qu’après Dulcinée on n’avait jamais rien vu de si merveilleux. Quitterie -paraissait un peu pâle, suite ordinaire de la mauvaise nuit que passent -les jeunes filles en préparant pour le lendemain leur parure de noces. -Les fiancés se dirigeaient vers une espèce d’estrade, couverte de -rameaux, de tapis et de branchages, sur laquelle devaient se faire les -épousailles, et d’où ils pouvaient plus commodément voir les jeux et les -danses. - -Tout à coup, au moment d’atteindre leurs places, ils entendirent -derrière eux un grand tumulte, et du milieu sortit une voix qui disait: -«Attendez, attendez, gens inconsidérés, vous êtes trop pressés d’en -finir.» A ces mots tous les assistants tournèrent la tête, et l’on vit -s’avancer un homme vêtu d’une casaque noire, bordée de bandes cramoisies -et parsemée de flammes; il avait sur la tête une couronne de cyprès, et -dans la main un long bâton. Quand il fut proche, chacun reconnut Basile, -et, le voyant dans un pareil lieu, l’on commença à craindre quelque -triste événement. Il arriva enfin essoufflé, hors d’haleine, et dès -qu’il fut devant les deux époux, fichant en terre son bâton garni d’une -pointe d’acier, le visage pâle et les yeux attachés sur Quitterie, il -lui dit d’une voix sourde et tremblante: - -As-tu donc oublié, ingrate Quitterie, que tu m’avais donné ta foi, et -que tu ne pourrais prendre un autre époux, tant que je serais vivant? -M’as-tu jamais trouvé infidèle, et en attendant qu’il me fût donné de -t’épouser, peux-tu me reprocher d’avoir manqué à l’amitié que je te -dois, ou fait quelque chose qui pût t’offenser? Pourquoi donc fausser ta -parole, pourquoi donner à un autre un bien qui m’appartient, sans qu’il -ait sur moi d’autre avantage que celui que le hasard distribue suivant -sa fantaisie? Eh bien, qu’il en jouisse, puisque c’est ta volonté; je -vais faire disparaître l’obstacle qui pouvait s’y opposer, et le rendre -heureux aux dépens de ma propre vie. Vivent! vivent le riche Gamache et -l’ingrate Quitterie! et meure Basile, puisque la pauvreté a coupé les -ailes à son bonheur et l’a précipité dans le tombeau. - -En achevant ces paroles, Basile tira une courte épée qui était cachée -dans son bâton, et, en ayant appuyé la poignée contre terre, il se jeta -sur la pointe avec autant de célérité que de résolution, et tomba -nageant dans son sang. A ce funeste spectacle, ses amis accoururent, -poussant des cris et déplorant son malheur. Don Quichotte accourut -aussi, et prenant l’infortuné entre ses bras, il trouva qu’il respirait -encore. On voulut lui retirer l’épée de la poitrine, mais le curé s’y -opposa, avant qu’il ne se fût confessé, disant qu’on ne pouvait arracher -l’épée sans lui ôter en même temps la vie. Alors Basile, revenant un peu -à lui, dit d’une voix affaiblie et presque éteinte: Cruelle Quitterie! -si à cette heure terrible et solennelle tu voulais m’accorder ta main -comme époux, je regretterais moins ma témérité, puisqu’elle m’a procuré -le bonheur d’être à toi. - -Mon enfant, lui dit le curé, il n’est plus temps de penser aux choses de -ce monde; songez à vous réconcilier avec Dieu, et à lui demander pardon -d’une résolution si désespérée. - -J’avoue que je suis désespéré, reprit Basile; et il prononça encore -quelques paroles qui montraient sa résolution de ne point se confesser -sans obtenir de Quitterie ce qu’il demandait, ajoutant que cette -satisfaction pouvait seule lui en donner le courage et la force. - -Don Quichotte déclara la demande parfaitement juste et raisonnable, et -d’autant plus aisée à accorder, qu’il y avait le même honneur pour -Gamache à prendre Quitterie, veuve d’un si honnête homme, que s’il la -recevait des mains de son père. D’ailleurs, ajouta-t-il, il n’y a qu’un -oui à proférer, et ce oui ne doit pas lui coûter beaucoup, puisque le -lit nuptial de Basile sera son tombeau. - -En voyant et entendant tout cela, Gamache était plein d’incertitude; -mais les amis de Basile le prièrent avec tant d’instances de consentir à -ce que Quitterie donnât la main à leur ami mourant, au moins pour sauver -son âme, qu’ils le décidèrent à déclarer que si elle y consentait il ne -s’y opposait pas, puisque ce n’était que différer un instant -l’accomplissement de ses propres désirs. Alors tous s’approchèrent de -Quitterie, et les uns les larmes aux yeux, les autres avec des paroles -obligeantes, ils tâchèrent de l’émouvoir en lui représentant qu’elle ne -pouvait refuser cette dernière grâce à un homme qui n’en jouirait pas -longtemps. Mais la belle Quitterie, immobile comme un marbre, ne savait -ou ne voulait pas répondre, et l’on n’aurait peut-être pas tiré d’elle -une parole, si le curé ne l’eût pressée de prendre un parti, disant que -Basile ayant la mort sur les lèvres, il n’y avait pas un instant à -perdre. Triste et troublée, Quitterie s’approcha de Basile, qui, les -yeux déjà fermés et respirant à peine, murmurait entre ses dents le nom -de Quitterie. Dès qu’elle fut près de lui, elle se mit à genoux et lui -demanda sa main, mais seulement par signe, comme n’ayant pas la force de -parler. - -Basile ouvrit les yeux, et les attachant languissamment sur elle: O -Quitterie! lui dit-il, à quoi bon cette pitié, maintenant qu’il me -reste si peu d’instants pour jouir du bonheur d’être ton époux, et que -rien ne peut arrêter le coup qui va me mettre au tombeau? Mais, au -moins, je t’en conjure, ô ma fatale étoile! c’est qu’en ce moment où tu -me demandes la main et tu m’offres la tienne, ce ne soit pas par -complaisance et pour m’abuser de nouveau: déclare donc que c’est sans -contrainte que tu me prends pour époux, et aussi librement que lorsque -nous nous donnâmes une foi mutuelle. Dans le triste état où tu m’as -réduit, il serait affreux de feindre avec moi, après m’avoir toujours -trouvé si fidèle et si sincère. - -Pendant qu’il parlait, on le voyait défaillir de telle sorte que tous -les assistants croyaient qu’il allait expirer à chaque parole. -Quitterie, confuse et les yeux baissés, prit de sa main droite celle de -son malheureux amant et lui dit: Rien n’est capable de forcer ma -volonté, Basile; d’un esprit aussi libre que je te donne ma main, je -reçois la tienne, s’il est vrai qu’il te reste assez de présence -d’esprit pour savoir ce que tu fais. - -Je te la donne, répondit Basile, l’esprit aussi sain et aussi entier que -je l’ai reçu du ciel; et c’est de tout mon cœur que je te reçois pour -épouse. - -Et moi, ajouta Quitterie, je te reçois pour époux, soit que tu vives de -longues années, soit qu’on te porte de mes bras dans le tombeau. - -Pour être aussi grièvement blessé, dit Sancho, voilà un garçon qui jase -beaucoup: il faudrait lui dire de laisser là toutes ces galanteries, et -de songer à son âme, qu’il a, ce me semble, plutôt sur le bout de la -langue qu’entre les dents. - -Pendant que Basile tenait ainsi la main de Quitterie, le curé attendri, -et les larmes aux yeux, leur donna la bénédiction nuptiale, priant Dieu -de recevoir en paix l’âme du nouveau marié. Mais celui-ci n’eut pas -plutôt reçu la bénédiction, qu’il se releva prestement, et avec une -célérité merveilleuse retira la dague à laquelle son corps servait de -fourreau. Les assistants étaient frappés de surprise, et plusieurs dans -leur simplicité se mirent à crier au miracle. Non, répliqua Basile, ce -n’est pas miracle, c’est adresse qu’il faut dire. Le curé, stupéfait, -hors de lui, accourut pour tâter la blessure avec sa main, et il trouva -que la dague, au lieu de percer le corps de Basile, était entrée dans un -fourreau de fer, adroitement rempli de sang. Bref, le curé, Gamache, et -ses amis, virent qu’on les avait joués. Quant à la fiancée, elle n’en -témoigna pas le moindre déplaisir; loin de là, entendant dire que ce -mariage entaché de fraude ne serait pas valable, elle déclara qu’elle le -ratifiait de nouveau: ce qui fit penser à tout le monde que la ruse -avait été concertée entre eux. Gamache et ses amis étaient si irrités, -qu’ils voulurent en tirer vengeance sur l’heure, et ils attaquèrent -Basile, pour lequel, en un clin d’œil, brillèrent cent épées nues. - -Don Quichotte accourut à cheval un des premiers, la rondache au bras, la -lance au poing, et se jeta entre les combattants, lesquels s’écartèrent -aussitôt. Quant à Sancho, qui avait les querelles en horreur, il se -réfugia au milieu des marmites, comme dans un asile sacré. - -Arrêtez! seigneurs, arrêtez! criait don Quichotte; on ne doit jamais se -venger des ruses que fait inventer l’amour, car l’amour et la guerre -sont même chose; et comme dans la guerre il a été de tout temps permis -d’employer des stratagèmes pour vaincre son ennemi, de même dans les -rivalités d’amour il faut tenir pour légitimes les ruses qu’on emploie -afin de réussir, pourvu toutefois que ce ne soit pas au détriment de -l’objet aimé. Quitterie est à Basile, et Basile à Quitterie, ainsi l’a -voulu le ciel. Gamache est riche, il trouvera assez d’autres femmes; -Basile, au contraire, n’a que cette brebis, il serait injuste de vouloir -la lui ravir. L’homme n’a pas le droit de séparer ce que Dieu a uni; -celui qui osera l’entreprendre, aura d’abord affaire à la pointe de -cette lance. En disant cela, il brandissait son arme avec tant de -vigueur, qu’il terrifia tous ceux qui ne le connaissaient pas. - -L’indifférence de Quitterie avait produit une telle impression sur -l’esprit de Gamache, qu’en un instant elle s’effaça de sa mémoire. Aussi -céda-t-il sans efforts aux exhortations du curé, homme sage et -conciliant; et pour montrer leurs intentions pacifiques, lui et ses amis -remirent leurs épées dans le fourreau, blâmant plutôt la facilité de -Quitterie que la ruse de Basile. Bien plus, quand Gamache eut réfléchi -que si Quitterie aimait Basile, étant jeune fille, elle l’eût encore -aimé après son mariage, il rendit grâce au ciel de la lui avoir enlevée, -et afin de prouver qu’il n’avait aucun ressentiment de ce qui venait de -se passer, il voulut que la fête s’achevât comme s’il se fût marié -réellement. - -Basile et Quitterie, ainsi que tous ceux de leur parti, refusèrent d’y -assister, et l’on se mit en chemin pour le village de Basile, qui malgré -sa pauvreté eut tout sujet de se réjouir; car le pauvre vertueux trouve -des amis pour le soutenir et l’honorer, comme le riche ne manque jamais -de flatteurs pour lui faire cortége. Ils emmenèrent avec eux don -Quichotte, le tenant pour homme de cœur et qui avait, comme on dit, du -poil sur l’estomac. Le seul Sancho avait l’âme navrée d’être forcé de -renoncer au splendide festin des noces de Gamache, qui se prolongèrent -une grande partie de la nuit. Tournant donc le dos, bien qu’il les -portât dans son cœur, aux marmites d’Égypte, dont l’écume presque -achevée qu’il emportait dans la casserole lui représentait l’abondance -perdue, il suivit son seigneur qui s’en allait avec le quadrille de -Basile. Ainsi, tout chagrin, quoique largement repu, il remonta sur son -grison et suivit Rossinante. - -CHAPITRE XXII - -DE L’AVENTURE INOUIE DE LA CAVERNE DE MONTESINOS DONT LE VALEUREUX DON -QUICHOTTE VINT A BOUT - -Grands et nombreux furent les régals qui attendaient don Quichotte chez -les nouveaux époux, empressés de reconnaître la protection qu’il leur -avait apportée si à propos; aussi mettant son esprit au niveau de son -courage, ils le qualifiaient tour à tour de Cicéron pour l’éloquence et -de Cid pour la valeur. Le bon Sancho se récréa trois jours aux dépens -des mariés, desquels on apprit que Quitterie n’avait eu aucune part à la -supercherie de Basile, qui seul s’était concerté avec ses amis, afin que -l’heure venue ils lui prêtassent appui. - -On ne doit point appeler supercherie, disait don Quichotte, les moyens -qui tendent à une fin louable et vertueuse; or pour les amants le -mariage est la fin par excellence. Seulement, comme dans le mariage tout -doit être contentement, joie et plaisir, le plus grand ennemi que puisse -redouter l’amour c’est la pauvreté. Ce que j’en dis c’est afin que le -seigneur Basile sache qu’il est temps de renoncer à tous ces exercices -du corps où il excelle et qui ne lui feront qu’une réputation inutile, -sans lui procurer aucun profit, et qu’ayant maintenant une épouse -vertueuse autant que belle, qui a dédaigné pour lui de grandes -richesses, il est désormais obligé de travailler à se faire une fortune -digne de sa femme, afin d’être tous deux en état de passer leur vie en -repos. - -Je ne sais quel sage, ajoutait notre chevalier, a dit qu’il n’existait -au monde qu’une seule femme véritablement bonne; mais qu’il conseillait -à chaque mari de se persuader, pour être heureux, que cette femme était -la sienne. Moi, qui ne suis pas marié et qui n’ai encore jamais pensé au -mariage, j’oserais cependant donner à celui qui me les demanderait -quelques conseils sur le choix d’une épouse. Je lui dirais: faites plus -attention, chez une femme, à la réputation qu’à la fortune; la femme -vertueuse n’acquiert pas la bonne renommée seulement parce qu’elle est -vertueuse, mais aussi parce qu’elle le paraît; les légèretés et les -imprudences nuisent plus aux femmes que les fautes secrètes. Si vous -ouvrez votre maison à une épouse vertueuse, il vous sera facile de la -maintenir dans cet état et même de l’y fortifier; mais si pour compagne -vous prenez une femme aux penchants vicieux, vous aurez bien de la peine -à l’en corriger, car il est très-difficile de revenir du vice à la -vertu. La chose n’est pas impossible, j’en conviens, mais je la regarde -comme d’une excessive difficulté. - -Sancho écoutait, se disant à lui-même: Ce mien maître-là, quand je viens -à dire quelques bonnes choses, ne manque jamais de s’écrier que je -pourrais monter en chaire et m’en aller prêcher par le monde; eh bien, -je soutiens, moi, que lorsqu’il se met à enfiler des sentences et à -donner des conseils, non-seulement il pourrait monter en chaire, mais -même sur le haut du clocher. Peste soit de l’homme qui, en sachant si -long, s’est fait chevalier errant! je m’étais figuré qu’il ne savait -guère que ce qui a rapport à sa chevalerie, mais je vois qu’il n’y a -point de sujet où il ne puisse placer son mot. - -Que murmures-tu là Sancho? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je ne murmure rien, répondit Sancho; je pensais seulement à part moi, -qu’avant d’avoir pris femme, j’aurais bien voulu entendre dire ce que -dit Votre Grâce; peut-être dirais-je à présent que le bœuf libre du -joug se lèche plus à l’aise. - -Comment, ta Thérèse est méchante à ce point? reprit don Quichotte. - -Elle n’est pas très-méchante, répliqua Sancho; mais elle n’est pas non -plus très-bonne; du moins elle n’est pas aussi bonne que je voudrais. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, tu as tort de mal parler de ta femme; car -c’est la mère de tes enfants. - -Oh! nous ne nous devons rien, répondit Sancho; et quand la fantaisie lui -en prend, elle ne me ménage guère, surtout si elle a un grain de -jalousie. Aussi, dans ces moments-là, je la donnerais à tous les -diables. - -Nos aventuriers passèrent trois jours à faire bonne chère chez les -nouveaux mariés; mais don Quichotte, qui se lassait déjà d’une vie -oisive et si contraire à sa profession, pria le licencié avec qui il -était venu, et qui jouait si bien des fleurets, de lui donner un guide -pour le conduire à la caverne de Montesinos, où il avait le plus vif -désir de pénétrer, afin de voir par ses propres yeux les merveilles que -l’on en racontait dans le pays. Le licencié lui dit qu’un de ses -cousins, garçon fort instruit, et grand amateur de livres de chevalerie, -le conduirait de bon cœur jusqu’à l’entrée de la caverne, et lui -indiquerait les sources de Ruidera, si fameuses dans toute l’Espagne, -ajoutant qu’il aurait grand plaisir dans la compagnie de ce jeune homme. -En effet, le cousin arriva bientôt après, monté sur une bourrique -pleine. Sancho sella Rossinante, bâta son grison, puis s’étant -recommandé à Dieu, et le bissac bien fourni, la caravane se mit en route -dans la direction de la fameuse caverne. - -Chemin faisant, don Quichotte demanda à son guide quelles étaient ses -études et sa profession. - -Seigneur, répondit celui-ci, ma profession est celle d’humaniste, et je -compose des livres pour le plaisir et l’utilité du public. J’en ai un -prêt à paraître, qui a pour titre: _Recueil de livrées_: il contiendra -plus de sept cents figures, chiffres et devises, dont le but est -d’épargner aux chevaliers de la cour la peine de se creuser la cervelle -pour en trouver de conformes à leur intention, lorsqu’ils ont à figurer -dans un carrousel ou dans un tournoi. J’ai prévu tout ce qu’on peut -souhaiter là-dessus: il y a des devises pour le jaloux, il y en a pour -l’absent, pour le dédaigné, qui leur vont comme un gant. Je viens aussi -d’achever un autre ouvrage que j’intitule les _Métamorphoses_ ou -l’_Ovide espagnol_. Celui-ci est d’une invention rare et originale, car, -imitant Ovide dans le genre burlesque, j’explique ce que furent la -Giralda de Séville, l’ange de la Madeleine, l’égout de Vinceguerra à -Cordoue, les taureaux de Guisando, les fontaines de Legatinos et de -Lavapiès à Madrid, sans oublier celles du Pou, du Tuyau doré, et de la -Prieure, le tout accompagné de métaphores et d’allégories, de façon que -l’ouvrage soit à la fois instructif et amusant. J’en ai encore sur le -chantier un autre que j’appelle: _Supplément à Polydore Virgile_, et qui -traite de l’origine des choses: c’est un livre d’une grande érudition, -car j’y explique toutes les questions importantes qu’avait oubliées -Polydore. Par exemple, il n’a point dit quel est le premier homme du -monde qui ait eu un catarrhe; quel recourut le premier aux frictions -pour guérir le mal français; eh bien, moi, j’enseigne tout cela de point -en point et appuyé de l’autorité de plus de vingt-cinq auteurs, la -plupart contemporains. Jugez, seigneur, si mon travail est utile et -curieux. - -Seigneur, vous qui savez tout, demanda Sancho, pourriez-vous me dire -quel est le premier homme qui s’est gratté la tête; quant à moi, je -pense que c’est Adam, notre premier père. - -Très-probablement, répondit le guide, car Adam avait une tête et des -cheveux, et il y a apparence qu’étant le premier homme, il y a le -premier senti de la démangeaison. - -C’est ce que je crois aussi, reprit Sancho; dites-moi maintenant quel -est l’homme qui a sauté ou voltigé le premier? - -En vérité, frère, répondit le guide, je ne saurais résoudre cela sur -l’heure, et il faut avant tout que j’en fasse la recherche; je -feuilletterai mes livres aussitôt que je serai de retour, et je vous -rendrai raison à la prochaine rencontre, car j’espère que celle-ci ne -sera pas la dernière. - -Ne prenez pas tant de peine, dit Sancho, je viens de trouver la chose: -le premier sauteur du monde fut Lucifer, car, lorsqu’il fut chassé du -ciel, il s’en alla voltigeant jusqu’au fond des enfers. - -Vous avez raison, compère, répondit le guide. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, la demande et la réponse ne sont pas de toi; -tu les as déjà entendu faire. - -Seigneur, repartit Sancho, en fait de demandes et de réponses, j’en ai -au moins pour deux jours; et quant à débiter des sottises, je n’ai, Dieu -merci, besoin de personne. - -Tu en dis plus que tu ne penses, repartit don Quichotte: en effet, il y -a nombre de gens qui se donnent beaucoup de peine pour apprendre et -vérifier des choses oiseuses où la mémoire et l’esprit n’ont rien à -gagner. - -Nos voyageurs passèrent la journée dans ces agréables entretiens. Puis -la nuit venue, ils allèrent loger dans un petit village, d’où, suivant -le guide, il n’y avait pas plus de deux lieues jusqu’à la caverne de -Montesinos. Notre chevalier fut averti de se pourvoir de cordes, s’il -avait envie de descendre jusqu’au fond. Don Quichotte répondit qu’il y -était résolu, dût-il pénétrer jusqu’aux abîmes. On acheta cent brasses -de corde, et, le jour suivant, les trois voyageurs arrivèrent, sur les -deux heures après midi, proche de la caverne, dont l’entrée, quoique -large et spacieuse, était tellement obstruée de ronces et de -broussailles entrelacées, qu’elle semblait inaccessible. - -Quand ils furent près du bord, don Quichotte, le guide et Sancho, mirent -pied à terre; puis les deux compères s’occupèrent à attacher fortement -notre chevalier avec des cordes. Pendant qu’on lui ceignait les reins, -Sancho lui dit: Que Votre Grâce, mon bon seigneur, prenne garde à ce -qu’elle va faire; pourquoi vous enterrer tout vivant, comme une cruche -qu’on met dans un puits pour la rafraîchir? Quel intérêt vous force -d’aller voir ce qui se passe au fond d’un trou qui doit être pire qu’une -prison de Maures? - -Attache et tais-toi, répondit don Quichotte; à moi seul était réservée -une entreprise telle que celle-ci. - -Seigneur, lui dit le guide, observez bien, je vous prie, tout ce qu’il y -a dans cette caverne: peut-être s’y rencontrera-t-il des choses dignes -de trouver place dans mon livre des métamorphoses. - -Soyez tranquille, reprit Sancho; mon maître tient la flûte, je vous -assure qu’il en jouera bien. - -Se voyant prêt à descendre: Pardieu! dit don Quichotte, nous avons été -bien imprévoyants de ne pas nous munir d’une petite clochette qu’on -aurait attachée à la corde même, et dont le bruit vous eût avertis que -je descendais toujours et que j’étais encore vivant; mais puisqu’il n’en -est plus temps, à la grâce de Dieu. Sur ce, notre chevalier se jeta à -genoux, fit une courte prière à voix basse, pour demander le secours du -ciel dans une si périlleuse aventure, après quoi il s’écria: O dame de -mes pensées, maîtresse de mes actions, illustre et sans pareille -Dulcinée du Toboso, si les prières de ton amant fortuné arrivent jusqu’à -toi, daigne, je t’en conjure, par cette beauté incomparable qui m’a -charmé, daigne les écouter favorablement; car elles n’ont d’autre objet -que d’obtenir ta protection dont j’ai si grand besoin, au moment où je -vais m’enfoncer dans cet abîme, poussé par le seul désir d’apprendre à -tout l’univers que celui que tu favorises ne connaît rien d’impossible. - -En disant ces paroles, il s’approcha de l’ouverture de la caverne, et -voyant qu’il était impossible d’y pénétrer, à moins de s’ouvrir par -force un passage, il tira son épée, et se mit à abattre les broussailles -et les épines. Au bruit que faisaient ses coups, il s’en échappa une -nuée si rapide et si épaisse d’énormes corbeaux, de corneilles et de -chauves-souris, que notre héros en fut renversé. S’il eût été aussi -superstitieux qu’il était bon catholique et franc chevalier, il aurait -tenu cela à mauvais présage et renoncé à l’entreprise; mais se relevant -avec un courage intrépide et voyant qu’il ne sortait plus d’oiseaux, il -demanda de la corde au guide et à Sancho, qui commencèrent à le laisser -couler doucement. Au moment où il disparut, Sancho lui envoya sa -bénédiction, en faisant sur lui mille signes de croix: Que Dieu te -conduise, dit-il, ainsi que Notre-Dame du Puy et la Sainte-Trinité de -Gayette, crème, fleur, écume des chevaliers errants! Va en paix, -champion du monde, cœur d’acier, bras d’airain; que Dieu te conduise et -te ramène sain et sauf à la lumière de cette vie que tu abandonnes pour -t’enterrer dans cette obscurité! - -Le guide répéta à peu près les mêmes invocations. - -Cependant don Quichotte criait toujours qu’on lui lâchât de la corde, et -ils continuaient à lui en envoyer peu à peu. Quand ils reconnurent -qu’ils en avaient coulé plus de cent brasses, et qu’aucun son -n’arrivait jusqu’à eux, ils furent d’avis de remonter notre chevalier; -néanmoins ils attendirent près d’une demi-heure, après quoi ils -commencèrent à retirer la corde. Comme elle remontait sans qu’ils -éprouvassent aucune résistance, ils craignirent que don Quichotte ne fût -resté au fond de la caverne. Sancho pleurait déjà amèrement, et tirait -en toute hâte pour s’assurer de la vérité. Au bout de quatre-vingts -brasses environ, ils sentirent un poids assez lourd, ce qui leur causa -une joie extrême, puis enfin après dix autres brasses ils aperçurent -distinctement don Quichotte, à qui Sancho cria tout joyeux: Soyez le -bienvenu, mon bon seigneur; nous pensions que vous étiez resté là-bas -pour faire race. Don Quichotte ne répondit mot; mais quand il fut au -bord du trou, ils virent qu’il avait les yeux fermés, comme un homme -endormi. Ils le délièrent et l’étendirent par terre, sans qu’il -s’éveillât; enfin quand ils l’eurent bien tourné et retourné, il revint -à lui, se frotta les yeux, s’allongea comme si on l’eût tiré d’un -profond sommeil, puis jetant de côté et d’autre des regards effarés: -Dieu vous le pardonne, amis, s’écria-t-il; mais vous venez de m’enlever -au plus beau spectacle et à la plus délicieuse vie dont mortel ait -jamais joui. C’est maintenant qu’il me faut reconnaître que toutes les -joies de ce monde passent comme l’ombre et se flétrissent comme la fleur -des champs. O malheureux Montesinos! ô Durandart, lâchement assassiné! ô -infortuné Belerne! ô larmoyant Guadiana! et vous, déplorables filles de -Ruidera, qui par l’abondance de vos eaux faites voir combien vos beaux -yeux ont versé de larmes! - -Étonnés d’entendre ces paroles qu’il proférait comme s’il eût été -pénétré d’une profonde douleur, le guide et Sancho le supplièrent de -leur en apprendre le sens, et de leur raconter ce qu’il avait vu dans -cet enfer. - -Enfer! s’écria don Quichotte; ce nom, je vous l’assure, ne lui convient -nullement. Il demanda quelque chose à manger, parce qu’il avait grand -faim; on étendit sur l’herbe le tapis qui formait la selle du coursier, -on vida les besaces, et tous trois, de bon appétit, dînèrent et -soupèrent d’un même coup. Quand le tapis fut enlevé: Que personne ne -bouge, enfants, dit don Quichotte, et prêtez-moi la plus grande -attention. - -CHAPITRE XXIII - -DES ADMIRABLES CHOSES QUE L’INCOMPARABLE DON QUICHOTTE PRÉTENDIT AVOIR -VUES DANS LA PROFONDE CAVERNE DE MONTESINOS, ET DONT L’INVRAISEMBLANCE -ET LA GRANDEUR FONT QUE L’ON TIENT CETTE AVENTURE POUR APOCRYPHE - -Il était environ quatre heures du soir, lorsque le soleil, caché par des -nuages qui amortissaient l’éclat de sa lumière et tempéraient l’ardeur -de ses rayons, permit à don Quichotte de raconter, sans fatigue, à ses -deux illustres auditeurs, les choses merveilleuses qu’il avait vues dans -la caverne de Montesinos. Il commença en ces termes: - -A douze ou quatorze hauteurs d’homme du fond de cette caverne se trouve -à main droite une cavité ou espace vide pouvant contenir un grand -chariot attelé de ses mules. Une faible lueur y arrive par quelques -fentes assez éloignées, puisqu’elles viennent de la surface du sol. -J’aperçus cette cavité dans un moment où j’étais las et attristé de me -sentir, suspendu à une corde, descendre dans cette région obscure sans -avoir de route certaine; cela me détermina à y entrer pour prendre un -peu de repos. Je vous criai en même temps de ne plus lâcher de corde, -mais probablement vous ne m’entendîtes pas. Je ramassai alors celle que -vous continuiez à m’envoyer, et j’en fis, en la roulant, une sorte de -siége sur lequel je m’assis tout pensif, réfléchissant sur ce que -j’avais à faire pour gagner le fond. Pendant que j’étais plongé dans ces -pensées et dans cette incertitude, je fus gagné par un sommeil des plus -profonds: puis, quand j’y songeais le moins, je m’éveillai et alors je -me trouvai, sans savoir ni pourquoi ni comment, au milieu de la plus -belle, de la plus agréable, et de la plus délicieuse prairie que puisse -former la nature ou rêver une riante imagination. Je me frottai les -yeux, et reconnus que je ne dormais plus et que j’étais bien réellement -éveillé. Je me tâtai la tête et la poitrine, pour m’assurer si c’était -bien moi qui étais là ou seulement quelque vain fantôme, quelque -contrefaçon de ma personne; mais le sentiment, le toucher, les -raisonnements suivis que je faisais en moi-même, tout m’attesta que -j’étais véritablement alors ce que je suis à présent. - -Bientôt s’offrit à ma vue un royal et somptueux palais dont les murs -semblaient être faits d’un cristal pur et diaphane. Deux grandes portes -s’ouvrirent, et je vis s’avancer vers moi un vénérable vieillard, vêtu -d’un manteau violet qui traînait jusqu’à terre. Sa poitrine et ses -épaules étaient entourées d’un chaperon collégial en satin vert. Une -toque milanaise en velours noir lui couvrait la tête, et sa barbe -blanche se prolongeait plus bas que sa ceinture. Il ne portait aucune -arme; seulement il tenait à la main un rosaire dont les grains étaient -plus gros que des noix et les dizains comme des œufs d’autruche. Sa -démarche, sa noble prestance et l’ampleur de sa personne, tout en lui, -dans les détails comme dans l’ensemble, me frappa de surprise et -d’admiration. Il s’approcha, et m’embrassant étroitement: Vaillant -chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche, me dit-il, nous tous qui depuis -longues années sommes enchantés dans ces solitudes, nous attendions ta -venue afin que tu puisses faire connaître au monde ce que recèle l’antre -profond dans lequel tu viens de pénétrer, et qui s’appelle la caverne de -Montesinos. Cette prouesse était réservée à ton grand cœur et à ton -invincible courage. Viens avec moi, illustre seigneur, viens; je veux te -dévoiler les merveilles que renferme ce transparent Alcazar dont je -suis à perpétuité le gouverneur et le gardien; car tu vois Montesinos -lui-même, de qui cette caverne a pris le nom. - -A ce nom de Montesinos, je lui demandai s’il était vrai, comme on le -racontait dans le monde d’en haut, qu’il eût avec une petite dague tiré -le cœur de Durandart du fond de sa poitrine, pour le porter à la señora -Belerme, suivant le vœu de son ami mourant. - -Cela est vrai de tout point, sauf la dague, me dit-il, car c’était un -poignard fourbi et pointu comme une alène. - -En ce cas, interrompit Sancho, ce devait être un poignard du fameux -Ramon de Hocès, l’armurier de Séville[94]. - - [94] Célèbre armurier au seizième siècle. - -Je n’en sais rien, répondit don Quichotte; mais cela ne se peut, puisque -l’armurier que tu cites n’est que d’hier, tandis que l’événement dont je -parle s’est passé à Roncevaux il y a plusieurs siècles. Au surplus, -cette particularité est sans importance; elle ne peut en rien altérer le -fond de cette histoire. - -Non, certes, ajouta le guide; continuez, seigneur don Quichotte; -j’éprouve le plus grand plaisir à vous entendre. - -Et moi non moins à vous faire ce récit, reprit notre héros. Je suivis -donc le vénérable Montesinos au palais de cristal, où dans une salle -toute en albâtre et d’une fraîcheur délicieuse, se trouvait un tombeau -en marbre sculpté avec un art merveilleux. Sur ce tombeau je vis étendu -tout de son long un chevalier, non de bronze, de marbre, ni de jaspe, -tel qu’on en voit sur d’autres monuments, mais bien de chair et d’os. Il -tenait sa main droite (qui me sembla nerveuse et très-velue, ce qui est -un attribut de la force) posée sur son cœur. En me voyant contempler -l’homme du tombeau: Voilà, me dit Montesinos, voilà mon ami Durandart, -miroir, fleur des vaillants et amoureux chevaliers de son temps; il est -retenu ici enchanté comme moi et tant d’autres, hommes et femmes, par -Merlin, l’enchanteur français, qui passait pour être fils du diable. -Quant à moi, je ne pense pas qu’il ait eu un tel père; car il en savait -plus long que le diable, et il lui aurait même rendu des points. Comment -et pourquoi nous a-t-il enchantés? Tout le monde l’ignore; mais le temps -le révélera et ce temps-là n’est pas loin, je l’imagine. Tout ce que je -sais, et cela est aussi certain qu’il fait jour à présent, c’est que -Durandart a cessé de vivre entre mes bras; qu’après sa mort j’ai enlevé -son cœur de sa poitrine, et cela de mes propres mains; et en vérité il -devait peser au moins deux livres, car suivant les naturalistes, l’homme -qui a un grand cœur est doué de plus de vaillance que celui chez lequel -il est petit. Eh bien, puisqu’il en est ainsi et que ce chevalier est -bien mort, comment peut-il encore parfois pousser des soupirs et des -plaintes comme s’il était vivant? A ces mots, l’infortuné Durandart jeta -un grand cri, et s’adressant à Montesinos: - -O mon cousin, la dernière prière que je vous adressai, ce fut, quand mon -âme aurait quitté mon corps, de porter vous-même mon cœur à la señora -Belerme, après l’avoir détaché de ma poitrine, soit avec un poignard, -soit avec une dague. - -En entendant cela, Montesinos se jeta à genoux devant le déplorable -chevalier, et lui dit les larmes aux yeux: Seigneur Durandart, mon -très-cher cousin, j’ai exécuté ponctuellement ce que vous m’aviez -prescrit à l’heure fatale de notre défaite; je vous ai détaché le cœur -du mieux que j’ai pu, ayant bien soin de n’en pas laisser la moindre -parcelle dans votre poitrine; je l’ai essuyé avec un mouchoir de -dentelle, et sans perdre un instant j’ai pris le chemin de France, après -vous avoir préalablement déposé dans le sein de la terre, et avoir versé -tant de larmes, qu’elles ont suffi à me laver les mains, et à effacer -les traces de votre sang. Pour surcroît de preuves, cousin de mon âme, -dans le premier village que je traversai à ma sortie de Roncevaux, je -saupoudrai votre cœur d’un peu de sel, afin qu’il ne prît pas mauvaise -odeur, et qu’il arrivât, sinon parfaitement frais, du moins bien -conservé, en présence de la señora Belerme. Cette dame, comme vous, moi, -Guadiana, votre écuyer, la duègne Ruidera, ses sept filles, ses deux -nièces, et bon nombre de nos amis et connaissances, sommes depuis -longtemps enchantés ici par le sage Merlin. Quoiqu’il y ait de cela -maintenant plus de cinq cents ans révolus, personne n’est mort parmi -nous; il ne nous manque que Ruidera, ses filles et ses nièces, -lesquelles, à force de larmes, ont attendri Merlin et ont été changées -par lui en autant de lagunes qui, dans le monde des vivants et dans la -province de la Manche, s’appellent les lagunes de Ruidera. Quant à votre -écuyer Guadiana, qui pleurait aussi votre disgrâce, il est devenu un -fleuve[95], qu’on appelle du même nom, et qui, arrivé à la surface du -sol, voyant un autre soleil que celui qu’il connaissait, fut pris d’un -tel regret de nous quitter, qu’il se replongea dans les entrailles de -la terre; mais comme il faut toujours obéir à sa pente naturelle, il -reparaît de temps en temps, et se montre à la face du ciel et des -hommes. Les lagunes dont j’ai parlé lui prêtent leurs eaux, et avec ce -secours et celui de quelques autres rivières, il entre majestueusement -dans le royaume de Portugal. - - [95] Le Guadiana tire sa source des lagunes de Ruidera, au pied de la - Sierra de Alcaraz, dans la province de la Manche. - -Ce que je viens de vous dire, mon cher cousin, je vous l’ai bien souvent -répété; mais comme vous ne répondez pas, j’en conclus que vous ne pouvez -m’entendre, ou que vous ne m’en croyez pas sur parole; et Dieu sait à -quel point cela me chagrine. Présentement, je viens vous faire part -d’une nouvelle qui, si elle n’apporte pas un grand soulagement à votre -douleur, ne peut du moins l’aggraver en aucune façon. Sachez que vous -avez en votre présence (ouvrez les yeux et vous le verrez) ce noble -chevalier duquel Merlin a prophétisé tant et de si grandes choses, ce -fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, qui a ressuscité, avec un éclat plus -vif encore que dans les siècles passés, la chevalerie errante oubliée de -nos jours. Par lui et à cause de lui, il pourrait arriver que nous -fussions désenchantés, car c’est aux grands hommes que sont réservées -les grandes prouesses. Et quand cela ne serait pas, répondit d’une voix -basse et étouffée l’affligé Durandart, je dirais: Patience, et battons -les cartes. Puis, sans ajouter un seul mot, il se tourna sur le côté, et -retomba dans son silence habituel. - -En ce moment, de grands cris se firent entendre ainsi que des pleurs -accompagnés de profonds gémissements et de sanglots entrecoupés. Je -tournai la tête, et à travers les murailles de cristal, j’aperçus dans -une autre salle du château une procession de belles damoiselles défilant -sur deux rangs; elles étaient toutes vêtues de deuil, et coiffées de -turbans blancs, à la manière des Turcs. A leur suite venait une dame -(ainsi le faisait supposer la gravité de sa prestance) également -habillée de noir; elle portait un voile blanc si long qu’il balayait la -terre. Son turban était deux fois plus gros que ceux des damoiselles; -elle avait des sourcils qui se joignaient, le nez épaté, la bouche -grande, les lèvres d’un rouge vif. Ses dents, que par intervalles elle -laissait voir, semblaient rares et mal rangées, mais blanches comme des -amandes dépouillées de leur pellicule. Elle tenait à la main un linge -très-fin, dans lequel, autant que j’ai pu le remarquer, était un cœur -momifié, tant il me parut sec et ratatiné. Montesinos m’apprit que toute -cette procession était composée des serviteurs de Durandart et de -Belerme, qui se trouvaient enchantés en ce lieu avec leurs seigneurs, et -que celle qui portait le cœur enveloppé dans un linge, était la señora -Belerme elle-même, laquelle, quatre fois par semaine, renouvelait avec -ses damoiselles la même procession, en récitant d’une voix plaintive des -chants funèbres sur le cœur de son infortuné cousin. Si elle vous -semble laide, ajouta-t-il, ou du moins inférieure à sa réputation de -beauté, cela tient aux mauvaises nuits et aux tristes journées qu’elle a -passées dans cet enchantement, comme on peut le voir à son teint pâle et -à ses yeux fatigués: résultat inévitable du douloureux spectacle qui lui -rappelle sans cesse la fin de son amant; car autrement sa beauté, sa -grâce et ses charmes seraient à peine égalés par ceux de la grande -Dulcinée du Toboso; si renommée, non-seulement dans tous les environs, -mais même dans le monde entier. - -Halte-là seigneur, dis-je à don Montesinos; que Votre Grâce conte son -histoire simplement; vous savez que toute comparaison est odieuse, et il -ne s’agit point ici d’établir de parallèle. La sans pareille Dulcinée du -Toboso est ce qu’elle est, et la señora Belerme est aussi ce qu’elle -est, et ce qu’elle a été; n’allons pas plus loin.--Seigneur don -Quichotte, me répondit Montesinos, que Votre Grâce veuille bien -m’excuser; j’avoue que j’ai eu tort de dire que la beauté de la señora -Belerme serait à peine égalée par celle de la grande Dulcinée du -Toboso; car il me suffisait d’avoir soupçonné, sur je ne sais quels -indices, que vous êtes son chevalier, pour me mordre la langue plutôt -que de faire un rapprochement avec quoi que ce soit, si ce n’est avec le -ciel lui-même. - -Grâce à cette satisfaction que me donna le seigneur Montesinos, je -sentis mon cœur s’apaiser et se remettre de l’émotion que j’avais -éprouvée en entendant comparer ma Dulcinée à la señora Belerme. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, s’écria Sancho, je m’étonne que vous n’ayez pas -grimpé sur le corps du bonhomme, que vous ne lui ayez pas moulu les os -et arraché la barbe jusqu’au dernier poil. - -En cela j’eusse mal agi, reprit don Quichotte; nous sommes tenus de -respecter les vieillards, même lorsqu’ils ne sont pas chevaliers; à plus -forte raison quand ils le sont, et enchantés par-dessus le marché. Nous -avons, du reste, Montesinos et moi, échangé bon nombre de questions pour -lesquelles nous sommes quittes l’un envers l’autre. - -Je ne sais vraiment, seigneur, dit le guide, comment dans le peu de -temps qu’elle est restée là-bas, Votre Grâce a pu voir tant de choses, -questionner et répondre sur tant de points. - -Combien y a-t-il donc de temps que je suis descendu? demanda don -Quichotte. - -Un peu plus d’une heure, répondit Sancho. - -Cela ne se peut, dit don Quichotte, puisque j’ai vu venir la nuit, -ensuite le jour, et par trois fois; de façon qu’à mon compte je ne suis -pas resté moins de trois jours dans ces profondeurs cachées à votre vue. - -Ce que dit là mon maître doit être vrai, repartit Sancho; en effet, -comme toutes choses lui arrivent par enchantement, ce qui nous semble -une heure lui aura sans doute paru trois jours et autant de nuits. - -Il faut croire qu’il en est ainsi, dit don Quichotte. - -Mais, seigneur, Votre Grâce n’a-t-elle rien mangé pendant tout ce -temps? demanda le guide. - -Pas une seule bouchée, répondit don Quichotte; je n’en ai pas éprouvé le -besoin, et n’y ai même pas pensé. - -Les enchantés mangent-ils? demanda le guide. - -Non, ils ne mangent pas, reprit don Quichotte, et ils ne font pas non -plus leurs nécessités majeures; mais on croit que leurs ongles, leur -barbe et leurs cheveux continuent à pousser. - -Et dorment-ils par hasard, les enchantés? demanda Sancho. - -Pas davantage, répliqua don Quichotte; du moins, pendant les trois jours -que j’ai séjourné parmi eux, aucun n’a fermé l’œil, ni moi non plus. - -Par ma foi, reprit Sancho, c’est bien ici que peut s’encadrer le -proverbe: Dis-moi qui tu hantes, je te dirai qui tu es. Votre Grâce -fréquente des enchantés qui jeûnent et veillent; eh bien, qu’y a-t-il -d’étonnant à ce qu’elle jeûne et veille comme eux? Mais pardonnez-moi, -mon cher maître, d’avoir parlé comme je viens de le faire; car Dieu -m’emporte, j’allais dire le diable, si j’en crois le premier mot. - -Le seigneur don Quichotte est incapable de mentir, repartit le guide; et -d’ailleurs, quand il l’eût voulu, jamais il n’aurait eu le temps -d’inventer ce million de mensonges. - -Je ne crois pas du tout que mon maître mente, reprit Sancho. - -Eh! que crois-tu donc? demanda don Quichotte. - -Je crois, répondit Sancho, que ce Merlin ou ces enchanteurs qui ont -enchanté toute la bande que Votre Grâce dit avoir vue là-bas, vous ont -fourré dans la cervelle les rêveries que vous venez de nous débiter et -toutes celles qu’il vous reste à nous conter encore. - -Cela pourrait être, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, mais cela n’est pas: -ce que j’ai conté, je l’ai vu de mes yeux et touché de mes mains. Mais -que diras-tu quand, parmi les merveilles sans nombre que m’a montrées -Montesinos (je te les conterai l’une après l’autre et en temps opportun -dans le cours de notre voyage, car toutes ne sont pas de saison), que -diras-tu quand je t’apprendrai qu’il m’a fait remarquer, dans ces -délicieuses campagnes où nous nous promenions ensemble, trois -villageoises sautant et gambadant comme des chèvres? A peine les eus-je -aperçues, que je reconnus, à n’en pas douter, l’une d’elles pour la sans -pareille Dulcinée, et les deux autres pour ces deux paysannes que nous -accostâmes à la sortie du Toboso. Je demandai à Montesinos s’il les -connaissait; il me répondit que non, mais que c’étaient sans doute -quelques grandes dames enchantées, qui depuis peu de jours avaient fait -leur apparition dans ces prairies; que je ne devais pas m’en étonner, -parce qu’il y en avait là beaucoup d’autres, des siècles passés et -présents, enchantées sous des figures aussi diverses qu’étranges, entre -autres la reine Genièvre et sa duègne Quintagnone, celle qui, suivant la -_romance_, versa du vin à Lancelot quand il revint de Bretagne. - -Lorsque Sancho entendit son maître tenir un pareil langage, il faillit -en perdre l’esprit ou en crever de rire. Comme il savait le fin mot de -l’enchantement de Dulcinée, dont il était l’inventeur et l’unique -témoin, il acheva de se convaincre que son maître était fou de tout -point; il lui dit donc: Maudits soient le jour et l’heure, mon cher -patron, où vous vous êtes mis en tête de descendre dans l’autre monde; -et maudit soit surtout l’instant où vous avez fait la rencontre du -seigneur Montesinos, qui vous renvoie en pareil état. Nous vous -connaissions bien ici en haut avec votre jugement sain et entier, tel -que Dieu vous l’a donné débitant des sentences et donnant des conseils à -chaque pas; mais que devons-nous penser à cette heure, où vous nous -contez les plus énormes extravagances qui se puissent imaginer. - -Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, je te connais assez pour ne tenir aucun -compte de tes paroles. - -Ni moi de celles de Votre Grâce, répliqua Sancho, dussiez-vous me -battre, dussiez-vous me tuer, pour ce que je vous ai déjà dit et pour ce -que je compte vous répéter tous les jours, si vous ne songez à vous -corriger et à vous amender dans vos propos. Mais, pendant que la paix -règne entre nous, dites-moi, je vous prie, à quels signes avez-vous -reconnu madame notre maîtresse? Si vous lui avez parlé, que lui -avez-vous dit, et qu’a-t-elle répondu? - -Je l’ai reconnue, répondit don Quichotte, à ce qu’elle portait les mêmes -vêtements que lorsque tu me l’as montrée à la sortie du Toboso. Je lui -parlai; mais, sans me répondre, elle tourna le dos et s’enfuit avec une -telle vitesse, qu’une flèche n’aurait pu l’atteindre. Je voulus la -suivre, et je l’aurais fait, si Montesinos ne m’eût conseillé de ne pas -prendre une fatigue inutile, m’avertissant que l’heure approchait où je -devais quitter la caverne. Il me dit aussi qu’il me ferait connaître, à -une époque ultérieure, la manière dont ils devraient être désenchantés, -lui, la señora Belerme, Durandart et leurs compagnons. Mais de tout ce -que j’ai vu et observé là-bas, il est une chose qui, je dois te -l’avouer, m’a causé un profond chagrin. Pendant que je causais avec -Montesinos, une des compagnes de la malheureuse Dulcinée s’approcha de -moi timidement, et me dit d’une voix émue, les yeux pleins de larmes: -Seigneur, ma maîtresse Dulcinée du Toboso baise les mains de Votre -Grâce, et vous supplie de lui faire savoir des nouvelles de votre santé; -et, comme elle se trouve en ce moment dans un pressant besoin, elle -conjure Votre Grâce de vouloir bien lui prêter, sur ce cotillon neuf en -cotonnade que voici, une demi-douzaine de réaux, ou ce que vous aurez -sur vous: elle engage sa parole de les restituer à très-court terme. - -Un semblable message me surprit étrangement; je me tournai vers -Montesinos, et lui dis: Est-il possible, seigneur, que la pénurie se -fasse sentir, même parmi les enchantés de haut rang? Seigneur don -Quichotte de la Manche, me répondit Montesinos, croyez que ce qu’on -nomme la misère se rencontre et s’étend partout, atteint tous les -hommes, et n’épargne même pas les enchantés. Puisque madame Dulcinée -vous envoie demander ces six réaux, et que d’ailleurs le gage paraît -valable, vous ferez bien de les lui prêter; car, à coup sûr, elle doit -être dans une grande disette d’argent. Je ne veux point de gage, -répliquai-je, et quant à lui remettre ce qu’elle me demande, cela m’est -impossible, puisque je ne possède en tout que quatre réaux (ceux que tu -me donnas l’autre jour, Sancho, pour faire l’aumône aux pauvres que je -rencontrerais sur ma route). Je les remis à cette fille en lui disant: -Ma chère, assurez à votre maîtresse que ses peines retombent sur mon -cœur, et que je voudrais être un _Fucar_[96] pour y porter remède; -dites-lui bien qu’il ne peut, qu’il ne doit y avoir pour moi ni -satisfaction, ni relâche, tant que je serai privé de son adorable vue -et de sa charmante conversation, et que je la supplie humblement de -consentir à se laisser voir et entretenir par son captif serviteur et -désolé chevalier. Dites-lui aussi que, lorsqu’elle y pensera le moins, -elle entendra parler d’un vœu et d’un serment faits par moi, vœu et -serment en tout semblables à ceux que fit le marquis de Mantoue pour -venger son neveu Baudouin, quand il le trouva près d’expirer dans la -montagne; lesquels consistaient à ne point manger pain sur table, à ne -point approcher femme, sans compter une kyrielle d’autres pénitences à -accomplir, jusqu’à ce que son neveu fût vengé. Eh bien, moi, je fais de -même le serment de ne prendre aucun repos, et de parcourir les quatre -parties du monde, avec encore plus de ponctualité que l’infant don Pedro -de Portugal, jusqu’à ce que je l’aie désenchantée. Tout cela, et plus -encore, est bien dû par Votre Grâce à ma maîtresse, me répondit la -damoiselle; puis prenant les quatre réaux, au lieu de me tirer sa -révérence, elle fit une cabriole et sauta en l’air à plus de six pieds -de haut. - - [96] Famille suisse établie à Augsbourg, et qui rappelait par ses - richesses les Médicis de Florence. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria Sancho, est-il possible de voir jamais rien de -pareil! et que la puissance des enchanteurs ait été assez grande pour -changer le sain et droit jugement de mon maître en une folie si bien -conditionnée! Seigneur, seigneur, par le saint nom de Dieu, que Votre -Grâce s’observe et prenne soin de son honneur; gardez-vous de donner -créance à ces billevesées qui troublent et altèrent votre bon sens. - -Comme je sais que tu me veux du bien, Sancho, je comprends que tu parles -ainsi; et comme, d’un autre côté, tu n’as aucune expérience des choses -de ce monde, tout ce qui présente quelques difficultés est jugé par toi -impossible. Mais, je te l’ai déjà dit, le temps marche; plus tard je te -raconterai quelques-unes des particularités de mon séjour dans la -caverne; elles te convaincront que celles que j’ai déjà rapportées sont -d’une telle exactitude qu’elles ne souffrent ni objection ni réplique. - -CHAPITRE XXIV - -OU L’ON VERRA MILLE BABIOLES AUSSI RIDICULES QU’ELLES SONT NÉCESSAIRES -POUR L’INTELLIGENCE DE CETTE VÉRIDIQUE HISTOIRE - -Le traducteur de cette grande histoire dit qu’en arrivant au chapitre -qui suit l’aventure de la caverne de Montesinos, il trouva en marge du -manuscrit original les paroles suivantes, écrites de la main de cid -Hamet Ben-Engeli lui-même: - -Je ne puis comprendre ni me persuader que les aventures rapportées dans -le chapitre précédent soient arrivées au grand don Quichotte. La raison -en est que jusqu’ici toutes ses autres prouesses sont possibles et -vraisemblables; mais quant à cette aventure de la caverne, je ne vois -aucun moyen d’y ajouter foi, tant elle sort des limites du sens commun. -Supposer que don Quichotte ait menti, lui l’homme le plus véridique et -le plus noble chevalier de son temps, cela ne se peut; il eût mieux aimé -se laisser cribler de flèches. Cependant il raconte cette aventure avec -des circonstances tellement minutieuses, qu’on doit le croire sur -parole, surtout si l’on réfléchit que le temps lui manquait pour -fabriquer un pareil assemblage d’extravagances. Si donc cette aventure -paraît apocryphe, ce n’est pas ma faute, je la raconte telle qu’elle -est. Toi, lecteur, dans ta sagesse, juges-en comme il te plaira; quant à -moi, je ne dois ni ne peux rien de plus. Cependant on tient pour certain -qu’au moment de sa mort, don Quichotte se rétracta, et confessa avoir -inventé cette aventure parce qu’elle lui semblait cadrer à merveille -avec toutes celles qu’il avait lues dans ses livres de chevalerie. - -Le guide, déjà fort étonné de la liberté de l’écuyer, le fut encore plus -de la patience du maître; mais il pensa que la joie d’avoir vu sa dame, -tout enchantée qu’elle était, avait adouci son humeur et lui faisait -supporter des insolences qui, en toute autre circonstance, auraient -attiré à Sancho cent coups de bâton. Pour moi, seigneur don Quichotte, -lui dit-il, je regarde cette journée comme bien employée, car j’y ai -trouvé plusieurs avantages: le premier, d’avoir connu Votre Grâce, -avantage que je tiens à grand honneur; le second, d’avoir appris les -choses merveilleuses que renferme la caverne de Montesinos, telles que -la transformation de Guadiana et des filles de Ruidera, ce qui certes ne -sera pas un médiocre ornement pour l’_Ovide espagnol_ que j’ai sur le -métier; le troisième, d’être renseigné positivement sur l’antiquité des -cartes à jouer: en effet, l’on devait s’en servir du temps de -Charlemagne, comme le prouvent les dernières paroles proférées par le -seigneur Durandart: _patience, et battons les cartes_; car enfin ce -chevalier ne peut avoir connu cette expression depuis qu’il est -enchanté, mais seulement pendant son séjour en France, sous le règne de -cet empereur; et cela vient fort à propos pour mon _Supplément à -Polydore Virgile_, sur l’origine des choses. Je ne crois pas qu’il ait -encore été parlé de l’invention des cartes, et comme il était important -de la connaître, je suis bien aise d’avoir pour garant un témoignage -aussi grave que celui du seigneur Durandart. Le dernier avantage, enfin, -c’est de savoir avec certitude la source du fleuve Guadiana, ignorée -jusqu’ici de tout le monde. - -Votre Grâce a raison, dit don Quichotte; je suis heureux d’avoir -contribué à éclaircir des choses si importantes. Mais dites-moi, je vous -prie, si tant est que vous obteniez le privilége d’imprimer vos -ouvrages, à qui pensez-vous en faire la dédicace? - -Il ne manque pas de grands seigneurs en Espagne pour cela, répondit le -guide. - -Moins que vous ne pensez, repartit don Quichotte: la plupart refusent -les dédicaces, pour n’être pas obligés de récompenser le travail des -auteurs; quant à moi, je sais un prince[97] qui seul peut remplacer tous -les autres, un prince d’un mérite tel, que si j’osais dire ce que je -pense, j’éveillerais une noble émulation dans plus d’un cœur généreux. -Au reste, nous reparlerons de cela en temps opportun; mais allons -chercher un gîte pour la nuit. - - [97] Cervantes fait ici allusion au comte de Lemos, son protecteur. - -Il y a tout près d’ici, reprit le guide, une petite habitation où -demeure un ermite qui, dit-on, fut autrefois soldat; c’est un homme si -charitable, qu’il a fait bâtir à ses dépens cette maison près de -l’ermitage, où il reçoit de bon cœur tous ceux qui s’y présentent. - -A-t-il des poules, ce bon ermite? demanda Sancho. - -Peu d’ermites en manquent, répondit don Quichotte; nos solitaires ne -sont plus comme ceux de la Thébaïde, qui se couvraient de feuilles de -palmier et ne vivaient que de racines; quoique je parle bien des uns, -n’allez pas croire que je parle mal des autres; je veux dire seulement -que leur vie n’a plus la même austérité. A mon avis, cependant, ils ne -sont pas moins dignes de nos respects; car, lorsque tout va de travers, -l’homme qui feint la vertu est toujours plus utile que celui qui fait -vanité de ses vices. - -Ils en étaient là, quand ils virent venir à leur rencontre un paysan qui -marchait en toute hâte, chassant devant lui un mulet chargé de lances et -de hallebardes. Arrivé près d’eux, cet homme les salua et passa outre: -Arrêtez un peu, ami, lui cria don Quichotte; il me semble que votre -mulet ne demande pas que vous le pressiez si fort. - -Je ne puis m’arrêter, seigneur, répondit le paysan; ces armes que vous -voyez doivent servir demain, et je n’ai pas de temps à perdre. Pour peu -que vous ayez envie de savoir pourquoi je les porte, je coucherai cette -nuit à l’hôtellerie située au-dessus de l’ermitage; si par hasard c’est -votre chemin, vous m’y trouverez, et je vous conterai merveille. Adieu, -seigneur, adieu, ainsi qu’à votre compagnie. - -Sur ce, il pressa si bien son mulet, que notre héros n’eut pas le loisir -de lui en demander davantage. - -Curieux comme il l’était de tout ce qui avait la moindre apparence -d’aventures, don Quichotte résolut aussitôt d’aller, sans s’arrêter, -coucher à cette hôtellerie. Nos voyageurs reprirent leurs montures, et -un peu avant la fin du jour ils arrivèrent à l’ermitage, où le guide -proposa d’entrer pour boire un coup. Aussitôt Sancho poussa le grison de -ce côté, et don Quichotte le suivit sans faire d’objection. Mais le sort -voulut que l’ermite fût absent. Il ne s’y trouvait que son compagnon, à -qui notre écuyer demanda s’il y avait moyen de s’humecter le gosier; on -leur répondit que le père n’avait point de vin, mais que s’ils voulaient -de l’eau on leur en offrirait de bon cœur, et qui ne leur coûterait -rien. - -Si j’avais soif d’eau, repartit Sancho, j’ai assez trouvé de sources en -chemin. Ah! noces de Gamache, ajouta-t-il en soupirant, abondance de la -maison de Diego, qu’êtes-vous devenues? - -Quittant donc l’ermitage, ils prirent le chemin de l’hôtellerie. A -quelque distance, ils rejoignirent un jeune garçon qui marchait d’un pas -délibéré; sur son épaule, il portait, en guise de bâton, une épée, à -laquelle pendait un paquet renfermant quelques hardes; il était vêtu -d’un pourpoint de velours, dont l’usure, en certains endroits, laissait -voir sa chemise; ses bas étaient en soie et ses souliers carrés à la -mode de la cour; il paraissait avoir dix-huit à dix-neuf ans; il avait -l’air jovial, la démarche agile, et s’en allait chantant des -_seguidillas_ pour charmer l’ennui de la route. En ce moment, il en -finissait une dont voici le refrain: - - Je m’en vais à la guerre et c’est en enrageant; - Au diable le métier, si j’avais de l’argent! - -Où allez-vous ainsi, mon brave? lui demanda don Quichotte; il me semble -que vous cheminez bien à la légère? - -C’est à cause de la chaleur et de la pauvreté, répondit le jeune homme; -et je m’en vais à la guerre. - -A cause de la chaleur, je le crois aisément, dit don Quichotte: mais -pourquoi à cause de la pauvreté? - -Seigneur, repartit le jeune garçon, j’ai là dans ce paquet des chausses -de velours qui accompagnent le pourpoint, mais je ne veux pas les user -en voyageant; ils ne me feraient plus d’honneur une fois arrivé à la -ville, et je n’ai pas d’argent pour les remplacer. Par cette raison, et -aussi afin de n’avoir pas trop chaud, je marche comme vous voyez, -jusqu’à ce que j’aie rejoint, à dix ou douze lieues d’ici, quelques -compagnies d’infanterie dans lesquelles je compte m’enrôler; alors -j’aurai tout ce qu’il me faut pour atteindre plus à l’aise le lieu de -l’embarquement, qu’on dit être Carthagène, car j’aime mieux avoir le roi -pour maître, et le servir dans les camps, que d’être aux gages de -quelque ladre à la cour. - -Mais n’avez-vous pas quelque haute paye? demanda le guide. - -Si j’avais servi un grand d’Espagne, ou quelque autre personnage -d’importance, répondit le jeune homme, certes elle ne manquerait pas, -car de la table des pages on sort enseigne et capitaine, souvent avec -quelque bonne pension; mais je n’ai jamais servi que des solliciteurs de -places et des gens de rien, qui mettent leurs valets à la portion -congrue et si maigre, que la moitié de mes gages suffisait à peine pour -payer l’empois de mon collet. En vérité, ce serait miracle qu’un page -d’aventure eût pu faire quelques économies. - -Depuis le temps que vous êtes en service, demanda don Quichotte, comment -se fait-il que vous n’ayez pas attrapé au moins quelque livrée? - -J’ai eu deux maîtres, répondit le jeune garçon; mais de même qu’à celui -qui quitte le couvent avant d’y faire profession on retire le capuchon -et la robe, de même les maîtres que je servais, ayant achevé les -affaires qui les amenaient à la cour, sont retournés chez eux après -m’avoir repris les habits de livrée qu’ils ne m’avaient donnés que par -ostentation. - -Insigne vilenie! s’écria don Quichotte. Félicitez-vous, mon ami, d’avoir -quitté de pareilles gens, surtout avec le dessein qui vous anime, car je -ne connais rien de plus honorable après le service de Dieu, que de -servir son roi dans le noble métier des armes. Si l’on n’y amasse pas de -grandes richesses, au moins y acquiert-on plus de gloire et d’honneur -que dans la profession des lettres, comme je crois l’avoir déjà -démontré. Les lettres servent souvent de marchepied à la fortune, mais -les armes ont je ne sais quoi de grand et de noble qui répand sur les -familles un plus vif éclat. Maintenant écoutez bien ce que je vais vous -dire, et gravez-le dans votre mémoire, vous y trouverez profit et -soulagement dans les peines attachées au métier que vous allez -embrasser. Affermissez-vous sans cesse contre les adversités, et soyez -préparé à tous les événements, en songeant que le plus funeste c’est la -mort, mais que pourvu qu’elle soit glorieuse, elle est préférable à la -vie. On demandait un jour au grand Jules César quelle était la meilleure -mort: La soudaine et l’imprévue, répondit-il; et il disait vrai, car la -crainte de la mort est le plus fort instinct de notre nature. Qu’importe -qu’on soit tué d’une décharge d’artillerie, ou des éclats d’une mine! -c’est toujours mourir, et la besogne est faite. Térence l’a dit: Mourir -en combattant sied mieux au soldat que d’être libre dans la fuite. -Croyez-moi, le soldat doit plutôt sentir la poudre que l’ambre, et si la -vieillesse l’atteint dans ce noble métier, fût-il mutilé et couvert de -blessures, au moins ne le surprendra-t-elle point sans honneur, et ces -marques glorieuses le protégeront contre le mépris qui s’attache -toujours à la pauvreté. Grâce au ciel, on s’occupe en ce moment à -établir un fonds pour l’entretien des soldats vieux et estropiés; car il -n’était pas juste de les traiter comme ces misérables Mores à qui on -donne la liberté quand l’âge les a rendus inutiles, les faisant ainsi -esclaves de la faim pour récompenses de leurs services. Quant à présent, -mon ami, je n’ai rien à vous dire de plus, si ce n’est de prendre la -croupe de mon cheval jusqu’à l’hôtellerie, où je veux que vous soupiez -avec moi, et demain vous continuerez votre voyage, que je vous souhaite -aussi bon que le mérite votre louable résolution. - -Le page s’excusa de monter derrière don Quichotte, mais il accepta -l’invitation à souper avec force remercîments. L’histoire rapporte que -pendant le discours de son maître, Sancho disait en lui-même: Comment se -peut-il que l’homme qui dit tant et de si belles choses, comme celles -qu’il vient de débiter, soutienne avoir vu toutes ces bêtises -impossibles qu’il raconte de la caverne de Montesinos? Par ma foi, j’en -jette ma langue aux chiens. - -Ils arrivèrent bientôt à l’hôtellerie, et outre la joie d’y arriver, -Sancho eut encore celle de voir que son maître la prenait pour ce -qu’elle était, et non pour un château selon sa coutume. En entrant, don -Quichotte s’informa d’un homme qui portait des lances et des -hallebardes; et après qu’on lui eut répondu qu’il était à l’écurie où il -arrangeait son mulet, tous trois s’y rendirent et y attachèrent leurs -montures. - -CHAPITRE XXV - -DE L’AVENTURE DU BRAIEMENT DE L’ANE, DE CELLE DU JOUEUR DE MARIONNETTES, -ET DES DIVINATIONS ADMIRABLES DU SINGE - -Don Quichotte grillait, comme on dit, d’impatience d’apprendre les -merveilles que l’homme aux hallebardes avait promis de lui raconter; -aussi en l’abordant le somma-t-il de tenir sa parole. - -Seigneur, répondit celui-ci, ce n’est ni si vite, ni sur les pieds qu’on -peut conter tout cela; que Votre Grâce me laisse achever de panser mon -mulet, après quoi je vous donnerai satisfaction. - -Qu’à cela ne tienne, répondit notre chevalier, et je vais vous y aider -moi-même. Aussitôt il se mit à vanner l’orge, à nettoyer la mangeoire: -courtoisie pleine de simplicité qui lui gagna si complétement les bonnes -grâces de l’inconnu, que, sortant de l’écurie, celui-ci vint s’asseoir -sur le bord d’un puits, et là, ayant pour auditoire don Quichotte, -Sancho, le guide, le page et l’hôtelier, il commença de la sorte: - -Vous saurez, seigneurs, que dans un village situé à quatre ou cinq -lieues d’ici, il arriva qu’un régidor perdit, il y a quelque temps, un -âne, par la faute ou plutôt, dit-on, par la malice de sa servante; et -quelque diligence qu’il fît pour le retrouver, il n’en put jamais venir -à bout. A quinze jours de là environ, comme il se promenait dans le -marché, un autre régidor, son voisin, vint à lui: Que me donnerez-vous, -compère, lui dit-il, si je vous apporte des nouvelles de votre âne? - -Tout ce que vous voudrez, répondit le régidor; mais dites-moi, je vous -prie, qu’en savez-vous? - -Eh bien, votre âne, reprit l’autre, je l’ai rencontré ce matin, dans la -montagne, sans bât, sans licou, et si maigre, que c’était pitié; j’ai -voulu le chasser devant moi, pour vous l’amener, mais il était déjà -devenu si farouche, que dès que je m’en suis approché, il s’est mis à -ruer, puis s’est enfui dans le fourré le plus épais. Si vous voulez, -nous l’irons chercher ensemble; laissez-moi seulement mettre cette -bourrique à l’écurie, et dans un moment je suis à vous. - -Vous me ferez grand plaisir, répondit le régidor, et en pareille -occasion vous pouvez compter sur moi. - -C’est de cette façon que ceux qui savent l’histoire la content mot pour -mot. Bref, nos deux régidors se rendirent à pied dans la montagne, vers -l’endroit où ils espéraient trouver l’âne; et après bien des allées et -venues inutiles: Compère, dit celui qui l’avait vu, je viens d’imaginer -un bon moyen pour découvrir votre baudet, fût-il caché dans les -entrailles de la terre. Je sais braire à merveille, et pour peu que vous -le sachiez aussi, l’affaire est faite? - -Pour peu que je le sache! répondit l’autre régidor; sans vanité je ne le -cède à qui que ce soit, pas même aux ânes en chair et en os. - -Tant mieux, repartit le premier régidor: nous n’avons donc qu’à marcher -chacun de notre côté, en faisant le tour de la montagne; vous brairez de -temps en temps, moi après vous, et il faudra que le diable s’en mêle, si -l’âne nous entend pas. - -Par ma foi, compère, dit le second régidor, l’invention est admirable et -digne de votre rare esprit. - -Sur ce, ils se séparèrent. Or, il arriva qu’en marchant ils se mirent à -braire en même temps, et de telle sorte que chacun d’eux, trompé par les -braiments de son compagnon, courut à sa voix, croyant que l’âne était -retrouvé; mais ils furent bien étonnés de se rencontrer. - -Serait-il vrai, compère, s’écria le premier régidor, que ce n’est pas -mon âne que j’ai entendu? - -Non, vraiment, c’est moi, répondit le voisin. - -Vous? repartit le régidor, est-il possible? Ah! je dois l’avouer, il n’y -a aucune différence entre vous et un âne, au moins en fait de braiments; -de ma vie je n’ai entendu rien de semblable. - -Vous vous moquez, reprit l’autre; ces louanges vous appartiennent plus -qu’à moi, et sans flatterie, vous feriez la leçon aux meilleurs maîtres; -vous avez la voix forte, l’haleine longue et vous faites les roulements -à merveille. En vérité, je me rends, et je dirai partout que vous en -savez plus que tous les ânes ensemble. - -Trêve de louanges, compère, dit le régidor; je ne me reconnais pas tant -de mérite qu’il vous plaît de m’en accorder, mais après ce que vous -venez de dire, je m’estimerai désormais davantage. - -Il faut avouer, dit son compagnon, qu’il y a bien des talents perdus -dans le monde, faute d’avoir l’occasion de s’en servir. - -Je ne sais guère à quoi peut servir celui que nous avons montré tous -deux, répondit le régidor, si ce n’est en pareille circonstance. - -Après ces compliments ils se séparèrent de nouveau, et se mirent à -chercher en brayant de plus belle; mais ils ne faisaient que se tromper -à chaque pas et couraient l’un vers l’autre, croyant toujours que -c’était l’âne, jusqu’à ce qu’enfin ils convinrent de braire deux fois de -suite, pour indiquer que c’était eux. De cette manière ils firent le -tour de la montagne, toujours brayant, mais toujours inutilement; l’âne -ne répondait rien. En effet, comment eût-elle répondu, la pauvre bête, -puisqu’ils finirent par la trouver dans le fourré le plus épais, à demi -mangée par les loups? - -Je m’étonnais bien qu’il ne répondît pas, dit son maître en le voyant, -car il n’eût pas manqué de le faire, s’il nous eût entendus braire, ou -il n’aurait pas été un âne. Après tout, compère, je tiens pour bien -employé le temps que j’ai mis à vous entendre, car ce plaisir compense -pour moi la perte de ma bête. - -A la bonne heure, répondit l’autre; mais si le curé chante bien, son -vicaire ne lui cède en rien. - -Enfin ils s’en retournèrent au village, tristes et enroués, et ils -contèrent à leurs amis ce qui venait de leur arriver, se donnant l’un à -l’autre de grandes louanges sur leur habileté à braire. - -Tout cela se sut et se répandit dans les villages voisins; aussi le -diable, qui ne dort jamais et qui ne demande que plaies et bosses, fit -si bien, que les habitants de ces villages, quand ils rencontraient -quelqu’un du nôtre, lui allaient braire au nez, pour se moquer de nos -régidors. Les enfants mêmes se sont mis de la partie, au point que les -gens de notre village sont à cette heure connus comme les nègres parmi -les blancs. Mais ce n’est pas tout: la raillerie a été si avant, que -railleurs et raillés en sont souvent venus aux coups, sans s’inquiéter -ni du roi ni de la justice; et je crois que demain ou après-demain, pas -plus tard, nos gens iront combattre ceux d’un autre village qui est à -deux lieues d’ici, parce que ce sont ceux qui les persécutent le plus; -et c’est pour ce combat que je viens d’acheter les lances et les -hallebardes que vous avez vues. Voilà, seigneurs, les merveilles que -j’avais à vous conter, je n’en sais point d’autres. - -En cet instant, parut à la porte de l’hôtellerie un homme habillé de -peau de chamois, bas, chausses et pourpoint. - -Seigneur hôtelier, dit-il en élevant la voix, y a-t-il place au logis? -voici venir le singe qui devine, et le tableau de la liberté de -Mélisandre. - -Comment, reprit l’hôtelier, c’est maître Pierre! Mort de ma vie! nous -nous divertirons joliment ce soir. Que maître Pierre soit le bienvenu! -Où donc sont le singe et le tableau? Je ne les vois point. - -Ils ne sont pas loin, répondit maître Pierre; j’ai pris les devants pour -savoir s’il y avait de quoi loger? - -Pour loger maître Pierre, je refuserais le duc d’Albe en personne, dit -l’hôtelier; faites venir le singe et le tableau, il y a ici des gens qui -en payeront la vue bien volontiers. - -Et moi, repartit maître Pierre, j’en ferai meilleur marché, à cause de -l’honorable compagnie; pourvu que je retire mes frais, je me trouverai -content. Je m’en vais chercher la charrette, et dans un moment je suis à -vous. - -J’avais oublié de dire que ce maître Pierre avait l’œil gauche couvert -d’un emplâtre de taffetas vert qui lui cachait la moitié du visage; ce -qui faisait penser qu’il devait avoir ce côté-là endommagé. - -Don Quichotte demanda à l’hôtelier qui était ce maître Pierre, et ce -qu’étaient son singe et son tableau. - -C’est, répondit l’hôtelier, un excellent joueur de marionnettes, qui -depuis quelque temps parcourt la province, montrant un tableau de -Mélisandre délivré par don Galiferos, et c’est bien la plus merveilleuse -peinture qu’on ait vue depuis longtemps dans tout le pays. Il mène avec -lui un singe admirable, et qui n’a jamais eu son pareil. Lui fait-on une -question, il commence par écouter, puis après avoir réfléchi quelque -temps, il saute sur l’épaule de son maître, et lui dit la réponse à la -question; réponse que maître Pierre répète tout haut sur-le-champ. Il -connaît mieux les choses passées que celles de l’avenir, et quoiqu’il ne -rencontre pas toujours juste, il se trompe rarement, si bien que cela -fait croire à beaucoup de gens qu’il a un démon dans le corps. On donne -deux réaux pour chaque question, si le singe répond, ou, pour mieux -dire, si maître Pierre répond après que le singe lui a parlé à -l’oreille: de sorte que ce maître Pierre passe pour être fort riche. -C’est un bon compagnon; il parle plus que six et boit comme douze; en un -mot, il mène la plus joyeuse vie du monde, et tout cela grâce à son -industrie. - -Là-dessus, maître Pierre arriva avec la charrette et le singe, qui était -très-grand, sans queue, les fesses pelées, et fort plaisant à voir. A -peine don Quichotte l’eût-il aperçu, que, poussé par l’impatience qu’il -avait de tout connaître, il lui dit: Maître devin, _quel poisson -prenons-nous_[98]? que doit-il nous arriver? tenez, voilà mes deux -réaux. Et il fit signe à Sancho de les donner à maître Pierre; celui-ci -prenant la parole pour son singe: Seigneur, cet animal ne sait rien de -l’avenir, comme je vous l’ai déjà dit; il ne parle que du passé et un -peu du présent. - - [98] Expression italienne, prêtée par Cervantes à don Quichotte, qui - équivaut à cette locution française. «Quelle anguille sous roche?» - -Pardieu, reprit Sancho, du diable si je donnerais un maravédis pour -apprendre ce qui m’est arrivé: qui est-ce qui le sait mieux que moi? il -faudrait que je fusse bien fou que de bailler pour cela. Mais puisque le -seigneur singe connaît le présent, voilà mes deux réaux: qu’il me dise -ce que fait Thérèse Panza ma femme, et à quoi elle s’occupe en ce -moment. - -Maître Pierre répondit qu’il ne recevait point d’argent par avance, -qu’il fallait attendre la réponse du singe. Il frappa deux coups sur son -épaule gauche, le singe s’élança et s’approchant de l’oreille de son -maître, il commença à remuer les mâchoires, comme s’il eût marmotté -quelque chose, puis, au bout d’un _credo_, il sauta par terre. Aussitôt -maître Pierre courut s’agenouiller devant don Quichotte, et lui -embrassant les deux jambes: - -J’embrasse ces jambes avec plus de joie que je n’embrasserais les -colonnes d’Hercule, s’écria-t-il. O restaurateur insigne de l’oubliée -chevalerie errante! ô illustre chevalier, jamais assez dignement loué, -fameux don Quichotte de la Manche, appui des faibles, soutien de ceux -qui chancellent, bras qui relève les abattus, en un mot, renfort de tous -les nécessiteux. - -Don Quichotte demeura très-surpris, Sancho plein de frayeur, le guide et -le page en admiration; bref, les cheveux en dressèrent à tous ceux qui -étaient présents. Maître Pierre, sans se troubler, continua ainsi: Et -toi, ô bon Sancho Panza! le meilleur écuyer du meilleur chevalier du -monde, réjouis-toi; ta Thérèse s’occupe à l’heure qu’il est de filer une -livre d’étoupes; à telles enseignes qu’elle a près d’elle une jarre -ébréchée par le haut, remplie de deux pintes de bon vin, qui lui sert à -se délasser de son travail. - -Oh! pour cela, je le crois aisément, repartit Sancho, c’est une vraie -bienheureuse, et n’était sa jalousie, je ne la troquerais pas pour la -géante Andandona, qui, suivant mon maître, fut une femme très-entendue -et de grand mérite. Ma Thérèse est de celles qui ne se laissent manquer -de rien, dussent en pâtir leurs héritiers. - -C’est avec raison qu’il est dit: on s’instruit beaucoup en voyageant, -reprit notre chevalier; qui se serait jamais douté qu’il y a des singes -qui devinent! Par ma foi, je ne le croirais point si je ne l’avais vu de -mes yeux. En effet, seigneurs, poursuivit-il, je suis ce même don -Quichotte de la Manche, qu’a dit ce bon animal, au mérite près, sur -lequel il s’est un peu trop étendu; mais, quoi qu’il en soit, je rends -grâces au ciel de m’avoir donné un bon cœur, et le désir d’être utile à -tout le monde. - -Si j’avais de l’argent, dit le page, je demanderais au singe de -m’apprendre ce qui doit m’arriver dans mon voyage. - -Seigneurs, répondit maître Pierre, je vous ai déjà dit que mon singe ne -savait rien de l’avenir; s’il en avait connaissance, vous n’auriez pas -besoin d’argent pour cela, car il n’est rien que je ne fusse disposé à -faire en considération du seigneur don Quichotte, dont j’estime l’amitié -plus que tous les trésors du monde. Aussi, pour le lui témoigner, je -vais préparer mon théâtre, et en donner gratis le divertissement à la -compagnie. - -L’hôtelier, tout joyeux, indiqua l’endroit où l’on pouvait dresser le -théâtre; ce qui fut fait en un instant. - -Don Quichotte avait peine à comprendre qu’un singe devinât et fît des -réponses; il se retira avec Sancho dans un coin de l’écurie pendant que -maître Pierre s’occupait de ses préparatifs, et voyant que personne ne -pouvait les entendre: Sancho, lui dit-il, j’ai pensé et repensé à -l’étonnante habileté de ce singe, et pour mon compte je suis très-porté -à croire que son maître a fait quelque pacte ou convention tacite avec -le démon. - -Oh! je gagerais bien, répondit Sancho, qu’ils n’ont point dit leur -_bénédicité_ avant de faire cette collation; mais, seigneur, à quoi sert -à ce maître Pierre d’avoir fait un pacte avec le diable? - -Tu ne m’as pas compris, reprit don Quichotte: je veux dire que, par un -pacte, le diable est convenu de donner ce talent au singe, pour enrichir -le maître qui, plus tard en retour, devra livrer son âme au diable, but -que poursuit sans cesse cet ennemi du genre humain. Ce qui me le fait -penser, c’est que le singe ne parle que du passé et du présent, car là -se borne toute la science du démon, qui ne sait rien de l’avenir, si ce -n’est par quelques conjectures, et encore se trompe-t-il souvent, Dieu -seul s’étant réservé la connaissance de toutes choses. Cela étant, il -est clair que le singe ne parle qu’avec le secours du diable, et je -suis étonné qu’on n’ait point encore déféré ce maître Pierre au -saint-office, pour lui faire avouer en vertu de quoi son singe devine. -Après tout, ni son maître ni lui ne sont prophètes, ils ne sont point -non plus tireurs d’horoscopes, si ce n’est peut-être à la manière dont -tout le monde s’en mêle aujourd’hui en Espagne, même les savetiers et -les laquais, qui, par leurs mensonges et leur ignorance, sont parvenus à -discréditer l’astrologie judiciaire, cette science merveilleuse et -ineffable. - -A propos d’astrologie, cela me rappelle cette femme de qualité qui -demandait à un de ces tireurs d’horoscopes, si une petite chienne -qu’elle avait deviendrait pleine, si elle mettrait bas, de quelle -couleur seraient ses petits, et quel en serait le nombre. Notre homme, -après avoir interrogé sa figure, répondit que la chienne aurait trois -chiens, l’un vert, l’autre rouge et le troisième mêlé, pourvu toutefois -qu’elle fût couverte le lundi ou le samedi, entre onze et douze heures -du jour ou de la nuit. Eh bien, la petite chienne mourut au bout de -trois jours, et la prédiction ne laissa pas de mettre l’astrologue en -grande réputation d’habileté. - -Malgré tout, seigneur, reprit Sancho, je voudrais bien faire demander au -singe si ce que vous avez raconté de la caverne de Montesinos est -véritable; pour moi, je pense, soit dit sans vous offenser, que ce sont -autant de rêveries, ou tout au moins des visions que vous aurez eues en -dormant. - -Tout est possible, répondit don Quichotte; je le demanderai pour te -faire plaisir, bien que j’en éprouve quelque scrupule. - -Ils en étaient là, quand maître Pierre vint chercher don Quichotte, -disant que son théâtre était prêt et qu’on n’attendait que Sa Grâce pour -commencer. Notre héros lui répondit qu’avant tout il voulait faire une -question au singe, et savoir si certaines choses qui lui étaient -arrivées dans un souterrain, appelé la caverne de Montesinos, étaient -vision ou réalité, lui-même croyant qu’il y avait à la fois un peu de -tout cela. Maître Pierre alla aussitôt chercher son singe: Savant singe, -lui dit-il, l’illustre chevalier qui est devant vous désire savoir si -certaines choses qui lui sont arrivées dans la caverne de Montesinos -sont fausses ou vraies. Au signal accoutumé, le singe sauta sur l’épaule -gauche de son maître, puis après avoir quelque temps remué les -mâchoires, comme s’il lui eût parlé à l’oreille, il s’élança à terre. -Aussitôt maître Pierre dit à don Quichotte: Seigneur chevalier, le singe -répond qu’une partie des merveilles que vous avez vues dans la caverne -est vraisemblable, et l’autre douteuse: c’est tout ce qu’il peut en -dire. Si vous voulez en savoir davantage, il satisfera vendredi prochain -aux questions que vous lui adresserez; quant à présent, sa faculté -divinatrice est suspendue. - -Avais-je tort de dire, seigneur, repartit Sancho, que ces aventures -n’étaient pas toutes véritables? Par ma foi, il s’en faut de plus de la -moitié. - -La suite nous l’apprendra, répondit don Quichotte; car le temps, grand -découvreur de toutes choses, n’en laisse aucune sans la traîner à la -lumière du soleil, fût-elle cachée dans les profondeurs de la terre. -Mais, brisons-là pour l’heure, et voyons le tableau de maître Pierre; je -suis persuadé qu’il nous présentera quelque chose de curieux. - -Comment, quelque chose! répliqua maître Pierre; dites cent mille choses; -seigneur chevalier, il n’y a rien aujourd’hui qui mérite plus votre -attention. Au surplus, _operibus credite, non verbis_, c’est-à-dire -mettons la main à l’œuvre, car il se fait tard, et nous avons beaucoup -à faire voir et à expliquer. - -Don Quichotte et Sancho le suivirent dans la chambre où était dressé le -théâtre, éclairé d’une foule de petites bougies; maître Pierre passa -derrière le tableau, parce que c’était lui qui faisait jouer les -figures; en avant se tenait un petit garçon pour servir d’interprète, -et annoncer avec une baguette les mystères de la représentation. Enfin, -la compagnie s’étant placée, le spectacle commença. - -CHAPITRE XXVI - -DE LA REPRÉSENTATION DU TABLEAU, AVEC D’AUTRES CHOSES QUI NE SONT PAS EN -VÉRITÉ MAUVAISES - -Tous se turent, Tyriens et Troyens[99]: je veux dire que les -spectateurs, les yeux fixés sur le théâtre, étaient suspendus à la -bouche de l’explicateur de ces merveilles, quand tout à coup on entendit -un grand bruit de timbales et de trompettes; puis, après deux ou trois -décharges d’artillerie, le petit garçon qui servait d’interprète éleva -la voix en disant: Cette histoire véritable que nous allons représenter -devant vous est tirée mot pour mot des chroniques de France et des -romances espagnoles, que tout le monde sait et que les enfants chantent -par les rues. Nous allons voir comment don Galiferos délivra la belle -Mélisandre, son épouse, que les Mores tenaient captive dans la cité de -Sansuena, appelée aujourd’hui Sarragosse. Regardez bien, seigneurs; -voici don Galiferos qui s’amuse à jouer au trictrac, ne pensant déjà -plus à sa femme, comme le dit la romance. - - [99] Réminiscence du commencement du second chant de l’_Énéide_: - _Conticuere omnes_, etc., etc. - -Cet autre personnage, le plus grand de tous, couronne en tête et sceptre -à la main, est le grand empereur Charlemagne, père putatif de la belle -Mélisandre. Fort mécontent de la nonchalance de son gendre, il vient lui -en faire des reproches. Remarquez, je vous prie, comme il le gourmande; -ne dirait-on pas qu’il a envie de lui casser la tête avec son sceptre? -Certains auteurs prétendent même qu’il lui en donna cinq ou six horions -bien appliqués, après lui avoir remontré le tort qu’il se faisait en ne -portant point secours à sa femme. Considérez comment, après une bonne -poignée d’avertissements, l’empereur lui tourne le dos; et comment don -Galiferos, tout dépité, renverse la table et le trictrac, fait signe -qu’on lui apporte ses armes, et prie son cousin Roland de lui prêter sa -bonne épée Durandal. Roland ne veut pas la lui prêter, et offre à son -cousin de l’accompagner; mais don Galiferos refuse en disant qu’il -suffit seul pour tirer sa femme de captivité, fût-elle à cent cinquante -lieues par delà les antipodes. Voyez comme il s’empresse de s’armer pour -se mettre en route à l’instant même. - -Maintenant, seigneurs, tournez les yeux vers cette tour qui est là-bas; -c’est une des tours de l’alcazar de Saragosse, qu’on appelle aujourd’hui -Aljaferia. Cette dame, que vous voyez sur ce balcon, vêtue à la -moresque, est la sans pareille Mélisandre, qui venait souvent s’y placer -pour regarder du côté de la France, et se consoler ainsi de sa captivité -par le ressouvenir de son cher mari et de la bonne ville de Paris. Oh! -c’est ici, seigneurs, qu’il faut considérer avec attention une chose -nouvelle, et qu’on n’a peut-être jamais vue. N’apercevez-vous pas un -More qui s’en vient tout doucement le doigt sur la bouche? Le -voyez-vous se glisser derrière Mélisandre? Le voilà qui lui frappe sur -l’épaule? Mélisandre tourne la tête, et le More lui donne un baiser. -Voyez comme la belle s’essuie les lèvres avec la manche de sa chemise! -comme elle se lamente! la voilà toute en pleurs, qui arrache ses beaux -cheveux blonds, comme s’ils étaient coupables de l’affront que le More -vient de lui faire. Voyez aussi ce grave personnage à turban qui se -promène dans cette galerie. Ce grave personnage, c’est Marsile, roi de -Sansuena, qui, s’étant aperçu de l’insolence du More, et sans considérer -que c’est son parent et l’un de ses favoris, le fait saisir par les -archers de sa garde, et commande qu’on le promène dans toutes les rues -et par toutes les places publiques de la ville, avec un écriteau devant -et un autre derrière, et qu’on lui applique deux cents coups de fouet. - -Voyez maintenant comment les archers sortent pour exécuter la sentence -aussitôt qu’elle est prononcée, parce que chez les Mores il n’y a ni -information, ni confrontation, ni appel. - -Holà, l’ami, s’écria don Quichotte, suivez votre histoire en droite -ligne, sans prendre de chemin de traverse; car pour tirer au clair une -vérité, il faut bien des preuves et des surpreuves. - -Petit garçon, répliqua de derrière son tableau maître Pierre, fais ce -que te dit ce bon seigneur, sans t’amuser à battre les buissons: -poursuis ton chemin et ne t’occupe pas du reste. - -Le jeune garçon reprit: Celui qui se présente là, à cheval, couvert -d’une cape de Béarn, c’est don Galiferos en personne, à qui la belle -Mélisandre, apaisée par le châtiment du More amoureux, parle du haut de -la tour; croyant que c’est quelque voyageur étranger: Chevalier, lui -dit-elle, si vous allez en France, informez-vous de don Galiferos. Je ne -vous rapporte point tout leur entretien, parce que les longs discours -sont ennuyeux; il suffit de savoir comment don Galiferos se fait -reconnaître, et comment Mélisandre montre, par les transports auxquels -elle se livre, qu’elle l’a reconnu, surtout maintenant qu’on la voit se -glisser du balcon, pour se mettre en croupe sur le cheval de son époux -bien-aimé. Mais le malheur poursuit toujours les gens de bien. Voilà -Mélisandre arrêtée par sa jupe à un des fers du balcon; elle reste -suspendue en l’air sans pouvoir atteindre le sol. Hélas! comment -fera-t-elle, et qui la secourra dans un si grand péril? Voyez, pourtant, -seigneurs, que le ciel ne l’abandonne point dans un danger si pressant; -car don Galiferos s’approche, et sans nul souci de gâter sa riche jupe, -il tire sa femme en bas, et malgré tous ces empêchements il la -débarrasse, et la met aussitôt en croupe, à califourchon, comme un -homme, l’avertissant de l’embrasser fortement par le milieu du corps, -crainte de tomber, car elle n’était pas habituée à chevaucher ainsi. -N’est-ce pas merveille d’entendre ce cheval, qui témoigne par ses -hennissements combien il a de joie d’emporter son maître et sa -maîtresse? Voyez comme ils s’éloignent de la ville, et prennent gaiement -le chemin de Paris. Allez en paix, ô couple de véritables amants! -arrivez sains et saufs dans votre chère patrie; puisse la mauvaise -fortune ne pas mettre obstacle à votre voyage, que vos parents et vos -amis vous voient jouir d’une paix tranquille le reste de vos jours, et -que ces mêmes jours puissent égaler ceux de Nestor. - -En cet endroit, maître Pierre éleva de nouveau la voix: Doucement, petit -garçon, lui cria-t-il; ne montez pas si haut, la chute en deviendrait -plus lourde. - -L’interprète continua sans répondre: Il ne manqua pas d’yeux oisifs, car -il y en a pour tout voir, qui s’aperçurent de la fuite de Mélisandre, et -qui en donnèrent incontinent avis au roi Marsile, qui fit aussitôt -donner l’alarme. Ne dirait-on pas que la ville est près de s’abîmer sous -le bruit des cloches qui retentissent dans toutes les mosquées? - -Oh! pour ce qui est des cloches, observa don Quichotte, maître Pierre se -trompe lourdement: les Mores n’en ont point; ils ne se servent que de -tambours et de timbales, et de certaines _dulzaïna_, qui ressemblent -beaucoup à nos clairons; faire sonner les cloches à Sansuena est un -énorme anachronisme. - -Ne vous inquiétez pas pour si peu, seigneur chevalier, reprit maître -Pierre: ne savez-vous pas que tous les jours on représente en Espagne -des comédies remplies de sottises et d’extravagances, et qui n’en sont -pas moins applaudies avec enthousiasme? Allez toujours, petit garçon, et -laissez dire: pourvu que je garnisse mon gousset, je me moque du reste. - -Pardieu, maître Pierre a raison, dit don Quichotte. - -Or, voyez, seigneurs, poursuivit l’interprète, la belle et nombreuse -cavalerie qui sort de la ville à la poursuite de nos amants; combien de -trompettes résonnent, combien de timbales et de tambours retentissent de -toutes parts! Pour moi, je crains bien qu’on ne les rattrape, et que -nous ne les voyions ramener attachés à la queue des chevaux; ce qui -serait un épouvantable spectacle. - -Don Quichotte, comme réveillé par ces paroles, voyant cette multitude de -Mores et entendant tout ce tapage, crut en effet qu’il était temps de -secourir ces amants fugitifs, il se leva brusquement, et s’écria tout -hors de lui: Pour qui me prend-on donc ici? sera-t-il dit que, moi -présent et vivant, on aura fait violence à un si fameux chevalier que -don Galiferos? Arrêtez, canaille insolente, et ne soyez pas assez hardis -pour oser passer outre, ou vous aurez affaire à don Quichotte de la -Manche. - -Ce disant, il tire son épée, d’un bond atteint le théâtre, et commence à -tomber sur la foule des Mores avec une fureur inouïe, pourfendant tous -ceux qui se trouvent sous sa main. En s’escrimant ainsi, il porta un si -furieux coup de haut en bas, que si le joueur de marionnettes n’eût -baissé la tête, il la lui aurait fait sauter de dessus les épaules. - -Que faites-vous! seigneur chevalier! que faites-vous? criait maître -Pierre; ce ne sont pas ici de véritables Mores: ne voyez-vous pas que ce -sont des figures de carton, et que vous allez me ruiner? - -Les cris de maître Pierre n’arrêtèrent point notre héros. Tant qu’il -croit voir des ennemis, ses coups tombaient serrés comme la pluie, si -bien qu’en moins d’un _credo_ il mit le tableau en pièces, laissant le -roi Marsile dangereusement blessé, Charlemagne la tête fendue, sans -distinguer entre Mores ni chrétiens. Toute l’assistance se troubla; le -singe s’enfuit et gagna le toit de la maison, le guide trembla, le page -resta stupéfait; Sancho lui-même éprouva une grande frayeur, car, ainsi -qu’il l’avoua après la tempête passée, il n’avait jamais vu son maître -dans une pareille colère. - -Enfin, après avoir tout bouleversé, don Quichotte se calma: Je voudrais -bien, dit-il en s’essuyant le front, tenir à l’heure qu’il est ces gens -qui ne veulent pas reconnaître de quel avantage sont dans le monde les -chevaliers errants. Si je ne m’étais pas trouvé là, dites-moi, je vous -prie, ce qui serait advenu de don Galiferos et de la belle Mélisandre? A -coup sûr ces mécréants les auraient déjà rattrapés et leur auraient fait -un mauvais parti. Vive, vive la chevalerie errante, ajouta-t-il, en -dépit de l’envie et malgré l’ignorance et la faiblesse de ceux qui n’ont -pas le courage de se ranger sous ses lois! Que celui qui oserait -soutenir le contraire paraisse à l’instant. - -Ah! qu’elle vive, j’y consens, repartit maître Pierre d’un ton -lamentable; mais que je meure, moi misérable, qui puis bien répéter ce -que disait le roi don Rodrigue: Hier, j’étais seigneur de toutes les -Espagnes, aujourd’hui il ne me reste plus un pouce de terre. Il n’y a -pas un quart d’heure j’avais la plus belle cour du monde, je commandais -à des rois et à des empereurs, j’avais une armée innombrable en hommes -et en chevaux, mes coffres étaient pleins de parures magnifiques, et me -voilà dépouillé, pauvre et mendiant! me voilà surtout sans mon singe, -qui était mon unique ressource; et cela par la fureur inconsidérée de ce -chevalier, qu’on dit être le rempart des orphelins et des veuves, -l’appui et le réconfort des affligés. Cette immense charité qu’on lui -reconnaît envers les autres, il y renonce pour moi seul! Cependant béni -soit Dieu mille fois jusqu’au trône de sa gloire, quoiqu’il ait permis -que le chevalier de la Triste Figure ait tellement défiguré les miennes, -qu’elles méritent mieux que lui-même de porter ce nom! - -Sancho se sentit tout attendri: Ne pleurez point, maître Pierre, lui -dit-il, ne vous lamentez point; vous me fendez le cœur. Sachez que mon -maître est aussi bon chrétien que vaillant chevalier; s’il vient à -reconnaître qu’il vous a fait le moindre dommage, il vous le payera au -centuple. - -Pourvu que le seigneur don Quichotte me paye une partie de ce que m’ont -coûté mes figures, dit maître Pierre, je serai content et il mettra sa -conscience en repos; car on ne saurait sauver son âme si l’on ne répare -le tort fait au prochain, si l’on ne lui restitue le bien qu’on lui a -pris. - -Cela est vrai, reprit don Quichotte; mais jusqu’à présent, maître -Pierre, je ne sache pas avoir rien à vous. - -Comment! rien, seigneur, repartit maître Pierre: et ces tristes débris -que vous voyez gisants sur le sol, qui les a dispersés, anéantis, si ce -n’est la force de votre bras invincible? et ces corps à qui -appartenaient-ils, si ce n’est à moi? enfin qui me faisait subsister, si -ce n’étaient eux? - -Pour le coup, reprit don Quichotte, je doute moins que jamais de ce que -j’ai répété si souvent: oui, les enchanteurs changent et bouleversent -toutes choses à leur fantaisie pour m’abuser; car, je vous le jure, -seigneurs qui m’entendez, ce que j’ai vu là m’a semblé réel et constant, -comme au temps de Charlemagne; j’ai pris cette Mélisandre pour -Mélisandre, don Galiferos pour don Galiferos, et Marsile pour le roi -Marsile; en un mot, les Mores pour les Mores, comme s’ils avaient été en -chair et en os. Cela étant, je n’ai pu retenir ma colère; et pour -accomplir le devoir de ma profession, qui m’ordonne de secourir les -opprimés, j’ai fait ce dont vous avez été témoins; si les effets ne -répondent pas à mon intention, ce n’est pas ma faute, mais celle des -enchanteurs qui me persécutent sans relâche. Cependant, tout innocent -que je suis de leur malice, je me condamne à réparer le dommage: que -maître Pierre dise ce qu’il lui faut pour la perte de ses figures, et je -le lui ferai payer sur-le-champ. - -Je n’attendais pas moins, dit maître Pierre, en s’inclinant -profondément, de la chrétienne probité du vaillant don Quichotte de la -Manche, le véritable soutien de tous les vagabonds nécessiteux: voilà le -seigneur hôtelier et le grand Sancho Panza qui seront, s’il plaît à -Votre Seigneurie, médiateurs entre elle et moi, et qui apprécieront mes -figures brisées. - -J’y consens et de tout mon cœur, dit don Quichotte. - -Aussitôt maître Pierre ramassa Marsile, et montrant qu’il était sans -tête: Vous voyez bien, seigneurs, dit-il, qu’il m’est impossible de -remettre le roi de Saragosse en son premier état; ainsi je crois, sauf -meilleur avis, qu’on ne peut me donner pour sa personne moins de quatre -réaux et demi. - -D’accord, dit don Quichotte; passons à un autre. - -Pour cette ouverture de haut en bas, continua maître Pierre en levant de -terre l’empereur Charlemagne, serait-ce trop de cinq réaux et un quart? - -Ce n’est-pas peu, dit Sancho. - -Ce n’est pas trop, repartit l’hôtelier; mais partageons le différend, et -accordons-lui cinq réaux. - -Qu’on lui donne cinq réaux et le quart avec, dit don Quichotte; mais -dépêchez-vous, maître Pierre; car il est temps de souper; et la faim -commence à se faire sentir. - -Pour cette figure sans nez, avec un œil de moins, qui est celle de la -belle Mélisandre, il me semble, dit maître Pierre, que, demander deux -réaux et douze maravédis, c’est être fort accommodant. - -Ah! parbleu, s’écria don Quichotte, ce serait bien le diable si, à cette -heure et d’après le galop qu’avait pris son cheval, don Galiferos et -Mélisandre ne sont pas au moins sur la frontière de France. A d’autres, -maître Pierre, ce n’est pas à moi qu’on vend un chat pour un lièvre; -n’espérez pas me faire passer votre Mélisandre camuse pour la véritable -Mélisandre qui, en ce moment, doit être à la cour de Charlemagne, en -train de se divertir avec son époux. - -Maître Pierre voyant don Quichotte retourner à son premier thème, ne -voulut pas le laisser échapper; il se mit à considérer la figure de -plus près, et dit: Si ce n’est point là Mélisandre, il faut que ce soit -quelqu’une de ses damoiselles, qui se servait de ses habits; qu’on me -donne seulement soixante maravédis, je serai content. - -Il examina ainsi toutes les autres figures, mettant le prix à chacune, -prix que les juges réglèrent, à la satisfaction des parties, à la somme -de quarante réaux et trois quarts payés sur-le-champ par Sancho. Maître -Pierre demanda encore deux réaux pour la peine qu’il aurait à rattraper -son singe. - -Donne-les, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, et plus s’il le faut, pour le -satisfaire; mais j’en donnerais volontiers deux cents autres, -ajouta-t-il, à qui m’assurerait que don Galiferos et Mélisandre sont -maintenant en France, dans le sein de leur famille. - -Personne ne pourra le dire mieux que mon singe, repartit maître Pierre; -mais le diable ne le rattraperait pas, effarouché comme il l’est; -j’espère pourtant que la faim, jointe à l’attachement qu’il a pour moi, -le feront revenir cette nuit. Au reste, demain il fera jour, et nous -verrons. - -Enfin, la tempête apaisée, toute la compagnie soupa aux dépens de don -Quichotte. L’homme aux hallebardes partit de grand matin; et dès qu’il -fut jour, le guide et le page allèrent prendre congé de notre héros, -l’un pour s’en retourner dans son pays, l’autre pour continuer son -voyage. Don Quichotte donna une douzaine de réaux au page, et, après -quelques judicieux conseils touchant la carrière qu’il allait suivre, il -l’embrassa et le laissa partir. Quant à maître Pierre, bien instruit de -l’humeur du chevalier, il ne voulut rien avoir de plus à démêler avec -lui; ayant donc rattrapé son singe et ramassé les débris de son théâtre, -il partit avant le lever du soleil, sans dire adieu, et alla, de son -côté, chercher les aventures. Don Quichotte fit payer largement -l’hôtelier, et, le laissant non moins surpris de ses extravagances que -de sa libéralité, il monta à cheval vers huit heures du matin, et se -mit en route. - -Nous le laisserons cheminer, afin de donner à loisir plusieurs -explications nécessaires à l’intelligence de cette histoire. - -CHAPITRE XXVII - -OU L’ON APPREND CE QU’ÉTAIENT MAITRE PIERRE ET SON SINGE, AVEC LE FAMEUX -SUCCÈS QU’EUT DON QUICHOTTE DANS L’AVENTURE DU BRAIMENT, QU’IL NE -TERMINA PAS COMME IL L’AVAIT PENSÉ - -Cid Hamed Ben-Engeli, l’auteur de cette grande histoire, commence le -présent chapitre par ces paroles: _Je jure comme chrétien catholique_, -etc., etc. Sur quoi le traducteur fait observer qu’en jurant comme -chrétien catholique, tandis qu’il était More (et sans aucun doute il -l’était), cid Hamed n’a voulu dire autre chose, sinon que comme le -chrétien catholique promet, quand il jure, de dire la vérité, de même il -promet de la dire en ce qui concerne don Quichotte, principalement en -expliquant ce qu’étaient maître Pierre et son singe, dont les -divinations faisaient l’admiration de toute la contrée. Il dit donc que -ceux qui ont lu la première partie de cette histoire se rappelleront -sans doute un certain Ginez de Passamont, auquel don Quichotte rendit la -liberté ainsi qu’à d’autres forçats qu’on menait aux galères; bienfait -dont ces gens de mauvaise vie le récompensèrent d’une si étrange -manière. Ce Ginez de Passamont, que don Quichotte appelait don Ginesille -de Parapilla, déroba, on se le rappelle, le grison de Sancho dans la -Sierra Morena; et parce qu’il n’a point été dit alors de quelle manière -eut lieu ce larcin, l’imprimeur ayant supprimé cinq ou six lignes qui -l’expliquent, on a généralement attribué à l’auteur ce qui n’était -qu’une omission de l’imprimerie. Voici comment le fait arriva. - -Pendant que Sancho dormait d’un profond sommeil sur son âne, Ginez -employa le même artifice dont Brunel avait fait usage devant la -forteresse d’Albraque, pour voler le cheval de Sacripant, et lui tira -son grison d’entre les jambes après avoir placé sous le bât quatre pieux -appuyés contre terre; depuis, Sancho retrouva son âne, ainsi que nous -l’avons raconté. Ce Ginez, craignant d’être repris par la justice qui le -recherchait pour ses prouesses (le nombre en était si grand qu’il en -composa lui-même un gros volume), s’appliqua un emplâtre sur l’œil, et, -ainsi déguisé, résolut de passer au royaume d’Aragon comme joueur de -marionnettes, car en pareille matière et pour les tours de gobelets il -était maître achevé. Chemin faisant, il acheta de quelques chrétiens qui -revenaient de Barbarie le singe dont nous avons parlé, auquel il apprit, -à certain signal, à lui sauter sur l’épaule et à paraître lui marmotter -quelque chose à l’oreille. Son plan arrêté, notre homme, avant d’entrer -dans un village, s’informait avec soin aux environs des particularités -survenues dans cet endroit et des gens qu’elles concernaient. Cela logé -dans sa mémoire, la première chose qu’il faisait en arrivant, c’était de -dresser son théâtre, lequel représentait tantôt une histoire, tantôt une -autre, mais toutes agréables et divertissantes. La représentation finie, -il annonçait le talent de son singe, qui connaissait, disait-il, le -passé et le présent, mais ne se mêlait point de l’avenir; pour chaque -question il prenait deux réaux, et faisait meilleur marché à -quelques-uns, après avoir tâté le pouls aux curieux. Souvent, quand il -se trouvait avec des gens dont il savait bien l’histoire, encore qu’on -ne lui adressât point de demande, il faisait à son singe le signal -accoutumé, disait qu’il venait de lui révéler telle ou telle chose, et -comme cela concordait presque toujours avec ce qui était arrivé, il -s’était acquis un crédit incroyable parmi le peuple. S’il n’était pas -bien informé, il y suppléait avec adresse, faisant une réponse ambiguë -qui avait rapport à la demande; mais comme la plupart des gens n’y -voyaient que du feu, il se moquait de tout le monde, et remplissait -ainsi son escarcelle. En entrant dans l’hôtellerie, il reconnut de suite -don Quichotte et Sancho, et il lui fut facile, on le pense bien, de les -étonner, ainsi que tous ceux qui étaient présents. Cependant il lui en -aurait coûté cher, si notre chevalier eût un peu plus baissé le bras -quand il fit sauter la tête au roi Marsile et détruisit toute sa -cavalerie, comme nous l’avons dit au chapitre précédent. - -Mais revenons à don Quichotte. En quittant l’hôtellerie, le héros de la -Manche résolut d’aller visiter les beaux rivages de l’Èbre et les lieux -environnants, avant de gagner Saragosse, l’époque des joutes annoncées -dans cette ville étant encore assez éloignée. Il marcha ainsi deux jours -entiers, sans qu’il lui arrivât rien qui mérite d’être raconté. Le -troisième jour, comme il gravissait une petite colline, il entendit un -grand bruit de tambours et de trompettes. Il crut d’abord que c’était -quelque troupe de soldats, et poussa Rossinante de ce côté; mais arrivé -au sommet de la colline, il aperçut à l’autre extrémité de la plaine -plus de deux cents hommes armés de lances, pertuisanes, arbalètes, -piques, avec quelques arquebuses et un bon nombre de rondaches. Il -descendit la côte et s’approcha assez du bataillon pour pouvoir -distinguer des bannières avec leurs couleurs et leurs devises, parmi -lesquelles une entre autres en satin blanc représentait un âne peint au -naturel, le cou tendu, le nez en l’air, la bouche béante, la langue -allongée, comme s’il eût été prêt à braire; autour étaient écrits ces -mots: «Ce n’est pas pour rien que nos alcades se sont mis à braire.» - -Don Quichotte comprit par là que ces gens armés appartenaient au village -du braiment, et il le dit à Sancho, tout en lui faisant remarquer que -l’homme dont ils tenaient l’histoire s’était sans doute trompé, -puisqu’il n’avait parlé que de régidors, tandis que la bannière mettait -en scène des alcades. - -Il ne faut pas y regarder de si près, seigneur, répondit Sancho; ces -régidors sont peut-être devenus alcades par la suite des temps; et puis, -que ce soient des régidors ou des alcades, qu’est-ce que cela fait, -s’ils se sont mis de même à braire? Il n’est pas plus étonnant -d’entendre braire un alcade qu’un régidor. - -Bref, ils reconnurent et apprirent que les gens du village persiflé -s’étaient mis en campagne pour combattre les habitants d’un autre -village, qui les raillaient plus que de raison. Don Quichotte -s’approcha, malgré les conseils de Sancho, qui avait peu de goût pour de -semblables rencontres, et les gens du bataillon l’accueillirent, croyant -que c’était quelqu’un de leur parti. Quant à lui, haussant sa visière, -il poussa jusqu’à l’étendard, et là il fut entouré par les principaux de -la troupe, lesquels demeurèrent plus qu’étonnés de son étrange figure. - -Don Quichotte les voyant attentifs à le considérer sans lui adresser la -parole, voulut profiter de leur silence et leur parla en ces termes: -Braves seigneurs, je vous supplie de ne point interrompre le discours -que je vais vous adresser, à moins que vous ne le trouviez ennuyeux, -car, dans ce cas, au moindre signe, je mettrai un frein à ma langue et -un bâillon à ma bouche. Tous répondirent qu’il pouvait parler, et qu’ils -l’écouteraient de bon cœur; notre héros continua donc de la sorte: Mes -chers amis, je suis chevalier errant; ma profession est celle des armes -et me fait un devoir de protéger ceux qui en ont besoin. Depuis -plusieurs jours je connais votre disgrâce et la cause qui vous rassemble -pour tirer vengeance de vos ennemis. Après avoir bien réfléchi sur votre -affaire, et consulté les lois sur le duel, j’ai conclu que vous avez -tort de vous tenir pour offensés, et en voici la raison: un seul homme -ne peut, selon moi, offenser une commune entière, si ce n’est pourtant -en l’accusant de trahison en général, comme nous en avons un exemple -dans don Diego Ordugnez de Lara, qui défia tous les habitants de -Zamora[100], ignorant que c’était le seul Vellidos Dolfos qui avait tué -le roi son maître. Or, cette accusation et ce défi les offensant -également, la vengeance en appartenait à tous en général et à chacun en -particulier. Dans cette occasion, néanmoins, le seigneur don Diego -s’emporta outre mesure, et dépassa de beaucoup les limites du défi, car -il n’y avait aucun motif pour y comprendre avec les vivants, les morts, -l’eau, le pain, les enfants à naître, et tant d’autres particularités -dont son cartel contient l’énumération; mais lorsque la colère a débordé -et s’est emparée d’un homme, aucun frein n’est capable de le retenir. - - [100] Voici ce défi: - - «Moi don Diego Ordunez de Lara, je vous défie, gens de Zamora, comme - traîtres et félons; je défie tous les morts et avec eux tous les - vivants; je défie les hommes et les femmes, ceux qui sont nés et ceux - à naître; je défie les grands et les petits, la viande, le poisson, - les eaux des rivières. - - «CANCIONERO.» - -Ainsi donc, puisqu’un seul homme ne peut offenser une république, un -royaume, une province, une ville, une commune entière, il est manifeste -que vous avez tort de vous mettre en campagne pour venger une offense -qui n’existe pas. Que diriez-vous, je vous le demande, si les habitants -de Valladolid, de Tolède ou de Madrid, se battaient à tout propos avec -ceux qui les appellent _Cazalleros_[101], _Auberginois_, _Baleinaux_, et -si ceux auxquels les enfants donnent de pareils surnoms s’escrimaient à -tout bout de champ? Il ferait beau voir que ces illustres cités fussent -toujours prêtes à prendre les armes à la moindre provocation! Non, non, -que Dieu ne le veuille ni ne le permette jamais! Il n’y a que quatre -circonstances dans lesquelles les républiques bien gouvernées et les -hommes sages doivent prendre les armes et tirer l’épée. Ces quatre -circonstances les voici: la première, c’est la défense de la foi -catholique; la seconde, la défense de leur vie, qui est de droit naturel -et divin; la troisième, la conservation de leur honneur, de leur famille -et de leur fortune; la quatrième, le service de leur roi dans une guerre -juste; et si nous voulions en ajouter une cinquième, qu’il faudrait -placer en seconde ligne, c’est la défense de la patrie. Mais recourir -aux armes pour de simples badinages, pour de simples plaisanteries qui -ne sont pas de véritables offenses, par ma foi, ce serait manquer de -raison. D’ailleurs, tirer une vengeance injuste (car juste, aucune ne -peut l’être), c’est aller directement contre la sainte loi que nous -professons, laquelle nous ordonne de faire du bien à nos ennemis, et -d’aimer ceux qui nous haïssent. Ce commandement, je le sais, paraît -quelque peu difficile à accomplir, mais il ne l’est que pour ceux qui -sont moins à Dieu qu’au monde, et plus selon la chair que selon -l’esprit; car Jésus-Christ, qui Dieu et homme tout ensemble, jamais n’a -menti et jamais n’a pu mentir, a dit, en se faisant notre législateur, -que son joug était doux et son fardeau léger; il n’a donc pu nous -prescrire rien d’impossible. Ainsi, mes bons seigneurs, Vos Grâces sont -obligées, par les lois divines et humaines, à calmer leurs -ressentiments et à déposer leurs armes. - - [101] On appelait _Cazalleros_ les habitants de Valladolid, par - allusion à Augustin de Cazalla, qui y périt sur l’échafaud. On ignore - l’origine des autres surnoms. - -Que je meure à l’instant, dit tout bas Sancho, si ce mien maître-là -n’est pas théologien; et s’il ne l’est pas, par ma foi, il y ressemble -comme un œuf ressemble à un autre œuf. - -Don Quichotte se tut quelque temps pour reprendre haleine, et voyant que -toute l’assistance l’écoutait favorablement, il allait continuer sa -harangue, quand, voyant que son maître s’arrêtait, Sancho se jeta à la -traverse, prit la parole et dit: Monseigneur don Quichotte de la Manche, -naguère appelé le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, et à présent le -chevalier des Lions, est un gentilhomme de beaucoup de sens, et qui -connaît son latin comme un bachelier. Dans les conseils qu’il donne il y -va toujours rondement, et il n’y a point de lois ni d’ordonnances pour -la guerre qu’il ne sache sur le bout de son doigt; ainsi donc, -seigneurs, croyez tout ce qu’il dit, et qu’on s’en prenne à moi si l’on -n’est pas content. Il est évident qu’on a tort de se mettre en colère -pour cela seul qu’on entend braire, car moi, je m’en souviens fort bien, -lorsque j’étais petit garçon, je brayais lorsqu’il m’en prenait envie, -sans que personne y trouvât à redire; et sans vanité, c’était avec tant -de naturel et de grâce, que tous les ânes du pays se mettaient à braire -quand ils m’entendaient: je n’en étais pourtant pas moins fils de mon -père, qui fut homme de bien. Ce talent excita la jalousie de -quelques-uns des plus huppés du village, mais je m’en souciais comme -d’un maravédis. Au reste, pour vous prouver ce que j’avance, écoutez -seulement, et vous allez voir; car cette science est comme celle de -nager, une fois apprise, on ne l’oublie plus. - -Aussitôt se serrant le nez avec les doigts, Sancho se mit à braire si -puissamment, que tous les lieux d’alentour en retentirent; et il allait -recommencer de plus belle, lorsqu’un des auditeurs, croyant qu’il ne le -faisait que pour se moquer d’eux, leva une longue gaule et lui en -déchargea sur les reins un si rude coup, qu’il l’étendit à terre tout de -son long. - -Le voyant ainsi maltraité, don Quichotte courut la lance basse contre -l’agresseur; mais tant de gens s’y opposèrent, qu’il lui fut impossible -de venger son écuyer. Loin de là, lui-même se vit assailli d’une telle -grêle de pierres, tellement menacé de toutes parts avec l’arbalète -tendue et l’arquebuse en joue, qu’il tourna bride et s’échappa au grand -galop de Rossinante, se recommandant à Dieu, et s’imaginant déjà être -percé de mille balles. Mais ces gens se contentèrent de le voir fuir -sans tirer un seul coup. Quand à Sancho, ils le replacèrent sur son âne, -et lui permirent de rejoindre son maître; ce que le grison fit de -lui-même, accoutumé qu’il était à suivre Rossinante et n’en pouvant -demeurer un seul moment séparé. - -Lorsque don Quichotte fut hors de portée, il tourna la tête, et voyant -que Sancho n’était pas poursuivi, il attendit. Quant aux gens du village -persiflé, ils restèrent là jusqu’à la nuit; puis ils s’en retournèrent -chez eux, triomphant de ce que l’ennemi n’avait point paru. Je crois -même, s’ils avaient connu l’antique coutume des Grecs, qu’ils n’eussent -pas manqué d’élever sur le terrain un trophée pour servir de monument à -leur valeur. - -CHAPITRE XXVIII - -DES GRANDES CHOSES QUE DIT BEN-ENGELI, ET QUE SAURA CELUI QUI LES LIRA -S’IL LES LIT AVEC ATTENTION - -Quand le brave fuit, c’est que l’embuscade est découverte, et l’homme -prudent doit se réserver pour une meilleure occasion. De ceci nous avons -une preuve en don Quichotte, qui, sans songer au péril où il laissait le -pauvre Sancho, aima mieux prendre la poudre d’escampette que de -s’exposer à la fureur de cette troupe en courroux, et s’éloigna jusqu’à -ce qu’il se crût en lieu de sûreté. - -Plié en deux sur son âne, Sancho le suivait, comme nous avons dit; en -arrivant près de son seigneur, déjà il avait repris ses sens, et il se -laissa tomber haletant devant Rossinante. Don Quichotte mit pied à terre -pour voir s’il était blessé, et ne lui trouvant aucune égratignure, il -lui dit avec colère: Sancho, mon ami, vous avez mal choisi votre temps -pour braire; où diable avez-vous trouvé qu’il fût sage de parler corde -dans la maison d’un pendu? A musique comme la vôtre, quel accompagnement -pouvait-on faire, si ce n’est de coups de bâton? Rendez grâces à Dieu, -Sancho, de ce qu’au lieu de vous bâtonner ils ne vous aient point fait -le _per signum crucis_ avec une lame de cimeterre. - -Je ne suis pas en état de répondre, dit Sancho, et il me semble que je -parle par les épaules; montons sur nos bêtes et tirons-nous d’ici. Soyez -certain que je ne brairai de ma vie, mais à ce que je vois, les -chevaliers errants lâchent pied tout comme les autres, et se soucient -fort peu de laisser leurs pauvres écuyers moulus comme plâtre au pouvoir -des ennemis. - -Se retirer n’est pas fuir, répondit don Quichotte. Apprenez-le Sancho, -la valeur qui n’est pas fondée sur la prudence s’appelle témérité, et -les prouesses d’un homme téméraire s’attribuent moins à son courage qu’à -sa bonne fortune; ainsi je confesse m’être retiré, mais non pas avoir -fui, et en cela j’ai imité plusieurs vaillants guerriers, qui surent se -réserver pour de meilleures occasions. Les histoires sont pleines de -semblables événements, que je pourrais vous raconter; mais comme cela -est inutile, je m’en abstiens pour l’heure. - -En discourant de la sorte, don Quichotte avait remis Sancho sur son âne, -puis, étant remonté à cheval, tous deux gagnèrent à petits pas un bois -qu’on apercevait près de là. De temps en temps l’écuyer poussait de -profonds hélas! et des gémissements douloureux; don Quichotte lui en -demanda le sujet: C’est, répondit Sancho, que depuis l’extrémité de -l’échine jusqu’à la nuque du cou, je ressens une douleur qui me fait -perdre l’esprit. - -Sans aucun doute, reprit don Quichotte, cela vient de ce que le bâton -étant large et long, il aura porté sur toutes les parties qui te font -mal; s’il eût touché en quelque autre endroit, tu souffrirais de même à -cet endroit-là. - -Pardieu, dit Sancho, Votre Grâce vient de me tirer d’un grand embarras, -et de m’expliquer la chose en bons termes. Mort de ma vie! faut-il tant -de paroles pour me prouver que je souffre à tous les endroits où le -bâton a porté? Si je souffrais à la cheville du pied, passe encore; mais -pour deviner que je souffre là où l’on m’a meurtri, il ne faut pas être -sorcier. Je le vois, mon seigneur et maître, mal d’autrui n’est que -songe, et chaque jour découvre ce que je dois attendre en compagnie de -Votre Grâce. Aujourd’hui, vous m’avez laissé bâtonner; demain, vous me -laisserez berner, comme l’autre fois; et si un jour il m’en coûte une -côte, un autre jour il m’en coûtera les yeux de la tête. Que je ferais -bien mieux... (mais je ne suis qu’une bête, et bête je resterai toute ma -vie); que je ferais bien mieux de m’en aller retrouver ma femme et mes -enfants, et prendre soin de ma maison avec le peu d’esprit que Dieu m’a -donné, au lieu de m’amuser à vous suivre à travers champs, bien souvent -sans boire ni manger. Car enfin, après avoir couru pendant tout le jour, -si l’on a besoin de dormir, eh bien frère écuyer, vous dit-on, mesurez -six pieds de terre; en voulez-vous davantage? taillez, taillez, en plein -drap, vous êtes à même, étendez-vous de tout votre long. Ah! que je -voudrais voir brûlé et réduit en cendres le premier qui s’avisa de la -chevalerie errante, ou du moins celui qui a été assez sot pour servir -d’écuyer à de pareils étourdis; je parle des chevaliers errants du temps -passé; de ceux d’aujourd’hui je ne dis rien, je leur porte trop de -respect, Votre Grâce étant du nombre: aussi bien, je commence à -m’apercevoir qu’elle en revendrait au diable en personne. - -Maintenant que vous parlez à votre aise, reprit don Quichotte, je -gagerais que vous ne ressentez aucun mal; eh bien, parlez, mon ami, -parlez tout votre soûl, et dites tout ce qui vous viendra sur le bout de -la langue: pourvu que vous ne vous plaigniez point, je supporterai de -bon cœur l’ennui de vos impertinences. Au reste, avez-vous si grande -envie d’aller retrouver votre femme et vos enfants, à Dieu ne plaise que -je vous en empêche; vous avez mon argent, comptez le nombre de jours qui -se sont écoulés depuis notre troisième sortie, supputez ce que vous -devez gagner par mois, et payez-vous de vos propres mains. - -Quand je servais Thomas Carrasco, le père du bachelier Samson, que Votre -Grâce connaît bien, je gagnais deux ducats par mois, sans compter ma -nourriture, répondit Sancho: je ne sais pas ce que je dois gagner avec -vous, mais j’affirme que l’écuyer d’un chevalier errant fatigue beaucoup -plus que le valet d’un laboureur, car, après tout, quand nous servons -ces derniers, quel que soit le travail de la journée, au moins, la nuit -venue, mangeons-nous à la marmite et dormons-nous dans un lit. Tandis -que, depuis que je vous sers, je jure n’avoir tâté ni de l’un, ni de -l’autre, si ce n’est le peu de jours que nous avons passés chez le -seigneur don Diego, ou lorsque j’écumai la marmite de Gamache, et puis -ce que j’ai mangé, bu et dormi chez Basile; le reste du temps, j’ai -couché sur la dure et à ciel découvert, vivant à la grâce de Dieu, de -pelures de fromage, de quelques noisettes, de croûtes de pain, et buvant -l’eau qu’on trouve en ces déserts. - -J’en demeure d’accord, dit don Quichotte: combien croyez-vous donc que -je doive vous donner de plus que Thomas Carrasco? - -Avec deux réaux par mois qu’ajouterait Votre Grâce, il me semble, -répondit Sancho, que je serai raisonnablement payé quant aux gages; -mais pour me dédommager de la perte de l’île que vous m’aviez promise, -il serait juste d’ajouter encore six réaux, ce qui ferait trente réaux -en tout. - -C’est très-bien, répliqua don Quichotte; voilà vingt-cinq jours que nous -sommes partis de notre village, comptez ce qui vous est dû, et, je le -répète, payez-vous de vos propres mains. - -Nous sommes un peu loin de compte, repartit Sancho; car, pour ce qui est -de l’île, il faut compter à partir du jour que vous me l’avez promise -jusqu’à cette heure. - -Combien donc y a-t-il de jours que je vous l’ai promise? dit don -Quichotte. - -Si je m’en souviens bien, répondit Sancho, il y a aujourd’hui quelque -vingt ans, trois ou quatre jours de plus ou de moins. - -Par ma foi, voilà qui est plaisant, s’écria don Quichotte en partant -d’un grand éclat de rire; à peine avons-nous employé deux mois dans -toutes nos courses, et tu dis, Sancho, qu’il y a vingt ans que je t’ai -promis cette île? Mon ami, je commence à croire que tu veux garder tout -l’argent que tu as à moi! Eh bien, soit, qu’à cela ne tienne, je te -l’abandonne de bon cœur, pour me voir au plus tôt débarrassé d’un si -pitoyable écuyer! Mais, réponds-moi, prévaricateur des ordonnances -écuyéresques de la chevalerie errante, où as-tu vu ou lu que jamais -écuyer ait marchandé avec son seigneur, et contesté sur le plus ou sur -le moins? Entre, pénètre, félon, brigand, vampire, car tu mérites tous -ces noms; pénètre, dis-je, dans ce _mare magnum_ de leurs histoires, et -si tu y trouves rien d’égal à ce que tu oses me proposer, je consens à -passer pour le plus indigne chevalier qui ait jamais ceint l’épée. -Aussi, et c’en est fait, tu peux prendre le chemin de ta maison, car je -suis résolu à ne pas souffrir que tu me suives un seul instant de plus. -O pain mal reconnu, ô promesses mal placées, ô misérable sans cœur, qui -tient plus de la brute que de l’homme! tu songes à me quitter, quand -j’étais sur le point de t’élever à une condition telle, qu’en dépit de -ta femme on allait t’appeler monseigneur! tu te retires, quand j’ai la -meilleure île de la mer à te donner! On a bien raison de dire que le -miel n’est pas fait pour la bouche de l’âne: car âne tu es, âne tu -vivras, et âne tu mourras, sans t’apercevoir même que tu n’es qu’une -bête. - -Pendant que don Quichotte l’accablait de reproches, Sancho tout confus -le regardait fixement; enfin, se sentant pénétré d’une vive douleur, le -pauvre écuyer répondit d’une voix dolente et entrecoupée de sanglots: -Monseigneur, mon bon maître, je confesse que je suis un âne, et que pour -l’être tout à fait il ne manque que la queue; si vous voulez me la -mettre, je la tiendrai pour bien placée, et je vous servirai comme un -âne le reste de mes jours. Que Votre Grâce me pardonne et prenne pitié -de ma jeunesse; considérez que je ne sais pas grand’chose, et que si je -parle beaucoup, c’est plutôt par infirmité que par malice; mais qui -pèche et s’amende, à Dieu se recommande. - -J’aurais été fort étonné, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, que tu eusses -prononcé vingt paroles sans citer quelque proverbe; eh bien, oui, je te -pardonne à condition que tu te corrigeras et que tu ne seras plus -désormais si attaché à ton intérêt; prends courage et repose-toi sur la -foi de mes promesses qui, pour ne pas encore être réalisées, n’en sont -pas moins certaines. - -Sancho promit de s’amender et de faire de nécessité vertu. Sur ce ils -entrèrent dans le bois, et se couchèrent chacun au pied d’un arbre. -Sancho dormit mal, les coups de gaule se faisant mieux sentir par le -serein; quant à don Quichotte, il s’abandonna à ses rêveries -habituelles. Après avoir pris quelque repos, le jour venu, ils -continuèrent leur chemin vers les célèbres rivages de l’Èbre, où il leur -arriva ce que nous raconterons dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXIX - -DE LA FAMEUSE AVENTURE DE LA BARQUE ENCHANTÉE - -Après avoir cheminé pendant deux jours entiers, nos aventuriers -arrivèrent au bord de l’Èbre. Don Quichotte éprouva un vif plaisir à la -vue de ce fleuve; il ne pouvait se lasser de considérer la beauté de ses -rives, l’abondance et la tranquillité de ses eaux, et cet aspect -réveilla dans sa mémoire mille amoureuses pensées. Il se rappela ce -qu’il avait vu dans la caverne de Montesinos, car bien que le singe de -maître Pierre lui eût dit que ces choses étaient en partie vraies, en -partie fausses, il était disposé à les regarder comme des réalités, au -rebours de Sancho qui les tenait pour autant de mensonges. - -Tout à coup notre héros aperçut une petite barque, sans rames et sans -voiles, attachée à un tronc d’arbre; il regarda de tous côtés, et ne -voyant personne, il mit pied à terre, dit à son écuyer d’en faire autant -et de lier leurs montures à un saule qui se trouvait là. Sancho lui -demanda pourquoi il descendait si brusquement de cheval et quel était -son dessein. - -Apprends, répondit don Quichotte, que ce bateau est ici pour m’inviter à -y entrer, afin que j’aille au secours soit d’un chevalier, soit de toute -autre personne qui se trouve en pressant danger: car c’est ainsi que -procèdent les enchanteurs. Lorsqu’un chevalier de leurs amis court -quelque péril dont il ne peut être tiré que par le bras d’un autre -chevalier, ils lui envoient un bateau comme celui-ci, ou bien ils -l’enlèvent dans quelque nuage, et en un clin d’œil il est transporté, à -travers les airs ou sur les eaux, aux lieux où on a besoin de son aide. -Sans nul doute, cette barque est placée ici pour le même objet, ou je -ne m’y connais pas. Donc, avant que la nuit arrive, attache ensemble -Rossinante et ton grison, et partons sans perdre de temps, car je suis -résolu de tenter cette aventure, une troupe de carmes déchaussés -vint-elle me prier de n’en rien faire. - -Puisqu’il en est ainsi, reprit Sancho, et que Votre Grâce veut à tout -propos donner dans ce que j’appellerai des folies, il n’y a qu’à obéir -et à baisser la tête, suivant le proverbe qui dit: Fais ce que ton -maître ordonne, et assieds-toi à table à ses côtés. Toutefois, et pour -l’acquit de ma conscience, je veux avertir Votre Grâce que ce bateau -n’appartient pas à des enchanteurs, mais plutôt à quelque pêcheur de -cette rivière où l’on prend, dit-on, les meilleures aloses du monde. - -Tout en disant cela, Sancho attachait Rossinante et le grison, -très-affligé de les laisser seuls, et appelant sur eux dans le fond de -son âme la protection des enchanteurs. - -Ne te mets point en peine de ces animaux, lui dit don Quichotte; celui -qui va conduire les maîtres en prendra soin. - -Or ça, reprit Sancho, les voilà attachés: que faut-il faire? - -Nous recommander à Dieu et lever l’ancre, repartit don Quichotte; je -veux dire nous embarquer et couper la corde qui retient ce bateau. Puis -sans plus délibérer il saute dedans, suivi de son écuyer, coupe la -corde, et le bateau s’éloigne de la rive. - -A peine Sancho fut-il à vingt pas du bord, qu’il commença à trembler, se -croyant perdu; mais ce fut bien pis quand il entendit le grison braire -et vit Rossinante se débattre pour se détacher: Seigneur, dit-il, voilà -Rossinante qui s’efforce de rompre son licou pour venir nous retrouver, -et mon âne qui gémit de notre absence. Mes bons amis, continua-t-il en -tournant vers eux ses regards, prenez patience: nous nous désabuserons, -s’il plaît à Dieu, de la folie qui nous mène, et nous vous rejoindrons -bientôt. Et il se mit à pleurer si amèrement, que don Quichotte -impatienté, lui dit: - -Que crains-tu, lâche créature? qui te poursuit, cœur de souris -casanière, et qu’as-tu à gémir de la sorte? Ne dirait-on pas que tu -marches pieds nus sur les rochers aigus et tranchants des monts Riphées, -ou à travers les sables ardents des déserts de la Libye? N’es-tu pas -assis comme un prince, t’abandonnant sans fatigue au cours de cet -aimable fleuve? Va, va, console-toi, nous allons bientôt entrer dans le -vaste Océan, si déjà nous n’y sommes, car nous avons fait pour le moins -sept ou huit cents lieues. Si j’avais un astrolabe pour prendre la -hauteur du pôle, je te dirais au juste combien de chemin nous avons -fait; cependant, ou je n’y entends rien, ou nous avons passé, ou nous -sommes sur le point de passer la ligne équinoxiale, située à égale -distance des deux pôles. - -Et quand nous aurons passé cette ligne, combien aurons-nous fait de -chemin? demanda Sancho. - -Beaucoup assurément, répondit don Quichotte: car alors nous aurons -parcouru la moitié du globe terrestre, qui, selon le comput de Ptolémée, -le plus célèbre des cosmographes, ne compte pas moins de trois cent -soixante degrés, ce qui, à vingt-cinq lieues par degré, fait neuf mille -lieues de tour. - -Pardieu, Votre Grâce prend à témoin une jolie personne, l’homme qui pue -comme quatre! dit Sancho. - -Don Quichotte ne put s’empêcher de sourire de la manière dont son écuyer -avait compris les mots comput et cosmographe: Tu sauras, lui dit-il, que -ceux qui vont aux Indes regardent comme un signe positif que la ligne -est passée, quand certains insectes meurent instantanément, et qu’on ne -pourrait en trouver un sur tout le bâtiment, fût-ce au poids de l’or. -Ainsi, promène ta main sous une de tes cuisses, et si tu y trouves -quelque être vivant, nos doutes seront éclaircis; dans le cas -contraire, nous aurons passé la ligne. - -Je ferai ce que m’ordonne Votre Grâce, répliqua Sancho, quoique ces -expériences me paraissent inutiles, puisque, selon moi, nous ne sommes -pas à cinq toises du rivage, et que je vois de mes yeux Rossinante et le -grison au même endroit où nous les avons laissés. - -Fais ce que je t’ai dit, répliqua don Quichotte, et ne t’inquiète pas du -reste. Tu ne sais pas, je pense, ce que c’est que zodiaque, lignes, -parallèles, pôles, solstices, équinoxes, planètes, enfin tous les degrés -et les mesures dont se composent la sphère céleste et la sphère -terrestre; car si tu connaissais toutes ces choses, même d’une manière -imparfaite, tu saurais combien de parallèles nous avons coupés, combien -de signes nous avons parcourus, et combien de constellations nous avons -laissées derrière nous. Mais je te le répète, tâte-toi de la tête aux -pieds; je suis certain qu’à cette heure tu es plus net qu’une feuille de -papier blanc. - -Sancho obéit, et porta la main sous le pli de son jarret gauche, après -quoi il se mit à regarder son maître en souriant: Ou l’expérience est -fausse, lui dit-il, ou nous ne sommes pas arrivés à l’endroit que pense -Votre Grâce, il s’en faut de bien des lieues. - -Comment! reprit don Quichotte, est-ce que tu as trouvé quelqu’un? - -Et même quelques-uns, répondit Sancho. Puis, secouant les doigts, il -plongea sa main dans le fleuve, sur lequel glissait tranquillement la -barque sans être poussée par aucun enchanteur, mais tout bonnement par -le courant, qui était alors doux et paisible. - -Tout à coup ils aperçurent un grand moulin établi au milieu du fleuve. A -cette vue, don Quichotte s’écria d’une voix retentissante: Regarde, ami -Sancho, tu as devant toi la forteresse ou le château dans lequel doivent -se trouver le chevalier ou la princesse infortunés au secours de qui le -ciel nous envoie. - -De quel château ou forteresse parlez-vous? répondit Sancho; ne -voyez-vous pas que c’est un moulin établi sur la rivière pour moudre le -blé? - -Tais-toi, repartit don Quichotte. Cela te semble un moulin, mais ce -n’est qu’une illusion: ne t’ai-je pas répété plus de cent fois que les -enchanteurs changent, dénaturent, transforment toutes choses à leur -fantaisie? je ne dis pas qu’ils les transforment réellement, mais qu’ils -paraissent les transformer, comme ils nous l’ont fait assez voir dans la -métamorphose de Dulcinée. - -Pendant ce dialogue, le bateau ayant gagné le milieu du fleuve, commença -à marcher avec plus de rapidité. Les gens du moulin, voyant venir au fil -de l’eau une barque prête à s’engouffrer sous les roues, sortirent avec -de longues perches pour l’arrêter, en criant de toutes leurs forces: Où -allez-vous, imprudents? quel désespoir vous pousse? voulez-vous donc -vous faire mettre en pièces? Et comme ces hommes étaient couverts de -farine de la tête aux pieds, ils ressemblaient beaucoup à une apparition -fantastique. - -Ne t’ai-je pas dit, Sancho, que j’allais avoir à montrer toute la force -de mon bras? Regarde combien de monstres s’avancent contre moi, combien -de fantômes hideux essayent de m’épouvanter! - -Se dressant debout dans la barque, il se met à menacer les meuniers: -Canaille mal née, canaille mal apprise, leur criait-il, hâtez-vous de -mettre en liberté ceux que vous retenez injustement dans votre château; -car je suis don Quichotte de la Manche, surnommé le chevalier des Lions, -que l’ordre souverain des cieux envoie pour mettre fin à cette aventure. - -En même temps, il tire son épée et s’escrime en l’air contre les -meuniers, qui, sans rien comprendre à ces extravagances, tâchaient -seulement d’empêcher avec leurs perches le bateau d’entrer dans le -torrent formé par les roues du moulin. Le pauvre Sancho était à genoux, -priant Dieu de le sauver d’un si grand péril. Enfin, les meuniers -parvinrent à détourner le bateau, mais non pas si heureusement qu’il ne -chavira au milieu de la rivière avec ceux qu’il portait. Bien prit à don -Quichotte de savoir nager, car le poids de ses armes l’entraîna par deux -fois au fond de l’eau; et si les meuniers ne s’y fussent jetés pour les -en tirer, l’un par les pieds, l’autre par la tête, les aventures du -maître et du valet en restaient là. Quand ils furent déposés à terre, -plus trempés que morts de soif, Sancho s’agenouilla, et les mains -jointes, les yeux levés au ciel, il se mit à demander à Dieu, dans une -longue et fervente oraison, de le délivrer à jamais des folies de son -seigneur. - -Pendant ce temps, les pêcheurs étaient accourus; voyant leur barque -brisée, ils se jetèrent sur Sancho, demandant à don Quichotte de leur -payer le dommage. - -Très-volontiers, reprit notre héros avec son sang-froid habituel, mais à -une condition, c’est que sur-le-champ vous allez mettre en liberté ceux -que vous retenez par violence dans ce château. - -De quel château et de quels prisonniers parles-tu, tête à l’envers? -repartit un des meuniers; veux-tu, par hasard, emmener ceux qui viennent -moudre le blé à ce moulin? - -C’est folie, dit à part soi don Quichotte, c’est parler dans le désert -que vouloir faire entendre raison à semblable canaille. Il faut qu’il se -soit ici rencontré deux enchanteurs, dont l’un détruit ce que l’autre -fait; car l’un m’envoie la barque, et l’autre la renverse. Que Dieu y -porte remède, s’il lui plaît! Au reste, voilà le train du monde, on n’y -rencontre qu’artifice et contrariété de toutes parts. Se tournant -ensuite vers le moulin: Qui que vous soyez, amis, qui gémissez enfermés -dans cette prison, pardonnez-moi si, pour mon malheur et pour le vôtre, -je ne puis briser vos fers; c’est sans doute à un autre chevalier qu’est -réservée cette aventure. Il finit par entrer en arrangement avec les -pêcheurs, à qui Sancho compta cinquante réaux en poussant de profonds -soupirs. Encore une seconde traversée comme celle-ci, disait-il, et tout -notre avoir sera bientôt au fond de l’eau. - -Meuniers et pêcheurs considéraient, pleins de surprise, ces deux hommes, -et, les tenant pour fous, ils se retirèrent, les premiers dans leur -moulin, les seconds dans leurs cabanes. Don Quichotte et Sancho -retournèrent à leurs bêtes, et bêtes ils restèrent comme devant. Ainsi -finit l’aventure de la barque enchantée. - -CHAPITRE XXX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC UNE BELLE CHASSERESSE - -Nos aventuriers rejoignirent Rossinante et le grison, l’oreille basse, -principalement Sancho, à qui c’était percer l’âme que de toucher à son -argent. Finalement ils enfourchèrent leurs montures sans mot dire, et -s’éloignèrent du célèbre fleuve: don Quichotte enseveli dans ses -pensées amoureuses, et Sancho dans celle de sa fortune à faire, qu’il -voyait plus reculée que jamais, car, malgré sa simplicité, il -s’apercevait bien que les espérances et les promesses de son maître -étaient autant de chimères; aussi cherchait-il l’occasion de décamper et -de prendre le chemin de son village. Mais le sort en ordonna autrement, -comme nous le verrons bientôt. - -Il arriva donc le jour suivant qu’au coucher du soleil, en débouchant -d’un bois, don Quichotte aperçut dans une vaste prairie quantité de gens -qui chassaient à l’oiseau. En approchant, il distingua parmi les -chasseurs une dame très-gracieuse, montée sur une haquenée ou palefroi -portant selle en drap vert et à pommeau d’argent; cette dame était -également habillée de vert et en équipage de chasse, mais d’un si bon -goût et avec tant de richesse, qu’elle semblait l’élégance en personne. -Sur son poing droit se voyait un faucon, ce qui fit penser à don -Quichotte que ce devait être une grande dame et la maîtresse de ces -chasseurs, comme elle l’était en effet; aussi dit-il à Sancho: Cours, -mon fils, cours saluer de ma part la dame au palefroi et au faucon, et -dis-lui que moi, le chevalier des Lions, je baise les mains à son -insigne beauté, et que si elle le permet j’irai les lui baiser moi-même -et la servir en tout ce qu’il plaira à Sa Grandeur de m’ordonner. -Seulement, prends garde à tes paroles, et ne va pas enchâsser dans ton -compliment quelques-uns de ces proverbes dont tu regorges à toute heure. - -Vous avez bien trouvé l’enchâsseur, répondit Sancho; est-ce la première -fois que je porte des messages à de grandes dames? - -Hormis le message que tu as porté à Dulcinée, je n’en sais pas d’autres, -dit don Quichotte, au moins depuis que tu es à mon service. - -Il est vrai, reprit Sancho; mais un bon payeur ne craint point de donner -des gages, et dans une maison bien fournie la nappe est bientôt mise; je -veux dire qu’il n’est pas besoin de me faire la leçon, car Dieu merci, -je sais un peu de tout. - -Je le crois, dit don Quichotte; va donc et que Dieu te conduise. - -Sancho partit au grand trot de son âne. Quand il fut arrivé près de la -belle chasseresse, il mit pied à terre, et s’agenouillant devant elle, -il lui dit: Belle et noble dame, ce chevalier que vous voyez là-bas, et -qu’on appelle le chevalier des Lions, est mon maître; moi, je suis son -écuyer, qui dans sa maison a nom Sancho Panza. Ce chevalier des Lions -qui, naguère encore, s’appelait le chevalier de la Triste Figure, -m’envoie prier Votre Grandeur de lui octroyer la très-humble permission -de vous offrir ses services afin de satisfaire son désir, lequel est, à -ce qu’il dit, et comme je le crois, de servir éternellement votre haute -fauconnerie et beauté. En octroyant cette permission, Votre Seigneurie -fera une chose qui tournera à son profit, tandis que mon maître en -recevra faveur insigne et signalé contentement. - -Assurément, bon écuyer, répondit la dame, vous vous êtes acquitté de -votre commission avec toutes les formalités qu’exigent de pareils -messages; levez-vous, je vous prie: l’écuyer d’un aussi fameux chevalier -que le chevalier de la Triste-Figure, dont nous connaissons très-bien -les aventures, ne doit pas rester sur ses genoux: levez-vous, mon ami, -et allez dire à votre maître qu’il fera honneur et plaisir au duc mon -époux, et à moi, s’il veut prendre la peine de se rendre à une maison de -plaisance que nous avons près d’ici. - -Sancho se leva, charmé de l’exquise courtoisie de la belle chasseresse, -et surtout de lui avoir entendu dire qu’elle connaissait parfaitement le -chevalier de la Triste-Figure, qu’elle n’avait pas appelé chevalier des -Lions, parce que sans doute il portait ce nom depuis trop peu de temps. - -Brave écuyer, ajouta la duchesse, votre maître n’est-il pas celui dont -il circule une histoire imprimée sous le nom de l’ingénieux chevalier -don Quichotte de la Manche, et qui a pour maîtresse une certaine -Dulcinée du Toboso? - -C’est lui-même, Madame, répondit Sancho, et cet écuyer dont il est parlé -dans l’histoire, et qu’on appelle Sancho Panza, c’est moi si l’on ne m’a -pas changé en nourrice; je veux dire, si l’on ne m’a pas défiguré à -l’imprimerie. - -Je suis charmée, reprit la duchesse: allez, mon cher Panza, dites à -votre maître qu’il sera le bienvenu sur nos terres, et que rien ne -pouvait nous causer une plus grande satisfaction. - -Avec une si agréable réponse, Sancho retourna plein de joie vers son -maître, à qui il raconta tout ce qu’avait dit la dame, élevant jusqu’au -ciel sa courtoisie, sa grâce et sa beauté. Aussitôt don Quichotte se met -gaillardement en selle, s’affermit sur ses étriers, relève sa visière, -et donnant de l’éperon à Rossinante, part pour aller baiser la main de -la duchesse, qui, dès que Sancho l’eut quittée, avait fait prévenir le -duc, son époux, de l’ambassade qui venait de se présenter. Tous deux se -préparèrent donc à recevoir notre chevalier, et comme ils connaissaient -la première partie de son histoire, ils l’attendaient avec impatience, -se promettant de le traiter selon sa fantaisie, d’abonder dans son sens -pendant le temps qu’il passerait près d’eux, sans le contredire en quoi -que ce fût, et surtout en observant le cérémonial de la chevalerie -errante, dont ils connaissaient parfaitement les histoires, car ils en -étaient très-friands. - -En ce moment parut don Quichotte, la visière haute; et comme il se -préparait à descendre de cheval, Sancho se hâta d’aller l’y aider. Mais -le sort voulut qu’en sautant à bas du grison, notre écuyer s’embarrassa -si bien le pied dans la corde qui lui servait d’étrier, qu’il lui fut -impossible de se dégager, et qu’il tomba, la poitrine et le visage -contre le sol. Notre héros, qui ne s’était aperçu de rien et croyait -Sancho à son poste, leva la jambe pour mettre pied à terre; mais -entraînant la selle, mal sanglée sans doute, il roula entre les jambes -de Rossinante, crevant de dépit et maudissant son écuyer, qui de son -côté restait le pied pris dans l’entrave. - -Sur l’ordre du duc, les chasseurs coururent au secours du maître et de -l’écuyer; ceux-ci relevèrent don Quichotte, qui, tout maltraité de sa -chute, s’en alla cependant, clopin clopant, s’agenouiller devant Leurs -Seigneuries. Le duc ne voulut point le permettre, mais, au contraire il -descendit de cheval et fut embrasser don Quichotte. - -C’est pour moi un bien grand déplaisir, seigneur chevalier de la -Triste-Figure, lui dit-il, que le jour où pour la première fois Votre -Grâce met le pied dans mes domaines, elle ait lieu de s’en repentir; -mais l’incurie des écuyers est souvent cause de pareils accidents. - -Votre présence, prince, répondit don Quichotte, m’est un si grand -bonheur, que peu importe le prix auquel j’en obtiens l’avantage; et je -me consolerais de ma disgrâce, eussé-je été précipité dans le fond des -abîmes, car la gloire d’avoir approché de votre personne suffirait pour -m’en tirer. Mon écuyer, que Dieu maudisse, sait mieux délier sa langue -pour débiter des sottises que fixer solidement une selle. Mais dans -quelque posture que je me trouve, tombé ou relevé, à pied ou à cheval, -je n’en serai pas moins toujours à votre service, et à celui de madame -la duchesse, votre digne compagne, reine de la beauté et princesse -universelle de la courtoisie. - -Trève de flatterie, seigneur don Quichotte de la Manche, reprit le duc: -là ou règne la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, on ne peut, on ne doit -louer d’autre beauté que la sienne. - -Sancho, qui achevait de se débarrasser de la corde qui lui servait -d’étrier, prit la parole et dit: Certes, on ne saurait nier que madame -Dulcinée du Toboso ne soit fort belle, et j’en conviens tout le premier; -mais au moment où on y pense le moins saute le lièvre, et j’ai ouï dire -que dame nature ressemble au potier qui a fait un beau vase; quand il -en a fait un, il peut en faire deux, trois, voire même cent: aussi, sur -mon âme, madame la duchesse ne le cède en rien à madame Dulcinée. - -Madame, dit don Quichotte en se tournant vers la duchesse, Votre -Grandeur saura que jamais chevalier errant n’a eu un écuyer plus bavard -et plus facétieux que le mien; au reste, il prouvera surabondamment la -vérité de ce que j’avance, si Votre Altesse daigne me garder quelques -jours à son service. - -Si le bon Sancho est plaisant, je l’en estime davantage, reprit la -duchesse; vous le savez, seigneur chevalier, bien plaisanter n’est point -le partage des esprits lourds et grossiers; et puisque Sancho est -plaisant, je le tiens désormais pour homme d’esprit. - -Et grand bavard, ajouta don Quichotte. - -Tant mieux, repartit le duc; un homme qui parle bien ne saurait trop -parler. Mais pour ne point perdre nous-mêmes le temps en vains discours, -marchons, et que l’illustre chevalier de la Triste-Figure nous fasse -l’honneur de nous accompagner. - -Vos Altesses voudront bien dire chevalier des Lions, reprit Sancho; il -n’y a plus de Triste-Figure. - -Des Lions, soit, reprit le duc; eh bien, que le seigneur chevalier des -Lions vienne donc, s’il lui plaît, à un château que j’ai près d’ici, où -madame la duchesse et moi lui ferons l’accueil que nous avons coutume -d’accorder à tous les chevaliers errants qui nous honorent de leur -visite. - -Tous montèrent à cheval et se mirent en marche. Le duc et don Quichotte -se tenant à côté de la duchesse, qui appela Sancho et voulut qu’il se -tînt auprès d’elle, parce qu’elle prenait beaucoup de plaisir à -l’entendre. Notre écuyer ne se fit pas prier, et se mit de quart dans la -conversation, au grand plaisir des deux époux, pour qui c’était une -bonne fortune d’héberger un tel chevalier errant et un tel écuyer -parlant. - -CHAPITRE XXXI - -QUI TRAITE DE PLUSIEURS GRANDES CHOSES - -On ne saurait exprimer la joie qu’avait Sancho de se voir en si grande -faveur auprès de la duchesse, comptant bien trouver chez elle la même -abondance qu’il avait rencontrée chez le seigneur don Diego et chez -Basile; car toujours prêt à mener joyeuse vie, notre écuyer saisissait -aux cheveux, dès qu’elle se présentait, l’occasion de faire bonne chère. - -Avant d’arriver au château, le duc avait pris les devants, afin -d’avertir ses gens de la manière dont il voulait qu’on traitât don -Quichotte: si bien que lorsque le chevalier parut, deux laquais ou -palefreniers, vêtus de longues vestes de satin cramoisi, l’aidèrent à -descendre de cheval, le priant en même temps d’aider leur maîtresse à -mettre pied à terre. Don Quichotte obéit; mais comme, après mille -cérémonies, la duchesse s’opiniâtrait à ne point descendre, disant -qu’elle ne pouvait consentir à charger un si fameux chevalier d’un si -inutile fardeau, le duc vint donner la main à son épouse. On entra -ensuite dans une cour d’honneur, où deux belles damoiselles -s’approchèrent de don Quichotte, et lui jetèrent sur les épaules un -manteau de fine écarlate, pendant que les galeries se remplissaient de -serviteurs qui, après avoir crié: Bienvenues soient la crème et la fleur -des chevaliers errants! répandirent des flacons d’eau de senteur sur -toute la compagnie. - -Une telle réception ravissait notre héros, et ce jour fut le premier où -il se crut un véritable chevalier errant, parce qu’on le traitait de la -même façon que, dans ses livres, il avait vu qu’on traitait les -chevaliers des siècles passés. - -Sancho, laissant son grison, s’était attaché aux jupons de la duchesse; -il la suivit dans le château; mais bientôt sa conscience lui reprochant -d’avoir abandonné son âne seul à la porte, il s’approcha d’une -respectable duègne qui était venue avec d’autres femmes au-devant de -leur maîtresse: Dame Gonzalès, lui dit-il à demi-voix, comment s’appelle -Votre Grâce? - -Je m’appelle Rodriguez de Grijalva, reprit la duègne; que -souhaitez-vous, mon ami? - -Je voudrais bien, dit Sancho, que Votre Grâce me fît celle d’aller à la -porte du château; là vous trouverez un âne, qui m’appartient; ayez la -bonté de le faire conduire à l’écurie, ou de l’y conduire vous-même, car -le pauvre animal est timide, et ne saurait rester seul un instant. - -Si le maître n’est pas mieux appris que le valet, nous voilà bien -tombées, répondit la duègne; allez, mon ami, allez ailleurs chercher des -dames qui prendront soin de votre âne; ici elles ne sont point faites -pour semblables besognes. - -Peste! vous voilà bien dégoûtée, répliqua Sancho; j’ai entendu dire à -monseigneur don Quichotte, qui sait par cœur toutes les histoires, que -lorsque Lancelot revint d’Angleterre, les princesses prenaient soin de -lui, et les damoiselles de son cheval; et par ma foi, ma chère dame, -pour ce qui est de mon âne, je ne troquerais pas contre le cheval de -Lancelot. - -Ami, repartit la señora Rodriguez, si vous êtes bouffon de votre métier, -gardez vos bons mots pour ceux qui les aiment et qui peuvent les payer, -car de moi vous n’aurez qu’une figue. - -Elle serait du moins bien mûre, pour peu quelle gagne un point sur Votre -Grâce, reprit Sancho. - -Je suis vieille, repartit la duègne, c’est à Dieu que j’en rendrai -compte, et non à toi, imbécile, rustre et malappris, qui empestes l’ail -d’une lieue. - -Cela fut dit d’un ton si haut, que la duchesse l’entendit, et demanda à -la señora Rodriguez à qui elle en avait. - -J’en ai, répondit-elle, à cet homme qui me charge de mener son âne à -l’écurie, en me disant que de plus grandes dames que moi pansaient le -cheval de je ne sais quel Lancelot, et par-dessus le marché ce sot m’a -appelée vieille. - -Cela m’offense encore plus que vous, repartit la duchesse: et se -tournant vers Sancho: La señora Rodriguez, lui dit-elle, est encore -toute jeune, et si elle porte ces longues coiffes, c’est plutôt parce -que sa charge le veut ainsi, qu’à cause de ses années. - -Qu’il ne m’en reste pas une à vivre, repartit Sancho, si j’ai dit cela -pour la fâcher; mais j’ai tant d’amitié pour mon grison, qui ne m’a pas -quitté depuis l’enfance, que j’ai cru ne pouvoir le recommander à une -personne plus charitable que cette bonne dame. - -Sancho, interrompit don Quichotte en le regardant de travers, est-ce -dans une aussi honorable maison qu’il convient de parler de la sorte? - -Chacun parle de ses affaires où il se trouve, répondit Sancho; je me -suis souvenu ici du grison, et j’en parle ici; si je m’en étais souvenu -dans l’écurie, j’en aurais parlé dans l’écurie. - -Sancho a raison, dit le duc, et je ne vois pas qu’il y ait là de quoi le -blâmer; mais qu’il ne se mette pas en peine de son âne, on en aura soin -comme de lui-même. - -Au milieu de ces propos qui divertissaient tout le monde, excepté don -Quichotte, ils montèrent l’escalier du château, et l’on conduisit notre -chevalier dans une salle richement tendue de brocart d’or et d’argent. -Six jeunes filles, instruites par le duc et la duchesse de la manière -dont il fallait traiter notre héros, afin qu’il ne doutât point qu’on le -traitait en chevalier errant, vinrent lui servir de pages et -s’occupèrent à le désarmer. - -Débarrassé de sa cuirasse, don Quichotte demeura avec ses étroits -hauts-de-chausses et son pourpoint de chamois, long, sec, maigre, les -mâchoires serrées et les joues si creuses qu’elles s’entre-baisaient, -enfin sous un aspect si comique que, les jeunes filles le voyant ainsi, -eussent éclaté de rire si le duc ne leur eût expressément enjoint de -s’observer. Elles prièrent notre héros de trouver bon qu’on le -déshabillât, afin de lui passer une chemise; mais il ne voulut jamais y -consentir, disant que les chevaliers errants ne se piquaient pas moins -de chasteté que de vaillance. Il les pria donc de remettre la chemise à -son écuyer; et pour exécuter lui-même ce qu’on lui proposait, il passa -avec Sancho dans une chambre où se trouvait un lit magnifique. - -Dès qu’il se vit seul avec son écuyer, il se mit à le gourmander en ces -termes: Dis-moi un peu, bouffon récent et imbécile de vieille date, où -as-tu jamais vu traiter comme tu viens de le faire une dame vénérable et -aussi digne de respect qu’est la señora Rodriguez? Était-ce bien le -moment de te ressouvenir de ton âne? Crois-tu donc que des personnes -d’une telle importance, et qui reçoivent si bien les maîtres, puissent -oublier leurs montures? Au nom de Dieu, Sancho, défais-toi de ces -libertés, et ne laisse pas voir, à force de sottises, de quelle -grossière étoffe tu es formé. Ignores-tu, pécheur endurci, qu’on a -d’autant meilleure opinion des seigneurs que leurs gens sont biens -élevés, et qu’un des principaux avantages qui font que les grands -l’emportent sur les autres hommes, c’est d’avoir à leur service des gens -qui valent autant qu’eux? Quand on verra que tu n’es qu’un rustre -grossier et un mauvais bouffon, pour qui me prendra-t-on? N’aura-t-on -pas sujet de penser que je ne suis moi-même qu’un hobereau de colombier -ou quelque chevalier d’emprunt? Apprends, Sancho, qu’un parleur -indiscret, et qui veut plaisanter sur tout et à toute heure, finit par -devenir un bateleur fade et dégoûtant. Mets donc un frein à ta langue, -pèse tes paroles, et, avant d’ouvrir la bouche, regarde à qui tu -parles. Nous voilà, Dieu merci, arrivés en un lieu d’où, avec la faveur -du ciel et la force de mon bras, nous devons sortir deux fois plus -grands en réputation et en fortune. - -Sancho promit à son maître de se coudre la bouche et de se mordre la -langue plutôt que de prononcer un seul mot qui ne fût à propos. -Défaites-vous de tout souci à cet égard, ajouta-t-il; ce ne sera jamais -par moi qu’on découvrira qui nous sommes. - -Enfin, don Quichotte acheva de s’habiller; il prit son baudrier et son -épée, jeta un manteau d’écarlate sur ses épaules, mit sur sa tête une -_montera_ de satin vert, et, paré de ce costume, rentra dans la salle où -il trouva les mêmes damoiselles, rangées sur deux files et toutes tenant -des flacons d’eau de senteur qu’elles lui versèrent sur les mains avec -mille révérences et cérémonies. Bientôt après arrivèrent douze pages -avec le maître d’hôtel, pour le conduire à table, où on l’attendait. -Notre héros s’avança gravement au milieu d’eux, jusqu’à une autre salle -où étaient dressés un buffet magnifique et une table somptueuse avec -quatre couverts seulement. Le duc et la duchesse allèrent le recevoir à -la porte, accompagnés d’un de ces ecclésiastiques qu’en Espagne on voit -gouverner les maisons des grands seigneurs, mais qui eux-mêmes, n’étant -pas nés grands seigneurs, ne sauraient apprendre à leurs maîtres comment -ils doivent se conduire: de ceux, dis-je, qui veulent que la grandeur -des grands se mesure à leur petitesse, et qui, sous prétexte de modérer -leur libéralité, les rendent mesquins et misérables. Au nombre de ces -gens-là devait être l’ecclésiastique qui vint avec le duc et la duchesse -au-devant de don Quichotte. On échangea mille courtoisies, et finalement -ayant placé notre héros au milieu d’eux, ils prirent place à table. Le -duc offrit le haut bout à son hôte, lequel voulut décliner cet honneur; -mais les instances furent telles, qu’il dut accepter; l’ecclésiastique -s’assit en face du chevalier, le duc et la duchesse à ses côtés. - -Sancho était si stupéfait de l’honneur qu’on faisait à son maître, qu’on -eût dit qu’il tombait des nues; mais en voyant toutes les courtoisies -échangées au sujet de la place d’honneur, il ne put retenir sa langue: -Si Vos Seigneuries, dit-il, veulent bien m’en accorder la permission, je -leur conterai ce qui arriva un jour dans notre village à propos de -places à table. Sancho n’avait pas achevé de prononcer ces mots, que don -Quichotte prit l’alarme, se doutant bien qu’il allait lâcher quelque -sottise; ce que voyant, l’écuyer: Rassurez-vous, monseigneur, lui -dit-il, je ne dirai rien qui ne soit à son point; je n’ai pas encore -oublié la leçon que vous m’avez faite. - -Je ne me souviens de rien, répondit don Quichotte; dis ce que tu -voudras, pourvu que tu le dises vite. - -Or, seigneurs, ce que j’ai à dire est vrai comme il fait jour, reprit -Sancho; aussi bien, mon maître est là qui pourra me démentir. - -Mens tant que tu voudras, répliqua don Quichotte; mais prends garde à -tes paroles. - -Oh! j’y ai pensé et repensé, dit Sancho; je suis certain qu’on ne me -fera aucun reproche. - -En vérité, reprit don Quichotte, Vos Altesses devraient faire chasser -cet imbécile, qui va débiter mille stupidités. - -Ah! pour cela non, dit la duchesse, Sancho ne s’éloignera pas de moi; je -l’aime trop, et je me fie à sa discrétion. - -Que Dieu accorde à Votre Grandeur, madame, mille années de vie, en -récompense de la bonne opinion que vous avez de moi, quoique je ne le -mérite guère, reprit Sancho. Or, voici mon conte: Un gentilhomme de -notre village, fort riche et de bonne famille, car il venait de ceux de -Medina del Campo, convia un jour... ah! j’oubliais de vous dire que ce -gentilhomme avait épousé une certaine Mancia de Quignonez, fille de don -Alonzo de Martagnon, chevalier de l’ordre de Saint-Jacques, lequel se -noya dans l’île de la Herradura, et qui fut cause de cette grande -querelle, dont se mêla monseigneur don Quichotte, querelle où fut blessé -Tomasillo, le garnement, fils de Balbastro, le maréchal... Tout cela -n’est-il pas la vérité, mon cher maître? parlez hardiment, afin que ces -seigneurs ne me prennent pas pour un menteur et un bavard. - -Jusqu’à cette heure, mon ami, vous me paraissez plutôt bavard que -menteur, dit l’ecclésiastique; j’ignore ce que, dans la suite, je -penserai de vous. - -Tu prends tant de gens à témoin, Sancho, et tu cites tant de -circonstances, ajouta don Quichotte, qu’il faut assurément que tu dises -vrai; mais abrége, car, de la manière dont tu procèdes, tu ne finiras -d’aujourd’hui. - -Que Sancho n’abrége pas, s’il veut me faire plaisir, dit la duchesse; -qu’il conte son histoire comme il l’entend; dût-elle durer six jours, il -me trouvera toujours prête à l’écouter. - -Je dis donc, messeigneurs, continua Sancho, que ce gentilhomme dont je -parle, et que je connais comme je connais mes deux mains, car de sa -maison à la mienne il n’y a pas un trait d’arbalète, convia un jour un -paysan pauvre mais honnête... - -Au fait, frère, au fait, interrompit l’ecclésiastique, ou votre histoire -ne finira que dans l’autre monde. - -J’arriverai bien à mi-chemin, s’il plaît à Dieu, répliqua Sancho. Je dis -donc que ce paysan, étant arrivé à la maison de ce gentilhomme, qui -l’avait convié, et qui avait épousé la fille de don Alonzo de -Martagnon... hélas! ce pauvre gentilhomme, que Dieu veuille avoir son -âme, car il est mort depuis ce temps-là et à telles enseignes qu’on dit -qu’il fit une mort d’ange; pour moi, je n’assistai pas à sa dernière -heure, j’étais allé faire la moisson à Tembleque. - -Allons, mon ami, dit l’ecclésiastique, sortez promptement de Tembleque, -et poursuivez votre histoire sans vous occuper à faire les funérailles -de ce gentilhomme, si vous ne voulez faire aussi les nôtres. - -Il arriva donc, continua Sancho, que comme ils étaient prêts à se mettre -à table, je veux dire le gentilhomme et le paysan... Tenez, il me semble -que je les vois, comme si c’était aujourd’hui. - -Le duc et la duchesse s’amusaient fort du dépit que causaient à -l’ecclésiastique les interruptions de Sancho et la longueur de son -conte; quant à don Quichotte, il enrageait dans l’âme, mais ne soufflait -mot. - -Il fallait pourtant se mettre à table, poursuivit Sancho; or, le paysan -attendait toujours que le gentilhomme prît le haut bout, mais celui-ci -insistait pour le faire prendre au paysan, disant qu’il était maître -chez lui; le paysan qui se piquait de civilité et de savoir-vivre, ne -voulait point y consentir; tant enfin que le gentilhomme, le prenant par -les épaules, le fit asseoir par force, en lui disant: Asseyez-vous, -lourdaud; quelque place que je prenne, je tiendrai toujours le haut -bout. Voilà mon conte, mes seigneurs; et en vérité, je crois qu’il -arrive assez à point. - -Aux paroles de son écuyer, don Quichotte rougit, pâlit, se marbra de -tant de couleurs, que son visage semblait moins de chair que de jaspe. -Le duc et la duchesse, qui s’aperçurent du trouble où il était, se -continrent, quoiqu’ils mourussent d’envie de rire; car ils avaient -compris la malice de Sancho. Afin de changer l’entretien, la duchesse -demanda à don Quichotte quelle nouvelle il avait de madame Dulcinée; et -s’il lui avait envoyé depuis peu quelques malandrins, ou quelques -géants; car il ne pouvait manquer d’en avoir vaincu un grand nombre. - -Madame, répondit don Quichotte, mes disgrâces ont eu un commencement, -mais je ne crois pas qu’elles aient jamais de fin. Oui, j’ai vaincu des -géants, défait des malandrins, et je les lui ai envoyés; mais, hélas! où -auraient-ils pu la rencontrer, et à quelles marques la reconnaître, -puisqu’elle est enchantée et changée en la plus horrible créature qu’il -soit possible d’imaginer? - -Je n’y comprends rien, dit Sancho, à moi elle m’a paru la plus belle -personne du monde. Pour l’agilité, du moins, elle en revendrait à un -danseur de corde: par ma foi, elle saute sur une bourrique comme le -ferait un chat! - -Et vous, Sancho, demanda le duc, l’avez-vous vue enchantée? - -Comment! si je l’ai vue! s’écria Sancho; et qui diable a découvert cela -si ce n’est moi? Oui, oui, je l’ai vue, et elle est enchantée tout comme -mon père. - -L’ecclésiastique, entendant parler de géants et d’enchantements, -commença à croire, ce qu’il soupçonnait déjà, que le nouveau venu -pourrait bien être ce don Quichotte de la Manche dont le duc feuilletait -sans cesse l’histoire; se tournant donc vers ce dernier: Monseigneur, -lui dit-il plein de colère, Votre Excellence un jour rendra compte à -Dieu de la conduite de ce pauvre homme: ce don Quichotte ou don -Extravagant, comme il vous plaira de l’appeler, n’est peut-être pas -aussi fou que Votre Grandeur le croit, et lui donne sujet de le -paraître en lâchant la bride à ses impertinences. Et vous, maître fou, -continua-t-il en s’adressant à notre héros, qui vous a fourré dans la -cervelle que vous êtes chevalier errant, et que vous défaites des -malandrins et des géants? Croyez-moi, retournez dans votre maison, afin -de prendre soin de vos enfants et de vos affaires, au lieu de vous -amuser à courir le monde, prêtant à rire à ceux qui vous voient? Où -avez-vous trouvé qu’il y ait jamais eu des chevaliers errants, et encore -moins qu’il y en ait à cette heure? En quel endroit de l’Espagne -avez-vous rencontré des géants, des lutins, des Dulcinées enchantées, et -toute cette foule d’extravagances qu’on vous attribue. - -Don Quichotte écouta ce discours sans donner aucun signe d’impatience: -mais à peine l’ecclésiastique eut-il achevé, que se levant de table, le -visage enflammé de colère, il lui fit une réponse qui à elle seule -mérite un nouveau chapitre. - -CHAPITRE XXXII - -DE LA RÉPONSE QUE FIT DON QUICHOTTE AUX INVECTIVES DE L’ECCLÉSIASTIQUE - -Se levant donc de toute sa hauteur et tremblant des pieds à la tête -comme un épileptique, notre héros s’adressa au censeur imprudent qui -l’avait si peu ménagé, et lui dit d’une voix émue et précipitée: Si le -lieu où je suis, si la présence de mes illustres hôtes et la vénération -que j’ai toujours eue pour votre caractère n’enchaînaient mon bras, je -vous aurais déjà appris à refréner l’indiscrétion de votre langue: mais -puisque les gens de votre robe n’ont d’autres armes que celles dont se -servent les femmes, je ne vous menacerai point des miennes, et je -consens à me servir des vôtres. - -J’avais toujours pensé que d’un homme tel que vous il fallait n’attendre -que de charitables conseils et des remontrances bienveillantes; loin de -là, oubliant toute mesure, vous vous laissez emporter, sans provocation -de ma part et sans me connaître, à m’accabler de propos outrageants. -Quel droit, je vous prie, avez-vous d’en user ainsi? Sachez que les -remontrances bien intentionnées demandent d’autres circonstances et -exigent d’autres formes; mais me reprendre ainsi devant tout le monde, -et avec tant d’aigreur, c’est dépasser les bornes de la correction -fraternelle, correction que vous devriez exercer avec plus de charité -que tout autre; oui, c’est mal, croyez-le bien, quand on n’a aucune -connaissance du péché que l’on censure, de traiter, sans examen, le -pécheur d’imbécile et de fou. - -De quelles extravagances suis-je donc coupable pour que Votre Grâce ose -ainsi me conseiller d’aller prendre soin de ma femme et de mes enfants, -sans savoir si je suis marié ou non? Suffit-il d’avoir su se glisser -dans une maison pour se croire appelé à en gouverner les maîtres? et -parce qu’un homme aura été élevé dans l’étroite enceinte d’un collége, -sans avoir jamais vu plus de monde que n’en contiennent quelques lieues -de pays, s’arrogera-t-il de but en blanc le droit de donner des lois à -la chevalerie, et de juger les chevaliers errants? Ah! c’est, selon -vous, une occupation oiseuse et un temps perdu que le temps employé à -courir le monde, non pour en rechercher les avantages, mais au -contraire, pour en affronter ces périls qui, pour les gens de cœur, -sont le chemin de l’immortalité? Si ce reproche m’était adressé par un -véritable gentilhomme, ce serait un malheur dont je ne pourrais me -consoler; mais qu’un pédant, étranger à la chevalerie, ose me traiter -d’insensé, je m’en soucie comme d’un maravédis. Chevalier je suis, et -chevalier je mourrai, s’il plaît à Dieu. - -Les uns suivent ici-bas le chemin de l’orgueilleuse ambition, d’autres -le chemin de l’adulation basse et servile: ceux-ci préfèrent les routes -ténébreuses de l’hypocrisie; ceux-là, les voies de la piété sincère. -Quant à moi, guidé par mon étoile, j’ai suivi l’étroit sentier de la -chevalerie errante, qui m’apprend à mépriser les richesses et les vains -amusements du monde, pour rechercher l’honneur et la véritable gloire. -J’ai redressé des torts, j’ai vengé des injures, j’ai terrassé des -géants et combattu des fantômes; je suis amoureux, il est vrai, mais en -tant que ma profession de chevalier errant m’oblige à l’être, et non au -delà; je ne suis donc pas un de ces amants qui n’ont que la volupté pour -objet, mais un amant continent et platonique. Mes intentions sont -irréprochables, Dieu merci; car je ne songe qu’à faire du bien à tout le -monde, et à ne jamais donner lieu à personne de se plaindre de moi. Si -un homme guidé par de tels sentiments, et qui s’efforce chaque jour de -les mettre en pratique, mérite d’être traité de fou, c’est à vous de -prononcer, noble duc et noble duchesse; je m’en rapporte à Vos -Grandeurs. - -Par ma foi, dit Sancho, il n’y a rien à ajouter: tenez-vous-en là, mon -cher maître; et puisque ce seigneur n’est pas d’accord qu’il y ait eu -des chevaliers errants, il ne faut pas s’étonner qu’il n’ait su ce qu’il -disait. - -Vous qui parlez, mon ami, dit l’ecclésiastique, ne seriez-vous point ce -Sancho Panza à qui son maître a promis le gouvernement d’une île? - -Oui, c’est moi, répondit Sancho, et qui le mérite autant qu’un autre, si -huppé qu’il puisse être; oui, je suis de ceux dont on peut dire: -Mets-toi avec les bons et tu seras bon; ou bien encore: Appuie-toi -contre un bon arbre, et tu auras une bonne ombre. Je me suis attaché à -un bon maître, et il y a déjà longtemps que je suis en sa compagnie; je -dois donc être un autre lui-même, et si Dieu permet que tous deux nous -vivions, il ne manquera pas de royaumes à donner ni moi d’îles à -gouverner. - -Non assurément, Sancho, dit le duc, et en considération du seigneur don -Quichotte, je vous donne le gouvernement d’une île que j’ai vacante en -ce moment. - -Sancho, dit don Quichotte, va te mettre à genoux devant Son Excellence, -et baise-lui les pieds, pour la remercier de la faveur qu’elle te fait. - -Sancho obéit. Aussitôt l’ecclésiastique, outré de voir l’insuccès de ses -remontrances, se leva de table plein de dépit, et dit au duc: Par -l’habit que je porte, monseigneur, je vous crois, en vérité, aussi -insensé que ces misérables: comment se pourrait-il qu’ils ne soient pas -fous, lorsque les sages applaudissent à leurs folies? Que Votre -Excellence reste avec eux puisqu’elle s’en accommode si bien; quant à -moi, je ne mettrai pas les pieds dans ce château, tant que ces honnêtes -gens y demeureront: au moins ne serai-je pas témoin de leurs -extravagances, et l’on n’aura point à me reprocher d’avoir souffert ce -que je pouvais empêcher. - -Là-dessus il sortit malgré toutes les prières qu’on fit pour le retenir. -Il est vrai que le duc n’insista pas beaucoup, occupé qu’il était à rire -de son impertinente colère. - -Quand il eut repris son sérieux, le duc dit à don Quichotte: Votre -Grâce, seigneur chevalier des Lions, vient de répondre à cet homme d’une -manière si victorieuse et si complète, qu’il ne vous faut point d’autre -satisfaction de son indigne emportement; et puis, après tout, vous le -savez, ce qui vient des religieux ou des femmes ne peut passer pour un -affront. - -Vous dites vrai, monseigneur, répliqua don Quichotte, et la raison en -est que celui qui ne peut être outragé ne peut non plus outrager -personne. Aussi, les enfants, les femmes et les gens d’église, étant -considérés comme des personnes incapables de se défendre, ne peuvent -faire d’affront ni en recevoir. D’ailleurs, Votre Excellence n’ignore -pas qu’il y a une notable différence entre une offense et un affront: on -appelle affront l’offense que soutient celui qui l’a faite; tandis que -l’offense peut venir du premier venu, sans que pour cela il y ait -affront. - -Par exemple, un homme passe dans la rue sans défiance, dix hommes armés -l’attaquent et lui donnent des coups de bâton; il met l’épée à la main, -afin de se venger, mais il en est empêché par le grand nombre de ses -ennemis: on peut dire de cet homme-là qu’il a reçu une offense, mais non -un affront. Autre exemple pour confirmer ce que j’avance: Quelqu’un a le -dos tourné, un homme vient par derrière, le frappe avec un bâton et -s’enfuit; le premier le poursuit et ne peut l’atteindre: dans ce cas, le -frappé a reçu une offense et non pas un affront, qui pour être tel -aurait dû être soutenu. Si celui qui l’a attaqué, même à la dérobée, eût -mis l’épée à la main et fait face à son adversaire, le frappé aurait -tout à la fois reçu une offense et un affront: une offense, parce qu’on -l’aurait pris en trahison; un affront, parce que l’agresseur aurait -soutenu ce qu’il avait fait. De tout ce que je viens de dire, il résulte -que je puis avoir été offensé, mais je n’ai point reçu d’affront, aussi -je ne me crois obligé à aucun ressentiment contre ce brave homme pour -les paroles qu’il m’a adressées: j’aurais voulu seulement qu’il prît -patience, et m’eût laissé le temps de le désabuser de l’erreur où il est -quant à l’existence des chevaliers errants. Par ma foi, si Amadis ou un -de ses descendants l’avait entendu parler de la sorte, il aurait eu, je -crois, sujet de s’en repentir. - -Je jure, moi, ajouta Sancho, qu’ils lui auraient ouvert le ventre comme -à un melon bien mûr: oh! qu’ils n’étaient pas gens à souffrir qu’on leur -marchât sur le pied! Mort de ma vie! si Renaud de Montauban avait -entendu les paroles de ce petit bonhomme, il lui aurait appliqué un tel -horion sur le museau, que le malheureux en serait resté plus de trois -ans muet. Oui, oui, qu’il aille s’y frotter, et il verra comment il se -tirera de leurs mains. - -La duchesse mourait de rire en entendant les folies que débitait Sancho; -elle le trouvait encore plus plaisant et plus fou que son maître, et -tous les témoins de cette scène étaient de son avis. - -Enfin don Quichotte se calma, et l’on acheva de dîner. Comme on -commençait à desservir entrèrent quatre jeunes filles, dont l’une tenait -un bassin d’argent, l’autre une aiguière, la troisième du linge parfumé -et d’une blancheur éclatante; la dernière, enfin, les bras nus jusqu’aux -coudes, portait dans une boîte des savonnettes de senteur. La première -s’approcha de don Quichotte, lui passa sous le menton une serviette, -qu’elle lui attacha derrière le cou, puis, après une profonde révérence, -celle qui tenait le bassin le plaça sous le menton de notre héros, qui, -surpris d’abord d’une cérémonie si extraordinaire, mais croyant sans -doute que c’était l’usage du pays de laver la barbe au lieu des mains, -tendit le cou sans rien dire. Cela fait, la jeune fille versa de l’eau -dans le bassin, et celle qui tenait la savonnette se mit à laver et à -savonner, de toute sa force, non-seulement la barbe de don Quichotte, -mais encore son visage et ses yeux, qu’il fut obligé de fermer. Le duc -et la duchesse, qui n’étaient avertis de rien, se regardaient l’un -l’autre, et attendaient la fin de cette étrange cérémonie. Quand la -demoiselle barbière eut bien savonné notre chevalier, elle feignit de -manquer d’eau et envoya sa compagne en chercher, le priant de patienter -quelque peu. Don Quichotte resta donc dans le plus plaisant état qu’on -puisse imaginer, le cou tendu, les yeux fermés et la barbe pleine de -savon. Celles qui lui jouaient ce mauvais tour tenaient les yeux -baissés, sans oser regarder le duc et la duchesse, qui, de leur côté, -bien qu’ils ne goûtassent guère une plaisanterie qu’ils n’avaient pas -ordonnée, avaient toutes les peines du monde à s’empêcher de rire. Enfin -la demoiselle à l’aiguière revint, et l’on acheva de laver notre héros, -après quoi celle qui tenait le linge l’essuya le plus tranquillement du -monde, et toutes quatre, ayant fait une grande révérence, s’apprêtèrent -à se retirer. Mais le duc, craignant que don Quichotte ne s’aperçût -qu’on se moquait de lui, appela la demoiselle qui portait le bassin: -Venez, lavez-moi, lui dit-il, et surtout que l’eau ne vienne pas à -manquer. La jeune fille, qui était fort avisée, comprit l’intention, et -mettant le bassin au duc comme à don Quichotte, le lava prestement; puis -après une nouvelle révérence, elle et ses compagnes sortirent de la -salle. Sancho, tout ébahi, regardait cette cérémonie: Pardieu! se -disait-il à lui-même, si c’est l’usage de ce pays de laver aussi la -barbe aux écuyers, j’en aurais grand besoin, et je donnerais volontiers -un demi-réal à qui m’y passerait le rasoir. - -Que dites-vous là tout bas, Sancho? demanda la duchesse. - -Je dis, madame, que dans les cours des autres princes, j’ai entendu -raconter qu’une fois la nappe enlevée, on versait de l’eau sur les -mains, mais non du savon sur les barbes. Ainsi il fait bon vivre pour -beaucoup voir, celui qui vit longtemps, dit-on, a de mauvais moments à -passer; mais passer par un savonnage de cette espèce, ce doit être -plutôt un plaisir qu’un ennui. - -Eh bien, ne vous en mettez point en peine, Sancho, dit la duchesse; je -vous ferai savonner par mes filles, et même mettre en lessive, si cela -est nécessaire. - -Quant à présent, je me contente de la barbe, reprit Sancho; pour -l’avenir, Dieu sait ce qui arrivera. - -Maître d’hôtel, dit la duchesse, occupez-vous de ce que demande le bon -Sancho, et que ses ordres soient exécutés de point en point. - -Le maître d’hôtel répondit que le seigneur Sancho serait servi à -souhait, et il l’emmena dîner avec lui. Le duc, la duchesse et don -Quichotte restèrent à table. - -Après s’être entretenus quelque temps, et toujours de chevalerie, la -duchesse pria notre héros de vouloir bien lui faire le portrait de -madame Dulcinée; car, d’après ce que la renommée publie de ses charmes, -ajouta-t-elle, je dois croire qu’elle est la plus belle créature de -l’univers, et même de toute la Manche. - -A ces paroles, don Quichotte poussa un grand soupir: Madame, dit-il, si -m’arrachant de la poitrine ce cœur où est empreint le portrait de ma -Dulcinée, je pouvais le mettre ici sous les yeux de Votre Grandeur, -j’épargnerais à ma langue une tentative surhumaine; car comment puis-je -venir à bout de tracer un fidèle portrait de celle qui eût mérité -d’occuper le pinceau de Parrhasius, de Timanthe et d’Apelle, le burin de -Lysippe, le ciseau de Phidias, l’éloquence de Cicéron et de Démosthène? - -Tout vous est possible, seigneur don Quichotte, reprit le duc; ne fût-ce -qu’une esquisse, un profil, un simple trait, cela suffira, j’en suis -certain, pour exciter la jalousie des plus belles. - -Je le ferais bien volontiers, repartit don Quichotte, si la disgrâce qui -lui est arrivée tout récemment n’avait effacé son image de ma mémoire, -et ne m’invitait plutôt à la pleurer qu’à en faire le portrait. Vos -Grandeurs sauront donc qu’il y a quelque temps je voulus aller lui -baiser les mains, recevoir sa bénédiction et prendre ses ordres pour ma -troisième campagne. Mais, hélas! quelle douleur m’était réservée! Au -lieu d’une princesse, je ne trouvai qu’une vulgaire paysanne: sa beauté -était devenue une horrible laideur, la suave odeur qu’elle a coutume -d’exhaler, une puanteur repoussante; je croyais trouver un ange, je -rencontrai un démon; au lieu d’une personne sage et modeste, une -baladine effrontée; des ténèbres au lieu de la lumière, et enfin, au -lieu de la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, une brute stupide et -dégoûtante. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria le duc, quel monstre assez pervers a pu causer -une pareille affliction à la terre, lui ravir la beauté qui la charmait -et la pudeur qui faisait son plus bel ornement? - -Eh qui pourrait-ce être, repartit don Quichotte, sinon un de ces maudits -enchanteurs qui me persécutent, un de ces perfides nécromants vomis par -l’enfer pour obscurcir la gloire et les exploits des gens de bien, -exalter et glorifier les actions des méchants! Les enchanteurs m’ont -persécuté et me persécuteront sans relâche, jusqu’à ce qu’ils aient -enseveli moi et mes hauts faits dans les profonds abîmes de l’oubli. Les -traîtres savaient bien qu’en faisant cela ils me blessaient dans -l’endroit le plus sensible! En effet, priver un chevalier de sa dame, -c’est le priver de la lumière du soleil, de l’aliment qui le sustente, -de l’appui qui le soutient, de la source féconde où il puise et sa -vigueur et sa force; car, je le répète et le répéterai sans cesse, un -chevalier errant sans dame n’est plus qu’un arbre sans sève, un édifice -bâti sur le sable, un corps privé de sa chaleur vivifiante. - -Vous dites vrai, repartit la duchesse; mais s’il faut en croire -l’histoire imprimée depuis quelque temps du seigneur don Quichotte, -histoire qui a mérité l’approbation générale, Sa Seigneurie n’a jamais -vu madame Dulcinée; ce n’est qu’une dame imaginaire et chimérique, qui -n’existe que dans son imagination, et à qui il attribue les perfections -et les avantages qu’il lui plaît. - -Il y a beaucoup à dire là-dessus, répondit don Quichotte: Dieu seul sait -s’il y a, ou non, une Dulcinée dans ce monde, et si elle est réelle ou -chimérique; ce sont des choses qu’il ne faut pas trop vouloir -approfondir. Quoi qu’il en soit, je la tiens pour une personne qui -réunit toutes les qualités capables de la distinguer des autres femmes: -beauté accomplie, fierté sans orgueil, passion pleine de pudeur, modeste -enjouement, parfaite courtoisie, enfin, illustre origine; car la beauté -resplendit encore avec plus d’éclat chez une personne issue d’un noble -sang, que chez celle d’une humble naissance. - -Cela est incontestable, dit le duc; mais Votre Seigneurie me permettra -de lui soumettre un doute qu’a fait naître en mon esprit l’histoire que -j’ai lue de ses prouesses, et ce doute le voici: Tout en demeurant -d’accord qu’il existe une Dulcinée au Toboso, ou hors du Toboso, et -qu’elle est belle au degré de beauté que le prétend Votre Grâce, il me -semble qu’en fait de noble origine elle ne saurait entrer en comparaison -avec les Oriane, les Madasine, les Genièvre, enfin avec ces grandes -dames dont sont pleines les histoires que vous connaissez. - -A cela, monseigneur, je répondrai que Dulcinée est fille de ses œuvres, -que le mérite rachète la naissance, enfin qu’il vaut mieux être -distingué par sa vertu que par ses aïeux. D’ailleurs, Dulcinée possède -des qualités suffisantes pour devenir un jour reine avec sceptre et -couronne, puisqu’une femme belle et vertueuse peut prétendre à tout, -puisqu’on ne doit point limiter l’espérance là où le mérite est sans -bornes, et qu’il renferme en lui, sinon formellement, du moins -virtuellement, les plus hautes destinées. - -Il faut l’avouer, seigneur don Quichotte, reprit la duchesse, Votre -Grâce possède le grand art de la persuasion; aussi je me range à son -avis, et désormais je soutiendrai partout qu’il existe une Dulcinée du -Toboso, qu’elle est parfaitement belle, de race illustre, et digne, en -un mot, des vœux et des soins du chevalier des Lions, du grand don -Quichotte de la Manche. Toutefois, il me reste un scrupule, et je ne -puis m’empêcher d’en vouloir un peu à votre écuyer: c’est qu’il est -raconté dans l’histoire que lorsqu’il porta de votre part une lettre à -madame Dulcinée, il la trouva criblant de l’avoine, ce qui, à vrai dire, -pourrait faire douter quelque peu de sa noble origine. - -Madame, répondit don Quichotte, Votre Grandeur saura que les aventures -qui m’arrivent, au moins pour la plupart, sont extraordinaires et ne -ressemblent en rien à celles des autres chevaliers errants, soit que -cela provienne de la volonté du destin, soit plutôt de la malice et de -la jalousie des enchanteurs. Or, il est incontestable que parmi les plus -fameux chevaliers, certains furent doués de vertus secrètes, celui-ci de -ne pouvoir être enchanté, celui-là d’avoir la chair impénétrable, -Roland, par exemple, l’un des douze pairs de France, qui, disait-on, ne -pouvait être blessé que sous la plante du pied gauche, et seulement par -une épingle; aussi à Roncevaux, quand Bernard de Carpio reconnut qu’il -ne pouvait lui ôter la vie avec son épée, fut-il obligé de l’étouffer -entre ses bras, comme Hercule avait fait d’Antée, ce féroce géant qu’on -disait fils de la Terre. Eh bien, de tout ceci, je conclus qu’il serait -fort possible que je possédasse une de ces vertus, non point celle de -n’être jamais blessé, car l’expérience m’a prouvé bien des fois que je -suis formé de chairs tendres et nullement impénétrables; mais, par -exemple, celle de ne pouvoir être enchanté, puisque je me suis vu pieds -et poings liés, enfermé dans une cage, où le monde entier n’aurait pas -été capable de me retenir, si ce n’est à force d’enchantements; et comme -peu de temps après je m’en tirai moi-même, je crois qu’il n’y a -désormais rien au monde qui ait le pouvoir de m’arrêter. Aussi, mes -ennemis, voyant qu’ils ne peuvent rien contre moi, s’en prennent à ce -que j’aime le plus, et veulent me faire perdre la vie en attaquant celle -de Dulcinée, par qui je vis et je respire. - -Quand mon écuyer lui porta mon message, ils la lui montrèrent -malicieusement sous la figure d’une paysanne, occupée à un exercice -indigne d’elle, celui de cribler du froment; au reste, j’ai soutenu que -ce froment n’était ni de l’orge, ni du blé, mais des grains de perles -orientales. Et pour preuve, je dirai à Vos Grandeurs qu’étant allé -dernièrement au Toboso, il me fut impossible de trouver seulement le -palais de Dulcinée. Quelques jours après, tandis que mon écuyer la -voyait sous sa figure véritable, qui est la plus belle du monde, elle me -sembla, à moi, une femme grossière, sotte en ses discours, bien -qu’ordinairement elle soit l’esprit, la modestie et la discrétion mêmes. -Or donc, puisque je ne suis point enchanté, ni ne puis l’être, ainsi que -je viens de le prouver, c’est elle qui est enchantée, transformée, -métamorphosée, c’est sur elle que mes ennemis se sont vengés de moi; et -comme c’est parce qu’elle m’appartient qu’elle souffre tout cela, je -veux renoncer à tous plaisirs, et me consumer en regrets et en larmes, -jusqu’à ce que je l’aie rétablie en son premier état. Que Sancho ait vu -Dulcinée criblant de l’avoine, cela ne prouve rien, car si les -enchanteurs l’ont changée pour moi, ils ont bien pu la changer pour lui. -Dulcinée est de bonne naissance, d’une des plus nobles races de tout le -Toboso, où il en existe beaucoup et de très-anciennes, et je ne doute -pas qu’un jour le lieu qui l’a vue naître ne devienne célèbre au même -titre que Troie pour son Hélène, et l’Espagne à cause de sa Cava[102], -mais avec bien plus de raison, et avec un nom incomparablement plus -glorieux. - - [102] Nom donné par les Arabes à la fille du comte Julien. - -Je dirai aussi à Vos Excellences que Sancho Panza est le plus plaisant -écuyer qui ait jamais servi chevalier errant. Il a souvent des naïvetés -telles, qu’on se demande s’il est simple ou malin; quelquefois ses -malices le font croire un rusé drôle, et, tout d’un coup, à ses -simplicités on le prendrait pour un lourdaud. Il doute de tout, et il -croit tout; puis au moment où l’on craint qu’il ne s’embarrasse et ne se -perde dans ses raisonnements, il s’en tire avec une adresse qu’on était -loin d’attendre de lui. Enfin, tel qu’il est, je ne le troquerais pas -contre un autre écuyer, m’offrît-on en retour une ville entière. Je me -demande s’il est bon de l’envoyer dans le gouvernement que lui a donné -Votre Grandeur; pourtant il me semble doué d’une capacité suffisante -pour être gouverneur, et je m’imagine qu’en lui aiguisant un peu -l’esprit, il fera tout comme un autre, d’autant plus que nous voyons -chaque jour qu’il ne faut pas tant d’habileté ni tant de science pour -cela, car nous avons quantité de gouverneurs qui savent à peine lire, et -qui gouvernent comme des aigles[103]. L’important est d’avoir -l’intention droite; pour le reste on ne manque pas de conseillers qui -conduisent les affaires. Le seul avis que je donnerai à Sancho, c’est de -défendre ses droits, mais sans accabler ses sujets. Je tiens en réserve -dans mon esprit d’autres recommandations, qui plus tard lui seront -utiles dans le gouvernement de son île. - - [103] Le texte porte _Girifaltes_, Gerfauts, oiseaux de proie. - -L’entretien en était là quand il se fit un grand bruit, et Sancho tout -effaré se précipita dans la salle, un torchon au cou pour bavette, et -suivi d’une bande de marmitons et autres vauriens de même espèce; l’un -d’eux portait un chaudron plein d’une eau si sale, qu’il était aisé de -reconnaître que c’était de l’eau de vaisselle. Il poursuivait Sancho, -pour la lui mettre sous le menton, pendant qu’un autre faisait tous ses -efforts pour lui laver le visage. - -Qu’est-ce donc, mes amis? dit la duchesse; que voulez-vous à ce brave -homme? eh quoi! oubliez-vous qu’il est gouverneur? - -Madame, ce seigneur ne veut point se laisser laver, comme c’est l’usage, -et comme monseigneur le duc et son maître l’ont été, répondit le -marmiton. - -Si fait, si fait, je le veux bien, repartit Sancho étouffant de colère, -mais je voudrais que ce fût avec du linge plus blanc, de l’eau plus -claire, et par des mains moins crasseuses; il n’y a pas si grande -différence entre mon maître et moi, pour qu’on me donne cette lessive du -diable, lorsque, lui, on l’a lavé avec de l’eau de rose: les usages -valent d’autant mieux qu’ils ne fâchent personne, mais le lavage qu’on -me propose serait tout au plus bon pour les pourceaux. J’ai la barbe -propre, et je n’ai pas besoin d’être rafraîchi; quiconque viendra m’en -toucher un seul poil, recevra une si bonne taloche, que mon poing lui -restera enfoncé dans la mâchoire; ces cirimonies et ces savonnages -ressemblent par trop à de méchantes farces. - -En voyant la colère de Sancho, la duchesse étouffait de rire; quant à -don Quichotte, il n’était guère satisfait de voir son écuyer mystifié de -la sorte et entouré de cette impertinente canaille. Après s’être -profondément incliné comme pour demander à Leurs Excellences la -permission de parler, il dit aux marmitons d’une voix grave: Holà, -seigneurs, holà; retirez-vous, et laissez-nous en paix; mon écuyer est -aussi propre que le premier venu, et ces écuelles ne sont pas faites -pour son visage; encore une fois, retirez-vous, car ni lui ni moi -n’entendons raillerie. - -Non, non, qu’ils s’approchent, ajouta Sancho et nous verrons beau jeu! -Maintenant, qu’on apporte un peigne si l’on veut, et qu’on me râcle la -barbe; si l’on y trouve quelque chose qui offense la propreté, je -consens qu’on me l’arrache poil à poil. - -Sancho a raison, dit la duchesse, et toujours il aura raison; il est -fort propre, et n’a pas besoin d’être lavé; puisque nos usages lui -déplaisent, il est le maître de s’en dispenser. Vous, ministres de la -propreté, je vous trouve bien impertinents d’apporter pour la barbe d’un -tel personnage, au lieu d’aiguières d’or et de serviettes de fin lin de -Hollande, des écuelles de bois et des torchons de toile d’emballage. En -vérité, ces drôles ne sauraient s’empêcher de montrer en toute occasion -leur aversion pour les écuyers des chevaliers errants. - -Les marmitons et le maître d’hôtel, qui était avec eux, crurent que la -duchesse parlait sérieusement; ils se hâtèrent d’ôter le torchon qu’ils -avaient mis au cou du pauvre diable, et disparurent. - -Dès qu’il se vit libre, Sancho alla s’agenouiller devant la duchesse, et -lui dit: Des grandes dames on attend les grandes faveurs, et je ne -saurais mieux reconnaître celle dont vient de me gratifier Votre -Grandeur, qu’en me faisant armer chevalier errant pour demeurer toute ma -vie à son très-humble service: je suis laboureur, je m’appelle Sancho -Panza, j’ai une femme et des enfants, et je fais le métier d’écuyer; si -dans quelqu’une de ces choses il m’est possible de vous servir, je -mettrai moins de temps à vous obéir que Votre Seigneurie à commander. - -On voit bien, Sancho, répondit la duchesse, que vous avez puisé à la -source même de la courtoisie, et que vous avez été élevé dans le giron -du seigneur don Quichotte, qui est la crème de la politesse et la fleur -des cérémonies ou cirimonies, comme vous dites. Heureux siècle qui -possède un tel chevalier et un tel écuyer: l’un l’honneur de la -chevalerie errante, l’autre le type de la fidélité écuyéresque! -Levez-vous, ami Sancho, et reposez-vous-en sur moi; pour reconnaître -votre courtoisie, je ferai en sorte que mon seigneur le duc vous donne -promptement le gouvernement qu’il vous a promis. - -La conversation finie, don Quichotte alla faire la sieste, et la -duchesse dit à Sancho que s’il n’avait pas besoin de repos, il pouvait -venir passer l’après-dînée avec elle et ses femmes dans une salle bien -fraîche. Sancho répondit que quoiqu’il eût l’habitude de dormir en été -ses quatre ou cinq heures après le repas, il s’en priverait pour obéir à -ses commandements. - -De son côté, le duc sortit pour donner de nouveaux ordres aux gens de sa -maison sur la manière de traiter don Quichotte sans s’éloigner en aucun -point du cérémonial avec lequel étaient reçus les anciens chevaliers -errants. - -CHAPITRE XXXIII - -DE LA CONVERSATION QUI EUT LIEU ENTRE LA DUCHESSE ET SANCHO PANZA, -CONVERSATION DIGNE D’ÊTRE LUE AVEC ATTENTION - -L’histoire rapporte que Sancho ne dormit point cette sieste, et qu’au -contraire, pour tenir sa parole, il alla trouver la duchesse, laquelle, -dès qu’il fut entré, lui offrit un tabouret à ses côtés, ce que Sancho -refusa en homme qui savait vivre; mais la duchesse l’engagea à s’asseoir -comme gouverneur, et à parler comme écuyer, puisqu’à ces deux titres il -méritait le siége même du cid Ruy Dias le Campeador. Sancho s’inclina et -s’assit. Aussitôt toutes les femmes de la duchesse l’environnèrent en -silence, attentives à ce qu’il allait dire; mais ce fut leur maîtresse -elle-même qui ouvrit l’entretien. - -A présent que nous sommes seuls, dit la duchesse, je voudrais bien que -le seigneur gouverneur éclaircît certains doutes que j’ai conçus en -lisant l’histoire du grand don Quichotte de la Manche. Le premier de ces -doutes est celui-ci: puisque Sancho n’a jamais vu Dulcinée, je veux dire -madame Dulcinée du Toboso, et qu’il ne lui porta point la lettre que le -seigneur don Quichotte lui écrivait de la Sierra Morena, ayant oublié de -prendre le livre de poche qui la renfermait, comment a-t-il été assez -hardi pour inventer une réponse, et prétendre qu’il avait trouvé cette -dame criblant de l’avoine? ce qui est non-seulement un mensonge capable -de porter atteinte à la considération de la sans pareille Dulcinée, mais -de plus une imposture indigne d’un fidèle écuyer. - -Avant de répondre, Sancho se leva, puis le corps penché, le doigt sur -les lèvres, il s’en alla sur la pointe du pied soulever, l’une après -l’autre, toutes les tapisseries, après quoi il vint se rasseoir près de -la duchesse: A présent, dit-il, que je suis bien certain de n’être pas -écouté, me voilà prêt, madame, à répondre à tout ce qu’il vous plaira de -me demander. Et d’abord je vous dirai que je tiens monseigneur don -Quichotte pour un fou achevé, bien que parfois, à mon avis et à celui de -tous ceux qui l’entendent, il ne laisse pas de dire des choses si -bonnes, si bonnes, que le diable lui-même, avec toute sa science, n’en -inventerait pas de meilleures. Cela pourtant n’empêche pas que je ne -croie qu’il a le cerveau fêlé, aussi je lui en baille à garder de toutes -les façons: telle entre autres la réponse à la lettre de la Sierra -Morena, et cette affaire de l’autre jour, qui n’est pas encore écrite -dans l’histoire, je veux dire l’enchantement de madame Dulcinée que je -lui ai fait accroire, quoique cette dame ne soit pas plus enchantée que -mon grison. - -La duchesse pria Sancho de lui raconter cet enchantement, ce qu’il fit -sans oublier la moindre circonstance, et au grand contentement de celles -qui l’écoutaient. De ce que vient de conter le seigneur Sancho, reprit -alors la duchesse, il se forme un terrible scrupule dans mon esprit, et -il me semble entendre murmurer à mes oreilles une voix qui me dit: Mais -s’il est vrai que don Quichotte de la Manche soit fou sans ressources, -pourquoi Sancho Panza, son écuyer, qui le connaît pour tel, -continue-t-il à le servir sur l’espoir de ses vaines promesses? il faut -donc que l’écuyer soit encore plus fou que le maître. S’il en est ainsi, -un jour tu rendras compte à Dieu, madame la duchesse, d’avoir donné à ce -Sancho Panza une île à gouverner; car celui qui ne sait pas se gouverner -lui-même saura encore moins gouverner les autres. - -Pardieu, madame la duchesse, cette voix n’a point tort, repartit Sancho, -et vous pouvez bien lui répondre de ma part que je reconnais qu’elle dit -vrai. Si j’avais deux onces de bon sens, depuis longtemps j’aurais -quitté mon maître; mais il n’y a pas moyen de s’en dédire: là où est -attachée la chèvre, il faut qu’elle broute. Et puis, voyez-vous, nous -sommes du même village; c’est un bon maître, je l’aime, j’ai mangé son -pain, il m’a donné ses ânons, et par-dessus tout je suis fidèle; il est -donc impossible que rien puisse nous séparer, si ce n’est quand la pelle -et la pioche nous feront à chacun notre lit. Maintenant si Votre -Grandeur ne trouve pas bon qu’on me donne le gouvernement que -monseigneur m’a promis, eh bien, ce sera un gouvernement de moins; je ne -l’avais pas en sortant du ventre de ma mère, et s’il m’échappe, -peut-être sera-ce tant mieux pour mon salut. Tout sot que je suis, -croyez que j’ai bien compris le proverbe qui dit: Pour son malheur, des -ailes sont venues à la fourmi. Il se pourrait donc que Sancho écuyer -montât plus vite en paradis que Sancho gouverneur. Personne, d’ailleurs, -n’a l’estomac deux fois plus grand que celui d’un autre, et tant grand -qu’il soit on peut le remplir de paille ou de foin. Les petits oiseaux -dans les champs ont Dieu pour pourvoyeur, et quatre vares de gros drap -de Cuença tiennent plus chaud que quatre vares de drap fin de Ségovie. -Quand il nous faut déguerpir de ce monde, le chemin est le même pour le -prince et pour le laboureur; et le corps du pape ne tient pas plus -d’espace que celui du sacristain, car en entrant dans la fosse, nous -nous pressons, nous nous serrons, ou plutôt l’on nous fait serrer et -presser malgré nous; après quoi il n’y a plus qu’à tirer le rideau, la -farce est jouée, et au revoir, bonsoir. - -Je vous déclare donc, madame la duchesse, que si Votre Seigneurie ne -veut pas me donner une île, parce qu’elle me croit un imbécile, je serai -assez sage pour m’en passer. J’ai ouï dire, il y a longtemps, que -derrière la croix se tient le diable, et que tout ce qui reluit n’est -pas or; j’ai ouï dire aussi qu’on tira le laboureur Vamba[104] de sa -chaumière pour le faire roi d’Espagne, et le roi Rodrigue[105] d’entre -les fêtes et les divertissements, pour le faire manger aux couleuvres, -si toutefois la romance ne ment point. - - [104] Vamba régna sur l’Espagne gothique au septième siècle. - - [105] Rodrigue, dernier roi des Goths, périt à la bataille de - Guadalète en 712. - -Et pourquoi mentirait-elle, dit la señora Rodriguez, en racontant que ce -roi fut mis dans une fosse pleine de crapauds, de serpents et de -lézards; et que deux jours après on l’entendait s’écrier d’une voix -dolente: Ils me déchirent, ils me dévorent par où j’ai le plus péché; -puisque cela est certain, ce seigneur a donc grande raison de dire qu’il -vaut mieux être laboureur que roi, si l’on doit être mangé par ces -affreuses bêtes. - -La duchesse ne put s’empêcher de sourire de la simplicité de la señora -Rodriguez, et elle dit à Sancho: Sancho, vous savez que lorsqu’un -chevalier a donné sa parole, il la tient, dût-il lui en coûter la vie; -or, quoique monseigneur le duc ne coure pas les aventures, il n’en est -pas moins chevalier, et il tiendra sa promesse en dépit de la médisance -et de l’envie. Prenez donc courage; vous vous verrez bientôt en -possession de votre gouvernement, logé comme un prince, et couvert de -velours et de brocart. Tout ce que je vous recommande, c’est de vous -appliquer à bien gouverner vos sujets, qui tous sont loyaux et bien nés. - -Pour ce qui est de bien gouverner, répondit Sancho, on peut s’en -rapporter à moi, car je suis charitable de ma nature et j’ai compassion -des pauvres. A qui pétrit le pain, ne vole pas le levain. Oh! par mon -saint patron, on ne me trichera pas avec de faux dés! Je n’ai pas, Dieu -merci, besoin qu’on me chasse les mouches de devant les yeux, je les -chasse bien moi-même, et je sais fort bien où le soulier me blesse: je -veux dire que les bons auront avec moi la main et la porte ouvertes, -mais les méchants ni pieds ni accès. Il me semble qu’en fait de -gouvernement le tout est de commencer, et il se pourrait qu’au bout de -quinze jours j’entende mieux le gouvernement que le labourage où j’ai -été élevé depuis mon enfance. - -Vous avez raison, Sancho, repartit la duchesse; les hommes ne naissent -pas tous avec la science infuse, et c’est avec des hommes qu’on fait des -évêques, non avec des pierres. Mais pour en revenir à l’enchantement de -madame Dulcinée, je pense, et je tiens même pour certain que l’intention -qu’eut Sancho de mystifier son maître en lui faisant accroire que sa -dame était enchantée, fut plutôt une malice des enchanteurs: car je sais -de bonne part que la paysanne qui sauta sur l’âne était la véritable -Dulcinée, et qu’ainsi le bon Sancho, en pensant être le trompeur, fut le -premier trompé. Cela est positif et clair comme le jour; car sachez-le, -seigneur Sancho, nous avons en ce pays des enchanteurs qui nous -apprennent tout ce qui se passe dans le monde. Soyez donc certain que -cette paysanne si leste était Dulcinée elle-même, Dulcinée enchantée -tout comme la mère qui l’a mise au monde, et que lorsque nous y -penserons le moins, nous la verrons tout à coup reparaître sous sa -propre figure: alors, je le pense, vous reviendrez de votre erreur. - -Cela est très-possible, Madame, répondit Sancho, et je commence à croire -vrai ce que mon maître raconte de cette caverne de Montesinos, dans -laquelle il prétend avoir trouvé madame Dulcinée sous le même costume où -je lui dis l’avoir vue quand il me prit fantaisie de l’enchanter; oui, -je reconnais bien maintenant que je fus le premier trompé, comme le dit -Votre Grandeur. En effet, comment supposer que j’ai eu assez d’esprit -pour fabriquer sur-le-champ tant de subtilités, et puis mon maître n’est -pas encore assez fou pour se laisser tromper si aisément. N’allez pas -croire pour cela, Madame, que j’ai de mauvaises intentions; un lourdaud -comme moi n’est pas obligé de connaître la malice de ces scélérats -d’enchanteurs: quand j’ai imaginé cela, c’était pour échapper aux -reproches de mon maître, et non dans l’intention de l’offenser; si -l’affaire a tourné autrement, Dieu sait à qui il faut s’en prendre, et -il châtiera les coupables. - -Très-bien, repartit la duchesse. Mais, dites-moi, Sancho, qu’est-ce que -cette aventure de la caverne de Montesinos? j’ai grande envie de la -connaître. - -Alors Sancho se mit à raconter ce que nous avons dit de cette aventure. - -Quand il eut terminé: De tout ceci, dit la duchesse, on peut conclure -que puisque le grand don Quichotte affirme avoir vu la même paysanne qui -se montra à Sancho à la sortie du Toboso, il est clair que cette -paysanne était Dulcinée; ainsi donc, vous le voyez, nos enchanteurs sont -très-dignes de foi. - -Après tout, reprit Sancho, si madame Dulcinée est enchantée, tant pis -pour elle: je ne me soucie guère de m’attirer pour cela des querelles -avec les ennemis de mon maître, qui sont très-nombreux et très-méchants. -La vérité est que celle que j’ai vue était une paysanne; si cette -paysanne était Dulcinée ou non, cela ne me regarde pas, et l’on ne doit -pas m’en rendre responsable. Autrement on viendrait dire à tout bout de -champ: Sancho a dit ceci, Sancho a fait cela, Sancho par-ci, Sancho -par-là, comme si Sancho était un je ne sais qui, et non ce même Sancho -qu’on voit tout de son long dans une histoire, à ce que m’a dit Samson -Carrasco, lequel n’est rien moins que bachelier; et, comme on sait, ces -gens-là ne mentent jamais, si ce n’est quand il leur en prend fantaisie, -ou lorsqu’ils y trouvent leur profit. Qu’on ne s’en prenne donc pas à -moi, je m’en lave les mains, vienne seulement le gouvernement, et vous -verrez merveilles; car qui a été bon écuyer, sera encore meilleur -gouverneur. - -En vérité, Sancho, s’écria la duchesse, vous êtes un homme incomparable: -tout ce que vous venez de dire équivaut à autant de sentences, et, comme -dit notre proverbe espagnol: souvent mauvaise cape couvre un bon buveur. - -Madame, répondit Sancho, je jure que de ma vie je n’ai bu par vice; par -soif, c’est possible; car je n’ai pas la moindre hypocrisie. Je bois -quand l’envie m’en prend, ou, si je ne l’ai pas, quand on m’offre à -boire; alors j’accepte pour ne pas paraître mal élevé; à une santé -portée par un ami, y a-t-il cœur de pierre qui ne soit prêt à faire -raison? mais quoique je mette mes chausses, je ne les salis pas, je veux -dire que si je bois, je ne m’enivre pas. Au reste, c’est un reproche -qu’on ne fera guère aux écuyers des chevaliers errants; car les pauvres -diables sont toujours par les forêts, par les déserts et par les -montagnes, buvant de l’eau plus qu’ils ne veulent: et souvent ils -donneraient un œil de la tête pour se procurer une seule goutte de vin. - -Je vous crois, répondit la duchesse. Mais il se fait tard, allez -reposer, mon ami; une autre fois nous en dirons davantage. En attendant, -je veillerai à ce que l’on vous donne ce gouvernement. - -Sancho baisa les mains de la duchesse, et après l’avoir remerciée, il la -supplia qu’on eût soin de son grison, parce que c’était ce qu’il avait -de plus cher au monde. - -Qu’est-ce que ce grison? demanda la duchesse. - -Madame, c’est mon âne, répondit Sancho; pour ne pas l’appeler ainsi, -j’ai coutume de l’appeler le grison. En entrant dans ce château, j’avais -voulu le recommander à cette bonne dame que voilà, mais elle s’est -fâchée tout rouge comme si je l’eusse appelée vieille ou laide, et -pourtant l’affaire des duègnes devrait être plutôt, ce me semble, de -panser les ânes que de parader dans un salon. Dieu de Dieu, quelle dent -avait contre elles un hidalgo de mon village! - -C’était sans doute quelque manant comme vous, interrompit la señora -Rodriguez, car s’il eût été un véritable gentilhomme, il les aurait -honorées et respectées. - -Assez, assez, señora Rodriguez, dit la duchesse; et vous, Sancho, ne -vous mettez point en peine de votre grison; je m’en charge. Puisque -c’est le bien-aimé de mon ami, je veux le porter dans mon cœur. - -Il suffit qu’il soit à l’écurie, madame, repartit Sancho; quant à être -porté dans le cœur de Votre Excellence, ni lui ni moi ne sommes dignes -de nous y voir un seul instant. - -Eh bien, Sancho, dit la duchesse, emmenez le grison à votre -gouvernement; vous l’y traiterez à votre fantaisie, et il n’aura plus -qu’à s’engraisser. - -Madame, répondit Sancho, j’ai vu plus d’un âne entrer dans un -gouvernement: il n’y aurait donc rien d’étonnant que j’y emmenasse le -mien. - -Tous ces propos égayèrent la duchesse, et après avoir de nouveau dit à -Sancho d’aller se reposer, elle fut raconter au duc la conversation qui -venait d’avoir lieu. Ils concertèrent ensemble quelque bonne -mystification dans le genre chevaleresque, afin que le chevalier et son -écuyer ne s’aperçussent en aucune manière de la tromperie, et -assurément ce sont là les plus mémorables aventures que contienne cette -grande histoire. - -CHAPITRE XXXIV - -DES MOYENS QU’ON TROUVA POUR DÉSENCHANTER DULCINÉE - -Le duc et la duchesse prenaient un plaisir extrême à la conversation de -leurs hôtes, et ne songeaient qu’à trouver de nouveaux moyens de s’en -divertir: ce qui étonnait le plus la duchesse, c’était la simplicité de -Sancho, qui en était venu à croire véritable l’enchantement de Dulcinée, -dont lui seul était l’inventeur. L’aventure de la caverne de Montesinos, -qu’avait racontée notre écuyer, leur parut excellente pour la -mystification qu’ils se proposaient. - -Six jours ayant été employés à se préparer et à instruire leurs gens, -ils engagèrent le chevalier à une chasse au sanglier, qui devait avoir -lieu avec un équipage complet de piqueurs et de chiens. Avant le départ, -on présenta à notre héros et à son écuyer un habit de chasse en beau -drap vert: don Quichotte refusa, disant qu’il aurait bientôt à reprendre -le rude métier des armes et qu’il ne pouvait se charger d’un -porte-manteau; tout au contraire, Sancho accepta, se promettant bien -d’en faire argent à la plus prochaine occasion. - -Les préparatifs achevés, don Quichotte s’arma de toutes pièces; Sancho -endossa son nouvel habit, et monté sur son grison, de préférence à un -bon cheval qu’on lui offrait, il se mêla à la troupe des chasseurs. La -duchesse ne tarda pas à paraître élégamment parée, et don Quichotte, -avec courtoisie, prit la bride de son palefroi, malgré les efforts que -faisait le duc pour s’y opposer. On se dirigea vers un bois planté entre -deux grandes collines. Quand les postes furent pris, les sentiers -occupés, on découpla les chiens, on partagea les chasseurs en plusieurs -troupes, et la chasse commença avec de si grands cris qu’il devenait -impossible de s’entendre. Bientôt la duchesse descendit de son palefroi, -et l’épieu à la main, vint s’embusquer dans un endroit par lequel le -sanglier avait coutume de passer; le duc et don Quichotte mirent aussi -pied à terre, et se placèrent à ses côtés; Sancho, lui, sans descendre -du grison, se tint coi derrière tout le monde, de crainte de quelque -mésaventure. - -A peine étaient-ils rangés en haie avec une partie de leurs gens, qu’ils -virent accourir un énorme sanglier, harcelé par les chiens et poursuivi -par les chasseurs. Don Quichotte, embrassant fortement son écu, marche à -la rencontre de la bête l’épée à la main; le duc y court aussi avec son -épieu, et la duchesse les aurait devancés si son époux ne l’en eût -empêchée. Quant à Sancho, dès qu’il aperçut le terrible animal, avec ses -longues défenses, la gueule blanchie d’écume et les yeux étincelants, il -lâcha son grison et courut à toutes jambes vers un chêne, pour y -grimper; mais au moment où il atteignait le milieu, prêt à saisir une -branche pour gagner la cime, cette branche se rompit, et en tombant il -resta accroché à un tronçon. Lorsque, suspendu de la sorte, il sentit -son habit se déchirer, l’idée lui vint que le sanglier pourrait bien le -déchirer lui-même, et il se mit à pousser de tels cris, que tous ceux -qui l’entendaient le crurent sous la dent de quelque bête sauvage. -Finalement le sanglier resta sur la place, percé de mille coups -d’épieux, et don Quichotte, accourant aux cris de Sancho, le trouva -suspendu, la tête en bas, le fidèle grison auprès de lui. Il dégagea son -écuyer. Devenu libre, Sancho examina la déchirure faite à son habit de -chasse, accident dont il eut un déplaisir mortel, car dans cet habit il -s’imaginait posséder une métairie. - -Enfin, l’énorme sanglier, couvert de branches de romarin et de myrte, -fut placé par les chasseurs sur le dos d’un mulet et conduit en triomphe -vers une tente dressée au milieu du bois, où l’on trouva la table -chargée d’un abondant repas, tout à fait digne de la munificence du -personnage qui l’offrait à ses convives. - -Montrant à la duchesse les plaies de son habit tout déchiré: Si cette -chasse, dit Sancho, eût été aux lièvres et aux petits oiseaux, mon -pourpoint ne serait pas en cet état. Je ne sais vraiment quel plaisir on -peut trouver à poursuivre un animal qui, s’il vous attrape avec ses -crochets, peut envoyer son homme dans l’autre monde. Cela me rappelle -cette vieille romance dont le refrain était: Sois-tu mangé des ours -comme fut Favila! - -Ce Favila était un roi goth qui, dans une chasse aux bêtes sauvages, fut -dévoré par un ours, dit don Quichotte[106]. - - [106] Ce Favila n’était pas un roi goth; il succéda à Pélage dans les - Asturies. - -Justement, repartit Sancho: aussi comment les princes et les rois -s’exposent-ils à se faire dévorer, pour le seul plaisir de tuer un -pauvre animal qui ne leur a fait aucun tort? - -Vous vous trompez, Sancho, dit le duc: la chasse aux bêtes sauvages est -le divertissement favori des rois et des princes; cette chasse est une -image de la guerre: on y emploie des ruses et des stratagèmes pour -vaincre l’ennemi; on s’y accoutume à endurer le froid et le chaud; on -oublie le sommeil et l’oisiveté; en un mot, c’est un exercice qu’on -prend sans nuire à personne, et un plaisir qu’on partage avec beaucoup -de gens. Cette chasse, d’ailleurs, n’est pas permise à tout le monde, -non plus que celle du haut vol, car toutes deux n’appartiennent qu’aux -princes et aux grands seigneurs. Ainsi donc, Sancho, quand vous serez -gouverneur, adonnez-vous à la chasse, et vous verrez que vous vous en -trouverez bien. - -Oh! pour cela, non, répondit Sancho; à bon gouverneur, comme à bonne -ménagère, jambe rompue et à la maison; il ferait beau voir des gens -pressés, bien fatigués du chemin, venir demander le gouverneur, et qu’il -fût au bois à se divertir! les affaires marcheraient d’une singulière -façon! Par ma foi, seigneur, m’est avis que la chasse est plutôt le fait -des fainéants que des gouverneurs; moi, je me contente de jouer à _la -triomphe_ les quatre jours de Pâques[107], et aux boules les dimanches -et fêtes. Toutes ces chasses ne vont guère à mon humeur et ne -s’accordent pas avec ma conscience. - - [107] Noël, l’Épiphanie, Pâques et la Pentecôte. - -Qu’il en soit ce qu’il plaira à Dieu, Sancho, repartit le duc: mais -entre le dire et le faire il y a bien du chemin. - -Qu’il y ait le chemin qu’on voudra, repartit Sancho, au bon payeur il ne -coûte rien de donner des gages; et mieux vaut celui que Dieu assiste, -que celui qui se lève de grand matin; c’est le ventre qui fait mouvoir -les pieds, et non les pieds le ventre: je veux dire que si Dieu -m’assiste, et si je vais droit mon chemin, avec bonne intention, je -gouvernerai mieux qu’un aigle royal. Si l’on ne m’en croit pas, qu’on me -mette le doigt dans la bouche, et on verra si je serre bien. - -Maudit sois-tu de Dieu et des saints, détestable Sancho, s’écria don -Quichotte; quand donc t’entendrai-je parler un quart d’heure sans cette -avalanche de proverbes? Que Vos Grâces laissent là cet imbécile, mes -seigneurs, si vous ne voulez être accablés de si ridicules -impertinences. - -Pour être nombreux, dit la duchesse, les proverbes de Sancho n’en sont -pas moins agréables; quant à moi, ils me divertissent extrêmement, -qu’ils viennent à propos ou non; d’ailleurs, entre amis, on ne doit pas -y regarder de si près. - -Au milieu de ces agréables entretiens, on sortit des tentes pour rentrer -dans le bois, où le reste du jour se passa à préparer des affûts. La -nuit vint surprendre les chasseurs, non pas la nuit sereine, comme elle -l’est presque toujours en été, mais un peu obscure, et d’autant plus -favorable aux projets du duc et de la duchesse. - -Soudain le bois parut en feu, et de toutes parts on entendit un grand -bruit de trompettes et autres instruments de guerre, ainsi que le pas de -nombreuses troupes de cavaliers qui traversaient le bois en tous sens. -Cette lumière subite, ce bruit inattendu surprirent l’assemblée; les -sons discordants d’une infinité de ces instruments dont les Mores se -servent dans les batailles, ceux des trompettes et des clairons, enfin -les fifres, les hautbois et les tambours mêlés confusément, faisaient un -tel vacarme, qu’il eût fallu être privé de sens pour n’en être pas ému. -Le duc pâlit, la duchesse frissonna, et don Quichotte lui-même ressentit -quelque émotion; quant à Sancho, il tremblait de tous ses membres, et il -n’y eut pas jusqu’à ceux qui étaient dans le secret qui n’éprouvassent -de l’effroi. - -Tout à coup ce vacarme cesse; et un courrier, qu’à son costume on eût -pris pour un démon, passe brusquement, sonnant avec un bruit -épouvantable dans une corne démesurée. - -Holà, dit le duc, qui êtes-vous? à qui en voulez-vous? et que signifie -cette troupe de gens de guerre qui traverse ce bois? - -Je suis le diable! répondit le courrier d’une voix rauque; je vais à la -recherche de don Quichotte de la Manche, et les gens que vous entendez -sont six troupes de magiciens, qui amènent la sans pareille Dulcinée du -Toboso enchantée sur un char de triomphe; elle est accompagnée du -vaillant Montesinos, qui vient révéler au seigneur don Quichotte les -moyens de désenchanter la pauvre dame. - -Si vous étiez le diable, comme vous le dites, repartit le duc, vous -auriez déjà reconnu le chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche; car il est -devant vous. - -En mon âme et conscience, je n’y prenais pas garde, répondit le diable: -j’ai tant de choses dans la tête, que j’oubliais la principale, celle -pour laquelle je suis venu. - -Ce démon, dit Sancho, doit être honnête homme et bon catholique: -autrement il ne jurerait pas sur son âme et sur sa conscience; il y a -partout des gens de bien, à ce que je vois, même en enfer. - -Aussitôt le démon, sans mettre pied à terre, tourna les yeux vers don -Quichotte: C’est vers toi, lui dit-il, chevalier des Lions (puissé-je -bientôt te voir entre leurs griffes!), c’est vers toi que m’envoie -l’infortuné mais vaillant Montesinos, pour te dire de l’attendre à -l’endroit même où je te rencontrerai, parce qu’il amène avec lui la sans -pareille Dulcinée du Toboso; il veut t’apprendre le moyen de la -désenchanter. Ma venue n’étant à autre fin, je ne m’arrêterai pas plus -longtemps; que les démons de mon espèce restent dans ta compagnie, et -les bons anges avec ces seigneurs. Puis, sonnant dans sa corne, il -tourna bride et disparut. - -La surprise s’accrut pour tout le monde, mais surtout pour don Quichotte -et Sancho: pour l’écuyer, parce qu’on voulait à toute force que Dulcinée -fût enchantée; pour le chevalier, parce qu’il ne savait plus à quoi s’en -tenir sur les visions qu’il avait eues dans la caverne de Montesinos. -Pendant que notre héros s’abîmait dans ses pensées, le duc lui dit: -Est-ce que Votre Grâce veut attendre cette visite, seigneur don -Quichotte? - -Certainement, répondit-il; je l’attendrai ici de pied ferme, dût l’enfer -entier m’assaillir. - -Eh bien, moi, dit Sancho, s’il vient encore un diable me corner aux -oreilles, je resterai ici tout comme je suis en Flandre. - -La nuit achevait de se fermer, et l’on commençait à distinguer à travers -le bois un nombre infini de lumières courant de tous côtés; telles dans -un temps serein on voit voltiger les exhalaisons de la terre. Bientôt se -fit entendre un bruit semblable à celui que produiraient les roues -massives d’une charrette à bœufs, bruit strident qui fait fuir les -loups et les ours. A ce tintamarre vint s’en joindre un autre qui le -rendit plus horrible encore: il semblait qu’en divers endroits de la -forêt on livrât plusieurs batailles; d’un côté retentissait le bruit de -l’artillerie, d’un autre, celui d’un grand nombre de mousquetades: à la -voix des combattants, on les aurait jugés tout proche, tandis que plus -loin, une multitude d’instruments ne cessaient de jouer à la manière des -Mores, comme pour animer au combat. En un mot, le bruit confus de ces -instruments, les cris des guerriers, le sourd retentissement des -chariots, inspiraient de la frayeur aux plus hardis; et don Quichotte -lui-même eut besoin de tout son courage pour n’être pas épouvanté. Quant -à Sancho, le sien fut bientôt abattu, et il tomba évanoui aux pieds de -la duchesse, qui s’empressa de lui faire jeter de l’eau au visage. Il -fut assez longtemps à revenir, et il commençait à ouvrir les yeux -lorsqu’un de ces chariots qui faisaient tant de bruit arriva, tiré par -quatre bœufs entièrement couverts de drap noir et ayant à chaque corne -une torche allumée. Au sommet du char, sur une espèce de trône, se -tenait assis un vieillard vénérable, dont la longue barbe, plus blanche -que la neige, lui descendait jusqu’à la ceinture; pour tout vêtement, il -avait une ample robe de boucassin noir. Comme ce chariot portait une -infinité de lumières, on pouvait aisément distinguer les objets. Il -était conduit par deux démons habillés de la même étoffe, et dont les -effroyables visages auraient fait retomber Sancho en défaillance, s’il -n’eût fermé les yeux pour ne pas les voir. - -Ce noir équipage étant arrivé devant le duc, le vieillard se leva, et -dit d’une voix grave: Je suis le sage Lirgande; et le char passa outre. -Il fut suivi d’un autre, tout à fait semblable, sur lequel était un -vieillard vêtu comme le premier, qui, ayant fait arrêter le chariot, dit -d’une voix non moins grave: Je suis le sage Alquif, le grand ami -d’Urgande la déconvenue; et il passa comme le précédent. Un troisième -char avec un pareil attelage et de semblables conducteurs, s’avança de -même; mais celui qu’on voyait assis sur le trône était un homme robuste -et à mine rébarbative, qui, se redressant, cria d’une voix rauque et -satanique: Je suis l’enchanteur Arcalaüs, ennemi mortel d’Amadis de -Gaule et de toute sa postérité. - -A quelques pas plus loin les trois chars s’arrêtèrent, et le bruit -criard des roues ayant cessé, on entendit une agréable musique, dont -Sancho tout réjoui tira bon augure. - -Madame, dit-il à la duchesse, dont il ne s’éloignait jamais d’un pas, là -où est la musique, il ne peut y avoir rien de mauvais. - -Non plus que là où est la lumière, ajouta la duchesse. - -Madame, répliqua Sancho, la lumière vient de la flamme et la flamme peut -tout embraser. Ces lumières que nous voyons là sont capables de mettre -le feu à la forêt, tandis que la musique est toujours signe de -réjouissance et de fêtes. - -C’est ce que nous apprendra l’avenir dit don Quichotte. - -Et notre héros avait raison, comme le prouve le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XXXV - -SUITE DES MOYENS QU’ON PRIT POUR DÉSENCHANTER DULCINÉE ETC. - -Au son de cette agréable musique s’avançait un char traîné par six mules -caparaçonnées de toiles blanches; sur chacune des mules était monté un -pénitent, à la manière de ceux qui font amende honorable, tous également -vêtus de blanc, avec une grosse torche de cire à la main. Ce char était -deux fois et même trois fois plus grand que les précédents; de chaque -côté marchaient douze autres pénitents, tenant une torche allumée. Sur -un trône élevé au centre du char, était assise une jeune fille habillée -d’une étoffe de gaze d’argent, si brillante de paillettes d’or que les -yeux n’en pouvaient soutenir l’éclat; un voile de soie, assez -transparent pour laisser voir sa beauté, lui couvrait le visage, et les -nombreuses lumières permettaient de distinguer ses attraits et son âge, -qui semblait être de dix-sept à vingt ans. Auprès d’elle se tenait un -personnage enveloppé jusqu’aux pieds d’une robe de velours à longue -queue, et la tête couverte d’un voile noir. - -Quand le char fut arrivé en face du duc, la musique cessa, et le -personnage que nous venons de dépeindre, s’étant levé, écarta sa robe, -rejeta son voile, et fit voir la figure de la Mort hideuse et décharnée. -Don Quichotte en pâlit, Sancho pensa mourir de peur, le duc et la -duchesse firent un mouvement d’effroi. Cette Mort vivante s’étant levée -sur ses pieds, prononça ces paroles d’une voix lente: - - O toi dont les nobles travaux - Méritaient en amour un destin plus prospère, - Reconnais ce Merlin, des enchanteurs le père, - Le fléau des méchants et l’ami des héros. - Sur les bords du Léthé j’appris que Dulcinée - Avait en un moment perdu tous ses attraits; - Je viens finir les maux de cette infortunée. - Du sort écoute les arrêts: - Par la main de Sancho, sur son large derrière, - Trois mille et trois cents coups appliqués fortement - Avec une longue étrivière - Rendront à cet objet charmant - Son éclat, sa beauté première[108]. - - [108] Ces vers sont empruntés à Florian. - -Oui-da, je t’en pondrai, s’écria Sancho, je ne me donnerai pas seulement -trois coups de fouet. Au diable soit ta manière de désenchanter! et -qu’est-ce que mes fesses ont à voir avec les enchantements? Je jure que -si le seigneur Merlin n’a pas d’autre moyen de désenchanter Dulcinée, -elle pourra s’en aller avec son enchantement dans la sépulture. - -Et bien moi, je vous saisirai, don manant farci d’ail, reprit don -Quichotte, et je vous attacherai à un arbre, nu comme quand votre mère -vous a mis au monde; après quoi je vous donnerai non pas trois mille -trois cents coups de fouet, mais cinquante mille, et si bien appliqués -qu’il vous en cuira toute votre vie. Pas de réplique, ou je vous -étrangle sur l’heure. - -Tout beau, tout beau! interrompit Merlin, cela ne peut se passer ainsi: -les coups de fouet que recevra Sancho doivent être volontaires, et le -moment à son choix, car il n’y a point d’époque limitée pour cela; il -dépend même de lui d’en être quitte pour la moitié, pourvu qu’il trouve -bon que ces coups lui soient appliqués par une autre main que la sienne, -si rude qu’elle puisse être. - -Ni ma main, ni celle d’un autre, ni pesante, ni à peser, ni dure, ni -douce, ne me touchera, repartit Sancho. Est-ce que j’ai engendré madame -Dulcinée du Toboso, pour que mes fesses payent le mal qu’ont fait ses -beaux yeux? que monseigneur don Quichotte ne se fouette-t-il? c’est son -affaire. Lui qui l’appelle sans cesse sa joie, sa vie, son âme, c’est à -lui de chercher les moyens de la désenchanter; mais me fouetter, moi? -_abernuncio[109]!_ - - [109] _Abrenuncio_: locution familière pour exprimer la répugnance. - -Sancho eut à peine achevé de parler, que la nymphe qui se tenait près de -Merlin se leva, écarta le voile qui lui couvrait le visage, et fit -briller aux yeux de tous une beauté incomparable; puis, avec un geste -assez masculin, et d’une voix fort peu féminine, elle apostropha Sancho -en ces termes: - -O malencontreux écuyer, cœur de poule, âme de bronze, entrailles de -pierres et de cailloux, si l’on te demandait, larron, meurtrier, de te -jeter du haut d’une tour; si l’on voulait, tigre sans pitié, te faire -avaler des crapauds et des lézards; si l’on t’ordonnait, serpent -venimeux, d’étrangler ta femme et tes enfants, il ne serait pas étonnant -de te voir faire tant de façons: mais regarder à trois mille et trois -cents coups de fouet, quand il n’est si chétif écolier de la doctrine -chrétienne qui n’en attrape autant chaque mois, en vérité tu devrais en -mourir de honte, et il y a là de quoi surprendre, étourdir, stupéfier, -non-seulement ceux qui t’écoutent, mais quiconque un jour l’apprendra. -Lève, ô misérable et endurci animal, lève tes yeux de mulet ombrageux -sur la prunelle des miens, et tu verras mes larmes tracer goutte à -goutte des sillons et des sentiers à travers les campagnes fleuries de -mes belles joues. N’es-tu pas ému, monstre sournois et malintentionné, -en voyant une princesse de mon âge se flétrir et se consumer sous -l’écorce d’une grossière paysanne! quoique je ne paraisse pas telle à -présent, grâce à la faveur particulière du seigneur Merlin, qui a pensé -que les pleurs d’une belle affligée seraient plus capables de -t’attendrir. Résouds-toi donc, brute indomptée, à frapper tes chairs -épaisses: triomphe une fois en ta vie de cette inclination gloutonne qui -te fait ne songer qu’à te farcir la panse; et remets dans son premier -état la délicatesse de ma peau, l’aimable douceur de mon caractère, -l’incomparable beauté de mon visage; et si je ne suis pas capable -d’adoucir ton humeur farouche, si tu ne me trouves pas encore assez à -plaindre pour exciter ta pitié, aie au moins compassion de ce pauvre -chevalier qui est à tes côtés, de ce bon maître qui t’aime si -tendrement, et dont l’âme, je le vois, est à deux doigts de ses lèvres -et n’attend plus que ta réponse, ou compatissante ou impitoyable, pour -lui sortir par la bouche ou lui rentrer dans le gosier. - -En entendant ces mots, don Quichotte se tâta le gosier. Parbleu, dit-il -en se tournant vers le duc, Dulcinée dit vrai; voici que j’ai l’âme -arrêtée là, comme une noix d’arbalète. - -Eh bien, Sancho, que dites-vous de tout ceci? demanda la duchesse? - -Madame, ce que j’ai dit, je le répète, répondit Sancho; quant aux coups -de fouet, _abernuncio_. - -C’est _abrenuncio_ qu’il faut dire, observa le duc. - -Pour l’amour de Dieu, monseigneur, répliqua Sancho, que Votre Grandeur -me laisse parler à ma guise; est-ce que je suis en état de m’amuser à -ces subtilités? Vraiment il m’importe bien d’une lettre de plus ou de -moins quand il s’agit de quatre à cinq mille coups de fouet! - -Vous vous trompez, Sancho, reprit le duc, il ne s’agit que de trois -mille trois cents. - -Voilà le compte bien diminué! dit Sancho; qui trouve le marché bon n’a -qu’à le prendre. Par ma foi, je voudrais bien savoir où notre maîtresse -Dulcinée du Toboso a trouvé cette manière de prier les gens! Comment, -venir du même coup me demander de me mettre le corps en lambeaux pour -l’amour d’elle et m’appeler cœur de poule, bête farouche, tigre -abominable, avec une kyrielle d’injures à faire fuir le diable. Est-ce -que par hasard mes chairs sont de bronze, est-ce que je gagnerai quelque -chose à la désenchanter? Encore, si elle venait avec une belle corbeille -de linge blanc, quelques coiffes de nuit ou seulement des escarpins -(bien que je n’en mette pas) peut-être me laisserais-je faire: mais -pour m’attendrir elle me débite un boisseau d’injures et l’on dirait -qu’elle va me dévisager. Ne sait-elle point qu’un mulet chargé d’or n’en -gravit que mieux la montagne, que les présents ramollissent les pierres, -et qu’un tiens vaut mieux que deux tu auras? Mais ce n’est pas tout: -voilà qu’au lieu de m’encourager, mon seigneur et maître me menace de -m’attacher à un arbre, et de doubler la dose prescrite par le seigneur -Merlin. On devrait bien considérer que ce n’est pas un simple écuyer -qu’on prie de se fouetter, mais un gouverneur; car enfin faut-il -regarder à qui l’on parle et comment on prie. Il conviendrait, ce me -semble, de choisir un autre temps; on me voit navré de la déchirure de -mon habit vert, et l’on vient me demander de me déchirer moi-même, -quoique je n’en aie pas plus envie que de me faire cacique! - -En vérité, ami Sancho, reprit le duc, vous faites trop de façons: mais -je vous le dis en un mot comme en mille, si vous ne devenez plus souple -qu’un gant, il faudra renoncer au gouvernement: il serait beau vraiment -que je donne à mes sujets un gouverneur aux entrailles de pierre, qui ne -fût touché ni des larmes des dames affligées, ni des prières et des -conseils des plus sages enchanteurs! Encore une fois, Sancho, vous vous -fouetterez ou l’on vous fouettera, ou vous ne serez point gouverneur. - -Monseigneur, répondit Sancho, ne m’accorderait-on pas au moins deux -jours pour y penser? - -Cela ne se peut, repartit Merlin, cette affaire-là doit être conclue à -l’heure même, sinon Dulcinée retourne à la caverne de Montesinos, -changée en paysanne; ou bien, dans l’état où elle est, elle sera -conduite aux champs Élyséens, pour y attendre que le nombre des coups de -fouet soit complet. - -Allons, Sancho, ajouta la duchesse, prenez courage; songez que vous avez -mangé le pain du seigneur don Quichotte, que nous devons tous servir et -aimer à cause de sa loyauté et de ses grands exploits de chevalerie: -consentez à ces coups de fouet, mon enfant; la crainte est pour le -poltron, et un noble cœur ne trouve rien de difficile. - -Au lieu de répondre, Sancho, tout hors de lui, se tourna vers Merlin: -Seigneur Merlin, lui dit-il, ce diable, qui est venu ici en poste, a -ordonné à mon maître d’attendre le seigneur Montesinos, qui allait venir -lui parler du désenchantement de madame Dulcinée: cependant, nous -n’avons point encore vu Montesinos, ni rien qui lui ressemble. - -Ami Sancho, répondit Merlin, ce diable est un étourdi et un grandissime -vaurien: c’est moi qui l’envoyais vers votre maître, et non Montesinos, -lequel n’a pas quitté sa caverne, où longtemps encore il attendra la fin -de son enchantement. Si Montesinos est votre débiteur, ou si vous avez -quelque affaire à traiter avec lui, je l’amènerai où il vous plaira; -pour l’heure, résignez-vous à cette petite pénitence que nous vous avons -ordonnée, et, croyez-moi, elle vous sera d’un grand profit pour l’âme et -pour le corps: pour l’âme, parce que vous ferez une bonne action; pour -le corps parce qu’étant d’une complexion sanguine, il n’y a pas de mal -de vous tirer un peu de sang. - -Par ma foi, celui-là est bon, répliqua Sancho: il n’y a pas déjà assez -de médecins sur terre, il faut encore que les enchanteurs s’en mêlent! -Mais enfin, puisque tout le monde ici, excepté moi, le trouve utile, je -consens à m’appliquer les trois mille trois cents coups de fouet, à la -condition que je me les donnerai quand il me plaira, sans qu’on me fixe -ni le temps ni le jour; de mon côté, je tâcherai de terminer cette -affaire le plus tôt possible, afin que le monde puisse jouir de la -beauté de madame Dulcinée, beauté, à ce qu’il paraîtrait, beaucoup plus -grande que je n’avais pensé. J’y mets encore une condition, c’est que je -ne serai point obligé de me fouetter jusqu’au sang, et si quelques coups -ne font que chasser les mouches, ils compteront de même; de plus, si je -venais à me tromper sur la quantité, le seigneur Merlin, qui sait tout, -aura soin de les compter, et il me dira si je m’en suis donné trop ou -trop peu. - -Du trop il ne faut pas s’inquiéter, répondit Merlin, car sitôt que le -nombre sera complet, soudain madame Dulcinée se trouvera désenchantée, -et elle viendra remercier le bon Sancho et lui témoigner sa -reconnaissance par des présents considérables; n’ayez donc aucun souci -du trop ou du trop peu, je le prends sur ma conscience; le ciel me -préserve de tromper personne, ne fût-ce que d’un cheveu de la tête. - -Allons, dit Sancho, je consens à mon supplice, c’est-à-dire j’accepte la -pénitence; aux conditions que j’ai dites, s’entend. - -Sancho n’eut pas plutôt prononcé ces dernières paroles, que la musique -recommença avec accompagnement de deux ou trois décharges d’artillerie, -et don Quichotte alla se jeter au cou de son écuyer, qu’il baisa cent -fois sur le front et sur les joues. Le duc, la duchesse, tous les -chasseurs, lui témoignèrent la joie qu’ils éprouvaient de le voir se -rendre à la raison; puis, le char se remit en marche, la belle Dulcinée -salua Leurs Excellences et fit une profonde révérence à son futur -libérateur. - -Cependant l’aube riante et vermeille commençait à poindre: la terre -joyeuse, le ciel serein, la lumière pure, tout annonçait le jour qui -déjà posant le pied sur le pan de la robe de la fraîche Aurore -promettait d’être magnifique. Le duc et la duchesse, très-satisfaits de -leur chasse, et surtout d’avoir si bien réussi dans leur projet, -retournèrent au château, décidés à continuer ces plaisanteries qui les -divertissaient de plus en plus. - -CHAPITRE XXXVI - -DE L’ÉTRANGE ET INOUIE AVENTURE DE LA DUÈGNE DOLORIDE, APPELÉE COMTESSE -TRIFALDI: ET D’UNE LETTRE QUE SANCHO ÉCRIVIT A SA FEMME - -Le duc avait un majordome d’un esprit jovial et plein de ressources; -c’était lui qui avait composé les vers, disposé tout l’appareil de la -scène, représenté le personnage de Merlin, et fait remplir par un jeune -page celui de Dulcinée. A la demande de ses maîtres, il composa une -autre comédie aussi originale que la première, et non moins bien -imaginée. - -Le jour suivant, la duchesse demanda à Sancho s’il avait commencé sa -pénitence; il répondit que la nuit précédente il s’était donné cinq -coups de fouet. - -Avec quoi? reprit la duchesse. - -Avec ma main, répliqua Sancho. - -Mais c’est plutôt se caresser que se fouetter, dit la duchesse, et je ne -sais si Merlin sera satisfait. Je pense donc qu’il conviendrait que -Sancho fit une discipline composée de chardons ou de quelques -cordelettes de cuir, capable de se faire bien sentir, ce qui est une -condition expresse imposée par Merlin; car la liberté d’une aussi grande -dame que Dulcinée ne saurait être achetée à vil prix. - -Madame, répondit Sancho, que Votre Excellence me donne une discipline à -sa fantaisie, et je m’en servirai pourvu qu’elle ne me fasse pas trop de -mal, car je l’avouerai à Votre Grandeur, tout paysan que je suis, j’ai -la peau fort délicate; et il ne serait pas juste que je me misse en -lambeaux pour le service d’autrui. - -Eh bien, dit la duchesse, demain je vous donnerai une discipline faite -exprès pour vous, et qui s’accommodera à la délicatesse de vos chairs -comme si elles étaient ses propres sœurs. - -A propos, dit Sancho, Votre Altesse saura que j’ai écrit une lettre à -Thérèse Panza, ma femme, où je lui donne avis de tout ce qui m’est -arrivé depuis que je suis parti d’auprès d’elle; j’ai la lettre sur moi, -et il n’y a plus qu’à mettre l’adresse; je voudrais bien que Votre Grâce -eût la bonté de la lire, elle me semble tournée de la façon dont doivent -écrire les gouverneurs. - -Et qui l’a dictée? demanda la duchesse. - -Sainte Vierge! répondit Sancho, et qui l’aurait dictée, si ce n’est moi? - -C’est donc vous qui l’avez écrite? dit la duchesse. - -Oh! pour ça non, madame, répondit Sancho, car je ne sais ni lire ni -écrire, encore que je sache signer. - -Voyons-la, dit la duchesse, votre esprit et votre excellent jugement -doivent s’y montrer à chaque ligne. - -Sancho mit la main dans son sein, et en tira la lettre. Elle était ainsi -conçue: - - LETTRE DE SANCHO PANZA A THÉRÈSE PANZA, SA FEMME - - «Bien m’a pris, femme, d’avoir bon dos, car j’ai été bien étrillé; et - si j’ai un riche gouvernement, il m’en coûte de bons coups de fouet; - mais tu sauras cela plus tard; aujourd’hui tu n’y comprendrais rien. - Apprends donc, ma chère Thérèse, que j’ai résolu de te faire monter en - carrosse; voilà l’essentiel, car aller autrement, autant vaut marcher - à quatre pattes. Finalement, tu es femme de gouverneur; dis-moi si à - cette heure quelqu’un te va à la cheville. Je t’envoie ci-joint un - habit de chasse vert, que m’a donné madame la duchesse; arrange-le de - manière qu’il fasse un corsage et une jupe à notre fille Sanchette. - - «Don Quichotte, mon maître, à ce que j’ai ouï dire en ce pays-ci, est - un fou sensé, un cerveau brûlé divertissant, et, sans vanité, on dit - que je ne lui cède en rien. Nous avons été visiter ensemble la caverne - de Montesinos, et le sage Merlin a jeté les yeux sur moi pour - désenchanter Dulcinée du Toboso, qui est celle qu’on appelle là-bas - Aldonza Lorenzo. Avec trois mille trois cents coups de fouet que je - dois me donner, moins cinq, que j’ai déjà reçus, elle sera - désenchantée comme la mère qui l’a mise au monde. Bouche close sur - cela, femme, car les uns diraient que c’est du blanc, les autres que - c’est du noir. - - «D’ici à quelques jours je partirai pour mon gouvernement, où je - grille de me voir installé, afin d’amasser de l’argent, car on m’a dit - que les nouveaux gouverneurs n’ont point d’autre souci; je sonderai le - terrain, et je te manderai s’il faut que tu viennes me rejoindre. Le - grison se porte à merveille, et il se recommande à toi et à nos - enfants. Je veux l’emmener avec moi et je ne le quitterais pas quand - même on me ferait Grand Turc. Son Excellence madame la duchesse te - baise mille fois les mains; baises-les-lui en retour deux mille fois, - car il n’y a rien de si bon marché que les compliments, à ce que j’ai - entendu dire à mon maître. - - «Dieu n’a pas voulu que je trouvasse encore une bourse de cent - doublons, comme celle de la fois passée; ce n’a pas été faute de la - chercher; mais que cela ne te chagrine pas, ma chère Thérèse: celui - qui sonne les cloches est en sûreté, et tout se trouvera dans la - lessive du gouvernement. Une chose pourtant me met en peine, c’est - qu’on me dit que si j’en tâte une fois, je me lécherai les doigts - jusqu’à me manger les mains. Mais, baste! qu’y faire? pour les - estropiés les aumônes valent autant qu’un canonicat. Tu vois bien, - femme, que de façon ou d’autre, tu ne peux manquer d’être riche et - heureuse. Dieu te soit en aide comme il le peut, et qu’il me conserve - pour te servir. De ce château, le 20 juillet 1614. - - «Ton mari, le gouverneur SANCHO PANZA.» - -Il me semble, dit la duchesse après avoir lu, que notre bon gouverneur -se fourvoie ici de deux façons: la première, en disant, ou, pour le -moins, en donnant à penser, qu’il n’a obtenu son gouvernement que pour -les coups de fouet qu’il doit se donner, quoiqu’il sache bien, cependant -que lorsque monseigneur le duc, mon époux, le lui promit, on ne songeait -pas plus aux coups de fouet que s’il n’y en avait jamais eu au monde; la -seconde, c’est qu’il me paraît trop attaché à son intérêt, penchant qui -donne mauvaise opinion d’un homme, car, on dit que convoitise rompt le -sac, et qu’un gouverneur avare est bien près de vendre la justice. - -Ce n’est pas ce que j’ai voulu dire, madame, répondit Sancho; et si ma -lettre ne plaît pas à Votre Grâce, il n’y a qu’à la déchirer et en -écrire une autre; mais il se pourrait faire que la seconde fût pire, si -je m’en mêle encore une fois. - -Sur ce, on se rendit au jardin où l’on devait dîner ce jour-là. - -La duchesse montra la lettre de Sancho au duc, qui s’en amusa beaucoup -pendant le repas, et quand la table fut desservie, ils s’entretinrent -quelque temps avec lui, car sa conversation les divertissait -merveilleusement. Tout à coup et lorsqu’on y pensait le moins, on -entendit le son aigu d’un fifre, mêlé à celui d’un tambour discordant. -A cette harmonie triste et confuse, chacun parut se troubler. Don -Quichotte devint tout pensif, et Sancho courut se blottir auprès de la -duchesse, son refuge ordinaire. Au milieu de la stupéfaction générale, -on vit entrer dans le jardin deux hommes portant des robes de deuil si -longues, qu’elles balayaient la terre: ils frappaient deux grands -tambours couverts de drap noir; à leurs côtés marchait le joueur de -fifre, vêtu de noir comme les autres. Derrière ces trois hommes venait -un personnage à taille gigantesque, enveloppé d’une grande robe noire; -par-dessus la robe il portait un large baudrier d’où pendait un énorme -cimeterre à poignée noire ainsi que le fourreau. Son visage était -couvert d’un long voile, au travers duquel on apercevait une barbe -blanche comme la neige. D’un pas lent et solennel qu’il semblait régler -sur le son du tambour, ce grave personnage vint se mettre à genoux -devant le duc, qui l’attendait debout; mais le duc ne voulut point -l’écouter qu’il ne se fût relevé. Le fantôme obéit, et en se redressant -il écarta son voile et mit à découvert la plus longue, la plus blanche -et la plus épaisse barbe qu’eussent jamais vue des yeux humains; puis, -les regards fixés sur le duc et d’une voix pleine et sonore qu’il -paraissait tirer du fond de sa poitrine, il lui dit: - -Très-haut et très-puissant seigneur, je m’appelle Trifaldin de la barbe -blanche. Écuyer de la comtesse Trifaldi, autrement appelée la duègne -Doloride, je suis envoyé par elle vers Votre Altesse, pour supplier -Votre Magnificence de lui permettre de venir vous exposer son infortune, -qui est assurément la plus surprenante, aussi bien que la plus inouïe. -Mais, avant tout, j’ai ordre de m’informer si par hasard le grand, le -valeureux et invaincu chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche se trouve en -ces lieux, car c’est lui que cherche ma maîtresse, et c’est pour lui -qu’elle est venue à pied et à jeun, depuis le royaume de Candaya jusque -dans vos États, miracle qu’on ne peut attribuer qu’à la force des -enchantements. Elle attend, devant ce palais, que je lui porte de votre -part la permission d’y entrer. - -Il finit en toussant, puis promenant la main sur sa longue barbe, du -haut jusqu’en bas, il attendit gravement la réponse du duc, qui lui dit: - -Noble écuyer Trifaldin de la barbe blanche, depuis longtemps nous -connaissons la disgrâce de madame la comtesse Trifaldi, à qui les -enchanteurs ont fait prendre la figure et le nom de la duègne Doloride: -allez, merveilleux écuyer, lui porter l’assurance qu’elle sera la -bienvenue, et que nous possédons ici l’incomparable chevalier don -Quichotte de la Manche, dont le caractère généreux lui promet secours et -protection. Ajoutez de ma part que mon appui ne lui fera pas défaut non -plus, s’il lui est nécessaire, mon devoir étant de le lui offrir comme -chevalier, titre qui m’impose l’obligation de protéger toutes les -femmes, et principalement les pauvres veuves affligées, comme l’est Sa -Seigneurie. - -A cette réponse, Trifaldin mit un genou en terre, puis, au triste son -des tambours et du fifre, il quitta le jardin du même pas qu’il y était -entré, laissant toute la compagnie étonnée de sa haute taille et de son -air tout à la fois vénérable et modeste. - -Vous le voyez, vaillant chevalier, dit le duc en se tournant vers don -Quichotte, les ténèbres de l’ignorance et de l’envie ne sauraient -obscurcir l’éclat de la valeur et de la vertu: depuis six jours à peine -vous êtes dans ce château, et déjà l’on vient vous y chercher des pays -les plus lointains, non pas en carrosse ni à cheval, mais à pied et à -jeun, tant les malheureux ont d’empressement à vous voir, tant ils ont -de confiance en la force de votre bras et en la grandeur de votre -courage, grâce à la réputation que vos exploits vous ont acquise, grâce -au bruit qui en est répandu par tout l’univers. - -Je regrette fort, seigneur duc, répondit don Quichotte, que ce bon -ecclésiastique qui l’autre jour montrait tant d’aversion pour les -chevaliers errants, ne soit pas témoin de ce qui se passe: il verrait -par lui-même si ces chevaliers sont ou non nécessaires au monde; il -pourrait du moins se convaincre que dans leur détresse les malheureux ne -vont pas chercher du secours auprès des hommes de robe, ni chez les -sacristains de village, ni chez le gentilhomme qui n’a jamais franchi -les limites de sa paroisse; en pareil cas, la véritable panacée à -l’affliction, c’est l’épée du chevalier errant. Qu’elle vienne donc, -cette duègne, qu’elle demande ce qu’elle voudra; le remède à son mal lui -sera bientôt expédié par la force de mon bras et par l’intrépidité du -cœur qui le fait agir. - -CHAPITRE XXXVII - -SUITE DE LA FAMEUSE AVENTURE DE LA DUÈGNE DOLORIDE - -Le duc et la duchesse étaient charmés de voir don Quichotte donner si -complétement dans leurs vues; lorsque Sancho se mit de la partie. Je -voudrais bien, dit-il, que cette bonne duègne ne vînt pas jeter quelque -bâton dans les roues de mon gouvernement! car, je tiens d’un apothicaire -de Tolède, qui parlait comme un chardonneret, que partout où se fourrent -les duègnes, tout va de mal en pis. Dieu de Dieu! comme il les -détestait! et par ma foi, puisque toutes les duègnes sont fâcheuses et -impertinentes, que faut-il attendre d’une affligée comme l’est, dit-on, -cette comtesse Trifaldi? - -Silence, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte: puisque cette dame vient de si -loin me chercher, elle ne peut être de celles dont parlait ton -apothicaire; de plus, elle est comtesse, et quand les comtesses servent -en qualité de duègnes, c’est auprès des reines et des impératrices: car -dans leurs maisons, elles sont dames et maîtresses et se font servir par -d’autres duègnes. - -Madame la duchesse a pour suivantes des duègnes qui seraient comtesses, -si le sort l’eût voulu, repartit la señora Rodriguez qui était présente; -mais là vont les lois où il plaît aux rois. Cependant, qu’on ne dise pas -de mal des duègnes, surtout de celles qui sont vieilles filles: car bien -que je ne compte pas parmi ces dernières, je sens l’avantage qu’une -duègne fille a sur une duègne veuve. A quiconque voudra nous tondre, les -ciseaux resteront dans la main. - -Ce ne sera pas faute de trouver à tondre sur les duègnes, toujours -suivant mon apothicaire, repartit Sancho: mais ne remuons pas le riz, -dût-il prendre au fond du pot. - -Les écuyers ont toujours été nos ennemis, répliqua la señora Rodriguez; -véritables piliers d’antichambre, ces fainéants, au lieu de prier Dieu, -emploient leur temps à médire de nous, vont fouillant dans notre -généalogie, et font de rudes accrocs à notre réputation. Eh bien, moi, -je déclare ici, qu’en dépit d’eux nous continuerons à vivre dans les -grandes maisons, quoiqu’on nous y laisse mourir de faim et qu’on nous y -donne à peine une chétive robe noire pour couvrir nos chairs délicates. -Oui, si j’en avais le talent et le loisir, je voudrais prouver, -non-seulement aux personnes ici présentes, mais encore au monde entier -qu’il n’est point de vertu qui ne se rencontre chez une duègne. - -Je suis de l’avis de ma chère Rodriguez, dit la duchesse; mais elle -voudra bien remettre à une autre fois à défendre sa cause et celle des -duègnes, à réfuter les propos de ce méchant apothicaire, et à faire -revenir le grand Sancho de sa mauvaise opinion. - -Par ma foi, madame, repartit Sancho, depuis que le gouvernement m’est -monté à la tête, je ne me souviens plus d’avoir été écuyer, et je me -moque de toutes les duègnes du monde comme d’un fétu. - -Ici la conversation fut interrompue par les deux tambours et le fifre -annonçant l’approche de la Doloride. La duchesse demanda à son époux si -elle ne devait pas aller au-devant de cette dame, puisque c’était une -comtesse et une femme de qualité. - -Comme comtesse, ce serait chose juste, dit Sancho; comme duègne, je ne -conseille pas à Vos Excellences de faire un pas. - -Eh! de quoi te mêles-tu, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte. - -De quoi je me mêle, seigneur? répondit Sancho: je me mêle de ce dont je -puis me mêler, étant un écuyer nourri à l’école de Votre Grâce, vous le -chevalier le plus courtois de toute la courtoiserie. En ces choses-là, -je vous ai entendu dire qu’on risque autant de perdre pour un point de -plus que pour un point de moins; et à bon entendeur salut. - -Sancho a raison, ajouta le duc, il nous faut voir un peu quelle mine a -cette comtesse; d’après cela, nous mesurerons la politesse qui lui est -due. - -En ce moment rentrèrent dans le jardin les tambours et le fifre jouant -leur marche ordinaire, toujours sur un ton lugubre, et l’auteur termine -ici ce court chapitre pour commencer le suivant, où se continue la même -aventure, une des plus remarquables de toute l’histoire. - -CHAPITRE XXXVIII - -OU LA DUÈGNE DOLORIDE RACONTE SON AVENTURE - -A la suite des musiciens parurent d’abord douze duègnes rangées sur deux -files, toutes vêtues de larges robes de mousseline blanche, avec des -voiles d’une telle longueur, qu’on n’apercevait que le bas de leur -vêtement; après elles venait la comtesse Trifaldi, donnant la main à -Trifaldin, son écuyer: elle était vêtue d’une robe de frise noire à -longue queue, terminée par trois pointes à angles aigus, que portaient -trois pages habillés de deuil. Cette partie de son ajustement fit penser -à tout le monde que la noble dame tirait son nom de cette invention -nouvelle. En effet, Trifaldi, c’est comme qui dirait la comtesse à trois -queues. Ben-Engeli en tombe d’accord, mais en faisant remarquer que son -nom propre était la comtesse Loupine, à cause de la grande quantité de -loups qui peuplaient ses terres, tandis que si, au lieu de loups, c’eût -été des renards, on l’aurait appelée la comtesse Renardine. Quoi qu’il -en soit, la comtesse et ses douze duègnes s’avançaient lentement, le -visage couvert de voiles noirs si épais qu’il eût été impossible de rien -distinguer au travers. Sitôt qu’elles se furent arrêtées pour former la -haie, le duc et don Quichotte se levèrent; alors, passant au milieu des -duègnes, la Doloride, sans quitter la main de son écuyer, se dirigea -vers le duc, qui, avec toute la compagnie, s’avança pour la recevoir. - -Que Vos Grandeurs veuillent bien ne pas faire tant de courtoisies à leur -humble serviteur, je me trompe, à leur humble servante, car mon -affliction est telle que je ne pourrai jamais y répondre, tant ma -disgrâce étrange, inouïe, m’a emporté l’esprit je ne sais où, et ce doit -être fort loin, puisque plus je le cherche, moins je le trouve. - -Il faudrait que nous l’eussions perdu tout à fait, madame la comtesse, -répondit le duc, pour ne pas reconnaître votre mérite, et l’on ne -saurait vous rendre trop d’honneurs. - -En parlant ainsi il la releva, et la fit asseoir auprès de la duchesse, -qui l’accueillit avec beaucoup d’empressement. Don Quichotte regardait -sans prononcer un seul mot, tandis que de son côté Sancho mourait -d’envie de voir le visage de la comtesse Trifaldi ou de quelqu’une de -ses duègnes; mais il lui fallut y renoncer jusqu’à ce qu’elles -voulussent bien se découvrir elles-mêmes. - -Chacun gardait le silence: ce fut enfin la Doloride qui le rompit pour -s’exprimer en ces termes: J’ai la confiance, très-haut et puissantissime -seigneur, très-belle et excellentissime dame, et très-sages et -illustrissimes auditeurs, que ma peine grandissime trouvera un accueil -favorable dans la générosité de vos sentiments, car mon infortune est -telle qu’elle est capable de faire pleurer le marbre, d’attendrir le -diamant et d’amollir l’acier des cœurs les plus endurcis. Mais avant de -porter jusqu’à vos courtoises oreilles le récit de mes tristes -aventures, je voudrais savoir si l’illustrissime chevalier don Quichotte -de la Manche et son fameusissime écuyer Panza sont dans votre noble et -brillante compagnie. - -Panza est ici en personnissime, répliqua Sancho, et monseigneur don -Quichotte aussi; vous pouvez donc, très-honnêtissime dame, dire tout ce -qu’il vous plaira à votre agréabilissime fantaisie, et vous nous -trouverez diligentissimes à servir votre dolentissime beauté. - -Madame, ajouta don Quichotte en s’adressant à la Doloride, si vous -croyez trouver un remède à vos malheurs dans le bras de quelque -chevalier errant, voici le mien; si faible qu’il soit, je le mets tout à -votre service. Je suis don Quichotte de la Manche, dont la profession et -le devoir sont de protéger et de défendre les affligés. Il n’est pas -besoin de détours ni de paroles éloquentes pour s’assurer de ma -bienveillance, vous n’avez qu’à raconter simplement vos disgrâces; ceux -qui vous écoutent, s’ils ne peuvent remédier à vos maux, sauront du -moins y compatir. - -A ces paroles, la Doloride fit mine de se jeter aux genoux de don -Quichotte, et elle s’y jeta réellement, cherchant à les embrasser: Je me -prosterne devant ces pieds, devant ces jambes s’écria-t-elle, ô -invincible chevalier! comme devant les bases et les colonnes de la -chevalerie errante; laissez-moi baiser ces pieds que je ne saurais trop -révérer, puisque leurs pas doivent atteindre au terme de mes maux, que -Votre Grâce est seule capable de guérir, ô valeureux errant, dont les -merveilleux exploits font pâlir les fabuleuses histoires des Amadis, -réduisent en fumée les hauts faits des Bélianis, et anéantissent les -actions imaginaires des Esplandians! Puis, se tournant vers Sancho, et -le prenant par la main: Et toi, ajouta-t-elle, ô le plus loyal écuyer -qui ait jamais servi chevalier errant, dans les siècles passés, présents -et à venir; écuyer dont la bonté est encore plus grande et plus longue -que la barbe de mon écuyer Trifaldin, tu peux t’enorgueillir à juste -titre; puisqu’en servant le grand don Quichotte, tu sers toute la valeur -errante concentrée dans un seul chevalier. Je te conjure, nobilissime -écuyer, je te conjure par la fidélité exorbitante de tes services, -d’être un intercesseur bénévole auprès de ton maître, afin qu’il -favorise une infélicissime comtesse, et ta très-humilissime servante. - -Madame la comtesse, répondit Sancho, que ma bonté soit aussi grande que -la barbe de votre écuyer, ce n’est pas là ce dont il s’agit. Au surplus, -sans toutes ces câlineries et ces supplications, je prierai mon maître -(qui m’aime bien, je le sais, et surtout en ce moment qu’il a besoin de -moi pour certaine affaire) de vous favoriser et de vous aider en tout ce -qu’il pourra. Ainsi donc, ne vous gênez pas, contez-nous votre peine, et -vous verrez ce que nous savons faire. - -Le duc et la duchesse étaient ravis de voir leur dessein si bien -réussir, car la Doloride faisait merveilles. La comtesse s’assit à la -prière du duc, et après que tout le monde eut fait silence, elle -commença de la sorte: - -Sur le fameux royaume de Candaya, situé entre la grande Trapobane et la -mer du Sud, deux lieues par delà le cap Comorin, régnait la reine -Magonce, veuve du roi Archipiel, son époux. De leur mariage était issue -l’infante Antonomasie, qu’ensemble ils avaient procréée. L’héritière du -royaume me fut confiée en naissant et grandit sous ma tutelle, parce que -j’étais la plus ancienne et la plus noble duègne de sa mère. Après bien -des soleils (c’est ainsi que l’on compte les jours en notre pays) la -petite Antonomasie se trouva avoir quatorze ans et plus de beauté que la -nature en a jamais départi à celles qu’elle a le mieux favorisées; son -esprit n’était pas en retard, car elle montrait déjà un très-bon -jugement; enfin elle était aussi discrète que belle, ou pour mieux dire -elle est encore la plus belle personne du monde, si le destin jaloux et -les Parques au cœur de bronze n’ont point tranché le fil délié de sa -délicate vie; et ils ne l’auront pas osé sans doute, car le ciel ne -saurait permettre qu’on fasse à la terre ce tort insigne, de couper -toutes vertes les grappes de la plus belle vigne qui en aucun temps se -soit vue dans le contour de sa vaste étendue. - -De cette beauté sans pareille, et dont ma langue inculte ne saurait -assez dignement célébrer les louanges, devinrent amoureux un nombre -infini de princes, tant nationaux qu’étrangers. Mais parmi tous ces -soupirants, un simple chevalier, porté sur les ailes rapides de son -ambition démesurée, confiant dans sa jeunesse, sa bonne mine, et la -vivacité de l’esprit le plus heureux, osa lever les yeux jusqu’au -neuvième ciel de cette miraculeuse beauté. Je dois dire à Vos Grandeurs -qu’il jouait de la guitare à ravir; que de plus il était poëte et grand -danseur, et si adroit à fabriquer des cages d’oiseaux, qu’il aurait pu -gagner sa vie rien qu’à ce métier, s’il y eût été forcé par le besoin. -Avec tous ces mérites, de quoi ne viendrait-on pas à bout? à plus forte -raison du cœur d’une jeune fille; et cependant toutes ces qualités -n’auraient pas suffi à faire capituler la forteresse dont j’étais -gouvernante, si l’effronté scélérat n’eût habilement commencé par me -faire capituler moi-même. A force de cajoleries et de présents, il -flatta mon cœur et s’empara de ma volonté; mais ce qui acheva ma -défaite, ce fut certain couplet que j’entendis chanter une nuit sous mes -fenêtres; le voici, si je m’en souviens bien: - - De l’éclat des beaux yeux de la cruelle Aminte - Il sort des traits ardents qui consument mon cœur; - Et parmi tous mes maux elle a tant de rigueurs, - Que même il ne faut pas qu’il m’échappe une plainte. - -La strophe me sembla d’or, et la voix de miel; aussi depuis lors, chaque -fois que j’ai réfléchi sur ma faute, j’ai conclu en moi-même que Platon -avait eu raison de vouloir bannir les poëtes de toute république bien -ordonnée, au moins les poëtes érotiques, parce qu’ils font des vers, non -pas comme ceux du marquis de Mantoue, bons tout au plus à divertir les -petits enfants et à faire pleurer les femmes, mais des vers qui sont -autant d’épines qui percent le cœur, et qui, de même que la foudre fond -une épée sans attaquer le fourreau, consument et brûlent le corps sans -endommager les habits. Une autre fois il me chanta ceux-ci: - - O Mort! viens promptement contenter mon envie; - Mais viens sans te faire sentir, - De peur que le plaisir que j’aurais à mourir - Ne me rendît encor la vie. - -Il m’en débita encore beaucoup d’autres, qui transportent quand on les -chante et qui ravissent quand on les lit. Mais, qu’est-ce, bon Dieu! -quand ces séducteurs s’avisent de composer certains morceaux de poésie -fort à la mode dans le royaume de Candaya, et qu’on appelle -_seguidillas_? Aussi, je le répète, on devrait les reléguer dans quelque -île par delà les antipodes. Après tout, cependant, il ne faut point s’en -prendre à eux, mais aux ignorants qui les louent et aux sots qui les -croient. Si j’avais été sur mes gardes, comme doit le faire toute bonne -gouvernante, je n’aurais pas prêté l’oreille à leurs cajoleries, ni pris -au sérieux leurs dangereux propos; tels que ceux-ci: _je vis en -mourant_, _je brûle dans la glace_, _j’espère sans espoir_, _je pars et -je reste_, et tant d’autres du même genre, dont ils farcissent leurs -écrits, et qu’on trouve d’autant plus beaux, qu’on les comprend moins. -N’ont-ils pas le front de nous promettre le phénix, la toison d’or, la -couronne d’Ariadne, l’anneau de Gigès, les pommes du jardin des -Hespérides, des montagnes d’or et des monceaux de diamants! et pourtant -on s’y laisse prendre comme s’ils en montraient des échantillons. Mais à -quoi me laissé-je entraîner, et quelle folie me pousse à parler des -faiblesses d’autrui, quand j’ai tant à dire sur les miennes? Hélas! -infortunée, ce ne sont pas ces vers, ces discours qui t’ont abusée, ni -ces sérénades qui t’ont perdue; c’est ton imprudente simplicité, c’est -ta faiblesse, c’est ton peu de prévoyance, qui ont ouvert les sentiers -et aplani le chemin aux séductions de don Clavijo. Tel est le nom du -chevalier. Sous mon patronage, il entra non pas une fois, mais cent -fois, dans la chambre d’Antonomasie, abusée plutôt par moi que par lui, -et cela sous le titre de légitime époux, car, autrement, toute -pécheresse que je suis, je n’aurais jamais consenti qu’il eût seulement -baisé le pan de sa robe; oh! non, non, le mariage sera toujours en -première ligne quand je me mêlerai de semblables affaires. Dans -celle-ci, il n’y avait qu’un inconvénient, la différence des conditions, -don Clavijo n’étant qu’un simple chevalier, et l’infante Antonomasie -étant princesse, et de plus, comme je vous l’ai dit, l’héritière d’un -grand royaume. Par mes soins, l’intrigue demeura longtemps ignorée, -jusqu’à ce qu’enfin certaine enflure au-dessous de l’estomac de la jeune -fille me fit juger que le secret ne tarderait guère à être divulgué. -Dans cette appréhension, tous trois nous tînmes conseil, et l’avis -unanime fut, avant que le pot aux roses vînt à se découvrir, que -par-devant le grand vicaire, don Clavijo demandât pour femme Antonomasie -en vertu d’une promesse qu’il avait d’elle, promesse que j’avais -moi-même formulée, mais formulée avec tant de force qu’elle aurait défié -celle de Samson; bref, le grand vicaire vit la cédule, reçut la -confession de l’infante qui avoua tout, après quoi il la mit sous la -garde d’un honnête alguazil. - -Comment! s’écria Sancho! il y a à Candaya des alguazils, des poëtes et -des seguidillas? Par ma foi, le monde est partout semblable, à ce que -je vois. Mais que Votre Grâce se dépêche, dame Trifaldi: il est tard, et -je meurs d’envie de savoir la fin de cette histoire, qui, sans reproche, -est un peu longue. - -Vous allez l’apprendre, répondit la comtesse. - -CHAPITRE XXXIX - -SUITE DE L’ÉTONNANTE ET MÉMORABLE HISTOIRE DE LA COMTESSE TRIFALDI - -Chaque mot de Sancho enchantait la duchesse et désolait don Quichotte, -qui lui ordonna de se taire. La Doloride poursuivit: - -Enfin, après bien des questions, comme l’infante ne variait point en ses -réponses et persistait dans ses dires, le grand vicaire prononça en -faveur de don Clavijo, et lui adjugea Antonomasie pour légitime épouse, -ce dont la reine Magonce eut tant de déplaisir, que trois jours après on -l’enterra. - -Elle était donc morte? dit Sancho. - -Assurément, répondit Trifaldin; car en Candaya nous n’enterrons personne -qu’il ne soit bien convaincu d’être mort. - -Seigneur écuyer, repartit Sancho, ce ne serait pas la première fois -qu’on aurait enterré des gens évanouis, les croyant morts; et par ma -foi, vous en conviendrez, on n’a jamais vu mourir si vite que votre -reine Magonce: il me semble que c’eût été assez de s’évanouir, car enfin -on remédie à bien des choses avec la vie, et la folie de cette infante -n’avait pas été si grande, qu’il fallût se laisser mourir. Si cette -demoiselle eût épousé un de ses pages, ou quelque autre domestique de sa -maison, comme cela est arrivé à tant d’autres, le mal eût été sans -remède; mais épouser un chevalier aussi noble et distingué que vous le -dites, en vérité, ce n’est pas là un bien grand malheur, et c’est aussi, -je pense, l’avis de monseigneur don Quichotte, qui est là pour me -démentir: les chevaliers, surtout s’ils sont errants, sont du bois dont -on fait les rois et les empereurs, de même qu’avec des clercs on fait -des évêques. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; oui, et pour peu qu’un -chevalier errant ait de chance, il est toujours au moment de se voir le -plus grand seigneur du monde. Mais continuez, madame, s’il vous plaît; -il me semble que le plus désagréable de cette histoire reste à raconter, -car ce que nous avons entendu jusqu’ici ne mérite pas qu’on s’en afflige -si fort. - -En effet, répondit la comtesse, c’est le plus pénible qui reste à dire, -et même si pénible, que l’absinthe et les fruits sauvages n’ont ni -autant d’aigreur ni autant d’amertume. Dès que la reine fut morte, nous -l’enterrâmes, mais à peine, hélas! _quis talia fando temperet a -lacrymis_[110], à peine lui eûmes-nous dit le dernier adieu, que nous -vîmes subitement paraître au-dessus de sa tombe le géant Malambrun, -cousin germain de la défunte, monté sur un cheval de bois et lançant sur -les assistants des regards farouches. Ce géant, aussi versé dans l’art -du nécromant qu’il est vindicatif et cruel, était là pour tirer -vengeance de la mort de feu sa cousine, et pour châtier l’audace de don -Clavijo et la légèreté d’Antonomasie. Il les enchanta tous deux sur la -tombe de la reine: Antonomasie devint une guenon de bronze, don Clavijo -un effroyable crocodile d’un métal inconnu; et entre eux fut placée une -colonne également de métal, portant un écriteau en langue syriaque: «Ces -téméraires amants ne reprendront leur forme première que lorsque le -valeureux Manchois se sera rencontré avec moi en combat singulier; c’est -à sa valeur incomparable que les immuables destins réservent une -aventure si extraordinaire.» Puis, il tira d’un large fourreau un -démesuré cimeterre, et m’ayant saisie par les cheveux, il fit mine de -vouloir me couper la tête; j’étais si troublée que je n’osais ni ne -pouvais crier, tant la frayeur me rendait immobile. Néanmoins, me -rassurant de mon mieux, je lui dis d’une voix tremblante de telles -choses, qu’il suspendit l’exécution de ce châtiment rigoureux. Bref, il -fit amener devant lui toutes les duègnes du palais, celles qui sont ici -présentes; et après nous avoir reproché notre défaut de surveillance, -tempêté contre les duègnes, en les chargeant toutes de la faute dont -j’étais coupable, il déclara ne pas vouloir nous infliger la perte de la -vie, mais un long supplice qui fût pour nous comme une espèce de mort -civile. A l’instant où il achevait ces paroles, nous sentîmes les pores -de notre visage se dilater, avec une vive démangeaison, semblable à -celle que causeraient des pointes d’aiguilles; et en y portant les -mains, nous nous trouvâmes dans l’état que vous allez voir. - - [110] Qui pourrait, sans pleurer, conter pareille histoire! - (Réminiscence de l’_Énéide_ de Virgile.) - -Sur ce, la Doloride et ses compagnes ôtèrent leurs voiles, et -découvrirent des visages chargés d’épaisses barbes, les unes noires, les -autres blanches, d’autres rousses, et d’autres grisonnantes. A cette -vue, le duc, la duchesse et don Quichotte parurent frappés de stupeur, -et Sancho fut épouvanté. Voilà, dit la Trifaldi en continuant, voilà -dans quel état nous a mis ce scélérat de Malambrun, couvrant la -blancheur et la beauté de nos visages de ces rudes soies; trop heureuses -si par le fil acéré de son épouvantable cimeterre il nous eût fait voler -la tête de dessus les épaules plutôt que de nous rendre ainsi difformes -et velues comme des chèvres! Car en fin de compte, seigneurs (et ce que -je vais ajouter, je voudrais le faire avec des yeux convertis en -torrents, mais les mers de pleurs que j’ai versés en pensant à nos -disgrâces sont taries, aussi parlerai-je sans répandre de nouvelles -larmes); car en fin de compte, je vous le demande, où osera se présenter -une duègne barbue? qu’en diront les mauvaises langues? quel père ou -quelle mère voudront la reconnaître? et puisqu’une duègne qui a le teint -frais et poli, qui se martyrise le visage à force de fards et de -pommades, a tant de peine à plaire, que sera-ce de celles qui sont -velues comme des ours? O duègnes, mes compagnes, que nous sommes nées -sous une funeste étoile, et qu’elle fut néfaste l’heure où nos mères -nous ont mises au monde! - -En prononçant ces paroles, la Doloride fit semblant de tomber évanouie. - -CHAPITRE XL - -SUITE DE CETTE AVENTURE, AVEC D’AUTRES CHOSES DE MÊME IMPORTANCE - -Ceux qui aiment les histoires comme celle-ci doivent savoir gré à son -premier auteur, cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, pour l’attention qu’il met à en -raconter les plus minutieux détails. En effet, il découvre les secrètes -pensées, éclaircit les doutes, résout les objections, et, en un mot, -donne satisfaction sur tous les points à la curiosité la plus exigeante. -O incomparable auteur! ô infortuné don Quichotte! ô sans pareille -Dulcinée! ô réjouissant Sancho Panza! vivez de longs siècles, ensemble -ou séparément, pour le plaisir et l’amusement des générations présentes -et à venir. - -L’histoire dit donc qu’en voyant la Doloride évanouie, Sancho s’écria: -Foi d’homme de bien, et par l’âme de tous les Panza mes ancêtres, -jamais, je le jure, je n’ai vu, ni entendu, ni rêvé, et jamais non plus -mon maître ne m’a raconté pareille aventure. Que mille satans -t’entraînent jusqu’au fond des abîmes, si cela n’est déjà fait, maudit -enchanteur de Malambrun! Ne pouvais-tu imaginer quelque autre manière de -punir ces créatures, sans les rendre barbues comme des chèvres? Eh! ne -valait-il pas mieux leur fendre les naseaux, dussent-elles nasiller un -peu, que de les gratifier de ces barbes-là? Je gagerais mon âne qu’elles -n’ont pas seulement de quoi payer un barbier. - -C’est la vérité pure, seigneur, répondit une des duègnes; entre toutes, -nous ne possédons pas un maravédis, aussi sommes-nous forcées, par -économie, d’user d’emplâtres de poix: nous nous les appliquons sur le -visage, et en les tirant tout d’un coup, nos mentons demeurent lisses -comme la paume de la main. Il y a bien à Candaya des femmes qui vont de -maison en maison épiler les dames, leur polir les sourcils, et préparer -certains ingrédients servant à la toilette féminine[111], mais nous -autres, duègnes de madame, nous n’avons jamais voulu les recevoir, parce -que la plupart font le métier d’entremetteuses. Vous voyez donc que si -le seigneur don Quichotte ne vient à notre secours, nous emporterons nos -barbes au tombeau. - - [111] Les épileuses étaient fort à la mode du temps de Cervantes. - -Je me laisserais plutôt arracher la mienne poil à poil par les Mores, -que de manquer à vous soulager, repartit notre héros. - -En cet endroit, la comtesse Trifaldi reprit ses esprits, et s’adressant -à don Quichotte: L’agréable son de vos promesses, valeureux chevalier, a -frappé mes oreilles et suffit pour me rappeler à la vie; je vous -supplie de nouveau, errant, glorieux et indomptable seigneur, de -convertir promptement vos paroles en œuvres efficaces. - -Il ne tiendra pas à moi, répondit don Quichotte; dites ce qu’il faut que -je fasse, et vous me trouverez prêt à vous servir. - -Votre Magnanimité, saura donc, invincible chevalier, repartit la -Doloride, que d’ici au royaume de Candaya, si l’on y va par terre, il y -a cinq mille lieues, peut-être une ou deux de plus ou de moins; mais si -l’on y va par les airs et en ligne droite, il n’y en a que trois mille -deux cent vingt-sept. Vous saurez encore que le géant Malambrun m’a dit -qu’aussitôt que ma bonne fortune m’aurait fait rencontrer le chevalier -notre libérateur, il lui enverrait une monture incomparablement -meilleure et moins mutine que toutes les mules de louage, car c’est le -même cheval de bois sur lequel Pierre de Provence enleva la belle -Maguelonne; animal paisible et qu’on gouverne au moyen d’une cheville -plantée dans le front, mais qui parcourt l’espace avec tant de légèreté -et de vitesse, qu’on le dirait emporté par le diable en personne. Ce -cheval, disent les anciennes traditions, est un ouvrage du sage Merlin, -qui le prêta à son ami, Pierre de Provence, lequel fit sur cette monture -de très-longs voyages par les airs, laissant ébahis ceux qui d’en bas le -regardaient passer. Merlin ne le prêtait qu’aux gens qu’il aimait, ou -qui lui payaient un bon prix: aussi n’avons-nous pas ouï dire que depuis -le fameux Pierre de Provence jusqu’à présent, personne l’ait monté. -Malambrun, par la force de ses enchantements, est parvenu à s’en -emparer; il s’en sert dans tous ses voyages: aujourd’hui il est ici, -demain en France, et le jour suivant au Potose ou en Chine. Le plus -merveilleux, c’est que ce cheval ne boit pas, ne mange pas, ne dort pas -et n’use point de fers; et il marche si bien l’amble, que celui qui est -dessus peut porter à la main une tasse pleine d’eau sans en renverser -une seule goutte: voilà pourquoi la belle Maguelonne aimait tant à s’y -trouver en croupe. - -Pour avoir une douce allure, s’écria Sancho, vive mon grison! à cela -près qu’il ne marche point dans l’air; mais sur la terre, ma foi, il -défierait tous les ambles du monde. - -Chacun se mit à rire, et la Doloride continua: Eh bien, si Malambrun -veut mettre fin à nos disgrâces, ce cheval sera ici après la tombée de -la nuit; car il me l’a dit, l’indice certain que j’aurai trouvé le -chevalier qui doit nous délivrer consiste à voir arriver promptement le -cheval partout où il en sera besoin. - -Combien tient-t-on sur ce cheval? demanda Sancho. - -Deux, répondit Doloride, un sur la selle et un autre en croupe; et -d’ordinaire ces deux personnes sont le chevalier et l’écuyer lorsqu’il -n’y a point de dame enlevée. - -Madame, continua Sancho, comment appelle-t-on ce cheval? - -La Doloride répondit: Il ne s’appelle pas Pégase, comme le cheval de -Bellérophon, ni Bucéphale, comme le cheval du grand Alexandre, ni -Bride-d’Or, comme celui de Roland, ni Bayard, comme celui de Renaud de -Montauban, ni Frontin, comme celui de Roger, encore moins Bootès, ou -Pirithoüs, comme se nommaient, dit-on, les chevaux du Soleil; ni même -Orélie, comme le coursier que montait le malheureux Rodrigue, le dernier -roi des Goths, dans la bataille où il perdit le trône et la vie. - -Puisqu’on ne lui a donné aucun des noms de ces chevaux fameux, je -gagerais bien, dit Sancho, qu’on ne lui a pas donné non plus le nom du -cheval de mon maître, Rossinante, celui de tous qui me semble le mieux -approprié à la bête. - -Assurément, dit la comtesse; néanmoins il a un nom convenable et -significatif, car il s’appelle Chevillard le Léger, parce qu’il est de -bois et qu’il a une cheville au front, mais surtout à cause de sa -légèreté merveilleuse. Ainsi, quant au nom, il peut le disputer même au -fameux Rossinante. - -Le nom me revient assez, reprit Sancho. Mais avec quoi le gouverne-t-on? -est-ce avec une bride ou avec un licou? - -Je vous ai déjà dit, répondit la Trifaldi, que c’est avec la cheville: -en la tournant à droite ou à gauche, le cavalier le fait marcher comme -il l’entend, tantôt au plus haut des airs et tantôt rasant la terre -jusqu’à l’effleurer, tantôt dans ce juste milieu que l’on doit chercher -en toutes choses. - -Je serais curieux de le voir, repartit Sancho, non pas pour monter -dessus, car de penser que jamais je m’y mette en selle ou en croupe, -votre serviteur: il serait bon, ma foi, qu’un homme qui a déjà bien de -la peine à se tenir sur son âne, assis sur un bât douillet comme du -coton, allât monter en croupe sur un chevron sans coussin ni tapis! Oh! -que nenni; je n’ai pas envie de me faire écorcher le derrière pour ôter -la barbe aux gens: qui a de la barbe de trop se rase. Pour mon compte, -je n’entends pas accompagner mon maître dans un pareil voyage; -d’ailleurs, je ne dois pas être nécessaire dans ce rasement de barbes, -comme je le suis dans le désenchantement de madame Dulcinée. - -Pardon, vous êtes nécessaire, repartit la Trifaldi, et même tellement -nécessaire, qu’on ne peut rien sans vous. - -A d’autres, à d’autres, s’écria Sancho: qu’est-ce que les écuyers ont à -voir avec les aventures de leurs maîtres? Ceux-ci auraient toute la -gloire, et nous toute la peine. Encore, si les faiseurs d’histoires -disaient: Un tel chevalier a achevé une grande aventure avec l’aide d’un -tel son écuyer, sans quoi il lui aurait été impossible d’en venir à -bout; à la bonne heure. Mais au lieu de cela, ils vous écrivent tout -sec: Don Paralipomenon des trois Étoiles a mis fin à l’aventure des six -vampires; sans plus faire mention de l’écuyer que s’il n’eût point été -au monde, quoiqu’il fût présent, qu’il suât à grosses gouttes, et qu’il -y eût attrapé de bons horions. Encore une fois, mon maître peut partir -tout seul si cela lui convient, et Dieu l’assiste! Quant à moi, je ne -lui porte point envie, je resterai en compagnie de madame la duchesse; -et quand il sera de retour, peut-être trouvera-t-il l’affaire de madame -Dulcinée en bon chemin, car, à mes moments perdus, je prétends -m’étriller d’importance. - -Mon ami, dit la duchesse, il faut pourtant accompagner votre maître si -cela est nécessaire, nous vous en conjurons tous; pour de vaines -frayeurs, il serait fort mal de laisser le visage de ces dames en l’état -où il est. - -A d’autres encore une fois, répliqua Sancho; passe encore, si c’était -pour de jeunes recluses, ou pour de petites filles de la doctrine -chrétienne, on pourrait risquer quelques fatigues; mais hasarder de se -casser bras ou jambes pour tondre des duègnes, au diable qui en fera -rien; qu’elles cherchent d’autres tondeurs; dans tous les cas, ce ne -sera pas Sancho Panza. Pardieu! j’aime mieux les voir toutes barbues -comme des boucs, depuis la plus grande jusqu’à la plus petite, depuis la -plus mijaurée jusqu’à la plus pimpante. - -Vous en voulez bien aux duègnes, ami Sancho, dit la duchesse, et vous -les épargnez encore moins que ne faisait votre apothicaire de Tolède! En -vérité, vous avez tort: il y a telle duègne qui peut servir de modèle à -toutes les femmes, et quand ce ne serait que ma bonne señora Rodriguez -ici présente... Je n’en veux pas dire davantage. - -Votre Excellence peut dire ce qui lui plaira, répondit la duègne; Dieu -sait la vérité de tout, et bonnes ou méchantes, barbues ou non barbues, -nous sommes, comme toutes les autres femmes, filles de nos mères; et -puisque Dieu nous a mises au monde, il sait pourquoi. Aussi je compte -sur sa miséricorde, et non sur la charité d’autrui. - -La señora Rodriguez a raison, dit don Quichotte. Quant à vous, comtesse -Trifaldi et compagnie, espérez du ciel la fin de vos malheurs; et croyez -que Sancho fera ce que je lui ordonnerai. Je voudrais que Chevillard fût -ici, et déjà me voir aux prises avec Malambrun; je lui apprendrai à -persécuter les duègnes et à défier des chevalier errants. Dieu tolère -les méchants, mais ce n’est jamais que pour un temps limité. - -Valeureux chevalier, s’écria la Doloride, puissent les étoiles du ciel -regarder avec des yeux bénins Votre Grandeur, et verser sur votre cœur -magnanime toute la force et toute la prospérité qu’elles enserrent, afin -que vous deveniez le bouclier et le rempart des malheureuses duègnes -détestées des apothicaires, calomniées par les écuyers, et tourmentées -par les pages. Maudit soit l’insensée qui, à la fleur de son âge, ne se -fait pas religieuse plutôt que duègne! O géant Malambrun qui, tout -enchanteur que tu es, ne laisses pas d’être fidèle en tes promesses, -envoie-nous promptement le sans pareil Chevillard, afin que nous voyions -dans peu la fin de nos disgrâces. Si les chaleurs viennent nous -surprendre avec de telles barbes, nous sommes perdues! - -La Trifaldi laissa tomber ces mots d’un ton si affligé, avec une -expression si touchante, que chacun en fut attendri. Sancho pleura tout -de bon, et résolut en son cœur d’accompagner son maître, dût-il le -conduire jusqu’aux antipodes, s’il ne fallait que cela pour faire tomber -la laine de ces vénérables visages. - -CHAPITRE XLI - -DE L’ARRIVÉE DE CHEVILLARD, ET DE LA FIN DE CETTE LONGUE ET TERRIBLE -AVENTURE - -Sur ce vint la nuit, et avec elle l’heure indiquée pour l’arrivée du -fameux Chevillard, dont le retardement commençait à inquiéter don -Quichotte. Puisque, se disait-il, Malambrun diffère de l’envoyer, je ne -suis pas le chevalier à qui cette aventure est réservée; peut-être aussi -le géant craint-il de se mesurer avec moi. Mais voilà que tout à coup -quatre sauvages, couverts de lierre, entrent dans le jardin, portant sur -leurs épaules un grand cheval de bois; ils le posent à terre, et l’un -d’entre eux prononce ces paroles: Que le chevalier qui en aura le -courage monte sur cette machine. - -Pour moi, je n’y monte pas, dit Sancho, je n’en ai pas le courage, et -d’ailleurs je ne suis point chevalier. - -Que son écuyer, s’il en a un, monte en croupe, continua le sauvage; il -peut prendre confiance dans le valeureux Malambrun, et être sûr de -n’avoir à redouter de lui que son épée. Il suffira de tourner cette -cheville pour que le chevalier et l’écuyer s’en aillent à travers les -airs, là où Malambrun les attend. Mais afin de prévenir les vertiges que -pourrait leur causer l’élévation extraordinaire de la route, ils devront -tous deux avoir les yeux bandés, jusqu’à ce que le cheval hennisse; à ce -signe ils reconnaîtront que leur voyage est achevé. - -Cela dit, les sauvages se retirèrent d’un pas dégagé, comme ils étaient -venus. - -Quand la Doloride aperçut le cheval, elle dit à don Quichotte d’une voix -presque larmoyante: Vaillant chevalier, les promesses de Malambrun sont -accomplies; voici le cheval, et pourtant nos barbes ne cessent de -croître: nous te supplions donc, chacune en particulier, de nous -débarrasser de cette bourre importune qui nous défigure, puisqu’il te -suffit de monter, toi et ton écuyer, sur Chevillard et d’entreprendre -ce voyage d’un nouveau genre. - -Je le ferai de bien bon cœur, comtesse Trifaldi, répondit don -Quichotte, sans prendre coussins ni éperons, tant j’ai hâte de soulager -votre infortune. - -Et moi, ajouta Sancho, je ne le ferai pas. Si ce voyage ne peut avoir -lieu sans que je monte en croupe, mon maître n’a qu’à prendre un autre -écuyer, et ces dames chercher quelque autre moyen de se polir le menton. -Suis-je sorcier pour m’en aller ainsi courir par les airs? Et que -penseraient les habitants de mon île, quand on leur dirait que leur -gouverneur s’expose ainsi à tous les vents? Il y a, dit-on, trois ou -quatre mille lieues d’ici à Candaya; et si le cheval vient à se fatiguer -ou si le géant se fâche, nous mettrons donc une douzaine d’années à -revenir, et alors quelle île et quels vassaux voudront me reconnaître. -Puisqu’on dit que c’est dans le retardement qu’est le péril, j’en -demande pardon aux barbes de ces dames; mais saint Pierre est bien à -Rome: je veux dire que je me trouve au mieux dans cette maison où l’on -me traite avec tant de bonté, et du maître de laquelle j’attends le -bonheur insigne de me voir gouverneur. - -Ami Sancho, dit le duc, l’île que je vous ai promise n’est ni mobile ni -fugitive, elle tient à la terre par de profondes racines; et puis, vous -le savez aussi bien que moi, les dignités de ce monde ne s’obtiennent -pas sans une sorte de pot-de-vin. Celui que je demande pour prix du -gouvernement que je vous ai donné, c’est d’accompagner le seigneur don -Quichotte dans cette mémorable aventure; et soit que vous reveniez aussi -promptement que le promet la célérité de Chevillard, soit que la fortune -contraire vous ramène à pied comme un pèlerin, mendiant de porte en -porte, en tout temps et à toute heure vous retrouverez votre île où vous -l’aurez laissée, et vos vassaux aussi disposés à vous prendre pour -gouverneur qu’ils l’aient jamais été. Quant à moi, supposer que je -puisse changer à votre égard, ce serait faire injure à mes sentiments -pour vous. - -Assez, monseigneur, assez, dit Sancho: je ne suis qu’un pauvre écuyer, -et je n’ai pas la force de résister à tant de courtoisies. Allons! que -mon maître monte, qu’on me bande les yeux, et qu’on me recommande à -Dieu. Mais quand nous serons là-haut, dites-moi, je vous prie, -pourrai-je moi-même implorer Notre-Seigneur, et invoquer les saints -anges? - -Vous le pourrez en toute sûreté, dit la Trifaldi; car, quoique Malambrun -soit enchanteur, il est bon catholique; et il a soin de faire ses -enchantements avec beaucoup de tact et de prudence, afin de ne s’attirer -aucun reproche. - -Allons, reprit Sancho, que Dieu m’assiste et la sainte Trinité de Gaëte! - -Depuis la formidable aventure des moulins à foulon, dit don Quichotte, -je n’ai jamais vu Sancho aussi effrayé qu’il l’est à cette heure; et si, -comme tant d’autres, je croyais aux présages, cela ferait quelque peu -fléchir mon courage. Approche, mon ami, que je te dise deux mots en -particulier, avec la permission de Leurs Excellences. - -Il emmena son écuyer au fond du jardin, sous de grands arbres, et là lui -prenant les mains: Tu vois, lui dit-il, le long voyage que nous allons -faire. Dieu seul sait quand nous en reviendrons, et les aventures qui -nous attendent; je voudrais donc, mon enfant, que sous le prétexte -d’aller prendre quelque chose dont tu aurais besoin, tu te retirasses -dans ta chambre, et que là tu te donnasses quatre ou cinq cents coups de -fouet à compte sur les trois mille trois cents auxquels tu t’es engagé; -ce sera toujours autant de fait: chose bien commencée est à moitié -finie. - -Pardieu, s’écria Sancho, il faut que Votre Grâce ait perdu l’esprit; -c’est comme qui dirait: Tu me vois un procès sur les bras et tu me -demandes ma fille en mariage! Au moment de monter sur une croupe fort -dure, vous voulez que j’aille m’écorcher le derrière; en vérité, cela -n’est pas raisonnable. Allons d’abord barbifier ces dames, et au retour -je vous promets, foi d’homme de bien, que j’aviserai au reste; pour le -moment n’en parlons pas. - -Je m’en fie à ta parole, dit don Quichotte, car, quoique simple, tu es -sincère et véridique. - -Bon! bon! reprit Sancho, soyez tranquille; mais n’entreprenons pas tant -de besogne à la fois. - -Sans plus discourir ils se rapprochèrent de Chevillard; et sur le point -de l’enfourcher, don Quichotte dit à Sancho: Bande-toi les yeux et monte -hardiment; il n’y a pas d’apparence que celui qui nous a envoyé chercher -de si loin ait dessein de nous tromper: quel avantage aurait-il à se -jouer de gens qui se fient à lui? Mais quand tout irait au rebours de ce -que j’imagine, la gloire d’avoir entrepris cette aventure est assez -grande pour ne pas craindre de la voir obscurcie par les ténèbres de -l’envie! - -Allons, seigneur, dit Sancho, il me semble que j’ai la conscience -chargée de toute la bourre de ces pauvres duègnes, et je ne mangerai -morceau qui me profite avant d’avoir vu leur menton en meilleur état. -Montez, seigneur, continua-t-il, car si je dois aller en croupe, il faut -commencer par vous mettre en selle. - -Tu as raison, repartit don Quichotte. Et tirant un mouchoir de sa poche, -il pria la Doloride de lui bander les yeux; mais tout aussitôt d’un -mouvement brusque il l’ôta lui-même, en disant: Je me souviens, si j’ai -bonne mémoire, d’avoir lu dans Virgile que le palladium de Troie était -un cheval de bois que les Grecs présentèrent à la déesse Pallas, et qui -avait dans ses flancs des combattants armés, par lesquels la ruine -d’Ilion fut consommée; il serait donc à propos d’examiner ce que -Chevillard a dans l’estomac. - -C’est inutile, reprit la Doloride, je me rends caution de tout; -Malambrun n’est pas un traître: montez, sur ma parole, et s’il vous -arrive du mal je le prends sur moi. - -Don Quichotte, pensant que plus d’insistance ferait suspecter son -courage, monta sans autre objection; et comme, faute d’étriers, il -tenait les jambes allongées et pendantes, on eût dit une de ces figures -de tapisserie qui représentent un triomphateur romain. - -Sancho vint monter à son tour, mais lentement et à contre-cœur. Sitôt -qu’il fut sur le cheval, dont il trouva la croupe fort dure, il commença -à se remuer en tout sens pour s’asseoir plus à son aise; enfin ne -pouvant en venir à bout, il pria le duc de lui faire donner un coussin, -fût-ce même un de ceux de l’estrade de madame la duchesse, parce que, -ajouta-t-il, ce cheval me paraît avoir le trot dur. - -La Trifaldi répondit que Chevillard ne souffrirait sur son dos aucune -espèce de harnais; que Sancho pouvait, pour être moins durement, monter -à la manière des femmes. Sancho le fit; ensuite on lui banda les yeux, -et il dit adieu à la compagnie. Mais à peine le bandeau fut-il placé, -qu’il le releva, et regardant tristement ceux qui étaient dans le -jardin, il les conjura les larmes aux yeux de dire force _Pater_ et -_Ave_ à son intention, afin qu’en semblable passe Dieu leur envoyât à -eux-mêmes de bonnes âmes pour les assister de leurs prières. - -Larron! s’écria don Quichotte, es-tu donc attaché au gibet pour user de -pareilles supplications? n’es-tu pas assis, lâche créature, au même -endroit qu’occupa jadis la belle Maguelonne, et d’où elle descendit pour -devenir reine de France? et moi qui te parle, ne suis-je point à tes -côtés, puisqu’on m’a choisi pour remplir la même place qu’occupa le -fameux Pierre de Provence? Couvre tes yeux, être sans courage, et qu’il -ne t’arrive plus de laisser paraître de semblables frayeurs, du moins en -ma présence. - -Qu’on me bande donc les yeux, répondit Sancho; et puisqu’on ne veut pas -que je me recommande à Dieu, ni que je lui sois recommandé, est-il -étonnant si j’ai peur qu’il se trouve par ici quelque légion de diables -pour nous emporter à Peralvillo[112]. - - [112] Village près de Tolède, où la Sainte-Hermandad faisait exécuter - les malfaiteurs. - -Enfin on leur banda les yeux, après quoi don Quichotte, assuré que tout -était en bon état, commença à tourner la cheville. A peine y eut-il -porté la main que tous les assistants élevèrent la voix en criant: Dieu -te conduise, valeureux chevalier! Dieu te soit en aide, écuyer -intrépide! puissions-nous bientôt vous revoir? ce qui ne saurait tarder, -à la vitesse dont vous fendez l’air, car déjà nous vous perdons presque -de vue. Tiens-toi bien, valeureux Sancho, ne te dandine pas; prends -garde de tomber, car ta chute serait encore plus lourde que celle de ce -jeune étourdi qui voulut conduire les chevaux du soleil. - -A ces paroles, Sancho se serrait contre son maître, et l’embrassant par -la ceinture, il lui dit: Seigneur, pourquoi ces gens disent-ils que -nous sommes déjà très-haut, puisque nous les entendons si clairement -qu’on dirait qu’ils nous parlent aux oreilles! - -Ne t’arrête pas à cela, répondit don Quichotte: comme ces manières de -voyager sont extraordinaires, tout le reste est à l’avenant; ainsi la -voix ne trouvant aucun obstacle, vient aisément jusqu’à nous, l’air lui -servant de véhicule. Ne me serre donc pas si fort, tu m’étouffes. En -vérité, je ne comprends pas de quoi tu peux t’épouvanter: car de ma vie -je n’ai monté cheval d’une plus douce allure! on dirait que nous ne -bougeons pas de place. Allons, ami, rassure-toi, les choses vont comme -elles doivent aller, et nous pouvons dire que nous avons le vent en -poupe. - -Par ma foi, repartit Sancho, je sens déjà de ce côté une bise qui me -siffle aux oreilles. - -Il ne se trompait pas: quatre ou cinq hommes l’éventaient par derrière -avec de grands soufflets, tant le duc et son intendant avaient bien pris -leurs dispositions pour qu’il ne manquât rien à l’affaire. - -Don Quichotte ayant senti le vent: Sans aucun doute, dit-il, Sancho, -nous devons être arrivés à la moyenne région de l’air, où se forment la -grêle, les vents et la foudre; et si nous montons toujours avec la même -vitesse, nous atteindrons bientôt la région du feu. Vraiment, je ne sais -comment tourner cette cheville, afin de ne pas être bientôt embrasés. - -En effet, on leur chauffait le visage avec des étoupes enflammées qu’on -promenait devant eux au bout d’un long roseau. - -Nous devons être où vous dites, ou du moins bien près, s’écria Sancho, -car j’ai la barbe à demi grillée; seigneur, je vais me découvrir les -yeux, pour voir où nous sommes. - -Garde-toi d’en rien faire, reprit don Quichotte: ne connais-tu pas -l’histoire du licencié Torralva, que le diable enleva dans les airs, à -cheval sur un bâton et les yeux bandés? En douze heures, il arriva à -Rome, assista à l’assaut de la ville, vit la mort du connétable de -Bourbon, et le lendemain, à la pointe du jour, il était de retour à -Madrid, où il rendit compte de ce dont il avait été témoin. Entre autres -choses, ce Torralva raconta que pendant qu’il traversait les airs, le -diable lui ayant dit d’ouvrir les yeux, il les ouvrit, et se vit -tellement proche du corps de la lune, qu’il pouvait y toucher avec la -main; mais il n’osa regarder en bas, de crainte que la tête ne lui -tournât. D’après cela, Sancho, juge si ta curiosité serait dangereuse. -Celui qui a pris l’engagement de nous conduire répondra de nous; et bien -qu’en apparence il n’y ait pas une demi-heure que nous sommes partis, -crois-moi, nous devons avoir fait bien du chemin. - -Je n’ai rien à répondre, répliqua Sancho; mais tout ce que je puis dire, -c’est que si la dame Maguelonne s’arrangeait de cette chienne de croupe, -il fallait qu’elle eût la peau bien dure. - -Le duc, la duchesse et leur compagnie ne perdaient rien de ce plaisant -dialogue, et riaient comme des fous, sans éclater toutefois, de peur de -découvrir la mystification. Enfin, pour donner une digne issue à une -aventure si adroitement fabriquée, ils firent mettre le feu à un paquet -d’étoupes placé sous la queue de Chevillard, dont l’intérieur était -rempli de fusées et de pétards. Le cheval sauta en l’air avec un bruit -épouvantable, renversant sur l’herbe don Quichotte et Sancho, tous deux -à demi roussis. - -Un peu auparavant, la Doloride et sa suite étaient sorties du jardin; -ceux qui restaient s’étendirent par terre comme évanouis. Don Quichotte -et Sancho se relevèrent un peu maltraités de leur chute, et ayant -regardé de tous côtés, ils furent stupéfaits de se revoir dans le même -lieu et d’y trouver tant de gens couchés sans mouvement; mais leur -surprise s’accrut encore lorsqu’ils aperçurent une lance fichée en -terre, d’où pendait, à deux cordons de soie verte, un parchemin portant -ces mots tracés en lettres d’or: - - _L’illustre et valeureux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche a mis - fin à l’aventure de la comtesse Trifaldi, autrement dite la duègne - Doloride et compagnie, rien qu’en l’entreprenant. Malambrun est - satisfait. Les mentons des duègnes sont nets et rasés, le roi don - Clavijo et la reine Antonomasie ont repris leur première forme. - Aussitôt que le gracieux écuyer aura accompli sa pénitence, la blanche - colombe Tobosine se verra hors des griffes des vautours qui la - persécutent et dans les bras de son bien-aimé tourtereau. Ainsi - l’ordonne le sage Merlin, proto-enchanteur des enchanteurs._ - -Ces dernières paroles firent comprendre aisément à don Quichotte qu’il -s’agissait du désenchantement de Dulcinée. Rendant grâces au ciel -d’avoir accompli avec si peu de risques un tel exploit, et rendu leur -poli aux visages des vénérables duègnes, il s’approcha de la duchesse et -du duc, en apparence toujours évanouis. Allons, seigneur, lui dit-il, -bon courage, tout ceci n’est rien; l’aventure est achevée, ainsi que -vous pouvez le voir par l’écriteau que voici. - -Le duc, comme s’il sortait d’un profond sommeil, parut reprendre peu à -peu ses sens; la duchesse fit de même, et tous ceux qui étaient dans le -jardin simulèrent si bien la surprise qu’on aurait cru effectivement -qu’il leur était arrivé quelque chose d’étrange. Le duc lut l’écriteau, -les yeux encore à demi fermés, et se les frottant à chaque mot; mais -aussitôt qu’il eût achevé de lire, il se jeta les bras ouverts au cou de -don Quichotte, lui disant qu’il était plus grand que tous les chevaliers -des siècles passés. Sancho cherchait des yeux la Doloride, pour voir -quelle figure elle avait sans barbe, et si elle était aussi belle, le -menton rasé, que le promettait sa bonne mine; mais on lui dit qu’en même -temps que Chevillard tombait tout en feu du haut des airs, la Trifaldi -avait disparu avec sa troupe, n’ayant plus au menton le moindre poil de -barbe ni l’apparence d’en avoir jamais eu. - -La duchesse demanda à Sancho comment il se trouvait d’un si long voyage -et ce qui lui était arrivé. - -Dieu merci, madame, répondit-il, je me trouve assez bien, si ce n’est -que je me suis un peu meurtri l’épaule en tombant, mais cela n’est rien. -Je vous dirai seulement que comme nous allions atteindre la région du -feu, je demandai à mon maître la permission de me découvrir les yeux, -mais il ne voulut jamais y consentir. Alors, moi, qui suis un peu -curieux de mon naturel, et qui ai toujours la démangeaison d’apprendre -ce qu’on veut me cacher, je relevai tout doucement mon bandeau, et me -mis à regarder la terre du coin de l’œil. Nous étions en ce moment si -haut, si haut, qu’elle ne me parut pas plus grosse qu’un grain de -moutarde, et les hommes qui marchaient dessus, guère plus gros que des -noisettes. - -Prenez garde, ami Sancho, reprit la duchesse: d’après vos propres -paroles, vous ne pouviez voir la terre, mais seulement les hommes qui -marchaient dessus. Et cela se conçoit: si la terre ne paraissait pas -plus grosse qu’un grain de moutarde, et chaque homme gros comme une -noisette, un seul homme devait la couvrir toute entière. - -Il devrait en être ainsi, répondit Sancho; malgré cela, je la découvris -par un petit coin, et je l’ai vue en son entier. - -Mais, repartit la duchesse, on ne saurait voir en son entier ce qu’on ne -regarde que par un petit coin. - -Je n’entends rien à ces finesses-là, répliqua Sancho; qu’il suffise à -Votre Seigneurie de savoir que nous volions par enchantement, et que par -enchantement aussi j’ai pu voir la terre et les hommes, de quelque façon -que je les eusse regardés. Si Votre Grâce ne croit pas cela, elle croira -encore moins que, me découvrant les yeux pour regarder en haut, je me -vis si près du ciel, qu’il ne s’en fallait pas d’un demi-pied que j’y -touchasse; et ce dont je puis faire serment, madame, c’est qu’il est -furieusement grand. Nous étions en ce moment vers l’endroit où sont les -chèvres; et comme, étant enfant, j’ai été chevrier dans mon pays, il me -prit une si grande envie de causer quelques instants avec ces chèvres, -que si je ne l’eusse fait, je crois que j’en serais mort. J’arrive donc -près d’elles, sans rien dire à personne, ni même à mon maître; je -descends tout bonnement de Chevillard, et me mets à causer environ trois -ou quatre heures avec ces chèvres, qui en vérité sont gentilles comme -des giroflées et douces comme des fleurs; et pendant tout ce temps, -Chevillard ne bougea pas. - -Pendant que Sancho s’entretenait avec les chèvres, que faisait le -seigneur don Quichotte? demanda le duc. - -Comme toutes les choses qui m’arrivent ont lieu par des voies -extraordinaires, répondit don Quichotte, il ne faut pas s’étonner de ce -que raconte Sancho. Moi, je ne me découvris point les yeux, et ne vis ni -ciel, ni terre, ni mer, ni montagnes; je m’aperçus seulement, lorsque -nous eûmes traversé la moyenne région de l’air, que nous approchions -fort de la région du feu; mais que nous ayons été plus avant, je ne le -crois pas. En effet, la région du feu étant placée entre la lune et la -dernière région de l’air, nous ne pouvions arriver jusqu’où sont les -sept chèvres dont parle Sancho sans être consumés; et puisque nous voilà -ici, Sancho ment, ou il rêve. - -Je ne mens ni ne rêve, repartit Sancho: qu’on me demande le signalement -des chèvres, et on verra si je dis, ou non, la vérité. - -Eh bien, comment sont-elles? demanda la duchesse. - -Il y en avait deux vertes, deux incarnates, deux bleues, et la dernière -bariolée, répondit Sancho. - -Voilà une nouvelle espèce de chèvres, reprit le duc; sur terre nous n’en -avons point de semblables. - -Est-il donc si étonnant qu’il y ait de la différence entre les chèvres -de la terre et les chèvres du ciel? repartit Sancho. - -Dites-moi un peu, mon ami, n’y avait-il aucun bouc parmi ces chèvres? -demanda le duc. - -Non, monseigneur, répondit Sancho; j’ai toujours entendu dire qu’aucun -animal à cornes ne passait les cornes de la lune. - -Le duc et la duchesse cessèrent de questionner notre écuyer, qu’ils -voyaient en train de se promener à travers les sept cieux et de leur en -donner des nouvelles sans avoir bougé du jardin. - -Telle fut la fin de l’aventure de Doloride. - -Don Quichotte s’approchant de son écuyer, lui dit à l’oreille: Sancho, -puisque vous voulez qu’on ajoute foi à ce que vous racontez avoir vu -dans le ciel, je veux à mon tour que vous teniez pour véritable ce que -j’ai vu dans la caverne de Montesinos: je ne vous en dis pas davantage. - -CHAPITRE XLII - -DES CONSEILS QUE DON QUICHOTTE DONNA A SANCHO PANZA TOUCHANT LE -GOUVERNEMENT DE L’ILE, ETC. - -Le duc et la duchesse furent si satisfaits de l’heureux et plaisant -dénoûment de l’aventure de la Doloride, qu’ils ne pensèrent plus qu’à -inventer de nouveaux sujets de se divertir, et toujours aux dépens de -leurs hôtes. Ayant donc préparé leur plan et instruit leurs gens de la -manière dont ils devaient agir avec Sancho, le duc lui dit de se -préparer à partir afin d’aller prendre possession de son gouvernement, -où les vassaux l’attendaient avec non moins d’impatience que la terre -desséchée attend la rosée du matin. - -Sancho s’inclina jusqu’à terre, et répondit: Monseigneur, depuis que je -suis descendu du ciel, depuis que, du plus haut de sa voûte, j’ai -considéré la terre, je l’ai trouvée si petite, si petite, que l’envie -m’a presque passé d’être gouverneur. Le bel honneur, en effet, de -commander sur un grain de moutarde, à une douzaine d’hommes, gros chacun -comme une noisette! car il me semblait qu’il n’y en avait pas davantage -sur toute la terre. Si Votre Seigneurie voulait me donner à gouverner -une petite partie du ciel, ne fût-elle que d’une demi-lieue, je la -préférerais à la plus grande île du monde. - -Ami Sancho, répondit le duc, je ne puis donner à personne aucune partie -du ciel, ne fût-elle pas plus grande que l’ongle: Dieu seul a le pouvoir -d’accorder semblables faveurs. Je vous donne ce que je puis vous donner, -une île faite et parfaite, ronde, bien proportionnée, fertile et -abondante, où, si vous en prenez la peine, vous pourrez ajouter aux -richesses de la terre celles du ciel. - -Monseigneur, répliqua Sancho, que l’île vienne, et je m’efforcerai de la -gouverner si bien, qu’en dépit de tous les méchants j’irai droit au -ciel. Ce n’est point par ambition, croyez-le, que je songe à quitter ma -chaumière, mais seulement pour tâter de ces gouvernements, dont tout le -monde est si affamé. - -Ami Sancho, dit le duc, quand vous en aurez une fois goûté, vous vous en -lécherez les doigts jusqu’aux coudes, tant est grand le plaisir de -commander et de se faire obéir. - -Monseigneur, répondit Sancho, je m’imagine qu’il est fort agréable de -commander, ne fût-ce qu’à un troupeau de moutons. - -Par ma foi, vous possédez toute science, Sancho, repartit le duc, et je -crois que vous serez un fort bon gouverneur. Mais trêve de discours, et -sachez que dès demain vous irez prendre possession de votre île. Ce soir -on prépare l’équipage qui vous convient et toutes les choses -nécessaires à votre installation. - -Qu’on m’habille comme on voudra, répondit Sancho; sous quelque habit que -ce soit, je n’en serai pas moins Sancho Panza. - -Cela est vrai, dit le duc; cependant le costume doit être conforme à -l’état qu’on professe et à la dignité dont on est revêtu: il serait -ridicule qu’un jurisconsulte fût vêtu comme un homme d’épée, et un -soldat comme un prêtre. Quant à vous, Sancho, votre costume doit tenir -du lettré et de l’homme de guerre, parce que dans l’île que je vous -donne, les armes sont aussi nécessaires que les lettres, et les lettres -que les armes. - -Pour la science, repartit Sancho, je n’en suis guère pourvu, car je ne -sais pas l’A B C; mais je sais mon _Pater noster_, et c’est assez pour -être bon gouverneur; quant aux armes, je me servirai de celles qu’on me -donnera, jusqu’à ce qu’elles me tombent des mains, et à la grâce de -Dieu. - -Avec de pareils sentiments, dit le duc, Sancho ne pourra faillir en -rien. - -Sur ces entrefaites arriva don Quichotte. Ayant appris que Sancho devait -partir le jour suivant, il le prit par la main, et avec la permission du -duc l’emmena dans sa chambre, pour lui donner, avant son départ, -quelques leçons sur la manière dont il devait remplir son nouvel emploi. -Sitôt qu’ils furent entrés, le chevalier ferma la porte, et ayant fait -asseoir Sancho presque malgré lui, d’une voix lente et posée il lui -parla en ces termes: - -Je rends grâces au ciel, ami Sancho, de ce que la fortune, qui n’a -encore eu pour moi que des rigueurs, soit venue, pour ainsi dire, te -prendre par la main. Moi, qui pensais trouver dans les faveurs du sort -de quoi récompenser la fidélité de tes services, je suis encore au début -de mes espérances, tandis que toi, avant le temps et contre tout calcul -raisonnable, tu vas voir combler tous tes désirs. L’un se donne mille -soucis et travaille sans relâche pour atteindre son but, quand l’autre -sans y songer, sans savoir pourquoi ni comment, se trouve en possession -de l’emploi sollicité par une foule de prétendants. C’est bien le cas de -dire que dans la poursuite des places il n’y a qu’heur et malheur. -Ainsi, quoique tu ne sois qu’un lourdaud, te voilà, sans faire un pas, -sans perdre une minute de ton sommeil, mais par cela seulement que la -chevalerie errante t’a touché de son souffle, te voilà appelé au -gouvernement d’une île. - -Je te dis cela, Sancho, pour que tu n’attribues pas ta bonne fortune à -ton mérite, mais afin que tu apprennes à remercier incessamment le ciel, -et après lui la chevalerie errante dont la grandeur renferme en elle -tant de biens. Maintenant que ton cœur est disposé à suivre mes -conseils, écoute avec l’attention d’un disciple qui veut profiter des -enseignements de son maître, écoute les préceptes qui devront te servir -d’étoile et de guide pour éviter les écueils de cette mer orageuse où tu -vas te lancer; car les hauts emplois et les charges d’importance ne sont -qu’un profond abîme couvert d’obscurités et rempli d’écueils. - -Premièrement, mon fils, garde la crainte de Dieu, parce que cette -crainte est le commencement de la sagesse, et que celui qui est sage ne -tombe jamais dans l’erreur. - -Secondement, souviens-toi toujours de ta première condition, et ne cesse -de t’examiner pour arriver à te connaître toi-même; c’est la chose à -laquelle on doit le plus s’appliquer, et à laquelle d’ordinaire on -réussit le moins. Cette connaissance t’apprendra à ne pas t’enfler comme -la grenouille qui voulut un jour s’égaler au bœuf; et si la vanité, -cette sotte enflure de cœur, venait à s’emparer de ton âme, -rappelle-toi que tu as gardé les cochons. - -C’est vrai, répondit Sancho; mais j’étais petit garçon; plus tard, en -grandissant, ce sont les oies que j’ai gardées et non pas les cochons. -Au reste, qu’est-ce que cela fait à l’affaire? tous les gouverneurs ne -sont pas fils de princes. - -J’en demeure d’accord, dit don Quichotte; c’est pourquoi ceux dont la -naissance ne répond pas à la gravité de leur emploi doivent être -affables, afin d’échapper à la médisance et à l’envie, qui toujours -s’attachent aux dépositaires de l’autorité. - -Fais gloire, Sancho, de l’humilité de ta naissance, et n’aie point honte -d’avouer que tu es fils de laboureur; car tant que tu ne t’élèveras -point, personne ne songera à t’humilier. Pique-toi plutôt d’être humble -vertueux, que pécheur superbe. On ne saurait dire le nombre de ceux que -la fortune a tirés de la poussière pour les élever jusqu’à la dignité de -la couronne et de la tiare, et je pourrais t’en citer des exemples -jusqu’à te fatiguer. - -Que la vertu soit la règle constante de tes actions, et tu n’auras rien -à envier à ceux qui sont princes et grands seigneurs; car on hérite de -la noblesse, mais la vertu s’acquiert, et par elle seule la vertu vaut -ce que le sang ne peut valoir. - -Cela étant, si un de tes parents va te voir dans ton gouvernement, ne le -rebute point; au contraire, fais-lui bon accueil; ainsi tu obéiras à -Dieu, qui défend de mépriser son ouvrage, et tu te conformeras aux -saintes lois de la nature, qui veulent que tous les hommes se traitent -en frères. - -Si tu emmènes ta femme avec toi (et il n’est pas convenable qu’un -gouverneur soit longtemps sans sa femme), tâche de la dégrossir et de la -former, car ce que peut gagner un gouverneur sage et discret, une femme -sotte et grossière le lui fait perdre. - -Si par hasard tu deviens veuf, ce qui peut arriver, et si l’emploi te -faisait trouver une femme de plus haute condition, ne la prends pas -telle qu’elle serve d’amorce et prenne à toutes mains; car je te le dis, -ce que reçoit la femme du juge, le mari en rendra compte au jour du -jugement; et alors il payera au centuple ce dont il fut innocent pendant -sa vie. - -Ne te laisse point aller à l’interprétation arbitraire de la loi, comme -font les ignorants qui se piquent d’habileté et de pénétration. - -Que les larmes du pauvre trouvent accès auprès de toi, mais sans te -faire oublier la justice qui est due au riche. Fais en sorte de -découvrir la vérité à travers les promesses et les présents du riche, -comme à travers les sanglots et les importunités du pauvre. - -Ne frappe pas le coupable avec toute la rigueur de la loi: la réputation -de juge impitoyable ne vaut pas mieux que celle de juge trop -compatissant. - -Si tu laisses quelquefois pencher la balance de la justice, que ce ne -soit pas sous le poids des présents, mais sous celui de la miséricorde. - -Quand tu auras à juger un de tes ennemis, abjure tout ressentiment, et -n’examine que son procès; autrement si la passion dictait ta sentence, -tu te verrais un jour obligé de réparer ton injustice aux dépens de ton -honneur et de ta bourse. - -Si une femme belle vient te solliciter, ferme tes yeux et bouche tes -oreilles; car la beauté est dangereuse, il n’y a point de poison plus -fait pour corrompre l’intégrité d’un juge. - -Ne maltraite point en paroles celui que tu châtieras en actions; la -peine suffit aux malheureux, sans y ajouter de cruels propos. - -Pense toujours à la misérable condition des hommes sujets aux infirmités -de leur nature dépravée; et autant que tu le pourras, montre-toi -miséricordieux, sans blesser l’équité; car parmi les attributs de Dieu, -bien qu’ils soient tous égaux, la miséricorde resplendit avec encore -plus d’éclat que la justice. - -En suivant ces préceptes, Sancho, tu auras de longs jours, ta renommée -sera éternelle, tes désirs seront comblés, ta félicité sera ineffable, -et après avoir vécu dans la paix de ton cœur, entouré des bénédictions -des gens de bien, la mort t’atteindra dans une douce vieillesse, et tes -yeux se fermeront sous les doigts tendres et délicats de tes petits -enfants. - -Voilà mon ami, les conseils que j’avais à te donner, en ce qui concerne -l’ornement de ton âme; écoute maintenant ceux qui doivent servir à la -parure de ton corps. - -CHAPITRE XLIII - -SUITE DES CONSEILS QUE DON QUICHOTTE DONNA A SANCHO - -Qui aurait pu entendre ce discours sans tenir don Quichotte pour un -homme plein de sagesse et de bonnes intentions? Mais, comme nous l’avons -vu plus d’une fois dans le cours de cette grande histoire, l’esprit de -notre pauvre gentilhomme, raisonnable sur tout le reste, déménageait -quand il était question de chevalerie: de sorte qu’à toute heure ses -œuvres discréditaient son jugement, et son jugement démentait ses -œuvres. Dans les secondes instructions qu’il donna à Sancho, il fit -preuve d’une grâce parfaite, et montra dans tout leur jour sa sagesse et -sa folie. Sancho l’écoutait avec une extrême attention, et tâchait -d’imprimer ses conseils dans sa mémoire, bien résolu à les suivre, afin -de se tirer au mieux de la grande affaire de son gouvernement. Don -Quichotte continua ainsi: - -En ce qui touche, Sancho, la manière dont tu dois gouverner ta maison et -ta personne, la première chose que je te recommande, c’est d’être propre -et de te couper les ongles, au lieu de les laisser pousser à l’exemple -de certaines gens assez sots pour croire que de grands ongles -embellissent les mains; comme si cet appendice pouvait s’appeler des -ongles, quand ce sont plutôt des griffes d’épervier. - -Ne te montre jamais avec des vêtements débraillés et en désordre, c’est -le signe d’un esprit faible et lâche; à moins que cette négligence ne -couvre une grande dissimulation, comme on l’a pensé de Jules César. - -Sonde discrètement ce que peut te rapporter ton office: s’il te permet -de donner une livrée à tes gens, donne-leur en une qui soit propre et -commode, plutôt que brillante et magnifique, et emploie l’épargne que tu -feras là-dessus à habiller autant de pauvres. Si donc tu as de quoi -entretenir six pages, habilles-en trois seulement, et distribues le -reste à autant de pauvres: tu auras ainsi trois pages pour le ciel et -trois pour la terre, manière de donner des livrées que ne connaissent -point les glorieux. - -Ne mange point d’ail ni d’oignon, de crainte que ce parfum ne vienne à -trahir ta condition première. Marche posément, parle avec lenteur, mais -non pas à ce point que tu paraisses t’écouter toi-même, car toute -affectation est mauvaise. - -Dîne peu; soupe moins encore; la santé de tout le corps s’élabore dans -l’officine de l’estomac. - -Sois tempérant dans le boire; celui qui s’enivre est incapable de garder -un secret ni de tenir un serment. - -Fais attention, en mangeant, à ne point mâcher des deux côtés à la fois, -et à n’éructer devant personne. - -Qu’entendez-vous par éructer? demanda Sancho. - -Éructer, répondit don Quichotte, signifie roter, ce qui est un des plus -vilains mots de notre langue, quoique fort expressif: aussi les gens -bien élevés ont recours au latin, et au lieu de roter, ils disent -éructer; au lieu de rots, éructations. Si quelques personnes n’entendent -point cela, peu importe; l’usage et le temps feront adopter le mot; -ainsi s’enrichissent les langues, sur lesquelles le vulgaire et l’usage -ont tant de pouvoir. - -En vérité, seigneur, reprit Sancho, un des conseils que je veux surtout -retenir, c’est de ne pas roter; car cela m’arrive à tout bout de champ. - -Éructer, reprit don Quichotte, et non pas roter. - -A l’avenir, je dirai toujours éructer, repartit Sancho, et je vous -promets de ne pas l’oublier. - -Veille aussi à ne pas mêler à tes discours cette foule de proverbes dont -tu abuses à chaque instant; les proverbes, il est vrai, sont de courtes -sentences, mais tu les tires tellement par les cheveux, qu’ils ont -plutôt l’air de balourdises que de maximes. - -Dieu seul peut y remédier, dit Sancho; car j’ai en moi plus de proverbes -qu’un livre; et sitôt que je desserre les dents, il m’en vient sur le -bout de la langue un si grand nombre, qu’ils se disputent à qui sortira -le premier: mais j’aurai soin dorénavant de ne dire que ceux qui -conviendront à la gravité de mon emploi; car en bonne maison la nappe -est bientôt mise, qui convient du prix n’a pas de dispute, celui-là ne -craint rien qui sonne le tocsin, et entre donner et prendre garde de se -méprendre. - -Allons, mon ami, lâche, lâche tes proverbes! c’est bien le cas de dire -ma mère me châtie, et je fouette la toupie: je suis à te corriger de ta -manie des proverbes, et tu en débites une kyrielle qui viennent aussi à -propos que s’ils tombaient des nues. Je ne blâme pas un proverbe bien -placé; mais les enfiler sans rime ni raison, cela rend la conversation -lourde et fastidieuse. - -Quand tu monteras à cheval, aie soin de tenir la jambe tendue et le -corps droit; autrement tu aurais l’air d’être encore sur ton grison. - -Sois modéré quant au sommeil: celui qui n’est pas levé avec le soleil ne -jouit pas du jour. Je t’avertis, Sancho, que la diligence est mère de la -bonne fortune, et que la paresse, son ennemie, n’atteignit jamais un but -honorable. - -J’ai à te donner un dernier conseil, et quoiqu’il ne regarde pas, comme -les précédents, la parure de ton corps, je crois que son observation te -sera très-profitable. Le voici: Ne dispute jamais sur la noblesse des -familles; quand on les compare, l’une finit toujours par l’emporter, et -tu te ferais une ennemie de celle que tu mettrais au second rang, sans -que l’autre te sût le moindre gré de ta préférence. - -Ton habillement devra se composer de chausses entières, d’un pourpoint -et d’un manteau. Jamais de grègues, elles ne conviennent ni aux -gentilshommes, ni aux gouverneurs. - -Voilà, Sancho, les conseils qui, pour le moment, se sont présentés à mon -esprit; je t’en enverrai d’autres à l’occasion, pourvu que tu aies soin -de m’informer de l’état de tes affaires. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, toutes les choses que vous venez de me dire -sont saintes et profitables; mais à quoi cela me servira-t-il, si je ne -m’en souviens pas? Pour ce qui est de me rogner les ongles, et de me -remarier, si le cas se présente, cela ne sortira point de la tête: quant -à toutes ces autres minuties que vous m’avez recommandées, par ma foi, -je ne m’en souviens pas plus que des nuages de l’an passé. Veuillez me -les coucher par écrit, et je les remettrai à mon confesseur, afin qu’au -besoin il me les fourre dans la cervelle. - -Qu’il sied mal à un gouverneur de ne savoir ni lire ni écrire! reprit -don Quichotte. Sais-tu, Sancho, ce qu’on pense d’un homme qui ne sait -pas lire? de deux choses l’une, ou qu’il a eu pour parents des gens de -la dernière condition, ou qu’il a été lui-même un si mauvais sujet, -qu’on ne l’a pas trouvé susceptible de correction. C’est un grand défaut -que tu as là, mon ami, et je voudrais au moins que tu apprisses à signer -ton nom. - -Je sais signer mon nom, repartit Sancho: lorsque j’étais bedeau dans -notre village, j’ai appris à tracer des lettres comme celles qu’on met -sur les ballots de marchandises, et on disait que cela figurait mon -nom. Après tout, je ferai semblant d’avoir la main droite estropiée, et -un autre signera pour moi; car il y a remède à tout, fors à la mort; et -comme je serai le maître, et tiendrai la baguette, je ferai ce que je -voudrai, d’autant plus que celui dont le père est alcade... et comme je -serai gouverneur, ce qui est encore plus que d’être alcade.... Oui-da, -qu’on s’y frotte, et on sera bien reçu: tel vient chercher de la laine, -qui s’en retourne tondu. D’ailleurs, les sottises du riche passent dans -le monde pour sentences, et quand je serai riche, puisque je serai -gouverneur, qui est-ce qui me trouvera un défaut? Oui, oui, faites-vous -miel, et les mouches vous mangeront; autant tu possèdes, autant tu vaux, -disait ma grand’mère; et d’un homme qui a pignon sur rue on n’a jamais -raison. - -Maudit sois-tu de Dieu et des saints! interrompit don Quichotte; mille -satans puissent-ils emporter toi et tes proverbes! Il y a plus d’une -heure que tu me tiens à la torture. Si tes proverbes ne te conduisent un -jour au gibet, dis que je suis un faux prophète: ils exciteront quelque -sédition parmi tes vassaux, et finiront par te faire perdre ton -gouvernement. Et où diable vas-tu les trouver, imbécile, lorsque moi, -pour en citer un à propos, je sue comme si je piochais la terre. - -Par ma foi, Votre Grâce se fâche pour peu de chose, repartit Sancho; qui -diable peut trouver mauvais que je me serve de mon bien, puisque je n’en -possède pas d’autres? Je n’ai que des proverbes, eh bien, je lâche des -proverbes; tenez, j’en ai quatre en ce moment sur le bout de la langue, -qui venaient à point nommé, mais je ne les dirai pas; car, comme dit le -vieux dicton, pour se taire à propos, il n’est tel que Sancho. - -Tu n’es pas ce Sancho-là reprit don Quichotte, mais Sancho le bavard et -l’opiniâtre. Néanmoins je serais curieux de connaître les quatre -proverbes que tu prétends venir si à propos: j’ai beau y songer, et -quoique j’aie la mémoire assez bonne, il ne s’en présente aucun. - -Eh! quels meilleurs proverbes peut-il y avoir que ceux-ci, répondit -Sancho: Entre deux dents mâchelières ne mets jamais le doigt; Videz la -maison et que voulez-vous à ma femme? et cet autre, Si la pierre donne -contre la cruche, ou la cruche contre la pierre, tant pis pour la -cruche. Ce qui veut dire: que personne ne se prenne de querelle avec son -gouverneur, autrement, il lui en cuira; lorsque le gouverneur commande, -il n’y a pas à répliquer, non plus qu’à Vider la maison, et que -voulez-vous à ma femme? Pour celui de la cruche et de la pierre, un -aveugle le verrait. Du reste, Votre Seigneurie n’ignore pas qu’un sot en -sait plus long dans sa maison qu’un sage dans celle d’autrui. - -Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, ni dans sa maison ni ailleurs, un sot ne -sait rien; il est impossible de rien asseoir de raisonnable sur le -fondement de la sottise. Mais restons-en là mon ami: si tu gouvernes -mal, à toi la faute, à moi la honte; cependant j’aurai la consolation de -n’avoir rien négligé, et de t’avoir donné mes conseils en homme -d’honneur et de conscience. Dieu te conduise, Sancho, qu’il te gouverne -dans ton gouvernement, et me délivre, moi, de l’inquiétude où je vais -rester que tu ne mettes tout sens dessus dessous dans ton île. Il ne -tiendrait qu’à moi de m’ôter cette crainte; je n’aurais qu’à découvrir -au duc qui tu es, et que ton épaisse personne n’est qu’un magasin de -proverbes et un sac plein de malice. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, si Votre Grâce ne me croit pas capable de -remplir le devoir d’un bon gouverneur, eh bien, n’en parlons plus, je -renonce au gouvernement; la plus petite portion de mon âme m’est plus -chère que mon corps tout entier; je vivrai aussi bien Sancho avec un -morceau de pain et un oignon, que Sancho gouverneur avec des chapons et -des perdrix. D’ailleurs, si Votre Seigneurie veut bien se le rappeler, -c’est elle qui m’a mis le gouvernement en tête, car moi, je ne sais ce -que c’est qu’île et gouvernement. Après tout, enfin, si vous croyez que -le diable doive emporter le gouverneur, j’aime mieux aller simple Sancho -en paradis que gouverneur en enfer. - -En vérité, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, les dernières paroles que tu viens -de prononcer méritent à elles seules le gouvernement de cent îles: tu as -un bon naturel, sans quoi il n’y a science qui vaille. Va, -recommande-toi à Dieu; et surtout cherche le bien en toutes choses; le -ciel ne manque jamais de favoriser les bonnes intentions. - -Maintenant allons dîner: Leurs Seigneuries, je crois, nous attendent. - -CHAPITRE XLIV - -COMMENT SANCHO ALLA PRENDRE POSSESSION DU GOUVERNEMENT DE L’ILE, ET DE -L’ÉTRANGE AVENTURE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE DANS LE CHATEAU - -Dans l’original de cette histoire, on trouve au présent chapitre un -exorde dont voici le sens: Cid Hamet se plaint à lui-même et regrette -d’avoir entrepris une tâche aussi aride et aussi uniforme que celle-ci, -forcé qu’il est de parler toujours de don Quichotte et de Sancho. Il dit -qu’avoir l’esprit et la plume sans cesse occupés d’un seul personnage, -ne parler que par la bouche de peu de gens, c’est un travail par trop -ingrat. Pour éviter cet inconvénient, j’avais, ajoute-t-il, usé d’un -artifice dans la première partie, en y intercalant quelques nouvelles, -comme celles du _Curieux malavisé_ et du _Captif_, qui sont en dehors de -l’histoire; mais ayant fait réflexion que les lecteurs, absorbés par le -récit des prouesses de don Quichotte, n’accorderaient aucune attention -aux _nouvelles_ et les parcourraient à la hâte, je me suis abstenu d’en -insérer dans cette seconde partie, me bornant à quelques épisodes semés -çà et là, et encore d’une manière fort restreinte et en aussi peu de -mots qu’en exige l’exposition. Son exorde terminé, il continue son -récit: - -Au sortir de table, don Quichotte coucha par écrit les conseils que dans -la journée il avait donnés à Sancho, et les lui remit en disant qu’il -n’avait qu’à se les faire lire quand il lui plairait; mais le papier fut -aussitôt perdu que donné, et un valet, dans les mains duquel il tomba, -s’empressa de le porter au duc et à la duchesse, qui admirèrent de -nouveau la folie et le grand sens de notre héros. Pour continuer une -plaisanterie dont ils s’amusaient tous deux de plus en plus, dès le même -soir ils envoyèrent Sancho avec un grand cortége au bourg qui devait -passer pour son île. Ils le firent accompagner d’un majordome, homme -plein d’esprit et d’enjouement (il n’y a pas d’enjouement sans esprit), -lequel avait fait le personnage de la comtesse Trifaldi, et inventé la -mystification que nous avons rapportée. Grâce à ses talents et aux -instructions qu’il avait reçues, il ne réussit pas moins agréablement -dans celle qui va suivre. - -Or, il arriva que Sancho, ayant regardé avec attention ce majordome, -reconnut la figure de la Trifaldi: Seigneur, dit-il en se tournant vers -son maître, le diable m’emporte si le majordome de monseigneur ne -ressemble pas comme deux gouttes d’eau à la duègne Doloride. - -Don Quichotte, après avoir bien considéré cet homme, répondit: Il -existe, j’en conviens, de la ressemblance entre le visage de la Doloride -et celui du majordome; mais il ne s’ensuit pas que le majordome soit la -Doloride. Au reste, ce n’est pas le moment de faire de pareilles -investigations, elles nous jetteraient dans un labyrinthe inextricable; -crois-moi, mon ami, nous n’avons tous deux qu’un besoin, c’est de prier -instamment Notre-Seigneur qu’il nous délivre des maudits sorciers et des -méchants enchanteurs. - -Ce n’est pas une plaisanterie, seigneur, répliqua Sancho; je viens à -l’instant même d’entendre parler le majordome, et, sur ma foi, il me -semblait que la voix de la Doloride me cornait aux oreilles. Pour -l’heure, je n’en dis pas davantage, mais je me tiendrai sur mes gardes, -et nous verrons si je ne découvrirai rien qui nous éclaircisse mieux sur -ce point. - -Tu feras bien, Sancho, dit don Quichotte, de me donner avis de ce que tu -auras pu découvrir, comme aussi de tout ce qui t’arrivera dans ton -gouvernement. - -Enfin l’heure du départ étant venue, Sancho sortit accompagné d’une -suite nombreuse. Il était vêtu en magistrat, avec un long manteau de -camelot fauve, une toque de même couleur, et montait un mulet avec selle -à la genette; son âne, magnifiquement caparaçonné et couvert d’une -housse de cheval d’une étoffe incarnate, marchait derrière lui. De temps -en temps, Sancho tournait la tête pour considérer son grison, ravi de -l’état où il le voyait, non moins que de celui où il était lui-même, et -il n’aurait pas changé sa fortune contre celle d’un empereur -d’Allemagne. J’oubliais de dire qu’en prenant congé du duc et de la -duchesse, il leur baisa les mains, puis alla demander la bénédiction de -son maître. Don Quichotte la lui donna les larmes aux yeux, ce dont -Sancho éprouva un attendrissement qui se traduisit en une fort laide -grimace. - -Maintenant, ami lecteur, laissons aller en paix notre gouverneur; prends -patience et sois assuré de la pinte de bon sang que tu vas faire quand -tu verras comment il se comporte dans son nouvel emploi. A présent -occupons-nous de don Quichotte. - -A peine Sancho fut-il en chemin, que notre chevalier éprouva un tel -regret de son départ et de l’isolement où il se trouvait réduit, que -s’il eût pu révoquer la mission de son écuyer, il l’eût rappelé sur -l’heure sans s’inquiéter s’il le privait d’un gouvernement, juste -récompense de ses services. La duchesse, qui s’aperçut de sa mélancolie, -lui en demanda le sujet, ajoutant que si l’absence de Sancho en était la -cause, il y avait dans sa maison cent duègnes ou demoiselles qui -mettraient le plus grand empressement à le servir. - -Madame, répondit don Quichotte, j’avoue que Sancho me fait faute, mais -ce n’est pas là la principale cause de ma tristesse. Quant aux offres -que Votre Excellence a la bonté de me faire, j’accepte seulement la -courtoisie qui les dicte, et je supplie très-humblement Votre Grandeur -de vouloir bien permettre que je n’aie d’autre serviteur que moi-même. - -Oh! par ma foi, il n’en sera pas ainsi, seigneur don Quichotte, dit la -duchesse, et je veux vous faire servir par quatre de mes filles, qui -sont toutes fraîches comme des roses. - -Elles ne seraient pas pour moi des roses, mais des épines, reprit notre -héros; aussi, Madame, suis-je bien résolu, sauf le respect que je dois à -Votre Grâce, à ne point les laisser pénétrer dans ma chambre. -Laissez-moi, je vous prie, me servir seul, à huis clos; il m’importe de -mettre une muraille entre mes désirs et ma chasteté; je dormirais plutôt -tout habillé, que de me laisser déshabiller par personne. - -Eh bien, seigneur don Quichotte, répliqua la duchesse, puisque vous -l’exigez, non-seulement aucune de mes filles, mais pas même une mouche -n’entrera dans votre appartement. Je sais que parmi les nombreuses -vertus de Votre Seigneurie, celle qui tient le premier rang, c’est la -chasteté, et je ne suis pas femme à permettre qu’on y porte la moindre -atteinte: que Votre Grâce s’habille et se déshabille comme il lui -plaira; seulement on aura soin de mettre dans votre appartement les -meubles nécessaires à qui dort porte close, afin de vous épargner la -peine de les demander. Vive à jamais la grande Dulcinée du Toboso! que -son nom soit célébré par toute la terre, puisqu’elle a mérité d’avoir -pour serviteur un chevalier si chaste et si vaillant! Veuille le ciel -mettre au cœur de notre gouverneur Sancho Panza la résolution -d’accomplir sans retard l’heureuse pénitence qui doit faire jouir -l’univers des attraits d’une si grande dame. - -Votre Grandeur, répondit notre héros, imprime le dernier sceau au mérite -de ma Dulcinée; c’est votre bouche qui relève l’éclat de sa beauté et la -met dans tout son lustre. Après l’éloge que vous venez d’en faire, le -nom de Dulcinée sera encore plus glorieux et plus révéré dans le monde, -que si les orateurs les plus éloquents avaient pris soin de célébrer ses -louanges. - -Trève de compliments, seigneur don Quichotte, repartit la duchesse; -voici l’heure du souper et le duc doit nous attendre. Votre Grâce -veut-elle bien m’accompagner? Au sortir de table nous vous laisserons -jouir du repos dont vous avez sans doute grand besoin, car le voyage de -Candaya a dû vous causer quelque fatigue. - -Je n’en sens aucune, répondit le chevalier, et j’oserais jurer à Votre -Excellence, que de ma vie je n’ai rencontré monture plus agréable que -Chevillard; aussi ne puis-je comprendre comment Malambrun a pu se -défaire d’un cheval d’une si douce allure et le brûler sans plus de -façon. - -Je pense, répondit la duchesse, que le repentir du mal qu’il avait fait -à la Trifaldi et à ses compagnes, ainsi qu’à bien d’autres, l’a porté à -détruire tous les éléments de ses maléfices, surtout Chevillard, qui en -était le principal, et qui le tenait dans une extrême agitation, en le -faisant courir sans cesse de pays en pays: sans nul doute, il aura pensé -que cette machine ne devait plus servir à personne, après avoir porté le -grand don Quichotte de la Manche. - -Notre chevalier fit de nouveaux remercîments à la duchesse, et dès qu’il -eut soupé, il se retira dans sa chambre, sans vouloir souffrir que -personne y pénétrât, tant il craignait de porter atteinte à la fidélité -promise à Dulcinée. Il ferma donc la porte sur lui, et à la lueur de -deux bougies, il commença à se déshabiller. Mais en se déchaussant, ô -disgrâce indigne d’un tel personnage! il fit partir, non des soupirs, ni -rien autre chose qui fût contraire à ses habitudes de propreté et -d’extrême courtoisie, mais environ deux douzaines de mailles à un de ses -bas, lequel demeura percé à claire-voie comme une jalousie. Le bon -seigneur en fut contristé jusqu’au fond de l’âme, et il aurait -volontiers donné une once d’argent pour quelques fils de soie verte, je -dis de soie verte car ses bas étaient de cette couleur. - -En cet endroit, Ben-Engeli interrompt son récit pour s’écrier: O -pauvreté! pauvreté! je ne sais quel motif a pu pousser le grand poëte de -Cordoue[113] à t’appeler _saint présent dont on ne connaît pas le prix_. -Pour moi, quoique More, je sais, par mes rapports avec les chrétiens, -que la sainteté consiste dans la charité, l’humilité, la foi, -l’obéissance et la pauvreté. Malgré tout, celui-là doit être élu de -Dieu, qui se félicite d’être pauvre, à moins que ce ne soit de cette -pauvreté dont saint Paul a dit: _Possédez toutes choses, comme si vous -ne les possédiez pas_. Par là, il entendait l’absolu détachement des -biens de ce monde. Mais toi, seconde pauvreté, qui es celle dont je -parle ici, pourquoi t’attaquer de préférence aux hidalgos? pourquoi les -forces-tu à rapiécer leurs chausses, et à porter à leurs pourpoints des -boutons, les uns de soie, les autres de crin ou de verre? Pourquoi es-tu -cause que leurs collets, presque toujours sales et chiffonnés, sont -ouverts autrement qu’au moule (ce qui prouve combien est ancien l’usage -de l’amidon et des collets ouverts)? Malheureux, continue Ben-Engeli, -malheureux l’hidalgo qui met son honneur au régime, fait maigre chère à -huis clos, puis sort de chez lui armé d’un cure-dent hypocrite, sans -avoir rien mangé qui l’oblige à se nettoyer la bouche. Oui, malheureux -celui dont l’honneur ombrageux s’imagine qu’on aperçoit d’une lieue le -rapiéçage de son soulier, la crasse de son chapeau, la corde du drap de -son manteau et le vide de son estomac. - - [113] Juan de Mena, natif de Cordoue, auteur du _Labyrinthe_, ouvrage - dans lequel il avait entrepris de réunir toute la science humaine. - -Toutes ces réflexions vinrent à l’esprit de don Quichotte, à propos de -la rupture de ses mailles; mais il se consola en voyant que Sancho lui -avait laissé des bottes de voyage qu’il résolut de mettre le lendemain. -Finalement il se coucha pensif et chagrin. Puis ayant éteint la lumière, -il voulut s’endormir, mais il n’en put venir à bout: l’absence de Sancho -et l’extrême chaleur l’en empêchaient. Il se leva donc et se promena -quelque temps dans sa chambre; ne trouvant pas encore assez de -fraîcheur, il ouvrit une fenêtre grillée qui donnait sur un jardin. Tout -aussitôt il entendit des voix de femmes, dont l’une disait à l’autre, en -poussant un grand soupir: N’exige pas que je chante, ô Émerancie! Tu le -sais, depuis que cet étranger est entré dans ce château, depuis que mes -regards se sont attachés sur lui, j’ai moins envie de chanter que de -verser des larmes. D’ailleurs, madame a le sommeil léger, et, pour tous -les trésors du monde, je ne voudrais pas qu’elle nous surprît; mais -quand elle dormirait, à quoi servirait mon chant, si ce nouvel Énée, -auteur de ma souffrance, dort d’un paisible sommeil, et ignore le sujet -de mes plaintes? - -Bannis cette inquiétude, chère Altisidore, répondit une autre voix: tout -dort dans le château, excepté l’objet de tes désirs, car si je ne me -trompe, je viens d’entendre ouvrir sa fenêtre. Ne crains donc point de -chanter, pauvre blessée, chante à voix basse, et si la duchesse nous -entend, la chaleur qu’il fait nous servira d’excuse. - -Ce n’est pas là ce qui me retient, repartit Altisidore: je ne voudrais -pas que mon chant découvrit l’état de mon âme, et que ceux qui ignorent -la puissance irrésistible de l’amour me prissent pour une créature -volage et sans pudeur. Mais advienne que pourra, mieux vaut honte sur le -visage que souffrance au cœur. Et prenant son luth, elle se mit à -préluder. - -En entendant ces paroles et cette musique, notre héros éprouva un -ravissement inexprimable, car se rappelant aussitôt ce qu’il avait lu -dans ses livres, il s’imagina que c’était quelque femme de la duchesse -éprise d’amour pour lui, que la pudeur forçait à cacher sa passion. -Après s’être recommandé avec dévotion à sa Dulcinée, et avoir fait en -son cœur un ferme propos de ne pas se laisser vaincre, il se décida à -écouter; bien plus, afin d’indiquer qu’il était là, il feignit -d’éternuer, ce qui réjouit fort les deux donzelles, qui n’avaient qu’un -désir, celui d’être entendues de don Quichotte. - -Altisidore ayant accordé son luth, chanta cette romance: - - Toi qui du soir jusqu’au matin, - Dans ton lit à jambe étendue, - Dors, quand pleine de chagrin - Je fais ici le pied de grue! - - Écoute le chant ennuyeux - D’une triste et dolente dame - A qui le feu de tes beaux yeux - A consumé le corps et l’âme. - - Sais-tu que par monts et par vaux - Courant après les aventures, - Tu viens nous causer tous les maux - Sans jamais guérir nos blessures? - - Dis-moi, courage de lion, - Quel monstre t’a donné la vie? - Es-tu né sous le Scorpion - Ou dans les sables de Libye? - - Un serpent t’a-t-il enfanté? - Quelque dragon fut-il ton père? - Une ourse t’a-t-elle allaité, - Ou le sein de quelque panthère? - - Dulcinée, comment donc fis-tu - Pour vaincre ce tigre sauvage? - Si j’avais pareille vertu, - Je n’en voudrais pas davantage. - - Mon cœur, tu fais bien du chemin! - Arrête un désir téméraire: - Crois-tu que ce héros divin - Ait été formé pour te plaire? - - Si tu voulais, mon Adonis, - Avoir pitié de ta captive, - J’ai mille choses de grand prix, - Que je t’offrirais morte ou vive. - - Je suis aussi droite qu’un jonc. - Et plus vermeille que l’Aurore; - Mes cheveux, d’une aune de long, - Sont d’argent, et plus beaux encore. - - Mes yeux ressemblent au corail, - Aussi bien qu’à l’azur ma bouche, - Et mes dents sont d’un pur émail - Où l’on a mis d’ambre une couche. - - Le ciel m’a fait mille autres dons, - Que je tais; mais à ma requête - Prête l’oreille, et je réponds - Qu’Altisidore est ta conquête[114]. - - [114] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Ici s’arrêta le chant de l’amoureuse Altisidore et commença l’effroi du -trop courtisé chevalier, qui, poussant un grand soupir, se dit à -lui-même: Faut-il que je sois si malheureux qu’il n’y ait pas un cœur -de femme que je n’embrase à la première vue? Qu’as-tu donc fait au ciel, -sans pareille Dulcinée, pour te voir sans cesse troublée dans la -possession de ma constance et de ma foi? Que lui voulez-vous, reines? -qu’avez-vous à lui reprocher, impératrices? et vous, jeunes filles, -pourquoi la poursuivre ainsi? Laissez-la, laissez-la s’enorgueillir et -triompher du destin que lui a fait l’amour, en soumettant mon âme à ses -lois. Songez-y bien, troupe amoureuse, je suis de cire molle pour la -seule Dulcinée, de marbre et de bronze pour toutes les autres. Dulcinée -est la seule belle, la seule chaste, la seule discrète, la seule noble, -la seule digne d’être aimée; chez les autres, je ne vois que laideur, -sottise, dévergondage et basse origine. C’est pour elle seule que le -ciel m’a fait naître. Qu’Altisidore chante ou pleure, qu’elle nourrisse -de vains désirs ou meure de désespoir, c’est à Dulcinée que je dois -appartenir, en dépit de tous les enchantements du monde. - -Là-dessus, don Quichotte ferma brusquement sa fenêtre et alla se jeter -sur son lit. Nous l’y laisserons reposer, car ailleurs nous appelle le -grand Sancho, qui va débuter dans le gouvernement de son île. - -CHAPITRE XLV - -COMMENT LE GRAND SANCHO PRIT POSSESSION DE SON ILE ET DE LA MANIÈRE DONT -IL GOUVERNA - -O toi qui parcours incessamment l’un et l’autre hémisphère, flambeau du -beau monde, œil du ciel, aimable auteur du balancement des cruches à -rafraîchir[115]; Phœbus par ici, Tymbrius par là, archer d’un côté, -médecin de l’autre, père de la poésie, inventeur de la musique; toi qui -tous les jours te lèves et ne te couches jamais, c’est à toi que je -m’adresse, ô Soleil! avec l’aide de qui l’homme engendre l’homme, afin -que tu illumines l’obscurité de mon esprit, et que tu me donnes la force -de raconter de point en point le gouvernement du grand Sancho Panza; car -sans toi je me sens troublé, faible, abattu. - - [115] En Espagne, pour rafraîchir l’eau pendant l’été, on place dans - un courant d’air des cruches nommées _alcarazas_. - -Or donc, notre gouverneur, avec tout son cortége, arriva bientôt dans un -bourg d’environ mille habitants, qui était un des meilleurs de la -dépendance du duc. On lui dit que c’était l’île Barataria, soit que le -bourg s’appelât Baratorio, soit pour exprimer combien peu lui en coûtait -le gouvernement, _barato_, signifiant bon marché. Sitôt qu’il fut arrivé -aux portes du bourg, qui était entouré de bonnes murailles, les notables -sortirent à sa rencontre, on sonna les cloches, et au milieu de -l’allégresse générale on le conduisit en grande pompe à la cathédrale; -puis, après avoir rendu grâces à Dieu, on lui présenta les clefs, et on -l’installa comme gouverneur perpétuel de l’île Barataria. Le costume, la -barbe, la taille épaisse et raccourcie du nouveau gouverneur surprirent -tout le monde, ceux qui n’étaient pas dans la confidence, comme ceux -qui avaient le mot de l’énigme. Bref, au sortir de l’église, on le mena -dans la salle d’audience, et quand il se fut assis comme juge souverain, -le majordome du duc lui dit: Seigneur gouverneur, c’est une ancienne -coutume dans cette île que celui qui vient en prendre possession soit -tenu, pour mettre en lumière la solidité de son jugement, de résoudre -une question difficile, afin que, par sa réponse, le peuple sache s’il a -lieu de se réjouir ou de s’attrister de sa venue. - -Pendant que le majordome parlait, Sancho regardait avec attention -plusieurs grandes lettres tracées sur le mur; mais comme il ne savait -pas lire, il demanda ce que signifiaient ces peintures. - -On lui répondit: Seigneur, elles marquent le jour où vous êtes entré en -fonction, et voici en quels termes: Aujourd’hui, tel jour et tel an, le -seigneur don Sancho Panza a pris possession de cette île; puisse-t-il en -jouir longues années! - -Et qui appelle-t-on don Sancho Panza? demanda le gouverneur. - -Votre Seigneurie, répondit le majordome; jamais aucun Panza n’a occupé -la place où vous êtes. - -Eh bien, sachez, mon ami, reprit Sancho, que je ne porte point le don; -que jamais personne de ma famille ne l’a porté; je m’appelle Sancho -Panza tout court; Panza s’appelait mon aïeul, et tous mes aïeux se sont -appelés Panza sans don ni seigneurie. Au reste, Dieu m’entend; et si ce -gouvernement dure seulement quatre jours, je prétends dissiper tous ces -DON comme autant de moustiques importuns. Maintenant, qu’on me fasse -telle question qu’on voudra, et je répondrai du mieux que je pourrai, -sans m’inquiéter que le peuple s’afflige ou qu’il se réjouisse de ma -venue. - -Au même instant, on vit entrer dans la salle deux hommes, l’un vêtu en -paysan, et l’autre qu’aux ciseaux qu’il tenait à la main on reconnut -pour un tailleur: Seigneur gouverneur, dit le dernier, ce paysan et moi -nous sommes devant Votre Grâce pour le fait que voici: cet homme est -venu il y a peu de jours à ma boutique (car, sauf votre respect et celui -de la compagnie, je suis maître tailleur juré), et, me mettant un coupon -de drap entre les mains, il me dit: Seigneur, y a-t-il là assez d’étoffe -pour faire un chaperon? Je mesurai l’étoffe, et lui répondis qu’elle -suffisait amplement. Fondé sur sa propre malice, et sur la mauvaise -opinion qu’en général on a des tailleurs, il s’imagina sans doute que -j’avais envie de lui voler une partie de son drap, et il me dit de bien -regarder s’il n’y avait pas de quoi faire deux chaperons. Je devinai sa -pensée, et je lui répondis que oui; mais lui, toujours poursuivant sa -méchante intention, me demanda si l’on ne pourrait pas en faire -davantage; je répondis affirmativement, et il fut convenu entre nous que -je lui en livrerais cinq; maintenant que la besogne est achevée, il me -refuse mon salaire et veut me faire payer son drap, ou que je le lui -rende. - -Tout cela est-il vrai? demanda Sancho au paysan. - -Oui, seigneur, répondit celui-ci; mais ordonnez, je vous prie, qu’il -montre les chaperons qu’il m’a faits. - -Les voici, repartit le tailleur, qui, tirant la main de dessous son -manteau, montra au bout de ses cinq doigts cinq petits chaperons, en -disant: Voici les chaperons que cet homme m’a demandés, et sur mon Dieu -et ma conscience, si je n’y ai employé toute l’étoffe, je m’en rapporte -à l’examen des experts! - -Tout le monde se mit à rire en voyant ce nombre de chaperons. Quant à -Sancho, il resta quelque temps à rêver: Ce procès-là, dit-il, ne me -semble pas demander un long examen, voici donc ma sentence: Le paysan -perdra son drap, et le tailleur sa façon; que les chaperons soient -livrés aux prisonniers, et qu’il ne soit plus question de cette affaire. - -On fit ce que venait d’ordonner le gouverneur, devant lequel parurent -ensuite deux vieillards, dont l’un avait pour bâton une tige de roseau; -celui qui était sans bâton dit à Sancho: Seigneur, il y a quelque temps -je prêtai à cet homme dix écus d’or pour lui faire plaisir et lui rendre -service, à condition qu’il me les remettrait dès que je lui en ferais la -demande. Depuis lors bien des jours se sont passés sans que je lui aie -rien réclamé, mais quand j’ai vu qu’il ne songeait point à s’acquitter, -je lui ai redemandé plusieurs fois mon argent; et maintenant -non-seulement il ne veut pas me payer, mais il nie la dette, disant que -je ne lui ai rien prêté, ou que si je lui ai fait un prêt, il me l’a -rendu. Comme je n’ai point de témoins de mon côté, ni lui du sien, je -prie Votre Grâce de lui déférer le serment; alors s’il jure qu’il m’a -rendu mon argent, je le tiens quitte. - -Qu’avez-vous à répondre à cela, bonhomme? dit Sancho. - -Seigneur, répondit le vieillard au bâton, je confesse qu’il m’a prêté -dix écus; et puisqu’il s’en rapporte à mon serment, je suis prêt à -jurer que je les lui ai bien et loyalement restitués. - -Le gouverneur lui ordonna de lever la main; alors le vieillard passant -son bâton à son adversaire, comme s’il en eût été embarrassé, étendit la -main sur la croix, suivant la coutume d’Espagne, et dit: J’avoue avoir -reçu des mains de cet homme les dix écus d’or, mais je jure que je les -lui ai remis, et c’est faute d’y avoir pris garde qu’il me les réclame -une seconde fois. - -Là-dessus, le créancier répliqua que puisque son débiteur jurait, il -fallait qu’il dît la vérité, le sachant homme de bien et bon chrétien, -et que dorénavant il ne lui réclamerait plus rien. Le débiteur -s’inclina, reprit son bâton, et sortit de l’audience. - -Sancho, considérant la résignation du demandeur, tandis que l’autre s’en -allait sans plus de façon, pencha la tête sur sa poitrine, puis tout -d’un coup, se mordant le bout du doigt, il fit rappeler le vieillard qui -déjà avait disparu. Au bout de quelque temps on le ramena. - -Donnez-moi votre bâton, brave homme, lui dit Sancho. - -Le voilà, seigneur, répondit le vieillard. - -Sancho le prit, et le tendant à l’autre vieillard: Allez avec Dieu, lui -dit-il, vous êtes payé maintenant. - -Qui! moi! seigneur, répondit celui-ci; est-ce que ce roseau vaut dix -écus d’or? - -Oui, oui, répliqua le gouverneur, il les vaut, ou je suis le plus grand -sot du monde, et on verra tout à l’heure si je m’entends en fait de -gouvernement. Qu’on rompe le bâton, ajouta-t-il. - -Le bâton fut rompu, et dans l’intérieur on trouva dix écus d’or. Tous -les assistants demeurèrent émerveillés et il n’y en eut pas un seul qui -ne regardât le seigneur gouverneur comme un nouveau Salomon. On lui -demanda d’où il avait conjecturé que les écus d’or étaient dans le -bâton: C’est, répondit-il, parce que j’ai vu que celui qui le portait -l’avait mis sans nécessité entre les mains de sa partie adverse, pendant -qu’il jurait, et qu’il l’avait repris aussitôt après, ce qui m’a donné à -penser qu’il n’aurait pas juré si affirmativement sans être sûr de son -fait. De là, ajouta-t-il, on peut tirer cette conclusion: que ceux qui -sont appelés à gouverner encore qu’ils soient simples, Dieu quelquefois -leur fait la grâce de les diriger dans leurs jugements. - -Finalement les vieillards se retirèrent, l’un remboursé, l’autre confus, -et les spectateurs restèrent dans l’admiration. Celui qui avait charge -d’enregistrer les faits et gestes de Sancho ne savait plus, après cela, -s’il devait le tenir pour fou ou pour sage. - -Cette affaire terminée, une femme entra dans l’audience, traînant à deux -mains un homme vêtu en riche éleveur de bétail. Justice! s’écriait-elle, -justice, seigneur gouverneur; si on ne me la fait sur la terre, j’irai -la chercher dans le ciel. Ce manant m’a surprise seule au milieu des -champs, et s’est servi de mon corps comme d’une guenille; ah! -malheureuse que je suis! il m’a dérobé ce que j’avais défendu pendant -vingt-cinq ans contre Mores et chrétiens, nationaux et étrangers. -C’était bien la peine de me conserver jusqu’à ce jour intacte comme la -salamandre dans le feu, pour que ce malotru vînt mettre sur moi ses -sales mains. - -Reste à vérifier, dit Sancho, si ce galant a les mains sales ou non; -puis se tournant vers le paysan, il lui demanda ce qu’il avait à -répondre à la plainte de cette femme. - -Seigneur, répondit l’homme tout ému, je suis un pauvre berger, éleveur -de bêtes à soies. Ce matin comme je sortais de ce bourg où j’étais venu, -sauf votre respect, vendre quatre cochons, que j’ai même donnés à bon -marché, afin de pouvoir payer la taille, j’ai rencontré cette duègne sur -mon chemin. Le diable, qui se fourre partout, nous a fait folâtrer -ensemble; je n’ai point fait le difficile, ni elle la renchérie; mais -du reste, seigneur, je lui ai bien payé ce qui lui était dû. Cependant -cette enragée m’a traîné jusqu’ici, prétendant que je lui ai fait -violence; mais elle ment par le serment que j’en fais et que je suis -prêt à faire. Voilà toute la vérité, sans qu’il y manque un fil. - -Avez-vous de l’argent sur vous, mon ami? demanda le gouverneur. - -Seigneur, j’ai environ vingt ducats dans le fond d’une bourse en cuir, -répondit le paysan. - -Donnez telle qu’elle est votre bourse à la plaignante, répliqua le -gouverneur. - -Le pauvre diable obéit tout tremblant, la femme prit la bourse, après -s’être bien assurée toutefois que c’était de la monnaie d’argent qu’elle -contenait; et priant Dieu pour la vie et la santé du seigneur -gouverneur, qui prenait ainsi la défense des pauvres orphelines, elle -sortit toute joyeuse de l’audience. - -Elle était à peine dehors que Sancho dit au berger, dont le cœur et les -yeux s’en allaient après la bourse: Mon ami, courez après cette femme, -reprenez-lui votre bourse de gré ou de force, et revenez tous deux ici. - -Notre homme n’était ni sot ni sourd; il partit comme un éclair pour -exécuter les ordres du gouverneur, et pendant que les spectateurs -étaient en suspens, attendant la fin de l’affaire, le berger et la femme -revinrent cramponnés l’un à l’autre, elle sa jupe retroussée tenant la -bourse entre ses jambes, lui faisant tous ses efforts pour la reprendre; -mais il n’y avait pas moyen, tant cette femme la défendait bien. -Justice, criait-elle de toute sa force, justice! Voyez, seigneur, voyez -l’effronterie de ce vaurien, qui, au milieu de la rue et devant tout le -monde, veut me reprendre la bourse que Votre Grâce m’a fait donner. - -Et vous l’a-t-il ôtée? demanda Sancho. - -Otée! répliqua-t-elle, oh! il m’arracherait plutôt la vie; je ne suis -pas si sotte, il faudrait me jeter d’autres chats à la gorge, que ce -nigaud répugnant. Ni marteau, ni tenaille, ni ciseau, ni maillet, ne me -feraient lâcher prise; on m’arracherait plutôt l’âme du milieu des -chairs. - -Je confesse que je suis rendu, dit le paysan, et qu’elle est plus forte -que moi; et il la laissa aller. - -Donnez cette bourse, chaste et vaillante héroïne, dit le gouverneur. La -femme la donna aussitôt, et Sancho l’ayant prise la rendit au laboureur, -en disant à la plaignante: Ma sœur, si vous vous étiez défendue ce -matin avec autant de force et de courage que vous venez de défendre -cette bourse, dix hommes réunis n’auraient jamais été capables de vous -violenter. Allons, tirez au large, dévergondée, enjôleuse, et de vos -jours n’approchez de cette île ni de six lieues à la ronde, sous peine -de deux cents coups de fouet. - -La femme s’en fut tête baissée et maugréant. Mon ami, dit le gouverneur -au paysan, allez-vous-en avec votre argent; et si vous ne voulez le -perdre, abstenez-vous à l’avenir de folâtrer avec personne. - -Le bonhomme remercia comme il put et sortit, laissant chacun stupéfait -de la sagesse du nouveau gouverneur. Tous ces détails, recueillis par -son historiographe, furent aussitôt envoyés au duc, qui les attendait -avec impatience. - -Mais laissons ici le bon Sancho, et retournons à son maître, encore tout -agité des plaintes d’Altisidore. - -CHAPITRE XLVI - -DE L’ÉPOUVANTABLE CHARIVARI QUE REÇUT DON QUICHOTTE PENDANT QU’IL RÊVAIT -A L’AMOUR D’ALTISIDORE - -Nous avons laissé le grand don Quichotte livré aux préoccupations -qu’avait fait naître dans son âme la sérénade de l’amoureuse Altisidore; -ces préoccupations le suivirent au lit comme autant de puces, et la -déconfiture de ses bas se joignant aux pensées tumultueuses qui -l’agitaient, il lui fut impossible de prendre un seul instant de repos. -Mais le temps est léger, rien ne l’arrête dans sa course, et comme il -court à cheval sur les heures, bientôt arriva celle du matin. A la -pointe du jour, notre vigilant chevalier sauta à bas du lit, revêtit son -pourpoint de chamois et chaussa ses bottes de voyage; il jeta sur son -épaule son manteau d’écarlate, mit sur sa tête une toque de velours -vert, garnie de passements d’argent, sans oublier sa bonne épée et son -large baudrier de buffle, puis tenant à la main son rosaire, qu’il -portait toujours avec lui, il s’avança gravement vers la salle, où le -duc et la duchesse, déjà levés, semblaient s’être rendus pour -l’attendre. - -Dans une galerie qu’il devait traverser, Altisidore et sa compagne -s’étaient postées pour le saisir au passage. Dès qu’Altisidore aperçut -le chevalier, elle feignit de s’évanouir, et se laissa tomber entre les -bras de son amie, qui la délaça promptement pour lui donner de l’air. - -Don Quichotte s’approcha, et sans beaucoup s’émouvoir: Nous savons, -dit-il, d’où procèdent de semblables accidents. - -Et moi je n’en sais rien, repartit l’amie; car Altisidore est la fille -du monde qui se portait le mieux il y a quelques jours, et depuis que je -la connais, je ne l’ai jamais entendue se plaindre de quoi que ce soit: -que maudits soient jusqu’au dernier les chevaliers errants, si tous sont -ingrats! Retirez-vous, seigneur don Quichotte; car tant que vous -resterez-là, cette pauvre fille ne reprendra point ses sens. - -Mademoiselle, faites, je vous prie, porter un luth dans ma chambre, dit -don Quichotte; je tâcherai, cette nuit, de consoler la pauvre blessée. -Quand l’amour commence à se manifester, le meilleur remède est un prompt -désabusement. Là-dessus il s’éloigna. - -A peine avait-il tourné les talons, que se relevant, Altisidore dit à sa -compagne: Il ne faut pas manquer de procurer à don Quichotte le luth -qu’il demande: sans doute il veut nous faire de la musique, et Dieu sait -si elle sera bonne. - -Elles allèrent conter à la duchesse ce qui venait d’arriver, laquelle, -ravie de l’occasion, concerta sur-le-champ avec le duc une nouvelle -mystification. En attendant, ils s’entretinrent avec leur hôte, dont la -conversation les divertissait de plus en plus. - -Dans la journée, la duchesse expédia à Thérèse Panza un page porteur de -la lettre de son mari et du paquet de hardes auquel Sancho avait donné -la même destination. Ce page devait, au retour, rendre un compte exact -de son message. - -La nuit venue, don Quichotte se retira dans la chambre et y trouva un -luth; après l’avoir accordé, il ouvrit la fenêtre, et s’apercevant qu’il -y avait du monde au jardin, il chanta d’une voix enrouée mais juste, la -romance qui suit, romance qu’il avait composée le jour même: - - Oh! que l’amour est dangereux - Pour une créature oisive! - Il s’empare toujours d’un esprit paresseux, - Et c’est là qu’il allume une flamme plus vive. - - Mais quand on est dès le matin, - Durant le jour bien occupée, - Il rôde vainement, et se retire enfin, - Trouvant de tous côtés la place sans entrée. - - Jamais les chevaliers errants - N’ont fait cas des filles coquettes, - Et non plus qu’eux les sages courtisans - Ne veulent épouser que des filles discrètes. - - L’amour que le hasard produit - Aussi légèrement s’efface; - Un instant le fait naître, un autre le détruit, - Et le cœur en conserve à peine quelque trace. - - Mais Dulcinée dans mon esprit - Est si profondément gravée, - Et mon cœur à tel point l’estime et la chérit, - Qu’on ne saurait jamais en arracher l’idée[116]. - - [116] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Don Quichotte en était là de son chant, quand tout à coup du balcon -placé au-dessus de sa tête on entendit retentir le bruit de plus de cent -clochettes; un instant après, un grand sac rempli de chats, qui avaient -autant de sonnettes attachées à la queue, fut secoué sur sa fenêtre. Les -miaulements de ces animaux, joints au bruit des sonnettes, produisirent -un si grand tintamarre, que les auteurs du tour en furent stupéfaits, et -que don Quichotte lui-même sentit ses cheveux se dresser sur sa tête. -Trois ou quatre de ces animaux entrèrent dans sa chambre, et comme ils -couraient çà et là tout effarés, on eût dit une légion de diables qui -prenaient leurs ébats. En cherchant à s’échapper, ils éteignirent les -bougies et renversèrent tout ce qui se trouvait sur leur passage. -Pendant ce temps, les sonnettes faisaient un tel carillon, que ceux qui -n’étaient pas dans le secret de la plaisanterie ne savaient plus que -penser. - -Debout près de la fenêtre et l’épée à la main, le chevalier se mit à -porter à droite et à gauche de grandes estocades, en criant: Arrière, -arrière, malins enchanteurs! fuyez, canailles maudites! Je suis don -Quichotte de la Manche, contre qui tous vos enchantements sont inutiles. -Puis attaquant les chats qui couraient de tous côtés, et qu’il -distinguait à l’éclat de leurs yeux, il les poursuivit si vivement, -qu’il les contraignit à se précipiter par la fenêtre. Mais l’un d’entre -eux, serré de trop près, sauta au visage de notre héros et s’y attacha -de telle sorte avec les griffes et les dents, qu’il lui fit jeter des -cris aigus. Le duc devinant ce qui se passait, accourut avec de la -lumière, suivi de ses gens; et lorsqu’ils eurent ouvert la porte de la -chambre, ils virent le pauvre chevalier s’escrimant de toutes ses forces -pour faire lâcher prise au chat, sans pouvoir en venir à bout. Aussitôt -chacun s’empressa de le secourir. - -Mais lui de s’écrier: Que personne ne s’en mêle; qu’on me laisse faire; -je suis ravi de le tenir entre mes mains, ce démon, ce sorcier, cet -enchanteur, et je veux lui apprendre aujourd’hui à connaître don -Quichotte de la Manche. - -De son côté, le chat ne serrait que plus fort, et ne cessait de gronder, -comme pour défendre sa proie; enfin le duc parvint à le saisir et le -jeta par la fenêtre. - -Le pauvre chevalier resta le visage percé comme un crible, et le nez en -fort mauvais état, mais encore plus dépité de ce qu’en arrachant de ses -mains ce malandrin d’enchanteur, on lui avait enlevé le plaisir d’en -triompher. On apporta une espèce d’onguent; et de ses mains blanches, -Altisidore appliqua des emplâtres sur toutes les parties blessées. -Pendant l’opération, elle disait à voix basse: Cette mésaventure, -impitoyable chevalier, est le châtiment de ton indifférence et de ta -cruauté; plaise à Dieu que ton écuyer Sancho néglige de se fustiger, -afin que tu restes à jamais privé des embrassements de ta Dulcinée, au -moins tant que je verrai le jour, moi qui t’adore. - -A ce discours, don Quichotte ne répondit que par un profond soupir, puis -il alla se mettre au lit, non sans avoir adressé à ses nobles hôtes des -excuses pour le dérangement que leur avaient causé ces maudits -enchanteurs, et des remercîments pour l’empressement qu’on lui avait -témoigné en venant à son secours. Le duc et la duchesse le laissèrent -reposer, et se retirèrent assez mécontents du mauvais succès de la -plaisanterie, car notre héros fut obligé de garder la chambre plus d’une -semaine. - -Peu de temps après, il lui arriva une aventure encore plus plaisante, -dont il faut ajourner le récit. Pour le moment, retournons à Sancho, que -nous trouverons assez embarrassé dans son gouvernement, mais plus -étonnant que jamais. - -CHAPITRE XLVII - -SUITE DU GOUVERNEMENT DU GRAND SANCHO PANZA - -Cid Hamet raconte qu’après l’audience Sancho fut conduit à un magnifique -palais, où dans la grande salle était dressée une table élégamment -servie. Dès qu’il parut, les clairons sonnèrent, et quatre pages -s’avancèrent pour lui verser de l’eau sur les mains, cérémonie qu’il -laissa s’accomplir avec la plus parfaite gravité. La musique ayant cessé -Sancho se mit seul à table, car il n’y avait d’autre siége ni d’autre -couvert que le sien. Près de lui, mais debout, vint se placer un -personnage qu’on reconnut bientôt pour un médecin: Il tenait à la main -une petite baguette. Au signal qu’il donna on enleva une fine et blanche -nappe qui couvrait les mets dont la table était chargée; puis un -ecclésiastique ayant donné la bénédiction, un page passa sous le menton -de Sancho une bavette à franges, et un maître d’hôtel lui présenta un -plat de fruits. Le gouverneur y porta aussitôt la main, le médecin -toucha le plat de sa baguette, et on l’enleva avec une merveilleuse -célérité. Le maître d’hôtel approcha un autre plat; mais cette fois -avant même que le gouverneur eût allongé le bras, la baguette fit son -office, et le plat disparut. Sancho, fort étonné de cette cérémonie, et -promenant son regard sur tout le monde, demanda ce que cela signifiait, -et si dans l’île on ne dînait qu’avec les yeux. - -Seigneur, répondit l’homme à la baguette, on mange ici selon la coutume -de toutes les îles où il y a des gouverneurs. Je suis médecin, et gagé -pour être celui des gouverneurs de cette île. Je m’occupe plus de leur -santé que de la mienne, et j’étudie jour et nuit le tempérament du -gouverneur, afin de bien savoir comment je dois le traiter quand il -tombe malade: pour cela j’assiste à tous ses repas, afin qu’il ne mange -pas ce qui peut être nuisible à son estomac. J’ai fait enlever le plat -de fruits, parce que c’est une chose trop humide, et l’autre mets parce -que c’est une substance chaude, épicée et faite pour exciter la soif; -or, celui qui boit beaucoup consume et détruit l’humide radical, -principe de la vie. - -En ce cas, répliqua Sancho, ce plat de perdrix rôties, et qui me -semblent cuites fort à point, ne peut me faire aucun mal? - -Le seigneur gouverneur ne mangera pas de ce plat, tant que j’aurai un -souffle de vie, repartit le médecin. - -Et pourquoi? demanda Sancho. - -Pourquoi? répondit le médecin; parce que notre maître Hippocrate, cette -grande lumière de la médecine, a dit dans ses aphorismes: _Omnis -saturatio mala, perdicis autem pessima_, c’est-à-dire: «toute -indigestion est mauvaise, et celle que cause la perdrix est la pire de -toutes.» - -Puisqu’il en est ainsi, dit Sancho, que le seigneur docteur voie donc de -tous ces mets celui qui m’est bon ou mauvais, et qu’ensuite il me laisse -satisfaire mon appétit, sans jouer de sa baguette, car je meurs de faim, -et n’en déplaise à la médecine, c’est vouloir me faire mourir que -m’empêcher de manger. - -Votre Grâce a raison, répondit le médecin; aussi suis-je d’avis qu’on -enlève ce civet de lapin comme viande trop commune; quant à cette pièce -de veau, si elle n’était ni rôtie ni marinée, on pourrait en goûter, -mais telle qu’elle est il n’y faut pas songer. - -Et ce grand plat qui fume, et qui, si je ne me trompe, est une olla -podrida, dit Sancho, il ne présente sans doute aucun danger, car ces -ollas podridas étant composées de toutes sortes de viandes, il doit s’en -trouver au moins une qui soit bonne pour mon estomac. - -_Absit_, s’écria le médecin, il n’y a rien de pire au monde qu’une _olla -podrida_; il faut laisser cela aux chanoines, aux recteurs de colléges -et aux noces de village; quant aux gouverneurs, on ne doit leur servir -que des viandes délicates et sans assaisonnement. La raison en est -claire: les médecines simples sont toujours préférables aux médecines -composées; dans les premières on ne peut errer; c’est tout le contraire -dans les secondes, à cause de la grande quantité de substances qui y -entrent, et qui en altèrent la qualité. Mais ce que peut manger Son -Excellence pour corroborer et même entretenir sa santé, c’est un cent de -ces fines oublies avec deux ou trois tranches de coing; elles sont -admirables pour la digestion. - -Quand Sancho entendit cet arrêt, il se renversa sur le dossier de sa -chaise, et regardant fixement le médecin, il lui demanda comment il -s’appelait, et où il avait étudié? - -Moi, seigneur, répondit-il, je m’appelle Pedro Rezio de Aguero; je suis -natif d’un village nommé Tirteafuera, situé entre Caraquel et Almodovar -del Campo, en tirant sur la droite, et j’ai pris mes licences dans -l’université d’Ossuna. - -Eh bien, docteur Pedro Rezio de mal Aguero, natif de Tirteafuera, entre -Caraquel et Almodovar, gradué par l’université d’Ossuna, lui dit Sancho -avec des yeux pleins de colère, décampez à l’instant; sinon, je prends -un gourdin, et je jure qu’à coups de trique, en commençant par vous, je -ne laisserai pas un médecin vivant dans l’île entière, au moins de ceux -que je reconnaîtrai pour ignorants; car les médecins savants et -discrets, je les honore et les estime. Mais, je le répète, si Pedro -Rezio ne décampe au plus vite, j’empoigne cette chaise et je l’envoie -exercer son métier dans l’autre monde: s’en plaigne après qui voudra, -j’aurai du moins rendu service à Dieu, en assommant un méchant médecin, -un bourreau de la république. Maintenant, qu’on me donne à manger ou -qu’on me reprenne le gouvernement; car un métier qui ne nourrit pas son -maître, ne vaut pas un maravédis. - -Épouvanté de la colère et des menaces du gouverneur, le médecin voulait -gagner la porte, quand le cornet d’un postillon se fit entendre; et le -maître d’hôtel ayant regardé par la fenêtre: Voici venir, dit-il, un -exprès de monseigneur le duc; c’est sans doute quelque affaire -d’importance. Le courrier entra tout hors d’haleine, et tirant un paquet -de son sein, il le présenta au gouverneur, qui le mit entre les mains du -majordome en lui disant de voir la suscription; elle était ainsi conçue: -_A don Sancho Panza, gouverneur de l’île Barataria, en mains propres ou -en celles de son secrétaire_. - -Qui est ici mon secrétaire? demanda Sancho. - -Moi, seigneur, répondit un jeune homme; car je sais lire et écrire, et -je suis Biscayen[117], pour vous servir. - - [117] A l’époque de Cervantes, les Biscayens étaient depuis longtemps - en possession des places de secrétaire du conseil. - -A ce titre, répliqua Sancho, vous pourriez être secrétaire de l’Empereur -lui-même: ouvrez ce paquet, et voyez ce dont il s’agit. - -Le secrétaire obéit, et après avoir lu, il dit au gouverneur qu’il -s’agissait d’une affaire dont il devait l’informer en secret. Sancho fit -signe que tout le monde se retirât, excepté le majordome et le maître -d’hôtel; l’ordre exécuté, le secrétaire lut tout haut ce qui suit: - - «Seigneur don Sancho Panza, j’ai eu avis que vos ennemis et les miens - ont résolu de vous attaquer une de ces nuits: il faut donc veiller et - vous tenir sur vos gardes pour n’être pas pris au dépourvu. J’ai - encore appris par des espions sûrs, que quatre hommes déguisés sont - entrés dans votre île pour vous ôter la vie, car on redoute - singulièrement la pénétration de votre esprit: ainsi, ouvrez l’œil; - observez avec soin ceux qui vous approchent et surtout ne mangez rien - de ce qui vous sera présenté; j’aurai soin de vous porter secours, si - vous êtes en danger. Adieu, je m’en remets à votre prudence ordinaire. - Ce 16 d’août, sur les quatre heures du matin. - - «Votre ami, LE DUC.» - -Sancho resta frappé de stupeur, ainsi que les assistants. Se tournant -vers le majordome: Ce qu’il faut faire et sans perdre de temps, lui -dit-il, c’est de mettre au fond d’un cachot le docteur Rezio; car si -quelqu’un doit me tuer, c’est lui, et de la mort la plus lente et la -plus horrible, celle de la faim. - -Il me semble pourtant, dit le maître d’hôtel, que Votre Grâce fera bien -de ne rien manger de tout ce qui est là, car ce sont des friandises -faites par des religieuses, et, comme on dit, derrière la croix se tient -le diable. - -Vous avez raison, reprit Sancho; qu’on me donne seulement un morceau de -pain et quelques livres de raisin: personne ne se sera avisé, je pense, -de les empoisonner; car, après tout, je ne puis me passer de manger; et -puisqu’il faut se préparer à combattre, il est bon de se nourrir, car -c’est l’estomac qui soutient le cœur, et non le cœur qui soutient -l’estomac. Vous, secrétaire, faites réponse à monseigneur le duc, et -mandez-lui qu’on exécutera ce qu’il ordonne, sans oublier un seul point. -Vous donnerez de ma part un baisemain à madame la duchesse, et vous -ajouterez que je la prie de se souvenir d’envoyer, par un exprès, ma -lettre et le paquet de hardes à Thérèse Panza, ma femme; dites-lui -qu’elle me fera grand plaisir, et que je m’efforcerai toujours de la -servir de mon mieux. Chemin faisant, vous enchâsserez dans la lettre -quelques baisemains pour monseigneur don Quichotte, afin qu’il voie que -je ne suis pas un ingrat; puis, comme bon secrétaire et bon Biscayen, -vous ajouterez tout ce qu’il vous plaira. Maintenant, reprit-il, qu’on -enlève cette nappe, et qu’on me donne à manger; on verra ensuite si je -crains les espions, les enchanteurs ou les assassins qui viendront -fondre sur nous. - -Comme il achevait de parler, entra un page: Monseigneur, lui dit-il, un -paysan demande à entretenir Votre Seigneurie d’une affaire importante. - -Au diable soit l’importun, s’écria Sancho: ignore-t-il que ce n’est pas -l’heure de venir parler d’affaires? est-ce que, par hasard, les -gouverneurs ne sont pas de chair et d’os comme les autres hommes? Nous -croit-on de bronze ou de marbre? Si ce gouvernement me dure entre les -mains, ce que je ne crois guère, je mettrai à la raison plus d’un -solliciteur. Cependant qu’on fasse entrer cet homme, mais après s’être -assuré d’abord si ce n’est point un des espions dont je suis menacé. - -Non, seigneur, repartit le page: celui-là, si je ne me trompe, est bon -comme le bon pain. - -Ne craignez rien, seigneur, ajouta le majordome, nous ne nous -éloignerons pas. - -N’y a-t-il pas moyen, maître d’hôtel, demanda Sancho, qu’en l’absence du -docteur Rezio, je mange quelque chose, ne fût-ce qu’un quartier de pain -et un oignon? - -Ce soir vous serez satisfait, seigneur, répondit le maître d’hôtel, au -souper on compensera le défaut du dîner. - -Dieu le veuille, repartit Sancho. - -Sur ce entra le paysan: Qui de vous tous est le gouverneur? demanda cet -homme, dont la mine annonçait la simplicité. - -Et quel autre serait-ce, répondit le secrétaire, sinon la personne -assise dans le fauteuil? - -Pardon, dit le paysan; et se jetant à genoux devant Sancho, il lui -demanda sa main à baiser. Sancho s’y refusa, lui enjoignit de se lever, -et d’exposer promptement sa requête. Le paysan obéit. Seigneur, -reprit-il, je suis laboureur, natif de Miguel-Turra, village qui est à -deux lieues de Ciudad-Real. - -Voici un autre Tirteafuera, grommela Sancho. Continuez, bonhomme, je -connais Miguel-Turra, je n’en suis pas fort éloigné. - -Le cas est donc, seigneur, poursuivit le paysan, que par la miséricorde -de Dieu je me suis marié en face de la sainte Église catholique, -apostolique et romaine; j’ai deux fils qui étudient, le cadet pour être -bachelier, et l’aîné pour être licencié; je suis veuf, parce que ma -femme est morte, ou plutôt parce qu’un mauvais médecin l’a tuée en lui -donnant une médecine pendant qu’elle était enceinte, et si Dieu eût -voulu qu’elle eût accouché d’un troisième garçon, j’avais dessein de le -faire étudier pour être docteur, afin qu’il n’eût rien à envier à ses -frères le bachelier et le licencié. - -De façon, interrompit Sancho, que si votre femme ne s’était pas laissée -mourir, ou qu’on ne l’eût point tuée, vous ne seriez point veuf? - -Non, seigneur, répondit le paysan. - -Nous voilà bien avancés, reprit Sancho. Achevez, mon ami, car il est -plutôt l’heure de dormir que de parler d’affaires. - -Je dis donc, continua le laboureur, qu’un de mes enfants, celui qui sera -bachelier, s’est amouraché dans notre village d’une jeune fille qu’on -appelle Claire Perlerina. Le père, André Perlerino, est un riche -cultivateur. Ce nom de Perlerino ne vient d’aucune terre, il leur a été -donné parce qu’ils sont tous culs-de-jatte dans cette famille, et -pourtant, s’il faut dire la vérité, la jeune fille est une vraie perle -d’Orient. Quand on la regarde du côté droit, elle est belle comme un -astre, mais ce n’est pas de même du côté gauche, parce que la petite -vérole lui a fait perdre un œil, et lui a laissé en revanche de grands -trous sur le visage; mais on dit que cela n’est rien, et que ce sont -autant de fossettes où viennent s’ensevelir les cœurs de ses amants. -Elle n’a point le nez trop long, au contraire, il est un peu retroussé, -avec trois bons doigts de distance jusqu’à la bouche, qu’elle a fort -bien fendue, et les lèvres aussi minces qu’on en puisse voir; et s’il ne -lui manquait point une douzaine de dents, ce serait une perfection. -J’oubliais d’ajouter, et par ma foi je lui faisais grand tort, que ses -lèvres sont de la plus belle couleur qu’on ait jamais vue, et peut-être -la moins commune: elle ne les a point rouges comme les autres femmes, -mais jaspées de bleu et de vert, et d’un violet qui tire sur celui des -figues quand elles sont trop mûres. Je vous demande pardon, seigneur -gouverneur, si je prends tant de plaisir à peindre et à vous expliquer -toutes les beautés de cette jeune fille, mais c’est que je l’aime déjà -comme mon propre enfant. - -Peignez tout ce que vous voudrez, dit Sancho; la peinture me divertit, -et si j’avais dîné, je ne trouverais pas de meilleur dessert que le -portrait que vous faites là. - -Il est au service de Votre Grâce et moi aussi, repartit le laboureur; -mais un temps viendra qui n’est pas venu. Je dis donc, seigneur, que si -je pouvais peindre la bonne mine et la taille de cette fille, vous en -seriez ravi. Mais cela m’embarrasse un peu, parce qu’elle est si courbée -que ses genoux touchent son menton; cependant il est aisé de voir que si -elle pouvait se tenir droite, elle toucherait le toit avec sa tête. Elle -aurait depuis longtemps déjà donné la main à mon fils le bachelier, si -ce n’est qu’elle ne peut l’étendre, parce qu’elle a les nerfs tout -retirés; et malgré tout, on voit bien à ses ongles croches que sa main a -une belle forme. - -Bien, bien, dit Sancho, supposez que vous l’avez peinte de la tête aux -pieds: que voulez-vous maintenant? venez au fait sans tourner autour du -pot et sans nous faire tant de peintures. - -Je voudrais donc, si c’est un effet de votre bonté, seigneur gouverneur, -que Votre Grâce me donnât pour le père de ma bru une lettre de -recommandation, dans laquelle vous le supplieriez de permettre ce -mariage au plus vite; d’ailleurs, puisque nous sommes égaux en fortune -lui et moi, nos enfants n’ont rien à se reprocher. En effet, pour ne -vous rien cacher, je vous dirai que mon fils est possédé du diable, et -qu’il n’y a pas de jour que le malin esprit ne le tourmente trois ou -quatre fois; que de plus, pour être un jour tombé dans le feu, il a le -visage si retiré, qu’il ressemble à un morceau de parchemin, et que ses -yeux coulent et pleurent comme s’il avait une source dans la tête. Mais -à cela près, il a un très-bon naturel; et n’était qu’il se gourme et se -déchire souvent lui-même, ce serait un ange du ciel. - -Eh bien, voulez-vous encore autre chose, bonhomme? dit Sancho. - -Seigneur, je voudrais bien encore quelque chose, répliqua le paysan; -seulement je n’ose le dire; mais vaille que vaille, et puisque je l’ai -sur le cœur, il faut que je m’en débarrasse. Je dis donc, seigneur, que -je voudrais que Votre Grâce eût l’obligeance de me donner cinq ou six -cents ducats pour grossir la dot de mon bachelier, afin de lui aider à -se mettre en ménage; car il faut que ces enfants vivent chez eux et -qu’ils ne dépendent ni l’un ni l’autre d’un beau-père. - -Voyez si vous voulez encore autre chose, ajouta Sancho; continuez, et -que la honte ne vous arrête pas. - -Seigneur, je n’ai plus rien à demander, répondit le laboureur. - -Il n’eut pas plus tôt achevé, que le gouverneur se levant brusquement, -et saisissant le fauteuil sur lequel il était assis: Je jure, -s’écria-t-il, pataud, rustre et malappris, je jure que si tu ne sors à -l’instant de ma présence, je te casse la tête! Voyez un peu ce maroufle, -ce peintre de Belzébuth, qui vient me demander effrontément six cents -ducats, comme il demanderait six maravédis! D’où veux-tu que je les aie, -puant que tu es? et quand je les aurais, pourquoi te les donnerais-je, -sournois, imbécile? Que me font à moi, toi et tous tes Perlerino? Hors -d’ici! et ne sois jamais assez hardi pour t’y présenter, ou je fais -serment par la vie du duc, mon seigneur, de te casser bras et jambes. Il -n’y a pas vingt-quatre heures que je suis gouverneur, et tu veux que -j’aie six cents ducats à te donner! Mort de ma vie, il me prend -fantaisie de te sauter sur le ventre, et de t’arracher les entrailles. - -Le maître d’hôtel fit signe au laboureur de se retirer; ce que celui-ci -s’empressa de faire, ayant l’air d’avoir grand’peur que le gouverneur -n’exécutât ses menaces, car le fripon jouait admirablement son rôle. - -Enfin Sancho eut bien de la peine à s’apaiser. Laissons-le ronger son -frein, et retournons à don Quichotte, que nous avons laissé couvert -d’emplâtres et en si mauvais état, qu’il mit à guérir plus de huit -jours, pendant lesquels il lui arriva ce que nous allons voir dans le -chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE XLVIII - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE AVEC LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ, ET D’AUTRES -CHOSES AUSSI ADMIRABLES. - -Triste, mélancolique, et le visage couvert de compresses, languissait le -pauvre chevalier. Il resta plus de six jours sans oser se montrer en -public; une nuit enfin, comme il réfléchissait à ses disgrâces et aux -persécutions d’Altisidore, il crut entendre une clef qui cherchait à -ouvrir la porte de sa chambre. S’imaginant que l’amoureuse demoiselle -venait livrer un dernier assaut à sa pudeur, et tâcher d’ébranler la foi -qu’il avait jurée à sa dame Dulcinée du Toboso: Non, s’écria-t-il assez -haut pour être entendu, non, la plus grande beauté de la terre ne -saurait effacer de mon cœur celle que l’amour y a gravée si -profondément; que tu sois, ô ma dame, transformée en ignoble paysanne -occupée à manger des oignons, ou bien en nymphe du Tage tissant des -étoffes d’or et de soie; que Merlin ou Montesinos te retiennent où il -leur plaira, libre ou enchantée, absente ou présente, tu es toujours ma -souveraine, et je serai toujours ton esclave. - -Il achevait ces mots quand la porte s’ouvrit. Aussitôt, s’enveloppant -d’une courte-pointe de satin jaune, une barrette sur la tête, le visage -parsemé d’emplâtres, et les moustaches en papillotes, don Quichotte se -dressa debout sur son lit. Dans ce costume, il avait l’air du plus -épouvantable fantôme qui se puisse imaginer. Mais lorsque, les yeux -cloués sur la porte, il espérait voir paraître la dolente Altisidore, il -vit entrer une vénérable duègne avec des voiles blancs à sa coiffe, si -plissés et si longs, qu’ils la cachaient de la tête aux pieds. De sa -main gauche elle tenait une petite bougie allumée, et portait l’autre -main au-devant, afin que la lumière ne lui donnât pas dans les yeux, -qu’elle avait de plus protégés par de grandes lunettes. Elle marchait à -pas de loup et sur la pointe du pied. Du lieu où il était comme en -sentinelle, don Quichotte l’observait attentivement, et à la lenteur de -sa démarche, à son accoutrement étrange, il la prit pour une sorcière -qui venait exercer sur lui ses maléfices. - -Cependant la duègne continuait d’avancer. Quand elle fut au milieu de -l’appartement, elle leva les yeux, et alors elle vit le chevalier qui -faisait des signes de croix de toute la vitesse de son bras. S’il fut -intimidé en apercevant une telle figure, la duègne fut encore plus -épouvantée en voyant la sienne; Jésus, qu’aperçois-je! s’écria-t-elle. - -Dans son effroi, la bougie lui échappa des mains et s’éteignit; plongée -dans les ténèbres, elle voulut fuir, mais elle s’embarrassa dans les -plis de son voile, et tomba tout de son long sur le plancher. - -Plus effrayé que jamais: Je t’adjure, ô fantôme, ou qui que tu sois, se -mit à dire don Quichotte, je t’adjure de me dire qui tu es, et ce que tu -exiges de moi. Si tu es une âme en peine, parle, je ferai pour te -soulager tout ce qu’on doit attendre d’un bon catholique, car je le -suis, et me complais à être utile à tout le monde; c’est pour cela que -j’ai embrassé l’ordre de la chevalerie errante, dont la profession -s’étend jusqu’à rendre service aux âmes du purgatoire. - -S’entendant adjurer de la sorte, la pauvre duègne jugea par sa propre -frayeur de celle de notre héros, et répondit d’une voix basse et -dolente: Seigneur don Quichotte, si toutefois c’est bien vous, je ne -suis ni vision ni fantôme, ni âme du purgatoire, comme Votre Grâce se -l’imagine; je suis la señora Rodriguez, cette dame d’honneur de madame -la duchesse, et je viens ici vous demander aide et secours pour une -affliction à laquelle Votre Grâce peut seule remédier. - -Parlez franchement, señora Rodriguez, repartit don Quichotte, êtes-vous -ici pour quelque entremise d’amour? Dans ce cas, vous perdez votre -temps: la beauté de Dulcinée du Toboso s’est tellement emparée de mon -cœur, qu’elle me rend sourd et insensible à toutes prières de cette -nature. Mais s’il n’est point question de message amoureux, allez -rallumer votre bougie et revenez ici; nous aviserons ensuite, sauf -toutefois les réserves que je viens de faire. - -Moi, messagère d’amour! mon bon Seigneur, reprit la duègne; Votre Grâce -me connaît mal. Dieu merci, je ne suis point encore assez vieille pour -faire ce métier-là; je suis bien saine, et j’ai toutes mes dents, hormis -quelques-unes qui me sont tombées par suite de catarrhes fort ordinaires -dans ce pays d’Aragon. Mais que Votre Grâce m’accorde un instant, je -vais rallumer ma bougie, et je reviens vous conter mes ennuis, comme à -celui qui sait remédier à tous les déplaisirs du monde; et elle sortit -sans attendre de réponse. - -Une pareille visite à une pareille heure fit à l’instant naître de si -étranges pensées dans l’imagination de don Quichotte, qu’il ne se crut -point en sûreté malgré toutes ses résolutions: Qui sait, se disait-il, -si le diable, toujours artificieux et subtil, ne me tend pas ici quelque -nouveau piége? Qui sait s’il n’essayera pas, au moyen d’une duègne, de -me faire tomber dans les précipices que j’ai si souvent évités? J’ai ouï -dire bien des fois que, quand il le peut, il nous envoie la tentatrice -plutôt à nez camard qu’à nez aquilin. Quelle honte pour moi et quel -affront pour Dulcinée, si cette vieille femme allait triompher d’une -constance que reines, impératrices, duchesses et marquises ont cherché -vainement à ébranler! En pareil cas, mieux vaut fuir qu’accepter le -combat. Mais, en vérité, ajouta notre chevalier, je dois avoir perdu la -tête, pour que de telles extravagances me viennent à l’esprit et sur les -lèvres? Est-il possible qu’une duègne avec ses coiffes blanches, son -visage ridé et ses lunettes, éveille une pensée lascive, même dans le -cœur le plus dépravé? Y a-t-il par hasard dans l’univers entier une -duègne qui ait la chair ferme et rebondie? toutes ne sont-elles pas -grimacières et mijaurées? Arrière donc, troupe embéguinée, ennemie de -toute humaine création. Oh! combien eut raison cette dame qui avait fait -placer aux deux bouts de son estrade deux duègnes en cire, avec lunettes -et coussinets, assises comme si elles eussent travaillé à l’aiguille! -Car, sur ma foi, ces deux statues lui rendaient tout autant de services -que deux véritables duègnes. - -En disant cela, il se jeta à bas du lit, dans l’intention d’aller fermer -sa porte; mais au moment où il touchait la serrure, la señora Rodriguez -rentra. Quand elle vit notre chevalier dans l’état où nous l’avons -dépeint, elle fit trois pas en arrière: Sommes-nous en sûreté, seigneur -don Quichotte? lui dit-elle; je ne sais vraiment que penser en voyant -que Votre Grâce a quitté son lit. - -Je vous adresserai la même question, señora, reprit notre héros, et je -voudrais être assuré qu’il ne me sera fait aucune violence. - -Contre qui, et à qui demandez-vous cela, seigneur chevalier? repartit la -duègne. - -C’est à vous et contre vous-même, répondit don Quichotte; car enfin ni -vous ni moi ne sommes de bronze; et puis, l’heure est suspecte, surtout -dans une chambre plus close et aussi sourde que la caverne où le perfide -Énée abusa de la faiblesse de la malheureuse Didon. Néanmoins, -donnez-moi la main, car, après tout, ma continence et ma retenue me -suffiront, je l’espère, surtout avec le secours de vos vénérables -coiffes. Et lui ayant baisé la main droite, il lui offrit la sienne, que -la señora accepta de bonne grâce. - -Ben-Engeli s’arrête en cet endroit pour faire une parenthèse et -s’écrier: Par Mahomet! pour voir ces deux personnages dans un semblable -costume, se dirigeant de la porte de la chambre vers le lit, j’aurais -donné la meilleure pelisse des deux que je possède. - -Enfin don Quichotte se remit dans ses draps, tandis que la señora -Rodriguez prenait place sur une chaise assez écartée du lit, sans -quitter ni sa bougie ni ses lunettes. Puis, quand ils furent tous deux -bien installés, le premier qui rompit le silence fut don Quichotte. -Madame, dit-il, vous pouvez maintenant découdre vos lèvres, et -m’apprendre le sujet de vos déplaisirs: vous serez écoutée par de -chastes oreilles et secourue par de charitables œuvres. - -Je n’en fais aucun doute, répondit la señora Rodriguez, car du gentil et -tout aimable aspect de Votre Grâce, on ne pouvait espérer qu’une réponse -si chrétienne. Apprenez donc, seigneur chevalier, quoique vous me voyiez -assise ici sur cette chaise en costume de misérable duègne, au beau -milieu du royaume d’Aragon, que je n’en suis pas moins native des -Asturies d’Oviedo, et d’une des meilleures races de cette province. La -mauvaise étoile de mon père et de ma mère, qui s’appauvrirent de bonne -heure, sans savoir pourquoi ni comment, m’amena à Madrid, où, pour me -faire un sort, mes parents me placèrent chez une grande dame, en qualité -de femme de chambre; car il faut que vous le sachiez, seigneur don -Quichotte, pour toutes sortes d’ouvrages, surtout ceux à l’aiguille, je -ne le cède à personne. Mon père et ma mère s’en retournèrent dans leur -province, me laissant en condition, et peu de temps après, ils -quittèrent ce monde pour aller en paradis, car ils étaient bons -catholiques. Je restai donc orpheline, sans autre ressource que les -misérables gages qu’on nous donne dans les palais des grands. Un écuyer -de la maison où j’étais devint amoureux de moi, sans que j’y songeasse: -c’était un homme déjà avancé en âge, à grande barbe, à vénérable aspect, -et noble comme le roi, car il était montagnard. Nos amours ne furent pas -toutefois si secrètes que ma maîtresse n’en eût connaissance, et pour -empêcher les caquets elle nous maria en face de notre mère la sainte -Église catholique. De notre union naquit une fille; pour combler ma -disgrâce, non pas que je sois morte en couche, car l’enfant vint bien et -à terme, mais parce que mon pauvre mari, Dieu veuille avoir son âme, -mourut peu de temps après d’une frayeur qu’il eut, et dont vous serez -étonné vous-même, si j’ai le temps de vous la raconter. - -Ici, la pauvre duègne se mit à pleurer amèrement, après quoi elle -reprit: Pardonnez-moi, seigneur chevalier, si je verse des larmes, mais -je ne puis me rappeler le pauvre défunt sans pleurer; Dieu! qu’il avait -bonne mine, quand il menait ma maîtresse en croupe sur une belle mule -noire comme jais! car dans ce temps-là on n’avait point de carrosse -comme aujourd’hui, et les dames allaient en croupe derrière leurs -écuyers. Ce que je dis, c’est afin de vous faire connaître la politesse -et la ponctualité de cet excellent homme. Un jour, à Madrid, comme il -allait entrer dans la rue Santiago, rue fort étroite, un alcade de cour -en sortait suivi de deux alguazils; mon mari aussitôt tourna bride pour -accompagner l’alcade; mais ma maîtresse qui était en croupe, lui dit à -voix basse: Que faites-vous, malheureux? ne songez-vous plus que je suis -ici? L’alcade, en homme courtois, retint la bride de son cheval et dit à -mon mari: Seigneur, suivez votre chemin; c’est à moi d’accompagner la -señora Cassilda. C’était le nom de ma maîtresse. Malgré cela, mon mari, -la toque à la main, s’opiniâtrait à suivre l’alcade. Ce que voyant, ma -maîtresse tira de son étui une grosse aiguille, peut-être bien même un -poinçon, et, pleine de dépit et de fureur, elle l’enfonça dans le corps -de mon pauvre mari qui, jetant un grand cri, roula à terre avec elle. -Les laquais de la dame accoururent, avec l’alcade et les alguazils, pour -les relever. Cela mit en confusion toute la porte de Guadalajara, je -veux dire les oisifs qui s’y trouvaient. Ma maîtresse s’en retourna à -pied, et mon époux se réfugia dans la boutique d’un barbier, disant -qu’il avait les entrailles traversées de part en part. On ne parla plus -dans Madrid que de sa courtoisie, et quand il fut guéri, les petits -garçons le suivaient par les rues. Pour ce motif, et aussi parce qu’il -avait la vue un peu basse, ma maîtresse lui donna son congé, ce dont il -eut tant de chagrin, que telle fut, sans nul doute, la cause de sa mort. -Je restai veuve, pauvre, et chargée d’une fille qui chaque jour allait -croissant en beauté. Comme j’avais la réputation de travailler -admirablement à l’aiguille, madame la duchesse, qui était récemment -mariée avec monseigneur le duc, m’emmena en Aragon et ma fille aussi. -Bref, les jours se succédant, ma fille a grandi ornée de toutes les -grâces du monde; aujourd’hui elle chante comme un rossignol, danse comme -une sylphide, lit et écrit comme un maître d’école, et compte comme un -usurier. Je ne dis rien des soins qu’elle prend de sa personne: l’eau -courante n’est pas plus nette; et à cette heure, elle a, si je ne me -trompe, seize ans cinq mois et trois jours, pas un de plus, pas un de -moins. - -De cette mienne enfant est devenu amoureux le fils d’un riche laboureur, -qui tient ici près une ferme de monseigneur le duc. Le jeune homme a si -bien fait, que, sous promesse de l’épouser, il a abusé de la pauvre -créature, et aujourd’hui il refuse de tenir sa parole, quoique -monseigneur sache toute l’affaire, car je me suis plainte à lui, non pas -une fois, mais mille, le suppliant de forcer ce garçon à épouser ma -fille; mais notre maître fait la sourde oreille et veut à peine -m’entendre. La raison en est que le père du séducteur, qui est fort -riche, lui prête de l’argent et chaque jour lui sert de caution pour ses -sottises, c’est pourquoi il ne veut le désobliger en rien. - -Je viens donc vous demander, seigneur chevalier, puisqu’au dire de tout -le monde Votre Grâce est venue ici-bas pour redresser les torts et -prêter assistance aux malheureux, de prendre fait et cause pour ma -fille, afin que, soit par la persuasion, soit par les armes, vous -obteniez réparation du tort qu’on lui a fait. Jetez les yeux, je vous en -supplie, sur l’abandon de cette pauvre enfant, sur sa jeunesse, sa -gentillesse et toutes ses bonnes qualités; car, sur mon honneur, de -toutes les femmes de madame la duchesse, il n’y en a pas une qui la -vaille; et une certaine Altisidore, qui passe pour la plus huppée et la -plus égrillarde, n’en approche pas de cent lieues. Votre Grâce, seigneur -don Quichotte, doit savoir que tout ce qui reluit n’est pas or: aussi -cette Altisidore a-t-elle plus de présomption que de beauté, et plus -d’effronterie que de retenue, sans compter qu’elle n’est pas fort saine, -car elle a l’haleine si forte qu’on ne saurait rester longtemps auprès -d’elle. Madame la duchesse elle-même... mais il faut se taire, parce -que, vous le savez, les murs ont des oreilles. - -Qu’a donc madame la duchesse, señora Rodriguez? demanda don Quichotte; -sur ma vie, expliquez-vous. - -Je n’ai rien à vous refuser, répondit la duègne: eh bien, voyez-vous, -seigneur chevalier, la beauté de madame la duchesse, ce teint si -brillant qu’on dirait que c’est une lame d’épée fourbie, ces joues qui -semblent pétries de lait et de vermillon, et cet air dont elle marche, -dédaignant presque de toucher la terre; eh bien, tout cela, c’est grâce -à deux fontaines qu’elle a aux jambes, par où vont s’écoulant toutes les -mauvaises humeurs dont les médecins assurent qu’elle est remplie. - -Bon Dieu? que m’apprenez-vous là, señora? s’écria don Quichotte; est-il -possible que madame la duchesse ait de semblables exutoires? En vérité, -je ne l’aurais jamais cru, quand tous les carmes déchaussés me -l’auraient affirmé; mais puisque vous me le dites, je n’en doute plus. -D’ailleurs, j’en suis persuadé, de pareilles fontaines doivent répandre -plutôt de l’ambre liquide qu’aucune autre humeur, et tout de bon je -commence à croire que ces sortes de fontaines sont fort utiles pour la -santé. - -Don Quichotte achevait de parler, lorsque la porte de la chambre -s’ouvrit avec fracas; le saisissement fit tomber la bougie des mains de -la señora Rodriguez, et l’appartement resta, comme on dit, aussi noir -qu’un four. En même temps, la pauvre duègne se sentit prendre à la gorge -par deux mains qui la serrèrent si vigoureusement qu’elle ne pouvait -respirer; et une troisième main lui ayant relevé sa jupe, une quatrième, -avec quelque chose qui ressemblait à une pantoufle, commença à la -fustiger si vertement, que c’était pitié. Don Quichotte, tout charitable -qu’il était, ne bougea pas de son lit, ignorant ce que ce pouvait être, -et redoutant pour lui-même l’orage qu’il entendait éclater à ses côtés. -Le bon chevalier ne craignait pas sans raison: car après que les -invisibles bourreaux eurent bien corrigé la malheureuse duègne, qui -n’osait souffler mot, ils se jetèrent sur lui, et ayant enlevé sa -couverture, ils le pincèrent si fort et si dru, qu’il fut forcé de se -défendre à grands coups de pieds, et tout cela dans un admirable -silence. La bataille dura plus d’une demi-heure, après quoi les fantômes -disparurent. La señora Rodriguez se releva, rajusta sa jupe, et sortit -sans proférer une parole. - -Quant à don Quichotte, il resta dans son lit, triste et pensif, pincé et -meurtri, mais mourant d’envie de savoir quel était l’enchanteur qui -l’avait mis en cet état. - -Nous verrons cela une autre fois, car il nous faut retourner à Sancho, -comme le veut l’ordre de cette histoire. - -CHAPITRE XLIX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A SANCHO PANZA, EN FAISANT LA RONDE DANS SON ILE. - -Nous avons laissé notre gouverneur fort courroucé contre ce narquois de -paysan qui, instruit par le majordome d’après les ordres du duc, s’était -moqué de lui; mais, tout simple qu’il était, Sancho Panza leur tenait -tête à tous, sans reculer d’un pas. Maintenant, dit-il à ceux qui -l’entouraient, parmi lesquels était le docteur Pedro Rezio, je comprends -qu’il faut que les gouverneurs et les juges soient de bronze, afin de -pouvoir résister à ces importuns qui à toute heure viennent demander -qu’on les écoute et qu’on expédie leur affaire quoi qu’il arrive; et si -un pauvre juge refuse de les entendre, parce que c’est le moment de -prendre son repas, ou parce qu’il n’a pas le loisir de donner audience, -ils en disent pis que pendre. A ce plaideur malavisé, je dirai: Choisis -mieux ton temps, mon ami, et ne viens pas aux heures où l’on mange, ni à -celles où l’on dort, car nous autres juges et gouverneurs, nous sommes -de chair et d’os comme les autres hommes: il faut que nous accordions à -la nature ce qu’elle exige, si ce n’est moi pourtant qui ne donne rien à -manger à la mienne, grâce au docteur Pedro Rezio de Tirteafuera ici -présent, qui veut que je meure de faim, et affirme que c’est pour ma -santé. Dieu lui donne santé pareille; ainsi qu’à tous les médecins de -son espèce. - -En entendant Sancho chacun s’étonnait, et se disait qu’il n’est rien de -tel que les charges d’importance soit pour aviver, soit pour engourdir -l’esprit. Finalement, le docteur Pedro Rezio lui promit de le laisser -souper ce soir-là, dût-il violer tous les aphorismes d’Hippocrate. Cette -promesse remplit de joie notre gouverneur, qui attendit avec une extrême -impatience que la nuit vînt, et avec elle l’heure du souper. - -Enfin arriva le moment tant désiré, et on servit à Sancho un hachis de -bœuf à l’oignon, avec les pieds d’un veau quelque peu avancé en âge. -Notre bon gouverneur se jeta sur ces ragoûts avec plus d’appétit que si -on lui eût présenté des faisans d’Étrurie, du veau de Sorrente, des -perdrix de Moron ou des oies de Lavajos. Aussi, pendant le repas, se -tourna-t-il vers le médecin et lui dit: Seigneur docteur, ne vous mettez -point en peine à l’avenir de me donner des mets recherchés, mon estomac -n’y est pas fait, et il s’accommode fort bien de bœuf, de lard, de -navets et d’oignons; lorsque par aventure on lui donne des ragoûts de -roi, il ne les reçoit qu’en rechignant, et souvent avec dégoût. Ce que -le maître d’hôtel pourra faire de mieux, c’est de me donner ce qu’on -appelle pots pourris; plus ils sont pourris, meilleurs ils sont; qu’il y -fourre tout ce qu’il voudra: pourvu que ce soient choses bonnes à -manger, je serai satisfait, et m’en souviendrai dans l’occasion; et que -personne ne s’avise d’en plaisanter, car enfin je suis gouverneur ou je -ne le suis pas. Vivons et mangeons en paix, puisque quand Dieu fait -luire le soleil c’est pour tout le monde. Je gouvernerai cette île sans -rien prendre ni laisser prendre; mais que chacun ait l’œil au guet, et -se tienne sur le qui-vive, autrement je lui fais savoir que le diable -s’est mis de la danse; et si on me fâche, on trouvera à qui parler. - -Assurément, seigneur gouverneur, dit le maître d’hôtel, Votre Grâce a -raison en tout et partout, et je me rends caution, au nom de tous les -habitants de cette île, que vous serez servi et obéi avec ponctualité, -amour et respect: votre aimable façon de gouverner ne saurait leur -inspirer d’autre désir que celui d’être tout à votre service. - -Je le crois bien, repartit Sancho, et ils seraient des imbéciles s’ils -pensaient autrement: je recommande seulement qu’on ait soin de pourvoir -à ma subsistance et à celle de mon âne; de cette façon nous serons tous -contents. Maintenant, quand il sera temps de faire la ronde, qu’on -m’avertisse, mon intention est de purger cette île des gens désœuvrés, -des vagabonds; car je vous l’apprendrai, mes amis, les gens oisifs et -les batteurs de pavé sont aux États ce que les frelons sont aux -abeilles, ils mangent et dissipent ce qu’elles amassent avec beaucoup de -travail. Moi, je prétends protéger les laboureurs, assurer les -priviléges de la noblesse, récompenser les hommes vertueux, et surtout -faire respecter la religion et ceux qui la pratiquent. Eh bien, que vous -en semble? ai-je raison, ou me casserais-je la tête inutilement? - -Vous parlez si bien, seigneur gouverneur, répondit le majordome, que je -suis encore à comprendre qu’un homme aussi peu lettré que l’est Votre -Grâce, je crois même que vous ne l’êtes pas du tout, dise de telles -choses, et prononce autant de sentences que de paroles. Certes, ceux qui -vous ont envoyé ici et ceux que vous y trouvez ne s’y attendaient guère: -ainsi chaque jour on voit des choses nouvelles, et les moqueurs, comme -on dit, se trouvent moqués. - -Après avoir assez amplement soupé, avec la permission du docteur Pedro -Rezio, le gouverneur, accompagné du majordome, du secrétaire, du maître -d’hôtel, de l’historien chargé de recueillir par écrit ses faits et -gestes, et suivi d’une foule d’alguazils et de gens de justice, sortit -pour faire sa ronde. Sancho marchait gravement au milieu d’eux, sa verge -à la main. Ils avaient à peine traversé plusieurs rues, qu’un cliquetis -d’épées vint à leurs oreilles; ils y coururent, et trouvèrent deux -hommes qui étaient aux prises. Ces hommes voyant venir la justice -s’arrêtèrent, et l’un d’eux s’écria: Est-il possible qu’on vole ici -comme sur un grand chemin, et qu’on assassine en pleine rue? - -Calmez-vous, homme de bien, dit Sancho, et contez-moi le sujet de votre -plainte; je suis le gouverneur. - -Seigneur gouverneur, répondit un des combattants, je vais vous l’exposer -en deux mots. Votre Excellence saura que ce gentilhomme vient de gagner -mille réaux dans une maison qui est près d’ici; je suis son compère, et -Dieu sait combien de fois j’ai prononcé en sa faveur, souvent même -contre ma conscience! Eh bien, quand j’espérais qu’il me donnerait -quelques écus, comme c’est la coutume avec les gens de qualité tels que -moi, qui viennent là pour juger les coups et empêcher les querelles, il -a ramassé son argent et est sorti sans daigner me regarder. J’ai couru -après lui, le priant avec politesse de me donner au moins huit réaux, -car il n’ignore pas que je suis homme d’honneur, et que je n’ai ni -métier ni rentes, parce que mes parents ne m’ont laissé ni l’un ni -l’autre; mais ce ladre n’a consenti à m’accorder que quatre réaux. Voyez -un peu quelle dérision! Par ma foi, sans l’arrivée de Votre Grâce, je -lui aurais fait rendre gorge, et appris à me donner bonne mesure. - -Que répondez-vous à cela? demanda Sancho à l’autre partie. - -Celui-ci répondit que ce que son adversaire venait de dire était exact, -et qu’il n’avait pas voulu lui donner plus de quatre réaux, parce qu’il -les lui donnait très-souvent. Ceux qui attendent la gratification des -joueurs, ajouta-t-il, doivent être polis et prendre gaiement ce qu’on -leur donne, sans marchander avec les gagnants, à moins de savoir avec -certitude que ce sont des escrocs et que ce qu’ils gagnent est mal -gagné. Au reste la meilleure preuve que je suis un homme d’honneur, -c’est que je n’ai voulu donner rien de plus, car les fripons sont -toujours tributaires de ceux qui les connaissent. - -Cela est vrai; que plaît-il à Votre Seigneurie qu’on fasse de ces deux -hommes? dit le majordome. - -Ce qu’il y a à faire, le voici, répondit Sancho: vous homme de bonne ou -de mauvaise foi, donnez sur-le-champ à votre compère cent réaux, et -trente pour les pauvres; vous qui n’avez ni métier ni rente, et qui -vivez les bras croisés, prenez ces cent réaux, puis demain de grand -matin décampez au plus vite de cette île, et n’y rentrez de dix années, -sous peine, si vous y manquez, de les achever dans l’autre monde: car je -vous fais accrocher par la main du bourreau à la première potence venue. -Et qu’aucun des deux ne réplique, ou gare à lui. - -La sentence fut exécutée sur-le-champ, et le gouverneur ajouta: Ou je -serai sans pouvoir, ou je fermerai ces maisons de jeu; tant je suis -persuadé qu’elles causent de dommage. - -Pas celle-ci du moins, répondit le greffier, car elle est tenue par un -grand personnage, qui assurément y perd beaucoup plus d’argent chaque -année qu’il n’en gagne; mais Votre Grâce pourra montrer son pouvoir -contre les tripots de bas étage, qui donnent à jouer à tous venants, et -dans lesquels il se commet mille friponneries, les filous n’étant pas -assez hardis pour exercer leur industrie chez les personnes de -distinction; et puisque enfin la passion du jeu est devenue générale, il -vaut mieux que l’on joue chez les gens de qualité que dans ces repaires -où l’on retient un malheureux toute la nuit pour l’écorcher tout vif. - -Il y a beaucoup à dire à cela, greffier, répliqua Sancho; mais nous en -reparlerons. - -Sur ce arriva un alguazil qui tenait un homme au collet: Seigneur -gouverneur, dit-il, ce jeune compagnon venait de notre côté, mais -aussitôt qu’il a aperçu la justice, le drôle a tourné les talons, et -s’est mis à courir de toute sa force: signe certain qu’il a quelque -chose à se reprocher. J’ai couru après lui, et s’il n’eût trébuché il ne -serait pas maintenant devant vous. - -Pourquoi donc fuyais-tu, jeune homme? demanda Sancho. - -Seigneur, répondit le garçon, je fuyais pour éviter toutes ces questions -que font les gens de justice. - -Fort bien; quel est ton métier? - -Tisserand, avec la permission de Votre Grâce. - -Et qu’est-ce que tu tisses? - -Des fers de lance. - -Ah! ah! repartit Sancho, tu fais le plaisant, j’en suis bien aise. Et où -allais-tu, à l’heure qu’il est? - -Prendre l’air, répondit-il. - -Et où prend-on l’air dans cette île? demanda Sancho. - -Là où il souffle, seigneur, répondit le jeune homme. - -C’est très-bien répondre, dit le gouverneur, et je vois que tu en sais -long. Eh bien, mon ami, imagine-toi que c’est moi qui suis l’air, que je -te souffle en poupe, et que je te pousse à la prison: holà, qu’on l’y -mène à l’instant! Je saurai bien empêcher que tu dormes cette nuit en -plein air. - -Pardieu, seigneur, reprit-il, vous me ferez dormir en prison, tout comme -je serai roi. - -Et pourquoi donc ne te ferais-je pas dormir en prison, insolent? -repartit Sancho; est-ce que je n’ai pas le pouvoir de t’y faire -conduire, et de t’en tirer quand il me plaira. - -Ma foi, vous auriez cent fois plus de pouvoir, que vous ne m’y feriez -point dormir, répondit le jeune homme. - -Comment, non! répliqua Sancho; qu’on le mène en prison sur-le-champ, -afin qu’il apprenne à ses dépens si je suis le maître ou non; et si le -geôlier le laisse échapper, je le condamne d’avance à deux mille ducats -d’amende. - -Plaisanterie que tout cela! Je défie tous les habitants de la terre de -me faire dormir cette nuit en prison. - -Es-tu le diable en personne, ou possèdes-tu quelque esprit familier pour -t’ôter les menottes qu’on va te mettre? demanda Sancho avec colère. - -Un instant, seigneur gouverneur, répondit le jeune homme d’un air -dégagé; soyons raisonnable, et venons au fait. Je suppose que Votre -Seigneurie m’envoie en prison, qu’on me mette au fond d’un cachot, les -fers aux pieds et aux mains, et qu’on me garde à vue: eh bien, si je ne -veux pas dormir, et si je veux passer la nuit les yeux ouverts, tout -votre pouvoir serait-il capable de me contraindre à les fermer. - -Il a raison, observa le secrétaire. - -De sorte, dit Sancho, que tu ne dormiras pas, uniquement pour suivre ta -fantaisie, et non pour contrevenir à ma volonté? - -Assurément, seigneur, répondit le jeune homme; je n’en ai pas même la -pensée. - -A la bonne heure, va dormir chez toi, je ne prétends pas l’empêcher; -mais, à l’avenir, je te conseille de ne pas plaisanter avec la justice, -car tu pourrais tomber entre les mains d’un juge qui n’entendrait pas -raillerie et te donnerait sur les doigts. - -Le jeune homme s’en fut, et le gouverneur continua la ronde. - -A quelques pas de là, deux archers survinrent avec un nouveau -prisonnier: Seigneur, dit l’un d’eux, celui que nous vous amenons n’est -point un homme, c’est une femme, et même fort aimable, qui a pris ce -travestissement. - -On approcha deux lanternes, à la lumière desquelles on reconnut que -c’était une fille d’environ quinze à seize ans. Ses cheveux étaient -ramassés dans une résille de fils d’or et de soie verte; elle portait un -vêtement de brocart d’or à fond vert; ses bas de soie étaient incarnats, -ses jarretières de taffetas blanc, bordées de franges d’or avec des -perles, ses souliers étaient blancs comme ceux des hommes; elle n’avait -point d’épée, mais seulement un riche poignard, et aux doigts plusieurs -bagues d’un grand prix. En un mot, sa beauté surprit tout le monde, mais -aucun des assistants ne put la reconnaître; ceux mêmes qui étaient dans -le secret des tours qu’on voulait jouer à Sancho, non moins étonnés que -les autres, attendaient la fin de l’aventure. - -Émerveillé de la beauté de cette jeune fille, Sancho lui demanda qui -elle était, où elle allait, et pourquoi on la rencontrait sous ce -déguisement. - -Seigneur, répondit-elle en rougissant, je ne saurais dire devant tant de -monde une chose qu’il m’importe de cacher; je puis seulement vous -assurer que je ne suis point un malfaiteur, mais une infortunée à qui la -violence d’un sentiment jaloux a fait oublier les règles de la -bienséance. - -Le majordome, qui l’avait entendue, dit à Sancho: Seigneur gouverneur, -ordonnez à vos gens de s’éloigner, afin que cette dame puisse parler en -toute liberté. - -Lorsqu’ils se furent retirés sur l’ordre du gouverneur, avec qui il ne -demeura que le majordome, le maître d’hôtel et le secrétaire, la jeune -fille parla ainsi: Seigneur, je suis la fille de Pedro Perez Mazorca, -fermier des laines de ce pays, lequel a l’habitude de venir souvent chez -mon père. - -Cela n’a pas de sens, madame! interrompit le majordome; je connais fort -bien Pedro Perez, et je sais qu’il n’a pas d’enfants; d’ailleurs, après -avoir dit que vous êtes sa fille, vous ajoutez qu’il va souvent chez -votre père: cela ne se comprend pas. - -J’en avais déjà fait la remarque, dit Sancho. - -Seigneurs, je vous demande pardon, continua la jeune fille, je suis si -troublée que je ne sais ce que je dis; la vérité est que je suis la -fille de don Diego de la Lana. - -Je connais très-bien don Diego de la Lana, dit le majordome. Don Diego -est un gentilhomme fort riche, qui a un fils et une fille; mais depuis -qu’il est veuf, personne ne peut se vanter d’avoir vu le visage de sa -fille; il la tient si resserrée qu’il la cache au soleil lui-même, mais -malgré toutes ses précautions on sait qu’elle est d’une remarquable -beauté. - -Vous dites vrai, seigneur, répliqua-t-elle, et cette fille c’est moi. -Quant à cette beauté dont vous parlez, vous pouvez en juger maintenant -que vous m’avez vue. - -A ces mots, elle se mit à sangloter, et le secrétaire dit à l’oreille du -majordome: il faut qu’il soit arrivé quelque chose d’extraordinaire à -cette jeune fille, puisque bien née comme elle l’est, on la rencontre à -pareille heure hors de sa maison. - -Il n’en faut pas douter, répondit celui-ci, et ses larmes en font foi. - -Sancho la consola du mieux qu’il put, la conjurant d’avouer, sans nulle -crainte, ce qui lui était arrivé, et lui promettant de faire tout ce qui -serait en son pouvoir pour lui rendre service. - -Seigneurs, répondit-elle, depuis dix ans que ma mère est morte, mon père -m’a tenu renfermée, et pendant tout ce temps je n’ai vu d’homme que mon -père, un frère que j’ai, et Pedro Perez, le fermier que tout à l’heure -j’ai dit être mon père afin de ne pas nommer le mien. Cette solitude si -resserrée, la défense de sortir de la maison, même pour aller à -l’église, car chez nous on dit la messe dans un riche oratoire, me -donnaient beaucoup de chagrin, et je mourais d’ennui de voir le monde, -ou pour le moins le lieu où je suis née, ne croyant pas qu’il y eût -rien de coupable à cela. Quand j’entendais parler de courses de -taureaux, de jeux de bagues, de comédies, je demandais à mon frère, qui -est d’un an plus jeune que moi, ce que c’était, et il me l’expliquait de -son mieux, ce qui redoubla l’envie que j’avais de les voir; enfin, pour -abréger le récit de ma faute, je suppliai mon frère, et plût à Dieu que -je ne lui eusse jamais rien demandé de semblable!... Ici, la pauvre -enfant se mettant à pleurer de plus belle, excita une grande compassion -chez tous ceux qui l’écoutaient. - -Jusqu’ici il n’y a point lieu de s’affliger, dit le majordome; -rassurez-vous, madame, et continuez; vos paroles et vos larmes nous -tiennent en suspens. - -Je n’ai rien à dire de plus, répondit-elle; mais j’ai beaucoup à pleurer -mon imprudence et ma curiosité. - -Les charmes de la jeune fille avaient impressionné le maître d’hôtel; il -approcha de nouveau sa lanterne pour la regarder, et il lui sembla que -ce n’étaient point des larmes qui coulaient de ses yeux, mais plutôt des -gouttes de rosée; il en vint même à les élever au rang de perles -orientales. Aussi désirait-il avec ardeur que le malheur de cette belle -enfant ne fût pas aussi grand que le témoignaient ses soupirs et ses -pleurs. Quant au gouverneur, il se désespérait de ces retards et de ces -interruptions, et il la pria d’achever son récit, disant qu’il se -faisait tard et qu’il avait encore une grande partie de la ville à -parcourir pour terminer sa ronde. - -Alors, d’une voix entrecoupée par de nouveaux sanglots, la jeune fille -poursuivit: Ma disgrâce vient d’avoir, pendant que mon père dormait, -demandé à mon frère de me prêter un de ses habillements, afin d’aller -ensemble nous promener par la ville. Importuné de mes prières, il m’a -donné ses vêtements, et il a pris le mien, qui lui sied à ravir, car -sous ce costume il ressemble à une jolie fille. Il y a environ une -heure que nous sommes sortis de la maison, poussés par notre imprudente -curiosité; nous avions fait le tour du pays, quand tout à coup, en -revenant, nous avons vu s’avancer vers nous une nombreuse troupe de -gens. Mon frère me dit: Voici sans doute les archers; tâche de me -suivre, et fuyons au plus vite; si on nous reconnaît, nous sommes -perdus. Aussitôt il s’est mis à courir, mais avec tant de vitesse qu’on -eût dit qu’il volait; pour moi, je suis bientôt tombée de peur; alors -survint cet homme qui m’a amenée ici, où j’ai honte de paraître une -fille fantasque et dévergondée aux yeux de tant de monde. - -Ne vous est-il arrivé que cela? demanda Sancho; ce n’est donc point la -jalousie, comme vous le disiez d’abord, qui vous a fait quitter votre -maison? - -Il ne m’est rien arrivé que cela, Dieu merci, et en sortant mon seul -dessein était de voir la ville, ou tout ou moins les rues de ce pays que -je ne connaissais pas encore. - -Ce qu’avait dit la jeune fille fut confirmé par son frère, qu’un des -archers ramenait après l’avoir rattrapé à grand’peine. Il portait une -jupe de femme, avec un mantelet de damas bleu bordé d’une riche -dentelle; sa tête était nue et sans autre ornement que ses propres -cheveux, qui semblaient autant d’anneaux d’or, tant ils étaient blonds -et bouclés. Le gouverneur, le majordome et le maître d’hôtel -s’écartèrent un peu du reste de la troupe, et ayant demandé au jeune -garçon, sans que sa sœur l’entendît, pourquoi il était en cet équipage, -il répéta tout ce qu’avait déjà raconté celle-ci, et avec la même -naïveté et le même embarras: ce dont eut beaucoup de joie le maître -d’hôtel, que tout cela intéressait vivement. - -Voilà, il faut l’avouer, un terrible enfantillage! dit le gouverneur; et -il ne fallait pas tant de soupirs et tant de larmes pour en faire le -récit: était-il si difficile de dire: Nous sommes un tel et une telle, -sortis de chez nos parents pour nous promener, sans autre dessein que -la curiosité? Le conte eût été fini, et vous vous seriez épargné toutes -ces pleurnicheries. - -Vous avez raison, seigneur, répondit la jeune fille, mais mon trouble a -été si grand que je n’ai pas eu la force de retenir mes larmes. - -Il n’y a rien de perdu, dit Sancho; allons, venez avec nous: nous allons -vous reconduire chez votre père, qui peut-être ne s’est pas aperçu de -votre absence. Mais une autre fois n’ayez pas tant d’envie de voir le -monde; à fille de renom, dit le proverbe, la jambe cassée et la maison; -poule et femme se perdent pour trop vouloir trotter; car celle qui a -envie de voir a aussi envie d’être vue. - -Nos deux étourdis remercièrent le gouverneur de sa bonté; et l’on prit -le chemin de la maison de don Diego de la Lana, qui n’était pas -éloignée. En arrivant, le jeune homme jeta un petit caillou contre la -fenêtre, aussitôt une servante vint ouvrir la porte; le frère et la -sœur entrèrent. Le seigneur gouverneur et sa troupe continuèrent la -ronde, s’entretenant de la gentillesse de ces pauvres enfants, et de -l’envie qu’ils avaient eue de courir le monde de nuit, sans sortir de -leur village. - -Pendant le peu de temps qu’il avait vu cette jeune fille, le maître -d’hôtel en était devenu si amoureux, qu’il résolut de la demander à son -père dès le lendemain, ne doutant point qu’on ne lui accordât, puisqu’il -était attaché à la personne du duc. De son côté, Sancho eut aussi -quelque désir de marier le jeune homme à sa petite Sanchette, se -réservant d’effectuer son dessein quand le temps serait venu, et -persuadé qu’il n’y avait point de parti au-dessus de la fille du -gouverneur. Ainsi finit cette ronde de nuit, et, deux jours après, le -gouvernement, avec la chute duquel s’écroulèrent tous les projets de -Sancho, comme on le verra plus loin. - -CHAPITRE L - -DES ENCHANTEURS QUI FOUETTÈRENT LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ ET QUI ÉGRATIGNÈRENT -DON QUICHOTTE. - -Cid Hamet, le ponctuel chroniqueur des moindres faits de cette véridique -histoire, dit qu’au moment où la señora Rodriguez se leva pour aller -trouver don Quichotte, une autre duègne, qui était couchée près d’elle -s’en aperçut; et comme toutes les duègnes sont curieuses, celle-ci -suivit sa compagne à pas de loup. L’ayant vue entrer dans la chambre de -notre chevalier, elle ne manqua pas, suivant la louable coutume qu’ont -aussi les duègnes d’être bavardes et rapporteuses, de courir en -instruire la duchesse. Aussitôt, afin d’approfondir ce mystère, la -duchesse prit avec elle Altisidore, et toutes deux allèrent se poster -près de la porte pour écouter. Comme la señora Rodriguez parlait haut, -elles ne perdirent pas un seul mot de la conversation; aussi, quand la -duchesse entendit dévoiler le secret de ses fontaines, elle ne put se -contenir; Altisidore encore moins. Elles enfoncèrent la porte, -criblèrent de coups d’ongles notre héros et fustigèrent la señora comme -nous l’avons déjà dit; tant les outrages qui s’adressent à la beauté des -femmes allument dans leur cœur le désir de la vengeance. La duchesse -alla raconter le tout au duc qui s’en amusa beaucoup; puis pour -continuer à se divertir de leur hôte, la duchesse dépêcha un jeune page -(celui-là même qui avait fait le personnage de Dulcinée dans la -cérémonie du désenchantement) chargé de remettre à Thérèse Panza une -lettre de son mari et une autre lettre de sa propre main, avec un grand -collier de corail. - -Or, dit l’histoire, ce page était fort égrillard; aussi, charmé de -complaire à ses maîtres, il partit de grand matin pour le village de -Sancho. Un peu avant d’y arriver, il trouva quantité de femmes qui -lavaient dans un ruisseau. Il les aborda en les priant de lui indiquer -une personne du village qui avait nom Thérèse Panza, et qui était femme -d’un certain Sancho Panza, écuyer d’un chevalier qu’on appelait don -Quichotte de la Manche. - -A cette question, une jeune fille qui lavait avec les autres se leva, en -disant: Cette Thérèse Panza, c’est ma mère; ce Sancho, c’est mon -seigneur père, et ce chevalier c’est notre maître. - -Eh bien, mademoiselle, reprit le page, venez avec moi, et conduisez-moi -vers votre mère, car je lui apporte une lettre et un présent de ce -seigneur votre père. - -Volontiers, répondit la jeune fille, qui paraissait avoir quinze ans; -puis laissant son linge, et sans prendre le temps de se chausser, tant -elle avait hâte, elle se mit à courir en gambadant devant le page: -Venez, seigneur, venez, disait-elle, notre maison n’est pas loin d’ici, -et ma mère y est en ce moment bien en peine, car il y a bien longtemps -qu’elle n’a reçu des nouvelles de mon seigneur père. - -Eh bien, repartit le page, je lui en apporte de si bonnes qu’elle aura -sujet d’en rendre grâces à Dieu. - -Enfin, la petite Sanchette, courant, sautant, et gambadant, arriva à la -maison; et de si loin qu’elle crut pouvoir être entendue: Venez! ma -mère, s’écria-t-elle, venez vite! voici un seigneur qui apporte une -lettre de mon père et d’autres choses qui vous réjouiront. - -Aux cris de sa fille, parut Thérèse Panza, sa quenouille à la main, -vêtue d’un jupon de serge brune, mais si court qu’il ne descendait pas à -la moitié des jambes; elle n’était pas très-vieille, bien qu’elle eût -dépassé la quarantaine, mais forte, droite, nerveuse et hâlée. Qu’est-ce -donc, Sanchette? dit-elle à sa fille; quel est ce seigneur? - -C’est le très-humble serviteur de madame dona Thérésa Panza, répondit le -page. En même temps il mit pied à terre, et fléchissant le genou devant -elle, il ajouta: Que Votre Grâce veuille bien me permettre de baiser sa -main, très-honorée dame, en qualité de propre et légitime épouse du -seigneur Sancho Panza, gouverneur souverain de l’île Barataria. - -Levez-vous, seigneur, reprit Thérèse, je ne suis point une dame, mais -une pauvre paysanne, fille de bûcheron, femme d’un écuyer errant, et non -d’un gouverneur. - -Votre Seigneurie, repartit le page, est la très-digne épouse d’un -archiduquissime gouverneur; et pour preuve, lisez cette lettre et -recevez ce présent. - -Il lui remit la lettre, et lui passa au cou la chaîne de corail, dont -les agrafes étaient d’or: Cette lettre, ajouta-t-il, est du seigneur -gouverneur, et cette autre, ainsi que la chaîne est de madame la -duchesse qui m’envoie auprès de Votre Grâce. - -Thérèse et sa fille restèrent pétrifiées. Que je meure, dit la petite, -si notre seigneur et maître don Quichotte n’est pas là dedans; il aura -donné à mon père le comté qu’il lui avait promis. - -Justement, répondit le page, c’est en considération du seigneur don -Quichotte que le seigneur Sancho est devenu gouverneur de l’île -Barataria, comme vous le verrez par cette lettre. - -Lisez-la donc, seigneur, dit Thérèse; je sais filer, mais je ne sais pas -lire. - -Ni moi non plus, ajouta Sanchette; attendez, j’irai chercher quelqu’un -qui la lira, soit le curé, soit le bachelier Samson Carrasco; ils -viendront de bon cœur pour apprendre des nouvelles de mon seigneur -père. - -Il n’est besoin d’aller chercher personne, dit le page; je ne sais point -filer, mais je sais lire, et je la lirai bien tout seul. - -Comme cette lettre est rapportée plus haut, on ne la répète point ici. -Le page ensuite en prit une autre, celle de la duchesse, qui était -conçue en ces termes: - - «Amie Thérèse, les excellentes qualités de cœur et d’esprit de votre - époux Sancho m’ont décidée à prier monseigneur le duc de lui donner le - gouvernement d’une île parmi celles qu’il possède. J’apprends qu’il - gouverne comme un aigle, ce dont je me réjouis fort, ainsi que le duc - mon seigneur, qui s’applaudit chaque jour du choix qu’il a fait; car, - vous le savez, ma chère dame, il n’y a rien de si difficile au monde - que de trouver un homme capable, et Dieu veuille faire de moi une - femme aussi bonne que Sancho est bon gouverneur. Mon page vous - remettra une chaîne de corail dont les agrafes sont en or. Je - voudrais, ma bonne amie, que ce fût autant de perles orientales; mais - enfin qui te donne un os ne veut pas ta mort. Un temps viendra, - j’espère, où nous pourrons nous connaître et nous visiter; en - attendant, faites mes compliments à la petite Sanchette; dites-lui de - ma part qu’elle se tienne prête, et qu’au moment où elle y pensera le - moins, je veux la marier à un grand seigneur. On dit ici que vous avez - dans votre village une très-belle espèce de gland, envoyez-m’en, je - vous prie, deux douzaines; le présent me sera considérable venant de - vous. Écrivez-moi longuement de votre santé, de vos occupations, - enfin de tout ce qui vous regarde; et si vous avez besoin de quelque - chose, faites-moi-le savoir, vous serez servie à bouche que veux-tu. - Dieu vous tienne en sa sainte garde! - - «Votre bonne amie, qui vous aime bien. - - «LA DUCHESSE. - - «De cet endroit tel jour.» - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria Thérèse, la bonne dame que voilà, et qu’elle est -simple et modeste! Dieu fasse qu’on m’enterre avec de pareilles dames, -et non avec ces femmes d’hidalgos de notre village, qui, parce qu’elles -sont nobles, ne voudraient pas que le vent les touche, vont à l’église -avec autant de morgue que si elles étaient des reines, et croiraient se -déshonorer si elles regardaient une paysanne en face; tandis que voilà -une duchesse qui m’appelle sa bonne amie, et me traite comme si j’étais -son égale. Plaise à Dieu que je la voie un jour aussi élevée que le plus -haut clocher de la Manche! Quant aux glands doux qu’elle me demande, je -lui en enverrai un boisseau, mais de si gros que je veux qu’on vienne -les voir d’une lieue. Sanchette aie soin de ce seigneur, et qu’on traite -son cheval comme lui-même: va chercher des œufs dans l’étable, coupe -une large tranche de lard, enfin traite-le comme un prince: les -nouvelles qu’il nous apporte méritent bien qu’on lui fasse faire bonne -chère. En attendant, je m’en vais raconter l’heureuse nouvelle à nos -voisines, au seigneur curé et à maître Nicolas, qui étaient et qui sont -encore si bons amis de ton père. - -Soyez tranquille, ma mère, répondit la petite, je me charge de tout. -Mais, dites-moi, n’oubliez pas de me donner la moitié de votre collier, -car je ne pense pas que madame la duchesse soit si mal apprise que de -l’envoyer pour vous seule. - -Il sera pour toi tout entier, ma fille, reprit Thérèse; laisse-le-moi -porter seulement quelques jours, cela me réjouira le cœur. - -Votre cœur se réjouira bien davantage, dit le page, quand je vous -ferai voir ce que j’ai dans cette valise: c’est un habillement de drap -fin, que le gouverneur n’a porté qu’une seule fois à la chasse, et il -l’envoie tout complet à mademoiselle Sanchette. - -Qu’il vive mille années, mon bon père! s’écria Sanchette, ainsi que -celui qui nous apporte de si bonnes nouvelles, et même deux mille, au -besoin. - -Thérèse s’en fut aussitôt, le collier au cou et les lettres à la main; -et ayant rencontré le curé et Samson Carrasco, elle se mit à sauter en -disant: Par ma foi, c’est aujourd’hui qu’il n’y a plus de parents -pauvres, nous tenons un gouvernement. Que la plus huppée de ces dames -vienne se frotter à moi, elles trouveront à qui parler. - -Que voulez-vous dire, Thérèse, demanda le curé; d’où vient cette folie, -et quel papier tenez-vous là? - -Toute la folie est que voici des lettres de duchesse et de gouverneur, -que le collier que je porte a les _Ave_ de fin corail, les _Pater -noster_ d’or pur, et que je suis gouverneuse. - -Que Dieu vous entende, Thérèse, dit Carrasco; car nous ne vous entendons -pas, et nous ne savons ce que vous voulez dire. - -Vous l’allez voir à l’instant, repartit Thérèse; lisez seulement. - -Le curé lut les lettres à haute voix, et lui et le bachelier restèrent -encore plus étonnés qu’auparavant, car ils n’y pouvaient rien -comprendre. Carrasco demanda qui les avait apportées. - -Venez à la maison, répondit Thérèse, et vous verrez le messager: c’est -un jeune garçon beau comme le jour, et il m’apporte en présent bien -d’autres choses. - -Le curé prit le collier, le considéra trois ou quatre fois, et -reconnaissant qu’il était de prix, il ne pouvait revenir de sa surprise. -Par l’habit que je porte, s’écria-t-il, je m’y perds: le cadeau n’est -pas de médiocre valeur; et voici une duchesse qui envoie demander des -glands, comme si c’était chose rare et qu’elle n’en eût jamais vu. - -Tout cela est bizarre, dit Carrasco: mais allons trouver le messager, -nous apprendrons peut-être ce que cela signifie. - -Ils suivirent Thérèse, que la joie avait rendue folle, et en entrant ils -virent le page qui criblait de l’avoine pour son cheval, et la petite -Sanchette qui coupait du jambon pour faire une omelette. Le messager -leur parut de bonne mine et en galant équipage. S’étant salués de part -et d’autre, Carrasco lui demanda des nouvelles de don Quichotte et de -son écuyer, disant que les lettres qu’ils venaient de lire ne faisaient -que les embarrasser, qu’ils ne comprenaient rien au gouvernement de -Sancho, et surtout à cette île qu’on lui avait donnée, puisque celles de -la Méditerranée appartenaient au roi d’Espagne. - -Seigneur, répondit le page, il n’y a cependant rien de plus vrai; le -seigneur Sancho est gouverneur, que ce soit d’une île ou d’autre chose, -je n’en sais rien: quoi qu’il en soit, c’est une ville de plus de mille -habitants. Pour ce qui est des glands que madame la duchesse envoie -demander à une paysanne, il ne faut point s’en étonner: elle n’est pas -fière, et je l’ai vue plus d’une fois envoyer prier une de ses voisines -de lui prêter un peigne. Nos dames, d’Aragon ne sont pas si fières ni si -pointilleuses que celles de Castille, et elles traitent les gens avec -moins de hauteur. - -Pendant cet entretien, la petite Sanchette accourut avec des œufs dans -le pan de sa robe, et s’adressant au page: Dites-moi, seigneur, est-ce -que mon seigneur père attache ses chausses avec des aiguillettes, depuis -qu’il est gouverneur? - -Je n’y ai pas fait attention, répondit le page, mais il doit en être -ainsi. - -Eh bon Dieu, continua Sanchette, que je serais aise de voir mon seigneur -père en hauts-de-chausses! je l’ai toujours demandé à Dieu, depuis que -je suis au monde. - -Si le gouvernement dure seulement deux mois, répondit le page, vous le -verrez voyager avec un masque sur le visage. - -Le curé et le bachelier s’apercevaient bien qu’on se moquait de la mère -et de la fille; mais ils ne savaient que penser du riche collier et de -l’habit de chasse que Thérèse leur avait montrés. Cependant ils riaient -de bon cœur de la simplicité de Sanchette; et ce fut bien mieux encore -lorsque Thérèse vint à dire: Or çà, seigneur licencié, connaissez-vous -ici quelqu’un qui aille à Madrid ou à Tolède? Je voudrais faire acheter -pour moi un vertugadin à la mode. Car, en vérité, je veux honorer le -gouvernement de mon mari en tout ce que je pourrai, et si on me fâche, -je m’en irai à la cour, et j’aurai un carrosse comme les autres: une -femme dont le mari est gouverneur a bien le droit d’en avoir un. - -Plût à Dieu, ma mère, que ce fût aujourd’hui plutôt que demain, ajouta -Sanchette, quand même ceux qui me verraient dedans devraient dire: -Regardez donc cette péronnelle, cette fille de mangeur d’ail, la -voyez-vous se prélasser dans ce carrosse, à côté de madame sa mère! ne -dirait-on pas que c’est la papesse Jeanne? Mais qu’ils enragent, je m’en -moque, et qu’ils pataugent dans la boue, pourvu que j’aille dans un bon -carrosse les pieds chauds. N’ai-je pas raison, ma mère? - -Oui, ma fille, répondit Thérèse, et mon bon Sancho me l’a toujours dit, -qu’il me ferait un jour comtesse. Le tout est de commencer, et, comme je -l’ai ouï dire bien des fois à ton père, qui est autant le père des -proverbes que le tien: Si on te donne la vache, mets-lui la corde au -cou; si on te donne un gouvernement, empoigne-le; si on te donne un -comté, saute dessus; ce qui est bon à prendre, est bon à garder; sinon, -fermez l’oreille et ne répondez pas au bonheur qui vient frapper à votre -porte. - -Je me moque bien, moi, reprit Sanchette, qu’on dise en me voyant prendre -des grands airs: Le lévrier s’est joliment refait, depuis qu’il a un -collier d’or, il ne connaît plus son compagnon. - -En vérité, dit le curé, je crois que toute cette race des Panza est -venue au monde avec un sac de proverbes dans le corps; je n’en ai pas vu -un seul qui n’en lâche une douzaine à tout propos. - -Il est vrai, repartit le page, qu’ils ne coûtent rien au seigneur -gouverneur; il en débite à chaque instant, et quoique nombre ne viennent -pas fort à propos, cela ne laisse pas de divertir madame la duchesse, -ainsi que son époux. - -Seigneur, dit Carrasco, parlons sérieusement, je vous prie. Quel est ce -gouvernement de Sancho, et quelle est cette duchesse qui écrit à sa -femme et lui envoie des présents? Quoique nous voyions les présents et -les lettres, nous ne savons qu’en penser, sinon que c’est une de ces -choses extraordinaires qui arrivent constamment au seigneur don -Quichotte, et qu’il s’imagine toujours avoir lieu par enchantement. Nous -sommes même tentés de vous prendre pour un ambassadeur fantastique. - -Quant à moi, répondit le page, tout ce que je puis vous dire, c’est que -je suis un véritable ambassadeur, qu’on m’a envoyé ici avec ces lettres -et ces présents; que le seigneur Sancho Panza est bien effectivement -gouverneur, et que le duc, mon maître, lui a donné ce gouvernement où il -fait merveilles. Si dans tout cela il y a enchantement, je laisse Vos -Grâces en discuter entre elles; pour moi, je ne sais rien autre chose, -et j’en jure par la vie de mes père et mère, qui sont en bonne santé et -que je chéris tendrement. - -Cela peut être ainsi, repartit Carrasco; mais vous me permettrez d’en -douter. - -Doutez-en si vous voulez, dit le page; je vous ai dit la vérité: sinon, -venez avec moi, et vous la verrez de vos propres yeux. - -Moi, moi, j’irai, cria Sanchette; prenez-moi sur la croupe de votre -bidet, je serai fort aise d’aller voir mon seigneur père. - -Les filles des gouverneurs ne doivent point aller ainsi, mais en -carrosse ou en litière, et avec un grand nombre de serviteurs, repartit -le page. - -J’irai sur une bourrique aussi bien assise que dans un coche, reprit -Sanchette; vraiment, vous l’avez bien trouvée votre mijaurée. - -Tais-toi, petite, dit Thérèse à sa fille, tu ne sais ce que tu dis, et -ce seigneur a raison; il y a temps et temps; quand c’était Sancho, -c’était la petite Sanchette, et quand c’est le gouverneur, c’est -mademoiselle; tâche de ne point l’oublier. - -Madame Thérèse a raison, ajouta le page; mais qu’on me donne, je vous -prie, un morceau à manger, afin que je m’en aille, car je dois être ce -soir de retour. - -Seigneur, dit le curé, vous viendrez, s’il vous plaît, faire pénitence -avec moi: madame Thérèse a plus de bonne volonté que de moyens pour -traiter un homme de votre qualité. - -Le page le remercia d’abord, mais finit par se rendre, et le curé fut -charmé de pouvoir le questionner à son aise sur don Quichotte et sur -Sancho. Le bachelier Carrasco offrit à Thérèse d’écrire ses réponses, -mais elle ne voulut point qu’il se mêlât de ses affaires, le sachant -très-goguenard; elle s’adressa à un enfant de chœur, qui écrivit deux -lettres, l’une pour la duchesse, l’autre pour Sancho, toutes deux -sorties de sa propre cervelle, et qui ne sont pas les plus mauvais -morceaux de cette histoire. - -CHAPITRE LI - -SUITE DU GOUVERNEMENT DE SANCHO PANZA. - -L’esprit préoccupé des attraits de la jeune fille déguisée, le maître -d’hôtel avait passé la nuit sans dormir, tandis que le majordome -l’employait, de son côté, à écrire à ses maîtres tout ce que disait et -faisait Sancho Panza. Le jour venu, le seigneur gouverneur se leva, et, -par ordre du docteur Pedro Rezio, on le fit déjeuner avec un peu de -conserves et quelques gorgées d’eau fraîche, mets que Sancho eût troqués -de bon cœur contre un quartier de pain bis. Enfin, voyant qu’il fallait -en passer par là, il s’y résigna à la grande douleur de son âme et à la -grande fatigue de son estomac, le médecin lui affirmant que manger peu -avive l’esprit; chose nécessaire aux personnes constituées en dignité et -chargées de graves emplois, où l’on a bien moins besoin des forces du -corps que de celles de l’intelligence. Avec ces beaux raisonnements, -Sancho souffrait la faim, maudissant tout bas le gouvernement et celui -qui le lui avait donné. - -Cependant il ne laissa pas de tenir audience ce jour-là, et la première -affaire qui s’offrit, ce fut une question que lui fit un étranger en -présence du majordome et des autres gens de sa suite. - -Monseigneur, lui dit cet homme, que Votre Grâce veuille bien m’écouter -avec attention, car le cas est grave et passablement difficile. Une -large et profonde rivière sépare en deux les terres d’un même seigneur; -sur cette rivière il y a un pont, et au bout de ce pont une potence, -ainsi qu’une salle d’audience, où d’ordinaire sont quatre juges chargés -d’appliquer la loi établie par le propriétaire de la seigneurie. Cette -loi est ainsi conçue: «Quiconque voudra traverser ce pont doit d’abord -affirmer par serment d’où il vient et où il va: s’il dit la vérité, -qu’on le laisse passer; s’il ment, qu’on le pende sans rémission à ce -gibet.» Cette loi étant connue de tout le monde, on a l’habitude -d’interroger ceux qui se présentent pour passer; on les fait jurer, et -s’ils disent vrai, ils passent librement. Or, un jour il arriva qu’un -homme, après avoir fait le serment d’usage, dit: Par le serment que je -viens de prêter, je jure que je mourrai à cette potence, et non d’autre -manière. Les juges se regardèrent en disant: Si nous laissons passer cet -homme, il aura fait un faux serment, et suivant la loi il doit mourir; -mais si nous le faisons pendre, il aura dit vrai, et suivant la même -loi, ayant dit vrai, on doit le laisser passer. Or, on demande à Votre -Grâce ce que les juges doivent faire de cet homme, car ils sont encore -en suspens et ne savent quel parti adopter. Ayant appris par le bruit -public combien vous êtes clairvoyant dans les matières les plus -difficiles, ils m’ont envoyé vers vous, Monseigneur, pour supplier Votre -Grâce de donner son avis dans un cas si douteux et si embrouillé. - -En vérité, répondit Sancho, ceux qui vous envoient ici auraient bien pu -s’en épargner la peine; car je ne suis pas aussi subtil qu’ils le -pensent, et j’ai plus d’épaisseur de chair que de finesse d’esprit. -Néanmoins, répétez-moi votre question; je tâcherai de bien la -comprendre, et peut-être qu’à force de chercher, je toucherai le but. - -Le questionneur répéta une ou deux fois ce qu’il avait d’abord exposé. -Il me semble, continua Sancho, qu’on peut bâcler cela en un tour de -main, et voici comment: cet homme jure qu’il va mourir à cette potence, -et s’il y meurt, il a dit vrai: or, s’il dit vrai, la loi veut qu’on le -laisse passer; si on ne le pend point, il a menti, et il doit être -pendu: n’est-ce pas cela? - -C’est cela même, seigneur gouverneur, répondit l’étranger. - -Eh bien, mon avis, ajouta Sancho, est qu’on laisse passer de cet homme -la partie qui a dit vrai, et qu’on pende la partie qui a dit faux; de -cette façon, la loi sera exécutée au pied de la lettre. - -Mais, seigneur, repartit l’étranger, il faudra couper cet homme en deux? -et cela ne pouvant se faire sans qu’il meure, la question reste -indécise. - -Écoutez, répliqua Sancho: ou je suis un sot, ou il y a autant de raisons -pour laisser vivre cet homme que pour le faire mourir, car si le -mensonge le condamne, la vérité le sauve: ainsi donc, vous direz à ceux -qui vous envoient que, puisqu’il est, à mon avis, aussi raisonnable de -l’absoudre que de le condamner, ils doivent le laisser aller. Il vaut -toujours mieux qu’un juge soit doux que rigoureux, et cela je le -signerais de ma main si je savais signer. D’ailleurs, je vous apprendrai -que ce que je viens de dire n’est pas de mon cru. Je me rappelle que -monseigneur don Quichotte m’a dit, entre autres choses, la veille même -de mon départ pour venir gouverner cette île, que quand je trouverais un -cas douteux, je fisse miséricorde; et Dieu a voulu que je m’en sois -ressouvenu ici fort à propos. - -Seigneur, dit le majordome, ce jugement est si équitable que Lycurgue, -qui donna des lois à Lacédémone, n’en aurait pu rendre un meilleur. Mais -en voilà assez pour l’audience de ce matin, et je vais donner des ordres -pour que Votre Grâce dîne tout à son aise. - -C’est cela, dit Sancho, qu’on me nourrisse bien, et qu’on me fasse -question sur question; si je ne vous les éclaircis comme un crible, -dites que je suis une bête. - -Le majordome tint parole, se faisant conscience de laisser mourir de -faim un si grand gouverneur et un juge si éclairé; outre qu’il avait -envie de jouer à Sancho, la nuit suivante, le dernier tour qu’on lui -réservait. - -Or, il arriva que notre gouverneur ayant fort bien dîné ce jour-là, en -dépit des aphorismes du docteur Tirteafuera, un courrier entra dans la -salle et lui remit une lettre de la part de don Quichotte. Sancho -ordonna au secrétaire de la parcourir des yeux, pour voir s’il n’y avait -rien de secret. Après l’avoir achevée, le secrétaire s’écria que -non-seulement on devait en donner lecture devant tout le monde, mais -qu’elle devrait être gravée en lettres d’or, et il lut ce qui suit: - - LETTRE DE DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE A SANCHO PANZA, GOUVERNEUR DE - L’ÎLE DE BARATARIA. - - «Quand je m’attendais à recevoir des nouvelles de ta négligence et de - tes sottises, ami Sancho, je n’entends parler que de ta sage - administration et de ta prudence, ce dont je rends grâces au ciel, qui - sait tirer le pauvre du fumier et de sots faire des gens d’esprit. - - «On me dit que tu gouvernes ton île avec la dignité d’un homme, mais - qu’on te prendrait pour une brute, tant est grande la simplicité de ta - vie. Je dois t’avertir, Sancho, que pour conserver l’autorité de sa - place, il faut savoir résister à l’humilité de son cœur; la - bienséance exige que ceux qui sont chargés de hautes fonctions se - conforment à la dignité de ces fonctions, et oublient le rôle chétif - qu’ils remplissaient auparavant. Sois toujours bien vêtu, car un bâton - paré n’est plus un bâton; je ne dis pas cela pour que tu te couvres de - dentelles et de broderies, et qu’étant magistrat, tu aies l’air d’un - courtisan; mais afin que l’habit que requiert ta profession soit - propre, et décent. - - «Pour gagner l’affection de ceux que tu gouvernes, observes deux - choses: la première, c’est d’être affable avec tout le monde, ainsi - que je te l’ai déjà dit; la seconde, d’entretenir l’abondance dans ton - île, car il n’y a rien qui fasse autant murmurer le peuple que la - disette et la faim. - - «Fais le moins possible de lois et d’ordonnances; mais quand tu en - feras, qu’elles soient bonnes et qu’on les suive exactement; les lois - qu’on n’observe pas, font dire que celui qui a eu la sagesse de les - concevoir n’a pas eu la force de les faire exécuter. Or, la loi qui - reste impuissante est comme cette poutre qu’on donna pour reine aux - grenouilles; après avoir commencé par la craindre, elles finirent par - la mépriser jusqu’à sauter dessus. - - «Sois une mère pour les vertus et une marâtre pour les vices. Ne te - montre ni toujours rigoureux, ni toujours débonnaire, et tiens le - milieu entre ces deux extrêmes: c’est là qu’est la sagesse. - - «Visite les prisons, les boucheries, les marchés; tous les endroits, - en un mot, où la présence du gouverneur est indispensable. - - «Console les prisonniers qui attendent la prompte expédition de leur - affaire. - - «Sois un épouvantail pour les bouchers et les revendeurs, afin qu’ils - donnent le juste poids. - - «Garde-toi de te montrer, quand tu le serais, ce que je ne crois pas, - avide, gourmand, débauché; car dès qu’on aura découvert en toi de - mauvaises inclinations, il ne manquera pas de gens pour te tendre des - piéges, et dès lors ta passion causerait ta perte. - - «Lis et relis sans cesse les instructions que je t’ai données quand tu - partis pour ton gouvernement; si tu les suis, tu verras de quelle - utilité elles te seront dans une charge si épineuse. - - «Écris à tes seigneurs, et montre-toi reconnaissant à leur égard: - l’ingratitude est fille de l’orgueil et l’un des plus grands péchés - que l’on connaisse; tandis qu’être reconnaissant du bien qu’on a reçu, - est une preuve qu’on le sera également envers Dieu, qui nous accorde - chaque jour tant de faveurs. - - «Madame la duchesse a dépêché un exprès à ta femme pour lui porter ton - habit de chasse, et un autre présent qu’elle lui envoie par la même - occasion; nous attendons d’heure en heure la réponse. - - «J’ai été quelque peu indisposé par suite de certaines égratignures de - chats, dont mon nez ne s’est pas fort bien trouvé, mais cela n’a rien - été, car s’il y a des enchanteurs qui me maltraitent, il n’en manque - pas pour me protéger. - - «Le majordome qui t’accompagnait a-t-il quelque chose de commun avec - la Trifaldi, comme tu l’avais cru d’abord? Donne-moi avis de tout ce - qui t’arrivera, puisque la distance est si courte. - - «Entre nous, je te dirai que je songe à quitter la vie oisive où je - languis; elle n’est pas faite pour moi. Une circonstance s’est - présentée qui, je le crains bien, a dû me faire perdre les bonnes - grâces de monseigneur le duc et de madame la duchesse: mais enfin, - malgré le regret que j’en ai, quoi que je puisse leur devoir, je me - dois encore plus à ma profession; suivant cet adage: _Amicus Plato, - sed magis amica veritas_[118]. Je te dis ces quelques mots de latin, - parce que je pense que depuis que tu es gouverneur tu n’auras pas - manqué de l’apprendre. - - «Sur ce, Dieu te garde longues années, et qu’il te préserve de la - compassion d’autrui. - - «Ton ami, - - «DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE.» - - [118] J’aime Platon, mais j’aime encore plus la vérité. - -Cette lettre fut trouvée admirable et pleine de bon sens; aussi dès que -Sancho en eut entendu la lecture, il se leva de table, appela son -secrétaire, et alla s’enfermer avec lui pour y faire réponse -sur-le-champ. Après avoir ordonné au secrétaire d’écrire, sans ajouter -ni retrancher un seul mot, voici ce qu’il lui dicta: - - LETTRE DE SANCHO PANZA A DON QUICHOTTE DE LA MANCHE. - - «L’occupation que me donnent mes affaires est si grande, que je n’ai - pas le temps de me gratter la tête, ni même de me couper les ongles; - aussi les ai-je si longs, que Dieu seul peut y remédier. Je dis cela, - mon cher maître, afin que Votre Grâce ne soit pas surprise si jusqu’à - présent je ne l’ai pas informée comment je me trouve dans ce - gouvernement, où je souffre encore plus de la faim que quand nous - errions tous les deux par les forêts et les déserts. - - «Monseigneur le duc m’a écrit l’autre jour, pour me donner avis qu’il - est entré dans mon île des assassins avec le dessein de me tuer. Mais - jusqu’à présent je n’ai pu en découvrir d’autre qu’un certain docteur, - qui est gagé dans ce pays pour tuer autant de gouverneurs qu’il y en - vient. Il s’appelle le docteur Pedro Rezio, et est natif de - Tirteafuera. Voyez quel nom, et si j’ai raison de craindre de mourir - par ses mains. Ce docteur avoue qu’il ne guérit point la maladie qu’on - a; mais qu’il la prévient pour qu’elle ne vienne pas. Or, ses remèdes - sont diète sur diète, jusqu’à rendre un homme plus sec que du bois, - comme si la maigreur n’était pas un plus grand mal que la fièvre. - Finalement il me fait mourir de faim, et en attendant je crève de - dépit: car lorsque je vins dans le gouvernement, je comptais manger - chaud, boire frais, et me reposer sur la plume entre des draps de - fine toile de Hollande, tandis que j’y suis réduit à faire pénitence - comme un ermite: mais comme je ne la fais qu’en enrageant, j’ai bien - peur qu’à la fin le diable n’en profite, et ne m’emporte un beau jour - décharné comme un squelette. - - «Jusqu’à présent je n’ai perçu aucuns droits, ni reçu aucuns cadeaux; - j’ignore pourquoi, car on m’avait dit que les habitants de ce pays - donnent ou prêtent de grandes sommes aux gouverneurs à leur entrée - dans l’île, comme c’est aussi la coutume dans les autres - gouvernements. - - «Hier soir, en faisant ma ronde, j’ai rencontré une jeune demoiselle, - belle à ravir, en habit de garçon, et son frère en habit de femme. Mon - maître d’hôtel est devenu en un instant amoureux de la fille, et il - veut en faire sa femme, à ce qu’il nous a dit; quant à moi, j’ai - choisi le jeune homme pour mon gendre. Aujourd’hui nous en causerons - avec le père, qui est un certain don Diego de Lana, vieux chrétien, et - gentilhomme si jamais il en fut. - - «Je visite souvent les marchés et les places publiques, comme Votre - Grâce me le conseille. Hier, je vis une marchande qui vendait des - noisettes fraîches, parmi lesquelles s’en trouvaient bon nombre de - vieilles et pourries: je confisquai le tout au profit des enfants de - la doctrine chrétienne, qui sauront bien distinguer les bonnes des - mauvaises, et j’ai condamné en outre la marchande à ne point - reparaître de quinze jours dans le marché. Et on m’a dit que j’avais - fort bien fait. Ce que je puis assurer à Votre Grâce, c’est que le - bruit court en ce pays qu’il n’y a pas de plus mauvaise engeance que - ces revendeuses, qu’elles sont toutes effrontées, menteuses, sans foi - ni loi; et je le crois bien, car partout je les ai vues de même. - - «Que madame la duchesse ait écrit à Thérèse, et lui ait envoyé le - présent que dit Votre Grâce, j’en suis très-satisfait; et je tâcherai, - en temps et lieu, de montrer que je ne suis pas ingrat. En attendant, - baisez-lui les mains de ma part, et dites-lui que le bien qu’elle m’a - fait n’est point tombé dans un sac percé. - - «Je ne voudrais pas que Votre Seigneurie eût des démêlés et des - fâcheries avec monseigneur le duc et madame la duchesse; car si Votre - Grâce se brouille avec eux, il est clair que ce sera à mon détriment, - et puis ce serait mal à vous, qui me conseillez d’être reconnaissant, - de ne pas l’être envers des personnes qui vous ont si bien accueilli - et régalé dans leur château. - - «Quant aux égratignures de chats, j’ignore ce que cela signifie; je - m’imagine que ce doit être quelque méchant tour de vos ennemis les - enchanteurs; vous me direz au juste ce qui en est quand nous nous - reverrons. - - «J’aurais voulu envoyer quelque chose en présent à Votre Grâce, mais - je n’ai rien trouvé dans ce pays, si ce n’est des canules de seringue - ajustées à des vessies, instruments qu’on y travaille à merveille; au - reste, si l’office me demeure, je saurai bien sous peu vous envoyer - quelque chose de mieux. - - «Dans le cas où Thérèse Panza, ma femme, viendrait à m’écrire, payez - le port, et envoyez-moi la lettre sans retard, car je meurs d’envie de - savoir comment on se porte chez nous. Je prie Dieu qu’il vous délivre - des enchanteurs, et moi, qu’il me tire sain et sauf de ce - gouvernement, chose dont je doute fort à la manière dont me traite le - docteur Pedro Rezio. - - «Le très-humble serviteur de Votre Grâce, - - «SANCHO PANZA, le gouverneur. - - «De mon île, le même jour où je vous écris.» - -Le secrétaire ferma la lettre, et fit partir le courrier; puis les -mystificateurs de Sancho arrêtèrent entre eux de mettre fin à son -gouvernement. Quant à lui, il passa l’après-dînée à dresser quelques -ordonnances touchant la bonne administration de ce qu’il croyait être -une île. Il défendit les revendeurs de comestibles, mais il permit de -faire venir du vin d’où l’on voudrait, pourvu qu’on déclarât l’endroit -d’où il était, afin d’en fixer le prix selon la qualité et selon -l’estime qu’on faisait du cru; déclarant que celui qui y mettrait de -l’eau ou le dirait d’un autre endroit que celui d’où il provenait, -serait puni de mort. Il abaissa le prix de toute espèce de chaussures, -et principalement celui des souliers, qui lui semblait exorbitant. Il -taxa les gages des valets. Il établit des peines rigoureuses contre ceux -qui chanteraient des chansons obscènes, soit de jour, soit de nuit. Il -défendit qu’aucun aveugle chantât des complaintes faites sur des -miracles, à moins de fournir des preuves de leur authenticité; car il -lui semblait que la plupart étant controuvés, ils faisaient tort aux -véritables. Il créa un alguazil des pauvres, non pas pour les -poursuivre, mais pour s’assurer s’ils l’étaient véritablement, parce -que, disait-il, ces prétendus manchots, avec leurs plaies factices, ne -sont souvent que des coupeurs de bourse et des ivrognes. En un mot, il -rendit des ordonnances si équitables et si utiles, qu’on les observe -encore aujourd’hui dans le pays, où on les appelle les _Constitutions du -grand gouverneur Sancho Panza_. - -CHAPITRE LII - -AVENTURE DE LA SECONDE DOLORIDE, AUTREMENT LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ. - -Cid Hamet raconte que don Quichotte, une fois guéri de ses égratignures, -trouvant la vie qu’il menait indigne d’un véritable chevalier errant, -résolut de prendre congé de ses hôtes et de s’en aller à Saragosse, afin -de se trouver au tournoi annoncé, où il prétendait conquérir l’armure, -prix ordinaire de ces joutes. Un jour qu’il était à table avec le duc, -bien résolu à lui déclarer son intention, on vit tout à coup entrer dans -la salle deux femmes couvertes de deuil de la tête aux pieds. L’une -d’elles, s’approchant de notre héros, se jeta à ses pieds et les -embrassa avec des gémissements si prolongés, qu’on crut qu’elle allait -expirer de douleur. Quoique le duc et la duchesse s’imaginassent que -c’était quelque nouveau tour qu’on voulait jouer à don Quichotte, -l’affliction de cette femme paraissait tellement naturelle, qu’ils ne -savaient qu’en penser. - -Touché de compassion, don Quichotte fit relever la suppliante, puis, -l’ayant priée d’écarter son voile, on reconnut la vénérable señora -Rodriguez, et dans la personne qui l’accompagnait, cette jeune fille -qu’avait séduite le fils du riche laboureur. Ce fut une grande surprise, -surtout pour le duc et la duchesse, car quoiqu’ils connussent la duègne -pour une créature assez simple, ils ne pensaient pas qu’elle fût capable -d’une si grande crédulité. Enfin la señora Rodriguez se tourna du côté -de ses maîtres, et après avoir fait une profonde révérence, elle leur -dit humblement: - -Que Vos Excellences veuillent bien me permettre d’entretenir un instant -ce chevalier; j’ai besoin de lui pour sortir à mon honneur d’un embarras -où m’a plongée l’audace d’un vilain malintentionné. - -Je vous l’accorde, lui répondit le duc, et vous pouvez dire au seigneur -don Quichotte tout ce qu’il vous plaira. - -Valeureux chevalier, dit la señora Rodriguez en se tournant vers don -Quichotte, il y a quelques jours, je vous ai raconté la perfidie dont un -rustre s’est rendu coupable envers ma chère fille, l’infortunée ici -présente. Vous me promîtes alors de prendre sa défense, et de redresser -le tort qu’on lui a fait; mais j’apprends que votre intention est de -quitter ce château pour retourner aux aventures qu’il plaira à Dieu de -vous envoyer; je voudrais donc qu’avant de vous mettre en chemin, il -plût à Votre Grâce de défier ce rustre indompté, pour le contraindre à -épouser ma fille, selon sa promesse; car de penser que monseigneur le -duc me fasse rendre justice, c’est demander des poires à l’ormeau, pour -la raison que je vous ai déjà confiée. Sur cela, que Notre-Seigneur -Jésus-Christ donne à Votre Grâce une excellente santé, et qu’il ne nous -abandonne point, ma fille et moi. - -Ma chère dame, répondit don Quichotte avec gravité, séchez vos larmes, -et arrêtez vos soupirs: je prends à ma charge la réparation due à votre -fille; elle n’aurait pas dû sans doute croire si facilement aux -promesses des amoureux, promesses très-légères à contracter et -très-lourdes à tenir; mais enfin, puisque le mal est fait, il faut -penser au remède; ainsi donc je vous promets, avec la permission de -monseigneur le duc, de me mettre sur-le-champ à la recherche de ce -dénaturé garçon, et quand je l’aurai trouvé, de le défier et de le tuer -s’il refuse d’accomplir sa promesse; car le premier devoir de ma -profession est de châtier les insolents et de pardonner aux humbles, de -secourir les affligés et d’abattre les persécuteurs. - -Seigneur chevalier, répondit le duc, ne vous mettez point en peine de -chercher le paysan dont se plaint cette dame, et dispensez-vous de me -demander la permission de le défier; je le donne et le tiens pour défié; -je me charge de lui transmettre votre cartel, et de le lui faire -accepter; il viendra répondre lui-même, et je vous donnerai à tous deux -le champ libre et sûr, observant les conditions en usage dans de -semblables rencontres, et faisant à chacun une égale justice, comme y -sont obligés tous princes qui accordent le champ clos aux combattants. - -Avec l’assurance que me donne Votre Grandeur, repartit don Quichotte, je -renonce pour cette fois aux priviléges de ma noblesse, je m’abaisse -jusqu’à la condition de l’offenseur et me rends son égal, afin qu’il -puisse mesurer sa lance avec la mienne. Ainsi donc, quoique absent, je -l’appelle et le défie comme traître, pour avoir abusé de cette -demoiselle et lui avoir ravi l’honneur. Il deviendra son époux, ou il -payera de la vie son manque de foi. - -Aussitôt tirant le gant de sa main gauche, notre héros le jeta au milieu -de la salle. Le duc le releva, en répétant qu’il acceptait le défi au -nom de son vassal, qu’il fixait au sixième jour l’époque du combat, et -assignait la cour du château pour champ de bataille, avec les armes -ordinaires des chevaliers, la lance et l’écu, le harnais à cotte de -mailles et les autres pièces de l’armure, sans fraude ni supercherie, le -tout dûment examiné par les juges du camp. Mais, d’abord, reprit-il, il -faut savoir si cette bonne duègne et son imprudente fille remettent -formellement leur droit entre les mains du seigneur don Quichotte; -autrement le défi serait non avenu. - -Je les y remets, dit la duègne. - -Et moi aussi, ajouta la jeune fille en baissant les yeux. - -Ces dispositions arrêtées, les deux plaignantes se retirèrent. La -duchesse ordonna qu’on ne les traitât plus dorénavant comme ses -suivantes, mais en dames aventurières qui venaient demander justice: on -leur donna un appartement dans le château, où elles furent servies à -titre d’étrangères, au grand ébahissement de ceux qui ne savaient ce que -tout cela signifiait. - -On était à la fin du repas, quand, pour compléter la fête, entra le page -qui avait porté le présent à Thérèse Panza, femme de notre illustre -gouverneur. Le duc le questionna avec empressement sur son voyage; il -répondit qu’il avait beaucoup de choses à dire, mais que, comme -plusieurs étaient de haute importance, il suppliait Leurs Excellences de -lui accorder un entretien particulier. Le duc ayant fait sortir la -plupart de ses gens, le page tira deux lettres de son sein, et les mit -entre les mains de la duchesse; il y en avait une pour elle, et l’autre -pour Sancho avec cette suscription: _A mon mari Sancho Panza, gouverneur -de l’île Barataria, à qui Dieu donne heureuse et longue vie_. - -Impatiente de savoir ce que contenait sa lettre, la duchesse l’ouvrit et -en prit lecture. - - LETTRE DE THÉRÈSE PANZA A LA DUCHESSE. - - «Ma bonne dame, j’ai eu bien de la joie de la lettre que Votre - Grandeur m’a écrite; car, en vérité, il y a longtemps que je la - désirais. Le collier de corail est très-beau, et l’habit de chasse de - mon mari ne lui cède en rien. Tout notre village s’est fort réjoui de - ce que Votre Seigneurie a fait mon mari gouverneur, quoique personne - ne veuille le croire, principalement notre curé, maître Nicolas le - barbier, et le bachelier Carrasco; mais ça m’est égal, et je ne me - soucie guère qu’ils le croient, ou qu’ils ne le croient pas, pourvu - que cela soit comme je sais que cela est. Pourtant, s’il faut dire la - vérité, je ne l’aurais pas cru non plus, sans le collier de corail et - l’habit de chasse, car tous les gens du pays disent que mon mari est - un imbécile, qui n’a jamais gouverné que des chèvres et qui ne saurait - gouverner autre chose; mais celui que Dieu aide est bien aidé. - - «Il faut que je vous dise, ma chère dame, qu’un de ces jours, j’ai - résolu d’aller à la cour, en carrosse, pour faire crever de dépit - mille envieux que j’ai déjà. Je prie donc Votre Seigneurie de - recommander à mon mari de m’envoyer un peu d’argent, et même en assez - grande quantité, parce que la dépense est grande à la cour, où le pain - vaut, dit-on, un réal, et la viande trois maravédis la livre; mais - s’il ne veut pas que j’y aille, qu’il me le mande bien vite, car déjà - les pieds me démangent de me mettre en route. Mes voisines me disent - que si ma fille et moi nous allons bien parées à la cour, mon mari - sera bientôt plus connu par moi que moi par lui: parce que tout le - monde demandera quelles sont les dames de ce carrosse, et que mon - valet répondra: La femme et la fille de Sancho Panza, gouverneur de - l’île Barataria; de cette façon, mon mari sera connu, moi je serai - prônée, et à la grâce de Dieu. - - «Je suis bien fâchée que dans notre pays les glands n’aient pas donné - cette année; j’en envoie pourtant à Votre Seigneurie un demi-boisseau - que j’ai cueilli moi-même un à un dans la montagne. Ce n’est pas ma - faute s’ils ne sont pas aussi gros que des œufs d’autruche, comme je - l’aurais voulu. - - «Que Votre Grandeur ne manque pas de m’écrire; j’aurai soin de lui - faire réponse aussitôt, et de lui donner avis de ma santé et de tout - ce qui se passe dans notre village, où je reste priant Dieu qu’il vous - garde longues années et qu’il ne m’oublie pas. Sanchette, ma fille, et - mon fils baisent les mains de Votre Grâce. - - «Celle qui a plus envie de vous voir que de vous écrire. - - «Votre servante, THÉRÈSE PANZA.» - -La lettre fut trouvée fort divertissante, et la duchesse ayant demandé à -don Quichotte s’il pensait qu’on pût décacheter celle que Thérèse -écrivait à son mari, le chevalier répondit qu’il l’ouvrirait pour leur -faire plaisir. Elle disait ce qui suit: - - «J’ai reçu ta lettre, Sancho de mon âme, et je te jure, foi de - chrétienne catholique, qu’il ne s’en est pas fallu de deux doigts que - je ne devienne folle de joie. Quand j’ai su, mon ami, que tu étais - gouverneur, j’ai failli tomber morte du coup, tant j’étais - transportée; car tu le sais, on meurt de joie aussi bien que de - tristesse. Notre petite Sanchette a mouillé son jupon sans s’en - apercevoir, et cela de pur contentement. J’avais sous les yeux l’habit - que tu m’as envoyé, et à mon cou le collier de corail de madame la - duchesse; je tenais les lettres à la main, le messager était devant - moi; eh bien, malgré tout, je croyais que ce que je voyais et touchais - n’était que songe; car qui aurait jamais pu penser qu’un gardeur de - chèvres deviendrait gouverneur d’île? Tu te rappelles ce que disait ma - défunte mère, et elle avait raison: Qui vit beaucoup, voit beaucoup; - je te dis cela parce que j’espère voir encore davantage si je vis plus - longtemps, et je ne serai point contente que je ne te voie fermier de - la gabelle; car bien qu’on prétende que ce sont des offices du diable, - toujours font-ils venir l’eau au moulin. - - «Madame la duchesse te dira l’envie que j’ai d’aller à la cour: vois - si c’est à propos, et me mande ta volonté; j’irai en carrosse pour te - faire honneur. - - «Le curé, le barbier, le bachelier et même le sacristain, ne peuvent - encore croire que tu sois gouverneur, et disent que tout cela est - folie ou enchantement, comme tout ce qui arrive à ton maître. Samson - Carrasco dit qu’il t’ira trouver, afin de t’ôter le gouvernement de la - tête, et à monseigneur don Quichotte la folie de sa cervelle; quant à - moi, je ne fais qu’en rire, en considérant mon collier de corail, et - je songe toujours à l’habit que je vais faire à notre fille avec celui - que tu m’as envoyé. J’envoie des glands à madame la duchesse, et je - voudrais qu’ils fussent d’or; toi, envoie-moi quelque collier de - perles, si l’on en porte dans ton île. - - «Maintenant voici les nouvelles de notre village: la Berruca a marié - sa fille avec un mauvais barbouilleur, qui était venu ici pour peindre - tout ce qu’il rencontrerait. L’_ayuntamiento_[119] l’a chargé de - peindre les armoiries royales sur la porte de la maison commune; il a - demandé deux ducats par avance; il a travaillé huit jours, et comme il - n’a pu en venir à bout, il a dit pour raison qu’il n’était pas fait - pour peindre de pareilles bagatelles. Il a donc rendu l’argent, et - malgré tout il s’est marié à titre de bon ouvrier: il est vrai que - depuis il a quitté le pinceau pour la pioche, et qu’il va aux champs - comme un gentilhomme. Le fils de Pedro Lobo veut se faire prêtre; il a - déjà reçu la tonsure; la petite-fille de Mingo Silvato, Minguilla, l’a - su, et elle va lui faire un procès, parce qu’il lui avait promis de - l’épouser: les mauvaises langues disent qu’elle est enceinte de son - fait, mais lui s’en défend comme un beau diable. - - [119] _Ayuntamiento_, corps municipal. - - «Il n’y a point chez nous d’olives cette année, et l’on ne saurait - trouver une goutte de vinaigre dans tout le pays. Une compagnie de - soldats est passée par ici, et ils ont emmené chemin faisant trois - filles du village; je ne veux pas te les nommer parce qu’elles - reviendront peut-être, et alors il ne manquera pas de gens pour les - épouser, avec leurs taches bonnes ou mauvaises. Notre petite travaille - à faire du réseau, et elle gagne par jour huit maravédis, qu’elle met - dans une bourse, pour amasser son trousseau: mais à cette heure que tu - es gouverneur, tu lui donneras une dot sans qu’elle ait besoin de - travailler pour cela. La fontaine de la place s’est tarie, et le - tonnerre est tombé sur la potence; plaise à Dieu qu’il en arrive - autant à toutes les autres. J’attendrai ta réponse et ta décision pour - mon voyage à la cour. Dieu te donne bonne et longue vie, je veux dire - autant qu’à moi, car je ne voudrais pas te laisser seul dans ce monde. - - «Ta femme, THÉRÈSE PANZA.» - -Les deux lettres furent trouvées admirables et dignes d’éloges; pour -mettre le sceau à la bonne humeur de l’assemblée, on vit entrer le -courrier qui apportait à don Quichotte la lettre de Sancho. On la lut de -même devant ceux qui étaient là: mais elle fit quelque peu douter de la -simplicité du gouverneur. La duchesse alla se renfermer avec le page qui -revenait du village de Thérèse Panza, et lui fit tout conter, jusqu’à la -moindre circonstance. Le page lui présenta les glands, et de plus un -fromage que la bonne dame lui envoyait comme chose d’une délicatesse -exquise. - -Mais il est temps de retourner à Sancho, fleur et miroir de tous les -gouverneurs insulaires. - -CHAPITRE LIII - -DE LA FIN DU GOUVERNEMENT DE SANCHO PANZA. - -S’imaginer que dans cette vie les choses doivent rester toujours en même -état, c’est se tromper étrangement. Au printemps succède l’été, à l’été -l’automne, à l’automne l’hiver; et le temps, revenant chaque jour sur -lui-même, ne cesse de tourner ainsi sur cette roue perpétuelle. L’homme -seul court à sa fin sans espoir de se renouveler, si ce n’est dans -l’autre vie, qui n’a point de bornes. Ainsi parle Cid Hamet, philosophe -mahométan, car cette question de la rapidité et de l’instabilité de la -vie présente et de l’éternelle durée de la vie future, bien des gens, -quoique privés de la lumière de la foi, l’ont comprise par la seule -lumière naturelle. Mais ici notre auteur n’a voulu que faire allusion à -la rapidité avec laquelle le gouvernement de Sancho s’éclipsa, -s’anéantit, et s’en alla en fumée. - -La septième nuit de son gouvernement, Sancho était dans son lit, plus -rassasié de procès que de bonne chère, plus fatigué de rendre des -jugements et de donner des avis, que de toute autre chose; il cherchait -dans le sommeil à se refaire de tant de fatigues, et commençait à -fermer les yeux, quand tout à coup il entendit un bruit épouvantable de -cris et de cloches qui lui fit croire que l’île entière s’écroulait. Il -se leva en sursaut sur son séant, et prêta l’oreille pour démêler la -cause d’un si grand vacarme; non-seulement il n’y comprit rien, mais un -grand bruit de trompettes et de tambours vint encore se joindre aux cris -et au son des cloches. Plein d’épouvante et de trouble, il saute à -terre, et court pieds nus et en chemise à la porte de sa chambre. Au -même instant, il voit se précipiter par les corridors un grand nombre de -gens armés d’épées et portant des torches enflammées: Aux armes! aux -armes! criaient-ils; seigneur gouverneur, les ennemis sont dans l’île, -et nous périssons si votre valeur et votre prudence nous font défaut. -Puis, arrivés près de Sancho, qui était plus mort que vif: Que Votre -Grâce s’arme à l’instant, lui dirent-ils tous ensemble, ou nous sommes -perdus. - -A quoi bon m’armer? répondit Sancho; est-ce que je connais quelque chose -en fait d’attaque et de défense? Il faut laisser cela à mon maître don -Quichotte, qui dépêchera vos ennemis en un tour de main; quant à moi, -pauvre pécheur, je n’y entends rien. - -Quelle froideur est-ce là? armez-vous, seigneur, repartit un d’entre -eux; voici des armes offensives et défensives: guidez-nous, comme notre -chef et notre gouverneur. - -Eh bien, que l’on m’arme; et à la grâce de Dieu, répondit Sancho. - -Aussitôt on apporta deux grands boucliers, qu’on lui attacha l’un par -devant, l’autre par derrière, en les liant étroitement avec des -courroies, les bras seuls étant laissés libres, de façon que le pauvre -homme, une fois enchâssé, ne pouvait ni remuer, ni seulement plier les -genoux. Cela fait, on lui mit dans la main une lance sur laquelle il fut -obligé de s’appuyer pour se tenir debout. Quand il fut équipé de la -sorte, on lui dit de marcher le premier, afin d’animer tout le monde au -combat, ajoutant que tant qu’on l’aurait pour guide, on était assuré de -la victoire. - -Et comment diable marcherais-je? répondit Sancho: entre ces planches où -vous m’avez emboîté, je ne puis seulement pas plier le jarret. Ce qu’il -faut faire, c’est de m’emporter à bras et de me placer en travers ou -debout à quelque poterne que je défendrai ou avec ma lance ou avec mon -corps. - -Allons donc, seigneur gouverneur, dit un de ces gens, ce ne sont pas vos -armes, c’est bien plutôt la peur qui vous empêche de marcher: -hâtez-vous; le bruit augmente et le danger redouble. - -A ces exhortations et à ces reproches, le pauvre Sancho essaya de se -remuer; mais dès les premiers pas il tomba si lourdement qu’il crut -s’être mis en pièces. Il demeura par terre étendu tout de son long, -assez semblable à une tortue sous son écaille, ou à quelque barque -échouée sur le sable. Mais ces impitoyables railleurs n’en eurent pas -plus de compassion: au contraire, ils éteignirent leurs torches, et -simulant le bruit de gens qui combattent, ils passèrent et repassèrent -plus de cent fois sur le corps du gouverneur, donnant de grands coups -d’épée sur le bouclier qui le couvrait, pendant que se ramassant de son -mieux dans cette étroite prison, le pauvre diable suait à grosses -gouttes, et priait Dieu de tout son cœur de le tirer d’un si grand -péril. Les uns trébuchaient, d’autres tombaient sur lui, il y en eut -même un qui, après lui avoir monté sur le dos, se mit à crier comme -d’une éminence, et simulant l’office de général: Courez par ici, -l’ennemi vient de ce côté; qu’on garde cette brèche, qu’on ferme cette -porte; rompez les échelles; vite, vite, de la poix et de la résine; -qu’on apporte des chaudrons pleins d’huile bouillante, qu’on couvre les -maisons avec des matelas; puis il continuait à nommer l’un après l’autre -tous les instruments et machines de guerre dont on se sert dans une -ville prise d’assaut. - -Quant au malheureux Sancho, étendu par terre, foulé aux pieds et demi -mort de peur, il murmurait entre ses dents: Plût à Dieu que l’île fût -déjà prise, et que je me visse mort ou délivré de cette horrible -angoisse! Enfin le ciel eut pitié de lui, et lorsqu’il s’y attendait le -moins, il entendit crier: Victoire, victoire! les ennemis sont en fuite. -Allons, seigneur, levez-vous, venez jouir de votre triomphe et prendre -votre part des dépouilles conquises par votre bras invincible. - -Qu’on me lève, dit Sancho tristement. Quand on l’eut aidé à se remettre -sur ses pieds: L’ennemi que j’ai tué, ajouta-t-il, je consens qu’on me -le cloue sur le front; quant aux dépouilles, vous pouvez vous les -partager, je n’y prétends rien. S’il me reste ici un ami, qu’il me donne -un peu de vin; le cœur me manque, et, pour l’amour de Dieu, qu’on -m’essuie le visage, je suis tout en eau. - -On l’essuya, on lui donna du vin, on le débarrassa des boucliers; enfin, -se voyant libre, il voulut s’asseoir sur son lit, mais il tomba évanoui -de fatigue et d’émotion. - -Les mystificateurs commençaient à se repentir d’avoir poussé si loin la -plaisanterie, lorsque Sancho, en revenant à lui, calma la crainte que -leur avait causée sa pâmoison. Il demanda quelle heure il était; on lui -répondit que le jour venait de poindre. Aussitôt, sans ajouter un mot, -il acheva de s’habiller, laissant tous les assistants surpris de -l’empressement qu’il y mettait. Quand il eut terminé, quoique avec bien -de la peine, tant il était brisé de fatigue, il se dirigea vers -l’écurie, suivi de tous ceux qui étaient là, puis s’approchant du -grison, il le prit tendrement entre ses bras, lui donna un baiser sur le -front, et lui dit les yeux pleins de larmes: Viens çà, mon fidèle ami, -viens, cher compagnon de mes aventures et de mes travaux; quand je -cheminais avec toi, sans autre souci que d’avoir à raccommoder ton -harnais et soigner ta gentille personne, heureux étaient mes heures, mes -jours, mes années. Mais depuis que je t’ai quitté pour me laisser -emporter sur les tours de l’ambition et de l’orgueil, tout a été pour -moi souffrances, inquiétudes et misères. En parlant ainsi, Sancho -passait le licou à son âne, et lui ajustait le bât; le grison bâté, il -monta dessus avec beaucoup d’efforts, et s’adressant au majordome, au -maître d’hôtel et au docteur Pedro Rezio: Place, place, messeigneurs, -leur dit-il, laissez-moi retourner à mon ancienne liberté; laissez-moi -retourner à ma vie passée, pour me ressusciter de cette mort présente. -Je ne suis point né pour être gouverneur; mon lot est de conduire la -charrue, de manier la pioche et de tailler la vigne, et non de donner -des lois ou de défendre des îles contre ceux qui viennent les attaquer. -Saint-Pierre est bien à Rome, je veux dire que chacun doit rester chez -lui et faire son métier. Faucille me sied mieux en main que bâton de -commandement; je préfère me rassasier de soupe à l’oignon, que d’être à -la merci d’un méchant médecin, qui me fait mourir de faim. Je dors mieux -en été, à l’ombre d’un chêne, que l’hiver entre deux draps de fine toile -de Hollande et enveloppé de riches fourrures. Adieu, adieu encore une -fois. Dites à monseigneur le duc que nu je suis né, nu je me trouve; je -veux dire qu’entré ici sans un maravédis, j’en sors les mains vides, -tout au rebours des autres gouverneurs. Allons, gare! vous dis-je; -laissez-moi passer, que j’aille me graisser les côtes, car il me semble -que je les ai rompues, grâce aux ennemis qui se sont promenés cette nuit -sur mon estomac. - -Arrêtez, seigneur gouverneur, lui dit le docteur Pedro Rezio; arrêtez, -je vais vous faire donner un breuvage qui vous remettra dans un -instant; quant à votre table, je promets à Votre Grâce de m’amender, et -de lui laisser à l’avenir manger tout ce qu’il lui plaira. - -Grand merci, reprit Sancho, il est trop tard; j’ai envie de rester comme -de me faire Turc. Ce n’est pas moi qu’on attrape deux fois de la même -façon, et si jamais il me prend envie d’avoir un gouvernement, que je -meure avant que d’y mettre le pied. Je suis de la famille des Panza; ils -sont tous entêtés comme des mulets, et quand une fois ils ont dit non, -ils n’en démordraient pas pour tout l’or du monde. Je laisse ici les -ailes de la vanité qui ne m’ont enlevé dans les airs qu’afin de me faire -manger aux hirondelles et aux oiseaux de proie; je redescends sur terre -pour y marcher comme auparavant, et si je n’ai pas de chaussures de -maroquin piqué, au moins ne manquerais-je jamais de sandales de cordes. -Adieu, encore une fois, qu’on me laisse passer, car il se fait tard. - -Seigneur gouverneur, dit le majordome, nous laissons partir Votre Grâce, -puisqu’elle le veut, quoique ce ne soit pas sans regret que nous -consentions à perdre un homme de votre mérite, et dont la conduite a été -si chrétienne; mais tout gouverneur qui se démet de sa charge est obligé -de rendre compte de son administration: rendez le vôtre, s’il vous -plaît, après quoi nous ne vous retenons plus. - -Personne n’a le droit de me demander des comptes, repartit Sancho, s’il -n’en a reçu le pouvoir de monseigneur le duc; je m’en vais le trouver, -et c’est à lui que je les rendrai. D’ailleurs, je sors d’ici nu, et cela -me dispense d’autre preuve. - -Le seigneur Sancho a raison, dit Pedro Rezio, il faut le laisser aller; -d’autant plus que monseigneur sera enchanté de le revoir. - -Tout le monde fut du même sentiment, et on le laissa partir en lui -offrant de l’accompagner et de lui fournir ce qui serait nécessaire pour -faire commodément son voyage. Sancho répondit qu’il ne voulait qu’un peu -d’orge pour son âne, et pour lui un morceau de pain et du fromage; que -le chemin étant si court, il n’avait pas besoin d’autre chose. Tous -l’embrassèrent; lui les embrassa aussi en pleurant, les laissant non -moins étonnés de son bon sens que de la prompte et énergique résolution -qu’il avait prise. - -CHAPITRE LIV - -QUI TRAITE DES CHOSES RELATIVES A CETTE HISTOIRE ET NON A D’AUTRES. - -Le duc et la duchesse résolurent de donner suite au défi qu’avait porté -don Quichotte à leur vassal, pour le motif dont nous avons parlé plus -haut; mais comme le jeune homme était en Flandre, où il s’était enfui -afin de ne pas épouser la fille de la señora Rodriguez, ils imaginèrent -de lui substituer un laquais gascon, appelé Tosilos. Après avoir donné à -cet homme les instructions nécessaires pour bien jouer son personnage, -le duc déclara à don Quichotte que dans un délai de quatre jours son -adversaire viendrait, armé de toutes pièces, se présenter en champ clos -et soutenir par la moitié de sa barbe, et même par sa barbe entière, que -la jeune fille mentait en affirmant qu’il lui avait promis de l’épouser. -Grande fut la joie de notre héros d’avoir rencontré une si belle -occasion de montrer à ses illustres hôtes sa valeur et la force de son -bras formidable; aussi dans son impatience, ces quatre jours lui -semblèrent-ils autant de siècles. Pendant qu’il se repose bien malgré -lui, allons tenir compagnie à Sancho qui, moitié triste, moitié joyeux, -venait retrouver son maître, plus content toutefois de se sentir sur son -fidèle grison qu’affligé de la perte de son gouvernement. - -Il n’était pas encore bien loin de son île, de sa ville ou de son -village, car on n’a jamais su précisément ce que c’était, quand il vit -venir six pèlerins étrangers. Arrivés près de lui, ces pèlerins se -rangèrent sur deux files et se mirent à chanter à tue-tête dans une -langue dont Sancho ne put rien démêler, sinon le mot _aumône_. Il en -conclut que toute la chanson n’avait pas d’autre but, et comme il était -naturellement charitable, il leur offrit le pain et le fromage qu’il -portait dans son bissac, leur faisant entendre par signes qu’il n’avait -rien de plus. Les pèlerins acceptèrent l’aumône en criant: _Geld! -geld[120]!_ - - [120] Mot allemand qui veut dire _argent_. - -Je ne vous comprends pas, frères, dit Sancho; que voulez-vous! - -L’un d’eux alors tira une bourse de son sein, pour faire entendre à -Sancho qu’ils demandaient de l’argent; mais lui, ouvrant la main et -écartant les doigts, afin de leur montrer qu’il ne possédait pas une -obole, piqua son grison et voulut passer au milieu d’eux. Mais un de ces -étrangers, qui l’avait reconnu, l’arrêta, et l’embrassant lui dit en -castillan: Sainte Vierge! qu’est-ce que je vois? n’est-ce pas mon ami, -mon bon voisin Sancho Panza? Oui! par ma foi, c’est bien lui, car je ne -suis ni ivre ni endormi. - -Tout surpris d’entendre prononcer son nom et de se sentir embrasser, -Sancho regarda longtemps cet homme sans rien dire; mais il avait beau le -considérer, il ne pouvait se rappeler ses traits. Comment se peut-il, -lui dit alors le pèlerin, que tu ne reconnaisses pas ton voisin Ricote -le Morisque, le mercier de notre village? - -Et qui diable t’aurait reconnu sous ce costume? reprit Sancho en -l’examinant de plus près; mais comment oses-tu revenir en Espagne? -Malheur à toi, mon pauvre ami, si tu venais à être découvert; tu -n’aurais pas à te louer de l’aventure. - -Si tu te tais, répondit le pèlerin, je suis bien sûr que personne ne me -reconnaîtra sous cet habit. Mais quittons le grand chemin, et allons -dans ce bois où mes camarades veulent dîner et faire la sieste: ce sont -de braves gens, tu dîneras avec eux, et là je pourrai te conter ce qui -m’est arrivé depuis cet édit que le roi a fait publier contre les débris -de notre malheureuse nation. - -Sancho y consentit, et Ricote ayant parlé à ses compagnons, tous -s’enfoncèrent dans le bois qui était en vue, s’éloignant ainsi de la -grand’route. Arrivés là, ils se débarrassèrent de leurs bourdons, de -leurs mantelets, et restèrent en justaucorps. Ils étaient jeunes, -enjoués et de bonne mine, hormis Ricote qui était déjà avancé en âge; -chacun d’eux portait une besace bien pourvue, au moins de ces viandes -qui appellent la soif de deux lieues. Ils s’assirent sur l’herbe, qui -leur servit de nappe, et tous alors fournissant ce qu’ils portaient dans -leur bissac, la place se trouva en un clin d’œil couverte de pain, de -noix, de fromage et de quelques os où il restait encore à ronger, sans -compter une espèce de saucisson appelé _cavial_, composé de ces œufs -d’esturgeon, grands provocateurs de l’appétit. Il s’y trouva aussi des -olives en quantité, lesquelles, quoiqu’un peu sèches, ne laissaient pas -d’être de bon goût. Mais ce qui fit ouvrir les yeux à Sancho, c’étaient -six grandes outres de vin, chacun ayant fourni la sienne, sans compter -celle de Ricote qui seule valait toutes les autres ensemble. Enfin nos -gens se mirent à manger, mais lentement et en savourant chaque morceau. -Puis tout à coup, levant les bras et les outres en l’air, le goulot sur -la bouche et les yeux fixés au ciel, comme s’ils y avaient pris leurs -points de mire, ils restèrent tous un bon quart d’heure à transvaser le -vin dans leur estomac. Sancho admirait cette harmonie muette, et ne -pensait déjà plus au gouvernement qu’il venait de quitter. Afin de se -mettre à l’unisson, il pria Ricote de lui prêter son outre, et l’ayant -embouchée, il fit voir qu’il ne manquait pour cet exercice ni de méthode -ni d’haleine. - -De temps en temps, un des pèlerins prenant la main de Sancho, lui -disait: _Espagnoli y Tudesqui, tuto uno bon compagno_; et Sancho -répondait: _Bon compagno jura di_; puis il éclatait de rire, mettant en -oubli sa mésaventure; en effet, sur le temps où l’on est occupé à manger -ou à boire, les soucis n’ont guère de prise. Quatre fois nos gens -recommencèrent à jouer de leurs musettes, mais à la cinquième fois elles -se désenflèrent si bien, qu’il n’y eut plus moyen d’en rien tirer: -toutefois, si le vin fit défaut, le sommeil ne leur manqua pas, car ils -s’endormirent sur la place. Ricote et Sancho, se trouvant plus éveillés, -pour avoir moins bu, laissèrent dormir leurs compagnons, et allèrent -s’asseoir au pied d’un hêtre, où le pèlerin, quittant sa langue -maternelle pour s’exprimer en bon castillan, parla de la sorte: - -Tu n’as pas oublié, ami Sancho, quelle terreur s’empara des nôtres quand -le roi fit publier son édit contre les Mores; je fus si alarmé moi-même, -que craignant de ne pouvoir quitter l’Espagne assez tôt, je me voyais -déjà traîner au supplice avec mes enfants. Toutefois, ne trouvant pas -que nous fissions sagement de fuir avec tant de hâte, je résolus de -laisser ma famille dans notre village, et d’aller seul chercher quelque -endroit où je pusse la mettre en sûreté. Je m’étais bien aperçu, ainsi -que les plus habiles de notre nation, que cet édit n’était pas une vaine -menace, mais une résolution arrêtée. En effet, connaissant les mauvaises -intentions de beaucoup d’entre nous, intentions qu’ils ne cachaient pas, -je restai convaincu que Dieu seul avait pu mettre dans l’esprit du roi -une résolution si soudaine et si rigoureuse. Non pas que nous fussions -tous coupables: car parmi nous, il se trouvait des chrétiens sincères, -mais en si petit nombre qu’à parler franchement, souffrir tant d’ennemis -dans le royaume, c’était nourrir un serpent dans son sein. Quoi qu’il en -soit, le bannissement, trop doux pour quelques-uns, fut trop sévère pour -ceux qui, non plus que moi, n’avaient pas de mauvais desseins. Depuis -cette époque, dans quelque endroit que nous portions nos pas, nous -regrettons toujours l’Espagne, notre berceau, ne trouvant point ailleurs -le repos que nous espérions. Nous avions cru qu’en Barbarie et en -Afrique on nous recevrait à bras ouverts, mais c’est là qu’on nous -méprise et qu’on nous maltraite le plus. Hélas! nous n’avons connu notre -bonheur qu’après l’avoir perdu; aussi notre désir de revoir l’Espagne -est si grand, que la plupart d’entre nous, qui en savent fort bien la -langue, n’ont pas craint d’abandonner femme et enfants pour y revenir. - -Je quittai donc notre village, et je partis pour la France avec -quelques-uns des nôtres; quoique nous y fussions bien reçus, le désir me -prit d’aller plus loin. Je passai en Italie, et de là en Allemagne, où -il me sembla qu’on vivait avec encore plus de sécurité, car presque -partout il y a une grande liberté de conscience. Je m’assurai d’une -maison proche d’Augsbourg, et m’associai à ces pèlerins qui ont coutume -de venir visiter les sanctuaires de l’Espagne, visite qui pour eux vaut -les mines du Pérou. Chaque année, ils la parcourent tout entière, et il -n’y a point de village qu’ils ne quittent repus jusqu’à la gorge, et -emportant un bon sac d’argent. Cet argent ils ont soin de l’échanger -contre de l’or, dont ils remplissent le creux de leurs bourdons, ou bien -ils le cousent dans les plis de leurs mantelets; puis, à force -d’industrie, ils parviennent à sortir d’Espagne avec leur butin, malgré -la rigoureuse surveillance des gardiens des passages. Aujourd’hui, ami -Sancho, mon intention est de reprendre l’argent que j’ai enfoui avant de -partir; et comme c’est hors de notre village, je pourrai le faire sans -péril, après quoi j’irai de Valence à Alger rejoindre ma femme et ma -fille. De là, nous repasserons en France, d’où je les emmènerai en -Allemagne, en attendant ce que Dieu voudra faire de nous; car enfin je -suis certain que ma femme et ma fille sont bonnes catholiques; quant à -moi, quoique je ne le sois pas autant, je suis plus chrétien que More, -et tous les jours je prie Dieu de m’ouvrir les yeux davantage, et de -m’apprendre comment il veut que je le serve. Mais ce qui m’étonne le -plus, Sancho, c’est que ma femme ait mieux aimé aller vivre en Barbarie -qu’en France, où elle et sa fille pourraient librement pratiquer leur -religion. - -Oh! cela n’a pas dépendu d’elles, dit Sancho, c’est Jean Tiopevo, ton -beau-frère, qui les a emmenées: et comme c’est un vrai More, il n’a -songé qu’à ce qui l’accommodait le mieux. Mais veux-tu que je te dise, -Ricote: je suis certain que tu irais en vain chercher ton trésor, tu ne -le trouveras plus, car nous avons su qu’on avait pris à ton beau-frère -et à ta femme des perles et beaucoup d’argent qu’ils allaient faire -enregistrer. - -Cela peut être, répliqua Ricote, mais je suis bien certain qu’ils n’ont -point touché à mon trésor, n’ayant confié le secret à personne, de -crainte de malheur. Si tu veux venir avec moi et m’aider à l’emporter, -je te promets deux cents écus: cet argent pourra te mettre à l’aise, car -je sais, mon ami, que tu n’es pas bien riche. - -Je le ferais volontiers, repartit Sancho, mais je ne suis point aussi -intéressé que tu pourrais le croire. Si j’aimais la richesse, je -n’aurais pas quitté ce matin un office où je pouvais faire d’or les murs -de ma maison, et avant qu’il fût six mois manger dans des plats -d’argent. Et pour cette raison, comme aussi parce que ce serait trahir -le roi notre maître, que d’aider ses ennemis, je n’irais pas avec toi, -quand au lieu de deux cents écus tu m’en offrirais le double. - -Quel office as-tu donc quitté? demanda Ricote. - -J’ai quitté le gouvernement d’une île, mais d’une île, vois-tu, qui n’a -pas sa pareille à un quart de lieue à la ronde, répondit Sancho. - -Et où est-elle située, cette île? continua Ricote. - -Où elle est? A deux lieues d’ici, répliqua Sancho, et elle s’appelle -l’île de Barataria. - -Que dis-tu là, reprit Ricote; est-ce qu’il y a des îles en terre ferme? - -Pourquoi non? reprit Sancho. Je te dis, mon ami, que j’en suis parti ce -matin, et qu’hier encore je la gouvernais à ma fantaisie; malgré tout, -je l’ai quittée, parce qu’il m’est avis que l’office de gouverneur est -dangereux. - -Et qu’as-tu gagné dans ton gouvernement? demanda Ricote. - -Ce que j’y ai gagné? répondit Sancho; par ma foi, j’y ai gagné -d’apprendre que je ne suis pas bon à être gouverneur, si ce n’est d’un -troupeau de chèvres, et que les richesses amassées dans les -gouvernements coûtent le repos et le sommeil, voire même le boire et le -manger. Dans les îles, il faut que les gouverneurs ne mangent presque -rien, surtout s’ils ont des médecins qui prennent soin de leur santé. - -Je ne sais ce que tu veux dire, répliqua Ricote. Hé! qui diable pouvait -s’aviser de te donner une île à gouverner? manque-t-il d’habiles gens au -monde, qu’il faille prendre des paysans pour en faire des gouverneurs? -Tu rêves, mon pauvre ami. Vois seulement si tu veux venir avec moi pour -m’aider à emporter mon trésor. Je t’assure qu’il en mérite bien le nom, -et je te donnerai ce que je t’ai promis. - -Je t’ai déjà dit que je ne le veux pas, répondit Sancho; mais sois sûr -de n’être pas dénoncé par moi. Adieu; continue ton chemin, et -laisse-m’en faire autant: si le bien gagné honnêtement se perd -quelquefois, à plus forte raison le bien mal acquis doit-il se perdre -avec son maître. - -Je n’insiste pas, reprit Ricote, mais tu ne sais pas ce que tu refuses. -Dis-moi, étais-tu dans le village quand mon beau-frère emmena ma femme -et ma fille? - -Vraiment oui, j’y étais, répondit Sancho, et tout le monde trouvait ta -fille si belle, qu’on sortait en foule pour la voir: chacun la suivait -des yeux, disant que c’était la plus jolie fille d’Espagne. La pauvre -créature pleurait en embrassant ses amies, les priant de la recommander -à Dieu et à sa sainte mère. Elle nous faisait pitié, tant elle était -triste, et je ne pus m’empêcher de pleurer, moi qui ne suis pas un grand -pleurard. Bien des gens voulaient la cacher; d’autres, s’ils n’eussent -pas craint l’édit de Sa Majesté, de l’enlever par les chemins. Don Pedro -Gregorio, ce jeune homme que tu connais, et qui est si riche, se -démenait fort pour elle: il l’aimait beaucoup, à ce qu’on dit; aussi ne -l’a-t-on plus revu depuis qu’elle est partie, et nous crûmes tous qu’il -avait couru après elle pour l’enlever, mais on n’en a pas entendu parler -jusqu’à cette heure. - -Par ma foi, dit Ricote, j’avais toujours cru ce jeune homme amoureux de -ma fille; mais comme je me fiais à elle, je m’en inquiétais peu. Tu sais -bien, Sancho, que les Morisques ne se marient guère par amour avec les -vieux chrétiens; et ma fille, ce me semble, songeait moins à se marier -qu’à devenir bonne chrétienne; aussi je pense qu’elle se souciait fort -peu des poursuites de ce gentilhomme. - -Dieu le veuille, repartit Sancho, car cela ne convient ni à l’un ni à -l’autre. Adieu, mon ami; laisse-moi partir; je veux aller ce soir -retrouver mon maître, le seigneur don Quichotte. - -Que Dieu t’accompagne, frère Sancho, dit Ricote. Aussi bien, voilà mes -compagnons qui s’éveillent, et il est temps de continuer notre chemin. - -Après s’être embrassés, Sancho monta sur son âne, Ricote prit son -bourdon, et ils se séparèrent. - -CHAPITRE LV - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A SANCHO EN CHEMIN. - -Pour avoir passé trop de temps à s’entretenir avec Ricote, Sancho ne put -arriver de jour au château du duc, et il en était encore à une -demi-lieue quand la nuit le surprit. Comme on était au printemps, il ne -s’en mit pas en peine; seulement, il s’écarta de la route dans -l’intention de se procurer un gîte. Mais sa mauvaise étoile voulut qu’en -cherchant un endroit pour passer la nuit, lui et son grison tombèrent -dans un sombre et profond souterrain qui se trouvait au milieu de -bâtiments en ruine. Lorsque Sancho sentit la terre lui manquer, il se -recommanda à Dieu avec ferveur, se croyant déjà au fond des abîmes; -pourtant, il en fut quitte à meilleur marché, car à quatre toises il se -trouva sur la terre ferme et assis sur sa monture sans s’être fait aucun -mal. Il commença par se tâter par tout le corps, et retint son haleine -pour s’assurer s’il n’avait aucune blessure; quand il se sentit bien -portant, il rendit grâces au ciel de l’avoir préservé d’un danger où il -avait failli se mettre en pièces. Le pauvre diable porta aussitôt ses -mains de tous côtés pour voir s’il n’y avait pas moyen de se tirer de -là; mais les murs étaient si droits et si escarpés qu’il lui était -impossible d’y grimper. Désolé de cette découverte, il le fut bien -davantage quand il entendit son grison se plaindre douloureusement, et -certes avec sujet, car il était en assez piteux état. - -Hélas! hélas! s’écria Sancho, que d’accidents imprévus dans ce misérable -monde! Qui aurait dit que l’homme qui était hier gouverneur d’une île, -commandant à ses serviteurs et à ses vassaux, se verrait aujourd’hui -seul, sans serviteurs ni vassaux pour le secourir! Faudra-t-il donc, mon -pauvre grison, que tous les deux nous mourions de faim ici, ou toi de -tes blessures, et moi de chagrin! Encore si j’étais aussi chanceux que -le fut monseigneur don Quichotte dans la caverne de Montesinos, où il -trouva la nappe mise et son lit tout prêt! Mais que trouverai-je dans ce -maudit trou, sinon des couleuvres et des crapauds? Malheureux que je -suis! où ont abouti mes folies et mes caprices? Si du moins nous étions -morts dans notre pays et parmi les gens de notre connaissance, nous -n’eussions pas manqué d’âmes charitables pour nous pleurer et nous -fermer les yeux à notre dernière heure! O mon fidèle ami, mon cher -compagnon, quelle récompense je donne à tes bons services! mais -pardonne-moi, et prie la fortune qu’elle nous tire de ce mauvais pas, -après quoi tu verras que je ne suis pas ingrat, et je te promets double -ration. - -Pendant que le maître se lamentait de la sorte, l’âne restait immobile, -tant grande était l’angoisse que le pauvre animal endurait. Le jour -revint, et aux premières clartés de l’aurore, Sancho, voyant qu’il était -absolument impossible, sans être aidé, de sortir de cette espèce de -puits, recommença à se lamenter et à jeter de grands cris pour appeler -du secours. Mais personne ne l’entendait, et il se tint pour mort, -surtout en voyant son âne couché à terre, les oreilles basses et faisant -fort triste mine. Enfin, il l’aida à se remettre sur ses pieds, non sans -beaucoup de peine; puis, ayant tiré un morceau de pain de son bissac, il -le lui donna en disant: _Tiens, mon enfant, quand on a du pain, les maux -se sentent moins_. - -L’infortuné Sancho était dans cette cruelle anxiété, cherchant de tous -côtés remède à son malheur, quand il découvrit à l’un des bouts du -souterrain une ouverture assez grande pour qu’un homme pût y passer. Il -s’y glissa à quatre pattes, et il vit qu’à l’autre bout le trou allait -toujours s’élargissant. Revenant sur ses pas, il prit une pierre avec -laquelle il pratiqua une brèche capable de livrer passage à son âne, et, -le tirant par le licou, il commença à cheminer le long du souterrain. -Tantôt il marchait à tâtons, tantôt il entrevoyait la lumière, mais -toujours avec une égale frayeur. Dieu puissant, se disait-il, mon maître -trouverait ceci une excellente aventure, tandis que moi, malheureux, -privé de conseil et dénué de courage, il me semble à tous moments que la -terre va me manquer sous les pieds. Tout en se lamentant, et après avoir -fait, à ce qu’il crut, près de demi-lieue, il commença à découvrir un -faible jour qui se glissait par une étroite fissure, et il espéra revoir -la lumière encore une fois. Mais Ben-Engeli le laisse là pour retourner -à don Quichotte, lequel attendait avec autant d’impatience que de joie -le jour fixé pour le combat qu’il devait livrer au séducteur de la fille -de la señora Rodriguez. - -Or, comme ce matin-là notre héros était sorti pour tenir son cheval en -haleine et le disposer au combat du lendemain, il arriva qu’à la suite -d’une attaque simulée à toute bride, Rossinante vint mettre les pieds de -devant sur le bord d’un trou dans lequel, sans la vigueur du cavalier -qui arrêta sa monture sur les jarrets de derrière, tous deux seraient -tombés infailliblement. La curiosité de don Quichotte l’engagea à voir -de plus près ce que c’était: il s’approcha sans mettre pied à terre. -Pendant qu’il considérait cette large ouverture, de grands cris, partis -du fond, vinrent frapper son oreille: Hélas! disait une voix, n’y a-t-il -point là-haut quelque chrétien qui m’entende, quelque chevalier -charitable qui ait pitié d’un malheureux pécheur enterré tout vivant, -d’un pauvre gouverneur qui n’a pas su se gouverner lui-même? - -Surpris au dernier point, don Quichotte crut reconnaître la voix de -Sancho, et, pour s’en assurer, il cria de toute sa force: Qui es-tu -là-bas, toi qui te plains ainsi? - -Et qui peut se plaindre, répondit la voix, si ce n’est le malheureux -Sancho Panza, ci-devant écuyer du fameux chevalier don Quichotte de la -Manche, et, pour ses péchés, gouverneur de l’île Barataria? - -Ces paroles redoublèrent la surprise du chevalier. S’imaginant que -Sancho était mort, et que son âme faisait là son purgatoire, il répondit -à son tour: En ma qualité de chrétien catholique, je t’engage à me -déclarer qui tu es. Si tu es une âme en peine, dis-moi ce que tu veux -que je fasse pour te soulager, car ma profession étant de secourir tous -les affligés, je puis aussi porter secours à ceux de l’autre monde qui -ne sauraient s’aider eux-mêmes. - -Vous qui me parlez, reprit la voix, vous êtes donc monseigneur don -Quichotte de la Manche; car à l’accent et à la parole ce ne peut être -que lui. - -Oui, oui, répliqua notre héros, je suis ce don Quichotte qui a fait -profession de secourir et d’assister en leurs nécessités les vivants et -les morts; apprends-moi donc qui tu es toi-même, car tu me tiens en -grand souci. Si tu es Sancho mon écuyer, et si tu as cessé de vivre, -pourvu que les diables ne t’aient point emporté, et que par la -miséricorde de Dieu tu sois seulement en purgatoire, notre mère la -sainte Église catholique a des prières efficaces pour abréger tes -peines; de ma part j’y emploierai tous mes efforts: achève donc de -t’expliquer et dis-moi qui tu es. - -Je jure Dieu, seigneur don Quichotte, répondit la voix, et je fais -serment que je suis Sancho Panza, votre écuyer, et que je ne suis jamais -mort depuis que je suis dans ce monde; mais qu’après avoir quitté mon -gouvernement pour des raisons qu’il serait trop long de raconter, je -tombai hier dans ce trou où je suis encore avec le grison qui ne me -laissera pas mentir à telles enseignes, qu’il est à mes côtés. - -En ce moment, comme s’il eût compris son maître et voulu lui rendre -témoignage, l’âne se mit à braire si puissamment, que toute la caverne -en retentit. - -Voilà un témoin irrécusable, dit don Quichotte; au bruit je reconnais -l’âne, et le maître à sa parole. Attends un peu, mon pauvre ami, je m’en -vais au château qui est tout proche, et j’amènerai des gens pour te -tirer d’ici. - -Dépêchez-vous, je vous prie, seigneur, car je suis au désespoir de me -voir enterré tout vivant, et je me sens mourir de peur. - -Don Quichotte alla conter l’aventure au duc et à la duchesse, qui -savaient que ce souterrain existait depuis un temps immémorial; mais ce -qui surtout les surprit, ce fut d’apprendre que Sancho avait quitté son -gouvernement sans qu’on leur eût donné avis de son départ. On courut -avec des cordes et des échelles, et à force de bras on ramena Sancho et -le grison à la lumière du soleil. Un étudiant qui se trouvait là par -hasard ne put s’empêcher de dire en voyant notre écuyer: Il serait bon -que tous les mauvais gouverneurs sortissent de leurs gouvernements, -comme celui-ci sort de cet abîme, pâle et mourant de faim, et, si je ne -me trompe, la bourse très-peu garnie. - -Frère, repartit Sancho, il y a huit jours que je suis entré dans l’île -qu’on m’avait donné à gouverner; pendant ces huit jours, je n’ai pas -mangé mon soûl une seule fois: j’ai été persécuté par les médecins, les -ennemis m’ont rompu les os, et je n’ai pas même eu le temps de toucher -mes gages. Vous voyez bien que je ne méritais point d’en sortir ainsi; -mais l’homme propose et Dieu dispose, et où l’on croit trouver du lard, -il n’y souvent pas de crochet pour le pendre. Au reste, Dieu m’entend, -et cela me suffit. - -Sancho, laisse parler les gens, lui dit son maître; repose-toi sur ta -bonne conscience, et qu’on dise ce qu’on voudra. Qui prétendrait -attacher toutes les langues n’aurait jamais fini; on mettrait plutôt des -portes aux champs. Si un gouverneur est riche, on dit qu’il a volé; s’il -est pauvre, on dit que c’est un niais et un imbécile. - -Permis de m’appeler un imbécile, répliqua Sancho, mais non de dire que -je suis un voleur. - -Tout en discourant, ils arrivèrent au château, entourés d’une foule de -gens, et ils trouvèrent le duc et la duchesse qui les attendaient dans -une galerie. Sancho ne voulut point monter rendre visite au duc et à la -duchesse qu’il n’eût mis son grison à l’écurie, car la pauvre bête -avait, disait-il, passé une très-mauvaise nuit. Enfin il alla saluer -Leurs Excellences: Messeigneurs, dit-il en mettant un genou en terre, je -suis allé gouverner votre île de Barataria, parce que Vos Grandeurs -l’ont voulu, et non parce que je l’avais mérité: j’y suis entré nu, et -nu j’en sors; je n’y ai perdu ni gagné, et si j’ai bien ou mal gouverné, -il y a des témoins qui pourront dire ce qui en est. J’ai éclairci des -difficultés, jugé des procès, toujours mourant de faim, grâce au docteur -Pedro Rezio, naturel de Tirteafuera, médecin de l’île et assassin des -gouverneurs. Les ennemis nous ont attaqués nuitamment et mis en grand -péril; mais ceux de l’île ont assuré que nous étions victorieux par la -force de mon bras; Dieu les récompense dans ce monde et dans l’autre -s’ils ne mentent point. Après avoir pesé les charges et les fatigues -qu’on rencontre dans les gouvernements, j’ai trouvé le fardeau trop -pesant pour mes épaules, et en fin de compte j’ai reconnu que je ne suis -pas du bois dont on fait les gouverneurs; aussi, avant que le -gouvernement me quittât, j’ai quitté le gouvernement, et hier, de bon -matin, j’ai laissé l’île à l’endroit où je l’avais trouvée, avec les -mêmes maisons et les mêmes rues, sans y avoir rien changé. Je n’ai rien -emprunté à personne, je n’ai fait de profit sur quoi que ce soit, et si, -comme cela est, j’ai songé à faire des ordonnances utiles et -profitables, j’y ai renoncé bien vite, de peur qu’on ne les observât -pas; parce qu’alors les faire ou ne pas les faire, c’est absolument la -même chose. Je suis parti sans autre compagnie que celle de mon grison. -Pendant la nuit, je suis tombé dans un souterrain, je l’ai parcouru tout -du long; puis j’ai tant fait que, le jour venu, j’ai découvert une -issue, mais non si facile toutefois que je n’y fusse demeuré jusqu’au -jugement dernier sans le secours de mon maître. Voici donc, monseigneur -le duc et madame la duchesse, votre gouverneur Sancho Panza, qui, en dix -jours qu’il a gouverné, a appris à mépriser le gouvernement, -non-seulement d’une île, mais encore du monde entier. Sur quoi je baise -très-humblement les pieds de Vos Excellences; et avec leur permission, -je retourne au service de monseigneur don Quichotte, avec qui je mange -au moins du pain tout mon soûl. Encore bien, je l’avoue, que cela ne -m’arrive que par saccades, je m’en rassasie du moins; et pourvu que je -m’emplisse le ventre, peu m’importe que ce soit de fèves ou de perdrix. - -L’écuyer finit là sa harangue, au grand contentement de son maître, qui -mourait de peur qu’il ne lui échappât mille impertinences. Le duc -embrassa Sancho, lui disant qu’il regrettait de le voir quitter son -gouvernement, mais qu’il lui donnerait dans ses États quelque autre -emploi où il aurait moins de peine et plus de profit. La duchesse aussi, -recommanda qu’on lui fît faire grande chère et qu’on lui dressât un bon -lit, car il paraissait tout moulu et à moitié disloqué. - -CHAPITRE LVI - -DE L’ÉTRANGE COMBAT DE DON QUICHOTTE ET DU LAQUAIS TOSILOS, AU SUJET DE -LA FILLE DE LA SENORA RODRIGUEZ. - -Le majordome qui avait accompagné Sancho à Barataria revint le même jour -raconter au duc et à la duchesse les faits et gestes de notre -gouverneur, et jusqu’à ses moindres paroles; mais ce qui les amusa le -plus, ce fut l’assaut simulé de l’île, les frayeurs de Sancho et enfin -son départ précipité. - -Cependant arriva le jour fixé pour le combat. Dans l’intervalle, le duc -avait eu le temps d’instruire son laquais Tosilos des précautions qu’il -fallait prendre pour vaincre don Quichotte sans le tuer ni le blesser. -Il décida qu’on ôterait le fer des lances, alléguant que les sentiments -chrétiens dont il se piquait ne permettaient pas que ce combat pût -entraîner la mort, et que les combattants devaient se contenter d’avoir -le champ libre sur ses terres, malgré les décrets des conciles qui -défendent ce genre de duel, sans le vouloir encore à outrance. Notre -héros répondit que le duc pouvait régler les choses comme il -l’entendrait; qu’il se conformerait en tout à ses volontés. - -Sur l’esplanade du château, le duc avait fait dresser un spacieux -échafaud, où devaient se tenir les juges du camp et les dames qui -demandaient justice. Le grand jour arrivé, une foule immense de curieux -accourut de tous les villages environnants. Jamais dans le pays vivants -ou morts n’avaient entendu raconter pareille chose. - -Le premier qui parut dans la lice fut le maître des cérémonies; il la -parcourut d’un bout à l’autre pour s’assurer qu’il n’y avait aucun piége -ou obstacle qui pût faire trébucher les combattants. La duègne et sa -fille, dans une contenance affligée et avec leurs voiles tombant jusqu’à -terre, vinrent ensuite prendre place. Notre héros était déjà dans la -lice, quand par un des angles de la place et au son des trompettes on -vit entrer le grand laquais Tosilos, couvert d’armes resplendissantes, -le casque en tête et la visière baissée. Il montait un puissant cheval -de Frise qui faisait trembler la terre sous ses pas. Tosilos n’avait -point oublié les instructions du duc son seigneur, c’est-à-dire d’éviter -le premier choc, pour éviter la mort si don Quichotte l’atteignait. Il -parcourut la place, et s’approchant des dames, il regarda quelque temps -avec beaucoup d’attention, celle qui le réclamait pour époux. Enfin, le -juge du camp appela notre chevalier, et suivi de Tosilos, il alla -demander aux plaignantes si elles consentaient à prendre pour champion -le seigneur don Quichotte de la Manche. Toutes deux s’inclinèrent en -répondant qu’elles tenaient pour bon et valable ce qu’il ferait en cette -circonstance. - -Le duc et la duchesse étaient assis dans une galerie construite -au-dessus de l’enceinte et remplie de gens qui attendaient l’issue d’un -combat si extraordinaire. Les conditions du champ clos furent que si don -Quichotte était vainqueur, le vaincu épouserait la fille de la señora -Rodriguez; qu’au contraire, s’il succombait, son adversaire se -trouverait relevé de sa promesse. Le maître des cérémonies partagea le -soleil aux combattants, et assigna à chacun le lieu où il devait se -placer. Puis dès qu’il fut retourné à sa place, les clairons -retentirent. - -Tout en attendant le dernier signal, don Quichotte s’était recommandé à -Dieu et à sa dame Dulcinée; quant à Tosilos, il avait bien d’autres -pensées en tête. S’étant mis à considérer son aimable ennemie, elle lui -avait semblé la plus charmante créature du monde: aussi le petit dieu -qu’on appelle Amour ne voulut-il pas perdre l’occasion de triompher d’un -cœur de laquais; il s’approcha du drôle, sans être vu de personne, et -il lui décocha une flèche qui le perça de part en part (car l’amour est -invisible, il va et vient, entre et sort à sa fantaisie), si bien que -lorsque les clairons sonnèrent, Tosilos n’entendit rien, ne songeant -déjà plus qu’à la beauté dont il était devenu tout à coup l’esclave. - -Don Quichotte, au contraire, n’avait pas plutôt entendu le signal de -l’attaque qu’il s’était élancé sur son adversaire de toute la vitesse de -Rossinante, pendant que Sancho criait de toutes ses forces: Que Dieu te -conduise, fleur et crème de la chevalerie errante! que Dieu te donne la -victoire comme tu la mérites! - -Bien que Tosilos vît fondre sur lui don Quichotte, il ne bougea pas; au -contraire, appelant à haute voix le juge du camp: Seigneur, lui dit-il, -ce combat n’a-t-il lieu que pour m’obliger à épouser cette dame? - -Précisément, lui répondit celui-ci. - -En ce cas, repartit Tosilos, ma conscience me défend de passer outre: je -me tiens pour vaincu, et je suis prêt à épouser cette dame à l’instant -même. - -A ces paroles, le juge du camp, qui était un des confidents de cette -facétie, demeura fort étonné, et ne sut que répondre. - -Quant à don Quichotte, voyant que son ennemi ne venait point à sa -rencontre, il s’était arrêté au milieu de la carrière. Le duc cherchait -à deviner ce qui suspendait le combat; mais lorsqu’il sut ce qu’il en -était, il entra dans une grande colère contre son domestique, sans -toutefois oser le laisser paraître. - -Tosilos s’approchant de l’estrade où était la señora Rodriguez: Madame, -lui dit-il, je suis prêt à épouser votre fille, et je ne veux point -obtenir par les armes ce que je puis posséder sans débat. - -S’il en est ainsi, je suis libre et délié de mon serment, ajouta don -Quichotte; qu’ils se marient, et puisque Dieu la lui donne, que saint -Pierre les bénisse! - -Le duc descendit dans la lice: Est-il vrai, chevalier, dit-il en -s’adressant à Tosilos, que vous vous teniez pour vaincu, et que pressé -des remords de votre conscience, vous consentiez à épouser cette jeune -fille? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit celui-ci. - -Par ma foi, il fait bien, dit alors Sancho, car ce que tu voulais donner -au rat, donne-le au chat, et de peine il te sortira. - -Cependant Tosilos s’était mis à délacer son casque, et priait qu’on -l’aidât, parce qu’il ne pouvait plus respirer, tant il était serré dans -cette étroite prison. On s’empressa de le satisfaire. Alors se montra à -découvert le visage du laquais Tosilos. Quand la señora Rodriguez et sa -fille virent ce qu’il en était, elles se mirent à crier en disant: C’est -une tromperie, c’est une infâme tromperie. On a mis Tosilos, le laquais -de monseigneur, à la place de mon véritable époux. Justice, justice! -nous ne souffrirons pas cette trahison. - -Ne vous affligez point, mesdames, dit don Quichotte, il n’y a ici ni -malice ni tromperie; du reste, s’il y en a, elle n’est point de la part -de monseigneur le duc, mais de la part des enchanteurs, mes ennemis, -qui, jaloux de la gloire que j’allais acquérir dans ce combat, ont -changé le visage de votre époux en celui de ce laquais. N’en doutez pas, -mademoiselle, ajouta-t-il, et en dépit de la malice de nos ennemis, -mariez-vous avec ce cavalier; car c’est bien celui que vous désiriez. -Là-dessus, vous pouvez vous en fier à moi. - -En entendant notre héros, le duc sentit s’évanouir sa colère: En vérité, -dit-il, tout ce qui arrive au chevalier de la Manche est tellement -extraordinaire, que je suis disposé à croire que l’homme ici présent -n’est point mon laquais; mais pour en être plus certains, remettons le -mariage à quinzaine, et gardons sous clef ce personnage qui nous tient -en suspens; peut-être alors aura-t-il repris sa première forme. La -malice des enchanteurs contre le seigneur don Quichotte ne peut pas -toujours durer, surtout quand ils verront que toutes leurs ruses et -leurs transformations sont inutiles. - -Oh! vraiment, dit Sancho, ces diables d’enchanteurs sont plus opiniâtres -qu’on ne pense, et ils ne tiennent pas mon maître quitte à si bon -marché: dans ce qui lui arrive, ce n’est que transformation de celui-ci -en celui-là, et de celui-là en un autre. Il y a peu de jours il vainquit -un chevalier qui s’appelait le chevalier des Miroirs; eh bien, les -enchanteurs donnèrent au vaincu la figure du bachelier Samson Carrasco, -qui est un de ses meilleurs amis; madame Dulcinée, ils l’ont changée en -une grossière paysanne; mais je serais bien trompé si ce laquais ne -reste pas laquais jusqu’à la fin de ses jours. - -Il en sera ce qui pourra, reprit la fille de la señora Rodriguez; et -puisqu’il consent à m’épouser, je l’accepte de bon cœur: j’aime mieux -être la femme d’un laquais que la maîtresse d’un gentilhomme, d’autant -plus que mon séducteur ne l’est pas. - -Malgré tout on renferma Tosilos, sous prétexte de voir ce qui -adviendrait de sa métamorphose, et don Quichotte fut proclamé vainqueur. -Quant aux spectateurs qui avaient espéré voir les combattants se mettre -en pièces, ils se retirèrent aussi désappointés que le sont les petits -garçons lorsqu’on fait grâce au condamné qu’ils étaient venus pour voir -pendre. Le duc, la duchesse et le glorieux don Quichotte rentrèrent au -château; la señora Rodriguez et sa fille étaient charmées de voir que, -de façon ou d’autre, cette aventure finissait par un mariage; quant à -Tosilos, il ne demandait pas mieux. - -CHAPITRE LVII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE PRIT CONGÉ DU DUC, ET DE CE QUI LUI ARRIVA AVEC LA -BELLE ALTISIDORE, DEMOISELLE DE LA DUCHESSE. - -Craignant enfin d’avoir un jour à rendre compte à Dieu de la vie oisive -qu’il menait dans ce château, vie qu’il trouvait si contraire à sa -profession de chevalier errant, don Quichotte se résolut enfin à partir, -et demanda congé à Leurs Excellences. Ce ne fut pas sans montrer un -grand déplaisir que le duc y consentit; mais enfin, il se rendit aux -raisons du chevalier. - -La duchesse remit à Sancho les lettres de sa femme. Après en avoir -entendu la lecture: Qui eût pensé, se disait-il en pleurant, que toutes -mes espérances s’en iraient en fumée, et qu’il me faudrait encore une -fois me mettre en quête d’aventures à la suite de mon maître? Au moins -je suis bien aise d’apprendre que Thérèse a fait son devoir en envoyant -des glands à madame la duchesse: si elle y eût manqué, je l’aurais -regardée comme une ingrate. Ce qui me console, c’est qu’on ne peut -appeler ce cadeau un pot-de-vin, puisque j’occupais déjà le gouvernement -quand elle l’a envoyé; si petit qu’il soit, il montre que nous sommes -reconnaissants. Nu je suis entré dans le gouvernement, et nu j’en sors. -Ainsi, on n’a rien à me reprocher, et me voilà tel que ma mère m’a mis -au monde. - -Don Quichotte, qui, la veille au soir, avait pris congé du duc et de la -duchesse, voulut se mettre en route de grand matin. Au lever du soleil, -il parut tout armé dans la cour du château, dont les galeries étaient -remplies de gens curieux d’assister à son départ. Sancho était sur son -grison avec sa valise et son bissac, le cœur plus joyeux qu’on ne -pensait, car, à l’insu de don Quichotte, le majordome du duc lui avait -remis deux cents écus d’or pour continuer leur voyage. - -Tout le monde avait les yeux attachés sur notre chevalier, quand tout à -coup l’effrontée et spirituelle Altisidore éleva la voix du milieu des -filles de la duchesse et dit d’un ton amoureux et plaintif: - - Arrête, ô le plus dur des chevaliers errants! - Retiens le mors, quitte la selle; - Sans fatiguer en vain les flancs - De ta vieille et maigre haridelle; - Apprends donc que tu ne fuis pas - Une vipère venimeuse, - Mais un petit agneau qui recherche tes bras, - Et qui n’est point brebis galeuse. - - Monstre, tu réduis aux abois - La plus aimable créature - Que Diane ait vue dans ses bois, - Ou Vénus dans sa grotte obscure. - Cruel Énée, amant trop fugitif, - Que le diable t’emporte et t’étrangle tout vif! - - Tu m’as ravi, cruel, oui, oui, tu m’as ravi - Un cœur plein d’amoureuse rage; - Et tu t’en es si mal servi, - Qu’il ne peut servir davantage: - Mais voler trois coiffes de nuit, - Et dérober ma jarretière! - Va, va te promener, et tout ce qui s’ensuit: - Ce ne sont point là tours à faire. - - Tu m’as volé mille soupirs, - Et des soupirs chauds comme braise, - Non pas de languissants zéphyrs, - Mais de vrais soufflets à fournaise. - Cruel Énée, amant trop fugitif, - Que le diable t’emporte et t’étrangle tout vif. - - Que toujours le nigaud qui te sert d’écuyer, - Laisse ton âme désolée, - Sans mettre en son état premier - Ta ridicule Dulcinée; - Qu’elle se ressente à jamais, - L’impertinente créature, - De toutes tes rigueurs, des maux que tu m’as faits, - De tous les tourments que j’endure. - - Puisses-tu dans tes plus hauts faits, - N’avoir que mauvaise aventure, - Et qu’avec toi tous tes souhaits - Soient bientôt dans ta sépulture! - Cruel Énée, amant trop fugitif, - Que le diable t’emporte et t’étrangle tout vif[121]! - - [121] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Tandis qu’Altisidore se lamentait de la sorte, don Quichotte la -regardait avec de grands yeux; tout à coup, se tournant vers Sancho: Par -le salut de tes aïeux, lui dit-il, je te prie, je t’adjure de déclarer -la vérité: emportes-tu, par hasard, les trois mouchoirs et les -jarretières dont parle cette amoureuse damoiselle! - -Les mouchoirs, j’en conviens, répondit Sancho; mais de jarretières, pas -plus que sur ma main. - -Quoiqu’elle la connût pour une personne très-hardie et très-facétieuse, -la duchesse ne revenait pas de l’effronterie de sa suivante; mais le -duc, à qui le jeu plaisait, ne fut pas fâché de le prolonger. Seigneur -chevalier, dit-il à don Quichotte, votre conduite est inexcusable, -surtout après le bon accueil que Votre Grâce a reçu dans ce château: -votre action dénote un mauvais cœur, et trahit un genre de faiblesse -qui s’accorde mal avec ce que la renommée publie de vous. Rendez les -jarretières à cette demoiselle, sinon je vous défie en combat à outrance -sans craindre que les enchanteurs changent mes traits, comme cela est -arrivé à mon laquais Tosilos. - -Dieu me préserve, seigneur, répondit notre héros, de tirer l’épée contre -votre illustre personne de qui j’ai reçu tant de faveurs. Les mouchoirs, -je les ferai rendre, puisque Sancho dit qu’il les a: quant aux -jarretières, ni lui ni moi ne les avons vues: que cette belle demoiselle -veuille bien les chercher dans sa toilette, sans aucun doute elle les y -trouvera. Jamais je n’ai rien dérobé, seigneur duc, et j’espère ne -jamais donner sujet qu’on m’accuse de pareilles bassesses, à moins que -Dieu ne m’abandonne. Cette jeune fille, on le voit bien, parle avec le -dépit d’un cœur amoureux, que je n’ai nullement pensé à enflammer; -aussi n’ai-je point d’excuses à lui faire, non plus qu’à Votre -Excellence, que je supplie très-humblement d’avoir de moi meilleure -opinion, et de me permettre de continuer mon voyage. - -Partez, seigneur don Quichotte, dit la duchesse, et puisse la fortune -vous être toujours fidèle, afin que nous puissions entendre parler de -vos nouveaux exploits; partez, car votre présence est un mauvais remède -aux blessures que l’amour a faites à mes femmes. Quant à celle-ci, je la -châtierai si bien, qu’elle sera plus réservée à l’avenir. - -O valeureux chevalier! s’écria Altisidore, encore deux mots, je t’en -conjure: pardon de t’avoir accusé du vol de mes jarretières; je te fais -réparation d’honneur, car je les ai sur moi en ce moment; mais je suis -si troublée que je ressemble à celui qui cherchait son âne pendant qu’il -était monté dessus. - -Ne l’avais-je pas dit? s’écria Sancho: ah! vraiment, c’est bien moi -qu’il faut accuser de larcin! si j’avais voulu voler, n’en avais-je pas -une belle occasion dans mon gouvernement? - -Don Quichotte se baissa avec grâce sur ses arçons, pour saluer le duc, -la duchesse et tous les assistants, puis, tournant bride, il sortit du -château et prit le chemin de Saragosse. - -CHAPITRE LVIII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE RENCONTRA AVENTURES SUR AVENTURES, ET EN SI GRAND -NOMBRE, QU’IL NE SAVAIT DE QUEL COTÉ SE TOURNER. - -Lorsque don Quichotte se vit en rase campagne, libre et à l’abri des -importunités d’Altisidore, il se sentit renaître, et il lui sembla -qu’une force nouvelle se manifestait en lui pour pratiquer mieux que -jamais sa profession de chevalier errant. Ami, dit-il en se tournant -vers son écuyer, de tous les biens dont le ciel a comblé les mortels, le -plus précieux est la liberté, les trésors que la terre cache dans ses -entrailles, ceux que la mer recèle dans ses vastes profondeurs, n’ont -rien qui lui soit comparable: pour la liberté aussi bien que pour -l’honneur, on peut et on doit aventurer sa vie. Tu as été témoin, -Sancho, des délices et de l’abondance dont nous avons joui dans ce -château; eh bien, te l’avouerai-je? au milieu de ces banquets somptueux, -de ces breuvages exquis, il me semblait toujours souffrir le tourment -de la soif et de la faim. Non, je ne jouissais point de ces choses avec -la même liberté que si elles m’eussent appartenu: car l’obligation de -reconnaître les bienfaits et les services qu’on a reçus est un lien -serré de mille nœuds qui tient une âme constamment captive. Heureux -celui à qui le ciel a donné un morceau de pain, et qui n’est tenu d’en -remercier que le ciel lui-même! - -Malgré tout ce que vient de dire Votre Grâce, répondit Sancho, nous ne -saurions nous empêcher d’être reconnaissants de la bourse de deux cents -écus d’or que m’a donnée le majordome de monseigneur le duc; aussi je la -porte sur mon cœur, comme une relique contre la nécessité, et comme un -bouclier contre les accidents qu’on rencontre à toute heure: car pour un -château où l’on fait bonne chère, il y a cent hôtelleries où l’on est -roué de coups. - -Déjà depuis quelque temps le chevalier et l’écuyer errants marchaient -s’entretenant de la sorte, quand ils aperçurent une douzaine d’hommes en -costume de paysans, qui dînaient assis sur l’herbe, leurs manteaux leur -servant de nappe. Près d’eux, d’espace en espace, étaient étendus de -grands draps blancs, qui recouvraient quelque chose. Don Quichotte -s’approcha, et ayant salué poliment, il demanda ce que cachaient ces -toiles. - -Seigneur, répondit un de ces hommes, sous ces toiles sont des figures -sculptées destinées à un reposoir qu’on est en train de faire dans notre -village. Nous les portons sur nos épaules, de peur qu’elles ne se -brisent, et nous les couvrons, afin qu’elles ne se gâtent point à l’air -et par les chemins. - -Vous me feriez plaisir si vous vouliez me permettre de les voir, dit don -Quichotte, car je m’imagine que des figures dont on prend un tel soin -doivent être fort belles. - -Oui, certes, elles le sont, répondit l’interlocuteur; mais aussi il faut -savoir ce qu’elles coûtent! il n’y en a pas une seule qui ne revienne à -plus de cinquante ducats. Vous allez en juger, ajouta-t-il. Et il -découvrit une superbe figure représentant un saint George à cheval -vainqueur d’un dragon auquel il tenait la lance contre la poitrine. -L’image entière ressemblait à une châsse d’or. - -Don Quichotte ayant quelque temps considéré la figure: Ce chevalier, -dit-il, fut un des plus illustres chevaliers errants de la milice -céleste; il s’appelait saint George et fut un grand protecteur de -l’honneur des dames. Passons au suivant. L’homme la découvrit, et l’on -reconnut l’image de saint Martin également à cheval, et partageant son -manteau avec le pauvre. Ce chevalier, poursuivit notre héros, était -aussi un grand aventurier chrétien; mais il se montra plus charitable -encore que vaillant, comme tu peux le voir, Sancho, puisqu’il coupe son -manteau pour en donner la moitié à un pauvre; et ce fut probablement en -hiver; autrement, charitable comme il l’était, il lui aurait donné le -manteau tout entier. - -Vous n’y êtes pas, repartit Sancho; c’est parce qu’il savait le -proverbe: Pour donner et pour avoir, compter il faut savoir. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, et il demanda qu’on lui fît -voir une autre figure. - -Cette fois on découvrit l’image du patron des Espagnes, l’épée sanglante -à la main, culbutant les Mores et les foulant sous les pieds de son -coursier. Oh! pour celui-ci, s’écria notre héros, c’était un des plus -fameux aventuriers qui aient jamais suivi l’étendard de la croix: c’est -le grand saint Jacques, surnommé le tueur de Mores, un des plus -vaillants chevaliers qu’ait possédé le monde, et que possède maintenant -le ciel. - -On lui fit voir ensuite un saint Paul précipité à bas de son cheval, -avec toutes les circonstances qui d’habitude accompagnent le récit de sa -conversion. Ce saint-là, dit don Quichotte, fut d’abord un très-grand -ennemi de l’Église de Dieu, mais il a fini par en être le plus zélé -défenseur. Chevalier errant pendant sa vie, saint inébranlable dans la -foi jusqu’à la mort, ouvrier infatigable de la vigne du Seigneur, -docteur des nations, il puisa sa doctrine dans le ciel, et eut -Jésus-Christ lui-même pour instituteur et pour maître. Enfants, couvrez -vos images. Mes frères, reprit-il, je tiens à bon présage ce que je -viens de voir; car ces chevaliers exercèrent la profession que j’ai -embrassée, celle des armes, avec cette différence toutefois qu’ils -furent saints, et qu’ils combattirent avec des armes célestes, tandis -que moi, pécheur, je combats à la manière des hommes. Ils ont conquis le -ciel par la violence, car le royaume des cieux veut qu’on l’obtienne par -la violence; mais moi, jusqu’à cette heure, je ne sais trop ce que j’ai -conquis, quelles que soient les fatigues que j’ai endurées. Oh! si ma -chère Dulcinée pouvait être délivrée des peines qu’elle endure, mon sort -s’améliorant et mon esprit se trouvant plus en repos, peut-être -m’engagerais-je dans une voie meilleure que celle où j’ai marché jusqu’à -présent. - -Que Dieu t’entende! dit tout bas Sancho! - -Ces hommes n’étaient pas moins surpris de la figure de notre héros que -de son langage, auquel ils ne comprenaient rien ou peu s’en faut. Leur -repas achevé, ils chargèrent les figures sur leurs épaules, prirent -congé de don Quichotte, et continuèrent leur chemin. - -Comme s’il n’eût jamais entendu parler son maître, Sancho était resté -tout ébahi, voyant bien qu’il n’y avait point d’histoire au monde dont -il n’eût une parfaite connaissance. En vérité, monseigneur, lui dit-il, -si ce qui vient de nous arriver peut s’appeler une aventure, c’est -assurément la plus douce et la plus agréable que nous ayons rencontrée -jusqu’ici: nous en sommes sortis sans coups de bâton; nous n’avons point -mis l’épée à la main; nous n’avons pas mesuré la terre de nos corps, -enfin nous voilà sains et saufs, sans avoir souffert ni la soif ni la -faim. Dieu soit béni de la grâce qu’il m’a faite de voir tout cela de -mes propres yeux. - -C’est vrai, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte; mais tu dois savoir que les -temps ne se ressemblent pas, et qu’on n’a pas toujours mauvaise chance. -Là où le vulgaire ne voit qu’un fâcheux présage, celui qui a le sens -droit voit une heureuse rencontre. Un homme superstitieux sort de chez -lui de bon matin, et il se trouve face à face avec un moine de l’ordre -de Saint-François, aussitôt il tourne les talons comme s’il eût -rencontré le diable; on renverse du sel sur la table, et le voilà tout -mélancolique, comme si la nature devait employer des moyens aussi -futiles pour nous avertir des malheurs qui nous menacent. L’homme sage -et chrétien n’attache aucune importance à de semblables vétilles. -Scipion arrive en Afrique, trébuche en sautant à terre, et voit que ses -soldats tiennent sa chute à mauvais présage; aussitôt, embrassant le -sol: Afrique, je te tiens, dit-il, tu ne m’échapperas pas. Ainsi, moi, -ami Sancho, je considère comme un bonheur d’avoir rencontré ces images. - -Je le crois, dit Sancho; je voudrais seulement que Votre Grâce daignât -m’expliquer pourquoi, en invoquant, avant de livrer bataille, ce saint -Jacques, le tueur de Mores, les Espagnols ont coutume de s’écrier: -_Saint Jacques, et ferme, Espagne[122]!_ L’Espagne est-elle ouverte, -qu’il soit besoin de la fermer? Quelle cérémonie est-ce là? - - [122] Santiago, y cierra, España. Le mot _cerrar_, qui primitivement - signifiait attaquer, veut dire aujourd’hui: fermer. C’est comme, en - France, _Montjoie, Saint-Denis!_ - -Que tu es simple, mon pauvre ami! répondit don Quichotte: apprends que -Dieu a donné aux Espagnols pour protecteur ce grand chevalier à la -Croix-Vermeille, et surtout dans les luttes terribles qu’ils ont -autrefois soutenues contre les Mores! C’est pour cela qu’ils l’invoquent -dans les combats, car on l’a vu souvent en personne, foulant aux pieds, -détruisant les escadrons ennemis, comme je pourrais t’en fournir cent -exemples tirés des histoires les plus dignes de foi. - -Changeant d’entretien, Sancho dit à son maître: En vérité, seigneur, je -ne reviens pas de l’effronterie de cette Altisidore: il faut que la -pauvrette en ait dans l’aile, et que ce petit scélérat qu’on appelle -Amour l’ait diantrement blessée! Le drôle n’y voit goutte, dit-on; mais -cela n’y fait rien: lorsqu’il prend un cœur pour but, il vous le perce -de part en part avec ses flèches. J’avais entendu dire que les flèches -de l’amour s’émoussaient contre la sagesse des filles; eh bien, c’est -tout le contraire chez cette Altisidore, car on dirait qu’elles ne s’en -aiguisent que mieux. - -Ami Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, l’amour ne connaît ni ménagements, ni -considérations: il est comme la mort, qui n’épargne pas plus les rois -que les bergers. Lorsqu’il s’empare d’un cœur, la première chose qu’il -fait, c’est d’en chasser la honte et la crainte. Ainsi, comme tu l’as -vu, c’est sans pudeur qu’Altisidore m’a montré des désirs qui ont excité -chez moi moins de pitié que de confusion. - -O cruauté notoire, ingratitude inouïe! s’écria Sancho; que ne -s’adressait-elle à moi, je me serais rendu au premier petit mot d’amour! -Mort de ma vie! quel cœur de rocher! quelles entrailles de bronze a -Votre Grâce! Mais qu’a donc pu découvrir en vous la pauvre fille pour -prendre ainsi feu comme une étoupe? Où donc est la beauté qui l’a si -fort charmée dans votre personne? Je vous ai bien des fois regardé de la -tête aux pieds, et jamais, je dois l’avouer, je n’ai vu chez vous que -des choses plutôt faites pour épouvanter les gens que pour les séduire. -S’il est vrai, comme on le prétend, que pour éveiller l’amour -l’essentiel soit la beauté, Votre Grâce n’en ayant pas du tout, je ne -sais de quoi s’est amourachée cette Altisidore. - -Apprends, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, qu’il y a deux sortes de beauté, -celle de l’âme et celle du corps. Celle de l’âme se manifeste par -l’esprit, la libéralité, la courtoisie, et tout cela peut se rencontrer -chez un homme laid; quand on possède cette beauté, et non celle du -corps, l’amour qu’on inspire n’est que plus ardent et plus durable. Moi, -Sancho, je sais fort bien que je ne suis pas beau, mais enfin je ne suis -pas difforme; et il suffit à un honnête homme de n’être pas un monstre, -pour être capable d’inspirer une passion aussi vive que profonde. - -En devisant ainsi, ils étaient entrés dans une forêt qui se trouvait sur -leur chemin, lorsque, sans y penser, don Quichotte se trouva pris dans -de grands filets de soie verte, tendus parmi les arbres: Sancho, dit-il, -voici, si je ne me trompe, une des aventures les plus étranges qu’on -puisse imaginer: qu’on me pende si les enchanteurs qui me persécutent -n’ont pas résolu de m’empêtrer dans ces filets et d’interrompre mon -voyage pour venger Altisidore de l’indifférence que je lui ai montrée. -Eh bien, je leur déclare que quand même ces filets, au lieu d’être -tissus de soie verte, seraient de durs diamants, et mille fois plus -forts que ceux dans lesquels le jaloux Vulcain emprisonna jadis Mars et -Vénus, je les romprais avec la même facilité que s’ils n’étaient -composés que de joncs marins ou d’effilures de coton. - -Il s’apprêtait à passer outre, au risque de tout briser, quand il vit -sortir de l’épaisseur du bois deux femmes vêtues en bergères; mais avec -cette différence que leurs corsets étaient de fin brocart et leurs jupes -de riche taffetas doré! Leurs cheveux, si blonds qu’ils pouvaient le -disputer à ceux d’Apollon lui-même, tombaient en longues boucles sur -leurs épaules; leurs têtes étaient couronnées de guirlandes, où se -mêlaient le laurier vert et la rouge amarante, leur âge était au-dessus -de quinze années, mais sans atteindre encore la dix-huitième. A cette -vue, Sancho ouvre de grands yeux, et don Quichotte reste interdit; le -Soleil arrête sa course, et tous étaient dans un merveilleux silence. -Enfin une des bergères, s’adressant à notre héros: - -Arrêtez, seigneur chevalier, arrêtez, lui dit-elle, ne brisez pas ces -filets, ils ne cachent aucun piége; nous ne les avons fait tendre que -pour nous divertir; comme je pense que vous désirez savoir qui nous -sommes et quel est notre dessein, je vais vous l’expliquer en peu de -mots. A deux lieues d’ici, dans un village qu’habitent des gens de -qualité, plusieurs personnes de la même famille sont convenues de venir -s’amuser en cet endroit, qui est un des plus agréables des environs, -afin de former entre elles une nouvelle Arcadie pastorale. Les jeunes -gens sont vêtus en bergers, les jeunes filles en bergères. Nous avons -étudié deux églogues, l’une est de Garcilasso, l’autre du fameux -Camoëns, poëte portugais. Nous ne sommes ici que d’hier, et nous avons -fait dresser des tentes sous ces arbres, au bord de ce ruisseau qui -arrose les prés d’alentour. La nuit dernière, on a tendu ces filets pour -y prendre les petits oiseaux qui, chassés par le bruit, viendraient s’y -jeter sans méfiance. Si vous consentez, seigneur, à devenir notre hôte, -soyez le bienvenu; nous en aurons tous une grande joie, car nous ne -connaissons pas la mélancolie. - -En vérité, belle et noble dame, répondit don Quichotte, Actéon fut moins -agréablement surpris quand il aperçut au bain la chaste Diane, que je le -suis en vous voyant. Je loue l’objet de vos divertissements, et je vous -rends grâces de vos offres obligeantes. Si je puis vous servir, parlez, -vous êtes sûre d’être promptement obéie, car ma profession est de me -montrer affable et empressé, surtout envers les personnes de votre -qualité et de votre mérite. Si ces filets, qui n’occupent qu’un faible -espace, s’étendaient sur toute la surface de la terre, j’irais, plutôt -que de les rompre, chercher un passage dans de nouveaux continents; et -afin que vous n’en doutiez pas, apprenez que celui qui vous parle est -don Quichotte de la Manche, si toutefois ce nom est arrivé jusqu’à vos -oreilles. - -Quel bonheur est le nôtre! chère amie de mon âme, s’écria l’autre -bergère; regarde ce seigneur! eh bien, c’est le plus vaillant et le plus -courtois chevalier qu’il y ait au monde, si l’histoire qui court -imprimée de ses hauts faits ne ment point: je l’ai lue, et je gage que -ce brave homme qui l’accompagne est Sancho Panza, son écuyer, dont -personne n’égale les aimables saillies. - -Vous ne vous trompez pas, Madame, répondit Sancho, c’est moi-même qui -suis ce plaisant écuyer que vous dites, et ce seigneur est mon maître, -le même don Quichotte de la Manche dont parle cette histoire. - -Est-il possible, chère amie! dit l’autre bergère; en ce cas, il faut -prier ces étrangers de rester avec nous; nos parents et nos frères en -auront une joie infinie. J’avais déjà entendu parler de ce que tu viens -de me dire; on ajoute même que ce chevalier est l’amant le plus constant -et le plus amoureux que l’on connaisse, et que sa dame est une certaine -Dulcinée du Toboso à qui l’Espagne entière décerne la palme de la -beauté. - -Rien de plus vrai, repartit don Quichotte; votre beauté, mesdames, -pourrait seule remettre la chose en question. Mais cessez de vouloir me -retenir: les devoirs impérieux de ma profession m’interdisent de me -reposer jamais. - -Sur ces entrefaites arriva le frère d’une des bergères, vêtu aussi en -berger, et avec non moins de richesse et d’élégance. Sa sœur lui ayant -appris que celui à qui elles parlaient était le valeureux don Quichotte -de la Manche, et l’autre son écuyer Sancho, le jeune homme, qui avait lu -leur histoire, adressa un gracieux compliment au chevalier, et le pria -avec tant d’instance de les accompagner, que notre héros y consentit. On -continua la chasse aux huées, et une multitude d’oiseaux, trompés par la -couleur des filets, tombèrent dans le péril qu’ils croyaient éviter. -Cela fit rassembler les chasseurs, qui bientôt réunis au nombre de plus -de cinquante, vêtus en bergers et en bergères, et ravis d’apprendre que -c’était là don Quichotte et son écuyer, les emmenèrent vers les tentes -où la table était dressée. On fit asseoir le chevalier à la place -d’honneur; et pendant le repas, tous le regardaient avec étonnement, -tous étaient ravis de le voir. Mais lorsqu’on fut près de lever la -nappe, don Quichotte, promenant ses yeux sur les convives, prit la -parole en ces termes: - -De tous les péchés des hommes, bien qu’on ait souvent prétendu que le -plus grand c’est l’orgueil, je soutiens, moi, que c’est l’ingratitude, -et je me fonde sur ce qu’on dit communément que l’enfer est peuplé -d’ingrats. Ce péché, je me suis toute ma vie efforcé de l’éviter; et -lorsque je ne puis payer par d’autres services les services qu’on me -rend, mon impuissance est du moins compensée par l’intention; mais comme -cela ne saurait suffire, je les publie, je les proclame, afin qu’on -sache bien que si un jour il m’arrive de pouvoir les reconnaître, je n’y -faillirai pas. Trop souvent, hélas! je me suis vu réduit au stérile -désir de m’acquitter, celui qui reçoit étant toujours au-dessous de -celui qui donne. Ainsi, envers Dieu qui nous accorde à toute heure tant -de faveurs, qu’est-il possible à l’homme de faire pour s’acquitter? -Rien, car la distance qui les sépare est infinie. A cette impuissance, à -cette misère, supplée jusqu’à un certain point la gratitude et la -reconnaissance. C’est pourquoi, reconnaissant du gracieux accueil qu’on -m’a fait ici, mais ne pouvant y répondre dans la même mesure, je suis -contraint de me renfermer dans les étroites limites de mon pouvoir, et -de n’offrir bien à regret que les modestes prémices de ma moisson. Je -déclare donc que pendant deux jours entiers, armé de toutes pièces, et -au milieu de cette grande route qui conduit à Saragosse, je soutiendrai -contre tout venant que les dames ici présentes sont les plus courtoises -et les plus belles qu’il y ait au monde, à l’exception toutefois de la -sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, unique maîtresse de mes pensées, soit -dit sans offenser aucune des dames qui m’entendent. - -A ces dernières paroles, Sancho, qui écoutait de toutes ses oreilles, ne -put se contenir et s’écria: Est-il possible qu’il y ait sous le ciel des -gens assez osés pour dire et jurer même que mon maître est fou? -Répondez, seigneurs bergers, quel est le curé de village, si sensé et si -savant qu’il soit, qui serait capable de mieux parler que ne vient de le -faire monseigneur don Quichotte, quel chevalier errant avec toutes ses -rodomontades oserait proposer chose pareille? - -Don Quichotte se tourna brusquement vers son écuyer, et lui dit le -visage enflammé de colère: Est-il possible, ô Sancho! qu’il se trouve -dans l’univers entier un homme qui ose dire que tu n’es pas un sot -doublé de malice et de friponnerie? Qui te prie de te mêler de mes -affaires, et de rechercher si je suis fou ou si je ne le suis pas. -Tais-toi, va seller Rossinante, afin que je réalise ma promesse, car -avec la raison que j’ai de mon côté, tu peux tenir pour vaincus tous -ceux qui oseraient me contredire. - -Sur ce, il se leva avec des gestes d’indignation, laissant les -spectateurs douter de sa sagesse aussi bien que de sa folie. Tous le -prièrent de ne point pousser le défi plus avant, disant qu’ils -connaissaient assez la délicatesse de ses sentiments, sans qu’il en -donnât de nouvelles preuves; et qu’il n’avait pas non plus besoin de -signaler davantage sa valeur, puisqu’ils connaissaient son histoire. - -Don Quichotte n’en persista pas moins dans sa résolution. Enfourchant -Rossinante, il embrasse sa rondache, et, la lance au poing, va se camper -au milieu du grand chemin, suivi de Sancho et de toute la troupe des -bergers et des bergères curieux de voir quelle serait l’issue d’un défi -si singulier et si arrogant. Campé, comme on vient de le dire, au beau -milieu du chemin, notre héros fit retentir l’air de ces superbes -paroles: - -O vous, chevaliers, écuyers, voyageurs à pied et à cheval, qui passez ou -devez passer sur cette route pendant les deux jours entiers qui vont -suivre, apprenez que don Quichotte de la Manche, chevalier errant, est -ici pour soutenir que toutes les beautés et courtoisies de la terre sont -surpassées par celles que l’on rencontre chez les nymphes de ces prés et -de ces bois, à l’exception toutefois de la reine de mon âme, la sans -pareille Dulcinée du Toboso. Que celui qui oserait soutenir le -contraire, sache que je l’attends ici! - -Par deux fois il répéta le même défi, et deux fois ses paroles ne furent -entendues d’aucun chevalier errant. - -Mais le sort, qui conduisait de mieux en mieux ses affaires, voulut que -peu de temps après on vît venir sur la route un grand nombre de -cavaliers, armés de lances et s’avançant en toute hâte. Ceux qui étaient -avec notre chevalier ne les eurent pas plus tôt aperçus, qu’ils -s’empressèrent de s’éloigner du chemin, jugeant qu’il y avait danger à -barrer le passage. Don Quichotte, d’un cœur intrépide, resta seul sur -la place, tandis que Sancho se faisait un bouclier de la croupe de -Rossinante. Cependant la troupe confuse des cavaliers approchait, et -l’un d’eux, qui marchait en avant, se mit à crier à don Quichotte: Gare, -homme du diable, gare du chemin! ne vois-tu pas que ces taureaux vont te -mettre en pièces? - -Canailles, répondit don Quichotte, vous avez bien rencontré votre homme! -Pour moi, il n’y a taureaux qui vaillent, fussent-ils les plus -formidables de la vallée de Jarama. Confessez tous, malandrins, -confessez la vérité de ce que je viens de proclamer, sinon préparez-vous -au combat. - -Le guide n’eut pas le temps de répliquer, ni don Quichotte de se -détourner, quand même il l’aurait voulu: aussi la bande entière des -redoutables taureaux, avec les bœufs paisibles qui servaient à les -conduire, et la foule de gens qui les accompagnaient à la ville où une -course devait se faire le lendemain, tout cela passa par-dessus don -Quichotte, par-dessus Sancho, Rossinante et le grison, les roulant à -terre et les foulant aux pieds. De l’aventure, Sancho resta moulu, don -Quichotte exaspéré, Rossinante et le grison dans un état fort peu -orthodoxe. A la fin, pourtant, ils se relevèrent, et don Quichotte, -encore étourdi de sa chute, trébuchant ici, bronchant là, se mit à -courir après le troupeau de bêtes à cornes, en criant: Arrêtez, -malandrins, arrêtez; c’est un seul chevalier qui vous défie, lequel -n’est ni de l’humeur ni de l’avis de ceux qui disent: «A l’ennemi qui -fuit fais un pont d’or.» - -Mais le vent emportait ses menaces, et, le troupeau s’éloignant -toujours, notre chevalier, plus enflammé de colère que rassasié de -vengeance, s’assit sur le bord du chemin, attendant Sancho, Rossinante -et le grison. Ils arrivèrent enfin; maître et valet remontèrent sur -leurs bêtes, et sans dire adieu aux nymphes de la nouvelle Arcadie -continuèrent tout honteux leur chemin. - -Une claire fontaine, qui serpentait au milieu d’un épais bouquet -d’arbres, fut un utile secours pour rafraîchir nos aventuriers et -nettoyer la poussière qu’ils devaient à l’incivilité des taureaux. Ils -s’assirent auprès de cette fontaine, et après avoir débridé Rossinante -et le grison, ils secouèrent leurs habits. Don Quichotte se rinça la -bouche, se lava le visage, et par cette ablution rendit quelque énergie -à ses esprits abattus; quant à Sancho, il se mit à visiter le bissac, et -en tira ce qu’il avait coutume d’appeler sa victuaille. - -CHAPITRE LIX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE, ET QUE L’ON PEUT VÉRITABLEMENT APPELER -UNE AVENTURE. - -Don Quichotte était si triste, si fatigué, qu’il ne songeait point à -manger, et Sancho, par déférence, n’osait toucher à ce qui était devant -lui. Mais voyant qu’enseveli dans ses pensées son maître oubliait de -prendre aucune nourriture, il mit de côté toute retenue et commença à -enfourner dans son estomac le pain et le fromage qu’il avait sous la -main. Mange, ami Sancho, mange, lui dit don Quichotte; jouis du plaisir -de vivre, plaisir que tu sais goûter bien mieux que moi, et laisse-moi -mourir sous le poids de mes disgrâces. Je suis né pour vivre en mourant, -comme toi, Sancho, pour mourir en mangeant; et afin de te prouver -combien j’ai raison de parler ainsi, vois-moi, je te prie, imprimé dans -les histoires, fameux par mes exploits, loyal dans mes actions, honoré -des princes, sollicité des jeunes filles; et malgré tout cela, au moment -où j’avais le droit d’espérer les palmes et les lauriers mérités par mes -hauts faits, je me suis vu ce matin terrassé, foulé aux pieds par des -animaux immondes, au point d’être pris en pitié par ceux qui apprendront -notre aventure! Crois-tu, mon ami, que l’amertume d’une telle pensée ne -soit pas faite pour émousser les dents, engourdir les mains et ôter -l’appétit? Aussi, mon enfant, suis-je résolu à me laisser mourir de -faim, ce qui de toutes les morts est la mort la plus cruelle. - -Ainsi, répondit Sancho, qui ne cessait de jouer des mâchoires, Votre -Grâce n’est pas de l’avis du proverbe qui dit: Meure la poule, pourvu -qu’elle meure soûle. Quant à moi, je ne suis pas si sot que de me -laisser mourir de faim: et je prétends imiter le cordonnier, qui tire le -cuir avec ses dents jusqu’à ce qu’il le fasse arriver où il veut. -Sachez, seigneur, qu’il n’y a pire folie que celle de se désespérer -comme le fait Votre Grâce; croyez-moi, mangez, et après avoir mangé, -dormez deux heures, le ventre au soleil, sur l’herbe de cette prairie: -et si vous n’êtes pas mieux en vous réveillant, dites que je suis une -bête. - -Don Quichotte lui promit de suivre son conseil, sachant par expérience -combien la philosophie naturelle l’emporte sur tous les raisonnements. -Si, en attendant, mon fils, ajouta-t-il, tu voulais faire ce que je vais -te dire, mon soulagement serait plus assuré et mes peines plus légères: -ce serait tandis que je vais sommeiller uniquement pour te complaire, de -t’écarter un peu, et, mettant ta peau à l’air, de t’administrer avec la -bride de Rossinante trois ou quatre cents coups de fouet, à valoir sur -les trois mille trois cents que tu dois te donner pour le -désenchantement de Dulcinée; car, je te le demande, n’est-ce pas pitié -que cette pauvre dame reste dans l’état où elle est, et cela par ta -négligence? - -L’affaire mérite réflexion, répondit Sancho; dormons d’abord, nous -verrons ensuite; car enfin, croyez-vous que ce soit chose bien -raisonnable, qu’un homme se fouette ainsi de sang-froid, et surtout -quand les coups doivent tomber sur un corps mal nourri? Que madame -Dulcinée prenne patience; un de ces jours, quand elle y pensera le -moins, elle me verra percé comme un crible. Jusqu’à la mort tout est -vie: je veux dire que je suis encore de ce monde, et que j’aurai tout le -temps de tenir ma promesse. - -Don Quichotte se tint pour satisfait de la parole de son écuyer, et -après avoir mangé, l’un beaucoup, l’autre peu, tous deux s’étendirent -sur l’herbe, laissant paître en liberté Rossinante et le grison. - -Le jour était avancé quand nos aventuriers se réveillèrent; aussitôt ils -reprirent leurs montures pour atteindre une hôtellerie que l’on -découvrait à environ une lieue de là: je dis hôtellerie, parce que don -Quichotte la nomma ainsi de lui-même, contre sa coutume d’appeler toutes -les hôtelleries des châteaux. En entrant, ils demandèrent s’il y avait -place pour loger; il leur fut répondu que oui, et avec toutes les -commodités qu’ils pourraient trouver même à Saragosse. Ils mirent donc -pied à terre; puis Sancho ayant déposé les bagages dans une chambre dont -l’hôtelier lui remit la clef, il alla mettre Rossinante et le grison à -l’écurie, et leur donna la ration en rendant grâces à Dieu de ce que son -maître avait pris cette maison pour ce qu’elle était en réalité. Quand -il revint auprès de lui, il le trouva assis sur un banc. - -L’heure du souper venue, don Quichotte se retira dans sa chambre, et -Sancho demanda à l’hôtelier ce qu’il avait à leur donner. - -Parlez, répondit celui-ci: en animaux de la terre, en oiseaux de l’air, -en poissons de la mer, vous serez servis à bouche que veux-tu. - -Il ne nous en faut pas tant, repartit Sancho: deux bons poulets feront -notre affaire, car mon maître est délicat et mange peu, et moi, je ne -suis pas glouton à l’excès. - -L’hôtelier répondit qu’il n’y avait pas de poulets, parce que les milans -les détruisaient tous. - -Eh bien, faites-nous donner une poule grasse et tendre, dit Sancho. - -Une poule? reprit l’hôtelier, en frappant du pied, par ma foi, j’en -envoyai vendre hier plus de cinquante à la ville. Mais, excepté cela, -dites ce que vous désirez. - -Aurez-vous du moins quelque tranche de veau ou de chevreau? demanda -Sancho. - -Pour l’heure, il n’y en a point céans, répondit l’hôtelier; ce matin on -a mangé le dernier morceau; mais je vous assure que la semaine prochaine -il y en aura de reste. - -Courage, dit Sancho, nous y voilà: je gage que toutes ces grandes -provisions vont aboutir à une tranche de lard et à des œufs. - -Parbleu, reprit l’hôtelier, mon hôte a bonne mémoire! je viens de lui -dire que je n’ai ni poules ni poulets, et il veut qu’il y ait des œufs! -Cherchez, s’il vous plaît, quelque autre chose, et laissons-là toutes -ces délicatesses. - -Eh, morbleu! finissons-en, dit Sancho, et dites-nous vite ce que vous -avez pour souper, sans nous faire tant languir. - -Eh bien, répondit l’hôtelier, j’ai tout prêts deux pieds de bœuf à -l’oignon avec de la moutarde: c’est un manger de prince. - -Des pieds de bœuf! s’écria Sancho; que personne n’y touche, je les -retiens pour moi: rien n’est plus de mon goût. - -Je vous les garderai, répondit l’hôtelier, parce que les autres -voyageurs que j’ai ici sont gens d’assez haute volée pour mener avec -eux cuisinier, sommelier et provisions de bouche. - -Pour la qualité, dit Sancho, mon maître ne le cède à personne; mais sa -profession ne permet ni sommelier, ni maître d’hôtel; le plus souvent -nous nous étendons au milieu d’un pré, et nous mangeons à notre soûl des -nèfles et des glands. - -La discussion finit là; et quoique l’hôtelier eût demandé à Sancho -quelle était la profession de son maître, Sancho s’en alla sans lui -donner satisfaction. L’heure du souper venue, l’hôtelier apporta le -ragoût, qu’il avait annoncé, dans la chambre de don Quichotte, et le -chevalier se mit à table. - -A peine commençait-il à manger que, dans une chambre séparée de la -sienne par une simple cloison, il entendit quelqu’un qui disait: Par la -vie de Votre Grâce, seigneur don Geronimo, lisons en attendant qu’on -apporte le souper un autre chapitre de la seconde partie de l’histoire -de don Quichotte de la Manche. - -Notre chevalier n’eut pas plutôt entendu son nom qu’il était debout, et -prêtant l’oreille, il écouta ce qu’on disait de lui. Il saisit cette -réponse de don Geronimo: Pourquoi voulez-vous, seigneur don Juan, que -nous lisions ces sottises? Quand on connaît la première partie, quel -plaisir peut-on trouver à la seconde? - -D’accord, répliqua don Juan, mais il n’y a si mauvais livre qui n’ait -quelque bon côté: ce qui me déplaît toutefois dans cette seconde partie, -c’est qu’on y dit que don Quichotte est guéri de son amour pour Dulcinée -du Toboso. - -A ces mots, notre héros s’écria plein de dépit et de fureur: Quiconque -prétend que don Quichotte de la Manche a oublié, ou est capable -d’oublier Dulcinée du Toboso, ment par sa gorge, et je le lui prouverai -à armes égales. La sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso ne saurait être -oubliée, et un tel oubli est indigne de don Quichotte de la Manche: la -constance est sa devise, et son devoir de la garder incorruptible -jusqu’à la mort. - -Qui est-ce qui parle là? demanda-t-on de l’autre chambre. - -Et qui ce peut-il être, répondit Sancho, sinon don Quichotte de la -Manche lui-même, qui soutiendra tout ce qu’il vient de dire; car un bon -payeur ne craint pas de donner des gages. - -Sancho n’avait pas achevé de parler, que deux gentilshommes entrèrent -dans la chambre, et l’un d’eux se jetant dans les bras de notre héros: -Votre aspect, lui dit-il, ne dément point votre nom, ni votre nom votre -aspect, seigneur chevalier, et sans aucun doute vous êtes le véritable -don Quichotte de la Manche, l’étoile polaire de la chevalerie errante, -en dépit de l’imposteur qui a usurpé votre nom, et qui tâche d’effacer -l’éclat de vos prouesses, comme le prouve ce livre que je remets entre -vos mains. - -Don Quichotte prit le livre, et après l’avoir quelque temps feuilleté en -silence, il le rendit. Dans le peu que je viens de lire, dit-il, je -trouve trois choses fort blâmables: la première, ce sont quelques -passages de la préface; la seconde, c’est que le dialecte est aragonais, -car l’auteur supprime souvent les articles; et enfin la troisième, qui -prouve son ignorance, c’est qu’il se fourvoie sur un point capital de -l’histoire en disant que la femme de Sancho Panza, mon écuyer, s’appelle -Marie Guttierez, tandis qu’elle s’appelle Thérèse Panza. Celui qui fait -une erreur de cette importance doit être inexact dans tout le reste. - -Par ma foi, s’écria Sancho, voilà qui est beau pour un historien, et il -est joliment au courant de nos affaires, puisqu’il appelle Thérèse -Panza, ma femme, Marie Guttierez: seigneur, reprenez ce livre, je vous -prie, voyez un peu s’il y est parlé de moi, et si l’on n’a point aussi -changé mon nom. - -A ce que je vois, mon ami, repartit don Geronimo, vous êtes Sancho -Panza, l’écuyer du seigneur don Quichotte? - -Oui, seigneur, c’est moi, et je serais très-fâché que ce fût un autre. - -En vérité, dit le cavalier, l’auteur ne vous traite guère comme vous me -paraissez le mériter: il vous fait glouton et niais, et nullement -plaisant, bien différent en cela du Sancho de la première partie de -l’histoire de votre maître. - -Dieu lui pardonne, repartit Sancho, mieux eût valu qu’il m’oubliât tout -à fait; quand on ne sait pas jouer de la flûte, on ne devrait pas s’en -servir, et saint Pierre n’est bien qu’à Rome. - -Les deux cavaliers invitèrent notre héros à passer dans leur chambre et -à partager leur repas, disant qu’ils savaient que dans cette hôtellerie -il n’y avait rien qui fût digne de lui. Don Quichotte qui était la -courtoisie même, ne se fit pas prier davantage, et alla souper avec eux. -Resté en pleine possession du ragoût, Sancho prit le haut bout de la -table, l’hôtelier s’assit à ses côtés, et ils mangèrent avec appétit -leurs pieds de bœuf, buvant et riant comme s’ils eussent fait la plus -grande chère du monde. - -Pendant le repas, don Juan demanda à notre héros quelles nouvelles il -avait de madame Dulcinée du Toboso; si elle était mariée, si elle était -accouchée ou enceinte, ou si, restée chaste et fidèle, elle pensait à -couronner la constance du seigneur don Quichotte. - -Dulcinée est aussi pure, aussi intacte qu’au sortir du ventre de sa -mère, répondit notre chevalier; mon cœur est plus fidèle que jamais, -notre correspondance est toujours nulle, et sa beauté changée en la -laideur d’une grossière paysanne. Puis il leur conta l’enchantement de -sa maîtresse, ses aventures personnelles dans la caverne de Montesinos, -et la recette que lui avait enseignée Merlin pour désenchanter sa dame; -recette qui était la flagellation de Sancho. - -Les deux voyageurs furent ravis d’entendre de la bouche de don Quichotte -le récit de ses étranges aventures. Étonnés de tant d’extravagances et -de la manière dont il les racontait, tantôt ils le prenaient pour un -fou, tantôt pour un homme de bon sens, et en définitive ils ne savaient -que penser. - -Ayant achevé de souper, Sancho laissa l’hôtelier bien repu, et passa -dans la chambre des cavaliers: Qu’on me pende, seigneurs, dit-il en -entrant, si l’auteur de ce livre a envie que nous restions longtemps -bons amis; je voudrais bien, puisqu’il m’appelle glouton, comme vous le -dites, qu’il se dispensât de m’appeler ivrogne. - -En effet, c’est ainsi qu’il vous qualifie, répondit don Geronimo; je ne -me rappelle point le passage, mais je soutiens qu’il a mille fois tort: -la physionomie seule du seigneur Sancho, ici présent, fait assez voir -que celui qui en parle de la sorte est un imposteur. - -Vos Grâces peuvent m’en croire, reprit Sancho; le Sancho et le don -Quichotte de cette histoire doivent être d’autres gens que ceux de -l’histoire de Cid Hamet, qui fait mon maître sage, vaillant et amoureux, -et moi, simple et plaisant, mais non ivrogne et glouton. - -Je n’en doute pas, répondit don Juan, et il aurait fallu faire défense à -tout autre qu’à Cid Hamet de se mêler d’écrire les prouesses du grand -don Quichotte, de même qu’Alexandre défendit à tout autre peintre -qu’Apelle de faire son portrait. - -Fasse mon portrait qui voudra, dit don Quichotte; mais qu’on y prenne -garde, il y a un terme à la patience. - -Hé! répliqua don Juan, quelle injure ferait-on au seigneur don Quichotte -dont il ne puisse aisément tirer vengeance? à moins qu’il ne préférât la -parer avec le bouclier de cette patience qui, on le sait, n’est pas la -moindre des vertus qu’il possède? - -Une partie de la nuit se passa en de semblables entretiens, et toutes -les instances de don Juan pour engager notre héros à s’assurer si le -livre ne contenait pas d’autres impertinences, furent inutiles, don -Quichotte disant qu’il tenait l’ouvrage pour lu et relu, qu’il le -déclarait en tout et partout impertinent et menteur; que de plus si -l’auteur venait à savoir qu’il lui fût tombé entre les mains, il ne -voulait pas donner à un pareil imposteur le plaisir de croire qu’il se -fût arrêté à le lire, parce que si un honnête homme doit détourner sa -pensée des objets ridicules ou obscènes, à plus forte raison doit-il en -détourner les yeux. - -Don Juan ayant demandé à notre héros quels étaient ses projets et le but -de son voyage, il répondit qu’il se rendait à Saragosse, afin d’assister -aux joutes qui avaient lieu tous les ans. Mais lorsque don Juan lui eut -appris que dans l’ouvrage il était question d’une course de bagues où -l’auteur faisait figurer don Quichotte, récit dénué d’invention, pauvre -de style, plus pauvre encore en descriptions de livrées, mais fort riche -en niaiseries, en ce cas, repartit notre chevalier, il en aura le -démenti, je ne mettrai pas le pied à Saragosse; et alors tout le monde -reconnaîtra, je l’espère, que je ne suis pas le don Quichotte dont il -parle. - -Ce sera fort bien fait, dit don Geronimo: d’ailleurs il y a d’autres -joutes à Barcelone où Votre Seigneurie pourra signaler sa valeur. - -Tel est mon dessein, repartit don Quichotte. Mais il est temps que Vos -Grâces me permettent de leur souhaiter le bonsoir et d’aller prendre -quelque repos. Qu’elles me comptent désormais au nombre de leurs -meilleurs amis et de leurs plus fidèles serviteurs. - -Et moi aussi, ajouta Sancho; peut-être leur serai-je bon à quelque -chose. - -Le maître et le valet se retirèrent dans leur chambre, laissant nos -cavaliers émerveillés de ce mélange de sagesse et de folie, et bien -convaincus que c’étaient là le véritable don Quichotte et le vrai -Sancho, et non ceux qu’avait dépeints l’auteur aragonais. Don Quichotte -se leva de grand matin, et, frappant à la cloison, il dit adieu à ses -hôtes de la veille; puis Sancho paya magnifiquement l’hôtelier, tout en -lui conseillant de moins vanter à l’avenir son auberge, et de la tenir -un peu mieux approvisionnée. - -CHAPITRE LX - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE EN ALLANT A BARCELONE. - -La matinée était fraîche et promettait une belle journée, quand don -Quichotte partit de l’hôtellerie après s’être informé de la route la -plus courte pour se rendre à Barcelone, résolu qu’il était, en n’allant -pas à Saragosse, de faire mentir l’auteur aragonais qui le traitait si -mal dans son histoire. Il chemina six jours entiers, sans qu’il lui -arrivât rien qui mérite d’être rapporté. - -Le septième jour, vers le soir, s’étant écarté du chemin, la nuit le -surprit dans un épais bouquet de chênes et de liéges. Maître et valet -mirent pied à terre, et Sancho, qui avait fait ses quatre repas, ne -tarda pas à franchir la porte du sommeil. Don Quichotte, au contraire, -que ses pensées tenaient constamment éveillé, ne put fermer les yeux: -porté par son imagination en cent lieux divers, tantôt il se croyait -dans la caverne de Montesinos, tantôt il voyait Dulcinée transformée en -paysanne, cabrioler et sauter sur son âne; tantôt résonnaient à ses -oreilles les paroles du sage Merlin, qui venait lui révéler -l’infaillible moyen de désenchanter la pauvre dame. A ce souvenir il se -désespérait en voyant la lenteur et le peu de charité de Sancho, qui, de -son propre aveu, s’était donné cinq coups de fouet seulement, nombre -bien minime en comparaison de ceux qu’il lui restait à s’appliquer. -Notre amoureux chevalier en conçut un tel dépit, qu’il voulut y mettre -ordre sur-le-champ. Si Alexandre le Grand, se disait-il, trancha le -nœud gordien, en soutenant qu’_autant vaut couper que délier_, et -n’en devint pas moins le maître de l’Asie, pourquoi donc ne viendrais-je -pas à bout de désenchanter Dulcinée en fouettant moi-même Sancho? Si la -vertu du remède consiste en ce que Sancho reçoive les trois mille et -tant de coups de fouet, qu’importe de quelle main ils lui soient -appliqués? l’essentiel est qu’il les reçoive. Là-dessus, muni des rênes -de Rossinante, il s’approche avec précaution de son écuyer, et se met en -devoir de lui détacher l’aiguillette, mais à peine avait-il commencé, -que Sancho s’éveillant en sursaut se mit à crier: Qui va là? qui est-ce -qui détache mes chausses? - -C’est moi, répondit don Quichotte, qui viens réparer ta négligence et -remédier à mes peines: je viens te fouetter, et acquitter en partie la -dette que tu as contractée. Dulcinée périt, malheureux! et pendant que -je me consume dans le désespoir, tu vis sans te soucier de rien. Défais -tes chausses de bonne volonté, car mon intention est de t’appliquer dans -cette solitude au moins deux mille coups de fouet. - -Non pas, non pas, dit Sancho; laissez-moi, ou je vais pousser de tels -cris, que les sourds nous entendront: les coups de fouet auxquels je me -suis engagé, doivent être volontaires; et pour l’heure, je n’ai nulle -envie d’être fouetté. Qu’il vous suffise de la parole que je vous donne -de me fustiger aussitôt que la fantaisie m’en prendra, mais encore -faut-il la laisser venir. - -Je ne puis m’en fier à toi, mon ami, répondit don Quichotte, car tu es -dur de cœur, et, quoique vilain, tendre de chair. - -En parlant ainsi, il s’efforçait de lui dénouer l’aiguillette; mais -Sancho, se dressant sur ses pieds, sauta sur notre héros, lui donna un -croc en jambe, l’étendit par terre tout de son long, puis il lui mit le -genou sur la poitrine et lui saisit les deux mains de façon qu’il ne -pouvait remuer. - -Comment! traître, s’écria don Quichotte, tu te révoltes contre ton -maître, contre ton seigneur naturel! tu t’attaques à celui qui te donne -du pain! - -Je ne trahis point mon roi, répondit Sancho, je ne fais que me secourir -moi-même, qui suis mon propre maître et mon véritable seigneur; que -Votre Grâce me promette de me laisser tranquille et de ne point parler -de me fouetter pour le moment, aussitôt je vous lâche; sinon, _tu -mourras ici, traître, ennemi de dona Sancha_[123]. - - [123] Aqui moriras, traydor - Enemigo de dona Sancha. - (_Ancien romancero._) - -Notre héros lui promit ce qu’il exigeait, jurant par la vie de Dulcinée -qu’il ne toucherait pas un poil de son pourpoint, et que désormais il -s’en remettait à sa bonne volonté. - -Sancho, s’étant relevé, alla chercher pour dormir un endroit plus -éloigné. Comme il s’appuyait contre un arbre, il sentit quelque chose -lui toucher la tête; il y porta les mains, et rencontra deux jambes -d’hommes. Saisi de frayeur, il courut se réfugier sous un autre arbre, -où il fit même rencontre. Alors il se mit à pousser de grands cris; don -Quichotte accourut, et lui en demanda la cause. - -Ces arbres sont pleins de pieds et de jambes d’hommes, répondit Sancho. - -Don Quichotte toucha à tâtons, et devina sur-le-champ ce qu’il en était: -Ne crains rien, lui dit-il; ces pieds et ces jambes appartiennent sans -doute à des bandits qu’on a pendus à ces arbres. C’est le lieu où l’on a -coutume d’en faire justice quand on les prend; on les attache par vingt -et trente à la fois, et cela m’indique que nous ne sommes pas loin de -Barcelone. - -Le chevalier avait raison; car dès qu’il fut jour ils reconnurent que la -plupart des arbres étaient chargés de cadavres. Déjà épouvantés par les -morts, ce fut bien pis encore quand nos aventuriers virent tout à coup -fondre sur eux une cinquantaine de bandits vivants, qui sortant d’entre -les arbres leur crièrent en catalan de ne pas bouger jusqu’à la venue de -leur capitaine. Se trouvant à pied, son cheval débridé, sa lance loin -de lui, don Quichotte ne pouvait penser à se défendre. Il croisa les -mains et baissa la tête, réservant son courage pour une meilleure -occasion. Les bandits débarrassèrent le grison de tout ce qu’il portait, -ne laissant rien ni dans le bissac ni dans la valise; et bien prit à -Sancho d’avoir sur lui les écus d’or que lui avait donnés le majordome, -ainsi que l’argent de son maître, qu’il portait dans une ceinture sous -sa chemise, car ces honnêtes gens n’auraient pas manqué de le trouver, -l’eût-il caché dans la moelle de ses os, si par bonheur leur capitaine -n’était survenu. - -C’était un homme robuste, d’environ trente-cinq ans, d’une taille haute, -au teint brun, au regard sévère; il portait une cotte de mailles, à sa -ceinture quatre de ces pistolets qu’en Catalogne on appelle -_pedrenales_, et il montait un cheval de forte encolure. Voyant que ses -écuyers (c’est le nom que se donnent entre eux les gens de cette -profession) allaient dépouiller Sancho, il leur commanda de n’en rien -faire: ainsi fut sauvée la ceinture. Étonné de voir une lance appuyée -contre un arbre, une rondache par terre, et de plus un personnage armé -de pied en cap, avec la mine la plus triste et la plus mélancolique -qu’il soit possible d’imaginer, il s’approcha en lui disant: -Rassurez-vous, bonhomme, vous n’êtes pas tombé entre les mains de -quelque cruel Osiris, mais dans celles de Roque Guinart, qui jamais ne -maltraite les gens dont il n’a pas à se plaindre. - -Ma tristesse, répondit don Quichotte, ne provient pas de ce que je suis -tombé en ton pouvoir, ô vaillant Roque, toi dont la renommée n’a point -de bornes sur la terre, mais de ce que tes soldats m’ont surpris sans -bride à mon cheval; car les règles de la chevalerie errante, dont je -fais profession, me prescrivent d’être constamment en alerte et de me -servir de sentinelle à moi-même. Apprends, ô grand Roque Guinart, que -s’ils m’avaient trouvé en selle, la rondache au bras et la lance au -poing, ils ne seraient pas venus à bout de moi si aisément, car je suis -ce don Quichotte de la Manche qui a rempli l’univers du bruit de ses -exploits. - -Il n’en fallut pas davantage pour faire connaître à Roque Guinart quelle -était la maladie de notre héros; il avait souvent entendu parler de lui, -mais il avait peine à se persuader que semblable fantaisie fût parvenue -à se loger dans une cervelle humaine. Ravi d’avoir rencontré don -Quichotte, afin de pouvoir juger par lui-même si l’original ressemblait -aux copies: Vaillant chevalier, lui dit-il, consolez-vous et -n’interprétez point à mauvaise fortune l’état où vous vous trouvez; il -se pourrait, au contraire, que votre sort fourvoyé retrouvât sa droite -ligne. C’est souvent par des chemins étranges, en dehors de toute -prévoyance humaine, que le ciel se plaît à relever les abattus et à -enrichir les pauvres. - -Don Quichotte s’apprêtait à lui rendre grâces quand ils entendirent -derrière eux comme le bruit d’une troupe de gens à cheval: il n’y avait -pourtant qu’un cavalier, mais il était monté sur un puissant coursier, -et s’approchait à toute bride. En tournant la tête, ils aperçurent un -jeune homme de fort bonne mine, d’environ vingt ans, vêtu d’une étoffe -de damas vert ornée de dentelle d’or, le chapeau retroussé à la -wallonne, les bottes étroites et luisantes, l’épée, le poignard et les -éperons dorés; il tenait un mousquet à la main et avait deux pistolets à -sa ceinture. - -O vaillant Roque! je te cherchais, pour trouver auprès de toi sinon le -remède, du moins quelque soulagement à mon malheur, dit le cavalier en -les abordant; et pour ne pas te tenir davantage en suspens, car je vois -que tu ne me reconnais pas, sache que je suis Claudia Geronima, fille de -Simon Forte, ton meilleur ami et l’ennemi juré de Clauquel Torellas, qui -est dans le parti de tes ennemis. Ce Torellas a un fils nommé don -Vincent. Don Vincent me vit et devint amoureux de moi; je l’écoutai -favorablement à l’insu de mon père; enfin il me promit de m’épouser, me -donna sa parole, et reçut la mienne. Eh bien, j’ai appris hier -qu’oubliant sa promesse, l’ingrat allait en épouser une autre. Cette -nouvelle a produit sur moi l’effet que tu peux imaginer, aussi, -profitant de l’absence de mon père, je me suis mise à la recherche du -perfide en l’équipage où tu me vois. Je l’ai rejoint à une lieue d’ici; -et sans perdre de temps à lui faire des reproches, ni à recevoir ses -excuses, je lui ai tiré un coup de carabine et deux coups de pistolet, -lavant ainsi mon affront dans son sang. Il est resté sur la place, entre -les mains de ses gens, qui n’ont osé ni pu prendre sa défense. Je viens -te prier de me faire passer en France, où j’ai des parents, et de -protéger mon père contre la vengeance de la famille et des amis de don -Vincent. - -Surpris de la bonne mine de la belle Claudia, aussi bien que de sa -résolution, Roque lui promit de l’accompagner partout où elle voudrait. -Mais avant tout, ajouta-t-il, allons voir si votre ennemi est mort; nous -aviserons ensuite à ce qu’il faudra faire. - -Notre héros, qui avait écouté attentivement la belle Claudia et la -réponse de Roque Guinart: Que personne, dit-il, ne se mette en peine de -défendre cette dame; je la prends sous ma protection; qu’on me donne mon -cheval et mes armes, et qu’on m’attende ici: j’irai chercher ce -chevalier, et, mort ou vif, je saurai bien le forcer à ne pas devenir -parjure. - -Oh! cela est certain, s’écria Sancho, car mon maître a la main heureuse -en fait de mariages: il y a peu de jours, il fit tenir à un certain -drôle la parole qu’il avait de même donnée à une demoiselle; et si les -enchanteurs qui le poursuivent n’avaient transformé cet homme en -laquais, à cette heure la pauvre fille serait pourvue. - -Plus occupé de la belle Claudia que des discours du maître et du valet, -Roque fit rendre à Sancho tout ce que lui avaient pris ses compagnons; -et après leur avoir ordonné de l’attendre, il s’éloigna avec elle au -grand galop. Arrivés à l’endroit où Claudia avait rencontré son amant, -ils n’y trouvèrent que des taches de sang fraîchement répandu; mais en -promenant la vue de toutes parts, ils aperçurent un groupe d’hommes au -sommet d’une colline. Jugeant que ce devait être le blessé que ses gens -emportaient, ils piquèrent de ce côté et ne tardèrent pas à les -rejoindre. En effet, ils trouvèrent entre leurs bras don Vincent, qui, -d’une voix éteinte, les priait de le laisser mourir sur la place; le -sang qu’il perdait et la douleur causée par ses blessures ne lui -permettant pas d’aller plus loin. - -Roque et Claudia sautèrent à bas de leurs chevaux, et celle-ci, le cœur -partagé entre l’amour et la vengeance, s’approcha de son amant: Si tu ne -m’avais pas trahie, don Vincent, dit-elle en lui prenant la main, tu ne -serais pas en cette cruelle extrémité. - -Le malheureux ouvrit les yeux, et reconnaissant les traits de la jeune -fille: Belle et abusée Claudia, répondit-il, je vois que c’est toi qui -m’as donné la mort; mais ni mes actions ni mes sentiments ne méritaient -ce cruel châtiment. - -Grand Dieu! repartit Claudia, tu ne devais donc pas, ce matin même, -épouser Léonore, la fille du riche Ballastro? - -Non, certainement! répondit don Vincent; c’est ma mauvaise fortune qui -t’a porté cette fausse nouvelle, afin qu’elle me coûtât la vie. Mais -puisque je la quitte entre tes bras, je ne meurs pas sans consolation, -et je me trouve trop heureux de pouvoir encore te donner des marques -sincères de mon amour et de ma constance. Serre ma main, chère Claudia, -et reçois-moi pour époux: la seule joie que je puisse avoir en mourant, -c’est de te donner satisfaction de l’injure que tu croyais avoir reçue -de moi. - -Pénétrée d’une vive douleur, Claudia tomba évanouie sur le corps de son -amant, qui rendit le dernier soupir. Les gens de don Vincent coururent -chercher de l’eau pour la jeter au visage de leur maître, mais ce fut -inutilement. - -Lorsque, revenue à elle, Claudia s’aperçut que don Vincent avait cessé -de vivre, elle remplit l’air de ses cris, s’arracha les cheveux et se -déchira le visage. Malheureuse, disait-elle, avec quelle facilité -t’es-tu laissée emporter à cet horrible dessein! Ta jalousie a mis au -tombeau celui qui ne vivait que pour toi; eh bien, meurs à ton tour, -meurs de douleur, puisque tu survis à un époux si fidèle! Meurs de honte -et de désespoir, car après ton crime, te voilà devenue l’objet de la -vengeance de Dieu et des hommes! Hélas! cher amant, ajouta-t-elle en -jetant ses bras autour de ce corps inanimé, faut-il que je te perde, -faut-il que nous ne soyons réunis que pour être séparés à jamais! - -Il y avait dans ces plaintes une douleur si déchirante et si vraie, que, -pour la première fois peut-être, Roque lui-même se sentit attendri; les -domestiques fondaient en larmes, et les lieux d’alentour semblaient -devenus un champ de tristesse et de deuil. - -Roque commanda aux gens de don Vincent de porter le corps de leur maître -à la maison de son père, qui était située non loin de là. En les -regardant s’éloigner, Claudia exprima le désir de se retirer dans un -monastère dont l’abbesse était sa tante. Là, dit-elle, je finirai mes -jours dans la compagnie d’un époux préférable à tout autre, et qui ne -m’abandonnera jamais. Roque approuva sa résolution, et proposa de -l’accompagner, l’assurant qu’il défendrait sa famille contre celle de -don Vincent, et même contre le monde entier; Claudia le remercia de ses -offres, et prit congé de lui en pleurant. - -Étant venu rejoindre ses hommes, Roque trouva au milieu d’eux don -Quichotte à cheval. Notre héros, par un sage discours, tâchait de leur -faire quitter un genre de vie qui présente tant de danger pour l’âme et -pour le corps; mais comme la plupart étaient des Gascons, gens grossiers -et farouches, ils goûtaient médiocrement le prédicateur et le sermon. Le -chef demanda à Sancho si on lui avait rendu tout ce qui lui appartenait; -Sancho répondit que oui, hormis trois mouchoirs de tête qui valaient -trois bonnes villes. - -Eh! l’ami, que dis-tu là? reprit un des bandits, c’est moi qui les ai, -et ils ne valent pas trois réaux. - -Cela est vrai, repartit don Quichotte; mais mon écuyer les estime -beaucoup à cause de la personne qui les lui a donnés. - -Roque les fit rendre sur-le-champ; il fit ensuite ranger sa troupe et -apporter devant lui les pierreries, l’argent, enfin le butin fait depuis -le dernier partage; et après en avoir examiné la valeur, supputé en -argent ce qui ne pouvait être divisé, il répartit le tout avec tant -d’équité que chacun se montra satisfait. Seigneur, dit-il ensuite à don -Quichotte, si avec ces gens-là on n’observait pas une exacte justice, il -n’y aurait pas moyen d’être obéi. - -Par ma foi, il faut que la justice soit une bonne chose, puisqu’elle se -pratique même parmi des voleurs! répliqua Sancho. - -A ces paroles, un des bandits qui les avait entendues le coucha en joue -avec son arquebuse, et il lui aurait cassé la tête, si Roque n’eût crié -à cet homme de s’arrêter. Sancho frissonna de tout son corps et éprouva -un tel saisissement, qu’il se promit bien de ne plus ouvrir la bouche au -milieu de gens qui entendaient si peu raillerie. - -Sur ces entrefaites, un des écuyers postés sur le grand chemin accourut -dire au capitaine: Seigneur, j’aperçois non loin d’ici une troupe de -voyageurs qui se dirigent vers Barcelone. - -Sont-ils de ceux qui nous cherchent ou de ceux que nous cherchons? -demanda Roque. - -De ceux que nous cherchons, répondit l’écuyer. - -En ce cas, à cheval, enfants! cria le capitaine, et qu’on les amène ici -sans qu’il en manque un seul. - -Les bandits obéirent. Pendant ce temps, Roque, don Quichotte et Sancho -se trouvant seuls, le premier dit à notre héros: Seigneur, ce genre de -vie vous paraît étrange, et je ne m’en étonne pas, car ce sont tous les -jours aventures nouvelles, nouveaux événements, et tous également -périlleux. Il n’y a pas, je dois l’avouer, une vie plus inquiète, plus -agitée que la nôtre. Malheureusement, je m’y trouve engagé par des -sentiments de vengeance dont je n’ai pu triompher, car je suis par -nature d’une humeur douce et compatissante; le besoin de me venger a si -bien imposé silence à mes honnêtes inclinations, qu’il me retient dans -ce périlleux métier en dépit de moi-même; et comme toujours l’abîme -attire un autre abîme, comme les vengeances sont toutes enchaînées, -non-seulement je poursuis les miennes, mais encore je me charge de -poursuivre celles des autres. Malgré tout, j’espère de la miséricorde de -Dieu, plein de pitié pour la faiblesse humaine, qu’il me tirera de cet -affreux labyrinthe dont je n’ai pas la force de me tirer moi-même. - -En entendant un tel discours, don Quichotte se demandait comment parmi -des voleurs et des assassins il pouvait se trouver un homme qui montrât -des sentiments si sensés et si édifiants. Seigneur Roque, lui dit-il, -pour le malade, le commencement de la santé c’est de connaître son mal -et de se montrer disposé à prendre les remèdes que prescrit le médecin. -Votre Grâce est malade, elle connaît son mal; Eh bien, ayez recours à -Dieu, c’est un médecin infaillible: il vous donnera les remèdes dont -vous avez besoin, remèdes qui agissent d’autant plus sûrement qu’ils -rencontrent une bonne nature et une heureuse disposition. Un pécheur -éclairé est bien plus près de s’amender qu’un sot, car discernant entre -le bien et le mal, il rougit de ses propres vices; tandis que le sot, -aveuglé par son ignorance, n’écoute que son instinct et s’abandonne à -ses passions dont il ne connaît pas le danger. Courage, donc, seigneur -Roque, courage, et puisque vous avez de l’esprit et du bon sens, -servez-vous de ces lumières, et ne désespérez pas de l’entière guérison -de votre âme. Mais si Votre Grâce veut abréger le chemin et entrer dans -celui de son salut, venez avec moi; je vous apprendrai la profession de -chevalier errant. A la vérité, c’est une source inépuisable de travaux -et de fâcheuses aventures, mais en les offrant à Dieu comme expiation de -vos fautes, vous vous ouvrirez les portes du ciel. - -Roque sourit du conseil de notre héros, et pour changer d’entretien il -lui raconta la triste fin de l’aventure de Claudia, dont Sancho se -trouva très-contristé, car il avait trouvé fort de son goût la pétulance -et la beauté de la jeune personne. - -En cet instant les bandits arrivèrent avec leurs prisonniers, -c’est-à-dire avec deux cavaliers assez bien montés, deux pèlerins à -pied, puis un carrosse dans lequel il y avait des dames accompagnées de -sept ou huit valets tant à pied qu’à cheval. Ces hommes farouches les -environnèrent en silence, attendant que leur chef prît la parole. Roque -demanda aux cavaliers qui ils étaient et où ils allaient. - -Seigneurs, répondit l’un d’eux, nous sommes capitaines d’infanterie; nos -compagnies sont à Naples, et nous allons nous embarquer à Barcelone, -d’où quatre galères ont reçu l’ordre de passer en Sicile. Nous possédons -environ deux ou trois cents écus, avec lesquels nous nous croyons assez -riches, car, vous le savez, le métier ne permet guère de thésauriser. - -Et vous? demanda Roque aux pèlerins. - -Monseigneur, répondirent-ils, nous allons à Rome; et à nous deux nous -n’avons qu’une soixantaine de réaux. - -Roque demanda ensuite quels étaient les gens du carrosse; un des hommes -à cheval répondit: Ma maîtresse est la señora Guyamor de Quinonez, femme -du régent de l’intendance de Naples, elle est avec sa fille, une femme -de chambre et une duègne; nous sommes trois valets à cheval et trois -valets à pied qui les accompagnons, et leur argent monte à six cents -écus. - -De façon, dit Roque, que nous avons ici neuf cents écus et soixante -réaux. Moi, j’ai soixante soldats; voyez, seigneurs, ce qui peut revenir -à chacun d’eux, car je ne sais guère calculer. - -A ces mots, les bandits s’écrièrent: Vive le grand Roque Guinart, en -dépit de ceux qui ont juré sa perte! - -Les capitaines, la tête baissée, faisaient bien voir à leur contenance -qu’ils regrettaient leur argent; la régente et sa suite n’étaient guère -plus gaies, et les pauvres pèlerins ne montraient nul envie de rire. - -Roque les tint un moment en suspens, mais ne voulant pas prolonger leur -anxiété: Seigneurs capitaines, leur dit-il en se tournant vers eux, -prêtez-moi, je vous prie, soixante écus; madame la régente m’en donnera -quatre-vingts: pour contenter mes soldats, car le prêtre vit de ce qu’il -chante. Cela fait, vous pourrez continuer votre route, munis d’un -sauf-conduit de ma main, afin que ceux de mes hommes qui parcourent les -environs ne vous fassent aucune insulte; car je ne veux pas qu’on -maltraite les gens de guerre ni les femmes, et surtout les dames de -qualité. - -Les capitaines se confondirent en remercîments sur la courtoisie et la -libéralité de Roque, car, à leurs yeux, c’en était une de leur laisser -leur propre argent; la señora voulait descendre de son carrosse pour -embrasser ses genoux, mais il s’y opposa, lui demandant pardon de la -violence que son méchant état le forçait à lui faire. - -La régente et les capitaines avaient donné ce qu’on leur demandait, et -voyant qu’on ne parlait point de diminuer leur contribution, les pauvres -pèlerins s’apprêtaient à remettre tout leur argent; mais Roque leur fit -signe d’attendre: De ces cent quarante écus, dit-il à ses gens, il vous -en revient deux à chacun; des vingt formant l’excédant, donnez-en dix à -ces pèlerins, et les autres à ce bon écuyer, afin qu’il ait sujet de se -réjouir de cette aventure. Puis se faisant apporter de l’encre et du -papier, il écrivit un sauf-conduit par lequel il était enjoint à ses -lieutenants de laisser passer librement toute la caravane, qui s’éloigna -exaltant la façon d’agir du grand Roque, sa courtoisie, sa bonne mine, -et le traitant plutôt de galant homme que de corsaire. - -Un des bandits qui ne partageait pas l’humeur généreuse de son chef, ne -put s’empêcher de donner son avis: Parbleu, dit-il dans son jargon -mi-gascon, mi-catalan, notre capitaine serait meilleur moine que chef de -bons garçons; mais à l’avenir s’il a de pareils accès de libéralité, -qu’il les satisfasse avec son argent et non avec le nôtre. Le malheureux -ne parla pas si bas qu’il ne fût entendu de Roque, qui tirant son épée -lui fendit presque la tête, en disant: C’est ainsi que je châtie les -insolents et les téméraires. Aucun n’osa souffler mot, tant le chef -savait se faire craindre et obéir. - -Roque se retira à l’écart et écrivit à un de ses amis de Barcelone, pour -lui donner avis qu’il avait fait rencontre du fameux don Quichotte de la -Manche, cet illustre chevalier errant dont on parlait par toute -l’Espagne, l’assurant que c’était l’homme le plus divertissant qu’on pût -trouver; il ajouta que sous quatre jours, à la fête de Saint-Jean, il -l’amènerait lui-même à Barcelone, sur la grande place, armé de pied en -cap et montant le superbe Rossinante, suivi de l’écuyer Sancho sur son -âne. Il le priait d’en donner avis aux Niaros, ses amis, à qui il -voulait procurer ce plaisir; il eût bien désiré que leurs ennemis les -Cadeils n’y eussent point part, mais il en reconnaissait -l’impossibilité, les extravagances du maître et les bouffonneries du -valet étant trop éclatantes pour ne pas attirer tout le monde. - -La lettre, portée par un des bandits déguisé en paysan, fut remise à son -adresse. - -CHAPITRE LXI - -DE CE QUI ARRIVA A DON QUICHOTTE A SON ENTRÉE DANS BARCELONE, AVEC -D’AUTRES CHOSES QUI SEMBLENT PLUS VRAIES QUE RAISONNABLES. - -Don Quichotte demeura trois jours et trois nuits avec les bandits, et -fût-il resté trois siècles, il aurait toujours trouvé de quoi s’étonner. -C’était sans cesse nouvelle aventure: on s’éveillait ici, on mangeait -là-bas; quelquefois on fuyait sans savoir pourquoi, et l’on s’arrêtait -de même. En alerte continuelle, ces hommes dormaient à cheval, -interrompaient à toute heure leur sommeil pour changer d’asile; leur -temps se passait à poser des sentinelles, à écouter le cri d’alarme, à -souffler des mèches d’arquebuse, quoiqu’ils eussent peu de ces armes, -presque tous portant des mousquets à pierre. Roque passait la nuit loin -des siens; car le vice-roi de Barcelone ayant mis sa tête à prix, il -craignait d’être livré par eux à la justice: existence assurément fort -triste et fort misérable. - -Enfin, par des chemins détournés et des sentiers couverts, Roque, don -Quichotte et Sancho se dirigèrent vers Barcelone. Ils arrivèrent sur la -plage la veille de la Saint-Jean, pendant la nuit. Après avoir donné à -Sancho les dix écus qu’il lui avait promis, le capitaine l’embrassa -ainsi que son maître, puis on se sépara, échangeant mille offres de -services. - -Don Quichotte attendit en selle la venue du jour, et il ne tarda pas à -voir paraître la face pâle de la blanche aurore, qui s’avançant en -silence sur les balcons de l’orient, venait humecter les plantes et les -fleurs. Presque au même instant, le son d’une agréable musique se fit -entendre: c’étaient des hautbois, des fifres et des tambours auxquels -succédaient des cris joyeux qui paraissaient venir de la ville. L’aurore -fit bientôt place au soleil, dont le visage plus large qu’une rondache -s’élevait sur l’horizon. Don Quichotte et Sancho, jetant les yeux de -toutes parts, aperçurent pour la première fois la mer, qui leur parut -spacieuse, immense et beaucoup plus étendue que les lagunes de Ruidera, -situées dans leur province. Ils virent aussi des galères amarrées à la -plage, lesquelles, abattant leurs voiles, se montrèrent couvertes de -mille banderoles qui tantôt flottaient au vent, tantôt balayaient la -surface des eaux, pendant qu’échappé de leurs flancs le bruit des -clairons et des trompettes faisait retentir les lieux d’alentour d’une -harmonie suave et belliqueuse. Bientôt ces galères commencèrent à -s’ébranler, simulant une escarmouche navale, tandis qu’un nombre infini -de cavaliers, sortant de la ville avec de brillantes livrées, maniaient -adroitement leurs chevaux, et suivaient les mouvements de la flotte, -dont l’artillerie faisait un bruit épouvantable, la mer était calme, le -jour pur et serein, quoique voilé de temps en temps par la fumée du -canon. Tout semblait d’accord pour enivrer de joie la population -entière. Quant à Sancho, il ne parvenait pas à comprendre comment ces -énormes masses qui se mouvaient sur l’eau pouvaient avoir tant de pieds. - -Bientôt une troupe de cavaliers, portant de magnifiques livrées, accourt -avec des cris de joie vers don Quichotte, qui était resté tout stupéfait -d’un si beau spectacle; et l’un d’entre eux, celui que Roque avait fait -prévenir, dit à haute voix: - -Qu’il soit le bienvenu, le miroir, le fanal, l’étoile polaire de la -chevalerie errante; qu’il soit le bienvenu, le grand, le valeureux don -Quichotte, le vrai chevalier de la Manche, dont la fleur des historiens, -cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, nous a raconté les exploits, et non pas le -controuvé, le faux historien, dont on vient de publier le livre -mensonger. - -Don Quichotte n’eut pas le temps de répondre, parce que les cavaliers et -les gens de leur suite faisant caracoler leurs chevaux, l’entourèrent -aussitôt en décrivant mille cercles autour de lui: Ces seigneurs, dit-il -à Sancho, nous ont sans doute reconnus; je parierais qu’ils ont lu notre -histoire, et même celle que l’Aragonais a publiée récemment. - -Le cavalier qui avait parlé à don Quichotte s’approcha de nouveau, et -lui dit: Que Votre Grâce, seigneur, veuille bien venir avec nous: tous -nous sommes ses serviteurs et les amis de Roque Guinart. - -Si les courtoisies engendrent les courtoisies, répondit don Quichotte, -la vôtre, seigneur chevalier, doit être fille ou proche parente de celle -du grand Roque. Conduisez-moi où il vous plaira, je vous suivrai avec -plaisir, surtout si vous me faites l’honneur d’accepter mes services. - -Le cavalier répondit avec non moins de civilité; puis, lui et ses amis -ayant placé notre héros au milieu d’eux, on prit le chemin de Barcelone, -au son des fifres et des tambours. Mais, à l’entrée de la ville, deux -petits drôles, plus malins que la malice elle-même, s’avisèrent d’un -méchant tour: se faufilant au milieu de la foule, ils s’approchèrent de -nos aventuriers, et levant la queue, l’un à Rossinante, l’autre au -grison, ils leur plantèrent à chacun dans cet endroit un paquet de -chardons. Les pauvres bêtes ne sentirent pas plus tôt ces éperons d’un -nouveau genre, qu’elles se mirent à serrer la queue; ce qui, augmentant -leur souffrance, les poussa à ruer de telle sorte qu’elles jetèrent -leurs cavaliers dans la poussière. Honteux et mortifié, don Quichotte se -hâta d’enlever le panache à Rossinante, et Sancho en fit autant à son -âne. Leurs nouveaux amis s’apprêtaient à châtier cette insolente -canaille, mais il leur fallut y renoncer, car les deux espiègles -s’étaient perdus dans la foule. Bref, don Quichotte et Sancho -remontèrent sur leurs bêtes, et toujours suivis de la musique et -accompagnés des mêmes cris de joie, ils gagnèrent la maison de leur -hôte, une des plus belles de Barcelone. Suivons-y notre chevalier, ainsi -le veut cid Hamet Ben-Engeli. - -CHAPITRE LXII - -AVENTURE DE LA TÊTE ENCHANTÉE, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES ENFANTILLAGES QU’ON NE -PEUT S’EMPÊCHER DE RACONTER. - -L’hôte de don Quichotte s’appelait don Antonio Moreno; c’était un -gentilhomme riche et plein d’esprit, qui aimait à se divertir avec -décence et bon goût. Quand il vit notre héros en sa maison, il songea à -lui faire faire quelques bonnes folies, sans lui causer de déplaisir, -car la plaisanterie a des bornes, et un passe-temps ne saurait être -agréable, s’il a lieu aux dépens d’autrui. La première chose dont il -s’avisa, ce fut, quand on eut désarmé le chevalier, de le conduire, -couvert seulement de cet étroit pourpoint déjà décrit tant de fois, à un -balcon donnant sur une des principales rues de la ville, où on l’exposa -à la vue des passants comme une bête curieuse. Les cavaliers aux livrées -firent de nouvelles passes sous ses yeux, de même que si c’eût été pour -lui seul, et non à cause de la fête, qu’ils se fussent mis en frais. -Sancho était tout radieux, s’imaginant avoir trouvé de nouvelles noces -de Gamache, ou une maison semblable à celle de don Diego, ou bien un -château comme celui du duc. - -Plusieurs amis de don Antonio vinrent dîner avec lui; tous firent de -grands honneurs à don Quichotte, et le traitèrent en véritable -chevalier errant, ce qui le rendit si fier et si rengorgé, qu’il ne se -sentait pas d’aise. De son côté, Sancho lâcha tant de plaisantes -reparties, que les gens de la maison et tous ceux qui étaient là -n’avaient d’oreilles que pour lui et riaient à gorge déployée. - -Seigneur écuyer, lui dit don Antonio, il nous a été conté que vous êtes -extrêmement friand de blanc-manger et de petites andouilles; et que -lorsque vous en avez de reste, vous les mettez dans votre poche pour le -lendemain[124]. - - [124] Allusion au don Quichotte d’Avellaneda. - -C’est une insigne fausseté, seigneur, répondit Sancho; je suis plus -propre que goulu, et monseigneur don Quichotte, ici présent, pourra vous -dire que nous nous contentions bien souvent, lui et moi, pendant des -jours entiers, d’une poignée de noisettes, ou d’une demi-douzaine -d’oignons. Il est vrai que si parfois on me donne la génisse, je cours -lui mettre la corde au cou; c’est-à-dire que je mange ce qu’on me -présente, et prends le temps comme il vient. Mais quiconque ose avancer -que je suis un mangeur vorace et malpropre, peut se tenir pour dit qu’il -se trompe du tout au tout, et je le lui apprendrais d’une autre façon, -n’était le respect que je dois aux vénérables barbes ici présentes. - -Oui, certes, dit don Quichotte, la modération et la propreté de Sancho -quand il mange, mériteraient d’être écrites et gravées sur le bronze -pour servir d’exemple aux races futures: tout ce qu’on peut lui -reprocher, c’est lorsqu’il a faim d’être un peu glouton; alors il mâche -des deux côtés à la fois, et un morceau n’attend pas l’autre. Mais pour -ce qui est de la propreté, on ne le trouvera jamais en défaut, et il l’a -prouvé du reste pendant qu’il était gouverneur, car il mangeait avec -tant de délicatesse, qu’il prenait les grains de raisin avec sa -fourchette. - -Comment! s’écria don Antonio, le seigneur Sancho a été gouverneur? - -Oui, seigneur, répondit Sancho, j’ai été gouverneur, et d’une île qu’on -appelle Barataria; je l’ai gouvernée pendant dix jours, à bouche que -veux-tu; j’y ai perdu le repos, l’esprit et l’embonpoint, et j’y ai -appris à mépriser tous les gouvernements du monde. J’ai quitté l’île en -courant, et je suis tombé dans un grand trou, où je me suis cru mort, -mais dont par miracle je suis sorti vivant. - -Alors don Quichotte se mit à conter l’histoire du gouvernement de -Sancho, ce qui divertit fort la compagnie. - -Le repas achevé, don Antonio prit notre héros par la main, et le -conduisit dans une pièce où pour tout meuble se trouvait une table de -jaspe, soutenue par un pied de même matière; sur cette table était un -buste qui paraissait de bronze et représentait un empereur romain. Ils -se promenèrent pendant quelque temps de long en large, firent le tour de -la table, puis, don Antonio s’arrêtant dit à don Quichotte: Maintenant -que je suis certain de n’être écouté par personne, je vais apprendre à -Votre Grâce une des plus étonnantes aventures dont on ait jamais entendu -parler, à condition toutefois que ce secret restera entre elle et moi. - -Je le jure, seigneur, répondit notre héros: celui à qui vous parlez a -des yeux et des oreilles, mais point de langue. Votre Grâce peut en -toute assurance verser dans mon cœur ce qu’elle a dans le sien, et -rester persuadée qu’elle l’a jeté dans les abîmes du silence. - -Sur la foi de cette promesse, repartit don Antonio, je vais vous confier -des choses qui vous raviront d’admiration, et je me soulagerai moi-même -d’un fardeau qui me pèse, car je n’ai encore révélé à personne le secret -que je vais vous dire. Cette tête que vous voyez, seigneur don -Quichotte, ajouta-t-il en la lui faisant toucher avec la main, a été -fabriquée par un des plus grands enchanteurs qui aient jamais existé. -C’était, je crois, un Polonais, disciple du fameux Scot dont on raconte -tant de merveilles. Je reçus chez moi cet enchanteur; et pour la somme -de mille écus il me fabriqua cette tête, qui a la propriété de répondre -à toutes les questions qu’on lui adresse. Après avoir tracé des cercles, -observé les astres, écrit des caractères cabalistiques, épié les -conjonctions voulues, l’auteur mit la dernière main à son ouvrage avec -une perfection dont vous aurez la preuve demain, car le vendredi cette -tête est muette, et il serait inutile de lui rien demander aujourd’hui. -D’ici là, Votre Grâce peut songer aux questions qu’il vous conviendra de -lui faire, et l’expérience vous prouvera si je dis vrai. - -Étonné de ce qu’il entendait, don Quichotte avait peine à croire que -cette tête fût douée d’une telle vertu; mais comme il devait bientôt -savoir à quoi s’en tenir, il se contenta de faire de grands remercîments -à son hôte pour lui avoir confié un secret de cette importance. Ils -sortirent de la chambre, que don Antonio ferma à clef, et ils -retournèrent dans le salon, où Sancho avait eu le temps de conter à la -compagnie une partie des aventures de son maître. - -Le soir venu, ils allèrent tous ensemble se promener par la ville, don -Quichotte sans armes, mais couvert d’une houppelande de drap fauve, -capable, à cette époque de l’année, de mettre en sueur l’hiver lui-même. -Sancho resta au logis avec les valets, qui avaient ordre de l’entretenir -et de l’amuser si bien qu’il ne pensât point à sortir. Notre héros ne -montait pas Rossinante, mais un grand mulet de bât harnaché avec -beaucoup de richesse et d’élégance; sans qu’il s’en doutât, on lui avait -attaché au dos, et par-dessus la houppelande, un parchemin sur lequel -était écrit en grosses lettres: _Je suis don Quichotte de la Manche_. -Cet écriteau arrêtait tous les passants; et comme chacun répétait: _Je -suis don Quichotte de la Manche_, le chevalier fut surpris que tant de -gens prononçassent son nom comme s’ils le connaissaient: - -Seigneur, dit-il à don Antonio qui marchait à côté de lui, la chevalerie -errante a de bien grands avantages, puisqu’elle répand sur toute la -terre le nom de ceux qui l’exercent. Entendez-vous comme on parle de -moi; jusqu’aux petits enfants, tous me connaissent sans m’avoir jamais -vu! - -Quoi d’étonnant à cela, seigneur don Quichotte? répondit don Antonio. De -même que le feu jette une lumière qui le trahit, de même la vertu a un -éclat qui ne manque jamais de la faire reconnaître, surtout celle qui -s’acquiert dans la profession des armes, car elle resplendit par-dessus -toutes les autres. - -Or, pendant que don Quichotte marchait ainsi, tout fier de lui-même, il -arriva qu’à la vue de l’écriteau, un passant s’arrêta, et lui jeta ces -mots à la face en bon castillan: Au diable soit don Quichotte de la -Manche! comment peux-tu être encore de ce monde, après les coups de -bâton que tu as reçus? Il faut, en vérité, que tu sois fou. Si encore tu -l’étais seul, il n’y aurait pas grand dommage; mais ta folie est si -contagieuse, qu’elle se communique à tous ceux qui t’approchent; ceux -qui t’accompagnent en ce moment n’en sont-ils pas la preuve? Va, va, -nigaud, retourne chez toi prendre soin de ton bien, de ta femme et de -tes enfants, sans creuser davantage ta pauvre cervelle, qui n’est déjà -que trop endommagée. - -Mon ami, dit Antonio à cet homme, passez votre chemin sans vous mêler de -donner des conseils à qui ne vous en demande pas: le seigneur don -Quichotte est très-sain d’esprit, et nous qui l’accompagnons, nous ne -sommes pas des imbéciles: la vertu a droit à nos hommages, en quelque -lieu qu’elle se rencontre. Passez votre chemin, et mêlez-vous de vos -affaires. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, vous avez raison, répondit le Castillan; aussi -bien, donner des conseils à ce pauvre fou, ce serait frapper du poing -contre l’aiguillon. Mais il est vraiment dommage de voir le bon sens -qu’il montre, dit-on, sur tant de matières, s’en aller en eau claire -quand il s’agit de chevalerie. Que je meure à l’instant, moi et tous mes -descendants, si je m’avise jamais de donner des conseils à personne, -dût-on m’en prier à genoux. - -Le Castillan disparut, et la promenade continua; mais une telle foule se -pressait pour lire l’écriteau, que don Antonio fut obligé de l’enlever. - -La nuit venue, on retourna chez don Antonio, où sa femme, personne aussi -aimable que belle, avait invité plusieurs de ses amies pour faire -honneur à leur hôte et s’amuser de ses étranges folies. Il vint donc -quantité de dames; il y eut un souper magnifique, et sur les dix heures -le bal commença. Parmi ces dames, il s’en trouvait surtout deux pleines -d’esprit et d’humeur moqueuse, qui, pour divertir la compagnie, -invitèrent don Quichotte à danser; et, chacune tour à tour s’emparant de -lui dès que l’autre l’avait quitté, elles exténuèrent si bien le pauvre -chevalier qu’il suait à grosses gouttes et ne pouvait presque plus se -remuer. Qu’on se représente ce grand corps maigre, sec, efflanqué, au -teint jaune, aux yeux creux, aux moustaches longues et tombantes, serré -dans ses habits, fort maussade enfin et d’une légèreté plus que -problématique, agacé par deux belles personnes qui lui lançaient à la -dérobée des propos d’amour auxquels il ne répondait qu’avec dédain. A -bout de patience: Arrière, démons! s’écria-t-il, arrière; laissez-moi en -paix, importunes pensées. Tâchez, Mesdames, de maîtriser vos sentiments; -la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso est l’unique souveraine de mon âme, -et elle ne souffre point que d’autres en triomphent. Puis il se laissa -tomber au beau milieu du salon, brisé et rompu d’un si violent -exercice. - -Don Antonio le fit emporter à bras dans sa chambre. Sancho, qui s’était -empressé de le suivre: Peste, monseigneur, lui dit-il, comme vous vous -êtes trémoussé! Pensiez-vous, par hasard, que tous les braves sont tenus -d’être des danseurs, et tous les chevaliers errants des faiseurs -d’entrechats? Par ma foi, mon cher maître, vous étiez dans une grande -erreur, car tel aura moins de mal à tuer un géant qu’à faire une -cabriole. Sauter en se donnant du talon dans le derrière, c’est mon -fort, à moi; mais danser comme vous venez de le faire, je ne m’en pique -point. - -Chacun riait aux éclats des propos de notre écuyer, qui, ayant mis son -maître au lit, eut grand soin de le bien couvrir, dans la crainte qu’il -n’éprouvât quelque refroidissement. - -Le lendemain, don Antonio jugea à propos de faire l’expérience de la -tête enchantée. Suivi de don Quichotte, de Sancho, de deux de ses amis -et des dames qui avaient fait danser notre chevalier, il se dirigea vers -la chambre où elle se trouvait. Quand tout le monde fut entré, il ferma -soigneusement la porte, énuméra à la compagnie les vertus de cette tête, -disant que c’était la première fois qu’on en faisait l’épreuve et qu’il -demandait le secret. Personne, à l’exception des deux gentilshommes, ne -savait ce qui allait se passer. - -Don Antonio s’approcha le premier, et demanda à voix basse, de manière -pourtant à être entendu: Tête, par la vertu que tu renfermes, dis-moi ce -que je pense en ce moment. Sans remuer les lèvres, mais d’une voix -claire et distincte, la tête répondit vivement: «Je ne juge point des -pensées.» - -Chacun resta stupéfait, surtout les dames, car ni autour de la table ni -dans la salle il ne se trouvait personne qui pût faire cette réponse, et -on voyait bien qu’elle venait directement de la tête. - -Combien sommes-nous ici? continua don Antonio? - -«Toi et ta femme, répondit la tête, deux de ses amies et deux des tiens, -ainsi qu’un fameux chevalier appelé don Quichotte de la Manche, et son -écuyer, qui se nomme Sancho Panza.» - -La surprise augmenta, et plus d’un assistant sentit ses cheveux se -dresser. - -Bien, dit don Antonio en se retirant; ceci fait voir que je n’ai point -été trompé par celui qui t’a fabriquée, tête sage, tête parlante, tête -merveilleuse et incomparable. Qu’un autre me remplace, ajouta-t-il, et -t’adresse telle question qu’il voudra. - -Comme les femmes sont d’ordinaire assez curieuses, une des dames -s’approcha: Dis-moi, tête, demanda-t-elle, que faut-il que je fasse pour -être très-belle? - -«Sois très-honnête.» - -Cela suffit, dit la dame en faisant place à sa compagne. - -Savante tête, demanda celle-ci, je désirerais bien savoir si mon mari -m’aime ou non? - -«Remarque sa conduite envers toi, et tu le sauras.» - -Je n’en veux pas davantage, dit la dame: en effet, la conduite des -hommes nous donne la mesure de l’affection qu’ils nous portent. - -Un des amis de don Antonio demanda: Qui suis-je? - -«Tu le sais,» lui fut-il répondu. - -Ce n’est pas là ce que je demande, repartit le cavalier; je veux savoir -si tu me connais. - -«Je te connais, tu es don Pedro Noriz.» - -O tête admirable! c’en est assez pour me convaincre que tu n’ignores -rien, ajouta le cavalier. - -L’autre ami s’approcha et fit cette question: Quel est le plus vif désir -de mon fils aîné? - -«Je t’ai déjà dit que je ne juge point des pensées; cependant je puis -ajouter: Ton fils ne souhaite que de t’enterrer.» - -Je le savais déjà, repartit le gentilhomme, et je n’en doutais -nullement. - -La femme de don Antonio s’approcha comme les autres, et dit: En vérité, -tête, je ne sais que te demander; je voudrais seulement savoir si je -conserverai longtemps mon cher mari. - -«Oui, car sa bonne santé et sa manière de vivre lui promettent de longs -jours, que la plupart des hommes abrégent par la débauche et -l’intempérance.» - -A son tour, don Quichotte s’approcha: Dis-moi, tête, toi qui réponds si -bien, est-ce une réalité ou un songe ce que j’ai vu dans la caverne de -Montesinos? Sancho, mon écuyer, se donnera-t-il les coups de fouet -auxquels il s’est engagé? et verrai-je enfin le désenchantement de -Dulcinée? - -«Quant à l’histoire de la caverne, il y a beaucoup à dire, l’aventure -tient de la réalité et du songe; les coups de fouet de Sancho se feront -un peu attendre, mais l’enchantement de Dulcinée finira.» - -Cela me suffit, répliqua don Quichotte; que Dulcinée soit désenchantée, -et mes vœux seront accomplis. - -Le dernier qui interrogea la tête, ce fut Sancho. Il le fit en ces -termes: Dis-moi, tête, aurai-je encore un gouvernement? quitterai-je le -misérable métier d’écuyer errant, et reverrai-je enfin ma femme et mes -enfants? - -Il lui fut répondu: «Tu gouverneras en ta maison, si tu y retournes; tu -pourras y revoir ta femme et tes enfants, s’ils y sont; et quand tu ne -pourras plus servir, tu ne seras plus écuyer.» - -Par ma foi, voilà qui est plaisant, repartit Sancho; il ne faut pas être -sorcier pour deviner cela, je le savais de reste. - -Et que veux-tu donc qu’on te dise, imbécile? repartit don Quichotte: -n’est-ce pas assez que les réponses de la tête concordent avec les -questions? - -Cela suffit, puisque vous le voulez, répondit Sancho; mais je voudrais -qu’elle se fût un peu mieux expliquée et qu’elle m’en apprît davantage. - -Là s’arrêtèrent les questions et les réponses, mais non l’étonnement de -la compagnie, car tous étaient en admiration, excepté les deux amis de -don Antonio, qui savaient à quoi s’en tenir. Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, pour -ne pas laisser le lecteur en suspens, de crainte qu’il ne soupçonne de -la magie dans une chose si surprenante, s’empresse de révéler le secret: -Don Antonio, dit-il, afin de se divertir aux dépens des niais, fit faire -cette tête à l’imitation d’une autre qu’il avait vue à Madrid. La table -avec son pied, d’où sortaient quatre griffes d’aigle, était de bois -peint en jaspe, la tête, semblable à un buste d’empereur romain et -couleur de bronze, était creuse comme la table, sur laquelle on l’avait -si bien enchâssée que tout paraissait d’une seule pièce. Le pied de la -table était creux aussi et communiquait par deux tuyaux à la bouche et à -l’oreille de la tête; ces tuyaux descendaient dans une chambre -au-dessous, où se tenait cachée la personne qui faisait les réponses. La -voix, partie de haut en bas ou de bas en haut, passait si bien par ces -tuyaux, qu’on ne perdait pas une parole; de sorte qu’à moins de le -savoir, il était impossible de pénétrer l’artifice. Un étudiant, neveu -de don Antonio, jeune homme plein d’esprit, fut chargé des réponses; et -comme il connaissait les personnes entrées dans la chambre où était la -tête, il lui fut facile de répondre sans hésiter, tantôt directement, -tantôt par conjecture, et toujours avec un extrême à-propos. - -Cid Hamet ajoute que cette merveille dura une douzaine de jours. Le -bruit s’étant répandu par la ville que don Antonio avait chez lui une -tête enchantée, la crainte que la chose ne parvînt aux oreilles des -seigneurs inquisiteurs le décida à aller lui-même leur apprendre ce qui -en était. Ils lui dirent de briser la machine et qu’il n’en fût plus -question. La tête n’en passa pas moins pour enchantée dans l’opinion de -don Quichotte et de Sancho: le chevalier resta très-satisfait de la -réponse qu’il avait obtenue, et l’écuyer assez peu content de la -sienne. - -Pour complaire à don Antonio, pour profiter de la présence de notre -héros et se divertir de ses folies, plusieurs gentilshommes de la ville -avaient résolu de faire, à six jours de là, une course de bagues: cette -course n’eut point lieu, pour les raisons que nous dirons par la suite. -Dans l’intervalle il prit envie à don Quichotte de parcourir Barcelone, -mais à pied et comme _incognito_, pour ne plus se voir poursuivi par les -petits garçons: il sortit accompagné de Sancho, et de deux valets que -lui donna don Antonio. Or, pendant qu’il se promenait, il lut par hasard -sur une porte ces mots écrits en grandes lettres: IMPRIMERIE. Poussé par -la curiosité, car il n’en avait jamais vu, il y entra avec tout son -cortége. Il vit d’abord des gens qui tiraient des feuilles de papier de -dessous la presse, d’autres qui corrigeaient des épreuves, d’autres qui -composaient; en un mot, tout ce qui se pratique dans une imprimerie. -Notre chevalier s’approchait de chaque ouvrier, s’informant de ce qu’il -faisait, admirait et passait outre. Enfin il s’arrêta près d’un -compositeur, et lui demanda quel était son emploi. - -Seigneur, répondit l’ouvrier, ce gentilhomme qui est assis là (en lui -montrant un homme de bonne mine et qui avait l’air fort soucieux) a -traduit un livre de l’italien en langue castillane, et je suis en train -de le composer pour le mettre sous presse. - -Quel est le titre de ce livre? demanda don Quichotte. - -Seigneur, lui répondit l’auteur en s’approchant, ce livre se nomme _le -Bagatele_ en italien. - -Comment rendez-vous ce mot en castillan? continua don Quichotte. - -_Le Bagatele_, reprit l’auteur, signifie _les Bagatelles_; et bien qu’un -pareil titre n’en donne pas une grande idée, ce livre ne laisse pas de -renfermer des choses utiles et de bon goût. - -Je sais quelque peu la langue italienne, repartit don Quichotte, et je -connais passablement mon Arioste. Dites-moi, seigneur, et je ne vous -adresse cette question que par simple curiosité et non pour faire subir -un examen à Votre Grâce, avez-vous rencontré quelquefois dans la langue -italienne le mot _pignata_? - -Fort souvent, répondit l’auteur. - -Comment le traduisez-vous en castillan? demanda don Quichotte. - -Et comment le traduire autrement que par le mot _marmite_? répliqua -celui-ci. - -Mort de ma vie! dit don Quichotte, je vois que vous connaissez à fond -l’idiome toscan. Ainsi, quand il y a dans l’italien _piace_, vous le -traduisez par _plaît_, _più_ par _plus_, _sù_ par _en haut_, et _giù_ -par _en bas_. - -En effet, répondit l’auteur, ce sont là les véritables équivalents. - -Eh bien, malgré votre savoir, je gagerais, repartit don Quichotte, que -vous n’en êtes pas mieux apprécié du public, toujours enclin à dédaigner -les louables travaux. Oh! que de talents enfouis, que de génies oubliés! -Toutefois il faut convenir que les traductions d’une langue dans une -autre, à moins qu’il ne s’agisse du grec et du latin, véritables reines -des langues, ressemblent beaucoup à ces tapisseries de Flandre qui, vues -à l’envers, n’ont ni le poli, ni le brillant de l’endroit. Je n’entends -pas dire par là que le métier de traducteur ne soit pas estimable; car -on peut s’occuper à de pires choses et qui donnent moins de profit. Dans -tous les cas, il faut faire une exception en faveur de deux célèbres -traducteurs, Christoval de Figueroa, pour le _Pastor Fido_, et don Juan -de Jauregui, pour l’_Aminta_, où l’un et l’autre ont su faire douter -quelle est la traduction, et quel est l’original. Mais, dites-moi, je -vous prie, votre livre s’imprime-t-il pour votre compte, ou bien en -avez-vous vendu le privilége à quelque libraire? - -Je le fais imprimer à mes frais, répondit l’auteur, et je prétends -gagner mille ducats au moins avec la première édition, que l’on tire en -ce moment à deux mille exemplaires: ils seront bientôt, je l’espère, -débités aux prix de six réaux chacun. - -Je crains que vous n’ayez mauvaise chance, repartit don Quichotte; on -voit bien que vous ne connaissez pas encore les libraires: allez, -seigneur, vous êtes loin de compte; quand vous aurez sur les bras ces -deux mille exemplaires, vos épaules en seront moulues à crier merci, -surtout si l’ouvrage n’a rien de piquant. - -Eh! que voulez-vous que je fasse? répondit l’auteur: faut-il que j’aille -donner mon livre à un libraire qui m’en offrirait la dixième partie de -ce qu’il vaut, et croirait me faire encore trop d’honneur? Tenez, je -dois vous dire la vérité: eh bien, je ne travaille pas pour me faire une -réputation, car je suis assez connu, c’est du profit que je cherche, et -sans le profit je ne donnerais pas un maravédis de la bonne renommée -pour mes ouvrages. - -Dieu veuille que vous réussissiez! dit don Quichotte. - -Il passa à une autre casse, où l’ouvrier corrigeait une feuille d’un -livre intitulé: _La lumière de l’âme_. Voilà, dit-il, les livres qu’on a -raison d’imprimer, quoiqu’il y en ait déjà beaucoup; mais le nombre des -pécheurs est plus grand encore, et il ne saurait y avoir trop de -lumières pour tant d’aveugles. - -Plus loin on travaillait à un autre ouvrage; notre héros en ayant -demandé le titre, on lui répondit que c’était _la seconde partie de -l’ingénieux don Quichotte de la Manche_, composée par un bourgeois de -Tordesillas. - -Je connais ce livre, dit-il, et je croyais qu’on l’avait fait brûler -comme n’étant qu’un tissu d’impostures; mais patience, son heure -viendra. Il est impossible que l’on ne finisse pas par se désabuser de -tant de sottises, surtout dépourvues qu’elles sont d’agrément et de -vraisemblance. - -En disant cela, il sortit de l’imprimerie, mais non sans laisser percer -quelques marques de dépit. - -Le même jour, don Antonio voulut faire visiter à don Quichotte les -galères ancrées dans le port, à la grande joie de Sancho, qui n’en avait -vu de sa vie, il envoya dire à l’amiral, lequel avait déjà entendu -parler de notre chevalier, qu’il le lui mènerait après le dîner. Ce qui -leur arriva dans cette visite se verra dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE LXIII - -DU PLAISANT RÉSULTAT QU’EUT POUR SANCHO SA VISITE AUX GALÈRES, ET DE -L’AVENTURE DE LA BELLE MORISQUE. - -Don Quichotte ne cessait de réfléchir aux réponses de la tête enchantée, -dont il cherchait vainement à pénétrer le secret; toutefois il se -réjouissait en lui-même de la promesse qu’elle lui avait faite touchant -le désenchantement de Dulcinée, qu’il tenait pour certain désormais. -Quant à Sancho, quoiqu’il eût pris en haine les fonctions de gouverneur, -il souhaitait toujours de commander et de se voir obéi encore une fois, -tant on trouve de plaisir à se sentir au-dessus des autres, même quand -ce n’est qu’un simple jeu. - -Enfin, après le dîner, don Antonio, ses deux amis, don Quichotte et -Sancho, allèrent visiter les galères. Ils ne furent pas plutôt au bord -de la mer, que l’amiral, prévenu de leur arrivée, se prépara à les -recevoir dignement. On abattit la tente, les clairons retentirent; on -mit à l’eau l’esquif couvert de riches tapis et garni de coussins de -velours cramoisi. Au moment où don Quichotte y posait le pied, la galère -capitane fit une salve de son artillerie, à laquelle répondit toute la -flotte. Puis, quand il s’apprêtait à monter à l’échelle, la chiourme le -salua, comme c’est l’usage lorsqu’une personne de qualité entre dans un -bâtiment, par ce cri trois fois répété: _hou, hou, hou_. L’amiral, qui -était un gentilhomme valencien, lui tendit la main, et lui dit en -l’embrassant: Je marquerai ce jour avec une pierre blanche, comme un des -plus heureux de ma vie, puisque j’ai eu le bonheur de voir le seigneur -don Quichotte de la Manche, en qui brille et se résume tout l’éclat de -la chevalerie errante. Notre héros répondit à ce compliment avec sa -courtoisie habituelle, heureux qu’il était de se voir traité avec tant -de distinction. Toute la compagnie entra dans la cabine de poupe, qui -était meublée avec élégance, et s’assit sur les bancs des plats bords. -Aussitôt le _comite_ passa dans l’entre-pont, et d’un coup de sifflet -fit mettre casaque bas à la chiourme, ce qui fut exécuté en un clin -d’œil. - -A l’aspect de tant de gens nus, Sancho resta bouche béante; mais ce fut -bien autre chose quand il les vit hisser la tente avec une si grande -promptitude, qu’il crut que c’était un enchantement. Notre écuyer était -assis sur le pilier de poupe, près du premier rameur du banc de droite; -celui-ci, qui avait reçu le mot d’ordre, le saisit vivement, et -l’enlevant à bras tendus, le passa à la chiourme. Voilà donc Sancho -voltigeant de banc en banc, de main en main, et avec une telle vitesse -qu’il se croyait emporté par tous les diables; enfin, les forçats ne le -lâchèrent qu’après l’avoir déposé à la place qu’il occupait d’abord, -mais suant à grosses gouttes, et si haletant qu’il ne pouvait plus -respirer. Étonné de voir ainsi voltiger son écuyer, don Quichotte -demanda à l’amiral si c’était là une cérémonie dont on honorait les -nouveaux venus sur les galères. Quant à moi, ajouta-t-il, je n’ai nulle -envie d’y faire profession, et si quelqu’un est assez osé pour me -toucher du doigt, je lui tirerai l’âme du corps à grands coups de pieds -dans les côtes. En prononçant ces paroles, il se leva et mit la main sur -la garde de son épée. - -Tout à coup, on abattit la tente, et l’on fit tomber la grande vergue -avec un bruit épouvantable; si bien que Sancho, croyant que le ciel lui -croulait sur les épaules, se cacha la tête entre les jambes. Don -Quichotte lui-même tressaillit et changea de couleur. La chiourme hissa -la vergue avec la même promptitude et dans le même silence. Le _comite_ -ayant donné le signal de lever l’ancre sauta au milieu de l’entre-pont, -le nerf de bœuf à la main, se mit à cingler les épaules des forçats, et -la galère prit le large. - -Quand Sancho vit se mouvoir à la fois tous ces pieds rouges, car il -prenait les rames pour des pieds: Pour le coup, dit-il en lui-même, -voilà des choses vraiment enchantées, et non pas celles que raconte mon -maître. Mais qu’ont fait ces malheureux pour qu’on les traite de la -sorte? Comment cet homme, qui se promène en sifflant, a-t-il l’audace de -fouetter à lui seul tant de gens? Par ma foi, si ce n’est pas ici -l’enfer, je jurerais que nous n’en sommes pas loin. - -Don Quichotte, voyant avec quelle attention Sancho regardait tout ce qui -se passait, s’approcha et lui dit: Sancho, mon ami, avec quelle facilité -tu pourrais, à peu de frais, te mettre nu jusqu’à la ceinture seulement, -et te glisser pendant quelques instants parmi ces gentilshommes, pour -en finir une bonne fois avec le désenchantement de Dulcinée! Au milieu -des souffrances de tant de gens, tu ne sentirais pas les tiennes. Je -suis même certain que le sage Merlin compterait chaque coup pour dix en -les voyant si bien appliqués. - -L’amiral allait demander quels étaient ces coups de fouet et ce -désenchantement de Dulcinée, quand on signala un bâtiment près de la -côte, au couchant. Aussitôt s’élançant sur le tillac, l’amiral cria: -Allons, enfants, qu’il ne nous échappe pas; c’est sans doute quelque -corsaire algérien. Les autres galères s’approchèrent de la galère -capitane pour prendre l’ordre de l’amiral, qui en fit partir deux vers -la haute mer, tandis qu’avec la troisième il se proposait de serrer la -terre de si près que le corsaire ne pût s’échapper. La chiourme -travaillait avec une telle ardeur que les galères semblaient voler sur -les eaux. Celles qui avaient gagné le large ne tardèrent pas à découvrir -le brigantin, qui, de son côté, ne les eut pas plus tôt aperçues qu’il -prit chasse, espérant échapper par sa légèreté; mais ce fut en vain; -aussi le patron était-il d’avis qu’on cessât de ramer et qu’on se rendît -à discrétion, afin de ne pas trop irriter notre amiral. Malheureusement -le sort voulut qu’au moment d’amener, deux Turcs pris de vin, qui -étaient à bord du brigantin, tirèrent chacun un coup d’arquebuse, et -tuèrent deux de nos gens montés dans la grande hune. A ce spectacle, -notre amiral fit serment de mettre à mort tous ceux qui étaient sur ce -navire. Il poussa avec fureur sur le brigantin qui esquiva par-dessous -les rames; mais la galère lui coupa le chemin et le devança d’un -demi-mille environ. Se voyant perdu, l’équipage déploya ses voiles -pendant que le capitaine revirait, et se mit à fuir de toute sa vitesse. -Mais cela ne servit qu’à retarder de quelques instants sa perte; il fut -contraint de se rendre. Les autres galères étant arrivées au même -instant, toutes quatre, avec leur capture, retournèrent à la côte, où -une foule nombreuse et impatiente les attendait. L’amiral jeta l’ancre -près de terre, et sachant que le vice-roi était sur le rivage, il fit -mettre l’esquif à la mer pour l’aller chercher; il commanda ensuite de -descendre la vergue, décidé qu’il était à faire pendre sur-le-champ le -patron du corsaire, et les Turcs, au nombre de trente-six, tous beaux -hommes et bons tireurs. - -L’amiral ayant demandé quel était leur capitaine; un des captifs, qu’on -sut depuis être un renégat espagnol, répondit en castillan, en désignant -de la main un jeune garçon d’environ vingt ans, d’une admirable beauté: -Ce jeune homme que tu vois là est notre commandant. - -Dis-moi, chien, demanda l’amiral à ce dernier, qui t’a poussé à faire -tuer mes soldats, voyant qu’il t’était impossible d’échapper? Ne sais-tu -pas que témérité n’est pas vaillance, et qu’on doit plus de respect aux -galères capitanes? - -Le patron allait répondre, quand l’amiral le quitta pour s’avancer à la -rencontre du vice-roi, qui entrait dans la galère avec quelques gens de -sa suite et des personnes de la ville. - -La chasse a-t-elle été bonne? demanda le vice-roi. - -Si bonne, répondit l’amiral, que Votre Excellence va la voir pendue tout -à l’heure au haut de cette vergue. - -Eh, pourquoi? répliqua le vice-roi. - -Parce que sans motif et contre tous les usages de la guerre, ils ont tué -deux de mes meilleurs soldats; aussi ai-je juré de faire pendre tous -ceux qui se trouveraient à bord du corsaire, principalement ce jeune -garçon, qui en est le patron. - -En même temps il le lui montrait, les mains déjà liées et n’attendant -plus que la mort. Le vice-roi jeta les yeux sur le prisonnier, et en eut -compassion. Sa beauté, sa jeunesse, un certain air de modestie, -semblaient demander grâce, et il résolut de le sauver. - -De quelle nation es-tu? lui demanda-t-il, Turc, More ou renégat? - -Je ne suis rien de tout cela, répondit-il en castillan. - -Qu’es-tu donc? - -Je suis femme et chrétienne. - -Femme et chrétienne! sous ce costume et en tel lieu! répliqua le -vice-roi: voilà qui est étrange et difficile à croire? - -Seigneurs, dit-elle, suspendez mon supplice et je vous raconterai mon -histoire; cela ne retardera guère votre vengeance. - -Tout le monde était touché des paroles de cette femme et de l’air dont -elle les prononçait; mais l’amiral, toujours irrité, lui dit avec -rudesse: Raconte ce que tu voudras, mais n’espère pas que je te pardonne -la mort de mes soldats. - -Seigneurs, dit-elle, je suis née de parents mores, parmi cette nation -plus imprudente que sage sur laquelle sont tombés depuis peu tant -d’infortunes. A l’époque de nos malheurs, deux de mes oncles -m’emmenèrent malgré moi en Barbarie. J’eus beau protester et dire que -j’étais chrétienne, comme je le suis en effet et du fond du cœur, je -ne fus pas écoutée; ni ceux qui étaient chargés de nous déporter, ni mes -oncles, ne voulurent me croire; ils m’entraînèrent malgré moi. Cependant -mes parents étaient chrétiens; et j’ai si bien sucé avec le lait la foi -catholique, que je ne crois pas avoir jamais témoigné, par mes paroles -ou mes actions, aucune inclination contraire. Quoique tenue fort à -l’étroit dans la maison de mon père, on savait que j’étais belle, et le -bruit de ma beauté m’attira les soins d’un jeune gentilhomme appelé don -Gaspar Gregorio, fils aîné d’un chevalier qui avait une habitation près -de notre village. Vous dire comment il me vit, les ruses qu’il employa -pour me parler, les marques qu’il me donna de sa passion, aussi bien que -vous peindre sa joie quand il lui fut permis de croire que je l’aimais, -cela serait trop long à raconter, surtout en présence de la corde fatale -qui me menace. Je dirai seulement que don Gaspar voulut m’accompagner -dans notre exil. Il se mêla parmi les Mores chassés d’autres provinces, -et comme il connaissait parfaitement leur langue, il se lia d’amitié -pendant le voyage avec les deux oncles qui m’emmenaient; car en homme -prudent, mon père, dès le premier édit qui exilait notre nation, avait -été nous préparer un asile en pays étranger. Avant son départ il avait -eu aussi la précaution d’enfouir dans un endroit dont j’avais seule -connaissance, beaucoup de pierres précieuses et de perles d’un grand -prix, m’ordonnant de n’y point toucher, si même on nous déportait avant -son retour. Je lui obéis, et je passai en Barbarie avec mes oncles et -d’autres parents. Nous nous réfugiâmes d’abord à Alger, mais mieux eût -valu nous réfugier dans l’enfer même, car le dey ayant su que j’étais -belle autant que riche, me fit comparaître devant lui. Il me demanda -quel était mon pays, quels bijoux et quel argent j’apportais. Je lui -déclarai le lieu de ma naissance, ajoutant que mon argent et mes bijoux -y étaient enfouis, mais qu’on pourrait les recouvrer, si j’allais les -chercher moi-même. Je parlais ainsi afin que son avarice lui fît -oublier ce que j’avais de beauté. - -Pendant qu’il me questionnait de la sorte, on vint lui dire que j’étais -accompagnée d’un des plus beaux jeunes hommes qu’on pût imaginer: je -compris aussitôt qu’il s’agissait de don Gaspar, qui, en effet, est -d’une beauté peu commune. Je me troublai à la pensée du péril que don -Gaspar allait courir chez cette nation barbare, où l’on fait encore plus -de cas de la beauté des hommes que de celle des femmes. Le dey ordonna -de le lui amener, pour savoir si ce qu’on en disait était vrai. Alors, -par une subite inspiration du ciel, je lui affirmai que c’était une -femme, et le suppliai de me permettre d’aller lui faire prendre les -habillements de son sexe, afin que sa beauté se fît voir dans tout son -jour, et qu’elle parût avec moins d’embarras devant lui. Il y consentit, -en ajoutant que le lendemain on aviserait à nous faire passer en Espagne -pour y aller chercher le trésor enfoui. Je courus révéler à don Gaspar -le péril qu’il courait, et l’ayant habillé en femme, je le menai dès le -soir même devant le dey, qui, ravi d’admiration, résolut de le garder -pour en faire présent au Grand Seigneur. Mais en attendant, de crainte -d’être tenté lui-même, il le mit sous la garde d’une dame more, des -premières de la ville. Je laisse aux amants et à ceux qui connaissent -les tourments de l’absence à juger des mortelles angoisses que nous -dûmes éprouver, ainsi éloignés l’un de l’autre. - -Par l’ordre du dey je partis le lendemain sur ce brigantin, accompagnée -de deux Turcs, ceux-là même qui ont tué vos soldats, et de ce renégat -espagnol (montrant celui qui l’avait fait connaître pour le patron), qui -est chrétien au fond de l’âme, et qui a plus d’envie de rester en -Espagne que de retourner en Barbarie; le reste de la chiourme se compose -de Mores. Contrairement à l’ordre qu’ils avaient reçu de nous débarquer, -le renégat et moi, au premier endroit où on pourrait aborder, ces deux -Turcs ont voulu d’abord courir la côte pour faire quelque prise, -craignant, s’ils nous mettaient à terre auparavant, que leur dessein ne -fût dévoilé, et, s’il y avait des galères dans ces parages qu’on ne vînt -nous attaquer. Bref, nous avons été découverts, et nous voilà maintenant -entre vos mains. Mais, hélas! don Gaspar est resté parmi ces barbares, -en habit de femme, et exposé à toutes sortes de périls. Pour moi, je ne -sais si je dois me plaindre de mon sort; car, après tant de traverses, -la vie m’est devenue insupportable, et je la perdrai sans regret: la -seule chose que je vous demande, seigneurs, c’est de m’accorder la grâce -de mourir en chrétienne, puisque je suis innocente des fautes que l’on -reproche à ceux de ma nation. - -En achevant de parler, la belle Morisque versa des larmes, et la pitié -en arracha à tous les assistants. Non moins attendri, le vice-roi -s’approcha d’elle sans rien dire et lui délia les mains. - -Pendant qu’elle racontait son histoire, un vieux pèlerin, qui était -entré avec les gens du vice-roi, avait tenu les yeux cloués sur la jeune -fille; dès qu’elle eut cessé de parler, il se précipita à ses genoux, et -les embrassant avec tendresse: O Anna Félix, ma chère enfant, -s’écria-t-il, ne reconnais-tu point Ricote, ton père, qui revenait pour -te chercher, car il ne peut vivre sans toi? - -A ce nom de Ricote, Sancho, encore tout pensif du mauvais tour que lui -avaient joué les rameurs, leva la tête, fixa le pèlerin et reconnut ce -Ricote dont il avait fait la rencontre le jour où il quitta son -gouvernement; aussitôt, regardant par deux ou trois fois la jeune -Morisque, il affirma que c’était bien la fille de son ami qui, depuis -qu’elle avait les mains libres, s’était jetée au cou de son père, et y -restait attachée, mêlant ses larmes aux siennes. - -Oui, seigneurs, dit Ricote en s’adressant à l’amiral et au vice-roi, -c’est là ma fille, à qui son nom semblait promettre un meilleur sort, -car elle s’appelle Anna Félix, et elle n’est pas moins célèbre par sa -beauté que par mes richesses. J’ai quitté mon pays, afin d’aller à -l’étranger chercher un asile; et après en avoir découvert un en -Allemagne, je suis revenu sous ce costume, pour emmener mon enfant et -déterrer les richesses que j’avais enfouies avant mon départ. Mais je ne -trouvai que mon trésor que je rapporte avec moi. Aujourd’hui enfin, -après bien des traverses, je rencontre, par un hasard merveilleux, cette -chère enfant, mon véritable trésor, que je préfère à tous les biens du -monde. Si son innocence, ses larmes et les miennes peuvent vous toucher, -ayez pitié de deux malheureux qui ne vous ont pas offensés et qui n’ont -jamais pris part aux mauvais desseins de leurs compatriotes justement -exilés. - -Oh! je reconnais bien Ricote, reprit Sancho, et je vous réponds qu’il -dit vrai quand il assure qu’Anna Félix est sa fille: quant à toutes ses -allées et venues, à ses bons ou à ses mauvais desseins, je ne m’en mêle -pas. - -Tous les assistants étaient émerveillés d’une si étrange aventure. Vos -larmes, dit l’amiral, m’empêchent d’accomplir mon serment; vivez, belle -Anna Félix, vivez autant d’années que vous en réserve le ciel, et que -ceux-là qui ont eu l’insolence de commettre un meurtre inutile en -portent seuls la peine. - -En même temps, il ordonna de pendre les deux Turcs; mais le vice-roi -demanda leur grâce avec de si vives instances, remontrant qu’il y avait -eu dans leur action moins de bravade que de folie, que l’amiral y -consentit, car il est difficile de se venger de sang-froid. - -On s’occupa aussitôt des moyens de tirer don Gaspar du péril où il -était; Ricote offrit pour sa délivrance deux mille ducats, qu’il -possédait en perles et en bijoux. De tous les expédients proposés, aucun -ne fut jugé meilleur que celui du renégat espagnol, qui s’offrit de -retourner à Alger, dans une petite barque montée par des rameurs -chrétiens, parce qu’il savait où il pourrait débarquer et qu’il -connaissait aussi la maison où était don Gaspar. L’amiral et le vice-roi -avaient quelque scrupule de se fier à un renégat; mais Anna Félix -répondit de lui, et Ricote offrit de payer la rançon de l’équipage, si -par hasard il venait à être capturé. Ce parti adopté, le vice-roi prit -congé de l’amiral, et don Antonio Moreno emmena avec lui Anna Félix et -son père, le vice-roi lui ayant recommandé d’en avoir le plus grand -soin, tant il était touché de la beauté de la jeune Morisque! - -CHAPITRE LXIV - -DE L’AVENTURE QUI CAUSA LE PLUS DE CHAGRIN A DON QUICHOTTE PARMI TOUTES -CELLES QUI LUI FUSSENT JAMAIS ARRIVÉES. - -La femme de don Antonio accueillit Anna Félix dans sa maison avec une -joie extrême et eut pour elle toutes sortes de prévenances, charmée -qu’elle était de sa beauté autant que de sa sagesse. Toute la ville -venait, comme à son de cloche, la voir et l’admirer. - -Don Quichotte assurait que le parti auquel on s’était arrêté pour -délivrer don Gaspar n’était pas le meilleur et qu’on aurait beaucoup -mieux fait de le passer lui-même, avec son cheval et ses armes, en -Barbarie, d’où il aurait tiré le jeune homme en dépit de tous les Mores, -comme avait fait don Galiferos pour son épouse Mélisandre. - -D’accord, seigneur, repartit Sancho; mais songez que lorsque don -Galiferos enleva sa femme, c’était en terre ferme, et qu’il la ramena en -France par la terre ferme; ici c’est tout autre chose: si vous parveniez -à délivrer ce don Gaspar, par où le ramèneriez-vous en Espagne, puisque -la mer est au milieu? - -Il y a remède à tout, excepté à la mort, répondit don Quichotte; pourvu -que le bâtiment puisse approcher de la côte, je me fais fort de -débarquer, quand bien même l’univers entier tenterait d’y mettre -obstacle. - -Cela ne coûte guère à dire, seigneur, repartit Sancho; mais du dit au -fait il y a grand trajet; pour ma part, je me fie au renégat, qui me -paraît habile et homme de bien. - -Au surplus, dit don Antonio, si le renégat ne réussit pas, on aura -recours à la valeur du grand don Quichotte, et on le passera en -Barbarie. - -Deux jours après, le renégat partit dans une barque légère, montée de -vigoureux rameurs. De son côté, l’amiral, après avoir prié le vice-roi -de lui donner des nouvelles d’Anna Félix, ainsi que de tout ce qui -serait fait pour la délivrance de don Gaspar, prit congé de lui, et fit -voile pour le Levant. - -Un matin que don Quichotte, armé de toutes pièces, car, ainsi qu’on l’a -dit maintes fois, _ses armes étaient sa parure, et ses délassements les -combats_, était sorti pour se promener sur la plage, il vit venir vers -lui un cavalier également armé de pied en cap, et portant un écu sur -lequel était peinte une lune resplendissante. Quand l’inconnu se fut -assez approché pour être entendu de notre héros, il lui dit d’une voix -haute et sonore: - -Insigne chevalier et jamais suffisamment loué, don Quichotte de la -Manche! je suis le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, dont les prouesses -inouïes t’auront sans doute appris le nom. Je viens pour me mesurer avec -toi, et mettre à l’épreuve la force de ton bras, dans l’unique but de te -faire reconnaître et confesser que ma dame, quelle qu’elle soit, est -incomparablement plus belle que ta Dulcinée du Toboso. Si tu confesses -cette vérité, tu éviteras, à toi la mort, et à moi la peine de te la -donner. Dans le cas où nous en viendrions aux mains, la seule chose que -j’exige de toi, si je suis vainqueur, c’est que déposant les armes, et -t’abstenant de chercher les aventures, tu te retires pendant une année -entière dans ton village, afin d’y vivre dans un repos non moins utile -au salut de ton âme qu’aux soins de ta fortune. Si, au contraire, je -suis vaincu, ma vie sera à ta discrétion; je t’abandonne mon cheval et -mes armes, et la renommée de mes hauts faits viendra s’ajouter à la -tienne. Choisis et réponds sur-le-champ, car je n’ai qu’un jour pour -expédier cette affaire. - -Don Quichotte resta étonné de l’arrogance du chevalier de la -Blanche-Lune et du sujet de son défi. Il répondit avec calme, mais d’un -ton sévère: Chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, vous dont les prouesses ne -sont point encore parvenues jusqu’à mon oreille, je fais serment que -jamais vous n’avez vu la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso; autrement, -vous n’eussiez point recherché ce combat, et vous eussiez avoué de -vous-même et sans crainte qu’il n’existe pas dans l’univers de beauté -comparable à la sienne. Sans donc prétendre que vous en avez menti, mais -me bornant à dire que vous vous abusez étrangement, j’accepte le défi -aux conditions que vous y avez mises, et je l’accepte sur-le-champ, afin -que ce jour décide entre vous et moi; n’exceptant de vos conditions -qu’une seule, celle d’accroître ma renommée du renom de vos prouesses. -Car ces prouesses, je les ignore, et quelles qu’elles soient, je me -contente des miennes. Prenez donc du champ ce que vous en voudrez -prendre, je ferai de même, et que la volonté du ciel s’accomplisse. - -De la ville, on avait aperçu le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, et déjà le -vice-roi était averti qu’on l’avait vu s’entretenir avec don Quichotte. -Aussitôt il prit le chemin de la plage, accompagné de don Antonio et de -plusieurs autres, et ils arrivèrent au moment où notre héros tournait -bride pour prendre du champ. Voyant les deux champions prêts à fondre -l’un sur l’autre, le vice-roi vint se placer au milieu de la lice, -s’informant du motif qui les portait à en venir si brusquement aux -mains. Le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune répondit qu’il s’agissait d’une -prééminence de beauté, répétant en peu de mots ce qui venait de se -passer. Sur ce, le vice-roi s’approcha de don Antonio, et lui demanda à -l’oreille s’il connaissait le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, et si ce -n’était pas là quelque mauvais tour qu’on voulût jouer à don Quichotte. -Don Antonio ayant répondu qu’il l’ignorait, le vice-roi resta quelque -temps indécis s’il permettrait aux combattants de passer outre. -Toutefois, pensant bien que c’était une plaisanterie, il s’écarta en -disant: Seigneurs chevaliers, s’il n’y a point ici de milieu entre -confesser ou mourir, si le seigneur don Quichotte est intraitable, et si -Votre Grâce, seigneur de la Blanche-Lune, n’en veut pas démordre, en -avant, et à la garde de Dieu! - -Le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune remercia le vice-roi en termes pleins de -courtoisie. Don Quichotte fit de même, se recommandant de tout son cœur -à Dieu et à sa dame Dulcinée, suivant sa coutume en pareilles -rencontres; il prit un peu plus de champ, voyant que son adversaire -faisait de même; puis, sans qu’aucune trompette en donnât le signal, ils -fondirent tout à coup l’un sur l’autre. Le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune -montait un coursier plus vif et plus vigoureux que Rossinante, si bien -qu’arrivé aux deux tiers de la carrière, il heurta don Quichotte avec -tant de force, sans se servir de la lance, dont il leva la pointe à -dessein, qu’il fit rouler homme et monture sur le sable. Aussitôt, se -précipitant vers le chevalier, et lui mettant le fer de sa lance à la -gorge: Vous êtes vaincu, seigneur chevalier, lui dit-il, et vous êtes -mort si vous ne confessez les conditions de notre combat. - -Étourdi et brisé de sa chute, don Quichotte répondit d’une voix creuse -et dolente comme si elle fût sortie du tombeau: Dulcinée du Toboso est -la plus belle personne du monde, et moi le plus malheureux des -chevaliers; mais il ne faut pas que mon malheur démente une vérité si -manifeste. Pousse ta lance, chevalier, et m’ôte la vie, puisque déjà tu -m’as ôté l’honneur. - -Non, non, répliqua le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, vive, vive dans tout -son éclat la réputation de beauté de madame Dulcinée du Toboso. Je -n’exige qu’une chose, c’est que le grand don Quichotte se retire pendant -toute une année dans son village, ainsi que nous en sommes convenus -avant d’en venir aux mains. - -Le vice-roi, don Antonio et ceux qui étaient présents entendirent ces -paroles, et la réponse faite par notre héros, que pourvu qu’on ne lui -demandât rien de contraire à la gloire de Dulcinée, il accomplirait tout -le reste en véritable chevalier. De quoi le vainqueur déclara se -contenter, puis tournant bride et saluant les spectateurs, il se dirigea -au petit galop vers la ville. Le vice-roi donna ordre à Antonio de le -suivre et de s’informer qui il était. - -On releva don Quichotte, et on lui découvrit le visage qu’on trouva -pâle, inanimé, inondé d’une sueur froide. Rossinante était dans un tel -état qu’il fut impossible de le remettre sur ses jambes. Sancho, triste -et accablé, ne savait que dire ni que faire; tout cela lui paraissait un -songe, un véritable enchantement. Il voyait son seigneur vaincu, rendu à -merci, et obligé de ne porter les armes d’un an entier, en même temps -que la gloire de ses exploits était à jamais ensevelie. De son côté à -lui, toutes ses espérances s’en allaient en fumée; enfin, il craignait -que Rossinante ne restât estropié pour le reste de ses jours, et son -maître disloqué, sinon pis encore. - -Finalement, avec une chaise à porteur, que le vice-roi fit venir, on -ramena notre héros à la ville, et lui-même regagna son palais, -très-impatient de savoir qui était le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune. - -CHAPITRE LXV - -OU L’ON FAIT CONNAITRE QUI ÉTAIT LE CHEVALIER DE LA BLANCHE-LUNE, ET OU -L’ON RACONTE LA DÉLIVRANCE DE DON GREGORIO, AINSI QUE D’AUTRES -ÉVÉNEMENTS. - -Don Antonio Moreno suivit le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, qu’une foule -d’enfants escortèrent jusqu’à la porte d’une hôtellerie située au centre -de la ville. Ainsi mis sur ses traces, il y entra presque aussitôt que -lui, et le trouva dans une salle basse en train de se faire désarmer par -son écuyer. Don Antonio le salua sans dire mot, attendant l’occasion -d’ouvrir l’entretien; mais le chevalier, voyant qu’il ne se disposait -pas à se retirer, lui dit: Seigneur, je vois ce qui vous amène, vous -voulez savoir qui je suis; et comme je n’ai nulle raison de le cacher, -je vais vous satisfaire pendant que mon écuyer achèvera de m’ôter mon -armure. Je m’appelle le bachelier Samson Carrasco, et j’habite le même -village que don Quichotte de la Manche. La folie de ce pauvre hidalgo, -qui fait compassion à tous ceux qui le connaissent, m’a ému de pitié -encore plus que tout autre. Persuadé que sa guérison dépend de son -repos, je me suis mis en tête de le ramener dans sa maison. Il y a -environ trois mois, j’endossai le harnais dans ce dessein, et, sous le -nom de chevalier des Miroirs, je me mis à la recherche de don Quichotte, -afin de le combattre et de le vaincre, sans toutefois le blesser, ayant -mis préalablement dans les conditions du combat que le vaincu resterait -à la merci du vainqueur. Mon intention était de lui imposer de ne pas -sortir de sa maison d’un an entier, persuadé que pendant ce temps on -parviendrait à le guérir. Mais la fortune en ordonna autrement; ce fut -lui qui me fit rudement vider les arçons. Don Quichotte continua sa -route, et je m’en retournai brisé de ma chute, qui avait été fort -dangereuse. Cependant je n’avais pas renoncé à mon entreprise, ainsi que -vous venez de le voir, et cette fois, c’est moi qui suis vainqueur. -Voilà, seigneur, sans aucune réticence, ce que vous désiriez savoir. Je -ne demande à Votre Grâce qu’une seule chose, c’est que don Quichotte -n’ait jamais connaissance de ce que je viens de vous dire, afin que mes -bonnes intentions ne soient pas perdues, et que le pauvre homme arrive à -recouvrer l’esprit, qu’il a d’ailleurs excellent lorsqu’il n’est point -troublé par les rêveries de son extravagante chevalerie. - -Ah! seigneur, repartit don Antonio, que Dieu vous pardonne le tort que -vous faites au monde entier en le privant du plus agréable fou qu’il -possède. Tout le profit qu’on peut tirer du bon sens de don Quichotte -compensera-t-il jamais le plaisir que nous procurent ses folies? Mais je -crains que votre peine soit inutile, car il est presque impossible de -rendre la raison à un homme qui l’a si complétement perdue. Quant à moi, -si ce n’était pécher contre la charité, je demanderais que don Quichotte -ne guérît point, puisque par là nous serons privés non-seulement de ses -aimables extravagances, mais encore de celles de son écuyer Sancho, dont -la moindre est capable de dérider la mélancolie même. Je me tairai -toutefois, afin de voir, ce dont je doute, si vos soins aboutiront à -quelque chose. - -Seigneur, repartit Carrasco, l’affaire est en bon train, et j’espère un -heureux succès. - -Après quelques compliments échangés de part et d’autre, don Antonio -quitta le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, qui, ayant fait lier ses armes, -les plaça sur un mulet, et, monté sur son cheval de bataille, prit le -chemin de son village. De son côté, don Antonio alla rendre compte de sa -mission au vice-roi, qui ne put s’empêcher de partager ses regrets, -prévoyant bien que la réclusion de notre héros allait priver le monde de -ses nouvelles folies. - -Don Quichotte resta six jours au lit, sombre, rêveur, et beaucoup plus -affligé de sa défaite que du mal qu’il ressentait. Sancho ne le quittait -pas d’un instant, et s’efforçait de le consoler: Allons, mon bon -maître, lui disait-il, relevez la tête, et tâchez de reprendre votre -gaieté: mieux vaut se réjouir que s’affliger; n’êtes-vous pas assez -heureux de ne point vous être brisé les côtes en tombant si lourdement; -ignorez-vous que là où se donnent les coups ils se reçoivent, et qu’il -n’y a pas toujours du lard où se trouvent des crochets pour le pendre? -Moquez-vous du médecin, puisque vous n’avez pas besoin de lui pour -guérir; retournons chez nous, sans chercher désormais les aventures à -travers des pays qui nous sont inconnus. Après tout, si vous êtes le -plus maltraité, c’est moi qui suis le plus perdant. Quoique j’aie laissé -avec le gouvernement l’envie d’être gouverneur, je n’ai pas renoncé à -devenir comte; cependant il faudra bien que je m’en passe, si vous -n’arrivez pas à devenir roi, comme cela est probable, en quittant vos -chevaleries, et alors toutes mes espérances s’en iront en fumée. - -Mon ami, répondit don Quichotte, il n’y a rien de désespéré. Ma retraite -ne doit durer qu’une année; au bout de ce temps je reprendrai l’exercice -des armes, et alors je ne manquerai pas de royaumes à conquérir, ni de -comtés à te donner. - -Dieu le veuille, répliqua Sancho: bonne espérance vaut toujours mieux -que mauvaise possession. - -Comme ils en étaient là, don Antonio entra avec toutes les marques d’une -grande allégresse: Bonne nouvelle, dit-il, seigneur don Quichotte, bonne -nouvelle! don Gaspar et le renégat sont au palais du vice-roi, et ils -vont venir ici dans un instant. - -Le visage de don Quichotte parut se dérider un peu. - -En vérité, seigneur, reprit-il, j’aurais préféré que le contraire -arrivât, afin de passer moi-même en Barbarie et d’avoir le plaisir de -délivrer, avec don Gaspar, tous les chrétiens esclaves de ces infidèles. -Mais, hélas! ajouta-t-il en soupirant: ne suis-je pas ce vaincu, ce -désarçonné, qui d’une année entière n’a le droit de porter les armes? De -quoi puis-je me vanter, moi qui suis plus propre à filer une quenouille -qu’à manier une épée. - -Laissons tout cela, seigneur, répliqua Sancho; vous me faites mourir -avec tous vos discours: voulez-vous donc vous enterrer tout vivant? vive -la poule, même avec sa pépie: on ne peut pas toujours vaincre; il faut -que chacun ait son tour! Ainsi va le monde. Tenez, il n’y a rien de sûr -avec toutes ces batailles; mais celui qui tombe aujourd’hui peut se -relever demain, à moins qu’il n’aime mieux garder le lit: je veux dire -s’il laisse abattre son courage à ce point qu’il ne lui en reste plus -pour de nouveaux combats. Levez-vous, mon cher maître, et allons -recevoir don Gaspar: au bruit que j’entends, il faut qu’il soit déjà -dans la maison. - -En effet, don Gaspar, après avoir salué le vice-roi, s’était rendu avec -le renégat chez don Antonio, impatient de revoir Anna Félix, et sans -prendre le temps de quitter l’habit d’esclave qu’il avait en partant -d’Alger; ce qui n’empêchait pas qu’il n’attirât les yeux de tout le -monde par sa bonne mine, car il était d’une beauté surprenante, et -pouvait avoir dix-sept à dix-huit ans. Ricote et Anna Félix allèrent le -recevoir, le père avec des larmes de joie et la fille avec une pudeur -charmante. Les deux amants ne s’embrassèrent point, car beaucoup d’amour -et peu de hardiesse vont de compagnie, et leurs yeux furent les seuls -interprètes de leurs chastes pensées. Le renégat raconta de quelle -manière il avait délivré don Gaspar; celui-ci raconta aussi les périls -qu’il avait courus parmi les femmes qui le gardaient, montrant dans son -récit une discrétion si charmante et si fort au-dessus de son âge, -qu’on ne lui trouva pas moins d’esprit que de grâce. Ricote récompensa -généreusement le renégat et ses rameurs. Le renégat rentra dans le giron -de l’Église, et de membre gangrené, il redevint sain et pur par la -pénitence. - -Deux jours après, le vice-roi et don Antonio s’occupèrent des moyens -d’empêcher qu’on n’inquiétât Ricote et Anna Félix, qu’ils désiraient -voir rester en Espagne, la fille étant si véritablement chrétienne et le -père si bien intentionné. Don Antonio s’offrit pour aller solliciter à -la cour, où d’autres affaires l’appelaient, disant qu’à force de -présents et avec le secours de ses amis, il espérait y réussir. Mais -Ricote répondit qu’il ne fallait rien espérer, parce que le comte de -Salazar, chargé par le roi d’achever l’expulsion des Mores, était, -quoique compatissant, un homme auprès de qui prières et présents étaient -inutiles, de sorte que, malgré toutes leurs ruses, il en avait déjà -purgé l’Espagne entière. - -Quoi qu’il en soit, répliqua don Antonio, quand je serai sur les lieux, -je n’épargnerai ni soin ni peine, et il en arrivera ce qu’il plaira à -Dieu. Don Gaspar viendra avec moi pour consoler ses parents qui sont -inquiets de son absence, et Anna Félix restera ici auprès de ma femme, -ou se retirera dans un couvent. Quant à Ricote, je suis assuré que -monseigneur le vice-roi ne lui refusera pas sa protection, jusqu’au -résultat de mes démarches. - -Le vice-roi approuva tout. Don Gaspar refusa d’abord de s’éloigner -d’Anna Félix; mais comme il désirait beaucoup revoir ses parents, et -qu’il était certain de retrouver sa maîtresse, il finit par consentir à -l’arrangement proposé. Le jour du départ arriva, et de la part des deux -amants, il y eut bien des larmes et bien des soupirs. - -Enfin, il fallut se séparer; Ricote offrit à don Gaspar mille écus, que -le jeune homme refusa malgré toutes ses instances, se bornant à -accepter de don Antonio l’argent dont il crut avoir besoin. - -Deux jours après, don Quichotte se sentant un peu rétabli, se mit aussi -en chemin, sans cuirasse et sans armes, vêtu d’un simple habit de -voyage, et suivi de Sancho à pied, qui conduisait le grison chargé de la -panoplie de son maître. - -CHAPITRE LXVI - -QUI TRAITE DE CE QUE VERRA CELUI QUI VOUDRA LE LIRE - -Au sortir de Barcelone, don Quichotte voulut revoir le lieu où il avait -été vaincu: C’est ici que fut Troie[125], dit-il tristement; c’est ici -que ma mauvaise étoile, et non ma lâcheté, m’a enlevé toute gloire; -c’est ici que la fortune m’a fait sentir son inconstance, éprouver ses -caprices; ici se sont obscurcies mes prouesses; ici tomba ma renommée -pour ne plus se relever. - - [125] Campos ubi Troja fuit... (Réminiscence de Virgile.) - -Seigneur, lui dit Sancho, il est d’un cœur généreux d’avoir autant de -résignation dans le malheur que de ressentir de joie dans la prospérité. -Voyez, moi, j’étais assurément fort joyeux d’être gouverneur; eh bien, -maintenant que je suis à pied, suis-je plus triste pour cela? J’ai -entendu dire que cette femelle qu’on appelle la Fortune est une créature -fantasque, toujours ivre, et aveugle par-dessus le marché, aussi ne -voit-elle point ce qu’elle fait, et ne sait-elle ni qui elle abat, ni -qui elle élève. - -Tu es bien philosophe, Sancho, repartit don Quichotte, et tu parles -comme un docteur: je ne sais vraiment où tu as appris tout cela. Mais ce -que je puis te dire, c’est qu’il n’y a point de fortune en ce monde, et -que toutes les choses qui s’y passent, soit en bien, soit en mal, -n’arrivent jamais par hasard, mais sont l’effet d’une providence -particulière du ciel. De là vient qu’on a coutume de dire que chacun est -l’artisan de sa fortune. Moi, je l’avais été de la mienne, et c’est -parce que je n’y ai pas travaillé avec assez de prudence que je me vois -châtié de ma présomption. J’aurais dû penser que la débilité de -Rossinante le rendait incapable de soutenir le choc du puissant coursier -du chevalier de la Blanche-Lune; cependant j’acceptai le combat, et -quoique j’aie fait de mon mieux, j’eus la honte de me voir renversé dans -la poussière. Mais si j’ai perdu l’honneur, je dois avoir le courage -d’accomplir ma promesse. Quand j’étais chevalier errant, hardi, -valeureux, mon bras et mes œuvres étaient celles d’un homme de cœur; -aujourd’hui, descendu à la condition d’écuyer démonté, mon entière -soumission et ma loyauté feront voir que je suis homme de parole. Allons -faire chez nous notre année de noviciat, ami Sancho, et dans cette -réclusion forcée, nous puiserons une nouvelle vigueur pour reprendre -avec plus d’éclat l’exercice des armes. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, ce n’est point chose si agréable de cheminer -à pied, qu’elle donne envie de faire de longues étapes, et lorsque je -serai sur le dos du grison, nous marcherons aussi vite que vous voudrez. -Mais tant que mes jambes devront me porter, ne me pressez pas, s’il vous -plaît. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, attachons ici mes armes en -trophée, puis au-dessous et à l’entour nous graverons sur l’écorce des -arbres ce qu’il y avait au bas du trophée des armes de Roland: - - Que nul de les toucher ne soit si téméraire, - S’il ne veut de Roland affronter la colère. - -A merveille, seigneur, répondit Sancho; et n’était le besoin que nous -pourrions avoir de Rossinante, je serais d’avis qu’on le pendît -également. - -Non, repartit don Quichotte, il ne faut pendre ni les armes, ni -Rossinante, afin qu’on ne puisse pas dire: A bon serviteur mauvaise -récompense. - -Sans doute aussi, répliqua Sancho, à cause du proverbe qui dit qu’il ne -faut pas faire retomber sur le bât la faute de l’âne. Eh bien, puisque -c’est à Votre Grâce que revient le tort de cette aventure, châtiez-vous -vous-même, et ne vous en prenez point à vos armes qui sont déjà toutes -brisées, ni au malheureux Rossinante, qui n’en peut mais, et encore -moins à mes pauvres pieds, en les faisant cheminer plus que de raison. - -Cette journée et trois autres encore se passèrent en semblables -discours, sans que rien vînt entraver leur voyage. Le cinquième jour, à -l’entrée d’une bourgade, ils trouvèrent tous les habitants sur la place, -assemblés pour se divertir, car c’était la fête du pays. Comme don -Quichotte s’approchait d’eux, un laboureur éleva la voix et dit: Bon! -voilà justement notre affaire: ces seigneurs qui ne connaissent point -les parieurs jugeront notre différend. - -Très-volontiers, mes amis, répondit notre héros, pourvu que je parvienne -à bien comprendre. - -Mon bon seigneur, voici le cas, repartit le laboureur: un habitant de ce -village, si gros qu’il pèse près de deux cent quatre-vingts livres, a -défié à la course un de ses voisins, qui ne pèse pas la moitié autant -que lui, et ils doivent courir cent pas, à condition qu’ils porteront -chacun le même poids. Quand on demande à l’auteur du défi comment il -veut qu’on s’y prenne, il répond que son adversaire doit se charger de -cent cinquante livres de fer, et que par ce moyen ils pèseront autant -l’un que l’autre. - -Vous n’y êtes pas, dit Sancho devançant la réponse de son maître, et -c’est à moi, qui viens tout fraîchement d’être gouverneur, comme chacun -sait, à juger cette affaire. - -Juge, ami Sancho, reprit don Quichotte; aussi bien ne suis-je pas en -état de distinguer le blanc du noir, tant mon jugement est troublé et -obscurci. - -Eh bien, frères, continua Sancho, je vous dis donc, avec la permission -de mon maître, que ce que demande le défieur n’est pas juste. C’est -toujours au défié à choisir les armes; ici c’est le défieur qui les -choisit, et il en donne à son adversaire de si embarrassantes, que -celui-ci non-seulement ne saurait remporter la victoire, mais même se -remuer. Or, s’il est trop gros, qu’il se coupe cent cinquante livres de -chair par-ci par-là, à son choix: de cette manière les parties devenant -égales, personne n’aura lieu de se plaindre. - -Par ma foi, reprit un paysan, ce seigneur a parlé comme un bienheureux -et jugé comme un chanoine: mais le gros ne voudra jamais s’ôter une once -de chair, à plus forte raison cent cinquante livres. - -Le mieux est qu’ils ne courent point, dit un autre, afin que le maigre -n’ait point à crever sous le faix, ni le gros à se déchiqueter le corps. -Convertissons en vin la moitié de la gageure, et emmenons ces seigneurs -à la taverne: s’il en arrive mal, je le prends sur moi. - -Je vous suis fort obligé, seigneurs, répondit don Quichotte; mais je ne -puis m’arrêter un seul instant. De sombres pensées et de tristes -pressentiments me forcent d’être impoli et me font cheminer plus vite -que je ne voudrais. - -En parlant ainsi, il piqua Rossinante et passa outre, laissant les -villageois non moins étonnés de son étrange figure que de la sagacité de -son écuyer. - -Lorsqu’il les vit s’éloigner, un des laboureurs dit aux autres: Si le -valet a tant d’esprit, que doit être le maître! S’ils vont étudier à -Salamanque, je gage qu’ils deviendront en un tour de main alcades de -cour; car il n’est rien comme d’étudier et d’avoir un peu de chance, -pour, au moment où l’on y songe le moins, se voir verge à la main ou -mitre sur la tête. - -Cette nuit-là, le maître et le valet la passèrent à la belle étoile au -milieu des champs. Le matin, comme ils poursuivaient leur route, ils -virent venir à eux un messager à pied qui avait un bissac sur l’épaule, -et une espèce de bâton ferré à la main. Cet homme doubla le pas en -approchant de don Quichotte, et lui embrassant la cuisse: Seigneur, lui -dit-il, que monseigneur le duc aura de joie quand il apprendra que vous -retournez au château! Il y est encore avec madame la duchesse. - -Mon ami, je ne sais qui vous êtes; veuillez me le dire, reprit notre -chevalier. - -Moi, seigneur, répondit l’homme, je suis ce Tosilos, laquais de -monseigneur le duc, qui refusa de se mesurer avec Votre Grâce, au sujet -de la fille de la señora Rodriguez. - -Sainte Vierge! s’écria don Quichotte, quoi, c’est vous que les -enchanteurs, mes ennemis, ont transformé en laquais, pour m’ôter la -gloire de ce combat! - -Je vous demande pardon, répliqua Tosilos, il n’y eut ni transformation -ni enchantement: j’étais laquais quand j’entrai dans la lice, et laquais -quand j’en sortis. Comme la fille me semblait jolie, j’ai préféré -l’épouser plutôt que de combattre. Mais il y eut bien à déchanter après -votre départ: monseigneur le duc m’a fait donner cent coups de bâton, -pour n’avoir pas exécuté ses ordres; la pauvre fille a été mise en -religion, et la señora Rodriguez s’en est retournée en Castille. Pour -l’instant, je vais à Barcelone porter un paquet de lettres à monseigneur -le vice-roi, de la part de mon maître. J’ai ici une gourde pleine de -vieux vin, ajouta-t-il; Votre Seigneurie veut-elle boire un coup? -quoique chaud, quelques bribes d’un fromage que j’ai encore là vous le -feront trouver bon. - -Je vous prends au mot, dit Sancho, car, moi, je ne fais point de façon -avec mes amis. Que Tosilos mette la nappe, et nous verrons si les -enchanteurs m’empêchent de lever le coude. - -En vérité, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, tu es bien le plus grand -glouton et le plus ignorant personnage qui soit dans le monde. Ne -vois-tu pas que ce courrier est enchanté, et que ce n’est là qu’un faux -Tosilos. Reste avec lui; farcis-toi la panse, je m’en irai au petit pas -en t’attendant. - -Tosilos sourit en regardant partir le chevalier, et ayant tiré de son -bissac la gourde et le fromage, il s’assit sur l’herbe avec Sancho. Tous -deux y restèrent jusqu’à ce que la gourde fût entièrement vide; -l’histoire dit même qu’ils finirent par lécher le paquet de lettres, -seulement parce qu’il sentait le fromage. - -Ton maître doit être un grand fou! dit Tosilos à Sancho. - -Comment! il doit? répondit Sancho: parbleu! il ne doit rien, il n’y a -point d’homme qui paye mieux ses dettes, surtout quand c’est en monnaie -de folies. Je m’en aperçois bien, et je le lui ai souvent dit à -lui-même; mais qu’y faire? maintenant qu’il est fou à lier, depuis le -jour où il a été vaincu par le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune! - -Tosilos le pria de lui conter cette aventure; Sancho répondit qu’il lui -donnerait contentement à la première rencontre et qu’il ne voulait pas -faire attendre son maître plus longtemps. Il se leva, secoua son -pourpoint et les miettes qui étaient tombées sur sa barbe; puis ayant -souhaité un bon voyage à Tosilos, il poussa le grison devant lui et -rejoignit don Quichotte, qui l’attendait à l’ombre, sous un arbre. - -CHAPITRE LXVII - -DE LA RÉSOLUTION QUE PRIT DON QUICHOTTE DE SE FAIRE BERGER TOUT LE TEMPS -QU’IL ÉTAIT OBLIGÉ DE NE POINT PORTER LES ARMES - -Si don Quichotte, avant sa rencontre avec le chevalier de la -Blanche-Lune, avait été en proie à de tristes pensées, c’était bien pis -depuis sa défaite. - -Il attendait, comme je l’ai dit, couché à l’ombre d’un arbre, et là -mille pénibles souvenirs, comme autant de moustiques, venaient -l’assaillir et le harceler: les uns avaient trait au désenchantement de -Dulcinée, les autres au genre de vie qu’il allait mener pendant son -repos forcé. - -Sancho s’étant mis à lui vanter la générosité du laquais Tosilos: - -Est-il possible, lui dit-il, que tu croies encore que ce soit là un -véritable laquais? Tu as donc oublié la malice de mes ennemis les -enchanteurs? Dulcinée transformée en paysanne, et le chevalier des -Miroirs devenu le bachelier Carrasco? Mais, dis-moi, as-tu demandé à ce -prétendu Tosilos des nouvelles d’Altisidore? A-t-elle pleuré mon -absence, ou a-t-elle banni loin d’elle les amoureuses pensées qui la -tourmentaient avec tant de violence moi présent? - -Par ma foi, seigneur, répondit Sancho, je ne songeais guère à ces -niaiseries: mais, pourquoi, je vous prie, vous occuper des pensées -d’autrui, et surtout des pensées amoureuses? - -Mon ami, dit don Quichotte, il y a une grande différence entre la -conduite qu’inspire l’amour, et celle qui est dictée par la -reconnaissance: un chevalier peut se montrer froid et insensible, mais -il ne doit jamais être ingrat. Altisidore m’aimait sans doute, -puisqu’elle m’a donné les mouchoirs de tête que tu sais; elle a pleuré -mon départ, m’a adressé des reproches et maudit devant tout le monde, en -dépit de toute pudeur; preuves certaines qu’elle m’adorait, car toujours -les dépits des amants éclatent en malédictions. Moi, je n’avais ni -trésors à lui offrir, ni espérance à lui donner: tout cela appartient à -Dulcinée, la souveraine de mon âme, Dulcinée, que tu outrages par tes -retardements à châtier ces chairs épaisses que je voudrais voir mangées -des loups, puisqu’elles aiment mieux se réserver pour les vers du -tombeau que de s’employer à la délivrance de cette pauvre dame. - -En vérité, seigneur, répondit Sancho, je ne puis me persuader que ces -coups de fouet dont vous parlez sans cesse aient rien de commun avec le -désenchantement de personne; c’est comme si on disait: La tête te fait -mal; eh bien, graisse-toi la cheville. Je jurerais bien que dans vos -livres de chevalerie vous n’avez jamais vu délivrer un enchanté à coups -de fouet. Mais enfin, pour vous faire plaisir, je me les donnerai -aussitôt que l’envie m’en prendra et que j’en trouverai l’occasion. - -Que Dieu t’entende, dit don Quichotte, et qu’il te fasse la grâce de -reconnaître bientôt l’obligation où tu es de soulager ma dame et -maîtresse, qui est aussi la tienne puisque tu es à moi. - -En discourant ainsi, ils arrivèrent à l’endroit où ils avaient été -culbutés et foulés sous les pieds des taureaux. Don Quichotte reconnut -la place et dit à son écuyer: Voici la prairie où nous rencontrâmes -naguère ces aimables bergers et ces charmantes bergères qui voulaient -renouveler l’Arcadie pastorale. Leur idée me semble aussi louable -qu’ingénieuse; et si tu veux m’en croire, ami Sancho, nous nous ferons -bergers à leur imitation, ne fût-ce que pendant le temps que j’ai promis -de ne pas porter les armes. J’achèterai quelques brebis et toutes les -choses nécessaires à la vie pastorale; puis, me faisant appeler le -Berger Quichottin, et toi le berger Pancinot, nous nous mettrons à errer -à travers les bois et les prés, chantant par ici, soupirant par là, -tantôt nous désaltérant au pur cristal des fontaines, tantôt aux eaux -limpides des ruisseaux. Les chênes nous donneront libéralement leurs -fruits savoureux; le tronc des liéges, un abri rustique; les saules, -leur ombre hospitalière; la rose, ses parfums; les prairies, leurs tapis -émaillés de mille couleurs; l’air, sa pure haleine; les étoiles, leur -douce lumière; le chant, du plaisir: l’Amour nous inspirera de tendres -pensées, et Apollon nous dictera des vers qui nous rendront fameux, -non-seulement dans l’âge présent, mais aussi dans les siècles à venir. - -Pardieu, seigneur, voilà une manière de vivre qui m’enchante, répondit -Sancho; il faut que le bachelier Samson Carrasco et maître Nicolas le -barbier n’y aient jamais pensé: je parie qu’ils seront ravis de se faire -bergers. Et que diriez-vous si le seigneur licencié faisait de même, lui -qui est bon compagnon et qui aime tant la joie? - -Ce que tu dis là est parfait, reprit don Quichotte; et si le bachelier -Samson veut être de la partie, comme il n’aura garde d’y manquer, il -pourra s’appeler le berger Sansonio ou le berger Carrascon; maître -Nicolas s’appellera Nicoloso, à l’imitation de l’ancien Boscan, qui -s’appelait Nemoroso; quant au seigneur curé, je ne sais trop quel nom -lui donner, si ce n’est un nom qui dérive du sien, le berger Curiambro, -par exemple. Nous pourrons donner à nos bergères les noms que bon nous -semblera, et comme celui de Dulcinée convient aussi bien à une bergère -qu’à une princesse, je n’ai que faire de me creuser la tête pour lui en -chercher un autre; toi, Sancho, tu feras porter à ta bergère tel nom que -tu voudras. - -Je n’ai pas envie, répondit Sancho, de lui en donner un autre que celui -de Thérésona, il ira bien avec sa taille ronde et avec le nom qu’elle -porte, puisqu’elle s’appelle Thérèse, outre qu’en la nommant dans mes -vers, on verra que je lui suis fidèle, et que je ne vais point moudre au -moulin d’autrui. Pour ce qui est du curé, il ne convient pas qu’il ait -de bergère, afin de donner le bon exemple, mais si le bachelier veut en -avoir une, à lui permis. - -_Bone Deus!_ s’écria don Quichotte, quelle vie nous allons mener, ami -Sancho! que de cornemuses vont résonner à nos oreilles! que de -tambourins, de violes et de guimbardes! et si avec cela nous pouvons -nous procurer des albogues[126], il ne nous manquera aucun des -instruments qui entrent dans la musique pastorale. - - [126] Espèces de cymbales. - -Qu’est-ce que cela, des albogues, seigneur? demanda Sancho; je n’en ai -jamais vu, ni même entendu parler de ma vie. - -Des albogues, répondit don Quichotte, sont des plaques de métal assez -semblables à des pieds de chandeliers, et qui, frappées l’une contre -l’autre, rendent un son peu agréable, peut-être, mais qui se marie fort -bien avec la cornemuse et le tambourin. Ce nom d’albogue est arabe, -comme tous ceux de notre langue qui commencent par _al_; par exemple, -_almoaça_, _almorzar_, _alhombra_, _alguazil_, _almaçen_ et autres -semblables. Notre langue n’a que trois mots qui finissent en _i_, -_borcegui_, _zaquizami_ et _maravedi_; car _alheli_ et _alfaqui_, autant -pour l’_al_, qui est au commencement que pour l’_i_ de la fin, sont -reconnus pour être d’origine arabe. Je dis ceci en passant, parce que le -nom d’albogue vient de me le rappeler. Au reste, ce qui nous aidera -surtout à pratiquer dans la perfection notre état de berger, c’est que -je me mêle un peu de poésie, comme tu sais, et que le bachelier Carrasco -est un poëte excellent: du curé, je n’ai rien à dire, mais je crois -qu’il en tient un peu. Quant à maître Nicolas, il n’en faut pas douter, -car tous les barbiers sont joueurs de guitare et faiseurs de couplets. -Moi, je gémirai de l’absence; toi, tu chanteras la fidélité; le berger -Carrascon fera l’amoureux dédaigné; le berger Curiambro, ce qui lui -plaira; et de la sorte tout ira à merveille. - -Seigneur, dit Sancho, j’ai tant de guignon, que je ne verrai jamais -arriver l’heure de commencer une si belle vie. Oh! que de jolies -cuillers de bois je vais faire, quand je serai berger! que de fromages à -la crème, que de houlettes, que de guirlandes je ferai pour moi et ma -bergère! Et si l’on ne dit pas que je suis savant, au moins dira-t-on -que je ne suis pas maladroit. Sanchette, ma fille, viendra nous apporter -notre dîner à la bergerie. Mais, j’y songe! elle n’est pas trop -déchirée, la petite, et il y a des bergers qui sont plus malins qu’on ne -croit. Diable, je ne voudrais pas qu’elle vînt chercher de la laine et -s’en retournât tondue; les amourettes et les méchants désirs se fourrent -partout, aussi bien aux champs qu’à la ville, aussi bien dans les -chaumières que dans les châteaux. Ainsi je ne veux pas que ma fille -vienne à la bergerie, elle restera à la maison; car en ôtant l’occasion, -on ôte le péché, et, comme on dit, si les yeux ne voient pas, le cœur -ne saute pas. - -Trêve, trêve de proverbes, Sancho, s’écria don Quichotte; en voilà assez -pour exprimer ta pensée, et je t’ai souvent répété de n’en pas être si -prodigue. Mais, avec toi, c’est prêcher dans le désert; ma mère me -châtie, je fouette la toupie. - -Par ma foi, seigneur, repartit Sancho, Votre Grâce est avec moi comme la -pelle avec le fourgon: vous dites que je lâche trop de proverbes, et -vous les enfilez deux à deux. - -Écoute, Sancho, reprit don Quichotte, ceux que je place ont leur -à-propos; mais les tiens, tu les tires si fort par les cheveux, qu’on -dirait que tu les traînes. Je te l’ai répété souvent, les proverbes sont -autant de sentences tirées de l’expérience et des observations de nos -anciens sages; mais le proverbe qui vient à tort et à travers est plutôt -une sottise qu’une sentence. Au surplus, laissons cela: la nuit arrive, -éloignons-nous du chemin, et cherchons quelque gîte; nous verrons demain -ce que Dieu nous réserve. - -Ils gagnèrent un endroit écarté et soupèrent tard et mal, au grand -déplaisir de Sancho, à qui les jeûnes de la chevalerie errante faisaient -incessamment regretter l’abondance de la maison de don Diego, les noces -de Gamache et le logis de don Antonio. Mais enfin, considérant que la -nuit devait succéder au jour, et le jour à la nuit, il s’endormit pour -passer celle-là de son mieux. - -CHAPITRE LXVIII - -AVENTURE DE NUIT, QUI FUT PLUS SENSIBLE A SANCHO QU’A DON QUICHOTTE - -La nuit était obscure, quoique la lune fût au ciel, mais elle ne se -montrait pas dans un endroit d’où on pût l’apercevoir; car Diane va -quelquefois se promener aux antipodes, et laisse dans l’ombre nos -montagnes et nos vallées. Don Quichotte paya le tribut à la nature en -dormant le premier sommeil; mais il ne se permit pas le second, tout au -rebours de Sancho, qui avait coutume de dormir d’une seule traite, -depuis le soir jusqu’au matin, preuve d’une bonne constitution et de -fort peu de soucis. - -Ceux de don Quichotte, au contraire, le réveillèrent de bonne heure; -aussi, après avoir appelé plusieurs fois son écuyer, il lui dit: En -vérité, Sancho, je t’admire: tu parais aussi insensible que le marbre ou -le bronze; tu dors quand je veille, tu chantes quand je pleure; je tombe -d’inanition, faute de donner à la nature les aliments nécessaires, -pendant que tu es alourdi et haletant pour avoir trop mangé. Il est -pourtant d’un serviteur fidèle de prendre part aux déplaisirs de son -maître ou d’en paraître touché, ne fût-ce que par bienséance. Vois comme -la nuit est sereine, et quelle solitude règne autour de nous; tout cela -mérite bien qu’on se prive d’un peu de sommeil pour en profiter: -lève-toi donc, je t’en conjure: éloigne-toi un peu, et par pitié pour -Dulcinée donne-toi quatre ou cinq cents coups de fouet sur ceux que tu -es convenu de t’appliquer pour le désenchantement de cette pauvre dame; -agis de bonne grâce, je t’en supplie; je ne veux pas en venir aux mains -avec toi, comme l’autre jour; car, je le sais, tu as la poigne un peu -rude. Puis, quand l’affaire sera faite, nous passerons le reste de la -nuit à chanter, moi les maux de l’absence, et toi les douceurs de la -fidélité, commençant tous deux dès à présent cette vie que nous devons -mener dans notre village. - -Seigneur, répondit Sancho, je ne suis pas chartreux pour me lever ainsi -au milieu de mon sommeil et me donner la discipline. Par ma foi, voilà -qui est plaisant de croire qu’après cela nous chanterons toute la nuit: -pensez-vous qu’un homme qui a été bien étrillé ait grande envie de -chanter? Laissez-moi dormir, je vous prie, et ne me pressez point -davantage de me fouetter, autrement je fais serment de ne jamais battre -mon pourpoint, encore moins ma propre chair. - -O cœur endurci! s’écria don Quichotte, ô homme sans entrailles, ô -faveurs mal placées! est-ce là ma récompense de t’avoir fait gouverneur, -et de t’avoir mis en position de devenir au premier jour comte ou -marquis; ce qui ne peut manquer d’arriver aussitôt que j’aurai accompli -le temps de mon exil, car enfin, _post tenebras spero lucem_[127]. - - [127] Après les ténèbres, j’attends la lumière. - -Je ne comprends pas cela, repartit Sancho; mais ce que je comprends fort -bien, c’est que quand je dors je n’ai ni crainte ni espérance, ni peine -ni plaisir. Car, ma foi, béni soit celui qui a inventé le sommeil! -manteau qui couvre les soucis, mets qui chasse la faim, eau qui calme la -soif, feu qui garantit du froid, froid qui tempère la chaleur; en un -mot, monnaie universelle pour acheter tous les plaisirs du monde, -balance dans laquelle rois et bergers, savants et ignorants, ont tous le -même poids! C’est une bonne chose que le sommeil, seigneur, si ce n’est -qu’il ressemble à la mort; car d’un trépassé à un homme endormi, il n’y -a pas grande différence, excepté pourtant que l’on ronfle quelquefois, -tandis que l’autre ne souffle jamais mot. - -De ma vie je ne t’ai entendu parler avec autant d’élégance, dit don -Quichotte; et le proverbe a raison quand il dit: _Regarde non avec qui -tu nais, mais avec qui tu pais_. - -Eh bien, seigneur, repartit Sancho, est-ce moi maintenant qui enfile des -proverbes? Par ma foi, mon cher maître, ils sortent de votre bouche deux -par deux, avec cette différence, il est vrai, que ceux de Votre Grâce -viennent à propos, et les miens sans rime ni raison; mais, en fin de -compte, ce sont toujours des proverbes. - -Ils en étaient là quand ils entendirent un bruit sourd qui remplissait -toute la vallée. Don Quichotte se leva brusquement, et mit l’épée à la -main, mais Sancho se coula aussitôt sous son grison, se faisant un -rempart à droite et à gauche des armes de son maître et du bât de l’âne: -encore tremblait-il de tout son corps, quoiqu’il fût bien retranché. De -moment en moment le bruit augmentait; et plus il approchait de nos -aventuriers, plus il leur causait de frayeur, à l’un du moins, car pour -l’autre on connaît sa vaillance. Ce bruit venait de plus de six cents -pourceaux que des marchands conduisaient à la foire. Ils marchaient la -nuit afin de n’être point incommodés par la chaleur, et le grognement de -ces animaux était si fort, que don Quichotte et Sancho en avaient les -oreilles assourdies sans pouvoir deviner ce que ce pouvait être. Peu -soucieux de savoir si don Quichotte et Sancho se trouvaient sur leur -chemin et sans respect pour la chevalerie errante, les pourceaux leur -passèrent sur le corps, emportant les retranchements de Sancho, -confondant pêle-mêle le chevalier et l’écuyer, Rossinante et le grison, -le bât et les armes. - -Sancho se releva du mieux qu’il put, et demanda l’épée de son maître -pour apprendre à vivre à messieurs les pourceaux, car il avait enfin -reconnu ce que c’était. - -Laisse-les passer, ami, répondit tristement don Quichotte; cet affront -est la peine de mon péché, et il est juste qu’un chevalier vaincu soit -piqué par les moustiques, mangé par les renards, et foulé aux pieds par -les pourceaux. - -Je n’ai rien à répliquer à cela, seigneur, dit Sancho; mais est-il juste -que les écuyers des chevaliers vaincus soient tourmentés des moustiques, -mangés des poux, dévorés par la faim? Si nous étions, nous autres -écuyers, les enfants des chevaliers que nous servons, ou leurs proches -parents, je ne m’étonnerais pas que nous fussions châtiés pour leurs -fautes, même jusqu’à la quatrième génération. Mais qu’ont à démêler les -Panza avec les don Quichotte? Enfin, prenons courage, tâchons de dormir -le reste de la nuit: il fera jour demain, et nous verrons ce qui nous -attend. - -Dors, Sancho, dors, toi qui es né pour dormir, répondit notre héros: -moi, qui suis fait pour veiller, je vais songer à mes malheurs, et -tâcher de les soulager en chantant une romance que j’ai composée la nuit -dernière, et dont je ne t’ai rien dit. - -Par ma foi, reprit Sancho, les malheurs qui n’empêchent pas de faire des -chansons, ne doivent pas être bien grands. Au reste, seigneur, chantez -tant qu’il vous plaira; moi, je vais dormir de toutes mes forces. - -Là-dessus, prenant sur la terre autant d’espace qu’il voulut, il -s’endormit d’un profond sommeil. Don Quichotte, appuyé contre un hêtre, -ou peut-être contre un liége, car cid Hamet ne dit point quel arbre -c’était, chanta ces vers en soupirant: - - Amour! amour! lorsque je pense - Au terrible tourment que tu me fais souffrir, - Je ne songe plus qu’à mourir - Pour finir enfin ma souffrance. - - Mais au point de franchir le pas - Qui me doit délivrer des peines de la vie, - Un excès de plaisir dont mon âme est ravie - Me dérobe encore au trépas. - - Ainsi ne pouvant vivre et ne sachant mourir, - J’éprouve à tous moments des angoisses mortelles, - Et le sort n’a rien à m’offrir - Qu’une vie, une mort également cruelles[128]. - - [128] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Il accompagnait chaque vers de soupirs et de larmes, comme un homme -ulcéré du sentiment de sa défaite. - -Cependant le jour parut, et les rayons du soleil donnant dans les yeux -de Sancho, il commença à s’allonger, à se tourner d’un côté, puis d’un -autre, et parvint à s’éveiller tout à fait. En voyant le désordre -qu’avaient causé les pourceaux dans son équipage, il se mit à maudire le -troupeau et ceux qui le conduisaient. Bref, nos aventuriers reprirent -leurs montures, et continuèrent leur chemin. A la nuit tombante, ils -virent venir à leur rencontre huit ou dix hommes à cheval, suivis de -cinq ou six autres à pied. Don Quichotte sentit son cœur battre, et -Sancho le sien défaillir, car ces gens portaient des lances et des -boucliers, et semblaient en équipage de guerre. Sancho, dit notre héros -en se tournant vers son écuyer, s’il m’était permis de faire usage de -mes armes, et que ma parole ne me liât point les mains, cet escadron -entier ne me ferait pas peur. Il se pourrait cependant que ce fût tout -autre chose que ce que nous pensons. - -Il parlait encore lorsqu’ils furent rejoints par les cavaliers qui, -environnant don Quichotte sans dire mot, lui mirent la pointe de leurs -lances les uns sur la poitrine, les autres contre les reins, comme pour -le menacer de mort. Un des gens à pied, le doigt posé sur la bouche, -pour montrer qu’il fallait se taire, prit Rossinante par la bride, et le -conduisit hors du chemin; ses compagnons, entourant Sancho dans un -merveilleux silence, le firent marcher du même côté. Deux ou trois fois -il prit envie au pauvre chevalier de demander ce qu’on lui voulait, et -où on le conduisait: mais dès qu’il voulait desserrer les lèvres, ses -gardes, d’un œil menaçant et faisant briller leur lance, lui fermaient -la bouche. Sancho n’en était pas quitte à si bon marché: pour peu qu’il -fît mine de vouloir parler, on le piquait avec un aiguillon, lui et son -âne, comme si l’on eût appréhendé que le grison n’eût la même envie. La -nuit venue, on doubla le pas, et la frayeur augmenta dans le cœur de -nos deux prisonniers, quand ils entendirent ces paroles: Avancez, -Troglodites; silence, barbares; souffrez, anthropophages; cessez de vous -plaindre, Scythes; fermez les yeux, Polyphèmes meurtriers, tigres -dévorants, et autres noms semblables, dont on leur assourdissait les -oreilles. - -Voilà des noms qui ne sonnent rien de bon; disait Sancho en lui-même; il -souffle un mauvais vent! et tous les maux viennent à la fois, comme au -chien les coups de bâton. Plaise à Dieu que cette rencontre ne finisse -pas de même; mais elle commence trop mal pour avoir une bonne fin. - -Don Quichotte marchait tout interdit; il ne pouvait comprendre les -injures et les reproches dont on l’accablait; et malgré ses efforts pour -trouver une explication, il jugea seulement qu’il y avait beaucoup à -craindre et peu à espérer de cette aventure. Environ à une heure de la -nuit, ils arrivèrent à la porte d’un château que don Quichotte reconnut -pour être celui du duc, où il avait séjourné quelques jours auparavant. - -Eh! que signifie tout ceci? demanda-t-il alors: n’est-ce pas dans ces -lieux où j’ai rencontré naguère tant de courtoisie? Mais pour les -vaincus tout est amertume et déception, le bien se change en mal, et le -mal en pis. - -En entrant dans la principale cour du château, ce qu’ils aperçurent -augmenta leur étonnement, et redoubla leurs frayeurs, comme on le verra -dans le chapitre suivant. - -CHAPITRE LXIX - -DE LA PLUS SURPRENANTE AVENTURE QUI SOIT ARRIVÉE A DON QUICHOTTE DANS -TOUT LE COURS DE CETTE GRANDE HISTOIRE - -Les cavaliers mirent pied à terre, puis enlevant don Quichotte et Sancho -de leur selle, ils les portèrent dans la cour du château. Cent torches -brûlaient à l’entour, et plus de cinq cents lampes qui donnaient une -lumière égale à celle du plus beau jour éclairaient les galeries. Au -milieu de la cour s’élevait un catafalque haut de sept à huit pieds, -couvert d’un immense dais de velours noir, autour duquel brûlaient une -centaine de cierges de cire blanche dans des chandeliers d’argent. Sur -le catafalque était étendu le corps d’une jeune fille, si belle, qu’elle -embellissait la mort même. Sa tête, posée sur un carreau de brocart, -était couronnée d’une guirlande de fleurs diverses; dans ses mains, -croisées sur sa poitrine, elle tenait une branche de palmier. A l’un des -côtés de la cour s’élevait un espèce de théâtre, sur lequel on voyait -deux personnages, couronne en tête et sceptre à la main, tels qu’on -représente Minos et Rhadamanthe. Au pied de l’estrade, il y avait deux -siéges vides: ce fut là que les gens qui avaient arrêté don Quichotte et -Sancho les menèrent et les firent asseoir, en leur recommandant le -silence d’un air farouche; mais il n’était pas besoin de menaces, la -terreur les avait rendus muets. - -Pendant que notre chevalier regardait tout cela avec stupéfaction, ne -sachant que penser, surtout en voyant que le corps déposé sur le -catafalque était celui de la belle Altisidore, deux personnages de -distinction, que nos aventuriers reconnurent pour le duc et la duchesse, -naguère leurs hôtes, montèrent sur le théâtre et vinrent s’asseoir sur -deux riches fauteuils, auprès des deux rois couronnés. Don Quichotte et -Sancho leur firent une profonde révérence, à laquelle le noble couple -répondit en inclinant légèrement la tête. - -Un officier de justice parut alors, et s’approchant de Sancho, il le -revêtit d’une robe de boucassin noir, bariolée de flammes peintes, lui -posa sur la tête une mitre pointue, semblable à celles que portent les -condamnés du saint-office, en lui déclarant à voix basse que s’il -desserrait les dents on lui mettrait un bâillon, si même on ne le -massacrait sur la place. Ainsi affublé, Sancho se regardant des pieds à -la tête, se voyait tout couvert de flammes, mais comme il ne se sentait -point brûler, il en prit son parti. Il ôta la mitre, et la voyant -couverte de diables, il la replaça sur sa tête, en se disant à lui-même: -Puisque ni les flammes ne me brûlent ni les diables ne m’emportent, il -n’y a pas à s’inquiéter. Don Quichotte, en regardant son écuyer, ne put, -malgré toute sa frayeur, s’empêcher de rire. - -Alors, au milieu du silence général, on entendit sortir de dessous le -catafalque un agréable concert de flûtes; puis tout d’un coup, près du -coussin sur lequel reposait le cadavre se montra un beau jeune homme -vêtu à la romaine, qui, accordant sa voix avec une harpe qu’il tenait, -chanta les stances suivantes: - - Pendant que l’amoureuse et triste Altisidore - Repose en son cercueil; - Pendant que nous voyons encore - Soupirer et gémir ses compagnes en deuil, - Je vais, ainsi qu’un autre Orphée, - Chanter son mérite en mes vers, - Et pour l’apprendre à l’univers, - En informer la Renommée. - - Je ne prétends seulement pas - Le publier pendant la vie, - Je veux même après le trépas - Que, libre de mon corps, mon esprit le publie; - Qu’on sache partout ses malheurs, - Que l’univers entier en pleure, - Et jusqu’en la sombre demeure, - Que Pluton et sa cour en répandent des pleurs[129]. - - [129] Ces vers sont empruntés à la traduction de Filleau de - Saint-Martin. - -Assez, dit un des deux rois; assez, chantre divin: ce serait à n’en -jamais finir que de vouloir célébrer la mort et les attraits de -l’incomparable Altisidore. Elle n’est pas morte, comme le pense le -vulgaire ignorant, car elle vit grâce à la renommée, mais elle vit et -elle revivra, grâce surtout aux tourments que Sancho Panza, ici présent, -va endurer pour la rendre à la lumière. Ainsi donc, ô Rhadamanthe! toi -qui siéges avec moi dans les sombres cavernes du destin, toi qui connais -ce qu’ordonnent ses immuables décrets, pour que cette aimable personne -revienne à la vie, déclare-le sur-le-champ, afin que nous ne soyons pas -privés plus longtemps du bonheur que doit nous procurer son retour. - -A peine Minos eut-il cessé de parler, que Rhadamanthe se leva et dit: -Allons, ministres de justice, grands et petits, forts et faibles, vous -tous qui êtes ici, accourez, et appliquez sur le visage de Sancho Panza -vingt-quatre croquignoles, faites-lui douze pincements aux bras, et aux -reins six piqûres d’épingles, car de cela dépend la résurrection -d’Altisidore. - -Mille Satans! s’écria Sancho, je suis aussi disposé à me laisser faire -qu’à devenir Turc. Mort de ma vie! qu’a de commun ma peau avec la -résurrection de cette demoiselle! Il paraît que l’appétit vient en -mangeant. Madame Dulcinée est enchantée, il faut que je la désenchante à -coups de fouet; celle-là meurt du mal que Dieu lui envoie et il faut que -je me laisse meurtrir le visage à coups de croquignoles, et percer le -corps comme un crible pour la rappeler à la vie! A d’autres, à d’autres, -s’il vous plaît: je suis un vieux renard, et je ne m’en laisse pas -conter de la sorte. - -Tu mourras, cria Rhadamanthe d’une voix formidable; tigre, adoucis-toi, -humilie-toi, superbe; souffre et tais-toi, puisqu’on ne te demande rien -d’impossible, et surtout n’essaye pas de pénétrer le secret de cette -affaire: tu seras souffleté, tu seras égratigné, tu gémiras sous les -poignantes piqûres des épingles. Sus donc, mes fidèles ministres, qu’on -exécute ma sentence, où je vais vous montrer si je sais me faire obéir. - -Aussitôt s’avancèrent six duègnes marchant à la file; quatre portaient -des lunettes; toutes avaient la main droite levée et découverte jusqu’au -poignet, afin qu’elle parût plus longue. En les apercevant, Sancho se -mit à mugir comme un taureau. - -Non! non! dit-il. Je me laisserai bien manier et pincer par qui l’on -voudra, mais par des duègnes, jamais: qu’on m’égratigne le visage comme -les chats égratignèrent celui de mon maître dans ce même château; qu’on -me perce le corps à coups de dague; qu’on me déchiquette les bras avec -des tenailles rouges, je le souffrirai, puisqu’il le faut: mais que les -duègnes me touchent, non, mille fois non; dussent tous les diables -m’emporter. - -Résigne-toi, mon enfant, dit don Quichotte; donne contentement à ces -seigneurs, et rends grâces au ciel de t’avoir octroyé une aussi grande -vertu que celle de désenchanter les enchantées, et de ressusciter les -morts. - -Les duègnes étaient déjà près de Sancho, lorsque devenu plus traitable, -ou plutôt acceptant ce qu’il ne pouvait empêcher, il commença à -s’arranger sur son siége et tendit le visage. Une première duègne lui -appliqua une vigoureuse croquignole sur la joue et lui fit ensuite une -grande révérence. - -Trêve de civilités, madame la duègne, dit Sancho, et à l’avenir rognez -un peu mieux vos ongles. - -Bref, les six duègnes lui en donnèrent autant avec les mêmes cérémonies, -et tous les gens de la maison lui pincèrent les bras. Mais les piqûres -d’épingles lui firent perdre toute patience: à la première il se leva de -son siége, et, saisissant une torche enflammée qui se trouvait près de -lui, il fondit sur ses bourreaux, en criant de toutes ses forces: Hors -d’ici, ministres de Satan! croyez-vous que je sois de bronze pour être -insensible à un pareil supplice? - -En ce moment, Altisidore, fatiguée sans doute d’être resté si longtemps -sur le dos, se tourna sur le côté; aussitôt tous les assistants de -s’écrier: Altisidore est vivante! Altisidore est vivante! - -Rhadamanthe invita Sancho à se calmer, puisque le résultat qu’on se -proposait était obtenu. - -Quand don Quichotte vit remuer Altisidore, il se jeta à deux genoux -devant Sancho et lui dit: O mon fils! voici l’instant de t’appliquer -quelques-uns de ces coups de fouet qu’on t’a ordonnés pour le -désenchantement de Dulcinée! voici l’instant où ta vertu est en train -d’opérer: ne perds pas une minute, je t’en conjure, pour travailler à la -guérison de ma maîtresse, qui est aussi la tienne. - -Savez-vous bien, seigneur, répondit Sancho, que soie sur soie n’est pas -propre à faire bonne doublure? Comment, ce n’est pas assez d’être -souffleté, pincé et égratigné, il faut encore que je me fouette? Tenez, -seigneur, qu’on m’attache au cou une meule de moulin, et qu’on me jette -dans un puits, si pour guérir les maux d’autrui je dois être toujours le -veau de la noce. Qu’on me laisse tranquille, ou j’envoie tout au diable. - -Pendant ce temps, Altisidore s’était dressé sur son séant, et l’on -entendait le son des hautbois et des musettes, mêlé à des voix qui -criaient: Vive Altisidore! vive Altisidore! Le duc et la duchesse, Minos -et Rhadamanthe se levèrent, et tous, y compris don Quichotte et Sancho, -s’avancèrent vers elle pour l’aider à descendre du catafalque. -Altisidore fit une profonde révérence au duc, à la duchesse et aux deux -rois, puis regardant notre héros de travers: Dieu te le pardonne, lui -dit-elle, insensible chevalier dont la cruauté m’a envoyée dans l’autre -monde où je suis restée, à ce qu’il me semble, un long siècle. Quant à -toi, ô le plus compatissant des écuyers! ajouta-t-elle en se tournant -vers Sancho, je te rends grâces de mon retour à la vie; reçois en -récompense d’un si grand service six de mes chemises dont tu pourras en -faire six autres pour ton usage; si elles ne sont pas en très-bon état, -au moins puis-je t’assurer qu’elles sont fort propres. - -Sancho, ayant ôté sa mitre, mit un genou en terre et lui baisa la main -en signe de reconnaissance. Le duc ordonna qu’on rendît à Sancho son -chaperon et son pourpoint, et qu’on lui ôtât la robe semée de flammes; -mais notre écuyer le supplia de permettre qu’il emportât chez lui la -robe et la mitre, disant qu’il voulait les conserver en souvenir d’une -aventure si étrange. La duchesse répondit qu’on les lui abandonnait -volontiers. - -Le duc fit débarrasser la cour de tout cet attirail; chacun se retira, -puis on conduisit nos deux aventuriers à leur ancien appartement. - -CHAPITRE LXX - -QUI TRAITE DE CHOSES FORT IMPORTANTES POUR L’INTELLIGENCE DE CETTE -HISTOIRE - -Sancho coucha cette nuit-là sur un lit de camp qu’on lui avait dressé -dans la chambre du chevalier; ce qu’il aurait voulu éviter, se doutant -bien que de questions en réponses et de réponses en questions, son -maître ne lui laisserait pas un moment de repos, et il eût de bon cœur -donné quelque chose pour coucher seul sous une hutte de berger plutôt -que dans ce riche appartement. - -En effet, le pauvre diable ne fut pas plus tôt au lit, que don Quichotte -l’interpella: Que te semble, ami Sancho, lui dit-il, de l’aventure de -cette nuit? Comprend-on la force et la violence d’un désespoir amoureux! -Car, enfin, tu as vu de tes propres yeux Altisidore tuée, non par une -arme meurtrière ni par l’action mortelle du poison, mais uniquement par -l’indifférence que je lui ai montrée. - -Qu’elle fût morte, à la bonne heure, répondit Sancho, mais au moins elle -aurait dû me laisser tranquille, moi qui de ma vie ne l’ai ni enflammée -ni dédaignée; qu’a de commun la guérison de cette Altisidore avec le -martyre de Sancho Panza? C’est maintenant que je reconnais qu’il y a des -enchanteurs et des enchantements dans ce monde: Dieu veuille m’en -délivrer, puisque je ne sais pas m’en garantir. Mais, de grâce, -seigneur, laissez-moi dormir, si vous ne voulez pas que je me jette par -la fenêtre. - -Dors, Sancho, dors, mon enfant, reprit don Quichotte, si toutefois tes -chiquenaudes et tes piqûres te le permettent. - -N’était l’affront de les avoir reçus de ces duègnes, je me moquerais -bien des pincements et des piqûres, répliqua Sancho. Mais encore une -fois, seigneur, laissez-moi dormir. - -Ainsi soit-il, dit don Quichotte, et que Dieu soit avec toi. - -Ils s’endormirent tous deux, et cid Hamed Ben-Engeli profite de ce répit -pour nous apprendre ce qui avait engagé le duc à imaginer la plaisante -cérémonie que nous venons de raconter. Carrasco, dit-il, conservait un -amer souvenir de la culbute que lui avait fait faire don Quichotte en le -désarçonnant comme chevalier des Miroirs; aussi était-il résolu à une -nouvelle tentative aussitôt qu’il en trouverait l’occasion. S’étant donc -informé près du page qui avait porté la lettre de la duchesse à Thérèse -Panza du lieu où se trouvait notre héros, il se procura un cheval et des -armes, et se mit en route avec un mulet chargé de son équipage que -conduisait un paysan qui lui servait d’écuyer. En arrivant chez le duc, -il sut le départ de don Quichotte, et le chemin qu’il avait pris dans le -dessein de se trouver aux joutes de Saragosse. Le duc raconta à Carrasco -les tours que l’on avait joués à notre chevalier, sans oublier le -désenchantement de Dulcinée, qui devait s’opérer aux dépens du pauvre -Sancho; il lui raconta aussi la malice de l’écuyer qui avait fait -accroire à son maître que Dulcinée était enchantée et transformée en -paysanne, mais comment la duchesse lui avait persuadé que c’était lui -qui se trompait. Tout cela fit beaucoup rire le bachelier, qui se remit -immédiatement à la recherche de notre héros, et promit au duc de lui -faire savoir l’issue de l’entreprise. Ne le trouvant pas à Saragosse, -Carrasco poussa plus avant, et le rencontra à Barcelone, où il eut sa -revanche, comme nous l’avons dit. Il revint tout conter au duc, regagna -promptement son village, où don Quichotte ne devait pas tarder de le -rejoindre. Voilà ce qui avait fourni au duc l’idée de cette -mystification, tant il se plaisait dans la compagnie de deux fous si -divertissants. - -Un grand nombre de ses gens, tant à pied qu’à cheval, se postèrent donc -aux environs du château et sur tous les chemins par où l’on pouvait -penser que passeraient nos aventuriers. On les rencontra, en effet, et -incontinent le duc en fut informé. Comme tout était déjà préparé, on -n’eut qu’à allumer les torches; Altisidore s’étendit sur le catafalque -avec l’appareil qu’on vient de décrire, et tout réussit admirablement. -Cid Hamet ajoute que pour lui il croit que les mystificateurs n’étaient -guère moins fous que les mystifiés, et qu’il ne saurait penser autre -chose du duc et de la duchesse, qui employaient ainsi leur esprit à se -jouer de deux pauvres cervelles. - -Le jour surprit don Quichotte et Sancho, l’un ronflant de toutes ses -forces, l’autre complétement absorbé dans ses rêveries ordinaires. - -Comme don Quichotte se disposait à se lever, car vaincu ou vainqueur il -fut toujours ennemi de la paresse, Altisidore, la tête ornée de la même -guirlande que la veille, vêtue d’une robe de satin blanc à fleurs d’or, -les cheveux épars sur les épaules, et s’appuyant sur un bâton d’ébène, -entra tout à coup dans la chambre du chevalier qui, troublé et confus, -s’enfonça sous sa couverture sans pouvoir articuler un seul mot. -Altisidore s’assit sur une chaise, à son chevet, et après un grand -soupir, elle lui dit à voix basse et d’un air tendre: Quand les dames de -qualité et les modestes jeunes filles foulent aux pieds la honte, et -permettent à leur langue de découvrir les secrets de leur cœur, c’est -qu’elles se trouvent réduites à une bien cruelle extrémité; eh bien, -moi, seigneur don Quichotte, je suis une de ces femmes, pressée par la -passion, vaincue par l’amour, et cependant chaste à ce point, que pour -cacher mon martyre, il m’en a coûté la vie. Il y a deux jours, -insensible chevalier, que la seule pensée de ton indifférence m’a mise -au tombeau, ou du moins fait juger morte par ceux qui m’entouraient; et -si, prenant pitié de mes peines, l’amour n’eût trouvé un remède dans le -martyre de ce bon écuyer, je restais à jamais dans l’autre monde. - -Par ma foi, dit Sancho, l’amour aurait bien pu faire à mon âne l’honneur -qu’il m’a fait, je lui en aurais su beaucoup de gré. Dieu veuille, -madame, vous envoyer à l’avenir un amant plus traitable que mon maître! -Mais, dites-moi, qu’avez-vous vu dans l’autre monde? et qu’est-ce que -c’est que cet enfer dont ceux qui meurent volontairement sont obligés de -prendre le chemin. - -A dire vrai, répondit Altisidore, je doute fort que je fusse morte tout -de bon, puisque je ne suis point entrée en enfer: car une fois dedans, -il m’aurait bien fallu y rester. Je suis allé seulement jusqu’à la -porte, et là j’ai trouvé une douzaine de démons en hauts-de-chausses et -en pourpoint, avec des collets à la wallonne, garnis de dentelle, qui -tous jouaient à la paume avec des raquettes de feu. Une chose me surprit -étrangement: c’est qu’en guise de balles ils se servaient de livres -enflés de vent et remplis de bourre. Mais ce qui m’étonna beaucoup -aussi, ce fut de voir que, contre l’ordinaire des joueurs, qui tantôt -sont tristes, tantôt sont joyeux, ceux-là grondaient toujours, -pestaient, et s’envoyaient mille malédictions. - -Il n’y a pas là de quoi s’étonner, dit Sancho; les diables, qu’ils -jouent ou qu’ils ne jouent pas, qu’ils gagnent ou qu’ils perdent, ne -peuvent jamais être contents. - -J’en demeure d’accord, répondit Altisidore; mais une chose qui me parut -encore plus étonnante, c’est que d’un seul coup de raquette ils -mettaient la balle dans un tel état, qu’elle ne pouvait plus servir, si -bien qu’ils firent voler en pièces tant de livres vieux et nouveaux, que -c’était merveille. Il y en eut un, entre autres, tout flambant neuf, qui -reçut un si rude coup que toutes les feuilles s’éparpillèrent. «Quel est -ce livre? demanda un des diables. C’est la seconde partie de don -Quichotte de la Manche, répondit son voisin; non pas son histoire -composée par cid Hamet, mais celle que nous a donné certain Aragonais -qu’on dit natif de Tordesillas. Emporte-la, dit le premier démon, et -jette-la au fond des abîmes; qu’elle ne paraisse jamais devant moi. -Est-elle donc si détestable? dit l’autre démon. Si détestable, répliqua -le premier, que si je voulais en faire une semblable, je n’en viendrais -jamais à bout.» Ils continuèrent à peloter avec d’autres livres; et moi, -pour avoir entendu seulement le nom de don Quichotte, que j’aime avec -tant d’ardeur, j’ai voulu retenir cette vision, et je ne l’oublierai -plus. - -Vision ce dut être, en effet, répliqua notre héros, car il n’y a point -un second moi-même dans le monde; cette histoire dont vous parlez passe -ici de main en main, mais elle ne s’arrête en aucune, et partout on la -repousse du pied. Pour moi, je ne suis nullement fâché d’apprendre que -je me promène, semblable à un corps fantastique, au milieu des ténèbres -de l’abîme et à la clarté du jour, n’ayant rien de commun avec le don -Quichotte dont parle cette histoire. Si elle est bonne et véridique, -elle aura des siècles de vie; si au contraire elle est fausse et -menteuse, de sa naissance à son enterrement le chemin ne sera pas long. - -Altisidore allait continuer ses doléances, quand don Quichotte la -prévint: je vous l’ai dit maintes fois, mademoiselle, j’éprouve un grand -déplaisir que vous ayez jeté les yeux sur moi, car je ne puis payer -votre affection qu’avec de la reconnaissance. Je suis né pour appartenir -à Dulcinée du Toboso; c’est à elle que le destin m’a réservé. S’imaginer -qu’une autre beauté puisse prendre dans mon cœur la place qu’elle -occupe, c’est rêver l’impossible. Ces quelques mots suffiront, j’en ai -l’espoir, pour vous désabuser et pour vous faire rentrer dans les bornes -de la modestie. - -Ame de mortier, double tigre, plus dur et plus têtu qu’un vilain quand -il se croit sûr d’avoir l’avantage, s’écria Altisidore, feignant une -grande colère, je ne sais qui m’empêche de t’arracher les yeux! Tu -t’imagines, peut-être, don nigaud, don vaincu, don roué de coups de -bâton, que je me suis laissée mourir d’amour pour ta maigre figure: non, -non, Altisidore n’est pas assez sotte pour cela. Tout ce que tu as vu -la nuit dernière n’était qu’une feinte. Je ne suis pas fille à me -désespérer pour un animal de ton espèce, et bien loin d’en mourir, je ne -voudrais pas qu’il m’en coûtât seulement une larme. - -Pardieu, je le crois volontiers, dit Sancho, tous ces morts d’amoureux -sont autant de plaisanteries; ils assurent toujours qu’ils vont se tuer, -mais du diable s’ils en font rien! - -En ce moment entra le musicien qui avait chanté les deux stances -précédemment rapportées. Que Votre Grâce, seigneur chevalier, dit-il en -faisant un profond salut à don Quichotte, veuille bien me compter au -nombre de ses plus fidèles serviteurs. Depuis longtemps j’ai pour vous -une grande affection et je vous ai voué une estime toute particulière, -tant à cause de vos nombreuses prouesses que de la gloire qu’elles vous -ont acquise. - -Que Votre Grâce, seigneur, daigne m’apprendre qui elle est, répondit don -Quichotte, afin que je proportionne mes remercîments à son mérite. - -Le musicien répondit qu’il était le panégyriste d’Altisidore, celui qui -avait chanté des vers à sa louange. - -Vous avez une bien belle voix, repartit don Quichotte, mais ce que vous -chantiez n’était guère à sa place: quel rapport peut-il y avoir entre -les stances de Garcilasso et la mort de cette demoiselle? - -Que cela ne vous étonne pas, seigneur, répliqua le musicien; il est de -mode parmi les poëtes à la douzaine de ce temps-ci, et même parmi les -plus habiles, d’écrire ce qui leur passe par la tête et de voler ce qui -leur convient. Cela n’empêche pas leurs ouvrages d’être bien accueillis, -et leurs plus grandes sottises de passer pour licences poétiques. - -Don Quichotte s’apprêtait à répondre, mais il en fut empêché par -l’arrivée du duc et de la duchesse. Alors une longue conversation -s’engagea, dans laquelle Sancho débita tant de drôleries et de malices, -que ses nobles hôtes ne cessaient d’admirer un si curieux mélange de -finesse et de simplicité. Notre héros supplia Leurs Excellences de lui -permettre de les quitter le jour même, disant qu’à un chevalier vaincu -tel que lui, il convenait mieux d’habiter une étable à pourceaux qu’un -palais de prince. Ses hôtes accédèrent de bonne grâce à sa demande. - -La duchesse lui ayant demandé s’il ne gardait pas rancune à Altisidore: -Madame, répondit-il, tout le mal de cette jeune fille prend sa source -dans l’oisiveté; une occupation honnête et soutenue en sera le remède. -Elle vient de me dire qu’en enfer on porte de la dentelle; je dois -supposer qu’elle connaît ce genre d’ouvrage; eh bien, que sa main ne -quitte pas les fuseaux, et elle finira par oublier celui qui a troublé -son repos. Tel est mon avis et mon conseil. - -C’est aussi le mien, ajouta Sancho; on n’a jamais vu mourir d’amour une -faiseuse de dentelle, et lorsque les filles sont occupées, elles songent -moins à l’amour qu’à leur ouvrage. J’en parle par expérience: car -lorsque je suis à piocher aux champs, j’oublie jusqu’à ma ménagère -elle-même, je veux dire ma Thérèse; et pourtant je l’aime comme la -prunelle de mes yeux. - -Fort bien, Sancho, répondit la duchesse. Désormais Altisidore tournera -le fuseau; d’ailleurs, elle s’y entend à merveille. - -Il n’en sera pas besoin, madame, répondit Altisidore; le seul souvenir -de l’ingratitude de ce malandrin vagabond me guérira; et avec la -permission de Votre Grandeur, je me retire pour ne pas voir davantage sa -maigre et désagréable figure. - -Cela me rappelle, reprit le duc, ce qu’on dit souvent: Qui s’emporte et -éclate en injures, est bien près de pardonner. - -Altisidore feignit de s’essuyer les yeux, et après avoir fait une grande -révérence elle sortit. - -Pauvre fille! dit Sancho, elle mérite bien ce qu’elle a; aussi pourquoi -va-t-elle s’adresser à une âme sèche comme un jonc? Mort de ma vie! si -elle s’était tournée de mon côté, elle aurait entendu chanter un autre -coq. - -La conversation terminée, Don Quichotte s’habilla, et, après avoir dîné -avec ses hôtes, il se mit en route. - -CHAPITRE LXXI - -OU SANCHO SE MET EN DEVOIR DE DÉSENCHANTER DULCINÉE - -Moitié triste, moitié joyeux, s’en allait le vaincu don Quichotte; -triste à cause de sa défaite, joyeux à cause de la vertu merveilleuse -qui s’était révélée dans son écuyer par la résurrection d’Altisidore; -quoiqu’à vrai dire il eût conçu quelque doute touchant la mort de -l’amoureuse demoiselle. Quant à Sancho, toute sa tristesse venait de ce -qu’Altisidore ne lui avait pas donné cette demi-douzaine de chemises -qu’il avait si bien gagnée. - -En vérité, seigneur, dit-il à son maître, il faut que je sois un bien -malheureux médecin: la plupart tuent leurs malades et n’en sont pas -moins grassement payés de leur peine, laquelle souvent ne consiste qu’à -signer quelque ordonnance qu’exécute l’apothicaire (et tant pis pour la -pauvre dupe); tandis que moi, à qui la santé d’autrui coûte des -croquignoles, des pincements, des coups de fouet, on ne me donne pas -seulement une obole. Je jure qu’à l’avenir, si on m’amène quelque -malade, il faudra d’abord me graisser la patte; le moine vit de ce qu’il -chante, et si Dieu m’accorde la vertu que je possède, c’est pour en -tirer pied ou aile. - -Tu as raison, Sancho, répondit don Quichotte, et Altisidore a eu tort de -ne pas tenir sa parole; car, bien que la vertu que tu possèdes ne t’ait -coûté aucune étude, ce que tu as souffert est pire qu’étudier. Quant à -moi, je puis t’assurer une chose, c’est que si tu voulais une -récompense pour les coups de fouet que tu as promis de t’appliquer afin -de désenchanter Dulcinée, je te la donnerais si bonne que tu aurais lieu -d’être satisfait. Je ne sais trop si la guérison suivrait le salaire, et -je ne voudrais pas contrarier l’effet du remède en le payant d’avance; -cependant faisons-en l’épreuve. Voyons, Sancho, combien exiges-tu pour -te fouetter sur l’heure; l’affaire finie, tu te payeras par tes mains -sur l’argent que tu as à moi. - -Ces paroles firent ouvrir les yeux et dresser les oreilles à Sancho, qui -à l’instant résolut d’en finir avec le désenchantement de Dulcinée. -Allons, seigneur, dit-il, il faut vous donner satisfaction: mon amour -pour ma femme et mes enfants me fait songer à leur avantage, bien que ce -soit aux dépens de ma peau. Or çà, combien m’accorderez-vous pour chaque -coup de fouet? - -Si la récompense devait égaler la nature et la grandeur du service, -répondit don Quichotte, le trésor de Venise et les mines du Potose ne -suffiraient pas; mais calcule d’après ce que tu portes dans ma bourse, -et mets toi-même le prix à chaque coup. - -Il y a, repartit Sancho, trois mille trois cents et tant de coups de -fouet; je m’en suis déjà donné cinq; que ceux-ci passent pour ce qui -excède les trois mille trois cents, et calculons sur le reste. A un -cuartillo la pièce, et je n’en rabattrais pas un maravédis, fût-ce pour -le pape, ce sont trois mille cuartillos, qui font quinze cents -demi-réaux, ou sept cent cinquante réaux; pour les trois cents autres, -je compte cent cinquante demi-réaux ou soixante-quinze réaux, lesquels -ajoutés aux sept cent cinquante, font en tout huit cent vingt cinq -réaux. Je retiendrai cette somme sur l’argent que j’ai à Votre Grâce, et -je rentrerai chez moi content, quoique bien fouetté; mais on ne prend -pas de truites sans se mouiller les chausses. - -O mon cher Sancho! s’écria don Quichotte, ô mon aimable Sancho! à quelle -reconnaissance, Dulcinée et moi, nous allons être tenus envers toi pour -le reste de tes jours. Si la pauvre dame se retrouve jamais dans son -premier état, sa disgrâce aura été un bonheur, et ma défaite un -véritable triomphe. Voyons, mon fils, quand veux-tu commencer? Afin de -te donner du courage, et que tu finisses plus vite, j’ajoute encore cent -réaux. - -Quand? répliqua Sancho; cette nuit même; seulement, faites en sorte que -nous couchions en rase campagne, et vous verrez si je sais m’étriller. - -Elle arriva enfin cette nuit que don Quichotte appelait avec tant -d’impatience. Il lui semblait que les roues du char d’Apollon s’étaient -brisées, et que le jour s’allongeait plus que de coutume, comme cela -arrive aux amoureux qui toujours voudraient voir marcher le temps selon -leurs désirs. Enfin, nos deux aventuriers entrèrent dans un bosquet -d’arbres touffus un peu éloignés du chemin; puis, ayant dessellé -Rossinante et débâté le grison, ils s’étendirent sur l’herbe et -soupèrent avec ce qui se trouvait dans le bissac. - -Lorsque Sancho eut bien mangé, il voulut tenir sa promesse: prenant donc -le licou et une sangle du bât de son âne, il s’éloigna d’une vingtaine -de pas, et s’établit au milieu de quelques hêtres. - -Mon enfant, lui dit son maître en le voyant partir d’un air si résolu, -je t’en conjure, prends garde de ne pas te mettre en pièces: fais qu’un -coup attende l’autre, ne te presse pas tellement d’arriver au but que -l’haleine vienne à te manquer au milieu de la carrière: en un mot, ne te -frappe pas à ce point que la vie t’échappe avant que la pénitence soit -achevée. Et afin que tu ne perdes pas la partie pour un coup de plus ou -de moins, je vais me tenir ici près, et les compter sur mon rosaire. -Courage, mon ami, que le ciel seconde tes bonnes intentions et les rende -efficaces. - -Un bon payeur ne craint point de donner des gages, dit Sancho, et je -m’en vais m’étriller de telle façon que, sans me tuer, il ne laissera -pas de m’en cuire, car je pense que c’est en cela que doit consister la -vertu du remède. - -Cela dit, Sancho se dépouille de la ceinture en haut, et se met en -devoir de se fouetter, tandis que don Quichotte comptait les coups. Il -s’en était à peine appliqué sept ou huit, qu’il commença à se dégoûter, -et trouvant la charge trop pesante pour le prix: Par ma foi, seigneur, -dit-il, j’en appelle comme d’abus, ces coups-là valent chacun un -demi-réal et non un cuartillo. - -Courage, ami Sancho, courage, reprit don Quichotte; qu’à cela ne tienne, -je double la somme. - -A la bonne heure, dit Sancho; à présent les coups de fouet vont tomber -comme grêle. - -Mais au lieu de s’en donner sur les épaules, le sournois se mit à -frapper contre les arbres, poussant de temps à autre de grands soupirs, -comme s’il eût été près de rendre l’âme. Don Quichotte, craignant que -son fidèle écuyer n’y laissât la vie et que son imprudence ne vînt à -tout perdre, lui cria: Arrête, mon ami, arrête! Comme tu y vas; le -remède me paraît un peu rude, il sera bon d’y revenir à deux fois; on -n’a pas pris Zamora en une heure[130]. Si j’ai bien compté, voilà plus -de mille coups que tu viens de te donner; c’est assez quant à présent: -l’âne, comme on dit, peut porter la charge, mais non la surcharge. - - [130] Ville du royaume de Léon qu’Arabes et chrétiens se disputèrent - longtemps. - -Non, non, seigneur, repartit Sancho, il ne sera jamais dit de moi: Gages -payés, bras cassés. Que Votre Grâce s’éloigne un peu, et je vais m’en -donner encore un mille. En deux temps, l’affaire sera terminée, il y -aura même bonne mesure. - -Puisque tu es en si bonne disposition, dit don Quichotte, fais à ta -fantaisie, je vais m’éloigner. - -Sancho reprit sa tâche, et avec une telle énergie que bientôt il n’y eut -plus autour de lui un seul arbre auquel il restât un lambeau d’écorce. -Enfin, poussant un grand cri et frappant de toute sa force un dernier -coup contre un hêtre: _Ici_, dit-il, _mourra Samson, et tous ceux qui -avec lui sont_. - -A ce coup terrible et à ce cri lamentable, don Quichotte accourut: A -Dieu ne plaise, mon fils, dit-il en lui arrachant l’instrument de son -supplice, à Dieu ne plaise que pour me faire plaisir il t’en coûte la -vie; elle est trop nécessaire à ta femme et à tes enfants; que Dulcinée -attende encore un peu; quant à moi, je m’entretiendrai d’espérance, -jusqu’à ce que tu aies repris de nouvelles forces. De cette manière, -tout le monde sera content. - -Puisque Votre Grâce l’exige, je le veux bien, répondit Sancho: -seulement, jetez-moi votre manteau sur les épaules; car je suis tout en -eau, et je pourrais me refroidir, comme cela arrive aux nouveaux -pénitents. - -Don Quichotte lui donna son manteau, et demeura en justaucorps. - -Notre compagnon dormit jusqu’au jour, après quoi tous deux se mirent en -route. Au bout d’environ trois heures de marche ils arrivèrent à une -hôtellerie que don Quichotte reconnut pour telle, et non pour un château -avec fossés et pont-levis, ainsi qu’il avait coutume de le faire; car -depuis sa défaite, il semblait que la raison lui fût revenue, comme on -va le voir désormais. On logea notre héros dans une salle basse où, -selon la mode des villages, il y avait en guise de rideaux deux vieilles -serges peintes: l’une représentait le rapt d’Hélène, quand Pâris, -violant l’hospitalité, l’enleva à Ménélas; sur l’autre était l’histoire -de Didon et d’Énée: la reine, montée sur une tour, agitait sa ceinture -pour rappeler l’infidèle amant qui fuyait à voiles déployées. Don -Quichotte remarqua qu’Hélène ne paraissait nullement fâchée de la -violence qu’on lui faisait, car elle riait sous cape. Didon, au -contraire, était toute éplorée; et le peintre, de crainte qu’on ne s’en -aperçût pas, avait sillonné ses joues de larmes aussi grosses que des -noisettes. - -Ces deux dames, dit notre héros, furent bien malheureuses de n’être pas -nées dans mon temps, et moi plus malheureux encore de n’être pas né dans -le leur: si j’avais rencontré ces galants-là, Troie n’aurait pas été -embrasée, ni Carthage détruite, car la seule mort de Pâris aurait -prévenu tous ces désastres. - -Je gagerais, dit Sancho, que d’ici à peu de temps on ne trouvera pas de -taverne, d’hôtellerie ou de boutique de barbier où l’on ne trouve en -peinture l’histoire de nos prouesses; mais du moins faudrait-il que ce -fût par un meilleur peintre que le barbouilleur qui a portraité ces -dames. - -Tu as raison, reprit don Quichotte; car ce peintre me rappelle celui -d’Ubeda[131], qui, lorsqu’on lui demandait ce qu’il peignait: Nous le -verrons tout à l’heure, répondait-il; et si c’était quelque chose qui -approchât d’un coq, il écrivait au-dessous: «Ceci est un coq,» afin -qu’on ne pût s’y tromper. - - [131] Cervantes a déjà raconté cette histoire dans un des premiers - chapitres de cette seconde partie, page 306. - -Je jurerais bien, dit Sancho, que l’Aragonais qui a composé notre -histoire n’en savait guère davantage; sa plume a marché au hasard, et il -en est résulté ce qu’il aura plu à Dieu. - -Il ressemble aussi beaucoup, ajouta don Quichotte, à ce poëte appelé -Mauléon, qu’on voyait il y a quelque temps à la cour: ce Mauléon se -vantait de répondre sur-le-champ à toutes sortes de questions, et -répondait tout de travers. Mais laissons cela; dis-moi, Sancho, dans le -cas où il te plairait d’achever cette nuit ta pénitence, veux-tu que ce -soit en rase campagne ou à couvert? - -Pardieu, seigneur, répondit Sancho, pour les coups que je songe à -m’appliquer, il importe peu où je me les donne; pourtant j’aimerais -mieux que ce fût dans un bois; j’aime beaucoup les arbres, et je crois -qu’ils me procurent du soulagement. - -Eh bien, mon ami, répliqua don Quichotte, afin que tu reprennes des -forces, nous réserverons cela pour notre village, où nous arriverons au -plus tard après-demain. - -Comme il vous plaira, seigneur, vous êtes le maître; mais si vous -vouliez m’en croire, j’expédierais la chose et je battrais le fer -pendant qu’il est chaud: il fait bon moudre quand la meule vient d’être -repiquée; lorsqu’on est en haleine, on marche mieux, et l’occasion -perdue ne se retrouve pas toujours; un tiens vaut mieux que deux tu -auras, et moineau dans la main que grue qui vole. - -Halte-là, interrompit don Quichotte; le voilà encore lancé dans les -proverbes. Que ne parles-tu simplement et sans raffiner, comme je te -l’ai recommandé tant de fois? tu verrais que tu t’en trouverais bien. - -Je ne sais quelle malédiction pèse sur moi, repartit Sancho; je ne puis -dire une raison sans y joindre un proverbe, ni dire un proverbe qui ne -me semble une raison. Cependant, je tâcherai de me corriger. Là finit -leur entretien. - -CHAPITRE LXXII - -COMMENT DON QUICHOTTE ET SANCHO ARRIVÈRENT A LEUR VILLAGE - -Don Quichotte et Sancho passèrent tout le jour dans cette hôtellerie, -attendant la nuit, l’un pour achever sa pénitence, l’autre pour en voir -la fin, qui était aussi celle de ses désirs. Pendant ce temps, un -gentilhomme suivi de trois ou quatre domestiques vint y descendre, et -l’un de ces derniers dit en s’adressant à celui qui paraissait être son -maître: Votre Grâce, seigneur don Alvaro Tarfé, peut s’arrêter ici pour -faire la sieste; l’endroit me paraît convenable. - -A ce nom, don Quichotte regarda Sancho: Ne te souvient-il pas, lui -dit-il, quand je feuilletai cette seconde partie de mon histoire, que -j’y rencontrai ce nom de don Alvaro Tarfé? - -Cela peut être, répondit Sancho; laissons-le descendre de cheval, nous -le questionnerons ensuite. - -Le gentilhomme mit pied à terre, et l’hôtesse lui donna une chambre en -face de celle de don Quichotte, ornée pareillement de rideaux de serge -peinte. Après avoir revêtu un costume d’été, l’inconnu se rendit sous le -portail de l’auberge, qui était frais et spacieux, et y trouva notre -chevalier se promenant de long en large. Seigneur, lui dit-il, peut-on -savoir où se rend Votre Grâce? - -A un village près d’ici où je demeure, répondit don Quichotte; et Votre -Grâce, où va-t-elle? - -Moi, repartit le cavalier, je vais à Grenade, ma patrie. - -Excellent pays, dit don Quichotte. Mais, seigneur, quel est, je vous -prie, le nom de Votre Grâce? le cœur me dit que j’ai quelque intérêt à -le savoir. - -Je m’appelle don Alvaro Tarfé, répondit le cavalier. - -En ce cas, seigneur, dit notre héros, serait-ce vous dont il est parlé -dans la seconde partie de l’histoire de don Quichotte de la Manche, que -certain auteur a fait imprimer depuis peu? - -C’est moi-même, répondit le cavalier, et ce don Quichotte, qui est le -héros du livre, était fort de mes amis. C’est moi qui le tirai de chez -lui, ou qui du moins lui inspirai le dessein de venir aux joutes de -Saragosse où j’allais moi-même, et en vérité il m’a quelques -obligations, mais une surtout, c’est que je l’ai empêché d’avoir les -épaules flagellées par la main du bourreau à cause de ses insolences. - -Dites-moi, seigneur don Alvaro, continua notre chevalier, est-ce que -j’ai quelque ressemblance avec ce don Quichotte dont parle Votre Grâce? - -Non assurément, répondit le voyageur. - -Et ce don Quichotte, ajouta notre chevalier, avait-il un écuyer appelé -Sancho Panza? - -Oui, répondit don Alvaro, cet écuyer passait pour être fort plaisant, -mais je ne l’ai jamais entendu rien dire de bon. - -Oh! je le crois bien, dit Sancho; plaisanter d’une manière agréable -n’est pas donné à tout le monde. Ce Sancho dont vous parlez, seigneur, -doit être quelque grand vaurien; mais le véritable Sancho, c’est moi, et -je débite des plaisanteries comme s’il en pleuvait. Sinon faites-en -l’épreuve, que Votre Grâce me suive pendant toute une année, et à chaque -pas vous verrez qu’il m’en sort de la bouche en si grande abondance, que -je fais rire tous ceux qui m’écoutent, sans savoir le plus souvent ce -que je dis. Quant au véritable don Quichotte de la Manche, le fameux, le -vaillant, le sage, le père des orphelins, le défenseur des veuves, le -meurtrier des demoiselles, celui enfin qui a pour unique dame de ses -pensées la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, c’est mon maître que voilà -devant vous. Tout autre don Quichotte et tout autre Sancho Panza sont -autant de mensonges. - -Pardieu, mon ami, je le crois sans peine, répliqua don Alvaro, en quatre -paroles vous venez de dire plus de bonnes choses, que l’autre Sancho -dans tous ses longs bavardages. Il sentait bien plus le glouton que -l’homme d’esprit, et je commence à croire que les enchanteurs qui -persécutent le véritable don Quichotte, ont voulu me persécuter, moi -aussi, avec son méchant homonyme. En vérité je ne sais que penser: car -j’ai laissé, il y a peu de jours, ce dernier enfermé dans l’hôpital des -fous à Tolède, et j’en rencontre ici un autre qui, à la vérité, ne lui -ressemble en rien. - -Pour mon compte, reprit don Quichotte, je ne vous dirai pas que je suis -le bon, mais je puis au moins affirmer que je ne suis pas le mauvais, et -pour preuve, seigneur don Alvaro, apprenez que de ma vie je n’ai été à -Saragosse. C’est justement pour avoir entendu dire que le faux don -Quichotte s’était trouvé aux joutes de cette ville, que je n’ai pas -voulu y mettre le pied. Aussi, afin de donner un démenti à l’auteur, -j’ai gagné tout droit Barcelone, ville unique par son site et sa beauté, -mère de la courtoisie, refuge des étrangers, retraite des pauvres, -patrie des braves; le lieu de toute l’Europe où l’on peut le plus -aisément lier une amitié constante et sincère. Quoique les choses qui -m’y sont arrivées, loin d’être agréables, aient été pour la plupart, au -contraire, fâcheuses et déplaisantes, je n’en ai pas moins une joie -extrême de l’avoir vue, et cela me fait oublier tout le reste. Bref, -seigneur don Alvaro, je suis ce même don Quichotte dont la renommée -s’est occupée si souvent, et non ce misérable qui usurpe mon nom et se -fait honneur de mes idées. Maintenant j’ai une grâce à vous demander, et -cette grâce la voici: c’est que, par-devant l’alcade de ce village, vous -fassiez une déclaration valable et authentique, que jusqu’à cette heure -vous ne m’aviez jamais vu, et que je ne suis point le don Quichotte dont -il est parlé dans cette seconde partie imprimée depuis peu; enfin, que -Sancho Panza, mon écuyer, n’est point celui que Votre Grâce a connu. - -Très-volontiers, seigneur don Quichotte, répondit don Alvaro, et je vous -donnerai de bon cœur cette satisfaction, quoiqu’il soit assez -surprenant de voir en même temps deux don Quichotte et deux Sancho -Panza, qui se disent du même pays et sont si différents de visages, -d’actions et de manières. Je doute presque de ce que j’ai vu; et peu -s’en faut que je ne croie avoir fait un rêve. - -Sans doute que Votre Grâce est enchantée, tout comme madame Dulcinée, -dit Sancho. Et plût à Dieu qu’il ne fallût pour vous désenchanter que -m’appliquer trois autres mille coups de fouet, comme je me les suis -donnés pour elle; par ma foi, ce serait bientôt expédié, et il ne vous -en coûterait rien. - -Qu’est-ce que ces coups de fouet? demanda don Alvaro; je ne comprends -pas ce que vous voulez dire. - -Oh! seigneur, répondit Sancho, cela serait trop long à raconter; mais si -nous voyageons ensemble, je vous le dirai en chemin. - -L’heure du souper arriva, don Alvaro et don Quichotte se mirent à table. -Bientôt après l’alcade du lieu étant survenu, accompagné d’un greffier, -don Quichotte le requit de dresser acte de la déclaration que faisait le -seigneur don Alvaro Tarfé, déclaration dans laquelle il affirmait ne -point reconnaître don Quichotte de la Manche, ici présent, comme étant -celui dont il avait lu l’histoire imprimée sous le titre de seconde -partie de don Quichotte de la Manche, composée par un certain Avellaneda -de Tordesillas. L’alcade procéda judiciairement, et la déclaration fut -reçue dans les formes voulues; ce qui réjouit fort nos chercheurs -d’aventures, comme s’il eût été besoin d’un pareil acte pour faire -éclater la différence qu’il y avait entre les deux don Quichotte et les -deux Sancho, et qu’elle ne fût pas assez marquée par leurs actions et -leurs paroles. - -Don Alvaro et son nouvel ami échangèrent mille politesses et mille -offres de services; et notre chevalier déploya tant d’esprit, que le -gentilhomme finit par se croire réellement enchanté, puisqu’il avait vu -deux don Quichotte qui se ressemblaient si peu. Sur le soir, ils -partirent tous ensemble, et chemin faisant notre héros apprit à don -Alvaro l’issue de sa rencontre avec le chevalier de la Blanche-Lune, -ainsi que l’enchantement de Dulcinée, sans oublier le remède enseigné -par Merlin. Bref, après s’être fait de nouveaux compliments et s’être -embrassés, ils se séparèrent. - -Don Quichotte passa encore cette nuit-là dans un bois, pour donner à -Sancho le loisir d’achever sa pénitence, ce que l’astucieux écuyer -accomplit aux dépens des arbres plus que de ses épaules, qu’il sut si -bien ménager que les coups de fouet n’auraient pu en faire envoler une -mouche qui s’y serait posée. Le confiant chevalier n’omit pas un seul -coup, et trouva qu’avec ceux de la nuit précédente, ils montaient à -trois mille vingt-neuf; il lui sembla même que le soleil s’était levé -plus tôt qu’à l’ordinaire, comme s’il eût été jaloux que la nuit fût -seule témoin de cet intéressant sacrifice. Nos aventuriers se remirent -en route dès qu’il fut jour, s’applaudissant derechef d’avoir tiré don -Alvaro de l’erreur où il était, et surtout d’avoir obtenu de lui une -déclaration en si bonne forme. - -Cette journée et la nuit suivante se passèrent sans qu’il leur arrivât -rien de remarquable, si ce n’est que Sancho compléta sa pénitence. Don -Quichotte en ressentit une telle joie, qu’il attendait avec impatience -le retour de la lumière, espérant d’un instant à l’autre rencontrer sa -dame désenchantée. Ils partirent, et tout le long de la route notre -héros n’apercevait point une femme qu’il ne courût aussitôt après elle, -pour s’assurer si ce n’était point Dulcinée du Toboso, tant il tenait -pour infaillibles les promesses de Merlin. - -Dans ces pensées et dans ces espérances, ils arrivèrent au haut d’une -colline d’où ils découvrirent un village[132]. A peine Sancho l’eut-il -reconnu qu’il se jeta à genoux en s’écriant avec transport: Ouvre les -yeux, patrie désirée, et vois revenir à toi ton fils Sancho, sinon bien -riche, au moins bien étrillé! Ouvre les bras, et reçois aussi ton fils -don Quichotte, lequel, s’il revient vaincu par un bras étranger, revient -vainqueur de lui-même, victoire qui est, à ce qu’il a dit souvent, la -plus grande qu’on puisse remporter. Quant à moi, j’apporte de l’argent, -car si j’ai été bien étrillé, je me suis bien tenu sur ma bête. - - [132] Voir la gravure page 289. - -Laisse là ces sottises, dit don Quichotte, et préparons-nous à entrer du -pied droit dans notre village, où, lâchant la bride à notre fantaisie, -nous disposerons tout pour la vie pastorale que nous devons mener. Cela -dit, ils descendirent la colline. - -CHAPITRE LXXIII - -DE CE QUE DON QUICHOTTE RENCONTRA, ET QU’IL IMPUTA A MAUVAIS PRÉSAGE - -A l’entrée du pays, dit cid Hamet, don Quichotte vit sur la place qui -sert à battre le grain deux petits garçons qui se querellaient; l’un -disait à l’autre: Tu as beau faire, Periquillo; tu ne la reverras de ta -vie. - -Sancho, dit notre chevalier, entends-tu ce que dit ce drôle: Tu ne la -reverras de ta vie! - -Qu’importe que ce petit garçon ait prononcé ces paroles? répondit -Sancho. - -Eh bien, répliqua don Quichotte, cela signifie que je ne reverrai pas -Dulcinée! - -Sancho allait riposter, mais il en fut empêché par la vue d’un lièvre -que des chasseurs poursuivaient avec leurs lévriers. La pauvre bête -effrayée vint se réfugier et se blottir entre les jambes du grison; -l’écuyer la saisit et la présenta à son maître, qui murmura entre ses -dents: _malum signum, malum signum_[133]. Un lièvre fuit, des lévriers -le poursuivent, et Dulcinée ne paraît point! - - [133] Mauvais présage, mauvais présage. - -Parbleu, vous êtes un homme étrange, dit Sancho: supposez que ce lièvre -est madame Dulcinée du Toboso, et que les lévriers qui le poursuivent -sont les scélérats d’enchanteurs qui l’ont changée en paysanne: elle -fuit, je la prends, je la mets entre les mains de Votre Grâce, qui la -serre contre son cœur et la caresse tout à son aise. Eh bien, quel -mauvais signe est-ce là? et quel mauvais présage peut-on en tirer? - -Sur ce, les deux petits garçons s’approchèrent pour voir le lièvre, et -Sancho leur ayant demandé le sujet de leur querelle, celui qui avait dit -à l’autre: Tu ne la reverras de ta vie, répondit, en montrant une cage à -grillons, qu’il avait pris cette cage à son compagnon et qu’il ne la lui -rendrait jamais. Sancho leur donna une pièce de monnaie pour la cage, et -la présentant à don Quichotte: Tenez, seigneur, lui dit-il, voilà le -charme détruit. Si j’ai bonne mémoire, il me souvient d’avoir entendu -notre curé dire qu’il n’est pas d’un chrétien et d’un homme de sens de -s’arrêter à ces enfantillages; et Votre Grâce ne m’assurait-elle pas -encore, ces jours passés, que ceux qui y font attention sont des -imbéciles? Allons, seigneur, rentrons chez nous; en voilà assez -là-dessus. - -Les chasseurs survinrent, réclamant leur lièvre, et don Quichotte le -leur rendit. - -Le chevalier, s’étant remis en marche, rencontra à l’entrée du pays le -curé et le bachelier Carrasco, qui se promenaient dans un petit pré en -causant. Nos deux amis accoururent les bras ouverts; et don Quichotte, -ayant mis pied à terre, les embrassa tendrement. - -Or, il faut savoir que Sancho avait placé sur son grison, par-dessus le -paquet des armes de son maître, la robe semée de flammes qu’on lui avait -donnée, et coiffé la tête de l’animal avec la mitre couverte de diables, -ce qui faisait le plus bizarre effet qui se puisse imaginer. Les petits -enfants du pays (cet âge a des yeux de lynx) s’en étant aperçus, -accouraient de tous côtés, se criant les uns aux autres: Holà! eh! venez -vite, venez voir l’âne de Sancho Panza, plus gentil qu’un prince, et le -cheval de don Quichotte, plus maigre encore que le jour de son départ. -Bref, entourés de ces polissons et accompagnés du curé et de Carrasco, -nos deux coureurs d’aventures entrèrent dans le village, et se rendirent -tout droit à la maison de don Quichotte, où ils trouvèrent sur le pas de -la porte la gouvernante et la nièce, déjà instruites de leur arrivée. - -On avait aussi raconté la nouvelle à Thérèse Panza, qui, les cheveux en -désordre et dans une toilette fort incomplète, conduisant par la main -Sanchette, sa fille, accourut au-devant de son mari. Mais en le voyant -beaucoup moins bien costumé que, dans son opinion, devait l’être un -gouverneur, elle lui dit: En quel état vous revois-je, mon cher mari? -Vous m’avez l’air de revenir à pied, traînant la patte, et l’on vous -prendrait plutôt pour un vaurien ingouvernable que pour un gouverneur. - -Tais-toi, Thérèse, répondit Sancho; souvent où il se trouve des -crochets il n’y a pas de lard. Allons à la maison; là je t’en conterai -de belles! J’apporte de l’argent, ce qui est l’essentiel; et de l’argent -gagné par mon industrie, sans avoir fait tort à personne. - -Apportez de l’argent, mon bon mari, repartit Thérèse; et peu m’importe -qu’il ait été gagné par ceci ou par cela; de quelque manière qu’il soit -venu, vous n’aurez pas introduit mode nouvelle dans le monde. - -Sanchette embrassa son père, en demandant s’il lui apportait quelque -chose; car elle l’attendait, disait-elle, comme on attend la pluie en -été. Puis, le prenant d’un côté par sa ceinture de cuir, tandis que de -l’autre Thérèse le tenait sous le bras (la petite tirant l’âne par le -licou), ils s’en furent à leur maison, laissant don Quichotte dans la -sienne, aux mains de sa gouvernante et de sa nièce, et en compagnie du -curé et du bachelier. - -Don Quichotte, s’étant enfermé avec ses deux amis, leur raconta -brièvement sa défaite, et l’engagement qu’il avait pris de rester chez -lui pendant une année, engagement que comme chevalier errant il voulait -remplir au pied de la lettre. Il ajouta qu’il avait songé à se faire -berger pendant ce temps-là, afin de se distraire dans la solitude et de -pouvoir y donner libre carrière à ses amoureuses pensées. Enfin, il les -supplia, si leurs occupations le leur permettaient, de vouloir bien être -ses compagnons. Je me propose, dit-il, d’acheter un troupeau de brebis -suffisant pour pouvoir nous dire bergers. Au reste, le plus difficile -est fait, car j’ai trouvé des noms qui vous iront à merveille. Le curé -lui ayant demandé quels étaient ces noms: Moi, reprit le chevalier, je -m’appellerai le berger Quichottin; vous, seigneur bachelier, le berger -Carrascon; vous, seigneur licencié, le berger Curiambro; et Sancho -Panza, le berger Pancinot. - -Les deux amis restèrent confondus de cette nouvelle folie; mais de -crainte que le pauvre homme ne leur échappât une troisième fois, et -surtout espérant que dans le délai d’une année on parviendrait à le -guérir, ils feignirent d’entrer dans son idée, applaudirent à son -projet, et promirent de l’accompagner. Il y a plus, ajouta Samson -Carrasco; étant, comme on le sait déjà, un de nos plus fameux poëtes, je -composerai à ma fantaisie des vers pastoraux ou héroïques, afin de -passer le temps. L’essentiel, c’est que nous ne laissions pas un arbre, -si dur soit-il, sans y graver les noms de nos bergères, suivant le -constant usage des bergers amoureux. - -A merveille, repartit don Quichotte. Mais moi, je n’ai pas besoin de -chercher; j’ai sous la main la sans pareille Dulcinée du Toboso, gloire -de ces rivages, ornement de ces prairies, fleur de l’esprit et de la -grâce, finalement, personne si accomplie qu’aucune louange ne serait à -la hauteur de son mérite, quelque hyperbolique qu’elle fût. - -Cela est vrai, dit le curé. Nous autres, nous chercherons par ici -quelques bergerettes à notre convenance. - -Et si elles nous faisaient défaut, ajouta le bachelier, nous leur -donnerions les noms de ces bergères imprimées et gravées: les Philis, -les Amaryllis, les Dianes, les Bélizardes, les Galatées. Puisque les -livres en sont pleins et que les boutiques de libraires en regorgent, -nous pouvons bien nous en passer la fantaisie. Si ma dame, ou pour mieux -dire ma bergère, s’appelle Anne par hasard, je la célébrerai sous le nom -d’Anarda; si Françoise, je la nommerai Francine; Lucie, Lucinde, et -ainsi du reste. De cette manière, tout sera pour le mieux. Sancho -lui-même, s’il entre dans notre confrérie, pourra chanter sa Thérèse -sous le nom de Thérésine. - -Don Quichotte applaudit; et le curé, l’ayant comblé d’éloges pour une si -honorable résolution, s’offrit de nouveau à lui tenir compagnie tout le -temps que ne réclameraient pas les devoirs de son ministère. L’affaire -convenue, les deux amis prirent congé du chevalier, en l’engageant à -bien se soigner et à ne rien négliger de ce qui pourrait lui être -salutaire. - -Le sort voulut que la nièce et la gouvernante entendissent toute la -conversation; aussi, dès que don Quichotte fut seul, elles entrèrent -dans sa chambre. - -Quoi, mon oncle, dit la nièce: lorsque nous pensions que Votre Grâce -venait enfin se retirer dans sa maison pour y vivre tranquillement, -voilà que vous vous embarquez dans de nouvelles aventures et que vous -pensez à vous faire berger! Croyez-moi, la paille est trop mûre pour en -faire des chalumeaux. Et comment, ajouta la gouvernante, Votre Grâce -fera-t-elle pour passer les après-midi d’été, les nuits d’hiver à la -belle étoile et entendre les hurlements des loups? Non, non; c’est un -métier d’homme robuste, endurci, élevé à la peine dès le maillot. Mal -pour mal, mieux vaut encore être chevalier errant que berger. Tenez, -croyez-moi; suivez mon conseil, je vous le donne à jeun, et avec mes -cinquante ans: restez chez vous, occupez-vous de vos affaires, -confessez-vous une fois par semaine, venez en aide aux pauvres, et sur -mon âme, si mal vous en arrive... - -Silence, mes enfants, répondit don Quichotte; vous ne m’apprendrez pas -ce que j’ai à faire. Menez-moi au lit, car je ne me sens pas bien, et -sachez que, soit chevalier errant, soit berger errant, je ne cesserai de -veiller à ce que vous ne manquiez de rien, comme l’avenir vous -l’apprendra. - -Sur ce, les deux bonnes filles le conduisirent à son lit, ne songeant -qu’à le choyer de leur mieux. - -CHAPITRE LXXIV - -COMME QUOI DON QUICHOTTE TOMBA MALADE, DU TESTAMENT QU’IL FIT, ET DE SA -MORT - -Comme rien n’est éternel ici-bas, comme toute chose y va déclinant de -son origine à sa fin dernière, principalement la vie de l’homme, comme -enfin don Quichotte n’avait reçu du ciel aucun privilége particulier -pour prolonger le cours de la sienne, sa fin arriva au moment où il y -pensait le moins. Soit par suite de la mélancolie que lui causait le -sentiment de sa défaite, soit par la volonté du ciel qui en ordonnait -ainsi, il fut pris d’une fièvre obstinée, qui le retint au lit six -jours, pendant lesquels le visitèrent maintes fois ses amis le curé, le -bachelier et le barbier, sans que le fidèle Sancho quittât son chevet un -seul instant. Pensant que la honte d’avoir été vaincu et le chagrin de -ne pas voir s’accomplir la délivrance de Dulcinée le tenaient en cet -état, chacun d’eux cherchait à le distraire de son mieux. Allons, lui -disait le bachelier, prenez courage et levez-vous, afin de commencer -notre vie pastorale. J’ai composé tout exprès une églogue qui damera le -pion aux églogues mêmes de Sannazar, et j’ai acheté à un berger de -Quintanar deux fameux chiens de garde pour notre troupeau; l’un -s’appelle Barcino, l’autre Butron. - -Le seigneur Carrasco avait beau faire, rien ne pouvait tirer don -Quichotte de son abattement. On appela le médecin, qui lui tâta le -pouls, n’en fut pas fort satisfait, et dit qu’il fallait sans perdre de -temps songer à la santé de l’âme, celle du corps étant en danger. Notre -héros entendit cet arrêt d’un esprit calme et résigné; mais il n’en fut -pas de même de sa gouvernante, de sa nièce et de son écuyer, qui tous -trois se mirent à pleurer comme s’ils l’eussent vu déjà mort. L’avis du -médecin fut qu’il était miné par un chagrin secret. Don Quichotte, -voulant reposer un peu, demanda qu’on le laissât seul. On s’éloigna, et -il dormit d’une seule traite pendant plus de six heures, si bien que sa -gouvernante et sa nièce crurent qu’il allait passer durant son sommeil. -A la fin pourtant il s’éveilla en s’écriant: Béni soit le Dieu -tout-puissant qui m’a accordé un pareil bienfait! Oui! sa miséricorde -est infinie, et les péchés des hommes ne sauraient ni l’éloigner, ni -l’affaiblir. - -Frappée de ces paroles, qui lui parurent plus raisonnables que de -coutume: Que dites-vous, seigneur? demanda la nièce; que parlez-vous de -miséricordes et de péchés des hommes? - -Ma fille, répondit don Quichotte, ces miséricordes sont celles dont Dieu -vient à l’instant même de me combler; et je disais qu’il ne s’est pas -arrêté à mes péchés. Oui, je me sens l’esprit libre et dégagé des ombres -épaisses dont l’avait obscurci l’insipide et continuelle lecture des -exécrables livres de chevalerie: aujourd’hui j’en reconnais -l’extravagance et la fausseté; et je n’ai qu’un regret, c’est que -désabusé trop tard je n’ai plus le temps de lire d’autres livres qui -puissent éclairer mon âme. Je me sens près de ma fin, ma chère nièce, et -je voudrais en faire une d’où l’on conclût que ma vie n’a pas été si -mauvaise que je doive laisser après moi la réputation d’un fou. J’ai été -fou, j’en conviens; mais je ne voudrais pas que ma mort en fût la -preuve. Mon enfant, fais venir mes bons amis le curé, le bachelier -Samson Carrasco, et maître Nicolas le barbier; je désire me confesser et -faire mon testament. - -La nièce fut dispensée de ce soin, car ils entraient au même instant. -Félicitez-moi, mes bons amis, leur dit le pauvre hidalgo en les voyant, -félicitez-moi, je ne suis plus don Quichotte de la Manche, mais Alonzo -Quixano, que la douceur de ses mœurs fit surnommer le Bon. Je suis à -cette heure l’ennemi déclaré d’Amadis de Gaule et de toute sa postérité; -j’ai pris en aversion les profanes histoires de la chevalerie errante; -je reconnais le danger que leur lecture m’a fait courir; enfin, par la -miséricorde de Dieu, devenu sage à mes dépens, je les abhorre et les -déteste! - -Quand les trois amis l’entendirent parler de la sorte, ils s’imaginèrent -qu’il venait d’être atteint d’une nouvelle folie. - -Comment, seigneur, lui dit Samson Carrasco, maintenant que nous savons à -n’en pas douter que madame Dulcinée est désenchantée, vous nous la -donnez belle! Et quand nous sommes sur le point de nous faire bergers -pour passer la vie en chantant comme des princes, vous parlez de vous -faire ermite! De grâce! revenez à vous, et laissez là ces sornettes. - -Les sornettes qui m’ont occupé jusqu’à présent, reprit don Quichotte, -n’ont été que trop réelles, et à mon grand préjudice; puisse ma mort, -avec l’aide du ciel, les faire tourner à mon profit! Seigneurs, je sens -que je marche vers ma fin; ce n’est plus l’heure de plaisanter; j’ai -besoin d’un prêtre pour me confesser, et d’un notaire pour recevoir mon -testament. Dans une pareille situation l’homme ne doit point jouer avec -son âme. Je vous en supplie, laissez-moi avec le seigneur curé, qui -voudra bien écouter ma confession, et, pendant ce temps, qu’on aille -chercher le notaire. - -Ils se regardaient tous, étonnés d’un pareil langage; mais il fallut se -rendre, car pour eux un des signes certains que le malade se mourait -était ce retour à la raison; d’autant plus qu’à ses premiers discours il -en ajouta d’autres en termes si chrétiens, si bien suivis, que leurs -derniers doutes ayant disparu, ils reconnurent qu’il avait recouvré son -bon sens. - -Le curé fit retirer tout le monde, et resta seul avec le mourant, qu’il -confessa pendant que Carrasco allait chercher le notaire. Bientôt le -bachelier fut de retour, amenant avec lui Sancho; quand ce dernier, qui -avait appris le triste état de son maître, vit la gouvernante et la -nièce tout en larmes, il se mit à sangloter avec elles. - -La confession terminée, le curé sortit en disant: Oui, mes amis, Alonzo -Quixano est guéri de sa folie, mais il se meurt. Entrez, afin qu’il -fasse son testament. - -Ces paroles furent une nouvelle provocation aux yeux pleins de larmes de -la gouvernante, de la nièce et du fidèle Sancho Panza; elles les firent -pleurer et soupirer de plus belle; car, ainsi qu’on l’a déjà dit, don -Quichotte, tout le temps qu’il fut Alonzo Quixano le Bon, comme tout le -temps qu’il fut don Quichotte de la Manche, montra le meilleur naturel, -et son commerce fut des plus agréables, de sorte qu’il n’était pas -seulement aimé des gens de sa maison, mais de tous ceux qui le -connaissaient. - -Le notaire étant entré, écrivit le préambule du testament, dans lequel -don Quichotte recommandait son âme à Dieu, avec les pieuses formules en -usage; puis, passant aux legs, le mourant dicta ce qui suit: - -Item, ma volonté est qu’ayant eu avec Sancho Panza, lequel dans ma -folie, je fis mon écuyer, plusieurs difficultés en règlement de compte, -à propos de certaines sommes qu’il a à moi, on ne lui réclame rien; de -plus, s’il reste quelque chose quand il sera payé de ce que je lui dois, -que cet excédant, qui ne peut être considérable, lui soit laissé en -propre; et grand bien lui fasse. Et si, de même qu’étant fou, je lui fis -obtenir le gouvernement d’une île, je pouvais, maintenant que je suis en -possession de ma raison, lui donner celui d’un royaume, je le lui -donnerais: la simplicité de son caractère et la fidélité de ses services -ne méritant pas moins. - -Se tournant vers Sancho, il ajouta: Pardonne-moi, mon ami, de t’avoir -fourni l’occasion de paraître aussi fou que moi-même, en t’entraînant -dans l’erreur où je suis tombé relativement à l’existence des -chevaliers errants. - -Hélas! ne mourez pas, mon bon maître, répondit Sancho en sanglotant; -croyez-moi, vivez, vivez longtemps; la plus grande folie que puisse -faire un homme en cette vie, c’est de se faire mourir lui-même, en -s’abandonnant à la mélancolie. Allons, un peu de courage, levez-vous, et -gagnons les champs en costume de bergers, comme nous en sommes convenus; -peut-être derrière quelque buisson trouverons-nous madame Dulcinée -désenchantée, ce qui vous ravira. Que si Votre Grâce se meurt du chagrin -d’avoir été vaincue, rejetez-en sur moi toute la faute, et dites qu’on -vous a culbuté parce que j’avais mal sanglé Rossinante. Et puis -n’avez-vous pas vu dans vos livres qu’il arrive souvent aux chevaliers -de se culbuter les uns les autres, et que tel est vaincu aujourd’hui, -qui demain revient vainqueur? - -Rien de plus vrai, ajouta Samson Carrasco et à cet égard le bon Sancho a -raison. - -Doucement, mes amis, reprit don Quichotte, les oiseaux sont dénichés. -J’ai été fou, mais à cette heure, je viens de recouvrer la raison; j’ai -été don Quichotte de la Manche, et maintenant, je le répète, me voilà -redevenu Alonzo Quixano. Puissent mon repentir et ma sincérité me rendre -l’estime que Vos Grâces avaient pour moi. Que le seigneur notaire -continue: - -Item, je lègue tous mes biens meubles et immeubles à Antonia Quixana, ma -nièce ici présente, après qu’on aura prélevé, sur le plus clair de ma -succession, les sommes nécessaires au service des legs que je fais, en -commençant par les gages de ma gouvernante pour tout le temps qu’elle -m’a servi, et, de plus, vingt ducats pour un habillement. Je nomme pour -mes exécuteurs testamentaires le seigneur curé et le seigneur bachelier -Samson Carrasco, ici présents; - -Item, ma volonté est que si Antonia Quixana, ma nièce, veut se marier, -on s’assure d’abord, et cela par enquête judiciaire, que l’homme qu’elle -épouse ne sait pas même ce que c’est que les livres de chevalerie. Dans -le cas contraire, et si cependant ma nièce persiste à l’épouser, je veux -qu’elle perde tout ce que je lui lègue, et mes exécuteurs testamentaires -pourront employer la somme en œuvres pies, à leur volonté; - -Item, je supplie ces seigneurs, mes exécuteurs testamentaires, si de -fortune ils venaient à rencontrer l’auteur qui a composé, dit-on, une -idée intitulée: _Seconde partie des aventures de don Quichotte de la -Manche_, de le prier de ma part, avec toutes sortes d’instances, de me -pardonner l’occasion que je lui ai si involontairement donnée d’écrire -tant et de si énormes sottises; car je quitte cette vie avec un -véritable remords de lui en avoir fourni le prétexte. - -Son testament signé et scellé, notre héros fut pris d’une grande -défaillance, et s’étendit dans son lit. On s’empressa de lui porter -secours; mais pendant les trois jours qu’il vécut encore, il -s’évanouissait à chaque instant. La maison était sens dessus dessous; -néanmoins la nièce mangeait de bon appétit, la gouvernante portait des -santés; Sancho prenait ses ébats; tant l’espoir d’un prochain héritage -suffit pour adoucir dans le cœur du légataire le sentiment de regret -que devrait y laisser la perte du défunt. - -Enfin, don Quichotte expira après avoir reçu les sacrements, et prononcé -à plusieurs reprises les plus énergiques malédictions contre les livres -de chevalerie. Le notaire déclara n’avoir jamais vu dans les livres -qu’aucun chevalier errant fût mort dans son lit aussi paisiblement et -aussi chrétiennement que don Quichotte, lequel rendit l’âme, je veux -dire mourut, au milieu de la douleur et des larmes de tous ceux qui -l’entouraient. Le voyant expiré, le curé pria le notaire d’attester -comme quoi Alonzo Quixano le Bon, communément appelé don Quichotte de la -Manche, était passé de cette vie en l’autre, et décédé naturellement; -ajoutant que s’il lui demandait cette attestation c’était pour empêcher -que, contrairement à la vérité, un faux cid Hamet Ben-Engeli le -ressuscitât, et composât sur ses prouesses d’interminables histoires. - -Telle fut la fin de l’_ingénieux chevalier don Quichotte de la Manche_, -dont cid Hamet ne voulut pas indiquer le pays natal, afin que toutes les -villes et tous les bourgs de la Manche se disputassent l’insigne honneur -de l’avoir vu naître et de le compter parmi leurs enfants, comme le -firent sept villes de la Grèce à propos d’Homère[134]. On ne dira rien -ici des pleurs de Sancho Panza, de la nièce et de la gouvernante, ni des -épitaphes, assez originales, composées pour la tombe de Don Quichotte. -Voici cependant celle qu’y inscrivit Samson Carrasco: - - «Ci-gît le redoutable hidalgo qui porta si loin la valeur, que la mort - ne put triompher de lui, même en le mettant au tombeau. - - «Il brava l’univers entier, dont il fut l’admiration et l’effroi, et - son bonheur fut de mourir sage après avoir vécu fou!» - - [134] En écrivant ces lignes, il semble que Cervantes ait eu le - pressentiment qu’un jour huit villes d’Espagne se disputeraient - l’honneur de l’avoir vu naître. - -Ici le très-sage cid Hamet dit à sa plume: - - «O ma petite plume, bien ou mal taillée, je ne sais, tu vas demeurer - suspendue à ce fil de laiton; là tu resteras des siècles, à moins que - de présomptueux historiens ne t’enlèvent de cette place pour te - profaner. S’ils l’osaient, crie leur: - - «Halte-là, félons, halte-là; que personne ne me touche; car cette - entreprise, bon roi, à moi seul était réservée[135]. - - «Pour moi seul, oui, pour moi seul naquit don Quichotte et moi pour - lui. Il sut agir et moi écrire. Nous ne faisons qu’un, en dépit du - pseudonyme écrivain qui osa, et qui peut-être oserait encore écrire - avec une lourde plume d’oie les prouesses de mon vaillant chevalier. - Mais ce n’est pas là un fardeau à sa taille, ni un thème pour son - esprit sec et froid. Si d’aventure tu parviens à le connaître, - conseille-lui de laisser reposer en paix les os fatigués et déjà - pourris de don Quichotte, et de ne pas essayer de le ressusciter, - contre les priviléges de la mort, en le tirant de la sépulture où il - gît étendu tout de son long, hors d’état de faire une sortie et une - troisième campagne[136]! Pour livrer au ridicule celles de tant de - chevaliers errants, il suffit des deux qu’il a faites, et qui ont si - franchement désopilé nationaux et étrangers. En agissant ainsi, tu - rempliras le devoir du chrétien, lequel doit toujours s’efforcer de - donner un bon conseil à un ennemi. Quant à moi, je serai heureux et - fier d’avoir retiré de mes écrits le fruit que j’en attendais; car mon - seul désir était de couvrir d’un ridicule justement mérité les fausses - et extravagantes histoires des livres de chevalerie, déjà frappés à - mort par celle de mon véritable don Quichotte, et qui bientôt sans - doute tomberont pour ne plus se relever. Adieu.» - - [135] Ce passage est la traduction de quatre vers d’un ancien - romancero. - - [136] A la fin de son livre, l’imitateur Avellaneda avait annoncé une - troisième partie. - -FIN DE DON QUICHOTTE - -VIE DE CERVANTES - -D’une fenêtre de son palais d’où l’on dominait le cours du Mançanarès, -un de ces mélancoliques souverains qui régnèrent sur l’Espagne pendant -plus d’un siècle, Philippe III, promenait ses regards sur la plaine -aride et désolée qui entoure Madrid. En ce moment un jeune homme, qu’à -son manteau rapiécé on reconnaissait aisément pour un de ces pauvres -étudiants si nombreux alors dans les grandes villes, suivait le bord du -fleuve un livre à la main. On le voyait à chaque pas interrompre sa -lecture, gesticuler, se frapper le front, puis laisser échapper de longs -éclats de rire. Philippe observait cette pantomime: Assurément cet homme -est fou, s’écria-t-il; ou bien il lit _Don Quichotte_. Un page, dépêché -tout exprès, revint bientôt confirmer ce que le roi avait soupçonné; en -effet, l’étudiant lisait _Don Quichotte_. - -L’auteur de ce livre immortel qui provoquait si fort l’hilarité de ses -contemporains, comme il excitera celle de bien d’autres générations, -Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, naquit le 9 octobre 1547 à Alcala de -Hénarès, petite ville des environs de Madrid. De même que pour Homère, -plusieurs villes[137] se disputèrent après sa mort l’honneur de l’avoir -vu naître; mais un registre baptistaire, récemment découvert dans -l’église de Sainte-Marie-Majeure, a mis fin à ces prétentions en -fournissant la preuve authentique que Alcala de Hénarès avait été son -berceau. Sa famille, originaire des Asturies, était venue s’établir en -Castille. Dès le treizième siècle, le nom de Cervantes figure parmi les -vainqueurs de Séville, alors que le saint roi Ferdinand chassait les -Mores de cette noble cité. Il y eut des Cervantes parmi les conquérants -du nouveau monde. Dans les premières années du quatorzième siècle, un -Cervantes était corrégidor d’Ossuna. Son fils, Rodrigo Cervantes, -épousa, vers 1540, une noble dame, doña Leonor Cortinas, qui lui donna -deux filles, Andrea et Luisa, puis deux fils, Rodrigo et Miguel. Ce -dernier est l’homme, aussi grand que malheureux, dont nous allons -esquisser la vie. - - [137] Ces villes sont Madrid, Séville, Tolède, Lucena, Esquivias, - Alcazar de San Juan, Consuegra et Alcala de Hénarès. - -On ne sait rien sur les premières années de Cervantes. Seulement, par -une allusion qu’il fait à son enfance[138], nous savons qu’une -instinctive curiosité et un vif désir de s’instruire lui faisaient -ramasser pour le lire jusqu’au moindre chiffon de papier. Il nous -apprend encore que son goût pour le théâtre se développa en voyant jouer -le fameux Lope de Rueda, acteur et poëte tout à la fois. On croit que le -jeune Cervantes fit ses premières études à Alcala, sa ville natale, et -qu’ensuite il fut envoyé à Salamanque, qui était alors la plus célèbre -université de l’Espagne. Il y resta deux ans et habita une rue qu’on -appelle encore la rue des Mores (_calle de los Moros_). - - [138] _Don Quichotte_, Ire partie, livre III, ch. IX. - -Plus tard, nous retrouvons Cervantes à Madrid chez l’humaniste Lopez de -Hoyos. Ce Lopez, chargé par l’_Ayuntamiento_ (municipalité) de Madrid de -la composition des allégories et devises en vers qui devaient orner le -catafalque de la reine Élisabeth de Valois dans la cérémonie des -funérailles qu’on lui préparait, se fait aider par quelques-uns de ses -élèves. Cervantes, qu’il appelle son disciple bien-aimé, figure au -premier rang. Aussi, dans la relation des obsèques de la reine, que -Lopez publia peu après, le mentionne-t-il avec éloge comme auteur d’une -épitaphe en forme de sonnet, et surtout d’une élégie où le jeune poëte -prenait la parole au nom de tous ses camarades. Encouragé par ce premier -succès, Cervantes composa un petit poëme pastoral appelé _Filena_, puis -quelques sonnets et romances qui ne sont pas venus jusqu’à nous. Tels -furent ses débuts dans la poésie. - -Sans une circonstance fortuite, Cervantes restait peut-être toute sa vie -voué au culte des Muses. Mais un drame mystérieux s’était accompli dans -le sombre palais de l’Escurial. L’héritier du trône, l’infant don -Carlos, fils de Philippe II, venait d’y mourir, précédant de deux mois -seulement dans la tombe la reine Élisabeth de Valois. Le pontife qui -occupait alors la chaire de Saint-Pierre, le pape Pie V, fit choix d’un -fils du duc d’Atri, le cardinal Aquaviva, pour l’envoyer en Espagne, en -qualité de légat extraordinaire, porter au roi ses compliments de -condoléance sur ce double événement. Mais Philippe avait impérieusement -défendu qu’on lui parlât jamais de son fils. Il accueillit -très-froidement le légat, qui ne tarda pas à recevoir ses passe-ports -avec ordre de quitter la Péninsule. Dans son court séjour à Madrid, ce -prince de l’Église voulut voir le jeune poëte qui s’était distingué par -cette touchante élégie sur la mort de la reine. Cervantes lui fut -présenté et eut le bonheur de lui plaire. Le cardinal désirait se -l’attacher en qualité de secrétaire ou de valet de chambre (_camarero_). -La tentation était grande pour un esprit aventureux comme celui de -Cervantes: il accepta avec empressement, et bientôt il fut en route pour -l’Italie. A cette époque, un jeune gentilhomme ne croyait pas déroger en -se mettant au service de la pourpre romaine, assuré qu’il était -d’obtenir quelque bonne prébende. - -A la suite de son puissant patron, Cervantes traversa la riche Huerta de -Valence; il put contempler l’imposante Barcelone, qu’il appelle _la -ville de la courtoisie, le rendez-vous des étrangers_, et pour laquelle -il conserva un enthousiasme qui ne s’est jamais affaibli. Les provinces -méridionales de la France, le Languedoc et la Provence surtout, le -frappèrent vivement, et quand, plus tard, Cervantes, revenu dans sa -patrie, publia le poëme de _Galatée_, on put voir par le charme et la -fraîcheur des descriptions combien les impressions du jeune voyageur -avaient été vives et profondes. - -Arrivé dans la ville éternelle, Cervantes en visita les musées, en -étudia les ruines, en admira les monuments; mais une fois sa curiosité -satisfaite, après quinze mois passés à Rome, ne se sentant aucune -vocation pour l’Église, il quitta l’antichambre du cardinal et courut -s’enrôler dans les troupes espagnoles. Ce fut dans la compagnie de don -Diego de Urbina qu’il fit sa première campagne et l’apprentissage de son -nouveau métier. Il avait alors vingt-deux ans. - -Le moment était propice. La grande querelle de l’Islamisme et de la -Croix venait de se rallumer. Une _ligue sainte_ unissait le pape, Venise -et l’Espagne. Sous les ordres de don Juan d’Autriche, le vainqueur des -Mores dans les monts Alpujarras, une puissante flotte avait pris la mer. -Longtemps cherchés sans succès, les Turcs furent enfin rencontrés par -les chrétiens au fond du golfe de Lépante (7 octobre 1571). L’action, -engagée au milieu du jour, se termina par une des plus signalées -victoires dont l’histoire fasse mention. La galère sur laquelle était -embarqué Cervantes, appelée _la Marquesa_, chargée d’attaquer _la -Capitane_ d’Alexandrie, s’en empara ainsi que du grand étendard -d’Égypte, et tua cinq cents hommes à l’ennemi. Quoique malade de la -fièvre, placé, sur ses vives instances, au poste le plus périlleux avec -douze soldats d’élite, Cervantes montra une grande intrépidité, et, -malgré deux coups d’arquebuse dans la poitrine et un troisième qui le -priva toute sa vie de l’usage de la main gauche, il ne voulut quitter -son poste qu’après la fuite des infidèles. Fier d’avoir pris part à -cette grande bataille qu’il appelle en maint endroit de ses écrits «la -plus glorieuse qu’aient vue les siècles passés et que verront les -siècles à venir,» il montra depuis lors avec un légitime orgueil les -cicatrices qu’il portait «comme autant d’étoiles faites pour guider les -autres au ciel de l’honneur.» - -Une expédition contre Tunis qui suivit de près, et à laquelle il prit -part avec son frère Rodrigo, lui fournit une nouvelle occasion de se -distinguer dans les rangs de cette célèbre infanterie espagnole -(_tercios_) qui, selon l’expression d’un historien, faisait trembler la -terre sous ses mousquets. - -L’hôpital de Messine le reçut brisé des suites de ces deux campagnes; il -y resta languissant près de neuf mois. Enfin, guéri de ses blessures, il -sollicita et obtint un congé. Muni des plus hautes attestations sur son -intelligence et sa valeur, Cervantes s’embarque dans la rade de Naples -sur la frégate _el Sol_, et plein d’espoir d’embrasser sa famille dont -il était séparé depuis sept ans, il fait voile vers l’Espagne en -compagnie de son frère Rodrigo, du général d’artillerie Carillo de -Quesada, gouverneur de la Goulette, et d’autres militaires qui -retournaient dans leur patrie. Mais le sort en ordonna autrement, et les -plus cruelles épreuves l’attendaient. Le 26 septembre 1575, le bâtiment -que montait Cervantes fut rencontré, à la hauteur des îles Baléares, par -une escadrille barbaresque aux ordres du farouche renégat arnaute -Dali-Mami. Le combat s’engage, et après une résistance désespérée la -frégate espagnole, forcée de se rendre, est conduite en triomphe dans le -port d’Alger. - -Dans la répartition du butin, Cervantes était tombé au pouvoir de -Dali-Mami. En dépouillant son prisonnier, cet homme non moins avare que -cruel, avait trouvé les lettres de recommandation données au brave -soldat: convaincu qu’il tenait entre ses mains un personnage important -dont il pouvait tirer une forte rançon, il commença par le faire charger -de chaînes et l’accabla des plus mauvais traitements. - -C’est alors que dut se manifester chez Cervantes cet héroïsme de la -patience, «cette seconde valeur de l’homme, dit Solis[139], peut-être -plus grande que la première.» Notre but n’est pas de raconter ici toutes -les phases de son séjour parmi les barbares. Des tentatives qu’il fit -pour briser ses fers, l’une échoua par la trahison d’un More auquel il -s’était confié, les autres par la grandeur des obstacles ou la -défaillance de quelques-uns de ses compagnons d’infortune. Lui-même nous -a fait le récit de ses cruelles angoisses dans la nouvelle du -CAPTIF[140]. Qu’il nous suffise de dire qu’après cinq ans du plus -horrible esclavage, menacé à tout instant de la mort et l’écartant -chaque fois à force de courage et de sang-froid, Cervantes, dont la -captivité, signalée par les incidents les plus romanesques, fournirait à -lui seul, dit un historien contemporain[141], la matière d’un volume, -fut racheté par les soins et l’intercession des Frères de la Merci, qui -s’imposèrent les plus grand sacrifices pour un tel prisonnier. Enfin, -devenu libre en octobre 1580, il quitta cette terre maudite et fit voile -pour l’Espagne, où, en abordant, il dut goûter l’une des plus grandes -joies qu’il soit donné à l’homme d’éprouver: «celle de recouvrer la -liberté et de revoir son pays.» Ainsi fut conservé au monde un des plus -nobles cœurs qui aient honoré l’humanité, et aux lettres le rare génie -auquel elles allaient devoir une éternelle illustration. - - [139] Historien et poëte espagnol. - - [140] _Don Quichotte_, Ire partie, ch. XXXIX, XL, XLI. - - [141] Le Père Haedo (_Historia de Argel_). - -Revenu dans cette patrie qu’il avait désespéré de revoir jamais, -Cervantes se trouvait sans ressources; son père était mort et sa mère -avait, pour aider à sa délivrance, engagé le peu de bien qui lui -restait. Il reprit donc le mousquet de soldat et fit avec son frère -Rodrigo la campagne des Açores, dont la soumission devait compléter -celle du Portugal, que le duc d’Albe venait de conquérir à son maître. - -Ici doit trouver place un incident qui joue un grand rôle dans la vie de -Cervantes. Pendant un séjour qu’il fit à Lisbonne, avant de s’embarquer -pour les Açores, son esprit vif et ingénieux lui avait ouvert l’accès de -plusieurs sociétés. Dans l’une d’elles, une noble dame s’éprit pour lui -d’une vive passion; il en eut une fille à laquelle il donna le nom -d’Isabel de Saavedra, et qu’il garda toujours avec lui, même après -s’être marié; car il n’eut point d’autre enfant. La campagne terminée, -ce nouvel essai de la profession des armes ne lui ayant valu aucune -récompense malgré ses blessures et ses glorieux services, il abandonna -la carrière militaire. - -L’amour devait le ramener au culte des Muses. Le roman de _Galatée_, -qu’il publia peu de temps après son mariage, fut composé sous -l’inspiration de ce tendre sentiment. Sans aucun doute Cervantes, caché -sous le nom d’Élicio, berger des rives du Tage, a voulu peindre ses -amours avec Galatée, bergère habitante des mêmes rivages. Il venait en -effet d’épouser une fille noble et pauvre de la petite ville -d’Esquivias, dona Catalina Palacios, moins pourvue d’argent que de -beauté, car on voit figurer dix poules[142] dans le détail de la faible -dot qu’elle apportait à son époux. Voilà donc Cervantes, chef d’une -famille qui se composait, avec sa mère, sa femme et sa fille naturelle, -de ses deux sœurs, Andrea et Luise. Il avait trente-sept ans. - - [142] Éloge de Cervantes par don Jose Mon de Fuentes. - -La poésie pastorale offrait peu de ressources; pressé par le besoin, -Cervantes revint aux premiers rêves de sa jeunesse, et prit le parti -d’aller s’établir à Madrid pour y demander des moyens de subsistance au -théâtre, qui, alors comme aujourd’hui, promettait plus de profit. Il -débuta par une comédie en six actes sur ses aventures (_el Trato de -Argel_), les Mœurs d’Alger. Dans cette pièce, il introduit sous son -propre nom de Saavedra un soldat, qui adresse au roi une harangue -véhémente pour l’engager à détruire ce nid de pirates. Cette pièce fut -suivie de plusieurs autres, parmi lesquelles on doit citer _Numancia_ -(la destruction de Numance). On applaudit dans _Numancia_ le tableau -des malheurs effroyables qu’entraîne un siége, et surtout le poignant -épisode dans lequel un enfant tombant d’inanition demande du pain à sa -mère. Cette pièce, palpitante d’exaltation patriotique, fut jouée à -Saragosse, pendant la dernière guerre de l’indépendance espagnole, et -n’a pas peu contribué sans doute à rendre la nouvelle Numance digne de -l’ancienne. «J’osai le premier dans _Numancia_, dit Cervantes, -personnifier les pensées secrètes de l’âme, en introduisant des êtres -moraux sur la scène, au grand applaudissement du public. Mes autres -pièces furent aussi représentées; mais tout leur succès, ajoute-t-il, -consista à parcourir leur carrière sans sifflets ni tapage, ni sans cet -accompagnement d’oranges et de concombres dont on a coutume de saluer -les auteurs tombés.» - -L’espoir qu’il avait fondé sur le théâtre n’avait pas tardé à -s’évanouir. Le fameux Lope de Véga y régnait alors sans rivaux. Il -avait, dit Cervantes lui-même, soumis la monarchie comique à ses lois, -et maître du public et des acteurs, il remplissait le monde de ses -comédies[143]. - - [143] Lope de Véga a composé plus de dix-huit cents pièces de théâtre. - -Banni du théâtre par cette prodigieuse fécondité, Cervantes fut -contraint d’accepter un autre métier moins digne de lui; mais il fallait -vivre, et avec sa nombreuse famille il n’y avait pas à hésiter. Un -certain Antonio Guevara, chargé de réunir à Séville des -approvisionnements pour cette immense _armada_, pour cette flotte -invincible qui devait envahir l’Angleterre et que détruisirent les -tempêtes, lui offre un modeste emploi de commissaire des vivres. -Cervantes accepte, et s’achemine aussitôt avec tous les siens vers la -capitale de l’Andalousie. On croit pourtant qu’à cette époque il avait -déjà perdu sa mère; quant à son frère Rodrigo, qui servait en Flandre, -sans doute il fut tué dans quelque obscure rencontre, car il ne reparaît -plus. - -Le séjour de Cervantes à Séville dura dix années consécutives, sauf -quelques excursions dans les environs et un seul voyage à Madrid. Il -connut à Séville le célèbre peintre Francisco Pacheco, maître et -beau-père du grand Velasquez, dont la maison était le rendez-vous des -beaux esprits; Cervantes la fréquentait assidûment. Il s’y lia d’amitié -avec le célèbre poëte lyrique Fernando de Herrera, et fit un sonnet sur -sa mort. Il devint également l’ami de Juan de Jaureguy, l’élégant -traducteur de l’_Aminte_ du Tasse. Jaureguy, qui cultivait aussi la -peinture, fit le portrait de son ami Cervantes. Ce fut pendant son -séjour à Séville que Cervantes composa presque toutes ses nouvelles: -car, au milieu de vulgaires occupations, il entretenait avec les lettres -un commerce secret. Ce fut encore à Séville, qu’à l’occasion de la mort -du roi Philippe II (13 septembre 1598), il composa ce fameux sonnet où -il raille avec tant de grâce la forfanterie des Andalous. La date de ce -sonnet est précieuse; elle sert à fixer le terme de son séjour à -Séville, qu’il quitta peu de temps après. Voici à quelle occasion. - -Une somme de 7,400 réaux, produit des comptes arriérés de son -commissariat, avait été remise par lui à un négociant de Séville, Simon -Freire de Lima, pour être envoyé à la _Contaduria_, trésorerie de -Madrid. Au lieu de remplir son mandat, Simon disparut, emportant -l’argent. La Contaduria fit saisir les biens du banquier; puis, comme en -même temps on avait conçu quelques doutes sur la parfaite régularité de -la gestion de Cervantes, ses livres furent vérifiés à l’improviste. -Trouvé en déficit d’une misérable somme de 2,400 réaux (600 francs), on -le mit en prison. Il réclama avec force, promettant de satisfaire dans -le délai de quelques jours; on le relâcha, mais il avait perdu son -emploi. - -Ici la biographie de Cervantes présente une grande lacune. Pendant cinq -années sa trace nous échappe, depuis 1598, où il quitte Séville, -jusqu’en 1603, où on le retrouve à Valadolid. On pense que durant cet -intervalle, devenu agent d’affaires pour le compte de particuliers et de -corporations, il vint s’établir dans quelque petite ville de la Manche. -La connaissance qu’il montre des localités et des mœurs de cette -province autorise cette conjecture et prouve qu’il y séjourna assez -longtemps. Ce fut sans doute dans une des fréquentes excursions qu’il -était obligé de faire dans l’intérêt de ses clients, qu’au bourg -d’Argamasilla de Alba, les habitants le jetèrent en prison, soit parce -qu’il réclamait les dîmes arriérées dues par eux au grand prieuré de -Saint-Juan soit parce qu’il enlevait à leurs irrigations les eaux de la -Guadiana, dont il avait besoin pour la préparation des salpêtres. On -montre encore aujourd’hui dans ce bourg une vieille masure appelée LA -CASA DE MEDRANO (_la maison de Medrano_), comme l’endroit où Cervantes -fut emprisonné. Il est certain qu’il y languit longtemps et dans un état -fort misérable. C’est de ce triste lieu que, dans une lettre dont on a -gardé le souvenir, Cervantes réclamait d’un de ses parents, Juan Barnabé -de Saavedra, bourgeois d’Alcazar, secours et protection; cette lettre -commençait ainsi: «De longs jours et des nuits sans sommeil me fatiguent -dans cette prison[144], ou pour mieux dire, caverne...» Et c’est là -pourtant que fut engendré ce glorieux fils de son intelligence (_hijo -del entendimiento_), et qu’il en écrivit les premières pages. Il -fallait, on doit en convenir, une singulière habitude de l’adversité et -une rare et noble liberté d’esprit pour faire d’un semblable cabinet de -travail le berceau d’un livre tel que _Don Quichotte_. - - [144] C’est pour cela qu’il commence _Don Quichotte_ par ces mots: - «Dans un village de la Manche dont je ne veux pas me rappeler le - nom...» - -En 1603, nous retrouvons Cervantes à Valladolid, où la cour avait pour -quelque temps établi sa résidence, et nous le voyons solliciteur à -cinquante-six ans. L’indolent Philippe III régnait, mais un orgueilleux -favori gouvernait à sa place. Cervantes s’arme de courage et, ses états -de services à la main, il se présente à l’audience du duc de Lerme, ce -puissant dispensateur des grâces, cet _Atlas_, comme il l’appelle, _du -poids de cette monarchie_. Là encore une déception l’attendait. -Accueilli froidement, il est bientôt éconduit avec hauteur. Désabusé une -fois de plus, mais non découragé, Cervantes reprit le chemin de sa -pauvre demeure, afin d’y achever le livre qu’il avait commencé en -prison, et qui allait l’immortaliser en le vengeant. - -Une si pénible situation devait lui faire hâter la publication du _Don -Quichotte_: aussi s’occupa-t-il activement d’en obtenir le privilége; -mais il fallait un Mécène, l’usage le voulait ainsi. Pour lui offrir la -dédicace de son livre, Cervantes avait jeté les yeux sur le dernier -descendant des ducs de Bejar, don Alonzo Lopez de Zuniga y Sotomayor. Au -premier mot de chevalerie errante, le grand seigneur refusa. Cervantes -lui demanda pour toute faveur de vouloir bien entendre la lecture d’un -seul chapitre; et tels furent la surprise et le charme de cette lecture, -qu’on alla ainsi jusqu’à la fin. Le duc accepta l’hommage, et la -première partie de _Don Quichotte_ parut (1605). - -Le succès fut prodigieux. Trente mille exemplaires[145], chose inouïe -pour le temps, furent imprimés et vendus dans l’espace de quelques -années; le Portugal, l’Italie, la France, les Pays-Bas lurent l’ouvrage -avec avidité, et la langue espagnole dut à Cervantes une popularité qui -lui a longtemps survécu. - - [145] _Treinta mil volumenes se han impreso de mi historia_; _Don - Quichotte_, IIe partie, ch. XVI. - -Nous n’entreprendrons pas, nos forces nous trahiraient, l’examen -approfondi de ce phénomène littéraire: quelques mots seulement, avant de -continuer ce récit, sur l’intention présumée du roman de _Don -Quichotte_. On a prétendu qu’en publiant ce livre, l’unique but de -Cervantes avait été de guérir ses contemporains de leur fol engouement -pour les livres de chevalerie; lui-même le laisse entendre à la fin de -sa préface. Certes la passion immodérée de son siècle pour ces fades et -insipides lectures appelait un redresseur, et sans aucun doute Cervantes -voulut l’être; mais ceci n’est que la surface des choses, et chemin -faisant il se proposa surtout un autre but. Après avoir protesté, au nom -de la raison et du goût, contre l’emphase ridicule et la fausse -grandeur, et donné à ses contemporains une leçon qu’ils méritaient, -Cervantes, selon nous, voulut aussi protester contre leur ingratitude et -se rendre enfin justice à lui-même. Ainsi que Molière cherchait à se -consoler des caprices d’une femme égoïste et coquette, en se peignant -sous les traits du _Misanthrope_, de même le soldat mutilé de Lépante, -l’héroïque captif d’Alger, l’auteur dédaigné de _Galatée_ et de -_Numancia_, éprouvait, lui aussi, le besoin de se mettre en scène, et, -pour unique représaille envers son siècle, de verser dans un ouvrage, -miroir et confident de ses vicissitudes, un peu de cette ironie exempte -d’amertume qui sied au génie méconnu. L’image d’un juste toujours bafoué -devait lui sourire, car c’était sa propre histoire. Il se fit donc le -héros de son livre, et, s’incarnant dans ce sublime _bâtonné_, si j’ose -m’exprimer ainsi, il forma de toutes ses déceptions, de toutes ses -misères, une œuvre pleine d’ironie et de tendresse, drame à la fois -railleur et sympathique, _comédie aux cent actes divers_, épopée -burlesque et grave tour à tour, l’une des plus grandes créations, mais à -coup sûr la plus originale que dans aucune langue ait produite l’esprit -humain. - -«Le style de l’ouvrage, dit M. de Sismondi, est d’une beauté inimitable; -il a la noblesse, la candeur des anciens romans de chevalerie, et en -même temps une vivacité de coloris, un charme d’expression, une harmonie -de périodes qu’aucun écrivain n’a égalée. Telle est la fameuse -allocution de don Quichotte aux chevriers sur l’âge d’or. Dans le -dialogue, le langage du héros est plein de grandeur, il a la pompe et la -tournure antiques; ses discours comme sa personne ne quittent jamais la -cuirasse et la lance.» Ajoutons qu’aucun livre ne respire un plus noble -héroïsme, une morale plus pure, une philosophie plus douce; et pour ce -qui est de l’utilité pratique, personne n’ignore que les proverbes de -Sancho Panza sont devenus les oracles mêmes du bon sens. - -La renommée allait redisant partout le nom de Cervantes; mais, comme -toujours, avec le succès vinrent les détracteurs et les ennemis. La -troupe des auteurs tombés et des médiocrités jalouses se leva contre -lui. On voulut enrôler le grand Lope de Véga dans cette ligue honteuse -en lui dénonçant la critique que Cervantes avait faite de son -théâtre[146]; riche et heureux, Lope de Véga eut le bon sens de rejeter -cette alliance, et daigna même avouer que Cervantes ne manquait _ni de -grâce ni de style_. Moins scrupuleux, un certain Aragonais, auteur de -quelques plates comédies, osa, sous le pseudonyme d’Avellaneda, publier -une suite de _Don Quichotte_, dans laquelle il s’empare de l’idée du -livre et du personnage principal. «Nous continuons cet ouvrage, dit-il -effrontément, avec les matériaux que Cervantes a employés pour le -commencer, en nous aidant de plusieurs relations fidèles qui sont -tombées sous sa main, je dis sa main, car lui-même avoue qu’il n’en a -qu’une...[147]» Ainsi, non content de voler Cervantes, ce plagiaire -impudent ajoutait l’insulte à l’ironie. - - [146] _Don Quichotte_, Ire partie, ch. XLVIII. - - [147] Cervantes lui-même nous apprend que, par suite de sa blessure à - la bataille de Lépante, il avait perdu le mouvement de la main gauche. - -«Cervantes, dit M. Mérimée, répondit à ses lâches adversaires par la -seconde partie du _Don Quichotte_, au moins égale, sinon supérieure à la -première. Dans la préface, il combat ses ennemis en homme d’esprit et de -bon ton; mais il est facile de voir que les injures de l’Aragonais lui -ont été sensibles, car il y revient à plusieurs reprises, et se donne -trop souvent la peine de confondre le misérable qu’il aurait dû -oublier.» - -Dans cette seconde partie, les facultés créatrices de l’auteur se -montrent avec encore plus d’éclat. Quelle variété d’incidents, quelle -prodigieuse fécondité d’invention! Avec quel art le héros est promené à -travers mille nouvelles et étranges aventures! Mais cette fois, du -moins, ses épaules n’ont rien à redouter, et les nombreux coups de -bâton, justement critiqués peut-être, ont fait place à une série de -mystifications dont un nouveau personnage, le bachelier Samson Carrasco, -sorte de Figaro sceptique et railleur, devient le pivot et le principal -instrument. Quant au bon Sancho Panza, qui a si grande envie d’être -gouverneur, qu’il se rassure, il aura satisfaction, et dans une royauté -de dix jours on l’entendra parler et juger comme Salomon. - -La première partie du _Don Quichotte_ avait été dédiée au duc de Bejar. -En échange de l’oubli dont il sauvait ce désœuvré de noble sang, ainsi -l’appelle M. Viardot, Cervantes avait espéré quelque appui: il n’en fut -rien, et on doit le croire, car depuis lors, Cervantes, le plus -reconnaissant des hommes, ne prononce plus ce nom. Il dédia la seconde -partie au comte de Lemos, vice-roi de Naples. Celui-ci, il est vrai, se -déclara son protecteur, mais d’une façon si mesquine, que la détresse de -Cervantes en fut médiocrement allégée[148], et pourtant on verra bientôt -quelles expressions de touchante gratitude il trouva dans son cœur pour -d’aussi maigres bienfaits. - -Trois ans avant la publication de la seconde partie de _Don Quichotte_, -Cervantes avait publié le recueil de ses nouvelles, composées pendant -son séjour à Séville. Ces nouvelles, au nombre de quinze, auraient -seules suffi à sa gloire; elles sont divisées en sérieuses (serias) et -badines (jocosas). Il les appella Nouvelles exemplaires _Novelas -ejemplares_, pour montrer qu’elles renferment toutes un utile et -agréable enseignement. On y reconnaît cet admirable talent de conteur -qui lui a valu de la part du célèbre auteur de _Don Juan_, Tirso de -Molina, le surnom de Boccace espagnol. Dans la préface de ses -Nouvelles, Cervantes nous a laissé de lui un portrait que nous donnons -ici; il avait 66 ans. - - [148] A cette époque, il fut judiciairement expulsé du logement qu’il - occupait à Madrid, rue du _Duc d’Albe_, au coin de San-Isidro; il se - réfugia dans un autre modeste réduit, rue _del Leon_, nº 20, au coin - de celle de _Francos_, où il mourut. - - PORTRAIT DE CERVANTES PAR LUI-MÊME. - - «Cher lecteur, - - «Celui que tu vois représenté ici avec un visage aquilin, les cheveux - châtains, le front lisse et découvert, les yeux vifs, le nez recourbé, - quoique bien proportionné, la barbe d’argent (il y a vingt ans qu’elle - était d’or), la moustache grande, la bouche petite, les dents peu - nombreuses, car il ne lui en reste que six, encore en fort mauvais - état, le corps entre les deux extrêmes, ni grand ni petit, le teint - assez animé, plutôt blanc que brun, un peu voûté des épaules et non - fort léger des pieds; cela, dis-je, est le portrait de l’auteur de la - _Galatée_, de _Don Quichotte de la Manche_, et d’autres œuvres qui - courent le monde à l’abandon, peut-être sans le nom de leur maître. On - l’appelle communément Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.» - -Peu de temps après la publication de ses Nouvelles, il fit aussi -paraître un petit poëme intitulé: _le Voyage au Parnasse_, dans lequel -on retrouve sa philosophie habituelle et son aimable enjouement. Dans -cet ouvrage, il se suppose à la cour d’Apollon, et en profile pour -passer en revue les rimeurs de son temps; presque toujours il les loue, -mais il est facile de voir que ces éloges sont ironiques; ce qu’il y a -de piquant dans l’ouvrage, ce sont les éloges qu’il s’adresse, lui, -d’ordinaire si modeste. Introduit devant Apollon, il le voit entouré des -poëtes ses rivaux qui lui forment une cour nombreuse; il cherche un -siége pour s’asseoir et ne peut en trouver. «Eh bien, dit le dieu, plie -ton manteau et assieds-toi dessus.--Hélas! Sire, répondis-je, faites -attention que je n’ai pas de manteau.--Ton mérite sera ton manteau, me -dit Apollon.--Je me tus, et je restai debout.» - -On le voit, pour être moins obscur, Cervantes n’en était pas plus riche, -et la pauvreté était toujours assise à son foyer. L’anecdote suivante en -est la preuve. Laissons parler le chapelain de l’archevêque de Tolède, -le licencié Francisco Marquez de Torres, qui fut chargé de faire la -censure de la seconde partie du _Don Quichotte_: - -«Le 25 février de cette année 1615, dit-il, monseigneur de Tolède ayant -été rendre visite à l’ambassadeur de France, plusieurs gentilshommes -français, après la réception, s’approchèrent de moi, s’informant avec -curiosité des ouvrages en vogue en ce moment. Je citai par hasard la -seconde partie du _Don Quichotte_ dont je faisais l’examen. A peine le -nom de Miguel Cervantes fut-il prononcé, que tous, après avoir chuchoté -à voix basse, se mirent à parler hautement de l’estime qu’on en faisait -en France. Leurs éloges furent tels, que je m’offris à les mener voir -l’auteur, offre qu’ils acceptèrent avec de grandes démonstrations de -joie. Chemin faisant ils me questionnèrent sur son âge, sa qualité, sa -fortune. Je fus obligé de leur répondre qu’il était ancien soldat, -gentilhomme et pauvre.--«Eh quoi! l’Espagne n’a pas fait riche un tel -homme? dit un d’entre eux; il n’est pas nourri aux frais du Trésor -public?--Si c’est la nécessité qui l’oblige à écrire, répondit son -compagnon, Dieu veuille qu’il n’ait jamais l’abondance; afin que restant -pauvre, il enrichisse par ses œuvres le monde entier.» - -Cet abandon systématique de la part de ses plus grands admirateurs eût -manqué à la destinée de Cervantes; mais sa fin approchait, et affecté -d’une hydropisie cruelle, déjà condamné par les médecins, la mort, selon -l’expression d’un de ses biographes[149], allait bientôt le dérober à -l’ingratitude des princes et à l’injustice des hommes. Son âme stoïque -la vit venir sans effroi, et elle le trouva tel qu’il s’était montré à -Lépante ou dans les fers du féroce Dali-Mami. - - [149] M. Dumas-Hinard. - -Au commencement du printemps de l’année 1616, Cervantes avait quitté -Madrid afin d’aller respirer à la campagne un air plus pur, et s’était -rendu à Esquivias dans la famille de sa femme; mais là, son mal empirant -tout à coup, il demanda à revenir parmi les siens et reprit le chemin de -sa maison, en compagnie de deux amis qui n’avaient pas voulu -l’abandonner un seul instant. Dans le prologue de _Persiles et -Sigismonde_, roman publié par sa veuve, en 1617, il parle presque -gaiement de sa maladie et de ses derniers jours. - -«Or, il advint, cher lecteur, que deux de mes amis et moi, sortant -d’Esquivias, nous entendîmes derrière nous quelqu’un qui trottait de -grande hâte, comme s’il voulait nous atteindre, ce qu’il prouva bientôt -en nous criant de ne pas aller si vite. Nous l’attendîmes; et voilà que -survint, monté sur une bourrique, un étudiant tout gris, car il était -habillé de gris des pieds à la tête. Arrivé auprès de nous, il s’écria: -Si j’en juge au train dont elles trottent, Vos Seigneuries s’en vont -prendre possession de quelque place ou de quelque prébende à la cour, où -sont maintenant Son Éminence de Tolède et Sa Majesté. En vérité, je ne -croyais pas que ma bête eût sa pareille pour voyager. Sur quoi répondit -un de mes amis: La faute est au cheval du seigneur Miguel Cervantes, qui -a le pas fort allongé. A peine l’étudiant eut-il entendu mon nom, qu’il -sauta à bas de sa monture; puis me saisissant le bras gauche, il -s’écria: Oui, oui, le voilà bien ce glorieux manchot, ce _fameux tout_, -ce joyeux écrivain, ce consolateur des Muses! Moi qui en si peu de mots -m’entendais louer si galamment, je crus qu’il y aurait peu de courtoisie -à ne pas lui répondre sur le même ton.--Seigneur, lui dis-je, vous vous -trompez, comme beaucoup d’autres honnêtes gens. Je suis Miguel -Cervantes, mais non le consolateur des Muses, et je ne mérite aucun des -noms aimables que Votre Seigneurie veut bien me donner. On vint à parler -de ma maladie, et le bon étudiant me désespéra en me disant: C’est une -hydropisie, et toute l’eau de la mer océane ne la guérirait pas, quand -même vous la boiriez goutte à goutte. Ah! seigneur Cervantes, que Votre -Grâce se règle sur le boire, sans oublier le manger, et elle se guérira -sans autre remède.--Oui, répondis-je, on m’a déjà dit cela bien des -fois; mais je ne puis renoncer à boire quand l’envie m’en prend; et il -me semble que je ne sois né pour faire autre chose. Je m’en vais tout -doucement, et aux éphémérides de mon pouls je sens que c’est dimanche -que je quitterai ce monde. Vous êtes venu bien mal à propos pour faire -ma connaissance, car il ne me reste guère de temps pour vous remercier -de l’intérêt que vous me portez. Nous en étions là quand nous arrivâmes -au pont de Tolède; je le passai, et lui entra par celui de Ségovie...» - -Le mal était sans remède, et bientôt Cervantes s’alita; le 18 avril, -après avoir reçu les sacrements, il dicta presque mourant la dédicace de -_Persiles et Sigismonde_ au comte de Lemos, qui revenait d’Italie -prendre la présidence du conseil: - - A DON PEDRO FERNANDEZ DE CASTRO - - COMTE DE LEMOS - - «Cette ancienne romance, qui fut célèbre dans son temps, et qui - commence par ces mots: _Le pied dans l’étrier_, me revient à la - mémoire, hélas! trop naturellement, en écrivant cette lettre; car je - puis la commencer à peu près dans les mêmes termes. - - «_Le pied dans l’étrier, en agonie mortelle, seigneur, je t’écris ce - billet[150]._ - - «Hier ils m’ont donné l’extrême-onction, et aujourd’hui je vous écris - ces lignes. Le temps est court: l’angoisse s’accroît, l’espérance - diminue, et avec tout cela je vis, parce que je veux vivre assez de - temps pour baiser les pieds de V. E., et peut-être que la joie de la - revoir en bonne santé de retour en Espagne me rendrait la vie. Mais - s’il est décrété que je doive mourir, que la volonté du ciel - s’accomplisse: du moins V. E. connaîtra mes vœux; qu’elle sache - qu’elle perd en moi un serviteur dévoué, qui aurait voulu lui prouver - son attachement, même au delà de la mort. - - «Sur quoi je prie Dieu de conserver V. E., ainsi qu’il le peut.» - - Madrid, 19 avril 1616. - - [150] Puesto ya el pie en el estribo - Con las ansias de la muerte - Gran señor, esta te escribo. - -Il expira le 23 avril 1616, âgé de 69 ans, et plein de cette résignation -chrétienne qu’il avait toujours professée. Ses obsèques furent sans -aucune pompe. Sa fille, Isabel de Saavedra, chassée par la pauvreté de -la maison paternelle, avait depuis quelque temps déjà prononcé ses vœux -et s’était retirée dans un couvent. Quant à lui, l’ingratitude et -l’abandon qu’il éprouva pendant sa vie devaient le suivre même après sa -mort, car on ignore où repose sa cendre; et dans sa patrie, qu’il dota -d’une gloire immortelle, c’est vainement qu’on chercherait son tombeau. diff --git a/kalamine/www/corpus/merge.py b/kalamine/www/corpus/merge.py deleted file mode 100755 index 114c398..0000000 --- a/kalamine/www/corpus/merge.py +++ /dev/null @@ -1,43 +0,0 @@ -#!/usr/bin/env python3 -"""Merge two corpus dictionaries.""" - -import json -from sys import argv - - -def merge(filenames, filecount): - merged = { - "symbols": {}, - "digrams": {}, - } - - # merge dictionaries - for filename in filenames: - with open(filename, "r") as corpus: - data = json.load(corpus) - for section in merged.keys(): - for key, count in data[section].items(): - if key not in merged[section]: - merged[section][key] = 0.0 - merged[section][key] += count / filecount - - # sort the merged dictionary by symbol frequency (requires CPython 3.6+) - def sort_by_frequency(table, precision=2): - sorted_dict = {} - for key, count in sorted(table.items(), key=lambda x: -x[1]): - freq = round(count, precision) - if freq > 0: - sorted_dict[key] = freq - return sorted_dict - - results = {} - results["corpus"] = "" - results["symbols"] = sort_by_frequency(merged["symbols"]) - results["digrams"] = sort_by_frequency(merged["digrams"]) - return results - - -if __name__ == "__main__": - argl = len(argv) - 1 # number of files to merge - if argl >= 2: - print(json.dumps(merge(argv[1:], argl), indent=4, ensure_ascii=False))